Tag Archives: joss whedon

I’ll Fight A Whedon For You (Ode To Maurissa Tancharoen)

The first time I saw you in pony tails,
that Horrible Doctor’s fan,
I knew by your groove when you sang that tune
that I wanted to be your man.

But then your Commentary
made me Asian Aware-y
and I knew what I’d have to do:

I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Echoes remain from that song that you sang
as Kilo the cutest Doll.
I’m too poor for STARZ or for SPARTACUS,
but you know that I’ll give you my all.

No, I’ll never yield; I’ll back AGENTS OF S.H.I.E.L.D.
until Agent Coulson dies (I mean, again, like, for real this time)
You’re Pretty In Pink, I don’t care what they think
Then I saw you with another guy.

Even though you have lupus
I thought we could this
but then werewolves devoured my heart.

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
There’s more a chance
I’ll see DOLLHOUSE renewed
But it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Did you know that our birthdays
are one day apart (except
plus or minus ten years)?
And sure, Jed is hot —
what’s he got that I’m not?
(I mean, other than a career)

So Mo, won’t you go
with me, baby, you know
we’d be cool (ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh)

But I’ll fight a Whedon for you:
Zak, Jed, or Joss,
Yeah, you know that it’s true.
But I’ll still be here
after S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2
’cause it’s true:
I’ll fight a Whedon for you.

Villanelle for San Diego Comic-Con Regrets

I will not be at San Diego Comic-Con this year,
and every time you ask me I’m reminded
that instead of standing in long lines I’ll just be sitting here.

I will not be the very first to hear
the latest comic news, at least not until it’s tweeted.
I will not be at San Diego Comic-Con this year.

I will not see the costumes that appear
on the awkward and undeodorized
standing in long lines. I’ll just be sitting here.

I wish that you and I could grab a beer
after getting all 160 issues of Ultimate Spider-Man signed,
but I will not be at San Diego Comic-Con this year

Think of me when you are hanging out near
Joss Whedon, or Katee Sackhoff, who you think you spotted
while standing in long lines; I’ll just be sitting here.

On the bright side, I don’t have to worry about finding a tear
on my rare exclusive SDCC variant cover. So to everyone who asked:
No, I will not be at San Diego Comic-Con this year.
Instead of standing in long lines, I’ll just be sitting here.

To Be or Not To Be That Guy: Beer Edition

“Don’t be That Guy!” is a popular phrase that permeates most of the social groups within which the writer regularly interacts, where “That Guy” functions as a proper noun to identify a very specific type of Homo Sapien engaged in a loud and raucous social setting, typically a concert or musical event, wearing the shirt of the musical artist that he or she is seeing at that very same event. That Guy is generally viewed as a social leper by the bourgeois-hipster class, who feel that it is unnecessary for a person to wear the shirt, and thereby show support, of the band that he (or she) is going to see, as one’s presence at a concert should in and of itself be indicative of one’s devotion to said musical artist. As such, the social status of That Guy is seen as lowly, pathetic and desperate by other members of its social caste, as he or she is seen to be yearning hopelessly to impress both the members of the performing musical collective, as well as the rest of the audience.

This past weekend, however, the writer became privy to an even more bizarre sub-phenomenon within That Guy culture. En route to the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts, a festive social gathering of barley, hops, and drunkards, a small but noticeable crowd of Ya Dudes (see Chapter 7, “Ya Dudes”) were seen bounding up the stairs, wearing t-shirts that in fact showed their support of the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts over this past weekend. Again, it is typically assumed that one’s presence at such a festival denotes one’s support of said festival; however, these fuckers were exactly the kind of meat-heads that chase their Jager Bombs with testosterone and made the rest of my night fucking miserable by constantly grunting and chest-bumping, so all hope of talking sense to them was moot. One would presume that this aggressive display of That Guyity stems from a collective urge to differentiate the group’s identity from that of the aforementioned Ya Dude subculture by asserting an affection and respect for the craft of brewing that exceeds that with which Ya Dudes are typically associated but thereby inadvertently compartmentalizing themselves as members of the same subculture whose stereotypes they had originally wished to avoid. One would hypothesize that these individuals would have been better served by forgoing the none-too-subtly-camouflaged cargo shorts and product-supported phallic hairstyles, in obvious addition to the t-shirts they wore in support of the Craft Beer Festival that they were already attending.

Later that evening, the writer also attended a screening of the Joss Whedon film “Serenity,” (along with “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog”) wherein it was discovered in the attending demographic a proportional relationship between obesity/social awkwardness and That Guy as well (additionally, there is an even more bizarre That Guy derivative that stems from this culture, in which an individual finds it appropriate to wear an XXL [or larger] t-shirt, regardless of his or her actual weight, that declares his or her support for the musical entity known as “Metallica,” [and their offshoot, “Megadeth”] at all times).