This was originally written down as a quiz, unfortunately here it doesn't seem to work that way. Just call it a list of the greatest epic dickheads ever. It was meant for another source, so Scooby Doo picks up some material I've already used on this blog. Other than that, it's really great stuff. Enjoy! :)
Congratulations: you’re a dickhead. But not just an ordinary dickhead – you are distinct amongst all your peers for being the most egotistical, narcissistic, self-congratulatory, bombastic wanker ever to have walked upon the face of the earth (you remind me a lot of myself, actually). You are unique in this epic round-about because you specialise not in vanquishing dragons or braving seas but in throwing hissy fits. Your story begins when your king Agamemnon chooses to sequester one of your concubines and you throw hissy fit # 1 because you’ve lost the girl, something which is completely retarded because you’re as gay as a pink windmill in a field of Easter rabbits, and you conclude this in the most epic of fashions: you actually GO WEEPING TO YOUR MOM (hissy fit # 2). She gets all of your friends killed in the war (nice going, mate) so the king comes begging for forgiveness and you throw hissy fit # 3 because you don’t like his presents and would rather sit on your ass and ‘play your harp’ (Iliad XIV, a double entendre if I ever heard one). You fall asleep, and while you’re snoring like a cave full of motherfucking elks, the hairless seventeen-year-old pimp you normally bang during the intervals has the great idea of donning your armour and getting himself slaughtered in battle. Cue hissy fit # 4. This *could* just be followed by another hissy fit – and so it is, as you turn to Hephaestus and rant your head off because you can’t fight if your armour hasn’t been polished with camel’s spit and red lobster eyeballs or whatever the hell it is that gay war-lords or war gay-lords wanted on their armour in ancient Greece. Battle at last! Cue two-hundred hissy-fits as you tell each soldier in turn how stupid it was of them to kill Patroclus and how they’ll pay for it YADDA YADDA YADDA PLEASE SHUT YOUR EFFING MOUTH!!!! Your tale concludes with you bartering Hector’s body back in exchange for a blowjob from his father (Iliad XXIV states that Priam comes to his tent at night and ‘hugs his knees’ – make of that what you will).
I think this takes the palm as the most epic of all dickheads, and by quite a distance. Your oracle tells you that you’ll shag your momma and kill your daddy, so you leave the country. On the way, you find an old man who is mildly rude to you, so you kill him. Then you proceed to bang his wife, who is two decades older than you are. HELLO???? Do I need to draw a diagram?? I mean, even Roger Rabbit would have figured out that with a prophecy like that you should refrain from killing old men and buttering old women, something which in all fairness you should not be doing anyway, at least if you’re going to have constellations named after you – I’d rather go down in history with the reputation of Adolf Hitler than have a constellation after me named ‘The Motherfucker,’ not to mention having my name constantly vandalised on Wikipedia with lines like “LOLOLOLOL YOU SHAGGED YOUR MOM”. (I honestly was going to make that single line the entire profile for Oedipus). When you finally figure out what you’ve done (go you, Dick Tracy), you deploy all of the wisdom that made you King of Thebes and tamer of the Sphinx by finding the perfect solution: you rip your eyeballs out. (What?). You then go roaming aimlessly around the countryside like one of those end-of-level bosses in Super Nintendo videogames of a decade and a half ago, until eventually you die (I can’t honestly remember how, I think you ‘take a walk into the sea’ or something equally spectacular). A fitting end. You obviously never saw where your oracle was coming from, but it’s a good consolation to know that, before you died, at least your mother saw where you were coming from. (Sorry. Couldn’t resist that).
I’m not actually going to talk about the historical Leonidas here because I know more about how to fuck sheep than I do about the real battle of the Thermopylae. But we all know who the man is – the famed king from ‘300’ afflicted with that goofy pathology which makes you swear like an ostrogoth every three seconds inasmuch as whatever you say, you have to SHOUT it. Despite your tendency to walk around Sparta butt-naked save for a cape and for a rugby ball that’s tied around your nut-sack, you are in fact not nearly as gay as Achilles – you just enjoy male depilation for some reason. How do you spend your time? Mainly, you climb hills bare-chested, you ejaculate witty phrases, you fight wolves on mountains, you ejaculate inspiring speeches, you train your son in WF wrestling, you ejaculate into your wife, you ejaculate people into wells, you pick up blond little kids who have just been ravaged by a hoard of black people (that entire sentence sounds WRONG in more ways than I can even think of), you go trekking on snowy glaciers – a feat which, in Southern Greece, is nothing short of bewildering – and you trot out the word ‘FREEDUM’ every four or five sentences. You probably wouldn’t have made it onto this list if it weren’t for the act which made you famous – you waged war against the Persians because otherwise they would have killed all the men in Sparta, raped the women and taken the children into slavery. By the end of the film, however, you and all your men are dead, your wife has been raped and your son can look forward to being sent into a concentration camp where he’ll have to kill other kids or get killed himself – now that’s what I call a fantastic argument in favour of the practice of war! Congratulations. Dickhead.
Here’s the exception of our list. Not in the sense that you’re not a dickhead – you’re an aerial and flaming one at that. It’s just that you are not particularly epic. In fact, the only epic thing about you is that you’ve managed to go through 800 episodes of your canine series (a TV program which is centred on the only character in the show who doesn’t do a fucking thing), yet even though every single one of those 800 times your supernatural nemesis turned out to be a spoof, somehow you still manage to feel all sniffly and pusillanimous when the next ectoplasmic sardine or lycanthropic marshmallow-man’s-walking-dick comes about. Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s like a grown man having watched two-hundred hours of porn and then being surprised when the prostitute he picks up from the M11 starts removing her clothes (we’ve just described the common farewell to celibacy of every single Firefly fan in the world). For the rest, your show is comprised of a trio of Trainspotting yuppies, a stubble-bearing heroin junkie who speaks to his own Alsatian and somehow earned himself the implausible name of ‘Shaggy’ (hahaha I’m already picturing that!) and, in the later series, your son Scraggy – the most insufferable dwarf. Not only does the son possess an elaborate faculty of speech (making you look even more retarded), he also makes himself detestable by being one of the most clever (read: sermonizing) characters in the series. The dynamics of the show then become something like having a man who is more stupid than his own dog, a dog who is more stupid than his own son and a screenwriter who is more of a dumb-fuck than all of them put together. While this still and fully qualifies you as a dickhead, there’s nothing inherently epic about it. I’m sorry, it looks like you’re not an epic dickhead after all.
Italians are famous for a number of things, predominantly pasta, pizza and a population that drives a car the way that a chimpanzee on vodka handles a malfunctioning space shuttle as it bombs into the ocean. Italians are NOT famous, to the best of my knowledge, for bouncing on the heads of phallic mushrooms and frog-leaping towards strange boxes with shiny question marks which yield coins when you brain yourself against them. Are you an epic figure? Definitely, not only because you’ve ventured on a quest to save the princess, but because you’ve undergone it about twenty million times and you still seem not to get it – even though there’s some things in your narrative which I don’t get myself. For one thing, King Koopa picks up Princess Peach with such an ease that you’d think she was a prostitute waving flags in the middle of a highway, which strikes me as nonsensical even in terms of the premise – if you’re a giant turtle, why the fuck don’t you want to fuck giant turtles? Even a human would be a pervert if he wanted to shag a girl who goes around wearing a pink bell from Westminster Chapel and has a face like a seven-year-old’s picture of an onion, let alone an animal. And this brings us to you, O Mario, and to what makes you an epic dickhead. For starters, your apparel. Last time I checked, if a princess is kidnapped, then she is rescued by a prince. You’re a fucking plumber! Worse yet, you’re dressed like one. Not to be anti-democratic here, but couldn’t you at least get changed before going on the quest? Did you really need to bring the red suspenders? Then there’s the people you hang out with – Toadstool (so fucking annoying!), Yoshi, the eternally useless Luigi, Donkey Kong, Wario – for Christ’s sake, WARIO, oh what a clever name to give to a baddy! What sparkling wit! The bottom of the pit is reached I think with his brother, Waluigi. Waluigi? What kind of a fucking name is ‘Waluigi’? What if they did that for other famous franchises – Lord of the Rings, with Wagandalf the Negro and Waragorn. Evil wabbit!! …and despite being able to save a princess, drive a kart, excel at every single sport in the Olympics, employ a hydro-pack, program your VCR and even BLOODY FLY, you still have no more eloquence than to say ‘Mamma mia!’ What the hell.