The Killing Pork -or- Praising Domestic Abuse

Pop quiz: What’s the difference between Ms. Piggy and the Joker? 

 Here are a few questions, see if they apply to Joker or Ms. Piggy

• Humiliate or yell at their partner
• Act out violently towards their partner
• Criticize their partner
• Treat their partner so badly they are embarrassed for their friends or family to see
• Ignore or put down their partner’s opinions or accomplishments?
• Blame their partner’s for their own abusive behavior and failure
• See their partner as property or a sex object, rather than as a person
• Act excessively jealous and possessive
• Control where their partner goes or what they do
• Keep their partner from seeing others
• Constantly check up on you?

Funny isn’t it...if you think about it, they all seem to apply. 

Hmm,...how about this list of descriptors. Can you tell me which one applies to whom?

• Charming
• Spontaneous and intense
• Don’t feel shame or remorse. 
• Invent outrageous lies
• Seek to dominate others
• Need to win at all costs
• Highly intelligent
• Speak poetically 
• Delusional 

 Again, both fun and beloved characters seem to have all the attributes from the list. Weird right? 

 Well, The first list is a list of are behaviors displayed by the aggressors in domestic abuse relationships. The second list are signs demonstrated by people with the tendencies of a sociopath. 

Essentially The Joker and Ms. Piggy are both assholes. Abusive, sociopath assholes. 

So why the shit do so many people dress up as Harley Quinn come comic convention time? Not that I dislike cosplay. Far from it. I think it is an awesome expression of fan love for their favorite characters! 

On a side note to my dear Anime and League of Legends cosplayers, if someone asks you what you are dressed as, don’t be a snarky asshole who looks down on the person asking because they are not versed in your quadrant of the nerd-osphere.

But seriously, they do realize that Harley is a victim of domestic abuse, right? The Joker and Harley have a long, MESSED UP history of abuse and reconciliation, be it from the animated series or the comics. I know we like her spunky attitude, and she is a powerful, insane reflection of the Id along with being a sex symbol (who doesn’t love a shapely clown with a giant mallet or bat?!). But Harley does/did display some of the the signs of the abused in a relationship when w/Joker:

Abused -

• feels afraid of their partner
• avoid certain topics out of fear of angering their partner
• believe that they deserve to be hurt or mistreated
• wonder if they’re the one who is crazy

Her latest comic run has a much more empowered, self reliant Harley, and that’s good. But, I foresee a similar relationship w/Deadshot coming

And, over in Muppet land things aren’t better. Ms. Piggy has been a brassy and full figures, felt covered sex symbol for the last 40 years. But, she also is prone to acts of rage and violent outbursts striking not only Kermit over and over but guests of the show. Don’t believe me? Here is a list of Muppet Show guests she has hit over the years:

 http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Miss_Piggy's_karate_chops

 Kermit has suffered this sociopathic diva for 50 years of television and eight movies. At least he eventually got a new girlfriend in Denise. But all those years he suffered her abuse, physical and psychological abuse. And we laughed. 

 So, outside of song and dance variety shows, made of cloth, haunting The Batman, speaking in a really stupid voice....well that one fits, and outside killing Jason Todd with a crowbar, The Joker and Ms. Piggy characters are in essence the same narcissistic bags of douche. 

Seriously, someone needs to photoshop in Ms. Piggy

 Weep for their victims. 

So, what’s the difference between Ms. Piggy and The Joker...to me, nothing. 

On a serious note:

The topic is while meant to be semi-humorous is also semi-serious. Note: At NO time is domestic abuse condoned. If you are in an abusive relationship:

Please leave...NOW! 

Get help

They will NOT change

You CAN do better. I swear to you.  

 To perpetrators of domestic abuse, male or female: you are cowardly sacks of shit. Too afraid to be vulnerable. Ironically too chicken shit to admit you are afraid. I know violence only begets more violence. I don’t care about hyour background. I don’t care about how you were raised. I only care about the actions you do to others and I hope you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. 

But I’d like to go on record as saying: if hooking you up to a car battery until you were a crying, pissing, shitting, apologetic mound of flesh, I just need to be reminded whether black or red is positive or negative (I always forget). 

 National Domestic Violence Hotline:
1-800-787-3224
http://www.thehotline.org/

Self Mockery: Sexual Inability & Instability Via 70’s Sleeping Fads-or- How Waterbeds are Not Your Friends

Do you remember your first time?

No, not your first kiss or your first romance. Boring. I’m talking about The No Pants Dance. The Devil’s Lambada. The Happy Humping Here-We-Go.

You know what I’m talking about...Sex. Specifically, your first time. What was it like? Sweet and romantic? Painful and awkward? Was it like the movies? No, not the online instructional videos which dominate 40% of internet traffic. I mean like the sex scenes in 80’s flicks where the couple makes sweet love in a blue filtered room, on white satin sheets while a power ballad plays in the background?

Well, however your first time was, I hope it was special and with someone you wanted to be with. 

Mine sucked. 

Not because of the girl, she was great. 

Because of her fucking waterbed. 

The waterbed fad was all the rage in the 70’s and 80’s and took a sharp decline in the 90’s when my young, sexual self encountered one. I’d slept on one before and hated it. The constant rocking and motion made me slightly nauseous. Nautical I was not. Thus, I never considered my first time a-rocking would come on top of this wood-paneled obstacle course. 

Let me paint the picture: it was 1991 and I’d just turned 16. I’d met this girl through a friend. We had a lot in common, loved the same books and enjoyed talking on the phone all night night. And, as young, horny minds go, sex was something that we talked about...a lot. A lot, a lot. 

She’d already had sex, whereas I had not. So, I told her I had, but only once. We decided when we got together next, we were totally going to do it. 

For you younger folks, all this shit predates cellphones with cameras, Skype, Instagram, Snapchat and all the other made-for-teen-sex social media outlets. God bless you lucky fuckers. So anyway, the day came and I was ready, I knocked out the first few rounds myself before going (when you’re that young, it’s easy and you don’t want to go into our first time as a 3-pump-chump). 

We talked, we hung out, we watched a video and then it was time. Time for The Sex. My mind was getting dumber as all my blood left my brain while my heart beat pounded out the drum solo to In A Gadda Da Vida. We kissed down the hallway to her bedroom, went inside and we sat down...on her waterbed. 

First, I almost fell the fuck over, trying to sit and kiss. When it was time to take each others clothes off, I damn near dislocated my hip and shoulder, trying like all hell to balance myself, maintain my pseudo suavity and an erection while also trying not to fall off this ridiculous thing. 

When the clothes came off, foreplay began. That was good and stable, no problem. But, when my turn to give was over, I tried crawling over the frame to get to my knees to put the condom on. Well, I slipped. My hand almost punched her in the face as my full body weight came down and my leg shot back, cracking hard against the goddamn frame and scraping the shit out of my left leg from my instep to my knee. 

“Are you OK?” She asked. 

“Of course,” I smiled, while inside screaming in pain. But, I was a 16 year old boy. I had the sexual tolerance of a viking. Hell, if she had told me to stick a lit candle in my ass because she thought it was sexy, I probably would have asked her where she kept her matches. 

OK, I honestly looked for a candle in a man's butt for this pic...but not that hard

So, once I had the condom on, it was sex time. So far, so good. Until the actual rhythmic act started. With each thrust, the waterbed would ripple and kind of push back, knocking me off my game (or what passed for “game” when you’re a virgin without the internet). It was like there was a third person in the bed and they were NOT helping. It was bloody well clear this bed was not on my team. I tried to find a pattern which made her happy, but all I heard, over the shitty goth music she was into, was the constant thwap-thwap-thwap of teen skin on vinyl. 

We changed positions, to the style of the dogs, and again, with my piss-poor sea legs, what started nice turned to hell very quickly as I lost my balance and nearly broke my dick off. I attempted several times to find the right balance of sexy and safe, never quite getting there. 

Sigh. 

Eventually this girl, who had the patience of a saint, took over, put me on my back and took care of business. This was far safer, and far better. I had a great view, despite feeling like I was drowning as I sunk down in the bed. 

All in all, as she put it, I did “fine” for my first time (Yes I told her afterwards). Based off my limited knowledge, “Fine” equated to a D+/C- and goddamn it, I’d take a passing grade. 

We never had sex again. We remained friends for several years but eventually lost contact. 

But I’ll never forget my first time. And how much I loathe waterbeds. I refused to go near them for years and was thankful when that fad was over. I felt like the waterbed was my enemy, and mad at me for having sex with that girl. Who would have thought a bed could be such a cock-blocker?

Over the years, I learned my lesson, I upped my game. I trained. I watched the videos...yes the dirty ones. 

And...not to brag...one day I turned that “fine” into a “pretty good”. 

And I knew that no inanimate object of leisure would ever make me its bitch again!

Until the night I tried to have sex in a hammock.

...Fuck that hammock. 

It was a lot like this...

My Wife: Her Addiction - My Suffering

I see her, lying there. Asleep is not the word. She is passed out. Her body pushed past their limits. Her addiction has, once again, ruined her mind, left her body unable to maintain consciousness. 

What am I to do?

Do I keep pretending that this isn’t happening. In front of me?

In front of our son?

We joke about it sometimes. How it started recreationally. How it was just harmless fun. And, it was. Even I’ve dabbled a little. But, it didn’t grip me. Not like it did her.

Fucking Cookie Jam. 

Last night, my once beautiful wife succumbed to exhaustion with that accursed phone in her hand. I came back from the bathroom in our pitch black bedroom to see her once, angelic face, illuminated by the screen of her phone. Her body was simply shut down, as drool slowly made its way free from her contorted lips. 

Now, she sees me, and the world, as she does that game. She aligns items in the house in groups of three, or four. I see her, hoping for a magical animated pastry to appear and reward her for her work. 

It never comes. 

And she dies a little. 

So, with all the bravado of the cowardly lion, I hang my head in resignation. Too weak to do anything. Anything of merit anyway. I just take her phone from her stiff fingers and place it on the nightstand, within arms reach when she wakes. I make sure the phone has a charge, less the withdrawal sets in. 

Chasing the Digital Sugar Dragon is a real affliction 

 Instead of helping, I enable. 

 I am weak. 

 I am afraid. 

Afraid to tell her to stop. To tell her the game eats her phone’s battery life. That there are far better match-3 games on the Google Market. But she never listens. 

 Instead, I retreat to my space and weep. 

And I play Clash Royale. Because it is better. 

Fuck you Cookie Jam. 

And fuck me. 

 -fin-

Self Mockery: Gurgling Guts pt. 2 -or- Brown Butt 2: Electric Boogaloo

“This above all: to thine own self, be true.”

Polonius, Act 1, Scene 3

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

One of the ways I chose to lead when I was in the Air Force was NEVER to pretend I was infallible (worst kind of leadership). I chose to expose my weaknesses, to show those who worked for me how I failed in my youth, and what I did to bounce back. And, yes, I would often use myself as the butt of the joke. Because you have to learn to laugh at yourself. 

 So, anyone who suffers from an irritable bowel will appreciate what I am about to say. Those who don’t, well, just laugh along as I tell you about the three best times when I almost shit my pants as an adult. I will break this segment into three mini-essays to be released over time. And now, I give you #2. 

 ~Number 2~

 The Urinalysis Failure in the Gynecological Waiting Room -or- The Gyno-Exam Gaggle of Giggling Girls - February 1996

I’d decided to join the Air Force. 

 Well, let’s be honest, I was pretty much out of options. I’d partied too much at college and watched my 3.8 drop to a 1.6 in one semester while away at a state school. After which, I had to get my fast-food job back to pay room and board at my own home. In that time I’d also wrecked my truck. Hell, I was one one divorce and a dead dog away from a country song. 

I'll never forget you Blue!

 So, to the military it was. I went to the Air Force recruiter, signed some papers, took some tests and the process started. My first step to becoming an Airman was MEPS.

 MEPS is the Military Entrance Processing Station. It is the place you got before you do your final signature, where they make you go under a barrage of medical tests, humiliating duck walks while in your underwear and aptitude testing. The night before, you get put up in a hotel and allowed free reign for your 18-24yr old hormones to go crazy. 

 So, after the night in the hotel, you go to the MEPS facility early in the morning following breakfast. Upon arrival, you are herded like cattle from one station to another. Forced to strip, told to pick up a certain amount of weight above your head, checked for flat feet and perform weird acts like bending over to show your asshole to a strange man.  

Man...I hoped that guy actually worked there... 

Promise me you'll call me after!!

 ... So anyway, they don’t give you much time to do anything but go from one test to another. The stress is kinda high. I’d eaten breakfast, had coffee and I really...REALLY...had to go to the bathroom. After the next idiotic appointment, I stopped one of the ladies who worked there. 

 “Ma’am, I really need to go to the bathroom. Where’s the nearest one?”

 “Which group are you in?”

 “What? I don’t know. Why?”

 “Hmm,” she said, looking at a clipboard. “You haven’t had your urinalysis yet. You’ll be able to go then.”

 “Ma’am...it’s #2.”

 “Oh, well, I’m sorry,” She said. “You’ll have to hold it. You can’t do one without the other.”

 “This is kind of an emergency.”

 “Sorry.”

 So, The Countess Connie Von GoShityourself (as I like to remember her) waddled away leaving me clenching my ass and wiping my brow as the poop-sweats have set in. 

 Deep down, I hated her and her ugly "I Want To Speak to the Manager" haircut.

Luckily, the next stop in the processing station was the urinalysis. So, when it was my turn I stood at the urinal with my pee cup in one hand, my manhood in the other, trying like hell to mentally shut off one valve while opening another. 

 With every ounce of will I could muster, along with a minor touch of flatulence, I managed to squeezed out just enough drops without shitting myself. When the guy administering the urinalysis looked at the bottle he had to judge whether or not I reached the line. 

 Once he confirmed I gave enough, I was free to go. 

 Or at least I thought. 

 “Where are you going?” The urinalysis monitor asked. 

 “I really, really need to go to the bathroom.”

 “Well, not in here you won’t.”

 I looked around, perplexed. “This is the men’s room.”

 “Yes, but we don’t want you messing the place up while the urinalysis testing is going on.”

 “Well, where CAN I go then?” I asked

 “Another bathroom.”

 “Where?”

 “I don’t know.”

So, The PoopNazi (No Poop for you!...that’s a Seinfeld joke for you young people) banished me from the bathroom to search for another bathroom, with no success. I had about 20ish minutes until my next appointment and with what I had brewing, I’d need all of that time. The pain was starting to set in, with sharp jabs in the guts. 

I was at pucker-factor 5. 

I ran into the Countess Connie Von GoShityourself in the hallway. I begged her for directions to the nearest bathroom. With a sigh of contempt for this mere peasant, the royal B-word gave me a very circuitous route to take to a bathroom she “thought” was still in use. 

With one hand pinching my butt cheeks together, I did my best penguin waddle along the maze of interconnected hallways of the MEPS facility. I reached the office door she described, opened the door and walked in...

...to the reception area for the female recruits gynecologic exam. Needless to say, the small rectangular room was FULL of young women waiting. To my right, was the door which read “Restoom”. To my left, was the door which led to the Dr.’s office. 

“Ladies,” I said nodding as I walked past about twenty young women to the bathroom. 

To the TINY...single toilet...no fan...hollow core door with a 1” gap to the floor...bathroom. 

Goddamn it. 

It wasn't this bad...for the sake of the story, this was pretty much it. 

I turned on the water to try and muffle what was about to happen. 

It didn’t work. 

As I expelled, what could only be described as a noxious bio-hazard with accompanying sonic-boom flatulence and miasma-like clouds of brown and green death, I could hear the girls outside the world tiniest bathroom, laughing. 

 I did my best to try and poop with dignity. But, is there such a thing? I was in there for over 15 minutes, as all the backed up pressure released itself in wave after painful, and embarrassing, wave.

 When I was done and cleaned up, I washed my hands and prepared myself for what lay on the other side of the door. Would they laugh? Cheer? Hmm...probably not cheer. Thankfully, this event predated cellphones and portable video capturing devices, otherwise ole Gibby would be a Youtube sensation with over a million views for that power-crap. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a heavy heart, I had my hand on the doorknob, trying to recall the exact layout of the reception room so I could sprint and just get the fuck out of there. I opened the door...to nothing. 

They were all gone. 

I checked for dead bodies in case one of them had gotten a whiff of what came out of me. I was at ground zero, so I had a built up tolerance. But no, nothing. No bodies, no gaggle of girls ready to laugh at me like I had an inappropriate boner (thanks freshman year Spanish class! No I DON’T want to come to the board and write out Donde esta el bano),

 At the end of the day, we were filtered back to a waiting area for our recruiter to come pick us up. I’d put my contacts back in, taken off my outer shirt and put my hat on as I just tried to chill in case I was recognized as the crap-bandit. 

 A couple of girls sat down in the lounge’s chairs next to me. They were talking about, guess what, “The guy who shit up the gyno office.”

 Since they didn’t react to me, I decided to tempt fate. 

 “Excuse me, what happened?” I asked one of the girls. 

 “Oh, some dude came into the office during the gynecologic exam. He went into the bathroom and started sitting so loudly we all heard it! It was the funniest thing ever! It was so nasty! What a loser!”

 “I feel bad for the guy,” The other girl said. 

 I decided when I rule the world, she would be spared. I dubbed her Compassionate Kate. That other one though...to the salt-mines with her. “Really? That’s nasty,” I laughed along. “Has anyone seen him since?”

 “No,” The first girl, Salt-Mine Slave Sally said. “He’s about your height, but he’s got glasses and a black and white flannel shirt.”

 “If I see him, I’ll ask him if he’s had a shitty day,” I said smiling, while trying desperately to stuff my black and white flannel shirt into the couch cushions behind the small of my back.

 When the girls went back to their conversation, I hid my face behind a magazine and plotted the demise of Salt-Mine Slave Sally, the Countess Connie Von GoShityourself and The PoopNazi. Meanwhile, Compassionate Kate and I will rule the land! We will be fair, yet firm, with moist, flushable wet wipes in all the bathrooms. This I decree!

Some people in the world need to have a heart. Others a sense of humor. But there is a special place in hell for those who mock another when they are about to shit their pants. 

I still have that black and white flannel shirt and I get a good giggle out of it from time to time when I wear it. If nothing else, it left me with a funny story and left a shitty memory for those girls. 

The actual shirt of Fecal Legends

Wherever you are out there Compassionate Kate, I wish you all the best and lifetime of happiness. 

Salt-Mine Slave Sally...I hope you have herpes. 

...Coming Soon:

 ~Number 1: The Great Gastric Geyser -or- How I Dodged the Police With My Pants Around My Ankles

Movie Madness: Star Wars - Gary’s Gamorrean Vengence -or- Pig Guard Blues

This is my story!!

In the wake of the new wave of Star Wars in the zeitgeist, we the fans are being treated to upcoming one-off films. Rouge One, for example, which is about the spies who stole the plans to the OG Death Star. And, the young Han Solo movies, which will make money but be critically split because no matter who you get or what you do, it will be compared to Harrison Ford. 

 No doubt the upcoming films will be treats for the eyes and ears, with plenty of old Star Wars reference vehicles, scenes, plots to make fans happy, and super fans run to the internet, blasting this new wave of Disney toy commercial propaganda with all the seething hate their fingers can type.

 That is why I’m throwing my hat, and story, into the ring. I’m putting my story out there before some bigger hack than me, steals it and calls it his own. I DARE any film maker to take on this epic property and reap the benefits of the greatest non-Jedi story of the Star Wars universe. 

 I present you with this:

 Star Wars - Gary’s Gamorrean Vengence -or- Pig Guard Blues. The epic story of Gary the pig Guard. After his fall from grace, we watch him rise to become the greatest warlord and bounty hunter the galaxy has ever seen. All in an epic quest to destroy Luke Skywalker and get his manhood back.

 Yeah, that’s right! It’s the story of one of the gamorrean pig guards from Jabba’s Palace. If you recall in Return of the Jedi, Luke came into Jabba’s palace and force choked the two pig guards who were just doing their duty. You know, guarding shit. 

And in walks this punk kid motherfucker who just a couple short movies ago was whining about power converters and kissing his sister. So now, he has a lightsaber, a robe, a tenuous grasp of The Force and here he is, choking poor guards because he can.

 Asshole. 

Yeah...pretty Light Side there dick-nuts!

 So what happened next? Luke tried to mind-trick Jabba who was having none of that. Jabba popped the trapdoor and dropped Luke into the Rancor pit. As Luke fell, he pulled one of the two gamorrean guards down with him. Poor pig guard #2 became a ham sandwich for the Rancor’s mid-meal snack. 

Steve! No!!!!

 But, what happened to the first pig guard? I like to call him Gary. And this, my friends, is what I imagine happened to Gary. This is his story. 

 The following is a rough treatment of the first installment of Gary The Pig Guard’s epic adventure. (Note: this is not written in any particular style. I should do it in screenplay format, and one day I might. For now, just enjoy the ramblings of an idiot [read: Me])

---

 ...Long, Long ago in a galaxy far, far away, the Gamorrean Guard, Gary, watched his best friend die. Eaten by the Rancor after Luke Skywalker pulled him through the trapdoor. After it happened and the laughter of Luke falling in the pit died down, Gary watched as his best friend and cousin, Steve, die. Eaten alive.

Gary, well, Gary couldn’t believe it. When his shift was over, Gary got into his landspeeder and headed home. All the while, he replayed the images of the day over and over in his head. Sure, he’d been in tough fights before. But Steve was always there, getting his back. But never had Gary been manhandled like that before. Choked to the point to where his eyes bulged. His only moment of comfort came when he saw his best friend Steve, suffering with him. The shared pain almost made it tolerable.

Gary and Steve laughed when Jabba wasn’t susceptible to Skywalker’s mind tricks. But Gary didn’t laugh when Steve died. It was like a part of him was gone forever. The fleeting nature of life, snuffed out with one chomp.

Parking his speeder, Gary went into his domed home on Tatooine, his wife Gretchen, greeted him with a hug. Gary smelled the dinner she’d prepared and heard his kids calling his name, but he was in a haze. He just couldn’t look at them. The ironic things was, family was supposed to make one feel better. But, it was his family which reminded him of the family he’d lost that day.

 After dinner and after the kids went to sleep, Gary and his wife tried to be intimate. But, having been dominated by that pasty human made him feel weak. Powerless. His erection failed him no matter how hard he tried. Gretchen’s questioning of “What’s wrong with you?” made it worse.

 Gary faked a headache and said he was tired and rolled over. But he didn’t sleep.

 The next day, Gary received a holo-transmission from one of the other guards. Jabba was dead. Boba Fett was dead. Gary’s job, and all his friends, were gone. Thanks to Skywalker. The holo-image showed Skywalker kicking the main skiff’s cannons and swinging away as Jabba’s pleasure barge exploded. All those people. All his friends. Dead.

 Gary sat there and said nothing. He just started to cry.

 “What’s the matter with you?” Gretchen sneered. “Not much of a man, are you. My mother was right, you are pathetic.”

“Not now Gretchen,” Gary said. Their marriage had been on the rocks for years. They had kids to help bring them together. It didn’t work.

“What are you going to do about it?” Gretchen asked loudly. “How are you going to provide for us now?!”

“Not NOW Gretchen!”

“Oh, raising your voice. Big man. If you were a real man, you’d go after that guy.”

“I’m a real man,” Gary said, a half whisper. He didn’t know if he said it to her or a mantra to himself.

 “Steve’s a real man!”

 “Steve?”

“Yeah, Steve! At least Steve knew how to fuck!” Gretchen said, crossing her arms staring at her husband with contempt. “Yeah, that’s right, we used to fuck all the time while you were on duty. He’s a real Gamorrean. What? You think those kids are yours?”

Gary...started to laugh.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

 “Steve’s dead you unfaithful bitch!” Gary roared as he stood up suddenly, flipping the dining room table. “Have fun fucking a ghost.”

“I’m leaving you Gary!”

“Who’s stopping you?!” Gary yelled back as he threw a chair at her. “Get out and take Steve’s kids with you!”

***

 Later that night, and two bottles of imported whiskey from Coruscant later, Gary stood on top of the dining room table. He placed the noose around his neck and tightened it. In the corner of the room, Gary watched the holo-replay of Skywalker next to the picture of his wife and kids. Well, Steve’s kids.

Gretchen said to do something about it. And Gary did.

He stepped off the table.

Once again, Gary felt the choking around his neck. Just like what started everything, it would be what ended everything. His eyes bulged the air in his lungs burned. In a few moments, he would be finally at peace.

A loud crack and snap echoed through the quiet home as four hundred pounds of Gary fell to the floor. Gary looked up and saw that his weight had broken the beam.

Gary couldn’t even kill himself right. He was a loser.

 The sound of an explosion caught his attention. He saw Skywalker once again. And...something happened. Gary smiled.

 He knew, he would never be weak again. Gary would rise up. Gary would become more. So much more.

Gary returned to Jabba’s palace and claimed it for his own. Anyone who stood in his way, he killed. Gary began exercising and reading. Strengthening his mind and body. He learned about economic trade as well as ancient forms of martial arts. He brought in master bounty hunters and learned their ways.

In time, Gary turned the crumbled ruin of Jabba’s business into a profitable, ruthless organization. Every night, Gary feasted on the finest foods and slept with the most beautiful courtesans money could buy. This smarter, leaner, muscular and educated garmorrean had it all.

 All but the one thing he truly desired. Gary would not rest until the day came when he could hold Skywalker’s neck and in his hands and squeeze.

Intentional Trolling: Severus Snape Discovers the Friend Zone - Or - How Harry’s Parents were Assholes.

And my future husband will be a total asshole, won't that be great Severus? You can be my best friend and watch me with him!

Several years ago, after the final (?) chapter of Harry Potter was printed, distributed and read came the two-part thrilling conclusion movies. Well, the second one was thrilling. The first was boring as all shit with one good cry scene. 

(Damn it, I’m gonna miss you Dobby! <sniff-sniff> May you find all the socks in CGI-Elf heaven!!)

Dobby...watched you...sleep Harry Potter...and Dobby...pleasured himself

Following the films release, there was a video floating around out there, re-ordering Snape’s flashbacks and pivotal moments, painting him as a great sympathetic hero. One who held a deep and passionate unrequited love of Lilly Potter and who was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the heroes to win. If you Google Severus and Lilly, there are a ton of fan-art images, depicting this. (And also a surprising amount depicting some hot Severus-on-James action.)

Don't worry Lilly...Iv'e seen Weekend at Bernies

Snape was an awkward young man who defended Lilly from her angry sister. The two developed a friendship. While Severus clearly developed feelings for Lilly, she discovered the ancient male/female spell - Friendus Zoneus. 

<Alan Rickman Voice> No, I'm not...Kylo...Ren

As the two went to Hogwarts, she was sorted into Gryffindor and he into Slytherin. There she met her future husband James Potter while our sad-sack Severus started his dark path to being a Death Eater. We all read the books, we know where this goes. He becomes a Death Eater following the dark lord Snake-Face McTesticle-Head, while Lilly and James play hide-the-wand and make Harry. After the fatal events in Godric’s Hollow, Snape comes over to Team Dumbledore, protecting the child of the woman he loved and in the end, sacrifices himself. 

And we applaud that.

What a load of bullshit. 

Snape was great character until the reveal of his connection with Lilly. You had a complex character in Snape, who was dark, mysterious and made a great antagonistic foil/ally to Harry. And, in true Harry Potter fashion, an element was introduced which negated everything. Like Harry and the prophecy which equated to his preordained destiny and subsequent victory (Yes Potter peeps, I know about the Neville theories,-- and how hot he's gotten) negating failure as an option. 

Damn Longbottom. I

In Snape’s case, his attachment to Lilly erased his character’s motivation. In turn, it was replaced with a much more pedestrian and mundane trope: the friend zone character. Snape was not noble. He was not romantic. He became a serial stalker with a fixation on Lilly. Instead of finding his own patronus, he copied hers. Everything he did was because of her. When she rejected him, he went to the dark side. When she was threatened, Dumbledore used that leverage to sway him over as a double agent to his side.Everything he did, action or inaction, was for her. That’s not noble...that’s sad. 

He was Ducky from Pretty in Pink. 

Except Snape didn’t get Kristy Swanson at the end. What he did get was a face full of snake bites. 

Professor Snape, Wasn't Naginni a python? I thought they constricted and weren't venomous?

Shut...up, Potter. Let me...die in, peace. Plus, I totally stroked my wand to...images of...your mother.

You're a bad person Professor.

Fuck you Harry...fuck...you

I can hear some of the Potterverse fans now: “But but, he loved her. A deep emotional love and he was willing to do anything for her and her child!”

Like what? His cruelty towards Harry? His outright hatred for the boy who wasn’t his? Look back in the books and movies. Snape was mean, torturous and venomous to Harry. Why? Because he was also Jame’s son. The guy who got the girl. 

Which leads me to my last point. Harry’s douchebag parents. James was a bully. He flaunted his magic against Snape, embarrassing him and being flat out jerk while his cronies, Black, Lupin and Wormtail, cheered him on. 

Doesn't Hogwarts have safespaces or trigger warnings against bullies?!

And that dick was the man who Lilly fell in love with. 

Bravo.

Once again, the jerk who doesn’t play by the rule finds happiness while the person who does what is  right (at first anyway) is punished and goes down a dark path. 

In summation, Snape wasn’t brave our courageous.His love-from-afar shtick wasn’t something to be applauded. He was weak person who allowed someone else define him, be it Lilly, Voldemort or Dumbledore.

But, in a rare moment of defense, I’ll say this: at least the movie/books reflected real life. Those who   love selflessly (or stalkery?), are punished. Those who are desired tend to gravitate to the assholes of their respective gender. You know, how most people’s teens-to-late 20s/early 30s go. Don’t believe me? Match.com is up to 40M US subscribers and climbing!

 Hell, it would be nice if Hogwarts was real. Go there as a kid and your damn sure to find your future  partner. Harry & Ginny, Hermione & Ron, Lilly & James etc...

 ** Confessional Time: We all have fell victim to the Friend Zone in one way or another. I know I have. In my era, the Offspring’s Self Esteem was an anthem for such people and times in our lives. I honestly  recognize the real person, with real faults Ms. Rowling was illustrating for us. I mock Snape because I  feel bad for anyone who, at that (or any) stage in their life, still exist in a world where they let others tell them  who they are. Be proud of who  you are. Never let others define you. You are beautiful being YOU. Live long and strong! 

 ~MK Gibson

Self Mockery: Gurgling Guts & the Impending Brown Doom -or- My Butt Trouble, pt. 1

“This above all: to thine own self, be true.”

Polonius, Act 1, Scene 3

Hamlet by William Shakespeare

One of the ways I chose to lead when I was in the Air Force was never to pretend I was infallible (worst kind of leadership). I chose to expose my weaknesses, to show those who worked for me how I failed in my youth, and what I did to bounce back. And, yes, I would often use myself as the butt of the joke. Because you have to learn to laugh at yourself. 

So, anyone who suffers from an irritable bowel will appreciate what I am about to say. Those who don’t, well, just laugh along as I tell you about the three best times when I almost shit my pants as an adult. I will break this segment into three mini-essays to be released over time. And now, I give you #3. 

~Number 3~

The Bank Forest Ass Blast - January 2014, 0600

On the road at 0515 (that’s military talk for fucking early in the morning). 45 miles from home to work. Between the two interstates to work is a 10-mile stretch of dark, desolate 2-lane country road. For some reason that morning, everyone and their mothers was on that stretch of road trying to save time. The only problem?

The previous night, as a late-night snack, I’d had Quaker Oatmeal Squares. Or, as I call them, Fiber Time Bombs. 

I can’t help myself. They’re delicious. And I am weak. 

Drinking my coffee while stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, I lit a cigarette in frustration as we crept along between 0-to-25 mph. That was when my stomach started churning. 

Oh no...the oatmeal squares. The time bomb was active. I looked at my lit cigarette and hot coffee. Oh fuck me. I’d lit the fuse. Rookie mistake. Now? Now it was just a matter of minutes. Ahead of me...nothing but a sea of brake lights and miles to a bathroom.

 Frantically, I started the stalling process. Anyone who suffers from IBS knows what I mean. Roll down the window, crank the AC and start cooling off the body. It helps lower your core temp and buys you a few precious minutes. 

 I felt my body respond, but not well. I had...10-minutes max. But I still had 7 miles to go until I hit the next interstate and then 12 miles to get to work. After that, I would still need to park and then duck walk into the first bathroom I saw. Best case scenario with this traffic: 30 minutes to a toilet with only a 10-minute stall time. 

I was going to shit my pants. 

 I looked to the left and the right. I could pull over on the side of the road. It was mostly unpopulated forest with no street lights. I could pull over, park, and run into the woods. Sure, I would suffer the humiliation of people watching and honking. But it was better than soiling myself. 

 Wait! The cars were picking up! We were driving faster! At the end of this 2-lane road was a gas station at the interstate junction! Saved! I put the foot down on the accelerator and hauled ass. 

 NO! NO NO NO! More brake lights! Damn you, vehicular accordion effect! And now the unpopulated wooded stretch of this road was replaced with residential homes. I couldn’t just shit in someone’s front yard. Could I? And it wasn’t quite 6am. Would a stranger let me in before 6am to destroy their bathroom? I was in uniform. Perhaps I could say I was commandeering their toilet?

 No...stupid. 

 OK Gibson...time to summon all the lessons learned from watching old martial arts movies. You summon your chi-power, control your breathing and will your asshole to obey you. 

 Asshole?

Yeah?

 You shall NOT shit!

 Heh...nice Gandalf. But I’m going to spew this fiber sludge all over your clothes and seats in, oh....2 minutes. In the meantime, enjoy the cramps and sweating!

Why asshole? Why? Aren’t we friends?

Eh? You only talk to me when you’re in trouble. 

I don’t deserve this!

You’re the idiot who ate a bowl of oatmeal squares before bed. You know what they do to you. How many times do we have to go through this?

Asshole...you’re an asshole. 

But, during my completely sane metal/rectum conversation, I see it. The lights of the gas station ahead! HA! Fuck you asshole!

I managed to pull into the gas station, only to see the sign on the door: “Closed until further notice.”

I wanted to cry. I was literally seconds away from exploding and there was nothing I could do about it. 

No. I refuse. I will NOT shit myself. Not this day!

I look at the intersection. Three routes. One way was back to the interstate. No time. The other direction was residential with street lights. No go there. But in the last direction, I saw it. A bank. A bank which was closed, but had private parking, lights off, outdoor lights off and several rows of decorative, 15ft-tall pine trees. A great place to hide. 

Time to make a deposit. 

I pulled the car around and hopped out, reaching into the back seat for a small hand towel. Why did I have one? Because I’m the asshole who keeps taking the “free” ones from the gym. The ones you’re supposed to return when you’re done so they can wash them. And because people like me take them, it causes the gym to no longer hand them out. 

 Sorry. 

The cold, winter winds of the frosty January morning hit me in the face as I backed into the row of pine trees, while I looked to my left and right, keeping an eye out for prying eyes. No one. The coast was clear. I dropped my pants as the wind picked up and the frigid air hit my nutsack, causing it to slingshot up into my body while the near 20 degree air was shriveling my junk. I looked like a six-foot 4 year old. 

Squatting, I said a little prayer to whatever deity was looking out for me, while simultaneously muttering a Haitian-Voodoo curse on the bastards at Quaker Oats for making their delicious cereal so inviting, but so rectally deadly. 

 I cleaned up with the hand towel and fled the scene of the crime as fast as possible. The rest of the day went much better. And did I keep it a secret?

 Nope. 

I told all my co-workers (I ruined lunch for several people). I believe in laughing at yourself. It is how you stay humble and it lets people know you’re just as human as they are. 

Coming Soon...

 ~Number 2~ The Urinalysis Failure & the Gynecological Waiting Room

Review: Batman v. Superman - Dawn of Justice -OR - The $500M Battle of the Butt-Chins

Fast Review for Short Attention Spans: 

 Batman v. Superman is a decent superhero movie which is getting a lot of hate from critics and decent reviews from fans. Is it great? No. But, it is above average. It is slow at times and prefers to focus on Batman than anything else. The movie is worth a watch for you to judge for yourself. 

 You can skip to the bottom to see my Final Grade - Based off the Girlfriend Scale

 Summary:

 Batman v. Supeman - Dawn of Justice was a gorgeous looking movie which explores the consequences of Superman’s actions from 2013’s Man of Steel. The film is very heavy and cerebral as it wrestles with superheroes, their existence and whether or not mankind need them. In true DC cinematic universe fashion, the colors are muted, the characters are moody and levity is sparse. Bruce Wayne/Batman as well as Lex Luthor, grapple with the concept of Superman and what his godly power, alien existence and destructive potential, mean to world. 

Zombies are pro Superman

 Real Talk:

Batman v. Superman - Dawn of Justice took a couple of days for me to digest. My first reaction after watching it was...not for me. And, after 72 hours, I stand by that decision. The movie was not made for me. But I did not hate it and I think the movie has its merits.

 **Now, before I go into this, I will not spoil any major plot points. But, I will discuss some things which people may not want to know ahead of time. I will go on record saying that while this is not a direct sequel to Man of Steel, it is directly tied to it.**

 We open with yet another retelling of Batman’s origin where his parents are gunned down and young Bruce was forced to watch. We are gifted with a very beautiful and haunting way of seeing the Wayne’s deaths, with emphasis on Bruce’s mother, Martha. In fact, a lot of this movie hinges on how the heroes, Batman and Superman, relate to the women close to them. But that is not necessarily a good thing.

 Following the events of Man of Steel, Bruce/Batman has a vendetta against Superman. Think of him as a man of the people and your window into this world. Simultaneously, Clark Kent is hell bent on investigating and stopping the violent vigilante justice of the Batman. So, naturally, our titular heroes are on a collision course. 

 Lex Luthor Jr., played by Jesse Eisenberg is a genius level intellect, gifted man with possible autistic like traits. He is not the Lex Luthor from classic DC, but that Lex’s son. He is his eccentric, fast-talking, rambling and burdened with too much knowledge. Lex is seeking access to the Kryptionian warship from Man of Steel which crash landed in Metropolis (and conveniently is still in the city after 2 years) and access to more of the strange material, kryptonite, from various alien wreckage sites. He wants the government to back him as he seeks to create a Superman deterrent. 

 Now, I’m going to be honest, Eisenberg’s performance, in my opinion, went for Heath Ledger’s Joker, Tom Hiddleston’s Loki and David Tennant’s Kilgrave from Jessica Jones. And he missed. Rather than being a psycho who is charming, he is creepy, off-putting and bombastic. As the movie continues, his plan, if you can call it that, seemed to be whatever Zack Snyder, his army of writers and the plot needed. His character's arc goes from quirky, to crazy, to obsessed, to zealot. But, at least he wasn’t boring.

I swear he looks like Daniel Tosh in a wig.

 Which brings me to Amy Adam’s Lois Lane and Henry Cavil’s Superman. If you saw Man of Steel, then you saw the exact same, sad, joyless performances. Lois is used as little more than a damsel in distress constantly. Superman’s demeanor is once again portrayed as the last person to the party throughout the movie as he plays catch up to vastly smarter people. In almost every instance where Superman is on the screen, he is in reaction mode as opposed to proactive. Perhaps that is how he has always been portrayed, but it is somewhat dull on screen. 

 The breakout star of the movie is Ben Affleck. Yes, I said it. I will 100% admit to being one of the haters when he was announced as Batman. But, Ben brings it in a major way. This is the comic movie Batman I’ve been waiting for. He’s not perfect, but he’s the best we’ve seen. And yes, I place him above Bale in the Nolan trilogy. Affleck’s performance as Batman is raw, human power. This batman is unhinged, prone to violence, has psychotic breaks in reality and uses fear and darkness to his benefit. Now, he is not the detective we know him from comics. Some may argue this. But I feel this Batman is the proactive force while Superman is the reactive one. He deeply resents Superman to the point of obsession. But, that hatred turns on a dime as a the plot required it, leading them to act as allies.

Suck my Bat-asshole all you haters!! I rule!

 Wonder Woman, as Diana Prince, has a few appearances in the movie. When she is revealed in the film as the Wonder Woman character, it is drowned out by an in-house musical arrangement that is part Led Zepplin synth and Xena, but not in a good way. However, her action scenes are top-notch and from what they show of her and her back story, I am excited for her stand alone movie. 

Forgive my music...please

 The rest of the Justice League has minor cameo’s that some people did not like how it was presented. I did. I felt it was a better way to do it than shoehorn in too much which would detract from the overall narrative. 

 Now, with that said, the plot is razor thin. Some people don’t like Superman, his power and what happens in his wake. They go to great lengths to love or discredit him. Lex forces a confrontation between Batman and Superman. Then, yes, Doomsday appears as the trailers revealed. This thin plot is deeply flawed by an overly long, winding movie that takes it’s sweet time getting anywhere using a lot of exposition and many aimless side-plots.

The Mines of Moria cave-troll and Ninja Turtle love child

 Some defenders of this movie will claim the general populace is too accustomed (read: dumbed down by some blog sites) to Marvel’s way of telling a story. Maybe that is true. Maybe it isn’t. But, there was a 45-50 minute stretch following the opening to the middle where very little happened or plot was advanced. So, you watch it and judge for yourself. 

 I want to close on a couple last thoughts. First, I feel this was Batman’s movie above all else. The best lines, the best scenes, the best action and the best plot, revolves around him. He was the star of the movie and I feel Zack Snyder really wanted to direct a Batman film. Second, with how the movie’s third act progressed I am excited to see where the Justice League movies go. Third, the final plot-point of the film felt forced and unnecessary and serves to only answer the argument the opening of the movie presented of whether we need heroes or not. 

 My last point, and perhaps the reason this movie did not resonate with me, is because I am a fan of the Warner Bros./DC animated series of Batman, Superman and the Justice League. To me, these portrayals of DC’s heroes are THE BEST representations. Superman in these series was powerful and wise. Wonder Woman was powerful and complex. Batman was a detective first, warrior second and lived by a code. The Batman in Batman v. Superman kills. Yes, he kills people now. He literally shot a truck full of bad guys, blew them up and drove the batmobile through the burning wreckage and their corpses. I applaud Warner/DC for taking chances in this movie, but I feel they were the wrong chances. 

The definitive DC representation

 Final Summary:

 Batman v. Superman - Dawn of Justice was, in many ways, Zack Snyder’s 2009 Watchmen all over again. Pretty, well constructed, slow, brooding and beating you over the head with morality and its own importance. Sadly, muted colors and frowning actors against a 9/11 backdrop does not give it gravitas. The movie was beautiful and presented on a grand scale. It gave us a definitive Batman, powerful Wonder Woman and a glimpse of the coming Justice League. The movie grapples with real world(ish) consequences of superheroes and for that alone, you should applaud what the movie attempts. The movie begs the question: Does the world want superheroes? But, who is it asking? The audience that paid money to see a superhero movie? Or was Zack Snyder, once again asking, “Who watches the Watchmen?” When Batman v. Superman works, it really works. When it drags, it really drags. Did I like it? No...and oddly, yes. Would I see it again? Yes. 

 Final Grade - Based off the Girlfriend Scale:

 Your girlfriend comes out of the bedroom wearing a new outfit, her hair done up and dazzling make-up. She asks you how she looks and you respond “You look fine.”

 Read into that what you will. 

Dirty Nerdy Question: Does Batman Masturbate?

Alfred? Alfred? Hmm...hello interwebz

The scene:

 Batman is sitting in the Batcave in front of the Batcomputer looking for something to investigate. But, crime is at an all time low in Gotham as most of the big name criminals are in Arkham or Blackgate and the low-life street thugs are in hiding as their bosses are in prison. Robin is off doing young people things. Alfred is up in the mansion...I don’t know, butlering. And the Justice League has taken care of this month’s cosmic threat already. 

 Essentially, Batman has the night off. But, there is no gala event for Bruce Wayne to attend, his company is running smoothly and Lucius Fox has installed global internet and back door access into every server in the world. 

 Does Batman then take out his Bat-mite and beat it like it was an escaped Joker?

 Reasoning behind this:

 Batman is the most superhuman “normal guy” in all of comics. He is a master of countless marital arts. He is basically a PhD in multiple courses like, criminology, forensics, psychology, chemistry and mechanical engineering. He is in peak physical form and maintains a workout regiment that would kill the world’s greatest cross-fit champion (but doesn’t have to bring it up in every F-ing conversation...you know who you are). 

 So, with this high-functioning sociopathic mind, is he human enough to dabble from time-to-time in the ancient art of the Slow-Jerk? Does his mind or body even entertain the concept of Polishing the Penguin? Perhaps he likes to buzz Alfred from upstairs and challenges himself to see if he can finish before being caught? Maybe he likes to do it while hanging upside down? 

 Maybe he’s tried and, like all Batman scenes, his mind floats backs to his parent’s death and he can’t do it? Or, maybe because of that he now has a particular kink? Thanks to his supercomputer, I’m sure he could find some orphan porn.

 Arguing with a friend, he stands by the belief that Batman is above those bodily needs. He is the paragon of restraint, with a razor sharp focused mind on just being Batman. So, essentially, the comic nerd answer. And, I can understand that. He is Batman after all, not some horny teen. And, as my friend explained, some people in the world are just asexual. And that too, falls into the Batman mindset. He is the Dark Knight after all. 

But...I’m gonna call bullsh*t on that. 

 Batman has had many sexual dalliances. Just Google “Batman Sex” and you’ll be amazed at how much action has been seen below the ole utility belt. To include his happy accident with Talia ‘al Ghul, Damien Wayne. 

 So, we see that Batman is indeed a sexual being. And sexual beings demand satisfaction. Not all the time, but hormones make monsters of us all. (Sorry for all the long showers Mom. But thanks for having 10, half-used bottles of conditioner in the bathroom at all times!)

 So, I leave it to the people: Does Batman masturbate?

 Comment below and let me know your thoughts. But, I’ll save you some time: Yes, I already know I’m an idiot.

Intentional Trolling: The Fett Family Follies

I feel silly Dad - Shut it! We're cool! Pew pew!!

Let’s put it right out on front street: Boba Fett was one of the worst sci-fi characters ever created -AND- a perfect example of style over substance. Let me explain

Like many who grew up watching Star Wars, I loved Boba Fett. And Jango was one of the few cool things which came from the Prequel Trilogy (The others being Darth Maul...and...yeah, that’s about it).

Anyway, I was recently watching the Star Wars movies again with my own son. While watching them, I noted a few things and realized that there was nothing good, or cool, about the family known as Fett.

*Disclaimer* the following soap box rant is based off of the movies only. NOT the expanded universe in books etc. I have read a bunch of them, and let’s be honest, they were mostly crap. One or two of merit. But they are mostly fan wanking fanfic with horrible names. Hell, they often contradict the actual source material of the movies unless the Holy George descended and deemed it so. But now Disney has scrapped them and they don’t matter.

In the beginning, there was Jango Fett. And Jango was, at his time, the most bad-ass bounty hunter the Galactic Republic knew. He was feared in the outer rim and recruited for all the pimp missions. So, here we have Count Dooku/Darth Tyranus who was so impressed by the Fett fella that when the Sith solution of a Clone Army was proposed, they used this one stud as the genetic template. When somone wants over a million of you’s running around, you have to say to yourself, “Damn, I must be the man”.

As my son was oohing and ahhing at Jango and lil Boba fighting Obi Wan on the rainy platforms at Kamino, I realized something: Jango’s idiocy was what propelled the plot to this point. 

Think about it. Jango sub-contracted the assassination on Amadala to the shape shifting chick Zam. Zam drops a couple of lethal bugs off in the bedroom of Amadala via droid. The plot is foiled by the wooden acting of Anakin and the burgeoning mullet of Obi Wan. So, Zam’s droid got busted, does a 180 and flies back which led the Jedi straight to her. Stupid programming for sure. But, when the Jedi finally get to her, and she is about to spill the beans, she is killed by Jango Fett.

And how did Mr. Bad-Ass kill her? 

With a dart. 

A Kamino Saberdart (thanks 4-armed, CGI, truck-stop, short-order cook!)

A dart which came from only one place in the galaxy. A place, I might add, which was so under wraps concerning its cloning, a mysterious figure broke into the Jedi Archives to remove its existence, preventing the Jedi from finding Kamino by accident. That dart led directly to the one place the Sith didn’t want the Jedi knowing even existed yet. 

Apparently it never occurred to our rocket packed pal that perhaps he shouldn’t use a device so obscure it would lead directly to him. Perhaps shoot Zam with a dart only found on Hoth, or Tattooine? As it was, one Kamino Saber Dart later and the Jedi were on their way to Kamino. And from there, the roller coaster crap fest which was Attack of the Clones, led to the gun-juggling Jango saying goodbye to his armor, son and his head. Badass Muther F*ckin’ Master Jedi Mace Windu saw to that.

But, that was the father, so let’s look at the son. The original bad boy: Boba Fett, the helmeted hero of 8yr olds everywhere. Ranked over and over in nerd polls for being the interstellar badass.

But, badass for what? 

Disintegrating his targets? All we know from the movies was he apparently worked on a Vader contract in the past and disintegrated his targets which Darth did not care for. So, he’s sloppy.

Was he badass for Capturing Han? Admittedly, Boba showed a brain in Empire and followed the Falcon to Besbin. But, all he did then was tattle to Vader about Han being on Cloud City. Then, he cowardly stood like a pimp while big pappa Vader did all the dirty work and then rolled out with a carbonite trophy. Some may call that smart. And, it was. 

But, people didn’t like him because he was smart. They liked him for being this silent, mysterious, hunter-killer with a rocket pack. The same hunter-killer who, when we finally saw him in action, got schooled by a barely trained Luke and a half-blind Han.

Within the OG trilogy, Boba did more standing around and getting hype than actually doing anything. Even in the Clone Wars cartoon, he was a snotty punk who failed consistently. He is the embodiment of style over substance. 

Go ahead and kiss his ass. But you know it’s true. Boba was a short, angry man, who inherited his daddy’s name, armor and ship and same cocky attitude. He also inherited his ineptitude and propensity to getting schooled by Jedi. And in the end, he became Sarlacc chow.

So, the Fett family were nothing more than arrogant, self-absorbed, short-sighted asshats. In the real world we have a word for that: Douchebag. 

So, enjoy your figurines, hoodies and Mandalorian masturbation nick-knacks. But, always remember, the Fett’s were also the genetic template, and later recruiting baseline, for the misfiring, weak minded, can’t find no droids, Stormtroopers. Star Wars version of the Trek Red Shirts. Born to die.  

**Intentional Trolling is a blog topic category where I pick a sacred cow and heavily critique with it. Mostly to be funny but partially to expose the stuff we overlook. 

Concerning Boba Fett, let’s be honest: Boba Fett not moved merchandise and our hearts. Hell, kids who grew up loving that bastard eventually wrote books and tried like hell to retcon his death to have him escape the Sarlacc pit. I loved him the same as everyone else and one of my most favorite possessions as a kid was my Slave-1 and Boba Fett action figure.