Pshaw!

Aquaman, King of the Seven Seas, has fucking had it with you, man.

First off, I don't talk to them. OK?

That's, like, the first thing. Let's start there.

It's not like I'm all, Hey, Peter Pufferfish, what's up? and he's all, Yo, nothing much, brah.

It doesn't work like that, all right? I mean, most of them don't even have brains, for one thing. They have maybe a bump at one end of their spinal cord, a pimply little swelling of ganglia, if they're lucky.

Language is not a looming issue, is what I'm saying.

No, how it works is: I command them. Period, the end. Command, as in bend them to, you know, my will and whatnot. Fuckin' A.

Even the ones with actual for-real brains, the cetaceans. If I want, you know, a pod of Burmeister's porpoise to ram the hell out of Black Manta's Manta Sub, that shit gets done. If I totally want, like, a southern minke whale to go hump a giant squid (its most hated enemy, by the way), I just go doodoodoodoodoodoo and it's like Show World down there. Not that I would, because, you know, gross, but I'm just saying: I don't ask. I'm not going to be all, If you wouldn't mind terribly much, please, Mr. Southern Minke Whale, go get your nasty freak on with that giant squid.

Just, you know, FYI.

And it's not training. I read that on some blog: "He just trains them to do all that."

Dude, I can get 6 million krill to gunk up the engine of a getaway ship by having them hurl themselves up the intake jets. Mass sea-monkey suicide. OK? Try that shit with operant conditioning, with some big-titted blondie waggling a smelt, see what you get. Think they're meting out kick-ass sea justice over at Epcot? Shyeah.

But everyone takes their shot. Fucking YouTube and shit. Cartoon Network. Suddenly every hacky comic's got a tight five-minute chunk on lame old Aquaman. "Haw haw haw, he's so laaaaame, hee hee hee, go talk to a guppy!"

It's all good. Somehow I manage to suffer through it. I soldier bravely the fuck on, comforted only by the small but telling fact that I'm absolute goddamn ruler of—what was it again?—oh, yeah: the EARTH.

The PLANET.

And you, you're, like, star of open-mike night at the Mirth Shack in Jacksonville. And your MySpace blog? OMG! ROTFLMAO!

You used to be cool, man.

When you were a kid, you'd sit at the bottom of the Stupaks' pool, remember? Used to sit there and pretend the kickboard between your knees was Storm the Giant Seahorse, and you'd stay under for as long as you could, going doodoodoodoodoodoo.

Remember there was that orange T-shirt you had? Remember that? That was cool.

You sure seemed like a happy little kid.

But, you know, I get it. Whatever, that was a long time ago. Now you're all, Wonder Woman never even let him fly her plaaaane, and whatnot. And that's, you know, fine.

I could command you. You, those Robot Chicken assholes, alla y'all. Command you all to, you know, quit it.

I don't make, like, a big deal about that, but I could. You're just a fish at heart, dude. Down deep in your forebrain. I fuckin' could.

But I won't. That's not how I roll. I'm a hero. Plus, I'm King of the Seven Seas, so, you know, I got shit to do, right?

No, it's fine. You rock on with your bad self, dude. Mazel tov.

Seriously, though, leave my lady out of it. That's not cool, man. Mera, she doesn't get it like I do. She's sensitive. I start hearing you talking shit about her, or her hard-water powers, or that time she turned evil, and I will fuck your shit up. Count on it.

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Short Imagined Monologues.
- by BY GLEN WELDON

Five, Six, Seven, Eight...

Someone asked me to share a story about a happy moment in my life. I decided to write about the time I "wowed" a crowd.

Actually, I've done that a number of times since because I'm a loudmouth who stumbles into weird social situations where I'm just suddenly in front of a few hundred people and they're either looking for entertainment or I'm just looking to have some fun at their expense. That or it's my dirty little secret obsession with Karaoke. If you know me, you know this kind of stuff happens around me all the time with no explanation.

This time it was different though. You see, I worked at this club and the way it fell into place was reminiscent of one of those Hollywood moments at the end of every teen movie ever made. You've seen this scene, trust me. It's where the lead character does something at the end of the film that makes the crowd go wild.

In fact, this happened in such an eerily similar way to a very popular movie I still laugh about it. (see if you can guess, lol)

You see, the boss had hired a band for the night and they were quite good. Seriously. Lots of classic country and southern rock, with a handful of AC/DC tunes tossed in for good measure. They had fantastic harmony too. I'd been working behind the bar happily tapping my feet as the club filled up...when suddenly the music just didn't start up after the last song ended.

I looked up and the guitarist had blood running down his pants. Turned out he'd just cut his wrist on a mic stand as he fell backwards adjusting his amp. The lead singer (a tall guy with a hilariously oversized cowboy hat) immediately wrapped his bandanna around the wound and rushed him out the door. And I do mean rushed.

Everyone was standing around looking at each other. There was a rustling of chairs as the patrons looked around for their things, assuming the night's festivities had ended abruptly. I looked over at the end of the bar and saw the look on my boss' face. She was normally a very pale woman to begin with, and the platinum "Dolly Parton" hair added to the effect, but this was different. It was a big night for her, and this was a big crowd. We'd been running a little slow lately so I know she had a lot riding on tonight...maybe even our jobs.

So, I rang the bell.

You see, we had this bell behind the bar. It was really a tool we used to get the patrons to yell "yee-haw!" every couple of hours (this was Texas after all) so it was extremely loud. Everyone snapped around as I came out from behind the bar and ran up to the stage. I took the microphone and asked everyone to stay in their seats. I then uttered a sentence that literally sank my own stomach to the floor. I remember the moment I said it. It was like a breath you squeeze out after you've had the wind knocked out of you. You know, that moment when you're kinda dizzy and floating? I looked right at the crowd and said:

"Don't worry folks...I might be able to fix this."

Now the funny thing about this band was their drummer. The guy looked JUST like Chris Elliot the comedian. I leaned in as he and the rest of the guys in the band looked right at me with this "say what?" kind of look on their faces.

Me: "I can swing a pretty mean axe guys, lets get a few more songs out and we can make sure you guys get paid."

Drummer: "[disdainfully] 'Swing a pretty mean axe?' What are you kidding? Dude we're done for the night."

Me: "No no no, come on I know you guys know some Eagles tunes and how bout some Creedence? We can totally rock out on standard classic rock and country all night. How 'bout some Hendrix? It's what you guys do anyway."

Bass Player: "Hey man, [Singer's Name]'s run off too. He also plays fiddle."

Me: "Well I can sing enough, and you guys all sound good. We can handle this. I don't play fiddle much, so we'll just skip those songs."

Now, they were already a good 30 minutes into a 2 hour set. Understand that your average cover band in Texas can whip out enough classic rock to fill an entire night from memory, and with ¼ of the set done, they were already grooving along. I convinced them somehow to let me look at the set list and I knew a lot of the songs. They also had a fake book right there on top of the amps! (a fake-book is a large collection of music, lyrics, and chord charts for popular songs) Eventually they all shrugged and gave it a shot. That's when I picked up the abandoned Strat to the sound of laughter.

From a lot of people I knew.

Okay...if you know me...you know I've now hand a band of my own, and you probably know (all too well) that I'm a big ham who never misses an opportunity to get on a stage. The thing is, other than a few impromptu performances with friends, at this point in my awkward teenage existence, I hadn't ever really played in front of anyone; let alone taken the lead of a band I just met and hadn't ever played with before. I can't stress how ball-shakin' terrified I was, and the laughs didn't help.

Me: "Okay, okay...everyone have a seat. Yeah yea, give us one song. I got a little somethin for ya."

Now you're not gonna believe me, and quite frankly I don't give a shit, but one of the songs they had on that set list was "Johnny B Goode" by Chuck Berry. I mean, okay, Deloreans and Plutonium aside, this is THE universal anthem of Rock & Roll. You could play that tune in the middle of a rice paddy in North Korea and those people are gonna drop what they're doing and dance. It was perfect, so I asked the drummer and he nodded okay, slapped his sticks together in time, and it was on.

Did we rock? You bed your ass we rocked! Were we perfect? Hell no. Did we finish an entire 2 hour set? Yeah, 2 hours and then some. I even slammed out some tunes I'd never played before. It was glorious, and the feeling I felt that night stays with me. In fact, it comes right to the surface every time I have to speak in public or perform. That night changed my entire outlook on life, and took a relatively boring teenager and turned him into a glory hog who couldn't get enough of the limelight.

Eventually I tamed him a little, but he's still in here rockin out.

Highlight of the night: AC/DC's "You shook me all night long"

Superfriends Office Space

Leonard Nimoy Sings...

The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins.

Yes, that's Spock. No, I have no idea what the fuck this is. Yes, it makes me happy too.

Please come again...

Okay people, I have you now! I've been on the hunt for some wacky ass shit lately, and I appreciate you sticking around after weird Jihadi Midgets and He-Man Karaoke...but THIS little nugget is pure gold.

I give you...Indian Television's version of Michael Jackson's "Thriller".

Oh yea!

And of course, since I'm still a huge Michael fan, here's the original for your viewing pleasure: