World

Commander Shepard Triumphantly Resolves Minor Squabble

April 13, 2010 by Observer Staff

The Citadel, Serpent Nebula — Commander Shepard of the U.S.S. Normandy chalked up another important victory today when she solved a minor dispute involving a missing, possibly stolen credit chit on The Citadel. Citizens of the universe, still in grave peril from an alien species of immense power and unthinkable evil, rejoiced at Commander Shepard’s key role in solving this minor disagreement.

The trivial incident occurred on Level 26 of The Citadel. A Volus named Kor Tun discovered he was missing a credit chit shortly after bumping into a female Quarian named Lia’Vael. Suspecting she had deliberately engineered their collision to surreptitiously lift the chit from his pocket, Kor Tun flagged down a C-Sec officer and demanded the Quarian be placed under arrest.

It was at this point that Commander Shepard, who had earlier been investigating the mysterious abduction of thousands of colonists by unknown evil alien forces, but who had stopped by the Citadel to shop for tropical fish for her aquarium, overheard the dispute and intervened.

After obtaining each individual’s interpretation of the incident, Shepard began her in-depth investigation, putting the pressing matter of the salvation of the universe on hold once again. Shepard spoke to employees at the Sirta Foundation, where the two aliens had bumped into each other, and at Saronis Applications, where Kor Tun had been shopping earlier. Shepard eventually determined that Kor Tun had made some purchases with the chit but had accidentally left it in the store.

As the matter of the thousands of missing, possibly murdered colonists remained a chilling mystery, Shepard made a quick trip to search for platinum on a planet in the Pax System and took a lengthy detour to have a drink and watch an exotic dancer in the Afterlife Club in the Omega Nebula. She then returned to the Citadel, where the three participants in the missing chit incident were still patiently waiting where she had left them. Shepard informed them of her discovery: the Volus had simply forgotten to take his credit chit with him after leaving Saronis Applications, who were holding it for him.

“That’s what makes Shepard such a valuable commander,” one bystander said. “She has the leadership to put the fate of the universe and the well-being of thousands of missing colonists on hold to look into the smallest personal matter, such as finding ingredients for her ship’s cook so he can prepare a nice meal, buying toy spaceships to decorate her cabin, or seeing how many of her shipmates she can seduce.”

News of Shepard’s decisive minor victory quickly spread through the galaxy, lifting the spirits of people everywhere who were wondering what had happened to their missing loved ones and how soon they too would be abducted and consumed by the ancient evil plaguing the universe.

Even people in other dimensions of the multiverse were impressed with Shepard’s ability to ignore impending doom in favor of resolving minor dust-ups. “You just don’t see that kind of dedication to trivial matters anymore,” said Arvena Thelas, a Dunmer commoner living in the Cyrodiil city of Anvil. “The last time I remember anything like that was when the Hero of Kvatch took time off from closing demon-filled Oblivion Gates that were threatening to bring about the end of the world, in order to help me a problem I had with the rats in my basement.”

Commander Shepard could not be reached for comment, as she had once again placed her primary mission on hold to share a bottle of brandy with her ship’s doctor.

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Local

$200 Million Nanosuit Used Primarily to Throw Turtle Around

April 12, 2010 by Observer Staff

Lingshan Island, South China Sea — A U.S. Army Delta Force team member, dispatched to combat North Korean Forces who had taken over an island in the South China Sea and abducted several archeologists working there, has been using his taxpayer-funded, $200 million combat Nanosuit primarily to throw a turtle around.

“This is so cool,” said Lieutenant Jake Dunn, codenamed “Nomad”, as he picked up the large turtle for the third time, set his Nanosuit to maximum strength, and then threw the turtle as far as he could. “I can really chuck that thing far.”

“Wow, I can jump really high, too,” he added. “This is bitchin’.”

The Nanosuit, built for the military by Crynet Systems and funded with U.S. tax dollars, has a number of high-tech features, including heightened armor and a cloaking device, designed to turn its wearer into an elite super-soldier capable of infiltrating enemy forces and surviving extreme combat situations. It can also give the wearer the ability to throw things, like turtles, much further than an ordinary human could.

Dunn held still, allowing the suit to recharge its strength feature, before picking up and throwing the now-deceased turtle one more time. “Awesome,” he said. He tried out another feature, and listened as the male voice in his earpiece announced “Maximum speed.”

“Why do computer voices always have British accents?” he wondered aloud. Then he sprinted forward, seeing how fast he could run with the device enabled. “Cool,” he said. “That’s really fast.”

Continuing to ignore his his mission objectives, Dunn, who had not had a previous opportunity to test out his nano-powered armor, also tried picking up and throwing various other objects, such as a wooden crate and a log. “I also love how that when I pick something up, I can look down and see my hands holding it, no matter what it is.”

“Man,” he said. “I bet that cost a lot.”

Paddling around the ocean a few minutes later to see if the “maximum speed” setting made him a faster swimmer, Lieutenant Dunn and the Nanosuit were eaten by sharks.

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Opinion

I Don’t Know What I’ll Do With All This Used Armor I Keep Buying

April 11, 2010 by Observer Staff

By Bogrum Gro-Galash, Innkeeper

As innkeeper of The Lonely Suitor Lodge in Bravil, in Southern Cyrodiil, I’m faced with a number of challenges. Keeping my lodge nice and tidy, my guests happy, and my rooms affordable is tough in this day and age while still managing to turn a profit. It definitely doesn’t help that I keep buying used sets of armor from any hero who walks in the front door.

I don’t know why I do it. I don’t need three pairs of rough leather boots, or two sets of fur gauntlets, or seven chainmail cuirasses. I don’t even go outside the lodge, let alone into the wild where I would need armor, but the moment a hero sprints in after a dungeon raid or a cavern crawl and dumps off some rusty iron greaves, there I am, handing over the hard-earned cash that I could have spent buying new mattresses for the guest rooms or improving my wine collection. I don’t know what my problem is. I just don’t know.

And it’s not just armor, either. Swords, shields, arrows, clothing, repair hammers, wolf pelts… whatever he’s got, I’ll buy it without hesitation. I draw the line at stolen items, sure, but if it’s a set of bloody fur gauntlets he’s yanked off some dead Khajiit bandit or a flawed pearl he found in a Altmer Conjurer’s cave, I’m more than happy to plunk down top dollar for them. I wish I knew why.

And don’t get me started on the so-called “potions” he sells me. He’ll buy me out of all my bread and vegetables, then stand there mashing them up with his mortar and pestle, right in front of me, and sell me back the resulting glop. Fifty-seven Restore Fatigue potions that taste like pumpkins and cheese? I don’t need my fatigue restored that badly. My patience, sure, but not my fatigue. And yet, I buy them all.

I’ll admit, sometimes he’ll sell me something nice. I like Soul Gems: I just think they’re pretty, even without souls in them. I’m halfway through reading the four volumes of The Argonian Account books he sold me, and I’m enjoying the story so far. The Dwarven helmet I purchased is certainly nice to look at: it’s wonderfully crafted and ornate, but I’ll honestly never wear it. I don’t even know where it comes from. We don’t have any Dwarves around here.

What is my problem? Am I too nice? Can’t I say no? I’ve spent my entire life savings purchasing the stuff he brings in here, and I’ve had to use two of my spare rooms just to store it all. Any more of this, and I’ll wind up living in the street, sharing a bedroll with Penniless Olvus. At least I know he won’t try to sell me anything.

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World

Health Pack Reform Divides Nation

April 10, 2010 by Observer Staff

Washington, D.C. — The administration’s ambitious plan for health pack reform continues to stir up controversy and has divided the nation seemingly down the middle. The proposal includes provisions to provide free health packs not just to lone heroes on world-saving missions, but also to average citizens such as taxi drivers, bartenders, merchants, prostitutes, farmers, security guards, helicopter pilots, priests, and even scientists who stand around forever fiddling with some vague bit of technical equipment without ever actually fixing or activating it.

Some herald the plan to provide health pack benefits to all citizens, and not just to heavily muscled heroic commandos on top-secret missions, as the mark of a more responsible society. Many others feel threatened by the reform, wondering just who will truly benefit and who will be hurt.

“I mean, where does it end?” one gruff, sardonic hero asked while rappelling from a helicopter to the rooftop of a skyscraper that had been seized by a battalion of cloned super-soldiers. “Why should everyone get free health packs? Heroes are the only one who really need them. I’m the one infiltrating this skyscraper, I’m the one who will be clearing its rooms and hallways of heavily armed clone commandos, I’m the one who will be haunted by horrifying visions of a demonic little girl with hair in her face.”

“Looks like they were expecting me,” he muttered grimly, as he landed on the roof and began spraying bullets at attacking enemies. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. You start giving free heath packs to office workers and hot-dog vendors and soon there won’t be any left for me. And I’m the one who needs them.”

“Look, we’re not asking anyone to take health packs away from space marines or reluctant saviors of the human race,” one construction worker said, wearing a hardhat and carrying a lunch pail as he walked back and forth between a construction site and his truck, over and over again. “They clearly need them, what with the overwhelming odds and lack of effective cover systems they encounter. We’re just asking that normal people be given access to health packs too.”

“The average citizen won’t be spearheading an attack on a fascist regime or battling through a post-apocalyptic wasteland,” said another construction worker, who looked and sounded identical to the first. “But we still live and work in those places. We still take damage and lose health, not just from mutated boars or inter-dimensional demons, but often from the very heroes who are purportedly there to save us. ”

He waved his lunch pail at a group of pedestrians walking in circles around the construction site. “Who among us hasn’t taken a stray bullet from a hero’s gun, or been hit by a car the hero was driving, or taken splash damage from a hero’s grenade? Sometimes I even think they hurt us deliberately. That’s why we need health packs.”

Despite conflicting opinions on the matter, the impact of the new plan is sure to be felt by nearly everyone, especially health pack manufacturers such as Heal-U-Kwik Industries, who has been leading the charge in opposing the new health pack legislation.

“As the nation’s largest supplier of health packs, heath kits, heath vials, stimpacks, med-kits, medpaks, syringes, syrettes, healing stations, mediguns, bandages, and painkillers, Heal-U-Kwik Industries stands in direct opposition to this new plan and the damage it will cause,” a Heal-U-Kwik spokesman said.

“We have a hard enough time as it is turning a profit,” he continued. “Our business consists of distributing free health packs throughout war-torn urban environments, and sometimes even to other planets and dimensions, for brave lone heroes to use at no cost to themselves. If we have to provide health packs to absolutely everyone, it will destroy our already poorly thought-out business model.”

Some are quick to point out that many societies have successfully made affordable health benefits available to all of their citizens, such as the underwater city of Rapture, founded by industrialist Andrew Ryan. In addition to various snacks and beverages containing healing properties that are scattered throughout the city, health stations in Rapture can be used, for a small fee, by anyone, be they lone protagonists with shadowy pasts, or insane, mutilated splicers who scream profane gibberish while crab-walking across the ceiling.

“I think the system here works great,” said one of Rapture’s splicers. “I honestly don’t know what all the fuss is about topside. I think a society should provide some sort of health pack benefits for its citizens. Here in Rapture, I can use the health stations if I really need to, and I’m profoundly grateful for that. There’s even a way to get around the fee if you’re clever.”

“SEMEN! SEMEN ON EVERYTHING!” she added, scuttling backwards up a wall.

The elite government operative invading the clone-occupied skyscraper isn’t convinced, however, and feels he never will be.

“Next thing you know, all of my enemies will be able to pick up health packs, too, making them much harder to kill. Soon, heroes won’t be able to enjoy the benefits of free, instantly healing health packs because someone else will already have used them.”

“So, next time the country isn’t saved from the threat of evil, mind-controlled clone soldiers, don’t come crying to me.”

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Local

Hostages Rescued By Courageous Racist

April 8, 2010 by Observer Staff

Montescaglioso, Italy — After a daring daylight raid on a small town in the Matera Province of Italy, four employees of DSB Computer Solutions expressed joy and relief for having been freed from the clutches of their terrorist captors, as well as admitting a great deal of discomfort about the nature of one of their rescuers, an outspoken racist.

“I mean, he was amazing,” said one hostage after the ordeal. “He took out two terrorists right in front of me like they were nothing. His skill, his reflexes, his bravery under fire… it was as breathtaking as his intense hatred for black people.”

“He threw one grenade but dropped, like, twenty N-Bombs,” he added.

According to the four rescued hostages, they were abducted from their place of work moments earlier and were held in small rooms in the Italian town, two upstairs, two downstairs. Frozen with fear, they awaited rescue from their eight terrorist captors who never issued demands or requests for payment. Counter-terrorists moved in with an aggressive plan to free the hostages using deadly force, hoping to complete their mission in under five minutes. Gunfire erupted almost immediately, racial slurs shortly after.

“We heard a lot of shooting,” another hostage said. “Automatic weapons fire from all over the town. And a lot of yelling. Curses, offensive slurs against minorities, invitations to copulate with one’s own mother. All the shooting was scary, sure, but the language was just revolting.”

“I don’t want to single him out, seeing as how he saved my life. But while the other counter-terrorists were saying things like “Go go go!” and “Enemy spotted!”, this guy was just N-this and N-that, and saying ‘fag’ every third word. Just spewing hate-speech, start-to-finish.”

Seven of the eight counter-terrorists were eventually killed, leaving just a single soldier to deal with the remaining four terrorists. That soldier, known only as “GoblinCock69,” quickly and efficiently took out three of the terrorists before finding the terrified, somewhat uncomfortable hostages and leading them into the courtyard.

“Yeah, I was happy to see him,” one hostage said. “Then I realized he was the one doing all the name-calling. I wanted to get out of there, and follow him to the rescue zone, but I have to admit, after hearing what he said about blacks and homosexuals, I was tempted to take my chances with the terrorists.”

“The guy is no fan of the Jews, either,” he added.

As the hostages were led to safety, the final terrorist was killed, shot twice in the head as GoblinCock69 profanely implied he was gay, developmentally disabled, and of Mexican ancestry, all in the same sentence.

“It’s a weird situation, definitely,” said another freed hostage. “I mean, I owe him my life. Absolutely. Yet, I’m really reluctant to thank him because he’s clearly an ignorant, hate-filled jerk. He’s a hero, but if I’m ever taken hostage again, which I admit is quite likely, I really hope he doesn’t show up to rescue me.”

When questioned about his profane language and hate-speech, GoblinCock69 issued a curt invitation to perform fellatio on him. Then he promptly left town.

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Lifestyle

Sim’s Huge, Spacious Home Detrimentally Huge, Spacious

April 7, 2010 by Observer Staff

Sunset Valley — Sim Citizen Stiles McGraw, after saving for years to afford his huge, cavernous dream home, was dismayed to discover that his new house is so vast and spacious that it’s destroying his lifestyle.

“I’m miserable,” he said through an interpreter. “By the time I get out of bed in the morning, walk to the kitchen to eat, then walk to the bathroom to wash up, half the day is gone. I missed work yesterday because I wanted to paint on my easel on the deck, and by the time I got out there it was already noon.”

“Last week, I was swimming in the pool, and got tired. The bedroom is so far away I only made it halfway there before collapsing to the floor and falling asleep in the foyer. This house is just way too big.”

McGraw, who worked his way up from a lowly coffee courier to vice president at Sunset Valley’s Office Building, spent years saving his hard-earned Simoleans, dreaming of someday buying a mansion on beautiful Summerhill Court. “I had it all planned out. It would be two stories, nice car in the driveway, hot-tub out back, telescope on the balcony, see-through walls and roof… it was going to be heaven.”

Unfortunately, the reality turned out much differently. “My bedroom is upstairs, and getting down to the kitchen in the morning seems to take forever. Then, I have to prepare an elaborate meal, walk it over to the dining room table, put it down, turn, pull out my chair, sit down, and eat. After that, I’m clearing the dishes, washing them, then it’s off to the bathroom. It’s, like, mid-afternoon by that point. I’m so frustrated I just want to yell and wave my arms at the sky.”

“I mean, there are things I want to have time to do with my life. I bought a new painting for the den, and I haven’t even found time to walk over, look at it, and start applauding. If I want to use my computer to play some games while giggling and hooting, I have to carve out an entire afternoon just to get to my desk. I think I was better off sharing a much smaller house with four roommates on Sunnyside Boulevard.”

McGraw is finding that his spacious new mansion is affecting his social life as well. “I met this cute policewoman one night after someone attempted to rob my mansion. I chatted with her, and called her the next day. She came over, and we talked about how we both liked sailboats and didn’t like tennis rackets. We flirted a bit, I gave her a massage, we kissed a little. I thought, wow, this could definitely lead to some WooHoo.”

He paused, sadly. “But it took so long to get her upstairs to my bedroom, that by the time we got to the bed she had to go to the bathroom. When she finally got done, I was hungry, and while I was headed to the kitchen to make some food, she went out to dance to music on the deck. Hours later, I finally got her back upstairs, but she was tired and wanted to leave, and I needed to use the bathroom so badly I urinated on the floor. It kind of killed the mood.”

What does McGraw plan to do now that his house hasn’t lived up to his expectations? “I’d like to sell it, honestly,” he admitted. “I’m just not sure who would want it. Showing it to a prospective buyer would take all day, and they might get turned off by how huge and inconvenient it is. All the pee stains on the floor aren’t going to help, either. For now, I guess I’m stuck here.”

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Local

Elite Soldier Accidentally Fires Rocket, Injures Self

April 6, 2010 by Observer Staff

Dushanbe, Tajikistan — A highly trained U.S. military commando reported injuring himself this morning while on a dangerous covert mission that has become a race against time itself. The incident occurred when the commando inadvertently fired a missile that exploded in his vicinity, badly wounding him.

“It was an accident,” the commando explained. “I thought I was holding my binoculars but it turned out I was holding my missile launcher.”

Covered in blood and riddled with shrapnel, the covert agent, who had become separated from his squad late last night when their transport plane was shot down, described the incident.

“Well, I wanted to take out my binoculars to have a look at the enemy base over there. So, I was cycling through all my weapons, really quickly,” the lone-wolf military veteran explained. “You know, taking out my pistol, putting it away, taking out my shotgun, putting it away, taking out my [sub-machine gun], putting it away. I thought I’d gotten all the way to my binoculars, but I guess I stopped on my rocket launcher, which I always take out just prior to taking out my binoculars.”

Believing he was holding his high-tech. lightweight binoculars and not his 38 pound FGM-148 Javelin guided missile launcher, he quickly depressed what he thought was the button that would activate the 18x magnification zoom feature of his digital spyglass.

Instead of getting a close-up look at the distant enemy military base, however, he was surprised to find he had in fact fired a missile. The missile immediately collided with the waist-high stone wall he’d been taking cover behind, and exploded. The explosion severely injured the black-ops commando, who had been appointed to his mission by none other than the President of the United States himself in a desperate, zero-hour gambit to prevent a nuclear holocaust. Shrapnel tore through the commando’s body-armor and flesh, nearly killing him.

“It’s not a huge deal,” the gruff operative said. ” If I just wait five, maybe ten seconds, I’ll fully recover from my injuries. My breathing will return to normal, those blood-spatters on my eyeballs will fade, my heartbeat will stop throbbing in my ears. It just sucks because that was my last rocket and I’m pretty sure there’s a helicopter that comes out when I get near that base.”

He paused, already looking healthier. “Sometimes I do something similar when I’m in a rush. Like, I’ll mean to open an ammo crate but instead I’ll turn on my flashlight. Last night, I had stolen this jeep and was driving at top speed through a village. I meant to pull out my map to see where I was, but instead I accidentally jumped out of the jeep. Dove right into the street, at about seventy miles an hour. Man, that hurt.”

He laughed, seeming to possess fond memories of the incident that had resulted in two bystanders being killed by the out-of-control jeep. “I had to go all the way back to the middle of the village to attempt my daring, high-speed escape again, too,” he said, shaking his head.

“Mainly, I just feel a little stupid about mistaking the zoom function on my binoculars for the launch trigger on my enormous shoulder-mounted laser-guided anti-tank weapon. ”

“But hey,” the lone hope for the free world added. “It happens to the best of us.”

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Life Stuff

The Quitter, Part 2

April 2, 2010 by Christopher

If there were a children’s book about me called What Makes Christopher Go?!? it would be two pages long and contain colorful illustrations of a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee.  Over the past two weeks I’ve had neither, and it has severely affected my ability to, shall we say, go.

See, I had planned to do a daily running commentary, to mine my quit-smoking misery for laughs, but frankly, I’ve been miserable to the point of not being able to laugh about it.  It’s been a rough 14 days, and my original plan is completely in shambles, but I’ve still managed to not smoke.

The plan was three-pronged.  First, to not buy cigarettes using my natural procrastination.  That’s been working fine. In fact, I’ve been using my natural procrastination to do nothing whatsoever. I knew I could count on it!

The second prong was to to push-ups every time I wanted a cigarette, in hopes of punishing myself into not wanting cigarettes.  This worked pretty well for the first couple days.  Early on in the process, the desire to smoke hits hard and often, probably once an hour.  But it only hits briefly.  The desire is overwhelming but only lasts for a few minutes, then goes away until the next one.

Problem is, after the first few days, the sudden, painful pangs go away and are replaced by low-level yet constant urges. It’s like going from an occasional hard smack in the face, which hurts but quickly fades, to what amounts to someone flicking you in the earlobe, non-stop, all day, every day. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a constant annoyance and it eventually wears you down to the point that you want to crawl into a ditch and die.  It’s sort of like a car-alarm going off a few blocks away: even though the noise is distant, soon it’s pretty much the only thing you can hear.

So, that’s been fun. Right now, if I did push-ups every time I wanted to smoke, I’d be doing push-ups roughly 24 hours a day. I’d be ripped, sure, but I’d probably also be dead.

Finally, the third prong was to substitute sunflower seeds for cigarettes. And I have done this. I have eaten so many sunflower seeds that the inside of my mouth is basically a tattered, stinging ruin.  The sodium and sharp shells have torn and gouged and shredded and destroyed my mouth to the point where — no exaggeration — I can’t actually whistle anymore.  Each seed is like pouring salt in a wound because it is literally pouring salt in a wound.  My mouth is one big injury.  I was actually reduced to buying jello because it was the only thing I could eat without causing myself pain.

Also, a weird side-effect of quitting smoking is that, for some reason, coffee now tastes and smells like liquid skunk shit. It’s bizarre. I’m almost physically incapable of allowing coffee into my mouth. This means, along with the nicotine withdrawal I’ve also got daily headaches from the lack of caffeine.  Plus, I used to love coffee. It’s like I lost custody of coffee in my divorce with cigarettes.  The entire experience is quite exhausting.

But, apart from the pain of withdrawal and the pain of my shredded mouth and the pain of headaches, I’m doing swell!

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Movie Stuff

I'm Not Here to Judge: Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus

March 18, 2010 by Christopher

There are already plenty of movie review sites out there, so I thought I might just dispassionately describe the films I choose to watch, trying to keep my personal opinions to myself. Sort of like a news reporter, only, like I said, I’ll be keeping my personal opinions to myself.

I recently watched the movie Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus, a low-budget thriller shot in twelve days in southern California and released straight to home video. Below is a description of the events of the film as I witnessed them; you are left to make your own decision as to the quality of the film.

I’m not here to judge.

Mega Shark Vs. Giant Octopus begins with some long aerial shots of a snow-capped mountain range, a natural choice for a film that will take place mostly in the ocean.  After the credits, we meet 80’s pop-sensation Debbie “Deborah” Gibson, who is a top scientist in the important and challenging field of Looking At Whales.  While she pilots a research submarine, a military helicopter drops an experimental sonar device into the ocean, which disturbs the whales and causes them to crash into a glacier, freeing a Quite-Large shark and an octopus that is also Abnormally Big.

Back on land, Debbie Gibson, who had stolen the submarine, gets chewed out by her boss, a sunglasses-wearing, gum-chomping hardass who seems to think he’s been cast to play a jaded homicide detective instead of a marine biologist.  They examine the corpse of a beached whale that has a huge bite out of it, though Detective Scientist claims the whale died from some sort of boating accident.  Debbie Gibson, suspecting otherwise, sneaks back later to extract a large pointy tooth from the carcass.

Meanwhile, on a commercial airliner, a stewardess walks down the aisle individually asking each and every passenger to put their seat-backs up.  The plane experiences some light turbulence, causing a male passenger to leap from his seat and announce that he’s getting married in two days.  After the stewardess calms him, he glances out the window in time to see Mega Shark leaping thousands of feet into the air and biting the plane to death.

This is your captain speaking. We're flying at 35,000 feet, and in a few minutes, those of you on the right side of the plane will be able to look out your window for a nice view of the digestive tract of an enormous prehistoric shark.

Debbie Gibson gets in touch with her former professor of paleontology, an irascible Irishman named Lamar. Lamar and Debbie Gibson try to determine what the large tooth-like object that looks like a tooth is, and after pouring Hawaiian Punch from one beaker to another and analyzing the results, they eventually realize that the tooth is a tooth. Lamar quickly jumps to the conclusion that the tooth belongs to a Megalodon, a prehistoric shark.

A Japanese scientist, Dr. Shimada, asks for help with Giant Octopus, who attacked an offshore oil platform while two workers were discussing whether or not it’s acceptable to urinate on co-workers.  Shimada also reveals that Lamar was kicked out of the Navy for crashing a nuclear submarine in order to avoid hitting a dolphin.  It is not explained how Lamar saw the dolphin from inside the submarine, or why the dolphin was floating motionless and unable to get out of the way, or why the Navy let an Irishman drive a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine in the first place.

The film then presents an important environmental message as Debbie Gibson announces that we deserve to have our passenger jets and oil platforms eaten by monsters because we’re letting the polar ice caps melt.  As if to prove this point, Mega Shark then eats a Navy destroyer.

Debbie Gibson, Lamar, and Shimada are taken to meet Lorenzo Lamas, who is one of the few top-ranking government agents allowed to have a ponytail, and who describes Mega Shark and Octopus as a “menace”, as if they were some foul-mouthed teenage skateboarders rather than creatures responsible for the deaths of thousands of people.  He also demonstrates an amazing skill: the ability to pick up any nearby phone and instantly be able to yell at the specific person he wants to yell at, be it a jet pilot, boat captain, or someone in a submarine, without having to actually push any buttons or ask someone to connect him.  He can just automatically connect through rage.

The scientists do some science, pouring various flavors of fruit juice into different-sized beakers, looking at the beakers, and shaking their heads because the juice is apparently not cooperating. Science is hard!

Exhausted from a day spent looking skeptically at juice, Lamar sleeps while Debbie Gibson and Shimada compare stories about why they became whatever kinds of scientists they are supposed to be.  Shimada explains he was a fisherman until he witnessed the tragic death of a dolphin caught in one of his nets, which convinced him to go into the field of beaker-related science.  His description of the agonizing demise of the helpless dolphin naturally arouses Debbie Gibson, and they have sex.

Afterward, Shimada starts sniffing Debbie Gibson, which doesn’t creep her out but instead gives her the idea of using pheromones to lure Mega Shark and Giant Octopus to shallow waters in hopes of trapping them.  Energized, they scientifically pour more fruit punch into beakers until the formula glows bright green, which indicates they’ve invented either Mountain Dew or the perfect substance to make giant prehistoric sea creatures horny.

Alas, things go awry. Giant Octopus swats a fighter jet out of the sky as it attempts to locate him.  Mega Shark becomes a nuisance as well, sinking another battleship and eating the Golden Gate Bridge, which was crowded with traffic due to no one bothering to tell the citizens of San Francisco that a five-hundred foot prehistoric shark was being lured into their city and they might want to stay away from the water.

The direct result of you refusing to switch to energy-saving light bulbs.

Since the plan to trap Mega Shark and Giant Octopus failed, Lorenzo Lamas wants to nuke the monsters, but Debbie Gibson has the idea of tricking the shark and octopus into attacking each other instead.  While luring the beasts together, Giant Octopus destroys an entire fleet of submarines by whapping them with his tentacles. “All five ships… destroyed by Octopus…” a submarine officer reports sadly.

Mega Shark starts chasing the last submarine, and after the submarine driver pulls a gun on everyone (don’t ask), Lamar knocks him unconscious and steers the submarine to safety, redeeming himself in the eyes of the Navy.  Mega Shark and Giant Octopus finally do battle, with Giant Octopus repeatedly wrapping his tentacles around Mega Shark because that’s apparently the only shot of the titular battle the filmmakers produced.  Eventually, both creatures die and sink into the deep, their deaths probably less a result of the fight than from trying to digest several thousand tons of boat and airplane wreckage.

Our heroes, clearly transfixed by the climactic battle. Or possibly thinking the camera wasn't rolling. Hard to say.

In the end, Shimada decides he’d like to continue living in the United States so he can keep sniffing Debbie Gibson. Lamar shows up and they all happily and excitedly run off to investigate some new monster stuck in ice somewhere, because it was so much fun the first time what with the thousands of people dying and the billions of dollars of damage.  The end.

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Life Stuff

The Quitter, Part 1

March 17, 2010 by Christopher

I discovered something disturbing the other day. Cigarettes are apparently bad for you! I can’t believe no one ever thought to mention this to me.

So, this weekend, after roughly twenty years, cigarettes and I will part ways.  I’ve tried to quit before, generally with no success, save the time I quit for about eighteen months a few years back. With each failed attempt, however, I’ve learned a little something to bring with me to my next attempt, and I’m fairly optimistic that this time will be the final time.  With a bold new plan in place, I think I will kick them for good.

This will be a cold-turkey approach, which I think is the only way to do it. I tried the patch once, which didn’t work. Having a patch stuck to me all day irritated my skin, gave me bad dreams, and was so uncomfortable that I couldn’t forget it was there, which meant I was constantly thinking about the patch and thus constantly thinking about not smoking and thus constantly wanting to smoke.

I tried the nicotine gum, which sounded good: chewing on something keeps your mouth busy all day. While I’m sure I’ll be chewing gum during this attempt, it won’t be nicotine gum, because you don’t just pop in a piece of nicotine gum and chew away to your heart’s content. There are rules.

You have to chew the gum a certain number of times, then park it between your teeth and your cheek for a certain amount of time, then chew it a certain number of times again. Keeping track of each piece, how many chews I’ve given it, how long it’s been parked in my cheek… it’s all very scheduled and precise instead of the mindless chomping I need. The last thing I want to do is spend all day thinking about how I’m quitting smoking. It’s the same problem as the patch.

So, I’m flying solo: no prescription drugs, no crutches, just stopping using the following plan, which I call my Three P plan.

The three P’s of quitting:

Procrastination: This is the keystone of my methodology. I will use my natural procrastination to help me quit smoking by never actually quitting, just delaying my next cigarette indefinitely.

See, I hate bumming smokes off people. I hate it. I think it’s rude and I’m always annoyed when someone does it to me. It’s like going up to a stranger in a restaurant and asking for a bite of their steak. With my anti-bumming policy, the only way I can smoke is if I go buy my own.

Something else I hate doing is literally everything else. If there’s one thing I love to do, it’s nothing. Putting things off is second-nature to me, so why can’t I just put off buying cigarettes? Forever!

Anytime I feeling like I really need to smoke, and find myself thinking about buying smokes, I’ll just tell myself: “Okay, fine, but not right now. Put it off until later.” When later comes around, I’ll put it off again. And again. This practice of procrastination has kept me from going to the dentist and learning Javascript for years; I don’t see why smoking should be any different. I’ve trained myself for years to be lazy and unmotivated, and now it’s finally going to pay off. In lung dollars!

Punishment: Of course, there are times when my need for nicotine will overpower me. When my brain will be all but demanding that I have a cigarette. When I might be in such dire straits that I actually consider asking someone for one. This is where I will have to retrain my brain.

The plan is, when my brain decides it absolutely needs nicotine, I will give it something else: push-ups! Every time my brain tells me it wants and needs a smoke, I will instead drop to the floor and give it the agony of doing as many push-ups as I can (granted, this is not very many, but I’m sure dropping to the floor and doing push-ups a couple dozen times a day will increase the amount of push-ups I can do). I’m hoping that my brain will eventually realize that asking for nicotine equals getting a lot of pain instead, and will eventually stop asking. Hopefully not too quickly, though, I’d like some well-sculpted biceps and triceps to go along with my new well-sculpted lungs.

Sunflower seeds: Okay, this doesn’t start with a P, but it’s the third prong of my attack, and the Two P and One S plan isn’t very catchy.

I’m not simply addicted to nicotine but the ritual of smoking itself; doing something with my hands and mouth. And what better way to kick the disgusting habit of smoking than by picking up the disgusting habit of crunching on and spitting out sunflower seed shells? It’s gonna be a real pleasure to be around me for the next couple months.

One of the places I always feel like I need to smoke is while driving to and from work. In my half-hour commute I usually have three or four cigarettes each way, sometimes more if there’s traffic. Last week, however, I started eating sunflower seeds while driving, and it fills in nicely. Added bonus: cigarettes don’t come in zesty ranch flavor!

Finally, I’ve come up with a way to face the incredibly thorny issue of deciding which cigarette will be my last. Planning a set date and time to quit smoking is a terrible idea, because how can you pick your last cigarette? Knowingly smoking your last cigarette is a sure way to make that last cigarette taste like crap and feel completely ordinary, not the perfect, tasty, wonderful cigarette to end a smoking career with. And I can’t just pick one at random because I have no willpower, which was what got me into this mess in the first place.  That’s probably why I’ve put it off for so long; it never feels like the right time, it never feels like the last one. But at some point, there has to be one.

So, I’m leaving it to fate. Friday night, after work, I’m letting fate decide my last smoke. After every cigarette I have, I’m going to roll a six-sided dice. If 1-5 comes up, I’m not quitting yet. I can have one more.  When 6 comes up, that smoke I just had was the last I’ll ever have. There will be no hemming and hawing, just a decision made by the dice, probably followed by me bursting into tears and unhappily stuffing sunflower seeds into my mouth.

That’s the plan! It goes into effect this Friday night. If you’d like to subscribe to my Twitter feed and keep track of how miserable I am in real time, feel free.

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