Disarmed at Last!

The world needs a hero now more than ever. Between North Korea acting like that bitchy 8th grade girl Suzy that wanted you to ask her to the winter formal and polar bear schools being shot up by crazy gunmen with high cholesterol, it's all going to shit. The news can only report the bad because that's all there is to report.

Or so you thought. But there is in fact a hero out there, created to teach us the valuable lessons that Ms. Johnson never could because she was so busy blaming us for poking Suzy with a sharpened pencil because fuck Suzy. That hero is indeed out there. He exists. He has a name. He is Arm Fall Off Boy!!!

And ladies, that's not all he can detach...

And yes, we understand the immediate reaction is to swoon at the pure manliness, but try to keep your panties drier than when Suzy told the whole class you peed yourself. Arm Fall Off Boy is all man, all the time, but with that touch of boyish good looks and lack of limbs to win over your parents! And not only is Arm Fall Off Boy the most charming person since Albert Fish, but he's also an expert strategist. I bet you, like some second rate 31st century villain named Sucky Suzy, thought that his arm would detach right at those ridges between yellow and orange. Instead, he tricks you and gives himself 2 extra inches to beat the everloving evil out of you. That's strategy that would make Napoleon make 3 inches taller (but not vertically). 

Know what else is in that strategy? A life lesson about the evils of segregation. Why separate the yellow and orange when you can keep them together. E Pluribus Unum, and this unum is gonna get shoved straight up your ass  if you don't stop being evil, just like that really dark tape that you swore with your friend you'd never discuss in public. Arm Fall Off Boy understands that he's a public figure that is looked up to, with the possibility of being a pariah if he slips up, so he decides to make a powerful statement. My God, this man is the Rosa Parks of the 31st Century, but with less sitting and more ass whooping with detached legs.

Legs that are made of freaking rocks apparently

Want to know what else is great about Arm Fall Off Boy, besides everything? He's quite obviously a grown man. Many others in his situation wouldn't have kept going with their dream of joining a team of super-powered teenagers, but Arm Fall Off Boy keeps his vaguely pedophilic aspirations going, refusing to believe that tearing yourself limb from limb isn't advantageous to the criminal masterminds trying to do the exact same thing, but in a more convoluted way. He's a gentleman above all else, with manners that MegaBitch Suzy never possessed. He sees the desperation in the evil-doers actions and pities them, so he just maims himself to give them some hope of possible victory. Then he goes pop pop to watch them motherfuckers drop, yo. The pity's all an illusion, just like the villain's hopes of victory. Arm Fall Off Boy may keep his boyish name and hopes, but he's got the resolute justice of a noose. A noose made of justice!

Justice Noose: Coming this fall to FOX

Arm Fall Off Boy isn't just some man that can teat through the muscle and bones of his own body. He's a hero like no other, willing to constantly maim himself for the good of the innocent civilian. He will PLORP his arm off and KRAK it against a table all day if it means even one life saved or one day rooming with teenagers draped in spandex. I'm not saying Arm Fall Off Boy should be knighted; I'm asking why he hasn't been elected King yet, and not in some rigged election like when Suzy won class president because she bribed everyone with Snickers. Just try and see Arm Fall Off Boy as greater than the sum of his limbs and you'll know the truth. The only thing this man could've never detach from himself? His heart.

Accepting Reality with Zach Braff

Living is no more a sin than dying, and anyone who says differently is caught in a trap of overly idealistic dogma condemning them to a fruitless endeavor of what may best be called an empty shell of potential life. Sorry if that bursts your bubble and sends you spiraling downwards into a life of depression and methamphetamines and botched alley abortions, but then again you probably should be basing life philosophies on some random blog. Also, you deserve all those bad things to happen in your life.

Oh, I'm sorry, did that sound cruel? Good. It was meant to sound cruel. Also, I'm not sorry. Also, I lied when I told you you were pretty. That's right, you were fat in your prom dress. Look, this blog isn't here to sugar coat anything, which is why we publish articles like Yo Gabba Gabba and the Horrors of Communism. Instead, we're here to expose the truth about why your life sucks, and one of our biggest allies comes from Hollywood famous man Zach Braff. That's right, random white actor #96512 completely backs what we do here!

Zach Braff, seen here being white

You see, Mr. Braff knows what's up in the world. He understands that you having an awful life is your own damn fault. He comprehends that it's all worth it because at least one person is laughing at your pain, and yes it's probably him laughing about how much you suck. How is it clear that Zachary Braff's ideology is right in the fact that it fits in with what this post is about? Easy, Zach Braffery is a prolific speaker, eloquently stating his positions on matters in such a clear manner that even you can understand them.

Give this man all the Cabinet positions. All. Of. Them

Just look at that quote. Look at that and try to tell me there isn't some deeper meaning. You can't! And not just because you can't talk to people through a computer screen, idiot. The Honorable Braff delves deep into the lives we all lead, understanding that maybe we kill a few puppies now and then to drink their blood as sustenance, but that doesn't automatically condemn us as terrible people. In fact, not drinking their life-giving fluids would be the crime here! The joys in life coming from living, and also from sometimes being El Chupacabra.

But you see, Braff, the Great and Powerful not only speaks to the current times with messages about clean energy. He speaks of so much more, and everything he says is so weighty with meaning and substance that we may be forced to devote the next 6 months purely to analyzing a single quote.

He can speak toward the core of any person's life, including my own:

It's like he knows me.

The insight pierces through all of the secrets and lies we secrete into pies during our worthless suburban lives. We believe everything to be cloaked in mystery, even human torment, but Take Zach, Rewind it Braff can see that the pain we feel and realize it is that pain that is a true illusion. Prejudice, darkness, and hatred? Perhaps it is natural. Perhaps, just perhaps, it is that nature of hatred that enlightens us and provides us with true joy.

It may sound like this is getting dark (and that gets me hot), but there's no darkness here. Just realizing that only one man knows the true key to happiness and can admit the truths we are too afraid to grasp. Like nubile, plump teenagers meeting our first guidance counselors, we are not willing to embrace what we are told by our more informed elders that this is what we want. But Zach Attack knows.

"Hatred is the opiate of the Godhead."
-Zach Braff, on adoption

It is suggested that every man, woman, child, and pregnant teenager on Maury take a moment to peruse the wisdom of Zach Braff. What he says is not always pleasant to hear (and it is only so because, as established, you are just the worst), but it is always what we SHOULD hear. Without Zach "Hister" Braff, we would be aimless and roaming the mortal coil as if we had some sort of purpose, value, or meaning. But with the Demozachric Republic of Braff, we can at least be comforted by the fact that our state of inferiority means that there is one who must, therefore, be superior. That man, of course, is Zachtacular "Great on Average" Braff.

And I now vouch for him, publicly, so all haberdashers (eclectic or otherwise) to hear, listen, and support his wisdom. While it may be difficult, at first, to accept that you are all basically terrible, you will soon be comforted knowing that someone out there is busy being incredible for you. There is no longer any need for hopes, dreams, or ambitions. Rest, guys. Our guardian angel has it covered.

"We should probably get around to legalizing forced sodomy."
-Zach Braff, on legalizing forced sodomy.

Resurrection of the Brotherhood

No, this isn't some super elaborate April Fool's Day prank where we promise you amazing things like the return of this site and then crush your dreams by never updating again. Unlike that time my parents promised me love and affection, this is real! On a side note, here's my shoutout to Hobo Billy for keeping me safe and helping me get back on my feet over the past month after my parents may or may not have thrown me into the middle of Baltimore!

A face forged by meth and a heart forged of gold.

To celebrate our return and it coinciding with Easter, we thought it appropriate to analyze a work that epitomizes the ancient archetype of the resurrection myth. The resurrection story has been refitted throughout the history of civilization and dates back at least, like 37 years. Maybe even more, who knows? The basic skeleton of the story is the deity or hero goes through the dark reaches of the Underworld and returns to the world of the living, having completed his quest. It's seen in The Epic of Gilgamesh, the trials of Hercules, Zombie Jesus, and the Jonas Brothers.

Hero, deity, teenage heartthrobs, or all of the above?

In their 2006 single Year 3000, the Jonas Brothers look at their disappearance and emergence from the depths of Hades. It starts out simple enough...

One day when I came home at lunchtime,

I heard a funny noise.

Went out to the back yard to find out if it was,

One of those rowdy boys.

You see, the Jonas Brothers want to make sure we're aware of their humanity. Far from being the distantly omnipotent god figures, they have a soft side that we can all relate to. They have to eat! They go through normal bodily processes like hunger and pooping and all! Just look at them. For God's sake, they're so like us that maybe, just maybe, it's possible that one day I can kidnap one for myself and make him love me.

YOU WILL BE MINE KEVIN!!!

And now back to the less kidnap-y filled part of our program. The boys soon find out that the sound is not being made by some rowdy boys, but instead it is their neighbor that has jury rigged a time machine out of his couch. SCIENCE! The neighbor convinces them to travel to the Year 3000, and since the Jonas Brothers never learned stranger danger and how to avoid being raped, they jump into this weird man's couch hoping to go on some mysterious adventure.

This is where the myth really starts. You see, the Year 3000 is the Underworld. The boys have died, at least in the metaphorical sense, by leaving their world behind to venture in an unknown world. Here, they must face the trials that come with going through such a dangerous world. 

I've been to the year 3000

Not much has changed but they lived under water.

And your great great great grand daughter,

Is doing fine 

The first trial they face is thusly explained. They must first become aware of their situation. Upon arrival they are doubtful of the success of their Rape Neighbor's time machine, noticing that nothing really seems different. It is only the cue that the inhabitants are living a life full of sin, or "living underwater," that cues them off. What a terrible land indeed, to see that their one of their family has descended into the evils of the world! If only she had kept on her purity ring like all the Jonas Brothers had!

Pictured: More effective than any jewelry

The next trial to face is the temptation that the Underworld faces them...

I took a trip to the year 3000.

This song had gone multi-platinum.

Everybody bought our 7th album.

It had outsold Kelly Clarkson.

The representation of greed and want appears, telling the boys that if they give up on their quest they will be dutifully rewarded with all their hearts desire, which is apparently to fulfill their vendetta against Kelly Clarkson. Because screw you, Kelly Clarkson. The boys, being pure of heart and full of strength, are able to shoot down the offer of being as popular as Guns N Roses' Use Your Illusion I and continue on their quest through the depths of Hades. 

Eventually, after making sure they tell us as many times as the can that they are in the Year 3000, the boys are able to return to the light. Though the details are absent, it must be assumed that they ended up fighting and destroying the evil Kelly Clarkson by thrusting a dagger through her heart.

Steve Carell, wounded after his fight with Kelly Clarkson

So the boys have returned to us, full of the knowledge of the Underworld and able to keep us from being led astray. For it is in their names that we give thanks and celebrate this Easter Break, for without them we would fall victim to the evils of Kelly Clarkson and premarital sex. Come, let us listen to the hymns of our people as we remember their struggles.

In the name of the Joe, the Nick, and the Holy Kevin,

Amen.

I Hate Women

Do not mistake this post as representing my hatred of women. I, in fact, do not hate women in the least! I think it's a miracle of benevolence that when Father Nature messed up and created the first female, he made the best of the situation. He said to Man, "Sure, this creature is weaker than you. And stupider. And nags you constantly. And really, overall just has no redeeming qualities but one. Enjoy boobs existing!" What a powerful thing for the patriarch of the world to do. Now you may be thinking to yourself, "Blog that I apparently believe sentient, isn't that a harsh stance? Aren't they deserving of respect?" No, they aren't. And I have evidence to back me up. I have the epitome of media detailing just how superior men are. I have Peanuts!

And I didn't mean that as a phallic metaphor!

Yes, Peanuts by the late Charles Schulz. Though a name like Schulz may make him seem completely unassuming, this man knew wazzup. His iconic newspaper comic is littered with insights to the truth, like tiny windows into the bathroom that you always hope no one will see you at. Let's examine this with the more widely known characters in the strip, Snoopy and Woodstock.

Swoooooon

Now it's obvious that Snoopy, seen above as the suave Joe Cool, is the manliest man to ever jive. Look at those sweet shades, that relaxed lean, and that badass sweater. He's so cool he doesn't even need his glasses to rest on his ears! They stay up by pure force of will. Schulz has created what man can be, but then has the stark contrast of what women are. Look now at Woodstock, a character who can't even speak. All Woodstock does is nag Snoopy, bringing him down, man. Woodstock can only look up and hope to be of the same awesomeness as Snoopy, but knows it's impossible. Woodstock is a dweeb. A klutz. A poor imitation of Snoopy that can barely fly without crashing and is constantly surrounded by birds that look the exact same, all unable to achieve anything more.

Without Snoopy, Woodstock is nothing. Schulz even named Woodstock after the giant hippie orgy conspiracy "concert" just to get his point across. The concert, obviously a subversive attempt to rid America of all morality and proper khaki pants, would be nothing without drugs and was wholly dependent on the brainwashed kids being complicit is such terrible addictions like smoking beer.

As opposed to a smoking bear, which
 is everything America stands for.

Similarly, Woodstock is the female attempting to undermine the powerful, independent male. We're even given clues to make the obvious metaphor even clearer, as Woodstock is yellow. Yellow, as is widely known, is the stereotypical color for a very specific race: girls. As are Woodstock's beady little eyes and inability to speak English to Snoopy. All very characteristic of women, all encapsulated into one short, comical character. Snoopy, the strapping white male, must carry Woodstock behind like luggage. But luggage made of women, not in the creepy Buffalo Bob sense, but in a more metaphorical sense. The metaphorical sense that's all about how men are better than women in every single way.

Pictured: Men being 100% manly

Haberdashery

In the interest of academia, there's something that's been on my mind and most seem to neglect pondering it.

At what point, I wonder, does a mythological icon stop existing? Is being forgotten truly the golden standard, or is that what we tell ourselves to feel better? I've occasionally, genuinely, wondered if the pantheon of ancients is not as full as we like to admit and that there are shallow corpses wasting away in the strange no-space that is our tradition of myth and legend. As a Western culture raised with a debt to pay to Noah, was part of that payment letting Utnapishtim rot contrary to his immortality? Do Apollo and Ra, instead of fighting for believers who invest in their legends, simply carve out geographic territory that was taken by YHWH? Are they now dead with YHWH holding the greater portions of the planet in competition with Himself?

What I'm saying, eclectic haberdashers, is quite simple. Do characters die as new versions are born? Did Utnapishtim cease to exist when later writers cobbled his themes and traits into Noah? Do Ra and Apollo waste in hell due to YHWH's monopoly on godhood?

Did everyone die so he could live?

Then again, what about the Mayan creator god retroactively becoming a three-fold god by Christian writers who weren't comfortable with penning this pantheon to paper without modification? Is that an abortion or a sex change? I feel like I've lost the analogy.

Let's stroll into Power Rangers esoterica. When Bruce Kalish deified Zuban (that is to say, morphed him into the Sentinel Knight, canonized saint of the Corona Aurora), did this KILL Zuban? In whatever plane of existence our mythology rests, did Zuban cease to be as Sentinel Knight rose to being? Did Burai and Kou forcibly pull together and from their union bore Tommy Oliver, who continues to consume and assimilate other icons?

I...what? I guess? 

Is derivative fiction, which is to say adaptation or what have you, some sort of murder? Or is it how they reproduce, instead? That's a bit less depressing; fiction survives by constantly repackaging itself. To take a secular approach, fiction and myth naturally reproduce by crafting derivatives that must survive in its particular environment. Is League of Extraordinary Gentlemen the end result of a slow evolutionary crawl to homosapien?

I ask a lot of questions, and you're not in a forum to answer. I sympathize. But it's just to get you thinking. Is the constant recontextualizing of fictions and myths murder, or is it Darwinian reproduction (or some third...creationist solution, surely)? Clearly, it's SOMETHING. Some sort of change, an upset. A shift that's all, like, paradigm and stuff. Passion or process, story changes. Story grows. Story depletes.

Story copes.

If only because it has to.

I think of myths, legends, and fictions as ideas. Communication. We are all ultimately defined by the stories of our society. They give us identity. But when these stories change, when these stories are consumed, things may happen to us that we don't totally understand.

Watch out for cannibals, is what I'm saying. Fuckers are sneaky.

The MacFarlane Theorem

I was never one for math. Far too complicated for my brainmeats. On my homeworld, I have an R8 (that's Romulax 8eretor, or "intelligence sum") of regurtillex glorbnox, but that's only about 47 intelligence quotient points on your Earth scales. And that's only assuming I converted right, as we just established I am terrible at remlors/maths. It comforts me knowing there're much more intelligent sapients than myself working around the clock to hammer out all the theories and equations that keep order in our universe.

That being said, I don't ask for much. I don't ask for answers, just the tools to find those answers. My own incompetence with using these tools is fairly irrelevant, albeit hilarious. So I certainly got more than I bargained for when I learned about the MacFarlane Theorem, an incredibly important equation that actually maps out the secrets of the universe. And really, it's so simple I'm surprised even a beegarf like me wasn't aware of it.

E=MC BEARED

The MacFarlane Theorem is a universal constant. Its purpose is to construct the perfect family unit. A family unit that can sustain the foundation of the entire universe and ensure evolution runs its proper course, lest we become butternubs and stupids. They say that there is no traditional family unit anymore, but that's merely because we've neglected MacFarlane's work. I feel we should put a stop to this negligence and so, here and now, I will raise abearness of MacFarlane's work. 

Hey Lois, remember that time we were an Eclectic Haberdashery post?

It's not just a construction based around the nuclear family, but a nuclear family with growth potential. Sure, man+woman+son+daughter does equal sign family, but we have more. We have Super Genius Baby and Talking Dog, two fairly unusual additions. Are they significant? How significant are they?

Joke!

This family isn't much different. Lacking in a genius baby, sure, but not all samples have to be the same to illustrate the same basic point. The MacFarlane family is an adaptive family who is also to survive and endear in absurd situations while still maintaining a basic, nuclear core. And the reason for this? This is the structure for evolution. A strong core, plus absurdist additions, doesn't just allow for high cutting edge comedy. It's the road map of the universe. With our powerful  foundations, we can take anything the world throws at us and not only keep our strength, but become enriched higher beings and cooperative units.

Hey Lois, remember that time we were black in an Eclectic Haberdashery article?

Most would accuse MacFarlane of being a hack, particularly due to the development of the young, suave baby Rallo. But I disagree. MacFarlane is a genius, creating a fictional universe with a consistent constant familial structure that's telling us how we SHOULD live. Traditional family unit with an unpredictable variable to keep us strong and from dying off as a species. Why, in The Cleveland Show, Cleveland even befriends the one major thing to truly give him and his family challenges: a talking bear.

Citation: The Cleveland Show, "Pilot"

This is not the apathy of a hack but more so the consistent, quality touch of an auteur. In the Family Guy/Abearican Dad/Cleveland Programme universe, all families are nuclear constructions with seemingly random, inappropriate, cartoonish additions...not because of a lack of creativity, but because of a message. It is these families that always survive and restore their own status quo every week. It is these families who have the most endearingly exciting lives in their respective worlds. And it is these families who are always able to solve the most ridiculous, intolerable problems. These families are consistent in their make up for one reason: they are the perfect illustration of human kind's evolutionary potential. They aren't like most beings: the MacFarlane family is a perfect being.

And like all great mathemelogians, MacFarlane is not an innovator as much as he's just enhancing the formula of previous scholars.

Hey Lois, remember that time we were dinosaurs in an Eclectic Harberdashery article?

The Odyssey of Sonic Gokuverine, Canto IV: Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Distant stars...distant hearts.

The cosmos wasn't kind, even to the likes of great warriors such as Sonic Gokuverine (and considering he had recently ascended to Super Saiya-jin 25, this suggests unreachable standards for any being to live up to).  For fifty years he traveled the universe at the speed of super light and though he'd covered an astounding amount of ground, impressive considering there's no ground in space, he was no closer to making his way home.

He decided to land on a nearby planetoid, which in four astro-eons would be known as the Prison Planet Gorlock 15, and left himself to his deepest thoughts. His brain sifted through everything he'd only been lightly skimming during his latest flight sprint: his hopes, his dreams, his memories and philosophies, and the lyrics to Demi Lovato's "Give Your Heart a Break." None of them told him what he truly wanted. None of them told him where his family was.

"Look dad!" cried out Sonic Gokuverine Jr. as she sexually assaulted the nearby mountain range. "I'm a Super Saiyan!"

Sonic Gokuverine sniffled, smiling. "That's my girl...that's my son."

Would he ever see her again? Every moment was another microlightyear without his precious little boy. His retrospection would not last forever, though.

"Sonic Gokuverine. We meet again at last."

Sonic Gokuverine grimaced and turned, all of the hatred he'd ever felt in his life swelling back into his disgruntled breast. He knew that voice. He knew it hard.

"Shadow Vegetabatman."

"You know, Sonic Gokuverine," began Shadow Vegetabatman, "I thought you really had me going when you ascended to Super Saiyan 25 and shot me halfway across the omniverse. But you forgot one thing."

"What's that?"

Shadow Vegetabatman pulled a small object from his utility belt, squeezing it until he made a clicking noise. He made several clicking noises, as if attempting to build the anticipation for his object's activation. Finally, the object made a techno beat that put Shadow Vegetabatman's clicking motif into question. But only briefly.

"This is my Midichloric Thetonizer. It's a bomb that triggers an explosion at the very core of your soul." Shadow Vegetabatman had a power level of twenty infinity billions, so he was worth listening to and the truth, to him, was like a bucket full of correct words. "It will kill you. And grill you."

Sonic Gokuverine despised being grilled, so he flew at the speed of seven quintillion battle miles to stop Shadow Vegetabatman from activating the soul bomb. But he was too slow and the bomb blowed up real good, firing right into Sonic Gokuverine's very soul. He saw his life, his liberty, and his pursuit of happiness flash before his very eyes before finally seeing his own death taking place billions of years after this.

But wait...

"Am I still alive?" asked Sonic Gokuverine in the no-space within his soul.

"You are, dad." said his so...daughter? "You are. And you always will be. Just come back home."

"I will, child. I will."

Sonic Gokuverine awoke, punching Shadow Vegetabatman in his super nards. With another punch, another kick, another kick, another punch, some more kicks, and like...wow, shit, really? You're really going there? Aw. What. Eugh. Really? Ooooh crap.

Wow. So okay, Shadow Vegetabatman somehow got up from whatever the fuck that was and shit got so real a little bit after that. The planetoid was destroyed and the two drifted throughout outer space krunking each other in their respective faces.

It would be four million years before Sonic Gokuverine saw the sun again, but only two thousand before he used a flashlight.