Well, it seems that Newbie has done it again. He's proven himself to be what we in the literary world like to refer to as a "Cock-Fag". Cock-Fags can be easily identified by their several distinguishing characteristics such as flood-pants, video game tshirts, breath that reaks of rum, and large mandibles which they use to hold any prey or dildos they may find. In addition, they are easily attracted by shitty music, the tunes of Mindless Self-Indulgence are commonly used as mating calls among them. Anyways, in hopes of putting Newbie back in his place I've written this short piece in response to his previous post. I will contrast and compare Hell's Kitchen and Super Nanny and clearly show Super Nanny's dominance in the field of American Reality shows starring British people. First category is...

Martial Prowess

• Gordon Ramsay: In his original post, Newbie makes some outlandish claims about Gordon Ramsay being some sort of ass kicking Samurai (he's a Samurai because saying that a Ninja could kick ass is an oxymoron while a Samurai's job description only lists two objectives: ass kicking and hot girl fucking). He details the exploits of the destruction of a Ninja soccer league (this part actually makes sense since it is a Ninja's prime directive to run around like a freshly decapitated chicken until it is dispatched by a Samurai, falling rocks, or a Samurai riding falling rocks), rival chefs, and despotic Republican TV network owners. Well, if we are to believe Newbie and Ramsay is indeed a Samurai, falling rock, or both then Super Nanny will have a hard time indeed.
• Super Nanny: While Gordon Ramsay could have quite possibly had extensive Samurai training, Super Nanny has spent her time with a much more formidable adversary...children! Common knowledge shows that it takes at least a half dozen Samurai to fell even the weakest of children. Their powers are nearly absolute. They have 29 hit di, roll d-20 for damage with 5 attacks per round, have AC -4, cast spells as a level 15 magic user, and can turn water to rum (a ninja's greatest weakness).

Winner Round 1: Super Nanny

Sexiness

• Gordon Ramsay: It is common knowledge that Samurai are beautiful by nature, Gordon Ramsay is obviously not. Using logic then we must determine that he definately is a falling rock. And as we all know, falling rocks are anything but beautiful. In fact, Ramsay has a face that only a cock-fag could love.
• Super Nanny: One may look at Super Nanny and say "Hey, that sure is a Super Nanny!" or "Hey, she sure is fat!" But while I admit she has a little extra baggage I see something that many other people might not...potential! You see, when I gaze upon her I don't see a fat woman, I see a possible anorexic/bulimic hot babe! From years of experience I can tell you that you need only push the right buttons to turn an overweight land-whale of a woman into the Mary-Kate Olsen of your dreams! Saying things like "If you really loved me, you'd throw up that gyro." and "If you don't lose some fucking weight I'm going to dump your ass for your Mom." are great ways to encourage that special someone.

Winner Round 2: Super Nanny

Flamability...ness

• Gordon Ramsay: Falling rocks do not burn. Now if he were a rock of the NORMAL variety this would be an entirely different story. Mainly in that I'd have to delete the word "falling" a whole bunch.
• Super Nanny: Scientists have determined through a series of exhausting trial and error experiments that Super Nanny has a flamability greater than Whale Blubber but less than an AD&D Monstrous ManualTM.

Winner Round 3: Super Nanny

Well, there you have it folks. Super Nanny is the 2005 winner of the best American Reality show starring British people on all fronts. Oh and Newbie is definately a Cock-Fag. The evidence is overwhelming.

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Hi Kids! I'm Gordon Ramsay, and I KICK ASS. You may have seen me on the one good reality TV show in the history and future of all reality TV shows: "Hell's Kitchen" on the Fox network, and you may wonder how I became so thoroughly awesome. Allow me to explain to you the source of my amazing badassitude through this bulleted list.

* As a child, I practiced kicking ass on the football (that's soccer for you yanks) pitch (that's field, for you yanks once again) until I was 15, when the all-pro Scottish football team signed me on for ninja position number 1 (that's left wing, for you uncultured american scum). I played with the all-pro team for 3 years until I single-handedly placed all opposing team members (of all possible teams) in their graves. I was given the medal for "WINNER OF FOOTBALL" and the whole sport has been cancelled for all of eternity.


* I decided--after swiming around the world; twice--to open my own restaurant and challenge all other chefs in all the lands to try and best me in one-on-one cookoffs. I figured it would be somewhat challenging for a man of my caliber, especially since I had never even turned on an oven in my life, to face these seasoned culinary artists in honorable duels to the death. Unfortunately, it wasn't even close. Each battle ended with my rival clutching at the butcher knife in his chest or drowning in the sink or collapsing from severe brain trauma after one of my accidental random kicks to the face that I occasionally, unconsciously lash out with. They sometimes managed to gasp out pitiful things like "We haven't even started cooking" or "what is this knife doing in my chest" before giving up the ghost and ending our duel.


* After killing all the chefs of the world and winning the title "WORLDS GREATEST CHEF," I decided to take my special brand of awesome on the road to America or as I like to call it "Little big Britannia." I walked right into central offices of the Fox broadcasting company, slayed their guards, and told Rupert Murdoch "I'm British. I want my own reality show, right now!" Not only did Murdoch give me my own show, he also spontaneosly combusted after looking too closely at my godly face; leaving me in control of all the assests of his vast media empire (you see kids, when someone burns to death just by looking at you, YOU get to keep all of that person's stuff. Cool, no?).

Now that you know my story, kids, you must realize that there is no standing against me. Soon my storm troopers will come through your neighborhoods and cities, collecting valuables and recruits for my Legions of Ramsay. It is only a matter of time before the earth comes under Goron Ramsay's iron rule. Then where, you ask? Who knows children...who knows...

Point made: Rainny sucks

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I really hate clapping. It's not really the act of clapping that gets to me though. It's more of the mindset that accompanies the somatic gesture. I'll never understand how some people can become so filled with excitement that their arms suddenly begin convulsing in the horizontal plane of motion. Digressing, perhaps the most popular forum for clapping is the medium known as the "Talk Show". Talk Shows could quite possibly be the most annoying entity to ever manifest itself in my life, beaten only by an intoxicated HK_Newbie in his tighty whities. And while I do love Maury Povich and his hilarious "Paternity Tests Revealed!" formats (That kid ain't mine yo! He looks nothing like me yo! Yoooooooooo!!!) there are two shows that really get my blood boiling with their copious amount of inane clapping: "The Oprah Winfrey Show" and "Real Time With Bill Maher".

Oprah Winfrey is a cunt. I hate her show and everything associated with it. Her show is just a long circle jerk for women interspersed with commercials about feminine odor and stickiness ::shudders::. I mean, not that I watch this crap. I've just happened to catch clips of the show here and there in between flipping through the channels in search of pre-rap-co-star-era Steven Seagal movies while receiving blowjobs from my harem of beautiful supermodels and taking bites of Boca Burgers...and killing ninjas with my other free hand. Anyways, Oprah is a BIG cunt. Remember that time when she gave away all those free cars to those working class folks who couldn't afford them and acted like she was fucking Mother Teresa? Well, recently I heard she threw some fit when she wasn't let into a store after they were already closed. Hey Oprah maybe these working class folk don't live to serve you! Maybe they have lives and families that they have to return to at a normal hour and work a hell of a lot harder than you for a microfraction of the pay that you earn. What a fucking hypocrite. And you know what else??? This was pointed out publicly by Jessica Alba. Man, you gotta be really dumb when Jessica Alba makes you look stupid. But I'm getting carried away here...the subject was uhhh...clapping that's right! Oprah has the worst fans in the world. All Oprah has to do is breathe in the general direction of one of her audience members to set off a chain reaction of clapping and cheering. What's worse is that they cut to the audience quite often on the show and they always have this stupid look like a supernova just went off in front of their faces. I hate them all. And I'm not even going to get into when Tom Cruise was on the show or the mere idea of Dr. Phil even existing. Shame on you Universe!

Almost as bad in the clapping area is the Bill Maher Show. While I do enjoy his show greatly for its mostly intelligent political banter, I can't stand the audience. The funny thing is, Bill Maher can't stand them either. Whenever I catch the show you can rest assured that he will tell the audience to shut up at least five times. The reason for this is that Bill, like myself, is sick of hearing the same arguments spouted over and over again. This is especially true for the moronic celebrity guests that are occasionally on the show. While not all of the celebrities featured are completely retarded, some of them truly have no business being on a political talk show. For instance, once the actor/comedian/reallynotfuckingfunny Steve Harvey was on and his lacking knowledge of current events was mindnumbing. The only thing he could do the whole time was make snide comments about Bush, Iraq, National Security, and other areas that have been beaten to death, with this stupid, slow, punch me in the face tone of voice. And while I am totally in agreement with the sentiments on the issues, I am completely sick and tired of hearing the same arguments displayed in this manner. The audience, on the other hand, loves this! This is most probably due to the overarching fem/dyke attitude ever present among them. They are political equivalents of Tool and The Mars Volta fanboys. Believing that there is no world outside of their own near fanatical pleasures they act like they're part of a secret club that only they have the superior qualities needed to be admitted to. In actuality they just endlessly auto-fellate their own massive egos.

Well, I think that's enough for now. I believe my point has been fully argued: HK_Newbie is a fag.

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Yes, Jack, occasionally there will be other people besides your's truly posting to this final bastion of literary genius. Hk_Rainny (or "White Giant with Bugs in his hair" as he is known by his Blackfoot friends) has requested the ability to post his own insane ravings to the 4manrevolution website, and I, as the proprieter of said website, has answered his call in the affirmative.

Here is an image of Rainny in his "sexy pose" :

As you can see, behind his apparently kind visage lies a monster. One capable of unspeakable acts of evil; of unimaginable scenes of carnage; of harrowing instances of inhumanity; of moving far, far away and leaving all of his buddies behind in order to hang with the much cooler crowd of Nyack, New York.



But I don't hold it against him. Oh no, that would be far to petty and human. Mine is beyond that mortal coil; it is an apprehension of the realms of existance that man was never intended to see.

What the fuck am I talking about?

Oh well, here's a joke!

Heisenberg is driving down the street in a sweet, totally tricked out Escalade, when a cop pulls him over for speeding.
"Excuse me, sir" The cop asks, "Do you know how fast you were going?"
"No" Heisenberg replies, taking off his pimp-ass purple fedora and sunglasses, "but I know right where I am!!"

HAHAHAHAHAH! ISN'T THAT FUNNY?!

No?

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So, as everyone knows, my love life is long and sordid...and shirtless, seemingly...with burning skies and middle-aged blonde chicks. I thought I might share one such story with you--a completely true and non-false story with nothing but what really happened (as I remember it).


I exited my double-secret job with the CIA (in an undisclosed location miles below the earth's crust) using an experimental teleportation device to translocate myself a hundred feet above my brand new Kawasaki Ninja motorcycle. "Amazing wings, OPEN NOW!" I shouted, pulling the emergency cord located in my belly button. A wing-like fold of skin formed between my arms thanks to my cybernetic body, permitting me to land softly on the perfectly moulded bike seat.
"Now for dinner!" I announced to no one in particular as I keyed the ignition, popped a wheelie, and held that wheelie the whole 40 miles to the one decent cheapo-chinese restaurant in the city.

On the way, I encountered the usual ambush by rival ninja clans, infinite zombie hordes, and mind-numbing traffic; all of which slowed me down for .4 seconds total. I dismounted the bike-- a little worse for wear given all the zombie blood but still quite badass-- and entered the restaurant.
Time slowed down as I walked through the front doors. My spooky-looking, semi-tattered cape whipped in the wind impressively, the ceiling lights glinted menacingly off my aviator sunglasses, and my hair was fucking perfect. "I'm here for...food" I said to the lone Chinese man standing behind the counter. I thought he looked familiar as I awaited his response, but his face was mostly covered by the slightly lowered brim of his 20 gallon cowboy hat.
"Food, eh?" He replied, lifting his hat to show me the face of one of my oldest and most dangerous arch-enemies: General Tso.
"NOW YOU DIE!" He shouted, throwing a smoke bomb on the counter to facilitate his escape out the back door.
Without warning, fifty..no...a hundred ninjas appeared from trap doors in the floors and walls, all armed with Mac10 machine pistols and ninja-to swords which they proceeded to wave threateningly as they formed a circle around me.
"General Tso, my old enemy" I muttered under my breath, wondering how many seconds it would take me to dispatch of Tso's underlings, "you shall NOT escape my vengeful wrath!"
Reaching into my coat pocket, I removed a fully-functional M60 Vietnam-era machine gun, complete with 200 rounds of ammunition and a bad attitude.
"Eat hot lead assholes!"
I held the machine gun with one extended arm and rotated 360 degrees, pumping out a cyclic 500 rounds per minute into the waiting bosoms' of my hapless enemy. Ninjas screamed and died with satisfying rapidity. To my suprise, as each bullet struck a ninja, a puff of smoke surrounded the bodies, and a wooden log took the place of each individual ninja's body. I destroyed (what I soon realized to be)the ninja clones in a few chaotic seconds; because, as everyone knows, true ninjas are not so easily dispatched.
"Prepare to die, Tso!" I declared, throwing the emptied machine gun to the ground, jumping over the counter, and dashing through the backdoor after my nemises. I found him waiting on his own sport bike (a Kawasaki ZX-9R with Tokiko binders, longer than normal wheel base, and a sweet suspension) for me in the alleyway.
"Come get some, Dougherty!" Tso called, adjusting his cowboy hat and speeding off.
"Damnit! I shall, Tso. I shall!" I thumbed the cybernetic homing device on the inside of my wrist, calling my trusty Ninja to my current posisition. I could hear it's high-end whine approaching from the other side of the street, and as it closed the distance I mentally prepared myself for the truly awesome battle that was to ensue...

That's it for today kids! Oh wait? No love, no romance, you say? ummmm.....I got laid by about 10 swedish supermodels before leaving the CIA building if I remember correctly. There you go!

Moral: Always wear a condom!

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I HATE NEW JERSEY
(so does everyone else I know)

Okay, Sniper and I went to 6 flags a few weeks ago to complete his life-long dream of going to 6 flags and going on more than 6 rides. My first thought upon entering the park was, "man, this is incrediably stupid." New Jersey is possibly the worst place on earth to spend one's free time, and the second worst place to build a theme park (the first being in the active crater of the Stromboli island volcano in the Aeolian Islands of Italy).

"Garden State" my ass! The entire state consists of nothing but chemical plants and strange-smelling people who can't drive to save their lives. Trust me, I work there; I know firsthand the evils of New Jersey.

But back to the particular evils of 6 flags.

1. It's in New Jersey, so all the weirdness of the state converges upon this exact point, resulting in a bunch of fucking idiots wearing homemade costumes and dancing throughout the thoroughfare. It's annoying. It's stupid. Stop it.

2. The rides are no longer fun. In fact, I don't know what made them fun in the first place. "The Great American Scream Machine," for example, succeded in bruising me in my armpit and breaking my jaw in several places. So if getting your ass kicked sounds like a fun time to you, COME ON DOWN TO DOC'S CRAZY HOUSE OF RIGHTEOUSLY INSANE FUN and get your ass kicked for only a fraction of the rip off price of 6 flags. I'll even throw in a t-shirt.

3. IT WAS REALLY FUCKING HOT.

4. IT WAS REALLY FUCKING HOT.'

5. The lines for each ride lasted no less than 3 hours, couple that with reason number 3 and 4, and Sniper's inexplicable desire to go on the same ride multiple times, no matter how outrageously long the line was, and you might get a glimpse of my experience of 6 flags.

6. IT WAS REALLY FUCKING HOT.

But you know what? Not all of it was bad. I convinced sniper to let me sit out on one of the rides and kill myself on a nearby park bench, and as I was loading my gun, preparing myself for the sweet release of death, mourning only the fact that I would die in this wasteland known as New Jersey, a nice woman came up to me and said "That fucking ride almost killed me!"

Together we expressed our discontent with the 6 flags business methodology (i.e. kick your guests' collective asses, but do it with cheesy rock music playing in the background) and we found a common ground upon which to build a boycott of all theme parks. As we shook hands and parted ways, a huge thunderhead suddenly appeared out of the heavens and drenched the park in rain and electrical death, thankfully cutting Sniper's and my time there short. I didn't even mind getting wet, so long as I was leaving.

The next morning, Sniper somehow convinced me (using his jedi mind tricks) that we should go back and get our money's worth somehow. God help me, I fell for it and we went again.

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I hate my goddamn cat. He's not at all like my dog. While my dog is like the ninja:silent, smart, deadly; my cat is like the pirate:loud, boisterous, drunken. Needless to say, pirate cats piss me the hell off.

6 o'clock in the freaking morning and he's on my chest mewling like someone jammed a slim jim up his ass (there wasn't one, I checked). I threw him across the room several times to no avail, took potshots at him with a nearby 22 pistol, and even started crying, pleading with him to leave me the hell alone and let me sleep!

I swear to god, he lauged at me and just kept on crying.

When I finally got out of bed 20 minutes later and went upstairs to put soft food in his bowl, he just stood over the bowl, looked at it for a minute, looked at me, looked back at the food, AND STARTED FUCKING CRYING AGAIN. Attempts to force-feed the little shit met with little success, so I decided to try and hide in one of my home's empty rooms in the hopes that he'd lose me and go back to his hole in the basement.

All the while, my dog lays there on the kitchen floor, four feet to the air, acting like he doesn't give a shit whether he's fed or not, because he is one bad ass mofo-- just like the ninja!

The cat, however, found me no matter which room I ran into. I could hear his crying becoming louder and more insistent as he approached whatever place I chose to hide in, until he was standing right in front of me clawing and biting at my ankles.

Ignoring him doesn't work, the dog won't eat him, and he's too fast to get a bead on him with a gun, so I really have no choice now but to accept that he will always cry, all the time, for no reason other than to piss me off.

Oh well, at least it isn't Star Wars.

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You may remember my previous review of Star Wars episode II. Here's a snippet if you do not:

I had already gouged out one eye with my own thumb, and was attempting to swallow my own tongue (which, by the way, is reeeeaaaally difficult) then she dashes off the camera's FOV and we hear more flatulating, followed by a burp, and she sheepishly reenters the scene. "Oh anakin" she says in the most wooden voice possible "I love...you" that pause wasnt dramatic folks, she forgot her line, "I want to be...with you" again, shes forgeting more lines, "remember that time at the Q-mart, where i wanted a twinkie, but you're all like "no way, bitch, i like you skinny and tight" then you slapped me, and i liked it because i like it like that..." at this point she's just bs'ing to waste time, and what a waste it was.

After watching the third installment in this godawful series, I've come to the conclusion that Star Wars was created for my personal amusement.

Really! No shit! I'm not kidding.

Something this piss-poor can only be spawned from the minds of a roomfull of classically-trained playwrights forced by Satan to pen the worst drivel written since T.S. Eliot's seminal poem "the collosal waste of time" (Which might have paved the way for all the self-referential, circle-jerking crap in this whole new star wars trilogy. "Oh look! There's the Millenium Falcon for like 2 fucking seconds in the lower right quadrant of the screen! Oh look! there's some other vague reference to the other movies or other slightly less shitty movies made by the director! It's freaking awesome because it makes me feel like a super-genius machine for recognizing all that crap almost INSTANTLY and then pointing it out to my buddy who also saw it and pissing of the loser behind us with our near constant fan-boy chatter which distracts him from his suffering long enough to see that people are actually enjoying this which only further exacerbates his pain!").

Which brings us back to my original point: Star wars was created for me to laugh at and point my finger at its glaring stupidity.

Two scenes that stole my heart and stomped on it repeatedly were

1. "Anakin, hold me like you did in Naboo"--Portman says this to Hayden in complete seriousness with this constipated look on her face that is supposed to, I assume, resemble that foreign emotion known as love. I, of course, began giggling maniacally, causing the fellow behind me to laugh uncontrollably for about 5 minutes. We finally calmed down for 10 minutes or so when I heard him mutter "naaaboo" and the laughter started again. People hated us. We loved us.
   
2. "She has lost the will to live, her will is fading, we cannot save her... bzzzzt"---A freaking anthropomorphic doctor robot who is in touch with the emotional states of his patients has medically determined that Portman's will is dangerously low and if she fails her saving throw, she will die. Please asshole, come up with a better excuse than she died because, in the immortal words of my sister, "she was all sad and stuff." This movie took sapped away basically all joy and vitality from me while I sat in that stinky-ass theatre in New Mexico for 2 of the most boring hours of my life and I did not die---though I now wish I had.
   

I must admit; watching Anakin's limbs fly off one by one and then watching the flesh burn off his body almost made it worth the entry and the hours of torture beforehand. Almost.

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I was reading slashdot before going to bed and I came upon this article: zombie dogs

Apparently, they kill the dog, drain it of all its blood, fill it with a saline solution, freeze it, then drain the saline, fill it back up with blood, and shock the shit out of it.

Here's an example of one such zombie dog:

How freaking awesome is that?! A zombie dog! A FUCKING ZOMBIE DOG!!!

My plans are all coming together, thank you American scientists!!! I would have expected such a breakthrough from my offshore Antarctic science center which has been working on zombie technology for the past 8 years, but they have failed me miserably, and for that they must suffer.

Now that the zombie dog has been created, the secret ninja training I've been giving my golden retriever combined with this technology will result in the best of both worlds: a zombie/ninja dog!

Yes, that's right. You'd better start quivering and bowing in fear and supplication; oh, you huddled masses! Thousands of zombie/ninja winston dogs are being created as you read this. There is no stopping us. Do you hear me?! NOTHING CAN STOP THE ZOMBIE DOG, NOTHING STOPS PURE PANTING DROOLING UNDEAD EVIL!!!!!!

Especially with ninja training. You see, that's the crux of my plan. You might be able to blow a normal zombie dog's head off with a well-placed shot, but a ninja/zombie dog that leaps out from the shadows, with assistance from other ninja dogs, and the multitude of weapons at their disposal, cannot simply be decapitated by your normal Joe "holed up in a fortified building" six pack.

zombie dogs....zombie dogs....zombie dogs....oh, christ, this is great. WINSTON, come here boy. We have work to do!!!!

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Pure Awesome:
Okay, you look at the picture above, and what's the first thing you think?
"Damn, that dude with the hat is sex-ay!"
Right! Now what's the second thing you think?
"What the hell is the deal with these people?"
Sensible question; allow me to explain. The four individuals on our left-- besides being smart, geeky, and highly physically attractive-- are the sole members of a selective and clandestine revolution.


The old webpage can still be found here.
Although, we haven't been playing CS much, the Hong Kong Style clan can still wipe the floor with the teeniebopper punks that flood into online games like so much chattering, annoying mites.

On with the pictures!
This is Rainny threatening my dog with a violent death if he continued licking Rainny's hand. Needless to say, my dog ceased licking. Rainny can be a scary looking guy when he wants to be!
Like here for example: You can see how excessive consumption of alcohol can drain a man of youth, vitality, and (so I've been told) sanity. WITNESS THE HORROR OF FUTURE RAINNY!! Okay, one more, then I'm done. I promise.
The 4 man revoltion rocks: Sake; rum; guns; video games; D&D; fish(apparently). Our interests run the gamut from hick to geek, from retarted to just-plain-stupid, from here (Pa) to there (NY), and everywhere in between. I believe it's time to start posting with more regularity than the HK site. The blogger interface is far simpler than editing a website in html, so that should facilitate more ranting than before.

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