Tears in the rain.

Blade Runner is the greatest film ever.

An unpopular statement, to be sure, there are so many more brilliant films, Metropolis, Citizen Kane, 2001. For sheer visual artistry, I cannot find one that matches Blade Runner, a film so stunningly ahead of its time that few could dream of matching it before 2017, the date in which it is set.

Just ten years away, in fact.

The film is twenty-five years old.

Sure there are better stories, and better performances to be had, but no film as deep, and vital, from its music, to lighting, and cinematography. Perhaps no words are fit to praise Rutger Hauer’s climactic monologue, a delivery that even Philip K. Dick himself would never have dreamed of.

The raw emotion wrenched from Roy Batty’s very last words, pure poetry.

A couple quotes after the jump. Continue reading

Advertisements

Cocksucking has broken my friend.

After reading my epic screed on the philosophical implications of fellatio, my good friend Travis seems to have been broken.

He just spent a good five minutes with his fists balled into his eyes, his world unraveling at the thought of his mother, our high school principal, and Joan Fucking Rivers sucking merrily on man-meat.  He had a rather severe reaction, everything went black, save one white spot in the center of his vision.  He thinks still more on the matter, convulsing with terror with each new revelation.

He deemed it the ultimate troll, though one cannot troll with truth.  He answered a phone call from his mother, who I dutifully reminded him has sucked much cock.

At long last peace settles over him, as the truth sinks in, and all is revealed.

His thoughts?

“Perhaps that’s why people become pedophiles, to find something pure and innocent… and destroy it.”

God help us all.

The Best Joke In The World.

How do you find a blind man in a nudist colony?

It isn’t hard.

This is all ridiculous.

While trying in vain to fall asleep at 7:30 in the morning, I had a thought.

The thought wasn’t a particularly dignified one, nor was it particularly profound on its own merit.

I realized that the vast majority of women I know have probably, at some point in their lives, had their mouths affixed to male genitalia.

Don’t judge me yet.

Anyway, when I mulled that concept over in my mind for a while something odd happened.  I began to panic.  I didn’t really know how to deal with that revelation, that all the people, from the elders who dispensed wisdom and cookies through my youth to the people I went to grammar school with, have probably sucked a cock or two.  It broke my brain.

In my continued effort to figure out how exactly this happened, and why it was causing a minor existential meltdown, I tried to put it out of my mind.  Didn’t work.  The whole notion is just too odd, that these people, many of whom I respect, love, care for, cherish, learn from, have partaken of an activity of that sort was hard to jive with.

Then it hit me.  The duality, between the fully-clothed, professional, intelligent human and the nude, carnal, animalistic human.  Its ridiculous.  Bordering on self-parody.  Only not so much bordering, it is self-parody.

I thought some more.

It doesn’t stop at that, everything is ridiculous.  And we take ourselves so seriously, too.  Here we are, contemplating the meaning of life, unraveling the great mysteries of the universe, and sucking dick.  The single greatest cause to believe in a god or creator isn’t the mysteries of life, or the complexity, because it really isn’t even that complex.  The greatest cause to believe is that life is so inherently ridiculous that surely, something must be playing a joke on us.

The more I thought the more ridiculous it seemed.

Human beings kill each other, go to war, create machines solely for the purpose of killing other humans.  And that’s the advanced part of us doing that!  The animal part, the so-called uncivilized part is the one that keeps the species going!  Sucking dick!

The way the universe works isn’t that complicated, just our explanations for the way the universe works are.  What goes up must come down, gravity.  There are thousands of theories and formulae that vie to explain that “phenomenon”.

My panic turned to calm, as I realized how ridiculous we all are.  For however hard we try to explain away the world, and however hard we try to kill each other, everyone’s still sucking dick, and that will save us all.

REVIEW: Assassin’s Creed (Or how I learned what not to do when designing a game)

My thoughts on Assassin’s Creed are rather bleak. The whole affair, from the insultingly cynical marketing, to the hype campaign, to the shoddy execution is just depressing.

The game’s a Molyneux, to coin a term. Simply put, it so desperately tries to innovate that it forgets all those things that make games worthwhile, like writing, fighting, and fun. Sure, Molyneux is the alpha-pimp of gaming hype, and Assassin’s Creed was largely presented without hype from the developer, the frothing praise heaped upon it came instead from that vanguard of journalistic integrity the gaming enthusiast press.

The game’s #1 selling point, the free-running control scheme tries to do too many new things. Instead of focusing on improvement in one area, the team at Ubisoft Montreal has attempted a massive paradigm shift normally associated with waggle. The free-running is functional, but too passive for my tastes. Instead of coordinated button pressing, Altair does all the work for you. The effect is impressive, but I found myself experiencing an odd disconnect between my languid button holding and Altair’s acrobatics.

Likewise, the combat leaves me with a similar ill-feeling. The only way to be even marginally effective is to tap the counter button as soon as an enemy twitches in your general direction. Usually this results in an extravagant display of violence that would not be out of place in slasher films, or perhaps 300. Should you try to attack in any other way, the hordes of identical enemies will surely tear you to ribbons. The system gets more irritating when facing particularly large numbers of enemies, as then your blood-letting tends to degenerate into a disappointing punch, that does absolutely no damage, and tosses the enemy too far to be immediately finished by lesser methods. Then the aforementioned player-death begins as you feebly try to mop up.

The game’s mysterious story ends up as much ado about nothing. The premise, while intriguing, is terribly executed. The storyline ends up getting in the way of the game, especially towards the end, with the writers throwing the game out of its comfort zone (stealth, guile, and trickery) and into man-against-the-world combat, casting the martial shortcomings in even greater relief. The voice acting is stiff, and the dialog itself is weighted down by feeble attempts at philosophical metaphor and political intrigue.

The overall effect is an unholy mash up of the latter Matrix films’ philosophical pandering and the Star Wars’ prequels political didactics.

For all its flaws, and it is a game of flaws, make no mistake, Assassin’s Creed has some positive aspects and does show promise enough to warrant a look at the sequel. The graphics are beautiful, the expansive cities are a wonder to explore, and the concept shows promise enough that it can still be redeemed. As a slight aside, I also find the inclusion of a Muslim protagonist inherently refreshing in this current political climate. The press rightly should share the blame for its failure, as it had long been made out to be the savior of gaming, before the disappointing (read: realistic) showings at press events in the past year. Ultimately the game tries to do too much with too little, its failing not one of talent or judgment but of ambition.

For the sequel, Ubisoft, spare us the revolution. Prince of Persia was fine without one.

Update: Supporting Ron Paul makes you a bad person.

It also is known to cause sterility, global warming, and war.

GTFO

Ron Paul is an ignorant racist psychotic

So I’ve noticed many people I know are going apeshit about the Internet’s Favorite Candidate, Ron Paul.

Ron Paul, Republican congressman from Texas, former libertarian presidential candidate, who is beloved by an army of ignorant followers mostly for his desire to legalize drugs, prostitution, and withdraw from Iraq.

Only problem is he’s a vicious racist who accepts donations from, and has longstanding ties with white supremacists, neo nazis, and other infuriating folk.

His supporters don’t know, largely because Paul isn’t entirely moronic for all his ridiculous and insane policies.  He won’t tell them.  After all, he loses the vast majority of his support if it comes out he’s said stuff like “Regardless of what the media tell us, most white Americans are not going to believe that they are at fault for what blacks have done to cities across America. The professional blacks may have cowed the elites, but good sense survives at the grass roots.  Many more are going to have difficultly avoiding the belief that our country is being destroyed by a group of actual and potential terrorists — and they can be identified by the color of their skin.”

Oh and that’s in 1993 before it was politically viable in the Republican Party to be overtly racist toward anyone with dark skin.

Not enough, you say?  Oh well, there’s more.

“Opinion polls consistently show that only about 5% of blacks have sensible political opinions, i.e. support the free market, individual liberty, and the end of welfare and affirmative action…. Given the inefficiencies of what D.C. laughingly calls the “criminal justice system,” I think we can safely assume that 95% of the black males in that city are semi-criminal or entirely criminal.”

And these other golden gems from Uncle Ron’s Racist Rantz!

We are constantly told that it is evil to be afraid of black men, but it is hardly irrational. Black men commit murders, rapes, robberies, muggings, and burglaries all out of proportion to their numbers.”

“If you have ever been robbed by a black teen-aged male, you know how unbelievably fleet-footed they can be”

Yeah, next person to tell me how great Ron Paul is will get shit on.  I’m not using metaphor there, either.