A Discoverie Of The Internet

Three revelations in today’s posting. Number one is that I’ve just worked out how to add ‘reactions’ to this blog. This is, as I’m sure you’ll agree, quite exciting. Do scroll down and view the end of this post for the tick boxes to which I refer. There are a choice of fine options for your most delicate deliberation, and I encourage you all to make full and appropriate use of this wonderful new facility. But wait, what if you’re reacting in a different way to the slim choice of options given? Well, tough. From now on, I dictate what your reactions will be, and I only wish I could do the same thing in real life. For example, last Tuesday I believe I made a relatively obscene suggestion involving me, you, your sister and my Lego City playset. Your actual reaction at the time: bemusedly disgusted. Your new suggested reaction: pleasantly surprised.

The second revelation is also the reason for working out how to add ‘reactions’ to this blog. You see, I’ve taken a step forward in my life – by attempting to understand this brave new world called the internet. Hint: when Miranda, at the end of The Tempest, says ‘O brave new world, / That has such people in it’, it’s supposed to be dramatic irony. She may, or may not, mean it. But the point is that, in The Tempest, we’ve just spent two hours watching the people who are supposed to represent said brave new world acting in ways which are neither new nor particularly brave. She, on the other hand, has been living in a cave playing chess. Now, chess may well be the game of kings and smart people in public parks, but I don’t think this lifestyle choice makes her the most able of social commentators. The distance between what we think she thinks and what we know we know is what makes it irony, okay? So when I say that the internet is a brave new world, I obviously mean that it is actually a huge pile of manure. And just like Biff in Back to the Future, I am not fond of manure. Are you with me? Have I explained the joke sufficiently for us all to be on the same page at this point? I do hope so.

The third revelation is the revelation which explains why I’ve been trying to understand the internet. Not to put too fine a point on it, I’ve just heard that this internet thing can make you money. Like, a lot of money. In fact, I heard that you can make it rather big, just by doing things with the internet. And no, I don’t mean the kind of things that you do with the internet. I mean other, legal things. Things that don’t leave you in need of a shower, and then also leave your shower in need of a shower, and then also leave that shower in need of another shower – until all the world is one huge showering shower that constantly cries to itself because it just can’t get clean.

No, what I’m planning to do is, if anything, far dirtier and more unscrupulous. That’s right, I’ve decided to ‘monetise’. I’ll admit that when I first read the word monetise, I had no idea what it meant. I thought it might be something to do with the Power Rangers’ latest special abilities, to be honest (and I’m not sure I’m entirely wrong, either). But no, apparently it just means offering advertising space in this, my personal area of the web. As I understand the situation, the internet is basically a small and limited space, and thus those poor advertisers have nowhere to put their adverts. But there’s a silver lining here, because in return for giving over what I’m sure is a tiny amount of space to some discreet and delightful advertisements, I could, I’m reliably informed, receive considerable amounts of gold. And, partly as a result of my pirate roots, I quite like gold.

So, here’s the part where I turn things over to you, my dear readers. Shall we experiment in the wonders of capitalism, in ways that will no doubt lead us straight to the bank? Or shall we leave undespoiled the hallowed halls of the Waspinator-for-President campaign factory? Only you, dear readers, can decide. And, just in case this part wasn’t clear, you can indicate your decision by way of the appropriate box below. I’d invite actual comments instead, but, well, you’d only go and say something stupid.


Notes: Yes, I modernised that Tempest quote. Want to make something of it? Well, I’d rather you didn’t, please. Thanks.

This Refreshing Cold Lemon Tea Sure Would Taste Even Better Hot, And Without The Lemon

Just like the long-dead Autobot Impactor, in issue #84 of the Marvel UK imprint of the Transformers comic, I have good days and bad days. 

Now I’m not saying I’m like Impactor in many other ways: I haven’t died twice, or even once; I don’t have a cannon on my shoulder; and I’ve never been leader of the Autobots ‘elite’ commando unit, the Wreckers. I don’t have a cool name like Impactor either. What’s more, I’ve never called Emirate Xaaron, the near-eastern-sounding Cybertronian Autobot leader, a ‘wily old buzzard’. I don’t even really know what ‘wily old buzzard’ means, although I’m generally suspicious of a 4 million-year-old robot calling another 4 million-year-old robot ‘old’. But Impactor and myself have this in common at least: we both have good days, and we both have bad days. And just like Impactor in issue #84, I’ve just suffered a really bad day.

Of course, Impactor’s really bad day (as chronicled in #84) involved squaring off against three Decepticon Triple-Changers. To be fair, I haven’t done that today. I mean, yeah, the three Decepticon Triple-Changers did actually turn out to be three Autobot Triple-Changers in disguise (you’d think a Transformer would look out for things like that), but it was still a really bad time for Impactor. Like issue #84 says, ‘welcome to one of his worst [days]!’. And sure, I think we can all agree that, as worst days go, it might not have been quite as bad as issue #88, where he got killed taking a bullet (okay, laser blast that went ‘Cham!’) for his buddy Emirate Xaaron. And it probably wasn’t as bad a day for Impactor as in issue #169, when following a brief resurrection he got re-killed saving Emirate Xaaron from the machinations of evil scientist Autobot, Flame. And, I think, not as bad as all the other issues, where he didn’t even get a mention, let alone some sort of thanks for dying twice. But still, yeah, in issue #84 he had one pretty bad day.

So look, my points here are twofold. Firstly, Emirate Xaaron is the worst Autobot leader of all time; secondly, I too have experienced a worst day. Now, on balance, my own worst day might not have been as bad as that time I got cut in two by the rotor-blades on Miles Mayhem’s plane-copter when he escaped my bunker (please come back, Miles). And, okay, if we’re being honest, it might not have been as bad a day as the day when [redacted], which I honestly will write about one day soon, when I get over the nightmare-inducing horror. And yes, on the whole, this worst day probably wasn’t quite as bad as all the days I didn’t get mentioned in UK Transformers #1 through #332, no matter how many nice messages I sent for possible inclusion in their letters page. But still, it was bad.

Why was it so bad? Well, if you’ll just shut up for a moment, I’ll go ahead and tell you. It’s nice to tell people about your troubles, you know. I mean, if you’ll let them get a word in edgeways. Just like it would have been nice had the Transformers letters page listened to me, and perhaps provided proof of having done so in print. Hell, I could understand Soundwave not replying when I wrote to him in his position as host of the letters page, or ‘Soundwaves’, as the page was cleverly entitled during his surprisingly lengthy tenure (issues #22 through #73, excepting issue #41). Soundwave is a dirtwad decepti-creep after all, and frankly not to be trusted at epistolary communication. He probably just turned the letters into energon cubes or something. Likewise, Dreadwind’s ‘Dread Tidings’ page (issues #184 through #299) couldn’t really be expected to dignify my missives with anything remotely like a deserving response.

And, you know, I could understand Grimlock not giving me the time of day when I wrote to him as host of ‘Grim Grams’ (issues #75 through #182). Grimlock couldn’t really speak beyond sentences like ‘me Grimlock smash brains’, so to expect him to compose a written response to my consistently erudite queries might have been a bit much. Similarly, Blaster can be let off the hook, I think. I’m fairly sure Blaster left most of the actual work to either Steeljaw or Ramhorn, his small cassette-tape friends. As highly advanced Transformer lifeforms, Steeljaw and Ramhorn had the ability to assume the form of either a cassette-tape or, respectively, a lion and a rhino. In neither shape, I imagine, would either of them be able to instruct anyone in the details of a response, let alone pick up a pen or hammer out an essay on the office Commodore 64.

But Ratchet. Ratchet really let me down. Picture the scene, if you will. It’s issue #41. It’s time for a change from Soundwave’s evil ignorance. It’s time to draw a line under the shadows of the past. It’s time for ‘Rat-Chat’, starring everyone’s favourite Autobot surgeon and all round good guy. A man (okay, robot) interested in helping people. A man (okay, robot) who prides himself on intellectual, moral conduct. A man (okay, robot) who, you might think, would be only too happy to reply to a letter from yours truly. Well, you’d think wrong. Because, frankly, Ratchet left me high and dry.

Yes, that day, that terrible dark day when Ratchet didn’t heed my keening call, was a pretty bad day indeed. But actually, and I’m just thinking aloud here, I think the day I’ve just had might have been even worse than that, bleak experience though that undoubtedly was. On the whole, then, it would have been nice if you’d let me tell you about it.

Notes: In all honesty, the onomatopoeic laser blast might not have been ‘cham’. It might well have been a ‘kazz-zap’ or even a ‘krrooom’. I don’t remember, and I couldn’t be bothered to look it up. Take that, academic referencing standards.

I Specifically Requested Mandrake The Magician For My Birthday Party, And All I Got Was Lothar

Dear So-Called "Defenders of the Earth",

Okay, so I’ve got a bone to pick with the lot of you. I’m going to state that I have said bone straight away, so everyone just knows where the hell they stand. When I saw the ad in the paper, no lies, I was just amazed. Really floored. "The Defenders?", I thought. "Are available for parties and events?" I’m not exaggerating when I say I fell giddily to the floor in something akin to religious rapture. Imagine! The Defenders of the Earth available for hire, and my birthday currently without any kind of entertainment booking! Well, I thought, this is simply too good to be true. And you know what, Defenders? It was.

Let’s be clear about this. Despite your claims to the contrary in company advertising, the good Mr. Lothar's strength was NOT a legend, and his skills did NOT conquer all. What Mr. Lothar did do, very successfully, was make a pretty bad mess of my piñata. The one that I had specially made for my best friend, Tommy. You want to know how that made Tommy feel? Well, you can see how it made him feel in the picture I've attached. He's the little boy in the middle, crying. Yes, the one in the wheel chair. The boy who your employee addressed as (and I quote) "Octon". Tommy bears no resemblance to Octon, Defenders of the Earth. Octon, as if you needed to be reminded, is a dome-shaped artificial intelligence with eight spider-like legs. Tommy is a five-year-old paraplegic. Also, Octon is remorseless in his desire to aid Ming the Merciless take over the cosmos, and the only thing stopping Octon from aiding Ming the Merciless in taking over the cosmos is Octon’s long and comedic rivalry with fellow henchman, Garax. Tommy, on the other hand, is remorseless in his desire to catch and play ball like a normal boy, and the only thing stopping Tommy from catching and playing ball like a normal boy is his long and not-particularly-comedic rivalry with a heartbreaking disability. You do see the difference, right, Defenders of the Earth?

Don’t misunderstand me, DotE. I get that Lothar was always kind of “required” on your team, if you know what I’m saying. Got to keep the minorities happy, am I right? But still, honestly, you'd think you could have found someone with an actual power. I’m not saying it has to be a super power, but something, you know? Like you’ve got Flash, who’s all about the rockets and whatnot, Mandrake does his magic, and Phantom has the whole beast-calling angle covered. And now that I think about it, DotE, any of these three members would have made for fine party entertainers. Little Tommy, so far as I can tell, is extremely fond of fireworks, magic, and animals. But come on, Defenders: which part of Lothar’s particular skill-set did you really think would be transferable to the small-venue entertainment market? His ability to punch people, perhaps?

Frankly, DotE, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Also, while I’m writing, please tell Flash Gordon to unplug his dead-wife-who’s-now-the-team-computer. It’s been long enough.