Marlboro Man


Main article: Marlboro Man

Not gunna lie, as a wee child I smoked candy cigarettes. Yea, I’ll admit it. I would go buy them at the convenience store for like a quarter or some amount of coinage that no longer has any value, and then go out to the corner of the field and pretend to smoke them with a buddy or two. Apparently, being able to see my breath on those frosty winter mornings helped complete the strange role-play (oddly enough, no recess-monitoring adults ever seemed to care that we were a bunch of grade schoolers who appeared to be smoking cigarettes, leading me to believe that we must have been really bad at pulling it off. Oh, that and the fact that we inevitably ATE them. That might have also tipped them off…)

We used to trade them for commisary and shanks too

Now, were you to ask any concerned adult about our behavior, I’m sure they would almost guarantee that we were all destined to become haggard, chain-smoking adults. We young impressionable children, the appeal would have obviously been to great for any of us to fight. But the anti-smoking crusaders never counted on one important fact: Cigarettes smell (and likely taste) like ass. If cigarettes WERE like candy cigarettes, I’d have as many holes in my lungs as I do teeth (thank you dental insurance!). :D

Me on the far left, circa 1935

At any rate, a couple decades have gone by and now papabear nostalgically wants himself some candy cigarettes. Why? BECAUSE I CAN’T FIND THEM ANYMORE. Now, I know they are still out there; I could buy them off the internet if I REALLY wanted too. But I don’t. I want them in convenience stores again for no apparent reason. I’m not even sure they tasted very good, but I want to be able to buy them.

This brings up an interesting question though. What the hell happened to smoking culture anyway? I can only speak for a few limited parts of the US, but it would seem that much of western culture has tried to rid itself of every mention of cigarettes. Pondering on this, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the one rugged, lonesome ranger, who represented all things smoking: the Kool-Aid Man…er, I mean the Marlboro Man. For no one embodies smoking as well as he. (Ok, maybe Joe Camel).

How much more frighteningly effective would cigarette advertising be with this guy?

So what ever happened to the Marlboro man anyway? I bet you think he died, don’t you? Don’t lie! Well you’re dead wrong. He died multiple times, as Marlboro Man was akin to TV’s Lassie, who was played by a succession of collies. You see, each time your child’s Marlboro Man dies, you can appearently just go down to the cowboy pound and let them pick out a new one. (Unlike cats and dogs, where the young ones get adopted and the old ones just get euthanized, old, leathery cowboys are actually preferable to young hot ones, unless you happen to have a teenage cowgirl, but in that case you’ll want to make sure you get your Marlboro man neutered). This should also answer for you the annoying question as to where have all the cowboys have gone.

Don't EVER try to get an old Marlboro Man to quit smoking...

Now, admittedly, maybe actually smoking really is a bad thing, and these days the only people I know who smoke are miscellaneous hipsters and a few old crusty broads that work in my office, but importantly, smoking once told you who was a badass in popular culture. It made it easier for writers to show you who could be cool, hard, and edgy without having to put in scenes that are unrelated to the plot, and just show annoying character development.

What we really need is more smoking. Not necessarily in life, but in media. Will this make some very impressionable people start smoking? Maybe, but those people are just as likely to die in an okie noodlin event as anything else. We need those cigarettes to help us instantly determine the character of fictional characters. Otherwise we're going to have to rely on toothpicks! :O 

Seriously?

Cyclopia

Main article: Cyclopia

Awww...look at the cute little baby!

How adorable!

AHHHHHHHH!!! MONSTER!!

*Whew* that’s better. I can handle that one...

Gather round my children, and I shall tell you a tale. A tale of something terrible. A tale of something so horrific, it will haunt not only your nightmares, but also your long plane trips and restaurant outings. That’s right; I speak of babies, those little bundles of endless screams and spit-ups. As you travel through this life you’re bound to encounter some. Hell, you might have even popped out a few. *gasp*
Still, it’s way too easy to hate on defenseless infants. Some might say it’s as easy as stealing candy from an overused cliché. This is because babies are so disgustingly coddled by each and every culture. Alright, so the Canaanites and their creative penchant for sacrificing babies to the fire god Moloch might be a slight exception. And yes, admittedly Vikings weren’t big fans either, but besides those guys, everyone universally loves babies. I’m pretty sure it’s some law or something.

So it’s fair to say that this world can be a tough place for the infant aversive. You’re lumped in with some of the most bloodthirsty cultures in history. Refuse to hold someone's baby enough and it’s only a matter of time before you’re labeled a Nazi. So what’s a person to do?

In actuality, Hitler had an appreciation for babies, thus proving his pure and complete evil.

Well my friends, take heart. Lord Kristopf is here to inform you that not all children are frightening. Some, in fact, are actually incredibly frightening. Today’s example of this is the very rare birth defect known as Cyclopia.

Like most truly badass things, the nature of this disorder has its roots founded in antiquity. In this case it’s identified with the mythical race of Cyclops, brutish humanoids who were most easily identified by their singular, centralized eye.

No,  not this cyclops.

Sadly, the Cyclops were driven to extinction through the complex dynamics of habitat loss and monocles falling out of fashion. We humans were left with their rich architectural heritage and, since scientists are horribly uncreative and reach back to old Latin words to name nearly every new discovery, it was inevitable that the proud Cyclops race would be eventually reduced the namesake of an abhorrent birth defect.

If only we could have learned to be more tolerant.  If only...

Nevertheless, you’re probably asking how such abominations come into being. Well much of that answer is scientific and deals with boring things like protein expression, but there is one entertaining way; ingesting an evil plant known as vetch weed. Don’t worry, it’s teratogenic and not mutagenic, so you should probably only find it threatening if you’re currently still a zygote.

But with the knowledge that you can actually now make your own baby Cyclops, it does raise a few interesting potentials. For example, are you looking for a creative method of abortion? Perhaps you’re trying to thwart a welfare mom from producing another litter? Or could you be an only child, threatened by the arrival of a younger brother or sister you never wanted?

I’ve got a simple answer for you. Vetch weed pancakes, milkshakes, cookies, you name it. One thing is for sure, when the potential octo-mom sees what sort of demon-spawn ends up coming out of her, she’ll probably think long and hard before trying for another. :D

Only you can prevent these types of tragedies.

Awesomeness tip: Still don't believe Cyclops actually existed? Check out their legacy in the Cyclopean masonry article. :P

Bloop

Main article: Bloop


Ever been really bored? Like so F-ing bored you spend long moments with your service revolver in your mouth contemplating the relative entertainment value to be found in your own oblivion? Well, Wikipedia has got your back. No, not on offing yourself (although if you do that spectacularly enough you can totally count on getting your own article) rather, keeping you amused with strange, cryptic articles.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Not every short, cryptic article is very fun, despite their fun titles (see poothole for example). Still, with a little looking, some sweet gems turn up. One of the finest, in this author's humble opinion, comes from the frightening underworld lurking deep within cold, remote seas. It’s a mystery sound, known as the “Bloop”. The name being a bit of an onomatopoeia that, while fairly ambiguous, sounds better then “gassy baby in bathwater”.

Why is this sound so awesome? Well, out of context, it really isn’t. It sounds like, uh, a bloop. It’s only when you consider that the sound’s profile fits something “animal in origin” and its many times more powerful then the loudest animal sound in the world, can you really appreciate the mental images of giant kraken or monstrous eels that spring to mind.

This is one artist's rendition of what may be responsible for the "bloop"
and his rather negative appearing interaction with santa.

Personally, I acoustically like the slow down even better, as it sounds creeper to me, (or maybe just like a jet landing) leaving your imagination to paint the picture of some giant demon clawing his way to the earth's surface. If you find all these sounds fascinating, hit the “list of unexplained sounds” article to really get the most from your evening.

Truthfully though, this article brings up a bit of an auxiliary issue. We’re trusting scientists that this sound is really as magical as they say it is. I don’t know about you, but part of me thinks someone at NOAA is playing a little joke on us.

I mean, we all remember the moon landing conspiracy, right? Well I guess a lot of readers, and myself, don't actually remember the moon landing, but countless textbooks of told us of the hilarity that ensued when NASA pranked both the Russians and the American people. Obvious, the hippies at NOAA aren’t going to have that same kind of budget, but whose to say that NOAA wouldn’t do something on a much more small scale?

Look, all I’m saying is we need to be careful here. Otherwise we could end up buying into another "well to hell" recording, and no one wants that. :P

Just going by the sounds shown, hell is about as harrowing as a rollercoaster. :\
UPDATE: I've finally finished the rough version of my latest project! http://www.plentyoffishstix.com/, the Wikiawesome of dating! I apologize for the delay this has caused in Wikiawesome content, I am but one, full-time employed man! I'll crank out some new material soon. Until then, enjoy plentyoffishstix! :D

Wikifauna

Main article: Wikipedia:Fauna

Significantly more then 50 years before J.R.R. Tolkien would create a series of books that would eventually be parlayed into a series of movies, the length of which would make acceptable background noise of intercourse, Plato, in his seminal work The Republic, introduced his own “one-ring”, known as the Ring of Gyges; a mythical ring that was said to bestow its wearer the gift of invisibility.

Said Plato of the ring:
“Suppose now that there were two such magic rings, and the just put on one of them and the unjust the other; no man can be imagined to have such an iron will that he would stand fast in justice. No man would keep his hands off what was not his own when he could safely take what he liked out of the market, fail to sleep with some fine bitches, or kill or release from prison whom he would, and in all respects be like a god among men.”
Oh, the adorable thinkers of antiquity. We modern folk know that mere invisibility is not nearly powerful enough to be considered godlike. Rather, it’s more like a fairly typical superhero ability (e.g. Invisible Woman). A classroom of third graders armed with paint-filled squirt guns and water-balloons would be enough to render him or her into a captured “to be continued” sequence. No, godlike powers require additional things, like flying, super-strength, or the unnerving ability to split your body into a barrage of independent limbs.


But Plato’s point was clear. Unlike modern fantasy fiction, or anything modern really, where the goal is to bring its creator loads of money and excessive amounts of high-class trim, Plato intended the device to force the reader into introspection, support his claims that morality is a human construct, and leave his audience ashamed of their horribly apparent human failings. As you can imagine, this would not earn one much high-class trim.
Sadly, Plato is no longer around to collect royalties on his T-shirt deal.

But how does this relate to anything remotely useful for us modern folk? We don’t need a weighty dissertation to tell us that there’s some crazy mofos out there, as that stark reality has been jarringly provided by infotainment programs like the evening news.

Well, I’m glad I assumed you asked, because according to the online disinhibition effect, you are, to some degree, allegedly wearing that invisible ring right now! As has been proven by science time and again, the internet easy renders even the most demure and well-adjusted individual into a violent psychopath. You probably just felt your own bloodlust rise a little after realizing that, didn’t you? You did! You homicidal creeper!

The reasons given for this cyber-douchbaggery in the abovementioned article are as are follows:

You don’t know me— This oft heard phrase, emitted by surly teenagers and moody co-workers everywhere, refers to the obvious amount of anonymity of any nearly any internet exchange. (See the article: I am lonely will anyone speak to me)

You can’t see me— Similar to the above, this power of physical invisibility is what turns any given prepubescent boy’s forum persona into that of a macho bodybuilding martial arts master who does not have acne nor problems talking to girls. Unfortunately, this effect is also what may lead you into mistaking Chris Hansen for a surprisingly flirtatious 14 year old girl.

See you later— Like it sounds. It’s easy to run away from an angry lynch mob when they can only contact you through a device over which you have sole control of the “power” button.

It’s just a game— a concise way of saying that the normal rules of social engagement don’t apply to the internet. This is also the line of rationale you use to explain to Chris Hansen why your brought over a cheap keg and pack of condoms to a 14 year old girls house.

We’re equals— Not gunna lie, you may have just hit on the pope. Also, you just argued pop-psychology with Dr. Phil. You did this because their screenames don’t wear funny hats or bare intimidating mustaches that denote authority. Apparently treating each other as if all people really were created equal leads to rude behavior.

It’s all in my head— Ah, now we’ve finally reached the important one! You see, when you can’t actually see someone in person, your long neglected imagination asserts itself and fills in the details for you. Suddenly, a grainy picture and a few flirty emails leave you seeing your unborn children in what, you assume, are their big, blue eyes.

When this happens in real life, we form what are known as stereotypes. Generally responsible for bigotry, jingoism, Sony, and Panasonic, stereotypes on the internet often get comically blown out of proportion. People end up labeled as things like “trolls” for leading people into conflicts, or “flamers”, not for their flamboyant homosexuality, like god intended, but a tendency to make inflammatory comments.


When it comes to our beloved Wikipedia however, no place can pigeonhole you as systematically or thoroughly. In the bizarre section “fauna”, there is an entire fictional universe of labels that editors can receive for their actions, such as Wikidragon, Wikifairy, and Wikizombie to name just a few.

WikiZombies do not require the same precautions as normal zombies.

[This would probably be as good of time as any to point out that wikisophisticated folk don’t limit themselves to the boring crap that you only see in the main namespace. Beneath the bra and panties of Wikipedia, are the sweet money-shots found in other namespace. For example, you want to look up something on dogs. You type in “dog”. Someone smarter then you (and I) might type in “Book:dog” and literally get the entire book on dogs. This is but one very simple example.]

Since most readers are not experienced Wikipedia editors, or, like myself, people who occasionally edit shit on Wikipedia and then get in trouble for it, most of these will have little baring on you and I. But one must ask, how does Wikipedia refer to normies?

Well, in the world of Wikipedia, you’re sometimes known as a WikiInfant (or writhing wikilarva as I prefer). That’s right, you’re best identified a helpless creature that cries incessantly on airplanes/theaters/crowded rooms and shits yourself constantly. While this might sound elitist, its...well, ok, maybe it is a little. But you have no idea what it takes to keep Wikipedia working! Have you ever created an article?? And the sourcing references!? OMG ALL THE SOURCING THE F-ING REFERENCES! We should at least leave the experienced editors to have their fantasy role-playing titles as, much like real fantasy role-play people, it helps make up for a lack of a non-fantasy social life.


Awesomeness tip: See if you can coin your own wiki-terms. Sorry, Dickipedia is already taken. :D

The execution of Private Slovik

Main article: Eddie Slovik

Many of us hope to leave behind some sort of legacy after we’re gone. For a lucky few, this means accomplishing things in life so heroic (or infamous, you know, whatever) that volumes will be written about us, movies made, and future generations left to talk about where they were when we momentarily imperiled a baby.

Sadly, most of us will never achieve that level of greatness. For many, becoming a historical footnote becomes our only bronze, or even occasional silver medal of fame. And if any man were said to have achieved this notability runners-up prize in 1944, it would be Army Private Eddie Slovik. In that year he became the first man since the civil war to be executed by the United States Military for being stupid.

Yes, yes, I’ll admit, there was perhaps a smidge of bad luck on Eddie’s part. He was thoroughly made an example of, and certainly suffered from more then a little naivety. Eddie foolishly attempted to engage his superiors, earnestly trying to appeal to their sense of mercy and emotion (something which we all know that great men don’t have, especially in a time of war). He tried to convince them to rise above their blind, almost mechanical adherence to the law, and in the end, Eddie got himself shot….quite a few times, I might add.

Read his story well, as it should send an icy warning down your spine whenever you next find yourself standing at a vexing juncture, debating between actually doing something wrong, or seeking help to prevent you from for doing something wrong, as, apparently, only an idiot like Eddie would do.

This rare picture of Eddie in uniform is
required to accompany any mention of him.

Every recounting of Eddie’s star-crossed tale always starts from well before the war, in his youth. By all accounts, Eddie was a bit of a troublemaker. At the age of 12, he and some friends anachronistically broke into a foundry and stole some metal, generations before countless meth addicts would make that crime into a thriving industry.

And it didn’t end there. Years later he was arrested for selling bootleg DVD’s, more then 50 years before anyone would possess the technology to watch them.

Note: The modern reader should strive to keep this analysis in proper perspective however, as even the worst 1940’s delinquent is pathetically innocent when compared to today’s average, facially-tattooed, Satan-worshiping, public school student.

Say hello to your daughter's prom date. Don't worry; he's working toward becoming a mortician.

As he got older, Eddie was able to enjoy many of the perks that came with being a convicted felon. One of which was being classified as “unfit” to serve or even be drafted into the military. This is a pretty big deal when the world is over-indulging on the delectable parfait known as WWII, the single deadliest conflict in human history (it comes topped with a couple maraschino cherries of nuclear weapons used against civilian populations). As humanity performed unconscionable atrocities upon itself, many of which are still seared into our collective nightmares, Eddie was working for a plumber in Wisconsin (boooooring).

But, like so many fun moments of slipping through the cracks, it wasn’t bound to last. The army eventually discovered that many criminals are actually pretty good at killing people and began to change their policies. In late 1943 Eddie was one of those effected, and he became officially re-classified as “the cat’s pajamas”, which, in 1940’s slang, means acceptable infantryman.

This piece of pictorial propaganda was photoshopped by the Nazis 
in an attempt to show American servicemen as "caring" and "humane",
thus demoralizing them. As professional killing machines, soldiers never hug.

When Eddie finally made it to his unit he made the prudent, if not completely pansy decision that the inside of a cell was preferable to the outside world of mortal combat. After all, he had spent a significant chunk of his life behind bars already. [Let me just interject here and say that as a youth who grew up playing Wolfenstein 3D and other various, fictional, pixilated accounts of WWII battlefields, Eddie’s decision not to single-handedly save anonymous villages from Nazi occupation or perform other feats of heroics that all WWII infantrymen were obviously capable of leaves me greatly disappointed in him.]

In passing up the front lines, Eddie forever gave up his chance to assassinate
a crazed, double chain-gun wielding Hitler.

At first, Eddie told his captain that he was “too scared” to serve in a rifle company and asked to be assigned to a rear unit. The captain, knowing that grueling combat against the Nazis would help Eddie build character and look good on his post-war resume, denied his request and sent him to a rifle company like the dick he was.

The next day, when Eddie actually found and joined up with his rifle company…well, I’m no soldier, but let’s just say that writing a note telling the army that you're planning on deserting is a lot like writing some guy a note telling him that you're planning on banging his wife. In very few situations is that a good idea. Yet that’s exactly what Eddie did next. Few people would have guessed that he’d be so ballsy at proclaiming his unballsyness.

Eddie was given several opportunities to shred his note and go back to dying out in some forest somewhere, but he declined each time. He even went so far as to write a second note onto the back of the first one when asked to, stating that he knew what kind of shit he was getting into. Going back to my earlier analogy, that’s like taking the note you wrote to that dude saying you were going to bang his wife, and then writing a second note on the back of it saying, “no, seriously, I’m going to bang the shit out of your wife.”

Needless to say, Eddie was quickly court marshaled and sentenced to death. The court declined to note the irony behind this outcome on the record.

Not surprisingly, this wasn’t exactly the result Eddie was hoping for. He appealed, even going so far as to write Dwight Eisenhower, supreme commander of the European front and future president, asking for clemency. Eisenhower, facing rising numbers of desertion and some of the toughest fighting of the war, formally responded with “Meh”, sealing Eddie’s fate.

As tragic as this was, what's even worse is that this scene
 inspired 2006's uber-annoying "Had a bad day" song.

Later, after the sentence had been carried out, some officers felt disbelief over what happened. Colonel Guy Williams (not the 60’s fashion model) a member of the court martial board that convicted Eddie said that he didn’t think “a single member of that court actually believed that Slovik would ever be shot. I know I didn’t believe it.”

He later went on to say “I thought it was going to be one of those surprise birthday things. You know, we tie him up, blindfold him, have him say a few last words and then BAM, we hit him in the face with some cake like those timely and hilariously cutting-edge Three Stooges.” Then, the officer extinguished his cigarette on the face of a dead German and just for shits went out and single-handedly saved a small village from the Nazi advance.

Did you know? In 1944, it took less time to issue and carry out a death 
sentence then it does to get a modern parking ticket adjudicated?

As you can imagine, many of Eddie’s fellow rank-and-file soldiers that ended up fighting and dying in his place also took sympathy on him. One of his firing squad executioners was quoted saying:
“I got no sympathy for that sonofabitch! He deserted us, didn’t he? He didn’t give a damn how many of us of us got the hell shot out of us, why should we care for him?”
Touche’ sir, touche’, but how many Nazis have you killed with your bare hands? Only 12? Well then you obviously have little room to talk...

Anyway, I think we’ve all learned something here today. First, don’t ever threaten to do something wrong and ask for clemency as that just tells people you’re probably a pussy. Better to actually be a pussy and run away to begin with. Secondly, and as I’m sure you’ll agree more importantly, don’t ever piss off former president Eisenhower, especially if he comes back from the dead and becomes supreme commander of an undead army (As “supreme commander” is the appropriate title for a leader of an undead army).

On second thought, just try not pissing off anyone named Dwight, as they tend to be a little hardcore.