Firstly, let me just state that the Ku Klux klan and everything affiliated with it is lame. I know this. You know this. Everybody with half a brain knows this. Anyone who shaves their head to disparage an entire race must be in possession of an extra chromosome.

I mean, seriously... What does shaving your hair prove? How does it hurt your intended target? How can you be so overcome with indignation and hatred that your only recourse is to give yourself a buzzcut? Where's the logic in that?
All it does is serve to make you easily identified as a racist cocknuckle who is unable to appreciate the comedic stylings of Urkel or The Fresh Prince.

I believe that this intense hatred partially relates to the fact that if an African American shaves their head, they look cool; if a white guy does it, people just assume that they have Cancer... Or they're Phil Collins.
And that hurts.

To further cement the point that I'm not racist in any way, here's a picture of me with one of my African American friends. See, I love black people.


The progenitors of every war ever, the Jewish community, however, well that's another story altogether, Sugartits.


Now that we can dispel with the accusations of racism, let's get down to the crux of the article.
If you've been watching the news lately, you'll knowThe Ku klux Klan have decided that since the modern media has become too 'liberal', in that it allows people of other ethnicities to appear on televison screens, but never screens 'Hitler's Happy Hour' or anything starring Al Jolson in Blackface, that they are going to create their own all white supremacist televison network, KKKTV *.





Look at that face. It was just made for slapping. Preferably whilst you are watching 'Song of the South.'



KKKTV will air both original programming and cut down versions of shows that appear on other networks. So kinda like how Utah Mormonises every movie to conform to their whacky, magical underpants wearing society.

The effects of 'Klanification' can be found in shows like 'The K Team', which is basically 'The A Team' with scenes of B.A Baracus removed, and 'Will and Grace', which has been so heavily edited that it's now only known as 'Karen'.





"So, first we're gonna burn some crosses and lynch a few innocent folks, then we'll get back in time for the wedding episode of 'Friends'. Hail Fuhrer Schwimmer!"

They have also implemented some original programming that pertains to their 'White Power!' interests, retooling popular concepts to appeal to the cross burning crowd.

Such televisual abominations as listed below:

1) N.Y.P.D Prussian Blue

2) Hanging Mr. Cooper

3) Everybody hates Chris... Especially us. (For reasons unrelated to his personality)

4) The Amazing Aryan Race

5) The Grand Wizards of Waverley Place

6) Seinfeld

7) Master-Race Chef

8) White Rider

9) The Klan Show with Jimmy Kimmel

10) Boyz in the white hood

11) America's next top Holocaust Denier

12) Baywatch Knights... of the Ku Klux Klan (Much like the Germans, the KKK love David Hasselhoff with a passion. A violent, race hating passion, but passion nonetheless.)

And just to prove, once again, that I'm not racist, here's another picture of me with some of my 'Homies'. I'm the one wearing black, which is my favourite of all the shades.



* This isn't actually happening. At all. In reality the KKK are as useless as a condom machine in the Vatican.
They should all get a potato, wrap it in foil, congregate in a barn, burn a cross and then die in the ensuing blaze. At least then I'd have a couple of hundred baked potatoes.

Coming to terms with the death of a loved one...

Well, it finally happened to me. You know how you see those ads of cancer victims, etc. or read those heart wrenching true life stories, all the while thinking that it could never happen to you? I was just like that, living my life in a blissful shell of self imposed ignorance.
But life has a way of catching up with you. Despite all the worrying statistics, you believe that you're going to be exempt somehow, as if those random numbers didn't apply to you directly as a person. Sure, it may happen to others, but not you. After all, you're different, special, right?
And then it happens... Your Xbox 360 gets E74.




For the uninitiated, E74 is a variation on the red ring of death general hardware failure that has ailed Microsoft ever since the 360's launch. Simply put, in their rush to dominate the next-gen console market, MS released a faulty system, with a myriad of problems, be it inadequate amounts of heat sinks, dodgy soldering or overheating scaling chips.
So as I sit here typing, listening to pearl Jam's "Last Kiss" and perusing all the happy photos of me and my beige lovebox with a faint tear in my eye, I feel compelled to introduce the figurative ass of Microsoft to my hot spicy boner. It's been less than two weeks, yet I am so bored without it, the process of shipping the console off to the service centre has been harrowing, to say the least, and I'm constantly taunted by this little voice in my head that snidely runs through the 360's high failure rates, all the while sneering that I've become but a mere statistic.

The fact that the console was less than a year old (Yet, strangely, my yearly warranty only lasted 355 days, and my console crapped out on the 360Th day... Cowinkydink?) is kind of a strike against MS. Most of my friends crow about the PS3, but I always stood behind my little beige box of hugs, solely because the games are oh so good. But now I'm at a crossroads... Do I really want to invest anymore money and time into what is, effectively, a failure of a product. Instability in the console market is a death knell. Why, I still have consoles from twenty years ago that still run strong, but my 360 can't even last a year? C'mon!
Do I really want to eschew great games and a stable online service for a more reliable machine?
Do I want Bill Gates to give me a blow job with a mouthful of pop rocks so my dick can feel like a sparkler?
I think I know the answer to the final question, but the others...

I've read up on the precursors for console failure, and don't recall having experienced any of them, so maybe it was just a freak occurrence. I had got the RROD twice before, both times after a power surge, but the 360 righted itself and powered on.
Who knows? All I know is that seeing that dreaded failure message and red blinking light was like staring into the twinkling crimson browneye of Beelzebub himself.
Oh well, at least I finally finished Zelda -Ocarina of Time, after ten years, so some good has come of this tragedy.



Better days with my baby...


Now, before I vacate this pedestal of self declared wisdom, I must comment on something I saw the other night. I went to a drive in cinema for the first time in my life, which was a pretty great experience, the atmosphere is more "street-party" than "cinema".
But the film itself was awful, almost beyond words, but since I'm describing it via prose, obviously not quite.
The perpetrator in question was X-Men origins: Wolverine.
Now, should I be surprised? No, but yet I am. X-Men 2 was alright, and even X3:Last Stand had some redeeming qualities to it, lame attempt at an edgy sequel name notwithstanding. Wolverine should have been something more.


Someone stole my shirt!

Now, coming from a bit of an X-men fan boy background (It was the only comic series I truly loved as a child) maybe I expected too much, but was it too much to hope that they wouldn't expose Wolverine's naked, quivering buttocks and forcibly penetrate him with a broom handle covered in razor blades for the better part of ninety minutes?
Was it then too much to hope that they wouldn't take two of the gnarliest characters in the Marvel universe (Deadpool and Gambit) and resort them to polesmoking cameos and complete bastardisations of their character's ethos?
Clearly.


"Hey bro, don't try to cut my lunch." Here's a quote for the movie posters: Wolverine touched me in a bad place. It was sticky.

Gambit had no trace of a French accent and spent most of his screen time as the cheerful ferryman, ferrying Wolverine from one lame set piece to another in his magical, mystical Gambit-copter. Mmm-Hmmm. Deadpool, easily one of the mouthiest and wittiest characters this side of Spider-man, had barely two words in the entire film, despite constantly being chastised for being a motormouth. After a pointless montage of mutant powers in which the SFX guys get to go nuts, Deadpool's relegated to the background until the grand finale, in which he reappears as some mega-mutant Baraka looking motherfucker, which gives Wolvie and his estranged half-brother Sabretooth (And what the fuck is up with that? Just completely rewriting the lineage of characters IS NOT ON.) the opportunity to team up and make manly fuck-faces at each other.



"I've seen that look before... on the faces of a thousand male porn stars."

As evident by the vitriolic synopsis above, I hated the film. Comic geek aside, it was just a mishmash of redundant action set pieces that even the brainless actioneer inside of me found hard to retain interest. And I'm still trying to work out the point of Hobbit-guy and WILL.I.AM's presence in the film.
Lame.

***Kumquat Turtleloaf has flicked his whingeing switch to OFF and is now experimenting with forks and power outlets***

Arj Barker, Cheech & Chong and the art of poorly translated plagiarism

Well, it has been an eventful week in the life of the Kumquat, an eventful week indeed.
Not that anything that can be used for future personal growth or development has occurred, but a strange week nonetheless.

For starters, I nearly got ran over by Cheech and Chong as they mounted a curb in St. Kilda and aimed their hazy smoke emitting weedmobile right at me and two friends. I was saved only by my catlike reflexes, springing into the air and backflipping over the vehicle. Those same reflexes got me through the Nam, god bless 'em.


"Hey man, we nearly hit those guys like Cypress Hill hits the bong! Get it? Bong?"

But yeah, their van narrowly avoided flattening us as we traipsed without a care to the venue in which they were playing that night. Counting our blessings for this opportune chance encounter, we rushed up to the door to have a quick word with these legends of 420 culture. A chubby little ewok of a woman pushed past us and hurriedly thrust some photos at them. She was obviously a pro, so I honed in on her pen hoping to utilise that for some signatures of my own. But alas, it was not to be.

Their manager slithered up to the door and started pushing them inside, all the while placating us by saying that we'd have an opportunity to get signatures after the show. Not wanting to appear even more douche-like than my physical appearance suggests, I lamely agreed and went to line up for the show.
We had front row seats, so no complaints there, although the seats were so old I swear that the cushions were stuffed with horsehair and the frames carved by Christ himself, they were that archaic.
Modern is one thing that the Palais is not.



Don't do drugs kids.

Shelby Chong, the wife of the latter member of the eponymous duo, struggled vainly to excite the audience with a stand up routine which was, in all honesty, severely lacking in funny and dependent on her vicarious relationship to Chong, descriptions of which riled up the most laughs. Some of her material was amusing, but relied on cliched topics such as menstruation and dildo love too much to get much of a reaction.
Her gig was interesting to me as I've never really witnessed a comic bomb on stage, and credit where it's due, she dealt with an extremely wasted heckler in an amusing way, which wasn't all that hard considering he was waffling on about his mother saving him from going to prison for dwarf tossing, or some shit like that.

Being in the front row, you kinda feel obligated to smile and laugh to kind of comfort the comic, even if their material isn't all that. My cheeks hurt afterward from all the "good on ya! grinning" I was doing, whilst my buddy spent the entire show ogling straight up her skirt. Classy chap, my old chum.

But the smile fell from my face when , at the end of her show, the manager (Satan incarnate and crusher of dreams!) and herself informed us that if we wanted to meet with Cheech and Chong after the show, it'd cost us $150 to do so.

One Hundred and Fifty dollars? Seriously? What a muffinload of dogwank. So that was why their manager was so quick to whisk them away before the show, we were cutting into his product revenue. Sheesh, what a douchenozzle.
It's even more annoying when we later found out that they'd been at JB hi-fi nearly all day signing stuff... Even if only to compensate us for nearly plowing us down in their four wheeled chamber of smokey death, their manager could've allowed a measly signature. Even they seemed like they wanted to meet us, but oh well.
They were filming a documentary for their tour and we seemed to have blundered our way into that, so it should be interesting to check out come release.



"Man, who's got time for signing autographs when we've got to smoke all of this and then go pick up our suits made of money in our solid gold cars."



The show itself was superb, I've honestly not enjoyed any live show as much. Watching those classic sketches played out before me - Ralph and Herbie, The Mexican Ruffian and the old man, etc- Coupled with some really great, and topical, new material and a show stealing stand up performance by Chong, well, I can honestly say that I was in heaven... And still utilising lame literary cliches.

On the other side of the celebrity coin, I happened to catch one of Arj Barker's last gigs in Melbourne. I've always been a pretty big fan of the old Arjy Barjy, putting him a close second to Mitch Hedberg, who is my all time comedic idol.



The show, Bit's and pieces, was pretty good, albeit heavily composed of material from his last few appearances. Nonetheless, there were some great bits in there, such as a riff on audience participation, or lack thereof, and a piece about man's constant struggle to prove their dominance by their material possessions.
All in all, a great show, and highly recommended, even if, like me, you'll find yourself familiar with about seventy percent of the material, I guess that's why it's called Bit's and Pieces; Bit's of old stuff with pieces of new material.
However, it's a delicious nutritious treat for all, and I wholeheartedly give it five viagra induced seventy year old erections up.

(That's my rating system, in case you were wondering why I started waffling on about wrinkly codger todgers)


No funny caption needed.

After the show, Arj even took the time to sign some dvds and cds for us, and have a quick chat about his tenure at the comedy festival and his role on "Flight of the conchords". Overall, he was as accommodating as a celebrity can be, and a true testament to comedians everywhere.

So there you have it, two differing accounts of celebrity encounters... Sorry about the lack of funny, I couldn't find the switch.

On another note, my previous blog about "Kung-Fu Christ Vs Mecha-Jesus" got plagiarised by some religious website called "images of jesus". Now, it's not the theft that irks me, it's the butchering of my blog by, I'm assuming, feeding it into a translator server, picking up the crap it excretes at the the other end and then smearing it all over their blog page.



I'm pretty sure that this is a recent photo of the article stealing culprit.

Fecal analogies aside, the page, I'm assuming it's German, has made such a botched attempt at translating the article that I thought I'd post it here and let you see for yourself.


Kumquat Turtleloaf: Kung Fu Christ VS Mecha-Jesus
April 16th, 2009 · Keine Kommentare
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http://imagesofjesus.edublogs.org/2009/04/16/kumquat-turtleloaf-kung-fu-christ-vs-mecha-jesus/#more-95


So, anyway, a given of the esoteric things I do solely because it amuses me is assemble adventitious ass pictures of Jesus Christ, the from leading to bottom removed from the household idea of Jesus, the happier. Although my anthology is comparable in add up to the amount of Russians named Oksama that Mel Gibson plows from leading to bottom (See! I CAN be local!), The two most prized images of our Jesus and friend in need in said anthology depict Jesus dealing missing some Hulk Hogan mode even-handedness, minus the OJ Simpson sympathetic comments, (WOW! Two local jokes! I’m on FIRE!)and the characterize misguided of some fireworks purchased in do a number on of New Years adorned with images of MECHA-CHRIST. Say it with me. MECHA-CHRIST. Yeah, that’s opportunely, Jesus isn’t indeterminate some lanky bearded creativity dresser who was the son of demigod and has not in any manner been rightfully portrayed as being of mid-section eastern descent (Can’t sooner a be wearing anyone effigy allusions between him and Bin Laden just now, can we?), He was also a cybernetic praying motor car sent lifestyle due abjure from the to be to come to effect disorder on heathens. So just now I call up my incline in the bible renewed with out-and-out oomph. Now, the idea of Mecha-Christ is audibly meant to report Jesus, as substantive close by around his adornment with images of the blessed irascible on his astounding fuck-off make an effort pads and his cross-topped flagpole, but also close by around the label of the firework itself, KING OF KINGS.

I Never realised that there were chapters in which Christ laid the smackdown on the gamblers in the synagogue, or that he grafted his organs with those of robots to endanger a in agreement iron crusader in do a number on of the Jesus. I must’ve been weighed down the insignificant of day they covered those chapters in Sunday teaching. Maybe the church should reconsider the archetypical images of Jesus either as a placid, bearded girly-man or a freakish lynched austere, and assume up the visage of Mecha-Christ as the idea of the allmighty. He can’t be stopped. I’d be noxious of some titan robotic squib coming lifestyle due abjure to avenge his wrongful decease, the creativity dresser already resurrected opportunely away.

And he’s pissed. AT US. The secondarily coming. Passion of the Christ could sooner a be wearing been ten times happier if Christ was played close by around Vin Diesel, had chainsaws in do a number on of hands and dominated the power to moulder every brace of female panties within a twelve mile radius with indeterminate the power of his do not give a secondarily regard to! Michael bay could usher and Disturbed could do the text ditty. This forthwith, it’s in the flesh. Yeah! High-Five!How would they hammer the nails in although? A pneumatic fret gun? And they would dire a harden reinforced crucifix to backing his bulging, strapping, no irresolution well-oiled entrap. Somehow I reckon the not manner that Mecha-Christ could be stopped was to pitfall him in a smelting transfer and ditch him into a vat of brilliant metal, the not manner ALL undisturbed things can be destroyed.

Watch T2. Watch that actually odd at the forthwith of Gumby. Watch Alien 3. Then report me I’m go phut.

Next week we chat about the theological implications of this recently unearthed painting of CRACKPIPE CHRIST.


Damn translator machines. Haven't they seen terminator? This is how Skynet begings! Mistranslation! Judgement day is here!


Kumquat Turtleloaf is currently preparing for the day of judgement by unplugging every toaster within a six mile radius and learning how to farm ants.

Kung Fu Christ VS Mecha-Jesus

So, anyway, one of the esoteric things I do solely because it amuses me is collect random ass pictures of Jesus Christ, the further removed from the traditional image of Jesus, the better.
Although my collection is comparable in number to the amount of Russians named Oksama that Mel Gibson plows through (See! I CAN be topical!), The two most prized images of our lord and saviour in said collection depict Jesus dealing out some Hulk Hogan style justice, minus the OJ Simpson sympathetic comments, (WOW! Two topical jokes! I'm on FIRE!)and the label off of some fireworks purchased for New Years adorned with images of MECHA-CHRIST.
Say it with me... MECHA-CHRIST.

Yeah, that's right, Jesus isn't just some skinny bearded dude who was the son of god and has never been rightfully portrayed as being of middle eastern descent (Can't have anyone drawing allusions between him and Bin Laden now, can we?), He was also a cybernetic praying machine sent back from the future to wreak havoc on heathens.

Now, the image of Mecha-Christ is clearly meant to represent Jesus, as evident by his adornment with images of the holy cross on his huge fuck-off shoulder pads and his cross-topped flagpole, but also by the name of the firework itself, KING OF KINGS.



So now I find my interest in the bible renewed with enthusiastic vigour. I Never realised that there were chapters in which Christ laid the smackdown on the gamblers in the temple, or that he grafted his organs with those of robots to become a cast iron crusader for the lord... I must've been sick the day they covered those chapters in Sunday school.

Maybe the church should reconsider the archetypical images of Jesus either as a placid, bearded girly-man or a grotesque lynched corpse, and adopt the visage of Mecha-Christ as the image of the allmighty. I'd be fearful of some giant robotic guy coming back to avenge his wrongful death, the dude already resurrected once. He can't be stopped. And he's pissed. AT US.

The second coming... This time, it's personal.

Passion of the Christ could have been ten times better if Christ was played by Vin Diesel, had chainsaws for hands and possessed the power to disintegrate every pair of female panties within a twelve mile radius with just the power of his mind! Michael bay could direct and Disturbed could do the theme song.
Yeah! High-Five!

How would they hammer the nails in though? A pneumatic nail gun? And they would need a steel reinforced crucifix to support his bulging, muscular, no doubt well-oiled frame.
Somehow I think the only way that Mecha-Christ could be stopped was to trap him in a smelting plant and drop him into a vat of liquid metal, the only way ALL cool things can be destroyed.
Watch T2. Watch Alien 3. Watch that really weird episode of Gumby. Then tell me I'm wrong.



Next week we discuss the theological implications of this recently unearthed painting of CRACKPIPE CHRIST.



***Kumquat Turtleloaf is amazed that he didn't rip on theology, not even once***

NINJA 2009 Tour Widget and Contest

Above you will find a widget for NIN. They're currently holding a contest for some signed stuff, free tickets, etc. The way to win this contest is to pass this widget on to as many people as possible and convince them to put it up on their website, social networking page, etc.

It'd be greatly appreciated if you could stick this widget on your page, it's only for ten or so days, share the love and it'll be reciporated.

Cheers.

SUPANOVA 2009 and the age of innocence lost...

>


So, on Saturday I embarked on an insightful journey into the world of GEEK. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, I attended what is commonly referred to as a mass congregation of nerdiness, otherwise known as an ANIME AND POP CULTURE EXPO.
Oh, and what an eye-opening experience it was.

Firstly, before I launch into my diatribe, let me just be clear on a few things. I myself am a Geek, albeit a self loathing one. I'm painfully aware of the inherent flaws in our subculture, and try as I might, I can't manage to supress them in even myself. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. I can hide behind a facade of apathetic nonchalance, but the sad fact of the matter is that these people whom I look upon with disdain are nothing more than walking mirrors bouncing my own reflection back at me.
Maybe that's the reason why I loathe them so much... They're me.

Of course, I'm generalising with this allusion to pervasive geekiness, not everyone there was a mouth breather with chronic halitosis and an ill fitting stargate SG-1 t-shirt, BUT, and this is a big but, a majority of the people I had to line up with and next to... Well, it takes all sorts to make the world.

My main motivation for attending was the chance to meet the talent behind one of my favourite shows, Aqua Teen Hunger Force. It was under the pretense of solely meeting these guys (Dana Snyder and Dave Willis) that I roped my good buddy Beau into coming with me.
Beau, who's a nerd in constant denial of his station in life, was under the impression that we would meet the creators and then split. I, on the other hand, was nefariously planning my entire day to be spent amongst those timeless symbols of geekiness" Comic Books, Action Figures and Video Games.

So, we entered the thunderdome known as SUPANOVA 2009 like a disproportionately sized pasty white Masta and Blasta from Mad Max 3... Two geeks enter, one MAN leaves.

Armed with our trusty signable goods, Beau and I joined the massive line that was snaking out of the pavillion, briefly musing on the fact that we didn't have to present our tickets at the entry gate. After about twenty minutes or so, the line had progressed to the point where we were at the actual entrance to the pavillion. It was then that I noticed that to gain entry, people had to present a stamp on their wrists to security... A stamp that was noticeably absent from both mine and beau's wrists.
Brandishing our tickets, we attempted to enter but were curtly turned away. Full of righteous indignation, we explained that we'd just spent a half hour in the line and to refuse us entry was to consign us to having to go to the rear of the line, which had swelled considerably. Security, as anyone with the illusion that they possess power is apt to do, decided to go for the title of "worlds biggest asshats" and refused us entry, directing us to some tiny building tucked away from anything of worth.
They stole the title out from under the nose of Microsoft, but only barely.




So, after a brief but extremely awkward experience with a constantly sneezing, effeminate ticket collector, Beau and I venture back to the pavillion, freshly stamped wrists at the ready.
We flashed them to security like a black panther salute (SOLIDARITY!) and marched inside, noticing that the line we had wasted 30 minutes in earlier seemed to be chock a block full of people in anime get-up (The Cosplay world record was being held there) which, while amusing to look at, seemed to indicate that we may have been in the wrong line. You would've thought half an hour wedged between Naruto, Dante from 'Devil May Cry' and Jigglypuff would've tipped us off, but hey, what can I say? We're Aqua Teen fans, slightly slow on the uptake due to the ingestion of copious amounts of weed.

Evidently, there was some mixup with the lines anyway, so it wasn't completely our fault. So after an awkward switching of positions with people in the anime line (They were lining up to see Vic Mignogna, an anime voice artist. I Have no idea what he voices, but he seemed pretty gregarious), we were finally in the Aqua Teen line, a fact that was clearly announced by the cloud of body odour that hovered over the line.


"Yes, these people HAVE actually had sex... Child rape is a key contributor to Cosplay participation...Preferably tentacled child rape."

Seriously, the entire line was made up of love handles, pubey beards and greasy hair... The archetypical "Stoner" look. The guy in front of us looked like Neil Patrick Harris with hives, constantly scratching nervously at the red blotches up his neck and muttering to himself. He also seemed to be the epicentre of operation Clown. (Operation Clown - BOBO THE CLOWN - B.O.B.O... You work it out)
A guy three people in front of us was damning Family guy and praising Flight of the Conchords and Arrested Development, a sentiment I agreed wholeheartedly with.
He was also in posession of a LITERAL GARBAGE BAG of dvds, predominately every variation of ATHF ever, plus a smattering of Heroes dvds, as that annoying little cheerleading chode-load Hayden Panettiere was also there, outrageously charging $40 for a signed pic. Forty fucking dollars? Seriously? What a muffinload of wank.

After realising that the ATHF guys were actually taking the time to chat to their fans, I decided to use the time afforded to me by Conchords guy having each and every one of his fifty million dvds signed and personalised to try and think of some decent conversational topics.
I tend to get starstruck pretty easily, and generally just make a few inane comments about the weather and inquiring about whether they're experiencing culture shock, etc. and this time, even with prepreparation, was no different.

I stammered out a greeting to Dave Willis and gracelessly pushed some dvds over to him to sign, making inane banter about rabid fans and the like. I then went over to Dana Snyder and proceeded to do the exact same thing. Mr. Smooth, that's me.
I watched, amused, as Dave and Dana proceeded to deface some kids anime magazine, scrawling on it so much that they had to embarrasingly offer the kid a free dvd of season 1, solely because they'd doodled all over his event program, or whatever it was. Kid was stoked, I think he was in the wrong line, he'd apparently never even heard of the show. Dana apologised that they couldn't give us any dvds, chucked a few stickers our way and thus ended our brief dalliance with the creative minds behind one of our favourite shows.

It was, typically, later on in the day that my mind opened up the floodgates and a billion topics of conversation poured into my head. I could've asked them about the rumoured second feature film. I could have asked about the inception of the show and how they'd manage to get their pitch greenlit. We could have discussed the sociopolitical ramifications of George Orwells '1984'. Instead, I offered a lame comment about the humidity of the pavillion and Dana retorted with a comment about his balls dripping into his socks.
Oh well. Now I have Dana Snyder to thank for the mental image of yellowed, crusty old socks filled with liquidised ball chunks. Thanks, Dana.

"Dana Snyder puffing the magic dragon."


"Dave Willis...See, redheaded children CAN achieve something with their ginger lives."


Now that that was the main mission completed and we were free to set foot into the daunting layout of the convention. I'd spotted a ghostbusters stand from the ATHF line, so we checked out that first. It ended up only being a playable demo, but I love Ghostbusters like Whitney loves crack cocaine, so I was pretty chuffed.
I could see the realisation slowly dawning on Beau's face. He'd been duped into attending a geek convention... With a geek, no less!

He could tell by the frantic swinging of my head that I was in maladjustive adolescent mecca. Action figures adorned the walls as far as the eye could see, boxes upon boxes of comics were on display, the rarest treasures reserved for special displays at the back.
I saw Action Comics #1 with my own eyes, which, as anyone in the know can tell you, is one of the most sought after comic books in the world. Waaaaaay out of my price range, but I like to look.
It was then that I became aware of something... A pervasive emptiness inside me. I stared out at the rows of comics, a sight that would have caused my younger self to ejaculate uncontrollably into his pants, turning the fabric into a stiff material similar to cardboard.
I felt only apathy, boredom... I had no desire to flick through back issues chasing that elusive chromatic cover or ashcan edition. The action figures, while cool as all hell, never really posed a serious threat to my wallet. I couldn't justify spending fifty dollars on a Stay Puft Marshmallow man. Artists were signing their wares around me, Whilce Portacio, a man who was my comic artist idol back in the day, was barely ten feet away from me and I made no effort to have a chat or get an old copy of X-Factor signed. The creator of Invader Zim, easily one of the best things to come out of Nickelodeon, was practically right next to Whilce, yet... Only complete nonchalance.

I wandered past the requisite Star tables: Star Wars, Star Trek and Stargate, respectively. Nothing, not even a twinge of interest, and this coming from someone who once took the time to decipher just what exactly my Jedi name would be. The other two franchises I had no interest in, but Star Wars - Wait, I'll just clarify that I'm referring, of course, to the original trilogy here, the abominable sequels were what pretty much quelled my Star Wars fanboyism - surely that should pique my interest.
But no.


"Not even this guy could undo the damage George Lucas has bestowed upon his franchise."

I'm not a big fan of anime, I enjoy a few films here and there but mainly I just have no interest in it. Each to their own, and all that, but I found that lack of cohesion may have been a factor in my detachment from my geek mindset. The organisers didn't know whether to focus on the Anime or sci-fi/ Pop culture aspects, and this resulted in a mishmash of stalls, jostling for display room. A clear divide between the two would've helped navigation, as it was, it seemed the anime orieneted stalls outnumbered the pop culture stall 3 to 1, which really narrowed down my points of interest.
I had no inclination to go and see the so called "Celebrities" such as Hayden Panettire ($40!) or some dude from Twilight, and the central area of the pavillion was occupied by a wrestling ring in which groups of men clad in ball hugging spandex pranced about in a homoerotic display of machismo (Not a fan, obviously), so after wandering around for a bit longer, checking out EB games and picking up an ARMY OF DARKNESS T-shirt (Groovy!), I decided to make a move. Beau sighed in relief.

We pushed our way through chubby chicks clad in grotesquely bulging lolitaesque anime costume, past some chick dressed as Miss Marvel who was pratically butt naked, past the gestapoesque security detail and the group of Dragonball Z characters they were currently embroiled in harassing, and stepped out into the blinding sun, laughing hysterically at all the Twilight posers walking around in their corpse paint with umbrellas hoisted above their head so as not to let a ray of sunlight tough their skin.
I looked at these textbook examples of nerdy fanboys (and Girls) and wondered... Is that what I used to look like to others?

As you probably picked up by the sense of melancholy winding its way through this lengthy account, I entered Supernova as a nerd and left as something else. Some part of me had died. I think it may have died awhile ago and I was just too blazed to noticed. I dunno.
What I do know is that I just cannot muster the same enthusiasm for comics, etc. as I did when I was younger. Gaming ocaasionally still takes over my life, but in sporadic bursts. I have a kick ass collection of action figures that I have no intention of ever giving away - But I have no inclination to add to the collection anymore either.
I'll still pick up a graphic novel or an issue of Generation X or something for a quick read, but I make no effort to retain the original condition of said comics, nor do I even know where most of my extensive comic collection has disappeared to... And I find myself not caring.

Who knows, it could be a phase I'm going through, but the trappings of my youth seem to hold very little sway over me nowadays... Although playing music, watching films, reading, comedy etc. still command my unwavering attention.
We'll see. Maybe I should splurge and catch up on some of my favourite titles of old.

So, anyway, that was my experience at SUPANOVA 2009, a lengthy dissertation on the fall of my innocence in one the most childlike places on earth.

Oh well, hey, at least I scored some signed Aqua Teen dvds and some free swag!
(Although my season 3 dvd cover is coated with something that seems to scuff the marker off, so I'm taking extra special care.)





-Kumquat Turtleloaf is currently trying to recall where most of his near complete set of near mint x-men comics have disappeared to... His mutant superpower is incessant whining.

NINJA - FREE NEW NIN EP (Plus Street Sweeper and Jane's Addiction)

As some of you may or may not know, I'm a MASSIVE fan of Nine Inch Nails... Have been since I was about twelve, and have become even bigger a fan ever since Trent ditched his record label (Interscope) and started periodically giving away free music and creating a true rapport with his fans... Simply put, there's nobody at all in the music business at the moment who is more relevant nowadays than old Trent Reznor, He hears his fans and he gives us exactly what we asked for, often at his own expense.
My admiration for the man extends far beyond his music, his outrageous business models, his brilliant stage shows, His absolutely engrossing ARG (Alternate Reality Game) that was the advertising basis for YEAR ZERO, etc. He's a pioneer in every sense of the word.

Anyway, enough gushing, I just wanted to post a quick note to let all of you know that he's just released another free EP of music, this one containing Two Nine Inch Nails tracks (Not so pretty now, Non-Entity), two from Jane's Addiction (Chip away, Whores) and two tracks from Tom Morello and Billy Bragg's new side project, Street Sweeper (Clap for the Killers, Oath). The best part is that they're all previously unreleased, and FREE, so they're a nice additiion to any collection. After all, Free's my favourite recommended purchase price.
My personal first impressions only extend to the NIN tracks thus far, which I can state are unequivocally brilliant, as per usual, but I'm about to dive into a session of Resident evil 5 with the EP as my custom soundtrack, So I'll post my thoughts later on.

Heres the link, etc.

Http://dl.ninja2009.com

Or you can get it via www.NIN.com




Whilst you're at it, if you're in the mood for some more quality free music, you should check out: THE SLIP, GHOSTS 1, LIGHTS IN THE SKY tour sampler, all available from NIN.com for FREE... And then you should go and splurge on a couple of earlier NIN albums, you won't be dissapointed... I promise.