God-dammit, OR, The Bone-Headed Media, Part 2

July 15, 2008

Dearest Mr. Sawbones,

Mr. Burton would like to thank you for your interest in his work. Tim takes his connections with the darkened people amongst our younger citizens very seriously. After all, it can be a big, confusing world where our kind is easily or intentionally misunderstood. Just look at how much sunlight there is on any given day, and consider our easily our porcelain skin would scorch beneath its loathsome rays. Unfortunately, it seems only we chosen few shall understand the true dark and dangerous whimsy of this earth during our short time here.

Enclosed please find one (1) ten dollar gift certificate to your local Hot Topic store and one (1) limited edition print of Tim's character design for Ringo Grover, the main character of Mr. Burton's upcoming animated feature film Rock and Roll Them Bones. Knowing how much his fans enjoyed Johnny Depp's amazingly powerful singing voice in his adaptation of Sweeney Todd, Tim has again cast his friend in the role of Ringo Grover, a down-on-his-luck skeleton with dreams of becoming a rock star. Rock and Roll Them Bones, in theaters this Halloween! Featuring guest artists Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, and Prussian Blue!

With Most Sincere Regards,
Mrs. Judith Mason
Secretary of Mr. Burton


GOD-DAMMIT. WHAT THE HELL. A FORM LETTER? ALL I GET IS A FORM LETTER? And get a load of this:



Has that jackass ever even SEEN a Calc? This looks like a God-damned gray alien that fell into its sister's makeup kit.

God-dammit.

Stupid dream.

I had a dream about the mess in Boulder last night. It was exactly the way it was seven years ago: I was a bright-eyed young Adventurer, the ink not even dry on my degree, and I was giving my first-year thesis presentation to a PACKED auditorium. Like in real life, I was giving a revised theory of the Olstermann Hypothesis (for those of you not of the Life, the theory that instead of our bodies being supported by "skeletons" that become Calcs on death, our muscles and organs etc are in fact supported and protected by a BONE-LIKE structure of hyper-condensed meat). Since this was a dream I'd come up with some startling new conclusion that made sense at the time, but I can't recall for the life of me what it was.

Anyway, everything is going along just as it should. It's like when I take the dirtbike over a hill and soar through the air, time just seems to slow down and my moment of glory will last forever. Or whatever.

And then, just as I start in on my synthesis of Aquinas and Olstermann, it starts.

TOE BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- FOOT BONE
FOOT BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- SHIN BONE
SHIN BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- KNEE BONE

Soft at first, and I think someone's pranking me. Maybe it's Matthews or Thompson... but no. It gets LOUDER. I realize it's coming from EVERYWHERE, a chorus of people standing up from their seats, singing in unison.

Young people, my age or not much older. Everyone is just dead silent, watching as these jerkoffs march out to the center aisle and proceed to dance toward the stage. There's about two-dozen of them in all. Are they CRAZY? Who would be ballsy enough to make a mockery of the National Adventurers' Conference?

KNEE BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- THIGH BONE
THIGH BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- HIP BONE
HIP BONE CONNECTED TO THE -- BACK BONE

They march right up onto the stage and start ripping off their clothes. (It's not what you think, trust me.) Underneath their regular clothes they've got some kind of black Lycra or Spandex painted with Calc-pieces, as if they were a PART of their OWN BODIES. It's disgusting. Even remembering it makes me feel like I'm gonna spew a bit. Hell, I'm surprised I didn't upchuck right there on the stage back in 2001. I know there are even some Calc hunters raised Protestant that would've lost their lunch at this grotesque... well, whatever it was. The jerks keep singing:

DEM BONES DEM BONES DEM DRYYYYY BONES
NOW THERE'S THE WORKING OF THE LORD

And as I'm standing there, dumbfounded, one of them steps forward and GRABS my MIC like I wasn't just giving a presentation. He starts rambling on and on about civil rights and the decomposition of flesh and some crap like that. I realize what this is. A God-damned DEMONSTRATION. Here, of all places, and DURING MY THESIS.

Even now I can still see him, burned into my mind like he was seven years ago. Short, shorter than most. Thinning brown hair. Stubble. Wire-rimmed glasses. Southern accent. Southern accent? Ha! A damned DRAWL is what it is.

Calaveras, he says his name is. Calaveras.

And in the dream, just like on the stage seven years ago, I can't hold it in anymore. I take a running jump at him, make contact with his lower chest, and we both go flying off into the aisle. I'm punching the everloving crap out of this guy, showing him what's what, and I know if I had The Bat with me then Calaveras wouldn't be the thorn in my side he is today.

But this was a dream so of course Calaveras basically folded in my hands like wet construction paper. Then I got hungry and went looking for a sandwich, but a bridge was in the way so I jumped over it. Don't remember any more.

Yeah, it got stupid there at the end but for a good while it was pretty vivid. I wish I could remember what sort of discovery I'd made in my dream, maybe it was something that would get Calaveras off my case once and for all.

The Bone-Headed Media, Part 1

So I realized I've come pretty close to slipping away from this blog AGAIN. I decided the best way to keep my interest up until I get into the habit of writing so often is to discuss issues I have strong feelings about (That is, things that piss me off). One of these things is the Calcs and their portrayal by what we that live the Life like to call the "bone-headed" media. I have a whole notebook of this stuff, more than would make an entry, and my pals have got some of their own gripes that I'll write about if I ever feel low on creative juice. For now I'm going to focus on one thing per entry, so consider this part one of whatever.

I've talked about Hollywood and Calcs before, but only in passing. The most obvious and flagrant Calc-sympathizing, however, comes from a rather unfortunately and incomprehensibly POPULAR director, Tim Burton. Rather than spell everything out a second time, here's a copy of a letter I sent to him last week:

Tim Burton
c/o Mike Simpson, William Morris Agency
One William Morris Plaza
Beverly Hills, CA 90212

May 13, 2008

Dear Mr. Burton:

My name is Jonesy Sawbones. It has come to my attention as a lawful citizen of this country with the interests of future generations in mind that your films promote the most VILE possible variety of subversive behavior in today’s youth. I refer, of course, to your obvious sympathetic stance on the matter of Calcoids or, as I’m sure you prefer to refer to them, “Skele-Americans” or “the flesh impaired.”

I call them Calcs, Mr. Burton, because I like to call things what they ACTUALLY ARE. I am a professional, licensed Adventurer with an emphasis on Calcoid Studies (BA from Notre Dame, class of ’00). I know my area, Mr. Burton, and I know it damn well. I know that your portrayal of no-meats is erroneous and dangerous. I will admit that your films display a capacity of imagination that is admirable, but the ends to which you turn your imagination must have value as well. Children in particular are taken with your pictures, seeing as how you have a gift for fantastic worlds that would appeal to them. But you poison their minds, Mr. Burton, by telling an entire generation of children that boneys are not dangerous. They grow up thinking that Calcs are “cool” or “rad.” They buy clothes patterned with Calcoid faces from Hot Topic -- merchandise based EXPLICITLY on your films.

I know the truth. I know that a no-meat would just as soon congratulate them for wearing a “Corpse Bride” t-shirt than it would slaughter their family and ransack their gold reserves.

Your film The Nightmare Before Christmas is a pretty outrageous piece of calc propaganda. The HERO (if I can even call it that) is himself a hideous stickpile of a no-meat with designs to conquer the cherished holiday of Christmas. I will point out that this has never been attempted by any Calc in history, and probably wouldn’t be unless it is revealed that Santa Claus had a considerable cache of gold-pieces or, perhaps, a unique flail. I also take issue with your portrayal of a singing Calc. While not unheard of, this is fantastically rare (the last documented case of a so-called “musicalc” was the discovery of one in a Thule Society bunker by Allied Forces in Germany in 1946). Your films are merely a perpetuation of a particular stereotype of Calcs, one that portrays them as nonthreatening and entertaining. But what will you do, Mr. Burton, when the ascendant generation finds itself so integrated with boney “culture” that they do not even put up a fight when the rattling masses click and clack their way into our cities, absconding with our gold, women, and rare items?

When that happens, Mr. Burton, you’ll need people like me to set things straight.

Sincerely,

Jonesy Sawbones

Adventurer

I'll let him mull that over for a while, let him reflect a little. If I get a response I'll let you guys know.

I know who you are

That stupid son of a bitch went too far this time.

I was leaping down the stairs after I got a call from the DA who said he had Calcs in his closet, and the rest of his house.  I had The Bat strapped to my back, I hopped on my dirtbike and I was ready to go. Then I noticed my tires were flat.  Slashed, actually.  And the engine had a spray-painted Calc face on it.

Only one asshole would pull this kind of shit and it's not a fucking Calc.   Calaveras. That Calc-loving son of a bitch would do anything to slow me down.  He's all about getting the Calcs full rights and putting restrictions on killing those assholes.  Like we're gonna run out of Calcs. I swear that asshole is like one step ahead of me.  He's probably a Half-Calc, like that bitch from "Psycho."

And yeah, I just wheeled the bike to the service station, grinding the rims. It was too heavy to carry.