This is the future, and it is sexy: Disney Buys LucasFilm

Three of my top five worst sexual nightmares are included in this image.

So by now you’ve probably heard of the ensuing deal in which Disney is buying out LucasFilm and the rights to the greatest sci-fi franchise ever (come at me, Trekkies) for $4 billion. You likely found out on Facebook, where somebody posted a status being all “I FEELZ A GREAT DISTURBANCE IN THE FILMS L0LZ!” but don’t be fooled. This is a good thing. Hell, it’s great.

Regardless of what RTVF majors have to tell you, Disney is not the worst thing to happen to films since Howard the Duck. They have created numerous masterpieces of the moving image, and the succession of Jewish chief executives recently more than makes up for the fact that Walt was kind of a raging, yet deservedly cherished, asshole. Not to be on their dick or anything, but Disney has also used their acquisitions incredibly well. Their most recent CEO, Bob Iger[1], has channeled his inner JD Rockefeller and went on a shopping spree of potential competitors, buying up Pixar in 2006 and Marvel in 2009.  With these franchises, he has made: Up, WALL-E, Toy Story 3[2], the new kickass X-Men, the new attractive-people Spiderman, and the superb eyefuck that was the Avengers. Also, the people who directed Disney pictures and would probably be picked to do Star Wars Episode VII are like the pantheon of nerd heroes. You’ve got Brad Bird, Gore Verbinski, Brett Ratner, JJ Abrams, and freaking Joss Whedon. HOW AWESOME WOULD A JOSS WHEDON STAR WARS BE.

Oh yeah, this “article” is about Star Wars. This brings me to my next point: George Lucas is an aging hack. I know this has become a cliché among the fandom, but that doesn’t make it in any less true. He has his defenders, who will say that since he made this great story in the first place, he can make any movies he wants and should still be loved. Yeah, that’s like saying that Mitt Romney is undeserving of critique because he was a pretty good governor of Massachusetts. But according to soothsayer Nate Silver, Obama’s up by 20 in the state, and George Lucas left a huge blemish on my childhood with Jar-Jar and rat-tails and “This is so wizard, Ani!” He had numerous chances to do well with the Star Wars franchise after the 80s, and he failed in unique ways every time. I say, good riddance. Change is good, and Disney will do some sensational things with the franchise.

Our mousy overlords will probably rely on the immense Expanded Universe for the prophesized Episode VII, but they will come up with newer characters than the original trilogy. Han, Leia, and Luke are all WAY too iconic to replace, and the old actors simply can’t do them. Even though Princess Leia would have been the first Disney Princess to be elected to the Senate[3], Carrie Fisher is simply too coked out to reprise the role. Harrison Ford is only concerned with cashing his Medicare checks and saving people with his helicopter, and Mark Hamill would love to come back, but he reeks of desperation and cheap schnapps[4].  So this means the series will maybe take place in the Knights of the Old Republic Universe[5], but it will probably actually deal with the Thrawn trilogy which occurs after the original series, and shoehorn in Jacen and Jaina Solo, Han and Leia’s spunky twin kids. This will be sweet, since it can be political, endearing, deal with simple moral issues, and still have probably the coolest antagonist in the series, Grand Admiral Thrawn. This is an alien who succeeds in an institutionally racist organization because he is dispassionate, ridiculous witty, and learns from the enemy by studying their art. This is as close to a Bond villain as the Star Wars movies will get, complete with special death-dealing gadgets. Also, (old) Luke will have a romantic interest who’s not his sister[6], which is good. I’ll leave on that, with the glorious image of Scarlett Johansson as Mara Jade. This is the future, and it is sexy.

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[1] Who married some Catholic shiksa, this is the son I raised…

[2] That was us, remember!?! Except you can totally bring your toys here, just make them face the wall when you’re smanging someone

[3] Sorry Kirsten Gillibrand!

[4] Did you know he voiced Fire Lord Ozai? Do you think he has Zuko’s honor in his trailer?

[5] With the aptly named HK-47, C-3PO’s more badass and snarky cousin

[6] What is it with blonds and incest, amirite?

An Open Letter to the Female Body

Dear Female Body,

First of all, I’d like to start things off by saying that I think you’re great. I know it’s been an awful long time since you last encountered me fumbling about you, but just so you know, I’m plumb crazy about you.

Thirteen-year-old me would totally hit that.

Now, ever since the 5th grade I’ve thought that a woman’s body was a marvelous thing to behold. A veritable chalice of perfection, the female form captured my imagination with its gentle slopes and lush form. Also: boobies.

Needless to say, I have been enraptured by your feminine mystique and sexual reproductive system for quite some time now. Yet I never understood until recently how fucking awesome you really are.

You see, a bunch of experts unearthed some real sciencey facts about the uterus that just totally blew my fucking mind. No, I’m not talking about menstruation, although I’m still a bit iffy about how you line that shit up with the lunar phases.

Apparently, after much scientific inquiry and consultation with the world’s leading medical experts, Rep. Todd Akin discovered something amazing about you:

“First of all, from what I understand from doctors [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

Holy shit! And this guy’s on the House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology, so this nerd must know his science facts. I mean, I kind of figured that House Republicans were the world’s foremost experts on the cooch, considering how frequently they enter ones that don’t belong to their wives. Why else would the GOP try to legislate the female body so heavily if they didn’t already know what was best for you?

But please be square with me, female body. When were you going to tell me about this awesome power of yours? And anyways, if you’ve had this ability to pick and choose with your cervix or whatever the hell is down there what counts as, like, legitski’s rape and what’s just a fuzzy jungle-juice induced night, why in God’s name would you lie about those roughly 32,000 annual pregnancies that you just claimed were the result of rape? Did you really think we were that stupid?

Like, how does this power of yours even work? Rep. Akin was a little unclear on the details. Is it like Teeth, were you can suddenly spring a pair of pearly whites on any unwanted penis that comes within a yard of your lady parts? Because a skill like that would certainly shut any motherfucker down.

Forcible rape? No no no bro, this was just a panty raid gone horribly awry.

Or maybe it’s like Star Wars, where fallopian tubes are really like Admiral Ackbar in Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, sending out X-Wing Fighters to target the rape-induced pregnancy’s one weakness and blow the whole thing to hell.

What’s this, female body? You’ve never seen Star Wars? You’ve got to be kidding me.

Alright then, since when did you even become so judicious, female body? What about that one dude in college who’s still dating his high school-aged girlfriend, regardless of things like “geographical distance” and “statutory rape laws?” How do you know whether he’s, like, rape-raping her, or just, you know legal-age-of-consent-raping her. Since when were you able to act with precise biochemical certainty on legal vagaries like Romeo and Juliet laws?

And what if you’ve been roofied by some dude during Spring Break, like one in four of the unlucky college women who are victims of rape or attempted rape? Are your labia able to identify, and then shut down, the impending rape as “legitimate” even while skeletal muscle relaxant courses through your blood?

Just wondering.

Okay, I’ll stop pestering you about this. Like a magician, you don’t have to detail exactly how your wonderful feminine form defends its turf from legit rape as if the cervix is the DMZ or the Baltimore Ravens’ secondary or something.

Until we meet again, female body. Which, let’s be honest, probably won’t be anytime soon now that any prurient inclination of mine has been scared shitless of your awe-inspiring security system.

Sincerely,
Evander Jones

p.s. Sorry, just one last question for you, oh beautiful female form. Where, exactly, is this clitoris you speak so highly of?

Thesis: BraveStarr is Awesome

Entertainment is subjective.  There’s no set rule about what people are going to like. I like Breaking Bad, you may not; it doesn’t make you wrong, it just makes me hate you. But still, everyone is entitled to their opinion.  Because of this, I always supposed that there couldn’t be any “best” television show or movie.  There wasn’t an “end” of entertainment.

I was wrong.

Welcome to “Bravestarr” ladies and gentleman, the best thing you can find on Netflix, or, for that matter, anywhere.

Pictured here…. shitting? I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the most useless thing he’s ever done.

Bravestarr is a cartoon show from the 1980’s featuring the single-greatest cast of characters ever assembled. It’s like the Justice League, only nobody is dragging down the team awesomeness level by being Aquaman. Our protagonist, Bravestarr, is a space Marshall on the planet of New Texas, and sets the bar pretty high for coolness and college applications in the universe by being both a space cowboy AND a space Indian.

Bravestarr fights the minions of the evil “Tex Hex,” a space outlaw who operates under the orders of “Stampede,” who is a demonic-looking Broncosaur skeleton. Reread that. You got it? No you don’t. Read it again. Now you got it. Holy shit, that’s awesome.

This is every game I played as a child manifested as one man

And here’s the thing about the show. You’d think that the awesomeness would have to taper off at some point, but it never does. Does Bravestarr ride a horse? No. He rides his deputy, who is a horse that can talk, stand up on his hind legs, and fire a rifle. Why can he do all these things? Because fuck you, that’s why. But seriously, the real reason is because it’s awesome. This show isn’t impeccably written, paced, or directed, but it is completely and unapologetically committed to being cool, or selling toys, either way it works. Don’t believe me? You’re saying, “sure, this show has a cool hero and villain, but what 80’s show doesn’t? You expect me to be impressed? You’re pathetic.” Fair point hypothetical person who has the same voice as my Dad. So lets look at even the minor characters that make up Bravestarr’s universe.

This is the description, provided by wikipedia, of the Bartender, named Handlebar. Now,

Standard reaction to Bravestarr

being a bartender in a Western is literally about as much of a secondary character as you

can be — it’s one of the only roles that fits the category of “scenery” more than character. So let’s take a look at Bravestarr’s approach to this background character: “A hulking, 14-ton, green-skinned bartender and former space pirate from the Rigel star system, with a bright orange handlebar mustache and a Brooklyn accent. He mostly serves BraveStarr and Thirty Thirty a drink called “sweetwater” in his bar, as they sit and discuss the moral lesson learned in that day’s episode, although he does engage in a fight with a mechanical steer named Rampage in one episode and wins. If faced with trouble in his bar he uses the serving trays as throwing weapons.”

And we haven’t even talked about his outfit

You can literally read any single sentence of that description, and have enough coolness to completely fill a characters “awesomeness” quota. Then they put it all together. The pitch meeting for Bravestarr characters must have literally been a room full of men shouting adjectives that gave them erections.

Next time I tell a girl that I’m gonna “rock her world*,” I’m just going to take her back to my place and show her an episode of Bravestarr. We’ll both have more fun than if we had sex.

So there you go reader. There’s a lot of ways to procrastinate in college, but there is none cooler then watching Bravestarr. I understand my praise may seem hyperbolic to you, but you have to understand, that as a writer for Sherman Ave, I’m a journalist. I wouldn’t write this unless every word I said was true. That would show a lack of integrity, and I learned about integrity from an Indian space-marshal, so you know I learned it right.

*The only time I’ve rocked a girls world is when I ran over my ex-girlfriends cat. She cried. A lot.

Badasses in History: Miyamoto Musashi

There are very few truths in this world. “Good” and “evil” are almost never that simple. “Money-back guarantees” are usually scams, and, let’s face it, “both fun and educational!” is just a hair away from being a bigger lie than Santa Clause.

Sorry about that. I should have said spoiler alert.

Anyway, my point is that there are very few universal statements. My favorite however is this: Samurais are awesome.

Find me an exception. I dare you. Tell me you have never seen a samurai movie and left wishing to every power you believe in (and some you don’t, just to cover your bases) that you could be even a fraction as badass as a samurai is without even trying.

Like Tom Cruise in "The Last Samurai," but less of a pansy.

That said, let’s meet this week’s Historical Badass.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Miyamoto Musashi.

Musashi was many things, but what he was, above all else, is the greatest swordsman the world has ever seen. That shit you saw in Kill Bill? He was better. The three hundred Spartans? He could have killed them blindfolded. Every trope applied to Samurai applied to this man, but more so. We tell children scary stories about Godzilla, vampires, and manbearpig. They tell their kids about Miyamoto Musashi.

But I should start at the beginning.

We don’t actually know a lot about Musashi’s youth. The best historians can say is that he was born in 1584 in the Mimasaka Province of Japan. His father was an accomplished martial artist and swordsman and his grandfather was the vassal of a feudal lord by the name of Shinmen.

Beyond that, we don’t know much.

What we do know however, is that Musashi was one precocious motherfucker. How so you ask? Well, he killed a man at age 13. In a duel.

“But Josh!” you say. “Surely it was a training accident against another student at his dojo or some shit! No way it was for serial.”

Actually I’m “super serial.” At age 13, when many of us were having Bar Mitzvah’s and worrying about acne, popularity, and pop quizzes, Musashi was fucking killed people. In fact, his opponent, Arima Kihei, was a grown man…and already a samurai.

He was also kind of a douche. Thing is, he had come to Musashi’s hometown and posted a notice that he wanted to duel someone…anyone. Just because. Dude, what an a-hole.

Musashi, being a badass, decided “screw this guy, I’ll fuck up his shit worse than Samuel L. Jackson in any movie ever.” So, teen Musashi went and wrote his name on the notice, and adding (according to reliable sources) several “Yo Mamma” jokes, just to be sure Kihei wouldn’t chicken out.

At this point, Kihei went and told Miyamoto’s uncle about it, pissed that some punk-kid had challenged him. Musashi’s uncle was equally surprised, especially because Musashi didn’t actually have much swordsmanship training under his belt (or gi or obi or whatever samurai call belts).

I’ll take a moment to laugh my ass off and hand the story over to William Scott Wilson, author of The Lone Samurai.

Kihei was adamant that the only way his honor could be cleared was if Musashi apologized to him when the duel was scheduled. So when the time set for the duel arrived, Dorin began apologizing for Musashi, who merely charged at Kihei with a six-foot quarterstaff, shouting a challenge to Kihei. Kihei attacked with a wakizashi, but Musashi threw Kihei on the floor, and while Kihei tried to get up, Musashi struck Arima between the eyes and then beat him to death.

To recap, in a fight of “Samurai vs. kid-who-barely-has-pubes-yet”, Musashi wins… by just running at the samurai with a giant staff. Against a guy with a sword. If nothing else, kid has mad balls.

In any case, Musashi did what any samurai would do in every samurai movie, he uttered some badass one-liner, took the guy’s sword, then wandered off into the sunset.

Four years and many duels later (of which he lost not a single one), Musashi found himself at the Battle of Sekigahara, which Wikipedia will fast inform you as being a seriously important battle in Japanese history, the equivalent of Gettysburg in the American Civil War or the Battle of Austerlitz in the Napoleonic Wars. Or that one episode of Batman where he has to take on the Joker, Penguin, and Two-Face all at once.

Musashi looking his absolute prettiest

That episode was awesome.

Anyway, seventeen-year-old Musashi reputedly killed an enormous number of opponents, escaping the battle without a single wound. Yeah. Seventeen-year-old vs. army? Musashi: 1, Army: 0.

Suck on that, whiny Spartans. A google search tells me that after the battle Musashi drew his sword and slashed it in mid-air, delivering a death-blow to a 450-years later Chuck Norris. Sure, after all I’ve heard, why not?

So, you ask again, how can one dude be this badass? Surely that’s all?

Hush, grasshopper. Bask in the glory that is Musashi.

In the following years, Musashi spent much of his time dueling (again, he never lost. Not once.), defeating nearly all of his opponents—usually masters of various swordsmanship schools—with a single blow.

It was also during this time that he developed what he would explain in his masterpiece, Go Rin No Sho (The Book of Five Rings), as his signature sword-style: Niten Ichi Ryu, which can either mean “two swords, one soul” or “School of two swords.”

I’ve decided however, that the clear, and accurate, translation is “two swords, much killing.” Unlike most samurai (fucking pansies!), who fought with only one sword, Musashi was able to simultaneously attack and defend thanks to his two-sword style.

To put this in perspective, let me explain how most duels worked at the time. Essentially, both combatants would draw their (lame) single sword and proceed to try and fuck each other up, both parrying (blocking, for those of you who don’t speak swordsman-ese) each other and making the whole thing go on for a long time. Like a commercial during your favorite show, it just wouldn’t end.

Musashi, however, could just block with his shorter sword, then tell the opponent a knock-knock joke before cutting the fool to pieces with his other blade.

It was under these circumstances that Musashi easily defeated Yoshioka Seijuro, head of the famous Yoshioka swordsmanship school. Yoshioka’s students, understandably bothered at seeing their Mister Miyagi cut down with all the effort it might take to eat a piece of pizza, all immediately charged Musashi.

There was only one of him, right?

Yeah, they didn’t stand a chance.

After slaughtering the rest of them—and raiding the liquor cabinet—Musashi went on to claim the lives of many, many other posers. Yet even this wasn’t what makes Musashi so god-damn badass.

That honor goes to his duel with legendary swordsman Sasaki Kojiro, known at the time as “The Demon of the Western Provinces.” Clearly, this was not a man most of us would be willing to fuck with. But Mushashi was no ordinary man.

Both men had never been defeated in a duel, but there were some big differences. Musashi was known for being drunk, dirty, disheveled, and really, really rude. Kojiro on the other hand came from a powerful samurai family and was well-regarded by the Japanese elite.

This is a nodachi

Musashi, reputedly, had heard of Kojiro’s skill with the nodachi, which is to say, Big Fucking Sword (BFS for short).

The blade is four feet long. That is taller than a midget. I say that with no disrespect to little people. It is also taller than many children. I am frightened merely by its picture.

Basically, it is a katana on steroids, but sharper and deadlier. I feel safe saying that there really is no deadlier non-firearm weapon out there.

Hell, even if I had a gun I wouldn’t feel that safe going up against one of those things.

But I digress. As mentioned earlier, Musashi challenged Kojiro to a duel. In his challenge, he specified that the duel be held at the island of Ganryu at sunrise. Quentin Tarantino, this is your bread and butter. Michael Bay, please shut up and learn something from this.

On one hand, we have an incredibly skilled, famous noble samurai. On the other, we have a homeless man with a really really sharp sword, who is equally skilled, but also known to be a total dick, and never really gets around to showering.

It’s like Dennis Rodman vs. Michael Jordan. They’re both good, but one dude has a lot more going for him.

In any case, as was his custom, Musashi showed up late—so as to mindfuck his opponent and make them angry or nervous. This time however, he threw in a free extra.

He didn’t come with a sword.

Instead, he showed up with…

Wait for it.

A wooden practice sword that he had carved out of a boat oar.

Yeah. This was worse than an insult. This was Musashi saying that Kojiro was unfit to have even his blood grace Musashi’s blade, the equivalent of…

Of…

I’m not even sure I can think of something insulting enough without resorting to racial slurs or profound queries as to whether a person’s mother maintains virtue and decorum at all times.

Dude could fuck your shit up seven different ways from Sunday

But despite appearances, Musashi had this all planned out. You see, the great advantage of the Niten Ichi Ryu sword style was an incredibly long reach, as well as simultaneous attack-and-defense capability. So when he was making the wooden blade, Musashi made sure it was a few inches longer than a typical nodachi.

Thus, when Kojiro charged in, Musashi immediately used his blade’s longer reach to bring his sword down on Kojiro’s head, smashing his skull and killing him instantly.

And that was it.

Musashi went on to win more than 60 duels in his life. But as he grew older he got tired of winning so much and never encountering a challenge. As such, he retired to isolation in the mountains of Japan, spending years writing about the true meaning of being a warrior.

The result was the book we know today as “The Book of Five Rings” or Go Rin No Sho, which is still studied even today by businessmen and military strategists.

Also, it’s fucking awesome. Among its many gems—I’m not lying when I say it is extremely profound—is a technique so awesome that I feel as if I had looked upon the face of God himself.

Or seen Scarlett Johansson naked. Yeah, I’ll go with that.

Oh, right. The technique. It’s called “Stabbing the Face”:
When you are even with an opponent, it is essential to keep thinking of stabbing him in the face with the tip of your sword in the intervals between the opponent’s sword blows and your own sword blows. When you have the intention of stabbing your opponent in the face, he will try to get both his face and body out of the way. In the midst of battle, as soon as an opponent tries to get out of the way, you have already won. Therefore it is imperative not to forget the technique of “stabbing the face.” This should be cultivated in the course of practicing martial arts.