Monday, October 31, 2005

The worst movie I ever worked on


I don't know if it's the worst, but it was pretty bad. It's called "Cursed Pt. 3" and it has the "distinction" of being the directorial debut of actress Rae Dawn Chong. It sucked.

Anyway, this reminds me of a story my friend Tucker McGrath told me. When he was a kid, he had a friend with an interesting name. His friend's dad had this idea to name his kids numbers instead of real names. But he didn't want his kids to go to school and have their classmates call them "poopoo" or "peepee" so he started with number 3.

So Tucker had a friend named Number Three, even though he was the oldest child of the family. It went all the way up to Number Eight, I think they were Catholic.

In summation, I think "Cursed Pt. 3" is a bad movie and you shouldn't rent it. Luckily, I don't think you even can rent it, so problem solved.

Oh, and there was no "Cursed" or "Cursed Pt. 2". Get it? Hilarious.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Chad Robuckle's dad


Recently, I was reminded of a story Chad Robuckle told me, the summer after we graduated from high school. I remember he took me out in this field and lit a fire and began to dance around it while dousing himself with whiskey. This probably wasn't the brightest idea but as luck would have it, he never caught fire.

After doing this for about fifteen minutes, all the while chanting what I'm sure he thought was a good imitation of an authentic indian rain dance, he passed out on the ground in front of the fire, completely out of breath. I debated leaving him there but as I was sneaking off to the car, he woke up and called me back.

"Akumbo, my brother," he said, (I'm assuming "Akumbo" was my sacred Indian name), "Akumbo, now that my soul has been cleansed, I am ready to share my deepest, most darkest secret with you."

"Oh great, I'm going to get raped by this psychopath out in the middle of nowhere, far away from anyone who could possibly help me!" I thought to myself.

"Oh yeah?" I said.

"Akumbo," he continued, "Let me tell you why you've never met my father..."

Oh god, this was gonna take a while. I pulled up a tree stump and took a swig from the remains of the whiskey bottle.

Chad started his story back in the early 80's, I'll leave out the parts about his alleged "abuse". It sounds like he had things pretty easy, I don't know, I was kinda zoning out. Anyway, the good part started when his father took Chad for a Sunday drive in his Ferrari.

His dad proceeded to tell him that their sizable fortune had been built on lies. Mr. Robuckle revealed that he wasn't really a doctor, but had merely been posing as one in order to peddle fake flu shots to schools, hospitals and old folks homes. He would run lucrative "clinics" where he would come out and "innoculate" everyone and charge big bucks to do it.

His dad was fuzzy on what was in those syringes but needless to say, it wasn't flu vaccine. I guess a couple people got sick, but nothing too bad. Anyway, the point was, he had been found out and was now under investigation for all sorts of things. I guess Chad started to cry as his father described all the horrible things that happen to handsome white men in prison but he reassured him that he would not suffer that fate.

"No Chad, your father's not going to prison, he's worked all of that out." He said, cryptically.

Then they pulled up on the side walk in front of a bank. Without a word, Mr. Robuckle got out of the car, took a machine gun from the tiny trunk and begin firing at random, killing ten or eleven people, on the spot. Chad watched in horror as his father dropped the gun, then climbed into a different car in the parking lot and calmly drove off, never to be seen again.

You see, Chad's father had figured, rather than go to prison for ten years and get paroled on good behavior after six, he would instead commit mass murder and then flea to Canada, knowing that since he would face the death penalty at home, Canada would not allow him to be extradited back to the United States.

"So your father killed 11 people rather than go to jail for a few years?" I asked in disbelief.

"Ummm, I think it was like 14, a couple people died from their wounds, later." He replied.

His father had made it to Canada and was welcomed with open arms by that cursed nation of cowards. He had begun life anew, got a new Canadian wife and they soon had a son of their own whom they also named Chad.

"Wow, Chad, I don't know what to say." It sure as hell explained a lot, but I thought it would be insensitive of me to come out and say that at this point.

"Yeah," he said, "I know that fourteen people are dead from this, but I can't help but think like the real victim that day was me."

Ah yes, there's the Chad we all know and love.

"How do you figure that?" I asked, barely masking my incredulousness.

"Well those people are dead. I am left to suffer on. Alone. A boy without his father." He said this without a hint of irony.

"What about all the children of the dead people your father killed?" I had to point out the obvious with Chad.

"Hmm, I don't know. I'm not sure if any of them had kids."

"You never looked into it?" I asked.

"Why would I? I had my own problems. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Akumbo, you grew up with a father."

So anyway, it went on like this for a while. Chad's mother had quickly remarried someone equally as rich and morally bankrupt as his real father, so I don't think he missed him that much. For some reason, Chad always referred to his step-father as "Uncle Steve". I had always thought it was just a creepy nickname but under the stars that night, I began to wonder if it was his actual uncle.

That doesn't really have anything to do with the story at hand, it just occured to me. I'm trying to be as faithful to my own mindset as possible, while recounting the events of that night.

When Chad was done sharing and the fire was almost out, he gave me a hug and toweled himself off. I checked my back pocket for my wallet but it was still there, so I wondered if perhaps he was being sincere this night.

I only saw Chad a few more times that summer before we went off to our seperate colleges. Over the years we've kept in touch as best as we could, considering I hate him and he can't figure out a way to use me for financial gain, but it hasn't been the same since high school.

It's like something died along with the fire that warm summer night. Something born out of the ashes of a terrible secret. Dying only to rise again as the phoenix of my memory is rekindled by stories of flu shot fraud in the news.

Fuck you, Canada.

I know what I want for Christmas!


So it's six am, well it's five am now (thanks daylight savings time) and I can't sleep so this infomerical comes on for the "Velform Sauna Belt". I literally can't believe what I'm watching.

This is 2005, right? In America?

You put on a heating pad and it makes you sweat (there was some bullshit about "stored up toxins making you fat") and you instantly lose 2" off your waist. Sounds good, right? No, of course it doesn't sound good. Are you a fucking idiot?

How is the government allowing this scam to exist? Isn't this what we have a government for?

You've used a heating pad in the past, right? Did you notice any weight loss? Of course not. It's called the conservation of mass and it's one of the fundamental laws of nature.

I seriously recommend you stay up and watch this thing. Unless you're really gullible, in which case, go to bed at seven. This is the cheasiest thing I've ever seen. And it's 80 bucks! Plus they don't list the s&h charges. 80 bucks!

First of all, it's so gross. They show everyone taking off this thing and their stomachs are covered in sweat. Luckily, it doesn't work, or else it would quickly start smelling like someone's ass.

Second of all, they have these already toned and fit people taking off the belts, as if to reveal "hey, two seconds ago I was a fat slob and now I've got a six pack!" The kind of six pack you can only get from EXERCISE. Like doing thousands of crunches a day. The kind of six pack you'll never get just from "sweating away toxins".

But the best of all is the computer animations they have where fat people "morph" into skinny people and it's clearly not even the same people.

I went online to read all the angry complaints people must have about this thing but I found surprisingly little of that. I found lots of spam-type ads for people reselling these as a side business. Who do I have to complain to about this? The FTC or the FCC or the mob or what?

If you own one of these things, do me a favor and please never admit it to me or let me find out because I will kill you and I don't want to go to jail for murder. Then again, I'm sure there isn't a court in the country that would convict me.

And you really need to die.

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Happy Halloween Pt. 2!


So Halloween is here, I'm not dressing up as anything. but that hasn't stopped me from getting in the spirit this season.

I thought since I'm not going out and trick or treating, myself, I would do something fun for the kids who come to the house. I've been trick or treating every year up to this one, but I figure now that I'm thirty, it's time to hang up my sack of eggs, toilet paper and shaving cream. Besides, things got a little crazy last year when I nearly beat that kid to death when he wouldn't hand over his candy. Who would have thought that a six year old would start bleeding that quickly? Not me.

Anyway, I bought a huge assortment of candy to pass out this year, because I know from experience that what keeps the kids coming back Halloween after Halloween is a great candy selection. Put out raisins, or worse, the plastic bag of pennies and you'll have nobody come next October 31st.

Another thing kids love is a good scare. Throwing up a jack-o-lantern and a "scary ghost" doesn't cut it anymore. I went all-out this year. First of all, I took my old trick or treating sack and wrote "POISONED CANDY" on the side in big letters. That's what I'll be handing candy out of, so I'm sure that'll make some of those little brats think twice before scarfing down their mini-Snickers.

But the real "piece de resistance" is outside. I replaced the porch light with a special one that "flickers" just like a real candle! Isn't that great? I think it'll give the place some real "haunted house" atmosphere. I bet the kids will be pissing their Superman costume pants when they see that!

Oh, also, I put some empty boxes out that say "AIDS needles" and "rusty razor blades".

So anyway, this should be interesting, being on the other side of the free candy trade, for a change. But hey, what's important is that the kids have fun, you know?

Friday, October 28, 2005

What a fucking jerk


MEDFORD, Oregon (AP) -- A woman bought a winning lottery ticket worth $1 million with a stolen credit card and could wind up with nothing if convicted, police said.

Seriously, what kind of asshole buys lottery tickets with a stolen credit card? What did you think was gonna happen if you won? You're basically saying, "Fuck it, I know I'm not gonna win, I just want to be an asshole and spend as much of this person's money as I can."

Hmmm... I wonder...

A search warrant served at her home Thursday turned up some methamphetamine, but little money, George [police spokesman] said.

Of course! These days, that's the answer to the question, "What kind of asshole would do [blank]?" roughly 90-95% of the time.

This is my favorite part.

"Our investigation is still trying to determine what happened to the $33,500," George said.

See above, genius.

Happy Halloween!



Wow, imagine you make the decision to hang yourself from a tree and stick it to all the people who never cared enough about you when you were alive and nobody even notices for 3 hours because they think you're a Halloween decoration.

People, people, people! This is why you gotta jump. In a crowded area. You think people are going to ignore that? Of course not.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

My trip to Subway



So I walk into my local Subway Restaurant and up to the counter and I ask the guy there for a foot long chicken parm sub, hold the sauce. He asks, "You don't want any tomato sauce on it?"

I sigh. "That's right," I say, "no sauce please. Just chicken and cheese on italian bread."

He gives me a "whatever" kind of look and starts making my sandwich. I grab a bag of Sun Chips and crack it open.

"Ok, you want the meal?" he asks, once he's finished my sandwich.

"No, that's ok, I'll just have the soda."

He looks around, clearly recalling that I had a bag of chips but since I've already finished all of them and stuck the empty bag back in the display rack, he's not about to accuse me of anything.

So I take my sandwich and my Sierra Mist and I sit down at one of the yellow tables. I put my duffle bag on the floor and take out a big bag of Doritos, a jar of Ragu Pizza Sauce and a spoon.

Now the Doritos clearly piss the guy off, but the Ragu Pizza Sauce causes outright staring. Those of you in the alternative condiment community know what I'm talking about. The guy goes and gets the manager while I ladle sauce onto my sandwich.

So they come back and at first I can't even say anything but the top of the manager's head because he's a midget. He gets some kind of step stool and looks over the counter and then HE starts to give me dirty looks too. I ignore them and eat my sandwich. After about a minute, he speaks up.

"You brought your own sauce?" he asks in an accusing yet squeaky voice.

"That's right." I reply and take another bite.

"What's wrong with the sauce here?"

Now, at this point I know I should just play it cool and use my old standby line of "I have dietary restrictions". That usually scares them off cuz it vaguely sounds like something they could get sued for. But I hate midgets.

"The sauce here tastes like it came out of your ass."

"What did you just say?" He is one pissed-off midget. Excuse me, little person.

"The sauce here, tastes not like tomato sauce, but rather a mixture of blood and feces that has poured forth from your anus after a particularly heated bout of intercourse between you and your horse." I say this in between bites of my sandwich.

Well apparently I crossed some sort of "line" with this guy, maybe he owns a horse, I don't know, because he jumps off his stool and is flying over the counter, ready to kick my ass. Unfortunately for him, he slips on a discarded jalapeno, slides off the edge of the counter and lands on the ground with a thud.

I start laughing but quickly stop when I realize he's not moving. I start to gather up my sandwich and my pizza sauce and my spoon and throw everything in my duffle bag when I pause to listen carefully for something in the distance. It's a siren. I run for the door, dropping my spoon but freeze in my tracks when I look back quickly before exiting the building.

A tiny ambulance with lights and sirens blaring has driven out from the back room of the Subway Restaurant. This thing was maybe 3 or 4 feet high and I could see two, tiny little drivers inside it. They pulled up to the lifeless body of the manager and quickly got it. I was fascinated. I couldn't move, I had to watch.

They checked his vital signs, administered CPR and once he was stabilized, took out a tiny, little gurney, put him on it and rolled him to the back of the ambulance. All this was done at approximately 1/3 the size of normal people. They had mini stethoscopes and everything. Once they had loaded him in, the got in the front, pulled a u-turn and drove back to the back room of the restaurant.

I stood there, dumbfounded. The employee I had first interacted with stood there too. I looked at him for some clue as to what had just happened. He shrugged his shoulders and said "Eh, he'll be fine," and went about tidying up the preparation area.

Since there was no longer any hurry, I went back and picked up my spoon. I got some napkins and wiped it off, all the while listening for sounds of the ambulance driving around in the back room, but there were none. It was the darnedest thing. As I walked out to my car, I shook my head and just had to laugh.

"Foreigners!"

Monday, October 24, 2005

Did I do this??


So last week I got to wondering about a few celebrities who people had informed me were dead but actually weren't and I decided to start a website that would find out for sure.

So one of the people I was wondering about was Rosa Parks. People had insisted that she was dead but I couldn't find anything to show that was true. They were wrong. She was alive. I say "was" because today she died. Five days after I started my website!

Coincidence? I hope so.

I mean, I didn't "jinx" her or anything, right? She was 92. That's pretty old. It's probably why people assumed she was already gone. Right?

I still feel kinda bad. I wasn't poking fun at her or anything... but still.

All I can say is, "look out Mickey Rooney."

Sunday, October 23, 2005

My commercial audition!


So, I'm an "actor" of sorts and I have a commercial agent (for now). Obviously, I haven't gone on any auditions in the last seven months while I've been recovering from heart surgery, but I didn't go on too many before that anyway.

You would think my look would get me tons of work, but oddly enough, no. The last audition I went on was for a Wendy's commercial and in retrospect, I'm glad I didn't get it, cuz I wouldn't have been able to shoot it anyway. Then Wendy's would be mad at me and I really like their chicken nuggets.

You may remember this commercial, probably not. It's about a guy who wants one of the two chicken sandwiches his buddy has. He then lists all the times he did this guy a favor and they slowly escalate, becoming more and more absurd. Finally, in the end, his friend gives him a chicken sandwich and they call it even. The guy who got the job looks strangely like me but a little fatter.

The thing that pissed me off about this commercial is that this guy's performance was way over the top. I have a lot of actor friends who always tell me, "do exactly what the director says, that way you show them that you can take direction well and they will appreciate that." Good advice, right? Well the thing is, the director doesn't cast the commercial. The ad execs do. And if you've ever watched a commercial, they like "big".

So I go in there for my second callback and I give a subtle, nuanced performance that got laughs and applause from the assembled watchers. Great, right? Well fatty fat fat goes in there screaming and yelling and gets the job. I'm only assuming that's what he did but judging by the finished product, I'm pretty sure I'm right.

Actually, there could be another reason I didn't get the job. They had a pile of buns that were substituting for the chicken sandwich. They were stale and had been sitting there all day and the director said, "Don't really eat them, just pretend cuz we've only got five left." Well, I was hungry so I took a bite. But that couldn't be the reason cuz I got another callback after that. No, it must be that I was too subtle.

So next audition I go on, I'm gonna do what the director says and get the callback but as soon as I'm in the room with the ad people I'm gonna go "big". That way, they'll say, "oh he's pro-active and in your face!" and give me the job.

Don't eat the bun? I'll eat all the fucking buns. I'll take the whole pile and smoosh them in my mouth at once. I'll knock over the table and do a handstand. I'll ad lib lines about how I'm so "aggro" and Wendy's is the only place for an extreme sports enthusiast like myself.

Better yet, I'll take the buns, throw them on the fucking floor, pull down my pants and take a dump on them. Then I'll pick up one of the buns, wipe my ass with it and eat it.

Too much?

Saturday, October 22, 2005

A true story!


So I was reminiscing with my dummy, Rob Wagman, and we were trying to figure out if we were both in Rhode Island at the same time, 15 years ago or so. I had a cottage on a lake there and he was working in radio at the time, picking up underage girls in the area.

I thought it would be a neat coincidence if perhaps he had fallen prey to our "pull the stuffed animal across the street to make the people think it's a dog so they slam on their brakes" trick. My friends and I used to pull all sorts of harmless pranks back then; starting fires, breaking windows, making fake phone calls to 911. Kid's stuff like that.

Anyway, my dummy told me that in fact he had never been a victim of that particular prank. Usually, what would happen is, people would see the stuffed animal going across the street, think it was a dog, start to put on their brakes, but then realize that it was just a stuffed animal and run it over. Most of them would drive off or yell an obscenity out the window but sometimes we'd get a real backwoods psycho who would stop and chase us.

You have to understand that this part of Rhode Island was on the "rural" side and if somebody was enough of a jerk to stop and chase some kids into the woods, they probably had more than a "stern talking to" in mind if they caught us. So we could have been literally running for our lives.

We had some close calls, believe me. But it was all good, clean fun. Nobody ever got killed. Well that's not exactly true, there was that one time... I don't know if I should really tell this story but I think the statute of limitations has expired, so what the hell, right?

Anyway, we figured out that the reason the dog trick wasn't working was because we were pulling it across too early. We realized that if we pulled it out quickly right before the car passed, people would really only see a blur and get startled and slam on their brakes. We pulled this trick, rather successfully I might say, fifteen or twenty times one afternoon. We didn't even have to run because if we stayed hidden, most of the cars would just drive off. They were probably like "Shit, I just ran over some kid's dog, I don't want to deal with that." So they were assholes and deserved what they got, right?

Anyway, it was getting late and we were ready to pack it in, but we decided to go one more time. This blue sedan was coming down the street, I remember telling my friend Smuckers, "they look like a bunch of jerks." We hid in the bushes and right before the car passed us, I yanked the shit out of the stuffed animal and it flew up and hit the car's windshield.

Well this must have scared the shit out of these people because they slammed on their fucking brakes and they jerked the wheel to the left and plowed their car into a tree along the opposite side of the street at about 40 miles an hour!

So we're all just sitting there in the bushes, looking at each other like, "what the hell? Did that really just happen?" when the fucking car blows up! Seriously, huge fucking fireball! I can still feel the heat on my face.

Well, naturally, we grabbed the stuffed animal and got the fuck out of there. Holy shit, it was funny. Some of my friends freaked out but I calmed them down and told them we had to keep quiet about this. I scared them with some made up stories about reform school or something. We all agreed to tell everyone we had been swimming and we buried the teddy bear in the woods and went down to the lake.

Luckily for us, everyone in the car died so there were no witnesses and no evidence that any foul play was involved. The cops came to the conclusion that a deer or something must have spooked the driver and caused him to lose control. Good guess! Close but no cigar, as they say.

My friends kept their mouths shut and nobody went to jail. As far as I know, this is the first time anybody's ever heard this story, so consider yourself priviliged. And don't go fucking squealing on me either.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

Shelley Winters is still alive?


I guess so. Please help me out here.

Mickey Rooney: dead or alive?

Rosa Parks: dead or alive?

I'm serious, there should be some kind of list of whether celebrities are dead or alive. They could put it on the internet.

It could be called "www.deadcelebrityornot.com" or something like that.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Why I like the smell of Aspen trees


Now, this might be hard to believe, but some people out there don't think I'm funny.

I probably should have warned you before I said that, I hope nobody fainted.

Anyway, an example of this group would be "everyone I went to high school with". I know it's "cool" now to say how you were "so unpopular" and you "hated high school" and all that, but you're a liar. You were popular and you know it. I actually was a huge loser. I had no friends, never went to parties and I didn't attend the prom.

I know what you're thinking, "A handsome devil like you?" But it's true. Keep in mind, I was probably like 6'3" and 160 pounds back then. I think I could have been more popular if I had just lowered my standards a little bit and hadn't been so proud and thought of myself as cooler than the people who would actually be friends with me. Maybe I could have even snagged a nice, little nerd girlfriend too, who knows?

So it's been established that I was a loser. Another part of my problem is that I thought of myself as hysterically funny (and rightly so). However, there was a general lack of consensus between me and my classmates on this issue. I am comforted by the fact that history has proven me to be right and them to be wrong.

I'm speaking not only of the fact that I am widely regarded as hilarious and witty by people of discerning tastes, but also that the person my class collectively voted as being the funniest, i.e. "the class clown" was a dangerous psychopath.

Listen to the list of classic comedy bits this guy pulled: There was everyone's favorite; "the rumored use of steroids". And who could forget "the time he raped someone"? Let me stress that these are all rumors. Just like how people used to say him and his weight-lifting partner were "secret homosexuals", but regardless, people in my high school heard these rumors and decided that this was their kind of funny.

I don't know if these rumors were true. I didn't really know the guy because he was too cool and funny to interact with me, but I did witness him doing one of his "comedy routines" in gym class once.

When I was a senior, gym class was basically a free period. You went to the gym and did whatever you wanted. I was probably sitting in the bleachers, reading at the time, but I remember Mr. Comedy had decided to play basketball with the black kids who got bussed in from Hartford. Now, just because you can lift 300 pounds over your head or hold down a struggling woman doesn't make you good at basketball. I guess this frustrated our protagonist and he took his frustrations out on one of the players by throwing him on the ground and holding him in some sort of wrestling move.

This really got everyone's attention and made gym class suddenly very exciting. You gotta admit, this guy's got charisma! As he held his unwitting comedy partner down and screamed things at him that I no longer remember, his "weight-lifting partner" ran over and pulled him off. As he struggled against his friend's embrace, wanting to continue his unprovoked attack, I could see the anger in his eyes. His face was a deep shade of red and I honestly think if his friend hadn't been there, he would have killed this kid.

The friend managed to move him away to the other side of the gym and then began the arduous process of calming him down by looking deep in his eyes and shouting things like "Snap out of it man! He's not worth it! He's not worth it!" I remember he kept saying that, over and over. No, they never kissed. Not as far as I saw.

Hilarious, right? Actually, it was really scary at the time but now that I look back at it, it was pretty funny. Maybe my jerk classmates were right. My comedy repertoire was rather limited at the time and I certainly didn't have anything of this epic proportion in my bag of tricks.

God, I never thought about it like that. I really misjudged this guy.

I almost feel bad about starting the rumor that he raped somebody.

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Let's bomb Long Island!


Seriously, maybe I'm just pissed cuz my cat woke me up at 6:30 am, but is anyone else sick of stupid, spoiled teenagers and their parents who throw them lavish parties?

I don't know, maybe I should just stop watching/reading the news, but it seems like there's a lot of these kids out there. It could be bullshit media hype, but I doubt it. I mean, I know My Super Sweet Sixteen is probably highly exagerrated, but it's just more fun to pretend it's not.

The issue seems to be that these kids were raised in an environment where they were coddled from birth. I'm paraphrasing something I saw on 60 Minutes, but they've never ridden in cars without seatbelts, never been on a bike without a helmet on and never even gone to a school cafeteria that serves peanut butter.

Basically every one of these little monsters has been fed the idea by their parents that they are special. They're not. Throw in affluence, where they're given everything they could ever want and you have a recipe for disaster.

I don't know why any teenagers would be reading my blog, but if you are, let me reiterate: YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL. You are not smart, you are not clever nor are you original in any way.

You know how you never did well in school and before you could even start to feel like a dummy, your parents jumped in and told you that it wasn't your fault cuz you have ADD? And they pumped you full of drugs and let you take 3 hours longer to take your tests? And you still got C's? Everybody was lying to you, you really are a dummy.

Once again: YOU ARE NOT SPECIAL. Your poetry/music/short stories about ponies sucks. I know your friends tell you it's great, but they're lying. Nobody really cares about you because you're a stupid retard. Soon enough, you will find this out. You will deny it for years to come but eventually, you'll get it. The problem is, you might be 40 by the time it happens. So maybe it's better to just quit now and fulfill your destiny as a sandbag or a paper weight for a really big stack of papers.

Now, like this story is quick to point out, it's not really the fault of these kids, it's the parents. But it's not just the parents, it's everybody. We live in a fearful society. Anytime you get together in a large group of people, you will create fear. It is both the stimulus and by-product of socialization. Originally we got together because we were afraid of bears or tigers or whatever. There was strength in numbers. But this, in turn, created disease, murder, poverty and illness.

Sometimes, this fear is (at least in part) based on rational things. If you lived in Europe during the black death, you should have been afraid. If you were a Jew in Nazi Germany in 1937, again, you probably had a good reason to be fearful. One thing you should not be afraid of is terrorism.

Now, don't fly off the handle here. I'm not saying terrorism is not a big deal. I'm not saying 9/11 was a conspiracy. I'm not even saying it's something you shouldn't be concerned about because it does affect us all. What I am saying is: you should not be afraid that terrorists are going to kill you.

9/11 was the biggest terrorist attack in our history. Approximately 3000 people died. Their loss should not be trivialized in anyway. But, consider that we have rougly 300 million people in this country and you will realize that the odds that you, yourself will be killed by terrorists are not very high. It's like shark attacks: how many people a year die in shark attacks? In America, I mean? 6? 7? Yet how many people are genuinely afraid of getting attacked by a shark?

Even if there was a really bad terrorist attack, that managed to kill 100,000 people and believe me, that would be horrific, chances are more likely than not that it would be someone else and not you. Sure, there are factors that increase this likelihood, depending on where you live or what you do, etc. but my point is that the fear of terrorism is based on the idea that something bad will happen to you. Not someone else.

Fear is really an extension of hyper-inflated ego. This idea that we're special in the bad ways, as well as the good. I'm going to be the one bitten by a shark. I'm going to be the victim of a terrorist attack. My child will be the one who gets abducted. Parents love their children, generally speaking. They want to protect them. So in addition to just telling them that they are loved and that they are special, you are re-enforcing this idea in their little heads when you make them wear a helmet and knee pads so they can ride their bike in the driveway. Am I anti-helmet? No, of course not. But for every good idea like that, there's 20 bad ones that come with it.

For example, in the state of Rhode Island, every school bus has a "monitor" on it. When the bus stops, the monitor gets out and checks under the school bus tires to make sure there are no kids under the bus that will get run over when the bus leaves. AT EVERY SINGLE STOP. This is somebody's fucking job! I mean really, how many kids could have gotten run over before this happened? 2? 3? And now there's literally an army of these people riding around, checking for kids so they don't get squished? Why would a kid even bother to learn that maybe it's a bad idea to play under a moving bus when they've got someone there to watch them and make sure they don't?

So flash-forward ten years and its prom time. What kind of message do you send your kids when you pitch in with some other parents and rent your kids a mansion in the Hamptons for them to party in after the prom for $20,000?? What the fuck do you think is gonna happen there anyway? Here's a rational fear for you: that your kid is gonna get raped/rape someone! After all, they're special! Who is this girl to dare say no to your son! I mean really, how many thousands in Mob hush money has been paid out cuz of those Growing Up Gotti kids? I bet it's a lot.

So, in summation: you and your brat kid are stupid and not special.

Good night.

Monday, October 17, 2005

I invented a superhero!


Move over Superman, "Mininum Wage Chicken" is here!

For too long, superheroes have been strictly for the rich. Look at Batman, that guy's a billionaire. And Christopher Reeve? His wheelchair alone cost a million dollars. What do paralyzed people do when they don't have Robin Williams to pay their medical bills?

I'll tell you what: they go on Medicaid.

The lesson here is simple. If you're poor, superheroes don't care about you. Think about it, when has Spiderman ever saved you from anything? I'm guessing he hasn't. And I'm also guessing you're not super rich. Coincidence? I bet somebody's even tried to convince you that superheroes aren't real, haven't they? I've got news for you, those people were paid to spread those lies by rich people, hell-bent on not sharing their superheroes with you.

Enter Minimum Wage Chicken. Finally, a superhero for the rest of us. He uses his super powers to save only the poor. And he's poor too. He only makes minimum wage. So he can't afford a lot of fancy gadgets, he doesn't have a cool car and he can't fly.

No wait, maybe he's rich but he only saves people who are on minimum wage? Like if there's a bus full of rich people about to fall off a bridge, he would just turn his head and whistle like he couldn't see them and then be like "Oh shit, woops, my bad!" No, that's no good either.

Look, I'll be honest with you, I've got nothing here. Come to think of it, Minimum Wage Chicken is probably a really stupid idea for a superhero. I guess the lesson here is I am stupid.

What am I saying? Now I sound like that awful, self-hating Minimum Wage Chicken. Pretending he's above saving the lives of innocent rich people when he probably has more money than all of them combined!

No, I think the real lesson here is that poor people don't deserve their own superhero. They should stop being so greedy and just wait their turn. When the superheroes are done saving the rich people they'll get to you, Timmy McWelfare. So just shut your trap, Low-Income Sally. And you too, Johnny Debtsalot.

If you earned more money or had rich parents, your problems would be worth solving, that's why you're "insolvent". It's a real word, I didn't make it up.

So, in summation, I think now that people have had time to let the excitement die down and pause for some serious reflection, they will agree with me that Star Wars: Episode III is not as good as people initially thought.

Not "funny" per se...



If you go here, you can look up sex offenders in your neighborhood. That way, you'll know where not to trick or treat this Halloween.

The fun part is looking up sex offenders where you USED TO live. That way you can laugh and be like "Boy, I'm glad I don't live there anymore! LOL!"

Start planning my sexy party!


That's right, all my idle threats of the last few months are about to come true. I'm planning my triumphant return to Los Angeles for the first or second week in November!

Now, the way I see it, I did everyone a huge favor by not dying so YOU OWE ME. Also, you all weaseled out of getting me a birthday present, but I figure I'll be nice and let that slide if you help with the planning of my sexy party.

What is this 'sexy party', you ask? It's simple. I have attached a blue print above. Basically I will be playing the part of Stewie. Only I am much taller in real life. So someone will need to get me a captain's hat.

Other things you can do for me (since you asked): Find me an apartment. I am looking for something under a thousand a month. Either a single or a one-bedroom. I don't need much. I am willing to trade 'size' for 'good location' or 'central air' or 'parking'. Hopefully all three. By the way, you should know this, but I'm not the kind who considers 'good location' to mean 'trendy new area still mostly populated by gang members'.

So there you go, soon I will be back and you can all celebrate. It's been a long six or seven months but I thank everyone for their support. I would have gone crazy without you. Seriously, there's nothing to do here. And my parents beat me.

My dad is still angry that I've failed as a ventriloquist, as it was always his dream and he wanted to live vicariously through me. You know what, though? I've forgiven him. Because I see it's not really me that he hates. It's himself. He sees me failing just the way he did and it's like he's going through the most painful part of his life all over again. Papa, if you're reading this, I'm sorry and I love you.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

My TWO favorite things!


All right, I haven't done a "current events" post about real topics in a while, so here it is, I'll try and make it short and sweet.

Basically, some jerk in a hick state from the south is running for governor. He's accusing his opponent, who has moral objections to the death penalty because he's a catholic (of all people!) of being soft on criminals and not having the balls to use the death penalty.

Now, how did he feel it was best to get this message across? By invoking Hitler, of course!

One of the ads supporting Jerry Kilgore, Virginia's attorney general, cites a Richmond Times-Dispatch column that said Kaine had "suggested he would not favor sending even Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin or Idi Amin to the gallows."

Uh oh, looks like trouble! Damn you, Jerry Kilgore!

The radio and TV ads feature victims' relatives who tearfully recount the crimes that killed their loved ones and say they don't trust Democrat Tim Kaine to administer the state's death penalty.

Now, this is one of my pet peeves. Some people have "guys in Camaros" or "people who are mean to animals!" but mine is "people who advocate emotional victims setting the standards by which we all live." Yes, that's a real pet peeve.

See, you might think I'm just a goofball, but there's a message in these stupid stories I write. For instance, I am against the death penalty because I believe it makes all of us (even me) a murderer.

I really hate when Politicians or even regular people use the rhetorical move of saying something along the lines of "How would you feel if your mom got murdered? You'd want to see that guy dead!" Of course I would. It doesn't make it "right" though. Laws are supposed to be based on reason and logic. Not heated emotion. This argument says that the people least capable of making rational decisions that affect us all should in fact be the ones dictating the course of law in this country. That's fucking retarded. I wrote about this before too, but I can't find the link.

Finally, throwing the Hitler thing out there is just dumb and offensive.

A commercial featuring death penalty proponent Stanley Rosenbluth has him looking into the camera and saying: "Tim Kaine says Adolf Hitler doesn't qualify for the death penalty. This was one of the worst mass murderers in modern times."

Hitler was one of the worst mass murderers in modern times? Well, first of all, I would challenge death penalty proponent Stanley Rosenbluth to try and find a worse mass murderer in any time, but that's not really the point. Yes, Hitler was a horrible monster. But killing him would still be murder, no matter how good it feels. It's true, look it up.

If you're morally opposed to "murder" or if your church says that you have to be, you can't really make an exception cuz someone is a really big jerk. Or killed ten million people. Sorry, you can't. I mean, you can, but you'll be wrong.

Some Jewish leaders said Friday that the commercials trivialize the Holocaust and should be withdrawn.

No shit? They said that? That's odd... Perhaps they haven't thought about what would happen if Hitler was mean to their people...

Look, the Hitler thing is tired, offensive and really off-base. It's something I'd never do. When you use the name of "one of the worst mass murderers in modern times" simply to play off peoples' fears and try to get elected, you're a jerk. Unfortunately, the way things are going, it'll only be a matter of time before this tactic is used to sell everything from soda to aluminum siding.

Because really, if you knew Hitler drank Coke, that Pepsi (or even R.C. Cola) might taste just a little bit better to you. C'mon, admit it.

Oh man, I can't believe you admitted it! You're a jerk! I was totally just kidding.

Friday, October 14, 2005

What a ripoff!


OK, so I got all excited about this movie called "Calendar Girls" that was on cable this afternoon.

If you don't know, it's basically about a bunch of old ladies who pose nude for some calendar so people get cancer or something, I don't really know, I wasn't paying attention.

Anyway, I was only tuning in because apparently Ron Weasley's mom gets naked in it. Yes, I have a thing for chubby redheads. But that's not the issue here.

Now, I could be wrong, because I haven't really been paying attention at all, but I don't think they show any bush in this movie! I know! What the F, right?!?!

Seriously, what's the point of having a goddam movie about chicks getting naked if you're not even going to show the chicks getting naked?

Hopefully, the new Goblet of Fire movie will be a little racier than this prudefest.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Murder for pizza


So today my mom is bringing home pizza and I asked my dad, "When is Mom getting home?"

Then I rephrased that to say what I really meant: "When is the pizza getting here?" Because I'm a really bad son.

My dad replied that I was a mercenary and pizza is my currency. Usually he's not so poetic but I think he's getting sentimental cuz he knows I'll be leaving soon. Anyway, it got me thinking.

I replied, "I would definitely kill someone for pizza." At first I was joking, then I realized this was actually true.

Am I going to go shoot somebody at Papa Gino's (it's an east coast thing) in the face and steal a pie? No. But imagine this: imagine a magical being comes up to you and says, "I will bring you a hot delicious pizza but in accepting it, some random person in India or China somewhere will die."

I know what you're thinking, "No way, I'd never do that, that's awful!" But let's pursue this a little further. Say this magical being assures you that no one will ever know what you've done. Maybe you're really hungry and it's a pizza from your favorite pizza place when you were a kid. Let's even throw this in: the guy who's gonna die is really old and has had a full and rewarding life and basically he's just gonna die in his sleep and all his family will be thankful he went peacefully surrounded by the people he loved. Or he was suffering from cancer and he would have died later in the day anyway.

You're telling me you wouldn't do it? You're a fucking liar! There's six billion people on this planet and everybody loves pizza. Just admit it. OK, you admit it?

Well unfortunately for you, it doesn't matter what the conditons are because any way you slice it, you're a murderer. You are the mechanism of someone's death and there's no way you can escape that fact.

I was just kidding when I said I would do it. I'm a much better person than you. Oh man, I tricked you good! You totally fell for it!

I've never watched Crank Yankers, but...


I think if I was on that show, I would have a guy with a thick Indian accent call up a technical support line and ask questions of a white guy who speaks perfect english but have the Indian guy keep getting frustrated because he can't understand what the hell the white guy is saying and be really obnoxious and ask to speak to someone who speaks like a normal human.

There, that was a short post.

A completely original work of fiction


Don't you hate when people just take old stories or fables that everyone already knows and "contemporarizes them" or puts them in a new context? I do. Here is a story from Chad Robuckle's childhood. For those who don't know, Chad Robuckle is my imaginary friend who may or may not be a rapist.

The Boy Who Cried "Penguin"

When Chad Robuckle was growing up, he did not get along very well with his parents. He chalks it up to the fact that he was adopted and his parents were racists who hated the fact that they got stuck with a Mexican baby, but that's just him making stuff up. He's obviously just a regular white kid and he looks exactly like his dad so I don't think he's even adopted.

Anyway, like I said, Chad did not get along with his parents. They're actually really cool, nice people. Chad is just a dick. I remember growing up, he would always bitch and whine that his parents were "oppressing him" because they wouldn't let him smoke. This was when he was six, just so you know. Basically he would push and push til they just reached the limits of what a human being could put up with from their own child and then they would finally punish him. Which would just make him bitch even more about how awful they were.

I remember the day Coleco Vision came out, Chad threw his Atari at his grandmother because she said she didn't have the money to go out and buy him a new video game system. When his family got back from the hospital, they grounded him for three days and made him write a letter to his grandmother, apologizing to her for what he had done. He said he wasn't going to write any "stupid fucking letters to that old, dried up bitch" because "that stupid whore can't read it anyway since the Atari scratched her cornea when it hit her in the face." Nice guy, huh?

As time went on, Chad's behavioral problems only got worse. If he had been born ten years later, perhaps his parents could have taken him on the Montel Williams show to get him some help but unfortunately for everyone, daytime TV in the 80's was dominated by The Price is Right and The $25,000 Pyramid.

Finally, Chad's parents had enough of his shenanigans and placed him on "permanent grounded status". This meant Chad would go to school and come directly home and be confined to his room all afternoon. Don't feel too bad for him though, because first of all, he never came home right after school. Both his parents worked so he would just go and do whatever he wanted and then run home at 5:30 and act like he had been there the whole time. His older sister, Karin, was supposed to watch him but she was so scared of him, after what he had done to their grandma, she said and did whatever he told her to.

Second of all, Chad's bedroom was actually his parent's old master bedroom which he made them give to him instead. It was the size of a regular one-bedroom apartment and had its own bathroom. His parents had to share theirs with his three sisters because Chad wouldn't let anyone enter the "Spankatorium", as he called it. This bedroom was huge and even had a trampoline in it. Cable TV, his own phone line, that G.I. Joe aircraft carrier that was like seven feet long. What more could a kid want? Of course, his parents didn't dare try and take any of this stuff away from him. I'm surprised they even grounded him in the first place.

Anyway, I'm getting way off topic here. When Chad was nine, he decided that he had enough of his parent's tyranny and after watching a very informative episode of 20/20 one night on his big screen TV, Chad was inspired to finally reign in his parents under his control once and for all.

He waited til the next time they tried to punish him. I believe he got caught feeding his four year old sister, Marcy, some beer, when his dad ordered him to his room and forbid him, under the rules of the honor system, from watching any more of the Spice Channel for the next two weeks. His dad thought it was odd that Chad didn't throw a fit and sulk like he usually did, instead bounding up the stairs with a smile on his face.

When Chad got upstairs, he put on his headset phone, gathered his wits about him, took a deep breath and dialed 911. You see, Chad had seen John Stossel do a show about a new law that required the Police to make an arrest when they got a domestic violence call. I guess the law was designed so that wives or wimpy husbands who got their asses kicked wouldn't be "persuaded" into saying nothing had happened. So if the cops got a call, they had to arrest someone, even if nobody wanted to press charges. Seems like a pretty good idea huh?

Well Chad had perverted the law to suit his own means. The cops showed up and sure enough, even though both his parents denied that anything of the sort had taken place, his dad was hauled off to jail in handcuffs in front of the whole neighborhood.

Now, even though he had made an anonymous call, it didn't take a genius to figure out who was responsible and soon as he got bailed out of jail, his father marched up to Chad's room and barged right in after knocking. But Chad was ready for him. He held the phone up like a gun and informed his father he had already dialed nine and the first one and kept his finger on the one button the whole time. He told his father things were gonna be different from now on, unless he felt like getting another ass-fucking in the slammer. His father tried to explain that it was just a small-town, local jail and that kind of thing didn't really go on, but Chad would have none of it.

Dejected and completely out of ideas, Chad's father left the room. When he went downstairs, his wife showed him a 23 page booklet that their son had typed out for them, outlining the new rules of the house. Rule number one being that he, Chad Robuckle, was now in charge.

His parents really didn't know what the hell to do. If they took his phone away, Chad told them he'd just hit himself with a baseball bat and say they did it. They thought about locking him up in a mental hospital or sending him away to juevenile hall but he informed them that if didn't make a call every week at the same time to a certain newspaper, an envelope would automatically be opened by the editorial staff. He never said for sure what was inside, but once when he was drunk, he hinted that he "may have" taken pictures of himself in erotic poses and written a letter saying his father had done it.

So every day, Chad would push things a little farther and every day his parents would get a little more desperate. They could only let him go so far before they had to step in, often to protect their own safety or that of the other family members. When Chad tried to sell his sister to a Jordanian businessman, his father lost it and actully took him over his knee and spanked him. He made some idle threats about what would happen if Chad called the cops, but he knew he was screwed. Chad had been humiliated and wasn't going to let it go.

Eventually the family reached a pattern where things would escalate for a few weeks, Chad's parents would lose it and he would call the cops on them. His mother or father would be hauled off to jail, threats would be made and a kind of homeostasis would be reached for a little while.

The problem is, Chad called the cops so often, they began to get sick of him. They really didn't want to go out there and arrest an innocent man or woman, just because their son was a brat but Chad was pretty knowledgable when it came to the law. He kenw his rights and more importantly, he knew what it would look like if an "innocent child" told a jury that the police wouldn't come and help him when his parents were threatening him with bodily harm. Which, at this point, was actually true.

Finally though, everyone had had enough. When Chad became outraged that his allowance was only a hundred dollars a week, he decided to send a message to his parents by taking a dump in the refrigerator. His father, who now looked ten years older than he actually was, from all the stress his little bastard son had put him through, came home to find his son's fecal matter all over the six pack of beer he had been reaching for and he just lost it. He ran up to Chad's room with a hacksaw from the garage and held his son down on the ground and told him he was going to cut off his hands so he could never call the cops again. Chad was able to knee his father in the groin and push him off long enough to run away and lock himself in the Spankatorium with his phone. As luck would have it, this was also the day the police decided they had enough of his lies too, so when he called up, frantically begging for help, saying how his father was trying to cut off his hands, the cops told him to fuck off and hung up on him just as his father kicked down the door.

Ironically, having his hands chopped off was the best thing that could have happened to anyone in the Robuckle family. His father only served 3 months in prison and came out a brand new person, having discovered the Light of Islam. Chad's mother met a nice Real Estate agent and they were married soon after. His sisters didn't fare quite so well and now work at menial service industry jobs.

But the real winner, like always, was Chad himself. He got some cool, new robot hands and a 3 million dollar settlement from the town, as well as a public, personal apology from the former chief of police. But most importantly, he learned that it's never right to call the police and pretend that your parents are fighting just to get one of them arrested so that they'll give you whatever you want.

Wait a minute, no he didn't.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

My First Web Cartoon!!!


Click on it to make it bigger. Any feedback or comments would be appreciated.
Thanks,
Eric

Monday, October 10, 2005

BUY THIS


Ok, you know me, you read my blog, I'm not all about "sharing my feelings" or "telling the truth" or "creating lasting relationships". What I am about is "sarcastic quotes" and "making up stories" and "slander" (or is it libel?). Anyway, the point is, I am going to use this post to gush like a little girl and beg you to go out and buy the album Extraordinary Machine by Fiona Apple.

If you know me in real life, you know that my iPod is loaded with cheesy 80's power ballads and even sitcom theme songs. My music taste could probably be considered "ironic". Why is this? Because 99% of music sucks. Yes, your favorite band too. Especially them. 3 years from now you won't like them. So I have taken this fact and done what I can, what I have done with most television: I enjoy it on an ironic level. The remaining 1% of music that is actually good, I am passionate about. Like you are with Green Day or System of a Down.

My favorite artist is Fiona Apple. My favorite album is (for the purpose of this blog) When the Pawn... My favorite song ever is Paper Bag, track number five of the aforementioned album, though that may be changing.

Now I know what you're thinking, Eric, you are an insensitive jerk who laughs openly at the misfortunes of others. You are not an overly sensitive 15 year old girl who hates her parents and writes her own poetry. I know why you would say that and you're wrong.

I saw Fiona Apple at the MTV awards. I saw her roll her eyes when PT Anderson lost at the oscars. I saw the clip of her melting down on stage. But if you've come to this conclusion, you haven't listened to her music or maybe you remember her from that weird night vision cam video for Criminal.

As good as Tidal is, for a first album or any album, I thought it was just a fluke. When When the Pawn... came out I listened to a few of the same songs over and over and thought, wow, this is really good. Six months later I discovered the rest of the album and fell in love. This is when I discovered the kind of musical perfection that Mozart and Beethoven aspired to. This is not hyperbole. There are songs on that album that are perfect. Perfect. And not just one. Paper Bag, Love Ridden and I Know, for example.

Overall, the album works as a unique and lovely masterpiece of terrible pain and longing. It's not enough to just tell people about your suffering and your hope, music needs to make you feel it. And that's where so many people fail so miserably today.

Anyway, I'm not here to push those albums, though I highly recommend you give them a serious listen to. Today I am here to beg you to go to iTunes or the local record store or wherever and buy Extraordinary Machine, the new album by Fiona Apple. I admit, I have yet to fully "get into" this album because like so often happens, I fall in love with one track and listen to it over and over. If you still don't believe me, go on iTunes and buy this one track. Give it a fair chance and I swear to god, you will go out and buy this album. This may be my new favorite song.


"O' Sailor"

I'm undecided about you again
I can be right that you're not here
It's double sided 'cause I ruined it all
But also saved myself
by never believing you dear

Everything good I deem too good to be true
Everything else is just a bore
Everything I have to look forward to
Has a pretty painful and very imposing before

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

I have too been playing with fifty-two cards
Just 'cause I play so far from my vest
Whatever I've got, I've got no reason to guard
What could I do but spend my best

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

And after waiting, fighting patiently on my knees
All the other stuff tired itself out first, not me
And in its wake appeared the touch and call of a different breed
One of the steps is getting wise and got me there and then got me

And what a thing to know what could be instead
Oh what a blessed curse to see
Took the agenda from its place in my bed
Made a merry paramour of me

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Given the eyes to view it
As it goes by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Saying there's nothing to it
Then lettin' it go by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Given the eyes to view it
As it goes by the boards

Oh sailor why'd you do it
What'd you do that for
Given the eyes to view it
As it goes by the boards

Sunday, October 09, 2005

Meet Mary Raptorapper


So I've gotten a lot of comments about my last post pertaining to the picture of my friend Mary Raptorapper, the little girl with steam shooting out of her head. Those comments have all been forwarded to the FBI.

You see, what you couldn't have known is that Mary isn't actually a child. She has that disease where she appears to be a little kid even though she's not, like Gary Coleman, Webster and Andy Milonakis. She also has that disease where steam shoots out of her head anytime she strains. Like when she's mad or thinking really hard or trying to squeeze out a deuce when she's constipated.

That picture was taken three months ago on our trip to Frontier Mountain Reserve Timber Supply Forest. You may remember I wrote about Pickles before and how he was constructing an igloo for me to go to Disneyworld in. Well, surprise, surprise, that trip is not happening, but I figured the igloo shouldn't go to waste, so Mary and I went on a little weeklong day trip.

Anyway, Mary is a very special person. It wasn't easy for her, growing up on the inside but not having her body keep up. How many 46 year olds do you know who are only 4'3"? I mean, besides midgets, who I refuse to be friends with.

Never one to let her physical disability hold her back, Mary has actually used it to her advantage in her many and varied, successful careers.

Mary's first job is as a "sexual surrogate". That's kind of like a prostitute, but more respectable. She has sex with people so that they can work out their sexual problems in a safe, controlled environment. I know, sounds sketchy, right? But it's real, look it up. She had to get certified for this and actually went to school for seven years to get an advanced degree. Now, you may have jumped ahead and thought, "Wait, who the hell would want to have sex with a woman who looks like a child - OH GOD, NO!" And you are right to come to that conclusion. Mary's clientele is exclusive to the most horrible and universally reviled group on the planet: child molestors. She refers to them as "pedophiles" but I'm not gonna sugarcoat anything here.

These are sick fucks who get their jollies banging kids. And not all of them are androgynous-looking multi-platinum selling recording arists. They come from all walks of life - as long as those walks go right by a school. They're priests, teachers, arcade employees, body modification artists, cell phone salesman. The list goes on. Mary, bless her, as taken it upon herself to have sex with these freaks in the hopes that they can work through their sick obsession by having sex with her, instead of real kids. I don't know how effective this is, but you have to respect the woman for trying. Just the thought of what she does turns my skin inside out with disgust.

Mary's second job, which is sometimes at odds with her first, is as an undercover police officer, working as bait to arrest child molestors. Personally, I think she should just quit her first job and concentrate on the second, but she has a more liberal attitude towards criminal activity and reformation than I.

The thing is, she's a very effective undercover cop when it comes to this. She has literally gotten hundreds of child molestors off the street but... and this part is hard to say, because really I wouldn't care if these bastards fell into a pit of lava. Nonetheless, there is a part of this job that really doesn't seem... fair... I guess is the word?

Look, a lot of these guys are just random sickos looking to pick up an innocent young girl playing in the park by herself and they deserve what they get (usually lots of anal rape in jail) but some of them are her clients. You know, from her first job. So they actually know she's not a kid... and technically they're doing nothing wrong.

Mary's dilemma is that she loves both jobs and doesn't want to quit either one. Frankly, she doesn't even see this as a conflict of interest. She does feel bad when she sends one of her clients to jail for sixteen years, but by her reckoning, child molestors can never be cured and they'd just molest some other kid eventually anyway. Now, I couldn't agree more, but if she really feels that way, what the hell is she doing trying to "help them" by having sex with them as a surrogate? I mean, it really leads you to only one conclusion but every time I bring it up, Mary starts to explain herself by using technical, psycho-analytical mumbo jumbo and then just kind of trails off or changes the subject. And I can't really push it because if I do she gets mad and steam shoots out of her head, like I said before. While this is a really funny sight, if she's indoors the superheated steam will often melt the paint off the ceiling, causing an unsightly blemish. Usually when I see she's getting ticked off, I suggest we go for a walk in the park. Until I remember that's where a lot of her "clients" hang out and then I decide against it because I always feel people perceive me as her child-whore pimp or something. And I've got enough problems as it is.

So that's the story of my friend, Mary Raptorapper. You can probably understand why I felt the need to report you to the FBI. I'm sorry but you deserve it. I have zero tolerance for this kind of thing. Some people might think it's funny to make jokes or long, involved, made-up stories about child molestation, but not me.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

I hate hi5 and all the stupid jerks on it (except Mary)


You guys are all a bunch of dicks.

How long has this been going on, huh? I'm talking to YOU Joe, Tim, Ed, Lindsay, Todd and Mike Busch.

Was there some big mass email that you all sent around, "Don't tell Eric about hi5, it's like friendster and myspace but it's better cuz Eric's not on it! Let's have a big party to celebrate him being completely unaware of our treachery, we'll invite everyone and he won't even know cuz he's in Rhode Island because he's a big stupid dummy. Let's get a pinata that looks like him and we'll fill it full of pickles so that when we break it, pickles will fly everywhere and remind us of how much we hate Eric"?

I hate you all, you should be ashamed of yourselves. Picking on an innocent young boy with heart problems like this. Really? Is this how your mothers raised you?

In case you don't know what the hell I'm talking about because you also have a bunch of jerk friends who don't want to include you in their secret club, as well, there is a new "friend networking site" called hi5. as far as I can tell, it's exactly the same as the other ones, except it has less people on it. That way, the people who are there, can feel superior to the people who aren't and then when it gets popular, they can say things like "Oh, this place is lame now. I remember when it was cool, back before Eric joined."

Then they will sit around the pool sipping martinis and smoking cigarettes with those big, long cigarette holders that Phyllis Diller would always have when she would be on Scooby Doo. They'll laugh and laugh and laugh and congratulate each other on a job well done. Perhaps they'll even lobby the people who run the site to change the name from "hi5" to "Donttellericaboutthisplacecuzhesucksandhewillruinit.com".

Yes, well I've got news for you, dickbags. I'm here to spoil your fun! I'm going to write you 15 obnoxious testimonials each. I'm going to comment on all your pictures with snide remarks like "Oh wow, you were so much skinnier before you got that abortion". You'll get a hundred messages a day saying I updated my profile and put up a new journal post and added more pictures.

So, in summation: PARTY'S OVER.

You lose.

Good day, sir.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

Visual aids


ok, just look at this and tell me if anything 'pops out' at you. I'm not gonna say another word.

Avada Ka-Grab-Ron's-Ass-a!


OK, that was lame, but this is just too funny.

Apparently some famous author (in England anyway), told a bunch of school kids over there that Harry Potter is "gay". I guess he got kicked out, halfway through his talk because the kids became "excitable". Now this all sounds pretty silly, but it does raise an interesting point.

Is Harry Potter gay? He's English, so it may be hard to tell, but I believe he is and here's why.

One word: Hermione. She's fucking hot. If he's not gay, how come he never banged her? Think about it; he's the most popular kid in school. He's stopped Voldemort like 12 times. He's seeker (and now captain) of the winningest house Quidditch team in Hogwart's history. Plus, he's got a cool scar on his forward. And believe me, chicks dig scars. I know. From experience. With chicks.

Now for those who may say "but they're only sixteen, that's too young to have sex" I can only say, in a sarcastic voice, "Righttttt." Keep living in the 50's grandma.

The other point of contention, in many minds, is Ron Weasley. He's Harry's best friend and since the first book he's been set up as having this "tension" with Hermione that is designed to make the reader say "oh yeah, they're gonna hit it". So maybe it's a dick move for Harry to swoop in and steal her, but so what? Ron has red hair. Let him get a new best friend. That kid's a douche anyway.

You know why I say Ron's a douche? Cuz he's the quintessential "nice guy". I hate the nice guy. The nice guy sits around crying and giving backrubs and saying he never gets laid because he's too nice, but that's bullshit. The truth is, he's not nice. He's just using the wrong strategy to get what he wants. He thinks that he'll be friends first and then try and weasel his way into her panties later. Once she sees what a great guy he is, she'll have to fall in love with him! What he doesn't realize is this act is as tired as me walking up the stairs and total pussy kryptonite to boot. He's as horny and despicable as the rest of us, he's just not honest about it. So in addition to being horny and despicable, he's a liar too! And he's really underestimating women by thinking they'd be stupid enough to fall for this bullshit in the first place. God! Now I'm totally pissed off.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah, Harry Potter's gay. You know what, that's stupid. He's probably not gay. There's nothing in the books to suggest he is. This whole post has been just a huge waste of time.

Fuck you, Ron.

"Weasley" is right.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Craig's List Find of the Day!

Check this out!!!

Reply to: anon-102072346@craigslist.org
Date: 2005-10-05, 10:12AM PDT

Tattoo Artist Needed!!!
(sorry, not really erotic, I just figured this was the best place to look)

I need an experienced tattoo artist for a very specialized and dangerous job with a very lucrative pay off. Basically, my old lady has been banging this dude behind my back but what that cunt doesn't know is I've been having her followed for months. So now I've got this dipshit's address and I'm gonna head over there one day and chloroform him.

What I need from you is the ability to be "on call" and ready to move at the drop of a hat. I'm not sure when this will be exactly, I've got this guy's schedule and I'm basically gonna wait til the "perfect moment" to jump him. I'll probably beat the shit out of him for a while and take pictures of my dick in his mouth while he's all chloroformed and whatnot and then I'll send them to his mother later. After I do that, I'll call you and you'll head over to the address with your tattoo supplies. I hear there's a special kind of ink that those lasers can't really remove? If that's true, use that. Anyway, I need you to tattoo the biggest swastika you possibly can on this dude's chest while he's passed out. It doesn't have to look great, just be really big and dark and noticeable.

I can pay up to $10,000 for this service, depending on how things work out.

* this is in or around LOS ANGELES
* no -- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

102072346

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Best Simpsons ever!


After a two week delay (thanks amazon.com), I finally received my copy of The Simpsons, Season Six. Now, I've become somewhat jaded about this show, the recent episodes have been pretty lame. It's been that way for about 8 years or so now. Season six was the first great season, in my opinion. And the crown jewel of that season was, without a doubt, "Lemon of Troy".

This is the one where Bart leads the kids into Shelbyville to take back their beloved lemon tree. There are literally one thousand funny moments in this episode. It's jam-packed from start to finish with comedic gems. Yes, I said "comedic gems". You can sit there, watch the whole episode and not stop laughing for 22 minutes. It's that good.

It would take too long to document all the funny parts of this episode and besides, the link above has pretty much already done that. I will simply point out two of my favorite parts, which are the pinnacle of animation-based humor, in my opinion. This is pre-South Park, pre-Family Guy by at least a few years. Truly innovative stuff.

a.) The pairing of Martin Prince and Nelson Muntz. I call them the original "odd couple"! Not since Hitler and Stalin have a duo been this dynamic and mismatched. Imagine, the class nerd and the quintessential bully united as friends! Sounds too good to be true, but it happened. For one episode only.

First of all, when it comes time to name their pairing, Martin comes up with "Team Discovery Channel". Take that, Lance Armstrong!

Then, they go on a mission to shakedown a kid selling lemonade in front of his house and the hilarity rises to a whole other level. Martin throws the kid against a tree and asks him where he got the lemons, but then the tables are turned and the kid's older brother threatens to beat up Martin. Martin throws up his arms and yells "Spring forth, burly protector and save me!" in his girly, high-pitched voice. Nelson does so, reluctantly, going so far as to explain that they normally don't hang out to the older brother before beating him up.

Then the coup de gras, Martin skips down the street, prancing around Nelson and singing a jaunty tune while Nelson looks non-plussed and takes swings at him. Priceless.

2.) The other highpoint of this episode is truly the highpoint of the show and perhaps society as a whole. I refer to, of course, the meeting of the alternate universe Milhouses.

Milhouse is my favorite character, by far. Oh sure, lots of people have jumped on the Ralph bandwagon but the problem with Ralph is, he had some funny bits but then the writers caught wind of it and tried too hard to make him a star. He's a supporting player. If they left him as such, they never would have ruined him and he would still be funny now. But I digress.

Milhouse's anger starts brewing early, probably a carry-over from his father, Kirk, who proclaims "I hate those Shelbyville jerks!" When his wife, Lu Ann, points out that she's from Shelbyville, he shakes with rage and says "And it tears me up inside!"

The two Milhouses get off to a rough start when Milhouse accuses Shelbyville Milhouse of copying his "one strap backpack style". Things heat up, words are said and Milhouse threatens to kick Shelbyville Milhouse's butt (at Nintendo). Luckily, it doesn't come to that.

But later, when he overhears Shelbyville Milhouse use the term "radical", he loess it. Like his father, he starts shaking and proclaims he's going to "explode". Why so tense, Milhouse? LOL!!! This kid is really getting worked up.

Things finally come to a head when Milhouse is admonishing Bart for not using proper walkie talkie protocol and is cornered by Shelbyville Milhouse. Shelbyville Milhouse kicks the walkie talkie from Milhouse's hand and advances on the cowering (and cowardly) Milhouse. In an ode to Shakespearean dialog, Milhouse queries, "Is this the untimely end of Milhouse?" This causes Shelbyville Milhouse to pause and ponder his own loneliness, sparking this classic dialog:

Shelbyville Milhouse (SM): [pause] But Milhouse is my name?
Milhouse (M): But I thought I was the only one!
SM: [shakes head] A pain I know all too well.
M: So this is what it feels like... when doves cry!

Then they embrace.

I think this is so great because it's not only funny, it teaches you a valuable lesson. You see, Milhouse didn't "hate" Shelbyville. The only thing he hated was himself. Shelbyville Milhouse taught him that he wasn't alone in the world, that there's a little Milhouse in everyone. Sure, you might be handicapped or black or gay, maybe kids teased you for being a nerd. Perhaps your dad molested you for not being sexy enough. But that doesn't mean you're a total loser, because you never know, there could be your exact doppleganger living just one town over, the whole time and you don't even know it. And that's a gift we can all appreciate. Like when someone you hate gets cancer. Or when fat people fall down on the bus when it takes a corner too fast.

Because that's what makes America great.

Monday, October 03, 2005

A rare (actual) blog post


So you may have noticed I don't usually "write about my day" here anymore. I'm not a huge fan of blogs, to be honest. I don't really care what other people do in their regular, boring lives, that's what sitcoms are for. the exception, of course, is if you are an attractive but slutty young woman who likes to talk about her sex life alot. that was an inside joke.

now, that said, I had a pretty exciting weekend. which is made even rarer by the fact that I've been sitting on my ass at my parent's house in rhode island for the last six months or so recovering from heart surgery. so the fact that I went to new york city this weekend is a big deal.

I took the train on saturday and got there around 1 or 2. I ended up sitting around doing nothing cuz a bunch of my friends who were supposed to hang out with me blew me off. some for legitimate reasons, some to watch the yankee game. anyway, around six I went to the W hotel to have a drink. that was fun, I had a soda because I'm a little nervous about drinking, but I got in trouble for that too cuz apparently I'm not supposed to have caffeine. see, people mean well, but they don't understand that I don't have heart problems because of my diet or my excessive smoking that I've never done. I was born this way. I don't have clogged arteries or anything like that. it's a purely mechanical problem that (knock on wood) has now been fixed. so give me some bacon and coke please. that's regular coke, not the drug.

so anyways, I was in town to see my friend bill hader perform his first show on saturday night live. these were basically the hardest tickets in town to get. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be watching the show on tv in the hotel when I got a call from my friend rachel, offering me her tickets. her husband, alex, is a writer on the show and the writers get two tickets every other week. my friend was going to go with her mother but instead, gave her tickets to me. I know, can you believe that? it helps to befriend awesome people.

so anyway, I went to the show and it was fucking awesome. if you saw it, you definitely would have noticed my friend. he was in like five sketches and was a huge part of the show. he absolutely killed. I've done shows with him in the past and have known him for a while so I knew he was super funny but I was caught off guard by how he didn't seem nervous at all. it looked like he had been doing the show for years. what I also didn't know about bill is that he has killed four hookers. he claims they were already dead when he found them and that's why he took those erotic pictures, but how likely is that? anyawy, that's a scoop for star magazine, not my blog.

so the show was fucking awesome and then bill was nice enough to get me into the after party and then the after-after party. plus I got to ride in a limo. I felt like a bigshot. or at least the friend of a bigshot who is ready to ride on the coat tails of that friend and mooch off him for everything he's worth.

all in all, I had a great time but I really over-did it. I thought I was 100% better but staying up late and walking all over new york really took its toll on me. I'm still exhausted. I took an early train home because I was just feeling too shitty to stick around. consequently, I ended up blowing off a bunch of my friends so I may go back in a few weeks to see them before my triumphant return to LA.

Anyway, that's the story of the time I saved christmas.

Oh, and if you watched the show, the fact that steve carrell watched "charles in charge" is an inside joke that only me and 3 other people would get. so there, I am special and you are not.

just kidding, I love everybody!
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