Friday, February 21, 2014

Toy Flashback: Lowly Worm hates Nazis

In case you hadn't noticed, the 'Toy Flashback' tag is used for any photo I happened to take while I was making a blog entry, that I simply couldn't find room for in its original post. It's a nice way to recycle material.

Today, however, I was taking a leisurely stroll through the statistics this queer little blog has acquired. Predominantly, I was looking at viewcounts. As I would have guessed, entries about the Ninja Turtles occupy several of the top spots: the Turtlecycle, Invasion of the Robobugs, and Krang's Android Body rank first, fourth and ninth respectively.

Other things are a little more surprising. Scar (the once acclaimed 'king of gay') has gamely held a top ten spot for quite some time, as has Resident Evil 3 on GameCube. I can't really fathom much of a reason for either; Lion King and Resident Evil are fine franchises to be sure, but neither a simple toy nor a repackaged sequel are exactly at the forefront of your brain when you're thinking of what's going to bring in the goods.

The most absurd concept, however, is that Lowly Worm... Lowly fucking Worm... is the second most-viewed blog entry I've had. And this was an early one, from the first month, before I had really amassed many readers. So people across the Internet, far and wide, have been actively searching for Lowly Worm, and have landed smack dab on this blog. Were they disappointed, I wonder? Did they find what they were looking for? And, above all else, did they enjoy my Photoshopped picture of Lowly Worm beating the shit out of Nazis?

I may never know the answer. But because it is simultaneously a coveted entry as well as the single best 'shop I have ever produced in nearly three decades of lifetime (because I'm pretty sure I was Photoshopping in the late 80s), I salute the absolute living fuck out of this picture. I'd best just make sure it's not a Nazi salute, lest I cop a fist to the face from a Scarry worm.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

#0078: Pegasus

I suppose if Chipmunks albums and socks made to look like festive pigs didn't wow you (what kind of sick monster are you??), then today could be seen as an attempt to redeem myself. For someone purporting to be doing this for the good of charity, my donation process has made me out to really be kind of a dick. Most of the things I've shared on this blog here have been, quite frankly, shithouse. They say that beggars can't be choosers, but I think we all know that's untrue. Beggars are choosy as fuck, just try to buy one a sandwich.

So now, I will try to mend the beggar's bridges, by doling out a Pegasus plush toy that is truly sexy. I mean, honestly. Look at that thing. Just try to tell me you wouldn't have sex with it. Remember, you're not just lying to me, you're lying to yourself.

This toy was purchased late in 1997 en route from Canada to Australia, a bittersweet memory of a child leaving his life and memories behind, offset by the fact that I went to the Disney Store and scored this sweet fucking Pegasus thing.

Not only is this stuffed toy very nicely crafted, but it's also pretty freaking big. It's not often you end up with a plush of such sheer majesty, and in a way, that was also its greatest curse. Because it's such an elite and expensive toy, it didn't bang around with the uglies very much. A veritable Tom Brady, its major function was to look pretty and be worth a lot of money.

As you probably realise, it's modelled after the sassy steed from Disney's Hercules film; a movie that took many necessary liberties with Greek mythology. The purists out there may cry foul, but no, Hercules is not an abusive prick who gets possessed and brutally kills his wife and children. Hera does not attempt to stuff up Hercules' birth by literally forcing the goddess of childbirth to cross her legs. Zeus does not have sex with any living thing with a vagina. Maybe in the sequel.

So obviously this Pegasus is not the hellspawn of the god of the seas and motherfucking Medusa - oh, to be a fly on the wall during that conception!

Medusa: Baby, look into my eyes...
Poseidon: Bitch, please! I'm not falling for that.
Medusa: If you loved me you would.
Poseidon: I'm having sex with a snake-haired monster in order to father a flying horsey. There is no love here.

- but instead, just a friend of Herc's from Mt. Olympus. I'm sorry about the sentence structure just then, that jump was way too huge to try and tie together with a pair of hyphens, but once I started down the path, I found it hard to stop.

So that's really all there is to discuss about Hercules' faithful mount. I could go on, but it would be less about this toy, who I frankly stopped thinking about four lengthy paragraphs ago, and more about Greek mythology. You know, Hercules killed his music teacher with his own instrument, simply because he was a shitty student. I myself had a Japanese class today, and at no point did I consider killing sensei with his own instrument (in this case, the Japanese language). Oh Hercules, you old dick, you.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

#0077: Chipmunks albums

I will admit, albeit not proudly, that as a young boy I was putty in the hands of marketers. Somehow in the 80s and 90s, they knew exactly what I wanted – whether it was toys that featured a bevy of accessories and vast collectability, or programming that was ‘hip’ and ‘totally in your face’. So it should come as no surprise that I was really into the Chipmunks once upon a time. The 80s cartoon series in particular was the shit, and I avidly remember scenes from various episodes as though they were yesterday. Like one time Theodore cracked the shits and climbed on top of a bookcase. His brothers cried out for him, “Theodore! Get down from there!” to which he snapped, “Why? Worried I might fall and smush you?” Fucking awesome.

And the animated feature film? Oh man, that was so friggin’ cool. The Chipmunks and the Chipettes in a race around the world, smuggling diamonds in plush toys and distracting murderous tribal enemies by singing ‘Wooly Bully’. If only Terminator 3 had just been about that, it wouldn’t have sucked so much. The only aspect of that film I look towards cock-eyed these days are the villainous Vorsteins, Claudia and Klaus. I would not leave my children alone with these people, they are seriously inappropriate.

Anyhow. Riding on the coattails of their 80s renaissance, the Chipmunks were churning out music in the 90s like nobody’s business. As a result, I listened to a lot more country music than most other kids, just under the guise of a squeaky-voiced woodland creature. These are my Chipmunks albums.

The covers of these albums are so absolutely fantastic; Chipmunks In Low Places and Club Chipmunk in particular make me piss myself laughing. There’s something so inexplicably wonderful about Alvin dressed up like a flamboyant cowboy, or with his head pasted atop those guys who did the Macarena. Seriously, if Chris Brown released an album with these covers, I’d buy every single copy. And I fucking hate Chris Brown. The only thing he’s got are some pretty good beats. Zing!

Let’s begin in those Low Places, shall we? When I think of low places, I think of Sunshine and Broadmeadows. But for the Chipmunks, it’s duets with Waylon Jennings and Billy Ray Cyrus. That being said though, Miley would go on to some pretty low places, so I suppose the world does have a way of working these things out.

I’m sitting here and listening to Alvin and the fucking Chipmunks singing Achy Breaky Heart right now, and trying to formulate some way of continuing this post. Words are failing me, and I just assume that this would be much easier to take if I were smoking weed right now. On the plus side though, the album does come with a pretty freaking awesome offer inside…

I don’t care that I’m over twenty years too late. I really want that fucking t-shirt.

We move onto Urban Chipmunk, which judging by the cover and the bold black booklet, is a more edgy collection of country music. In all honesty, there isn’t much not to like about this album: it starts off with the Devil Went Down to Georgia (though tragically they opt not to have Alvin call the devil a ‘son of a bitch’; now that would have been edgy) and goes on to have hits like the Gambler, I Love a Rainy Night, and the Coward of the County. Again, there’s a cop out in that last song, but perhaps it’s for the best: those dipshit Gatlin boys simply opt to beat up Tommy’s best friend, as opposed to violating his woman. Me personally, I don’t think I want to hear Theodore the Chipmunk introduce me to the horrors of sexual assault. I got enough of those undertones from the fucking Vorsteins.

We transition, scarred and disturbed, over to When You Wish Upon a Chipmunk. In case you needed a clue, it’s the Chipmunks singing Disney songs. Which is all well and good, except that on the back it clearly states that ‘this album is neither sponsored by nor endorsed by The Walt Disney Company.’

Isn’t there a law against that? Isn’t this exactly the kind of album that should be sponsored by/endorsed by The Walt Disney Company? I feel like I’m in ownership of some seriously underground shit here, the kind that could get me arrested by Walt Disney’s hired goons. Perhaps I shouldn’t be advertising this all over the Internet, but oh well. I like to think that Disney thugs would actually be Pete and his son, PJ. That way I could be arrested by Jim Cummings and Rob Paulsen. Silver lining to every cloud. I think that weed is kicking in, by the way.

The only other noteworthy thing about this album is that the Chipmunks’ version of Pumbaa sounds a whole lot like Mr. Bojangles, which brings up some serious racial undertones that I don’t think kids were quite ready for, unless of course they had already listened to Urban Chipmunk and were therefore hardened and jaded.

No the fuck you don’t, iTunes.

Last, but certainly not least, is the aforementioned collection of dance mixes, Club Chipmunk. It actually has a pretty awesome track list, including Stayin’ Alive and Turn the Beat Around. If it was socially acceptable for me to blast these tunes out of my car, I truly would. Maybe if I drove around in a particularly bizarre car, it would help distract from the concept that I was playing the Chipmunks, especially if I just banged on the CD player every now and then as though it was just some sort of audio issue. But that’s neither here nor there. We all know that I will never do this, particularly because I really can’t drive. I’d really hate getting into a fatal accident moments after I pass by a group of people in a bright pink car playing Chipmunks dance music. That would be kind of lame. Particularly when at some points, the album crosses boundaries that would make even Klaus Vorstein blush.

I wonder when we as a society failed? I think it coincides quite nicely with this right here.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

#0076: Christmas sock pig

And so, INAKA reached it's glorious third birthday. Like all forgotten children, it's special day passed by without fanfare or adoration. It sat alone at a table, a single streamer strewn across the table in a pitiful display of futility, as it cried itself to sleep and lamented it's life. Luckily for it, however, it is not a vivified thing; indeed, it is hardly a thing at all, hence, it has no life to lament!

Excellent. So let's look at this horrid Christmas sock pig.

No, your eyes are not deceiving you, keen readers; this is not an elaborately crafted plush toy from the finest sweat shops of Thailand. This is in fact the labour of love from one small Canadian boy, circa 1994. I know because I was that small boy. I am now a small man.

The task set before us that (presumedly) winter session in elementary school was to fill a sock with stuffing, and fashion it into a pig. Whereas my classmates all clamoured for the pink-coloured socks appropriate to pig-related endeavours, I opted for this nifty grey and white deal. From whence the sock came, I'm unsure. I like to think some kid stole it when this project was announced, and their bewildered uncle is sitting in a chair, looking at his bare foot and shouting 'where the fuck is my other sock?!'. To this day.

After we'd shoved the fluff up his piggy rectum and sealed it with a rubber band, we then decorated him with paraphernalia and appropriate features. The ears and the button nose are self-explanatory. The Santa hat was a bold seasonal inclusion. As you can probably tell, I wasn't exactly a glue gun dynamo. I also accidentally drew his eyes on incorrectly, and added a third one in a hasty attempt to fix my godless creation. Fortunately, I later (like, five or six years later) reestablished his proper eye positions with a Sharpie. I'm sure you are all relieved by this.

Anyway, for no particular reason other than I'm sick of having a fucking sock in my closet, I have chosen to disassemble the Christmas sock pig. It may seem sad, but I remind you, at approximately 19 years of age, he lasted a whole lot longer than most other socks. I filmed his execution (my very first snuff film), but decided it was either too gruesome/fucking boring to include here. I am considering keeping him in action though as a regular sock.

Look at him! He's chill as fuck.