Category Archives: Features

Bang !! Boom !!


Bang !! Boom !! Pow !! Sound of shotgun discharging !! THE CONTEST IS ON !!

Awesome: the First Ever (and, with luck, First Annual) Schwarzeneggerian Execution Taunt Contest & Tremendathon is, like, totally on!
WHAT!?!: In honor of the birth of Michael Tapper, which birth’s anniversary is on January 17, W.A.S. announces the FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T. This is a competition that W.A.S. has designed specifically to determine who can come up with the very best Schwarzeneggerian execution taunt, in honor of Tapper. Use the taunts posted last week on this page (see below) as a guide to format.
WHO!??!: Why, YOU! There was never a better time than now to become involved in an execution taunt contest. Face it: if you let yet another e.t. contest’s close date pass without submitting, you’re going to go out back and – using 20 ft. of common flax rope and that big ol’ oak tree grandpaps used to fire crossbow bolts into with such accuracy – hang yourself! Which brings us to this point:
WHEN??????: The last day to enter The FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T is Friday, January 24th, the very day that a big ol’ party will be held in Michael Tapper’s honor in Williamsburg featuring Michael’s favorite band, we are scientists. You don’t have a second to lose! Get out your pad and paper, crank up w.a.s. on the boombox, slap some butter on the soles of your feet, fasten your vintage polio braces and get writing!!
WHAT CAN I WIN??!!: Prizes will include a variety of hot we are scientists merchandise (some customized!) and a coveted spot in our coming-soon as-yet-unnamed hall of fame, which will be a page on this site, which will feature profiles of crucial figures in the w.a.s. universe, such as the winner of The FE(a,wl,FA)ETC&T.
HOW!!!!: It’s easy! Just go to the Discussions page on this site, click on the “Execution Taunt Contest” forum, and post your execution taunt! What could be easier besides stuff that is lame like chewing gum or falling down some stairs or becoming a cop!
Here’re last weeks execution taunts, in case you haven’t read them 8 times yet…
Execution Taunts that We Are Giving to Arnold Schwarzenegger to Use

“Feeling Sleepy” – After long kicking/slapping episode between S. and well-matched adversary, in which S. and adversary in turn kick the other’s thigh or slap the other’s face (the reason for which methods of fighting left unspoken), both opponents teeter exhaustedly in the logging mill to where Arnold had tracked the villain. Just as the audience expects both to collapse simultaneously, Arnold, barely audible, mutters, “Feewing sweepy” At which his adversary glances up in time to see a broom fly the distance between them into his heaving chest handle-first and then down in time to see sawdust incidentally swept into a neat pile as he crumples forward onto the broom.
“Time�s Up” After backing villain, who has been known to proctor many a standardized exam, into the far corner of a giant warehouse full of giant clocks, Schwarzie steals a glance at his wristwatch and sneers, “Time’s Ahp,” at which the two-ton cuckoo clock overhead chimes the top of the hour, releasing from its doors a giant hand-held hammer, which immediately and unceremoniously crushes said villain.
“Can I borrow a quarter” Arnold, in Conan gear, faces adversary, sword in hand. Suddenly rummaging around in his satchel, Arnold asks, “Can I borrow a quartuh” To which his foe replies, “A quarter of what” One horizontal slice across and one vertical slice down, and then, “You.”
“Smoke weed every day” Arnold and bad-guy stand in dry prairie field, stretching in every direction as far as the camera can see, a helicopter hovering overhead. Arnold wraps the helicopter’s rope ladder around his left hand, and, as the helicopter lifts him away, calls out laughing, “Smoke weed every day.” And then the napalm.
“Your ass is grass” – Schwarzenegger knocks villain to the floor, rendering him unconscious. S. looks around the room; his eyes stop and slowly widen when he sees an old lawnmower. As villain begins to come to, his blurry vision reveals S. standing over him with the lawnmower held aloft, its engine roaring, its blade an invisible spin. “Yooah ass is grass,” S. intones mechanically, then leans heavily on the mower.
“Looks like dreams do come true” – At some point during the film, Schwarzenegger is captured. As he’s led away to be tortured, he addresses villain angrily: “I’d like to feed you to SOME ALLIGATORS!” “Dream on,” sneers villain. Later in the film, S. dangles villain by his ankle over a pit of gators; over villain’s cries of panic and fear and offers of sex with his daughter, S. intones mechanically, “Looks like dreams do come true,” then drops villain to the snapping tooth-racks below.
“Time to pay the piper” – Villain has the curious habit of referring to his pack of violent hunting dogs collectively as “the Piper”; his treatment of “the Piper” is quite brutal, and they, in turn, draw great satisfaction from tearing villain’s enemies apart when given the chance. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger has got the best of villain and is dangling him by his ankle over the pit in which the Piper’s constituents are spinning and bucking and gnashing their slobbery teeth. Intones S.: “Time to pay da Pipuh,” indicating quotes around “the Piper” with his free hand. Then with the dropping.
“I guess you’re a dog person” – Villain collects dangerous wild animals. Among them are three massive tigers, which he keeps in a pit. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger, having secretly laid a carpet over the pit, dares villain to walk over it. “Walk over a carpet?” villain scoffs, and does so, falling into the pit of tigers. As the tigers shred villain, S. muses, “I guess yooah more of a dog person.”
“He barely escaped” – Villain collects dangerous wild animals. Among them is a big mean grizzly bear. At film’s climax, Schwarzenegger wrestles villain into submission and casts him into the pit where the griz is kept, and, in easily the grizzliest scene of recent cinema, the bear tears villain to pieces. In the next scene, S.’s back-up arrives; as he and the female sex-object are led toward the ambulance for wound-patching, S.’s partner/sergeant/sensei asks what happened to villain. Explains Schwarzenegger: “He bearly escaped.” P/s/s chuckles knowingly.
“Sounds like that bill was just vetoed.” – Villain is William S. Dedalus, Polish oil magnate. Schwarzenegger, in an unusual display of restraint, forgoes doing away with the evil-doer on his own, opting instead to hire a cadre of Italian mobsters to assassinate him. When word comes to HQ that William Dedalus sleeps with the fishes, Schwarzenegger mechanically intones: “Sounds like that Bill was just Vito-ed.”
“You’re a chip off the old block.” – Villain is Gary Block, Bulgarian diamond exporter. Following a prolonged tussle on a cliff overlooking the Ganges, Schwarzenegger gets a hold of an axe that’s lying around, handily, and proceeds to lop off his arch-nemesis’ head in one muscle-bound, meat-headed swing. Picking up the liberated skull, S. gazes condescendingly at the visage of his gore-coated ex-enemy and mechanically intones, “You’re a chip off the old Block.”
“What a cutting remark” – intoned mechanically by Swarzenegger following his above comment.
“The check bounced,” – Villain is Randolph Pittance, Czech banker. After a 43-minute tussle on the roof of a vertiginously tall building, Schwarzenegger lifts the 95-lb. Pittance above his head and unceremoniously throws him over the ledge. As the paramedics approach, Schwarzenegger, who was unauthorized to take action against the banker, strolls casually away, lighting up his signature stogie. Peering with trepidation at the mangled, bloody mess on the sidewalk, Paramedic 1 turns toward Schwarzenegger and asks, “What happened to him?” “The Czech bounced,” Schwarzenegger intones mechanically, and then throws his lit cigar into pool of gasoline that is (for some reason) slowly accruing beneath the ambulance, causing an enormous explosion that kills three paramedics and four civilian bystanders.
“Careful, she’s a wildcat in the sack.” – Villain is Gerald Chatternon, Romanian boating enthusiast. In an elaborate plan to capture his elusive foe, Schwarzenegger capitalizes on Chatternon’s famously crippling affection for prostitutes by disguising himself as the proprietor of a Hungarian brothel. Opening the door into a darkened bedroom for Chatternon, Schwarzenneger gestures toward a shape atop the bed, which is obfuscated by the opulent linens and romantically dim lighting. A salacious Chatternon eagerly hands Schwarzenegger his two bits and rushes into the chamber, already removing his top hat and Washington Redskins jersey. Suddenly, S. slams the door shut, and wrings his hands victoriously. From behind the door, we are treated to the sound of what is clearly a kill-crazy mountain cat leaping from beneath a fine down comforter and rending the flesh of a Romanian boating enthusiast (read: roars, human howls, miscellaneous squishes). “Careful,” Schwarzenegger intones mechanically, “she’s a wildcat in the sack.”

A Letter To Keith From His Dearest Childhood Friend

Just Now Discovered While Visiting His Parents in Miami, and Which Illuminates More About His Childhood Than He is Really Comfortable Sharing With You, but He Will Do So Anyway, Because it is the Time of the Year for Giving.
December 10, 1987
Dear Science Officer,
Bzzz, bzzz do you still want to kill me? I hope not, because we will have to join forces to defeat Captain Rick Hunter, if we don�t he may use Doc. Cabbage, Tyrone, and Gorp to destroy us. It would be neat to have the I.S.S. Slime Slug all to ourselves. It would also be easier if slugs were running the ship. Ace Air Slug could be our captain, Gee wouldn�t that be awesome. I�m sorry that you lost 29% of your life. Oh well, at least you turned out to be an Insectoid at the end!
Your Crewmate,
Insectoid, Kevisect.

WAS-Libs

One day, We Are Scientists’ (adjective meaning “very talented”) guitarist awoke in his (three digit number)-room mansion, feeling, for the first time in his (adjective meaning “perfect” or “enviable,” your choice) life, a bit of malaise. “Whence this unusual sentiment” Keith mused, pulling off his Spiderman pajamas and slipping into something a little less dressy. After a morning spent wading through piles and piles of that morning’s (noun meaning “fan mail”), Keith still was not feeling any better, so he wandered up to the bedroom of Michael Tapper, WAS’ (adjective meaning “�preternaturally gifted”) drummer . “Michael,” Keith shouted, “please stop kissing (name of Hollywood starlet) and help me out of this indomitable funk!” But, as was the case with (name of another Hollywood starlet) and (name of third Hollywood starlet, this one sort of disturbingly aged) before her, Michael could not be distracted. So, Keith shuffled down the hall to Chris Cain’s room, where he found the (adjective meaning “devastatingly handsome”) bass player (verb meaning “painting a pastoral landscape scene”) with one hand while simultaneously (verb describing something horrifically vulgar) with the other. “I shan’t disturb him,” Keith thought, and so he repaired to the sitting room, where he spent the rest of the morning (verb meaning “shooting bullets into his vast collection of gold records until he ran out of ammunition, a practice that always made him feel better.”)

Love Kisses from WAS to You

Here at WAS headquarters, we are–believe it or not–pretty inured to the desperate wiles and grabby gambits of the Entertainment Industry. Most of you probably think of us as sensitive, sincere, even ingenuous; the fact is we’re a hard-hearted little phalanx of cynics, plowing across the mediascape–with its crap buildings, crap streets, crap stoplights, crap infrastructure–inside a heavily armored vehicle with an extra-sturdy cattle guard. We use that ineluctable, ever-skeptical wedge of a truck to blow right through veritable moutains of shit. Mountains. The movies, the teevee shows, the tee shirts, the novels, the comics, the federal warnings: talentless fiberboard set-pieces that WAS loves to go crashing through in our Cynic-mobile, leaving drifts of sawdust in our wake where before there was a hip-hop album. We’ve done it all, seen it all, eaten it all in all the right restaurants, and we’ve been operating under the assumption for quite some time that nothing remained to shock us, that nothing was left that could possibly put a smile of delight under our upturned noses. Will anything ever again elicit from us a visceral response? Is it possible to surprise us, short of actually, physically sneaking up and yelling something much fresher than “boo.” These are the questions that plague us, the questions that exist as drastically-reduced acronyms on our license plates.
And then this happened: the whole fucking castle of cards came crashing down around us; our claustrum collapsed. And there we stood, the crowding walls and sagging ceilings replaced by an ellipse of dizzy blue sky, by a breeze and a quality of light that we long ago wrote off as myth. We were gut-punched — it was excruciating, it was unexpected,
it was great. We huddled giddily around the monitor and read and re-read the surprising contents of an email that, as you�ve gathered, has drastically changed things over here at the Sci-Cave. The author of the email and what it proffered will no doubt come as something of a shock to most of you. But that initial eyebrow raising comprises a minuscule fraction of the payoff. Will it surprise, even delight you to learn that the little slice of pure inspiration we�ve been so elliptically referencing for two paragraphs now is a poem? That the poem�s author is none other than Sean Astin, star of The Goonies, Rudy, and most recently the LOTR trilogy? It’s true: two days ago we got an email from misterastin@yahoo.com asking if we’d be interested in posting “to the Sci-Cave” the poem that appears below. The request was signed Sean Astin. A visit to seanastin.com sent doubt to swim with the fishes. This, folks, is the real deal. And damned if we aren�t proud as hell to be in a position to offer this delicate masterpiece a venue. Let us now eschew ado:
The Fishbowl
God soup
and other reflections from 35,000 feet

by Sean Astin
Looking up –> into the deep rich azure
sky — Beyond the Home of the heart
into the Land of the soul —
with a splash and a flicker down
bejeweled water rippling and undulating
A carpet layer of crystal clear impenetrable Depth —
Oceans of Love spread beneath my feet
miles of sky play before mine eye
Silken spread a
Cloudy Bed
A cry — a sigh — to breathe
to die
Alive
as I strive
for a View Above
The sultry dome of operatic
Love kisses in my ear . . .
By show of hand, who here doesn�t want to read that again? Excellent. Arms held to your sides by the straightjacket of good taste. Guys, gals, have a look at this:
The Fishbowl
God soup
and other reflections from 35,000 feet

by Sean Astin
Looking up –> into the deep rich azure
sky — Beyond the Home of the heart
into the Land of the soul —
with a splash and a flicker down
bejeweled water rippling and undulating
A carpet layer of crystal clear impenetrable Depth —
Oceans of Love spread beneath my feet
miles of sky play before mine eye
Silken spread a
Cloudy Bed
A cry — a sigh — to breathe
to die
Alive
as I strive
for a View Above
The sultry dome of operatic
Love kisses in my ear . . .
Goddamn.

A Pleasant Game

Many people have commented on the startling resemblance between the members of WAS, often citing the incredibly slim probability of three boys of such breathtaking beauty winding up in the same time/place. What fewer people seem to notice, however, is the really eerie physical similarity between the WAS crew and Iraqi ne’er-do-well Saddam Hussein. In the group of photographs below, can you spot which are the members of WAS and which is Hussein?

Answer: It was a trick question. All of those photos are of WAS drummer Michael Tapper.

The list of punchlines that was published on this very page on July 10, 2002, only this time translated into French, then from French to German, and then back from Ger

  • Hardly; I have half of a spirit to open around an opening the topic!
  • [ in the French accent ], ask my God of references I it steps of! There do not affect me a SATISFYING!!!!!
  • [ in the British accent snob ], you excuse the acceptance, Minister, but hand cuffs never was my dte cup; cufflinks more probably! Now unhand my girl leprechaun.
  • It will just show: No end of the hat is always what is demanded. Although in this case it was natural.
  • Thus the angel sweeps out the oats flour of it from the covers and lifts ” whether it is breakfast, which I wanted I just as easy to IHOP go could! ”
  • It is not minable v�tu farmer, very honoured gentleman… It is a lion!

Or check out the entire site put through the same procedure.

Wanted! by we are scientists:

  • a bunch of black material that is impervious to radar detection.
  • some wheels, like, for a plane, maybe. that’s just an example.
  • um, okay. stealth bomber schematics. not to use, or anything. just for looking at. not for building a plane.
  • nice leather seats. as if for use in a cockpit. but they will not be used in a cockpit.
  • a subsidization of 42.5 billion dollars. for, say, band equipment. we need, um, some microphones. because Michael broke one of our microphones, and now we need to buy a new one, see?
  • three (3) silvery full-body jumpsuits, with lightning bolts on the chest, and featuring the names “tapper,” “cain,” and “murray” on the back.
  • if “cain’s” jumpsuit could also have a donkey tail coming off of the butt, that would be pretty funny.