Got another call from the licensing people about that !@#$ cartoon show they want to make. It turns out they can't show me gutting a man with his own jawbone and shoving his own kidneys into his mouth if we want to run this as a standard, half-hour Saturday morning kind of thing.
Which is what I figured, of course. Silly me, I thought that'd be the end of that.
However, clearly undaunted by my subtle attempts to derail this act of crass commercialism, the licensing people decided to turn the prospectus from a half-hour Saturday thing into a 15-minute weekly spot on Adult Swim, instead. This means that we can not only show me gutting the man with his own jawbone and shoving his kidneys into his mouth, but can also have me bloodily dismembering whole legions of people with their own broken bones, blowing up entire continents, and assassinating key world leaders in messy and creative ways.
They cannot, however, have me using manly !@#$ language. Nor can they fully directly depict me shoving my magnificently erect alien love god penis into someone's quivering man-hole in order to !@#$ them to death, LoEG-style.
And they sure can't have me making sweet love to some fine katooey back at the The B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G., either, though we can certainly allude to the fact that it's about to happen, is happening, is did happen at some time in the recent past. Such things must apparently be blocked out lest they get in trouble with our friends at the FCC.
It's sort of the "one foot on the floor if they're in bed together" rule, updated for these modern, supposedly more liberated times.
However, come the inevitable season DVD, the black lines and beep-beeps can go away, so that my loyal fans can be rewarded for having spent 50-60 hard-earned bucks on a show they could have already put on their hard drives, instead.
And yes, this means the merchandising dollars are still good. T-shirts, video games, breakfast cereal, cookies, snacks, candy bars, bumper stickers, truck nuts, diapers, coffee mugs, birthday party kits... you name it.
The overly-chirpy person who'd doubtlessly lost a bet to have to deal with me went on and on about this for about a half hour, and each minute seemed to steal a year from my life. So I took a deep breath, made the conscious decision to not electrocute the poor dear over the phone with SPYGOD-vision, and asked if they were going to make kids action figures, too.
She went really quiet, right about then.
You see, you can have your likeness put on just about anything in this country. But if you want to have it put on a kid's action figure, you've got to keep the party pretty clean.
Action figures aimed at adults? No problem. Go crazy. Ted !@#$ Bundy could have his own action figure if some crazy ass !@#$ factory wanted to make a toy of that dead freak. Hell, they could even give him a half-dead nurse victim if they wanted.
But aim it at kids? Oh hell no. You'd have the parents watchdog groups all over your ass faster than a old hand on a greenhorn in a glory hole.
So that derailed that attempt damn !@#$ quick, as you might expect. I'm sure that lovely little person will be telling stories in years to come about how she lost the bet but managed to squeak out of having a really bad phone call.
(I think the last one still feels bad about the wreck I caused, immediately thereafter. I may actually be paying for her therapy. Or the taxpayers are.)
But I remember that I had action figures, back in the day, when we were trying to keep some of the illustions intact.
I had 8 inch likenesses of yours truly in the hands of many fine, young Americans, back in the 70's, thanks to the wonderful people at Biggo. They also made models of people like Mr. USA, but it pleases me to know that mine outsold his by a three to one margin. So there.
I also had some 12 inch models made to compete with GI Joe, back in the day. I may not have had as many sets or as many costume changes (that's what Barbie was for, okay?) but not only did we have kung-fu grip first, but our kung-fu grip could beat theirs any day of the week.
Later, in the 80's, they started thinking small, and made action figures about 3 3/4 inches. We maintained a standard of 4 inches, just to show those !@#$ who was boss. I also asked that my likenesses come with ultra-realistic weaponry, mission cards, and what was clearly a whiskey bottle but was labeled as "medical supplies" on the card.
If only they knew.
It was awesome while it lasted, but, after the mid-80's, some of the gloss came off of yours truly, and the action figure people stopped getting back to us. I seem to remember getting really, really drunk and faxing over some intriguing new designs to Biggo, but was later gently informed that Biggo had been out of business since Reagan took office, and that BLAM was actually handling the account now.
Or at least they were, but they weren't returning our calls after that little misunderstanding with Mothers Against Drunk Driving. Stupid uptight humorless !@#$.
(And they wonder why I laugh when their former presidents get done up for DUIs? Who do they think makes that happen, the !@#$ Easter Bunny?)
So yeah, no kids action figures for me for the foreseeable future. So long as I'm as honest as I can be about what I do, how I do it, and what people tend to look like after I'm done, the chances of me having any wonderful little kids out there playing with likenesses of the one and only SPYGOD are really damn slim.
Besides, if they want to pretend to be me, that's why we've got SPYGOD SCOUTS. Only this time the whiskey bottle isn't just pretend medicine, but a requirement for all camping trips.
(SPYGOD is listening to Public Image (PIL) and drinking Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey)