I'm Out Of Wit; How 'Bout Some Dense Observations?

This blog's days are numbered.

It will be gone, but not forgotten. I know entries have been dragging ass lately. Super sorry. All I can say is that there be a methodde to thyne own madness, and writting about myself in 3rd person old English is easy.

In the mean time, I've noticed some things. Some famous people look like other famous people. No one's ever pointed that out! Don't worry. To make up for this shitty post I'll give you some stupid pet tricks next time. K?

1.

Virgin Billionare Richard Branson...

...and a bloated/scarred Mickey Rourke

2.

Thomas Haden Church (3/3/2009, 7:56 PM, charged with Mopery; later acquitted)..

...and Libyan singing sensation Moammar al-Gaddafi

3. (this one's sad)

Drew Carey 2009...

...and Michael Moore

Movin’ Pictures: District 9

I hate to break the news to all the Sara Suburbs or little Johnny Culdesacs out there, but poor people are as ubiquitous in the world as the Miley Cyrus posters are in your bedroom. I think every continent has some sort of good movie that represents the hardships of its ghetto dwellers; you have your City of God's, your Slumdog Millionaire’s, your Kangaroo Jack’s, etc. The only continent left just happens to be the most colossally fucked one ever (including Pangaea).

Making a slum movie about Africa should not be hard since, oh, I don’t know…it’s AFRICA. It had that whole “colonialism” thing. Also that little apartheid thing, whatever the heck-a-roonie that was. There’s also the abject poverty, the AIDS, the Super AIDS, ebola, gun-touting militias, military dictatorships, and just the overall haze of suck that kind of hangs over the land. Africa has a billion people living in what is essentially the world’s largest ghetto. Film that.

Man, the only thing that place is missing are aliens. If only Africa had some aliens, then and only then could we make a kick-ass ghetto film.

District 9, like this review of it, leaves the audience asking, “what the fuck are they trying to say?”

Check this out, I’m not making this up. Here are two quick reviews I read on RottenTomatoes. Both are positive.

“A brilliant social commentary.” – Victoria Alexander, FilmsInReview.com
“[District 9] signifies nothing.” – Tim Brayton, Antagony & Ecstacy

I have no fucking clue what I just watched. So, there are hyper-intelligent aliens with advanced technology, and for some unexplained reason they turn dim and chill out over South Africa. The government collects them all, puts them in a slum, and then normal slum-like problems occur (gangs, black market). It’s like a fucking, normal slum movie except all the poor, stupid people are really poor, really stupid and they look like Shrimp Men.

I know this was supposed to be a sci-fi horror comedy satire. I don’t care that some professional movie critics are comparing it to Planet of the Apes. District 9 was objectively retarded. It was a bore that didn’t have to be so goddamn boring.

Without giving too much plot away, I’m just going to say I hated the protagonist. Wikus van de Merwe (Copley) is almost as unintelligible as the fucking non-English-speaking aliens. He has some sort of jumbled South African dialect that makes him sound Welsh. I did like watching him argue with the alien protagonist, Christopher Johnson (hahaha). Hearing those two go back and forth reminded me of the cantina scene in Star Wars.

Movies need to stop being shot with the shaky cam. It was fine for the first 20 minutes where it was supposed to feel like a documentary. That actually makes sense when the plot involves a whole film crew tagging along with military operations. But when you’re watching something that only the audience is supposed to know about and the footage is still at home movie quality, you’re left feeling confused and motion sick.

I’m not going to lie. There were some pretty funny parts, like the human-alien bareback humping or when a Gundam mech suit hits a pig into a soldier and they all die. So, yeah. The film is not a complete loss. Mindless fun, I guess.

If you want to see a deep movie about life in a ghetto, rent Fiddler on the Roof. If you want a deep, sci-fi flick, rent Planet of the Apes. If you want to watch campy aliens tear ass on humans or vice versa, rent Starship Troopers. Don’t combine them into one, big, mediocre fart.

I give District 9 5/10 corgis. Meh.

Movin’ Pictures: Inglourious Basterds

(I really hate the title’s incorrect spelling, which is weird because if it weren’t for spell check, this whole blog would make me look like a stroke victim)

I’m going to sound like a dick. Sorry. As I sit here trying to think of things to say, going over a few points over and over in my mind, it all starts to make me sound, to myself at least, like a huge, effin’ dick. But honestly, I like the movie. A lot.

It’s just that I thought the movie would fucking blow my mind. Instead, it was merely awesome. Tarantino shot for a Pulp Fiction but wound up with a Kill Bill vol. 1.

By now you’ve probably heard about how this was supposed to be his glorious Cowboy Western epic, that it took 10 years to write, and that he left on the editing room floor enough of his WWII fairy tale to make a fucking WWI prequel. Not bad for a 2 and a half hour long slog fest.

The film has two main story lines that culminate together at the end. One follows the events of Shosanna (Laurent), a French Jew who loses her family in a raid and winds up as the manager of a little cinema theater. You better like this chick because this is basically her film and her story. I was a little disappointed because I thought the second story line, the one following Lieutenant Aldo “The Apache” Raine (Pitt), would be focused on more. This is the shit that was really cut out. All the back story with The Basterds, shots of them tearing ass through Nazi occupied France, the pithy dialogue, almost all cut out. You can tell you’re watching a watered down version; an incredible revelation because god damn those guys are funny and brutal.

You’ll like every single character. I was surprised that I liked Eli Roth’s character, Sgt. Donny “The Bear Jew” Donowitz, because I personally don’t really like Eli Roth and his stupid snuff movie porn shit. I guess it makes sense that an annoying, sadistic Jewish American would be cherry picked to play one. Good job, Eli.

The movie is extremely dialogue heavy, which is a good thing if you find agonizing tension just as enjoyable as agonizing slaughter. You can thank “The Jew Hunter” Hans Landa (Waltz) for that. Tarantino and Waltz created the perfect movie villain; a romantic, and sinister genius who serves as the only real bridge between the two protagonists. It feels really weird liking a Nazi this much.

Tarantino does a great job with the directing, using all the artsy fartsy camera/lighting/setting techniques I’ve completely forgotten from the cinematography course I barely passed. The film definitely deserves to be watched more than once; keeping track of all this stuff AND the plot AND the great acting AND the constant sensation of being gob smacked, you also have to keep track of all the moderately obscure movie tributes Tarantino makes because Tarantino is a huge fucking movie dork (not necessarily a bad thing)

Inglourious Basterds gets 9/10 corgis. It should be seen.

ABC ‘s Fall Lineup

All shows premier September, 4 2009

Hugo and Me

[Background Music – Wooly Bully, Sam the Sham and the Pharos]

Johnny Wright was the best and brightest student in his little Kansas high school. But when this All-American Rhode Scholar decided to travel abroad, he didn’t realize that his host daddy…was the daddy of Venezuela!

“Sorry I’m late, Pop. I’m not used to nation-wide mandatory curfews.”

“Aaaaammeeeeerrrrriiiiiicaaaaaaaaannnnooo!”

[Background Music – What if God Was One of Us, Joan Osborne]

Can love and understanding bridge the divides of nationalism?

“You’re not my real daddy!”

And can we find the answers…in our hearts?

“[I’m proud of you, Johnny. I’ve (sob) always...been so proud…]”

This fall, control YOUR media, and watch the state of….Hugo and Me. Staring Shia LaBeouf and Hugo Chavez, as himself


Cougar Hunter

[Background Music – Wooly Bully, Sam the Sham and the Pharos]

The pest control game wasn’t really cutting it for high school drop out Ed Fisher. At 22, his life was going nowhere…until he started hunting bigger game amongst New York City’s richest divorcés!

“Rrrrrrrrrrow…”

“Uh…meow?”

[Background Music – What if God Was One of Us, Joan Osborne]

Can this amateur jiggalo make the hearts of older women purr?

“I love you, Ed…”

Or will the whole experience leave him scratched?

“We found ‘em like this this mornin’ ‘round 8. Two bodies, both shot in the head, ‘cept this one definitely did it to himself Cobain style.”

“That’s a lot of blood. Christ, this perp reeks.”

This fall, the best time to hunt cougars is when they are in heat. Cougar Hunter, staring Courtney Cox and Hugo Chavez as Ed


Stuck in the Middle

[Background Music – Wooly Bully, Sam the Sham and the Pharos]

Bridgette Hallmark always had trouble balancing her home life with her high paying CEO job. But when the entire global economy is sent into a tailspin, she goes from power player to home maker over night. Now she’s middle class in the middle of the country and is rapidly approaching middle age!

“Which one of you incompetent fuck heads ate all the goddamn potato salad!? That was for the stupid fucking PTA meeting tonight that your goddamn low-balling public school is making me attend.”

[Background Music – What if God Was One of Us, Joan Osborne]

Can she learn to cope with her slower, more down-to-Earth life?

“Sometimes I just get the urge to drive off a bridge and take my whole family with me.”

Or will she be forever lost in the past?

“Sometimes I just get the urge to drive off a bridge and take my whole family with me.”

This fall, Hugo Chavez is…Stuck in the Middle.

August Rush

August is a weird month. For some strange reason, it is both the most important and the most useless month of the year. Don’t believe me? Check your calendar, right now. I bet it’s filled up with birthdays and vacation plans and sex parties, all while the worst calendar picture of the year is proudly being displayed (Playboy’s Ms. August 2009 has scoliosis and razor burn on her chest).

Now, on average, you share your birthday with about 18,000,000 people. But that number is slightly larger in August. Why? ‘Cause bitches be fuckin’ at Thanksgiving. That’s right, August has the most birthdays out of any month for reasons I can only assume are related to family, alcohol and tryptophan. If that’s not the case then you tell me why so many people like to have a sloppy, unprotected fuck in November. Ew. What if it had to do with Veterans Day? Or Election Day?

Being the sweaty taint of Summer, August is too much of a hazy inferno to accomplish anything. It’s really more of a time to enjoy southern delights like impromptu BBQ’s, swimming holes, and lounging around complaining about how lazy other people are as they lounge around and complain about the heat because they’re so fucking lazy. I know last part sounds retarded and grammatically convoluted, but it’s August and hot and I just don’t…fucking…care…anym

November might be prime deer hunting season, but August is by far the best season to hunt human. It is by far the bloodiest month. Some blame the heat, while others blame the “evil-amulet” properties of August’s birthstone, the peridot. On top of being the month where numerous wars started and ended, when we bombed Japan back into a Flintstones episode, and when God sent Hurricane Katrina to punish New Orleans and by accident every person in a 250 mile radius, we just had the physical manifestation of rape do that voodoo that he do soooo well. Always with the suicide at the end. The mentally disturbed need to take it back to the outlaw glory days where actual bank robbing criminals had the decency to go out in a hail of gunfire.

As for me, my birthday is right smack in the middle of August. I’d throw a murder-theme party for all my friends if I wasn’t so goddamn hot and I wasn’t…so…goddamn…tired.

Stick Me in the Ground

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.I know.

But I do not approve. ‘Cause only fags do that shit, son.

Houston, represent!

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

I think what this Pulitzer Prize winning dame was trying to say was, “Let’s prevent some more zombie attacks here. M’kay, people?” This collectivist approach towards body disposal has issued in a golden age, no, a dynasty of zombie-free living; it’s been almost 4 years since the last recorded attack.

In lieu of traditional burials, people are opting for more alternative methods: funeral pyres, body harvesting, living longer. Gross. Oh sure, this all sounds great. No more zombies? Hell yeah sign me up. But what the American people have forgotten in the time since 9/11 is that by eliminating the Life-Death-Reanimation-More Death-Apocalypse-Genesis cycle, you’re making the quality of life worse and extending it at the same time.

Let’s get the obvious downfall out of the way first: too many old people. They want to die just as much as we wish they would. Seriously, who wants to be 105? God has a specific plan once you turn 70 and it involves dying and walking the earth as an abomination. Zombies may have destroyed the very fabric of civilization in some parts of the world, but never has a zombie dinged my car, or told me a really boring story about the 30’s, or smelled like medicine, or complained to my manager.

Without dead bodies, several key industries will go under at a time when our economy is teetering on the brink of collapse as it is. Sam Bowman of Patterson, Illinois is the North American Casketeers Union leader of Local 34.

“How many people are here on Earth? Ten billion? Twenty? A casket’s got about…I’d say on average 40 dollars worth of lumber, bolts, screws, linen, whatever, and we charge ‘em at about the same price as a used car. If the casket making industry were to suddenly pucker up like my wife’s asshole…we’d be better off if Ford went under. Shit comes and goes, but people will always be dyin’.”

If there are no dead bodies, then there would be no caskets. And without caskets, there’d be no cemeteries to bury them in. And without cemeteries, where would fat, goth girls go to smoke marijuana?

Look, I know that when it comes to this subject, people’s emotions get pretty raw. It’s a debate that’s been going on for thousands of years, and we still can’t figure it out. Aristotle couldn’t come up with an answer, and he was taught by Plato. Plato couldn’t either, and he was taught by Socrates. And even Socrates couldn’t because he’s full of shit.

The point is that, zombies are like this big cleansing fire. They sweep through this forest, aka, human civilization, and clean up the thorns and dead animals and used condoms that clutter our lives. It isn’t until we’ve seen our own loved ones devoured by a decomposing army of the damned that we can pause, reflect, and come to meaningful conclusions. “I shouldn’t have lost my shit at that Starbucks employee. That poor girl. She probably never even knew two-dollar bills existed. Not her fault.”

So I say put dead bodies in the ground where they belong. It’s not like we won’t be seeing them soon enough.

Title: [Untitled]

Title: [Untitled]

Characters:
Greg – A nerdy, mid-20’s accountant. Very lame and mild mannered personality. Uses office jargon a lot.
Alter Boy – A latently gay and polite, religious zealot who is clueless
Captain Yo-Yo – If a Skip It commercial came to life and was a wigger. Actually terrible at the yo-yo.
Dungeon Master – Your typical heavy set, snarky, and irreverent nerd

Setting: A library conference room. There is a large table with a macbook resting on it, a few chairs, and a white board with a few scribbles on it. Three men are sitting at the table while one stands. There are some wayward pieces of paper on the table.

[open]

GREG
Alright, this is good. This is great. Look’s like everyone is here so…I guess I’ll begin. [Ahem]. My name is Greg Higgins. I’m a former accounting underling of Black Mantis, who, as you all know, was arrested along with Beaver Man, The Prankster, Dr. Velocity, uh…Hot Cop; basically, the entire League of Bay Area Super Villains. That day was a real barn-burner. They were arrested…for forever…by that insufferable, Dewlapped Destroyer, Moose Man. [chuckling] I uh…don’t think I need to tell you guys, our feelings, about uh…that guy [smiling].

OTHER THREE MEN
[silence]

GREG
So, that is why I, the last part of LOBASV, combed all the Bay Area high schools and assembled you guys…the best, up-and-coming super villains, this town has to offer! The young blood! Seriously, give yourselves a round of applause!

Greg applauds enthusiastically alone.

GREG
‘Cause seriously, it’s all about you guys. We are going to recontextualize the villainy in this town and together, get that dirty so-n-so Moose Man. So, what I would like to do right now is continue onto our next action item which is part 2 of the itinerary-

CPT. YO-YO
Yo, I didn’t get no eye-tinrary.

GREG
…well, why don’t you share with him and… it’ll work out. It's fine. You don’t really need an itinerary for this part right now ‘cause what we’re gonna do is introduce ourselves, sorta, familiarize ourselves with each other, become real homies, right bro-hams? [awkward pause] And then we’ll come up with a plan for killing Moose Man. So, why don’t we start with…you, in the blouse. Stand up, tell us your name aaaaand what you’re about! Go.

Alter Boy stands.

ALTER BOY
Well first off, this is not a blouse; it’s a surplice-

CPT. YO-YO
[to Dungeon Master] It’s a very pretty blouse…

ALTER BOY
Hey, shut up. It’s not a blouse! It’s a surplice and, the ladies, love it. They just…swarm all over me all the time-

CPT. YO-YO
They flock to your smock.

ALTER BOY
They flock to my smock. But I would never fornicate with harlots because-

DUNGEON MASTER
You’re gay.

Dungeon Master and Cpt. Yo-Yo chuckle.

ALTER BOY
No. Because it’s villainous to leave girls in wanting.

Dungeon Master and Cpt. Yo-Yo make faces at the weird phrasing.

GREG
Listen, Alter Boy. I know, we’re all amped. Everyone here wants to kill Moose Man really really bad, but plans for villainy aren’t until item 6; check your itinerary. So why don’t you take a few power breaths, collect your thoughts, and continue.

ALTER BOY
[annoyed] Fine. I am Alter Boy; the Catholic Shape Shifter-

Dungeon Master and Cpt. Yo-Yo burst out laughing.

ALTER BOY
-THE CATHOLIC SHAPE SHIFTER, AND THROUGH MENTAL PRAYER, LORD, MAKE ME AN INSTURMENT OF THY PEACE, IN JESUS NAME KILL MOOSE MAN AMEN.

Alter Boy sits down quickly.

GREG
Thank you, Alter Boy. That had a lot of goodness. Let’s see. Captain Yo-Yo! You’ve been hot-desking with Dungeon Master a lot today. Why don’t you stand up and tell us about yourself?

CPT. YO-YO
Hey, Greg. Why don't you fuck off?

GREG
‘Scuse me?

CPT. YO-YO
My name ain’t Captain Yo-Yo. It’s Captain Yo-Yo, the Jr. Spin Champion of Oklahoma City. You gotta say the whole thing, otherwise you sound as gay as Mr. down-on-your-knees over here.

DUNGEON MASTER
Hey-O.

ALTER BOY
I’m not going to sit here and pretend to understand what that’s supposed to mean, Mr., Mr., whoever-that-long-named-singer-man-lady-person-from-the-90’s-was. Mr. Long Name. Uh…purple rain!

DUNGEON MASTER
What?

CPT. YO-YO
Prince? Are you trying to talk about Prince?

DUNGEON MASTER
Jesus Christ you suck.

ALTER BOY
Hey, hold thy tongue, Dungeon Master! Why don’t you go back to your mom’s basement which is where your dungeon lair is. Probably.

DUNGEON MASTER
Yeah, that’s right. My mom’s basement is my dungeon. And her bedroom is my sex dungeon; where I butt-fucked Jesus.

CPT. YO-YO
OH SNAP! That’s what up!

ALTER BOY
Wh-wh-…

DUNGEON MASTER
Pwned.

CPT. YO-YO
Villainous!

ALTER BOY
Greg!

GREG
I’m sorry, Alter Boy, but I’m going to have to go ahead and agree with Cpt. Yo-Yo that what Dungeon Master said was quite villainous.

CPT. YO-YO
Mmhmm, yeah. That’s what he said! How's my dick taste, son?!

ALTER BOY
Hey, Why are they even here?! I can shape shift, for gosh’s sake! They don’t even have any powers!

CPT. YO-YO
Hey hey hey hey woah woah…wait a sec. Don’t you go comparing Captain Yo-Yo, Jr. Spin Champion of Oklahoma City with dime store Kevin Smith over there. I got powers. Check it!

Cpt. Yo-Yo starts to stand up, first by taking his feet off the table

DUNGEON MASTER
[to Alter Boy] Where do you get off saying I don’t have any powers, you little butt nut?

CPT. YO-YO
Boom!

Cpt. Yo-Yo spreads his arms, brandishes his bandolier of yo-yos, and opens his hands. Several yo-yos (4) unfurl and land on the table.

CPT. YO-YO
Yo, what’s good now, son?! Ever been smacked upside the dome with one of these?! I don’t think so! This shit hurt more than suckin' on Johnny Law's night stick, feel me ya pussay ass bi-otch?

DUNGEON MASTER
Why the fuck are you even here? Why would some newb like you ever try to be a super villain?

CPT. YO-YO
Yo I got yo-yo weapons, yo-yo traps…

ALTER BOY
They say we alter boys live dangerous lives…

Dungeon Master and Cpt. Yo-Yo speak at the same time

CPT. YO-YO
Whaaaaaaaa….

DUNGEON MASTER
Man, that is such total bullshit. I bet my BangBus subscription that you've never even seen that movie.

GREG
This is good, people. This is a really good robust dialogue going on. I can feel the synergy. I’m gonna give this part just a few more minutes but then we are really gonna wanna move on to item 3 in our itinerary -which I believe is…Our Scarred, Emotional Pasts- if we want to make it out of the library before it closes.

CPT. YO-YO
Yo, fuck the eye-tinrary! Let’s just jump that motherfucking moose and ice his ass. I. Don’t. Give. A. FUCK! I’ve kilt bikers, I’ve kilt jump ropers, I totally fuckin’ dropped this one bitch on a Skip-It…

DUNGEON MASTER
I’ve got my stepdad’s car outside. I guess we could run him over or something. I don’t care if that car gets dented; I hate Steve.

ALTER BOY
I could shape shift into a baby lamb as a distraction. That could work!

OTHER THREE MEN
[silence]

GREG
Jeeze, this is like herding cats. OK, guys. I'm gonna be above-board for a sec. I think our main problem here is agreeance. We need to be proactive. Let's start a dialogue and air it out. No more of this imagineering on how to kill Moose Man when I’ve got a 57-point slide show on exactly how to do it. The first step: understanding ourselves. And each other.

CPT. YO-YO
[disillusioned] Yo, alright, that’s it. Captain Yo-Yo, Jr. Spin Champion of Oklahoma City ‘bout to peace the fuck on out of here. So, so long, douche, Mr. Kevin Smith, Pride Parade over here; I’m ‘bout to ride out on my yo-yo-nicycle. Maybe rob a bank, pick up some bomb-ass hoola hoop pussy, you know, whatevers down by the boardwalk. So uh…don’t none of you hacks follow me, or try to evil around with me ever again. Aiight. Peace!

Cpt. Yo-Yo flips a hardcore peace sign and swaggers out of the room.

DUNGEON MASTER
Yo-yo-nicycle?

GREG
I’m not quite sure what that is either.

DUNGEON MASTER
A yo-yo unicycle?

GREG
[chuckles] What a spark plug.

DUNGEON MASTER
How would he even sit? How is that physically possible?

ALTER BOY
I bet it’s like this loooong [demonstrating with arms] piece of string that sticks straight up in the air that you sit on and it hurts. Ew. That would be awful.

DUNGEON MASTER
Oh, who are you fooling? We know you think that sounds delicious.

ALTER BOY
[praying] Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccáta mundi, dona nobis tyrannosaurus rex.

DUNGEON MASTER
What are you doing?

ALTER BOY
[still praying] Shape shifting into a dinosaur so I can bite your face off.

DUNGEON MASTER
Now, are you shape shifting into a pre- or post- great flood T-rex? Because Noah totally had them on his boat, and, I just want to know-

ALTER BOY
Shut up.

DUNGEON MASTER
-if I should be worried or not. ‘Cause, pre-great flood T-rex had no immunities to human diseases-

ALTER BOY
Shut up!

DUNGEON MASTER
-so I could just kill them with a sneeze or something like that.

ALTER BOY
Fuck you!

GREG
Yeah…and I think on that note, at least for right now, we’re done. Good meeting, gang. Seriously. Very proactive.

Pointless Update

Apology in advance. This blog update is pointless.

I’m writing something big and new and complex and unfamiliar and hopefully funny.

Catch my untitled script about awful super villains this Friday. It should be done by then.

BFFs Forever

(Note: the second F stands for Fucking)

Although we are genetically superior to every one of God’s creatures, they never cease to amaze us with their human mimickry. These soulless automatons run the gamut of apparent intelligence from “none” all the way up to “retarded human child”. Of course, it isn’t real intelligence; you need to accept Jesus Christ into your heart before your mind can open up and receive the divine light of knowledge radiating from God’s throne in Heaven. And that is a physical impossibility for anyone but humans.

Clyde the Orangutan is so apparently smart he resembles a gangly, pot-bellied hillbilly child from Georgia. Look at him; put him in a pair of overalls and a straw hat, maybe a little chew in his lip and boom – he’d look ready to rape some city boys a-la Deliverance extra bonus footage. But unlike most unwashed poor people, Clyde “knows” sign language. To be fair, I would have been condescending and put “knows” in quotation marks if I were talking about hillbillies “knowing” sign language. Some creatures that walk this earth are just too dumb to know anything.

Clyde’s life partner is Ruby, a Blue Tick Hound. He’s good for rooting around, chasing rabbits down hollers and stirring up small game for Clyde to pick off with some buckshot. Sike. That’s a lie. But the two are inseparable and they do kill animals together.

I visited Clyde on his salt-of-the-earth hunk of land that the government was nice enough to donate to the National Wildlife Federation, of which Clyde is not a member of due to his communication skills. He’s basically squatting in a dirt pile owned by the federal government which is so In Your Face it’s almost punk. But that’s cool with Clyde. He and Ruby spend most of their days just kicking it and occasionally raiding the weekly flea market, heavy on some Mongol Viking Raider Bezerker type shit. That part’s not true either but I just like the visual since Clyde does look like Attila the Hun (not racist). For some reason their presence has been missed for the past 3 weekends. That’s why I came down for a visit.

I failed sign language in middle and high school but we seemed to vibe each other out well enough to quell the murderous desires fuming inside us both.

Me [signing]: Hello, Clyde
(Clyde remained aloof as he fondled his penis)

Whatcha doin’, Clyde?
[Signing] Chase tickle.

Where is Ruby?
Kill dog. Dead good bye.

Ruby is dead? Who killed Ruby?
Hard killing. Bad dog.

Clyde. Who killed Ruby, Clyde.
(Clyde stuck his toes in his mouth and rolled onto his back)

Did you kill Ruby, Clyde?
You bird

[Out loud] You little shit.
He is breakable. Me know from study.

Where is Ruby? Where is Ruby’s body?
Me am not having picture of me in article.

Where is his body, Clyde?
Rotten. Stink.

Clyde. Where is his body?
Shame.

Clyde!
In dirty toilet.

I found Ruby’s decomposing body in Clyde’s outhouse.

Why, Clyde?
No want jealous attention. Sorry.

Why were you jealous of Ruby?
He can lick privates.

That still doesn’t explain-
He can lick privates.

Clyde…
Good.

Animals are dumb.

History’s Mysteries: Walt Disney’s Head, Part 2

How did 1 misplaced frozen head launch the end of the world? Why did Walt Disney freeze his head to begin with? And where is it now?

The real catalyst happened earlier than you think. It was during the so called “Golden Age” of cartoons, from 1937-1941. Some might look at that date and think the parallels between an anti-Semitic cartoon mogul and Adolph Hitler’s growing war machine are “a stretch”, and “specious at best”. Well let me tell you something, Buster Brown; fuck you.

See, this was after Walt spent over a decade fellating the egos and dicks of rich Hollywood Jew executives. Breaking into a new town isn’t easy, especially if your weapon of choice is a drawing of a teenage mutant ninja mouse on a steamboat.

Walt’s growing empire and paranoia are what led him to make his first major decision related to the apocalypse. He decided to surround himself with a team of cartoon animators who shared his controversial beliefs about Jews, genetic superiority, and the coming race war. They were going to make the best family-friendly cartoons ever! This is what led him to travel to Nazi Germany and personally ask Hitler to take back to America the Third Reich’s greatest cartoonist.

Baron Von Strauss. A disciplined man. A man of no nonsense. A bed-wetter and pyromaniac. A reclusive, hate-filled man who secretly killed cats for fun. And, a life long friend to Walt. He didn’t mind Von Strauss’ eye patch or gimp. He thought the facial scars added panache. When they weren’t animating, the two would sit around for hours, reading exerts of Mein Kampf by the fire, sipping fine chardonney and quietly giggling in a silent understanding.

The years passed in unparalleled bliss. But there was trouble in paradise. Unbeknownst to Von Strauss, Hollywood and himself, Walt Disney had a malignant brain tumor (in addition to a myriad of other congenital conditions, including Peyronie’s Disease and The Evil Gene). Just as their media empire finished the first of their giant induction compounds located in California, it appeared as if Walt was not destined to see his labors come to fruition. After a chemotherapy session, Walt told Von Strauss that he would have to carry on his legacy of hate mongering and propaganda as he resigned himself to death.

What would you do?

What would any battle tested Nazi foot soldier who may or may not had sex with his commanding officer do? Spit in the face of God, that’s what.

Pulled straight from Hitler’s playbook, Baron Von Strauss initiated Operation: Long Winter. It was originally a contingency plan to prevent sterilization in case radioactive fallout levels were too high for human testicular survival. What it required was for Disney (the Fuhrer) to be flash frozen with cryogenics, have his head removed and placed in a jar. Then Von Strauss collected some of Walt’s sperm by jacking off his dead body. When the sperm was collected, it was placed in a vial, then that vial was put in the jar with his head, then that jar would be placed as the head of an indestructible robot body powered by burning coal .

(Note, this was almost impossible for Von Strauss to pull off since he embezzled the money for this project from The Disney Company’s new idea of computer animated 3-D cartoons, setting back the development of that project over 30 years. It was either Immortal Giant Frozen Head of Walt Disney or Toy Story and he made an executive decision.)

…

And then that’s it. No one knows exactly what happened next. But some people think it looked a little like this…

WHERE DID HIS HEAD/SPERM GO?!




Tune in tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion. “History’s Mysteries: Walt Disney’s Head, Part 3”

We haven’t even gotten to the clone wars and the fall of civilization yet.

History’s Mysteries: Walt Disney’s Head, Part 1

Walt Disney lived the American Dream.

Born into the squalor of middle class life, he faced many hardships; hardships that no baby should burden alone. But those first, lonely, hard years of his life did not build character so much as reveal it.

The Chicago, Illinois of 1901 was much different than the Chicago of 2009. Or even 2001. Or hell, 1975. I think that’s the year it finally changed but don’t quote me on that. Point is, 1901 Chi-town was more of a fetid, Dickensian nightmare than a habitable metropolis. It was here among the abject poverty and boxcars on top of boxcars crammed with rotting cow flesh, that a spunky little rat-faced baby named Walter Elias Disney “fell out” and began his life journey.

Back in those days the only people who called themselves artists were renowned homosexuals or unabashedly French. Men like Felix Copperfield or Jacques Marcel Gazelle Lafayette de Calonne, who could mince into any city and start their own gallery, men of the era of whom Disney first dreamed of. Baby Walt had always admired the do-all-and-everything bravado of such gallant men, and wished to be with them, but his father would not have a gay French dandy as offspring.

He wished his son to grow up like the men he admired, the men who worked a factory job with him. Tired, salt of the earth men, who slaved away their lives for the company’s sake, under incredibly unsafe machinery, crooked bosses, and a ton of fart jokes. He wished for his son to one day be a hardened, wizen old man, amongst the ranks of legends of the conveyor belt; men like 8-Finger Fitzpatrick, Black Steve, and “The Man They Just Call Swifty”.

If Baby Walt showed any artistic talent, his proclivity would be gently curbed by his well-meaning father. For minor things like wall scribbles or cooed lullabies, Baby Walt was subjected to beatings by his father. Day after day, every day, when he came home from work at the Meat Cannery, did his father whip the shit out of with an old hickory stick until Walt turned 5.

Walt’s only outlet for his rage was his drawings. In 1906, he created the first Mickey Mouse drawing; a proto-Mickey grabbing his dick and sneering. It was an attempted caricature of his father, his demon tormentor, drawn as a hideous, clawed rat. Lacking proper artistic supplies, he drew it on a piece of old garbage with rat feces, both of which were more than abundant around his little 2-room shack next to the county dump.

How could he realize at that moment that his literal and metaphorical shit drawing would launch a media empire and billion dollar international corporation that would change the face of western civilization forever?

The all powerful, soulless, consuming beast that is the Walt Disney Company descended upon man like a plague, raping the Good Earth of its resources and corrupting the hearts of all.

And lo, did Gaia, the spirit of the Earth, no longer stood the terrible destruction of our planet. She sent 5 special rings to 5 special young people: Kwame, from Africa, with the power of Earth; from North America, Wheeler, with the power of fire; from the Soviet Union, Linka, with the power of wind; from Asia, Gi, with the power of water, and from South America, Mahttee, with the power of heart. When the 5 powers combined, the summon Earth’s greatest champion – Captain Planet!

And yay, did Captain Planet fall too in the face of opposition, from the Disney Company’s army of robotic pirates wielding the spines of 3rd world sweat shop slaves like mace.

This was all activated by Baron Von Strauss after the Operation: Long Winter mishap, right before the second Clone War, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start at the real beginning.







Comming soon: "History's Mysteries: Walt Disney's Head, Part 2"

Dustin Diamond Dead, 32

(Santa Barbara, CA) At 7:17 eastern standard time, Dustin Diamond was declared dead at St. Francis Medical Center .

Diamond, the 32 year old stand-up "comedian", former costar of Saved By the Bell, and all around terrible human being, allegedly died in a skirmish involving a transsexual prostitute.

“At this point, we are not revealing any details regarding an on-going investigation, but based on immediate findings of the body, we can deduce that Screech may have been with a tranny-hooker,” says Police Chief John Fitzsimmons.

Universally hated former TV nerd Screech was found in a dumpster behind a Quiznos sandwich shop. “The alley is locally known for being a gathering spot for very mannish black men in drag,” added Fitzsimmons. “I’m like 99% sure he said something to piss one off, probably the fact he played Screech.”

When asked whether Diamond used his credentials as Screech to secure free or discounted sex, Fitzsimmons said the idea was “probable.”

This morning, Quiznos issued a press release.

“Since our inception in 1981, Quiznos has always been a vocal opponent of transsexual prostitutes, murder, and shitty actors. We feel that the circumstances around this event are very unfortunate but are no way related to our commitment to providing you delicious, toasted sandwiches at affordable prices.”

Already the celebrity world is reeling from the joy Screech’s death brings.

Saved By the Bell co-star Tiffani Thiessen responded with the news by saying, “I’m surprised the little turd didn’t die sooner.

“He was always such a colossal fuck-up. See, when we were on the set, everyone else, me, Mark, Dennis, Lark…we were all acting. Dustin doesn’t know how to act. He thought he was in a real high school. We had to ad-lib lines and plot devices to compensate but it made for a very watchable show.” She added, “Fuck him. He's got 'bergers, or is like autistic or someting.”

Mario Lopez and Mark-Paul Gosselaar also spoke candidly about Diamond’s death.

“Summer is the season of death for celebrities. I don’t know what it is but the heat just kills the most random ones,” said Lopez.

“Yeah, but there’s no way you can say Dustin was a celebrity,” corrected Gosselaar.

“That’s true. Yes, that’s very true. He was no Billy Mays.”

“God said he needed a salesman, so he took Billy. God said he needed a singer, so he took Michael Jackson. And then the devil said he needed an asshole, so he took Screech.”

“That’s the perfect name for a demon who tortures the souls of the damned by telling awful Saved By the Bell jokes and then wiping off the shit on his dick on their face.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah I’m gonna go pray and I suggest you come with me.”

Lopez was referring to the Dustin Diamond self-made sex-tape Screeched aka, Saved By the Smell leaked on the internet in 2006 where Diamond portrays himself giving his fiancé and her best friend a Dirty Sanchez. Whether or not the two women were willing participants remains an item of controversy.

Services for the 32 year old “comedian” have not been planned. (The editor in chief of MarkReissBlog believes it is wise to put the word comedian in quotation marks because nothing of Dustin Diamond’s standup career can be considered funny; nor does it adhere to the legal definition of entertainment.)


Update: Sources indicate that the immediate family of Dustin Diamond has already released ideas for his tombstone. The working model will be a giant 6-foot tall bust of Diamond's head with the epitaph etched into the forehead: "Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee; and ye shall be saved by it."

I'm an Idiot

Who is dumber?

1) The daughter of my coworker who ran over her cell phone with a lawn mower or

2)Me who deleted 2 full pages of an uncomplete blog update?

Either way you're waiting until tomorrow to read anything substantial. I've got some work to ignore.

Everyone is at Least a Little Bit Gay

We live in a world populated by 6,706,993,152 people, and every single one of them is at least a little bit gay.

Ignoring those who are actual gays, lesbians, and dudes in Indonesia who were born male but raised female, everyone has some sort of affectation that makes them lighter in the shoes. I’d include a link here but I don’t need a search of “Indonesian Transsexuals” showing up at my work’s IT department.

All women, half the Earth’s population, are done. Boom. Simply by virtue of the fact they are women, they are slightly gay. Not like, “they act like gay men” (or vice versa) gay. I mean that it is permissible for two women folk to get all close and shit. Rubbin’ on each other. Smellin’ they hair ‘n’ shit. Two quick anecdotes:

One time in college, (I should end my story right there), two female friends came up to me drunk and asked if I would pay them 20 dollars to make out with each other. Please. It’s not like they were strapped for cash; they were strapped for reasons to make out and not look gay. I say go for it. Revel in it. In front of their boyfriends no less. The second anecdote is like the first except they didn’t try to extort money out of me or even tell me they were going to do it. They just did. And it was cool. I guess.

Now for the guys. Europe is also done. I could go on and on about the culture, prep school for boys, the French, etc. But the fact of the matter is that everyone from the fey-est queef waif of a slave in a Parisian S&M club to the roughest rough-neck ex-Soviet meat head homophobe, everyone in the motherland listens to the faggiest, faggy techno music ever. And they dance to it. Willingly, like, with each other.

(I’d like to pause for a moment and state that I’m not writing this because the Bruno movie is coming out in a week. That is purely coincidental).

The Middle East is surprisingly gay. Arab culture stresses that women dress like little non-sexual sand ninjas while the men greet each other with cheek kisses. Hand holding is encouraged. So is plucking your eyebrows. And although I’ve never actually been there, I hear billboards advertise with these big muscled, speedo-clad oily Europeans selling shit like baby oil or something. That whole region of the world looks as if those Queer Eye guys, if that fucking show is even still around, took a NYC taxi fleet garage and made it look like west Hollywood.

The North American male is a little bit harder to discern, but the results are always the same. If you were ever in a frat, you’re a bit gay. All that brotherhood, professional drinking “bro love” hugging stuff just breeds homosexual undertones. Even the most male bonding experience, eg.; gang-banging some passed out freshmen chick, is pretty gay. I mean, it’s a bunch of naked dudes in a room. The male to female ratio is way out of line. Plus, they’re all able to keep it up after looking at Fat Chad’s micro-penis.

If you own a gun you don’t necessarily have a small penis. Yes, a gun is a cock-substitute, but not necessarily for your own. Ever get the urge to just hold one?

Here’s how I’m gay: I actively visit the site Cute Overload. Every day, I gotsta get my cute animal fix. Common. Who cannot honestly like this:

That is a kitten with balloons tied to it and I think it’s adorable and if you have a problem with that I will chop your fucking head off you fucking shit fuck ass.

The only thing I can think of that’s not gay is when you fill out income tax/finance forms alone in a room with no windows because that is the most asexual, libido destroying activity in the world.

Dead Month

Wow, yeah. June. I don't know what happened there. The creative side of my brain decided to completely peace out the month I had jack shit to do at work.

I'll make it up to you's folks.

We've got dead celebrities, movies I haven't seen but probably will, commentary on my own personal shortcomings, and I think an ABC guide to something coming down the pike, so get ready to read stuff that may or may not be based in some form of humor.

Bored broed bored bored bored broed bored bored uninspired do-nothing fuck my head is empty

I will narrate my thoughts.

I don’t know how to spell “narrate” without spellcheck.

There’s this really awful band called “Gatsby’s American Dream”. Pandora does not have a shit filter (diaper?) for their music. F. Scott Fitzgerald would probably love this band’s shout-out. “Hey! Mr. Fitzgerald! Can you hear us down there in Hell? We love your book so much we’re going to destroy it so no one else could ever possibly love it as much as we do!”

Hank Azaria should do more movies where he plays zany, physical characters. Comparing his role in Birdcage to Run, Fatboy, Run is like comparing a flamboyant, Puerto Rican homosexual to a bland, rich stock broker. OHHHHH SHIIIIIIIIIIT

Crocodiles.

I think if I had to, I could do well in a fight. I’ve been working out once a week for about a week now, and I feel ripped. I used to have the arms of a 12 year old Japanese girl. Now it’s a boy. All I’d need is a rubber band to keep my glasses on and I’m good to go. I’ve always been kind of wimpy. I’ve never even been in a fight. I mean, it’s called “fight or flight”; I have options. But thanks to Animal Planet I’ve discovered a 3rd option: bluffing. For one thing, it might actually work, but if it doesn’t, at least you’re getting your ass kicked for a reason.

Foooooooooood

“Mommy, What’s a Jewish?”

Kids ask where Jews come from, and their parents answer.

“They are the shadows of midnight. They are unspeakable dark specters that haunt our dreams and spark our imagination. They are romantic yet emotionless. They are powerful and still they are vulnerable. They can be dreadfully scary and viscous, or gentle and kind. They have passionate feelings without emotion. They are ageless, although they each have an age. Jews. Throughout history, these beings have resided alongside man. Myths and folktales from all points of the globe speak of beings that feed on the living. From the Japanese Kasha to the Irish Dearg-Du and the Tlaciques of the Mexican Nahautl Indians and the Arabic Algul they exist. Germany alone has a minimum of three distinct types of Jews. These sinister creatures have permeated virtually every culture and time period, dating as far back as the Ekimmu of ancient Babylon and Assyria.” – Dr. Peter Witherspoon

“Well, a long time ago, an inventor lived in a mansion. He made many things, I suppose. He also created the first Jew. He gave him inside, a heart, a brain, everything. Well, almost everything. You see, the inventor was very old. He died before he got to finish the Jew he invented. So the Jew was left by himself, incomplete and all alone. Of course, he had a name. His name was Edward.” – Kim

“Jews are made when very large stars die. When the star runs out of fuel for nuclear burning in the core it is no longer able to support itself from collapsing under its own weight. The star first collapses and then the outer layers rebound to form a supernovae explosion. What's left at the core is an Neutron Star or a Jew depending on the initial mass of the star. To form a Jew the mass left at the core after the explosion must be more than about 3 times the mass of the Sun. The star for most of its life probably needs to be between 50 to 100 times the mass of the Sun to eventually form a Jew.” – Robert “Bubba” Byerley.

“Since the 1970's, Colombia has been home to some of the most violent and sophisticated human trafficking organizations in the world. What started as a small Jew smuggling business has, in the last thirty years, blossomed into an enormous multi-national Jewish empire. Traffickers today have enough capital under their control to build sophisticated smuggling equipment, such as a high tech submarine that was recently discovered by the Colombian National Police. Colombian Jew traffickers had hired engineering experts from Russia and the United States to help with the design of the submarine, which apparently would have been used to secretly ship large quantities of Jewishness to the United States.” – Carlos Lehder

“During the experimental detonation of a gamma bomb, scientist Bruce Banner rushes to save a teenager who has driven onto the testing field. Pushing the teen, Rick Jones, into a trench, Banner himself is caught in the blast, absorbing massive amounts of radiation. He awakens later in an infirmary, seeming relatively unscathed, but that night transforms into a lumbering green form that breaks through the wall and escapes. A soldier in the ensuing search party dubs the otherwise unidentified creature a “Jew”.” – Stan Lee



“My name is Bill. Yes, My name is Bill. And I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill. Well, it's a long, long journey to the capital city. It's a long, long wait while I'm sitting in committee. But I know I'll be a Jew some day. At least I hope and pray that I will but today I am still just old Bill.” – Bill

Laura Bush is Scary Looking

Talking about Bush and the straight-out-of-Hell past 8 years is soooooo 2008, but Michelle Obama makes a good point: the first lady is supposed to actually do shit. I don’t care what; just something.

I’m not trying to make this political. This is not a “Republican women are pug-fugly” rant ‘cause Nancy Pelosi looks like she died 2 years ago. This is intended to be a critical evaluation on the role of women in high society and the burden of expectations they bare. And to gawk at Laura Bush’s face.

Before we talk about ol’ LB, I want to postulate that being the Queen of England is the worst fucking job. And before I elaborate on that, I want to state that Michael Jackson is the most miserable person on the planet (fact). A lonely, isolated life is what is thrust upon beautiful, regal women like the Queen and Michael Jackson; a price they must pay for being so goddamn famous. They are not so much people as they are delicate, faberge eggs that must be simultaneously adorned by and sheltered from the filthy, unwashed masses. They are basically objects.

(I say being the Queen is the worst job because even though she isn’t sucking dicks for drug money a-la Pretty Woman, she lives her entire life from birth ‘till death in an insulated bubble, 24 hours a day. At least crack whores take breaks and their life of whoring didn’t start until [child molestation joke])

So is the story of Laura Bush. Primped and premed, betrothed to the Bush political dynasty, her job was to 1) stand there, 2) look pretty (emulate her mother-in-law and Nancy Reagan), and 3) churn out a slew of kids. She had 8 years to do shit being married to the most powerful man on the planet and all she did was start a book festival and wear red dresses (symbolizing menstruation or women’s health or something like that). That’s it.

What the fuck else was she to do? Stand around and look spooky. I have nothing left to say about her so I’ll let the photos of her plastic-like face speak for themselves. If I had access to photo editing software, and let’s be honest, the skills to use it, I would create a .gif of several photos of Laura Bush morphing into each other and leave you people shocked at how similar all the pictures are.

My Personal Youtube Stash

Up until the 1950’s, kids would get up, go out and actually do stuff with their lives. I know. Fucking cave men, am I right? Thank god the 60’s rolled around, where they would do drugs all day instead. Then in the 70’s they would do drugs all day AND listen to music. The 80’s maxim was “get high and watch music videos!” (and the DOC shifted from weed to coke). And the 90’s were pretty much the same as the 80’s except it was heroin and the music videos were waaaaaaay shittier. Oh the times, they are a changin’.

Everyone these days knows of some quirky little video and just loves to share it with their unknowing friends. Being the one who pops a friend’s eye cherry is almost as good as being the person who actually made the video. I’m going to share with you some of my favorite youtube videos, so sit back, finish swallowing that handful of shrooms, and enjoy.

What do you get when you cross Alice in Wonderland with the Three Six Mafia? A movie the way God intended it to be. The best part is when the Cheshire Cat says “Get to fuckin’…”



This is so old. Everyone and their landlord have seen this video. I don’t care. It’s fantastic.



I joked that you should get high before watching these videos. Yeah, well, for this video that is a serious recommendation. Don’t go crazy. Just write “watch this video” on your hand, go pack a bowl, smoke the bowl, look at your hand and then come back. I’ll be waiting for you.



This video was not meant to be funny. They were aiming for “heartwarming” but somehow smacked the bulls eye on “mildly horrifying”. It’s in Spanish but don’t worry; stupidity transcends language barriers.



Half Life is a pretty popular video game. Alright, cool, I’ve never played it, but tons of people like it just fine. The story behind this video goes like this: a mentally retarded individual loves Half Life. He decides to write is own fan-fic. On top of reading like a 2nd grader wrote it, the script is filled with so many continuity, grammar and spelling errors it was deemed “impossible” to animate. Then along came a guy who had access to open-source animation skills and a whole lot of time on his hands…



I’d buy his artwork.



And finally we have the gayest thing on earth. No lie. Please watch it.



“Let’s do the fork in the garbage disposal.” Jesus Christ.

Movin’ Pictures: Up

Here’s my beef with Disney, and by extension Pixar.

They are both very, very, very good…at creating ambiance. That is the secret to their brilliance and success. They can create entire worlds that are nothing more than pallets of mood and memory designed to invoke deep seeded emotions within you. If you want to know what I mean, go to Disney Land. Every ride is designed with that in mind. On the Pirates of the Caribbean, you really are on a pirate ship circa 1790 and with it comes all the adventure. On the Briar Rabbit Splash Mountain ride, you step into the antebellum south and the beauty of nature. Their movies reflect broader tones, such as love, adventure, bravery and innocence.

On the other hand, Disney and Pixar can kiss my ass because they are a multi-billion, multi-national conglomerate rivaling oil companies who really couldn’t give a flying fuck if one of the fat, mouth-breathing troglodytes they deviously pander to gets run over by a bus in the parking lot of a theatre or Disney theme park. But what really gets me is after I see one of their movies (Up is good, by the way), after they spend an hour and a half pumping me full of thoughts of beauty and awe directed towards the world we live in, I have to go outside and face the fucking reality that I’m a bitter, mean spirited asshole living in a world where at least 4 billion people live below Mexico’s poverty line.

The more I like the movie, the more I look in the mirror and think “…shit..….”

Well, I’m feeling like quite the dickhead right about now.

Up has been garnering rave reviews, and I suppose that’s justified. It’s quirky and terribly sweet, with some humorous bits thrown in there. You can tell Pixar doesn't even have to try anymore. They’ve hit their stride. They know just the right mixtures, the right combinations of voice talent, story telling and visuals (it’d be retarded for me to even try to describe how, *sigh* again, Pixar made a visually terrific film) and can just crank this shit out.

The best part of the movie for me is the first 5 minutes. That’s the flashback to when the old man protagonist Mr. Fredricksen was a kid he met his polar opposite wife over their love of adventure. Then it shows them getting married, having a life, growing old together up until his wife dies. It’s a very classic and heart warming relationship that’s strange to watch in cartoon 3-D form. The only way I can cope with not having something that beautiful and pure in my life is to remind myself that the divorce rate in this country is 51% and that no one has had something like that. Ever. Relationships like that were cooked up in the ‘50’s as propaganda to fight against communists.

There were some problems, and maybe they are related. The first was that it was too short at just 1:36:00. Uh…yeah. [Joke]. The second is that the whole movie, especially the villain, seemed really tacked on. It went “plot, plot, plot, plot, pl-WOAH, crazy blast-from-the-past villain startin’ shit for no real rhyme or reason! Is he crazy? I don’t know! Let’s see where this takes us!” The only reason Charles Muntz (the villain) existed was to show how your heroes can be dicks, then, well, that’s pretty fucking confusing. Then the ending made no sense with Mr. Fredricksen acting as a surrogate father to that fat little Asian Boy Scout kid Russell.

Also, you know the story about the founding Pixar gurus sitting together at a lunch and they busted out the ideas for stuff that became Toy Story, Bugs Life, Monsters Inc., Finding Nemo and Wall-E, right? Those were all premeditated and fit some sort of idea they were aiming for. Up just seems like it was made because they had deadlines on their mortgages (note: all these guys are richer than God so they don’t actually have mortgages).

I give Up 7/10 corgis. Meh, I liked it.

Twiright

Yesterday, I challenged myself to write a fan-fic based on the dubiously popular vampire series Twilight. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. Seriously; all I knew was that it was a romance story for tween girls who want to be Disney princesses but still have their bad boys too. It’s the same lazy logic that gave the world The Jonas Brothers and X-Treme Churches.

The story is as follows: a mediocre looking girl ironically named Bella moves to a new town and inadvertently uses her bland personality to woo a vampire named Edward, who looks like some blowjob out of an American Eagle catalogue. Edward is a pansy because A) he only drinks animal blood and B) is a super powered entity that’s attracted to girls with zero redeeming qualities. Bad (real) vampires decide to hunt Bella, Edward stops them, and the movie ends with some PG-13 canoodling at the high school prom or some other stupid bullshit cliché. I mean, who cares right? This movie is nothing but recycled bits from 90210 and Are You Afraid of the Dark, so fuck it, throw one more cliché onto the pile. Go hog wild.

I was about to link a youtube clip but then I actually watched some and slipped into a coma. It was a defense mechanism. The screen will bombard your eyes with idiot-waves and your ears with the sounds of cats dying. This will trigger a parasympathetic reaction in your frontal cortex where it will undergo paralysis and eventually atrophy. You will retard yourself.

The fan-fic you are about to read stars the Japanese counterpoints to Bella and Edward: Sakura and Toyota. It is a typical day in biology class, as Sakura and Toyota are lab partners. Their teacher, Sensei Hiroshima, is comically annoyed at their awkward, baby-lamb-on-wobbly-legs romance. They are doing dissections today.

“Students!” shouted Sensei Hiroshima. “Lift surgery knife and slice frog.”

“Yes, sensei!” the class shouted back in perfect unison. They all attacked their specimens except for Sakura and Toyota. They were coyly flirting with each other.

“You cut frog, Toyota. I’m not so good biology student,” said Sakura sheepishly. She longingly stared into Toyota’s creepy albino-like eyes and turned away, covering her burning face with her hands. “Biology class is opportunity for great difficulties in life…” she muttered.

“My hearing dog powerful, Sakura. I’ll exchange mutilation with friendship of beautiful light hearted girl” Toyota said coolly, as he picked up the scalpel and drove it into the frog’s chest.

“Oh Toyota! You are real John Wayne superstar! If-“

“What is this shame?” shouted Sensei Hiroshima. “Sakura! Toyota! Have you finished honor killing of Sgt. Frog? You come to school for studying frog, not for dishonoring me and the friend of a near creature of the age.”

They replied back. “Yes, sensei!” Immediately their work finally began. They worked quietly until it was time to remove the heart. Toyota was about to sever the atria artery when Sakura grabbed his hand.

“Toyota, is this happening? You can’t remove heart of the tiny friend! How can love happen with no hearts?”

“Sakura, frog is dead.”

“But…” Sakura started. “So is Toyota. Toyota is dead! You are dead vampire guy!”

“Sakura! 1000 years of shame on your family! ” shouted Sensei Hiroshima.

They were in real trouble now. As with so many bulimics, Toyota eats when he gets nervous. He licked the blood off the scalpel unconsciously and grimaced at the formaldehyde taste. Hiroshima saw.

“It is you Toyota! You are influencing impetuousness and disgrace. I surely banish you. Leave!”

“The person who makes enemies with me also recruits it. Moreover, do not molest me on the person who knows my character! ”

“Your character is demons…” Hiroshima said through gritted teeth.

“He know!” squeaked Sakura.

“That’s finished! I will kill you good!” Toyota lunged into the air and flew head first towards Sensei Hiroshima, but Hiroshima was quick to respond. He clicked a button on his watch. Immediately a trap door opened beneath him and he slid down a long pipe into the cockpit of his F-16 Gundam fighter Sparkle Death.

“The youth of today are evil and have foolishness. Time…for…KIILLLLLLLLL!!!” And with that Sensei Hiroshima blasted out of his subterranean hanger, taking out half of the school, and engaged Toyota in a free-flying fist fight. It was total vampire vs. robot-plane thing; real heavy on some Matrix Revolutions type shit.

Sakura raced to the edge of what was left of her classroom, clutched her chest and stared up at the duel.

“Toyota! Stop! Being vampire, sun causes you great discomfort! Come back to me forever! I desire your romance!” But it was too late. Toyota flew directly into a sun beam. His skin burst into flames and he fell to earth limp. The fire eventually burnt itself out. With his body fully turned into black ash, he landed on the ground with a powdery thump, ashes scattering to the wind. The only things left of him were his Reeboks.

“Supersized homo jackass,” Sensei Hiroshima’s voice echoed out of Sparkle Death’s outboard speakers.

Sakura was beside herself. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. A piece of Toyota’s ash was picked up by a current and delivered right next to her ear.

“Sakura,” the ash whispered. “Do not burden yourself with grief. Pieces of me are inside you through contact love bite. I live inside your blood as happy vampire friend.” The ash blew away.

Sakura fell silent. On her surprisingly cold neck she felt the puncture wounds of two fang marks running red with blood. The blossoming of her heightened senses felt like dropping acid; she could see the most insignificant minutia and could smell the blood of everyone around her. She hungered for Hiroshima’s.

“Sensei…the revenge shall be of Toyota!”

Ready to destroy him, Sakura boldly stepped forward!

…into a sunbeam.

She immediately burst into flames and died on the spot as a pile of smoldering ash.

One of Toyota’s ashes whispered to one of Sakura’s. "Stupid retard baby,"






Send me an idea for a blog entry and I’ll make it happen. Forrealz.

June Blog Challenge

Alright, ya mooks.

I’ll be straight with you guys. Writing this blog is getting tougher and tougher. I’m running out of ideas. There are two, sure-fire ways to jumpstart the rusted-out 1954 Apache truck of a creative center in my brain: drugs and open challenges. I can’t do drugs at work, but I sure as shit can e-harass you. Hell, that’s practically what I get paid to do.

Some challenges are self-imposed Iron Man contests like Jared Stern's “Blog-o-Day in May” thing. F that S. My challenge will go like this:

HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT

Throw at me whatever random two word idea you have floating around in your cartoon-and-breakfast-cereal-addled mind and I will write a blog article about it that may or may not be based in humor. I’ve written everything from songs, to guides, to movie reviews, to short stories, to a series of name generators.

See this little comment part (down) here? Submit your terrible idea, like a Twilight fan-fic but all the characters are Japanese, down there at the bottom and by tomorrow you’ll be able to read it up on the big screen.

Actually, that’s not a terrible idea at all.

OK. Tomorrow I’m writing that Twilight fan-fic. I’m calling it Twiright.

My Science Fair Project

Title: Deviancy in Craigslist as Determined by Intelligence

Abstract: It comes as no surprise to anyone that the internet is an open sewer, a chunky blend of sex and horror like a bad Rob Zombie movie but real. It’s hard to just fabricate something so mind-blowingly grotesque as that .gif of that guy who split his penis 4 ways or that one of the guy cutting off a live pig’s head with a chainsaw. No. That shit really happened. The internet is not an art but it certainly mirrors the worst of humanity. Craigslist is the Joe Every-Man’s face of internet depravity. It is the Robin Williams to www.northeastbearticklesexpartymeetngreet.org’s Lenny Bruce (I don’t give a damn if you get that analogy or not). Anyway, Craigslist serves its purpose as being horrible but not so horrible that I need to clear my browse history and shower after surfing its pages. There you can find real people looking for sex among joke posts, bots, and men pretending to be women. And boy are they not afraid of showing you some home-grown porn! There is definitely a geographic component as to what they are willing to show you.

Hypothesis: The less educated a metropolitan area is, the more naked pictures you’ll find on craigslist

Elaboration: People with a higher intelligence have either developed a more acute sense of shame or a credible job where naked pictures floating around on the internet are a liability.

Experimentation: According to a bizjournals.com article that I’m not going to cite, the two smartest cities in America are Seattle and Washington D.C. based on percentages of people who hold advanced degrees and those who passed the “Hey you, eat this thing!” test. The two dumbest are Miami and Santa Ana. This will make for an easy comparison of blah blah blah blah blah….

I’ll do a quick scour through each city’s Casual Encounters page on Craigslist; the first 100 ads with photos. Gays and lesbians have no shame, so trying to quantify their naked pictures is like counting sand one grain at a time. I’m not a fucking super computer, here. And fuck looking at “Men seeking Women”. Besides, it’s way harder to get a straight woman to post her naughty bits online. It’s a challenge. She has to be a huge dullard to not see the inherent creepiness of that.

There are a lot of fake ads on Craigslist. The way you can tell is if the person in question is ugly. Are they ugly? Yes? Then it’s real. I will only count the real photos. I’m sorry, but the naked photo of Tiffany Sparxxx does not count because A) she didn’t post that herself and B) she doesn’t live in Seattle.

Data Collection:

Seattle – 3 homegrown pics per 100
D.C. – 5 homegrown pics per 100
Santa Ana – 15 homegrown pics per 100
Miami – 77 homegrown pics per 100

Data Analysis: Damn there are a lot of naked Cuban moms in Miami. It’s like Castro was having a total liquidation sale down there at the Desperate Mom Store. Jesus. Speaking of which, every single one of them had Mr. Jesus around their neck. AND ONLY DUMB PEOPLE BELIVE IN JESUS AMIRITE?! YEAH!!!! *high fives room*

Conclusion: Looks like I was right. In your faces, you crybaby sociologists! I am the best! I am the greatest social commentator since Limbaugh! The gays want to convert your children to work as slaves in their sex dungeons! Feminists were created by the liberal Jew-cabals of the world to eliminate dinner time! Black people smell funny!

Feeeeeeeeeeeed……………meeeeeeeeeeeee…..

Black Presidents

It MUST be the future. We have a black man running the free world. Even though I want to say “oh this is completely unexpected; I NEVER thought I’d live to see the day”, I can’t. Actually, I’ve seen it all before. Several times, in fact. It’s like in 1969 when we put a man on the moon with less technology than a calculator, people lost their shit. “Oh groovy man; the Jet-Age! How futuristic! Trippy.” Uh, sorry to harsh your buzz dude, but Jules Verne predicted nearly the exact same shit happening 100 years prior (3 men + huge explosion + Florida launch pad = moon landing).

It’s weird, but the farther back in time you look, the further into the future you see. And it seems there’s always been a depiction of a black president. So, is having one really a new concept? Is it really that revolutionary? Sorta.

Barack Hussein Obama
For those of you in-the-know, Barack Hussein Obama, the current and first black president of these United States, has been tearing ass lately. He just nominated the first Latino/third woman to SCOTUS and…some other stuff. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing as president for the sake of this article. Dude is a half white, Pakistani Muslim from Indonesia/Africa with a Chinese sister. And Rush Limbaugh says he’s the greatest living example of a reverse racist. The best part is that you know President Obama hears all this and just goes “Pfffthththth” while doing the Jacking Off gesture.

David Palmer
Democratic President David Palmer, doin’ his thang, helpin’ Jack Bower save the free world from tear-ists ‘n’ shit. I watched my first episode of 24 and, now this is probably racist on my part. I didn’t see the leader of the free world in David Palmer. I saw the guy who’s trying to get me to switch my car insurance over to All State. But I finished the episode and became a true believer. Oh, David Palmer. I know your stance. I’m always in good hands when you’re president.

Dwayne Elizondo Mountain Dew Herbert Camacho
Words…should have…sent…a poet…


Lindberg
The president in The 5th Element is such a minor role that the writers didn’t bother giving him a first name. Shit, they didn’t even bother giving him a last name that made sense. Lindberg? I’m pretty sure there aren’t any Space Blacks immigrating from neo-Germany to the 77 United States of America. Whatever. There are no such thing as small roles, and at least he got to see Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich make whoopie in a tube.

101

National Public Radio is really good at taking a simple concept and then dissecting, analyzing, and breaking it down to the point of oblivion. The concept then loses all meaning and you never ever want hear about it again, much less sit through another 2 hour long pain-marathon of “what is the meaning of zero?” because SOMEONE left the door to your car unlocked (CHRISTINE) and some vagrant accidently kicked the center consol as he tried to steal your super rare and valuable half-empty can of Pringles so now the radio is permanently stuck on NPR. It’s a common phenomenon. You can hit your head so hard you become retarded. Radios work the same way. For my 101st blog entry I thought I would explore the personal meanings the number 101 holds for me because, well, it’s a dumb idea and I hate all of you. In my last semester of college, I was basically done with my major. All I needed to take were some filler classes for credits, so I took two 101 classes; some sort of intro to biology and one enigmatically called “American Society”.

I got a fucking C in bio. HOW?! Well, for one, there was no science in the class. None. Ok, like, I’m a pretty liberal guy. I’m all for saving the whales, give a hoot; don’t pollute, all that jazz. My professor was such a bleeding heart, faux hippy, bearded granola-munching commie pinko leftist that he made me feel like John Wayne voting for Regan on a horse, all punching the hole in my voting card by shooting it with my .45. It was kind of hard to pay attention to all of the “Why the fishing industry has completely fucked the planet” articles which our tests were based off of.

My American Society class was pretty cool. Little work, easy tests and I took that shit pass/fail. When our final rolled around, we were given our essay questions a week ahead of time. How easy is that? So easy that I didn’t even write them. I traced an outline of my hand and turned it into a turkey. I was done in 2 minutes. Passed.

I remember watching 101 Dalmatians as a kid and thinking what a dumb movie it was. First, I was bummed that all the dogs did not come from the same litter. They were adopted. Pfffffff whatever. That one female dog gave birth to like 25 puppies as a nod to the fertility branch of the pharmaceutical industry which helps finance Disney. And then there was that bitch Cruella De Vil. Her thing was that she wanted to kill the puppies and turn them into a coat. Uh, hey slag, that shit would look horrible all Frankensteined together like that. A pelt needs congruency. It needs to be made from one giant animal. What New Jersey based fashion school did you flunk out of? Imbecile.

Obama’s first 100 days were being talked about by political sophists since day 3. After it came and went, we had to face reality and know that day 101 for Obama would be no different than day 33, 79, 666, or 1024.

You asked me once, what was in Room 101. I told you that you already knew the answer. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world. Under the spreading Chestnut tree I sold you and you sold me, there lie they and here lie we under the spreading Chestnut tree.

Gangbangin’ 101 is the best Snoop Dog song, ever.

The T-800 Model 101 is the end result of a bunch of confusion and fanboy bullshit born from the Terminator series. Let me explain. See, in Terminator 2 and Terminator 3, Schwartzenwhatever’s character is referred to as the Cyberdyne Systems Model 101 and T-101 respectively. BUT, in Salvation, T2 Extreme Edition DVD and the Terminator 2 video game, he’s called the 800 series. They use T-800 and T-850 to refer to the same character (what). So yadda yadda, some more detective stuff in DVD commentaries, interviews, a stork comes and visits, Santa Claus…and now the unofficially but widely recognized nomenclature is the T-800 Model 101 to describe the Governor. And that’s how bills are made in California.

To Serve and Protect While Impractical

I don’t know what’s to blame these days for the slew of lazy cops the states’ been churning out. Maybe lazy is the wrong word to use. Is there a single word that encompasses the mentality of wanting to pilot recreational vehicles and have a fun-in-the-sun good ol’ time instead of your job which is to protect society against thieves, murderers and rapists so guess what you disguise as fucking police work? “Effete”?

The following are all different types of police officers, sworn to serve and protect, who have chosen a means of transportation that causes more problems than they solve. Their main problem is namely, how to do you detain a perp IF you even manage to catch him (it’s never a her). No one has even bothered to point out that hey, you’re not solving crime; you’re just being a self-indulgent jackass wasting time and energy on my dime. These are all real I swear to God.

Motorcycle Cops
To be fair, if I was a cop I would dream of being one of these until, in a ceremony held at the community center in front of the mayor, city council and the town elders, Commissioner Gordon hands me a motorcycle and says “go get ‘em, son!” But the job is limited. The only job a Hog-Pig can do is tag speeders. That’s it. But riddle me this: what happens when drivers stop being polite and start acting real? It’s not like you can pull a PIT maneuver on a Cadillac Escalade with a vehicle that weighs about as much as a really really fat person. Being a motorcycle cop would be awesome as shit if you could work like you’re life is the game Road Rash. But noooooo. This “society” we “agreed” to live in has a “social contract” and we “can’t” be “dicks” like that.

Mounted Division
Horses are cool dudes. They can give off and sense powerful vibes. Like, I used to get blitzed and wander around Colonial Williamsburg at night when I went to college. They kept the horses out in fenced-off enclosures so without the hustle and bustle of a million 9-year old tourists; it was just me and the horses. They’d be all “aw Jesus man. This guy is so high he could shit off the moon right now. Better go let him pet me. If I was his mom I’d make him a sandwich. Poor guy.” And that’s cool. I truly believe if criminals could pet a horse before their crimes, they’d never get around to committing those crimes; their hearts would be too full of warm horsey fuzzies. Unfortunately with the mounted division, you run into the same problems as the motorcycle cop except now you need to deal with your motorcycle pooping when it walks. Don’t those things need to wear diapers? And what if a perp runs into a building? It’s not like there are keys to take out of your horse when you park it. Good luck not having that shit stolen.

Bike Cops
Who among us hasn’t seen these short-shorts wearing recreationalists and thought out loud “PPPPFFFFFFFFFFFF!” Someone needs to tell them that the Jim Dangle character on Reno 911 is a character of a gay bike cop and should not be interpreted as a blueprint for effective law enforcement.

Segway Cops
And you thought bike cops were bad. These guys have to be live performance artists or Andy Kaufman whatever. They cannot be real. It’s as if someone took a bike cop, rolled it around in powdered sugar and then neutered it. Ok, see, cops are supposed to be intimidating signs of authority. It is literally impossible to look tough on an 8mph moving podium especially when Segway cops are required to wear helmets! They are police officers, not 5 year olds. Seriously, what a fucking waste. What a fucking joke.



Powered Parachute Cops

What do you get when you cross a giant fan, a go-kart, a parachute and redneck ingenuity? Why, just the best darn tool for cheap, lazy law enforcement that’s what! Cops are starting to use what is essentially a toy tourists pay $50 in Cancun after their 6th mojito, in lieu of helicopters. Yeah, it’s their job to patrol the skies and take out rogue pterodactyls or whatever, but their main job is to keep an eye on fleeing criminals, and then radio ground forces with important information. Right well, I know for a fact that I have nothing in my arsenal that can take out a helicopter, but I’m pretty sure an easily accessible hunting rifle is all I need to end Mr. I-Have-Absolutely-Zero-Protection-From-Man-Nature-Or-God-Tattle-Tale-In-The-Sky.

P.S. Don't shoot cops or commit crimes. Be good.