Sheriff John Bunnell, the host of World's Wildest Police Videos, is a retired lawman who inexplicably still rides shotgun with police officers that are responding to emergencies. His voiceovers for the police video clip show are the stuff of legend; John Bunnell's narration is sneering, moralistic, and aggressive.
In other words, they are hilarious.
Not a lot of people know this, but Sheriff John Bunnell is a bit of a super-genius, well-versed in every subject and unfathomably wise. A friend of the Society, Sheriff John Bunnell occasionally stops by to answer reader questions in a little segment we like to call Ask the Sheriff.
(OK, you know this is all bullshit, right? I feel like I should call it Fake Sheriff John Bunnell so I don't get sued.)
Our first question comes to us via the Internet, from thndrkat87:
Q: Hi Sherrif My sister-in-law got my kids a really violent toy this year for Christmas, and we have a strict "no war toys" environment in my house. She KNOWS this, but still gets the violent toy - this one is called "The Impaler," Sherrif, for my daughter Tabitha, 7. Should I just get rid of the toy and not make a big deal out of it, or should I confront her?
A: Rude, lewd, and completely out of control! Some people's relatives don't know when to quit! I'm Sheriff John Bunnell, and in 27 years of law enforcement I've seen some messed up situations between family relations, but sending violent toys into a hippie's house is like a cruise missile of anti-social behavior that detonates on contact in your den or play room. You need to cowgirl up and take this bull-headed she-bitch by the horns. It's time to lay down the law. No more war toys for my sweet baby angel - or I'm going to take you down like a SWAT team home invasion on a cold February night.
Great question, thndrkat87. Here's a question on a different topic from a reader named Princess Jonni:
Q: Sheriff Bunnell, do you believe in original sin?
A: Adam and Eve were fast, loose, and out of control. There was only one rule in the Garden of Eden, but this pair of dummies had to break it. That was the Original Sin, and now we're stuck paying the price for their boneheaded blunder. Or are we? I'm Sherriff John Bunnell, and if there's one thing I've learned from a quarter century of chasing down bad guys in the Garden of Speedin' - we're only responsible for our own load of sin. Sometimes criminal choices meet hard hitting consequences, so choose wisely, or you're going to have a lot of time to regret your decision - IN A JAIL CELL. You have the power, you can make the difference. Keep the peace!
GIVE TO ME is a new feature here at S.A.D. spotlighting cool shit that I want, but don't really need. I'm an American, damn it - this country was built on a desire for non-essential shit. GIVE TO ME celebrates that craving - imagine I'm yelling "give to me!!!" in a vaguely Eastern European accent* and you've got the right idea.
Paritet Boat, a Russian boat manufacturer, creates all manner of cool futuristic looking vessels, from the glass bottom Looker series (nothing to do with the Albert Finney film) to the ultimate high speed catamaran, the Ellips. Our grandchildren will be cruising around in these after the ice caps melt.
The 28 foot long Ellips has a twin hull design and is made of lightweight aluminum and magnesium alloy. With the proper engine, it can cruise at 65 knots - more than fast enough to evade the mohawked jet ski gangs that will plague the oceans of the future. Slap a rail gun on the back deck and you're ready for the aquapocalypse.
Distributed in the States by Elorca, the Ellips will cost you north of $200,000 for the standard model, but for a few dollars more you can get a cruise version that has sleeping berths installed in each of the twin hulls.
I'd imagine that docking the Ellips would take some getting used to, because as you can see you don't control the vessel from the helm, you pilot it from a space age cockpit:
Tell me that isn't the coolest fucking thing ever.
The only drawback that I can think of is that the Ellips isn't exactly low profile - you'd get stared at everywhere you went. It's the marine equivalent of rolling around town in the Batmobile. I think I'd compensate by making everyone who comes aboard wear a special uniform. Hey, if you're going to cruise in the Catamaran of the Future, you may as well embrace the futuristic vibe 100%.
For more information, visit the Paritet Ellips page. And please - email me before you decide to buy me one so I can have moorage space ready. Thank you.
Happy Boxing Day! It's an official state holiday here at The Society for the Advancement of Dave.
I come from a Canadian family; both my parents hail from the lovely horizontal province of Saskatchewan. Like many Anglophiles and residents of the Commonwealth of Nations, we celebrate Boxing Day, that secular holiday that lands on the day after Christmas.
For our family, Boxing Day is sort of Christmas Pt. II - it's a chance for the relatives to gather and exchange gifts, drink Scotch, and devour massive quantities of perogies and chicken wings. I look forward to Boxing Day even more than Christmas, primarily due to the aforementioned Scotch and perogies.
Mmm... perogies...
I'm a little fuzzy on the etymology of the term "Boxing Day," but the tradition stems from centuries past in Britain and Commonwealth countries like Canada, New Zealand, Australia, etc. when wealthy members of the upper classes gave presents to their household servants, who were stuck working for The Man on Christmas Day. It's a pleasant relic of a classist, stratified time when people knew their role in life. Thankfully, we live in (mostly) more egalitarian times, but the tradition endures.
Boxing Day has little to do with the masculine sport of boxing, but since it's a hell of a lot easier to find images of fisticuffs in comic books than it is to find images of aristocrats handing out presents to peasants, we'll go with scans of people pummeling one another. Because it's the holidays! A season of good cheer and face smashing!
For my money, there are two Christmas songs that rule over all - sort of like the One Ring in Lord of the Rings, but less likely to corrode your very soul.
The first is Andy Williams' It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year. That shit rules. Andy Williams is the king of family Christmas entertainment, and I will fight any man or child who says otherwise. Wait, that's not a very Christmas-y sentiment. I mean, "I will respectfully disagree with anyone who feels otherwise, and then share a cup of eggnog and a laugh with them."
The other ultimate Christmas song is A Fairytale of New York by The Pogues. Featuring a duet between the dentally challenged Shane McGowan and the late Kirsty MacColl, Fairytale is the sweetest, saddest, and most profane Christmas song ever recorded. If it doesn't stir something within you, I would advise seeking medical attention because you are missing your heart.
Ha! I kid. I mean, "If you don't like it, I will respectfully disagree and then share a bottle of single malt and a laugh with you!"
I'm going to share my love for monstrous predators with you in a new feature that we'll call Monsters I Love. Please note that this recurring feature is not called Monsters I Have Loved or Monsters I Want to Make Sweet Love To. My affection for all things monstrous is strictly platonic, with the possible exception of the three brides of Dracula, who are hot.
As a youngster one of my favorite books was Reader's Digest Strange Stories, Amazing Facts (1976), an aptly named collection of paranormal stories and retro-futuristic prognostications (I'm still waiting for slidewalks to appear on the streets of every city in the country.). One of the tales that caught my imagination was the story of Spring Heeled Jack, a boogeyman that plagued 19th century England.
Spring Heeled Jack was a bizarre, diabolical figure who was described as having a pointed nose and ears, glowing eyes, and a maniacal laugh. He would molest his victims by raking them with sharp claws or vomiting blue flame from his mouth and then, before he could be apprehended, the devil-man would bounce off into the night. Witnesses claim that he could leap incredibly high, bounding over hedgerows or up on to rooftops - thus the name Spring Heeled Jack.
For such a devilish character, you'd think that he would rack up a serious body count, but Spring Heeled Jack was all about molestin' instead of killin'.
Jack mostly targeted young women and coach drivers, and he always struck at night. The first reported sightings of the figure were in 1837 in the London area. One notable assault was on a young woman named Mary Stevens in October of 1837 who was walking home at night, minding her own business when all of a sudden – JACK ATTACK! The fiend leaped from a dark alley and ripped at Ms. Stevens clothing with his claws and kissed her, then hopped off into the night. The very next night, Jack popped in front of a moving carriage, causing a massive wipe out that seriously injured the driver.
One thing was clear - not only was Spring Heeled Jack a mysterious and terrifying figure, he was a total dick.
Spring Heeled Jack was the master of the ambush and the sucker punch and seemed to enjoy scaring the bejeesus out of people. He appeared throughout England during the 1840s and 1850s, darting out of the shadows to attack coaches, slap people in the face, tear at them with his claws, spit blue fire, and touch victims on their privates. As far as I know, the fellow never actually raped or murdered anybody, but he put The Fear into the English for several decades.
So who was Spring Heeled Jack? Some speculate that he was a sadistic and athletic Irish marquis with a lot of time on his hands. Other thought he was The Devil incarnate – although one would think that Satan would have better things to do with his time than randomly attacking people and then hopping away, laughing. That's not exactly my idea of pure evil.
I'm of the opinion that Spring Heeled Jack was a combination of urban legend, fabrication, and mundane assaults committed by mortals that were embellished by the press and the public in a kind of collective hysteria. Jack sold newspapers and penny dreadfuls – he was good for business, so it was in the best interest of certain parties if the legend continued.
Regardless, Spring Heeled Jack is a fascinating figure.I love all that Victorian crime/occult stuff, so he's right up my alley.I recently finished reading The New Annotated Dracula (which is excellent) and have been re-reading Caleb Carr's The Alienist (ditto), so Jack has been on my mind.
Plus, I just recently received a copy of Fantagraphic Books' Beasts! Book 2, a collection of cryptids with fantastic artwork that I highly recommend.The entry on Spring Heeled Jack (attached) was illustrated by the artist Roger Langridge, and as you can see, it's swell.
It snowed like the proverbial mofo here in the Pacific Northwest recently, and, annoyingly, the snow hasn't gone away. [looks out window] Yep, it's still there. MELT, DAMN YOU.
I don't really have a lot to bitch about. I could be living in the Midwest right now, where it's not just cold, it's hella cold. Or I could be living inBoston. I don't know if it's cold there or not, I just don't want to live in Boston.*
Anyway, the kids and the dogs like the snow an awful lot, so if they're happy, I'm happy. We've been busy with various snowy activities like sledding, making snow angels, doing brodies in the Subaru, and general frolicking. When it came time to make a snowman, I had to put my foot down. "Girls," I said. "Snowmen are for chumps. We're making a snow castle. No! An EVIL SNOW FORTRESS!"
We preceded to constructing the Castle of the Winter Witch Guy, a massive frozen construct of wintery magic and diabolical evil. Because that's what the holiday season is all about.
To be honest, I made the damn thing by myself because I had an artistic vision and my kids are easily distracted. Plus, if you don't give them gloves, they give up on making ice castles real quick. Little tip for you parents out there.
So here it is, the centerpiece of my driveway, a towering um... tower of evil. Fear the Winter Witch Guy.
Fear him.
*Joking! I love Boston and the fine people who live there. I kid because I love.
Allow me to give you an inappropriately long embrace and a hearty welcome to my new blog-thing, The Society (for the Advancement) of Dave. I'm Dave Campbell, your host and the subject of this high quality website.
Yes, that's right, this blog is going to be devoted to my favorite subject: ME.
What, you thought I was going to say comic books? Or maybe Nazi midget porn?
You may know me from my previous online project, the comic book blog Dave's Long Box. Perhaps you've visited the blog I write for ABC, Live from L.A.. Or maybe you just came here after Googling "nazi midget porn," you sick, sick bastard. I don't care how you got here, I'm just happy you're here.
In addition to focusing on All Things Dave, this blog will cast a wide net across the pop cultural ocean. We'll discuss comic books, movies, books, history, mayhem, violence, and other cool shit. I gotta be honest, I got sort of burned out writing mainly about comic books on Dave's Long Box, but felt guilty whenever I strayed from that blog's stated mission, so I decided to take a break.
This may have been stupid of me.
Regardless, I feel minty fresh and invigorated and I'm excited - stoked, even - to begin blogging anew.
Join me, won't you?
UPDATE: I just noticed that my little graphic up there says "The Society for the Advancement ofof Dave." I'm a moron sometimes, I really am. I'm also too lazy to fix it. Ha! The internet is an imperfect place.
Dave Campbell is a Seattle area freelance writer and champion of kittens and the oppressed. Do you want to hire Dave to write The Awesomeness for you? Drop him a line at ddcampbell@gmail.com.
You can support his endeavors by shopping through the box below.
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