Rodent Presents!

You heard the rat!

February, 2007

EXCLUSIVE!
Conceptual sketch obtained from
upcoming Transformers film!

This will apparently be a new character introduced in the film: Scabatron, leader of the Kitchen Utensilicons.

Marky the Mako Shark's Shark Tips:

1) Sharks cannot talk. If a shark bites you, it's only asking if you've seen a seal around anywhere.

2) If you're in open water and sharks are circling you, it's because you smell bad and they don't want to come any closer.

3) Shark Diet Tip: For really fast results, eat half your weight in raw tuna and move continuously 24 hours a day for three weeks straight.

4) To stay credible, do not jump over sharks.

An Expose on the Entertainment World and Junk by Mako L. Jurgens

This Review: A Preemptive Transformers Movie Dismantling

Want to see your beloved childhood toy franchise/cartoon transform from a cherished memory into an eardrum-busting, seizure inducing, metal face punch fest? Then let Michael Bay feed it into his bloated, sap-acting factory of mechanized movies and shoot it up!

What you won’t see: Optimus Prime indian-style on a cliff talking philosophy with Spike; Decepticons sitting around and getting drunk on energon cubes; Megatron and Starscream’s marital bickering; a dull-witted dinobot saying "Me, Grimlock"; most of the original characters; little Bumblebee’s cherub face (replaced with the T800 Terminator style series); and theme song "The Touch" (thankfully not included) by Stan Bush from the 1986 animated movie.

What you will see: The original voice of Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen); undoubtedly cool CGI; explosions; better explosions; wooden acting; laser blast holes in the plot; Michael Bay’s signature slow motion/over dramatized cinematic shots; an all new (horrible) Stan Bush song; and not much else. Maybe some robots.

Deep thoughts: What I liked about the original TV series was the remarkable "human" quality the transformers had, like the jive-talking robot that Jazz was. They were basically "regular Joes and Janes" cruising the stars, raging the battle between good and evil, just like most people.

This movie though is told from the human perspective. Why do I want that? I know all about humans. I want to hear what the 30 ft robot thinks about. Oil changes? Premature rusting?

What I fear is that Mr. Bay will drain all the emotion from the droids, like he does with his actors, and give us cold, hard, metallic dialogue and CGI head punches for filler.

In the cartoon universe, I would have loved to join up with Optimus, hang with them, ride a dinobot, and join their quest for peace and love. But in the new movie universe, I think I would probably not want these walking destructo mechanoids anywhere near my planet, let alone my quadrant of the galaxy.

My boyhood memories will not be tarnished by this "new version" which will probably be a semi-okay popcorn flick (rental, with a free coupon preferably). But, just think of what all that money could have done in the hands of a good director with a flare for combining great acting and story with sci-fi. Is there a James Cameron in the house? Because after all, there’s one thing I’ve learned about Michael Bay’s movies, and that’s they are usually "less than meets the eye".

This Issue’s Automatic Band Names:
Stud Assembly
Now That’s Propellant
Functional Junk
Organic Van
Nose Pump
World Information Network
Squirrel E. Mechanix
Robot Pants

A Guy in an Alien Suit Extinguishing a Flaming Alien Robot
fiction by BALDERDASH!

Purportedly the first element of the universe, Claspy rang the doorbell at the Hong Saloon and sat back to catch on fire. Man Slave rang the doorbell again, hoping Claspy would see the penguins racing for the bar for the sushi shots. I don’t know why both felt the need to catch fire or reboot the Hong Intranet from the server’s point of view. The event log showed no fires scheduled for that week, nor showed a backup of the doorbell login data for Claspy or Man Slave. The duel started. Pistol shots sang tunes pinging around the mirror face; fires roared through the stalls in the server room bathroom. I hit the ceiling. Nice to see you again, I said to Claspy. His pistol popped open and the charge connected via USB. His downloads resumed at faster speeds than Man Slave’s. Claspy was stumbling on fire; the next time we had him planted in the yard for the feast of Moses; this wasn’t the foggiest hour that night. Piles of Blu-rays were set for the mobiles; junk files aren’t anyone in the Hong’s specialty. The shotgun came out; Man Slave whipped it from my hands, showing teeth he’d found in the corner stuck with goo to the modem. I lunged for the plug; the drive ejected but the burn had failed. We ran for more discs and caught several patrons fleeing with sushi shots. That wasn’t part of the deal, Claspy said, falling over finally hot. Man Slave felt around in his pocket for the Holy Water. It was gone! I fished around and found eight dripping Unagi Maki; it was enough! I threw on my Jetto suit from the purse pack and got ready. Claspy bellowed, “Alrighteeee!” We knew his mom was coming. The Maki splattered everywhere, but Claspy went out. That was the first time I decided to join up. A year later, I rang at the Hong again; it had gone entirely bourgeois.
to be continued...