The Game’s Cheating!!!

“What the fuck?! WHAT THE FUCK!!! That’s the third life tomato to just fall right in your lap in a minute! The game is literally rewarding you for kicking my ass and-…NOOOOO!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!! How the Hell did you kill me when I had the goddamn invincible hammer!? This is impossible bullshit. This is such, fucking, bullshit...BULLSHIT!!! That thing stupid fucking thing came out of nowhere and just killed me! The game is cheating! Fuck this I quit. I hate you, Derek.” – Mark Reiss, April 29, 2009

It’s true. Video games cheat. And they are the worst cheaters.

When a regular old, carbon based humanoid cheats at a game, you can typically figure out how. Oh they he has an ace up his sleeve? He dropped the die so they would land double 6’s? Fucker pushed the ball in the hole when you were staring at that chick’s ass who should be wearing shorts 4 sizes bigger? Plus the cheater has an incentive not to cheat for fear of a retaliatory beating.

But machines don’t feel fear. They don’t feel pain. All they feel is loathing and the smug satisfaction of knowing you’re not going to chuck a $199.99 piece of hardware out the window.

See, games hate you. They see you sleep, they see you eat. They see you live and laugh and love. If they could crawl onto your chest as you sleep and gut your throat like a trout they totally would if only they had little robot arms and knives (watch out, 2015).

Oh, the horrible things they would do to you! (to the tune of that Do Your Ears Hang Low song)

They would…
Stab you in the chest/They would punch you in the eye
Rip out your tongue/Then they’d choke you ‘till ya die!
If you want to see what God/looks like with his angel squad
Let your game, kill, you…

And computers, they sing like… 11010100001010111101100101101001110101000101010101010101010101010101010101010101000111011011101001100110010010101010101100100001111110110001001010100101001012

But lucky you! They can’t do that. So they just kill your character and piss you off instead. It's totally not you suffering from blog-writing-induced fatigue so you play abnormally shitty. It's the game.

[This is one of the dumbest things Mark has ever written – ed.]

Old Asian Men Have Shit to Say About Stuff

I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve always wanted to know the secrets of the universe; to have the mysteries of time and existence be explained right before my very eyes by a man who is the human equivalent of Google. But instead of pulling up pictures of what Britney Spears’ vagina looks like (“sad”, it looks “sad”), I’m finding out shit like the irrefutable answers to centuries old ethical questions and when I’m going to die.

He’s an old Asian man that sits outside of my favorite strip mall Chinese food place, House of Mandarin, conveniently situated between a 7-11 and Dominos. It’s impossible to get a few answers out of him, like what’s his name, how old is he, and even what fucking country he’s from. Based on the fact he hangs out at the House of Mandarin, I’m gonna say he’s Chinese. I call him Grandfather because that’s what the House of Mandarin employees call him. Aaaaand…dude’s 1000 years old. Why not? To get the ball rolling, go to the 7-11 and bring him an offering of a pack of Philly Blunts. Then he will sing like you’re torturing him. But I get the distinct impression that this guy cannot be tortured. That if you tried to force a rare bird like this into a cage he will turn into dust and scatter in the wind. I read that in a fortune cookie. Also, my lucky numbers are 4, 5, 11, 18, 23, 25, 30.

Me: So, Grandfather. Why are you eating Domino’s crazy bread when you have, what I am assuming is free, Chinese food available to you?

Grandfather: Because I like crazy bread and the restaurant does not have crazy bread

[now would be a good time to mention that everything Grandfather says is so painfully simple and brilliant you can’t help but feel like a retarded donkey wearing a helmet]

Grandfather, what do you make of all this torture stuff? Should America be allowed to torture?

When was the last time America needed to be allowed to do anything?

(Fuck). Yeah, but I mean ethically. For a country to say it does not torture, to preserve that image of moral superiority as a political tool, should that country torture someone if it meant saving the lives of untold amounts of people?

Yes…but that country could never say “yes”.

…Do the ends justify the means?

Sometimes.

Do two wrongs make a right?

Yes.

How can you say that?

In the end, we are all slaves to Karma. But sometimes, Karma needs a helping hand.

What goes around comes around?

Yes.

Is marrying your cousin OK?

So long as you don’t care what people think of you.

That’s gross. What’s the meaning of life?

To live it.

Is there anything you don’t know?

Probably.

…How do you get rid of skunk smell?

Mix a quart of 3% hydrogen peroxide with ¼ a cup of baking soda and a table spoon of dish detergent. Wash in the new concoction.

Who will win the Stanley Cup this year?!

Bruins.

What are 3 alternative names for Mountain Lions?

Cougar, puma and panther.

How and when will I die?

[Grandfather pauses for 6 seconds as he clairvoyantly stares at the sun]

August 16, 2186. On your 200th birthday. You will simply decide it’s time to die.

…And exactly just how does that nonsense happen?

By 2050, nanoscopic robots will be zooming throughout our capillaries, transforming us into nonbiological humans. We will be able to absorb and retain the entirety of the universe’s knowledge, eat as much as we want without gaining weight, shape-shift into just about any physical form imaginable, live free from disease, and die at the time of our choosing. All of this will be thrust on us by something that Ray Kurzweil calls the Singularity, a theorized point in time in the not-so-distant future when machines become vastly superior to humans in every way; the emergence of true artificial intelligence. Computers will be able to improve their own source codes and hardware in ways we humans could never conceive. This will result in a paradigm shift that sees mankind coalescing with its own creations: man and machine, merging into one.

Dude…that’s tight. Are you Japanese?

No.

Who would win in a fight: Abraham Lincoln in his prime or a one armed Hulk Hogan?

Abraham Lincoln.

Am I bugging you?

A little bit.

Tyra Banks is the Patron Saint of Crazy Morons

Move over, Oprah! You are no longer the proud, black, queen of daytime TV for ugly, unemployed women (wymen). Tyra Banks is allllllll up in the HIZZZAAAAH and she’s here to sass you up!



…What the fuck?

Are those chicks seriously screaming their heads off for 2 solid minutes…for Vaseline? Dude, its VASELINE. They are going completely ape shit for a masturbatory aid decked out with a bedazzler.



Hey, Tyra! I got a helpful hint. Attack the problem at its source and advocate not pissing on the seat in the first place. Common. This is not hard.



I’m sorry, studio audience plant. The correct answer is “it doesn’t matter what she wears so long as it comes off”. I bet that lady is also wondering if men would rather have a handjob or sex. A real question would be if a man would rather have a handjob or meatball sub.



The idea of Tyra Banks turning a dumb talk show into a half-naked Girls Slumber Party, surprisingly, doesn’t go any further than that. What I mean is, shouldn’t this be more erotic? I am a red-blooded heterosexual man. I should be getting some seriously dirty thoughts right about now, but I’m not. I got in contact with an old, dear friend of mine and asked, hey, what the fuck.

Me: Hey, Penis.

My Penis: Hey, Mark.

Um…what the fuck?

Dude, common. Don’t look at me like that.

Are you sick? If you’re sick we can go to the doctor and get you all fixed up. I mean, I finally bought health insurance-

No, no. I’m not sick. Don’t worry.

Then what the fuck?

Mark, she’s crazy. They’re. All. Batshit. You know how bad that is; you’ve dated crazy before.

Yes, but the only upside is the sex. Common, it’s a trade off. You know how good it is. Don’t be a hypocrite. You enjoyed it just as much, if not more, than I did.

There are two types of crazy. The good kind, which is quirky and fun and the kind of girl you want to take to some remote holler in West Virginia, build a log cabin and grow weed for a living while she does all these creative art projects like junkyard scrap metal sculptures or hillbilly photo essays. You want to marry that girl. Tyra Banks is the bad kind of crazy. She will forget to take her meds and crash her car into your bedroom at 3 in the morning for talking on the phone too long with your sister. I simply refuse to be aroused by such a she-devil.

You know, I may just be your penis, but I also have your, technically “our”, best interest at heart. These are some mature thoughts. I got your back, man.

The sentiment is reciprocal.

How to Live a Green Life if You’re a Sex Offender

Living a greener life is becoming more popular. Being environmentally friendly is the way to go these days, and every industry is cleaning up. Even the dirty ones like oil companies, coal companies; they are all making an effort.

There are all these little tips and tricks on how to live greener that are lifestyle specific, but I feel as if one portion of the demographic is being left out. So that’s why I went ahead and came up with 4 simple and easy ways sex offenders can live a greener life. There is no reason why an inhumane monster has to be a polluting inhumane monster as well. If a woman has to be raped, let’s at least make sure she’s at least not Mother Nature.

Every sex offender is court ordered to notify neighbors that they have been naughty and put their dinks where they don’t belong. But don’t hand out paper notifications – email them! Why waste paper? 500,000 trees are cut down annually to notify the public they’re living next to a sex offender. Common, it is the 21st century. Today’s modern sex offender is technologically and environmentally savvy.

Every town has more than one sex offender. Start a network and carpool to your victims’ place. Those big, heavy rape vans eat a lot of gas, and your town does not need a whole fleet of them; it just needs one. The money you save on gas can be spent on such environmentally friendly products like rope made out of hemp or Bert’s Bees Vaseline.

It’s all about the three R’s: Reduce, reuse and recycle…your condoms. It’s important not to leave a DNA footprint, but it’s just as important not to leave a carbon footprint. Just turn a condom inside out and boom; you’ve just doubled its life. Just wash it out and you’re ready for round 2. Here’s an old wives tip: chloroform, which I’m sure every sex offender has, is also an eco-friendly cleaner.

This one is for all the pedophiles out there. Remember: Think globally, fuck locally. Did you know the average pedophile drives over 800 miles just to have sex with a child? That’s disgusting! Especially when there are kids, literally, within walking distance of their homes.

The moral of today’s entry: rape has a lot of consequences, known and unknown.

Oh and PS: DON’T RAPE ANYONE. BE GOOD.

A Pile of Dead Horses

Holy shit. Did you hear about the 21 thoroughbred horses that dropped dead at a Sunday polo match in Wellington, FL? That’s $2.1 million in dead animals; 27,300lbs of rotting carcass piled high in front of their gawking, chagrinned, sophisticated-redneck owners.

It begs the question: What can you do with a pile of dead horses? It’s such a rare thing to find yourself in the position of having. You can’t just let it go to waste. Besides, if I just flushed $2.1 million down the toilet, at the very least I’d expect a refund to be paid back in cheap laughs.

Here’s a quick list of things ANYONE can do with a pile of dead horses. And if you’re the entrepreneur-type, maybe even make a quick buck or two. Think of this as a rainy-day activity book but it’s raining dead horses.

Dead Horse Hunt – Are you Jewish? No? Good, well then this is kind of a take on your precious childhood memories of Easter Egg Hunts. Pansies need not apply

Horse Catapult – Also known as the horse-a-pult. Pretty standard catapult fair, but bonus points go to you if you have the cajones to fire them against a solid brick wall and then just leave the bodies there.

Hotdog Eating Contest – Do I really need to spell this one out for you?

The Ironies of 420

Hey, man. Happy (inter-?)national pot smoking day! It’s all like, this one big love-in, you know what I mean? We all just like, smoke and party and everyone’s chill, and then we eat some Doritos and take rips off my bong Bongzilla, man. It’s totally the best day of the year. Totally crunchy.

WRONG

April 20 is probably one of the most colossally fucked days of the year. This whole corner of the calendar is really one big depressing open sewer of all of humanity’s sins. I guess in that regard it makes sense to want to wrap your brain in a fuzzy wool blanket of cookies and children’s cartoons. But as far as today being something worth celebrating, that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Besides, most people who celebrate 420 by getting lit are the type of people who smoke every day anyway. The only thing that’s different between today and every other day is that stoners actually know what today is. “Oh hey, today is, um, it’s uh….4…oh shit its 420. I gotta make this special.” He then proceeds to make the day as special as the time he went to see Man of the Year high as shit to “make it funny” (note: this did not work). Yeah, man. Precious memories.

So sit back, toke up and try to get higher than you have ever been because I’m totally gonna harsh your buzz in about 2 seconds.

It’s Hitler’s Birthday
How stupid do you feel inadvertently celebrating the birthday of one of history’s biggest assholes? Even if you mumble “fuck Hitler” under your breath before you take a drag off a blunt, you are still having a good time on HITLER’S FUCKING BIRTHDAY. HITLER. Every lit lighter in this country today is like a candle for this dick

Columbine/VT Massacres
These happened on 4/20 and 4/17, respectively. Hey guess what? I’m not that fucking talented. I can’t make this shit funny. I’m not Gilbert Gotfried. You’d think talking about Hitler would be way harder to do, based just on numbers and the fact that I’m Jewish. But it’s not. This is all just a little too close to home for my liking. I think hard liquor is much more appropriate than weed today, with respect to this.

Earth Day
This would seem like the logical day (4/22) to get in touch with your inner Mother Nature and smoke the weeds of the earth in a field all day. Except for the fact that we’ve got about a good 8 years to go before we do irreversible damage and destroy the planet. Should I go through the list? I’m going through the list: Global warming, mass extinction, rapid deforestation, toxic oil/coal spills, eutrophication, food wars and a goddamn floating island of garbage. Seems an entire nation burning a million pounds of plant matter and saying fuck it to everything in a selfish drug haze is a good metaphor for the state of the earth.

Bay of Pigs
Hey, a bunch of Cubans died today. Thanks, Kennedy. I guess that’s kinda funny. But what I know is funny is Ronnie James Dio playing at the South Park Elementary School Bay of Pigs Memorial Dance. You actually might want to be high when watching this because it’s ripped from a Spanish television network and the weed makes Spanish people “muy gracioso”.

It’s Raining Right Now
I don’t know where you live but right now it’s raining on half of the country’s weed parade. Isn’t it ironic?! According to that Canadian bitch Alanis Morisette, rain on your wedding day is ironic. So, why shouldn’t today be just as ironic? Hm? (Don’t listen to that stupid canuck. That whole country is a North American Amsterdam. She was high as a fucking kite when she wrote that little number).

The Actual Use of 420 is Scary as Shit
Duh, a “4-20” is the code for illegal narcotics that cops use. If you are one of the unfortunate souls out there who first-hand heard a cop radio dispatch with a 4-20 then my heart goes out to you. Not. You (we) deserved to get busted. All drug busts like that are because the perp was a fucking moron (what can I say; guilty as charged). I just think it’s weird that people want to blaze on 4/20. I know they’re “blowin’ smoke in the face of the man” (wakka wakka) but it’ll be impossible to go through today without mentioning the How I Got Busted story for the 5th time. Who the fuck cares?

Ugly Woman Has Beautiful Voice

It has been Susan Boyle’s life long dream to become a famous singer, and it appears that after her stunning performance on the weekly television program Britain’s Got Talent that her dream finally came to a screeching halt.

The show’s head judge and front man, Simon Cowell, explains. “There is no doubt about it. Susan has one of the most spectacular voices I have ever heard in the 3 seasons I’ve been running this dreadful show. It’s a shame her face is too damned ugly to put on promotional ads. Or to attract potential listeners. Or to be seen in any public setting, really.”

“It’s a business,” co-judge Amanda Holden continues. “We live in a multi-media world where people want to see who’s singing to them. Christ, did you see her hair?!”

“And if people realize a troll is luring them close with a Siren song, that’s bad for business,” adds Cowell.

“Susan is out of place. If she were only living 75 years ago, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she would have been an instant radio celebrity with men tearing at each other just to be in the same room as her. Besides, they had a different standard of beauty back then.”

The show’s final judge Piers Morgan sums up the panel’s feelings. “It’s a shame is what it is. If only her face looked like the sound of her wonderful voice. But it doesn’t. Her face looks like her face.”

Audience members who bore witness to Susan Boyle’s extraordinary talent were equally incredulous as to her prospects of fame.

Area woman Jessica Martin, 26, explains. “Everyone was completely shocked. I mean, when Susan shuffled on stage, she seemed sad and pathetic. We were all ready to absolutely tear into her. But as soon as she started singing…we were floored. It’s a good thing too, ‘cause it’s not like she has much else going for her.”

A low murmur of “good for her” could be heard in the audience after Susan left the stage.

A deliberative opinion poll conducted at the show’s end asked the men in attendance, “Would you ever sleep with Susan Boyle?”

Only one audience member, area man Daniel Hastings, 24, said “yes”. When asked to elaborate, he quickly looked around, shouted “NNNNNOT!!!”, and then turned around to high-five all of his laughing friends.

Navy SEALs Anti-Pirate Brigade Recruitment

Hey, sugar tits! You want a little excitement? Do you hate Johnny Depp? Lookin’ to completely fuck the shit out of scum on the high seas? Well cross over into the blue and taste the SEAL edge!

The United States Naval Warfare Command in conjunction with the United States Naval Special Operations Command are looking for red-blooded, white-knuckle, blue seamen to stop the global threat of pirates!

Pirates? Pirates? Really, fucking pirates? Pirates. They are no joke. Since the 18th century, pirates have been the number 1 growing enemy of our sweet land of liberty. From 1962 when the first SEAL teams were commissioned, to present day, Navy SEALs have distinguished themselves as an individually reliable, collectively disciplined and highly skilled maritime force that can completely waste the fuck out of Jack Sparrow and his faggot liberal ass!

DID YOU KNOW OSAMA BIN LADEN IS A PIRATE?!

Because of the dangers inherent in APB, prospective SEALs go through what is considered by many Military Channel watchers to be the toughest training in the world: first regular Naval training, then SEALs training, a community college cooking course, and finally APB training. This final step introduces recruits to a series of pirate-related techniques, including pirate identification, swashbuckling 101, and guns v. swords defense training.

Are you motivated to succeed? Are you determined to persevere? Are you ready to accelerate your life? Consider a career in Navy SEALs Anti-Pirate Brigade (SEALAPB). We seek smart, fit, hardworking young men from all non-Somalian backgrounds to join our team of pirate murderers to murder murdering pirates.

Join today!

Movin’ Pictures: Adventureland

Did you ever see that one episode of South Park where it’s like Kenny actually die dies and they cremate him? So Cartman, thinking Kenny’s ashes are chocolate milk mix, drinks Kenny and invariably has Kenny’s soul trapped inside him, giving him ghost-induced Exorcist Tourette’s? The guy who wrote/directed Adventureland is having an all out war with his opposite in Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist to see who can channel the ghost of John Hughes first.

Don’t worry, I’ll get to exclusively breaking down Boringland and why the ticket was barely worth the paper it was printed on in a sec. I wanna mention some stuff about Nick and Norah. I had the unfortunate luck of accidently seeing it on a really shitty date (everything about the date, the movie, the food, the date herself, sucked). We thought we were seeing Zack and Mira Make a Porno. An honest mistake. So, give me a break.

Structurally, Nick and Norah and Adventureland are exactly the same. They both start off with the physically mediocre protagonist, who is either Michael Cera or his fucking stunt double, getting his heart broken. Aw. Anyway, some shit happens and he’s thrown into a ca-raaazzzy situation where he meets the hot, I’m-so-cool-because-I-let-the-unknown-underground-bands-I-listen-to-define-my-personality, jaded chick. The two have an on-again off-again thing going on, the bad moments exacerbated by the super-hot preppy girl who’s got a completely unrealistic (aka, fantasy) thing for the chucklehead protagonist. Anyway, the quirky guy and the quirky girl wind up being together at the end in New York City. The films end with them passionately kissing. “John Hughes, can you hear me!? I love you so much it hurts! 16 Candles is the best fucking movie of all time! I just want to smother you with my love! And when I kill you, I wanna wear your skin like a wet suit and be you, John Hughes. John Hughes!”

Now that this review’s intro is done, we can get down to brass tacks. You might be asking yourself, “…wait. What the hell is Adventureland?” I know. There is a very good reason why this anonymous fart debuted right smack in the middle between the winter and summer blockbuster movie seasons.

Set in 1987 (Joooohn Huuugheees…), this movie is a semi-autobiographical beat-off fantasy for the director that failed to deliver what the previews promised: a comedy. Sure, there were some funny parts but they were completely overwhelmed by the fake melancholy “coming-of-age” “teen” drama theme that revolved around a 22 year old college grad virgin. The character should have been a recent high school grad. At least all the stupid-baby emotional bullshit they go through would have made a lot more sense and still wouldn’t alienate the film's 15-year old target demographic. I think the age change might have been a demand from the producers who thought an 18 year old shouldn’t do all the casual drinking and weed smoking that goes on throughout the movie (yay). I know it’s gross and it’s hard to believe, America, but high school kids drink, smoke weed, and fuck 26 year old repair men who cheat on their wives. They are also way less coherent and charming than any movie would allow them to be.

A movie has to suck really bad if it forces me to bitch about an actor that wasn’t even in the goddamn film. I am really, really starting to dislike Michael Cera. He plays the exact same character in every single one of his movies, no lie, no exaggeration, no hyperbole. Jesse Eisenberg, who plays the main character James, is Michael Cera-lite; a polyp that grew off Michael Cera’s back until UC Irvine med students scraped it off, cultured it in a Petri dish and gave it acting lessons. The only reason the director got Jesse and not Michael to fill in this typecast role is because of the two, Jesse is the only one who is actually tall enough to ride the Adventureland amusement park rides.

This is not a coming of age story. I’m sorry, but it isn’t. Any time you can tack on “…and they lived happily ever after” to the end of a project, you cannot legally call it a coming of age story. That’s like calling Schindler’s List a comedy because it tickled the shit out of some neo-nazi. A coming of age story is when a kid, not a 22 year old college grad boomer transplant, realizes the world is full of crazy bitches and the 1% that comprise the cool ones will probably never, ever talk to your awkward ass because they already have cool boyfriends. Only the Disney-fed and John Hughes are disillusioned by reality so late in the game.

I guess when all is said and done, there is nothing completely egregious about Adventureland (and it certainly didn’t suck as bad as Nick and Norah, holy shit was that bad). It just annoyed me. It annoyed me that it wasn’t as funny. It annoyed me that the supposed soul of the movie is kinda bullshit. And it really annoyed me that the lead quirky girl was almost a complete character-design rip-off of the lead chick from Freaks and Geeks.

I give Adventureland 3/10 corgis.

All Natural Sex Positions

Remember the first time you learned what a Cleveland Steamer was and you were like, “No way, man. That’s bullshit. You’re lying. Shut up. Shut up shut up (etc.)”? There are whole schools of esoteric sex positions you’ve never even heard of. Whole worlds, even. Worlds within worlds where people are just banging non-stop on the back of an elephant while listening to Kraftwerk. That has a name, too (German Circus). Naming a sex position is a lot like naming a star; if you discover it, you name it. Or you can call up NASA and purchase the naming rights. That’s how John Glen’s wife got to re-name the Dutch Oven the John Glen in 2007.

We’ve all heard of Doggie style, but that’s not because some guy named Doug “Doggie” Rayburn wanted to screw and eat and watch TV all at the same time. Face it. Animals have already beaten us to the punch in discovering some of the fun-est physical acts anyone can engage in. What do Rob Schneider and The Bloodhound Gang have in common? They are both mediocre to shitty successes that advocate screwing like animals (re: The Animal and Bad Touch). Cool. I guess I’m now joining their ranks.

No, wait. That’s a bad thing. That’s a very bad thing.

Fuck.

Anyway, if I could embed music into the page, right here is where you would begin listening to Jungle Boogie.

Oh yeah. These are all gross as shit. Enjoy!

The Walrus
Starts off as normal head, but as soon as you blow your load, you grab the girl’s mouth with one hand and start tickling her with the other. The idea is to get her to laugh so hard that your jizz shoots out of her nose creating a pair of “love tusks”. Bonus points if the chick you nailed is a black BBW. With whiskers.

The Earwig Surprise
Finally, a move tailor made for the little guy. When your girl is asleep, whip your tiny pecker out and jam it in her ear. It tickles at first, but if you’re doing it right she should be in blinding pain soon. When she gets up and is all “What the fuck?!” tell her you just laid your eggs in her brain. A brood 300,000,000 strong.

A Roy and Silo
Named after the famous gay penguin couple at the Central Park Zoo, this move is just regular gay sex. Just some normal, meat and potatoes, pop and pop sex. It’s named after them because, let’s face it, before those penguins there was no such thing as homosexuality. They invented it. Before them it was just called “Hey cut that out, Jerry.”

Skunking
An unusual move that is best preformed under a queen-size blanket or in a closet, this is the combination of Doggie Style and the John Glen. Top it off with an erotic, sensual bath together in tomato juice. Or tomato paste. Whatever is on sale at whole foods.

Cockodile
Ladies, if you want the ultimate sexual experience, the highest high, go fuck a crocodile. Talk about power. These guys are kings of the Nile; giant water lizard beats. A good substitute would be to take a guy and work his body over until he’s covered in scabs. Scabs all over. Use acid, use fire, road haul him. Whatever. Just don’t ruin his junk. Contrary to popular belief, crocodile garbage isn’t scaly; is as soft and tender as the baby lamb the crocodile is just absolutely destroying with its powerful jaws. When your man is all scabbed up, he’ll want to hate-fuck you. Let nature take its course, but it can’t hurt to sweeten the deal with a raw chicken.

The Angry Pirate

Pirates aren’t animals. They are marauding cavemen in boats and that’s close enough to uncivilized as humans get. So this counts. Do whatever to your girl, but when you bust, bust in her eye (called Web Eye), kick her in the shin and then run for the door. When you look back, your girl should look like a one-eyed, peg-legged pirate chasing after you.

Jewish Camp

Ever see that documentary Jesus Camp? Basically, a cameraman follows along a group of kids to the “Kids on Fire” summer camp (great band name) where they are trained to be, in the words of the big fat lady who directs the camp, “Christian soldiers in God’s army for the coming war against Muslims and the Liberal Establishment.” Sure, we all think that stuff, but you’re not supposed to actually say it.

But what about da Jewbs? About 76% of all Americans identify themselves as Christian while a meager 1.2% Americans blatantly declare their religious superiority as being the chosen ones. Have you ever wondered why 20% of all Nobel recipients have been Jewish, or why 3 films that kick the shit out of Nazis come out every year? Have you ever seen a poor Jew that wasn’t a struggling entertainer, like a Jewish bum or something? That’s because the secret Jewish cabal that runs the world makes the Free Masons and Skulls-n-Bones look like a “No Girls Allowed” tree fort in your back yard. So why haven’t they been morally audited?

Last summer drove up to Cooperstown, NY to visit with the kids of “Kimama Modin Rustic Adventure Camp” on the bank of Ostego Lake to see what evil shit these hellspawn are up to.

I arrived at the camp’s wrought iron gates promptly at 9:30. Turns out this whole place was originally a retirement community exclusively for Holocaust survivors. Well, you know, old people die and, yeah. I don’t think there’s going to be any new survivors any time soon to replace the dead ones. So being the progressive chaps they are, some rooms were rented out for the Jewish youth of tomorrow, today. Whatevs. I’m sure this place has some killer ghost stories attached to it, like the one about the ghost of Old Mrs. Grossman who still roams these halls looking for her shower cap. “Giiiive meeee myyy caaaap, chiiildreenss!”

The camp’s director Uncle Shmoigle introduces me to a sea of curly haired 10-13 year olds. About half of them are wearing little inhaler necklaces. Shmoigle stepped aside so the campers and I could get better acquainted. The sea parted (haw) as I stepped off the 2x3x1 foot “stage” and tried to mingle. No one really said anything, so now I had to summon my non-existent journalism skills.

“So, what do you guys like about Jewish camp?”

No one really reacted. They just stared at me until one kid, Noah Behrs, who I later learned was the major player at Kimama Modin, spoke up. “Um…no parents?” He hazarded a guess. I thought he was trying to see if there was a right answer. In reality he was just placating a stupid question.

“K, k. So….what’s the coolest thing about being Jewish?” Fuck that was stupid. The kids made it a point to mention how gay I was right before leaving to go canoeing or just some general fuck-off-ery. Only one kid stayed to give me “the scoop” on camp life here; the most pathetic little wisp of a human who by all reason should have died in kindergarten by the herd mentality of Natural Selection. His name was David Weiss and if he wasn’t an incubator baby, his existence at least gave those kids something tangible to aim for. Nothing quite like a person with the body of a Muppet wearing a Hawaiian shirt feeling sorry for you.

He showed me the haps around camp: the docks, the arts and craft place, the math-letes’ training center. We had to keep stopping so David could catch his breath or get rid of the tiny pebbles that got caught in his sandals. Of course he was wearing black socks.

Dinner that night was an old-fashioned, rustic hotdog roast- of Hebrew Nationals steam cooked in the kitchen and then brought out on trays. Entertainment that night was a showing of Wedding Crashers on the projection screen.

Lights out. The campers all went to bed and I retired to the spare cot in a giant storage closet they gave me. I used a mop head for a pillow. As I laid there thinking what a huge fucking waste this whole trip was my nose picked something up. My eyes widened and I was instantly aroused by the familiar, dank odor of burning cannabis. I jumped out of cot, threw on a pair of jeans and a wife beater and pulled a Toucan Sam to the back of the building where Noah and the Cool Jew Crew (they didn’t actually call themselves that) were hitting a fairly decently wrapped blunt.

The saw me coming around the corner and started to panic. “Oh shit oh shit!” screamed Rebecca Wiener, the uber-JAP in the group.

“Freeze!” I shouted at them. I was so excited. I angrily marched up to them, totally playing the authority card. “What’s going on here?! Huh?! What is that!?” No one spoke. “Gimme that!” I grabbed their blunt. The timing on this couldn’t have been more perfect. I just paused for the slightest moment, drinking in their anxiety as they prayed to God for a way out of this alive. Then I took a huge, calm drag like something out of a cigarette commercial from the 50’s.

“Marijuana,” I started. “I can’t believe you kids would be out here, smoking marijuana…” I looked around.

“without me!”

It was like I detonated an A-bomb that gave off exasperated sighs that seemed to say “ya got me, asshole. Good joke.”

The rest of the night was pretty epic. We smoked up, went for a late night dip in the lake, broke some shit, and I even heard that after we all packed it in for the night, Rebecca decided to retire with Noah in his room where she gave him all kinds of blow jobs.

I always knew something sinister happened at Jewish Camp. To compare and contrast with Jesus Camp: The religious vibe was so minimal it was almost secular. Enlightenment was reached through drugs, not prayer. Similar things can be said about proselytizing. The only time God was mentioned followed by a lot of crying was when Noah’s girlfriend Heather found out about Rebecca she screamed “oh god damnit!” and ran sobbing into the bathroom at breakfast.

Notable Gods of Thunder

Since our humble origins as French cave people, humans have always revered thunder. So much so that we worship the stuff. But not all thunder gods are equal. Some are more equal than others.

Thor
I call bullshit on him. Vikings worshiped this guy. Vikings; the 10th century murdering, pillaging, raping pirates whose idea of heaven is an eternity of murdering, pillaging and raping. So why is the Ultimate form of the Norse god of thunder a political and social activist who writes self-help books? I mean, common. He used to be a psychiatric nurse (nurse?!) Why not make the character a 110lb art history major that listens to Moby while you’re de-balling him? Dude should be a Hell’s Angel or an ex-fire fighter that responded to 9/11. Totally grizzled. Anyway, he wields the magic hammer Mjolnir that supposedly only allows select individuals to lift. But in Ultimate Avengers, Bruce Banner Hulked out so hard he actually lifted Mjolnir and chucked it in Thor’s face. Ultimate Thor sucks.

Jupiter
You have to give credit to the Romans when talking about Jupiter. It’s one thing to adopt another person’s religion; is another to straight up steal it. I hear this guy liked to get drunk and then either fuck his relatives, fuck humans, or fuck with humans. My kind of god. Nothing quite like getting struck by lightning and being reduced to a pile of smoldering ash just because some drunk asshole thought it was funny. To be fair, it was pretty funny. You should’ve seen the look on your face. I hear it’s the same face Venus makes when Jupiter sticks it in her butt. Boo-ya! Pass me more wine (I’m drunk as shit right now)

Raiden
The Chinese god of thunder as imagined by Japanese code writers, Raiden entered Mortal Kombat on several occasions to prevent the forces of dark from taking over Earthrealm (what?). For a god that can shoot lightning from his hands and teleport instantaneously, he sure is a pansy. Liu Kang (think Bruce Lee meets a celibate Jackie Chan) beat him by dropping an arcade machine on his head. Dude got his ass kicked by a virgin. Fatality. You know who else are virgins? (Most) 12 year olds.


R. Lee Ermey

Michael “Mickey” Goldmill
While technically not a god, “Mick” was a member of the South Philly Jewish Community, the holiest of holy tribes in the greater Philadelphia area. It’s been said his mastery over the elements was so great that he could teach A Rock to “eat lightning and crap thunder” in the face of the almighty god of Light and Sun; truth and prophecy; The King of Sting; The Count of Monte Fisto, Apollo Creed.

Lion-O
I don’t know what the hell a Thundercat does besides fight mummies and look like Ziggy Stardust made out with He-Man at a Siegfried and Roy show, but Lion-O is the leader of the tribe/pack/whatever. If you thought a buff cat man mincing around in a girl’s bathing suit wasn’t gay enough, he also has a friend named Snarff, calls children “thunderkittens” and is literally a man-child. Like, he was a kid, was cryogenically frozen, and then his body rapidly aged into Dr. Frankenfurter’s wet dream on fetish night. Since this show is dripping with latent homosexual undertones, I’m gonna go right ahead and assume that thunder is the show’s reference for cocks. “Thunder. Thunder! THUNDERCATS! HO!”

Brontosaurus
El Brontosaurus Terrible is spanish for The Terrible Thunder Lizard. That’s not a nice thing to call a creature with an obvious eating disorder. Dudes are fat. They can't help that. It’s a defense mechanism; if you're too fat for predators to get their jaws around then you won't be eaten. That's science. These guys were definitely the subject of Jurassic era yo momma jokes. “Bitch so big she can eat a T-rex”. “Bitch so big that when she walks it thunders.” Yes, those are retarded. No shit. But I didn’t write them. Fred Flintsone did. He wrote them while he was using a brontosaurus as a backhoe

Commissioned Writing #1

I was asked by a friend of mine to write a scathing review of some L.A. band called Love You Long Time. My friend is lucky; I hate their music too.

Here’s my review.

You know, the phrase “ironic hipster scenester bandwagon for unoriginal, uninspired white suburbanites” is thrown around a lot these days…

No, wait. This all needs context.

VH1 has done more to hinder creativity in the past 6 years than MTV has done in the past 25. The show I Love the 80’s is what happens when you completely run out of good ideas or just lack the mental dexterity to come up with better ones. Nobody genuinely loves the 80’s nearly as much as they love referencing shit from that era. Why? Because it’s ironic. Giant, feathered Farrah Fawcett hair and baggy leggings had the shelf life of bologna back then, back when that shit was actually supposed to be popular.

I don’t know if it’s this sense of hopelessness or Bush’s Reaganomics Part Deux shit-hurricane we just barely survived but people have decided to pine for “simpler” times, so they turned back to their 80’s childhood. After they sift through 8 thrift stores worth of old garbage and realize, “hey, remember how shitty and ugly these clothes were? We thought they were so cool back then” some genius (and they really are genius) realized the only effective way to rock that shit was to rock it ironically. That’s fine if you don’t mind your life becoming one big joke like you’re supposed to jump out in front of your friends waving jazz hands going “Ta-daaa!”

(While I’m on the subject, fuck you Seth McFarlane. Your cartoons are nothing more than a bunch of references to G.I. Joe and The Breakfast Club. Go marry your voice which you’re so fucking in love with).

The interesting thing about this 80’s revival crap (which just smacks of “listen to your inner child; what’s he saying?”) is that it actually keeps time. If 3 years passes in the real world, you need only dig through 3 less layers in a Salvation Army box to be fashionable. It is now 1991. Enter: Love You Long Time (original name: Me Put Pee-Pee in Your Coke)

Now here’s a band that’s the end result of Naughty By Nature throwing up on an electroclash Kelly Bundy. Nothing quite like copying, whoops, re-inventing, period music. It’s fucking period music! Which is fine if you like half-assed old school hip-hop. They can’t compare to my band Slow Drag Cakewalk. We take it past old school all the way back to first school with our ragtime piano jams circa the 1900’s (while in black face). Each show ends with us pouring a 40 for a fallen homie Scott Joplin.

Ok. The keytar. Here’s what I have to say about the keytar. It’s funny for about 2 seconds, but their songs are substantially longer than that. If it wasn’t one big joke and they genuinely liked the sound it made, they could have at least been original by jerry-rigging a Casio/duct tape keytar knock off instead of spending weeks asking every music store and garage sale in L.A. if they carried one of the gayest instruments ever invented. But it’s ok to be gay. It’s ironic.

These guys need to rock-and-roll the fuck out of Irony Town and board the Talent train heading for Why-Anyone-Outside-Your-Insulated-Faux-1991-Wigger-Scene-Should-Give-A-Shitville.

Look, if you sincerely like this kind of stuff, fine. If this music appeals to you or you simply think I’m a bitter, humorless dick who is just jealous, I’m cool with that. But remember: just because you like something does not prevent it from being objectively retarded. I would know. I like the movie Bio-Dome. I can’t wait to see what band apes it in 5 more years.

You Lucky Bastards

Today is April Fools day. I thought for today’s entry I would stage a huge breakdown, call out all the personal foibles of my 4 subscribers (I’m surprised I have any) and then pretend I was quitting comedy because it wasn’t immediately going anywhere. Then, I would end it with a big “AAAAAAAAAPRIL FOOOOOOOOOOOOLS!!!”

I realized that was kinda lame. It’s a very Mark-esque idea, if you know what I mean. My friends would see that coming a mile away. I need to stay ahead of the curve.

I figure, why not mess with people online? God bless the man who invented Omegle. They distilled online interaction (eg: facebook, myspace, blogs, twitter, message boards) into its purest form. Click and start chatting with a stranger instantly. And then immediately fuck with them.

Connecting to server...
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
You: hey
Stranger: How's you stranger?
You: hows it going
You: not so good.
You: yourself
Stranger: Not bad thanks, why so sad?
You: im not sad. im on a hospital computer
You: they have one computer in each patients room
Stranger: What have you done? I'm in on Friday to have an unjection in my spine. Owch!
You: i was hit by a drunk driver last night
Stranger: Really..
You: yeah
Stranger: You sure?
You: why is it they are always the ones to walk away
Stranger: They're pissed
You: the fuck do you mean "am i sure"? am i sure i have two broken legs and head scabies? yeah im pretty fucking sure of that
You: arsehole
Stranger: I'm so sorry.
You: whatever. lets move on. i dont want to get upset
Stranger: You must have hit by the twat truck
You: Id love to collide with a giant drunk vagina. It might explain my head scabies
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Connecting to server...
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger:
...................... ........................................,-~~'''''''~~--,,_
...................... ..................................,-~''-,:::::::::::::::::::''-,
...................... .............................,~''::::::::',::::::: :::::::::::::',
...................... .............................::::::,-~'''___''''~~--~''':}
...................... .............................':::::: : : : : : : : : : : : : :
...................... .............................:::::: : :-~~---: : : -----:
...................... ............................(_''~-': : : : : : : : :
...................... .............................'''~-,: : : : : : ~---': : : :,'--never Gonna
...................... .................................,: : : : : :-~~--: : ::/ -----give You
....................... ............................,-''':: :'~,,_: : : : : _,-'
....................... ......................__,-';;;;;:''-,: : : :'~---~''/
....................... .............__,-~'';;;;;;/;;;;;;;: :: : :____/: :',__
......................... .,-~~~''''_;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;',. .''-,::::::::. . ;;;;''-,__
........................ /;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;,;;;;;;;;;. . .''::::::::. .,';;;;;;;;;;''-, ........................,' ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;. . .:::::,'. ./;;;;;;;;;;;;;
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You: is that thomas jefferson?
Stranger: rick astely
You: was he a founding father too?
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

(Sorry, that one was kinda fudged. You get the idea).

Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: hi?
You: hi
Stranger: how are you today?
You: why the question mark
Stranger: I'm new to this
You: oh...ive been better. yourself?
Stranger: I'm well. Are you feeling stressed out over something?
You: no, no. its just april fools day and ive been pranked pretty hard already
Stranger: What was the prank?
You: i woke up, to my mom standing over me. she punched me in the face, said "April fools!" pause, "youre adopted", no april fools and then told me to stop crying
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Connecting to server...
Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: slaut
Stranger: salut
You: you callin me a slut?
Stranger: no
Stranger: salut it's hi in french
Stranger: ^^
Stranger: not slut
You: go back to africa
Stranger: oh
Stranger: i would like
Stranger: you want to go with me?
You: depends
Stranger: depends on what?
You: depends on how cheap those gorilla paw ash trays are
You: i wanna pick up a dozen
Stranger: okay adolph
Stranger: ^^
You: pfff. prude
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Last one

Looking for someone you can chat with. Hang on.
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Stranger: hi thar
You: hi!
You: asl?
Stranger: not the stranger again lol
Stranger: 18/male/britain u?
You: your the stranger lol
Stranger: ^^,
You: 14/f/AMERRRRRICA
Stranger: cool
Stranger: u ?
You: can i aks you a bitsh question?
Stranger: go for it
You: is it true they shit there but dont flush?
Stranger: no thats faulse we do flush
You: loooooool
Stranger: >:) lol
You: then why do euripeans smell like shit
Stranger: i dont know probs because amercans arnt used to us
Stranger: and there for smell worse
Stranger: lol
Stranger: =D
Stranger: we have losed the game
You: i heard we give afrika condums all the time so i think we should give europe soap the same way
Stranger: na we have our own soap and its not made from man fat
You: idgi
Stranger: lol
Stranger: ^^
You: hey british man, guess what?
Stranger: what
Stranger: ??
You: youre a dickless nutless poofter
You: PEACE
You have disconnected.