“The topic of religion is so inherently funny”

How strange that I haven’t heard anything about this new movie coming out this Spring — I guess I need to watch more TV.

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It’s a heretical documentary/comedy by Bill Maher called Religulous, combining “religious” and “ridiculous”. I’m not seeing much of a buzz for it on the web just yet — a brief mention by Chris Hallquist, placeholders at IMDB and Rotten Tomatoes, a quick blurb on RD.net, and this short interview with the ever-annoying Larry King.

I’m so disappointed, though. They didn’t contact me through a proxy and interview me for a movie with a different name. Don’t they understand how these things are done?

Old pulp crumbles into cultural irrelevance, alas

Prehistoric Pulp, my source for all pop culture with dinosaurs, reveals that there will be a new direct-to-video (not promising) animated (could be bad) movie of Turok, Son of Stone (awesome!) And it’s not the stupid bastardized version that was corrupted for video games to include cyborg dinosaurs!

Yeah, yeah, it looks a bit cheesy and cheap and it’s got cultural stereotypes run amuck, but it’s personal. Back when I was a tiny young fella and my father was a blue-collar wage slave working long hours, when he got home he’d sometimes ask me to read to him, and there were two things we both got into: Edgar Rice Burrough’s Mars stories, and Turok comic books. Both of those have faded considerably from the Great American Memory Collective, you have to be of a certain age to actually appreciate them, and they just seem a little quaint and peculiar and dated if you read them now, but hey, they were part of my childhood landscape, so I like ’em.

I’d also like to see A Princess of Mars made into a movie, but I think it’s impossible. The special effects are doable, but the tone couldn’t survive: they were all about old-fashioned gallant heroism, naked people with swords and radium pistols, and exotic, unbelievable Martian landscapes, and nowadays the casual chauvinism would get in the way, and nobody could write it straight as Burroughs did. The titular Princess is a voluptuous Martian mammal … who interbreeds with a human and lays eggs. It couldn’t be done now without cracking a joke.

Turning the tawdry into poetry

I think we’re going to have to name Cuttlefish the Pharyngula Poet Laureate. Since so many people liked the sweet little poem about Gary Aldridge left in the comments, here it is for more to admire. (If you have no idea who Gary Aldridge is, here’s a reminder).

We gather here to eulogize
The Pastor and the Man
Old Gary Aldridge, often wise,
Though not his latest plan.

A member of the Christian nation,
Friend of Jerry Falwell,
His last attempt at masturbation
Didn’t go at all well.

For fifteen years, he’d preached the word
A Southern Baptist minister
His death–now, is it just absurd
Or something rather sinister?

How does a person come to wear
Not one wetsuit, but two?
(Although, I know, I should not care
I’m curious–aren’t you?)

I tend to think that, years ago,
He spied a rubber glove,
And wondered “Should I–well, you know–
When God and I make love?”

He tried it on, and found a tube,
Half hidden on his shelf,
Of KY–smiled, and murmered “Lube
Thy neighbor as thy self.”

And minutes later, hard at work,
He felt a little odd
Was this a sin, or just a quirk?
He talked it out with God.

“Is what I’m doing here a sin?
Or is my pleasure Thine?
Is this as bad as skin on skin?
Lord, please, give me a sign!”

So God produced a pamphlet: “Your
Vacation in Aruba!”
And pointed out–right there, page four–
The wetsuits used for SCUBA

See, God’s not really how you think
A deity might be
He’s got a wicked bondage kink
(Just ask His son, J. C.)

So Gary died, not steeped in sin
But following God’s plan;
So straight to Heaven–come on in!
And bring the wetsuits, man!

A story, sure, but it may yet
Explain what happened then.
The moral is, please don’t forget:
Your safeword is “Amen”.

Important information from the pre-debate conversation!

I forgot to tell you all the most important gossip I heard at the Bell last night. I had a scant few minutes to talk to Jim Kakalios, who has gone all Hollywood on us, doing consulting work for the next big superhero blockbuster … Watchmen. Ooooh, all you geeks are saying, tell us more! I can’t. All I know is that Jim promises that it is excellent and true to the graphic novel. And as a fellow follower of the Code of the Thin Tweed Line, he cannot lie to a fellow academic. This will be something to look forward to.

I tried to pump him for more information, but Hollywood has locked him in with vicious threats — if he spills the beans, a tanned and toned starlet will show up at his door, pin him to a table with her pilates-firmed thighs, and carve out both his kidneys with her long glittery nails. He places his concerns for his kidneys above his loyalty to the the Thin Tweed Line, which is a little distressing.

Maybe I should pass Jim’s home phone number on to Harry Knowles.

Throw away your TVs

The Great Wasteland is done. It’s hit bottom. I suspect everyone has heard about
Sherri Shepherd, a new co-host on a talk show for stupid women, who doesn’t accept the theory of evolution and, by the way, isn’t so sure about the shape of the earth, either.

Way to go. Way to reinforce the idea that women are incurious airheads. Way to inform and educate and encourage thinking — hire an idiot to help anchor your program in idiocy.