Space Pirates Ltd.

Point your button noses toward the sky, my adorable kittens. Do you smell that? Frankensteins are leaving their retirement castles and walking among us, the Smashing Pumpkins are preparing for more lawsuits from angry stoop-owners, and candy corn is literally raining from the sky. Something spooky is churning the air around you into terrifying butter. For some, the idea of the Halloween season (henceforth referred to as the “Halloweason�) might sound like a fun-filled, candy-packed, monster-stuffed, fun-o-ramma. But with every season must come a displeasin’. And you and I well know, you can’t very well breathe terrifying butter.

The Halloweason began, as most things do, with a bunch of people in olden times dressed up like jerks. People would dance around a fire wearing Rocky Horror Picture Show outfits and shout “Boogey boogey boogey! Get down with the boogey!� This ritual began as an attempt to overthrow the corrupt Transylvanian government with a new Parliament that was at least thirty times more funkadelic than the last. What the Transylvanian jerks didn’t realize, however, was that their plan lacked not only structure, but common sense. They failed to realize that once George Clinton was conjured forth from their funky bonfire, he would not protect them; he would enslave them. Like moths to a moth box social, they were drawn into the funkadelic flames and enslaved forever under the tyrannical flaming dominion of the P-funk. Now, you might ask yourself, “Why in the holy doldrums would anyone make a holiday season out of that?� I could finish this update right now and tell you that the fiery minions of George Clinton’s Transylvanian zombie armada heavily enforce Halloween’s practices each and every year, and if we don’t like it, “Well, that’s just tough buttons,� says Clinton. But unfortunately for me, I already created three marvelous illustrative works of art for this update, and I don’t want them getting all cluttered together by lack of content. Besides, I just found an old Halloween Encyclopedia, and it turns out there’s more to the story anyway. Aren’t you just a bouquet of lucky bananas! (You are.)

Apparently, the Russian Archduke and rock n’ roll singer Franz Ferdinand actually created the concept for the first Halloween back in eighteen-ought-twelve, which in layman’s terms is Friday the 13th for your information, OK? He was sitting under a particularly spooky tree, when his rival and fellow historical figure Sir Isaac Newton dropped an apple on him exclaiming, “Appley nice to see you!� Ferdinand, after scoffing at Newton’s quick wit with the English language, suddenly realized that the bonk on his head gave him a vision. Quickly ripping off a piece of Newton’s skin, he sketched his revelation onto it. Ferdinand faced his nemesis in cackling triumph. “Behold!� he declared, “The Flux Capacitor!� Newton replied with a prolonged series of shrieks and cries of “Oh Jesus, you ripped off my skin! Jesus Christ I can’t believe you really ripped off my skin,� which Ferdinand interpreted using science as Newton-speak for, “That’s a lame name, jerk.� Ferdinand didn’t like Newton much, and he certainly didn’t like being called a jerk, but ever a gentleman and a man of science, he took Sir Isaac Newton’s response as healthy criticism. Determined to make something terrific out of his vision, Ferdinand worked night and day in his laboratory. It wasn’t long before he not only came up with the much improved name “Halloween,� but also reduced Newton’s lifeless cadaver to an arrangement of blood, bone and muscle nailed to his wall that roughly spelled out the phrase: “Who’s laughing now, you gorgeous bastard?� Incidentally, this cryptic sentence has become the delightful catchphrase that children now say door to door in hope of getting candied apples and other sweet treats shoved into their gaping maws.

 

But Ferdinand wasn’t the only young rapscallion responsible for Halloween as we know it today. Philosophers have detected hints of the holiday’s rise in all sorts of historical documents. In fact, some of Jesus of Nazareth’s final words were “I am thirsty – for some H-A-double L…eeehhhhhh…� which has only recently joined debate forums across the globe as maybe not a reference to the word “Hallelujah,� after all.

Dan Brown discovered an under-painting in one of Da Vinci’s works that clearly shows the Hobgoblin throwing a jack-o-lantern at the Pope. Of course, no one questions Da Vinci’s ability to see through time with his Knights Templar alien powers, but nevertheless the truth remains that the idea of Halloween and the Hobgoblin existed before time was time. Even Druid structures like Stone Henge and Stone Fence seem to spell out “Spoooooooky,� if you knock over a bunch of the stones and squint your eyes a lot. But no matter where you’re getting your Halloween mythos, (henceforth referred to as chewy spooky ding-dings) one factoid remains constant: this holiday brings with it a terrible curse.

Cry all you want, Mary Sue, but you have to face the truth sooner or later. You can’t poke pinholes in your roommate’s condoms without repercussions, and you certainly can’t celebrate this dastardly holiday without understanding the pros and cons. First and foremost, you must understand that within every cutesy pooh image there lies within a disgusting maniacal truth: take the face off of Shirley Temple, and you’re left with a cute little girl with a hideous shrieking skull for a face. The same rule applies to everything, as I’m sure you’ll understand once you’ve read the terrifying certainty I have to offer.

 

The candy is PEOPLE oh shit this update is over!

Ok, maybe not really. Instead of an update, you gonna get some content up in your internet. All up in there. Can you feel it?

Dave’s MS Paint Funfest of Fun and Funitude with a little Fun on the side

Because of various ties to celebrities and deities through our famous internet work here at Space Pirates Ltd., earlier in the week Dan and I were invited to attend a conference at the office of regular Space Pirates visitor Tom Cruise. We were told that it would be a highly detailed seminar involving lots of briefcases and powerpoint presentations, so we made sure to dress in the proper business attire in order to make a good impression with the various movie stars. We were somewhat surprised then, when we arrived at Tom Cruise’s mansion to learn that no one else had been invited. Still though, we here at Space Pirates Ltd. aren’t ones to pass up an opportunity for good business relations, and so agreed to have the meeting just with Tom Cruise himself. Before it began however, he insisted that he show us around his “kingdom” which included some of the following. (To clarfiy, Dan’s thoughts are bolded.)

- He insisted that we first stop by his Brontosaurus Pen to “feed the goddamn yanks.” We were led outside, where he supplied us with various illegal looking firearms, and told us to walk ahead of him, “just in case.” This lasted for several hours, finally ending when he commented, with a solemn look about his face, “I hope you have learned something here boys - this hurt me more than it hurt you.” He refused to say anything else and brought us back inside.

- Upon entrance into his mansion that can be only described as “crazytabulous,” his butler handed us blindfolds and commanded we used them. Lacking the ability to see, we could only hear Cruise scream “we will now play the Naked Police Man Game.” After 45 minutes of standing in place with black cloths over our peepers, we reluctantly untied our masks to see what was happening. Mr. Cruise was sitting in his “library” (quotation marks included because the room did in fact look like a library, smelled like a library and was an appropriate library size, it had no books in it) watching an extremely small television that his butler was holding in front of him.

- He offered us both drinks, which we reluctantly agreed to accept. With an air of what can only be described as caution mixed with fear, he pointed towards his kitchen and uttered “what doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger.” We began to point out that this made absolutely no contextual sense, but every time we tried to talk, he cut us off, yelping the phrase “RATTLESNAKE DICK” over and over. Seeing no other choice we entered the kitchen, which looked perfectly normal. We became confused however, when we opened the refrigerator and found nothing but hundreds and hundreds of mousetraps, all perfectly lined up in parallel rows. We searched his cupboards, only to find more of them, set up in elaborate patterns. We returned to the living room to point out what we found, but before we could explain he grinned at us mischievously, as if we were the butt of an elaborate prank, and let out an uproarious laughter which lasted a good 25 minutes.

- At one point - unfortunately - I had to use the bathroom. “Uh… Tom… could you tell me where the bath room is?” Briefly, his expression changed to that of a confused puppy. “Ohhh….. the BATH room. He he…” he replied. “Yeah. I have to pee.” As he winked to confirm indefinitely, the floor opened out from under me, leaving my body to plummet into an abyss filled with swirling colors and terrifying screams. I called out to the nothingness that flew by at the speed of gravity, hoping there would be a pleasant resolution to my death plunge. Then, just as soon as my free-falling joyride of inevitable splatitude had started it ended with a surprise. There I lay next to Tom in a room of fluffy white pillows. As a result of my previous state, I had relieved myself, just not in the traditional manner. Tom only uttered: “that’ll cost you a pretty penny, don’t you think?”

- After a few hours Mr. Cruise asked us if we wanted to watch a football game that was on TV. We replied that we would love to, being avid sports fans as well as hoping for a chance to sit down for a while. He led us into a room with pictures of clouds in the shape of barn animals - oil paintings, pastels, even photographs - covering all four walls, the ceiling, and nailed to the floor. With a whimsical smirk, he handed us each a pair of headphones, smiling eagerly as if he was about to perform an amazing magic trick. We put them on, only to hear the first four seconds of the title song to “Bewitched” looped over and over again. Too scared to do anything, we stood that way for well over an hour, our occasional glances towards each other resulting in Mr. Cruise throwing petty pocket change at us followed by a knowing wink. Eventually he removed our headphones and gave us each a high five, proclaiming loudly, “Long live the confederacy!”

- Growing tired of Tom’s antics, we decided it was time to return home. The following is an excerpt of the conversation of what we hoped would lead to our escape from this house:
“So, Tom I think we oughta get going, don’t you think, Ethan?” Ethan nodded violently. “Who’s Tom?” replied Cruise. We both started to edge our way towards the front door. “Who is Tom?” he repeated. “Who Tom Tom?” He vomited. We ran. “Fuck you guys, I will fuck you guys, you’re all fucks! Where’s the beat? How can I sing if I can’t find the beat? I need the beat! I need it!” This rant eventually trailed off into a deep sob that has a conclusion we will never know. We got out of there lickety split.