Bonecrusher's Blog of Hate

Name's Bonecrusher. If you're reading this, I hate you. If you're not reading this, I hate you. Actually, I just hate you period. In fact, I hate everything. This blog examines the subtleties and complexities about this mindset, which flashbags like yourselves can only hope to ever achieve. Good luck with that.

Monday, December 31, 2007

End of the Year

You know, I had intended to review this entire year - that idiot movie I starred in, political events that all sucked, fires and floods and disasters, late movie rental fees and burnt toast - and how you can look forward to next year being just as bad, if not worse, and maybe talk about my New Years Resolution (To continue to Hate things with the same vigor that I do now), but frankly, something far more important came up.

Specifically, this monstrosity.Ok Hasbro, Takara, whoever is making this slag, I *know* it's your job to take my name and abuse it by slapping it on as many half-scrapped products as you can, but come on guys. You aren't even trying anymore, are you. I mean, look at that pathetic... thing. It's not even bad in the 'they tried to make me cute' way. This is just... so... sad. If it were a man on the street, even *I'd* give it money for looking so darn sad.

I think that image sums up this previous year pretty well, actually. Just. Plain. Pathetic. Like all you human fleshbags. If it weren't so depressing, I'd take another trip up to Rhode Island. Yep, 2008 is going to be one more great year, isn't it. Bet nobody goes one week without breaking all their New Years resolutions.

(The funny part is, that poor thing up there isn't the worst of them. Look at this line up, and weep.)

Friday, December 28, 2007

Transformers: Animated

Let Bonecrusher tell you all a little story. You see, a long time ago (about 20 years, actually), a bunch of warring space robots woke up from a million year long sleep, to find a bunch of ape descendants had conquered the planet they crashed on. Moreover, those ape descendants were an intelligent species who understood the value of marketing brand recognition. Thus, the ape descendants and the robots signed a contract, that the ape descendants would leave the robots alone, and in return, the robots would allow them to make toys and TV shows and movies in their name.

And let me also tell you that every one of those shows sucked. Come to present day, and the great and mighty Hasbro has decided to roll out and sully our names again. This time, with an idiot cartoon called, and get ready for a real original title here, "Transformers: Animated." Like they've never done that before or anything.

There's a lot to complain about really, but the first and most obvious thing - well, I'll just show you.
Ok, Hasbro, fess up. Which moron thought that this was a good idea? Now, I know we Transformers are way smarter then you human imbeciles, but did you really need to make it obvious by making our heads so stupidley big? And, please tell, why do we need such massive jawlines? Is that motorcycle supposed to stab people in the eye with that, or what?

I don't even need to go into how the Decepticons are portrayed as not 1/1000 as vicious as we really are, or how Prime is actually a moron (come on, he never won the war! He only gets the hero because he made the liscencing deal before Megatron), or all the other woeful inaccuracies. Cybertronian historians watch these things for amusement. If you're going to tell the story of our war, you should at least bother to get it RIGHT.

Ah well. At least they're leaving my good name out of this one. I don't want to even contemplate how hideous I'd look on that. Ugh.

Incidentally, I've found myself busier as of late. I'll only be posting 3 days a week from now on (Mon-Wed-Fri), and sporadically on other occasions, should I feel like it. I'm sure you'll survive without my dose of hatred every day. Now slag off, the lot of you.

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Late Night Partying

While Cybertronians don't sleep, we occasionally enter periodic rest cycles that are similar in function to you fleshbags nightly rest. However, we typically make sense about it. A human told me recently (before I dispatched of him) one night, late into it and about to head to some sort of party, that 'the night is young'. That's a stupid thing to say, especially since solar cycles don't age. But it occurs to me, why would you morons want to prolong any day anyway?

I'm pretty sure I've already told you that the average human life sucks more then a Black Hole on speed, but in case you forgot, your life sucks. All the hassles and annoyances, dealing with ridiculously primitive human mechanics, your slowly degrading body, and the mind numbing imbeciles you interact with on a daily basis. It's a wonder your entire race doesn't outright commit ritualistic suicide, thought that would be quite the blessing on the rest of the universe.

But the point is, your life blows. Why then, would you want to stay up later into the night, when you could just end the day and get it over with? Do you meatbrains have some innate hope that maybe the night will suck less then the day? Do you think that a rigamorall with a bunch of idiots as drunk as you are will somehow be better then the imbeciles you dealt with prior that day? Well, here's an interesting factoid for you: It won't help. You'll wake up with pain in your head, and last nights dinner on the floor in front of you. Sucks, don't it? Welcome to my world.

This is just another example of what I would like to call 'Idiotic Hope Syndrome'. And it seems that every single one of your wretched race is infused with it. IHS affects billions of beings every day. Unfortunately, the only known cure is death. If you feel you are suffering from IHS, feel free to contact me, and I shall be most obliged to administer this cure ASP. Maybe. If I feel like it.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Bah Humbug

Nobody will pay attention to me tomorrow so I won't even try. You fleshies enjoy your nasty little holiday. Have fun finding that those nice-looking gifts under the tree are sweat socks and underwear. Maybe if you're lucky. that fat guy with the beard will give you something useful, like coal, so you don't acquire hypothermia in those freezing sub-zero temperatures as your house is buried under 12 feet of snow, trapping you inside, freezing and likely starving because you ate all the food on Christmas.

Yeah, you fleshies have fun with that.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

Home Again, Naturally

Well, after a miserable week on the road, I'm finally home. I hate road trips, and I'm glad to be rid of it.

Of course, after I stepped in I realized I left the water running. And the neighbors were yelling at me, probably cause I crushed their cat in the driveway. And my email was full of 500 junk mail accounts. And there are cracks all over ceiling. And some fire damage I'm sure wasn't there before. And there's nothing good on TV. And 400 messages, all from political canidates telling me how stupid the other ones are. And the grass on my lawn is overgrown and ratty.

In fact, I hate this place. Maybe I'll go on a road trip...

Friday, December 21, 2007

Lying Online Polls

I had intended to take this day off - this slaggin trip is more trouble than it's worth - but something came to my attention that has left me highly insulted.


That is, of course, disgustingly low. Of course, I would expect you losers to underestimate my abilities, but 39? That's just slaggin insulting. Last time I trampled a school, I took on 567 kids (the population of the school), and 34 teachers, as well as 26 cops, three swat vans, and a tank.

These polls you humans create are just ridiculous. Most include various tripe about 'how compatible with a vegetable are you', or 'which character from an obscure TV show that no one on Earth would possibly enjoy are you like' or 'what is your favorite season, like it matters or something.' Apparently you humans haven't thought of the concept of figuring these things out for yourself.

I found this one a little more interesting though: What are your Chances of Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse?

I'd be interested in seeing the average human result (less then 4%, I would guess) but I myself have no need to take such a test. I *survived* a zombie apocalypse, so I know. Ever hear of the Hate plague? I was unaffected entirely - though some say I was never cured, but really, I was just that hateful in the first place. Shows you, Optimus Prime. You can put your shiny Christmas Tree Ornament back in your chest now. Bah.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Driving a Big 'Ol Truck

This driving trip has left me exhausted. I knew I should have blackmailed Astrotrain into taking me back. Grrr...

So, if there's one other thing I hate about driving (well, ok, there's a *lot* of other things), it's these slaggin Trucks that take up the entire freaken road, and ddo so at about 5 MPH. You'd think that if someone is paying you to haul all that junk, you could find a more efficient way to get them there then plodding along the middle of nowhere at speeds that only serve to tick everybody else off.

Now, to add to the insult, truckers are, and I say this truthfully, incredibly ugly, even for you fleshsacks. I know that's a blatant stereotype, but as often is the case when I make blatant stereotypes, I don't care. Honestly, I'm sure the word 'dumpy' was invented for these people.

But if there is one thing I could say about Truckers, is that I love truck stops. It's a buffet of destruction, all nice and lined up so I don't have to work hard to cause some big explosions. On second thought, that makes me as lazy as one of those fleshies, so forget making it too easy. I hate that. Bah.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Blah Blah Blah

Driving along. Boring long road. Nothing to hate. Let's turn on the radio.


Hello, I'm Talking Head Number 1. I think I'm more important then I really am! You know that other loser? He sucks! He wants to sacrifice children to Satan himself, steal your money, and kick your puppy! I'm still more important then you, so I'll talk for about an hour about how much everything is being done wrong. First, who is the idiot who designed our weather system, huh? In fact-


I'm Talking Head Number 2, on your fair and balanced news station. We are fair and balanced, so let me just say that Talking Head Number 1 is, and I'm being balanced when I say this, a complete doodoohead with the intelligence of a turnip. Talking Head Number 1 may think I'm sacrificing children to Satan (January 12th, tickets on sale at our website, spectators welcome), but he wants to take your children, lock them in a closet, and let them rot for 12 years. And I say this policy is barbaric, and we should kill anyone who advocates it-


You know, I could get to like these guys. After my own spark, they are. But they need to be a little more hateful before they can get on my approved list. As it is, they're far to willing to wuss out. And fair and balanced? What kind of slag is that? Fair and Balanced should be the meeting of my fist and their face. Toughen up you fleshy losers, and really HATE. You skinbags all lack the courage to do that. Wusses.

Monday, December 17, 2007

Long Distance Driving

It's a long way back home from Rhode Island, and these freeways are driving me crazy.

You see, as you've probably guessed, I hate driving. But I hate driving down slow freeways more. There's no other drivers to harass, annoy, or generally crush on these long, barren stretches of asphalt. I can muck up the roads for future drivers, but that gets boring after a while.

I don't actually hate driving in busy traffic - or at least, not as much. I know that's one of the few things you fleshbags consistently do hate, and it is something I completely understand - though, I can't imagine why you then elect to go through with it every morning. After all, what could be possibly more frustrating then sitting in one place unable to get where you are going? However, I have ways of coping. And by that, I do, of course mean 'clearing traffic with the most violent means possible.' That scoop on my front is good for these kind of things. You know those jerks on cell phones? Heh. Heh. Heh. If I could capture the look on their faces, I'd be the richest robot on this planet, with the possible exception of Bill Gates.

I've been tracking distance hurling records. I'm fairly sure I hold the record for the 'scoop car toss' at 423 feet. If anyone dares try and challenge my record, I'll gladly accept it. Assuming, of course, they survive to the face-off. I have ways of keeping that from happening.

Maybe I'll do that when I get back. Until then, it's a long boring road... Bah.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Security Details

You know how they say Security guys are dumb? They aren't.

In addition to selling out our name to Children, Hasbro apparently also apparently hires Cybertronians as security guards. Now, I already hate these guys from my War Days, but them keeping me from entering Hasbro HQ was worse.

You would think that the kind of guys who fell for Megatron's idiot schemes on a daily basis would be easy to sneak by. But nooooo... They could tell right away that I was not a former Hasbro employee. Apparently, getting your name plastered over Hasbro packaging does not give you free rights to enter the building.

Neither does telling the truth work. I don't understand what the big deal is with letting an angry Decepticon into the Hasbro main building. I just wish to enter into some peaceful discourse with Hasbro's COO, Brian Goldner. Granted, it is unlikely he would survive such discourse, but that's what he gets for putting my name on those horrendous... things.

So, naturally, my discussion with these two Autobots escalated into a heated argument, and by the time all was said and done, I had been forcibly removed from Rhode Island, and barred from ever returning there. SOmething to do with excessive property damage. I didn't even touch the Hasbro building, though the shopping mall several blocks down got well demolished.

Since it's now obvious that I'm not going to get into Hasbro HQ that way, I find myself with a small bit of indecision. I hate Hasbro more than anything else at the moment, but I can't get into their HQ to express my displeasure. I shall ponder this for some time. You're safe for the moment Hasbro. For the moment.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

If Primus had wanted me to Fly, He would have given me Jet Engines

So I found myself with a need to get from one side of the country to the other, quickly. Now, I've got wheels, but A) I hate Road Trips, and B) I'm not fast enough. My vehicle mode couldn't outrun a Volswagon bug, much less get me to where I needed to be.

So, I called up an old war-buddy of mine (and by 'buddy', I mean I haven't killed him yet). The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Hey Astrotrain, you pathetic waste of Energon, get your tin can down here and give me a lift before I invert your face.'

Astrotrain: *Click*

I couldn't understand why he would turn down such a reasonable request. So I showed up at where he lives, kicked three femmebots out, and explained the terms to him personally, and whenever possible, painfully.

Finally, he relented, though he swore that he'd get Megatron on my case. Like I'm scared of that big lug or something. Anyway, the point is he flew me out here.

As you have probably guess by now, I hate flying. Nothing like having your processors inverted while cruising at near-light speed. It doesn't help that Astrotrain is pathetic pilot and doesn't like me very much (I can only wonder why). I'm fairly sure that the greater whole of that 'turbulence' was him doing loops just to spite me. I'm fairly sure my converters are still back home. The only thing that could have possibly made that trip worse would have been a run-in with an Autobot missile. Which, seeing as I haven't heard from Astrotrain since he left, probably happened on the way back. Good riddance, I hated him anyway.

Now, I'm pretty sure Hasbro HQ is around here somewhere. If you see an explosion on the news, it's probably me.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

The Final Straw

You had to do it, Hasbro, didn't you. It wasn't enough for the ugly repaint and the pathetic tiny thing. You not only had to throw me in a two-pack with Ironhide, but you had to drive my depression through the roof with... with... Oh sweet Primus, I can't say. You had to make me.... THIS!I can't go on anymore. That... sicking thing... My very spark... It is shattered....



I WILL CONTINUE ON! Though the pain of my existence is insufferable, I swore to you fleshbags that I would show you why to Hate the entire Universe, and with Primus as my witness, that I shall do! I will not rest until all of you fleshbags suffer with me! My name is Bonecrusher and




And Hasbro, you are NUMBER ONE on the list! Watch your back guys, Bonecrusher is COMING FOR YOU!

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

It's Not Easy, Being Green

Two toys wasn't enough. No, Hasbro has not even begun to destroy my image properly.

You see, apparently there is this clause in the contract that states that not only are they allowed to turn my face to a misshapen plastic lump, but if they run out of robots to make toys of, they are allowed to make my first toy again, but this time in horrendously gaudy colors.
Isn't that the single ugliest color for a truck you've ever, ever seen? Apparently, I know have the ability to blend in well with green highways. Oh, I'm sure that will be useful.

What possible explanation could they have for this? Oh wait, here's the bio:
"Barely functional after his battle with OPTIMUS PRIME®*, BONECRUSHER crawled away from the scene of his defeat and hid. Effecting what few repairs he could on his own, he also removed his locator beacon and communications hardware, cutting himself off entirely from the other surviving DECEPTICONS®*. Fleeing south, farther and farther, he eventually found himself deep in the jungles of South America. Hidden in the most remote area on Earth, he is free to indulge his rage on the rainforest without interruption. "

Right. I crawled away with my head torn off and repaired myself. Did Hasbro watch this freaken film they paid for? For slagging Sludge sideways, can't you fleshbags comprehend that I died in the movie? I don't want to come back, and these repaints are the reason why!

Oh, how I dread the robot mode...
Wait... On my arms... is that... baby blue?

Excuse me, I have to go cry. Or kill myself. Maybe both.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Tiny Toys Made by Tiny Minds

Of course, the last Bonecrusher 'action figure' abomination wasn't enough. Noooo, Hasbro had to get more out of their precious licensing deal. And you know who suffers for it? Me! That's who. They can just throw out all these horrendous toys as much as they want, but it's not their image they are ruining. No, it's big, dumb old Bonecrusher, who nobody cares if he looks stupid in plastic form. Oh, how I hate all of this.

So, in their efforts to get the most for their buck, Hasbro insisted on making multiple size classes of each toy. Now, they could have given me the giant tailgate-kicking class (like they gave to Brawl, probably as an apology for getting his name wrong), but instead the next size-class they put me out as was the 'humiliatingly small' class.
Awww, isn't it so.... so... disgustingly unpainted. Looks like Hasbro was too freaking lazy to even paint the wheels. And where's my tatoo? Ah well, at least they put the claw in the right place. Yuck. There I am, Bonecrusher the Micro Machine. I might as well curl up and die. But that isn't the worst part of it.
And I thought the last robot mode was bad. It's like they aren't even trying, Look at that face! Just look at it! Now look at my picture over to the right. Do those look remotely the same? No, they don't, and don't you dare tell me otherwise or I'll rip your arms off. And my poor feet, my poor, poor feet. My legs look like they were pulled off some lame Japanese robot from the 70s. And don't even get me started on those arms.

So, apparently it's ok to make someone look like... well, not them, for the sake of a toy. This is a philosophy that has to change. And by 'has to change', I mean 'Bomb Hasbro HQ'. Hrmm, I wonder how long it takes to get to Rhode Island from here.

Oh yeah, and these photos sucks. What's with that ugly blue thing in the background? I hate it. Make fun of the fool who made them here.

Monday, December 10, 2007

My Image, as Ruined By Toys

Apparently, somewhere in the contract I signed, there was a clause that said 'Oh yeah, and Hasbro gets to horribly butcher your mug and shove it on a waste of plastic, for three year olds to abuse'. I wish I had known that ahead of time.

But once I found out the existence of these monstrosities, I knew I had to see one for myself, before I could go and trash Hasbro HQ in vengeance. So, after much searching, I found me.

This is the first thing I saw:
Ok, I suppose this isn't the most horrible thing in the world. I mean, sure the claws in the wrong place and mishapen, and they forgot my tatoo on one side (It is present on the other), but it's not the most horrible thing I've ever seen, this might not be too bad-

AIIIYYYYYEEEEEEEEEE! What have they DONE to me? They made me look like some sort of demented frog. Look at my scrawny little arms, it's pathetic! And that pose! What, are they trying to convey a message of 'I want to hug you'? I cannot believe a respected action figure franchise has done this to my image.

Even now, thousands of little children are playing with this thing, making my toy get killed by Optimus Prime because all it has is its special hugging powers. This is horrendous, a travisty, disgusting! Not that I expected better from you fleshbags, but man, if I didn't already loathe you with every fiber of my being, I certainly would now.

At least I got it better then Starscream.

This, however, is the least of their abominations. I'll show you what else they've done to me tomorrow. As for me, I need to go smash some buses. Or something.

Sunday, December 9, 2007

TGIHY - Work out For Yourself what it Means

One of my motto's is "Every day is a miserable day." I would hope you fleshy brain-sacks could realize this on your own, but without fail you always seem to be most cheerful during the weekend. I hate that, so it's time to tear down your misconception of the idea of a 'good weekend'.

Ah, a Friday afternoon. All the schoolchildren skipping toward their bus, free of the opressive teachers and the cruel schoolmates and the drug dealers behind the gym, ready to head home for a relaxing weekend of cartoons, games and sports. WRONG. Guess what kiddies, you've got a project due on Monday! And three tests and a quiz to top it all off! Watch as your carefree weekend disappears behind a stack of books and construction paper, trying to study the French Revolution (The only war where a country declared war on itself and lost) whilst, and at the same time, painstakingly trying to recreate the topography as an obscure country in Africa thats been at war with itself for twenty eight years (and is looking like it might join France up there).

And don't think adults have it any better. It's been a long, painful week full of disasters and rejections and fast-food dinners. But it's finally over, right? You could go out and have a good time, but noooooo, your boss wants that report done about last week, and if you don't have it done by Monday not only will you be fired, but executed as well, leaving your corpse in the middle of the desert where even the Buzzards don't want to touch it.

Of course, if you're not employed, you can go do self-destructive activities, like partying and drinking and destroying your insides bit by bit while throwing away the precious little amount of money you had saved up on gambling and wild woman until you wake up in a gutter somewhere, realizing you're about to get hit by a truck.

And the best part of all this is? Guess what, if you somehow survive the torture of a weekend, you still have the full week lying in front of you. And then another weekend for you to suffer through! Hooray for you, flesh sack! I hope you enjoyed the weekend, and by enjoyed, I mean 'Got hit by a car'.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Architectural Waste of Space

Today, I shall be critiquing art and architecture, examing one of the greatest monuments to nothing that you silly fleshbags ever built. In short, that thing.

Lovely little piece of art there, isn't it. You call it the Eiffel Tower.

1) It is not the largest building in the world.
2) You have to pay a bunch of cash to climb the stairs.
3) It's a colossal waste of space.

Oh, where to begin? First off, this thing was built by a French guy, which should give you reason enough to hate it already. It would be easy to devote several entire volumes on why you should Hate the French, but please. I'm sure that's one thing you humans have covered enough already.

As I understand, this giant, ugly mound of steel was built for a fair of some sort, and then they forgot to take it down. Now, its sole purpose is to stand there and take up space, where something more useful could be built instead. And for that reason, it's now an iconic structure standing tall among the skyline of Paris, where people are free to ignore it at will.

But for some strange reason, they don't. I fail to understand why this eyesore of a tower is such an attraction to you people. Why anyone would pay cash to risk death climbing up a building like this is beyond me. That is one of the flimsiest looking towers I've ever run into - with a good solid push, I probably could knock it over. If you don't hear from me for a few days, that's probably where I am.

I can't believe you humans are proud of this thing. Large pointy towers do not great art make. Ugh, it's disgusting. I hate it.

But at least it's a bit more interesting then this thing. Look fleshlings, the Romans invented the arch way before you. Get over it already.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Water, Falling From the Sky

Gene Kelly was a jerk, a disgustingly chipper fleshy among disgustingly chipper fleshys.

Cybertron doesn't have an atmosphere like Earth's, and more importantly, we don't have gluts of pooled water anywhere, so the concept of rain was foreign to us. Cybertronians don't like water in general - not for any real harmful reason, just cause it's unpleasant to have foreign liquids sloshing around your insides. So it won't cause us to melt or anything, like that worthless old hag from the spectographically schizophrenic flick with the short people. I hate short people. I'll be walking along minding my own slagging business when whoops, stepped on another short guy. Then everyone will get all indignant at me like it's my fault he jumped under my feet. Oh sure, blame the giant freaken robot. Like I don't have my own problems, slagging tiny people.

Back to rain. So, I don't like water in the first place. It causes my paint to run, especially my tatoo (seen over here to the right), and I have to get it reapplied - which I hate. Getting gallons dunked on you due to some cruel trick of nature? Unpleasant, at best.

But the worst part about this - what causes me to shudder with dread every time I see a cloud - is the sound. Have you ever heard water falling on a hollow pipe? Annoying, isn't it. Now imagine hearing that inside your, and imagine feeling that over your entire body (and in a huge body, no less) and imagine slowly going insane from the constant drops pounding on you over and over and OVER AND OVER AND OVER-

It's no wonder local property damage skyrockets when it starts raining. I hate the rain.

Thursday, December 6, 2007


The most common thing fleshings say to me - well, the second most common, the most common is screaming and running in fear - is 'Hey, I loved that Movie you were in.'

Well, despite being an international star because of it, 'that movie', which I shall not name, was one of the most horrible and degrading, in fact I dare say HATED, experience of my life. Never mind the 14 buses I had to smash through for that one shot, never mind the pain of getting your head nearly ripped off by Prime (Yes, that was actually me. They were too slaggin cheap to hire a stunt double. Yes, it did nearly get ripped off before movie magic took over. It really, REALLY hurt.), and never mind that the Director, one Mr.Bay, is an egotistical jerk who doesn't care how much his subjects suffer so long as he gets his shot (Oh how I hate him...), I'm still upset about the fact that I had to film a 40 minute car Chase sequence only to see it get trimmed down to 3. Three. Whole. Minutes. Time it if you don't believe me. I mean, what is that? I was all over the slaggin trailers, and that bus shot was the iconic shot for the movie! THREE MINUTES! Out of the entire 12 painful, horrible days I spent trying to film this 'perfect', 'glorious' chase sequence Michael Bay first sold me on (Actually, I hated the original idea too, but I needed the Cash.), all I get is two car flips and the bus smash.

This is, of course, typical of Hollywood as a whole. They love screwing working bots over. Not that it matters, since working bots don't deserve a days wages - fat, lazy slobs, all of them. I hate them all.

Now where was I? Oh yes. Michael Bay. After I finally saw that idiot film which in no way deserved the heaps of cash you organ sacks threw at it, I confronted Bay on why, exactly, my 40 minute chase scene had become three. I believe he said something along the lines of 'Budget Cuts'. After he the rescue workers removed his head from the steel beam I had implanted it in, he kindly informed me that I would not be back for the sequel. They had to fix two dents in that beam that day.

So now me, as a defunct actor, am hopping from studio to studio hoping for a decent role for a giant robot. The only offer so far has been for 'Transmorphers 2: Death Apocalypse Revisted', and also for this little project titled 'Go-Bots'. Needless to say, I am still unemployed, living on a measly Decepticon Veteran's salary.

In short, I hate Hollywood. Any questions? I thought not.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

And One More Thing

Despite the vast memory banks installed in every Cybertronian it is impossible for me to consider every single thing in all the Universe, or even this tiny wretched dust ball. So, suggest objects for me to vent my hatred on, and continue to do so. Everything in the Universe deserves to be hated, so give me something and I'll tell you why.

It Is Time to Do Something

This is Dicken's fault. After witnessing the horror of the mis-aptly named 'A Christmas Carol' (There was no singing. Not that it would have made the story any better), I came to the realization that not one of you measly fleshbags truly know what 'hatred' is all about. I had hoped this Scrooge fellow would have been an inspiration to your pitiful race, but no, even he didn't have the understanding about what true hatred is.

It's a concept that is apparently too difficult for you morons to understand. Primus knows I've tried explaining it to you fools whenever I happen to run into one of you happy-go-lucky twits, but especially these days, with this wretched feeling of good cheer everywhere, it's time for me to put my foot down.

This blog exists solely to try and convey to you tiny-brained insects what it is like to hate and loath something to the very depths of your spark. I will be presenting case-by-case basis of just why you should be hating each and every single thing you encounter in your life. This may take awhile, but hey, I live for thousands of years, and its not like there's anything better to do while stuck on this miserable rock.

So, for the first bout of hatred, lets talk about this wonderfully incompetent tool you guys call 'blogging'. First off - what kind of stupid name is 'blogging' anyway? Which one of you monkey genius's thought of that? I don't want to know.

Anyway, this primitive method of internet posting is an effective tool for spreading around the mind-numbingly dull thoughts humans have. Unfortunately, it often degrades into unimportant nonsense like 'What music I am listening too' and 'How I am feeling at the moment.' (Answer: Angry.) To all those who persist in things such as that, do you actually think anybody cares what your listening too? That on the scale of galactic importance, your feelings even measure on the 'I wasted my time to read that'? No! Unless you're in the hobby of amusing Sharkticons (A dull task I can tell you), I strongly suggest you knock it off.

Now, this Blogging mechanism is not even a truly effective tool. Attempting to put this page together was a frustrating effort in futility. What kind of interface is this, when one cannot even upload the most handsome picture of himself, and must instead use the one where his eyes are clearly closed? What do you MEAN, you won't accept .HGIR image files? HoloGraphic Image Representations are the Holographic Standard across the entire galaxy! I mean, I know you fleshbags are primitive, but COME ON! And this 'drag and drop' interface. It lies. I dragged and dropped this machine all over the place and it did nothing. NOTHING. Well, it did change to a blue screen once, but that wasn't the desired result. How utterly frustrating this thing is. I hate it. I hate it so much that I almost don't want to touch this again. But, I swore to make you humans understand what hatred truly is, so alas, I shall return with more things I hate. Hopefully, you twits will learn something from my suffering.