The World's An Odd Place

2008-02-03T22:22:00.001-05:00

2007-08-04T16:25:00.000-05:00

2007-07-04T20:28:00.002-05:00

2007-07-04T20:28:00.001-05:00

2007-06-29T06:47:00.000-05:00

You're cooler than every single person in this line.

Man, I hate the news.

2007-06-29T00:15:00.000-05:00

Fox News is running with an "exclusive" right now about a mysterious Wikipedia edit that would seem to have confirmed Nancy Benoit's death over half a day before police found the bodies.

Here's the edit in question. For those of you unable or unwilling to click through links, I'll summarize, as I love you. Our intrepid internet wizard added "stemming from the death of his wife, Nancy," to a sentence explaining that Benoit wouldn't be appearing on that night's WWE pay-per-view due to "personal issues."

Now, this was one of a bunch of theories floating around that night - wrestlers no-showing is kind of a big deal, "personal issues" is one Hell of a blanket cause, and wrestling fans are occasionally given to bouts of rumor-mongering and hyperbole. "His wife got in a car accident" was the most common explanation for his absence, but I actually heard "he got home and his family was throwing up blood" more than once, and that's now a slightly less insane alternative to the truth.

Anyway, it turns out our anonymous friend, identified only by an IP address, was actually right, even if he was just groping in the dark or just repeating a rumor he'd heard on some backwater forum. Since a story about a guy who goes by "The Canadian Crippler" when he isn't going by "The Rabid Wolverine" killing his family and leaving bibles beside their corpses before hanging himself on his weight machine wasn't nearly sensational enough, somebody thought they'd have to add an air of freaking prognostication to the mix, and now a sentence fragment's been spun into some kind of wacky conspiracy theory.

The post came from Connecticut! WWE Headquarters is in Connecticut! Maybe they knew! And then ran an in-hindsight extremely poorly-thought-outthree-hour tribute to a child killer anyway, just to cover their tracks.

Look, anybody can dismiss the edit as gossip or rumor or blatant lucky-guessery, but it takes a special kind of person to think it's news. They went to the trouble of tracing the IP address' location, but nobody thought to, I dunno, click on the damn thing on the Edit History page? I mean, that only shows you every edit anyone's ever done from that address, which is a pretty good barometer of their reliability.

You take one look at this thing and through the magic of Internet Profiling, you know it's a freaking fourteen-year-old from Naugatuck, Connecticut. He edited the Government section of the Naugatuck page twice, once to swap out the actual mayor and deputy mayor for what're presumably the names of his buddies and make someone else the president of the "Board of WINNNNNNNGS" and another time to add a vice president to that same storied group. I guess to have an order of succession in place in case of assassination or impeachment. Point is, ain't nobody editing that page unless they live in or around Naugatuck. So that settles how I know where he lives - how'd I scientifically determine his age?

Well, he's edited the page on the African wild ass, and extremely endangered species, four times, once to replace the entire page with the word "piss." He's also edited Ron Artest's page five times, generally to point out that Artest is, in fact, a black guy in the most offensive way he can think of. So he's either fourteen or a jackass. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, I guess.

Point is, how the Hell do you look at that and think "damn, maybe the same guy who thought the world needed to know exactly how hard he wants to bone Stacy Keibler has some kind of inside track on this story!"?

Edited 6-29 to add: Well, I'll be, it was all a "terrible coincidence."

2007-05-27T17:49:00.001-05:00

2007-05-17T14:51:00.000-05:00

2007-05-17T14:49:00.000-05:00

Notes from a whiny 'artist.'

2007-05-06T16:37:00.000-05:00

I love science.

Time to use my Internet Clout:

2007-04-30T23:31:00.000-05:00

...what little of it I have, anyway.

A friend of mine knows a kid that wants to be on the next season of VH1's "I Love New York." Yeah, I know, I totally thought she'd found true love last time out, but I guess even Cupid needs a do-over every once and again. Anyway, it seems that MTV's somehow-even-more-shameful sister network needs the help of you, the kind of person that votes for things on their computers to determine what pack of doofy social detritus a woman who Flava Flav shot down twice makes jump through hoops and I want to make sure that I'm a mere one degree of separation from being there personally.

To that end, vote for this guy. It's like democracy, but your vote may actually count for something.

Guy in front of CVS near Gallery Place:

2007-04-29T14:50:00.000-05:00

I don't know where he got a megaphone, but I'm sure glad he had it.

2007-04-29T13:35:00.001-05:00

Headless ghooost duck.

2007-04-22T15:34:00.000-05:00

America's gigantic stone erection, standing tall.

2007-04-22T13:56:00.000-05:00

Fountain or overflowing sewer? You be the judge.

Look out! It's the Devil!

2007-04-20T15:26:00.000-05:00

For the last few years, I've been looking for the exact point where I could say "that's it, Fox News is America's Pravda - I no longer have to even pretend to take them seriously." They've come close to the precipice before, toes dangling over the edge of a canyon of madness like so much pseudojournalistic Wile E Coyote, but they've just now taken two steps off, stood upon the air, looked down, realized they were falling, and held out a tiny umbrella.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the ninth wonder of the world:

DID THE DEVIL MAKE HIM DO IT?

Yeah, that's right: they found a guy willing to say that the V Tech shooter, perhaps the single greatest playwrite of this or any generation, was either possessed or oppressed by Satan. Because this has to be something or someone's fault, since we've got nobody to string up. Blame video games! Blame rock music! Blame movies! Blame magical metaphysical beings that embody evil so people don't think for a second that maybe they're capable of going absolutely bughouse nuts! Personal responsibility is for sissies!

The second you start drafting theories that supernatural entities beyond our mortal ken are behind mass shootings, you've moved out of the realm of even passively respectable journalism and straight into the kind of world wherein a cover story on Batboy becomes not only expected, but somehow okay. May as well start banging out stories about how Don Imus was really fired because he was going to reveal the vast conspiracy behind 9/11 that the grim shadow cabinet that secretly runs the world only revealed, apparently, to stone lunatics and talk radio hosts in cowboy hats.

Holy wow. Subtle.

2007-04-19T11:55:00.000-05:00

Hey, we're already pretty much there; may as well stick it out another decade or so.

Why I don't smoke:

2007-04-10T16:47:00.000-05:00

In spite of being a gigantic teenage rebel at the age of 24, I somehow never took up smoking. This is unusual, given my love of walking out of parties and standing out in the cold while doing things that could conceivably kill me.

What stopped me? Freaking Superman. Sure, these ads aired when I was but a tiny Jon, perhaps one egg wide - and sure, I think they only aired on the other side of the Atlantic - and sure, I've linked to one of them before - but I'm reasonably sure I can credit my smoke-free lungs to the mere existence of these PSAs.

Meet Nick O'Teen, cigarette enthusiast and rad themed hat aficionado. His evil scheme? Getting irritating British tots to smoke. His weapon? Lies.
I rather like how Superman beats O'Teen by crushing his cigarettes and shaming him offstage by revealing his nightmarish halitosis. Nick gets off freaking light, man.

Superman hates repeat offenders, though.

Yeah. He threw that guy into orbit. Don't give kids cigarettes, people.

Crossposted on the other, more popular blog.

Because I love you.

2007-04-08T00:34:00.000-05:00

Brave Little Toaster clips. Third one is straight-up nightmare fuel, by the by. Still scares me after all these years.

A story so important, Drudge is linking to two different versions:

2007-04-06T15:21:00.000-05:00

I'm actually faintly shocked he didn't bust out a pun on "fairy" with the second headline. That's so inside his wheelhouse, it's paying rent.

2007-04-06T13:39:00.001-05:00

Your humble author, eating the only kind of salad he likes - the kind with chili in it.

2007-04-03T18:07:00.001-05:00

You can't hear the boos.

2007-04-03T13:22:00.001-05:00

The Chinatown Gate.

2007-04-03T13:17:00.001-05:00

Not shown - me laughing.

2007-04-03T13:14:00.001-05:00

The DC Historical Society, formerly the public library.

Testing, testing; Tony, I'm still getting a little hiss on the high end.

2007-04-02T22:54:00.000-05:00

Oh snap, I can post to this stupid thing using the power of my telephone. This opens up a WHOLE NEW WORLD of mediocrity.

Drudge has the Siren out!

2007-04-01T13:09:00.000-05:00

HILLARY CLINTON GOOD AT RAISING MONEY! GAAAASSSSPPPP!

ARE YOU SUFFICIENTLY TERRIFIED? HAVE I SHOCKED YOU INTO SUBMISSION? MY SPINE HAS TURNED TO JELLY IN UTTER HORROR! SPIN, MY PRETTY LIGHT, SPIIIIIIN!!

(FUN NOTE: Drudge's link, as of 2:11 PM, goes to his own front page. God, I love when he does that.)

In honor of Wrestlemania 23 tonight:

2007-03-31T12:51:00.000-05:00

Vince McMahon singing. Hulk Hogan on bass.

Rad to the max? You bet.

Breaking the silence:

2007-03-29T11:56:00.000-05:00

Yeah, sorry I haven't so much, you know, posted anything for a week. I'd give an excuse, but... actions speak louder than words, so here's Karl Rove and that irritating guy from the American version of Whose Line Is It Anyway? Not Wayne Brady. The white irritating guy. No, not that one, the other one. Not the one from the Drew Carey Show. Yeah, that one.

Anyway, they are rapping. And Rove makes a token attempt at beat boxing. And oh my God.

This announcer deserves ten raises.

2007-03-21T00:17:00.000-05:00

Click Here for more great videos and pictures!

I've seriously watched this a million times today. It doesn't stop being funny to me.

Found on Deadspin.

Overheard in DC.

2007-03-19T14:36:00.000-05:00

"Boy, Milosevic really screwed [Kosovo] up."
-A dramatic understatement in Polly's.

"Torts are a strictly American thing."
-Actually uttered by a law student. I hope he was think of the freaking pastry - I mean, he'd still be wrong, but at least it'd be outside his area of supposed expertise. Same guy as above.

"A friend and I were talking the other day about how Connecticut's, like, totally useless. They should just get rid of it."
-Shockingly, same guy. Again.

"Babel was a great movie."
-Yeah, same guy.

"RARUGH HUURRRRGH RAAAA."
-Response given when a man spinning on one foot in the middle of an intersection was asked what he was doing. Alternatively, my internal monologue while sitting next to the guy repeatedly quoted above.

"He is a fool; he won't be long for this world."
-A pedestrian crossing I Street, in reference to the driver of a car exercising his legal right to turn on red.

Sinbad dead, dozens pretend to mourn.

2007-03-16T13:24:00.000-05:00

Oh, wait, my bad; I have spoken too soon. Silly me.

Seems some prankster went to the trouble of editing a fake date-of-death into Sinbad's Wikipedia entry, prompting a flurry of edits, revisions, and phone calls to the purported comedian. It's not terribly difficult to get a Wikipedia account - they don't even ask for an email address, for God's sake, so I have two different usernames there - and it's generally hilarious to see the user population that actually takes that thing deadly seriously flip out.

There's little I find funnier than gunning through Wikipedia history pages, you see, so I get positively giddy when stories like this hit. Most of your legitimate news services don't go to the trouble of rooting through revised Wikis for you, the discerning reader, so I feel I'm offering a service you won't find elsewhere.

Unless you, like, look at Wikipedia revision history pages anyway. In which case, sorry, old news.

Here's the offending page, adding a date and cause of death to Sinbad's otherwise ruthlessly mundane bio. He wanted to be a Harlem Globetrotter! Just like me! But his lack of basketball skills stood as a stumbling block, so he starred in First Kid instead! Just like me!

As the rumors of his untimely demise spread (I imagine most conversations went "hey, did you see Sinbad died?" "Whoa, wait, he was still alive?"), the edits came hot and heavy. From the righteously indignant ("[[ HE IS NOT DEAD !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!THAT'S A VERY SICK JOKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]]") to the more subtle ("He's actually not dead.. This is all bogus!" under "Sinbad in Pop Culture") to the even subtler yet (look under "Notable Roles" in the fact box in the top-right of the page), the pro-accuracy in Wikipedia crowd let their voices be heard. Because people kept editing reports of his death back in, see.

After a couple hundred edits, the article was finally put under protection yesterday, after a weekend of wild west shootout madness.

This is why your professors don't let you use Wikipedia as a source, kids. Because I could log in right now and change George Washington's biography to reflect my theory that he was an astronaut launched back in time from a future we barely understand so as to teach America - TO ROCK.

And now, sports.

2007-03-12T12:20:00.000-05:00

Screw you, gaggle of nerds what picks the NCAA tournament bracket.

Syracuse is out, but Arkansas is in? Come on, our mascot is a freaking orange. With a face. We've overcome that adversity but we don't deserve a shot?

UConn's out, and deservedly so, as they sucked, so I can't watch them. 'Cuse is out, so I can't get all nostalgic and misty-eyed about that time they won the whole stupid thing a couple years gone, when I was but a young, doe-eyed undergrad with a chip on his shoulder and a spring in his step.

As opposed to now, when I'm an elderly, decrepit shell of a twenty-four-year-old with a shoulder injured by drawing pictures and a gimpy right knee.

Looks like I'll have to do the unthinkable. It looks like I'll have to root for CCSU.

Spring forward! Do it!

2007-03-11T02:03:00.000-05:00

I just got a text message - the message knew to move ahead an hour, so it said I received it at three-oh-five AM, even though my phone still says two-oh-five. And that's weird. My computer says two-oh-six right now, but I imagine that's because I haven't installed the updates the thing's downloaded of its own terrifying free will.

I swear, sooner or later, this thing's going to send robots back in time to kill my mom before I can be born.

But, anyway, yes; fix your clocks, somebody demands it.

This has been a public service announcement. I love you all.

Let's see if I can't get banned in Turkey.

2007-03-07T20:29:00.000-05:00

So, funny story. It's apparently illegal to insult Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, four-term president and founder of the nation of Turkey as we know it. As I'm not particularly well-versed in Turkish law, if you'd guessed that something must've come up to alert me to this, give yourself a gold star - a Turkish court just blocked all of YouTube in their fair nation because of content that violates this law.

Somebody, and they're blaming "fanatical Greeks" for this one, seems to have called into question the sexuality of the long-dead leader, and that's just not cricket according to Turkish law. I can't find the video in question, but this one strikes me as a good guess. Commenting's been disabled, see, and I took that as a clue. Because I am a detective. Anyway, there's a fair bit of naughty language in the extent comments - well, the two in English, at least - so you've been warned.

Wouldn't want to offend anyone that could have me banned from entire countries, after all.

The rest is in some kind of crazy Boggle-language that I can't place - one imagines Turkish, as the occasionally-reliable Babelfish tells me it ain't Greek - and I can't think of a web translator that'll net me an internet Rosetta Stone to work this one out. Whatever, though; one imagines it's stock-standard internet tough guy talk, mixed with assorted racism and homophobia.

Incidentally, that song? Rules. I don't care what it says; it totally sounds like something pastel and neon-colored stormtroopers would march to in a science-fiction world gone mad, and that's okay by me.

Must... resist... urge to make... easy joke...

2007-03-06T16:23:00.000-05:00

Aw, screw it. I always take the path of least resistance.

skeet skeet skeeter's journal

current mood - sadtastic

by now you've heard the terrible news. my brother was found guilty of lying about leeking informashun about a cia guy! this is the worst thing that has ever happned 2 me except for the time nanny told me that i wasn't going2 see my cat again because he was going 2 a farm with a nice family and lots of room for him 2 play. i hope scooter isn't going 2 that farm because i totally never saw gumdrop again :(

neway, i'm going to go listen 2 some my chemical romance because they understand my pain. free scooter!

currently listening - my chem: our lady of sorrows

Off-Topic:

2007-03-01T16:40:00.000-05:00

Ever heard Kris Kristofferson's recording of "Me and Bobbie McGee"? Note carefully how I spelled "Bobbie." Anyway, I know he wrote it, and I know that the substitution of an IE for a Y makes it a song about a girl, but it's still kinda weird to hear him sing it. I mean, even though he barely has a manlier voice that Janis Joplin.

In other news, all of Iowa is a disaster area. Two blizzards in a short window'll do that to you, yeah.

John McCain's officially throwing his hat into a fairly crowded ring. It's going to be a long year, folks.

Finally, that girl who claimed to've been hiccuping for five straight weeks finally stopped. Because I know that's been keeping you up nights. You're so empathetic, my loyal readers. Good on you.

You know, there has to be a better way to get the mayor's attention.

2007-02-28T14:45:00.000-05:00

I mean, besides chucking bricks with notes attached to them at his house and car, like somebody's done to Bristol's mayor, William Stortz over the last month. To be fair, the brick that hit the car actually hit a car that merely looked like Stortz', but one imagines that brick-throwing note-writers generally aren't looking to get the attention of custodians, so you've got to figure that they beaned the wrong vehicle.

Stortz is taking a very Zen approach to all this - "Either it's going to stop or it could get worse." Yeah, you're a leaf on the breeze, man, totally.

(Yeah, I know, I'm getting Connecticut news from a Minnesota paper. The internet is freaking awesome.)

So how'd I do?

2007-02-26T15:02:00.000-05:00

A month ago, I attempted to predict the outcome of the bigger Academy Awards. My track record for such scrying is spotty at best, and we're here now in the wake of the Boringest Awards Show Perhaps Ever to see if my skills have improved.

Animated Feature Film:

What I Said: "They really need to scrap this category. They don't even have enough nominees to make it interesting. Cars, I guess."

What Actually Happened: Happy Feet. To be fair, even the loathsome Chris Connelly told me this one was a surprise. I really need to write a computer-generated cartoon. I can make dated pop culture references in the place of actual jokes, too, Hollywood. Just ask my good friend Panthro.Panthro knows the score.

Original Screenplay:

What I Said: "Give it to Little Miss Sunshine. This is, by a wide margin, the award it's most deserving of."

What Actually Happened: Oh, man, I'm at fifty percent accuracy so far. That's approaching Edgar Cayce levels of accuracy. I should write a book about Atlantis and tell people when the world's going to end.

Adapted Screenplay:

What I Said: "I'm... not quite sure how Borat was "adapted," really. It wasn't a book or a play or anything. I also can't believe it took five credited writers to bang out a movie that boiled down to baiting people into saying stupid things. I'm hearing great things about Children of Men, but haven't seen it yet, nor have I seen Little Children or Notes on a Scandal, so I can't really guess, here.

I'll say Monahan offhand, though."

What Actually Happened: You, sir! In the blue shirt! You have three dollars and seventy-five cents in your wallet! Your wallet - which is no longer in your pocket but here in my hand even though I have not left the stage!

(PS: It turns out any film based on existing characters is technically an adaptation.)

Directing:

What I Said: "Probably Inarritu. Maybe Scorsese."

What Actually Happened: Scorsese won, but I hedged my bet. Darn, should've gone with my gut.

Supporting Actress:

What I Said: "They should give it to the little girl from Little Miss Sunshine. They probably will give it to Jennifer Hudson, because I'm sure they'll run a ginormous campaign guaranteeing that damned movie wins some kinda hardware, and I'm not seeing a world where Eddie Murphy wins an Oscar, for some reason.

(Okay, it's because of The Adventures of Pluto Nash.)"

What Actually Happened: This one was sort of a foregone conclusion, but I'm glad I ended up being right about Eddie Murphy.

Supporting Actor:

What I Said: "Arkin was great, but, oh my God, they need to give Marky Mark an Oscar. Now. Because."

What Actually Happened: I'm going to say that I was picking Arkin and making a joke about Wahlberg. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Actor:

What I Said: "I saw exactly none of these. Whitaker on buzz alone."

What Actually Happened: This was possibly the foregonest conclusion of the night, though there was the outside chance of a pity Oscar being thrown to the desiccated corpse of Peter O'Toole before he starts eating brains for sustenance. You know he's younger than Clint Eastwood? Eastwood looks like he could punch a hole in the Great Wall of China, O'Toole looks like he fell out the back of a morgue wagon.

Actress:

What I Said: "Saw none of these, either. Streep, but it's a total guess."

What Actually Happened: If I was more up on my gossip, I'd've known that they pretty much promised this one to Helen Mirren weeks ago. Silly me.

And, finally, Best Picture:

What I Said: "This is, perhaps, the first time in five years that I've seen the majority of the Best Picture nominations. The only ones I haven't seen are Letters From Iwo Jima and The Queen, so I'll reserve judgment on those. Babel is not good, but it's exactly the kind of stupid pablum the Academy tends to reward. It's Crash with more foreign languages, basically, so I think the odds of that winning are pretty good. Little Miss Sunshine is fantastic but I suspect a hair too light to win. The Departed is my favorite of the list, so I hope it'll win, but I feel like they'll toss the statue to Babel on the grounds of it being Important or Meaningful or Something."

What Actually Happened: I'm actually fairly shocked that it didn't go to Babel, considering how hard they were pimping the whole "International Oscars" meme all night, but I'm glad the movie I was actually pulling for won.

I'm scoring myself a five out of nine, with a half-point each for Best Director and Best Supporting Actor. Which is a significant improvement over my Grammy picks.

Holy wow.

2007-02-26T01:26:00.000-05:00

I don't speak whatever crazy language this is written in, but I'm pretty sure the caption for the picture says SATAN OPENS UP GAPING MAW IN MIDDLE OF CITY, OH MY GOD RUN IT'S COMING TO GET US.

Chronicling the Absurd: Liveblogging the Oscars

2007-02-25T18:46:00.000-05:00

6:53: Joan Rivers is, as I type, interviewing Melissa Etheridge, whose girlfriend just had twins. Rivers says "I hear you just had twins," Etheridge goes "well, she had them," while gesturing to her partner. Rivers replies "I figured," because, apparently, Joan Rivers regards Melissa Etheridge as a dude.

Rivers, if you're curious, appears to be wearing several dozen dead purple foxes. Her head looks like an apple that has been left out in the sun for months on end.

6:59: Joan Rivers to James Taylor: "How does the energy [of the Oscars; this is Taylor's first] compare to a rock concert? Or one of your concerts?"

I'll give the old bat this: she has the presence of mind to know that James Taylor is many things, but he is decidedly Not Rock.

7:03: pharrellondrums: how did "Karazy" not get nominated for best original song?
RussianGuyovitch: What the Hell is nominated for Best Song?
pharrellondrums: 3 songs from dreamgirls, a randy newman song from cars and a meliss etheridge song from an inconvenient truth
pharrellondrums: you might think that's a typo but melissa etheridge and i are tight. i get to drop syllables.
RussianGuyovitch: I just assumed, yeah.

7:05: pharrellondrums: i just looked through the nominees and i've only seen 3 movies total that are nominated for anything.
BradsAtomicWedgy: alright, i'm all back
BradsAtomicWedgy: and i'm getting crunk

Yeah, this is the World's an Odd Place crack Oscar review squad.

7:15: The entire crack review squad just turned on Drake and Josh for a while.

We're totally screwing up the demographics for that show right now.

7:28: Drinking (sodie pop) Game Rules:

Whenever the "Get Off The Stage" Music kicks in, continue drinking until it stops.
Whenever jokes don't go over.
Whenever the presenter cannot read the teleprompter.
Whenever a winner thanks God.
Whenever a man appears and isn't wearing a tie.

7:37: I like Seacrest and I don't care who knows it. There, I said it.

7:54: pharrellondrums: eddie murphy should have been nominated for daddy day care
RussianGuyovitch: That kid in the Flash suit should've been.
BradsAtomicWedgy: we need to pick two actors to drink for every time they're on screen
RussianGuyovitch: Jennifer Hudson and Helen Mirren.
RussianGuyovitch: There, now we're going to die.

7:57: BradsAtomicWedgy: drink every time you're confused as to why penelope cruz is regarded as one of the best actresses of our time
RussianGuyovitch: Jesus, I'll go start mixing gin in the bathtub, then.

8:03: pharrellondrums: they have talking penguins for a 1/2 hour
BradsAtomicWedgy: no way
RussianGuyovitch: I'm not complaining about the penguins, really.
RussianGuyovitch: Penguins are pretty awesome.
BradsAtomicWedgy: i'd rather have the wayne newton nba all-star game intro
RussianGuyovitch: Everyone would rather have that.
pharrellondrums: i'd rather have the 1993 slam dunk contest
RussianGuyovitch: I need to see the East starters come out dancing again.
BradsAtomicWedgy: where the hell is loder?
RussianGuyovitch: OH GOD NOT CHRIS CONNELLY.

8:05:pharrellondrums: how old is leo?
RussianGuyovitch: Not old enough to grow a beard, I guess.
RussianGuyovitch: Lisa Ling? God, this is totally where pretend journalists go to die.
BradsAtomicWedgy: seriously
RussianGuyovitch: Is Serena Altschul directing from the van?
pharrellondrums: kennedy is holding the boom

8:19: ABC's running whatever the opposite of a tight ship is for their pre-show right now, with some guy who looks like the King of Cartoons talking over every single person he interviews, Lisa Ling asking the dumbest questions I think I've ever heard and Chris Connelly existing. Not to mention the weird audio problems and the fact that I've already watched an hour and a half of people wearing dresses and patting themselves on the back harder than I'd've previously thought possible.

8:30: The actual show has finally started. Clint Eastwood is the coolest man alive, much less in the room.

8:33: RussianGuyovitch: They should've green screened, like, dinosaurs behind all these people.
RussianGuyovitch: RARR.
pharrellondrums: or muscle beach party
RussianGuyovitch: Or Ski Party.
pharrellondrums: haha, skiing polar bear
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha ha
BradsAtomicWedgy: or jorge killing the zookeeper
RussianGuyovitch: Skiing polar bear was HOSED out of his Supporting Actor nomination.

8:37: RussianGuyovitch: So, just to be clear, Whittaker was nominated for Ghost Dog: Legend of the Samurai, right?
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha ha
BradsAtomicWedgy: wait, ellen's hosting?
BradsAtomicWedgy: how did i not know this?
RussianGuyovitch: You're out of the loop.

8:40: Ellen's dressed as a ventriloquist's dummy, or a member of pop band circa 1955. She looks like she's on stage at Arnold's with the Fonz looking on, waiting for Leather Tuscadero to take the stage.

BradsAtomicWedgy: will smith just gave the fakest laugh ever
RussianGuyovitch: Alfonso Ribeiro knows that laugh well.
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha
BradsAtomicWedgy: he's moving boxes right now
RussianGuyovitch: He's standing on one so ladies think he's tall.
BradsAtomicWedgy: moving into a basement apartment down the block from us
RussianGuyovitch: He's the guy living in the tent behind the used car lot.

8:44: pharrellondrums: i want hot dogs mama
pharrellondrums: i wish what's eating gilbert grape was on
BradsAtomicWedgy: dude, that's the hardest i've laughed all night

8:46: BradsAtomicWedgy: gwirls?
RussianGuyovitch: Dweam gwirls.
RussianGuyovitch: She can't read, DRINK.

8:50: BradsAtomicWedgy: maggie gyllenhal's cute until she talks
RussianGuyovitch: She looks like Simon the chipmunk.
pharrellondrums: she's better looking in that movie where she's a crackwhore
BradsAtomicWedgy: she can look an incredible amount like charlize theron on occasion
RussianGuyovitch: I don't like the sash thing she's got going on. Looks like a Girl Scout or a hall monitor.

8:58:BradsAtomicWedgy: i'm unconvinced that jack black is funny
RussianGuyovitch: I'm glad that they didn't bring Jon Heder in.
BradsAtomicWedgy: seriously
RussianGuyovitch: That's a "Finish Your Drink" situation.
RussianGuyovitch: Not because of the rules, just to make it tolerable.

9:14: RussianGuyovitch: The Sound Effects Choir stayed in... I wonder what they actually cut for time?
BradsAtomicWedgy: nothing was cut from this show
RussianGuyovitch: I think they're going to add more in as they go along.

9:16: pharrellondrums: alright, i quit watching the oscars. call me if soul plane wins anything.
RussianGuyovitch: I heard they were up for Best Sound Editing.
pharrellondrums: and best use of a plane with hydraulics

BradsAtomicWedgy: did they censor greg kinnear?
RussianGuyovitch: No, it was a heady joke about the power of sound editors.
RussianGuyovitch: Duh.
BradsAtomicWedgy: oh, the sound cut out for me
RussianGuyovitch: That was the joke.
BradsAtomicWedgy: oh

9:23: RussianGuyovitch: That was, like, the least likely possible way that could've gone.
BradsAtomicWedgy: seriously
BradsAtomicWedgy: that's awesome though
BradsAtomicWedgy: he's so cool

I cannot believe Arkin just won Best Supporting Actor. I'm glad, I just absolutely wasn't expecting it. See, Eddie; this is what happens when you release another movie where you dress in drag and wear a fat suit during Oscar voting season.

9:29: RussianGuyovitch: OH MAN JAMES TAYLOR IS COMING UP.
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha, yes!
RussianGuyovitch: I'm absolutely going to fall asleep.
RussianGuyovitch: James Taylor singing a Randy Newman number is like giant Benadryl tablets soaked in grain alcohol.

9:38: RussianGuyovitch: Wow, Melissa Etheridge could absolutely tack the chorus to Come To My Window into this song and I don't think anyone would notice.
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha
BradsAtomicWedgy: she's really talentless
BradsAtomicWedgy: like i mean, i like hootie and blowfish, and they're really basic
RussianGuyovitch: She sounds exactly like Rod Stewart.
BradsAtomicWedgy: but i don't even think her songs are catchy and they're basic
RussianGuyovitch: Al Gore is utterly incapable of sounding sincere.
RussianGuyovitch: Wait, the show's "Green"? So they all rolled up in electric limousines?

9:54: RussianGuyovitch: Oh, lord, this is the Borat category.
BradsAtomicWedgy: this movie [Children of Men] sucked so bad
BradsAtomicWedgy: it'd be way better if tom hanks just read the script
RussianGuyovitch: Hah hah.
RussianGuyovitch: What the Hell is Little Children?
RussianGuyovitch: I'd never heard of it prior to reading the nominations.
BradsAtomicWedgy: i have no idea
RussianGuyovitch: Hooray, Departed wins something.
BradsAtomicWedgy: seriously
RussianGuyovitch: I'd sort of hoped Borat would win just to see the acceptance speech.
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha, yeah seriously
RussianGuyovitch: But I imagine that script is like four words of stage direction followed by "INSERT CLIP OF THAT ONE GUY BEING A HUGE BIGOT."

10:07: The crack review squad is currently discussing hockey. That's how boring the Oscars are.

10:18: I'm reasonably sure I'm the last of the review squad still watching this. I am so very, very bored. I've started watching cartoons in my head.

10:29: You know what this show needed? More montages! It was just too fast-paced! They had to slow it down!

10:41: BradsAtomicWedgy: it's a shame about jennifer hudson winning
RussianGuyovitch: Hah hah.
BradsAtomicWedgy: i obviously didn't see dreamgirls, but i'm sure she sucked
RussianGuyovitch: I'd just assumed you were asleep by now.

10:52: If anyone deserves an award, it's Ennio Morricone. They should beat up John Williams and give Morricone whatever they find in his pockets. They should give Morricone Danny Elfman's car. That's how much better he is than everyone else working in his chosen profession.

11:01: So, uh, did Ennio tell them he'd be doing this in Italian?

11:15: "In order to write Little Miss Sunshine, Michael Arndt had to quit his job as Matthew Broderick's assistant."

Matthew Broderick has an assistant? What's he do all day? Wait for somebody to call about a War Games remake? Deal with the wife? Tell Matt that Inspector Gadget was a good idea?

11:27: RussianGuyovitch: This is like that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit where Daffy and Donald Duck are playing dueling piano and you can just tell they hate each other.
RussianGuyovitch: Beyonce's like three grace notes from just busting out a cartoon anvil and taking Jennifer Hudson and her terrifyingly bouncy boobs out.
BradsAtomicWedgy: ha, it's true

Mick just called it quits; we'll see how much longer I last.

11:31: How do you fail to win Best Song when you have three songs nominated? Did Dreamgirls just split the vote, Teddy Roosevelt-style? Or does the Academy seriously have that big a crush on Al Gore?

11:40: My God, another montage. We're three hours in and I'm pretty sure fully half of that has been filled with Gee, Aren't Movies Great? montages.

11:45: Screw it, this is killing me with boredom. I'm bailing on the down note of the People What Died This Year montage.

Tomorrow: We check how I did when I predicted winners some weeks ago. Good night.

Get excited:

2007-02-23T19:02:00.000-05:00

I'm reasonably certain I'm going to liveblog the Oscars. They're looking to tip the scales at nearly four hours, so odds are good my commentary will slide into the absurd and incomprehensible about... oh, halfway. Or as soon as I start, depending upon how highly you rate my comprehensibility and whatever-the-opposite-of-absurdity-is typically.

Anyway, Sunday night - be here, or be somewhere else. I don't really care either way; I'm just giving you a head's up.

It happened sooner than I thought.

2007-02-22T16:18:00.000-05:00

Yeah, we're into giant cephalopod territory. I told you it'd come to this, people. I told you not yesterday that mainstream media coverage of totally irrelevant crap - Britney's back in rehab, by the by - would force my into the fringes of talking about giant squid, like I was Jules Verne or something. Sure, my prediction, like those of many, if not all, prognosticators before me may not have come completely true - the squid was landed by New Zealanders, not the usual Weird Fish Catchers of the Pacific Rim, the Japanese - but it was still remarkably close for something said in jest mid-rant.

Point is, I'm talking about a giant squid. Wait, strike that - a colossal squid, bigger than the mere giant. The giant squid is a child's plaything in comparison. In fact, according to the handy size chart the BBC thoughtfully provided, it's a hardy question mark meters long, making it approximately I Don't Know How Much Longer Than a Double-Decker Bus, Which is Apparently The Standard British Unit of Media Comparable Measurement, Whereas We Use Empire State Buildings and Football Fields, Suffice to Say "Bigger Than a Bus."

The calamari produced from such a mighty mystery of the deep would be "the size of tractor tires," in case you live on a farm and have a working knowledge of such things. Suffice to say that it is a big, big thing. And it is quite dead now. But still big.

Here's hoping I get to hear hour upon hour of labored "this squid was New Zealand's Princess Di" claptrap over the next couple days.

Dear Media:

2007-02-21T15:41:00.000-05:00

Do you have any idea how hard it is to cover weird news when you guys in the mainstream think that Britney Spears shaving her head and going into rehab more times in three days than Drew Barrymore has in her entire life is actual news? How do you define what constitutes "weird" when there was a week not too long ago where literally half of all twenty-four hour cable news was devoted to the death of a woman whose entire claim to fame was marrying rich after showing her boobs to as many people as was theoretically possible? What's an odd story when Drudge is talking about her corpse's rate of decay? (Incidentally, and not to totally derail my momentum, but "Offical: Anna Nicole Smith's Body Decomposing"? A little on the nose, isn't it? Did editorial shoot down "Official: Anna Nicole Smith Currently Still Not Alive, Going To Eventually Become Dust and Presumably Some Variety of Plastic"?)

I mean, how do you top the weirdness of a story about a former Playboy bunny's rate of bodily decay?

Your willingness to cover things at are not by any even exceptionally loose definition of the word "news" pushes me further and further into a terrifying netherworld of stupid garbage, like anti-Semitic sugar packets (complete with pictures of Hitler) and half-siblings in love ("it's just like kissing myself"). Eventually, I'll be forced into a corner where all I can talk about are new and exciting types of giant cephalopod that the Japanese find off their coasts and then eat.

It's all your fault.

Love, Jon.
XOXO.

I love you, Japan.

2007-02-20T14:14:00.000-05:00

Watch this. (Seven and a half minutes, in unsubtitled Japanese, on a site whose links I cannot vouch for work-safe-ability.)

If I've learned anything about Japan by watching their television shows, it's that you can't go ten feet on that crazy island without tripping over a totally radical obstacle course. In this case, it's from a show whose title translates to "Ninja Warrior," which is absolutely the most apt name in the history of naming things. The Ninja Warrior consists of three separate courses of increasing complexity and difficulty, but more or less reminiscent of the final American Gladiators event, the Eliminator.

Except I imagine most people don't finish the Ninja Warrior course. Because it kills them.

Honestly, that thing looks almost impossibly hard. And the guy in the video? He beats the crap out of it. He's like if Batman and Snake Eyes had a kid, and then the kid was on a Japanese game show.

The video doesn't show it what one wins for pulling this off, but it better be, like, Emperor for a Day, or something.

"Neutrality" sometimes means "We Don't Like You."

2007-02-19T16:34:00.000-05:00

You know, when a neutral country takes a stand against you, you might just be a schmuck.

Switzerland won't let famed liar-slash-cult leader Rael, perhaps best known for that time he claimed his followers had cloned a person, move in, chiefly because of his faintly creepy views on the age at which it's appropriate to, you know, sleep with a child. Rael's probably the closest thing the real world will ever have to delightful DC Comics cult leader Kobra. Both are intensely creepy, both have a legion of followers willing to wear silly outfits in their leader's name, but only one of them is one of something like four comic book villains to have his own namesake title. And Rael wasn't created by Jack Kirby. If he was, I'd probably think he was cool-looking. Rael also suffers from a terminal lack of snake-theming. I'm a sucker for any sort of overblown theme.

I swear I had a point when I started writing this, but you all know that Rael's a weird guy - I mean, look at the picture of him Breitbart's running in the attached link; he doesn't even look like he believes what he's saying, though having his name on the wall right behind him is mildly awesome and I wish I could get away with it - and there isn't much worse I can say about somebody than "the Swiss don't even like him."

Because I love you so:

2007-02-15T15:21:00.000-05:00

I'm not gonna lie: I'm pretty sure I knew the words to all these songs offhand.

Chronicling the Absurd: Liveblogging the Grammys

2007-02-11T19:35:00.000-05:00

7:25: Yeah, I promised I'd never do this again after that Survivor debacle. But that was months ago. And I don't learn lessons, no siree, Bob. So here we are, a half an hour before what Ryan Seacrest assures me is "music's biggest night," and I'm fully intending to write this nonsense up as I go. With me are Mick and Lindsey, both of whom are fully intending to sit here while I write this nonsense up as I go. And also make with the jokes, hopefully.

Hopefully.

7:35: I have just now noticed that E! is running a ticker on the bottom of the screen apparently written by the same women that bang out letters to Entertainment Weekly. "GOOD LUCK BEYONCE AND MARY J BLIGE!!!!!" "FERGIE IS SMOKING HOT." "CAN'T WAIT TO SEE MY LOVE JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! HI GRANDMA!!!!" Thank God we live in this, the age of internet 2.0, where Any Content is Good Content.

7:40: Just once, I'd love to hear somebody answer "who're you wearing?" with "the flesh of my enemies."

7:55: Drinking (Apple Juice) Game Rules:

Drink:

Whenever the "Get Off The Stage" Music kicks in, continue drinking until it stops.
Whenever jokes don't go over.
Whenever the presenter cannot read the teleprompter.
Whenever a winner thanks God.
Whenever a man appears and isn't wearing a tie.
Whenever someone who has nothing to do with music appears.
Pour out a forty for the years the Police weren't together.

8:00: Malcolm McDowell appears to be fronting the Police, who have chosen to cover a 311 version of "Roxanne." Also, way to wear a vest without a shirt, Sting. What are you, at a dog track?

8:05: Jamie Foxx just made me drink three times in about two seconds.

Best pop duet with vocals (or, according to Mick, The Best Two People Who Have Ever Lived):
Tony Bennet and Stevie Wonder win.

AtarisChad: if promiscuous doesn't win this our world is broken
RussianGuyovitch: Our world is broken.

8:10: Addendum to Drinking Game Rules:

Drink:

Whenever somebody from American Idol is shown.
Whenever a majority of the room thinks a woman's dress is ugly.
Whenever Matt Drudge is coiled like a rattlesnake, waiting to strike at the Dixie Chicks.

8:15: "I wonder who's gonna sing with Timberlake?"
"Scarlett Johannson."
"You know what I heard, is that Scarlett Johannson doesn't have a larnyx. It's true."

8:22: If you're playing by the rules, Fergie just cost you four drinks in one speech.

8:34: Meanwhile, in a party tent outside the awards ceremony, the rest of N'Sync is working a craft service table, waiting for Timberlake to eat a plate of crab cakes they've taken turns adding bodily fluids to.

8:37: Blair Witch Cam view of J-Timb? Bad idea.

AtarisChad: it's like he's performing as a myspace picture

8:48: How bad is it that Stevie Wonder knocks his intro out of the park, but half the people who can, like, see blow their's?

8:58: If you can name more than one member of the Pussycat Dolls offhand, you're some kind of trivia machine. Or a horrible pervert. Whichever.

And I don't want to live in a world where Elvis Costello loses an award to John Mayer. Unless the award is "Guy Most Likely to Make Fratboys Get Confused About Their Sexuality (Excluding Dane Cook)."

9:11: Dixie Chicks win Song of the Year, Matt Drudge has heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack.

9:14: AtarisChad: oh sweet, guesses on gnarls barkley's costume theme.
RussianGuyovitch: Lord of the Rings.
AtarisChad: i'm going with dudes claiming to be anna nicole's baby's daddy.

Mick: Cee-Lo's gonna come out in a casket.

9:34: God, Mary J Blige won't go away. Every time I look up, she's back. She's won twice (and nearly murdered me thanks to her unbelievably long first speech) and now she's singing some song about how hard relationships are. Which has been her oeuvre for at least a decade. God, woman, just get on CraigsList or something.

9:41: Drudge was briefly revived in the ambulance, only to go into arrest once more when the Dixie Chicks won Best Country Album. And then told a terrible joke. At least three drinks for this one.

9:51: If there is a forty-year-old soccer dad trying harder to look cool than the lead singer from Rascal Flatts, he's probably outside a convenience store hitting on underage girls by offering to buy them cigarettes right now. Nice rat tail, scumbag.

9:55: There is no reason to keep doing live performances if somebody's already done Desperado, the second-greatest song of all time. It's Truth, handed down from upon high by God himself.

10:03: I'm pretty sure Carrie Underwood just thanked "anal blut." I don't know what that is, but I bet it's awesome.

10:20: Chris Brown deserves nine or ten Grammys for that. He backflipped off a trampoline, people. Off a trampoline!

10:38: Mary J Blige again? God! At least Ludacris softens the blow.

10:58: White guys cannot wear sneakers with suits, I don't care who you are. As Mick put it, it makes you look like a high school Spanish teacher.

11:00: Dixie Chicks take Record of the Year, Matt Drudge has stroke.

11:10: Anthony Kiedis looks to've beaten up Sting and stolen his outfit. Or vests are in this year. And Flea looks to be dressed for either soccer practice or a warmup with the ~~Pacers~~ Lakers.

11:25: Dixie Chicks win the last Grammy of the night; the little annoying one is plastered. She claims that people are "using their freedom of speech" with their Grammy votes. God bless America, I guess.

Well, the little annoying girl from the Dixie Chicks and I have exactly one thing in common. Besides the fact that she is presumably also furious that the Police did exactly one song. What a freaking gyp.

As if you actually care:

2007-02-08T17:02:00.000-05:00

Anna Nicole Smith's dead, and Wolf Blitzer's already sick of talking about it. You can tell he's thinking "why couldn't she have died during the damned overnight, when this wouldn't be my problem?" He's stuck bouncing between this story and Iran demonstrating their guided missile arsenal - which one of these don't belong with the other?

Edited to add: Aw, Hell, now they've gone and called in Nancy Grace. Do you think her phone rings automatically when blond white women die? As soon as the heart stops beating, a red phone in a cave starts blinking ominously. Once again, she thinks, it has come time for Nancy Grace to swing into action.

So my birthday's coming up...

2007-02-08T15:07:00.000-05:00

I was wondering if anybody had twenty-two grand or so handy so I could get a suit of armor built by Troy Hurtubise. Does that name not ring a bell?

Lemme see if this jogs your memory:

Yeah, him. The guy what built the suits of armor to fight grizzlies. From the look of things, he's in a much better position than the Galactic Empire to fight Ewoks, anyway.

He's since moved on to military armor, creating "The Trojan" for troops in Iraq and Afghanistan. I can't match his relentless enthusiasm (on any topic ever, I would wager), so here's the man himself, shilling for his invention to a reporter:

I can't believe he put a clock on the crotch. Even he forgot about it until he took a quick glimpse at his garbage.

Anyway, it seems our boy Troy is in dire straights financially right now, so he's selling the Trojan prototype (as well as the rights to a recipe for something called 'Shadow Armor,' which sounds like it'll give you plus two defense against dark magicks, at least). To whom? Why, to you, the eBay bidder. Yes, that's right. You, too, can own what hundreds of Halo nerds can only fantasize about!

So somebody make with the buying it. I wanna break bats on your arms.

You don't have to be crazy in this line of work, but it helps.

2007-02-06T17:14:00.000-05:00

I could honestly say that, before today, the sentence "an all-NASA love triangle leads to attempted murder" could exist only in my head as the TV Guide summary of some kind of dream episode of The Six Million Dollar Man. But here we are.

Seems one Lisa Nowak, Captain, US Navy, is in love with fellow astronaut William Oefelein, whose last name is really hard to spell. The only problem with their literally star-crossed romance? Colleen Shipman, an apparent rival for Oefelein's affections. And also the fact that Oefelein wasn't aware he was supposed to be in love with Nowak. But that's trifling.

Nowak, upon discovering that Shipman was flying to Orlando, collected a disguise, some Mace, a knife, six hundred bucks straight cash and a BB gun and rolled east from Texas herself. Oh, also diapers. She wore diapers for the duration of the trip so she wouldn't have to stop to pee. The AP is quick to point out that astronauts wear diapers during takeoff and re-entry, but I hope to God that they call them something cooler. Something that starts with "space," maybe.

Anyway, after tailing Shipman around a parking lot, Nowak cornered her rival in car and apparently Maced her when she opened a window. Nowak claims she just wanted to talk, but the Mace and the knife and the disguise and the BB gun tend to argue otherwise. Originally plunked on attempted kidnapping charges, the police upped the ante today by throwing attempted murder on the docket, seemingly unsatisfied that Nowak was going to get out on bond.

Your daily terror update.

2007-02-05T16:03:00.000-05:00

Because I know you depend on guys in their early twenties who haven't shaved in three days for all your terror updates.

(Terror will now only be written in red. And italics. And big. Because it is important. Tom Menino told me it was.)

While the Boston authorities were searching their fair city for terrifying advertisements, they found two actual factual fake pipe bombs, one strapped to a bridge, the other in a hospital. This has gone bafflingly underreported these last few days, I guess because it's way, way more fun to keep talking about Mooninites.

Meanwhile, Turner Broadcasting has appeased the city of Boston by paying it two million dollars for inadvertently sparking fears of terrorism. This gets them and the ad firm they hired off the hook, but leaves those two artist guys who only answered questions about hair twisting in the wind. You know, I'm pretty much one of those guys. I'm a freelance artist. I don't take press conferences seriously. If someone was willing to pay me, I'd stick magnetic advertisements on the back of a freaking lion, such is my love for getting paid. I could very easily have ended up in the same position they're in, and there is literally no way I would've seen Getting Arrested For Being a Pretend Terrorist coming when I applied for that gig.

Anyway, Tom Menino's taking the settlement as a sign that the city did not, in fact, overreact. Now, I don't think they overreacted. I think the media did. The police, Coast Guard and DHS did exactly what they're supposed to do, given the nature of the situation. The media just ran with it and turned what could have been just a mildly funny situation into ONE THIRTY-ONE NEVUR 4GET singularity of overreaction. Menino might've gone a bit too far in invoking grim specter of 9/11 about a million times, but that's the sort of thing I've come to expect from every politician in America by now.

However, this is going a bit overboard: "So I just have to say the folks who second-guessed us because we did go out there and do our work, shame on them, because it's important that we did it." I have literally every single right in the world to second-guess politicians. Especially when they start acting like they saved their city by... I don't know, standing behind a podium and fielding questions.

Not to keep harping on this, or anything...

2007-02-02T19:01:00.000-05:00

They edited out his cartoon middle finger. He doesn't even have hands in any traditional sense, but they edited out his middle finger. The lesson here is that it's totally okay to scare the Hell out of everybody for no good reason but God help you if a kid sees a vaguely identifiable obscene gesture.

That's how the devil jumps directly into their virgin eyes, you know.

Our vertical leap is beyond all measurement.

2007-02-01T13:23:00.000-05:00

I still can't believe it happened.

I can't believe that Boston was shut down for half a day because somebody thought a half-inch-thick sheet-of-paper-sized LED sign was a bomb. I can't believe that, upon getting a better look at said sign, people still thought it was a bomb. I mean, here's a screen cap taken from Boston's CBS affiliate's noon broadcast, giving us the first clear shot of the day of the "suspicious package:"Yeah. That's a Mooninite. And he's hoping we can see him flipping us off, because he's doing it as hard as he can.

Fark posters had the "device" pegged for what it actually was by about twelve-twenty, which makes them approximately a thousand times as efficient as the media at large. The police blew this particular sign up before twelve-thirty, finding that it was just, you know, LED lights, a resistor, a circuit board and four D-cell batteries, making it approximately as dangerous as a jambox or perhaps a Maglite. Though I guess you could use a Maglite as a cudgel. I can't believe that after said sign was blown up with a freaking water cannon and shown to be nothing even sort of dangerous that people still thought it was a bomb.

After the special reports kicked in, four people called in other sightings of similar signs throughout Boston, magnetically attached to various and sundry support beams in high-traffic areas. There was now sufficient blood in the water for cable news to turn their horrible gaze on these events. Now, I can almost understand police officers and government officials not recognizing a bit character from a cartoon that airs after eleven PM on basic cable, but I have a hard time understanding how nobody at Fox News or, I don't know, CNN - which is owned by the same company that owns Cartoon Network - figured this one out before jumping on the OMG TERRORISM bandwagon and turning this into a thoroughly baffling feeding frenzy.

By this point, message boards across the internet were all atwitter with theorizing and/or joking, depending on how hard the posters were paying attention or how badly they wanted this to be some kind of terrorist "dry run" (I must've seen the phrase "dry run" a thousand times yesterday). Shep Smith had finally found out what cartoon the character emblazoned on the sign came from - early reports had it as SpongeBob SquarePants, as he is infinitely more well-known than anything on Aqua Teen Hunger Force - and begins reading directly from Adult Swim's website, barely able to contain his frothy-mouthed rage at "stoners" or "people who wanted to be seen as stoners." A Free Republic poster, either half-paying-attention or slightly hard-of-hearing, thought Smith had referred to the signs as "hooks devices" - one imagines he said "hoax," but whatever - prompting another to run with it once it became clear that they were part of a marketing campaign and defining "hooks devices" as items designed to 'hook' you into paying attention, or something. Because that makes more sense than Shep having trouble speaking clearly above his Righteous Indignation, I guess.

At four-thirty, Turner Broadcasting issued a statement taking responsibility for the devices, admitting that they were part of a guerrilla marketing campaign for the formerly-upcoming but now-probably-set-to-be-dumped-on-broadcast-TV Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie, designed and placed by a third-party advertising firm. With this, another new point cropped up: apparently, these signs had been up for two to three weeks in something like ten cities, including Boston (which sort of undermines the quotes about how this is a "perfect example of [MBTA] passengers taking part in Homeland Security," as they apparently didn't notice anything wrong for at least a fortnight. Stellar response time, there). Also at this point, Wolf Blitzer was left holding the bag mid-Situation Room because his parent organization is at least mildly at fault. I'd've felt bad if I cared a lick about Wolf Blitzer. Or CNN. (Though when a CNN reporter was tasked with describing what a Mooninite is, it prompted possibly the greatest thing I've ever heard - "they have five thousand dimensions and their God is an Indian that turns into a wolf." Oh, how I laughed.)

It was now crystal clear that this was the least terrorist related potential terrorist plot in the history of terrorism, and all we were dealing with was one guy seeing a sign he didn't recognize, freaking out, calling the cops and having every single thing that could spiral into madness spiral right the Hell into madness. The two guys that hung the signs were arrested and there's talk of the city of Boston chucking a lawsuit Turner's way. I'm not entirely sure what for, but I guess bomb threat laws are hilariously vague enough to squeak in LED signs - see, there's a relatively new statute that makes it a crime to possess or place any 'hoax device' that causes a panic, which leaves a ton of wiggle room on the definition of 'hoax device.' So don't throw out a battery-powered alarm clock anytime soon.

At eleven, Adult Swim opened with an apology to the city of Boston.

Today, Sean Stevens and Peter Berdovsky were charged with planting thirty-eight hoax devices and disorderly conduct. Upon their release on bond, they held a press conference, at which they refused to discuss anything but haircuts. Nineteen-seventies haircuts, preferably, but any haircut would do in a pinch. MSNBC and, presumably, the other major cable news outlets, carried this live. When asked the perennial favorite question of news reporters everywhere - "how do you feel?" - one of them replied "I feel my dreadlocks are perfect."

I think that about sums it up. An utter non-sequitur that will no doubt be blown up into an attack on the very notion of safety and freedom and America.

I still can't believe it happened.

No post today.

2007-01-29T18:43:00.000-05:00

Too busy pouring a forty out for my homey, Barbaro.

PS:BEST FRIENDS 2GETHA 4EVA.

This is a weird town.

2007-01-28T17:41:00.000-05:00

You might have heard about a Big Giant Protest out on the National Mall yesterday. The organizers claim they had about a hundred thousand mewling sign-wavers hanging out; the cops have a lower estimate. Anyway, donning a disguise - I am positively Clark Kentian - I went out to see this for myself. I figured my usual garb would make me stand out as a total square (chiefly because I am, in fact, a total square), and I wanted this to be as organic and hassle-free an experience as was humanly possible. That in mind, I wore a corduroy blazer, a plaid pageboy cap and horn-rimmed glasses. To the casual observer, I was but a hipster, only visiting this protest on my way to an independent record store so as to purchase a used copy of Sufjan Stevens' "Illinoise." Maybe on vinyl. Or if they've converted it to eight-track, that. The more ironic the format, the better.

The first person of interest we came across was a button salesman roundabouts the National Archives. Old fella, war vet, entrepreneur. He had a stockpile of political buttons dating back as far as the Kennedy administration - it took all my self-control to not purchase a giant pin with a picture of a screaming Nikita Khrushchev emblazoned with the slogan "I HATE EVERYBODY!," believe me - and I got to talking to him, because that is how I roll. I asked if he had any Whip Inflation Now pins handy because that seemed to be a way more tactful way of asking him how much he'd profited from Gerry Ford's recent death. Turned out I didn't need the tact. "Sold 'em all," said he, visibly proud of himself for either his bulletproof business model or the fact that he'd outlived a guy that I think played football against Jesus at one point. "I'd been sitting on that Ford [expletive deleted. Because I'm feeling classy today, is why] for thirty years."

"He was so close a couple times," I said, laughing.

"Yeah," and then a pause. He sighed wistfully before saying "I can't wait for Carter to die."

True story, swear to God.

At this point, it was becoming rapidly apparent that we'd missed the meat of the protest - most of the foot traffic was moving against us, wandering away from the Mall towards Metro stops and restaurants, still carrying their "OUT OF IRAQ" signs. Still, we pressed on. Because we'd already walked like ten blocks and screw turning around at that point, basically.

The main stage, where something like an hour prior a twelve-year-old girl gave an impassioned speech I'm certain she actually wrote, was rapidly being reduced to its guts by the time I made it there. Still, a good sized crowd remained, waving their signs and, I don't know, yelling towards Congress. Apparently, I missed the part where a group actually rushed the capitol only to be subdued by the police. I feel like this sort've thing would be more productive were it done when Congress was actually, like, there, but I suppose organizing a Big Giant Protest during four-hour windows in four-day work weeks is a little trying.

The Green Party had a table in the middle of a large group of literally no people. Socialists were bigger draws. As was a guy holding a sign that said "Free Hugs" (when he put down his sign to hug my friend, I briefly toyed with the idea of grabbing it off the ground and running like Hell. By the time I finished picturing the purely hypothetic events in my head and snickering to myself, he'd already picked it back up. Ah, well). The Free Mumia table had a sizable crowd and made me bitterly regret not fashioning a "Free Mumm-Ra" sign on the off chance that I could infuriate both political dissidents and Thundercats fans at the same time.

We passed an America boy holding a sign that said "Make Love Not War" in badly-mangled German. We passed dogs in protest shirts, which we agreed was slightly tackier than children in protest shirts, as dogs will never be in a position to form their own opinions. Unlike children, who have opinions about everything by the time they can freaking talk. We passed any number of signs bearing variations on "BUSH LIED THOUSANDS DIED" or "IMPEACH BUSH" or the slightly more action-packed "ARREST BUSH." One said "Make Sandwiches, Not War." One guy went so far as to hang a two-dimensional effigy of Bush - remarkably poorly-drawn, I may add. Honestly, having been to both a WWE Raw taping and a Big Giant Protest within the space of about a month, I have to say that WWE fans make way better signage, though some of these folks had utterly amazing penmanship.

As we walked, a tiny man in jogging suit tried to push a copy of some rag called "The Militant" on me, and I explained that I am many things, but none of them are militant. I started to say "do you have a paper called 'The Giant Wuss'? That's more my speed, I think," but he'd already turned his back on me to try to pawn his wares on the next moving target that presented itself. In hindsight, I probably should've taken the paper. I'm sure it's at least kind of funny.

By now, my roommate had taken to belting out the chorus of Edwin Starr's seminal protest song, "War."

Which was confusing and delighting all in earshot, I imagine. Or just making them angry; I didn't really survey anyone.

At one point, as I walked towards the much, much smaller counter-protest, I overheard a man who, when asked where he was from, replied "Jerusalem. You know, New Jersey." Make of that what you will.

Across the street from Union Station, I looked over my shoulder and caught sight of a giant Abe Lincoln. It was a man on stilts, rocking a totally out-of-scale stovepipe hat, making some kind of point I couldn't begin to understand if I spent the next fifteen years drinking mescaline and thinking that yelling in the general area of seats of political power actually makes any kind of difference. He stood next to me at the crosswalk, waiting for the little red hand to turn into a little white jogger. I looked up and said "I'm going whenever you do."

He then said something about how bad it'd be were he to be hit by a car, at which point I shed my hipster act and rolled right into shtick. "That'd be a Hell of an insurance write-up. 'And then I hit Giant Abraham Lincoln. Million-to-one shot. I don't know what he was doing out there - I think Abe Lincoln was a raging alcoholic, maybe.'"

We reached the other side of the road, his giant strides making me look like one of those tiny dogs women get to keep the insides of their purses warm, with me taking five steps for every one of his. He sat down, awkwardly, and removed his stilts, rendering him merely Regular Abe Lincoln. With an absurdly tall hat.

I guess I missed the really energetic portion of the protesting floorshow. I got there for the end of the afterglow - people milling about, not quite knowing what to do with their gigantic sign that seemed so much wittier before they saw a thousand other people with the same one. I'd've gotten there earlier, but we stopped at the car show on our way - if you ever think to yourself "you know what? I love cars enough to travel to the Washington, DC Convention Center to see a whole bunch of them in one place," punch yourself directly in the brain - bypass the skull entirely - until that idea leaves your head. I'm serious. That thing is terrible.

Drudge's current headline, as interpreted by Strong Bad.

2007-01-24T12:56:00.000-05:00

Sorry, I see past tense verbs with an exclamation point, and all I can think of is Teen Girl Squad.

By the way, could Drudge be any more excited about this mass deportation? It's like Mexicans kicked his dog, or something.

I am bad at predicting things.

2007-01-23T15:06:00.000-05:00

Remember when I tried to guess the outcome of the Emmys and scored an amazing zero percent? I mean, every single thing that could be wrong was. I couldn't have done it better if I tried to get them all wrong.

Anyway, Oscar nominations are in, and I'm going to predict things again, as I am a glutton for punishment.

Best Picture: "Babel," "The Departed," "Letters From Iwo Jima," "Little Miss Sunshine," "The Queen."

This is, perhaps, the first time in five years that I've seen the majority of the Best Picture nominations. The only ones I haven't seen are Letters From Iwo Jima and The Queen, so I'll reserve judgment on those. Babel is not good, but it's exactly the kind of stupid pablum the Academy tends to reward. It's Crash with more foreign languages, basically, so I think the odds of that winning are pretty good. Little Miss Sunshine is fantastic but I suspect a hair too light to win. The Departed is my favorite of the list, so I hope it'll win, but I feel like they'll toss the statue to Babel on the grounds of it being Important or Meaningful or Something.

Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio, "Blood Diamond"; Ryan Gosling, "Half Nelson"; Peter O'Toole, "Venus"; Will Smith, "The Pursuit of Happyness"; Forest Whitaker, "The Last King of Scotland."

I saw exactly none of these. Whitaker on buzz alone.

Actress: Penelope Cruz, "Volver"; Judi Dench, "Notes on a Scandal"; Helen Mirren, "The Queen"; Meryl Streep, "The Devil Wears Prada"; Kate Winslet, "Little Children."

Saw none of these, either. Streep, but it's a total guess.

Supporting Actor: Alan Arkin, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Jackie Earle Haley, "Little Children"; Djimon Hounsou, "Blood Diamond"; Eddie Murphy, "Dreamgirls"; Mark Wahlberg, "The Departed."

Arkin was great, but, oh my God, they need to give Marky Mark an Oscar. Now. Because.

Supporting Actress: Adriana Barraza, "Babel"; Cate Blanchett, "Notes on a Scandal"; Abigail Breslin, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Jennifer Hudson, "Dreamgirls"; Rinko Kikuchi, "Babel."

They should give it to the little girl from Little Miss Sunshine. They probably will give it to Jennifer Hudson, because I'm sure they'll run a ginormous campaign guaranteeing that damned movie wins some kinda hardware, and I'm not seeing a world where Eddie Murphy wins an Oscar, for some reason.

(Okay, it's because of The Adventures of Pluto Nash.)

Directing: Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, "Babel"; Martin Scorsese, "The Departed"; Clint Eastwood, "Letters From Iwo Jima"; Stephen Frears, "The Queen"; Paul Greengrass, "United 93."

Probably Inarritu. Maybe Scorsese.

Adapted Screenplay: Sacha Baron Cohen and Anthony Hines and Peter Baynham and Dan Mazer and Todd Phillips, "Borat Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan"; Alfonso Cuaron and Timothy J. Sexton and David Arata and Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby, "Children of Men"; William Monahan, "The Departed"; Todd Field and Tom Perrotta, "Little Children"; Patrick Marber, "Notes on a Scandal."

I'm... not quite sure how Borat "adapted," really. It wasn't a book or a play or anything. I also can't believe it took five credited writers to bang out a movie that boiled down to baiting people into saying stupid things. I'm hearing great things about Children of Men, but haven't seen it yet, nor have I seen Little Children or Notes on a Scandal, so I can't really guess, here.

I'll say Monahan offhand, though.

Original Screenplay: Guillermo Arriaga, "Babel"; Iris Yamashita and Paul Haggis, "Letters From Iwo Jima"; Michael Arndt, "Little Miss Sunshine"; Guillermo del Toro, "Pan's Labyrinth"; Peter Morgan, "The Queen."

Give it to Little Miss Sunshine. This is, by a wide margin, the award it's most deserving of.

Animated Feature Film: "Cars," "Happy Feet," "Monster House."

They really need to scrap this category. They don't even have enough nominees to make it interesting. Cars, I guess.

Maybe I did better this time.

Hey! Look!

2007-01-22T18:41:00.000-05:00

I updated my other blog for the first time in, like, two months. Gave it a swanky new logo, too. I'd do a new one for this place, but I still like the bear riding a motorcycle over a tightrope.

Y'all scare me.

2007-01-21T14:12:00.000-05:00

Actual Google searches that have brought you, the consumer, here.

No more monkeys jumping on the bed: I'm shocked I'm in the top ten for this one. Less shocked that I'm number one for the more entertaining "monkeys jumping on the bed racist," though.

Patriots inflatable helmet: This comes up more than once. That makes me sort of nervous and I don't know why.

Ode to Barbaro: Not a clue how I'm number one, considering that I'm quoting somebody else and he was published on a site that gets something like a thousand times more traffic than mine.

Prettyboy cartoons: Holy crap, the number one hit's the Wikipedia entry for King Arthur and the Knights of Justice. I was pretty sure I'd dreamed that show.

Babel wank: I still hate that movie.

Parental negligence with video game content: I'm so glad I'm anyone's go-to source on such a hotbutton issue. I hope to God I've been cited in an eighth grader's stirring four-page thesis on how Halo better prepares him for a future where the aliens are coming and the world's only hope lies with kids wearing shirts that say things like "Can't Sleep, Clown's Gonna Eat Me" or a graphic depiction of the famed Konomi Code. I'm sorry, Social Studies teacher.

Are rabbits carnivores: No. Unless you think vegetables are meat, in which case yes, yes they are. Also, what are the odds that somebody'd Google that like two days after I used the phrase "were rabbits carnivores" in a post? They can't be good.

"Scott Norwood" arrested: Apparently not the Scott Norwood I was thinking of. Which is kind of a downer, because I was hoping he'd pulled a Jeff Reardon-style jewelry store heist.

Is Todd Newton replacing Bob Barker: The correct answer here is "I freaking hope not."

Slightly odd places: Because really odd places are scary.

World's most cruel murders: Soon to be a midseason replacement on Fox Reality.

louis underwater in malcolm in the middle: One imagines he meant "Lois." One also imagines that this is part of some unsettling sexual fetish, so one has stopped all imagining forever.

What's John Rambo's middle name: "Action." Wait, no; Rambo's middle name totally starts with a J. I'll say it's "Jay," like Homer Simpson, Rocket Squirrel and Bullwinkle Moose.

Aww.

2007-01-19T16:59:00.000-05:00

Bam Bam Bigelow was found dead in his Florida home today. He was forty-five.

You may remember him from that time Lawrence Taylor beat him at Wrestlemania. But probably not.

You know what Jesus loves? Tax fraud.

2007-01-19T15:30:00.000-05:00

Kent "Dr Dino" Hovind was just plunked for fifty-eight federal charges. He's been fighting with the IRS for a decade and a half, claiming that he's doing God's work, that he receives no income, that his employees are missionaries and thus payroll tax-exempt, and that he owns no property. Which is funny, because he owns an amusement park.

Much like the Blues Brothers, Kent Hovind is on a mission from God. His life's work is to debunk the theory of evolution - he's put a two-hundred-fifty thousand dollar prize on the line to whomever can prove to him that evolution is factual - and he's reasonably certain that means he doesn't have to pay taxes.

Also, he was pretty well sure that because he had God on his side, his wife could make all sorts of shady withdrawals from his ministry's bank account - all slightly underneath the ten grand limit that means the bank automatically reports the transaction to the feds - which put her in the same hot water Kent's in. Her attorney - a different lawyer than the one her husband had hitched his wagon to, by the way - claimed she was unaware of the banking regulation, which the jury apparently didn't buy, as she was found guilty of forty-four counts of tax evasion.

Now, there are any number of people I don't mind arguing with, but I'm in no mood to fight it out with fundamentalist Christians. Or, for that matter, fundamentalist anythings. But, look, guys, God and the law are two totally different things. I mean, if I remember my bible right - and I'm pretty sure I do because I just looked it up - even God's kid's on my side on this one. "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's and unto God what is God's." Like most of the stuff Jesus said, there's some wiggle room there, but I'm not going on a limb here when I say that I'm pretty sure God's okay with you paying taxes. I think a quote from this about sums it up:

But, seriously, couldn't he just apply for tax-exempt status? Even vaguely religious cult-type organizations with dubious credentials and science-fictiony backgrounds that shall remain nameless can pull that off.

TWAOP TO TAKE OVER ENTIRE INTERNET

2007-01-18T01:44:00.000-05:00

Read this. Go on, do it.

Done?

God, you read slow.

C'mon, skim. It's not like any of the paragraphs are longer than, like, two sentences. I'm pretty sure it was typed out on a telegraph. Anyway, were you to be, somehow, inexplicably, put in a position wherein you were called upon to come up with a new, attention-grabbing headline for that story - say you were one of the interns Matt Drudge has handcuffed to desks tasked to convert half of Breitbart's front page to standard-issue Drudge-speak (like "NOW IT IS SNOW IN MIAMI," I guess written by new Drudge employee Ivan Drago) - what would you write?

"Washington Post to Distribute The Onion," maybe? I mean, it'd take some kind of lunatic to read that article and somehow think that The Onion was taking over the Washington Post, right?

Right?

Right?
Did... did I read it wrong? Did they have a meeting where they changed the meanings of some of the words in the following and fail to tell me?

"The Onion, the Gen-X satiric newspaper, is coming to Washington and will partner with The Washington Post, which will print the paper and sell local ads."

Does the phrase "partner with" mean something else now? Is that it? "Partner with" means "take over" now, right? I mean, otherwise, that headline makes no sense.

And that's just impossible.

If a horse is your hero, there's something wrong with you.

2007-01-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

I don't think I'm in the minority when I say that if Barbaro, the apparently much-beloved Kentucky Derby winner with a blown back leg, died right now it would have no compelling effect on me, my life or my feelings. Maybe I'm cold-hearted, I don't know, but I can't bring myself to care that a horse somewhere was cured of his persistent medical condition with that most sacred of veterinary tools: the double-barreled shotgun.

Because it's a horse, for one thing. Besides, he had a pretty good run - what else could a horse possibly want than to win the Kentucky Derby and nail a bunch of fillies for money? Oats? More oats? Maybe a carrot?

Which brings me to an opinion piece over on MSNBC. It's arguing that perhaps euthanasia is the best route for Barbaro, which is sure to get the writer pelted with rocks and bibles and spare cats that the horse's many rabid supporters over on his message board had handy. Some choice quotes:

For the past eight months, a veritable national hero has been on the brink of extinction. For the greater part of the year, the captivating Kentucky Derby winner Barbaro, anesthetized to alleviate the pain from his surgeries, has spent much of his time in his stall, hanging from a sling with his leg cast in plaster.

Lemme run that by you again:

For the past eight months, a veritable national hero has been on the brink of extinction.

veritable national hero

That's some purple freaking prose, right there. Were I an Apollo-era astronaut, I'd be furious that national hero status is attainable simply by busting my leg on TV after having gone to all that trouble to, like, get to the moon.

“Any other horse would have been put down weeks or months ago,” Dr. David Zipf, veterinarian for the Maryland Racing Commission, was quoted as saying in the Baltimore Sun a week ago. But Zipf noted that Barbaro, despite his travails, is still eating and alert and interested in the fillies — behavior that is not indicative of a young colt that has given up on life.

I honestly want to meet a colt that's given up on life. Do you think they write excruciatingly adolescent poetry about how their mom just doesn't listen and then post it on their red-on-black MySpace pages?

He goes on to compare the support of Barbaro to a drug - a "much-needed opiate" - to take the minds of the people off of their current lot in life.

In a country that is suffering through wars gone wrong and regularly assailed by manmade disasters, Richardson and the Jacksons represent getting it right. And it feels good each time Barbaro emerges from his latest setback to fight another day. A horse that’s supposed to be dead is indeed beating the odds.

Wait, what? Million bonus points for tying the plight of a quadruped into politics, there, guy. I know whenever I think about the war in Iraq, the only thing that can drag me out of my shame-spiral of depression, alcohol abuse and self-loathing is knowing that, somewhere out there, there's a horse that's supposed to be dead beating the odds. You should pass that along to Bush. Next time he's on Sixty Minutes or something and they ask him what he thinks about his approval rating or anything, he can muster up a crocodile tear and choke out "but just think of Barbaro, all hanging in his sling over a little pool so he doesn't have to put any weight on his bad leg. He's beating the odds! If he can do it, so can we!"

Also, I'm pretty sure "manmade" isn't a word.

The Barbaro tragedy and its subsequent medical saga have focused our attention on competence and compassion — qualities in rare supply in today's world. As a result, Barbaro may now be better remembered for the courage he showed during his long battle against his injuries than what he accomplished in May.

"Tragedy" is taking this a bit too far, don't you think? It's a horse with a broken leg, not a plane's worth of Olympians hitting an orphanage full of adorable sick children being cared for by nuns and a selection of endangered species somehow trained in the medical arts.

I can't help but love the belief that Times Gone By are automatically better than Things Are Now, and there's no better example than sportswriters who say things like "competence and compassion - qualities in rare supply in today's world." It's like a damn country song - everyone now is stupid and a jerk, not the way it was back in Maaaaayyberry.

Oh, and saying that the horse is displaying courage is a level of anthropomorphization I'm not entirely comfortable with. I can't accept that anything that isn't in a position to make any of its own decisions is being brave. Not like Barbaro can ask to be put out of his misery, nor does he have the thumbs evolution provided man with to kill himself.

But despite his valiant struggle, eventually, and regrettably, the ode to Barbaro – now a folk song — may become a requiem.

I laughed at that. Does that make me a bad person?

What tiiiiime is it?

2007-01-14T01:08:00.000-05:00

Adventure Time.

This is pretty much what is happening in my head whenever it's clear I'm not paying attention to my surroundings.

That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent you ever set eyes on.

2007-01-12T15:54:00.000-05:00

North Korea, the worker's paradise, is in dire need of some food. How dire, you say? Dire enough that they're bringing in gigantic monster rabbits as a source of meat. I know I bandy about hyperbole here pretty often, but when I say "gigantic monster rabbits," I'm talking rabbits a good sized child could ride about on while pretending to be a cowboy. You could saddle the damned things. They could, potentially, eat your cat, were rabbits carnivores. Don't believe me? Take a look yourself.There are Volkswagen Rabbits smaller than that.

I am so, so sorry I quoted Monty Python in any capacity. Mea culpa.

Dead birds, dead Munsters, dead hardest-working men in showbusiness.

2007-01-11T11:57:00.000-05:00

Birds are dropping like flies all over the world. In one part of Australia, literally thousands of them have died in the last few weeks - and no one knows why. Flu killed a big pile of them in Houston the other day. And a Japanese poultry farm is currently suffering from an outbreak of some strain of avian influenza. 'Member when I said bird flu fears are back? I weren't kiddin' round, son; they're back with bells on. Murderbells.

They killed Lily Munster, the winged bastards. Oh, "natural causes," you say? What's more natural than birds? Ah-HA! Take that, bird-controlled liberal media - you can't keep the truth buried from unpaid pretend journalists who make stuff up.

In other, non-even-tangentially-bird-related news, David Beckham's apparently packing up his formerly famous wife and stupidly-named spawn, bailing on Europe and cashing in on a faintly ludicrous amount of money to play for an American soccer team. This is Big News, I guess, so act accordingly excited. Prepare for maybe one day of incredibly well-rated televised soccer before the better part of America remembers that they can only be bothered to pay attention to the sport during the World Cup or if they're yelling at their kid's inept coach while hurling folding chairs about on the sidelines of a rec field.

Finally, don't you dare argue about James Brown's height with Dan Gulley, Jr. Because he will shoot you. Now, I'm all about totally useless trivia - I've blown more Tuesday nights than I'd care to admit playing Quizzo at the bar - but I can't say I've ever been so adamant about something as ridiculous as the height of dead godfathers of soul that I'd be willing to pop a cap in the other side of the debate. Granted, I've never actually been in that particular set of circumstances - maybe if I had a gun and was really really sure that JB was five-four and some loudmouth was screaming "NO HE WAS FIVE-TEN" I'd lose it and punctuate the argument with a few bullet points, as it were, I don't know.

Everybody panic!

2007-01-08T13:09:00.000-05:00

Say, remember when we were all supposed to be dead of bird flu by last March? I do. There was that brief period where I was constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for an inconsiderate crow to sneeze on me, thus sealing my fate. Only something like three hundred poor souls have actually succumbed to the disease since 2003, though, leaving avian flu without the boogeyman cachet it once carried. Used to be a newsreader could say "BIRD FLU!" and old people, the crushingly paranoid, the apocalypse now-or-at-least-soon types and the hypercondriacs would be tripping over each other to get injected with whatever vaccine the hospital hadn't already run out of.

Well, bird flu fears are back! Awesome!

Hey, remember when killer bees were supposed to sweep across the country and murder us all to death with stingers and an incorrigible hatred of all things man-shaped at some point before ALF got canceled? I do. It seems like I spent most of the mid- to late-1980s hearing about monstrous Africanized honeybees marauding across the southwest, unstoppably buzzing their way across America to fill me with their terrible, terrible venom. There were TV movies, bits on Rescue 911, a segment on Leonard Nimoy's In Search Of... Those bees were everywhere. Well, everywhere, I guess, except for all the places they somehow never made it to. Maybe they got bored. Maybe they weren't really killers, per se, just misunderstood.

Well, killer bees made it slightly more east! To New Orleans!

An Experiment.

2007-01-03T13:22:00.000-05:00

I'm going to remove all the words that would give away where this story happened; you tell me the place of origin (if you feel like cheating, just highlight. I used the wonders of invisotext. Oh, and the original story's here):

Multan - A young boy who tried to copy hanging scenes from the execution video of Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein died in central Pakistan, said police on Monday.
Mubashar Ali, 9, hanged himself, while re-enacting Hussein's hanging with the help of elder sister, 10, after tying a rope to a ceiling fan and his neck in his home in Rahim Yar Khan district on Sunday, said a local police official.
The father of the deceased boy said that his children had been watching the video of Saddam Hussein's execution on television and attempted to imitate the hanging as other family members thought they were playing in another room.
"My wife and sister rushed to rescue Mubashar when children cried for help from the adjoining room, but he died due to hanging," said Alamgir Paracha, father of Mubashar.
Police said that the death was accidental and a case of parental negligence.
"It was an accident which happened due to carelessness of parents," said district police chief Sultan Ahmad.
Images of the fallen Iraqi dictator with a strap around his neck, surrounded by executioners in balaclavas, were repeatedly telecast by Pakistani television channels at the weekend.
Commentators and the media across Europe had expressed shock and unease on Sunday at graphic television pictures showing the last moments of Hussein just before his execution.

Well, you know it didn't happen in America. Why? Because no one in America has blamed parental negligence on anything they could potentially sue for in something like twenty years. Here, a kid hanging himself would be the rope manufacturer's fault. Or the electrician that installed the ceiling fan. Or the fan company. I mean, why can those things hold up the weight of a nine-year-old, anyway? Shouldn't they be breakaway? That's easily worth sixty, seventy million dollars. Remember: Everything is always the fault of someone with deeper pockets than you.

Year in Review.

2007-01-02T13:08:00.000-05:00

Dateline: Yesterday. Darrent Williams: Dead. Denver Broncos: Suck. But that was in 2006. Maybe the New Year will show us a team whose master plan doesn't involve choking against the lowly 'Niners. And maybe Elway will rise from the dead and lead them to some kind of fourth-quarter magic. Not dead, you say? Whatever.

Gerald Ford: Still dead. James Brown: Not feelin' good. Saddam Hussein: Quite dead. Oldest surviving KGB agent: Dead. Oldest established permanent floating craps game: In New York.

Young People: Turning to websites without rules, somehow raising Matt Drudge's ire - he ran the "without rules" part of the linked headline in all-caps, indicating either rage or a sudden inability to let go of the shift key - in spite of his years of carefully calculated pseudo-rebellion against mainstream journalism. I guess since the entire freaking blogosphere, myself included, is wheezing his gig, he has to rebel Michael J. Fox on Family Ties-style - by obeying all the rules.

Indonesian plane: Crashed. Number of people who only go by one name in that linked article, like they're freaking Cher or something: Two.

Number of Guys and Dolls references in this post: One.

It's almost Christmas.

2006-12-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

And that means one thing: I'm going to be all over the place for the next week or so, which means posting will be even more sporadic and pointless than usual. Since I love you so, I'm going to provide you with distractions and emergency content. To that end, I humbly present Things I Have Bookmarked, Part the First.

The Drudge Report: Something like ninety percent of this blog's content is just me looking at what ever Drudge is freaking out about at that particular instance. He almost never fails to disappoint - he's quick to post big stories and he's fantastic about latching onto things that literally no one on earth but him could possibly find interesting after a week of nonstop coverage. Like Judith Regan's pending spite-suit leveled against Harper Collins. Or freaking Dreamgirls. Man, he's got to be getting paid in, like, solid gold fedoras for all the whoring he's done for that one.

Pandora: Free internet radio, without any audio ads or inept college DJs playing you deep cuts off a Decemberists album while complaining about their totally lame roommate. You give Pandora a band or song you like, it spits you back songs it thinks you'll like. It's surprisingly good at it, given that I fed it Meat Loaf, Catch-22 and Elton John as search criteria and it didn't just explode or call my sexuality into question. After something like fifteen songs, it'll ask you to register, but all it needs is an email address and anybody without a dummy address strictly for crap like this isn't using the internet to its fullest potential.

World Heritage Tour Panoramic Sites: You need Quicktime and Quicktime is faintly evil, but it's totally worth it to see a bunch of incredibly beautiful historical sites in ludicrously well-photographed Panorama-vision. Shift-click zooms in, Ctrl-click zooms out.

vNES: Java-based virtual Nintendo. This is perhaps the single greatest thing on the internet. I'm serious. Anything that allows me to play Castlevania for free with minimal effort on my part is like some kind of magical dream full of candy-coated unicorns and dragons playing power metal.

That should keep you at least a little bit busy until next time.

Oh my gosh, really?

2006-12-18T01:15:00.000-05:00

A man who murders hookers might be into extremely violent sex? For real? They must've called in one of those TV profiler-types, man.

Screw you, Time.

2006-12-17T12:40:00.000-05:00

Everyone is Person of the Year? Was it just too hard to narrow it down? You had to go with the entire current population of earth because we "control the Information Age"? I'm feeling like, say, large swaths of sub-Saharan Africa are too busy dying of rampant AIDS and starvation to blog about how their current mood is "I have a distended stomach," so're they ruled out as a matter of due course? Is it just people who actively contribute to the internet? If so, ninety-five percent of MySpace makes you into a filthy, filthy liar, Time magazine, because anyone who thinks things flashing on top of a background that blends directly into sparkling text is not making the world an even slightly better place.

I hate it when the Person of the Year is more than one person, like when it was Bill Gates, his wife and freaking Bono last year, but it's even worse when it's an entire segment of the population - "The American Woman" or something. That just smacks of wanting to include everyone in a title that, by design, excludes everyone but one person. Let somebody be special, or the award means absolutely nothing.

Not that it really means anything anyway, but you get my point.

Now, to update my resumé to reflect my status as Time's Person of the Year 2006. That's sure to net me a job somewhere.

Quick! Offend like six billion people at once!

2006-12-15T16:47:00.000-05:00

It's easy if you're on The View!

Remember that time Rosie O'Donnell flipped out because Kelly Ripa said that she didn't want Clay Aiken's hand over her mouth as she "did not know where it'd been," which Rosie took as a pejorative against homosexuals? Yes? So, to put things in O'Donnell-perspective: it's okay to imitate the Chinese language by talking like a bit villain in the background of a Republic movie serial (beware the inscrutable rocket-men of the Asiatic Orient!, and all that) but Kelly Ripa is a gigantic bigot.

It must be kind of awesome to be Rosie O'Donnell, all loudly passing judgment and making excruciatingly tiny amounts of sense.

It's way more fun if you pretend it's Patty Duke.

2006-12-13T18:28:00.000-05:00

Say, remember, like, last weekish when I said Iran was having a Holocaust conference? And I said it probably wouldn't be, you know, all that balanced? Look who gave a speech yesterday.

Yeah, I'd totally invite the former head of the Klan to my wholly level-headed examination of the Holocaust. Makes perfect sense.

Media criticism day.

2006-12-13T17:44:00.000-05:00

What's the deal with House lately? I know it must be a nightmare to come up with any sort of character arc on a show where the plot every single week boils down to "1: Person has mysterious ailment. 2: House is coerced, tricked or otherwise forced to work on said person with mysterious ailment. 3: The assistants House has for some reason even though he is the most shockingly capable doctor on earth (he did freaking brain surgery once. I mean, I'm an artist, but just because I draw doesn't mean I can bloody sculpt) quarrel about what said mysterious ailment may be. 4: House confidently begins a course of medicine/ puts patient in surgery/ otherwise thinks he has the problem licked, but since it's only 9:30, you know it's only going to make matters worse. 5: House realizes the actual cause of said mysterious ailment thanks to a seemingly unrelated case during his clinic hours and/or something said casually or as part of an extended metaphor. 6: Everybody happy" but this current plotline is just ridiculous.

For those of you who don't watch the show, here's the deal: House is a very clever doctor who's also a total jerk (but has the TV-requisite Jerk Heart of Gold). He's also hilariously addicted to Vicodin. Anyway, like six episodes ago, he treated a patient in his hospital's clinic and basically made fun of a rash on his garbage, prompting the patient to demand an apology. Which is pretty run-of-the-mill for this show, but the patient in this case was played by prominent Hey, It's That Guy David Morse. Morse proceeds to wreak havoc all over the main cast in his ludicrously overlong quest to put House in the clink for Vicodin possession and forgery. For reasons I do not fully understand, his boss is allowing him to freeze bank accounts and seize cars and generally do nothing but screw with doctors solely to resolve a personal vendetta.

Nobody really complained when, like, Angela Lansbury found herself embroiled in a thoroughly improbable murder mystery during afternoon tea because they were watching a show about an old lady solving murders. Nobody moaned about David Hasselhoff always driving his awesome talking car into trouble because they were watching a show about a man driving his awesome talking car on a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist. People aren't watching House to see the guy from Hack mess with people for no good reason. They're watching it to see House mess with people for no good reason.

Don't get me wrong; I'm all for shaking up the format of a show. But this is just boring. And boring? Is unforgivable.

ZOMG! WE SPIED ON FAMOUS PEOPLE! UNHEARD OF!

2006-12-11T17:29:00.000-05:00

What Drudge Says:

What Drudge Means:

IT WAS A CONSPIRACY TO GET THE DRIVER DRUNK AND THEN THE PILLAR WAS ACTUALLY A CIA AGENT IN DISGUISE. I SWEAR, A MAN ON THE METRO TOLD ME A MERMAID TOLD HIM THAT WHILST HE SWAM IN BILLY JOEL'S RIVER OF DREAMS.

No more monkeys jumping on the bed.

2006-12-08T16:49:00.000-05:00

Ah, the New Delhi Rhesus Monkey Infestation. It's still going strong - I first mentioned it way back in August and occasionally get the odd Google hit for "langurwallah" - and I couldn't be happier.

See, New Delhi's simian apocalypse is my gain. Because it provides me with stories like this.

Sure, the story itself isn't that interesting. It's more or less a repeat of the August monkey piece, but it has comments. Hilariously, impossibly racist comments. I mean, like, the worst comments ever. Proof that the internet should have a damned lock on the door, preventing just anybody from writing whatever is on their mind kinds of comments.*

We begin with one Richard Gorka:

The solution is painfully obvious: shoot the **** monkeys. But the Hindus, with their irrational worship of animals, cannot condone that course of action. They have created their own misery and are suffering the consequences of their deviant beliefs.

What in the Hell have the Hindus ever done to anyone to deserve that level of scorn? They're the most laid-back non-stoners on earth that aren't Buddhists and even Buddhists know crazy fireball-chucking kung fu. The best part is that Richard was so excited to share his enlightened view of world religions that he posted it a second time, presumably for emphasis.

John Smith shot back with what I hope was biting satire:

I am so glad Yahweh is sending monkeys to deal with unholy s***. I can't wait until giant space octupi get to destroy our unholy exploration of space in the ***ure years. May Jesus guard me all the way until I can make it to the local taco bell for a cheesy gordita crunch!

It's really hard to tell if he was messing around or if he's equally as nuts as the guy he was talking to. I'd like to think he was making fun. I'd also like to think that I could open my door and find a magic flying pony if I just. wish. hard. enough.

And now back to outright crazytalk:

How does one tell a resident of New Delhi from a simian?

Oh, bah-zing. Look out, Don Rickles.

There's a bunch more, but none top this, from The Answer Man (obviously a sobriquet):

Do what we did here in America, start a basketball league. Ours is called the NBA (national basketball association). Monkeys love basketball, if you have a league most of them will join up. People will actually even come to watch them, and pay money in the process. Problem solved.

I dare you to be more flamboyantly racist than that.

*Of irony is me.

Great Scott!

2006-12-06T18:53:00.000-05:00

Sorry, I've been a busy little beaver the last couple days. Posting frequency'll pick up again soon enough, I promise. Anyway, as some crappy form of recompense, I humbly present a picture I drew midway though last night's game of Quizzo down at the bar:

Yeah, that's Superman and an elephant. An elephant... made from space. No, I don't know what I was thinking, either.

Maybe he owns stock in Dreamworks.

2006-12-01T12:59:00.000-05:00

Can anybody tell me why Matt Drudge is all atwitter for the Jamie Foxx/Eddie Murphy/That Girl From American Idol/Beyonce Knowles vehicle Dreamgirls? He's run a story a day about that movie all freaking week. I can understand his gleefully twitchy attachment to Apocalypto - that one's got the vague promise of Gibson getting sloshed and calling out his favorite minority for controlling all the world's money or something whether or not it succeeds, and that gives Matt an opening to bust out his siren and run ads for Flash games where you can put Mel in a really wacky yarmulke. Mel Gibson pounding celebratory champagne probably has the same net outcome as him sucking down ten whiskey sours as punishment for a slow opening weekend.

Incidentally, most of me is hoping the movie falls into the "or not" category. I've seen that trailer at least a thousand times now and if it was a person I'd punch it in the face and then run away because most people are bigger than me and I am but a little guy. Yesterday, Drudge ran a story out of Variety - the most irritating trade on earth - about how Disney was hoping moviegoers would judge Gibson's Mayan epic on its own strengths, not based upon who made it. Which is like me saying I hope people judge this blog on its content, not the fact that it's typed out by a guy currently singing along to the girl part of Paradise By the Dashboard Light out loud. Just ignore the stupid crap coming out of my mouth - focus on the content. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, movie-going America. Not to mention the fact that they're promoting the damn thing as "Mel Gibson's Apocalypto" and letting him narrate and appear in TV spots. Way to not inextricably tie the project to the director, there, guys.

Back on Dreamgirls. It doesn't look bad, or anything, but it's not even kind of newsworthy. Drudge wasn't freaking out over Emilio Estevez' Bobby, and that's exactly the sort of political claptrap he usually spittles all over. He was all over Borat, but that very nearly caused an international incident. Plus all the lawsuits. But Dreamgirls is about girls singing. And Eddie Murphy, who I'm pretty sure was transmuted by an alchemist into straight-up Box Office Poison sometime before The Adventures of Pluto Nash came out. What's that have to do with Drudge's usual raison d'etre?

It's not like white people have any soul to begin with.

2006-11-30T14:13:00.000-05:00

Are you a sad, lonely man looking for attention? There's a pretty good chance you are - judging by the sheer number of people who post ridiculous personal ads on Craigslist, I have to imagine that a solid seventy to eighty percent of the internet-connected world consists solely of sad, lonely men looking for attention.

If they were looking for a king, sad, lonely men may have found it in Tampa's Gerald Fraller. He's so very sad and lonely that he's looking to sell his soul to turn things around. A dollar buys you an entry into a sweepstakes for the title to his eternal essence, with a chunk of the proceeds going to charity. The winner also gets naming rights to Gerald's hypothetical firstborn - there's a dollar in my pocket actually screaming for me to use it to enter this so we can all live in a world where a little boy named "Assface Fraller" has to deal with the slings and arrows of hilarious discontent come schooling age - and a percentage of Gerry's annual taxable income for the rest of his life. Frankly, it's not a terrible deal for a one-dollar entrance fee.

However, I have no delusions of grandeur. I barely have delusions of petiteur, really. (Full disclosure: a word in that last sentence was made up.) I don't want control over any sort of metaphysical entities - it never goes right. Genies and monkey's paws and unicorns are all about ironically screwing up wishes, for one thing, and I'm pretty sure ownership of a soul would make me some sort of low-rent God. I've got no interest in being the God of some guy fishing for freaking marriage proposals off his web site - he's got an email address set up for that specific end. I wouldn't mind being God to, say, Calvinists, though. A bunch of people who think they're hosed to begin with and only act like they like me on the off chance they're wrong have to be fun to hang out with.

Besides, if I remember right, the going rate for a soul is either five bucks or its equivalent weight in Alf pogs.

If only they could have somehow combined their ineptitude.

2006-11-29T12:59:00.000-05:00

A 26-year-old Dayton woman was arrested Monday for aggravated murder after suspicions arose that she microwaved her newborn baby to death. Meanwhile, a 21-year-old Ottawa man is on trial for attempting to lower his girlfriend's child's fever by placing the infant in the freezer.

Half these children survived, thank God, and the living one is now in the care of a grandmother - who is, hopefully, not a total freaking moron.

I could absolutely go on one of those wacky stand-up rants about how people should have to take a test before they have kids, but I'm not opening up for Dane Cook or something, here, I'm righteously indicting criminal ineptitude. And also microwaving children. Good God, how broken do you have to be to do that? I can almost understand a slow-witted Canadian in his early twenties thinking that jamming a feverish child in the icebox would work - I mean, it's cold in there, the kid's hot, it could work, I guess - but you don't put anything in a microwave you want to be able to talk to later. Because microwaves excite molecules inside of things until they become hot to the point of exploding sometimes. You don't get a "whoops, silly me, I totally put my kid in there thinking it was a Romper. And then set the timer. And then pressed 'start.' I am truly the silliest goose of all." No. Bad. You go to jail now.

Oh, Iran.

2006-11-28T14:59:00.000-05:00

You know what country is totally unbiased enough to host an international conference on the Holocaust? Canada, probably. Maybe, like, Norway. I can say with incredible conviction, though, that Iran ain't on that list. Iran having a Holocaust conference is like the Klan hosting a symposium on the myth of Jim Crow laws, or something. There's no way it won't be more one-sided than a freaking Möbius strip.

For those of you who don't pay attention, the current Iranian regime is under the impression that the Holocaust either never happened or has been hopelessly exaggerated in order to pave the way for the foundation of the Jewish state of Israel - that is to say, they made it all up so as to get such prime property out in the Middle East. I know I'd bluff about my whole family being dead so as to live in a desert surrounded by people who hate me and want me to die, wouldn't you? And God knows I'd tattoo identifying numbers onto myself - I mean, I'm that committed to the lie, man.

Honestly, how awesome would Israel have to be before you'd make up the single most catastrophic act of genocide in human history in order to lay claim to it? They'd need to have unicorns and fountains spraying perfectly mixed gin and tonics and perhaps luckdragons, otherwise it's too much work for not enough payout.

Actual photograph of Israel. Not shown: Gmork, readying his jealous Hezbollah hoards.

Anyway, Iran's thrown out invites for something called "Study of Holocaust: A Global Perspective" to be held December eleventh and twelfth. Organizers claim that the function won't be politicized and will respect the Jewish religion, which I can't imagine they could manage to type without giggling a little, but we'll see, I guess.

The only thing in my bookshelf that could kill me is a copy of 'Atlas Shrugged.'

2006-11-27T00:20:00.000-05:00

I'll paint the scene for you, Rod Sterling-style. Imagine, if you will, a woman - smallish, bookish, not a hair over a hundred pounds. A tiny woman, home to visit her presumably also-tiny parents. A visit that would bring her not to a dinner table lit with the warm glow of candles and familial love but to an all-night diner at a truckstop ten miles from the exit for the Twilight Zone.

Or, you know, to the space behind her bookcase.

Mariesa Weber is that woman. She was last seen alive on October the 28th, when she went home and greeted her mother, with whom she shared a house. She then disappeared, leaving no clues as to her whereabouts prompting her parents to report her missing, fearing a kidnapping. Eleven days later, she was found, quite dead, wedged behind a large bookcase in her bedroom, an area searched once it began to smell.

Which is a huge downer, but raises a couple questions: how big of a house do you have that you can lose track of one of its inhabitants long enough that kidnapping becomes a viable hypothesis as to their whereabouts? Don't people generally, like, lose control of their bowels upon expiring? I guess that explains the strange smell, but still.

Now I'm all nervous that I'm going to fall behind the living room futon and my roommate won't find me for days. When he reports me missing and the police ask if I have any enemies, the only logical response is a mere one word: "squirrels."

Kramer vs Everybody.

2006-11-21T13:11:00.000-05:00

Combination of work and travel has left this site unupdated for a couple days - sorry. Pretty much all you've missed is that Michael Richards hates black people who talk during his set a whole bunch more than you'd expect.

I mean a whoooole bunch more.

Anybody see him on Letterman last night? Talk about awkward, man. Jerry Seinfeld was the scheduled guest, and he encouraged his former co-star to appear live via satellite so as to apologize for, you know, saying that fifty years ago mouthy minorities would be strung up in trees with forks up their backsides. The audience, or at least chunks of it, were either fully expecting this to be a bit or were so very uncomfortable that their only possible reaction was stifled giggles - either way, Jerry had to tell them to stop laughing. Richards clearly hadn't bothered to write anything down beforehand - his speech boiled down to, more or less, "I'm not a racist... but... uh, Katrina?" - and the whole thing was just so stilted and creepy and forced that it was actually hard to watch.

It's hard to believe that a professional stand up with this much experience can still be so easily riled by hecklers. Hell, Fozzy Bear made it through a million sets with those two old bastards in the Lincoln box yelling out things like "he's not half bad" "he's not half GOOD, either! HAH HAH HAH" without calling them old crackers, or something. And he's a bear. Bears aren't known for their self-control.

Anyway, don't expect too much in the way of posts for the next couple days - I'll be all over the place. Happy Thanksgiving. Unless you're British. Or a turkey.

Lorem Ipsum

2006-11-15T18:45:00.000-05:00

I was going to write something about OJ Simpson being a tremendous piece of crap, but, I mean, I could also write about how the sun will more than likely come up tomorrow and how black is black (I want my baby back) and that gray is gray (since she went away). You know he sucks, you didn't need a book and a Fox special to prove it.

And then I was going to write about how a seven-year-old alleged Lego thief pulled a ten-inch knife on a Wal Mart clerk, but it happened in Florida, and I'm reasonably sure Florida is now a Bizarro World where black is white (I want my baby... uh... tonight) and this sort of thing apparently happens all the time. After all, it is the only state with its own Fark tag.

So, instead, I give you this - an email I just received, rife with madness and incoherence. It's about the same as reading one of my posts and probably just as topical.

"Are you arranging a family reunion where youcould spend quality time with your loved ones? com - Go to ShopKitchenAid.
We were able to scuba dive one of the shore divesthere. Treasury prices fell on Wednesday after a report showing strong manufacturing surprised bond investors.
Are you searching for anisland to escape to with your friends during the summer vacation? (Ed. note: I know they meant "an island" and the formatting ate it, but "anisland" made me laugh way harder than it probably should have.)
Most willrun basic certification programs on a regular basis.
com - Gourmet Pet Treats from Omaha Steaks! Eden Rocks Dive Centre is closer to the dive sites thantheir new competitor.
Don't be fooled by a new competitor they havejust before it.
com Steal O' The Day! Le Gourmet Chef has all your cooking and entertaining needs. com - Steal O' The Day! Don't be fooled by a new competitor they havejust before it. After all, those movie stars have hours every day to work out and you certainly don't, right?
The saucy spatula's red head is ideal for mixing sauces and batters.
However, it is time I stood up for Charleston as agreat golf vacation and South Carolina golf school destination. Sometimes scuba divingcourses are offered at universities too. com Steal O' The Day!
Are you searching for anisland to escape to with your friends during the summer vacation? com - Steal O' The Day!
com combines business news and in-depth market analysis with practical advice and answers to personal finance questions.
com - Shop at WineEnthusiast.
Junior standing next to a giant ball of string and smiling.
Find the right item, place your bid and try to win collectibles, sporting goods, electronics, computers, art, baby goods and more!"

You know what's boring? Five in the morning.

2006-11-14T06:39:00.000-05:00

I have been awake since... whatever time I woke up yesterday. I don't remember clearly anymore, it is so long ago. Some horrifying combination of tacos and insomnia rendered me utterly unable to go to sleep tonight - it's not even technically "tonight" anymore, oh my lordy - which was followed by a rousing session of "I wonder what food that used to be" played as partially digested consumables rocketed forth unsolicited from my retching maw. Suffice to say, this is not me at my best.

So if I'm more incoherent than usual, it's because I'm on no sleep whatsoever. Or 'til Brooklyn. Yeah, I'm on no sleep 'til Brooklyn.

Electronic Arts hates you, the consumer: Electronic Arts is charging people for what amounts to cheat codes. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you're older than me and probably don't care about this at all. But I'm going to keep talking because this is my soapbox and I'm not going to let you rain on my parade. Wait, no, I mean, "cheat codes are combinations of keystrokes in a video game that modify the content - usually they're for stupid, useless things, like the ability to give your character a wacky giant head or something, but occasionally, they can be used to unlock items the player would otherwise have to work long and hard for." Yeah, forget that soapbox part. Blame that on the insomnia. Or blame it on the rain, if you're Milli Vanilli.

Anyway, their rationale on this is simple - there are websites that list cheat codes, and those websites make money from advertising. So EA should make money from cheat codes, too. Because they didn't already charge you, like, sixty dollars for a slightly modified version of last year's edition of Madden or anything. Of course, they claim that this provides casual gamers a means to access content they'd otherwise miss out on. You know, in exchange for more money.

Military won't put pentacles on graves: I'd try to make a big deal out of this, but I'm almost certain the case is more "the government moves ridiculously slowly whenever there isn't an absurd amount of money on the line" than "the government hates your religion. In the face." At least, that's what I'd like to believe. I mean, how hard is it to have some faceless bureaucrat stamp an okay on a picture of star in a circle?

Marie Claire magazine is pretty bad at Photoshop: Seriously, go look. The shadows off of Vargas' head are aiming audience left, but the shadows off the baby's head are going audience right. Way to check if your lightsources match up prior to compositing two images, underpaid intern at a magazine I don't read.

Right. Now to drug myself into a stupor. Well, more of a stupor, I guess, because, wow, I can't even see straight right now. But my typing is still good. Point for me.

Babel? More like Badbel, am I right?

2006-11-13T14:46:00.000-05:00

Only see Babel if you have three hours to kill and honestly feel like you need to hear about how awesomely bad guns and racism are. Sure, the running time's technically only two hours and change, but you'll probably get the trailer to Apocalypto ahead of it, and that thing's at least two to four days long.

I've seriously gotten the Apocalypto trailer before the last four movies I've seen; on one of them, it was almost hilariously inappropriate - I'm feeling like the Borat crowd isn't the same group of people that'll go out in droves to see Mel Gibson wank over how clever he is for using a dead language to tell a story about a civilization that managed to end without the aid of the war-mongering Jew - and on all the others it was just really, really boring.

But back to Babel. It's a series of four vaguely connected stories hinging on a rifle, one of which could have been safely dropped or at least judiciously cut down to a manageable point without anyone noticing and/or caring. The entire Japanese quarter could have stood on its own as a faintly interesting movie, but it almost feels shoehorned in, here.

Here, I'll Reader's Digest it for you:

Guns: Bad.
Border Patrol: Bad.
Assuming people are terrorists simply because they are from Morocco: Bad.
Deaf girl desperately trying to have sex with someone/ anyone at all/ her dentist/ a cop: Really, really creepy and frankly unnecessary but I'm sure some theatre nerd'll tell me I'm missing the point.

Now watch it win a bunch of Oscars because it's more or less just Crash with more languages and Brad Pitt instead of that rat-looking guy from Wild Things.

"Sacha Baron Cohen is a prankster."

2006-11-10T13:01:00.000-05:00

If there's anything I truly believe - and I don't really believe in much - it's that what you say when you're absolutely tanked is the truest thing you're going to say all day. It may not make much sense, it may not be nice and it may be hopelessly exaggerated so as to get a girl back to your place, but, as far as I'm concerned, you can't outright lie with enough alcohol in your system.

Which brings us to the frat boys in Borat. I'm making the sweeping generalization that you've seen Borat, as apparently everyone in the world saw it last week in spite of it only showing in eight hundred thirty-seven theatres nationwide. Remember the part where Borat ends up in an RV with three horrifically inebriated fraternity brothers? And they're all "minorities have all the real power" and "don't call girls back because they don't have our respect" and one of them is very, very loud and annoying? Yeah, two of them are suing 20th Century Fox, Sacha Baron Cohen and a couple of production companies because they were under the impression the film wouldn't be shown in America. Oh, and they signed the salient releases under the influence of alcohol the production provided them.

Go read the court papers - it's a .pdf, as a warning - and tell me the first half wasn't written by either a high school junior for a current events paper in third-period social studies or a first year law student four days into a week-long bender. For God's sake, who confuses "isle" with "aisle" when they're talking about relative positions of politicians?

They claim that they only said the things they said because they were drunk, which is a total Mel Gibson-style copout. They were cool with drunkenly musing on how much they hate women so long as only Europe heard about it, which is just sad as all Hell. And finally - I don't know a single college student who has never seen Ali G. Seriously. I don't know how they avoided that damned show; it seems like something a frat house would have running on their XBoxes whenever they weren't in the midst of a heated Madden season.

Honestly, if you ended up in the Borat movie, it's because you either A) don't read releases all that well - I'm certain that release is going to be air freaking tight - and sign anything handed to you with the promise of getting two hundred dollars for your troubles B) say something so incredibly ludicrous/ racist/ sexist/ anti-Semitic that the production team is willing to take the inevitable lawsuit in the name of comedy or C) somehow had your head in the sand long enough to be in your early twenties and not recognize a guy who was famous enough to do the Harvard commencement address like three years ago. Sacha Baron Cohen's been around for a while, here, people.

I'm thinking this'll end up being a combination of all three.

Also worth noting: these guys didn't exactly seem new to drinking, regardless of their claims in the papers, so I'm pretty sure everyone who lived anywhere near them had already heard their insightful social commentaries before. It's hard to defame a braying jackass.

The Siren's out! The Siren's out! Good God almighty, the Siren's out!

2006-11-08T13:12:00.000-05:00

Republicans reveal Rumsfeld resignation (reportedly): Way to take one for the team, Rummy. Big Matty Drudge is all atwitter about this one, dusting off his signature graphic even though the story's like half a sentence long and, frankly, sort of boring. I mean, somebody had to bail after last night's blue crush; it may as well have been the creepiest guy they had handy that wasn't named "Cheney."

Speaking of guys that creep me out, y'all went and voted Independent yesterday and kept Lieberman in office. That's going to make for some awkward conversations when he goes back to work - it's like when you throw a party and specifically don't invite somebody, but then he shows up because one of the girls you called brought him along as a date and now you're stuck dealing with him and you don't have a shot on the girl who you thought was single but showed up with some dude who looks like Emperor Palpatine and it's just a mess.

The votes're currently breaking down to a forty-eight percent/ thirty-nine percent split between Lieberman and Lamont, with whatshisname pulling in an impressive "Thanks For Showing Up." He should have known better than to try and stand in the face of such monumental Joementum. And also KiNedtic energy.

And finally, in new you only didn't see coming if you had your eyes pecked out by vultures while traveling across the mighty Gobi desert for the last three years, Britney Spears is divorcing her husband, Kevin Federline. While a part of me sympathizes with him - she seriously dumped him by way of text message (you can watch him get it here, and oh God, watch him get it) and that's cold as ice - the rest of me just wants to see him go away. I don't care about his rapping, I don't care about how much people hate him, I just don't want to see him on professional wrestling anymore.

Beeyoo! Beeyoo! Giant siren!

Hey, go vote.

2006-11-07T12:23:00.000-05:00

If you're in the Bulletin's legendarily massive sphere of influence, you've got the option of some non-entity, Count Chocula or that other guy. The one with the money. Your pick of three rich white gentlemen. Democracy is truly a heady brew.

Oh, this can't end well.

2006-11-05T11:57:00.000-05:00

Saddam Hussein's been sentenced to death. Hooray.

I hate squirrels so much.

2006-11-02T12:21:00.000-05:00

I'm simply going to edit a post from mid-August about my hatred of the horrible little monsters so as to reflect current events:

"Here's a secret: I'm kind of scared of squirrels. I saw one bite through a pair of leather workman's gloves once, drawing blood. That's freakish bite power. I mean, they eat acorns. Have you ever tried to bite an acorn? No? Well, I have, and they're really, really hard. Plus, squirrels climb trees with freaky little claws and they have cold dead eyes and they're basically rats with a slightly more marketable tail. They are tiny bears; pound-for-pound, the most terrifying creatures in our particular environs.

So this story hits particularly close to home, as it's about one of my least-favorite rodents attacking ~~seven people over the course of four days in a Florida park~~ a mail carrier in Oil City, PA. I don't know how they know it's the same squirrel every time - maybe he has a limp or a tattoo or a tiny eyepatch to serve as a distinguishing characteristic, I don't know, the article doesn't say - but [T]he authorities think they have furry little criminal ~~captured~~ killed to death.

One concerned citizen went so far as to trap the squirrel under a bucket after the bushy-tailed miscreant attacked his friend, but he released it after waiting two hours for animal control. Animal control had damned well better've been fighting Godzilla or Swamp Thing, is all I can say. I still really like that Swamp Thing joke, but it's just not pertinent here.

Anyway, rest easy, ~~Floridians~~ Pennsylvanians; the article does~~n't~~ come out and say it, ~~but~~ it turns out that the penalty for biting ~~seven humans~~a mail lady is squirrel death. See, they [don't] know [if] the squirrel was~~n't~~ rabid ~~(I guess that means he either had a shoddy upbringing or he was just a total squirrel jerk)~~, [so they shot it to death with a BB gun before] ~~but the only way I know of to~~ test[ing] ~~a small mammal~~ for the disease is by cutting ~~their~~ his tiny brains out.

Let that be a lesson to you, potential squirrel thugs: you bite a guy, you gonna die."

They were THIS close.

2006-11-01T18:08:00.000-05:00

By now you've heard all about John Kerry's comments on how if you're stupid, you'll get stuck in Iraq. He's claiming he left out a couple key words, thus transforming what would've amounted to a half-competent zinger on the current administration into a slam on the collective intellect of Our Men At War. He's since apologized a couple times. Point is, Drudge is running this image:and those troops were one letter away from getting me to bust out my Adventure Hat and zipping over to the Middle East to end this thing. They'd be home by supper. Supper yesterday.

I'm not above admitting I was wrong.

2006-10-31T17:00:00.000-05:00

Just ask all my exes!

HIYO!!

Anyway, a while gone, I reported that Harold Reynolds was fired from ESPN for inappropriately touching a female staffer while dining at an Outback Steakhouse. I humbly amend that to "while eating at a Boston Market."

Now that's class.

Happy Halloween.

2006-10-31T12:49:00.000-05:00

I wish, I wish I hadn't killed that fish.

Way to go, Hartford.

2006-10-30T16:58:00.000-05:00

You're a mere sixteen spaces less dangerous than Washington, DC, on the ranking of the most dangerous cities in America! That's showing impressive levels of initiative, that is. Sure, you're no St Louis, but keep on reaching for that rainbow.

South Florida has trouble with the electoral process: Geez, duh. Turns out the paperless voting machines used in Broward and Miami-Dade counties have a glitch which mysteriously registers votes for Democrats as votes for Republicans. Which is, well, it's certainly not how the machines should be behaving, but I'm not going to put on my Conspiracy Hat for this one quite yet.

My Conspiracy Hat, by the way, is made of aluminum foil and it keeps the CIA from reading my thoughts.

Anyway, this'll certainly be building over the next couple days, so get excited. Get excited- FOR DEMOCRACY.

Listen, I was going to write something about this woman killing her baby with cocaine: But it's too much a downer, so here're some links to pictures of kitties and puppies instead.

Wow, the news has been kinda boring lately.

2006-10-29T18:02:00.000-05:00

That's the excuse I'm going with for the lack of posts the last couple days. It's all political ads and Red Auerbach dying.

So what's everyone wearing for Halloween?

A post from the past.

2006-10-26T21:40:00.000-05:00

A post-post, if you will.

Last night, I banged out a horrible little rant damning the Fox network, but Blogger was being a grumpy little jerk and ate it to death.

So, in its stead, I give you what is, to the best of my recollection, what I wrote about twenty-four hours gone.

"Tonight's World Series game is in the midst of an interminable rain delay - Joe Buck enormous peanut-shaped talking head keeps assuring me that the first pitch will be in a half hour, and then in ten minutes once that half hour has elapsed - and I'm pretty sure Fox is taunting me.

I mean, first off, even if the good lord sees fit to listen to Creedence Clearwater Revival's impassioned pleas and stop the rain, it'll be a solid twenty minutes if not more after the pitchers warm up before we see some baseball. They've got to dust off a washed-up rockstar to sing us a truck ad ahead of the national anthem, which itself will be extended like so much Stretch Armstrong by grace notes so over the top that Liberace would've questioned their necessity.

Worse yet, Fox is actively trying to get me to change it. How? Michael freaking Rapaport.

Seriously, you find me someone who claims that The War at Home is funny, and you've found me somebody who has meaningful conversations with their damned cat. Because no one else will talk to them. That show's concentrated anti-funny, created in a lab by a lonely, bitter failed comic/ mad scientist to ruin even the concept of sitcoms as an abstract. And Fox has run, as near as I can tell, a million episodes of it tonight. Every time I change the channel back to see if it's still pouring out, I get another dose of absolute crap.

So, Fox, I hate you. Goodnight."

That was about it. Would've made more sense yesterday, I guess.

Vegemite be banned, mite not be

2006-10-24T13:26:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend, an Australian paper claimed that Vegemite, an Aussie staple made out of the squishings left after beer is created, had been banned in the United States thanks to the food spread's high levels of folate. Folate, a B-vitamin, is apparently only allowed in such high concentrations in bread and cereal products. The paper went so far as to state that people crossing the Canadian border into the US were being searched for the salty mash.

'Course, they may well have just made it up.

A day or so later, the same paper reports that, well, they can't find anyone who can confirm the story. They couldn't get the FDA on the line, but grocery store chains still carried the product in spite of their earlier report that stores had stopped selling it "six months ago."

So somebody was... really quite wrong at some point, here.

(Sorry I didn't post again last night, as I claimed I would; the Giants were all about beating the Cowboys and damn if that's not one of my favorite things ever.)