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September 24, 2010
Cobalt Neural 9
Cobalt Neural 9 is the latest from the Wachowski Brothers, creators of credited with creating The Matrix. The title is a place holder for the project, the subject matter and theme is pure Wachowski Brothers.
The time: One hundred years in the future. The rhetorical conceit: A story told through flashbacks to our present day, an Iraq war love story and an assassination plot. The politics: It's Wachowski Brothers so it's pro-assassination.
The two meet while Butch is on a combat patrol in Iraq during the second Gulf War, and soon enough, the two are engaged in graphically described sex (actual line from the script: "They rut like animals behind this fence") albeit while disguised in burqas.
Edgy!
Hey Wachowski Brothers, your fatwa called; it said death to those who disrespect burqas, make gay love stories about Muslims, etc etc. Not to worry, nobody will call you out/arrest you/threaten you with death for your George W. Bush assassination/masturbation fantasies. These are now administration policy.
Or they'll just adapt David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas. Tough call.
Also: You're welcome in advance, National Post.
Posted by Ghost of a flea at September 24, 2010 09:06 AM
Comments
What kind of guy gets a sex change so he can look like a lesbian manga fan? Just asking.
Posted by: rick mcginnis
at September 24, 2010 10:04 AM
Upon reflection, the question answers itself.
Posted by: Ghost of a flea
at September 24, 2010 10:11 AM
Wow, it seems like a long, painful, expensive and roundabout way to f*ck yourself.
Posted by: rick mcginnis
at September 24, 2010 12:04 PM
"The Matrix may be fake, but so is lo-fat soft-serve dessert. Zion is that crappy homemade ice-cream that has chunks of salt and carob instead of proper chocolate. Everyone’s commented on the infamous rave scene, in which the population of Zion crams into the Temple Of No Particular Faith and confronts their imminent death by dancing ecstatically. Big huge slo-mo close-up of feet squishing in the mud. All of a sudden I was channeling my inner Agent Smith. I can’t stand the smell, he said of the Matrix. Buddy, if you thought an average air-conditioned office was bad, try 3 AM in a huge nightclub packed with a quarter-million sweaty people who live on beans."
- James Lileks
http://www.lileks.com/bleats/archive/03/0503/052703.html
