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The Malibu Knight's LiveJournal:
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|Monday, May 25th, 2009|
Today is Memorial Day. As such, I will remember the two movies I saw this weekend.Terminator Salvation
The first thing wrong with this flick was the title. Where's the colon? It is widely understood that when a movie franchise stops caring how many installments they've made, it is acceptable merely to release new films with titles consisting of the franchise name followed by a generic subtitle (more power to the "Land Before Time" series for going fourteen strong in the "numbered installments" department and still counting). Consider "Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch" and "The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift" as basic examples of this practice. So why isn't this movie called "Terminator: Salvation?" Instead the movie's name implies that the flick is all about the salvation of the terminators. It isn't! In fact it isn't about much at all. If you want to see a bunch of shit blow up - and I mean a bunch of shit - see the first half of this movie. If you're seeking anything else, see none of it.Angels and Demons
Every pretentious asshole can summarize any film adaptation in four words we've all heard before: "the book was better." I really don't want to be one of those people. That said, the book was better. Read it for a decent plot summary of the movie, because I cannot provide one here in less than eight or nine paragraphs. Long-winded as I can be, that wouldn't be fun for any of us.
|Thursday, August 14th, 2008|
| Spain is at it again!
No one, and I mean no one, stereotypes other nations and races like those goddam Spaniards. Every single one of them is a bigot and a racist. The world would clearly be a better place without those ignorant, taco-eating, sombrero-wearing, stickball-loving assholes.
|Sunday, November 20th, 2005|
There was once a time when advertisements and marketing campaigns were intended solely to promote a company's own product. A new trend is developing though, where rather than promote one's own product, companies are finding it much easier to just belittle their chief rivals and their products. From politics to foods, this trend is slowly but surely becoming a mainstay of the marketing industry known as the "smear campaign." And it's beautiful. Allow me to analyze the three subcategories of the smear campaign.The One-Sided Affair
This is where Company B is sick of being Company B to Company A and launches attack after attack on Company A to try to belittle it enough to take first place, or at least trying to annoy Company A to the point of stooping to their level and firing back with their own smear campaign. Except Company A never gives in. Sometimes it's even Company C attacking both B and A at once. For example, Wendy's has recently launched a few advertisements boasting about their square burgers, and how being a square is cooler than beign a king or a clown. Taking on the two top dogs of the fast food world in one sentence, what is that? Perhaps the best example of this is the age-old Pepsi vs. Coke marketing strategy. Pepsi attacks Coke all the time in all kinds of ways. And how does Coke respond? They just show those wicked chill commercials with people playing guitar in sunglasses, and every holiday season, bring back the arctic animals. And they're still number one, no matter how many Pepsi challenges are driven down the consumer's throat. This is the age-old proof that Company B will never take down Company A with a smear campaign. If you launch a smear campaign against your rival, and they don't launch one back after, I dunno, a good five years, then you should probably stop acting like a negative douche and learn to be cool and confident about yourself and your product like your more accomplished rival.
And while we're here, I've got to get a beef I have with Pepsi off my chest. Seriously Pepsi, what's your deal? Every time Coke dares to do something new, you sit back like a pussy and let Coke cut their own trail to success (let's use Vanilla Coke as an example). Then a few months later, seeing that success, you follow that exact trail that's already been cut for you, knowing you can't go wrong (Pepsi Vanilla). But instead of quietly and submissively being content with having your own small success, the way you introduce your new product (which you never would have made had Coke not done so first) is by immediately declaring it better than its Coca-Cola counterpart. It's like you're some lost and confused high school kid, and one day you find yourself in a bind, and you call up the one guy you know will bail you out of it as much as it hurts your pride to do so, your older brother from college. And he comes down and helps you get back on your feet, and he gives you all kinds of guiding advice and "shows you the light" so to speak, and finally, when you're back to feeling good about yourself and your new outlook on life, instead of thanking him, you just take a shit on him. (Of course, he doesn't care. On the inside, he's laughing. He knows when he gets back to school he'll have a hell of a story to tell his friends. They'll laugh about it, wear sunglasses, and just play acoustic guitar all night.) And that more or less sums up the way Pepsi feeds off Coke while blatantly displaying an inferiority complex about it all.The Head-to-Head Showdown
This is a more enjoyable smear campaign, where there is no clear cut A or B, but just two evenly matched rivals trying to outdo each other. A great example is Budwesier vs. Miller. Miller starts things off by mocking Budweiser for declaring itself the "king" of beers, and calls for a more democratic way to decide which beer truly rules by establishing a fake campaign backing Miller for "president" of beers. After about a dozen commercials or so, Budweiser finally gets pissed off enough to fire back, and now we've got ourselves a Head-to-Head. Budweiser plays it shrewd and brings back an old trademark, the talking lizards, for one commercial that absolutely destroys Miller's presidential campaign by pointing out that Miller or the guy who made it or someone or something was actually not born/created in the United States, and thus could not be elected president of beers. Just genius. Budweiser more or less handed Miller's ass to them, and although smear campaigns aren't about winning and losing, it's worth mentioning that Miller blew this one bad.The Free-For-All
This is the latest and greatest smear campaign, where several rival companies are all competing to be the best. Not only is there no clear-cut number one, but there's no clear cut number two or three either. It's a freaking battle royale, and I love it. The only Free-For-All I've seen to date (although the DHL-UPS-FedEx deal does have the potential to expand into one) is the car insurance throwdown. It's Allstate vs. State Farm vs. Geico vs. Progressive. I forget who started it, but when it's all said and done, there'll be no forgetting who wins it. This thing is turning epic, fast
. Progressive is all, "we're so honest and helpful with you that we'll show you quotes from our own rivals, even when they're better than ours, whcih, you know, they're not," and State Farm responds by showing four golf balls get hit, and the one labeled "State Farm" sailing the farthest. Then Allstate uses the guy who plays David Palmer to drive home the "you're in good hands with Allstate" message. Geico stays out of it, and just makes fun of everything except
other car insurance companies, from reality TV to political correctness to venetian blinds. If only Aflac dealt with car insurance, we could see the gecko and the duck wreck each other's shit on some commercial while David Palmer checked his insurance quotes online before getting hit in the head with a golf ball. And who even knows which of the five would have come up with that commercial? I'm telling you, smear campaigns are heading in the right direction.
|Tuesday, November 15th, 2005|
| The Blood Drive: A Review and Critique by the Malibu Knight
I walked into the gym ready to contribute to what some believe is a grand heirarchy scheme made by Dracula and his night slaves. Why? To miss the impending psychology quiz, of course. A pint of blood seems a worthy price to pay for a free pass on a quiz you know will rape you like an angry and insecure man looking for somebody to rape. Anyway, I read over a few forms, verified that I had not had oral sex in Africa in the past five months or injected heroin with black homosexuals, and sat down to wait. There was a Market Basket deli-style waiting system: take a number, and go up when it's called. It might be just like waiting at the DMV, but hey, it beats being raped by a quiz (or anything else, I suppose).
Several people before me were rejected. Some were too Indian, some were too vegetarian, and some were just too sexually active. When my turn finally came, the blood drive volunteers were udnerstandably frustrated, as they had not yet found the top-notch blood donor they were looking for. Half of the would-be donors didn't even have enough iron to donate. Pussies. When my pulse and blood pressure proved not only healthy, but badass, the lady testing me began to show signs of hope. She met with the other Red Cross workers briefly, and I think I heard one mumble, "Could this be the one?" I was led over to a table, laid down upon it, and told to squeeze a plastic tube with my right hand to get my arm muscles going and my veins pumping.
"This should take about eight to ten minutes," said the guy who stuck the blood-collecting needle into my large and manly vein. Not two minutes had passed before he came back to check on me and said, "Holy shit, you're half full!" Yes, it's true; I've got such big and manly arms that with every squeeze on the tube I was pumping out at least twice as much blood as the average person's bicep is capable of pumping out in a single flex. "You been working out?" the guy even asked. I swear he wasn't trying to seduce me. After five minutes I was done. I had given my blood, the best blood they'd received all day, no doubt, for humanity's sake. Or Dracula's. Whichever. Some kids fainted, and some needed fifteen minutes to recover with juice and cookies. Me? I just popped up off that table and headed out. Above the "oohs" and "ahhs" I heard a nurse worriedly shout, "Don't forget to have lots of water!" But her colleagues hushed her, stopped her from chasing after me, and gave her looks that seemed to say, "Hey. Hey now. That man is a legend. He was up and out of here in five fucking minutes
. Do you realize that there are still people sitting around having juice and cookies who gave blood an hour ago? And their blood is garbage anyway, thin, iron-less, and plain. But not that man. That man's blood is by far the greatest blood we've ever sucked from a human body. That man's blood could cure cancer. And you dare to tell that man to have enough water? Shame on you. There goes perhaps the manliest blood donor we'll ever encounter, and you feel like you have the right to tell him how to live his life? Shame on you, nurse. Get over yourself."
I'll admit though, manly as I may be, manliness proved to be my downfall this evening in removing the adhesive tape and gauze from my inner arm. I'm so manly and hairy that I couldn't remove said makeshift bandage without wincing in pain over how much hair was being ripped out of my skin. At least it hurt a hell of a lot more than some little needle did. I don't know much, but I know that.
|Sunday, October 2nd, 2005|
So there I was, on IMDb.com, arguing on the message boards of my favorite anime series about whether or not Shirugata was hotter than Nihayato, when I noticed a banner ad unlike anything I had ever seen before. Look to your right for more details.
Now, we've all seen those banner ads which "quiz" us by showing us a picture of Elijah Wood and asking, "Is this Kobe Bryant, Elijah Wood, or a toaster?" Allegedly, if we brainstorm long and hard enough to answer the Mensa-esque question correctly, we are awarded with some conditionally free prize. That much is nothing new, and while the PS3 might be, it's not the surprising part of this whole deal. What strikes me about this banner ad is the fact that the answer is, somehow, not obvious. The people behind this one clearly don't want to give out free PS3's to everyone; such a prize is reserved for only those elite members of the quiz-taking population, those who are just a step above the rest and should be handsomely rewarded for being able to distinguish a female celebrity's legs.
Not about to be stumped by a banner ad, I immediately forgot about the reply I was writing to "shattered_moontears_105" and his claim that Kyoshi Tepal could kick Gayonashi's ass without any help from Ted, and concentrated on the image in front of me, determined to win the free PS3, or at least the chance to do so by sending spam mail to fifty friends. Anyway, I knew that I had one shot - just one shot - to get this one right. Everyone knows that if you click the wrong answer of a banner ad quiz, the promotional offer immediately expires. And it's not like you stumble upon a banner ad offering free prizes eevry day. Using contet clues, I noted that the pair of legs was in front of a car, and sported tight cutoff jean shorts. I recalled how this past summer, they'd released a Dukes of Hazard remake starring Jessica Simpson as Daisy Duke, who dealt primarily with cars and tight cutoff jean shorts. Lo and behold, I was correct. I guess they know from my IP address what my name is and where I live, because I didn't have to fill out any information on where to send the PS3 to.
Anyway, this got me thinking about where banner ads could be headed next. If banner ad participants are expected to be creepy enough to know Jessica Simpson's legs from Angelina Jolie's or Jennifer Lopez's, what other online celebrity matching exercises loom in the near future? Just how creepy or pervish are today's Internet-users expected to be? To find out, I've designed some sample banner ads. I won't bullshit you; there's no prize involved. That said, if you can answer all three questions correctly, I'll give you a free* iPod!
I figured I'd start with something not too creepy, but still somewhat perverted. This one is b no means commonly known stuff, but you shouldn't feel like a complete perv if you've seen it before and can recognize it. They keyword here is of course complete. You should not feel like a complete perv...
Whose rack is this?
A) Jessica Simpson's
B) Britney Spears'
C) Elisha Cuthbert's
Moving on, we'll kick it up a notch in creepiness. See, at least women's chests vary somewhat noticably, even to your average non-perverted person. But it takes a true expert who has seen several bikini bottoms on several different people to get this next one.
Whose crotch is this?
A) Pam Anderson's
B) Carmen Electra's
C) Jenna Jameson's
So yes, it takes a total creep to be able to differentiate celebrity crotches. But anyone who knows this next one off the top of their head just flat out has issues. If you can get this next one right without being a stalker or one of those creepy obsessive fans who gets restraining orders put on them, well, I'm impressed.
Whose elbow is this?
A) Elizabeth Hurley's
B) Jennifer Lopez's
C) Sandra Bullock's
*by "free" I really mean "grin and a slap on the back if you buy yourself a new"
|Tuesday, September 13th, 2005|
Two weeks ago, disaster hit. The warnings were there but the people ignored them. And all of a sudden, almost overnight, the level was rising, leaving millions enraged, confused, and afraid. A worst-case scenario became a worst-case reality. Chaos. But now, hope. For in the past few days, the level has started to come back down. Slowly, but surely, we are recovering. Soon we must look ahead and plan out what we as a nation can do if such a catastrophe happens again. What if after all recovery is made, calamity strikes agan, and this time hits, somehow, even harder? But today, for the first time in two long and terrible weeks, even though the level remains tragically high, it has lowered, and that gives us reason to celebrate. It was a small drop, only about a nickel a gallon, but nonetheless, it matters; the days of paying $3.20 for a gallon of gas are no more. We made it through the worst of times, together. I love you all.
|Sunday, September 4th, 2005|
Whether we're proud of it or not, all of us at some point in our lives have seen an episode of Barney and Friends. It was the quintessential preschooler's television program. An always-smiling friendly purple dinosaur teaching manners and lifeskills to a group of spunky all-American children. It was the most G-rated series of all time. Or was it? As I reminisced about the show the other day with my city-dwellin' beeyotch, we realized that the Barney program was not aimed to raise kids right at all, but rather a subtle propaganda for psychoactive drug abuse among elementary school children.
Think about it. It starts when a group of seemingly-innocent children are left unsupervised in their empty school. Within minutes, they're looking to a foot-tall inanimate stuffed animal for leadership. What isn't shown on camera, but is instead implied, is that they've been dropping acid. I mean, little aside from an LSD trip could allow these kids to perceive a small plush toy to be seven feet tall, dancing and singing along with them, and promoting good hygiene and traffic safety. The vibrant green and purple colors on the Barney doll stimulate their senses and excite them, making him their choice animated object, rather than, say, a bland desk.
Another choice drug on the program is, hands down, ecstacy. To prove this we must look no further than Barney's sidekick, Baby Bop. Baby Bop sucks on a pacifier and speaks like a baby, and her favorite possession is her soft "blankie," the smoothness and soft texture of which she is constantly admiring. There's no argument that she is meant to symbolize the modern day raver. (And as an unrelated fun fact, I would like to point out that her sometimes-featured older brother has a name that is a slang abbreviation for an act of fellatio. What a sick, sick show.) And Baby Bop isn't the only member of the gang hooped up on the E. Recall if you will the show's sappy signature closing song. It declares that all of the high singers love one another, and that they are indeed one happy family, and it includes a request for a "great big hug and a kiss from me to you." The elements included in this song pretty closely resemble erowid.org
's list of positive effects of MDMA (ecstacy), specifically "feelings of comfort, belonging, and closeness to others; feelings of love and empathy," and "urge to hug and kiss people." I shit you not. PBS Kids really missed the boat on this one.
|Friday, July 22nd, 2005|
Drinking has changed my life for the better. My friends and I used to spend our weekends discussing life, playing sports, and bonding. What a waste of time those days were. Then, a few months ago, we got curious. All the other kids were doing it, so we decided it wouldn't hurt to try it out. I remember my first can like it was yesterday. It was a blur from there, and within weeks I was doing five, six, seven cans a night. What a crazy rush it was. We finally had something to live for. America's most common and legal drug, so common it's not even usually considered a drug: caffeine.
God, life is awesome now that my friends and I drink all the time. Whether it's coffee in the morning or sodas in the evening, we're constantly living, getting the most out of our youth by being so drugged up during it. Maybe you think binge drinking isn't for you, but that's probably just because you're a pussy and a lightweight. As a large male with some drinking experience, I can handle a dozen a day, usually in the form of two six-packs. Like the other week I was at this crazy party in Chelmsford. Shit was off the wall. Cans, bottles, you name it. Coolers fucking full of that shit. I had so many I don't even remember what happened. Once the caffeine rush died I pretty much burned out, awaking the next afternoon in a strange house having pissed myself. But oh man, what a good time it was.
Of course, you gotta know when it's appropriate to indulge in drinking. For instance, I was out at a restaurant last weekend with a few friends. Unfortunately, one of them had had a little too much to drink in the car beforehand. Shit was he wild. Guy was doing shit you don't even think someone would do. We had to babysit his caffeinated ass all night, and despite his obnoxious state of stupor, it was awesome!
You also gotta know your limit. Like take this one friend of mine, he was doing the hard stuff at the beach at night time. I mean I'm talking like Jolt or Surge or something crazy like that, not just a few orange sodas or anything. So anyway he has like a dozen swigs of the stuff in as many minutes! I mean what the fuck, how wild does one need to be? Like, four or five woulda been enough to have a good time. Why have so many that you might regret it later? And boy did he do just that. I mean you can't put that much in your system all at once and not expect consequences. Man, he puked until he passed out. Damn shame, wasting all that caffeine. I mean, shit's expensive.
But in general, drinking is awesome. I do it all the time, especially around girls. See, when girls drink, the drug affects them even more, and they get so wild on caffeine that they sometimes start showing their tits and such.
Like, sure, you could go through life keeping your mental capacity intact, wasting your days doing "work" or something else "productive," maybe stay mellow, enjoy the simpler things in life, get a girlfriend, have some deep friendships, and maybe occasionally enjoy something like a small cup of coffee now and again so that the caffeine won't even do anything to you. But why do that when you can see tits, get retarded, meet strangers, pretend they're good friends, drink caffeine all the time, abuse the drug, and fuckin' PAAARRRTYYY!!!? When you compare the lifestyles, really, there's only one way to go.
Just please don't tell my parents.
|Friday, July 15th, 2005|
Guys listen up because I've got an idea that will take the blogging community by storm. LiveJournal is great and all, but come on, let's face it, it's just so... juvenile. You know, this shit's been around since like, middle school. It's time for us to grow up and move on to a more mature blogging community. One that's not just a journal but more of a, you know, place. "LivePlace," we'll call it. And I've got just the layout in mind that I think could make it work!
First of all, the two most important parts of LiveJournal, friends and comments, will pretty much be the basis of this new site I've imagined. Actual diary-style entries will be added as an afterthought, and no one will really read them anyway, because on this site you don't have to give and get comments on the entries themselves. Instead, you can actually post and receive comments on, get this, the user info pages! I mean why sit through another long and pointless entry when you can instead just comment on a friend's profile just to say, "Hey, look, I'm still around!" After all, even with technology like IM, e-mail, and cellular phones, the best way to drop someone a line is clearly to comment on their website profile. Come on, it's not like the general public will be able to see how crazy or witty you are in said comment unless you post that meaningless hello for everyone to see.
And pictures! Don't forget the pictures. Here at my new planned site, pictures will be key. You need to show the world your face whether you are being scene, drunk, sexy, or a vague combination of the three. Here at my planned mature and hip version of LiveJournal, pictures will not have to be embedded in pointless "journal" entries, but instead will have their own special page. And people can comment on the pictures themselves, and rate them one to ten on a scale of aesthetic value. After all, any LiveJournaler has the capacity, or lack thereof, to post pointless pictures in stints of vanity, but it takes some kind of special advanced LiveJournalist to judge another as "hot or not."
Look, this thing's so mature, it should be rated M for mature. No one under 16 admitted. After all, if you're not old enough to drive, you are clearly lame and shallow and are not old enough to be "in" enough to manage your own personal little profile.
Since music is cool, we will add a feature where everyone's cute little profile can play a shitty low-quality music video, and they can list their favorite books, bands, and movies, so as to feel original while still being able to copy the likes of others. It's a win-win. Why hasn't anyone made LivePlace before?
And when we all inevitably get tired of LivePlace by the time college rolls around, we can all enroll in "FacePlace," exclusive to the 18+ crowd, and look down on all the poor naive bastard highschoolers still stuck using LivePlace. What a concept!
|Tuesday, June 21st, 2005|
My lowest moment may have come in October of 2001. A punk-ass on-top-of-the-world eighth grader, I was cool, sassy, and stedfast as anything. Nothing could stop me. Then one day in English I began to feel ill. But I was badass, so a trip to the nurse's office would have been a cop out, and thus lame. And I was anythign but lame back then in eighth grade. So I stuck it out. My stomach was tightened, my head was heavy, and my movements were taxing, and made me sweat. But still I made the trip to the Media Center with the rest of the class. One of my friends began to eat chapstick. It made me want to vomit. But I held it down, and bore on. Finally, I knew I wasn't going to make it. I asked to be excused to the bathroom, and after takign only a few timid steps toward the door, began to throw up in my mouth. But I swallowed it. I had to press on. To barf in the Media Center would have been so totally uncool. I knocked the doors open, and a science lab was taking place in the hallway. It was noisy. Too noisy. Bam.
As mortified as I was for the next few weeks, it turns out I had not done something totally lame, but on the contrary, something totally cool. I was just a few years ahead of the rest of my class. Back then, to throw up in front of all your friends was gross, embarrassing, and pitiful. These days, it seems to be a weekly activity that takes place when and where people's parents aren't home. Imagine that. Me, a trendsetter, by a few whole years. At this rate, maybe by the time I'm in college a lot of people will have goatees and humorous t-shirts. Sweet.