Azn Badger's Blog

What About the Lysine Contingency…?

Concealable Weapons You’re Not Cool Enough To Carry: Codpiece Revolver

What Is It?:

A 12-shot revolver stored in and fired from a leather codpiece.

Who’s Used It:

Tom Savini.

Why Am I Not Cool Enough To Carry It?:

Because you’re name isn’t fucking Sex Machine, that’s why.

From Dusk Till Dawn was a film with many awesome and memorable elements to it, however I think it’s hard to deny that the master of gore himself, Tom Savini’s character of Sex Machine was one of the better parts of it.

That’s saying a lot when you’re talking about a movie that features Salma Hayek in a bikini, Fred Williamson, buckets of gore, and, well Salma Hayek in fucking a bikini.

Pictured: Adolesence.

Like many weapons featured in these articles, the codpiece revolver is far from the more practical weapons one could employ for self-defense purposes, however it’s this element of it’s design that makes it much too cool to be put in the hands of mere mortals.

Think about it:

In order to aim the codpiece revolver, you’d have to walk around all bowlegged n’shit, pointing your cock at things that you’d like to see stop living.

Not only that, while Sex Machine never showed it, on account of being A FUCKING MAN, in firing the codpiece revolver, I’d assume the recoil would do a number on your frank and beans.

I don’t know about you, but if ever I were to wish death upon someone, I don’t think I’d wanna’ rupture my sac in doing so.

I’ll leave that to the Sex Machine’s of the world, thank you very much.

I’m getting ahead of myself though.

You see, the real problem in carrying, let alone handling a codpiece revolver, is the simple fact that, as I indicated in the first sentence of this segment of the article; YOU AREN’T FUCKING SEX MACHINE.

Nor is The Punisher for that matter...

Did you see how he operated the cock revolver in the clip at the top of the post?

He gave Greg Nicotero a dirty look, and then bam!

It opened.

Another dirty look, and the thing snapped shut.

No springs, no pneumatics, just a dirty fucking bastard shootin’ people dirty-ass looks.

By my logic, this can only mean that:

A): The cock revolver responds to psychic triggers.

or B): The sausage cannon fights on behalf of the forces of MANLINESS, thereby lending it’s service only to those cool enough to bear badass names such as “Sex Machine.”

In other words:

Even if you were somehow, against every rule in the natural order of coolness, able to get away with walking the streets wearing a gaudy leather cock basket; you’d have no way of operating the weapon due to your lack of legitimate badass-ness.

I suppose you could install a trigger in your rotating penis blaster and operate it manually, but really isn’t the point of having a dick pistol the fact that you can blast one out hands free with it?

Putting aside the fact that you, being possessed of insufficient coolness, would have no way of being able to physically operate a cock cannon in the first place, the fact of the matter is; you’d look like an idiot even if you could.

You see, chief among the requirements for being capable of carrying a codpiece revolver, is the fact that one has to be able to pull off the codpiece “look.”

Pictured: Sting, being a smug-ass bastard and rocking the codpiece look for the sake being a smug-ass bastard.

I don’t know about you, but metal studded crotch pockets aren’t something I could see myself wearing without looking like some dipshit that got way too into The Matrix or The Crow back in the day.

Perhaps more so than a salmon colored polo shirt with the collar popped, I’d like to think of a leather codpiece as being one of the harder “looks” in male fashion to pull off.

Well, outside side of a bondage/gay club anyway.

That being said, I’m sorry friends, but we can’t all be as cool as Sex Machine.

Now enjoy this clip of the aforementioned machine of sex getting his head blown off in Maniac:

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Filed under: Comics, Concealable Weapons You're Not Cool Enough To Carry, Movies, , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Remember The Shockmaster?


Oh, The Shockmaster…….

In all of wrestling history,there has seldom been a wrestling debut as horrid, or retarded-ly fucking stupid as The Shockmaster’s.

Let’s just break down the events of the video depicted above, shall we?:

You have Sting, Ric Flair, Sid Vicious, The Harlem Heat, and Davey Boy Smith all together staging a promo.

To sum up, pretty much every major player in WCW circa 1993 was on the stage for this promo.

During said promo, Sting makes mention of a “mystery partner” that was to be joining his team in an upcoming 8-man tag match.

Shouting in a bold and proud manner, Sting gives his “mystery partner” his entrance cue by calling out his name:

“The Shockmaster!”

Suddenly, from the far wall twin fountains of fire spring up, giving way to the embarrassing sight of a obese masked man awkwardly falling face first through the particle board fixture, sending his sparkling mask tumbling to the floor in the process.

During this “shocking” moment, the crowd remains entirely silent, completely baffled by what they’ve just seen.

As he lay on all fours, struggling to retrieve his glittery mask with some measure of difficulty, The Shockmaster pathetically, and quite audibly, mutters to himself:

“I fell down… Ohhhhh God…”

Stumbling to his feet, the jeans and vest clad Shockmaster quickly attempts to salvage what little of his dignity remains by standing before the other wrestlers, and revealing to the crowd; in full detail, the sad truth of his costume design.

The Shockmaster’s helmet, (the one that fell off during his face-plant) without even the slightest attempt to disguise it’s fiercely iconic imagery, was none other than a silver spray painted Stormtrooper helmet.

Despite being virtually dead in the water, with zero crowd reaction, and all of the mystique and threat of his persona dashed to pieces by his horrid entrance, The Shockmaster nevertheless continued with the promo.

Forced to stand in the corner and lazily bob his head as Ole Anderson provided his reptilian speaking voice over the PA system, The Shockmaster was no doubt experiencing the kind of personal hell that only a show business fuck-up can provide.

During this sequence, Booker T can be heard muttering to himself:

“Who is this motherfucker?”

Similarly, Davey Boy Smith shouts numerous times:

“He fell flat on his fucking arse!”

Truly, there is no greater moment of suck, than that of The Shockmaster’s debut.

Filed under: Uncategorized, Wrestling, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I Hate Sting.

I hate Sting.

I hate his goofy singing, I hate his perpetually frosted hair, but most of all, I simply hate the man that is Sting.

Wrong Sting. Although he kind of sucked too. Especially after he took on that whole "Crow" schtick...

You know how every now and again you run across someone you just plain don’t like, seemingly for no good reason?

Okay, maybe you haven’t, but you know what I mean, right?

Well, that about sums up my relationship with Sting in a nutshell.

He never stole from me, he didn’t kill my father; and he most certainly never touched me as a child, but for whatever reason, I’ve had a severe hatred for Sting for as long as I can remember.

Near as  I can recall, the first time I encountered Sting in my youth, came in the form of a TV broadcast of one of his performances.

I want to say that it was a stage performance from one of his appearances on Saturday Night Live sometime in the 90’s, but either way; my first impression of the man was to think:

“What the hell is he wearing?…”

While I can’t find any photos of it, the man was dressed in a massive leather jacket, easily 2 sizes too big for him, while straddling a guitar and clomping around in 3-5 inch platform boots.

Pictured: The first time I ever saw Sting...

I don’t recall what songs he performed that night, nor did his singing voice leave an impression on me at the time.

Honestly, I think I was simply too blown away by the sheer volume of fail put on display that night to have remembered anything else.

All I remember of Sting from that night, is that big-ass jacket, those Frankenstein boots of his, and his odd quirk of violating his fellow performer’s personal bubble just a little too much.

... And if that wasn't bad enough, he also has a tendency to bust out flying knees to the faces of his fellow performers.

Seriously, the man has a tendency to rub up on people.

As my father would say: “He wouldn’t make it in the Projects…”

Anyway, after only dealing with Sting once in my life up to that point, the man was already 0-1, and officially on my “Naughty” list.

That was just the beginning though.

Sometime after this initial encounter, I remember hearing some of Sting’s songs on the radio.

I had to ask my mother who it was we were listening to, and when she told me it was Sting, I can honestly say I was not surprised.

Sting has a peculiar method of singing.

I like to refer to it as a “pecking” style of lyricism.

 

Like this man's speech cadence, only applied to song.

The lyrics in his songs, especially the more pop-ish tunes from earlier in his career; tend to have a halting rhythm to them that I find annoying.

It’s like trying to listen to streamed audio that’s still buffering.

Sure, you’re definitely listening to something, but it’s so fuckin’ fragmented and disjointed that it may as well be a song recorded by someone with Tourette’s Syndrome.

Honestly, while it pains me to taint this blog with a Family Guy reference, I have to say that they did a damn good job of summing up Sting’s singing style in my eyes:

Just remember, I hated the man long before Family Guy was ever thought of.

By the way, if you ever run into me on the street someday, ask me to do my Sting impression; I’m told it’s pretty spot on.

Moving on, reason #347 as to why I hate Sting, comes from his appearance in the film Dune.

*Yawn*...

Admittedly, this was a fairly recent addition to the “why I hate Sting” list, easily within the past 6-7 years.

When I first noticed that Sting was in Dune, my initial reaction was along the lines of:

“WHAT!?  The “Zip-Zop-Zoop! MESSAGE… IN A… BAAAAAHHHH-TOLL!” Man is in Dune!?  I hope he dies in it…”

Though I got my wish of getting to see Sting die on-screen at the end of Dune, (Oops! Spoiler Alert!) the 3 hour journey in getting to that point was not easy to sit through.

Pictured: The best part of Dune. To me, anyway...

Yes that’s right, I didn’t really exactly care all that much for Dune, but that’s besides the point.

The point is, while sitting through a 3 hour movie I didn’t “get,” and also didn’t exactly like; I found myself not only having to contend with a clunky script and an absurdly over-the-top soundtrack, but with a flame-haired and frequently Speedo clad Sting.

3 hours of shitty movie I can handle standing on my head, but 3 minutes of Sting in his undies being ogled by a levitating overweight, oily pock-faced dude, was another story altogether.

I think Sting’s worst moment in the whole movie, other than the poorly choreographed and horrendously anti-climactic “knife fight” at the end, (Sorry again! Spoiler Alert!) was this one scene where Sting is handling what I call, a “kitty in a box.”

Best I could find. Sorry...

As fate would have it, the internet Gods seem to have eliminated all the good photos of the elusive “kitty in box” scene, as well as that giant-fucking leather jacket I mentioned earlier.

Sting must have a network of internet goons cleansing the web of all traces of his uncoolness…

Anyway, if you saw Dune; you probably know what I’m talking about, ’cause y’know; that was of course the most pivotal scene in the entire movie…

In addition to all of the reasons listed above, probably the single biggest reason I hate Sting, is that he’s one smug son of a bitch.

Sting on any given Tuesday.

Seriously man, he’s just got this swagger, this preening and self-important element to his face and mannerisms.

Maybe it’s just ’cause he’s a singer/performer, and that’s kind of what they do; but in his case, he does it in just the wrong way that it, well; it just pisses me off!

Sting: Knee-Fucking Since... Whenever The Fuck He Started Singing.

Don’t question my hate, it needs not logic or reason to exist!

Anyway, enough Sting related hate-speak for tonight.

Tomorrow I’ll be finally playing more Demon’s Souls, so I figured I’d vent my frustration somehow before assaulting myself with more videogame related anger and stress.

 

 

Man I hate Sting…

Filed under: Games, Movies, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

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