M-O-O-N, that spells social pariah.

If you ladies really loved Eskimos, you'd refer to them as the Inuit. Or stop eating those delicious and addictive Eskimo Pies, which contain exactly what you'd think they do.

I don't even understand the concept of the weekend's arrival anymore. We've descended into a realm where the passage of time does not register.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

1. For the most part, no. Hollywood steampunk movies tend to run up massive budgets while attracting few outside the diehard spats-top-hat-and-goggles crowd. If you want a perfect example of why it doesn't work in film, watch League of Extraordinary Gentlemen or Wild Wild West. (On second thought, don't; they suck…

May 2006? That son of a bitch…

I happen to be far, far too recognizable to pull it off. A nom de plume might be the proper strategy here.

I once mailed in a script treatment to Universal about Mark Twain and Nikolai Tesla teaming up to fight vampires. (Given that the two did indeed share a mutual friendship in real life, one could argue the pairing had historical precedent.)

Regardless of the fact that, because it was extracted through torture, said confession was legally inadmissible?

Fun fact: the sign outside does, in fact, say "Dead Lantern Storage".

Oh, come on, if you show up in a smoking jacket and derby, I'll at least know who you are. You come wearing a disguise while I'm still groggy, I might accidentally take you hostage, and Lord knows we don't want that… it'll be embarrassing for all involved.

Apparently, Golden Age Superman is back as well, or something to that effect. I saw a news report the other day on TV where he dive-bombed the sidewalk with a CEO in his arms just to extract a confession from the man. I mean, you could argue that my moral compass is well and truly skewed, and therefore I'm in no…

Answer: He goes for the bald look and gets a goatee?

I believe you meant to say "mean, green mother from outer space", Sava.

The incident proper happens to contain a long and involving narrative thread, Archmage. For brevity's sake, I'll but conclude that I gravely overestimated myself, and move on to live with the consequences.

Your sympathy is touching.

I watched very little of anything over the weekend, as drifting in and out of consciousness after a severe beating tends to lessen one's attention span. Even worse, the Medical staff washed my face and forcibly injected me with pain medication, so I can't even feel the triumphant agony I should be in right now, or…

…Did you say "Metal Gear"?

I've always been partial to the Howie Scream.

You may keep your high-five, sir. Nolan still owes me merchandising revenue from Begins, and I refuse to work with him again until I receive my due.