Justin Achilli

In 1967, some maniac greenlighted an “animated” Spiderman program for kids. The episodes were about 10 minutes long and consisted of about 13 frames of cell animations. The true travesty of the series wasn’t the horrible animation, nor was it the “story,” which usually consisted of some retarded mental-hospital escapee throwing pies at old people until Spiderman tied the villain’s forehead to his ankles with webs. It was the arch-fiendish theme song.

Spiderman, Spiderman

Fair enough. If I had theme music, though, it would start with, “Shut up, y’all bitches, and listen to this!”

Does whatever a spider can

He actively does whatever a spider can. A spider can die. Spiderman dies all the time. A spider can eat bugs. Spiderman chronically eats bugs. A spider can stand on only seven of its eight legs. Spiderman is always doing this. A spider can also stand on only six of its legs, which Spiderman also does constantly. How, exactly, he stands on six legs and seven at the same time without destroying himself in some sort of logical paradox explosion bomb I have no idea. That’s why he’s a superhero and I’m just a jackass with a Web site.

Spins a web, any size

Again with the absolutes. If Spiderman wished, he could create a web larger than the known universe, which is infinite. See? This is another reason why he’s a superhero. In addition to super powers, he is not limited by natural law.

Catches thieves just like flies.

Flies catch thieves? Okay, I’m being obtuse. This is why God hates people who use similies.

Look out, here comes the Spiderman.

“The” Spiderman? He’s “the” Spiderman now? In that case, I’d like to be called the Justin.

Is he strong? Listen, Bud:
He’s got radioactive blood

What the hell are you talking about? Radioactive blood doesn’t make you strong. It kills you. The only people with radioactive blood I’m familiar with are radiation-therapy cancer patients and victims of nuclear power plant meltdowns. I wouldn’t use the adjective “strong” to describe most of them. Instead, I’d say “bald” or “riddled with tumors.” Or “dead.”

Can he swing? From a thread.

It’s not thread, damn you. It’s a web. If it was thread, he’d be Tailorman. Dumbass.

Take a look overhead.
Hey, there; there goes the Spiderman.

Why is that word repeated?

In the chill of night

Apparently, you’ve never been to Atlanta at night. Even the ice cubes in my vodka are boiling during the summer.

At the scene of a crime

The White House?

Like a streak of light
He arrives just in time.

Isn’t light a constantly present thing? It’s not like light shows up only in one brief flash when a crime is being committed. Seriously. I have a light on in my house right now and I’m not doing anything illegal.

Spiderman, Spiderman
Friendly neighborhood Spiderman
Wealth and fame? He’s ignored.

He’s in the newspaper all the damn time! Everyone in the damn city knows him because he wears his jammies outside! If he’s too stupid to contract, that’s not our fault. He could be the richest guy in the world, but he’d rather shoot purse-snatchers in the face with web-glue than make the big bucks. He’s responsible for his own actions, just like those dumbass kids who ran over each other.

Action is his reward

Try paying your rent with “action,” shithead.

To him, life is a great big bang-up.

What a miserable life. A constant automobile accident. Take comfort, though, Spiderman. If there is a god, your car-wreck of a life will kill a couple hundred SUV drivers in the process.

Wherever there’s a hang-up,
You’ll find the Spiderman.

Oh, that is so not true. I have more hang-ups than Puerto Ricans have cousins and Spiderman hasn’t come by once.

Dear Grady,

Curious in Massachusetts

You Curious Cracker,

Who gives a goddamn about two Italian antichrists? I got too damn much to worry about with you white devils and sons of Yaccub to bother with some crazy bullshit that happened 75 years ago. What with Elijah Muhammad’s own son turning against him and the media’s biased reporting of the words of Minister Farrakhan, I can’t be hassled by this crap. Don’t trivialize the plight of the black man in this modern world with such empty comparisons to your own satanic history.

Grady

Oh, man, here’s some quality stuff.

Seek and you shall find:

- Prodigious use of the word “dark.”

- People claiming to be vampires, but who are not interested in “roleplayers” or “posers.”

- Those who seek thousand-year-old undead companions, but will settle for 17-year-olds.

- People who actively take names and other characteristics from roleplaying games, yet who are also not interested in “roleplayers.”

- Confusion of the word “gothic” with the intended meaning “goth.”

- Numerous individuals with “raven” hair.

- Vampires from such undead hotspots as Northville, MI and Murray, KY.

- Frequent substitution of the letter “y” for the letter “i” (and sometimes “e”), or reckless addition thereof to extant words, resulting in such fear-inducing monikers as “Dark Raiyne,” “Dark Vampyress” and “Scywake.”

- A guy calling himself “Bloodbat the Ancient Pagan.”

Just because you know Flash doesn’t mean you should use it. In some cases, evil prevails. In others, mania.

So there I was, buying a sammich for lunch, and the Chinese place next to the sammich shop had one of its employees out front, giving away samples. One of the little fat dudes who was sitting at the tables finished his lunch, threw away his trash, and panhandled a free sample from the server girl. Hey, little dude: That’s why you’re fat. He was a toad of a person, too, all bulgy in his crappy pleated khakis and his wrinkly golf shirt. Probably an insurance salesman.

In other news, Robert Downey, Jr. has been arrested again. It’s not even funny anymore.

I should invest in a web cam. That way, I could treat you to blurry, pixelated, blued-out photos of the cats.

Hasim Rahman is a fucked man. Sure, he beat Lennox Lewis for the Heavyweight Title, but just days after, some jackass rammed his car, which threw his wife and two of his kids from the vehicle. (I don’t think I’d ever want to be the guy who caused an accident involving a boxing heavyweight champ’s car.) Word is that his next fight is with cannibal felony rapist Mike Tyson. Heck, who wouldn’t look forward to having that be a part of his job responsibilities?

I knew a guy whose special technique (you know, while fighting) was to drop the Pyramid of Khufu on his enemy’s fool head. That’s a pretty cool attack, if you ask me.

If Doom was about mowing your yard, would the Kolumbine Kidz have had immaculate lawns?

Note to self: Pimpin’ ain’t easy.

Not many people know this, but I used to be really good friends with Greedo. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him, though. We eventually had a falling out. He was a likable enough guy, fun to hang out with and all that, but he had a really problem with lying. I mean, he would do it constantly. And not just about little things, either. He would just open his mouth and the most blatant crap would come out. I remember a couple of my conversations with him vividly.

Did you ever see The Godfather?

Yeah, man. Actually, it’s one of my all-time favorite movies.

Yeah, that movie’s about me.

No it’s not. It was based on a book. It was a work of fiction by Mario Puzo.

No, seriously, it’s about me.

Man, just shut the hell up.

Hey, you know I invented Dungeons & Dragons, right?

Jesus, Greedo, don’t fucking start with me.

I created the whole thing. I even worked on the cartoon a little bit in the 80s.

Oh, for the love of…

It was pretty cool. We had a break room at the publishing company where we ate donuts and hung out a lot.

You did not. You fucking did not. You did no such goddamn thing.

Don’t get so freaking defensive, man. Relax.

I was born in Compton, man. I used to be with the Crips, yo. Me and Snoop. Now I’m just trying to keep it real, you know what I mean? This is for all my dead homeys and shit.

By this time, I was pretty sick of it. I used to try to bait him; tempt him into a little lie just so I could call him on it. It was fairly petty, to be honest, but at that point I felt like letting him know what he was doing was a good thing for him.

Hey, Greedo, were you ever in the shit?

Yeah. Yeah, I was in the shit.

For fuck’s sake, man, do you even think about what you’re saying? I swear, you lie just to fucking do it.

What are you talking about, man? I was totally in the shit back in ‘Nam.

You fucking idiot. You’re as old as I am. You were what, five, when all that shit in ‘Nam went down?

Don’t be a dick, man. I was in the shit. Give a veteran some damn respect, won’t you?

Goddammit, you’re not a fucking veteran! You know what? Fuck it. Just get out of my house.

And he did. He left. When I wasn’t looking he stole two microwave burritos and a copy of Girls Gone Wild. I haven’t seen him since.

Devastate. Regret.

I’m probably not the best person to take relationship advice from.

I locked myself out of my goddamn house after lunch today. Must have been karma. For all the bitching I do about stupidity, etc., I’m bound to commit my fair share myself. Maybe it’s God punishing me for vanity or something. I had to hoof it over to the landlord’s office, borrow a master key, let myself in and then bring the key back. No, I didn’t loot anyone else’s house.

My car is clean. Ergo, it’s going to rain tomorrow.

I’ve heard that New Order is going to be touring on Moby’s Area: One music festival, but that they’re only playing West Coast dates. It’s enough to make a brother check out the tour dates while he’s doing his summer convention travels. It would seem that Incubus or some other racket band is also on the ticket, so the venues should abound with suburban teenagers hosting anger-management disorders.

I just remembered part of the weekend. A roving pack of hooligans ended up at Chaos. A Ketel One and Seven costs eight fucking dollars there. With tip: $10 per drink. Ass! At least Rachel scammed a buncha free champagne. Like any sensible person, however, I didn’t drink any. I did drink free Krudler Light or whatever at Have a Nice Day Cafe, though. What a dump that place was.

Off to watch wrestling and sing karaoke. Further “news” as events warrant.

You know how Apple’s recently begun including CD-ROM burners on their iMacs? They’ve even enlisted the aid of a buncha recording artists, encouraging people to “share the music,” as it were. Good for them. Maybe that’s why Intel earnings are down for the quarter and Apple posted $43 million in profit for the same quarter.

Not to start a platform war or anything.

When it comes right down to it, why is the digital song formal any more inherently crippling to the music industry than magnetic cassette tapes were years ago? Ease of tranferability? Isn’t that an argument in favor of the propagation of music? Then why the fuck is Microsoft taking such a hostile stance to end-user-friendly technology?

Charles Barkley was at the gym this morning while I was doing my workout.

Here’s how to make badass hamburgers. You need:
2 lbs. 93/7 ground beef
2 jiggers tequila
2 tbsp. oregano
1 tbsp. celery seed
1 bunch green onions, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped finely (or it’ll make your burgers break apart)
1/4 cup parsley, chopped finely
1/3 cup barbecue sauce (I use Stubbs, but any kind will do; if you’re the kind of person who likes KC Masterpiece, you’ll like it here, too)

Mash all that shit together. Break out eight individual burgers. Grill them, covered, for seven to nine minutes a side. Only a jackass puts cheese on a hamburger this good. Also, note that I’ve not included an egg in the list of ingredients. That’s because you don’t need one, so don’t even think about it. And use a kaiser roll or an onion roll, for God’s sake.

You know, ever since Earthlink bought MindSpring, my service has been in the shitter. Regradless of being subscribed beyond capacity, they’re still advertising for more customers. Pigs.