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Get ready for something. Sans Pictures.

I am about to drop a fucking bomb on this blog. It’s something that I’ve resented the idea for nigh on a decade, but I can do so no longer. Sure, that’s a lot longer than I’ve had a blog, but my point is thus.

I am not living in Nova Scotia. Surely to say this makes me sound like a goddamn lunatic. “Of course you’re living in Nova Scotia, Victor. You’ve said so… You’ve pointed it out on that endearing map with the implication of ponies.”

No, I may be residing in Nova Scotia, and indeed a rural shithole therein, but I sure as shit am not alive right now. If we are only the area around us, if we are a fraction of the happenstance location where our parents fucked and then sat down, then I might as well kill myself right now. If the random fucking chance of my being born in a shithole town and then my being bounced back and forth from shithole to alternate shithole is the be all to end all of my living… I should fellate a sidearm today.

Coincidentally, were I to make the foolish choice of death now, word would not spread for fucking weeks. Due to the fact that my father is the only other person here, and he is of the enlightened opinion that cell phones are useless. I don’t have the energy to make shit up anymore.

But I contend, at 7:30 in the goddamn morning, after not sleeping all night, and not doing so outside of subsisting on daytime naps for the last week… That I am where my mind is. That’s it. That’s the grandiose load that I’m here to drop. I am in addition to my blood and bone self an entity that ponders things, and sometimes shares them.

And that is the reason that I stick around. So that I may continue to reason and enjoy my thinking. That I can consider things, any sort of things. To imagine them as a picture in my mind, to pull apart bits of this picture, rotate it, or set it on fire, or something… and to see how it affects the bigger picture. Never to stop. Because if I did, I’d be no better off than the people who have put themselves in an early grave. Or fucking follow Jersey Shore.

But here’s the shitkicker out of all this. As a human, despite all psychological and legal evidence to the contrary, I need to be around people. I don’t have to like them. I don’t have to get along with them. I don’t have to agree with them. Hell, my brain doesn’t even have to approve of them.  Sure as shit the lion doesn’t have to agree with the zebras.

But, he does have to consider them.


As with any review, open spoilers follow… Sorta.

I do all of my best work at 6am. This has nothing to do with my getting up early. In fact, there’s nary a time when I punch out a piece of writing when my brain isn’t half-way to assville due to sleep deprivation. I’m okay with that, in fact I prefer it. What I don’t prefer is getting immersed in a show’s plot trajectory only to have the ending ignore all sense of momentum. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

You knew there was going to be a visual pun here. Don't lie to yourself.

The second anime that I’ve seen recently (well recently at the time of the initial writing) is one by the name of Maria†Holic. Not going to lie, I had to google for that cross… Maria†Holic, if you are unfamiliar, was produced by the studio SHAFT.  I feel the need to mention that it retains this information whether you knew that or not. Of course, since it’s SHAFT, I’m not yet ready to discount the possibility of some sort of bizarre Schrödingerian state that changes the goddamn anime based on anyone looking at it. That’s the sort of shit that SHAFT gets off on.

Anywho, the 12 episode anime first came to my attention on a wiki-walk that must have started with lesbians. As all great things must. For characters, we’ve got an extremely poorly-disguised self-described-pervert for a main character. At about 5’9″, Kanako Miyamae is head and shoulders above most of the other high school girls. And it’s an appropriate place for her head, because anyone with a passing grade in biology can tell you that altitude can play havoc with one’s capillaries. Making the bold move of having a lesbian main character is somewhat dulled by having her comically smitten by damn near everything that draws breath in the (naturally) all-girl school. Also, she bleeds from the nose a sufficient volume each day that she spends half her waking life in the campus hospital wing.

Our heroine on one of her lighter flow days. Yeah, I went there.

But as we all know, every character needs a foil if they’re in the lead spot. And Kanako gets one in spades, and clubs, as it were. The painfully beautifully Mariya Shindou, whom Kanako is enamoured with right away. The only thing is, it’s a trap. Mariya is a dude that’s taken on a challenge set forth by his grandmother to test his feminine side before he’s allowed to govern the school. Or something.

And that’s fine, I’ve watched weirder characters. Really, I’m sure I have. Yet, what bothers me is that Mariya Shidou is a grade A bitch from the first episode and never passes an opportunity to deride Kanako’s “perversion”. And a bitch in sheep’s clothing, too. Mariya is unceasingly pleasant and bubbly in talking to anyone but our MC, so much to the point of nausea. This is balanced by his threatening rape against Kanako should she ever reveal the true nature of his… totally being a dude, because that forfeits the contest immediately. Or something.

I feel I need to reiterate. It’s a really good character, and I can say that because I hate this guy.  I hate this guy so much that it gave me energy. I hate this guy so much, that I got up early one morning just so I could spend more time HATING HIM. Sure it may be amusing to see Kanako squirm for a little while, but this man is a straight up sociopath.

He's a bad mother... SHUT YO MOUTH.

See, because it’s studio SHAFT. Sigh, nevermind. Also worth mentioning is that I didn’t edit that photo. He’s really missing a nose in like fucking 95% of his shots.

There’s the typical cast of shaftian side-characters that are built only to tell the same joke again and again, or to play off of the main character’s mental deficiencies, but you won’t care about then any more than I did. They’re generically pretty people… that all sort of inure an anime watcher after a while, and like what DEEN did with Seizon, the staff tried squeezing way way waaaay to many lines of dialogue out of the same quirks each time.

...and I mean milking it until it hurts.

The shit-kicker is that after 11 episodes of what we think is building up to the end of the school year plot, or some sort of unraveling of either major character’s secret… We get a gag a minute series of shorts for the 12th episode. And that’s it. Kanako doesn’t find a woman capable of loving her back. Mariya doesn’t get his comeuppance for being a manipulative jackass. And SHAFT doesn’t get as enthusiastic  a review out of me that they could’ve had.

I know that my word doesn’t hold up against the success of the series, since they’ve put out 6 bound volumes of Maria†Holic, and so who am I to judge it? It’s not supposed to be serious. It’s just another show that’s meant to be colourful, and endearing, and fast-talking… and not to be taken as anything but. And while I have to admit that it’s humour dragged a little on me, it was still a fun watch. And the musical score is delightfully upbeat and quirky.

So, at the end of the day, will you learn anything from it? No. Hell no. Is it a good anime for unwinding on the weekends? I’m going to say yes. At least, until I get my Season 4 of Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei!

Enjoy being trapped in Tv Tropes for checking the hovertext. Mwuahahahaha.

And remember, 4 is death.

Fuck yeah. I’m going to go ahead and count this update as on time, seeing as I’m two-and-a-half months faster than the last post. Excuses are not my strong suit, and I can’t be arsed to pad an introduction out tonight, so here’s a review of the two 12 ep. anime I took in from the cold. (In my last anime review, I had two seasons to work with, so it’s the same general length of video.) Both from 2009, because I’m just so frighteningly topical.

First up, Seitokai no Ichizon. Now, you may have gleamed from my last to posts that I like to consume media with cute girls and references. That’s not a total lie, however, I take issue with the characterization of the girls, and the verbal dexterity used to make the references. Seizon as it’s frequently abbreviated handled neither with anything resembling grace.

Strike from the record Witches

Not pictured, dignity or tact.

Seizon is a parody of the high school comedic/drama genre. Now as a guy that knows admittedly little about language puns and Japanese pop culture, many of the jokes either left me groaning or wondering if I missed the punchline. The times when they don’t rip a character/series off completely, which does come up frequently, I was left scratching my head and wishing for a wiki for the throwaway lines. I stopped myself, thank fuck. Because at the point where a comedy makes me check with the liner notes is the day I swallow my own tongue.

Setting the unabashed meta-tropes and 4th wall hammering aside, the characters were amusing for approximately 1/2 the time they were on screen. That’s being charitable, because anyone who had finished the series and wanted more seriously needed their head examined. Or maybe they were masochistic; I don’t know.  Outside of the leading (read: only) male, Sugisaki Ken, the cast is less that dynamic. And I’m talking less about their passionate enthusiasm than their dependence on  one or two jokes that get more runs though the ringer than a baseball team made completely out of ME.

Please, do not TOUCH the merchandise.

Worst meta joke... ever.

Here’s all that you need to know about the cast. Ken is a pervert that wants the rest of the student council as his harem, and so in good ol’ fashioned Freudian theory, every action he takes, and everything he works towards is to get his jollies with the four girls that round out the council. The President is a tiny, cute girl that’s tiny and cute, and more than a wee bit obnoxious.  There’s a tall curvy girl, that’s tall and curvy and that wants the tiny cute girl all to herself. She’s also a hypnotist, stock consultant and allegedly a dominatrix. The other two are sisters, because there are always sisters in a four girl group. One is athletic yet “surprisingly” good at math, setting aside how much implying is done here, it ceases being a surprise a lot sooner than the script would have you believe. Her little sis is a fragile game addict with a penchant for yaoi.

From left to right: Otaku, Tomboy, Oxygen-waster, and Sociopath.

I didn’t include names because that’s literally all you need to know about them. And don’t worry if you miss it, because they will return to those lines again and AGAIN.

Perhaps what I found more disheartening than the repetition of the lines, is the sheer volume of talking that they added to under 6 hours of video. The only reasonable comparison I can draw to this is the throwaway conversations of Seinfeld (as tired as that reference is) if it were as frenetic as Jeopardy and then re-cut the footage to repeat itself every 17 minutes or so. Also, it shoehorns an ending in like Cinderella turning out to be an ungulate. Enjoy that mental image fuckers.

If you want a number score out of ten, I can give it a 5.5, the lowest passing grade I’ll give. It’s about as much of the rehashing as I could stand without dropping the series. It’s amusing for a while, and mercifully short, if not particularly memorable.

Sugisaki Ken. Evidently not familiar with School Days.

I’ll be back in a little while to bash another series’ faults and spit shine the good bits. But right now, I would need a ladder and pulley system to raise an eyebrow.

Some of you may know that I do my best work on a tight schedule. Nevermind the fact that this statement is applied to roughly 99% of the free world, and the intellectual checkmate that you put yourself in when someone mentions that 700 years ago everyone knew the earth was flat. No, quite the opposite. I do fuck all when I’m pressed for time. That’s why I’ve gone six months without anything resembling an update, or a reason for lack thereof, when this was supposed to be a weekly article.

But screw you if you think I’m admitting guilt on this one. As long as being on this retainer is as functional a job as scribbling on bathroom stalls you can forget about riding my ass about it. Here’s some more my figurative nervousness while edging towards an asymtote like I’m an advanced math student at last call.  

Kingdom of Loathing. If you’re lucky enough to be a part of the Hivemind, and I need hardly reiterate here that you most likely aren’t, then you may recall a discussion or two about who’s going to tackle this one first. Well, Helepolis seems to be around as pre-occupied as I’ve been, but without the luxury of not having to deal with people directly, and he can take a crack at whatever bits I will invariably miss. The point that I’m labourously trying to make is that I’m reviewing a game again, and KoL is its moniker.

Right from the title, you can tell that this game is less than pleasant. It’s a browser-based RPG where stick-figures and other cartoonish characters quest for nearly innumerable items, each more ludicrous than the last, and strung together by a design-team that often flies by the seat of their collective pants, and a company owner that professes himself to be unoffendable. His handle is Jick, and if you feel this reminds you of a racial epithet, then you’re likely the kind of person for which the targeted humour hits home. By no means is this game vulgar for its own sake, as it forgoes the use of the F bomb and other all-too-easy method of comedy entirely. In fact, their spin on toilet humour is having an adventurer stare into it until the repeated flushing hypnotizes them.


I know that somewhat dulls the credibility spear that I so like to brandish online as I hoist myself up above the Hoi Polloi of the gaming world and the people who don’t instinctively know the proper use of the term Hoi Polloi. But fuck you if you don’t like this game.

Seriously. Go play it now, prove to me that you aren’t a slack-jawed moron that can’t take a fantasy world that pokes fun at everything under the sun. (The only things that they stay away from are politics and religion, because let’s be honest. Nobody comes out of that debate smelling any fresher than they did before it.) I’ll even wait for you to try it out. Each day you get a certain number of adventures, which you can extent remarkably by crafting and consuming food, booze, and potions. After that, the main adventuring is done for the day, but check out one of the many chat channels and forums that are surprisingly helpful to newbies. And moderated, thank fuck.

The game is free to start playing once you’ve signed up (which is also free, loophole-lover), and the company runs just on donations alone. Every month they crank out one or two specialty items that you can get when you donate which are often very powerful, and always retain the bizarre wit and humour that has sustained the game for upwards of six years now as a business. But the real joy of this game is not in the donation content, but in the effort that the staff has put into writing and polishing a game that never locks you out of content if you aren’t opening your wallet. I find that refreshing.

Another great thing is the free radio station that’s operated by long-time players of the game. Mostly this takes the form of dj slots every hour or two, but twice a week, the actual owners come on the air for two hours at a time to chew the fat and take questions from anyone that bothers to send them in. Yeah, you heard that right. There’s no ivory tower, no secret war room, or whathaveyou. Just Jick, and whatever combination of Mr. Skullhead, Riff, Hotstuff, Nyghtmare, and their devteam buddies chatting up the airwaves. It’s something like 32 days of audio that they’ve amassed so far, and also a level of respect for the  player base that is seldom seen in the gaming industry.

The 4700-odd items in the game are uniquely Loathing in that you’ll not find another well made game that employs a fly swatter or a glob of cheese as a weapon. Nor will you delve the strange mazes of the Bat Hole or Hobopolis (lit. city of hobos) in any other game. Yes there are times when the game can feel like it’s up its own ass in terms of self-assured cleverness, but it never disappears completely. For all the ironic hipster vibe that the game might give off, it’s not afraid to rip on those douchebags either.

I could go on for days about the thrill of collecting preposterous amount of meat that the game uses as currency, or the item descriptions that are always brimming with puns and nods to pop-culture, or the numerous puzzles that scale from brain-tingingly pleasant to complete all the way up to “Holy fuck I am seriously considering autocannibalism as a means of ending this puzzle right now”. But I’m going to take a page from Helepolis’ book and cut it short with a naughty analogy.

Kingdom of Loathing is like an orgasm. It’s better experienced than simply talked about, and there’s a refractory period before you can do it again effectively.

As anyone who’s been speaking to me knows, these past 2 weeks have been a never ending avalanche of bullshit and chips. But they’re coming to an end, and I’m relieved. But at the same time, I find myself wondering…now what?

Easter weekend, my mother suffered a heart attack (her second, but 5ish years later). This sucked pretty bad, if I can be allowed to make a massive understatement. The stress it put me and my family under was ridiculous, and though she’s since recovered and been released, it’s yet another wonderful reminder my mortality, and that of those I love. I’m supposed to be leaving the country for 2 weeks at the end of the month, and I find myself not entirely sure I how feel about doing so. Because I can’t have nice things, apparently.

And then, following right quick on the heels of that whole shebang, was my exams. Now, exams are generally a stressful time for anyone who’s in school, but I dare say they might have had more riding on them for me than they do for Joe Blow in University.

I, due to a couple previous years where I went about things rather poorly, am hovering rather uncomfortably on the precipice that is a GPA under 1.7 whilst on academic probation. What this means, for those of you out of the loop, is that if I were to not perform well enough in my courses, I would face a definite, real risk of expulsion from this fine academic institution. So, where a number of people are worried about impressing, or perhaps maintaining scholarships, my head is literally on the chopping block regarding my continued attendance to this school.

Because I absolutely need more stress. thats what I need. Thanks guys. Really. Means a lot. Cocksuckers.

However, throughout all this load of bullshit, there’s been one saving grace. At the risk of sounding ludicrously soft, this year I have been graced with a  wonderful load of people putting up with my bullshit. And it is for this reason, more or less, that I, for once, actually studied for my exams this year. So, any SMU students who read this and were hoping I wouldn’t be coming back: blame them. They are what make this useless goddamn blemish on the cityscape worth my time, and they’re why I hang the hell around.

But, I started this article, if you can call it that, with mention of how I am unsure how to proceed next, and I have sufficient attention span to return to that point, surprisingly. I find myself in an odd situation. The main people I want to be around are all here, but I’m forced to leave. I can’t find gainful employment, because I intend to leave the country for 14 days at an as of yet undetermined time within the next month. I would love to spend the next however long doing little else but going to the gym and bumming around, but I won’t have a gym membership back home.

So, what the fuck do I do with myself? I’m hilariously in debt, on the cusp of a new level of physical fitness, but restrained from gainful advancement in any sense by circumstances largely beyond my control. How wonderful.

If it weren’t for the fact that my ankle is about as functional as a Ross rifle and a Ford Edsel put together, I would like very much to just spend a lot of a time this summer running and climbing and suchlike, getting into shape, and likely up to mischief. But thats not an option.

I, for once, hope to have done well on my exams, but I am still doomed to way more goddamn time spent on this degree then is morally correct.

And I can’t get a job yet because I’d probably be leaving the country around the time I was meant to start.

So, I’m in a sort of a “Where do I go from here?” Position. But…you know…for once, maybe I can look at the bright side. I realize anyone who reads this expects nothing but endless bile and anger, but sometimes, very very rarely, I’m just not pissed.

My mothers alive, and well. I have a wonderful group of friends, despite being a huge douchenozzle. Sometimes the event you didn’t think was possible, the most unlikely of all outcomes, is the one you get. And sometimes it’s good. And you know what? This time…things turned out better than expected.

You know, there’s something I’ve never understood. (And shut the fuck up before you say “morals and decency?”)

When people say “I don’t like who I am when I’m drunk”, it confuses the hell out of me. Something doesn’t follow. The way I see it…who you are when you’re drunk is the same damn person you are when you’re sober. Maybe you’re a little bit gigglier, maybe you fall down. But nothing in liquor changes the fundamentals of your personality.

What liquor DOES do, and what generally causes the problems, (besides making you puke fun colours, of course), is that it removes your inhibitions. And this is what some people have problems with. Inhibitions are a scary thing when all of a sudden they’re gone, and some people can’t cope with it.

But the thing is, I’ve never known someone who legitimately did something something drunk they’d never even consider doing sober. Sure, maybe they would have stopped themselves, maybe they would have friends talk themselves out of it. But, as is sometimes say, “Drunken words are sober thoughts”.

If you get piss-loaded, and punch some cocksucker at the bar out, you probably either already had a problem with them, or alternatively, if it was a stranger (cause that happens), its probably just that you already had your knickers in a knot about something or other, and he was just the guy who cut in front of you in line at the exact wrong moment.

And then, of course, you get those who get all sauced up and go fuck whoever happens to be the first one who smiles at them (or, to a lesser degree, they make out with someone, or what have you). This can cause a whole lot of trouble…but like I’ve said, I’ve never met a single person (and I know a lot of drinkers) who hadn’t expressed some sort of attraction to whatever individual, or action, they ended up doing, when they were sober.

So, it boils down to this…I can see how, perhaps, a friend, especially a slightly more morally upright friend, might not like who their friends are when they’re drunk. It happens quite a bit with the friends who don’t know me that well…I drink, and they feel like I’ve somehow changed.

But the thing is, I haven’t. No one changes that much, fundamentally. Perhaps you don’t like how the other person is…thats one thing. But if you personally dislike who you are when you’re drunk…well, then you have some issues to deal with. Alcohol isn’t a magic substance, it just makes you more wont to do what you might not otherwise have done.

But if the image of you that has been built up, by yourself, or by anyone else, is so damn dependent on a carefully structured skeleton of inhibitions and things that hold you back, that the moment you act on your impulses you can’t stand yourself…maybe your issues run deeper than just what the liquor unlocks.

When I meet someone new, I personally love seeing them drunk the first time…you can tell a lot, in my opinion, by how a person acts when all of a sudden the rules are relaxed. But you need to be careful…after all, Bacchus has drowned more men than Neptune.

I’m a lazy guy. That’s a fairly simple statement to back up. For example, I rarely read the manga source material after I’ve watched an anime. Perhaps this should be an exception, but hold on. I’m getting ahead of myself.  A while ago, I watched both seasons of Rosario+Vampire, to mixed feelings.

Plot-wise, it’s a nice set up on paper. A painfully average guy, Aono Tsukune, gets a last chance at attending a “good” high school because of his shallow skill at … well, everything. Perspective; the man would not seem out of place as the protagonist in Idiocracy. Fact of the matter is, the place is called Youkai Gakuen (“Monster Campus”), and this doesn’t tip him off to anything. In the most convenient way, he meets a cheery, pink-haired vampire girl, Akashiya Moka, and they instantly fall in love. The rest of the story is based on other monster girls pressuring him to love them best (no seriously) and disposable fight scenes.

The anime is never this classy again.

Disposable in the sense that they never seem to be that much of a challenge. In universe, Vampires are literally the highest class of monsters, and so the titular character can easily kick the asses of nearly any opponent in seconds. All it takes is Tsukune removing the titular rosary binding most of her strength. Teehee, titular. You may wonder why I’m making such a deal about the word titular, and the answer is two-fold. Like a set of breasts. And the anime handles most fights with as much class as that simile.  Several seconds of each sparkly transformation sequence is devoted to the apparent growth in Moka’s curves. It’s not inherently bad, but the repetition is a little bland, and I can’t help but think of a combination of Twilight and the Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers.

This hurt my brain to edit, as much as will hurt yours to see.

Probably because I’m cynical as fuck, I don’t like Moka as much as the show seems to force her upon the audience. She’s so powerful, that everything fighting-wise is a joke. And let’s face facts, the appeal of this show is in the harem. So let’s give a brief look to the rest of the core cast. Teehee, brief. Anyway, let’s continue alphabetically. Or something…

You can actually hear the quality of the article going down from here on in. Teehee.

Here, we meet a large pair of sweater puppies, ostensibly attached to a living being. Kurumu Kurono is voiced by Fukuen Misato, whom you may know as Miyafuji from Strike Witches. I’m seeing a pattern. While the manga painted her a bit more sympathetically, a little more noble, the anime makes her out to be a bitch with a capital B. The exception that proves this rule is during the newspaper-burning scene (the one that she worked on, the one that the student council didn’t want taking over their subscribers…). She’s actually shown being deeply hurt, and that emotion is a nice factor to round out a character that’s generally dumb as paint, and manipulative to boot. Compare to the section of the Manga that I actually got around to reading. There’s an arranged marriage, and molestation, and an attempting suicide and a… well, just read the following.

Part 1.

Part 2.

...and finally Part 3.

Next up, the Yuki-Onna recieving the tongue, Shirayuki Mizore. Is it sad that upon hearing the mythology about these types (freezing their chosen one into a Human Popsicle so that they never have to be apart again) my first reaction was not of shock and horror, but rather “at least she isn’t going to cheat on your ass”?

No matter how practical it sounds, antifreeze would be an astoundingly bad choice of lubricant.

Not going to wait for an answer for that one. Okay, we’ve got zettai ryouiki, yet another exotic hair, calm demeanor, a sob story, and due to running gags… knowledge of hammerspace and teleportation. Ranks pretty high on my list, but something that never fails to amuse me and puncture serious situations is that she (Kugimiya Rie) also played Alphonse Elric in FMA.

This picture has nothing to do with ice and snow, but c'mon. It's Al holding a kitty, for christsakes.

Fourth up, a gal of non-descriptive age that can charitably be called enigmatic and mysterious, and uncharitably called perverted enough to make the Succubus look like a choir girl. Toujou Ruby. This witch starts as a puppet (for a hermit) with a vendetta against humans and their ecological failures, and throughout the series, strives to become a puppet of Tsukune’s. On the other hand, there’s a certain charm in her wearing a corset most of the time, and a corset shaped like a swimsuit for the rest. Can’t make this shit up.


"And damn her if she giggles. Damn her double if she laughs. Goth girls like it when you double-damn it twice fast."

There’s also more than a token loli presence in both Sendo Yukari and Kokoa Shusen. I could take them or leave them, partly because maturity and decisiveness is important to me in an appeal, and partly because they’re goddamn children. It’s sort of unsettling to see the amount of time paid to pantyshots when you get to the youngest character (11 years old in this case). You get that nagging feeling that your shred of a conscience is saying “should I really be enjoying this?” And if the anime wasn’t trying to blatantly sexualize her, they wouldn’t have put her in a short skirt and garters, and they wouldn’t have her be an “anything that moves” bisexual with groping and trying to suggest a three-way with the main guy and his Vampire.

"No comment, your honour."

Not to mention the question that if you were Tsukune, and you were going to successfully bed Moka (a foregone conclusion) why the hell would you want this precocious, yammering, attention hog child involved? It’s a little like taking an accordion out game-hunting, it makes a lot of noise, and adds nothing to the catch. If I were truly tasteless at this point, I’d work in an aside about fingering techniques… luckily, the anime has me covered.

Which brings me to my next point. Why would you push the limits of censorship, and indeed good taste, with pantyshots every 12-15 seconds when you’re going to add novelty censors in the form of vampire bats to cover up the best of the view. It smacks of wanting to have your cake and eat it too, not to mention probably blue balls the typical viewer that stuck around long enough. I’ve been told that the DVD version removes all the bats, but why would I pay for this in the age of Gelbooru, and various other sites?

In fact, here. Animated for your pleasure.

Simple Harmonic Motion Lesson 101

Adv. students, notice that mass isn't the only factor.

There, I’ve just saved you about $100. At the end of the day, I can’t recommend this series as anything other than a guilty pleasure. But as a guilty pleasure it ranks near the top of the heap. Like cotton candy, it’s a visual, tactile enjoyment that fades out quickly without any sort of lasting nourishment. Also like cotton candy, it tends to leave your hands all sticky.

**cue outro music.

I feel that I have to make it up to Helepolis’ readership for my previous article. Writing without any witty photos really killed humour streak that I had going there. So in that spirit… I’m going to have Statler and Waldorf follow me along for this article. I’m sure that hilarity will ensue.

"He's not even a dozen posts in, and he already needs us to pull his weight" "He should know our backs aren't that strong!" Dooohohohohoho

This is a glorious fucking time to be alive, if your only criteria is “ease of garnering fame”. Never before has there been a generation that could get a cheap camera, film a few minutes of something about them that stands out, and upload it to youtube. In less time than it takes to make a goddamn lasagna, you can go from a total nobody, to a household name. But not just any idiot can succeed at this. You have to be an idiot with a method. You’re going to have to figure out an appeal.

"Now, don't make some joke about appeal and bananas." "That's right! Victor will get mad if we show him up!" Dooohohohohoho

“So Victor,” you’re probably asking yourself by now, “You’ve got advice about what will make me a great big internet star, right? Even though you’re not famous, and live out of your grandmother’s basement, you understand what it takes to be a successful personality, right? You’re going to do my work for me, right?” Well, my over-eager little fuck-nuggets, I do have some advice. You can start by not riding my ass, because I’ve stopped riding your mother’s. </easyjoke> But here’s a few easy ways to attract a shit ton of viewers to your video quickly.

1. If you want to be a critic, make sure your points are not overly fucking wordy. Have a particular niche to full, like action/comedy movies, mystery fiction, or nipple slips by actual celebrities.  Ironically, this is not for everyone. Many people review things with circular or vague speech, or they fall into the categories of too nice, or unpleasable. Remember that you’re one of a million other Vloggers out there doing essentially the exact same thing. Bitching for attention.

"This blog would be better if Victor were a comedian full time." "How so?" "Comedians have to travel." Doooohohohohoho

2. If you aren’t really pointed enough in your critiques, and aren’t sure how you can stand out with cutting remarks, then none of that will help you. On the other hand, you can still fill some sort of niche. Some sort of gap. Some space in the internet world. Take for instance, MissHannahMinx. She just sits there talking about the things that she thinks are cute, while spouting fragments of Japanese and having heart-stopping cleavage.

And by niche, and gap, and space, I'm talking about cleavage.

Why do watch so enthusiastically? "Wakarimasen."

…I could park my bike in there… Uh, anyway… Obviously that’s not going to work for less physically stunning individuals, or y’know, dudes. But contrary to everything that may have heard in the past, and years of data about traffic collected by your ISP, breasts aren’t the only thing people want to see on the internet. Which brings me to my next plan of action. It’s all a question of angles to make something appealing, like with your mother.

"If I reached for a joke like that, I'd throw out my shoulder." Dooohohohohoho

3. Be that fucker holding the camera at just the right time. If you can snag a couple of shots of dogs that sound (or better yet, look) like famous actors. Or if you can be ready when a douchebag skater jumps a car only to wipe out his entire cluster of douchebag friends. Or if you can… well, you get the idea. It’s less about skill here, than luck. Unless you count the ability to hold still with a recording device for 3 minutes a skill. And you mother doesn’t, so why should I?

And yes. I hear your gripes about this one already, but there aren’t any other ways for a completely untalented prick to get viewers on the internet. Okay, there are, but I’ll fight you for this job.

"Victor's foul speech is really a pain in my ears." "Yes, and he should cut down on the swearing too!" Dooohohohohoho

That’s really all the advice that I have at the moment. Tune in next time when I disappoint anyone gullible enough to have their hopes built up by a goddamn tag-line.

No pictures on this one, because I doubt if I could find any images that wouldn’t somehow further dilute what I’m attempting to explain today. If you can’t read 599 words without needing a photograph to hold your attention, you’ve got some issues, and this probably isn’t the best blog for you. Better that you find out sooner then later.

It’s 5:30 in the morning. I intend to stay up as long as my body and mind hold out.

I’m at about 13 hours so far, which should give you a good hint as to how royally fucked my internal clock is. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not work back-shift, night-shift, graveyard-shift, or any other shift for that matter. I seem to be doing this of my own volition. I’m not going to get into a Free Will versus Determined Destiny rant here because that, like most other philosophy, is as much fun for me as searching for a fleck of hay in needle-stack.

What I will convey is any particular piece of intellectual gristle as I happen by it. Like I’ve said before, no use forcing the writing if it’s just not there. Be forewarned that I do not stake a claim in the inception of any or all of these theories and ideas, for that is a fool’s game. Just take them for what they are. Pieces of thought that I have deemed worthy to share.

The first thing that popped into my head is a notion about relative age intelligence. That is to say, how we regard our previous years in mental quality of life compared to how we once viewed other years even further back. That may be a bit poorly worded, so instead… How we imagine our minds compared to ourselves 5 years ago, and how that compares to 10 years ago. For an example; myself, since it’s pretty goddamn stupid to attempt this in another person’s head. When I was 16, I had retrospective knowledge of myself at 11. I had a fairly good understanding of the events therein and could pick out when I was correct and successful, or foolish and bound for failure. This is knowledge that I can scarcely say that I possessed at the time of being 11.

But, Victor, you typographical simpleton, that’s called hindsight. No, Fuck you! You didn’t let me finish.

What separates this line of thought from a rather boorish “Shit, I’m retarded” is that I’m concerned with the progression. When I was 16, I understood only a fraction of the things that I follow now. I’m not sure how big the fraction is, so don’t worry about that, and don’t worry about whether that fraction is bigger or smaller than the fraction known at 11. What’s important is that at 16, despite being less aware than I am currently, I believed that I was intelligent. I believed that my knowledge was perhaps “caught up”. I probably was more aware of things than the average person, but how can one really judge that, honestly?

Jump ahead to present day, and I see the same level of foibles and blunders in my 16 self as the 16 year old self saw in the 11 year old version. And that is the relative age intelligence …line of thought that’s been plaguing me for, oh, about 27 minutes. It seems to me that the current mental self regards itself as completed, and that all previous iterations are dumb as fuck, regardless of where it exists on the time-line of a person’s life.

But what the fuck do I know? I’m probably an idiot right now. I’ll hit you up with an amendment in 2015.

Please allow my misanthropic feelings another moment of your time. I’m in no way fond of mainstream hip hop. I find the seemingly endless flow of bitches, bubbly, and blinged out cars leaves me complacent in my distaste of the entire genre of rap. These gangsta rappers, as many would call them, have pervaded the music industry with their disposable beats and mind-numbing content to a frightening degree, as I see it. Hell, the fact that gangsta doesn’t trigger the spell-checker in Firefox is a good place to start.

Appropriate level of aggression and facelessness, or so I've heard.

But just a rant about what I dislike about the mainstream rap played on media sources that pander to the youth by selling their own frustration back to them, wouldn’t take very long. And they’d be about as repetitive as the music that I was railing against. Instead, indulge my proposition of an alternative. Enter yet another sub-genre coined in the last 10 years; Nerdcore.

Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like. The same general idea of braggarts filling song after song with quick, clever rhymes, but without falling into the commercial trap of hos and throwing money. Instead of picturing a golden toothed, sagging-pants-wearing, misogynist… try something more like the following. Spectacles with spectacles, pocket-protector-wearing, rapping about owning your box… That’s the one they call the computer tower, I mean. Obviously.

Nerd core cred. His lyrical splendor, adverse to the worst verse they endorse with the bigger spenders.

One of the prime examples of Nerdcore is MC Frontalot,  proclaimed rapper-laureate of Penny-Arcade. Yeah, you know the one, the most successful web-comic in the history of …ever. Popular in the underground rap scene in San Fransisco, and actually coined the phrase Nerdcore. I’ve given him a lot of personal playlist time in the last month or so, and I’m content in having someone that encapsulates the wit of rapping for it’s own merit, but also with something content-wise that I can identify with.

One might even argue that the Nerdcore rappers are performing rap that is much closer to what rap started out as. Nerdcore rappers sport vocabularies sufficiently large to avoid grammatical sins like rhyming more than half the lyrics with “yeah!”,  “uhh!”, and “whoooo!”. And who wouldn’t love the idea of hearing raps about D&D, and urban legends, and computer optimization, and …suspension bridges?

Anyhow, for the sake of argument, here’s a short list of artists who perform the sort of alt. rap that I’m speaking about.

Possible saviour of the rap genre, but that would involve ditching indie cred.

And scoff if you like, viewers. But in my mind, who better to represent an option to people who maybe didn’t grow up in the hood. People that don’t consider ghetto life to be a positive stereotype to perpetuate, and would rather poke fun at themselves. People with English and Computer science degrees. In short, the nerds. I like this idea a lot, if you aren’t quick on the uptake. So give them a listen, before you start dissing.

Okay, I’ll stop that.