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4 Things John Connor Should Know By Now

-By Adel

I enjoy the Terminator franchise.  Alright, “Rise of the Machines” left a bad taste in my mouth, but I could stand it.  Many a person via comments section, blog, or pointless water cooler discussion wax philosophical about the Terminator Universe.  How many possible timelines are there?  What was the Catherine Weaver T-1000 planning?  If Kyle Reese dies after Judgement Day would it really matter?  Would John Connor cease to exist or would that timeline just play out?  I don’t care a bloody bit about any of these questions.  I just want to know why the bloody hell John Connor insists on making the same shit mistakes.  Isn’t he paying attention?

It’s like his first time dealing with a mass murdering machine of death.

I am not really complaining about the versions of John Connor in the first three movies or in the television series.  Those incarnations seem to have their collective shit together.  Well, the John Connor of T3 was a whiny little bitch.  I would embrace genocide if he were the only hope for mankind.

Yes, you. Stop your bloody bitching and get on with the whole saving humanity thing.

The worse offender is the John Connor of “Terminator Salvation.” WaitStop right there.  Don’t complain that I’m late to the party with this one.  Yes, the film came out an eon ago.  It’s been playing non-stop on the premium channels.  So keep your smart ass comments about my timeliness to yourselves.

Seeing it so many times got me to thinking that this John Connor is not a man groomed his entire life to lead the human resistance against the holocaust-happy machines.  This bloke has seen, fought, and been pursued by these rampaging killbots before.  So why the screaming fuck does he act like this is his first rodeo?  Things like:

1.  Shooting the terminators with small arms

If one thing has been hammered into our heads repeatedly, it’s that the terminators don’t sweat small arms fire.  Shotgun blasts?  Sure, it will damage their pretty faces, but it won’t really phase them.  What about rifles or machine guns?  It depends on the calibre.  It’s painfully obvious that your basic beer can shooting rifle isn’t going to do a damn thing but piss the metal harbinger of death off.  Something attached to the side of a military-grade aircraft will do the trick.  We know this.  The terminators know it.  Why does JC keep forgetting?

In the first few scenes of T4 we see John-John crawling out of an over-turned Huey.  Then, WHAMO; a T-600 (or T-700; it’s all a little dodgy) with its legs blown off starts throwing him around.  What’s the first thing Johnny does?  He shoots it in the bloody head with a wimpy pistol.  Seriously?  You essentially grew up with virtually indestructible man-shaped machines and you still pull this bollocks?  Someone didn’t pay attention during terminator school.

The Savior of Mankind tries it again toward the end of the film.  He kicks his firearm up a notch to a relatively small calibre automatic rifle…  expecting different results?  Or, did he just say “sod it,” and figure he needed to use the ammunition anyway.  Waste not want not.  The little woman back home may be cross if Johnny Cakes comes home with leftovers.

“I know, Mum. No more bullets until I’ve finished the ones I have.”

2.  He keeps trying to hit, smack, and punch the terminators

Right, then.  This makes even less sense than #1.  Toward the end of the film, after the prototype T-800 bursts from the cell and wreaks all sorts of havoc upon Connor’s person, an unbelievable thing occurs.  He bitch slaps the CGI Arnold with the butt of his rifle.  Isn’t this the equivalent of punching your concrete floor?  At what point during his life did he learn that the Achilles Heal of the murder-death-kill bot was a stiff slap to the face?  Was that a deleted scene in the second film?

With all that God-like knowledge J-to-the-C has about…  well…  everything, you would think he would remember this basic principle.  Sissy-slapping the machines only makes your inevitable beat-down more pathetic.  I’m not saying that he should just lie there and accept that his skull is about to be crushed like a peanut shell underneath Herman Goering’s patent leather jackboot, mind you.  It’s just that this method of defense is slightly less  effective than launching a barrage of “Yo Mama” jokes.

“My mother was a saint!”

3.  EVERYTHING is a trap

Is your young-adult father on a SkyNet kill list?  Has a bloke who’s really a prototype infiltration unit shown up out of nowhere to help?  Resistance Command hand you a foolproof plan to turn off the machines?  Congratulations!  You’re about to be buggered. You don’t need to be Admiral Akbar to realize it’s a trap.

No shit?

Everything‘s a trap.  JC knows this.  Mama Connor told him via outdated audio cassette tape.  The machines are cold, calculating sods.  Come on, Johnny Appleseed!  You’ve been fooled a few times before.  Remember your injured mom calling out for your help in the smelting plant?  TRAP.  Remember the T-850 in “Rise of the Machines” telling you it was able to get close and kill you because of your emotional attachment to the model?  TRAP.  This isn’t news, John-a-ling-a-ling.  What are the odds of a SkyNet built and programmed machine practically delivered to your door is going to help you rescue your pop without it being a trap?  So what are you supposed to do?  “He has to save his father or he’ll never be.”  Firstly we don’t really know that.  That’s using “Back to the Future” temporal math.  If you use Star Trek Mirror Universe math, killing off dada while Connor is an adult may not effect things at all.  JC already exists.  There’s nothing written in stone that he HAS to send pops repeatedly back in time to protect and bump uglies with mother.  For fuck’s sake, he already knows all the bloody moves the machines are going to make.

“Yes, yes. Hellfire and a harsh, unforgiving nuclear winter with a dash of murderous machines. Tell me something I don’t know.”

But, I suppose if you want to play it safe Connor-mania could launch an all out search mission for daddy, then lock him in a closet for ten years.  Here’s an idea, call for him during one of your fireside chats.  Tell him to meet you at the burned out Starbucks.  Too risky?  Well you know he lives in Los Angeles.  There are three people left in that burned out husk of a city.  Kyle isn’t going to be hard to find.

4.  If you can’t blow the bloody thing up, just run

As I covered in #1, anything short of a 80 calibre or a Howitzer isn’t really going to do jack.  Sure, it may make you feel like you’re accomplishing something, but in the grand scheme of things it’s just wasting everyone’s time.

Here comes mechanized death.  You have an axe, lead pipe, and nunchucks.  What do you do?

A:   Break out your finest Bruce Lee moves.
B:  Smack its head around with the lead pipe and hope it gets dizzy and has to lie down.
C:  Use the axe to smash your way through the door and get the hell out of there.

If you chose anything but C, you are destined to die a horrible, painful death.  It makes as much sense as starting a fight with a motorcycle club armed with a juice box and fuzzy dice while wearing ONLY a speedo.

How the hell is this guy married to Isla Fisher, again?

Run!  Don’t think.  Just run.  Unless you have a portable rocket launcher and/or a small thermonuclear device, just beat cheeks out of there.  There’s no shame in it.  You’re a pansy if you run away from a bee.  You’re just being realistic when running away from a soulless killing machine that wants to rip out your spine.

Let’s review:

Running away from this = PUSSY

Running away from this = SENSIBLE

IF there’s a sequel to “Salvation” I do hope they put together some sort of Idiot’s Guide for fighting terminators and other machines that want you dead.  These little facts are like the laws of physics.  They do not change.  They cannot be changed.  You look like an asshole attempting to change them.

The LAST thing you’ll want to do is fumble about when you find one of these buggers in your loo.

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Hey, Earth Day: Being Aware Isn’t As Good As Giving A Shit

By Roode

Earth Day. This is the day I’m supposed to prance around wearing shorts made of hemp and make out with trees. Right? No? No, wait, that’s Arbor Day.

We must appreciate trees. Mankind needs something to slash and burn.

According to the soon to be sentient Wikipedia (laugh, but it will be an event of SkyNet proportions) Earth Day is:

… a day designed to inspire awareness and appreciation for the Earth‘s environment.

Frankly, I’m not sure how we couldn’t be “aware” of the Earth’s environment. It slaps us in the face every minute of every day. Driving to the store: environment. Cutting the grass: environment. Smoking a cigar while burning a pile of bald tires: environment.

What? Is burning used tires a bad thing now?

The other part of the definition is “appreciation.” That’s not going to happen. Sorry, but appreciating something more than internet porn and schlitz with today’s society is too tall an order. The most recent generation doesn’t appreciate the gut-wrenching bullshit previous generations went through to ensure they can act like pretentious emo pricks. Little things like abolish slavery, win World War II, the Civil Rights movement, and the Industrial Revolution. We’re in the era of “Gimme Now, Gimme Fast.” For shit’s sake, kids, today, don’t know where the goddamn milk they put in the mochiatos comes from!

More mysterious than Bigfoot and less exciting than Game Stop.

Hey, I’m AWARE that grain alcohol will make me go blind. I just don’t CARE. Awareness, from cancer to butt crack exposure, doesn’t accomplish shit. Great! Now people are aware that the environment exists and taking a dump in someone’s well water is a bad thing. So, what now? Being “aware” is more useless than having Ellen Degenerous judging on American Idol.

Seriously, was Gallagher busy?

The trick is to get people to give a shit. I’m not talking about giving a shit on the same level as Ed Begley Jr. or the environmental equivalent to the Irish Republican Army, Greenpeace. There is a line between giving a shit and being an outright annoying and insufferable asshole. Especially when it seems like the biggest advocates are full of crap. We’re looking at you, Al Gore.

Sure, this guy is AWARE he’s taking a nap on the train tracks. He just doesn’t care.

The preachers of green doctrine want us to believe that the individual has the power to reverse global warming, heal the rain forests, and re-freeze glaciers.

This poor bastard got a head full of that doctrine. It got him an indescribable tank tread crushing .

Get ready, here it comes; I’m going to rain all over your environmental circle jerk parade.

Seek shelter, because this mother fucker is gonna pour!

I recycle, because my wife is annoyingly saintly. As a single man, it was perfectly acceptable for me to use my apartment as a land fill/future archaeological artifact pit. Most people won’t recycle unless they legally have to. In areas without mandatory recycling, people seem pretty content mixing their plastics with used condoms and broken dreams.

Above: Your plans to be a doctor and
Pabst Blue Ribbon fueled disappointment.

Take a look at your local airport next time you’re being pissed on by an airline. Most will have recycling bins next to regular old trash cans. People chuck their plastic bottles and paper in the trash can. The recycling bin is literally 1 inch away, but they STILL dump their recyclable shit in the refuse. Why? Because mankind is a species of lazy and thoughtless fuckers. Alright, MOST of mankind is a species of lazy and thoughtless fuckers. A healthy portion is just plain rock stupid. Even with step by step instructions, colorful maps, and cheerful muppets some people are still confused about the whole brown glass vs. clear glass deal.

Even Oscar the Grouch is feeling pressure from the green movement and he’s pissed about it.

You can completely greenout, reusing bacon fat and building a Rube Goldberg machine to separate your plastics from your used toilet paper. There is absolutely no guarantee that smelly mess you so painstakingly separated will make it to a recycling plant, let alone not be exported to a third world country with a healthy helping of medical waste. Take this epic bullshit play a couple of British recycling contractors [allegedly] pulled on Brazil. Worldwide Biorecyclables Ltd and UK Multiplas Ltd are accused of being liberal with their definition of plastic recyclables. In an alleged international act of douche-baggery, the companies threw in bags of blood and dirty syringes to round out the shipment. Hey, a little bit of medical waste never hurt anyone.

Oh, yeah.

Back to the “awareness” vs. “giving a shit” issue. There is no contest. “giving a shit” is the only savior the green movement has. Look at this way: the U.S. was quite “aware” that the Japanese bombed the shit out of Pearl Harbor. If this country stopped with “awareness” Hawaii would belong to the Japanese today. Standing around the shipyard pointing as you mumble to your adjutant, “I am aware the Arizonais sinking and there are tons of men trapped,” won’t really help the situation “Why, yes commander, we are aware Japan has kicked us in the nuts and declared war.” See how being “aware” absolutely didn’t do a fucking thing? You know what did? “Giving a shit.”

“I’m aware that another ship full of sailors over there has just sunk.”

Giving a shit” isn’t content to point its fingers around and count the damage. “Giving a shit” wants, no, DEMANDS we get off our asses and do something about it. While that “awareness” pussy is sulking on the dock, aware that another cruiser is on fire and sinking faster than a fat chick from a Tru TV reality show in a tub of fudge,”giving a shit” said, “Mother fucker! Find out what’s going on, who did it, and their home addresses. Let all of us work as one to a common goal. We will be strong in our unity and resolve!”

See what giving a shit gets you? Flaming hot, radioactive JUSTICE!

No, man. “Giving a shit” needs more. Don’t get me wrong. To “give a shit” you have to, first, become aware of the situation. Then you move the fuck on to constructive action. If your first urge after absorbing the Earth Day doctrine is to show up with a bunch of sandal wearing, hairy, slacked jawed, wannabe hippies toting signs, then my friend, you are part of the problem. FWTC can’t help you.

No, sir. We wash our hands of it.

Continuously bitching while holding signs and throwing environmentally friendly red paint on people to raise their awareness of animal abuse and shouting “You’re murders!” isn’t a way to make friends. It’s no where near the way to garner support for your cause. Especially if it’s during a thousand man BIKER RALLY. You, my hippie friend, will not accomplish jack. I mean other than getting your asses handed to you over and over again or being duct taped to the bitch seat of a biker’s ride, because his old lady couldn’t make it and you’re “close enough.” Ask this group what it got them.

People are aware this dude is taped to that tree. They just don’t give a shit.

Instead of regrouping and examining where they went wrong in their lives, the animal rights group became whinier and more self-righteous. In addition to the above treats, the soldiers in the “war against leather” found themselves being used as urinals, duct taped in fast food dumpsters, and encased in a silvery cocoon of duct tape in a tree (They truly are the Renaissance Men of duct tape). No, this is not a segment of Sons of Anarchy. If it were, it would be one of the coolest scenes ever! Shit! I just stopped writing to give myself a high five out of the sheer awesomeness a scene like that would bring. This shit went on for real this past January at the Johnstown, PA biker rally.

Pictured: Motorcycle enthusiasts that do not take being hit with red paint well.

But, Roode” I can hear some unwashed, meatless diet following, red paint spewing asstard say. “How can you say the individual doesn’t matter? Some of the greatest events in history have happened, because of 1 person.

First of all, shut the fuck up. I don’t even know you, but I can smell you over the interwebs. For the rest of you, NO. Individuals haven’t made a shit sack worth of difference. On their own, that is. Caesar didn’t change ancient Rome by himself. He had an ass kicking, ball busting army to help. Harriet Beecher Stowe may have written one hell of a tome about the injustice of slavery, but it was a shitload of individuals that fought against it and, finally, a government that had to outlaw it. Lincoln may have wanted to outlaw slavery in the second half of your Civil War, but if he was the only one, his ass wouldn’t have been elected in the first place.

“What? I’m the ONLY one that thinks slavery is a bad idea? Fine, let’s just go back to killing Indians.”

Not only does one person have to give a shit, tens of thousands have to. Finally, enough people will give a shit that the government HAS to take notice. This is the tricky part. The government can be “aware” of things until the sun turns into a bran muffin. They need to give a shit too or at least pretend for re-election. Or, in the case of the American Revolutionary War, get tossed out and replaced by a government that makes “give a shit” their motto (well, for 80 years or so). See? Giving a shit is a lot harder than it looks.

Let’s face it, giving a shit requires too much energy for most people. It’s a lot easier to bitch and moan while holding a protest line in front of a Carl’s Jr. You just stand there, chant ridiculous rhyming tag lines, and endure the police beatings that follow. So, you protesters and activists can go back to your display of awareness and hand holding. Maybe I’m wrong about all of this. I’m sure the Earth will be just fine for future generations with awareness, alone.

Oh.

Sincerely,
Roode