Monday, February 23, 2009


I just finished The Watchmen.

That's right. I read a comic book.

Sorry... it's called a "graphic novel"...

(Don’t want any hate mail from men who live in their mother’s basements.)

(OK… bring the hate mail on…)

(Though who are we kidding? It's a comic book.)

And you know what?


See, I’m a fan of superhero movies.

Batman? Too cool.

The X-Men movies? 100% bad-ass.

And you can bet that I’ll be there the day Wolverine opens.

So, I was very excited to see the previews for The Watchmen:

Now, even though I love the movies, I’ve never read the comic books slash graphic novels slash I don't care what you call them.

But The Watchmen intrigued me because it is on Time Magazine's 100 Best English-Language Novels from 1923 to the Present.

(That's kind of a long title for a list.)

(I would change it to: Read This Because We’re Time Mother-Fucking Magazine and We Said So…)

(Which I see is a tad longer than the original.)

(But I find my title way more evocative.)

(Note that Harry Potter didn't make it on the list... bad Time Magazine...)

So I decided to read it.

And I LOVED it. Seriously… it was like totally AWESOME-O.

And I can’t wait to see the movie.

But reading a "graphic novel" makes you evaluate yourself.

I mean, I was reading a book that has an audience of mostly twelve-year-old boys.

So I have decided that since I enjoyed it so much I must actually be a twelve-year-old boy.

And therefore, I should embrace this and accept myself as the pre-pubescent teenage male that I obviously am.

So I’ve decided to do other “twelve-year-old-esque” things…

I’ve started hiding dirty magazines under my mattress.

I put up a picture of Ashley Tisdale on the ceiling above my bed, because she is, like, as hot as Superman's laser vision.


And I hate my parents because they JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND ME!!

And I only eat Hot Pockets because, um, it is like, uh, a meal in a pocket.

And when The Watchmen comes out I’m going to tell my folks that I’m going to Jimmy’s house, and Jimmy is going to tell his parents that he’s going to my house, and then we’re going to go to the movie theater on our bikes and we’ll buy tickets for Hotel for Dogs because we’re not old enough to buy tickets for The Watchmen but then we’ll sneak into The Watchmen and if they try and ask us where our tickets are we’ll say that we lost them and if they ask for our IDs we’ll go all ninja on their asses.



Later, yo.