Wednesday, July 8, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1082: 12 MONKEYS

 


I remember when I saw the movie, 12 Monkeys, in the theater on opening night. It was a perfect time travel flick, and it made sense 100% of the, uh, time, which is unusual for such fare. If you want to impress friends with movie trivia, did you know that one of the two writers of this movie also wrote Unforgiven?

Anyway, when they announced a TV series was being made out of it, I had to wonder how. How could they stretch that story out over the course of a season, much less more than one? They did a pretty good job of it, and the show went off in a lot of crazy and unexpected directions.

But I lost Syfy before I could watch the final season. My provider dropped the channel for whatever reasons, and ever since I've wondered how they ended the show. When I gave up cable for streaming, I always kept an eye out, hoping someone would eventually have it.

And now, while watching the new season of From and the final season of Billy the Kid, I discovered MGM+ had it. At first I thought, I remember enough of the show. I can probably just plunge myself back into it with nothing more than the previously-on walkthrough.

That was a terrible idea. I'd forgotten so much about the first few seasons that I really should have started from the beginning, but I didn't have time for that. I'm not going to pay for another month just so I can do that. The problem is, I am a completely different person from the guy who watched those first seasons. Number one among the changes: I no longer drink three-quarters of a handle every night. No wonder my memories were hazy. I was probably blacked out when I watched a majority of 12 Monkeys.

Cumulatively I'm missing about a decade's worth of my life. It's not like I turned 30 and boom, the next thing I know, I'm 40. There are bits and pieces I recall, but booze effectively erased a lot of that decade. It's more like 33 to 43, maybe 44.

So picking up the show again after so much time was surreal to me. The time travel show sort of . . . sent me back in time. I had the sensation of being that person again for the first three episodes to the point where I reached for my drink once and recoiled in horror at it *not* being whiskey.

As for the show itself, I managed to get back into the correct mindframe when that feeling of time travel faded, and I understood the story again. I recalled more until I realized there was a plot twist I'd been waiting for when I watched back in the day. The twist did, indeed, come but it was not the twist I expected. Related, sure, but different nonetheless. I won't say what it was, in case you planned on watching at some point, but I thought Cole would somehow turn out to be his own father--like a test tube baby, not the other way--hence his importance as a paradox to the story. I was close, but that didn't turn out to be the case. The actual twist is pretty sweet, though, and you should give it a shot.

In fact, the whole show is just great. If you have MGM+, check it out.

Monday, July 6, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1081: A SPECIAL BIRTHDAY

 We recently, as a nation, celebrated a most historical birthday. I can't believe such a concept has survived for this long. It really is astonishing, when you think about all the years that have passed since this grand notion found its feet and started to walk, then run. When I think about the whole thing, I stand mute in awe.

I am, of course, referring to Goodnight, Fuckers. Believe it or not, as of today I've been writing these things for twelve years. In another year it will be allowed to watch the PG-13 classic, My Stepmother is an Alien. Happy birthday, GF!

Twelve years ago I began this thing without warning. Usually if I start to do something, I at least introduce the concept so everyone knows what to expect. Nope. I charged in with something exceptionally personal that I should absolutely never have shared with anyone under any circumstances.

Don't click on this. Seriously, don't. If you must know, I'll TL;DR it for ya: I developed early as a child, and when I was writing one of my Hardy Boys rip-offs on my mom's piano bench, I had an orgasm. I wasn't doing anything other than writing. It just sort of happened. There. See? Don't click that link. There are more details if you do.

I never quite intended GF to become what it did. I thought I was mapping out who I was in case any future archaeologist wanted to know. That kind of stuff still happens, but I never intended the political stuff and the history lessons and the oh-look-at-this-weird-shit profiles to be more than just points of interest instead of the whole point.

All in all, I'm proud of all that stuff. I'm glad this is how it worked out. Not all 1,081 of these things are good--can't all be zingers--but twelve years of purposely spilling my brain on the internet is pretty good, all things considered.

And GF cannot be killed. I've tried to stop on several occasions, but it's more stubborn than *I* am, and that is saying a fuck-ton. So I guess I'll still be writing these for the rest of my life.

Brace yourselves. To quote Frank Reynolds(ish):



Saturday, July 4, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1080: PLAYBOY 2

 I've gathered a few more images for my ongoing revisit of Playboy magazine. I've been going through my collection, saving the issues that are important to me, rereading about what life was like in the early 2000s. So here's more of what I've found.



President Creep doing what he does.


Looks like this was a new article published posthumously. And no, wrong Robert Crane. That one died a long time ago.


Ah jeez.


I wonder if Vidal would still say that if he was alive today.


Vidal really knew how to charm our corporate overlords.


"MADLY IN LOVE WITH BATMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


I like to think that Elvis would have appreciated having Nic Cage as a son-in-law. He probably knew, too. After all, Elvis is probably still alive . . .


Jim Carrey is going to turn 90 in 2052. I'll obviously be gone by then, so someone planning to live that long: please check back on this. And then have your kids check back on him when he turns 120, please and thank you.


This is how I first read Chuck Palahniuk's infamous story, "Guts."



Speaking of the Joker . . .

OK, I think that's enough for now. I'll get back to this again some other time. I did find quite a few doozies including the Donald Trump interview . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1079: HYALURONIC ACID



 I don't give much of a shit about sports of any kind, so this sort of news flies waaaaaaaay under my radar, but when I saw a headline regarding skiers who have found an innovative way of cheating, I had to take a look at it. Quite honestly, I think these guys shouldn't be punished. They've suffered enough.

Because ski jumpers have learned to inject hyaluronic acid into their dicks. A lot of it, from what I understand. That's got to be punishment enough.

How the fuck does this help a ski jumper cheat? An excellent question, one of the first I asked, myself. It turns out that, much like fighters in boxing or UFC, skiers have to be weighed and measured because the regulators want to ensure that their outfits have a tight fit. If they don't, then a loose flap of cloth will help them out aerodynamically, giving them more distance.

So if you walk in with a fat hog for your fitting, when your equipment sheds the acid it will be back to normal size, and the cloth between your legs will hang just enough to give you that advantage.

I have no idea how the hell anyone figured this out, much less got caught. How did that go down, exactly? Perhaps a trainer one day said, "Dude, if I shove this needle into your dick, it's gonna swell up so much that" etc. So of course the other guy has to say, "DUDE! That's awesome! Stick me, bro!"

And then a judge has to go, "Hm. That's weird. He got more distance than he should have. I think his crotch is flapping in the breeze. Hey, wait a minute! Did he inject his cock with hyaluronic acid so it would swell up and we'd get an inaccurate reading of his crotch area during his fitting? Now if only I can catch him red-handed so I can prove it . . ."

I watched Cemetery Man. I didn't need to see the needle go into his penis to feel the pain. But even that's not the worst of it, because if you get the dosage wrong, you might disfigure your dong. It might not stand at attention anymore. It could cause you "penile discomfort," whatever the fuck that means.

You could also get infected and have to have your dick amputated.

Could you imagine having to explain that to your friends? "Yeah, I got gangrene and had to get my dick removed."

"Jesus Christ, man. How the hell did you get gangrene? What did you do to yourself?"

"I wanted an extra meter on my ski jump, so I stuck seventy cc's of acid into my . . .  you know what? It's a long story."

It brought back memories of the guy who went in for a circumcision only to wake up from the surgery without his glans. The doctor at the time said he'd found cancer in it, so he made an executive decision. What I think happened is, he cut a little too far down by mistake. It would have been a simple matter of asking the patient's wife for permission to amputate, which he didn't do despite the fact that she was on hand.

Which reminds me, John Wayne Bobbitt is back in the news. People Magazine thought to ask what he's been up to. Turns out, he lost a few more body parts. This is allegedly related to his service as a Marine . . . at the dreaded Camp Lejeune.



I did not expect this to be heavy on penis trauma. I just thought it was pretty funny that the Winter Olympics had a scandal called Penisgate, which was going to be the title of this GF, but I didn't want you to know that off the bat. At least now you know . . .


You know the rest.


Friday, July 3, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1078: PLAYING MUSK

 It's been a staple of SF for so long I'm not sure I even remember when I first heard about the concept of terraforming a planet. I suspect it was Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, but I don't know for sure. All the same, it seems like the only way we'll be able to live on planets within our reach. Because outside of our solar system? That's a pipe dream, at least for now.

The most obvious subject would be Mars, and Elon Musk has been jacking himself off thinking about making that planet habitable for humans. Whether he's doing it for altruistic purposes (for humanity) or dictatorial purposes (the first private person to make it there gets to rule the planet), I'll leave up to your imagination. You know my thoughts on this.

But how likely is it to actually transform Mars from the wasteland it currently is to a thriving planet-wide metropolis? Is it even possible?

Why not try your hand at playing Musk? Nature put together a simulation. Go ahead. See how successful you are.

It's harder than it seems. I generally have a good understanding of science, and it was a lot harder than I expected. In fact I scored 50%, which would be a solid F- if I was still in school.

Brave enough to share your results in the comments?

Wednesday, July 1, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1077: HOGAN'S HEROES


 I watched a lot of classic TV shows when I was a kid, always in reruns, as I wasn't alive for the first-run episodes. My favorites were the westerns, but I also loved stuff like Dennis the Menace and My Three Sons and Laugh-In, etc. I wasn't into Hogan's Heroes because, at the time, I believed history was boring.

Due to the recent political climate I thought it would behoove me to watch the whole series, and I got what I wanted, but I also got something very unexpected.

In this very space I've compared Trump to Schultz, in the "I KNOW NOTHING!" sense. It's a bad comparison, as Trump has more in common with the Dunning-Kruger-ish Klink, but even that doesn't hold up. I'll get to that soon, but what really impressed me was Hogan's MO.

In case you're unfamiliar, Col. Hogan is a POW in a Luftwaffe prisoner camp. He's the ranking officer, so he's in charge of his fellow occupants, among them Kinch, the comms officer; Newkirk, a horny Brit; LaBeau, an equally horny Frenchman; and Carter, an idiot who is somehow an explosives expert. They're not there simply because they got caught. Allied intelligence put them there as a sabotage squad, and they chose Stalag 13 because the commandant, Col. Klink, and his second in command Sgt. Schultz, are exceptionally stupid. So they have no idea about the comm tower Hogan has in their own flagpole, the network of tunnels under the camp and even the submarine Hogan has at his beck and call.

Klink and Schultz (and a few other regulars) are so inept that Hogan is able to easily pull off his missions. The first season is the best. The others are good, but the cons they pulled then required all the Nazis to be stupid. That first season? Even smart people would fall for the shit Hogan and his friends pulled.

Hogan's Heroes is about Allied prisoners tricking Nazis for a laff riot, but only on the surface. It's really about how to manipulate people into doing your bidding. I suspect the show's creators worked for the CIA--or maybe they continued in that capacity while filming!--they are that good at depicting manipulation.

There's a buzzword that I despise, but I'm going to use it because no other will suffice. Hogan specializes in "psyops."

A psyop is the use of propaganda to influence a person or group of persons into doing things they ordinarily wouldn't do. Short for "psychological operations," it's how the military approaches things in regions where American "interests" just so happen to belong to other nations. These days the phrase is almost exclusively used by YouTube con artists trying to teach you how to influence people.

Which is fairly simple when you understand human nature, and Hogan does, very much so. He knows to appeal to ego without sucking up. Never ask questions but make observations that offer opportunities to explain or correct. Give pieces of evidence but don't connect them, leaving your target to connect the dots and therefore feel clever for doing so. Etc.

The thing that stops most people from doing this is a lack of confidence, ie. the word "con" is short for in "con artist." It's shocking what you can make people believe if you sound like you know what you're talking about. If you're good at this, people won't even check your work.

Luckily Hogan's cup of confidence floweth over . . . and spilleth all over the floor.* He's so confident he routinely tells Klink what he's up to *for real* and Klink always dismisses it as a joke. Hogan is digging tunnels under the stalag? Very funny. But confidence alone won't do it. The key to getting someone to do something they wouldn't normally do is to find a way to fit that thing into their worldview and feed them enough disinformation to make it feel like the righteous thing to do. It helps to also mold that worldview if you can help it, and in that first season, this last bit is where Hogan excels.

This show was on for six years, so it did get old after a while, but one of the reasons it lasted so long was because Klink and Schultz, despite being Nazis and exceptionally stupid, are kind of likeable. Or, at least, you can't hate these fools. It's clear they didn't know about the Final Solution, for example. Klink got his rank because of family connections, and his position keeps him safe from the horrors of the Russian front, where the deadliest fighting of WWII occurred. Somehow his cowardice redeems him, which would be next to impossible on any other show. The same goes for Schultz. He enjoys the simple things in life. Actually fighting in a war? That's unthinkable to him. All he wants to do is eat and relax. It's difficult to understand how he got so far as a sergeant. He doesn't know anyone in High Command, nor does he have important relatives.

Hogan's Heroes naturally didn't know they were getting canceled, so we never get to see the end of his operations. Over the course of the years, guests he helped escape to England always wanted to know why he never escaped himself. Hogan always said that when it came time to leave, he would walk out the front gate in full view of everyone. I really wanted to see that moment of victory. Ah well.

As with The Rat Patrol, I did find myself wondering what happened to everyone after the war. I'm not going to get too much into that. I like to think Newkirk and LaBeau remained best friends and spent much of their civilian life in pubs and maybe some brothels, too. Carter probably went home and became a cop. I imagine Kinch became an engineer. Schultz went home to his wife and had a passel of children exactly like him.

Klink probably got captured and put on trial for war crimes. Not that he actually did any of them, but I suspect General Burkhalter framed Klink for *his* crimes. And so he hanged at Nuremburg with Julius Streicher and friends.

As for Hogan? Who knows? Maybe I'll write about him, too, someday.

__________________________

*I forgot who I stole that joke from. I suspect it was Mel Brooks, as I am currently reading his memoir, but I don't recall for sure.

Tuesday, June 30, 2026

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #1076: OUR SECRET

 If you're reading this, it's our secret. Shhhhhhh. I'm testing something. To quote a great man:



As you were. Goodnight, you lovely fuckers.