Evil By Default

I’ve been toying with the idea that if there is a story in which I find myself truly hating a character, the character probably isn’t very well written.

Think about it.

Try to remember the last time you were watching a movie and you said to yourself “Woah! The antagonist is a total dick! I hate that guy.” Now try to recall anything important about the character. Can you remember anything about him other than the time he blew up that school bus full of children halfway through the movie? Can you remember anything about his history, childhood or brand of jeans? There’s a good chance you don’t even remember his name.

That is because Jonny McKills-Kittens is a hollow character written as nothing more than “I are bad guy, you must hate me”.

above: Simple Villain

I’ll give you an example: You’re reading a novel and the author introduces the bad guy. His minions call him Death Bringer and all he wants to do is shroud the world in darkness by systematically planting nuclear warheads across the globe in an effort to cloud the skies and render mother earth nothing more than a lifeless, dark sphere. To further the point that he is evil, the author has Death Bringer eat a baby in the first chapter.

What a dick!

See, that was easy. We don’t know anything about Death Bringer or why he wants to exterminate the human race, but it doesn’t matter. We know what we need to know: he’s putting forth a ton of effort to make the world a worse place to live.

Well here’s something you didn’t know: it turns out that Death Bringer has a middle name. His middle name is Richard. Death Richard Bringer. And he likes ice cream.

Are these new facts chipping away at your blind hatred toward our Antagonist?

Well what if we found out that Death Bringer had a tough childhood? Let’s say his 6th grade friends called him DB for short and they told him that it stands for Douche Bag. Let’s say he had a raging case of acne and in 12th grade he ripped the seam of his pants while doing the robot at Senior Ball. Even the limousine driver made fun of him on the lonely ride home. These, and many other humiliating occurrences plunge Death Bringer into a spiral of self destruction and down the path of evil.

How’s that hatred holding up?

All of a sudden, DB has a touch of personality, some depth. Death Bringer has gone from being a one-dimensional jerk to a complicated individual with deep-seeded emotional issues for which he will need many years of therapy to overcome. Now you can’t help but feel a little bad for calling him a dick earlier.

Now it is you, reader, who is the dick.

above: Complicated Villain

The simple fact is that we can’t hate a fully developed character. Even if we can’t relate to a single thing about the character’s personality, past, or ambitions, we can still identify with him on the simple basis that he is human.

And isn’t that what character development is all about?

Bacon Burger

above: The Bacon Burger and its ingredients

No, really.

Really?

Barak’d the Vote

Oh that's right, America, Obama won. A black man in the "White House". Can you handle that? Well you don't have a choice, ya filthy racist!

His acceptance speech was amazing. His stoic posture and strong words were the most inspiring I have ever heard. I shed a tear and got tingles from the top of my spine to the bottom of my genitals.

My generation has never had a chance to feel this way, to experience these feelings on the political plane. What is this, hope? Pride? Excitement? All of these things! My knee-jerk reaction is to argue that the occurrences of the 9/11 tragedies came close to inspiring these feelings, but this is not so. Those were entirely different feelings. In 2001 we banded together out of fear, mistrust, hatred. We came together in defense of our nation, to protect her.

Last night we banded together in the name of an offensive strategy to rebuild our great nation. This was a positive change for our government, a change my generation has backed more than it has backed any other political movement. We never had a JFK, we’ve only had our Vietnam. It’s time for Generation Y to have our moment to rally behind a great leader. Barak Obama is that man.

We made history last night.

So suck it, bitches.

My Year of the Hurricane

Most people don’t know this, but scientists have the names for hurricanes picked out long before they start tossing Mexican shanty towns into the ocean. The hurricanes are given names alphabetically in chronological order and alternate male to female. So the first hurricane of the year gets a female A-name, the second gets a male B-name, and so on.

In an ongoing, useless effort to remain politically correct, the National Hurricane Center tries to choose a wide range of names from various worldwide influences. Here’s a list of some fun ones from recent years:

- Olga
- Ingrid
- Ernesto
- Alberto
- Humberto
- Fernand
- Teresa

It would truly suck to get killed by Hurricane Teresa.

above: run fo yo life!

In recent years, I have hoped and dreamed that my name would hit the list. I checked every single year, hoping to find that glorious combination of letters. I knew however, that the name Kyle did not really stand a chance against other, more flavorful K-names such as Kamilah or Kareem. Also, seeing as how the letter K is a male name only every other year, I’ve not been too confident that my year would come.

Well it has, bitches.

above: omg!

I’m pleased to announce that 2008 is the year that scientists have finally listened to my Mother and officially classified me as a “natural disaster”.

If you think Katrina in 2005 showed us the full fury of the letter K, you are mistaken. Readers, please meet Hurricane Kyle*.

above: Hurricane Kyle

You might consider reinforcing your shanty towns, Cuba.

*The Big Book of Baby Names tells us that the name Kyle translates into either “handsome” or “narrow land”. I don’t care to read too deeply into the latter.

Pancake Surprise

Today, in the hollow space that resides between my car and the open driver’s door, I found a pancake.

above: no, really

My first thought was that perhaps it was a giant mushroom that had taken a liking to the mishmash of leaves and dirt that has accumulated over the years, but when I prodded the perfectly preserved breakfast disk with my keys, I was left with little doubt as to its yummy Bisquick® nature.

Now don’t say it, because I had the same thought: “Oh, Kyle, you silly bitch! You must have placed the pancake there while under the heavy influence of alcohol!”.

Sound logic, but no. And for one simple reason:

I don’t eat pancakes. Pancakes are, as our brothers in O-town would say, “fo suckas”. Waffles are the way to go. Their little square nooks of perfection offer to the breakfast connoisseur a considerably superior syrup solution to that of the pancake’s method. i.e. soaking up all the syrup to the point where the entire dish is soggy and has doubled in size by bite #3.

So please, if you somehow shimmied a pancake down between the panels of my car, I’d love to ask you a few basic questions:

1) Why a pancake?
2) Why me?
3) How did you get it in there? I’m the only one that drives this car and I always keep it locked
4) A pancake?

Blue Jay Justice

I have a family of Blue Jays living outside my window. For those of you living in a cave or somewhere in the Antarctic, a Blue Jay is a stupid looking bird that hops around with a little fin on top of its head and is loud as hell. Their call is a raspy sort of ‘caw’ noise that doesn’t stop. Ever. They prefer to caw in the wee hours of the morning about an hour before my alarm goes off.

I am not a violent man.

I may have grown up in Texas. I may be obsessed with action movies and I may bookmark any internet video that involves somebody getting hit in the nethers, but I, myself, am not a violent person. I am, however, willing to make an exception when it comes to committing violence against Blue Jays, or Cyanocitta cristate bromia, for those of us who love memorizing biological taxonomy. No I did not Wikipedia that.

Fact #1: Blue Jays are jerks. Everybody knows this.

Except you.

Fact #2: Blue Jays will fight all other birds to control their immediate area.

Fact #3: Blue Jays have been known to eat humming bird eggs (seriously).

Fact #4: Blue Jays support Hitler.

Given these facts, I can not support a local faction of Nazi Blue Jays living outside of my window. The following is a warning to the next Blue Jay that decides 5:00am is the perfect time to start chirping in German and quoting Mein Kampf :

I am going to get out my pellet gun, aim it at your face and keep shooting until I put an end your little anti-Semitic regime.

above: Blue Jay Nazi Justice

And then I’ll kill all of your co-conspirator squirrel friends.

above: Co-conspirator Justice

Then the Toronto Blue Jays.

Just in case.

above: MLB Justice

Will Doodle for Bachelors

Yesterday I stumbled upon a bunch of binders from my third year in college. As I sentimentally leafed through page after page of business theory, famous quotes and statistics formulae, I came across some doodles. I have chosen for you a short list of doodles that all came from the same school day. I think it says a lot about a person when they can both a) create such amazing art and b) get out of there with a Bachelor Degree in Business in less than a decade (barely).

Behold, irrefutable evidence that I am awesome.

Please click to enlarge.

above: Todd

This is an idea I came up with where you've got a small hot-plate built into the bottom of your coffee mug. Yes, it's a fire hazard. Sure, you might burn your fingerprints off as you cup your mug in your hands to warm them during winter months. I am well aware of the fact that this product might kill you, but c'mon! It keeps that shit warm!

above: genius

The next two doodles appear to be some attempt at amateur schematics. When I first found them I thought it was some sort of water purifier. Maybe a water spigot.

above: silencer/flash suppressor

This appears to be a dinosaur named Cody. Maybe a dragon. It is destroying a city while under attack by various warriors. Don't miss the guest appearances by: The Rocketeer, the Ninja and the Spartan. There is also a pirate with a pimp hat as well as a turd-tank.

above: Goh-zee-rah !

Thank you.

Concordia University Sucks My Balls

I guess word has gotten out that I’d like to further my education because I received an email today from a University trying to entice me to enroll in their MBA program.

Apparently, word has also gotten out that I would like to fuse together my knowledge in Business with my love for Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior:

above: Biblical Marketing

Okay, Concordia.

I appreciate you thinking of me and all, but this email is teetering on absurd. I’m not even going to critique the ridiculous concept of combining Bible Worship with Business Theory. Yes, I’ll avoid criticizing you for putting together an educational combination just slightly more ridiculous than quantum physics mixed with basket weaving; a graduate-level business curriculum far more pointless than that of computer programming mixed with... something radically dissimilar to computer programming.

Grilled-Cheese making, perhaps.

You get my point.

I will instead focus on the photo you’ve included with your email in vain attempt to entice me into enrollment:

above: Biblical Business

Why, Concordia University, why have you chosen an Asian lady in a metallic-blue shirt with excessive fat rolls to spearhead your email campaign? Why have you placed the dude in the background with the red tie that reminds me of Senator Kelly from the X-Men movies? Why have you chosen a blond that looks so hideously stupid that she can’t even remember to visit her hair dresser often enough to convince me that she’s a real blond?

And don’t think for a second that I missed her hand placement, Concordia. The “bible hand” was a nice touch.

above: Biblical Bible Hands

Combine this with the tubby Asian lady’s “swish hand”:

above: Biblical Swish Hands

…and you've painted a nice portrait of a graduate business school that supports both:

a) my love for Jesus, and

b) my sexual orientation. Whatever that may be.

Kudos, Concordia, but I'll pass.

Nexus of Happiness

Is it too much to ask that a job keep me interested? A job that keeps me working my ass off, yet doesn't stress me out to the point where my home life suffers? Maybe a job that doesn't make me want to run my own company via website from my desk at work?

Maybe that is too much to ask. Maybe all I can hope for is a nice balance of work and fun that will keep me from wanting to rip out my own eyeballs and putting them in my mouth. I call this balance, The Nexus of Happiness.

above: click to enlarge

A Message From The N.C.Z.A.A.A.

above: click to enlarge