"Don't call it a comeback" (is a line in an LL Cool J song)

Hi, my name is KP, and I am an unreliable blogger.  I know it.  You know it.  Former GOP presidential hopeful Rick Santorum knows it.  A few months ago, after another unannounced hiatus, I vowed not to let it happen again.  I promised an uninterrupted stream of observational humor, biting commentary, and intellectual masturbation.

I lied.

To make matters worse, I even knew I was lying on some level.  So it was a crackhead promise.  I didn't have many fully-formed ideas on deck.  More than that, I did not have the pure indignant bile to keep spewing witty criticism and linguistically-acrobatic dick jokes like Eminem if he hadn't dropped out of high school (and thus became cooler and more successful than God).  That's right, I am comparing myself to His Shadiness.  And this is my Recovery, my comeback, my return to the game.

Back in the hizzay, or whatever cool kids say now.

Do you know what I found out when I finally logged onto my account for the first time in a month?  I still had readers, inexplicably.  Despite not posting a single word in 30 days, over 350 people had stopped to check in.  Or one really desperate netizen visited roughly 12 times per day.  Either way, it is flattering.  I guess some people can't get enough of my brainal leakage.  Thank you, whoever you are, and I apologize for my relapse (let the Eminem references be unbounded).

So, what am I offering in penance for my sin of sloth?  How about . . .

A brief treatise on awesome things.

Bet you didn't see that coming, did you, fuckers?  I am not going to criticize (much).  I am not going to scoff (excessively).  I am not going to nitpick (more than necessary for the sake of journalistic objectivity).  No, this little monograph is going to be positive, reflecting my new view of the world.  Hardened?  Yes.  Self-aware?  Of course.  Unapologetic?  Always.  But scathingly pessimistic?  Not until something new pisses me off royally.  Let's see how it goes.

For starters, there's this:

Electrified brass knuckles.  Just say it out loud.  Electrified.  Brass.  Knuckles.  Granted, they appear to be made from some non-conductive poly-carbon fiber, but that just makes them even more space-age and badass.  Your enemies will metaphorically shit themselves when they see you slip on these instruments of pain, then literally shit themselves as they receive the brunt of 95,000 volts special-delivered by your right hook.  Naturally, you will have to christen your newly-empowered fists with suitable epithets like the Right Hand of Doom or the Nemean Cestus (just skip to the 3:00 mark to see it in action).

Like good ol' deicide-happy God of War Kratos there, you will soon be dealing out justice with your glowing blue five-finger Mary.  Whether or not your enemies will explode violently remains to be seen.  What mad genius suckled on the lore of Marvel and DC came up with the stun-knux I don't know, but odds are he read this issue of Batman:

*Insert your own obligatory homoerotic joke here.*

I don't have a bastard clue what's going on in these panels, but, yeah, suffice it to say, this device was born in the fictional mean streets of Gotham City, so it will probably serve you well.  Knuckle up and happy fisticuffs!

Then there is spider-silk body armor.  No, that is not just some slick nickname thought up by savvy marketers, it is a literal description of the next generation in protective gear.  Scientists - presumably the kind you see in movies, as opposed to the boring, AIDS-researching kind - have long known that the humble spider's webbing is, milligram for infinitesimal milligram, insanely strong, while being brain-fuckingly lightweight and flexible.  Yes, I just coined that term.  You're welcome.  How strong is it?  Well, the average spider dragline has ten times the durability of Kevlar.  You know, the petroleum-based product used to make bullet-proof vests and military-grade body armor.  The trouble was convincing our arachnid friends to weave us suits of sticky invulnerability.

C'mon, guys, you totally owe us one.  Let's just forget that whole Raid thing.

Cue the silkworm, a less-badass and sexy member of the arthropoda phylum (that's a word of the day, noobs).  Before you dismiss this lowly creature, recall that it metamorphoses into the silkmoth.  You know who's a silkmoth?  Fucking Mothra, the only Japanese daikaiju monster to take down Godzilla, that's who.  Once the geneticists (those lab-coated types from Jurassic Park) had finished dicking around with tomato plants, bacteria, and even goats, it occurred to them to try splicing the silk-producing genes of spiders into the DNA of organisms that already spin silk.  It should come as little surprise that, when you give our allies the silkworms a little injection of orb-weaver DNA, you get the kind of mass-produced, kickass fiber needed to create complete suits of supple, nigh-indestructible armor.  Now, it's worth noting that this is probably still a few years off as scientists work out the details and make it cost-efficient, but once they do, the streets are ours.  Don't believe me?  Read the official, cut-and-dry nerdy article that erroneously attributes a super-suit to Spider-Man (really, and you guys are supposed to be geeks?) here.

Finally, does anyone remember a little trilogy of 80s films called collectively Back to the Future?  It is now almost 30 years old, which kind of makes me want to cry, but I am betting a few of you retro kids are aware of its existence.  Part 2 takes place largely in the ultra-distant year of 2015 when unforeseeable leaps in technology, like wearing two neckties at once, have become commonplace and the Japanese make all the coolest shit.  Well, we are now ahead of schedule on that revolution, because Honda recently announced they have built a flying car.

Would you expect it to look any other way?

For you laypeople out there, that means a car that moves through the air instead of on the ground.  Hailing from an advanced design studio in Pasadena, California, and probably the result of reverse-engineered alien hardware, this concept vehicle "utilizes turbo vacuums and external air-flow to regenerate tank pressure for extended range and increased boost for an estimated 100 miles." To be honest, I have no idea what most of that means, but does it not sound like the specs for a goddamn pod-racer?  Further details about this piece of awesome are surprisingly scarce, even on the interwebs, but I take it on faith that this car is sweeter than two 1985 Trans Ams, with phoenixes emblazoned on the hoods.  Future-scientists have been quoted as saying, scientifically, this shit is bananas.  My logical side tells me there is no way a benevolent universe would allow the rubbernecking, tailgating, sexting, lane-ignorant public access to an aerial version of Speed Racer's Mach 5, but that voice of reason is being drowned out by the adolescent shrieks of selfish wish-fulfillment. At only 800 pounds, the vehicle is most likely not very durable . . . until we lace its chassis shell with ultralight spider-silk, that is.

So, if you haven't figured it out yet, I saw The Avengers this week, meaning thoughts of superheroism are running through my fevered mind.  And, like every other geek on the Internet, I had to find a way to talk about it.  Combine the above Stark Industries/Wayne Enterprises technologies with a six-week course at the local taekwondo dojo/dry-cleaner's/fusion curry house, and you've got a recipe for sweet vigilante justice.

And whoever said the world doesn't need more heroes never tasted sweet justice.

Just add an angst-ridden backstory, preferably with tragic family deaths, to forge your hero identity.  Because, let's be realistic, it is only a matter of time before these advancements fall into the wrong hands and the world is facing a self-styled Dr. Doom.  Or at least Super Mugger and the Indestructible Douchebag.  Who will you turn to then, America?  The world will cry out "Save us!" and I'll whisper, "Hell, yes."

Really, what could go wrong?

KP, out.