Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Star Trek Re-watch: “Turnabout Intruder”

It’s Thursday, and that means Dayton Ward and I have finally reached the end of Star Trek‘s wildly uneven third season in our weekly column, Star Trek Re-watch. And not a moment too soon. In fact, approximately fifty minutes and forty seconds too late.

What can I say about Turnabout Intruder that hasn’t already been muttered by its producers between strings of slurred, drunken curses of shameful regret? Plenty, as you’ll see when you click through and read my scathing analysis, which follows Dayton’s hilarious recap.

So, now that we’ve reached the third season’s final episode, that must mean we’re done, right? Not quite.

Next week we’ll bring you our wrap-up column, in which we compare our thoughts about the third season from atrocious start to embarrassing finish and all points in between. And the week after that, we’ll sign off with a special bonus Re-watch of the original series pilot, The Cage.”

After that… who knows? When we find out what’s next, we’ll let you know, but I hear rumors that Dayton and I might be busy writing books or something….

Star Trek Re-watch: “All Our Yesterdays”

It’s a bigger-than-usual Thursday over at They’ve tweaked their site design in a way that lets it still feel familiar but has a cleaner, sleeker look and feel. And, as an afterthought, they’ve published the latest Star Trek Re-watch column by yours truly and Dayton Ward.

The episode du semaine? “All Our Yesterdays.”

We’ve had to sit through some painful hours of television while rewatching the third season of the original series, but this is our late reward, and we savor it like a fine wine … because next week we have to watch “Turnabout Intruder.” You have been warned.

As always, please leave all comments on the article, so that our corporate masters over there won’t consider the months they’ve spent paying us to write these things as a total waste of time and money.

Star Trek Re-watch: “The Savage Curtain”

Welcome to another Thursday and another installment of the feature Star Trek Re-watch with analysis by yours truly and a recap by the inestimable Dayton Ward. This week we pull back The Savage Curtain to find the man standing behind it is… Abraham Lincoln?

Yeah, it’s gonna be one of those episodes. Pay no attention to the dead president behind the curtain. Instead be amazed that the reason Klingons call Kahless “the Unforgettable” is that he’s the Rich Little of Qo’noS, with his uncannily spot-on voice impressions. Ooo, he does Surak! Ooo, now he does Lincoln! Excuse me, Mister Kahless? Can you do John Wayne?

Only two more third-season episodes to go after this, and then we’ll bring you a season three wrap-up and a special bonus re-watch of the original Star Trek pilot, The Cage.”

As always, leave all comments on the Tor article, as it will sustain the illusion that what Dayton and I have been doing over there is in any way meaningful or worthwhile.

We’ll see y’all again next week when we present our skewering of All Our Yesterdays.”

Egads, another Star Trek Re-watch

The turning of the page brings us once more to Thursday, and that means another foray into Star Trek‘s pulpy past on‘s weekly feature, Star Trek Re-watch. This week, Dayton Ward and I risk madness (and alcohol poisoning) to bring you our recap and analysis of The Way to Eden.”

Space hippies, hamfisted Biblical allegories, annoying catch-phrases, implausible plot twists — yeah, this ep’s got it all, Herbert. Yay, brother, we reach—for the remote, to change the channel.

Come back next week as we get high…in the air…with The Cloud Minders.”

Star Trek Re-watch: “Requiem for Methuselah”

Look at that—Thursday again. Brace yourselves, because is bringing you another installment of Star Trek Re-watch by Dayton Ward and yours truly. This week, Dayton provides critical analysis and I cough up a snark-tastic recap for the third-season episode Requiem for Methuselah.”

This is actually one of the better entries in Star Trek‘s much-maligned third season. Savor it now, because next week we have to show you The Way to Eden.” For those of you already feeling ill at that prospect, emesis bags can be found in the pocket on the backs of the chairs in front of you.

If you require assistance, don’t come crying to us, because at least we warned you—which is more than Star Trek‘s viewers on February 21, 1969, were able to say.

More Mendacious Misadventures

The march of the memes continues on Facebook. Two of my closest friends, Glenn Hauman and his lovely wife, Brandy, posted the invitation for fraudulent first-encounter tales in their status updates, and these are the flights of fancy I fabricated for them.


You had just stepped off the stage at Pedro’s Bijou after receiving a standing ovation for your matinee performance, and I stopped you so I could shake your hand. “That was amazing,” I said.

“Well, thank you. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare Pepsi, would you?” I fished an ice-cold can from the mini cooler under my seat and handed it to you. As you popped the tab, you sighed. “Gracias.”

In awe, I watched you guzzle the entire can in one pour, and then you ate the can. “So, you’re a method actor.”

You nodded as you finished chewing. “Yup.”

“Well, I have to admit, that was amazing. Until tonight, I’d never have believed a man could take the place of a donkey in one of these shows.”

Shrugging with feigned modesty, you replied, “Well, I’ve been his understudy for years. I just had to wait for him to get sick.”

“With what?”


My brow furrowed with confusion. “Whose mouth?”

“Carmelita’s.  She bit down and refused to let go.”

You started to leave, so I followed you out into the teeming, sewage-stinking streets of Tijuana. “Where you headed?”

“Terceira Axila. An after-hours club on Via Barranca. All-you-can-drink two-dollar pitchers of Chango.”

“Isn’t Chango just bottled piss?”

“Yeah, but it’s all you can drink for two bucks.”

I nodded. “When you say it like that, I guess it is a bargain.” A stray thought skittered through my consciousness. “Do they have a show?”

“Best in Tijuana. If you like orangutans, that is.” You glanced my way. “But we’d better get you a poncho. I’ve got front-row seats, and it gets messy.”

And with those words, I had a new best friend.


I knocked on your door and stood on your back porch, shivering like a monkey fresh from the sea.

It seemed an eternity before you opened the door. I admired your mint-condition, vintage 1950s French Navy frogman wetsuit, accessorized with a strap-on rubber phallus. From behind your SCUBA re-breather, you mumbled, “Yebth?”

Lifting my hands, I showed you the police handcuffs that bound my wrists. “Can I borrow a hacksaw?”

You plucked the re-breather from your pouty lips. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet. I’m Dave.”


“I’d shake your hand, but…” The cuffs’ chain jangled as I waved my hands.

“Hang on.” You turned away, the flippers on your feet slapping your kitchen floor. “Glenn!” Over your shoulder you added, “My husband should be able to help you with those.”

“Thanks.” An awkward moment stretched out between us while we waited for your Brobdingnagian lummox of a spouse to extricate himself from the upstairs toilet. I offered up a nervous wrinkle of a smile. “What’s with the, um…”

“It’s a sex thing.”

“I figured.”

You pointed to your living room, wherein I caught a glimpse of a children’s wading pool overflowing with $240 worth of pudding and flanked by some Klieg lights and a video camera on a tripod. “Care to come in?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” I followed you inside and shut the door behind me.

You shot a suggestive leer my way. “Mind leaving the cuffs on a bit longer?”

“I don’t see why not.”

An approving nod. “Like pudding?”

“Does Michael Jackson like little boys?”

“I don’t suppose you know how to run a video camera.”

It was a stroke of amazing good fortune. “Are you kidding? I have a degree from NYU Film School.”

“Dave,” you said, wading into the pudding, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship…”

Someone please turn off “The Lights of Zetar”

In what is rapidly becoming a hybrid of an endurance test and a form of self-abuse, Dayton Ward and I bring you another installment of the Star Trek Re-watch on This week Dayton handles the play-by-play recap and I break out the long knives of critical analysis for the third-season episode The Lights of Zetar.”

If psychedelic light shows without music, static “action” sequences, and nonsensical solutions are what you crave, you can call off the dogs—we’ve found all that and less in this week’s 50-minute soporific from Desilu Productions.

The fine print: leave your comments, praise, and insults on the article, as no one is likely to ever see them here. Then join us again next week as we review the tale of a man who has lived for centuries, adopting many different identites while looking out for humanity. Sadly, we’re not reviewing Highlander but Requiem for Methusaleh,” and hoping it doesn’t make us grab swords and cut off our own heads in fits of depression.

Hasta la pasta, kids.