Spoiler: Many of these people are currently dead.

I can’t say I have the greatest memory in the world (it took me most of my formative years to learn the alphabet. Longer to learn love). In fact, most everything I do should be forgotten. But, wait, what was I doing?

Oh yes, Lost. Undoubtedly one of the greatest shows of the last decade. Even if you never got into it, or for whatever insane reason never liked it, you have to admit it’s entered the public consciousness like no show since Married…with Children. Even your Alzheimered grandfather has heard of the “Island”, even when he mistakens you for “that God damned no good grandson who stole [his] meds and is actively trying to murder [him] for his life insurance.”

*Sigh* Alzheimer – the only true terrorist. Kills the mind and any credibility that goes along with it.

The Notebook, the only Alzheimer related movie you'll ever need to forget.

Again, what the hell was I talking about? Oh, of course. Glee. Now, like I was saying, no other show has stormed out of the gate and gripped the publ…wait, what? I was talking about Lost? Why the hell would I…oh, right, I liked that show. Wait, really? Okay, I guess so. Thanks voice in the back of my mind that tells me to “let go”.

So, Lost, a truly seminal piece of pop entertainment. Serialized fiction that TV had almost forgotten how to do right. So good was it that it spawned an entire wave of wannabe serials, that all promptly failed in major and hilariously forgettable ways. Anyone remember Invasion? No? Hilarious, right?

Invading the bargain bins near you!

So in honour of Lost‘s final season of fucking with everyone’s minds, let’s compile the entirety of the show’s major plot points, collated from a fan’s suspect memory and absolute lack of Wikipedia utilization. If you’ve ever felt lost (I can’t believe I just did that), here’s the perfect guide for you to, well, read. Though I’d suggest Wikipedia afterwards.

• 2004 (or was it 2005?): Oceanic 815, carrying about a dozen memorable human beings and a bunch of human beings of no apparent worth, takes off from Australia towards LAX.
• 2004, still: Plane crashes on a pristine beach. Some of the worthless people die. Memorable, and quite attractive, people live. One bald guy named Locke apparently included in this bunch.
• Sometime later: Realized, wait for it, they’re not alone! Trees move menacingly, polar bears attack confusingly, and flashbacks flash..ingly. Oh, and Sayid tortures the shit out of Sawyer. I don’t remember for what.
• Later still, and a bit of death: Lots of stuff dealing with death happens. Jack’s dad is apparently alive again in spooky ghost form, Boone dies in a plane relate accident and becomes a corpse, and Ethan get’s whacked by a hobbit. All things considered, Ethan went out like a bitch.
• Even later, but not too late. The unpossible! Walt’s son supposedly has powers but he’ll disappear later in the show and this plotline is dropped forever. There’s a smoke monster that still isn’t really explained, despite having been revealed. A hatch is discovered, B&E promptly engaged.
• It’s been about a month now: Attractive survivors open hatch, chase the Australian dude out, and claim it for themselves. Locke is still considered amongst this group. Rest of survivors not told about this magical hatch with running water and massive amounts of supplies. Also, hatch has an old computer where magical numbers must be input or stuff happens. Magical numbers also have something to do with everything, or not.
• Over a month now: Oh right, there were “Others” on this island, but we don’t know them yet. Also, the tail end of the plane somehow carried survivors amongst whom is the feisty Michelle Rodriquez playing a feisty Mexican chick. Everyone from the tail end will die, save for the old white dude.
• Stuff happens
• Sometime later: Every person not given title credits either dies, disappears, or disappeared to die somewhere.
• Benjamin Linus: After capturing a harmless looking fella’, it’s revealed he’s the leader of the Others! Great Gatsby! He’ll go on to become the show’s greatest contribution to society. Not sure how, but I’m positive it’ll be revealed in due time.
• Big ass foot: Not sure if we saw the big ass foot now or earlier on in the show. Well, it’s big and only has four toes. Will continue to baffle viewers until the second last season, at which point nobody gives a fuck anymore.
• After that: Huzzah! A second island crawling with Others. Jack, Kate and Sawyer are captured by Ben and Friends and sent here while Michael sails off to be exploded later. What a douchebag.
• Some more stuff happens.
• Existential angst happens.
• We have to go back!
• A giant, inexplicable wheel: After some more stuff happening in which most characters suffer existential angst (and, well, six of them actually got off the island), Ben turns a big flipping wheel and the show is now suddenly Quantum Leap, if Quantum Leap took place solely in Hawaii and took itself way too seriously.
• Time surfing: The remaining survivors on the island leap through time, solving nobody’s problems along the way.
• Fat boy: Jack decides to follow through a freshly deceased Daniel Faraday’s plans to ignite a nuclear bomb, only in the past and therefore changing, wait for it, the future. They succeed in igniting the blast.
• The gang comes together to win sectionals , despite the machinations of the malevolent Sue Sylvester.

And so begins the final season of Lost...

What show has incorporated all of this? Why, Breaking Bad of course! Watch this fucking show!

If you have enough time to waste on Jersey Shore, I KNOW you have time for this.

To inaugurate this most prestigious occasion, in which I’m not quite sure what prestigious means, let’s pit two of the most popular heroes from Marvel and DC’s pantheon in a head to head death match, to the death.

In the Yellow and Brown corner is…Wolverine!

• Name: Wolverine AKA Logan AKA James Howlett AKA The short dude who says bub a lot AKA Wayne Gretzky.
• Age: Old enough to be Larry King’s grandson.
• Height: Extremely short, unless an artist forgets this. In which case he’s about 7’4.
• Powers: Mutant healing factor making him immortal. Adamantium claws making him essentially a robot. Fierce scowl making him America’s next top model.
• Pros: Tears people apart for little to no reason. Can never die, and has kicked Death’s ass for trying. Expert martial artist, who has such a fierce scowl.
• Cons: Extremely short, emotional, and Canadian.

And in the Black and Gray corner is…Batman!

• Name: Batman AKA ‘The’ Batman AKA Bruce Wayne AKA Matches Malone AKA Did you not read the last one?
• Age: Eternally mid-30′s.
• Height: Whatever Superman’s height it.
• Powers: Can do, like, so many push-ups. A world class detective. Has the uncanny ability to have planned for every contingency, no matter how many random coincidences come up. A fierce scowl making him Wolverine’s #1 rival.
• Pros: Is practically clairvoyant. Can do sit-ups. Kind of a jackass, but has a heart of gold (just like House!). Can do a roundhouse kick with the best of ‘em. Shit ton of money. Scowl, baby.
• Cons: Possibly a pedophile. Just a dude who works out, really. Is currently stuck in time, like Scott Bakula and last season of Lost.

It Begins!

For a match like this to even happen, these two titans must somehow meet to begin with. I’d go through some fantastical scenario about cross-dimensional villainy hell bent on merging the universes into an uber-villainous one that eventually leads to the encounter, but because they’re just comic characters I’ll settle with they walked into a bar one night.

This makes more sense than most comics, anyhow.

So Wolverine’s downing his favourite lager, the sweet nectar that is Canada’s Moosehead Light. Just minding his own damned business, which he is the best at. The Leafs game is on the tube so you know not to mess with this Canadian.

In from the rain comes a cloaked figure. Wolverine doesn’t give the figure a second thought, as he was too mesmerized by the Leafs’ rare 5 on 1 powerplay that was taking place. Rare in that it wasn’t allowed by the rulebooks, but was happening anyways. This cloaked figure revealed himself to be none other than The Batman, Gotham’s fearsome caped crusader. Plopping down next to Wolverine, Batman orders up a drink only he can sport with any authority – an appletini. Even Batman needed a minor respite from sewers and dark alleys. Preferably a sweet glass of sugary respite.

Wolverine noticed this, but he didn’t have time to care. The Leafs somehow let in seven goals during that powerplay, which is just as impossible as the powerplay itself. But it was the Leafs, afterall.

Nearly stupid enough to encapsulate how bad the Maple Leafs' are.

“Change the channel. Dancing With the Stars is on,” said Batman, in a gravelly voice. The bartender made his way to the dial, as this was an old TV.

“I don’t think so, bub,” snapped Wolverine, in a gravelly voice. The bartender stopped mid-twist. He knew something was about to go down, so he quietly exited.

“The NHL is a dying league,” rubutted Batman, in a gravelly voice.

“The only thing dying is you, bub,” threatened Wolverine, in a voice surprisingly pleasant.  Both men stood in silence, scowls scowling. “Damn the sweet flow of Moosehead Light.”

“The Leafs are a dead end team, get over it,” said Batman, muscles tensing. Ready to pounce.

“Leafs Nation is the best at what they do, and what they do ain’t pretty, bub,” declared Wolverine, voice once again gravelly.

“No shit Sherlock. Maybe you outta switch over to Montre-” and Wolverine was on top of Batman before he could finish. Which was rather rude. With the expert Judo skills he learned from the greatest Japanese masters who were taught by himself when he was stuck in time, Batman hurled the laughably small and hairy man off of him. Despite being petite, Wolverine must have been three hundred pounds. Batman instinctively knew this man had adamantium lining his skeletal structure, despite adamantium not existing in the DC universe. How? Because he’s fucking Batman.

Wolverine spun onto his feet before landing, balling up both fists in a dashing, though strategically useless, pose. His claws erupted from his knuckles. Blood and tendons sprang forth from the open wounds before they healed.

“The hell? You okay there? That’s nasty,” asked Batman with concern.

“Don’t worry, it happens,” assured Wolverine. “Thanks for the concern, though. It’s refreshing to fight a nice guy once in awhile.”

“No, it was just pity for a Leafs fa-” and Wolverine was upon him again. Biting and clawing and kicking and what may have been a bit of farting. Batman could barely dodge the barrage, throwing chairs and bar patrons in the mad beast’s path. Despite being bulletproof, this little man’s claws still tore through Batman’s suit. He knew he should have worn the claw-proofed suit that night. He really should get onto making a suit resistant to both at once.

Wolverine was surprised how lithe this man was, despite wearing a ridiculous costume. Batman subconsciously called Wolverine the pot. Wolverine’s subconscious didn’t know what that meant. Batman’s subconscious called Wolverine’s costume the Leafs of the costuming worl- and Wolverine’s subconscious was on him!

The battle had transgressed past the mere physical, into the realm of the, er, non-physical! Muscle’s collided, psyches clashed. The battle was toe to toe, despite Wolverine having superior strength and reflexes. How this could be can be debated later. Batman always fights equally against his foes, despite having no powers in the least beyond the power of heart.

The bar was in ruins, the Moosehead Light flowed like a river from its destroyed barrows (yes, barrows). Neon signs dangled, bar stools stuck to the ceiling. A lone chandelier wondered what the fuck it was doing in a bar. If there ever was a God, he slept that night. The two men were exhausted. They knew one wrong move was enough to end them. Wolverine cinched left, his knees bending. Batman inched right, his left hand reaching for his last Batarang. The tension in the air was tangible, like the stench that encapsulates Amy Winehouse.

Just as both men began to make what could be their last moves, a voice from the back echoed out.

“And there it is folks, the Leafs have lost yet another game. The final tally? 13 to 2. The most depressing thing about this most atrocious of butt-kickings is that it comes as no surprise. Good night everyone.”

An inspiration to us all.

Wolverine was stunned into paralysis, the only movement a single tear shed from his right eye. Never letting a chance slip by, except for all those times he let the Joker live because of a rather idiotic no-kill policy despite realizing the Joker was the worst human alive, Batman soundly roundhouse kicked Wolverine, knocking the man into submission. Pointing to the air in thanks to Chuck Norris, Batman finished his appletini and left the bar.

Wolverine laid there defeated, devastated and utterly ruined. Much like the Leafs.

And then Wolverine exploded.

Look in the mirror. And be honest now!

I think we have all asked ourselves this question at least once – am I gay? This is usually followed by imagining various naked specimens of our species and calculating how aroused, ie. hard/wet, we are. For more promiscuous individuals, experimentation takes place either after a drunken night or for an awesome T-shit and a necklace beads. For most of us this is just a passing concern and we move on with our lives, never telling another living soul the ordeal we just went through.

What does this have to do with being an Otaku? Not much, except as a loose and shoddily concocted analogy. That still doesn’t make a lick of sense.

Let’s look at the definition of otaku before moving on, shall we? Merriam-Webster has it as “a person who is obsessed with anime, manga, and Japanese culture in general.” The 56th definition of the word on the definitive online resource Urban Dictionary has it as “teh deliciously kickass wife of nero.” The former indicates an unhealthy fixation on drawn images of junior high school girls in various levels of undress. The latter, with perfect grammar, indicating you’re the wife of an Emperor that burnt a fuck ton of Christian babies alive.  You’re deliciously kickass, though, for what that’s worth.

Either way, it’s slightly unflattering.

So, how can you tell whether or not you’re an Otaku? By taking this painstakingly crafted, scientifically proven quiz of course! Or just go outside and play a sport or hit a pub and get pissed.

Remember, read through the quiz before answering!

Question the first!

If you had to describe your character, would you:

• A) Defer the description to an anime/manga protagonist, and how you’d so “totally master the same jutsus.”
• B) You would refer to a movie /TV or book character, only occasionally referring to anime.
• C) Refer to a historical figure and how you’d “totally end the Civil War if [you] had the chance.” And you’d do it with Ichigo’s haircut, because it’s cool and not because you know who Kurosaki Ichig…
• D) Actually describe personality traits and net income.

This is, like, sooo totally me!

Question the one after the first!

What would be the trait most desirable in your sexual partner:

• A) He/she would be a mega-kawaii mega-tsundere. And mahou. If you chose this, you already know what those mean.
• B) A lifeless, soulless, though still huggable sex doll/life size moe pillow/VCR player. That you can fuck.
• C) She can’t be assertive, because you fear strong, independent women. Someone like Bella from the Twilight series would be nice. Only pretty.
• D) You’d settle for smart and funny, and a superb knowledge of great wines.

Wash your fucking hair once in a while!

Question the thrice!

Where would you like to go on your honeymoon if you could go anywhere?

• A) Obviously a trip to Konoha, with a pit stop at the Grandline on your way home.
• B) Akihabara, with a side of maid and imouto cafes. An actual wife is optional.
• C) A trip East. Japan is an option. Maybe a manga shop, if there’s time. And a maid cafe…just to, like, say I’ve done it.
• D) Hawaii, and then backpack through Europe. Really live the world, y’know?

I didn't really want to go here. But it's an experience, y'know? Heh...heh.

Question the 4th!

What is your usual go to wardrobe?

• A) An exact replica Asuka plug suit, despite me being a 320 pound male.
• B) Just my super wicked awesome Haruhi fanny pack and soooo ironic “Shinji is Cool” T-shirt.
• C) Jeans, jacket and maybe a relatively non-descript T-shirt that may or may not have Naruto images on it.
• D) Whatever the people in The Real World are wearing.

Question the something or other!

How would you battle evil cyborg ninjas that just kidnapped your 2 month old puppy?

• A) You would create a fully functioning Gundam (or just steal the one they made in Tokyo and pimp that shit out), and tear the world asunder looking for Ayanami-chan.
• B) You would so open a can of whoop ass only hundreds of hours of Dragonball and Hunter X Hunter can teach.
• C) Try to trade that collection of animated features (like, totally not anime).
• D) Call the fucking cops. I mean, evil cyborg ninjas just took your new pure-bred toy poodle! That thing cost you eight large!

Nobody fucks with my Ayanami-wawi-foo

Question the ninth!

If you only had three days to live, what’s #1 on your bucket list?

• A) You would molest Hayao Miyazaki and profess your hidden pedophilic tendencies. Nobody is surprised.
• B) Sneak into aforementioned Gundam in Japan and do nasty, filthy things inside.
• C) Admit you may have watched an anime or forty, and cry into your life-sized moe pillow.
• D) Air balloon. Around the world! Though unfortunately you die only three days into your trip.

I...don't recommend going inside there. ESPECIALLY the left arm.

Question the eixinth!

Of these phrases, which would best describe YOU?

• A) Urusai!
• B) Kakkoi!
• C) I swear, I’m not that into this stuff.
• D) Turtlenecks are fashionable and utilitarian!

Swank and warm, all at once!

Question the I never learned to count!

Who would you rather “do” – Suzumiya Haruhi, Ayanami Rei, or Ponyo.

• A) Ponyo. In a heartbeat. Over and over and over again.
• B) Tough, but you’d definitely go with Rei. Her emotionless features underlay a warmth not many see.
• C) Well, if you had to choose, I guess Haruhi. Again, if those are the choices.
• D) They’re cartoons, fer Chrissakes! You’d much rather “do” cocaine and prostitutes.

Consider that shit TAPPED!

Well, how did you do?

1. If you mainly chose A, you are not only an Otaku, you have some serious mental health issues and are probably a registered sex offender. Or one waiting to happen. Look out your window. Do you see a preschool? Yeah? Do you feel tingly? Like, down there? Yeah, you should get some help. Or castrated.
2. If you mainly chose B, you are the very definition of Otaku. Or at least the one from Merriam-Webster. Well, unless you really were married to Nero and were, like, awesome. Chances of reproduction are solely dependent on how many female otakus near you who would prefer male companionship over reading male on male yayoi.
3. If you mainly chose C, you’re more or less normal, but you have to let the cat out of the bag. You are a closeted-Otaku. Now, you may be able to live your life happily, but is it true happiness when you’re rushing your Miyazaki Collectors DVDs into secret compartments before you have company over? Or feel the wrath of Catholic-level guilt every time you beat off to tentacle hentai? Give in! You’ll feel better after you do.
4. If you mainly chose D, congratulations! You’re not an Otaku! Instead you’re just any other of the countless millions of pretentious yuppies infesting the world, drunk on reality TV while pretending you’re more important than the very thing you’re watching and deriving pleasure out of. In short, you are a douchebag.

Well, hey, you may be saying to yourself, “bullshit, there’s no way to win this!” Wrong again. The correct choice from the beginning is to have read through the entirety of the quiz before answering, like I told you to, reach this point and realize you dodged a bullet. The only correct way to finish an Otaku quiz is to not take one at all and live your life, you god damned conformist.

Cheers!

Aaaaand I’m back. In a way. After not checking in on the site for a good 8 freaking months, I’ve noticed I’m STILL getting just as many visitors now as when I was updating everyday. Which just goes to show I really shouldn’t have tried so hard to begin with. Apparently no work is just as good as half-assed work.  

Which works for me! And provides a fantastic moral for my future grandchildren.  

But now that I’m finally settled into a new rythm in a foreign land (the exotic and erotically dangerous Japan. Or as the natives call it, “Bukkake”) I figured I have nothing better to do in my free time, other then crying and being lonely, so why not start this entire enterprise up again? This soul saddeningly unprofitable enterprise.  

I can’t guarantee the same standards as before but I assure everyone tha…who am I kidding? There weren’t any fucking standards to begin with. So, to get the ball rolling, here’s five facts I’ve learned about my new home, Bukkake. But I’ll use Japan for my fellow gaijins out there.  

1. Being awesome, made easy!  

Apparently everything will impress a Japanese person. I use chopsticks and everyone goes, “sugoi!” Which means, “bear my children.” Or something similar.  I say “arigatou” and everyone swoons over my mastery of their language. I later learned “arigatou” actually means “thank you” and not “where are your cheapest prostitutes”, but that’s neither here nor there. 

I tell of my magical homeland of Canada and our great, umm, trees and flat land and stuff and I’m practically made the new Ambassador of Awesome. Hell, I took a dump at a public restroom and they made a TV show called Tokyo Dogs out of it. And trust me, they painstakingly recreated my shit through that show. Man, it’s shitty.  

So I’m telling you, go to Japan and just do whatever the hell you want. Want to smack that homeless dude? Do it! Rob a sushi cart? Right on. Take candy from a baby? Go…well, not a lot of babies in Japan anymore, but I’m willing to bet you could. Not only will you not be arrested and deported, stories of your awesomeness will be told of through their oral tradition for centuries to come. I’m telling you!  

2. To there and back again. Eventually.  

Japanese roads are messed up. For all the wonders that Japan has given the world, from Nintendo to octopus pornography, they still don’t understand the concept of city planning. The roads are, for lack of a wittier analogy, like Amy Winehouse’s face – you don’t know what the fuck is up with it. I’m about 250 km away from Tokyo, and if this were any other country, that’s a 20 minute drive.  Probably.  

Here? I left in December and I’m still on the road. Hell, I think I made a wrong turn back in Narnia and now I’m somewhere called “New Jersey” and it’s fucking horrible. All I wanted was to go to a maid cafe, where I can be treated like a real man (you know, by average looking girls dressed in bright frilly costumes pretending to like you. As nature intended).  

Instead, I got this:  

3. English, motherfucker. Do you speak it?  

Apparently my Anglo-centric worldview was a tad off kilter. Apparently not everywhere in the world speaks perfect Canadian English, the most stoic of all Englishes (Englii?). Apparently Japan in particular speaks something called “Japanese”. At first I called the person who told me this, my fellow coworker Obata-san,  a dirty Satan fucking liar. But then I realized everyone around me WAS speaking non-English. It was like I got sent into the Twilight Zone and ended up in a land of humanoid llamas. Or something. Also apparent was the fact that I was here to be an English teacher. How the hell did that happen? The only English I’ve ever taught in my life was to get my little brothers and sister to say “cunt”.  

Life works in mysterious ways, eh?  

After discovering the existence of this new language, I claimed it as Bukkakanese outside of Japan’s borders. That’s copyrighted by the way, so step the fuck off Carlos Mencia. Then I discovered most everyone doesn’t know what the hell I’m saying when I’m screaming into a crying clerks face for ten minutes. All I wanted to know  was where the celery sticks were. I even tried the universally accepted method of speaking English loudly, slowly and more patronizingly. No go. I think she may have had downs syndrome or something.  

She then commited harakiri in shame. That was awkward. And I didn’t find out where the celery was. 

Oh, celery! Where art thou?

4. Can I have a side of stroke with that?  

In a land of such petite inhabitants, you’d think they’d also eat petite, pussified food. Well, you’d be right. I ‘medium’ drink here is about a midget American small, AKA how much little Donny sweats walking nine and a half feet down hill. Everything’s exceedingly small except when it comes to fast food burgers, which they love. If ever you thought Americans were the only people gorging themselves to a greasy, acne masked early death, you haven’t seen these Japanese exclusive burgers yet:  

Like, seriously, what the hell?

Celebrating the human spirit!

It's like a Big Mac, if the Big Mac had BALLS.

 5. Who needs LSD when you’re shooting up pure Japan?  

Have you ever heard the stereotype that Japan is a weird and colorful land of strangeness? Well, it’s all true. Every single last word of it is true. Absolutely so. It’s just like you imagined. In fact, the real thing is so depravedly sordid that your imagination had a hernia picturing it. I hardened myself before arriving at the onslaught of geekdom that would surely fuck my face once I step foot on Japanese soil. Like a facehugger from Aliens. Only kawaii. 

My preparations failed. 

Okay, I can handle this...

Just a little bit of baby eating. We've all done it from time to time...

Where else indeed?

• True Blood fans (ie, me and middle aged women) got more than they expected when the cast and crew spilled the beans on what next season will be about. Namely, Sookie is going to be more and more attracted to Eric (I’m not sure why, besides being a badass and all) and that the Mississippi vamps and werewolves are going to stir some shit up.
• Chuck details! Apparently he won’t know karate all the time, which is a relief, and Awesome gets more action, which is, err, awesome.

What is also of note is just how much attention the Twilight sequel is getting. That movie is going to make a fucking fortune and my head will fall off due to prolonged periods of long, drawn out head shakes of disapproval.

It’s Dexter. It’s new footage. There’s John Lithgow. Blood.

Watch it!

Emmerich will not do Hari Seldon justice.

The Foundation books were some of my very first forays into the wide yonder of operatic space melodrama. And hell, I loved the shit out of it (ummm…I’m gonna say that line made sense). It gave me everything I wanted in sci-fi: a sprawling space empire, wars, aliens, and best of all, legitimately smart and engaging characters. And here it is, finally about to be realized on the big screen by none other than…

Roland fucking Emmerich?

Roland “going where even Michael Bay fears” Emmerich?

Roland “welcome to ‘errf’” Emmerich?

Okay, I’ll admit I dug Independence Day, but 10,000 BC and The Day After Tomorrow were fucking awful and maddeningly mediocre, respectively. 2012 looks like one stinking pile of donkey balls, covered in its own feces. The Patriot was his last good movie, and that was more brainless violence and excess entertaining than it was introspective and meaningful. And now one of my most beloved series is going into his hands? Well fuck me sideways, I think I’ve died and went to heaven, only to have my nuts kicked in. Repeatedly. For eternity.

See, I want a Foundation film to be made. Hell, I want the entire series to make the cut. But unless Emmerich becomes an entirely different kind of director for this movie, and you know he won’t, this will be an unmitigated disaster. The books need someone who can cut away sentimentality and overbearing heroism, both of which defines Emmerich’s career.

On the bright side, this will probably bring a how new generation into reading the books, which is something.

At least the writer Emmerich hired, Robert Rodat Saving (Private Ryan and The Patriot, bot I enjoy immensely), looks to have a head on his shoulders and shows some understanding of the series.

Wsn't there already a live act...oh, yeah.

Are you seriously telling me this is happening? I mean, “serious” serious? Not a “hah, I got you you stupid douchebag! This can’t be serous!” serious?

Well, it’s happening. All official like, too.

It seems Sam Raimi and Legendary Pictures are going ahead with plans for a Warcraft movie. It’s being mega produced by mega-producer Charles Roven who helped The Dark Knight make more money than many small nations last year. The Comingsoon article (linked previously on this paragraph because I felt like it) goes on to give a congratulatory handjob detailing how successful Blizzard (fuck Activision. They had no hand in this) has become because of WoW’s logic defying, life changing, near religious status amongst millions of nerds and non-nerds alike. And girls.

“At its core, ‘Warcraft’ is a fantastic, action-packed story,” said Raimi. “I am thrilled to work with such a dynamite production team to bring this project to the big screen.”

I won’t deny that, but does anybody really want to watch 2 to 3 hours of high fallutin’, serious as nails in the scrotum, fantasy? Because the Warcraft storyline isn’t exactly the type of cheap escapist fare most look for in a summer flick. On top of that, most pf the millions playing WoW probably don’t give two shits about the underlying storyline. They play for the social aspects and the never ending array of loot.

Unless the end result is some earth rending sword or another, I don’t think a single WoW players cares if an NPC dies or not.

But who cares about my opinion, right? The movie, as of now, is being made. It’ll probably cost the GDP of Niger to make and a mildly acned geek somewhere probably just creamed his pants.

I’m just not that confident the demand is there to justify this grossly expensive endeavour. At least we’ll get a solid movie because of Raimi.