More information at a later date, when our web guy is back on point, but here it is.

NEW FUCKING MOVIE!

Back on the horse with a special preview of Edith Keeler Must Die, the Journal of Contemporary Bullshit. It’s a short story magazine we’re putting together, and should have released in the next couple of weeks. This story will give you just a little shot of the EKMD juices - the same kind of juices that’ll pulse through other stories by Max Roderick, myself and a full palate of illustrations by Max McDermott. You’ll be able to buy it - on the internet!

It was night in the warehouse, and three men were there. All of them were criminals. “I’m rock hard,” said one, pumping his fist towards his chest in a vicious display of primal dominance. “That’s why they call me ROCK!” He got that name from all the rocks he busted in the big house, where there is basically nothing to do but bust rocks and make license plates (BUT making license plated was like the prison equivalent of being in Marching Band).

“That’s fine,” said another man - who was thin and wore a suit that was perfect for crimes. “But I’m soft, like a museum rope!” His name was Slippery Man. He was as crafty as an eel. Thanks to his creative use of a calendar, he gained the amazing ability to keep taking drugs - even though he was on probation. His eyes twinkled with a question: do we live in the skull of the brains of this operation. Each pearly tooth shined out the answer: yes, yes, yes, no, yes (He was missing one tooth from a brawl). Read the rest of this entry »

Tonight is the night to have issues on my mind. And when I say issues, I mean issues - said all exasperated, like the way one crazy chick does when she’s trying to make some other chick sound crazier. Tonight, God help me, I’m thinking about Iraq.

So, first off, no this is not where I try to make things political around here. I know so little about politics that my writing anything in that direction would actually subtract from the general body of knowledge comprising the field. If I were to write a political treatise, some Harvard educated Poly-Sci professor is going to wake up tomorrow morning thinking Habeas Corpus is a good name for a fat dog. So I’m not going there. I know a lot about Godzilla movies, a little bit about Megaman and call me crazy, but I’m sticking to my strengths.

The reason I’m on about Iraq is personal, not political. One of my friends is shipping out next Tuesday. And I’m worried about him, naturally. Not worried that he’ll die, exactly. Because this guy does extremely stupid things like doing enough of them will get him a free sandwich. I’m worried that he’s going to die looking like an idiot.

See, The Iraq war is America’s dorkiest war. I’m putting all morality aside and just talking looks here. World War I? Nuts dogfights and spike-helmeted enemies? Cool. World War II? Paratrooping behind enemy lines to kill jackbooted fascists? Good enough for Video Games! Vietnam? M-16s, Huey helicopters and invisible, atavistic enemy forces? Gnarly. Gnarly to the max. The first Gulf War barely even counts. It was a pay-per-view event, not a war.

But Today? What’s the face of this conflict?

Some dudes with bandannas, shooting RPGs from the back of a pick-up truck.

See, the problem is that the whole thing is too human - all the wars I mentioned before were not as cut and dried, good vs. evil as I just boiled them down to. At least I’m assuming. But those wars have great marketing - all built around a recognizable enemy, as inhuman as Cobra Soldiers. Or at least the robot ones.

The enemy in Iraq is so recognizably human - I mean, Jesus, it looks like they’re fighting us on their lunch break - that it’s impossible to get stoked about fighting them. The whole thing just makes me feel uncomfortable. And now my friend is going over there to shoot these dudes? The one in the back is doing an “I have some rockets” dance!

I don’t know anything about the morality of this war. I do know that nobody remembers the main characters of bad video games, except for Blade & Striker from Bad Dudes. And, man, if they made a video game where you fought dudes in T-shirts and cargo shorts? That shit would end up festering underneath a pile of Madden 96s in the back room at Game Over. I don’t want that for my buddy, or any other person.

I want the killing to stop so I don’t feel petty when I debate whether or not Taito makes better games than Hudson. Even though they don’t, and anybody who says different is speaking shit.

Look, the roof in my bathroom just collapsed and whenever I run the air conditioner it soaks the the floor in water. I’m worrying about that now. And all the million other piddling little things like that that eat up the days ahead will be my primary concern. On top of it all, though, I’m going to have to hope my friend doesn’t get exploded. That’s a shit situation.

But, sadly, life goes on.