A Resoundingly Good Show

In a semi-continuation of my second to last post, in which I discussed things I liked and why it was important I liked them, the following is a semi-abstract look at items and ideas I am currently consuming, as well as a joke that might accompany the item (as found in my electronic Jokemaster) and my response to the joke:

The Jokemaster.

Good Show: Jack Black and Will Forte
Jack Black gave the first entertaining Saturday Night Live monologue I've seen since that one where Woodrow Wilson compared the League of Nations to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Sorry Alec Baldwin, but your monologue last week in which you showed pictures of previous times you'd been on the show just didn't translate as well on screen as it might have in a photo album. Will Forte gets "propositions" here for taking part in what was unfortunately the only funny skit in the rest of the show. I won't ruin the plot of the skit for all you slow-watchers, but it actually catered to Jack Black's talents of singing and being absurd. Which is unusual, because SNL writers usually write skits that don't cater to the host's talents at all, giving them parts that any Buck or Gina off the street could play. The show sucks.
Joke: (In reference to the fact that SNL is digging it's own grave) How much dirt is in a hole 12 feet wide by 14 feet deep? None! Holes don't have anything in them!
My response to the joke: Is this really good enough of a joke to put into an electronic device? This is an old joke and would probably be better suited for a time capsule... which would be buried in a hole!

Good Show: Monthy Python

Not much analysis here. I've just begun to watch the old shows and they are living up to the "hype" (a showbiz term for "expectations"). Really emphasizes how bad Saturday Night Live is. Dear Amy Poehler on Weekend Update, I don't know why you're pausing for 5 seconds inbetween each joke. It's really awkward. Sincerely, Boobird in Brookfield.
Joke: (In reference to the fact that Napoleon was featured shortly in the episode I watched tonight) What do you get when you throw a grenade into a French kitchen? Linoleum blownapart!
My response to the joke: This is one of the best jokes I've heard in a long time. It's almost surreal in quality, which gives me hope that I will be able to enjoy this joke even after I die.

Bad Show: Liverpool.

I stayed up until past 6 AM last night to watch the international club championship between British Liverpool and Brazilian Sao Paolo. The result was 1-0 in favor of Sao Paolo, even though they had 0 corners to Liverpool's 17. Dear Liverpool, My great-grandad is from your city, so I've decided to root for you (behind Sparta Praha and DC United, I mean). Please don't lose, although I realize that my supporting you is probably a curse against winning. Sincerely, the worst person other than murderous stalkers to have like you.
Joke: (In reference to the fact that the Orioles, my favorite and thus cursed sports team, are located in Maryland) Maryland's new state motto: If you can dream it, we can tax it.
My response to the joke: A tax joke? I'm pretty sure that tax jokes could be applied to almost every other state, and perhaps even be a bit more relevant in a few. There are a lot better topics to riff off of for Maryland than taxes: Crabcakes, the Mason-Dixon Line, Edgar Allen Poe, etc.

Good Show: The phrase "Good housing."

An indoor pool? Good housing!

I've decided to use this phrase as much as I can whenever I get the chance. Chances will make themselves aware in the following fashion: 1.) I will enter somebody's house (including, possibly, my own). 2.) I will notice something I find aesthetically pleasing. 3.) I will point to the display or arrangement that pleases me. 4.) I will say to the owner of the house: "Good Housing!"
Joke: Not applicable, due to the fact that the Jokemaster is insanely loud, doesn't have a mute button, and it's 3 AM.
My response to the joke: Not funny at all. This seems more like an explanation of why there isn't a joke than a joke.

So there you have it. A resoundingly good show!

Two is a Number

Apologies again for the delay. I must say that it's difficult keeping up with the pace, especially now that I'm webbery-ing for two. And no, I'm not talking about Jigsaw's Blog. Who knows where that maniacal "killer" lurks? I sure don't, but I would guess Hamburg. I noticed a bit of that Hamburg roll when he pronounced his "r"s in the last biopic. Not that Hamburg rolls are too discernable from Kaiser rolls.

Phonetics joke!

Anyway, here's why I'm now webbery-ing for two. Wil Wheaton, infamous for his role as Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation, was singled out by Forbes as having the best celebrity blog out there.

I'm a spaceboy!

I headed over to WilWheaton.net to check out the buzz, feel the beat, and all that other cool lingo that kids say nowadays when they go somewhere fun. Any urge I felt to connect to our youth, however, was quickly dissipated upon my arrival.

No written post since September 29?! Is this the kind of blogging timetable that wins you awards from Forbes?! Because if that is so, I would like to submit a hilarious entry from my "Here's to Goin' That-a-Way" series that chronicled a typical journey along the Oregon Trail. An excerpt from June 15, 1846 (I chose to head out in April):

My party seems to have arrived at Independence Rock. If you would permit me to speak in such a fashion, this trail is getting HARDER by the minute. Ah well. At least we are able to refill our rations here. It is almost as if we can start over with a new SLATE. Good morrow!

Haha wow does that take me back. I was at the peak of my game, with the rock jokes and all. Now I'm stuck with phonetics jokes about rolling "r"s. Ah well. At least the "r"s aren't ROCKing and rolling!

Back to Wesley Crusher. I noticed that he did at least post a hilarious picture on December 9th. It was a picture of a menu, and then...chuckle...the item on the menu was "Freedom Toast," and then...giggle...the caption said..."With Breakfast or against it!" Ha! Alright. I'll agree that that deserves awards.

But I demand more of it! Which is why I have taken to ghost-writing some entries for him. I decided to appeal to his Star Trek fanbase, while still holding to my webbery-ing strengths. He hasn't published my stuff yet for whatever reason, but here's a preview:

Hi I'm Wes Wheaton. I played Wesley Crusher on Star Trek. Klingons are attacking me! Help! No I shouldn't scream! I must stay strong! Klingons take advantage of people who GRAVEL...whoops! I mean grovel! Yay for Star Trek!

Wow. I don't want to turbocharge my own phaser, but I'm pretty sure that these kind of contributions will keep him at the top of the Forbes list for quite a while. If not, then I'm definitely against it. No, not breakfast! Forbes!

END

Things and Things

Although some of you out there may believe that the title of this post refers to taking an empty soda bottle from lunch and stuffing it with as much trash as you possibly can, it doesn't. But the "Fill the Bottle" game is awesome.

Moving on, the things and things that I'm referring to here are nothing more than "Things that I like a lot right now." In fact, I like them so much that I haven't updated this webbery in almost a week! I'm having too much fun!

Oh, and I'm still in partial hiding since the discovery of Jigsaw's Blog.

Anyway, here you go: A list of things that I like right now, Why I like them, and Why it's important to the world that I like them.

Thing I like: The Ultimate Hitchhiker's Guide

Why I like it: As much as I am embarassed that I only became aware of this literature due to a Hollywood movie, I am even more not embarassed that I read it. In fact, I'm not embarassed at all! I'm not even embarassed that I had glitter on my face yesterday (true story, don't ask). In any case, this collection of every Douglas Adams Hitchhiker's novel is full of genius and hilarious insights into modern societal inefficiences, all packaged into a captivating and endearing story about humanity and alienity. And no, I didn't copy that from the book jacket.
Why it's important to the world that I like it: This world in which I love this book is actually only one of a series of parallel Earths. Many of these Earths were actually destroyed to make room for an intergalactic bypass, but a few of them remain - the few in which I love this book! If I didn't love this book, it's very possible that the parallel universes would converge, time would fold itself back up to the point at which all the other Earths were destroyed, and my friendship with all of you might never have existed.

Thing I like: Animal Crossing

Why I like it: Because I'm an idiot. Even though I've had this Gamecube game for two years, I still get excited about waking up each day, heading down to the trading post, and seeing what kind of furniture is for sale. And let's not talk about the New Year's Eve that I was at home and actually went to check on the animals' celebration of the event (though I still have the free noisemaker I received for attending!)
Why it's important to the world that I like it: Who will weed the fictional village if I don't?! Who will go around and dig up fossils for the museum display?! Who will deliver Chow the Panda's glasses case to Tiara the Rhino?! Nobody will. The political, cultural, and emotional fabric of magical animal villages everywhere will deteriorate, and we will all be a little less happy.

Thing I like: Harvest Moon: A Wonderful Life

Why I like it: Because I'm even more of an idiot. This farming simulation (also for Gamecube) is, in my opinion, a step back from Harvest Moon 64. In HM 64 I was able to enter my vegetables and animals into competitions, for which I would receive prizes and, if lucky, product upgrades (like golden milk). From what I've seen playing into the autumn quarter of HM: AWL, I can't do any of this anymore. The seasonal festivals consist not of competitions, but of sitting around the "artist" Gustafa's hut and listening to him play his guitar. I wouldn't mind such a festival if the cutscenes were a little more entertaining and interactive, but they're not, so I do. Oh, and I hate Gustafa. Whenever I try to engage him in conversation, he says something pretentious like, "The fall is the perfect season for me to write poems in." Not only have I not seen his poems, but I doubt that someone who ends his sentences in prepositions can write even a semi-passable poem. I hate him so much.

What a bastard!

Why it's important to the world that I like it: Pretty much the same reason it's important for me to like Animal Crossing. Just replace "magical animal villages" with "magical seaside farming communities." And take out the Chow the Panda and Tiara the Rhino part, although I think that's pretty obvious.

Thing I like: My cats.

Why I like them: When I hide around the corner and poke my head out, they run for me and make a little "mew" sound. It's pretty cute, but then I get mad that I'm so bad at hiding around corners and I cry.
Why it's important to the world that I like them: It is written in the hieroglyphs of ancient Egpyt that cats will one day rise to rule us all with an iron and litter-scented fist. The longer I can entertain them with silly little games, the longer we have to build the feline death ray.

Thing I like: Having a job that I can do on the Internet.
Why I like it: Tutor.com is going to pay me to tutor kids from my own room. You'll understand how great this is when you replace "tutor kids" with "pretend to tutor kids but really ignore them and enjoy everything I've listed above." And also replace "my own room" with "a magical animal village."
Why it's important to the world that I like it: If I didn't work at home, I'd hold some office job where I'd attempt to undermine the entire corporate structure of America. This attempt would, of course, succeed in two to three months, and the American economy would fall apart. None of you would be able to afford food, so you would come to me begging for the virtual tomatoes I just grew in Harvest Moon. "I'm sorry," I would declare. "You came a bit late for the fall harvest. But here's a mushroom I picked in the forest. Enjoy."

Appeasement

As some of you know and others of you wish you knew, a couple of weeks ago I installed a so-called Statcounter on this page. Partly I wanted to see whether or not I could figure out html formatting, and mostly I wanted to see how many friends I have. Well , the results are in. The answers are "enough to follow simple html installation instructions" and "a few, but no girls."

The most fun I've had with this bit of software is seeing where in the world the IP hits come from (mostly Minnesota and Illinois, with a random few from wherever Matt Lauer is that day) and from what page they arrived to mine.

Which brings me to the policy of "appeasement."

Since the recent opening of the smash holiday classic In The Mix featuring the one and only Usher Raymond, I have been getting quite a few hits as the result of search engine queries for "Usher gay rumors." This phenomenon exists because, as you may recall, I once viciously assaulted (with words) a certain IMDB post concerning Usher's sexuality and religious arguments concerning sexuality that were unreasonably included therein. It was an assault that few had the courage to launch, especially in the manner that I did, which was the manner of not letting the IMDB post-er* I was attacking know that they were being attacked.

Needless to say, their silence echoed my victory.

But now I must appease the rumor millers, for they are a significant chunk of my audience. I must let them clonk around my webbery in their wooden shoes unhindered and unridiculed, knowing that I do not intend to burn their rumor mill down. Why would I burn the very mill that provides me with the grain of IP hits? From what would I make my daily bread of technology? Surely I cannot pray for my hunger to be filled, for I have ridiculed religion even more than I have ridiculed IMDB post-ers*. I must appease these gossip gobblers! Just as Churchill and FDR appeased Hitler! It is a policy that cannot fail.

So here you go, new friends. A rumor about Usher and his gayness:

"OMG I totally saw Usher at a coffee shop in SOHO this week and he had only one earring on and it was on his left ear! Doesn't that mean he's gay or something?!?!?!?!!?"

Enjoy! And as we media hounds say nowadays, "Spread the word. Not the bird. Flu."



*Post-er = someone who posts. Not to be confused with posters such as the large, glossy one of Celine Dion that got me through college finals. She will go wherever I go. And I know that our love will be true.
*Post-ers = The plural of post-er.

Omigosh Omigosh Omigosh

Currently, I'm hiding in a closet, under a bed, in a suit of armor, holding an ordinary houselamp that I am prepared to use as a weapon if need be.

I stumbled upon something horrible tonight. So horrible, in fact, that I may be dead before this post is even published. If that is the case, please don't use whatever I'm typing as my last words. Instead, use my actual last words, which were just "Get out," said to my little brother because he was in my room doing an impersonation of my dad waking me up. You wouldn't get it.

"Get out" would actually be some great last words. Especially if they were engraved on a huge mausoleum where my body was kept. And the mausoleum would be full of snakes and pits and spikes to keep people from getting to my body. Only they wouldn't know that the coffin held a fake body. My real body would really be hidden right behind the stone that said "Get out."

But back to the urgency of the present. The Jigsaw Killer is after me! I know he is. Why? A. Because that's what he does, and; B. Because of the following:

I was doing what I normally do on a Saturday night, which is slowly driving around Brookfield and looking at people's houses where I used to hang out. During this process, it dawned on me that I was a super-loser. I had to go home, do something cool, and do it quick before word got out to the ladies concerning my loser status.

What's cool nowadays? I wondered. Well, Napoleon Dynamite is pretty hip with the kids, and Napoleon loved to computer hack. So that's what I decided to do. Hack and hack until I felt some remnant of coolness drift back into my self.

However, just as I was up to the level of "kinda cool/maybe call for a movie if athletes have an away game," I made a huge mistake. I stumbled upon a blog entitled "Jigsaw's Blog." Hmm, I thought. I wonder who's writing a blog based on the protagonist/antagonist of the Saw movies? So I hacked the profile. Little did I know, that I was essentially hacking into a PDA - a PDA on which November 27th marked the date of my death!

The blog is actually*, truthfully*, and seriously* run by the Jigsaw Killer.

There is only one solution I can think of that can save me from some kind of cruel torture in which I must either hack into my own brain using a poison keyboard or die via computer virus. That solution is as follows:

Every one of you, my friends, who wants to post or comment on something in the voice of the Jigsaw Killer must use his profile. This will disperse the IP addresses enough so that I might have time to enter a witness protection program. Here is the information:

URL: jigsawblog.blogspot.com
Username: JigsawKiller
Password: yesblood

Please. I beg of you to help me and post as the Jigsaw Killer when your imagination feels it appropriate.

My mausoleum isn't due to be completed until late next year.

* (But not really)

Chairs in the Corner

I don't really have any organized thoughts as I begin to type this, but I feel as if I should please my fans by posting something at least once every three days. I know how it feels to be a fan who's been forgotten. I've gone to Mark Twain's site every day for the past 12 weeks. He hasn't updated once.

Oh here's something I like. Newsweek has a little box where it lists about six people or things and says whether their stock is rising or falling. I like that I can read this section while eating Captain Crunch in the morning so I don't have to think too hard. I don't like that it demonstrates Newsweek's and other newszines' continual devolution into info-tainment. But I do like that President Bush was going down down down this week while Stephen Colbert was going up up up. Do I hear what I think I hear, Republicans? Oh yes. It's the Improv Actor Party making a serious move into the 2008 elections. Stephen Colbert and Ryan Stiles for president and vice president, respectively. Colin Mochrie can be the First Lady or something.

I just improv-ed that last line. Whoops! I'm revealing my partisan allegiance!

Anyway, with my thoughts still a bit jumbled, the rest of this post will be organized into my contribution to the devolution of news. Enjoy your cereal!

DOWN 5 points - Making out. I've always enjoyed making out (photographs count), but I can only imagine it getting grosser and more boring as I get older.

UP 3 points - Making out with someone who's half-person, half-octopus. I was going to give this 8 points because the 8 arms are sure to reinvigorate the whole making out process, but then I decided to cut that in half because of the weirdness factor and substract 1 more point for octopus slime.

UP 10 points - My imagination. I noticed that since I've been away, the television with the Atari that used to be in the back corner of my basement has been moved next to the television with the actual cable hook-up. And where the Atari television used to be is now a camping chair facing the corner. I don't even know where to start with what my imagination is thinking up for why the chair is facing the corner, so mayhaps I'll save that for a future post. Here's a preview:


UP 3 points - Topical conversation. With the Atari television now closer to the cable hooked-up television, I can more easily turn to the Atari television during cable commercials and say, "Isn't it amazing how far we've come since Atari with all these new game consoles coming out?"

DOWN magic points - Waking hours. I don't know if I can actually take away magic points from the times that I am awake because I never actually gave these times any points, but I guess that since the points are magic it doesn't really matter. My hope is that by knocking my waking hours down a few of these points that my dreaming hours will become even more magical.

UP magic points (if my hope is well-placed) - Fairy dust and beautiful gowns! Good night.

Zing!

Question: If suicide is sometimes justifiable, is not killing of born idiots and infants hopelessly handicapped at birth equally so?

There is no relation between the questions - between suicides and killing idiots. Suicide may, under certain circumstances, be right and killing idiots may be wrong; killing idiots may be right and suicide may be wrong. When we look about us, when we read interviews with preachers about Jonah, we know that all the idiots have not been killed.

- Robert Ingersoll

I Dislike A Parade

Get the title? Like "I Love A Parade" but not? Compliment me on it in the comments section below. It took some serious brain work.

Seriously, though, parades suck. Perhaps it's the ever-emerging bitter old man in me, but I've never liked them. They were always boring. Great for a climactic "bomb threat" or "disease-carrying warhead" scene at the end of an action movie, but otherwise boring.

It was always kinda sad being the only one in my family who didn't like to get up on Thanksgiving to watch Katie Couric say something like, "And there's the local dog club," and Al Roker hilariously respond,"Sit, Katie! Stay!" It was sad both because I was left out and because I didn't grasp the underlying excitement of Al Roker saying something so patriarchal and masochistic. Order Katie to do something else, Al! Do it! Ohhh yeah...

Whoops the bitter old man in me is transforming into the creepy old man. Better get the creepy old man out of my system before I move on...

So hot...

Alright back to parades. My parents are actually watching another one right now. I'm going to step out of my room for a second, watch the parade, return, and type something that one of the anchors says.

(3 minutes pass)

"The key to controlling the big helium balloons is to have manpower. It's better than cow-power. Cows have trouble balancing."

?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Is this the statement of a comic-genius, or is it just another example of a fool striking gold, as with Hilary Duff and her genius song "Come Clean"? Definitely the latter, as the man who said the comment I typed was being serious...

REVELATION! A parade really is just the embodiment of fools striking gold. It's a long, long line of boring displays and stupid floats and balloons, but once in a while that stroke of genius comes along. Like a float with live panthers on it or something. And then people who watch parades are reinvigorated with the human spirit, saying to themselves, "Hey. I didn't think humans were that great when I started to watch the parade. All they seemed to do was blow into metal and put flowers on cardboard and walk down a road. But then I saw this float with live panthers on it and I realized that humans ARE great because we put live panthers in parades. Humans are great because of panthers!"

There's some flawed logic there, but I think you get the point. Parades suck except for one out of every hundred displays. Like my mom walking with our dog in the Milwaukee parade. Not that my mom's a fool who struck gold. She's actually smart. Oh god this post has holes in it everywhere.

Go Mom!

But don't listen to Al Roker...

Sarcasm Attack

In the couple of minutes I've watched Adam Corolla's new show (which comes on Comedy Central after the increasingly funny Colbert Report), I've feared not only for Mr. Corolla's career, but for his life as well. It seems that he and his guest (Carson Daly last night, Xzibit tonight... who knows what the treasure box holds tomorrow night) sit in an empty studio mocking current events and pop culture. An interesting idea for a radio show - the media that made Corolla popular - but as for television, dangerously unfunny.

Which is why I know he will soon be attacked by the Jigsaw killer of the superpopular, tragically sub-par Saw movies. The attack will go thusly:

(Fade from black)

(Adam Corolla awakes to find himself in a room wallpapered by the pages of failed television scripts. Some of the titles include Mother-in-Law Who?, Parent Snap!, and Hey! Your In-Laws Suck!)

(Hooked to Corolla's jaw is a fishing line attached to a pot of boiling tomato sauce.)

(Corolla finds a tape player next to him, picks it up, and plays it.)

Jigsaw's voice: Hello, Adam. I want to play a game. Your entire life you have ridiculed others and become famous for it. You had a radio show on which you mocked people with coming-of-age sex problems, and although you mocked them in a semi-genial manner, it always undermined the real advice. This "success" landed you a job at The Man Show, where I don't think you ever did anything but drink and make downwards of one comment a night concerning some "Juggy's" breasts you were oggling. The show was an embarassment to humanity and a setback to culture, something that I cannot accept in my diminishing days...

(Flashback to Jigsaw whining about getting cancer and not having done enough with his life and not getting a strawberry lolly and all this leading him to his current Messiah-complex ways and wah wah wah...)

Jigsaw (cont.): What you must do is simple: Sit still and quietly for five minutes without saying a word. I have even provided you with some magazines - Newsweek, The Nation - to pass the time. All you must do is resist from making a sarcastic comment about the failed sitcoms which paint these walls.

If you don't, things will get a bit saucy for you...

Oh, and I also removed the "Entertainment" section from the Newsweek, so that you are tempted even less. Is it just me, or does the "Entertainment" section keep getting bigger and the "News" section keep getting smaller? And even the news is presented in more and more of an info-tainment matter! What's the deal with that?!

Good luck.

(Corolla immediately says something sarcastic, tomato sauce dumps on his head, and he boils to death in a twenty-minute scene that wows Saw fans the world over.)

END

Sweet Jesus, I just realized that if I post this, then I am at risk of a similar fate due to my sarcastic "treasure box" comment above.

But if I don't post this, then Jigsaw, terrorists, and, worst of all, in-law sitcoms, win...

POST!

Terrorists!

A New Me

There comes a time in every man's life when he realizes that everything he thought he knew was wrong. He figures out that he's been looking at things the wrong way, and dramatic changes must occur.

This happened to me last weekend.

I have written herein about my hatred for both reality shows and marriage. I am rescinding both of those views in light of an epiphany I had by the name of Laguna Beach.

If I were a vampire, Laguna Beach would be my holy water. Not because it kills me (which it might do to vampires, so this might be a bad metaphor) but rather because it baptizes me in the spirit of humanity that I have forgotten in my past months of bitterness and popular rejection.

The girls on this show personalize the wants and desires that every normal human would want if life were ideal. They want totally cute shoes, to relax on the beach (which seals do, too, demonstrating the natural-ness of such a desire), and, most importantly, yet also most complexly, boys.

The Laguna Beach girls need to be and should be admired for the objects of beauty they are. The trouble is choosing which guy will dote upon their throne? Should they choose Talan, the boy with the painted eyebrows who's destined to come out of the closet next season? Or should they choose Stephen, the guy who thinks he's in Good Charlotte until two seasons from now, when he comes out of the closet? Damn humanity and its dilemmas!

By the way, on a sidenote to all you feminists who have the balls to think that these girls are disrespecting themselves by acting primarily as sexual objects: for shame! Don't you realize that beauty is perhaps the most natural thing of all? Look at birds and their mating habits. It's all about the beauty. Though for birds it's the guys who are pretty. And some species do have nest-building contests to determine mating. But whatever. I can guarantee you that no male bird with ane eyepatch is ever gonna lay Queen Sparrow.

Now an apology, from me to pop culture: I was naive enough to think that I had outgrown you, and I was conceited enough to think that I was better than 99% of your content. Please forgive me. And let Laguna Beach be my teacher in your class of knowledge.

In the beginning of this post, I mentioned that my views on marriage have changed as well. Here are two words to explain this paradigmatic shift: Kirstin and Jessica. Apropo to my above preachings on beauty, I will simply post their pictures below and end discussion there. They are the loves of my life, and I pray that one day I may be mediocre enough to kiss their feet. They are both genius enough to realize that there is no such thing as a perfect relationship (read their MTV.com FAQs), so perhaps I have a chance at being accepted for the imperfect creature I am.

As long as they don't notice my eyepatch.

Me Lame

Because I've been "travelling" (aka taking a 3 hour flight home and then playing video games), I've been too lame to post anything exciting. And I'm going to be lame again tonight, except for one brief adventure. I'm going to take the Dictionary.com word of the day - puissant - and type it into Google image search and post the picture below. Enjoy:

Words can be scary.

The End of an Era

(Curtains open. Stage is empty except for a single chair. Chair is turned backwards. Harry walks out.)

Harry (To audience): Well, this is pretty pretentious, isn't it? A chair turned backwards, as if it's supposed to mean something. It doesn't. It means nothing.

(Harry dumps gasoline on chair, lights a match, and the chair starts a flamin'.)

Harry: This is pretty pretentious, too, isn't it? Me putting on a one-man show on my last night in Los Angeles. Pretending as if I achieved something in Hollywood. I didn't. I slept with the theater manager so that she would let me put on this performance. I don't deserve it.

(Harry dumps gasoline on himself, lights a match, but... Wolverine enters from stage left.)

Wolverine: Hey, Harry. Whadderya doin'?

Harry: What does it look like? I'm putting on a pretentious show. You know those ones where people talk about feelings and stuff.

Wolverine: Sounds like crap to me. You think you know about feelings? How 'bout wakin' up with a body full of adamantium and no memory of your past? Try that one on fer size, kid.

Harry: Gosh, Mr. Wolverine. That does sound mighty painful.

Wolverine: Shaddup! Painful shmainful. Stop talkin' about feelings and start talkin' 'bout what yer gonna do with yer life!

Harry: Well, I was thinking of enrolling in grad school next year...

Wolverine: Shaddup! Don't you realize there won't be a next year if Magneto gets his way?

Harry: There won't be?

Wolverine: Nope. The whole world will be made out of metal, including yer feelings!

Harry: Huh? I didn't think Magneto had the power to create any more metal than already exists...

Wolverine: Shaddup or I'll pulverize ya!

(Harry cowers in fear, crying like a little girl).

Wolverine: Wait a sec. What's that smell? Smells like caramel coloring...

Harry (sighs): It is. I dumped Diet Coke on myself, not gasoline...

Wolverine: So yer sad little show wasn't even real?

Harry: No. It was just the beginning of a long monologue where I talked about my emotional path through the past few months in Los Angeles. The "gasoline" was meant to symbolize...

Wolverine: Shaddup!

Harry: Yes, sir.

(Curtains close.)

Voiceover: The theater later burned down after Harry forgot about the burning chair. Harry jumped aboard a plane to Nicaragua before the theater owner could track him down. In Nicaragua, Harry lived amongst the locals, known only as "El Blanco." No one from his former life knew how to find him, and he was forgotten to all.

Forgotten, that is, until word hit that all Central American mines had been stripped of their metal...

Harry (screaming, as overhead camera spins progressively farther away): MAGNETOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

(To be continued in Ultimate X-Men 11...)

Hark! Ready your ears!

Good morrow, all. It is I, Fenimore J. Anderson, author of the thesis "Why Zombies Intrigue Us." You may have read excerpts of this genius work (a work which is created by a genius, such as I) at this very web diary at an earlier date. Let me warn you that if you did so, you did so illegally! No one at the Westgloushire Archives was given the permission to release that work until after I had either died or granted my blessing. I can assure you that legal action will be taken and decided in my favor, thanks to my immense penal knowledge.

It seems that the documents in question were released because I was thought to have died at the hands of vampires. "Blood stains" appeared at the end of my prose, and to some idiot archivist this was a sign that my subject matter, vampires, had attacked and killed me. Ha! Doesn't anybody read anything in their daily papers besides the funnies (the working man's humor)? Apparently not, for if they did they would surely know that I am not only a great scholar, but a great suspense novelist as well. I ended my thesis as such in an attempt to enlighten via entertainment. Now I realize that my grandeur is so gross in size that my humor is forgotten by those whose menial brains have limited capacity. Peasants!

It is lucky for all of you that I am sending this message to the owner of this web diary with a demand that it be posted forthwith! If the world truly thought I had perished, I can only imagine the aura of hopelessness that would embrace the peoples. A world without its genius is comparable only to a molasses jar without its molasses. Empty. It is fortuitous for all that I was searching for the origins of the phrase "Good morrow" and was misdirected to this pathetic site.

What's that you say? How could my search for "Good morrow" have led me to this site when said phrase has never appeared here before this day? What a laughable question! The very fact that you asked it proves that you do not even near the genius level intelligence necessary to comprehend my journeys.

Good day!

- Fenimore J. Anderson

Shuttle...

I was going to try to write a well-formatted post on different definitions of cock and their relevance to current events, but it was turning out pretty second rate. So here are my notes instead:

Cock - definition - rooster - Chaucer's Cock's tale - Chaucer uses the term "chanticleer" - Coastal Carolina chanticleers - Postal Carolina - stamps.

Cock - definition (slang) - an arrogant bastard - 50 cent - two hours of 50 cent acting - he cries in the movie? - onions make tears - 50 cent smells like onions.

Cocky - definition - too proud - Family Guy getting cocky - still lots of good stuff but has to beware it doesn't become a parody of itself - hey this thought seems to be pretty developed I should actually write real paragraphs instead of just notes - lazy.

Here's some gold!

Following is some exciting news for all of you involved in the Brookfield (plus Qualler) Blogulation Awards. I have taken it upon myself to collect the first prize for the event. This prize may be awarded for a "General Interest" category, but more appropriately it belongs to the "Most Insightful Movie Post" category, or something like that.

Anyway, the prize is...

(Drum roll...)

(Tension mounts...)

(Various birds are released...)

A call sheet for the Friday, June 4, 2004 shooting of A Lot Like Love, starring superstar Ashton "Kutch" Kutcher and relative nobody Amanda Peet!

This, folks, is a complete call sheet for Day 39 of the shoot. So complete, in fact, that it extends beyond the normal 8.5 x 11 standard paper size!

If you win this, questions you never thought you'd wonder will be answered! For instance:

1. Which of the two main stars drives to set, and which requests a courtesy pick-up?

2. What kind of sound effects were needed for Scene 41, "Emily's Sad Christmas?"

And more!

Of course, I am taking myself out of consideration for whatever category this prize falls in, so I guess it should be awarded for the proposed movie category. I think my views on Crossroads were common knowledge before my recent post, anyway.

But keep me in the "General Interest" category. I rock at things like that. Observe:

Octopi will eat their own legs when they're hungry!

The first bomb to fall on Berlin during WWII killed an elephant!

And more!

Why Zombies Intrigue Us

A Thesis: by Fenimore J. Anderson

Chapter One: The Fascination

Although I, being an incredibly busy and gifted anthropology student, do not actually have time to watch human entertainment, I have read quite a few papers informing me that the so-called "undead" are a phenomenon amongst certain demographics. At first I was startled that such an absurd concept could take root in the minds of our nation's youth. I stumbled a bit, clutching onto a nearby oak to maintain my balance, and wondered aloud to the sky, "Why god or gods do you make our brains so ponderous?!?!?!?!" But then it struck me. My Newtonian apple, if you will (which I'm sure you will, seeing as how I am a genius antropology student and my metaphors are gold). I am the one who has been chosen to study this fascination... the fascination. Zombies. The undead. The groan-makers.

Chapter Two: Knowledge

Being the complex organisms we are (even more so in my case, given how incredibly smart I am), we struggle to discover what exactly it is that we desire in life. A car? A house? Two cats and a yard? Whatever it is we think we want, we put all our efforts towards that "it." We base our careers upon "it." We base our love lives upon "it." We base our entire thought process upon "it." But even if that "it" is achieved, we may learn that we knew nothing of what we desired. Everything we knew was true was false. Sun was moon. Fauna was flora.

Zombies do not struggle with the "it," and that is why we are fascinated. Some scholars have suggested that it is their human likeness that impresses us. To others, it is the fact that zombies actually were people like us one day. Hogwash! If history has taught us anything, it's that people don't care about other people. People care about themselves, and zombies intrigue people because zombies, unlike people, know what they desire.

They desire brains. Any brain will do. Of course, the fuller, more juicy human brains satisfy the hunger greater than say, a bat or dog. But brains are the "it." They are what is needed, and they are what is desired.

(Continued...)

Addendum:

Chapter 11: An Urgent Plea

I, Fenimore J. Anderson, would like to revoke all above statements (except for those mentioning what a genius I am). It has come to my attention in the two weeks since my thesis that zombies are of no real concern to us humans. Vampires are! In fact, I have catalogued a variety of instances proving that vampires are both real and sexy and highly dangerous and I will list them subsequently with the hope that...

(Document unreadable. Blood stains.)

For Matt

I might keep messing with the format to figure out which is easiest to read. Tell me if you like this one. Also, especially tell me if you can read this one and are blind, for truly a miracle has then occurred.

People Like Movies?

The air of reminescense seems to surround my friends on the topic of movies. Wait, does that sentence make sense? Whatever. Care I only do when the wind strikes the third spire of the mill.

Cool movies!

:

Blue Crush ("Three Girls, One Passion"): This recent, bio-flic about a young woman's drive to success actually ends with the protagonist not winning it all. But she does surf the perfect wave. And isn't that what it's all about?

Oh, and the movie only focuses on one girl (Kate Bosworth, looking as hott as she ever will) so don't worry about the plot getting too convoluted and having too many characters. Despite what the tagline promises, one girl with one passion is enough. Besides, the ocean takes the place of like a hundred characters.

Crossroads ("Dreams Change, Friends are Forever"): Just like Ms. Bosworth, Britney shines here at her ultimate hottness. The real opening scene (because I'm not counting the flashback sequence, which actually serves more as a prequel than an actual scene) features Britney dancing on the bed in her underwear. Already the plot has so many places to go, and we wonder where our imagination will be taken next.

Uh oh! Here comes her dad, Dan Aykroyd! Don't worry. He's not here to bust any ghosts. He just wants to bust Britney's butt into college. Silly Dan. Don't you realize that dreams change?! Britney wants to have sex, write a poem that turns into the hit song "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman," and watch her friend have a miscarriage. Her dreams of college are as dead as your relevance to the age group to which this movie panders. An age group which I have no shame in proudly joining when it comes to films like this.

Mean Girls ("Watch Your Back") : Wait a second. This movie was actually kinda good. Of course, so was Blue Crush. Fear not, Crossroads. I'll never truly reveal your less-than-perfect identity. You don't have to (drum roll)... watch your back!

Oh, and Lindsay Lohan is also at her ultimate hottness in this movie.

:

Well, that's all the movies I remember seeing in life. So here's a three-step plan to making movies I remember:

1.) Include a girl age 17-21 who is at the peak of her hottness. Remember that hottness is written with two t's when it really is hot.
2.) Have a couple of other girls in there (ages 17-21) who may not be super-lookers, but occasionally bend over.
3.) Keep it simple. This is where Crossroads kind of lost me. I knew that in Blue Crush it was Girl vs. Wave. I knew that in Mean Girls it was girls who were mean. Crossroads, as one can tell from the title, is just too deep. Crossroads implies four different directions! I want two at most. North and South. Cold and hot. Penguins and reggae. When West and East are included, things get too complicated and have trouble progressing.

So when a person travels horizontally, they still change where they are, but the weather doesn't change? I don't get it, and I don't think anyone does.

(Why are there 8 pointy things on this compass?)

Car, Boy for Sale

In buying a plane ticket, I have sealed the fate of my car. He will be sold. His name was Leon the Neon. He was named after my hero from the classic Disney film Midnight Madness. He was alright to me. But he made me want to have a horse instead.

Oh, and that reminds me of three items of animal news:

1.) It is now the law that Roman citizens must walk their dogs every day. It's a good law, and it will make those "Proud Owner of a Spoiled Rotten Dog" shirts that grandmas wear both more relevant and more sexy (trust me), but still I worry. Dogs will now view one of our most ancient civilizations on a daily basis, inevitably absorbing some of the same atmosphere that floats around the Colosseum, Pantheon, etc. Evolution, being as it is, will somehow transform the particles of this atmosphere into knowledge, and the dogs will begin to want what we want. Society. And they'll get what they want, because the new walking law also increases the possibility that one dog with diabolical schemes will run across another dog with diabolical schemes. They'll pass each other "canine microfilm" through the traditional nose-to-butt sniff (a genius cover-up for any exchange of information), and boom. Dogs move up. Humans move down. Tapeworms move up. Sitcoms move down.

Dammit Rome! You've planted for our greatest friends the Tree of Knowledge. You've corrupted them with the potential to learn good and evil. You've made a humanitarian decision for dogs, and in doing so, have made them superhuman.



2.) A cat from Appleton, Wisconsin, got lost for a few weeks. For fun, guess where it ended up. (Or don't, if you want to spoil the game.)

Answer: France!

If you were guessing and got it right, good job at either reading the news or being a great guesser. If you were guessing and got it wrong, sorry about that, but it was fun, eh? And if you didn't guess, you really aren't any fun at all. I give you this one chance to have fun before we become slaves to the dogs and you pass it up? What's wrong with you? You really are a bad person.

Oh god. A cat, in Europe, at the same time Italy is granting rights to dogs.

This is a two-front war.

3.) I feel like there's baby spiders or something crawling on me. I don't know but it feels weird.

Not My Cup

I have stated in the past my distaste for marriage, especially in terms of myself. My recent months of video game testing have only re-bittered my pallet.

As fun and exciting as it has been to play X-Men Legends II (Now in stores!) and True Crime: New York City (In stores November 15! Reserve your copy now!), I must say that they grew quite boring over time. I mean, not really boring, cuz they have excellent replay value (Buy 2 in case one of your discs dirties!). But boring enough that I get really excited when I play any other game.

So if I got married, my wife would probably entertain me a little bit longer than most video games (How long does it take to mop the floor?), but the replay value would inevitably dwindle. I could always come back and give her a go once in a while, but most of the time she'd just be stuck on the shelf, collecting dust, watching me play with my new wife.

Anyway, here's 2 more anti-marriage factors in my bitterness:

Religion

It's gonna take a (chuckle) miracle to get me to partake in a serious religious ceremony of any type in the near future. Tell JC to come down here and convince me. The conversation would go thusly:

Jesus: Hey, Harry. I've heard you're considering rejecting the sacraments.
Harry: Actually, I'm rejecting the entire religion. I consider it to be a perversion of cultural history, persevering primarily through blood and fear.
Jesus: Oh, so, you don't really believe in me?
Harry: I believe you were probably a good guy, and your preachings are very humanitarian.
Jesus: But you don't believe I'm God?
Harry: Nope.
Jesus: ...
Harry: Want some coffee? Krishna's coming over soon.
Jesus: Sure. Whoa! Is that X-Men Legends II?
Harry: Sure is! It's available for all systems!
Jesues: Can I be Rogue?
Harry: Of course. Figures you would choose the belle from the Bible Belt!
Both: Hahahahahhaha!

High five!

Dreams

I know that lots of girls dream of their weddings when they're little. Well guess what my recurring dreams were when I was little. One was that the cat and the fiddle would take me up to the moon and then drop me and I would fall and fall and fall until I woke up. The other was that there would be burglars upstairs so I would run downstairs to tell my parents who would have newspapers over their faces until they pulled them down to reveal they were skeletons and then I'd run upstairs and downstairs and up and down until I woke up.

And don't tell me that I'm using the word "dream" out of context. I've gone through too much falling and running to be told that.

Is it a Loop or a Line?

Does history ever change, or is it always changing back to where it was?

"I pray you to pause and consider. Against our traditions we are now entering upon an unjust and trivial war, a war against a helpless people, and for a base object--robbery. At first our citizens spoke out against this thing, by an impulse natural to their training. Today they have turned, and their voice is the other way. What caused the change? Merely a politician's trick--a high-sounding phrase, a blood-stirring phrase which turned their uncritical heads: Our Country, right or wrong! An empty phrase, a silly phrase. It was shouted by every newspaper, it was thundered from the pulpit, the Superintendent of Public Instruction placarded it in every schoolhouse in the land, the War Department inscribed it upon the flag. And every man who failed to shout it or who was silent, was proclaimed a traitor--none but those others were patriots. To be a patriot, one had to say, and keep on saying, "Our Country, right or wrong," and urge on the little war. Have you not perceived that that phrase is an insult to the nation?

For in a republic, who is "the Country"? Is it the Government which is for the moment in the saddle? Why, the Government is merely a servant--merely a temporary servant; it cannot be its prerogative to determine what is right and what is wrong, and decide who is a patriot and who isn't. Its function is to obey orders, not originate them. Who, then, is "the Country"? Is it the newspaper? is it the pulpit? is it the school superintendent? Why, these are mere parts of the country, not the whole of it; they have not command, they have only their little share in the command. They are but one in the thousand; it is in the thousand that command is lodged; they must determine what is right and what is wrong; they must decide who is a patriot and who isn't.

Who are the thousand--that is to say, who are "the Country"? In a monarchy, the king and his family are the country; in a republic it is the common voice of the people. Each of you, for himself, by himself and on his own responsibility, must speak. And it is a solemn and weighty responsibility, and not lightly to be flung aside at the bullying of pulpit, press, government, or the empty catch-phrases of politicians. Each must for himself alone decide what is right and what is wrong, and which course is patriotic and which isn't. You cannot shirk this and be a man. To decide it against your convictions is to be an unqualified and inexcusable traitor, both to yourself and to your country, let men label you as they may. If you alone of all the nation shall decide one way, and that way be the right way according to your convictions of the right, you have done your duty by yourself and by your country--hold up your head! You have nothing to be ashamed of.

Only when a republic's life is in danger should a man uphold his government when it is in the wrong. There is no other time.

This Republic's life is not in peril. The nation has sold its honor for a phrase. It has swung itself loose from its safe anchorage and is drifting, its helm is in pirate hands. The stupid phrase needed help, and it got another one: "Even if the war be wrong we are in it and must fight it out: we cannot retire from it without dishonor." Why, not even a burglar could have said it better. We cannot withdraw from this sordid raid because to grant peace to those little people on their terms--independence--would dishonor us. You have flung away Adam's phrase--you should take it up and examine it again. He said, "An inglorious peace is better than a dishonorable war."

Mark Twain

Plus and Minus

The title of this post refers to the mathematical symbols for positive and negative, cheers and jeers, hooray and booray. In other words, I am completely ripping off every editorialist ever. Though I don't know if "booray" has been used before, except in that one Destiny's Child song. (See end)

Plus: Bob Costas

First, let me say that I actually wrote a typo at first and spelled Boob Costas. Ha! Second, let me say that Bob Costas deserves this plus for standing against the media circus... a couple of months ago... but I only learned about it yesterday. Anyway, the story goes that Natalee Holloway was probably murdered, so the media took her young, attractive, blonde image and turned it into a money-making mockery. Bob Costas sat in for Larry King a few days during this period and gracefully refused to join the media embarassment.

And Bob Costas rocks in Baseketball. PLUS

Minus: John Gibson

This FoxNews anchor just put out a book entitled The War on Christmas: How the Liberal Plot to Ban the Sacred Christian Holiday Is Worse Than You Thought. I'm not really shocked that it's worse that I thought, since I never really thought about it. But I'm definitely shocked that I'm the one with the plot to destroy Christmas, especially since I've already suggested a couple of presents that my mom could get me for the holiday. Let's see there was Civilization IV, BBC's The Office, and, whoops, the pagan sacrificing chamber. You got me, Josh! And I got you... with a MINUS.

P.S. What a creep!

Plus and Minus: Josh Gibson.

Possibly the greatest baseball player ever, playing most of his career with the Negro League's Homestead Grays. Learn more about him and his tragic spiral into depression at your local library!

__________________________________
*Destiny's Child "Can't Keep Him Away" lyrics

So I'm walking to the corner for a steaming cup of joe
Cuz I just can't see his face no mo'.
He's been dancin' all night and been singin' all day
No I can't get away from my old boo Ray.

I went down to the docks for a breath of fresh air
But when I got there, he was playin' a snare.
I said, "Is you really come down to this drum and play?"
He said, "Yeah cuz I ain't nothin' but your old boo Ray."

So I took him in my arms and I told him where to go.
He said he can't go there cuz he's allergic to the snow.
I said, "Come on baby I know that you'll love Germanay!
And know whatever happens you'll always be my boo Ray."

What am I thinking?

No, this post is not a game to ask what, exactly, I am thinking. If it were, however, the answer would probably be something with eggs, like juevos rancheros. Or at least, that would be the answer according to the literary side of my brain. Yahoo Images says that if I were thinking about juevos rancheros, the picture side of my brain would be thinking this:

Not a bad thought. Friendship and all.

Now my thinking has turned to:

"I really enjoy putting pictures on my webbery. My friend Dave was right about how fun it is. Yet I worry that I will become a slave to the picture and lose any writing finesse I may have. Should I worry? Nah. I know that the pen will always be stronger than a picture of the sword. As long as it's a writing pen. Not a drawing pen."

According to Yahoo Images, while writing that last thought, I was thinking this:

Can pens only defeat swords this small?

Anyway, back to my original intention of this rambling mess. What am I thinking?! Moving back to Wisconsin in the beginning of winter? I really am going to have some weather depression, but I'm bargaining that my increased Friends and Family Density (FFD) in the area will trump this. (FFD = Family x Friends^2 + Hotties)

Now I'm not going to delve into the trainwreck that is my future planning to explain why I'm moving back. Instead I'm going to finish this post with what I've finally realized it was meant to be. A threat.

If you let me down Wisconsin, if you can't please me for a few more months before grad school, if you can't keep your annoying Packers hype to a background lull... I'll stab ya. I'll take a pickax and I'll jam it right down into your barren, mountainless plains.

But you'd probably like that, wouldn't you? It'd make you think there was gold in you or something. Well there isn't.

And if you'd still like it, you're just a pervert.

That Enya Song

"How far to go
I cannot say.
How many more
Will journey this way?" - Storms in Africa, Part II

Is there even a Part I? You musicians and your weird titles.

Anyway, Africa is the topic. For those of you who don't understand, here:


This is a political map of Africa. Currently, it seems cheetahs control the Northwestern part while windsurfers rule with an iron fist in the East. Most worrisome is the growing "80 km/hr Elephants" faction in the center, with the capacity to expand in all directions, preaching its extremist "Fast Animal" doctrine, or something...

Anyway, for those of you who are still confused as to what Africa is, here:

Starting to understand? I think the he is.

What? Still confused? Alright, here ya go you pop culture freaks:

Happy now? I think he is.

As Disney reminds us with what really is a heartbreaking, brilliantly done picture (cheers all around), there's another continent that we keep forgetting about, and it has cute animals on it.

As Disney doesn't remind us, there are people there, too. One of those people is my friend Terri Ramiah, whose webbery I've added to the side links. She's working there with Human Rights Watch, and is writing all about her intense experiences. Her meaningful take on the world is quite different from this tomfoolery you're reading now, but when mine and her webberies collide, the force of such diametrically opposed proses will rise up and spread awareness to the moon and beyond!

Or, as Disney would say, to infinity and beyond.

In any case, Africa really could use our help. Example: There is the thought that if everyone in China jumped up and down at once it could create a tidal wave that would destroy America. According to some Swedish physicist, not true. However, some Americans might still believe this theory and start jumping in retaliation, causing even more geological disturbance. So now China is jumping and America is jumping. Guess what's somewhere in the middle of that. Africa! Africa is gonna be the crying girl in the middle of the trampoline while the bullies jump on the side.

Sad.

__________
"You know the concept that if everyone in China jumps up and down at the same time it'd start a tidal wave that'd destroy America? I'd phone the U.S. President and say 'We're all on the great wall of China and we're going to jump off unless you send us the girls from The OC." - Stephen Merchant

Terror and Sex

The title of this post lists two concepts that I think are thrown around willy-nilly by society.

Terror (willily thrown about): In hour 2 of my internet search for buzz on the movie Saw II, I came upon the MPAA reasoning for this sure-to-be-Oscar-nominated film's R rating: "For grisly violence and gore, terror, language and drug content." The first, third, and fourth items of this list are to be expected, whether I agree with them or not. The second, however, is a new one to me, movie-wise. (And I'm not counting gore as the second one, because the MPAA groups that with grisly violence. I, personally, would say that there is a discernable line between gore and grisly violence. I mean, grisly violence and grizzly violence would be two completely different things, and those even sound the exact same, but if the MPAA doesn't care, then why should the bears). Anyway, TERROR is what I'm talking about.

TERROR

How exactly can a horror movie be deemed inappropriate for children because of terror when so much unrated, terror-ful material is being dished out to them in other locales. A list of 3 (because lists of 3 are standard for anything, especially comedy if the last item is hilarious!):

1. News: Scientists say bird flu might morph and kill a third of human population. Oh, we don't know when or if it's going to happen, or if one of a million other diseases will emerge first. Oh, and most of the futurely dead people we're talking about are those poor ones in boring continents like Asia. But terror feeds the ratings, so Fox 6 feeds it to you. (This is to be read in the voice of an ignorant newsman. I don't find poor Asians boring. In fact, me and poor Asians went to an art museum last weekend. Egon Schiele really was a genius!)

2. Religion: Most religions are based at least in part on the fear of eternal damnation. Buddhists, you kinda escape this because there is no eternity for you if you win, but if you lose then you're damned to be a pig or a horse or something. By the way, pigs are actually smarter than horses.

3. Teletubbies. Those things are scary! (Hilarious, right? My Guide to Hilarious Column Writing tells me Teletubbies are a guaranteed laugh.)

So if the MPAA wants to give a movie an R rating for terror, then I want the world to give the news, religion, and (tee hee) Teletubbies an R rating as well.

Sex (nillily thrown about, and sometimes willily; willingly thrown about by the office slut):

Apparently the Minnesota Vikings are being criticized because a bunch of their players had a sex party on a boat. Sigh. Again humans are shocked by their animalistic instincts. And to think, such base actions emerging from football players of all people! Men who have been told their whole life to concentrate on a game instead of real society, have been given free rides to school so that they could have nerds do their homework for them, and have basically been awarded celebrity status for not thinking.

Well here they are giving you a sex scandal. Finally delivering what celebrities are meant to deliver. And now you shun them? For shame, people who look down on the sex cruise. For shame. First admit that this whole story is an excuse to fire the coach of a bad team (always a problem solver) and then admit that if you were a beefy footballer you would be going on hot, superhot sexcapades as well.

I know I would, but I work at night. Isn't that when sexcapades happen?

I'd go to the Cheeseburger Locker Room

I have barely begun to peruse the Kermitage website, and already I am blown away by the Muppets genius.

Behold, Chris Rudolph and his Invisible Cheeseburger!


If I ever get a chance to evolve, I'm evolving into a Muppet.

The Pre-Killers

I'm going to keep this short, mostly because I want to keep my Ricky Gervais superfandom to a minimum (because if my pipe dream of working with him, Kurt Vonnegut, and Kermit's nephew Robin comes true, being too much of a fan would make things awkward.)

So, here is Ricky's 80s band, Seona Dancing. Check out the free audio download of "More to Lose," a song that truly harnesses the '80s teen angst from which we can only pretend to escape.

And here is Robin the frog.

Happy Birthday Usher!

Today, Usher Raymond is 27, or so IMDB tells me. In celebration, I went to his IMDB page to find out why the hell he's in the intenet movie database anyway. (Foolishly I had forgotten about Texas Rangers, a movie that maybe I saw commercials for at the time and, if I did, probably quipped, "Hey, why are they making a movie about a baseball team?! Get it?!") In any case, X leads to Y in my brain and I soon decide to look at Usher's IMDB message board for some insight on whether or not he is as much of a cock as I imagine him to be. Y leads to Z and I'm reading a post entitled "is he homosexual? my friend said he came out at an interview?"

As anyone who has even momentarily scanned an IMDB message board knows, these things are full of some of the most brainless people in the entire world. I mean these people literally care to death about the most inane concepts. I'm not saying that they're hopeless. A lot of them are probably kids who don't know any better or people who've been tricked by society into thinking that People is a legitimate newszine. But no matter what, in that moment that a person posts on IMDB, whether they be a silly teenager or a Nobel Prize winner, they are an idiot*.

*Exceptions to the rule:
1. You are actually friends with an IMDB person and want to "razz" him or her.
2. The message board is for a little-known film and you are actually trying to create buzz for it because you think it deserves "properties" (isn't that what "props" is short for?)
3. The killer from the Saw movies is forcing you to post. (Help!)

Moving on, I read the following post by mulika112 while scanning the aforementioned homosexual thread: "No dear, Usher is not gay. I read one of his interviews where he said that the weirdest rumor that he has heard about himself was that he was gay. Then he said that's not true. But, if he were, I would still love him. Besides, in the end we all have to face God, right?"

This post angered me so much that I actually raced to my webbery here to release the rage. The final line, of course, is what gets me. First, one can't end an inherently subversive comment about Judgment Day with "Right?" IMDB is not a religious message board, so mulika112 can't assume we all agree with her. And if she is really so certain about God's existence, she shouldn't be pleading for support. Hitler didn't make people hate the Jews by saying, "Jews are bad, right?" He was assertive in his absurd statements. So should religious people be.

So I guess what angered me so much is mulika112's utter ignorance. First there is her ignorance of cultural taste, which led her to love Usher in the first-place. Then, there is her ignorance of the internet piety spectrum (see graph at end), a scale upon which IMDB steadily sits near the bottom. Finally, there is (or so I gather from her tone) her ignorance of religion when juxtaposed with modern realities. Mulika112 has obviously put zero thought into her religious views of gays versus her human views that she would still love Usher if he were still gay. God wouldn't love Usher if he were gay? But she would? But she is confident that she would still get into heaven for loving someone God hated? What? Ugh.

If God doesn't led Usher into heaven, it's because he's a cock.

Usher, I mean.

Did I Escape?

A triad of very important events this year have affected my media intake:

1. I started listening exclusively to NPR in the car (except on the weekends, when their specialty shows tend to aim for an older and, consequently, more boring crowd. This is no criticism of the elderly, however, because I still prefer to listen to A Prairie Home Companion over the hip, young waves of KISS FM and the like. There is a certain comfort in listening to shows that people who listened to FDR's fireside chats listen to.)

2. I don't really watch television. ESPN has highlights on the internet, The Daily Show posts its entire show, scrambled television doesn't count, and I work at night, so there's no real time that I would. This is not to say that I don't watch shows, as my last post surely demonstrates. It's more to say that I don't watch shows in their traditional, time-slotty manner at the moment.

3. I adopted a child who's allergic to media.

Results of Above Circumstances: I am avoiding advertising at a record level! NPR is 99% ad-free. Internet advertising that isn't a pop-up can pretty much be ignored. And advertising that is a pop-up only makes me loathe that company, which is kind of fun being a semi-socialist.

Which brings me back to the comfort that I feel when thinking about old people listening to FDR. My current media habits really are so much more comfortable than watching normal TV (as my friends with DVRs can attest to), listening to normal radio, and looking at normal porn.

Not that monkey porn isn't normal to monkeys.

Extra (because I want this post to officially end at monkey porn): I might as well briefly discuss the IPod video thing. A revolution? Perhaps. But weren't laptops and wireless internet already headed towards this kind of portability, if not even moreso? Whatever. I'm really just being a bastard to Apple because I'm sick of its coolness. Can't someone else be cool for a bit?

Premature Immaculation

As conscious as I am of the fact that superlatives are vastly overused, and as conscious as I am of the fact that people starting articles mentioning that they don't like to use superlatives then frequently go on to binge with them, and as conscious as I am that this is a run-on sentence which would have gotten me poor marks in school, I am about ready to declare the BBC's The Office the best show ever.

I will admit that I am yet to see the final special episodes (which I have demanded from my parents for Christmas for being such a good atheist Christian); however, the show would have to fall a long way to fail.

I was a bit doubting at first and might not have seen it if it weren't for some guy named Arun telling me to rent it because some guy named Andy told him it was great. Most popular shows are horrific, with Everybody Loves Raymond and any reality show most recently proving this point. In fact, most popular anything is horrific. "It is like when people say no really you are famous, that is a compliment. That is no fucking compliment. Himmler was famous as well." So says Martin Freeman, of The Office, a show which the general population was surprisingly right about.

Well, the general British population I mean. Are they smarter than "us"? Let's look at that question through the looking glass of the bad teeth stereotype. On one hand, the British are being ignorant of the fact that not maintaining one's teeth is both non-hygienic and unappealing. On the other hand, they seem to be putting the importance of mind above body, which could be the next great step in evolution if we are to survive long enough to evolve.

What's that? The blueprint show for American Idol was a British show called Pop Idol? Then f it. We're all doomed.

Homecoming

The family post tells me that my little brother is on the homecoming court, meaning that he has become the second most popular Brammer ever, trailing only my great-grandpa the milkman. Those people in Liverpool loved the milky! In any case, William will be welcoming home that Brookfield Central football team when it returns from its long and dangerous travels to and fro Menomonee Falls...where they played the week before...and actually came back from that same night...

Which brings me to a coupling of questions: 1. Would my Celtic ancestors be proud that the traditional homecoming celebration they experienced when coming back from bloody battlegrounds has been transliterated by modern society into amateur football? and 2. Do I have any Celtic ancestors?

To answer the second: Probably, but I am mostly black. Just check out my skillz on the court. (To white people: The "court" I am referencing is the basketball court, which goes well with this already sports-related post! Holla! (To white people: Holla is something "we" yell when we are excited. It is the "huzzah" of the streets)).

To answer the first: I think that our ancestors would be glad that enough peace exits for us to toss around celebrations such as "homecoming" so frivolously. I suppose such peace is what they were fighting for. Though only for their own clan. The other clans could go wanne that aprill six feet under, if you catch my Chaucer.

However, the ancestors would most definitely be upset with high school ale bans. What?! No hogshead brews at the homecoming feast?! This is a sin only the Gods of the Deep could condone! Bring on the barrels and give them to all, for nature has graced us with a fine harvest this season!

A fine harvest, indeed!

The Words of Satan, the Angel

"There has never been a just one, never an honorable one -- on the part of the instigator of the war. I can see a million years ahead, and this rule will never change in so many as half a dozen instances. The loud little handful -- as usual -- will shout for the war. The pulpit will -- warily and cautiously -- object -- at first; the great, big, dull bulk of the nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why there should be a war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, "It is unjust and dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it." Then the handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded; but it will not last long; those others will outshout them, and presently the anti-war audiences will thin out and lose popularity. Before long you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men who in their secret hearts are still at one with those stoned speakers -- as earlier -- but do not dare to say so. And now the whole nation -- pulpit and all -- will take up the war-cry, and shout itself hoarse, and mob any honest man who ventures to open his mouth; and presently such mouths will cease to open. Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception."

The Mysterious Stranger - Mark Twain

Strong Statements

I have always mocked my parents', and now my, insurance company USAA. Back in middle school they started sending we Brammer kids a magazine full of complete and utter fluff. The articles were meaningless looks into teenager finance, like buying that new cool car or saving up for the movies, laced with pro-military propaganda that is to be expected from an Armed Services only insurance group (USAA=United Services Automobile Association).

Well, as I said, I am now a member, solely because their price is unbeatable. 41-0 in playoff situations. Unfortunately, my membership now grants me the "pleasure" of receiving their adult magazine. No not that kind of adult magazine you pervert! Though I think the baby in this diaper ad might be a girl...

Anyway, I turned about two pages in USAA magazine before I was violently reminded how much I hate whoever conceived of these trash recepticles in "literary" form. The article that blindsided me with its filth was entitled "USAA backs nation's troops." Why did this so upset me? Not because I'm anti-military. Rather, because I'm pro-reason. Why the f does an armed services insurance magazine have to tout that they support the troops? To jump on the "Support our troops" bandwagon that is all colour and no content?

Hey look at our yellow ribbon. We support the troops. So keep giving us money so that we can not help you with your car situations.

Sorry USAA. My mom gave me the only real useful infomation I used in dealing with my totalled car this year. My USAA agent basically answered my phone calls, told me that what my mom said was right, and then told me to sue the other people. Well thanks. I'm glad I'm paying you 70 bucks or whatever a month.

At least you're supporting the troops. Anyone can back that empty statement.

The easiest jar to fill is the one with nothing in it.

Make it Simple and Grand

If I were to compose a music CD, I would name it "Make it Simple and Grand."

At least that's what I would name it tonight. Tomorrow I'll probably have a new idea like, "Spitting on Sleeping Penguins."

But tonight it's "Make it Simple and Grand." I think this phrase does a good job taking what I want out of life and transforming it into five words.

Complexity drowns the soul. Human civilization has advanced at a much quicker pace over the last few centuries than it ever had before, and I'm not sure our human pschye is quite up to the tempo. Legato to allegro. Village to city. Business to Corporation. All giant changes for a five feet and some odd inches tall animal.

This is not to say that we should all run from the future. It wouldn't work because the robots would be too fast. We just have to build hoverboards that are fast enough.

Which brings me to the grand. Makin' the money can be a good way to be popular and attract the ladies, but makin' the meaningful would be an even grander venture. Plus, as movies tell us, the guy with meaning always gets the even sexier lady (maybe not hotter, but sexier, which lasts longer). How to achieve this meaning is the question I am working on. And to start, I have compiled a music CD entitled "Make it Simple and Grand."

Tracks
1. Come Clean - Hilary Duff (A standard)
2. An Apology - Me (Here I apologize in song for starting off my CD with stolen music from another artist.)
3. A Letter - Me (Here I sing the letter I receive from Disney telling me I am being sued for copyright infringement.)
4. Throw Away the Key - Me and the Ball and Chain Gang (Here I am accompanied by an imprisoned barber shop quartet as we sing about our woes in the slammer.)
5.) Third Shelf, Part 1 - Me (I find a Mark Twain book on the third shelf of the jail library.)
6.) An Apology Remix - Me (I apologize for forgetting to sing the last song. This track is sung.)
7.) Third Shelf, Part 2 - Me (I sing Track 5.)
8.) The Road to Fulfillment - Me on trombone (This purely instrumental number reveals nothing but everything about this CD and the future. Why did I stop at Track 8? Did finding the Mark Twain book help guide me? Did life make it both simple and grand? Do the robots catch up to the hoverboards? And more.)

Fighting Apocalypse

Now that X-Men Legends II is on shelves in stores and homes and gardens across the country, I just wanted to reveal three orders I was given while working on the game that made my job different than most jobs:

"Fly up really high and then dive to your death."

"Three of you jump off of the cliff. The other one go kill the insect."

"Choose the four girl characters. Now go have them stand in the fire."

That's all.

I hate Norway

"In Norway, the word harry is used synonymously with vulgar, unsophisticated persons. The reason is that English names like 'Harry' were modern in the urban Norwegian working classes in the beginning of the 20th century, while the upper and middle class preferred Scandinavian, German or occasionally French names. Upper class people started describing people of the lower classes as 'harry'. Recently, Norwegian Cabinet Minister Lars Sponheim stated that it is 'harry' to travel to Sweden to buy cheap food." - Wikipedia

Yeah, right!

Because I have changed my webbery (new word for "blog") title, I was thinking I should probably change my URL as well. Well, I'll tell you peasants when and if I do that so stop you're moaning! You have your fiefs!

Anyway, let me tell you about a bit of research I did for other webberies entitled "Imaginary Lines." There is a site with the same title but the URL theimaginarylines.webberyspot.com. Something like this was to be expected, but what was not to be expected was how remarkably similar our lives are! Here is her (oh, we're different genders, but otherwise alike) webbery's heading:

"Raising my son, waiting for the new baby, and trying to be happily married, all while maintaining a healthy sense of self. Yeah, right."

Ha! Yeah, right, indeed! My sense of self is usually so wasted that I DO think I have a son. (His name is Edgar, and he's a purple unicorn.) If only my sense of self were healthy, I could spend less time at the drugstore and more time at the front step waiting for the postman to deliver the new baby. Am I right or what, other Imaginary Lines person?!

Oh, and just listen to how similar our July 26th entries were:

Her: "I woke up today in PAIN, it hurts to roll over or stand up. This leads me to believe that the baby is in my pelvis now, that he has completely dropped. Maybe all that cleaning helped him along, but man does it ever hurt.

I also had an episode of bloody-show today, which may or may not mean that real labor is imminent. With Thomas I had this the evening before I went into labor at 2 AM. So keep your fingers crossed."

Me: "I woke up today in PAIN! It hurts to do anything, especially traffick drugs! This leads me to believe that the swallowed condom is in my pelvis now, that it's completely dropped. But man does it hurt!

I also watched an episode of "Bloody Show" today. It was hilarious! Bloody hilarious! Which may or may not mean that I'm going to buy the DVD. The last time I watched "Bloody Show" was the same evening I passed the last condom of coke. So keep your fingers crossed!"

Note: This entry is now ending. The reading and imitating of this other woman's entries have made me physically sick, as well as disgusted with my own writing capacities. I'm going to watch "Bloody Show." Good night.