Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Anime and its dangers

Taking a look at the world and the Internet these days - being careful enough to avoid Myspace, as professional researchers have finally concluded retardation is Internet-transmited -, I realize I must've slept through some meeting or maybe missed a memo , because I haven't been informed that every single living person with access to a Torrent client and Divx codecs must absolutelly worship every single piece of animation that happened to be made within the Japanese territory.

All my efforts into understanding this phenomenon
have been in vain. Sure, Japanese cartoon (referred to the insiders as "anime", which sounds like a Roman demon with hemorroids) are widely known to be the world leaders in categories such as "boring fights that take place in front of colored lines" and the critically-acclaimed "displaying eight billion collors per second and sending thousands into a epiletic seazure and maybe resulting in a class-action lawsuit", but still, this does not explain how it was possible for the Oriental culture to sneak up on us the way it did. I mean, if World War II taught us anything, is that Japan is formidable at invading countries and sinking battleships. We should've been prepared!

There is a group behind this invasion. This group calls itself "The Brotherhood of Otakus Extraordinaire". But to understand all facets of this social matter, one must first delve into the mind and the world of the common "otaku".

Who is an otaku? Anyone could be an otaku. Your mother, your next-door neighbour, your accountant, your dog, no one is safe. Maybe even your safe is an otaku - if you notice it's acquired the habit of squiting and making the peace sign when you take its picture, you might consider getting a new safe.

Even you could be an otaku; if you have ever bought a incredibly stupid article of clothing simply because there was a japanese ideogram somewhere on it, otakumania might have already claimed your life, as it has done to many other who were forced into watching Inuyasha because "C'MON TOMMY, EVERYONE IS DOING IT LOL!!!11"

Your average otaku is white, 14-18 years old (older specimens have been found in the wild), collects those hideous japanese comic books which require you to throw all dignity aside and read it backwards, spends countless hours learning trivial japanese phrases which will be promptly misused next time the subject meets with other otakus to discuss the latest Naruto fan-made video montage, proclaimed to be the very best since all the other 367 they downloaded last night alone. Otakus also have been noticed to add the sufixes "chan" and "kun", as well as other Satanic and Anti-American words to the names of their brethen, as a way to identify members of a cult of something of that nature. These people often break court orders and gather in public places, much to the contempt of the normal society, which frowns upon any group of people who dresses like an surreal art project gone terribly wrong and masturbates to cartoon pornography. I mean, seriously, how can you consider someone who authored this atrocity a right-minded individual? This is the kind of thing that made Europeans start all-around human barbecues back in the Medieval Times. And guess what, there was no more anime in 1400 England. Coincidence? I think not!

Now that you have learned how to properly identify an otaku and its traits, it's time to develop a fighting strategy. Make no mistake; the otaku frenzy is destroy the memory of REAL cartoons with which we grew up. If you and I don't make a stand, by the time the next Dragon Ball Z OVA is released on, no one will remember names such as Optimus Prime and Cobra Commander.

Resist. Otakus are known to have a pathological attraction to the defunct Real Video format (as well as a pathological attraction for drawings of tentacles raping antropomorphic cats). As we all know, Real Player was designed by Osama Bin Laden himself in yet another attempt to destroy Western freedom and install third party software which embed horrible search bars in your browser. As long as you stay away of such software, anime can't touch you. Garlic and crosses might help, also.

Help. An otaku might not be a person in the ethical sense of the word and not enjoy the Human Rights you and I hold so dear, but that's still not enough reason to cut them in half with a rusty chainsaw. Do as Jesus would do and love them or walk on water or expel merchants from a temple or start a holiday to honor your birthday or something. HOWEVER, if said otaku ever shows up at your home bringing a mix CD compilation of his favorite J-rock bands, rest assure no jury in the WORLD would convict you from removing their spine with a nailfile.

Spread the word. Send this blog to all your friends. We must bring this invasion to an end.

Down with the anime farce!

Tuesday, September 13, 2005



Ontario, 2005 -- The Oshawa community was shocked today when 50 Cents' Fanclub Founder Adam Goode - who's also in charge of Israel Gazette, a newspaper journal that targets the jewish youth - announced that he is renouncing his white name and that he is from this day forward adopting the name of his real father, Israeli immigrant Jacob Rosenstein.

The guys from David's Little Goyens, Adam's award winning break-dancing group, are supporting his decision 108%. The singer/dancer who received our staff in his house today, was glad to tell us the reason behind this life-changing decision.

"Y'all be dissing us jewish people", he explained, "so me and my homies decided to keep it real for all y'all crackers! he concluded, while tears streamed down his Chicago Bulls jersey.

When asked about his future projects, Adam explained that he's just about to leave for Israel, where he is to perform a series of lectures entitled "Xbox - sucking ass all over the world" and sign autographs for his latest hip hop album. "TUPAC, WHERE ART THOU", which is his third Tupac Tribute CD, is already a smash hit in Ethiopia and other African countries.

"You gotta keep it real, dog, you know what I'm saying?" said Goode, while re-arranging his doo-rag and doing the W sign with his right hand.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

"If I were on a desert island, what three DVDs would you take with you and why?"

That was the title of my first english assingment, back when I was still at school. Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Is challenged the class to give an answer to the question that embodies the worst fears of our generation: being stranded on a desert island with no good movies to watch while you try to kill yourself with a sharp rock.

And since I've been suffering from a horrible case of writers block (either that or that burrito I had last night, I still can't decide), I'll just write my answer here.


The Matrix - Directed by the Wachowski Brothers, 1999

My first choice would be The Matrix. I can't deny it, I'm a fan boy. Saying that I kinda like The Matrix is like saying Hitler kinda didn't like jewish people. Although I must say, the reason why I love this movie goes beyond the wireframe kung fu fighting (that probably required more illegal chinese imigrants than all grocery stores in Ontario combined) and groundbreaking special effects made by people our parents called "nerdy losers" twenty years ago. Ever since I was a kid, I was drawn by the concept of alternative realities. The Wachowskiweiodasawhats-your-name-again brothers combined the metaphysical approach of philosophycal classics such as Plato's Cave, with flying kicks to the face and cartwheel shooting - which is not an easy task by any means. If I ever get bored of eating coconuts and trying to catch fish with my bare hands, I bet Keanu's bad acting and all the slow-motion fighting sequences would boost me up to the next monkey hunting.

Mary Shelley's Frankenstein - Directed by Kenneth Branagh, 1994

That movie shocked me when I was a kid, not only because they managed to screw up Deniro's face beyond recognition, but because the story is that classic "man versus God", "creature versus creator" dilemma - a theme I personally enjoy. The monster (which by the way, was not called Frankenstein) is a sentient being brought to life but forsaken by its own creator. Instead of doing what every rejected kid does and starting an emo band, the beast decides "fuck that". One can expect nothing short of gruesome killings and bloody disembowelment as revenge from the hands of the monster that surely holds a grudge.

Ong Bak (a.k.a. Some Oriental Dude Kicking Random Asses) - Directed by Some Oriental Dude Whose Name Has More Consonants Than Should Be Legally Permited, 2003

Last but not least, Ong Bak, the tale of the kung fu master with a heart of gold in a spiritual quest of punching bad guys in the face and/or finding some sacred stolen stuff. This perfected the "pointless ass kickery stitched together by pointless dialogues" technique. This cinematic approach is not an easy task to pull off, but the makers of this gem made sure they'd hit a home run but cramming over 80 minutes worth of footage of raw face bashing. Truly a must-have for any classic movie fan that happens to be on an uninhabited island (but doesnt mind the English voice over being roughly two minutes off, that is.)

Of course I'd turn all those fine movies down if I could only get my hand on one of those "How to Make a Raft Special Edition DVD".

Monday, July 18, 2005

C'mon, tell me the truth

You missed me, I know you did.

Sorry I didn't update on the weekend, guys.

Friday, July 15, 2005

God dammit

About eight or nine months ago, my bastard of a dad promised me a Epiphone Les Paul...

Like these

...with a matching Marshall amp and maybe a bitching camouflage strap. You know, to defy gravity and keep my guitar on my hands. Since I'm at this moment writing on this blog instead of rocking out hardcore, I don't have to say he's yet to fulfill his promise (but I said it anyway).

Whenever the promised date draws nigh, some money-requiring complication comes along and steals my destined guitar. Now, I'm no physicist, but I'm sure the universe wouldn't come to an end if he just tore a couple bills and gave me the goddamned money. Who needs all this hot water anyways?!

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Holy Shit

Ok, I'm officially scared now.

My stepmother is emiting the most gruesome sounds I never thought I'd get to hear from a human being. Her bedrom door is closed but it seems like wood is no match against these cries from the deepest realms of hell.

It sounds as though every soul from every jewish person killed in the Holocaust is yelling in unison, but a little bit louder.

Please, send help. My eardrums won't last for long, and I need them for when I'm going to the Warped Tour.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

I can't think of a topic

Hello, masturbating losers that are the Internet users! And yes, I can rhyme! How was your day?

Whatever, I don't really care that much. I will assume you wanna hear about my day, then. You do? Ok.

My day was pretty shitty. I went to some ice cream joint and ask for whatever piece of shit they had on their manu that didn't exceeded my tight budget of $1.76. The employee/bitch responded by laughing at me, and I almost prayed to God that he'll just stop being a jerk and use his awesome x-men powers to fast-forward time so it's already THE FUTURE and we can all have body implants that shoot lasers directly into the eyes of people who diss my ice cream budget.


That wasn't all, though! Today I got to witness cops chasing some dude who beat up some other dude over the matter of stuff AND an almost-collision. Apparently some chick hasn't yet cracked the complicated color code of the average traffic lights and went straight through a red one on a busy intersection. Cars halted, horns blared, people screamed and I let out a fart that went totally unnoticed, until I decided to write about it and tell the whole world. After being accused by every person within a 5 mile radius of being a woman of the streets and performing sex acts for money (actually they weren't that kind and used alternative wording), the dumb broad put the pedal to the metal and got the hell out of the scene faster than you can say ":)".


Speaking of cars, remember my rant about socially-challenged pussies that participate in those dreadful drive-by yellings? Well, someone decided to step up to the plate and take the blame!

Well actually the guy didn't step up to any plate, not even those small ones mommy used to tell me not to throw at the dog but I threw them anyways and then blame my smaller brother. The person posted an anonymous comment on a website, which is about as brave as crying in terror upon the sight of butterflies.

I guess it demanded an answer nonetheless.

And that's all for today, folks. Join in tomorrow when I'll explain the greatest mysteries that concern our minds when we're not busy playing solitaire - the origin of the Universe, the meaning of Life and just how the fuck people can think replacing "?" on MSN with a animated GIF is fashionable.

Try not to die till then. Izzy, over and out.