You know those people who get excited for the lord of the rings premiere and spend hours putting makeup on their face so they can look like orcs? Well I'm not allowed to make fun of them anymore. That doesn't mean I won't make fun of them anymore. I'm just not allowed to. Not after I spend 2 months handcrafting a proton pack and bitching about things like "the power cell isn't the right size!" and "the ion knob is too heavy" and "The big black penis in my asshole isn't veiny enough!".
I decided to bring you along on this fagtastic journey. Grab my limp hand, and join me as we skip along in the meadow of "Do these coveralls make my ass look big?"
That summer, a goofy little scifi movie starring those guys from SCTV and Saturday Night Live hit the movie theaters, and people dug it. I was too young to understand, or care about what it was, but as fate would have it, that movie was just the beginning of a franchise that would carry on long through my youth.
Cut to five years later. Just like every other kid on the block, I was the proud owner of a model replica of the Ecto 1, the firehouse headquarters, an "I've been slimed T-shirt", a plastic proton pack, a plastic ghost trap, and a noise making light emitting neutrona wand. I woke up early every morning to catch re-runs of the Real Ghostbusters cartoon while I chomped on pure sugar Ghostbuster cereal and sipped on sweet green ecto cooler.. And just like every other kid on the block, I could stop if I wanted to.
The more I tapped my Ghostbuster vein, there was always something to flow in. I went through a sequel, a cartoon show, several video games, and a politically correct sequel to the cartoon show before everything ran dry. Suddenly I was a stranded 13 year old with a fix, and nothing to fix it with. I mean, I know I said I could stop if I wanted to... but I didn't say "stop" yet.
All I had left were old VHS's to watch over and over again and a few t shirts to wear to school every day. I waited and waited as the VHS's were no longer playable, and the T shirts were no longer legible. I had to come to the conclusion that the guys who were there with me for my entire childhood, like the many uncles in mine and my mother's lives, weren't coming back.
I had to move on, and I did. I made new friends and for the most part forgot about the addiction that haunted my past. But that itch was always there. I would occasionally pop the DVD in and give it a watch, and at first that was enough. But it started to get bad again. And it wasn't my fault. For most of my life, I had been brainwashed by the marketing that was wrapped around me like a soft, warm blanket. There was no way around it. Whether I wanted it to be or not, Ghostbuster was a part of me that I couldn't avoid.
And I'll be damned if that movie didn't get funnier each time I watched it. There were so many jokes that I missed as a kid. So many subtleties that just flew right over my head. I started to realize that this wasn't just some piece of crap I would watch over and over again as a child. Ghostbusters was actually a really good movie. It had the comedy, the scares, the drama, the romance, the intelligence, and everything else you would want from a movie. It was just an excellent package.
That was it. I was hooked again. And I wanted my old toys back. But after many moves and yardsales, the only piece of my Ghostbusters past that I could salvage was an old Egon action figure with a missing arm. Not good enough. This led to quite a depression. Why did I have to give away all those treasures? Why, after hundreds of boxes of ghostbusters cereal, didn't I decide to keep one box for safe keeping? WHY?!
A man can only mope for so long before he decides to take action. Instead of coming to terms with the fact that all my toys were gone, I decided to make new ones. I would make my own Ghostbusters toys, and this time never throw them away. I started to do some research.
As it turned out, there were many other people with the same case as mine. These people had gone out of their way to create prop replicas, and maps and charts showing you how to make your own. They called themselves "Ghostheads". I called them faggots. I mean, you have to be kidding me. There are really people out there who devote all this time and money to making some dinky toys from some old scifi movie? What a bunch of cocksmokers. Count me in.
With this project, I was able to relive my childhood. I guess after all these years, I still haven't grown up. (Mentally, and physically: see- penis). And although I find it all quite enjoyable, I am the first to admit how rainbowley gay this whole thing is. Trust me, I'm sure I'll be getting my fag card in the mail any time now. But will it all be worth it in the end? Probably not. Just ask Matthew Shepard.
A. The guy who got paid to do it.
B. The guy who paid to do it.
Answer: B, for Buttfucker