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August 26, 2010
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Bitches Ain't Shit: Glee-Style
Somewhere, Dr. Dre is probably all like, "Damn. That shit is tight, yo. Pass me that bud, (n-word) ."
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August 6, 2010
A Funktards Salute to Man-E-Faces
About an hour before I left for my visit with Great Uncle Arthur this week, the phone rang.
It was Great Uncle Arthur.
"Duke," he said, "I need some new ones. And listen, if there's a piece of surgical tubing tied to my doorknob when you get here, I'm busy saying 'see you later' to the old ones."
That was all he had to say.
For the uninitiated, Great Uncle Arthur is a dirty old dude. When he said "ones," he was talking about Playboy magazines. Before he moved into the home, he'd asked me to keep a box of old copies for him at my place. He couldn't safely stash the entire collection in his room, so he decided he would trade them out every few weeks. He calls me his "nekkid book librarian." All of the magazines are from the late 60s. I guess he's got a thing for big nipples and even bigger whisker-biscuits.
I go to the back closet, open the door, push back a few old Starter jackets and a dark-green corduroy blazer (I don't know what the fuck I was thinking when I bought that shit), and reach for the box of magazines. The whole process is second nature. I'm thumbing through the rotation and, out of nowhere, an icon of 80s badassery falls from the shelf above.
That's right. On the floor in front of me was Man-E-Faces, the baddest three-faced cyborg in all of Eternia. A line separated the gray of his Imperial scout trooper'ish face and the bright green of his scary-bitch-from-the-Exorcist face.
I tried to straighten out his facial issues, but the badass knob on top of his head refused to budge.
It was then I remembered ... (cue 'Wayne's World' dream sequence sound effect)
Sometime during the summer of 1983, the portion of Eternia that encompassed my parents' back deck was fraught with danger. There were no heroes. There were no villains. The Sorceress of Grayskull didn't have a clue as to who could be trusted. Yes, my young and brilliant (or maybe just paranoid) mind added a conspiracy twist to the Masters of the Universe.
And so it happened that the greatest damn battle in the history of action figure-dom went down.
Man-E-Faces, dealing with the personal struggle of multiple personalities, had decided to take his face for one final spin and to stop at robot. Never again would he show his man-face, nor would he sport that creepy-assed Exorcist mug. Hell, he was already half-robot, why not go all in? (And, yes, the cartoon Man-E-Faces used the extra faces as a disguise, but who the fuck are we kidding here? His body never changed and, even at age six, I knew that was a pretty shitty mode of going incognito).
Robot-E-Man was born.
His plan to overcome the battle between his personalities actually turned more tragic, as his robotic logic became consumed with upgrades. After doing all he could with scrap materials, he set his eyes on a new goal: Fisto's mighty silver fist.
Long story short, that shit didn't happen. For a guy who wears a purple codpiece, Fisto is certifiably badass.
Fisto pummeled Robot-E-Man and easily knocked him out. Then, calling upon the strength of his shiny knob-shiner, Fisto lifted a cinder block above his head and brought it down corner-first on Robot-E-Man's dome.
"You tried, Robot-E-Man," I thought to myself as I thumbed through the pictures of naked ladies now in their early 70s. "I should have had you travel to the Dagobah system and meet with Darth Yoda."
I grabbed three "nekkid books" and tossed the old action figure aside.
(cue 'The Wonder Years styled voice over')
It's funny how old things like that can take you back ... and make you genuinely fucking regret the fact that you didn't merge two fictional universes.
Here's to you, Man-E-Faces. Fisto may have won the battle, but at least your name didn't eventually become semi-synonymous with cramming one's hand up another person's orifices.
Photo by patobot
It was Great Uncle Arthur.
"Duke," he said, "I need some new ones. And listen, if there's a piece of surgical tubing tied to my doorknob when you get here, I'm busy saying 'see you later' to the old ones."
That was all he had to say.
For the uninitiated, Great Uncle Arthur is a dirty old dude. When he said "ones," he was talking about Playboy magazines. Before he moved into the home, he'd asked me to keep a box of old copies for him at my place. He couldn't safely stash the entire collection in his room, so he decided he would trade them out every few weeks. He calls me his "nekkid book librarian." All of the magazines are from the late 60s. I guess he's got a thing for big nipples and even bigger whisker-biscuits.I go to the back closet, open the door, push back a few old Starter jackets and a dark-green corduroy blazer (I don't know what the fuck I was thinking when I bought that shit), and reach for the box of magazines. The whole process is second nature. I'm thumbing through the rotation and, out of nowhere, an icon of 80s badassery falls from the shelf above.
That's right. On the floor in front of me was Man-E-Faces, the baddest three-faced cyborg in all of Eternia. A line separated the gray of his Imperial scout trooper'ish face and the bright green of his scary-bitch-from-the-Exorcist face.
I tried to straighten out his facial issues, but the badass knob on top of his head refused to budge.
It was then I remembered ... (cue 'Wayne's World' dream sequence sound effect)
Sometime during the summer of 1983, the portion of Eternia that encompassed my parents' back deck was fraught with danger. There were no heroes. There were no villains. The Sorceress of Grayskull didn't have a clue as to who could be trusted. Yes, my young and brilliant (or maybe just paranoid) mind added a conspiracy twist to the Masters of the Universe.
And so it happened that the greatest damn battle in the history of action figure-dom went down.
Man-E-Faces, dealing with the personal struggle of multiple personalities, had decided to take his face for one final spin and to stop at robot. Never again would he show his man-face, nor would he sport that creepy-assed Exorcist mug. Hell, he was already half-robot, why not go all in? (And, yes, the cartoon Man-E-Faces used the extra faces as a disguise, but who the fuck are we kidding here? His body never changed and, even at age six, I knew that was a pretty shitty mode of going incognito).
Robot-E-Man was born.
His plan to overcome the battle between his personalities actually turned more tragic, as his robotic logic became consumed with upgrades. After doing all he could with scrap materials, he set his eyes on a new goal: Fisto's mighty silver fist.
Long story short, that shit didn't happen. For a guy who wears a purple codpiece, Fisto is certifiably badass.
Fisto pummeled Robot-E-Man and easily knocked him out. Then, calling upon the strength of his shiny knob-shiner, Fisto lifted a cinder block above his head and brought it down corner-first on Robot-E-Man's dome.
"You tried, Robot-E-Man," I thought to myself as I thumbed through the pictures of naked ladies now in their early 70s. "I should have had you travel to the Dagobah system and meet with Darth Yoda."
I grabbed three "nekkid books" and tossed the old action figure aside.
(cue 'The Wonder Years styled voice over')
It's funny how old things like that can take you back ... and make you genuinely fucking regret the fact that you didn't merge two fictional universes.
Here's to you, Man-E-Faces. Fisto may have won the battle, but at least your name didn't eventually become semi-synonymous with cramming one's hand up another person's orifices.
Photo by patobot
August 3, 2010
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