Ablakalypse Now

All A-Twitter

2011-10-20T16:21:00.000-07:00

I probably should have told you guys this awhile ago, but I've moved this bitch to Twitter, where I can crack jokes more fasterly. Have no fear, there will still be the occasional p-shop. @bonzozzy

Woolery's World

2011-03-03T20:02:00.000-08:00

If someone ever makes a movie about me, I've got the soundtrack all figured out. I also know for the most part what kind of scene should be going on during each song. I'm sure that's a backwards way to do it, but whatever, the movie's about ME, motherfucker. One song I would definitely want in my movie would be Coma by Buckethead (Feat. Serj Tankian and Azam Ali). I tried to write the scene for that song as a screenplay, but I suck at that. So basically what I've written below is written in the style of if-books-were-read-to-music. Before you read on, click the link below to hear the song while you're reading. Otherwise you won't get the full effect. Cue the music: the music.

Darrell walks into the dark kitchen, not bothering to turn on the light. As he stares out the window, a flash of lightning illuminates his face. A thunderclap sounds and he instantly shifts his gaze to the freezer.

He is hungry.

Opening the freezer door, he removes a large object. On it is written “STATE FAIR CORN DOGS.” He hears a noise, unsure if it’s his stomach or the rolling thunder. He closes the freezer door and decides he doesn't care.

He is hungry.

Quickly through the flashes of lightning he scans the box for something, his eyes every bit as ravenous as the rest of his body. He pauses for a minute and a slight grin creeps onto his lips as his eyes devour what they’ve been looking for: 375. He sets the box gently on the counter and reaches toward the oven. His eyes, languid from their feast, are no longer needed…for now. His hands, exact and almost automatic in their movements, find their targets. Bake. Temp +. Start. As closes his eyes he inhales in anticipation, attempting to smell what would soon be his.

He is hungry.

Removing a baking sheet from the crowded drawer under the oven, he notes with little interest that he can still hear the thunder through the clatter of metal. On the baking sheet he places one corn dog. Then another.

He is hungry.

He opens the freezer again and his hands find a formless object. A bag. It is labeled “Ore-Ida Golden Crinkles.” A flash. A boom. His eyes jolt awake, their lust renewed. They scan the bag, voracious. They stop, then continue again. They return to the same spot yet again, refusing to settle for what they’ve found. They roam again, but still come to rest on their original destination: 450. He hears a sound like thunder and suddenly bullets hit the window. They rip through his body as he tries to maintain his grip on the bag.

He is hungry.

His shirt explodes with each shot, yet he remains standing. A bullet pierces his thigh. He begins to fall, slamming the bag on the counter under his hand as he tries to steady himself. His other leg is blown to pieces as bullets continue to pound through the window. All he knows is pain. And hunger. Such hunger. Such pain.

He is nothing.

He comes to in a warm room. His head pounds, his vision is foggy, yet still he feels the cool pillow beneath his head. As he lays there, dazed, he listens to the steady beep of the heart monitor. He looks for a nurse, but no one is around. Just the beeping. It bothered him at first, but as it continues it has grown to comfort him. Each note, a sign of life. He looks again for a nurse, but his vision is no better. He raises himself up to test his legs. They wobble, but he steadies himself against his bedside tray. He squints his eyes, trying to bring them into focus. As he stares ahead his vision begins to clear and he notices a familiar sight. His kitchen window, rain spattering incessantly. His feet find the bag of fries where his head laid just seconds ago. As he regains his senses, the beeping grows louder and he remembers.

He is hungry.

The Book of Jerome

2010-10-31T22:47:00.000-07:00

It’s official: I am the world’s least desirable friend. Within the past couple of years, several of my closest friends have moved almost literally as far away from me as they could without leaving the country. In typical fashion, I’ve written a long overdue sendoff for the most recent McGillicutty evacuee, without whom I will probably devolve into some humorless douche who tells tasteful, appropriate jokes. You know the drill, I’m gonna miss you fuckers and all that.

¹Yet again, the prophet appeared before the multitude.

²“Not you again…” they said unto him.

³“Lo,” the prophet said. “Tis I, come yet again to warn thee of the third Horseman of the Ablakalypse! Wouldst thou have me not?”

⁴“There’s a-fucking-nother one?” the crowd cried in disbelief. Several among them shit their pants at the mere notion.

⁵“Aye! Surely by now ye know the terror of the horsemen, each more horrid than the last, yet still more fearsome than the next. In fact, I’m not quite sure why thou still opteth to live in this place, but I digresseth. Lo, people!” the prophet lowered his voice as the crowd grew quieter, “feareth plenty, for I am here to warn thee of the one they call ‘The Jerome.’”

⁶The men began to whisper and the women chattered nervously.

⁷“We have heard this tale, old man” someone shouted dismissively from the crowd.

⁸“Aye,” cried another, “tis just a legend.”

⁹“FOOLS!” the prophet yelled. “My story hath yet but just begane, For the Jerome traveleth not alone. ¹⁰He rideth in tandem with his partner, the only yet Horsewoman of the Ablakalypse, the Laureaux!”

¹¹The crowd stared at him incredulously. The prophet continued, “the Laureaux possesseth the ability to, no matter the obstacle, reach around it and get to the goal.”

¹²“REACH AROUND?!” came an anonymous female voice from the crowd.

¹³“Aye, reach around,” the prophet confirmed. ¹⁴“Thine only comfort is that these two, united by the unholy powers of the Ablakalypse itself, rideth atop a beast so mammoth, so massive, so grotesque, so undeniably gigantic that thou shall see it coming, shall hear its footsteps hours, nay, days before it arriveth, the Jereaux on its back, plumes of heavy smoke billowing from their mouths. This tank of a creature, whom they calleth ‘Frank,’ standeth fathoms wide by fathoms high, his chest larger than thy moons.”

¹⁵“Prophet,” the crowd replied, “our tunics runneth over with shite still. Why dost thou torture us so?”

¹⁶“Tell me, crowd, how dost thou expect to survive if I do not warn thee?” the prophet questioned.

¹⁷The crowd consulted each other. “Well, what if we shall outsmart the Jerome,” they replied.

¹⁸“But the Jerome is a genius…for he hath outsmarteth the Conrad!” countered the prophet, his energy building. Stunned, the crowd met again.

¹⁹After a few seconds they responded, “Then we shall hurleth at him with all our might the weapon of our peoples, the flying disc,” they proposed, now confident of their impending victory.

²⁰“BUT THE JEROME WILL CATCH THEM ALL!” The prophet’s voice increased tremendously in both pitch and volume. ²¹Though the people were scared, they could barely take him seriously for how ridiculous he sounded. “And he shall countereth with the weapon of HIS people, a ball of ivory, which he shall hurleth at thy shins.”

²²“He couldn’t!” a woman exclaimed.

²³“He wouldn’t!” a child shouted.

²⁴“OHHHHHH, BUT HE SHALL!” the prophet prophesied. He continued, “though formidable in violence, the Jerome’s true power resteth in what he hath writ, for it is as they say, the pen is mightier than the sword.”

²⁵The people asked unto him, “is that a euphemism for something?”

²⁶And the prophet did reply, “What? Oh, no, I’ve never seen his weiner or anything if that’s what you mean.”

²⁷Tired of all the nonsense, the eldest elder in the group stepped up. ²⁸“Get on with it, prophet,” he said.

²⁹“Lo, elder, none of this compares to the Jerome’s most vile tactic” the prophet continued.

³⁰The crowd felt their bowels ready to explode. ³¹“What could it possibly be?” they cried in alarming unison.

³²“The Jerome shall…” the prophet trailed off. He paused to gain strength, as if what he was about to say would exhaust him. “The Jerome shall stealeth thy clothes and he shall weareth them for eternities, lifetimes, ages! So long that thou shall forget thy even possessed thine own clothing!”

³³Everyone present that day fainted. ³⁴As they came to, they witnessed the prophet putting the final touches on a drawing in the sand. “People,” the prophet said as he pointed towards the ground in front of him, “come see thine end.” The crowd looked before them and saw:

³⁵As they looked up, they were surprised to find the prophet still standing before them.

³⁶“Lo!” the crowd cried. “Ye remain!”

³⁷No sooner had the prophet finished his sentence than the ground rumbled beneath everyone’s feet. In the distance, an eclipsing shadow loomed. From atop the lumbering chestnut mass rose an endlessly thick stream of stanky smoke. ³⁸And the prophet did shit his pants. ³⁹The crowd, having witnessed the soiling of the prophet, shathed their pants a third time.

ACL Awards 2010

2010-10-13T20:46:00.000-07:00

Welcome, everyone, to the 3rd Annual Austin City Limits Awards Ceremony! I’m your host, F. McGillicutty. ACL took place in Austin this past weekend, and my lovely lady friend and I were in attendance for the 4th straight time (I didn't do awards for our first time). Sir Fats didn’t make it out this year, but I’ll assume it’s only because Weird Al wasn’t in the lineup. If you’re still reading this blog you know what’s about to happen, so without further fanfare, I present to you…the winners:

The Surprise of the Year Award for 2010 goes to The Sword. These guys, minus their chubby I-ain’t-got-time-to-stay-on-beat hipster drummer, look like Spinal Tap and sound like Black Sabbath from 30 years ago. (I originally typed “20 years ago”…holy shit I’m getting old…) My wife checked these guys out before we went to Austin, and I thought they sounded pretty aight. Come to find out, they fucking rock. The crowd, full of overweight misfits and middle-aged metalheads, rocked along with devil fingers hoisted nearly as high as their owners. Great show, great image, great band.

Runner-up: Nortec Collective Presents: Bostich + Fussible
Their write-up in the ACL program describes their style of music as “a fusion of Norteño…and Techno.” I don’t know how to explain it any better, but all you really need to know is that everyone at this show was dancing. Everyone. Except me. And this guy:

(In case you can’t tell, he’s being carried out of the park because he’s too drunk to stand up on his own. This was around 5:30 on the first night.)

Second Runner-up: M.I.A
I know M.I.A isn’t really a surprise artist per se, but we were about to pack up and leave right before she came on. We ended up staying for damn near the whole set, which was filled with gunshots, lasers, and plenty of volume.

The Kiss My Dick Award for 2010 goes to all the bands that performed on Sunday. We kinda wanted to see Dawes and Yeasayer, but we’d already seen the latter perform in Dallas, and just two bands ain’t reason enough to stand in the sun with a bunch of grumpy douchebags all day. Kiss it, Sunday. All of it.

Runner-up: The Strokes.
Insert Strokes CD, press play, save $180.

Second runner-up: Ryan Bingham
Ryan, your show was really good, but your forcefully over-graveled voice makes Sling Blade sound like Allison Krauss. Get real, guy.

The Most Likely to End Up In Hell award goes to me, for several reasons, but specifically for taking a picture of a young woman whose calves were wildly disproportionate in size. When I realized she had palsy, I deleted the picture. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about it (except to say that the difference in calf-size was tremendous and that she was pretty hot (aside from the tremendous difference in calf-size, I mean).

The “Alright, Guys, Surely We Can Figure Out a Way to Make a Rap Concert Sound Better Than This” Award goes to Ninjasonik. These guys were the effing worst and no amount of gimmicky lines (“Somebody’s gonna get prennant”) or even gimmickier remixes (“Do the Bartman”? Really?) could save their show. If you really want to know what they’re like live, step on a bass drum every second for 5 minutes and yell “NINJA FUCKIN’ SONIK WE ARE SONIC FUCKIN’ NINJAS” non-stop with one of your friends. Congratulations, you are now a sonic fuckin’ ninja.

The Funniest Artist Award goes to Dan Black. After getting the crowd to clap with the beat, he acted like every clap was affecting his body sexually. When he’d had his fun he muttered into the microphone, “Ooh ACL, you’s a bad bitch!” Also, every time he sang the line“Let my loneliness get blown away” from his smash-hit “Symphonies” he did the jerk-off motion with his hands. Classic comedy.

Runner Up: Mayer Hawthorne for recounting a story wherein one of his fans asked for an autograph and said “you’re Michael Buble, right?” So maybe his fan is really the funny one, but whatever. The crowd got a pretty good chuckle out of that one.

The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards for this year go to:

The Black Keys – We couldn’t really get close enough to feel like we were a part of the show, but we could hear them pretty well, and damn can these guys play. Just sit there, close your eyes, and listen.

Matt and Kim – These two really rocked the crowd. We were pretty far back, but their vibe carried halfway across the park. Really good stuff.

Miike Snow – Our first show of the weekend, and a great way to start.

Gogol goddamn Bordello – So much energy. I wish they had played more songs I knew (namely “American Wedding”), but you have got to see these crazy fuckers perform live. They could write an entire song about how much they hate my guts and I would love it.

The Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to Dan Black. Actually, it was a fortunately small crowd for us. My lady friend, who has a musical boner the size of an elphant for Dan Black, was able to get pretty close to the stage with minimal effort. I heard variations on the following conversation several times throughout the show:

Shirtless frat guy 1: “Who is this guy?"
Shirtless frat guy 2: “I dunno, but he’s really good!”
Shirtless frat guy 1: “Yeah! Beer and New Balance and shit!” *fist pound*

If Dan Black doesn’t have a bigger stage and a bigger crowd next year, you’re all assholes.

Runner-up: The Sword
The Sword rules and more people should know it.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for. The award of all awards, the reason people attend ACL in the first place...drum roll, please...

And the winner of 2010's Maddest Hatter Award is this fuckin' guy:

Come on, buddy.

Well, that does it for 2010. I know I say this every year, but within the first 10 minutes of arriving at ACL, I swore to God I would never come back. The crowds were insane, the walk to the park was interminable, the heat was ridiculous even in October, but before the first night was even over I was planning on buying tickets for 2011. If you like music, road trips, cleavage, and overpriced beer, I strongly encourage you to attend next year’s festival. I’ve been 4 years running and it keeps getting better.

D-R-A-M-A

2010-08-17T22:11:00.000-07:00

Dear readers, if you still exist, you might have noticed I haven't posted in months. The reason is simple: I've written my first novel. It is being released in paperback this fall. This is the cover:

It is exactly one page long and has been reproduced in its entirety starting...NOW:

To my wife, who puts up with that goofy picture of me yelling way more than she should have to.

INTRODUCTION

On a recent flight from Dallas to Atlanta, I overheard the conversation on the following page. Everything inside quotation marks is exactly as it happened (for serious). Everything else is all in my head, though I'm pretty sure it was also in our protagonist's head.

CHAPTER 1
"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

Harold awoke in a daze, his eyes opening slowly.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

"I'm sorry?" Harold mumbled, still not entirely sure someone was even speaking to him.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

"I'll have a water."

The stewardess, steady as ever, had seen this coming. She hesitated for only a moment, punctuating her annoyance. Her tone sharpened.

"I don't have that, sir, I have pretzels, peanuts, or cookies."

Harold's mind reeled. Time seemed to stop, though he couldn't shake the feeling that time was moving faster for everyone around him. No water, he thought. Jesus Christ, how long have I been asleep? He attempted to gather his confidence, but the look on his face gave him away. He was so completely lost.

Get it together, Harry. Tell the lady what you want.

"Pretzels, please."

He immediately and almost literally tried to pull the words back into his mouth as he furrowed his brow and silently asked himself: What the fuck are pretzels? Before he could even attempt to think of an answer to his own question, there was a flash of blue light mere inches from his face. Harold's world was upended again as he tried to differentiate left from right, up from down. He would have bet everything in his pockets that the pilot was doing barrel rolls.

"Sir?"

Until now, Harold was plunging from everything he knew into madness. This simple word, however, reached out over the ledge and grabbed his hand at the last possible second. He instantly snapped back to life despite his heart feeling like it was still falling. As he regained his equilibrium, the blue light came into focus. He turned toward it and was able to make out what appeared to be a small, blue bag with the word "Pretzels" on it. Underneath the package was a square, white napkin. Underneath that, a woman's hand. Harold was angry with himself, ashamed. He should have had his shit together at this point, but no water? What the hell?

"Ah, thank you," he replied with an embarrassed smile.

Ohh, that's right, Harold thought as he took his snack from the woman. Memories of pretzels past came flooding back. His reminiscing was cut short, however, as he heard a familiar phrase come from behind him. Familiar, but still, for all his efforts he couldn't quite place it. The phrase would come to haunt him for years. It was fainter now, like a haunting echo. A reminder of some terror from his past, but what, exactly? That free-fall sensation crept up on him again.

"Would you like pretzels, peanuts, or cookies, sir?"

He was brought back to his senses by the sound of a loud crunch. Looking down at his hands he could see he had a death grip on his pretzels, his subconscious's way of ensuring the waterfall of sweat pouring from his palms didn't send the pretzels crashing to the ground. Oh, goddammit, he thought as he gently brought his head back to rest on his seat. I wanted motherfucking cookies.

THE END

The Raoul: A Pictorial

2010-04-01T22:24:00.000-07:00

Recently Raoul posted a picture on facebook that was just too perfect. He was wearing simple clothing on a simple background with an object in is hand...all the elements needed for an easy Photoshop or nine. I racked my brain for a good while and came up with some pictures that at least made me laugh. I hope they do the same for you. Side note: At this point, if you know Raoul in real life and didn't know him to be "Raoul," well, I feel bad for you, son.

Here's the picture I started with:

The first step was to remove the phone to allow for other items. I had to do a little rebuilding of the clothing and the straps, but it turned out much better than I thought I was capable of (read: it was a totally awesome accident):

I call this one "Thundercats! Hoooooooooooooo(rah)":

Here we see the Raoul on the verge of making it rain:

And here we have the Raoul mid-bow just seconds before whipping your ass:

Speaking of ass-whippings, here's the Raoul partaking in a little rochambeau:

You think he was just born with those skills?:

Here's the Raoul in his most natural environment:

In case you didn't know, the Raoul has been in Hawaii for some time now. I imagine this is what he looks like most days:

And finally, I fucking KNEW it!

Alright, that's enough of that. Special thanks to:
-The hooker in the blow job picture. It took several days of photo-shoots to get that one right, but she was a good sport.
-Morgan Freeman for being.
-Raoul for giving me free reign to do whatever I wanted to that picture. A lesser man would object to being on the internet in a coconut bra.

U.S. Fuckin' A.: A Fairly Ridiculous and Somewhat Skewed Look at The United States of America's Olympic Performance History

2010-03-08T22:08:00.000-08:00

If you know me, you know just how insane for America I am. You can see then how frustrating the world has been for me lately, given the increased competition among the world's superpowers. Even the most hardcore patriot has trouble finding areas in which the U.S. truly dominates the world anymore. I mean, it's old news that the U.S. has never lost a war ever and always wins wars always and it's not like the dollar is respected internationally like it once was. So how is a guy like me supposed to measure the success of his country without referencing money or war (support our troops)? Athletics you say? I can run with that.

Recently I Googled "olympic medal count by country" and was directed to this Wikipedia page. It's an impressive table, but I didn't feel it adequately portrayed the sheer dominance of America. Hell, all the other countries are even written in the same size font! At least bold America's results, for Christ's sake. Anyway, after I got done reading this obviously-made-by-a-Communist chart, I decided to run my own numbers. After a few minutes of data entry into Excel, some fascinating (if not obvious) stats began to surface. Now, I had originally intended to calculate some fairly complicated statistics on the data, but I keep forgetting to bring my TI-83 home from work. Instead I put a variety of Excel functions to work in order to illustrate my point and came up with the following Top 5 Winningest Nations lists (NOTE: The following lists are based on nations who have won at least 100 total medals in all the Olympics they've appeared in, because if you haven't won at least 100 at this point, why do you even bother showing up at the games anymore?):

Total Medals:
1. United States - 2548
2. Soviet Union - 1204
3. Great Britain - 737
4. France - 730
5. Germany - 719

That's right, the U.S. more than doubles the 2nd place nation, which doesn't even exist anymore. That means the U.S. more than triples its closest competition...and we're just getting started. Here's a further breakdown of those numbers:

Total Gold Medals:
1. United States - 1016
2. Soviet Union - 473
3. Germany - 233
4. Italy - 227
5. France - 218

Total Silver Medals:
1. United States - 824
2. Soviet Union - 376
3. Great Britain - 258
4. France - 239
5. Germany - 235

Total Bronze Medals:
1. United States - 708
2. Soviet Union - 355
3. France - 273
4. Great Britain - 263
5. Germany - 251

Does anyone else have an erection yet? Good. Now let's look at the average amount of medals won per nation per Olympic Games. These numbers are a little misleading because there are way more medals up for grabs during the Summer Olympics and there have been 5 more Summer Games than Winter Games. Still, the evidence is clear: America kicks serious ass. (NOTE: For this category I discarded the results for nations that were no longer in existence, because there's no way for their numbers to ever get worse, and that's not fair.)

Average Total Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 55
2. Russia - 35
3. Germany - 30
4. China - 26
5. Great Britain - 16

And again, a breakdown of the domination:

Average Gold Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 22
2. Russia - 12
3. China - 10
4. Germany - 10
5. Italy - 5

Average Silver Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 18
2. Russia - 11
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 8
5. Great Britain - 5

Average Bronze Medals Won Per Olympic Games
1. United States - 15
2. Russia - 12
3. Germany - 10
4. China - 7
5. France - 6

Noticing a pattern? Now let's look at a breakdown of what percentage of total medals are Gold, Silver, and Bronze per nation.

% Gold Medals
1. China - 41%
2. United States - 40%
3. Italy - 36%
4. Norway - 36%
5. South Korea - 35%

Alright, so we can't win EVERYTHING, but 1%? Check with me in 2012 and we'll see what's up.

% Silver Medals
1. Spain - 43%
2. Bulgaria - 39%
3. Greece - 39%
4. Denmark - 37%
5. Belgium - 36%

OH NO WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPEN-oh wait...Silver? B.F.D.

% Bronze Medals
1. Ukraine - 49%
2. Poland - 45%
3. Romania - 40%
4. Austria - 39%
5. Denmark - 39%

The U.S. could not be found on this list because it was too busy trying to find a container big enough to hold all its Gold medals. It's still looking. Here now are some more interesting numbers that demonstrate the obvious:

Get this: The United States accounts for 19% of all Gold medals ever won. Put another way, nearly 1 out of every 5 Gold medals ever won in the Olympics belongs to an American.
...15% of Silver medals ever won.
...13% of Bronze medals ever won.
...16% of Total medals ever won.

Also, the U.S.'s Gold medals total (1,016) is 26 times the average amount of Gold medals won by other nations (39).
...Silver medals total (824) is 21 times the average amount of Silver medals won by other nations (39).
...Bronze medals total (708) is 17 times the average amount of Bronze medals won by other nations (41).
...Total medals total (2548) is 21 times the average amount of total medals won by other nations (119).

Some of you may be thinking "Sure, but America has more people than a lot of countries." Alright, Nancy, let's take a look at medal winnings per capita:

Total Medals:
1. Norway - 9.20E-05
2. Finland - 8.49E-05
3. Sweden - 6.47E-05
4. Hungary - 4.64E-05
5. Switzerland - 3.96E-05

Gold Medals:
1. Norway - 3.31E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.03E-05
4. Hungary - 1.59E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.14E-05

Silver Medals:
1. Norway - 3.17E-05
2. Finland - 2.65E-05
3. Sweden - 2.07E-05
4. Hungary - 1.43E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.38E-05

Bronze Medals:
1. Finland - 3.19E-05
2. Norway - 2.72E-05
3. Sweden - 2.37E-05
4. Hungary - 1.63E-05
5. Switzerland - 1.44E-05

*Ahem* Moving on...

Some of the last things I considered were "What if the USSR was still in existence?" and "What if I counted all of the different variations of Germany as one nation?" Would either of them measure up to America? *scoff* See for yourself:

Nation	# Games	G	S	B	T	G/T	S/T	B/T
United States	46	1016	824	708	2548	.3987	.3234	.2779
All Soviet Team	30	702	613	669	1984	.3538	.3090	.3372
All German Team	41	528	542	548	1618	.3263	.3350	.3387

From this table we can see a few things:
1. Germans sure are athletic for a bunch of white men (by "men" I'm referring also to German women, because, come on...)
2. If the USSR was as good at existing as it was at the Olympics, the world would be a redder place.
3. The Germans really love finishing in 3rd place.
4. Even giving other nations the benefit of the doubt, the U.S. still destroys the competition.

Well, that's all the real stats for this monstrous post. If you'd like to see just how ridiculous this got, you can download the original spreadsheet here (NOTE: If you actually look at this thing, you should know that I estimated the population of East and West Germany by taking the population of Germany and dividing it in half because the logic in that is flawless. For the population of Czechoslovakia, I combined the current populations of Slovakia and The Czech Republic. Can you tell the difference? I didn't think so.). Also, I'd like to personally apologize to Sir Fats. I know he only comes here for the pictures, but I spent more time on this spreadsheet than I care to divulge and, frankly, the numbers say it better than Photoshop can.

BONUS SECTION
Holy Shit (Or "Things I Discovered While Writing This Blog"):

Japan has 1/3 the population of the United States, but all of Japan could fit inside Montana.
Only 3 nations have competed in all 47 Olympics: France, Great Britain, and Switzerland.
Originally I calculated the population of the USSR as simply twice Russia's population as a joke and got 283,854,594. Then I added up the populations of all the current nations that used to be a part of the USSR and got 285,230,673, which is remarkably close when you consider I was estimating hundreds of millions of people.
I cannot spell "Bulgaria" correctly on the first try, ever.
If there's ever another draft, fuck Canada, I'm moving to Norway.

Pick-Up Schmucks

2010-02-19T10:04:00.000-08:00

I seem to get hit on by guys quite a bit. Context clues lead me to conclude a few different things. First, and this I take as a compliment, apparently I look gay. Second, I must look relatively easy. Third, I’m not completely repulsive in terms of appearance. You might think it’s weird that I get hit on specifically by guys, but when you consider the passiveness of straight women, the wedding ring on my finger, and the fact that I frequent gay bars, it’s not so unusual…usually.

It can definitely be flattering to be hit on. I’m not sexually interested in men, but who doesn’t like to be told “I find you attractive”? In most cases I can just say something like “Ahh, thanks. I’m straight, so you’re probably better off spending your time on another guy…sorry.”

I used to humor people, but on one occasion someone bought me a shot, found out I was married, and then insulted my wife, which resulted in me uncharacteristically threatening to beat the shit out of him. Now though, a quick “thanks, but no thanks” usually does the trick.

However, every now and again I have no idea how to react to a situation. Someone either says something ridiculously weird or goes way over the top. For example, “I love the taste of your hair” is a little weird and something like “I want to fuck you right where you are standing” is a little strong. I haven’t actually heard those exact lines, but once you hear the stories below, you'll see how those would be appreciated.

One time I was walking my dog. A man who looked and sounded EXACTLY like Amante Kabundi (that’s for all zero of you that went to high school with me) pulled up in a pimped-out, silver Dodge Magnum. He slowed to a stop as he neared me and rolled down his window. This is how that went:

Amante Lookalike: Do I get to get walked next?

Fuckmurder McGillicutty: Excuse me?

AL: Can I be next?

FM: What?

AL: Do I get to get walked next?

FM: Um, if you...want to???

AL: Do I get to get walked next?

FM: What???

AL: Nevermind, baby.

And then he drove off. I don’t even know if it was a pickup line. Maybe he really needed to be walked. This probably happened a year ago and I still haven’t figured it out. I mean, hell, I answered his fucking question with what at the time seemed like a quick way to disarm him, but in retrospect was probably the answer that was most likely to result in me winding up on the business end of some dude’s butthole…but then he asked it again. If any of you figures out what this guy wanted, please let me know. It’s been bothering me for awhile now.

Then recently as I was, incidentally, walking the dogs at night, a car crept up to me with its windows down. Coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road, the driver said quickly “vant koompani?” I did my damnedest to ignore him and just kept on walking down the sidewalk. Apparently he thought I was playing coy, because he sped off, turned around, and drove by a second time, but I picked up the pace and got back inside before he had a chance to lay his smooth, Russian mumble on me again. I could maybe understand if I was walking down the street with my pants around my ankles, but I had my dogs with me. Suppose I did vant koompani. What would I do with the dogs? How do I know he’s not into beastiality and he's just using me to get to my animals? The scariest part about this guy was that I’d be willing to bet he was using that line because it’s actually worked before. Who are these people?

Then, get this, a few weeks ago I was at a gay bar. Some dude said to me “If I had to fuck your wife to be able to fuck you, I would.” I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. Just so we’re clear, “If I had to fuck your wife…” are the words least likely to get you laid by me, next to “It’s good to see you, son.”

But this guy didn’t stop. No, he proceeded to drunk at me “My dad is Irish and my mom is Brazilian so I really like guys with red facial hair and green eyes…I think it’s really hot.” Then he stared suggestively at me.

Some of you might have never seen me, so for the sake of the story I need to include a brief physical description of myself here: I have red facial hair and green eyes.

From context clues I gathered that this joker might as well have been staring suggestively at his father. I don’t have anything to say about this that could make it any more hilarious/disturbing, so I’ll just ask you to read it again and let it simmer in your brain for a minute. This is, without a doubt, the worst pickup line I have ever heard. If you’ve heard worse, I’d love for you to share. Bad pickup lines are goddamn entertaining (at least I hope, considering that was the premise around which I based this entire post).

!!!BONUS PICKUP LINE!!!: one time my wife was dancing at a bar and some joker got all up in her business and said “Damn, girl…you built like a soap dish!” First person to decipher that one gets $50.*

*No they don’t.

Bucket List: The Third

2010-02-08T22:36:00.000-08:00

Let’s all just forget that I haven’t posted anything in several months and move on, ok? Frequenters of my blog might recall a little ol’ thing we around here like to call the bucket list. Well it’s back, baby. Despite Raoul living it up in Hawaii (seriously…he’s getting paid to blow things up, drink beer, and go to the beach), we put our heads together yet again and realized there is still so much to accomplish before we die. We've compiled our third list of stuff to do before we suck the bucket below. At this point you should know the drill, but in case you’ve slept since my last bucket list, here are the rules: I’m odd, Raoul is even, and Morgan Freeman is fucking evil.

1. Suck the poison out.
2. Escape from prison.
3. Swallow something whole.
4. Earn more nicknames than anyone.
5. Learn to tell time without using a watch.
6. Hang low.
7. Spell “bourgeoisie” correctly without having to look it up. Dammit.
8. Throw a dart through someone’s ear.
9. Masturbate outside.
10. Perform an exorcism.
11. Create my own flag.
12. Armwrestle an albino.
13. Wear someone’s name out.
14. Put someone in their place (see #12)
15. Start a mosh pit in a grocery store.
16. Audibly scoff at a jury’s verdict.
17. Revel in someone’s glory (preferably mine).
18. ~~Commit perjury.~~
19. Feel the burn.
20. Find a hooker to change my diaper.
21. Make a comeback.
22. Navigate using only the stars.
23. Swing it to the drums.
24. Own a compound.
25. Swing it to guitar.
26. Get stationed in Area 51.
27. Swing it to the bass in the back of my car.
28. Own a hyperbaric chamber.
29. Finish my voodoo training.
30. Take over Hollywood.
31. Stick to someone else’s guns.
32. Get a Purple Heart. (possible, given Raoul is now a Marine)
33. Throw a ball back.
34. Kill a human. (also possible)
35. Complete my manifesto.
36. Score 300 on the USMC PFT. (that's short for the United States Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test. "I bet I can do it," you might say. "Doubtful," I would counter. To get a perfect score of 300, you've got to do 20 pull-ups (sorry ladies), 100 crunches within 2 minutes, run 3 miles in under 18 minutes, and eat an entire cake in 3 seconds. *snicker*)
37. Yell “show us your tits” somewhere.
38. Remember that other thing I wanted to put on my bucket list.

P.S., I Love You – Part 2

2009-10-20T21:34:00.000-07:00

Alright, everyone. It’s time for the thrilling conclusion to last month’s Photoshop cliffhanger. Actually, before we get into that I feel I should let you know that I screwed the pooch on last month’s entry. I forgot I submitted an entry into the “Awesome Ways to Quit Your Job” Photoshop contest. This one was actually before the patriotism one. My deepest apologies for cocking up the chronology of this thing. God, I’m such a fucking asshole. Anyway, here was my entry for that one:

I liked it and it got a little love on the forums so even though it did not place, I was pleased.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Now it’s time to hop back in the time machine and warp through some continuum or whatever right past the Patriotism contest. That should bring us to the “Worst Possible Time to Get an Erection” contest. I’m a little ashamed to admit how much time I spent thinking about this one. A good amount of the entries showed a fundamental misunderstanding of male anatomy, but the ones that looked somewhat realistic were awesome. None of mine placed, but here they are anyway:

For those of you that don’t know, that last one comes from a gameshow where you have to stand in the same shape as the hole in the wall. The wall moves slowly toward you, so if you aren’t making the right shape, you’ll get knocked into water or something like that. It’d be bad enough to get knocked off of a stage because of your boner, but can you imagine trying to hide a boner in a jumpsuit? As a side note, if you haven’t seen this, you should. It’s pretty SFW, as if Sir Fats even cares.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

The next contest was “Movie Plots That Could Have Been Solved in Minutes.” I did 2 entries for this one, both of which I was really proud of. I was actually surprised this one hadn’t been done by the time I submitted it, but it got 6th place and was used as the banner ad for the article on the front page. It’s always awesome to see something you’ve created get any kind of exposure, even if the viewers have no idea who I am. Here it is:

I also did this one:

Don’t worry, there’s no shame in Googling “John Kimble” if you don’t get the joke at first. I’ll wait.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Got it? Good. That was a really late entry and as you can see it didn’t make the finals, but it’s probably one of my favorite shops I’ve done.

And now, at long last, we come to the conclusion of this interminable clip show. The most recent contest I entered was “If Sarcasm Ruled the World.” Here are my two entries:

After the stop sign one got 4th place, I decided to take a break and give other people a chance to not win anything. Actually, I just have not had any decent ideas for the last few contests, but I’m not worried. You see, ideas are like orgasms, they come in spurts. So what if I don’t have any orgasms for a month or so? If the world knows what’s good for it, it will brace itself for the impending Photoshop bukkake I’m about to unleash all over its face. Too much? You better believe it.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

Thanks for putting up with my posting some older stuff that I've done. Some of those creations took WAY more time than you would think and I wanted to share them with someone. Who better than the unsuspecting victims loyal readers of my blog?

ACL Awards 2009

2009-10-05T22:21:00.000-07:00

If any of you have read my blog for at least a year, you’ll remember that last year I gave out awards for the annual Austin City Limits music festival. Well, it’s that time again as I attended my third straight ACL this past weekend. In case you didn’t know (I’m looking disapprovingly at you, Sir Fats), ACL and South by Southwest are NOT the same thing. They are roughly 6 months apart, take place in entirely different parts of town, and attract acts of varying popularity (though they are all musical...I think…Bjork performed at ACL 2 years ago and I would classify that more as an audio interpretation of a really confusing nightmare). In the days leading up to ACL 2009, my only concern was getting to see Flogging Molly whilst drunk. After that, I would be happy to just see 4 or 5 shows a day. My wife and I managed to make all that happen and we ended up having a really great weekend after getting off to a slow start. Don’t worry. I’m not going to bore you with my minute by minute schedule. I know you’re just here for the awards and the scenery, so without further ado…

The Surprise of the Year Award this year goes to The Felice Brothers who were one of my top 3 favorite acts of the weekend. The amount of time I spend listening to them will increase dramatically now that I’ve actually heard of them. Their performance certainly didn’t feel like it was a 1:15 pm show.

Runners-up:
Phoenix – I hadn’t had much exposure at all to this band before ACL, but they kept the whole crowd rocking throughout their entire performance. They also had probably the most humble lead singer of any band, who proclaimed they had never performed in front of a crowd of that size and said “thank you” about a brazillion times.

!!! (pronounced “chkchkchk”) – These guys know how to move a crowd (physically, not emotionally…or bowelly)

This year’s Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy for making me second guess my stance on the existence of ghosts:

I swear to you that photo is not altered in any way.

The Kiss My Dick Award for this year goes to Salt Lick Barbeque. More like DICK Lick Barbeque, right? Or Salt DICK Barbeque, yeah? Or maybe BALL SICK FARTONYOU seriously guys who’s with me???

$7 for a pulled pork sandwich is fine. $7 for a large spoonful of completely dry pork topped with cabbage and two tiny squirts of BBQ sauce is Kiss My Dickable.

Runner-up: Some stupid asshole in line at the port-o-potties. While waiting in line Saturday for my turn to piss, the guy a few people up from me went into the stall and forgot to lock the door. So, on the exterior door handle was a giant green circle, which usually means “come on in!” But in this instance, since probably 30 people saw him go in there, everyone remained in line…except for one stupid asshole. This woman, maybe 25, crossed the no-man’s land between where the line starts and the stench begins and before she could even finish “HEY IS THERE ANYONE IN THIS ONE?” she had ripped the door open, which prompted everyone in line to issue a rousing “WHOA, SOMEONE’S IN THERE!” This girl knew that. She had to know that. She was standing right next to me. There were 4 or 5 people in front of her waiting for the same stall. Now, I had consumed a beer or two at this point, but for whatever reason I felt it necessary to say to her “Yeah, that’s why there are lines.” She walked up to me, did something nonsensical with her hands (ask me next time you see me and I’ll show you) and said “I GET IT.” Luckily, the lines had my back. The guy next to me says to her “But, do you really?” Anyway, fuck that woman.

The “Seriously, Do All Rap Concerts Sound Like This?" Award for this year goes to Mos Def. Not only did Mos Def show up 30 minutes late for his concert that was scheduled to last only 1 hour, but he proceeded to beat seemingly randomly on drums and freestyle the entire time. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe those were his songs. But I’ve heard Mos Def before, and he is fucking brilliant. This show, however, was annoyingly boring.

The Funniest Artist Award this year goes to Dave King of Flogging Molly. I had originally typed out the reasons why, but this was really one of those “you had to be there” things. Trust me, he was way funnier than anyone else. I was drunk at the time, but for some reason I got a good kick out of him telling the audience, "Come on Austin, give us those fingers." Damn near everyone obliged.

Runner-up: The male lead singer of !!!, who claimed that every time he said “goddammit,” the band’s drummer smiled (and boy did he). He must have said “goddammit” about 100 times. He also borrowed an umbrella from a fan and a line from the Talking Heads when he said “You may ask yourself, this is not my fucking umbrella, goddammit!” It doesn’t make sense, but neither do most Talking Heads songs.

The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:

The B-52s – Sure, I spent most of the time just waiting for Love Shack and Rock Lobster, but they were way more energetic than I expected them to be. I’ve never seen so many middle-aged people dancing in my life.

White Lies – the last show we saw of the whole festival. Yes, we left early, but damn if this wasn’t a good note to end on.

Flogging Molly – Drunken jigs were being danced all over the damn place. Even if you don’t typically like their music, you should go to one of their shows and drink your fool head off. If you don’t have a good time, I hate you.

Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears – If you took James Brown and Sly and the Family Stone, put them in a jar, and shook it up, the result would be Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears. Seriously energetic, soulful performance. The only knock on them would be their horn “solos” that started off promising and never really went anywhere.

The first ever Unfortunately Small Crowd Award goes to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs who put on a damn good show that truly exceeded my expectations. You see, Kings of Leon were playing at the same time as this show, so most of the festival crowd was clear across the park when the Yeah Yeah Yeahs went on stage. Until this weekend, my only real exposure to them was playing “Maps” in Rock Band, a song I wasn’t real crazy about, but they sure are fun to watch live. And I’m not at all attracted to her, but I think having sex with lead singer Karen O would be the loudest and most awesomely disorienting seizuregasm ever. I’d also be afraid of where she’d try to stick the microphone, but I'd probably just go along with it.

The Weirdest Freak Out Award goes to my festival partner (my wife), whose wristband was on so tight that the universe was collapsing on itself, to hear her tell it.

The Shittiest Performance Award goes to K’Naan. K’Naan was actually awesome, but he had the misfortune of performing at the stage closest to the toilets. See what I did there? With that award title? That, my friends, is a little play on words that maybe leaves you confused for a bit, but explains it in due time, all while making you question the very essence of your being.

The Band I’m Least Likely to Continue Listening To After ACL Award goes to Them Crooked Vultures. There’s no denying the talent that makes up this group. Shit, one quarter of my favorite band of all time is in it! That being said, we saw their entire show and for whatever reason, I just wasn’t feeling it. Dave Grohl on the drums live is a sight to see, though.

And now for the crowning achievement of the entire weekend and what I hope becomes a recurring award for many years…The Most Likely to Lay Himself at My Feet, Rub His Breasts, and Accidentally Run His Knuckles Across My Shin While Fixing His Hair Award goes to this guy:

Thank you for invading my personal space. It was the realest experience I’ve had in awhile.

Well, folks, that’s pretty much a wrap for this year’s festival. The weather and the seemingly ridiculous amount of people made me seriously question whether or not I would attend again, but hell if my wife and I didn’t leave the festival already talking about buying tickets for next year. ACL 2010 or bust!

P.S., I Love You – Part 1

2009-09-22T19:31:00.000-07:00

I have a confession. I’ve been making other people laugh. But don’t worry, baby. It didn’t mean anything. In fact, I don’t even remember their names. Wait, yes I do. It was Cracked.com. If you know me, you’ve probably heard me talked about Cracked.com an unhealthy amount of times. And if you’re mad about my lack of posting over basically the entire summer, you can blame it all on Cracked’s weekly Photoshop contests. That and Tetris, actually. So basically what happens each week is this: Cracked’s Editor starts a forum thread with a theme for the week, and it’s up to the readers to submit their best entry. At the end of the week, winners are chosen by I-have-no-idea-who and posted as an article on the homepage. Only 1st place wins anything, but there are usually 20 pages worth of entries, so to make the final 15 or 20 (the number of finalists varies) feels pretty damn good. Since I know most of you don’t spend any time on Cracked.com (shame, shame), I decided to share my Photoshop entries with both of you here. Here’s what I’ve been doing all this time:

A year ago one of the themes was “Campaign Ads if the Legal Voting Age Was Six.” Here are my two entries:

I know this was way before I failed to update my blog frequently, but there’s a reason I’m showing you these. The second one actually made it to the finals! 20th place, but still. Actually, I thought the first one was funnier, but as long as one of my entries made it, who gives a shit's fuck, right?

Click here to see all of the finalists.

After this contest, I was hooked. I submitted entries whenever I thought of a good idea, but I spent most of the next several months making an image and then deleting it at the last second. A few months ago, though, I got brave and started submitting more regularly. The week before July 4th, the theme was “Ill-conceived Patriotic Displays.” I submitted another couple of entries for this one:

The RealDoll entry actually ended up in third, the highest I’ve placed ever. I felt really good about that entry, but goddamn if the winner wasn’t one of the best entries I’ve seen in any of the contests.

Click here to see all of the finalists.

The next contest I entered was “Inventions We Badly Need at the Office (or Workplace).” If you’re reading this blog at work (I’m lookin’ at you, Sir Fats), this should be right up your alley. Here are my two entries:

Neither of them were finalists, but I still really enjoyed making both of them. Also, they got a good amount of love from some people in the forum, so I'm happy.

Click here to see all the finalists.

Well, I know we just got started, but this took way longer than I thought it would to track everything down, so that's it for now. Oh, and sorry I just posted the internet version of a clip-show, but at least there's something to look forward to!

The Book of Gregori

2009-08-02T09:38:00.000-07:00

Well, another of my friends moved away, so apparently God hates me. Either that or I’m such a dick that people don’t even want to be in the same state as me…and this is a huge fucking state. This time it was Xander, who you also might recognize from previous posts in this blog. Xander has gone on to a better place. No, he's not dead (I think...I haven't talked to him in a couple of days), he's just moved to his paradise. His absence for me means less tennis, less drinking, less ultimate, less cricket, and a serious dearth of me getting to slap him in the face. Again I’m really damn late on this, but below is another send-off straight from the pages of the Ablakalyptical Bible.

¹And again the prophet appeared unto them.

²“Where the hell did you go?” they asked of him, in unison.

³“LO!” cried the prophet. “There is no time for explanation, for soon cometh yet another Horseman of the Ablakalypse…Der Xander!”

“Der Xander?” they questioned. ⁴“What manner of creature is this?”

⁵“Lo,” whispered the prophet, “The Xander is a foul beast what dons the sandals of Jesus and stands some 8 feet tall, his hair eternally mussed and filthy, for he bathes not. His gigantic frame alloweth him to withstand the mighty force of a whirlwind. On his arms he bears markings what resembleth each century he hath spent imprisoned within the center of the earth. ⁶That number is 6. ⁷He freedeth himself and now stumbleth across the land, drunken and surrounded by his army of massive canines. From his pockets he pulleth an endless supply of darts, which he zingeth with impeccable accuracy. On his back resteth a barrel of ale that cannot be emptied, no matter how frequently one sups from the bunghole. In his right hand he wieldeth the Hammer of Thor, with which he slayeth his enemies by whacking them about the head.”

⁸“Lo!” the people gasped. “Der Xander hath conquered the Norse god of thunder???”

“What? Oh, nay,” said the prophet. “The Hammer of Thor is but a tennis racket…”

“Oh,” the people said flatly.

“…BUT IT IS WICKED AND INDESTRUCTIBLE!!!” shouted the prophet. “He payeth no regard for human life, for…” the prophet trailed off.

“For what?” the crowd beseeched him.

⁹“For he rideth his dual-wheeled chariot in the middle of thy path!” said the prophet.

¹⁰The crowd gasped. “NO!” cried a crowd member. “Surely not!” explained another.

¹¹“I tell you no lie, but ye shall have warning when he appraocheth. When thou heareth the horrid hiss of ‘yassuh,’ cleaneth the shite from thy drawers and escapeth posthaste” said the prophet. “And finally,” the prophet started.

¹²“There’s more?” the crowd interrupted.

“Lo,” continued the prophet, “perhaps the most heinous and grievous thing about this towering monster…” the prophet quieted.

“Tell us!” pleaded the crowd. “We must know!”

¹³The prophet continued in a hushed voice and more gravely than ever before, “Der Xander weareth his sunglasses at night.”

¹⁴At this, the women fainted and the men wailed.

¹⁵“It cannot be!” the eldest of the crowd shouted maniacally.

¹⁶“Lo! Tis true! SEE FOR YOURSELVES!”

¹⁷The prophet dropped to his knees and again scrawled an image in the sand:

¹⁸The crowd raised their heads to find the prophet had yet again disappeared. From afar they heard the faintest cry: “Yaaaaasssssssssuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh............YYYYYYYAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH...” the chant grew louder.

¹⁷And the people, having just recovered from their previous defecation, did shit themselves once more.

Best of luck in Colorado, you goddamn hippie.

Fan Service

2009-06-03T22:57:00.000-07:00

I don't do this for just anyone.

The Book of Muja

2009-05-26T18:48:00.000-07:00

If you’ve read more than one of my blogs, you might have noticed the name “Raoul” popping up a lot. Well, Raoul is a good friend of mine who recently joined the Marines (no big deal). As it turns out, most of my blogs were inspired by some ridiculous conversation Raoul and I would have, so now that he’s gone he’s basically fucked my shit up. Well, not really, but the bars are way less boring when he’s not there getting punched in the face by a lesbian (true story). Anyway, this is a couple of weeks late, but I thought I’d send him off in style by devoting an entire Book in the Ablakalyptical Bible to him. You say “blasphemy,” I say “quit being such a martyr.” (double blaspheme!)

¹And the prophet shouted unto them “Lo, the end is nigh! The young demonspawn hath begun his training. Steel yourselves for annihilation, good people, though preparation against so formidable a beast shall surely be for naught. ²Soon, the Raoul, a dreaded Horseman of the Ablakalypse, shall obliterate existence with the swipe of his menacing hand and the monstrous force of his powerful grimace.”

³“Lo!” said they unto him, “How shall we know tis this ‘the Raoul’ of whom you speak that cometh?”

⁴The prophet replied “Tis not possible to mistaketh the presence of the Raoul! ⁵He wandreth the Earth, his frame slightly taller than average. In his right hand he holdeth a wicked and dull machete. In his left, a bowling ball emblazoned with the visage of the one they call ‘Mickey Mouse.’ On his back hangeth a satchel, from whence the Raoul produceth an endless supply of bricks, which he mightily heaveth upon those he wisheth to smite, all the while shouting ‘The Ablakalypse is NOW, motherfuckers!”

⁶But, lo! Before you see him, you will smell the impending doom what wafteth from his Enchanted Necklace. This fabled totem, as aged as the Raoul himself and fashioned from the ears of those who dare standeth in his path, serveth as a notice that death itself is assured.”

⁷“Lo!” they shouted again, “That’s nasty!”

⁸“AYE…TIS!!!” the prophet confirmed. ⁹”But, lo! Before you smell this insidious amulet, you will hear the horrid cry of the wretched beast upon which he rideth: a camel continually dying, but never dead. Many fool, upon hearing this despicable sound, assume safety, for what damage can be done at the hooves of a dying camel? ¹⁰But, lo! Tis not the camel thou must fear! Tis the Raoul!”

¹¹“Lo!” they shouted a third time, “We are not impressed!”

¹²“Lo!” replied the priest. “Your imagination is weak! I shall depicteth the terror for you now here in the dirt.” The priest knelt down and with his stave he scrawled the image of the Raoul in the dirt. (Scholars and archaeologists have found myriad versions claiming to be the one true image of The Raoul. Awhile ago they voted on their favorite and have generously lent it to my blog so that I may spread the word of The Raoul’s coming.)

“Lo!” they gasped. “That looks terrible!”

“Aye! I told you!” replied the priest.

¹³“No!” they said. “We mean, where did you learn to draw? That doesn’t look scary at all!”

¹⁴“I’m drawing in the dirt with a stick!” shouted the priest.

¹⁵“Then how is it colored?” demanded the crowd. When they raised their eyes to the priest, they found he had vanished. In the distance, a camel brayed. ¹⁶And on that day, the people did shit themselves.

The End

But really, best of luck, Raoul. You will certainly be missed…though we’ll be glad to be free of that god-awful ear necklace. Seriously. That thing smelled like shit.

The Origin of (a) Man

2009-05-05T20:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight when I revealed in an exclusive sneak preview that I was going to explain the origin of my name, Raoul, ever supportive of my endeavors, said “Have people been asking?” The answer to that is “no, not one,” but let me challenge you, reader: What would investigative journalism be if I just waited around for everyone else to ask the questions? It’d be sloppy seconds, that’s what. And nobody likes sloppy seconds (except for your father, apparently, who seems to enjoy having sex with your mother immediately after I have, the weirdo). But enough about Raoul Raincloud, this is MY blog, dammit.

Everywhere I go, people want to know “What does Ablakalypse Now mean?” Unfortunately, when strangers accost me, my BenevolenceFilter translates whatever they say into “Can you spare some change? I need to continue my drug habit” so I usually reply with something like, “Frig off, I don't have any food!” It isn’t until much later, as I review the day’s events with a bucket of scotch, that I discover what was actually asked. Well, my friends, if you dare, follow me into the rabbit hole so we can get to the bottom of the relatively simple origin of this blog’s name.

It all began some years ago when I toured the globe as a world-famous rapper. “Blaka,” you see, is my rap name, for it is the sound what my gun(s) makes when it is fired. The fact that my entire persona is named after a gun firing leads one to believe that my gun is fired frequently, and it certainly is, but this is no ordinary gun (more on this in a minute).

Now, when you hear “apocalypse,” you picture one of two things:
1. One of the best supervillains EVER
2. Fire raining from the heavens (in a bad way)

It is in the spirit of #2 that my name arises. So, if we couple my gun, or at least the sound of it (“blaka,” remember? We just fucking talked about this…) with this notion of things falling from the sky, we can then assume that what actually rains from above are bullets from my gun. Fear not, weary travelers, these bullets are not messengers of death, but of laughter. For you see, humor is my ammo. So I guess that makes the computer my gun?

Actually, I’m pretty sure…

Thank you, Stanley Kubrick.

So there you have it, my genesis, if you will. Just a note, if I were a female (only $10,000 more to go!!!), I would have named this blog "Blogging Molly." And I would also totally use my new powers to stare at other girls in the locker room...schwing!

The Sport of Kings

2009-04-02T21:44:00.000-07:00

I love Ultimate. The only thing is, as with all sports, it can get a little routine sometimes. While discussing the finer points of the issue one night, Raoul and I decided to win the lottery and use the money to create a new breed of Ultimate. Inspiration for the new game is drawn from America’s hero: Arnold Schwarzenegger (specifically in The Running Man). The rules are simple: Two teams, Team WidowMaker (comprised of Raoul, Xander, Terrell Owens, Troy Polamalu, Macho Man “Randy Savage,” Mike Tyson, and myself) and Team Daffodil (comprised of death row inmates), compete on a 70 yard field with two 25-yard long endzones. Points are scored by completing a pass to any of your teammates in the correct endzone. If the disc is intercepted or hits the ground at any time, players yell “TURN,” a member of Team Daffodil is exploded, and possession immediately switches hands. Also, the field itself will be surrounded by 80 ft. high walls made of constantly flowing lava. At random intervals, simulated earthquakes will rock the stadium, incapacitating the players who don’t have jetpacks (read: Team Daffodil) and invariably knocking a number of spectators onto the field. Any spectator who lands on the field is required to join Team Daffodil. And there will be polar bears wandering throughout the stadium. And they will be genetically engineered to be GIGANTIC. Yeah, that’s the stuff!

I figure it’ll only take a little bit of start-up capital to get the sport, hereby dubbed SlaughterBall, off the ground. Once things get going we’ll make plenty of money selling merch in the SlaughterMall and food in the Slaughteria, all of which (merch AND food) will be emblazoned with the league’s official logo:

As part of the league’s community outreach, we will host an annual SlaughterBall Youth Physical Education and Leadership Training Camp (SYPHELETC) that reaches out to pansy-ass wimps and trains them to be SlaughterBallers.

As the co-founders of the sport, Raoul and I would be original members of Team WidowMaker. As such, we would need personas and awe-inspiring names like “Nitro” or “Sloth.” For his name, Raoul chose Shadowhawk Ninjakiller which is so unbelievably bad-ass, I can’t even begin to explain it. Now, let me explain how bad-ass it is. First, he’s a shadow, so not only are you incapable of physically touching him, but he follows you EVERYWHERE. Second, he’s a hawk, which means he can see things from a mile away and he can fly. And finally, the motherfucker kills ninjas so much, they made it his nickname. Are you kidding me?

Xander gets to be an honorary co-founder because the creators of SlaughterBall are nothing if not benevolent. The only stipulation for his entry is that Raoul got to pick his name. After careful deliberation, Raoul settled on the terrifyingly intimidating Jebediah Waffleskin. Need to change your diaper yet?

As my show name, I chose Fuckmurder McGillicutty, mostly because it’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. On a side note, my birthday is this weekend and as you could probably figure from this blog, I’ll be turning 12. I hope I never win the lottery.

Idi-Yums: The Second: Revelations Revealed

2009-03-24T21:13:00.000-07:00

***SPOILER ALERT*** Answers to my last post are given here. Check the previous post before reading these answers.

Sorry for the heinous delay...I went to SXSW last week and drank a few days of my life away. Well I'm back now and I'm happy to report that this time, if the world’s fate rested on everyone’s ability to guess some pictograms, Earth would be MUCH better off. In case there were some you missed, here are the answers:

The first one is bury the hatchet. Props to EK for getting it. Side note: That’s one of my favorite childhood books ever.

The second one is bull in a china closet/shop. Pretty much everybody got this one once they figured out who the fat guy holding the cue stick was. When I made the picture, I got sidetracked watching Jordan highlights on YouTube. That man was so motherfucking good at basketball.

The third one is shot in the dark. A couple of people guessed "blue moon," which don’t make no sense seeing as how the moon is practically the only thing in the whole picture that isn’t blue.

The picture of the horse, wait, I think that’s a rhino, is supposed to be tickle the ivories. After I made it, Raoul pointed out that elephants are the animals that have ivory. I did a Google search and the results were inconclusive. I know rhino horns are the same material that make up hair and fingernails, but the BBC calls their horns “rhino ivory” and I’m inclined to believe anyone with a British accent.

The fourth one is shoot the bull. Raoul got this one. A couple of people guessed “holy cow,” which is, well, wrong.

The fifth one is get over the hump. The only alteration I did to that picture was add the hurdler, honest.

The answer to the sixth one is a few tricks up my sleeve. Props again to EK for getting this one.

The last one is don’t blow it. Sorry, Pennywise.

Well played, everyone. I'm getting to the point where I'm going to have to start making up my own idioms to keep doing this, but I realize how ridiculously hard that would be. I mean, making a picture of "don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight" would be easy, but there's no way anyone would guess it. Until next time, this is Darrell Woolery saying: Don't strangle your neighbor's donkeys after midnight.

Idi-yums: The Second

2009-03-12T22:06:00.000-07:00

Maybe it's because in the past month I've watched The Dark Knight, Hellboy 2, and The Karate Kid: Part 2, but I've been in a sequel kind of mood lately. Devoted readers and those not too lazy to scroll down will notice that a couple weeks ago I revisited my bucket list blog. Well, this week that funny feeling in your head is probably more deja vu...or I guess it could be the side effect of my telepathically robbing you of your memories. Shhhhhh, it's all gonna be alright...Anyway, the idioms blog was one of my favorites to make, so I thought it'd be fun to do it again. It was. So now, with just a little bit more ado, back by popular request (read: one person), here are some more pictogram type idiom puzzle things. I tried to make them a little easier this time. Answers in a bit (after I hear Raoul's ridiculous answers).

This one should be pretty easy, especially if your last name is Belcher (sorry, inside joke):

This one also shouldn't be too difficult, assuming you know who it is:

This one's a bit more clever. (Hint: In this one, it doesn't matter who it is)

My lady friend's first reaction to this picture was "Is that a rhino???" Apparently she's never seen an animal cracker. By the way, of course it's a goddamn rhino.

I love how this one turned out for some reason:

I don't even care if anyone gets this one...the end product was totally worth the effort:

Love me some Freedom cuffs:

This one probably should have been first, as a pep talk:

Bucket List: Reloaded

2009-02-26T21:39:00.000-08:00

The other night I was looking back at some of my older posts and I stumbled upon one of my earliest entries, the bucket list. As you’ll recall (the 2 of you who have read my blog since the beginning), Raoul and I were inspired by Driving Miss Daisy to start a bucket list before Morgan Freeman murdered us on our death beds…or something to that effect. Now that I think about it, it probably had to do with actually accomplishing something before we reached old age. That being said, I hope to never really see old age as I’ve decided that when I hit 65, I’m committing suicide, or “euthanasia,” as it were (or will be). And I’m not just talking about you’re average, run-of-the-mill shotgun to the face here. No, when I reach 65, I’m going to parachute out of a plane. Instead of a parachute, however, I’ll have explosives strapped to my back. After I jump, I’ll count to 10, pull the rip cord (which will be more like a grenade pin (and me the grenade)), and KABLOOEY! Ablakabits will rain from the heavens like manna. Enough about my own demise though. Despite several court orders and the prayers of many, Raoul and I put our heads together again and came up with more things to do before we die. This time, I’m even and Raoul is odd (you can say that again).

Get a Royal Flush, preferably in a game of strip poker.
Hit a hole-in-one (putt-putt will be fine).
Rig the 2010 World Cup so Xander has to eat his own face.
Figure out who stole the goddamn cookies from the cookie jar.
Find the stork nest and kidnap all the babies for ransom.
Shoot the moon.
Become a shipping magnate.
Yell “PLAY BALL!!!” at a baseball game way before the National Anthem is finished.
Genocide (start or stop).
Create a unit of measurement.
Be granted sainthood.
~~Throw my hands in the air and wave ‘em like I just don’t care.~~
Have sex with a little person.
Sleep it off.
Have sex with a famous person who is 20 years my senior (or junior).
Drown my sorrows in alcohol.
Desecrate a holy site.
Give a high-five (to anyone) during sex.
Make it onto a top 10 list (e.g. FBI’s Most Wanted, Top Ten People Most Likely To Sleep With Your Wife, etc.)
Quell an uprising.
Make an ear necklace.
Misquote an idiom in a serious situation (For example: “I’m surprised that Mr. Thompson sucked the bucket at such a young age…he seemed so healthy!”)
See if I can touch your kidneys.
Make it all the way to the toilet, for once.
Challenge an infant to a cagefight.
Give 110% at a time when that much effort is completely unnecessary.
Get my hands on my CIA dossier.
Don’t stop til I get enough.
Have a statue of me erected.
Refer to someone as “tough guy” just before whipping their ass.
Discover a new species, name it after myself, then eradicate it.
Guess someone’s card.
Be knighted (in America).
Kick someone where the sun don’t shine.
One-handed pushup.
Steal someone’s identity and improve upon it.
Take the slow train to Peanutopolis.
~~Demonstrate yet again the evil nature of Morgan Freeman.~~ (This is a bonus for the long-timers)

Tasty Face

2009-02-19T20:07:00.000-08:00

The other day, one of my best friends made a shocking proclamation to me via text. Before I reveal what it was, I should tell you that it was such an astounding utterance that I instantly thought "I've got to get this in writing." I know what you're thinking, "isn't a text in writing? I mean, you write using text, so..." Well, my phone (coincidentally generously given to me by the very same friend) is prone to failure (the phone is of great quality, so I attribute this entirely to my dropping the shit out of it all the time) and has a wickedly tiny amount of memory reserved for text messages. Plus, you can't put a signature on a text. No, I needed something more permanent. So I ran just as fast as I could to the nearest computer and drafted up a contract, which I present to you now. (NOTE: The version that appears here is slightly modified from the actual version. That matters little, as my friend has already signed the original. Oh, it's on.)

REQUIRED ACTION AGREEMENT

On this 15th day of February, 2009, XANDER and BLAKA do hereby enter into the following irrevocable agreement (“AGREEMENT”):

If the United States of America Men’s National Soccer Team wins the 2010 World Cup soccer tournament, XANDER will eat, get this, his own face (an event which shall hereafter be referred to as “EVENT”).

FACE shall be defined as the area contained within the parameters created by XANDER’S neck, hairline, and the left and right ears. A more specific definition of FACE shall be defined and mutually agreed upon at the time of EVENT. If the two parties are unable to mutually agree on a more specific definition of FACE, RAOUL (hereafter known as “MUJICIAN”) shall estimate the average of each party’s definition and rule in the interest of MUJICIAN’S best judgment. If MUJICIAN is unable to provide fair and unbiased judgment, the dispute shall be settled by tossing a 2-sided coin, the denomination of which doesn’t fucking matter. XANDER shall have the privilege of calling it in the air because, after all, he is about to eat his own goddamn face. The flipping of the coin shall be completed in 3 consecutive repetitions, the results of which shall be recorded by each participant, so’s nobody cheats, ya dig? Whosoever wins the better part of 3 coin-tosses shall be allowed to use their definition of FACE, which shall not vary one half-inch (roughly 14 meters/second or so in metric) more or less than the aforementioned general description of FACE.

MUJICIAN’s ability to judge fairly shall be determined by XANDER and BLAKA during the moments just prior to EVENT. Declaring MUJICIAN incompetent on grounds of drunkenness is invalid. In truth, all participants in EVENT shall be intoxicated at the time of EVENT, unless any medical conditions, promises of sobriety, or obligations to drive or fuck successfully after EVENT demand otherwise. (NOTE: XANDER will most likely be relieved of his fucking duties for life because...who wants to bang a cheeseless pizza?)

XANDER shall be permitted as much time as necessary to consume entire FACE in one sitting, however the allotted time shall be not longer than 24 hours. XANDER shall be allowed to request whatever utensil(s) he desires to assist in eating FACE, unless otherwise denied by BLAKA, whose ruling shall be ultimately confirmed or denied by MUJICIAN.

Failure on XANDER’S part to eat FACE will result in the forcible feeding of FACE to XANDER at the hands of BLAKA.

Any party’s failure to attend EVENT at the prescribed time and location (both to be determined and mutually agreed upon by XANDER and BLAKA) merely delays the inevitable.

XANDER, BLAKA, and MUJICIAN are of sound mind (possibly slightly stoned and/or drunk, but that’s alright) at the time of signing AGREEMENT and give their signatures below entirely voluntarily and under no form or amount of duress. In truth, the idea for EVENT, created the evening of February 12, 2009 via text message between XANDER and BLAKA was originally XANDER’S idea. I know. I can’t believe it either. The AGREEMENT having already been made in the manner just now described, this document is basically a formality, though it is absolutely legally binding, so XANDER can forget about trying to get out of it. And the church said, “Amen.”

Go Snug Yourself

2009-02-12T22:40:00.000-08:00

I paid $15 for a Snuggie the other day. And no, “Snuggie” isn’t some code word for a dirty sex act or else I would have said “The other day I paid $15 bucks for some hooker to give me a Snuggie. After she finished I beat her up and got my money back. Then her pimp tried to kick my ass, but I got the best of him and Snuggied all over his face to teach him a lesson.” Snuggies (or the even dirtier sounding alternative, Slankets) are blankets with sleeves. “Sleeved blankets?” you might say. “That’s fucking stupid,” you might continue. Well a few days ago, I’d totally be with you. The first time I saw a commercial for Snuggies, all I could think was “Who the hell would buy that?”

Then I bought one.

Now, I’ve only worn it once because I actually bought it for my wife and she hasn’t taken the damn thing off since I brought it home, but let me tell you that I’ve never been so comfortable in my entire life as when I’m wearing a Snuggie. On the surface, Snuggies look like backwards robes without hoods or that waist-tie thing (you know, the thing that looks totally gay when actually used and for some reason unbeknownst to me actually prevents people from seeing your balls), but somehow they don’t make me feel like nearly as much of a douchebag as if I was wearing a robe. I can’t say for sure, but it’s probably because Snuggies make you look like a motherfuckin' warlock. And I know that everyone has their own personal stand-up routine about how ridiculous infomercials are, but the people who can truly appreciate the Snuggie are the same people who have actually experienced the terror and panic of being trapped in a blanket when all you want to do is change the damn channel. Aside from increased mobility, you can text, flip someone off, and make shadow puppets all while still being completely covered by a blanket. Taking all these things into account, it’s easy to see what the Snuggie represents: Freedom. So basically it’s unpatriotic not to own one. Before you go running to your nearest Snuggie merchant though, I must warn that you will probably have mixed feelings about wearing it in public because one of two things can happen. Either people will think you are a fucking idiot OR they will fear your magical powers. If you do wear it in public, I recommend you walk around with some kind of small animal (a newt or a rabbit perhaps). That way you can tell people that it actually used to be a human, but you turned them into a creature because they mocked your Cloak of Snugness. Yeah...that'll shut em up good! In all seriousness, don’t wear this thing out of the house. It’s awesome, but it looks totally rigoddamndiculous. Snug on, my friends. For America’s sake.

Celebrelations

2009-02-01T23:03:00.000-08:00

Now I care mildly about pop culture as much as the next non-gender specific being, but one thing I have little patience for is the shortening of celebrity couple names to a concoction of each person’s name. I think I get it. You want to refer to your celebrity couples in the shortest “word” possible so that you have more time to jack-off to People’s 2008 Best Dressed list or slobber all over pictures of Tara Reid’s 800th nip-slip (I believed it was an accident the first two times, lady). What I don’t understand about the whole thing though is how to decide which celebrity couples are worthy of a couplename. Some of the existing ones (Bennifer and Brangelina for example) are a little obvious and fairly boring. Why not include last names too and give them to couples who have cooler names to begin with? I know they’re not a couple anymore (see, I’m hip), but Carmen Electra and Dave Navarro would be Electravarro. Now THAT’s one hell of a celebrity couple name. Not only does it sound like a Spanish superhero, but it’s also fun to say. Surely there are more like that one. Wait a second, I think I REALLY get it now... it’s actually fun to think these things up! However, since I still don’t understand who gets a couplename, I’m going to do what I always do when I don’t quite understand the rules to something: I’m making up my own rules.

Rule #1 – You can use last names
Rule #2 – Couples’ names must form something silly or immature
Rule #3 – Couples are completely hypothetical (so just like with sex, dead people are fair game)

Well, that about does it for the rulebook. Now it's time to make with the funny:

Matt Dillon & Bridget Bardot = DillDo.
John Wayne & Miley Cyrus = WaynUs.
Peta Wilson & Peter Gabriel = PePe.
Any of the Hanson sisters & Steve Jobs = HanJobs.
Marcia Gay-Hardin & Gerard Butler = Gay-HardinBut.

Sorry I didn’t do pictures for all of them, there just really aren’t funny pictures of some people (thanks for screwing the pooch, Marcia Gay-Hardin). Let me know if you think of any good couplenames.

MLKin' It

2009-01-14T19:07:00.001-08:00

Hey, reader, have you ever seen one of those lists that compare some weird coincidences between JFK and Abraham Lincoln? You know, like:

Abraham Lincoln never shaved his face.
JFK never shaved his balls.

Well, I felt it necessary, given the upcoming holiday, to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. and another outstanding American citizen, so I’ve decided to reveal some of the similarities between MLK and myself. What say we just jump right in?

MLK was born in Atlanta, GA.
I was born in Atlanta, GA.

MLK was killed on April 4.
I was born on April 4.

MLK married Coretta Scott in her parents’ yard.
I married my wife in her parents’ yard (my wife’s parents', not Coretta Scott King’s parents’).

MLK was an ordained minister.
I am an ordained minister.

Some of MLK’s demonstrations resulted in people being sprayed with a firehose.
I have a cousin who is a fireman.

MLK was supposedly killed by James Earl Ray.
I know like, two or three guys named James.

James Earl Ray was captured at London Heathrow Airport.
I’ve been to that airport.

MLK gave his “I Have a Dream” speech in 1963.
I frequently have dreams…sometimes several in one night.

MLK vehemently disagreed with the Vietnam War.
My stomach vehemently disagrees with Vietnamese food.

MLK was wiretapped by the FBI.
I can’t say anything for sure, but I have my suspicions…

MLK attended Booker T Washington high school in Atlanta.
Booker T was one of my favorite WWF wrestlers when I was in high school.

MLK has received many posthumous awards and honors.
Unfortunately, I cannot yet reveal the details of what a post-ablakalyptic world will look like.

MLK had an older sister named “Willie.”
I think “Willie” is a terrible name for a woman.

MLK had a son named Dexter.
Dexter on Showtime is one of my favorite shows.

MLK did an interview with Playboy in 1965.
I read Playboy entirely for the interviews.

MLK was a Baptist.
I’ve been baptized…twice. That’s right. Dubtized, I call it.

Members of the Nation of Islam were not allowed to attend the March on Washington in 1963.
Members of the Nation of Islam are not allowed in my house. (Try me.)

Well, there you have it. I reckon we have some sort of cosmic bond. Actually, the impact I'll make on this earth next to MLK is meaningless, but who's counting? God?? BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Enjoy your day off.

Oh, and if you want some dessert, I made a couple of pictures for this week's blog that my conscience (read: wife) wouldn't let me post. If you want to see them, all you gotta do is ask.

It's All Good, Man

2009-01-01T22:14:00.000-08:00

Awhile back, my friend Marco said “I wish John Goodman would die of a heart attack.” I’m sorry for sending you into a tailspin of emotions right off the bat like that, but I wanted you to feel the same shock and horror that I felt when I heard it. Did I mention that Marco is not my friend anymore? Well, he might be now, but that’s only because he somewhat recanted after I forced him to watch The Big Lebowski. I would have made him watch Goodman’s most acclaimed work of art, King Ralph, but the DVD has been sold out at every single store I’ve been to. Anyway, I can't tell if I'm mad at Marco because that's such a terrible thing to say or if I'm mad at John Goodman because he probably WILL die of a heart attack if he doesn't slim down a bit. Whatever the case, I've decided to take my anger out on Marco. Aside from telling everyone I know that if they see Marco in public, they should kick him in the ass (that reminds me, if any of you see Marco in public, kick him in the ass), there really is only one proper way to combat Marco’s unjustified hatred of everyone’s favorite actor. I now present to you my pictorial tribute to a man who gives the gift of laughter to his fans, Indian leg-wrestling defeats to George Wendt, and pregnancy to women everywhere. Shomer fucking Shabbos.

I totally would, too. Long live the King!

Idi-yums: Revelations

2008-12-13T23:14:00.000-08:00

***SPOILER ALERT*** Answers to my last post are given here. Check the previous post before reading these answers.

As most of you were aware, solving my pictograms was the only way to spare mankind from my wrath. Well, not really, but if that were the case, Earth would be fucked because out of everyone that I talked to about these, only two people got any correct. Granted, most of these were pretty tricky and, as with all my pictures, could probably have been better illustrated. Anyway, enough with the bullshit...it's time for some answers!

The first one is "flipping a bird." The best guess I heard on this one was Raoul's "cardinal attacking a thumb," which is a little too literal and very much unlike any idiom I've ever heard.

The second one is "holy roller." Marco guessed "holy crap," which is good for only partial credit since the actual game is "crapS." If the game were called "crap," it'd probably be way less popular. Oh, and apparently the Pope throws dice like a 6 year old.

The third one is "raising cain." I know "raze" and "raise" have very different meanings, but you have no excuse because Xander nailed this one pretty quickly, despite (or perhaps because of) being all kinds of fucked up.

The fourth one is "pass the buck." This was my least favorite one based solely on the fact I had to sift through scads of hunting pictures before I found an image of a buck that didn't have blood coming out of its mouth or some jackass in camo holding it in a headlock.

The answer to the fifth one is "come hell or high water." Sorry to anyone who read this blog at work. I know there have been more porn pictures than usual recently, so I'll try to tone it down a bit. Plus, I don't like that my Google auto-complete now suggests "cumshot" whenever I type a "c."

The sixth one is "hit the hay." I also gave partial credit to Raoul's "haymaker," since the man in the background is throwing a doozy of a punch.

And finally, the bonus image comes from my bucket list blog. Get it yet? The answer is "gilding the lily." One more down.

I'll probably do these again some time because I enjoyed making them and hearing people's guesses. If you liked them, stay tuned. If you didn't, well, the last time I checked, the world didn't revolve around you (feel free to stay tuned also, though).

Idi-yums

2008-12-11T21:32:00.000-08:00

No, this isn’t a blog about delicious Ugandan dictators (sorry to burst your bubble). This week I’ve decided to put you to the test. Below are several images that represent various idioms, clichés, compound words, etc. What can I say, I like word games. You could call me a nerd, but my only weaknesses are sticks and stones so the next time you come at me, you better be packin’ (sticks and stones, that is). Anyway, some of these are pretty easy and some are intentionally tricky. I’ll get around to giving the answers eventually…maybe.

Let's start off with an easy one:

Now a little harder:

Ohhhhh, yeah, a little harder:

Yeah, just like that...now go deep:

Here's a two-parter:

This one's in the details:

And finally, a bonus one for my long-time readers:

Hepatitis, Mascara, and Lasers, Oh My!

2008-12-04T22:04:00.000-08:00

At my last job I was tasked with reviewing resumes for open positions. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked at anyone’s resume besides your own, but you wouldn’t believe the shit people put on theirs. Now, I’m not talking about the typical errors. Everyone’s bound to have typos or spend way too long talking about everything. There are even a surprising amount of people who list things like “spelling” and “filing alphabetically and numerically” as SKILLS, but there are some screw-ups much worse than that. Here they are, in all their glory…the stupidest fucking things I’ve ever seen on resumes.

Our first guy listed “Chinese Kung-Fu” as one of his interests. Listen, kung-fu is already Chinese. You don’t need to specify. That’s like saying you enjoy searching for Arab terrorists, eating American freedom fries, and trapping your girlfriend in a Dutch Dutch oven. Also, who gives a shit? I didn’t post our classified ads, but I can guarantee none of them said “Seeking strong, humble martial arts master to whoop some serious ass. Ability to be kind of a douchebag preferred.”

Another guy listed “Chemical Warfare” under EDUCATION. I would have hired him based on that, but he didn’t specify offensive or defensive. Furthermore, who gives a shit? Think of the number of times in your life where knowledge of chemical warfare would have come in handy. Multiply that by a bazillion and what do you get? Zero. That’s why we have a military. “But what about terrorist attacks?!?!?” you may ask through paranoid tears. Well, your mascara’s running, sissy. Maybe you should move your faggoty ass to France and eat croissants and baguettes all day. In the immortal words of the even more immortal W., “bring it on.”

The third guy on my team of superheroes (who I think will be called "The Ablakolytes") wrote “Certified in lasers.” Certified in fucking lasers. I should take a moment to say that I believe everyone on their resumes…except this asshole. That just sounds way too vague and childish to not be made up. He must have had his kid around when he was typing his resume. “Hey son,” he would have asked, “I need to show that I have some kind of special certification. Got any ideas?”

“What about lasers!!”

“Awesome.”

Another fellow wrote “Current Hepatitis A” as one of his PROFESSIONAL SKILLS. Note the curious lack of the word “vaccine.” I only have one question for this jerk. How is a disease a skill? (You could argue, technically, that macular degeneration gives you the ability to not see out of the center of your eye, but then you’d be a goddamned idiot, wouldn’t you?). I would have been more impressed if he listed how he got the disease. If he got it from his ex-girlfriend after talking her into a 2-girls-1-cup-style threesome with his born again Christian wife…THAT would be a skill. There’s also the issue of who gives a shit? Unless a job posting specifically mentions sex, blood-letting, vampirism, or coprophagia (again, I didn’t post the ads, so I dunno…), then, assuming he meant to say “vaccine,” who cares what diseases you can’t get?

Under EDUCATION, one woman wrote “08/96 – still attending.” I know plenty of people who didn’t finish college. No big deal. I know just as many people who left school, went back years later, and finished. Hell, I took more than 4 years to graduate after being figuratively boned by transferring schools and changing majors during my Junior year. But spending more than a decade of your life in college? If they made a movie about this lady, they’d have enough “lazy-fuckers in college and all of their wild antics” flicks to justify an entirely new genre. Shit or get off the pot, already (let’s be realistic, I think getting off the pot is the best option here).

And finally, we have Typhoid Mary. This lady had 5 previous jobs. Next to 4 of them she wrote “out of business” as her reason for leaving. Who gives a shit? ME. The only thing I gathered from this resume was that hiring her would give us a 20% chance of making it through the year. And seriously, why list that? You have to know that’s going to leave a bad taste in someone’s mouth. The only way she would have had a chance at the job is if she had let me leave a bad taste in her mouth, if you catch my meaning.

After I told Raoul about these, he came to the conclusion that God selected me to assemble a team of superheroes…and I’m inclined to believe him. Because I talk to God. And He told me so. Now go brush up your resume so you don’t look like one of these sheisskopfs.

Gobble Bloggle

2008-11-27T21:58:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Thanksgiving...a time when even the most distant of families go out of their way to gather together and share wonderful food, humorous stories, and obligated love. Or, if your wife just had plastic surgery, you eat leftovers for lunch and go grocery shopping since the store is practically empty. That's what I did. Because my wife just had plastic surgery. I'm not going to hold your hand through this whole thing.

Speaking of hands, remember when you were in elementary school and you traced your hand on a sheet of paper and then added feathers and such until your tracing looked like a turkey? Well, in the spirit of the holiday, I decided to try it out again after all these years. However, since only neanderthals use paper and crayons anymore, I held my hand up to the monitor and traced around it with the paintbrush in Photoshop...but I didn't stop there. You see, years ago I swore to always push the envelope when it came to kindergarten level artwork. So now I present to you my original turkey drawing, accompanied by a few of the other things that popped into my head when I saw a terribly outlined hand on my computer screen.

Hope you had as much fun as I did this Thanksgiving! (I doubt you did...I played a shitload of video games.)

Making Whoopie

2008-11-20T21:18:00.000-08:00

Get a load of this conversation:

Raoul: If I have a kid, I’m going to train him to be an MMA fighter.

Me: Wait, I thought Tito Ortiz was your son.

Raoul: It’s quite possible. Man, I feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins.

Me: That’s why you feel bad for Jenna Jameson’s loins?

Raoul: You ever had someone with complete knowledge of the full nelson thrust themselves through your crotch? It ain’t pretty.

Me: Have you ever thought about writing erotic stories? You’ve got a gift.

From this conversation I gathered 3 things:
1. Raoul has either been crotch-pounded by an MMA fighter OR
2. At the very least, he’s witnessed it happening to someone else (context clues suggest Jenna Jameson).
3. Why the F am I not writing erotic stories for supplemental income/sexual healing?

Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. How hard could it possibly be (note: save that line for an erotic story)? Easy, I figure. So easy, in fact, that I've already made the cover art for my first three erotic novels (don't worry, Downtown Darrell Woolery is just my pseudonym).

Now you might want to dim the lights and tune your radio to "sex," because you're about to ride the rollercoaster of sexual tension that is my very first erotic story:

Sex, With Words
by Downtown Darrell Woolery

CHAPTER 1
“He’s doing it again,” Jane thought to herself. This was the 4th time she had caught the same man sneaking peeks at her from his place in line. The 5th time, their eyes fixated on each other. Jane turned a particularly sexual shade of red. As the line crept forward, Jane made sure to know sexactly where the man was. When the mystery man’s turn came up, Jane lustily removed the “CLOSED” placard from her desk and sensually moaned aloud, “I can help you, sir.” Everyone stared at her awkwardly while she licked her lips, also sensually and lustily.

The man walked sexually to the counter. As he stared straight into Jane’s eyes he said in a deep voice, “I’d like to make a deposit.”

“Is that so, big boy? And just where would you like to make this…deposit?” Jane replied as she gave the man a clear view of all the erotic cleavage she could muster, which was a considerable amount, all things considered (consider this: Jane has considerably small breasts).

“My checking account, please.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“This isn’t a bank.”

“Oh. Sorry…then in that case I’d like to withdraw from this conversation!” the man said sexually embarrassingly.

Jane responded quickly. “No that’s okay…honest mistake. I’m Jane.”

“I’m Dick.”

Jane gulped. Dick extended his thick, veiny arm for a handshake. As soon as their hands locked, Dick turned his middle finger inward and began quickly stroking her palm with it (this move, famously known as the Crane-Henderson Suggestive Palm Tickle, is a killer with the ladies).

When they broke their handshake, Jane scribbled something on a piece of paper and walked hornily around the counter. She stopped right next to Dick, reached out, and slid the piece of paper into his pocket. After removing her hand from his trousers, she went about her business.

Dick pulled it out and read: “413 Main Street. 7:00 p.m. tonight.” He looked at Jane and stated matter-of-factly, “I think I’m going to come.”

CHAPTER 2
Dick rang the doorbell. He had condoms in his wallet, sex on his mind, and a little bit of ketchup on his shirt.

Jane hurried to the door wearing an oversized trenchcoat. She paused just before opening it (the door, that is) and took a deep breath to help gather herself. As she struck her sexiest pose, she sensually shouted innocently, “Who is it?”

Dick yelled excitedly, “IT’S DICK!”

Jane attempted to answer, but her throat was so dry that she could only whisper back, “I bet it is…come on in, handsome.”

“WHAT?” shouted Dick.

Jane ran to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“HELLO???....................... JANE?????” Dick yelled. Jane chugged the water and ran back to the door.

Dick called out again, “JANE, ARE YOU OK?”

“IT’S OPEN,” she breastily responded.

As Dick handled the knob, Jane’s phone rang. She wrapped her hand around it.

“Hello?” Jane said in much the same style as a phone-sex operator.

“Jane?” a woman’s voice said on the other end of the phone.

“Hello, mother,” Jane replied, still talking like a phone-sex operator.

“Why are you talking like that?” Jane’s mom asked.

“Oh, *ahem* sorry, what is it?” Jane answered as her voice returned to normal.

Dick came inside her apartment and sat on the couch, listening erotically to Jane’s side of the conversation. After a few minutes, Jane hanged up the phone and turned towards Dick. She stared, whore-like, into his eyes and said “I’m sorry, I have to go. My sister is having a baby.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Talk about titillating! I didn’t know I had it in me (Note: Save that line for an erotic story).

Things That, as a Man, I'm Supposed to Find Sexy, but I Don’t.

2008-11-13T22:16:00.000-08:00

It’s happened to everyone. “Dude, check this out!!!!” someone says to you, most often with a beer in one hand, a camera phone in the other, and a colossal grin on their face. You turn around, thinking “well this HAS to be cool if someone’s that excited about it.” You act surprised, even interested. Maybe you give a “Shit yeah!” and throw in a fist-pound for extra believability, but inside you’re thinking “Who is that guy and did he really just interrupt my drinking to show me…”

Sex with Twins
Maybe it’s because I went to high school with 2 sets of twins, but I’ve never understood the fascination with the idea. Once the novelty of Twin A (the one you meet first) and Bizarro Twin (the one that will always look weird because you met Twin A first, and so Twin A is now your standard for what everyone who looks like Twin A should really look like) wears off, what’s so sexy about two of the pretty-much-exact same thing? (Note: this argument does not apply to body parts that typically come in pairs…legs, breasts, tails, etc.) The only situation I can think of where it wouldn’t be strange to have sex with twins is if everyone was fucking wasted, in which case the guy probably wouldn’t even realize he was having a threesome. If you don’t know it’s happening, what’s the point?

Oh, also, THEY’RE RELATED. Might as well call it twincest.

P.O.V. Porn
I get the idea. P.O.V. (that’s “point-of-view,” for those of you with absolutely no deductive reasoning skills whatsoever) porn is supposed to make you feel like you’re actually there, totally nailing that freakishly proportioned lady (or two, or ten). The only problem is, you’re not there. On top of that, you’re constantly reminded that you’re not there by the fact that having bareback anal sex with three different girls covered in baby oil hardly feels like masturbating (I’m just guessing here…I’ve never masturbated). Also, any time I see P.O.V. porn all I can think to myself is “wait a second…my dick isn’t the size of a school bus!!” Which raises yet another issue: who wants to watch a porno where the screen is 1/3 dong? Not i, said the j.

Catfights
Correct me if I’m wrong, but catfights are allegedly appealing because the two women could ultimately rip each others' clothes off, forget why they’re fighting, and decide that the best way to make up is to 69 in front of a crowd. First, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and propose that Violence ≠ Sex. I may have lost a few of you there, but try to let it sink in. Second, instead of praying for the ludicrous to happen, shouldn’t someone be thinking “Wait, one of these women could get seriously injured if we don’t stop this?” The answer is “yes,” but I’d be willing to bet that an alarming majority of men who’ve seen a catfight couldn’t help but think, “Maybe if I get close enough, they’ll pull me in too when they start fucking!!!”

MILFs
Now, there are plenty of attractive older women out there. Some have the luxury of plastic surgery, some do not. Whatever the case, if they’re actually moms, their bodies have no doubt undergone some transformations that range from horrendous to terrifying. Below are a few quotes from readers of Glamour.com, who posted some of the changes their bodies went through after giving birth.

“I went from a seven and a half to an eight and a half.”
This lady is referring to shoe-size. I don’t care how hot you are, clodhoppers are not sexy.

“I can’t sneeze without losing control.”
“Control of what?” you’re asking yourself. Control of YOUR FUCKING BLADDER. The only thing worse than being sneezed on during sex is being pissed on during sex (depending on who you ask).

“I lost enough [hair] to clog the shower drain!”
If the woman you’re having sex with is bald, what are you going to use for reins when it’s time for Nasty Claus and Rudolph?

As far as I’m concerned, the MILF phenomenon and the accompanying t-shirts are over.

Women putting phallic objects in their mouth
Here’s how cavemen think: “Thing in woman mouth look like ding-dong!” *orgasm*

One of the more common objects used in this lame version of foreplay (more like BOREplay, am I right?!) is probably a banana. I loathe bananas. I can’t stand the smell, the look, or the taste of bananas. If a girl was about to go down on me, I’d almost rather her mouth have just been around some other guy’s dick than a banana. Does that make me gay?

Now quit slobbering on somebody’s perfectly good produce and make yourself useful.

Erection

2008-10-30T18:10:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure if you’ve heard or not, but there’s a presidential election going on RIGHT NOW. Believe it, sister. But seriously, with less than a week to go I’m finding it increasingly difficult to have patience for all the hoopla. Let’s get the damn thing over with already. Yesterday, CNN.com had a poll that asked: “Have you decided whom you support for president?” Yesterday. Fucking yesterday. The election is in less than a week! Hell, most of the people I work with have already voted. I’ll admit, I was on the fence about a year ago, but watching approximately 1/5 of one debate shoved me in the right or left direction. Technically we’ve had at least 2 years to figure it out, so if you haven’t decided by this point, with these two slightly opposite candidates, you’re just slowing the country down. Wake me up when you pull your head out of your ass. I’m dying to know how you got it in there in the first place. (On second thought, it’s probably best that I don’t know how you did it).

Now, I don’t want this blog to turn into a platform for me to force my beliefs on others (see: all other posts), so I’m staying as neutral as the color gray (or maybe something just a little nicer like taupe or even ivory) on the election until my guy loses/wins. Then I’ll either drink myself to death or beat my wife (which one do you think is for if my guy wins? Guess again!)

Aside from all the friggin campaigning, I’m also tired of people claiming everything has a political slant. The other night my friend said he heard that the movie Wall-E was “politically charged.” I wanted to politically charge my fist right into his goddamn mouth.

So, in the spirit of neutrality I've created a few bumper stickers for the politically Swiss regarding typically divisive issues. If you like them, you can buy them from me for $500 apiece. Hey, this blog isn’t free to maintain (yes it is).

Portrait of an Alcoholic

2008-10-27T22:39:00.000-07:00

Tonight I’m dropping a double-feature right in your lap, free of charge. You can thank me later (or now…it’s whatever), but be sure to keep on reading when you get to the end of this one (don’t just close your browser in disgust like you usually do after reading my blog).

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This weekend was the annual Blow Job (watch this video for an explanation and no, it’s not a blow job video) on Cedar Springs (It should be noted that Blow Job 2008 could be considered an actual event, given the lack of fellatio that occurs in my apartment). Anyway, held every year on the Saturday before Halloween, the Block Party is like Mardi Gras Lite with drunk, half-costumed, half-naked people EVERYWHERE. One of these people just so happened to be my lady friend, who is not afraid of a champagne bottle (take this either as a testament to her fondness of the bubbly, or her ability to, well, use your imagination).

Now, she claimed her costume was “something out of Studio 54,” but if you ask me it looked like Amy Winehouse and Joseph (you know, from the Bible…you’ll see) ran head first into each other. Either that or she went as an indiscreet flasher since the only things she wore under her vibrant coat were a bra and bathing suit bottoms. What a pervert.

Pervert or not, I love my lady friend. She’s beautiful, intelligent, passionate, caring, fiery, hilarious, and nobody can make me smile like she can. She also gets on my last goddamn nerve when she’s drunk. We split up like we usually do for most of the night (she likes to dance and I have the rhythm of an epileptic, I like to shoot pool or throw darts and she has the competitive nature of a zombie), but when we met again, she was on the floor. I don’t mean the dance floor. I mean she was laying face down on our hardwood dining-room floor, still fully-clothed (if you can call it that). Upon discovering her in this state I was informed by her best friend that she had fallen down 6 times already on the way home. Now that we were back at the apartment, guess who was on clean-up duty (the answer is “me” in case that wasn't made clear).

“Well, first thing’s first” I thought to myself, so I gave away her Big Mac and fries. Then I busted out the camera and snapped a few shots for posterity’s (and posterior’s) sake. Then I covered her with a blanket and put a pillow under her head. After I ate about 2 bites of my meal, she informed me she was ready for bed. Usually, tucking my wife in is a snap, but that shit ain’t easy when none of her limbs work. And I mean NONE of them. So now my drunk ass is stumbling around, trying to balance a flailing, yelling mess of alcohol and glitter so that I can get back to my fucking cheeseburger. Once I successfully got her into bed, I had to stick around and answer her barrage of questions (well, really it was the same question, but she asked it about 100 times).

“WHAT’S MY DIAGNOSIS??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?”

Aside from “drunk” I didn’t have a good response. When this answer finally satisfied her, she felt it necessary to tell me that her “arm [was] like the Sahara!” which I took to mean either hot, dry, or covered with Arabs, none of which made any sense.

Then she was done with me. After I had literally carried her to the bedroom, got her dressed for bed, put water on her nightstand, set the trashcan next to the bed for her, AND put her under the covers, the only thing she had to say to me was “NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF THE DODGE!!!”

I had no idea she was a Ford girl.

Halloween Highlight Reel

2008-10-27T22:29:00.001-07:00

#10 - Runner-up for best costume was the woman dressed as Jabba the Hutt, who, now that I think about it, might have been a heinously fat lady that wasn’t dressed up at all. Whatever the case, my buddy Xander and I decided that if we weren’t both in serious relationships we would have challenged each other to a rousing game of “sleep with the ugliest girl at the bar.” It sounds mean, but big girls need love too. Anyway, I would have won by a ton (literally).

#9 - The best costume by far was the man who dressed up like a street sweeper. I know it doesn’t sound impressive, but this guy went all out. Not only did he have a bucket and a broom, but he was actually using them!

#8 - Xander’s perfectly timed “never wear black without the blue” under the blacklights above the restroom line. The fellow in front of us had some hygiene issues.

#7 - Carrying auxiliary whiskey in the form of a flask and mini-bottles.

#6 - Saving Asian Lara Croft from Creepy Drunk Doctor by acting like she and I were together. Props to Marco for adding believability by telling the loser that Lara and I shared a bed, in so many words.

#5 - Marco letting me where (sp?) his fairy wings, if only for a short while. I looked like a fuckin’ bad ass. Why is everyone laughing?

#4 - (technically a low-light) The ballsy, effeminate, middle-aged, black man who said to his partner “well, slim pickins in that bunch…” as a group of people walked past him.

#3 - My belligerent self “accidentally” tripping a line-cutting dickhead in the restroom. If my 14 years of soccer taught me anything, it was how to trip someone and make it look unintentional.

#2 - The vortex near the Roundup Saloon dartboard where no one stands enabled us to complete several games of darts. Granted, we had to play from the women’s line, quite literally (not only did we have to scoot closer to the board, but the place from whence we threw our darts happened to be right at the end of the line for the women’s restroom, so we spent most of the night butting up against pissy beavers, again…quite literally), but still…we got to play.

And the #1 play of the night…my drunk ass passing out on my pillow, which happened to be a cheeseburger. Seriously.

I, the Truthbringer

2008-10-23T20:38:00.000-07:00

Guess what? I am now officially a prophet. No, I don’t have papers to prove it, but would I lie to you? I hope you answered “no,” because I’m about to birth some wisdom from this certified soothsaying head of mine. That’s right; I’m going to answer some pretty hard-hitting questions for you right here and now. Most of these are reader submitted (or what I imagine readers would submit, had I not been too lazy to ask them to submit questions). I know you’re probably worried about my well-being, what with revealing the secrets of the universe and all, but fear not…my voice has been disguised (just to be on the safe side, if any Master Truthbringers ask about this blog, play dumb. Okay, now you say “What blog?” and wink at me. But I didn’t see you wink, so I’ll probably get a little frustrated and say, “this blog…the one you’re reading…act like you don’t know anything about it if someone starts to question you.” And then you'll try again and say “What blog?” and wink at me………Got it. Awesome. *wink*).

Would you really rather sleep with Ms. Piggy than Nancy Grace?
Let me put it this way, Ms. Piggy wouldn’t even have to be there. What I mean is, I would rather be jerked off by a puppeteer than even be in the same room with Nancy Grace, whose animal form is the praying mantis (I know, I thought it was “hippo,” too). I don’t want to be eaten alive while I’m having sex. Actually, I don’t want to be eaten at all. That being said, I guess if you were to be eaten alive, during sex would probably be one of the better ways.

Where have all the cowboys gone?
Paula Cole ate them all (during sex, the lucky bastards).

Hey, don’t you know that Jesus guy?
Nope.
*cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooo*
Shit.

Why is everybody always pickin’ on me?
Four words: “candy from a baby.”

Are you my mother?
No, but the odds are good that I’m your father. BAM! (See Fig. 2.2(a))

Where’s the beef?
It’s usually in my trousers, but there’s always a good chance that it’s in your mother. BAM! (see Fig. 2.2(a))

Cat got your tongue?
If by “cat” you mean your mother and by “tongue” you mean “beef,” then the answer is "Yes, yes she does." (you should probably have the chart memorized by now.)

If not me, then who? If not now, then when?
What?

What’s with all the pictures?
I don’t write all too wellly, so I gotta make up for it with some funny stuff. Plus, I use Photoshop at work and as the old saying goes, “Photoshop an eagle carrying a baboon, and you’ll get a raise soon.”

Who was that guy in that one movie?
Ask me again when you get your act together.

Well, that's all for now. I hope you're happy with some of my answers. Actually, I don't care if you're happy or not. I don't make the truth, I just bring it.

alt.reality.mindf

2008-10-20T20:26:00.000-07:00

My recent entry on unpopular opinions got me thinking…what if there’s a world somewhere where dinosaurs really do still exist? Then I got to thinking…wait, I was already thinking...so I guess technically I just kept thinking…anyway, what if there’s a world somewhere out there where Burger Kings have Minute Maid Orange (and, even further, ANOTHER world where Burger Kings aren’t Burger Kings at all, but Grandy’ses…and they serve whiskey…wait, that’s Heaven, not a parallel universe…sorry, different blog…) and where making jokes about newsgroups is actually cool, not nerdy (see title).

It gets better the more I continue to keep not stopping to still carry on thinking about it:

Imagine a world where up is down, where Pac-Man is square (literally, not like “it’s hip to be square”), where it’s totally not hip to be square, where Chinese people look nothing alike, and where everyone says “yes” to drugs.

A world where “The Macarena” sucks, where people’s fingers bend the other way, and where Mike Tyson is President (he still has that wicked face tattoo though…and he still wants to eat people’s children).

A world where people talk backwards, where they walk sideways, where submarines fly and where airplanes and black people swim.

A world where I decide not to blog and consequently have a little more free time on my hands that I’m not really sure what to do with (I’m no prophet (yet), but I’m willing to bet it involves porn), where O.J. is found guilty, and where no one can quite remember exactly what happened on 9/11.

A world where alcoholics are willingly exposed, where The West Wing actually is the show about Lowell and Tony Shalhoub, and where Nolan Ryan is left-handed, but for some reason he insists on pitching with his right hand, so he pretty much sucks.

A world where all dogs burn in Hell, where men give birth (from what orifice, I have no idea), and where genital herpes isn’t even remotely sexy.

A world where I can grow a full beard, where I can throw a spiral, and where I have a HUGE cock (I’m talking Mandingo huge). (NOTE: Mandingo has a film which made it to the semifinals of my Funniest Porno Title contest: It Don’t Matter, Just Don’t Bite It…fantastic!)

A world where poems that don't rhyme actually count as poetry, where Moses asked Pharaoh if he and his people could stick around a little longer, and where Nancy Grace isn’t the less attractive, more annoying, real-life version of Ms. Piggy.

A world where Frosted Flakes are just mediocre, where Sugar Bear has had quite enough Golden Crisp, where that little bitch Mikey will put anything in his mouth, and where:

Talk about a mindfuck…

Staff Inspection

2008-10-11T17:01:00.000-07:00

Lately I’ve been watching a lot of The West Wing. I have to admit, it’s not what I expected (what I expected was that show with Lowell and Tony Shalhoub as the immigrant cab driver), but it’s pretty damn good. For those of you in the “don’t know,” The West Wing was a TV drama that centered around President Josiah Bartlet (played by Martin Sheen, but should totally have been played by Emilio Estevez) and his Senior White House Staff. Throughout the show, as the strengths and weaknesses of each character were exposed I started asking myself, “If I were president, who would I choose as my Senior Staff?” Well, I’m glad I asked…

Press Secretary - Will Smith
Press Secretaries need to be quick-witted, charming, intelligent and humorous. Also, I’ll need someone who can boom! shake, shake the room whenever the situation demands it.

Deputy Communications Director - Hugh Jackman
I equate Hugh Jackman with my first vision of Halle Berry’s tig ‘ol bitties. He’s aces in my book.

So now I’ve got the black vote and the Australian vote all locked up…what’s next? Ahh yes…

Senior Communications Director - Kevin Bacon
Footloose, anyone? Plus, think how ridiculous the 6 Degrees game would be if he were also involved in politics. No, don’t think about it…your brain will eat itself.

Deputy Chief of Staff - Rose McGowan
Yowza. She can chief on my staff any day.

Chief of Staff - Wesley Snipes
Consider the following dialogue between President Bartlet and Secretary of Agriculture Roger Tribbey on how to select your Chief of Staff. My notes are in italics (so is this).

Bartlet: You have a best friend? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Is he smarter than you? check
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: Would you trust him with your life? CHECK
Tribbey: Yes, sir.
Bartlet: That's your chief of staff. Oh. That was easy.

Vice President – Bill Murray
Technically, the Vice President isn’t considered Senior Staff, but I feel like this list would be incomplete without one. Especially one of such high calibre (during my reign, we woulde switche to the European spelling of things in an effourte to improve oure foureign relatiouns) as Bill Murray. The man is a comedic genius. What more could you ask for in a Vice President than the ability to make people laugh? Okay, you caught me. I might not exactly know what the Vice President’s job is. I’m sure Bill will be great though.

So there you have it. With my team of superheroes and me at the helm, our great nation will be safe from aliens, fictional literary monsters, giant, subterranean worms, zombies, vampires, ghosts and gophers. I’ll roll the dice with a nuclear war. That shit will NEVER happen.

Dearest Future-Freaks,

2008-10-07T21:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve always been intrigued by unpopular opinions. Several years ago my brother told me it would be creepier if Michael Jackson was sleeping in the same bed with little children and not molesting them. Mull it over for about 5 minutes and try to come up with a compelling counterargument (hint: it can’t be done). By taking a unique stance on a divisive issue, my brother not only showed me that if I’m going to share my bed with kids I should at least have the decency to fondle them, but he gave me the confidence to promote my own beliefs regardless of how they might be received.

Unpopular opinion #1 – Fuck endangered species.
Imagine the following slightly extreme scenario: Dinosaurs are still alive and co-exist relatively peacefully with humans. Without museum exhibits and the excitement of the unknown, kids now realize that the brontosaurus, while gargantuan, is about as cool as a camel’s nutsack in the middle of July. Big-game hunters hang Stegosauri (you don’t know what the plural form is either) heads on the walls in their gamerooms. Pamplona, Spain hosts the annual “Running of the Triceratops” where hordes of idiots are mauled by a creature that makes once feared bulls look impotent. Where’s the imagination?

Environmentalists’ main argument for saving endangered species is “what kind of world do you want to leave for your grandkids?” Well, assuming I give a damn since I won’t be here anyway, I want to leave a world where my grandkids can say “Mom, today in science class we learned about this crazy bird that used to exist when Pops (I’m making my grandkids call me that) was still alive. It’s called an ‘eagle’ and [well-intentioned, but misinformed] archaeologists say that it was a massive creature whose diet consisted solely of another weird animal called a ‘baboon.’” Then, instead of going to a zoo and maybe seeing baboons fuck/throw feces at each other (I don't know what the difference is either), my grandkids can mentally create a fantastical world where terrified baboons run frantically as gigantic eagles swoop down from the skies, deafening the world with their screams while they pluck their prey from the treetops.

Unpopular opinion #2 – Women are way hotter when they dress a little bit masculine.
Let me clarify before I get into too much trouble: I’m not talking about bearded ladies or chicks with dicks (quick sidebar: the other day I was searching for funny porn titles and came across what is, in my opinion, the undisputed champion. Ready? “Black Tranny Hootenanny”…fucking AWESOME), but a girl in the right jeans, sneakers, and t-shirt can be almost as hot as a room full of black trannies…almost.

Unpopular opinion #3 – Baby eagles are tasty.

A Kick in the Pants

2008-09-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a week since I posted last, but I have a good excuse. This weekend I attended the annual Austin City Limits music festival in Austin. ACL 2008 provided me with plenty of material to write about though so open wide because I’m about to blog all over your face.

In order to demonstrate why I enjoyed ACL so much this year, I decided to give awards to the various bands/people who made the experience worth the time and money.

To start things off on a good note, the Surprise of the Year Award goes to Gogol Bordello, a band that I would describe as an Eastern-European Flogging Molly. They had probably the highest energy out of any band the entire weekend. Also, they were the only band whose act involved an insane moustache, a marching band drum, and a red bucket (it should be noted that several other bands had wicked moustaches and at least one other act had a marching band drum, but the real clincher here was the red bucket). Needless to say, I have Gogol Bordello’s entire discography now and I dig it considerably. Coincidentally, this was one of the bands that we just happened to see because they were closest to the food court at dinner time. He works in mysterious ways.

Runners-up: Fleet Foxes and What Made Milwaukee Famous (my attendance at both was intentional, but I enjoyed them much more than I thought I would).

The Perfect Timing Award goes to this guy:

The Kiss My Dick Award for ACL 08 goes to Vampire Weekend. Before ACL, I was most looking forward to seeing this band. As it turned out, they were this year’s Killers (Note: to my visually retarded readers who are having this read aloud to them, “Killers” in this sentence is not a good thing as in, “man, they killed that show!” Nay, it is a reference to last year’s ACL wherein the band, The Killers, closed out Friday night with what sounded like their CD was simply being played over a loudspeaker). Booooooooooooooooooooooring.

Runner-up: Flyleaf. I didn’t go to their show, but one of my best friends knew them in high school, he said they’re tools, and I have no reason to doubt him.

The “So THAT’S What a Rap Concert Sounds Like” Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. For a guy whose middle name literally is “Funky,” Del sure didn’t do much to move the crowd. I love rap as much as the next middle-class white guy, but I can’t stand when random guys shout sporadic words into the microphone as the main artist performs…all while the beat drops in and out to supposedly add effect to the words that you can’t understand…because they’re being shouted by three different people.

The Funniest Artist Award goes to Fleet Foxes for many reasons, but partly the following off-the-cuff conversation they had while on stage:
    Fleet Fox 1: Who is Allison Krauss?
    Fleet Fox 2: I think she was in Led Zeppelin.
    FF1: Then who is Robert Plant?
    FF2: I’m pretty sure he was one of the Doobie Brothers.

They also had plenty of jokes about Washington Mutual, the economy, etc. and they thanked Foo Fighters for allowing them to be an opening band (Foo Fighters weren’t scheduled to go on stage for another 32 hours).

Runner-up: Tegan & Sara for telling the story about how they had no sucking reflex when they were born. I dunno…I had a lot to drink at the time. Oh, wait, they’re lesbians, that’s why it’s funny.

The Best Overheard Joke Award goes to the large, red-headed stoner next to us at the Robert Plant/Allison Krauss concert. Some annoying beaver was on her phone trying to use other people’s banners as landmarks to tell her friends where she was. The closest banner to us had the Texas state flag on it. So the beaver says to her friend, “Not Texas, like the school…” to which the stoner blurted out “Texas like ha-ha???” Maybe you had to be there…

The Worst Attempt at Humor Award goes to Del the Funky Homosapien. His alter-ego, a redneck named Cletus, was about as funny as the following joke: A Jew walks into a bar and orders a scotch on the rocks. The bartender says “Did you want to open a tab?” The Jew replies, “nah, I only have time for one drink.” The bartender looks at him and says “Alright, well my name is Dave in case you need anything.”

The Show That Would Have Been Awesome If I Could Have Heard It Award goes to MGMT. Apparently, MGMT’s MKTG plan has been highly successful, as they pulled the most immense crowd of the weekend. The crowd was so large…HOW LARGE WAS IT!?...the crowd was so large that I could hear the band at another stage better than I could hear MGMT.

Runners-up: Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears (saw them in Dallas this summer and they were awesome. Would loved to have seen them again had they not been onstage during naptime) and Foo Fighters. Yes, that’s correct, we left town before the headliners performed. If it makes you feel any better, I kicked myself in the ass the entire walk back to our room as I could hear them rocking the shit out of the entire park.

The Gayest Banner Award goes to whichever homo is carrying this abomination:

The Most Surprising Announcement by an Artist Award goes to the lead singer of the Fleet Foxes for declaring that his favorite restaurant in America was a vegan restaurant. I would never have guessed that the unkempt, long-haired lead singer of a folksy band from Seattle would be vegan.

The Most Sarcastic Award Award goes to me, for that last one.

The Bands That Obviously Know What They’re Doing Awards go to:

The Mars Volta – I only stayed for one song, but it kicked ass. My lady-friend was tired, so we left for the night. I say I’m a nice guy, you say she wears the pants. Tomato, go fuck yourself.

John Fogerty – My friends overheard the following question from the village idiot: “Who was that old man who played all the CCR covers?” John Fogerty may be aging, but he had more funk in his red bandana than Del had in his entire entourage. Maybe Fogerty should change his name to John The Funky Fogerty.

The Raconteurs – Awesome, despite Jack White’s having a “disc in the wrong place” in his neck.

Okkervill River – When they played in Dallas, we left their show early (it was a school night). We made it through the whole show this time, and it was great…especially when they slipped into a dramatic and energetic cover of "Sloop John B."

Tegan & Sara – Solid show for the unfortunately small crowd.

Robert Plant & Allison Krauss – Probably my favorite show of the weekend. Watching people who love music play music is a hell of a treat. Plant and Krauss treated the audience to three altered but awesome Led Zeppelin covers which was three more than I thought we’d get while Plant’s rendition of “Nothin'” let him wail like only Robert Plant can. At one point, guitarist T-Bone Burnett took the stage by himself to perform probably the darkest song I’ve ever heard (and thus one of the coolest). Despite how good this show was, the most entertaining part might have been the aforementioned red-headed stoner dancing wildly throughout the concert, all the while donning flashing neon rabbit ears.

The Wasted High-Schooler Award goes to Philip:

This cat almost ralphed on us. I mean fo real, we were in the splatter-zone. Shortly after this picture was taken he fell backwards and landed partially on our blanket, which I promptly removed. The drunk UT dad behind us laughed and said “That’s cold, man, he’s not a leper!” No, but he was a vomiting idiot, and that’s worse in my book. The funniest part of this whole scene was the uninformed passersby who proceeded to plod through Philip’s pile of puke. Goddamn, that’s some sweet alliteration.

Thanks for attending the awards ceremonies. Buy your tickets for ACL 09 as soon as they go on sale so you too can be a part of the magic. $180 for 3 days worth of this much music and entertainment is worth every red cent. Hell, I’d pay $20 just to watch Philip piss himself again. Try taking that out of context.

Assless Chaos

2008-09-23T21:00:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was the annual Gay Pride Weekend in Dallas. There was so much going on that I could probably write about it until next year’s Gay Pride Weekend, but instead I’ll just give you the real goods.

Leading up to Saturday, I had no real plans that were at all out of the ordinary. I wanted to eat fried chicken (something I do with alarming regularity, and yes, I plan it), I wanted to play tennis, and I wanted to get drunk. After all, it wouldn’t be a weekend in Uptown Dallas without tennis, southern cooking, gay bars, drinking with my friends, and Marcus prancing down Cedar Springs holding a purple umbrella (NOTE: purple umbrella, to my knowledge, isn’t a slang term for anything, but it totally should be…any ideas?). No, this was just going to be a normal day in the gayborhood…or so I thought.

Because it was Pride weekend, the bars were PACKED. I actually like it when bars are more crowded, mainly because I dig the atmosphere. What I don’t like is how all the assheads crowd around the game room so you can’t play anything. I don’t care if the room is being used for a “Billiards is for Dicks” Chapter of the “Fuck Billiards and Anyone Who Plays It” Club meeting. Pool tables are for playing pool. They aren’t to be sat on. Or around. I need room to swing my stick (if you catch my drift). On a side note, I feel I am required by the laws of decency to tell you that towards the end of the night I myself used the same pool table as a gigantic coaster/beer net. Felt, as it turns out, is very absorbent.

Anyway, most of Saturday night is a haze. The only things I really remember are arguing with my friends over fictional military ranks (yes, ours) and my slam-dunking a full Diet Coke from MacDonald’s into the sink. In case you didn’t know, I fucking hate Diet Coke. Mainly because it splatters so damn much. Where’s a pool table when you need one? As I said, the majority of the night’s events escape me, but at least I didn’t get sick. On a scale from “completely sober” to “passed out naked in the bathtub” I was only “trashcan next to the bed…just in case” drunk. That kind of drunk makes for great nights, but terrible mornings.

I woke up Sunday with the intention of doing something productive, but instead I spent the day holding my head in my hands thinking “I fucking hate alcohol” and dreading spending my afternoon in the sun at the Gay Pride Parade. My favorite boss of all time once told me “parades rejuvenate the soul.” Well, they don’t do a goddamn thing for a hangover.

For those that don’t know, “parade” is an old French word meaning “to stand touching sweaty strangers while screaming at people to throw things to you for hours.” Nothing says “pride” like hurling rock-hard candy at someone’s face. Jawbreakers, indeed. I gathered quite a bounty of junk throughout the day, but the swag-snatching culminated with my going all Dennis Rodman on the drunk slobs around me and snagging a mini-beach ball out of mid-air. My moment of glory was cut short, however, as some jerk started yelling at me, “YOU STOLE MY BALL! YOU KNOW YOU STOLE MY BALL!” After accusing me of theft of a free item, she took a more reasonable approach and offered to buy this waste of plastic from me for $1. Now, I’m a stand-up (and clearly, when the situation demands it, a jump-over-drunk-slobs) kind of guy, so I just gave her the damn thing. I don’t live near a mini-beach, so the ball is probably better off in her menagerie of worthless shit anyway.

The rest of the day was a fuckin’ blast with more of the same, but I think you get the idea by now. Throughout the day, I texted Raoul regular updates of whatever ridiculous float was passing by. When the leather-daddy float came upon us toward the end of the parade, I intended to text two simple words: “assless chaps.” My phone, in its infinite wisdom, autocorrected me with “assless chaos.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

NOTE: The most compelling argument I've ever seen for the existence of a benevolent God is that none of these gentleman are facing the other direction. And the church said, Amen.

Creatures of Legend

2008-09-21T20:59:00.000-07:00

I love mysterious monsters. In fact, I’m such a fan that I think it’s high time somebody lobbied for them to be called by a less offensive name. Modern society has embraced civil rights to such a degree that we now have to refer to all manner of bitches, whores, and sluts as “women.” If you ask me, it’s a damn shame that we don’t extend the same courtesy to these…these Creatures of Legend. I’m talking of course about Sasquatch, the Mega Hog, the Chupacabra, the Loch Ness Creature of Legend (it has a ring to it, doesn’t it?) etc. Sadly, the world doesn’t have enough of these evolutionary misfits around. Sure, this short list is a pretty impressive who’s who of fantastic beings, but just like everything else in life, once you’ve watched the Discovery Channel special on it, what more is there to learn?

So, in the interest of keeping the dream alive, I decided to create some of my own Creatures of Legend. Here comes one now!

Armed with a pig’s supersonic hearing, a tiger’s outrageous sense of style, a jackrabbit’s insatiable desire to fuck, and, well, camel hooves, the Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack spends his nights in the Canadian countryside lying in wait behind outhouses for wandering cowboys or cowsluts…wait, sorry…cowwomen? that sounds just as offensive…anyway, the Pigerjack waits for cowpersons to stumble to the necessary room in the middle of the night so he can latch onto their lower legs and hump like his life depends on it (it does). The ferocity of the Pigerjack’s humping quickly breaks the legs of his victims, rendering them helpless and immobile. Once the Pigerjack has felled his prey, he devours them within minutes. All Pigerjacks are males. And there’s only one of them. There used to be a female Pigerjack, but she couldn’t catch any prey because females don’t hump (if there are any women who want to prove me wrong, I’m available at a moment’s notice to witness firsthand).

Cousin Eddie from Christmas Vacation described society's view of the Pigerjack best when he said, "You don't want him around if you're wearing shortpants if you know what I mean."

Don't get too excited about the above photographic "evidence." Noted Pigerjack expert, me, has determined the picture to be a hoax. The Canadian Camel-Hooved Pigerjack is nocturnal and would never be seen roaring in the daylight. Ever.

The Sorceress of Sprite

2008-09-13T10:42:00.001-07:00

Around lunchtime the other day I drove to Burger King (or as Stuttering Abbie calls it, “Bur-gink-er…shit!”) to grab a quick bite to eat. I pull up to the menu, survey my drink options, and decide on orange soda. Only I calls it Minute Maid. After years of servers invariably asking “You mean Hi-C? Or do you want orange juice?” you’d think I would give in and refer to it as “orange soda” or even “orange drink.” But the menu said “Minute Maid,” and so do I.

“Welcome to Burger King, would you like to try our Whopper Value Meal today?”

“Nope, I’ll have a double cheeseburger, plain, with a Minute Maid, please.”

“You want a Hi-C?”

*Goddammit…*

“Ah, no, sorry, Minute Maid Orange.”

“We don’t have Minute Maid Orange.”

Bullshit. I’ve had it here before. It says “Minute Maid Orange Soda” on the menu. It has the logo and everything. I swear to God I’ve had it here before. I come here a couple of times a month and get it every time. Am I at the right Burger King? Am I even at Burger King? I bet the guy behind me is furious. “What’s taking this dickhead so long?” he’s thinking. “It’s supposed to be FAST food…it’s a burger joint, the menu never changes!” My thoughts exactly.

“Uhhhh, Sprite then, please.”

I drive my bewildered ass up to the window and peer inside the restaurant. The first things I see are the soda fountain and the words “Fanta Orange.” Seriously?

I used to be a dick to people in the service industry. Then I married one (a person in the service industry, not a dick). Since then I have been extra conscious of how I treat servers, cashiers, prostitutues, etc. I have even done my best to eliminate the “No wonder they’re working at Burger King” attitude, but this lady was pushing it. Maybe she thought I was extremely brand loyal or that I was a picky prick. Those close to me might say I’m both, but I don’t know this bitch and she don’t know me. Anyway, when she comes to the window, I says to her, “Oh, could I get a Fanta instead of the Sprite?”

She stops what she is doing, looks me square in the eyes, and snaps, “I already made the Sprite.”

Had I not been so astounded by her ability to “make Sprite” I would have told her “Well fuckin’ pour it out!” Instead I sat there like a slack-jawed idiot until my food came.

The moral of the story is: Don’t anger Burger King’s drink magicians. And by “drink magicians” I mean “lazy motherfuckers.”

The Devil and Morgan Freeman

2008-09-09T20:23:00.001-07:00

After watching the movie Wanted recently, Raoul and I were discussing movies wherein Morgan Freeman acted as the villain. Raoul brought up The Bucket List and Driving Miss Daisy. Now, I haven't seen The Bucket List, but I can say without hesitation that Morgan Freeman reached the pinnacle of his career as the bad guy in Driving Miss Daisy. Nothing was more awesome than watching Jessica Tandy trying to figure out how to keep that bus above 200 mph AND defuse a bomb at the same time.

Despite having never seen the movie, mention of The Bucket List got Raoul and I talking about all the things we'd yet to accomplish despite our relative success in life thus far (read: we're still alive). What better time to record them all than now, before we actually do develop terminal illnesses? Unfortunately, Raoul gave me his 3-page, handwritten list at a gay bar, so it looked like I was reading a love note he had written me during class or something. Anyway, we figured starting the list early on in our lives should give us plenty of time to accomplish everything on it. For example, three down already.

(To give credit where credit is due Raoul is even and I'm odd)

~~Make a bucket list.~~
Find out what bleach tastes like.
In a room full of people I just met, start a joke that I don't know the punch-line to.
Seduce a geriatric and take her millions.
Infiltrate an organization.
Purchase a bear and a lion, lock them in a cage, see who survives (Editor's note: bear, obviously…see below).
~~Publicly reveal Morgan Freeman's true, evil nature.~~
Watch Roots in its entirety.
Try a glory hole (either side).
Create a diversion.
Go to sleep at a decent hour.
Perform a citizen's arrest.
~~Try life without thumbs.~~
Give a "shout out" on COPS.
Throw something at this guy and see what happens: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBv79LKfMt4
Object to a wedding (during the ceremony).
Attend a popular movie and yell out the ending during the opening scene.
Stick it to the man.
Throw all the parachutes out of an airplane except for one (mine).
Beat Mike Tyson's Punch-Out.
Get rid of this goddamn headache.
Anal.
Stare at a solar eclipse.
Violate my parole and all 3 restraining orders in one 24-hour period.
Dispose of the bodies.
Confront and destroy my nemesis/doppelganger.
Point a loaded gun at someone.
Hunt a human for sport.
Use the phrase "gilding the lily" in a sentence (other than this one).
Make it rain.
Give peace a chance.
Throw a Molotov cocktail (fuck peace).
Make a deal with the devil.
Steal a police car and use it in a high speed chase.
Finish an entire Baconator in one sitting.
Find out what all the fuss is surrounding autoerotic asphyxiation.
Stick my dick in the mashed potatoes, regardless of what kind of party it is.
Go out in a blaze of glory (Editor's note: for efficiency, combine with numbers 32 through 37?).

Bear vs. Lion

2008-09-09T19:23:00.000-07:00

Tonight a good friend of mine (we'll call him 'Raoul') asked me 'Which animal would win in a fight...a lion or a bear?'

In order to answer the question, I had to first disregard the obvious fact that if two such awesome forces ever met, they would refuse to fight out of mutual respect for each other's prowess. Next, I tried to imagine a ridiculous scenario in which the two creatures would actually meet. After failing to do so, I simply dropped the two of them into as neutral a backdrop as I could imagine...an icy plain on the edge of a grassy plain. Also, to be fair, I chose the largest specimen of each species I could find in a two-minute search on the internet. This would turn out to make the match slightly less than fair as the official bout would be between a 700 lb African Lion (Panthera leo) named "China" and a 2,200 lb Polar Bear (Ursus maritimus) named "Michael Phelps."*

With the stage set, it was time for the battle to begin. Aside from what I believed would actually happen (lion approaches bear, bear stands on hind legs, lion shits itself and runs), Raoul and I went through several different scenarios to try and determine a winner. Right off the bat, I chose bear. Now as I've said, Raoul is a good friend, so for the sake of his mental stability I hope he was merely playing devil's advocate as he chose the considerably outsized lion.

Raoul first suggested that the lion would charge the bear at 30 mph and knock it on its back. Considering that lions can reach speeds of up to 50 mph, I would say this is a serious strategic miscalculation on the lion's part. At any rate, Raoul believed this would give the lion easy access to the bear's throat, thus ending the conflict. My rebuttal had the bear standing on its hind legs, ready for an attack. Raoul countered that bears 'aren't all that sturdy.' I'm no expert on bears, but I'd say 2,200 lbs of ANYTHING is pretty goddamn sturdy.

In the interest of sportsmanship I conceded the point and changed the bear's position to standing on all fours in an attempt to create a lower center of gravity. Raoul's response? "When was the last time you saw a bear get into a 2 point stance like a linebacker?" Again, I had to concede as the last time I saw a lion and a bear in a fight, the bear did nothing that even slightly resembled a football player.

Clearly a change of strategy was in order. "Enough of this horseshit," I said to myself, "It's time to end this once and for all..." Surely, I thought, the bear wouldn't simply stand still and wait for the lion's charge attack. Now, not only was the bear on all fours, but he was charging right back at the lion in what can only be described as bear-lion chicken.** This feral joust essentially reduced the argument to Freight Train vs. Race Car and I think we all know what would happen in that situation. Checkmate.

Raoul sat there with his jaw on the floor.*** He was speechless. His precious lion had been demolished. My bear had won! Feel free to weigh in if you have a different opinion/scenario, but based on the picture below...case closed.

NOTE: No animals were harmed in the making of this picture. The lion is either sleeping or he's just been slapped silly by a polar bear that weighs ONE, FUCKING, TON, in which case he most certainly was hurt, but he was asking for it.

*Probably not the real names of the specimens being discussed.
**Since this sounds like a new version of paper-rock-scissors, but with animals, I tried to think of who would beat who. It goes without saying that bear pees on lion and lion makes fun of chicken, but unless bears are especially susceptible to salmonella, I don't think it really works out.
***I wasn't actually with Raoul when we had this conversation. This bit of narrative was added for dramatic effect. I'm guessing the only thing of Raoul's that was on the floor at the time of our discussion was his pants.

Thumbs up for thumbs.

2008-09-09T19:15:00.000-07:00

The other day I tried for about 30 minutes to see what life would be like without thumbs. I know what you're thinking...'Why?'

Well, say you and I were in some horrible accident and our injuries were minor except for our thumbs being completely severed. Who would be more prepared? That's right, me. Again, I know what you're thinking...'Yeah I probably couldn't pick up cups easily or brush my teeth very well or hitchhike or thumb wrestle, but I could manage.' Luckily for you, I understand the severity of the situation and I'm willing to share the findings of my experiment.

Here now is a list of some of the common, everyday things you can wave goodbye to with your new 4-fingered hands:

Playing video games
Twiddling
Masturbating (grip hand)
Saying 'What has two thumbs and loves blowjobs???'
Giving urban handshakes
Masturbating (anus hand)
Shooting rubber-bands
Stealing people's noses
Telling Iranians off
Making shadow puppet dogs that have ears
Enjoying suspenders
Determining the fate of gladiators

Unfortunately, that's all I could attempt during my half-hour of thumblessness before deciding to give my thumbs two very enthusiastic thumbs up.