Food goes in here

2008-01-07T22:57:00.000-08:00

Best Misuse of "Literally" This Week

Dana Stevens on 2007 film Bug:

It was one of those movies that's too small and too odd to make anyone's 10-best list but one that quite literally bored its way into the viewer's brain.

Yes, I realize a case could be made against it if you interpret brain as synonymous with mind, but shut up.

2008-01-01T21:46:00.001-08:00

Why Juno Sucks Balls, And Why That Matters

Every ten years or so, a bad movie gets good reviews. And I don't mean that Bratz: The Movie scored a 21 on Metacritic when it deserved to get a -999, which would mean that by federal law everyone involved in its creation can be murdered without any legal repercussions whatsoever. No, I'm talking about movies like Titanic, a lumbering behemoth of a film that managed to gross 40 trillion million dollars, mostly because 12-year old girls saw it over and over again, attempting to imprint Leonardo DiCaprio's youthful face so deeply onto their minds eyes' that every unconscious moment would be dominated by his mien, like Gregory's face spanning the world entire at the conclusion of The Man Who Was Thursday.

Juno is another such film, our generation's Titanic, just like Paris Hilton is our generation's Marilyn Monore, or Gulf War II is our generation's Gulf War I. And like our American forefathers, when confronted with a Saddam Hussein, a Paris Hilton, or a Diablo Cody/Jason Reitman, it's our solemn duty to hoist the black flag and begin slitting throats. Or to write scathing blotrys that will cause the targets of their soul-crushing invective to realize their own stunning, insurmountable inadequacies and to then slit their own throats. Information Age and all that.

I'd like to begin by laying out a few facts.

As of my writing, Juno has amassed 100% positive reviews of Rotten Tomatoes' "Cream of the Crop" critics, ostensibly a collection of the most prestigious movie reviewers in film criticism-dom. It also has a score of 8.4, which suggests that the reviews are not mildly salutory, but overwhelmingly positive. The Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men has a rating of 90%, and a score of 8.2.

No Country For Old Men is a searing, gorgeously composed meditation on the nature of evil, the inescapability of fate, and the inability of good men to overcome either. It is best thing the Coens have made since Fargo, and is one of the great films of the year, if not the decade.

Juno is a twee vector for Diablo Cody's "wit" and "humor" masquerading as a dramedy about a teenage girl's pregnancy.

These are the facts.

I don't want to rage apoplectic about the failure of Rotten Tomatoes or of film criticism in general. Metacritic, another review compilation site, is considerably less sanguine about Juno's quality. But Juno's success is real--it's been nominated for three Golden Globes, including Best Comedy and Best Screenplay, and is apparently a serious Oscar-contender. And I do think that Juno's ascendance is indicative of larger trends at work in the world.

"We're drowning in quirk," Michael Hirschorn pronounced in The Atlantic a few months ago. Hirschorn was too indiscriminate in his condemnation, lumping The Royal Tenenbaums and Flight of the Conchords together with cultural obscenities like Garden State and Napoleon Dynamite. But he's onto something. He's right to be skeptical of the kind of aesthetic that satisfies itself with reference and nostalgia, with what the British would call twee, dainty affectations that signify nothing.

The cynical emptiness at the heart of movies like Juno speaks to the triumph of a kind of fakery that's become endemic to a lot of artistic endeavors. Yes, all art is artifice, but the good stuff gets at the humanity, the hidden realities, of the situation. That's why in Pulp Fiction (Tarantino is a writer who specializes in successful stylization and who I've seen compared to Diablo Cody more than once) two hitmen can have a conversation about hamburgers--because what they're talking about is genuinely sort of interesting (of course they can't call in a quarter-pounder in a country that uses the metric system!), and because we might imagine that hitmen who've committed countless crimes before would talk about empty frivolities on their way to another hit. Or take this exchange between Butch and his girlfriend:

BUTCH
I'm sorry, baby-love.

FABIAN
(crying)
You were gone so long, I started to
think dreadful thoughts.

BUTCH
I'm sorry I worried you, sweetie.
Everything's fine. Hey, how was
breakfast?

FABIAN
(waterworks drying a
little)
It was good --

BUTCH
-- did you get the blueberry
pancakes?

FABIAN
No, they didn't have blueberry
pancakes, I had to get buttermilk
-- are you sure you're okay?

BUTCH
Baby-love, from the moment I left
you, this has been without a doubt
the single weirdest day of my
entire life. Climb on an' I'll
tell ya about it.

Fabian does climb on. Butch STARTS her up.

FABIAN
Butch, whose motorcycle is this?

BUTCH
It's a chopper.

FABIAN
Whose chopper is this?

BUTCH
Zed's.

FABIAN
Who's Zed?

BUTCH
Zed's dead, baby, Zed's dead.

The exchange is stylized, it's not realistic (how could it be, really, since it follows a scene in which Butch slices up a couple of redneck rapists with a samurai sword), but it still manages to engage with real situations and emotions, as Butch desperately tries to talk his flighty girlfriend into coming with him without asking too many questions. Tarantino's dialogue sparkles because he consciously juxtaposes the absurd with the mundane, and finds humanity and humor in both. That's where the comedy comes from, why pancakes are funny, and why Tarantino deserves credit as a stylish writer.

Juno's dialogue isn't funny because it's phoney. Look at this exchange from early on in Juno:

ROLLO, the eccentric drugstore clerk, sneers at Juno from
behind the counter. He wears a polyester uniform vest.

ROLLO
Well, well. If it isn’t MacGuff the
Crime Dog! Back for another test?

JUNO
I think the last one was defective.
The plus sign looked more like a
division sign.

Rollo regards her with intense skepticism.

JUNO
I remain unconvinced.

Rollo pulls the bathroom key out of reach.

ROLLO
This is your third test today, Mama
Bear. Your eggo is preggo, no doubt
about it!

An eavesdropping TOUGH GIRL wearing an oversized jacket and
lots of makeup gapes at Juno from the beauty aisle.

TOUGH GIRL
Three times? Oh girl, you are way
pregnant. It’s easy to tell. Is
your nipples real brown?

A pile of stolen COSMETICS falls out of the girl’s jacket and
clatters to the floor.

TOUGH GIRL
Balls!

Juno crosses and crosses her legs awkwardly, hopping. It’s
obvious she has to use the bathroom urgently.

ROLLO
Maybe you’re having twins. Maybe
your little boyfriend’s got mutant
sperms and he knocked you up twice!

JUNO
Silencio! I just drank my weight in
Sunny D. and I have to go, pronto.

Why is Rollo so antagonistic? There's no hint that he has any kind of prior relationship with Juno. Instead we're left to conclude that we're deep in the territory of Quirk-Land, a kind of twisted Fairy realm populated by impossibly verbose pixie girls and angry drugstore clerks and stepmoms with oh-so-random predilictions for cutting pictures of dogs out of magazines, where the rivers flow with Sunny Delight and the ubiquitous chords of cloying indie bands fill the air.

How else to explain Juno's familiarity with Soupy Sales (the only person I know who knows who Soupy Sales is is my 60-year old father), or with Thunderbirds? Who, indeed, is apparently such a wit that she has the presence of mind to make a Thunderbirds reference just as her water breaks? That moment, in fact, nicely encapsulates Juno's dual failures: a complete lack of authenticity coupled with a tin-ear for comedy; making references to mid 60s puppet shows is not inherently funny. Over and over again, Cody mistakes reference or inappropriate explictness (nipples! pregnancy! eggo preggo!) for comedy.

Juno judiciously avoids any engagement with reality. It carefully sidesteps any hint of the extreme strains her tiny body must be undergoing--Juno carries her child as lightly as, well, a fat suit. It dances around the social consequences of being pregnant and in high school. It teeters dangerously close to genuine drama with the strange, uncomfortable relationship between Jason Bateman and Juno, but then backs away at the last second. And yes, certainly, of course, it stays far far away from examining Juno's decision to carry the pregnancy in the first place-- the burden of that decision is passed off on a suitably lame (read Asian) pro-life protester and another round of "comedy" from the inappropriately explicit abortion clinic front desk clerk.

All that would be perfectly OK if Juno's ambitions were purely comedic...but they're not, and anyway, the "comedy" is mostly contained in inane, artificial lines like, "Honest to Blog." Honest to Blog? Really? Not only does no one talk like that, no one wants to talk like that. Anyone who did talk like that would be taken out and shot. And I would be glad that they had been shot. Whoever did the shooting would receive a medal of some kind, and a delicious roast ham.

So what does Juno's ascendence mean for you and me? I hesitate to use the success of the latest flavor of the month to extrapolate broad social trends, but I do think movies like Juno suggest the triumph of easy laughs and unearned bathos over genuine humor and hard-won emotion. It's all style over substance, a kind of carefully manufactured reality, carefully crafted to stimulate without demanding anything of the audience other than that they laugh and cry on cue, when the film says that it's being funny or moving without ever actually being either. In its fakery it's not entirely unlike, say, a certain screenwriter with a catchy pseudonym and a manufactured resume involving a trumped-up stripping career which just happened, purely by accident mind you, to be parlayed into a successful blog and an an adoring press junket.

There's a brief little moment in Juno that threatens to blow the whole farce wide open, to expose the charade. It's gone before it really registers, but it surprised me, and stuck with me. As Juno calls the clinic to set up the abortion on her silly hamburger-shaped phone, she says, "What was that? I’m sorry, I’m on my hamburger phone and it’s kind of awkward to talk on. It’s really more of a novelty than a functional appliance."

That's about right.

2007-07-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

Now honestly, Seth Rogen isn't really that bad looking

Judd Apatow's latest film Knocked Up is concerned with a young man, played by Seth Rogen, and a young woman, played by Katherine Heigl, who inadvertantly create the greatest miracle of all (life) when Seth's character fails to enscabbard his sword in a fit of drunken passion.

Seth Rogen is not a beautiful man. Indeed, the especially ungenerous among you might even call him unattractive. To be sure, he is not in the same league as, say, Rock Hudson or Ramon Navarro. The movie's posters play this up. To wit:

Even so, I would argue that Rogen's slightly disheveled appearance and his bemused expression, as much as his objective physical attractiveness, combine to create the humor in the question "What if this guy got you pregnant?"

In reading the critical response to Knocked Up, I've come across an interesting thing. While the movie is almost universally praised, Mr. Rogen is treated, not merely as the less attractive of the fictional couple, but as something of an ogre, the beast to Katerine Heigl's beauty, to borrow a tired analogy. For example, Carina Chocano of the Los Angeles Times opines:

Is this what it's come to for the youth of today? The result of all Facebook and no face-to-face? Because there once was a time, long ago, when to get these two together, you'd have had to maroon them on the Blue Lagoon.

The hopelessly out of touch reference to Facebook aside (if anything, that website's picture functionalities invite even more nitpicking of appearance than ever before), Ms. Chocano's comments are clearly unfair, and intended to hurt. And really, the Blue Lagoon? That reference makes no sense because both Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins were of roughly equal hotness; they probably would have hooked up in real life. A much better comparison would have been to 2000's Cast Away, in which an isolated and psychotic Tom Hanks becomes convinced that he is the last man on earth and thus is forced to make love to a Wilson, a volleyball, in order to repopulate the earth with human/volleyball superhybrids.

Similarly, Slate's Dana Stevens comments

"What motivates Alison Scott (Katherine Heigl of Grey's Anatomy), a successful, self-possessed, and officially hot reporter for the E! network, to have drunken sex with Ben Stone (Seth Rogen), an unemployed schlub who lives in the Valley with four Neanderthal buddies (Martin Starr, Jason Segel, Jay Baruchel, and Jonah Hill)? Don't get me wrong, I love funny Jewish guys with curly hair and low self-esteem(hi, sweetie!), but this is not a sociologically credible hookup...it's impossible not to take this mismatch as a sheer plot contrivance, a male fantasy a la According to Jim.

I expect that when Dana Stevens came home after writing this review, her fat face had a bone crunching collision with Mr. Mordechai "Macabee" Steven's fist.

Not sociologically credible? I'll show you not sociologically credible, you two-bit whore:

Salman Rushdie was recently sued for divorce, but my understanding is that his penis was so massive that it caused Mrs. Rushdie considerable discomfort during the physical act of making love.

A mismatched couple? Inconceivable! That's a gross violation of the rules of good relationship movies, in which the partners are always perfectly suited for one another and there's no room for humor or drama at all. A plot contrivance providing the impetus for a movie's story? Unheard of! For other examples of this, see every movie ever made.

I don't know what According to Jim is but...hang on I'm looking it up.

Okay, first of all, I don't know why the first fictional example of the schlub/beauty pairing Dana could think of was an ABC sitcom starring Jim Belushi. Has anyone ever seen this show ever? Has anyone even heard of it? Does Dana Stevens watch this show in earnest, cuddled up next to her whipped "low self-esteem" boytoy? How did her brain even think of making this comparison?

Secondly, the comparison falls apart when you consider that Courtney Thorne-Smith, the ostensible beauty to Belushi's beast, is actually a soul-devouring Gorgonlike creature of some kind:

The lowest blow of all comes from The New Yorker's David Denby who writes:

Heigl has golden skin, blond hair, a great laugh. She’s so attractive a person that, at the beginning of the movie, you wince every time Rogen touches her.

Wow. Ouch. One wonders what Mssr. Denby must look like, if he is such a connoisseur of beautiful women that he cannot stand to see them sullied by the unclean touch of such inferior physical specimens as Mr. Rogen.

Oh wait, I forgot. The wonder of the Internet allows me to summon up photographs of people and mock them at will.

Hmm. All I can conclude is that unless Mrs. Denby is, in fact, an actual, literal cow or at least some form of Ungulate, Mr. Denby himself must shudder (in disgust) every time he touches her. Because boy howdy, that pig ain't winning any prizes.

In summary, Seth Rogen isn't really that bad looking. If Knocked Up features the most implausible movie couple critics see this year, they should consider themselves lucky.

2007-03-09T23:40:00.000-08:00

Help, I have a Serious Disability!:
A Photo Essay

Some people can't discern colors. Some people have no legs. Some people are retarded. I can't tell if a man is attractive or not. It's a serious problem.

To wit, Daniel Craig, the world's newest James Bond, is, I am told by respected authorities who are in a position to know these things, not attractive.

Moreover:

What does this mean? What do women look for in men? Am I more attractive than Daniel Craig? I am the kingshit of all men? Am I a goddamn Adonis? I didn't used to think so. But now, I'm thinking, maybe! Yeah! Maybe I am good looking! You be the judge:

Also, the guy who played Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice?

So, to reiterate:

So, I guess I don't really have a disability so much as a smokin bod and the kind of face that launches ships. If the Greeks were gay. Which they totally were.

2007-02-17T02:21:00.000-08:00

I Think it's Kind of Weird When Your Career is Entirely Based on Someone Else's Career

What I mean, for example, is the character Steve Carrell plays in Little Miss Sunshine. He's the second most foremost Proust scholar in the United States. But no matter how good he is, not matter how penetrating his scholarship is, no matter what Proust-related revelations he brings to light, he'll always be not as good as Proust. Because he's just following in his footsteps. Just documenting and analyzing the works of someone who came before him. His entire life is in his shadow.

This applies to more than just fictional characters. Take this friendly fellow:No, no that's not Saddam Hussein, friends. It's Jerry Haleva, who played Saddam Hussein in Hot Shots. He also played Saddam in such notable films as Hot Shots Part Deux, The Big Lebowski, and The First $20 Million is Always the Hardest (but he was just a Saddam hologram in that one). In all, Jerry has played Saddam in six films. This is the only character he has ever played. He is famous, to the degree that he is famous, because of Saddam.

And now Saddam's dead.

So where does that leave Jerry?

Boned, that's where.

He's fucked. Do you think George Bush thought about how Gulf War II would affect Jerry? Probably not. But it did. It radically changed his life. How's he supposed to play Saddam now? It would just be kind of sad. The guy was living in a spider hole for God's sake (the real Saddam, not Jerry; Jerry lives in Sacramento, probably in a house).

This is the reason I'm against the death penalty. There all these unforeseen consequences that occur when you kill someone. Break Saddam Hussein's neck in Iraq, and 10,000 miles away in California a poor hardworking Joe just like you or me is suddenly out on the street because Saddam's more pathetic than comical.

That's why Saddam should have lived. Not for his own sake. But for Jerry's. Next time, George W Bush, think about Jerry before implementing radical foreign policy.

2007-02-13T19:26:00.000-08:00

Does the LGBT Community have something to do with Sandwiches?

Well, does it?

2006-09-15T17:18:00.000-07:00

Law and Order Hoedown

The television series Law and Order has been on the air for 16 years. Kids who are currently juniors in High School have never lived on an Earth devoid of Law and Order. And these neophytes should thank God (or more accurately Dick Wolfe) that they were never made to glimpse the terror of a world without Law and Order. But I, I remember those black years. Before Dick Wolfe created Law and Order and introduced it to an unsuspecting public in 1990, the world was a dark place, ruled by barbarians and tyrant-kings who jealousy guarded their petty fiefdoms, just as a half-starved dog rabidly protects a splinter of bone or scrap of meat. Young women were little more than chattel for the amusement of those cruel sybarites who built their holdings on the back of a prostrate mankind, and young men were, at best, grist to be pulverized on the millstone of war.

Fortunately, all that ended on September 13, 1990. On that day, Our Lord Jerry Orbach descended from the Heavens and cast the opressors from their high thrones, and a great cry went up from mankind: "Praise Jerry Orbach, for He is Good." And then the Lord Jerry Orbach spaketh unto the people : "Hearken unto me, my Chosen People, for I am Lord. From this day forth, never shall mankind contend with kings and emperors. For behold, I grant unto you the twin pillars of Liberal Democracy: Law and Order. And that you shall never stray from this path, I shall send to you my most beloved sons: Chris Noth and Sam Waterston. Together, they shall be guarantors and bastions of Law and Order, and never shall the darkness of tyranny obscure the light of justice. Praise unto me."

Sure, some people may point out that the original Senior Homicide Detective was portrayed by George Dzundza, and that Jerry Orbach didn't take up the signature role until the third season. And these apostates may further blaspheme that Michael Moriarty was the Executive ADA until the fifth season. What these heathens fail to comprehend is that the historical record means nothing, NOTHING compared to the Awesome Truth of Our Lord Jerry Orbach's Word. Thus, into the world came Law and Order, and it was good.

And now what you've all been waiting for, an examination of the hotness of the show's various ADAs, and the degree of shame which I would feel upon sleeping with them.

(Note that the ADAs will be listed in chronological order. A higher shame rating means it is more shameful to sleep with that person).

1. Paul Robinette AKA Richard Brooks
Now, Paul Robinette has the distinction of being the only MALE Assistant District Attorney, as well as the only BLACK Assistant District Attorney, as well as the only COMPETENT Assistant District Attorney. Coincidence? Unlikely.

However, this is blotry isn't about competence. It's about hotness, which, in the final analysis, is a far more important quality. I mean, do you think George Washington would have become God-King of America if he hadn't been the most handsome devil this side of Alexander Hamilton? I think not my friends. I think not. GW was six foot-five inches of pure muscle and bone, a towering colossus of a man with a steely glint in his eye that bespake a cold, hard intelligence that made men weep and women weak in the knees.

But I digress. We're talking about Paul Robinette, who, I must admit, find it difficult to write anything about. That's because I'm not a gay, and I can't discern male attractiveness. Paul Reubens vs. Brad Pitt? Um, roughly equal? See? I can't tell. So I'm hardly qualified to judge. But, Monsiuer Robinette is black (last time I checked). So he must have a behemoth schlong. And he did sport a stylish flat top during his run on the show.

Shame Factor: 5 (+7 for it being a homosexual act, -4 for being black, +2 for the inevitable cuddling that would happen afterwards)

2. Claire Kincaid AKA Jill Hennessy
Claire was a goddamn vision of a woman, almost competent (such is the weakness of her sex), beautiful, and stylish. So she let McCoy violate the consecrated temple of her body with his distgusting, twisted appendages now and then. So what? She was beautiful and YOU KILLED HER Jerry Orbach. Your drunken shenanigans forced her to drive you home that cold November night when she was struck head on by a drunk driver and her brains were sent flying through the shattered ruin of the windshield.

Oh well, you are LORD, and I am sure it was part of your divine plan.

Although she is dead and gone, her spirit is not forgotten. I hear Jill Hennessy was in some program called Crossing Jordan, which I think was a reality television show where people would do something to piss Jill Hennessy off and then would have to try to survive her attempts to kill them for the rest of the show. I mean, the premise was sound. I never saw it though.

Claire was the only woman I'll ever really love, but I'm grateful every day for the little time we had together, Thursdays at 8, 1993-1996. Gone, but not forgotten.

Shame Factor: -999 (-1000 FOR I DON'T CARE WHO KNOWS I LOVE THIS WOMAN, +1 for being a corpse)

3. Jamie Ross AKA Carey Lowell
I don't remember all that much about Jamie. She wasn't on the show that long, but I guess my most lasting impression was that of a male to female transsexual. They never really went into it all that much in the show, but c'mon, the short haircut, the complete lack of sexual interest in Man-God Jerry Orbach, the name Jaime? I know she was on the show during a less enlightened time in the history of the United States, but they sure laid the subtext on pretty thick. I think by the end of her run we were all expecting her to whip it out and beat McCoy around the head and shoulders a little bit. I sure was.

Or if not a transsexual at least a lesbian. I know Carey's married to Richard Gere, but I'm pretty sure he has a vagina. Or at least a mangina. Same thing.

Shame Factor: 4 (+10 for being born a man, -8 for being made a woman, +2 for still having a penis)

4. Abbie Carmichael AKA Angie Harmon
Abbie is widely considered the "hottest" or "most desirable" of the Assistant District Attorneys through which McCoy has rammed his geriatric member through the long roll of the years.

These Abbie Backers may have a point. After all, who could resist those long bronze legs, that smoky voice, those dark mysterious eyes?

Well I could, that's who! Sure, she was a super babe, but Angie Harmon was on Baywatch Nights. Now, I've never seen Baywatch Nights. Hell, I've never even seen Baywatch original flavor. But I have every confidence in the world that Baywatch Nights sucked, and I defy any person on earth to say otherwise. The kind of people who were fans of Baywatch Nights are like Jesus, or fans of Carson Daily. They exist on paper, but they're not really real.

Haha just kidding. There are people who actually like Carson Daily.

Ha, gotcha again. Seriously, no one likes Carson.

Ok, being serious for a second though, Jesus. You know I love You.

Anyway, Abbie was a conservative on the show, which I guess meant we were supposed to think it was cute when she was FOR the government keeping its hands on her body. Well, I thought it was hot anyway. She was also for brutalizing criminals and keeping large caliber firearms in the hands of children and the elderly. In other words, the perfect woman. Except her voice sounded like someone crammed a pregnant frog with bronchitis down her throat, and then the frog gave birth and all the baby frogs got bronchitis.

In the end, she had the the 'tude, and the politics, but not the heart. She did have the boobs though. And the legs. And the boobs.

Shame Factor: -4 (-6 for being pretty hot; +2 for sounding like Burgess Meredith on two packs a day)

5. Serena Southerlyn AKA Elisabeth Rohm
Serena vas a gud German girl from ze outskirts of Dusseldorf, ya? She fought ze Soviet dogs tooth un nail mit her disease ridden gerbarmutter un her venereal diseases.

Actually, that was the actress who played Serena Southerlyn. Serena herself was, I don't think, ever actually identified as a German girl, but with those sky blue eyes, strong cheekbones, and yellow hair it's not hard to believe she's descended from Hitler's Aryan Ubermensch.

Serena was widely considered the most wooden of the ADAs, and not in the way you're thinking. Her delivery was stilted. She couldn't emote to save her life. I made a diagram to help illustrate my point:

Anyway, she was pretty good looking in a wholesome European girl sort of way, I suppose. And she wasn't as incompetent as Abbie "Slept my way through law school" Carmichael. In her final episode, when Fred Thompson fired her, she blurted out "Is this because I'm a lesbian?" Now, this surprised me because I thought all lesbians had short hair and wore plaid. I think she was just claiming persecuted minority status in order to get some leverage because I am sure zat ze gud German girls are all willing to procreate mit ze gud German boys for ze glory of ze Faderland.

Shame Factor: -1 (-4 for pure Aryan blood, +6 for wooden acting, -3 for making it with a lesbian)

6. Alexandra Borgia AKA Annie Parisse
This feisty brunette from down under was appointed as McCoy's ADA after Southerlyn's lesbian explosion. However, she quickly found herself under intense scrutiny from New York's Bar after...

God, I'm just making all this up. She was only on the show for a year, and I didn't really watch that season, but based on her looks I'm going to say by-the-book professional with a softer side that only a few who are close to her get to see. Very capable, but constantly feels the need to prove herself in a world dominated by a male hierarchy.

Am I right? Who knows. She was gone before we had a chance to really get to know her, brutally beaten and stuffed in a garbage can. (Really, look it up on wikipedia).

Shame Factor: -3? (-5 for being pretty cute, but +2 for being dead)

7. Consuela "Connie" Rubirosa AKA Alana de la Garza
All indications are that Connie Rubirosa is hot, but I have a weird thing about being attracted to Mexican women because I feel like somehow it might be some weird deep seated thing with my Mexican mother, so I try to avoid it where possible. Still, she seems pretty attractive. Objectively.

I think she's a half-breed though, because her large forehead and enormous eyes lead me to believe she's some sort of human-alien hybrid, sent to Earth to seduce men into getting jiggy with it.

Now, in general, I'm a bit iffy about letting minorities into the legal system. Sure, Paul worked out, but he was a man. A big black man. But these Latina/Hispanic/Mexican/Spanish women can get pretty uppity I hear. She's only been on the show a few months, so we'll have to wait and see. We'll just have to wait and see.

Shame Factor: 4 (-3 for being cute, +8 for maybe being some kind of weird Freudian thing with my mother, -1 for having "de la Garza" as a last name)

So, in the end, Claire wins the day.

Praise be unto Jerry Orbach, the Father, Chris Noth the Son, and Sam Waterston the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

2006-07-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

The Universe Is Collapsing In On Itself!

I was making my daily rounds on the Internet the other day, when I discovered something shocking, perhaps even earth-shattering. I'm sure you all remember the eighties' favorite nostalgia inducing sitcom, The Wonder Years, starring the irrepressible Fred Savage, who went on to secure a major place in Hollywood stardom, most notably portraying that guy with the really big mole in Austin Powers 3: Goldmember. But I'm not here to talk about Fred Savage. No, instead I'm here to talk about the love of his life, Winnie Cooper. Sure, her head was shaped like a beachball, she had kind of a lazy eye thing going on or something, and the bangs did absolutely nothing for her, but she captured Kevin's heart, and in so doing captivated a nation. So, imagine my surprise when I learned that Danica McKellar, who portrayed Winnie, graduated summa cum laude from UCLA with a major in mathematics, and published a paper entitled "Percolation and Gibbs states multiplicity for ferromagnetic AshkinÂTeller models on Z squard" in the peer reviewed Journal of Physics A: Mathematics and General. I mean, I've only mastered ferromagnets for Devorah-Ackley models, and then only in B squared!

Imagine my further surprise when I found out she looks like this:
This photo brings up two profound, and perhaps troubling, theological implications. First, that there is at least one (1) hot mathematician in the world. This lies in direct contradiction to Thomas Aquinas's principle of Mathematicus Deformis, as laid out in his seminal work, the Summa Theologica. Briefly stated, the principle held that, "in the realms of both Deus (God) and mortal man, never do the qualities of physical comeliness and mathematical genius intermingle. Forsooth, just as cowardice on the field of battle and timidity in the court go hand in hand, mishapiness of form and ability in sums oft find good company. If this principle be violated, and a fair mathematician comes among you, that is a witch, and their blood is upon them."

As far as I know, Danica McKellar is not a witch, so we may have to rethink 800 years of Christian theology.

Secondly, it's now clear that Kevin Arnold made the mistake of his life in allowing Winnie to go off to Paris in the series' ultimate episode. He'll never live that one down.

2006-07-07T11:00:00.000-07:00

Is it OK to use semi-colloquial phrases and sayings in professional writing now? If so, color me happy as a clam, because my ship just came in.

I was reading some of Roger Ebert's recent reviews on his website at 2:00 AM this morning, which in and of itself could be the subject of a depressing, soul-searching blotry, focusing on why my life is so empty that I can while away hours reading what a 63 year old fat man thinks of Nacho Libre, while at the same time being terrified of going to sleep, knowing that the next day will only bring more hollow sorrow and torment. But I won't write that blotry. I think I pretty much covered it with that last sentence, actually. Instead, I'll direct your attention to aforementioned Nacho Libre review, in particular the first sentence of the last paragraph, which begins and ends thusly: "I dunno." That's it. I dunno.

Think about that for a minute and I will too.

I dunno. I've used that phrase so many times in AIM conversations that I've lost count, or I would have lost count by now if at some point more than, say, a week ago I had decided to keep a count, which I never have.

But what's so galling about it is that it doesn't mean anything. I dunno. It's just an empty phrase designed to fill dead space. As the great Conan O'Brien once said, to paraphrase, "nobody was saying anything, and someone needed to say something, so I just started saying words." That's I dunno's function. It's just words. They don't really mean anything, but they're designed to comfort, to express uncertainty, doubt, or soften a hard statement. "I think we're seeing too much of each other. We're moving too fast. I dunno." "It's not that I don't want_1_7/103-8465812-5427860?s=books&v=glance&n=283155"target="_blank">Madagascar.

Merci Leno.

2006-06-23T18:40:00.000-07:00

My Great Loves

Every man, in his life, has one Great Love, the love that causes the memories of his previous loves to lose some of their luster, and against which all future loves will be judged, and found wanting. Romeo had his Juliet; Darth Vader had his Padme; Bert had his Ernie, Hitler had his Eva, and so forth. And I think Hitler had the right idea, shooting Eva and himself in the head and then being dumped onto a refuse heap and set on fire. Now that I think about it, Hitler and Eva are really a latter day Romeo and Juliet. The world didn't understand their love, but their deaths brought an end to a cruel conflict. Godspeed, star crossed lovers.

A Great Love may come to us when we are but wee tots still in swaddling clothes, or in the twilight of our lives, and she (or...he...) may stay with us for the rest of our lives, or but a few fleeting moments. But you never forget.

I suppose I should count myself blessed, or perhaps cursed if you will, to have had MANY Great Loves. I know you may think it's contradictory that I previously claimed everyone has only one Great Love, and now here I am stating that I've had many. Well guess what, this blog is about me, not you, so shut up. I'll cut you. I'll fucking cut you.

I've had many Great Loves, toward each of whom I've directed the exact same amount of passion and feeling, no more and no less. Yes, it is both a boon and burden, for although I've had many Great Loves in my time, I've lost them all. Let me tell you my story.

Heidi Collins

Heidi Collins may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts. Ha, just kidding, she looks like a million bucks AND she's got it where it counts. So double deuce action.

Heidi and I met on the mean streets of Denver back in the mid nineties. She was an up and coming go-getter at the local CBS affiliate, I was a down on his luck construction worker with a bad nicotine habit I just couldn't shake, doing odd jobs for the urban renewal project. We were a pretty unlikely couple, but they often are, I guess. Yeah, like most of the guys, I spent my cigarette break yelling ribald comments at passers-by, generally women between the ages of 16 and 35. So at the time it wasn't a particularly notable event when I noticed Heidi walking down the street and I called out, in my slightly hoarse voice gruffened by years of smoking and inhaling construction related fumes, "You there, madam! Your legs appear long and shapely! As well, your bosom appears ample and well supported. I would very much like to have a sexual congress with you at some point in the future, possibly following a number of pleasant evening excursions and some heavy petting!" But unlike most of the other girls, Heidi didn't make an obscene gesture or threaten a lawsuit. She smiled that coy little half smile of her and kept walking.

Yeah, I have to admit that I was a bit of a misogynist back in those days. I thought women were just objects of sexual conquest, not real people with thoughts or feelings. Wait, I still think that. Anyway, as it later turned out, the construction site I was working at the time was smack dab in between the office where Heidi did her late afternoon broadcast and the gym where she worked out every Tuesday and Friday. My catcalls became a bit of a routine, and though she never really responded in any substantive way, I got this funny feeling that she sort of enjoyed the attention. Sure, I had a girlfriend at the time, but what was the harm in a little fun?

I won't deny that those 10 seconds interactions sort of became the highlight of my week after a while: I was going through some tough times with Samantha; she had moved out in November. I got pretty upset one Friday when Heidi didn't show up, I mean visibly anxious. Her absence had disrupted the carefully planned routine that I was using to avoid thinking about Samantha. Where was she, I thought to myself, my cigarette rapidly losing its flavor, tasting like ashes in my mouth. Well, I guess they always taste like that, but you get the idea. The next Tuesday Heidi didn't show up again, and by this point I was looking at a worst case scenario: I'd never see the leggy redhead again. Somehow, the thought filled me with a deep sense of dread.

But then, out of the blue, there she was the following Friday, walking along as if nothing had happened. I called out as per usual, "Hey," but I found my voice softening almost inextricably, "where were you last week?" I quickly attempted to recover by adding a "you perfidious temptress from the pits of black Stygia!" but I could see that she had recognized my surprising shift in tone. She pointed to her throat. "Cough," she said "sick." Then she provided a helpful demonstration of someone coughing. She kept walking.

By December, Samantha and I had completely stopped talking, and I was a wreck. I started smoking more, just to deal with my nerves. I wasn't doing too hot. One Friday, on account of us being behind schedule, the foreman refused to let me take my cigarette break; with that little indignity on top of everything else, it was all I could do to avoid laying out blubbery old Garibaldi on his fat ass. As it turned out, he had actually done me a favor, though I didn't realize it at the time. The next Tuesday, as I stood out near the curb taking a nice long drag on my cig when she marched straight up to me and demanded to know where I had been. I coolly explained that I didn't "think our relationship could continue to blossom based solely on these relatively superficial, impromptu interactions, and that we might consider exploring alternatives." I guess she took that as me asking her out, because the next evening found the two of us dining at a fancy Italian joint over in the downtown area.

I won't bore you with the details of our relationship. We went through what any hopeful yet ultimately doomed couple goes through. We got along great, we really did, but we were just from two different worlds. She was a beautiful, ambitious reporter with a sharp mind and boobs that just wouldn't quit, I was (still am) a no-good layabout with a bad back and short life expectancy. She landed that CNN job in New York around April. She asked me to go with her, but I knew I'd just end up holding her back.

Last I heard, she was with some fresh-faced print reporter at one of the big name newspapers over there. I eventually got back with Samantha, but I still thought about Heidi a lot. Hell, I still think of her every now and again. But even though things couldn't have worked out, I'm grateful for the time we had together. She was a really great kid, and I was glad to have met her. You can't take things like that for granted, you know?

America

Apple pies and Fireworks. Baseball. Alexander Hamilton. What do all those things have in common? They're all American. They were all born right here in the goddamn United States of America. And I love America. I love her with all my heart.

The United States of America is the greatest country on God's green earth. From the shores of the Pacific to the shores of the Atlantic, America stretches as a shining beacon of hope across the continent, bringing freedom and enlightenment to the benighted peoples of the world. Since its inception, the U.S. of A. has uplifted the less fortunate, browner races, first granting the American Red Man the secrets of fire, farming, and smallpox. Ever since, America has battled to bring civilization to the swarthy peoples of the world, including Mexicans, Filipinos, and Iraqis. And each of these peoples has, in turn, expressed their undying gratitude to America, saying, "Thank you for lifting us out of our barbaric ways, America. In gratitude, we open McDonald's franchises in your honor."

America is where I was born. When I die, a low-flying prop plane will soar across its breadth, scattering my ashes into good American wind and across good American soil.

But, as of late, I feel as though I've lost America. I no longer seem to be first in her thoughts. She spends much of her time dallying with those who don't have her best interests at heart, who intend to use her to achieve their own selfish ends. Just the other day, I heard of gay people getting married in San Francisco! And they're letting women drive and vote now, I understand! They don't even let us invoke God in the public schools! This isn't the America I used to know. I don't blame her though. It's not her fault. She's been dazzled by the fancy showmanship of Hollywood and Bill Clinton into abandoning her principles. She's just a naive young kid in a world she never made.

One day, I'll win America back. Right now, she's going through a self-destructive phase, but at heart, she's a good kid, and I know she'll do the right thing. With some hard work, dedication, and faith, I know I can turn America away from the latter day Soddom and Gamorrah of modern media, and back onto the faithful and wholesome path of righteousness. Until then, America, know this: I love you, but I won't sleep with you.

Edward James Olmos

Not many people know this, but Edward James Olmos is not actually human. He's a robotic life form, an android if you will, built by the Pachucos during the Zoot Suit Riots of the mid 1940s to battle the United States Army. He was eventually captured and re-programmed as an actor, but not before he ravaged Vandenberg Air Force Base and destroyed an entire armored division.

Ironically, he currently portrays Captain William Adama on the hit sci-fi action series, Battlestar Galactica, wherein he battles against robots. The time they are a changin'.

Olmos, or Olmos Fuzzy Cuddle Bear as I like to call him, and I first met on the set of Stand and Deliver. I played one of the lazy Mexican students to whom he tried to teach calculus. Our puny minority brains couldn't comprehend differentiation and integration, however, but EJO taught us how to tattoo the Extreme Value Theorem to the backs of our eyelids, so everything worked out for the best.

EJO and I never actually had an actual relationship per se, but I did ritualistically murder several of his cats and nail them to a tree near his house with my mystical symbol carved into their bellies, so I think he got the message. He had a funny way of reciprocating my love though; I mean filling a restraining order and pressing animal cruelty charges? Oh well, I guess it was just his way.

EJO and I broke up when he legally changed his name and moved away suddenly without telling anyone where he was going; all the mail I sent ended up getting returned unopened. I still get to see him pretty often, whenever I watch Battlestar, but somehow it's not quite the same. It's pretty similar though, since we never actually had a conversation that lasted beyond, "Get off my property or so help me God I'll shoot," but I think overall I've gotten past everything. It was fun while it lasted, Olmos Fuzzy Cuddle Bear, but eventually you just have to move on, y'know? I mean, I have.

Sarah Guterman

Sarah Guterman is a mystery. An enigma. She's a ghost, a phantom, existing somewhere on the peripheries of our memory. She's there at the edge of the mind's eye, but try focusing and she vanishes. Who was she? Where did she come from? Where was she going? Did she even exist?

Sarah Guterman entered our lives, oh, somewhere around the end of our senior year at old Capistrano Valley High School. You know, that's a strange time, the end of high school. One epoch ending, another beginning, and right then, second semester, everyone's just holding their breaths...waiting. Yeah, by that time, pretty much everybody knows what the future holds: 4-year university, community college, McDonald's, whatever. But everyone's waiting. Not surprisingly, motivation declines rather precipitously. We call it "senioritis," which I think a lot of us actually contracted sophomore year. I still have it, actually.

It was into this strange environment that Sarah Guterman first emerged into our lives. Was she a temporary guidance counselor? An interim Vice Principal? I can't remember. What I do remember is her face. Fiery orange-red hair, long, past her shoulders. Unblemished pale skin, alabaster white. Cute little ears, stuck out slightly. Delicate nose. And her eyes...were they blue? Green? I can't remember. It bothers me that I can't remember.

I did love her. I remember that.

Who the hell was Sarah Guterman? By the time my brother started at Capo, the year after I left, she was long gone. She doesn't show up in any yearbooks. Searches of the school district's database turn up zilch. At our graduation, a friend of mine took pictures, but they somehow got deleted. As far as empirical evidence is concerned, she's a ghost. She didn't exist. Did we dream her? If we did, it was a collective dream a lot of us had, all at once.

My last memory of Sarah Guterman is of her walking along, eating ice cream at Disneyland. Yeah, see, we had our senior year Grad Nite at Disneyland. They bused a bunch of schools down there the night of graduation, and let us run around the park. Well, most of the rides were shut down, the idea was you danced the night away at a bunch of open air dance floors. But I didn't have too good a time, on account of there were a bunch of dirty Mexicans from other schools, and I'm way too uptight and self-conscious to dance. Anyway, at some point I came across Sarah Guterman, walking along and chatting it up with some calculus teacher. He was married, that calc teacher, but I bet he was sweet on her. Hell, I don't blame him, we all were. It's funny though, because now that I think about it, I'm not so sure she was eating anything at all, let alone icecream. Did I dream that up after the fact? Memory's funny like that, fantasy and imagination all rolled up with reality. I'm pretty sure that's the last time I saw her, Sarah Guterman, walking along, maybe eating ice cream. But maybe I just imagined it.

2006-05-29T02:51:00.000-07:00

Me vs. the Internet

All right gentlemen, I know we've been on Priority One for the past forty-eight hours and we could all use more than a little shut-eye, but something's just come up that could have a profound effect on the outcome of this conflict.

Mary, the projector please.

Thank you.

At oh-eight-hundred hours a flight element from the 448th light bomber wing determined that the phrase "foodgoesinhere," when entered in Google, does not bring up our site as the first match. Instead, it directs to a Livejournal. A secondary flyby by one of our U-2s verified this finding twenty minutes ago. You can see some of our recon photos here. Major targets are indicated in red.

Gentlemen, I don't need to impress upon you the dire ramifications this could have. It is of the utmost strategic importance that "foodgoesinhere" Google searches direct to this site and only to this site. If a third party co-opts our dominance in this sphere, it could spill over into the wider Internet. There'd be outright panic, even open war. And none of us wants that. God knows none of us wants that.

I've been directed by Strategic Air Command to move us to Stage Three alert; all nuclear flight assets are to be primed and ready to go within fifteen minutes. As part of SAC's first strike group, we must be within enemy airspace with half an hour.

What's that Magilicutty?

Yes, we have Presidential authorization. Came over the horn at 0900. We're hot and authorized to launch following final confirmation.

Come again?

Yes, yes we're sure. We wouldn't be here by God if we weren't sure. Not a man here wanted this day to come, but it has. For the sakes of our children and our children's children, we can't affored to fail today. Ask yourselves: what kind of world do you want your boys and girls back home to grow up in? One where they speak Blogspotan, or Livejournalese? There's not really any choice here, gentlemen.

Anything else?

Go ahead, Lieutenant Carlisle.

No, as far we as we know, there's been no actual nuclear exchange or shots fired in anger at this point. All units will proceed to the fail safe point. If final authorization for go-ahead is not received, we'll turn right around.

Listen, we all hope we don't have to go through with it. This is the gravest responsibility any group of human beings has ever faced. But let me be frank gentlemen: it's not looking good. The President is going to be facing a lot of pressure from a lot of different directions to push the button. And when...if he does, we have to be ready to do our duty.

Our nation, and our people, expect no less of us. We've drilled this scenario a thousand times before. You're all well-trained, and you know what needs to be done. I have absolute faith in your abilities, come what may. May God be with us all, and if it is His will that we go to war today, may He in His infinite wisdom and power grant us swift victory.

Good hunting.

The lights please, Mary.

2006-05-23T00:52:00.000-07:00

The Crappy Things in Life

At some point in your life, you will have to start taking pleasure in the little things, because the big things have become a horrible trainwreck of blood, and tears, and twisted metal. When you do come to that moment, I want you to remember this blotry, because it will help you get through the dark times. I'm not saying this point is coming soon, but it is coming, and I want you to be prepared for it.

For myself, my life now revolves around pooping. It's what I live for. When I'm not doing it, I wish I were. When I am pooping, I say, "Boy this sure is a fun activity. I'm glad I'm alive and not dead, because if I were dead, I wouldn't be able to poop!" Personally, I think pooping is God's greatest gift to humanity. Now matter how rich or how poor, how black or how white, how awesome or how totally lame, everyone poops. And everyone enjoys pooping. Pooping is something we can all get behind. Except starving children in Africa. They don't have anything to poop out. Because...they're starving. But other than that everyone poops, and everyone likes it. Well except, I imagine, people with hemorrhoids and other various and sundry anal inflamations and swellings. But those two groups aside, starving African children and hemorrhoidal people, and perhaps also hemorroidal African children, everyone poops and everyone is celebrating it.

Pooping is just something that makes people happy. It gives us a feeling of accomplishment. We've done something meaningful with our lives by expelling waste and maintaining our bodily functions. Sure it's not much, but it's something. And really, isn't that all we are in the end? The poo we pooped out? I think so. I think so.

In order to commemorate our common poophood, I felt it would be appropriate to name and classify various poops, that we might better understand our ubiquitous neighbor to the south.

1. Long John Silver
This poop is, despite popular misconception, named for its length rather than its color. It is, like most poops, brown to brownish-green or brownish-black in complexion.
Long John Silver is so named because of its seemingly interminable length. It just keeps on comin'. I personally enjoy a good Long John now and again, although they do take a bit more effort to expel than your regular bog-standard poo. Overall, the Long John Silver is a dependable, if slightly uninspired, poop.
Poop rating: 3/4

2. 21-Gun Salute
The 21-Gun salute is characterized by the rapid fire feel associated with its expulsion. It comes out in heavy, discrete bursts. Although the experience of the 21-Gun Salute can be gratifying and inspire strong feelings of patriotism, it can also be somewhat uncomfortable, depending on the number of volleys and the caliber of ammunition. An unusual poop, but not unwelcome.
Poop rating: 3/4

3. Bruce Willis
Named for the hero who destroyed a civilization-ending asteroid. Although that doesn't make too much sense because the poop really takes after the asteroid more than it does Bruce Willis. Like the asteroid of Armageddon, the Bruce Willis tends to be civilization ending. If you're lucky, a plucky team of astronauts and deep-oil drillers may be able to break the poop up into more manageable chunks which will disintegrate in earth's atmosphere, but most likely, it's all coming out at once. And it's not pretty.
Poop rating: 1/4

4. Old Man River
Old man river, that old man river,
He don't say nothin', but he must know somethin'
That old man river, he just keeps rolling along.

He don't plant tater's,
and we all know he don't pick cotton.
But them that plant 'em, are soon forgotten, that
Old man river, he just keeps rolling along, oh yes he does.

You and me, we sweat and toil,
Our bodies all achin' and racked with pain, now listen!
Poop rating: 2/4

5. Fart-Poo
Fart-Poo is a combination of a poo and a fart all rolled into one. This is something of a double-edged sword, however. While fart-poo has the distinction of combining the sense of self worth that accompanies a good dump with the grim satisfaction of smelling one's one fart, it also can prove highly embarassing. In a public restroom situation, the fart-poo has the dubious distinction of combining the pungent odor of a big poo with the audio of a loud, juicy fart. It's not easy to meet someone's gaze upon exiting your stall if you've just produced a fart-poo. Potentially the most powerful of poos, but also the most dangerous.
Poop rating: Varies between 1 and 4 of 4.

In conclusion, poop, or poo as it is sometimes known, is one of life's greatest gifts. We all poop, but we don't usually think much about it, much less talk about it. Well, except for me, obviously. I hope that the next time you're on the john, you'll say a little "thank-you" to our friend, the poop.

2006-05-14T23:08:00.000-07:00

Life doesn't make sense

I was spellchecking my blog the other day, and I realized the spellcheck doesn't have the word "blogs" in its spellchecker database.

Did you ever realize that life just doesn't make any sense? That everything that's happening is just absolutely batshit insane? There's a very, very thin veneer of sanity, a saran wrap membrane of reason stretched taut over a 3 day old pasta of madness and chaos. All it takes it the tiniest pinprick to pierce that seal and let the infinite delirium out. And when it does get out, there's no putting the genie back in the bottle. That toothpaste ain't going back in the tube. That cat is out of the bag and it it's not eager to return. The poop is in the toilet and it's there to stay. Well, you get the idea. Once you've seen the truth in all its unfettered beauty/terror there's no going back.

Why did they choose not to put the plural form of blog in the spellchecker? I'm pretty sure the singular is in there, so why leave the plural out? Where does the spellchecker database come from anyway? It also doesn't have "snot" or "Edward James Olmos" in it, so it's clearly not comprehensive. Well it has Edward and James, but not Olmos. And without the Olmos you really have a pretty generic sounding name. James Edward. Or Edward James. Either way it's not really remarkable. But with the Olmos, boy-howdy you immediately think of the acne-scarred pit faced actor who starred in such notable films as Blade Runner, and...

I think I'm in man-love with Edward James Olmos.

In other news, and getting back to the madness theme, I realized that I have something in common with dogs. Well, one very particular dog, anyway. Rusty the dachshund. No we don't both eat our own vomit.

Ok we both do, but that's not what I was thinking of. What Rusty and I have in common is an inability to focus. You see, Rusty has narcolepsy.

Rusty is a narcoleptic dog.

He falls asleep when he's TRYING TO DO OTHER THINGS.
(He must be a Mexican immigrant). (Ba-zing).

This is my life writ dog! I pretty much would rather sleep than do anything else. Certainly, my laziness has essentially prevented me from accomplishing anything meaningful in my life. Go eat grass? No thank you, I think I'll just lay down. Romp around in a field? No, I'd really rather take a nice nap. Smell my own butt? Nighty night.

So, I guess in one sense, Rusty is living the American dream. In another sense, his life is a waking nightmare of conscious nightmares.

Godspeed Rusty the Narcoleptic Dog. You are an un-inspiration to us all.

What kind of blind idiot God would create a world with narcoleptic dogs and blogs-less spellcheckers? I don't know the answer to that question, little Billy. All I know for sure is, we're in this together, and if we're to be saved, we're going to have to save ourselves.
Except the Mexicans they just eat beans all day.

I kid. But seriously, narcolepsy is a serious medical condition. I think Harriet Tubman had it. Or was it Rosa Parks. Well they were pretty much the same person.

2006-05-02T22:43:00.000-07:00

Some things you should be watching, and various other odds and ends

I don't normally make public service announcements on my blog, because I believe that blogs should be exclusively about painful truths, like Thuy Trang's death and the existence of Remus Lupin porn. You should come away from my works of terrible beauty weeping with joy. But that joy should be born of despair. Sweet black despair.

Nevertheless, sometimes, I feel that it's necessary to elevate my fellow men, to shine the light of wisdom and truth upon them, to lift them up, just as the British East India Company lifted up the little fuzzy wuzzies.

You should be watching these TV shows maggot.

1. Wonder Showzen
The first time I watched this show, I dismissed it as sensationalist clap trap. After all, anyone can take little kids, let them loose in New York City, and have them spout offensive zingers. But then I saw a cute as a button little girl tell a veterinary nurse that she had probably "seen more privates fall than Fallujah in spring." And then I was in love. With the show, not the little girl.

2. The Office
Contrary to popular belief, the American version of The Office is actually better than the British version, because Pam is much hotter than Dawn.

3. Battlestar Galactica
For a show about the remnants of mankind on the run from a seemingly omnipotent race of mechanical beings, there's a ridiculous amount of sex going on. I guess it makes sense that you'd want to have a lot of sex if your species were almost wiped out, but half the sex is human on robot! But they're pretty damn sexy robots. One of them is this blond with a killer rack and legs from here to yaamygod.
Anyway, the main plot of this show is that Edward James Olmos is the leader of a rag tag bunch of kids. They may not believe in themselves, but he believes in them. When he teaches them calculus and they pass the AP test, the AP Board is skeptical and forces the class to retake it. But, in the end, they stand and deliver, and Olmos's bunch of snot nosed Mexicans show the world that Latinos aren't inherently stupid, they're just inherently lazy.
Actually, I think that's the plot to "Stand and Deliver." But replace "Mexicans" with "the fine officers and enlisted men of the Battlestar Galactica" and "AP Board" with "Cylon killing machines" and it's pretty much the same thing. However, Olmos is definitely the Captain, and he's definitely Mexican. Well, I don't know for sure if they still have Mexicans in the future, but they still have lawns and Chevys, so I put two and two together.

Speaking of broad racial stereotypes, I think the other day was "Don't work if you're a dirty Mexican Immigrant" Day. Wait, isn't that everyday?

Ba-zing.

4. V for Vendetta
I know this isn't a TV Show, but where did I say this was a list of TV shows you should watch? Oh, in the introduction? Shut up. This movie kicks all kinds of ass, in large part because Hugo Weaving has a sexy voice and Natalie Portman has a sexy everything.

2006-04-20T02:10:00.000-07:00

More Facebook Madness

I was looking at Facebook five minutes ago and discovered that there are no less than, like, three people currently at Stanford who are named Missy. Now, I'm sorry, but Missy is kind of a bad name. It's like a courtesy title with a "y" stuck to the end. That's just lazy. What if I did that with a man's title?

Mister-y.

Mistery.

Mystery.

Holy crap that's awesome. Mystery Booe. God that's badass. I'm definitely naming the son I'll never have that.

2006-04-19T02:01:00.000-07:00

A Brief Conversation with Myself
A Play in One Act

Me: Is it wrong that I only care about talking to girls when they're attractive (re: not fat) and they don't have boyfriends, or at least I don't know that they have boyfriends, and when I look them up on Facebook and they do have boyfriends I don't care about them anymore?
Myself: What about guys?
Me: Oh I don't care about them at all.
Myself: Well, at least you're not gay!
Me: God I hate you, me.
Myself: Come again?

2006-04-09T23:42:00.000-07:00

Two Deep Insights Into Life

I don't often get deep insights into life, so imagine my surprise when I got not one but two in one day! That day was today, and I'm going to share with you my findings in the hopes that you too can benefit from these profound revelations about the human condition.

The first one you can experience for yourself. Just open up your favorite web browser (Firefox or go to hell), head on over to Google Image Search, turn off Safesearch (yes this revelation does involve looking at porn ((don't they all?))), and type in a woman's name. Go ahead. Any woman's name will do. Try Lucy, for example. What comes up? That's right: porn. It works for any woman's name! Samantha: Porn. Alexis: Porn. Mary: lesbian porn. Bea: porn. Patricia: porn. What does this mean? That all women are whores? Well yes they are, but this doesn't prove it. What it does prove is that all women are porn stars, which is not the same thing one bit. Well, except for Patricia, apparently. Helen, also, is not a porn star. But most women are porn stars. So says the internet. I for one approve of our nation's women choosing to enter the adult entertainment industry. Sure it's not always glitz and glamour, but it pays the bills, and it provides a useful service to millions of men everyday. Can you imagine a world without porn? I can, but I choose not to. It's dangerous to stare too long into that nighmarish abyss.

The second insight is even more earth shattering. Hold onto your butts, and make sure all heavy objects are bolted down, because I'm going to rock your stuffed shirt conformo world. For today, I discovered that that one guy on Full House was NOT played by Jeff Daniels! I know, right?! The part of Joey was played by...Dave Coulier. Or as I like to call him, Jeff Daniels Doppleganger Clone. How are these two not the same man? I drew a diagram to help illustrate my point:

There's really only one solution to this puzzle: the Illuminati, in conjunction with the Trilateral Commission and the Saucerpeople have concocted some kind of plot, a fiendish conspiracy, if you will, to flood the earth with Jeff Daniel clones, in the hopes of one day dominating the entertainment industry with the B+ List actor. All we can do is pray.
Hm, I guess that particular revelation wasn't about porn. Or was it?

2006-04-04T23:24:00.000-07:00

Yellow Ranger

Like most college students, I spent my spring break in my underwear eating fruit loops and watching reruns of hit dramas like Judging Amy, ER, and Law and Order on TNT. And while I'm always happy to stare into George Clooney's soulful eyes as he holds the power of life and death in his hands twice a day every weekday, I occasionally like to explore my other interests, which include watching Power Rangers on the Fox Family Channel.

I think Fox Family has the rights to pretty much every Power Rangers series produced in the United States, because at various points they've shown Power Rangers SPD, Power Rangers Lost Galaxy, Power Rangers Ninja Storm, Power Rangers Time Force, and Power Rangers Pedophile Invasion, to name just a few. This spring break, however, I was thrilled to discover that they were showing the original Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, featuring everyone's favorite pre-teen heartthrob, Jason David Frank as Tommy Oliver, the Green Ranger. (I don't mean he was a heartthrob as a pre-teen, he was in his early twenties during the show's initial run, I just mean he caused our hearts to throb when we were pre-teens. And not my heart specifically, not gay. But in general I would imagine he caused many pre-teens' hearts to throb. Girls' hearts. And some guys'. I would think, probably).

Anyway, even though Tommy might have stolen the spotlight for much of the show, how can we ever forget the first wet dream fantasy of millions of young American boys (and some girls?), Amy Jo Johnson? Oh original Pink Ranger from initial Power Rangers run 1993-1996, you can morph my Dinozord any time. Amy Jo, you might have made eyes at Jason David, but I know in your heart, you only had feelings for me. I don't know whatever happened to you, except I think you were on Felicity that one time, but wherever you are, know that our love, in the form of my pubescent fantasies, lives on forever.

Then of course, we have the Black Power Ranger, whose defining characteristic was...that...he was black...and the Yellow Ranger, whose defining characteristic was...that...she was yellow. I mean Asian! Oh god. And there was the Red Ranger, who was an Indian! Haha, just kidding folks, I think he was Italian. Or Spanish. They all look the same to me. And the Blue Ranger, who was made out of cheese or something.

And so it was, on looking up all the original power rangers actors on IMDB.com, that I came across a terrible discovery. It seems that our beloved Yellow Ranger, Thuy Trang, died in a car accident in 2001. I don't remember Trini, as her character was called on Power Rangers, all that well, because I was staring at Jason Da...I mean Amy Jo Johnson for most of the show. But she was a dedicated Ranger, and I bet she's kicking Lord Zed's ass right now, somewhere in that big Angel Grove in the sky. But my friends, I'm afraid there might be more than meets the eye to Thuy Trang's death. I'm afraid darker forces may be at work here than mere automobile accidents. Why do I say this? The date of her funeral. September 10, 2001. Draw your own conclusions people. Draw your own conclusions.

Since Thuy Trang, other Yellow Rangers have come and gone, but none will ever really replace Thuy in our hea...

Wait what?

The Yellow Ranger on Power Rangers Dino Thunder is a class-A babe?

Oh snap, fellas, break me off a piece of that! Emma Lahana, you'll always be my Yellow Ranger.

2006-01-07T16:04:00.000-08:00

700 lbs Penis

So, I was watching King Kong the other day (the movie, not the necessarily titular ape himself, although he did play a major role). The film features Naomi Watts as Anne Darrow. Watts, it was suggested to me, has one of the prettiest philtrums in all Hollywood. And indeed she does. She has a rather spectacular philtrum. I think in any sane society, the shapeliness of one's philtrum would be considered the primary measure of beauty. To hell with boobs and butts and legs. Philtrums are where it's at!

But the real point of this article is to discuss an even more important physical attribute than philtrums: penises. One particular penis in fact. Or should I say, the mysterious absence thereof? Because, after all, there is one penis conspicuously absent from King Kong. No, not Adrien Brody's. In fact, in my opinion, Peter Jackson spends far too many lingering shots zoomed in on Brody's enormous, throbbing member. I mean, it was cool the first time, but pretty much every character in this movie spends at least half a minute gazing at it, stroking it, murmuring to it, or at the very least heatedly discussing it. I just realized I confused Adrien Brody's Penis with the Ring from The Lord of the Rings. Let us never speak of this again.

ANYWAY. There IS a penis mysteriously missing in this film, but it's not Adrien Brody's. The phantom johnson belongs to none other than Kong himself! Throughout the movie, we see King Kong run, leap, crush, bite, fall, and fall in love, but not once do we see his penis. Which is odd because he is clearly naked. He certainly must HAVE a penis. He is not some genetic experiment gone awry, or some kind of robotic cyborg from the infernal factories of Deneb VII. He is a living, breathing ape, the King of the Kongs! He falls in love with women, so he's not some kind of weird eunuch or a castrati. He only has one musical number in the whole movie, when he serenades Anne with a rousing rendition of Eric Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight." And he's clearly a tenor. Or maybe he a baritone. The point is, we didn't see Kong's penis, and I was pretty disappointed. Well, not so much disappointed as relieved to not have to look at a 25 foot ape's balls and chain for 3 hours, but that's neither here nor there.

Now I'm going to review some of the most recent movies I've seen according to the following algorithm: Movie Rating = (Number of Boobs featured in Movie) - (Number of Penises featured in Movie)

Brokeback Mountain

Surprisingly enough, this movie featured more boobs than penises! Including those of Dawson's Creek alumn Michelle Williams along with those of Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement alumn Anne Hathaway. Good times were had by all. Now, this movie is about gay cowboys who have gay sex in the gay mountains, so you'd think there'd be penises all over the place. You'd probably even expect the minor characters like Randy Quaid to show their penises off. Well there aren't, and he doesn't, praise Baby Jesus. In fact, we only get the briefest glimpse of penises when Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhall jump off some cliffs in the nude. No, it's not a suicide scene. There's water. Anyway, even though I think both penises were clearly visible, the scene was so short I'm just gonna count it as one.

Rating = (4) - (1) = 3

Capote

MORE gay people, but luckily no Philip Seymour Hoffman penis. For that we are all grateful. Unfortunately, the highly anticipated Harper Lee nude scene never materialized. You can't have everything.

Rating = (0) - (0) = 0

Family Stone

This movie sucked pretty badly. It had gay people in it, but they weren't the main characters. Instead, we got a bizarre, apparently mentally ill person played by Sarah Jessica Parker, a cancer patient played by Diane Keaton, and a large brick played by Dermot Mulroney. Apparently Dermot subscribes to the "don't act" school of acting. This film was a total mess and completely didn't work, but I spent most of it imagining what Rachel McAdams's boobs look like, so I'm giving it a rating of one, for imagined boobs. I imagine they're pretty sweet.

Movie Rating = (1) - (0) = 1

Munich

This movie had a very nice pair of boobs, ably played by some Dutch prostitute. Actually an actress played the boobs and the prostitute, so I have to say she's a pretty versatile young woman. Unfortunately, the beauty of those boobs was marred by an earlier scene featuring Ciarian Hinds's penis, which was, by implication, at some point inside the prostitute. Still, all in all, a solid showing by Spielberg.

Movie Rating = (2) - (1) = 1

Match Point

There is no reason at all that Scarlett Johansson's boobs weren't in this movie. We saw some nipple through wet shirt and that was it. Very poor showing by pedophile/director Woody Allen. Minus a million points.

Movie Rating = (-1,000,000) - (0) = -1,000,000

In conclusion, a pretty solid year for boobs. I mean movies. There were some good films, along with a few clunkers. Maybe next year we'll get some Scarlett boobage. Please? Boobs.

2005-12-26T01:01:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, you filthy animals

I was just sitting here at my computer at 1 in the morning when I wandered on over to YTMND.com and saw this: here. Now, I realize I already did a blotry about Rent, but this is just supposed to be a short little entry so bear with me. Aside from being a pretty good gag, this YTMND page made me realize something. Rent advocates measuring years in something other than minutes, which struck me as rather counterintuitive. It starts out recommending "sunsets" and "midnights," which seem sort of reasonable. But then things really get out of hand. We're asked to measure a year in inches and miles, which I have to say, is pretty hard to do. I'm fairly certain inches and miles are measures of length, while a year is a unit of time. In fact come to think of it, a year is already a measure of something: the amount of time it takes for the earth to complete one orbit around the sun. So this talk of measuring a year seems pretty crazy.

Anyway, the Rent finally suggests, well, "how about love?" It advocates using "Seasons of Love," to be precise. I honestly think this is bad advice and won't work, but what do I know? I'm only the best blogger who ever lived. Now, it may seem as though I'm really unfairly hating on Rent here. But in truth, I don't despise Rent more than I despise most things in the world. Which is with the burning hatred of 10 million suns.

2005-12-14T17:26:00.000-08:00

Rent Blows

So I was trying to think of a good blog topic for today's blotry (blog + entry), but I couldn't think of one. Then I decided to think of a bad topic for today's blotry, and the first thing that came to mind was Rent.

Like most things in my life, Rent revolves around gay people. Actually, only about half the people in this movie are gays, but pretty much all the characters except the Jew have Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome, or AIDS. See, in this movie, you get to have one defining character trait, so if you blow it on AIDS, that's it. The Jew's a Jew, so he can't have AIDS. But Rosario Dawson's just generically ethnic, so she has AIDS. So too does the vaguely Kurt-Cobain like rock-star. I say vaguely because they look sort of alike; Kurt Cobain was a talented musician and singer. The only exceptions to this rule are the black lady who is simultaneously a lesbian (can you get any more marginalized than that?) and the transvestite who also has the AIDS.

Now, the minute I typed "transvestite," I bet you thought of a guy who dresses like a woman. I think Hollywood only portrays that kind of tranny and not the other kind because there's something vaguely embarrassing about a woman wanting to be a man. I mean, I can sort of understand why a man would want to be a woman: the underwear, the shopping, the physical attractiveness. But men are, as a rule, hairy, ugly and gross, with weird growths and lumps (breasts are really the only good sort of lump and women have those.) So any woman who wants to be a man clearly has something wrong with her. It might also be that male to female transvestites are just more common in society at large, but I think I've already established why that is.

Anyway, the transvestite (I can't remember the character's name and I'm tired of writing out "transvestite" so the character's name is Ricardo Guerrera from now on. Wait that's no good. How about Ignacio Cabrera?) eventually succumbs to the dread disease (look I'm not spoiling anything, everyone with AIDS is doooomed!), and I'm pretty sure he's supposed to be an allegory for Jesus. I mean, they were both Mexicans. Ignacio and Jesus, I mean. Well I'm sure Ignacio Cabrera was Mexican, but I'm pretty positive Jesus was too, all the Mexicans here in SoCal can't seem to get enough of that guy! Jesus, I mean, not Ignacio. I don't think Mexicans like gays very much, as a rule. So Igancio Cabrera dies and everyone's sad, most especially his boyfriend, Jesse L. Martin. Now, this is where things get confusing, because although Jesse L. Martin's character is apparently gay, he goes for the transvestites (damn). I can never get all of this straight, because it seems like some people who cross-dress pretty much just do it to be rebels, but others actually want to be women. I'm not sure which one Ignacio Cabrera was, but I bet there were some awkward conversations there. Because I mean, what if your wife (or husband, props to all 2 of my female readers ((or wife because there's nothing wrong with that))) insisted on dressing like a man (or woman?), and wearing the beauty products associated with that gender. Wouldn't you be a little put out? I know I would be. Actually, I'm so cripplingly lonely I'd take anything without a penis at this point.

Ok, bit of a tangent there. Anyway, the rest of Rent involves a horrifically embarrassing piece of "performance art," a seemingly interminable, meandering plotline, and a laughably maudlin "death" scene that has some of the worst dialogue I've heard since George Lucas attempted to pass off his Anakin-Padme love scenes as something other than high comedy.

None of the characters is likeable. The filmmaker and musician characters spend a year working on "projects" that are so bad, when I saw/heard them, I stood up in the middle of the movie, ran up to the front of the theater, and peed all over the screen. Well, I didn't, but it would have been an appropriate response. The white lesbian is a grossly incompetent performance artist ( granted I don't think any performance artists have even been competent, that's why they're performance artists) and a slut, Rosario Dawson is a coke-whore (technically coke-stripper), Jesse L. Martin is a college drop-out, and Ignacio Cabrera is a vaguely lovable transvestite (blast). The only kind of likeable character in this motley crew is the black lesbian, who is apparently a lawyer, and is clearly just spending time with these losers because she's between cases. Well, Taye Diggs seemed like a pretty decent guy too. I might have missed something, but I'm pretty sure he was basically giving free housing to the main characters for over a year. Which is quite a lot more than they deserved.

In conclusion, Rent's message of hope and inclusiveness, while admirable, is completely undermined by its writing, which was either done by some of kind of hippie, or simply someone who completely failed to realize that being "Bohemian" isn't an excuse for being a big lazy jerk. Each character is rather despicable in his or her very own, special, unique way. Like snowflakes made of acid and poo.

2005-12-02T19:08:00.000-08:00

When you come right down to it, I would probably rape Emma Watson (but please don't call the police)

STATUTORY RAPE OK?! Jesus, sometimes you people. I mean, that's not such a crime is it? Well, actually it's a capital felony, but really there are worse things in the world. Did you know Great Britain's age of consent is 16? Which means, as of this writing, we're exactly 137 days away from legal intercourse. And that's just great news.

I mean seriously how can I fail? Look at the competition I'm up against:
Daniel Radcliffe obviously can't keep his wandering eyes from young Emma's burgeoning bust, but he's got the acting ability of a plank of wood. Not even a big plank of wood, mind, I'm talking about a pretty small plank. And it's not even well sanded, it's got holes and knots in it and stuff. Sure, he probably knows some black satanic magic, but c'mon. This is the guy who's so awkward he couldn't even ask out not-that-hot-but-made-50-times-hotter-by-her-unexpected-Scottish-accent Cho Chang. Now I realize my inability to separate ficticious characters from the actors who portray them has probably become disturbing (as if an article about rape weren't disturbing enough), so I'm gonna move on.

And that guy plays Ron Weasley? I don't even know his name, he's that insignificant. I will squash him like puny bug he is. But if I remember my chronology correctly, in the Order of the Phoenix, Ron and Hermoine have an incredibly hot, graphic sex scene involving at least five bodily fluids, thirteen sexual positions, and a small shetland pony. Then they finish off with a donkey punch. Haha, donkey punch. Obviously, I must kill him before such a scene is filmed.

Anyhoo, as I was saying, how I can fail? My only real opposition is sexy sexy Ralph Fiennes, who for some reason pronounces his name "Ray." If that pisses Emma off a tenth as much as it does me, he's doomed. Plus I remember him eating Ed Norton in Red Dragon, which was pretty dick of him. AND I heard at one point he took to shooting Jews from his balcony. Or was that in a movie? Either way, the guy's a douche. And Emma's got class.

Oh, I almost forgot. Stanislav Ianveski. Viktor Krum. This guy's a total brick.
I don't know guys, I think he might squash me like puny bug. Between those gigantic slabs of meat that he calls hands. At one point is the movie, he turns around, stares into the camera (into your soul) and says, "You haff no business here. This tent for champions." In the most hardcore accent you can imagine. Jesus.

So, maybe Emma and I won't be getting together. Well, I can always settle for Fleur. She's hot, French, and legal. Well, she's a little weird looking I guess. But she has pretty nice boobs. Boobs in motion here. Um, there are boobs in this video, so don't watch it if boobs freak you out. You gay. I think the guy in this video must be a gay too.

At this point, I realize I've written two Harry Potter themed blog posts, but the first one involved perverted sexual deviance, and this one involved...perverted...sexual...deviance. Ok, well they're similar, but come on. Sirius Black boning Remus Lupin is lightyears removed from hot Emma Watson. Right?

2005-11-28T19:49:00.000-08:00

In a world gone mad, I read my blog over and over

So I was reading my Arnold blog entry again (yeah, I read my own blog over and over, is that weird?) and I realized I've used the phrase, "In a world gone mad, something something" twice now in my brief blogging career. Well, three times, technically. I don't know if that means I'm uncreative or if it means I'm a genius, but it definitely struck me as significant. Ok I just wanted to share.

2005-10-30T22:30:00.000-08:00

If all the Arnold Schwarzeneggers from all his movies got into a big brawl, who would win? This is the question contemplated by the ancient philosophers, from Socrates to Plato, from Confucius to Sun Tzu. It drove Nietzsche mad. And all this before Arnold Schwazenegger was even born. Even then, those long ago wisemen knew this question would be the one on which the fates of whole nations and empires turned.
Now, the answer is come.

1. Major Alan 'Dutch' Schaeffer
Major Alan Schaeffer, "Dutch" to his friends, is one badass guy. His muscles are so huge he uses them to launch small reconnaissance aircraft. "Dutch" leads a team of badass commandos, including the Governor of Minnesota and Apollo Creed. That's right, "Dutch" is so badass he bosses around the guy who took out Rocky. But "Dutch" doesn't care. He's just there to get the job done.

I think Arnold's muscles achieve some kind of critical mass in this movie. If they got any bigger, they'd burst out of his arms and start their own civilization of muscle-people. That's how big they are. I also like the fact that Arnold outruns a nuclear explosion at the end of the movie. He's some kind of monstrous super-man. An ubermensch, if you will. By the film's climax, his entire team has been killed. What does Arnold do? Does he pee his pants in fear? Does he cry like a girly-man? No! He rips off his shirt, covers himself in mud, makes a composite bow out of hickory, sorghum, and human hair, and challenges the predator to a one on one duel with the most manly warcry in human history. Then he has a fist fight with the Predator. That's right, he slugs it out with an intergalactic hunter that can shoot plasma bolts from its ass. And when the Predator takes off its mask, does Arnold quail in fear? No! He says, "You're one ugly motherfucker." Then he smashes Predator with a giant log.
Memorable Quotes:
"If it bleeds, we can kill it."
"Get to tha choppa!!"
Bad-Ass Rating: 9

2. Douglas Quaid, AKA Hauser
Quaid, or "Hauser" as his "friends" call him, is married to Sharon Stone and does have sex with her, so that automatically makes him a living legend. Little does he know that his lower-upper-middle class existence is, in reality, a complex fabrication, and part of an absurdly convoluted plot to destroy a bunch of freedom-loving mutants on Mars. Actually I'm not sure what happens in this movie, but there's definitely a mutant that has three breasts, and there's also a midget. Or maybe it was a three breasted-midget. I'm not sure. But there's some freaky imagery regardless, believe you me.

Arnold is fairly badass in this one. He has some serious combat skills, but he doesn't know it. What he does know is that he's sleeping with Sharon Stone, but he eventually kills her, and is then heard to remark "Consider that a divorce." It's ok, though, because she was working for the badguy. At one point, he disguises himself as a fat lady, and when some evil henchman accost him, he bursts out of his costume, throws the animatronic fake lady head at them, and runs away. The head turns out to be a bomb which explodes and kills a platoon of soldiers. If that's even half as confusing/awesome as I remember it, it's pretty intense. When a mutant that lives in another mutant's chest tells Arnold, "Quaaaaaaid, start the reactor!" does Arnold freak out? No! He goes down to the reactor, kills Michael Ironside and about 1000 guys, and turns on the damn reactor. At the end it turns out the whole thing might have been a dream, but at least Arnold got to cyber-bone the vaguely attractive Rachel Ticotin. Yeah I never heard of her either.
Memorable Quotes:
Quaid: Benny! Here!
Benny: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Quaid: [killing him with a large drill] SCREW YOU!
"Get your ass to Mars."
Bad-Ass Rating: 7.5

3. Ben Richards
Ben Richards was a regular guy, just your average-joe enforcer for the megacorporation that dominated life in the near-future United States. Then he refused to open fire on a crowd of protestors. Eventually, he ended up on the reality TV show "The Running Man." It wasn't much like today's reality shows: the contestants were each more unlikely than the last: a guy with a chainsaw, an opera singing fat man who shot out electricity, a black man with a jet pack and a flamethrower, and an Asian guy who played hockey. With pucks OF DOOM. Wow, actually it's just like today's reality shows. Anyway, Ben eventually defeats his opponents and kills the head of the evil megacorporation. Wow, what a surprise.

Arnold is reasonably bad-ass in this movie. He definitely beats up some serious opposition. Jesse Ventura is also in this movie, as the patriotic Captain Freedom. I don't know what it is about Arnold movies and unsuccessful state governors. Ba-zing. I'm just kidding I voted for Arnold. I don't remember if Arnold kills Jesse Ventura, but I think he should, just to show that California is a much better state that Minnesota ever will be. Go back to Canada you bastards.
Memorable Quote:
"Well I hope you leave enough room for my fist, because I'm going to ram it into your stomach, and tear out your spine!"
Bad-ass rating: 7.0

4. Cyberdyne T-800 Series Terminator
In the dark future of the early 21st century, a nuclear war engufled the Earth. From the ashes of that cataclysm, a terrible intelligence arose, a cybernetic mind of untold power. SKYNET slaughtered most of the human survivors and rounded up the rest into horrific death camps where it rendered the terrified prisoners into their component nutrients. But SKYNET didn't count on one man: Michael Biehn. No wait, I mean: Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Actually I was right both times. Arnold's the bad guy in the first Terminator movie. He kicks major ass. He gets shot, punched, bashed, and car-crashed. Even when Michael Biehn blows up the truck he's driving, it just turns the Terminator into a crappy stop-motion effect. NOTHING CAN STOP HIM. Except an industrial strength press. That pretty much kills him. But even an industrial strength press can't compete with studio greed, so Arnold came back for Terminator 2, except this time, he's on OUR side. In T2, Arnold had an annoying kid sidekick, and he learned the meaning of love. He also learned it was something he could never do, so he jumped into a pool of lava like an emo pussy. At least I think that's how it happened. Anyway, even a pool of lava can't compete with studio greed, so Arnold was yet again resurrected for Terminator 3, which I never saw, but I imagine it involved a hot robot-on-robot sex scene between Arnold and that sexy female Terminator. Then the Apocalypse began and Arnold Schwarzenegger was elected Governor of California.
Memorable Quotes:
"My CPU is a neural-net processor, a learning computer. The more I interact with humans, the more I learn."
"I'll be back."
"Hasta la vista, baby."
"I know now why you cry. But it's something I can never do."
Bad-ass rating:
9.0

5. Detective John Kimble
Detective John Kimble was the best. He put in the hours, and he stayed on his man until justice was served. He was married to his job. He didn't let anything get in the way of his duty to the law. Then one day, through a series of increasingly contrived events, he was forced to masquerade as a Kindergarten teacher in order to nab a wanted a felon. Arnold actually turns into a pretty decent teacher when he realizes the best way to get people to fall in line is to give them badges and make them goose-step around the classroom shouting various anti-Semitic chants. I think I might be confusing Kindergarten Cop with Triumph of the Will. OR AM I?!

This movie is mostly a broad comedy in which we laugh at the juxtaposition of the fantastically muscled, masculine figure of Arnold Shwarzeneggasascazeder with the highly feminized task of kindergarten teaching. I go to college! The movie ends with a dramatic shoot out in which Arnold gets two to the chest. Or the arm. He lives though. I don't remember if he ultimately settles on remaining in the education field or returning to law enforcement, but I hope he found a way to combine his two passions. Policing kindergarterners or teaching police.
Memorable Quotes:
"It's not a tumor!"

[On being informed that boys have penises and girls have vaginas]
"Thanks for the tip."
Bad-ass Rating:
5.0

6. Conan the Barbarian
Conan was born free, but after the wicked Thulsa Doom (ably played by James Earl Jones) raided his village and murdered his family, Conan was forced to become a slave. Eventually, Conan enters the gladiatorial pits, where he learns the arts of combat and eventually earns his freedom. Conan ultimately defeats the evil Thulsa Doom's legions, and executes the wicked tyrant before a throng of Thulsa's followers.
Now that I think about it, Conan the Barbarian is basically Gladiator (or more accurately, Maximus Decimus Meridius the Commander of Felix Legion, but I guess that wouldn't have worked as a title).

The difference between Maximus and Conan is that Maximus gets all emotional about his wife and son being horribly raped and murdered. I mean, that's happened to me twice, and you don't see me getting all upset. But Maximus mopes around and acts impotent. "I'm just a slave, what possible difference can I make?" he bawls in his whiny, nasal voice. Conan is anything BUT impotent. He has sex with at least three women in his movie, and it's basically the first thing he does when he meets them. One of them turns out to be an evil witch, but what does Conan do? He finishes up, then throws her in a fire. That's how bad-ass he is. Surprisingly, he doesn't have sex with the Princess, but I'm sure he does after the movie ends or something.

Not only is Conan a love making master, he's also a killing machine. He probably kills 1,000 guys in this movie, but the blood on his hands only makes him into more of a sexual dynamo. In one scene, he's tied to a tree, and vultures begin to peck at him. But one vulture makes the mistake of pissing Conan off, so what does Conan do? Does he cry out to his Gods for salvation? No! He takes charge, grabs the vulture in his teeth, bites it to death, then spits it contemptuously into the dirt at his feet.
Memorable Quote:
[On what is best in life]
"To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentations of their women."
Bad-ass Rating:
8.62

7. The Governator
In an alternate future, in the early 21st century, the United States entered a period of decline following a catastrophic terrorist attack and a subsequent squandering of its diplomatic, economic, and military resources in a boondoggle dubbed at the time "The War on Terror." Disheartened by the sharp turn to the right the rest of the country seemed to have taken, the people of California took it upon themselves to elect a man who could lead the state into a brighter future regardless of the darkness enveloping the rest of the world.

That man was Arnold Schwarzenegger.
They called him The Governator.

Oh wait, all that actually happened.

Anyway, I don't pay much attention to politics, but I understand Arnold isn't doing so well in the polls these days. I don't know if that means anything, though, because, keep in mind, this is the same state that elected a schlocky 80s action movie star to the governor's office. Look, Arnold may be a bit gimmicky, and he may be borderline incompetent, and he may not have any political acumen at all, and he may only have been elected because people love his catchphrases, but godammit, this is America! What were our alternatives? Broad Hispanic Stereotype Cruz Bustamante? We don't elect anyone not from Western or Central Europe to high executive positions! Not in America! No-penis Gray Davis? That man has about as much charisma as a piece of toast without raspberry jam. No my friends, in a world gone mad, Arnold Schwarzenegger is the sane choice.
Memorable Quotes:
"We're going to open da books!"
Bad-ass Rating:
6.5

So who wins the brawl? Well, Arnolds without major gimmicks like Quaid, Richards, and John Kimble are right out. Arnolds' enormous layers of muscles would probably stop a .22 round, but they're not going to stand up to the firepower of plasma rifle or a minigun. Governator has the entire California National Guard at his disposal, but as we've seen, guys like Dutch could kill 500,000,000 men without even thinking twice about it. Plus Arnold's been getting a bit flabby lately. So it basically comes down to Dutch, Terminator, and Conan. Conan may not have the advantage of modern or futuristic firearms, but he has extreme sexual prowess. But I don't think that helps in a brawl so Conan gets shot from 2 klicks out by a high powered hunting rifle. Now, Dutch may not have advanced technology, but as we've seen, he can take high-tech foes without too much trouble. Plus, Arnold has NEVER survived a Terminator movie, and Dutch outruns nuclear bombs. This one goes to Dutch my friends.

Godspeed Arnold Schwarzenegger, wherever you are. Sacramento, I guess.

PS
I left out a number of worthy Arnolds, including True Lies Arnold with Sexy Hermaphrodite Jamie Lee Curtis Action, and Hercules in New York Arnold with Horrible Dubbing Action. I was getting pretty bored so I decided to call it quits. I also left out a number of unworthy Arnolds, including End of Days Arnold and Sixth Day Arnold. For these, and other oversights, the author extends his sincerest apologies.

2005-10-02T01:41:00.000-07:00

Hundred Acre Wood: Arcadian glen or den of madness?

Yeah, it's a den of madness.

Ahh, the Hundred Acre Wood, inhabited by whimsical characters like Piglet, Rabbit, and the unfortunately monikered Winnie "the Pooh." Honestly, that's easily the worst nickname I've ever heard. I'm told he acquired the appellation from the sound he makes when he exhales quickly, but clearly no one thought it through very much, and now Winnie the Pooh (no-one ever calls him just Winnie) is saddled with a name that instantly conjures up images of everyone's favorite bodily waste. Urine, I think we can all agree, is a distant second. I don't think this is an entirely bad thing, mind, because a nice long poop is one of the few things that I can still look forward to in the grotesque carnival of tears that is my life, but nevertheless, poo is not one of the things you ought to bring up in polite company. Christopher Robin has even resorted to referring to Winnie simply as "Pooh" or "Pooh Bear" with unintentionally hilarious results. Just call him Fecal Matter Bear and be done with it.

Anyway, to my central thesis: every denizen of the Hundred Acre Wood is suffering from a serious developmental or psychological malady and must be treated immediately!

Winnie "the Poo"

Symptoms: Patient presents with an total inability to grasp basic abstract concepts. When administered a standardized IQ test, the patient ate the provided pen, defecated on the floor, and fell asleep. Patient is also commonly referred to by his friends as a "bear of very little brain." Once became trapped in his own house when chronic overconsumption of honey caused him to become lodged in his own door. Had to be extracted by fire personnel and paramedic first responders, at considerable cost to the state. In another incident, he attempted to use a balloon to reach a beehive, apparently failing to grasp basic principles of buoyancy and gravity. Fell approximately 40 feet, suffering a serious head injury.
Diagnosis: The patient probably suffers from some kind of congenital retardation, most probably Down Syndrome, further exacerbated by the aforementioned head trauma.
Prognosis: Left untreated, the patient will probably either starve to death or drown in his own bodily wastes. We recommend he be remanded to a state care facility, where he can be taught basic skills. Given the profundity of the patient's retardation, we doubt he will ever be able to enter the workforce or live unsupervised. Nonetheless, we are confident he can still lead a full and fulfilling life, likely to be primarily occupied by staring at a wall and muttering incoherently to himself.

Tigger

Symptoms: Patient presents with extreme hyperactivity and inability to engage in conversation. 500cc of air-rifle delivered Ketamine had to be administered to the patient in order to ensure cooperation during interview process. Patient remained mostly incoherent during the interview, raving about being composed of "rubber and string." When administered standard dose of Ritalin, patient became extremely calm and passive.
Diagnosis: Patient likely suffers from Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder.
Prognosis: We recommend double daily standard dose of Ritalin to be administered by trained physician's assistant. We also suspect that patient's hyperactivity may partially be a result of pent-up sexual tension, which is to be expected, given that the he has taken to loudly proclaiming that he is the last of his species. His cries of "I'm the only one!" are more probably analogous to "Oh God, my race dies with me, why struggle on in the face of the inexorable bleak specter of death?" Given that this situation is unlikely to resolve itself, mandatory castration, including full removal of penis and testes, is recomended. Unfortunately, thus far, we have been unable to locate reproductive organs of any kind; the patient's body appears to be composed of synthetic fur and fabric.

Eeyore

Symptoms: Scars just above hooves suggest several abortive suicide attempts, which likely failed because the patient is, like the other animals treated, mostly composed of leather and cotton stuffing. Other attempted suicides included a drowning (failed because patient has no lungs), a hanging (failed because patient has no lungs), and an overdose of pain medication (failed because patient has no internal organs of any kind.) Patient is fascinated by death imagery. Extremely lethargic, with labored speech patterns. Enjoys listening to Dashboard Confessional and Taking Back Sunday. Wears sweaters, tight-fitting jeans, scarves, and dark square rimmed glasses.
Diagnosis: Patient suffers from some form of clinical depression.
Prognosis: Left untreated, the patient will likely stumble upon some form of suicide that will actually prove effective, most likely self-immolation or use of high explosive. We recommend a cocktail of Zoloft, Prozac, and Zyprexa, along with intensive rounds of talk-therapy. However, it must be noted that although in most cases a patient with depression suffers from unjustified feelings of worthlessness, weakness, and loneliness, Eeyore is actually a worthless, weak individual who doesn't deserve to have any friends.

Piglet

Symptoms: Upon reaching the patient's residence, the interviewer was immediately attacked by a two foot high creature wielding a kitchen knife and bellowing unintelligibly about shapeshifting alien helicopters from beyond the moon. The interviewer easily overpowered his diminutive assailant, and he soon determined that the attacker was Piglet himself. After the patient was administered a sedative, it was discovered that the patient routinely experiences vivid hallucinations, visions, and hears "voices." Additionally, experiences spasms and tremors of the limbs and torso.
Diagnosis: Patient suffers from Paranoid Schizophrenia.
Prognosis: The severity of the patient's delusions rules out any use of therapy or standard medications. Electroshock therapy would seem to be the best route, but the patient's body, unlike most organisms, contains extreme low levels of water or other semi conductive materials. Therefore, we recommend a full frontal lobotomy. Although this will no doubt render the patient a drooling moron, given the mental faculties of his peers, no one is likely to notice much change.

Upon initial analysis, it appears the Hundred Acre Wood is a breeding ground for madness, retardation, and other mental maladies. Preliminary diagnoses indicate that Rabbit may be suffering from Antisocial Disorder, Owl from Asperger's Syndrome or Autism, and Roo may have an Oedipus Complex (where's his father?!) Although most of the denizens will never lead "happy" or "productive" lives, we can rest assured that modern medicine provides us with the capability to shoot them full of so many mind altering drugs, they will essentially be reduced to semi-mobile sacks of chemicals. Huzzah!

2005-09-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

Scarlett Johansson is a Goddess and I am her High Priest
Or
Scarlett Johansson's Boobs are so big they crashed her car

Something I've noticed lately is that there are some particularly attractive young women in the so-called moving picture, or movie, if you will, industry. I remember the days when a respectable gentleman could take an early evening constitutional to the local nickelodeon, purchase a moon-pie for 3 pennies, view a news reel on T.R.'s "square deal", and enjoy the latest film starring Myrna Loy or Joan Crawford. The films of that bygone era were as diverse as rainbow sherbet with three, or possibly even four, flavors. But one thing united them: all the actresses were generally unsightly. By this I mean, they were displeasing to the eye, or ugly, in the common vernacular.

I don't actually remember those days, and in fact the faux memories I mentioned probably span a 40 year period, but the point still stands. The young ingenues of the modern film industry are all so attractive I defy any young man to avoid raising his flagpole at the slightest half-cocked eyebrow or curled lip of the latest Hollywood harlot.

Let's examine some of the most notable of Hollywood's young stars. And examine the likelihood I will end up in a long term relationship with them.

1. Scarlett Johansson
The first thing you will be pleased to notice about the young Ms. Johansson is that she is very hot. What you will notice immediately subsequent to this is that her breasts are so large that they are considered a separate state for tax return purposes (note: breasts not prominently featured here; for more on Scarlett's breasts, and the havoc they cause, see here).
Scarlett Johansson has been in a number of notable movies, including 2003's Lost in Translation, In Good Company with Topher Grace and industry veteran Dennis Quaid, and 2002 Academy Award Nominee, Eight Legged Freaks.
Something that's particularly appealing about Johansson is that she doesn't take herself too seriously. On her latest film, The Island, she commented: "I get paid to make out with Ewan McGregor and roll around in bed all day. It's a hard job but someone has to do it." I don't know about you but I'm pretty turned on right now.

Probability of Long-Term Relationship: Extremely High.
She was born in 1984 so we're from the same era. I can only assume she spent her childhood as I spent mine, reenacting GI Joe's climactic assault on Cobra Island, to say nothing of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle's daring escape from the Shredder's clutches in that latter day labyrinth of evil, the Technodrome. Another point in my favor is that she apparently finds gentlemen of the Hispanic persuasion attractive; one need look no further for proof of that than reports that she had sex with Benicio del Toro in an elevator.
Sadly, Scarlett is now said to be dating WASP pansy, Jarid Leto. But clearly he isn't much of a boyfriend. Don't expect his mangled corpse to wash up on a beach any time soon, his hands covered in defensive wounds and his mouth agape in a cowardly plea for his life, but, well, don't be surprised if it happens either. Just sayin'.

2. Rachel McAdams
Oh, Rachel McAdams, you're such a cutie pie. I could just eat you up. Looking at her filmography on IMDB.com, I was surprised to see that she's had only had a handful of roles thus far in her career. But what a handful! She was pretty darn hot as a leggy blonde in Mean Girls, sweet as a pea (is that an expression?) in Wedding Crashers, and pretty much kicked Cillian Murphy's ass in Red Eye. Now, Cillian Murphy kicked Batman's ass in Batman Begins, so I think that means Rachel McAdams is a legendary crimefighter. Which is, again, a pretty big turn-on. I'll admit I didn't see The Notebook, in large part because I don't have a vagina and have no wish to acquire one. But I hear there's a twist ending where it turns out Ernest Borgnine is actually a terribly aged Rachel McAdams telling her life story, which I thought sort of strained the limits of credibility.

Probability of Long-Term Relationship: High.

Can you believe that Rachel is pushing 30? That's right, she was born in 1976. Well, love knows no age, and I'm confident Rachel and I can overcome a mere decade's difference. Now, I'll be the first to admit that she'd probably be the dominant one in our relationship. As I just mentioned, she's older, wiser, and more experienced. Moreover, she stabs guys like Cillian Murphy in the throat with pens and then beats them to death with blunt instruments. Since I'm about as physically formidable as Cillian Murphy is (IE not at all), it's a foregone conclusion that she could murder me pretty much at will. Which is ok with me, I mean we've all got to die sometime, and I think Rachel McAdam's sweet face looming over me, blood stained candlestick clutched in one hand, would be a sweet last glimpse of the mortal realm.

3. Natalie Portman

Natalie, Natalie. From the instant I saw you prevent an intergalactic war by capturing the Viceroy of the Trade Federation in Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace I knew it was love. I think our relationship only grew deeper as I watched you seduce Zach Braff with your schizophrenic mad-woman routine in Garden State, and cause the rise of the Galactic Empire by dying on Hayden Christiansen in Revenge of the Sith.

Many people don't know that Natalie's first film role was in 1994's Leon. In it, she plays a 13 year-old orphan whose family is murdered by everyone's favorite villain, Gary Oldman, and who is then taken in by everyone's favorite pedophile, French film star Jean Reno. I'm just kidding, the movie isn't actually about pedophilia, it's about a 50 year old hit man and the pubescent girl who loves him. No, it's completely platonic, ok? Jesus. But this is all beside the point. The real question is, do I have a chance with her?

Probability of Long Term Relationship: Very high.

Yes, yes I do. Sure, she's an older woman, but that's water under the bridge. Yes, she's Jewish, but I can convert. Of course, she's bisexual, but I can get a sex ch.....whaaaaat? That's right, it seems as though Natalie Portman may be bisexual. Or at least not quite unisexual. And don't bother to point out that it wouldn't make sense for me to get a sex change even if she were bisexual, I'm already aware of that. I was just going for a little symmetry in my syntax. Anyway, as all my male readers (all 2 of you) can attest, bisexuality is hardly a turn-off. (Not to imply I have a bevy of female readers, all 0 of them know that). Now, some might say Natalie Portman being bisexual would cut my chances in half since I would have to compete with twice as many people. But practically, I think my extensive familiarity with Queen cum Senator Amidala's life and times speaks for itself. And it says: we're gonna be makin' babies real soon.

Hahaha. Cum.

Now, I'm going to be forthright here for a moment. The next two women are OC alumni. But it's a pretty damn fine county I'll have you know, so no complaining!

4. Samaire Armstrong

Stop, stop, I know. There's nothing wrong with a woman showing her stuff. She looks quite good in this particular photo shoot so you can shut your pie hole. Samaire Armstrong is best known for her role as Anna on The OC. She's pretty much the perfect woman. Intelligent, beautiful, and she knows comic books. She even wrote a comic for Seth in attempt to woo him. That she lost out to Wonder Woman was a gross miscarriage of justice. Come back to us, Samaire Armstrong. We need you.

Probability of Long Term Relationship: Equivalent to catching running cards on the turn and the river.
I'm going to be honest with you. Chances are, Anna and I won't be getting married. It is a bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it I must. We all must. I know you're thinking, "but Mike you are so cool and ever so attractive, how could Samaire resist your manly charms?" Wait are you really thinking that? Are you a girl? Or a guy who looks a lot like a girl? (650) 353-1121. But we have to look at reality. She dated Aaron Paul. I don't know who that is, but that name is so biblical he can probably shoot some sort of holy energy rays out of his hands and/or feet. But you never know. I've seen crazier things than running cards in Poker. You've got to put a man to a decision for all of his chips. That's what Doyle taught me. What he didn't teach me was how to pick up women, but you can't have everything.

5. Mischa Barton
Mischa Barton. From the moment I saw you vomiting all over Haley Joel Osmont in The Sixth Sense I knew it was lo... Ok well that's a bit of an exaggeration, but Mischa Barton does indeed vomit in Haley Joel's general direction in that movie. Her early career is also notable for her appearance in Notting Hill, where she is credited as "12 year-old actress." An apt description if I ever heard one.
Mischa Barton is best known for her portrayal of Marissa Cooper on The OC. Now, I've heard people who've called her performance wooden. Those people can kindly go to hell. She kissed another woman on national television! That makes her a goddamn American hero in my book. Oh my penis! (Not a picture of my penis).
Look, Marissa may have had problems, but she's basically a good kid who's trying her best. Sure, she took illegal narcotics in Tijuana, attempted to drive under the influence, and shot a man in the back, but she's basically a good kid.

Probability of Long-Term Relationship: .9~ (Approaches 1).
That's right ladies and gentlemen. It's statistically impossible for Mischa Barton and I not to end up together! Just look at the factors! She was born in 1986, I was born in 1986. Her initials are MB, my initials are MB. She stars in a show called The OC, I live in the OC. Her character stole a watch from South Coast Plaza, and I've bought things from South Coast Plaza. She appeared in The Sixth Sense, I watched and greatly enjoyed The Sixth Sense. You see where this is going? Yeah, that's right. A long term relationship. It's inevitable. She's the sober yin to my sober yin, to paraphrase from The Simpsons. Yes, her rump is as wide as the queens, but she's beautiful! And I'm sure she's lovely on the inside and such and such.

I have to say, overall I'm quite pleased. If you look at the statistics, it's likely I'll be dating multiple movie stars during my lifetime. I have a feeling things are going to be alllll right.

2005-09-09T22:00:00.000-07:00

The Wonderful World of Comic Strips

Consider, the comic strip. A rather innocuous component of popular culture. Most people don't spend very much of the day thinking about comic strips. I usually allocate 45 minutes tops. Oh, we're aware they exist all right. And maybe we occasionally crack open the Entertainment section of the newspaper and glance at the things. "Oho," we think, "that Garfield does love his lasagna!" And then we close the paper, reassured that no matter how crazy the world gets, that rat-bastard Garfield is still stealing John's lasagna or beating the crap out of Odie. And then he just sits there with that stupid self-satisfied smirk on his face. Garfield you sick son of a bitch I'll...

But I digress.

Dig a little deeper, and you'll discover that the world of comic strips is a Byzantine power game of money, sex, and lies that goes all the way to the highest levels in this country. The highest levels, gentlemen. Well, actually that's a lie. It's mostly a bunch of forty year old men desperately churning out canned crap that's about as inspired as the dump I took this afternoon. Actually that's a bad analogy because my craps tend to be pretty insightful. But you get the idea.
I decided to go through a few comics from the LA Times and provide some commentary, get to know the comic biz (that's what we call the industry), you know.

So first off, Family Circus.

Family Circus is certainly one of mankind's darkest creations, down there with Nazism, Stalinism, and Ted Turner. Ba-zing. Pretty much every comic features one of those hydracephalic brats saying something "cute." That's it. Every time it's the same garbage. I mean, if the kid says, "Hey, I gotta poop," that could be a comic. Or the wife saying, "Jesus Christ this family is suffocating me I've got to get out of here!" that would work too. They're like slices of life. It's not funny, it's not cute. It's just harrible. Harrible.

What's worse than the whitebread comics are the ethnic comics. Those damn uppity minorities like to combine a total lack of humor with political commentary about as deep as a kiddy pool.

For example, La Cucaracha:

Do you get the funny? Do you get the funny joke?! I haven't seen this topic beaten to death 50,000 times over. You see, you see because the media assumes BLACK people LOOT and WHITE people FIND. This is funny. This is original. I NEVER would have thought to turn it into a comic. Race relations are hilarious.

Or, Boondocks:

Ahhh, hurricane humor! What witty insight! You see, you see the Bush Administration CAUSED a lot of black people to die! That's not just funny, it's hilarious! And it's deep too. I NEVER would have suspected Bush was responsible for killing those people! Of course, the municipal and state governments are free from blame. You are witty, Aaron McGruder. You are so witty.

The only thing worse than liberal ethnic comics are Neanderthal conservative comics written by little white guys with various large objects in their anuses. You know they couldn't name a single Spice Girl if their lives depended on it.

Are you chortling, guffawing, or at the very least chuckling? I sure am. All three. That talking sin against nature, the anthropomorphic Mallard Fillmore, is at it again. Here, he absolutely skewers the Democratic Party by exposing that they're motivated by politics! It's unbelievable how he cuts to the heart of an issue. I bet the author of Mallard Fillmore masturbates to Mallard/Harry Potter slash. Well ok, I guess that is kind of hot.

Finally, the greatest mystery of all, 9 Chickweed Lane. This comic has been in the Times for as long as I can remember, and I still can't figure it out. I think it's an incredibly pretentious comic about young people at some kind of prepatory musical academy, but to be honest I'm not sure. Some of the strips seem to simply make no sense. Like Great Sphinx or the megaliths at Stonehenge, they defy human understanding. For For example, September 10, 2005:

What the hell?

2005-08-29T09:45:00.000-07:00

Funny thing about the Internet is, everything is porn.

Now, I don't mean that all that's on the Internet is classifiable as pornography. Certainly, you would be hard pressed to call the delightful joyofbaking.com (created by Stephaine Jaworski) porn. And, barring extreme sexual perversion, spongebobworld.com is also probably not porn.

So then, how can I, as a rational man, make the astonishing claim that on the Internet, everything is porn? Well, because it is.

Let's try an experiment. Open up your favorite web browser. Navigate your way over to Google Image Search. Now, make sure no one else is in the room. Clear? Good. Type Remus Lupin into the search bar.

Remus Lupin. An innocuous enough choice. A supporting character from the delightful Harry Potter series. How could Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, third year, possibly be connected to porn?

We're about to go through the looking glass here, people.

Click the search button, or just hit enter if you're feeling randy. Now, what do we have here? Oh look, a screen capture of David Thewlis as Professor Lupin in the film adaptation of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. That's normal. It seems reasonable that such an image would come up. What else? Hmm, quite a few anime-ish looking returns. That's a little strange I suppose but...OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT? I'll give you a few minutes to wash your eyes with soap and sudsy water. Done? Clean? Your eyes may be cleansed, but I'm afraid no mortal soap can ever free you from the image now burned into the cortices of your brain. Yes, as of the time of this writing, the third return for an image search of Remus Lupin does appear to be a pencil sketch of Sirius Black and Remus himself engaging in homosexual intercourse. With penises. Missionary position, although I'll admit I didn't look at it long enough to determine who was in the superior, Remus or Sirius. I bet it's Sirius, that rapscallion.

How does a rational person react to such a thing? What am I to think? What are we, as human beings, to do when Remus Lupin and Sirius Black have gay sex? Should I have gay sex with you? Is that what this sketch is saying? But no. In a world gone mad, the last thing we ought to do is have gay sex with Harry Potter characters. Well, actually, the last thing we ought to do is have sex with Aragorn and Legolas, but Harry Potter sex is up there on the list of things we ought not do.

It's up there.

We can remain rational. We must remain rational.

The Remus/Lupin drawing belongs to a category of art called slash fiction, which wikipedia defines as "...ficition in which one or more media characters is involved in a homosexual relationship as a primary plot element." Hence the slash in Slash Ficition. Remus/Lupin. Aragorn/Legolas. Spongebob/Mr. Crabs. I hope to God the last one isn't real. But it might be. By all the angels in heaven and all the devils in hell, it might be. According to Wikipedia, Snape/Lupin slash is so popular, it has a name: snupin.

Through the looking glass, indeed.

What's interesting about this slash stuff is that it's extremely popular among women. The Lupin sketch which haunts our waking and dreaming was drawn by a woman. Is this the equivalent of the male obsession with lesbianism? Who knows. These are the deeper mysteries of the world.

Which brings me back to my original assertion. Everything on the internet is porn. There's Halo porn. There's The Simpsons Porn. Futurama porn is quite popular; apparently Leela's ocular handicap is something of a fetish for some. Rescue Rangers porn. Remember the Rescue Rangers? Remember that catchy theme song? Well, now you too can pleasure yourself to Chip and Dale getting it on.

But that's neither here nor there. Who finds this appealing? Why would a woman want to see Severus Snape hump Lucius Malfoy? Why would a man prefer Monterey Jack bone Gadget to depictions of real humans doing the same? To each other I mean, not to Gadget.

On the Internet, everything is porn. Everything, every character from every fiction ever created, has engaged in a sex act somewhere on the Internet. Yes, even Winnie the Pooh. I've seen it. Don't ask how or why, but I have. And it's like looking into a pit without a bottom, a vast unending chasm of darkness. Something like that, it changes you. I don't wish that on anyone.

But the point stands. Of course, some of this must be done in jest, the visual equivalent of The Aristocrats. Yet some of it is surely in earnest. But are people who are aroused by this really worse than the rest of us? Some guys like dominatrixes, and some guys like April and the Ninja Turtles. And maybe they walk among us like regular people, only revealing their dark secrets in the quiet privacy of their homes. They could be you. They could be me.

Nahhhh. They're all freaks. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go rub one out to some Rescue Rangers porn. I always thought that Gadget was pretty hot.