Pa-kching

When I moved into this apartment last September, I decided that I needed a toaster. A toaster that could toast both bread and bagels (Not simultaneously. Well simultaneously if you’d prefer the bagel barely toasted or the bread slice done to a nice burnt crisp.). And this toaster that would allow me to have a moderately civilized breakfast. It would rescue me from the cereal that I have had nearly every single fucking weekday morning that I have been in this country. (Post Cranberry Almond Crunch…Positively Cranberrifically Almondy and Crunchalicious)

Well, that did not happen. The toaster sits on the countertop gathering dust and slowly, but oh so steadily going insane. Even toasters have feelings, you know. And this toaster is more emotional than most. It sits there on the countertop thinking evil thoughts and planning my demise. It scares me.

And it has an accomplice. A sandwich maker. Equally neglected and unused.

Neither of the two has been able to make me give up my cereal addiction. And now they wait for their moment. Perhaps one bright morning they will pop up and ambush me…

Yeah, I still have nothing to write about. My excuse for those previous paragraphs could be that I’m high. But I do not do mind-altering drugs, (I’m high on Life. Say no to drugs kids. Life: the anti drug.) And I have been sadly sober for so many months. But seriously, doesn’t a toaster not performing its function cause some kind of Karmic Stress in the Universe? A rip in the fabric of space time through which the legions of Hell could come pouring through. (Wouldn’t it be nice if the legions of Hell sauntered through, or walked through at a steady pace? But no, they’re mean and ugly and they pour. It is what they do. And they do not even wipe their feet on the doormat. Rude fuckers)

That incidentally is the premise of Doom. Doom, the game and not Doom, the state of Rajneesh’s social life. Rip in the fabric of space time. Big bad monsters come through (with muddy feet); Neanderthal-ic hero blows holes in them. Huzzah. (And Gadzooks!). The premise works for a game.

Not so fucking much for a movie. Yes, Doom the movie does exist. And in a stroke of cinematic brilliance (And by brilliance, I mean asinine stupidity), the movie tries to preserve the first person perspective of the game, which consists of a gun shooting stuff at stuff (Insert phallic/reproductive reference here). I don’t suppose that it could be much worse than a movie about the Da Vinvi Crap. (Which should have been shot in the same way, first person perspective, but instead of a gun we have um… a soduku puzzle book, and instead of monsters we have Eccentric English Noblemen. And if you care that I gave away the wafer thin plot of that “book” go fuck your self with a rusty fork. Or go fork yourself with a rusty fuck. Whatever tickles your cutlery!)

I’ve decided that I’ll be producing movies based on games too. My first one will be about Minesweeper. Explosions. Sex. Mines. Explosive Sex in Mines. Tons of gratuitous nudity. (Women only! Yes I’m sexist. Go fuck off!)

Clever dialog:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Boom!”

“Of all the mines in the world why did she have walk into mine?”

“Frankly my dear, I don’t sweep a mine!”

“I’m the king of the mine. Boom!”

“Luke, I am your Boom!”

“Andy came to Mineshank in NineteeenBoomityBoom.”

“Boom T go home!” (Okay I cried during ET. I was five for pity’s sake, and ET was so sick and “ET go home”. If you did not cry you were a heartless monster.)

Catchy tag lines:

“Part Man, Part Mine. All Boom.”

“A Boom sixty five million years in the making.”

And I’ll follow it up with a movie about Pac Man. A touching family movie about how a yellow circle with a mouth ate ghosts. On second thoughts screw the family movie part. It can be the new movie in the Ghost Buster series. Ghost Busters 3: Lots of Naked women.

Yeah, so my toaster wants to kill me.