Movie Night With My Son

The movie is nearly over. Spock’s face is all jacked up, his voice sounds like a constipated Yoda and he’s dying from radiation exposure. He and Kirk are doing the whole ‘needs of the many’ bit. It’s a dramatic ending to what is arguably the best Star Trek movie in the entire franchise, ‘The Wrath of Khan’.
It’s at this point that I stop the movie, turn to my 14 year old son and say, “You know in the next one they have to find Spock.”
“What?” A questioning look blankets his young, impressionable face.
“In the next movie they’ve got to go find Spock.”
He’s never seen any of these movies. He’s never seen the original series. The only thing he knows about Star Trek is the J.J. Abrams flicks.
“What do you mean ‘go find him’? Isn’t he dead?” he asks.
“Yep. Totally dead. Shortly after this point they lose him though. In the next movie they’ve got to go find him.”
He laughs. “You’re just messing with me.”
“Nope. In fact, the next movie is called ‘The Search For Spock’.”
“Now I know you’re messing with me.”
“I promise you I am not.”
“But he’s dead. That makes no sense.”
“Yep.”


“Dude, you’re getting your radioactive fingerprints all over the glass.”

So we watch yet another Star Trek movie and we laugh throughout the entire thing. A dead, radioactive Spock has been turned into a soulless child zombie by the Genesis Effect, somehow. He and the planet are connected and both are aging rapidly. The planet dies but Spock lives…somehow and Doctor Emmit Brown of ‘Back to the Future’ fame is the most inept Klingon villain ever. As good as Wrath of Khan is, Search for Spock is equally bad. Why does Chekov wear a pink robe throughout the whole thing? Why do they keep showing the Klingon’s little monster dog at random intervals? Could they possibly make a worse Star Trek movie if they tried?
Half way through the movie I pause it, “You know in the next movie, on their voyage home, they discover that the Earth is being attacked by alien whales.”
“What?”
“Alien whales roll up and knock out all of Star Fleets defenses. Earth is defenseless against space whale technology.”
“You’re joking dad. You have to be joking.”
“The only way to stop them is to go back in time to catch some humpback whales.”
“I…that….I don’t believe you. That sounds insane.”
“It was the 80’s. You’d have to be there to understand it.”


The moral of Star Trek IV is that it’s ok to kill all the whales. We can just repopulate the species with time travel later.

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Bad Poetry: Star Wars Edition

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…I would do you.
I would do you just like Star Wars, specifically episodes IV through VI.
First I would take you back to my Sand Crawler and introduce you to my little Jawa.
We’d do it Sand People style, dirty and loud…and single file to hide our numbers
I’ll knock the fluff off of that Bantha
I’d sink my throbbing Rancor in your lusty Sarlacc pit
You’ll not find a more retched hive of scum and villainy anywhere…that beats my bedroom
What do you mean these aren’t the droids I’m looking for?
All they need is a couple D batteries and some Astroglide and we’ll make that jump to hyperspace baby
I’m gonna rock your world like Aderaan
Your climax will be like a thousand souls crying out…and then like, dieing horribly in space or something

You’re small moons have me locked in a tractor beam of desire
I know your reputation. I know even you get boarded some times.
I find your lack of faithfulness disturbing..ly arousing
Sometimes when I think of you I force choke the womp rat in my pants
You don’t know the power of the Dark Side…but you will once I whip out this lightsaber
It’s pointless to resist…but do it anyway. I like it.
I’m not your father, but you’ll be calling me daddy before the night is through
My Storm Trooper is coming for you girl and while he may be a little short he’ll still fit in your garbage shoot
I’m gonna fire my photon torpedoes all over your ventilation shaft
I’m going to make out with you like you were my sister

I need you like Han needed Chewie. Like R2 needed C3PO. Like Hayden Christensen needed acting lesions (or ‘lessons’, either one).
When your gone it feels like I’m buck-ass naked on Hoth
Being without you hurts worse than when that Wampa beast beat Luke stupid and hung him upside down like some kind of Jedi mistletoe
That’s why I’m opening my heart to you, like a smelly Tauntaun in the snow
Lower your shields darling so this space cowboy can go down on your Wookie and get to work
I’m going to stroke that Ewok till is purrs
Believe it baby, I’ll get you wetter than Dagobah in the rainy season
And then I’m going to ride you like a three legged At-At
Let me take you to Cloud City baby
I’ll show you how exactly hard my Carbonite really is

This terribly bit of poetry is dedicated to the one and only Jes Ham, one of the coolest chicks I know.

Happy Valentines Day to Everyone (but especially the nerdy chicks…and my girlfriend…who refuses to wear an R2 bathing suit for me unfortunately)

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What I’m Thankful For 2012

My life has changed soooo much in the past year, it truly is amazing. Here are just a few of the things I’m thankful for in 2012:

1-I am thankful that all my exwifes and exgirlfriends haven’t banded together to destroy me. For surely if they pooled their collective hatred together they could obliterate me with the force of their anger alone.


(if science could harness the power latent in that evil we could solve the energy crisis)

2-I am thankful that 66.66% of my children have yet to realize that I make it all up as I go. I’m grateful that they’re smart, healthy, and still smaller and weaker than me. Matter of fact, I’m going to go hit one of my kids right now before they get too big.


(guess which one has me figured out)

3-I am grateful that my mom is a vampire. It sucks not having any mirrors in the house and the neighbors keep complaining about pets being bled dry, but otherwise, it’s good to know she’ll always be around. What would I do without the cheerful disposition and loving support of my undead mother?


(don’t look her directly in the eyes)

4-I’m grateful that Cracked.com has decided not to ban me. If I couldn’t write for Cracked I’d probably use my vast knowledge of plants and animals to become a super villain and hunt down anyone who’s ever slighted me.


(actually, I’ll probably do that regardless)

5-I’m grateful that my pregnant girlfriend, who has been psycho for the past several months, is now in love with me again. Like, all of the sudden, out of the blue, in a scary split personality kind of way. Even her family is no longer shunning me, although honestly that part was kind of cool. I felt like I had invisibility super powers.


(she could snap at any moment)

6-I’m grateful that my neighbors house burned down last month so that he and his 6 kids could move in here with me, my son and mother for an unspecified amount of time. It’s given us a chance to all get to know each other. It’s reminded us to be grateful for the little things we take for granted, like breathing space and toilet paper. Most of my underwear and socks have gone missing.

7-I’m grateful that the trailer park I do maintenance for owes me thousands of dollars. I’m sure I’d have just blown the money on crack or something. This way, at some undefined point in the future they might pay me something and it’ll be a surprise!


(yeah, crack)

8-I’m grateful that the transmission in the van just went out. I hated that van and really, it was just going to get me in trouble anyway. There’s no AC, the windows don’t work, radiator leaks, the inspection sticker says April of 08, the plates and registration are expired and really, I don’t have a license anyway. It’s probably that best it broke down. I was tired of going to school and work anyway.

9-I’m grateful that my exwife is finally getting her PHD. I’m happy that I sacrificed and worked so hard for years to support her so that she could get a doctorate in French studies. Cuz really, you can use that shit anywhere, right? It’s probably good I dropped out of school to work at dead end jobs for a dozen years. Where was I ever going to use a degree in computer science anyway?


(Now I have to call her ‘Doctor’ Ex-wife.)

10-I’m grateful that my new dog loves me so much. She’s so happy to see me every day that I can’t help but to not hate her. Even though the dumb bitch runs away every chance she gets. I’m almost 40 and everyone in my family dies of heart disease. I’m pretty sure running after that stupid dog will either help me regain my youthful edge or give me a coronary. I think the slut managed to get pregnant somehow too.

11-I’m thankful for my sister Annie. I don’t know what I’d do without her. I have no idea why we’re suddenly getting along so well. I suspect it’s because she likes laughing at my life. Regardless, I love her and it’s a terrible shame that her youngest child is starting to look like me.

nullnull

12-I’m thankful for my best friend/ex-girlfriend Caramel. She’s a whiny brat who cannot take care of herself and her life will probably end in a tragedy that will scar us all. However, she is also the evilest person I know (besides myself). She’s the only person I can really talk to. I can literally tell her anything…and she’ll only tell my exwife these personal secrets about half the time.

13-I’m thankful that I’m 38 years old and that everyone at this college is a kid. That doesn’t make me feel old, nope. And its probably not creepy at all for me to flirt with 18 year old girls when I literally have a daughter their age. Its like hey, don’t you see the gray in my beard?

14-I’m thankful for the gray hair in my beard. I’m only 38 years old and already I’ve got some lovely patches of silver. A fact which amuses my 30 year old girlfriend to no end. She loves nothing more than to remind me that I’m old. Oh, the receding hairline is nice too, thanks genetics!

15-I’m thankful for my endless sarcasm. Really, without the ability to subtly make fun of the people around me I would go insane(er). Oh god, a really cute chick half my age just sat down across from me in the computer lab. Please don’t smile at me. Please don’t smile at me. I can’t flirt with you. My pregnant girlfriend will literally set me on fire. Shit…now I’m going to have to move.

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Black Terror and the Cave Gator

Go check out my other Black Terror comics on RealToyGun.com!

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Hurricane Part II

 Dear Friends, Acquaintances, Sworn Enemies, and Scantily Clad Females,

You must all be aware by now that I live in Louisiana.  I am not exactly clear as to what tipped you off.  Maybe it was my accent.  The way I profane the English language with my every slurred utterance.  Perhaps it was my rampant drunkenness…my insipid, indolent, incontinent inebriation.  Maybe it’s the way I try to string together words whose meanings I am not entirely sure of.  Though, honestly, I suppose it could have been the smell.  The cloying scent of old crawfish, dank bayous, and broken dreams wafting up from my posts probably clued you in.  Whatever the case, I’m sure you all know by now that God hates Louisiana and hurricanes are the instrument of his righteous holy rage. 

I’m writing this to let you all know I will probably be offline for a few days.  Where I live we always lose power.  So if you don’t hear from me, I don’t want any of you to assume the worst.  No, it would be far better if you assumed the worst times a factor of 10.  Crank it up a few notches.  Anyone can fret around thoughts like ‘gosh, I hope Monte’s not dead’.  That’s kind of clichéd though, don’t you think?  Dull and boring.  How about instead you worry that I died because I went out to wrestle the hurricane with my bare hands and though it was a close contest I ultimately lost.  I died a hero’s death while grappling with the physical manifestation Mother Nature’s fury.  And ultimately I succumbed to these primal forces not from any fault or weakness of my own, but because I felt compassion for the storm and I let it win.  Perhaps somewhere in our contest of wills I fell in love with the swirling madness and the howling rage of the tempest.  (She actually sounds a lot like everyone I’ve ever dated.)  How could I destroy something so beautiful and untamed?  The wet kisses of her rain.  The dazzling flash of her electric eyes.  The passionate currents of her 100 mph gale force needs.  Who am I to smite the storm?  (Lets also pretend for the sake of argument that her name isn’t ‘Isaac’)

That’s what you should all assume when I fail to report in on Thursday.  That Monte Richard wooed a churning maelstrom of death wearing nothing but mismatched socks and a three dollar smile.  And then he was probably decapitated by an uprooted mailbox traveling at half the speed of sound.  It was pretty gruesome.  I can petty much guarantee there won’t be an open casket at the funeral.  Oh, and I’d also just discovered the formula for endless free energy and the cure for ugliness, but now I’ve taken those secrets to my grave and the knowledge is lost to mankind forever.  My passing is not just a traumatic loss for the whole world, but also for the countless generations in the future who will not be able to benefit from my awesomeness. 

I’ve got bottled water and a flashlight though, so really I should be fine.  Still, you never know.
Love
Monte

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Birthday Party

I remember when I was a kid my grandfather let out a big fart in public.  He didn’t apologize, didn’t shrug, didn’t even acknowledge that it had happened.  He just didn’t care.  I never understood that as a kid.  I did now.  Standing there in front of my exwifes friends, her boyfriend and some of his family, I just did not care. 

            “You’re a fucking dumbass Julie, you know that!” 

            It’d been a while since I’d gotten that mad.  A couple years ago I beat up an exgirlfriend’s boyfriend.  I barely remember the fight.  I was madder than that now.  His name had also been Ronnie.

            “Don’t you use that kind of language around me.”  I think she was shocked.  She hadn’t seen me this incensed in over a decade at least.  But what did she expect?  I show up to a rainy park on the other side of town to attend my childrens birthday party and the first thing she tells me is she’s going to go pick up her deranged brother, Ronnie.

            “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want!  Are you seriously going to go get your brother who you swore you’d never speak to again and who just got out of a fucking insane asylum?”

            At that point exwife lady paused.  Her eyes quickly darted over the small crowd huddled beneath the wet pavilion. 

            “You didn’t have to bring up the asylum, Monte.  That was private.”

            There were so many things I could have said but didn’t.  Anger clouded my brain to the point where I could not think. 

            “He’s nuts!  I don’t want him around my kids!”

            “Well he’s my brother and I’m going to go get him.”

            “Fine!  Then I’m leaving!”

            “Good, go!”

            I turned to leave.  My pregnant girlfriend who I hadn’t seen in a few weeks was there.  We were having problems and this was neutral ground.  I’d really wanted to talk to her.  I wanted an excuse to be around her.  And my sister hadn’t gotten there yet.  She had made the cake.  Amy made the best confectionary treats in the whole world.  I wasn’t leaving without some fucking cake.

            “I’m not going anywhere!”

I sat down and seethed for the next fifteen minutes.  No one spoke to me.  They all went back to their conversations as if nothing had happened.  I’m the ex-husband after all.  Being an asshole is a given.

            Later my girlfriend (who currently kind of hates me too) told me I should give Ronnie a chance.  I almost laughed.  She didn’t know Ronnie.  None of them did.  It had been that long since Julie had seen him.  She’d gotten a whole new life with new friends since they’re last encounter.

Ronnies got a peculiar charisma.  An odd kind of charm that’s difficult to define.  It helps to disguise the fact that he’s mad.  In fact, charm is probably the only thing that has gotten him through life.  He hasn’t ever really worked…ever.  His longest job was a few months as a reserve cop in a small town.  And then they only paid him when they really really needed help.  They eventually fired him for macing a woman in the face when she didn’t follow his traffic directions during a festival.  That is the highlight of his work career.  He’s failed the psychological examination at a few other police agencies across the state.  And these were desperate hick towns who were willing to do just about anything to get more officers.  From then on he bounced from job to job only lasting a few days generally.  How did he survive?  His wife worked.  Other people tend to feel sorry for him and help him out.  That kind of stuff.  He’s got a degree in criminal justice and math.  To my knowledge his wife doesn’t have any sort of degree.

Ronnie is now in his mid thirties.  He’s got a child or two.  I don’t know why it took Daniel so long to leave him, but she finally did.  Maybe it’s because he alienated her from her family and forbade her from speaking to them.  It’s hard to leave when you have no place to go.  But just recently she did finally get fed up.  We all knew it would happen eventually.  Ronnie apparently wrote some letter declaring war on the United States (he’s half Iranian, but has never been to Iran).  She had him committed and used the opportunity to pack up and leave. 

He spent a few weeks in the nut house before they let him go.  So now he and Julie have renewed their relationship.  He’s not back in her life because he’s changed or anything.  He’s back because he’s apparently crazier than ever and has no one else to turn to anymore!  Julie always forgives him.  She’s a woman, she can’t help it.  It’s always the same story though.  They’ve done this dance too many times to count.  They get along for a time until he starts to go nuts.  But my fear is that he gets more and more violent every time.  For their last fight he physically attacked Julie and her father (they ended up locking him in the garage).  When I last knew him he carried a gun everywhere he went, even to religious meetings.  I’d be surprised if he hadn’t brought one to my kids party (or at least a knife or something).  I’m afraid of this dude, he’s unstable.  I don’t want him around my kids.  The fact that Julie invited him to the party out of the blue was just fucking unbelievable.  I think losing my shit was ok given those circumstances. 

Ronnie was once my best friend.  We hung out all the time.  Roomed together once or twice.  When we were young I thought it was cool that he was quirky.  I figured he’d grow out of it.  He never did.  He only got worse.  He suffers from paranoid delusions.  People were always following him, watching him.  Once he put some college kids in the hospital when he ran a red light.  He was convinced someone was following him and he was trying to get away.  He used to tail ‘suspicious’ people all over town.  Once when we were living on the second floor of an apartment I helped him repel out of the back window with an extension cord because someone in another building was watching him.  Like I said, it’s funny when you’re young.  It starts to get old really quick though.  In his early twenties he deflowered a 14 year old girl and then assaulted her father in the mans own house.  There are lots and lots of stories like that.  But they all end the same.  He’s crazy.

Me and Julie had difficulties after our divorce, but we found a way to get along.  We have a good relationship now.  Ronnie hated me when we broke up.  He was instrumental in making all of our mutual friends hate me as well.  There were actually three sides to the divorce, mine, Julie’s and Ronnies.  Every time he visited Julie he reassured my youngest daughter that yes, he was going to have me thrown in jail one day, at which point she would sob.

I didn’t throw a fit when he arrived at the party.  I mostly ignored him.  Ate my cake and then left.  It was a homemade double layer cookie cake with toasted marshmallows on top.  As I watched my diabetic ex-wife shovel it down I nodded to myself.  Yes, she’s a fucking dumbass.  All her new friends out there who’ve never met Ronnie be warned.  One day he’s going to start shooting people.  Thank god I have spare kids.

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Utility Belts

“Holy shit, Batman! It looks like Fonzie Dracula has teamed up with furry lifestyle enthusiast Miss Mittens!”

And now I will rant about the 1960′s Batman and Robin…
What the hell is up with Batman’s utility belt? Just look at it. He’s got a series of wide, yet wafer thin square pouches encircling his waist (and a small cylinder that appears to be a tampon container). What the fuck is he going to carry in there? Various flavors of Poptarts? Slices of cheese? A copy of TV guide? His belt containers are quarter inch thick squares. Seriously, what type of bat-themed device could possibly conform to that kind of shape? Maybe he could put some wetnaps in there or something. For all we know he could be carrying around a Wilson Philips CD for Commissioner Gordon and he’s waiting for ‘just the right moment’. Perhaps he’s got a small shaving mirror in case he has to deal with bat-stubble while out on patrol. I don’t know, but one this is certain, there is nothing stashed in the micro thin folds of his handy dandy utility containers that will save the day when everything goes to shit. There is no way he’s got a batarang, bat cuffs, shark repellent or anything useful tucked into that marigold bandoleer. At the best he’s probably packing some coiled up yarn, a half melted Nestles Crunch and a crumpled note from the Riddler that smells like sweat and old semen. My advice? Get a back pack or something. I’m sure they make those in neon sunburst gay.


“Stop laughing at my bat boner….and my moobs.”

But that’s still better than his crimson clad sidekick. Can Robin really claim to be wearing a ‘utility belt’? At least Batman’s has pouches (thin and useless though they be). The boy wonder looks to have a total of six small tubes. If he puts them all together he’s got a spit ball gun maybe, but otherwise what the hell is he going to carry? He’s only got enough volume in those half dozen vials for a small bundle of toothpicks, a pair of Q-tips, some lip balm, tweezers, a lone safety match, and four tick tacs (five if you stack them just right). That is the extent of Robin’s utility storage capacity. He possesses all the power and crime fighting technology of a poorly stocked medicine cabinet. I’ve seen homeless beggars better equipped than this guy. Regular fucking pockets would be more useful than what he’s wearing. Does he realize that a fanny pack from the dollar store would increase his gadget carrying capacity by roughly 5000%. A Walmart shopping bag with holes in the bottom would be an improvement.

Basically…1960′s Batman was crazy. And if you doubt that then answer me this; why does he have florescent eyebrows drawn on his mask?

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