Rarely does a Cracked blogger get to break a news story that’s guaranteed to excite and enthrall the readership. Today, I have been blessed with the opportunity to drop the knowledge bomb that is destined to leave your synapses flame-scoured and quivering, and your brain-villages nothing but smoldering piles of memories of rubble.

Activision, the visionary game studio that unleashed the rock with Guitar Hero III, have announced that the next installment of the game will have…wait for it…more instruments!

It’s the kind of genius development idea so clearly brilliant, you wonder how it hasn’t been thought of before. But I guess it took the big, juicy brains at Activision to make that dream a reality.

While they’re still nailing down which instruments to implement—may I suggest recorder, tambourine and harmonica?—the smart money is that they’ll end up using the four cardinal rock instruments: guitar, bass, drums, and vocals. Groundbreaking.

I mean, think about it! Anyone who’s ever picked up a bass knows it’s identical to guitar in every way, so the hardware’s already there! Throw in a mic and drum set, and you’re ready to form some sort of Rock Band!

But the brain train don’t stop there (toot toot!); they’ve already got their future developments sewn up as well. Stop tying up the phone lines at the patent office, people, Activision has already purchased the rights to the titles “Guitar Villain” and “Drum Villain.”

What’s more, early Internet buzz describes Drum Villain as a game so evil, every sinister strike of the high-hat embezzles money from a third world aid organization, and each malevolent thud of the kick-drum rapes a nun. G-damn, am I into that.

I’ve got to say, I am stoked about the fresh, fresh, fresh gameplay being offered here, and especially Activision’s promise to include a lot more “local bands” in the line-up.

Why the hell would I want to play a Radiohead or AC/DC song when I can rock out to The Hip Thrusters’ latest garage-recorded powerhouse “Light this shit up?” Why, I ask?!

I wouldn’t is the answer. I would not.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m hard at work on a rhythm game I hope to sell to Activision as soon as I’ve worked out the bugs. It’s called Boogie Boogie Uprising, and it’s so fresh you’d think it was the Prince of Bel Air.

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael drowns in a thick layer of his own sarcasm as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!

I can’t say for sure whether or not this Riskay character is going to be remembered 5 years from now, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t valuable life lessons to be learned from her hit song, “Smell Yo Dick.”

It’s a universal story: You come home from the club at 5 a.m. after buying drinks for a stripper named Diamond all night, when your girl asks you to present your genitalia so she can smell it and ascertain whether or not you’ve been cheating on her. You try to tell her that you have “enough dick to go ’round” and that asking to smell yo’ dick is how a “bitch get her eye swole up” but she doesn’t listen. She then proceeds to pour bleach all over your clothes, throw your iPhone off a balcony, and perform a song about smelling your penis live in concert to a large club audience.

I’ll admit that it’s been a little different for me personally, but the idea is the same regardless. True, my “clubbing” has traditionally been a D&D night in the basement of my local community center, and sure, my “girlfriend” is the girl that I see at the bus stop if I get there early enough (about 45 minutes before I actually need to), but what’s the difference in the grand scheme of things? So what if the real-life version of my girlfriend asking to smell my dick is actually some girl at the bus stop asking me what time it is? So what if my real-life iPhone is prepaid? No matter which verison of the story you choose to go with, some basic facts remain the same: My name is Ross, I’ve met a girl before, and I own a mobile communications device.

Oh - and I have a Snickers jacket. How are you gonna fuck with that?

So you’ve decided you want to drop out of community college and become an “entertainer.” Good for you! Everyone knows that being an entertainer will make you rich, famous, and get you constantly laid, but there’s a downside to this business that not a lot of people know about. Yes, success in the entertainment industry is very easy to achieve, and yes, your place in the history books is all but guaranteed if you want it, but here’s the catch:

At some point you’re going to encounter a heckler, and if you don’t handle it correctly, you may never make it out of Muncie, Indiana. You want to make it out of Muncie, Indiana, don’t you?

Watch the guy in this video, and note how he works the room to handle the situation. First he tells the heckler the whole audience is going to kick his ass. This is an essential step that allies the performer with the crowd, letting the heckler know that everyone is against him. Next, he peppers his crowd-banter with regionally-specific references that the audience will recognize. This makes the crowd like the performer on a personal level; By implying that he is familiar with their geographic area, the performer tricks the crowd into thinking he is somehow like them, when he is in fact a big fancy-pants entertainer who is NOTHING like them at all. (”Is he talking about OUR Cracker Barrel?! I think he is!”)

Finally, the performer jumps off the stage, waves his acoustic guitar menacingly, and splits the heckler’s head open with it. This step might might seem strange to the uninitiated, but the truth is that criminal assault & battery charges are the calling card of the professional entertainer. When the audience member says “Get security,” what he really means is “I want to purchase your merchandise, professional entertainer!” When that other guy yells “That was unnecessary,” he means “Will you sign this cocktail napkin? I don’t know who you are, but based on your awe-inspiring professionalism, I’m almost positive that you will one day be a star.”

Newspaper comic strips have had a rough time lately. From bizarrely hilarious and subversively scathing internet parodies to straight-up Internet-hate, they seem to only be funny to us anymore when we’re using meta-humor to point out their idiocy. That’s why it was an act of the utmost faith in the goodness of mankind for Scott Adams to allow users to generate their own punchlines to his daily Dilbert strips.

You can view my first round of attempts below, but I’m officially requesting all Cracked Blog readers to get on this. I want to see you guys outdo Scott (and me), and do it with so many dick references and with such frequency that his servers crash out of disgust. You have your assignment, people. Post links to your masterpieces in the comments section.

(more…)

This weekend it was reported that Prince William landed a helicopter outside his girlfriends house in rural England, during a training exercise. Military spokespersons have confirmed that this was all part of an authorized training mission, the British military evidently placing great stock in how well their fighting men are capable of fucking up their father in law’s lawns. The press has been less charitable however, a notable example being the Sun with their headline “WILLIAM GAILY DANGLES BOLLOCKS OVER ENGLAND ON HELICOPTER JAUNT.” All of this comes on the tail of reports that William took another helicopter trip to a stag party with his brother Harry in recent weeks. Military spokespersons have been unable to confirm the nature of that particular military venture, other than to suggest that it might have had something to do with naked vaginas.

All this raises an important question, “Why the fuck don’t I have a helicopter?” Seriously, what kind of loser goes to his girlfriends house and peeler bars in a Mazda Protege? I’ll tell you who: It’s me. (but never on the same night sweetie.) Oh sure, there’s probably several good reasons that I don’t have a helicopter. I have no money, for one. And I can’t get one via the military, because apparently I’m too “doughy” for those perfectionists. Perhaps most importantly, my dad isn’t going to be King one day - a fact which causes me unimaginable shame, and makes every Father’s Day around our house feel like a hollow sham.

Anyways, the result of all this aimless rambling is that if I want to go on any incredible adventures like Prince William, I’m forced to use my “imagination,” which is kind of like a helicopter for poor kids. So here’s a big list of things I’d do if I had a helicopter:

Get some 20″ wheels on it, and maybe a discrete spoiler.

Also, get a waterbed in there.

Help old people get cats out of trees.

Put old people’s cats in trees.

Put old people in trees.

Get around highway tolls.

Watch sporting events for free.

Harass nudists.

Paint it black and fly around Idaho, scaring the hell out of those anti-UN nuts.

Shout patronizing advice at mountain climbers.

Toilet paper some hot air balloonists.

Attack France.

Pop by the airport whenever I need a handle of Duty Free gin.

Fly to the moon.

Pee on people from a great height.

__

So that’s my list. What would you do if you got a helicopter? Like if Santa Claus made a horrible mistake one year?

What’s With All These Stupid Robots?!

I might not know anything about building robots, but based on these two clips, it seems like the people who actually build them don’t either.

In the first video we’ve got some sort of mobile garbage can that can walk around like a crab, roll dice, and bang on its own head while repeating the same Japanese phrase over and over and over again. Which would be pretty convenient if you wanted to start a gambling operation for quadriplegics in your house or something, but we all know that quadriplegics don’t gamble much, and even if they did, what makes you think they’d want to do it in your house and not in a regular casino? Also, what if they don’t understand Japanese? That’s like inventing a robot to help gay Eskimos come out to their parents, or to teach Latvian orphans how to panhandle; it’s a great idea, but what are the rest of us supposed to do with it?

Then we’ve got the second one, which serves such little purpose that it pretty much has to be an art project of some kind. A pair of dismembered robot legs that periodically shoots fire while aimlessly pushing around a shopping cart? I’ll admit that’s kind of awesome, but again, what are we supposed to do with it? Should we look at it and think about the artist’s statement on mindless consumerism? Sorry, robot maker: Dawn of the Dead did it better. Is it supposed to make us think about the homeless problem? I’m looking at it right now, but the only problem I’m thinking about is how bad these robots suck.

I’ve been banging this drum for a while now, but maybe if I keep at it I can get the robot-making community to listen. If I were them, I know I’d definitely want to take advice from a Cracked blogger with absolutely zero knowledge of engineering. Is an enormous mechanized iron monstrosity with flesh-searing lasers and projectile weapons so much to ask for? Actually, screw it - pretty much ANYTHING with flesh-searing lasers would do. If you’re reading this, guys who made these two robots, just add flesh-searing lasers and we’ll be good to go.

See - I’m willing to compromise, robot-making community. Now it’s your turn.

Have you ever wanted to make a smash comedy hit, just like Director/Producer/”Writer” Judd Apatow? Now you can! Follow these simple steps and you’ll be on your way to crafting a wry, witty, irreverent romantic comedy chock full of heart, without ever having to generate a single fresh concept!

Difficulty: Can be tricky the first time, but once you’ve got the hang of it, you can pump them out yearly.

Time: 6 months (4 hours for scripting and casting, a weekend for shooting, and 5 months and 28 days for editing, advertising and “make ‘em wait” time).

Things You Will Need:

1. The Script: Your script is the blueprint for your film, and will define it down to the last detail. A carefully constructed script will show everyone involved that you have taken great care to craft your film deliberately and with a clear vision. Just kidding! Usually throwing together a few ideas on a cocktail napkin with your buddies the night before a pitch meeting will do the trick. And don’t worry, you can still give yourself a screenwriting credit.

When jotting, you’ll basically want to get a protagonist, a problem, and half of a character arc. To create your protagonist, simply take yourself (unless you are a woman, in which case take yourself with a penis), then graft on a glaring flaw that would have made you the subject of fun in High School (a virgin, fat and lazy, a complete pussy).

Make sure it’s a flaw that doesn’t prevent them from being charming (such as “face burnt off” or “is Hitler”) and can be easily solved in fifteen minutes (has sex, decides not to be lazy, has sex with Mila Kunis). Do not expect your protagonist to be more charming than Paul Rudd. This is not necessary, nor is it possible.

Now that you’ve got your protagonist, pick a girl from your High School yearbook that you always had a crush on. Put her in the script. Congratulations, you are done!

You have a main character (you), a minor problem (you’re mildly undesireable), and a conflict to drive the story (you’d like to sleep with a woman, and yet you’ve got that mild undesirability to deal with). The rest will work itself out in editing.

(more…)

Friends, Fellow Bloggers, and Cracked.com Editor Extraordinaire Jack O’Brien- I owe you all an apology. Maybe it was the remarkable amount of Mabisms that kept showing up week after week after week. Or maybe it was the fact that, because the Cracked Commenting Community was so relentless and shameless with their graphic pursuit of destroying Hannah Montana’s Biography, Daniel Terhorst, (co-founder of Biographicon), actually contacted us to let us know that he compromised his intentions and locked both Hannah and Miley Cyrus’s Biographicon pages. Maybe I realized that this whole thing was bigger than me, too big for me to control. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I have a heart after all.
Whatever the reason, you may have noticed that I’ve slowed down in my Anti-Hannah Propaganda as of late. While I was passionate and, perhaps, even obsessive at the beginning, my focus in the recent weeks has shifted to simpler, gentler things like spousal abuse and shit-eating.
What can I say? It was a moment of weakness.
While I was taking a few weeks off and reflecting on the possible consequences of systematically destroying a fifteen year old both professionally and emotionally, the fifteen year old in question was certainly not resting. If I had to guess, I’d say she was sitting on her recently polished throne of orphan skulls, hissing and wondering what she could possibly do that would piss me off the most.
Well, let me be the first to say, mission accomplished, you puppy-eating thunder bitch.

(more…)

Internal Microsoft Vista SP1 Video

I’ll admit it: It’s easy to point your finger and laugh at this video. It makes the executives that thought it up seem hopelessly out of touch, and it makes corporate culture look even more despicable than the “One Bank” U2 cover did last year. Come on - Bruce ServicePack and the Vista Street Band? “Rockin’ Our Sales”? This video is bordering on self-parody, and I can’t really blame anyone for making fun of it, but if you’re going to laugh, at least give me a chance to explain how this happened.

I should know: I’m the one who made it.

I’d made a few internal corporate videos before. Nothing big or anything; I cut my teeth on Wendy’s “Grill Skill”, but I didn’t really start getting any attention until Apple’s “Black & Blue”. That was when things really started to take off for me, but it was also when Steve Ballmer started calling me… constantly.

It was the fall of 2006, and I got a call from an unfamiliar number. I had already blocked Ballmer’s home, office and cell numbers, but this time he was calling me from a payphone.

“Rossy, baby,” he said. “I’ve got a cherry of a project for you. Our new product line is launching next-”

“I already told you, Ballmer, I’m not interested,” I said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to watch the series premiere of some new show called Heroes.”

“We’re prepared to offer you whatever you want,” he said.

“Whatever I want?”

“Whatever you want.”

There were problems from the get-go. The budget was too small, the shooting schedule was impossible, and I’m pretty sure the guy we cast as Bruce ServicePack was a junkie (I started getting suspicious when I walked into the bathroom and there he was, shooting heroin). I said I thought the saxophone solo was gratuitous; Ballmer said it was essential to hyping up the team. I said I thought the BitLocker superhero bit was hackneyed and tired; Ballmer said he had already promised the part to his down-on-his-luck nephew.

Then there was the catering… Christ, don’t even get me started on the catering.

Ballmer fought me every inch of the way and turned the whole project into the watered-down, middle-of-the-road pile of garbage you see now. It was the first and last time I would ever work for Microsoft, but I’m not trying to dodge the bullet here. It’s my fault this video exists, and for that I sincerely apologize to all of you.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I came to own a swimming pool filled with kittens.

Our demographics studies have revealed that a majority of Cracked blog readers are sexy, deadly ingénues in the midst of international games of cat and mouse (all except Glendoor; he’s just this guy). As such, I thought I’d do you all the favor of formulating your political opinions for you, seeing as you’re so busy falling perversely in love with the secret service agents sworn to exterminate you for the sake of national security.

Thus, to the recent Democratic debates in Philadelphia. No, not the ABC debate; the important one, the one on last night’s episode of The Colbert Report. Yes, Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, and even John Edwards stopped by the show last night, and although they never spoke to one another directly or answered any questions, the debate had a clear winner: Stephen Colbert.

Let’s take one of the show’s opening segments, in which Hillary Clinton comes on to help fix their malfunctioning projection screen.

First of all, I’m pretty sure that’s the same scenario The Muppet Show used to introduce about forty percent of their guest stars. Secondly, I’m no classicist, but isn’t there something unsettling about a Senator and Presidential candidate stumbling woodenly through a pre-scripted bit with a talk show host? I thought that kind of thing was only for Nobel Peace Prize Winners.

Stephen Colbert’s power to manipulate the will of his massive audience has translated into an unprecedented ability to force politicians into mugging at a camera and saying things that they probably don’t understand and loathe saying. Anyone with the ego to run for President has got to have some sense of inflated decorum, and I doubt Senator Clinton’s stop in at “that show the numbers guys say will get the stoner vote” was a highlight for her dignity.

While Edwards seemed to genuinely enjoy his bit, that’s probably because it was the funniest and he’s already out of the race.

Admitting that The Colbert Report is where most Americans get their news these days is a lot easier once you’ve got nothing to lose. Still, he managed to staple some talking points onto the script, and in general struck me as the least out of his element.

Finally, we have Obama, who made up for his inability to actually be in the studio—judging by the backdrop, he was busy facing away from a large audience of orange enthusiasts—by regurgitating Colbert-ian cultural memes like a ventriloquist’s dummy. Not only did he “put something on notice,” he actually said the words “Grizzly bears are the number one threat to America.”

The implications here are staggering. Some of the most powerful people in the world are now having their actions circumscribed by a guy who produces a regular flash cartoon series of himself having sex with aliens. If he can un-endanger elephants, he can damn sure make all the Democratic candidates dance like little ponies (dancing ponies).

Although you’ll notice that for all his clout, he couldn’t get them to be in the same room together at the same time. Only Edwards and Clinton were on-premises, and their appearances were separated by enough time for Clinton to track down her husband, yank him out of the womens’ dressing rooms, and be on her way before Edwards even got to the green room cookies. I imagine they passed one another awkwardly in the hall and shared a look as if to say “Jesus, we’re really doing this.”

I don’t know what to think of this phenomenon. On the one hand, the utter transparency of the candidates’ grab at a voting segment makes accusations of pandering almost passé. On the other hand, imagine if this had been going on for years. We could be watching old episodes of Seinfeld right now that guest star Ross Perot as their “wacky landlord.”

Has Stephen Colbert become too powerful? Will he use this power for good, or evil? Or, more likely, just dick around with it and get bridges named after him? Do we like this?

When not blogging for Cracked, Michael writes spec scripts of The Gilmore Girls featuring John Kerry as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren’t Muskets!