Valid Points

Dem Birds

2005-10-17T22:12:00.000-04:00

I just read that the Orioles have essentially fired Elrod Hendricks, a decision which stinks worse than the last decade of Orioles baseball.
Elrod Hendricks has been a true baseball giant in Baltimore for generations. He was a stellar catcher in the years that Baltimore was a true AL East powerhouse. He stuck with the Orioles over the pathetic years of which there were many. Elrod Hendricks is the one Oriole that you could always count on for a smile and an autograph. In an age where sports players look down upon fans and show disdain for the rules, Hendricks has been a shining beacon of what a ballplayer is supposed to be. It's sad to see that rather than an example, he is cast out as a relic.
Shame on Perlozzi, who should know better, and shame on Mike Flannagan, who should know the Orioles better. Mr. Hendricks, thanks for your years of team spirit, professionalism and kindness. Baltimore is better because of you.

2005-09-15T16:41:00.001-04:00

Human Poop

2005-09-15T16:41:00.000-04:00

Scientists from the Nevada Organic Chemistry Fellowship have released findings today that indicate that human feces can serve as an aphrodisiac. Long thought to be consistantly repugnant in the animal kingdom, feces, according to scientists has the ability to activate powerful, long dormant responses in the human brain.
Dr. Craig Harlow, who jokingly refers to himself as "head feceologist," plans to release a paper on his findings late next month. Harlow hangs his conclusions on several key points.
"In an advanced hominid culture such as our own, which clothes its young, the initial reaction to the feces of a baby must be supressed in order for care to be administered," states Harlow. "Chemically, the love of, and care for and infant must be biologically connected with a tolerance for feces." Harlow and associates have identified a chemical called tritophiniom which is activated in the scent part of the brain when feces is passed under the nose of subjects. When the feces of a child is passed under the nose of its mother, the levels of tritophiniom drop off percipitously. In fact, while levels of tritophiniom drop 75% in the mother group, estrogen productions increases by a factor of 3. The nose of a mother can be exceedingly discriminative though. The levels of tritophiniom return to "aggrivated levels" when the feces of another infant is introduced. This reaction is not unknown in new maternity in the the animal kingdom. Dr. Harlow and his associates conducted further research at the Hills Day Retirement community in Carson City, Nevada where a sample of mothers, all aged over 75 were asked to smell a dozen samples of human feces including samples from their adult children. In 80% of tests, respondants produced the predicted rise in estrogen levels, though in truncated percentages.
Further studies, conducted by sex researchers at the University of Montana showed a rise in male estrogen levels when engaging in back-mounted sexual positions with women who were asked not to bathe or wipe their anuses for a weekend. While the levels of tritophiniom rose the same as when the feces samples were used, a seperate hormone called restrone rose which counteracted the effects of the tritophiniom. "Evolution," according to Harlow, "allowed men to ignore the foul smell of the feces of their mates."
Harlow has begun preliminary studies to capitalize on the success of his discovery. In the first round of studies, fathers will have the feces of their newborns applied gently to their bodies in erogenous zones, especially around olfactory organs. Harlow also intends to expand his studies into geriatric feceology by applying the feces of adult children onto the bodies of men whose wives are past menopause. Harlow hopes to use this technique to expand the science of returning women to verility post-menopause. "I hope to be able to develop a pill that incorporates the feces of an adult child and that can be taken internally by the husband so that he might emit the appropriate chemicals to return his wife to sexual excitement." Asked if he would be willing to donate a sample for his own parents, or eat a pill donated by his own children, Harlow shrugged and smiling, nodded vigorously.

Gapsarilla: Plannarilla

2005-09-06T19:20:00.000-04:00

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! Gasparilla 2006 has been scheduled! The Parade is on Saturday, January 28, 2006 in Tampa, FL. This means that we should fly in on Thursday night, and get loaded at the hotel bar. On Friday we can go to all the bars in Ybor City that Gorecki is not banned from ever entering again. On Saturday we can enjoy the parade while getting loaded and then go back to Ybor City and enjoy all the bars that I have not been banned from. We fly home on Sunday afternoon and return to our respective places of employment on Monday morning.
I feel I can safely speak for myself and Gorecks, that we will be going. Let's get some momentum on this and maybe we can get a good rate from a travel agent or something.
http://www.gasparillapiratefest.com/

The Time Is Now, The Pigskin Is Upon Us

2005-08-26T14:46:00.000-04:00

Well, it's that time of year again. Time for some Fantasy Football action.

The draft date is set for:

9/5/05. Labor Day. 2:00pm. Bean's House

This will give enough time to draft, hand over the trophy to the rightfull owner, and be on time for 4:30 - 5:30 pm softball. I'm going to list the team owners below, please post if you can make it or not and I will mark you down. I relize not all these SOB's read the blog, so please do your best to help me out.

Krazie-9/5/05
Alex B-9/5/05
Danny-9/5/05
Helicon- 9/5/05
Bean-9/5/05
G Unit- Can't Make eeem. We shall draft him the finest team of scat eaters ever
JFine-9/5/05
Wings- 9/5/05
Outsider J- 9/5/05
Lobot- 9/5/05
Reegard-9/5/05
Catfish- 9/5/05
Trentzchzchhczhchzhczhchzhchzhczhzhchzch- 9/5/05
Scotty E-9/5/05

Civil Unions, Kids, Divorce, Custody

2005-08-17T17:52:00.000-04:00

Think about this...

A lesbian is living in a state that recognizes civil unions. She 'marries' another woman and is then artificially inseminated. She has the kid and after a few years decides that lesbianism isn't her bag anymore and gets a divorce. She moves to Virginia, which does not recognize civil unions, and decides that it is in the best interest of her child to not let the ex-wife have visitation rights because she (the biological mother) is a Christian.

The lesbian couple were married when the one woman conceived and delivered the child. They stayed together for about three years and together raised the child.

What should be done here?

My first thought was to treat this case as an adoption case where the parents decided to get a divorce. I'm sure there would be no argument against both parents having visitation rights. Since the states' laws are conflicting in the matter of civil unions, one recognizes them and the other doesn't, then it would become a national ethical matter. I think you have to remove the fact that they are lesbians from the equation because the crux of the matter is whether to allow visitation rights to an individual who had an equal part in raising the child. Regardless of whether or not there are conflicting laws about marriage, you are aware of the responsibilities and restrictions of a marriage. Now, this is to be considered a marriage in the context of a legal setting and not a religious one. When you marry, you must accept the consequences of the actions committed while you are a part of that marriage. The act of conceiving, delivering and allowing your 'spouse' to equally take part in raising the child brings about certain consequences. One such consequence is allowing that person to continue to see the child after a divorce. Regardless of your beliefs, or a change in beliefs as with this case, you granted the other parent the right of visitation upon a divorce when you married and had a child. I challenge you to find a person that refuses to grant visitation rights from a non-biological parent who was a stay-at-home parent for eight years. This person practically raised the child, but because they divorce and move to a state that doesn't recognize the previous marriage, then the one parent is refused visitation. That sir, is ridiculous.

tubing canceled

2005-08-07T09:23:00.000-04:00

i have to call BS on this whole situation. Let me take you all through my morrning. i wake up, get dressed, and sit down to a nice breakfast. i enjoy my bacon and eggs. i then venture down to the bathroom and squeeze out every last piece of poop i can knowing that it's gonna be a long day if i don't. After all that work, i head up to the kitchen once again to make lunches for my friend Christine and I. When that's all finished, i head down to the computer and send and instant message to Evans asking him if he is ready to go. Evans hits me up with a "the trip is canceled because of the storm." In shock i call Eric to see what he thinks, and he tells me he found out at the same time I did. Even worse for him, he was up at 7 to get ready and make it to the bank for a little cash for Mr. Butts tubes. I check the weather channel to see what we were all dealing with, and the doplar showed nothing on the radar. so i check the hourly forcast. the temps are in the mid 80's with a 40% chance of scattered stoms. if i'm not mistaken, thats just about everyday in the summer. i dunno whos idea it was to cancel, but even next week we could face even worse possibbilty of storms than today.

More Planning......

2005-08-03T22:21:00.000-04:00

Everyone: Please check out www.aljolson.com
I think we need to attend one of these shows. I am therefore planning a trip to Bobby B's on Saturday, Aug 20. Twenty bucks- includes the show, geriatrics and a buffet.

Who's in?
Saff
Bahr (i'll try anything once)

100 Greatest Movie Quotes of Our Generation

2005-07-26T08:22:00.000-04:00

By now, even if you're a female who is incapable of reading ALL of our blogs (they're not that long ladies and more interesting than an episode of Road Rules), you have actually read the title so there's no need for pretense. A while back the American Film Institute (AFI) released its 100 Greatest Movie Quotes. A lot of those quotes were admittedly fantastic, and met the criteria for how I chose mine. In fact, the top 10 were all incredible (I could've been a contender and You looking at me? and I'll make him an offer he can't refuse to name a few). The problem is, there were 90 other quotes, many of which were so antiquated as to have lost all meaning to our generation. Oh wow, a quote from Groucho Marx - I still toss that one around down at the five-and-dime.
Now, I am well aware that most of you assholes will be incapable of reading this list without thinking either A) That quote sucks...period or B) That is not the best quote from that particular movie/character. Well guess what - that's why I win at Pop Culture Trivia - AND YOU DON'T! So back off. (Seriously, winning that does make me feel like a big man - a big, US Weekly-reading gay man) In the interest of understanding from where my list stemmed, I am describing the following criteria:
a) The quote must come from a film that the majority of those born in the last 30 years would recognize and/or have seen. We are talking about the one's we all have on DVD or watch exactly 368 times in a single weekend after Friday night binge-drinking. No obscure shit.
b) The line may encapsulate the theme, tone, or attitude of the film as a whole. In other words, that line embodies what that film is about.
c) The line may have significant cultural impact. Many of these lines have been repeated, parodied, modeled, and otherwise exploited in all facets of popular culture. Oh, it may be a big gay line, but that doesn't mean you and I don't both know to what it refers and even get caught up in its effect sometimes.
d) The line should, if you have seen the movie its from, immediately trigger a memory of the film. This is where many would argue I have chosen the wrong line. Some movies like Airplane! and Big Lebowski have so many memorable lines - so it's my interaction with others and a consideration of the above criteria that I select just one or two that inarguably does hold some weight.
e) The line should just be good. Whether you have seen the film in question or not, there should be a poetic or aphoristic quality to the line. The hallmark of a good screenwriter is to use as few words as possible to convey all that needs conveying. I found myself drawn particularly to perfectly stated punchlines and huge understatements.

Alright, so now you know the rules, which means that you may argue, you may retort, but I do not want any outright horseshit. Please review the rules before leaving a comment which will force me to shut you down and embarass your menial film knowledge. Without further ado...

THE 100 GREATEST FILM QUOTES OF OUR GENERATION (in no particular order)

100. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. - Godfather: Part III, Al Pacino as Michael Corleone
99.Excuse me while I whip this out. - Blazing Saddles, Cleavon Little as Bart
98.That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I keep getting older, they stay the same age. - Dazed and Confused, Matthew McConaughey as David Wooderson
97.Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? - Raiders of the Lost Ark, Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones
96.That'll do, pig. That'll do. - Babe, James Cromwell as Farmer Arthur Hoggett
95.I have come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass. And I'm all out of bubble gum. - They Live, Roddy Piper as Nada
94.These go to eleven. - This is Spinal Tap, Christopher Guest as Nigel Tufnel
93.The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. - The Usual Suspects, Kevin Spacey as Verbal Kint
92.I just can't trust something that bleeds for five days and doesn't die. - South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, Trey Parker as the voice of Mr. Garrison
91. I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. - Fight Club, Edward Norton as Narrator
90.Don't you think angora has a tactile sensuality lacking in all other fabrics? - Ed Wood, Johnny Depp as Ed Wood
89.And I guess that was your accomplice in the woodchipper. - Fargo, Frances McDormand as Marge Gunderson
88.The price is wrong, bitch. - Happy Gilmore, Adam Sandler as Happy Gilmore
87.Game over, man. Game over! - Aliens, Bill Paxton as Pvt. Hudson
86.You can't handle the truth! - A Few Good Men, Jack Nicholson as Col. Nathan R. Jessup
85.I bet you're the kind of guy that would fuck a person in the ass and not even have the god damned common courtesy to give him a reach around. - Full Metal Jacket, R. Lee Ermey as Gunnery Sergeant Hartman
84.Have you seen my baseball? - There's Something About Mary, W. Earl Brown as Warren Jensen
83.I see your Schwartz is as big as mine. - Spaceballs, Rick Moranis as Dark Helmet
82.I ain't got time to bleed. - Predator, Jesse Ventura as Blain
81.Nobody puts baby in a corner. - Dirty Dancing, Patrick Swayze as Johnny Castle
80.E.T. phone home. - E.T., Pat Welsh as the voice of E.T.
79.I didn’t hear no bell. - Rocky V, Sylvester Stallone as Rocky Balboa
78.And I say, "Hey Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know." And he says, "Oh, uh, there won't be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness." So I got that goin' for me, which is nice. - Caddyshack, Bill Murray as Carl Spackler
77.There’s no basement in the Alamo! - Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, Jan Hooks as Tina
76.I know kung-fu. - The Matrix, Keanu Reeves as Neo
75.Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker! - Die Hard, Bruce Willis as John McClane
74.You had me at 'hello.' - Jerry Maguire, Renee Zellweger as Dorothy Boyd
73.I was born a poor black child. - The Jerk, Steve Martin as Navin R. Johnson
72.Sometimes you gotta say, "What the fuck." - Risky Business, Tom Cruise as Joel Goodson
71.I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way. - Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Kathleen Turner as the voice of Jessica Rabbit
70.One meeellion dollars. - Austin Powers, Mike Meyers as Dr. Evil
69.Do you like apples? Well, I got her number. How do you like them apples? - Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon as Will Hunting
68.Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no! We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here! We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye! And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse! - Christmas Vacation, Chevy Chase as Clark Griswold
67.Dr. Richard Kimble: I didn't kill my wife! U.S. Marshal Samuel Gerard: I don't care! - The Fugitive, Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones
66.Baby, you make me wish I had three hands. - Total Recall, Mel Johnson Jr. as Benny
65.I like them french fried potaters. - Slingblade, Billy Bob Thornton as Karl Childers
64.Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. I sense much fear in you. - Star Wars: Episode I, Frank Oz as the voice of Yoda
63.When someone asks if you're a god, you say "Yes!" - Ghostbusters, Ernie Hudson as Winston Zeddemore
62.You're going to need a bigger boat. - Jaws, Roy Scheider as Sheriff Brody
61.Just a flesh wound. - Monty Python's Search for the Holy Grail, John Cleese as Black Knight
60.Thank you for your cooperation. - Robocop, Peter Weller as Robocop
59.I'll be back. - Terminator, Arnold Schwarzenegger as The Terminator
58.Too tight? You could land a jumbo fucking jet in there! - Snatch, Robbie Gee as Vinny
57.It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care. - Office Space, Ron Linvingston as Peter Gibbons
56.You know, you can get a good look at a butcher's ass by shoving your head up it but wouldn't you rather take his word for it? - Tommy Boy, Chris Farley as Tommy Callahan
55.You ought not killed my little brother, he should've had a chance to grow up. He woulda had fun some time. - Slingblade, Billy Bob Thornton as Karl Childers
54.They're all gonna laugh at you! - Carrie, Piper Laurie as Margaret White
53.Get busy livin' or get busy dyin. - Shawshank Redemption, Tim Robbins as Andy Dufresne
52.Shall we play a game? - Wargames, Joshua the computer
51. If peeing in your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis. - Billy Madison, Gladys O'Connor as Tour Guide
50.Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! - Beetlejuice, multiple cast members
49.Feed me, Seymour! - Little Shop of Horrors, Levi Stubbs as the voice of Audrey II
48.I’m too old for this shit. - Lethal Weapon, Danny Glover as Roger Murtaugh
47. Pop quiz, hot shot. - Speed, Jeff Daniels as Harry Temple
46.Yeah I called her up, she gave me a bunch of crap about me not listening to her, or something, I don't know, I wasn't really paying attention. - Dumb and Dumber, Jim Carrey as Harry Dunne
45.Hey, maybe I'll give you a call sometime. You number still 911? Alrighty then. - Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Jim Carrey as Ace Ventura
44.I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that. - 2001: A Space Odyssey, Douglas Rain as the voice of HAL 9000
43.Don't be afraid. I'm going to give you the choice I never had. - Interview with the Vampire, Tom Cruise as Lestat
42.She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen. - Say Anything, John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler
41.Hey Yankees...you can take your apology and your trophy and shove'em straight up your ass! - Bad News Bears, Chris Barnes as Tanner Boyle
40.Everything. OK! I'll talk! In third grade, I cheated on my history exam. In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max's toupee and I glued it on my face when I was Moses in my Hebrew School play. In fifth grade, I knocked my sister Edie down the stairs and I blamed it on the dog...When my mom sent me to the summer camp for fat kids and then they served lunch I got nuts and I pigged out and they kicked me out...But the worst thing I ever done -- I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa -- and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire life. - Goonies, Jeff Cohen as Lawrence "Chunk" Cohen
39.I admit it, I'm a Michael Bolton fan! I celebrate the guy's entire collection! For my money it doesn't get any better than when he sings "When a Man Loves a Woman"! - Office Space, John C. McGinley as Bob Slydell
38.He chose...poorly. - Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade, Robert Eddison as Grail Knight
37.I've got the need - the need for speed! - Top Gun, Tom Cruise as Pete "Maverick" Mitchell
36.Schwing! - Wayne's World, Mike Myers and Dana Carvey as Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar
35.I'm Batman. - Batman, Michael Keaton as Batman34.If you build it, he will come. - Field of Dreams, Ray Liotta as Shoeless Joe Jackson
33.It's not a tumor! - Kindergarten Cop, Arnold Schwarzenegger as Detective John Kimble
32.I'm gonna get medeival on your ass. - Pulp Fiction, Ving Rhames as Marsellus Wallace
31.A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. - Silence of the Lambs, Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal Lecter
30.Show me the money! - Jerry Maguire, Cuba Gooding Jr. as Rod Tidwell
29.I see dead people. - The Sixth Sense, Haley Joel Osment as Cole Sear
28. Mama always said 'Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're gonna get.' - Forrest Gump, Tom Hanks as Forrest Gump
27.Striker: Surely you can't be serious. Rumack: I am serious. And don't call me Shirley. - Airplane!, Robert Hayes and Leslie Neilsen
26.My precious. - Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Andy Serkis as the voice of Gollum
25.I'm the king of the world! - Titanic, Leonardo Di Caprio as Jack Dawson
24.Hakuna Matata! - Lion King, multiple cast members
23.Oh I'm sorry - did I break your concentration? - Pulp Fiction, Samuel L. Jackson as Jules Winfield
22.Forget about it! - Donnie Brasco, Johnny Depp as Donnie Brasco
21.Do or do not. There is no try. - The Empire Strikes Back, Frank Oz as voice of Yoda
20.Get away from her, you bitch! - Alien, Sigourney Weaver as Ripley
19.Roads? Where we're going, we don't need roads. - Back to the Future, Christopher Lloyd as Dr. Emmitt Brown
18.They may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom! - Braveheart, Mel Gibson as William Wallace
17.You'll shoot your eye out. - Christmas Story, multiple cast members
16.I bet you can squeal like a pig. - Deliverance, Bill McKinney as Mountain Man
15.First rule of Fight Club is - you do not talk about Fight Club. - Fight Club, Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden
14.I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart. - Godfather: Part II, Al Pacino as Michael Corleone
13.Funny like I'm a clown? I amuse you? - Goodfellas, Joe Pesci as Tommy DeVito
12.Wax-on. Wax-off. - Karate Kid, Pat Morita as Mr. Miagi
11.Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die! - The Princess Bride, Mandy Patinkin as Inigo Montoya.
10.Are you gonna bark all day, little doggie, or are you gonna bite? - Reservoir Dogs, Michael Madsen as Mr. Blonde
9.Do you like scary movies? - Scream, Roger Jackson as Phone Voice
8.I am your father. - Empire Strikes Back, James Earl Jones as voice of Darth Vader
7.You're so money, and you don't even know it. - Swingers, Vince Vaughn as Trent Walker
6.And this one time, at band camp... - American Pie, Alyson Hannigan as Michelle Flaherty
5.This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass! - The Big Lebowski, John Goodman as Walter Sobchak
4.You can do it! - The Waterboy, Rob Schneider as Townie
3.That's not a knife. THIS is a knife. - Crocodile Dundee, Paul Hogan as Micheal "Crocodile" Dundee
2.Me so horny. Me love you long time. - Full Metal Jacket, Papillon Soo as Da Nang Hooker
1. I'm your huckleberry. - Tombstone, Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday

Info

2005-07-14T12:14:00.000-04:00

Looks like 9/4 is the date for Rennfest. If you have any problems you need to say them now.

Rennfest 9/4: Fine, Bahr, Saff, Evans, Joe, Bean, Lobos, Jim, Corrine, Row Ten

8/21: Horrorfind: Fine, Gorecki, Lobos, Saff
http://www.horrorfindweekend.com/

8/7: Tubing: Bahr, Bean, Fine, Lobos, Nat, Frank, Mr. and Mrs. Mone

9/10: Six Flags: Bahr, ?Joe?, Jim, Corrine, Lobos

* new event *

Bordys: 8/27: 6:00-9:30: Fine, Bahr, Lobos, Jim, Corrine

It is happening

2005-07-01T11:25:00.000-04:00

It is happening on 7/3 at 3:00 at Saffs. If you want to comment what you are going to bring I will update my post with a master list. As far as I know it goes like this.

Fine: Ham
Kat: Dessert stuff
Mike's sister: Yams
Lobos: Turkey
Bahr and Lia: Stuffing and cranbeery sauce
Eric and Sarah: Corn
Mike: Cheesecake and Pumkin shit tasting pie
Evans: Drinks
Jim and Corrine: Carrots and Sweet Pots
Joe and Holly: Wine
Holly: Joe on time
Saff: Mashed Pots
Wroten and GF: Salad
Dan and Erica: Corn bread and dinner rolls
Requards: Dip and Chips
Random Person:

I will update the list with you posts.

Man of Steel vs. The Dark Knight

2005-06-28T15:25:00.000-04:00

There is an individual on this planet whose comments and beliefs so incite me to argument, that it was time one of her more ridiculous accusations be dissected here on the blog. Now her history of poor taste in artsy, bland, pseudo-independent films notwithstanding (Magnolia? I hold the creators of that trash responsible for my having three less hours to spend with my grandchildren. Them and Anheuser-Busch and McDonald's), I thought her capable of sounder arguments than this. Her brother informed me of this outrageous claim: Batman could defeat Superman in a fight. Now frankly, DC Comics suck worse than a dagger-toothed bitch with asthma, and the character of Superman is a bit dated, but let not personal biases interfere with basic logic. Now to her credit, she did call me from a comic book store where the employee, a guy with a receding hairline and long hair, wearing a Slayer shirt and nibbling on a Nachos Bell Grande, told her that this battle has taken place in the comics and that it was a draw. Holy turd on the cream carpet, Batman! You mean to tell me, that the creators and benefactors of two fictional characters pitted them against each other in an effort to sell copies of their comic book, but decided that neither iconic fan-favorite should win, hence avoiding alienation of one fan base or another. They gave'eem the old "we'll have to agree to disagree." So we must discredit the previously written comic book, because everyone knows that when two icons are pitted against each other, there can never be a decisive, clean victory: Spiderman vs. Wolverine, Freddy vs. Jason, Hulk Hogan vs. The Rock, The People vs. Larry Flynt, Gorecki vs. Self-Control, Me Vs. Perspiration, etc. So we must analyze this battle from a realistic "Tale of the Tape" perspective.
Names: Batman is named for an animal that is essentially blind, and despite irrational fears, feeds primarily on lesser organisms like insects, berries, and lawyers (zing! I'm so irreverent). Bats are resilient. I hit one with the antenna of my car somewhere in Easton on my way home from Ocean City and he clung to my car for the entire trip. When I got home I threw him in the street. Superman is named for an adjective that exceeds most positive adjectives. Not simply Goodman or Terrificman, but superlatively a Superman. I don't know about you, but I don't mess with things with the word Super in them. Supernovas are explosive, Super-size gives me the shits, and "I'm Super, thanks for asking" provokes my hardened homophobia.
Advantage: Draw. When it comes down to it, they're both gay names.
Real Names: Batman is the crime-fighting persona of Bruce Wayne. Well, Bruce is a gay man's name. Sorry it is. It's not debatable. And then you have Wayne, a homonym (notice the root word homo) of wane - to diminish in intensity; to fall gradually from power. So in other words, Bruce Wayne is a top gay who is slowly converting to a bottom gay. Then you have Clark Kent, the alter-ego of Kryptonian alien, Kal-El aka Superman. First of all, you have Kal, perhaps short for calcium which we know makes our bones strong but also for "C"al Ripken, the heralded iron-man of baseball. And then the hyphenated -el which is the Spanish masculine form of "the." Hence his name translates: THE iron man who prevents osteoporosis. It's unfortunate he also received the name Clark Kent, although that does beckon to a reminder of a deliciously obscure candy bars and the university in which National Guardsmen gunned down several of its students in the 60's. That's awesome!!!
Advantage: Superman. You lost me with "Bruce."
Height/Weight: According to DC Comics official website, Supes measures in at a fierce 6'3" 225 lbs. with Batman measuring a scant 6'2" 210 lbs. Traditionally, you would immediately give this edge to Superman. Maybe. However, when you account for the fact that at a lean 210, Batman can optimistically bench 300, and at age 3 at a weight of probably 40 lbs, Superman could bench a God-damn Buick, then you vehemently give this edge to Superman.
Advantage: Superman. He doesn't even have to grunt like He-Man to pick up buildings.
Vision: Batman has 20/20 vision and I suppose could use any number of devices like binoculars or Bat-aracts to see further, but Superman has untold field of vision including seeing through solid objects except lead, and perhaps Matt Lobos's flatulence. If the eye doctor asked each to read the eye chart, Batman would be all "E - I - K - L..." and Superman would butt-in "It says 'Batman is a turd-eating faggot.' What you want to fight, Magoo?" and Batman would say "Who said that?" because Superman would be standing twenty miles away peeing on Bruce Wayne's parents' graves.
Advantage: Superman.
Mobility: Oh look out everybody, it's the incredibly acrobatic but nonetheless submissive-to-gravity Batman. Oh he's agile, he might even be able to pull off a smooth crane-kick on the first try, but can he fly. Oh sure, he has his batwings. Okay, then go up. Yeah that's what I thought. He falls real nice, but ask him to go up and he'll say "Hold on, let me get my Bat-hook, and just fasten it...dammit, this thing...wait, hold on, I'll get it. Okay, now hold tight and..." to which you'll say "Nevermind, I'll ride with Superman." Superman can fly on command and anywhere. Hell, if Superman wanted, he could take Batman, fly him into space and simply watch his head explode in its vacuum. Superman don't need air. He can fly so fast as to reverse the Earth's rotation. He could probably even take a post-Lin's China Buffet poop in less than two minutes. That's fast.
Advantage: Superman. Faster than a speeding bullet, folks. Faster than a speeding bullet.
Fighting Style: Batman is an expert in all known fields of martial arts. That's incredibly useful if you're taking on the Foot Clan or the Cobra Kai, but fairly useless when competing with the fighting style of Superman. Superman's fighting style is the classic "Punch a big hole threw shit and throw lots of heavy shit." Developed by Buddhist monks in the 9th century A.D., this barbaric style can only be executed by those with superhuman strength like Superman and my students when a fire alarm goes off. Superman is like Mike Tyson in Mike Tyson's Punch-out; you can probably dodge him for a few seconds, but one punch and you're down. In addition, didn't Little Mac's trainer, Doc, look like Carl from "Family Matters?
Advantage: Superman.
Appearance/Costume: First of all, who even knows what the hell Batman even looks like? He's been played by Beetlejuice, IceMan, Danny Ocean, the mayor of Qauhog, and American Psycho. None of which is as dreamy as the late Christopher Reeves, whose curly-cue on the forehead good-looks personify our image of Superman (prior to the blowing in a tube to roll around era of Chris Reeves's life). However, I will say that Batman's costume is a tad more intimidating, given the arm-blades, the pointy-bat ears, and bullet-proof armor - all of which are in black. Superman does wear a rather fruity get-up, with red Rex Kaiser-briefs over blue spandex and a big goofy red cape. He also puts an "S" for his name on his chest like a retarded kid at a playground. Batman also has his utility belt with Batarang and Bat-hook and Bat-darts and Bat-stapler and Bat-douschebag and Bat-fanny pack, etc. Batman always seems to have just the perfect device prepared to use at all times. On the other hand, Superman has nothing. Oh except the fact that he can wear an NSync T-shirt over a pink leotard if he wanted because his body is impervious to all attacks. Besides, in real life, if I see a guy walk in wearing a costume like Superman, I'm staying away because I don't want him touching me; he probably doesn't wipe good.
Advantage: Superman. Appearance means nothing unless you can back'eem up.
Known Weaknesses: Superman's weakness is famous and has been recycled as a metaphor in countless fruity rock songs (Oh girl, your love is my kryptonite, it brings me to my knees, makes me stay in and watch Season 2 of Dawson's Creek instead of go out with my friends). Kryptonite can bring Superman down, making him relatively mortal. His greatest defeat, and so-called death, came at the hands of Doomsday, a huge creature reinvented thousands of times to be impervious to any other life-form. Even then, Superman killed him with his final punch. On the other hand, Batman's only real weakness is a picture of his deceased parents, which doesn't physically alter him like kryptonite, but does affect him psychologically, which is just unforgivably pansy-ass for a so-called superhero. His greatest defeat came at the hands of Bane, a monstrous psychopath, but a mortal man nonetheless, who broke his back. Batman got shelved and had to hand the Bat-reigns to the original Robin for a while. Wait a minute, Batman can be replaced by Robin, the scrawny little fruit-pie in panty-hose, and nobody noticed? That does it.
Advantage: Superman. Kryptonite or no kryptonite, Superman is one of a kind. You can't stick Screech in some tights and pass'eem off.

Well that concludes our analysis. As you can see, Superman overwhelmingly destroys Batman in nearly every category. There's very little room for argument. So as a conclusion, I will narrate how the comic should go:
Batman passes Superman on the street and says, "Good day, sir" and Superman says "And a good day to you." Batman clumsily drops his rare Malaysian glass what-have-you and Superman, upon seeing this, flies to Malaysia, saves several children from a fire, gets a new one, and brings it back to Batman in about five seconds. Batman looks at it resentfully as Superman walks away and whistles, and says "Fucking show-off." Superman stops dead and says, "Come again?" to which Batman says, "Nothing. I said 'Lucky toe cough' or something." Superman continues on. Batman reflects on how smart he is. THE END

Lando the Dead

2005-06-26T11:59:00.000-04:00

It was about time say I and other zombie affecianados (sic?) for a fourth chapter in the "dead" series which started with "Night of the Living Dead", achieved legend status in "Dawn of the Dead" and was used to extract national security secrets from recalcitrant terrorists at Gitmo with "Day of the Dead". A brief summary, though I watched this movie with most of you. Years ago, an infestation of zombies swept through the world. The only humans left live in some resort communities where the likes of Bob Seeger, Dennis Hopper and Sonny and Cher live in Cancun-like resorts while the rabble with names like "Mulligan" and "stereotypical Fat Samoan" live in the squallor down on the streets. Violater from "Spawn" steals the combat RV from "Stripes" and the "Sam's Choice" version of Paul Walker has to steal it back. Paul Walker's "Riley" has no great love for Kaufman, the ruler of Fiddler's Green, and perenial Baltimore political candidate, and wants to use the RV to go to Canada, where, presumably, there are no Zombies or "stenches" as they are affectionately refered to in the movie. This seems a bit, um, dumb. But OK, no zombies in Canada. Meanwhile, "Big Daddy" the zombie begins to stumble onto sentience and draws other zombies away from their "lives" of tamberining and hiding in liquor store refrigerators. BD teaches them to walk in formation, use simple tools, become enraged at the treatment of other zombies, and swim. Oh yes, they also don't care about fireworks anymore.
George Romero is at his best when he steeps his zombie movies with social commentary, and "Land" fits into this. In a situation of world crisis, we would like to believe that humans would band together and fight their adversary. Unfortunately, human nature demands that humans fight amongst each other and that some reach the top while others are forced to the bottom. This is the case with Kaufman, who years ago siezed Fiddler's Green and used its safety as extortion against the rabble who he essentially keeps as cattle to fuel his smut empire. This need to fight against each other underscores that the zombies are NOT human.
TO BE CONTINUED

OC: Time For Some Brass Tax

2005-06-21T20:20:00.000-04:00

Chapter IV. The Degenerate Gambler.

“Slots in our city? This is a town for families. No sir I say, no sir!”. This is the battlecry heard when anyone mentions installing some slot machines inside the lovely Ocean Downs. Let’s look at the facts first and get right down the brass tax.
Fact #1:
Ocean Downs is about 30 minutes or 25 miles from Ocean City. We’re not suggesting making every Sportland and Marty’s Arcade into Trump Towers. Now I’m sure what the non-supporters are afraid of is just that, give an inch at Ocean Downs, they’ll take 25 miles right to our precious, precious boardwalk. Well guess what? Fuck your boardwalk. Fuck it’s dirty trash covered boards with your mothers big black dick. But seriously, I also don’t want OTB and slots all over the board walk either, because that’s what would happen. Ripley’s piece of shit museum and other fine establishments like Abdul’s back alley T-shirt, pot, henna tattoo, exotic lighters, shot glass, skate shop would all sell out to the big Vegas guns. The whole damn place would be slots. Who’s gonna sell T-shirts 2 for $10 when they can be making $500 a minute with a few slot machines? No one. Again, I don’t want this. I would like to see some slots 25 whole long ass miles from Ocean City so those who wouldn’t mind traveling for it, can get it. Also, what a great way to keep the women entertained with simple minded ass slot machines while the smart men debate which horse just took a shit and will run faster.
Fact #2:
The place is a shit hole folks. Ocean Downs is a dump. From the $5 death dogs, to the grimy ass bathrooms, all the way to the track itself which begins each race using none other than a bad model of the Blues Brothers car. As soon as you walk in, it’s clear this place has no money. You are also one of the 10 people in the joint, and that’s only when you brought 4 other people with you. Put in some slots, watch people spend money, watch Ocean Downs turn into someplace people may actually want to go. They could even start cleaning the bathrooms more than once a season, how glorious it would be. In the condition the place is in now, and judging from the usual amount of people I’ve seen there, this places days are numbered without some big help. I would hate to see this landmark in Maryland racing disappear because some dumbass Mayor of ANOTHER city refuses to stand to the side. People will travel 25 miles to Delaware and spend their money on slots instead.
Fact #3:
You keep hearing all this political, re-elect my ass bullshit from our friends on the other side of the bridge about how “We struggle hard to keep Ocean City a family place, and I won’t watch it be ruined by gambling”. Guess what fuck head? Every terrorist running those boardwalk shops you got are running drugs out the back door. So if we now know that, lets see what a simple map of the boardwalk looks like. Drug Dealer, Bar, Bar, Drug Dealer, Fry Stand, Bar, Drug Dealer, Drug Dealer, Dough Roller, Bar, Bar, Sportland, Drug Dealer, Bar, Dough Roller, Sportland and some rides. Good work. By day, the boardwalk is full of families enjoying the beach. By night, it’s generally full of thugs and 11 year old kids smoking cigarettes while pimping their girlfriends out.
Fact #4:
This is the only one that matters. If Gwen Stafani sang a song about this fact, she would certainly say “That’s My Shit” and throw a B-A-N-A-N-A or two in there as well. The real reason the OC gov barks all this who struck john, is because why would they want slots so close to their market? People come to OC every day and spend loads of cash. They do this now more then ever. The price of condo’s and everything in OC has been going through the roof the last few years and it’s no where in site that it’s coming down. Why the hell would they want to give people a reason to spend money anywhere but where they can get it? Sure they would get a cut of the slots, but not as much as when people spend money right in their city. It’s all about the money.

Chapter V. The Drunk Driver.

Let’s look at the place the most amount of people go on any given OC night to get drunk. Seacrets, not fucking Scandles OK?, No one fuckin’ goes there anymore, so stop with the dumbass commercials already. Anyway, if a cop were to sit out front of Seacrets on any given night at about 2:15am, they could fill the jail cells with drunk drivers. Every motherfucker leaving there is hammered. Designated drivers account for less than 10% of the people leaving. So why don’t they? If they REALLY cared about the safety of the streets they would right? They don’t do it because they won’t fuck with the biggest gladhander in the city that’s why. The owner of Seacrets gladhands the piss out of the right people to keep the cops away. Maybe the money the place brings into the city is enough without excessive gladhanding. Point is, if you heard 400 people got arrested after leaving and spending god knows how much money there, would you go the next night? Hell no. So the cops stay away from the parking lot, but they will bust your ass 2 blocks away. Drunken people driving is not a good thing, I think we can all agree. But I think we can also all agree that we have also all been entitled to a DWI or 2 in out time. So I propose 3 possible solutions for this problem. All would make everyone happy.
Fix #1:
Seacrets as a haven and breading ground for drunk people should step up, and make some money while doing so. Here it is. Let’s say you drive your car to Seacrets as the planned DD. Now, let’s say you pull a real Gorecki while you’re in there and just get bombed. You didn’t plan it, but it happens to the best of us. Your chugging beer, buying shots for bitches you’ve never seen before, grabbin strange asses, and doin a little falling down. Before you know it you've been dragged out by some big dude named bruce with a hawian shirt on. So now it’s time to go home. Your friends are pissed cuz your fucked up and they know you don’t want to have your car towed for leaving it in the parking lot of the same place you just dropped $200 beans in. Seacrets should pay a girl in a thong to work a booth in the parking lot that sells “Overnight Parking Tickets”. Charge $20 bux (or whatever you want because Seacrets is a business built on the idea that money means nothing to drunk people) for this ticket. Put the ticket in the dash of your Dodge Shadow, and take the bus home. Everyone’s a winner. You could also come up with a time in the morning the car must be out by if you need the spots. No DWI and Seacrets just made some extra money for letting you park in a lot that would’ve been empty anyway.
Fix #2:
Remote Parking Lots. Let’s say you own a parking lot down the street. You could send a Windu over to Seacrets (with their permission of course, and let them have their cut) and offer to drive their car to your parking lot. You ride over as a passenger in your car with Mr. Windu, he parks your car in his lot and all you have to do is pick it up in the morning.
Fix #3:
My mother saw this shit on Opera or the Today show or something. Two shows I’ve never seen because I FUCKING WORK everyday, that's right Mr. Toad, everyday. She said she saw this service in another city. Someone rides around a moped with a cell phone. You call Jake’s cell phone, he rides his moped to you. He then FOLDS up his moped, puts it in your trunk and drives your car with you in it right to your condo (or the next bar) for a fee.

All these ideas are very doable and would end some of this drunk driving non-sense. Helicon, as you are always seeking entrepreneurship, I give you full permission to use these ideas to make money as long as I get 90% of OUR profits.
Good Day and thanks for riding the Kraziehase Blog Train.

Thanks....Again!

2005-06-19T16:30:00.000-04:00

Alright, ThanksAgain has moved to this Saturday at my house. Here is what I recall of food assignments:

LobotBigArms- Turkey
Hase and Lia- Stuffing
Me- Mashed Potatoes

As you can see, I paid scant attention to the rest of you. Please write what you are bringing.

Film's Greatest Villain Actor

2005-06-17T09:34:00.000-04:00

Whilst eating the BM-inducing delectables of China Wok, Krazie, Rex, and I discussed my earlier viewing of Batman Begins. Although it was a fine movie, we chose to focus on how unusual it was to cast Gary Oldman as Jim Gordon, who later becomes Commissioner Gordon, who if you are familiar with the Batman legend, is Batman's closest police ally. This is so remarkable because Gary Oldman inarguably is the go-to character actor for any film that has a villain who has poor social skills, a bizarre accent, or distinct idiosyncrasies. I checked his filmography, and although he has made many films which I know little of therefore can not argue his villainy, he has also made countless (read: eleven) films where he is a bad guy.

1) Dracula in "Bram Stoker's Dracula" - I hope I needn't explain this.
2) Lee Harvey Oswald in "JFK" - Now, granted Oliver Stone is the posterboy for conspiracy theorists thereby rendering Oswald not as the true assassin, the character is still creepy and villainous just by the fact he has Russian lineage.
3) Drexl Spivey in "True Romance" - The man plays a wigger-pimp. Is there any greater personification of evil? Not much screen time, but an awesome performance.
4) Zorg in "Fifth Element" - Even though this movie is a throw-away piece of science fiction garbage, our boy Gary injects what he can into what is essentially a ham-fisted silly villain.
5) Pontius Pilate in "Jesus" (made for TV movie) - Didn't see'eem but pretty certain there wasn't a rewrite where Ponty and Jesus go skipping through a meadow together.
6) Ivan in "Air Force One" - This film is not to be confused with the documentary about black people's feet. Oldman plays the leader of a terrorist group that hijacks the president's plane. I can't remember the name of that plane.
7) Dr. Smith in "Lost in Space" - Granted, Doctor Smith is essentially as harmful as Stephen Hawking throwing cotton balls, he was the reason they were all 'lost in space' and an overall douschebag.
8) Mason Verger in "Hannibal" - He looks like the hellspawned love child of Sloth from "Goonies" and Rocky Dennis from "Mask" http://www.thenorthend.org/tne/images/jrod.jpg (Oh my god, that movie is hilarious), and he feeds people alive to pigs.
9) Sirius Black in "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" - Wow! A character named Sirius Black is a villain? Did J. K. Rowling go the Sith Upstairs School for Naming? Actually, it turns out by the end that Sirius Black is misunderstood, but that is in the final five minutes so essentially they hired him to seem really evil and psychotic for the bulk of the film. God I am so depressed for having been able to recall details of that movie.
10) Sid Vicious in "Sid and Nancy" - Yet another biographical role in which Gare-Bear plays a veritable lunatic only instead of murdering a president, he murders his girlfriend Nancy. I'm pretty sure potheads and kids with those big holes in their earlobes worship Sid Vicious.
11) Stansfield in "The Professional" - This is an ammendment since I admittedly did not realize Oldman appeared in this film. I missed it in my research because its original title is "Leon" which more than justifies its marketable American title. The more interesting detail here is that apparently the 11 year-old Natalie Portman character copulates with Leon in the original. Yet another reason to become a hitman.

So, as you see, Gary Oldman is the greatest film villain of all time. However, I put it out to the rest of you to think of other actors who consistently (or mostly) play villains.

The 50

2005-06-15T19:26:00.000-04:00

Introduction
Over an evening of buckOfives with Mssrs. Hase and Inibriatoso, I came to some angry conclusions that I'd like to share with you all regarding the constablularies and the constabulary departments with which I've had occassion to interact.
Any society must create and enforce rules and standards of conduct. This is a given. Should we decide the reverse, human ingenuity and greed would prevail and a functioning anarchy would have the lifespan of a quadratic equation on Mr. 'Con's pupitre. No, the problem that our society seems doomed to under-react to is the menacing and steady acquisition of power by the police departments.

Hase, Kaiser and Officer Butt-Kissy
Mr. Hase related a story to me which I am inclined to believe as Mr. Hase has yet occassion to lie to me. Mr. Hase and some associates were travelling home from an adventure in Ocean City, Maryland when, unbeknownst to him, a car full of illegal immigrants was leaving a produce stand (pick up your jaws, folks). After cutting Mr. Hase off and causing an accident, Mr. Hase was prosecuted by the State of Maryland for "following too closely" to another vehicle. Though this was an erroneous charge, it seemed to be the only charge to fit, even vaugely, the situation. Correction- the situation under which Mr. Hase was prosecuted. Fortunately, Mr. Hase escaped from this trap by use of a cunning legal strategy- the cop failed to show in court (more on that later). The reason Mr. Hase was there is the first place was because, according to the constabulary, "someone had to get a ticket." Yes, once again, replace your jaw. In another telling situation, Rex Kaiser, Sr. was traveling northbound on I95 in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Apparently, in said Commonwealth, radar detectors are illegal. Instead of issuing a ticket for said offense, Mr. Kaiser Sr. was asked to surrender said device for inspection. The officer returned to the car, having rendered the device irrepairable. Essentially private property was destroyed without consel, consent or even notification. Some of you will remember the small party that this author had at the house my father acquired nearly 4 years ago. A representative of the Parkville police precinct entered this house without knocking, without a warrent, without any constitutional grounds for doing so. He immediately began issuing threats as police officers are presumably trained to do. Though not a lawyer, I doubt that there are any situations where a man's adult son, having a small party that he has doesn't know about in a house he owns a percentage of, can be imprisoned for a year. This is exactly the threat made to me by Officer B. of the Baltimore County Police Department. Sorry dad, I didn't realize that a dozen people drinking Smirnoff Ice 5 miles from your actual home would throw you in the slammer for a year. Here are those cigarettes you asked for.

Tada- a new law
It is even more egregious when law enforcement chooses to attack victims, which apprently they do as well. After the "bed-shitting whore" left me, I inquired of her, the status of some monies that she owed me. The cousin of the walking penecilin shot who took her from me, you guessed it, a cop, took it upon herself to threaten me with a "restraining order" and told me that she had advised the bsW not to pay the legally incurred debt. Having had some experience with what the officer inncorrectly called a "restraining order" (she was referring to a 'peace order' which I know because the when when my sister was beaten up by her ex BF, the police were wholly relectant to help her obtain one). She then invented the idea that with the issuance of a "restraining order" I would immediately go to jail. This is utter fiction, though I suppose that utter fiction is an important tool for the police.

Just plain mean
The problem is not our laws or our constitution. In fact, our constitution strictly forbids this type of intimidation. It's called the bill of rights. The problem is the tendancy of the bureacrcy to protect itself and consolidate its power. This broad grasp of power cannot be attributed soley to individual police officers. Most, though not all, are strictly speaking, too dumb to fathom this. Most actual police officers were unpleasant, violent children who lacked the agility to excel at sports and who went about finding ways to acquire firearms and lord power over their contemporaries. Congratulations you have a belt with tools! You're like Batman now! Why don't you push some drug peddler against a brick wall and demand to know who killed your partner? Want to know why? Cause your partner isn't dead. He's standing right next to you, holding a radar gun. You know why he's wearing that glove? It's to protect him from the radiation that the radar gun emits. Does it bother you that you're pointing that radiation spitting gun at every citizen and illegal produce worker that passes by? Didn't think so.

Presumption
It can be argued that police are a reactive force, catching criminals and assisting in the prosecution thereof. Is that was the case, so be it. The problem is that the main balance of police work is proactive. Essentially there is a presumption of guilt. Is that being too harsh? Why is it that police on patrol will follow you for a little while? They are inputting your license plate number. You are presumed to be a car thief, deadbeat dad, person of questionable parentage, have a warrent out for your arrest, etc. If there was no presumption of guilt, why input your plate number? This extends to the police buddies in the court system. Ever try to tell a judge that the cop was lying about how fast you were going? No. If you are smart enough to beat level 1-2 on Mario 1, you know that your only hope in court is to act like the negro slave who stole a cabbage from the main house- hat in hand, vastly apologetic, deferential, cattle-like. That is where you are meant to be in their world. The problem is that we've gone too far into that world and have accepted that behaviour of ourselves. We accept that we can be pushed around by police, that they have the right to pick and choose the laws the laws they enforce. We accept that they can speed and violate stop signs for whatever reason, emergency or not. We accept the fact that they can spend more time in 7-11 than the Big Bite salesman. We accept the fact that we fear them. Don't believe it? Next time you see a cop on the shoulder, see if you tap your brakes as a matter of instinct.

Boys Will Be Boys

2005-06-08T16:37:00.000-04:00

Just a few weeks back, I put B.E.T. on the television for my students, because while they work it pacifies them and keeps them from throwing grass and hurling feces when a bee comes in through the window. Forced to watch a network I wouldn't even voluntarily watch over "TUNA: Television for Women", I began to notice a striking pattern emerge - besides that every video features a rapper looking up at a wide-angle lens throwing his hands up surrounded by bouncing El Caminos and black chicks with cellulite asses. No, I noticed that there was an inordinate number of Kool-Aid, Sprite, KFC, and other commercials that ended with "Bad Credit? No Problem" as a tagline. Sure it sounds like a stereotype, perhaps I am trying to be funny, but alas, I swear on the skidmarks in Rex Kaiser's tighty-whities that given five minutes, you will notice this pattern too. Could it be that the advertising companies are overtly racist, assuming that just because a particular network has a dominantly black audience that they can just go throw fried chicken and prepaid cell phone commercials around? If you said yes, go now and jump on a bike with no seat and peddle your liberal ass into oncoming traffic. Of course they aren't racist - they want their persuasive message to reach an audience who is most likely to be persuaded by it. You don't see GAP or Old Navy commercials on BET because they don't want those people to know about them. They're the racists. Advertisers are in the business of persuasion, and given my (clears throat) 18 credits in public discourse/communications, I know that the number one thing you gots to know before attempting to persuade is...anyone?...anyone?...the audience. Know what they like, what they don't like, what they want, and how best to communicate anything to them. This last part is crucial, for sometimes an audience doesn't know what the hell they want or like, so it's the job of the rhetorician to communicate to them in a language they will not just understand, but embrace. This is why guys talk about how hilarious the latest Budweiser commercial is but rarely do you here, "Dude-man, that Palmolive commercial was hilarious, the way that shit cuts through grease is foshizzle." Soap and detergent commercials, dare I offend the Rosie's and Ellen's of the world, are for women, particularly housewives. Their language is more or less "Cut the bullshit, nigga - is yo' shit gonna get out these stubborn grass-stains or not." Moms don't want any of that funny business. So there - bear in mind this long-winded preface about the importance of audience analysis as I go into the inspiration for this blog.
Last week, a story broke in the San Francisco Chronicle that the San Francisco 49ers had been using a training video with their players that was profane, vulgar, sexist, and racist. The Chronicle even released the video on its website which can be found here:http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/06/01/MNNINRSXCRPTS.TMP&type=universalnewads In the approximately 12 minute video, former 49ers public relations director Kirk Reynolds poses as the mayor of San Francisco as he takes his audience on a tour of the city, providing suggestions for dealing with publicity. Now, first of all, it's hilarious on a literary geek level that a public relations video would explode into a veritable public relations nightmare. But more importantly, take a look at just what this video contains. Summarily it has a caricatured Chinese man unknowingly making sexual comments, two naked girls making out, a slathering of profanity, more naked girls, and cameos by a few 49ers players. Asians, women, lesbians, children, clergymen, the mayor of San Francisco, homeless people, apparently San Francisco Chronicle reporters, and inexplicably Terry Schiavo and Baby Jessica should all be profoundly offended by what this video contains. They should make big wooden boards that state "You're 1-15 on the field, but you're 0-16 on good taste" although that would have to be printed really small and would lose its effect, but still. They should vow never to go to another 49ers game as long as they live. They can pretty much do anything they want now that the proverbial cat's out of the bag. That is, they can do anything but be angry.
I assume Kirk Reynolds produced this video, and as director of public relations for the team was told to put together a presentation that highlights the team's primary policies on dealing with the public and the media. This he does. In each segment, he gives sober advice on libel, diversity, public appearances, legal trouble, temper control, public behavior, and lockerroom etiquette (in terms of not walking around with your coal-sausage exposed given the ubiquitous nature of female reporters). Granted, he does follow each piece of advice with an over-the-top burlesque, but his points are made nonetheless. And like a good speaker, he even closes his presentation with a recap of his main points surrounded by four topless women. Anyone worth their weight in rhetoric knows that your closing is the most important segment, and Reynolds made sure his audience was watching when he reviewed what they needed to know.
Which brings us back to audience. Who was the audience for this video? Was it the city of San Francisco? Was it the entire San Francisco 49ers organization all the way down to the hot dog vendors and Jerry Rice's mother (yes I know)? Was it your mother who I assure you knows much worse than this (the shit that woman says in a climax of passion)? No, it was for the exclusive audience of the 2004-05 San Francisco 49er players, and 49er players only (in fact, he even emphasizes that it's mostly for rookies and new team members). It was sixty-three grown men, professional athletes, all white or black, who had seen a previous tape like this one in 2003 and unanimously asked for an encore according to Reynolds. Personally, I did not find the tape all that funny, but given my experience with informational and motivational videos as a teacher, I appreciated its technique. I constantly see this garbage thrown at me about new teaching strategies and philosophies, and not once do I remember it. It always has some old woman wearing a broach talking about how each child must be embraced and has cutesy horseshit advice like "Never take your bad day out on the students (long pause)...unless they didn't do their homework." Holy bat-winging ballsacks, that's hilarious! No - no it's not. It's gay because I'm in a big gay profession where the target audience is soccer-moms and book advocates (Books! Pssh! Get over it, film has won! Concede to our victory!) and they find that funny.
I am a 20-something guy who still thinks a dog shitting on someone's carpet or an old woman falling down and crying is funny. I would definately remember that each student has the potential to be successful if a topless brunette told me it while juggling poodles. That is just what happens to be appealing to a guy like me. And that's just what happens to be appealing to the 20-35 year old guys who comprise a professional football team. In an era of soundbytes and papparazzi, a team that just unloaded a P.R. timebomb like Terrell Owens better make sure their players understand the importance of public persona.
The media and those offended by this video are the mother to the 49ers' 13 year old boy. Now Mom knows that her boy is growing up, and along with finding dark and curlies on the rim of the toilet, he's probably looking at girls. She knows this, but she does not think this. Then one day Mom is cleaning the room, unconsciously looking for any "dirt" and discovers not just a Hustler, but a Club magazine featuring interracial scat. She's horrified to think that her little boy, who represents the family and for whom she's aspired a promising future, would like such filth. But then it dawns on her that boys will be boys, and it was her own snooping that brought to light something her son clearly wished to keep to himself. That magazine was meant for his eyes only. Besides, there were a few times in junior high that she let the neighborhood boys drop a Cleveland Steamer on her chest for a pack of Newports. Everyone gets a kick out of that sort of thing sometimes. BUT STILL - it shouldn't be HER SON. So she has to invent reasons to be angry even though she really isn't entitled to be since she should never have seen it, and frankly it's understood that that's what little boys do.
So she rants and raves about it, highlighting that the "mayor" tells the "homeless man" to "get a job" which totally misses the humor since the homeless man is one of the 49er players holding a sign that reads "Will Tackle For Food." Or she claims that her son is an overt homophobe because he suggests "not to drop the soap" in jail, even though every single young male I know calls his friend a fag or considers anal sex the lowest form of behavior. But not her son. Oh no, how dare he think and do the things that everyone else does?
Meanwhile, you have MTV using corporate-built rappers and talentless bimbos hocking messages of blind acceptance to a generation callow to the manipulative inner-workings of the media. One second little girls are encouraged to seek Britney Spears as a role model when she's tamed by a record label, but once she becomes independently wealthy, she produces her own show where she celebrates substance abuse and sex. But now the little girls are hooked. At least the 49ers are making sure that their raucous shenanigans and tasteless humor is kept amongst themselves, on the field and in the lockerroom. They didn't ask the world to see that tape, the world went looking for it. Sadly the same can't be said for the exploitation of misguided role-model-less kids grasping for any sense of identity that empires like MTV can solicit by intentionally using sex and violence to entice children. All so single mothers, guilty that their child has no daddy, can blindly buy the next rap CD or tube top for Lil' Eminem. Both the 49ers and the MTVs of the world know their audiences, but only one knows when to draw a line. Am I blowing this out of proportion? Perhaps a little. But then so did the San Francisco Chronicle.

The Oasis and The Golden Nugget: A Cautionary Tale

2005-06-04T11:58:00.000-04:00

As homoerotic as it is to trumpet the awesomisity of you and your own friends, I realized last night that our core social group is the real-world equivalent of the X-Men (though the D&D nerds who play pepper in their backyard would insist we are Sith). Not only are we so diverse and bring unique special powers (for instance, Gorecki's ability to uproot trees with one hand and Masterjedi's ability to wear bikini underwear around other men), but our metaphorical Professor X assembles us into mission teams at random in order to investigate situations that "normal" people do not. Such was the case last night for Professor X (or as we like to call him "Drunken lack of inhibition") who assembled this crack-team:
Bean - he flies the ship and leads the team in motivational singing of "It's Raining Men" and "Oops! I Did It Again" before departure. His unparallelled swamp-ass often leaves him isolated from talking to girls but proves useful in soiling light upholstery.
Evans (formerly "Human Toad") - he arrived as reinforcements. He sings Billy Joel songs in order to lure hot girls whose bountiful chests provide renewed energy for other team members.
Kraziehase - he is our "Beast" providing infinite wisdom on elements of seediness & potential criminals/Windus, and eagle-eyes yambags from up to 500 yards away. For the most part he remains stoic in order to evaluate the actions of the other team members for constructive ball-busting later.
Gorecki - when something dangerous or more often embarassing must be done, Gorecki is our man for the job. His power is his shameless willingness that can only be defused by a car-ride back to headquarters with three drunk team members breaking balls like a fat kid in dodgeball.
Fine (aka Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Adventure-Long) - his role is to fill a seat that a bachelorette party or meathead in a pink polo shirt might otherwise use. Also he does not talk. And he has a pet wolf named Timber making him everyone's favorite GI Joe character.
Frank - he resurfaces every once in a while from his lifestyle of log cabins, brush-fires, and copulating fat girls drunk on 20 oz. cans of Budweiser. Having little attachment to industrial civilization, Frank cares little for social inhibitions and treats every experience like Crocodile Dundee.

The Story: So while the core-team, including Helicon and Rex met for a work-week debriefing at Damon's, Frank called at random and asked what we were doing. We told him that tonight's mission would be his choice and though he hinted about a gay revue or at least a trip to Game's Workshop, he settled on heading to Baltimore's "Power Plant Live." In addition he asked, "Do I need to dress up?" Now seeing as how the character of Frank is plagiarized from "The Dude" Lebowski, dressing up for Frank could mean putting on pants devoid of squirrel shit, and shaking the birds' nests from his mane. I told him confidently "niet" to his inquiry and this, above all else, made the difference for the night as you will soon learn. Krazie and Rex decided that I had to undergo some last minute training and afforded me the opportunity to piss in the pitch black of the Damon's restroom by turning the lights out. Then we left.
Back at the headquarters of my basement, we prepared for our mission by playing Donkey Bongos and singing duet karaoke including a stirring harmonization by Frank and Gorecki on "Mockingbird." Of course, we downed our quota of Buschmans and even had a few Tooters! shooters in order to ascertain my eventual hangover. At this point, we left for "Howl at the Moon," Helicon unable to go on this mission given his power of monetary thriftiness and cynical disdain for anything or anyone except Grampa Ellsworth and the quadratic formula. Rex had an important solo mission to deliver a rock to a girl he met when she smiled to him at a red light. In their stead, we brought Sweet Sixteen, so named for the age she turned exactly three years ago seeing as how last night she turned nineteen. She had a fake ID stating she was a Korean man from Georgie named "Nancy Coolidge," which generally I would have no confidence in except Sixteen is a cute little blonde who was prominently exhibiting her anatomical highlights. So five of us cram into my two-door battle transport called "Skidmark 6", throwing empty coffee cups, staplers, gloves, and ungraded homework assignments including Aujanai Patterson's insightful, if not illegible, paragraph on Uncle Hammer, into my trunk.
We arrive to Power Plant, vessel still in tact, and immediately make way for "Howl at the Moon," encountering a drunkass directing traffic until a cop accosts him and what who we thought was Joe Cardamone until we got closer and realized it was just a big costume bear giving out coupons to some new shithole bar. I stopped off to get some ATM while the others proceeded into "Howl" (that's how those of us on the "in" refer to it like calling Dave Matthew's Band "Dave"). When I returned, I found Sixteen, sad-faced and denied entry. Apparently unlike most of his race, the bouncer had done his job and sniffed out her ID as a fake, giving it back but tearing away the convincing lamination on the outside. Sixteen was done, but this too would prove integral to our night's destiny. Frank came out to seem like he cared but essentially said "Screw you guys! I'm going in!" Sixteen and I then waited for her friends to pick her up and sought the warmth of the blackest McDonald's in the galaxy. Jiggawhat the Mopper came over and asked us if we planned to buy something or if we were just waiting for someone to leave the bathroom. This interrogation required that he ogle Sixteen while doing so. Since we were neither, he said I had to buy something or get out. So I went to the counter and ordered a $1 chicken sammich. Despite my sammich being prepared surprisingly fast, the cashier Laquisha could not multi-task by both asking the foreign guy behind me "Can I help you?" and turning around to grab my sammich a mere three feet away. So I had to wait for Antonio to translate the complex matrix that is the McDonald's menu before I could get my sammich in time to have to leave for Sixteen's ride anyway. So I walked alone to the bar, eating my chicken, fairly certain people were saying "Hey! Look at that fat kid eating away on McDonald's like a fat kid" while they were popping their collar and allowing me to ogle their slut girlfriend.
Inside Howl it was business as usual. Frank made his move on our waitress which seemed to be progressing well until she dropped the "boyfriend" bomb, although she recompensed her teasing with a free round of beers. Frank and I put $8 into getting Irene Cara's "What A Feeling" played only to have the piano player advertise it as "what the girls' want" and throw our $8 piece of paper in the trash. Fine left citing that they had yet to play "Hava Nagila" nor herald the cinematography of "City of God." Then we all shelled in some cash to have Evans sing "We Didn't Start The Fire" on stage which he did, except they gave him a Fisher-Price wireless microphone to use because you couldn't hear a word he was saying. He might as well have been cursing out all of our mothers because we'd never know. This infuriated Evans so much that he disappeared to a corner of the bar to fratenize but fall short of taking home several hot Towson chicks. The place was crawling with yambags, attached to both the hot and homely, but always worth checking out. Primed by this delicious parade of femininity and deterred (I said 'terred) by the 17th song in a row that sounded like "Time Warp" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Christ with that song), it was time to go and seek out a place where areola and dry-humping flow like the Euphrates.
We exited Howl at about midnight and grabbed two taxis just outside to take us to Evans's Mecca, The Hustler Club on historic Baltimore Street. Only later in the evening did I find out that it takes literally three minutes to walk to Baltimore Street from Power Plant rendering a taxi trip useless, although we did meet Akeil, the reinforcement of Persian cab-driver stereotypes, who gave us three $5-off coupons to Hustler. Immediately exiting a vehicle on Baltimore Street at midnight on a Friday, you are reminded of an establishing shot of Tatooine; there is animated nonsense everywhere. We made haste to The Hustler Club, where we'd never have gone had Sixteen not gone home, only to be halted. The weiner at the front door stopped us because apparently Frank's cut-off shorts violated Hustler's strict dress code. Evidently, you must be properly attired with tucked-in shirt and pressed pants in order to have some cooze named Sparkle rub her vag on your nose. Weiner was nice enough to bring Habib down who took one glance at Frank and began shaking his head. Frank wanted to take issue with it but I insisted we just leave to which Weiner suggested we read the dress code, which is extremely helpful seeing as how we were toting our wardrobes with us and could change now. Just then, it called to us...our destiny...our palace of sin and pleasure...THE GOLDEN NUGGET.
I was inside before I even knew it. The entrance looked like that of a bowling alley. No indication of where you're going or what goods or services are provided, just walls and stairs that lead to more walls and stairs that finally land somewhere between the third level of hell and a pornographer's wood-paneled basement. To say this place was a shithole would be an insult to effective, industrious shitholes that mask the odor and appearance of its contents. The entire bar is a narrow room, wide enough for a one-whore stage with a pole, a bar, seats at the bar and room enough to walk around the bar so that you question if each person you pass has lifted your wallet. There was more or less a running competition throughout the night not to be the last person in line because should any of the degenerates decide to attack you from behind, the other four would be oblivious. We of course had no choice but to head to the farthest corner of the bar, looking across at all of the absolute bottom-scrapings of humanity around us. On stage was a black stripper who resembled a shaved Ewok. Now I can get down with some plump action from time to time, but her stomach had become so riddled with stretch marks presumably from countless bastard children, it had begone to resemble a giant wrinkled scrotum. There is nothing horny about that. Gorecki decided to buy each of us a can of Bud Lite. A can, mind you. Thirty beans! Do the math - that's like...like more than $25 for five cans of beer. I sipped my six dollar beer modestly (and rest assured it tasted no different than a .50 cent beer), gazing slack-jawed at all around me. There was an obese whore grinding up on an older respectable-looking man who began to grip his fingers into the flesh of her shoulders while she buried her head in his shoulder and her elbow made a pumping action. Needless to say, her hands were not visible. There were a line of about four Mexicans, the ones with the mesh John Deer hats and 70's porn moustaches that landscape apartment complexes. Otherwise the place was filled with jolly black men for whom this is all in a day's living and white guys who all match a serial killer profile. There was no carding, no frisking, and certainly no discrimination in this joint. We learned this when a parade of behemoth black whores approached our team. Fortunately, Bahr and I were the most frequently left-alone I believe because we have the "look forward and don't make eye contact" strategy down pat and our shaved heads suggests white supremacy. Evans and Gorecki tagteamed one big bitch who had flapjack titties and was not taking no for an answer. Meanwhile, poor Frank has this horrendous monstrosity that looks like a boss from Resident Evil pressing herself up against him. Now I use the word "herself" loosely since we are all fairly certain that at one point Miss Black Crack Whore was once Mister Black Crack Whore. She had broader shoulders and chest than any of us, stood at least 6'1", looked like the girl-Gremlin from Gremlins 2 and spoke with a falsetto voice. Frank was far more polite than I'd have ever been and conversed for well over five minutes before she realized that we have no interest in black women unless they look like Beyonce or at the very least Shirley Hemphill from "What's Happening?". I feared for my life every second we were in there until we all finished our one beer and left. Incidentally, I had to pause during my exit so a black man could finish squeezing a whore's boob then pause long enough for me to pass.
Once outside we were approached by Antoine (not a made-up name). Antoine, or 'Twan as I'm sure his friends call him, worked for a reputable little establishment called "The Oasis." One of us saw bikers pouring from a bar across the street and immediately implied that might be more to our tastes (essentially because of their European ancestry). Antoine insisted that "The Oasis" had some of the fattest, roundest asses and titties on the block. Frank and I edified him by saying that we preferred a lighter breed, and a mite bit trimmer and more petite. Antoine ammended his claims and assured us there were petite white women to go around. So we said "what the hell" and entered The Oasis. Ironically, the doorman actually carded us but only because there were approximately 72 uniform cops standing just outside the door. Once inside we were treated to The Golden Nugget Part 2. This place was better only by the fact that the bartender resembled a wise-cracking sidekick on any given UPN show and they had things on the walls. Otherwise all was the same. There was still a skanky crackwhore grinding up on every single guy, and unlike the classy whores like at Gold Club, you could pretty much place fingers, spoons, nickles, etc in any orifice without consequence. The first girl I saw was turned sideways and it looked as if she'd had a punch bowl implanted in her ass cheeks leaving no money for facial reconstruction. There was one white girl, one, who wasn't all that attractive and basically spoke to Frank the entire time with a tone of "This guy doesn't reek of crystal meth and Colt 45 - perhaps he will rescue me and make me his own Eliza Doolittle" Yes, these whores referenced early 20th century playwrights. Evans was attacked by pretty much one of the hottest black girls I've ever seen and was talked into buying her a twenty dollar beer (again, no exaggeration), which seemed steep, but boy did she like talking to him after that. I went on not drinking and wondering how a pattern of good behavior (Bean, 2005, Sith Have Lightning...) led me to this place. Bahr continued his stone-cold refusal to humor more than a pleasent hello to any passing whore, and Gorecki started in one his fifth Courvosier (sic) of the evening. After her set, where Bahr learned conclusively that Asian vaginas don't go sideways, this slope named Layla approached Gorecki and me. We successfully denied her which gave me hope for both of us. Then this black chick named Sunny approached Mike. She sat beside him and his attention was seized. Within seconds, he had bought her a $20 drink, and not surprisingly, she too gave him a tremendous amount of attention. Then came my black girl. Her name was Ali, although I thought she said Mali, and when I repeated that back to her she said "Mali? That's a dumb name...no I'm Ali" which apparently is a much better name for a female. She was named this because her father had raised her as a fighter. What a remarkable story! She knew her father! But I digress. I tried to seem disinterested and make things awkward so she'd leave me alone but she insisted she sit on my lap so I thought "Okay, go right ahead." I would like to present the next scene to you in screenplay format:

BEAN

So what expectations have you got

sitting on my lap like this?

ALI

None. Just good conversation,

a drink, whatever...

BEAN

Oh alright then.

UPN sidekick lays a NAPKIN down for a drink. Bean waves it off.

ALI

I guess that's a no then.

BEAN

A no to what?

ALI

To buying me a drink.

BEAN

Well, I heard drinks for you ladies

cost $20 a piece. Is that true?

ALI

Yes.

BEAN

Well, I don't have a $6 beer in front of me

so what makes you think I'm going to

put a $20 one in front of you.

Ali disgustedly rolls her eyes. She rises.

Listen, if I want to spend twenty dollars to have good conversation with a woman, I'll get a retard drunk on a $20 bottle of Jack Daniels and ask her how gravity works. I asked Bahr what the hell was up with a system like that and he clued me in; apparently the insinuated service from a 20 spot is some lap-dance grinding and an over-the-pants handjob. I simply said "Oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh" then looked over at Evans's bitch and Sunny, each with her drink and thought "Then that would mean that Evans and Gorecki..." but stopped short out of the sheer horror of it. We left there shortly thereafter, feeling dirty and ashamed. Antoine ran up to us and said "Where's the love?" to which Bahr responded "There is no love for sending our asses in that fucking place." Seeing what Antoine does for a legitimate dollar, it almost rationalizes a turn to drug-dealing. As if to punctuate what a different world we'd entered, by the time we exited an entire block of Baltimore Street had been blockaded by police cars. We hurried quickly back to our cars, we busted respective balls, and we ate some Double T breakfast specials. On this night, we knew that the Gladhanders were out of their element. Although I still have Sunny's cell phone number and should I get lonely enough, hope to circus-tent with her some time.

Who is at fault for the fall of the Republic?

2005-06-03T01:04:00.000-04:00

yes that's right, I'm back. i got rid of enough animal porn on my computer to come back and post. it has taken me days to read everything that i have missed, but worry not, for i will be posting more star wars blogs than you can possibly imagine...so here we go.
Who was responsible for the fall of such a glorious government? One name comes to mind, but who else could have prevented this from happening? Stop and think for a minute and see that there are numerous people/creatures that should also be blamed.
1.Jar Jar Binks: yes, this Gungan has been the one most predominately blamed for the fall of the great republic. Was he at fault? Yes! His small mindedness, clumsiness and one dimensional thinking has come back to bite the whole universe in the ass. Who the hell does he think he is representing the planet of Naboo?! Jar Jar deserves one job and one job only...to be the sole member of a barge that carries shit and bloody tampons into one of Tatooines 2 suns. He is the most gullible or even a gullicalf in the galaxy, not thinking twice about what he is about to do. Someone of his intelligence certainly should not be in the galactic senate. His next role should be one that makes him one of Palpatines closest military officers. Then, since Jar Jar has less brains than Kanishka smoking weed laced with dog shit, he should be sent on a suicide mission to try to take over Vader as the next Sith lord. We would get to see Vader use his famous choke hold on that goofy looking, floppy eared SOB.
2. Padme: Who in there right mind would put Jar Jar in a position to make such decisions? A fool, that’s who. A fool appoints a Gungan who has been banished from his people because he was too clumsy. We have seen from Episode 1 that he is not capable of even licking salt off a strippers asshole let alone representing a whole planet. Who should have been appointed senator when Padme was absent? A logical answer would have been anyone else!
3. Boss Nass: Let us not forget the fat ass leader of the fucked up looking Gungans. He made Jar Jar a general. If it were not for Nass, Jar Jar would have gone unnoticed as even a consideration to represent Naboo.
4. The Jedi Council: Yes, even Jedi make mistakes. The council was so blinded by trying to keep order, that they missed the very thing they are against. The Sith took control of the galaxy when they weren’t looking. Knowing how important Padme was, they should have not let her return to Naboo in the chaotic times that were upon them. If Jar Jar was the leader they thought he was, then he should have been the one to report back to Naboo seeing how he is also a member of the planet and acting senator.
5. Shmi Skywalker: Having agreed to let Qui Gon take Annie away from Tatooine, Shmi doomed everyone in the galaxy. Denying the Jedi Master the chance to take the choose one to be trained prevented the Jedi Council from stopping ol’ Palpie.
6. Sbulba: If the Doug that claims to be the best pod racer on the planet would have won the race, then Annie would not have been freed and none of this would have happened, or at least happened the way it did.
We see from just these 6 characters that they are all responsible. They should all die and the Madhanders will now take over the galaxy as father and son.

THE RISE OF DARTH MUYMALO

2005-05-30T10:04:00.000-04:00

The man now known as Darth Muymalo was not always the wicked creature that history now regards him as. In fact, Lord Muymalo was once a powerful force for goodness and decency, before he was seduced by the power of the MadHanders.
Born as Prince Erbean Horspup IV, the future MadHander grew up in relative hapiness with his family in the Ambromillio system, incidently home to the powerful EvanSavi Cluster and its sister organization the Missdapointos. Prince Erbean attended the Phacademy on Ebenezer Prime before entering military service as was custom for Royalty in the old Republic. Prince Erbean fought valiently on the front lines of the Terrapin Army brigade, rising to the level of Serpentor First Class before the Armistice at Colehouse. With the war over, Erbean began travelling the galaxy, living briefly in the Outer-Harco-Ring and then, significantly, at the Lin'k'ave Planet. He began a career teaching underprivlaged children in the Skuul System. With his Lin'k'ave Planet associates, he began studying of the GladHander ways and soon grasped its intricacies.
It was then that a phantom menace appeared on the horizon. A drifter once known as Zimmons, a courtier at Ambromillo returned from the Hipster Nebula with an agenda. He reaglled Erbean with stories of fires and irresponsibilities. Zimmons enthralled the young Prince before revealing to him that he was actually the Dark Lord, Darth Absentia. Erbean resisted Absentia's advances, but Absentia used the power of the Mookie Sticks and soon Erbean was rubbing the MadHander lotion over Absentia's legs. Darth Muymalo was born. He underestimated the power of the Mookie Sticks.
Muymalo began to spread war across the GladHander universe, driving the remaining GladHanders back to their new base at the Lin System. In a last minute gambit, the GladHander LobotBigArms, went on a desperate search for King Edward the Versatile, Muymalo's father. He was never heard from again. As he left the Lin System, Captain Josef Commitment was heard to say, "That boy is our last hope." "No," said Gorecks the Wise, "There is another."
And another there was. As the quest for Edward the Versatile fizzled, FineTime, a GladHander knight was dispatched the outermost parts of the galaxy to the Floriodois System. There he was united with Princess Bastradia, Erbean's heretofore unknown daughter. FineTime brought Bastardia to Gorecks the Wise who trained her in the ways of the Gladhanders. In a telling story of this training, Gorecks went up to a starnger at the bar and Gladhanded him for a half an hour. "I don't believe it!" gasped Bastardia. Gorecks looked sadly at the ground, saying, "That is why you fail."
Darth Muymalo continued to fight the Gladhanders and captured them in his battlestation, the BongoStrosity. Overwhelmed by its powers, the Gladhanders were about to give up. Then out of nowhere, Bastardia confronted Muymalo. They engaged in banter, civil discussion and urbane witticisms. "Why won't you Gladhand me father?" "It is too late for me, my daughter." he Madhanded and walked away. Remembering the words of Gorecks the wise, "I smoked 40 death sticks in a hour," Bastardia flew into a fit of Gladhanding that can only be described as glorious. Muymalo began to crumble as his Madhanding evaporated away. Both father and daughter collapsed in front of each other. Dying, Prince Erbean coiled his hand into the traditional Gladhanding salute and became one with the Palm. Bastardia, spent from her Gladhanding, woke up in the Lin System, but immediately realized that her powers were exhausted. Gorecks the wise told her that her frenzy of Gladhanding had saved her father's soul, and that for a brief instant, she transcended Gladhander and became the mythical "BackSlapper", but that her brush with perfection had permanently drained her of her powers. She took off from the Lin System to parts unknown.

Empire: Good, Bad, Not Good or Not Bad

2005-05-30T00:57:00.000-04:00

It has come to the attention of the Gladhanders that more than one person thinks The Empire is not bad simply because The Empire has a different point of view. More specifically, since one person has total control over The Empire, it is only that one person who has the different point of view from the rest of the galaxy. Should we respect and consider a difference of opinion? Yes. Should we allow any agenda to be fulfilled simply because it is a different point of view? No. Do some people think the Empire is a carbon copy of the current administration? Yes.

The Gladhanders are expecting a well written defense from Darth Frown as to why the Empire is not bad.

Sith Have Lightning...What Do We Have?

2005-05-25T18:19:00.000-04:00

As you might have picked up between the lead story about half of Florida's 8 year-old girls going missing and the human interest story about giant catfish on the news, Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith made exactly $500 trillion placing it snugly between 1987's Batteries Not Included and 2004's Pooh's Huffalump Movie on the all-time list. Despite the fact that the sixth and final film in the series grossed more than the GDP of Uruguay and Turkey combined (ed. note: this is an exaggeration since I actually checked the GDP's of the world's countries and even those so-called poor countries where they eat dirt-and-mayonnaise sandwiches make more than me, so now the Will Rogers Institute AND Tsunami Relief Fund can suck both my balls vehemently), some critics continue to pan Lucas's coup de grace. What could they possibly whine about? "Oh, the dialog is wooden...the acting is two-dimensional...Jar-Jar didn't have a big enough part...Owen Wilson didn't make an inexplicable cameo in it with his oddly-distractive nose..." and on and on and on. One critic actually complained that the special effects were too real. You know what, they were too real, now excuse me while I go beat off to two paper plates hanging from a string in front of paper mache mountains.
Star Wars is not a regular film, folks. It does not tell a story in the Hollywood/arthouse formula on which most modern narratives are based. And yes, you pretentious tree-hugging fags that wear black-rimmed glasses, your independent films about autistic kids befriending an unpotted plant they carry around in a wagon are the bastard children of the Hollywood system. Star Wars is a mythical fable. Mythical in the sense that Lucas openly admits to plotting the entire 6-part story on Joseph Campbell's "Heroic Cycle," a plot archetype universally found in nearly every epic, mythology, and historical legend. Annakin Skywalker, Beowulf, Neo, and even the Big Man himself, Jesus "Don't Call Me Hey-Zeus" Christ are archetypal heroes of the heroic cycle. This means that the characters are openly two-dimensional because they are allegories for virtues and abstract ideas. In Greek mythology, the gods were built similarly; Zeus was pretty much just a promiscuous jackass who screwed everything from swans to rainbows and Hephaestus was based entirely on Carl from Slingblade.
Star Wars is a fable because in the course of this mythology, these ideas and virtues conflict and climax to produce extremely transparent themes. So, therefore the writing does suck and the characters are undeveloped because they are intended to be, and that is always what makes a good fable or fairy tale (consult William Faulkner's 1939 failed masterpiece "Three Little Pigs" to see why these stories are best left to simplicity; 47 pages on how the wolf developed emphysema between the stick house and the brick house). People embrace these stories because they so succinctly assert a philosophy that deep down, we all know to be true: all but a few people have the potential to be innately good but it's the small choices we make that determine if we stay that way.
Goodness is not determined by a conscious decision to do what others have decided is charitable. I have students who condemn me to hell for not attending church regularly but in nearly the same breath call another teacher a "cocksucking honky" and impregnate seven girls - seriously, right there in front of me. Others wish to believe that going out of your way to feed the homeless or rebuild the self-esteem of single mothers by giving them a one-night stand makes you a good, selfless person, but this is a rationale invented by people insecure with their own morality. It is not wrong that I like having a TV screen bigger than most mid-sized cars so that I can watch FOX's "World's Most Deformed Crack-babies" and swill down cheap beer. I'm not wrong because I don't shake the hand of some bum who probably used it recently to beat-off to a Got Milk? billboard with Heather Locklear. I'm not wrong that I do not want to give a single penny to any charity, I do not like the company of poor people, and I fear retarded people will rip my arms off like crazed chimpanzees. No, I am a good person because I refrain from the temptations of life; the urge to commit wrath and lust and gluttony...well, not gluttony...but most of the things that it would be easy to simply ignore.
I have students come to me and say, "Hey, I be came to class on time, massa...you a be givin' me extra credit points?" For what? Because you did the right thing? The problem with the "bad" is they crave immediacy. They lack patience or loyalty to their principles of good and expect that every good deed should be met with reward. To be a good person, one must string together a succession of righteous moral judgements, and even then, it may be years or a lifetime before material rewards are earned. On the other hand, one can go to the darkside where the rewards are immediate. Cheating on your girlfriend earns you a tremendous handjob from the fat chick with the belly-shirt, but declining the allure of a barroom cattle drive gives you nothing but blueballs and a hankering for Cinemax. Even something as small as saving the last piece of pizza for the guy who didn't get any goes unrewarded; he comes back and eats it without any acknowledgement of your empathy.
My television...my car...my monolith of DVDs, half of which I will never watch again...I don't need them but they are my trophies. They are my periodic rewards for another streak of being a "good person." While other kids in school were shooting wasps and doing black girls in the butt beneath the stairwells, I took dilligent notes and spent Saturdays doing research projects. I did not come from affluence either; I came from parents who made sacrifices too so that I might succeed where they could not. They invested in me; I was their chosen one. They helped me realize that a good person is derived from a work ethic, common courtesy, and spur-of-the-moment moral judgment. This is what we all seek from our padowan learners. In the most emotionally charged scene of the Star Wars saga, Obi-Won tearfully screams at Annakin, "You were the Chosen One! It was said that you would, destroy the Sith, not join them. It was you who would bring balance to the Force, not leave it in Darkness," immediately after he slices off both his legs, left arm and leaves him to burn in lava (spoiler alert: the preceding sentence has surprise elements of Episode 3). This resonated with me because as a teacher, I work with young kids who have so many advantages that even ten years ago I did not have and I watch them squander it with hatred, jealousy, and temptation. There is an indescribable pride to see one of my students overcome, and in some cases surpass my expectations, and I can only imagine how much more intense that will be with my own child. But the sense of defeat and anguish is exponentially greater when a kid I have worked so closely with to build his skills and foundation for the future turns into a slip of paper in my mailbox stating he's been expelled for peeing on another student. I never made decisions like that. I wanted to. God knows there are people I have wanted to hurt, pleasures I've wished to partake, and jealousy I've wished to quell with sabotage. I can only imagine that the immediate satisfaction of "passion" is a mixed flavor of beating to scrambled porn and sipping an abandoned wine cooler at your parents' barbecue.
Some bleeding hearts claim that capitalism and materialism is wrong. Why the hell is it? It's not. And this is the theme that Star Wars truly renders. In Episode 3, Yoda articulates conclusively the second-guessing we all had with the Jedi. We used to think, "What a raw deal that you can't marry and you can't enjoy adventure and you can't show emotions," but this is all wrong. Yoda said a Jedi "seeks not" these things. In this film he goes on to say, "The fear of loss is a path to the dark side...Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is...Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose." Annakin heeds not this advice and in his effort to have everything, loses everything. This is the principle that guides society today. We may enjoy what we have, but we must not count on what we have, and never, never expect anything. The poor...the disadvantaged...those I'm imposed upon to give charity...they fear loss. They have little else but time, and prefer to indulge in the immediate pleasures of the darkside instead of doing the right thing and building comfort. Doing the right thing was never easy and is rarely rewarded but in our own minds. You know it, I know it, and the millions flocking to the conclusion of this mythical fable, they know it.

Jonathan's Journal

2005-05-17T21:26:00.000-04:00

Now the following post is not a valid point. I don't even think there is a valid thought in it. We have just taken it upon ourselves to make fun of the poor writing of others while we (myself not included) write with such poetry that Mr. Ron Mexico need complain. So I will now post my own writing. Only one of the entries in this journal was dated and it was dated 1989. Now I am no mathematician but I would say that would put me in the 20 year old range. The following journal was not rewritten in anyway. The entries are here in their entirety and have not been rearranged for effect. This is exactly what I have to show for myself from 1989.

Jonathan's Journal

A GHOSTLY STORY
Long ago in a land far away there lived a ghost. His name was Bill. He had lots of friends. Their names were John and Amy and Craig. One Halloween he hid and when they came by he said, "BOO!". They were scared and they ran and ran. He liked his costume and he kept it on all the time. When he knocked on everyone's door everyone ran and never played with anyone again.

PRINTOUT
Tap, tap, tap. The computer's message was, "Please wait. Rewinding." I waited.

NOVEMBER 14, 1989
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thank you for my Freddy and Auggie and the house and for signing me up for school.

TREE
Ornaments were hanging on each branch of the tree. There were five ornaments on the tree. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! They all fell on my head. Ouch! The star fell, too.

MY TOY STORE
My toy store would be called "Jon's Toys". The girls' section would be on the left. The boys' section would be on the right. The middle would be computers and Nintendo. It would be seven stories high and seven miles long.

WHAT A SURPRISE!
Oh, no! Rudolph's nose is green! Hey, Rudolph! Food color your nose. Oh, no! Now his nose is black. Now I don't know what to do.

PRETTY PRESENTS
Wrapping gifts is fun. I wrap gifts like this. I put wrapping paper around it. Once I wrapped my finger. I was stuck in the mail box.

HELPING MOM
I help my mother by washing the windows and making my bed. I make my own breakfast. Freddy, watch that vase! I might have a new one cleaning up the vase before mom gets here.

REMEMBERING
I want to remember the first time I went skiing. I didn't like it the first time I went. Then I started doing tricks. It was fun and I liked to do tricks. Wait a minute! I never went!

SO GOOD
M-m-m-m-m! I love the taste of frozen yogurt because it is good for you and it tastes good. But every time I go to Subway I ask if we can go to TCBY after lunch. But if I can't get a good flavor I won't. But my dad says to take it home all the time. That's what I hate. When I don't bring home any for my brother he always wants some of mine. But I don't let him have some because it tastes so good.

Not sure what you can do with this but please feel free to criticize my wonderful work.

Tried Hard - Still Sucks.

2005-05-05T22:08:00.000-04:00

In reference to my post below, I believe I found someone who contradicts my argument. A while back I met this guy online. He had a chatroom entitled "ScreenwriterNeedsPartner." Aspiring as I am, I thought, "Well, maybe this guy can teach me a thing or two." It lacked promise when he admitted he was unfamiliar with terms like "plot development" or "exposition." My twisted, sick curiosity provoked me to read his current screenplay which he hesitantly emailed to me under the condition that I not steal it. Wipe myself with it? Maybe. Lay it on the ground, pee on it, then throw it into that acid pit in Mortal Kombat II? Definately. But trust me I won't be stealing this. So please, go into the comments section and check this monstrosity out.

America: Ashlee Simpson's Fan Club

2005-05-05T18:00:00.000-04:00

So they decided to play the "retard card" with Lynndie "Point-at-a-Persian-weiner" England. Oh, not familiar with the retard card? That's the 21st century method of ignoring why a person really makes poor choices and can not learn and instead claiming they have "learning disabilities." Lynndie England apparently exited the womb with a glowstick while sniffing whipped cream aeresol because her defense claims that she lacked oxygen as a baby and therefore does not have the capacity to make decisions for herself. If Corky from "Life Goes On" and Keanu Reeves can both remember an entire script, then I think any retard to the nth power can differentiate right from wrong when it comes to stacking naked POW's and posing with their exposed ghotaabs. Of course, she has probably received this sort of treatment her entire life.
There is a law as part of the "Americans with Disabilities Act" that schools must provide modifications and accomodations for students with learning disabilities. Now we're not talking about the kids who still wear fleamarket Ninja Turtles shirts in the 10th grade and take fieldtrips to the supermarket - no, those kids need help. We are talking about kids who are socially viable and capable of wiping themselves in under five minutes (this is the newfound Litmus test for retardation called "The Gorecki Factor"). They get placed on I.E.P.'s which formally stands for "Individualized Education Program" but more aptly initializes "I Eat Paste." At the beginning of the year teachers receive an "IEP snapshot" which generally states that this student must be: seated in the front, seated away from distractions, given multiple choice options, allowed extended time, permitted to use crayons, fellated, bought a delicious seafood dinner, and congratulated for not exposing himself to the first graders. These kids are not stupid. Well they are, but not by fault of paint-chips or inbreeding, but because usually without an assertive male figure or any encouragement to do better, they opt out of the learning process and instead prefer to wing celery at the teacher's head. An IEP tard threw celery at my head just today. Celery. At my head. I checked to see what work he'd gotten done and - zero. Apparently asking him to underline the subject and circle the verb was a bit too much for this 15 year old in the 8th grade. Next time I suppose I should have him just count the letters in each word or simply point to which side of the paper has writing on it. But he'll pass. He'll pass because it's a headache to fail him. If I fail him, then I have to provide a report detailing how I made accomodations and when, then meet with his parents and a counselor, and even then, he'll receive a social promotion. This kid does not know what a verb is, and he's going into high school. He's being pushed along because it is wrong now to tell someone they suck at something. So one day Reggie will be at work when the boss at Taco Bell will say, "Reggie, I couldn't help but notice your register came up a little short...ohhh somewhere in the ballpark of $257. Now I've furnished you with a calculator and an instructional assistant and still this is four times this week. Plus you put tomatoes on that regular soft taco, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" He calms himself down. "However, I did not label the ingredients with a clearly legible font, so I can't fire you. So starting Monday, we're moving you to corporate, and we'll see if we can't have you firing up that photocopier by week's end." That wouldn't happen because we live in a meritocracy where the best earn the best, and the worst get a "Certificate of Participation." That is until this world decided to celebrate mediocrity.
Hey, we can't all be good at everything. Some people are just born complete morons and morons don't get certain opportunties. I'm realistic, I realize there are things I will never do given my lot in life: porn, run, cartwheels, tolerate diversity, smell pleasent, grow a moustache, see the daughter I left behind in Florida, or resist saying something when a really deformed person walks by, etc. I accept this because there are things I do really well. I would have killed to play high school baseball - I love baseball. I could hit, I could catch, I could throw pretty hard but I'm slower than my 56K downloading scat porn. Unfortunately, there were plenty of kids who could do everything I could AND run too. Instead of complaining I went and I got good at something. I worked hard, I dedicated myself, and I BECAME good at writing (contrary to concurrent examples of it).
Nobody is put on this planet with the congenital disposition to defeating Super Mario Bros. 1 twice in a row without dying. That's right - I did it. But it took a lot of work - you don't adapt to the swim patterns of Cheep-Cheeps over night, my friends. It took work. But our generation, and moreso the up-and-comers just below us are lazy. They do not want to develop anything they were not born with. On the radio the other day, some guy claimed that Major League Baseball is racist because of the lack of black players. They're not racist - they're Americanists. Americans suck at baseball now because they don't have the patience to learn it, appreciate it, be good at it. Football - be 6'5" 300lbs, and pretty much you're in. Basketball - be 7' 10" and 110lbs and you're in. Lacrosse - be white, wear Abercrombie and pretty much be a douschebag, and you're in. Who has the best work ethic? Mexicans. Who is the best at baseball? Dominicans, Cubans, and South Americans. Who do we place under the umbrella label of "Mexican"? Dominicans, Cubans, and South Americans. It's no surprise the hard-working Mexicans are the best at baseball. Further evidence of America's stupifying laziness? No longer does the analogy reign supreme on the SAT's. They were removed because they were too hard. Analogies: a comparison between two different things, in order to highlight some form of similarity. Hmm, what else sounds like that? Ahh yes, metaphors! Metaphors which any skilled writer or philosopher knows to be the highest level of thinking acheived by man. It takes patient development of the brain's metacognition through years of education and critical thought to draw an abstract comparison between two unrelated ideas. I mean, creating a metaphor is like...like...doing something that's really hard.
The pageantry of mediocrity surrounds us everywhere. Ashlee Simpson sells out concerts! Ben Affleck keeps getting movie deals! Paris Hilton is famous! Which of you bastards is drinking Sprite Remix? It tastes like my ball-sweat. Americans have become SO lazy, they have chosen other untalented, unskilled nobodies to be their icons. No longer do we applaud the tenacity and scholarship of a true artisan, but instead root for those for whom fame was given, not earned. I think it's so we can blame our own failures on luck or the lack thereof. Imagine two friends both get a brand new Corvette: the first friend, Todd (Todds are always bastards) is given it from his father and the second friend, Fabio, buys it with money saved from years of hard work. Todd may be easily dismissed by saying "Well, if I had a rich father to spoil me, I'd have a Corvette too." But with Fabio, you think, "Fabio throws sawdust on vomit at the elementary school for a living - why the hell am I still driving a 1982 Escort hatchback?" Lazy people hate Fabio because he reminds them of just how misreably useless they are. They criticize those who remind them that they have nothing - they criticize those who followed through with goals they fear to admit they could never meet. They are mocked daily by the acoustic guitar they never learned to play, the story they began but never finished, and the girlfriend upstairs in bed, reading Dr. Phil, unfulfilled. They are scared. Scared that others will find out that they just aren't that good, that smart, or that talented. Do I complain? Sure do. I complain because I've done my part. I complain because I continue to work towards goals that I see tossed like table scraps to no-talent WB actors and that guy who directed not just "House of the Dead" but also "Alone in the Dark." I criticize and I complain because I know WHY I'm criticizing and complaining. The lazy people, all they've got is their IEP's, cookie-cutter role models, and empty whining. Someone's got to pick up the dog shit and carry the trash - the world awaits you Lynndie, Reggie, and Ron Mexico. Do it - but do it well and for God's sake, shut the hell up. You suck at everything.

Humbug

2005-05-01T10:46:00.000-04:00

Anyone who missed Stingers last night should be boiled in their own plum pudding and burried with a sprig of holly through their heart. By the twist of fate, the Gladhanders descended upon Stingers last night and inadvertently (sic) crashed Mike and Katie's wedding reception! Imagine our horror. But not being the kind of folks who run away from their mistakes, we decided to stay and perform our traditional musical duties, complete with Gorecki reading the entire songbook without singing a song. Much to Groom-Mike's disgust, his brand new bride shared their critical congugal duet of "House of the Rising Sun" with yours truly. We learned alot about Mike and Katie that night. Katie has a pretty sister who appeared to be doing calistenics at the bar. Mike and Katie are springing for the deluxe Ocean City honeymoon on fabulous 26th St. Wise to do it before Senior Week. They chose Stingers for several different reasons like it was across the street from the church. Req, you missed the boat here. Stingers is the place for receptions.

Guess the Animal!

2005-04-28T17:16:00.000-04:00

It's a little known fact that in addition to my concentration in English and Speech while at the University of Maryland, I spent a lot of time watching the puppies lie in their own feces at Dr. Pet and once saw two turtles humping at the Hershey Park zoo. While my accreditation with the state of Maryland pends, many in the pro-Bean camp have honorarily bestowed upon me a degree in Zoology (comparable to the one offered at TESST). In my travels I encounter many of a particular animal for whom I have grown an affection. I researched and cross-referenced facts on this species on several reputable websites, and I charge you, loyal blog reader, with unraveling the riddle of...WHAT ANIMAL AM I TALKING ABOUT?
This species is perhaps the closest to humans because of its remarkable socialization, but make no mistake, they are not humans. You see this species is considered the "noisiest of all animals" with a complex system of sounds that make sense to them, but perplexes a human ear conditioned to intricate rules of grammar and syntax. This species has a very rigid routine across the species. Generally it looks something like this:
6-8am: Wake-up (I suppose this two hours is accounted for by multiple hits of the snooze alarm...haha just kidding of course, we're talking about animals here, right?)
8-10am: Eating.
10-2pm: Eating, playing, relaxing, sleeping, avoiding physical exhertion.
2-5pm: Travel or foraging (looking for anything they can find and keep for themselves)
5-6pm: Building a nest (somewhere to sleep for the night)
6-6am: Sleep.

As you see, there's little much of anything in their daily routine. Socializing primarily consists of grooming one another's strictly brown or black hair and making aforementioned loud noises.
In terms of breeding, these animals are far different than humans. When prepared to mate, the females bottoms swell exponentially and she seeks copulation with several males. Although females and males are sexually mature at 8-10 years of age, they typically do not give birth until they reach a slightly more developed age like 12-15 years of age. At this point it is the female who gives the young a great deal of attention as the males continue muscling for rank or inseminating other females.
The males are fascinating in their insistence to form "cliques" or "gangs" if you will. These animals move about in large groups made up of smaller gangs. The group is led by an alpha male who shows his dominance through ruthless aggression. Once a male is in the group, he remains there forever unless he dies or is beaten "Blood"y or abandoned as a "Crip"ple. The males are extremely territorial and if they encounter an outsider will attack with sheer brutality, even attacking with tree branch clubs or projectiles. Remarkably, unlike most other animals, their greatest prey is one another. The greatest enemy of this animal is this animal, for when food becomes scarce and times become tough, they will resort to killing one another to survive. This may have much to do with their average lifespan of only 50 years.

Now...can you guess the animal?

You knew this was coming....

2005-04-24T11:31:00.000-04:00

As a sequel to the highly successful "Requard Bachelor Party", the producers decided to go ahead and unleash "The Wedding" in cineplexes everywhere. Here is that story from the standpoint of the guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt with a missing button.
I arrived on scene a bit early as I failed (as usual) to remember the correct time to arrive. "Shucks" I said to myself. "I have plenty of time to kill. Perhaps now would be a good time to buy a card for the happy couple, as time is begining to wane. Perhaps I will purchase a magazine to while away some of this time." And so I walked over to the Giant and purchased an innocuous wedding card and a Baltimore Magazine. I went, of course, to the shortest checkout line where, naturally, the woman ahead of me was buying approximately $85,000 worth of groceries. 'Bryan' the Bean student was working the register and looked quizically at two yellow, fleshly globes in a thin plastic bag. ""You know what these are?" he brighly asked the customer, as customers often buy fruits to which they are unaquainted. "Grapefruits" she responded. This seemed quite amazing to Bryan and his bag-man "Tyrone". One imagined Bryan and Tyrone discussing this situation later and being confused because they know that grapes are very small and usually green or crimson. These were larger, of a different color and having a thicker skin. And grapes ARE fruits. How redundant to have fruit namers gotten when they just add the word "fruit" to a fruit and use it to describe an entirely dis-similar fruit. An analogy would be a use of a comparison to illustrate a point. An example which is germane to this discussion would be: IT WOULD BE LIKE CALLING AN APPLE A BANANAFRUIT. When this baffling ordeal was over we went along to Oranges which Bryan knew, but it took him a moment to count 6. Soon (relatively speaking) I was at the front of the line! Bryan scanned my card, and then my Baltimore Magazine- 3 times- so there would be no confusion about what I was reading. I then had to watch as my total sprang to about $18.00. Even Bryan knew that this was in error, so he sent Tyrone over to Jen to try to straighten this out. Jen took pity on Bryan and yelled to him the proper commands to erase the excess transactions. Needless to say, Bryan failed at this task and so Tyrone was dispatched to get Barb, who was on her way to a well deserved smoke break. With great alacrity she meandered to the register and voided some transactions down to a manageable $6.24 which seemed about right to me- until she voided it down to $2.08. At this point they discussed the proper total. I joined in with my Harry Homeowner suggestion: $6.24 should be just about right," I said. The brain trust prompted the ENIAC to void out all 27 transactions and rescan everything which came to $6.24, much to everyone's suprise. Needless to say, I had no time to read the troublesome magazine anyway as by the time I got out of the grocery store, John and his bride were touching down in Aruba. I'm sure it was a lovely service.

Nazi Such A Bad Thing Afterall

2005-04-20T21:35:00.000-04:00

Our guest commentator Iamkungfool posted an essay on his blog http://http://randomrantsandsenselesspoints.blogspot.com/ about how modern science and medicine is actually damaging the human gene pool. His thoughts were a valid articulation of things I'm sure many of us have considered before. Below I have shared my response to his post as an independent blog here. The thing to keep in mind about the human race is that we will never be more powerful than this planet. You can spray aeresol and break styrofoam from now until Rafael Palmeiro manages a natural erection and Earth will still kick our ass. So when we eradicate disease, especially wholly preventable ones like AIDS, she'll just come back with a new one. Hell, I've written four drafts of a screenplay based on an allegory of this very premise. But I digress...here is the blog on genes as promised:
Actually, I brushed up on my "appendix" and researchers are unclear on its purpose, but popular theory suggests that at some point it had some function extensive to the digestive system (like breaking down grass or pennies that people inexplicably eat). Evolution has in fact rendered it useless and like any organ of the body, when not in use, it does become vulnerable to infection/disease. Everyone is potentially a victim of appendicitis (sic); it has nothing to do with genetics. Kungfool, I have thought the very same thing as you on the emotional weakness of humans to have to save every single defect. Someone scolded me for it because essentially this was part of the Nazi mission. Well blow me because in spite of agreed consensus the Nazi's were f-ed up, there's no denying that they simply put into practice what the rest of us would if we had little or no conscience or compassion. Part of our evolution as humans is the evolution of our needs. Certainly, thousands of years ago, women would seek only a muscular, strong, agile man for protection and hunting. But intellect grew and developments like agriculture, commerce, and Flow-bee hair cutting system made big muscles and fierce manes of hair obsolete. Sure primordially, we still lust for a toned physique or birthing hips, but in the absence of those things, we've evolved to seek other features: emotional companionship, intelligence, talent, wealth - things that in today's human culture provide a mate with a long, productive life. Therefore, if Mermaid-boy gets fixed to look normal, even if he continues carrying the mermaid gene, he will still mate if he's physically attractive enough or offers some of the preceding modern elements of female attraction. Every animal (humans included) have two primary instincts: stay alive and procreate. Oh some humans don't want children, but they definately want to do some sloppy, hard-core pro-creating. So even the ugly people, knowing they're ugly, are compelled to fulfill their biological destiny. But even ugly people draw a line. They must step up to the plate in categories such as skill or personality or no woman/man is going to seek them. If that happens, their genes are weeded out. It's okay for ugly people to keep on coming, but if ugly people don't know their role and they hold out to infertility for a pretty person or blow their brains out in loneliness, then again their genes are lost. In few instances does someone procreate with an absolute defect like a retarded person or a major deformation. The very thought personally repulses me as I'm sure it does the general populace, and let's face it, more than any other genetic anomaly, those who can not even function independently need to be weeded out. What holds us back as a human race and what keeps the weak clinging is that very compassion the Nazi's lacked - the "what if it were me" syndrome. Well, the hard truth is it's not you, so spread your seed, cling to life, and to hell with anyone who can't do it on their own.

GI JOE: Dismal Hero

2005-04-17T12:11:00.000-04:00

Watching GI Joe recently, I saw an episode entitled "The Gamemaster" in addition to having the baffling line "Look here Jojo, it's a real homo!", it showed a fatal flaw in teaching children about the responsibility of good over evil. In this episode, several JOES and several COBRAS were plucked from their ho-hum push-up filled and snake-like architectural contraptions lives and placed on an island where a Paul Bearer looking man-child put them in ludicrous situations expecting them to bicker and be picked off one by one. Instead, the Joes brokered a temporary truce between themselves and a badly mischaracterized Cobra W. Commander, III. The crux of the episode was that the good guys and bad guys on the island and elsewhere had to "work together" to overcome this adversity which they did. Horray. Notwithstanding that the might of the US military should have been able to accomplish this goal alone, when the rescue was accomplished, the time to destroy Cobra was at hand! But the Joes shared a laugh at the petulant Cobra Commander and apparently, off-camera walked away from each other after one of those "good game handslap lines" from any little league baseball game. "Cya in the arctic next week!" Flint might have yelled to Destro on the way out. Understanding that this is a childrens' show and the point was to show that you can work with those who are different, there is some validity to this conclusion. However, from another perspective, this episode, at its core was about the accomodation of evil. George Bush and Osama Bin Laden don't team up to stop asteroids from hitting the earth. Churchill and Hitler didn't put aside their differences to stop the building of a traffic circle in Towson. The message that was sent was that cruelty and violence should be given a pass when our own interests are at stake. A very poor lesson.

That's How We Always Done It

2005-04-14T16:14:00.000-04:00

Like a steady bout of fellatio, a few things are about to come to a head. First: Senator Tom Delay. Above all else his comments about the judiciary branch of the government encapsulates all the other things stewing in my head. The GOP Senator, Tom Delay, named after an Italian potato chip, accused the federal judiciary of having "run amok" following their upholding of lower court decisions regarding Terry Schiavo. He concluded by saying "The time will come for the men responsible for this to answer to their decision" totally neglecting the one female Supreme Court Justice and the other one whose DNA tests are pending. To quote a wise and poignant pet detective, "Why don't you cry about it, saddlebags?" Clearly the right wing - and I'm talking "right" like they still believe Woolworth's operational and refer to black dancers as "Bojangle's" - clearly they are just bitter because they thought that their legislative (and executive) posturing to seem sensitive to life would assuredly buy Terry a repreive for a few more glucose bags so she can go on drooling and over-biting like a Simpsons character. Unfortunately, Senator DeLay and many others failed their 9th grade citizenship test and forgot about "checks and balances." Like it or not, the Supreme Court made the right decision by upholding lower courts' judgements and I am relieved to know that we have a judiciary that can not be muscled by the whim of right-wing bullies. Congressman and the president are so used to firing ham-fisted rhetoric and it working, that they don't know what to do when it doesn't. I see the whole thing like the resolution of a cliche teenage movie:
Executive: I'll put it in writing, dude...that girl needs to be kept alive.
Legislative: Yeah, if you know what's good for you, McCallister, you'll make the right choice...and you'll make it now or else.
McCallister: Well, uh, see, the rules are the rules fellas, and we did say that the spouse gets to make the choice...
Legislative: Well, the way I see it McCallister, it's three against one - you lose, loser. Right Judiciary?
(Judiciary grimaces nervously)
Right Judiciary?
Judiciary: Well he sort of has a point gang...
Executive: Judiciary, don't jerk me around...you tell your little brother that removing a feeding tube is "playing God" but inhibiting the natural course of death is not.
(Judiciary looks to McCallister, then to his Three Branches gang-mates, and back to McCallister. He grits his teeth...)
Judiciary: No. No I will not tell him that. He made the right choice, dammit. I'm tired of always being your lackey, throwing out cases from fat people against McDonald's and interpreting the same five lines from this old ass piece of parchment. You guys are assholes!
Legislative: Oh I see how it is Judiciary...I see how it is to the extreme...and you will pay one day Judiciary...YOU WILL PAY!
They then have a skateboard competition to see if the girl dies and at the end McCallister uses his brainiac engineering skills to make a aerodynamically perfect skateboard, and Judiciary wins, denying Executive's hot, blonde ex girlfriend and instead embracing his tomboy best friend.
So what makes the Executive branch believe itself above the law so to speak? A while back I commented on the uselessness of the Department of Agriculture...an executive relic of a bygone era. Well they have another antiquated instrument called the "FCC."
The FCC is a political weapon the equivalent of a musket - slow, inaccurate, powerless by today's standards and when there's no good ammunition left, can shoot spheres of hardened bullshit. They have two purposes: 1) To regulate the free airwaves so far as to prevent interference of pertinent signals by commercial or private radio signals and 2) To uphold decency statutes that have never been clearly defined, which allows them to define anything three or four soccer moms find objectionable as "vulgar" and "of the prurient interest." For years the FCC seemed only to harass Howard Stern's adult brand of humor which appeared on an archaic means of transmission - the radio. That is until the whole Janet Jackson incident. Reportedly thousands (in a country of hundreds of millions) of letters poured in about her tit flopping out for half a second, and rumoredly, most of those were written by organized campaigns by a few people with a vendetta against network television. Granted, boobies and Superbowl are not an appropriate mix, but shit happens - tell your kids that the halftime show was presented by National Geographic and she's from some Ugandan tribe. Problem solved. The FCC wouldn't stop there though - no, they brought the axe down hard and boy did network television and radio learn its lesson: a couple local DJ's around the country were heavily fined and FOX's "Married By America" was severely punished (after it had already been cancelled). Boy oh boy did the FCC show it to those glad-handing campaign contributors from Viacom, Disney, and Infinity Broadcasting. That Monday Night Football spot with Terrell Owens was investigated - but what the hell, it's Disney, and although they did give us penises on the box cover of "Little Mermaid," they also gave us softcore porn though "Lizzie McGuire." So moral and religious extremists need, nay, mandate a poster-child for their causes. So back we go to Howard Stern. What child is listening to him? Which? Point me towards just one that wants to eavesdrop on news of Bababooey's struggles with weight and Stern's tirade on the fat guy from American Idol. If I was a right-wing gay-hater, I'd be far more concerned my child could hear homo-inducing music by Avril Lavigne and Blink 182 than Gary the Retard sing a Christmas carrol. Stern was tactful in avoiding their fines for years, but now with his announcement that at the end of his Viacom contract he will jump ship to Sirrius's satellite radio, by sheer coincidence Republican legislation has been introduced to extend the FCC's power to paid airwaves. So it's not good enough they can't get Stern in the Matrix, now Agent Smith wants to defy the rules and regulate the real world. Of course, moralists hate to seem hipocritical, so such legislation would encompass cable TV as well. Could this mean the end of South Park, E!'s Wild On (only the poorest non-porn-buying bastard in the world could watch that show), the entire MTV programming schedule, and Monster Garage (that deformed kid offends me)? The answer: no.
Blog-mate Helicon once edified me in the basics of logic. Of particular note, that tradition is NEVER grounds for an argument. Why do we do this? Because we always did this. But why? It's cyclical in argument and therefore groundless. Many political entities, whether to the far right or the far left (oh don't think you are free from my wrath you squirrel-humping potheads) rely on tradition. What's been told to them as right, is always right, no matter what? Want an aborition? No. What if the woman was raped? No. Can I bash this baby seal's head in with a wiffle ball bat? No. What if that baby seal groped my daughter on the metro? No. With tradition everything is so black and white. Tradition is fun, don't get me wrong...but it's not the reason. There's a logical reason why I only do the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer drinking game but once a year - otherwise it would grow stale and lose its novelty. But the reason I do it on my birthday - tradition. I could do it on October 8th. I could do it on August 24, and nobody fucking likes August 24th. But tradition restrains me. Fortunately my use of tradition does not impose huge monetary sanctions on free-spirited entertainers or cause lunatics to blow themselves up at an abortion clinic. To the left and to the right, those people are utterly terrified not to always have the answers ready for a quick-draw all the time, and a faith in tradition allows for just that. Luckily, for the bulk of us plebes scattering the landscape of the uncertain middle, there is one tradition to which all of us humbly submit and subscribe: the law. The U.S. Constitution is a tradition. Three hundred years ago, a couple of frat boys in powdered wigs and silly hats wrote rules for staying in an exclusive club called America. As long as you follow these rules, you can come and go as you please in the Upsilon Sigma Alpha house. At the time, having all pledges pose for a Polaroid while humping a goat seemed reasonable, but with time, as perspective and wisdom advances, tradition must be upheld. Our founding father's goat-humping rules firmly stated that nobody - not the King of England, not the French, not John Stamos, not Hacksaw Jim Duggan - not nobody could tell one of the brothers what he can say, what he can believe, or what porno he can buy with the money earned by his God-given talents. Sure we could change that now. Collectively, as Americans, frat brothers one and all, we could say "Eh, Tommy Jefferson was sniffing ether and running a train on black women, to hell with free speech" and change the rules. But we love that tradition. The Constitution is fun. It has all these wacky rules that let us be the most creative, innovative culture in the world without getting just plain loco. So DeLay, FCC, tree-huggers, abortion-bombers, Jerry Falwell, and soccer moms the world over...you can cling to all the traditional values and morals you want, because God damn it, Hermey just said something brazenly gay, and by God, I'm taking a drink on my birthday!

Link Ave Crew: The Bachelors

2005-04-10T12:01:00.000-04:00

Too much chocolate for Req? NEVER! In anticipation of our friend's nuptuals, we chose to enjoy the ancient art of the bachelor party. Kudos to the visionary (Wroten?) who decided on the bus idea. Kudos to the bus company for sending a driver who was the antithesis of what this group should have drawn. Had Req not drank so much, her black-womanly presence might have prevented profuse use of the "N" word. That's right "nautilus". The evening began, for me at least, having to meet the boys at Canellas (sic) for a carb-rich meal to soak up alcohol. A cheap shelving unit collapsed at my home, causing me to be late and therefore having to choose Serpicos because, how long can it take to heat up 2 slices of pepperoni pizza? Answer: 14 hours. Then I go to the alcohol store (because I think Licquor store sounds too classy) pick up my 40 of Boh and 12 of my Ultras. The 12 pack served primarilly as my booster seat on the bus so I could engage in the VALIDPOINTS tm. from the back of the bus like who would puke first. Couple suprises down that alley. I'm further late to the Wroten Victory Lodge because the dude at the Alcohol Store gives me a critique on how these party buses are fun. Thanks douche, now its ruined, I might as well not go since you've given away the ending (Cousin Avi "phoebused" the mens room at GC). Anyway, arriving at the Victory Lodge, we engage in hearing my ringtone not once, not twice but thrice. I'm also criticized for not pacing myself as I crack open my Mr. Boh, by people who have already had 5 beers before sunset. When the bus arrives, the consencus is Larry Flynt's place at the Block. If that name weren't so household, one would expect that we knew Larry and this was some hole-in-the wall he owned. But the only way to this Mos Eisley in the shadow of City Hall was through Serbia which Marlene the bus driver cheerfully drove us through. Folks, there is no reason any of us need to be in the vicinity of 400 N. Highland Avenue. Ever. Period. But we make it the Club. Not having any cash left, I walked into a quaint little shop to use the ATM and note that above the machine is a 3 foot purple dildo the width of a Reisling bottle, called "The Great American Challenge". So finally we enter the Hustler Club where apparently it is classy for women to flash their private areas everywhere, but so help me if someone walks around in a hoody. Actually the folks were very professional if a little phoney, and treated everyone who walked in as if they were a circuit court judge who discreetly pops in every other night for a snootfull. The bathroom was nice in the Club and Bahr set the tone by avoiding the Nigerian with the paper towels by walking straight out after urinating. I followed suit, glad in the knowledge that my filthy and cheap ways were shared by at least one other in our society. My cheapness hit a brick wall at the bar though where I paid $7 for a friggin beer! Actually the cost was shouldered by Gorecki, who went double down, wiped out and had to make up the difference by windexing the glass floor at the VIP room which I'm assuming is better due to more comfortable chairs. As a sidenote, I think a real VIP room should be reserved for VIPs like Don Knotts or Fidel Castro. Here a VIP was any schmuck with a Hamilton and the wherewithall to climb a spiral staicase. Here began the Req-ing. The plumbers drew first blood with the girl who looked very nice except for the cathador scar on her chest. Creepy, but she picked out Req as much as she was picked out, Cya in 5 buddy. Then we sat around the mainstage and our first dancer, the chocolate one with the stockings Nanny wore on Muppet Babies. Her outie belly button looked like a choade which I found hilarious. Eric has now engaged 2 strippers in conversation (see Las Vegas whore story) who spent 45 talking to Eric with probably little to show for it. Lobos and I enjoyed watching facial expressions on Gorecki and Evans. Joe was on his best behaviour as Holly's dad was one of our chaperones who counted to make sure that none of us got left at the Air and Space Museum. Leaving there, and oh yes, Req got his first taste of Brown Sugar lap dances before the end, we enter the streets of the Block (where I've actually never been except to get mechanical permits). Anyway, Bahr is engaged in across the street banter with a hype man who promises hand jobs for the whole group and blow jobs at midnight. This guys hands must be filty. Even moreso than than mine and Bahr's after an evening of no hand washing. Marlene picks us up and we head for Federal Hill to see Billy. On the way I try to pick up a girl to join us. Saff: "Hey want to go to federal hill?"
Girl: (Disgusted) On a bus!? So we arrive at Mothers where, bless them, our Sobo sports friends are still partying hard. Inside, and this place would have been a red flag for any Damons waitress concerned about fire code issues, Req passed around his GROOM hat to others, even myself to get drink service. Wroten yells "At the Gay Bah" several times. Evans gets grinded into by a gorgeous blonde creature repeatedly and shrugs off encouragement from his friends to "hit up that shit". Eric pours a beer on his head. I wish I could give you a reason why. This place is packed like the Great American Challenge up a pee hole, so I decide to gout outside and I'm struck by the idea to each some pizza. I find a nice shop and immediately it becomes a hit except for Joe who stuck with the Pizza Bolis. Reboarding the bus, and once again through Mogadishu to the Gentleman's Gold Club where I having a longstanding intolerance. 2 More dances for Req, bringing him to a 1:1 ratio for Black and White. Anything new at GC? Vibrating chairs, new. Asshole bouncers, old. Metal detector man who informs Eric that he is displaying a gay bar on his shirt pocket, priceless. For me, Eric takes center stage for most of the rest of the night. Since he had no compunction about telling Gorecki stories, I have no problem telling his. Basically he decides to fall asleep at the table and we are sort of asked to escort him out. Marlene watches him vomit on the GC (Thats horny) while I find him a coke. 20 minutes later, the gang re-emerges and we reboard the bus. Mr. Bahr informs me and others that our mothers are whores. Nice thought, Jon. Now the N bombs start flying and it just goes all to hell. If you missed it, may Larry have mercy on your soul!

The Riz

2005-04-06T15:39:00.000-04:00

I got to thinking about Jesus today and the thought popped into my head: Did He know what as going to happen? I mean in broad strokes, He must have known about the paying the price for sin -drenched man and teachers who drive porsches and sleep with Jews, but specifics. More to wit. What was the nature of Christ's humanity? I believe that Jesus must have been like any other Joe Galilee and gradually began to understand His divinity.
One of the tenants of mainstream Christian faith, both in Catholic and Protestant sects is that Christ was at the same time, fully God and fully man. The Apostle Paul tells us that Christ was like us in all things but sin. This implies that as a man, Christ had to deal with some of the less flattering aspects of humanity. Let's start by identifying some of the characteristics we have direct scriptural evidence of.
"Jesus wept" After the death of His friend Lazarus, Jesus wept for His friend. Here we have evidence of a remorseful and mourning Christ.
In the Temple, Jesus became angry and threw over the tables of the money changers.
When He was a boy, his family went to Jersusalem for Passover and stayed behind without telling Mary and Joseph. In this situation, Jesus was inconsiderate. All things human.
Would it therefore be out of line to suggest that Christ had to deal with other human trials? Did He have to learn to walk? To feed Himself? To control his bowels? Did He deal with rejection from women? Like us in all things but sin. It seems to me that if He didn't learn these things, He was just going through the motions, which seems a little silly. If He could have spoken and tap-danced out of the manger on Christmas, that would have been some Nativity scene.
Scripture seems to hint that Jesus was not imbued with anything other than insight and intuition. As a side note, if we believe that the human brain uses 10% of its capacity, a standard human brain could not hope to hold all of the wisdom of the universe even at 100%.
This brings us to the ministry. I believe that Jesus, using His intuition sought out spiritual understanding and was able to glean immediately what was bullshit, which brought Him to John the Baptist, His cousin and non-bullshitter. Scripture picks up here and tells us that John did a double take when Jesus wanted to be baptized. Both seemed to agree at this point that Jesus was the Messiah. Old Testament books spoke pretty extensively about the coming Messiah, and Jesus and John must have seen Jesus in the prophecies. But the prophacies had a tendancy to be vauge and some made sense only in retrospect. But what was not in doubt was the death of the Messiah "pierced for their sins, broken for their transgressions." He was going to suffer and die.
As the crucifixiton approached, Jesus began to talk plainly about it and the reserrection. Looks to me like alot of things began to gell in His mind. He, at this point, became a prophet, and that must have devestated His human nature. He bgan to see his horrible death. He actually prayed that it might pass. He saw that his close friend Josh... errrr...Judas would sell Him out for the hell of it. It must have killed Him. As He died on the cross He spoke to the criminal next to Him, promising salvation. I wonder if at this point He knew all the details. There were no real good references to heaven in scripture at this point. He knew something good was going to happen. He was certain, but what? After He rose, I think it's safe to say that he was all knowing, all seeing. Glorified spiritual body and all. So just a few points I hope you think are valid.

Beer and Slothing in Las Vegas!

2005-04-05T17:09:00.000-04:00

"What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." - Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce slogan
"Could I ask a favor? Like the slogan says, can this all just stay in Vegas?" - Micheal Gorecki, hedonist extraordinaire
It would seem that like telling me your nickname for someone else's girlfriend, I can keep nothing to myself, so at long last I present to you, my loyal blog audience, the enlightening, sometimes frightening, but always enticing truth of Las Vegas, Nevada.
Our plane arrived around 11pm pacific time on Monday night (you do the math for eastern time, I don't have a TI-83 handy), and by 12:15 am, me, Gorecki, and Laura had perched comfortably at the first $5 Blackjack table that we could find. What would happen over the next 10 to 12 hours would characterize more than anything the beauty that is Las Vegas. Within minutes I had my first White Russian and Mike his first Tom Collins. Now for a couple of frank-the-tanks like us, the goal in gambling was never, ever to win a lot of money. No, if you are a true sinner, the goal is to not go far enough below the amount you started with that comped drinks are actually vicariously paid for through your losses. With the passage of time and inebriation, it becomes necessary not only to mutualize your choice in drinks, but to choose one that accelerates an over-night attainment of cirriosis. Enter: Long Island Iced Tea. I don't know what Mexican Tom Cruise they had tossing cocktails in the back (good service is provided exclusively by the good people of Mexico Inc. in Vegas), but God damn those things were easy going down. Now with our first consumption of these, rest assured some megalomaniacal casino manager sat before a huge security screen going "Yessssss...yesssss! Drink up my piggies!" About 4 or 5 of these, splitting and doubling down with a ten dollar bet against a dealer's face card makes perfect sense. And when you lose $60 on a single hand, L.I.T.'s have a state-of-the-art tear-inhibitor that instead directs you to another cigarette and that lean-back in your chair where you act like you don't care next to the oil tycoon with a stack of black chips. Black chips are worth $100, and before trip's end, each of us made certain to hold one at least once in partnership with a tubesock in a bathroom stall.
Fortunately, even drunks no when to say when - to gambling. At about 2:30am, Laura surrendered to the allure of a hotel room with undoubtedly protein-stained comforters. But at 3am, Gorecki and I sought more booze. Now a raspy "where are my menthawwwwllls"-type old broad taught me a dangerous little trick while I was here. She said that so long as you have ten dollars in a video poker machine, the drinks keep coming! Well, I always slid me in an Andrew Jackson just to be sure. At one point, I exploited this trick with such zeal, the bartender (Mexican, God bless his soul) told me to take it easy. I had drank three L.I.T.'s in about four minutes, no joke. In spite of his concern for my health, he involuntarily delivered me another four minutes later. I love Mexicans.
Anyway, if I relay any bit of wisdom to Vegas-virgins, it be this: remove...the concept...of time. I found the human body is like a cell phone back when cell phones costs 39.95 a minute and were the size of my average bowel movement. You have to drain it of every last bit of energy before you recharge it, and if you do, it takes only half that time to restore it. I can't tell you how many times one of us stopped a Gotti son (they infest Las Vegas like it's a hairnet/cannoli convention) for the time and said "Damn! 1:00pm? I got to go to bed!" Not take a nap or get some rest...GO TO BED. In Vegas, looking out a window or at a clock is the equivalent of a guy shot 16 times but still taking out bad guys finally feeling his gut and seeing blood on his fingertips. It's over. The other advantage to the bizarre timetable is that you avoid the old people in visors and fanny packs that vacantly stare at slot machines or small children having their very soul nipped away by every "whore card" they see laying on the ground. Why the hell would people bring children to Vegas? So there's a swimming pool and M&M World...if I had to stay in that town for more than a day and I couldn't drink, gamble, or otherwise acquiesce my virtue, I would plug my rectum with a Bellagio water-cannon and end it all. Leave the children at home; it's a naive, selfish decision to bring them to a place that, yes folks, is wall-to-wall and ceiling-to-ceiling R-rated.
With those people out of your way, Vegas makes way for every cretin without a family or responsibility to emerge. For instance, take this colorful cast of characters:
Drug Dealer - we found him on the bridge from Excalibur to New York, New York at about 5am and I'd be ashamed to label a black man as drug dealer just because he had gold teeth, a trench coat, and nappy facial hair, if only he hadn't said "Weeeeeed...chronic....weeeeeeed...chronic..." I declined although he was compelled to say that Laura, "my girlfriend", "was pretty." So now she has that validation in moments of insecurity.
Manic-Depressive Guy - Christ, with this guy. Watching a game of Blackjack, this black gentleman approaches me and says slovenly "Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." How does one respond other than to say "Alright. That's a good place." Well he repeats it. I assume maybe he said that because my hat said "Baltimore" on it and in Nevada, that makes us relative neighbors. I say "Oh you saw I'm from Baltimore?" He says "You from Baltimore?" Guess not. He then gives me this unwarranted update on his life, particularly about how he's being recalled for a second tour in Iraq followed by some incoherent mumbling. I sympathize with him and think it's over but then he gets up in my grill, begins sobbing and trembling, telling me he's seen things there like 6-month old girls with their heads blown off and teenagers with no limbs. Jesus Christ, Private Snowball, you just buzzkilled all 26 of my L.I.T.'s with one statement. Frightened, perhaps even eager now to chew on the barrel of a .44, I reach for Mike's hand but that pirate-hat-buying bastard has stepped several yards away to avoid being wrangled in. I console the guy as much as I can until, thank sweet Christ, another guy in a flannel shirt walks by provoking the veteran to hit him with a "PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA!"
Dare Guy - Laura and I were exploiting the video poker rule, when this middle-aged frat boy sits down beside us. He was as cordial as any guy who should have left behind this routine 25 years ago, but then his wife and friend dare him to suck on exposed electrical wires. He said "How much?" but he wasn't kidding. He then turns to me and says "I'll give you a hundred dollars, if you go over to that truck and say 'why ram it when you can stroke it?'" I gave it serious thought and he agreed with me, I would be tossed quickly from the casino for it. In fact, he hadn't but an hour earlier done the same thing to an exposed statue in Caesar's Palace with foregone conclusions. I humbly retracted to which he confessed "That's probably smart because I wasn't going to pay you anyway."
There are plenty of others for whom there is no specific story such as an old British man in a tweed cap and jacket who actually bid us adieu with "Carry on, lads!" (Brits abound in Vegas too, and their courtesy and awe with everything appear to have no limit) So who's left? Who does everyone, half-joking suggest any young man meet upon his visit to Vegas?
That's right - Nina! At about 5am on the first night, Gorecki and I sat at video poker machines, one between us (buffer zones are never big enough for men of our Rabelaisian lifestyles), when a young lady, adorned in white-blonde hair, gorgeous blue eyes, a jacket trimmed in fur, tight jeans and black high heels sat down between us. She asked how our night went, our names, gave some advice, and commented on how she just got off. Simultaneously as I verbally asked "Oh really? Where do you work?", I also pondered "Why is this gorgeous chick patronizing two obese drunks at 5am? Are people in Vegas just that nice?" She responded plainly,"I'm a hooker." AND THE TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE! At this point Gorecki metaphorically clapped, showed both sides of his hands, and exclaimed "I'm out." He turned his stool ever so slightly away from her later confessing that he was afraid fraternizing with whores was grounds for arrest or removal. But I calmly explained that I had never met a prostitute (got that? girlfriend? mom?) and was eager to ask questions. Like an old Irish priest once told me, take anything a whore tells you with a grain of salt, but here's what I learned from her. She was 30 years old, born in Oregon where she grew up and wasted her formative years doing drugs, having sex, and ballooning to...357 pounds? Apparently after Maury cut her from her house with a forklift and subscribed her to Deal-a-Meal, she alluded to knowing Nirvana, suggesting they were all "fucking assholes" especially Courtney Love, Kurt Cobain once offered her money to have sex with Courtney, and it was Courtney who shot and killed Kurt. Got that? This isn't conspiracy theory, this is the gospel according to Nina. Nina's a whore. Remember that. She makes $30,000 a month, owns two houses and three cars (always one-upping that Laura), and pays child support to two children (one of which is an honors student) who live with their father in Seattle. She claims her family, including her daughter, know what she does, and in spite of having no shame, plans to quit at age 32 to become a real estate investor. I asked if she'd ever consider doing movies and she said "I've had offers, but I don't know how to fucking act" to which I said "Have you seen those movies? The girls don't exactly act." to which she replies "Oh THOSE movies? No fucking way, I wouldn't do those." Okay, so now we know that prostitutes, at least in their own minds, are more righteous than porn stars. Then I inquired about prices and she said that two hundred dollars gets "two feet in the door." I thought maybe this was some sort of kinky, anal, foot-fetish but she just meant that that opens negotiations for what will be done. She said she's negotiable and I considered telling her some guy I know would give her a hundred to hump a Dodge Ram, but then she said most guys pay close to a thousand dollars for her. I stopped short of using the word "pimp," and so did she, for she would just call them "niggers" with the "hard r." She said she didn't need no "nigger" telling her what to do and that most of them entice 13-14 year old girls on family vacations to return via Greyhound to become full-time whores. At this point she became very, very preachy, claiming prostitution was no place for young girls (but it is for a 30 year old recovering drug-addict mother of two) and that I was being "played" because my girlfriend doesn't give me any of the money she makes. If I may editorialize for a second, the novelty of a prostitute wore off quickly and before long I genuinely became repulsed and disgusted by her very presence. Everything about her, including some ungodly scent she wore, reeked of bottom scrapings from the barrel of humanity. Of course, that sort of thinking slightly inhibited my enjoyment of the handjob she gave me five minutes later...just kidding.
After her, I was spotting whores like Haley Joel Osment saw dead people. If you've got lots of make-up, dyed hair, ginormous hooker heels, a clenched cell phone, and you're sitting alone...you might be a Vegas whore.
So shortly after that, Gorecki and I headed back to Blackjack where we befriended a newlywed black man named Stefan who would tell me to "do what I want" but then get pissed when I didn't hit on my soft seventeen (incidentally, that's what I hide in my khakis just before an episode of Lizzie McGuire begsin). I cemented a strategy on the five-dollar table that won me $250 in just about two hours - however, I needn't tell you what then happened. Let's just say at 9:30am Laura returned, and I excitedly joined her for McDonald's saying "Oh boy, I can buy a value meal and still have $25 of my winnings left over." Gorecki however, was not lured by the nectarous ambrosia that are McGriddles and hash browns. He stayed. Again - you know where this is going. Now, another piece of advice: I hate McDonald's, but like a poorly-written buddy-cop movie, we reluctantly partnered to whip some hangover ass. I don't care if it's 3pm or 3am, there is a line at any McDonald's in Vegas because every poor bastard drowned in 20 L.I.T.'s (and I was, no exaggeration) knows the chicken parts and kangaroo meat that comprises McDonald's food absorbs alcohol like Ted Kennedy (zing!). Make friends with Ronald McDonald and Grimace, I'm telling you. Hell, blow the Hamburglard if you have to, but do not underestimate the Golden Arches. Besides, the money you save eating there is better spent gambling. Now, at 1:30 pm EST, up since 5am EST the day before (since I thought our plane left at 5am not 5pm), bogged down on McGriddles and L.I.T.'s, and marveling at the most Asians I've seen since any given residence I had in college, I finally collapse to bed. God himself would sleep as I did that afternoon if only he had the strength to marathon binge as I did. Though I could go on for much, much longer about all sorts of particulars (and perhaps I will in another post), I feel an adequate synopsis of Las Vegas has been captured. But alas, there is Gorecki. He made it a full two hours longer than me that first day, and paid for it. When I awoke just four hours later, I heard an unsettling gorgling sound, only to find Gorecki, sprawled spread-eagle on the mattress, a Rubbermaid trashcan his only bed-mate, having failed to catch the vomit that now crusted down his face and pillow. Tom Collins from Long Island now lied in congealed puddles beside him, and a man named Jack - Blackjack - had unburdened that titan of sin of $650. That my friends - THAT is Las Vegas. End.

The Popa isa going.

2005-04-02T13:00:00.000-05:00

In tribute of the passing Pope, John Paul II, I've decided to do a little research and reflection on this religious icon. Karol Joseph Wojtyla was born in Poland in 1920 and worked as a teacher and factory worker to avoid deportation during the Nazi occupation of the country. After trolling in the Catholic church for years as pastor, bishop and cardinal, he was elected to become pope in 1978 and quickly became one of the most active popes in history. Not being one to bog down the blog with numbers ad naseum, suffice to say he was an accomplished international emmissary for Roman Catholicism. Of note in this day and age, JP2 reached out to the Muslim world in a manner that would have shocked Popes of old. He worked hard to acheive peace between Muslims and Christians, calling the two faiths "brothers". He opposed the war in Iraq. Famously, he prayed at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, working to heal long-standing differences between Christians and Jews. He also was the first Pope to establish diplomatic ties with the State of Israel. Pope John Paul the Second was a consistant voice for peace and understanding in the world while at the same time keeping the Catholic church on theologically conservative doctrine. The Pope has been steadfast on the role of women in the church, the sin of homosexuality, the right to life. Suffice to say, the next Pope will have large holy shoes to fill.

Viva Las Vegas!

2005-04-02T02:47:00.000-05:00

Well, well, well...it seems my accomplice and colleague, Helicon, has done well to hold down the fort during my impulsive foray into vice and debauchery. I'm back from Las Vegas and I intend to spend the bulk of my next few posts discussing the finer points of my trip both from a personal standpoint and from an analytical "look for this shit when you go" standpoint. For outsiders to this blog's writers, you will meet the entity known as "Gorecki" for the first time, and trust me, it's in all his Goreckish glory. And, because I know you just gotta know, I will tell you this for now: In Las Vegas, you don't go looking for hookers...the hookers come looking for you. Let me organize my thoughts ya'll and hook you up with a couple of special Vegas-edition blog entries. Oh, and good riddance to dead weight! Even Menudo knew when time was up for its members.

School AuthoriTIE, Shiavo & The Misleading News, The State of the Blog

2005-03-29T23:39:00.000-05:00

Per the title, many topics will be covered in this post.

This first link corresponds to the 14 suspended Dulaney High School students: http://news.mywebpal.com/news_tool_v2.cfm?show=localnews&pnpID=806&NewsID=619765&CategoryID=8408&on=1
The issue at hand is whether or not the school system has the authority to suspend athletes from participating in school athletics for participation in activities which are non-school related. I read a column in The Sun where the writer, Milton Kent, writes, “…if a soccer player is seen on a convenience store's surveillance tape with an individual who has broken the store's window, the coach couldn't suspend the kid for a game for bad judgment?” Let me answer this for Mr. Kent by simply saying, no. Who made the soccer coach the judge and jury? There is a reason we have people, dare I say, more intelligent than the soccer coaches of the world, who can better judge the innocence and guilt of an individual. Why is the soccer coach deciding what actions are of “bad judgment?” What if the video tape doesn’t show another person pointing a gun at the athlete and telling him or her not to move, else they will be shot? Mr. Coach cannot possibly, on his own, launch an investigation into the matter. Coaches cannot, nor should they not, try to determine who had bad judgment outside their field of, er hmm, expertise. Also, I realize that some coaches are coaching on the side and may, actually, be lawyers, doctors, etc., but the many are not.

Mr. Kent goes on to write, “Like it or not, athletes are always held to a different standard. The blessing of being the big boy or girl on campus goes hand in hand with the burden of having to represent not just yourself, but the school -- at all times.” Now we are discriminating against students because some play sports and some don’t. This is ridiculous. Let’s talk about ideals. Shouldn’t all the students be required to represent the school at all times? Surely, that’s not unreasonable.

What’s next in the types of “contracts” athletes will be forced to sign if they want to play on the team? Where’s the defense for the contract that restricts athletes from socializing with pedophiles while in the act? Why don’t we have them sign that one as well? The school is missing the point because many of the athletes were not proven to have been drinking at the party. Their crime was the breaking of a contract that they should not have had to sign. If the kid had a hangover during a game and couldn’t play, then I can understand suspending him.
The Sun article is: http://www.baltimoresun.com/sports/highschool/bal-sp.kent27mar27,1,7911733.column?ctrack=1&cset=true

I saw a report by 11 News that tried to convince people that Shiavo could rebound from her condition. Every neurosurgeon that I have heard said there is no coming back from a liquefied cerebral cortex, which is what Shiavo has to deal with. The woman in the report was not said to have that condition. The story made the comparison that both women were described to be in a persistent vegetative state and one woman recovered. Hence, if one woman can recover, then Shiavo could recover as well. I doubt the woman in the story had a liquefied cerebral cortex.

Now, we move on to the state of this blog. I didn’t know what creature this blog would be when I sent the initial invitations. Subsequently, there have been people interested in joining the blog, members who neither post nor comment, and some members who post without considering the blog at which they are posting. Therefore, some members will be removed. As a result of the above and the consult of a few, the membership will be determined by the comments. If you would like to become a posting member, then you must demonstrate, in the comments, that you can create valid points using your own thoughts and not those simply regurgitated from another source. This is to ensure the blog will maintain the credibility of its title. I reason that if you don’t post, then it’s because you don’t care about the blog and will not be disheartened by your removal from it, or if you post nonsense, then you can post it in the comment section and no harm done. Making people comment first, before becoming a member, will give the other members a chance to view their work before allowing their posts to be the first thing someone sees while they are perusing blogs. All this may seem asinine to some and, if so, then you don’t want to be a member anyway. In any case, anyone can comment.

Men & Women. WTF Was He Thinking?

2005-03-28T17:18:00.000-05:00

I spent some time thinking the other day (and for those who know me, that's a complicated exercise that requires padded rooms and adult supervision), and doing about 5 minutes of research I came up with what I think is in deed a Valid Point. Usually toward the end of sex (unless you are in Florida of course) the male and female will climax or come, or squirt, or . Whatever you call it, 2 very different things happen inside the brain, and I think these 2 things are the reasons for most of the problems people face everyday in relationships. If you think about these things for any amount of time you'll start to realize that God's coach (that's right, I said God had a coach) attended a fucking Kappa Pi Smoke My Meat Frat party the night before the "Make People" meeting, and kinda forgot to address this slight Monday detail.

As I always love to do, we'll start with the men. We're going to take a look an average guy. He's got the wife, kids, house, job and the American dream. We'll call him Bill. Bill goes to work everyday and comes home to the same screamin ass kids and fucks the same ol' lady every night. When Bill comes, his brain releases a form of Tryptophan. Tryptophan produces a euphoric sedated state to the body. Tryptophan is a sedative. This is the same shit that makes Grandpa pass out on Thanksgiving. The more comfortable Bill feels with his wife, the less of this chemical is released. The more he fucks her, the more bored he becomes. If Bill were to fuck a 17 year old stripper named Sommer while snorting lines of coke off the dash of his S-Class, now we've got some serious fucking levels of Tryptophan causing a heavy euphoric sedated state to the body. This is the reason why it is mostly men cheating on their spouses and not the other way around.

Now we're going to try to get on top of the women (pun intended). For the sake of this Valid Point, we're going to name her Hillary. Hillary has all the pleasures in life as our previous subject. When Hillary enjoys a romantic evening with wine and fine foods with her husband they've been known to retire to the master's quarters for a little hanky panky. At the end of this exercise, Hillary's brain releases Oxytocin. Oxytocin is a stimulant. It also targets the maternal or "mother" hormones in the female body. They inject this shit into cows to get them to produce more milk. Hence, "I want to cuddle". It affects some women slightly differently. Some women get more of the natural stimulant, they don't want to cuddle, they want to clean the fucking house or make you a sandwich. Marry those kind whenever possible. The more Hillary fucks her husband, the more comfortable she feels with him, the more Oxytocin is released into Hillary's body. If Hillary were to get all hot and bothered while watching a gas attendant at a full service station and decides to fuck him in the bathroom, the guilt will set in and lower levels of Oxytocin will be released.

Well there you have it. After sex men become sedated and women become stimulated. Real nice, God, real nice. We're all laughin on the inside. Even though we may not actively be thinking about it, this is why Men will whistle at a girl when the wind blows her skirt up and we get to see her ass. If women saw a guys pants rip and his dick fell out, the reaction would be slightly different. Men can instantly translate bare ass to sex to Tryptophan. Just like that. It doesn’t even take bare ass, it could just be reruns of Full House when DJ was anorexic.

read this in the paper the other day

2005-03-27T00:20:00.000-05:00

barry bonds will not retire because of his injury. he is too close to passing babe ruths home run total and possinly henry aarons all time record. bonds will rehad his injury for the next few months, just enough time for the steriods to clear out of his system. league policy is that you cannot test a player for drugs while on the disabled list. he knows that. he will then get tested for steroids and pass, and then he can say "i told you so" to the media and the public. then he can break these records under the guise that he was clean all along.

Baseball should mimic Football

2005-03-26T12:01:00.000-05:00

If you were to list the most successful baseball teams in the past 10-20 years the answer would be the Yankees, Braves, and to a lesser extent the Red Sox and Dodgers. But some teams that will never have a chance for the off season are the Drays and Pirates just to name a few. Most of this it due to 2 reasons. One, baseball lacks a salary cap which means teams can pay players as much as they want and have no worries about penalties from MLB. Recently the MLB has instituted the Luxury Tax which penalizes teams that spend over a certain amount of money. The problem with that is the ceiling on that tax is so high only a few teams have enough money to spend and reach that amount, and even then the penalty is minimal considering how much doe they are already dishing out to players.

Two, baseball doesn't have a very good revenue sharing plan such as the NFL. Over the off season baseball has created a plan on a lesser level to try and get more money to the small market teams by splitting up money that comes in from air time on television. This is a big step for the MLB but only the first of many to try and make baseball more competitive.

The NFL has a wonderful plan that gives the same amount of money to each team from television contracts, ticket sales, merchandise, etc. This means that every time the Ravens sell a tee-shirt, that profit is split 32 ways and distributed to every team. Each team in the league gets the same revenue making teams more like race cars in NASCAR. Every team is given the same things to work with, but its what they do with that money that decides the success of the team. Yes, we do see dynasties in the NFL, but they rarely last more than a few years. In the 70s it was the Steelers, 80's the 49ers, 90's the cowboys, and now it’s the Patriots. but although these teams are usually favored to win the super bowl, different teams each year are in the playoffs much unlike baseball.

Many people would argue that they don’t want the money made by there team to go to another team. why should the Cards get the same amount from merchandise that the Pats do. When the Yankees win the World Series no one cares because they spend all that $ on top players. But in football, since the teams have the same $ to spend, when one team beats another its not because the winner has more money, but becuase the teams front office has made better transactions and has a better coaching staff making the win more personal and the defeat so much more bitter.

Now there are teams like the Cardinals and Bears that are bad every year. this isn’t due to the lack of money but a combination of bad draft picks, bad decisions in the free agent department, and lack of care for the team. The Cardinals are just coming out of the cellar. In the past couple years the have drafted good wide receivers, in Larry Fitzgerald, and Anquan Boldin, but have been lacking a RB and QB. In the next 5-10 years don’t be surprised to see those teams biding for a spot in the playoffs as we've seen in the Bangles.

Baseball could really learn from the NFL and the way they manage money. Bud Selig wants baseball to be more competitive, or he wouldn’t have implemented the interleague play 7 or so years ago. equal $ for each team would really help the competitiveness. The next step is revenue sharing which we have started to see, and the last step would be a salary cap. Unfortunately, the players association will make that very hard, whats happening now in the NHL, to make any attempt at a salary cap. But, if the players association and MLB were even to set a very high cap, this would prevent those big $ teams from having so much dominance over the rest of the league. the bottom line is, teams need to be given a fair chance to compete and if those teams end up like the Cards or Bears, than its there own fault.

All Your Life Are Belong To Us

2005-03-26T09:28:00.000-05:00

If only we could get an extra life with every 100 coins/rings/rupees/Republic credits we collected, life truly would be like a video game. I propose that everyone's individual life reflects the dynamics of the video game world.
Now for most of us, life is an action/platformer, with a variety of levels, and even some diversity in genre types. Most of us start out with a tutorial level, it gives us the basics on how to run, jump, and use our special powers, which are generally common sense and part of instinct. Now either because we skip the tutorial level or we don't see their necessity, some people often miss the more advanced skills like how to ricochet from one wall to another or how to combine spells. Often we think, when is this going to come into use later in the game, I don't need to know this. This is the difference between the educated and the elite educated. Now as you go about your video game, there will be components of stealth, where you must make as little commotion as possible as you attempt to get away with something, race levels, where you attempt to finish a paper before deadline or its direct opposite where you attempt to keep something going as long as you can before you finish (I'll leave that one to your imagination).
Sometimes in a game, you hit a level that just perplexes you. You try using your invincibility star or rocket launcher, but again and again you get your ass whipped. So you put the game down for a couple days, you go and do some other things like breathe fresh air and interact with people, and when you come back, you beat the level in one try. But sometimes inspiration and patience doesn't do it and we must consult mentors. Strategy guides or FAQs represent those with wisdom who guide us in trying times, and although they are an enticing crutch, as the game goes on, we become reluctant to consult them as much, hoping instead to win the game on our own esteem. In fact, as time goes on, we ourselves write down notes and share our wisdom with friends just beginning the same game. Now sometimes the challenge we meet was designed to be just that - a challenge. You can't save at this point and you know all that the FAQ will say is "pound away until it's over." We call these "bosses." Bosses can be Bowser, Mother Brain, girlfriend problems, job searches, STD, etc. Generally, a player who has patiently treaded all of the previous levels has intuitive understanding of what it'll take to destroy this boss, and probably will. But lo and behold, when that boss dies, the earth shakes and debris falls from the ceiling, and God damn if another one, the size of the entire screen, doesn't come up. It's the ability to beat THIS boss that separates the men from the boys.
Now of course, along the way there are power-ups, and you generally get to choose what aspect of your character you're going to enhance. It might be strength or skill or charisma, or in some games you might elect to turn your character bad. But power-ups and level-ups can only be gained by killing more enemies and defeating more levels. The same goes with extra lives, or as the real world calls them, second chances. If you've collected enough gold coins or befriended an ally with the "revive" spell, your game could go on forever. Others, who care only to win the game and not about building character along the way, they must tread carefully or else go the other way -
Cheats and codes. When all else fails, people turn to cheats and codes for one of two reasons. Most often it's because they're in a class of gamers who accept this lifestyle of exploiting "loopholes" or "programming flaws." And we marvel at them and wonder how they started with 30 lives or passed through a wall, but ultimately no legit player wants to be known as a "cheater." Cheating is criminal. Now this leads to our next class of gamers. Celebrities and millionaires. You see, celebrities, either because of stellar talent or because Mom and Dad beat most of the early stages for them, they get to and defeat M. Bison early on. They never get a chance to really enjoy the game itself and for all intents and purposes, defeating M. Bison was the only goal they ever had for themselves. So they have three recourses. One is they save their game right there, and they just keep showing their friends how they beat M. Bison, over and over and over again. Pretty soon fans, I mean friends, stop coming over because this gamer is putting out the same stale crap. He's washed up. Another option is for the celebrity to start the game over but use cheat codes to add a new element of gameplay. After a while they get so addicted to the thrill of having the God-code on, that playing the regular game bores them. River Phoenix, Elvis Presley, most rock stars, and John Belushi were these sorts of celebrities. But then, there are those who defeat the game quickly, but commit themselves to perfecting their performance further. They play through again only bringing their time down, or trying not to get hit once, or using just their toes on the controller. This is like that Jap who beat SMB3 in 11 minutes, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates, or anyone whose mastery of their craft never ceases to impress us.
There are those people who only allow themselves to play one type of game. Some only play Gran Turismo or Madden Football or Halo and you think "That's it, you're just going to play that for the rest of your life?" These people are invalidated when discussions of which system is better come up. Then there are people who don't even own video games or they own just one that was the flavor-of-the-week on PS1 six years ago. They basically have no game to play unless they're up their friend's ass. Usually they're uninteresting because they have little to add to deep video game discussions except constantly reminding people that they beat the first level on Crash Bandicoot their freshman year of college. Often their only purpose is to fill-out the fourth controller when there's a road trip or two buy-one-get-one-free coupons.
Like these characters, there are those who buy games strictly on hype or graphics, which anyone who has played video games for any time knows are the two worst reasons to buy a game. Usually their Dad buys them the "awesome game" on the first day it comes out and all the neighborhood kids run to see it. They marvel over how "radical" it is and everyone has fun taking turns playing it while the kid who owns it stands back and relishes how cool he is. But then what happens? Sure, the kid has the coolest game and he didn't have to do anything to get it, but when he picks up a controller, there's a collective awkwardness in the room when he asks "How do you jump?" The other players are confused for surely if you have the nicest game in the world, you've earned it by being smart or talented or funny or charming or at least knowing how to "jump." But alas, this kid has only been conditioned to know that getting the shiniest and the newest is a compensation for having no skills. And when the other kids realize that great graphics were acquiesced to gameplay and longevity, they return home to play their broke-ass copy of Goldeneye for the 5,000th time. Poor, shallow rich kids.
But poor, poor, poor kids too. You see, the poor players have a life but it's some shitty life the rest of us left behind in the 70's or 80's like Pac-Man or E.T. But that's the game they have and so they play it. The same thing level-in and level-out with only the color changing occasionally. And slap me and tell me my princess is in another castle if they aren't the hardest sumbitches to beat. That's why when someone's been dealt a life of Pac-Man, and they beat it, there is no parallel to the respect and admiration they get from other gamers.
Well, I think that covers it. This wasn't intended to be funny, just somewhat insightful. Please feel free to leave comments about other parallels between video games and life.

2005-03-24T19:14:00.000-05:00

The grave of the mortal remains of E.P. Sharpener.

OBITUARY March 24, 2005

2005-03-24T18:35:00.000-05:00

On March 24, 2005, at 11:03 a.m., Electric Pencil Sharpener of The Bean's, Classroom died suddenly from complications from emergency motor surgery. Mr. Sharpener had been having symptoms of motor failure in recent days, screeching at times and clogging with broken pencil points. Mr. Sharpener served admirably in the mean streets of Bean's classroom, crafting superb tools for countless scan-tron tests and often overcoming students who would stick pens or small appendages in him. At the time of the attack, Mr. Sharpener was admirably and bravely rendering a green colored pencil to a fine point, as he always had for well over these past two years.
A few of his friends wished to share some thoughts on E.P. as his friends new him.
"I'll tell you, when I first arrived, Stapler and Highlighter said I was a gimmick - they said I'd never find my niche in the classroom being all high-tech and what not. They'd say 'Three-Hole? More like ASS-hole!' then laugh their way to the safety scissors brothel. But E.P. he believed in me, he knew it was possible to do more than one hole at once! He believed in me, and for that, I will always believe in E.P.!" - Three-Hole Puncher, close friend

"E.P.? Who dat? Oh that crazy old sharpener? Yes'm, that grouchy old bastard ate up a pencil or two of mine, often when's I was about to compose my final draft. But it weren't much his fault, seeing as how I buy my pencils 500 for a dollar from Dollar Tree. The wood is unrefined and I's not even sho' they's number twos. In fact, I think they mights still be made of genuine lead. Maybe that why my second stepfather be trying to grind its shaving into my open wounds." - Admiral Nelson, student and colleague.

In lieu of flowers, the family is asking that donations be made to the Greater Metropolitan Pencil Shavings Recycling Center. Grief counselors and crisis interventionists are available to students at the school. Mr. Sharpener is survived by his mother and father, Toaster and Woodchipper.

Housing

2005-03-23T13:01:00.000-05:00

I was listening to NPR around noon today and the topic was housing in Baltimore City. One guy on the show, we will call him Liberal, repeatedly said that it was “unfair” for people to be priced out of their homes, which they have lived in all their lives. One of the best examples, probably the best example, of this idea is the area around Johns Hopkins. Hopkins buys the low-income housing surrounding itself to renovate and sell or rent to the workers or students of the hospital. The people buying the properties are willing to pay a higher price for these properties because they can walk to work, among other reasons. They also know that the high price tag on these houses will drive out the low-income families, who, by the way, are the causes of many problems in the city. That’s an argument for another post. As I was saying, some areas in the city have housing prices that are extremely high. This guy, Liberal, insisted this was “unfair” to the people who are getting paid 80 thousand dollars more for their house than they paid for it. Nobody is telling these poor souls they have to sell their house. They are willing to sell their house to a developer for, what they perceive as, a huge amount of money. Why aren’t these people not selling their house and watching their property values go up? Some would have you believe that they can’t afford the higher property taxes. Let’s think about this. We have higher property taxes as a result of higher property values. Why don’t these people cash out some of this new found equity they now have in their home to pay for the increase in taxes? I’ll tell you why. These people aren’t concerned with property taxes. They see a developer with a huge check and decide to take the money to the bank. The next thing you know, they are complaining that they can’t afford to live anywhere. I guess they should have thought of that before they sold their house, or perhaps they could have had some composure and held out for a higher price so they could afford a new home. Golly, I never knew it was my responsibility to care for the people who make bad decisions.

The next point Liberal tried to make is that there is a decreasing amount of section 8 housing available. Mind you, this was also “unfair.” Unfair?!?! Unfair to whom? Me, that’s who. All of a sudden it’s my duty to provide housing for people who don’t know what commitment or responsibility means; i.e. being committed to finding a job and once accomplished, responsible enough to keep it. My parents received calls from people who were in the section 8 program and they told my parents they would pay $300/month for a $1200/month rent. Who picks up the other $900? Taxpayers. It’s our job to allow these people with 9 kids, 3 grandparents, 6 aunts, and 4 dogs to live in an area of town that, most likely, MANY TAXPAYERS CAN’T EVEN AFFORD! (By the way, my parents didn’t rent to them.) Wait, I’m sorry. I forgot that these people will change their ways once they live in an upper class neighborhood. Sure buddy. I’ll believe that. In reality, many neighbors will want to move. Thus, the property value in the neighborhood declines. I can’t imagine why. So, we need more section 8 housing, forsooth. Try not having 10 kids with 10 different fathers, none of whom support any of them, then you could probably afford to live where you wanted.

This socialist of a liberal should consider advocating section 8 housing in his neighborhood. Let’s see how soon he changes his tune.

There is one more thing that Liberal brought up. He claimed that many people working in an area where property values are rising cannot afford housing. He said it was “unfair.” If I can afford a $900,000 home, then I can afford to pay the businesses in my community more for the goods and services I need. It’s the job of the government to give the teachers, trash collectors, etc., a raise. You might be saying that will never happen. Well, now that you have your big government, Liberal, you can choke on it.

Anyone want to take a guess as to why I don’t live in Boston? I can’t afford to live there.

Rex Kaiser = Jack Firestone ?????

2005-03-22T17:59:00.000-05:00

Hands offHewlett Harbor, L.I.: To help avoid the flu, washing of hands is suggested, especially after shaking hands with another person. This glad-handing society of ours can make us sick. Perhaps the Japanese have it right: Let's lighten up on the handshaking and start bowing.
-Jack Firestone

http://www.nydailynews.com/news/ideas_opinions/story/145614p-128673c.html

New Contest

2005-03-22T09:33:00.000-05:00

Well the bean said we must vote on the last contest before the next one can start so I am voting for Bahr as the winner of the ebay contest. Please get your votes up so I can have something to do at work.

Handshakes are stupider than Bean's Students.

2005-03-21T15:41:00.000-05:00

In the beginning there was the Handshake. Man saw that it was good mainly because man is stupid. I of course mean that Woman is stupid also. More so even. Common lore tells us that the handshake is from days of yore when men would show their hands to their fellows as to demonstrate that they were not armed. Days of yore preceded what has now come to be known as "the left hand" which we now know is capable of wielding weapons, be they swords, daggers, dual wielded light-sabers, or Michaelangelo's Nunchucks.
Nowadays, in the era of ambidexterity and the lack of businesspeople and friends employing weapondry in common paralance, the handshake is no longer needed.

Think about what people do with their hands. Even people who are not plumbers (and some people are plumbers.) We rub our eyes, we wipe our bottoms, we pick our noses (yes we do). Then we use the touch screen at Royal Farm and at the bank. We push grocery carts and use escalators. We prepare raw meats. We sleep on semen and feces spotted hotel quilts especially if Mike Gorecki or my ex girlfriend, respectively, occupy said hotel room before we do. Then we wash our hands infrequently. Check out this website about handwashing in hospitals for horror: http://www.people.virginia.edu/~rjh9u/handwash.html
A litany of diseases are comunicable in the common handshake. The Common Cold, Influenza (Bahr, J, 2005)., Cholera, Hepatitis, E-Coli, Typhoid, Dysentary (Oregeon Trail, 1989).

I suggest that we follow the backward Japanese culture with bowing. We are already a culture of nodding. We nod in acquiesence. We nod in recognition. We nod off in Nicholas Cage movies. We already know how to nod. According to my wild guess, we could close down 28% of the hospitals in the US if we simply nod instead of shake hands.

I am not suggesting that we eliminate handshaking altogether. That would be foolish, like allowing women to vote. There are several occasions where handshaking is appropriate. You should shake hands with your future father-in-law after conclusion of dowry negotiations. You can slap high five after the Ravens win the World Cup/Series. You can shake hands to seal a "handshake agreement", otherwise the phrase would fall into disuse, which would be a shame.

Consider this next time you think about shaking my hand, or the next time you give up on wiping your ass after four swipes that are still brown. Best wishes to you all!

Bible Discussion

2005-03-20T12:26:00.000-05:00

Being Palm Sunday, this day of Palms, I have decided to share some brief thoughts on a Bible passage. What follows is Jacob's farewell blessing to his firstborn son:

Reuben, you are my first-born, my might, and the first fruits of my strength, pre-eminent in pride and pre-eminent in power. 4 Unstable as water, you shall not have pre-eminence because you went up to your father's bed; then you defiled it--you went up to my couch! 5

A little background being in order, Reuben sacked his old man's concubine on his own couch. I find it interesting that Jacob chose not only to curse his son in his dying breath, but also for his choice of grudge. Reuben and the boys had previously sold Jacob's favorite son, Joseph, into slavery to Ishmaelites, of all people! and then pretended that he was killed by wild animals. However, Jacob manifests his anger in the fact that he boy boned one of the house whores. Just a thought.

So He Got Rid of Some Snakes...

2005-03-17T21:01:00.000-05:00

Listen, I'm not going to mix words here; the madness that is St. Patrick's Day has got to end. Period. Show's over, save all the green dye for forcing eggs and ham on reluctant friends and tell the God damn leprechauns to make their way back to the Ewok village. This business ends today.
As white people, we complain day in and day out about these towel-heads running the gas stations and black people not assimilating to American culture. "Why do black people show up late to everything?...Why don't those Eskimos learn to speak English? It's snow motherfucker - SNOW - there is no need for 56 different words for snow...why does the kid who smells like General Tso pissed all over him have to sit next to me on the bus?" We ask these questions because we're smug, ignorant Anglo-elitist. How dare you covet your heritage and ethnicity - that is unless you're from a white country.
Look I have as much tolerance for other cultures as I do for shoving a rose stem up my pee hole while listening to the Dixie Chicks, but that goes for ALL cultures. Let's face it, St. Patrick's Day is just an excuse for lameasses who claim to be 1/16th Irish to go get plastered, and possibly to make red-heads feel not-ugly for at least one day out of the calendar year. We're all 1/16th Irish because between the Micks and the Krauts, the white man came over here and screwed anything and everything with a hole in it. There are black kids walking around with names like Shannon O'Leary - she ain't from the old country. Look grandpa's from Ireland? You're a third generation immigrant? Great. Go visit Dublin, gawk at a castle and comment on how shitty the weather is and then get your ass back to America where everyone doesn't talk like a lovable pickpocket.
I think what makes me the most angry is that quasi-Irish people are the worst. There's an entire store at The Avenue just celebrating Ireland. "Kiss Me. I'm Irish." How about I do you from behind and play connect the dots with the freckles on your back cause you're ugly? They get shamrock tattoos on their cankles and sit in beach chairs month in advance for the release of Leprechaun 7: Taint-Licker. Do you see me getting a hard on every time someone says "That's-a spicy-a meatball" or an accordion plays just because my grandfather's Italian? Do you think Native Americans throw a parade every time a Chicago Blackhawk turns a hat trick? No - because the NHL doesn't play anymore. But if they did, they still wouldn't.
As for this holiday. Enough. Pinch me because I'm not wearing green and I'll break your fingers. I'll start with the thumb. If you want a reason to get drunk I can give you a thousand and none of them have to do with where your ancestors came from 200 years ago. How about I put up with 120 inner-city black kids unwilling to learn everyday? Drink. I came out of college with a debt that nearly matches my first year's salary. Drink. An ice-cold water drop reflects back up in my rectum everytime I poop. Drink. I sweat like a swine after going up one floor - ON AN ELEVATOR. Drink.
In conclusion, I swear off this day and rename it officially: HUMAN TOAD'S BIRTHDAY - OBSERVED.

your favorite person is baaaaack

2005-03-16T18:24:00.000-05:00

"who cars whos running for maryland senate, aint shit gonna change, nigga please," kwamye infumae (direct quote). if voting could change anything thing it would of been illegal long ago. lets talk about something important like football. how bout them ravens - samari rolle and derrick mason. mason wasnt my favorite pick up being hes 31 or something but anything at all at WR is good. i loved the samari rolle singing. no longer will we be seeing an opponents wr streaking 70 yds down the field to the end zone because gary "i got beat deep again" baxter is gone. i was made at first he left for cleveland but now im happy hes gone. theres also a rumor peter boulware is being shopped around the league. rumor is suggs is going to play DE in the new 4-3 alignment and tj slaughter will be playing outside linebacker with ray in the middle and adailus on the other side. dont know if theres any truth in this. i do remember bahr telling me travis taylor would resign (signed with minnesota) and corey fuller would retire (released from ravens) so i think bahr has to re-check his sources. i can see boulware getting released or traded. he's still not a 100% and we dont really "need" him for the price tag on him. interesting dilemna.

on a side note i would like to give a shout out to adam wroten who neglected to invite me to play touch football on his federal hill team. i hear there is people on there who some hardly even know. thanks for looking out wroten, ill be sure to attend your next birthday party.

Krazie's Movie Review Corner

2005-03-15T16:43:00.000-05:00

This week we take a look at a movie called "Leaving Las Vegas", in hopes that our future vacationers in the group will watch the movie and have a similar expirience. This movie follows an alcoholic played by Nick Cage for an important portion of his life. Now stop, I know what your thinking. Please forget forever that you saw "Snake Eyes" or "Face Off" or any other peice of shit this idiot was in to where his acting could only be shittier if his name was Kenaue Reeves or Kevin Costner staring in "I'm a huge Douschbag". Anyway, he plays an alcoholic. Not the kind of alcoholic like you or I, but the kind of alcoholic that wakes up to a 5th of gin. The kind of alcoholic that must stay drunk 24/7 or he will expirience phsyical withdraw symptons, which are the worst of any substance out there. Alcohol is the only withdraw people die from. The movie starts out showing you this mans daily routine and he is quickly fired from his job. Shortly before this, he explains he was divorced but he cant remember if his wife left because he started drinking, or he started drinking because his wife left. After he is fired he decides to liquidate all of his assets, burn all his personal property he cant fit into the car, and drives to Las Vegas to drink hiself to death. He estimates it will take him 4 weeks, and he has $350 a day to reach his goal. Sounds fun right? His 1st night he springs into some bonus money and gets himself a hooker. They end up forming a relationship and she becomes very fond of him as she is in desperate need of companionship. The movie follows the downward spiral of both of these characters due his alcoholism and doesnt pull any punches. Theres a paranoid pimp involved slightly (which im glad because his character kinda blows ass) but it doesnt distract from the movies goal. I give it a big bottles up and recommend it. This movie is a little depressing so remove the ammunition from your household firearm before watching.

It's all over for MD

2005-03-15T12:45:00.000-05:00

Well its official, Mefume is running for the senate seat. When he wins, we can see a lot of changes throughout the state and possibly nation. Affirmative action is almost certain to be more predominate in today’s government and college scholarships. We have seen the institution of section 8 (at the top of Link ave) and through out Baltimore county. The only place that seems to be safe around here is Kingsville, but don’t expect that to stay the same. With mefume in office as one of the leaders of MD in the senate, no white town will be safe, no community will be safe from crime, and no woman will be free from rape. Areas that are peaceful now will become more troublesome in the future, areas that have a mild crime rate will become infested with drugs, rape, car jacking, muggings, etc., and areas such as Gwyn Oak (where on the way to your car in the morning you have a 90% chance of being beaten, raped, or killed) will populate most of the downtown and surrounding areas. If I were you, I would invest in energizer, Duracell, and maglight, KFC, Hi-C, Kool-Aid, grape soda, and soul glow stocks because the area is about to become very dark. please, and I beg you from the bottom of my white heart, go out and vote on election day, and by all means, do NOT vote for anyone that has a trace of black heritage (Nate Griffin).

Rippit RIppit

2005-03-14T20:21:00.000-05:00

ALL HAIL HUMAN ToAD! I feed on poop created by dolly trentzsch and have only one weakness...Buying video games! MAAAaAMMAAAAaaaa get me some oreos!!!!

Mister Guy? Mister Guy.

2005-03-14T19:18:00.001-05:00

Back in the old days of NES, to shortcut, programmers would often use the same character design, change a few colors and rename it with brand new abilities. "Green Blob" became the far more difficult "Red Blob" which in turn gave way to the "Steel Blob" which was damn near impossible without the "Blob-Slaying Dagger" (it has a plus nine against blobs). And Jesus Christ, Glass Joe and Don Flamenco, while both bottoms for King Hippo, were the same GD person. Well, black people work in much the same way. They're essentially the same person, no color change, but the G.O.D. has inserted telling names to let us know what their abilities are. Having spent some time now with them, here are the various brands of black people you can possibly happen upon.
1) African Black People - These are the kids who are authentically named consonant-riddled names like Chymkrkalplsmellyass or Kuntakinte and have a skin-tone as dark as my shit after a day of eating coffee grinds. Typically they shorten their names to something like Chymy or Fred because they realize that nobody gives a good god damn enough to learn the incomprehensible phonetics of a name invented in a village of pancake-titties where the children run around in Red Cross-donated Perry Hall Rec. t-shirts. They generally work hard because their parents busted their ass to get here and they understand the opportunity rewarded to hard work in the US.
2) Uncle Tom Black People - This brand often blends seamlessly with the general world population with non-clashing names like Britney, Kevin, Christina, or Alex. They are generally quiet because black people oust them for "talking white" and white people oust them for "looking black." With taciturn determination, they adequately get their work done and covertly read Anime graphic novels (if a guy), like Ashton Kutcher (if a girl), and claim to like bands like Maroon 5 in hopes that white people will see "they're not so different." When they grow up, they become "tokens" at The Gap and Hot Topic.
3) THOSE Black People - This is the brand that sustains the KKK, most of the penal system, and the Renaissance Festival, for without them no one would have any reason to celebrate being white. THESE get names like (sigh...this is horrible) Mister, Devonte, Shakira, Takiara, Shaniqua and basically any other name that can be assembled by all 26 letters and the top row of punctuation on a keyboard. You may encounter a T-Airra or a D'Andre or a Yo#lan*&da. Now you have to be careful because sometimes they are tricky and have names like Dave or Jessica. The trickery comes in one of two ways. First, they spell them Dheyve and Giascika and as a teacher I'm prepared to ask which Middle Eastern capitol they're named after. Second, they spell them regularly but pronounce it "Dah-vay" or "Jess-seek-uh" then have the audacity to be angry that you did not use your Charles Xavier powers of telepathy to decipher their insanely unique pronunciation. That goes for all THOSE black people. Don't bother trying to get their name right, because you won't, and when you fail it'll just be one more way the "man" doesn't understand the "brother." They come from parents who had names just as silly but feel it's part of their African heritage not to take Anglo-American slave names that would assimilate them to American culture. You know, in spite of the Civil War, Rosa Parks, affirmative action, UPN, BET, NBA, KFC, ODB, NAACP, OPP, and Urkel, they still think everyone's out to get them. I know what Mister's mom was thinking (P.S. She died of a drug-overdose): "Ain't nobody not gonna show my baby respect. I don't care if you's his teacher oh his ho, you's a gonna call him Mister Guy. Mister Mister Guy. Dat's twice da respect, ya heard?" The only person who should even potentially be called Mister Mister is some broke-ass singing "Broken Wings." Admiral Nelson! That's fucking Larry Hagman's character on "I Dream of Jeannie." You named you're kid after a freakin' naval rank, albeit, a rank that demands...respect. Anyway, these people are noteworthy for their genetic inability to shut the hell up during movies, a disposition to download 50 Cent ringtones, 2.5% tips (or whatever cents round things to the nearest dollar), a formidable scent of cocoa butter, comfortable use of the word "mines" (as in "Yo, dat welfare check is mines"), and buying Escalades with tinted windows and "Er Force Ones" when their 18.3 children from 21 fathers are on free-and-reduced lunch plans. If life were a role-playing game, this would be the most common enemy faced with no fear of their using spells or magic, just club attacks.
4) Townspeople Black People - These are my favorite black people. They are a mix of "THOSE" and "Uncle Tom" Black People because while their names are by no means "white," they are names we've come to expect from good, upstanding black people who end good stories with "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit" and openly joke about the fried chicken stereotype. They have names like Leroy, Andre, Isiah, Rufus, and Tyrone. They work just hard enough to pay the bills and splurge on some popcorn shrimp at Loew's come Friday and prefer the company of other blacks, but are not opposed to the comraderie forged with silly white people with their Elton John and Izod shirts. Generally they have a childhood best friend and cousin who are THOSE black people, but are pretty good about not giving them money when they get arrested for burglary or need a new I-Pod. Whereas Africans and Uncle Toms are as scared as Todd or Becky (whitebread names) of saying they hate THOSE black people, Townspeople will tell you straight out that they had the hardest fucking time appreciating "Soul Plane" cause "niggas wouldn't shut they mouths." Townspeople are generally cheerful Walmart cashiers, plumbers/laborers, whistling delivery men, or soda vendors at the ballpark. They tell good stories and although we wouldn't want them dating our sisters or daughters, they're more than welcome to pet our dog.

Well that concludes my piece. I hope you learned a thing or two. You see, black people truly are the most diverse people on the planet. Whereas Chinese people (and by Chinese people I mean Asians everywhere) have common sense enough to take names like "Jennifer" instead of "Long Dong" so as to quell the inevitable and uncontrollable laughter of ignorant white kids, and camel-jockies are all named Ahmed or Muhammad to leave the name-game to a two-guess minimum, black people have turned the whole world upside down with their wack nomenclature. But with my informative guide, maybe next time you'll know whether you have to move your wallet to your front pocket or if it's okay to ask to touch their hair.

Here's Rosie!

2005-03-14T19:18:00.000-05:00

News Story=http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/10/arts/10rosi.html?ex=1268110800&en=4b6f4fcc8e490975&ei=5090&partner=rssuserland

Rosies Blog=http://onceadored.blogspot.com/

Lego Star Wars, Taxes and some other shit

2005-03-13T22:09:00.000-05:00

Well finebox, i downloaded the star wars lego demo per your request only to be kicked in the mouth by another peice of shit. Seriously, it might be halfway decent ona console. It's obvious this ones meant to be played with a controller and not a keyboard, because thats all you use is the keyboard; no mouse action. On another note, i recieved both my state and federal tax checks. So to stimulate the economy and fight the terrorists, i will pay some bills with the both of them. As most of you know, i was recently infected with a combonation of ailments (which by the way Patient First was unable to correctly identify any of them) this week. This kept my sorry ass in bed for 6 days. DUring this time i didnt smoke a single ciggerette for 5 days. I am now completely bogged down at work and got to enjoy practically none of my weekend. So back to work in the morning to face the biggest shit storm since my last vacation. Yay. Something else i feel the need to mention, is that at Stingers on Sat night Joey was signed up for yet another rendition of "Like A Virgin", to which he put on his van damn face and threw meat. Danny also commented that he took a piss in the womens restroom and the female kareokee master decided to make a spetical of him for it. Finally, after lunch with Danny and Saff today, we bumped into *edit*. He got out of his car and shot the shit with us briefly. He left a chunk of John Fines past in the car. Immediately after our exit, Queen Doushbag got out and followed him. I just thought that was funny. THis is all meaningless bullshit for you to all blow out your ass. Have a nice week and fuck your mothers.

Paul Sarbanes to Retire

2005-03-13T12:43:00.000-05:00

Dateline: Washington. On Friday, United States Senator and original Doobie Brother, Paul Sarbanes announced his plans to retire from politics and not seek re-election in 2006. This has opened wide speculation on who will seek his vacated seat. Though Martin O'Malley, Doug Duncan, and Kweisi Mfume are reportedly eying the seat, Democratic Party officials are quietly lending their support to compromise candidate Michael Gorecki.
"Mike represents the future of this state." summed up Maryland Democratic Party Chairman, Terry Lierman. "Am I a man or a woman?" he further mused. "You can't tell from my name alone." Aproached for comment at Bill Bateman's restaurant where he was eating a sandwich named after himself, Dutch Ruppersberger called for a full investigation of Gorecki's qualification before calling for a full order of barbecued cole slaw. Senate President Mike Miller, eager to have yet another Mike in a position of power released a statement today condemning terrorism and endorsing Mike Gorecki. "We need to stop terrorists and elect Mike Gorecki to the US Senate. Talk about fiscal responsibiliy. Gorecki knows when to buy a hat and when to say enough is enough." Echoing similar enthusiam, Congressman Ben Cardin endorsed Gorecki in a press release. "As a man of Jewish heritage, I know that Mike's roomate is Jewish. Frankly, I don't see a reason to expound further."

SATIRE: NOT SUITABLE FOR LAWSUITS

Super Wacky Contest Puzzle Prize Factory!

2005-03-10T21:00:00.000-05:00

Tired of boring old essays about agriculture and inside jokes that only one other blogger seems to get! Well not anymore...introducing "contests!" (a sexy co-ed lifts her white t-shirt and her boobies are blurred). I propose that periodically we issue contests, several of which I have already thought about. Contest #1: Who can find the most bizarre, stupid, ridiculous, punctual, surreptitious, and/or ibidem-ish ebay sale? This contest begins immediately, everybody must submit one, and MAY revise should they find a better one. One week...when I'm finished watching Survivor, in other words, when I'm finished hoping they'll forget to blur out that goth chick's A-cups falling out, next Wednesday, all entries should be in and we will check back to vote on the winner. The winner gets a souvenir from Las Vegas courtesy of BeanHorseVerse Enterprises! Here's a sample to start you off: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=29869&item=5563029079&rd=1

Eating is gross

2005-03-10T20:01:00.000-05:00

I think eating is one of the most discussing things a person could do. While some people like myself can eat with their mouths shut the whole time, I have seen some really gross shit. Stuff falling out of mouths, food being chewed and just plain repulsive disregard for the ethics of eating us as a society have agreed on. So what can we replace it with? I’ll tell you. Taking a shit. That’s right I think every night around 6:30 or so we should all sit around in a circle of toilets and all take a shit together. Hey it would leave our mouths empty to have a little communication. Plus you could have telephone conversations like this:

“Hello?”
“Hi it’s mom. I was just calling to ask if you would be shitting at home tonight.”
“No thanks mom I think I am going to go out and shit with my friends.”
“Ok have fun sweetie. Tell Mike I said hello.”

Now we could just replace bathrooms with a little room you could go and get something to eat in. Hey I know Bahr and Saffer would love this. So many toilets to put in.

wierd

2005-03-09T21:22:00.000-05:00

OK, after the departure of the bed-shitting whore, I placed an internet personal ad. Yes, take your potshots. At any rate, here is an unedited response:

Hello,My name - Tatyana. Me of 25 years. I liked your structure on a site and I at once have decided to write to you the letter.I very much liked yours the image and in the following letter I shall send you the image, I hope, that I liking to you alsoam strong, as you to me!!!With impatience I shall wait for your letter!!!!Please write the letters on mine e-mail:Gretro@inbox.ru Sincerely Tatyana

Afternoon Delight with Mr. Adams

2005-03-09T19:59:00.000-05:00

Why Mr. Hase, I'm so glad that you asked! Indeed it's time for another session of - boooooo woop - Afternoon Delight with Mr. Adams. Here we learn all sorts of wacky English nonsense and tallyhoo. Now for lesson #1: Ibidem - pronounced eye-beed-um and used in a sentence like so: When in New Orleans for the Mardi Gras celebration and a young women with even remotely attractive breasts display them to me, ibidem! This of course is its archaic use and finds very little practicality in English vernacular today. Instead, ibidem, or ibid. as his friends Etcetera and SOB (he's a sumbitch) call him is actually a footnote device used when an author's quote or citation is found in the exact same source as the quote or citation preceding it - page number and all. For instance, imagine I'm writing an essay on Larry Elder and his cavalier consumption of babies. I might say "Mr. Elder, for all his grandstanding about doing the right thing and accountability has 'feasted on the squishy flesh of infants since his days at Yardale.' (imagine a little 2 is displayed just after that) It is also quite possible that Mr. Elder's antagonistic stance on the sloth of the black community derives from his actually being a Japanese man "who eats babies out of a kitchen sink for the sake of art." (imagine a little 3 after that). Then if you went to the citation index you would find two entries like so since they both came from the same book:
2 - Bahr, Jack. "A Brief History of African-American Cannibalism." Smellytime Publishing. Dundalk, 2001.
3 - Ibid.
And if this paper on Larry's cannibalism was written by Mr. Adams, the rest of the citations would like this:
4 - Ibid.
5 - Ibid.
6 - Ibid.
...and so forth because I consult only one source in forming any and all decisions. I am not well-read and firmly believe Mama's Family to be tops in the Neilsen's since I live in a phone booth of open-mindedness.
For back-to-front wipers everywhere, I'm Mr. Adams, and this has been a little Afternoon Delight!

Larry Elder eats dead babies for brunch!

2005-03-09T18:56:00.000-05:00

Sorry to any and all whose txt msgs did not get a response today. I've been a little under the weather this week. I think i caught a bad case of the clap from the bar wench at the MidWay.
**EDIT**Some one fill a nigga in on this "ibidem" shit

For those who dont know how to post

2005-03-09T16:05:00.000-05:00

http://www.blogger.com/start

the above link is where you can input your username and password. It's on the top right. If you can't figure it out now, then God help you.

Ibidem

You whining babies

2005-03-08T22:40:00.000-05:00

I can understand how entering your username and then a password can be more confusing than debugging a piece of windows software, but I think everyone is up for the task.

I can't log on and post within 0.4 nanoseconds of thinking about posting. I'm stupid!

Ibidem

Poop Tits

2005-03-08T19:39:00.000-05:00

Well all be an ass fly. 1st let me say i would like to propose a trade. I'm offering Shawn Alexander, i now wait for your offers. Secondly bean, not trying to sound like a billy, however i did enjoy your essay about the USDA, i think we all could have benifitted from a Dave Chappelle "Wrap it up" sign. Third, Jack Bahr practiced on those trash cans and misc crates and boxes outside Stonewall for the 1st 12 years of his life. He was then approached by Hagger who insisted that his crate smashing skills would bode well in the fight to retrieve his daughter from the bad man in the pin stripped suit. From there they met Cody and started adventuring. They would continue to beat people up and there would be no blood, and their bodies would vanish into the ground. After the mission, Haggar and Cody went on to become homosexuals. Jack Bahr then practiced pool shooting with the other Stonewall mutants for years to come. He never got any good however, because during Stage 6 he was hit in the head with a whip which turned him into a full blown water head. At any given time, you can still see the living legend Jack B, shooting pool in the bar, yelling "ME BAD" when missing a shot.

Larry Elder: Just when I thought logic was eradicated

2005-03-07T17:00:00.000-05:00

Anyone wanting ammunition to fight those who are dug into the trenches of the "They Did Me Wrong" philosophy should read this mans work. It's time people take responsibility for their actions and Larry Elder is the leader of that march.

Ibidem

Edible Plants Are Stupid-Faces!

2005-03-07T16:27:00.000-05:00

Although a few of my comrades have been made privy to the following discussion, I felt in light of my enthusiasm to start blogging but having nothing to comment on but the size of recent bowel movements, I would share my recent research.
Prologue: One night, while innocently reading Larry Elder's "Ten Things You Can't Say In America," I commented to my girlfriend that Mr. Elder truly articulated many of the things that I, as well as many Americans, felt, but weren't able to say. For example, he suggested that in a move to immasculate big government (that is a metaphorical use of the word "immasculate" before you start doing etymology searches, Helicon), offices of the government such as the Department of Agriculture and Department of Education be significantly reduced if not eliminated. Perhaps because I was laying in my underwear, my creamy white thighs exposed, she did not take me seriously. Instead she insisted that I "arrogantly" read one thing and start thinking I know everything there is to know about it without hearing the other side. Well, I've never been one to "hear" the other side because they're a big bunch of bleeding-heart, squirrel-hugging communist sumbitches. They usually have names like Frank Simmons, God bless him. So instead of "ibid-ing" Larry Elder forever or having to listen to Gloria Allred or Richard Simmons preach to me how the Department of Commerce helps gays and bald eagles get along better, I took it upon myself to do a little research on one of these big government agencies. Next stop: Department of Agriculture! Alright, so first of all, here's a brief history of the Department of Agriculture: Abe Lincoln established it some time during his presidency, probably to provide for an industry that was run by 54% of the US population. Okay, well if 54% of the nation is affected by something, then I guess - I guess - you can put some money into it. But that was then and a lot has happened since then. For instance, today's US population is roughly 293, 655,404 according to bigfuckingnumbers.com. Only 2,128,982, or .7% of that population is involved in any capacity with the agriculture industry which includes crops, vegetables, livestock, incest, klan rallies, etc. A whopping .7% down from 54% when initial demand asked for an entire beauracracy to represent growing stuff. That number hardly accounts for the Springer guests and Mexicans wearing thrift-store Spuds Mackenzie T-shirts that man our nation's farms. But what about the struggling old-timers who statistically represent farm operators. Well they represent just .42% of the US population, but more importantly appear to not be the old guy in overalls chewing on hay who big government muscles out of their land. Listen, elves don't make our god-damn toys; Taiwanese sweatshoppers do, and an old man plowing with a mule don't give us brusselsprouts, big-ass farms owned by conglomerate corporations do. Get over it! Bill Gates and Sam Walton (albehim dead) have probably dipped their weiners in your lettuce! How do I know? According to the census, only 57.7% of farmers list farming as their principal occupation. I'll wager their other job isn't as a greeter at Walmart but something else that can sustain them outside of selling corn at 200 ears for a nickel. And if the government has to take their land, well, then too bad. If you wanted land free from government annex, you should have been born 200 years earlier and told the Trail of Tears to go back where they came from. I'm not even sure what that means but I digress. Besides, if you want to know just how bad the depletion of farmlands is, take a look at a few more numbers I got from www.suitsmyargument.com. In 1992, there were 945,531,506 acres of farmland in the US. Today, due to the proliferation of strip malls and the Tomato Scandal of '95, that number has plummeted to 938,279,056 acres. My God! You mean to tell me, .77% of our US farms have been lost in the last ten years and nobody noticed? That's almost - almost- a full one percent. What were you all doing? Going back for your second round of all-you-can-eat salad at Olive Garden, all the while turning a blind eye to just where that delicious bagged salad came from? But seriously, if the US cares so much about conservation of land, why not invest itself more to saving rainforests or signing the Kyoto Accord (I drop terms like this to seem learned)? Saying the Department of Agriculture is meant to preserve farmland is equal to saying that Operation: Iraqi Freedom is about Iraqi Freedom. The government are such environmentalists and humanitarians, that's why polar bears are randomy floating off on detached icebergs and little girls are getting raped by the thousands in Congo. I really do love America, but let's not pretend it's something it's not. So fair enough, the Department of Agriculture isn't necessary for land conservation, but surely it's good for something. The USDA has an allotted budget of $19.1 billion. What's all that money doing? Well, I'll tell you one thing, I hope they're placing a lot of monetary attention towards research, engineering new efficient farming technology or methods of soil replenishment. Sure they are - they're devoting an entire 12.6% of the budget to that very enterprise. Doesn't seem much at all, does it? Well, what research lacks, surely regulatory agencies make up for in budget allotment. Wrong. A mere 9.5% of USDA budget goes towards the Marketing/Regulatory agencies that keep us abreast of things like Mad Cow or what the other white meat is. Compare these to the 22.2% of the budget for forest services or the whopping 27% for Food/Nutrition Services. Home Ec. class gets more than a quarter of the USDA's budget? Actually, it makes sense to me, and it makes sense to "big government," they're just hoping the country doesn't realize why it makes sense. Everything is based on a confidence in capitalism and the harmony it inspires. The government doesn't need to do that much regulating because they KNOW the industry will regulate itself. Following some negative press by Oprah a few years back, the beef industry took a dip. One woman - granted a brainwashing megalomaniac with a billion housewife followers - but one woman threatened the beef industry. Did the government step in and say "Now Oprah, cows have done many good things for us like give us something to compare our ex girlfriend's to and allow us to tip them." No, the beef industry, by its own volition, got its ass in gear, demanded an apology, made a hearty campaign to assure people that beef was nutritious and safe to eat, and here we are today still enjoying salisbury steaks. Why did those beef guys fight back? Oh yeah, because they want to make money. If people don't eat beef, they still have chicken and seafood and god-forbid tofu. You know what else they do to assure profit? Research. That's right, with overalls and lab goggles, they're in there figuring out how to get more meaty cows. So they pump them with all sorts of hormones and sterroids. Next thing you know, you have consumer watch groups, not sponsored by the government saying "Hey! Hormones? Sterroids? Aren't they the same things that make my husband frequent strip clubs and his balls shrink respectively? They're not good!" So we all hear about the chemicals used to make super-cows. Should the beef industry stop using them? Not if consumers love the savory flavor and keep on buying them. Hell, they've pretty much told us cigarettes are filled with rat-turds and ass-sweat and people still smoke them. My point is, with the agriculture industry already policing itself via the marvels of capitalism, the government can sink more money into things like park rangers and nutrition services. And why, oh why, do we need all of this nonsense? Probably because politicians need to put the sons of financially supportive lobbyists somewhere - and all the jobs covering up naked statues and misinterpreting overseas intelligence are taken. In conclusion, lettuce is an unnecessary filler in any salad and serves only to distract us from realizing we're not eating the more of the colorful, tastier vegetables like tomatoes and broccoli. The End.

JACK BAHR

2005-03-07T16:23:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about Jack Bahr today. What kind of life has he led since being cloned from Jon and Danny. Since we saw him at The Stonewall we must assume that he was taken under the wing of Haggar and the Final Fight crew. It must have been a tough life scrounging for food amongst the Days Cove landfill and its affiliated scavengers and learning that though he could pick up traffic cones, his less than freakish build disallowed him from picking up the full dumpster. One imagines that as he grew he learned the art of tolerant indifference from local strippers, direct avoidance of questions from barmaids at the Midway Lounge and booooooowooooop from Double T diner patrons. At the age of 12, Hank Williams taught him the joy of exagerated billiard gestures and the subtle, genius compostion of the bathroom limerick.

The ValiTITY of Valid Points

2005-03-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

My head hurts

No wonder they are just the stuff of legends

2005-03-07T15:00:00.000-05:00

For those who do not watch Robot Chicken on the cartoon network, we now know why we no longer have unicorns, cyclops, and dragons. They overslept on the day the ark set sail.

Your desire has been met.

2005-03-07T01:20:00.000-05:00

Now let's see if the demand is real.

I hope to read plenty of witty and satirical posts.