Baby Shamu was framed!
Get your half a space-suit on and prepare to trip the light fantastic all the way to Mars. 1968 required a great soundtrack to your space movie. The audio is pretty dang great. The rest of the movie is you know, there.
Everything you need to know on IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0063311/?ref_=nv_sr_3
The company that promised a one-way ticket to Mars is bankrupt
The President knows nothing, and that’s been clear for a long time. If he knew something, he forgot it before he knew it. Even it he knew it when he knew it, it wasn’t important. And if he knew it when he knew it, he’d lie about it. He’d lie about knowing he knew it. He wouldn’t know he was lying about what he knew anyway, even if he knew it at the time.
Looking at the President, can you even tell if he knows he’s got pants on? Would he lie about having pants, while standing in front of a crowd without any pants? Does a President-friendly crowd *need* pants if he says he has them and he doesn’t?
In a world where you can get by fine without truth and/or pants, why bother with either?
That’s what I know.
Perhaps we should figure out how to put our talents together like the League of Superfriends we used to watch on TV.
Why was it always possible to see Wonder Woman’s invisible jet?
These are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night
Why couldn’t she have an invisible costume instead? I guess that would be a different show.
What’s the point of having an invisible jet when Batman can see you sitting there? Doesn’t it just mean you keep knocking your head against the door trying to find your way in?
In any case, you’re Wonder Woman. There should be a show that’s more honest about how guys would react around Wonder Woman.
She’d be trying to beat them up about crimes and stuff but they’d be incapable of speaking or acting coherently because she’s so incredibly hot all brain function is short-circuited.
The only criminals she’d actually be able to fight would be girls.
The girl villains would be all rolled-eyes and pissiy about it.
Oh great Wonder Woman, you’ve got all the dopey guys falling all over you, why don’t you help me just steal all this money?
We have a solid episode of something for sure… something…
If nothing else, we could hang out around Wonder Woman
We’d have to find some lesbians or gay guys to point the cameras.
Maybe that’s part of the show. How hard it is to film a show about Wonder Woman.
Superman’s got lots of issues.
I also wonder what would happen if Batman was bitten by Spiderman. Spiderman has radioactive blood. Would Batman get Spiderman Powers and be Bat-Spiderman?
We could write a terrible show about writing terrible shows.
Bat Spiderman. He’s out there, looking for Wonder Woman’s invisible jet. Fuck, where did she park that thing?
It’s gotta be around here somewhere.
I was going to have dinner with Green Arrow in Paris, but I can’t find my frickin’ jet.
Like, what the hell was I thinking? Invisible jet.
you clearly have untapped imagination going to waste.
Maybe I should also get an invisible TV? Wouldn’t that be a great idea?
Yeah, there’s at least 15-30 minutes of good comedy here.
Even 5 minutes is good larfs.
Know anyone at Robot Chicken? We could have two minutes of fame
I’ve got another good 30 minutes of Wonder Woman jokes inside me, I think
Can you imagine how Real World Wonder Woman would be facing actual guys – Hellloooo????? eyes up here! There would have to be this whole evil girl empire that hates Wonder Woman
(seems to be how girls work, yikes)
because WW shows up and the guy criminals pretty much drop everything when WW shows up and can’t compete with her.
That’s funny enough, but how do they resolve the conflict?
Girls just usually scream at each other. Re: fake housewives of whatever show.
Oh my nails are so not good enough to interrupt your wedding planning!
Maybe there’d be a super weapon of some kind
Probably made of guys who’ve stopped farting
and do the dishes without complaining
aha! Why would WW want to stop that? Is that mission really evil?
Perhaps that’s the emotional crux of the show. WW has to decide: should men continue to allowed to be stupid?
would that be a funny conflict?
I wouldn’t touch a show about male/female issues right now. I guarantee whatever I would do, it would be wrong.
Would WW act to stop a Super Villain who’s Evil Plan is to make men be better?
GUH. Of course, are you not listening to the plot? WW might have to stop you.
She’s going to have to disrupt the actual writers of the show.
She’s going to have to break the third wall, the fourth wall and all kinds of walls, perhaps kicking down the drywall between the set and a room full of fat nerdy guys in front of computers
and tell them, scriptwriters – it’s ok to have a super villain who makes men better. I’m not standing in the way of that!
Cue the music, there will be dancing around
Liz Phair can do the theme music.
There you go – I think we’ve got at least 10 minutes for SNL.
I’ll take your silence as mere shock from my brilliance.
Either that or you went to the bathroom or are looking for several more beers.
My writing will do that to a person.
Haha. I’m here. and there. have the kids without the wife. they are asleep upstairs but I keep checking anyway. tryign to do the garbage. etc. not very exciting.
Wonder Woman has already won.
I recommend letting the woman make the important decisions.
So we have a show about scriptwriters writing a show about writing a show about Wonder Woman. It writes itself.
We’ll stick in Bat Spiderman, maybe he can bite Catwoman, and then she’ll have Bat SpiderCat-Woman powers.
Maybe Aqua Man can show up and order some fish around.
Well kids, check this out.
Amazon will sell you ebooks to teach you how to to cancel your Amazon Prime membership. I guess for people who don’t know how to use Google.
Wow, that’s pretty clever. Let’s say you are part of the unwashed horde overwhelming our borders. Just think how convenient this is:
- First off they steal your $2/hr tomato picking job.
- Then they sell you drugs.
- While you’re high, they rape you.
- Afterwards they murder you, and take the rest of your stuff.
- Then they steal a car, go downtown and vote for democrats using your voter id.
- After that they do some more raping and murdering, they go collect thousands, if not millions, of dollars that we hand out to everyone on SNAP. You know how rich all those people are as a result.
- …and they spend it all on Taco Trucks.
The horrible truth must be told!
Imagine the power we could generate with a Bacon / Anti-Bacon collider!
Meanwhile…
If Holly Hobby had a hobby, what would Holly Hobby hobby?
…and if she had a Hobby Lobby…?
With one arm he had me shoved against the bulkhead and with the other he held the shiv uncomfortably close to my throat. “You are going to help me get to that supply ship? Or…”
“Or what?” I hissed through clenched teeth. He dropped his arms and stepped back . “Or you’re never getting your chocolate bars, smart guy.”
I looked out the porthole towards the mid-flight supply ship appearing to float serenely a bare 100 meters off the bow as we slowly rotated to maintain an appearance of gravity.
“You, are nucking futz you nucking futzer!” My mind spun crazy, the Captain, Trilla, that space-mad fat bastard and now my chocolate. “There’s two things that fat bastard on that ship doesn’t need is oxygen and my swutting potato chips!” Smith punched the bulkhead with a fist. “let’s get busy.”.
I never thought I’d be desperate for chocolate on a Mars mission, but I’d never met a woman like Trilla. It started innocently enough. How she snuck that perfume on board I’ll never now, or maybe that’s her natural scent? Maybe we all mutated after that burst of solar rays. Space Force uniforms do their best make us as unattractive to each other as possible, but after that week when the coolers were FUBAR we got used to sitting around in our sweaty underwear day after day.
Then she ran out of the last of her Toblerone supply, months too early. Soon after that she noticed how I was looking at her. “Hey boy…” That’s how it really started. Wasn’t long before we were trading kisses for Hershey’s Kisses. Then a couple of times sharing the zero-gee shower and she had tapped me out in more ways than one.
Sound ridiculous? Spend a couple months eating carrots and carrots and carrots in our cramped galley that still smells of gym socks after the dish washer exploded and filled the vent shafts with dirty water, and believe me, you’ll be ready for a pick me up.
Meanwhile….
Lacking it’s own rotation, supply ship Shackleton Jr had become a dangerous place to be. At least that’s what I told them. Right, Navigator? Yes, of course I’m right. I watched that Mars Surfer 3 match course and velocity on the Space Radar. Time for another Lay’s Snack Pak. Mmmmm crunch crunch. They have things for Duke, don’t they Captain? Oh yes they do!
Time passes, painkillers kick in…
The fat man swung a big left hook at me, which left him spinning in the half empty cargo hold, his necklace of human skulls following his trajectory like his stench. Smith held on to a zero gee strap with one hand and the back of my space pants with the other. I clung to the floating cargo container and poked that unwashed blowfish further away from any grip with my metal yard stick.
“Captain and Navigator do not like you! Duke StarVader does not like you!” Raved the fat man as he slowly spun towards the far wall, a blimp smeared with unwashed body grease and chip crumbs. “Jay-zuz, how long do you think he’s been alone here?” Wondered Smith as he pulled me in reach of the cargo ladder. “Long enough to eat the best of our supplies, God knows what he did to get those skulls.” I replied.
The hapless StarVader continued to spin slowly and drift across the bay waving his corpuscular arms and legs with futivity and spouting enough spittle to almost provide propulsion.
“Forget that Space Turd. Let’s get this back to the ship and hidden before Trilla gets off the Captain and he orders refueling.” I smarted at being reminded who on board still had chocolate. “Hey,” he ribbed, “if this space ship’s a-rockin’ don’t come a-knocking!” We slowly slung the bulky container towards the auxiliary cargo dock being careful to avoid the occasional loogie spat out by our raving fat friend.
“Stick it where the solar flares don’t shine, Space Fag!” I growled with anger as we wrestled the thing to the door. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Butt Virgin!” Laughed Smith at my annoyance, and stuck his hand to his forehead shaped in the form of an “L” the intersolar sign for “Loser!” and doing a little dance. That fucktard. I mentally crossed him off my Zarkmas card list.
Back on the Mars Surfer, Smith and I were stuffing snack pack sized bags of Lay’s Classic Potato Chips into every possible corner of our cabins. Just handling them I started to drool. “I’m so farkin’ sick of carrots” I garfed out.
“You and me both buddy.” Rejoined Smith. “If I ever get my hands on the tech who stocked the garden pod with nothing but carrots he’s going to wish he died choking on someone else’s vomit.” He gently caressed one of the chip bags. “Oh sweet baby, make me rich” he crooned.
“Ensign Smith and Ensign Bitters please report to your duty station for Space Manoeuvers” crackled over the ship intercom. “They sure picked the right name for you, Grumpy-Pants!” Chuckled Smith as he smacked me on the back of my head. My face burned, but I needed that chocolate. “Yo… Yo momma!” I stammered ineffectually and we trooped out the door to the command deck.
All gleaming silver metal surfaces and important blinky space lights our command deck of the Mars Surfer glowed with efficiency. Every fake hair on Captain Fucktard’s head was perfect coiled around his crown. As we entered he jabbed a digit at the Space Phone, displaying the pizza-like face of the pimpled and greasy character in the ship next door. The sound was off, but the ranting was evident.
“Crew, what do you make of this? He claims to be a Sovereign Space Citizen and you stole his Space Cookies.” Questioned the captain.
“Well, Captain Sliptard, how could that be while we were all on laundry duty?” I replied, hoping to sound sincere.
The Captain cocked a finger at Trilla. “Science Officer, what do you think of this Space Dip-Derp?” She tucked a stray brown hair behind an ear, clearly still wet from a recent shower. She watched the screen carefully with her, may I say it? Space Boner busting beautiful slightly slanted Asian almond eyes. “Space Madness, Captain. The rest of the crew seems to be missing and he’s demanding double the oxy we were scheduled to drop off while getting our supplies and fuel.”
Smith spoke up. “Captain, mass detectors indicate a, uh, significantly lower cargo load than expected.” Smith cleared his throat. “And where’s the rest of the crew?” The occupants of the command deck traded glances. The bloated man on the screen appeared to be using human skulls as puppets for an animated discussion.
The Captain scratched his nose. “I suppose there’s no volunteers to board and see what he hasn’t eaten?” Silence in the compartment. Seeing blank stares from his crew Captain Sliptard made a command decision. “No cannon fodder on board today? Very well. We’ll use the cargo arm to pull off the fuel we need without boarding and the rest of the trip we’ll be on half-carrot rations until we get to Mars orbit. An audible groan escaped from the crew. “Oh, do I hear some volunteers?” He swung his gaze left and right, clearly nothing doing.
And so, my career as a snack item smuggler began in earnest.
Well here we are. It’s late. Who can be hungry with gas station wine? Your author is snitching my housemate’s fancy cheese and snorking it down with month-old corn tortillas.
None of this is anything to be proud about.
