Obsolete Vernacular

Ooh-Ooh Step Two

2006-10-09T21:01:00.000-07:00

Step One Done

2006-09-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

Quote of the Day

2006-08-09T13:51:00.000-07:00

"It's too bad that his support for President Bush's war in Iraq provides such an easy explanation for the downfall of Sen. Joe Lieberman (D-CT). The pious prig from the Nutmeg State is almost the perfect Murder On the Orient Express figure: There are so many reasons to wish him ill that the real challenge shouldn't be finding suspects, but settling on just one. To have Lieberman's Iraq stance become the default reason for opposing him (among Republicans, of course, it's also been the only reason for supporting him) is just too easy.

Lieberman is possibly the least libertarian member of the United States Senate: An infinite-state liberal who always found ways to oppose Social Security reform (which he allegedly supported), an absurd moral scold who co-sponsored the "Silver Sewer Awards" with William Bennett, a values buttinski who couldn't resist attaching himself to Terri Schiavo's feeding tube, he was in the final analysis nothing but a fake, a tartuffe, a figure able to puff enough gas into every opportunistic action to make it seem like an example of high principle. (Witness his Captain Renault-level shock when President Clinton's Lewinski scandal came to light—a case of the vapors that conveniently allowed Clinton to duck the more serious legal issues facing him, neutralized the Democrats-as-Woody-Allen-level-perverts trope that was popular at the time, and massively raised Lieberman's own national profile. For further study, consider the longtime champion of gay rights' vote for Clinton's Defense of Marriage Act.)" - Reason's Tim Cavanaugh

Callbacks.

2006-07-10T16:26:00.000-07:00

Miss me? Yeah, I didn't think so. So, let me kill that luke warm and fuzzy feeling you're having with a little controversy. Last night, I watched Takashi Miike's Audition and I hated it. (And this was a sincere let down, considering the hype. I'm totally cereal, guys.)

Now, before you start frothing at the mouth, let me explain myself just a little bit. I'm fine with the slow burn. Sure, this film's slow burn takes an hour, which probably could've taken a half hour and still have been effective in painting a movie-you'd-never-see-with-Robin-Williams portrait of a sad sack middle aged film exec in search of a new wife to replace his long dead one. I don't think the concept's a bad one, if I do find the exploration of said concept to be a bit bland. And, of course, there's the twist, which is, I believe, meant to not just shock, but also condemn the objectification of women in Japanese culture. Oh, and before the gore, there's what I'm sure is thought of as a bravura piece of filmmaking, where in our protagonist has an entirely incoherent fever dream with too many jumps in logic to keep track of. Bits of information recontextualized: rad. Bits of information our character could never know about: lame. Or is it all a dream? A hallucination? Neither but both? And for what?

Defenders...line up please. And, in the words of Gabrielle Union, be sure to bring it.

Newsless news made better.

2006-05-22T16:34:00.000-07:00

Sen. Hillary Clinton has an iPod:

"I've got everything -- a total smorgasbord."

Her mix includes such diverse material as Aretha Franklin's "Respect," The Beatles' "Hey Jude," The Eagles' "Take it to the Limit", and Gwar's "The Master has a Butt." Clinton loves to listen to her iPod when catching up on paperwork or when hitting the gym:

"Gwar's 'Babyraper' is especially good when I'm looking for that extra boost on the stairmaster. It really gets me going."

Some might be surprised by Clinton's iPod jones after comments she made (and later apologized for) at a recent event:

"The culture in which we're raising children really argues against hard work. It's a culture that has a premium on instant gratification. I grew up in a home with one TV set. Now, we've got children in ... middle class and upper middle class homes that, you know, they have TV's in their rooms, they have computers with the Internet in their rooms, they have iPods. I mean, they are totally connected. And, yeah, one of my party's kinda sorta platforms is to provide broadband access to every home in America, but I think there are ways to stop the poor kids from being such selfish pricks too. And not just by abstaining from sex. Let them have the internet and the computer games in their room, but cover the computer in a blanket. An electrified blanket only you, the parent, controls. After a few shocks, they'll learn their lesson. And they'll work harder, get better grades, and keep their underage hohos out of their underaged friends' hahas. And one day, they'll grow up and have other people write their life stories for them, because they'll be so busy, they just won't have the time to sit down, turn on a little 'The Master has a Butt' and put down on paper a record of their storied existence."

And, yes, to answer that question that's floating around in your warped little mind, she jogs to Anal Cunt.

Yet, there's still this appeal.

2006-05-22T14:28:00.000-07:00

My Old Kentucky Blog (one of the best mp3 blogs out there) gets the gold star on this gloomy Monday. Their feature today compiles mp3 after mp3 of covers of Joy Division's classic, "Love Will Tear Us Apart." Jose Gonzalez, 10,000 Maniacs, Calexico, New Order (obvs), U2 w/ The Arcade Fire, Nouvelle Vague, and a ton more. Check it.

If Joey Chestnut loses, the terrorists have already won.

2006-05-19T09:51:00.000-07:00

"This could be so critical to our sport. It's never good for the same athlete to win so many years in a row. The Fourth of July has been stolen from Americans because of Kobayashi's dominance and now America has someone who they can get excited about." - George Shea, Chair of the International Federation of Competitive Eating, after Joey Chestnut, a 22 year old civil engineering student at San Jose State, ate 50 hot dogs and buns in 12 minutes at the Las Vegas qualifier for the Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest.

After what I imagine was a hearty belch or perhaps thirty minutes of vomiting, Chestnut echoed Shea's "patriotism": "I'm going to push harder on our Independence Day to take the title back. My brother is in the National Guard in Iraq and there will be a lot of people behind me."

And don't think Chestnut can't back it up. He's the reigning champion in eating pork ribs (5.5 pounds in 12 minutes), waffles (18.5 in 10 minutes) and jalapeno poppers (118 in 10 minutes). (But what about Pizza Shooters, Shrimp Poppers, or Extreme Fajitas?)

I just puked.

Altered Quote of the Day

2006-05-18T09:03:00.000-07:00

"If I heard the Lord right about 2006, the coasts of America will be lashed by storms. Now, mind you, at the time the Lord spoke to me, I was drunk vacuuming. As many a good Christian knows, the combination of holy juices and the hum of a Dyson can make for uneasy listening. And, as any good Christian also knows, the Lord has a tendency to mumble and occassionally trail off, making it increasingly difficult to determine the nature of his musings, like Kissinger on a ham radio.

But I'm just about positive, and I really mean it this time, there well may be something as bad as a tsunami in the Pacific Northwest. But, the Lord is a just man. While he may kill millions with the full power of his mighty waters, he will not drown us all. I will live. As will my family, my employees, and the 58 Indonesian children who work in the factory that will be packaging "The American Tsunami: What Now?" a how-to guide for Godly survival in the wake of the Lord's weather, hosted by yours truly, and featuring musical performances by Amy Grant, Darryl Worley, and Steven Curtis Chapman. The DVD package also includes a miniature Bible, an "I Survived God's Wrath" bumper sticker, and two cyanide capsules for future use, further explained on the DVD. All this, available to you, right now, for only $19.95 plus shipping and handling. The Lord has spoken and through the hum of a vacuum and five Brandy Alexanders, I have heard his call." - Pat Robertson

She Mars! She Mars!

2006-05-16T13:41:00.000-07:00

I tried not to worry too much. Dawn Ostroff and Les Moonves are smart people, even if one of them has a penchant for empty headed lawsuits. I knew, deep down, that Veronica Mars would be renewed. It had to be. Had to, people. Had to. So, if you were like me, stop fretting, because this shit's official:

Straight from the horse's mouth, Rob Thomas just e-mailed me to confirm that Veronica Mars has been renewed for a third season. The show got a 22-episode order that, depending on ratings, can be reduced to 13. Very reliable sources, meanwhile, are also telling me that One Tree Hill will be back and that Everwood is, in fact, dead. Talk about injustice.

Reserve your microfridge, stock up on ramen, and get ready to catch a serial rapist. We're going to Hearst, ya'll! (Via the invaluable Mars Investigations)

Please, Hammer, don't hurt 'em.

2006-04-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

Reason # 42,136 to hate the Atlanta Braves. (Via Metsblog.)

To me, Clark Kent in a phone booth and Houdini in a packing crate, they were one and the same thing.

2006-04-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

According to the man himself, Michael Chabon's The Yiddish Policemen's Union will finally be published in January of 2007. And if that wasn't enough exciting news, there's this:

This Paramount/Scott Rudin production, to be directed by Stephen Daldry, has recently entered a status that some of those involved have referred to as "pre-production" or, more conservatively, "pre-pre-production." Key elements, such as Production Designer Patrizia von Brandenstein and Costume Designer Ann Roth, have begun work. Initial creative design for the comic-book elements of the film--of which there are many--is being done by certified genius Paul Pope, which is, in the general opinion, way cool. Casting has begun, with no roles yet cast as of today.

Though the production has by no means been greenlighted, prospects for this long-running, oft-moribund project are suddenly looking better than they ever have before.

I'm still not exactly sold on Daldry and I'm still attached to my idea that the book should be made into an HBO mini-series, but this could still be excellent.

Behind the bag. Gets through Buckner.

2006-04-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

My new hero, Conor (at San Diego Serenade) has recreated the final inning of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series on Nintendo RBI Baseball (with Vin Scully play-by-play). (Side note: It'll really make you want to buy this. ) Even Red Sox fans might now be able to enjoy the ball going through Buckner's legs. Or not. Seriously, check it. It's amazing. (Via Metsblog and Gunga Gene.)

Straight Talk, Straight Talk

2006-03-28T15:56:00.000-08:00

Before I get into the crux of this blog post, let me offer up to you a sampling of the lyrics to "Straight Talk" by Dolly Parton, from her 1992 film of the same name:

Gimme some straight talk, straight talk -- and hold the sugar please
Straight talk, straight talk -- sounds plenty sweet to me
Don’t talk to me in circles in some mumbo-jumbo jive
Gimme just straight talk, straight talk and we’re gonna be alright
’cause I like to know just where I stand, I don’t like guessing games
And I hate a bunch of gibberish, so just spit it out real plain
Don’t use big educated words from your bs degree
Straight talk, straight talk -- don’t try b.s.-ing me

Straight talk, straight talk -- turn loose and let it go
You can tell me anything -- just like on oprah’s show
Just tell me how you really feel, be on the up and up
With questions I can understand -- for answers you can trust

Pick up the ’phone, you’re not alone -- we’ve all got something to say
So listen in and listen up -- we’ll find a better way
With honesty and common sense, it’s really hard to miss
Straight talk, straight talk -- just tellin’ it like it is

Straight talk, straight talk -- there’s nothing like the truth
Just tell me all your troubles -- pretend I’m Donahue
So don’t be shy, ’cause we can talk -- you know you’ve got a friend
Call me, call me -- for simple straight talkin’

What’s cookin’, America?

Straight talk, straight talk
Straight talk, straight talk

Now, I have no idea if Senator John McCain took the name for his "Straight Talk Express" from the Parton film. I like to think he did, because that idea is a whole lot more endearing than the notion that he actually meant it to be taken seriously. If I've confused you, let me clear things up. Here's McCain during the 2000 presidential campaign:

I am a pro-life, pro-family fiscal conservative, an advocate of a strong defense, and yet Pat Robertson, Jerry Falwell and a few Washington leaders of the pro-life movement call me an unacceptable presidential candidate. They distort my pro- life positions and smear the reputations of my supporters. Why? Because I don't pander to them, because I don't ascribe to their failed philosophy that money is our message.

Neither party should be defined by pandering to the outer reaches of American politics and the agents of intolerance, whether they be Louis Farrakhan or Al Sharpton on the left, or Pat Robertson or Jerry Falwell on the right.

Admirable. Sort of rad, right? The kind of things you like to hear from people you don't exactly intend on voting for. But McCain, in his ongoing Evangelical gangbang, has decided to give us a little less straight talk, straight talk:

American military hero and Arizona Sen. John McCain will deliver the Commencement message at Liberty University on May 13, at 9:30 a.m., in the Liberty University Vines Center.

While Sen. McCain and Liberty University Chancellor Jerry Falwell have had their share of political differences through the years, the two men share a common respect for each other and have become good friends in their efforts to preserve what they see as common values. This will mark his first ever appearance at Liberty University. Falwell said McCain's appearance at LU's graduation is another sign that McCain is wooing evangelical Christians.

"He is in the process of healing the breech with evangelical groups," Falwell said.

Falwell said McCain has expressed a willingness to support a Federal Marriage Amendment, an issue dear to conservative Christians.

Now, maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe this is straight talk, straight talk from McCain. Maybe everything else has been...what's the word...oh yeah...BULLSHIT. Maybe he didn't really mean what he said in 2000 and he only said it because he thought that would work and now he thinks it behooves him to sound like those he claimed to oppose. Maybe in "healing the breech" and efforting to find "common values" with a petty, dickless fascist endears him to voters he feels he needs to win the election and that need trumps all other needs, like, say, integrity or honesty or, as Dolly might say, a little straight talk, straight talk. But even Dolly knew there was no going back to that listless douche Michael Madsen, that she had turned a corner, begun anew, found herself, schtupped James Woods, etc. I don't expect much from politicians, but unlike McCain, I do have a few standards when it comes to my "friends." Oh, and I hate a bunch of gibberish. (Via Sully)

Friendly Advice

2006-03-23T17:54:00.000-08:00

At Fluxblog, get yourself the new hotness from Phoenix, "Long Distance Call." Saunter on over to You Ain't No Picasso and get "Skinny Boy" off of Amy Millan (of Stars) new solo record. (You can also pick up the new Walkmen jawn while you're there.) And then get your Aviator on and get to The Rich Girls Are Weeping and download Rufus Wainwright's version of the Gershwin standard, "I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise." I mean, I'm not going to force you or anything. But you'll kick yourself if you don't.

Crit of the Day

2006-03-22T15:23:00.000-08:00

"If there exists a device called a Procedural-O-Matic, then it created this show. The Evidence mingles the most familiar elements of contemporary forensics programs (jittery and jaundiced close-ups of fatal wounds, charmingly eccentric lab techs, the sort of leads that offer pretenses to enter sex clubs) with the most durable cop-show clichés (the bit where the fuzz toss the punk into a chain link fence along the sideline of a basketball court). As Cole, Rob Estes (Silk Stalkings, Melrose Place) is compelled to keep mourning a wife whose murder was never solved, whose voice is still on the outgoing answering-machine message, and whose smile is playfully coy in gauzy flashbacks. As Bishop, Orlando Jones (Drumline, 7-Up ads) tries to lift his buddy's spirits in a series of moderately homoerotic encounters. As Dr. Sol Goldman, Martin Landau does nothing disgraceful. And fog, in a supporting role, handsomely veils the Golden Gate Bridge." - Slate's Troy Patterson

Hellmouth Diary

2006-03-16T16:00:00.000-08:00

Working for the government (the man, the system, ZOD), one is afforded court holidays, on top of the already existing holidays that most everyone gets (Christmas, Thanksgiving, Tu' bshvat...wait, what?). On top of President's Day, we also celebrate Lincoln's birth. On top of Labor Day, we also get Cesar Chavez Day. Themes and all. Now, our office does not give us a full day off for these holidays, but instead a casual dress half day (Hawaiian shirt optional). On these half days, one employee stays later than the rest, until about 2 or 3, for some bureaucratic reason that I've never understood, nor wish to understand at any future date. Until recently, this task (staying past the noon evacuation) generally fell to me, being young, male, and white, all the usual traits of the oppressed. But, then, that stopped happening and it started getting spread around and, then, it was proposed that a rotation be set up. This led one employee to freak the fuck out.

Crying. Manic pacing. An insistent and bizarre line of questioning (directed at me for some reason) revolving around whether or not this meant she'd have to make her son quit karate. (At this time, it should be noted that this woman mispronounces her son's name and told him so when he turned eight. He agreed with her that the proper pronunciation of the name he was given was kind of stupid and that mommy was right to take the easy route. Sub-note: This woman also kept her maiden name because she felt her husband's name was too complicated. To this day, she cannot spell the name, of both her husband and two children, without several minutes of deliberation.)

Well, the freakout worked and she was exempt from the rotation. But the drama didn't stop there. Trenches were dug. Middle-aged women with beef, okay? So, then came tit for tat. Grumbling. Back turning. Hissing. One employee kept a log of grievances (like, say, the killer from Seven or former Florida Sen. Bob Graham) which was then used in meetings to discuss the relations between that employee and her arch nemesis. Another employee was roped into the proceedings, all the while, pretending to know nothing, as any good stooge would. She also plays up her age, her mediocre health, and thanks to the general stupidity of everyone around her, it works. This portion of the proceedings came to a head with a screaming match between the employee we'll call "Charo" and the aforementioned "Oldy McGee." "Oldy McGee" walks off in a huff over perceived to be rude whispering. "Charo" calls her out. Fight ends with "Charo" screaming, "I ain't afraid of you!" "I ain't afraid of you!"

This duo and the killer from Seven are "admonished" for their behavior. And post-admonishment: The Silent Era. No one speaks. "Oldy McGee" bumps and elbows "Charo" in the hallway 3 or 4 times. (I doubted this, at first, and then I witnessed it.) The Killer from Seven pretends to be unphased by it all (as exemplified by idle chit-chat about shows she doesn't watch, articles she's half read, and the death penalty, exclaiming "hang 'em high" after our supervisor asked "whatever happened to a good old fashioned lynching?"). Having achieved her first goal, she seemingly cared very little about its ramifications. But the killer from Seven overestimated her power, as many a mouth breather has done before. She determined I felt left out and that if I felt left out, it was her job to engineer a few alterations to my work habits. Now, look, I'm a pretty miserable fucker as it is during the hours between 8 and 5. Work = dread. 'kay? But I'll let it play out. I'll see what's what.

The directives: I must watch what I say. (Nothing specific is cited.) I must understand that certain words and/or phrases offend. I should not read at my desk (books, or as they were reffered to "reading books"), although the Internet is still allowed, as long as it's not in excess, to the offense of others. (Feeling as if I was at the worst summer camp evs, I pondered spending my lunch break at Michael's, shopping for popsicle sticks, glue, and an ample amount of glitter, in order to then construct Barbie's Dream House (with pool and waterslide) at my desk for the remainder of the afternoon.) But, you see, the killer from Seven didn't brief "Oldy McGee" on this plan of action and "Oldy McGee" (being a good Jahova's Witness) took out the "Good Book" and started reading at her desk yesterday. Whoops.

I took my supervisor aside. In the spirit of brevity, allow me to summarize the conversation succinctly: "Bitch, are you fo real?"

Thirty minutes later, our supervisor put it all to rest. She "admonished" the three witches, apologized to me, and told everyone, in general, to shut the fuck up.

Petty victories are sweet.

Piss on Pooh.

2006-03-08T11:52:00.000-08:00

If you don't know Thomas Kinkade or his exemplary work, you've missed out. His brush is guided by God (after all). Upon reviewing much of Kinkade's work, one might come to the conclusion that God is a Care Bear or at least a Care Bear part of the time, what with his many forms and all. Kinkade is, of course, "The Painter of Light," a moniker which should always be intoned with as much James Liptonian verve as you can muster, without cracking up and Horatio Sanzing the bit. But now, in a twist worthy of a cliche-ridden TV movie, Kinkade's being sued, and in the process, has been revealed to be a little less messianic and a lot more piss drunk and grabby:

It's not just Kinkade's business practices that have been called into question. Former gallery owners, ex-employees and others say his personal behavior also belies the wholesome image on which he's built his empire.

In sworn testimony and interviews, they recount incidents in which an allegedly drunken Kinkade heckled illusionists Siegfried & Roy in Las Vegas, cursed a former employee's wife who came to his aid when he fell off a barstool, and palmed a startled woman's breasts at a signing party in South Bend, Ind.

And then there is Kinkade's proclivity for "ritual territory marking," as he called it, which allegedly manifested itself in the late 1990s outside the Disneyland Hotel in Anaheim.

"This one's for you, Walt," the artist quipped late one night as he urinated on a Winnie the Pooh figure, said Terry Sheppard, a former vice president for Kinkade's company, in an interview.

This twist comes about a half hour and two commercial breaks before Kinkade is revealed to either have a second, secret family or, more likely, a kiddie porn dungeon.

Now, of course, no Kinkade piece would be complete without the observations of his fans:

"It's mainstream art, not art you have to look at to try to understand, or have an art degree to know whether it's good or not," said Mike Koligman, a longtime fan who with his wife owns Kinkade galleries in San Diego and Utah.

"This is God-given talent," [Karen de la Carriere] said of a favored print, "Sierra Evening Majesty," with its snowy peaks, red-gold skies and smoke wisping from a cabin chimney. "He is a modern-day Leonardo da Vinci or Monet. There is no one in our generation who can paint like that."

It's like this...when Thomas Kinkade pisses on something (canvas, Disney characters, you), one doesn't need some hoity-toity art degree to get it. It makes perfect sense. "That's piss. And I like it!"

Oh, it's a 3-4 year plan. Why didn't you say so? I'll stop screaming now. My apologies.

2006-03-03T16:07:00.000-08:00

If I were asked to make up a list of my least favorite people, Knicks owner James Dolan would likely be in the top five. I've never met Mr. Dolan and based on my experience of being in the same room as Scott Layden, I'd likely just stand a fair distance away and comment to a bystander what I'd do if they came up to me.

I have, however, endured his reign of terror. I have seen the team's franchise player banished to Seattle because Dolan, like many others, believed that the Knicks would be "better off" without Patrick Ewing "clogging" the middle. I watched as Scott Layden was hired to "fix" the team, after Ernie Grunfeld and Dave Checketts had, presumably, harmed the team somehow. (Apparently, making the playoffs and knowing how to even spell "salary cap" are the signs of a sinking ship in need of righting.) In that era, a first ballot hall of famer who led the team to two Finals and perpetual playoff berths, was traded for Glen Rice who was traded for Shandon Anderson and Howard Eisley who were then handed to new general manager Isaiah Thomas who saw fit, as he's wont to do, to trade them for more heinous contracts attached to heinous players within a heinous context, also known as the roster assembled by a group of people whose sole intent, it seems, is to hurt my feelings. This year, the thought was that a mini youth movement (Curry, Frye, Robinson, Lee, Ariza) accompanied with the hiring of Larry Brown would save the collective asses of everyone already mentioned. (Yeah, not so much.)

On top of all this, Dolan has, as you well know, approved the acquisitions of two more heinous contracts attached to two players (Jalen Rose and Steve Francis) whose notion of "team" begins and ends with "I." Francis is known to some as "Stevie Franchise." It's a self ascribed moniker. They also happen to both play the same position on a team with more players at said position than should ever rationally be considered.

Recently, after a loss to San Antonio, rumors swirled that Dolan had come to whatever senses he has left, and determined that Isaiah needed to be fired, things needed to be changed, etc. And, being an idiot, I believed the story. Perhaps, I deserve this:

I can't say it any plainer than I've already said it. I'm not making a change, guys. We're going to continue on with the strategy. I believe in the plan. I believe in the strategy. I believe in the guys who are executing it. I fully expect you to kill me in the papers tomorrow with this, but I'm going to stick with it. I'm going to stick with it until we stop making progress. I think the course is to stay the course, not knee-jerk.

Maybe some people think I'm brain-dead because of that, but time will tell. I understand people will be unhappy when you're going through this process. You're characterizing [this season] as making a big mistake. It's not a mistake. It's an underestimation what it would take to start off this strategy. So we're 15-41 now. You have to look at how you're doing on your 3-4 year plan. It's still early. I know it's hard to take when it's 15-41, but the mistake would be to say the strategy is wrong. The strategy is right. It's just more painful to execute than we thought. It is harsh. There is no doubt. I think [the fans] are already upset.

One must have a brain for it to be dead, James. (Sigh.)

I don't know if he can handle Hastert's girth.

2006-02-26T09:34:00.000-08:00

"So [Bush] now has a list in his heart and his head of everybody who's going to screw him...literally, when he makes a mistake." - Chris Matthews reacting to President Bush's Dubai port deal on The Chris Matthews Show (2/25/06)

The Great Zucchini

2006-02-08T14:58:00.000-08:00

Gene Weingarten's "The Peekaboo Paradox," (from the Jan. 22nd edition of The Washington Post) a piece on famed Washington D.C. children's entertainer "The Great Zucchini," is brilliant, one of the best things I've read in a while, careening from tragi-comedy...

But while you're winning, anything seems possible. Eric is at the moment a heroic character, a romantic lead, a suave Bogart or Bond, rolling sixes and nines and never a losing seven, and the cheering continues. The classy illusion holds right up until the moment that the bellowing woman falls silent, sways, hiccups, and vomits all over the table.

...to startling insight. Yes, it's long, so if you're at work, perhaps discussing your co-worker's bowel movements from the night before and tearing yourself away from that thrilling exchange isn't a possibility, print it out and take it home. Seriously. Read it. It's sensational. (via Lacunae)

And you think your job's shitty.

2006-02-08T11:43:00.000-08:00

Co-worker: Hey, Tim.
Me: Yeah?
Co-worker: I had diarrhea last night.
Me: You should put that on a T-shirt.

If that wasn't enough for bowel movement related office banter:

Me: Quietly doing my business in the bathroom stall.

Middle-aged Detective enters bathroom. He hisses like something out of Midian, breathing heavily, grunting.

Middle-aged Detective: I can see your shoes. I can see your shoes.

Me: Quietly doing my business in the bathroom stall and, now, as if I'd ever stopped, quietly loathing my existence.

Middle-aged Detective: (sheepishly) Sorry.

Middle aged Detective leaves bathroom.

Sugar, it's Eli.

2006-02-07T10:13:00.000-08:00

Whenever I have questions about the big issues: war, poverty, my future children becoming vampires, I can think of no better source for soothing answers than Pat Robertson or any of his helpful associates at The 700 Club. And, thank Jehovah, I'm not alone:

My stepdaughter is fascinated with vampires and other occult practices. Her bedroom is draped in black and has an altar with candles, incense, and a pentagram. I tell my wife that even though I am not our daughter's biological dad, I am still responsible before God for my household. My wife tells me to mind my own business. What do you believe is my responsibility before God concerning her behavior in our home?

First of all, according to the Bible, you are the head of your household. That includes your wife and your daughter. If she [your wife] got married in a Christian marriage, she is supposed to submit to the authority of her husband in matters of spiritual activity.

You do not wish to invite Satan to come into your home. The pentagram, the candles, the occult incantations -- they are all prayers to Satan and to demons to enter your home and to do damage to your home and to your family. As the high priest of your household, you have an absolute right to say, 'No, this is my home and I am paying the bills. You get that junk out of here!'

Don't think that because you are not involved in it that you are going to escape. There was a prophet in the Old Testament whose name was Eli, a wonderful human being, but he let his children get away with murder. Eli the priest allowed his children to engage in fornication with the women who came to the temple to worship, and it got so bad that God said, 'Eli, you and your whole family are out of here. You are out of work, and none of your progeny is ever going to have a part in the priesthood again.' The same thing is true with you. You must take a stand on this. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Your wife has got to say that that is the way it is. You need to say, 'I am not arguing with you. This is the way it is going to be.'

Demons don't pay your bills. You do. There are no ifs ands or buts about it. (via TMN)

Quote of the Day

2006-02-03T10:45:00.000-08:00

"Anyway, I find myself rooting for the poor fans in Seattle, who have suffered through the Griffey/A-Rod/Big Unit defections; the E! True Hollywood Story-level demises of Shawn Kemp and Vin Baker; the relative lack of success of "Singles"; the Dikembe Mutombo game; Jack Sikma's perm; the Irene-Steven domestic violence incident on "The Real World"; an astonishing number of recent Mariners seasons in which the team peaked in July; and (unquestionably) the most mediocre franchise in NFL history. And that's just in the last 15 years. Can you imagine being a Seahawks fan since 1976? No Super Bowl appearances. No truly memorable players other than Steve Largent. They were like the Hartford Whalers of the NFL...and by the way, the Whalers moved eight years ago. Now they have their one chance to step into the limelight and people are crapping on them? I don't get it." - Bill Simmons

Dude, how small can your light saber possibly be?

2006-02-03T09:21:00.000-08:00

From today's New York Daily News ("Meet Jabba the Nut"), comes the story of Michale Cianci -- bus driver, dad, pitiful NERD -- creator of a middle school "fight club," largely influenced by Star Wars (in ways scarier than George Lucas' neck wattle):

Bus driver Michael Cianci created The Death Cheese Club to keep order and gave the toughest of the middle school kids nicknames like Darth, Sith Warrior and Jabba, law enforcement sources said.

The stocky married father of two, who lives with his mother in Parlin, N.J., even posted bizarre rules in the yellow bus titled "Death Cheese Laws," which were read aloud each day, the sources said.

"The penalty for breaking this code is banishment," the laws proclaimed above the signature of "Lord Matt" - apparently The Emperor's second in command.

"In a ranking of Master or above, the penalty is death or severe beating . . .Heresy will not be tolerated."

The wanna-be storm troopers pounded on weaker kids, dished out noogies and even cut up one another's clothing with scissors.

Seriously, no amount of snark can really do this story justice.

Cobra Kai

2006-02-01T15:52:00.000-08:00

I work in a county criminal courthouse. Each and every morning comes a parade of petty offenders, felons, mid-level defense attorneys (with the occassional high priced type: Darden, Geragos, Mesereau), and a fair share of people who smell as if they just rolled around in vomit. But some people break out of the boundaries of what one can achieve whilst in the stern bosom of the criminal justice system. Some redefine the parameters, break all the rules, go out in a blaze of "glory," blah blah blah. But if you don't want to do this, if you just want to get your shit taken care of with little to no fanfare, here's my advice, as based on recent events which I've witnessed:

1) You come in for your arraignment. It's not a serious charge, especially since you don't have a criminal history. If you happen to see someone you don't like in the lobby, do not, under any circumstances, rush across the lobby and karate kick said person. You'll only get arrested right there and charged with new shit that's worse than the petty shit you still haven't taken care of.

2) If you haven't listened to step 1, you're now in jail for the night. While there, don't start a fight with your cellmate. And when a deputy tries to break up the fight, don't hit the deputy. Because, guess what? You're now facing even more new charges on top of the charge you still haven't taken care of.

3) If you haven't listened to step 1 and/or 2, well, you're a dumbass. But say this is the case. You were distracted and a little hot tempered and you made a mistake. We all do it. So, you finally get your day in court, and you face multiple charges. The judge, disturbed by your recent behavior, chooses to lecture you for a few minutes. Here's your chance to ingratiate yourself with him and everyone else. Appear humble. Throw yourself on the mercy of the court. Do not, I repeat, do not mutter "go fuck yourself" in the direction of the judge.

4) If steps 1-3 seem too difficult for you, well, you're fucked.

The karate kick incident is currently the second best thing that's ever happened while I've been working here, ranking behind the day the neo-Nazi esaped and was crawling around in the ceiling tiles. I got out around lunch time that day and the next day too, because while trying to escape (he fell through a tile into a room locked from the outside) he stirred up some asbestos. He's my favorite Nazi ever. Yeah, I said it. Eat it, Goebbels.