Author Archives: Rampage Productions

About Rampage Productions

What’s an English major to do in a world where typing “OMG WTF LOL” is seen as a legitimate attempt at communication? I’ve come up with a three part answer: surround oneself with cynics, read a great deal of satire, and start a humorous blog with an undertone of mutton.

The Size of Your Face

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So if you needed another reason not to go to Sri Lanka, aside from ignorance of its geographic location and the fact it’s Sri Lanka, do I have a news article for you:

“Tarantula the Size of a Human Face Discovered”

Also, apparently, “the size of a human face” is now a standard unit of measurement when it comes to spiders.  Whose face?  I don’t know – presumably the guy running around shouting, “Help!  There’s a tarantula on my face!”

Apparently the Alien trilogy was shot in Sri Lanka.

Apparently, the Alien trilogy was shot in Sri Lanka.

Am I the only one who is neither excited nor titillated by the knowledge that we, as a species, have identified and cataloged a larger, scarier spider than we have ever cataloged before?  Call me short-sighted, but upon getting the phone call from some university or another going, “I hear they found a huge, creepy-ass spider out in Sri Lanka,” I fail to understand what motivates someone to go, “Gotta get me some of that!”  Thanks to this article, I spend my every waking moment terrified I will, spontaneously and accidentally, bi-locate to somewhere in Sri Lanka.  Furthermore, I have, and will continue to consider, doing something drastic enough to get on the government’s no-fly list just so I don’t find myself on a flight from Minneapolis to Chicago that diverts to Sri Lanka.  Yes, I understand the odds of these things are slim.  But that spider is real, and the odds cannot be slim enough.

Returning to the discussion of the spider, the article in question reads like the cliff notes for Arachnophobia.

The reason I carry an aerosol can and a lighter with me at all times. ALL. TIMES.

The reason I carry an aerosol can and a lighter with me at all times. ALL. TIMES.

If I might quote:

“The arachnid had originally been presented to [Sri Lanka's Biodiversity Education and Research organization] three years ago by villagers in Mankulam, who had killed a male specimen.”

At the request of the man in paragraph two, I would presume.

“Scientists immediately realised the dead spider was not like anything they already knew, and a group was charged with finding any living relatives.”

Presumably, the group doing the charging was their wives, and I’d hope the articulated mission was to ensure the living relatives in question were not living for long.

“It has been named Poecilotheria rajaei, in recognition of a senior police officer called Michael Rajakumar Purajah, who guided the research team through a hazardous jungle overrun by civil unrest in order to seek out the spider.”

On. Your. Face.

On. Your. Face.

Also, Poecilotheria rajaei just happens to be Sri Lankan for “Help – there’s a tarantula on my face.”

And if a spider the size of your face wasn’t enough to get you writing your congressman and demanding a tactical nuclear strike on Sri Jayawardenapura Kotte1, dig this.  Apparently, when pressed to provide a little more detail on the arachnid in question, their three adjectives of choice were “colourful, fast, and venomous.”  This inadvertently answers the questions of (1) how the spider ends up on your face and (2) what it does when it gets there.

It also raises questions as to what precisely happened to the previous village doctor, on which the article is silent – disturbingly so:

“They [the big @$$ spiders] prefer well-established old trees, but due to deforestation, the number have dwindled, and due to lack of suitable habitat they enter old buildings. […] The living Poecilotheria rajaei were eventually discovered in the former doctor’s quarters of the village’s hospital.”

Presumably the former doctor was not.  Before leaving on his flight to anyplace that was not Sri Lanka, my bet is that he was last heard telling the new village doctor, “Whatever you do, do not go in there.  There’s a spider the size of your face.”

1The capital of Sri Lanka, you geographic ignoramus.2

2Totally didn’t just look that up on Wikipedia.3

3Totally lying about not looking that up on Wikipedia.

Who bought the road sign?

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We’ve all thought it, and so I might as well say it.

If one resides with a group of individuals who apparently are not like-minded enough to perform the ancient ritual of incorporation, whereby their tiny outpost is elevated from “wide spot in the road” to “a town,” or “a city,” or “a confederacy” (though I’m told we frown on that last one), it is extremely hard for me to justify using my brake pedal when passing through it.

You see, in my mind, speed limit and reduce-speed-ahead signs exist for the purpose of protecting civilization. However, the key and debatable word in that theory is “civilization.” Rome is a bastion of civilization. London is a bastion of civilization.  Melvina (Wisconsin), population thirty-ish, seems to fall somewhat short of both those lofty precedents or even the numbers set by, say, a tribe of African pygmies. Four houses, a bar, and a speed limit sign that could be confused with the daily low temperature do not, at least according to most high school textbooks, qualify as a society worthy of record. It might count as a village, an outpost, or a lost tribe of Israel, but an extensive network of roads linking Tully’s Tavern to those four houses cannot be considered the inspiration for Ozymandias.  Consequently, and to come to a point, I rather resent being asked – nay, demanded – to slow down and take in the sites – the sites being three cows, a derelict convenience store, and a rusted out Volkswagen.

In my mind, for a village to motivate a reevaluation of arrival time, it has to give a good reason. And if one is curious as to what exactly a good reason is, they only need to remember the three Ps – police, post office, and parking. Simultaneously, the following are examples of things that will not motivate a reduction in speed, let alone an all-out stop:

1. Bars (Particularly ones the owner had the uncommonly bad sense to build less than six feet from the highway – step out for a smoke, and suddenly there’s a Chevy Tahoe with one ugly hood ornament.)

2. Gift shops (Look! They got the whole town to pose for this postcard!)

3. Scenic overlooks, parks, and historical markers (Question: Why do most individuals stop at any of the aforementioned places? Answer: Emergency restroom stops. Question: What happens when there is no restroom at said location? Answer: The scenic overlook becomes an obscenic overlook.)

Returning to the initial point, what is perhaps oddest about these loosely knit hosts of humanity is not so much that the speed limit is reduced, but rather that it is reduced so much. Near as I can figure, the only reason four houses and a bar need a speed limit under twenty-five miles per hour is to make the place seem larger than it actually is. Logically, it certainly isn’t tied to how many people are in the town, because if they were to host an annual “Play in the Street Days,” odds are good most would survive. Heck, even if they were to stand in the middle of the street, link arms, and play “Red Rover, Red Rover, let the Lincoln Navigator come over,” the townsfolk’s combined girth would probably only allow them to block one lane and maybe a bit of the shoulder.

It should also be noted that there are plenty of reasons the populace should encourage people to pass through as quickly as possible – threat of invasion, for one. I’m fairly certain that, with approximately six phone calls, most people could rustle up sufficient manpower to both capture and occupy any unincorporated hamlet one cares to name. Likewise, a keg of Miller Genuine Draft is within most individuals’ economic means; thus, subduing the populace long enough to put the city to the torch would be a simple operation. But there are two problems with this plan. One, it is based on the average non-boy scout’s ability to start a fire that would immolate something other than themselves, which is iffy at best. Two, it hinges on the average Joe’s ability to not join in a beer party, and personally that is not a bet I want to make while living in Wisconsin.

It seems the only viable solution involves a particularly daring soul and a can of black spray paint – although I dare say individuals are going to get suspicious when the speed limit jumps from fifty-five on the highway to eighty-five in town. But what can one do? It’s easier to turn a three into an eight than a five.

Yep. They’ll never suspect a thing.

Yep. They’ll never suspect a thing.

Then Children Do Not Burn in a Fire

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by Rampage Productions and the Untamed Shrew 

In general, my personal working definition of local politics is “that thing that happens when some geezer gets really worked up over that new stop sign” or, alternatively, “a way to get a series of all-expense-paid, albeit slow, rides through town in a nice car on public holidays.”  This is probably because I have consistently lived in cities and towns too small to merit a tactical nuclear strike should we get into a dust-up with the Russians. There just isn’t much to do here.  By extension, there isn’t much for the local politicians to do – leaving, of course, the Russians with very little to nuke.

One fellow, however, apparently didn’t get that particular memo.

If the opening paragraph failed to convey this, let me do so now – it takes a lot to get me to care about mayoral campaigns, as I can usually define the outcome in a simple mathematical expression: new mayor = +/- one (1) stop sign.

Vague irritation along the morning commute or shameless waste of taxpayer dollars? Only a plethora of yard signs, a three-hour debate on public access TV, and the .02% of eligible voters that care enough to show up can say for sure.

Vague irritation along the morning commute or shameless waste of taxpayer dollars? Only a plethora of yard signs, a three-hour debate on public access TV, and the .02% of eligible voters that care enough to show up can say for sure.

Thus, having established myself as a terrible citizen – as if there was some doubt before now – it is a rare man who runs for mayor who can get me to not only listen to his televised remarks but then pore over the subsequent news agency transcript to confirm that I have, in fact, heard what I think I heard.  It is my hope a few highlights will clarify my incredulity…and perhaps inspire others.  And yes, before we go any further, these are word-for-word quotes.

News agency question 1: Why do you want to be mayor?

Candidate answer: ”If a community is equal as it grows, all prosper. If we have good city services and schools, then children do not burn in a fire, then each family can have a home, then we can all prosper together.”

Rampage commentary: Pro tip – if your campaign promises read like vague threats – e.g., elect me so then children do not burn in a fire – it might be time to reevaluate your platform and possibly your relationship with your attorney.  More baffling is, bold text removed, the above sentence started and finished as a perfectly nominal, if somewhat more empty than usual, bit of campaign speak.  Would-be mayoral candidates take note: Successful candidates frequently follow up references to children with phrases like “are our future” or “need to be protected.”  Less successful candidates tend to go with “drown with startling regularity” or, I don’t know, “burn in a fire.”

Though, in his defense, he does have a point.  Flaming children would be a serious obstacle to a) owning a home and b) prospering together.  I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to live next door to the guy whose kid belongs on the Fantastic 4.

The Human Torch is soft on burning children.

The Human Torch is soft on burning children.

News agency question 2: What experience do you have that makes you qualified to be mayor?

Candidate answer: ”High School student council President, I learned that you delegate projects as much as you can then do the rest yourself. A lifetime of working on issues like transit recycling solar insulation gardens jobs with good wages.”

Rampage commentary: Did you just imply that, if elected mayor, you would delegate all the work you possibly can?  (Also, all great politicians should draw their major qualifications from their high school extracurricular activities.)  And what, precisely, is the “transit recycling solar insulation gardens jobs with good wages” issue aside from the biggest adjectival cluster!@#$ I have ever witnessed?

News agency question 3: What will be your top three priorities for the city if you’re elected mayor?

Candidate answer (a): ”Education; Inventory seniors on skills and knowledge for mentoring, present the senior resource list to all teachers, involve students with smartphone videoconferencing between seniors and teachers.“

Rampage commentary (a): Wait – you’re assuming that senior citizens can operate smartphones…and video conference with them?  Yeah, I’m sure that’s why Jitterbug is still in business.

Candidate answer (b): ”Teaching everybody including kids how to make a quick and complete 911 call.”

Rampage commentary (b): Presumably so then children do not burn in a fire.

Candidate answer (c): ”A program to sew reflective tape on kids’ winter jackets.”

Rampage commentary (c): In the United States of America, snow plows run down an average of twenty children a minute.*

*Presumably the rest burn in a fire.**

**Presumably, if we elect this fellow mayor, then children do not burn in a fire.

News agency question 4: Tell us about your family.

Candidate answer: ”[Name withheld] is my girlfriend and political editor and best friend, we all spend a lot of time at the park and the forest, I hope to make her my wife.”

Rampage commentary: If I were her, I’d be making a quick and complete 911 call.