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Category: wtf

Where’s The Beef?

Where’s The Beef?


I don’t know whether to be scared or slightly aroused. While regular old Indians are more than enough to get me excited, when you throw in fantastically choreographed fights and huge muscles all around, I’m not sure I can contain myself. I didn’t even know there were that many muscular Indians available. Maybe they hired an entire IT call center to get juiced up for the film, but that seems like it would take a while.

The video offers such a thoroughly unusual combination of Western culture and Eastern weirdness. The sheer amount of masculinity exuded by every frame is incalculable. The testosterone seeped through the screen and entered my pores. I grew a full, bushy mustache after the first minute of viewing. After two minutes I grew an extra foot and put on one-hundred pounds of pure muscle.

I’ve already gone to far. If I watch past the three-minute mark I feel like the sheer amount of manliness will rip a hole through time and space and the Indian version of Arnold Schwarzenegger will swoop in and ask if I’m happy with my current Internet service provider. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I have stuff to do tomorrow, and I really don’t have time to drag myself out of a roid-rage wormhole, again.

Imagine Turkish Star Wars Mixed With Italian Spiderman, Only Worse

Imagine Turkish Star Wars Mixed With Italian Spiderman, Only Worse


Ahh, Koreans: the slightly less tentacle-oriented cousins of the Japanese. Equally as insane, but with fewer violated schoolgirls. They stand teetering on the edge of the uncanny valley, somewhere between robots with emotive faces and the average MSNBC newscaster; your brain wants to believe that some parts of them are human, but you know in your heart that they’re not. Most Asian countries have their fair share of image problems, but I’d say South Korea has it worst because they don’t really have an image. Everyone just thinks of them as the sensible cousin to their absolutely insane, kneebiter, bond-villainesque, tosspot neighbor to the North — but South Korea is so much more than that. Like their Japanese friends, they also have an affinity for making the most bizarre tripe imaginable.

Don’t get me wrong, Korean Tron is a masterpiece. It makes the original look like it was filmed by an invalid with a camcorder and a full diaper. The only way it could get any better is if the story had anything to do with Tron or resembled any part of Tron. It’s like they had someone at a party drunkenly give them a vague description of what Tron was, and then based a movie off that information alone. Adding some Tron elements to your Tron movie seems appropriate, but it would probably ruin the effect. Shock, awe, bewilderment, and mild disappointment are a director’s best friends.

Having an out-of-work McDonald’s janitor do all the voice-over work was an absolutely genius move. Everything sounds like a grade-school production of Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf with the same level of comprehension and emotive power. Only having a passing acquaintance with the English language helps too. It offers a viscerally bad experience that’s fun for the whole family — like a train wreck, or a congressional hearing.

Fishpocalypse

Fishpocalypse


I want to go fishing there. There’s no lures, no waking up at ass-crack of dawn to catch the fish before they have their morning coffee, no waiting for hours while your line gets tangled in whatever debris litters the bottom of the life-less lake, just plain fishing. You go for a short ride and come home with enough fish to give the local wildlife preservationist a heart attack. Short of fishing with dynamite, this is the only way to roll. Let the fish do all the work while you drift by, sipping a warm beer, and getting a nice tan. If fishing was always like this, I feel people would be more inclined to go out and fish a little instead of doing absolutely anything else.

Fishing suffers from many of the same problems as baseball and soccer because they’re all horrendously boring to talk about, think about, participate in, and watch. Those looking to access a zen-like state of tranquility might enjoy fishing for all the reasons I just mentioned, but those sorts of people should be shunned from polite society. Us normal fun-loving, oxygen-breathing, non-reptilian people prefer to do things with our lives instead of sitting around for hours while the world spins madly on. We like to be the ones compelling the world to spin madly on instead of simply surrendering to it. Having the emotional sophistication of a Buddhist Frenchman is never a good quality.

If I must fish, I will do it by electrifying the lake and collecting the stunned inhabitants with a net, or I will descend into the depths with a bowie knife and return when I’ve finished filleting the wildlife.

Man, The New Bjork Album Is Fantastic

Man, The New Bjork Album Is Fantastic


At least, I think that’s Bjork. I haven’t really been paying all that much attention to the underground Japo-Scandinavian-Austrian-Icelandic yodeling scene. Personally, I much prefer Australian-Tibetan throat singing, but to each their own.

Despite all outward appearances it seems that this is not Bjork and I have made a grievous error. I’d apologize to Bjork and her several fans, but they’re already coming to beat me like a rented mule, so I don’t know if an apology would reach them before they reached me. But the joke’s on them, they’re going to have to get in line if they want a piece of me. My house is already under assault from NASCAR fans, the Bull Moose party, the Nashville Metro PD, and several UN peacekeepers. I’m pretty sure that the fellows from the UN actually want the house next door, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were coming to give me a stern talking to as well.

Even though it’s probably too late, and it’s very likely that even more people are coming to destroy my lawn, urinate in my shrubs, and throw eggs at my mini-van, I’d like to say that I’m sorry. As a token of my sorryness, my sorryosity, and my sorryitude, I’d like to present the third greatest yodeler to ever don a lederhosen:

If you’re still here after all that you’re welcome to take a run at me. I thought blasting yodeling from every digital orifice would’ve been enough to scare everyone off, or at least weaken them somewhat.