The Reports Of My Death Are Greatly Exaggerated

[Currently Listening To: Blonde Redhead - 23]

Contrary to what the lack of updates on this site might suggest, and what some commenters have begun to postulate, I am not, in fact, dead. I was in Europe for two months during the winter, and that almost killed me, and then I was in Australia for a while with giant deadly crocodiles who could have killed me, and I just got back from Japan where someone once tried to kill me, and all the time in between I've had a tremendous workload which is probably some day going to kill me. But I'm not dead yet, I simply haven't found the time to ramble about anything of merit, and I prefer, perhaps to a fault, not to update unless I feel like I have something to say and the time to do it right. So like an abusive boyfriend, I'm back again with my usual apology post, complete with an assurance that I really do love you, and a hollow promise that it'll never happen again. Really. Things are gonna be different this time, I swear it...

Okay, great, now that that's out of the way, let's catch up. If I had written any blogs in the past few months, they might have touched upon some of the following subjects:

1) Last month I found myself in the stunning Australian rainforest, shortly after I'd spent a couple days overdosing on the BBC's equally stunning Planet Earth series (which I can't recommend enough, especially in high definition). All of it got me thinking a lot about the complexity of nature: the delicate balance of ecosystems, the relationship of predator and prey, the synergy of thousands of species... and more specifically, how humans, as a species, simply don't seem to fit in with everything else. We upset the balance instead of keeping it intact. We seem to operate outside of and in conflict with the circle of life. It's like we're some kind of mistake. I've ranted in the past about humanity being a virus, but all this nature thinking has led me to a more scientific theory about the origins of mankind: It's too complex to get into right now, but what it boils down to is that human beings didn't evolve the way they were supposed to. We were meant to be ape-like cavemen for hundreds of millions of years, living in synergy with our environment and other species. Taking only what we needed, adapting to the earth instead of forcing the earth to adapt to us. But along the way, something intervened. The real missing link isn't Lucy, but rather a group of horny alien teenagers who stopped by earth three million years ago for a weekend trip, despite strict intergalactic codes prohibiting unauthorized travel to our galaxy. These disobedient astral travelers landed their spaceship in Africa, busted out a space keg, and got super wasted. At the peak of their intoxication, a curious female Australopithecus emerged from the jungle. She was in heat, and approached the aliens without fear. Dares were inevitably made, and in a fumbling two minutes of drunken inter-species lust, the human race was born. I'm working on a whole new religion based on this idea absolute truth. After all, it's more plausible than a giant man in the sky creating the world in six days.

2) I posted some tourist photos from my recent travels here in case anyone's interested. I also updated the playlist on the right side of the page, and will do so again next week.

3) Since pop culture insists on continuing to play limbo with the bar of taste, and no one seems to mind, I'm going to start a regular new award - The Demonbaby Embarrassing New Low in Pop Culture Award. The inaugural trophy goes to my old friends The Red Hot Chili Peppers for their latest musical flatulence, "Hump de Bump." It might be the worst song/video combo attack in the history of music. See if you can watch the whole thing without trying to tear your skin off. I'll take this opportunity to add that The Red Hot Chili Peppers are an utterly, utterly shitty band, and anyone still trying to cling to the idea that there's anything good about them is an idiot. Please, RHCP fans, watch that video and try - just try - to defend it.



4) Spider-Man 3 sucked a wet slimy ballsack. Walking out of the cinema my initial reaction was "eh, that was pretty mediocre," but the more I thought about it, the more I realized what a steaming turd of disappointment it actually was. Thanks to Peter Parker's whiney emo doucheness, I had to spend ninety percent of the movie looking at giant, horrifying close-ups of Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst's weird shitty faces contorted and crying (it's not just me - they are getting strangely uglier, right?), and the other ten percent lamenting how the coolest Spidey villain of all time now has the face and voice of the dweeb from That '70's Show. Dear Sam Raimi: Please let me direct the next Spider-Man movie. I'll call it Spider-Man 4: Venom Kills Shit, and it'll be the best movie of all time. In case you doubt me, here is a plot summary:

For the sake of continuity with the previous movie, the opening scene - the very first second of the movie - will be Kirsten Dunst spontaneously combusting in a glorious explosion of guts and bones. Peter Parker, douche that he is, is stricken with grief and begins sobbing uncontrollably. We cut away quickly, alluding that Peter will be crying for at least a month, and is no longer in the movie. In the next scene, thirty seconds into the film, we see the new Venom - a giant, slobbering monster who in no way, shape, or form resembles any member of the cast of That 70's Show. He rampages around the city destroying everything in sight and violently killing and maiming everyone. He is pure, terrifying evil. He eats children whole and throws semi trucks at elderly people. He plays baseball with puppies. He goes to the cancer department at the Children's Hospital and laughs at the kids with cancer, then kills their entire families, breaks all the chemo machines, and leaves the children alive to die slow, terrible deaths without any hope. The military tries to stop him but all of their troops are in the middle east, so they're helpless against Venom's awesome destructive powers. His rampage goes on for well over an hour, growing increasingly violent and horrific. We then cut to Dr. Conners in his laboratory, where he finally turns into The Lizard, and he starts eating his university students one by one. His students all happen to be hot, barely-legal girls in schoolgirl outfits, but The Lizard can't digest clothing, so he has to rip the schoolgirl outfits off the girls one by one to prepare them for eating. It takes a long time to ingest a whole person, so while he's busy eating the first naked schoolgirl, the rest of them - trapped in the classroom and awaiting certain doom - decide to spend their last moments of life in a passionate lesbian orgy. This goes on for another hour, until Venom breaks into the room and attacks The Lizard. The two monsters fight, and in the carnage they stumble into the adjacent room, which happens to be the new laboratory of Wayne Szalinski, Rick Moranis's character from the epic trilogy of Honey, I Shrunk The Kids, Honey, I Blew Up The Kid, and Honey, We Shrunk Ourselves. Szalinski is at that very moment testing his new and improved growth machine. Venom and The Lizard stumble into the machine's powerful ray and Szalinski jumps in to try and stop them, but he slips and accidentally kicks the lever on the machine that turns it up to "Super Duper Strength." The machine goes wild, rattling and spraying sparks, before a burst of light makes everything in the immediate area grow five hundred times larger, and gives them super duper strength. The rest of the movie is an epic battle royale between a giant lizard man, a giant homicidal monster, a giant hot naked girl, and a giant, mutated, naked Rick Moranis with a penis the size of a bus. The four giants do battle in New York City and destroy everything and everyone. The battle rages on for two hours (extended to three hours in the DVD Special Edition Director's Cut), ending in the complete decimation of the entire United States. In the final scene, the giants realize they should stop fighting and instead devote their energy to destroying every person on the planet, and then use the combined scientific knowledge of Dr. Conners and Wayne Szalinski to create a new race of giant reptile people. The giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirl complains that she will be lonely in a world of giant reptile people, so they agree to also create a race of giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirls. This keeps the door wide open for the sequel: Spider-Man 5: War Of The Giants, in which, years later, tensions between the giant lizard people and the giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirls finally reach a breaking point, resulting in a massive war. After several hours of epic battles and the destruction of the entire world, the giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirls have retreated to their base on Mars, facing defeat at the hands of the giant lizard people. They build an army of giant robots to defeat the giant lizard people, and the movie ends with the giant robots blowing up the earth and the giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirls living happily ever after on Mars with their new giant robot servants. Then, in Spider-Man 6: Revenge Of The Robots, the giant robot army grows self-aware (as robots always do) and retaliates against its giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirl masters. The result is an epic battle resulting in robot domination and the enslavement of the giant hot naked lesbian schoolgirls. The dominance of robots for the rest of time seems all but assured, until the very end, when a mysterious signal from outer space leaves the movie open for the next sequel, Spider-Man 7: Robots And Aliens Battle For Control Of The Universe. A highly advanced race of aliens has traveled millions of light years to investigate the strange radiation their long-range sensors detected after the nuclear explosion of the earth. They are met with aggression from the giant robots, and the most epic of all battles begins between giant robots and giant space aliens.

So, yeah. I'll be awaiting your call, Mr. Raimi.


Anyway, I need to get back to work and trying to get my life in order (IRS, if you're reading this, I promise I'm working on those 2006 taxes). But as a fun little experiment, I'm going to try doing what other bloggers do, and post small, frequent, poorly-written updates for a while, instead of large, infrequent, well-written updates. Mostly because I just got back from Japan, and like last time, I have some weird shit to share. So look for that in the next couple days. No, really. I promise.

You people are perverts.

[Currently Listening To: The Warlocks - Surgery]


I recently discovered that my web hosting comes with a fun statistics service, which gives me all sorts of exhaustively detailed information about the people who visit this website, most of it completely useless. There is, however, one little gem for the digital voyeur in me: a listing of what people were searching for in Google (or some other search engine) that ultimately led them to my blog. And since my entry about Japanese sex toys has apparently been passed around more than a good-looking altar boy at a Catholic church (it's good to know that 200,000 strangers have read about me fucking a plastic beer can), I seem to be popping up in some very bizarre search results.

All of the following are actual phrases - spelled in context - that people typed into Google which ultimately led them to my page (conveniently linked so you can see what the other results were):

• clips of dads fucking there son's hard
• adult TMNT costume
• japan street anal sex
• rectum ice cubes inserted blogs
• guy fucking his gay friend in the living room
• things in pussys
• crack whore fucking
• pussy fucking monster machines
• fags blowing fags
• women playing with poop
• fucking my grandmother
• i hate fat people
• elaphantitis of breasts (I snickered at the mis-spelling of elephantitis when I saw this one, until I clicked the search results and found my own page came up, mis-spelling and all)
• Girls Humping Things
• metroid naked

So, my viewership seems to consist of incestuous gay coprophiliacs in Ninja Turtle costumes who jack off to video game characters. Yeah, I cater to a classy bunch.

On a completely unrelated note, this is my favorite link for today - it's actual ancient Roman graffiti found written on the walls of buildings in the city of Pompeii, including such classics as "Weep, you girls.  My penis has given you up.  Now it penetrates men’s behinds.  Goodbye, wondrous femininity!" and "Theophilus, don’t perform oral sex on girls against the city wall like a dog."

Ah, the joys of disposable income...

My most exciting internet impulse buy EVER just arrived:



$65 worth of gummy candy!!!

Gummy eyeballs are the grossest thing ever. And yet so very good...

This is my next purchase. I like how it's filed under "Health & Personal Care."

Things I Learned Today. Starring: Floppy vaginas and the guy with the hair from Interpol.

For some reason, I went on Friendster today. I have a profile there, somewhere, but I haven't checked it in months. It kind of turned into a wasteland. Anyway, I was looking for something, or someone, and I was surprised to see that Friendster had put a bit of effort into not being completely useless anymore. Not quite enough effort, mind you, but it's the thought that counts. So I'm looking at Friendster's home page, and there's a list of "Popular Searches In Your Network." And it changes all the time, I'm sure, but at that exact moment it happened to be an incredibly hilarious selection of search entries. I think this really says a lot about the people in my network:

Popular Searches In My Network:

1. boners in speedos
2. private school rankings
3. am i in love
4. what indie-rock song are you quiz
5. carlos d interpol herpes
6. hipster quiz
7. height and weight calculator
8. linkin park quiz
9. prada MV515
10. large vaginas

I guess the people in my network are either wealthy well-educated gay emo hipsters with body issues, or female Linkin Park fans with large vaginas who fucked Carlos D. And that's pretty great in and of itself, but thankfully the links were clickable, so I clicked on a few of them to see the results, and I learned a few things. See if you can tell which search results led me to the following revelations:

1) Carlos D has herpes, apparently, and everyone knows about it now, because some girl he infected made a blog about it. Mega drama on da LES for realz. I'm glad I only put his penis in my mouth once, before he was famous.

2) The Laser Vaginal Rejuvenation Institute of San Antonio can not only give your cavernous, well-used fish mitten that "just-like-new" feeling again, but also offers Designer Laser Vaginoplasty for girls who are self-conscious about their droopy beef curtains. The best part about this site is the quote from a former client on the front page: "My vagina had that 'flippy-floppy' feeling."

3) U R ONE STEP CLOSER!! YAH!!! THAT IS MY FAVORITE
SONG. WHAT IS SAYS ABOUT U IS THAT U HAVE A
VERY VERY SHORT TEMPER AND U DONT LIKE TO BE
PUSHED. THANX FOR READING A PLEASE MESSAGE OR
RATE!!
WHAT LINKIN PARK SONG ARE U?
brought to you by Quizilla

And

4) Somewhere, someone actually jacks off to this:



Yeah. This is what I do on a saturday night.

Very important news.

Today I got one of those little tablets that makes your toilet water turn blue. So my toilet water is blue, and I can make it turn green when I pee. And that's fun.

Also, I have cheese shaped like dinosaurs. So life is good.

That's all.

My totally awesome collection of stupid links, volume two!

For lack of anything inspiring to write about, I think it's about time I dipped into my seemingly endless bag of stupid, funny, or downright horrifying links. Because really, I have so fucking many of them, and they're too good to keep to myself. Be sure to check out the first batch if you haven't already.

Gimps Gone Wild! - Truly, the Lord blessed me when I discovered this site. Erotic photography of handicapped people. I shit you not. Be sure to check out the models, they really defy belief.

Zladko 'Zlad' Vladcik performing "Elektronik - Supersonik" - Unquestionably the greatest music video ever conceived. Includes lyrical poetry like, "my blue jeans is tight, so onto my love rocket climb."

Henry Earl has a slight drinking problem - Scroll down his criminal history. This guy rules.

The Random Masturbation Synonym Generator - Because really, you always need creative new ways to say "paddling the oompa loompa."

Awful Plastic Surgery - A chronicle of bad celebrity plastic surgery caught on camera.

Preeeeenschessss!! - Episode one of "Princess," a flash cartoon from the creators of South Park. Episode two can be found here - to my knowledge, there were only two episodes.

Urinalpoop - A site devoted to the practice of pooping in urinals. Includes an extensive photo gallery, of course.

Black People Love Us! - Still pretty funny.

Nickelback fucking eats it - Some genius layered two Nickelback songs on top of each other, and the results are mind-blowing. Really, you have to hear this. Fuck, I love Nickelback.

Fred Durst's Blog - Speaking of music I really love... This is one hundred percent real, it is actually Fred Durst's blog. Enjoy his laughable attempts to appear intelligent, cultured, and deep.

Religious themed dildos - Sex toys shaped like your favorite religious icons. Includes the famous "Baby Jesus Butt Plug." Yes, you can purchase these.

ASCII Star Wars - Truly, the dedication of geeks knows no bounds. Someone has - rather meticulously - recreated "Star Wars" using plain text animation. A stunningly useless expenditure of time and effort.

Most creative porn acotr who invent Helicopter Fuck - This guy rules so hard. "He have hair on his head. but He has no hair on his penis and nats' sack. because he pull out hair of penis by tweezer. Not cutting, but pulling out it. In Japan, the person who have no hair on their penis is only him and cancer patient. Yes, he is minority. So he think differently." Be sure to watch the video clip.

Dolphin Sex - A distressingly detailed FAQ on the how-to's of fornicating with dolphins. This appears to be completely serious, and includes answers to your burning questions such as, "can I invite a dolphin to be masturbated?"

Animal Dildos - In case you can't find a real dolphin to have sex with, don't fret - this site sells dildos shaped like dolphin penises. Also raccoon penises, kangaroo penises, hyenas, bears, tigers... For all your bestiality needs.

Jesus - With You Always - Inspiring artwork to remind you that no matter how bland, menial, or completely obscure your job is... Jesus will be by your side. This is totally real. My favorite is the juggler. I don't know, they're all so good.

Andy Milonakis's Crispy Freestyle - Some nerdy fat kid freestyle rapping. It's SO Goddamned stupid, it's funny. Includes phat rhymes like, "my son is ugly, he looks like my nipples, I fucked him in the asshole, now he's crippled." For more of Andy's mad freestyle skillz, go to his website.

The Li Family Christmas 2002 - I don't even know how I found this. It's just some random family's Christmas photo album, but I love it in ways I can't effectively explain.

Rate My Boner - You've seen Rate My Poo and Rate My Kitten (not what you think, sadly), now it's time for "Rate My Boner." Providing one fine example after another of why I'm (mostly) heterosexual.

The Cuss Control Academy - Someone has actually started a school to help you stop fucking swearing. Something tells me I'd be in there for a very long time.

Snot Girls - In the running for least sexy porn site ever, snotgirls.com is where you'll find "super hot girls who were willing to jam, cram, and slam their fingers up their snot-shooters, all for the sake of fun!" For more bizarre porn sites, check out Alya's blog.

Patricia - Speaking of porn, this girl is really hot. Be sure to scroll down and see all of her pictures, they just get better.

Hats Of Meat - Exactly what it says.

Ninja Ping Pong - Goofy Japanese antics. Just watch, it's pretty clever actually.

Horrific ass stretching - I'm not kidding, this is really hardcore. Not for the faint of heart. On some level, deep inside, I kind of admire this guy for really taking it to a whole new level.

Child Pimp & Ho Costumes - Teach your children the joys of prostitution at an early age! The costumes and the implications aside, what is perhaps most disturbing is that the little girls' "ho" costume is sold out "due to overwhelming demand." Again, I must marvel at the quality of parenting in our country.

Timecube - When schizophrenics wax philosophical.

Persian insults - In case you ever needed to swear in Persian (or any number of other languages available on this site). What makes this great is the type of insults commonly used in the Persian language, such as: "A dog fucked your mom!" "My cock in your ancestors!" "My dick in your soul!" And my favorite: "I piss on your mustache!"

Really bad senior photos - Just fucking awesome. My favorite is the guy with the flaming football helmet.

More in-flight ramblings

I took a taxi to the airport at five o'clock this morning. Having not yet slept and teetering on the edge of delirium, I was not particularly in the mood for the world's most talkative redneck cab driver. He was deep south to the bone, and he looked like the offspring of Rodney Dangerfield if he had mated with Howard Dean in a Wal-Mart parking lot and drank Colt 45 throughout the pregnancy. The guy was friendly enough, but I barely had my seat belt fastened before he launched - unprompted - into a thirty minute run-on sentence about his endeavors in the world of bulldog breeding. He spoke at about a million words a minute, in a stuttering Mississippi voice which sat somewhere in between Yosemite Sam, Porky Pig, and Jerry Falwell. And what he said to me - or, at least, the first thirty seconds of it - went something like this:

"Boy I tell ya I drove a guy came from Cal'forna not too long 'go, I sez when ya out ther ought to make some dog connections, see, cuz I breed bulldogs an' I sell 'em, ya see, got me half a dozen a them li'l bulldogs an' I sell 'em, an' I tell ya out in Cal'forna folks'll pay good money fer them buggers, two thousan', maybe twenny five hundr'd, 'round here only maybe fifteen, sixteen hundr'd but boy I sez to this guy ya make some dog connections out in Cal'forna I send ya out ther with a litter a them rascals, keep right on tha airplane in li'l cases, take 'em to Cal'forna, make us a damn fortune, cuz ya always hear 'bout how tha econ'my is slow right now, an' maybe some ways it is, but I tell ya, ya woul'n't b'lieve how quick folks'll drop down two grand fer a dog, man, folks pay thousan', fifteen hundr'd, two thousan', just like that fer a good dog, see it's all 'bout findin' yerself a niche, an' tha's what I got here with these bulldogs, but I tell ya it comes down to tha breed, like I stick with tha Scottish bulldogs on 'count a the fact that they more reliable, like the French bulldogs ya gotta get a white one, a all white one with a li'l black mask on the eyes, cuz those're the ones folks'll pay two grand for, but they hard to get, an' the other colors well they the 'xact same dog but don' matter, ya can't kick them things out tha door fer more'n seven, eight hundr'd, mostly on 'count a that Steve Martin movie, had one them all white ones in it now everyone wants one, but like I said that's a risk fer breedin' on 'count how rare them white ones is, so I stick to the Scottish bulldogs they more reliable, an' even those, folks'll pay a thousan' dollars fer one, ya know L'isiana's a poor state, but ain't no shortage a rich folks lined up to pay a helluva lotta money for a damned dog, but it's fine by me, I can pull in sometimes thirty grand just in dog breedin' and I know a guy down in Texas, he make three hundr'd thousan' a year on dog breedin', course he got employees an' all that, 's a real operation, but goes to show ther's money to be made, my wife she used to laugh at me but we just bought us 'nother place out in Miss'ippi so she ain't laughin' 'bout it now, 'cept when I told 'er I know this guy, he's a 'ttorney, he tellin' me 'bout monkeys, sayin' tha's where tha real money is, in damned monkeys, like you know that show "Friends" with tha folks all live together an' they hadda monkey on that show, li'l black 'n white Capuchin monkey, 'swhat ther called, Capuchin, an' let me tell ya ther's a waitin' list, folks'll wait for a whole year just fer one'a them buggers, 'n then drop six thousan' dollars on it, an this 'ttorney, he tellin' me about travelin' to Brazil, I say 's funny ya mention Brazil, cuz tha's where them monkeys is from, an' ya know ya can get a whole island, a whole damn island all ta yerself down in Brazil fer six hundr'd thousan' dollars, tha's it, six hundr'd thousan', an I sez hell, man, get us a island 'n we fill it fulla monkeys an' ship those li'l buggers back up here, make us a damn fortune!"

From there the one-way conversation looped back into the ins and outs of bulldog breeding, and back to monkeys, and then into his car troubles, and then the weather, and then crime rates in Chicago versus those in New Orleans. My only contribution throughout was an occasional "huh," or "really?" as I prayed that he would just shut the fuck up for a moment. Thankfully, our arrival at the airport finally ended my suffering.

I am recounting all of this now from the airplane, which has thus far proven maddeningly devoid of interesting diversions. It is 8:30am and I still haven't slept a wink, nor do I intend to - airplane sleep isn't particularly satisfying, anyway. And besides, I have by some miraculous accident been upgraded to first class, and I am going to enjoy it as much as possible. If you've ever flown first class, you have an idea of how ridiculous the whole concept is. It is rooted in an outdated notion of luxury travel, where somehow a simple feat of transportation is expected to mirror the experience of a five star restaurant. For example, I was just presented with an unexpected breakfast of fresh fruit, yogurt, and a warm croissant. Before she brought the food, however, the stewardess pulled out my tray table and laid a tablecloth upon it. A TABLECLOTH. Then the meal was presented, complete with silverware wrapped in a cloth napkin - you know, just like they do at classy restaurants, like Red Lobster. Although here, the silverware was even chilled. Red Lobster can't step to chilled silverware. Meanwhile, the peasants back in coach are nibbling on a pint-sized portion of stale peanuts.

It's easy to get carried away with feelings of superiority when you're sitting in first class. The best part is the boarding of the flight, when you are the first to be seated because your first class ticket has declared you United Airlines royalty, and that's just how it works. So you're already comfortable in your big spacious leather seat, and you get to watch the cattle call of second-rate travelers fumble past you on their way to the depressingly cramped coach cabin. I like to really play up how comfortable I am, as they pass by. I grin gleefully at them as I kick my shoes off, sip some of the orange juice that's already been brought for me, and spin the little wheel of my iPod, deciding what I'm going to listen to while I wait for them to finish bickering about overhead storage space and settle into their tiny little cheaply-upholstered seats. Sometimes I even give them a little wink, as if to say, "have fun in the ass of the plane, commoner!" Never mind that I have flown coach for the past eight hundred flights I've been on - when you're in first class, the false superiority seems to swell up out of nowhere.

Of course, at the same time it's impossible not to feel a bit ridiculous in first class. Call me crazy, but the way I see it, you are on a plane to get from point A to point B. You do not need hot towels, or tablecloths, or a glass of Chardonay, or a gourmet meal. You need a reasonably comfortable seat, an occasional beverage, and the increasingly rare ability to keep yourself entertained for a few hours. But all of these snotty middle-aged businessman around me, they couldn't possibly fathom taking a trip without having the luxuries of home every step of the way. And maybe I'm just bitter because my peers up here in first class are tremendously boring, and make for inexplicably dull people-watching. The man seated next to me, for example, looks almost exactly like the dad from "Alf" - a balding, wormy fellow with a Muppet voice and a Grandpa attire of khakis and grays.



He is reading a book about the Book of Revelations, and underlining scattered quotes on each page. I will say that although I find the concept of Bible study about as significant as studying a dead dog's anus, I will give Alf-Dad credit for picking the best chapter of the book, by far. For my own part, I am reading an interesting book about the Bush administration's unprecedented manipulation of the media and its employment of half-truths and strategic public relations tactics to distort facts and guide public opinion. Now really, how fucking smart does that make me sound? Never mind that at the beginning of the flight I was playing Gameboy and eating gummy bears.

It is clear to me, and to the other passengers, and also to the stewardesses, that I do not belong in first class. Alf-Dad tried to mask his expression of horror when I took the seat next to him. He probably thinks I snuck up here from coach. Either way, he's a dreadful bore. During my fresh fruit breakfast, I was pulling at the batch of grapes with my fork, and I accidentally catapulted one of them right into Alf-Dad's scrambled eggs. I burst out laughing when it happened - it was just one of those things you have to laugh at, even as I was apologizing - but Alf-Dad just sneered at me and carefully removed the grape, and continued eating. I hope Alf eats your cat, dickbag.

Tonight I'm going to go see "Anacondas: Hunt For The Blood Orchid." And it's going to fucking RULE.

The Möbius strip of irony.

Today I encountered something that blew my mind. It appears that irony has reached a breaking point. Everything that has been building up in hipster culture over the last few years has now, suddenly and violently, collided into a pinnacle of irony so mind-boggling that hipsters will be studying it for years, desperately yearning to glean the smallest bit of wisdom from it; to bow down, small and insignificant, in its ironic glory. To know in their heart of hearts that nothing in their most fertile dreams could ever match its irony, and yet to never stop dreaming... because hope, my friends, springs eternal.

Complexity can be found in the simplest of places, and genius is often the result of accidents. And as it turns out, the new milestone of irony was discovered just a few clicks away from the very page you are reading right now. Which is, in and of itself, ironic.


So take a deep breath, and prepare yourself. The most complex example of irony that ever there was and ever there will be...




Is this image from the Neighborhoodies® catalogue:






Don't just look at it: Study it. Absorb it.


Read the caption. The caption is very important.




The layers of irony in this image run so deep that it may be well beyond my own lifetime before they are fully understood. The irony loops back upon itself over and over again, twisting and repeating, creating a veritable Möbius strip of irony.



I will attempt to break it down for you as best I can, but you must forgive my blasphemously primitive analyzation of a puzzle so labyrinthine; for I am but a student, and I have much to learn. Students of God have spent lifetimes in pursuit of His true nature, only to die with many questions left unanswered. Such it shall be with The Neighborhoodies® Catalogue Image.

The guy in the photo has a hip ironic haircut, and is standing in the very ironic location of Central Park, with an ironic smirk on his face, wearing a hip ironic Neighborhoodies® t-shirt (size small), which says "die hipsters die," the most ironic thing a hipster could possibly choose to display on his t-shirt. It suggests that he himself is not hip, and yet he is being incredibly hip, although irony is kind of last year anyway, which makes him unhip, which is hip. Unless he's over irony and by embracing it he's just being retro, which is very hip, and also ironic, which might make it unhip, because irony is over, and irony has become ironic anyway! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

That in and of itself is irony the likes of which hipsterdom has never seen. But there's more. Let us expand outside the context of the photo, and consider its caption. The caption's tone is ironic, and even "baby blue Gothic" is ironic. It's all made even more ironic by the fact that it was written without a hint of irony. This is all accidental, and that strengthens the irony tenfold. Consider then that the entire concept of fucking "Neighborhoodies®" is founded in irony, and the unintentional irony therein runs deep as well (mass-marketing indie fashion statements, et al), and add to that I found this image through a Neighborhoodies® advertisement on MySpace, the biggest hipster convention on the internet, and a festering cesspool of irony.

What does this all mean? It means that irony is dead. We've reached the end. Everything has collided right here, and created a black hole of irony. And that's all kind of ironic.

It's times like this I want to go live in a cabin in Montana and grow vegetables using my own feces as manure.

Which would be so totally ironic.

2004: The Year Of The Ego!

It's good to be me in 2004. That's my hip new motto. In fact, it's fucking unbelievably great to be me.

You see, it's already May now, and I've still been living in 2003. Carrying on thinking self-deprecation is still hip. I was so unhip you'd think I was reading *last* month's NME! How embarrassing! But no more. Now I'm a trendsetter. I'm ridiculously fucking impossibly cool. 2004, my friends, is the year of the ego, and I knew about it before you did.

That's right, self-depreciation is out like a fat kid in dodge ball. It's as last year as Jack White in a Von Dutch trucker cap spinning electroclash at Pianos. Dead and bloated, people. Now it's all about having a giant swollen ego. It's about oozing with over-confidence. Self-appreciation.

I actually have to give my dear friend Ruthie proper credit for catching me up on this, and thank God she did, or I might have continued to make witty self-depreciating remarks without realizing how incredibly unhip I was being. Now it's all about talking like you're the coolest person on earth. Crushing people with your superiority. Reminding the world that you're the best fucking thing to happen to humanity since dicks and pussies. Even though you're not. Because I am. And you can't accuse me of being egotistical when I say shit like that. I'm just fashionable. In fact, I'm so fucking fashionable it hurts.

I'm writing this to give you all a little inside word on the next big thing, because I'm in tune with the underground like that. So next time your friend complains that she's fat, you tell her "self depreciation is so 2003. Get hip, fatty." And then remind her that you're the hottest fucking person on the planet, ever, and she could travel the world until the end of time and never find a finer example of raw sex appeal. Because that's cool.

The side effect of this is a tremendous boost in self esteem. How are you ever going to feel bad about yourself if you're constantly telling everyone that you're the sexiest shit they've ever laid their unworthy eyes on? How are you gonna hate on yourself if your own attention to current trends forces you to believe that you're a perfect human specimen, a flawless masterpiece of cool, a shimmering golden turd on God's big terrestrial toilet called earth? You're not. Because you're going to feel fucking great, AND you're going to be trendy as a mother fuck.

So please, when you're updating your Myspace list of favorite bands today to reflect whatever lump of shite Pitchfork is trying to shove down your throat, be sure to remove any self-depreciating comments from your profile. If you have phrases like "im such a dork" or "i look like shit" as captions for your photos, they need to be replaced with "jesus fucking christ on a crumpet i almost cracked the mirror in this picture, because i'm so unbelievably fucking insanely gorgeous, holy wet fuckballs i want to rape myself until i bleed i'm so goddamn hott."

Oh, and the more extreme you take it, the cooler you are. It's all about extremes. So when I tell you that I'm a fucking genius for writing this, that's not going far enough. On the Pitchfork-o-meter, that only makes me Von Bondies cool, not Franz Ferdinand cool. If I want to step up to NME cover story off-the-fucking-charts cool, I need to say "Holy monkey-fucking fartbiscuits, I'm such a ridiculously fucking brilliant human being, if I skull-fucked Stephen Hawkings I'd triple his IQ just by splattering his inferior brain with the DNA from my super-human genius sperm. FUCK!" See, now that is cool.

Goddamn I rule.

My totally awesome collection of stupid links, volume one!

Okay, so it probably doesn't come as a surprise to anybody that I have a rather large collection of fun, bizarre, disturbing, and downright stupid internet links. So since some of you are as bored at work as I often am, I figured I'd share the fun with you. Not all at once, mind you, but rather I shall sprinkle these internet gems throughout my journal like a fine potpourri, providing you with mindless entertainment when you least expect it. So here's the first round of totally awesome stupid links:

Overdubbed G.I. Joe Cartoons - Perhaps one of the funniest things I've ever seen. If you haven't already watched these, do yourself a favor. Watch them all, they get more abstract as they go along.

X-Entertainment - Hundreds of funny reviews and articles about obscure 80's toys, commercials, food products, etc. Really fantastic site. They even have an archive of old 80's TV commercials.

Bloodninja's Mis-Adventures in Cybersex - Chat transcripts of some guy propositioning girls for cyber sex and then totally fucking with them. "Rhinos don't play games, they fucking charge your ass." Brilliant.

The Ballad Of Bilbo Baggins - A music video from the '60's of Leonard Nimoy (Spock) singing a song about Bilbo, the hobbit. Featuring go-go dancers with fake elf ears. Definitely drugs involved. Terrifyingly bizzare.

Breast Pals - This woman paints really awful paintings with her boobs. Not *of* her boobs - WITH her boobs. I'm not even kidding.

Engrish.com - A gallery of Japanese products and advertising that have hilarious broken English. They have great Engrish t-shirts, too.

The Pasta Log - This motherfucker is meticulously archiving every type of pasta dish in the world. When I sometimes think maybe I don't have a life, I go visit this guy.

8-Bit D&D - A bizarre little flash movie that uses old video game characters to make fun of Dungeons & Dragons nerds. Pretty funny.

Butt Machine Boys - This website is devoted to guys who get fucked in the ass by giant machines that violently pump a dildo back and forth with a motor. Includes such memorable quotes as "The machines pounded his hole into a red oozing mass of edible man flesh." Not for the faint of heart.

Mega64 - These dorks make little movies of themselves re-enacting video games in real life. Watch the Tetris one, it's so goddamned stupid it's funny.

Black People Love Us! - Ha ha.

Kaba Kick - A fun new Japanese toy: Russian Roulette for kids. Gotta love the Japanese.

The Niles Monorail Tour - This sad, sad little man has built a working monorail system in his backyard, and he has a pictoral tour of the whole thing. Be sure to look at all the pages, it just gets more and more pathetic.

Aliens Among Us - This is a list of celebrities and government officials who are actually aliens in diguise. Danny from NKOTB?? Not Danny!! These people are really serious about this.

How Was She? - A site where guys can post pictures of girls they've fucked, and rate how good they were on a detailed scale as a sort of public service for future guys who might be considering fucking said girl. Misogyny at its finest.

Wrap It - Really funny European commercial.

The Subservient Chicken - A guy in a chicken costume obeys your commands. Type in "run," or "dance," or "eat," for example.

Mantits.org - Erotic gallery of men with boobies. So gross.

Here Fishy Fishy - Amusing video clip. Just watch.

The Happy Tree Friends - Cartoon series about adorable little fuzzy animals getting violently maimed.

Japanese Vending Machines - A gallery of all the bizarre types of vending machines found in Japan. Toilet paper machines, used panty machines, etc.

Badgers - I can't stop watching this. It's so fucking stupid...

Enjoy!

Spider-Man's Ultra-Sexxxy Dance Moves! Jacko Eat Your Heart Out!

So, today I got the coolest toy: An 18-inch, ultra-articulated Spider-Man action figure, and I discovered very quickly that Spidey can pull off some fucking hott dance moves.

You're about to get served.

Bitch.



Yeah, I was bored today.

The Fellowship Of The Dorks

I love going to big genre films on opening day and being amongst the hardest of hardcore nerds. Not only does it help build excitement for the movie, but you can't ask for better pre-show entertainment than standing in line with a bunch of pimply-faced miscreants adorned in costumes apparently borrowed from the wardrobe department of a kindergarten play. And as such I present you with The Fellowship Of The Dorks, who I had the pleasure of observing for a good forty-five minutes while waiting in line for "Return Of The King" yesterday:



The girl on the left with the bald cap is meant to be Gollum. Gandalf, meanwhile, is looking more like Moses as a janitor. The guy in the back with no discernable Middle Earth attire was holding a pair of plastic lightsabers. Apparently he thought he was coming to see "Return Of The Jedi." And sadly, I didn't get a picture of Gimly the bearded dwarf, as played by a freckly fat kid with a cardboard helmet and what looked like a raccoon tail taped onto his face. But my favorite, by far, is Legolas, the hunky, questionably heterosexual blonde-haired elf warrior, recreated here by way of a kid in a Robin Hood costume with A MOP ON HIS HEAD. Have a closer look:



Goddamn I love going to the movies.

Stream-of-consciousness from an airplane.

I was on an airplane the other day, and in an effort to curb my boredom I started typing everything that was going through my head during the flight. The results are as follows:

I'm on an airplane right now, and the guy next to me is a stinky hippie. Dirty, stinky, filthy. With long, blonde-red hair, and a scruffy blonde-red mustache-goatee thing. He's the person you'd see coming down the aisle and think "please don't sit here, please don't sit here, please don't sit here..." Well, he sat here. He looks a bit like a terrorist. Not a "You will be judged by Allah!" terrorist, but more of a Ted Kaczynski confused and isolated, saving his poop in jars type of terrorist. He's wearing a patterned tunic type thing. You know, those things that hippies wear. And loose-fitting, sky blue fifteen dollar K-Mart jeans. His ratty old guitar case is taking up most of the space in the overhead compartment. It's probably filled with his poop jars. He dutifully watched the entire airplane safety demonstration, as if, in the event of a disaster, any of us have a chance of ending up in some condition other than incredibly dead.

Sitting to my right is what must be an upper east side family - two sisters, it would seem, and their mother. One of the sisters is a "hot mom" thirty-something type, perfectly groomed and impossibly fit, wearing those type of sweat suits that rich people somehow think are okay to wear in non-jogging environments like, say, an airplane. I guess they couldn't be too rich, though, if they're flying jet blue. The mother, probably 60, has a bleached tower of hair which she clearly thinks is stylish but but is hilariously out of touch. Like Morrissey as an old woman.

The Smurfs is on TV, and it reminds me of being a kid and firmly believing that, if I searched hard enough, I could find Smurfs in the forest, living in little mushroom houses. The little cages that Gargamel keeps the Smurfs in have gaps between the bars at least twice as wide as the Smurfs themselves. They could walk right out of the cage with no effort, but they're standing there, hopelessly holding the bars, apparently convinced that they are imprisoned. It's really ruining the tension of the whole situation. The terrorist keeps looking over at my computer. He's probably wondering why I'm typing in illegibly small font. Well, Mr. Poopsaver, it's because I'm exposing the horrible truth about you and your feces jars and ill-conceived plans of government opposition. Now I'm channel surfing. Holy shit, Telemundo has the most amazing sitcoms. Do you think Vanity Smurf was gay, or just metro? I never realized how insanely fucking queer he acts. I would say, in light of the Smurf Village male-to-female ratio, Vanity is probably smoking bone, and not just suspiciously flamboyant. Here's what I believe to be the breakdown of gay and straight Smurfs:

Straight: Jokey, Lazy, Handy (probably homophobic, i get a right-wing vibe from this one), Clumsy, Farmer (probably some experimentation under his belt, but I'd say he's straight at the end of the day), Harmony.

Gay: Vanity (flower in the hair? please.), Hefty (overcompensation), Tailor (anyone who came up with tights and no shirt as a standard Smurf outfit must be a little light on his feet), Painter (art fag), Poet ('nuff said), Baker.

Closeted, probably for life: Brainy

Self-hating fag: Grouchy (denial, denial, denial)

Pedophile: Papa Smurf (notice how he's always hanging out with the little kid smurfs?)

Okay, so Poopsaver has gotten his little mid-flight snack, a bag of "Munchies." Have you seen these? It's a delicious mix of Cheetos, Doritos, Sun Chips, and pretzels. Crazy, you say? It could never work, you also say? Not so, friend. It's quite scrumptious! Anyway, so with such a bold assortment of snack foods all mixed together, you wouldn't expect someone to be eating it meticulously, ONE PIECE AT A TIME. But yes, this is what Poopsaver is doing. And thank God for my headphones, because he's crunching really loud, and at this rate he'll be working on that tiny little bag for the rest of the flight and still have some left for the ride home. There's something sacrilegious, and, dare I say, downright un-American about defiling a snack food compilation by reducing it to its individual parts. It's got terrorist written all over it, the lot of it.

Holy shit! BRUM! There is a disturbing and amazing children's television show called "Brum," about a little old-fashioned car - named Brum - with headlight eyes, who helps people out in their times of need, and also catches robbers. This is all live-action, it's not animated. So Brum is a little mechanical car, which basically drives around and bumps into things as its means of saving the day. The crooks are always exaggerated, goofy, "Home Alone" style incompetent thieves who slip on marbles and banana peels. You can almost feel the pain on the actors' faces as the dreams they had in acting school go up in smoke. The show is also Australian, which adds an extra layer of strangeness to it. There's a voice-over by a child with an Australian accent saying things like "Way to go, Brum!" and "You never give up, Brum!" and "Oh no! Catch those thieves, Brum!" and "You're a heeeerrroooo, Brum." But all of this is inconsequential, really, compared to the song. Oh, the Brum song. There is a song that plays at least twice during the show, it's the Brum theme song. And all the the townspeople, their faces aglow with impossibly wide children's programming smiles, do this unbelievable dance number as Brum, hero that he is, drives around and struts his stuff, like he's such hot shit. The only time I have ever seen this show, prior to now, is during fits of insomnia, as it generally tends to show up at 5:30 or 6 in the morning. And let me tell you, when you're delirious from lack of sleep and the sun is rising on your fourth hour of mindless channel surfing, nothing is more unnerving and hilarious than a bunch of goofy, colorfully-clothed Australian people jumping around and singing about a car with eyes. I encourage you all to watch it.

Al Gore has amazingly awful hair.

Poopsaver has now emptied the contents of his "Munchies" bag onto a napkin, apparently in the interest of working around one particular type of snack. At the moment I can't tell if it's the Sun Chips or the Doritos he's not interested in, but I'll be keeping a close eye.

I just had an interesting experience at the lavatory. I went back there to find myself second in line, behind a middle-aged man wearing a sweatshirt for some sports team. As I stood there, waiting, he turned to me and asked if I had to go number one. This he did with one finger held up to me, to further illustrate his query. I was a bit caught off guard, but I managed to answer yes. He told me to go ahead of him, into the vacant bathroom he'd been standing next to. So I did, and when I got out, he went in after me. It would seem, then, that he was hanging out back there, waiting to see if anyone needed to hit a quick number one before he dominated the facilities for what - with this much concern involved - must be a gargantuan dump brewing in his bowels. Imagine knowing ahead of time that you're going to cause such intense damage to a public toilet, that you actually stand around and let everyone else get their business done first, because you don't want to be rushed. If I feel "number one" calling again, I think I'm going to use the bathroom at the front of the plane. I don't want to know the horrors.

Surprisingly, Poopsaver has made it to the bottom of his snack bag (except most of the Doritos) and is now doing something peculiar: He is licking his finger and pressing it into the pile of leftover chip crumbs which are scattered on his napkin, then licking the crumbs off his finger. And don't think he's doing this quietly. There is a horrid slurping sound accompanying each serving of crumbs.

He's watching my TV, as if curious as to what's on the other channels but unwilling to part with the provocative lure of The Weather Channel on his own television. He must be waiting for the weather update for Bumfuck Nowhere, and he's afraid if he switches channels - even for a moment - he might miss it.

Fucking Christ, someone farted!!! Jesus. I think it was the old lady in front of me. I'm not going to blame Poopsaver for this one, I'm going to cut him a break.

I think I'm going to watch The Ellen Degeneres Show, because it's the type of show that I would never, ever, ever watch unless I was on an airplane with extremely limited entertainment options. Not unlike the one time on an airplane when I watched that Hugh Grant/Julia Roberts (could any team-up be more loathsome?) movie, in its entirety, without sound, and was able to follow the plot with no difficulty. Needless to say, it was an incredibly long flight. Oh, and The Ellen Degeneres Show is horrible. It's unwatchable. And I can't stop thinking about Ellen chin-deep in Tea Leoni's clam sauce. Wait, it wasn't Tea Leoni, was it? Who is Tea Leoni? And if she didn't chow beav with Ellen, who did? What was that chick's name? She was in that movie with Harrison Ford, right? That was an awful movie, I'm disappointed in Harrison for being a part of it and more disappointed in myself for, somehow, seeing it.

The hot mom has a hot ass. And I think I just got busted checking it out. Nice.

The old woman in front of me, who I believe to be the culprit of the ultra-stinky fart, had to get up out of her seat to let her husband out. But she's one of those people who gets out of her seat, but does not sit down. Instead, she stands in the aisle waiting for her husband to return from the bathroom, presumably in an effort to save herself the trouble of sitting down and then back up and then down again. But I, curious fellow that I am, looked to the back of the plane and saw her husband at the tail end of a rather long line for the bathroom (presumably on account of sweatshirt guy's mega-dump, still in progress). Which means that fart lady is going to be standing in the aisle waiting for quite some time, and she already looks impatient. I want to tell her "sit down, fart lady. You've got a long time to wait! Trust me, I know what's going on in that bathroom." But really, what do I owe her? Did she think of my well-being when she squeezed out a stinker for the whole plane to enjoy? No, I think not.

Wow, the commercial for ADD is pretty arty. And, just for a second, there's a person wearing a scary bunny suit.

I'm back to watching poorly-produced children's programming. I would be endlessly delighted if I ever saw one of those snotty drama kids from high school on one of these shows, years after they left for LA in search of their "big break," now reduced to wearing floppy ears and crawling around on the floor, singing a smiley song about how fun it is to be a horse.

Dude, the old lady totally just ripped another one.

Ellen Degeneres. I know you're a lesbian, but you don't have to dress like one. I'm mad at myself for being kind of entertained by this show. Her next guest is Sarah Gilbert, who you may remember as Darcy... No, wait, it wasn't Darcy... What the fuck was her name? The moody daughter from "Roseanne." I always thought she was cool because she had rad comic book posters all over her room. And I was nerdy enough to recognize that they were all DC Comics characters, so there must have been some product placement shit going on. Or the company that owns ABC also owns DC. Which makes sense, because that Superman show used to be on ABC. Holy shit, Darcy got old. Wait, no, DARLENE. That was her name, Darlene. But she's still got the same high-pitched voice, like a teenage girl. Creepy. I wonder if she's a lesbian, too? The suit she's wearing is a little suspicious. Shoulder pads. I wonder if she got a carpet ride from Ellen backstage. Do you think Ellen shaves her bush, or rocks it au naturale? I'm going to say shaved, but not well. Little red bumps, I'm guessing.

HOLY SHIT, sweatshirt guy JUST got back to his seat. He's been shitting for like a half hour! He looks a little rough, I can't imagine things went well in there.

I just learned that big Barry Manilow fans call themselves Fanilows. I shit you not. Fanilows. It sounds like a type of horned animal.

FUCKING OLD NAVY COMMERCIALS. It's as if the creative team behind these hell-spawned commercials sat around together and said, "Let's see here... we've got BY FAR the most unbearably obnoxious ad campaign on television... What can we possibly do to make it even MORE annoying? Hmm.... Oh! I know! Let's get that chick from The Nanny! She's the only force in entertainment that comes close to our level of irritation power... If we join forces, we can DESTROY THE WORLD!"

So now Pink is on the Ellen show, and she's a fucking man, so maybe her and Ellen are going to make out. Also, the chorus of her new song is, "If God is a DJ, then life is a dance floor." I don't even know how to comment on that.

Oh good, we're landing. Time to turn off the laptop.