More Toppings Than There Are Stars In The Sky!

 

How are you feeling? Do you feel good? I hope you're doing okay out there in the world, getting shit done and making shit happen like a fucking boss. Me? I'm cool, I suppose. Nothing new to report on my end. Roger Corman used to follow me on Twitter, The moment I discovered that was the greatest moment of my life. Then at some point after my account was hijacked by some boner pill spam-bot, Roger Corman stopped following me on Twitter. I haven't tweeted since, and I have no desire to do so. I'm nobody, so nobody ever gave a shit about my tweets. I felt like I was pissing in the wind, so I decided to cut that shit out.

Twitter... bah! I'm pretty sure this Twitter thing is over, anyway. Who even tweets, these days? Nobody I know, that's for damn sure! It was just a passing fad, and now it's on its way out, soon to be tossed on the shit heap along with pogs, the Furby, and that Ben 10 nonsense, whatever the fuck that was. What the fuck is a Ben 10? We may never know. One delightful evening last year, I was babysitting my counterfeit nephew, and he whipped out a well-worn Ben 10 action figure on me like I was supposed to know what it was. He giggled excitedly as he repeatedly squeezed its gnarly legs together, causing the toy's right arm to rhythmically slap its chest like some deranged Celine Dion cosplayer. I had no idea how to react to this, so I locked myself in my bathroom for several minutes, downing several bottles of hard cider, clutching a  lit cigarette in one shaking hand.

I finally composed myself and exited the bathroom, surrounded by a cloud of stale smoke and despair, and I sat down with the young boy once again. He thrust an old, fire-damaged Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy action figure in my hands, and I proceeded to stare a cherished childhood memory in the face for what seemed like an eternity. This toy had once been mine! Apparently, the boy had found it several months before in the house he shared with his mother and step-father, who happened to be my brother. This house was once occupied by our entire family until several years ago, and as soon as it became vacant, my brother moved in, having been made recently homeless after a bad break-up. A lot of our family's stuff remained in the house after the move, including furniture and many old boxes filled with old stuff destined for the landfill, but when my brother decided to set up shop in the place, all that shit became his problem.

I hadn't seen this particular action figure in many years, having enjoyed many long afternoons sharing exciting adventures with "Bones" and the rest of the crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise in my youth. And as I held this half-ruined hunk of plastic in my hands, the lone survivor of my once-cherished Star Trek action figure collection, all of those memories came flooding back. For one bright, shining moment, I was a little kid again, zooming around my backyard with Captain Kirk and company, saving the grassy galaxy from our dog Wally, who was my stand-in for The Doomsday Machine. I could feel the nostalgic tears filling my eyes as my heart grew three sizes, like some bargain basement Grinch.

Then the kid told me he was going to throw "Bones" away because he was a stupid toy that couldn't do anything as he waved his arm-flapping Ben 10 toy in the air, shooting invisible lasers at the good doctor from an invisible raygun in its other, non-flapping hand. I felt so profoundly empty in the moments that followed, as if my very soul had been torn from my body while this child forced me to take part in his anarchic action figure game, constantly changing the rules to prevent me from ever winning as he repeatedly slammed his Ben 10 thing against my deformed Dr. McCoy. I contemplated sharing my love of classic Trek with the boy, perhaps even sharing several beloved episodes of the original series in an effort to illustrate why Dr. McCoy is anything but "boring", but he wouldn't have understood or cared. If it's not Spider-Man or Ben 10 or some shit called Lego Chima he couldn't be bothered to care about it at all. He'd probably sit through ten minutes of Requiem For Methuselah before calling it "stupid" and wandering off to go stare at a wall and think about candy or some such nonsense.

I don't know what's cool, anymore. I don't have my finger on the pulse of pop culture. I don't know what the fuck a Ben 10 is, and I don't care. What... was I trying to make a point? I don't even know, anymore.

I guess it's time to introduce the latest episode of Bones Fuck Twitter 10, because I can't think of anything else to say. This brand-new installment was recorded during the most recent Golden Globe Awards telecast, and much bourbon was imbibed during this session. Most of the audio was essentially worthless, consisting mostly of bursts of unintelligible laughter, coughing, slurred mumbling and clanking glass. The following six minutes of noise are basically all I could salvage from the debacle. It's something special:

Chapter 53: Curse Of The Taco Mummy



I must now take my leave, for the sun has set and my urge to watch Showgirls for the 17,000th time has become overwhelming.

TIME MARCHES ON(OMI MALONE)!

EMPOWERMENT!