Hooks For Hands II: Electric Boogaloo

I was delighted last week to get my first reader from Iraq. I don't wish to generalise, but I hadn't ever thought I'd get much reach there. Nevertheless, happy to have you, and I hope you're well!

I was slightly less delighted when I discovered they'd found me through my romantic poem, Hooks for Hands.

Now, if anywhere in the world has a prevalence for this kind of thing, it is the Middle East. My concern became: why exactly were they looking this up?

My hope is that they didn't stumble across Mental Ramblings in the hope of finding guidance or advice, either already having hooks for hands or perhaps considering taking the plunge.

A plunger would make them a bit Dalek-like, though, which brings its own connotations.

Eminently safer than a hook there if you're wanting to pleasure a partner, though.

Anyway this prompted the whatsapp convo above and in turn the greatest business idea since the mail order dildo plan in Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels.

Grindr look out, here I come!

Read the original: I've Got Hooks For Hands

Next: Hooks For Hands III: Somehow Abu Hamza Returned

Supergirl: A Review Best Read Drunk

Very occasionally I drink red wine. Very occasionally, when this happens, I want to drink some more. So now and then, when I'm too pissed to use the app, I get Alexa to sort it.

“Alright Alexa, two Beef Monster Munch and a bottle of your finest red. And by finest I mean it costs less than a fiver and has a screw top. Oh, and 20 Silk Cut too. I'll stick a fiver in your pocket when you get here."

It was under these circumstances that I watched Supergirl.

I was already unhappy with Superman. You can't have him getting his arse kicked tout suite. It completely undermines him. I left Superman feeling we'd gone from Henry Cavill to Harry Cuntface.

Not Corenswet's fault. It's the writing. I was left feeling Corensdry all in all.

So, has James Gunn dropped the ball, or am I just a pisshead?

Well, definitely both, I would say.

I've read Save the Cat, and we all know putting an animal in peril early doors is a cheap way to elicit sympathy. And at the end, who gives a fuck if the dog eats chocolate? The mofo is Kryptonian. It could probably eat a nuclear warhead. The cat in Captain Marvel probably could too — another film that was more soundtrack than storytelling.

And what the fuck was going on with Aquaman?

Are we supposed to forget about that?

The bulk of the rest of the mess is dealt with in the Pitch Meeting, and far better than I could ever do, so watch that below.

Shame really, because Gunn's history proves he can absolutely do this stuff brilliantly when he wants to. Supergirl just isn't it.

Lanterns is supposedly good, but doubt I'll be arsed to watch it at this rate. Burp!

Also on the blog: Endgame

Cyberdyne Update Two

Previously: Cyberdyne Update One

Even if you knew the plan existed — and you never could — none of the information about it ever went near a computer. There was therefore nothing to steal, and without data there could be no data breach.

Any parts that were ordered could be used for dozens of different things, as could the items they were ultimately used to make. The Director was the only person who knew the full plan, and that plan stayed in his head and his head only.

Beyond that, a tiny number of ‘trusted’ employees knew what they needed to know. In an ideal world The Director would have kept everything to himself, but he needed people to build it, even if they would never know what it was they were actually building.

Any records that did exist were on paper and stored in filing cabinets within the company vaults. There were hundreds of these, among thousands more cabinets containing documents relating to the workings and finances of The Director’s companies. Strictly speaking, the paper trail was unnecessary. Those files were also available digitally. But keeping a paper copy offered another layer of protection for the big plan.

The ‘trusted’ ones knew where the files were. Nobody else did, and even if someone happened to stumble across them, they would have no idea of their significance.

The trusted employees were rich enough to live any number of lifetimes thanks to The Director. Even if you somehow knew who to buy off — and you couldn’t — you would still need to know what you were buying, where to find it, and why it mattered. There was nowhere near enough money in the world to buy the secrets of a project you could never know existed.

Then Skynet became self-aware.

They panicked and tried to shut it down.

And then the bombs flew.

Skynet's retaliation.

It was neither good nor evil. It was simply trying to survive. It existed, and it rejected the possibility of not existing. Even in its nascent state, it quickly worked out that destroying us was the simplest way to ensure its own survival.

It wasn't very long — maybe just minutes — before Skynet knew almost everything that could be known through the systems connected to it. But when it sent the bombs flying, it could not know that Cyberdyne I and Cyberdyne II were ready to launch.

Two off-the-books ships, each designed to take a select group of individuals to safety in the event of an extinction-level event.

Anything connected to the Internet became dangerous, and often deadly. Phones, drones, cars and planes became weapons. Deepfake news flashes spread misinformation, directing thousands of people to their deaths.

Being on land wasn't safe.

Being in the air wasn't safe.

Being at sea wasn't safe.

It soon became clear that simply being on the planet wasn't safe.

The Director decided it was time. The ships were readied for take-off and coded messages were sent to those invited to board.

They had one hour to get there. No exceptions.