THE BATTLE OF NEW VAMPYRSBURG

THE PLACE: New Vampyrsburg.

THE TIME: Dead o'clock.

It was a lovely day when it happened, not that the residents of this village could know much about that. The shine was shining, though no birds sang, for New Vampyrsburg was not the sort of place where any beauty that was not distinctly gothic could exist.

Evil Constable Darkslay walked the streets on his day patrol, keeping carefully in the shadows so as to not burst into horrible flames. He hated the day patrol so very much.

It wasn't too bad today though, and the citizens were always well behaved. No one wanted to fuck up their chances at living among their brethren in peace. Crimes were rare, though not...unheard...

Darkslay froze. Had he working lungs, he would have gasped.

DUST!

A pile of necrotic dust, just sitting in the middle of the street! Next to the dust was a wooden stake. On the stake was a note. It said "FUCK VAMPIRS" in a sloppy, hasty script.

By the name of Dracula, there were humans here! At least one! And they had a vendetta, a truly horrible one. Darkslay turned into a magical sunbat and flew away to warn the mayor McLestat of this horror.

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GET READY BITCHES! FIRST TWITTER-BASED VAMPIRE GAME!

This time, you're hunting HUMANS!

Some of you have played before, many will be new. Here are the rules.

Sign up by sending me an @reply with the text #vampyrsburg in the body of the tweet. All posts will have this tag in order to keep things organized.


I will choose one at random to be the Slayer. That person needs to tell me who their partner is, and we will begin. This means there are two Slayers.

One vampire, the Dream Eater, will eat dreams. Since vampires don't dream, he/she can pick out the villagers easily. The Dream Eater will be chosen randomly; each game day they will send me a direct message on Twitter inquiring about someone, and I will inform them of either that person's vampire or Slayer status.

One of you will be His Redundancy, Count Alucard Dracula. Dracula is awesome and protects other vampires. He is like Van Helsing, but not, because Van Helsing sucks. Especially when you get to be Dracula. He (or she) will be randomly chosen and tell me via direct message who they want to protect from human attack that day/night.

Each evening, everyone will learn, via twitter and this blog (the blog is for my ridiculous write-ups) whether or not there was a staking, and who the unfortunate victim was. Then, they will accuse one of their own of being a filthy villager. The winner of the vote will have their sweet blood candies drained from them. They won't be turned though. They'll just die. Vote by tweeting @nameofyoursuspect to @deathwishjones with the tag #vampyrsburg.

I'm taking between 10-15 players, based on how fast it fills up.

Remember, mark all tweets relating to the game with #vampyrsburg. Feel free to write up any character shit in the comments here. Or obviously on Twitter, though that'd be a short character.

CURRENT PLAYERS:
Only Isaac actually used the #vampyrsburg tag, but I'm not going to be a prick about it. Just everyone else, please, use it. I send too many retarded @replies.

@SteelFan714
@arikjames
@CitizenSnipes
@mmmcoffeetogo
@laylaym
@Thinhenien

I'll update the list as it grows.

I have a macbook.

And it has a camera in it.

In a world without a dramatic trailer voice

I was over at Slashfilm where I saw it reported that Voiceover Master Don LaFontaine Has Died at 68. I had never really heard of him, but apparently he was the over-dramatic deep voice on all those action movie trailers and Fox commercials. Complications from pneumonia, apparently. So that's two down from that cause this year, counting Bernie Mac. Bummer.

I see that they're rebooting the Superman films. I'm kind of disappointed; Superman Returns had a lot of flaws, but I genuinely liked it. It was just good old fashioned Superman, minus the whole bastard-child subplot. All the overwrought messianic imagery, the broadly portrayed Lex Luthor, Superman's big gay costume.

Apparently Mark Millar, the guy who wrote Wanted, is probably going to be writing this Superman. Again, Slashfilm has an article. I'm a little bit skeptical. From the (admittedly limited) amount of Mark Millar's work I've seen, he's got kind of a whole weird badass vibe happening that doesn't really fit with the Superman mythos. He's talking about making it something all the old fans will love while updating it for a modern audience.

I posit that this is not entirely possible.

Problem: Superman has a stupid fucking costume. I suppose if anyone read this blog I'd get a little slammed for that, but come on. I shouldn't have to elaborate on this: that outfit is beyond outdated. Actually, now that I think about it that raises a somewhat interesting point in my mind: with the exception of Batman, have any of the DC heroes really had much costume change over the years? Wonder Woman's wardrobe has been limited to unitards that show somewhat more cleavage sometimes, Aquaman and Flash have always looked the same, Green Lantern/Arrow, etc. How come the artists never saw fit to update the costumes that looked less god damned goofy as the years passed? Surely by the time ten years had passed someone had to have decided that Superman looked weird with underwear on the outside of a spandex full-body pantsuit or whatever the hell. And they could have updated the costume, made a big to-do about it, advertised it and all that, and it would have been fine. Now the character's like a national fucking treasure and if in this new trilogy they choose to 'update' the costume at all, there will be ridiculous fan outrage. And Superman has enough fans for it to make a difference. Funny that Batman has more fans, but they're free to change that costume all over the place without raising anyone's ire. They just have to remember that A) there is a cape and B) there are horns/ears.

That said, I'm actually pretty excited by what Millar is talking about. An epic trilogy, shot back to back! That could be very cool. He could cover some pretty major stories. Doomsday MUST be in the third one, cover the whole Death Of Superman thing, taking out all the bits that don't work. I guess Doomsday may be an obvious choice, but hey. It could be so kick ass.

I think I may start my movie blog today. Arik didn't like the name I chose, but critics be damned! I can do this shit.

WOOO

It's been a while since I posted anything here. I was contemplating abandoning this one altogether for a Wordpress personal blog, but decided that fuck it, I like this one.

Started a new blog called Cage Rage. Arik Knapp and I are going to watch all Nicholas Cage movies ever, or at least until we get bored. I'm not looking forward to Bangkok Dangerous, but any excuse to watch Raising Arizona sounds great to me.

MTV News ran a story today over three damn months ago about Wizard Rock. (I get my retarded news from Fark, and they just now put it up.) Now of course that "scene" was known to me, but I didn't realize just how many of those bands there were, and I sure didn't think they'd still going a year after the final book was released. It's cool, in a way, that they're all doing this; such a fan movement rivals anything Star Wars or Star Trek fans have ever done. Most of it is pretty much impossible to enjoy or even listen to, but it's nice to see all those fans uniting in the name of creating art based on other art. (Yes, when I was going through a deep obsession with the HP universe, I listened to a few of the more popular wizard rock bands. I found them all to be fairly shitty, with the exception of The Remus Lupins, which is actually just one guy.)

K, nothing interesting to say. Out.

Horrible movie for sale

I listed this auction on Ebay a while back. I'd purchased A Night At The Roxbury on a whim. My reasoning was it was five bucks, it had Will Ferrell in it and someone, not sure who now, told me it was funny. That person should be glad I do not remember them, or I would probably, I don't know, yell at them for a while about how bad that movie is.

Since I couldn't do that, I made an auction.

If you don't like it, screw off. My mom laughed and that's all that matters.
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Hello.

Earlier this evening, I was seeking on my shelf for a movie that I might sit back and enjoy. It has been a week of much stress, and a goodly film that I could perhaps even fall asleep to would suit me well. I considered such examples of cinematic happiness as Casino Royale, 300, Indiana Jones and my usual movie for such an occasion, Ghostbusters.

But then I noticed the purple case still covered in cellophane. Indeed, over one year ago I made purchase of the comedic film "A Night At The Roxbury", as several friends had laughed and told me of its goodness, usually while rocking their heads and singing "What Is Love" by house musician Haddaway. Though this bit of behavior left me confused and alarmed, in a mad fit of bargain bin shopping I acquired it.

So I pull it from the shelf. I gently remove the cellophane wrapping and with equal care detach the security sticker from the top. I eagerly insert the disc into the appropriate player and get all snuggly.

The player will not start. It makes an attempt, then just stops. In fury I repeatedly mash the play button. Aah, there. The film begins, the Haddaway song issuing forth from the speakers and the Paramount logo adorning the screen.

Oh, how sorry I am, my poor DVD player! You wished only for me to not endure such pain.

At the eight minute mark, I'm ready to die. Nothing funny has happened. My life is worse at this point than it was when I started watching. But I remain vigilant and plod on, determined to finish.

After about forty minutes, I eject the disc and register an Ebay account.

Friends, this movie is horrible. It is as if it were excreted from the hind quarters of Cerberus, the three headed hound of hell, when the animal was in a state of grief and hatred, his mate possibly murdered before his eyes just hours before.

Yes, I mean it. If you murder the mate of Hell's guardian animal, he craps out Lorne Michaels movies. It makes sense if you think about it.

Now I guess I should list all the technical stuff.

Perfect condition. The disc is free of scratches, though if you finish the film you will likely claw madly at your own eyes, causing scratches in that area.

Opened. Yes, I opened it. When I did this, a thousand wailing tormented spirits broke free and flew about my room in a mad dance of pain.

I'm not sure what else to say. It is crystal clear DVD, it is in widescreen and it is a terrible, unfunny, painful film to watch.

Below you will find three positive reviews of this ghastly hateful conjuring of a film. Do not believe them, they are lying to you. A Night At The Roxbury is a bad movie for bad people.

King Of Bees, alternate version

This is slightly different version of the story of Liam Neeson becoming the king of the bees. I never really intended to use it in the final draft; I just had to write it for myself.
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I must tell you a story of one of the strange occurrences that befell me in this silly journey called life. One day, in Nigeria (I spent some time there for a cause I am not at the moment able to tell you of,) I came upon a bee's hive. This humble abode of the wonderful winged friends was presently being menaced by that most vicious of jungle felines, the cougar. The devilish beast leaped and swiped, no doubt craving the delightful honey contained within this hanging tiny gold mine. He salivated, a hungry and lecherous animal, a beast who could be satiated only by the freshest and purest sort of bee crap.

Enraged at the idea that such a mighty creature would impose his strength on those so much smaller, I lunged at the cougar. Taking the beast in my hands, I let out a fearsome war cry that echoed through the land, bouncing its way all the way back to the source. A good war cry is vital for my sort of adventures; oftentimes any man would be frightened and unable to continue, but when you hear the land reassure you in my voice, well... it will make you brave. But at this moment, for me, a trembling cougar in my hands, it gave me the strength needed to do what had to be done. With a skillful twist, I snapped the cat's neck and dropped it to the ground. Its head lolled to the side. It had paid for its sins. The inhabitants of the bee's hive buzzed cheerfully. I then noticed, with some apprehension, that one was buzzing about quite near my face. He was not like a normal bee: rather than bright yellow, he was blue striped with black. I noticed tiny stars and moons on his tiny fur. A green light shot from the blue bee and collided with my head.

Beyond all reason, I found myself in the hive! The bees all were looking at me. Most were sitting on the ground, watching me not with apprehension or malice, but with joy. So curious a sight!

It was not long before one approached me and began speaking. What an odd language the bee-folk had! "Bzzzz," the drone said, "Bzzz, Liam Neeson, bzzz, we thank you for the deed you have done here, bzzzz. You, bzzz, have saved our humble civilization. Bzzzzz.

"Bzzzzzzz."

Fascinated, I bowed to the yellow buzzy fellow. "It was all I could do, my friend. I have long admired your kind, and could not let such an injustice pass." I hesitated before adding "Buzzzzzzz."

There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd. Then I noticed something that took my breath away.

It was their Queen.

She was the single most beautiful insect I had ever seen. The drone who had spoken with me previously spoke again. "Bzzz. Liam Neeson, this generation of bee is not as hardy as the last. Bzzzz. It is desired that our future be brighter... and that you are the key to that. Bzzzz. Liam Neeson, please.... Father the next generation of our hive."

And so I had communion with the Queen of Bees. I lived in the hive for many months, worshiped as a god by the simple bee folks (I am not concerned that I will offend them, as bees cannot read).

However, eventually it was time to say goodbye. So I moved on, and nearly forgot the entire thing. After all, I had evils to crush and pictures to shoot. But one day, as I drove to work (work on this particular morning being the task of lending my voice to the mighty Aslan, king of lions) I noticed a strange cloud behind me, following my vehicle. It was in small particles, and shifted constantly. As I continued down the road, the cloud would grow, joined by more sections of cloud, flying out from the trees.

"Away!" I commanded the cloud desperately. Such things are unnatural, and I do not hold with them. And so the cloud left.

Amazed, I tried something else. "Hearken! Hearken and come by me!" I cried out. And the cloud came back, riding alongside my vehicle, causing the fellow in the next lane to slide off the road. His car detonated spectacularly.

I was naturally alarmed at this, but by this time I had noticed at last what the cloud consisted of. I smiled and commanded it to fetch the man from his burning car, and it was done, and the man was saved. I moved onward though; the knowledge that he did not die in the fire is all the gratitude I would ever need.

And besides, what would I do with his thanks? Why would I want it?

I was the King Of Bees.