My New Wheels Have a First Name

           “No fucking way,” were the only words I could squeeze out as I stood in awe of the prize I had won, the prize that now sat in my front lawn. It was shiny and glistened in the morning sun, a gleam that was only rivaled by the one in my eye. It was glorious and it was mine for a day: The Wienermobile.

            Oscar Meyer had this contest. Write what you would do with the Wienermobile for a day, and the winner would get a chance to live out that dream, if you can call it that. I had entered the contest as a joke, writing paragraph after paragraph about how I would use the vehicle for charity and to delight children with joy and frivolity. And then somehow, someway, by what can only be the work of the devil, I had won. I had the won the actual goddamn Wienermobile for a day. But I didn’t intend to amuse children with it. No, I was going to use it for what I had always dreamed of.

            I was going to rob a bank.

            The Oscar Meyer representative handed me the keys and I assured him that I had driven several large, oversized vehicles shaped like food before. I let my deluded perception of reality sink in, then turned back towards my house. I needed to change. My robe and cowboy boots weren’t going to suit what I had in mind.

            As I dug through piles of clothes searching for my lucky jeans, I called the only person who could help me pull this off: Ellie Ironside. She picks up on the fifth ring.

            “Ellie. We got a job.”

            “Dammit J, I got shit planned.”

            I found my jeans and slipped them on. “It can wait El, I got the ride.”

            “What? You got it?”

            “Yeah.” I heard her phone drop and her door slam as she ran to her car. El could be kind of excitable.

            Hanging up my phone, I snapped the buckle on my utility belt and checked all the pockets before grabbing my tank top. The words “YOU CAN’T STOP ME” adorned my chest. Intimidation is important in the larceny business.

            Ellie arrived and we climbed in the Wienermobile, focused on what we were about to do. Pistols, grenades, smoke bombs, and throwing stars lined the inside of my jacket and a knife strapped against my leg rubbed the inside of my boot. I wore a sheathed sword on my back. I didn’t cover my face except for a dark pair of sunglasses over my eyes.

            This wasn’t about money. This was about showmanship.

            We roared into the bank parking lot at 10am, and I zipped into a handicap spot. I figure if I’m going to break the law, I might as well go all out.

            “Keep ‘er running,” I told El. “This shouldn’t take but five minutes.”

            I strolled into the bank with a confident stride and dramatic music started blaring in my head. I swung the doors open and pulled out my berretta with my left hand. I fired a shot into the air and in the same second, knocked the gun out of the guard’s hand with a throwing star before unsheathing my sword and cutting off a man’s ponytail. It looked terrible.

            As I returned the sword to its place, I shot the button for the silent alarm. A woman screamed. Typical. I pulled out a flour sack I had painted a giant dollar sign on and handed it to the man behind the counter.

            “Fill it,” I ordered him.

            As he did, I took a moment to ask everyone how they were doing and if they needed anything. As usual, no one answered. Meanwhile the man returned with my sack of cash. I threw down a handful of smoke bombs and headed for the door shouting, “HAHAHA THE PERFECT CRIME!”

            El threw the rope ladder out of the Wienermobile and I grabbed it, beginning my ascent to the driver’s seat. It’s seriously like a thirty foot climb. I fastened my seatbelt.

            “How’d it go?” El asked.

            I paused. “It was more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

            I shifted the giant hot dog into gear and looked for a hiding spot. My plan wasn’t over yet. I managed to squeeze into an alley and pushed a button I could only assume was the cloaking device. Why the Wienermobile has a cloaking device I’ll probably never know. I still maintain that those Oscar Meyer people are up to something.

            Securely hidden away, we waited for the moment to make our next move. Meanwhile the police had arrived on the scene. And news crews. Tons of them. Video cameras everywhere. El and I watched the live coverage on the giant TV in the Wiener until we saw our opportunity. A news lady interviewed an older woman still frantic from the crime.

            “Did you see what they were driving?” she asked.

            “Yes,” she replied. “It was the Wienermobile!”

            At those words we squealed from our hiding spot and zoomed past the cadre of news vans, firing a roman candle out the window and laughing maniacally. I slowed around a corner, taking care not to roll the Dog, as I had come to call it. Sirens blaring, a group of police cars gave chase. I stared ahead with a grin to see just how perfect everything was working out. The bridge across the harbor had just begun to rise as a boat neared to pass under it. I pressed on the gas, my foot replaced with raw determination. My speed increased as I raced towards the break in the bridge. We soared over it as I let out a shout of joy and adrenaline. I glanced in the rearview mirror only to find the Wienermobile didn’t have a back window. Behind me the cops screeched to a halt and got out of their cars, shaking their fists. It was the single greatest moment of my life.

 

The Future is Confusing

A fourth of the way into Batman: Digital Justice and I have to say, I have very little idea as to what is actually going on. I know that there are human cops, and robot cops. The robot cops are possibly going crazy. And the human cops are already crazy.

First, I made the terrible mistake of reading the introduction. There was a lot in it about how computers would completely change how we make comics. And they have. To some extent. There are WACOM tablets, and Photoshops, and various types of arty programs to aide you in your comic creation. But even with the 16 million colors and "hundreds" of progams they say Pepe had at his disposal in creating Digital Justice, none of them have a button that simply makes things look good. That still needs to come from the artist. And that does not happen here. 

It's easy to critique the art in this book. It's bad, simply put. I often wonder while trudging through it if computers in 199o were incapable of drawing straight lines or if the lines are supposed to be jaggy and distracting to remind me constantly of the book's computer origins, and the story's computer setting. Every panel, despite being created by programs using "3-D rendering" look remarkably flat. 

The story follows James Gordon, grandson of Commissioner Gordon, an angry cop who says variations of "damn" so often he once says it three times in a single panel.

Officer Gordon is your stereotypical cop with a heart of gold who hates the rules and thinks he might be onto something big! Real big! He is naturally then pulled off the case and assigned to be a bodyguard for the pop star Gata. 

The future is well...a confusing place. A place where it is difficult to make words fit properly in speech bubbles. A place where sometimes it is hard to tell who is saying what. A place where a person might babble for up to four sentences with words that don't seem to mean anything, leaving you confused as to what just occurred but not really caring because why are you even reading this book.

Huh?

What?

Our hero, Gordon, discovers that the police robots or "servos" have been more and more frequently just freaking out and killing innocent people. One of the latest victim's DNA could not be identified and Gordon sensed something more was going on. He and his partner check the mainframe and wonder if someone, somehow has been messing internally with "the Net." 

This "Net" is referred to a few times during this first chunk of story, but it's all pretty vague. It runs the city? It has executives? The relations between it and other things and how it actually runs things are not really explored beyond that, at least at this point. I fear it may never be explained more.

Just as Gordon thinks he's about to make a break, Stereotypical Police Captain calls him into his office. This guy is slightly tubby, black thinning hair with gray sides, thick eyebrows, and suspenders. I think he might be fake. He is such a cliche that I think he might be fake. 

Part one ends with Gordon trying to get some money from a machine and kicking it. It threatens to MURDER HIM and he leaves as the machines cackle the night away. 

OOOOH WHAT DEVILISH TERRORS AWAIT IN PART TWO!

James Gordon "Damn" count: 12

This Post Was Computer Generated Too

For a long time now I've had a copy of Batman: Digital Justice on my shelf. I bought it as a joke from the comic book store in South Dakota that I had been going to for a few years, before I moved as far away as I could. The owner always lamented that no one would buy such a crappy book, so well, I did. 

I have not read it. 

I am now going to. 

And I of course, want you all to share in the experience!

How exciting!

Batman: Digital Justice was released by DC Comics in 1990. Even the Wiki for this book is bad:

"It was written and illustrated by Pepe Moreno entirely using computer hardware, software and techniques."

Yes yes, I use techniques in my writing too. 

There is only one part of this book I have ever read: the dust jacket. It has thus far contained enough gems to sustain me. Here are some important things to keep in mind while reading this book.

That sounds, um..interesting? No, terrible. And no, I don't know where all those asterisks go. There's asterisks everywhere! And nothing that they are referring back to! It's as though they are just there to help emphasize* things. Like putting them in bold* isn't enough. They need something else* there too. 

Carry on though, dustjacket.

These seems like a big mistake when putting out a book: saying that your book, your shitty shitty book is going to be just the best goddamn thing ever. Compared to Blade Runner? 1984? Brave New World? How? "These are things that are all books." 

The back flap makes me less worried about the actual content of the book though, and more amused at the 1990's fascinating technology used to create such a stunning masterpiece.

First, this book took more than a year to make on a computer. And, spoiler alert, it looks terrible. You aren't selling me on this idea at all, Pepe. I think I could make a better comic if I instead took that year and just learned to draw. 

It also says the lettering is supposed to duplicate traditional lettering. It too, looks like hell. 

Finally, a small section about our esteemed author.

The part that leaps out at me most is, of course, the very end.

What Pepe is into now is what we'll ALL be into in ten years.

I fondly remember the year 2000.

And it's shelves, packed with crappy computer generated comics.

Look it, goddammit, I'm getting all wistful now!

My Fantasy is On the Moon

A few years ago, I started listening to rap music more and more often. It started with a lingering affection for the song “Rollout” by Ludacris, and blossomed slowly into money spent on Wu-Tang, Busta Rhymes, Ghostface, and more.  And while my rap collection has been ever-expanding, the original love of Ludacris has always remained.

A constant favorite is the song, “What’s Your Fantasy” featuring Shawna. Ludacris throws down some, let’s call them, mad raps, and the song is always fun to listen to. The problems arise when I listen to it too closely and begin thinking about the actual scenarios he describes in the song.

The first fantasy he suggests, right out the gate, is the proposal of doing it on the fifty yard line at the Georgia Dome while the Atlanta Falcons kick a field goal. Two lines into the first verse and my mind is completely wrapped up in this one idea, unable to listen to the entire rest of the verse as I sort out my feelings towards this idea. I’m impressed at the idea and the gall needed to suggest doing it on a football field in the middle of a game. At the same time, field goals are usually the third most boring part of a game (after extra points and punts). If you’re describing a fantasy scenario, why not do it in the end zone while they score a touchdown? It would make for the most applause, and more points for your team.

Tactically, I’m intrigued at how one gets onto a football field in the middle of a game and begins to fornicate without quickly attracting the attention of security. Then again, tactfulness arises as an issue in almost every fantasy Ludacris goes on to describe, so I don’t fret over it too much.

My last concern with this football field sex is if the kick were to be blocked and returned the other way. How terrifying is it to be in the throes of passion and suddenly look up to see twenty-two two hundred plus pound men rumbling towards you?

After missing the rest of that verse, Ludacris next suggests doing it in the bathtub with a candle lit. It sounds surprisingly romantic. Thankfully his next suggestion is to do it on the stage at one of his concerts, which has naturally sold out. There is an implication in the lyrics that if the concert weren’t sold out, he would prefer to check to one of the other fantasies for the moment, and give the concert thing another go later.

His next idea is to do it at the library on top of the books, but cautions the listener that you cannot be too loud in this scenario. It’s okay though, I think making a large pile of books will have already attracted enough of the outside attention that seems necessary for a Ludacris love session.

He proposes doing it at the White House, which brings up even more security issues than the football field idea. Unless Ludacris is supposed to be the president in this situation. It’s hard to tell what his exact idea is here.

His last three methods are Dracula, Horseback, and School Teacher.

The Holy Trinity of Ludacris sex.

There's Starving People on the Internet

It's been a while now since X-Box Live introduced the personalized avatar people for you to dress up and take pictures of and also a while since they offered clothes, accessories, and props you could purchase for your tiny you. At the time, I wasn't that impressed by the idea of spending 2 dollars for a fake shirt but then they started offering adorable little N7 hoodies I could put on tiny me and it was downhill from there.

I've spent maybe a grand total of five dollars in the avatar market, and mostly just like to load it up every month or so to see what's new. The latest collection I stumbled on was "Food."

My immediate reaction was something like, "haha, cool," thinking it would be funny to watch my little person stuff their faces, but also stupid in that the only thing a fake person needs less than clothing is actual nourishment.

Don't worry though.

They never eat a single goddamn bite.

Let's go through these one at a time.

1. Hamburger

A delicious, old-fashioned American food. I figured there couldn't be much more to do with a single hamburger (no condiments or fries or anything with it) other than just eat it. How foolish I was. How ignorant and naive. My avatar snapped her fingers and a hamburger dropped into her hand. Much like I would be if that happened in real life, my avatar was surprised! And pleased! So far so good, tiny me. Now wrap your mitts around that thing and start devouring!

Nope.

Instead I toss the hamburger into my other hand. And back to the first hand. I nod approvingly at it and the animation is complete.

2. Corn Dog

Again the magic corn dog falls from the sky at the snap of my fingers. I catch it and grin wildly. I toss it to the other hand, as I often do with real corn dogs and then proceed to twirl the thing like a baton, as if I am leading some junk food band on a parade route. Then I manage to burn my fake hand on the fake food and I think to myself, "Fake me is an idiot."

3. Ice Cream Cone

This ice cream cone has three scoops of ice cream so I immediately see it going poorly. There is no way I will eat this ice cream and no way I will handle it without disaster.

I snap the fingers on the other hand this time and the ice cream appears. I'm beginning to think I have some sort of disorder where I can't hold food in one hand for very long and am easily impressed by things. As I toss my ice cream from side to side, I can already tell that it is quite wobbly and as soon as I let it rest in one hand for a moment, the top scoop falls to the ground. My avatar shakes its head at itself. Gosh! I'm so dumb!

4. Pizza

A box of pizza magically grows in one hand and I flip the lid open. Hovering it near my face, I take a big whiff of its aroma and then reach my other hand in for a slice. Oh no! The cheese is stretching, keeping my slice attached. Who could have foreseen such issues. Finally with the slice out, and the other hand fully occupied by a box, I can only assume this slice is destined for my mouth.

Nope.

I just set it back in the box.

5. Chinese Takeaway

Who calls it that? It's takeout, or carryout, or hell because I'm lazy...it's usually delivery. My avatar produces a box and two chopsticks. I use them to reach into the box and produce a large shrimp which I smirk at as though it's been out getting into trouble and you ain't foolin' me, shrimp. I got your number.

Next I produce something I can't really identify. A potsticker? Is that wonton? What's a wonton look like? At any rate, I naturally cannot hold on it, but my suddenly agile avatar catches it in the box. Phewfta!

Finally I pull out a noodle and hover it near my mouth, teasing my fake stomach with the promise of a meal finally. Then, laughing, I put it back in the box. Hahaha, just joking!

6. Fried Chicken

It's a drumstick, to be precise. It is also apparently super hot, as I toss it around with a look of horror on my face. Finally I corral it in one hand, blow on it for a moment, then poke it with the other. It immediately recoils from the heat, even though my other hand is still grasping the drumstick firmly. I expected to sing into it like a microphone next, but I guess my avatar had had enough after getting burned by the fake food I thrust upon it.

7. Instant Noodles

First off, this cup of noodles is about the size of my avatar's torso. I peel off the lid and reach in with my chopsticks that I suck at using because my avatar is a moron. I pull out two noodles, and immediately drop them on the ground. Then I look into the cup for more only to discover that it is empty. Two stupid noodles. If I were actually purchasing this fake food, I would feel ripped off by its tiny portions.

8. Potato Chips

These look to be Dorito-style chips, which not to be a nitpick but those are tortilla chips, not potato. I figured there wouldn't be too much I could do with chips besides eat them and expected my avatar to perhaps just throw the bag around for a while. Instead, it attempts to open it, flinging chips everywhere in the process. The floor now covered with them, my avatar steps on one chip triangle that breaks precisely into several smaller triangles. Then laughs at it. Yeah real funny, making a huge mess. I hope you're proud.

9. Soda Pop

It's a two-liter of what looks to be grape soda. I grab it, shake it up, and open it, spraying it all over my fake N7 hoodie. What the hell is wrong with me. I sure hope there is a fake washing machine we can use because we need to get this hoodie in it fast before that damn stain sets.

10. Spaghetti

A plate of spaghetti appears in my hand and as I smell it, I eagerly rub the area 4 inches in front of my vagina. I am either going to do horrible things to this pasta, or my avatar's digestive system is in massive disarray.

I grab the fork and attempt to somehow get one, just a single one of those noodles in my mouth, please. After failing three times, my avatar laughs. It is a sad attempt to hide the pangs of hunger it feels and torture of being showered magically with food it can never eat.

The plate of spaghetti disappears, and my avatar's hopes along with it.