I started rereading TRANSMETROPOLITAN the other day and I’m about a third of the way through the series. For those of you who’ve never read Transmet, it’s an amazing piece of science fiction told in the current 60-issue / 10-volume graphic novel format. The protagonist is Spider Jerusalem, outlaw journalist, who is a hyper-exaggerated version of Hunter S. Thompson and the setting is the dystopian American future, some several hundred years from now.
Reading the first several issues, I found myself laughing my ass off every few pages or so at the glorious, over-the-top dialogue and the impossibly cool futuristic gadgets like the Bowel Disruptor (a gun that does exactly what it says…it has three settings: Loose, Watery, and Prolapse…boffo!) or the gravity-defying “Air Jesus” sneakers that allow you to literally walk on water. But the (relatively) lighthearted satire that is prevalent in the first year of the series gives way to much darker territory in the second year as the story shifts it’s attention to the upcoming presidential election.
On the one hand, you’ve got the incumbent president, nicknamed “The Beast” eight years earlier by Spider, and on the other hand you’ve got two candidates from the opposition party by the names of Heller and Callahan. Heller is a short, racist twat who doesn’t stand a chance at getting the candidacy, and then there’s Callahan, who’s even worse. His nickname is The Smiler and he’s a soulless, callous piece of shit, whose personality is cobbled together from a dozen beloved, long-deceased politicians. He’s the guy who hides behind a handsome smile and a great head of hair, who tells us that he loves us and cares about us but in truth hates us just as much as the people he claims to oppose.
At one point in the story, Spider is given the opportunity to interview The Beast. These three pages are part of that interview. Keep in mind that this issue was released in May of 1999, which means it was written either earlier that year or in late 1998 (click the images to view larger versions):
At that point, the secret service prevents Spider from strangling the president. But let’s look at the really important bit of dialogue from those pages:
“You traded on fear and hate and snaked your way into a place where you could make your wet dreams come true — by turning America into a fucking third world country that bleeds money and exports fuck all but shit television and transplantable organs — because you killed medical aid and created a culture of crime and presided over America becoming the murder capital of the world…”
Again, that was published in May of 1999. As I write this, we’re wrapping up March of 2012, and that dialogue seems much more relevant today than it did back then. I’m not saying we’re a third-world country yet but, goddamn, you have to admit that some of that speech is unsettling as hell.
When these stories were first published, I was smack in the middle of a years-long breakdown and was a very different person from who I am today. These days I’m much less self-involved, I’m much more connected to the world I live in and I’m a much happier person for it. But somewhere in between then and now, as I’ve become (in my opinion) a better person, I’ve had to let go of some things, mostly out of necessity, and rereading these stories is stirring up all sorts of shit inside me. I’ll spare you the tedious details (mostly because I don’t think I can discuss them without sounding like a pretentious twat), the point is that I’d basically forgotten that it’s sometimes alright to be doubled over in anger and hatred. Sometimes the shit that’s going on around you calls for exactly that. That doesn’t mean you should run out and punch a Republican in the cock and it doesn’t mean you should engage in verbal abuse on Facebook, but…godfuckingdammit, sometimes you just need to call bullshit and you need to do it loud and you need to do it with lots and lots of F-bombs.
And sweet, holy fuck, after three days of reading one Spider Jerusalem hategasm after another, I just can’t continue to pretend I don’t care about this fart-sucking train-wreck of an election that’s been plowing slowly up our asses in slow motion for the last six months. How the fuck has it come to pass that the American people can’t come up with better than the carnival sideshow jack-offs I see on TV every night? All of the players in this election – all of them - are fucking lunatics who shouldn’t be allowed sharp scissors, let alone any kind of actual power. I don’t have the slightest idea how Gingrich weaseled his way into a position where people took him seriously and I SAW IT FUCKING HAPPEN. I don’t have the slightest idea why someone doesn’t push Santorum into a volcano. I don’t understand why people think Ron Paul and his idiotic gold standard are the solution to our nation’s troubles. And I really don’t understand why Mitt Romney hasn’t wiped the floor with these ass clowns yet.
Which is not to say I like the idea of Mitt Romney for president. I’d rather punch myself in the cock until my fist broke than vote for Romney. But I’d also rather punch myself in the cock than vote for Obama. Obama signed the NDAA into law.
Fuck Obama.
The election to determine who our next president will be is less than eight months away and WE DON’T HAVE ANYONE TO FUCKING VOTE FOR. Fuck that. That is fucking ridiculous. I am beyond tired of looking at the lesser of two evils and pretending to be excited about voting.
I really don’t have any clever way to wrap all that up into a neat little package without it sounding like I’m trying too hard to be Mr. Angry Pants, so I’ll just end this here.
I’m going through / clearing out a ton of old shit and I just came across this poem I wrote between ten and fifteen years ago called GIRLFRIEND:
It tears me apart
To stare in your eyes,
See the joy in your smile,
And realize you have 86 rows of teeth.
I don’t care about most of my old shit but this actually made me laugh out loud. It also reminded me to get on my knees and thank Whoever for my wife. Seriously, Whoever, thank you.
I’m a huge fan of THE LORD OF THE RINGS, I don’t think that’s much of a surprise to anyone. I first read the books when I was 12 years old and they (phrase I hate) blew my mind wide open. Those books, probably more than anything else, are responsible for my 5th degree black belt in Nerd Fu. When the movies first came out eleven (!) years ago I was overjoyed and awestruck that anyone was able to pull off an adaptation as faithful and as successful as Peter Jackson and company did. I saw each movie in the theater three times, never getting tired of them and when the director’s cuts were released I went out and bought them and watched them on the day of release. The director’s cut editions came with four DVDs: Two for the extended cut of the movie, and two for the supplemental material (behind the scenes shit and various documentaries). I, of course, watched all of the supplemental material as well and I’m glad I did, because the story of how those movies got made was just as compelling (though a bit less exciting) as the story they were adapting.
One of the features from those extra DVDs was the story of Rayner Unwin, a lifelong friend of Tolkien’s (and a god among men). Most of the nerd folk know all about Tolkien writing the books and the whole thing about them being split into a trilogy, which he hated, but I’d never heard anyone mention Rayner Unwin before. I don’t care who you are, I don’t care if you’re a fan of the books or not, I don’t care if you think the movies are the worst shit since the STAR WARS prequels, and I don’t care how busy you are, you need to watch this video and you need to watch it now (it’s three and a half minutes, suck it up and click play):
Alright. Now ask yourself whether or not you think anything like that would happen today. What are the chances that a publishing executive today would give an editor permission to lose money on a book? If that story doesn’t impress and inspire you, you’re the reason the world we currently occupy is so fucked.
I feel like I could go on for at least another few paragraphs about how happy this story makes me but this time, I think I’ll just shut up and let the video speak for itself.
Back over the Christmas holiday, my friend Phil bought a game for me on Steam called The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. Skyrim is an amazing game produced by Bethesda Game Studios. I’d never heard of it, I’d never played any of the previous four games, but he was enjoying it and thought I’d really like it and he was right. It’s one of the most beautiful video games I’ve ever played, as you can see by clicking the image below:
Well anyway, I became obsessed with this game and have put in just a shameful amount of hours playing it. It’s got some flaws, the biggest being an incredibly easy final battle, which is followed by an amazingly unsatisfying ending. But the game up to that point is so much fun to play that I wound up playing it all the way through with three different characters. Of course as I got more and more familiar with the game, I became less and less overwhelmed by how beautiful and awesome it was and, as is usually the case with me, started paying more and more attention to the more mundane and minute aspects of it. This, I’m happy to report, still didn’t ruin the game for me. This should be taken as a huge compliment by the people who made it. My fucking brain ruins 90% of all entertainment for me, be it video game, movie, TV show, or book. I over-analyze and dissect shit to a point where I can’t put it back together again in order to actually enjoy it. Again, Skyrim managed to keep my brain from doing that, but the second time through the game I started to feel like there was something a bit off and it took a while for me to notice what it was. First, though, just a small (you know when I say “small” it’s different than when other people say it right?) amount of background information to set things up for you.
Skyrim is the name of the game but it’s also the name of the part of the world where the story takes place. The natives of Skyrim are called Nords, who are basically vikings. Skyrim has been occupied for centuries by the Imperials, who are basically Romans. Some of the Nords are fine with the Imperials but some of them want them out of their country. These folks are called Stormcloaks (just fucking go with it). Eventually, you’ll be given the chance to join either the Imperial Legion or the Stormcloak Rebellion. In addition to joining one of these factions, the other groups you can join are: The Thieves Guild, The Mage’s College, The Companions, and The Dark Brotherhood. There’s also the Bard’s College but that story arc is so fucking ridiculous and lame that I won’t even bother talking about it.
The Thieves Guild story arc is one of the most fun in the game. I won’t go into details but I will break the main story down. Oh…spoiler alert, I suppose:
You’re recruited by the guild and upon completing your first assignment, are told you show amazing potential.
After completing a few more assignments, you’re introduced to the leader of the guild, who’s a bit of a cock.
You uncover a plot against the guild by an old member of the guild who killed the previous guild leader.
Except that, it turns out she’s innocent and the guy who really killed the previous guild leader is the current guild leader.
You hunt down and kill the current guild leader.
After some more shit happens and the guild has been restored to it’s former prestige and success, you’re made the new leader of the guild.
Hey man, that’s awesome, you’re totally the leader of The Thieves Guild, what a great story and man, was it fun to play through those missions.
Next up is the Mage’s College. The college is hated by the people of the surrounding area, mostly because the surrounding area was devastated by this huge natural disaster brought on by some fuck ups from the college a hundred years ago. The college is lead by the Archmage, who seems totally indifferent to the fact that the college is dabbling in shit that’s way too dangerous to be doing near populated areas and who also doesn’t give a shit about the college’s negative reputation. Here’s the main story:
You join the college and in your first field trip, you uncover a dangerous ancient artifact.
You run around trying to figure out what the hell it is for a while and are told by some monks that shit’s about to get real and that you’re the only one who can deal with it, because destiny blah blah blah…
One of the people at the college is really a spy (!) and has taken control of the powerful artifact and in the process has killed the Archmage.
You run to get another artifact that will help overcome the first one and in the process find out that all of this shit was caused by the Archmage’s youthful arrogance from decades past.
You return to the college, kill the spy and are told by the surviving professor’s that you’re the new Archmage.
Which is fucking ridiculous, you’ve been there a week. The only way this story works is if you treat it as comic relief and treat the various wizards as the Marx Brothers.
Then there’s the Dark Brotherhood, which is a shadowy group of assassins for hire. This, for me, was the most fun part of the game but that might have something to do with the fact that you get to assassinate the emperor and my seething hatred for our current elected leaders here in the real world. Whatever, here’s the story:
You’re recruited by the brotherhood and you prove you’re not a douche by killing a few people.
You’re then contracted to kill the emperor, which is, of course, a huge undertaking.
In the process you wind up being set up and betrayed by…(you’ll never guess) the leader of the brotherhood.
You kill her and then kill the emperor, fulfilling the contract and restoring the brotherhood to a level of greatness it hasn’t know in centuries.
The remaining members of the brotherhood turn to you and inform you that you’re their leader now.
Okay, at this point, a pattern is more than developing but I really didn’t give a shit since I got to kill the emperor. God that was awesome.
Finally, there are The Companions, who are a bunch of drunken viking mercenaries. This is a really great storyline too but it kind of fucks with the pattern of the previous story-lines in that they claim not to have a leader. Which is kind of bullshit because there’s one old guy they call the Harbinger and there’s totally another guy who’s like a second in command and then there are three others who are clearly in positions of leadership (like some sort of sword and sorcery version of middle management). Both the harbinger and the second in command die and guess who gets named the new Harbinger?
This is where your success ends though. You’re the leader of The Thieves Guild, The Dark Brotherhood, the Mage’s College, and The Companions and that’s all you get. Of course you get to save the world from the giant dragon who wants to eat us all but you never get to become king or anything. Which is fine.
Okay so now that we’re all caught up to speed and on the same page (and if you think reading all that took too long to get caught up to speed, trust me, it didn’t), here’s the question I have:
What the fuck is going on with the upper management at Bethesda Game Studios? I’ve played a lot of these games in the past…a LOT of them. And while the story arc of your character showing up to some place, learning the ropes, and eventually taking over is hardly a new one, to repeat it three or four times in the same game is just kind of odd. It’s like a cry for help from the Bethesda employees.
The scary thing is that I’ve worked for all three of the bosses listed in the examples above. I’ve worked for the boss who actually doesn’t give a shit about anything but himself and is secretly willing to let his company go to hell as long as he can make a few bucks off it. I’ve worked for the boss whose intentions were good but was genetically incapable of making a good decision. And I’ve worked for the boss whose selfishness and apathy have left him capable of doing little more than attending meetings. Fuck, ten years ago, I was working for all three of them at the same company.
If only one of these scenarios had been put in the game I might never have noticed but for all of them to be there…that just seems like a bit more than coincidence.
It’s night and I’m inside an impossibly expensive house. The house is on stilts because it’s on the side of a mountain. Why I’m inside the house is unclear but there I am anyway and I’m looking for something but I have no idea what. To clarify: It’s not that I know I’m there to find something but I don’t know what it is, it’s that I’m there and I have no idea why I’m there, but I’m holding a flashlight and it just sort of feels like the reason I’m there is to discover something. The flashlight turns out to be a good thing because there doesn’t appear to be any power in the house. As I go from room to room, there is an increasing sense of dread growing in my mind and I begin to feel certain that I’m there not to find something but to find someone, or at least to make sure no one is in the house.
As I look through the various rooms of the house, I see several pictures showing two women – one black, one white – who appear to be deliriously happy in every picture. Obnoxiously happy. Disgustingly happy. As I look at each new picture of the women it becomes obvious that they’re a couple and that they’re so happy because they’re deeply in love with one another.
I move into the dining room and I see several glass cabinets that are supposed to be housing the silverware and the good china but they’re completely destroyed and anything that was inside them was destroyed at the same time they were. The dining-room table is upturned and it’s at this point that I know in my heart, with absolute certainty, that the reason I’m there is because I’ve been chosen to discover something horrible. Something profane. Almost as though God randomly drew my name from a hat, plucked me out of whatever life I was leading up to that point and put me in this wretched house with no memory of where I’d just been and only a vague idea as to why I was here.
The dining room leads me into the kitchen and I know that the kitchen is the last place on earth I want to be but I have no choice in the matter. My feet won’t stop carrying me forward, though my mind is screaming at them to just knock it the fuck off. My flashlight scans the kitchen and the first thing I notice is a small television sitting on a counter at the far end of the room. The television is on and the screen shows an empty chair in front of a table. The camera is unmoving, the picture unchanging…it isn’t a program the monitor is displaying, it’s showing another room somewhere, maybe in the house, maybe half a world away. As I walk further into the room, I look into the sink and am immediately confronted by the appalling sight and smell of rotting meat. I’m the first person to be in this room in several weeks, if not months. Then my mind goes black.
There’s someone in the kitchen with me.
I whirl around with the flashlight, casting light in every direction. I can’t see anyone, but they’re there. I can feel them behind me but when I turn around there’s no one. When I reach back behind me, there’s no one. As I desperately search the room, the television catches my eye again and now there’s someone on the screen. At first glance he appears to be talking to someone but as soon as I notice him, he stops for just a moment before speaking again. I step toward the screen to get a closer look and to see if I can turn up the volume to hear what he’s saying, and as I step closer, he begins to gesture wildly and his talking has turned into screaming and it’s obvious, though I can’t hear a word he’s saying that I’m the person he’s been talking to. And as soon as I realize that, I no longer need to turn the sound up, because I know what he’s trying to tell me. He’s telling me to run. He’s telling me to get out of there as fast as my legs will carry me, but it’s too late. She’s here.
I turn around and just entering the room, where I’d entered moments earlier, is the white woman from all the pictures. She’s hunched over like an animal, completely naked, and half covered in dirt. She’s smiling at me just as she is in her pictures, and she takes a step toward me, awkward and stumbling. As she moves toward me, my eyes go down to her legs, which seem to be bruised and purple. She snarls at me and takes another step and I notice her complexion lightens toward the top of her body to a pale, almost translucent white.
My mind is now shrieking commands to tear ass out of the room but I can’t. I want to run but my body refuses to move. She reaches for me with a noise in her throat that isn’t human and, instead of running, I take a swing and my fist connects with her face and I feel her jaw dislocate on contact, spinning her head around to an obscene degree. The sound that comes out of her is almost a laugh and she lunges back at me, moving quicker than before. My hands instinctively go to her throat and as I squeeze I feel it partially collapse, which is when I realize the notion of killing her is absurd because she’s already dead. This is when I feel a glacially cold hand wrap itself around my neck and send my entire body hurling back into the kitchen wall.
I look up and the black girl from the pictures is leering at me with the same nauseating smile and both women start toward me again with obvious intent. Still knocked on my ass, I raise my right leg and send my foot into the right knee of the white woman, with a horrible crunch. This sends her to the floor but the look on her face suggests she hasn’t even noticed. The black woman reaches down for my throat and I swing my flashlight into her skull as hard as I can, knocking her away and to the side of me. I get to my feet just as the white woman does, apparently unaffected by her injury. I grab her hair and send her flying back into her friend, knocking both of them to the ground, and I run from the kitchen back into the dining room and continue through to the living room, where the black woman is waiting for me with that hideous smile on her face. She throws herself at me with a screech that turns my blood to ice and, remembering being grabbed from behind in the kitchen, I jump to the left, destroying the coffee table on impact, as the two women collide. For a moment their attentions turn away from me and each instantly begins trying to tear the other apart.
It’s obvious that both women are dead, but as I watch them claw at one another I notice that the injuries I’ve given both of them are gone. I’m not dealing with zombies, I’m dealing with ghosts. And with that revelation comes another: They killed each other. Something went horribly, horribly wrong and the love they had for each other had turned to hatred and they fought and somehow they killed each other in the process.
Once again, I get back on my feet and the noise I make in doing so brings their hateful attention right back to me and then I have one last revelation: As much as they hate each other, there is only one thing in the world they hate more, and that is me. My living presence, interrupting their nightly pantomime of double homicide, is the only thing in all of creation more offensive to them than each other and now they’re both turning to me to deal with that.
I reach down and grab a broken leg from the ruined coffee table and use it to cave in the black woman’s skull which, again, goes unnoticed. We fight for several minutes, but there’s ultimately only one way this is going to end. The injuries I give them may as well never have happened and if I succeed in throwing one of them off of me, out of the room, they come running back in, completely unhurt and with a renewed strength. My injuries, meanwhile, aren’t going anywhere and I’m starting to get tired and worse, I’m scared out of my mind.
In a moment of weakness, I stumble backward and the white woman grabs my throat and pulls me in close with her icy hand, her eyes burning holes into mine. She screams, not like a person, not like an animal, not like any living thing in this world, and I begin to scream too. I am now terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought and I know there’s only one way out of this house quickly enough to escape these horrible, dead bitches and that’s through the window.
I manage to push the white woman off of me and I grab for the black woman and shove her aside and I take a step toward the nearest window. I know that jumping out the window means dying but it’s the only way to escape the nightmare of what’s going on inside this house. Both women shriek their hideous, dead shrieks and I begin to run.
As I plummet to freedom, I see the rotting corpses of two, long-dead women rushing into view, mocking me with their stark, hollow eyes and those hideous smiles.
