The Decider...

A while back, SeƱor Cuckoo-Bananas proclaimed with much force that he was "the decider". I can think of a few things I wish he'd rather try being:

-The Reader

-The Thinker

-The Understander

-The Studier

-The Knower

-The Truth-Teller

-The Resigner

-The Guy Who Doesn't Annoy The Shit Out Of Me With His Fucking Obnoxious Snicker


Last night, after doing a little personal inventory, I realized that I have only bought one piece of furniture in my life - my bed. When I moved out of my parent's home I rented a furnished home. Along the way people would offer a sofa or a bookcase they wanted to get rid of to supplement the crappy stuff that came with my rental. By the time I moved out I had replaced most of my landlord's furniture with other people's hand-me-downs. When it came time to move into my own home, I had everything I needed except the bed. Everything else - sofa, chairs, tables, bookshelves, lamps, etc. - were either previously owned, gifts, or things I made myself. Hell, even my house is second-hand. Someone agreed to give me their house provided I paid to have it moved to another site. You can see video of it moving, an amazing process that happened all in one day. It was a sight to see my "new" house roll right down the main street of my little town. I guess I believe that if something is still useful and isn't a total piece of shit, may as well keep it rather than add it to another growing pile of garbage while going out and buying a replacement (that will someday end up in an even bigger garbage pile).


Documentary Film Of The Day - Grey Gardens...

I have become a huge fan of documentary films after I started a subscription to Netflix, the popular DVD-by-mail outfit. In order to spread the word about this great genre, I've decided to highlight a new film every couple days. My first is a film called "Grey Gardens", by Albert and David Maysles (pronounced MAY-zuls) made in 1975. The film is in the true spirit of direct cinema, a style where there is no interaction between the film crew (in this case the two brothers) and their subjects and no narration. It is also known as fly-on-the -wall. The two subjects are Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter Edie. They are the aunt and cousin, respectively, of Jackie Kennedy Onassis. They live (or rather have sequestered themselves) in a dilapidated mansion in the Hamptons on Long Island. The house is home to tons of cats, raccoons, and these two women. Because the house is in such disrepair, they confine themselves primarily to one room. The film documents their interaction and eccentricities. It is absolutely fascinating and proves that you don't need a lot of characters OR scripted dialogue to make a compelling movie. I must admit, upon my first viewing, I made it about 30 minutes in and turned it off because I thought it was stupid. I didn't get it. I gave it another chance and the second time, I couldn't tear myself away. If you are patient enough and don't mind a film that lacks guns and nudity, you will be treated to a character study that is timeless.


I don't usually get emotional when it comes to watching movies. It is very rare for me to tear up because of something I see on a screen. Call me cold-hearted if you want. There are, however, three movies that I've seen a few times that have some effect on me. With each of them, I could miss the whole beginning and only see the last twenty minutes or so, and tears will well up uncontrollably. Two are Christmas movies and one's a sports film.

It's A Wonderful Life
OK, this is an obvious one and a common tearjerker for most people. The ending with the money and bells and Zuzu. I lose it.

This is the modern version of A Christmas Carol, with Bill Murray. The scene at the end where Alfre Woodard's kid, who had been mute throughout the movie, speaks for the first time gets me everytime.

This is an odd one. You see, I was raised to hate Notre Dame sports. For some odd reason, my dad consciously rooted against Notre Dame, even though he had nothing against the school or Catholics or Irish people in general. The final scenes of that movie when Rudy finally realizes his dream and gets in the game and his dad is there - forget about it.

I know, I'm a total wuss.


For as long as I can remember, I've always descibed bowel movements as:

Taking a dump.

Or, if I'm trying to be cutesy, I'll say:


Lately, I've become fond of:

Dropping a deuce.

I think it rolls off the tongue, don't you?


Am I The Only One...

Does anyone else ever get fucked up and do shit like THIS?

Ever Notice...

Ever notice that
and June are all common American names but
and Junn are not.


Events On The Ground...

The phrase "events on the ground" is one that is ready to be retired. Like when you hear them say, "Troop levels in Iraq will be dictated by events on the ground." I guess this is to differentiate between events in the sky. So all you people flying kites in Iraq and thinking it's going to drive out our troops - guess again! Or maybe there is some sort of radically different gravitational pull in Iraq and some events just sort of hover. It is a meaningless use of words. Just say "events in Iraq". We'll assume they're happening on the ground. Besides, can't you see you're confusing the shit out of poor Dickie.

Flag Burning...

Well, well, well. Look what debate has once again reared it's ugly head. It's an oldie but a goodie - perhaps the greatest smokescreen of all time! Bill Hicks had a great bit about this years ago and it still applies today. He addressed people who say things like "My daddy died for that flag." He maintained that nobody dies for a flag. A flag is a piece of cloth. They may have died for freedom which, by the way, includes the freedom to burn the flag. This is such a blatant act of pandering that it is stunning that the public continues to treat this seriously. If the thing you love most about the U.S.A. is a non-burning flag, or even it's in your top ten, you might want to consider rearranging your priorities. Besides, where is all this flag burning happening in the U.S.? Is it that out of control that the Congress need to amend the Constitution? No, but Republicans know that the rest of their platform is shit, so who's gonna notice another turd.


A Quiz...

See if you can guess the origin of these song lyrics. If you know any of these, let's be friends. Answers are hidden and can be revealed by highlighting the text under each group.

Honey Honey Honey Honey Honey
Darlin' Darlin' Darlin' Darlin' Darlin'
Child Child Child Child Child
Baby Baby Baby Baby Baby.
Baby, I'm Drunk, by Reveren Horton Heat, off the album "Space Heater"

Did I w-i-i-i-*i*-ink of this
I am yum, yummy, yum, don't, yummy, yum, yom, yom...
Yes, I'm thi-i-*i*-i-i-i-inking of this, in steam
skeleton kissed to the steel rail
If It's In You, by Syd Barrett off the album "Madcap Laughs"

The Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy,
The Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy,
The Flat Foot Floogee with the floy floy,
floy doy, floy doy, floy doy, floy doy.
The Flat Foot Floogee, by Slim Gaillard off the album "Laughin' In Rhythm: The Verve Years

Wah wah wah, wah wah
Wah wah waah, wah wah wah
Wah wah waah, wah wah wah
Wah wah wah
The Fat Man, by Fats Domino off the album "My Blue Heaven"


Building Codes...

R314.2 Spiral stairs. Spiral stairways are permitted, provided the minimum width shall be 26 inches (660 mm) with each tread having a 7 1/2 inch (190 mm) minimum tread width at 12 inches (305 mm) from the narrow edge. All treads shall be identical, and the rise shall be no more than9 1/2 inches (241 mm). A minimum headroom of 6 feet, 6 inches (1982 mm) shall be provided. - Michigan Residential Code, 2000

Now, can you believe they're requiring a minimum tread width of 7-1/2 inches at 12 inches from the narrow edge? I can remember when it was 7-1/4 inches! That, my friends, is a bold move. Bold with a capital mother-fuckin' B, mother fuckers!



I was the subject of bullying from grades one through four. I'm not sure what brought it on. I was pretty shy and didn't attract a lot of attention to myself. I was small for my age and therefore couldn't fight back, especially not against the 3 or 4 older kids who tormented me daily going to and from school. I also had a pretty long walk, which provided plenty of time to do damage. They would play keep-away with my lunchbox, throw me in the bushes, and constantly kick my ankles to try and make me trip over my own feet. As we all know, unless you are planning on having some sort of constant bodyguard, you can't tell anyone without making matters worse for yourself. So, I had to live with it for four years. Sometimes I'd sprint home before they could catch me. Other times I'd wait long after everyone had left, which often meant I'd miss The Brady Bunch (fuckers!). A lot of people dream about the day they will finally exact revenge on their childhood bullies. Not me. This is what gets us into trouble, I think. You're better off to just let it go. I had plenty of opportunities as I got older to make younger kids suffer the way I had. I chose to end the cycle at me. There just didn't seem any logic to it. These experiences have played a huge part in my present attitudes towards current events. I know a bully when I see one. It's no wonder I have such a problem with Iceland.

A Stupid Observation...

The letter "i" is the wimpiest-looking letter in the alphabet. I suppose the upper-case "I" has a certain understated nobility, but let's face it, lower-case "i" is a pussy.


In God We Trust...

I was reading somewhere that the guy who is suing to get god out of the pledge of allegiance was ruled against in his latest attempt. Can someone who is strongly in favor of leaving god in the pledge please explain why the fuck it is so important to you. Hold on. Before you do, a few ground rules, OK? Please don't mention anything about the founding father's wishes. You didn't know them. Their wishes mean jack squat. They also had wishes that people be allowed to own other people. Their wishes are no more sacred than the wishes you made when you were ten, blowing out your candles, that Marcia Brady would come to your house and sit on your face. As you probably know the pledge wasn't even written by the founders. It was written by *gasp* a SOCIALIST! The "under god" part wasn't added until 1951. Also, spare me your baloney about how this is a nation founded on Judeo-Christian ethics. Blabbity blabbity blah blah. It still doesn't answer my question. Why is it important TO YOU? Are you afraid you'll forget about god if you don't say his name at least 50 times a day? Hell, just walk out and take a look at your car bumper. God's plastered all over it! Besides, who in the name of Buddha says the pledge anymore? I haven't said the pledge since I was in school and I refuse to say it now. Wake the hell up, America! This is nothing more than a cheap parlor trick perpetrated by Fox News so they can sell more antacid. If you think it means something, it tells me that you are pretty insecure about your faith and about your patriotism. Don't worry, I still love you anyway.


When you grow up...

So far this summer I've had two young houseguests, one 8 months and the other 2 years old. I am not typically around people this age. One thing I've noticed is that adults are anxious to assign a future profession based on some physical or personality trait of the child. For example, if a baby spastically kicks their legs a lot, often you'll hear, "Wow. She's going to be a soccer player." Or if they like to bang on pots and pans, "Hey, looks like you've got a drummer on your hands." The problem is that the professions are usually ones that are extremely hard to get into and often require highly specific skills that would be difficult to detect at such an early age. I think we should start being honest with parents and stop filling them with false hope. The fact is their child is probably going to grow up to be an accountant or a sales rep of some kind.


Coulter Redux...

Just when you thought Annie was the most pious of Christians, she goes and manages to out-Jesus the lord himself. In a recent interview, when asked to give short comments on different individuals, Ann Coulter had this to say about Rep. John Murtha:

The reason soldiers invented "fragging". (Click for full article)

Ann, you see, was privy to an extra commandment we all missed out on. Pat Robertson whispered it to her one day as they were trying to give mouth-to-mouth to aborted fetuses. It goes like this:

Thou shalt advocate assassination of thy brother and sister who doesn't agree with thou.

Once again, hats off to a loyal Christian soldier and one heckuva nice gal.


Remember how I said that any time a politician said something stupid, I'd be there. Well, I think this certainly fits the bill. It's no wonder why Republicans want to put the ten commandments everywhere - they have a little trouble remembering them. God bless you, Stephen Colbert. Click here to see what I'm talking about



I am a sucker for babies. It's too bad it's not yet socially acceptable
to have pet babies. My niece is coming up to visit for the weekend.
Tell me this isn't the cutest baby you've ever seen!

Too Much TV...

I watch a lot of goddamn TV. I always have. I watch as many good shows as I watch shit. My latest adventure has been working my way through every season of The Sopranos. My friend has the first five seasons on DVD and loaned me the first four. It took me about a week and a half to finish those - 52 hours worth. I have just gotten the first two discs of season five from Netflix and am pleased with how it starts out. See, I never had HBO and missed the entire run. I must say that all the hype about this show is true. This is probably the best dramatic television out there, bar none. I have heard from people that certain seasons aren't as good as others, but for me it has been one continuous season and I haven't noticed any sort of difference in quality. The depth of the characters, the casting, the performances, and amazing writing make this show great. There are so many little nuggets in each episode to savor. It will be a show that I will actually miss once it's gone, like Seinfeld. Speaking of Seinfeld, I noticed some crossover. I immediately recognized the actor who plays Mel, Uncle Junior's lawyer, from an episode of Seinfeld. It's the one where George parks in the handicapped spot at the mall. He and Kramer have to buy a wheelchair for someone. The guy selling wheelchairs is kind of a used car salesman-type. That's him. Richard Portnow. He's been in a shitload of stuff.



I am listening to Ol' Silvertongue right now give the same speech he has given for the last few years. There are little phrases they love to use over and over. They often mean something completely different than what you'd think. Here are a few of their "greatest hits".

-There's no question that...
Translation: There are plenty of questions, but you don't need to worry about them.
-I look forward to that debate...
Translation: I will never have that debate because, in case you haven't noticed, I can't speak so good.
-I appreciate your question...
Translation: It's a nice question, but I'd rather answer a different question. You know, one I've been prepped for.
-We're making progress...
Tranlation: We aren't doing jack shit.
-I'm ready to move forward...
Translation: I'm going to keep doing exactly the same thing we've been doing.
-It's hard work...
Translation: Some poor bastard is going to be busting their ass while other people shoot at them.
-May god continue to bless America...
Translation: May god continue to bless me so that people don't figure out I'm full of crap.


My friend Frank and I were just talking about a current Burger King commercial for a chicken sandwich they serve. It features a guy in a chicken suit on a dirt bike. At first, I thought they were saying "Big Cluckin' Chicken" in the refrain. Frank fantasized that they were saying "Big Fuckin' Chicken". I listened a little closer the next time it was on and I thought maybe it was "Big Honkin' Chicken". Well, if you pay attention you can read some small print and realize they are saying "Big Huckin' Chicken" . "Huckin'" is a term I am unfamiliar with. Anyone know what huckin' (or "hucking", to be more formal) means?


What The Hell Happened...

Upon reviewing the posts I've made thus far, I'm realizing that I come off as a sarcastic, cynical, vulgar person. What happened to that bright-eyed, happy-go-lucky child that played T-ball, obeyed his parents, and regularly attended Sunday School? Pre-college, I embodied the All-American goody-goody that you just wanted to pummel. I got good grades with little effort. I never got in trouble in school (or anywhere, for that matter). I helped out senior citizens my mom knew with their yardwork. I kept my hair short. I didn't drink or do drugs. I considered myself a Republican, based mainly on the fact that my second grade teacher told us Democrats were in favor of slavery and Republicans were against it (no joke). I was even told by people that they thought I should be a pastor. So where did I go wrong? Things started to change when I started to listen to this guy. And thank god. Otherwise, today I might be this guy.

Mind Games...

Son of a bitch! This guy's trying to hypnotize us!

Hollywood Laziness...

Those of you who know me know that I have a big problem with Hollywood's continued insistence on adapting TV sitcoms for motion picture release. In essence it's nothing more than tossing shit at the screen and seeing what sticks. For some, this post may be a bit of a rerun, but I feel it's worthy of further discussion, so bite me.

I found out not too long ago that the next cinematic abortion in this vein is a movie remake of "Welcome Back, Kotter" starring Ice Cube. I started thinking about other potential shows begging for the same treatment. I have a number of proposals to share if I sense an interest. One that has proven popular is my synopsis for "Golden Girls: The Movie". Be warned, this is not for small children or religious fundamentalists:

As the baby-boomers get older, Hollywood is sure to cater towards this new growing bloc of moviegoers. As such, what better sitcom to adapt for the silver screen than Golden Girls and its tales of four post-menopausal women living in Miami Beach and their never-ending search for laughs (and cocks!). The four housemates: Sophia (a bawdy-talking Sicilian, played by former first lady, Barbara Bush), Dorothy (Sophia's misanthropic lesbian daughter, played by a water buffalo), Blanche (a lusty southern belle in flowing silken housecoats, played by Della Reese), and Rose (a semi-retarded Minnesotan with a useless anecdote for any situation, played by Chris Burke of "Life Goes On" - in drag). The movie finds the gang moving into a new home. An opening montage sequence conveys all the pitfalls and pratfalls involved in moving (boxes everywhere, not being able to find the one with all the dildos, etc.). In a touching moment, Sophia empties the contents of her colostomy bag like a squirt gun onto an unsuspecting Rose as Blanche and Dorothy point and laugh. Actually, Dorothy can neither point or laugh as she is a water buffalo, so she just sort of snorts and bucks her hind legs. Rose wipes the contents from her eyes, at first a little pissed off, then, realizing that its all in good fun, chuckles herself. As the girls settle in it becomes clear that something is amiss. The house is haunted! After the initial shock and fright wear off, the new residents become used to their new undead houseguests. We see them playing Mah-jong together, knitting sweaters that turn out to be WAY too big for any normal person (hilarious!), and cursing at the children that run across their yard. After a certain degree of trust and friendship is established between the girls and their poltergeist counterparts, a secret is revealed. It seems that there is one way the ghosts can be released from their earthly confines and finally rest in peace. They tell the four that if they are able to piss simultaneously and cross the four piss-streams in mid-air, the spell will be broken. Wanting to assist their new friends, the girls agree. It takes a bit of manuevering and flexibility, but they finally make it happen (but not after getting soaked to the bone!) At long last the ghosts are freed, but in a last minute change of heart, decide they can't leave the girls. The girls are thrilled not only that their friends decide to remain, but that they have discoved a new love - golden showers! The movie ends in a complete piss-fest with the girls drenching each other, gargling urine, and laughing and farting a lot, all to the strains of "Walkin On Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves. The movie shows the tender bonds that develop between the apparitions and their octagenarian friends. Fun for the whole family!

An American Patriot...

The true face of the Republican Party, ladies and gentlemen.


Ad Nauseum...

I go out of my way to buy products that don't advertise, at least not on television. Let's think about products that spend the most on commercials:

-Soft Drinks: I used to drink about 36 oz. of regular Coke each day. About a year and a half ago I saw the movie "Supersize Me" and decided to cut it out completely the next day. I have not purchased any carbonated soft drink since, except for Canada Dry Tonic Water which, to my knowledge, has never had a TV commercial.
-Fast Food: See above. I used to eat at these places a lot, maybe four times a week on average. It's not so much the health issues that led to my personal boycott, but the fact that these are sinister corporations that I prefer not to get any of my money. It is the one small bit of power I have over them.
-Automobiles: I have only owned two cars in my life. My current car is a 1993 Ford Ranger with 233,000 miles on it. Both cars were bought used, so the companies didn't see any of my money.
-Beer: I don't drink Miller or Bud products. I usually drink Molson Canadian and can't remember the last time I saw one of their commercials. Maybe they play them in Canada, but I don't see them.
-Pharmaceuticals: The only meds (eyedrops) I take are for a rare form of Glaucoma I have, but again, no commercials.
-Toothpaste: Has anyone ever seen a commercial for Aim?

I guess I just figure that a company that doesn't spend a lot on commercials can put more money into providing a good product. Or maybe I'm wrong and they're using all that surplus advertising money on hookers and blow.

Bad Words...

As you can probably tell from my previous posts, bad language is not something that is of much concern to me. People much more eloquent than I have explained in great detail why the existence of "bad words" is so ridiculous. The definitive source for this argument is George Carlin. George contends that no word can be bad in and of itself and that it is the context in which its used that makes it good or bad. It's a concept I've given a lot of thought to and it works for me. While I don't want to rehash Mr. Carlin's entire theory, I would like to offer some of my own thoughts.

Let's take my "go-to" curse word - fuck. Fuck has tons of different meanings. In verb form, fuck means to have intercourse. It can be replaced by other words like screw, hump, bone, or roger, each of which can be said on TV. So ask yourself, what is it about the sound that represents "fuck" that is so offensive? It is merely a placeholder for a concept. How can a sound be bad? The same sound in reverse is "cuff" - a perfectly fine sound. Like, what makes the sound "shit" worse than the sound "poo"? I also love it when I hear someone talking amongst other adults and they say something like, "I was so effing pissed..." We all know the sound he wanted to make. We all know that effing means fucking. So why not just say it? Where is the offensive part? It doesn't make a lick of sense when you look at it objectively. I think it is high time we provided a blanket amnesty for ALL words (even cunt) and got over whatever sort of puritanical/biblical bullshit hang-ups we have with these sounds. Just think of how cool commercials would be. Stuff like "Lite Beer from Miller. It's fucking good!" or "Buy Irish Spring soap, you shitheads!"



A lot of conservative friends of mine always seem baffled by why the terrorists hate the United States. This is somewhat surprising, given the fact that our government has consistently provided a rational explanation. The government has said that, above all, they hate us for our freedom. Simple as that. Case closed.

Now let's synthesize the information we have. Terrorists hate our freedom. The opposite of hate is love. The opposite of freedom is confinement. Therefore, terrorists love confinement. Are any alarm bells going off, people? What these terrorists really want is to be locked up. So here is what I propose. Airdrop a bunch of cages, maybe 20' x 20', into areas with a high concentration of terrorists. The terrorists will see these cages and, due to their hatred of freedom, will lock themselves up. No fuss, no muss. Doesn't that sound a lot cheaper and a lot less bloody than what we're doing right now? Often the simplest solution escapes us.

The Most Taboo Subject In The World...

I consider myself a very well-informed person. I'm pretty aware of what's going on in the world. I pay attention to things and have a decent memory. I am also very open when it comes to talking about potentially taboo topics like religion, sex, and politics. I have absolutely no memory of anyone - not family, not friends, not teachers - ever talking to me about hemorrhoids.
Up until about a year ago, the most I knew about hemorrhoids was that it was some sort of ass pain and that Preparation H was the cure. I had no idea what the symptoms were, what caused them, or how they manifested themselves. I didn't even know of anyone who had ever had them. Things changed quite suddenly when I noticed a raw, stinging nodule sticking out of my butthole while I was wiping one day. I was caught completely off guard and wasn't totally sure what I was dealing with. I did some internet investigation to confirm my suspicion that this was, in fact, a hemorrhoid. I bought some ointment which is applied in a disgusting, yet totally necessary fashion. Constipation is the leading cause due to increased pressure on the sphincter during bowel movements. Thankfully there has been no recurrence since. There have been times when I thought I was on the verge of a repeat, but I increased my fiber intake and modified my pooping habits to preempt their return. I felt like it was wrong for me to talk about this with anyone because no one had ever talked about it before, like there was some shame attached to it. I'm curious if other people have been sheltered from the existence of this unpleasant bodily occurence. As a curious person, I also made the fatal error of doing a Google image search during my investigation. For those of you who like gross shit like this, I dare you to do a similar search. In fact, I'll do it for you. Here. There it is. Waiting. Don't you want to see just how nasty it is? Come on.

O Bob Novak, Where Art Thou?

I am a big fan of pundit-based television. Don't ask me why. I don't think these shows do anything to help the discourse. As those of you who saw Jon Stewart publicly castrate Tucker Carlson on Crossfire know, Jon laid out a compelling case for how these shows are a detriment and hurtful to the national debate. I guess I watch these shows not so much as a source of information, but rather to study the gamesmanship and deceit that takes place. These shows entertain me. One talking head who never failed to disappoint was Bob Novak.

When it came to saying a whole bunch or words that sounded important, but meant absolutely nothing, no one could touch Bob. When it came to unjustified condescension, he was unsurpased. And when you wanted to see personal attacks delivered with venom (and perhaps a little drool), you knew who to turn to. Bob put the "crotch" in crotchety. Unfortunately, Bob's involvement in the Plame affair has made him a bit a of a pariah in punditland, but he held fast, clinging tightly to his RNC talking points and spittle cup. Ultimately, Bob reached his breaking point, saying "bullshit" live on CNN, eventually resulting in his banishment to some underground Fox News dungeon. I, for one, miss his unintelligible analysis and lame non sequiturs. I mean, the guy is not long for this world. Can't we let him go out in a garbled, patronizing blaze of glory where he belongs - on television? Please Bob, you dirty bitch, come back to us!


Hey! Kool Aid!

When I was about six-years-old I can remember playing in the front yard of my suburban-Chicago home with the neighbor kids as our moms sat talking. Out of nowhere a box truck (like a U-Haul) pulls up in front of our house. The back opens up and out jumps the Kool-Aid Man in all his icy-sweet glory. He ran around, smiling, as he passed out Kool-Aid stickers. Just as quickly as he arrived, he was gone, with no explanation. Is there anyone else out there that has any memory of this sort of thing happening (circa 1978)? It haunts me to this day and it would be nice if there were others to commiserate with. For as seemingly jovial as the Kool-Aid man might appear, the fact that he runs around dispensing the very fluid he consists of is a tad disturbing. It'd be like me running around with a pitcher full of my blood, piss, and saliva. Oh, yeaahh!


As many of us that are left-leaning have learned, trying to have a reasonable political discussion with a staunch conservative is an exercise in futility. You can come equipped with with all the facts, statistics, and Paul Krugman quotes you like, but unless you have video footage that clearly shows the president kicking in the teeth of little old ladies as his mother looks on, laughing, they will not budge. Even that isn't a safe bet. ("Those ladies posed a grave and gathering threat to the freedom that you and I hold dear...") In light of this, I have altered my approach. Rather than mount a logical offensive from the left, I have decided to out-crazy them from the right.

Let's take an issue like gay marriage. No matter how you slice it, this issue boils down to fear. For conservative men it has nothing to do with the marriage part. It is merely a fear that gay men exist at all. More specifically, it is a fear that one of these gay men may end up next to them at a urinal and might just try to grab their noodle. As for women, well, I don't think women are all that concerned about it. We know that all women are lesbians deep down anyway, right guys? So, when the topic comes up, I would argue that, not only should gay marriage be forbidden, but all gay men should be required by law to be implanted with a flashing LED indicator light on either side of their necks, clearly visible at all times. This way, you can always leave a buffer urinal in between, or better yet, just use a stall.

Now, I'm not sure if this does anything to advance the debate, but it sounds like a lot more fun than beating your head against the wall trying to convince some wingnut that Dubya isn't the second coming of Christ. Plus, if the person agrees with what you're saying, its just another opportunity to up the ante. Maybe say that flag-burning should be punishable by death or that illegal aliens be used to test bulletproof body armor. See just how committed they are!

Could Someone Please Explain...

Back in the late eighties, many of us were introduced to the zany antics of Zack, Kelly, Slater, Jessie, Screech, Lisa, and of course their comic foil, Mr. Belding (masterfully played by Dennis Hastings). The show "Saved By The Bell" ushered in a new era of Saturday morning television. Honestly, who can forget the time Zack comes up with an ill-fated get rich quick scheme, only to redeem himself in the end? Or that heartbreaking episode when Lisa calls Screech a dork? Or how about when Kelly, light years ahead of her time, wore a midriff-baring outfit? Yes, we have followed this show through its many incarnations. It all started with the original, followed by Saved By The Bell: Hawaiian Style, Saved By The Bell: The College Years, Saved By The Bell: Wedding In Las Vegas, and ultimately Saved By The Bell: They Shove Cumbersome Objects Into Their Anuses. (I won't get into that bastard spawn, Saved By The Bell: The New Class.) Saved By The Bell continues to maintain an audience in syndication on TBS, with back-to-back episodes each morning at 7:00. What I'd like to know is why I continue to watch this show? Never - not once - have I ever laughed at this show. I suppose the girls on the show are attractive, but not enough to warrant sitting through such gut-wrenchingly unfunny material. Each morning, between my shower and when I have to leave for work I tune in, hoping beyond hope that this show will, at long last, make me laugh. Alas, I know deep down it will never be. The show seems to have taken the torch from a former syndication powerhouse, The Brady Bunch, which despite being completely dated and absent any discernable humor, flourished well beyond its initial run. So why? What is it about this show that has such a stranglehold on me? There is a pair of slightly worn checkerboard Vans and and a lock of Slater's hair (possibly pubic) in it for whoever can provide the best explanation.


Our Girl Annie...

Recently I've noticed an upsurge in the amount of stuff being written on the internet--much of it critical--about pundit Ann Coulter. In fact, it seems any schmuck with a keyboard has felt the need to express their outrage regarding recent statements she has made. Frankly, its become pedestrian and I refuse to engage in it. I mean, hasn't this woman suffered enough? So what if she makes claims doubting whether 9-11 widows were really loved by their husbands and questions their right to express their views. You won't hear me complain. And is it really that big a deal that she said she wished the hijacked planes of 9-11 had flown into the offices of The New York Times? I mean, isn't that the way most people feel? You also won't hear me whining about the fact that she wants to go in and bomb Muslim cities and convert them all to Christianity. That's what Jesus taught all those years ago. The fact is, Ann continues to be a lone voice of reason in a world gone mad! Does it really matter that listening to her speak is only slightly less irritating than repeatedly hitting yourself in the groin with a socket wrench? You see, that's the sort of ad hominem garbage I have no interest in. You go get 'em Ann!

My First Post!...

Hi! Welcome to my new blog. I have no idea what I'm going to write about, but I do know that I will only do 1500 posts and that's it.

The Dawning Of A New Day...

Well, I have avoided it long enough. For too long, the public has gone without my insight into the vast minutiae of everyday life. For too long, you, the reader, have lacked access to what's on the mind of some unknown thirty-something white guy. I understand now how starved our nation is for something like this. Take heart. I am here now. I am prepared to deliver all of you out of the darkness. Whenever there is a new fart joke waiting to be told - I'll be there. Whenever some punk-ass politician says something stupid - I'll be there. And whenever a compromising photo of an up-and-coming young female starlet surfaces on the internet, believe me - I'll be there. You see, my intent for this blog is both simple and modest - to completely change the lives of any and all who read what I write. Anything less than that would constitute complete and utter failure. Please join me on this journey, won't you?

(Christ, I'm a fucking dork.)

Some guy