Ever notice how when you're rudely awakened, like say by the radio alarm clock going off at 5:00, it's always in the middle of an f'in sweet dream?

So here's the scenario: I was enjoying the last rays of Summer camping down by the ocean in my dad's old truck and camper and there were a few familiar faces, like the two ugliest, most religious girls from high school. In other words: unboneable. So instead of bothering with them, I go down to the shore. It's dark out, and I see this giant metal cougar hovering above the waves, with it's paws extended towards me. I try to hide behind a grassy mound, but I can still feel it's eyes on me. I peek out, and I realize what I'd seen is just an elaborate animatronic statue for tourists to gawk at as their ferry docks. It's designed to come up out of the waves from the top of a submarine. It's glistening silver. At the end of one of it's paws is a flamethrower. It blows flames towards me and I can feel the heat from behind the relative safety of my mound. It dips it's other paw in the water to splash the tourists leaning over the back of the ferry, and I subsequently doused by the spray.

The other part of the dream involves an Angelina Jolie movie on cable. Now she's appeared nude in several movies, but she's full-on hardcore porno-fucking in this one. Only the cable keeps cutting out, saying that I've lost transmission or some such nonsense. There's one scene where she's on her back on a piano and she has he ass so far up in the air she's nearly doubled over. Then it cuts out. Still, frustrated with the cable, I keep watching, and not just for the porn scenes. During the rest of the movie she's killing everyone around her, but she's perfectly calm and collected right up until the moment she slits their throats with a knife she pulls from her hair. It reminded me of those weird foreign films that are supposed to be all hoity-toity, but the only reason that anyone watches them is for brief glimpses of nudity and debauched sex late at night. I give this movie two thumbs up... my own ass.

The other night I had a dream I had to go out behind a bar and pee in these elaborately decorative bushes for an inordinate amount of time after walking in on two retail outlet store employees fucking in a bathtub. I'm seriously pissing for like seven minutes. Plus I'm actually asleep while I'm doing this, so in the back of my mind I'm thinking, "I hope I'm not pissing the bed." As luck would have it, I wasn't, and when I woke up I took a wicked piss.

So the Emmy Awards were held last Sunday night and for some reason they let not one, but five reality show hosts host the show. It was oddly appropriate since reality TV has completely taken over conventional television. It was the only alternative to the months-long reruns that came as a result of the writer's strike. They should have only given half a statuette to the award winners for writing, as that's equal to the job they did. One writer was complaining afterwards because his speech had been cut-off halfway by the show's director, which shows you the level of a writer's importance. The show's director, however, had just won an award for directing another award show, which to me seems like a conflict of interest. Awards shows should not win awards themselves. Ever. It creates a rift in both space and time through which smugness can escape. It's as if someone accepting an award was suddenly presented with a second award for accepting an award, and so on and so forth. I say if your award winning director cuts you off during your acceptance speech after only a few seconds, walk off the stage, down the aisle, and up into the booth where he is, take his statue from him and break it in half. Give it back to him then and tell him he's won the award for being the biggest asshole.

What I've always wondered is: am I supposed to feel sorry for the people who lose? These multi-millionaire drop-dead gorgeous celebrities with their perfect hair and teeth? Am I supposed to feel sorry for them and their pretty dresses and fancy suits? However will they be consoled? Maybe they'll be so upset they'll sklp the after-party altogether and head straight back to their mansions in the stretch limosines to drown their sorrows in 25 year-old Scotch and mountains of cocaine. Why do they still need the confidence boost of a cheap plastic ornament to make themselves happy? They're fucking celebrities. I mean I'm empty inside, but these people make me look like if you cracked me open you'd see the, "Zippety-Doo-Dah," musical scene from Walt Disney.

FUCK!

The Large Hadron Collider has recently hit a snag involving a helium leak that will take two months to properly fix. Now, the Hadron Collider is the largest and complicated machine ever built by man, and a lot of people have questions about it. A lot of misinformation is going around and I thought that I, with absolutely no scientific experience whatsoever, would take a moment to address these questions and alleviate some fears.

Myth: The Hadron Collider will open up a black hole that will destroy the planet.

Fact:  The Hadron Collider will not open any black holes, but it will burst open and candy will come out of it like a pinata.

Myth: The Hadron Collider will give you super-powers if you stand next to it.

Fact: The Hadron Collider will only give you herpes.

Myth: It's actually spelt "Haldron Collider," and was named after the man who developed it.

Fact: No, it's spelt, "Hard-On Collider," and was named after a gay porno.

Myth: The Hadron Collider cost billions to create.

Fact: Construction crews cheaped out on most of the materials, using paper-mache and the like to complete it. The actual cost was $96 Euros, which is 14 cents American if I know my currency at all, and I don't.

Myth: The Hadron Collider is 27km wide and straddles the borders of Switzerland and France.

Fact: Your momma's so fat she's 27km wide and straddles the borders of Switzerland and France.

Myth: The Hadron Collider was built to recreate the Big Bang.

Fact: The Hadron Collider was built to recreate a gang-bang (see: "Hard-On Collider" circa.1987).

I hope that this helps a lot of people out there.

There was an update to Spore two days ago which promised to fix all the bugs that had been causing the game to freeze and crash, but it hasn't. After updating, I tried playing, but of course it froze as usual after a few minutes of play. So it's still unplayable and I wish I could get my money back since I'm definitely a victim of hype.

Hype will kill one in every ten Americans. Please give generously. (Have you ever wondered how to avoid catching a disease you have a 1 in 10 chance of developing? Kill all but eight people. After all, eight is all you need.  Chose wisely, though, as dentists will throw the equation into chaos.)

In the meantime, I've been playing less popular games on my Xbox 360, like Braid, Catan, and the Orange Box. This is the first time I've played a Half-Life game, and it's a little tiring. Every stage passed leads to another too-similar stage. After committing alien genocide, you have to stop and wonder how many more face-hugging Alien bug rip-offs you have to kill (see: "Ender's Game" by Orson Scott Card, which incidentally they're developing into a game based on a movie based on the novel. Who's they? Aliens.) I beat Portal pretty quickly, since it's a short game to begin with. As for Team Fortress, you can't play an online game if no one wants to play with you. That's what sucks about shooters people play only for the online multi-player: as soon as a newer game comes along you might as well throw the game you have in the trash. All those stats you've ranked up mean nothing in about four months time, making your obsession with the game all the more pathetic.

Is anyone interested in WoW's upcoming expansion? It's been nearly a year since the last expansion, and most hardcore gamers had bridged the ten-level-gap between versions in a matter of days, they've been doing nothing but gear-up since. That's a year of doing same instances over-and-over again to gain marginally better equipment for their uber-elite characters, gear that will be antiquated within seconds of the new release. All those hundreds, if not thousands of hours spent grinding will have been for nothing. Then the cycle will begin again. In the end, the only winner is Blizzard, as they gradually take over the real world while you play around with their pretend world.

I'm going to be like Dane Cook and come up with suggestions on how to conduct yourselves. The next time someone asks you to explain yourself, (and I'm talking about the angry, "Explain yourself young man/lady!" kind of way) you should immediately starting singing the Meow-Mix commercial, which -as we know- goes:

"Meow meow meow meow,

Meow meow meow meow,

Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow,

Meow meow meow meow,

Meow meow meow meow,

Meow meow meow meow,

Meow."

(Repeat until they go away).

Afterward, celebrate an "Epic Win!" in a socially unacceptable fashion to repeat the process.

One day, my rage will culminate into a manifesto so profound that the internet will crack asunder under the weight of it's content. My blogs will replace "The Diaries of Anne Frank," and "Walden," as required reading for Grade 11 English Students. It will usher in a new age for man that our minds as they are now cannot perceive for its sheer magnitude. For who can say that it is not truly art, (aside from the artists and the critics and the art critics)? A canvas of cloth cannot contain all that I can paint, and so I use the world wide web, for it is... world wide.

I tried to check online to see if there's any way to fix the numerous errors and glitches in my copy of SPORE for PC, but the site related to solving these errors are also glitched. It's a pity too, because I was just starting to enjoy it, and I don't know if I want to risk playing it again just to have my computer freeze up on me. Some checking proved that I'm not alone with my frustration. Spore's kind of a dud in more ways than one.

One of the interesting things that arose from the Creature Creator prequel to this game is the creature of Sporn, which is pornographic creatures made to look like they have enormous phaluses, or are copulating with a conjoined mate. There's an easily accessible feature in SPORE that allows you to ban such creations, putting a black mark against you. I believe the game itself automatically logs you in, takes all your old offline creations from the Creature Creator edition, and forces them online, so if you happened to have done something like that floating around in your saves, it's now on the interwebs.

I of course, have such creations. There's parts in Creature Creator that are obviously penises and balls, and should be placed accordingly on the creature.

"I have this weird thing, I mean one in every ten kids has it..." -Superbad.

Also, I think I've been banned from Writer's Block on Livejournal due to my insistence that September be renamed, "Fuck You Month." Seriously, they had three different, "September is _____ Month, how do you ______ to ______ your ______?" September isn't anything but a bad idea. Grow a pair.

So today this customer just stands there with his arms crossed and watches while I unload 40 30KG bags of concrete into the back of their truck and never offers to help, (since it's his purchase and his truck) and he doesn't even take that time to get the two extra bags of concrete he needs off of the shelf. Seriously, WTF? That's 1200 KG I had to lift, and you're just going to stand there and scowl? Fuck you, fucker. And when I go to get the last two bags, he snaps, "I need Portland," when I grab the Post Haste. Maybe you should get it yourself then, fucker.

I'm not going to be able to take much more of my job. I've said that in the past, but now I'm going to be putting my resume out there.

So I downloaded SPORE through legitimate means (ie. by purchasing it off of EA as opposed to piratebay), and I've been playing it off-and-on for the last two days. This game's been in development basically since the Sims came out, and it's frozen my more-than-adequate computer about seven times now, forcing me to restart both my game and my computer.

The game itself is less interesting than it's concept. Your goal is to create your own species and take them through their cellular stage, to land-walking creature, to tribal, to civilization, then to galactic conquerors. Each stage has it's own creative tinkering. You create your creature, it's buildings, towns, vehicles, anthems, etc., but it plays like Sid Myer's Civilization with Sims overtones. Most of the fun come from the actual creating, and it's immediately ripped away from you when you see that your creature doesn't cut it in real-life. Then you have to scrap creativity for the most powerful parts. You find yourself sticking some weird spiky-thing on a creature's chest because it's the only place you're able to put a powerful weapon to fight your enemies, which are constantly trying to commit genocide against you. It's like living in Dafur, I suppose.

So most people have nightmares, but how many people wake up in a fit of rage for reasons other than their alarm clocks? I woke up at around six this morning, livid from a dream I had. For some reason, I was taking a shower in my parent's basement inside of a modified laundry washer. I had to squat under a short hose that was dangling above me. Suddenly, through the door window leading out of the laundry room, I could see someone walking up to the fence outside. They began digging through a few piece of scrap wood that had been lying next to the fence, but unsatisfied with what they found they, they ripped off the top of the gate and began walking away.

Enraged by their theft and destruction of my gate, I bounded outside naked and wet and ran after them. "What the hell do you think your doing?" I demanded.

"This was just lying back there in the scrap pile, so I took it," the person lied.

"The hell you did, you tore that off of our gate. Now go put it back," I demanded.

"No, I need it," the said.

"What the hell are you talking about, 'You need it?' It's ours, it's a part of our gate, now go put it back," I insisted.

"I need it for my gate. It's the right size," they kept arguing.

It was fairly obvious at this point that this was a dream about work. I deal with human scavengers on a daily basis who waste vast quantities of my time and patience by wanting to know the prices of little bits of wood they find lying about. They come carrying them to me like pack rats, saying, "It's just the size I need." Should there be no wood for them, they'll fall into a deep depression. Meanwhile, it becomes increasingly difficult to mask my disgust with them. I sell wood. I don't give wood out as presents to underdeveloped rodent people. If they want wood for free they should try the forest.

The thief asks to speak with the manager in a no-nonsense tone. Even though this is my parent's house, one shows up, and I become the target of a heated debate. No one seems to mind I'm naked and wet. The general semblance to the argument is that I am wrong, and that this person should get there way like a spoiled child because they want to. As usual, with all arguments involving anyone I speak to, the other person provides no compelling statements, or evidence to support any claim, besides a basic, "Gimmie gimmie gimmie! Wah wah wah!"

I'm an English Major, which means I had to spend a large portion of my life developing professionally-worded arguments to support my statements in essay after essay after essay. I was judged on the merit of my logic and my carefully researched references. Then I entered into a world of fools who presume the righteousness of their petty causes is enough to persuade anyone. I'm expected to go along with whatever ridiculousness my opponents conjure up. Any attempt to break down their defences is met with, "Are you calling me a liar?" I of course, am, but I am unable to admit it for reasons of employment, or else a lack of heart.

After six years of so of this lifestyle, however, it begins to chip away at your reason. Tempers begin to shorten. I'm actually repulsed by most of the people who greet me nowadays, as unconsciously I can guess at their intent. Their quivering, greasy moustaches belie their childish logic.

There's many situations I encounter which I deem unfair, or unjust. I'm no different from anyone else in that regard. My reaction to a no-win situation involving something so miniscule and bizarre, might even be the same, but as the dream ended, all I was left with was rage.

So I bought an Xbox 360 over the weekend, meaning I finally have a chance to use the hi-def on my TV. I haven't bought any games yet, and after playing a few demos off of Xbox LIve, I'm glad I didn't. The controls for a lot of these games seem like they'd take a long time to get used to. At no point during a game should anyone ever have to pause and go look for a manual to figure out how to kill an enemy, which is what I felt like I had to do during, "Alone in the Dark," and "D.O.A. 4." "Bio-Shock," blew my fucking mind open like a can of beans in a microwave. I know I'm pretty late to the party, but all this is new to me. I downloaded "Castle Crashers," a game best played with four people, and played by myself. In "Castle Crashers," you crash castles. Swarms of enemies will... swarm you... and you try your best not to die. Even if you do die, however, you're sent to a screen where you can adjust your stats, making you more powerful. Along with the cutesy animation, there's some really crude bathroom jokes, like shit-propelled deer rocketing across the screen. Mostly, you're just hacking and slashing, but some of the levels are reminiscent of Super Mario with power-ups that make you giant, green poison balls shooting across the screen and giant, spiky mashers you have to duck under (seriously, what's the deal with Thwomp from Super Mario Bros. 3? He's a living stone block with spikes coming out of him and he can hover up and down, but all he does is drop down at even intervals. You'd think he'd change it up and maybe just hide until he saw Mario come by then drop down, but no, like an asshole he just drops in rhythm You can see him coming from a mile away. Plus he gives you enough time to run past him. If I were him, I do his stupid pound routine, then just as Mario was coming, I'd stop short just above his head then drop. Bowser really needs to train his troops better). Some of the independent games you can download nowadays can kick the ass out of the big-budget titles on store shelves. Anyway, my tag name is, "slappyhands," mainly because at this point, all good names are taken. I've learnt to deal with that.

What happens in 20 years when there's literally no screen names left? Our children's-children won't be able to go on the internet anymore. They'll have to inherit them. In the future, people will be upset when they receive a million dollars in a will instead of the screen name, "kissybear."

I had to blog this because of one obvious error. I thought there were two, but apparently he actually was in, "Tropic Thunder." It list "Shrek," as a Disney movie, when the company is who made it is Dreamworks Animation. One of the key points of interest behind the movie is that it was decidedly not produced by Disney, or Disney-Pixar.

Cartoon villain Tom Cruise : Bang : CelebEdge : Sympatico / MSN

I'm watching the McCain acceptance speech, and I've come to realize that Senator John McCain is no different than Emperor Palpatine from the Star Wars Saga. He's just as old, evil and white to fill that role. A brief pan of the audience proves just as much. Those who follow him are as white as he. Even the black security agents lurking in the background look as though they've been dipped in bleach. The average age of his supporters is 10.000 years old. Yes, Republicans are reanimated mummies. I'm not talking about Mummies from the Bradon Frasier movie, "The Mummy," or any of it's subsequent movies, I'm talking about real 10,000-year-old mummies. Have you seen a mummy without it's bandages? It's like  Play-Doh that's been used already to make a Science Project volcano. They try to show the kids in their public speeches dancing to music we can't hear, (their great-great-grandchildren,)  but we know that once the dance is done, they'll sacrifice them to their mummy-God Ra to prolong their already over-lived mummy-lives. McCain's mom is 96 years old. 96. Former First-Lady Barbara Bush is younger. Have you seen her? It's like looking into a coffin. At 96, you're a corpse. I don't care what anyone says, you should be dead, and I had a 106-year-old Great-Grandma. Try getting kisses from that, you fuckers. One touch and you're cursed by the mummy. At 96, you can't even decompose, because you're already dust. Old dust.

Fuck you.

Just though I should put that in somewhere. There was a time and a place where I'd accept McCain as President, and that was before G.W.B. became President. Back when he was the Bush-Alternative, not the Bush-Adoptee. Seeing Obama as the Democratic nominee is like seeing Jesus brought to life again. Seeing McCain eight years past his prime is like seeing Genghis Kahn 8.000 years past his prime.

There was a time when I would have accepted McCain as a P.O.W. war hero without question, but that time is past. Now I see him as a baby-bombing dick-hole who shouldn't have been spared by his captors. Honestly, if McCain had fire-bombed my village and killed my brothers and sisters, I wouldn't have kept him prisoner. I would  have straight-up shot his ass. So McCain got a few beat-down in war camp? They don't equal the pain and death he's dished out. You can't be a gear in a war that no one would support and call yourself a hero.

I had a Great-Uncle who turned his plane back out of fear of being shot out of the sky, rather than bomb locations in Germany, and I didn't realize until considering McCain's credential how my uncle's apparent cowardice probably saved dozens of lives, including his own. McCain's job in the war was to bomb the shit out of Vietnamese villagers based on very poor intel, if you could claim there was any intelligence in the U.S.'s actions. When he was shot out of the sky, he was kept prisoner for years. He's the equivalent to the Vietnamese as Hitler. To America, he's somehow Jesus.

McCain has enough medals to cover his sleeve from shoulder to wrist, but what nation wouldn't  give him his consolation-prize medals after doing ten-or-so-years as a P.O.W.? They give medals to any soldier who doesn't die these days, (and any who do), so where's the honour in that? My own Grandfather sent his WWII medals back to Queen Elizabeth II after she knighted The Beetles. Mark of honour from the dog the bites you don't mean very much these days. They're just incentive for your grandchildren to enlist in dubious causes.

Don't get me wrong, McCain is the one Republican I'd want to run. Out of them all, he's the sanest, which is saying so very, very little. I wish he'd have run these past eight years instead of Bush, but things wouldn't have changed. 9/11 would still have happened. The U.S. would still be in Iraq/Afganistan. That's true even if Gore was in office, or what's-his-name John Kerry.

So what does any of this matter?

It matters because it lays bare a piece of America's soul, and it's a soul divided against itself.

"A house divided against itself cannot stand. "-Lincoln.

So I just finished reading "The Lone Ranger" Issue #12 by Dynamite Entertainment (an imprint of Marvel Comics) and I'm noticing that the Lone Ranger's life bears a striking resemblance to Batman. The Lone Ranger uses stealth to appear -as if by magic- at the bedside of an evil-doer (much like our hero, Batman, who can appear out of thin air after years of practice), bearing an ominous warning, then is summoned by a blazing signal by the town's Sheriff (like Commissioner Batman signalling Batman with the Batsignal), and then the Lone Ranger retreats to his cave hideout (like the Batcave). The comparisons are obvious (he hides out in a cave, for God's sake) but the question remains: who came first: the Ranger or the Bat? Everything in the Lone Ranger comic seems natural. Where else would a super-hero cowboy hide out but an abandoned silver mine, where he gets the metal to make his signature silver bullets? Interesting enough, Bob Kane based Batman on old silent films, such as "The Bat," about a serial killer who dresses as a bat and uses such devices as smoke pellets to escape justice. Could the masked avenger the Lone Ranger helped shaped Batman's identity? Even their origins are similar. Batman's parents were murdered in front of his eyes by a mugger, leading him to a life of crime-fighting. The Lone Ranger (a.k.a. the Singing Cowboy) had his father murdered by stagecoach robbers, leading him to a life of vigilante justice. Both men have their sidekicks. For Batman, it's Robin, for the Lone Ranger, it's Tonto. The key difference? The Lone Ranger will cap your ass. He'll fill you full of silver, whereas Batman detests guns and taking life. The Lone Ranger is Batman Texas-style, and you don't mess with Texas.

I was kept up most the night by a constant clanking sound like someone hammering in a workshop. Since it was coming from the window, I assumed it was our new neighbours putting together a piece of furniture, or else some hanging object clanking against the patio railing in the wind. Neither of these was a very logical answer, however, so the other only other explanation was my computer. Why would it be clanking, though? It's not like there's a hamster wheel inside that's become stuck. When I opened up my tower I discovered an entire dust bunny had become stuck in the internal cooling fan. I'm talking about a full-grown adult dust bunny. The entire grill behind the fan had become covered in thick dust, so I had to use a Q-tip to reach behind and clean it out. Now it's running smoothly. It'd odd, though, because I often check inside my tower every four months or so and dust shouldn't have accumulated that quickly.

Strangely enough, the other day I was watching a video from A&E from that intervention show about a chick who gets high by huffing computer dust remover. She goes through ten cans a day or more. Now, I'm not the guy working at Staples, or wherever the hell she's buying this, but if some drug addict came through every day buying entire caseloads of dust remover, I'd start to get a little suspicious.

On the subject of rehab, I realized the other day that even though I've been hearing about Amy Winehouse for over a year now, I have yet to hear any one of her songs. I've had them described to me, but I haven't actually heard them. Nor, am I particularly interested in hearing them. In perhaps the strongest argument for illegally downloading songs, I would ask is it moral to buy an album if the artist is going to use the profits to get high? Suck on that!

Also on the subject of rehab, how much longer are we going to have to listen to Lindsay Lohan gossip? She was in all of two movies about a million years ago. It's not like she's going to make a comeback (except as a bloated corpse floating in the Hudson River), so why do we still care? She's no Britney.

On the plus side, I found $20 in the parking lot today while taking out the trash. This is the second such time I've found money out there, just lying on the ground. It's pretty surprising too, considering the amount of dumpster diving crackhead foot-traffic we have going right by that spot. I can feel good about taking the money, knowing that it's not going to feed some druggie's addiction.

So I just finished watching the new X-Files movie, I Want To Believe, which should describe the audience watching it. Essentially, it plays as an extended episode of the old show with no references to the last theatre movie. If you remember, (and chances are you don't), in the last episode of the X-Files, Mulder was on trial after a season-long absence (he got his ass abducted). The T-2000 took over his job (who the fuck continues a series after the main character leaves, besides 8 Simple Rules and That 70's Show) but had no role whatsoever in the movie ("Hey, thanks for all your hard work on the show. Fuck you.")

I Want To Believe is jammed packed with more Hippie-Liberal-Democratic bullshit than a Barak Obama "I Believe in America" (and puppies and rainbows and Disney-Pixar movies) acceptance speech. Here is what you'll see in I Want To Believe: Catholic pedophile priests, stem-cell research, gay marriage, smoking causing lung cance  and eerie music playing while viewing a portrait of George W. Bush (and Xzibit). The self-contained movie doesn't really expand on the X-Files canon in any significant way (although Mulder and Scully do sleep together, "sleep" being the operative word). There's no aliens. They mention Mulder's sister several times, but they claim she's dead (or an alien clone, who fucking knows with the X-Files).

You'd think that with the imminent alien invasion coming, they'd be interested in something other than missing F.B.I. agents and black-market organs, but that's what you get. Scully's become a doctor at a Catholic hospital. They never directly mention her missing alien baby, but it's vaguely alluded to when a character tells her, "If you were a mother, you'd understand." A person who hadn't watched the series with any regularity would never get that reference from watching the movie by itself. Scully is somehow still a sceptic in mysticism despite having seen physical fucking evidence of aliens, and even given birth to one (and being devotedly Catholic). Mulder's been in "hiding" for ten years, but it would seem like the F.B.I. had no interest in pursuing him.

Okay, seriously, if you know the X-Files, you know that Mulder and Scully know that aliens are going to invade Earth in 2012. That's four years from now. So they've been preparing for this by dicking around. Scully got  a serious job that will in no way help during the invasion, and Mulder's been cutting articles out of the paper and pining them on his wall. So... Earth's fucked. They've basically given up on trying to save us all from the aliens.

This must have been one of the cheapest X-Files to make, because there's all of two special-effects in the entire film. There's a severed head that opens it's eyes, and a guy crying blood. It's also fiercely anti-Russian (what is this, James Bond?).

Yeah, you're not going to walk away with much after seeing this movie. Even for a TV episode, it wouldn't even make the top 20 favourites. The most unbelievable moments in the movie arise from Scully preparing for a life-or-death surgery on a young boy by googling a single article on stem-cells, and then a Catholic hospital allowing her to go forth with a stem-cell implantation surgery. How the fuck did she even get the stem cells? They're supposed to be illegal, and she has them there in like five hours. Why didn't she just suck some nanobots out of Agent Skinner and put them in the kid? It would have made the same amount of sense.

JESUS FUCK!

In other news, David Duchovny is a sex addict. I would be too if I was married to Téa Leoni. People think this is a surprise when every other movie he's been in has been about some sex-obsessed freak-job. This poses an interesting question: has he fucked Gillian Anderson? I mean who wouldn't hit that? I'd hit that like a wrecking ball falling all the way from heaven. Has David lived out every teenaged boy from the 90's fantasy and tapped that ass like a frat keg? If so, how do we properly commemorate the event/s? I propose erecting (lolz) a statue in his honour. We can put it right next to the statue of Brad Pitt for having the common sense to cheat on Jennifer Aniston with Angelina Jolie. I think it should be imaged in memorial of him giving Gillian a titty-twister during an X-Files blooper (she's playing a cancer-victim lying unconscious on a table, and he twists he nipples. She got pwned).