It’s Saturday night and I just submitted a paper to Shakespeare Quarterly. That’s like the big, head honcho of Shakespearean academic journals. It won’t get accepted, but you have to submit if you’re ever going to get one accepted so that’s that. The important thing about all of this is that it’s Saturday night and I’m working on Shakespeare stuff. How lame is that? I mean really--how lame am I?

To add to the lamitude of my life and this post, I’ve wanted to write something for awhile, but have had absolutely nothing to say. I think that also speaks to my general lack of worth to the world at the moment. I’ve searched, honest I have, but I like Obama, and I like most of the movies I’ve seen, and nobody actually cares about Shakespeare, even the Shakespeare nerds. Well, some of them do, but they don’t count cause they’re even lamer than I am.

So where does that leave us? I’ve been watching G.I. Joe--which is awesome! And, yeah. That cartoon is a bit goofy, has anyone else noticed this? I didn’t realize it until I started watching it again, but it’s just so darn silly at times. Cobra isn’t just a terrorist organization, but some weird sci-fi, mad scientist, fundamentalist, crazy group. It’s pretty sweet. And then there’s Zartan. See picture provided for your enjoyment.

Do you see the abs peeking out from under the shirt there? What bad guy wears a shirt that only comes down to just above the belly button? How do you get scared of a bad guy dressed like that? And is he attacking because he’s evil or because he doesn’t like your hair? These are important questions to answer before I accept the validity of the G.I. Joe mythos.

Finally, there is the very important issue of neither G.I. Joe nor Cobra being able to shoot ANYTHING. Seriously, anything. Now, I’m sure that’s directly related to no one dying in the cartoon ever--people are jumping out of helicopters for goodness’ sakes and something clearing the propellers and pulling their rip cord. Frankly, it’s impressive. But I think the cartoon could have allowed for flesh wounds at least. I mean, this is supposed to be America’s elite special forces group and they can’t hit anything. It’s embarrassing really. And Cobra, this dread terrorist organization, is more comedic than scary.

There really is no question why I’ve grown up with absolutely no respect for bad guys. I had examples like Cobra Commander and there’s nothing to be scared of there except a headache from his screechy voice. Which sends me off on another tangent. What does Cobra Commander sound like during sex? It’s a valid question. Does his voice get higher because I can’t imagine anyone else could reach orgasm while listening to that in their ear. Does it get more snake like? Cause that’s not hot. I have no justification for my yearning to know what Cobra Commander sounds like during sex. I just want you to know that I know that.

So that’s all I’ve got. Some G.I. Joe musings, acknowledgment of Shakespeare offering nothing meaningful to my life and an acute awareness of my Saturday night’s lacking in…well…anything. I think I’ll write a trashy romance novel.