Space Pirates Ltd.

If you’ve ever been to the Internet, chances are you’ve got an electronic mail inbox that’s just jam-packed with penis enlargement scams, Bush impeachment petitions, and Space Pirates Ltd. spam. These sorts of things are commonplace and easily dealt with, because 90 million times out of 100, they’re from strangers who won’t later send you a stream of WTF’s over an Instant Messenger correspondence about how you’re such an insensitive clot for deleting their emails. And since 90,000,000/100 is clearly a lot more than one, and not even a fraction, you’re usually in pretty good shape. No problem; just a quick tap of the ol’ deletin’ button and you’re fresh on your way. What are more difficult to write off right off the bat are surveys; for surveys almost always come from those you know. I don’t want to say loved ones, because frankly I’d ship my own mother to Mount Kill-A-Man-Jarro to work in the acid mines if she ever so much as dreamt of sending me a survey. No, surveys come from the itches you can’t quite scratch: the casual acquaintances that just won’t go away. You were friends with them for a bit until you realized how completely and utterly depressed it made you to think about their existence, that sort of thing. Now that you’ve successfully mulled down your relationships with said persons into casual Interweb chit-chat, all you’ve got to worry about are their surveys.

It’s been a good long while since I’ve actually received a survey, but after a quick glance at one on the Livejournal of someone who used to send them to me on an almost weekly basis, and witnessing what were quite possibly the most lethargic fucking responses I’ve ever seen, I realized that not everyone on the Internet may have experienced the sharp, agonizing spearhead that I feel twisting in my sides each time I read a question on these many-facetted circuits of pain. I simply could not allow the web surfers whom I love so dearly to miss out on such an opportunity, so I’ve decided to fill one out for you. Feel free to copy and paste it and send it back to me with your responses, because I really would deeply like to know what type of pizza you prefer and how many heel-clicks you did outside the mall last night.

Name: Dave “Corporal Feelyat� Randle
Birthday: August 2^nd 1985
Birthplace: Scranton Pennsylvania, also the birthplace of fear as we know it today
Current Location: Baltimore, or as the locals call it, Syphilitown
Eye Color: You won’t need eyes to see where we’re going.
Hair Color: Hair
Height: The height of a stack of celery, piled high to meet the might of a man.
Right Handed or Left Handed: Hands
Your Heritage: German/Scotch/English
The Shoes You Wore Today: Shoes
Your Weakness: Feelyat
Your Fears: Tranks, Lo-boes, Zip Heads, The Grimace

Your Perfect Pizza: Thanks. I sure am.
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year: Goal
Your Most Overused Phrase On an instant messenger: I am the angel of death. Those who would kneel before me may receive mercy, but only if I deem them worthy. Those who would fight me shall meet with a new breed of fear, one from which they will never recover. EOM kthx
Thoughts First Waking Up: I don’t recall having three arms…
Your Bedtime: Whenever arm surgery time ends.
Your Most Missed Memory: Come back when you have a question that makes any fucking sense.
Pepsi or Coke: Bubba Cola
McDonalds or Burger King: Food
Single or Group Dates: Fellatio

Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea: Fellatio
Chocolate or Vanilla: Fellatio
Cappuccino or Coffee: Fellatio
Do you Smoke: No
Do you Swear: Fellatio

Do you Sing: Like a marmot
Do you Shower Daily: Fellatio
Have you Been in Love: With fellatio
Do you want to go to College: lol whuts that?
Do you want to get Married: No. Fellatio!
Do you believe in yourself: Oh, it’s one of those surveys.
Do you get Motion Sickness: Only during fellatio
Are you a Health Freak: Gleek, Creek, Sneak
Do you get along with your Parents: What an important question!
Do you like Thunderstorms: Almost as much as fellatio
Do you play an Instrument: The Jew Harp. For Jews.

In the past month have you
Drank Alcohol: Ah, now comes the part where I incriminate myself on the Internet! Splendid!
Smoked: Again
Drugs: Yet again
smoked weed: Hit me gravy one more time
gone on a Date: Of course not! I’m on the Internet!
gone to a Mall: What a great question!
eaten a box of Oreos: eaten a box of Fellatio (fixed)
eaten Sushi: Food
been on Stage: Pass the Snausages
been Dumped: Life is pain. Life is only pain. Wah wah wah.
gone Skinny Dipping: I love it when questions are categorized.
Stolen Anything: Which category is this?

Ever been Drunk: Who the hell is this?
Ever been called a Tease: Mabel?
Ever been Beaten up: Ross?
Ever Shoplifted: Well, you already asked if I’d stolen anything, but I guess this is sort of almost a different question. It’s a good thing you hid it way down here so I wouldn’t notice.

How do you want to Die: It involves a turbine, an arena, and dinosaurs. Use your imagination.
What do you want to be when you Grow Up: No. Seriously, who is this? Francis?

What country are you most likely to visit: Fellatia

In a Guy
Favourite Eye Color: Here are your eyes.
Favourite Hair Color: It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s constantly spinning.
Hair: It doesn’t matter, as long as it never spins.
Height: 8’23.7. Sorry guys, that’s all that’ll cut it for this dame.
Weight: 823.7 grams. This must be coupled with the above height.
Best Clothing Style: The retro grunge transformer look

Number of Drugs I have taken: What? In – in a guy?
Number of CDs I own: What? In – in a guy?
Number of Piercings: What? In – in a guy?

Number of Tattoos: What? In – in a guy?
Number of things in my Past I Regret: Twelve. I’m glad this question asked a number, rather than asking something in my past that I regret. Otherwise I might’ve had to answer a real question.

OK, feel that? It hurts, doesn’t it? Think of how much time you just wasted. Seems like a lot, doesn’t it? Now imagine doing one of these every week. Congratulations; you’re one step closer to hitting Internet.

My aunt gave me these back when I was in elementary school. I didn’t know what to do with them then, and I don’t know what to do with them now. They’ve been serving as unsturdy book-ends since 7th grade.

Every kid alive in the early nineties has one of these damn things unless their parents thought the whole idea of a “treasure troll” was witchcraft, which where I grew up, was roughly 73% of the kids. You may notice that the hair has been spiked and the shirt turned around. That’s because in 10th grade, I decided to find out of the rules of hair gel applied to fake hair as well. The results still stand (all bad puns aside).

My dead grandfather’s weighters. Fun fact: if you wade too deep into the stream, it’s likely you won’t be able to wade back out!

A broken Coleco Vision. For those of you who don’t know, Coleco was an early Atari knock-off that allowed you to play Cubert, Donkey Kong, Venture, and a slew of other pioneers for the gaming industry.

A big box of comics and other crap from my brother’s company for which he decided one Christmas that he no longer had space to store. I think I’ve read about four of them.

Technically I found this in my college dorm room, but man oh man is it ever awesome!

A travel version of “Don’t Wake Daddy.” The hat was off like that when I found it. As you can see, it gives the game a whole new meaning.

This thing dates back to at least the 1950’s. It’s a bank that won’t open until you’ve put ten dollars worth of change in it. Frankly, I want my $1.60 back.

A Goosebumps playing card. Need I say more?

Some crappy drum thing I made in Cub Scouts.

This one’s a dual-object, because that’s how I found it. That there is a purple wig I bought for a Magus costume (because the store didn’t have any blue, or failing that, white wigs) with a Jesus hat I got at a white elephant party. Try and contain your awe; we’ve still got one more!

And finally, an object that needs no introduction. I think this might’ve been a window decoration for a car at one point that’s lost its suction cups. I don’t know. All I know is, it’s frickin’ awesome!

Think you’ve got objects that simply dwarf mine with their level of awesome? Want to meet hot young single objects in your area? Then pop on by the new and improved forums and give us a piece of your mind. Or you could just sit there drooling at more of those Photoshopped pictures Keira Knightley boobs you’ve been looking at. Either way, it’s not your fault. Spring Break is to blame!

Last Sunday the earth trembled as celebrities and movie stars from across the land emerged from their forbidden island fortresses, unthawed from frozen carbonite, and possessed the bodies of helpless vassal-slaves from that planet in Stargate. So great was this monumental coalition of stardom, that time seemed to stop, gravity reversed its pull, and every magnet in the world lost its polarity. For one glorious and magnificent moment, the universe stood still in its rotation and hung on its eternal axis before rolling over and collapsing into an infinite abyss of nothingness, sending a billion billion stars falling into chaos. But then Chris Rock announced that the audience had to “sit [their] asses down� and all was well.

Speaking of Chris Rock, no one in the audience seemed to pick up on his deliciously subtle, yet cutting brand of black person humor – I almost felt sorry for the guy, but then I remembered that he starts his day by descending from his levitating crystal palace to sculpt giant images of himself out of million dollar bills and naked women.

As far as the actual contest of winning an Oscar, nothing incredibly unexpected happened. Johnny Depp lost again for best performer – I’m sure that the rage he must be filling has driven him to beat his island-slaves with an extra special venom after they bring him helpings of American flags to defecate on and/or eat. Martin Scorsesi was swindled out of his precious best picture by some movie directed by Clint Eastwood’s corpse in six hours called Million Dollar Baby which until a few nights ago I thought was a prequel to Richie Rich or maybe Frank Zappa’s illegitimate daughter. Turns out it was some heartfelt fighting movie about The Next Karate Kid deciding she wanted to box and make it to the big league with the help of Morgan Freeman. And then maybe she gets pregnant and someone offers her a lot of money for her child or something, I don’t know.

However, next year I plan on bringing home best performance. I’ve been studying what the public wants, and what it loves, and I’ve boiled down the movie-going audiences desire into one perfect formula. Its going to be about a middle aged guy who is unhappy with his life and awkward around women, but then he meets a free spirited girl and his friend gives him some funny advice and there’s a lot of sexual tension between the two. The middle aged man and the free-spirited girl that is. If there was sexual tension between the man and his advice giving friend, it’d be a different kind of movie. Oh, and later his character changes so that he’s not as quiet or reserved or awkward and he talks to the girl a lot more cause she’s the only one who he feels like he can relate to in this crazy mixed up world. And then towards the end they’ll be an artsy shot of some trash and probably the sky. I’m thinking of calling it Sideways, Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Lost in Translation, Jesus’ Son, Adaptation, American Splendor, American Beauty, or Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. The following year will be when I release my new and invigorating horror movie about creepy looking children and maybe there’s something Japanese.

Despite my cynicism I keep telling myself that one of these days someone is going to come out with an original concept that’s not about an action-packed historical event, aspiring novice slowly becoming a champion in a sport or other competition, or documentary about Patrick Swayze’s detached floating head traveling through time shooting lasers out of its eyes.