I wish to charge up my Nintendo DS. It isn’t asking much.

And I have only one space left on the port.

I wish to fit the power adaptor into that remaining space: the one untouched. 

But because of the shape of it, I cannot. There is conflict. Could you not be shaped vertically, I retort? 

~

But “NO” it shouts, “I wish to be here“

So I am forced to rearrange every other plug, just to accommodate this one. Inconsiderate prick. 

“This is needlessly annoying,” I say, shaking my head. “Why are you so greedy, oh dear me, oh dear.”

Succumbing to its greed, half of it still sticking out anyway, I am exposed to an imminent explosion at the mercy of my next switch flick. 

They say you should never judge a book by its cover; but what about those particularly obscure macho sporting DVDs usually found in the ‘Specialist’ section of a DVD store right next to the awkward softcore pornography section (rather ingenius target demographic product placement if I do say so myself) or deep down within the ‘Under $10′ Bargain Bins beneath never-ending piles of Steven Seagal’s latest works and other miscellaneous rubbish? Surely these DVDs are, unlike books, with their terrible covers perfectly summing up their equally terrible content, just begging to be judged? Well the moment I got my hands on a copy of this beauty at a friend’s house over the weekend, graciously saving me from the need to purchase it myself, I knew I had hit the jackpot as far as potential gold for a cynical review goes.

And before you ask, no, I did not watch it; does one even need to with a cover and title as good as this? Plaudits must go to the great choice of colour scheme, harking back to the years of old when Hypercolour t-shirts were ‘in’ with an outrageous splash of yellow-purple spectrum with all the colours in between masking what is, most probably, an eruption of blood and sweat gushing out of the head of the guy copping the punch. Note how the punch has been photoshopped in complete with speed lines just to further emphasise the impact on the best photo the designers could find matching the criteria of ‘a picture of some poor bastard with jelly lips and mouthguard about to fall out’ as a Google image search of that last line yields unsatisfactory results, otherwise.

As for the title itself, if you didn’t know this was about boxing one could easily imagine it being a compilation of amateur footage from an adults-only version of Funniest Home Videos lasting just under two hours (two hours!), but for it to be most definitely about boxing, and the naively rudimentary image I have in my mind of any boxer not seeing a punch coming in a sport based solely on punches and the strange satisfaction my brethren derive from wild hits to the head, well. It just makes me chuckle a bit on the inside, which is perhaps the appeal of boxing in the first place. Now onto the back cover:

Probably the best back cover out of any DVD I have ever seen:

Who needs 10 stars when you can have two rows of nine? I’m also pretty sure that a ‘full frame 4×3′ picture ratio translates roughly to ‘Eighties footage for old television sets before remote controls were around where you had to change channels and adjust the volume with dials, and if the picture was still fuzzy then a few hits to the top of it would make those wrongs right, boy’. Man, I miss those old TVs. It’s also nice that we are told next to the approximate running time that this DVD will, indeed, be shown in colour, and in addition I’m absolutely a hundred percent certain that ‘All Region NTSC’ is a complete contradiction in terms, but hey, let’s not get too pedantic here.

What also really gets me is the start of the second paragraph:

“To enhance the experience, you will get a slow-motion replay followed by multi-angle views and finally, experts will dissect the punch in detail”. In other words, the footage you are about to see is, veritably, a rehashed recording of the match when it was previously broadcast anyway.

Something that’s always amused me with boxing matches has been that, should your gaze ever wander from the carnage on show to focus on the crowd behind the fighters, right down low between the ring and the rope closest to it, you will see the audience’s heads and there will always, always, be someone laughing (and/or mouthing an F word). Behaviour that sums boxing up perfectly. Specifically, this guy:

And that is why Punches They Didn’t See Coming: 70 Classic KOs is the best DVD cover ever made. Actually, in talking it up throughout this review, I am now left with an overwhelming urge to watch it; all I need is an old school DVD-compatible wooden television set to maximise the enjoyment in glorious, full-colour 4×3.

Got any other bad DVD covers that need reviewing? Send them in!

A spiritual sequel to a previous blog: Paranoia in Bullet Point Form.

Disclaimer: Once again, all of this really happened and names, nationalities, suburbs and countries have been changed to protect the innocent.

So you have a really close cousin who lives in England. Now because your extended family is all split up and living in multiple countries around the world, consisting of a plethora of many unknown cousins in often non-English speaking lands, you were really happy to meet Mark when he came to visit you in Australia in 1999. Considering it was the very first time you guys had met since years ago when he was 9 and you were 1, it was a welcome introduction to family previously unfamiliar and anonymous, regardless of the age difference. There was a real connection, not just in the common language being spoken, but also in personalities and motivations; in other words, cousin Mark was a good guy.

You found each other on Facebook years later, a happy reunion full of well-wishes and life updates and sending each other photos of your parents and pets and friends. Writing on each other’s walls. Commenting on each other’s holiday photos. It was all so very cousin-ish; albeit so social network-gimmicky as well, but it was certainly better than a return to zero contact and for that you remained grateful: the contact has not been very constant since that initial surge, which surprises you somewhat, but at least the option is there.

Having not heard from him for a while, you then get an email notification: ‘Mark Ooi sent you a message on Facebook’.

You excitedly click on that email, a hundred possibilities twirling through your mind as to what it could possibly contain. Important news? Good or bad? I hope nothing serious has happened. No no, I’m sure it’s okay. Maybe he’s getting married? Maybe he’s coming back to Sydney? It’s about time I went to visit him in England, I’ve always wanted to go…

You willingly stop yourself from over-thinking, deciding to just read the damned thing.

It is yet another miscellaneous, mundane, midweek work day. While sitting at your desk in front of your computer monitor, you find out via Google news that the Zombie Apocalypse has actually, finally, arrived. Initial panic sets in as the realisation hits that the world, as you know it, will never be the same again. You sit there stunned for a few moments, before thinking to yourself “Fuck Yeah.”

Scouring through your desk drawers for weapon options, you find scissors, thumbtacks, a stapler, and the cutting edge of the sticky-tape dispenser. These might be good as last-ditch weapons but they just won’t cut it otherwise, pun very much intended.

Scouting out the kitchen is also a disappointment; instead of any decent knives you only find an over-supply of sporks, and the largest sharp object available is a cake cutter. “Utterly useless!” you shout in frustration before calmly waiting out the remaining 1 minute and 42 seconds for your lunch to heat up in the microwave. One hand placed firmly on your chin, your mind ticks away. ”I need solid metal shapes. Knives and stabbing weapons”.

“I need to go outside”.

You know full well that you could be safe on the sixth floor of your building. That there are only two ways in which the zombies could get to you: via the two elevators, one of which is regularly unreliable, and via the fire escape stairwell which, if we are talking about the standard unintelligent species of zombie, makes you virtually untouchable. But what about food? Supplies? WEAPONS?! The fact that firearms are not publicly available concerns you as, unlike in America, you will be in uncharted territory, fighting off the horde with melee weapons only.

Something must be done. You need to get your hands on some serious arsenal sooner rather than later. If you get lucky you might run into a zombie police officer, and once you’re done bludgeoning it to death with the corners of a pack of Reflex photocopying paper, you can take his pistol, but until then there needs to be an alternative strategy.

Right beside your workplace is a motorcycle shop. Perfect. They must have guns in there, right?

Wrong.

The only objects immediately available for use as weapons are engine parts, bicycle pumps, and clothes hangers from the boutique store. How disappointing. That image you had of riding a Harley through swarms of zombies, unleashing a barrage of lever-action shotgun-fire deteriorates, as does the image of the ultimate bike made entirely out of chainsaws:

Having the option of fleeing on a motorbike if need be is promising, though, even without the weapons. As is the promise of an adequate amount of fuel: there is a petrol station directly across the road. Not only is it a good source of food, cigarettes, DVDs, even firewood, it can also be blown up as a last resort. Of course you won’t be able to shoot the pumps but you can set off the detonation with a cigarette lighter or, for the action movie fans, via a fuel trail like at the end of Die Hard 2.

Lure the horde in through the centre lane, then light the fuse.

Place these strategically around the complex in anticipation of those Left 4 Dead-style crescendo events.

Can be used for warmth or to set up barricades.

Whilst contemplating these possibilities, you hear that roar. That unmistakeable chorus of the marching undead, awakened from their Godless slumber as droplets of rain begin to fall. Readying your cigarette lighter and freshly-purchased deodorant can as a makeshift flamethrower, you have your next stop in mind: the hospital – for medical supplies, home defibrillator kits and scalpels.