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And Lo, it was written by the Self-Made Prophet that a time would come when the skies would darken, the winds still, fowl and vermin would wither and die, and The Arnold would make a horrible movie, and this shall be the End of Days. And so it came to pass. And in the End of Days, Gabriel Byrne would walk among us as though he were from Brooklyn, yet sometimes speak with an Irish accent. And The Arnold would utter inane and pointless one-liners in an attempt to regain the glory of his "I'll be back" years, and yet would fail. Beware the End of Days, for they will make little sense, and take enormous leaps of faith and plot-line. And the story would be thusly. The Arnold, he who would be in amazing shape for a man who has been drinking himself to death, would do battle with Satan on the eve of the Millennium. And Satan would do his best to get jiggy with a pre-ordained bablet before the stroke of the Millennium, and Arnold would do his best to send him home with an unholy case of blue balls. And yea, every special effect would be recycled from another movie. And so it came to pass. And yea, the script would be so weak as to make Godzilla seem sharp and witty, and full of verve. And so it came to pass. And yea, every plot twist would be so obvious as to make the blind see, and movie lame. And so it came to pass. Hear me, my children, for I bring a warning of utmost importance. Ward yourself from the evils of the End of Days. For it is both tedious and pathetic, rotten and obscene. Remember the day, my children, when The Arnold would make a fine movie, one for all to enjoy. Those days, like the tufts of the dandelion, are long gone, fluttering away in the passing of the wind. Wherefore art thou Terminator? Wherefore art thou Total Recall? For that matter, wherefore art thou Predator and Conan? There was a time, a once upon a time, when The Arnold brought tears of joy to our lips, when the merest mention of The Arnold's next flick would evoke cheers of revelry from all in attendance. Woe, those times are no more. The End of Days will be vulgar, with unnecessary breast grabbing and flesh peddling. It shall be blatantly gory, with mindless head punching and blood-letting. And though these things are not, of themselves, bad, they shall be made more the horrid by the pointless way in which they are presented. The End of Days are an evil to be avoided at all costs. We must all do our part, children, to ensure that the End of Days never come again, for a sequel would only be an unholy abomination spawned from Satan's Spleen. End of Days shall require the granting of 2/3 of a Babylon. If for no other reason than for the sake of The Arnold. Leave it to the SMC to throw a fart joke into his prophetic review. Did you catch it? End Of Days CONTEST RESULTS!!! I don't know what's worse, that over 1,100 people entered the Self-Made Pokemon Contest, or that almost 800 of you got it right. Still, it made me feel good to read that just about every one of you who entered, admitted to feelings of deep shame for knowing the answer. I'm glad I was able to make all of you feel so bad about yourselves. The winners, selected at random from the pool of correct entries, were Chris Hoeh and Rachel Taubert. They will soon be the proud owners of Brunching Shuttlecock T-shirts, the older 'classic white' versions. Hold on to those, they're collector's items! [Or something -- Ed.] Thanks to all who entered the contest, and more importantly, thanks to all of the little brothers, little sisters, nieces and nephews who supplied the correct answers. Pikachu! |
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