In this batch are various longer pieces I’ve written over the years that either depend heavily on their HTML layouts to work or would simply be a huge pain in the ass to transport over to JP.com’s fancy-pants new WordPress layout. As with my Lampoon post, it’s a bit of a grab-bag here; still, based on word count alone it’s a pretty imposing stack of free writing, so if there end up being a few stinkers in the batch I make no apologies. (I should also note the appearance here of several pieces I’ve gotten emails about concerning their disappearance, in particular “A Tribe Untouched,” “Torso Messiah,” “Love Letter” and “Lordo Ringfellow.” So to the two or three people out there who still remember them and actually care enough to ask: bless you and here they are. Feel free to stop emailing me about them.)

• A Tribe Untouched
• Back of the Bible
• Lordo Ringfellow
• News Skim Comics
• The Trailer Trash
• Batman Begins Primer
• Teenagers are Retarded
• Me and Fred Savage
• How to Assemble an IKEA Desk
• Torso Messiah
• Inspector Poon
• RingLord III: The King’s Revenge
• These Are a Few of my Favorite Things
• Urban Legend Database
• Summer Movie Preview 2004
• Steve Bartman and the Cubs
• Charlie Sheen Super Keen Dream
• Charlton Damned Heston.com
• Love Letter
• Wendy’s Employee Newsletter

One of the drawbacks of whoring your comedy-writing ass out to anyone with a handful of cash and a website is sacrificing the right to your own work in exchange for a paycheck. The upshot is that I’ve watched material I’d slaved over for weeks (and, to be honest, some weak material I dashed off over a weekend for beer money) get time-humped to oblivion whenever the comedy site I’d been writing for changed formats, went bankrupt, overhauled their backend website system or otherwise obliterated my stuff in the name of progess and decency.

So it’s been a nagging irritation for me that all my National Lampoon stuff got wiped from the Internet Hivemind some time last year to make way for that upsetting next wave in internet comedy, video clips. (Even the Onion’s got the damn things now.) Why bother writing things when you can upload clips of fat men getting hit in the nutsacks with objects of various weight, or cats wearing/doing/dry-humping things they shouldn’t, right?

Though not complete, here’s what I managed to unearth (and a big thanks to Scott Mulder’s generosity shortly after I left NL, without whose email packages of old archived material I most likely wouldn’t have even these). Varying quality here, I admit, though in particular check out “Golden Heat,” a piece of such unapologetic stupidity that it still makes me smile years later. My apologies that, post-Zoolander, it now reads a bit “done”. In my defense, though, this piece pre-dates Stiller by a considerable margin (as did the dancer-in-the-coal-mines bit, also a later Zoolander scene. Perhaps I’ve got a tasty lawsuit on my hands?)

• Al Jazeera Guide
• Bono’s Third World Products, Inc. (with Karla Pacheco and Scott Mulder)
• Conserving Energy in the Home
• Flush-Rite Holiday Catalog 2003
• Things You Didn’t Wanna Hear
• The Curious Adventures of Inspector Poon
• How to be Loathsomely Repellent to Women (with Sean Crespo)
• The Thrashing of the Christ DVD Release Page
• Christmas ‘Round the World (with Sean Crespo)
• Golden Heat: My Life as a Solid Gold Dancer
• The NL Guide to Taxes

Welcome to the mythic land of Eldibrom—an enormous open fantasy world with brave warriors, enormous monsters and powerful wizards! And while they’re off questing and having glorious adventures, you’ll be skulking around in dark corners, taking their things from them!

You are Rick, an illiterate pig-farmer, and you’re sick of knights and princesses thinking they’re so big: doing heroic things, everybody loving them, strutting around like they’re so handsome and cool. Life’s so easy for them. But maybe they’ll think twice when they get home and notice all their shit’s missing, huh?

Unlike other thief games we could mention, that force you to use stealth and strategy, Thief of Thievery realizes you’re a busy gamer with things to do, and standing around for forty minutes waiting for a guard to leave his post isn’t one of them. That’s why Thief of Thievery takes all the stealth and strategy out of thievery. How? You steal at night, so everybody’s asleep.

You’ve just broken into the Eldibromian king’s bedroom. He and his wife, Queen Lassafrass, slumber peacefully, unaware you just picked their lock, walking on in like you own the place.

In fact, why not celebrate a little? You just broke into the king’s bedroom, after all. Look at those fancy 1000-thread count sheets of his, that sumptuous comforter, that smug f*cking expression. How about giving him a little something to remember you by?

Don’t think we forgot about the missus. Give her a little face music too.

In fact, prior to 9am, do pretty much anything you like. Take everything that isn’t nailed down. Chill out a while if that’s your thing. Read a magazine. Pose the people you’re stealing from—they’re not waking up any time soon. Thief of Thievery lets you vent your frustrations at the upper class while teaching you valuable real-life lessons about fencing things you’ve stolen and dealing drugs in the day-time, when you can’t steal.
 
Thief of Thievery’s open world structure means you can either steal for money, or for pleasure. Take and sell items of sentimental value from NPCs—items you don’t even need or want! Later, in your citizen disguise, tell them you heard about the recent robbery of their home to get a hilarious story of their devastating loss.

Thief of Thievery: because they think they’re so big, and they’re not.

YOU are Chad Hopkins, a member of the deadly ninja: masters of stealth, assassination, espionage and martial combat. You are not a very good one. You graduated at the bottom of your ninja class (you missed a lot of classes because you were having problems with your girlfriend Jean at the time).

Now all the other ninja have been wiped out, and it’s up to you to save the world. And sadly, you won’t be able to, because as previously mentioned, you’re really not very good. You can’t jump more than a foot, your katanas are cheap replicas you bought off a guy with a lazy eye at a gun show in Houston, and you’ve been smoking since high school, so it’s pretty tough these days to clear a flight of steps without running out of breath. Plus you’re not getting any younger. You’re pretty much as good as you’re ever going to be, and it’s still not even slightly impressive. You’re sort of a joke in martial arts circles, to be honest.

CLUMSY MELEE COMBAT
Unresponsive controls, sluggish responses and blatant AI cheats combine to immerse you in the experience of being a laughably sub-standard fighter with limited range of motion

NO ACTUAL PLOT
Every level is randomly chosen without any context whatsoever, emulating how it would feel to not really know what’s going on at any time

STEEP LEARNING CURVES
Impossible-to-master moves, an incomprehensibly vague manual and infrequent save points will help you see through the eyes of a clumsy, uncoordinated idiot

CLOSED WORLD GAMEPLAY
A limited sandbox with few choices ensures you will affect the outcome of the game in NO WAY WHATSOEVER

CHARACTER REGRESSION
As you progress in the game, your character not only won’t learn new moves, he will actually forget things you’ve already taught him to do depending on his level of embarrassment as a result of enemies not really taking him seriously

FIGHTING

Fuck dudes right the fuck up. I mean seriously lay right into them. They won’t even know what happened. Just standing around like dumbasses, all “I like to shop at Bed, Bath and Beyond” or whatever, and then BAM! You’re all, “How do you like me now?” and they can’t say anything because they’re dead. Also you’re a Viking.

YOU.

FUCKING

Bitches be lined out the door for what you’re giving ‘em: fuckin’, and lots of it (you have a big, big dick). You’ll fuck so much in this game your dick’s going to fall off. Really hot chicks too. We didn’t design ugly chicks into the game, so even if you wanted to have sex with ugly chicks, you can’t in our game. All the girls are really hot with big tits. They think you’re awesome and they’re right.

MULTIPLAYER ONLINE

Get online, fuck everybody up and then have a shitload of great sex. How’s that sound? Pretty good, we bet. Everybody else online’s going to be jealous because they’ll all want to fight and fuck too, but good luck with that, because they’re not you.

MELEE COMBAT

You know how some games are all like, “hit the X button to fight?” FUCK THAT. In our fights you get to press all the buttons. Every one of those motherfuckers does something. You can hit shit and bite shit and kick shit and like grab a dude’s head and just tear that shit right off for him. Another button makes you just go fucking CRAZY on a guy. It’s going to be nuts.

While the as-yet-unannounced video game project I’m helping write has been eating up most of my web-writing time, I’ve managed to compose a bit of drivel over at Surreal Game Design since I took the job:

• (TEMPORARILY DOWN) Click Here For Tastefully Nude Pictures of Jessica Alba (Classy Ones)
• (TEMPORARILY DOWN) Diary of a Lapsed Gamer: Buying a Console
• (TEMPORARILY DOWN) Diary of a Lapsed Gamer
• (TEMPORARILY DOWN) Atlas Mugged
• (TEMPORARILY DOWN) Enter Jay

As for the as-yet-unannounced video game project I’m helping write: I can’t talk about it yet. It’s as-yet-unannounced. Sorry. Soon, though! Promise!

J

The upshot is I’ve had to completely rebuild my site from scratch on WordPress, and with some 500-odd entries, I’m sure you can imagine how easy a transfer like that’s been.

As of now, I’d say about 75% of the site works and can be accessed from the sidebar on the right. Content that had unique coding will have to be redone manually. At a guess, this is gonna mean most of the most popular areas of the site, including Back of the Bible, Superman Comics, Batman Comics, Batman Primer, Lordo Ringfellow, Me and Fred Savage, News Skim Comics, etc etc etc.

I’ll be getting these various areas of the site online throughout November, and appreciate the patience of what few readers have even bothered to remain with the site throughout this unfortunate bullshit parade of massive code breakdown. Hopefully I’ll be able to get things shipshape over the next several weeks as time warrants (rest assured, at least, that I’m aware of what’s broken and it’s on the list); tweak the look of the existing site; and finally open up a thread in the forum for any errors I might have missed.

In the meantime, my funny wife Karla’s been spending all of her free time USING the WordPress interface instead of eating up entire weekends transfering archived content onto it, and so unlike myself actually has new updates. Read them here. 

Lastly, if you’ve got any bookmarks to JP.com, to the forum or otherwise, remember that a “cracked” in the URL is the Kiss of Death for the new site. All URLs should be forwarding to plain ol’ “jaypinkerton.com.” If you’re finding otherwise, you’re using old code, sir.

 I’m working on it. [cue Yosemite Sam-esque grumbling]

Back when I was living in Toronto, I was lucky enough to see Wilco a few times live. The highlight of the shows, for me, was a beautifully spare and moving unreleased song alternately introduced as “Spiders” or “Kidsmoke” that frontman Jeff Tweedy played unaccompanied on acoustic. I simply loved the song — having not really listened to Wilco a lot prior to seeing them live in concert, you could go so far to say “Kidsmoke” was the song that made me a fan of the group. It’s just that good a song.

And then they ruined it.

Jeff Tweedy and Wilco utterly and completely destroyed everything that was beautiful about the song. I mean, they wrote it, so I guess they’re allowed to do what they like. But they shouldn’t expect me to applaud. Occasionally I’d do an mp3 search for the latest live version, only to hear it mutating and devolving over time while they fussed and fidgeted the poor thing to death on the road. By the time Wilco wrapped up their tour and headed into the studio, the alt-country Tweedy was knee-deep in an ill-advised flirt with electronica. The completed studio version of “Spiders (Kidsmoke)” that I’d waited patiently for for years? A tragic ten-minute hot mess of shitty drum loops and untuned guitars. Even if you’re a diehard Wilco fan, I’m sorry, but it’s embarrassing.

Okay, time to tie this into Radiohead and In Rainbows. If you’re a Radiohead fan like me, you’re doubtlessly aware of the cumbersomely large back catalog of unreleased songs these guys have. Live and demo versions of great songs like “Lift,” “Follow Me Around,” “Big Boots,” “Big Ideas” and many, many others circulate around the net, but to date haven’t made it onto an album. Worse, Radiohead at this point is well-renowned (infamous?) for their experimental (indulgant?) studio noodling, spending months and even years recording endless variations of their songs. Every time a new Radiohead album comes out, I’m always a bit leery of hearing some previously unreleased and long-cherished song of theirs in its new electronica-dance-ska format.

Concerns were not appeased after I’d heard several of the new songs purported to be on their next album, which they’ve meted out in dribbles over the past two years while trying out the material at live shows. Granted, you’re hearing these songs through a glut of crowd chatter, through the use of the shittiest recording equipment available, so it’s always best to take a wait-and-see attitude. Still, it was hard to listen to a brash, sloppy, dischordant live track like “Reckoner,” to take but one example, and not think to oneself, “Wow, that really doesn’t sound very good.”

Listening to the new Radiohead album over coffee this morning, one track in particular jumped out at me as one of the more acheingly, beautifully melancholy songs I’d heard in years, and demanded immediate repeat listens. Imagine my surprise when I pulled up my mp3 player to find out what this track was called: “Reckoner.” Radiohead took a song that — well, I’ll risk offending the diehards and just say it, the live version of “Reckoner” is complete shit — and massaged it into one of my all-time favorite songs by the band. Perhaps by any band.

I should probably wrap this up with a bow at this point, so you don’t feel like you’ve slogged through all this for nothing, so I guess my point is that studio noodling sometimes works, so long as you’re able to keep Jeff Tweedy away from a Casio beat machine.

Due to a longstanding familial obligation involving my birth and raising, Karla and I are once again making our annual trek to sun-dappled, palm-shaded Ontario, Canada for Canadian Thanksgiving. In truth I’m looking forward to it. Getting from Seattle, Washington to Kingston, Ontario is, granted, something of a day-long plane-and-train nightmare; but once we actually arrive, and get a chance to take in the multi-colored splendor of an Ontario autumn, I’m sure we’ll be glad we invested the time, at least for a good twenty minutes, until the novelty of dry orange leaves wears off and we realize we’re still in Kingston, Ontario for some reason.

In prior years, my American friends’ perplexed expressions at the idea that Canada might have its own Thanksgiving — “What do you have to be thankful for?” “You just stole it from us, didn’t you?” “Why is it in October? Is it because you guys are idiots?” — led to heated debate and explanation. This year I’m better prepared, and have so far managed to cut the hataz off at the pass with a curt “We have our harvest earlier in Canada because of the weather,” and if necessary, “We have plenty to be thankful for in Canada! Having a great neighbor like America, for instance!” and “Yes, we probably stole it from you. Is that firearm loaded? You got it at Wal-Mart, did you? Fantastic!”

Yes, this year I know what I’m doing, and in fact only two things have managed to catch me with my metaphorical pants around my ankles: that we told my parents some months ago we’d quit smoking (we had), but haven’t told them that we’ve since backslid and started back up again; and that the Canadian dollar is now actually worth more than its American counterpart for the first time in years. This in particular is cause for Yosemite Sam grumbling on my part, since I’d intended to pay off the last of the money my parents lent me years ago to get several bossy student loan collection agencies from phoning me every half hour (”Got the money yet? How about now? Is it cool if we come over and search your apartment?”) Realizing that if I’d settled up four years ago I could have paid 60 cents on the dollar is, I’m sure you can imagine, akin to finding a rented DVD under a couch cushion that you could have sworn you’d returned weeks ago, except with several extra zeros at the end. Luckily, it looks like they’re throwing in a big turkey dinner, possibly to “sweeten the deal,” so while I’ll be returning to Seattle significantly poorer, I’ll at least be fatter, a big plus in the realm of poverty.

Well, we’re off. Keep it real, America! Don’t touch my stuff while I’m gone!