Friday, February 27, 2009

Reader Spotlight: Anna Russell

So last week I wrote about Trodo McCracken and then she goes and totally wins an illustrious award, which I can't take all the credit for, but I do anyway(s) and I promised Anna Russell I would spotlight her this week and since I am a brave and courageous knight looking to stand as the lone bastion against the rising tide of evil, I will keep my word. And also because the only other blog I could think to write involved more anus talk, and I think one a day is enough*. Also, I looked at the moon last night and Trodo still hasn't drawn a wang on it, so she's pretty much a villian.

Anna Russell was born in Scotland in 1270, as a Scottish knight and landowner who is known for leading a resistance during the Wars of Scottish Independence and is regarded as a patriot and national hero.[1]

Along with Andrew Moray, she defeated an English army at Stirling, and became Guardian of Scotland, serving until her defeat at the Battle of Falkirk. After several years in hiding, Wallace Anna Russell was eventually found and captured in Robroyston near Glasgow and handed over to Edward I of England ("Longshanks").

Hattori Hanso: Wait, wait, wait... you can't do that.
Me: Do what?
Hattori Hanso: You can't cut and paste the Wikipedia entry for 'William Wallace" and call it a "Reader Spotlight"
Me: Well, I really don't know much about her but 'Braveheart' kicked ass even if Mel Gibson is a dink. 
Hattori Hanzo: I'm not debating the awesomeness of 'Braveheart', it just that...
Me: Good. Because it was awesome.
Hattori Hanzo: That's been established.
Me: I like the part where they painted their faces and mooned the English. That was funny and poignant.
Hattori Hanzo: This is the dumbest Reader Spotlight I've ever read.
Me: Ooo! And when the English guy is all "Prima Nocte!" and Mel Gibson is all "Uh-uh, filthy English pig!" and then...
Hattori Hanzo: Okay. Look . We'll watch Braveheart tonight. Just say something nice about Anna. She's been a loyal reader and she's very funny and stealing William Wallace's biography is not doing her justice.
Me: Fine.

Anna Russell is a creature alleged to inhabit Loch Ness in the Scottish Highlands. She is similar to other supposed lake monsters in Scotland and elsewhere, though her description varies from one account to the next. Popular interest and belief in the animal how awesome her blog is. has fluctuated since it was brought to the world's attention in 2008. Evidence of its existence is largely anecdotal, with minimal and much disputed photographic material and sonar readings. The scientific community regards the Loch Ness Monster Anna Russell as a modern-day myth because she's so kind and funny and likes the word "cunt" a bunch, and explains sightings as a mix of hoaxes and wishful thinking. Despite this, it remains one of the most famous examples of cryptozoology.

Hattori Hanzo: I give up.
Me: What?

ps: Anna Russell IS very kind and funny and has a great blog and says "cunt" a lot and hates Dan Brown and if that doesn't make someone eligible for an Oscar, I don't know what does. Go subscribe to her now or else I'll send a man in a kilt over to your house to stand in the corner and just stare at you while you eat dinner. And that will be awkward and uncomfortable to say the least. And that man will be ME!! Also if anyone else wants to be immortalized in genius just let me know.

*I'm totally going to write the other anus blog later. 

Friday Book Club

So Moonkee sends me the best email and yesterday it was a link to a book, and maybe everyone has seen this already but if you have shut up, because maybe there has been a better book in the past 300,000 years but I don't know what it is. This is the title I read:

which is pretty awesome to begin with, but Wait! There's more!

Now they have my attention because I sense that this is NOT Malarkey at all and maybe genius but worst case scenario is it's an awsome Japanese Translation like the Newsradio episode "Super Karate Monkey Death Car"* So now I totally have to  buy this book because if I can beat depression by simply constricting my anus 100 times every day than that em-effer is BEAT. Let's read some more shall we? This is from the first page and there is so much wisdom in here that maybe you're not ready for it :

I added some notes for you, and also a bonus velociraptor because what gift isn't improved with the inclusion of dinosaurs? Stupid gifts, that's what. Also, I am a great humanitarian and if I survive the 3-week fasting I am going to be so not depressed that when I wink at someone they will sprout wings and turn into a fairy.

*Moonkee also illuminated me on this bit of brilliance. You should totally follow that link and watch at LEAST the first minute and a half. Also, you can't put exclamation marks in blog labels. I know that seems off-topic, but it isn't so please try and keep up.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Ignore This

People often ask me where I get my ideas from, but that's a lie because no one ever asks me that except in my head when I'm doing pretend interviews and then I'm all dismissive and act like it's no big deal being this brilliant and then it's my turn to order from the dollar menu, so I forget to answer the question. But if I DID try and answer the question I would probably say something like "monkeys" or "Tibet" or "They are beamed into my head from an ancient race of dinosaurs who sought refuge on Io, the most habitable of Saturn's moons." and then the interviewer would be all "Dick. That was from the movie 2010, only it wasn't space dinosaurs it was explosive, deadly space lettuce or something." And I would be all "2001 is supposed to be this awesome movie, but it just confuses me. I do like the monkeys though." and then the interviewer, who is really Hattori Hanzo would be all:

Hattori Hanzo: Yeah, monkeys are cool.
Me: But I don't get why they were on the moon or what that has to do with space cabbage.
Hattori Hanzo: Me either. Aren't we supposed to be practicing interviews for after you're famous?
Me: Yes, Please.
Hattori Hanzo: Nice manners.
Me: Thank you. And your mom.
Hattori Hanzo: Okay so here's a question: Why are you so handsome?
Me: No interviewer would ask me that!
Hattori Hanzo: But you wish they would, and this is a pretend interview and really I'm just a literary device to give voice to your Id, so maybe you should give me a break, huh?
Me: Sorry. Go ahead. Ask again.
Hattori Hanzo: Why are you so handsome?
Me: Well Hattori, it's a funny story...
Hattori Hanzo: OH I'M SORRY! We've run out of time!
Me: Hey! Wait!! I have to answer the question!
Hattori Hanzo: Sorry. Not this time.Don't worry, we'll be sure to have you back!
Me: This is MY brain. We have all the time necessary. I want to answer this ques...
Hattori Hanzo: We'll be right back with Keanu Reeves, after these words from our sponsors!
Me: Keanu Reeves! He's not even a fully developed human! What sponsors?
Hattori Hanzo: Bryl-Cream. Look if you have an issue,talk to your agent. We told him you only had five minutes.
Me: My agent?! This is all pretend! I don't have a pretend agent!
Hattori Hanso: That's probably why you're getting bumped...duh.
Me: I swear I will have my revenge one day, Hattori Hanzo!
Hattori Hanzo: Scoot over. Here comes Keanu.
Keanu Reeves in My Head: Whoooooaaaa! That dude is angry. Are these my pants?
Me: Unbelievable.
Hattori Hanzo: And we're back... our next guest won infinity Academy Awards for his portrayal of Agent Johnny Utah in "Point Break". He's here to talk about the book he's co-authored with Dan Brown called "More Weird God Stuff, Dude." please give it up for Keanu Reeves!!
(*wild unfettered applause*)
Me: Of course the voice in my head is a bad late-night talk show host. That makes sense.
Keanu Reeves in My Head: Whoa! Lights!

A Passé José Exposé on LOST

So I was going to write this huge exposé on Lost but then I didn't know how to make the accented "e" so I had to look up some random José to copy and paste the "é", and the only José I could think of was José Conseco, and I don't know if I want to support a self-proclaimed steroid abuser and reality TV star, although he was on that season of "The Surreal Life" that also had Balky from "Perfect Strangers" on it, and that's cool because he was in "True Romance" and that movie was awesome, so I guess it's okay to use that José to cut and paste for my exposé.

"True Romance" was REALLY cool!

Turns out it's not really an exposé so much as a rant,though.

I think I'm going to write a letter to Dr. Jack, because he and I have grown apart and not just because of my drinking, but also because somewhere along the way he began to grate my nerves the same way elevator music and my kids bickering does. Here's what I would say:

Dear Dr. Jack,

I understand it is your job to be the show's skeptic and even though you grew up raising all your siblings by yourself on "Party of Five" that's no reason to be such a drag all the time. See the thing is, you have been to a mysterious island that isn't on any maps where there are giant man-eating columns of smoke and unexplained snow bears and Others who were there before you and who wanted to kill you but then didn't, and also your Dad's Ghost© and his body is missing, and planes filled with the Heroin Virgin Mary up in trees and a hatch where you have to type numbers or else the sky turns purple, and also the whole island disappears and time-travels, and every step of the way you've been all "That's impossible." and everyone else is like "Let's run around this island!" and you're all "No." to whatever anyone else says although you seem to always be running around too.

At some point, any rational human being, when exposed to all this weirdness would give up skepticism as a philosophy because every time *I* think "There's no effing way there are any Polar bears here." I am right. And every time you think "There's no way [fucked up thing] can happen." You are wrong. I think I speak for us all when I say stop being so contrary or I'm going to have Ben Linus sneak up on you and steal your kidney because even his back is so evil it's trying to kill him.

Also, the beard was gross. I kept imaging I saw bits of food or a rabbit's leg bone weaved into it*. Thanks for shaving.


* This is a reference to Agrajag. If you don't know who that is, than I feel like I don't even know you, and now it's going to be weird when I ask to borrow money**, so how could you put me through this. Think of ME for a change!

** Also, I would never ask you for money. I would ask where you KEEP your money and certain other craftily worded, security-related questions so that later my team of international sex symbol cat burglars could break into your home and rob you blind. And when you called me to share your lament, I'd be all "That's too bad." and "How did you get this number?" whilst the two sexiest cat burglars make out in a pile of money on the bed behind me.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Questioning the Answers: Week II

So maybe you don't remember, but last week I posed a question to Yahoo Answers© about dragon eggs and I promised to let you know what happened, so this is me keeping that promise because my word is like a samurai blood-oath or crossing-your-heart-and-hoping-to-die, except I always mumble "not really" under my breath when I say that, because I don't actually want to die if I break my word. I'd rather just get a sharp look and then be quickly forgiven because I'm so charming.

So here is my RESOLVED question, and if I've learned one thing from this experience, that's a miracle, and if I've learned two things, it's that 1/3 of the people on Yahoo Answers© are brilliant and get how incredibly funny I am. And 1/3 are confused. And 1/3 are out there trying to help people and are literal, no sense of humor-having tight-asses, and screw them and their charity. Like I need it! 

Also it turns out that this is just a game and I am only a Level One question-asker, even though that was clearly at least a Level Six question, and I have 95 points, which I'm guessing is a high score for Level Ones like me, and I think I'm totally ready to level-up like in video games but I don't remember hearing anything about a boss battle, and what would a boss battle be in Yahoo Answers©  anyway(s)? I suppose it would be like a tougher than normal question, but since I'm only  Level One it would be like "Is it true that cats can fly?" and I'll be all "Hmm..." because I think it's a trick question and then I'll get it wrong and won't level-up. Also, I use my alias when I'm on Yahoo Answers© because I don't want all their unfunny answers messing up the free porn spam I get. My alias is Vin Cognito©, but don't tell anyone. Let's just keep that between us on the internet.

So the moral of this story is never give up without a fight, because I totally didn't and went back today and asked another question that will strike at the heart of what people think they know, and once that seed of knowledge has been planted it only needs time and patience to grow into a mighty Sequoia of Awesome and eagles will live in it, and centaurs will frolic in its shadow and that Pan guy with the goat legs will totally play his magic sex-lute or whatever, and all will be right in the world. Vic gave me the inspiration for this one, so you're welcome, Vic*.

*I'm not even sure Vic knew the capital of the Flamingo Empire was in the Everglades. She probably thought that was just where the administrative offices were, like the rest of you. I'm so informative you're lucky my brain doesn't supernova, because then there would be a black hole of genius. 

PS: Also, Flamingo-itis is a rare but incurable disease and if you don't believe me, than you are ahead of the curve. Kudos to you for thinking outside the box. Because the box is labelled "Put Stupid People in Here"

Let's Pretend This Isn't Another One About Zombies

It's Wednesday and that means my brother is totally going to come over and watch another zombie movie with me and I'm sure one day we'll be able to look back at this and laugh, and maybe that day will even be today if we have enough Seven-and-Sevens, and he'll be all "HAHAHAHA! Remember back when we were poor and unemployed and spent the afternoons eating cold pizza and watching bad zombie movies?" and I'll be all "Pass me another roll of Infinity-dollar bills, mine has gone out!" and then he'll be all "Here, you can light it with this lighter I made out of a melted-down Faberge Egg." and I'll be all "Hahahaha!" and he'll be all "Hahahaha!" and the whole rest of the world will hate us except for our harem of bikini supermodels.

So maybe you're thinking that we have a whole bunch of intelligent discourse while we are watching these things, to counterbalance the inherent idiocy of the premise. Well, I'm sorry but you're wrong. Here's how our conversations go.

Me: He's wandering alone in the dark, he must be super-safe.
Him: Yeah. What could happen?
Me: He could stub his toe.
Him: Those look like safety shoes, I think he'll be okay.
Me: You know what would be awesome? If it suddenly turned out he had anti-zombie powers like bite-proof skin and super-strength, so that when he's jumped, they all swarm in and you can't see him and then POW! the zombies all go flying and he's pulling off legs and beating them with the legs and he can fly and...
Him: Shut up, here comes the gross part.
(*gross part*)
Me: Shit. He didn't have any anti-zombie powers at all.
Him: Nope. Not at all.
Him: He wasn't very clean. I hope the zombies don't get E. Coli.
Me: Can zombies *get* E. Coli?
Him: I don't know. I sorta doubt it.
Me: I bet they are carriers though. All that uncooked meat...
Him: How bad would that suck? Like, on top of being bitten by a zombie and knowing you are about to die and join the legions of shambling, reanimated dead, you get a wicked tummy ache and diarrhea.
Me: That would totally suck.

You see? How can we not be working somewhere. That's pretty much humanity's inhumanity to humanity if you ask me. Pass the Corn nuts.

ps: We were totally going to work on world peace this week but then he found a copy of "Land of the Dead" and I haven't seen it yet because I am a staunch advocate of the earlier Romero imagining of zombies and feel that the modernist version of the zombie apocalypse as seen in "28 Days Later" and the "Day of the Dead" remake lacks the visceral horror that can be felt when watching a horde of slow-moving undead overrun a fortified stronghold. The essential social critique of the mindless masses devouring the last remnants of humanity due to some fatal human flaw like greed or avarice is lost in these works. Plus, they aren't nearly as gross.

pps: Now I totally want bite-proof skin.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

"Clowny" = Terrifying

So now that I'm unemployed I have lots of time to just wander around the net looking at stuff because I can only look at so much porn before my mind starts to wander and then I think things like "I wonder how she FEELS about herself."  and let me tell you, nothing messes up pornography like the de-objectifying of someone. So instead, I look for funny shit to make me laugh, because these are dark, sad times for the republic and it's only a matter of time before Senator Palpatine seizes control and then all the sudden WHOOSH! here's Darth Vader and now what the hell are we going to do? (Anyone who feels the need to point out that The Star War* happened "a long time ago in a galaxy far,far away" ought to just go ahead and give yourself a wedgie and save me the effort.)

Where was I going with this? Oh. Right. Clowns.

I was searching the net, looking for laughs (or giggle-trolling, as we call it in the industry) when I found this auction and have decided to invest in a clown who will follow me around and scare me randomly throughout the day because my life has become a little dull and nothing adds spice to your day like a terrifying clown who pops out at you when you are mixing drinks or napping. 

Here is an excerpt from the auction I will win if God or someone is smiling on me:

"This auction is for a 3 day thrill ride through your greatest fear! ~CLOWNS~!!!! I will dress up as a clown and scare you for 3 days STRAIGHT, everywhere you go, I will follow, dressed as a clown. When you least expect it - BOOM!!! There I'll be to creeper you out! This is something you will only want to experience once. LIVE your SCARIEST MOVIE SCENES! Included in this auction, is my travel expenses to wherever you live to give you 3 days of creepy, clowny excitement!"

And it had this picture attached:

Now I think we can all agree that this is an excellent investment because clowns are recession-proof and scary clowns are super-recession-proof and if you don't believe me look at these figures I'm about to make up: 9 out of 10 psychiatrists agree that I am a genius and this can't fail.  

But now that I think about it, I am realizing that all I do is sit around my house in a bathrobe all day and that means the clown would just sit next to me on the couch and drink my Seven and Sevens and then randomly shout "BOO!" at me, and when I tell him to knock it off he would be all "Whatever. It's your nickel, Bub." and whenever a clown calls me "Bub" I get super angry and then I'd be all "You're not funny, Clown! You're not funny, Clown!" and we'd get in a fist fight and when the cops came they'd find two drunken idiots passed out on the floor smelling of gin and grease paint, and Oh yeah, one of them is dressed as a terrifying clown and then I'd be in the Police Blotter AGAIN and everyone would think we were gay lovers or something, because this is a small, stupid town where they probably assume violent clown-bashing is the same as a monogomous same-sex relationship. 

So I'm totally going to do it.

PS: I added the tags "sexy plush" and "space jail" because I'm trying to broaden my audience. 

*My Mom totally calls them "The Star War" movies and I have stopped trying to correct her because it gets frustrating so now I just keep her locked in a closet. But don't get all weird, and call the SPCA or whatever, because I feed her and I tell her she is "a living treasure" like they have in Japan. And then she says "Let me out..." but I never hear the rest because the door is closed.

Zombies and Sambas

I just heard this thing on the news that there was a program involving barber shops that was trying to "Stop Teen Violence" and I'm not sure what that has to do with haircuts but I know that one hairstyle, that boys wear, that's all long on the sides and emo and they have wallet chains makes me want to punch them back into 1986 and they'd be all "WTF?" and teenagers from that time would be all "What does that mean, dickweed?" and it would be like Back to the Future only with bad hair* and throat punching. So I guess if Stop Teen Violence is supposed to give those kids better haircuts, then I am all in favor of it.

Or maybe they mean they are trying to stop people from being violent to teenagers and I think that is a horrible idea, because have you ever even LIVED with a teenager? My daughter is like the best kid in the whole world ever, but even so, she gets lippy. And for all the times I've said to her "Violence never solves anything." I've thought "Violence never solves anything unless you don't start washing the dishes and stop giving me a hard time" I mean, it's pretty much in the Constitution that the whole reason you have kids is to have something to beat if you can't afford drums. My daughter is just lucky I like a good samba beat. Boom-boom-chicka-boom.**

Or maybe they mean they are trying to stop teens from being violent to one another, and that is an idea I can get behind. Because I knew this kid in high school who totally used to get his ass kicked because he played Dungeons and Dragons, and liked computers, and wore shirts that were a bad idea, and was little and clutzy, and no it wasn't me. I was like a star athlete who was never afraid to break the rules, and I solved crimes and I skipped classes and if anyone who knew me in high school is reading this, you can just shut the fuck up.

I know modern teens have to be more worried about gunplay than I ever did, but that will just give them better reflexes when they get out in the real world, where they will be living in the post-apocalyptic wasteland that is America after our economy explodes, and/or give them the tools they need to survive the Coming of the Zombies. So I guess the people who are promoting this weird barber shop program totally want my daughter to be eaten by zombies and they can get bent. Because I have already instructed her to always shoot for the head and to go to the second floor and destroy the stairs behind her because zombies can't climb, so now she's ready for the "Real World" way more than most kids.

*To be fair, the 80s had plenty of bad hair too, so maybe I should only punch him back to the 90s because than he can listen to grunge and be all dirty and that's the look I'm most comfortable with teens having and maybe I'll present this in a bill to Congress. I'm like Citizen Kane, only legislating haircuts.

** I apologize for this, but I totally thought about Carmen Miranda when I wrote that bit. Here, to make up for it:

Monday, February 23, 2009

Of Wordsmiths and Cavemen

I've been playing this game on Facebook called "Word Challenge" and it's pretty much the Devil because you have like one minute to see how many words you can make from a group of seven letters. Like Boggle© only in a straight line. I suck at this game so bad that it makes my eyes bleed. It's always been this way. Whenever I'm put in a time crunch, my brain totally runs away and doesn't leave a note or a forwarding address and if I happen to look out the window, I can see it jumping into an empty railway car headed for Hoboken with all the other hoboes (Hoboken-Os, if you will).

But that isn't even the evil part. The evil part is that it shows me where I rank amongst my friends who also play this game, and now I totally have to keep at it for fear that they think I have a secret developmental disability and all this blog stuff is just a clever ruse like the guy with the big nose from the Steve Martin movie* who is super-romantic and eloquent but feeds his best stuff to an oaf to trick a girl. And that isn't to say I am opposed to tricking girls, because that's pretty much the only way men ever come off as being impressive, but I'm afraid my inability to find the word "shed"  out of the letters "S-H-I-T-H-E-D" will make me look like an absolute mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging, Cro-Mag without the sense to fully club the woman he has just tricked.

AND then  there is the issue of which friends I am willing to be beaten by. Like, "[name] has a better score than me because they do [something smart] for their job at [company name] so it's okay if they beat me.", or" [name] can beat me because they know I'm an idiot savant and that makes my low score acceptable". Or "[name] is aware that I get panicky in time-based situations and if you try and change your order once I get to the drive-thru ordering hole at McDonald's when I think I have your order all squared-away in my head, I will totally panic and I always end up ordering myself a "Filet-O-Fish©" because for some reason that is the default setting for my brain in these circumstances". I don't know how my "go-to"** answer to "What do you want to eat?" ended up being "Filet-O-Fish©"but I do know that it's a motherfucker, because I've come to hate those things, because "How do square fish swim?"

So my point is I am not French and do not have a long nose, and am not a character in a play written by Edmond Eugène Alexis Rostand (1 April 1868 – 2 December 1918)***, I am just a handsome genius who can't think of the word "why" in a pinch and is forcing down another goddamn  fish sandwich because you can't pick between a Big Mac© or a Quarter Pounder© until we're at the effing order-shouting hole.

*I didn't write "Cyrano de Bergerac" because I thought it had one of those fancy "e"s in it with the accent**** that I still haven't learned how to make. In my defense, I have learned the © symbol like a mother.

** If you think I'm making finger-quotes when I write this in my mind, then you are correct and we both need to be stabbed with a pen in the throat. Me, for imagining finger quotes in my head, and you for imaging that I imagine finger quotes in my head, although technically you will have been wrongfully murdered, while I totally had it coming.

***I totally looked this up, so now Wikipedia IS my Cyrano de Bergerac and I am the meathead and you are the girl on the balcony I am trying to trick. Where did I put that club?

**** It doesn't. Shit.

It's The Glitter, Man! The Glitter!

I was watching the Oscars last night and my first thought was "Hey! I should liveblog the Oscars, because that's kinda funny how Tilda Swinton looks like a robot who is going to eat my face and I never need an idea more complex than THAT to write a blog!" but then I remembered that I stand up when I pee*, so maybe a liveblog wasn't the best idea and besides who the hell am I to make fun of people for wearing weird clothes because if anyone saw the state of my bathrobe I would be horribly embarrassed if I was sober. So instead I watched the show and talked on the phone and made comments in my head that were so funny, they would've made you throw up. I guess you should just consider yourself lucky that I remembered the lesson of Spiderman... that with great power comes great responsibility and if Kirsten Dunst tries to kiss you, you should web her in the face and run away.

It was pointed out to me, by Moonkee, that someone had to work in the factory that constructed all the super-long glittery banners that flanked the stage and I got to thinking about it and that is pretty much the best job in the world. How could you hate going into a job where all you do all day is make things sparkle? You couldn't. You would get there and be all "Where's the work for today!" and you'd be super-cheerful because it's pretty much the same as riding unicorns all day and when your foreman was like "It's over there.", real deadpan because he has forgotten the joy of imagination, you would RUN to your sparkle-station© (That's a professional term, you can look it up if you want) and dive right into the acres of glitter banners you were to make for the day. And you would enjoy it so much that people would gossip about how you were on drugs and you would have to take a disproportionate number of random urine tests BUT IT WOULDN'T MATTER because you practically work in the Land of Make-Believe, so all the haters can get fucked.

 And then I thought about how after working there for 25 years or so, you would be less enthusiastic and you would wake up much slower and drive your crappy, rundown 2015 Toyota Treehumper (because working in glitter banners doesn't actually pay too well) to the Glitter Banner Works, Inc. LLC and now YOU are the supervisor and all the young, new-hires frolic and play in the banners all day and you just have to watch them to make sure no one is having sex in the product, because we all know that's what happens when you work around glitter.  And then one morning you wake up with a persistant cough and after ignoring it for a week or two you finally go to the Doctor and get an x-ray and it turns out you have Glitter Lung and only a few months left to live. 

And that was what my mind did while you were watching Hugh Jackman caper around so I guess it's probably better that I don't liveblog things because when I do, perfectly innocent shiny banners end up ruining your life and giving you cancer and I like you better than that. 

* I in no way mean to insinuate that a man is somehow less of a man if he pays attention to celebrity and fashion and things like that because maybe he is a rugged, burly construction worker** who likes high fashion, and if that's the case then he could probably kick my ass, so you understand me not wanting to piss him off.  I'm a humanitarian if nothing else, like Ghandi, only thicker.

** Also maybe he is an unemployed writer who has nothing better to do than watch the Academy Awards, because what the hell it's not lilke he has to BE anywhere tomorrow. 

Friday, February 20, 2009

Blame Anna For This

I wasn't going to post another blog today but I am now and it's all Anna Russell's fault because she posted a blog that made me listen to "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey and now I've listened to it so many times that I'm beginning to feel bad for the streetlight people walking down the boulevard*.

I can totally see myself standing in a swatch of yellow, arc-sodium light in the rain and the cars are rushing past and their tires are hushing me and I look up in to the roiling, storm-filled sky and then I think "Don't Stop Believin'!" and then lightning strikes and the lights go out and then the dream diverges because in one version I am suddenly revitalized and I stand up tall and square my shoulders and trudge off into the night to seek my fate and address those who would do  me wrong in a straight-forward manner and that is the end of all my problems.

And in the other version I am electrocuted.

So I went and watched a Journey video on Youtube©, and it was pretty much the worst thing I've ever seen unless white guys fake-running around a stage with bad hair is suddenly a good thing and I didn't get the memo. And now my eyes pretty much hate me forever and they are going to start giving me hallucinations or not perceiving things correctly out of spite. And now whenI do my color corrections in Photoshop everyone will be all "Dude, why did you make her skin orange? She looks like a pumpkin. " and I'll be all "Huh?" and they'll be all "Is this part of your artistic vision or something?" and I'll be all "No. My eyes hate me ever since I watched that stupid Journey video."

And Steve Perry has bad hair and his pants are so tight you can see all his junk.  And now my eyes REALLY hate me**.


Why do they all cheer when he sings "South Detroit"?

Also, this song is pretty much the rockingest shut up. Hate the game, not the players.

*"Boulevard" always looks like it's spelled wrong so I've discovered a naturally occurring optical illusion and I don't know if there is a Nobel Prize for that, so you can just give be the one for "hot dogs" or whatever.

** I wish yellow, leopard-print, sleeveless, man-blouses had never gone out of style, but it's a secret wish like the one I have where the cop who hangs out at the donut shop will suddenly disappear and then I can leap the counter and steal an ass-ton of jelly-filleds.  Every shooting star I see hears THAT one and it still hasn't happened.

I Don't Know Where This Is Going

I've picked up a lot of new readers lately and thought for the sake of argument, but not the kind of argument that starts "Why the hell are you just coming home now and whose pants are those and why were you dropped off in a clown car?!?", I would give you some numerical data to go along with my empirical awesomeness.  You see, for those who don't know ,I love the Maths and use them every chance I get except for sevens because they never add right, and if there was an area of science that didn't ever use sevens, I would have a doctorate degree by now, except that I am lazy and not inclined to do much besides sit around in my underwear and write silly blogs about my pants hating me. What follows are probabilities that what I am saying is true. Please clip this out and save it, so you can have it close at hand whenever reading this blog.*

Probabilty of truthfulness:

That I am in my underwear: 1:1
That I Love the Maths except for sevens: 1:1

I started to do this list and then decided that I don't KNOW how many superpowers I actually HAVE, so I couldn't be all "1:1200" because maybe they just haven't shown themselves yet or maybe they are still fledgling superpowers and I haven't been exercising them properly and given them room to grow, or maybe drinking a lot of milk from the jug will never become a superpower like I'm hoping and this is all just wishful thinking. And that's depressing. So instead I thought I'd write a dirty limerick because it's Friday but I'll keep out the super dirty parts because maybe my mom reads this sometimes.

 "There once was a bit of a ----
 Who tried out a real clever stunt,
 He ------ and he -------- and he ------ up the -------
And  I can't think of a good rhyme for ----."

Did you ever start a blog and realize much later that maybe you should've just stuck with watching the 5-second free porn clips** instead? Because I haven't. Perv. So instead of the Maths this ended up being beautiful poetry and it just goes to show you that both sides of my brain are equally diseased well-developed and I think that no matter what we can all agree to go get some drinks because it's Friday and this week has pretty much sucked all the ass.

*I'm really not sure how you clip out a blog. I guess you  could print it out, but I hate to endorse the waste of paper since the rainforests are exploding and if the polar ice caps melt we're going to be overrun by the goddamn Snow Bears and did you know that Polar Bears and Penguins*** are natural enemies and if they lived together the bears would be swarmed by flocks of bloodthirsty and adorable sea birds and they would be wiped out? That's why Snow Bears live at the North Pole and Penguins live at the South Pole. Also Polar Bears ate Santa so you can see why I want to protect the rainforest. They have no morals.

** I don't understand what the point of a 5-second porn clip is. It's all "Hey look! A boo-" and then you're still fighting with your zipper, unless my mom really is reading this in which case shame on you.

***I capitalized the names of the species because it felt disrespectful to not.  And I just accidentally typed "disrespectfuk" and thought THAT was funny so I'm going to stop here before you forget my beautiful poetry and go back to thinking I'm a roguishly handsome superpowered genius who DOESN'T write beautiful poems.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

The Great Pants Rebellion of Ought-Nine

So my pants are totally trying to escape me and I don't even understand why. I take care of them, I wash them, I even make conscious decisions to wear them on the basis of fairness. I'll be all " Hey pants! Who haven't I worn in a while?" and they won't say anything because they are pants, at least that is what I thought, until last night when they tried escaping. Maybe this whole time they've been ignoring the question like that kid in class who never raises his hand for fear of being called on and keeps his eyes down and chants "Not me. Not me. Not me." because he went out the night before and got plowed on "Genny Creme Ales" he stole from his Dad and didn't do his homework, and screw you ,Mrs. Hiler because your homework was dumb anyway(s). And my stomach feels like it's exploding. Stupid English elective. Stupid Genny Creme Ales.

Back to my fugitive pants. They keep calling for backup.  They're being totally stupid about it though and calling random people like my old employment agency and my ex- wife. If I were pants and I wanted to be rescued I would call some Pants-themed superhero who could fly in and pummel me with fists made from super strong denim elastomers* or something, or maybe they could loop around my neck and try to choke me unconscious like a sleeper hold, only with pants. In fact, maybe this is why I woke up that one time after a particulary crazy night in college in the middle of a playground at 6am with no pants on. That was a long time ago. Maybe I've secretly been at war with my pants for decades and they hide like Anne Frank in my dresser and write long recollections that start "It sometimes seems this war will never end..." and they are all depressed and like the Eastern Europeans during the Cold War and now I feel just awful.

The Ex- said when my pants called her, she didn't pick up** so it kicked my pants right to voicemail and they filled her mailbox with the sounds of me playing with the dog. I don't know if maybe that is part of their plan, like maybe they think if she believes I am harrassing her then I will go to jail and have to wear one of those boss orange Devo suits and then they will be free. Frankly, I'm a little disappointed at the lack of complexity this plan seems to have. I would have expected more from my dungarees***.

* I have no idea what "elastomers" are but they sound sciencey and I think maybe I learned about them once, but I am terribly lazy and refuse to look it up so if you want to know you'll have to do the legwork. Sorry, but I have dance moves to perfect.

** You might think this rock solid evidence that my Ex- screens my phone calls would upset me, but it doesn't because I'VE had to live with me for 37 years and if I ever call me I will totally screen that shit too. Unless, I think it might be a call from the future warning me how to save the human race from SkyNet. Then I might answer.

*** My mom used to call my pants "dungarees" and I don't know what the eff that even means but it's probably something from the Sears and Roebuck catalog and older than dirt, and what's next Mom? A Brownie Camera and a Model-T? Grow up!

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Reader Spotlight: Trodo McCracken

So TrodoMcCracken is totally offering me a chance to see the word "wang" written on the moon if I blog about her, and while I don't normally take requests, maybe I should start because it leads to donuts and I'm a cheap enough slut to go for it. Also, donuts are delicious so shut up.

The tricky thing is, that some people have accused me of BEING Trodo and it is very hard to disprove you are someone when they also seem to like dinosaurs in sunglasses with rocket packs and you've already written a screenplay that features a T. Rex with a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher. That's like a crazy coincidence. That's like opening a can of sardines and finding not one but TWO Spanish Doubloons. And I'm not sure if that's the right way to spell doubloons but spell check is saying "fuck it, I guess so." so it must be close.

I didn't know how to approach it, since I don't KNOW Trodo other than as an internet peep, yo*... but then I found a "Valentine Wishes" list for my son where every kid in his class had to say something nice about him, despite the fact that he doesn't know them all... so I will replicate this list for Trodo and then collect my donut.

1) Trodo does a good job at writing her blog and spells things correctly.
2) Trodo has brown hair unless she has posted fake pictures of herself.
3) Trodo knows kung fu and that means she knees people in the junk, and that is funny.
4) Trodo spells "pooping" like this : "pewpin'" which I thought meant "Pew! Pew! Pew!" at first but after a week she clarified. 
5) Trodo raised a group of turtles in the sewers and taught them ninjitsu and now they can totally talk and fight crime and they love pizza.
6) Trodo is the leader of the kind Autobots who help save the world from Megatron and the forces of evil.
7) Trodo died when Khan blew up the Enterprise but was resurrected on Genesis in time to save the whales in Star Trek IV
8)Trodo was born with 8 fingers on her right hand so when she tries to flip someone off she just sticks up her pinkie because THAT used to be her middle finger and the person she is insulting just looks at her all confused.
9) Trodo is from Canada where the government is run by Polar Bears and she lives in an igloo and can catch seals in her bare teeth, but doesn't because she is a snowetarian.
10) That's all the made up stuff I feel like for now. But it is all totally true. Consult an almanac and you'll see.

Next Week: Anna Russell!!

*Mad street cred, yo!

LMA (Least Magical Activity)

I woke up to the prospect of laundry and there is nothing that kills dreams of vampire space-hookers with glowing eyes quicker than laundry. One minute your being propositioned by some glowy-eyed vixen in the uncharted depth of deep space and the next your contemplating whether or not you have any clean socks to wear.It is the least magical activity I can think of, is my point.

There is so little wonderment involved in laundry that if Mickey Mouse somehow magically came out of the TV set and wanted to take the kids on the adventure of a lifetime*, as soon as he stuck his stupid rat head through the screen it would be amputated by the lack of magic and then the kids would get all screamy and run around in circles and the cats would go apeshit and bat his bloody mouse head around and I would have to make them stop it and who can afford those psychiatry bills? Not me. That's who. I wish Mickey Mouse would keep his head to himself. Although I am glad that the magic TV technology is not available to zombies because who needs THAT headache when I have mountains of dirty underwear to use my ancient chinese secret on. And I totally had to look that up as soon as I wrote it because I wasn't sure it was a clothes washing reference and it was, so I'm a superhero.**

Also, Laundry sucks because it takes for-ev-errrr. I could totally solve all the world's financial problems if I didn't have to waste the endless hours washing, drying, folding and sorting clothes. And only some of them are mine! I know, right? That is injustice on such a grand scale that it has taken everything in my power to keep the Supreme Court focused on cases that impact our nation. I'm all "Hey Chief Justice Whats-yer-name. I appreciate you stopping by, but really it's just laundry and I can handle it. And shouldn't you be in Washington right now? That robe looks hot. Are you wearing anything under there?" and he says "Under where?" and we both laugh hard because he said "underwear" and it also implies that's all he's wearing, and pulling off such elaborate jokes on distinguished members of our government is pretty much a God-given gift of mine. It's not a superpower but it's close.

Yeah. I'm totally stalling.

When doing a Google Search for "Ancient Chinese Secret", porn is like 4 pictures away.

* Did you ever notice that every Disney movie features the phrase "adventure of a lifetime" in the preview voice-over? They are all "A dog, a kangaroo, and a dill pickle must battle the odds and set off on the adventure of a lifetime!" and then I'm all "Whose lifetime? Not mine, because I've sat through dozens of these motherfuckers. " And then the kids looks at me funny for swearing and I tell them it's okay because I've been drinking.

** According to the commercial Calgon© only got clothes 30% cleaner and that's pretty awful if you ask me. And that "Ancient Chinese Secret, Huh?" lady needs a punch in the doudenum***, but not by me because I save all my moves for the dance floor.

***I've been using "doudenum" a lot in sentences involving punching lately, and I don't know why. This is a rare glimpse into my personal life so if you aren't honored than you're doing something wrong.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Questioning the Answers

So there I was, minding my own business and looking up semi-dirty phrases and using Google's new fill-in-the-blank feature so that when I type "I kissed your" I get :

but nothing is coming back super-funny so I try to go crazier, and I typed "I want to stick it in your armpit". Now, if you were to ask me why that phrase was the first thing to pop into my mind I would probably just look at you blankly for a minute and then fake a seizure, only you wouldn't know I was faking and you might stick your wallet in my mouth while you waited for the ambulance, so I would totally  a) have your wallet and b) not have to answer the question. Win/win.  I don't think that is any reflection on me is my point, if you are a sicko who wants to know where that link takes you,you'll have to look it up for yourself. As for me. I was sidetracked by this question:

Toothpaste? Armpit?  Wait...what? 

I guess of all the things you could put in your armpit, toothpaste makes a modicum of sense. I DOES eliminate smells. But that wasn't what the question implied. It says "..GIVES you..." and that, dear friends is why I gave up on my porn-based research and followed the link*. I HAD to know what it gave you. Superpowers? Gold Coins? A natural pheromone that attracts all members of the opposite sex like moths to a bug zapper?  And the answer! "While I don't recommend putting strange things in your armpits..." is just BEGGING for a "BUT". (That's what she said!)

So I went and looked and it turns out putting toothpaste in your armpit just gives you a sticky, albeit minty-fresh armpit and no gold coins or superpowers or dwarves to do your bidding, and that's the dumbest witchcraft I've ever heard of and I want my money back. Seriously. If your going to tease me with putting weird stuff in your armpits than it ought to at least be a terrific lie that captures the imagination.  So I helped.

Your welcome. This is how my genius will save the world, I'm sure of it.

Let's Pretend this One Isn't About Boobies, But Rather Philosophy

I just started to write this whole blog and it was all about unemployment and Pop Tarts and weeping, but I decided that I didn't want to be depressing because I am a positive person and if I wrote about all of that stuff at 6am maybe you would read it and want to go back to bed because I sure as hell did, so instead I think I'll write about porn.

Hattori Hanso: You can't write about porn. This is a family blog.
Me: Says who? And besides porn IS a family topic. Everyone likes porn.
HH: That's not true. Some people downright hate it.
Me: Wait...what?
HH: It's true. Some people find it to be disgusting.
Me: Even WITH the boobies?
HH: BECAUSE of the boobies.
Me: How can anyone hate boobies? They are like... magical givers of life. That's like hating unicorns or God or pixie dust or a really good cherry pie.
HH: Some people find them offensive.
Me: Some people are jerks. If I could make one holiday it would be The International Day of Boobies and everyone could run around topless and there could be a big boob-themed parade* and boob hats, and boob shirts and boob cakes and everyone would have to drink milk all day unless you are lactose intolerant... Hey! Maybe THAT'S why some people hate boobies!
HH: Because they are lactose intolerant?
Me: Right! Like, looking at boobs triggers some sort of allergic reaction!
HH: I don't think that's why.
Me: It's the only thing that makes sense, damn it! Look, I'm trying to be reasonable here but there are limits to what even my intellect can tolerate.
HH: And people not liking porn is on that list?
Me: Your MOM is on that list.
HH: We have the same mom, because I'm pretend so this insult pretty much makes no sense.
Me: Your MOM makes no sense.

I just did a search for "International Breast Day" and there wasn't one except for ones relating to Breast Cancer Awareness, which isn't even a little funny, and is totally a charity we should all support, and then I did a search for "International Boob Day" and it said "Did you mean International BOOK day?" and I was all "NO!" so apparently Google is one of those people who hate porn and now I hate them, except it's Google so really I love them. 

When you search for anything with the word "boob" in it you get some crazy results and then I remembered that my Moderate Safe Search filter was off from the other day when I was looking up vaguely dirty words like "dink" to see how long it took me to find porn, because I am an amazing scientist and I always am doing research to better mankind, and the sad thing is, this is a true story.

A knitted Boobie hat from Etsy by someone calling themselves KinkyCrochet

* I mean a parade of large size celebrating boobs, not a parade devoted solely to big boobs because that's racist or something and I'm not that fussy.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Another Tale of Dog Poop

It is a story as ancient as the hills. 

A story that was old when man first stepped forth as an upright primate ready to assail the world with his need for global dominance and his desire to bend the very environment to meet his needs. 

It is the story of the dog who is crapping in my yard, and it really isn't that old at all, I just like being dramatic but the point is, today... I caught him in the act.  HA! And people said all those millions of dollars I spent at Genius Detective School wouldn't pay off! Well who's laughing now? Seriously. I'd like to know because I'm not. A serious detective genius such as myself never gloats. Mostly because it opens us up to criticism about our own lifestyle, and who wants to look in THAT mirror?

I was minding my own business, inventing something revolutionary or solving an ancient riddle that has perplexed mankind for eons or eating some pie, when I heard the Saddest Dog in the World start bellowing like his back half had suddenly turned into a cat but he couldn't chase it because he was too slow with just his front legs and on top of that he knows that he gets whacked on the nose with the rolled-up newspaper when he chases his feline half and woe is him. I look out the window just in time to see the turdy bandit popping a squat right by my right front tire, which is like, RIGHT UNDER MY WINDOW, and this blatant showing of disrespect can only be attributed to bad parenting and I totally want to call child protective services on someone now*, only for dogs.
Artist Conceptualization of cat-dog hybrid

I run out of the house, bathrobe flapping behind me like a baby blue, terrycloth cape and I say " Dog, would you mind not doing that please? I find your feces to be highly offensive from an olfactory standpoint, and quite frankly looser than is probably healthy for you." Either that or I scream "Motherfucker!" at it and slip on the ice of my stoop and totally wipe out. And then I look around to see if anyone saw me and I'm grateful I put on underwear today and then the dog comes over and sniffs me whilst I'm lying there and then it walks away in no particular hurry.

And then I stepped in an old pile of his crap.

Dog 2, Kurt 0

* To make myself feel better I called Child Protective Services on my neighbor claiming that I heard them talk about how they use an old fridge as their "Quiet Box" when the kids are being obnoxious and also that I've seen them put a plastic bag and a rubber band over their kids heads, and they call this the "Dream Helmet" when the kids won't go to sleep, and sure I probably made it all up, but WHAT IF I'M ACTUALLY PSYCHIC and am just know getting in touch with my powers?!! Who knows what goes on over there that makes that damn dog so sad. I told the cops my name was George Bush. I totally think they bought it.

UPDATE: My lawyer says that's illegal and I shouldn't do it again. Bail was cheap this time. Win/Win.

Philanthropy and Purple Nurples

3am is the perfect time for some things, like writing blogs and ghosts*, and since I am not the disembodied, ethereal form of a vengeful human spirit looking to exact justice upon those that killed me in some horrible fashion, like poisoning me so they could inherit my deed to the old coal mine I owned but didn't know was sitting on a huge oil deposit, I think I'll write a blog.

I learned a lot of things this weekend, and being the great philanthropist that I am, I have decided to share that wisdom with you so long as you are willing to use the definition of philanthropist that goes "one who bestows others with his great wisdom and insight" and not the one that goes "gives money to poor people", because I know you are all too proud for that and I'm just thinking of your self-esteem and besides what would you do with that money, spend it on booze and food and maybe clothing, that's what. Trust me. I'm totally helping you by not helping you. My Dad once said "Don't give that hobo your money, dumbass." and he was a great philanthropist too, only he used the "I'm going to hit you if you do something stupid" definition of philanthropy, which is really the least charitable and the most painful, so you should be glad I'm just kicking some mad wisdom your way instead.

The first thing I learned this weekend was that there are friendly nipple pinches and unfriendly nipple pinches and if you ever confuse the two you're going to end up in the backroom of some grocery store with tall metal shelves and bad overhead lighting and the cops are on their way, and I'm sorry, Your Highness, but you should have known better than to get between me and the last homemade apple pie, and besides you looked like you enjoyed it for a second, but maybe in retrospect, that was more "surprise and alarm", than "arousal and gratification". My point is, if you live in a town where the D.A. is a stickler for ALL the sexual assault laws, you should probably just let them have the pie. **

The second thing I learned is that you don't actually need to have learned more than one thing to write a blog. Sometimes you can just come in with one really funny thing (debatable) and then throw a paragraph on the end to look like there was a second thing when there wasn't. And sure some people will be all "Gyp***!" but you can always just respond with something nonsensical like "Gyp you!" and then you can run away, because this is a free service anyway(s) and if you give someone something for free that makes you a philanthropist. And now you've brought the whole thing full-circle and they can be inspired by your greatness, and I think I'm going to have another cookie and then try to get some more sleep because this goddamn ridiculous.


*Also, cookies!

**This entire "life lesson" is made up and I do not endorse pinching anyones boobies who have not previously indicated that they would like you  to do so, because that would be negligent of me and I think by this point we all know how much the uptight judges in this stinking town are out to get me so I obviously would never really do that, and besides I totally beat her to the pie because I was willing to shove and she was willing to fall.****

*** I looked up the spelling of "gyp" online and I had a choice between "gip" or "gyp"  and I went with the "y" one because it seems fancier. And I am nothing if not a fancy gentleman. Unless pie is involved, than all bets are off, Sister.

**** For those keeping score, this also means that this entire blog is fictitious and there's not a lick of wisdom in the whole thing so go ahead and try and revoke my title of philanthropist.  DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY!!!

Friday, February 13, 2009

Agile Like a Mink

So it's almost the weekend and I probably will disappear again because these international swimsuit models and I have a huge backlog of crimes to solve, so I might not be able to stop in and see what's going on, what with all the jetsetting, and karate chopping and impromptu tickle fights. But I thought I'd leave you all with a couple of thoughts, and then when I get back we can sit down and talk about your feelings if you wish.*


My son informed me today that the reason he is superior to me is because I am "old and rickety" and he is "agile like a mink". The Boy is 8. I'm not sure whether to be super-offended or super-proud. I think the best plan is to continue to drink, because nothing drowns out scary emotions that I don't understand like my good friend whisky. What's that, whisky? Your bottle is too full? Let me see if I can't help you out.


The End.

ps: The picture comes from the obviously-labeled I've seen a lot of them before but not all of them and the people's comments? I'm not saying this should be our currency after our money is done exploding, but it IS priceless.

*Remember kids! "Porn", "Burrito", and "Hot Dog" are all valid emotions here! Let's grow together!

Screw You, Bad Day!

If someone had come up to me yesterday and said "Boy, you sure are havin' one of those days!" I would have punched them so hard in the throat that when the cops came to arrest me for assault they would look at the carnage and they would book me for vehicular manslaughter or assault with a deadly weapon and I would be able to brag to my cell mates that my fists were deadly weapons, and that would give me mad street cred,yo.

You see, I had a bad day.

Now I don't want to get into it because with all the diplomats and the possible revocation of my license to kill, and the fact that pandas are still an endangered species, it would take too long. But let's just say justice prevailed and that you are safer from the hordes of COMMUNIST bears than you were yesterday and here's a little known fact: You have to be a diplomat to yell "Diplomatic Immunity!" like the South African guy at the end of "Lethal Weapon 3" and have it work, and why does my shirt smell like bamboo?

In fact, yesterday was so bad that if you took all the bad days and lined them up and picked two captains and made them play dodgeball, my day yesterday would be the last one picked and when it finally was, after the blue team captain made a particularly emotional plea to the gym teacher to let them play one short instead, it would just stand there and when the whistle blew one of the cool, athletic bad days would pants it and all the girl bad days would point and laugh. And screw you guys, I hadn't even hit my growth spurt yet because it was only 11th grade*.

In fact, I wish more than anything I could somehow, magically personify that bad day, because I would make it Spencer Pratt and then I would kick it in the junk and when it was doubled over I would be all "Heidi Montag is a skank, yo**. And the two of you publicity whores are going to rot in a special hell made especially for talentless faux reality show hacks and that one is even lower than the ninth circle where the Devil is frozen in the middle of a lake according to Dante.***"

Or maybe I would just turn it into a cookie and eat it. That would be delicious.

* This is a fictional account and in no way represents actual events. Because I could never be pantsed, and it was 8th grade and Brady Hubler is a jerk.

**The "yo" is what you have to add to every sentence if you want street cred. I saw it on MTV Cribs, yo.

*** This literary reference is just to bring up the intelligence level of this blog a bit because if blogs were brains, this one just got pantsed by Brady Hubler.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

The Interview Process Explained

So I'm going to my first post-employment job interview and I think I am totally ready to impress them because I have picked out my clothes and ironed them and it was hard to finally take off the bathrobe but you gotta do what you gotta do.  

I like job interviews because they give me a unique opportunity to talk about how wonderful I am without people going "Man. That guy is arrogant. I wish he'd shut up." but what the hell do they know? They're riding the bus too, so it's not like they're so great. Job interviews are completely opposite from the time a guy asked me to stop talking about all my positive qualities so he could concentrate and I just flexed my muscles at him and said "Aargh!" like a pirate and he was all "This prostate exam is only going to take that much longer if you don't stop screwing around." That guy was a jerk. At least I don't EXPECT any anal probing during the interview process, but what do I know? I'm not a mind-reader.

I think I'm going to go with the glow-in-the-dark vampire teeth, because they say "Yeah, I'm a super-powerful creature of the night, but I am not without whimsy." and I think that would make me a valuable asset to pretty much every company on the planet and also I want to suggest that the company change their logo to incorporate a cool-ass panda like the World Wildlife fund© and if they think that's a bad idea then obviously they suck, because putting bears or zombies or monsters on your logo is the way of the new millenium and if they're stuck in the 20th century, than screw them. I'm also going with the Superman cape instead on the regular one. I think we all know why.

Hattori Hanso: You aren't really going out in public like that are you?
Kurt: Look, do you want this job or not?
HH: At least put some pants on.
Kurt: What? You want to work for a bunch of prudes?
HH: I'm just going to keep my mouth shut.
Kurt: Your Mom wishes she could keep her mouth shut!

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Letter of Complaint: Vitamins

Dear Vitamin People,

I wanted to drop you a note about a curious thing that happened the last time I took one of your "Total Man© Formula" vitamins. I'm not normally one to write to complain but in this instance I think it makes total sense and I am using superior reasoning and you should just sit back and listen because your response to this will pretty much decide whether or not I put you in jail for a thousand years so that even your bones have to be in jail.

I'm onto you, is my point.

You see, I've been fighting a cold, so naturally, being a Total Man©, I turned to your vitamins to get me over the hump. And if any of you executive-types laughed at my using the word "hump" it just goes to show how immature you are and that's probably why I am suffering, so good job that just cost you a million dollars. Keep laughing d-bags! Anyway(s) I took your vitamins to protect me from the germs and the bacteria and the microbes and whatnot and also from witchcraft because I read somewhere that Vitamin B is good for keeping off the hexes* , but I swallowed wrong and the pill touched my tongue and this is the part that's going to cost you so listen up.

It totally tasted like a Milkbone© brand dog biscuit.

The thing is, I have never tasted a Milkbone© brand dog biscuit, that I can remember, so how is it that I know what that even means? I'll tell you how. You hypnotized me and made me eat dog biscuits, that's how. And that sir, is really effed up. Why would you do that? I think there is seriously something wrong with you, like maybe your mom used to tie you to the vacuum cleaner in the closet so she could have illicit sex with hoboes without being disturbed by you, you little bastard or something** or maybe you had Dengue Fever as a child and it destroyed the part of your brain that allows you to discern right from wrong and now you travel through this world as a haunted shell of a person, unable to feel and you capture women and put them in your van and make them put lotion on their skin but don't get cocky because here comes Clarice Starling, you prick.

I don't know why you would choose me to hypnotize or why you made me eat dog biscuits or why you subsequently chose to make your Total Man Vitamins taste like them, but the gig is up. If I don't get a whole bunch of money delivered to my house in like the next 15 seconds I am totally going to the cops. And don't try any voodoo either because I have a friend at the paper and if he doesn't hear from me in the next hour, he's going to open the package I sent him and then you are going down for sure.***


ps: Taking more than the recommended dosage of your vitamins does not imbue the customer with super-powers, so that's pretty much false advertising and that's going to cost you extra.

pps: I just checked Wikipedia and this doesn't qualify as extortion because "Extortion requires that the individual sent the message "willingly" and "knowingly" as elements of the crime" and I think we can both agree that I'm not willingly sending this. Your Dog Biscuit Gambit forced my hand.

* To be fair I read about that in my mind, so while it doesn't have strict empirical evidence backing it, I think we can all agree that I'm never wrong. Zing! That's another million!

** This scenario never happened to me, and it's just a coincidence how many "uncles" I have with the words "banjo", "rails", or "dirtypants" in their names.

*** My contact at the paper may or may not be the drunk guy who sleeps on their stoop at night and thinks that it is 1956 and also that aliens live in his teeth and are biting his tongue on purpose as they are trying to devour him. Also, the package does not contain some string I found and a half-eaten Pop Tart©, it contains all manner of really damning evidence and many documents so pay up.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Growing Antlers for the Circus

A few days ago I left, what I thought to be, a brilliant comment on my friend Vic's blog about how I want my kids to grow antlers for the mad circus money that would follow, and I'm not saying those words have haunted me ever since, but if I lived in a broken-down Victorian mansion I would be sleeping with a crucifix clutched tightly to my bosom* for fear of them because they are up in the attic clanking around some chains.

Now I don't want you to go flying off the handle and be all "Antlers on children? That's inhumane!" because I totally called PETA and asked and they said that if I ate meat I was the devil anyway(s), so a couple of horns on the kids might actually make sense, and then I called the World Wildlife Fund, mostly because of the cool-ass panda on their logo, and I asked them if it was inhumane and they were all "Please stop calling us.", so that pretty much affirms what I originally thought. Antlers on kids equals super-humane genius. So I think we've all learned a valuable lesson here.

The thing is, at first they would be embarrassed by them, I mean... I can't just send them to the circus with little Bambi-nubs, which sounds so much like a porn thing I feel guilty for having written it, and now I've typed "children" and "porn" in the same blog and if anyone googles "child pornography" I might pop up. Shit, I just typed it again. This blog is so not about THAT.  

Where was I? Right. Bambi-nubs. I think for the first year they would have to wear a knit hat to school everyday because I love them and don't want them to be made fun of for having antlers, because the costs of therapy might negate some of the mad circus money that is going to follow. But I know for a fact that the circus pays better if your kids have a full rack on them instead of the little prong-horn dealies. And when I say I "know for a fact", I mean 'I'm guessing" because if I ran a circus and some guy tried to sell me his children get his children a legal job with me and they only had tiny horns I would pay less to enslave them than the prevailing wage.

Also, the Boy having a weapon growing out of his skull sounds a little dangerous, so a nice knit hat might keep him from stabbing me with his head.

This blog concept just totally ran out of steam... I have nothing else to say on the subject. But I think we can all agree that making a whole blog out of a comment is pretty much impossible and to try means I am an innovator and a daredevil. Like Batman. 

So that you don't feel ripped off, here's a video of what the Wrath of Khan© would look like as an Italian Opera performed by claymation action figures. You're welcome.

video from Robot Chicken©.

* I could be all immature and point out that I said "bosom" but I'm way beyond that and sometimes my maturity is truly amazing, like that time we were driving around downtow, drunk out of our** minds and screaming obscenities at the hoboes. I totally kept my hands at "ten and two" on the steering wheel because "safety first!". Also bosom means chest not boobies.

** The usage of "our" and "we" here is meant to imply I was not alone, in my bathrobe, and it's 10am and I'm crying.

Monday, February 9, 2009

PopTart© Ninja Lawyers Attack!

I have the Google Analytics© widget installed on my blog because I like surrounding myself with meaningless data on the off-chance someone will say "Hey. Tell me how many hits you had on your blog last month from Paraguay or I'll force you to drive this bus at 60mph without stopping or it'll blow up.", and then I'm in a Keanu Reeves© movie, and that is a curse and a blessing at the same time because on one hand he's a moron, but on the other hand he's still a moron but funny in his badly-acted loutiness*, so I better be able to tell them about my Paraguayian* fan base.  

I'm perusing the list of server locations and trying to figure out who-is-who amongst my readers based solely on your screen handles and where I think that sounds like you come from,  when I notice that someone has searched for me based on the image I used last week of the PopTart© logo.  

I'm officially in a tizzy© now.

 I'm positive that the international Pop Tart© consortium or cartel** is going to send out goons© or lawyers© or zombies© to injuct all over me for using their logo without probable cause**, and they will not think that it is funny and they will use their knowledge of my favorite flavor against me because that's the kind of sick bastards they are. They'll be all "Low-fat Strawberry©, eh? Well, all we have to do is chase him for a while and Tubby© will just fall over. I mean...we're not talking about Jason Bourne© here. Dude© eats LF." And they will totally use the acronym "LF" for low-fat, because they are serious professionals and they will also call me "Dude." because they want their victims to not have names like Buffalo Bill© did when he called that poor girl in the hole "It" in "Silence of the Lambs©" and how the hell did I even get myself in this mess?

Now I am all paranoid about the PopTart© ninjas and have gone to great lengths to protect myself from further violations©, but my understanding of international copyright law is about the same as a Cottonmouth Rattlesnake©'s understanding of the Judeo-Christian© mythologic archtypes present in Blade Runner©****, so I guess I just better be extra careful.

And if you think for one second the whole point of this blog was to show off that after 25 years of keyboarding I finally bothered to look up how to make a copyright symbol than you are so wrong I can't even stand it. 

Also, what are you psychic?

* I probably made up this word. I'm like the new Webster's© dictionary, only taller.

**Whichever is more evil. I think the consortium is more like a think-tank and they're the ones responsible for all the new flavors*, while the cartel is probably all about "black ops"

***My understanding of criminal law is impressive. I think "probable cause" is like when you get pulled over and the cops accuse you of kidnapping someone probably 'cause your trunk has a person in it who is bound and gagged. Hypothetically speaking.

**** This is the only thing I remember from "Film Theory©" class in college besides the fact that the girl who sat next to me had nice cans***** and how long until the next cigarette break, anyway(s) ?

*****It's not sexist because I said they were "nice".  In fact, if you are offended I have the right to press charges probably 'cause you are sexually harrassing me with your mind.

UPDATE: I had to remove two usages of "totally" from this blog and one instance where I typed "me" instead of "my" because I didn't want you to think I had suddenly been shanghaied by pirates, even though that would be about the best day of my life.

Friday, February 6, 2009

This Is Pretty Much The Dumbest Thing I've Ever Written

Because God says I'm not allowed to sleep anymore, I was up all night, and by "up" I mean "lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, and generally being miserable". So now instead of napping, I'm totally awake and need something to do. I thought I'd go see "Push" maybe because it's a movie about mind bullets, and I have been told that my superpower rankings need to be reconsidered and what better way to do that research than to go see a movie about it. I'm pretty much an ace reporter. You should call me "Scoop" and I could wear a fedora and have a notepad and that would be boss.

Anyway(s), I looked up a synopsis online to see how "Pew! Pew! Pew!" this movie is and I read this:

"After his father, an assassin, is brutally murdered, Nick Gant (Chris Evans) vows revenge on Division, the covert government agency that dabbles in psychic warfare and experimental drugs. Hiding in Hong Kong's underworld, Nick assembles a band of rogue psychics dedicated to destroying Division. Together with Cassie (Dakota Fanning), a teenage clairvoyant, Nick goes in search of a missing girl and a stolen suitcase that could be the key to accomplishing their mutual goal"

Only because I'm so tired I read that last sentence as "... the key to accomplishing their mutual GOAT." And for a second I thought. "What the Eff is a mutual goat?" and then I tried to imagine what a mutual goat would be, and I thought it was probably one that you kept in the backyard because you are too cheap to buy a lawnmower and he wanders around eating all the weeds and tin cans you have out there and you have to share him with your neighbor because he's a MUTUAL goat. And then I thought about what a crappy yard you must have if it has enough tin cans in it to feed a goat. You pretty much have to be throwing ALL your garbage out the window. Have some respect for the environment, man! And then I imagined the HUGE pile of refuse that must build up under your window while it was your cheapskate neighbor's turn to use the goat and that's disgusting and I bet you have roaches, you filthy bastard. And then I re-read the last sentence of the synopsis and my whole goat-based scenario just kind of unraveled.

I don't know how one would "accomplish" a goat anyway(s), and it's probably sexual, so I'M not going to start thinking about it and instead I think it's time to try napping again. Stupid goats.

UPDATE: I was just lying there thinking about people using their mind bullets to make other people have sex with goats and a ladybug fell in my mouth. Note to self: close mouth while sleeping. Also: re-evaluate Mind Bullets on super-power list.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

The Case of The Hillbilly Sad Dog

My hillbilly neighbors brought home a hound of some sort over the weekend and what they didn't know when they bought it is that it is THE SADDEST DOG IN THE WORLD, and pretty much spends its whole lonely day baying at the ceiling which is, coincidentally, right under my bed. Now I'm not sure what kind of treaties we have in place with the dogs, but I'm pretty sure THAT is a direct violation of them and I now wish to set up an international tribunal to bring this dog to justice.

I was going to try and make him happy. Like, I really thought about ways that I could. My first thought was that maybe a funny greeting card would cheer him up, but then I remembered that he probably can't read so that was stupid, but then I thought I could dip the whole thing in gravy and then he would get a greeting card that WOULD make him happy. And then I started thinking of other things I could dip in gravy for him and the first thing I thought of was my neighbor and how this very sad dog would probably enjoy eating the very source of his woe and that there was a certain justice in it. But I'm no convicted murderer*, so that one was out. Then I thought he might enjoy a Pop Tart dipped in gravy. And then I thought I might enjoy one of those, except without the gravy. And then I had a Pop Tart. I know, right? That was a very unexpected turn of events. This blog is pretty much like the X-files all the time.

Next I thought about all these lousy, expired cat antidepressants I'm on and I wondered if maybe I might try and slip one of those to the dog, but I'd have to break into the house to do it, and just then a policeman would drive past and he'd be all "Excuse me, Sir. What are you doing?" and I'd be all "Nothing, Fascist." and he's be all "Then why do you have on black tights and a black and white striped shirt and a Lone Ranger mask? And why are you walking on your tiptoes? And why do you have a crowbar and a handful of expired cat antidepressants?" and then I'd try to kick him in the nuts so I could run away, but he would anticipate it and just hit me in the head with his billyclub and call me "Boy-O" and then I'd end up in Juvie because I look so young and handsome for my age. But how was I supposed to know I would have to face the greatest detective mind of our generation?

So instead I just took the cat antidepressants myself, and I am expecting the coma to last through the rest of the day, so who's laughing now? Me. That's who.

*The "convicted" part was on purpose.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

My Stupid 25 Things Reposted Here for Posterity

So I totally did one of those "25 Things About Me" notes on Facebook, and it was a lot of work so this is me reposting  it here. I hope you find me as entertaining as I do. I wrote it in a fit of sleeplessness from 4am-5:20am.  Crime never sleeps, so neither can I. 

1. I don't do tags.

2. That would be the end of my list if I was really funny, but I'm not and I suppose I hold a tiny bit of school yard reverence to the lofty history of the "tag" which is why I'm even bothering with this. I wonder what that says about me psychologically. Probably that I'm awesome. Just a guess.

3. I have a cat named Mr. Spits who is completely blank. I mean REALLY stupid. If you stare into his eyes for long enough it begins to feel like your falling. And one time I did, except it was because I was trying to kick him but I missed because he's wily. <--untrue.

4. I'm going to be making up a lot of these, so you'll just have to try and figure out the real ones. That makes it more like a game. Which is good for you as long it isn't a game like "Operation" which I totally sucked at. Shit. That counts as a random fact. I should have saved it for later.

5. I can shoot people with my mind and start fires like Drew Barrymore before she did coke and then made those stupid effing Charlie's Angels movies, because everyone knows it's not Charlie's Angels without Farah. Where was I? Oh yeah. Mind Bullets. Pew! Pew! Pew!

6.There has never been a time in my life where I didn't watch cartoons. I could be all "Pfft. Yeah, I watch cartoons, because I have kids." but that wouldn't be the truth. I watch them because people get hit in the head with things. And that, to me, is what America is all about. That and porn. <---also untrue, Porn is global.

7. I have a blog called The Monster Apathy and this isn't just a fact, it's a shameless plug for myself. Freedom of speech, Baby. My point is, if you don't read it, you're a pinko bastard. And I'm not trying to be a lawyer or anything but it's probably a violation of my constitutional rights if you are ignoring me.

8. Facebook inspires me to write "effing" instead of the much more natural "fucking" for some reason I can't put my finger on. Maybe because I know all of you for real, but if that were it then you KNOW I would never say "effing" and you must be all "What the Eff is Kurt's problem? Why won't he swear? And why is he so sexy?" I'm not trying to put words in your mouth, but you said it, not me. <-- untrue

9. It was 4am when I started writing this, but that's okay. I was having this weird dream about scuba diving for treasure and ended up in a fancy restaurant. Freud said something intelligent about dreams one time, but he had a funny beard, so screw him.

10. I'm pretending to be halfway done at this point, so don't tell me I still have 15 to go or I'll be all "Efffff!". Only I'll say "fuck". (see #8 for details)

11. I am seriously writing a young adult novel about the survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse. Because I believe the children are our future. Well...children and zombies.

12. I can spell "apocalypse" without looking it up because of all the times I've used it in reference to zombies. <-- untrue, I looked it up to be sure I wasn't being super-stupid and bragging about it AND THEN spelling it wrong, but that was only AFTER I had written it twice, so it totally counts.

13. I forget how often I vomit. I'll be all "I haven't thrown up in two years!" and then someone will always say "You just threw up 2 months ago." and then I'll be all "Oh yeah." So obviously, vomiting makes me time travel and I hang out with assholes who won't let me forget when I've puked.

14. I can travel through time.

15. The first thing I watched On-Demand, was an episode of "Welcome Back, Kotter" and it sucked so bad I drove to LA and punched John Travolta in the nuts. <---untrue. But it did suck.

16. I hate Keenu Reeves so much that I like him. Now when I watch "Point Break" I can't figure out if I like it for how bad it is and I'm being ironic, or if I hate it for how much I like it and am just being stupid. Irony is tricky. It's like horseshoes only with your mind.

17. I passed the halfway point a while ago and totally didn't notice, because of how naturally gifted I am at writing. <--- untrue, I totally noticed and when I got done with #12 I was all "THAT was totally the halfway point." so this one is pretty much completely false. Also, 12 is not half of 25.

18.I totally suck at "Operation".Shut up.

19. I have a Star Wars Day-by-Day calendar and the drawing for Groundhog's Day was of the Rancor, and that's totally boss. You might think I was running out of ideas for this stupid list and just looking around the room for things to write about, but you would be totally wrong. And screw you for judging me in the first place. What? You're so great?

20. I used the word "boss" in an email 2 weeks ago and wasn't even trying to be funny. It just slipped out. But in email, nothing ever really slips out. So I guess I wrote it on purpose and was trying to get a laugh. Why am I so effing needy? (see #8)

21. I am totally not needy and carry around no baggage. I am so unbelievably awesome that when you line up all the awesome things in the world by order of bossness, I would be the effing line leader. I would walk all of us to art class in a quiet. orderly, single file line and make such a cool drawing using construction paper and glitter and glue that the art teacher would rip off her clothes and she's really Megan whatserface from the Transformer movie and she wants to have sex but I say "No." because I'm so cool. And then guitars wail in the background and an eagle flies by and it's screaming and two unicorns break through the wall and start having sex and it's the best day ever because that was TOTALLY the subject of my glitter drawing.

22. I'm getting tired and silly.

23.My alarm is going to go off in 30 minutes.

24. I really think 21 was pretty much the pinnacle of my career as a writer and maybe now I should sit back on my laurels and wait for the book deals to come rolling in. Here's one now. It's labeled "occupant".

25. I am too lazy to spell check. This is especially clever because now if you go back and read this and find a spelling error you can be all "He wasn't kidding about the spell check." and then you can smile and shake your head and think "That Kurt! He's such a clever, sexy, genius who can time travel and shoot bullets with his mind. What would we do without him? I better go subscribe to him at http://"