Don't cry for Cry Macho...

... Just avoid it.

Cry Macho (2021)

More Clint Eastwood-directed weirdness concerning a thousand year-old zombie cowboy (Eastwood) and his road trip with a supposedly street-hardened abused youth with a dazzlingly incongruent gee-whiz demeanor played by some kid whose acting career Eastwood has destroyed with this 104-minute senior moment. 

Natalia Traven plays the charming necrophile love-interest. 

I watched it til the end in case there was a prize. Nope.

Blooper heaven

Do you like TV and film bloopers? I do. So I put together a collection of the highest quality I could manage. Just gems. No chaff. It's um... kinda long... but no one says you got to watch it all in one sitting.

Yes I'm still a movie junkie

I'm just rolling over the half-way hump of film Kate (USA 2021) starring Mary Elizabeth Winstead as the nasty Mercenary/Pin Cushion/Walking Bruise, Miku Patricia Martineau as the headstrong Japanese teenage crime boss daughter (and the only thing resembling a good guy), and the sparingly-used Woody Harrelson as the subtly-creepy sidekick; the supposed-supporting role.

Looks like a great flick if you want to pick someone to root for and then celebrate the colour red in the form of fountains of blood gushing and splashing all over the goddam place in every scene. Personally I'm having trouble staying awake.

I'll give it zero blood-splashy stars out of five. Probably. If I make it to the end.

The eyes of others

I believe I was 14 when I saw Blade Runner at the cinema and was blown away. For the first time in my life I started thinking critically. What does it really mean to be human?

I've since realized the treachery of consciousness; how we are coerced toward seeing our self through the eye of the imaginary other, instead of directly and unvarnished. But sometimes we are the other and we learn about ourselves by seeing what we are not; the foreigner; the alien. I feel that this is a function of the best science fiction. 

I've heard that Kubrick's monolith in 2001 has the same dimension ratio as a movie screen. I can't be sure that's correct, or at least correct in every scene, but the idea deeply resonates. To me, the monolith represents self-awareness. It has also been stated fairly convincingly that it is some kind of alien probe. Similar physical dimensions occur conspicuously in other great sci-fi films.

What does it mean to be human; to be sentient? Just what the hell is consciousness anyway?

Here's my sci-fi compilation tribute.

Ladyhawke Revisited? Maybe?

Apparently I viewed the film Ladyhawke (Michelle Pfeiffer, Matthew Broderick, Rutger Hauer)way back in 2008 and belched out a snotty insincere review of it, just for a cheap laugh. More than a decade later I received this thoughtful response by someone operating under the username Aframe:

15 yrs since u posted this so I am sure you have watched it a few more times and come to appreciate the work of art that it truly is. How could any movie be terrible with Rutger, Matthew, Michelle and greatest of all John Wood aka Dr Falken (war games…. See what they did there. Falken Ladyhawk . Clearly a aviary theme. Yes it’s campy 80’s but it’s one of the better ones and is just plain simple fun. Enjoy it without expectations.

Well, the only responsible thing to do is see it again and figure out just how guilty I should feel. And since yesterday was the scene of my epic Christmas journey to the family farm and my body is destroyed, it's clearly the right time to stay in bed and track her down:

Fasten your seatbelts, folks! We're about to enter the ethical and intelligent realm of movie mongering!

Netflix: Doesn't have it. Doesn't pretend to. Three stars for honesty!

Prime: Says they have it but oops! No. Gotta pay an extra subscription for STARZ.

Crave: Says they have it but oops! No. Gotta pay an extra subscription for... What? STARZ again? Are these all the same company, taking multiple subscription fees with a different extra-extra subscription fee for every movie? I guess this is what the super-intelligent modern North American desires in a movie monger. Hurray for that. But zero stars

YouTube: Will rent for $4.99. Alas I have only $2.24 in the bank on account of Metro Inc supermarket company taking my last $226 on December 20th and keeping my food AND my money. Neat-o mosquito! Who knew you could get away with something like that? Well of course you can, as long as you're a corporation and not a human being. Maybe I'll find the responsible manager at Metro and execute them in order to go to prison so I can get a meal. I hope it's a quick trial. But I digress.

Video Detective pretends to have it by conning Google with a fake full-length video result but it turns out they just want people to visit their web site to feed their ads from iTunes, Google Play and Amazon. Tricksy little Video Detective. You get zero stars.

iTunes (via Video Detective): Not available in my country.

Google Play: I can rent for the low low price of $3.99. Not low enough today.

Amazon: I can rent for the low low price of $3.99. But there is no button to click what says [collect rental fee from Metro who stole all my money] so I'm outta luck for now.

Plex: pretends to have it by conning Google with a fake full-length video result but it turns out they just want people to visit their web site to feed their ad from AppleTV which dumps you in a page with no working links. Zero Stars.

Mojo Movie: pretends to have it by conning Google with a fake full-length video result, "watchable for free" but the play button just sends you to Google.ca and the other play button sends you to google.ca and the download buttons send you to... anyone...? Yes, google.ca. But wait! There is a [trailer] button! I can at least watch a trailer!? Nope! Google.ca! Zero stars.

Kanopy: No results. Three stars for honesty.

WAIT! Hold the presses! There is some extra fishy shit going on over at Mojo Movie where the Watch For Free promise is popping up in pop-ups which are not google.ca but the start of a streaming movie identified as Ladyhawke even though the music is a James Bond theme!! I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation. Oops. The playback has ceased after a few seconds. Apparently I need to SIGN UP FOR FREE in order to WATCH LADYHAWKE FOR FREE. Well okay then! Now we're on to something! Yeah, yeah. I know what you're thinking. They're going to want my credit card details in order to process all this free stuff, just for shits and giggles. But nope...!!

Google.ca!

Hoopla: No results. Three stars for honesty.

A HA! Someone named Orlando Samuels has posted the movie in three parts on dailymotion.com!

We're in! This dude has over 200 movie vids posted, with ads to some degree, which is fine with me. I need some way to pay. But he only has 33 followers? Well okay then. See you on the other side!

Ovaltine

OVALTINE: a whey-and-egg malted milk drink brand anglicized from Ovomaltine (Latin for egg and malt) by process of human error. I drank it as a kid, adding the powder to milk and fighting to blend the stubborn stuff, because my mom had been a fan of it in her childhood. At the time my friends were unfamiliar with it but now as adults, maybe everyone's heard of it?

Like the more popular Nestle Quick chocolate milk mix it hails from Switzerland. Of course Ovaltine's real claim to fame arrived in this 1974 theatrical masterpiece Young Frankenstein with Gene Wilder, Madeline Kahn and Marty Feldman:

Question O: What "OLD-person" thing do you do?

I forget shit all the time. Such as doing my daily A-to-Z. I'm a week behind. Time to get crackin'.

Jobvious

JOBVIOUS: This is where you need income but can't figure out what to do and then it turns out that your favourite hobby has become a marketable talent and people are trying to hire folks with your experience and having trouble finding available providers but somehow you don't know what you should do.

Case in point: I love to Dungeon Master D&D games and consider myself pretty advanced at it. Almost unbelievingly, it turns out that while the participation rates of D&D players is growing the number of willing DM's is not keeping up, and yes, people are paying well for DM service! And yet I feel reluctant to look into this as an income opportunity. Why not, you ask? I don't even know.

Question J: What JUNK food item could you eat every day?

Easy: a large Dairy Queen blizzard: the cookie dough variety with add-on Reeces PB cups. I've never ordered any other kind for twenty-five years and I remember being tickled to see Jack Nicholson's character order the exact same concoction in the quirky entertaining film About Schmidt, where one of his other special treats was getting to see Kathy Bates stark naked!

F'LOG

F'LOG: a contraction of "food log" where you record every detail of every meal you eat for your team of dietitians and then try to resist flogging yourself for the litany of errors and failures of discipline it memorializes.

Question F: Which FILM could you watch over and over?

I'm compelled to be indulgent. As one who's watched close to three thousand films in my life, including mini-series and shorts, I'll permit myself three categories; 1--theatrical; 2--based on a true story, and 3--documentary.

1: Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship. Seen it at least a dozen times, often with commentary enabled because it's the best story ever. Possibly you disagree that it's the best story ever. That's okay, but if I find out I will see to it that you disappear without a trace.*

2: Moneyball: It amazes myself how often I spontaneously watch this. Seven or eight times. As a storyteller I find it addictive just to observe how well-crafted this piece is, specifically as a "true story." And I know that there are factual cheats at play which make it a more compelling story to absorb specifically in movie form but that is part of the craft which I speak of, Also I adore Brad Pitt and Philip Seymore Hoffman as actors.

3. Blackfish: Four times minimum. Probably five or six. Again I'm just super appreciative of the craft here. I can't imagine how this tale could have been told more effectively. As with Moneyball it's easy to give the film a click just to take another peak at their effective openings but then never get to a dull spot and think of turning it off.

*just kidding.

Camp NaNo

Camp NaNo: November's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) light versions, held every April and June. Writing goals can be personalized, as low as 10,000 words. I am an April Camp NaNo rebel this time around. My goal is simply to write every day. So far this has not extended beyond Blogging A-to-Z in which the vague theme is simply unfamiliar words, some of which I'm making up myself on the spot!

Question C: What did you think was COOL when you were Young, and now: not so much.

James Bond (the movie versions; i.e.: Sean Connery and Roger Moore) And I still kind of love them but I know these characters are ridiculous and can't possibly defend them against criticism. 

A Fool's Gold

When I was a kid a found tennis ball was gold. It meant insurance. It meant we'd be able to play more sacred street hockey once the current ball got lost or fell apart. Yes they fell apart after awhile. Quicker if it was a newish ball when we'd obtained it and were forced to puncture it in order to tame it a little. Too much bounce was not good for a hockey ball.

But as we grew our boundaries grew and we enveloped a couple new kids who were serious tennis players and then we had all the balls we wanted and then we hit high school and grew deeper pockets and bought proper hockey balls.

A song you loved was gold. You'd wait a week before managing to catch the song on the radio when you were ready with a blank cassette tape to record a crackly version, the intro missing or dulled under a DJ's chant. These days kids grab any song they want, I guess, from the internet.

A James Bond movie was gold to a young kid. And once or twice a year City TV would host a James Bond festival. Two or three a night for a whole week! It was paradise. These days kids grab any movie they want, I suppose, from the internet. I don't know what they do for gold.

Once every couple months I would manage to scrape together eight or ten bucks plus bus fare and journey to the mall.  I might get a vinyl single or an album or, right across from the A&A was the hobby store, Leisure World. And there they had the Dungeons & Dragons campaign modules; at least a dozen to choose from at any given time. I would peruse each one at great length, just the front and back covers through the clear plastic wrappers. The art work; the synopses; titles like The Curse of Xanathon or The Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh!

I collected about a dozen of these over the course of my entire childhood and adolescence. As the Dungeon Master I'd study these adventures carefully and then creatively insert them into the ongoing campaign which my friends; the players always enjoyed.

In the last three days I acquired... two hundred and forty more of these modules... and counting. All the classic modules from the eighties are now available on the internet, downloadable for free.

It's raining gold. An embarrassment of riches. I don't know what I will possibly do with them all but knowing they were out there and for free... I couldn't possibly not have them.

Gold

Help Helen Naslund, victim of abuse... and the justice system.

Christmas gifts for my Minecraft friends

Safe homeward

Hey hey my salty little sweethearts. How goes it? I for one am feeling a little loopy perhaps from too much blogging and not enough sleeping? And by too much blogging I mean nowhere near the volume of youtubing or minecrafting but… it might be in the top five of my End Times Activity Log.

I feel like my wee articles are getting maybe a little too goofy sometimes and maybe not wee enough.

So my very smart, sensible strat-o-matically skilled, super-awesome buddy, Skeeter Willis has sent along this sexy little subject:

Slán Abhaile

Apparently you find this on signs in Ireland, as you’re leaving town for instance, where it means safe home or in other words, farewell, or else on highways where it means safe home as in drive safe; arrive alive. Either way it’s apparently pronounced “Slawn awallya.”

As a movie buff though, the phrase resonated most for me in the weepy climactic scene of the director’s cut of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. It’s quite different than the theatrical release. I am presenting it here with subtitles added in because the voice of E.T. is really hard to understand:

F is for Freddie

Finally watched the Bohemian Rhapsody film last night. That song will always carry new freight now when I hear it. The lyrics harken to poignant moments of Freddie (Bulsara) Mercury’s life and death; moments both preceding its composition and those it foreshadows.

I didn’t feel like I’d gotten to know Mercury a whole lot upon receiving the film, but then, perhaps he was just difficult for anyone to know. Where I am forced to judge the writing, direction and acting is in the lack of depth in the remaining characters of the band Queen. They spent enough time on camera to have deserved more research. I felt their blandness very noticeably held the film back.

Nevertheless the production accomplished much. I was moved to significant emotion and the climactic Live Aid scenes were delightful and inspiring, so long as you look at it from the context of Freddie’s story.

The actual Live Aid operation, perhaps too ambitious by some accounting, was deeply flawed in its long roster of technological shortcomings, a deluge of petty controversies and the sinister fact that most of the money was embezzled by government for guns.

But I loved it for two reasons: Queen’s performance which is more recognized than any as the greatest live rock performance ever, and the way that it dragged global responsibility for feeding humanity onto the consciousness of people everywhere. So much that first world governments are now compelled by the peoples they occupy to keep it on the political radar. They brought about a new and improved normal.

As I contemplated the Freddie Mercury story I was unusually caught up in the matter of drive and determination. Stories of famous people so often reveal an intense motivation. I find it fascinating at this time when I am decidedly unmotivated. What fires them up? One could surmise many things of egoic nature; things probably not even healthy. Meanwhile I am so close to giving up my big dreams; my big goals. This as my view of my society and my perception of its tolerance for me continue to plummet. I have become terminally lethargic, both from an absence of motivation and - and this may sound strange but - peace. My inner contentment with life itself and my place in the universe dulls any sense of alarm as my weight, and a few other things, continue to climb out of control.

Right now the only productive things I do, I do out of commitment to my employers and volunteer employers, to my mom (more on that later), and to my dietitian and counselor. I struggle to perform the most basic and paltry life functions so as not to disappoint them. Internally I’m at the top of the world by North America’s deplorable standards while logistically I think this may be at rock-bottom.

“Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters.”--Freddy Mercury (Bohemian Rhapsody)

Racial dialogue and freedom of speech

So I just watched the documentary Alt. Right: The Age of Rage and got my first half-decent look at slithery citizens of Trump’s America Richard Spencer and Jared Taylor.  

The film could be claimed a simple forum for both sides of a race debate to state their case and that any failure to do so reflects on the them and not the filmmakers. But the project does strike me as a lightweight Michael Moore-ian effort where white-supremacists are cozened to and frankly look bad, but without overtly hanging themselves (humorously or otherwise), and where intelligent logical examinations of the material are noticeably missing; where a whole lot of unqualified opinions and groundless generalization suffices instead - and not just from the uptightie whities but from outspoken and unmasked black antifa (anti-fascist) champion (and potential martyr in my nervous opinion) Daryle Lamont Jenkins.

Jenkins’ mandate is to publicly oppose these speakers by leading rallies and counter-demonstrations and to publicly out alt-right supporters who depend on anonymity in order to keep their jobs and reputations. It’s called doxxing and its applicable targets are somewhat few in number given the nebulous nature of this so-called “movement”; a term in question given the great bulk of their apparent followers being unidentifiable in terms of their precise beliefs or motivations. Many, when cornered, appear to be more or less trolls, looking for dumbass entertainment as escape from lives they are too dull-minded to make meaning of, or, likewise, needing to unleash bottled rage in any direction someone will legitimize for them.

It’s hard to know what to make of the film’s two lead cretins. Almost certainly the film-makers are not entirely sympathetic to them and I wonder how intelligent they might have seemed pre-edit. Almost everything coming out of their mouths on-screen is dull-minded rhetoric, delusional ambition or childish baiting of their “opposition”; a mysterious entity known by the sadly-confused (including the U.S. president) as the “Alt. Left.”

There is of course, no such thing whatsoever as “alt. left” except as a keyboard button. Anti-racism and anti-violence are hallmark qualities of the entire left in their millions - which is why 99.9% of first world institutions espouse these values.

Richard Spencer, the dude who famously took the video-taped street-side sucker-punch, according to the (however possibly limited) film’s evidence amounts to an isolationist; a protector of white culture who claims that America must draw a line down the middle, offer the darkies whichever coast they prefer, and then relocate 150 million-or-so citizens (less however many millions die in the inevitable civil war I presume). The arguments against this, if you can possibly keep a straight face, could fill a library and I have more useful things to get to before this post becomes epic.

Author (self-published rather obviously) and American Renaissance online magazine founder Jared Taylor (per same proviso) appears as an intellectual pursuer of racial consciousness; a race realist; a white-advocate (and thankfully not anti-Semitic by the way). Neither express outward hate of non-whites but do publicly demonstrate disrespect with various degrees of subtlety.

At the core of my interest is the call of these and other such characters, including a pearly-white university freshman who virtually cried on my shoulder over the dilemma, is their denial of free speech with regards to addressing audiences, or booking academic meetings on issues which challenge, or potentially challenge, our traditional observances of racial, gender or other equalities. (I must confess that every time someone mentions free speech I immediately scan the horizon in hopes of swift alien abduction and begin stifling yawns. Much like political correctness I never find the phrase muttered in any coherent context.)

In terms of public speaking and free speech, there are some very important considerations in my opinion:

:

The origin of the right to free speech is the right to question your government or church without being prosecuted by them (An ideal which Bush Junior clearly began dismantling by the way).

What you freely speak is still ethically and morally bound to you. You are not protected from consequences of what you do or say.

Various rights are always bumping into one another and are subject to priority. There are other rights in this society which are not trumped by the right to free speech. For one, parties have the right to choose who they allow on the stages they own or are charged to govern and the right to choose who to listen to. Thus if you want to freely speak beyond your own bedroom it requires greater and greater levels of cooperation. Lack of cooperation does not necessarily amount to denial of your rights. You are not the centre of the universe.

People also have the right to life and as such, to defend it. When lawyer and Whack-Job o’ the Century (and self-tortured closeted homosexual almost certainly), Matt McLaughlin, tried proposing a California bill in which homosexuals should be arbitrarily “shot with bullets in the head or else killed by any convenient method” it was obvious to me that this very action was a legitimate attempt at causing death and that no gay Californian could be blamed for being terrified at this and could effectively interpret his life endangered and thus if he chose to kill McLaughlin it could only be considered self-defense and such a plea should be easily converted by any competent defense lawyer.

My point is that if non-whites, or any targeted group, can only interpret that a public speech can only manifest widespread motives for the de-valuing of their life then they are in danger and their instincts will know it and produce some degree of panic, lucid or otherwise. If you make this happen for people then it’s inevitable you will meet urgent opposition and whether we label that opposition legally justified or not is not very compelling. It’s inevitable. There is such a thing as natural law and natural justice.

So the question becomes: does your speech qualify as an attack? You either believe it does not or you rationalize and choose to claim that it does not. But then, if your aims are legitimate then who is your legitimate audience?

I actually would take an interest in reasonably discussing the natural phenomena of tribalism and its role in making our species successful, and its relevance in today’s society. I would happily provide a forum for discussion to “racial consciousness” or “race realism” were it in my power. And by the way, I would go on to point out how natural tribal instinct does not make racism legitimate but rather it is an example of our morbid domination instinct which made us “winners” but which we must evolve away from before it inevitably causes our self-destruction. Not that this is much of a motivator with regards to my own personal behaviour by the way. I am generally organically kind and respectful for the most part and feel a great fondness for most life forms with skunks and biting black flies among the few exceptions. I would delight in making those fuckers extinct.

But it seems I’m a pretty small minority in terms of that open-mindedness. It seems evident to me that the great majority of kind, empathetic people have no interest in opening up this troublesome dialogue likely due in some large part to their own repressed doubt, as witnessed by the social norm where nice guy leaders define racism to the masses in completely inaccurate terms, almost Santa Clausian which are very palatable to the average citizen but do not enlighten anyone and do not actually help the problem beyond potentially shaming outward racists into keeping their mouths shut. I can’t imagine that a minority of people; intellectuals or whatnot with a healthy interest in these subjects, would be at all inclined toward attending these kinds of public speeches. The potential perils outweigh the potential benefit. And indeed these speeches which I have glimpsed inevitably contain telltale tidbits aimed at delighting haters. Obviously they know where their audience is coming from and depend on their numbers to give them status.

When you know that your speech is going to be largely attended by, and supported by, aggressive bigots (because with or without your explicit endorsement you are the only public voice saying anything close to what they want to hear), then you have espoused their interests and can expect no discernment from them when you are judged, and so free speech has become irrelevant on the matter. You have limited your access to whatever dreary places your audience governs. You have made the wrong friends and thus made the wrong enemies, regardless how evil you are in your heart, or not.

A New Dope Part 8 of 8

CHAPTER TEN

“Goodbye RB little buddy!” cried CIBC looking up at the rear of the rebel X-wing fighter where RBC had been installed atop the aft thruster. “Don’t be a hero! Keep your pretty head low!” RBC whooped, bleeped and trumpeted and spun his head a few hundred revolutions within fifteen seconds. “I’ll save you some biscuits!”

“You all ready RB?” called Captain Fluke as he approached. RBC twittered, tweeted and chirped.

“He says don’t get him killed, you cocky stuffed turkey,” said CIBC.

“No he didn’t,” said Fluke. “I’ve been studying his language manual and I’m pretty sure he said Get me out of here. This gold-plated automaton is a giant bore.”

“Damn,” said CIBC sadly, his head hanging down.

“I’m just kidding CIBC!” Fluke exclaimed. “I can’t understand robot language!”

“But that’s exactly what he said!”

“Dude,” said Fluke. “You robots are both heroes. You’ll go down in history! Be proud of yourself, CIBC!”

“I am but it’s true. I’m ever so boring.”

“Okay, I don’t have time to play cybertherapist. See you on the flip side, Goldie!”

“Not if you’re dead.”

“Adiós! Get out of the way now! When I blast off I don’t want to melt you!”

“Fine. Be that way.” He departed while Fluke closed himself into the cockpit and chose some pretty switches to flick off and on.

MOMENTS LATER… Flyswatter’s fighter emerged into the star-speckled battlefield of space where he joined the blue squadron and red squadron who were amusing themselves with a grand-scale game of capture the flag, X-wing style. “Follow me, boys!” cried Flyswatter, and off they sped toward the Great Imperial Bowling Ball.

“Who died and made him the boss?” came the voice of Ace Fantasmo over the space radio.

“Probably that old fart Ben Kablooey pulled some strings,” said Kentucky Detox. “He got himself a big reputation like a hundred years ago or something and they been treating him like royalty ever since.”

“Um, guys?” said Flyswatter. “We can hear you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as the great rebel dope fleet sailed the galactic space currents toward their ominous destination.

MEANWHILE, BACK AT THE BOWLING BALL… The dark chihuahua mask peered over the shoulder of ensign Hertzel at the space monitors which tracked two squadrons of approaching dope fiends.

“Shall we fire up the tractor beam and suck them all in?” asked Hertzel.

“Negative,” wheezed Dark Gaydar darkly. “We will launch a bevy of fighters upon them as they arrive. I myself will pilot a pie fighter just for poops and giggles. I shall serve them up a few slices of whoop-ass.”

SOME FUTURE MOMENT IN TIME… For the second time in a week the Great Bowling Ball loomed in the space sky before a nervous Fluke Flyswatter. “Here we go,” he said, he glanced left and right to take in the view of all his co-fighter boys and girls and take a dose of courage… but they weren’t there!

“What the-! Where did everyone go!” RBC buzzed and chittered. He looked in his rear view mirror and suddenly realized that the whole company were flying in single file behind him. “What are you goofballs doing!” cried Flyswatter. “Quit clowning around!” RBC suddenly whooped and whistled and Fluke realized that dozens of pie fighters were streaming out of the pie hole. “Oh no!” cried Fluke. “Boys, this is not the formation that Fish Sticks designed! What the hells are you all doing!”

“Uh, you said to follow you,” said Hot Dog Diggity over the radio.

“That was just an expression! Get back to the plan! Jeebus!”

The train of fighters began immediately to fan out but already Fluke was drawing a lion’s share of attention. Laser blasts reigned down on him as he tried to make evasive maneuvers. The ship was struck multiple times and hiccupped violently but held together. But Fluke’s helmet was dashed against the dash and rung his bell, leaving the boy stunned momentarily.

RBC meanwhile shrieked and squealed. He was on fire as were numerous bits and pieces of the ship. RBC whipped out his inspector gadget fire hose and blew white powder at each unauthorized flame, safely putting out each fire. And then he went silent and limp.

“Oh my gord what am I doing here!” murmured Luke aloud. “Why did I ever toast my home and my relatives! This sucks! And my laser assist module is deactivated! How am I going to shoot anyone!”

“Use the force, Fluke,” came the voice of Opie Wan Ben Kablooey like magic.

“Ben, is that you!”

“Of course. I’m in the back seat.”

“Oh wow! I didn’t even know!”

“I think you hit your head too hard,” said Ben.

“Welcome aboard Ben! Hey you want a drink or some peanuts? We got a flight attendant on board! That’s my pal RBC back there!’

“Yes, I know,” said Ben.  We’ve all been hanging out the last week. We’re well-acquainted.”

“Oh okay. Ahhh, what are we doing here again? This seems like a bad idea, coming back here.”

“Fluke, listen to me,” said Ben calmly. “Make your way to the poop chute at the rear of the bowling ball and shoot down every pie fighter that gets in your way!”

“We don’t like the pie fighters,” said Fluke.

“That’s right. We don’t like the pie fighters.”

“And they don’t like us?”

“Correct.”

“Okay then.” Fluke veered off and began circling the great dark orb…

MOMENTS LATER… “Hey there’s a lone pie fighter back here,” said Fluke. “Almost like he’s been waiting for us.”

Ben frowned at the cosmos. “That’s not just any pie fighter, Fluke. This one is especially dangerous.”

Fluke began firing laser blasts. “Hey, I can’t aim for shit, Ben! What’s going on!”

“Your targeting mechanisms have re-purposed to serve the pellet insertion, Fluke. You will need to use the f-”

“The what!” cried Fluke.

“The pellet insertion! Remember!” The boy continued spraying lasers everywhere. ‘Fluke, we cannot win this battle this way. You need to use the FORCE!”

MEANWHILE about a space mile away the Dark Vader accelerated toward the lone X-wing fighter. “I have you now, Flyswatter! Right where I want y- Oh shit!” a random laser blast struck Gaydar’s pie fighter right smack on it’s obsidian nose, sending it in to a helpless roll. Gaydar was sent somersaulting helplessly into the void of space. “Damn everything,” he huffed. “I never should have had unprotected sex with that woman.”

Flyswatter drew up tight to the Great Ball’s slick dark surface. Any enemy fire which missed him was sure to strike their own mother ship! He tried to activate the poop chute finder but something was wrong. “RB, check the targeting systems please! Something is askew!”

But RBC was blackened and silent.

“RB! RB!” Fluke cried.

“Fluke,” said Ben.

“It’s okay, Ben. He slips into sleep mode after 10 minutes of inactivity. I just have to give the mouse a jiggle.”

“I’m sorry Fluke,” said Ben. “Not this time. RB cannot help you now. You will have to-”

“I know, I know! Use the force! Give it a rest, will ya?”

Ben shrugged as the boy studied the Great Ball’s surface, looking for poop clues. “I think I see it!” he cried. Suddenly laser blasts shot by him on one side, then the other. “Gods dang it!” he cried, praying to find the chute before he got blown to smithereens. Ben meanwhile prayed to the Force.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind him as his pursuer met with smithereen fate ahead of Fluke.

“Got him!” came a familiar voice over the radio. “You’re all clear now kiddo!”

“Hand!” cried Fluke. “Hand, is that you! How many back seats does this thing have!”

“I’m in the Aluminum Fulcrum kid! I came back to help you out because I thought maybe there would be another reward! Wait! No! I mean, because I care about you guys and everything!”

“You’re awesome, Hand! I can’t wait to hug you when all this is over!” and kick you in the gonads… he said under his breath. “There it is! The poop chute!” Fluke grinned wildly and bore down upon it.

“Kid, what are you doing!” said Hand.

“Fluke?” said Ben.

“I’m going in!” cried Fluke.

“You won’t fit!” cried Hand. “Insert the package and then pull away!”

“Oh damn,” said Fluke. He noticed that one of his pretty buttons had a little sticky note stuck to it with the word “insert” scrawled on it. The chute rushed at him! He smacked the button and pulled up with all his might.

And the Great Bowling Ball… would never strike again. It blew up real good.

EPILOGUE

Back at the rebel base there was a great celebration. They drank beer and champagne. They smoked marijuana - but only for medicinal or recreational purposes, and they played space monopoly and lawn darts and TV tag.

Later RBC was fully repaired and he joined the party and organized a Play Day tournament for everyone. He and CIBC and Fluke and Hand and Chewie were all on the same team. They kicked ass, especially at the egg carrying event and the one where you have to dig your shoes out of a pile and be the first team with your shoes put back on. CIBC set the new record at this event because he simply detached and re-attached his entire feet, which he and RBC had been practicing for a whole year.

Princess Louise handed out first place medals to everyone on the team and there were much applause. Fluke looked around for Ben but he was nowhere in the crowd. For the ghost of Ben Kablooey had finally satisfied his destiny, and he returned to the grave to rest in peace.

TO BE CONTINUED in Episode V: THE EMPIRE BOWLS A STRIKE…! (Yeah, probably not.) 

A New Dope Part 7 of 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Oh wow,” said Solo. “This was a great idea! I never could have come up with a plan this good!” They all stood in an indescribably grungy filthy stinky chamber waist-deep in waste. Space flies buzzed around them as they peered around at the tech trash, duct work, heaps of potato peelings, black bananas, cardboard boxes, taco wrappers, paper bags with vomit oozing out of them, fish bones, turkey carcasses, a half-eaten birthday cake, rebar, a stuffed teddy bear with one button-eye missing, tin cans, cigarette packages, great pools of unidentifiable sludge, and a human head with eyes wide open and wearing a maniacal smile.

“I figured you’d feel right at home here,” said Louise.

“Touché,” said Solo. Chewie found an access hatch with a red light shining above it and eagerly yanked and hammered on the thing to know avail. He howled in dismay.

“How do we get out of here now?” said Fluke.

“Well, they need to get rid of the garbage somehow,” said Louise.

“You don’t think they just void it into space,” said Solo. “Do you?”

“Ruh roh,’ said Chewie.

Fluke and Louise eyed one another nervously. “That sounds like exactly the sort of thing these fucking imperialists would do,” said Louise.

“Imperialist pigs,” spat Fluke.

Suddenly there were a series of loud clicks and clunks echoing though the metal chamber. The foursome stared at one another wide-eyed. “I think we’re about to find out what imperialists do with their garbage,” said Solo.

“Look!” cried Fluke. The light above the hatch had turned from red to green.

“Try it now Chewie!” cried Solo. The beast lunged for the metal door as the light turned from green back to red. He banged at the unmoving door and issued a yawning howl. “Fuck a duck!” cried Solo. “Could you be any slower?” Now the mother of all clangs rang in their ears, and the walls; the great metal walls, began to move; began closing in toward one another.

“Ruck a ruck!” cried Chewingtobacca

“Great work, princess,” said Solo. This is the kind of death I’ve been hoping for all my life. Thanks for making it happen.

“Believe me, you’re welcome,” said Louise. “I just feel bad about your two friends. They probably had something to live for.”

“Bitch,” said Solo.

“Pecker head,” said Louise.

“Stuck-up white-bread snot.”

“Low life bottom feeder.”

“Hey,” yelped Fluke. “I hate to direct your creative juices away from your name-calling efforts but uh - maybe we should try to figure out a way out of here! Do you think!”

“It’s a trash compactor, kiddo,” said Solo. “We’re done for.”

“It’s no use,” said Louise.

“Thanks Sugar,” said Solo. “Thanks for clarifying In case he didn’t hear me the first time.”

“Shut up, you misogynist pea-brained troglodyte.”

“Mmm, I like it when you talk dirty, Princess.”

“Oh yeah? Try this for dirty.” She grabbed a handful of muck and threw it straight into Hand Solo’s face.

“Whoa,” said Solo, brown-faced and squinting through one eye. “Now you’re talking. If we’re gonna go out it might as well be with a bang!” He swiftly unsnapped his holster and his fly and began wading toward Louise who yelped in alarm, tried to back-pedal and then screamed as Solo fell upon her while the walls drew inexorably closer.

“To hell with them,” said Fluke. “Let’s find a way out of here Chewie.” The beast howled in what Fluke assumed was agreement. “Oh!” Fluke gasped. “RBC can save us!” He tore at his ill-fitting stormpooper armor and finally whipped out a tricorder device from his leotard pocket. And immediately he juggled it and dropped it in the sludge. “Aghhhhhh! GODDAMMIT!” He began madly fishing around in the great stinking stew as it became more and more compressed by the closing walls. Chewingtobacca roared and threw Fluke aside and began tearing at the rubbage himself, flinging aside pipes and bricks and soiled clothes; muck flying everywhere. An errant brick came down on Hand Solo’s hand as he feverishly attempted to mount a screaming Princess Louise. He screamed himself suddenly and fell aside of her, grabbing his bleeding wounded hand in his other.

“No!” Hand cried in anguish. “Not my favourite hand!”

MEANWHILE JUST A FEW FEET AWAY… Fluke spied a small metallic object flying up into the air above Chewie’s head and he saw that it was emitting a flashing light. He leapt to grab it, elbowing the wookie in the face in the process.

Louise had drawn herself to her feet and saw that this was her chance as her attacker slumped on his shoulder, holding his injured hand. She grabbed up a large heavy pole and raised it mightily into the air, eyeing Solo’s head with feverish revenge on her mind. Self defence, she told herself. I’ll brain the fucker… 

Fluke closed his hand around the little tricorder as it bobbed in the air. Simultaneously the offended wookie grabbed the boy who had so rudely back-armed him in the face, and he tossed the boy aside. Fluke crashed into Louise who dropped the lead pipe at once and they both landed on Solo. The three splashed into the grunge pool, sinking below the surface, and Chewingtobacca stood there feeling suddenly lonely.

Fluke came up for air first as the walls were now only two space yards apart. He brought the tricorder up to his sludge-smeared mouth. “Come in RB! Come in!”

“Master Fluke!” came CIBC’s panicked voice from the gadget. “RBC and I are locked in a control closet and Princess Louise is missing!”

“Shut up and listen to me!” cried Fluke. “Louise is with us but we’re all going to die unless RB shuts down the trash compactor on the detention level! Is he still logged in to their wi-fi!”

“No he’s not!” cried CIBC

“God damn fuck it god fuck a fucking god dammit we are going to fucking die you god dammit stupid mechanical piece of shit!” Fluke screamed. “I don’t want to die this way!”

“He’s hard-wired in,” stated CIBC.

“What! Oh! Oh well great then! have him shut down the trash compactor on the detention level immediately! Hurry up! Now now now! we are being crushed to death!”

“Hmm,” said CIBC. “I’ll think about it. I’m not sure I appreciated your attitude toward me just now.”

“Oh my god I’m so sorry please oh please we’ll talk about this! I will buy you crumpets for life; I promise! But you gotta save us RIGHT NOW!”

“Oh, I’m just kidding Master Fluke. He’s working on it right now. But there’s a lot of trash compactors on this Bowling Ball. He’s having trouble isolating-”

“AAGGGGGGHHH!” screamed Master Fluke. “I’M BEING SQUISHED!”

“Oh my Gord RB!” cried CIBC. “Just shut them ALL down!”

The walls halted at once.

Chewie and Fluke whooped and howled in delight. They were saved.

“Oh good. They’re dying!” said CIBC… “Just kidding!!”

MEANWHILE IN THE VISITOR ORIENTATION CENTRE…

“So,” came the deep deep breathy voice from behind Opie Wan Kablooey. The Jade Eye knight halted in his path and turned around to see the Dark Gaydar standing fifteen feet away. “Opie Wan Kablooey. We meet again.”

“It has been a long long time Gaydar. Not since you foolishly and cowardly turned away to the dark side have I seen your mangy artificial poodle face.”

“Chihuahua actually. And now the student has become the master.”

“Master, my arse.” spat old Ben.

“I just might do that, bitch.”

“Nice fanny pack,’ said Ben. “Who’s the bitch?”

Gaydar yanked out his laser sword and flashed it about giving out a medley of gruesome warbling sounds.

“If you take me down I will only rise again but taller,” said Opie Wan.

“That’s what she said.”

“What?” said Ben. “That doesn’t make any sense. That’s not funny at all. Are you stupid?”

Enraged, Gaydar sprung forward, light sabre flashing and garbling.”

“Opie go night night!” said Ben mystically. Gaydar’s sabre hit him and the tweed robes fell emptily to the floor.

“What the-” cried Gaydar. “Goddam voodoo!” He kicked at the formless robes and found no Ben Kablooey. “Fucker!” He then spotted a small hairy insect scuttling along the slick imperial floor. “Ah ha!” cried Gaydar. “Turned into a spider did you!” Gaydar chased the spider down the hall.

Of course boys and girls, what Gaydar did not know… was that Opie Wan Ben Kablooey had never really been in the visitor centre at all!

CHAPTER NINE

“And then he caught up to the spider!” said Opie Wan Kablooey, his upper lip dusted with white powder. “And he stomped up and down on the poor thing for twenty space minutes yelling Take that Opie Wan! Take that you fucking goodie two shoes!” Everyone laughed at old Ben’s tale: Fluke and Princess Louise and Hand Solo and his woolly wookie and Admiral Fish Sticks with the giant fishy face and everyone dipped their straws into the mountain of cocaine which RBC had provided and they snorted with glee.

“Well, little RBC,” said Admiral Fish Sticks drunkenly, “Thanks for the smack and the plans! I better get to work finding the bowling ball’s Achilles heel bone so we can blow it to smithereens. Give me a minute, fellas.”

ONE MINUTE LATER… in the presentation lounge the gang was all there along with a bevy of space pilots in orange jump suits. All of them had escaped from one of the imperial prisons far away in a place called Kingston, Ontario on a funny little planet called Dirtsand, or "Earth" by the Dirtsandian inhabitants. Also present were a variety of important rebel strategists including, most prominently, El Toro the bull-headed man and Catmandoo the cat-headed woman.

Admiral Fish Sticks drew everyone’s attention to the giant whiteboard where an image of a Great Bowling Ball architectural drawing was projected. Fish Sticks turned on his laser pointer and pinned his red dot on the whiteboard. Catmandoo, at the sight of this magical red prey nearly peed herself with excitement but she managed to contain herself and hold still.

“This is going to be simple ladies and gentleman,” said the Admiral. “Note the three giant holes on the surface of the behemoth. This bottom one is the pie hole. This is where all of the pie fighters will launch from the moment they see us coming.” He clicked his clicker and the drawing changed to one focused on the rear of the craft. Now there is actually one more hole on the surface but it is so much smaller than the others. indeed we might surmise that a core purpose of the two major holes on the high side is to create a distraction. Watch as I zoom in. Now here is the tiny hole that concerns us. It is the Poop Chute. It is from here that messages and instructions to the entire galactic stormpooper force is broadcasted. And this is their great weakness. If we can insert a Trojan Pellet right up the Poop Chute, we can not only disrupt the galactic broadcast but we can turn the Great Ball into a Great Ball of Fire!

“Goodness gracious! A great ball of fire!” exclaimed the orange-suited pilot Captain Kentucky Detox.

“Oh my stars!” exclaimed CIBC.

“That’ll frost their tallywhackers,” said Captain Frisco Kibblebits.

“Oh it’ll blow them clean off,” clarified Admiral Fish Sticks

“I stand corrected,” said Kibblebits.

“Every fighter ship is being equipped with a properly programmed and lubricated Trojan Pellet as we speak. Make no mistake: this will be a highly dangerous undertaking and many of you may not make it back alive. But all it takes is one successful pellet plant and victory is assured. The moment a successful insertion has been announced we will all pull out and withdraw. As we speak all your targeting systems are being re-purposed for this insertion task. This means that any dogfighting or any laser fire will be manual!”

“No problemo,” said Captain Hotdog Diggity. ‘I can shoot down an entire squadron of pie fighters in half the time a computer can.”

“You can shoot a lot of baloney out your bumhole is more like it,” quipped Captain Ace Fantasmo. “I can’t even do that and I’ve beaten you at every pie fight simulation ever designed.”

Captain Diggity sneered as everyone else laughed. “Maybe I’ve been letting you win, Fatso.”

“Okay, enough of that,” said Fish Sticks. “Any questions about this plan?”

“Do the imperials know about their poop chute?”

“You mean, from a hole in the ground? Hahahah!” Fish Sticks slapped his knee. “But seriously: they likely have not realized the extent of their exposure but they likely do know that the chute should be protected. What we hope they don’t know, is just how dedicated we are to getting into it. And I believe it likely that they do not. When we attack we will send the bulk of our forces directly at their pie hole, as if defeating their fighter fleet is our main goal. Some of you will approach quietly from their rear but feigning a flank attack. Then we’ll divert at the last moment. Furthermore any frontal attacker drawing a pie fighter pursuer will divert toward the rear chute as if trying to lose the pursuer, which would be a great idea either way. Once the gig is up, then all of our forces will abandon the frontal façade and blitz the poop chute.” Heads nodded around the room. “Are we clear?”

The consensus was affirmative. “Okay. Prepare for battle. And remember: let’s be careful out there.”

MEANWHILE IN A NON-MILITARY HANGAR… The recently accredited Captain Solo was directing Chewingtobacca the wookie of the year which cargo to load onto the Aluminum Fulcrum when a certain princess approached him from behind and grabbed his ass.

“Whoa!” he said, spinning around. “Louise! You’ve come to kiss me goodbye!” She reared back and slapped him hard in the face. A red hand print began to appear on his cheek. “Oh Sugar, you know I love it when you get rough!”

“How the blazes can you leave at a time like this!”

“Well… I can’t really screw you. I pulled one off a couple or six times already this morning. I’m sore. They have amazing porn here! Have you seen it?” She slapped him again. “Ow! Damn, girl!” Didn't you hear me? I can’t perform now! Don’t even try to get me excited!”

“How can you leave when the rebels need you!”

“Huh? For what?”

“For the fight, dammit! You’re a good pilot! We need all the good pilots we can get! Don’t you ever care about anything but yourself and your rewards!”

“No. Of course not. What a stupid question. Jeez. It’s a good thing you’re cute ‘cause you’re not very bright.”

Louise shook her head disgustedly. “You’re the champion slime ball of the galaxy.”

“Thanks Sugar. ‘Til next time then! All aboard Chewie!”

To be concluded tomorrow! (if you can stand it…)