When Emoticons Just Aren't Enough

The internet age is one marked by misunderstandings in the realm of communication. Indeed, though man has split the atom, gone to the moon and made Anime available to every human on the face of the planet,  it has also become easier for simple comments like "Nice work" to lead to the personal equivalent of World War Three (did Ham radio users ever suffer from this? There's a thesis paper in there somewhere) . To avert relational Armageddon, clever people came up with "emoticons". Initially simple ascii text symbols such as the 'smiley face' shown here, : ) and the enigmatic nerd in the toupee who thinks he's cool but is actually clueless ?8^), these eventually developed into graphic symbols such as these:

I'm sorry, but this doesn't tell me anything

We are anything but a static society, and things that may have worked in the past have become obsolete, the way toaster ovens were replaced by things like i-phones (I guess- I'm not very tech savvy). It should also be kept in mind that we are as a society getting "stupider" by the minute, and less capable of interpreting the subtleties of emoticons. I therefore propose switching to Imagicons™, a new and more expressive form of communications where tiny images at the ends of sentences are replaced with large pictures at the end of paragraphs.

This one says, 'I KNEW I should have shot that guy'

I have included an extended example below. I heard today that someone named Dionne Brand won $75k for some poems at a competition. Being a fan of old skool poetry I took a look at some of her work. See if you can guess how I felt about her 'work' by looking at my Imagicons™:

'Thirsty'
This city is beauty
unbreakable and amorous as eyelids,
in the streets, pressed with fierce departures,
submerged landings,
I am innocent as thresholds
and smashed night birds, lovesick,
as empty elevators

let me declare doorways,
corners, pursuit, let me say
standing here in eyelashes, in
invisible breasts, in the shrinking lake
in the tiny shops of untrue recollections,
the brittle, gnawed life we live,
I am held, and held

why, the touch of everything blushes me,
pigeons and wrecked boys,
half dead hours, blind musicians,
inconclusive women in bruised dresses
even the habitual gray-suited men with terrible
briefcases, how come, how come
I anticipate nothing as intimate as history

would I have had a different life
failing this embrace with broken things,
iridescent veins, ecstatic bullets, small cracks
in the brain, would I know these particular facts,
how a phrase scars a cheek, how water
dries love out, this, a thought as casual
as any second eviscerates a breath

and this, we meet in careless intervals,
in coffee bars, gas stations, in prosthetic
conversations, lotteries, untranslatable
mouths, in versions of what we may be,
a tremor of the hand in the realization
of endings, a glancing blow of tears
on skin, the keen dismissal in speed

 See? It works great!

-Mandrake

Auf Wiedersehen Machos!

From SPIEGEL ONLINE

A new manifesto from the German Green Party aims to banish macho men for good. It has stirred debate among men, even if a number of female Green politicians remain unconvinced.... The signatories include several Green politicians from the European parliament, the German Bundestag as well as local Green leaders. "We no longer want to be macho," it declares, "we want to be people. You are not born a man, you are turned into one."

* * * * *

I don't think even Dieter saw this coming.

I didn't have time to read the whole article, because I was too busy wrestling bears and alligators. "Who won, Mandrake"? I'm glad you asked me that! I beat the Alligator best two-out-of-three falls, but the bear was really giving me a hard time up until I shot him.

The German Green Party: Never have so few done so little for so many.

Will they manage to turn REAL men into Non-Macho men on a global scale? Maybe. They've already got to Harrison Ford and Ryan Reynolds, though I doubt they'll get the likes of Nicolas Sarkozy or Baron Meinster, unless they turn out to be the same guy. I guess I'll have to retreat to my Bunker I dug in the backyard sooner than expected.

The contents:

-DVD box-set of Rachel Welch films
-Fridge
-No.1 Hatchet
-No.2 Hatchet
-Combination Hatchet/Philips Screwdriver
-Swiss Army Hatchet
-10 Beef carcasses
-600 pounds salt
-2 tons of Harmless Tobacco
-Pipe
-Emergency Pipe
-Copy of Robinson Crusoe
-Tricorne Hat
-Omega Bomb from 'Beneath the Planet of the Apes'

Mandrake

* * * * *

Additional- Know Your Enemy

The New German Male™
   Size: Moderate to Swabian
   Weapons: Whining, followed by angry Haiku-Storm on Twitter
   Fear Factor: Unbelievably Low
   Likely Outcome of Hand-to-Hand Struggle: Unconscious non-Macho man sprawled on the floor. 
   Likeliness of Attack: Surprisingly high. Just fail to put enough cinnamon in his Latte and stand back.
   Defense: Taking away their hand lotion and lip balm will render them helpless.
   Bad Move: Hiding out in a woman's lingerie section of a department store.

Major Matt Mason vs Bullet-Man (for the over-40's)

Major Matt showing off his impressive Aikido Skills

Why aren't we all driving one of these NOW?!?!

Remember these Toys from the Old-Daze? Major Matt Mason had a squared-away haircut to differentiate him from deviated preverts and Hippies like Al Gore and Susan Sarandon. The figure was made of rubber with metal wires in the arms and legs for posability. Sometimes they would break and poke through his skin like green-stick fractures, and even with such unbearably painful wounds his facial expression remained a determined "America First". The Walker was cool with an automatic cable-retractor. The jerky walking-motion is probably what eventually drove the Major crazy- that and two tours in Central America.

Do you remember that squeeky sound his limbs made when you bent them? I think all the internal wires snapped after 3 days, leaving him permanently rubber-legged, like he was on a eternal Jovian malt liquor-fueled bender. But that walker was certainly the coolest toy of the 20th century- way better than BulletMan and his shiny bullet helmet and velour undies. And the string he rode in on.

Snappy outfit, shiny metal arms- what's not to like?

Insert thought image of your choosing

Bullet-Man's arms squeaked too. And remember the hooks on his backs, that allowed him to slide on a string, and ram headfirst into his target? Now in retirement, he can't remember who was president after Woodrow Wilson. He had shiny metallic-looking plastic arms and legs (Bullet-Man, not Wilson). Also the joints on the wrists and ankles were useless, to the extend that he couldn't stand up under his own power. You had to prop him up between two books or put him into some kind of balsa-wood wheelchair you made for him. No wonder he wore that fruity helmet- he was too ashamed to be seen in public.

Take a look at Bullet-Man's head. It immediately answers the question "What was George Lazenby doing in the late 70's?". He was modeling for this plastic toy, or was perhaps himself the real Bullet-Man.

The name is Man ...... Bullet-Man.

It's all true- I was there. What was my point? I can't remember- it was a long time ago.

Mandrake

The Taming of the Shrimp: 'Be Prepared' to Avoid Mirrors!

From Cool to Fool; from Oh Wow! to Chairman Mao

Looks like the Scouts have got a new look... a wrong look, but one that matches the general slide into the boring, grey universe we call the 21st century, where Indian-Fighting Cardinals and Dynamite are not welcome (even Godzilla needs a special visa to get in). See, Scouts is not supposed to be about making sugar-free Jello out of mulberry leaves or writing your congressman about saving wetlands.

It's supposed to be like when I was in Scouts- half-starved kids jumping out of trees onto ferocious jaguars armed with pen-knives (the Scouts, not the jaguars), battling for their meat and skins for our lives, or making campfires so huge you could see them from the latest Apollo mission in space. OK, maybe we didn't do that kind of stuff, BUT WE DREAMED ABOUT IT. Our heroes were Chuck "Chunk" Yaeger and maybe Zorro- men of action. Some of us liked Abe Lincoln, because he freed the slaves AND invented Graeco-Roman wrestling, or so we thought at the time.

Listen, Scouting was started out as a way to turn boys into men, get them to be self-sufficient and active-minded, and maybe backup the Cops, at least in the schoolyards. Also they were meant to be custodians of the various knots you can make with rope.

"See Billy? Use the sheet-bend to tie up Vampires, and the clove-hitch for Werewolves"

See, the old uniform says 'hand me a broken broomstick and I'll start ferreting out commies and their jaguar allies when the balloon goes up'. Just what does the new uniform say to you? Be honest! It says something like 'We're collecting cardboard to make a shanty-town for retired Manatees', or 'Hurray, just I got my badge in software installation!". They've already taken away their knives for pity sake (see previous posts), now the cool uniform that made you look like some kind of explorer in the Amazon, the stuff dreams are made of. Next they'll come for the snappy salute.

Baden Powell once said "A Scout is never taken by surprise; he knows exactly what to do when anything unexpected happens." I'm pretty sure he never saw this coming.

Suffice it to say Baden-Powell is spinning in his grave. In fact he's so upset he totally missed having tea with Gordon of Khartoum this afternoon.


Mandrake

Fixing Hollywood, Part III: Ask Not What Hollywood Can Do For You

One of the biggest problems with Hollywood is the gigantic egos of the Stars. Some famous examples are Christian Bale's freakout on the set of Terminator IV. Mind you, the realization that the film was laughably bad might have unhinged him during the shoot. Then there was that time William Shatner ran over Justin Timberlake with his SUV, and then had the audacity to claim the subsequent car-wash as a tax write off. Now I might have dreamed that last one, but so did you, so we're even.

Me? Pay for a Car-Wash?!!? Do you know who I am? 

Remember the Oscars a few years back when some of the Stars complained that their gift baskets were not up to snuff? The nerve! It's a gift, you Baked-Alaskans! They don't owe it to you! Here's a little sample of the kind of stuff they got:

-Gourmet artisan chocolate creations from Chocolatines by Sweet Endeavours that will sweeten the bitter Oscar loss with a 16-piece Contempo Collection, Chocolate-dipped Bacon, Matcha Sesame Bark, Mini Lux Turtles and Diamond Collection Champagne Ganache

-Fancy Feast's "Celebrate the Moment" gift package including a FlipCam Mino, Tiffany crystal-studded cat collar and an assortment of Fancy Feast Appetizers for Cats

-$4,000 limited edition (only 125 made) luxury Leather Travel Bag from Victorinox, makers of the Original Swiss Army Knife

-Private island vacation at the Turks & Caicos Sporting Club at Ambergris Clay

-La Peau Couture Organic Wrinkle Diminishing Serum (priced at $499 per jar)

Now I like Diminishing Serum as much as the next guy, but you won't see me whining like Annakin Skywalker to the Jedi Council if I don't get any for free. What about the crazy stuff they demand in their contracts, like a bowl of M&Ms in their dressing room, with all the red ones removed, placed in a rocket and fired into space? Someone needs to set an example for these people so we can get on with the business of quality movie making. If I ever make it to Hollywood, my demands would be more practical and sensible:

-A Dominoes Pizza kiosk in my dressing room

-Spiderman as my personal assistance/houseboy

-Portal to another dimension (dimension to be specified later)

Thank you for your time.

Mandrake

The Good Old Daze

I come from the Good Old Days™, a time when folks took things easy, except for Communism and maybe the Alien threat. Other than those two things we were swimming in butter, and sometimes in gravy, and when they came out with "Gravy Butter", well, let me tell you brother, we swam in it. There were also contests where dolls showed off their legs and guys would stare at them for hours. We called them "staring contests", and unlike these days, it didn't carry the death sentence, because we were all taking it easy.

It wasn't a crime back then

To be honest, it wasn't all Lollipops and Moon-Pies. In fact when I was little, gravity wasn't free. If you didn't put a nickel in the meter in front of your house, your dog would float all the way to Pluto (that's how Mickey's dog got his name). Since knives hadn't been invented yet, you had to cut loaves of bread and salami with skates (incidentally, Speed-Carving was a Winter Olympic event until 1968). There was no "baseball" or even "stickball" since wood was $1000/lbs. We had to play soccer in the middle of a lake because fields and shores were owned by wealthy fatcats who never shared. Brothers and sisters weren't invented until 1977, so we had to talk to life-like puppets when we needed the advice of older siblings.

Those were the good old days.

Mandrake

Mandrake's Mystical Mailbag

I don't USUALLY answer people's mail, although sometimes I answer mail addressed to me. So anyway, here goes:
 
* * *
Dear Mandrake,

I ride the bus to work every day, and I don't think I can stand it anymore. People are just too damned ugly! Should I buy a car?

Sincerely,

Zira
* * *

Hey Zira, walk the walk!

Sounds like the world's got you down, Zira. See, if you would consent to drive an earth-rescuing car instead of bus, your perspective would change entirely. When you drive,

-People become nothing more than insects/targets that you can avoid or destroy at your leisure. Hipsters, Hare Krishnas, Botanists, Nazis and Civil servants all sort of blend into a middle aged man of middle height wearing a gray coat.

-On a bus, your odds of sitting beside deposed Haitian Dictator Francois "Papa Doc" Duvalier are about 1 in 175,000,000, maybe even less, 'cause he's dead. BUT your chance of sitting beside Cher, a much more frightening prospect, are only 1 in 27,455,309. If you want to play the odds, be my guest, Mrs. Daredevil. As for me I'd rather not risk it.

-People become less revolting because you have no time to focus on their facial imperfections or greasy Mongol mustache/beards, or sweat that looks like some kind of bear grease. In fact, the refraction of your windshield has been scientifically proven to make people look 15% more palatable.

-As (effectively) your own rocket ship Captain, you come and go as you please; if you decide on a little side-trip to pick up a snow-cone or some ammunition, it's nobody's business but yours and possibly the police's.

-There's always a seat for you, unless you arrive at your car and find the Ghost Czar™ pretending he was allowed/capable of operating a car. This would be a rare occurrence, however.

Keep'em flying!

Mandrake