Mommy, Please, I Want More Fish Oil!

Every time some goofy study on what food is good for you comes out of the wood work I brace myself for the ensuing onslaught of insanity. We saw it with milk, we saw it with eggs, we saw it with ginseng, and garlic, and, vegan diets full of soy, soy, soy, and...well, it just goes on and on. But over the past twenty years one rather peculiar food source has been gaining steam despite the fact that it just sounds absolutely disgusting. That food--or thing you can eat if you are on the verge of dying from starvation--is fish oil. Fish oil contains Omega-3 fatty acids which are so absolutely amazing, if you shot enough of it into space, it would not only fix all of our environmental problems but it would bring on ten thousand years of world peace. In one study, they even fed poor South African children fish oil spreads in the flavors of curry, chicken, and tomato in order to further bring home the point that fish oil is good for you. However, they did leave out what these children thought about the taste of the spreads but I'm guessing that they were all two shades to the dark side of this foul stuff...

...which, I imagine, is why they used hungry South African kids.

Question: Why not just give the kids a tasteless fish oil pill instead of making them choke down vile fish oil spread?

Answer: Because you won't buy fish oil pills for your kids but you'll buy something that can be called a meal and is good for them as well.

Maybe in the not to far off future I'll be buying fish oil chicken spread for my kid's lunch. Sure, he'll want peanut butter but I'll just explain to him that peanuts had their run for long enough, not it's time to give fish oil a chance.

The World In a Vacuum

A few days ago I added The World in News below my Links with hits to a few different publications from around the world. This was a personal pursuit mainly as I wanted to get a sense of the world from many different perspectives. In my mind, I thought it was better to get a "worldview" perspective on things as opposed to reading things from the New York Times or the New York Post (or any other American publication for that matter). So, about five minutes ago, I hit The Times of India link (a pop-up-tastic link as I noted on the link itself) in hopes to get some sort of feel for what the nation of India--the second most populated nation in the world--thought about things in life, the world, everything in general. What I got was this...

That's Kid Rock and Pamela Anderson. They got married in St. Tropez, some island outside of France or some shit, and their wedding made the lead story in India (which I think I already mentioned is the second most populated country in the world!)! I could get that same news from a hundred different crappy American news sources but, no, I found it on The Times of India. This leads me to think that either 1) The Times of India is a totally fabricated news source for the actual going's on in India or, 2) the people of India are just as bad as the people of America. I'm hoping that it's number one and not number two....

still, I'm pretty happy that Pamela and Kid finally tied the knot. I've been hoping for a number of years that they would.

Still Not Gettin' It

Michelle Malkin thinks Jill Greenberg is an unbelievably sick person. Why? Because Jill likes to make little kids cry and then take their picture. Now why would Jill do such a mean thing to toddlers? Because Jill hates President Bush. Does this make any sense at all? Because, frankly, I ain't gettin' it. In the interview, Jill says she got the idea when a small boy:

....started crying on his own, and I shot that, and when I got the contact sheets back I thought, "this could go with the caption, "four more years,"" like he was apalled at George Bush's reelection. The images have a real power--they immediately get under your skin.

Certainly I would agree that the images get under your skin. Just look at the poor little tykes . Nobody likes to see kids suffer but I'm not blaming President Bush for it. I'm blaming you, Jill, the person who is personally making them cry! But let's be honest, who really thinks that Jill is doing this as some sort of political message against President Bush? The fact is that Jill is just another Ned Danny, a person with some talent but instead of taking the hard road like everybody else, they try to use, "shock and awe," to get an audience. It's just a shame that a few kids have to cry just so Jill can get hers.

Now if you will excuse me, I'm off to take a picture of me kicking a dog in the nuts. I have nothing against dogs, I actually like most of 'em. But, lately, the mail lady has been really getting under my skin.

Oh, and if you want to see somebody with talent and who doesn't have to make kids cry in order to take their picture, check out Tif's photos on the links.

Love The One Your With

When I first heard that the weapons deal went through between Russia and Venezuela I, like most Americans, took the news badly. To be honest, I was really upset about the deal. I thought Russia and the United States had been getting along so well lately. But then they had to go and hook up with that loud mouth Venezuelan demagogue and totally damage what I thought was a blossoming relationship. I couldn't believe it but then I saw this picture....

....and I just couldn't be mad anymore. Just look at their faces. Putin with his smirky little grin and Chavez, readying for the long-awaited embrace. It's obvious that these two world leaders are in love. And not the, "we had a fun couple of weeks together but I don't think either of us is looking for anything long term," sort of love. I'm talking about the, "you complete me," sort of love. You can see it in the eye contact and the total lack of apprehension each has towards the other despite a complete invasion of their mutual personal space. They are in it for the long haul and personally I'm not going to be a part of standing in their way. It's tough enough to just survive in this oft cruel world so when you are lucky enough to find that one true one then, damn it, you should fight to hold on! So, I say, screw America and anybody else that wants to get in your way because you can't rationalize the decisions of love...its just crazy that way.

Did You Hear? Jamie's Back in Jail. Again.

For some reason the UK can't bring itself to keep Jamie Manderson off of the streets of Swindon. I found the article on the BBC NEWS website and, to be honest, I don't know if the story is just plain funny or just plain sad. For one, how does a guy get 200 convictions for anything and still not go to jail for an extended period of time? And, for two, what does a guy have to do in order to get locked up to begin with? Here's a little excerpt from the story:

About eight years ago he ran over a 12-year-old cyclist as he drove a robbery getaway car.

So, in just one offense, Jamie--a guy described by his lawyer as a "likable idiot"--just happens to accidentally run over a kid after robbing somebody (why does bad shit always have to happen to good people?). Later Jamie's lawyer implies that this isn't Jamie's fault because he, "clearly has a strong addiction to cars". Wow. I imagine the Magistrate never saw the, "likable idiot who has a strong addiction to cars," defense. Still, the Magistrate was having none of that as she threw the book at Jamie. Or, well, she threw part of the book...actually, she threw a few pages from the index and a modest chunk of the glossary in the form of five months in jail. And she added two years of disqualification to his license. The cold-hearted wench. But the people of Swindon need not worry for too long as Jamie will have plenty of months left in the year to keep up his driving with a disqualified license streak that he started way back in 1988. So, I guess, even this hard luck story might still have a happy ending after all.

Sometimes I Just Don't Get It

I couldn't tell you how many times I could have used that title in reference to a thousand things in life. For example, recently (asbout a half an hour ago) I found about Ned Danny and his documentary called 4 Weddings and Three Thousand Funerals. The premise for this film (as I surmise it) is that four weddings had to be cancelled as a result of the tragic events of 9/11. I first found out about this cutting edge documentary on the The Movie Blog in a story written by John Campea, who thought that while the documentary was wrong, wrong, wrong it still sounded rather hilarious. Personally, I thought it was nothing more than some 22-year old who thought of a funny title that parodied an actual movie title and so he had to create some stupid documentary in order to use the title. Porns are born by the busloads every day using that very same moronic muse. Ned even has a plane crashing into a wedding cake on his poster, in order to offend anybody he failed to offend with the title. Apparently, Ned got exactly what he wanted as the StopNedDanny site quickly went into action in order to, um, "Stop Ned Danny". They even linked a YouTube video of one of the victims which, I imagine, came directly from the documentary. In the end the victim remembers September 11th as the day she was supposed to get married, the day her fiance left her, and, oh, the day of the terrorist attacks. Which leaves me with one question: If her fiance left her on that day, how the hell did the terrorist attacks stop her from getting married? I know that 99 percent of most wedding are about the lady but, come on, you still gotta have a dude in there somewhere, don't you?

Hell, I don't know. Ever since Ken burned me with Belle & Sebastian deal, I've been questioning my ability to reason correctly.

Nothing More Annoying Than Being Teh Inside Joke of a Genius

I saw this article on Yahoo! (yes, I occasionally get my news from Yahoo!) about how Ken Jenning, the brainiac Jeopardy! millionairre, got into some heat for badmouthing Jeopardy!. I really didn't care about what Ken thought of Jeopardy! (read the article, it was a tounge-in-cheek thing) but I did like the fact that Ken has his own blog. Finally, I figured, I'll get to find out what a genius thinks about this whole Hezbollah-Israel war or, at the very least, where he stands on this whole "global warming" issue. However, after spending a good half hour on Ken's Blog (which I'm putting on the Roll of the Bard) not only do I not know anything more about Hezbollah, Israel, or global warming but I think that I am in fact a little bit dumber than I was before I visited the blog! Ken likes trivia, all sorts of trivia, and he has a pretty decent sense of humor (and he totally came over my head with the pic of Al Gore on Entertainment Weekly. I was gonna use that one for my "global warming" blog--which is still in the works--after I saw it on Treehugger a few days ago. But now, well, I guess its a lost opportunity. Thanks Ken, you bastard!). But you know the thing that disturbs me the most about Ken's blog is his entry on July 12th, titled, "we are teh sleepyheads," which is about nothing really. But I gotta wonder, what in the hell is teh? As a person who can type fairly damn fast I do know that it is common to misspell the word "the" and when you do, it will always come out as "teh". I checked Wikipedia to make sure that it was a misspelling and not urban slang or Old Latin or some shit that a really smart guy might use in place of the word "the". But it seems that I was right and Ken just mistyped the word which is fine but what disturbs me is why the man--a damn genius--hasn't fixed it already! Sure, you could argue that he's rich and popular and smarter than everybody else and he probably doesn't give a shit that he misspelled the title to a tiny blog entry. That's probably true but I would appreciate him saying something like, I know I misspelled "the" up there but I really don't give a shit, I'm not wastin' my time fixing it. I could live with that but by not saying anything he has me--a self-declared idiot--completely confused and starting to question my entire value system.

I wonder: Is he mocking me with his super-intelligent brain?

or

Is he so arrogant that he thinks he can single-handedly change the spelling of one of the most used words in the English language just by changing it's spelling in a single blog title?

then I think

And what in the hell is he using the word 'the' in the title anyway? Doesn't just saying--we are sleepyheads--make a hell of a lot more sense?

Honestly, I'm at a complete loss which means that Ken is just messin' with my inferior brain so to that I reply: Screw you, Ken! Screw you and your Jedi mind tricks!

I'll go back to doin' all of my real learnin' on Wikipedia as usual.

UPDATE (7-26-2006): So I guess that maybe Ken wasn't playing me for a chump after all (well, at least, he wasn't playing me for any more of a chump than I already am) as Karen points out in the comments. We are the Sleepyheads is actually a fairly decent tune. Oh, and I decided to put Ken's blog on the links instead of the Roll of the Bard.

The Internet Is For Porn

Currently there are well over two hundred versions of this hilarious skit on the Internet. To think, I can remember when there were just two. To give a brief history, this is a skit done by Avenue Q called The Internet Is For Porn. It's really quite clever and well done although Avenue Q has done many other funny things as well...it's just that this particular song is in a place of legendary status. You can see a video of the actual Avenue Q rendition of the song on YouTube but the original is just the start because--thanks to YouTube and the like--this skit has been bastardized aplently. The first came with 3-D generated monster thingies. Actually, this is the World of Warcraft version and it is probably more popular than the original puppet version. But if you don't play WoW, then maybe you would prefer the Guild Wars version. Personally, I always liked the teen girl sleepover version but that was before I found this one. Randy from Dover likes his porn and, more importantly, he isn't ashamed about it.

Still Nothing Funnier Than an Onion

So I was browsing through The Onion the other day and I started to think to myself that while The Onion is a pretty fun place, what if there are other, even funnier, foods out there on the Internet. As far as foods go, in my opinion at least, there are plenty of fruits and vegetables with more chuckle potential than an onion. Take, for instance, a dill pickle. I've always thought that dill pickles had classic humor potential so on a whim I typed in www.thedillpickle.com and was immediately taken to the webpage of Lori Dillick, Caldwell Banker realtor and, apparently, a really big fan of cucumbers in a jar of vinegar. However, as funny goes, Lori's site lacked the overall satire and punchy wit one would expect from a dill pickle. But, to be fair, Lori does offer FREE Brochures!! which is always nice. Next, I tried www.theapple.com and found that it was not even a website yet. However, it could be yours for the price of 2,430 bucks which I guess is a bargain considering the overall nutritional value of a good apple. Next, I discovered that The Orange is no longer called an orange. It's called a zOokin. You would think the FDA would keep the public abreast of such changes but apparently our billions of dollars in taxes don't cover educating us as to when an orange becomes a zOokin.

Next, I found that The Mango is actually the site of a Jewish rap producer Irv Gotti, once head of the infamous Murder, Inc. So, if you will excuse me, I'd like to give a big shout out to Goo Goo, 8-Ball, Wasabi, and The Machine as well as The Mango himself! I always knew you were innocent of those money laundering charges brother!

After hitting a few more fruit and vegetable websites and coming up empty I was about to give up when I discovered these fine people:




These are The Leftovers and they are availble to do your wedding, graduation, party, funeral...whatever...at a moment's notice. Just by the look of 'em you can tell that they rock but if you need proof then watch this video of The Leftovers performing at a gig (they are the people on the stage that you are almost, but not completely, unable to hear). Now I'm off to get me some free brochures before crazy Lori comes back to her senses.

The Wrong Way to Make Amends

It's amazing the lengths some people will go to in order to right the wrongs they have done in the past. For instance, I'm always overly nice to carnie folk simply because I stabbed one with a plastic fork. In my defense, I was eleven and all hopped up on cotton candy and caramel apples and the guy kept looking at me funny. Of course that's no excuse for fork-stabbing which is why I usually spend a good twenty dollars on the ring toss game at every carnival despite the fact that I have absolutely no use for yet another baby rabbit. An even better example is that of The Master's, arguably the most prestigious event in golf, and it's new position on racism. After many years of blatant racism conducted by the esteemed Augusta National Golf club against African-American people, the golf club is now sending out letter bombs to the eldest and most prestigous of it's white male club members in an obvious attempt to bring itself more in line with current beliefs. The first to receive one of their "oppression correction" letters was none other than 94 year old golf legend, and previous two-time Masters winner, Byron Nelson. According to the Associated Press article :

A package sent to the home of golf legend Byron Nelson was detonated by a bomb squad

Later, the article stated that the contents of the exploding letter contained:

.... banners from the Masters and a letter.

Although police decided that nothing appeared criminal about the exploding package I have to disagree. While I understand that The Master's heart was in the right place when they sent out the letter bomb, I don't think blowing up old white men will undo years of persecution and abuse against peoples of a different skin color. But, of course, what the hell do I know about the right way to make amends? I've got thirty eight rabbits as proof of that.

I have absolutely nothing to say

That's the truth. Its Friday and the family came over to swim and eat and, well, I'm just too drunk to think about anything even pointless to talk about. So I'm off the play some online poker and, possibly, lose another couple hundred bucks to some idiot who thinks that pocket fives is an All-In sort of hand. Still, if you need a place to go that is just as bit as meaningless as being here then might I suggest Glenn Greenwald's blog. It looks much like mine and if you think I update often, you'll be baffled by Glenn's update rate! He's a friggin' updatin' machine! Oh, and if you last even halfway through a single of Glenn's long-winded boring blogs then I will personally PayPal you a buck (but I get to quiz you first). Now I'm off to the cleaners. You can find Greenwald's blog on the Roll of the Bard down the left hand side of this blog.


UPDATE (8-17-2006): The PayPal challenge is closed. Nobody won anyway. Your good Greenwald....ohhhh, your good.

Pong...it's still aging well

A few years ago, I started researching all of those games I used to play when I was a kid if for no other reason than I was bored and there was nothing really good on the T.V. What I discovered was that one game in particular was a good bit older than I first realized. That game was Pong and it came into existence the very same year as myself; that being 1972. Like myself, Pong is almost 34 and as things go it is aging as well as, if not better, than me. It only took me a quick run through the Internet to find just a few of what I thought were rather good renditions of the game that are currently up and running (out of the hundreds out there). However, be warned that, while I did test the links numerous times, they still have the possibility of taking you to Pop-Up Neverland.

Link One is a decent rendition of Pong with a nice scenic backdrop. I found it to be rather soothing but, eventually, boring as well. Herein lies the link to Pong with a view.

Link Two is Pong if it were played by fleas or perhaps some bored lice. This one claims to be the World's Tiniest Game of Pong. I'd tend to agree. You gotta click that little square to start. Use your up and down arrows to play.

Link Three is quality Pong. Good sound effects and the difficulty rises quite well. Some decent Pong can be found here.

Link Four is better by quite a margin. It's called Bomb Pong and it introduces spin to the equation as it takes on a more Ping-Pong aspect (which is the inspiration for the Pong game).

Link Five is by far the most inspired of the lot. It's called 3-D Pong and it is quite challenging but the little white ball is hard to follow and the sound effects suck.....even by Pong standards! Thankfully, whoever created this version updated it and released it to the public once more. This time it was called Curveball. Click that link at your own peril because with classic Pong sound, spin action, bonuses, and score posting this version of Pong is one of the most addictive games on the Internet.

One thing I now know for certain: The Hoff has nothing on Pong.

It's all about supply and demand

You learn that in Economics 101 and the professors keep preaching it to you steadily every semester after that until you finally graduate with a diploma in one hand, a bill in the other, and a look of confusion on your face. It's all about supply and demand, you tell yourself as you go back home, scratching your head, still confused. You wished you would have paid more attention in college or, at the very least, not drank so many shots of Goldschlagger after giving blood plasma. Your first lesson comes quickly: how many good paying jobs are out there for people coming straight out of college? Approximately three. How many young adults graduated from college the same time as you? Approximately four million. Supply and demand, you tell yourself. Now you have two choices: either go to work making what you would have made had you not went to school or go back to school. Instead, you choose to stay and home and mooch off the parents for a couple more years as you wait for the demand to rise to the point that it will physically walk to the door, ring the doorbell, and present you with a good paying job.

Later in life, you will buy a car. It'll be a two door and sporty. Sure you might have to finance it for seven years but, "what the hay!," you say...everybody should have a new car. It's basic supply and demand.
Of course, you will then get married and have a kid or two and probably trade in your new car for another new car that makes a little bit more sense for a married person with a kid or two. You will complain about companies like Wal-Mart and McDonald's and Starbuck's ruining the face of America as you sip a Double Mocha Latte and the kids giggle in the back seat as they eat their Happy Meals; because they think it's funny when you yell about how you can never find a parking spot that is less than two hundred yards from the store. No matter your opinion or what you believe, life comes down to supply and demand.

But if you don't believe all of that, I give you instead a simpler proof of that ultimate truth. You may find it here. It's all about sensing a demand for something out there and then providing something to meet that demand. It's Economics 101.

By the way, I'm upgrading my Apocalypse alert status to Bluetick for the remainder of the week. I shouldn't have to give a reason as to why.

UPDATE (7-23-3006): The link no longer works (big surprise) but it was a guy selling a steaming bag of his dog's shit over Ebay. He had dog pic and poo pic and a single bidder. The price: a hefty $6.99. The packinging: not really said in much detail (which means it could have came in brown paper and still wet from the journey).

A Solid Conspiracy Theory

So I was digging through old emails today when I discovered a real gem of a conspiracy theory that I wrote back in June of 1998. Here is a clip from the grand conspiracy:

First, Mexico can't buy any of our good stuff unless we loan them the money beforehand and they can't pay back any of the loans because nobody wants to buy any of that worthless crap they have to sell and, as for Canada, they pay for everything with Canadian quarters which as you all know aren't worth but seven-tenths of an actual quarter. So we are running up our debt by loaning money to Mexico while Canada floods our market with under-valued currency. But still even if thatis true, they must have a motive for doing all of this. Well, trust me,they have a motive--a very big motive.

Let me ask you, when is the last time you have seen anything about Mexico or Canado on TV? We have natural disasters all of the time but you never hear about even so much as a dog dying in our border countries. Hell, who knows what is happening in either of these countries. Nobody vacations there, nobody knows anybody who lives there, and all of the stuff we want from there we already have right here--Canadian bacon and Mexican beer. I believe that they are stockpiling resources for the final takeover. I believe that suddenly-- probably around a holiday--a wave of illegals will rise up from the south, riding tripped out El Camino's and playing bad salsa music while at the same time a band of French speaking loggers and hockey nuts grumble out of the north on snow blowers and massive ice-making machines. With our borders down and our money powerless, we will be forced to wave the white flag. One side will turn our southern states into Hispanic havens as Americans are loaded onto Wal-Mart rafts, twenty to a boat, and sent off in the general direction of the horizon while the other side will freeze over our many wonderful football stadiums to create massive ice skating rinks. The Statue of Liberty will be dressed ina plaid shirt and corduroy pants and her torch will be removed in favor of a forkful of syrupy flapjacks. Those few of us who survive the onslaught will be herded into the central states where we will be forced to work on cactus and dirt farms in order to make cheap Mexican tequila and repulsively bland Canadian food. Our average yearly salary will be thirty pesos, a piece of stale pita bread, and eight Canadian pennies. Trust me, friends, it isn't a matter of what if, it is only a matter of when. ---The Bard, June 25, 1998.

From this, two things are obvious to me. The first is that I had a lot of pent up rage in 1998 and the second is I am wise beyond my years. As far as conspiracy theories go that was a pretty good one as we are currently in a bedlam down south. However, I should point out the truth of the matter is that this was a satire of NAFTA passing at the time and only meant as entertainment. Canadians invading America, that's preposterous!

Because we all know that Canada doesn't want anything to do with our mainland, it's too damn hot. No, Canadians have their eyes on Alaska and then, if things go well, they are gonna take the North Pole. That's right, the Canadians want Santa Claus all for their very own!

You just wait and see if I'm wrong.

UPDATE (7-19-2006): Apparently, as well as devising conspiracy theories in 1998 I also thought the country on our northern border was called Canado. Oh well, at least I spelled Mexica right.

Blog jumping...a good way to get yourself bored to death.

I often wonder if this whole Internet thing is really all that good for the world as a whole. Case in point, I remember losing five good evenings of my life a few years back when I spent wayyyy too many hours reading and commenting about Derek's Wal-Mart receipts. It was insane really and I would gladly pass the whole thing off as foolish indiscretions of youth but, well, I was 27 at the time. Of course, I could argue that I'm extremely immature for my age (and in that argument I have a strong point) but I'm never one to play the "immaturity card" unless my wife catches me watching The Cartoon Network or I forget to take out the trash. Regardless, I moved on and actually landed a job making decent money. Two weeks later I found that I needed to do something with my money and not wishing to toss it directly down the toilet I, instead, made my first Ebay purchase. I've been struggling to keep my ass off of Ebay ever since. I ranted about Ebay on my LiveJournal a few months back so I won't do so again but, just to update, my recent purchases have been some ink toner, a nine iron, and a beaver pelt. If you pause upon the beaver pelt, it was for my dad and I was assured that the beaver died peacefully at home with his family. The elder beaver also left wishes with his estate executor that his fur be used to better mankind in the form of a nice hat or, possibly, a lovely hand bag.

After Ebay, came Google or, better expressed, the phrase, "Just Google it." Not too long ago, I Googled my own name and I came up as a winner of a Ms. Hawaiian contest back in 2002 (man, that was a crazy-ass two weeks) which caused me to tone down my Googling quite a bit. And that brings me to today: the time of the blogosphere. It has potential, I see that, as it links us globally (at least somewhat) but for now I'll save my opinion. Besides I've gotta comment on Derek's July 30, 2000 purchase because, honestly, who really buys A&W Cream Soda anymore?

UPDATE (7-18-2006): Oddly, this blog was supposed to be about my theory on "Blog jumping" (as you notice in the title) but somehow my crazy-ass brain forgot that and started talking about the progression of the Internet. As for blog jumping, I didn't explain my little theory on that at all. Oh, and I spent a good forty five minutes re-reading Derek's stupid Wal-Mart receipts! So there you have it: my theory on blog jumping. What was it? The hell if I know because I somehow forgot the theory while I was writing a blog about it. Still, I'm putting that title down as one of my all-time favorite blog entry titles (Why? Because I'm a narcissitic bastard that's why).

When the Caller I.D. says don't answer...listen.

By and large, I don't answer calls from numbers I don't know. But then Tad from BoxOfficeMojo called me the other day and I just had to answer because his number looked so damn charming on the Caller I.D. Looking back, I guess it was a, "you had to be there kind of moment," (if such a thing can happen between a person and a number on his Caller I.D.). Long story short, this is how the conversation went:

Me: Hello?

Tad: Hello! Is this Bradley?

Me: I go by Shawn.

Tad: Oh, your Bradley but you go by Shawn?

Me: Who is this?

Tad: Hey Shawn! This is Tad, I'm calling from BoxOffficeMojo. I'd like you to answer me a question if you've got a moment!

Me: Define a moment Tad.

Tad: That's funny, Shawn! I can tell that your a really witty guy! But seriously, Shawn, I've got to ask you why haven't you seen Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest yet? Did you know that it is the highest ten-day grossing movie of all time?

Me [pausing]: Yeah, I knew that but--

Tad: You knew that and still didn't go see it?

Me: Yes, Tad, as I said, I knew that--

Tad [laughing]: I find that rather hard to believe, Shawn! Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest is perfect for someone in your demographic...and wasn't your wife and kid away this weekend?

Me: How did you know--

Tad: To be honest with you, Shawn, we're worried about you. Did you know that in less than two years you will be less likely to watch great movies like Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest and more likely to watch lame-ass old people movies like Something's Gotta Give or..well..um, actually Stu does the 35-45 demographic so he'd probably--

Me: Are we done here Tad?

Tad: Actually, Shawn, we are going to need you to give us a voice recording indicating that you are refusing to watch Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man--

Me: Goodbye Tad.

Honestly, I don't know why Tad was being such a prick. I downloaded a pirated version of Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest onto my computer ten days ago. Normally, I don't agree with pirating movies but, in this case, I thought it would go against the spirit of the movie to do anything otherwise.

They already have Easter...what more do they need?

I’m convinced that those bastards over at the Egg Board are playing us for chumps. Recently, it came to my attention that eggs don’t go bad. Hell, in some countries, they don’t even store the damn things in refrigerators! How is that possible?, I thought. I’ve smelled a bad egg and it smelled only slightly worse than the curdled milk inside the ballooned udders of a ten day dead heffer cow. So now I am to believe that eggs do not go bad! How is this so?

First, this story came to me from my stepfather, a germaphobe as a result of his days in ‘Nam, a place where the germs were so nasty, even the good ones were known to cause your scrotum to turn flaky and green forcing it to drop down into your left boot in hopes that things might be better there. They weren’t, of course, as another germ...again not even a really bad one...had already claimed the entire bodily area within the boot as a good place by which to cultivate and multiply. Anyway, my stepfather enjoys eggs well into three weeks past their expiration date...why? Because they are still good, that’s why. I didn’t believe it so I went to the Egg Board’s website and found this rather questionable statement:

Julian Dates. Starting with January 1 as number 1 and ending with December 31 as 365, these numbers represent the consecutive days of the year. This numbering system is sometimes used on egg cartons to denote the day the eggs are packed. Fresh shell eggs can be stored in their cartons in the refrigerator for 4 to 5 weeks beyond this date with insignificant quality loss.

Julian Dates? WTF is a Julian Date? I have yet to find a carton of eggs with the quizzical Julian date on them...it’s either Sell By or Expiration. If I wanted an aloof, non-answer, Egg Board, I’d ask the boss if I’m gonna get a Christmas bonus this year! Frustrated, I went to Consumer Report in order to research the matter and what I came up with was this rather nice piece of truth:

"Expiration": For most foods, this indicates the last date on which they should be eaten or used. Eggs are an exception: If you buy federally graded eggs before the expiration date (which must be no more than 30 days from when they were put in the carton), you should be able to use them safely for the next 3 to 5 weeks.

And there you have it. The cold, hard truth. Instead of thanking us for Easter and the thirty friggin’ million eggs Americans buy in order to get ready for the event, the Egg Board instead manipulates us into throwing away perfectly good eggs in order to buy more eggs that are no better than the ones we tossed. My only question is: if eggs hardly ever go bad, how do most of us know how bad a really bad one smells? On that one, for now you have me at a loss Egg Board.

But only for now.

A Tribute to Mr. Freeze

Of all the villains in all of the movies since the beginning of movidedom, I’m convinced that none were worse than Arnold Schwarzenegger’s version of Mr. Freeze in the dreadful Batman & Robin, circa 1997. But don’t blame Arnie (although he did little to help the character) because nobody, and I mean nobody, could have pulled this guy off. As proof I offer you a nice little compilation of Mr. Freeze highlights I pulled directly from the movie script (which also proves that you can find any piece of worthless shit on the Internet).

Mr. Freeze opens with this line: "The Iceman Cometh." This line, spoken only to the audience, lets the viewer know that this guy is only gonna say stupid one liners with "cold-themed" punch lines for the rest of the movie. As if to further pound that point home, his next line is, "I'm afraid my condition has left me cold to your pleas of mercy."

Now here is the very next line: " In this universe, there is only one absolute. Everything...[wait for it...waaaaiiittttt for it].....freezes!" Friggin’ awesome line there...especially with the dramatic pause. From there I’m just gonna throw you a few stand alone, one-liners which need no further comment. These gems are as precious as the diamonds Freezie uses to fuel his super-idiotic suit.

"Bat on ice, anyone?"

"You're not sending me to the cooler."

"Cop-suey." Alright, no cold references but I gotta give you what was written in this fabulous script to cause Freeze to justify saying something so eloquent as cop-suey.

From script: FREEZE is racing towards the altar and his fallen gun. SIX GUARDS rush in through a side door and swarm the unarmed Freeze. Mistake. Freeze begins wailing on the Guards. It's a straight display of fisticuffs executed with unbelievable speed and precision, hooks, jabs, upper and lower cuts all perfectly delivered, felling the assault force.

"Cop-suey indeed," I say. Cop-suey to readable fucking sentences. A few more one-liners, all again in exact order of appearance.

"Caution. Bridge may ice over"

"What killed the dinosaurs? The ice age."

"Can you feel it coming? The icy cold of space."

"After you have frozen, your icy tomb will plummet back to Gotham."

and, lastly, "Ain't it grand? Freeze well."

All of these lines, spread throughout the movie would have been enough to make entire audiences weep in their popcorn but these come from the first twenty minutes! That’s right, we got another hour and a half of this shit. Lines like, "We aim to freeze," and, "Tonight’s forecast.....a freeze is coming!" and, "Cops on the rocks anyone?" all do their part to make you wish you could shove your head into a freeze-er and pound the door across your skull until blissful death saves you from anymore of these dreadful popsicle puns (sorry, I couldn't stop myself).

Personally, I always thought, "Alright, everyone, chill!" was the single crappiest Freeze line in the movie until I ran across, "Alright coppers...Freeze!" which is the same line but somehow infinitely worse. But the weirdest thing about this entire tragedy is that Akiva Goldman penned the script. More on him later.

CORRECTION: It's Akiva Goldsman. Sure, Goldman makes more sense but, hey, who am I to tell the guy he should change his name to something that sounds more proper?

The Church of America

Next to ATM fees and the automated phone mazes utility companies use in order to not talk to their customers, taxes annoy me the most. More specifically, the completely hypocritical "sin" tax which our government imposes on alcohol, tobacco, and gambling among other things. Ever since the age of 21 I've been baffled by the idea that I have to pay our government extra money to indulge in a product that our society says is perfectly legal. Even worse, in many states the government peddles that very same "sin" product to the public in the form of state-run lotteries. Is it just me or does that smack of the great Doc Holliday line in the movie Tombstone, "My hypocrisy knows no bounds." And yet we accept it. Instead we let things like the date rape drug or reciting the National Anthem in schools take center stag because we have an opinion on what is or isn't abortion or what is or isn't true separations of church and state. Honestly, if we thought things like smoking, drinking alcohol, or gambling are sins then why aren't they illegal like murder and rape and theft? Why does my state lottery constantly have commercials telling me to go out and buy more lottery tickets? Why do beer commercials run nonstop during the Superbowl--the most watched event in the world? In a society that is constantly fearful of the Christian Right trying to cram its crazy moral system down its throat, why do we let our own government daily penalize us for purchasing products that we have deemed legal to purchase? In fact, sin taxes sound like something the Christian Right might conjure up if they did control our government. But, thankfully, they don't....and yet we pay "sin" taxes daily. I mention this now because, recently, the President of our country said that we need to search out alternative fuel sources in order to break away from our dependence on foreign oil. His opponents responded by saying that wasn't enough. Their suggestion: raise taxes , raise taxes, or, I don't know, maybe raise taxes (although this idea won't do so until a few years but it certainly paves a way) in order to discourage Americans from buying gasoline. I guess using gas might soon be a "sin" as well.

The Hoff Still Has It

Some people age with grace or humility while others, well, they just age. But others, a rare few, somehow exist as if age does not exist. These people take what is best about themselves (whether what is best is actually any good to start with is not a concern) and cultivate it like a fine wine or perfectly aged cheese. I give you no better example than the timeless life of David Hasselhoff. As proof I send you here.

Rock on Hoff-man, rock on.

It's about time

Man, the 21st century rocks! We got iPod's, Bluetooth, Blackberry's (although I'm clueless as to what those damn things are), the great Blogosphere, and soon to be introuduced next year, the 103-inch plasma TV. To think, man has existed for nigh on a long damn time and never, not once, previous to now could anybody experience the visual euphoria one can only get by sticking their mug in front of a really, really big-ass television screen. In the story, they even compared the t.v. set in size to a double-sized mattress which got me to thinking on some potential cross-selling ideas for a screen this size. First, why not turn your t.v. into a double-sized mattress? Think about it, the only people more inventive than the T.V. people are the mattress people...it's a marriage made in heaven! I ask you, how nice would it be to lay comfortably on your bed as a re-run of M.A.S.H. plays across your torso? Or, watching Tornado Watch on The Weather Channel?...it'd be like you were right in the middle of the devil as it leveled some nondescript Oklahoma trailer park. Or how about giving one a nice laminate and turn it into the dinner table? I bet that'd sure bring the kids to the table! Personally, now that we have achieved this landmark, I'd like to see the bar set really high. Like having entire football fields be television screens so that we can watch the game being played on the screen as we watch it being played for real on top of the t.v.! I can only hope that I would be around to see that monumental occasion but, for now, I'll settle with hundred inches although now--after thinking about it--a hundred inches really doesn't sound all that big.

The code for the week is Slightly Off-White. Personally, I plan on avoiding any state or locally-sponsered affairs for the rest of the week. I suggest that anybody else do the same.

Beware of the insanely insane moonbat!

You know how sometimes you are browsing through the Internet and you hit a link or two and suddenly you discover yourself in some place so completely different than you have ever been before that you really don't have a clue as to how you got there? Oh, and just to clarify, I'm not talking about searching for porn here as that will only get your computer loaded with viruses and trojans (not the good kind) and other nefarious bits of malware. I'm talking more in the line of blogs. Actually, I'm fairly new to this whole blogosphere thing and while I find most of it only slightly more entertaining than air dusting my keyboard, I did discover a rather odd little niche of bloggers today. They are called moonbats and they make most liberals look like Newt Gingrich. If you want to know where I first discovered moonbats, it was on protein wisdom. Later, I went to South(west)paw, which is the blog of a full blown moonbat named Debbie Frisch. Honestly, even my crazy racist uncle could not write a blog more whacky than that run by Debbie Frisch. First, she is praised for hoping that the writer of protein wisdom's two year old kid gets kidnapped and murdered--or Jon-Benet Ramseyed, as she called it. Then she applauds a commenter that suggests that Republicans need to be shot like rabid dogs or beaten to death with a baseball bat. Hell, Professor Frisch (yes, she is a Professor. And, yes, that is very fucking scary) has even been featured on NPR. Even more insane is that Wikipedia's (a wholeheartedly unbiased database) best definition of a moonbat is that they are, well, a little bit whacky in their beliefs and they tend to be so extreme as to abandon all components of rational thinking. In a nutshell, the term moonbat was meant to be slightly derogatory but some of these crazies actually picked it up and sensing that it might make them appear even more elite (and, by their logic, even more forward-thinking) they stuck it on their chests as if it were some type of badge of honor. I wonder what Bill Engvall would say to somebody who actually accepted one of his signs? So, that is it, the moonbat. Finally, the left has something to balance out the racist rednecks and hypocritical Christians whackos (not Christians just the whackos--so about 20% of them) that live on the other end of the political spectrum.

UPDATE (7-14-2006): It would seem that Deb's website is officially out of commission. Still, you can get an idea of her views by reading her defense of Ward Churchill here.

UPDATE (7-17-2006): Alright, Deb's website is back up and running. Some entries have been changed and others deleted which tells you the level of honestly in this woman. But the link works again for whatever that is worth.

Used Underwear

That's what I type into Ebay's search bar every day. I type that because I know once it gets to the point that somebody will try to sell their used underwear on Ebay, America is doomed. Christians speak of things like plague and massive natural disasters as signs of the coming Apocalypse which could be correct. But for me the first sign of the end is when people start swapping their used under garments on Ebay. After that, America's reign on Earth is all but done; whether or not that is an Apocalypse, I don't know. Regardless, I think that it would be prudent to devise some sort of code system similar to the one our keen President created in order to let us know the liklihood of some Hamas crazies--all hopped up on Jihad talk--exploding their giblets in our face that day. Of course, our President's system was flawed in that he couldn't find a nut even if he planted a peanut tree up his ass. My system will be much more sound as it will be based on Ebay, the coursing main vein of American life. As an intial rough draft I think my codes will be as follows, going from the lowest level of caution to the highest:

Code Red, White, & Blue: No worries, life will continue to prosper and be grand in the land of freedom!

Code Teflon: Still no worries but according to Ebay, things are not exactly perfect.

Code Black: Not the worst, but we could be better. All in all we are in good shape.

Code Slightly Off-White: Not exactly spectacular but not horrible either. Still, you might wanna update the Will and possibly scratch a "lifelong dream" sorta thing off of your list within the next few months....just to be safe of course.

Code Plaid: Worse than off-white but not much so. Think, "cloudy with a chance of thunderstorms", and you have right around the proper attitude for a Plaid day.

Code Bluetick: Be extremely cautious. You might even consider staying home or calling in sick because this is not going to be a good day.

Code Clear-coated: Uh-oh. Be on the look out for anything suspicious. If you can possibly kill it then it would be pertinent to do so..and quickly! Otherwise, always look up and at odd angles. We've all seen enough Japanese ninja films and campy B-horror movies to know that the really bad shit comes at your ass from odd angles!

Code Brown Peel Out: WE ARE IN IT. BUCKLE DOWN AND KEEP HOLD OF SOMETHING! THIS IS GOING TO BE ONE BAD FUCKING DAY! NOW PRAY FOR YOUR ASS! I SAID PRAY, MOTHERFUCKER!


UPDATE (7-18-2006): Understanding that this was a BETA version of my code system and the criteria may need to change, I'm going to go ahead and change it now because there appears to be a couple of nasty asses who will gladly purchase your used underwear on Ebay all the damn day long! It is apparent that I need some sort of freak threshhold or possibly a pervert variant counter measure or some shit.

Obvious to some...oblivious to others

I was reading an article in the New York Times about the space shuttle when I came across a real shocker of a line that somehow went unnoticed by everybody. Right there in the middle of the article--wedged between a boring paragraph about "gap filler" and an odd paragraph about how the shuttle's robotic arm, while assisted by the boom, can scrach the shuttle's nose--was this little line:

"Engineers also want to look at a panel on the right wing where there appears to be a dark spot in the shape of a claw and another panel where there are two black scuff marks."

This was not written in panicking, or even mildly apprehensive, fashion but rather as if a claw mark and some other scuff marks on the wing of the shuttle was only slightly more important than getting the shuttle to scatch it's own nose. Come on, people, isn't it now obvious what has been messing up all of our shuttles?!? There's proof of it right there on the damn wing! Here's a hint:

And if that isn't a big enough clue, rent The Twilight Zone Movie (circa 1983) and pay special attention to the thing putting claw and scuff marks on the airplane's wing. Man, I thought astronauts and engineers were supposed to be smart.

The Rant

I'm a firm believer in ranting about completely idiotic things and I try to do it whenever possible. In fact, I believe America's ability to rant is the main fuel which drives our country to constantly achieve greatness. Old men ranting about the newspaper not getting delivered before eight o'clock. Old women ranting about a coupon that expired yesterday but was still good because yesterday they were working on the road and she couldn't get to the grocery store. People in the South ranting about illegal immigrants and people in the North ranting about people in the South. Everybody ranting about gas prices (and each having his or her own stupid theory on the matter) while nobody rants about things that everybody should be ranting about. Which brings me to my rant of the month. Today's rant: changing your oil every three thousand miles.

Long ago (well a few years ago) I discovered that changing the oil in your car every three thousand miles makes about as much sense as changing your underwear every time you fart. Here's a little FYI from a brochure (dated 1988) which I found in an out of the way display case while getting my oil changed some ten years ago. It read something like this: You should change your oil every three thousand miles because lead will deposit in your oil pan, increasing the chances of destroying your engine. That's right, the experts of 1988 said you should change your oil every 3000 miles because of "lead deposits". Thankfully, we banned leaded gasoline in America sometime around when Vanilla Ice was actually making money (i.e., a few years after 1988). We stopped using leaded gas but these guys never stopped screwin' us for the oil changes every 3000 miles! Personally, I know of no person who ever said the reason their car failed to function was because the oil was too old. I have a car that could be in college right now and I hardly ever changed it's oil and it still runs like a top (or it will once I fix the two flat tires and dead battery). There are national chains flourishing with profits across the country on the simple premise that you MUST change your oil every three thousand miles! Meanwhile, the same idiots who religiously change their oil at such intervals are most likely buying synthetic oil--an oil whose only selling point is the fact that you DON'T have to change it nearly as much as standard engine oil. Of course, why shoudl I give a fuck about what other people are spending their money to buy? I guess I don't but, for some stupid reason, it pisses me off enough to rant about it. It's idiotic and completely pointless, I know, but as I said to start that's really the point of doing it.

First Things First

I should probably get out of the way real quick since I will sooner or later: a quick list of the things that annoy me the most in life. They are in no particular order and are subject to change completely at any given moment. Currently, they are:

1) Taxes. They come straight out of my check or are otherwise hidden and I'm clueless as to what they do. Federal taxes, state taxes, county taxes, city taxes, gas taxes, food taxes, sin taxes, property taxes, all these fucking taxes! Sure, I know certain taxes are needed but when I'm spending over fifty percent of my salary every year to buy them, I would appreciate the courtesy of at least an occasional explanation as to why my ass feels like the merry wheel in a cheap carnival.

2) Utility companies. These hording bastards are like governmentally-sponsored assholes. If I don't pay my cable bill on time they shut off my cable. If they give me shitty service for two months, I complain for two months and keep paying the bill for fear that they might shut off my shitty service. They are like greedy landlords except they don't give you the satisfaction of occasionally being able to kick them in the balls before you walk away.

3) Banks. The Bible said that banks were evil and on this subject the Bible was correct. Get yourself a free checking account and otherwise avoid these festering fat cats.

4) Fast food restaurants. Burgers and fries. Burgers and fries. All my life, burgers and fries! For the love of God, why? Whyyyyyyy? Why must we always eat burgers and fries??? Sadly, the Bible foretold nothing of these little greasy death traps.

And lastly (for now)

5) Toe nail clippers. You didn't see that one coming at all did you? I imagine not but really do you find any set of toe nail clippers easy to use in both hands? It's insane really that we must use these badly engineered contraptions in order to stay properly manicured.

EDITED (7-15-2006): Merry wheel? What in the hell is a merry wheel? Alright, here’s the thing...I’ll never edit out the stupid shit because, hey, I’m a dumbass just like everybody else. But merry wheel? How that one got by me, I haven’t a clue. Long story short: it should be merry-go-round.

And so it begins.....

Yet another blog. I like the new digs...they seem a bit more comfortable than my previous place of residence. Alright, I'll just see how this works out...at least until I can get my hands on www.bardblog.com . Honestly, it just makes me sick that such a good title is going down the drain and in such a chipper fucking fashion no less. Hey Tricia, people who call themselves Bard's don't have exciting business ideas that are suddenly coming to fruition in their minds. F.Y.I.--if the shit is still in your head, it ain't fucking fruitioning, it's just some crazy ass shit in your head. Go to the free clinic, chances are Bill gave you an STD. In case you didn't know, he's a bit of a man-whore.