Ayo it's ya boi Polyphemus, cyclopean abomination and bastard spawn of Cthulhu and Hermaphroditus, formerly known as Yakub the critically acclaimed scientist and part-time über guru, referred to in some circles as Touchstone the Clown, and also known as ser heroin biceps AKA Elmo the Snow Queen AKA Julius Ebola AKA Jean Rimbaud AKA Julian the Prostate AKA the immaculately conceived love-child of a naked mole rat and a naked mall rat AKA the Piero Scaruffi of this anime game AKA Heraclitorus AKA Angus Dei AKA Zombie Jesus AKA that one guy who brushes his teeth with orange juice AKA the cool aids man AKA Fidel Castrato AKA an intersectional fascist AKA your goldfish's worst wet dream AKA your little sister's best nightmare AKA your great aunt Helga's premier sexual fantasy AKA that dude who be elbow deep in yer mommy's pancake batter. I be steady wading through ya grandmammy's porridge. What is happening.
I've been hatching vain empires in the darkness since the womb. What have you done with your life?
I don't like the animes because they are a part of a vast Oriental conspiracy to control Western youth and lead them into degeneracy. They weaken the minds of our allies, and embolden our enemies.
I'm absurdly busy. Literally, it is absurd how busy I am. My autobiography will be labelled as a seminal work in the burgeoning genre of hyper-post-postmodern absurdist metafictional auto-hagiography. (If only because of the vast quantities of semen involved.) Anyway, if I don't reply to your message or whatever in a timely fashion then that is why.
I used to have a review of Naruto. As a part of a vast left-wing conspiracy, it was deleted by certain unnamed elements of this site, to pave way for a new world order. I have decided, due to popular demand, to put it up here:
Note: This is a mere imitation of my review for the manga version of the currently critiqued piece. This would also function as a review of the sequel, as little changed at the core level. I added nothing about audiovisuals, because they are mere distractions. Unlike some, I don't just visually or auditorily observe a given anime. I feel it. I feel the anime itself. Now. The review:
For me, the mere accusation that I did not comprehend Naruto is why I commit to this critically evaluative piece. My present comportment is one of animalistic curiosity, instinctually carnivorous for quality. It enters subtly, in front of the body from which its terrible personification withdraws juicy meat and anally separates the redundancy. With Naruto, it is not this in a constant state for the masses, and that which is surprisingly inefficient is the style of the art at the initiating coup d'œil; it is not guaranteed to the majority of the armchair critics, due to the optical barrier of rosy chromatics that pervades far too often in certain circles. The beginning of the series characterizes a dubious development for measure with glaciered existential qualities and without causing so much as an emotionally riotous uproar, before metaphorical rocky roads lay these future prospects with siege from the development, which, in turn, force the agitations of ambivalent tension to anatomically atomize our feelings of the foreshadowed signs and all questions of what the esoteric altitude carries in a more philosophical level of sensory, thereby prematurely preventing it from ever becoming the macropterous plot that it eventually yearned to be.
An ongoing reworking of narrative structure, while it attempts to thicken, can only result in ceaseless manifestations of disappointment. This axiomatic phenomenon is exemplified in the currently discussed work, and new nuances of ridiculous stupidity are explored on a circadian basis as the contrived holistic union of the integrants progresses into the successive anticlimaxes before it begins to buckle under its own flimsy weight and taper off into a bottomless agglomeration of tapeworm-laden bovine excretions.
Upon my primal determination that the symbolic dimension was indeed chaotic and idiosyncratic, penetrating an antipodal malevolent order divided of indeterminable nervous anxiety, borne of the exposition, I was tossed into a maelstrom of metropolitan proportions. Although, I must admit, this avoids the distribution to its complexity, which is artificial through and through. Therefore, simple and raw emotions of teenage angst must come to be as the one definite factorial gain. Of more to be claimed, the correct justifications for its conduct never were represented, the duration of which suffers and flattens the cyclopean collection of the fan based of or on the count in the vein of the smallish and weakly intellectual arrangement; on the contrary, I was planted into the original idea that I have never given only my attention. Nevertheless, I consistently contained the erumpent feeling of solitary existence in the exterior while experiencing this enervating phantasmagoria. Fundamentally kaleidoscopic, this action has what would be inconceivable, to I, that the torture of the miasmatically unfocused atmosphere and the panoptic vision of the suffering, crafted in vitro, of the non-protagonists could be an overture to a pseudo-beauteous combatative twist. This decision is, through some minimalistic superficiality of course, that the origins and the stability of an orientation of deviant stylistic tendencies, when closely examined as you would psychoanalyze a human characteristic, show not even the slightest hints of their presence. The proper logical conclusion can be easily achieved after postulating the following: art, as a concept, was foremostly formed for that which would trigger the chain reaction of the intangible modification to the humanitarian experience. To ignore the monomythic and practical nature of the faux-epic reflected would lack the proper metaphysical vibrations and would be in poor taste considering the more definitive significance of other works that are oft drawn comparative lines to.
Now, I was convinced, as bad the confliction is, that the indication of dubious historical instances, stacked onto an underlying Tabula Rasa reality, does not and cannot do alone what the protagonist is required to accomplish for a satisfactory concluding maneuver. My acumen’s mere initial conceptual birth of the idea that events could potentially go swimmingly for him provoked a shock in gratuitous nature. The antebellum chapters present some long and seemingly melliferous installations that indefinitely led to acidic nothingness that only even begins to represent itself whilst the action comes into its first, and late, florescence, in the eventually realized futuristic existence that conveniently skips over all developmental difficulties. This is a difficult thing to decide, but the distinction of the most significant botheration borne of this abomination must go towards this: the time of suffering and vengeance measures in a way that I may be forgetful of far too frequent chapters, seeing as they concluded in a place simultaneously juxtaposing and contradicting the supposed viscerality of the tension. The meta-fictional tendencies that pervade the work inform the experience of why and how, rather than it accomplishing this feat on its lonesome. I would suggest that the authorial talent, or lack thereof, behind this intestinal waste, this pretentious drivel, was a parodic and invented quasi-individual who deliberately gave birth to a non-anime as a critique of the bourgeois publishing complex, did it not give me such a distinct and recurring reminiscence of the HIV virus ad nauseam. This is not the sort of atrocity that can be committed with specific intent. Rather than fling himself off of a cliff, the abominable creator of this piece attempted to soar to great heights, thereby providing himself with a larger distance to mentally plummet into. This anime best functions as an appeal-to-emotion argument for such policies as eugenics and is not an experience that may be safely partaken of with laces in one’s shoes.
My review of Boku no Pico was similarly treated:
bruh wtf imho i aim ever scene ish lick dis ish b4 tbhq. trip ish bro it wuz kinna wired at furst but i get dis funny kinna feelin in mah pantsu n i wiz kinna joyin ya dug. its lick wen u go 2 watch a porm roll n u jus planin to chil n bus a not bot den sum arty ish cums n u aint sure how2 fill but u n up licking it in neway idk fill wat am saiyan. as slight of lice went wuz verry gud. usuly dey drag n last 3evr but dis jus 1 ep so didn get broed toe mich.
it abt dis gay how luv yung gurl who look liek boi n e giv a nice creem 2 her. i din no wat ppl in abott sayne it discus ting or summit. i thut ti wuz rlly romans. in otha animes tha protagoras all meek n shit n b 2 pussy 2 jus go out thur n tak dat pussy. dis guys nos who tis. savige.
da n me shun on otha lvls nam saiyan. dis anemone luck lick reel lift. mate me oil e notional n deers cum 2 i's. i jell uv men char case i wun b luv 2 but now buddy luv me sins i wenna price on 4 chill moles station. she went it i till u. i rtyd 2 till jewry bit dey dun list in.
if u n intel gent den dis enima 4u. boko na piku ishmae raisin detra. bcuz it reel inlick mos peep tease day. u fill ne. is god verry mohc.
a line a lone a list i luv in ran rivr. 10/10. wuld do gen.
My review of a manga called Hana wa Knife wo Mi ni Matou was also deleted. Idk if you've noticed, but everyone really hates me.
There is a manga called Hana wa Knife wo Mi ni Matou. Go. Read the first chapter. Maybe just the first couple pages. You know what? Just glance at the first page, that will suffice to communicate everything this manga has to offer. Then come back and tell me what you think. Or don't, because I know exactly what you're thinking, seeing I thought the exact same thing. "What the fuck happened to that poor man's eyebrows?"
I don't even know what the plot of this manga was, or who the characters were. I think some girl jumped out of a window at some point. Or maybe she fell. Maybe she was pushed. I don't know. I sort of skimmed everything except for the eyebrows. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't even pay attention. If you haven't seen them, you really need to look them up. Otherwise, my fascination just seems weird. But it isn't weird. It's a perfectly natural response to the inexplicable, the truly bizarre. These eldritch monstrosities are the things of nightmares, the horror of which my words fail to capture.
I mean, they aren't even caterpillar eyebrows. That would be tolerable. They're an abomination. They're very bushy, slightly infringing into uncharted inter-eye territory, usually only claimed by the full-on mono-brow, but simultaneously only being over about a fourth of his actual eye. This is not the way things should be. It isn't. That's not how eyebrows work.
Did he fall asleep at a frat party? Who did this? And why? It's just cruel. He looks ridiculous, just because some dick who probably wears t-shirts that say "OBEY" with pastel shorts and sunglasses decided it would be fun to make a sleepy party-goer look like a freak. This is not okay.
UPDATE: They took down my re:zero review as well. I really don't get what's going on here at this point ~_~
Season after season, Mammon unleashes his hordes upon us. He attempts to corrupt the mind of the righteous man, to tempt him from the path of justice. Do not be fooled, my friends—Re:Zero is simply another one of his abominations. A farcical travesty we’ve seen many times before. There is nothing for you here! Only clumsily repackaged filth.
A mewling and effeminate protagonist steps deftly through a field of plot holes, accompanied by cardboard cutouts that appear as if they were purposefully crafted to be as generic as possible. The formula for undeserved popularity has been perfected. The lowest common denominator was found long ago. Why change anything now?
We know nothing of our ‘hero,’ beyond what we see in his pathetic actions. We are meant to identify with him. He is a self-insert. This is insulting to any decent human being who simply happens to be watching. The audience is assumed to be pathetic enough to identify with so low a creature. I feel nothing but annoyance when I see him. Perhaps a hint of contempt.
This anime was described to me as “psychological torture porn,” would that it were so . . . I might take some pleasure in that, at least. But what it is is nothing. It is empty. It strives to shock me, and I feel nothing. It tugs at my heartstrings to no avail.
3/10. This is generous. I am a generous man.
Quite a number of others are gone too, not always clear why. I don't really care enough to copy and paste them from all my different DMs from mods.
10= Masterpiece. Perfect, for all practical purposes. That said, some flawless manga or anime (such as Blame!) don't even get 10s because of a lack of depth. As a general rule, 10s must be unique and engaging, have subtle and profound themes, be innovative and original, be devoid of plot holes, not use overly-convenient plot devices, have complexity, have quality characters, have trajectory, and have masterful expositions and resolutions. Pure comedy or entertainment with no deeper profundity (note the emphatic redundancy) can never be a 10. I am also less likely to give a sequel a 10, because they usually require prior knowledge and therefore cannot stand on their own feet.
9= Still one of the best. May not have any overt flaws, but just be a little short on some of the requirements to be a 10. I believe that, as infinities can be larger than or smaller than one another, there can be things that are more or less perfect.
8= Great. I still consider many anime/manga I give an 8 to be among the best. As a general rule, I don't give anything that I'm not caught up on, or isn't finished, more than an eight.
7= Good. Enjoyable. Recommended. This is usually as high as a series devoid of originality or innovation can get. For instance, the Star Wars trilogy is a 7 at best. (It's actually more of a 5 overall. And that number is lowered when we consider the prequels.) The same applies to any formula that has already been rehashed and perfected, of course. A great deconstruction of a perfected formula, on the other hand, is welcome, assuming it does not tread the same ground as previous works. The imperfect pioneer or founder of a formula is held to different standards.
6= Fine. Whatever. I still enjoy some series that I give this rating, but they were too flawed to call good.
5= Mediocre. Decent to halfway decent overall. Could have had some good parts that were neutralized by bad parts. Maybe a bit too boring. Maybe a bit too common.
4= Not quite there. Usually could have been decent if they didn't mess up. Sometimes halfway decent.
3= Bad. Would need to be completely changed to be good or even fine. Highschool of the Dead is a good example of this. It would need to have better action, less generic characters, less fanservice, a more engaging plot, less repetition, and a more original idea. Or just have more camp appeal. So it would need to be a completely different anime pretty much.
2= Very, very bad. Worthless except for one or two saving graces that kept it from a 1. These saving graces are not aspects could be considered good, but only less bad. Would need to be completely changed to even be halfway decent.
1= Atrocity. I give out this rating too much, I know.
These are guidelines. Not rules. I deviate from them constantly. I think the rating system on MAL is imperfect, although I can't blame them for that seeing as there is no demand for precision. I won't be a stickler for rules unless I'm rating in percentage, which I would prefer. That or giving no score at all.
I value innovation above all.
I am here to tell the truth. Sometimes the truth hurts. I refuse to be another reviewer that just tells you why everything they review is a masterpiece and I refuse to soften my words, raise my scores, or ignore flaws to appease puerile fanboys.
A lack of subtlety in story-telling, character development, themes or the presence of wish-fulfillment and self-insertion will drive a series down in score.There are some exceptions to this, for instance, in The Inferno where self-insertion is the whole point and is purposeful. (Although I'm not a Dante fan at all.) I think that exploration of the self is a critical theme in any great work of literature, but there's a difference between that and self-insertion. It's like the difference between making a pie from scratch and sticking your dick in a store bought one.
A general rule of thumb is that I can't think of anything truly positive to say about my 1s nor can I think of anything truly negative to say about my 10s. That said, sometimes there is something positive about my 1s that is simply cancelled out (as in rendered completely pointless) by other aspects of the work. Example: Love in the Mask had a decent (at least moderately enjoyable) early relationship between the protagonists that was eventually rendered pointless by one of the worst conclusions I've ever seen. Good build-up is often squandered by an awful climax/resolution. Especially in a romance where the couple's interactions are interesting, but become boring after they actually get together.
Objective truth exists. It is not always clear, but it exists on some level. It has to exist. If it didn't, we would inevitably be forced to accept that a 10 second tampon commercial is not necessarily of lesser value than Kubrick's entire filmography.
Loli penis (and penis in general, really)
Vampires (only the sparkly ones)
Semen (the ones on the boats)
Pain (not the naruto guy; fuck naruto)
Extremely bad puns
that gay shit
Breasts above washboard size
The word "hipster"
Breasts smaller than watermelons
Emoticons (except ;-;)
Moderately bad puns
My pretty face (okay, it's not that pretty, but it's pretty pretty)
My edginess (that I cut myself with, as I cry tears of blood)
Muh dick (it's actually really impressive)
Being called an "elitist" (only if there are elitists who aren't elite)
Being called "pretentious" (wtf does that even mean)
Being called a "hipster" (wtf does that even mean)
Being called a "troll" (wtf does that even mean)
Malnutrition and fatigue
Scantily clad women (please just fucking kill me, I can't take it)
Love (wtf does that even mean)
My inability to vocalize falsehoods (I write them down a lot tho)
Hobby: Collecting dust
Height: Just close enough to 6 ft. for people to believe that I am.
Weight: Approximately 1.62 starving African children
Cup Size: 8.45 U.S. customary fluid ounces
Penis Length: N/A
Penis Girth: ∞
Blood Type: XXX
Political Views: Far-right of right
Power level: Over nine-thousandths
Dimensions of Being: 12
Favorite Shakespeare Quote: "For in that sleep of death, wet dreams may come"
Favorite Food: Your mother's tears (at what viscosity does a liquid become a food anyhow)
Mai waifu: Rape horse from berserk (y'all don't know shit bout that life)