Merry Warrior-mas

Bloggified by Jake on Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Off topic: I've been sick lately. My daughter just started preschool two weeks ago. The kid had been sick three times in her whole life and after four days in class, brought home some virus that's probably going to kill me. Just now, I was typing this up and looked down to see blood on my desk, apparently coming from my face. That can't be good.

Just when you thought I was out of Warrior shit to throw simian-style at the comicbloggosphere, it's time for some seasonal fun with the the batshit insane wrestler.

The Warrior X-Mas special is nothing but a series of two-page spread pin-ups by a various artists, most of which are higher caliber talent, such as the cover to the left by Joe Quesada. More interesting, at least to me, is that the legal fine print refers to this as Warrior #3, which raises a whole new batch of questions of how we got from the idiocy of #2 to the stupidity of #4 as they clearly had nothing to do with one another.

Of course, we can't just have crazy pictures--which there are, just wait. Warrior has to have his word-process-arhea inside the front cover. Call me lazy if you want, but rather than comment, I will just type it out for you. (I'd scan it but somehow he decided nothing screams "X-mas" like impossible to read orange Arial font on a black and white negative of the cover.)

Sure you do. You remember. How can you forget? You were going to catch him that years... catch him red-handed... catch him with the goods... with you GOODS. Now you remember... getting warm and fuz-z-zy, aren't ya? One of the greatest nights was Christmas Eve. You went to bed knowing that when you woke the next morning, the breaking and entering that took place was okay 'cause the burglar left the goods instead of cleaning you out, except for the cookies and milk, of course. You never caught him, but hey man, the dude was there. You felt him and a couple times you even had a blurry vision of him. So, he sorta looked a little like Dad, but you couldn't swear it was Dad and besides he was at your buddies house too. It had to be real. You believed it and that made it real.Then one year an asshole (oh yah, relativeslove to be the bearers of this kind of devastating news) presents himself and proceeds to smarten you up to this idea that Santa Claus is fictitious and Christmas is only for kids. "Ahh, man... what a bummer", you say to yourself careful not to show how you really feel when you run home to Mom and ask her the second most difficult to answer question you'll probably ever ask her (#1 being the... "Hey Mom is this thing hanging between my legs good for anything other than just peeing?"). Taken. Stolen. Never to given back. Just suck it up, boy. You're a man now.Up till then you had faith. Life was good. Barney was your beagle, the best friend you ever had... not some purple dinosaur and Santa Claus was the epitomy of ultra exclusive customer service. A bad ass dude who always got the job done. Oh, sure he forgot a thing or two on your list once in awhile, but hell your list was 65 pages long and you knew he had your buddies to take care of as well... Remember, life is the challenge. What to do...?Chances are, that special asshole relative will be at the upcoming Christmas dinner (you know, the one where an all points family truce is in effect until New Year's Eve... with the booze, the gloves come off) spilling his pitiful story about how his/her life is nothing but a tragedy. Well, when fatso opens his mouth this year, shove this Special Edition Warrior Winter Wonderland Pinup book down his throat and say... "Paybacks are hell, aren't the Uncle Joe..."

Okay, I know I said I was just going to share without commenting, but... come on! One minor thing first, since there are several spelling, punctuation, and usage errors it's hardly worth noting, but "... spilling his pitiful story about how his/her life..."? You've already established the pronoun "his," why switch to "his/her"? Second, I really hope someone took this issue to heart and brought it with them to a family reunion to share, shoved down throats or otherwise, with extended family. In fact, it's funnier if it was shared in a non-violent way. "Uncle Tom, Aunt Karen, Grandpa, I'd like to show you all something I've found that really symbolizes to be the true meaning of Christmas."After the smoke clears, snatch your grandma's favorite pumpkin pies (go ahead take 'em all, nobody fucks with a Santa Savior, trust me), along with a few dozen chocolate chip cookies, a keg of...ah...milk, some Metallica Christmas Melodies and a few good buds (interpret at your own risk). Now, plant you ass next to the crackling (you can hear it can't ya?) of a rich, pinon-smelling (you can smell it, can't ya?), full-blown, rustling campfire. Now, let your eyes venture into the chill of the night while time runs back to the those handfuls of days when believing was good, real good... back to the nights when you knew he was coming... back to the times before the "system" stole what wasn't their's to steal... but this time your goin' to catch him and this time he's goin' stay cause ole' friends promise never to cease believing... All About Believing.

Merry Christmas Warriors

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