Chocolate Chip Gentleman

As you may very well know, I had an exclusive interview with myself a couple of weeks back.  You may or may not recall depending on how interested you actually were in discovering more about the marvelous man that is myself, but during that interview I stated I would like to have been born as a chocolate chip cookie. 

So today, rather than detail you about my latest and grandest adventures, (which will most likely be saved for the next update) I will detail the reasoning behind that one rather intruiging statement I made.

Now without further ado, I give you today's update:

Why it would be Fabulous to be a Chocolate Chip Cookie

1. You would always have a tasty snack at your disposal.  Some may think eating oneself is a disgusting habit, what with most people being made of raw squishy flesh and whatnot, but imagine if you were a COOKIE.  Cookies are generally known for their chewy delights, and what could be better than having the luxury to be able to break off a piece of yourself anytime you feel like giving your taste buds a treat?

2. The ladies would adore you.  This is somewhat related to reason number one, in that it's due to you being one hunk of a tasty snack.  Of course the downside to this would be that ladies would simply adore you on a very superficial level, but who knows?  There has to be a few ladies out there who are caring enough to see beyond the superficial crunchy shell that is the cookie man.

3.  You could harness the power of chocolate.  This one is pretty self-explanatory I'd imagine, so I won't bother explaining it.  But those of you who don't understand, all you need to know is that there is no greater force in this world than chocolate.  You ever see those Star Wars films where the cloaked bloke kills a man by lifting his hand in the air for a couple of seconds?  That's mere child's play when compared to the power of chocolate.

4.  You could be buried in a coffin filled with milk.  Seriously, who doesn't want that?

Well that's all I can muster for today my fellow readers, tune in next time for another one of my exciting adventures!  Cheers!

Talking to Myself

So as you may have noticed, last week was a quiet one for this here blog of mine.  "Quiet" meaning a complete absence of updates.  This somewhat conflicted with my blog's slogan: "A new adventure every weekday!"  which in retrospect, should probably read something along the lines of "A new adventure every day I feel like it!" but that one sounds less professional.

Of course the day I start beating myself up over not updating this blog is the day someone lands a big fat check on my doorstep for doing this every bloody weekday.  But honestly, last week was thanksgiving week, and everybody was probably too busy stuffing themselves with stuffing anyway, so I somewhat doubt anyone noticed the lack of updates.  That being said, let's put all that behind us and get on with today's update:

 Nique Liveshitz's EXCLUSIVE interview with the famous gentleman, Nique Liveshitz!

(AKA: Nique's Interview with his bathroom mirror)


Nique Q:  I must say good sir, it's an honor to be talking to you right now, and I am very grateful for the time you have given me for this interview.  I'm sure our readers will be thrilled!


Liveshitz A: Yes yes of course of course, anything for my loyal fans.

Nique Q: So tell us, how have you managed to keep such a stunning, burly, handsome figure for so many years?

Liveshitz A: *Laughs merrily* Yes well that is one of my best-kept secrets my friend.  I keep a mysterious diet book to dictate my eating habits, which changes on a day-to-day basis.  I also make sure to brush my muscles and flex my teeth every morning.  And no, I didn't mix those two up, trust me. *Flashes a white smile*

Nique Q: Absolutely stupendous.  Well then, a lot of our readers have been dying to ask you lately: Is that suit and top hat the same suit and top hat you wear every day or do you have a whole drawer full of them?

 Liveshitz A: That's a stupid question and I refuse to answer it.  Also, on an unrelated note, what's so wrong with wearing the same thing everyday?  Is there some sort of law against being consistent?

Nique Q: Ok.....next question! If you could be any animal, what would it be?

Liveshitz A: A chocolate chip cookie.

Nique Q: Um... sorry sir, but a cookie is not an animal..

Liveshitz A: Pardon me, but are you a zoologist of any sort?

Nique Q: Well no but..

Liveshitz A: So you're not an expert on what defines an animal then are you?

Nique Q: Not technically no, but it's really just-

Liveshitz A: I would be a cookie then.  End of story.  Now if you'll excuse me I have some agents to throttle.  More specifically mine.  For arranging this whole silly interview.  Good day sir.

Nique Q: But Liveshitz sir, we're not done-


Liveshitz A: Cheers!  *Jumps out of window, or more realistically speaking, the mirror.*

Esophagus Afternoons

What could be better than spending a sunny afternoon nestled in the slimy warm esophagus of a lovely swamp alligator?  Hard to say, but from my experience, NOT being in an alligator's snack pipe would be a much more enjoyable way to spend an afternoon.

The lump inside is me. If he did this just to get my hat then I wouldn't blame him..

So yes, I spent my afternoon inside an alligator's mouth today.  Although it was not in my evening planner I can assure you that.

I had just set up my picnic umbrella near the fancy old pond in my mansion's Picnic Courtyard.  I hadn't visited the old pond since I was just a lad, so I figured it would be good for me to return to one of my childhood memories.  When I arrived however, things weren't quite how I remembered them.  The oval pond's water was murky and black, and the little statue angel that watched over the pond was no longer spouting water out of his cute little discolored pie-hole.  Nevertheless, I set up my Picnicking equipment and began crafting a rather festive turkey sandwich. 

I had just spread out a thick even layer of jam onto the bread when I heard a splashing sound.  I shifted my head to the source of the sound, and there it was.  Two glaring yellow eyes poking out from the murky black liquid like sadistic finger puppets, staring at my sandwich.  I turned my head away and pointed my nose into the air, the universal sign for "I don't need to deal with this."  Too bad for me the alligator wasn't getting the hint.

A thrust, snap, and swallow later, I found myself wedged into an uncomfortably tight spot, submerged partially in strange bodily fluids and nothing but the sound of heavy breathing to comfort me. Had I died at that moment would have been the ultimate irony, considering how it was nearly identical to my faint memories of what birth was like.  Of course irony can save itself for the weaker, because a man like me simply does not tolerate being devoured.

I had considered going out through the opposite end, but from the looks of it there wasn't much light at the end of that tunnel. Then I considered tickling the beast's throat with my mustache, but my mustache had become far too moist for that.  After an hour of brainstorming various escape plans and ways to kill the alligator from within, I noticed something a bit odd.  The alligator's heart beat had stopped!  But how?  Well, my fellow science-oriented friends, the answer would seem obvious had you paid any attention at all to the title of this post.  It can oftentimes be hard to breathe when you have something lodged in your esophagus , and lack of breathing generally leads to death.

So there you have it folks!  If you want to save the species of alligators or crocodiles or whatever it was, make sure you know the Heimlich!

-Cheers!

Double Zed Wednesday

The Swimming Hole

Not one of my better wake-up calls.

While prancing around carelessly in my dreams last night, a sudden high pitched squealing sound, coming from outside my window, interrupted me from my slumber.  I lifted my feet out of the covers and ran to the other side of my kingdom-sized bed to take a look at whatever was making that hideous noise.  Pressing my face against the high quality glass to get a better look, the culprit was revealed.

A short stocky child, with a blue baseball cap wrapped tightly around his crimson-haired cranium and  his green eyes bursting full of tears, was standing there bawling with one foot stuck in my backyard swimming hole.  For those who don't know, my definition of a swimming hole is very different from most.  Whereas most people use the term to describe a small pool or lake that can be used to swim in, I use the term much more literally.  In other words, a swimming hole is an actual small hole in the ground that contains a small volume of water.  Many question my usage of the word "swimming" in this definition, but many also later question why I couldn't have punched them in the face instead.

As the stocky ginger boy tugged at his trapped leg, he opened his mouth and once again made the squealing pig noise that had woken me up in the first place.  At first I was simply going to activate the Swimming Hole security system installed in my mansion, (A massive drill that emerges from the hole) but then decided against it when I saw that the boy had passed out due to his inability to realize that screaming was not helping his little brat lungs gather air.

I trudged outside my bedroom and walked outside to tend to the boy.  I found him collapsed on the floor with his left foot driven like a steak into the hole, his mouth still open from all the squealing noises he was making earlier.  As I kneeled down on the grass and started to pull his foot out, a sudden quake in the ground below me caused me to lose my balance and I was thrust onto the floor violently.

"My word! What is transpiring?" I said as my buttox jiggled from the vibrating earth beneath me.

The Swimming Hole Creature in all its evil glory

Suddenly the crimson-haired boy sprung up like a snake, his eyes now glowing with a fiery green light.  Two green vines burst from the swimming hole and grasped him tightly as it lifted the wicked smiling boy into the air above me.  His gaze fell down on me as a croaky, yet deep voice boomed from his mouth.


"Your days of being a gentleman are over Liveshitzzzz......Tonight will be the last night you don that mustachhhhe...... tomorrow it shall be mine to rule..."

The leafy creature was quickly being consumed by more and more vines, until I could barely even recognize the boy that had once been a simple red-head.  I stood on my feet proudly and pointed a finger at the beast.

"I don't know what you are or who you are foul swimming hole beast, but I know one thing is for certain, you're no match for a pure-bred gentleman!  I'm referring to myself in case you didn't get it!"

The creature of the swimming hole smiled devilishly and whipped at me with its many vines.


"Diiiieeee....Shitz...."

"You'll have to try harder than that my fellow chum!"   I taunted him as I bounced around the backyard, occasionally swatting him with a former-gargoyle's broken arm.

I led the creature around the yard for around an hour, and then decided that enough was enough.

"You're getting rather boring to fight against my green friend, what say you and I end this now?"

"Diiiie..." 

"I was hoping you would say that!"

I snatched up a box of matches from my pocket and lit one of them as I smiled generously at the creature.

"I hope you enjoy your vegetables hot!"

I shouted out to the creature of the swimming hole as I threw the match its way.  A sudden burst of light was followed by the squealing sound I had heard that morning.  As the creature squealed it dissolved itself and climbed back into the swimming hole.

"Thissss isn't over Liveshitzzzzz!"  It shouted as it bubbled back into the water.

"Yes it is!"  I shouted back, turning on the Swimming Hole Security system and watching with guilty pleasure as various green juices sputtered out of the Swimming Hole.

So remember folks, never trust small children, as they're most likely just mutated plant-creatures in disguise.  Cheers!

Mustache Twirling Monday

Flipping through the old photo album today, I came across an old portrait of my dear late Grand-Pappy.  Better known to the family as "Uncle Foosh".  The rather silly nickname derived from the sound his back-hair would make anytime he removed his shirt.  FOOSH!

Uncle Foosh's back-hair looked almost like miniature bat-wings the way it extended from his back and fanned out to his sides.  Despite his somewhat odd appearance, I always saw Uncle Foosh as somewhat of a role model to me, and that's why today's update will be my tribute to Uncle Foosh's favorite past-time:  Growing immense ammounts of facial hair.

Dear old Uncle Foosh

Facial hair often tends to get a bad rep, what with it's tendency to preserve extra bits of food in it's bristles, as well its scratchy-like feel.  For these reasons and many more, most modern men simply just shave them off on a daily basis.  This has to stop my fellow gentleman, this hatred for facial sprouting has to come to an end.  Many men don't realize it, but facial hair has been a very important evolutionary tool in the battle for survival, for many many generations.

In the stone ages, men would disguise their beards as prehistoric bird nests, and lay still on the gravel until their flying prey would lay fresh eggs within the bristles.  Without facial hair, many prehistoric wives and children would have gone without breakfast.

In Medieval Europe, noble knights would grow out large mustaches, to intimidate their enemies when going out into battle.  In those days, only the men with mustaches had a chance of survival.

Even in modern day, goatees are used as status symbols amongst bar-patrons and rock-stars.  The scruffy chins being an indicator of strong-will and rebellious nature.  Even popular images of Devils portray them as goatee-sprouting mischief makers.  This just goes to show what a simple patch of facial hair can do for your manly reputation.

So remember fellow men, facial hair is our history and our pride, and we must not let razors be the end of our manliness!  Uncle Foosh, may you rest in peace.

Busy Busy Busy

As the title says, I'm going to be might busy today.  Busy with what, I cannot say for fear of losing my kidneys. But since you're all such loyal readers, I will leave you with a lovely picture to gaze upon in my absence.  May your eyes enjoy it thoroughly.

The Gentleman Cannon is ready to fire.

Cheers!

Top 10 Most Annoying Comedy Cliches

Everyone loves top ten lists, so who am I to fight their popularity?  I myself do enjoy a good rocket launching countdown, so I suppose top ten lists is a way for those who don't like loud noises to have the same thrilling experience.

As some of you may know I'm a bit of a film buff, and as such I always do enjoy a silly old comedy now and then to help ease some of the tension that comes with being one of the world's most strapping men.  But even comedies, with their silly characters and often nonsensical plots, have standards.  Certain jokes can often be a bit too crude, or sometimes a comedy film simply tells a joke that has lost its luster well over a decade ago.

After a 48 hour-long session of drinking coffee and watching comedy after comedy, both old and new, I have compiled a list of the top ten comedy cliches that desperately need to die before they do anymore damage to the film industry and its consumers.

 NIQUE'S TOP 10 MOST ANNOYING COMEDY CLICHES

10. Pun Fun!

Mostly making an appearance in comedy titles, this little cretin has overstayed its welcome.  A welcome in fact, that wasn't even really a warm welcome to begin with, more like the type of welcome you'd give to a Repo man who barges into your house to take all your expensive valuables.  Movies like "Bee Movie", "Legally Blonde" and "Vampires Suck" all take buck-toothed pride in their "clever"  movie titles.

9. The Dog Sniffs Butts.

This one just never seems to go away does it?  Every time I'm watching a film concerning dogs in any way, shape or form, the same joke comes back. "Dogs sniff butts hahaha!" This may have been funny the first time, or even the second time, but we've reached the point where this joke just isn't relevant anymore.  Dogs are salivating, excitable, often funny looking creatures, and all we can come up with is that they sniff each-other's butts?  What a world for dog jokes.


8. The Bad Guy is Short.

This one surprises me simply because every time it happens the movie tries to pull it off as an original idea.  The camera pans along the baddie's feet as he stomps around, and then as the music reaches a particular evil chord, we zoom back to reveal our vertically-challenged villain.  "Shrek", "Hoodwinked", "Elf", and several other less-notable films all have the same punchline.  Ironically enough, there has yet to be a descent film starring Napoleon Bonaparte as the villain.


7. The Sassy Gay Guy.

So it has occurred to me that in today's world, we have people referred to as "Gays".  While originally I had thought this was a word to describe an extremely happy man, the usage of the word to describe myself at "Hugo's Manly Pub" resulted in the actual definition being beaten into my flesh bag.  This fact aside, I now know what "Gay" means.  I also know what it doesn't mean, and it doesn't mean a man who talks in a lisp while tossing his hand around flamboyantly.  This may be true for some gays, but it isn't common enough to justify every gay character in comedy films being the SAME SASSY GAY GUY EVERY TIME.  In all honesty, it feels like one writer decided to sneak his sassy gay character in everyone else's script, because there is literally no difference between these stereotypes.

6. The Fat Guy Falls.

Now this is a sticky one isn't it?  In most comedies, they employ a tactic called "slapstick".  As the name implies, it usually involves the characters getting hurt in various different ways, some of those ways involving sticks or slapping.  This has proven to be a very successful tactic, as it is flexible enough to be done in a variety of creative ways.  One thing that has gotten rather stale, however, is the exploitation of some of the chubbier characters.  Oftentimes films attempt to wring more laughs out by making the slapping-stick victim a fat guy.  From this point on, the films wants you to know that whatever he does is going to be doubly hilarious because he's fat.  Seeing blubber vibrate may be funny in a disgusting ironic way, but if you keep waving that particular flag it's going to collapse under it's own weight.


5. He's got a Small Willy.

Need I say more?  This one is pretty much tied with "She's got big jugs" when it comes to overdone and needless exploitation jokes.


4. Jingle the Family Jewels.

Better known as "Hit in the Crotch" jokes, this also falls under the slapstick category of humor, but unlike most slapstick jokes, this one hits the same spot every time.  Yes I'll admit I got my Ping-Pongs pricked by a rather nasty spearhead once, and yes it hurt like the dickens, but it doesn't get funnier the more I tell the story.  The same applies to filmmakers and their obsession with man-parts.

3.  Fart Jokes.

I know I'm not alone hating this one.  Think back to the last time you genuinely laughed at a fart joke.  Were you drunk?  Was it at a party?  Were you five years old?  These jokes are the comedy equivalent of parasites.  Still alive, and only draining from the pool of society.  *Poot*

2. Sarcastic Rants

Well if you made it this far, obviously this one doesn't bug you. *Snicker*

1. Pop Culture! Ha?

The Mastermind of all annoying comedy films, Pop culture references are nothing to joke about.  Not because there is nothing to poke fun about them, as there is usually an abundance of things to jab at, but because they age so fast.  Nothing tells you how old a film more than characters discussing how silly the new disco records are.  A good joke is one that does not require you to have prior knowledge to get it.  Jokes follow a simple formula.  The Set-Up, The Build-Up, and the Punchline.  Pop Culture jokes are easy to make mostly because the first step of telling the joke has already been done for you.  You don't need to tell the audience what the joke is about, because they presumably already know of it.  This causes these jokes to immediately lose appeal the second the popular fad or reference has passed, and makes for a bad film overall if used to frequently.  The recent "Movie Movies" such as "Epic Movie", "Disaster Movie" and "Superhero Movie" have all depended heavily on pop culture jokes for laughs.  As a result, they die out rather quickly, simply piling dead material on top of the film industry's idea bucket.

So there you have it.  My very own top ten list.  It seems like what I was really trying to say throughout this whole article is...


Watch More Rocket Launches!!

Adventure for Breakfast

As I stood on the top of that ledge, with a beautiful woman's dainty legs swaying loosely in my burlesque arms, I shouted out into the dark depths below.

"No man alive or dead can keep me from being a gentleman! Not one!"

I waited for a response, but instead I was treated to an echoed thump, most likely the sound of my former-nemesis's body hitting the ground floor.  I had done it, I had once again saved the day!  The woman in my arms must have been happy for me as well, as she was kicking furiously trying to get down, presumably to better embrace her hero.

So that was my morning. Pretty predictable I suppose, but exciting nonetheless.  Although for those people reading this, you may be curious as to what fantastical series of events led to this exciting conclusion.  Well folks, to tell the complete truth, I don't know either.  I woke up that way.

It was all really bizarre at first, as I woke from my slumber and found a dastardly-looking fellow plummeting down a cliff and a distressed woman flailing in my arms.  I was already suited in my suit, bow-tie and top-hat, and my mustache seemed to have already been groomed. What was I supposed to think?  I just played along and did what I would normally do in a situation like that - yell at the dead guy and look good doing it.

Of course after the bizarre incident, I tried questioning the woman regarding the events that took place up until that climactic point, but she seemed rather occupied with her distressing and confusing position, mostly focused on beating me with her precious little fists.  It was more or less at this point I realized that perhaps she wasn't as charmed by my rugged handsomeness as I had originally assumed,

I set the lass down gently, as to not let her frail body go plummeting down the cliff to join her dead kidnapper.  She didn't seem to share the same thought process however, as she hurled herself off the cliff like a brain-damaged chicklet, flapping her arms and shouting.

"I'm coming baby!  Hold o-"

Her frantic screaming was rudely interrupted by the sound of her own bones shattering as she hit the bottom, a few feet away from the other nicely dressed corpse.  There had to be more to all this than meets the eye, so I decided to investigate.  I reached into my top-hat to find a conveniently coiled rope and hook nestled on my morning head of hair.

One agonizingly long set-up later, I had fashioned myself a zipline and started walking down the side of the cliff, careful not to dirty my favorite bowtie.  Soon I found my black leather shoes had touched the bottom, and I turned around to take a look at the bodies.

The man I presumed to be some sort of dastardly villain was suspiciously well-dressed, aside from the blood stains of course.  He donned a lovely looking black tuxedo, with what was either a rose or his kidney poking out from one of his pockets.  The woman also seemed suspiciously un-damsel like, as she was wearing a poofy white dress.  Further inspection of the woman's outfit revealed several other things, amongst them was something old, something new, something that may have been blue at one point, and something I presume was borrowed, but that last one was mere speculation on my part.

Then it all started to come together for me.  They were a newly wed couple!  This explained a lot for me, because I recall my own wedding ending in disaster due to the nefarious plot of an old nemesis, Sir Isaac Cottonwood.  (That is a story for another day, and one I'll most likely delve into sometime in the future) Since that day though, I have always hated husbands in married couples, and developed an unconcious habit of sweeping brides off their feet to keep them away from marriage.

So there you have it.  I incidentally murdered someone's husband and inadvertently also caused the death of his thick-in-the-head wife. Does that make me a bad person?  After all, can you honestly say you've never been annoyed by a newly wed couple in a public place?  All that kissy kissy and baby talk?  I rest my case.  Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for my breakfast.

P.S. Since I'm a gentleman, I will still say I regret the death of the wife, but the husband probably had it coming.

Pixels and Polygons Galore

If you're a regular reader here, you may recall around a week ago I mentioned something about me starring in my very own computer-pixel-game thing.  You may have also noticed that since that post, there hasn't been much info about it. Much meaning none at all.

I have noticed this as well, and so I stopped by the game designer's office today to see what progress had been made since I had thought up the idea.

The Game Designing Office after Spring Cleaning

After I wrestled the keyboard out of Gorgo's greasy ape hands, I clicked around on some files to see if anything interesting would pop up regarding my game.  After sifting through the many many files filled to the brim with threatening letters towards the mailman, I came across something quite intriguing.

I found something interesting alright, something VERY interesting.
Behold ye blog readers the very first  pixelated version of Nique Liveshitz!

Move over Mario, step aside Sonic, Burn in Hell PacMan, the new king of fantastical games has arrived.

That being said, I actually have no idea what the game is about yet, but if it's anything like this marvelously crafted pixel-Nique, it's going to send many geeky socks a-flying.


But while I'm waiting to find out what sort of digital adventures awaits my virtual counterpart, let's break down what makes other games so much fun.

This way, we can at least make a rough estimate as to what sort of game my persona will be inhabiting soon.


NIQUE'S LIST OF POPULAR GAMES AND WHY THEY KICK ARSE:

Super Mario Bros: Kicks arse because you can smash enemy skulls with your own fat arse.

Sonic: Kicks arse because you get to defy the laws of physics by spinning around like a spazzy top.

PacMan: See article "Pac(k)Man"

Pokemon: Kicks arse because you get to verbally abuse small critters.

Gears of War: Kicks arse because you shoot things.

Asteroids: Kicks arse because you shoot things.

Monopoly: Kicks arse because you get to kick somebody's financial arse.

Birthday Bashing

Sitting in my study this afternoon, whilst busily chewing away at what little wood is left on my pencil, a strange thought entered my mind.  This thought manifested itself as a blog post, right here on this very website, starting on the next paragraph. Starting.....now!

Why are birthdays so important to us?  I mean sure, it's the same numbered day as the day you were born, but in that case why don't we have birth hour?  Birth week?  Birth month?  The fact of the matter is, we all seem to think we need a day for ourselves at least once a year. A day that lets us know that yes, people do care you were spat out into the world, and no, you will never get all those hours of wasted time back.  I, however, believe it's all just an excuse to bask in your own swollen ego.

Because of birthdays and all the fanatic gift-giving and celebrating that surrounds them, I decided to dedicate an article to bashing in common arguments as to why birthdays still exist, and to help you, the readers, recognize why I believe birthdays are a load of bull-shiner.

So here it is folks, Nique's Birthday Bash! 

That's right, You WILL laugh.  It's a baby.  You can't resist.

Common Argument: Birthdays are special because they help make us unique.

Nique's Answer: Well that's a bit narrow minded isn't it?  The day isn't unique at all!  In fact it draws away from the uniqueness in you by reminding you of all the other screaming babies that were being delivered the same time as you.  You're just one umbilical-cord-cut out of many.

Common Argument: When it's your Birthday, you get to reflect on how much you've grown.

Nique's Answer: I always thought that's what New Year's was for.  Besides, there is hardly time to reflect on your past mistakes when you're busy paying attention to what a perfect little angel you are.

Common Argument: Presents! Cake! Candles!

Nique's Answer: Spoiled! Fat! Fire Department!


Common Argument: How can you criticize birthdays for being days where you can bask in your own ego when you clearly do the same thing every day of the year?

Nique's Answer: Precisely, who would want to limit their self-loving sessions to a single day?


Well that's all the bashing I can muster for today, so as a final note, let me just say this.

Happy Birthday!

I am Offended.

I was browsing around on the world-wide-web this morning, looking to see if there was some new electronic way to get my morning tea.  When my search for some sort iTea application ended in failure, I figured I'd cheer myself up by doing what everyone does when they need to feel good about themselves using the internet.  I typed my name up in the internet searching bar.

I suppose my name is too innovative and original for any silly search bar to recognize, as it tried to correct me saying "Did you mean Nick Lives?"  Not caring enough to click on the correction, I simply retyped a description of myself.

"Top Hat wearing, Mustache sprouting, Woman catching British gentleman"

THIS is what came up.

 Curly mustache, white-toothed smile, fashionable top-hat, but all with one major difference:  This gentleman is clearly supposed to be some sort of VILLAIN! 

Now, normally I wouldn't draw conclusions from pictures such as this, considering I'm most certainly not the only man in the world with a mustache and top-hat, but what concerned me about THIS particular picture, is how closely it resembled my Senior yearbook picture at Whipper-Snapper High School.  I'll post it below for reference.

As you can see, aside from a couple of more masculine body lines from my high school picture, they are practically identical! 

Now I confess I didn't look my most handsome in high school, as my uni-brow had formed quite thickly that morning, perhaps giving my smile an "evil" or "devious" vibe, but such exaggerated cartoons depicting me as some sort of evil villain?  Simply barbaric!  I will not stand having my image and name tainted like this, mustached men who wear black top hats are not comical villains by default, we are merely men.

This stereotype is something us mustached men must fight.  From here on out, any anti-mustache propaganda that prowls the internet will be taken care of by me, personally.  And by "personally" I mean in the most physically painful way imaginable, in case that wasn't a clear threat.

Well, I believe I'm pretty much out of things to complain about for today, so cheerio and I'll see you all all on Monday!

Oh wait here's one more.

This one caught me by surprise, if only because this actually did happen to me once.  Believe it or not, but that Cowboy was one vile piece of work. 

Pac(k) Man

In case you're daft and missed the post's title, today I shall be discussing the endlessly popular and forever misspelled arcade game "PacMan".  Yes, the small yellow pie-chart-shaped man who eats dots and gets chased around by ghosts in a maze.  It's funny how we just sort of accept a bizarre premise like that in a game, since if PacMan were a movie, it would be most likely designated for the bargain bin for having such a ridiculous story.

All of the above considered, I have decided today's post will be a breakdown of what possible plot-related situations may have led to PacMan's bizarre position introduced in the game's start.

First of all, let's take what we know about each element in this story and see if we can interpret what might bring them together.

1.  There is a maze. Mazes are usually found in the fall when cornfields are ripe and farmers are ready to make some extra income by charging people to walk through it. From this we can assume that the characters have somehow ended up in a cornfield maze and are perhaps lost. 

2. The dark colored background also indicates it may be night-time.

3. The "Ghosts" as they are called, all have strangely childish sounding names: "Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde".  Since we've established that PacMan's plot takes place somewhere in the fall, we can speculate that these "ghosts" are merely children running about the corn maze, all fully cloaked in their cheapo ghost costumes in preparation for the Fall holiday, Halloween.

4. The various "dots" that mottle the maze ground, are something to be cleared up, as indicated by the game's rules that PacMan cannot proceed to the next level until he has cleaned all of the dots off the ground.  They probably have little value, otherwise the ghosts would have been picking them up as well.  Since we've established this is a corn maze at night, we can assume the dots are merely insects, littering the crop floor.  This also leads me to my next leap in logic:

5. PacMan is a farmer!  Think about it; the corn-maze is probably closed down due to it being nighttime, and old farmer PacMan is simply out in the maze to clear out all the insects that have gathered during the day.  Too bad old farmer PacMan didn't prepare for lost children, who never found their way out of the maze, and who's parents might file possible wallet-smashing lawsuits against the poor farmer if word were to get out.

6. The "special" dots that cause the ghosts to suddenly become killable. What are these?  Well let's think about it, if Farmer PacMan is trying to avoid a lawsuit from the children's parents, he can't afford to be caught by them, as he would be forced to lead them out of the maze and release them to their worried parents.  What other options are there?  What makes children run in fear more than anything else?   Chainsaws.  Farmer PacMan keeps various powertools located in convenient sheds throughout his corn maze in case he needs to help clear a broken path or amputate a tree's leaning limb, but tonight they would serve a special purpose: To dispose of the troublesome children.

So there you have it!  The seemingly arbitrary setting of PacMan has officially been explained!  In conclusion, PacMan is little more than a desperate, crazed farmer, out on a nightly chainsaw-fueled killing spree!  No wonder it's such a popular game.

               PACMAN:
Hey you punks!  Wocka Wocka Wocka! *Chainsaw Revs*

Fourth Day or Fright Cancelled.

Sorry to say folks, but the fourth day of fright got canceled at the last moment, when a rather massively plump ghost smashed my keyboard into bits and pieces when I starting typing an article regarding overweight ghosts and their negative impact on the afterlife.  So sorry if you were expecting something spectacular on this site's final Halloween update, but chances are you were probably too busy caroling and decorating your Christmas Tree anyway, seeing as how people tend to jump on the nearest holiday the very second the old one has passed.

In other news, I'm going to be in a video-game!  My lovely pet gorilla Gorgo has already begun designing it this morning!  At least I thought he was designing anyway, to the untrained eye it would appear Gorgo was using the keyboard as a back-stratcher, but that's simply his creative genius at work.

Here is a fabulous artwork of me and my cartoon-like video-game persona! It's a lot similar to what I would look like if my father had been the Pillsbury dough boy.

A hero, a legend, a gentleman.  What better character to play as?

Four Days of Fright! Day 3

Oh boy, looks like today's update slipped my mind somewhat.  Hm, time to make up for it with something spectacularly halloween-themed and spooky!

---------------

My mind appears to be drawing a blank, a scary blank!


---------------

Oh fine here's your update, whiners.

OOGA BOOGA WOOGA!!  Scared? You better be. This is your update.

Four Days of Fright! Day 2

Today's Update: "Ghost Story"

For today's Halloween-themed treat, I thought I'd share with you all a very special story my dear mother used to read to me every night before tucking me into my walrus-skin bed. In retrospect it was a rather creepy story so I find it's fitting for this fright-filled update. 

Try to imagine reading this in a croaky, almost dust-filled throat voice to complete the experience I had as a small, mustached child.

A family of three, lost at sea, a mother a father and son.

Three tummies all  hollow, as sea creatures follow, a boat with no room for fun.

Little boy brat did nothing but sat, as mother and father worked all day long.

Brat falls asleep, as ma and pa creep, tummies sing out a sorrowful song.

A family of two lost at sea, a mother a father and empty seat.

Boys and Gals, be good to your parents, or else you'll be yummy red meat.

Oddly enough, this was the picture used to depict the father.  Sad thing is, he actually looked like that.

Nique's Four Days of Fright! Day 1

So it would appear that recently, the month has been October.  The end of October to be exact, where certain demon-related holidays are usually celebrated.  Seeing as how I have only four days until the infamous "Halloween" holiday has passed, I decided I may as well spend those 4 days doing something Halloween related on this blog.  Thus, I give you "Nique's Four Days of Fright!"

Yes that's right folks, as the Jack-o-lantern theme may have implied,  I am going to spend the next 4 days talking about Halloween things!  Every day this week, I will have a new update regarding tricks, treats, masks, cats, and whatever else I can think of!  Today's update: "Evil Cats"


As the Halloween season comes rolling by, you may be wondering why there are so many images of cats around.   This is mostly due to the age-old belief that witches took the form of black cats when out causing mischief.  This is, of course, completely false.  The actual case is that cats are nothing less than Demons from Hell sent by some devilish man to harvest the souls of the living, and to take up all the space on our couch cushions.

Let's go over this convenient diagram of a normal, everyday house cat shall we?

Normal enough looking skeleton, standard catlike pose, nothing out of the ordinary right?  Wrong..
The key lies within the structure, I have taken the liberty of tastefully rearranging some of the diagram cat's skeletal parts, and what does it turn into?

Bingo! What's this?  Our ordinary house cat just so happens to share an extremely similar skeletal structure to that of this hell demon??  Most would call this type of evidence speculation, but since this is my blog, and my site:  This is stone hard evidence right here!  As if it weren't obvious enough:  Here's a list of some other reasons why cats are most likely demons:

1. They attempt to claw into your skull while you sleep, probably to feast on your brains.
2. They meow and meow until you give them food, and then meow some more.
3. They carve satanic symbols into your couch cushions, window curtains, and face.
4. They make loud hissing noises whenever you try to pull their tail.
5. "Feline" backwards spells "Enilef" which is most likely the name of some ancient evil or something.

So yes, in conclusion, cats are most definitely Satan-spawned hell creatures.  But how do we stop this madness?  Quite simply, we don't.  Cats, as devious as they are, have developed a psychological barrier no living soul on this earth can ever penetrate:  Pure evil adorable faces.

Awwwww who's an adorable little Hellspawn?  You are!  You are!

Champions are made of Copper

Not sure what today's title is supposed to mean, considering the trophy I won is actually made of gold, not copper.  Nonetheless, I DID win a trophy this weekend!

 Ah yes, and not just any trophy either, I won the International Manly Man of the Year trophy!  The most prestigious, grueling, and most fabulous honor a man can ever be awarded! 

This year's contest was decidedly held on the top of Mount Everest, as the harsh winds and temperatures immediately whittled down the competition to me and two other manly men: Gnarl the Viking Warrior, and Dewey the Redneck Trucker.

Every year the competitors must face three challenges, and the winner is determined by the manliest of the bunch. who is usually just the one man who survives all three challenges.

The first of these challenges is the STRENGTH test.  Each competitor is required to lift an armored elephant over their heads, and remain still as the judge passes them by with a quail feather, tickling them with it's feathery tip as he sings a merry verse of "I've been working on the railroad".  After the round began, and I lifted the elephant above my head quite eagerly, I noticed that Gnarl's elephant had apparently not been feeling well, and was starting to make disturbingly deep gurgling noises as he was being lifted above the viking's head.  I took advantage of this, and started waving my elephant around in front of his, causing the beast to become rather disoriented.

When the judge came around with the quail feather, it took but on tickle before Gnarl's elephant couldn't take it anymore and let out a mighty belch.  The sound threw Gnarl off, quite literally, as he lost his balance, and went tumbling down the mountain's side.  Now it was just me and Dewey.

The second challenge was the SPEED test.  In this round, each competitor would attempt to outrun a flaming Ostrich while nuclear missiles were being dropped from above.  This round proved relatively simple for me, as I was able to not only outrun my Ostrich, but also pick it up and use it to smack one of the incoming missiles into Dewey's pudgy face, sending him hurling into oblivion.

The third challenge would normally be the SAUSAGE test, in which the remaining competitors would shove as much animal meat down their pie-holes as possible before exploding from over-filling in meats, but seeing as how I was the only remaining competitor, it was deemed rather pointless.  Of course I never  deny an opportunity for a good challenge, so after taking my well-deserved trophy, I shoved a whole cow down his throat just to show him what a good sport I was.


It was a good year for men this year, and I'm already eager to sign up for next year's contest, which I hear is going to be held in the Bermuda Triangle!  Cheers everyone and feel free to congratulate me, I'll be signing autographs next Tuesday at the Meat Stand!

Oops

Well it has come to my attention that my marble interrogation room was mistakenly used to hold hostage a local pizza delivery boy, who was quite shaken by the whole incident.  Well I assure you good people of the internet, that once realizing my mistake, and after reading his rather exaggerated post on this very blog, he was compensated wholeheartedly with a 50 dollar tip.  Although personally, he could have been a little more grateful for the tip, his thanks to me was grumbled under various curse words and phrases that would have hurt my feelings had I not been such an understanding and manly gentleman.


Well it's Friday now, so it looks like I'll have to start packing for my weekend adventures into lands unknown!  Well, mostly unknown anyway, I mean even an action hero needs to stop by Orlando beach every now and then to kick his socks off and roast his swollen feet in the evening sun, watching as the many swimmer ladies admire my form with those wild eyes of theirs.

In other words, catch you all later people!  I'll be back Monday to tell you all about my many adventures and relaxations! 

Gazing at the sunset with your arm around a woman is wondrous....even if the woman doesn't know who you are..

SOS!!

This is not Nique Liveshitz, this is Henry Bollocks.  Nique left to go shopping for hats or something, and I took this opportunity to get on his blog to let everyone know that NIQUE IS INSANE!  I'm currently fasstened to a giant chair, rendering my arms uselesss.  I have resssorted to typing this disstresss message with my toesssssssssssss,  Damn ssticky key! Theresss a ssalad stuck in it! Let me sssee if I can get it.
ssssssssssaassssssssss ssssssa ssssssssss sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss Ah there we go!

I arrived at Liveshitz Manor when delivering a pizza to the Liveshitz guy.  After taking my pizza, he claimed he had simply no cash no him, and would it be ok if I pay him later.  I told him no and called BS, referring to his hat, suit, and MASSIVE MANSION.  He told me he was gong to retrieve his checkbook, and left momentarily.  When he returned, he was holding what appeared to be a large phonebook with a massive green checkmark hastily painted onto it's cover. 

Before I could ask him what it was, he smacked me across the noggin and exclaimed something along the lines of "Looks like this check just BOUNCED!".  He said some other things as well, but luckily I passed out before getting to hear them.

I woke up and found myself in an empty room, entirely made of marble.  My head hurt and I was still dizzy from the large smack on the head earlier.  When I gathered my thoughts, I then realized that I couldn't move my arms or legs, what with them being tied up to a chair and all.  That crazy mustached man walked in just then, with that freakish pet gorilla walking by his side.  He approached me, and stopped in front of my face, putting his cane down against the marble floor. 

"Tell me, Delivery boy, do you respect women?"

I was puzzled by this statement, and replied with an equally puzzled tone.

"I think so?"

Nique furrowed his brow and slammed the cane against the floor again with an echoed CLANK!

"Tut tut tut little delivery boy.  Tut tut tut.  You say you respect women?  Bah!  I spit on your nonsense! "  He started hocking something big in the back of his throat, but luckily he accidentally swallowed it before continuing on, somewhat embarrassed.

"You know how I know you don't respect women?  Because you don't respect yourself boy!  Look at that greasy hair, those clammy palms, that hideous facial expression of constant confusion!"

This was getting weird, so I decided to just ask him bluntly about what the hell was going on.

"Did you kidnap me for the pizza or because you saw my hair was greasy?"

His facial expression turned from anger to dumbfounded as he pondered the question.

"Hm.  I don't quite know actually, I'll get back to you on that."

And with that, he left me in that marble room, slamming the door on his way out, leaving me in isolation.  For days I've been scooting this chair closer and closer to the exit, and only now do I have a single strand of hope about me.

He'll be back soon, so I'll wrap this up.  PLEASE COME AND SAVE ME FROM THIS FANCY DRESSED MORON! PLEASE!!

-Henry Bollocks

Viva La Revolution!

This Wednesday has been rather lifeless for the most part.  Me and my pet Gorilla Gordo acted as fat sloths today as we sat on our expensive, yet not too comfy, marble couch.  Watching television has always been a favorite hobby of mine, along with arranging gladiator fights between gangs of angry mothers.

Anyway, Gordo was quite insistent on watching the Discovery Channel, who were showing a documentary on the reproductive habits of apes in the wild, (Not bloody likely I'm sitting through that again) and so he kept trying to wrestle the remote control out of my hands.  Eventually our tussle over the thing caused it to go flying out the window and plop directly into the many leftover meats I was unable to sell a few days ago.

Seeing that it would be near impossible to retrieve it from the hive of parasitic worms that were currently building a 50's esque neighborhood in the meat, I decided to design and build my own revolutionary remote controller!

I call it: The Revolutionary Remote Controller 2000!

Here are it's many useful features:

1. Fold in/Fold out Switchblade used to slice off the fingers of anyone who attempts to take your control.

2. Pause, Play, and Stop Buttons used to Pause, Play, and Stop whatever your watching.

3. Thumb rest.  For those tiresome, channel flipping days.

4. Folded Switchblade

5. MEGA REWIND and FAST-FORWARD

6. Boring old regular rewind and fast-forward.

7. Volume and Channel control for wheel.

8. Comfy pads for those aching man hands.


 Continued Over There...<<

9. Volume/Channel Control Wheel, for speedy flipping! 

10. Detachable bottom for Garbage Disposal


11. Garbage Disposal Hole for grinding up those candy wrappers! Caution: Fingers may be mistaken for wrappers.

12. Finally, the power button!  Located at the very bottom due to its rare use.

I Slayed the Politics Monster!

Yes, it's true.  I have done the impossible, I have successfully and brutally slain the Politics Monster.

For those of you unaware, it's a little known fact that every political opinion, argument, or system of government that has ever existed, did not in fact come from man's mind.  Every political based question or belief is rooted in the putrid droppings of the Politics Monster.  This beast has roamed the Earth for centuries, leaving his controversy-filed feces all over the lands of man, corrupting and influencing all those who dared touch it.  The beast crapped his Communism in Russia, his Democracy in America, and his Dictatorship in an awful lot of other places.  Now, we need not fear politics anymore, for I have slain this beast.

It was no simple task mind you, countless hours of the battle were spent counter-arguing the Beast's theories on Creationism being taught in public schools, and many more hours spent deflecting his outrageous claims on abortion!  Soon after my counter-argument, the beast's hostile opinions began to subside somewhat, so I took this rare opportunity to bash his head in with a racially diverse group of orphan children!! 

You don't have to thank me, you just have to tell me what a marvelous person I am.

Bags of Meat

Today as I was carrying out my overly-filled, now bleeding garbage bag, I noticed a dog following me.  Now normally I don't care much for dogs, and tell them to bugger off, but this dog seemed to be very interested in what was inside my juicy, pulsating stretchable bag, licking away at the red juices dripping from it.

I took notice of this, and plopped the bag down on the floor to see what it was this canine was so terribly interested in.  My friends, I must say, that was one of the best finds of my life.  The bag in question, was filled to the brim with old bloody meats!  All kinds of meats!  Meats galore!  I jumped for joy like a farmer with black gold, and ran back into the house, kicking the dog out of my way and slamming the door in it's face.  (Don't worry folks, it's ok, it was just a Chihuahua)

So what I'm getting at is.....


NIQUE'S FINE MEAT STAND IS OFFICIALLY OPEN!

You want QUALITY?

You want TASTE?*

You want LEGALLY INSANE LOW PRICES??

You want....


NIQUE'S FINE MEAT! Come on by Liveshitz Manor and BUY BUY BUY!





*Disclaimer: taste does not imply tasty.

Mother Betty: Part 2

Read Part One if you haven't Already!  CLICKY HERE!

When we last left our fashionable hero Nique Liveshitz (Me), he was being pampered by orphan children when he was interrupted by the carnage of a giant pink tank titled "The Betty Boomer" piloted by the evil housewife, "Mother Betty".  Mother Betty sought to end womenfolk's rights, reducing all women to her image of a cooking, cleaning, female stereotype.  Our hero, after dazzling a group of young ladies with his wily charms, darted off to take care of this curly haired maid of evil....

Now to continue my story!

I stood watch on top of a nearby stop sign, on a street directly ahead of Betty's path of destruction. My manly pose not hindered by the likes of gravity.  The nearby birds must have been rather impressed with my amazing balancing abilities, as they flew off quickly to tell all their birdie friends about me.  Coincidentally, The Betty Boomer was also rolling down the street violently towards me during this time.

I held my hand up in a fierce gesture, and the other hand pointing down to the stop sign for extra effect.

"Stop right there Miss Betty!" I shouted in a brave and heroic tone.

The pink tank suddenly rolled to a stop, mere yards in front of me and my stop sign.  Her loyal followers of testosterone-filled thugs looked puzzled and stopped with her.  One follower, a construction worker of some sort, had an expression of disappointment on his face as his buddies told him to stop clubbing the fire hydrant and pay attention.

"Good!  Now that I have your attention, let me monologue for a bit about what it takes to be a woman.  You see, women are not just-"  BLAM!

My monologue was rudely interrupted as The Betty Boomer blew me into the nearest wall, reducing it into little else but a sandbox for kids who love debris.  The tank rolled on and the hooting and cheering once again continued.

"A real man is the working man!"  Betty shouted into her megaphone, causing an uproar in excitement from her followers.

I dug my way out of the debris play-pit, and rolled up my sleeves as I stomped towards the crowd, grabbing the now-smashed stop sign off the ground and bending it into a rather lovely makeshift mace.


"Alright then.." I muttered very dramatically. "We'll play it your way Miss Betty.."

I approached one of the construction workers and tapped him on the shoulder for comic effect, as the moment he turned to respond I smacked him with the sign so hard he flew back and knocked over several other workers in the process.

"Home Run!" I exclaimed, enjoying the pleasures of my own brilliant wit.

"That's not even a good sport reference!" Shouted a plumber as he came at me with a bit of pipe. I swung my stop sign again and was able to knock him into the broken window of a pet store, resulting in a lot of barking and hissing.
      The other workers soon followed, each coming at me with their own respective blunt weapon, making me wonder if anyone in this town had something that actually shoots bullets.

After clearing out the crowd of workers, and thus also badly denting my makeshift weapon, I was proven wrong about my idea of no one having a gun, as the tank's barrel was now pointed directly at me.

Betty opened the tank's hatch and poked her head out at me.  This was the first time I realized she had a marvelously repulsive looking face.  I mean I knew she was ugly, but I didn't imagine that would mean her face would look like a botched order of eggs, sunny-side down.  She scowled at me quite evil-like and spoke into her megaphone, despite me being a few feet away.

"Who are you?  Identify yourself at once, mustached male!" I could swear her saliva was being funneled through that megaphone.

"Nique Liveshitz is the name madame, a pure bred gentleman is who I am."

Her scowl turned to confusion for a moment, and then back to scowling.

"And why are you trying to stop me?  I am what every man wants!  I cook, I clean, I take sexist jokes about my breasts lightheartedly! I am only trying to make this world a better place for men!  Women don't belong in business!  Women belong in the kitchen!  Can't you see my vision?"  Her voice grew more tender as she spoke.

I smiled and chuckled like a schoolboy hearing his first fart joke. "Let me ask you Betty-"

"MOTHER Betty!"

"Pardon me- Mother Betty.....what did you want to be as a child?"

Betty first growled at me for asking such a bizarre question, but then began to tear up as she pondered the thought.  (By the way for you folks reading this, this is the part where I warm her up before going in for the kill, sneaky huh?)

"I...I always wanted to be an astronaut..."  Betty sniffled.  "But...Mother always told me that...that.."

Before she could finish her sentence I gave her a wallop with a nice sturdy block of concrete I had picked up during her monologue and sent her flying into the sky.  She was most likely unconscious at this point, or too far away to hear me, but still I decided it would be fitting to shout this out.

"Congratulations! Now you'll be the first woman on mars!"

Yeah I know, I'm quite the gentleman.  

FIN~

Devious Villains: Mother Betty

Another day, another fit of "Rummage Fever".  Once again I found myself rummaging through my old memory box today, where all my trinkets and gizmos from past adventures lie in the dust.  Pushing aside the cold frozen heart I had once yanked from the demonic bowels of the Frost Troll, I came across this old propaganda poster featuring one of my arch-nemesis', "Mother Betty".

I never really figured out exactly why she insisted on being called "Mother".  I mean, she didn't have any kids of her own or anything, unless you counted her stuffed cat "DeeWee".  Gugghh....That thing always had this creepy, ominous glare, like it was staring into the darkest pits of your soul..

Hm, I seem to be getting off track here, back to my story!  Mother Betty as I recall, first stepped into the public eye the day she stormed the town with her massive metallic "Betty Boomer", a large rusted military tank with a fresh coat of pink paint over it.  I'm still not entirely sure how she got the tank, or where she got all the pink paint, I assume she must have rented it out from our convenient weapons shop owner down the street. Anyway, so as Betty was rolling through the streets, her curly pink hair peaking out of the shuttle like a curious prairie dog, she was also shouting loudly into a microphone. 

"Women's rights are overrated!  Stop trying to be more than what you are!  We are women and we should NOT fight our natural place as housewives and cooking mothers!" 

There was a lot of hostility in the air as she was passing by groups of feminists, and a lot of hooting and cheering when she passed by the construction workers, who then began to follow The Betty Boomer down the street, causing a stream of riots throughout the working men in the city.

"The apron is our uniform!"  Betty shouted as she rolled over and crushed a parked car.

During the chaos I was busily reading the days' paper, leaned back on a cushy chair, and listening to the frantic squeaking sound of both of my shoes getting shined at once, by two different orphans.  The soothing sound of child labor was soon drowned out by the large mob of men following what looked like a somewhat unattractive woman in a pink tank with a very large mouth.  I thought nothing of it at first, assuming it as some sort of bizzare festival of some sort, until my Gentleman senses kicked in and I heard the frantic cry of a young woman!

I kicked off the orphans and straightened my bow tie as I headed for the call of distress.  I came across a ruined, crushed street, with a large mob of woman grouped around in the middle speaking.  I decided to investigate and I snuck my way into the conversation seamlessly.

"Who is this Betty Woman?" A young lady said in an angry tone.

"She's a self-hating sexist!" Said another.

"Shopping, Clothes, Tom Cruise!" I said in my high toned womanly voice.

I was suddenly seiged by many woman eyes, as they all shifted to look at me.  I twirled my mustache proudly and stood tall.

"Hello ladies, my name is Nique Liveshitz.  Gentleman by nature, Crime fighter by impulse, I couldn't help but notice you all seem to be terribly bothered by the lady in the tank over there."

They all exchanged confused glances and looked back at me. "We are BOTHERED because that so-called woman not only ruined our Woman Pride Parade, but also she is spreading terrible messages to the men in this town about woman not needing rights!  She's trying to turn the men against us!"

I gargled and spit on the floor as I finished brushing my teeth, and shot the ladies a handsomely white smile.

"Ladies, it is my duty to as a gentleman to protect the gals and their rights, I will see to it that this lass is dealt with, and then I will purchase valuable rings for all of you!"  With those words I hitched up my pants and sped off to face the pink sexist menace!



THIS EXCITING BLOG ADVENTURE TO BE CONTINUED!

Monday Movie Milkshake!

Well actually it's a review, but the title was far more catchy when it contained three M's.  This Monday was rather uneventful for me,  just the usual routine really.  Wake up, wrestle pet Gorilla, brush teeth, fend off vampire hordes, eat breakfast, inform a group of preschoolers that Santa doesn't exist, blah blah blah blah.

So instead of today's update being about something boring like my day, instead I decided it's about time I revisit my old hobby of driving creative things into the ground using words instead of fists!  The tears of wannabe artists never fails to satisfy me..

So I present to you...

MARVELOUS MOVIES WITH NIQUE LIVESHITZ 

Before we begin with the review, first let me explain how my own personal ratings system works, as I don't believe in using stars or thumbs to represent how wonderful or terrible a movie is.

I judge movies based on the following categories:

Jolliness: This is how FUN the film was to watch, regardless of things like plot or acting.

 Artsy/Fartsy: This is how much the film made me think, or alternatively, puke.

Nitty Picky: This is how good all that other crap is, like acting, writing, editing, blah blah blah.

Couch Spuds: Finally, in this section I will tell you what sort of people will enjoy this film. Expect lots of generalizations folks!

Now that that's settled, let's get started.  The movie I will be reviewing for your pleasures today is....

Oh bloody hell I forgot.

Not Much to Say Today So...

Just enjoy this stylish portrait of me in front of some hip and modern paint splotches! 

The "NL" stands for "Nique Liveshitz" in case you were confused.

Adventures in JollyWood

Oh?  What's that you say?  You say that there is no such place as JollyWood?  I DENY your doubt young doubter! The famed "HollyWood" that you modern folk seem to all be so fond of, wasn't always called that.  As a matter of fact, it wasn't even in the same place!  Nope, the hill that those over-sized letters occupy was MOVED to California after the downfall of the previous city, JollyWood.

Rare Photo of the Original Sign

Ah yes I remember JollyWood, the ruined island of all my childhood memories. I as born there after all, when my parents were using the island as a refuge from some sort of government agent or something of the like. JollyWood was the place to be if you wanted adventure, excitement and danger.  After sneaking your way through the front gates, and past the mechanical guards, JollyWood was yours to explore!  I remember battling my way through armies of mutant lion creatures, radiated butlers, and when I was just 7 years of age, slicing off the head of a slimy mutant pig we named Trogg! I still keep it's snout-nosed head in my study as memorabilia.  JollyWood wasn't all fun and games though. Despite the fun of all the creatures, mutants, and questionable experiments, there was one group of evil beings that were simply too powerful to overcome... Producers.

The Producers were unlike any villains I've ever come across before.  They didn't rely on stealth, strength, or brains to unleash their devious plans, they relied...on money.  I could mow down armies of creatures without breaking a sweat, but the power of the dollar bill was something I could not overcome.  Soon the Producers spread their dastardly influence throughout JollyWood, transforming the once simple inhabitants into money-grubbing actors, designers, and teamsters.. I gazed in horror as before my eyes all of the robots, mutants and pig-men were consumed by the green papery virus.

Eventually I escaped JollyWood, but JollyWood would never be the same.  What used to be a place of adventure, danger, and my childhood dreams, was now a place of creativity and money-making businesses.  Those Producers finally took JollyWood with them into the land of money, and as a last sick gesture, changed its name to "HollyWood" after the vile Producer who first led her titanic army into the land..."Miss Holly".

Miss Holly will pay dearly for her corruption of my childhood home, she will pay through her nasal nostrils!  I will get my revenge, or my name isn't Nique Liveshitz!!

Apologies for my sudden fit of rage, but as you can tell, this place meant a lot to me.