Indiana Jones hates snakes.... on a plane.

Seriously. Go watch the first scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. The one where Indy's running from that giant boulder, and the natives, into the river and onto the plane. There's a snake, on the plane. Obviously Lucas used his "She's just lost her will to live" time machine to look into the future and totally rip off Snakes On A Plane's premise, added it to his movie, and sat back waiting to reap the rewards. Fucker.

There's been quite a bit of buzz online about this Snakes On A Plane movie coming out. Apparently Samuel L. Jackson signed onto the project without ever actually reading the script. He just took a look at the title and agreed to do it. Coincidentally this is also what happened with the three Star Wars prequels (because if anyone had actually read those, they would've had Lucas dragged out back of ILM and shot).

Also, according to IMDB.com, there was so much fan interest online that New Line decided to go back to do reshoots to bring the movie's PG-13 rating to an R rating. That struck me as odd. Exactly how many snakes do you have to add to a film for it to just tip over into the R rating zone? Is there some sort of mathmatical Snakes to Screentime ratio/equation that the MPAA has available? Does the rating go up for, say, every 100 snakes? Does it take more and more snakes to go up to the next rating, Some sort of exponential snakes rating system? G = 10 snakes, PG = 100 snakes, PG-13 = 1000 snakes, R = 10,000 snakes, and, god forbid, NC-17 = 100,000 snakes? I mean come on. For an R rating you'd need 10,000 snakes on that plane. Now that's some lax airport security. And I couldn't even get a nail clipper on.

But, as with all movies, we are force to suspend our disbeliefs somewhat to accept the world the movie presents to us. However, with lines like...

[from trailer]
Nelville Flynn: Enough is enough.
[cocks gun]
Nelville Flynn: I've had it with the snakes.

that, who can't be excited about Snakes On A Plane?

Out,
-The Danno

June?! What?! Where?!

Holy HELL, my bad.

June kinda snuck up on me. Then it beat me with a two-by-four with a nail stuck in it and took my lunch money. June's a fucking punk. Now that I've sufficiently recovered enough to use my hands, I've decided to grace you all with an update. You can thank me later.

So, I've been continuing my deli kung fu training at the local Giant supermarket. My fellow kung fu-ites are an entertaining bunch, and it is a rewarding experience working beside them. However, as with every retail job I have ever held (aka, ALL the jobs I've held) one truth rises above all, "This job would be so much better without the fucking customers." Don't get me wrong, I wish no ill will toward most, most, of the customers that I serve every day. But, there are, sadly, a few who deserve to be shot into space in the "Earth's Most Retarded Individuals Not Fit For Reproduction" rocket, which I've heard is slated for firing at the end of the current Bush administration, hopefully with him on it. Too bad he's already been allowed to have kids. Oh well, we do what we can. But enough of that tangent. Back to the stupid customers. We have a number of different types of stupid "customers". These include, but are not limited to: the Apparent High School Dropout, who cannot read, and therefore use the order kiosk (which is there for people to place and order and come back to get it later) and demand their order be immediately given to them even though their ticket specifically says "Your Order Will Be Ready In 15 to 20 Minutes". Then they get all offended when we tell them to come back later. Hey, it's not my fault you can't read a simple sentence, dumbass. Next is the That One Right There! class. These sorts of customer seem to believe we, being Deli Kung-Fu trainees, have x-ray vision, and have the ability to SEE through the BACK of the case at what they're pointing at whilst spewing "That! That right there! Half a pound!". I'm sorry sir/ma'am, we don't sell "that" (props to Deli Kung-Fu-er Mark for that one). Our interaction with these customers usually culminates one of two ways. We either 1) clamber up over/walk around the counter to see what it is they are pointing at, or 2) ask them to please read the GOD DAMN TAG RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE MEAT/CHEESE OF THEIR CHOICE. Now we come to the Over-Orderers. These people usually weigh in at a, and im being conservative here, light 300 pounds. They thunder up to the counter and demand four to five POUNDS of deli meat/cheese. Now, I would be the last person to make fun of a person for being overweight, as I am myself, but god DAMN big'un, you don't need THAT much compressed, over-processed, strangly wriggling, deli ham. You just don't need it. It's BAD for you. Put the sandwich down. Finally we have the Meat Mathematicians/Penny Pinchers, who come up asking either for a specific ounce weight (though our scales are in pounds), which really isn't all that hard, but still annoying, or a amount of meat/cheese in dollars (such as "two dollars of ham"). Look Mr./Miss Customer. I'm not a damn math major. I cut meat for a part time job. At anywhere from 2.99 to 12.99 per pound this amount of meat/cheese could be anything. I cannot do math like that without the aid of my trusty TI-83, SO QUIT ASKING ME. It makes my head hurt. All in all, it's a nice job, good pay, and an interesting set of characters to suffer with, so rock that.

Next...

I am appalled, APPALLED, at the new United States 2005 issue buffalo nickel. "But why?", you might ask. "BUFFALO DONG!", I reply. On the new nickel, there is, plain as day, a buffalo dong hanging off the underside of the buffalo on the back. Mammalian PENI on our currency! What's next? Giant testicles on the eagles on our quarters?! (Yes I know birds don't have testicles, but seeing how the Bush administration is running things, ANYTHING is possible.) The maddness MUST, STOP!


The new US nickel, note the buffalo dong.

And finally, it being toward the middle of July (ha! I'm not letting THIS month steal my lunch money... those fuckers work in packs ya know) I shall be attending my first State College Arts Fest. Well... maybe attending is incorrect terminology. It's more like drinking myself stupid and passing out. Yeah, that'd be more correct. Ha. Some of you might not know what Arts Fest is. That's good. Neither do I. All I know of it is that it's a giant collecting of people getting drunk off their collective asses and pretending they know something collective about art, and probably pissing off the artists that have come to hock their wares by insulting their inherent collective frenchness. It's collective... apparently. Anywho, for me, it's just another excuse to get plastered and yell at people I don't know.

Until next time to the folks I don't like, go drink and drive home.

Everyone else..... meh.

-Danno

Oh ha ha

Eric has made a rather un-humorous observation about my "comic" and how "yes it does 'byte'". Aha, HA haHahahaha. A rather astute observation Eric, you VDed donkeyfucker's mother's manwhore.



(Though in his defense, he is still funnier than Carrot Top, though broccli is also funnier than Carrot Top. Ha, get it? Vegetable humor.)

Off To Work!: Part 2, or "Tongue of DOOM!"

That last word is supposed to be "children". My scanner cut it off and I'm to lazy to scan it again. And yes, I misspelled "tongue" the first time I posted this, and since it is written right on the comic in indelible marker, I had to tape a fix over it. That is where that smuggy line came from. Sue me.

Off To Work!

Naughty Bytes part deux.... second half of the punchline coming soon.

Naughty Bytes v1.0

This is what happens when I get extremely bored in class. Things like THIS pop into my head. I thought it only fair that I torture you all as well. Many of you might remember my old comic "2nd Gear"... come to think of it, no, many of you won't. Regardless, I call this one "Naughty Bytes", a play on words, though the "comic" if you choose to call it that, has nothing to do with "bytes" of any sort.

Oh for the sweet love of merciful God....

I just sat through (willingly, I might add, and you can hit me later for that, please, I deserve it) probably the WORST movie I have EVER seen on cable television. Basically it breaks down like this: there are these two guys who just got to college, and they find these super-hot sorority girls who want to seduce them. However, they soon figure out that said sorority girls are alien chicks wishing to be "impregnated" to "save their species", but it basically comes off like the aliens are just psychotic chicks with a squid for a belly button, that enjoy freezing douchebag guys, attempting to get the "incubation temperature" right. This fecalfest was named "Decoys" by the way, so stay far away from it if you happen to see it on the shelf at any movie rental/retail store. No, in fact, don't stay away from it. Rip it from the shelves and burn it, pyre style, right there in the store. You'll be doing humanity a favor.

Now, I'm usually pretty lazy, but when I see something that makes what I'm going to be doing for a living look like cheap crack whorage, I get rather steamed. So I went to check IMDB.com, to find out who made this piece of rat crap film (no, not film, celluloid monstronsity) as to make sure I never watch anything even REMOTELY related to his/her/it's body of "work". I find out it is someone named "Matthew Hastings", creator of such TV hits as "Out of the Blue" and "Higher Ground", and writer on classic shows like "Vampire High". A man with a bold resume to be sure. Now that I know the person responsible for the throbbing headache I now have (from repeated head to wall bashings, because well, it was better than continuing to watch), I scroll down to the user comments to see if I can find a kindred spirit that hates this movie as much as I do. After finding said comments, I sit in utter shock and horror. This person LIKED the movie. Called it a "veritable gem" even! At first I thought, "This person must have been in some horrible car accident in some remote town, and the only entertainment they could get him during the long months of recooperation was 'Decoys'". Because no one without brain damage would find this flick anything but appalling.

This "reviewer", and I use that term in the loosest of senses, prattles on about how the production was "put together very well". Fine, if you call crappy flamethrower effects and stupid rubber costumes with alien "boobs" on them "very well". He/she/stupid then exclaims about the "bang-on laughs", whatever the hell that means. I suppose you'd find it funny, if you were in the seventh grade... and had been kept back... twice. And here's where I hope to enlist the majority of "Decoys" haters. This person thought that the writing was on a Joss Whedon level. Look, I'm not that big of a Buffy fan myself, but comparing this ridiculous excuse for script anywhere NEAR Joss level should be a capital offense punishable by death by jumper cables to the nips. The NIPPLES! Finally, this reviewer (who I just figured out is from Canada, which might mean that this "review" was due to freezing temperatures that have caused their brain to freeze to the inside of their skull) claims that the cast had "great chemistry" with each other. Let me just refute that claim with "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!". Their perfomances were stoic and unbelievable at best, unless you count that part where the main character laughs manically whilst torching she-aliens at a dinner table.

I'm not even going to go into any explination of the soundtrack other than "christmas carols playing while the she-alien, who you aren't supposed to know is a she-alien, kills the main character as the film fades out at the end".

ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH. WHY?! HOW?! HOW COULD ANYONE EVEN REMOTELY LIKE THIS MOVIE?! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! WHO COULD WRITE THIS CRAP?! WHAT EXEC GREENLIGHTS SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!!!!!!!

... I think I just burst a capillary...

-Danno

I Got Beef With you, Mr. Television, if that's your REAL name...

DRYYYY SPLIT ENDS!

And if you got that joke, you watch way too much mid-late 90's stand up.

ANYway...

I'm going to do it. I'm going to write about something I've already written about. Commercials these days. I know, I know. I can hear it now. "Buutttttt DAAAAANNNN, you already did that 'dumbass yuppie man-whore' article. You can't doooo aaannnoootttthhheeerrr!" Yes, yes I can. I have spent an inordinate amount of time in my apartment since the end of the semester, due to the lack of any reason to go outside (no classes, etc), and therefore have been subjected to countless hours of television's horrid programming. Given, some of it isn't so bad, but during the middle of the day, Maury and Springer battle for dominance on my Phillips 27 incher (size matters). Well, what could possibly be worse than transexual stripping midgets who love to have sex while hop-scotching? If you said "the commercials, dumbass", it proves two things. One, you read the beginning of this article, and two, you got my intellect pinned down to a fault. I watch these piles of monumentous feces with a cynical and unamused eye. I shall break down my three most annoying (non-local, that Pita Pit commercial still takes the top spot) commercials, and ways in which I think they could be improved to exponentionally increase the hilarity.

1) Avis "Orca" Commercial
- Ok, this is that commercial with the couple sitting on the hood of the car. The woman is going "Orca! Orca! Ohhhh I love orca!" in that irritating high pitched whine of hers. I don't know about the rest of you, but that particular pitch of her voice makes me want to smash my head into the nearest wall to make the horrible noise stop. The fix for this one? Have the guy shoot her in the face in the middle of the second "Orca!" and slowly slide out of frame. Just picture that in your head for a few moments. You know you would laugh. You sick bastard.

2) Fanta Soda Commercial
- I enjoy the soda. I do not enjoy being subjected to "obnoxious happy people". If you know me at all (or read one of my previous posts) you'd know that "obnoxious happy people" piss me off and make me want to hit them. Well, this is just a giant clusterfuck of obnoxious happy people pissing me off and making me want to hit them. Some people are just too peppy for their own damn good, and someone should put them out of their misery. As you may or may not know, at one point in the commercial they go into a song and dance retardedness on a football field with a marching band. I think at that point a squadron of F-18 Hornets should carpet bomb the ever living fuck out of them. It would give the advertisement that explosive "HURRAH!" that would stick in the minds of youth nationwide, making them want to buy Fanta, and then make them seek therapy in five years. Take that FCC! ha HA!

3) Fake Mini Cooper Commercial
- This is just fucking retarded. I don't understand why Mini Cooper would encourage something like this. People buy fake mini's online? Look, if they were stupid enough to get tricked, even AFTER they've seen a picture of said vehicle, they deserve whatever they get. Dumb bastards. I have nothing to add to this one. It just pisses me off.

"Dan", you might say, "you seem awfully violent with your suggestions." "Damn right", I reply "These bastards deserve to get their what fors, in gory and explosive typely ways."

Ok, enough with the commercials. On to bigger fish I have to fry.

CNN

Even this most respected news channel has sunk to new lows. Today I turn on the boob tube (though not enough pr0n on for my tastes), and what do I see but a bunch of White House staffers running their scared silly little heads off, out of the west wing, and, I assume, toward some type of bunkerish type building. You know what they were running from? Two retards, from LANCASTER, who managed to blunder their Cessna single engine, two seater PROP plane, into Washington D.C. restricted airspace. I know I would be shitting my pants if that were me in the White House and a small, primarily constructed out of wood and fiberglass, top speed of no more than 200mph, plane came within ten miles of the capital building. Oh wait, no I wouldn't. And you know why? Because I work for the government, and the government has these things called MISSLES, which make things like small wooden planes become even smaller pieces of kindling really quickly, SURROUNDING the greater D.C. area. These people need to calm the fuck down, seriously. MISSLES!

Finally, why wasn't I informed I could get chemical burns from Black Pepper Jack Doritos?! WTF?! Bastards have stripped my mouth of tastebuds, and I now have those little dangly pieces of dead skin hanging EVERYWHERE in my mouth. Not cool Dorito, not cool.

Trading (Anything) is still lame, and Bill Mahr is my hero.

-Danno