Sometimes you start to write a post, and then it ends up going someplace exciting and unexpected! I’ll be back tomorrow with it after some more research. For now, I offer:
Everyone has bad days. We lose our car keys, we get a papercut, and sometimes we find ourselves in internet chatrooms answering inappropriate questions from congressmen. These days are far from strange, since unfortunate events invariably smuggle themselves into everyone’s life at some point; there’s no way to escape all the vast sea of unpleasantness in human affairs. Of course, some of us have luck so terrible, so abjectly horrible that we suffer in disbelief that circumstance alone could bring about our unique and unlikely fates — and so we start to believe that it’s more than natural, that someone or something is working with the tools of the supernatural to express their ill wrath towards us. We believe that we are… cursed!
But not all curses are made equal. Some curses are light affairs, meant only to bother and annoy us in retaliation for a small offense. Other curses are so wickedly fiendish and evil that they become more than annoyances — they become great, foul strains of malice that inspire spine-tingling awe and fear. For instance, Carrot Top’s parents hated the world.
I have here for you today a list I made of my very favorite curses of all time, in no particular order.
1. The Curse of the Werewolf, werewolf flicks
Most children end up involved in the eternal debate: which would you rather be, a vampire or a werewolf? Unlike everyone else I knew, I went the way of Lon Chaney, Jr. What’s so bad about being a werewolf, really? Sure, vampires can hypnotize people and they get to wear silky capes and gaudy medallions, but I’m already charming and I can visit the West Village whenever I want. Vampires also need to kill nightly for food, and can’t have garlic. As a werewolf, though, I don’t even need to kill; I can just have someone lock me up once or twice a month. I get immortality and nigh-invulnerability at the price of, what? — having to use plastic forks instead of silverware? Sign me up, vengeful gypsy lady!
Plus, I get to keep my nards.
2. Dracula’s Curse, Castlevania 2: Simon’s Quest
Honestly, although I’ve played Castlevania 2 from start to finish at least five times in my life, both on an actual Nintendo and as a emulated rom, I still have no idea what Simon Belmont’s curse was. I know that it was something that Dracula did to him, and I know that Simon had to wander around the countryside stealing (or, thanks to Konami’s A-list translators, “prossessing”) the vampire’s body parts, but I have no idea what particular effect it was supposed to have on our hero. Seeing as how I spent hours jumping about killing ghouls with my chain whip, it didn’t seem to slow me down any. I guess that it was just a shitty curse. Regardless, it’s one of my favorite hexes for one reason alone. Every time the sun went down in the game, we got this nugget of truth:
Later on, it says: “Know what’s another bad night to have a curse? May 3rd. Seriously now. During sweeps.”
3. The Curse of the Tiki Idol, ‘The Brady Bunch.’
Kids, this is why you don’t steal Tabu idols from ancient Hawaiian burial caves: you just might end up suffering some unfortunate mishap, like falling into the ocean and then surviving. I know, pretty scary, huh? Sometimes my mom used to tell me this story at night to make sure that I didn’t wander off into our own Hawaiian burial caves without adult supervision. Let me tell you, it sure worked, and I have not fallen into the gentle waves of the ocean since.
4. The Curse of the Pharoahs, the Mummy movies
As legend has it, all those who disturbed the final resting place of King Tutankhamun were to die frightening, unnatural deaths as penance for upsetting the sacred tomb. Later on, many of those archaeologists died of curse-like ailments such as old age. But this isn’t quite the curse that I’m talking about; I’m talking about the Curse of the Pharaohs in the recent Brendan Fraser Mummy movies, which somehow gave director Stephen Sommers the Hollywood clout to go on and rape each and every one of my favorite childhood memories in Van Helsing. In a perfect world, the corpses of Abbott and Costello would reanimate themselves just long enough eat the flesh off of his career.
5. The Curse of Adam Sandler, every Adam Sandler movie I have ever seen with the lone exception of The Wedding Singer
Yeah, the curse is that his movies fucking suck. Yeah, you heard me! I went there!
This morning, as my cloaked form swiftly darted between the shadows of Manhattan’s towers, I was suddenly stopped in my tracks; I had accidentally made eye contact with that most nefarious fellow, my nameless arch-enemy. Even after a year since our last encounter, his fiery glare betrayed his still-burning hatred for me.
It might surprise some of you that I actually have an arch-enemy. Others among you are probably wondering where to get in line to express your own burning hatred of me. If you’re one of those people, be assured I’ll get around to each and every one of you in due time. But the fact remains: I came into contact with HIM this morning. HIM works at Dunkin Donuts near where I work, and he is the only food industry employee I’ve ever gotten into a heated argument with. You see, he gave me a latte.
A latte.
But I didn’t order a latte. I ordered a large coffee. The same thing that I ordered from HIM every single weekday at the same time every single day for nearly eleven months. But, he argued in his oddly venomous voice, he very clearly heard me ask for a latte. We were fortunate that none of the witnesses to our tremendous clash called the police. And so, on that fateful morning when our special coffeemaker/consumer bond was bitterly snapped in two, we knew we would be forever locked together in hate and loathing. Although I was a loyal and dedicated Dunkin Donuts man, I walked out and never looked back — until our eyes met this morning, and he issued a defiant stare, as if to say, “Come in and order your pathetic coffee — and see what you receive!”
So, tempting fate, I pushed aside the heavy glass door and made my way down the narrow, Arabica-scented corridor. He smiled that I had accepted his challenge, baring his fanged and crooked teeth. I looked HIM dead in the eye, and said, “I’ll have a–” and then before he could react I quickly turned to his attentive coworker and finished with, “– large regular coffee, milk and sugar, please.” I smiled charmingly at the woman, who fastidiously gave me exactly what I ordered.
As I turned and left, my dark cloak swirling around me and fanning the smell of the fresh-roasted beans in my large coffee, I noticed him crushing the special latte cup he had been secretly concealing behind the counter. I smiled and sent forth a mirthless laughter that neither he, nor the other customers (especially the one with the baby), will ever forget.
Ah, the bitter scent of revenge.
Well, it’s finally here: 6/6/06.
In hindsight, it’s actually a lot less interesting than June 6th of the year six, which would have actually been 6/6/6 (and therefore scarier), except for the fact that Revelations hadn’t been written yet so my panic and hysteria would have been met with the same reaction as the guy on the subway that acts like EVERY day is 6/6/6. Which is to say that people would have given me spare change to go away. Or dubloons, or whatever they had back then.
While many people really aren’t taking today too seriously in terms of the return of the Anti-Christ or anything, the fringe members of the internet community are acting like this is their birthdays and Christmas combined. I can barely imagine the semi-contained glee that an apocalyptic date like this conjures in their warped and gullible brains, only that I’m guessing today is to them what Sky Captain‘s release day was to me. And the tagline for Sky Captain was: “The World Will Tremble.” Coincidence? UNLIKELY.
Regardless of the hysteria, I’d like to take the opportunity to remind the blog-reading public that the oldest-known copy of the New Testament devalued the 666 all the way down to 616, so all these years the death-metal community has been off by fifty. Probably off by a little more than that, if you ask me. For some reason, the conspiracy theorists and Hot Topic employees of the world have thus far refused to embrace the new digits, which many believe to be Satan’s original area code. In Crazyland, where he’s real.
This means our worst fear has come true: the apocalypse came on June 1st, and no one noticed. Except that guy on the subway.
I have discovered what is clearly the most ingenius videogame of all time, one which totally bypassed my childhood by appearing solely on a system that I totally ignored growing up. It’s — dare I say? — brilliant. Whereas most videogames are meant to provide you with thrilling fun and adventure, this one was apparently designed to make you feel bad about yourself.
From the 1Up article about the Phillips CDi system:
Continuing the CD-i’s brilliant tradition of games that encourage the player with mean-spirited insults, Mystic Midway: Phantom Express prides itself as a “nightmare simulator.” The game is a first-person roller-coaster ride (literally) that travels through bad dreams, and the player is charged with the task of shooting down visual representations of trauma experienced during the various stages of one’s life.
This makes for a really depressing experience. In fact, Phantom Express is one of the few videogames that leaves you questioning your worth as a human being. It’s the soundtrack that does it, really. Take the first stage, which has you shooting childhood fears like safety pins and leaky diapers. Throughout the entire level, you’ll hear babies crying, the off-key singing of nursery songs, and a woman yelling things like, “I never wanted children! YOU were the one who wanted children!” This continues on for many stages, culminating with the “old-age” level, which ends with your family telling you they don’t love you, and that they can’t wait for you to die. What a fun game!
It reminds me of when I was a kid playing Mario Kart in my room while my family and friends cheered me on. Except I didn’t have Mario Kart and the factory manager kept whipping me with a rusty chain and telling me I was the worst slave he’s ever had so I better get back to making those Nikes if I wanted my gruel.
I guess the moral of this story is that no matter how badly you want to shoot the problems and traumas of your life, they’re really intangible ghosts that cannot be exorcised unless you buy a Nintendo like everyone else.