Growing up watching James Bond movies, I couldn't help but wonder, where are those guys? I know part of their M.O. is avoiding detection by shithead 11-year-olds in a movie theater, but nevertheless, I wondered. Where are all the surgically precise assassinations the world is so desperately in need of? I was a pretty cynical kid.
But all that cynicism has finally paid off ... in blood. Just as the Bond franchise hit the ropes in 2011, a bunch of nameless badasses kung-fu'd their way into Osama's compound, boned his secretary while surreptitiously taking her fingerprint for access to the command level, used a laser watch to cut a small circle in the ceiling directly above him, then kicked the door down and shot the part of his body encasing the brain with their powerful guns. Great plan, really. And what's more, they have to remain anonymous, allowing Internet wags everywhere to grossly misrepresent the details of their mission!
This attack on bin Laden's potato farm was a harsh blow on their food supply.
SEAL Team 6 gave me all I'd ever hoped for from my government -- that they'd dispatch a team of faceless professionals to kill people I hate. Seems like a no-brainer, right? Just like bin Laden! Oops, assassination zing! It's nice to know that even as we slide into Armageddon, our ability as a nation to find and kill the shit out of you remains unchecked.
And what a great team name. Admittedly, it's a bit of a rip-off of the team of six trained seals I used to tour with, but I'm not about to bring it up to them. Not that I could bring it up, because obviously only the members of SEAL Team 6 know who the others are, and we're really not supposed to spread the roster around or contact each other too much. Let's just say this: There are 14 Cracked columnists. Six of them update only sporadically, often with long gaps between columns. The other eight are NOT members of SEAL Team 6.
... but perhaps I've typed too much.
If you haven't seen this clip, do yourself a favor: Scarf a fistful of acid tabs, watch the whole thing in one sitting and then spend eight more days tripping balls, because "a fistful" is really far too much acid.
Cyriak, the original creator of this monstrosity, has plenty more where that came from, as well as some deep-seated personality disorders, I'm sure. You may have seen his virtuosic brand of strangeness featured on Adult Swim commercial bumpers, providing a bridge between two examples of their virtuosic brand of strangeness. A bridge made of spider-shaped cows, tank-shaped lambs and a notably disturbed-shaped me. In short, AWESOME.
And just the kind of thing that could only happen now, in 2011. And to be clear, I don't mean strangeness or creativity or people willing to spend hundreds of hours honing a skill, as the originally uploaded video demonstrates. I mean someone else downloading that video, looping it for 10 hours and reuploading it to YouTube for reasons that can only be symbolic and are almost certainly booze-fueled.
The original video is probably only symbolic of cows. I dunno. I haven't seen a cow in a while.
The second YouTube allowed people to post 10-hour videos, and pretty much any weird loopable thing immediately became available in that format. It's staggering to imagine the amount of YouTube's bandwidth that's being taken up by thousands of 10-hour videos of other videos that already exist on YouTube, and how few people must ever make it through more than a few minutes of them. I assume the only time someone finishes one of these, it's because they were dared to, they fell asleep with the computer on or they were strapped to a chair with their eyelids held back by helper ferrets, Beethoven music crashing loudly around them. In short, RAD.
Some say that after the 10th hour, the dead horse magically comes back to life.
2011 had a lot of nonsense to it, and this strikes me as a great avatar of all of that. Cyriak is clearly a dedicated artist and craftsman. Whoever uploaded THIS video may well be neither, and in fact might be 12 and kinda slow. Humans used to say "Because it's there!" to explain why we'd do something crazy like climb a giant inhospitable mountain. Now we say it to explain why we'd waste nine hours and 58 minutes of everyone's time showing them the same video over and over.
In short, PROFOUNDLY DEPRESSING.
As in "totes" (short for "tote bags"), "deets" (a corruption of "DET," the code for Detroit City Airport) and the ever-popular "abbreves" (not sure what that one means).
Example: "Will the deets charge me a carry-on fee for my totes?"
"Totes" has actually been kicking around for a while, but it was only this year that I started noticing that it's apparently OK to do that TO ANY WORD. Many's the night I am awakened by a text from one of the Cracked writers telling me, "Totes probs. Tomorrs vids subs & creds r abbreves." I usually just send back one of these guys: <3
No one can stay mad at those guys! Except Jack O'Brien, who was quite angry about the abbreves creds, whatever they are. I just sent him one of these bad boys, though, so I think we're cool: <333
That's the triple-decker! It's like if you had two extra hearts on top of your one heart, or an ice cream cone made of butts, or something that was less than the value 333. Obviously, this was a diplomatic masterstroke on my part. A dips mass, if you will. See? Fun!
As a writer, you might think I'd rail against the corruption of language and laziness represented by this trend. You'd be comps wrong. As a lover of words, I enjoy nothing more than seeing them twisted into new and exciting arrangements for my amusement, like so many Swedish Olympic Nude Writhers (keep those prayers comin', folks!). Shakespeare invented words all the time, so why not? Near as I can tell, foreigners do it nonstop whenever they open their weird mouths.
See, language is all about communication -- the successful transfer of thought from one mind to another. So if elevs discs can be accomps more efficiens with a lits comps of wos, I reals don's ses ths probs, franks.
Riots seemed to be the order of the day in 2011, whether it was people fighting economic iniquity, overthrowing a corrupt government or kindly exchanging thoughts with police (the exchange rate currently stands at two thoughts to a beanbag cannon face-shot, I believe), or just pasty British dudes in Pumas and rad bandannas looting storefronts for kidney pies and steering wheel side-switching kits. I think that's why so many people responded to this image.
Looking at this photo of two young attractive people risking arrest and ass-gravel-embedment made us believe that the flower of love can blossom even in the darkest of nights. Sure, the tacit agreements that bind peaceful society may be dangerously frayed, but even in the post-apocalypse you still get to make out! It hints at a future time when we could look back and say, "Sure, 2011 was pretty riot-heavy, but remember that one really romantic riot?"
Someone's looting a lot of confetti for his wedding!
"Why can't we be more like them?" we wonder: a little less concerned with smashing this or fighting that or covering our head to protect it from impact with hurtling what-have-yous, and a little more in love. Then the world would work! Then Stacy and the kids would come back! Then this whole crazy country would fix itself and the riots would turn into giant public love-ins!
In conclusion, I'm hoping to see a big upswing in massive, filthy public orgies. Ball's in your court, Occupy hippies.