Results tagged “germans” from Overlooked

There is nothing more amazing for me, as a writer, than someone whose glory and prowess are so astounding that he or she inspires fan art. What is fan art, you ask? Shame on you! Before we go any further, I feel compelled to make you understand this highest of high art. Behold.

Drew Barrymore	Elijah Wood

So serious, you guys. Fan art, just like it sounds, is when a truly devoted person lovingly crafts a portrait of his or her favorite star. And the best part? THESE PHOTOS ARE POSTED ON THE INTERNET. FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME TO ENJOY.

And so, I would like to share my all-time favorite fan-created artwork for today's Hunk Friday post. To get us into the spirit, let's read a few fan letters (taken from here) to our subject--this way, we can all bask in the glow that these artists experience every day of their lives.

Hey Danny, my Name is Rainer.
I find your so Beautyful.
My Series is "Wer ist hier der Boss", this is the german titel from the Series. I have i'm in you everyone in love.
I love You
dear Rainer
P. S. keep my a massage please
-Germans dont just love David Hasselhoff.

One last thing, there is a gay guy in Wichita who kind of looks like you. His name is Tony(no, not Danza,) but blondish and the same facial features that you possess.
-A fan from Wichita, Kansas

Feeling all toasty and loving? Now for the prize.

May this image of Who's the Boss's Danny Pintauro fortify and you restore you all holiday weekend long.

All my items were in the plastic tubs passing through the x-ray machine. I stood there holding my boarding pass and I.D. with one hand whilst trying to keep my pants up at a decent level with the other. The T.S.A. officer... agent?... The member of the T.S.A. lackadaisically motioned me through the metal detector. I hopped through it and presented my I.D. and boarding pass with a friendly, relaxed, and open smile.

"Mr..." (How he knew I was a mister I wasn't sure but my paranoid mind was awhirl with all the secret information compiled on me from open source resources). He checked himself before attempting to butcher my last name.

"Mr. Vale..." he made his attempt.

"Valenzuela, like the old pitcher for the Padres," I cut him off.

"Or like the singer Ritchie Valens, except he Americanized his name..." he looked at me dryly.

"Funny, Valens doesn't sound Native; I wonder which tribe he was affiliated with..." I smiled politely, innocently.

"Yeah, I liked his music." He was opening up to me; this caught me off guard. Usually you don't see the human side of the security checker people.

"He died in a plane crash!" I blurted out. I think it was the topic and the fact that salient thoughts of me getting on an airplane bubbled up from the guarded 'Don't make a joke about this' part of my brain that caused me to state something so obviously unspeakable at the time and place that I was.

He squinted his eyes and waited to see what I would do next.

"HAHA!" A strangled, nervous laugh escaped me. It is one of my worst habits: laughing at the most inopportune moments.

"He died with Buddy Holly and the Big Bopper and the pilot! They crashed into frozen Iowa farm country!" A torrent of information, that normally would have been useless conversation fodder or an interesting historical tidbit in the right social circles, was quite detrimental to my being on a plane.

"Yeah, if only the pilot had pulled that little knob to allow more heat into the engine..." He was impressed by my knowledge of the event, but wasn't sure if I was more infatuated with my family name-sake's history or of crashing planes.

His hesitation was my cue: I smiled a sad little smile and slowly shook my head. I raised my eyebrows, "The brilliant ones always fade out the quickest..."

"You got that right, partner." He handed me my ticket and I.D. and waved me on.

I put on my shoes and belt and gathered my things and thanked the mean looking T.S.A. lady that was eyeballing me and made my way to the lounge.

I'm just glad he didn't try to pronounce my Iranian first name...

Camden, New Jersey here I come!

One of the most beautiful facial hair stylings around is arguably the goatee. From the French Fork and the Musketeer to the Van Dyck and the soul patch, few 'dos have the capacity for not only a nearly infinite number of variations, but also for complete versatility. I daresay there is a goatee to go with every outfit, hairstyle, and moral persuasion known to man (and woman, should she be so lucky!).

When it comes to the most memorable personality-related goatee of all time, two examples run practically head to head: Star Trek's Evil Mr. Spock and Garthe Knight, Michael of Knight Rider's evil brother. Just look at the passion in their eyes - do you think that's pure coincidence, my friend? The same dedication that goes into their facial coiffures is in direct proportion to the fire that exists in their souls, such that even Vulcan emotional suppression cannot contain it.

Now, I'm not saying that wearing a goatee necessarily makes one evil, but if you're looking to stand out from the rest of your goody-goody, clean-shaven family, it's certainly a cheap and easy way to do so. Additionally, it inevitably helps eliminate the embarrassing rooftop scenario of some wild-eyed, gun-toting ingenue shooting the wrong twin by mistake - I think we all know how priceless that can be!

So the next time you've forgotten to shave for a couple days, consider making the goatee your new best friend. But beware: not everyone may be able to handle the new lust for life it offers. Will you be ready?

I write this in an attempt to clarify how and why the Dr. and I did what we did. Over the years the liberal media has tried to portray the Dr. as some kind of maniac. Amoral, psychotic, blundering, and foolish. This is not how he was at all.

I shall try to be concise with this story. Perhaps in telling it from my perspective, from the beginning, it will help bring back some of the luster to the brilliance of the Dr.'s tarnished and sullied memory.

From the very first, he was ahead of his time and treated as such out of envy or fear. He was ridiculed and labeled a lunatic by the more offensive members of European (and in some instances, American) academia. He had applied to all the great schools, hoping to gain funding to study and prove his theories of reanimation. Everywhere he turned, though, was a dead end. The only place that allowed him a small room and a meager stipend was the Sorbonne, and even then, it was only to ensure that they were able to control him and keep an eye on him.

Things did change, however. His uncle soon died, leaving him heir and sole inheritor of the Frankenstein estate. He hired me on as his assistant - not simply because I was the sole applicant for the assistant job, but in me I think he saw a kindred spirit. We were both outcasts, he with his marvelous ideas and I with my physical deformity.

I set to work. I gave all my time and energies to him to repay the kindnesses he showed me throughout our wonderful time together. I bought all we needed: beakers, test tubes, electrodes, surgical tools. Some of the things were harder to find, but nothing was impossible for my beautiful Doctor... Generators, capacitors,  scanning electron microscopes, and gas chromatographs. The tricky part was in finding the parts he needed for implanting into the subjects for his experiments.

It was in this environment that our friendship blossomed. We found solace in each other's company on those long, cold nights. He was a caring human capable of the greatest emotions. His favorite game was to chase me around the lab with whatever he could find and tease me with his unique sense of humor. Those were days that I shall always hold close to my heart.

Then came the trials where I was granted immunity for testifying against him. He never knew it, but I secretly had gone to the police with his crimes.

But he denied it all, just like he denied my love.

Ach So!  I meant to say "Big Mistake, Indy".  The Frau and I watch the second installment of the Indiana Jones series in German; we prefer the voice of the child in the Temple of Doom over the English version.  Let's face it, even if you don't speak German, you'll still want to watch it in German anyway.  Which brings me to my point: I fear Indiana Jones films may be like like Beethoven symphonies. The odd numbers are good, the evens are not.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull will be the fourth (and yes, an even numbered) film.  Beethoven came out strong with his First Symphony, faltered on number two, but after some confusion as to who he wished to honor with his Third Symphony, he got on a roll with the odd numbers.  The Fifth, Seventh, and Ninth rock!  The rest, well, let's keep in mind that the odd ones are solid and not disparage our pal Ludwig (we Germans must shtick togezer, you know?).  I'm sure he tried his best on the evens, but he wasn't the maestro we know and love.  George Lucas and Steven Spielberg no doubt tried hard with Temple of Doom, but let's hope that that with almost twenty years of rest, they'll break the even symphony curse.

Since our trailer looks like Indy will be getting his hands back on the ark, we're giving him the keys to the kingdom: an anticipated four stars out of five.

Ughh, there goes Søren again, prancing around like he owns the place. So full of himself, like he's some sort of Superman or something. Ha!

We're working our butts off and he's just standing there with women flocking to him. I swear, Fred, it's like we're not even in the same class!

Would you look at this? It's not like we're anything to sneeze at, but you'd think we had the plague. [Sighs] Oh, I don't know what to believe anymore. I'm so depressed.

Bourgeois scum...he'll get his. History doesn't have to repeat itself, you know. Someday the tables will turn and we'll be the ones with all the glory. The women will come to us.

Hey guys, how's it going? Listen, the girls and I are gonna go back to my place and check out my journals, you wanna come?

R-really...? That's really decent of you, guy! Whaddaya say, Karl?

Hey, I'm always up to start a party! This will be a night to remember!

I'm sitting here now, in my changing room. I can hear the audience. They're restless. They're impatient to see the greatest Marlene Dietrich impersonator that ever graced the stages of Off-Broadway. It seems so long ago, that night that changed my life forever.

---

It was a hot and sweaty summer night, the kind where everyone's drunk and cruising in their pickup just to stay cool. Drunk driving wasn't a problem there because if you passed out, you'd just wake up in the morning and walk into town to get gas.

I went into town with a couple of the farm hands, Red and Tex. Red was a hard man: he'd spent most of his life traveling from farmstead to farmstead digging out stumps and working over livestock. Tex was different. He looked as young for 42 as Rex looked old for it. Tex was supple and gay, like the first springtime shoot. He always had a joke in mind and always managed to get the ladies to dance. Tex was a tractor driver; he could maneuver a tractor like he was leading a town-lady at an Oklahoma two-step. We were all men. Bronzed, rugged, American.

We walked into the arcade with pockets full of change. We'd spend what was left of our foldin' money here after hitting up ole man Jenkins' hooch shack.

As soon as you walked in the smells hit you: the cigarette smoke heavy in the air, the smell of fried taters and hot dogs from the eat-shack, the stale sour sweat of the high score. Rex slapped me on the ass and pointed over to a new game - Big Rigs: Over the Road Racing.

There were a couple of Riverdale kids hanging around it, dressed in their varsity jackets and smelling of the latest French perfumes from the town drug store. We hated them as much as they hated us. We derided them for being in their cage of a town, and they looked down on our boundless wandering in the country.

One of them laughed out loud and gave the game a kick. "This thing sucks!" he yelled out, his freckled face turning red, looking for a dummy to tackle. He glanced over at me and signalled to his team mates. "Hey farm-boy! Here's a game for ya! Ahoo hoo hoo! Shyeeeeeeeet!" His friends joined in the merry-making and they huddled over by the Dance Dance Revolution console.

I gritted my teeth. Tex held my wrists and whispered in my ear in that soft country drawl, "It's all right sweetheart, don't let them get to you. Let's just have a good time". Rex slapped my ass again, "Let's check that game out, maybe Tex can get the high score on it?" He grinned and winked at Tex. "No, I'll do it, I'll show them," I walked proudly over to the game and sat down in the seat.

I dropped in two quarters and changed my life.

There were no boundaries, no limits. I could do anything I wanted. I was free. I didn't have to stay on the road, I could go wherever and through whatever I pleased. I could even go beyond the edges of the map. I drove for hours that night, and I was always a winner. That night changed my life forever. I was beyond the arcade, beyond the town, beyond the farm. I was beyond the world. There was nothing to stop me or slow me down. I had broken through.

---

My mother sobbed as she hugged me goodbye. My father shook my hand and told me to do the right thing. Rex held me long and hard. We swayed back and forth on that train platform before Tex tapped him on the shoulder. Tex pressed his wet cheek to mine and kissed it softly. I'll never forget how his mustache was wet with tears. He whispered the line from the game into my ear:

"You're Winner".

If you're like me, you just can't get enough of the glitter and drama of Las Vegas shows, but by the time Celine Dion and Wayne Newton get made up and take the stage, that third cup of Maxwell House is just NOT cutting it anymore! So what's an aspiring showgirl to do when her eyes start drooping?

Leave it to none other than Siegfried & Roy to solve the most difficult of Vegas's problems!

In 1999, frustrated with the rampant tardiness on the set of the film "Siegfried & Roy: The Magic Box", magician Siegfried Fischbacher set about to brainstorming. After attempts to disappear the troublesome staff members to remote regions of the Mohave Desert failed to teach any sort of permanent lesson, he knew something more had to be done.

And thus was born The Siegfried & Roy Limited Edition Collector's Series Wrist Watch. Combining German efficiency and Las Vegas-style glitz, Siegfried knew that these watches would keep his sorry interns in shape, and commemorate the IMax film release in style! It not only ensured that each film screening started exactly on time, but also their Vegas performances as well. And you know what that means for those of us trying to get home before the babysitter has to leave for her "hot date" (it also means I can save the Maxwell House for when company comes over)!

Celine, honey, you can save your voice - I'm going to see Siegfried & Roy!

In a bit of administrative news, Hunk Tuesdays have now been changed to Hunk Fridays. Really, what better way to tide our readers over until Monday? ShopWiki: the gift that keeps on giving.

This week we simply cannot get enough of things Germans love (clearly!) and so we're continuing the theme in today's post by celebrating The Man, The Legend, The Icon: David Hasselhoff. A true Renaissance man, international treasure, and perhaps the catalyst for the fall of Communism, the Hoff has delighted audiences for three decades and shows no signs whatsoever of slowing down!

In awe-struck recognition of his innumerable services to mankind and the world, we humbly recommend the perfect addition to your already extensive Hasselhoff collection: Looking For: The Best of David Hasselhoff. An ambitious task for sure, and not without flaws (as the erudite reviewer Charles Henry Higgensworth III aptly puts it, "flaws are inevitable when one takes on the impossible task of distilling Hasselhoff to a single disk. This is, after all, akin to reducing Aristotle to a lone pamphlet - nay, a matchbook cover."); however, one listen and you will be entranced beyond your wildest dreams, swept up into a whirling dervish of ecstatic delights and flights of fancy. The cover art is equally majestic: we here at ShopWiki have decorated our office with no less than 4 attractively-framed copies.

So what are you waiting for? Celebrate Hunk Friday with us by singing and dancing along to "Hot Shot City" and make every day a Hasselhoffy Day!

I'm drowning in those blue eyes - save me!!

Let your hair down baby We've been rocking all night Now the sun's coming over the hill We like to sleep all day, like to party all night Our love is like red hot steel Our love is like red hot steel Cool it down now cool it down 11 o'clock we're ready to rock 11 o'clock yeah we ready to rock

In honor of Halloween, we here at ShopWiki are honoring the love between German citizens and candied apples. A phenomenon virtually unknown to the American world until this very moment, the intimate relationship between folk and fruit has captivated the Teutonic world since the Great Düsseldorf Candied Apple Fire of 1855.

On that fateful evening, Horst Schenk, the night watchman at the candied apple factory, improperly extinguished his cigarette before succumbing to the crashing low following his nightly sugar binge. Thankfully, because of the proximity to the Rhine River, neither the city itself nor any of its inhabitants were at any time imperiled, but the factory was annihilated beyond repair. Horst was later stoned to death by an angry mob in front of the Town Hall.

Since that tragic fire, Germans and Germans at heart alike have dedicated their lives to commemorating the memory of all those succulent lost souls and the population that could only stop weeping with the rise of reliable import relations. To this day, in almost every home across the nation, one will find a tribute to the chilling misfortune, most commonly in the form of intricate tapestries.

However, the sympathizers at ThinkStock know that not everyone has the kind of time for back-breaking loom work, and so they have generously compiled a photographic series for just such an occasion. Now you too can show your support of the Düsseldorfers' plight and your love of history with these attractive pieces.

From all of us here, Fröhliche Halloween, and for more decorating ideas, follow the jump!