Generally, no one is ever forced to create a work of art. But there's a wise old saying artists have used for generations: s**t happens. Sometimes you have to make art because if you don't, you're going to regret it. Sometimes art gets ahead of inspiration, or more often than not, money fucks this up and then you end up with stories like these, of art that maybe no one actually wanted to create so much as they had to. Oh man, I can't wait to see what I mean!

As you may be aware, Sony owns the film rights to Spider-Man, but their ownership is hinged on tenuous contract chicanery. Basically, if they want to keep Spider-Man, they have to use Spider-Man. It's the use-it-or-lose-it principle of sex appeal and superhero filmmaking. That's why we had to endure a second Uncle Ben murder, Andrew Garfield as Spider-Man, the unfulfilling dubstep villain Jamie "Sparkmeister" Foxx, and a cameo by Paul Giamatti in a full-body trash compactor. Sony had to make those movies, and in years to come, executives will say that at the pearly gates when they have to account for their sins.

Especially the dubstep one.

Sony is all set to reboot Spider-Man again, in what will be their third bite at the same withering apple. But I still feel bold enough to claim "awesome" in my title. (If the editors change my title, then don't worry. We will know the truth, and it'll be our little secret. Just like those other secrets I told you not to tell anyone about, and so help me if you spill the beans.) Why? Because in the new Spider-Man, we will not have to endure Uncle Ben's death. For the first time in the history of superhero movies, someone is just going to assume that we already know who the character is and spare us a lengthy origin story.

Because who the f**k, in 2015 and beyond, doesn't know who Spider-Man is? And even if they don't, why are they going to see his movie? f**k those people. f**k everyone who goes to see the 50th goddamn iteration of Superman and wonders, "Golly, where did this Super fellow come from? I'm really interested in his backstory, which was established a million goddamn years ago and is probably more widely known than the story of how our country was founded!"

Instead, the new Spider-Man will let us enjoy just a Spidey adventure, and it may even feature a non-Peter-Parker, nonwhite Spider-Man, just to further shake things up, which is good. And it is all happening because Sony is forced to make these movies, even if they don't want to. Even if they don't want to rake in tens if not hundreds of millions in profit. Must be a hard life.

When Game Of Thrones first debuted, it was awesome and nearly in line with the books. It wasn't a forced production by any means, and it was pretty satisfying to watch -- and not just for all the sex and incest and boobs and violence and dragons and boobs and sex. The acting is quite good, and George R. R. Martin's story is better than free fudge.

HBO
And sometimes it even has that.

A funny thing happened this past year, though, and that's called "time." From here on out, George R. R. Martin exists in the past, while Game Of Thrones exists in some netherworld of uncreation where nothing has happened yet but we still get to see it every Sunday night. The show caught up with and passed Martin's books, and the producers either had to just stop the show mid-story or continue past the source material. They wisely chose to power through with their award-winning, cash-printing, dragon-boobing parade of awesomeness. So from here on out, everything we see came into existence simply because George R. R. Martin's pace is a little less Stephen King and a little more Stephen "I died in 1900" Crane.

Whatever Martin writes from now on will be the past as far as show watchers are concerned, and whatever HBO produces will be some kind of futuristic monstrosity that's not meant to exist in our time and space, but has to by virtue of the fact it'd be kind of stupid not to make it.

Now take a moment to appreciate how this occurred. Kim, who at this time was North Korea's Minister of Hollywood*, was known to be a massive film fanatic, and he would import all the latest and greatest Hollywood hits while trying desperately to set up a North Korean film industry, arguably to do nothing more than shame South Korea and maybe spread some insanity, since everything North Korean is insane. His idea was to get in touch with a famous South Korean actress and have her travel to Hong Kong, under the guise of meeting with Chinese filmmakers who were interested in collaborating on a business venture that would rejuvenate her declining her career. As you can imagine, once she got to Hong Kong, someone put a sack on her head and drugged her.

Later, her husband, a famous director, traveled to Hong Kong to find her. A sack drugging later and they were both in Pyongyang, ready to make North Korea's kaiju dreams come true. And after five years of resisting, they gave in. Here's the entire 95-minute movie, if you have nothing to do right now:

Oh my god, wasn't that swell? As swell as any kidnapping-induced movie you've ever made, no doubt.

As it happens, Kim Jong-il was as insane back then as he was in later life, when he tried to convince his countrymen he had no butthole. So he came to believe his kidnap victims were his good friends and let them travel to Austria for a film festival, where they promptly ran to the US embassy and told them the whole man-in-a-rubber-bat-s**t-suit crazy story.

*May not be his actual title

Followed pretty closely by this one:

I appreciate the need for a Danish or a sandwich, and I would be happy to have Van Morrison diagnose me with ringworm, so these two really hit home for me.

Legend has it Van recorded every single one of these tunes in a single recording session, and that he didn't even bother tuning his guitar beforehand. Unsurprisingly, the label felt that these songs were unfit for release, but what the hell did they know? Record labels have allowed Celine Dion to aurally buttfuck us all for years now.

Van Morrison went on to record hits like "Into The Mystic" and whatever the hell else he sang after these sessions, none of which we would have had if the man hadn't been forced into a creative corner of badassery that led to songs about whistling and dumb guys named George.

For more from Felix, check out 6 Worst Kinds Of Sex Partners and The 5 Worst Excuses People Actually Gave For A Hit And Run.

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