Eclectic Oatmeal

Wonder Woman, Lasso Full of Lame

Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on February 26, 2009

Wonder Woman: A Lasso Full of Lame
See that raven haired, red boot wearing, lasso toting female over there, with the cool super heroes? Stop looking at her, you’ll be thoroughly disappointed. Beneath her blue, star spangled leotards you’ll see a soul full of disappointment and a comic writer’s favorite sexual fantasies.
She has the laundry list of DC powers, flying and super strength., Which is really all one needs to have to be a crime fighter, yet she still fails in being cool due to her gadgets. Every girl likes to accessorize, and Wonder Woman is no exception. But unlike Batman’s ultra cool batterangs or Green Lantern’s all mighty ring, Wonder Woman went to Good Will to get her fighting supplements. Her lasso of truth, which is an obvious throwback to William Moulton Marston’s S&M fetishes. She wrangles up opponents, ties them up, and they are compelled to tell their faux Leather Mama their deepest secrets. Her next item of stupidity is her bullet deflecting arm bands. These would be cool to unknowing eyes, but if you examine Marston’s personal life you’ll find some revealing things. One of his two lovers always wore silver bracelets, much like Wonder Woman. I don’t know how he decided they would deflect bullets, but knowing about the Magic Lasso, I don’t want to know. The last thing on the list is probably the worst thing in comic book history. An invisible plane. An invisible plane that you can see Wonder Woman, sitting in the cockpit like an idiot. It’s like she’s playing air guitar except with planes. Even worse, she can fly on her own. These useless tools of superhero trade should be traded in for better powers, or at least a better kryptonite. Her weakness is being tied up, which makes her powerless. Again with the SM references!
Another thing that makes Wonder Woman the worst comic character ever, is her main villain, Cheetah. Cheetah is a socialite with a split personality disorder, who is angered at Wonder Woman, whom trumped her at a charity event. Even worse, Wonder Woman has problems defeating this novae rich princess. Superman could defeat Cheetah in a heartbeat, but for some reason Wonder Woman has issues defeating this loser in leopard print pajamas.
Wonder Woman will be known forever as the lamest super heroine to fly the face of the earth.

In this essay, I divided up different reasons as to why Wonder Woman is the worst super hero ever thought of. I pointed out how the author uses his own creepy fetishes to create powers and situations for Wonder Woman to overcome, and insulting women while doing so. Feminists laud Wonder Woman, but if they read between the lines they’d be appalled at her gross promiscuity.

Advertisements

The Nursing Home

Posted in Depressing by Bryan on February 25, 2009

I sit here, trying not to move in fear of rattling my bones like a box full of coins. Florence says its all in my head, what does she know? She’s just as senile as the rest of these old bastards in the home. My days are spent sitting in my wheelchair, looking out at Peggy and Rodger playing soccer, showing no effects of crippling arthritis like me, how I wish to be them. Instead I sit with the window open, feeling the breeze tickle past my plastic bag of a face. Waiting for Osiris to sweep me out of my prison and into Shangri-La, or hell.
I’m in hell, I’m awaiting my bi-monthly letter, from my offspring, Mr. Miller. I get one page of 16 point, double spaced, empty words detailing his life. Telling me of his beautiful with many rooms, many rooms that I cant have. A room I cant take due to my age. I’m too difficult to deal with, sitting there looking out the window might give his neighbors the wrong impression.
It would be better than this place. Surrounded by youthful ancients fooling themselves that they aren’t in the food processor of life. Waiting to be grinded up and flushed down the drain. Fooling themselves into thinking they are immortal. Going out and swinging their wrists to and fro to the rhythm of the tennis balls. Smacking it around like the notion of dying. Serving it to the other court to deal with, hoping that their opponents don’t catch them off guard.
I get sick of watching them, I wheel myself into the cafeteria. For the first few minutes, I eat my lasagna, watching Carol slurping up pureed jello and watching in the distance the television screen playing daytime drama. Many of them watch the screen, not paying attention to the dialogue, just staring at the movements of the cast, dreaming of their lost vitality.
A bouncy couple comes in after I put down 2 layers of the lasagna. They look throughout the room, Catherine tells them that their leech is going to be a little late. She’s busy with water aerobics. They smile, happy that their abandoned sage is still pushing back the clock’s hand. They scan the room, looking for a place to sit, lasagna night is a real party for us, due to the fact we can’t sneak in liquor. They see me sitting alone, and they decide to shine a light like Apollo. I decide to play Hermes. They disgust me, with their jumpsuits and blond poofy hair. Acting like they jogged to this grave to share news of great tidings.
“Well hello there! My name is Sharon and this is Stanley!” The woman says.
“People just call me Styx though!” He chuckles, god is trying to tell me something.
“My name is George.” My ordinary name.
“Well George, mind if we sit with you and eat some Lasagna! It sure smells good!” Sharon says, treating me like an enfant. I was once a great historian, and here I am being talked to like Baby New Years.
“Sure.” I smile, wincing inside. I will make them pay.
Stanley leaves to grab some lasagna, Sharon smiles at him as he wades away. “We’re here to see his mother.” She fiddles with a straw, I make her feel uncomfortable. This might not be so bad.
“Who is the lucky matron, you know I might know her!”
“Lucille? Small, big glasses? Adorable, really!” If she was so adorable she wouldn’t be living here. I don’t know her all the same.
“Oh! I know her! She’s a feisty one, she sure is! Sassy Lucille everyone calls her. Always speaking her mind!” Sharon smiles, “So, which wife are you?”
Sharon cocks her head, “Excuse me?”
“Oh golly, I wasn’t supposed to say that, you know us old folks!”
“Tell me Gramps, what was with that comment?”
“Well, Lucille is a real chatterbox. And she is always talking about her unloyal son, according to her, he comes here with 3 different women. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. I think they’re all sisters, I mean, they all have the same facial features and what not.”
“What kind of names are those! I bet they are black, social security, whores!” Wow, I picked a winner. A closet rascist, today is the best I had in a while.
Lucille comes into the room, still wearing her swimming cap. My luck persists, her nurse is black. Sharon stands up. “You!” She starts striding over to the nurse. “You and your skanky sisters, better stay away from my husband!”
The nurse is totally blind sided, “What?”
Lucille retorts, “What are you talking about Sharon?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about! In fact I bet you told everyone in this hospital about your ass-son!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, and I really don’t like your tone!”
The nurse tries to mediate, “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You are causing trouble.”
“Yeah, I bet your kind knows about trouble.” The nurse is shocked, and strides out of the room with a mission.
“I can’t believe you said that to her! Sharon, I don’t know what has gotten into you.”
“I’ll tell you what has happened. Just when my life gets all pieced together, and my guilt about the miscarriages finally washed away I hear about my husband’s jungle bunny fever that YOU probably arranged. Hoping that someone could produce your… your… SPAWN!”
Lucille slapped her across the face, “How dare you speak of me, my son, and Peggy like that.
“Peggy…?” This is the time for me to roll on out. The last I see of Sharon is her putting her hands to her face and slowly collapsing to the floor as the security guards come to escort her out. Peggy is sitting at the nurse’s station, Dr. Schneider with his hand on her shoulder, as she looks into the eternity of her desk. Everyone played their parts well, I mosey on down to my room. When I enter though, I see a woman with skin radiating gold, and when she turns around, I see that her eyes aren’t eyes, They are coins. She is holding a bouquet of ever changing flowers.
“That was an interesting game you played there, George.”
“Who… what’re you…”
“I am death.”
I have to believe her, her eyes are the ancient coins of Greece.
“Have you come to take me?”
“In a sense.” There is a silence. “George, I have become enlightened. You do realize that don’t you?” I nod, staring at the ground. “ A thousand years ago, I was a mighty warrior. I ravished in slaughtering my enemies one by one. Relishing their blood against my blade. I felt death was a sport. Until one day I died suddenly from a chariot accident. The Grim Reaper came for me, telling me that becoming the god Death is my path to enlightenment.”
“Enlightenment?”
“Yes, there are many things to learn after you shift into your next entity. I spent the past millennium seeing deaths of all kind. At first I laughed at their weakness and mortality. But when I pondered, I realized how valuable life is. Then, I thought about the sins of my past, how I took great minds and great warriors away from me in my struggle for power.”
“Why me…?”
“You possess great knowledge. You treat human lives as entertainment, and when you aren’t corrupting people, you are spending it in this room. Watching ‘Livers’ with jealousy and contempt.” I stare at her ever changing bouquet. She smiles, “I’m excited for retirement. I hear they have great lasagna.”
“But, I’m not dead.” As I say that, I notice a bleeding from my stomach, I turn around, and see Sharon’s bloody hand holding a knife that was meant to cut pasta. I stare back at the Goddess. Her coins display a mixture of remorse, pity, and excitement to whatever destination awaits her. I slump onto the ground, feeling more powerful and free than ever. I stand up, looking at my body.
“You must take this.” She hands me the flowers.
“What is it for?”
“These flowers are all the flowers that are set on graves. It is one of the many items you need as death” As she hands me the flowers, the coins fall from her eyes, revealing a guilty ebony stare. The gold is turned into a deep tan, and she is wearing battle armor from ancient times. It remains for a while, as an entity I have no concept of time. After that, it slowly morphs into a matronly dress. Her supple skin starts to sag, and her hair grays. “Old age is something I’ve always pondered about.”
I look around, Sharon isn’t there. My body isn’t there. “I hope you don’t mind if I use your existence.”
I’m bewildered, “No… that’s okay.” I start walking out, carrying the flowers. I end up in front of the home, feeling as I did 53 years ago, when I moved out of the house.

The Flaming Dissillusionment.

Posted in gay, gaydar, hilary, Pathetic, resentment of the world, sadness, self esteem by Bryan on February 24, 2009

Boarding the sub with my rag-tag group of lesbians, and those whom like to think they are, I journey to PRIDE. I look at the window at the swirling greens of trees, the neon oranges and purples of graffiti, and the ungodly manliness of our chaperone. I am half there, half somewhere else. I only got an hour of sleep, attempting to sleep in a dark turquoise tent, with my cushions being replaced by rocks. I went outside during the night to try to read my summer reading project, but give up due to the black sky. I look up to the giant moon for hours, and behold the silence of twilight. I’ll need it for the loud, camp people of the festival.
After the trip, we’re an hour late, missing the parade. Our group only gets to see the Queen of all Drag Queens waving to her admirers while her car crawls on by. I am instantly bored, this isn’t my scene. My group consists of Hilary, the leader of the group and my then best friend. There are many words to describe her, many of which wouldn’t be appropriate. Yet, She was my confidant, someone to be chatty, nerdy, and destructive with. She was my long lost sister at that time. She had her boyfriend with her, a blob of a boy who is being pulled by her hand to watch the events of the day. There is Julia and Renee, two girls who talked endlessly on the way there about how they were going to dress up as Disney princesses for homecoming. There was Justin, who annoyed me with his camp nature, and his dire need to use long words that don’t flow or fit into his sentences. Brutus, which wasn’t his real name, but it fits his thug demeanor, and his mom, who was the manly chaperone from before. She could also be named Brutus.
Our group enters the fairground section, littered with booths containing porn raffles, anonymous groups, hemp salesmen, and gay newspapers. In beginning was able to fill a bag provided by metro health, it mostly contained condoms, coming out pamphlets, and PETA cards. Hilary was enjoying the nature of the fair, being the free spirit she is. She won a corn holing game, which granted her a special bikini. It was the gaudiest, most worthless, and explicit bikini ever. It was held together by one inch white rope that holds boats to docks, and the bikini part was made of pink pleather. The best part was that it had holes in all the worst (or fun, depending on whom you are asking) places. It looked like something Barbie would wear to the beach, in hell. She placed it over her newly minted GSA shirt. It wasn’t complete, she needed to accessorize. Eternally damned Barbie would be proud. She grabbed her Marti Gras necklace from her bag, and slung it over her head. She rummaged through her handy-dandy bag of pleasures to find a condom, tied that to the necklace, she continued to do this with all of her prizes of oversexed gay people until she made a tribal amulet of erotic power. Julia and Renee were disgusted, they thought Hilary took it too far, and over eroticized  the whole occasion. I thought Hilary’s attire was hilarious.
I didn’t like the other people at the convention besides a few members of the group. I wandered about, looking like a ghost. It was a hot summer day, before a horrible storm, the dark clouds illuminating my mood. I was newly outed, still handling the gay concept with a grain of salt. I sat in the audience, staring at the clouds, still dead tired from not sleeping, I gorged myself on pretzels, we were in a grassy pavilion, which showcased LGBT bands who wouldn‘t be note worthy if it weren‘t for the fact that they are gay. I tried to listen to Acoustic Lesbians, but didn’t have the will to actually pay attention. I saw Dennis Kucinich, that was pretty cool, he was probably the only person I could relate to in the whole festival, only for the weird last name. I just couldn’t relate to the flamers that I was supposed to call my family, I didn’t find them attractive, interesting, or funny at all. It made me uncomfortable, ashamed, and claustrophobic. Is this what I have to look forward to? Being forever bound to a lich with a lisp? Even worse, Is this how I act? Do I run throughout the halls with a long, rainbow ribbon, singing Cher to express whom I am? Is that what I have to do to gain acceptance? Should I construct a necklace of eccentric objects to make people more aware of me? I didn’t, and don’t think so.
Alas, I eventually find someone sane, and dating material. Bearded, holding a camera, looking for something to snap a picture of, there he was. I could instantly imagine him and I sitting around, listening to Death Cab for Cutie records as he is in his red lighted room, looking at the negatives at the freaks he took pictures of, and I am scribbling away at my comics on the couch. I couldn’t pass this chance up. I head over, not paying attention to my surroundings. I don’t hear Julia’s and Renee’s cry’s. Now I can see them, waving me down, in slow-mo. I feel like I’m from a Vietnam movie, slow motion, heading towards a landmine. I approach him, I have no idea that my hopes for the day will be slashed down.
“Hey, Are you gay?” I ask timidly. It was a reasonable question though.
“Why do you ask?” Beard-face responds, a petite friend next to him.
“Because I totally find you attractive.” I feel like I’m throwing myself to the mercy of the jury. I mean, Russell Crowe from could come up with a less awkward pickup line than that.
“This is my girlfriend.” He points over to the nymph I mentioned before, I die inside.
“Don’t worry, I find him attractive too.” Its like I’m being dragged to the electric chair.
“Well, I don’t blame you! Well, see you!” After that was a blur, I think I brushed his porcupine haired arm as I walked back to my adventuring party. The girls tell me that they saw them acting like couples, but that they are proud of me, that was my first “walking up to someone and making a fool of one’s self” ever! I felt proud that I was able to do that, but I still felt like shit for not snagging Beard-Face. We go back to the pavilion, where Acoustic Lesbians were playing earlier. We sit on the grass, I eat more pretzels, as if consuming them will rid me of my humiliation. I see the couple walking by, I dive behind Renee, to avoid their laughing stare.
I want to go home after this. This community has no home for me. I will go back to the days of being the fifth wheel if it means I don’t have to spend eternity with Boy George. We leave, in the same subway station, now complete rain! Attacking anything it lands on. I go home, lay on the couch, shrug at my parent’s questions about Gay-Day. I slip in a coma, while watching anime I’ve seen a thousand times over.

In this essay, I show my disillusionment to my “group” of people by telling a story. I don’t fit in, I don’t have a place for me to be. I’m like a nomad of people. I illustrate this by telling a story.

I’ve been writing essays for my LA class. So I’m going to double dip them and post them here!

Tagged with: ,

Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on February 15, 2009
A comic, with a fight scene.

A comic, with a fight scene.

As you can see, I rushed the last panel. I wish that manga debut can save into different file types instead of shitty-ass jpegs. Crap, I forgot to take out the sketch lines. Oh well, an update is an update.

Rough draft

Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on February 11, 2009
NOT FINAL

NOT FINAL

Tagged with: ,

Hello world!

Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on February 10, 2009

Welcome to WordPress.com. This is your first post. Edit or delete it and start blogging!

Sorry for the lack of posts.

Posted in Uncategorized by Bryan on February 7, 2009

I’ve been super busy!

I’ll try to post one today. But no promises.