Hey Dutch.  You remember in Predator your line where you tell me that the captive central-american girl is my “baggage now”?  My my how the tables have turned.  Looks like when you told me that you “work alone” was a little fib.  Hah hah hah hah!!!! [hearty laugh].  My oh my, old pal.  Looks like someone likes to “work” with ALL KINDS of others, mainly women WHO AIN’T YOUR WIFE!  It’s tough man.  REAL tough.  But listen up.  I know that Predator was entirely fictional and that what your character Dutch did in that movie defeating the alien one-on-one with nothing but jungle mud, some sharp sticks, and a big fuckin’ rock, but you can get through this.  Channel that courage man.  Pull yer tail out from ‘tween ya legs and get up, man.  I’ll talk to ya…

Oh, and one thing…

HE’S YOUR BAGGAGE NOW.  Hah hah hah!  Looks like you really didn’t know when to quit.  Weathers out.

Transcript from the 2011 World Conference on the Ejaculation of Air.

May 18, 2011

10:00 AM EST

Speaker:  Arnold Schwarzenegger [AS]

Arnold Schwarzenegger [AS]:  Good moooahning.  [raucous applause] [24 minutes later]. Dank you.  Dank you.  Pleaze.  Zit daown.  [15 minutes later].  Feeeuhzt, I would juz lahk du ged daknaown you.  [raucous laughter].  [32 minutes later].  Ladies and gendlemen, i zpeag bevuoah you duday regalding a zubject that is neeah and deeah du my healt.  I zpeag of gouahze about human ejagulation of eeeeah.    [raucous applause] [22 minutes later].  Now, az you ah all aweeah, human ejagulation of eeeeah haz been a bet brojegt of mine fooah yeeeahz.  It all stahlded when I wuz juzd a boy.  I dleamd of gumming eeeah and all the gloory that would gaome wid id.  Da vame.  Da voooahtune.  Da women! [Schwarzenegger winks and raises eyebrow towards crowd].  [raucous laughter].  [45 minutes later].  Howevah.  I gaome heeeah duday do leaveal glreat tlruth. [Crowd collectively gasps and quiets].  Yez.  My vellaow advocates of the gumming of eeeah, I convezz do you doday that deeeah iz naow zuch thing az gumming eeeah.  [Collective gasp, muffled chatter waves through crowd and dies out].  Yez.  In all honezdy, I juz made id up do zleep wid women and zatizfy my love foooah gream bies.  [Collective gasp.  Unidentified individual in crowd vomits loudly] [Unidentified individual in crowd screams "Red Heat sucked dick!"].  Lizen do me.  Lizen do me.  I knaow whad I’ve done heeeah iz unacczepdable.  However, id iz da druth.  Gumming eeeah iz nudding moooah den zome shid I made up almozt entiaahly on da fly.  You zee, aftah one uv my Mizzdah Univelze vigdoreez, deeah waz diz beaudiful woman who I wanded do gream bie veeahly badly.  Anywaayz, she wuz hezidand do zleep wid me begauze she didn’t wan do ged pregnand.  Well, wanding do gream  pie diz bitch, i dold hel “don’d worry.  You won’d ged bregnand.  I only gum eeeah.”  And deeeah you go.  Diz woman believed me.  I gream bied heeah, god heeah bregnand and den derminaded da child.  [Partial laughter.  Partial crying.  Unidentified person coughs].  Duff growd heeah.  I’ll be heeeah all weeg!  [Silence].  I brobably uzed dat line aboud foooady-five mooah dimes zinze den, and eadge dime, I gream-bied da bitch and god heeeah bregnand. Az  you may be asging yoooahzelve, did I derminade every bregnanzy?  No.  Baddy, my foooamah houze-maid gan desdify do dat!  [Single individual laughs loudly.  Door creeks as individual leaves auditorium].  Dadz right Baddy.  Iv you ah lizning, when I dold you that I only gum eeeah, dat wuz not da druth.  Dat woooahm feeling you god aftah I blowed you in da laundy room waz my man jowdah.  Diz of gooahze iz why you booah my child.  Guite honezdly, I gan’d believe you vell vooah dat and believed id, ezpezhially avtah you zaw my baby baddah all ovah da blace.  I zdill laugh aboud dat.  Ghrizt.  Alzo, Baddy, if you ah lizning, i’m zdill quide bizzed ov dat you didn’d name da boy Dutch.  You knaow, da name of my gharagdah vrom Bredada.  [Crowd gives standing ovation].  [35 minutes later].  Dad waz a low blow, Baddy.

Well, ladiez and gendlemen, diz gongludez my dime heeah.  You mighd as well gancel da rezd of diz weegendz’ gonverenze begauze deeeah iz no zuch thing az gumming eeah.  I gan’d believe you azzholez believed dat do da boind of greeading a wohld oooahganization.  You guyz ah zome dumb muthafuggahz.  [Schwarzenegger drops microphone on floor and the sound of feedback fills the auditorium as Schwarzenegger struts off stage] [Crowd gives standing ovation with raucous whistling and yelling].  [25 minutes later, crowd takes their seats for the next speaker, Jesse "The Body" Ventura's, presenting his PhD thesis on Alabama Ticks].

[End of Transcript].

English Transaction of Transcript of Report from World Conference on Ejaculation of Air

Arnold Schwarzenegger:  Good morning.  [raucous applause] [24 minutes later]. Thank you.  Thank you.  Please.  Sit down.  [15 minutes later].  First, I would just like to get to know you.  [raucous laughter].  [32 minutes later].  Ladies and gentlemen, I speak before you today regarding a subject that is near and dear to my heart.  I speak of course about human ejaculation of air.  [raucous applause] [22 minutes later].  Now, as you are all aware, human ejaculation of air has been a pet project of mine for years.  It all started when I was a boy.  I dreamed of cumming air and all the flory that would come with it.  The fame.  The fortune.  The women! [Schwarzenegger winks and raises eyebrow towards crowd].  [raucous laughter].  [45 minutes later].  However.  I come here today to reveal a great truth.  [crown collectively gasps and quiets].  Yes.  My fellow advocates of the cumming of air, I confess to you today that there is no such thing as cumming air.  [Collective gasp, muffled chatter waves through crowd and dies out].  Yes.  In all honesty, I just made it up to sleep with women and satisfy my love for cream pies.  [Collective gasp.  Unidentified individual in crowd vomits loudly] [ Unidentified individual in crowd screams "Red Heat sucked dick!"].  Listen to me.  Listen to me.  I know what I’ve done here is unacceptable.  However, it is the truth.  Cumming air is nothing more than some shit I made up almost entirely on the fly.  You see. after one of my Mister Universe victories, there was this beautiful woman who I wanted to cream pie very badly.  Anyways, she was hesitant to sleep with me because she didn’t want to get pregnant.  Well, wanting to cream pie this bitch, I told her “don’t worry.  You won’t get pregnant.  I only come air.”  And there you go.  This woman believed me.  I cream pid her, god her pregnant, and terminated the child.  [Partial laughter.  Partial crying.  Unidentified person coughs].  Tough crowd here.  I’ll be here all week!  [Silence].  I probably used that line about forty-five more times since then, and each time, I cream pid the bitch and got her pregnant.  As you may be asking yourself, did I terminate every pregnancy?  No.  Patty, my former house-maid can testify to that!  [Single individual laughs loudly.  Door creaks as individual leaves the auditorium].  That’s right Patty.  If you are listening, when I told you I only cum air, that was not the truth.  That warm feeling you had when I plowed you in the laundry room was my man chowder.  This of course is why you bore my child.  Quite honestly, I can’t believe you feel for that and believed it, especially after you saw my baby batter all over the place.  I still laugh about that.  Christ.  Also, Patty, if you are listening I’m still quite pissed off that you didn’t name the boy Dutch.  You know, the name of my character from Predator.  [Crowd gives standing ovation].  [35 minutes later].  That was a low blow, Patty.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, this concludes my time here.  You might as well cancel the rest of this weekends’ conference because there is no such thing as cumming air.  I can’t believe you assholes believed that to the point of creating a world organization.  You guys are some dumb motherfuckers.  [Schwarzenegger drops microphone on floor and the sound of feedback fills the auditorium as Schwarzenegger struts off stage].  [Crowd gives standing ovation with raucous whistling and yelling].  [25 minutes later, crowd takes their seats for the next speaker, Jesse "The Body" Ventura's, presenting his PhD thesis on Alabama Ticks].

Hey folks!  Bob Vila here again.  As we continue our journey down the road of mandibled-humanoid-alien-hunters-with-shoulder-mounted-tri-laser-beam-targeting-system-blasters-bent-tree-and-vine-powered-spring-trap construction, we come to that step in the construction of where it’s time to take off the shirt, oil up the body, strap on the gloves, and get down to business.

Right, so “Bob,” you ask, “what does this entail?”  Excellent question!  There are really two words that will answer your question best:  tuggin’ and pullin’.  Indeed, it is at this point when you have to clean up the pool of blood that formed around your feet from your gaping vagina, and tug the fuck out of some vegetation.  This means that if you see a vine, a tree, a fucking bush–I don’t care–TUG IT!  I’m sorry, maybe you’re not catching the gist of what I’m saying here:  I want you to PUNISH the jungle!

Right, so your next logical question is, “why Bob?”  And that is a valid question.  Here is the answer.  First and foremost, when you have a band of testosterone engorged, bodybuilder mercenaries out in the jungle for any prolonged period of time, they will soon lust for the gym and a hardy workout.  So what this does is allow them to get a good pump in–especially the biceps, shoulders and lats!  You see, the pulling/tugging/punishing motion of what it takes to tug vines and shit, and bend trees, really gives the upper body a workout–and  a convenient outlet for the pent-up rage from your eclectic band of physically-gifted, but mentally-unstable warriors.

The second reason we do this is because no one likes un-bent trees, or un-tugged vines.  It just doesn’t look or feel right to walk through a jungle–or any vegetated area for that matter–and see vines hanging there all pristine and un-tugged.  Even worse–a perfectly straight and upright tree!  YUCK!

The Third reason for our activities at this point is to display physical prowess.  Similar to the first reason, when you have egotistical, half-retarded mercenaries trudging through the jungle with all those pesky clothes, no gym, and no mirrors, “flex” withdrawal soon sets in.  By permitting your gang of meatheads to pull trees and tug vines, they can display their unnaturally developed bodies for each other–and most importantly for the camera crew following them around!  Believe you-me, when you have mercs like this, you take opportunities to let them release some of their deranged anger when you can!  Nothin’ worse than a mutiny!

The fourth and final reason we drop the hammer on the jungle like this is so we can power our spring trap.  Keep in mind that this is really a question of personal preference and is really of minimal importance in the grand scheme of things.  Let’s be honest, in all likelihood, the combined forces of irony, murphy’s law, the easily-distracted nature of your crew, and the fact that we are a little less than half-way through the movie means that this fucking thing is NOT going to work.  You may say, “well Bob, wouldn’t powering the spring-trap be the primary reason you are doing all this bending and tugging?  The spring trap needs spring, right?”  And I would agree that the spring trap needs spring, but be mindful of the fact that there are multiple methods for attempting to trap our humanoid-blood-lusting-murderous friend–and the spring trap is probably one of the worst possible attempts.  So, that should give you an idea that this was never about the trap–AND ALL ABOUT THE TUGGIN’ AND PULLIN’!!!

Until next time folks, I’m Bob Vila!  Keep tuggin’!

Carl Weathers here for Vaseline.  Throughout my career, the one question that seems to have been asked more than any other is how in the world I get that perfect sweaty glisten for my movies.  I tell them every time:  Vaseline.  No, it’s not my silky-smooth black skin with overactive sweat glands that coalesce to result in a thick-but-perfect layer of sweat encasing my chiseled body—and face.  It is none other than Vaseline petroleum jelly.  Take Predator, for example.  This movie, set in the humid, hot jungles of central America, demands that I, as a true scholar of my craft, fit into that environment perfectly.  The answer:  a dab of the super jelly.  Well, actually, more like a heaping scoop with these big old paws of mine.  Layer it on thick, and there it is:  black, shiny, slick, and, most importantly, INTENSE.  So whatever the need—whether it be a minor cut or wound, construction of a Fifi, or to whisk the audience off to a magical land of dense jungles, relentless humidity, murderous alien humanoids, government corruption and over-confident/arrogant U.S. mercenaries, there IS only ONE CHOICE:  Vaseline Petroleum Jelly.  Vaseline:  that IS my style.

Hey fellas, it’s your good pal Danny Glover here. Now I know I am probably gettin’ too old for this shit…and by this shit I mean bloggin’. But I have been checkin’ out this site for a while now and I am startin’ to get kind of disappointed in what I am seein’…or I should say what I am not seein’. And you guys know what I am talkin’ about. Why are there no references to the equally as excellent film Predator 2?

I mean, in many ways, Predator 2 was far superior to the original. For one thing, Predator did not have the Dean of African American Character Actors (ahem) gracing the screen with his presence. I guess since the original was all biceps and blasting, the producers wanted to class up the sequel a bit…you know, make it a bit more cerebral for the higher brow viewing audience. Now don’t get me wrong, Carl [Weathers] and Bill [Duke] are great actors in their own right. We often sit at the same table when I am accepting another award at the Annual NAACP Image Awards banquet dinner. But in terms of screen presence, they don’t hold a candle to a veteran character actor such as myself. Did you ever hear of the Lethal Weapon movies? I mean we are up to what, 5 now? You can’t really argue with that kind of staying power.

Anyway, enough about me. Let’s get back to the real meat and potatoes of this blog post: Predator 2. Let’s look at the film’s character development. Lt. Mike Harrigan was just your average cop trying to make an honest buck as a public servant. Then next thing you know, all these crabface lookin’ mutherfuckas come down from the sky and start skinnin people. But you know what, Harrigan didn’t just turn his tail and run, oh no brotha, he got his hands dirty. And that’s what this film is about: an average joe with average hopes and dreams saving his planet from extinction. Now, I have never actually seen Predator 2 or read more of the script than my lines, but from what I know, it was a great movie and did equally as well at the box office as the original.

Look, Predator 2 was made 3 years later, people. So you know what that means? More advanced special effects, a bigger budget and more aliens to toast. I mean, this thing is action packed! That Adolf Shwartawhatshisface only had to kill one of those bastards. Lt. Mile Harrigan had too kill multiple 8 foot aliens all with the help of his chrome desert eagle and his big ol’ brains.

So in short all I am saying is give it a chance. How can you not trust the word of a multiple Cable Ace Award winner? See the movie soon if you haven’t and I hope to see a lot more posts about the better of the two Predator films. Thanks for hearin’ me out.

Look, Dutch, when are you gonna’ GET IT!?!  It ain’t about me.  It ain’t about you. It ain’t about the fuckin’ team!  It’s about GETTING THE JOB DONE!  And you know I only did what I had to do to GET THE JOB DONE!

Yeah, I know, I may be a real sonovabitch who’s been pushin’ fuckin’ pencils down at Langley, but there’s one goddamn thing I’ve learned:  TO GET THE JOB DONE!  Listen, goddamn it, we got commies movin’ in like a goddamn flood!  They’re like termites, infesting the goddamn world.  And you know who’s there to stop this relentless expansion?  ME!  That’s right.  And you know HOW I’m gonna’ stop ‘em?  You guessed it, BY GETTING THE JOB DONE!

Yeah man, I know how it is, you work alone and your team doesn’t get involved in shitstorms like this.  BUT GUESS WHAT!?!  You’re here man.  You’re in the shitstorm.  So maybe it’s time to WAKE UP!  Goddamn it.  Stop it with this cookin’ up stories and meatgrinders.  Just stop it with that shit.  It’s time to rise out of dreamland because GUESS WHAT!?!  It’s a fuckin’ bloodbath out there and they ain’t gonna’ stop just because you don’t normally get involved in this kinda shit.  That’s right.  It’s time to kill or be killed.  It’s time to stop fuckin’ around!  It’s time to GET…THE…JOB…DONE!!!!!!

Yeah, I know.  She’s my baggage.  Give ‘er here.

Hello!  Welcome back to this old alien-humanoid-girthy-tree-powered-jungle-spring trap!  If you’re just joining us for the first time, in the last episode, we assembled our team.  It was an exciting episode with a range of individuals and personalities.  Most of these psychotic bastards will be killed, so if you missed out, don’t fret!

Moving on, we are now out here in the dense jungles of latin america choosing the perfect site for our trap.  Now, there are a few simple rules to keep in mind when choosing a site.  #1, you want your site to be surrounded by thick, strong trees so that the spring trap has the power to trap our humanoid friend.  More importantly, however, thick, girthy trees are important so that the ridiculously ripped members of your ecclectic team can display their physical prowess.  Remember, when you have egotistical bodybuilders on your squad, team morale is important; feeding their egos does the job every time!

#2, the site should be somewhat level, but more importantly, there should be several “ways out” for our alien humanoid hunter friend.  I know what you’re thinking, “Bob, if we’re trying to trap our mandibled friend, then why would we choose a site that works against that goal?”  Friends, the answer to that is simple:  don’t be a pussy.  The bottom line is that if you choose the perfect site that’s guaranteed to ensure trapping the “ugly motherfucker,” where’s the excitement?!  Exactly.  There is no excitement and no chance for other individuals from your crew to get decimated by the hunter’s shoulder-mounted blaster and/or 4-foot, two-pronged, retractible blade.  No one wants it to be easy, especially a company of men who usually “work alone.”

#3, last but not least, it is critical that your site be in an area of the jungle that has multiple distractions and features that the members of your party will continually mistake for the target.  You see friends, the excitement level, and risk of death, is greatly increased when your men are taken by complete surprise when the trap actually catches the hunter.  They will consistently be looking in the wrong direction, confusing palm leaves and critters for old dred-head.  When the trap does spring, catching the hunter, they will be completely taken by surprise.  It comes down to a simple question:  if there’s no risk of being brutally murdered, then what’s the point?  I’ll leave you all with that.

Next time, get ready to blast your lats because it’s time to build the trap and pull down some big fucking trees.  Until next time…

Led me be glear, feeuhst, I would juz lahk du ged du knaow you.  Yez, we have been friendz fooah a while now, bud I gan’t rush indo thiz, you knaow?  Loog, don dake thiz peeouuhsonally.  Id really haz nothing do du wid you.  Id iz mooah me.  Even zince my laz drip do da junkle, I have been a bid on etch.  You zee, while diiere, my grew and I–nooahmally we weuhrk alaone, bud thiz dime a zerdain zomeone gooked ub a ztory and needlezz do zay, id feld lige we weuhr drobbed indo a mead glindah.  You knaow, a maghine whoze zole peeuhrbos iz do glind mead?

Anywaaay, weeuhr wuz I?  Oh yez, my grew:  we weeuhr diiere on a zecret mission, bud wud we didn’d knaow wuz dat we weeuhr being hunded by an alien-humaoeeed hunder.  Lizen, dis wuz one UGLY muddafucker.  He had deez dizguzting mandiblez dat made him loog lige a fucking bug.  Anyway, I made da mizdake of agtually galling him an “ugly muddafucker,” and I baid da brice.  In dhe end I game oud vigdorious–some would zay dat I begame da hundier–bud regahldless, id wuz dramadizing.

Zo, in glozing, don’d mage a big deal oud ov dis:  I would juz lahk du ged du knaow you feeuhst.

As many of you know, the foundation of a successful alien-humanoid-hunter-spring-net-trap is a solid team.  That’s why I suggest assembling an eclectic crew of diverse individuals with varying personalities and potential psychological problems.

For instance, you may want to select a bald, pitch-black dude with a deep-southern accent and a love of using disposable safety razors at seemingly inappropriate times.  You can rest assured that this guy will be there for you and will have some hard-to-put-your-finger-on ability to sense where the cloaked hunter is.

Second, get yourself a half-mute native american with a bizarre connection with the jungle and a 4-foot survival knife.  Yes, he creates awkward situations with his lack of ability to pick up on subtle social cues, but still, you need him, so stop fighting it.

Third, get yourself an Austrian bodybuilder with a love of short, girthy stogies and a dislike for not “working alone.”  This individual may act as the team captain and will be very handy when it comes to pulling down 5-foot-diameter trees to function as the spring in your spring trap (See step 4).  This guy will keep you laughing with incredibly witty one-liners and his ability to avoid detection by our friendly jungle hunter.

Fourth, get yourself a couple of guys to fill in some of the gaps, including maybe a guy with thick-rimmed glasses and another guy who’s very pessimistic and is pretty much convinced the whole time that you are all going to be killed.  Don’t sweat these guys because they’re expendable (eh?!?!) and will be killed by our friend the humanoid hunter.

Fifth, snag a cocky thick motherfucker with a love of smokeless tobacco and a serious lack of time for bleeding.  He will be handy for some comic relief as well as for dessimating jungle with a gun that is more appropriate on an attack chopper. However, don’t count too much on this guy because more likely than not he’ll take a lazer/light beam to the chest.

Okay, last but not least, get yourself an oily ripped black dude with a perfectly trimmed mustache and a willingness to change up his style.  He should be very experienced at devising improvised traps such as our spring net trap.  Try to keep an eye on this guy though because he could lose his forearm.

Once your team is assembled, prepare yourself to step 2:  picking the site for the trap.  We’ll see you next time!

Hello dear readers. The other day I was jamming to some maiden on my iPod and the Iron Maiden song The Mercenary came on. My ears immediately perked up as I heard the lyrics in the first verse:

“Pay to kill, die to lose, hunted, hunter which are you
Diablo come again to make trophies out of men
Lose your skin, lose your skull, one by one the sack is full
In the heat dehydrate, know which breath will be your last”

In case you didn’t know (and you damn well should at this point) this is a direct reference to Predator. You see my friends, even Steve Harris, Bruce Dickenson and co. love this film enough to make a song about it. If you don’t like Predator, how have you even read this far? And if you don’t like Maiden, you deserve to have your spine ripped from your back by our 8 foot friend.