PIRATES! (Slaps self in face, giggling hysterically.)
Pompey Magnus told us TWO THOUSAND FUCKING YEARS AGO that he had this shit under control.
Fucking politicians, man.
Seriously, though, I can’t get over this pirate thing. I’m not so much taken aback by the fact that there are still pirates, but—to paraphrase They Might Be Giants—where the fuck’s my jetpack? Are you reading this shit? The pirates are attacking conventional, earthbound, seafaring vessels with… a skiff.
A FUCKING SKIFF! THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY! EIGHT THOUSAND PLUS YEARS OF PIRACY AND THESE MOTHERFUCKERS ARE STILL ATTACKING EARTH BOATS WITH A LITTLE—FUCKING!!!!—SKIFF?!
I give up. I read Evan Dorkin’s space-pirate comics when I was an adolescent. I was resigned to a universe peopled by glamourous brigands in ska outfits, just so long as they attacked me while I was flying between galaxies on some noble mission in a space cruiser with a nice warm swimming pool. Jesus fucking Christ, I want my fantasies back. Seriously, if the Christians are allowed to walk around in their own little fictional world, why can’t I? I’m going to go fall asleep in front of Doctor Who now, and dream of the day when he shows up to take me adventuring. Wake me when someone destroys the Earth with a herd of elephants. On second thought… don’t bother, my final nightmare will probably be more interesting.
(Anything would be more interesting than dying of swine flu… can you think of two less glamorous words for Armageddon? I mean, besides “mad” and “cow”… “Help, help, I’m being killed by Tipper Gore!”…)