Damn, I was lazy today.

(And horribly furry & fat, come to think about it.)

Can’t remember what I was watching, but that old State Farm commercial kept coming on. You know, the one that introduced us to the black magic of the “Like a good neighbor” song?

Yeah. That one. I hate to say it, but I don’t regret what this campaign has spawned. I actually like most of the commercials. But THIS ONE? I regret the existence of that hipster-haired blondie in the chair.

I don’t know. Something about him. Maybe it’s the hair.

Could be the shirt.

Nope. I figured it out. It’s THIS LINE.

Something about his delivery or some shit. HATE that guy. And it’s just THIS GUY. Like I said, I’ve got no beef with any other State Farm commercials.

It’s this little turd that I regret.

Okay. So, as I was seeing this commercial for, I don’t know, the 30th time, my mind kept drifting back to yesterday’s SpringCon. I became fixated on the things I DIDN’T buy. Certain tables I meant to go back to.

Then I regretted that I didn’t grab a bootlegged copy of “Clue Club” that always seems to be beckoning me at the bootleg DVD guy’s table. I passed by there yesterday, looking for the illusive “Skatebirds.”

Probably one of the shittiest shows from my childhood. Essentially a wraparound show for lower tier cartoons. (And if we’re being honest, it was just a watered-down version of the Banana Splits.)

But I always check to see if the bootleg DVD guy has it.

No dice. Should’ve been somewhere between “Sinbad” & “Skorpion.” But then I notice they’ve got a few copies of “Clue Club.”

A short-lived Hanna-Barbera cartoon that ran in the late 70’s. It only had 16 episodes total. And I remember loving it because it didn’t FULLY follow the HB playbook.

• TEENAGERS SOLVING MYSTERIES
There was that, but it wasn’t an excuse for them to play in some band or feature some goofy song during a montage.

You know, in the future. Underwater. With a shark that sounded like Curly.

• OVERLY PRECOCIOUS KIDS
These were actual teenagers who could drive. The only semi-precocious kid was Dotty, who was actually the brains of the group.

Wowzers. HUGE crush. The little pigtails, the zero jersey. This fictional gal was the complete package from a 6 or 7-year old boy’s POV.

• TALKING ANIMALS
Alright, alright. It actually DID have talking animals. Two bloodhounds called Woofer & Whimper. Somehow I didn’t mind them that much.

They didn’t interrupt the story & they ended up getting their own spin-off show, so bully for those guys.

Now that I look back at it, I guess it was your typical Hanna-Barbera cartoon. But it seemed more grounded in reality to me.

ANYHOO……..

I happened to notice that my pal Hubbell was going to Springcon today. So, I sent the following:

Welp, I ended up getting off my fat, furry, lazy ass & went back to SpringCon, where I bought a copy of “Clue Club.”

As well as more low-priced, geeky shit I didn’t need. 

Yeah, this is going to end exactly as you’d think. I regret forgetting to tweet Hubbell back. Because THIS is the tweet I found after completely forgetting about the earlier exchange:

So now, it looks like I own TWO copies of “Clue Club.” Thanks to the overwhelming generosity of Charles (who I’ll be paying for his efforts) & the scatterbrainedness of me.

Aw, fuck it. Maybe I can watch one forward & one backwards at the same time & find out some hidden gems that Hanna-Barbera didn’t want me to see.

AAAAA!

NOOO!

FFFFAAAAAAAAAAAK!!!

Okay, maybe I’ll just burn the other copy.

First off, this may be almost identical to last year’s May 18th post, but if you know me, you knew this was coming.

I attended the Midwest Comic Book Association’s SpringCon today.

Like most years, I got x-amount out of the ATM & got out before I spent it all. And I regret that I don’t regret how much I actually spent. Especially since I got 58 comics, two TPB’s & four shirts.

When deals like THIS are in front of me, I’d be crazy NOT to risk being overdrawn.

On a completely different note, I regret that some humjob at Garnier got paid to come up with THIS name for their hair gel.

Yep. It’s called “Disorder.” Not “Bedlam” or “Entropy” or, I don’t know, “Maelstrom.” 

Maybe they’re trying to compete with Axe.

Although that’s just body spray.

FUCK.

I don’t know. But as a guy who people turn to when they need a cool name for something day-in & day-out, I end up breaking into hives when I see a hair product that’s been named “Disorder.” 

I mean, I understand what they’re going for. Disheveled, bad boy hair for any occasion, whether it’s crowd-surfing

or simply hanging with your dad during your useless liberal arts class.

I mean, am I crazy? You couldn’t just call it “Chaos” or something? Seriously. Garnier-Fructis CHAOS. I’m sorry, but that’s WAY cooler than Disorder. 

Look, if you’re not gonna listen to me, just Google the words “disorder” & “hair” & see what kind of results you get.

Uh-huh. Good luck, Garnier. I’m hope you go over like gangbusters with the Mexican werewolf boy demographic.

Amen, Dr. Malcolm.

AMEN.

Alright. It’s time to come clean.

I kind of regret the giddiness I got out of my J.J. Armes action figure as a kid. And the gushy memories that still haunt me to this day.

At the time, it felt like I shouldn’t be enjoying an action figure that celebrated a guy with hooks for hands.

But that all vanished when I saw all of his accessories that were out there.

If anything, I regret not owning ANY of these. Totally boss.

Seriously. This figure was PIMP. The claws, his leather vest, the JJ logo, the random hand accessories. 

And in case you were wondering, J.J. Armes was a REAL guy.

Still is, actually. A private investigator whose hands were blown off, leaving him no other option than to fight crime with these crazy, nutty claws.

He ate with these claws. Made love with these claws. He even hugged chimps with these claws for Christ’s sake! 

The man was TOTALLY worthy of an action figure, in my opinion.

Which brings me to what I’m building up to. I owned a lot of half-assed, slapdash action figures.

THIS guy, for example.

Uh, yeah. Zem-21. Part of the S*T*A*R Team.

One of many Star Wars rip-offs that came out on the heels of that film’s release. And while I fell under the spell of other stuff I’m not that proud of,

I didn’t take the leap of faith when it came other ‘borshes that came out around the same time.

The OTHER J.J.,

the wide swath of “physically correct male” dolls,

various & sundry plush dolls,

other horrible TV tie-ins,

etc.

“Washable?!!”

I guess where I’m going with this is that there seemed to be more gravitas when it came to J.J. Armes. Sure, he was riding the coattails of the Six Million Dollar Man.

But weren’t they all? 

And for my money, I always felt like there was something more meaningful about an action figure based on a real guy

over THIS.

Not hating on anybody who enjoyed their Love Boat playset.

I just know what I like. 

A while back, I stopped questioning why good people are taken from us.

Because there’s no answer. No matter what you believe in, who you worship or which side of the fence you’re on, there’s just no answer.

That’s what makes it so hard when we lose someone.

And that’s why I regret the recent loss of this gent.

His name was Robin. But I only really knew him as Mr. Davidson. Because in the South, we believe in “Ma’am” & “Sir” & we generally don’t call our elders by their first names.

Especially if they’re a parent of your best friend.

In my experience, he was a man of few words. He’d see me & J’Mel screwing around in his house, give a quick, “How you doing, Sam?” & leave us be. 

And no matter how under the weather he was, he never let me see it.

Cordial, friendly & gracious. That was Robin Davidson. Naturally he’ll be missed by his family, those closest to him. But he’ll also be missed by those of us who only ever got a glimpse of who he was.

Which, to me, is the sign of an amazing soul. They always leave you wanting more.

Okay. The Abercrombie & Fitch thing. It’s been going on for a little while now by Internet standards (what, a week at most?). And I’m one of the millions that’s done with it.

But not in a way that you might think.

Yeah, Brandon Pufferfish is getting in a lot of hot water for this statement. Which has obviously caused some serious backlash.

Kirstie Alley’s pissed at them,

boycotts are being spearheaded

& this dude’s urging people to hand out their used A&F clothing to the homeless.

Got it, pal. Taking it to the streets, proving your point. 

And it’s a noble effort. One I’D never take up, but good on you.

Hell, people are even taking it out on the CEOgre, who made the statement in the first place.

Ha-HAAA! Take that, you repulsive bastard! He’s so grotesque that making him a meme is practically unnecessary.

Sure, let’s go there. Easy target, so bullseye.

Here’s what I regret about this whole situation: WHY ANYBODY GIVES A FUCK.

That’s right. Who fucking cares who this assbutt’s demographic is?

You want to make a dent in his revenue & make your own statement? 

DON’T

FUCKING

SHOP

THERE.

I know. Shocker, right? What a fucking revolutionary concept!

Look, I’m not his demographic. In fact, I’ve NEVER been his demo. So there’s no worry of ME not shopping there. Which is why ________________________ .
A) I don’t shop there.
B) I’ve never shopped there.
C) I’ve never gone in.
D) Their stores smell like taint wrapped in Drakkar.
E) All of the above.

If you guessed E, you passed, genius.

I don’t have ambitions to look like THIS guy.

Or dress like THAT guy.

I’ve lived my life wearing what I want to wear REGARDLESS of:

• What “cool kids” are wearing
• What trends are happening
• What companies are telling me to wear

But sadly, there are plenty of Hitler Youth out there, willing to bow down to the A&F brand, REGARDLESS of the company’s stance. They’re so vapid that they don’t care. They just want to wear conformist bullshit.

And you know what? LET THEM.

Because they’re lemmings. What they spend their trust fund money on doesn’t affect you in the slightest. And vice versa.

Plus, bitching, whining, passing around viral videos & making snarky comments isn’t making Donnie Blimpface any less money.

So, let this constipated turd burglar spew whatever discriminative viewpoints he wants. It’s his dumbass company, after all. And unless huffing Axe Body Spray is your thing, just don’t walk in & buy shit. 

Although I’m letting the stunningly gorgeous unemployed slide on this one.

I regret the negative shit I’m already hearing about “Star Trek Into Darkness.”

The damn thing opens this week & disappointing reviews are already pouring in. 

For the record, I’m also hearing some positive stuff, too.

And normally I don’t pay attention to either side. But this time? The negative ones are sticking in my craw for some reason.

I’m shaking it off though. Because I just came up with two simple things that could make this movie greater than a lifetime supply of Cheesy Gordita Crunches.

(And J.J., prick up your frickin’ ears. If these didn’t make the cut, you could always use them in “Star Trek 3: Mo’ Darkness Blues.”)

Okay, here goes. 

TWO THINGS THAT COULD MAKE THIS STAR TREK FLICK BADASS

1) The Duras Sisters

I know, I know! They’re Klingon. And I think they only appeared in TNG continuity. But you’ve already fucked continuity! So, what do you have to lose?

And where are the Klingons anyway? If you’re gonna roll em out, why not go with the first string? These gals are savage. They’re also hot. 

You know, in kind of a repulsive way.

2) THIS guy, uhhhhhh … Jerry Dickneck

Uh-huh. I went there. Dipping into Star Trek: The Animated Series.

I’m not saying that plopping Lieutenant Arex into the Navigator seat would save this film. But what could it hurt? Hell, that cheap fan series, “Phase II,” tossed him into THEIR cast.

Just look at him! They gave him the third arm & everything!

Do you REALLY want to be shown up by fucking fan fiction, J.J.?

Didn’t think so. And while you’re at it, why don’t you include that hot cat woman, too?

You know, just for me.

And there we are. I know there are probably serious things that could make “Star Trek Into Darkness” 10-foot tall & bulletproof. But I’m keeping those close to the vest until I see how this thing shapes up.

Dammit. I telegraphed that by about five minutes, didn’t I?

Unless you’ve been living under a rock (or bridge or whatever you’d live under so that you wouldn’t know what was going on), this was a monumental day for Minnesota.

We became the 12th state to legalize same-sex marriage. A pretty historic legal decision. Then again, it’s not as historic as if Alabama did it or something.

But it’s all about the battles, not the war.

The thing is, I don’t regret anything about this decision. But I regret learning that TV psychologist (& famous drag queen) Dr. Joyce Brothers passed away today. 

It happened sometime around the time we found out that Minnesota gained the distinction of being 12th in the union.

Sad, really. Who knows how many drag queen/TV psychologists were inspired by her decades of service? We’ll miss you, Pookie.

Okay, this can’t possibly compare, but just about every day during lunch, I hang out on the aLoft patio to smoke & get some writing done. 

I’ve been doing this for a while now. And here’s the chair I normally sit in while writing.

(Cherry Coke, smokes & a notebook that contains my soon-to-be sci-fi masterpiece, “I Hope I Get Laid Before I Have To Save The Universe.”)

And I regret that after years of this same old routine, I JUST TODAY realized that I could take a cushion from another chair & use it as a backrest.

That’s right. I’ve been sitting in THIS piece of crap for years now.

Like a CHUMP. And this one little adjustment makes a world of difference.

Man, it’s SO MUCH BETTER!

Gimme a break! I warned you that it wouldn’t be as interesting as the whole same-sex marriage thing! JEEEZ!

Damn gays.

On this bright & shiny Mother’s Day, I thought I’d bring up something I’ve regretted for a long time now. 

I regret calling my mother a slut.

Yeah. How’s YOUR Mother’s Day holding up?

Anyway, it was a LONG time ago. But this incident has played over & over in my head for years. And although I apologized for it almost immediately, it kills me to think about it.

Given, we’re talking about a woman who:
• Was widowed when she was in her 20’s
• Gave up EVERYTHING to raise me
• Never dated anyone after my Dad died
• Never ever hurt me in the slightest way

So, why would I stoop so low as to call the woman who brought me into this world something so vulgar?

Here’s the setup:

DUMB TEENAGE YEARS
I don’t think I was driving yet because I remember being in the passenger seat when this happened. It should also be noted that I was big on using words that I didn’t know the meanings of. I think I got this one from SNL.

RANKING ON A FRIEND
If memory serves, she was bad-mouthing some friend of mine. Mainly because she thought he was a nogoodnik. And not long after this, I realized that she was right. Let’s just call him “Clem” for now.

THE TRANSCRIPT
Mother - I don’t want you hanging out with Clem. 
Me - Why not? What do you got against him?
Mother - Sam, he’s not respectful & I don’t like him.
Me - You can’t tell me who I can & can’t be friends with.
Mother - Yes, actually. I can. 
Me - Well, I’m still going over to his house later, so …
Mother - Don’t make me ground you. I don’t want you hanging around that little prick. And that’s final.
Me - (after much thought) Well, if he’s a prick, then you’re a slut.

THE AFTERMATH
That’s when she slapped me across the face. Probably the only time she ever did that. I mean, I got spankings when I was younger, but this was different. I realized immediately how much of an idiot I was.

So, on this annual celebration of Mothers in every corner of the U.S., think back & remember the good things she’s done for you over the years. And if you’re near her, give her a hug.

Because at one time or another, you did something to her that was absolutely inexcusable. And yet, she still loved you unconditionally & stood by you no matter what. 

She’s the light of my life. And I’ll never regret her.

First off, I’ve heard from a LOT of reliable sources that “Sherlock” is a pretty incredible series.

After all, it’s got Bilbo & Khan in it. How could it NOT be good, right?

And having only researched it & never seen a single episode, I have a slight regret about it. Though not about the show itself.

Mainly THIS:

I saw these in a bookstore the other day. Basically your run-of-the-mill repackaging dealy. And although I appreciate that this happens all the time, I regret what they’re doing by connecting the series & the original text.

Because from what I’ve heard, the series is more or less an update of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories. An UPDATE, meaning that the mysteries are basically the same, but rebooted with modern technology.

Again, I haven’t seen the series, but tossing Bilbo & Khan on a book cover might entice people to pick it up for the wrong reasons. Not sure if Doyle was big on GPS & texting back in the day.

Though I guess you’d have to be a Grade-A knob to not know.

For my money, I’d take Lucy Lui in “Elementary” as Watson.

Not that I’ve seen THAT series either.

I regret that some doofus felt the need to create a shrine to Bubbles the Chimp.

You remember Bubbles, right?

NOOOOO! Not THAT Bubbles. Michael Jackson’s Bubbles.

Well, THIS GUY wasted time & effort by creating a shrine to him.

A shrine for Bubbles. Bubbles the Chimp.

The doofus in question’s name is David Shrigley.

Now, let me be clear. The reasoning behind him building this shrine seems somewhat noble.

You see, when MJ died, there was nothing in his will about Bubbles’ wellbeing.

So, Bubbles was turned over to a sanctuary, where each monkey costs $20,000 a year. I guess that money goes toward food, housing &

plenty of frogs for, you know, “extracurricular activities.”

So, on THAT end, I’m glad that Shrigley is doing something to raise awareness in some way. Even if it’s something as stupid as this.

However, I also regret that he’s doing this in the name of “art.” Because THIS is what David Shrigley’s art normally looks like.

Uh-huh.

That’s right.

Oooookay, that’s enough.

Oh, for the love of God, STOP!

And these are just the ones I decided to pull. Goddamned bunch of shit.

I mean, as admirable as his intentions may be, I want to see his face ripped off by a damn, dirty ape as penance for his half-assed attempt at making art.

I mean, I’m no art expert, but I know what I like.

NOTE: TODAY’S REGRET IS ABOUT THE NEW FILM, “IRON MAN 3.” I DON’T SEE IT AS HAVING SPOILERS, BUT YOU MIGHT. WHO KNOWS? ANYWAY, DON’T WORRY. I’LL WARN YOU BEFORE THE POTENTIAL OF THEM ACTUALLY HAPPENS.

As a kid, I was one of those dorks who obsessively collected “The Official Handbook Of The Marvel Universe” series back in the 80’s.

Cool, sometimes insignificant facts & back stories about every Marvel character.

I even collected the 1989 Deluxe Editions.

As well as the subsequent follow-ups.

And there were two things I loved about this series:

1) Their “Book Of The Dead”

2) Their “Book Of Weapons, Hardware & Paraphernalia” 

See, the thing about the “Weapons” issue is that it had these cool cutaways & detailed close-ups of just about every piece of hardware in Marvel’s canon. 

Highly intricate technical drawings of how things worked.

Even if it had no basis in science, I didn’t care. I stared at pages like this for hours, infatuated with the amount of thought that went into the minutia. 

And here’s how we swing into “Iron Man 3.”

The villain in this flick is an unusual choice, but kind of a bigwig in Iron Man’s rogues gallery - The Mandarin.

Notice those rings on his fingers?

Dude’s rings are kind of what makes him who he is. And what I loved the most about Mandarin in the comics was the crazy, random shit his rings could do.

Now, check THIS beautiful crap. 

Yep. It’s from the “Weapons, Hardware & Paraphernalia” issue. Every ring catalogued with comprehensive descriptions of each.

And in case you’re wondering, this wasn’t some tossed-off character they decided to include in the newest Iron Man movie. We’re talking about a villain with SERIOUS HISTORY here.

This issue? It’s from 1964. 

Okay, so before I mention my regret, I’ll say this. None of this shit matters if you’re not a comic book reader. Basically, the flick can stand on its own.

Regardless, I’ll give you a little buffer before revealing anything. You know, just in case you decide that you want to back out, for fear that I’ll actually leak a spoiler & ruin the movie for you.

HERE COMES THE FIRST BUFFER:

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THE SECOND BUFFER:

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ANNNNNNNND TODAY’S REGRET.

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I basically regret that they bothered putting The Mandarin in “Iron Man 3” in the first place.

I’ll say no more. 

So, today I was reminded about this strange phenomenon.

That’s right. The same product. Four different names.

Look, I know this happens all the time. But we’re talking about the EXACT SAME COMPANY here.

And you can argue that Drake’s is in a different category because it’s not Hostess. But look again.

Uh-huh. “By Hostess.”

Worst of all, these identical products were mostly competing against each other on the shelves at EXACTLY THE SAME TIME.

Were they in cahoots? Was it a marketing snafu? Or was it all part of an elaborately orchestrated plan?

Then you have stuff like THIS, which blurs the line even further.

There was NEVER a King Ding Dong. King Don, yes. But THIS? Oh, HELL, no.

So, where does THIS fit into the equation? 

And I know what you’re wondering. Whither Canada?

I’ll be honest. I have no idea what these have to do with my original point. Except that Jos. Louis is the Great White North’s answer to Ding Dongs/Ring Dings/King Dons/Big Wheels. And the May West? I have no fucking clue.

The thing is, I know people who SWEAR they’re called Big Wheels.

Then again, I know people who call them King Dons.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. What does that say?

That’s what I thought. “King Ding DON?!!?”

Jesus! How far does this demented rabbit hole go?

So, what’s to regret about all this? I guess on one level, I regret how fucked the branding for this food is. On another, I regret how badly I want to do a taste test of each & every variation now.

Welp, back to work!