Two years ago today “Not Funny…Ever” draped its suspiciously shaped tentacles around the boyish form of Elijah Woods and held him in a death grip of doubt and shame.

Lord of the Rings Online was about to be released, the Emancipation Proclamation had just been signed, and natives from coast to coast welcomed the strange skinned white man to their land with a cheery smile as they rubbed his gift of small pox infested horse blankets lovingly to their cheek.

Good times…good times.

But like the indigenous people killing virus that had been coughed into those blankets and duvet covers, (Hey, Indians can be gay too damn it!) the site grew by leaps and bounds. Spreading infection far and wide the tiny 350 word columns exploded into thousand word rants jam-packed with disturbing thoughts, images, and side-bar tangents like:

What the HELL is “Jam Packed”?

Does it mean “packed like jam in a jar”? Because if it does, big whoop. EVERYTHING in a jar is packed like that - and it really isn’t “packed” is it?. It is just kinda oozed in there until it hits the top and you put a frigging cover on it. And if they mean “packed like jars of jam” that makes even less sense because you have to BE CAREFUL man! That is JAM! You can’t just go slapping that stuff around like a newly wed Arkansas bride! You have to be GENTLE. But I digress.

And like any really official graph that is supposed to impress and awe you into thinking that the guy who created it is really smart when in reality he just drew some sharp lines on a paper because he knew you wouldn’t know the difference…

…we’ve had our highs and lows.

Some articles did well, others not-so-much, and a very few blew up with a single word and still haunt me to this day.

I wish I could say that I write for you, the reader. I wish that I could say that my sole purpose here is to make you laugh, ease your day a bit, or get your mind racing on some silly topic that you would have never thought of on your own, but read and go “Hey…YEAH!” like, “Aren’t cat farts WEIRD?”

But I can’t.

I do this for me. I do this because I have to write, I have to express myself, and I have to let loose the steams of consciousness that build up in my head if for no other reason than to quell the chorus of voices that scream for me to burn things…if only for a moment. So I write, I share, and most importantly; I observe.

Like a guy in white lab coat that I would ignore and instead show you a picture of a big breasted HOT chick in a white lab coat, I watch over you all and I learn. And once I have gathered all of the reactionary data I require I shall shed this human exterior, return to my true form of white light energy and make the trip back home to the planet of the NumNums. And the data I’ve gathered on you all over the last two years?

It is amazing.

I’ve learned;

* Large, full and sweaty female breasts bring hits.

* Large, full and sweaty manboobs bring vomit.

* Images of Superheroes showing tongue is gooooood.

* Images of Superheroes USING tongue is baaaaaad.

Okay, truth be told I haven’t learned a damn thing - but in all fairness, neither have you. You see, while I write, comment, express opinion on and mock all subjects ranging from politics to the size of a chick’s boobs, the ONE thing that I don’t do is research. While other humorists try to back up their barbs and witty remarks with things like “facts” or “proof” I prefer a more “natural” and “really lazy” approach.

Some might call this “making stuff up” or “assuming without checking”, but those people are usually educated and often correct, and who wants THAT? You can go anywhere to learn things and become empowered and informed, but where else on the internet can you go for BOOBIES and really juvenile humor?

Eh?

EH?

…..

Okay. Bad example.

But still, two years and over 540 articles later here we are. As long as you folks keep coming back, I’ll keep churning out the painstakingly written in 7 minutes while googling for porn columns that you’ve come to expect here. And while they may not be informative, particularly well written, educated, or contain a grain of knowledge that could be used by ANYONE, I can promise that they’ll be chock full of pop culture comments, obscure movie quotes and humor in the poorest taste.

Oh, and photoshopped images of Hilary Clinton getting railed from behind by Obama.

HA! JUST KIDDING RADAR! Man, that Red-X gag NEVER gets old.

So in that I’d like to say thank you to everyone who comes here, reads this slapped together mess of faux sanity and sends me hate mail wishing that I would die in some freak sexual accident involving razorblades and well trained gerbils.

Rule of thumb states that without you, the reader, there wouldn’t be me, the..um..readee? Reado? Readed? Well…thank you at any rate, for being here, for driving the hits to this site through the roof and for putting up with my odd tangents that appear out of nowhere…

..hehe. Rule of thumb. Well, can’t do much damage with that then, can we? Should have been a rule of wrist.

-Coyote
 
(And yes I know it means “JAMMED in there” like shoved or forced and the expression has nothing to do with jellied fruit. But it SHOULD. Jam is DELCIOUS. I LOVE JAM!)

Normally I shy away from topics on Religion. It is a sensitive subject, a breeding ground for argument and animosity, and merely mentioning it makes my site manager swallow his tongue and reach for the panic button.

But when people are physically attacked for openly practicing their faith, someone has to speak out for them. Someone has to bring these modern day witch burnings to light. And today…

…that someone is me.

Many of you sent me this story, and like you - I was horrified. Two men attacked, badly beaten and humiliated for practicing their faith? Their passion? Their reason for being? I couldn’t in good conscience let this go unanswered.

Barney and Michael Jones are just like you and me in every respect except for one; one of them is named Barney. And while naming a baby Barney for *any* reason is considered cruel and unusual punishment and child endangerment - having the name Barney isn’t a crime and generally makes those who have been Barnified the victim.

But that’s not the point.

The point is that Fred and Barney were practicing their faith outside of their home. They were on their own property, breaking no laws, and opening engaging in a time honored ritual when they were attacked and beaten with a metal crutch by someone of an opposing faith shouting anti-jedmatic slogans.

And they caught it on film.

The two cousins are founding members of the local chapter of the Jedi Church. A church that reached notoriety and spontaneous creation because of the thousands of registered voters world wide who put down “Jedi” as their religion while voting. Making news as countless 90 year old voter registration helpers looked at the forms and said;

“What the F*** is a Jedi? You damned kids today! All hopped on up midichlorians waving your glow sticks and screaming about The Empire! GET A JOB YOU GOD DAMN HIPPY!”

As they practiced their religion in the form of whacking each other with plastic swords, they we spotted by a drunken passerby by the name of Arwel Hughes. (Who was probably hammered because his name was Arwel. You just KNOW that there had to be a fight. There is no way a Barney and an Arwel can occupy the same space and time without conflict.) Hughes spotted the two men joyously celebrating their faith and presumably became filled with fear. And as we all know, fear is the path to the dark side.

So rather than simply walk by shaking his tipsy head and laughing inwardly at the two virgins whapping each other with cheap toys, Arwel turned to the Dark Side. Donning a black garbage bag for armor as any budding Sith Lord would, Arwel picked up a discarded metal crutch and charged the two church-goers as they practiced their beliefs.

“DARTH VADER!” He can be heard shouting clearly as he rushes the two men and begins beating them in the head with the crutch. Obviously drunk on power and overcome by hate Arwel laughs in triumph before echoing his own battle cry once again and delivering a few more well placed blows. The Jedi defeated and left rubbing their heads in both confusion and pain, the hate-monger makes a hasty exit, nimbly hopping a fence and staggering off in victory.

Leaving only a path of destruction behind him.

While the Jedi Church obviously harbors no ill will towards this man (as it is not their way), they would still like to see him answer for his crimes. And in boasting a flock of over 30,000 members (online) answer for this crimes he will.

This normally peaceful religion has been rocked with controversy and now attacked by hate. They accept members of all races, species, and intergalactic origins without judgment yet are subject to public humiliation? A peaceful, quirky, and perpetually virginal people, the Jedi offer no hostility towards any other creature, yet are mocked openly by this Darth Arwel as he infiltrates their ranks and makes quick work of them despite their obvious skill and talent at wielding a plastic sword?

And even with this crime captured on film, the dark Sith evades capture and remains at large because he didn’t show up to the court hearing. Dark times my friends. Dark times indeed.

What kind of galaxy do we live in?

When grown adults cannot practice freedom of religion without worry of metal crutch beatings from garbage bag wearing Sith Lords, we have truly the need for a new hope…

May the force be with you.

-Coyote

My buddy Bongotezz suggested that I do a piece on “really lame toys” that we all remembered from our childhood, and I thought that it was an excellent idea. I’d make fun of some toys, we’d all get a chuckle, and I’d have a topic for the day. But like everything else that I touch, the idea itself became twisted and warped the more I googled.
 

Which is exactly why I don’t DO research. You end up learning stuff and it changes your perception of the world. My list of “lame toys” quickly grew into the five degrees of toy evil that follows. We’ll start off slow with the seemly innocent as we jump around throughout time on our look back at dangerous and occasionally hell-spawned toys from childhood’s past…

…but warning, this will grow. Each toy will slowly grow in scale of awesomeness until you reach the ULTIMATE in cool toys that cannot ever be beaten. You’ve been warned.

When Good Toys….go bad.

The Evel Knievel Motorcycle - If you were a kid in the 70’s and early 80’s chances are that you had one of these.

You’d stick the little doll on his motorcycle, jam him into the launching station and spin the little crank like you were possessed by the devil himself. Most of the time he’d take off like a bat out of hell, hit a rock and then go careening chaotically around your yard. He’d slam into everything at mach-1, tumble around, and then get RIGHT back up - just like the REAL Evel Knievel.

Most of the time.

Other times you’d set up an elaborate ramp, calculate angles and trajectories, wind him up with murderous speed and…

…stick him to your sister’s head where his motorcycle wheels would magically transform into the “Head Gobbler 2000″.

And let me tell you folks - once that little bike got revved there was *NO* off switch. You had to wait until the tires ran out of kinetic energy and judging by your sibling’s horrified screams that could last HOURS.

One moment he’s riding a motorcycle to freedom, the next his burning rubber on your sister’s noggin and has to be cut free with your mother’s GOOD scissors because he turned her golden locks into knotted tangle of flesh, blood, and tears.

But he always walked away. Always.

Creepy Crawlers – Still keeping it simple we’ll move on to the next toy that caused horrific scarring and traumatic childhood memories, the Creepy Crawlers Rubber Insect Kit.

Did kids eat the spiders and get sick? Were they choking to death on little rubber bumble bees?

Newp. Creepy Crawlers were non-toxic, safe to play with and contained no harmful chemicals or poisons. So how do they get on this list? Ahhh, well that’s a bit more complicated. While the Creepy Crawlers themselves were safe and as fun as a non-convincing rubber spider can be, the process in which you made them could be a tad hazardous under the wrong conditions.

Conditions such as “you actually tried making them”.

The rubber for your toys didn’t come pre-melted, which was the lure of the whole creepy crawler industry. YOU could make your own toys! Sounds like fun right? All that you need is the rubber, some molds, and an open faced wide mouth melting pot that heated the liquid rubber well past 310 degrees Fahrenheit!

FUN FOR ALL AGES!

Ages 7 and up got to learn all about boiling points, cooling points, and skin grafts as third degree burns ran amok throughout the target demographic. Nothing like giving young children who are still actively learning things like balance and motor control boiling hold rubber that adheres instantly to your flesh!

Quickly recalled and then redistributed with a “safety cover”, Creepy Crawlers are still tame in comparison to our next toy..

Aquadots - A toy from the recent times, Aquadots seemed like there were going to be the lamest of the lame.
And they were.

You’d get some plastic bead things, put them in a mold, add water and after a few minutes they would magically fuse into a coaster, or placemat, or some other stupid god damn wanna be “toy” that you’d never want to play with.

“OoOOoh! Look! I have a hole-filled representation of a car that looks like something you’d buy for a quarter in a craft tent at the Special Olympics!”

Aquadots SUCKED.

But the glue that held them together? That was stuff of legends my friends.

It seems that the magic “just add water” formula that would quickly fuse your individual Aquadots into a lame and easily forgotten coaster had a weird little “byproduct”. A byproduct that we like to call…

Roofies.

You heard me. Aquadots were fused together with THE DATE RAPE DRUG! HAHA! What fun kids! Cindy doesn’t like the bracelet you made her and would rather go to the sock hop with Bobby? Well if you make her EAT the god damn thing you can hop on her socks until naptime and she’d never know the difference!

There is almost NOTHING in this world that compares to the sheer awesome crafting fun of making your own date rape kit. It’s like learning TWO crafts in one! You think that stupid bracelets that say “I love you” can’t get you laid? Think again pal.

Needless to say that once a few preschoolers got hucked onto the Known Sex Offender’s list, and Chris Hansen’s kid started setting up sting operations, Aquadots were QUICKLY yanked from the shelves.

But not from our hearts.

Snack Time Cabbage Patch Dolls - Remember all of those killer doll movies where no one would believe that the doll was really alive or possessed by Satan? They’d just laugh and say something like:

“Timmy sure has a vivid imagination! Ha ha!”

And then send Timmy off to play so that they could look for that pesky missing drawer of steak knives? Well, meet “Snack Time Cabbage Patch”.

Looks like your normal dopey eyed Cabbage Patch doll right?

WRONG. DEAD WRONG.

Unlike your NORMAL Cabbage Patch doll who simply looked like a creepy retarded kid, Snack Time developed the taste for HUMAN FLESH!

Seems that ol’ Snacky here REALLY chewed whatever food you put in its mouth! Your kid would stick in a carrot, and with a hearty crunch Snacky’s censors would kick in, notice that there was something in its mouth, and with an UNSTOPPABLE and safety switch free mechanical appetite, it would grind the carrot into carrot paste with its metal chompers.

But…wait. Awwww man! There’s a piece of carrot stuck in there! Let me just reach in with my toddler fingers that looks suspiciously like MORE CARROTS! YUM!!

HOLY FRIGGING HELL. These things actually ATE 35 fingers before they were recalled. THIRTY-FIVE FINGERS! And that doesn’t even count the NUMBER of kids who fell asleep with their new best friend only to find it gnawing on their frigging head because some of their hair got in its mouth and activated its need to devour the living!

Coolest toy EVER. It would literally chew up the length of hair until the kid woke up screaming because her dolly was gnawing on her skull.

Demonically possessed demon dolls that ate fingers. What toy could POSSIBLY top that?

Ladies and Gentlemen….I bring you….

Gilbert U-238 Atomic Energy Laboratory - You just KNOW with a name like “The Gilbert U-238 Atomic Energy Laboratory”, that this toy is just chock full of fun, laughter, and twelve pound neck tumors.

Sold from 1950-1951, the Gilbert Lab is a toy that most of us never got a chance to play with unless you were lucky enough to find it in your grandmother’s attic as a kid. However, it still gets mentioned here as the coolest toy EVER beyond dispute because it fits all of the “Awesome toy” requirements, even if it is a bit old. Cool toy requirements such as:

* Edu-tainment Value - You have fun while LEARNING!
* Cool gadgets - That’s right kids, a REAL AND WORKING Geiger counter!
* Four True Uranium-bearing ore samples - …wait…WHAT?

Did a KID’S TOY from the frigging 50’s REALLY come with REAL URANIUM??!

You bet your chemotherapy loving ASS it did.

While Johnny and Tommy were out making zip guns and bragging about their cool sling shots, you were splitting god damn ATOMS in your basement. While Sally was learning to cook and clean and how to be a good little 50’s wife you were irradiating your family and then tracking them down via radiation trails with your handy dandy Geiger Counter.

How F***ING AWESOME is THAT god damn toy?

Does that prove how politically correct and worried about image we’ve become? Toys today have to go through a million tests and safety protocols because some jackass kid invoked natural selection by chocking to death on the original Darth Vader action figure’s lightsaber. Instead of saying “Wow, that kid was a frigging moron.” and chalking it up as an accident we get a “new” action figure with a lame ass lightsaber arm.

But not in the 50’s pal.

They just hucked some Uranium in a frigging box and set it under the Christmas tree where it twinkled under the light of heavy lead based paint covered ornaments. Nowadays we can’t give our kids toy guns unless they are florescent orange and shoot out little flags that say “NOT A REAL GUN”, but back then? You could give Junior a lump of softly glowing metal, tussle his hair (before it fell out in clumps) and send him off to play.

And not used or depleted Uranium either – whole hunks of the stuff, fresh from the glowing Uranium Fields of Mother Russia where it was lovingly hand picked by cancerous mutants who died moments afterwards.

Real Uranium. In a box. Marketed to kids.

I don’t care what games come out, or what graphics it can display – your Xbox 360 will never be as cool as a fully functioning atomic lab kit.

Ever.

-Coyote

So you want to be a geek…

We know - we’re trendy now.

The problem is, you just can’t “become” a geek. There is no instant cred or over-night potion that turns you into a pocket protecting member of the Brotherhood of the Eternal Virgin. This kind of geekishness takes years upon years of hard work, dedication, and torment at the hands of kids with no necks who shaved in the sixth grade.

But fret not. Hope isn’t lost.

While it is true that you cannot become a geek without a bit of hard work and sacrifice, it doesn’t have to be the intense and grueling trial-by-fire that the rest of us went through. Sure, you might have to brush up on your Klingon, or spend a couple of lonely and chick-free nights at the local comic book shop boning up on your history so that you can argue well into the night exactly WHICH Green Lantern was the best, and why. (Answer - Hal Jordan baby!)

But it doesn’t have to be all hard work, especially when it comes to movies.

If you are just starting your trek into geekhood, chances are there are not enough hours left in your sad and pathetic little life to catch up with the number of geek movies we’ve watched over the years. Okay, there might be time to watch them all - but definitely not time to watch them all a hundred times and learn them front and back like the rest of us have done.

So with that my geek-in-training, I offer you this; the cliff notes.

Dusting the..um…dust…off of an article that I did a few months back I realized that “Uncle Coyote’s Single Sentence Movie Reviews” could be used for something greater than saving you all a bit of time by sparing you the horrors of a really crappy movie, or Johnny Depp singing. I could use my ability to take years of writing, history, scripting, casting, acting, and gathering money for a budget and cheapen it into a single line of poo jokes for GOOD!

And I’ve done just that. So sit back, relax, and read the newest installment of single sentence movie reviews designed to help you, the wanna be geek, fit in.

“Single Sentence Movie Reviews of Ten Essential Geek Flicks”

Goonies - A bunch of kids look for pirate treasure so that they can save their neighborhood from demolition because their parents never heard of “bank loans”.

The Gate - Kid finds two thousand year old demon summoning book in father’s underwear drawer next to the playboy magazines he was looking for, causing him to kill Satan with a model rocket to the eye.

Hackers - Kids hack the Gibson by plugging an old Tandy computer into a rotary dial phone so that Angelina Jolie will show her boobies for the first time.

Tron - Kevin Flynn gets digitized and sucked into a computer world so that he can prove that he is the true creator of some really complex video games even though you’d think that a guy who creates something that can digitize you would have some credibility.

War Games - Super intelligent computer takes over government nukes so that it can blow up Ferris Bueller because he sucks at tic-tac-toe.

Real Genius - Super genius Val Kilmer builds a death star and blows up a bunch of popcorn so that he doesn’t have to rue the day. 

Monster Squad - Movie monsters are real and trying to take over the world, but are stopped when Wolfman gets kicked in the nards by a bunch of kids.

Weird Science - Two geeks build the perfect woman who has to do anything they command so they can go on zany adventures and not pork her because they’re both obviously gay.

The Matrix - Programmer finds out that he is really in a computer program so he wrestles a black guy and wears a lot of leather rather than get it on with a hot porn chick that he can program to do anything he wants because he’s obviously gay.

Better Off Dead - A loser who gets dumped keeps trying to kill himself until he realizes that if he bangs the French chick next door he can blow up Ricky’s mom.

Office Space - Programmer gets hypnotized and realizes that work sucks because he has eight bosses (EIGHT bosses Bob!) so he beats the piss out of a fax machine while the guy in the next cube flips out and burns down the building because someone took his stapler.

So there you have it. Ten sentences that you can utter in the presence of any geek without raising suspicions that you are still a Padawan in the ways of dorkishness. Use them wisely, test your grounds, and above all see these movies as they are required viewing.

Plus? If someone laughs at your statement and wants to start a four hour long argument on why Neo wasn’t a fruit or how the kid from “The Gate” could read ancient Sumerian perfectly, you’ll want to be ready. Because if they sense your fear or realize that you are a faux geek? They’ll turn on you in an instant and attack without mercy.

And although they might not look like it? Girly slaps can hurt after a while. Or at least break your glasses.

You’ve been warned.

-Coyote

(P.S. - If yer the guy who contacted me about a link exchange for movie reviews of this sort and what not? Shoot me an e-mail again. I lost yours in the “Great Coyote E-Mail Change” and would love to talk more.)

(P.P.S - It is MONDAY you bastards, which means the NEW AVAST YE IS UP! GO! READ! MAKE THE DAMN THING POPULAR SO THAT BONGO STOPS HITTING ME! Seriously, girl slaps HURT after a while. -Coyote)

Today started like any other.

The alarm went off..

..the music played..

….and as I stretch and yawned,  and then enjoyed a little KISS.

But then I looked at the alarm clock.

I was late.

Late for work, and too late to write, I obviously had only one reaction.

So today? Today you get, well..

I apologize whole-heartedly for my slacking…

and promise NEVER to do it again.

So take today to write to me with ideas..

..go through the older posts…

…and enjoy this picture of boobies that I somehow can’t fit into this picto-story.

We’ll see you all on Monday. Sincerely,

((**NOTE** With time comes change, with change comes me finally using the TenTonHammer provided e-mail address. I mean hey, it’s only been two years right? Effective so immediately that I did it yesterday, the links to my e-mail and my new e-mail will be Coyote@tentonhammer.com . Ya know..in case you wanna boobie pic me. Giggity.))

“Die! Die! Why won’t you die?! Why won’t you die??!”

That’s what the gaming world seems to be shouting even louder than usual to the few remaining PC gamers out there.

Negative press, suspicious, blame - a slander party of epic proportions spun against us to bring us into the console gaming fold, or to kick us out completely. If you’re a PC gamer, you’re a Pirate who doesn’t pay for content. You hack and mod games, share them illegally with your friends and rip money out of the needy hands of the gaming companies without a second thought.

PC gamers are criminals, and that’s how we should treat them.

At least that’s the message Bioware is sending as they gently remind us that it is the “Computer Pirate” that causes high prices, annoying ass copyright protection, and even occasionally…

…GLOBAL WARMING! (Insert loud and dramatic music with an overlay of a fanged devil baby hissing here.)

Mass Effect, one of their most successful games to date, is finally coming to the PC platform for those of us who still refuse to pay $399 for a gaming box that you’re not allowed to fix yourself should it break down. (Which it does. Often.) And to celebrate the new PC release Mass Effect will have new content, improved game play, and the most Orwellian copyright protection that you could possibly imagine.

In order to play the game you’ll need to “Activate” it online - which is really no big deal. Those of us who enjoy Half-Life 2 and Portal and the like are well used to Steam. And while it can be a pain in the ass from time to time and it took some getting used to, it really isn’t that bad.

It greatly limits piracy (Yes, I know. You can have “stand alone” pirated versions of games, but since these are mostly Multi-player, the number of people snagging and burning this game is amazingly small compared to most.), allows you to select all of your games from a single menu, and updates your games when a patch comes out. Free content, bonus content, a friend’s list, and most importantly - a “Play offline” option for those people who play on laptops and who don’t always have internet connections, Steam seems like the logical choice in game protection. 

But Bioware doesn’t agree. The pirates are out there. Waiting.

And Bioware doesn’t want to have one single cent lost to these foul, villainous, evil, and often young teenage devils. So they’re putting a new twist on their copyright protection that will make SURE that they’ve got a Big Brother Eye on you.

They’re making you constantly register with their servers.

Every time you play your game, their servers will reactivate it FOR you. If for some reason you can’t get to a server that day? No big deal - you have a whole TEN days to do so.

And after that?

Your game no-worky-worky.

That’s right! Not only do you have to buy, register and activate with them to prove that you’re not some dirty scummy pirate - you have to KEEP DOING IT FOREVER! Or ya know, your game won’t work because you’re probably a filthy pirate.

Now this doesn’t sound like that big of a deal to many because they assure us that the “reactivation” will be seamless, but here’s the kicker - You get three activations. That’s it. Three.

You install it initially? Mark one off. You reinstall because of a computer upgrade? Mark one off. You put it on a second computer in your house? Mark one off and now you’re done. All three activation serials are toast and that game is now only allowed to be played on those three PCs, which it will check. Every time you play. Unless of course someone will a serial key gen activates your copy and your legal account gets flagged as “bad key”. Then they’ll just deactivate you. Period.

THAT will stop those god damn pirates!

But the problem is? It won’t.

People who will pirate this game will be playing on illegal copies that have had all of this nonsense hacked out of it. They will install the game, and play without once ever worrying about activations and registrations and ten day check ups.

Which means that they only people who will be dealing with the anti-piracy measures, the only people who will be forced to repeatedly assure Bioware that they have a legal copy, and the ONLY people who will be frustrated, stuck on hold with inept customer service, and NOT playing the game…

…are the people who are going to buy it.

TAKE THAT YOU FILTHY CUST..om..er..s…?

I for one was going to buy this game and add it to the small house that I’m building solely out of gaming boxes - but now I don’t think I can. How can I support a movement aimed at stopping pirates, by arresting and harassing the people buying it?

Pirates will simply play the game. End of story. They’ll download it, virtual drive host it, and play without a care in the world - this effort to stop them, wholly ignored.

Customers will install and activate and then every time they want to play, connect to a server that will collect data about their machine, registry settings, and conflicting software (Some LEGAL copies of games will not allow you to play if you have virtual drive devices installed on your PC - even if you aren’t using them.), and go through a reactivation process akin to checking in with your parole officer every time you wish to play. Which will eventually lead to the extinction and assimilation of every dirty, filthy, lying and cheating PC gamer out there.

Errr…Pirate. I meant Pirate - not PC gamer. Sorry, a little bit of truth got typed there.

Damn spell-check.

I meant Pirate. Those are the people who are going to suffer. Right? The Pirates?

-Coyote

Mother’s Day is probably upon us.

I say “probably” because I’m still not 100% sure. You see, Mother’s day is one of those magical and mystical Holidays that constantly changes dates so that if you’re a guy you can never remember exactly WHEN it is supposed to be.

Guys likes dates.

If you say “December 25th” we all know that it is Christmas. January 1st is New Years Day and “The Fourth of July” is glaringly obvious to even the most dense among our Neanderthal population. But not Mother’s day.

Nooooo…

Mother’s Day (like a million other so called “holidays”) moves around. Like a women it is elusive, tricky, and will spring upon you like a pouncing tiger ready to gnaw on your heart and fill you with guilt. All because YOU didn’t remember some stupid rhyme (There is ALWAYS a rhyme with these things.) that is supposed to help you remember when the date actually is. Rhymes like

“What frigging rhyme? Mother’s Day is ALWAYS the second Sunday in May. What the HELL is wrong with you?”

But this year we’re ready, because I know for a FACT that Mother’s Day is THIS COMING WEEKEND because I did a little research and nailed down an actual date. And of course by “did a little research” I made the mistake of asking Missus Coyote who then helpfully provided the clever little rhyme above and pointedly asked what I bought HER.

Which confused me because the last time I checked, she wasn’t MY Mother. Sure, she’s “A” Mother, but it isn’t MY problem. She should have had rich kids instead of the two little ear biters that run around here throwing dramatic sighs and saying “Daaaaaddy” in an exasperated voice whenever I dare venture out of my cave in search for food.

But I digress.

So knowing that Mother’s Day is Sunday and today is Wednesday, we have a full NINE DAYS to buy a gift. Which is obviously much more time than needed, but it is good to be prepared.

So what do you buy your Mother? Money is tight, or you’re cheap, or you just have no clue of what to get the woman who forever wrecked her hoo-hoo parts by squeezing out your thoughtless ass who doesn’t even call her on her BIRTHDAY. Well luckily for you, you have ME. A kind and gentle male spirit who is in touch with, and deeply understands the inner-workings of the female psyche.

Shall we? Lets.

“Uncle Coyote’s Five Cheap and Easy Gifts For Mother’s Day”

Breakfast In Bed - For some reason chicks go all wibbly for this one. Whenever you’re flipping through the channels looking for a good soft-core skin flick you’ll stumble across this little heart warming scene on some channel “Just For Women”:

A Mother is sleeping peacefully in bed while her family tip-toes in and surprises her with a thoughtfully made breakfast. She tears up, everyone hugs and I can only guess the ending because I’m usually watching “Busty Bad Girls in Jail IV: Hooter Lockdown” by then.

This gift is perfect because all you need is a key to your Mom’s house. That’s *IT*.

She usually has a fridge full of food, and you know damn well that YOU don’t have those fruity little TV tray things that they always use on TV just lying around. Slap some food on a plate, put it on the tray with some of those pretty flowers she’s always planting out front and sneak to her bedroom. And for the love of your testies be a MAN. Don’t sneak in and gently wake her - that stuff is cheesy and not exciting. You should be EXCITED to give her a gift on her special day, so grab that boat air horn from the garage, kick open her bedroom door and scream “HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!” at the top of your lungs while blasting that puppy like you’re at a tail gate party.

The best part is - she won’t see it coming. No one EVER expects to be woken in their own home by a six foot tall shadowy figure with an air raid siren. Then you can enjoy a nice and peaceful ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance, where you can hold her hand the entire way. Chicks dig that stuff too.

Macaroni Art - Remember how happy she was when you’d give her this crap as a kid? Just imagine how PROUD she’ll be of you now that you don’t suck at it. Kids have small, clumsy, stupid hands because their kids. So anything they TRY to make with macaroni just looks like a bunch of macaroni glued half assed to an old cereal box.

But it didn’t matter, Moms eat this crap UP.

So imagine how proud she’ll be when you craft her something TOTALLY KICK ASS for Mother’s Day! A box of macaroni costs like a dollar (unless she has some) and there’s always that old tube of Elmer’s glue in the junk drawer - GO NUTS.

Have fun with it, and put some time and effort into it, and you’ll have a cheap, easy, and ALWAYS CHERISHED Mother’s Day gift that she’ll want to take to work and hang in her office.

Trust me. I work in an office. I see this CRAPPY art all the time. The bar isn’t set very high, and now that you have full control over your hands, (Unless the before mentioned “Busty Bad Girls” movie is on.) you’ll look like Rembrandt compared to the other kids.

Draw her a picture - Right up there with Macaroni Art, moms love themselves some crappy hand drawn stuff. The problem is, unlike macaroni art, drawing doesn’t come naturally with age. So you still might suck. Sure she’ll hang it anyway, but come on - this is your MOTHER and you need to go the extra mile.

“But Uncle Coyote! I can’t draw!”

Well that’s kinda sad, but I’ve got GOOD news for you. You don’t HAVE to know how to draw. This is the digital age my friend, and if you can’t do something there is always someone who can.

And that someone is the INTERNET.

You can find pictures of ANYTHING on the internet and as long as you have a colored printer she’ll NEVER KNOW. Just find a picture of something nice that she’d like to have for Mother’s Day like jewelry or a cruise or new car, print it out, sign your name and BOOM.

Your gift shopping is done and you’re back to surfing for porn. Easy peasy.

Cleaning Supplies - Moms like to clean stuff.

It’s a fact.

They’re always picking up and straightening and doing dishes and actually MOVING STUFF to dust and not just Pledging around the edge of the table without disturbing even a single knick-knack.

And they do this because they LOVE it. So why not give them the tools they need to continue their cute little hobby on their own? A few bottles of cleaner (The big ones you cheap skate), some sponges and those weird latex gloves with the bumpy palms that look like fun but just end up chaffing so don’t even bother - all these things can be found right at the supermarket.

Or even IN YOUR OWN BATHROOM CLOSET.

Yeah, I have no clue how they got in there either, but wrap’em up and give’em to Mom. Someone should get some use out of them. Right?

Bingo stuff - And lastly, the most important of all old lady gifts.

Bingo crap.

“Wait. I didn’t know they HAD bingo crap.” You might say if can throw a football and don’t run like a girl.

Yeah, I didn’t know they had bingo stuff either - but they do. Dabbers and markers and chips and magnetic wands and “bingo bags” that look like crocheted pigs, the bingo market is HUGE.

“But my Mother doesn’t PLAY bingo!”

All mothers play bingo. It is a fact. And if yours doesn’t she’s either a dude or you never bought her bingo supplies.

So what is in a bingo supply?

No clue. But if you check the closet next to those magically appearing cleaning supplies that you regifted? Chances are you’ll find a neat little bingo bag with everything she’ll need inside. Markers, wands, weird little containers with acronyms that match up to your wife’s initials - the works.

And it is all free.

So let THIS Mother’s Day be special, because chances are you only have one mother. And if by chance you have two? …You know..

…send pictures.

-Coyote

((We’re considering changing the name of “Not Funny…Ever” to “Only Funny If You Have Downs Syndrome” as per suggestion by yet another satisfied reader. This also pimps out this week’s EQ2 Patch notes AND a cartoon by the ever lovely, charming, and slightly hairy Brasse. - Enjoy.))

Bugs creep me out.

I’m not a little GIRL about it, and I don’t flip out and do that weird “jump around screaming and slap at random parts of my body the bug wasn’t even seen on” dance that most people do when something lands on them, (Unless it is monstrously huge or a bee, then all bets are off) but I really don’t like bugs.

And I blame magnifying glasses.

Scientists always want to show you crap REALLY close up, but I can promise you I was FAR better off without knowing that a fly has like six million hairy eyes or that a spider has the fang-to-body ratio of a sabertooth tiger. Bugs creep me out, and thanks to a link dropped into the comment section of yesterday’s column by Loolee - it’s worse now than it was before. 

Because she linked robot spiders. Or worse yet - robot spiders being designed and controlled by the military. Which of course leads to the glaringly obvious questions. Namely:

How are we not winning the war? How are we not the Supreme Intergalactic Rules of the Universe and loyally worshipped by slaves, minions and Tom Cruise alike?

Seriously, think about it for just a minute.

 You live in some third world country that we normal Americans can’t even find on a map unless Entertainment Tonight takes us there to show us what new kid Angelina Jolie has adopted. You’ve seen nothing but war and violence and oppression your whole life and to escape the hard streets you join some military movement or terrorist organization which offers you a bunch of virgins if you get blown into kibble.

(*Writer’s Note* - Virgins? REALLY? Virgins? Who wants a bunch of virgins? I mean they’re…they’re virgins. Now, you offer me 72 really hot slutty chicks? I’m blowing myself up in front of Burger King for Muhammad Ali TOMORROW. *End Note*)

You’re surrounded by war and sand and broken buildings and other stereotypical things that they show me on the evening news and some war movies where Sylvester Stallone or the Governor of California have to rescue their kids. You’re hungry, you’re tired, you’re scared, and as you lay crouched in a building praying to God and clutching a dirty but really reliable AK-47…

….TEN THOUSAND MECHANICAL SPIDERS POUR THROUGH THE WINDOWS.

I mean you’re probably used to big bugs and spiders and things crawling on you and what not because you live in the middle of Bugtopia - but these are different. These are super hybrid ROBOT spiders controlled by angry Americans. And if they want to pin you down and rip you open with their tiny metal pincers and lay robo-eggs in your face..

…they’re going to frigging DO it.

But it doesn’t just stop with scary little nanospider things ripping the flesh from your bones in tiny little agony filled chunks.

Oh no.

That wouldn’t NEARLY terrifying enough.

I mean spiders are still just spiders, and even the super fast mechanical robo spiders can be out run, right? And unless they transform into tiny little motorboats (Which would be an awesome frigging toy. SPIDER CHANGERS!) you can hurl your screaming carcass into the nearest oasis and swim like a bitch because they’re going to SINK. Because robo spiders can’t cross water.

But the robo dragonfly can.

Now they’re airborne and honing in you on you ear canal and there is jack you can do to stop them except for hope for a stiff breeze and pray that they don’t fire lasers into the uncovered exhaust shaft that leads to your brain.

Flying robot insects. Crawling and pinching robot insects. How could this get ANYMORE frigging terrifying? They can paint these things up like clowns and give them little Dracula capes and my ass isn’t going to pucker any harder than it already is. Come on! DO YOU YOUR WORST! DO YOUR WO-

“Some federally funded teams are even growing live insects with computer chips in them, with the goal of mounting spyware on their bodies and controlling their flight muscles remotely.”

…

…..

…I just lost control over a few of MY “flight muscles” and now need a change of shorts.

Oh..so you’re now implanting super intelligent computer chips into insects for scientific purposes? You “hope” to control them and you have future “goals” for them that you assume are completely under your control?

Mmmm-hmmm. Mmm-hmmm. I see. Very good. Ahem. Professor, a quick question if I may? I realize that I may have asked this previously on an occasion or two, but:

WHY ISN’T THE SCI-FI CHANNEL AND EVERY B-MOVIE EVER PLAYED ON A F***ING SATURDAY AT 4PM REQUIRED F***ING REFERENCE MATERIAL FOR YOUR GOD DAMN EXPERIEMENTS?!?

WHAT. THE. F***?!??!

Am I the ONLY one who gets the Sci-Fi channel? Is it pumped DIRECTLY to my house and my house alone with hopes of convincing me that Richard Grieco or Antonio Sabatto Jr are really and truly good actors? You can’t, I repeat, you CAN NOT grow computer chips inside INSECTS without something going terribly TERRIBLY frigging wrong! And what KIND of insects are we talking here? Because I’ve seen enough frickin’ television to know that you’re not starting out on grasshoppers and ladybugs, are you?

No.

You’re going right for the “Super poisonous, little known, really big, African Killer Bee” aren’t you?

Don’t answer. We both know.

So robotic spiders and dragonflies. Insect cyborgs raised in labs and grown with computer chips in them. Radio controlled COCKROACHES that scientists can literally steer around the lab with a little remote control device like an RC car straight out of Wes Craven’s sleepless nights…

Oh yeah. WISH I was kidding, but this is currently a project that the Japanese are working on - not that I can’t sort see the merits.

“Hehe. Toshi left the lid off of his coffee cup again. Watch! *plunk*”

Plus? If this works? That means SOONER or later we can get remote control forehead gizmos for really hot chicks and make them do all SORTS of naughty and questionable things…

Although I doubt too many lab geeks would be upset when we joking dropped a really busty obedient chick into their coffee. Unless of course the kid next-door is playing the latest Mortal Kombat on his wireless network and she turns around and rips out your heart.

But in the end…isn’t that kinda worth it?

-Robocoyote

I hate Tony Stark.

I know that I’ve started columns with this sentence in the past, and I know in my heart that I’ll probably start columns with this sentence in the future. But it has to be said:

I HATE Tony Stark.

I hate that he isn’t a mutant, I hate that he became a superhero simply because he could afford it, and now even more - I hate that he got his own frigging movie….

…and it was good.

The Plot

Rich billajillionaire playboy Tony “Wow, a guy named Tony who doesn’t drive an IROC-Z” Stark is the CEO, owner, and lead inventor of Stark Industries which specializes in blowing stuff up. A weapons mogul, arms dealer, and guy who gave me a reason to use the word mogul, the movies simply starts out as waaaay to unbelievable and fake right off the start. I mean a CEO who actually DOES something in a company? A CEO who gets DIRTY and works all hours of the night on projects even though he is a billionaire?

HA.

But this IS a movie so we suspend disbelief for just a moment and get sucked into the comic book world. A world where the big bosses actually work and keep themselves fit and healthy and don’t live on a steady diet of Krispy Kreme donuts and easily replaceable blonde secretaries with loose morals.

Showing off his latest weapon in a country with a name like Afganakrakaplekaplekastan, Tony “Antne” Stark is captured by Tuskan Raiders who are supposed to be terrorists even though they all have perfect teeth and headshots (available upon request). They take him to the nicest cave in the area and force him to shack up with a quickly forgettable character and build a new weapon. They want it to be more deadly, more explosive, and more  “wickedly awesome” than anything he’s ever built before.

Even though he’s in a cave.

In the desert.

And his only tools are some live scorpions and duct tape.

Although honestly? A big BALL of duct tape with a bunch of live scorpions stuck to it would probably be an awesome weapon. If you were at the ATM pulling out your life savings so that you could afford a “small” soda the size of an industrial waste container at the concession stand for a movie and someone pulled out a ball of duct tape squiggling with live scorpions?

You’d give him the money. And probably pee a little.

So Tony “Whoz duh boss? Eh?” Stark takes all the missiles and weapons and tools they give him to work with and despite his location, the poor work environment, and the fact that his easily forgettable plot device of an assistant is really a gynecologist from Pittsburgh - and trips a plutonium warhead blowing a hole in the desert the size of the Grand Canyon!

AHHAHAHAH!

I mean come on, what would REALLY happen? I know that I’ve never like worked on military grade missiles and weapons of mass destruction so I can hardly be considered an expert, but I’m PRETTY sure that you need a more sterile environment than a dirty cave equipped with some rusty tweezers.

But again we suspend disbelief and even though he’s under lock and key and heavily monitored and guarded, Tony “What the F*** is a Shalhoub?” Stark manages to design and build  his Iron Man suit which he uses to fight crime and spy on little kids in a creepy Michael Jackson moment.

Geek Stuff

Geeks are going to love this flick, because while it does stray from the comic quite a bit - Robert Downey Jr. *IS* Tony “Running out of Tony Jokes” Stark.  The attitude, the arrogance, the kindness masked by a cocky “I’m right and I’m rich” demeanor, Downey NAILES the character front to back and I doubt there are any who could have done it better.

Plus there is a lot of name dropping.

If you are a huge comic geek make sure that you listen carefully to the names used throughout the movie. While the mortals out there won’t get it half the time, Super virgins like you (or in this case, me) will be sliding in your seat and bouncing around until Missus Coyote hucks over-priced popcorn at you and tells you to shut up.

Names, characters, and foreshadowing galore, they did a damn good job dumbing the movie down for the general public while keeping the meat of the geek experience alive for those of us who have still never kissed a girl.

And as a bonus, Gwyneth Paltrow NAILED the role of Pepper Potts.

Conclusion

While there are a few dry spells and the story is a bit predictable in spots, it happens far apart enough where you only occasionally notice. Robert Downey Jr. became the character and carried the flick past any altered versions that made me shout “HEY! That’s not how that happened!” until movie goers threw really expensive popcorn at me.

We’ll give this one two paws up, a SOLID A Minus (A-) and highly recommend that if you are a comic book geek that you go out and see it immediately. Even if you HATE Tony “RadarX” Stark.

And as always (I should never have to tell you kids this!) stay after the credits.

You’ll thank me later.

-Coyote

(Monday Pimpings! The new Avast Ye is out, better than ever and now equipped with the soon-to-be-famous Hobo Cannon. Check it out!)

I have too many games.

Currently my computer desk (Or Command Station Alpha Bravo Niner) is being over-run by boxes and boxes of video games. They wait there patiently in their asymmetrical book-stacking piles just waiting for me to reach for a pen or my Spiderman cereal bowl so that they can topple like giant dominoes and add their own special Snap Crackle and Pop to my rice crispies.

And it is my own fault.

You see, these piles aren’t made up entirely of new games and awaiting worlds and adventures. Oh sure they’re in there mid pile, or dotting the vast landscape of air filled boxes, but for the most part - it is the old crap. Baulder’s Gate I & II, Icewind Dale, Neverwinter Nights, Temple of Elemental Evil - games that I haven’t played in years, yet I still can’t bring myself to throw the boxes away.

So instead they intermingle with Orange Box, Call of Duty 4, or the NINE MILLION unopened copies of “The Matrix Online” that I could use to build a modest sized dwelling. (Thank you SOE!) And while I haven’t touched most of these games in months or even years, (I’m looking at YOU Resident Evil) and the CD’s for them are scratched, chipped, or even missing - the boxes remain.

Because I know that they’re going away soon.

As much as I love my boxes, and I love my guides and books and the stories and lore and helpful hints contained within, gaming companies HATE them. They loathe them and see them as an unwanted waste of money. Five years ago the boxes were a necessity, internet connections were still flakey, had drastically varying prices and not everyone had a “high speed” connections. But now that the standard phone modem is for all arguments a technological fossil and the world is cruising the information highway for porn at speeds never before thought possible, digital downloads (and porn) have gotten stronger.

*

More reliable. Cheaper. Less hassle.

And companies LOVE it.

What better way to thwart piracy then to force everyone to download the game directly from you? Digital downloads don’t need packaging, the lore and stories and hints can be splashed on a screen that no one watches while the game installs, and you can STILL charge the user the exact same amount of money to play even though you are saving bundles on books and leaflets and box art. It is the perfect form of selling games..

…for them.

Me? I’ve grown attached to bulky boxes and impossibly thick user manuals. I LIKE the cluttery piles of gaming boxes that threaten to come crashing down upon any unauthorized user who dares to sit at my desk. Like the Missus:

“God damn it. I went to use your computer and got hit in the head with something called “System Shock II”! When are you going to clean your damn room?”

NEVER! Never damn it! The boxes serve as a reminder! They’re as fond of a memory to me as a photograph or conversation with an old friend. Sure the corners are chipped and crinkled and it hasn’t actually housed a game in three years, but that box is a part of me.

I remember the excitement when I bought it. Ripping open the clean plastic force field that protects it and reading the booklet on the way home from the gaming store. Installing and tweaking and bouncing in excitement because the box art and the story information in the instruction guide juice me up to play.

And now they want to take that away from me.

My discs and my booklets and boxes and leaflets for $2.99 off of some game that I will never play. They want to make everything neat and easy and organized and halt the casualties from any box tower collapses that could happen.

It’s a crime, and a serious one at that. Like robbery or conning some granny out of her social security check or putting a flat chested chick in a bikini. It is a crime and I won’t stand for it.

So I’m issuing a warning to those companies who are heading down this dark path of seamless transfers, clutter free desks and boy-chests on women.

The first one of you bastards to do this? The FIRST one of you to adopt a “no box, no booklet” policy? I’m going to bankrupt you.

And I can.

Not through boycotts or slander, and not through idle threats and harm to you or your company, but through reality. You adopt this measure and you’ll lose every penny you’ve ever made.

Because I’ll send all of my copies of The Matrix Online to you, in the mail, postage due. And with as many of these as I have?

No one can afford that.

VIVA LA REVOLUTION! DOWN WITH DIGITAL DOWNLOADS!

-Coyote