Two pieces today from the good folk over at (the far more immodest) This Blog Rules. First up is a selection of hyper-abstract Star Wars posters from Soviet Russia. Obviously not being able to properly sanction anything that smacked of capitalist values, certain liberties had to be taken with the depiction of films. And when I say ‘certain liberties’, I mean it looks like they drew these before having seen the films and with the aid of naught but a 25-word precis. Something along the lines of “It’s a western film set in space, with robots, aliens and colourful swords. And when they fly fast in their spaceships lights start appearing. Twenty-five”

Han Solo really should have worn a hat that looked like this

… What the hell is that thing?

And second, there’s this series of really quite amazing photos from a French photographer Cedric Delsaux, basically exploring what it would like if Star Wars happened on Earth. More specifically, in Dubai. And what would happen? TOTALLY AWESOME SHIT WOULD HAPPEN!… It also looks like the Earth would be reduced to a bit of a lifeless wasteland, but hey, you take the good with the bad.

Sigourney Weaver in: AT-ATs in the Mist

Darth Vader waits for his date. His HOT date.

Just some bros. Chilling.

/Luke

Four-odd weeks ago I had some light surgery on my left knee. As a result I have been somewhat restricted in my movements and unable to take part in my daily recreations, such as pogo-sticking, ballet-polka-rollerskating fusion and nudging the homeless with my very expensive patent leather loafers. I like to call it “loafering the loafers”. But this operation has also meant that I’ve required walking aids in order to be able to move about, and not being one to just wear my disability on the chin (or the knee as the case may be), I decided to upgrade from my hospital issue elbow crutches to a more striking/pretentious vintage walking cane. Which at least has allowed me to prod the homeless instead. “Prodding the loafers” doesn’t have quite the same ring, but it’ll do.

As is his wont, Paul was looking for a way that I might be able to weaponise my cane. He suggested an investment in this rapier/umbrella concoction (which I imagine would be a bitch to get through customs). But I, for one, think there are better, more honourable alternatives to hiding a blade within an umbrella. Behold: Bartitsu. The phrase “Have at you!” doesn’t even begin to do it justice:

Things we can learn from this picture:

1. An extravagant moustache is the most important part of Bartitsu. It intimidates your opponent. It also protects your upper lip from glancing blows and impresses the ladies. Before you prod them with your cane. Not a pun.

2. A cravat is the second most important part of Bartitsu. A sufficiently stunning cravat will distract your opponent, allowing you to prod him with your cane.

3. A slightly dazed, war-veteran style thousand-yard stare is the third most important part of Bartitsu. Look at that guy’s eyes. He’d be capable of anything. I bet he killed a man with his bare hands in the Boer War. And now he’s got a cane. Run, you fools!

4. Before commencing fisticuffs, you first must do the Dance of the Thrown Overcoat.

5. If full Edwardian garb is not available, a casual skirt may be worn.

Informative. Still confused? Well, then here’s a video of the martial art in action

I guess after that we can probably also add:

6. Jaunty piano soundtrack, while not mandatory, is very much recommended.

But look at that speed, that style, that grace. Those bitching hats. Those impractical-in-summer coats. I mean, it’s not much to ask, but if we can make this an exhibition sport at the 2020 Olympics, then I will be able to die a happy, happy man. My body encased in bronze, and my cane jutting into the throat of anyone who came near.

Something to aim for.

/Luke

Meet Roxxxy (and creator. What a dynamic looking young man). No, she isn’t suffering from a profound disability. Unless you count the absence of a brain, soul and true autonomy. Rather, she’s the latest advance in the field of ‘female simulation’. And what a noble field it is, filled with gentlemen, entrepeneurs and the finest innovators the world has to offer. For years the high-end love doll of choice has been the decidedly oxymoronic Real Doll (do I really need to point out that almost every link in this post could be considered at least slightly NSFW), a hand-crafted miracle of silicone and pliability that can be yours for the princely sum of $US5 999. Plus, presumably, postage and handling… Although, there better not be too much ‘handling’! Am I right? ‘Ey, ‘ey, ‘ey, ‘ey… ‘ey?… I’ll let myself out.

I gotta admit, the entire endeavour is a pretty alien concept to me. I mean, I’m not exactly fighting off rabid hordes of busty women with naught but a pointed stick (FYI, that’s a cliché, not a phallic pun), but at the same time I’ve also never had the thought “yes, that’s it, I’m obviously never going to be have sex again. Now is the time to dive headlong into the endless abyss of sadness and solipsism that is copulation with an inanimate object”. Hard to know if anyone has ever had that specific thought, but I like to think it’s a definite tipping point. Fortunately, other people have been paid to explore the field, and this is a reasonably entertaining account of one man’s scientific “expedition” into the “world” of the Real Doll.*

But now we have the $US7-9000 Roxxxy, the brainchild of self-described “happily married man”, Douglas Hines. The word brainchild being particularly apt given the amount of se… sentiment he has obviously poured into it. Her. It… I dunno. If you’re game, here’s Douglas showing Roxxxy off to the world for the first time at the recent Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas.

As someone has pointed out, Douglas has quite obviously managed to get Roxxxy’s underwear on sideways. Excellent work, Douglas.

Basically, Roxxxy is unique in that she vocally responds to both your conversation and your sexy touching. She also has a number of settings ranging from Frigid Farrah to Mature Martha to, my favourite, Wild Wendy. Exactly how wild Wendy can be given that she cannot move of her own volition is open to debate, but the thought is there. Anyway, the inherent creepiness of the entire affair probably doesn’t require vast amounts of elaboration (although Slate explores the concept a little more here), suffice to say I now have the distinct fear that next time I’m “in the midst”** with a woman, I’m going to look down and be able to see naught but the glossy, soulless eyes of Roxxxy staring back at me. And then realise that I’m at the tail end of a four-day paint and amyl bender that has somehow culminated in me stealing the original Roxxxy prototype from Douglas Hines’ house and “having my wicked way with it”*** in the man’s living room. While he and his wife stare at me aghast from the kitchen. And I’ll look up and see them and then scream “SHE MADE ME DO IT!” before bursting into tears and jumping through a window.

… My fears are oddly specific.

/Luke

* He had sex with it
** Having sex
*** This is probably a little self-explanatory by now

[SCENE MISSING]

But sometimes they also liked to indulge in the odd bit of soothsaying, and the National Library of France has a pretty awesome collection of drawings from 1910 depicting what an artist named Villemard presumed life would be like come the year 2000. And what an era it would have been. Rocket shoes? You bet! (Obviously these predictions came from people who had never studied the cautionary tales of Wile E. Coyote)

They also appeared to believe that we would develop a strange fascination with stationary horses. Either way, I am LOVING the guy on the left’s hat.

This one’s entitled ‘Heating With Radium’. I can think of at least two things wrong with that title, at least one of which involves the rapid death of everyone in the picture.

All in all, an accurate portrayal for how things will almost surely appear in the year 2000. Yep. That Beyond 2000 show got it all wrong. Let’s get us some radium.

/Luke

[via Paleo-Future, where the rest of this quite excellent set can be checked out]