Late to the (Digital) Party

Okay, so there's this site, Gamecrush.com.

Its business model, at first glance, is hardly new; it provides digital entertainment over the internet for a small fee ($6.60 for the first 10 minutes, $8.25 thereafter).

The digital entertainment it provides, however, is head-to-head games with women gamers. Apparently your fee gets you 500 credits; each 10-minute session costs you 400 of those credits. GameCrush skims 160 credits off the top, the woman gets the remaining 240 credits, and you can "tip" her your remaining 100 credits ... if she has earned them by being hot, playing well, and flirting like mad.

Jesus Christ, people, I thought we were trying to squash the lonely-loser image of people who play video games. Sheesh!

You can read more about this pathetic service, which is currently down and claims to have been overwhelmed by 10,000 page requests in 5 minutes, at Wikipedia -- but hurry, I'm afraid the article has been scheduled for termination.

Superman: Mixed Messages

You ought to be able to click to embiggen.

If the picture doesn't load, here's a transcript:

PANEL ONE: Superman and some random guy are sitting on a rooftop talking. During this exchange, Superman looks to stage right and uses his heat vision to save someone's life.

RANDOM GUY: Then do you believe in a god?

SUPERMAN: One sec... window-washer's metal scaffolding about to snap four blocks away... okay, there.

PANEL TWO: A long shot from the crowd in the street below up at the building at an angle. Superman and the random guy are specks atop the building.

SUPERMAN: I believe in humanity. If I didn't, I wouldn't be out there every day doing what I do, you know?

PANEL THREE: Basically a reverse shot of Panel One, back up on the roof, but from behind Superman and his interlocutor.

RANDOM GUY: Well, you dodged that question pretty skillfully.

SUPERMAN: Bullets aren't the only thing I'm faster than. And while you shouldn't be afraid to live your life, don't rely on some kind of savior to bail you out. Rely on yourself.

Oh, boy. What a mixed and frankly incoherent message.

A savior, counseling people not to rely on saviors, but on themselves.

Just after he saves someone from a deathly plunge.

I suppose Supes may just be trying to reduce his workload by encouraging people to look out for themselves, but the myth of Superman is that he will be there. Are you a window washer in danger of falling off a high building? Superman will save you, although sometimes he has a little competition.

My point is, the people of Metropolis, of all places, don't have to rely on themselves because Superman will always intervene to resolve their situation. In fact, he has sometimes been punished in the past for slacking off; I recall a comic from the 90's in which he takes Lois off for a romantic Parisian dinner, thus being out of the way when the kidnapper-and-murderer iteration of the Toyman strikes a Halloween party and half-a-dozen children end up dead. Man, was that ever heavy-handed.

As for the random guy he's talking to: You're sitting right next to a god, man. Okay, he's not all-knowing or infallible, or all-powerful (outside of the Silver Age), but you can put your faith in him rather than your window-washing scaffolding (to choose an example at random), and he'll save you. He can't not save you. Okay, maybe he's not Jesus Christ (and lord is that a can of worms) but he's right next to you and you just saw him reach out and save someone. Why are you still having this conversation?

D'awwww

Watch on Youtube.

Superman's Forbidden Room!

You'll never get the blood off that egg, Lois.

(Seriously, could that room be any creepier? Stalkerish behavior from Kal-El: 1.)

Man Rams SUV Into Car Decorated With "Obama/Biden" Sticker

This seems like a part of the silent social contract: A person can express a preference for a political ticket on that person's personal automobile with a reasonable expectation that no one is going to try to run said automobile off the road.

Unfortunately, some people seem to have rejected that notion.

In Nashville yesterday, a man picked up his 10-year-old daughter in his car that sports the natty Obama-Biden sticker from the federal election in 2008. Another motorist notices the sticker and proceeds to follow, honk at and give the finger to the man. This continues until the other motorist decides to run his SUV into the back of the man's vehicle and then, instead of driving away or getting out and exchanging insurance information, the motorist guns his engine and pushes the combined mass of motor vehicle nearly onto the sidewalk.

The aggressive motorist faces a charge of felony reckless endangerment.

More telling yet is the story of harassment and intimidation collectively told in the comments to that news post by people who sport Obiden stickers. Honking, finger-waving, and aggressive driving is something I have never experienced myself, with my Kerry-Edwards and Defeat Bush! stickers.

Chilling.

Via Shakesville, with much thanks.

Sometimes, I Really Despair

How to Draw Fantasy Females: Create Sexy Cyberpunks, Seductive Supergirls, and Raunchy All-Action Heroines

Comics aren't all about the T&A!

They aren't!

You have to believe me!

*sobs*

And Then There Was The Time

...Bob Fosse had a Villain Song in a film adaptation of St-Exupery's Le Petit Prince.

Jonathan Coulton + Doctor Who = WIN

And let's hear it for Master/Doctor slash-fic.

Warning! Video contains footage of all the Masters, even the one that never existed.

Additional Warning! All those links go to TV Tropes. Get comfy before you click 'em.

79 Years and Still Sexy

Happy birthday, Bill!

Green-Eyed Jealousy

Our cat Spook sometimes does that same peering-over-the-ledge act with us. She hops in the tub while one of us is brushing our teeth and gives us this wide-eyed, ear-down I'mma-getcha look. Her stealth is generally spoiled because from a standing angle she's not at all hidden by the wall of the tub.

Via Cute Overload.

Central Park Beatles on the Ukelele

Via Shakesville.

And Then There Was The Time

Ma and Pa Kent got turned into teenagers and Clark had to sit on them to keep them from doing crazy, irresponsible things like moving to Metropolis.



Superboy 126 was apparently published in 1966. Martha and Jonathan drink some kind of fluid plot-device that turns them physically into adolescents (signified by their use of pre-Depression slang), and apparently also regresses them mentally, because it's heavily implied by the cover that Superboy, an adolescent himself (and absolutely no fun at parties), has to take responsibility and prevent them from doing totally crazy things like deciding they no longer want to live in Smallville. Who would want to move to Metropolis, anyway? It's only the City of the Future. Better to stick around and do vague, nondefined things on your farm.

Much thanks to the Internet, and specifically (postmodern barney).

Shorter John Edwards' Lover

Rielle Hunter, Home-Wrecking Relationship Guru
Tracy Clark-Flory, Salon.com

Elizabeth Edwards is a ball-busting bitch and she did everything wrong in her marriage but I did everything right so listen to me when I dispense relationship advice.

The implications of Rielle Hunter's interview with GQ is enough to make me Hulk out and start smashing up real estate. Don't you dare try to victim-blame the cheated-upon, cancer-dying Elizabeth Edwards. A love affair with Rielle Hunter was not her decision.

Bonus rage: Describing Edwards' lover as a "home-wrecker," which has the effect of absolving Edwards himself of any and all guilt and/or responsibility. It's not his fault, don't you see, she seduced him! Plus it's slut-shaming and woman-blaming. Way to go, Salon. ::slow clap::

Why, Internet, Why?

I have discovered a blog that's new to me, Post-Modern Barney.

Mr. Barney is, among other things, both a comic-book and a Doctor Who nerd.

He is also merciless with the weirder aspects of heterosexuality.

And I love him for it (in a manly, heterosexual way of course).

So it is with little shame that I steal this gem from him:

Oh. My. God.

This is hilariously awesome.

The influence of Gary Larson knows no bounds.