Jenna hated physical education. All the girls stared at her in the change-room (she was one of the firs to develop), and her hand-eye coordination was rotten.
Reaping class, on the other hand, was her favorite.
She especially liked the cries of existential anguish as she tore souls from bodies.
It depends on how much respect you’re looking for, really. I mean, if you just want your friends, family and neighbours to respect you then it should be pretty easy.
From what I can see, your smaller primate groupings here on Earth tend to respect strength of character, kindness and consideration of others. So for starters, stop acting like a pretentious wanker, insufferable know-it-all, or complete douchebag. (People usually lose respect for individuals for one of those reasons.)
But if you’re looking for respect from a larger grouping of primitive hominids (that’s you, humans) — let’s say from the size of a corporation up to the size of a nation — this will require power too.
For my money, nothing says power like a phalanx of Über-Chimps decked out in gold spandex and helmets that look like the business end of a whale phallus. Oh, and they have to be toting plasma weapons too, or the look just doesn’t work. Unfortunately, all your backwards planet seems to think plasma is good for making televisions show crappy content in higher definition.
So, give your primitive technology I’d start building a thermonuclear weapon right now, and some kind of delivery system. (No one would expect a llama.)
My advice is to test it on a holiday weekend for maximum impact.
If you haven’t had a chance to check out the gallery of entries yet, you really should. There is some great stuff there. And IO9 just linked to the gallery, and they did a nifty little selection they liked.
Here’s just a taste:
Title: Yes We Can
Based on: The Wizard of Oz
Title: Suk Doctors
Based on: Dune (The Suk Doctors – wiki)
Title: Eloi – The Other White Meat
Based on: The Time Machine
Details on how to enter are at the bottom of the gallery page or below, on The Skwib. You have until October 4th, so there’s still lots of time!
Love this! I defy you not to smile as you’re watching it. Happy Friday!
Via Retrogasm.
It were 2011, and a year had passed since the Le Fromage de Satan had sunk our frigate with an exploding cheese, killing all hands except for meself, Jim Quinn, and the chef’s assistant, Paul Le Whisk.
Arrr!
Le Whisk gave up yer life at sea after his near brush with the Belugas. And I? Well, after the disaster that befell the HMCS Shag Harbour, it were clear to me His Majesty’s fleet was not going to capture the worst of Canada’s curdaneers, Captain Jacques LaBung. It would be up to me to get LaBung and his ruthless gang of cheese pyrates, whose savage bowel obstructions were infamous along the Gold Coast.
So I hit upon the idear of luring them in, so to speak, with me own tempting cheddar. I resigned my commission, and entered the shadowy world of bathtub cheese making. Dangerous work for sure, keeping clear of the authorities while yer curds age, and I almost lost me good hand in the press one time. But soon, I had load of unsanitary cheese, ready to lure LaBung and his plugged-up pyrates with.
I let it be known that I were transporting my salmonella-laced booty that night, and knew the word would get out to LaBung. Even if he suspected its quality, he could never resist a boatload of gold. My launch were a sturdy craft, but it would not survive the explosives I’d put in the hold. Me plan was to destroy the ship when La Bung and his constipated crew came on board.
I were willing to die for me revenge, but it were not to be.
Sure enough, their awful ship, Le Fromage de Satan, came at me as soon as I was in the St. Lawrence, but before they boarded me, a swarm of birds rose from the craft. It were a flock of aggressive parrots, trained by the demon La Bung himself! They came at me, screeching profanities in Quebecois, and pecking at me good eye! They stunk of the ship’s bilge, where La Bung had been keeping them, driving them mad with the reek.
Ashamed as I am to admit it, I panicked, and abandoned me wee launch to the feculent birds.
I dove under the water, and swam away as fast as I could, knowing the pyrates would stop for the cheese, and leave me be.
But I could hear the roar of LaBung’s laughter, above the din of evil parrots, screeching: “Kétaine! Vas te faire foutre!” I vowed (yet again) that revenge would be mine.