6:42PM: Back again, this time with the last installment in our epic melodrama. Only 5-6 hours left!  Do you remember how psyched you were for these to come out?  I remember.  I was almost “dressed-up-like-Aragorn” excited.  Had it been like two degrees more socially acceptable, I probably would’ve done it.  Or I would have gone as Liv Tyler.

Continued after the jump…

6:44PM: We get Smeagol’s back story.  We see Andy Serkis without makeup, and he goes and kills his brother.  Here’s an interesting thing I learned.  Alexander I of Russia, the Tsar who defeated Napoleon, died a mysterious death.  He was traveling down South for whatever reason, quickly contracted a cold and died.  There were rumors for decades that he faked his own death, and lived out the rest of his days as a monk.  The monk was eventually made a Orthodox saint.  When the Soviet’s exhumed Alexander I, they did not find a body.  DUM DUM DUM!

6:47PM: P. Jax (that’s his name from now on) is really good with gross.  Smeagol’s transformation.  How he disgustingly munches on a catfish with his filthy maw.  Now, if only Aragorn mowed down an entire horde of orcs with a lawnmower.  That would be excellent.

6:52PM: Merry and Pipin roll deep.  They straight gangsta.  Chillin on the wall, sippin gin ‘n juice, enjoying “well earned comfort,” eating salted pork, getting baked.  Speaking of rolling deep, I am sippin’ some Scotch I got on the recent occasion of my employment.  We’ll call it “orc juice,” for credibility.  It is Laphroiag, 10 year.   “Laphroiag” sounds like something J.R.R. would make up.

6:59PM: I suppose we should talk about race.  It is sorta obvious that J.R.R. had some questionable racial views.  The orcs are “dark,” to put it euphemistically.  The men from the South, who are corrupt and ride elephants, are Arab or perhaps South Asian.  It is probably true that it is a racist piece of shit.  But hey, it isn’t 300.  Or Sex and the City II: The Quickening.  So I guess we can be relativistic this once.

7:03PM: Gimli and Orlando have a drinking contest.  Another theme of this series, outside of Racism, is drug addiction.  These guys are wastrels.  Total losers.  Checking out of life and seeking solace for their weakness in drink and drugs.  Shame on them for influencing thousands of young children to believe that poisoning yourself is FUN and INTERESTING!  These loser children of Gimli and Orlando will surely grow up dropping out, starting “blogs” and liveblogging filth that celebrates this type of depravity.

7:09PM: I almost have 200 views!  That is really amazing!  I didn’t expect anyone would want to read this unforgivable self-indulgent nerd-out.  I need your support if I am going to dominate the fuck out of this movie.  SHIT!  Emily is home!  Hopefully she doesn’t try to stop me.

7:17PM: Whew!  Emily doesn’t know about us.  Don’t worry.  Let’s just keep it on the DL.  I mean she knows I’m doing it.  But she doesn’t know how AWESOME it is.  So don’t tell her.  Let her continue to live her sad, liveblogless life!  In other news this stew is delicious.

7:22PM: Minas Tirith seems like a really inconvenient place to live.  There is just one avenue up and down the tower.  I suppose it makes sense if there was a reason to conserve space.  But it doesn’t…because there are miles of fields in every direction.  Dwelling there is King Nick Nolte who has gone full crazy Nick Nolte.

7:33PM: J.R.R. was a very devout Catholic.  He hung out a lot with C.S. Lewis, maybe once too often.  Gandalf in this story is not really human.  He is a “ainur” or something, which is the equivalent of an angel.  I once read a significant portion of J.R.R.’s “middle earth bible” The Silmarillion.  This guy must’ve been king of the dorks.  He invented languages, for fun.  It is a miracle he ever got laid.  Actually, things were different back then.  Dorks were the hottest shit ever.  Bullies never bothered them.  They let them play D&D in peace.  Star Wars played non-stop on every television.  Girls just spread it whenever they saw an overweight guy with glasses.  Ah, to live in the Golden Age.

7:39PM: You could say this film really hits its stride when the Nazgul start riding mutant eel-dragons.  You could say that.  I dig the mutant eel-dragons.  I do.  But you know what would be even more badass?  If the Nazgul were riding fucking EVIL UNICORNS!  Or, wait…fuck that…DRAGONS.  Like full-bore, Naked McConaughey killing Reign of Fire dragons.  That would be radical.

7:43PM: Elephant Man Orc! (Can you believe this guy has a wikipedia page?)

7:59PM: If we were to re-do the cast of LOTR using only dog breeds.  Gandalf = Old English Sheepdog, Frodo = Maltese, Sam = Dachshund, Aragorn = golden lab, Sauron = basset hound, Gollum = Chihuahua.

8:03PM: In non-LOTR news, Tiffany and Debbie (aka Deborah) Gibson, 80s teen idols, will team up to star in “Megapython v. Gatoroid” for the Syfy Channel.  Tiffany appeared in an earlier classic film for SyFy called “Megapiranha.”  Debbie Gibson starred in the masterpiece “Megashark v. Giant Octopus” (SF BAY REPRESENT!).

8:15PM: I was trying to find a youtube video where Frodo and Sam’s scenes are edited to a Mariah Carey song, and instead I found these fun little bloopers.

8:18PM: I am about an hour and a half into Return of the King.  I have around two and a half hours left to go.  It is hard to concentrate for this length of time.  But, I was thinking, at least I’m not watching all the Twilight movies in a row.  That would be horrific, possibly suicidal.  All the heavy breathing, and the sparkling, and the terrible dialogue.  And at least LOTR makes some kind of narrative sense.

8:21PM: Aragorn just had the worst wet dream ever.  He dreamed of Liv, but all these creepy statutes kept cock-blocking him.  Bro to Bro, I feel for ya Arock.

8:25PM:  SPURNED!  Aragorn drops Tranny Knight like she was just another conquest he picked up at the club.  Plus, it wasn’t cheating on Liv.  Different area codes, baby, gotta keep it real!  That’s what happens when you fall for skeezy hunks like Aragorn.  They just use you, and leave to go resurrect a dead army of traitors, and they never call.  And then your pain forces you to dress in drag and fight orcs.  You know, the normal growth process after a breakup.

8:28PM: Patrick Swayze should have been cast as the King of Rohan.  And they must have gone through enough Just for Men and Grecian Formula to fill a swimming pool during the making of this movie.  No one’s hair is their natural color.  Not even Orlando.  And this guy…yeeesh.

8:31PM: Let’s look at this from Sauron’s perspective.  The guy is stuck without a body…he is a giant eyeball made of fire.  You could have some empathy.  Here he is out in this mountainous and desolate area.  His realm has no natural resources.  He can’t farm crops, engage in animal husbandry, or hunt game.  He can mine for minerals, but it isn’t like he could use these materials for trade, engaging in commerce with the neighboring kingdoms.  They have their own sources of minerals from the nearby mountains.  And so he has to press forward out of his boundaries in order to keep his population of disgusting orcs fed and productive.  He has to invade because the decadent imperialists in Gondor and Rohan have aligned against him to push him out of the economy.  You can’t blame the guy for having orcs either.  Orcs have rights too.  They also happen to use less resources than a normal person.  Since Sauron is so poor, he must settle for orcs to do his labor and act as his citizenry.

8:42PM: A lady-orc is in charge of the catapults!  Well that solves that little pickle.  This is a pretty bad-ass siege scene as siege scens go.  When a stone hits a tower, the structure just crumbles to pieces like legos.  When the eel-dragon things drop people from hundreds of feet up, you see them slam into the sides of buildings.  Brvtal.

8:48PM: Pipin kills his first orc and all I can hear in my head is “Here is something you can’t understand…How I could just KILL A MAN!”

8:50PM: YES!  We’ve endured through disc one of Return of the King.  After a brief interval, I will be back with the second half.  It is so close I can taste it.

8:55PM: Here we go with the second disc.  Let us re-cast the characters of LOTR using breeds of cats.  Gandalf = Maine Coon, Gollum = Sphynx, Frodo = short-haired Persian,  Gimli = Scottish Fold, Saruman = Himalayan, Sauron = Siamese.

8:59PM: This is the part with the giant spider.  Somehow this spider is tragic.  It has feelings, emotions.  When it dies, it seems sad but also almost relieved — much how I will feel when this is all over.  Apparently the spider is named Shelob and is a lady.

9:07PM: I fail to see how setting the battering ram on fire does anything to help you.  You’ll just end up burning your battering ram.  King Nick Nolte does his best hammy Marlon Brando, oddly shifting his eye brows and making his mouth twitch.  Here are my favorite monster species in LOTR in order of awesomeness: Giants, Goblins (cuter than orcs), Nazgul, Wargs, Uruk-Hai, Shelob, Orcs.

9:14PM: Samwise’s dependence on Frodo is really troubling.  I think they have an abusive relationship.  It is like something out of Twilight, to be honest.  Frodo acts like a supreme douche — he is an emotional abuser.  But Sam is stuck in the cycle.  He is devoted, so he comes back like a beaten puppy.  And what does Frodo do to repay his love?  More abuse — Frodo even makes Sam jealous with his attention to Smeagol.  How manipulative.  But Sam is all “he wouldn’t hurt me if he didn’t love me” and “this is what love is.”  Sam the martyr.  Well, I want Sam and all you Sams out there to know it doesn’t have to be that way.  That love doesn’t have to hurt.  So drop these zeroes and get with the hero!

9:21PM: I’m not a big fan of rousing and inspiring pre-battle speeches.  You know instead of giving inspiring speeches to his men, Russell Crowe style, Julius Caesar would just stand in front of them and tell dirty jokes to ease their nerves?  I would like to see that in an action film.  An inspiring pre-battle speech consisting of only “yo momma” jokes.

9:29PM: This movie solves the ancient problem: how do you stop a war elephant.  The solution is remarkably similar to the eternal “how do you stop an AT-AT” that puzzled philosophers for centuries until it was discovered during the filming of “The Empire Strikes Back.”  Apparently, you make them knock into each other.

9:32PM: Emily took exception to my post earlier encouraging us to keep this awesome thing to ourselves.  She thinks it makes her sound mean.  She says, and I quote, “Tell them about how I encouraged you to do it, you fuckface!”

9:33PM: Tranny Knight is a badass.  She just decapitated the eel-dragon thingy.  Now she is fighting the Witch-King.  This introduces the best little “oh snap” moment of LOTR: the whole “No Dude Can Kill Me…oh fuck that dude’s a chick!” moment.

9:36PM: Ugh.  The killing contest between Orlando and Gimli is one of those uncomfortable Ren Faire nerd moments, like medieval-sounding folk songs.  I guess it is confession time.  The contest hits too close to home.  I admit to playing dungeons and dragons during middle school and into early high school.  I just wanted to clear the air.  Most of the time I played a dwarf.  Usually he was a thief.  Often he was chaotic-neutral.  If you don’t know what that means, I am not going to explain it.

9:45PM: We just had another classic “NOOOOOOOOO!“

9:49PM: Another thing that bothers me about this wanton slaughter of orcs, and I know it is cliche, but…what about their families?  These orcs have lives too.  They probably entered military service because it was the only means of upward mobility in totalitarian Mordor society.  They are just trying to get through the day.

9:51PM: I am fading.  I know my content has dropped off considerably in quality (was there ever any quality?).  I hate to say this, but it is getting a little repetitive.  They have a big fight, they kill a bunch of dudes, someone says something clever.  We take a break and talk politics or strategy.  There is an extended period of travel.  Something attacks and we start the cycle over again.

10:06PM: Ah, the Mouth of Sauron.  I was really disappointed this guy missed the final cut for the first movie.  It was once of my favorite parts of the book.  Interestingly, the dude who plays the Mouth is Bruce Spence, famous for The Road Warrior.  The character design is just amazing in this movie.

10:09PM: Another boring pre-fight speech.  Does this really make anyone excited?  At this stage?  They’ve already fought in like 6 major battles.  And now Sam and Frodo are taking a break.  I feel for them.  I am exhausted.  I don’t know if I can live through the sixteen endings.

10:13PM: Ugh….  So Sam is carrying Frodo up the mountain.  Frodo is such a wimpy moocher.  This should be inspiring, but it is just sad.  Frodo is as bad as Sauron.  Sam is basically his pet orc.  Gollum attacks them.  This shit is about to get intense.

10:15PM: The weight of this film is too much.  It burdens me so!  Will someone relieve me of this daunting task?  I can barely move.  I am stuck to this couch.  The film grows heavier with each step Frodo takes.

10:16PM: This story, with all the deus ex machina going on.  I mean, you know how the battle is going to turn out.  At the last second somebody is going to show up to fix everything.  You can just half-ass fighting in your battle, because you know Rohan, or the Ghost dudes, or the Eagles are going to show up and win it for you.  Here’s an idea: how bout you give 100% instead of 75% and you won’t need the goddamn Eagles.

10:18PM: The volcano sounds like my indigestion.

10:20PM: The end of Gollum.  Well played.

10:23PM: Our heroes did it, they dropped the ring into the fire.  Great job guys.  I bet someone needs a beer, or perhaps some weed?  Now Sam is talking about that hot skank he wanted to bone back in Boneville or the Shire or whatever.  How do you think Frodo feels about that?  Frodo takes this opportunity to “comfort” Sam.  Yeah.  Like that.  And another thing — the birds in Birdemic: Shock and Terror would annihilate these Eagles.

10:28PM: Creepiest part of the movie right here.  The hobbits jump up and down on a bed while Gandalf stands by and watches, like some twisted and decadent Master of Ceremonies.  Then Gimli shows up and claps because Gimli LOVES HISSELF AN ORGY!  Then the rest of these losers show up and watch the ribaldry commence.  That is, until Sam shows up and cock-blocks everyone with his puppy-dog eyes.  How is a Hobbit supposed to get down with all that monogamy shit?

10:31PM: So Aragorn takes a shower and grows out his beard.  Looks like a less strung out Jim Morrison in France.  Aragorn looks a little worried when he’s on the throne, like he doesn’t know what is going on.  FUCK AND NOW HE’S SINGING!  All his subjects must be like: “WTF, we wait a millennia for our King, and he doesn’t even want to be King…his dream was to SING”  Aragorn isn’t King but 10 seconds before he’s decided he’d rather be in the performing arts.  You know what?  He is like Jim Morrison…BECAUSE HE FUCKING SUCKS!

10:34PM: The King bows to the Hobbits…NOW IS THEIR CHANCE TO SEIZE THE THRONE!  Apparently their first order of business will be to mandate that all subjects wear vests.

10:35PM: We are deep into the sixteen endings to this bad boy.  Let’s count them: 1.) Throw the ring into the fire; 2.) get rescued by Eagles; 3.) Aragorn crowned King and bows to the hobbits, 4.) Back at the Shire getting a pint, Sam decides he is going to hit that barwench.

10:37PM: Sam gets married.  This leaves Frodo a life-long bachelor.  Old bookish Oxbridge types like J.R.R. had a serious fetish for the life-long bachelor who dedicates himself to antiquary pursuits.  That seems a little problematic right?  ”Maladaptive” would be another nonsense word.  Their fantasy worlds are completely devoid of women — except women who wear men’s clothes or otherwise look like men (hobbit women) — and the ideal is a life of quiet bachelorhood with books.  In defense of my Dungeons & Dragons years, at least I still fantasized about kissing girls.

10:42PM: More endings.  5.) Frodo happy and living the life of an antiquary, 6.) Bilbo getting on the cruise ship with the elves.  These people are terrible at leaving for trips.  They are not dependable.  You say to Gandalf: “Hey Grey-fuck, let’s leave at 3 so we beat traffic…”  And Gandalf will show up at 4:45, almost guaranteeing you will be stuck bumper to bumper.  What a dick!

10:47PM: MORE ENDINGS.  7.) Sam comes home.  His kids are cute, but one appears to be wearing a shower cap.  The children look at him like he’s some kind of disgusting food.

10:49PM: 129 Entries.  10 hours and 30 minutes.  245 page views.  Three glasses of scotch.  0 Unicorns.  Thanks for supporting me in this mammoth undertaking.  I appreciate everyone for reading.  I am sure the content was inconsistent at best.  But, trust me, by the third movie it was hard to be funny any more.  Woah.  What a great film.  Full of adventure.  Lots of special effects.   And we learned about ourselves, didn’t we?  We learned that you shouldn’t take drugs.  We learned that if your Dad is Nick Nolte, don’t take anything he says personally.  We learned that men wearing jewelry, particularly rings, is a questionable fashion move.  We learned that you don’t NEED to pick only one ending for your work of fiction.  Why pick one when you could have 7?  And most importantly, we learned that platonic love can exist between two grown men.

VAYA CON DIOS!

2:19PM: And now we start again with the Two Towers and I’ve spilled water everywhere.  We are making good time here, people.  We can do this!  We are the US Men’s National Soccer Team of LOTR liveblogging!

Continued after the jump…

2:21PM: YES!  ”YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” AGAIN!  Jackson knows a money-shot when he sees one.  We should probably start the third movie with that clip too, just for awesome.  Frodo yells: “NOOOOOOOO!” One of the prime specimens of the form.

2:25PM: I like that the elves gave them some wacky root thing that is basically elf meth.  It is a stimulant, replaces food, and lets them go without sleep for days.  Frodo and Sam would total starve their baby on this shit.

2:30PM: Let’s talk about Gollum for a minute.  He really is remarkably done.  The CGI is Dinosaurs in Jurassic Park level awesome: completely integrated, fresh, doesn’t look dated.  He is at once disgusting, sad, pathetic, and a little cute.  It is pretty amazing how much he looks like Andy Serkis.  Compare him with this monstrosity.

3:05PM: SORRY KIDS!  I just had to take a phone call.  A “business phone call.”  Because I am now EMPLOYED!  Anyway, I can’t believe I just navigated that phone call without showing the depths of my madness caused by this film.  VICTORY!  Back we go, after being a little derailed.  Gollum must get cold, right?  I mean he is dressed like Donald Duck sans sailor cap.

3:09PM: Aragorn dramatically throws himself against the rocks, like a dame in some Tennessee Williams play.  I am wondering who is objectively dirtier: Aragorn or the Orcs?  Also, some of the Orcs sport some kickass corpse paint.  Brvtal!  \m/

3:12PM: The Orcs are pretty metal.  Like they wear iron and leather and brown tunic man-dresses.  They wear corpse paint.  The trilogy itself has served as an inspiration for countless kickass metal projects:  Zep, Blind Guardian, etc.  This is because LOTR is DETH TO FALSE METAL!

3:19PM: FUCK YES! BRAD DOURIF!  I forgot he was in this.  Excellent work casting the voice of Chucky, the homicidal children’s doll.  He is dressed like a black metal Kurt Cobain.  He is another connection to that epic David Lynch masterpiece “Dune.”  I initially thought of doing a liveblog to Dune, but more people are familiar with LOTR…also LOTR is longer.  Much, much longer as I am only learning now.

3:23PM: Apparently Orcs and Goblins do not have a taboo against cannibalism.  They just started eating one of their own kind.  Hopefully they won’t get Mad Orc Disease or kuru or whatever.  On top of the fact that we’ve seen from whence they came, and it doesn’t look sterile. Cannibalism, as we all know, is not even appropriate if you are stuck on a life raft with nothing to eat but the cabin boy.

3:32PM: Ents!  Tree dudes!  Transparently voiced by the same dude who plays Gimli — John “Bad Dates” Rhys-Davies.  Could you have at least gotten someone else?  I mean, Robin Williams could have done it in a shitty racist Spanish accent!  Anyway, this is some titanically great special effects.  I love how the tree dudes have creaky movements, almost as if they are stop-motion from a Harryhausen movie.

3:39PM: The dead marshes scene still freaks me the fuck out.  I am freaking out.  This is too much.  Oh god.  Woah.  Thank God that’s over.  Peter Jackson should make another horror movie.  There is something inherently terrifying about dudes with no pupils in their eyes.  Unless they a Marilyn Manson.  In which case they are just losers.

3:46PM: So this is pretty far out.  Look, I’m not saying he’s a lier and a braggart, but Gandalf’s story (I almost called him Merlin, woah) just doesn’t stand up.  So he’s plummeting with the Balrog down the bottomless pit.  Then, all of sudden, he’s on the SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN, fighting the Balrog.  He smites the Balrog, dies or becomes somehow corporally transcendent, then ends up naked on a white table.  Then someone dyes his hair white, buys him some new threads, and he CLAIMS to not remember his name. It’s like if David Lynch directed a Bollywood musical.

3:50PM:  You know what the fuck is wrong with this shit?  I’ll tell you.  WHERE ARE THE FUCKING UNICORNS, J.R.R.?!  There is a serious unicorn deficit in this story.  Look, you gave Gandalf a shiny white horse named Shadowfax.  Great name.  Let me teach you how to write an awesome story.  PUT A FUCKING NARWHAL HORN ON THE HORSE!  It isn’t hard.  You just add a sentence: “Shadowfax had a mane of snow and a big badass horn right in the middle of his fucking forehead, erect and engorged and pointing to the sky.”  There.  I’ve just made LOTR more awesome by the factor of 10.

4:02PM: Merry and Pipin are in the throes of addiction.  They are drinking some kind of crazy water.  Now they are fucking hallucinating that some trees are swallowing them up.  Obviously, none of this tree-swallowing is actually happening.  We are just witnessing the depths of insanity from our heroes’ perspective.  Now they are being carried away by a walking tree.  This movie makes it really difficult to know what is a drug-induced trip and what is real.

4:05PM: The Ent is moaning on about not having any Ent-Wives around to fuck.  He is seriously jonesin to bust a nut, but alas he LOST HIS FUCKING ENT WIVES.  This is what happens when you don’t control your bitches.  When you let them leave the house.  Or leave the house uncovered.  Or drive cars.  They leave.  And then you lose them.  Also.  Ent sex.  Think about it.

4:07PM: I just made way too much edamame.  That was a mistake.

4:08PM: Speaking of busting a nut, I love the subplot that the wretched and debauched Brad Dourif has a crush on Miranda Otto.  I also love that this is clearly because Miranda Otto is a TRANSVESTITE WARRIOR SHE-RA.  In fact, from now on we call her Tranny Knight for short.

4:18PM: I’m just not Ren Faire enough to get the overwrought singing.  It just makes me uncomfortable.  Partly because I know some nebbish shut-in with a thousand cats is somewhere right now listening to the soundtrack and crying from the surge of emotion it gives him/her.  We all can agree that Enya is major musical artist whose genius has never been equalled.  Still, this soundtrack would be a lot better if it was by Toto.

4:28PM: So Brad Dourif and Saruman are talking about the Rohan people, and how they are relocating to their summer home at Helm’s Deep.  Brad says, “Look, we can run them down because they are slow.  They will have women…  and children….”  Cut to Saruman.  At the mention of murdering children his eyes light up.  Cold, dawg.  Cold.

4:31PM: Frodo is tweakin on the ring.  Obviously, Sam is jealous because girls get jealous of other girls when they are the last left unmarried.  He is seriously fiending.  Now Smeagol/Gollum talks to himself.  This is an effective scene.  The emotion in his CGI face is just amazing.  It has like 100x expression in it than latter-day Nicole Kidman.  This acting ability just destroys most actors working.

4:37PM: Elephants.  That is getting closer to the Unicorn ideal.  I will give you limited points for that.  But still, unicorns make everything better.

4:40PM: Quick Break.  We are starting the second disc of Two Towers.  The breadth of this thing is just unimaginable.  I am sure, if I finish, I will be one of only three or four in the world who have done this.

4:47PM: We’re back, beginning the second half of the Two Towers.  Technically, I suppose, we just passed the half-way point.  We are making awful time.  By at least an hour.  But good job, team!  I have to make dinner soon.  So we probably won’t be pausing, just doing three things at once: watching this shit, blogging, and cooking.

4:56PM: I’ll be cooking beef stew, which is somehow appropriate.  A juicy delicious beef stew.  Let’s call it orc stew, for integrity.

5:02PM: So Saruman has invented gunpowder, with magic.  And then Brad Dourif is all “it would take a number beyond reckoning” to come up with the amount of orcs needed to breach Helm’s Deep.  He is punked by Saruman, who reveals a massive army hanging out passed the window.  Brad didn’t look out the window when he was on the toilet the entire time he was at Saruman’s tower and notice an army beyond reckoning?  This was surprising?  What kind of ambiguously weird industrial activity did he think was going on in the deforested area surrounding the tower?  Uh…

5:16PM: Woah, I’m spacing out. There is a flashback with Boromir and Faramir (Sean Bean and the other dude).  They are totally obsessed with beer.  They even have a Middle Earth keg with them.  Their dad is King Nick Nolte.

5:24PM: Gollum is the anti-smurf.

5:31PM: The annoying King of Rohan boasts that no army has ever pierced the inner wall, which he calls the “Hornberg.” Similarly, no enemy has been able to pierce my Rosenbaum.

5:36PM: Tranny Knight has a fever, and the only prescription is more Aragorn.  Unforch, Aragorn already has one sexually ambiguous hottie at his disposal.  The aforementioned Liv, who is occasionally mistaken for her father, Steve of Aerosmith.

5:39PM: There is a serious undercurrent of social approval for chronic and inexcusable lateness in this movie.  The Ents are just taking an extremely long time to decide things.  And then there is the Orc army about to besiege Helm’s Deep.  Could they take any longer?  You know what?  We really haven’d discussed Orlando, have we?

5:53PM: I’ve had the compulsive urge to cook dinner.  So I am going to go do that.  You can wait for me.  Here are my comments on the Helm’s Deep battle sequence:  Olympic Torch running Orc guy, Dwarf Tossing.

6:06PM: The Ents will exact vengeance for the deforestation of Middle Earth.  Middle Earth = San Francisco.  Radical environmentalists will take over and kill all fee-market entrepreneurs (Saruman) who invest wisely in industrial development and biotech innovation (specifically, Uruk-Hai genetic research and cloning).  It is obvious that the Ents in this situation are the least cost avoider.  I mean, they can walk.  They should be paying Saruman for the right to live on his private property.

6:26PM: OK, food is in the pot.  These guys have the same haircut as most of the Spanish world cup soccer team.   Speaking of, we didn’t talk about Orlando.  Orlando is no Hugo Weaving, but at least he’s clean.  I’m looking at you Viggo.  How is it you can remain so grungy, and Orlando stays so clean?  His skin always impeccably moisturized.  Fastidiously using conditioner on his hair.  It can’t be that hard to look FABULOUS out on an adventure.  Just put some effort in your appearance.  Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.

6:33PM: We finished The Two Towers!!!! WE DID IT!  Great job.  We are almost through.  The final stretch.  The deadly gauntlet.  After a short break, please check out my liveblog of Return of the King starting in a new entry.

10:22AM: It has begun.  This is the nerdiest/awesomest thing I have ever done.  I will liveblog the LOTR trilogy in its entirety.  I own the extended editions of each movie, so that means like 12 hours of swords, orcs, hobbit-on-hobbit love, and Liv Tyler.  Will I survive?  I would like to tell you that I am doing this without the aid of substances.  I would like to tell you that.  But it would be a lie.  I will do whatever it takes to enhance my endurance and, correspondingly, enhance your blog-reading pleasure.  Now, it has been brought to my attention that recently executed murderer Ronnie Gardner watched the entire trilogy before his death.  Don’t worry, I don’t plan to get shot by firing squad when this is all over.  Though maybe I will want that.

Continued after the jump…

10:33AM: We begin with Cate Blanchett’s husky whisper talking some nonsense about mystical jewelry.  Cate Blanchett can read the phonebook and give me a hard-on.

10:35AM: The first CGI battle sequence.  Hugo Weaving appears in some shiny armor.  Ever see Priscilla Queen of the Desert?  He basically looks the same here.  The first badass thing happened:  Sauron, looking like he was constructed out of mutated garbage cans, comes around to knock people around with a glorified baseball bat.  I am still getting used to this live-blogging thing.

10:39AM: This really moves quickly, I never realized that.  GOLLUM!  Love that guy.  Cate Blanchett says that the Ring granted Gollum “unnatural long life” with this weird guttural groan.  She would make an amazing death metal singer.

10:42AM: Hobbits are obviously inbred.  Look at all the hair!  And the stunted growth!  And the freakish eyes on Elijah Wood!  Also, the women all look like Snookie from Jersey Shore but with perms and less makeup.

10:45AM: Bilbo spends hours and hours pouring over old maps when Frodo isn’t looking.  Just like Jack in “Lost”.

10:46AM: I’m picking up some uncomfortable sexual tension between Gandalf and Bilbo.  All this hugging.  And I know, from prior viewings (although never all at once), that the hugging never really ends in this movie.  Eventually, it even turns into kissing.  And kissing and crying.  Ugh.

10:50AM: Bilbo just said something that sounded like “not some gray-skirted mulmurglemur from gurglebuttlebux” or something and I can’t tell if I didn’t understand it because I am not awake/because of the coffee/because of other substances or if it was actually incomprehensible.

10:52AM: “The finest weed in the South Barley” YES! Bilbo and Gandalf are smokin’ a bowl!  Middle Earth = San Francisco.  Let us see how long we can make that analogy work.  Gandalf is so high he sees designs in his weed smoke.  Now Bilbo is telling some insane story to kids and by the look in his eye you can tell he is FLIPPING OUT.  Meanwhile, Gandalf is blowing up fireworks.  Now the fireworks take the shape of dragons and butterflies.  But do they REALLY?  Or is Gandalf so spaced by the chronic he only SEES these shapes and we are seeing them through his perspective?

10:55AM: This has turned into a bad trip for Bilbo.  His relative came around and he wigged out.  He is totally paranoid.  Weed paranoid.  Now he is saying some unnecessarily maudlin sentimental crap to Frodo.  Bilbo is going to regret tonight.

10:58AM: Metaphor alert!  Is the obsessive quality of the Ring – that it makes everyone who possess it desire it above all else, kill for it, etc – is this a metaphor for women and their insatiable desire to get married.  It is well-known that all women desire a wedding ring more than life itself.  LOTR is Sex and the City.  Or like Sex and the Middle Earth?  Sex and the Shire?  No?  Hello?  Anyone?

11:01AM: Next time a friend of mine is stoned and freaking out, I am going to puff up my chest and bellow loudly their name.  That’ll certainly relax them.

11:02AM: When Gandalf touches the Ring, Sauron can see him.  If we take our Ring = The Obsessive Lust for Marriage allegory further, we see that Gandalf is the ultimate swinger.  But, if Gandalf (like Ian McKellan) is gay, then why doesn’t he want to get married like everyone else?  I mean, he has the right to be treated like every other citizen of the United States.  Why doesn’t he desire marriage like every other dude in this damn movie?  I should probably just abandon this metaphor, it is already confusing me.

11:06AM: YES! The Nazgul!  Sorry I got caught up in the actual plot there.  So Gandalf is telling the story (for the third time because it is a little confusing) about the Ring and Sauron.  Then he mentions that the “Orcs are multiplying.”  Which, like, wtf does that mean?  How do orcs multiply?  I know this is an age old question.  We see no lady-orcs.  Are they like the Smurfs?

11:20AM: I read somewhere, but I am too lazy to look it up, that Christopher Lee had the Guinness World Record for most movie roles by an actor.  Lee is awesome.  He brings it.  He is fucking Dracula for god sakes.

11:23AM: OLD WIZARD FIGHT!  I enjoy thinking that these old dudes did their own stunts, but it is very obvious that Peter Jackson just sat the camera in front of the actors, twisting it back and forth for different shots, and just had them grunt and grimace for like 45 minutes.  Later he edited that masterfully shot footage with stunt doubles rolling around on the floor.  This is how geniuses work.

11:26AM: The Nazgul, with their red-eyed horses that are apparently covered in oil, search for Frodo and his buds.  Why do the Nazgul make the insects writhe and run away?  Are they made of insects?  That part is great.

11:28AM: [Bilbo hides from the Nazgul] “I must leave the Shire!  Sam and I must get to Brie!”  Fucking French, trust me you aren’t safe there.

11:29AM: I am obligated, as a Trve Nürd, to mention that Tom Bombadil is controversially excised from this film adaptation.  To me, this just makes sense because the Tom Bombadil part of the book makes ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING SENSE!  It is heavily implied that Tom Bombadil is God or something.  Which, if true, like WTF WHY DON’T YOU STOP BEING A DICK AND HELP A HOBBIT OUT YOU FUCK?

11:33AM: Viggo is in serious need of a shower for most of this movie.  I hasten to even think about how badly he smells.  The original Aragorn was to be played by Stuart Townsend, best known for being in the Aaliyah classic Queen of the Damned. Apparently he was fired for being too clean. Then sweaty filthy Viggo took over.  Prior to this, Viggo’s awesomest role would have to be that of an extremely oily Satan (think a Dov Charney version of Satan) in the Christopher Walken film The Prophecy.

11:43AM: So the Orcs start tearing down trees for no reason.  Middle Earth = San Francisco, exhibit 2: San Franciscos hate it when you tear down awesome trees.  Only an orc would do that.  Who are the orcs?  Obviously, they represent Meg Whitman.

11:49AM: Oh, now I remember how Orcs are “multiplied.”  Apparently some kind of genetic engineering thing.  So they cut down all the trees, build a massive underground evil lair, forge an bunch of swords and stupid hats and somehow all this summed together = orcs birthed in bulbous sacs of fluid.  We still don’t see where this bulbous sac comes from, so we can only assume there is some Queen Orc that mates with at eats the heads off the drone orcs.

11:52AM: Liv Tyler.  She is trying to adopt the Cate Blanchett sultry moan, but only sounds like she has bad asthma.  She isn’t getting my captain to salute like that luscious vixen Cate.

11:54AM:  I am going to warn you that this liveblog will descend into incomprehensible rants VERY SOON.  I can already feel it happening.

11:55AM: Middle Earth = San Francisco, exhibit 3.  Dams.  Liv Tyler summons, with magic, water to sweep away the Nazgul.  In SF, we hate dams and wish they would go away so the waters ran free and salmon can play and be caught and eaten.  However, we also depend on harnessing water for survival.  All of our water (or the vast majority) come from the Hetch Hetchy valley near Yosemite…a beautiful valley we fucking DAMMED, THERBY KILLING JOHN MUIR!  Just like Liv…sure its nice to be an environmentalist until you need to MANIPULATE NATURE TO SURVIVE.

12:00PM: Just a quick side fact.  The biggest search terms that have led to my blog, according to wordpress: “elbow patches,” “batataria swamp photos,” and “arnold predator sex.”

12:04PM: I’ve decided that Hugo Weaving is hotter than Liv in this.

12:25PM: Sorry about that, I had to make some lunch (broccoli and sauted radishes).  We are on disc two of Fellowship, good job everybody!

12:33PM: I forgot how long it takes them to leave the elf fortress.  They keep stalling: staring at each other, walking solemnly forward one by one.  Obviously the elves are anxious for their pokey guests to leave, since the elves have that sweet vacation cruise thing planned.  But instead of being conscientious, these losers just hang out in the doorway, awkwardly muttering to each other.

12:40PM: Saruman would also be a good death metal singer.  Dude’s got some diaphragm power.

12:42PM: Having entered the Mines of Moria, our heroes discover that goblins are in the mines and try to flee the scene with womanish scream.  Then the monster from “the Host” shows up.  Anyway, this extended part in the mines is pretty creepy, but I can’t see what’s so scary about the goblins.  They are obviously just drunk football hooligans, at least if their accent is any clue.

12:55PM: Luckily, while Gimli’s relatives were being slaughtered, one of them had the urge to update his diary.  Good thing, ’cause now, in minute by minute detail, our heroes can read it.  Just like this.

1:05PM: Oh my god, this is going to take a feat of strength.  There is no doubt I will come out on the other end of this experience a changed man.  The immensity of it…  ANYWAY, the Balrog just showed up…no not THAT Balrog…and we get our first Dwarf tossing joke.  Unfortunately, I actually just laughed.

1:10PM: Hahahaha! CLASSIC! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

1:17PM:  Ok, wow.  So in the comments a friend requested that I link Avatar to LOTR.  At first, I thought, “that is really going to be stretching it.  I am going to have to force-feed that baby.  I mean, LOTR is so classic and emotional and has a semi-sophisticated plot, whereas Avatar is emotionless and has a madlibs-derived plot.”  But then we show up at Cate’s treehouse palace place and it is JUST LIKE THE ROPELIGHT FIBER OPTIC AVATAR TREE OF LIFE OR WHATEVER.

1:22PM: Amazing!  You guys must really like this.  I have almost 100 views for this webpage, the most I’ve ever earned.  Thanks for supporting this marathon of nerd!  Feel free to participate in the comments.

1:27PM: Cate has some kind of psychic power and speaks to Frodo without moving her lips.  This reminds me of David Lynch’s dune which is completely swollen with bizarre inner monologues.  ”I must not fear, fear is the mind killer, etc.”  I just spent 10 minutes trying to find a video, so you could see, but none exists.  And look, I just missed all the Cate Blanchett scenes.  I am not entirely sure I am spelling her name right.  It seems to me these fucking elves are dicks.  They don’t give a shit about Middle Earth.  They are so caught up in their fucking cruise.

1:36PM: Gimli is officially a sketchy dude.  He asked Cate for a lock of hair from her beautiful golden head.  What, does he have a collection?  Freaking weirdo.  Then he got all excited cause she actually gave him three whole hairs.  And he’s looking at Orlando when he says all this.  If he is into Cate’s hair, just think how excited he is about Orlando.  It’s as if he’s dreaming about brushing those blonde locks with a silver brush.

1:46PM: Frodo put on the ring for the first time and we get a tripped out sequence where he gets transported…metaphysically?…to the eye of Sauron!  I just flipped the fuck out.  I completely zoned out on the eye.  I almost forgot THIS amazing thing from Flight of the Conchords!

1:52PM: The tragic end of Sean Bean, the bad guy in Patriot Games and National Treasure.  Sean is such a douche to little Frodo, and Frodo runs away afraid.  Apparently, Sean was coming on too strongly.  Sean then redeems himself by attacking a bunch of bad guys.  Unfortunately, Frodo doesn’t know of his bravery, and thinks he’s a dick.  This has got to majorly suck for Sean.  Dramatic irony like this makes me feel anxious.  Kind of like how sometimes in a movie someone will throw something on the ground, and I will say “WTF!  Aren’t you going to pick that up?  ISN’T ANYONE GOING TO PICK IT UP!?”  Or how in Michael Mann movies people are too badass to ever say “Good Bye” before they hang up the phone on each other.

2:02PM: The problem with this band of adventurers is that if you were ever waiting for them, they would always be like 45 minutes late to everything.  They take so long to leave anywhere, always discussing it ad nausem, even though everyone already agrees with everyone else.  How can they take so long?  I despise chronic lateness.  These guys would be the worst.  You call up Aragorn, “Hey bra, let’s meet at the Meadhall at like 8:30!”  And of course you actually mean 9 because Aragorn will be late to his own funeral.  Sure enough, dude doesn’t roll in until 9:15, and you are already drunk at the meadhall, by yourself, in tears.

2:05PM: END OF FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING!  Whew.  TWO MORE TO GO!  I will be posting The Two Towers on a separate entry, so look for that after a short break.

CNN trotted out its red “breaking news” banner.  The New York Times reported in stark black and white under the “News from AP” heading.  Steve Irwin had died, struck down by the cruel unthinking malice of a stingray barb through the chest.  The preliminary reports note the irony: Steve was filming a documentary to demonstrate his bravery around stingrays.  They do not note that the barb, slicing through his heart, is pregnant with metaphor, wielded as it was by one of nature’s murderous miscreants.

I spent a summer, several years ago, employed in a Discovery Channel Store at the Briarwood Mall.  I would spend each shift sitting on the counter behind the registers, chatting with an aspiring Marxist Prog-rocker (“my band’s major influence is Rush — now compare the time signatures on these songs by Tool and King Crimson”) and a failed Central Michigan University quarterback (“I’m waiting to hit it big in hearing aid sales, but you can’t do that until you are old.”)  As the boredom slowly smoothed over the folds in my cortex, Steve’s voice would rise above the din.  It spiraled out of the seven television sets spread throughout the store.  His giant face hovered above me on the tremendous flat-screen, beckoning me to begin the two-minutes hate against man’s greatest enemy, the crocodile.  I know Steve well.  He taught me to seek power and mastery over all of Noah’s dumb beasts.  He taught that this was God’s divine will.

See Steve struggle with the crocodile who unthinkingly stumbled into some Australian suburb.  Certainly, he could have just shot the fucker with a tranquilizer dart, later dumping its flaccid body into some gully in the interior.  However, Steve, like an Ahab in uncomfortably tight shorts, had a greater ambition.  He wrestled the crocodile to demonstrate his power.  He subdued it with his own hands and then set it free in the wilderness, as if to say, “here thou art home, malignant archfiend, but soon we shall overrun you with bulldozers and houses and then you and I shall again engage in combat.  And the next time we meet, demon, I shall eat your heart.”

So it is fitting that, as the Mighty Thor dies from the poison of the great serpent Jörmungandr at Ragnarok, Steve died locked in mortal combat with nature, his greatest nemesis.  And like Ragnarok, Steve’s run-in with a flat blob with a sharp tail that sits on the floor of the sea represents his on-going struggle to destroy nature for our future.  Bindi Sue will some day see a glorious future where steel stretches high into the coal-black sky and robots feast upon the flesh of kittens.  This future will be his legacy.  Let us all kill an animal today to avenge our fallen hero.

- September, 2006

dearest burrito, you are the only thing that understands me.

Erik: Methodology – Five relatively physically healthy men, not-quite young, served as subjects in the following study of taqueria tastitude™.  The burrito and the taqueria were objectively measured using a variety of variables.  These variables were conveniently recorded in a googledoc and are summarized at the end of this review.

Rob: Analysis – La Taqueria, or “La Taq” as it is known to local denizens, is one of the more well-known taquerias in the City. Located conveniently near the Mission & 24th St. BART stop, La Taq provides a spartan menu of burritos and tacos, with meats ranging from stewed chicken to lengua (no seafood).  Our visit to La Taq presented an interesting conundrum: the taqueria’s tacos are arguably more renowned than their burritos, therefore largely responsible for La Taq’s popularity and reputation, but for the purposes of this blog we would be focusing on the burrito only.

Rob = Burrito Gangsta

Erik: What Rob means is “Any idiot can make a good taco.”  One time, I made a taco with a hotdog, a piece of wheat bread, and ketchup.  It ain’t rocket science.  The burrito, on the other hand, is a science.  It has a glorious history.  If a San Francisco taqueria tells you it is notable for its tacos, it is simply trying to deflect criticism for suckage.

Rob: Upon entering, I was immediately struck by the colorful mural spanning the length of two adjoining walls, as well as the cheeriness of the staff. Because of the concentrated nature of the menu offerings and having had the carnitas during my previous visit, I quickly decided on a chicken burrito with cheese and avocado. The menu does not offer a “super” burrito; only one size burrito, with your choice of meat and then any sides that you wish to add. The service was prompt and courteous, without an overwhelming sense of friendliness but at a very comfortable level for an SF taqueria.

Erik: This place was fast.  They read your thoughts as you enter.  Ordering is just a formality to give the illusion of control in a world dominated by powerful puppet masters.  The people who make the burritos (btw, what do you call someone who makes a burrito, you know, behind the counter.  Are they burritistas?  Like a barista but for burritos?) are like Top Gun fighter pilots: they fucking hopped up on speed like woah.  No word on whether they are awesome at volley ball.

Rob: La Taqueria has a reputation for excellent meat, and the stewed chicken was no exception. Rather than having a grilled chicken like most taquerias, which has the tendency to become dry after sitting out for an extended period of time, the chicken at La Taq was stewed in a broth-based liquid, keeping the meat moist and juicy.  In fact, the only minus about the meat was that it was too juicy; within the confines of the burrito, the juice from the stewed chicken began to seep outside of the wrapper, which began to cause a mess.

Erik: The meat was amazing.  This is possibly because it is stewed in giant vat of meat juice.  They should offer the meat juice as a drink.  More on my theories of possible side-effects of excessive meat juice consumption below.

Rob:  La Taq is also (in)famously known for not using any rice in their burritos, which is a rarity in the world of SF taquerias. Rice is generally an appreciated item for me, but the meat and accompaniments in La Taq are good enough to have the burrito stand on its own.  However for this trip, rice would have helped the excess liquid situation, so in that sense the burrito would have been improved with some additional starch.

Erik: This place has a badass mural on the wall.  It is like that old cover of “A Wrinkle in Time.”  Did you get sort of uncomfortable in your pants when you saw the weird winged horse dude back in elementary school?  He had such a beautiful body…  ANYWAY, I really encourage them to add meat juice as a concoction for purchase.  Drinking a flagon of meat juice and staring at the wall would be like listening to King Crimson with Dennis Hopper while riding a giant winged Time-Centaur while contemplating the works of Storm Thorgerson.

Rob: La Taq is unfortunately not a cheap establishment; you will find better deals at Buen Sabor, or Cancun.  Any additions, such as cheese, cost extra, and with the purchase of an oat soda, the price will automatically jump in excess of $10.  La Taq does not provide any chips with the burrito, like with other taquerias, and it remains to be seen whether this indicates that the establishment would prefer you to judge the burrito on its own merits, or whether they have sought to capitalize on their patrons’ fondness for tortilla chips.  In conclusion, while the burrito itself was of good quality, the value was not.

Erik: This place totally robs you with the extra charges for stuff on your burrito.  First, they nickel and dime you by not including rice.  Then, they have the nerve to charge for every little thing.  It would be one thing if their burrito was head and shoulders above a place like Taqueria Cancun which includes all kinds of goodies in a cheap burrito.  Unfortunately, La Taq doesn’t even have the sense of courtesy to make their burrito taste better than every burrito.  Not even a psychedelic mural can make up for that hubris!

SCORES (average):

Meat: 7.6/11

Decor: 8.25/11

Assembly: 5/11

Extras: 5.4/11

Price: 2.6/11

Satiation: 5/11

Authenticity: 6.4/11

Jeremiah’s “Hello, How are you?” Friendliness Index: 5.33/11

Overall Mouthsplosive Feel: 6/11

Aftermath: 8.1/11

Bonus: 5.5/11

TOTAL SCORE: 5.93/11

People of the early Middle Ages needed some way of solving conflicts that did not involve the blood feud.  The blood feud was a disaster; entire families would spend several generations murdering each other over a stolen goat. European societies developed a series of “trials” through which a person could prove his or her legal case.  Some of these seem quite bizarre to the modern non-viking.  In Iceland, for example, a piece of turf (soil with grass or whatever on top) was propped up and the person  had to walk underneath without the turf falling on him (like the limbo, but with grass).  Other places just had the person walk on hot coals.  The idea was that God would favor the truthful party, and if you survived unscathed through this trial by ordeal you were clearly in the right.

Following the Norman Conquest of England, “Trial by Battle” became a common type of dispute resolution.  It was not used so much for criminal cases, instead you solved civil disputes by fighting each other.  You stole my goat, so now we will fight!  The problem with trial by battle as a legal procedure was that you could easily die or lose a leg.  As a result, legal fictions arose where parties could pretend to do trial by battle while still maintaining their bodily integrity.  For example, you could choose a “champion” to fight in your place.  That way your servant would die instead of you.

The reluctance of the English to put their lives on the line for a stolen cow was a primary motivating force in creating some of our most cherished legal institutions.  Trial by jury with evidence by witnesses was introduced by Henry II as an alternative to trial by battle.  The use of “champions” as surrogates to solve disputes morphed into the use of attorneys in front of the jury.  Since English people could now solve disputes without dying, instead submitting their case to the judgment of their neighbors, the use of trial by battle diminished until it disappeared altogether in the 1500s.

But it was never abolished.  One day in 1817, a young man named Ashford brought an obscure civil action called an “appeal of murder” against a man named Thornton he alleged had raped and murdered his sister.  Thornton had been acquitted of the crime, but British law still allowed a civil appeal of the criminal sentence if the family felt the verdict did not fit with the evidence.

At the appeal hearing, Thornton appeared wearing two leather gauntlets.  He threw one at the feet of Ashford and stated unequivocally that he was not guilty and was willing to defend himself.  The crowd was shocked.  The Justices were at first confused: ” wait?  what?  what was this man doing? OH MY GOD HE IS ASSERTING TRIAL BY BATTLE!”  Ashford’s attorneys objected, but the Justice’s hands were tied.  Trial by Battle was still good law in England.  Ashford withdrew his appeal to avoid being murdered by a bigger, stronger man.  Thornton was never convicted of the death of Ashford’s sister.  The trial by battle never occurred.  The next year, Parliament abolished both appeals of murder and trial by battle.

BO-RING!  What does this have to do with America?  The United States incorporated English Common Law as it stood in 1789  with a series of reception statutes adopted by each state as it entered the Union.  The federal government applies English common law by implication in the Constitution and explicitly through the Northwest Ordinance.  But the English didn’t get around to abolishing trial by battle as an alternative to civil jury trials until 1817, after the founding of the United States Constitution.  That means trial by battle, along with the rest of English Common Law, was incorporated into United States in 1789, just like the Rule in Shelley’s Case and fee simple determinable.  For all anyone knows, if you have a problem with your landlord and don’t feel like suing her, bring some leather gauntlets and assert your right to trial by battle!  Swords at dawn!  Have a problem with that ticket given to you by the local DMV?  Force them to appoint a champion to meet you on a deserted island!

Suggested playlist for this entry: “One Rode to Asa Bay” by Bathory; “Twilight of the Thunder God” by Amon Amarth.

“Using post-freudian dialectical analysis, it becomes clear that the 1987 action film ‘Predator’ is an allegory for the gay male struggle to accept a differing sexual identity than is appropriate in a dominant hetero-normative cultural system. As we see the character Dutch, played by Arnold Schwarzenegger struggle to understand and accept the existence of the Predator, we are actually witnessing the struggle for dominance in the psyche of a gay man who has not yet understood or accepted his own identity.  The jungle of Dutch’s mind is the setting for the fight between his Super-Ego, manifested in the team of hyper-masculine marines, and the Id of the Predator, who represents a pure homosexual archetype.

Dutch is the leader of his team, but just as society determines what conduct is normatively appropriate and thereby holds a strong control over our actions, Dutch’s team correspondingly operates to influence his choices. For example, Jesse “The Body” Ventura expresses disapproval with homosexuality when, on the chopper, he excoriates his teammates as “Slack-jawed faggots.” This works to maintain the hegemony of dominant heterosexual ideology within Dutch’s mind.  In spite of this, the film introduces the internal conflict raging inside of Dutch early on.  When he first meets his old friend, Dillon, played by Carl Weathers, we see hints of his inner turmoil.  Dillon is the model of a masculine authority figure, dressed in a too-broad tie and incredibly tight work shirt.  When he claps hands with Dutch, we see Dutch’s eyes light up at the touch of another man.  The film adoringly focuses on the masculine form, as we see the two gigantic biceps, veins bulging, arm-wrestle for dominance.  This mimics Dutch’s own internal struggle.  Will he embrace his own way, or will he accept society’s dominant conception of appropriate sexual identity?

Figure 1. The camera intimates the subtextual conflict.

By contrast, the Predator, dressed in obvious S&M gear, is a representative for the pure gay self.  The Predator is a literal “alien.”  It is cloaked in rejecting terms of the Other.  It “hunts” man, and the hint of seduction is a terrifying notion to the heterosexual men in the Marine unit.  The Predator is a perfect mimic, recording and repeating the vocalizations of the Marines.  The fact that a homosexual, like the Predator, can seamlessly blend in with what the Marine’s believe is their own private space, is threatening to their hetero-normative hegemony.  The Predator “skins” Dutch’s heterosexual companions, thereby depriving them of their power and revealing, literally, the irrelevance of their self-identity to Dutch’s experience. The Predator slowly kills off Dutch’s team members, who become weaker and weaker, as Dutch comes to express his own homosexuality more vigorously†. The Predator is invisible to Dutch’s companions and even to Dutch himself, just as Dutch’s homosexual feelings are suppressed by his Superego – neither he, nor his friends, are completely aware of his homosexuality.  Once the Predator, as a representative of Dutch’s long-simmering sexual desires, has completely eliminated all hetero-normative influence from Dutch’s mind, does Dutch begin to understand himself.  Dutch’s transformation takes a pivotal step when he is free from society’s stultifying influence.  He is free to indulge in his long-denied desires, EX: wearing makeup (albeit made of mud).

Figure 2. Bondage gear and outsized physical dimensions represent the gay ideal in the personification of The Predator.

However, it is only when he physically fights the Predator, that Dutch can accept his identity.  Although he admires the strength, and well-built frame, of the Predator, he cannot look at it in the face.  The Predator still wears a mask, a symbolic reflection of Dutch’s own mask of heterosexuality covering a homosexual identity.  In a scene reminiscent of a striptease, the Predator removes his mask, showing his true face.  Dutch cannot look away, but still refuses to fully acknowledge the significance of what he is seeing.  He calls the Predator “ugly,” because it is difficult, after years of indoctrination into the dominant ideology, for him to embrace the beauty of his own individual self-worth as a gay man.  However, Dutch’s self-realization cannot be undone.  The Predator can die, by suicide, because Dutch’s Ego has internalized the homosexual feelings the Superego had long neglected.  The unconscious correcting force of the Predator is no longer needed.   The Predator’s knowing laugh communicates to Dutch that he can now attain happiness as his own self-actualized person.  This revelation is symbolized by the orgiastic giant nuclear explosion in the “jungle” of Dutch’s mind.  Reminiscent of an orgasm, the explosion obliterates the allegorical trees disrupting Dutch’s view of himself.  As he flies away in the helicopter, his solemn face affirms that he now understands and accepts his homosexuality.

†Some scholars, see S. Boolsbury-Lickworth (1987) If It Bleeds, We Can Kill It: Romantic Tragedy in Predator, Harvard Press, have pointed to the indigenous woman Anna’s presence in the film to discount this psychosexual interpretation of ‘Predator.’ According to my close analysis, it is clear that Anna represents an attempt by Dutch’s Superego to manifest a hetero-normative relational dynamic. However, Dutch rejects this, since women in his regard are weak, helpless, and unworthy. It is demonstrative that Dutch never consummates this relationship or even expresses anything but remote disdain.”

*Idea originally conceived by a friend, and inspired by this piece by J.G. Ballard, and also by this.

Allow me to set the scene.  It was a beautiful sunny day in the city.  I was invigorated by my daily run, consisting of an uncoordinated trudge through the Castro. The disproportionately male denizens of the Castro meet my flabby body with a look of reproach and horror.  This gives me an incentive to elevate my effort.  Once my workouts have resulted in a fit, attractive figure, sufficient to warrant a lustful gnashing of teeth, I will have met my benchmark.

That was a digression.  The day was sunny, and I was feeling good, so I went to the Charity Thrift Store on Valencia to go clothes shopping.  I was in need of some cheap shirts.  What I found there quite possibly changed my life: The Most Powerful Flannel Ever.

It is red and black check, manufactured by “Field and Stream,” giving itself an air of absolute legitimacy in terms of outdoor musky masculinity.  ”Field and Stream” clothing has a motto commanding us to “wear our passion every day.”  My passion is ultimate power, and in this flannel I have gained the instrument for ultimate domination of the universe.

On the “F&S” website, my flannel is pictured prominently on the front page.  It is named the “Jackson Jackalope” after the mythical beast, legendary for terrorizing the hills of random yokel towns, and also remembered in reference to the regrettable Dave Coulier, who Alanis apparently slept with which is basically an archetypal “lowering yourself” moment no matter what you think about Alanis.  But that is another blog entry entirely.

The weight of the fabric is heavy.  It armors you against the elements.  Your enemies may not harm you.  The Mongol hordes wore silk armor because the silk could not be pierced with arrows.  Generally, when you are shot with an arrow a piece of clothing remains in the wound after the arrow is removed.  This causes an infection that leads to your death.  With silk armor, the Mongols might be wounded by an arrow, but they could easily remove the missile and sew up the hole.  This is how the flannel works against bad vibes and dark magick of every variety.  But, what if instead of magick, my adversary uses arrows?  I knew you would ask that.  This flannel is so aggressive that no one would dare shoot arrows at it.

The Most Powerful Flannel Ever is so powerful that it immediately destroys all other flannels in its immediate vicinity.  This is not an exaggeration.  As I held it on the way to the checkout counter, I passed another flannel shirt.  This flannel was obviously weaker than mine, because all flannel shirts are weak in comparison.  The weaker flannel exploded in a violent eruption of fire and brimstone.  A high pitched scream issued from its expiring ashes.  In fact, by the very virtue of its existence, my flannel has drained the power of other flannels worldwide by a factor of 10.  The state of Washington will never be the same.

Here is haiku I composed in tribute to the flannel:

Powerful flannel,

Bow before red and black cloth!

You are my servant.

The Hide of the Nemean Lion.

You must expect, if you intend to enter the membership of a malevolent secret society that exerts clandestine power over all aspects of life, that you will be forced to undergo a self-negating, but ultimately meaningless, initiation rite.  Law is such a society.  A state bar has a lawfully sanctioned monopoly over the practice of law in that particular state.  Why is this monopoly legal when all others that do not involve baseball or health insurance are not?  Because lawyers control everything, and have exempted themselves from laws.  To enter the druidic folds of this shadowy fraternity, an aspiring lawyer must undergo whatever torment the state bar has determined appropriate.  Thus, the bar exam.

I am an attorney in Illinois, but that does me no good in California.  While most states allow attorneys from other jurisdictions to waive in or take an abbreviated bar exam, the California bar is more aggressively monopolistic than other states.  I must take all three days of the bar exam, like a common law student, including the Multi-State Bar Exam (MBE), a multiple choice test that I already passed once before when I became a lawyer in Illinois, which, although it is corrupt and terrible, is still a state in the Union and, in theory, deserves some kind of credit for having standards.  But, apparently not.  In addition to taking the full-bore bar exam, I have to pay more than I would as a fresh-out-of-school pup.  Almost twice as much.  Those incredibly smart lawyers in California can’t handle the competition apparently.

I took the bar in San Mateo, a suburb South of the city.  The night before, I sat in my hotel room, two blocks from the cavernous convention center where I would take the exam.  I attempted to review, but it was useless.  I watched The Devil Wears Prada on basic cable.  The Devil Wears Prada is a particularly irritating movie.  In some respects it follows the conventions of the horror movie.  Every character that is nominally villainous is interesting and funny and portrayed by a good actor, and everyone who is ostensibly good is unlikeable, annoying, and portrayed by a bad actor.  This puts you in the awkward position of rooting for the villain, Meryl Streep taking on the Freddie Kruger role in this case, and hoping that Anne Hathaway fails and dies a horrible gory death, which, in a non-horror context, is kinda strange.

The next morning I rose early, probably too early.  This is a thing I do when I have an important engagement.  I alott too much time for tasks.  This leaves me awkwardly waiting around for an hour before the anticipated event.  In addition, when I am nervous I compulsively yawn.  I remember going on job interviews in Chicago, in the winter, wearing only my worn old blue Brooks Brothers suit.  A shivering figure repeatedly circling an office building, clutching a black leather portfolio with a cover letter and resume inside, yawning inexplicably every five seconds, and ducking into Starbucks to pee every 10 minutes because of the cold.  This is what I do.

When the doors opened, I was in line.  The kid in front of me had glassy, drooped eyes.  Slouching in front of me, I realized he reeked of weed.  I yawn; this guy gets weird.  Whatever you got to do.  Did I mention that the February bar has a lower pass rate than the summer bar?  Part of this has to do with the number of re-takers who failed the first time around.

I sat down in my seat.  I continued to yawn.  The person assigned to the seat next to me never showed up.  After our lunch break they took that persons’s identification material away.  I imagined what terrible events kept that person from taking this, the most important exam of their lives.  Sea monsters?  Ninja assassins?  Alien abduction?  The possibilities were too terrible to contemplate.

The bar exam is proctored by elderly to middle aged women, who selflessly stand around for three days watching people freak out.  It must be very thankless.  The proctor at the front of the room began to read the instructions.

“…all cell phones must be placed in the designated box at the front of the room…”

Indeed, at the front, on a table was a cardboard box.  On it was taped a yellow piece of legal pad paper.  On the yellow paper was written diagonally the word “DESIGNATED” in black sharpie.

The first day is devoted to California-specific essays and a performance test.  The performance test is the most inane part of the bar exam.  It is like hazing.  One of those irrational punitive things older members of a club do to incoming members, for no other reason than the older members had to do it when they first enlisted.  You have three hours to read a set of fake cases and fake factual documents and write a memo or some other kind of legal instrument using the information.  You need no knowledge or skill to pass.  All you have to do is know how to read and follow directions.  A third grader could take a performance test.  But of course a third grader can’t actually take the California bar exam, even if they’ve been admitted to another jurisdiction, because the California lawyers are afraid of the competition.

On the second day, we had to wait to begin the multiple choice MBE.  Sitting there heightened the drama, as the proctors wheeled the tests in on a giant rolling slab.  The tests were in high stacks, guarded by a phallanx of proctors.  It was like the Ark of the Covenant or something.  All that was missing was an ominous John Williams score and face-melting.

The third day is the same as the first day: essays and performance tests.  By this time, I was basically exhausted.  I had been sick throughout the week.  I was hopped up on a cocktail of tylenol cold and ricola.  I thought of the stoner in line in front of me on the first day.  I hand-wrote the exam (many test takers use a laptop) and my right hand was twisted into an arthritic claw, throbbing with pain.  I could barely handle the basic object I would need for the exam, a sword a pen.  As a result, I knew that this third day would be an endurance contest.

AN ACCURATE DEPICTION OF THE THIRD DAY OF THE CALIFORNIA BAR EXAM, THANKS TO YOUTUBES:

Many people ask you how you “feel” when you finish an exam like this.  It is hard to respond to that kind of query.  You don’t want to jinx yourself with overconfidence.  You also don’t want to express weakness, because then people will feel sorry for you.  So how did I feel?  Well, I don’t know if I passed.  I really can’t tell you.   Anyway, there is nothing I can do about it now.  It is all over.  That is what matters to me.  I knew many things and did not know some things.  We will see, on May 14th, whether I knew enough.

A beautiful thing about The City is that once you cross that big orange bridge north into Marin County, you enter a wilderness.  A 20 minute car ride will leave you in solitude with the rolling waves of the beach or the fresh smell of a Redwood forest.  One of the Men knew of such a romantic locale, perfect for Male conquest.  It was a black sand beach, tucked underneath the broad and arrogant Marin headlands.

The men collected their gear and dogs and piled into a diminutive Acura Integra from the late 1990s.  Across the Golden Gate they drove, turning after the span to climb the steep roads that hugged the side of the Marin cliffs.  Finally, at the beach.  There were goths milling about and two women clinging to each other in the back seat of a Ford Focus.  One of the men said, “Sometimes there are naked people here.”  This observation was disregarded by the others.  It was a cloudy day, slightly chilly, and it would be uncomfortable for some old gay man to run naked on the shore.

The dogs ran free, like the men themselves, free from the city and responsibility and women.  Dogs love beaches.

The men climbed on rocks.

They strolled from one side of the beach to the other.

As they walked past the entrance they noticed a woman lying face down in the sand.  Their hearts filled with dread.  What if she was dead?  That would really spoil the manventure, a dead woman.  Just like a woman, to kill the manventure.  One of the dogs smelled her butt.  She shifted her head, her eyes barely open.  She was alive at least, if groggy.  The men sauntered on.

At the very end of the beach, standing before the slick cliff face, they saw plants.  Succulents of perverse character.  Strange and unidentified.  A short plant guide stuck in a backpack gave no answers.  As they photographed the plants one of them turned.

“There are naked people over there.  Naked women.”

“Holy shit.  Naked lesbians.”

And they were.  Nubile, pure.  Nymphs frolicking in the surf, born from it like Aphrodite.  Dancing and giggling, far enough away that the men saw only two luscious pink shapes leaping into the cold water.  A faint squeal drifted across the space in between.

“What do we do, we obviously can’t go over there.  They are blocking our way to the entrance.”

“What do we tell the girls when we get back?”

The women eventually left the water and stood, holding each other for ten minutes without moving.  In time, they put clothes back on and played a game of catch.  Except they did not have any footballs, baseballs, or frisbees.  They were playing catch without balls.  Making athletic leaps in the air to pull down an imaginary sphere.

“They have to be on mushrooms.”

“No doubt.”

The men steeled up the courage to leave, which required passing the once-naked lesbian couple.  The women reclined in a spooning position next to a rock.  Perched at the rock were two ravens.  Ravens mate for life.  The men pretended to be interested in the birds to avoid the awkwardness when the dogs smelled the once-naked butts of the women.  The women glared.  Their eyes were glassy, their minds attempting to process the existence of the men. Where had these men come from?  They had not existed five seconds before, even though they were in plain view a few hundred yards away!  How dare they violate this private moment of tenderness.  The men stumbled past.

On the other side of this picture are lesbians who were once naked.

The men left, finding a new beach.  This one had surfers.  ”Point Break” is the greatest movie ever.

Then the men had beers at their clubhouse.

THE END.