If it were up to me, this entire website would be nothing but pictures of womens’ tits. Oh, except in the sidebar, there’d be a link to all the reviews I’ve written about Transformers toys. If it were up to me.
Wait a second… it is up to me. It’s my site. So why don’t I?
Good question. I could probably make a tidy income doing it. So why not?
In case you don’t know already, this is my second website. My first was Mike The Pod, which existed from 1999 to 2012. Like its namesake, it was difficult to define or categorize. Sometimes I posted animated shorts, sometimes I wrote reviews about movies I hated. Once I wrote a lengthy article about my girlfriend’s perfect breasts; we’re long separated, but I can only presume they’re still perfect. I wrote whatever I wanted to write. I peaked at a quarter-million hits one weekend. I was wholly in my element.
I was also totally insufferable.
“Matty is an authority on Transformer minutiae (his art has appeared in the Collectors’ Club Magazine), Zappology, Dragonball Z (unfortunately), Star Wars (particularly the prequels), Dick Tracy comics, underground comics, Looney Tunes history, and female breasts. He will espouse upon any of these in person if you let him, but only recently has he begun to do so on his website, largely because he isn’t especially proud of his vast knowledge on these subjects (excepting robots and tits, which he never shuts up about).” –from the Mike The Pod “About” page
If you visited Mike The Pod between 2006 and 2009, all you got to read about was the glacial production of my animated movie. If that didn’t interest you, you likely browsed elsewhere. If you find my writing unbalanced and polemical now, you didn’t read it in the mid-2000s. There were violent death threats towards Rockstar Games, because GTA was only on PlayStation. Movies were only reviewed if they made me so angry I had to peck the bile out of my fingers. I think Jackass was officially the first positive review I wrote. Everything else was sheer invective.
“As the ‘film’ begins, Ben Affleck, in the titular role, lectures us on the details of turning a human into jerky, as he sits in a laundromat. Some poor bastard of an extra tries to come in and use the building for its intended purpose of washing clothes, and is roundly chastised by Ben for forty or so hours, until he wisely flees the film forever. Why doesn’t Ben want any company? Not because he’s telling us that people are ‘80% moisture’; because he’s got a dude bound and gagged in a drier for some reason, in broad daylight. Yes, that’s right, folks; this is a POST-TARANTINO MOB MOVIE, meaning lots of chatty bullplop from implausible two-dimensional gangsters. Realizing this as the opening credits slobbed on, I dipped a Q-Tip in Liquid Plumber and shoved it into the hole at the end of my penis. Absolutely nothing, NOTHING, could make this movie more painful.” -from my unfinished review of Gigli, the movie that officially broke me
In 2009, I penned a review of J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek rebortion. Actually, I can’t call it a “review”. I hadn’t seen the film when I wrote the article. I went to The Movie Spoiler, spoiled it for myself permanently, then wrote the piece as though I paid to sit through it. When I finally exposed myself to Star Trek ’09 on home video, years later, I felt no need to retract a single word I’d said. J.J. Abrams and Star Trek ’09 are garbage. For Christ’s sake- dialogue was devoted to explaining why Bones is called Bones.
“Fuck the original piece of shit Star Trek movie from 1980, and all its outsized, misplaced grandiosity. Fuck Wrath Of Khan for being the last sequel you liked without question. Fuck that ugly bald Egyptian bitch from the first movie. Fuck whatever that stupid Vulcan combat scene is that gets referenced in every episode of Futurama. You know what, fuck Futurama, and all its cock-guzzling sycophantic Trek references. Fuck them for assuming that their entire audience is as fond of Trek as they are. Fuck anyone who claims that those references are “affectionate ribbing”. Fuck Al Gore for being in an episode of Futurama with the original Trek cast, and fuck Gary Gygax in his dead role-playing rectum for the same reason. Fuck you for having seen those episodes more than five times apiece. Fuck you for quoting them in conversation. Fuck you for thinking it makes you the slightest bit interesting.
“Fuck the Excelsior, and the Captain’s Yacht. Fuck Data and his gold pancake makeup. Fuck Wil Wheaton and his role as Chief NAMBLA Bait On Board. Fuck Riker with or without his beard. Fuck his tacked-on romance with Troi, and fuck Troi, for being an annoying future hippie bitch. Fuck Troi’s mother, who turns episodes into Garry Marshall docudramas. Fuck the Klingons, the Andorians, the Ferengi, the Romulans, and any other “alien” that translates into “actor with rubber shit glued on forehead”. Fuck the Cardassians, and any other race that doubles as an Armenian surname. Fuck Guinan and Quark and Fart and all the other terrible space bartenders. Fuck every episode of Trek that plays up a romantic subplot, when not a single credited writer has ever even seen a living vagina. Fuck the torturous excuses for video games that bear the proud Star Trek moniker. Fuck Star Trek, period, for making the entire future starched and boring. And fuck you for liking it, pussy.” -this isn’t even the part of the review where I was raging on J.J. Abrams.
This is the form into which I have molded myself over the years. I have to be very careful now, that I don’t go too far overboard. I have to reserve the rancor for when it’s most necessary. I can’t run screaming at every single windmill. The windmills come to expect the attack when it’s all you do.
So when you read yet another apoplexy of mine about Star Wars or J.J. Abrams, or Tarantino, or any of my other pet hates, remember; I signed off on it. I felt the need to bring the matter up again. You wouldn’t even believe the shit I wrote about Hillary Clinton on Mike The Pod. It was designed to ensure that no one would ever bring her up with me again.
Is every Facebook post I make related to shitting on Trump? How about you? Were you “friended” based on your previous accomplishments, and yet you devote the attention of your fandom to how much you hate Trump and think he sucks? With every post?
Is that not insufferable?
For days, on Facebook, every single person has posted the same update; something about “10 bands I’ve seen and one is a lie”. That’s all I retained. I finally wearied of scrolling past hundreds of identical posts and left. Don’t know, don’t want to know. You wanna learn about ten bands I’ve seen? Look around. I’ve put 19 years of effort into telling you about it, in comic strip form.
If you mold your rage into a comic strip, you will work through it. If you type it out, you’re just passing it along. Setting it in digital amber while it’s hot. That’s why it leads nowhere, career-wise. I was working it as an angle, a natural outlet for my hatred, like the “Ed Anger” column in the old Weekly World News. I am a “haterosexual”. Every so often I go off on such an apoplectic rant, I swear I’m exhaling smoke. Those of you who call yourselves “in control”; you’ve never experienced anything close to that. You won’t “get it”. Go back to your happy bubble. How did you ever tolerate George Carlin, anyway? (Don’t answer that.)
I have no earthly way of proving the following statement. Regardless:
I wouldn’t be making a career out of ridiculing Hillary Clinton if she somehow cheated her way to president.
(I tried to be impartial there. No dice.)
I won’t name names; truthfully, I don’t have to. You know of whom I speak. Saturday Night Live is the all-Trump ridicule show, and The Simpsons, lest they miss a precious social trend, is following suit. They have the utmost confidence that their entire audience shares their opinion. That’s always when a show is circling the drain. Both shows have attempted parodies of American Idol, Lost, Glee, and dozens of other things that people used to care about. Only an idiot would argue that this plays to their strengths, or was why we watched those shows in the first place.
I’m not even a Trump supporter. I get mistaken for one, by the people doing the hating. They can’t understand why I don’t hate Trump like they do. I hate everything, right?
No. I hate hypocrisy. I hate it when people act like “you hated my guy, now I get to hate yours.” I hate it when people can’t admit they were misled by previous presidents, and are angry at themselves, and are secretly envious of anyone who appears happy or confident. I hate it when people act like they’re socially conscious, while ignoring mountains of important yet inconvenient causes happening this very moment.
I hate seeing the same thing over and over. I hate when people act like sheep. I hate when people “signal virtue”. I hate that the truth can become an annoyance, if it’s repeated ad nauseam.
But mainly I just hate repeating myself.