Rory's Rhetoric

The End of the Beginning

2009-11-10T00:55:00.002-05:00

After much deliberation, shouting, lawyers and slamming of briefcases, my freind Rico and I have decided to merge our blogs together into one ultra internet laser squad. It's called Rico and Rory: Live! and combines the edgy-yet-retarded rhetoric of myself with the irresistable taste of testosterone and Spanish cuisine. Make sure you check it out. Do it!

Thank you and goodnight.

Physicians

2009-11-02T12:17:00.014-05:00

In my constant search for purpose in life, I came accross an online career finder prepared by a "PhD-qualified social scientist" to help me take my first steps toward finding my Authentic Direction. At FutureProofYourCareer.com I took an extensive quiz that tested my aptitude and personality traits to decide the perfect career for me. This was a quiz I was determined to fail.

Using my internet quiz alias Bolton Jacknife, I logged in and began my journey towards my life's purpose and ideal career.

I gave myself the lowest possible scores in all aspects of human ability, answering the personality questions like a schizophrenic. If I was able to contradict myself at any time, I did. As far as this quiz knows, I can’t do math or stack objects, I’ve killed several drifters and I did great in math class while working as an object stacker. I’d like to think that by the time I finished, a computer somewhere was screaming and shooting itself in the mouth.

So now that this computer brain knows I can’t do anything right, and the property damage from me trying would be unacceptable, it suggested my primary field of study: healthcare practitioner. Not what I was expecting. Maybe because giving myself the lowest possible scores in everything proved I was honest enough to tell someone they have cancer without fucking with them, yet incompetent enough to have that turn out to be wrong. That’s win/win for everybody.

Seeing as though this is fully scientific there's no room for any subjectiveness on my part. It's like how sexy women make guys spurt out the names of body parts when they talk, or how puppets only know songs about the alphabet. It's just simple science.

Good Morning, Vietnam

2009-10-27T17:46:00.000-04:00

A filmmaker's goal could be to make the funniest war movie ever made, but being the funniest war movie is a lot like being the best looking child molester. You only won because no one else entered the contest, and it probably shouldn't have been held in the first place. This was almost as bad as Coyote Ugly. And I don't just throw around comparisons to that piece of trash. I mean this movie was bad.

In case you haven't seen this film, here's the whole thing: Robin Williams tells jokes that clearly aren't funny and then they cut to the other actors laughing uproariously at them. Then at the end, the sad clown cries. The box said it's "the most fun you can have with your VCR." Unless of course you count putting in a tape that's actually good, or maybe dressing up the VCR in a swimsuit and taking it to a picnic on the beach. I wouldn't have known it was a comedy if the box didn't say so, and I still think it's a typo.

I have a film minor, so I do consider myself barely credible when it comes to movies, and I can say that there are truly not enough feet in the world to kick this producer's ass as much as he needs it. The Vietnam War, one of the biggest tragedies in American history, according to Amazon.com, "makes a great gift idea." But only if you hate someone and want them to hate you back.

How could this have happened? I'm not sure, but I came up with what I think was exchanged between the film producer and the Touchstone Pictures studio executive:

Film Producer: "Hey, we're almost done shooting that movie we were talking about at the bar."

Studio Executive: "Hey, Ralph. You're wearing your underwear outside your pants again. Now, what's this movie you're talking about?"

Ralph: "Good Morning, Vietnam. You know, the movie about the unorthodox and outspoken DJ who can make troops laugh while they're being filled with bullets that you said sounded like a great idea."

Studio Executive: "I was kidding, you stupid ass."

Ralph: "Oh... Well, it's pretty much ready to go. What should we do now?"

Game Producer: "I don't know. Give it a catchy tagline and get out of my office. We'll worry about you getting fired later. Jesus, we're so fucked."

I'm sorry, but any comedy with a lead character that can be described as “free-spirited” is not going to be funny. I should have seen it coming though, because it made AFI's top 100 funniest movies of all time, which automatically means there's a 90% chance of it being unwatchable. If you've ever seen a top 100 AFI list, you'll know what I'm talking about. AFI's comedy list was a mess of confusing mistakes, and by the end, the only thing that was clear was that the AFI doesn't like comedy in their comedies.

(For those who are wondering, a movie is only an official Comedy if it follows one specific criteria: A main character must at least once stand outside a restaurant and be mistaken for a valet parking attendant and be given the keys to a super fast red sports car. If you don't see this happen during a movie, you're either not watching a Comedy or you went to the bathroom at the worst possible time.)

Anyway, when retarded people fail at something, you have to handle it very carefully and make sure to stay positive. That's why I'm responding to AFI by saying, "Nice try, American Film Institute. It was a very good try."

Comic Ads

2009-10-21T00:06:00.000-04:00

I recently stumbled across an online library of old ad-based comics, and, like the rotary phone, helps demonstrate how retarded people were fifty years ago. So have a look at some of these links and see what I mean.

Life Size Inflatable Doll

Thanks to modern advances in loneliness, having sex with a giant woman-shaped balloon no longer seems that crazy. But you know what is? An ad for an inflatable doll desperately trying to find non-sex uses for it WRITTEN BY THE DOLL ITSELF.

Judy and Jim Defy Savage Gorilla

Okay. You can earn a rifle. A gorilla-killing rifle. Starting now, the rest of my life is narrowed down to two goals: Goal one is selling you some salve, and goal two is killing gorillas from the back of my live pony. If you see anyone at any time doing anything else, it's not me.

The fact that the gorilla immediately responded to the children and their guns either means it understands English fluently, or it has been shot before many, many times. And if there was really a zoo cool enough to leave the gorilla cages open and let little boys and girls come in fully armed, Mickey Mouse would have to give out free blowjobs to keep Disneyland from going bankrupt.

Vacutex

Not to get all emotional, but if you're engaged to a woman who won't marry you until your skin clears up, maybe instead of a new skin treatment, you should find a woman who isn't a total bitch.

Old Nick Richest Milk Chocolate

As far as I can tell, Old Nick's plan to save the crowd was to jump out of the audience and highjack an ambulance, then crash it into a burning car right next to them. If the fact that that crazy fucking idea worked had anything to do with a candy bar, then hell yes I'll eat one. His quick thinking might have saved twenty lives and yet only totally killed the shit out of one midget car racer.

He-Man and the Wonders of Big Babol

You're always going to run into problems when you translate your ad from Italian into English and then into He-Man. It's the only way you can get well-written phrases like "Friends! Skeletor should die or everything will be ruined!"

Panic Magazine

It doesn't really instill confidence when the best thing you can say about your magazine is that most consumers prefer the one you're ripping off. And since they seemed happy with barely modifying some clip art they found and calling it an ad, I'm going to do the same thing with my review of it:

EGM and Maxim

2009-10-17T14:07:00.001-04:00

In my youth I used to subscribe to a magazine called Electronic Gaming Monthly, because I was a dork. An awesome dork. But then this magazine was purchased by a company who replaced every reader's subscription with Maxim. Many of these readers said "Can I just have my money back?" These readers all got checks for the remaining part of their subscription. These checks bounced.

My first thought was, “Duh.” My second thought was, “Not only does Maxim still exist, they have enough money to passive aggressively tell millions of people to fuck themselves!” And I have to admit, that's an impressive feat when your reader mail section looks like this:

Dear Maxim,

I really liked your feature on masturbation safety in speedboats. I live in Florida, and thought I knew it all. Turns out I should be dead, 100 times over!

Derek

Miami, Age 8

I never got Maxim because my subscription to EGM ended about 8 years ago, which is a similar explanation for everybody else who doesn't subscribe to Maxim, and I still don't want it. Turns out Maxim is just a censored version of the internet, that costs money, and is written by horny guys writing articles called "How to bang a hot chick." “Bang a hot chick” is something you say to your friends to celebrate the last moment of them not knowing you’re a virgin.

And whose decision was it to replace a videogame nerd's favorite magazine with a subscription full of stuff they're never going to get? That's just mean. When these bastards arent mocking geeks, they're probably reading jogging magazines aloud to crippled orhpans. I mean, imagine being a Maxim subscriber and having your issues replaced with EGMs. If that's not a giant "fuck you" than I don't know what is.

The Music Genome Project and the Oral Phil Collins Rating System

2009-10-11T12:42:00.000-04:00

If you're not familiar with Pandora, they have this system called the Music Genome Project, which is basically a robot that maps out the DNA of music, and then finds songs that have similar DNA for you to enjoy. If you didn't go to school, think of it like a matchmaker in a room full of cousins.

Most people use this program so the robot will create a radio station based around their favorite song. I'm going to use it to discover what happens if Phil Collin's song "Sussudio" was allowed to breed. If you did go to school, think of Phil Collins as the gay version of the worst thing you ever heard.

What I'm going to do is tell Pandora that I enjoy the song "Sussudio", which is already quite dangerous, then see what song it spits out to please me. I'll then take that song and create a radio station around it. And so on. This experiment may shock you. You may learn that your favorite song may be genetically linked, directly or indirectly, to "Sussudio". Snakes surgred out of my computer as Pandora created an electronic DJ capable of creating a "Sussudio"-based playlist- Beulah was born. She is Hitler's finest Phil Collins fan, in the body of her favorite robot, weekdays from 6 to 9 a.m. Don't try this at home.

Degree 1: "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Beulah thought that the “groove based tonality” and “repetitive melodic phrasing” was a close match to Phil Collins’s song about tongue abuse. I actually think it had more to do with the fact that “Relax” starts out with these exact lyrics, simulating something that Phil probably said while having sex with many other men:

Mahaha, hiya

Give it to me one time now

Yeah, whoa, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho

Well, now;

Now's a good time to explain the Oral Phil Collins Rating System. As we know, Phil Collins enjoys man meat, as much as possible, in and around his mouth. To apply this towards a rating system, say "Relax" gets 1000 dicks. This means that while Phil Collins is enjoying the smooth electronic tones of "Relax", he still wants 1000 dicks in his mouth. Theoretically, the best a song can do is zero dicks, which means Phil can enjoy the song with a mouth completely devoid of johnson. Or a song could get negative dicks, which means that Phil actually forgets about some of the dicks he's had or currently has in his mouth. But that's crazy.

Degree 2: "Tarzan Boy" by Baltimorra

I think Beulah still had some "Sussudio" left in her short term memory because the dominant lyric in this song is "OwowowowowowawowoWOWO." It's still too early to tell, but it seems like going back in time to invent Phil Collins at the dawn of music could be a good way to destroy all happiness as we know it.

Rating: 842 dicks

Degree 3: “Wanna Be Startin’ Something” by Michael Jackson

I'm sure this result hits many people hard to find out that their favorite song and one of Michael's best hits is only three degrees of separation from "Sussudio". That's probably what killed him. Speaking as a Michael Jackson fan, that’s like recognizing your parents’ voices on the other side of a glory hole. This is the worst news I’ve received since I learned what a vaginal suppository was from my box of jellybeans.

Rating: 12 dicks

Degree 4: "I Like Boys" by Missing Persons

No kidding, Beulah in all her evilness went straight from Michael Jackson to some song called "I Like Boys". It's obvious she did it on purpose. Nice joke, Beulah. Did your humor chip come directly out of a Spuds Mackenzie calculator watch? I told her to make a station based off of this song, which sounds like Molly Shannon being kidnapped by a bunch of rapists. Beulah complimented me on my explaining ability and proceeded.

Rating: 1,423 dicks

Degree 5: “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley

Let this be a lesson to future generations: don’t tell artificial intelligences living inside your radio that you like songs about liking boys. Even if you do. To a robot, that’s like saying “Search parameter: butthole, subroutine: put it in my mouth and ears.”

Beulah seemed happy when I pushed stop and reset her memory bank. I told her to build a station based off of the Rick Roll classic. Beulah knows now why I cry, but it's something she can never do.

Rating: 633 dicks

Degree 6: “Sussudio“ by Phil Collins

Holy shit.

According to the most sophisticated music DNA-mapping software on the Earth Internet, if you go six degrees away from Phil Collins, it’s Phil Collins. I can’t even begin to describe how mathematically terrifying and impossible that is, but if I had to try, I’d say it’s like the number glorp getting raped by an eight.

“Sussudio” is a bear that’s tasted man– if you try to run away from it, it circles around and waits for you. “Sussudio” will burst through your front door and then appear in your mirror when you lock yourself in the bathroom. I'm geniunely scared. Whatever music you listen to, it's at best only three degrees away from Sussudio. God help us all.

Rating: ∞ dicks

Ratrick part III: Beginnings

2009-10-06T12:18:00.002-04:00

Thanks to an uncaring God who created the luckless hobos who taught me how to operate cymbals with my knees while simultaneously playing the spoons, I have some rudimentary music skills. But apparently it wasn't enough to save Ratrick from disaster- other band member Patrick and our highly-trained stage rat Ratty never got along, our songs sucked, and we were frequently beat-up by frat boys, which probably gave us brain damage and at least explained why our songs were so bad. But that's not the whole story.

Believe it or not, Patrick wasn't my first choice for a bandmate. It was former New Kid On The Block Jon Knight. But three minutes into our first rehearsal I accidentaly broke his neck while I was showing him how I could pop his eardrum, and so Sunny Chico, famous boy band creator, introduced me to my replacement, Patrick. Sunny said Patrick could bring to the table two things: talent and looks. "And a third thing: looks," he added. I told him he'd already said looks. We argued, we agreed to disagree, and then, for the first time, he hit me.

"I thought we agreed to disagree!" I sobbed as I tore his knuckles apart from my head. It wouldn't be the last time Sunny Chico hit me- though from then on it would always be by accident and not as painful.

Then the day came when I met Patrick for the first time. It was immediately clear we were natural enemies- he'd poison my coffee in the morning, I'd light his bed on fire in the middle of the night, he'd try to run me over with his car, I'd ask him why we even lived together, he'd say he didn't know, we'd shrug it off, and then go back to trying to kill each other. I continued to brace myself for a long period of mistrust and attempted homicides that would only be resolved- after much time and maybe even some crime solving- when we finally had a fistfight which I'd just barely win by cheating in a fun, lovable way.

Then it hit me. I had known Patrick before- in grade school. On Valentines day we exchanged cards; I gave him a Star Wars one that had a stormtrooper saying "I have my sights set on you." His face didn't show any recognition when I recited it back to him as I'd practiced so many nights in front of the Patrick-shaped stack of meat I keep unrefrigerated at home.

If he didn't like or respect me, he put up a good act. Because that afternoon he asked if we could become blood brothers. He slid a knife across his palm, and with a grim yet friendly look, handed it to me. I accidentally cut most of my finger off and we found out later Patrick's blood gave me hepatitis, but it really helped enhance the chemistry of Ratrick.

Busy

2009-09-27T02:26:00.001-04:00

Unfortunately I'm a lot busier than I thought I'd be with my senior year of college so I'm going to have to put the posts on hold for a little while, but before I go, I have to ask- do you ever wonder what all that military spending goes to? I mean, how do you spend 700 billion dollars on food and ammo? I've crunched the numbers, and there's just no way. I always thought they should try to have more fun with it. Like maybe they could give out tricky joke gifts when the men get promoted. The drill sergeant would march out and get everyone lined up. Then he would start screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Men! You are the most highly trained! And deadly! Soldiers in the world! You! Are unmatched in combat efficiency! You can kill a man with your ass in five seconds! Now! You men have proven your worth to your God! And! To your country! Stand easy! And receive your can of pea-nuts!!! Now, men! They sound half full! That is due to settling during shipping! You men are trained to deal with this! Gentlemen! Open! Your! Cans!!!"

Then, when the highly trained deadly soldiers open their (supposed) cans of peanuts, they are surprised to find out that instead of delicious nuts, the cans are bursting with springy snakes!

"You men! Are very funny! You should! Have seen your faces! Ha! Ha! Those were not peanuts! But snakes! They were however! Nutty! Ha! Ha!"

Of course, if word got out that there were snakes in the peanut cans, they could switch the prank to gum that turns their mouths blue, or cigars that explode. And filming events like this would be a much more effective military recruitment video than a bunch of marines standing ten feet apart over some rock formation in Utah.

That's all I got. Hopefully I'll have some free time soon to talk about some equally pressing issues.

Sex Self-Help Books: Part I

2009-09-17T00:46:00.000-04:00

Sex is something everyone claims to be good at, but few people take the time to research. Evidently for guys to be good at sex they have to be attentive, fit and focused. As for a woman, she must be awake-ish. And you know what? That's bullshit. But true. And the problem is, there just aren't a whole lot of structured methods to learn how to have sex. In school we were taught sex by being shown pictures of genital warts and child births until crotches were our sworn enemies. Fortunately for us though, there are books that can tell us how to do it.

How to Make Love with your Clothes On: 101 Ways to Romance your Wife.

The author and his wife include so much religion in their sex life that I'll bet 'Moses' is their safe word, and they use it anytime it goes past first base. If you make it past the intro without going mad, blind, or gay, you'll see that the book is 101 tips ranging from the dumb to the religious. And it's CO-written. Meaning every so often his wife will add some "notes". And if you put the book to your ear, you can almost hear her screaming over his shoulder as he types.

Favorite Line:
"#31: Read Song of Solomon together from the Bible (A spicy bit of revelation concerning the romantic love between a husband and wife.)"

Anyone who thinks that's spicy probably get compound orgasms from baking chocolate chip cookies.

A Pocket Guide to Loving Sex

I think the Pocket Guide to Loving Sex was written by the author of How to Enjoy Pizza and Why Cake is Better than Watching Kittens Die. It’s a very, very illustrated reference guide to every aspect of sex. There’s even a helpful index in the back, so if your partner ever pants, “Let’s do parting of the waves!” you can thumb to the page that teaches you how to do it. And let me tell you, you never really realize how filthy sex is until you see a drawing of a hairy married couple with fingers in each other’s butts.

And with all the lovingly rendered 70s haircuts, it also acts as a rated-R handbook for Haircrafters employees. You know, in case a client ever wants to see how their haircut will look next to, for example, a battery-operated cockring. Thanks, Jane Hertford.

The Most Insane Martial Arts Movie Ever

2009-09-10T13:05:00.000-04:00

Everyone will tell you that they've seen the craziest asian martial arts film ever, but trust me, the best you've seen will look like an estrogen pill commercial after you've witnessed Ong Bak 2.

Directed by martial artist Tony Jaa himself, we already know that this kind of thing works out for the best. When Jean-Claude Van Damme was given control of a movie, the first thing he did was cast an extra Jean-Claude Van Damme and called it Double Impact. Steven Segal's first direction of course was On Deadly Ground, 65 minutes of which were taken directly from Best of Buttholes 7: Six Hours of Buttle Blasting Action!

What I like about Ong Bak 2 is that it doesn't even try for a plot. There's just so much action that the director went insane. I mean, if a scene requires 50 ninjas, it takes ten weeks just to find them, even if they're in the same elevator as you. THEN you have to teach them choreography, so they're not just randomly disappearing and you find half your camera crew cut in half. Now make every scene like that one. The Persian army would have looked at the call sheet for Ong Bak 2 and said "Where the fuck are we going to get 1500 archers? And 4000 nunchucks!? That's gotta be like half the world's nunchuck population."

And Tony Jaa had to direct, train, and kick the shit out of each one of them. Fortunately, all hospitals in Thailand have a special Tony Jaa wing where they treat victims of Tony Jaa. Unfortunately, there is no branch of medicine dedicated to treating Tony Jaa himself, so after fighting off hundreds of 15th century soldiers, he had a nervous breakdown and disappeared into the jungle. True story.

Ong Bak 2 is like 90 minutes of ancient 911 call transcripts played in no particular order. But because it may get a theatrical release in the states I won't ruin the ending. But I can tell you it's so gay that it's illegal to watch in a public bathroom. But, SPOILER: Tony Jaa is beaten shitless by the second half of the movie's stream of boss fights. Then it fades to black and a voiceover tells us that if we believe in our hearts, we, the audience, can make his life better. Even though a less-gay ending would have been the 500 guys beating him to death gently applying his lipstick with their penises, you should still see it.

Reality TV: Part I

2009-08-30T22:57:00.000-04:00

Now that I'm good and rested from my intentional month-long break, I'd like to talk to you a little about reality TV and how we can make it better.

One of the best things about people is that if you put them on television, they’ll do anything to win. Sometimes they’re not even sure if they’re on a show with prizes, or what the prize is– they will humiliate themselves and taunt their own god to win. For instance, three different groups of women have competed to let Flavor Flav inside them, and he looks like something that crawls out of bogs once a year to shed it's skin.

To put this in another way, if you were on Wheel of Fortune and your stage prize was Flavor Flav on a dinette set with his dick out, you'd pass. That's why TV producers for shows where the prize is a person had to come up with an entirely new system for winners and losers. The systems are variations on the rose ceremony, and here I'd like to talk about how we can make those better.

Rock of Love
Bret Michaels was in the best band of the 80s, and now he’s making retired strippers with 5 o’clock shadows go-kart against each other to win miniature golf time with him. Most of the girls on this show are reasons to stop drinking, but when Bret wants to keep one, he gives them a backstage pass, a variation on the 'rose' from the Bachelor.

Either way, I think everyone on the set would feel more comfortable if the girls Bret chose to have received some kind of medical clearance to be near other people’s eyes. If you burned the Rock of Love house to the ground, looking at the ashes would definitely give you AIDS.

More to Love
Essentially the Bachelor, but everyone's obese. Which means it's the saddest show on TV. The girls basically just needed someone to film them crying between snacks. My question is- when a show like this is being produced, who stays back to watch over the inner sanctum of Hell?

My idea for More to Love's version of the rose ceremony is putting your mouth on a pressurized gravy cannon. If you can't handle gravy blasting down your throat at 200 psi, you're out. Otherwise, you're just better at being fat than the other girls. I'm not saying this to be mean, I'm trying to help the contestants. Because if you think a 240-pound woman is sexy, just imagine how good a 560-pound one will look.

Daisy of Love
After not dying from sex with Bret Michaels on Rock of Love, Daisy was given her own show and the Congressional Medal of Impossible. The idea is to get men attracted to Poison groupies like Daisy- but the thing is, these men seem to prefer the early era of Poison when the guys in the band were hotter chicks than their groupies. They put on make-up and shit. It's real weird.

New rose ceremony: It's simple. As a contestant, you go up to Daisy and ask for your penis back. If she says yes, she takes it out of the cooler, hands it to you, and you leave a winner. Else, you do situps and giggle about how no one makes a truly waterproof mascara.

Twilight

2009-07-24T14:39:00.000-04:00

I don't think Hollywood knows what a seventeen-year-old looks like. Or a non-gay vampire for that matter. There hasn't been a good vampire movie since Underworld, and even that barely squeaked by with the help of latex and guns. Here I'm going to give you a quick summary of the worst one I've seen so far, and maybe draw attention to some things you may have missed along the way.

The movie as I understand it is the first in a series adapted from the books written by Stephanie Meyer, presumably on the back of her trapper keeper in high school. It's about OMG hot vampire Edward Cullen and plain girl Bella Swan, who reads serious literature because she's so intelligent. Edward initially wanted to eat Bella, but after mistaking that feeling for true love, they start dating. Happens to me all the time.

But let's start from the beginning. Since every coming-of-age story requires the main character be a social outcast, Bella is a new student. Stephanie- I mean Bella goes to school and is instantly popular and beloved, turns down all the jocks who ask her out and the formerly popular girls are ecstatic about getting her rejects. I guess this is what it looks like when the unpopular fat girl's pathetic daydreams get written down and published into a bestselling book.

Alright, so then Ed comes in, who's universally acknowledged as the hottest boy in school but doesn't date anyone. Despite my convincing closet homosexual theory, no girl being good enough for him is the most widely accepted. And, because he's exceedingly mean to her, she finds herself attracted to him. What is with that? I swear I've seen so many girls hang out with these types of guys. My theory still applies to them too, though.

After some boring interactions and virtually no chemistry, Ed comes clean that he was acting like a douche because he is like, totally into her. (This was why the captain of the football team acted like he hated Stephanie Meyer!) But there's more, says Ed. He's a vampire, and is going to use special effects from the 70s to prove it to her, on top of a mountain. She believes him, but wants to know how he can survive in the sun. I forget what jerkoff reason he gave, but the actual one is because this movie has taken everything cool about vampires and made them so that they'd have to be a hundred times more badass to be considered tough enough for a breast pump commercial.

This might be a good time to mention that he's over a hundred years old, but still has romantic interests with 17-year-old girls. So he's a legitimate pedophile. Keep that in mind. And what has he been doing all this time? Taking the same social studies class? I don't know who's dumber, the faculty for not noticing the same guy every year, or Ed, who takes a century to graduate high school.

So, Bella discovers Edward has been watching her sleep for two months even though she has only lived in the town for one (the script was written in like four days) but she's okay with it, and would then like to be raped, but he can't because he doesn't think he can control himself. I don't even care anymore that no one's blood is being sucked because this movie has enough sucking as it is.

Ed shows her his family, of which he is the father figure. Ed has only turned teenagers into vampires, because he's a pedophile, and apparently this doesn't disturb anyone but me. They play vampire baseball, which is as gay as it sounds, and attract the attention of bad vampires, who do the shit vampires are supposed to do, like kill boring humans. One tries to eat Bella but is defeated in a poorly directed action sequence.

She wakes up in a hospital, Ed thinks they should break up because his "dangerous" vampire world almost got her killed, but her clingy bitchiness sucks him into going to the prom with her. Also, she still wants to sacrifice her mortal life to be with him. Bitches be crazy!

So women are flocking to see a female lead starring in a movie by a female director based on a book by a female author in which the main character wants to become completely submissive and self-sacrificing for a male. So I guess that whole women's lib thing is done? That's good because I'm hungry, dammit. Just kidding. But seriously, yeah.

World of Warcraft

2009-07-17T13:49:00.000-04:00

WoW isn’t like other nerd things. You can basically never see Star Wars, but during your everyday life you’ll pick up a basic understanding of what a Darth Vader is. But with World of Warcraft, listening to someone talk about it sounds like senseless gibberish. So, to better explain it, I'm going to use Super Mario, a universal gaming language. If you're not familiar with Mario, you should probably leave because the other Communists are going to start wondering why you're not farming the collective's potatoes.

Okay so the first thing you should know is that I've never played World of Warcraft. But I've also never been to the moon and I know exactly what that's like, so don't let it bother you. The second thing you should know is that most of the people playing World of Warcraft are awful at video games, particularly World of Warcraft. Every Mario player has experienced this scenario: you die in a bottomless pit, hand the controller over to your friend, and watch them die in the same bottomless pit. This will keep happening until Mario stops coming back to life. WoW is an entire society of these people.

And they're dicks. Kindergarten teachers can be nice to dumb kids every day, but Warcraft players can't. And even though it's a world of fantastic magic, it's still the internet. So the only social interactions are typed-out temper tantrums and desperate attempts to bother others. It's like Girls Gone Wild without the nudity. Retards doing whatever they can to get noticed, and nobody knows what a condom looks like.

I imagine it's pretty difficult to get 25 dicks who are bad at video games together to achieve anything. But let's say you accomplish whatever goal you had, managed to work together and kill some guy. Now you get to split the prize like 25 ways. So now you get to add jealousy and greed to a group dynamic built solely around impatience, disrespect and retarded. Mario doesn't have to share his mushrooms with two dozen other people.

In Mario, you spend a day or so breaking bricks and working a kidnapping case. I don't want to spoil the ending, but it pays off. Warcraft has an ending like a fat burglar finishing dinner in a Twinkie factory. He's only really done until he has enough energy to open his mouth again. If it's accomplishment I'm looking for I'd rather go into Twinkie burglaring than World of Warcraft. Adult-onset diabetes may not make you as immune to lightning damage as your Elven Battlevest, but at least it's real.

Warning Signs

2009-07-09T14:38:00.000-04:00

Corrosive
I like how the owner of this hand with a chunk freshly dissolved away from it remains still and calm, even as another drop of the generic corrosive substance falls towards it. "Maybe only the first drop melts flesh away and the rest of it is fine," the owner says. "I don't want the searing pain to make me jump to conclusions." Also, as you can see, the substance also dissolves bars of unidentified material, just so you know not even your bars of unidentified material are safe.

Poisonous
It's a real bummer that the signs for 'poison' and 'pirate' are the same thing. And while you may cut printing costs if you're a poison pirate, what are the rest of us supposed to do? Let's say you're exploring a bay or lagoon in that way that you always do, and you come across a massive wooden chest with this symbol on it. What are you going to do? Tell a teacher or policeman, or open it up and inherit millions of dollars in golden treasure? Now let's say you witness a stupid family member chugging Lysol. After a panicked flip through the phonebook, you accidentally dial the pirate control center. You're going to feel pretty stupid!

Explosive
This is a kickass sign. I like to think that's a planet being blown up by the Death Star's superlaser, which really just makes me want to watch Star Wars. That's not really the desired effect you want your warning signs to have, but it doesn't matter. This sign rocks.

Lasers
For something as cool as lasers, they get a really lame warning sign. I don't know if the laser is coming from the Christmas tree ornament thing, or going to, but I do know that laser warning signs are useless. Most industrial lasers are invisible unless you're looking straight into the device, so all the sign really does is have you peering around for danger you only have to see to be harmed by. Maybe while they're at it they could tell us to look out for Medusa and It the Clown.

Do Not Tip or Rock
As much as I hate being told not to rock, this sign serves a purpose. Idiots who don't have money because they're idiots are going to try to get food the hard way, and this shows just how bad an idea that is. It also shows that if you do tip it over, you'll also experience sudden and painful electric shocks to the head while the 1000 pound machine crushes the rest of your body. It doesn't make much sense, but it's better than the lasers sign.

Movie Review: Until Death

2009-07-03T15:20:00.000-04:00

We all know about Jean-Claude Van Damme. His fighting record is 5278-0. He's smashed enough testicles to fill fourteen oatmeal museums. He sleeps once every 46 hours, at precisely the same mathematical rate that humans are attacked by sharks, though science considers this to be "coincidence". But you haven't seen him like this.

I recently watched Until Death starring JCVD, a straight-to-DVD release that I found at the bottom of a bin at Big Lots. Big Lots is awesome. I think Jerry Van Dyke put it best with a cardboard cutout I saw popping out of a pile of womens underwear saying "Is this a great place or what?" And he's right. Because not only did I get this great balls-exploding Jean-Claude action thriller, I also got one more reason to never buy underwear at Big Lots.

Here's seriously the plot: JCVD plays worst cop ever Anthony Stowe. First he screws up a sting operation, getting his female partner killed. Then he kicks the shit out of her mourning husband. Then he blows off a date with his wife and has sex with a hooker on a pool table. By this point I was pretty sure they only made this movie because it's illegal to film a baby panda slowly being punched to death.

Eventually he's shot in the head and surgeons busily work to keep the worst person in the world alive. And it was realistic. It wouldn't have surprised me if they actually killed several stuntmen to make this scene possible. JCVD survives and slowly relearns how to walk and talk, and he performed not knowing how to do these things very well. JCVD was actually pretty hard to understand throughout the whole movie, as usual, but I could at least make out most of the swear words. Actually, the average sentence had the word "fuck" in it about four times, which I think makes this the first screenplay written entirely during painful dick accidents.

And in movies like this you know how the police chief always hates the edgy main character? Wrong. In this movie, it’s “Good morning, liquor-soaked heroin addict with a dead partner! Here’s a special assignment!” Well, Van Damme blows it. That's why a few minutes later, he gets shot in the head. I always did wonder what would happen in movies if two guys who were pointing guns at each other had bullets. Turns out its pretty obvious.

JCVD isn't so young anymore, and throughout this movie he looked like someone who digs for cans in the trash of an STD clinic. That kind of glam isn't exactly what aging action stars should go for, and when it's your fourth straight-to-DVD release in a row, something should tell you that what you're doing sucks pretty hard. When Jaleel White from Family Matters comes home from a long day at the autograph booth with 12 dollars, he watches this movie and says, “Man, that’s just sad.”

Exploring Humanity with the Sims

2009-06-25T00:35:00.000-04:00

The set of characteristics that determine human nature, no matter how basic they are, are at some point influenced by the world around us, so we can never tell exactly what truly real and authentic human nature is like. And what's the one place we can look at pure, unadulterated humanity without any conditioning from the outside world? That's right. The Sims.

I created a sim who I named Bill, but I didn't realize at the time that was for his last name. I still liked the name, so I went ahead and made his first name Bill as well. I gave Bill Bill plain features, clothes, a pudgy body and about as neutral personality traits as possible. Now I could conduct a test in a world of moral ambiguity, free to perform away from the eye of ethics. I moved him into the test facility pictured below:1. Crappy Iron Fence
Surrounding my test facility is a three-foot metal fence, more than enough to keep Bill in and everybody else out, including robots. Robots can't climb. If I'm wrong, I plan on repeating those words over and over while hugging my legs at the top of a tree being climbed by a robot.
2. Telephone
Bill's one connection to the outside world is tantalizingly close but unreachable. I guess there's no real purpose for this. You may think it's sick to torture AI like this, but when robots finally gain consciousness and begin killing people, I can at least view that as an act of vengeance.
3. Oiled Beechwood Easels
I thought these might go well with the surrounding extremely flammable cooking equipment; when Bill fucks up, and he will, I'm going to see how he handles the situation.
4. Bench Press
Bills other unreachable connection to the outside is his computer (6), which I hid behind a bench press he would have to use to build up the strength to move it out of the way. We'll see what he does.
5. Clock
Bill has to know what time it is. I'm not a total monster.
7. Pool
We're going to see if Bill is willing to avoid the danger of propane grills and his poor cooking skills by swimming over to the refrigerator for all of his meals. I don't think he will, but he might. That's the fun.
8. Toilet
I want to see if Bill has a sense of propriety. The outdoor toilet is flanked by 100-watt standing lamps, an alarm that goes off when the toilet is used, and is placed directly in front of the sidewalk. And to add to the shame, brightly colored carpeting help subtly draw the eye towards the fat man shitting outside under lights and sounding alarms.
9. Lawn Flamingos
I gave Bill an audience of lawn flamingos to interact with, as they were the closest item available that wasn't a roommate.

Observation Without Interference

As Bill is fat, the first thing he wanted to do was eat. And as I suspected, he went to the closest place. The barbecue room. Within seconds of opening the lid, terror struck, and his artificial behavior circuits analyzed the situation and selected "panic." A passerby nonchalantly passes by the roaring gas fire and panicked screams, a perfect representative of the world I wanted to see.

Trapped safely away from his aimless panic was the fire department, as they too couldn't climb fences. They watched the facility burn from the sidewalk. Ten minutes later all Bill was doing was shouting a picture of fire at himself before he forgot about his bladder. After he took the time to mop up his shame, he went back to screaming until there was nothing left. Personally I'm amazed he survived. I mean, this fire was hot enough to completely melt four grills; how that only made his 'hygiene' bar go down a little I have no idea.

Eventually Bill became hungry enough to make the swim to the refrigerator. But because there was no place to sit down and eat, Bill would put food on the ground and forget about it. It would then turn to trash, and he would throw it out. When the trash can became full, it would remove it, drop it on the ground, put it back in the trash can, and repeat the process for about three hours. It was obvious only a few hours into the game that Bill was already losing his mind, evidenced also by his total willingness to take a dump in broad daylight four feet from the sidewalk.

Because Bill couldn't get to the mailbox he couldn't pay his electricity bill, so eventually Sim Village responded by repossessing his clogged, shit-filled toilet. I'm telling you, these people are ice cold. And due to the architecture of the facility, the repo man was trapped. Bill desperately tried to have a conversation with him, but he ignored him and eventually beamed out. Understandably, it didn't take long for Bill to become so overcome with sadness the he lost the will to eat and died next to his favorite flamingo to admire that I nicknamed Chocolate Thunder.

I didn't get all that I wanted out of that test, so I replaced everything in the facility and created a second sim, a perfect clone of Bill except for appearances, that I named Beulah. By this point you're probably saying "he is so dead", and that's just what some guy said one minute before watching his friend invent gorilla anal beads, and two minutes before winning the Congressional Medal of Right.

The very first thing Beulah did was mourn. As a matter of fact he spent all day doing it, and when he finally passed out Bill harassed him for it. Relentlessly. As a matter of fact, from eight at night until six in the morning, Bill would haunt the shit of Beulah. Bill had such a bad time that even though this new tenant does nothing but mourn his death, he still scares the hell out of him all night, every night.

I realized though that Beulah was sad about a lot of things. When the toilet clogged, he'd cry. When he was tired, he'd cry. And I don't think the constant haunting made him feel any better, because he never once went to the refrigerator to eat. It's clear at this point that the game remembered what I had done and Beulah was so depressed about it he never wanted to eat. But as I said, this was a completely hands-off experiment, so I allowed him to die hungry, dirty, and probably very pissed-off.

Unfortunately, never once did either sim attempt to work out to get to the computer or attempt to reach the phone.

So, the Sims can tell us that humans have zero intuition, which goes against about every study of the evolution of humanity ever done. Additionally, we're vengeful and are unable to unclog toilets. Though this may be an accurate representation of my roommate at band camp, I wouldn't take the results too seriously.

Lakes win NBA Finals

2009-06-17T19:26:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been so happy over someone's success, you wanted to tip over a police car? Like when your little brother won his little league game or when your fat friend ate 40 hotdogs at a local grossest person in town competition? A couple nights ago in LA, it happened to a few thousand people. After the Lakers beat the Magic, the people of LA did what any happy group of people would do- they threw rocks and bottles at cops and burned their city down.

Lakers fans, the first species of animal fully recognized as "retarded" by the world's taxonomists, had to get dragged away from bonfires and riots that went on for hours after the game. News vans were tipped over, cars were lit on fire, and businesses near the Staples Center were vandalized and looted. See, when I go camping, it takes me and my friend's 20 newspapers, three quarts of gasoline, and homemade napalm to get a fire started. What kind of MacGuyvers were running around in the rioting Laker crowd that knew how to get a blaze going with only the stuff they brought to the game? Could they shoot lasers out of their eyes? I know they didn't have lighters because you're not allowed to smoke in California because of it's incredible flammability. Maybe they used hot dogs. I don't know. But when fifteen-year-olds are starting fires with an SUV and a parking cone, that's fucking crazy.

In other news, Jesus Christ returned to Earth two days ago, but after the NBA finals incident, decided to keep it quiet. "That was just a game, and they got so excited they destroyed a metropolis. Think if they found out I came back. I'm the LORD. Plus, look! I can FLY!"

Lord Jesus spent the rest of the day playfully soaring around and offering to get things out of trees for people. After all the kittens were freed, Jesus started absent-mindedly handing out pine cones and other things he found to onlookers. He was too nice a guy for people to tell him to stop, and this one Sbarro's manager even pretended to like a pair of old sneakers Jesus had untangled from a power line and given as a gift.

The riots cost us more than Jesus. To keep us from celebrating the crap out of ourselves, the government withheld their secret plans for both the helicopter that runs on love, the Food Materializer 5000, and are still keeping breast implants out of the national health care coverage. Sure there are those people in the hospital and all the stores that were burned down and looted, but the people who are really suffering from the riots are us.

By the way, here's a fun trick you can play on the government: When the census worker asks you what your ethnicity is, look them straight in the eye and tell them you're an Eskimo. The government will give all the statistics to the corporations that own it, their marketers will think we're all Eskimos, and they'll try to sell us cigarettes by dangling whale blubber in front of us.

Dreams: Part II

2009-06-11T21:01:00.000-04:00

Just another semi-edited dream I had. I took the time to write it all down instead of study for my business administration final.

So myself, my roommate Kyle and my friends Steve and Greg had all won tickets to a performance of Bull Durham at the La Scala opera house in Milan, Italy. For those of you who aren't familiar with Bull Durham, it's a romantic comedy about America's most boring pastime, baseball, starring America's most boring actor, Kevin Costner. I'd rather see x-rays of a malignant tumor in my own colon than watch Bull Durham, but dreams often don't make a lot of sense.

On the plane ride over we saw a picture of a registered sex offender in the flight pamphlet that looked just like Kyle. This gave us a couple hours worth of jokes to make, but eventually we had to watch the in-flight movie to keep ourselves entertained. It was a comedy, but I didn't want to watch it because the only comedies I like are the ones about spring break, summer vacation, and school where everybody skips school WITH HILARIOUS RESULTS. I took a nap instead, and when I woke up I found that Greg had drawn all over me. The fact that he drew a bunch of pirates was probably the result of suppressed Redbeard jokes I had always wanted to make about him having red hair.

When we arrived at La Scala, the greeters treated Steve and Greg very well. They were both given a fancy set of binoculars and a bottle of fine Italian wine. Kyle and I got a pack of La Scala matches. "To share," the greeter told us. Then he must have thought we didn't hear him because he said it again: "that's for you two to share."

We weren't really sure what we were going to do with a book of matches at an opera house, but Steve and Greg knew exactly what to do with their gifts. Greg took the bottle and ran about a hundred yards away and started drinking it, and Steve was watching him do it with the binoculars. "I wish I had binoculars," Kyle said. And then: "This sucks."

We four were called into the opera house for the showing, but I don't remember much from this part other than watching a slutty Susan Surandon (I know) trying to charm Kevin Costner. Don't get me wrong, Susan is a charming woman, but she couldn't seduce her way out of a paper bag, even if it had just gotten out of paper bag prison. The freakshow ended eventually and when we came out Greg was missing.

"Where's Greg?" Steve asked. "Is that him over there?" Kyle responded, pointing to a tree. The confused silence that usually follows any sentence spoken by Kyle was instead occupied by a snapping sound, and then Greg falling out of the tree onto the ground. Displaying uncharacteristic bravery, I ran up to Greg to see if he was alright. He wasn't hurt, but he wasn't happy, so Kyle asked him if he wanted to get ice cream. Of course he said yes, and the two giggled off into the distance.

Steve and I waited by the tree until they got back. When they did Greg had ice cream all over his face and Kyle was licking a napkin and rubbing it off, which Steve and I thought was kind of gay. (I'm always on the lookout for any subtle indication that Greg and Kyle are gay, and I think its because of dreams I have in which they probably are gay.) It was getting late and our round-trip flight was going to leave soon so we made our way to the airport.

This was about the time the annoying afternoon light kept waking me up, so I'll just make up the rest of the story.

When we got back on the plane it was really hot and Steve kept on punching what he thought was the air vent but was actually the light button. The guy next to him told him to stop turning on and off the light or he'd make it so he'd wish they had an "ambulance button", and Steve screamed in pain-anticipation. It was then that the guy noticed that Steve was wearing a vintage trucker t-shirt with a picture of a rig and a confederate flag on it's grill.

"You do know the Confederate flag is a symbol of slavery, right?" the guy asked Steve. Steve said all he knew was that it was a symbol of truckers and that how else did he think the pen that Abraham Lincoln used to sign the Emancipation Proclamation got to the store where he bought it? Probably a train, the guy guessed - wildly. "Uh, in the 1800s?" Steve said. "The pen got there on a truck driven by a trucker, so we did our part." The guy said they didn't have trucks back then. Steve said yeah they did. "Maybe you're thinking of magical flying trucks that we still don't have," he responded cleverly. "You mean cargo planes?" the guy said. "Last I heard, planes aren't held in the air by magic and driven by truckers," Steve said. I shot a wink at Steve. The guy said "Okay then, let's say they had trucks - then trucks must have also been used to transport slaves." That's when Steve got tired of the conversation and asked him if he had ever seen Bull Durham. When the guy didn't respond, Steve said "Yeah, that's what I thought."

We got home okay, but Greg still had some ice cream on his face. "Maybe I'll try licking it off this time," said Kyle, and- dammit! There I go again. I should probably just stop here.

Unedited Photostream: Part I

2009-06-06T11:47:00.000-04:00

We made Elliott eat 70 bowls of pasta to fit into his Santa suit for the Christmas party. He briefly stopped crying for us to take this jovial Christmas photo. From left: Kyle, Elliot/Santa, Patrick in a women's turtleneck, and me. Not pictured: Patrick's self-respect

Lindsey and I were engaged in a conversation about modern abstract expressionism when Brian (left) busted in asking us where he left his hat. Alex snuck between us for a pose before backflipping into the laundry room door and knocking himself unconscious for thirty minutes.

Kyle and Dan were far too drunk to realize that they were hitting on each other, but I wasn't about to stop them.
Kyle: "...So after I pulled into the weigh station and the attendant asked what the hell I was doing, I told him that I was worried I might be HAULIN' TOO MUCH ASS!"
Dan: "Ha ha ha! You're funny!"

Patrick, Doug and Greg perform a reenactment of a time when three guys were being really gay together during a smoky dance party. Background: Me pretending to talk to someone.

Kate basking in the combined sweat of two grown men dressed in a banana costume, and it's natural predator, the gorilla. It was about 200 degrees in our apartment that night, and I was sweating my body weight in water. I could have peed my pants and had three other people pee in my pants and you still wouldn't have noticed. "At least they made an aPEELing couple!" I said. Nobody laughed.

Steve and Kate made the mistake of stopping for a pose while Kyle was on the loose. This is the last known photograph of them.

Fun Fact: I went 9-0 in Mario Kart on New Years eve. Not-So-Fun Fact: None of us have girlfriends.

Kyle nudging me out of a photo on his 21st birthday. Kyle's favorite food: LADIES!

Taken on Sean's Big Gay Night in 2007. If I were to describe the amount of gay going on in this picture, every single letter in this sentence would be sipping a cosmopolitan and talking about the wonders of low-carb food. I'm not in underwear because they bought a 10-pack for 11 people, and I wasn't about to share with Patrick. We had to throw that couch out.

Kyle remembering his training to remain perfectly still when being threatened by a male groin.

This was the first time Rico had seen a camera, and when the flash went off he ran into the corner of the room and screamed for ten minutes. Dan clipped his cell phone to his Superman underpants, with sexy results.

Bonus:

If you think I found this picture by doing a search for "fat people in party hats", you're right.

Ratrick: Part II

2009-06-01T14:52:00.001-04:00

Apparently I forgot to tell Patrick that he was kicked out of Ratrick, so he was a little surprised when he read that post. After he started crying I told him he could still be in the band, but we'd need a new song seeing as though he lost the lyrics to the only one we wrote. "You should've made copies," he said. "I'll make you a copy," I said, immediately realizing that wasn't a comeback. "...of shit!" I added. I think it landed.

It was really kind of a bummer too, because the first song we wrote, called Rainy Rooftops, (I don't really remember how it went) was a real quality ballad. It was about nature, love, and just the triumph of the human spirit. I think what made it quality though was that Pat wasn't going to be singing it, despite his confidence in his voice. He'd put his hand over his ear as if to pretend to be in tune, but I think it was just to reduce brain damage. I used both hands. I mean, they don't even sound like notes. It's like... something like... they're definitely not notes.

Talent aside, our band was going to have some issues. Turns out not a lot of people are into two guys singing about nature and believing in yourself. We were rehearsing on the oval and some meatheads came up to us and started calling us fags. Pat started to sweat profusely but I just got mad. "It's lunch time." I said. "FOR MY FISTS!" (You'll notice I don't make a lot of sense when I'm trying to be a badass. One time I told a guy in a bar to BAKE THIS CAKE, BAKERS MAN!) We got our asses kicked. Well, I did. It's just that we'd been singing for so long I was kind of dehydrated and my left hook really loses a lot of it's zip when I'm thirsty. Pat played dead. I'll try that next time.

The next morning I wrote a song, even though doctors would say I wasn't medically awake. It's called My Internet Friend and these are the words:

Although I've never met you
I know you're really there;
I click you into reality
Like magic from the air.

You're a very special friend
Like none I've ever known;
As long as you're on the internet
I'll never be alone.

I was writing it while on an aspiring musician's forum, and I was getting frustrated that it was taking too long to save so I hit "submit" about twenty times. Coincidentally, a few seconds later about twenty copies of my song appeared on the page. I have since not been allowed to post on that forum.

My failure to get this band off the ground has essentially turned me into a functioning alcoholic. After my morning keg stands I can still walk, dance, and write emotional songs on the internet, but I spend most of my time on the couch crying and making macaroni and cheese and not eating it.

So, if you know anyone that could use a song about internet friends, send me a message. Also, if you like almonds, and I know who you are, come over here and take them because someone hid a little Memorial Day bag of them in my room and it made me pretty sad to find a surprise and have it be almonds. I don't need things like this in my life right now.

Why Coyote Ugly Is The Worst Movie Ever

2009-05-27T18:25:00.000-04:00

I was recently involved in a brief discussion with someone who thought Coyote Ugly was a good movie- I know, it didn't make any sense to me either- and felt I had to set the record straight about a movie whose script makes Gilligan's Island seem like Schindler's List.

First, I shouldn't have to tell you that Coyote Ugly is bad. It's the type of instinctive knowledge you can feel in your bones, like the way your bones tell you that you shouldn't put poop in your mouth. But seeing as though the internet attracts a lot of people with some sort of bone disease that causes them to want poop in and around their mouths, take that last statement with a grain of salt.

This movie is essentially about a strip club where the four employees don't take off their clothes. And they're too busy dancing, completely dressed, on top of the bar to serve anyone a drink. Yet the bar is so popular that there's a giant line to get in. And if that doesn't sound retarded enough, it's main character is a songwriter with terrible stage fright, who's willing to take a job at a strip club and sing songs in front of a room full of bikers and sailor rapists. Now I'm not in favor of sexually assaulting anyone, unless it's in self-defense, but in those girls' case, I wanted to see them get what they were asking for.

So already we're off to a great start for the worst movie idea in history. Now let's have a look at the musical motif throughout the film, a crappy hip hop love song the main character sang all movie called "Can't Fight the Moonlight". I could never look at the screen when she sang it because I have trouble looking directly at a triumph of the human spirit set to music, but I have a feeling it would've felt something like this.

I must have heard this song like 18 times throughout the movie, but I could never figure out what the hell it was about. It's like the songwriter pieced together their own brand new cliché with refrigerator words but forgot to invent a meaning for it. So, I spent the next few days trying to use it in regular conversation, but I'm pretty sure I was screwing it up. "That guy just ran that stop sign... I guess you just can't fight the moonlight".

After seeing this movie I really learned how to live. How to do crazy things like let my hair down, come home really really late at night! and add "I love to have fun" to my internet profile! I listen to hip hop now and I dance. Thank you, Coyote Ugly. I'm finally alive!

But seriously, some people say we need bad movies so that we can have good movies, but we don't need movies this bad. Right now there are gunshot victims with ass cancer saying, "Remember that time we watched Coyote Ugly? That's the worst thing that ever happened to me." Jerry Bruckheimer's done some awful things, but this just makes me want to kick him in the ass.

Ratrick

2009-05-21T13:56:00.001-04:00

I can never remember if two names ago Prince's logo was a squiggly line or a no smoking sign or a handicapped parking sign with Christopher Reeve's head pasted on it, but what I can remember is that nobody cared what he was calling himself. People only cared about the music. And that's one thing in this world that has a lasting impression on people. I decided... that I wanted to be a musician.

After I got the knowing music part down, I had to consider how I wanted to play. I had been in a bunch of bands but I was never satisfied. I kept on trying smaller groups, from a concert band to a jazz band to a small combo, but I never felt the group was small enough. I then realized that my true calling was in forming a one man boy band. I decided I'd write all my songs in haiku and call it "Rory!".

My challenge was to operate cymbals, a bass drum, banjo, spoons and a harmonica all at once while still trying to get a target demographic that weren't people who were teenagers in the 1920s. Believe it or not, both of these things were hard, and I met the realization that I had to add another band member. I figured I could add my roommate Patrick to the band while easily not threatening my role as the looks of the group. Of course I had to throw out the name "Rory!" for something that fit both of us, so we decided on "Ratrick" and planned on having a trained rat named Ratty jump through hoops on stage in front of us while we performed.

Everything was going according to plan; I had written our first song which some may argue wasn't legally different from this one and had already designed our group's logo (right), but Patrick's voice was really bad. I knew that despite the creative genius of my first composition we'd need one hell of a rat for people to stay at our concerts. And they'd need earplugs. And probably a magazine so that they'd have something to read when they got tired of watching a rat jump through a miniature hoop.

I had no choice but to kick Patrick out of Ratrick, which unfortunately was the cause of the band's untimely end. I had to then kick Ratty out because the 'rat' part of the name was gone, and I couldn't really write music that wasn't copyrighted, so I had to kick myself out too. Why am I telling you this? It's to warn you that music can destroy a friendship. I mean, I'm not really sure I'd call Patrick a friend to begin with, our only real interactions were passing each other in our hallway and me turning off the lights while he was in the shower, but he was an acquaintance. A real acquaintance, one that had changing outfits and brushable hair, one I didn't have to inflate or replace the batteries in. An acquaintance that is now sour because of his awful, awful singing voice, which honestly still hurts my ears and gives me bad nightmares.

But I don't have any regrets; I'd rather try and fail than not try at all. For example: I tried to make the world's funniest joke one time by sitting on the TV during a cereal commercial while moaning to make it look like Cheerios were falling out of my ass. It wasn't well received, but I know I wouldn't have slept well had I let that opportunity pass me by. In the end, whether it's music or funny cereal imagery, try your best and maybe your roommate won't suck at singing enough to ruin your dreams.

Anti-Sense

2009-05-19T15:17:00.000-04:00

I don't know if any of you have noticed this, but anti-drug policies have gotten so out of hand that kids can't buy cough medicine anymore, and when they bring it to school, they get kicked out. Maybe it's because he has a cold? No. It's obviously because he's going to drink it all and be high during social studies, affecting approximately zero other people. What is suspending a kid for bringing cough medicine going to teach him anyway? Not to get a cough? I'm pretty sure he was trying to take care of that already without your "help".

Then there's the "depiction of violence". Four six-year-olds were suspended for pointing fingers at each other while playing 'cops and robbers'. A kid was permanently expelled for drawing a picture of a gun. Fortunately, teachers got to him before he could color it, or even worse, draw a picture of something even more dangerous, like a tank or Lex Luthor. This reminds me of a time when two kids built a sand castle. A castle that was in violation of building codes, showed no evidence of hiring union labor, was built without a contract, and ignored every state and federal safety regulation. Their bail has been set at $500,000.

Either these school superintendents were all born to women who competed in mercury eating contests during their pregnancy, or they're just huge douchebags. You're going to expel a kid who likes to draw guns? Let me tell you how much safer I feel knowing a gun-obsessed kid isn't going to get an education. Not much. And seeing as though we're a country that likes to shoot up other countries, is it even the kid's fault for having that interest? I remember watching the damn Baghdad invasion on TV in the cafeteria. You can't punish kids for doing something before they did it. This isn't Minority Report. At least in Cuba, Fidel Castro waits until after you spit on the sidewalk to arrest you.

So teachers, if you really want your kids to stop playing 'cops and robbers', cut their hands off. I know that despite your post-secondary education you have a tough time distinguishing reality from make believe, but here's an idea: if you see kids playing, check to see if any of them are injured or crying. If no one is, and you still think someone needs to be kicked out of school, you're the one with the problem, not them.

Jackasses

2009-05-16T16:03:00.000-04:00

Everyone has seen Jackass. Sometimes it sucked like when Steve-O got an off-road tattoo, sometimes in rocked like when the midget paddled a raft made out of a fat guy. What they all have in common though is that they're surrounded by disclaimers, and stupid people have proven that they don't work.

The Flaming Moron
After Johnny Knoxville lit himself on fire in a flame-retardant suit, Jason Lind recreated it, but didn't include the suit. Doctors kept him alive because part of their job is to heal everyone in case they grow up to be important, but doctors, someone who covers himself in gasoline and lites himself on fire probably isn't going to grow up to be Beethoven. Give 'em a number and take a smoke break.

The Broken Taco Arm
Some kid broke the arm of a drive-through clerk at Taco Bell mimicking a Jackass stunt. The idea was to run through and snatch a bag of food from the cashier. Only the cashier didn't let go, and his arm got it's shit handed to it. But thanks to Taco Bell's extensive health benefits, they were able to supply the employee with a wall with which he could smash his bone back into. Stealing a taco isn't even that funny- maybe unless you farted while you did it or something. Otherwise I'd say going in and buying a taco is about as hilarious.

The Dead Pet Store Cat
Two Atlanta kids ran into a pet store parading around with a dead cat. No one laughed, including them, when one of their dad's turned them in. They played with a dad cat. That's just gross. Maybe if it were a dead human they could pretend it was a zombie or something, but that doesn't work with cats. Everyone knows cats can't be undead because they don't have souls. Like the Chinese. Ha ha, just kidding. Hoo boy.

These jackasses were all senator Joe Lieberman needed to tell the world that he didn't like the show Jackass. You all might remember him as the one who tried to take our video games and TV shows away from us. If not, then you might remember him as the guy who co-lost to George W. Bush. Real impressive. I may not be an important person, but I never lost a race to someone who's barely allowed to use safety scissors.

So, they moved Jackass to a later time slot, and because there isn't any national bedtime for morons, all that did was irritate people. This is how we deal with our problems. Some day you're going to come into contact with something sharp while out of ear-shot, and all the TV-slot moving will have been in vain.

Video Games... and MURDER

2009-05-14T16:03:00.001-04:00

Twenty five video game companies have been sued for inspiring seemingly normal children to attack their classmates. The lawsuit was obviously started by the families of the victims, and if they win would have enough funds to purchase Europe. Here's a reason why they won't: all the defendants are above the law. Time Warner could wipe their ass with five billion dollars, pay off your judge for a tenth of that, shoot you in the neck in front of a cop and still spend the rest of the day playing racket ball with your naked girlfriend.

But let's start from the beginning. Are video games actually dangerous? Something like 200 million people play video games every day. A dozen or so of them are murderers. That means that if you meet someone who plays video games, you have a 99.99999994% chance of staying alive. I'm no daredevil, but I'll take my chances with that. To put that into a better perspective, if you encounter one of the 67 credited actors from Naked Gun 2 1/2, you have a 1.5% chance of getting stabbed to death.

Congressionally speaking, I propose that gun owners switch over to holding live crabs. They'll still get the element of danger since the crab could pinch them without warning, plus they don't need ear plugs unless their crab screams all the time. And don't gimme that 'I need a gun to protect my home' crap. Have you seen how stupid American thieves are? If you can't defend your house with a handful of crabs, go find yourself some little pink panties and join the Princess Ballet Brigade.

So this weekend, turn in your gun for a crab and help me feel safer. I understand that a thrown crab is still a potential danger, but I figure there's got to be a 50/50 chance of it dying from a heart attack in flight. If not, thanks for the free crab... SUCKER!

By a certain age, stupid people start screaming for censorship most likely as a last-ditch effort to impress God before they die. You're not going to see geniuses or young people trying to take away movies, art, or video games. Maybe they're selfish. Or maybe they know that if someone is getting murder messages from their TV, taking it away isn't going to help. Because toasters, refrigerators, and talking sweaters can help plan a murder just as well.

Homosexuality

2009-05-12T15:20:00.000-04:00

I always hear people complaining about public displays of homosexual affection, but what they don't realize is that it could be much, much worse. Say you're walking to class and you see two gay dudes "doing what they do" on a beach towel ten feet away from you. That would be worse. But our country has laws that protect us from that. PDA is still allowed, but big deal. I have a neck, and I can turn it 180 degrees. So the only individuals that this law really protects are parlyzed people that have their eyelids jammed open and are wheeled directly in front of gay people having sex.

I've been scolded for using gay stereotypes in the past, but the fact is, people who complain about stereotypes are usually upset because they fall into one. It's true, we don't have time to get to know every person we see. We have to profile them so we know which one of them wants to kill us for our wallet and which ones can't drive. If we didn't have them, we'd be doing stupid shit like walking up to bikers and asking them who won today's women's tennis match. So if you're gay and I thought you liked cosmopolitans, I'm sorry. If it really bothers you, don't drink them. Otherwise I'm right.

Anyway, the only healthy way to deal with the gay topic is to ignore it until it comes up in the middle of a game of truth or dare and you get dared to start an orgy. Then you can deal with it. But the non-healthy view can be expressed in three ways:

1. Over-acceptance.
The over-acceptor probably has a lot of gay friends, making them a target for recruitment. I don't know if it's because they've already had sex with all of their own asses or they win a box of chocolates for each new gay person, but they have recruiters, I've seen them. The process normally involves a man telling another man that 'everyone is at least bisexual', following it with 'a man knows what a man wants'. Unforunately for them, so do women. So does the internet, and so do combinations of dogs and peanut butter.

2. Reluctant Tolerance
"I don't care what they do, as long as it's in the privacy of their own home." Sort of a way to totally hate the idea of gayness but accept it just enough so that people don't call you names. It's funny how they find it disgusting but never protest things equally disturbing like, say, fat people having sex.

3. Hatred
They hate gay people, or at least plan on hating them if they ever meet one. These are the types of heroes that keep children safe by protesting companies for not firing their gay employees. These people can be found in the Jesus belt, and honestly, if you're gay in the Jesus belt, go somewhere else. That's like being a midget trainer at a circus with no midgets. They'd never get a chance to do their job.

Personally, I don't care, because honestly gay people would have to marry gorillas with chainsaws in my backyard before it affected my life at all. It may be insane that gay people can't marry, but it's equally insane that non-gay people would care.

Super Ultragames is Online. Again.

2009-05-10T13:02:00.000-04:00

Against my better judgement I've decided to re-launch the website for my private video game company Super Ultragames in blog form because it's more conducive to updates and comments to openly voice people's disgust with it.

A few years ago I found this funny adventure game editor from 1991 and whenever I'm bored I make some stupidass game that either doesn't make sense or doesn't function properly. I've got so many now I figure I had to put them somewhere other than a folder on my computer labeled "trash", and I hope after playing them you'll be as enthusiastic about providing me with an alternative for my free time as I am.

Gastrobots

2009-05-08T16:22:00.000-04:00

I've taken the liberty to compile a list of dangers most likely to affect all of us at some point in our lives:

86%- Gastrobots
28%- Nuclear Radiation (and the creatures created as a result)
26%- Space Emperors
19%- Groin Attacks
11%- Elevator Shafts
10%- The Bad Guy from Die Hard
7%- Terrorists
4.7%- Baptists
2%- World's Scariest Police Chases
.3%- Me

You'll notice that Gastrobots topped the list without even knowing what they are. They're robots that run on meat. And if that doesn't chill you to the bone, you're either Arnold Schwarzenegger, or a Gastrobot.

Not just meat, but any kind of food from sugars to vegetables, which includes your laser-blasted corpse. Their leader, Stuart Wilkinson from the University of South Florida, found a way to make electricity by breaking down food. He said that robots like this "could have an unlimited power supply, and be able to exist on their own outside." Wilkinson then tilted his head back, let out a loud, guttural laugh, and returned to his science cave in East Hell.

What makes the Gastrobots unique from other robots who have wanted to kill us (Terminators, Hal) is that their fuel source is renewable, at least as long as the Catholic church decides to keep masturbation illegal. You'd figure the terminators would at least run out of those cool little red light bulbs they use for their eyes.

Scientists say that one of the first applications for the Gastrobot might be lawnmowers that are powered by grass clippings. That's great. Give them a chance to taste human flesh. Maybe we could have them designed to fire throwing stars, or maybe lease them out as babysitters for parents on the go, shithead scientists.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but this topic will come up again. I'm sure of it.

NASA Builds Garbage, Launches It

2009-05-07T14:01:00.000-04:00

A few years ago, NASA decided to spend $165 million dollars on a glorified refrigerator with a tennis racket-shaped ice cube tray to collect dust from the end of a comet. They do not expect this device to return to earth. Unfortunately, they overlooked my proposal: A highly-trained monkey in a bathtub duct taped to a rocket engine would open a glass jar while flying behind the comet and close it quickly afterwards. I think this plan was probably considered, but after adding the costs of the bathtub PLUS the glass jar, they decided that the $165 million dollar tin foil ice box was less costly. They then retired to their intense lifestyle of fast cars and beautiful women.

So as American taxpayers shake their heads in disbelief as we fire off piles of junk into the cosmos, rocket scientists are doing lines off the asses of ten thousand dollar hookers. Dr. Rick Dipshit estimates that by the year 2015, NASA will have spent fifty billion dollars on various types of crap good for virtually nothing. However, he claims that his Doomsday Device should be completed by then, so all other facts should be disregarded.

Coffee

2009-05-06T18:41:00.000-04:00

While some of you may have stumbled across this page during an internet search for "butter", the rest of you probably know me in some way and are much more bored than you should be. So as a remedy for that boredom, I'm going to talk about the McDonalds Coffee lawsuits. Because I'm twice as bored as you are.

Suing someone for spilling hot coffee on yourself can make you money. But in doing so you're kind of admitting to the world that you're such a retard you can't possibly be held responsible for your own actions. You know, in addition to being greedy and dangerously stupid. And people like that would respond to such a claim by saying something like "They won't think I'm so stupid when I have a million dollars!" But think about this... if you really want to sell your respect for money, why aren't you doing it right now? If it's money you want, take a crap in your hand and eat it. There are groups that are always looking for people to do stuff like that. Tom Green knew this, and while he's no genius, he's richer than I am.

And everybody hates rich people. So if you mean to tell me that you're coming out ahead by broadcasting that despite the fact that you're incredibly stupid you now have more money than I do, that's probably not going to pan out so well for you in the future.

This is why we have so many retarded warning labels. If someone was never told that there was no diving in their bathtub, they'd sure as hell do it, knock themselves out, and drown. Everyone wants to get treated like they're a genius, but honestly, we can't afford the risk. Everyone knows that the best job you can get in America right now, besides unemployment, is being a moron. Getting drunk and driving your car into a river can make you a millionaire. First you sue the bar for getting you wasted, then you sue the auto manufacturer for not making cars that turn into boats, and while you're sinking to the bottom, I'm pretty sure Red Lobster is financially responsible if any fish make scary faces at you.

So now that we have governmental regulations that help keep you alive during lunch, extreme eaters like me have had the wind taken out of our sails due to this safety net. People injure themselves on purpose now, which kind of goes against the instincts we had as cavemen to get the hell out of the way when a giant rock was rolling toward us. No caveman jumped into it's path screaming "Ka-CHING!" At this rate, we'll all quit our jobs thirty years ahead of time and focus on trying to kill ourselves full time.

Dozens of douchebags have taken McDonalds to court, which is good news for murderers and rapists- now we can only pray that those coffee bastards don't find out how cold popsicles are. It's unlikely, but I think the ice cream industry should start setting aside some money for legal damages.

Dreams

2009-05-05T17:35:00.001-04:00

A few nights ago I had a dream that after my apartment didn't pay our water bill on time, the government was going to send a few agents to kill us. Dreams can get fuzzy so I don't remember exactly what happened, so I'll make up some lines that generally follow what occured.

So after finding out that some agents were coming to kill us, my roommates and I decided we needed a plan of action. Patrick's idea was that we'd put on some khaki pants and drink a gallon of water, so that when the agents busted through the door, we would simultaneously release our bladders into our tan slacks, as everybody knows that expanding wet spots are universal signs of fear and respect.

"Let's make that plan B," I said. My idea was to bribe the agents with sex. "This plan hinges on precision timing," I said. "and that the agents they send are corrupt. And gay." Kyle showed signs of reluctance. "And that they're attracted to Elliott" I was forced to add. "Those may be long odds, but we have time to doll Elliott up, and I've got a sure method of doing so. Elliott, take off your glasses."

Elliott takes them off.

I walk around him in a circle, rubbing my chin. "Well, that didn't work. I guess we can always fall back on plan B."

I'd like to take this moment to mention that the reason this was funny was because we were actually pretty terrified at the time, even though it may not seem like it. I'm not sure why we thought the government was going to try to kill us, or why none of us suggested leaving the apartment. Dreams are funny like that.

So anyway we started drinking water and Patrick began to piss himself immediately. "I guess some of us are more scared than others," Kyle said, the rest of us nodding in agreement. I finished my gallon first, immediately regretting not sticking with my plan, and then realized that I had forgotten to take to school a pair of khaki pants. I decided I wasn't going to go through with wetting myself and that I would instead deny my name, replacing it with an alias I would find off of a Coyote Ugly online name generator. This of course would be a full-time commitment, knowing that if I at any time failed to refer to myself as Crystal Bisque, I could be shot.

I woke up before the agents inevitably bursted through our front door and shot us all in our wet beige pants, but I figured I could do without that part anyway.

Stupidity

2009-05-05T00:12:00.000-04:00

This is something I've always dreamed about for weeks now.

When I was young someone I knew told me that if you pull on your dick long enough you can eventually make it longer. I was skeptical, and rightly so, seeing as though if that were true, most boys ages 12-15 would be left with a cross between a firehose and a giant, oversized novelty firehose.

I bring this up because it helps prove my point that people are idiots.

I was always under the impression that sarcasm was reserved for people talking to people stupider than them. But now, stupid people are fighting back, and doing it so poorly you can't trust what anybody says anymore. For example, this past summer I was at the gas station. When I went to pre-pay, the attendand said "Sorry buddy, we're out of gas! ha ha!" It's a good one. Not having gas is hillarious! As a matter of fact, I like to keep an empty gas tank around the house just for when I need a good laugh. There's still no gas in the tank! Every time I check I laugh!

But I want to talk about a much more horrifying example of stupidity outside of people trying to look smart by lying about plausible things: the 1989 made-for-TV movie 'Straight Up'. I saw it on a public access channel when I was a kid and looked it up. I guess in America in the 1980s, the seductive horror of drug abuse led the government to two options: hiring a team of ex-convicts to be sent on a suicide mission on deadly ground, or to make an educational video sassy enough to talk a teen runaway heroin addict off the dong of a subway commuter and around the shiny whistle of a hall montor. They chose option two.

The movie's about Chad Allen, after running into the "cool gang" led by Kevin, some cross between a chipmunk and a midget, some whiny Asain girl, an adorable black kid, and a porker in Bermuda shorts. (Note the video's devotion to realism by including a fatty in the social elite.) After we see the gang consolidate their drugs (scotch, cigarettes, weed) the message was clear: go make friends with pre-teen gangs from educational films. Then, like all groups of drug users, they desperately try to give their drugs away for free by forcing them on Chad. I mean, Jesus, these guys couldn't have gotten it more wrong. I don't ever remember saying "Fine, mister, I'll have some of your free crack if you just leave me alone." Also, kids that look like Chad don't scramble to win the favor of obnoxious fat geeks in their stupid shorts. I'll bet when Chad was deciding on how many beers to take to fifth grade social studies, he was doing so while getting a lap dance from a 15-year-old on his Big Wheel.

Anyway, the movie's a piece of shit made by stupid people, and you can buy it HERE.

*Jezebel from California gave it FIVE STARS because it's "not only entertaining but also educational". Jezebel wrote this rating between episodes of throwing up on herself and banging her head on the keyboard. My review is underneath.