Though I will say that the Godzilla bits really don’t mesh well with the rest of the animations. Still. GODZILLA!
Though I will say that the Godzilla bits really don’t mesh well with the rest of the animations. Still. GODZILLA!
Now I like the Black Widow. And I kinda like (but not in a big way) the Inhumans.
But who in the world wanted them both in the same magazine? In what way does this make any sense at all?
The main title for the book (which I missed on first viewing) seems to be Amazing Adventures. So it’s sort of like Marvel’s Tales to Astonish and Tales of Suspense. You got one tale about the Inhumans, and in the same book another tale about the Black Widow. I get it.
But why those two (ish)?
The Black Widow and, I dunno, Captain America. Daredevil. Squirrel Girl. Some ground level superhero. That seems reasonable.
But with a race of super beings? Really?
Makes no damn sense at all.
It’s not 24/7 GoblinStomper! with me these days, though the posts might make it seem otherwise. I do other things. Like scream about the Blu Ray Cathy’s Curse (that is a thing I am not joking) Or reading. or, hey, writing.
Today I started a short story. It was initially called The Clown and on the onset it dealt with a guy who runs into a spooky clown in the middle of a night walk. Promising. Unfortunately it started feeling a little too much like a Creeptypasta called The Smiling Man.
The link takes you to the story, but someone made a movie based on it that’s up on YouTube. I’ll post it at the end; it’s really worth your time.
Anyways, It started feeling too much like the other story, so I fiddled with it, fiddled with, until I got something new.
One night this guy spies a clown standing at a street corner. From then on, at least once an night, he sees the clown, which for some reason he doesn’t understand makes him uncomfortable. He’d not scare of clowns; he’s scared of this clown.
Last scene I wrote, the guy has gone into a grocery store to buy himself a couple pork chops. He finds the clown at the meat counter and decides to confront the clown, only to be distracted before he can. Clown vanishes.
But before the clown vanishes, the clown buys the guy two pork chops.
It’s not terrifying at all.
And yet the guy’s completely unnerved by this.
That’s what’s drawing me to this story. The clown’s not doing anything bad, yet the clown’s being scary.
I’m not sure where it’s going, or if I can take it any further. I don’t even know if it’s a horror story. I’m writing it like it is, but it almost feels like it should be a comedy.
It’s probably just a weird fantasy.
Not helping is the idea I have for the title: Clownthulu.
What the hell does that mean?
Can’t wait to find out.
Anyways, here’s 2AM: The Smiling Man. Check it out.
A little story before we begin.
I seem to recall the debate between warm blooded and cold blooded dinosaurs beginning when I was a kid. I was seriously in the cold blooded camp because dinosaurs were cold blooded.
What do you expect from a kid? Good reasoning?
Anyways, that all ended for me in the fifth grade. It was there that I read a book that dared put forward the very idea that a grizzly bear would be able to beat a Tyrannosaurs Rex. Because the grizzly was warm blooded and the rex cold blooded.
My immediate reaction was that there was no way on Earth that a mere bear could beat the then King of the Dinosaurs. Thus dinosaurs had to be warm blooded.
Well it made sense at the time.
I tell you that story to help better illustrate the main point.
A few years later (okay, maybe a few decades, let’s not get technical), I was watching a program on television. It had this video in which a badger backs down a grizzly bear. What with a badger being a tough customer despite its squat size.
Now follow me here.
A dachshund was bred to hunt badgers. Their very name means “Badger hound”.
Thus, it stands to reason that if a badger can take a bear and a dachshund can take a badger, then naturally a dachshund can take out a bear.
Following that clear, completely reasonable and in no way foolish chain of logic to its obvious conclusion, then a dachshund can kill a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Assuming the Rex is cold blooded.
Which I now believe them to be. Because there’s no way on Earth a Rex could ever hope to beat a dachshund.
I mean seriously. Have you seen a dachshund in hunt mode? Brr.
What’s more, you’ve never once seen a T-Rex have anything to do with the little guys. In fact, I’ll bet you’ve never seen the two in the same room together.
That’s because a Rex is mortally afraid of dachshund.
Gotta be. There’s no other answer.
Having come to that conclusion, I now live in terror. I seldom step out of the house and never sleep for more than a few minutes at a time. I don’t dare.
You see, both my little dachshund protectors have passed on.
What am I going to do if a Tyrannosaurs came knocking on my door?
What if he has a badger with him?
I stopped noting the passing of various genre figures on this blog a while ago, as it felt more than a little ghoulish on my part. This, though, can’t go unnoticed. Today Haruo Nakajima, the first guy to wear the Godzilla suit, has passed away.
In my childhood I had three big heroes. Godzilla was one of them. I think it might have been do to Nakajima’s rather enthusiastic portray of the Big Guy. The way he’d go in swinging at the other monster/guy-in-a-suit seemed so much more real that the other monster figures out there. To my mind, that’s the way Godzilla should be like, and not the more or less static version we got in later years.
Man I love those films still. Thanks for that, Mr. Nakajima.
Congratulations to Jodie Whittaker for getting the lead role in Doctor Who. Not due to any talent or effort on her part, but because a bunch of white guys wanted to prove they weren’t misogynists. Or because they needed another square on their Progressive bingo card.
Because that’s all this is. Just point scoring.
As far as I know, there’s been no effort to explain why a species that had before the current series maintained one gender through out their regenerations now suddenly changes sex. Not a story, not a line of dialogue, nothing. They have “Grandfathers” and “Uncles” even though, by rights, a species that switches genders as easily as that shouldn’t really have those terms.
And I realize we’ve had a female Master and a Time Lord regenerating from male to female. That’s not the same thing. Sorry.
Now here’s the fun part: I’m not going to stop watching Doctor Who over this. It would be silly, as Moffat already drove me from the series with his crap run.
In fact, though a little dampened in enthusiasm, I still intend to try to return to watching the show. Because all new show runner has to do is give me at the very least one freaking line explaining this new change. One line. That’s all.
But it’s not going to happen. Because this isn’t world building. This is point making.
Oh, and if there isn’t one scene with a Dalek being deeply confused with dealing with a female Doctor, I’m going to be very disappointed.
Seriously? Why does he sound like Dean Venture? And green eyes? Really?
At least it looks like a step up from the last Spider-man cartoon. Not that that was hard…
I think this was inspired by a writer’s prompt, but I’ll be damned if I can remember where the prompt came from. In any case, it’s a little bit of nothing that I kinda like. Thus so it might have some life, I’ve put it here.
He ran with all the strength he could muster towards the horizon. Already he had fallen once, scraped his face, his hands, his arms. Already he had to stop, to catch his breath, to pray for a second wind. Now there was a stagger in his step, suggesting another fall, another stop. He knew this—how could he not?—but it doesn’t matter. In fact, if anything it made him run all the harder. He had to reach the sea before it happened. He had to, had to, had to.
His course took him alongside a four lane city street, never mind which city, never mind just where. Cars, trucks, and vans raced past him at a frightening rate. Not a one pause, despite his clear and frantic face.
Not a one headed in the same direction as he did. Only he headed towards the horizon.
The day around him could have been spring, it could have been winter. It didn’t matter. He burned. Every iota of his being burned. He was beyond pain now, beyond any agony he had ever known in his long, long life. His body was flame, and inferno, and he burned on and on as he ran.
Up ahead waited a final green hill. Over it was the beach, the sea. Seeing it sent a surge of hope through him.
The same moment his foot caught a crack in the pavement. Or perhaps a phantom leg struck out for one cruel final jest. Whichever, he staggered forward, almost caught himself, but found his legs too weak, too rubbery. Down he went. Concrete scraped through his jeans to his knees, then across his face. At once he struggled to get up, to start running again. None of his limbs wanted to help him; he cursed them and made them do what he wanted.
As he got to his feet, the Voice spoke once again. Still it sounded neither male nor female, and still it said the same five words: A promise is a promise.
“Cheater.” That came out as a croak. He swallowed, then screamed, “Cheater! You put water in the gas tank! Didn’t you? Didn’t you? I’d have been there by now otherwise and you know it!”
The Voice didn’t even acknowledge the accusation. A promise is a promise.
He was on his feet. Staggered. Walked. Ran. Tears streaked his face as he went up the hill. For two thousand years he had kept the covenant. For two thousand years he had done everything asked of him. He had watched the world he knew fade to half forgotten history. He had watched his children grow old and die, as well as their children after that and their children after that, on and on. So much suffering, so much hardship, and without complaint.
He was due a little leeway. A little consideration.
He was due.
He crested the top of the hill, only to stagger to a stop again. Below him, after a brief spate of green grass, was the beach. Cluttered with towels and folding chairs and umbrellas, but absolutely empty of people. Some sandals scatter about, most heading towards one parking lot or another, but no people in them. They had long gone.
As had the sea.
For the beach didn’t meet the water. Instead, it met with what the water hid. The brackish sediment. On top of this flopped a few still living fish, but most were dead.
All of this stretched out before him for miles.
In the distance, at the very horizon, was a line of midnight blue and foamy white. It moved out there. Perhaps away, but more likely not.
An instant was all it took to take this in. Then he screamed wordlessly and began to run once more.
His ankle twisted when he hit the beach. The sediment sucked at his shoes, then at his shins, then at his knees. It didn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him. He would uphold the covenant even if that covenant was now broken and useless. If that was all he could do then he would do it.
There was one other thing, though, he could do. He glanced at the watch on his wrist. He glance at his watch and he saw.
And he screamed at the uncaring horizon, “Damn you, I would have made it if you hadn’t moved the water! Do you hear me? I WOULD HAVE MADE IT!”
A promise, the Voice said, is a promise.
The blue and white at the horizon began to grow. It would grow and grow until it towered over him, roaring, blotting out sight and sound. And still he would head towards it as best he could, screaming.
It was all he could do.
* * *
The waters of the oceans pulled away from the coast. Not just one coast, but all coasts. Not just one continent but all continents. Even the inland seas and lakes. Even there.
The waters pulled back, then raced forward with incredible speed. The great Wave smashed into the land, crushing all it came across. The righteous and the corrupt, it didn’t matter. The Wave didn’t care.
When it reached its full length, it pulled back. Back beyond it’s normal boundaries, back to its outer limits. Then it came racing forward and slammed into the land again.
For after all, a promise is a promise.
Brother Eric and I watched a lot of DuckTales as kids. A lot. So I went into watching this trailer with a heavy heart. Especially with the art style. It really does nothing for me.
Let me start out by saying that, with the exception of Donald Duck, all the voices sound WRONG. Gone are the duckese voices for the nephews, Launchpad, while close to right as any of them, sounds off, and Scrooge…
No one’s going to replace Alan Young in the part. No one. I don’t care how Scottish the new guy is, Young is Scrooge and no one will replace him. Ever.
Beyond that, my God am I looking forward to seeing a full episode.
This looks fun. The nephews look to be an improvement on the original series (you can tell them apart even without the individual color schemes!) Plus, more Donald Duck is never a bad thing. More importantly, David Tennant, the new Scrooge, sounds like he’s having a blast playing the part, and I’m sure that’s going to help the series.
There are signs of the typical Disneyisms here and there, but this looks promising.
So we step one step closer to the Rematch of All Rematches. I’m excited, but then it’s a Giant Monster Movie; I tend to dig those bad boys. Especially the ones with monsters fighting monsters.
A quick, amused thought: watching Kong go after the helicopters in the above trailer, I thought, This is Kong’s revenge for the Dino De Laurentiis flick.
I haven’t sat through the De Laurentiis Kong in years. Decades.
The original Kong I own on DVD–it’s around my desk somewhere. The Toho versions are there, too. There might even be a Peter Jackson version hidden in the shadows somewhere.
No De Laurentiis.
As a kid, we had a jigsaw puzzle that was based on the movie poster. I had a Kong board game. I think I even liked the movie; I know I regretted sleeping through it when Mom and Dad took Brother Eric and me out to the drive thru to see it.
And I haven’t watched it in decades.
My standard criteria for Godzilla films is “Please be better than Godzilla v. Megalon.” If the film’s better than Godzilla v. Megalon, I’m generally happy.
I have no such criteria for Kong flicks. Maybe I should. King Kong Lives was wretched enough. Maybe I should be hoping this new one is better than that.
No. No, that’s setting the bar too low.
Anyways, enough rambling. One step closer to Godzilla v. Kong the second. I’ve said it before, and it bears repeating, the only way this could be better is if we were stepping closer to Godzilla v. Gamera.
Oh–dare I dream?–Kong v. Gamera…