Thank You, World!
A special thanks to everybody who downloaded my newest mp3! Thanks to all your support, "Inner Atmosphere" is now at #1 on the techno charts on mp3.com, eclipsing a bunch of other stuff that sounds exactly alike and contains sound clips of women moaning. Once again, a positive blow for justice has been struck, and it was all thanks to the wonderful Something Awful readers. Kudos to you, gents!
PS: A Something Awful forum regular, JRR, also holds #2 with his "All Your Base" song, "Invasion of the Gabber Robots." It's awfulness on a grand scale!
The Good, the Fat, and the DNA
As a child, I often assumed that everything my parents told me was a complete and total lie. After all, these were the people who attempted to convince me that on the night of December 24th, a fat man named "Saint Nick" would appear in the chimney and deliver gifts under the Christmas tree. With the exception of one Christmas party where Uncle Nick got drunk on eggnog, tripped and fell near the fireplace, and stole half my mom's silverware shortly before throwing up all over himself and screaming "HAPPY NEW YEAR" until he passed out in the driveway, this claim never came true. After such a traumatic experience, I began to develop an inherent mistrust of my parents, which according to many ABC After School Specials starring Fred Savage, is the proper way to be a teenager. They tried to convince me that playing video games would get me nowhere. Yeah, sure; if I continued to play games, I'd currently be competing in $30,000 professional gaming contests against kids who have more numbers in their name than letters. They said that doing drugs would ruin my life. That's bullcrap; many druggies have gone on to become famous actors and level designers. The last thing that they mentioned repeatedly was the need to constantly engage in some kind of daily exercise, or else my body would be begin to blimp up and develop boobs in areas where boobs shouldn't be. I naturally assumed this was a lie as well, and began to actively disregard it in college.Artist's representation of me in 20 years. I'm on the right. As you can tell, the artist wasn't very good.
At first, I got away with it. I was blessed with a metabolism that was able to convert things like cupcakes, pies, donuts, cheez-whiz, and raw lard into energy or red blood cells or new bones or whatever the hell the body is supposed to convert food into. I could literally sit around, eat all day, skip college courses, and not gain a pound. I'm not really sure where all the junk food I ate went to. I assume I was able to expel it through my sweat glands, which explains why I would begin wheezing and sweating every time I would somehow manage to propel myself from bed and walk to the bathroom. Yet through this rigorous routine of eating, sitting, and occasionally rotating my head to determine where the strange noises in my closet were coming from, I consistently managed to stay at an even 160 pounds. Never a pound lighter, never a pound heavier. Eventually I took my metabolism for granted and stopped thanking it after cramming Ding Dongs into my mouth. When I write "Ding Dong," I am of course referring to the popular Hostess snack cake, not the slang for a man's penis. I'll save my homosexual college experimentation for another article, possibly one that I write after my parents have passed on.
Things were just peachy up until the point where my body decided to stop converting fat and cholesterol atoms into oxygen, and soon my body began a horrible transformation. My stomach, which was pretty much a flat plane to that point, began to adopt a "pregnant woman with a baby holding a watermelon" kind of look to it. None of the fat went to my arms of course, so I still had the same fragile and scrawny wrists I had in high school, the ones that earned me the nickname "Shower Pisser." No wait, I actually got that nickname because of a different event. My mistake.
The sudden radical shift in my metabolism, combined with the fact that all jobs I've held since college require me to sit in a chair until either 5:00 pm rolls by or I die, aided in reinforcing my iron curtain of flab. Sometimes I would look in the mirror and see the beginnings of man-boobs, which I would attempt to convince myself were muscle. "Lookin' good there, Rich!" I would boast while flexing in the mirror and noticing the fact that every time I moved, my stomach would begin to send ripples of lard waves up and down my chest. "Those tri-lats are coming along quite well." Of course I had no idea what "tri-lats" were, but since I was deeply entrenched in a fantasy world anyway, I didn't really care. Sometimes I would see the smiling face of George Foreman beaming back at me when I shaved.
So what I'm trying to admit here is that my parents were right. They had this exercise thing pegged dead on. I always thought the rumors of becoming fat were just that: rumors. I believed that people were either born fat, or fat people were imported from foreign countries, or fat was some mythical entity like The Easter Bunny or Jack Flack or France. This revelation dawned on me when I noticed my waist size had increased to a respectable bowling score and all my pants started fitting like a pinkie ring around Ron Jeremy's manhood. It is with great remorse that I, Rich "Lowtax" Kyanka, admit I was wrong and my parents were right. This is indeed a historical moment and I will be the first to admit that I am a horrible monster and pray for death. If I continue to keep eating like a slob, this will undoubtedly happen in three months, when my arteries turn to the consistency of drywall. As The Simpsons said (back when their show actually employed writers and they believed in using jokes), "Hey fatty, I've got a movie for you. How about 'A Fridge Too Far'?"
"UFO Car": Tomorrow at 11:00 am!
Filming of Something Awful's first full-length film, "UFO Car," will begin tomorrow, Saturday the 3rd, at 11:00 am sharp. If you live in Southern California and would like to be in the movie or help us film, drop me an email. Lesbians are always welcome, of course.
Choke On This, Batman
Ah yes, it's movie review time. That day of the month where I buckle down and watch some terrible cinematic abomination. What's on today's plate? Simply put, it's the most terrible movie I've ever seen. While films such as "Feeders 2" and "Troll 2" are awful, they're awful in a good way: they're laughably horrible. The effects, acting, and plot are so stupid that you can't help but laugh and enjoyment. I wish that was the case for "Jack Frost 2," a movie equivalent of Hiroshima. Feast on these morsels, human:
Ugh. I suffered through hell while writing this review, so please read it and become acquainted with the myriad of reasons why you should stay away as far as possible from this back alley abortion. Read the review but don't rent the film. Please.
BONUS: Download some "Jack Frost 2" video clips! I know you (don't) want to!
STEAL of the CENTURY, Part II
AwfulVideo is proud to present Part II in the "STEAL of the CENTURY" online video, showcasing the finest quality baseball cards and collectibles. Tune it to today's episode (15 megs) and get one hell of a deal on... well... whatever the hell they're selling. Download now!
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.