Ommatidia » Celebrities

John Belushi

Brendan — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 05:38:30 +0000

The year was 1961. Outside the famous Grauman’s Theater in Boston, John Belushi was walking home from rehearsal when he ran into an eager young fan. “Mister Belushi!” he cried. “How can I grow up to be famous like you?”

“Well,” said Belushi, and pulled a shiny quarter from behind his ear. “You know what the writing on the back of this says?”

“Gee, I don’t!”

“In God We Trust,” said John Belushi. “If you remember that, you might just make it in show biz.” The boy dried his eyes and nodded with determination.

That young man’s name? Was Babe Ruth.

Jack Kirby

Brendan — Tue, 22 Feb 2011 15:00:54 +0000

1944 and it’s cold in occupied France, cold enough that PFC Jack Kirby spends a night in the mud and ends up with frostbitten legs. The London surgeons have no choice but to amputate and give him cyberprosthetics made of starmetal.

Seriously, look it up.

Between Steranko’s escape artistry and Ditko’s phantom cloak, the three of them are a crack team on the European front. Fists fly; energies crackle; the Axis cowers before them. Soon they stand atop the ruins of the Reichstag, triumphant, titans of the age.

Stan Lee is one of only nine official Army Playwrights, so there’s that.

Hedy Lamarr

Brendan — Thu, 03 Jun 2010 15:00:21 +0000

“But think about it,” says Hedy Lamarr. “Torpedoes you can steer, by radio, immune to jamming–”

“Sure, sure,” says Mr. National Inventors Council.

“It hops frequencies based on player piano rolls! How steampunk awesome is that!”

“Listen, sweetheart, if your husband put your name on the patent too then that’s awful nice of him,” says Mr. National Inventors Council. “But howzabout you put that pretty face to work and do War Bond fund-raiser instead?”

“Dick,” says Hedy Lamarr.

Then she goes out and raises seven million dollars in one night, which in 1941 is supervillain money (seriously, look it up).

Will Ferrell

Brendan — Tue, 18 May 2010 15:00:46 +0000

Will Ferrell might be here to kill you.

“The alternative,” he’ll explain, “is that you do something funny.”

Cast about; don’t make this complicated. Grab the first thing on the table of your mind. Don’t let yourself speculate, don’t picture yourself as a king’s fool forced to–

Will Ferrell should apply electricity to your genitals. Scream.

“Humor is pain wedded to aesthetic distance,” he’ll say, over you. “Distance is trivially achieved, but what of suffering?”

Sob the joke about Kermit’s finger. You know the one.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Will Ferrell will sigh, and enforce on your body an artist’s discipline.

Leonard Richardson

Brendan — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 15:00:05 +0000

“Think,” says Leonard Richardson, “of anything but treason.”

Think of pink elephants! Think of your shoes. Think of your first kiss or the smell of mildew or the masturbation joke from college that gave you the hiccups–

You didn’t, did you? You thought about treason.

“Excellent!” says Leonard Richardson. “Don’t think of arson, or abduction, or fratricide.”

Go ahead. Picture your stolen baby brother on fire, you imbecile.

“Any questions?”

Don’t ask aloud. Just wonder, silently, if you’re going to prison.

“Ah no,” smiles Leonard Richardson, as your brainmap spills on tickertape through his hands. “We’re going to set you free.”