Comment Corner

Folks,

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm a total numbers whore. I would chug all sorts of gonad to increase the visiting numbers to the Corner.

That said, it's hard to guage which articles do better than others. I'm not that clever with counters.

So, here's the Great Sunday Questionnaire regarding the Comment Corner. Help me help you help me tailor this place.

If nobody bothers to respond, I'll just keep writing dick and fart jokes in my happy echo-chamber. Just answer the q's from 1 to 10. 10 being total agreement and 1 meaning you're a douche who doesn't agree.

1. THE COMMENT CORNER RELIES TOO MUCH ON VULGAR, VICIOUS HUMOUR.

2. THE COMMENT CORNER SHOULD DEAL MORE WITH CKA SPECIFIC ISSUES

3. THERE IS NOT ENOUGH GRAPHIC CONTENT ON THE COMMENT CORNER

4. TOO MANY PHRASES PISS YOU OFF. HOW ABOUT TELLING US ABOUT A PARADE OF PUPPIES CARRYING BASKETS OF KITTENS?

5. THE COMMENT CORNER GETS REPETITIVE

6. THE EDITORIALS, SUCH AS STEVEN TRUSCOTT, CONSPIRACY THEORY AND/OR TOY RECALLS NEED TO GET MORE AIRTIME

7. MORE VIDEO GAME AND MOVIE COVERAGE.

8. MORE TELEVISION COVERAGE

9. BRING BACK THE WEEKLY POSTER AWARDS

10. I WOULD HAVE SEX WITH THE COMMENT CORNER, BUT I'M AT AN INTERNET CAFE AND THE MANAGER IS LOOKING RIGHT AT ME. OKAY, NOW HE'S NOT.

Let me know what you folks think. Be honest!

Folks.

Do you have a Nintendo emulator yet? Here's how they work: You download one, and then you can play old Nintendo games on your computer until the buggy thing crashes and you're forced to hunt around flea markets and pawn shops for old NESes so you can play Mega Man games. Specifically, the only one that's really worth playing, Mega Man 2 (fuck you fuckers that like Mega Man 3, the slide only made things confusing)



WOO WOO, I'm Mega Man, stop dodging my laser blasts you sexy man in a stunning purple cashmere ensemble with the burnt ochre tiara! Wooooo! Hey hey hey hey, whatcha going to do with those drills sailor?

Here's Mega Man in a nuthsell. A slightly homosexual robot with an arm cannon is forced to jump through dungeons until he meets the robot master. The robot master of that particular dungeon at some point was a normal robot, corrupted to evil by a smacked out Albert Eintstein clone Dr. Wily. Each had a function and a functional name. So, Mega Man beat the shit out of them, put ribbons on their corpse and then ripped their weapon out to use as his own to beat the shit out of the next robot master. Think of a gay guy going around humping various other gay crime bosses to get their particular strain of Hep C or AIDS so he is that much more powerful to go to the next crime boss and use the AIDS against him. Now, repackage that into a cartoon format for kids and you've got yourself a hit motherfucking game my friends.

AIRMAN

I don't know Airman's original purpose. Unless his job was to give free blowjobs to tired air workers, he's essentially a walking vacuum cleaner, sans a Spanish accent and the hiding from immigration. He can make small tornados with his gun, so he could be what all...

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Folks,

There's lots of things in the world we can do without. Volcanoes. Bears. Hyper-violent bears that live in volcanoes, are immune to napalm weapons and can beat the fuck out of a tiger in like, two rounds. On this, we can all agree. But those are large things. Things you're not likely to encounter unless you live near the mysterious Aztec god El Nino, who can fuck up weather patterns with a single cum shot.

But what about things that you do live near? How do you combat those things? Hmmmm? Unless you're the United States, you need a plainly identified enemy before you go roaring off to fight. I am currently contemplating the eradication from society of:

HEADLIGHTS THAT DON'T TURN OFF RIGHT AWAY AND YOU STAND IN THE PARKING LOT/GARAGE FOR 20 SECONDS JUST TO MAKE SURE THEY'RE GOING TO TURN OFF AND WHEN THEY DO YOU FEEL AN ODD SENSE OF HUMILITY BECAUSE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO TURN OFF

Who invented this ridiculous option? It's patently useless. I have a garage. Inside my garage, some other intelligent engineer installed lights. These lights come on when the garage door opener goes on. Ipso ergo, there's fucking light in my garage when I pull the car in. I don't need the back wall of the garage blaringly lit up. It doesn't help me in the least, even if I'm sober. The same holds true for parking lots. I don't go to places at night that don't have light posts. Not because I'm scared, but because if the place is too fucking poor to have lights, I already know they have nothing that I need. That said, I don't need a heavy beacon alerting the rapists that I'm out of my car and they can come and rattle my ass harder than a gum-ball machine with a stuck quarter.

Anybody who was born before 1983 will tell you that lights that stay on after the car has been turned off means that YOU, the driver, have left them the fuck on. There weren't any clever computers flashing morse code to each other via the headlights to signal...

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Folks,

Before anybody blows an eyeball thinking I'm about to prison-rape Dr. Seuss, calm the fuck down. Somebody's already plowed that tender ass and left it looking like a blasted train-tunnel through a rocky mountain. Actually, Dr. Seuss is pretty much invulnerable to criticism anyway. No matter how many times you tell people that the green pants in "What was I scared of?" were predictive of a child's night at Michael Jackson's ranch, nobody cares.

Instead, what sort of shitty books I'm talking about are those fucked up books you used to read as a kid near the ages of 7-10. Ever have parents cleaning out the basement and they notice a box of books you used to have but rather than doing the intelligent thing like flinging them onto the street, they drop them off and you're stuck going around the neighbourhood sticking them into other people's newspapers like they were a free insert?

Well, I haven't.

But, if I did, and had I read a few of them on the crapper, I would have noticed just how pathetic these books are. I had a bunch of Nintendo World of Power books. Essentially, these books were forced novelizations of various Nintendo games, written by retards that believed in magic, love and that a basket of puppies was the greatest force against evil. For instance, in Castlevania 2, the hero is a fucking geek who manages to get the hottest chick in school to ask HIM out because he knows where to find cheap Nintendo games. But, because he's so good at Castlevania, Simon Belmont sucks him into a Castlevania to help him fight Dracula. Simon Belmont is portrayed as a Ukranian kid's guess at what a knight should sound like, except it isn't consistent. "Thou art"s quickly stumble into "Sweet Jesus ya honkey bitch!" as other scraps of cancelled novels hastily got stitched into the plot. Eventually, the hero from Earth kills Dracula with fucking puns. That's right. Puns. Lord of Darkness, soul sold to Satan, killed thousands,...

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Folks,

Have you ever been beleaguered at some point during your day where some low-paid misfit decides that some professional, be it nurse, teacher, plumber, cop, mechanic, electrician or lawyer among others is simply "overpaid" and therefore "undeserving"? Where do these miserable shits get their ideas? Thankfully, I'm an independently wealthy billionaire whose parents were murdered outside of a theatre alley and I've decided to defend you, the wretched citizenry, from yourselves out of misguided revenge by donning cape, cowl and typing furiously at a keyboard. As part of that package, (among other huge "packages"), I seek out fuckrods that mulch for a time on ignorant ideas before belching them forth into the goodly public's path.

That said, usually some shitstain will venture forth into the world of comparative salaries using nothing more than the imagination sparked from furrowing an overdeveloped unibrown and an overdrawn bank account.

WHAT EXACTLY IS "OVERPAID"?

These bastards have to start somewhere. Sometimes, it's blunt. Teachers are fucking overpaid, they'll say, then they'll beat their dicks against a mailbox until the bus comes to take them onward. Other times, it's more subtle. "I say, don't you think the public dollar could be stretched further if redundancies in the public service professions were slightly curtailed, hmmmmm?" they'll say, followed by beating their dicks against their half-paid Toyota Corollas with the one squeaky door.

Overpaid means one thing in this context. More than the person bitching. That's it. If by some miracle, John Q Poor-Ass Public were making $350,000 a year, he wouldn't give three shits if the going-rate for car-repair was $93 an hour. He'd happily pay whatever, get his Audi S8 back and drive over harp-seals to warm up his tires.

OVERPAID IMPLIES UNDESERVING

Here's the next faulty link in the...

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