Monday, April 27, 2009

Common People

In the absence of our beloved Recon, purveyor of the finest in internet oddity, I present to you ... Shatner!!!

Yes, William "Kirk" Shatner, covering the Pulp song "Common People". ENJOY!!!

Creeps You Out - Guaranteed

If I could, I would marry this guy.

But alas, the baby pictures on the mantle imply that there is already a lucky Mrs. Angry-Dismissive-Crazy-Eyes-Crowd-Guaranteer.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Whingefest 2009: Another installment in the "you know, that Recon sure complains alot" series.


Life is good, Mr. Internet. But man. Lately I've been running. Not literally, obviously. I run around the heated indoor track inside my head. Lot's of writing. Too much. Makes me feel like a Robot with low batteries.. So I decided to come here and write about my writing-induced Neuroses in order to escape my other writing. By writing about it.

My brain has been running Like Jesus would run if he came back to Earth tomorrow then out of nowhere
Coach puts him in to play with 5 seconds on the clock in the last game of the season.


Running down a dream is more like it. These scripts I may never sell are kicking my mind's ass. Pray for me, invisible internet family. The Albatross of re-writing hanging around my neck is starting to sag, giving me a wicked case of psychic Front Butt* I can't seem to shake off.

(fig.a: "Front Butt", aka "B.I.F." (butt in front).

Argh! It makes me want to run to the hills. Should I do it? It sounds tempting, except for the hills part. I wish I could just
leather up, dust off the Hog and hit the highway. How I wish. I'd soar, boy. Like a God damned Condor.


I'm going to do it. Go away for a while, take a load off. If they ask why I ran, I'll tell them the truth. I just ran. I ran so far away.

I had to get away. Because the truth is, the voice inside me that just wants to smoke reefer and play Street Fighter all day is slowly but surely losing out to the bigger, brassier Morgan Freeman-like voice of impending reality. Yikes.

What I need to do is harness your power, Internet.


We'd make a great team, Internet. Side by side we'd shine, like glimmering robot brothers.


I want to get back in touch with the mysteries of Nature.


I used to kick it with the homies on the Regular.


But lately, I feel like I'm doing my own thing.


I just feel like something inside of me is going to burst out of my chest if I don't find a balance with everything.


So I keep writing. If only to avoid disaster.


I hardly ever have time to practice my flute, let alone my dance fighting.


I just need to remember to move like a cat, and think like a wizard.


I think I also might need exercise.


Some sun would be good.


I could use an evening of dancing. Preferably to the sounds of urban street hop in order to increase the chance of triggering an exciting break dance duel.


I needn't worry. With Joy on my left, and Hope on my right, I'm sure to be properly equipped for the tumultuous road ahead.



PS: Surprisingly enough, this Insomnia-induced rant actually made me feel better. Who would have guessed that stepping on the
iSoapbox to rant would create such a positive side-effect when placed alongside pictures of Robots, Wizard Cats, and Bigfoot. What a treat.

Thanks for listening. Never forget, you are the Ice Cream Cones to my Dr. Huxtable.



Monday, April 06, 2009

Picture Of The Day


No Jermaine, it certainly is not. Now I think it would be best for all of us if you just left.

Lord Humongous Pep Rally


Ahem..check one two...

Can you hear me in the back? Cool. Doug? Can you hear me in the back, Doug? Cool. Ok.

Ok, so as you know, in recent days this Mel Gibson character has been fucking our shit up. And as your elected "Ayatullah of Rock-and-Rollah", It's my job to try and figure out what in the fucking post-apocalyptic world is going on. I don't know where he came from, probably from some place with a lot of assholes. It doesn't fucking matter. What DOES matter is the fact we are getting out ASSES handed to us. And not by a bigger, more awesome rag-tag band of biker-berserkers, mind you. No. We're getting taken to school by some douche-nozzle in a fucking Ford Falcon and a god damned DOG! Honestly. What the FUCK, PEOPLE!?!

Honestly. What did you expect to find out there? This is the fucking desert! Even little ass kids bring the ruckus out here. This shit ain't a game, cousin! Did you see that Mohawk kid with the boomerang? Larry needs reconstructive surgery on his trachea because of that little bastard. 8 year old kids fucking up grown ass men. Pathetic.

Just look at my face.


You don't have to be the Amazing fucking Kreskin to deduct that this is not a happy face.

Pull it together, people! Remember the training seminar? You were all full of moxy and mindless barbarian rage! Where are those barbarians? Are they still here? Because I don't see them. All I see is a bunch of
Toy ass-busters dressed like Spencer's Gifts clerks with no heart at all. C'mon! I want to see anger! Blood! Anger that shoots blood out of it! I want to hear screams that start fires! Get mad, you sons of bitches! Grrrr!

You are dragging the good name of Lord Humongous through the proverbial mud. They laugh at me at the Board meetings. At me! ARGH!!! It gives me the crazies.


I, Lord Bradley F. Humongous Jr., will not stand for it any longer.

Sooo guys..please. I beg of you. Underneath this mask I'm shedding barbarian tears. Just try a little harder? Do it for me. Do it for your crew. These badlands are OUR motherfucking badlands. Don't ever forget it.

Get your game faces on. Get out there and let those dogs out. I'll be your Captain, but I need you to fight for me. I've got the groceries, so let's cook some motherfucking dinner. I thank you in advance for your efforts.

According to my barbarian wrist watch, it is now officially go time. Gentlemen: Let's do this thing!!


Getting Your Kids Into Commercials


I was secretly hoping this wouldn't be unbelievably creepy. No such luck. This is just plain unsettling. I feel like I'm watching a morally ambiguous Sociology experiment from the Brady Era. Old guys are creepy, even when they dress like Tom Bosley.

This is just like T&E's Mike Mahanahan' Child Clown Outlet, except real and terrifying. I can't help but feel bad for that little girl..On second thought, she'll probably be a Pop icon with Oil Sultan money before I manaage to establish good credit. So yeah, fuck her.

(via EIT, which M4H has a tremendous blogcrush on)

70's Dad is a dick


Go for the ankle bite! He won't see it coming.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Take it Easy

This is what happens when Indian MC Hammer teams up with Indian Urkel to make a music video.

(Indian Urkel is Vadivelu)