Robot Bastard!

Get your geek on!

I use to do a lot of movie production work and concept art, but this...this...my good friends, is what it's all about! This was done on the cheapest budget possible, and it looks amateur, but I dare you not to watch this over and over again.

This is better than the usual Sci-Fi channel Canadian straight to DVD crap. Better than Revenge of the Sith and Catwoman (well, what wasn't better than Catwoman...I'll redefine...).

What I'm about to share with you is a wonderful film that has produced some wonderful memories for the movie production/comic book geek in me. The Creator/Writer/Director/and anything else of this epic is Rob Scharb, creator of the comic Scud. On an incredible non- budget, this unforgettable film is made. The costumes are trash bags and cardboard, the sets are flattened out boxes, and yet, this movie is better than anything shown on cable!

Prepare to be geeked out with Robot Bastard!






By the way, I had the opportunity to watch Revenge of the Sith in Spanish, and it was way better. Even the Hispanic Darth Vader at the end yelling, "NooooOOOOOOO!" was better! The only problem I had was that everyone sounded like a Mexican novella soap opera, and yoda had the voice of the Taco Bell dog...

Lets All Go to the Lobby, But Knock First!

I got free tickets to see a movie at the theater, and took advantage of that. I figure If I don't take out a loan to purchase a watered down drink and popcorn, I should be okay. And, unlike many others I see, I have the bladder of a God, a God , I say! It brakes my heart, it's so sad, when I see someone get up in the middle of a movie to shuffle off to the bathroom, and come back just after the spetacular action scene.

And you can always here them whisper, "what did I miss..."

I always thought if you can't hold it for the duration of two hours, you shouldn't ever go out without an adult diaper. Makes you wonder if these people plan their day by 120 minutes and waypoints to relieve the pressure between. Sorta like planning an assault on Mount Everest. You need to plan out every camp, and hope your sherpa brought the two-ply paper.

Anyway, for whatever reason, I needed to "use the facilities" after the movie.

I think I know why. As a awaited the previews to start, a crowd of people pushed a wheelchair with a disable person on a respirator next to me. As they backed her up, I could clearly see on the backpack LCD "low battery", and they all sat somewhere else! The whole movie was me worring about her, carefully listening for the respirator functioning, and her rhythmic breathing. everytime she took a swallow, I desperately looked for an electrical outlet. I was now her guardian, and that shattered my concentration.

As soon as the credits rolled, the throng of people surged towards the door. To go out? No. To go to the bathrooms. Moving like cattle, with slight "moo's" as some people were clustered together in a bottleneck. I waited until almost all them moved on through. Remember: God's bladder...

Passing by the long but orderly line to the "ladies powder room", I go to the entrance gateway that is...the mens bathroom. By the way...What's this "powder room" crap? Like we don't know what goes on in there? Is everyone fixing their lipstick? Do women get "the vapors" still? Call it like it is...GirlToilets. And why the line? Is everyone taking their sweet time with a good book on the can? Can women use the bathroom at home before they go to the theater? And they're so catty! I witnessed a few women whisper to their husbands and boyfriends/girlfriends, "See that lady? she didn't wash her hands!"

Walking through a doorway big enough to drive a volvo through, I try to find an unused stall. I don't like the peer pressure of society that dictates that men must used the chorus line of uninals. And there are reasons there are sneeze gaurds on salad bars. I 'll let you come to the conclusions.

Stall, closed. Stall, closed. Stall, closed. Ah...this ones opened...

I push the ajar door inward, and accidently proceed to push forward a guy in the stall with his pants down to his ankles, face forward into the toilet. The absolute fear in his eyes as he looked over his shoulder at me, I will carry to the end of my days. He didn't even try to save his flight forward because he was too busy protecting his "shame".

If he's gonna pee in a public toilet, can't he latch the door? You'd think he was expecting a UPS package here. And technically, I assulted him in an inimate moment. I just became a "masher'.

So I left, and left him to deal with the issues i've just provided him. besides my work was a block away, and I can use the bathroom there.

I arrive at my work and say hello to the staff on the sales floor. then I go to the mens room, and open the stall door...only to find another guy squatted on the can, playing a game on his cell phone. And he looks up at me with the most surpized, pathetic, helpless look a human can muster. It was a deer caught in my headlights. Jeez people! There's a lock on this stall for a reason! At least give the door a good swing close!

Now i'm seriously traumatized!

Dance of the Stubbed Toe

Good God! Nothing seems to be more painful than a stubbed toe! And, it's the one pain in the world that the ratio of pain is in direct opposition to anyone caring. Sympathy from your friends is non-existent. You can't call work and take a sick day because of your toe stubbing. (if you did, you usually pump it up by saying 'it might be broken'). You'll feel embarrassed to wait in a doctors office to tell him your foot was traumatized a while back. If you call 911, you'd better be ready to be ignored...

Why am I writing about this? I'll give you one guess...

I had another thought I was going to write about, until tragedy found its way to my metacarpals. And I had to pay homage to the pediatric gods and perform the Stubbed Toe Dance ritual.

Com'on, you know what I mean. We all do it. Without fail.

You're walking along, doing whatever you do. When this curse that strike both kings and peasants affects you. Your foot digits strike the corner of a semi immovable object. The irony is, at the point of impact, and even before possibly, you knew that item was there on the floor! You've bypassed it hundreds of times. You're not a rookie at walking. And in the second of transition from bliss to agony, your mind is working overtime trying to find an explanation on why this happened now.

Someone must have placed the object a few millimeters out of place to foul your day! There was a minor tremor, that slightly displaced objects, so your area is no long a positive feng shui, but a hellish deathtrap.

Or you're just a clumsy oaf...But no...NAY! This can never be!! I am a bipedal human, master of all creation! I cannot, WILL NOT, fall prey to common objects! I don't see lowly monkeys and meerkats tripping because of their own goofiness? And MY brain is like 11 times their size! I poop in a semi-carpeted desgnated room! No other creature on earth can claim that!

But, then again, no other creature can claim leisure suits. Pet rocks. Paying for designer water when the same thing is free. Oxygen bars. Crustless bread. And sequels to Van Wilder...without Van Wilder.

But, the deed is done, and the electric spark from your toe trauma finally makes it's way to your cranium. And what does "God's greatest creation" rationalize is the best course of action to this conundrum? What it the defining moment where we prove that Man is superior to all species?

We start the dance around the room, hissing through gritted teeth and waving our hands about to try to stave off the pain, as our eyes glass over and try to get enough breath to bitch out the item that caused this instant subtraction to your intelligence.

"Damn you, coffee table leg! Damn you to hell!! I'm coming back here and taking an axe to you! I've had it with you and the wicker chair!! Arrrghhh!!!"

Hissing to the God's I can understand. That's probably a primal instict to appease that, as it's obvious that you've upset them, and you've received penance. But, waving your hands? You're hands aren't injured at all, nor on fire. And probably these are the safest parts of your body at this moment. I figure your head is so messed up in that spark of pain, that people remember why desert foxes have such big ears. They act as heat dissipater to cool down the lil' fox. Maybe, our tourchered mind erroneously, but instectively, thinks this also can work with pain. Not having huge ass ears...Hands.

Either way, we complete the dance by quickly prancing about in either a tight circle, or an elliptical course. And a lot more quickly than we were walking just before I might add.

And before anyone say that the pain might be a broken toe: I've broken a toe once before, playing raquetball when my foot when east into a corner, and my toe continued to travel up the wall north. I thought after that initial pain, "Well, that wasn't a bad stubbed toe..."

We are all creatures of instinct. Next time you feel obligated to do the Dance of the Stubbed Toe, and try as you might, you cannot deny it, think about all this: If there is a God, it's proof not only he exists, but he has a wonderful sense of humor, and probably laughs himself silly at "Jackass"...

And if there isn't, we're all just natural idiots.

ps. the spell checker wanted to replace "penance" with "penis". make of that what you will...