Exploring The Creation Museum - America's New Mecca of Fanatical Ignorance

[Currently Going To: Hell]



If you ask the average Christian what The Bible means to them, you're likely to get a wide variety of answers, but in most cases it's probably a somewhat personal thing. They identify with the stories, they regard the teachings of Jesus as guidelines for their lives, they believe He's their salvation, et cetera et cetera. Most would probably tell you that The Bible is a very important book to them - maybe the most important thing they've ever read. They would tell you it guides their daily lives, provides them hope, sculpts their sense of morality, et cetera, et cetera. What the majority of them would hopefully have a very hard time telling you, however, is that The Bible is meant to be interpreted as a literal history book. That every single word of it is a literal truth. Even the most devout Christian will likely tell you that the story of Adam and Eve is merely an allegory* - and they'd be right. It's a simple way of conveying the general Christian ideas of God's relationship with man, and the nature of sin. I suppose the original authors of the Old Testament may have believed it to be absolutely true, but to put that in context, the prevailing wisdom of the time was that God kept the sun in a boat full of deities who sailed across the sky every day trying to prevent said sun from being eaten by an evil serpent.

Thousands of years later, we've discovered that the sun is in fact a giant ball of gasses, and it doesn't sail across the sky, but merely appears to because our planet is (believe it or not) round, and constantly rotating. We've discovered all of this, and a lot more, very slowly over hundreds of thousands of years through the compounded knowledge of millions of people throughout history pooling their intellectual efforts in a meticulous process known as science. And it works. It works so well it has given us automobiles, electricity, space travel, modern medicine, video games, butt funnels, and the network of computers delivering this website to you right at this moment - all of which were developed in the thousands of years after The Bible was written by a persecuted ancient people desperate for supernatural intervention. Whether its authors were channeling the word of God or not is a debate for another day - but what we know, for a fact, they were not doing, is writing the literal history of the Universe. Well, most of us know that for a fact. The people who believe otherwise call themselves Young Earth Creationists.

Young Earth Creationists are a batshit-crazy sect of religious fanatics at the deep end of Christian fundamentalism, who believe that The Bible is, quote, "the history book of the Universe." They believe every word of The Bible is not only the word of God, but is absolute literal truth, and the only truth in the Universe against which all other truths must be compared. So, of course, a manmade concept like science is a flawed, malleable thing which must be twisted around in order to fit with the words of The Bible. The most brazen of modern Young Earth Creationists (YECs, for short) believe this can be done without compromising religion or science. What, then, does The Bible say about history? Well, among other things, it says that the world is roughly 6,000 years old, dating the dawn of man to a period of time rich with recorded history of the development of urban cultures and early technology. So not merely evolution, but all of our concepts of the earth being millions of years old, the lineage of dinosaurs, the ice age, early man, and the entire history of human civilization - all of that is horribly incorrect, according to the YECs. All of the evidence gathered over thousands of years to support the history of the world has been misconstrued by secular scientists to further the "evolutionist agenda." 99.9 percent of scientists and experts in relevant fields are apparently drastically, drastically mistaken, but a tiny group of blue collar yokels have it all figured out. Riiiiiiight.

YECs are a comically ignorant cult of horrendously misguided fruitcakes, but the problem isn't their ludicrous beliefs. For all I care you can believe that God is a space turtle who shits out the world every morning and eats it again every night, and one day the world will hatch open and the almighty Son of Turtle God will emerge from the placenta of the earth and vomit rainbows onto the true believers before carrying them on His back to the promised land of Turtopia. It's a free country, go nuts. The problem with Young Earth Creationists - and most all flavors of Creationists, for that matter - is that they have a disproportionately loud voice, and believe they need to fight back against the "lies" of science in the public sphere. They've introduced the less-crazy-sounding term "intelligent design," and their greatest achievement thus far has been creating the idea, in the media, in the government, and in the minds of many Americans, that there is a "debate" in regards to evolution. Scientists even fall prey to this, feeling the need to counter Creationist pseudo-science to defend the legitimacy of real science. Creationists are like internet trolls, shouting mindless garbage in caps-lock, baiting people who should know better into engaging them in debate. And like internet trolls, Creationists can never lose, because they've thrown logic and reason out the window so they can fight with their own set of nonsensical rules. But here's the thing: There is no debate. None at all. Evolution vs. Young Earth Creationism is not a debate any more than evolution vs. any of the world's thousands of other wildly varying creation myths. There are plenty of places to inject God into the scientific history of the Universe, if that's your thing, but six thousand years ago is not one of them. The earth was not made in six days. The important thing for rational people to grasp is not that they're on the right side of the argument, but that there isn't an argument to begin with, and we need to stop humoring these fundamentalist looney toons as if they have a place at the table table of civilized discourse, and instead focus on exposing them as the dangerous group of extremists they are. Picking and choosing which aspects of hard-won science you agree with is perilous territory, especially when the people who make our laws start to listen (you can dig a little deeper into my thoughts on all that here if you're so inclined).

With all that in mind, I'd like to take you on a shamelessly intolerant journey through the bizarro world of Young Earth Creationist pseudo-science, as we explore... The Creation Museum.



There's a fine line between faith and stubbornness. One can only imagine how difficult it must be for Young Earth Creationists, clinging devoutly to beliefs so outrageous even their fellow Christians won't back them up. As a Creationist parent, how do you explain to your curious children that their teachers are lying, their books are lying, their movies and TV shows are lying? How do you successfully indoctrinate a developing mind with your true version of history when everyone else seems determined to beat God's word to a bloody pulp and dance on its corpse? Well, the best way is to isolate yourself from common sense, restricting your child to Creationist literature, Creationist schooling, and now, The Creationist Museum.

For those of you who haven't heard about this yet (and I'm surprised how many people still haven't), The Creation Museum is the crowning achievement of religious stupidity - a shrine of ignorance that only America's chewy center could play host to. It's a $27 million dollar, 60,000 square foot state-of-the-art complex in Kentucky, designed to look and feel exactly like a science/natural history museum. It has elaborate dioramas of animals and nature, audio-visual presentations, animatronic dinosaurs, fossil replicas, diagrams of geological formations, and even a gift shop. But one small detail sets it distinctly apart from other science museums you've probably visited: There is not a single shred of science on display within its walls. Worse still, its very existence is a bold mockery of science itself.

The museum was built and privately funded by a group called Answers In Genesis, whose founder is a skeletal Australian crackpot named Ken Ham. Ham, as you can see in the picture on the left, looks like an evil Abe Lincoln and would seem very much at home eating human fetuses to sustain his life force. He was indoctrinated from birth with strict Creationist ideology, and has devoted his life to spreading the "true word of God" while waging war on evolutionary science, which he believes to be a termite infestation in the wooden foundation of a good Christian society. Ham thinks of evolution as a sort of "gateway drug" into the Godless world of secularism. After all, he argues, if you don't believe in The Bible's account of Creation, what's to stop you from taking liberties with The Bible's other teachings? Start thinking we all evolved from monkeys and pretty soon you'll be snorting crack, aborting babies, and doing all kinds of fag stuff (in other words, my typical friday evenings), and, well, there goes the neighborhood.

For someone who doesn't believe in evolution, Ham also looks remarkably like Dr. Zaius:


Here's an introduction to Ken Ham's Creationist crazytalk - this is a clip from a presentation Ham made for poor impressionable Christian children, doomed to play out their lives inside a dark chamber of ignorance. Watch how cunningly manipulative he is in his simplified discussion of science vs. The Bible:


Notice the condescending way Ham speaks to the children - as if they're pests he must deal with only because it's necessary to further his agenda. After all, no free-thinking adult would ever subscribe to any of this crap, so the lies have to be soaked into spongy pint-sized brains eager to believe anything they're told. That's the chief motivation behind Mr. Ham's pride and joy - the oily skidmark on the underpants of American reason that is The Creation Museum. I was recently in Kentucky on business and was fortunate enough to take a field trip out to this mecca of lunacy - and of course, I documented every step for your enjoyment.



Upon arrival at the museum, I didn't even have to get any farther than the parking lot to understand I was in hostile territory. We're talking Bush-voting, gun-toting, gay-fearing, redder-than-red state Bible Belt fundamentalism here. Nearly every car in the lot was speckled with Jesus fish, right wing slogans, yellow ribbons, and bumper stickers offering scary religious rhetoric. I had wondered if this museum would be a novelty, a quirky roadside attraction filled with as many snickering skeptics as devout fanatics - but it became quickly clear that indeed, this was a place built with passion for the true believers, here to soak up knowledge and explore a version of junk science that finally makes them feel sane in an insane world. It was my friend and I, the black-clad blue state secular heathens, who were noticeably out of place.

Outside the museum gates stands a large bronze dinosaur, setting the tone for one of the museum's main themes. Why dinosaurs? For one, they've been a huge problem for Young Earth Creationists: how can The Bible's creation story be true if there were giant lizards roaming the earth millions of years before mankind? Historically Creationists have sometimes resorted to thinking of dinosaur fossils as "tests of faith" placed by God Himself, but the Creation Museum revels in its acceptance of the ancient behemoths. They're real, they existed, and everything science has taught us about them is true. Well, except for one tiny little thing: Instead of existing a hundred million years ago, T-Rex and pals co-existed with humans when the earth was made six thousand years ago. Yes, dinosaurs and humans lived together, and the Creation Museum has all the "science" to prove it, including its own interpretation of fossil records.



From the very first exhibit, the museum's mission is clear: It knows the real truth, it's joyously unashamed of its beliefs, and it simultaneously welcomes skeptics and comforts believers by presenting a careful counterpoint to every contradicting piece of scientific evidence you could imagine. It does this by picking and choosing the parts of science it agrees with, and filling in the resulting gaping holes in logic with supernatural "just because" reasoning. It's all extremely convincing to its laymen visitors, who already want to believe and have neither the knowledge nor desire to question the faulty research. It's not a coincidence these beliefs appeal largely to uneducated simpletons: Much of the YEC's flawed logic is in line with Kirk Cameron's (hilarious) banana demonstration: Because the scientific reasoning is too convoluted to understand, God must have made it. The easiest way to understand why nature works as efficiently as it does is to just say it was designed that way. Every ounce of it shatters magnificently into pieces under even the gentlest scientific scrutiny, but none of that matters when all logic has been disregarded from step one. There is no way for rationality to win here - it's like trying to prove the sky is blue to someone wearing red-tinted glasses. It's never going to happen, so you might as well just sit back and enjoy sipping on the big fat glass of crazy they've poured for you. And remember: This is not a joke. It's not even a "what if," or a "Bible stories brought to life" type of deal. This is presented as absolute truth, as genuine science, and its hundreds of thousands of followers believe it as fervently as you or I believe in gravity or oxygen or The Force. ...Okay, the last one is just me.



The museum was extremely busy on a weekday afternoon, filled almost exclusively with the stone-washed jeans, tucked-in shirts, and patriotic colors of Wal-Mart brand families, who regarded my friend and me with raised eyebrows and icy stares. They probably thought we were gay, and were afraid they might catch it. They had all come from near and far to show their children the true word of God brought to life like never before, and yes, tots of all ages were prancing excitedly through the exhibits, enthralled with the elaborate set pieces and animatronic creatures. Indeed, one of the first things to see inside the museum walls is an animatronic dinosaur lurking in the bushes amidst man-made structures. A few feet away, a robotic child plays happily, unconcerned about the presence of a vicious reptilian carnivore:



The child is the type of nightmare-inducing hellspawn mutant only someone as creepy as Ken Ham could be pleased with - watch how fucking scary this thing is:


The cohabiting child and dinosaur animatronics are a reminder of the second, far more sinister motivation behind the museum's prominent use of ancient reptiles: kids love dinosaurs. If you have kids, or know kids, or ever were a kid (which seems likely), you know this firsthand. Kids are completely bonkers about dinosaurs, which makes brainwashing them with fundamentalist propaganda that much more difficult when they have to be told dinosaurs never existed. The Creation Museum changes all that, and it uses the fun of dinosaurs as a trojan horse for its dangerous brand of pseudo-science. It's all tailored very carefully to youngsters, and it's incredibly damaging in its presentation of science as a flawed string of fragile theories that can be manipulated as needed to conform to fringe beliefs. When parents indoctrinate their child with these kinds of ideas, and a "science" museum filled with exciting sights and sounds backs it up and answers every lingering question, that child is going to grow up with an extremely warped, frighteningly ignorant perception of the world, and have a very hard time making rational decisions later in life. The museum exists to nourish an unhealthy state of ideological war with the rest of society, and if all of its junior attendees grow up without ever having the opportunity to make their own decisions about religion and faith, then Ken Ham has succeeded marvelously.


Anyway, let's follow the museum's journey through the true history of the Universe, as told by The Bible's Old Testament. It all got started when God created the earth in six days. We've all heard that part. He created the land, the seas, all the animals, the birds, the fish, and the dinosaurs, and then, in His own image, He created the first man, Adam. Adam and all of the animals lived in Paradise - but what's any kind of Paradise without naked chicks? So God made Eve out of Adam's rib, and the two of them lived together in the Garden of Eden.

(click to enlarge, in case you hadn't figured that out by now)



They lived in harmony with the animals, including the dinosaurs, because all animals were herbivores in Paradise, and there was no violence, because there was no sin - which also made it perfectly okay for them to be naked all the time. Adam and Eve just hung out all day, naked, eating fruit and playing with their animal friends, and presumably with themselves. They kinda had it made. The only rule was they weren't allowed to eat fruit from this one tree, because, well, they just weren't. It was a bad tree with bad fruit. Seems like a dumb-ass thing to stick in the middle of Paradise, but at least God specifically told Adam to stay the fuck away from the bad fruit tree.

Then one day Satan showed up, in the form of a snake.



I guess security in Paradise was a little lax. Satan liked to hang out in the bad tree and fuck with Adam and Eve, taunting them with his delicious forbidden fruit.


Sure enough, Adam gave in, ate the fruit, and in doing so committed the first sin, thus fucking things up for all the rest of us for all of eternity (THANKS, DOUCHE). God was pissed, kicked Adam and Eve out of Paradise, and God Himself committed the first murder, killing an animal and skinning it to clothe Adam and Eve, because being publicly naked was no longer okay, and that's why Europe has way better beaches than America. The museum illustrates this scene in gruesome detail guaranteed to give children nightmares:



Emphasis mine.

With Paradise gone, everything got shitty. People were mean, they had to work to find food, they had to build shelter. Animals started eating other animals, dinosaurs were now terrible man-eating lizards instead of friendly pets, it rained, people started getting hang nails and paper cuts and diarrhea and bad breath and everything else that sucks about life - all because that cockbag Adam just had to have his fucking fruit.



It seems a tad harsh, punishing all of mankind for one asshole's mistake - but I guess God is like a jealous girlfriend: Her man gives in and tastes that forbidden fruit just once and she'll hold it against him forever. Maybe Dishwalla was onto something.

You know, now that I've been refreshed on the specifics of the whole Garden of Eden thing, I have a few questions I never would have thought of back in Sunday School, for any Creationists who might be reading. I guess I'm just a bit fuzzy on exactly how far the concept of "Paradise" extends:
- Did poop smell different in Paradise?
- Did Adam's balls get itchy in Paradise? Did he ever experience erectile difficulty? Did Eve get her, you know, monthly visitor? None of those things sound like Paradise to me, but The Bible isn't quite clear.
- Before sin entered the world, it was okay to be naked, but was it okay to masturbate? What about butt sex? Creampies? Bukkake? Coprophilia? None of those could be sins if there was no sin yet, right? How about ass-to-mouth? I really just can't see it being called "Paradise" if there's no ass-to-mouth.

Anyway, so humanity carried on for a while post-Paradise, on a steady decline now that it had to deal with murders and famine and herpes. People got so shitty with each other, it seemed, that our feisty Old Testament God wanted a clean slate, so He decided to flood the entire world, killing off everyone except a handful of true believers, led by a guy named Noah. Noah was told by God to build a big fucking boat to survive the flood, which we all know as Noah's Ark. At the Creation Museum, the Ark is presented in historical detail as matter-of-factly as a real museum might present the Apollo 1 or the Enola Gay.


An elaborate life-sized set piece illustrating the Ark's construction is complete with animatronic characters - among them Noah, who apparently wasn't just any Jew, but a cartoon New York Jew (from the future):


The next section of the museum displays models of the completed Ark as Noah loads it with two of each kind of animal in the entire world - including, of course, the dinosaurs:


Dinosaurs, naturally, were still around in Noah's time, and he was able to fit them on the Ark by choosing smaller juvenile dinosaurs. Obviously. But how did he get all these animals from around the world to line up and march calmly, single file, into his Ark? Well, God helped out with that part. Obviously. Creation "science" has a habit of following common sense until it hits a wall, then using divine intervention to explain the rest. How convenient.

So Noah and the animals boarded the Ark, and it rained for forty days and forty nights or whatever, flooding the entire world, leaving all the sinners to drown, but only after getting eaten by tigers, according to this diorama:


When I was looking at this particular display, a mother was standing next to me with her child, no older than two years. She pointed at this gruesome miniature scene and told her impressionable spawn, in a lullaby-soft tone, "Look at all the sinners, they're all dying because they didn't obey God. Look how sad they are! They're all dying! But Noah is okay in the Ark because he accepted God in his heart." Right. Get that toddler primed for a lifetime of God-fearing guilt. That's what a two year old should be thinking about, you fucking twatbag.

The museum spends a lot of time with the flood, because that's the YEC method of explaining more or less everything: fossils, continents, The Grand Canyon, the Ice Age, Mt. Everest, and any other geographic or atmospheric phenomena that would seemingly require thousands or millions of years in order to exist. It's such a perfect explanation for every fossil record ever discovered, that Ken Ham's little butt-pal Buddy Davis wrote a fun song about it - a cheerful little children's tune called "Billions Of Dead Things." Enjoy:


I don't know about you, but I'd find it just a tad morbid to hear my five year old singing songs about all the billions of dead things buried by a flood designed to kill all the sinners. But hey, I am a sinner - and a damned good one at that - so what do I know? Unfortunately, neither the song nor the museum offer any satisfying explain as to why a God who could create an entire planet and populate it with millions of species in less than a week would need such a convoluted plan to get rid of all the sinners.

When the flood was finished, Noah came off the Ark with all his animals, and God told them to "be fruitful and multiply," which meant, of course, that animals should just keep fucking until they rapidly transformed into a wide variety of new species, as illustrated in the diagram below:



You're probably looking at that diagram thinking it looks an awful lot like an animal evolving over millions of years. Um, no. This is a post-flood horse changing over a few thousand years. DUH! It's all explained very clearly in the fine print:


Right. See? Divine intervention. Oh, and what ever happened to dinosaurs? Well, they lived for a while, and then just kind of died out, as recently as four hundred years ago, like any other endangered species. The obvious evidence that dinosaurs were around even after the flood? Dragons! Obviously. Yes, dragon myths around the world were the result of real dinosaurs co-existing with man. They were hunted by King Arthur in Medieval England, and used Flintstones-style in Ancient China:


And there you have it. The real, true, history of the world. And if you don't believe it, well, the museum has a place for you, too. At one point, the Creationist history lesson takes a divisive turn, interrupted with a detour into, literally, "Sin City."



Visitors walk through a dark, eerily-lit alley, wallpapered with magazine articles chronicling the downfall of Christian values at the hands of a modern society that turned its back on God. Sirens wail, trash litters the corners, graffiti covers the walls - it's a fear-mongering, xenophobic red state portrayal of secular, crime-ridden urban wastelands like New York or Los Angeles, meant to embody everything that terrifies America's heartland. Broken windows look into broken secular homes, where screens display all-too-common scenarios of Godless teenagers getting pregnant, drinking, smoking marijuana. Sounds like a hell of a party to me, but apparently it's the work of Satan, and it's all because of the poison of evolutionary science, which is unsubtly illustrated in a laughably melodramatic scene where the giant wrecking ball of "millions of years" is shown smashing into the side of a church:


This is the Jack Chick brand of divisive, spook-show extremist Christianity that I would have been disappointed to see left out of the museum. After all, what's Christianity without a hearty dose of fear? In the cold concrete halls that follow, spooky sound effects of screams and fire accompany projections displaying the horrors of a sinful world: Drug addiction, abortion, natural disasters, Nazis, disease, poverty. Let me reiterate that Hitler and abortion seem to be treated as equally evil in this display. You can see the fear in the wide eyes of young children as they pass through these halls, their developing brains wiring the foundation for a lifetime at odds with anything perceived to be unChristian - science included.


Like all good museums, this one ends by dumping you into a gift shop. Here you'll find hundreds of t-shirts, books, and DVDs chock full of delusional YEC propaganda. The t-shirts weren't as ironically awesome as I'd hoped (Christians aren't exactly famous for their fashion sense), but naturally, I had to pick up a DVD. I found one designed for kids, a combination of lectures and songs presented by Ken Ham himself, carefully designed to cure your little ones of all rational thought. It's called "Dinosaurs, Genesis, & The Gospel," and it doesn't disappoint. You've already seen a couple clips from this idiotic masterpiece, but here's another collection of highlights for your enjoyment:


As fun as it is to laugh in jaw-dropped amazement at the idiotic ranting of a madman, there's a genuine danger in all of this that shouldn't be discounted: These people are fiercely indoctrinating their children, spawning new generations of fanatics who believe themselves engaged in a culture war with the world at large, and want to discredit science and change our laws to get their way. Being in a culture war with drug use and teen pregnancy is one thing, but when you set your cross hairs on science - that which is the foundation of every aspect of our modern lives, and the key to advancing our civilization and preserving our planet - suddenly religious tolerance has reached its limit. As rational people we must not be afraid to call these fanatics crazy - to trivialize them and dump them in the rubbish bin of culture alongside other dangerously deranged fringe groups. Young Earth Creationism, or even Intelligent Design, deserve not to be engaged in debate, not to be heard in government, but rather a spot in society's looney bin alongside Scientology, the Klu Klux Klan, NAMBLA, neocons, Juggalos, moon landing hoax conspiracy theorists, adult babies, and the RIAA. But don't think for one second I'm advocating the removal of a museum like this. Religious freedom is an important right, and as you can tell, I love indulging in some good ol' fashioned nutty religious pageantry - I just want to make sure that we, as a society, never ever allow this to gain any acceptance as a valid alternative to hard-won science.

On the way out of the museum, you can get your picture taken in front of a green screen, and purchase a souvenir photo of yourself inserted into one of several scenes from The Bible world history. Naturally, my friend and I chose the dinosaur scene. Here we are, reenacting the daily struggles of our ancestors:



For as wordy of an article as this is, it's all kind of summed up right there, isn't it?

*AUTHOR'S NOTE: Since this article was published, it has been brought to my attention in the very lively comments section that, as recently as 2004, 60 percent of Americans take the Bible's account of creation as literal truth. Not 60 percent of Christians - 60 percent of Americans. I now remember hearing this statistic at the time - apparently it caused enough mental trauma to warrant repression. I tried to give people of faith the benefit of the doubt in my assumption that most Christians subscribed to a brand of Creationism which adheres at least slightly to reality. This, it seems, was a drastic mistake. In reviewing this article, please disregard all references to Young Earth Creationism as "fringe," and emphasize all references to "bat-shit crazy."




If you liked this article, you might also like:
- Please Stop Making Fun of Scientology. No, Really.
- Don't Get Too Excited, Part Two: We're Still a Nation of Bigots
- Can We Please, as a Culture, Just Move On?
- Demonbaby's Election Day Hideous Patriotic T-Shirt Extravaganza!
- When Pigs Fly: The Death of Oink, The Birth of Dissent, and a Brief History of Record Industry Suicide

The Demonbaby Video Game Awards for 2007!

[Currently Listening To: Headlights - Some Racing, Some Stopping]



Better late than never, the video game awards are now up, with accolades for some of my favorite gaming moments of 2007, but mostly for a lot of things I thought sucked balls. Even if you're not into video games, you'll probably find something to laugh at here.

The Demonbaby Movie, TV, and DVD Awards for 2007

[Currently Listening To: Boy In Static - Violet]



The Demonbaby Awards for Movies, TV, and DVD are now up, highlighting some of my genuine picks for things I thought were great in the past year, but mostly making fun of things I thought were terrible. As before, a more extensive list of picks can be found in the Demonbaby Store's 2007 Favorites section.

In other news, the video game awards will be up tomorrow, and Mike Huckabee is a douche.

EDIT: Unfortunately the video game awards will be a day late, as I simply haven't had time. The good news is that Mike Huckabee is still a douche.

The First Annual Demonbaby Awards!

[Currently Listening To: Dirty On Purpose - Hallelujah Sirens]

It's that time of year when every website on the planet feels compelled to tell you what they think are the best and worst of the past year. I've always found the word "best" to be just a tad arrogant for these types of things, especially when dealing with highly subjective art forms like music or film. So, the other day when I decided it was about time for Demonbaby to leap shamelessly onto the "best-and-worst-of-2007" bandwagon, I figured I'd have some fun with it, and the First Annual Demonbaby Awards were born as an opportunity for me to honor the good, the bad, the really bad, and the ugly from the past year.

I've started with only one section, the Music Video Awards, which I guarantee is the only place you'll find the winners of the Best Performance Of A Klingon Hipster In A Music Video award and the Please, Punch Me In The Fucking Face award.

The other award categories - movies, TV, video games, etc - will be added over the next week, so check back on Monday for more, and in the meantime, you can peruse a ton of my favorites from 2007, and share your favorite music of '07 in the comments section of the Music Video Awards.

Weird Shit From Russia!

[Currently Listening To: Talking Heads - Remain in Light]



By now it's no secret that I spend a lot of time traversing the globe. I've been to a lot of countries, and seen the type of cool shit you expect to see in foreign lands - old buildings, exotic food, etc. But since I'm always traveling on business, finding myself in major cities with little time to thoroughly explore, my favorite way of discovering other countries has been to mine them for weird shit. The States have become such a wasteland of blandness, such a vapid expanse of corporate sameness, that any opportunity I can find to score some strange foreign crap is more than welcome. To that end, something I often find dismaying about the world outside of America (here's a handy map for those of you confused as to what that might be) is the alarming lack of weird shit. The angry beast of globalization has spread its red-white-and-blue blandness across the earth with insatiable aggression, ensuring that in exotic-sounding places like, say, Budapest, where I am right now, there's still a Burger King down the street, The Simpsons Movie at the local cinema (in English), Coke Zero in the vending machines, and "My Humps" playing loudly on the radio. Like cultural HIV, America continues to spread unfettered.

I love Japan because it's one of the few places I've been to whose uniqueness seems impervious to the American disease, managing to filter U.S. influence through its own bizarre cultural lens and present it as something entirely its own. And for the same reason, it was a pleasure to recently visit Russia for the first time, and find with much relief that there still is some weird shit in Europe after all (although the rest of Europe likes to exclude Russia from the precious title of "European," geography places Moscow and St. Petersburg firmly within the boundaries of the European continent).

To an American, Russia seems a strange and backwards place - a country struggling to get its shit together after centuries of chaos and turmoil. Things don't seem to work the way they should, no one seems to have discovered deodorant, and you are warned from the beginning that corruption is rampant: Stay inside the main cities, because more or less anything goes in the outskirts, and you're likely to be kidnapped. Keep your passport on you, because if you get stopped by the corrupt police and don't have it, they might kidnap you. Don't take taxis, because many of them aren't real taxis, and they'll kidnap you. We had to fly from Moscow to St. Petersburg instead of driving, because on the country highways, sometimes you'll find a broken down truck blocking the road. Stop and get out to help, and you'll be met by men with guns, who will kidnap you. Kidnapping is apparently all the rage in Russia. It's also, by its nature, a terrifying concept, mostly because it's so vague. The term "kidnapping" describes only the act of being taken away itself, and leaves the rest of your life after that point open to any sort of possibility. Will you get killed? Anally raped? Held for ransom? Sold into prostitution? The future is an open book! With all of that in mind, I stuck to the central parts of Moscow and St Petersburg, and found them to be refreshingly nice places, especially for a country that completely collapsed a couple decades ago. Sure, you can't drink the tap water, but come on - baby steps.

So now, sit back, and let me now take you on a wonderfully xenophobic tour of the strangest moments from my extremely brief and limited Russian experience. For your enjoyment, I've decorated this post with deliciously homoerotic stickers I found of this mulleted Russian pop star. Mullets, by the way, are still high fashion in Russia. Anyway, let's begin...

The People.................

There are a handful of stereotypes about Russian people, and at least one of them is true: those fuckers like to drink. As soon as they get off work - and sometimes before they get off work - they flood outdoor gathering areas and chug beer and vodka on the streets like there's no tomorrow. On my first night in Moscow, while walking through an underground passage near Red Square, my friend and I encountered an absurdly drunk Russian dude, dancing to terrible techno music and shouting loudly. He was wearing one of those big furry Russian hats, and his shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his pasty, sweaty gut, which jiggled as he danced. This is him:



He leapt in front of me and yelled something about Russia. He seemed to desire some sort of response, but I can understand Russian about as well as I can menstruate, so I was clueless. In a situation like that, what else could I do? I handed my camera to my friend, and started an impromptu Russian dance party. Homeboy put his big furry Russian hat on me, and for approximately forty five seconds, we partied like few have partied before. Scope the unbelievably hot dance moves:



That was pretty much the high point of my entire time in Russia.

The Food.................

I'm still not exactly sure what exactly constitutes Russian food, but expectedly, meat plays a heavy role. So how could I pass up a restaurant with an incredibly straightforward sign like this one?



As soon as we saw that, there wasn't really any other option for lunch that day. Inside, the waiters wore strange fur hunting outfits, and every wall was decorated eerily with dead animals and primitive weapons. The whole place was a sort of morbid celebration of carnivores where animals stared at you while you ate their relatives. Near our table were creepy squirrels on the wall, and a genuinely terrifying wolf:



The selection of meat on the menu was no less bizarre than the decorations:



I was going to avoid stating the obvious, but fuck it: "Beaver with cowberry sauce" might be the best new euphemism for a menstruating vagina since "muff marinara." And of course, I tried it. When it Rome, right? Bear was actually my first choice, but they were out. Big rush on bear. So beaver it was. You're probably wondering what cowberry sauce is, and I'm afraid that after eating it I'm no closer to having an answer for you. I can, however, assure you that beaver meat is without question the most nauseatingly awful thing I have ever had the misfortunate of putting in my mouth. I've eaten some gnarly shit in my time, and I have a seemingly iron-clad stomach when it comes to weird food, but this time I nearly puked before the meat even hit my throat. It was impressively terrible. It tasted like disease. Like pure, miserable death. Pretty much what I imagine rat meat tastes like. So, lesson learned: If you ever see beaver on the menu and you're feeling adventurous (or just want an excuse to make a sophomoric sexual pun), don't do it. You will be very sorry. Try the wild boar instead.

The Arts.................

One of my favorite things in Russia is how they've adapted the beloved tradition of the matryoshka - the Russian nesting dolls - for the 21st century. In Russian souvenir stands, the variety of hand-painted matryoshkas ranges from quaint and traditional to utterly, fantastically bizarre. Consider, for example, my new prized possession, the George W. Bush Russian Doll - complete with the "I'm a fucking tool" cowboy hat that characterizes our great President so very well:



That's just the beginning, though. Strangely, Osama Bin Laden has been immortalized in Matryoshka form, with other terrorists and dictators nesting inside him:



You can also find dolls for various Soviet dictators, British and French politicians, and even a Bill Clinton matryoshka with a doll inside for each of his many women. None of them, however, can compete with the selection of dolls from the music world:



The greatest compliment I can give the Russian artisans who created this unique masterpiece is that they have captured with alarming accuracy the spiritual essence of Freddie Mercury's overwhelming gayness. You can almost smell the butt sex. Here's another stunning masterpiece:



When I was a wee child, if a magical fairy had come down from the stars and told me that some day, my journey through life would somehow bless me with a genuine traditional matryoshka doll adorned with a hand-painted portrait of Jon Bon Jovi in all his trashy 1980's glory, and that if I cracked him open it would reveal yet another doll featuring Richie Sambora's stupid fat face, I would have said "No, magical fairy, you are a liar, for I could not imagine a life so good for myself." And yet, here I am. But alas, it gets even better. For even as I delighted in the glory of the Bon Jovi Russian doll, I knew not that my next discovery would be...

THE MANY FACES OF MICHAEL JACKSON RUSSIAN DOLL PLAYSET (OR: THE GREATEST THING EVER CRAFTED BY MAN):


Look at it! Feast upon its greatness!! My favorite part is how only the last and tiniest doll portrays Michael when he was still black.

If my funds had been unlimited, I probably would have bought every bizarre Russian doll the country had to offer. Some of the other ones I saw included Britney Spears, Elvis, Metallica, Kobe Bryant, Madonna, AC/DC, Depeche Mode, and many more.

Assorted Weird Shit................. Here are some miscellaneous photos of weird shit from Russia: These are some super cool Russian music dudes. Most importantly, check the terrifying guy at the top. He wants to eat your soul. It was really nice of Kevin Smith to lend a hand on the bongos, too.
Loosely translated, this Russian t-shirt says "I don't drink with gays." Tied with this for best Russian t-shirt ever.	Speaking of homophobia, it's ironic that the Russian police force, often criticized for violence and discrimination against gays, has "HOMO" written backwards on all their uniforms. LOL @ TEH HOMO PATROL!!!!1
I guess Jessica Simpson has fallen on hard times lately, as she's apparently been forced to take up work as a Russian escort.	This is my new favorite drink.
Here's a strange and incredibly unpleasant-looking trans-species stuffed animal, which I can't imagine has any effect other than to frighten children.	Look how tough this dude thinks he is with his Yoda tattoo.
This is a statue that was on the street. Children were getting their pictures taken with it.	Like Germany, there's a lot of highly questionable fashion in Russia. I saw more than a few women dressed like my Grandma's couch.

Well, that just about concludes our tour of Russia. I'm confident that it accurately represented all aspects of the entire country. If for some reason you want more, I took some arty tourist photos of Moscow and St. Petersburg and put them up here. They're actually very beautiful cities.

And before I go, please enjoy the unique musical stylings of an old Russian dude playing Celine Dion on a saw, interrupted by a strange dancing man:






EDIT: I can't believe I forgot about this - just a few hours after my tragic encounter with beaver meat, I saw this t-shirt at a souvenir stand. I have no idea what it says (my bet is on sexual innuendo), but it was so eerily appropriate I had to pick it up:

More Curiosities From Japan's Porno Shops

[Currently Listening To: UNKLE - War Stories]


Tokyo's Akihabara neighborhood is a sort of Mecca for consumerist nerds. Anyone obsessed, as I am, with toys and gadgets, electronics and video games, robots and action figures would be hard pressed to find a greater place to whittle away their life savings. Last month, I lost myself in Akihabara's endless neon labyrinth of awesomeness for many hours, dashing around wide-eyed like a kid in a candy store. Every corner I turned in every shop was a new discovery of some wonderful thing that I desperately needed more than anything else in the world, although I hadn't known it until then. I left that shiny paradise a much poorer man than I had entered - but I didn't leave it without another trip to the legendary seven-floor adult superstore I discovered two years ago on my last trip to Japan. And since the bizarre treasures I brought home from that trip proved so popular, I figured it's time for another round of show and tell from the the dark, horny underbelly of Tokyo.

It's unfortunate that the giant porn store doesn't allow photographs, because it's hard to capture the uniquely creepy atmosphere with words alone. I think most Americans feel a bit uncomfortable browsing any sex shop, but Japan turns the Weird-O-Meter up a few notches, especially in this store. As with any shop in Tokyo, space counts, so an impressive amount of merchandise has been Tetrissed into narrow little aisles. Any amount of foot traffic in the store makes it extremely difficult to move around, forcing you to silently negotiate an awkwardly physical passage with anyone in your way as you attempt to navigate the claustrophobic walkways. This means you'll have to acknowledge the Japanese businessman carefully studying a strap-on dildo far more intimately than you'd probably prefer.

To make things worse, the store is almost dead silent, except for the bondage floor, where the unnerving soundtrack is the signature high-pitched wail of a Japanese woman crying and screaming from horrors unknown. Unknown, at least, until you notice the television in the back corner, where said Japanese woman, her naked body dripping in hot wax, is being led around someone's basement on all fours by a leash. Her endless crying would seem to be the result of the thirty or so metal clamps attached mercilessly to exactly the last parts of one's body most people would ever choose to clamp. Behind the cash register, polaroid pictures cover the wall the way a New York deli would post pictures of celebrities who had stopped in for a bite to eat. Except, instead of pictures of the cashier giving thumbs up next to Jay Leno or Regis Philbin, these are pictures of the cashier tied up and ball-gagged, bent over with a leather-clad woman sticking various objects into his hairy Japanese ass. It seemed the photos were souvenirs from some sort of bondage party held by people who work at the store. I was never more thankful for the Japanese aversion to touching hands when exchanging money.

Unfortunately, most of the weird new treasures I found this time around were too expensive to buy, and I couldn't photograph them in the store. But alas, through the magical tubes of the internets I was able to find pictures and even links for almost everything I saw, so let's begin the tour...


The Plasma Sperm



The Plasma Sperm is a home microscope kit designed especially for men to view their little testicular tadpoles up close and personal. That's right boys - next time you blow a load all over your stomach looking at celebrity nip slip galleries, don't reach for that dirty gym sock - reach for the Plasma Sperm, and see how your little swimmers are holding up.



I actually bought one of these, but it was a gag gift for a friend, so I was sadly unable to personally test out this ingenious device. However, from the looks of it there seems to be nothing to differentiate it from any other home microscope, save the spectacular packaging.



Unable to read Japanese, I can't exactly tell you what their selling points are with this thing, beyond the irresistible novelty of seeing the would-be offspring you've sentenced to death by Kleenex. This website seems to be selling the Plasma Sperm as a cost effective tool for men with potentially low sperm counts who are trying to conceive a child. But since I don't know Japanese, I'll turn to Google's trusty translator for help:

"This actualizing price low with the contents which are the high function where also the professional is surprised! [sutairiishiyu] design the near future forum the [ku] the [ri] increases the intellectual search heart of the man immediately. In present! In experiment! In investigation! The door to the micro which participates with all scenes."

Ah, that explains it!


Strange Masturbatory Devices

Last time I told you (in way too much detail) about the popular Japanese "vagina-in-a-can," or Vagican, or Cangina as it was later coined. You can see a wide variety of Vagicans on this page. The Vagican is an unapologetically economical masturbatory solution, and thus lacks some of the bells and whistles of more elaborate artificial vaginas. That's where the Vagican Vibrator comes in:



Just insert your favorite Cangina into the machine, and instantly you have a vibrating Cangina! It's kind of like an erotic paint shaker. The translation calls it the "Electric Man," and the best part is that it's not just for Canginas - it's also for rubber hands, creating an amazing vibrating handjob machine:



Or if that looks a little too vanilla, try this uncomfortable-looking ball-grabbing device - I call it "The Clapper":




Anime Love Dolls

One of the more interesting new additions at the sex shop was a section of life-sized love dolls. Love dolls are a sex toy staple around the world, but like everything else, Japan adds its own creepy twists - like favoring plush dolls that look like pubescent anime characters:



The product page for this doll details its eerie face, which will be staring blankly through you as you make love to its unique interchangeable vagina. An interchangeable vagina, you say? How does it work? Once again, Google Translator explains:

When the underpants are made to disperse, the hole for hole installing opens. Because hole hole diameter 45×30mm is small, “the love body Kumi private hole” of selling separately is agreeable.

I see... But what I want to know is how do you wash something like this? It's plush, which is fabric, so there's going to be a certain amount of absorbency when it's exposed to, say, the various excretions of a profusely sweating overweight Japanese man crushing poor Kumi under his weight as he furiously pumps his hairy little ding-dong into her "private hole." It sounds like a recipe for something that doesn't smell very good after a few uses.

If you're looking for something more realistic terrifying, you might want to try this... thing:



This lovely armless lass and her friends (seen at the top of the page) come permanently fixed in a pose that never says no, and an interchangeable face only a serial killer could love:



It also is home to the world's least sexy artificial vagina:



This comic, from the detail page, explains everything you need to know about these high-tech artificial orifices:



These dolls are highly customizable, so if you want to channel your inner psychopath by taking off the doll's limbs, reducing its breasts to undeveloped nubs, dressing it in little girl underwear and giving it a face that says "please Daddy don't touch me there" - you're in luck!



Most terrifying of all is this thing, a doll that should be murdering people in a bad '80's horror movie, not being lusted after by lonely Japanese men:



This doll has, according to its translated page, an artificial hymen for you to break. They really did think of everything, didn't they?

All of the above dolls are fairly deluxe, and will run you into the hundreds of dollars. But if you're on a budget and still need something life-size you can desperately pretend is a real woman, check out the wide variety of weird blow-up dolls. Thankfully, they still retain the creepy anime face:



And, if you're on even more of a budget, you might just want specific parts - like a personal titty-fucker, or a grotesquely hairy rubber rear end vagina thing, or a pocket anus, or a curious little guy I like to call "The Pirana Plant".


Something For The Ladies

Fear not girls, Japan hasn't left you out, and it understands that your desire to masturbate can happen suddenly, where you least expect it. That's why you need to carry your vibrator discreetly - say, disguised as a zuccini, or better yet, an ear of corn:



No one will think it's weird if they see an ear of corn in your purse. Or a carrot, or a banana.

If vegetables aren't your thing, maybe fingers are. Not just any fingers - vibrating fingers molded directly from the hands of a famous Japanese actor - specifically, this guy:



Oh, and in case you were worried, Japan is still the leading producer of the world's cutest vibrators:




Capsule Figures

Toy figures definitely aren't just for kids in Japan. Like last time, I tried my luck in one of the adult-themed capsule toy machines. This time I got a tiny plastic tied-up girl, complete with a box of "accessories" (for size reference, those are laptop keyboard keys behind her):



As strange as it is, the attention to detail is impressive. The girl's box of fun includes what must be the world's smallest sex toys - several dildos, a butt plug, a speculum, anal beads, and the always useful bottle of lube:



All that's missing is a miniature butt funnel.

Well, that's all for this year. For more from Japan's dirty side, keep exploring this site, or just go here and cry yourself to sleep tonight.

P.S. - Even though it's better suited for my previous entry, I can't help but include this Japanese man wearing boobs on his nose. Because Japanese men with boob noses are always funny:

Demonbaby's Election-Day Hideous Patriotic T-Shirt Extravaganza!

[Currently Listening To: The Clientele - Strange Geometry]



Today is mid-term election day across the United States - a day where barely a quarter of all Americans exercise their most treasured right: Democracy. Well, sort of. Faulty voting machines, rampant propaganda, and rigged elections aside, the American freedom to choose our leaders at the very least sounds great on paper.

Democracy is also a key ingredient in that unique American arrogance that makes us so well-loved around the world. Americans love to tout their country as the best on earth - the ol' "USA is number one!" mantra has been a patriotic favorite for decades. The problem, though, is that the post-WW2 American glory has long since faded, and we're not number one anymore. At least not in anything positive. I mentioned this on the ol' MiniBlog a couple weeks ago, but it's worth re-itterating here: Despite Americans' firm believe that they're the best at everything, the facts tell a very different story. Let's see how the United States stacks up against the rest of the world in a variety of categories:

Literacy: #62, tied with superpowers Azerbaijan and Kyrgyzstan. [source]

Belief In evolution: #33 out of 34 surveyed countries. OUCH! [source]

Unemployment: #45, lagging behind Madagascar. [source]

Reading, science, and math abilities of high school students: #24 out of 29 surveyed countries. [source]

Press freedom: #53 and falling. [source]

Infant mortality rate: 2nd worst in the world! [source]

If that's all a little bit defeating, fear not - there are still some categories we rank number one in: Obesity, national debt, waste production, and oil consumption, to name a few. So I suppose it's still okay to wear that "USA is #1" t-shirt - just be sure you know what it means. And I say all of this not because I hate my country, but because I love my country - the red state myth that criticizing America makes you unpatriotic is about as ass-backwards as anti-gay Evangelical leaders who like their crystal meth with a side of bung.

There's nothing wrong with a little patriotism, but blind patriotism is a scary and dangerous thing. There's far too much of it in this country, and for some reason, blind patriotism seems to be strongly united with bad white trash fashion. For Halloween I was going to get a fat suit and dress up as a typical apathetic overindulgent American: grease-stained American flag t-shirt, sports-related hat, sweat pants, McDonald's food, and one of those obscene new 7-11 X-treme Big Gulps (52 ounces?? are you fucking kidding me??). I ended up not having enough time to get the costume together, but while I was trying I happened upon a wonderful discovery. Come with me now, as we explore Amazon.com's overwhelming selection of terrible patriotic t-shirts. What you are about to see are all actual t-shirts found in the inventory of the world's largest online retailer. I'm not going to link to each individual product because that would be a pain in the ass, but if for some reason you would actually want to purchase one of these horrendous things, you can find them all via the link above. Now, let's begin...

The most common patriotic shirts you'll find are of the foolproof eagle-flag combo variety. At the end of the day, you really can't go wrong with a majestic bald eagle soaring over the stars and stripes when you want to say "I love America!" in the most gaudy way possible. And don't worry, you have a lot of options:




But here's something interesting about the American Bald Eagle: He gets really pissed off sometimes. Like when terrorists threaten America's freedom, or abortion doctors kill babies, or when, God forbid, fags are allowed to get married! The American Bald Eagle really hates that, and it makes him turn into the Angry American Bald Eagle:



Here's one I find peculiar:



It appears to be a massive bald eagle watching over the World Trade Center. Which begs the question... Where the hell was that giant fucking bird on September 11th? I'm thinking he would have come in handy.

But if a giant bald eagle isn't quite enough to say "Proud To Be An American," how about a shirt that actually says, "Proud To Be An American"?



Ah, there we go! But what if this is a t-shirt for your baby, and it marks their all-important first "Proud To Be An American" t-shirt of what will assuredly be many, many "Proud To Be An American" t-shirts throughout their life? Well then you need the "My First Proud To Be An American T-Shirt" t-shirt:



But then, maybe your American pride has something else mixed in with it... maybe a... Southern stride? Fear not, there's a shirt for you:



Nothing says "I'm a hick" quite like the ol' confederate flag. It's nice to accompany your patriotism with a not-so-subtle reminder that our great nation was founded on the blood of slaves.

Another way to say "I'm a hick" is with aggressive, testosterone-fueld, pro-America slogans on your t-shirt:



Or, even better, by celebrating the impeccable lack of foresight on the part of our founding fathers when they wrote the second amendment:



Here are some especially painful selections for the patriotic frat boy:



And here are some choices for those days when you want to cleverly remind the world that you love the American flag without actually displaying an American flag:



There's even an "ironic" American flag t-shirt - hipsters take note:



Now, you'd think the bald eagle would pretty much have the patriotic animal market all to himself, but apparently there are a lot of other animals who love their country. It would seem, for example, that adorable little kittens are as American as apple pie:





There is also a strange series of large, angry animals tearing through t-shirts with the American flag flowing behind them. Here are the Monster Gator and Monster Boar:



And here, amazingly... is the MONSTER COCK:



...Not to be confused with monsters OF cock, which admittedly has about as much to do with America as an angry giant rooster.

Ultimately, though, this may be the most appropriate patriotic animal t-shirt:



Last but not least we celebrate the increasingly less-separated church and state with some Christian patriotic t-shirts:



Ah, Jesus and the founding fathers - two great tastes that taste great together! Look at the flag in this one - scary:



Look, here's the twin towers with their useless giant eagle guardian again:



"In God We Trust - September Eleventh, Two Thousand One." You know, I would have to say that God really didn't have our back on that particular day. Why do religious people love to thank God when something good happens, but never blame him when something bad happens?

Here's a good one - "Support Our Troops WITH PRAYER":



Uhhh... I hate to break it to you, but that strategy isn't working too well. Maybe try supporting them with body armor. Or, for that matter, competent leadership.


After seeing how popular these God-awful patriotic t-shirts are, I decided I was going to try my hand at making some patriotic t-shirts of my own. But how could I improve upon such a fine-tuned genre? What could I possibly bring to such a very large table? Well, there's always room for Americans to be more ignorant and offensive, right? Of course there is!

My new line of X-TREME PATRIOTISM T-SHIRTS gets to the core of what the red-state dimwits who wear all this tacky shit are really thinking. Why say something vague like "These Colors Don't Run" when you could say this:



See? Right to the point! And do you know why Americans have such poor reading skills? Because why would we need to read books when we have TELEVISIONS, stupid!!



And why simply imply that God wanted us to invade Iraq, when you could show Jesus himself right on the front lines, ridding the world of evil-doers?



Now that is how you make a motherfucking patriotic shirt, motherfucker! Go America!

I also figured, while I was at it, I'd make some patriotic t-shirts that were a bit more honest in their assessment of American glory - and so I present the Realistic Patriotism t-shirt line:





And yes, thanks to the magic of CafePress, you can actually purchase these shirts! Get them while you still can, before CafePress inevitably removes them for being blatantly offensive. Click the images below to view the various colors and styles available for men and women. All proceeds go to the More Video Games For Rob fund, a non-profit organization devoted to helping me never get anything productive accomplished.






P.S. - Before you send me hate mail, please spend some time studying the definition of the word satire.

Investigating Lunchables' Alarming New Desire To Mess With My Mouth

[Currently Avoiding: Work]



For my entire K-12 public school career, I was a brown-bagger. While other kids lined up in the school cafeteria for wondrous $1.25 meals of macaroni and cheese, chocolate milk, chicken nuggets, and other lukewarm fat-kid-food delicacies, I dined enviously on my boring home-prepared sack lunch formula: ham sandwich, apple, juice box, and small treat. My jealousy peaked on pizza days, when those very fortunate school lunch kids were treated to the legendary rectangular pizza slices, topped with that curiously rigid layer of white cheese which could be easily removed as a single piece. Pizza for lunch?? To me it was an unfathomable luxury. After all, my family was hardly wealthy, and my frugal mother saw absolutely no reason to waste money on unhealthy school lunches when she was more than happy to prepare a sensible alternative for me every morning. So when the mighty Lunchables arrived in stores, and were marketed to children as being mysteriously more fun than regular lunch, it was beyond perplexing to my mother why I would persistently beg her to buy them for me, when she could easily and economically prepare the very same ingredients herself.

In case you live under a rock, Lunchables are little pre-made lunch packs which include crackers, slices of cheese, and slices of turkey or ham. At least, that's what they originally contained. Later, juice and candy were added, and in recent years the Lunchables line has expanded to include grotesque-looking tacos, chicken fingers, mini hot-dogs, and other high-fat snack foods that children really don't need.

I don't know what it was that made Lunchables so appealing to me. Perhaps it was how neatly arranged and packaged everything was, with the individual components of your eventual cracker sandwich stacked flawlessly within their own compartments. Or maybe it was the amazing perfect circles of slimy lunch meat - a shape that assured you nature took no part in their creation. Perhaps it was the delicious, high-fat cheese slices, brought to you by the crowned kings of processed foods, Kraft. Kraft's flagship cheese is so far away from being actual cheese that the box labels it "Kraft Pasteurized Prepared American Cheese Product." Whatever the case, I was somehow convinced that Lunchables were in all ways superior to any cracker-cheese-meat combination my mother could prepare, so when she occasionally gave in and packed them for me in my sack lunch, it seemed almost as exciting as rectangular pizza.

I ate Lunchables regularly, even through high school. By that point most of my peers had come to regard the little lunch packs as the disgusting, over-priced processed garbage that they are, but not me - I still loved them. I also discovered that those perfect circles of slimy lunch meat had mysterious adhesive properties. If thrown directly upward with a good bit of force, they would stick to the cafeteria ceiling and never, ever come down. Whenever I had Lunchables I would add another meat circle to the ceiling, as part of an ongoing art installation / science project which, as far as I know, is still there.

These days I don't eat Lunchables anymore, and I haven't tried their many off-putting new varieties. But the other day at the grocery store I noticed a particularly alarming new twist on the classic Lunchables formula that was simply too bizarre to pass up.



What you see above you is the new Lunchables "Mess With Your Mouth" line of lunch packs. Displaying an admirable dedication to new frontiers of disgusting, unhealthy children's food, Kraft has outdone itself by adding a packet of "Sour Tongue-Teasing Fizz" powder to the package, and directly suggesting that you pour it onto your turkey and cheese cracker stack. Here's a close-up, lest you doubt me:



Think about this very carefully: Kraft wants kids to pour what is essentially sour Pop Rocks onto lunch meat, and eat it. This is not some small notion on the back of the box - it's the foundation of a whole "Mess With Your Mouth" ad campaign, and the entire packaging is dedicated to this seemingly unHoly marriage of sour candy and processed meat. Oh yeah, they also want you to pour sour fizzing powder onto tacos and hamburgers:



Now, I realize children are much more, shall we say, "open minded" about what they'll eat than adults are, and most seemingly-disgusting snack foods are easily excused by being designed for the adventurous palettes of children. But this time, even with a child's interests in mind, it seems like Lunchables has gone way too far. That meat is nasty enough on its own, but with sour candy on top? EWWW. Still... I bought it. I just needed to know.

When I got home, I opened up my Lunchables pack with excited trepidation. The cheese squares and meat circles were as unnaturally perfect as I remembered them, and every bit as artificially delicious. Now accompanying them, though, was the much-hyped new packet of sour fizzing powder:



Determined to try it out exactly as the box demonstrated, I poured the powder out directly onto the turkey of a cracker stack, and it looked like this:



Mmmmm. Appetizing, no? Its appearance has nothing in common with the colorful popping confetti candy shown in the illustration - rather, it looks more like a pile of cocaine on top of wet turkey. But hey, Kraft is devoting a lot of marketing to this concoction, so maybe they know something I don't. Maybe, despite common sense's drastic assertions to the contrary, it's actually delicious. There was only one way to find out. Here's a grotesque close-up of my tongue teasing the powdered turkey before it went down the hatch:



As it turns out, the taste of Ritz cracker, Kraft cheese, Oscar Meyer meat, and third rate Pop Rocks combining in your mouth is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds like it would be, confirming my suspicion that this is the most disgusting and senseless product in grocery stores at the moment. Convinced that someone at Kraft had completely lost their mind with this promotion, I decided to search for answers.

On the Lunchables website I found a whole section devoted to the "Mess With Your Mouth" foods. "Messing with your mouth" is apparently the prerogative of The Lunchables Brigade, an animated crack team of processed food enthusiasts comprised of a white boy, a black boy (complete with dreadlocks to assure you he's black, and glasses to assure you he's not threatening), and an ambiguously brown girl, who conveniently could be either Asian or Latino, depending on your specific needs for ethnic identification.



As demonstrated in this TV ad, The Lunchables Brigade seems convinced that your lunch is far too pleasing in its current form, and will break through your walls and aggressively coat your food with disgusting fizzy powder, thereby effectively messing with your mouth. This approach likely stems from the Kool-Aid Man School Of Food Mascot Tactics, which teaches that the door is simply a far too inconvenient entry point when fun food is urgently needed.

Even more perplexing is the Kraft website, which is advertising some sort of dancing game and makes no real mention of food whatsoever. I suppose it's a half-assed attempt at giving the impression that Kraft is out to get kids active, when of course its true mission is clogging millions of little arteries with its strange adhesive meats.

Okay, it's way past time for me to stop procrastinating with artificial food and get some work done.

Things That Are Great This Week Part Two: Nintendo Wii

[Currently Listening To: Smashing Pumpkins - Siamese Dream]



If you've been here more than a couple times, you've probably noticed that I am completely, crazily obsessed with Nintendo's upcoming game console, Wii (pronounced "we"). I love it. I haven't been this excited about a console launch since Nintendo 64. I get a tingly sensation in places my bathing suit covers just thinking about it. I want to cradle it and lick it and lather it with baby oil and rub my genitals on it. Okay, maybe not, but you get the idea.

I'm fairly certain that most of the six people who regularly punish themselves with my long-winded diatribes on this website are not nearly as obsessed with video games as I am. And that is exactly why I'm not going to shut up about this. Ever. Because if you have no interest in video games, you're precisely the type of person Nintendo is trying to lure in with Wii.

Over the last couple decades, video games have strayed away from their roots in family-friendly entertainment and become the bastard child of the entertainment world. Despite raking in even more money than the film industry, video games are viewed as lame, low-brow, childish, or incredibly, incredibly nerdy, depending on who you ask. But why? Everyone watches TV and movies, and everyone enjoys them. Wouldn't it seem logical that the ability to actually interact with the images on the screen would be universally appealing? Well, yes, except that the video game industry has backed itself into a corner by slowly whittling its target audience down to a nerdy, socially inept, predominately male slice of the population. Most mainstream games involve guys in big metal space suits zapping aliens, or military soldiers blasting Nazis, or medieval warriors slashing goblins, or thugs popping caps in asses of rival gangs. It's so narrow in scope, and so streamlined to the specific interests of mouth-breathing fourteen year old boys, you almost want to lather Oxy cream on your Xbox.

On top of that, modern games have become harder to play and more unwieldy to navigate, thanks to controllers with two sticks and dozens of buttons and games that require numerous complicated uses of said buttons. For the nerd elite, it's no problem at all; but for someone who hasn't picked up a controller since the two-button NES, you might as well be asking them to pilot a jet aircraft. Even I - card-carrying member of the nerd elite though I am - no longer have the patience to sit with a game like Splinter Cell and learn thirty two different button commands that regularly change depending on what's happening in the game. I don't have a lot of time for video games anymore, so I want something I can pick up and have fun with right away - and, I suspect, so do most "non-gamers."

Nintendo is hoping to address all of these issues and more with Wii, its answer to the increasing lack of innovation and mass-market appeal of the gaming industry. Like its handheld counterpart, The DS, Wii is meant to be a unique gaming experience designed specifically for fun and accessibility, and at its core is the (unfortunately-named) "wiimote."



To play games on Wii, you simply hold the wiimote like a television remote and wave it at the screen. Playing tennis is easy and engaging - just swing the wiimote as you would a tennis racket. Your character on the screen mimics your movements in real-time. It's as simple as that. I played the tennis game at E3 with a friend in his late thirties who has no interest in video games at all. Within seconds of picking up the wiimote he was an aggressive competitor, slamming the ball and proudly gloating when he defeated me. "I didn't realize video games could be so fun," he told me.

I love the idea of video games returning to their roots of people gathered together in a living room having fun together, rather than the current antisocial norm of sitting alone in a dark room, playing against slobbering nerd strangers over the internet. I also love comparing Nintendo's family-targeted marketing from then and now. Like how the 1986 NES family of white-bred Republicans wearing gaudy colors:



...has transformed into the 2006 Wii family of liberal, multi-ethnic Mac enthusiasts who live in empty vacuums of space with their adopted Jewish boy and Asian girl:



It's just like my family!

Anyway, here are some other reasons you should be buying a Wii this Christmas Hanukkah Kwanzaa culturally diverse holiday season:

It Comes With A Game

Remember that glorious day when you got a Nintendo, and it came with Super Mario Bros?? Everything you need to have fun, right there in the box. Those days died after the NES, but Nintendo is bringing them back: Wii comes with the very fun Wii Sports packed in, and that will keep you entertained for quite a while on its own.

The Virtual Console

Wii has the ability to download 20 years of classic Nintendo games right to your system - all of your favorite NES, SNES, and N64 games will be available to play, no cartridge necessary. The system is also compatible with Gamecube games, and there are a ton of great ones available.

Mario and Zelda

My life will be put completely on hold for at least a week when Wii launches, as I will be wholly immersed in the immensely awesome new Zelda game. And in 2007 we get the indescribably fun and innovative Super Mario Galaxy.

It's not a PS3

Launching at around the same time, Sony's behemoth Playstation 3 carries a whopping $600 price tag for the non-retarded version, and promises the exact same shitty games you've been playing on PS2, with the exact same controller, but with better graphics. In fact, Sony doesn't seem to even really care that their new system can play games at all - it's really just a trojan horse to get as many Blu-Ray drives into homes as possible, giving Sony the edge on the ludicrous HD format war. Blu-Ray is Sony's true focus here, and they've effectively slapped gamers in the face by making it clear that "fun" is their absolute last priority. Until sometime next year if not later, PS3s will be expensive, buggy, and scarce. Send Sony a message that you don't support corporate arrogance and market manipulation: Don't buy a PS3... at least until Resident Evil 5 comes out.


Wii hits stores on November 19th for $250 with one controller and a game included. At that time you can expect to never see this blog updated again.

Things That Are Great This Week Part One: Idiocracy

[Currently Listening To: The Oohlas - Best Stop Pop]




It's nice when your opinions are echoed by people you respect. Right after I'd written about the dumbing down of America, and how natural selection had failed us, I discovered that Mike "Office Space / Beavis & Butt-Head" Judge had made a movie about the very same subject. It's called Idiocracy, it's hilarious and clever, and if you've never heard of it before, you're not alone.

In Idiocracy, Luke Wilson plays a desk clerk in the US Army, and is chosen for a top secret military hibernation experiment particularly because he is stunningly average in every way. The experiment is meant to hibernate him for one year, but it goes horribly wrong and he ends up frozen for five hundred years, awakening to a future America which has fallen into ruin because the intelligence of its people has been thinning for centuries.

In Judge's future America, the masses are braindead, easily-amused mongoloids who exist only to satisfy their most basic urges. They live amongst giant piles of garbage and speak an English language which been reduced to little more than a series of grunts. They watch mindless television and are easily manipulated by marketing - they even wear disposable clothing which dispenses like tissues and is covered with advertisements. The President, pictured above, is an Xtreme former wrestler/porn star voted into office because people thought he was cool. Wilson's protagonist, a man of notably average intelligence in the year 2006, finds that in the future, he is the smartest man in the world. It's absurdity that isn't nearly as absurd as it should be.

Idiocracy is hardly a brilliant film. Like Office Space, its plot is silly and ultimately irrelevant, but the clever social observations and comedic details are what shine through and make it really enjoyable. It's been criticized for stooping to exactly the sort of sophomoric potty humor that the people it's lampooning would enjoy - but personally, I think the satire sort of demands it. You'll particularly enjoy it if, like me, you're one of the many very average people who feel like you are becoming the unlikely new intellectual elite amongst a majority that celebrates vapid celebrities, giant trucks, wrestling, reality TV, and disposable pop music.

The problem is that the film's distributor, the mighty FOX, apparently doesn't share my excitement about the movie. Finished two years ago, the film has been in distribution Hell because the studio simply wants nothing to do with it. Ironically, they gave up on the project because early test audiences of average moviegoers didn't get the joke. If anything, that should have assured them the movie had succeeded. But these are greedy, out-of-touch movie studio execs we're talking about here; so - presumably merely out of contractual obligation - they released it only in seven cities, with no promotion whatsoever. No trailers, no advertising, no nothing. Mike Judge won't even do any interviews about the movie, in protest of FOX's poor treatment. And that, tragically, is why you haven't heard of it, and why pretty much no one will ever see it (read this Time article for more about the film's demise).

A quick search reveals that even the wasteland of YouTube doesn't have one single clip from the film; although it does have a great deal of retarded home-made videos featuring horrendous misuses of the word "idiocracy" - which admittedly isn't really a word, but it's especially not a word when you're meaning to say "idiocy."

Mike Judge, please, leak the entire movie onto the internet. Let it spread virally and show FOX they made a mistake. If not, we can only hope it gets released on DVD and becomes a cult hit the way Office Space did. When movies like Step Up are topping the box office, it's sad to see clever satire get kicked to the curb because it was misunderstood by the same dolts who are lining up right now to see that football movie starring The Rock.

After seeing Idiocracy we came out of the theatre on a friday night and decided to take a walk up the street to see what was going on. As we strolled up Cahuenga Blvd past the usual assortment of overhyped bars and clubs, Hollywood felt more like a wasteland than ever before. The streets were dirty and grotesque, Hummers were cruising by blaring thumping hip-hop music, while the crew of wiggers inside leaned out the windows and shouted boorishly at women on the streets. Advertisements covered every surface, most of them for cell phone ring tones, upcoming pop albums, and new sitcoms. We passed a bar called "Big Wang's," which boasted a sign with a cartoon rooster flexing its muscles, and was overflowing with grunting, shouting idiots showing off the unpaid $10,000 rims on their giant cars, while homeless people slept on the sidewalk across the street. Inside the bar, football was playing on every TV screen and that song "I'm 'n Luv Wit a Stripper" [SIC] was blasting to much fanfare. The similarities to what we had just seen in Idiocracy were uncanny. It felt completely surreal, as if we had somehow stepped out of the theatre and been transported into Mike Judge's dismal future world. Perhaps his only miscalculation in making the movie was thinking it would take 500 years for things to get so bad.

Anyway, for now, since you can't go see Idiocracy, you should definitely see Little Miss Sunshine if you haven't already. It's a very funny and poignant black comedy that is all but guaranteed to put a smile on your face. It's kind of like a dark, indie version of National Lampoon's Vacation. Although when I say "dark" I just mean there's a lot of off-center humor - the movie actually has a lot of heart.


P.S. - See, I managed to get through this whole entry without going off on a tangent about overpopulation and bad parenting and underpaid teachers and how you should have to have a permit to have children. I didn't think I could do it. But I will say this: If you're the type of person who says things like "I don't think I'm going to ever have children, I just couldn't bring a child into a world like this one"... If you are aware enough to say something like that, then you are EXACTLY the type of person who should be having children! The world needs your contribution to the gene pool! Take a lesson from Mike Judge, and breed. Breed, breed, breed, for the sake of our future!

Five Things That Are Great This Week

[Currently Listening To: The Walkmen - A Hundred Miles Off]



Since I feel like procrastinating for a few minutes, I'm going to list a few things which have brought me joy over the past week, and I feel are worth checking out:

Monster House 3D

Big-budget animated movies have been mostly terrible for quite a while now. They've traded in the magic and timelessness that made the classic Disney animated movies so great, and instead pander to fads and disposable pop-culture references for attempts at humor. The glaring exception is Pixar, who I think makes absolutely brilliant and timeless movies (although I couldn't bring myself to see Cars) - so it's good to see another animation studio following their lead with Monster House, a surprisingly bizarre and funny movie which contains absolutely no hip-hop zebras or ludicrous song-and-dance numbers. If you like Roald Dahl or Tim Burton, you'll probably enjoy the movie's morbid humor as much as I did. Seriously the most fun I've had at the movies in a while. And best of all, it's playing in 3D in certain theatres, which I can't recommend enough, as it's some of the best-looking 3D I've ever seen. I've been hearing a lot about the resurgence of 3D movies (James Cameron and George Lucas seem to have huge boners for it of late), and after seeing Monster House look as jaw-dropping as it did, I can't wait to strap on the plastic glasses at more and more movies in the coming years. In fact, I heard Nightmare Before Christmas is getting the 3D treatment later this year, which should be pretty rad.


Scary Broken Peewee Herman Doll

Yesterday my neighbors were having a moving sale, which was a curious peek into their weird little world. They had an odd assortment of mostly 1980's-originating items, like Nagel prints and cheap modernist furniture and Garfield window clingers. But one item stood out as a shining gem amongst everything: A vintage talking Peewee Herman doll. You know, the kind where you pull the string, and he says a variety of different Pewee signature phrases? At $15, it was a steal, so of course I grabbed it. The neighbor lady lamented that the old doll's voice box no longer functioned, but walking back to my apartment, I pulled the string just for the hell of it. To my surprise, the doll did talk, but in a crackly, distorted way that was downright scary. I suddenly realized it was the perfect beginning of a horror movie, which made me think that someone should do a remake of "Child's Play" but with an evil Peewee Herman doll.

Needless to say, the doll is my new prized possession - and since there's no way to effectively describe what Scary Broken Peewee Herman Doll sounds like, I whipped up a little Flash movie to recreate the experience of pulling his string - these are the actual sounds that come out of him. Enjoy:



(here's a direct link if the embedded one above doesn't load)


bitGenerations

I love my Game Boy Micro. I adore it. Sure, the DS Lite is an awesomely sexy and fun system which I can't recommend enough, but for simple, stick-it-in-your-pocket anywhere gaming, the tiny size and oldschool game library of the Micro is unbeatable in my book. Unfortunately, with the immense popularity of the DS, Nintendo's support for the Game Boy is waning, and I fear we're not going to see many good new games come out for it.

Thankfully, Nintendo of Japan has my back - they've just released bitGenerations, a series of stylish, ultra-simple Game Boy games that are strangely addictive and unlike anything else out there. Since they're only out in Japan you have to get them online, but even as an import they're only $25 each, and they come in damn sexy packaging. I haven't picked up the most recent four that have come out, but my favorite from the first series is Dotstream, where you control a single-pixel line racing against other lines, which weave in and out of each other to avoid geometric obstacles. It's surprisingly difficult and addictive, and it's incredibly cool-looking - graphic designers will appreciate the attractive retro simplicity of the graphics. Or maybe it's just that those pixelated lines remind me of an awful lot of another strangely familiar graphic element...


The Hot Diggity Dogger

I don't even like hot dogs that much, but ever since I was given this ridiculous appliance, I've been eating them almost daily. The Hot Diggity Dogger is like a toaster for hot dogs. You stick them in (you can cook two at a time) along with the bun, and a minute later it pops them up, cooked to perfection and yes, even with the buns lightly toasted. I know it doesn't sound that exciting, but hey, I've been cooped up in my apartment for weeks doing work, so it's the little things that keep me going. Next I might have to step it up a notch with the Corn Dog Fryer, which apparently can deep fry ANYTHING. Think of the possibilities! Could one potentially deep fry gummy worms? There's only one way to find out...

TamLand

Last but certainly not least is Tamar's new bizarre little world, known as TamLand. She always does these strange and funny drawings in her spare time, so I told her she should scan them and make them into a website, and thus, the glory of TamLand was born. Go, and explore, and be in awe of genius like this:

Gisb (OR: Rob + The Google Image Search = L.O.V.E.)

[Currently Watching: Journey - Greatest Hits 1978-1997]


I love The Google Image Search. I adore it. I want to figure out a way to put my penis in it, and make babies with it. The Google Image Search - or, The GIS, as I call it, is Google's search engine for images from all across the web. As an occasional graphic designer, I am a religious user of this brilliant service - it's an unprecedented tool for gathering reference material, imagery, textures, etc. I use it at least once a day, sometimes more. And it's not only useful, but also incredibly entertaining. A voyeuristic dream come true, The GIS's flawed and unpredictable search results often bring up strange, completely unrelated images from the oddest corners of the internet, and displays them all together, hilariously out of context.

For example, what if you searched for, say, pickle? You'd think you'd get a page full of images of pickles, right? Well, you do get some pickles, of course, but you also get this:



and this:



and, best of all, this:



I'm not sure why the voyeur in me delights so much in perusing the personal photo collections of complete strangers, but it does - and it's usually through accidental, unrelated GIS searches that I come across highly entertaining personal websites, such as Li Side Christmas 2002:



And Professor Agnes Doody:



And some Jesus-lover's amazing family photo gallery:



The only other person I know who shares my absurd affection for The GIS is Tamar, who has been known to frequently search for nonsense words and bombard my IM window with the results. As this was happening the other night, it impulsively resulted in the creation of Gisb: The Google Image Search Blog. The sole purpose of this blog is for Tamar and I to post the most entertaining results of nonsense word searches on The GIS. We're fairly certain we're the only two people who will ever find the humor in it.

Population Paste: A Collection Of Things You Wish You Hadn't Seen

[Currently Listening To: New Pornographers - Twin Cinema]


There is an under-rated sci-fi movie from the 80's called "The Quiet Earth," in which a man wakes up and finds himself to be the last person on the planet. Streets are empty, cars abandoned, the only sound is the wind. He wanders a barren town wondering where all the people went, slowly starting to lose his mind. It's pretty much exactly how I felt as I walked around downtown Wichita, Kansas today. I can't speak for the other six days of the week, but at least on sundays, Wichita is some sort of eerie, post-nuclear ghost town. Abandoned buildings, garbage-strewn mud fields, empty storefronts, and nary a person in sight. Maybe everyone killed themselves, which is what I wanted to do after about fifteen minutes.

At my hotel in Wichita, a bellman brought my stuff to my room. He was an elderly man, at least 80 years old - certainly far too old to be lugging around other peoples' heavy shit. I had to help him get my first bag off of the cart and into my room, and as I did so he asked, "I'm sorry, but could I use your restroom Sir?" Uhhhh, sure. That's kind of weird, but okay. So I took my bag into my room, and the old man went into my freshly-cleaned and thus far unused hotel bathroom. I was really hoping he didn't have to take a shit. Thankfully he didn't, but in keeping with old people tradition he neglected to close the door, so I was treated to the crystal clear sound of his stuttering, enlarged-prostate old man peeing as it dribbled erratically into my previously pristine toilet bowl. This lasted a good minute before a flush preceded his emergence from the bathroom. "Sorry about that," he said, "I'm an old man, it's too hard to keep control of my bladder these days." Uh, yeah. Whatever dude. I took the remaining luggage off of the cart myself, and bid an anxious fairwell to the weird old man. A few minutes later I went into the bathroom, and much to my disgust, the old man had managed to get his stinky yellow piss all over the seat, and the floor. What the fuck! Confused and frightened and needing to pee, the only thing I could think to do was mop up the urine with one of the hotel towels, and then throw it out into the hallway for someone else to deal with. But now every time I walk into the bathroom I can't help but think I'm still walking on dried up old man pee. Awesome.

Anyway, none of that is why I'm posting a blog at the moment. The real reason is to announce a new website I have co-founded with my friend Ali. You see, I have an unexplainable fascination with all things bizarre and horrifying. And Ali, as it would so happen, is my main provider of such things, in the form of obscure and disgusting porn links and gross pictures found in the dankest gutters of the internet. At some point, Ali and I had amassed such a spectacular collection of hilariously awful links between us, that it only seemed right for us to share them with the world. And so was born the concept of Population Paste, a journal of bizarre porn. It's still very much in its infancy but it's off to a great start with a post about four-legged gay centaur porn and another about the secret world of erotic Simpsons art. Since I have such a wealth of material, and also a co-contributor, you can look forward to this site being updated every single day - unlike demonbaby, which is updated about twice a year. So please go, add a bookmark, tell your friends, link it from your site, and prepare to have your jaw drop in libido-crushing horror day after day, courtesy of:


POPULATION PASTE

The Second Annual MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards!

With the original MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards seeing a strange resurgence in popularity lately, I figured it was time to follow up on the theoretical promise of a sequel. So once again, Tamar and I dug through the bowels of MySpace in search of the worst of the worst. Of course, most of the bad haircuts on MySpace are the exact same bad haircut, as you can see illustrated here in our Magical Grid Of Bad Emo Hair®:





Still, we uncovered plenty of other folic atrocities, and so now we proudly present the newest superheroes of bad style - the hipsters, the drag queens, the goths, and the glams, they are...

The 2006 MySpace Legion Of Extraordinary Stupid Hair Super Heroes!

MySpace Name: Bryden is neato	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Claw
		Hair Style: "The Haircut" Stylist: Strong winds Super Powers: Ability to select perfect camera angle that makes him look attractive on MySpace Secret Weapon: Unbridled Narcissism Known Allies: All 10,000 of his close personal friends on his MySpace friends list Base Of Operations: All-ages shows of shitty screamo bands Weakness: His own deeply rooted insecurity

MySpace Name: Glimm	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: The Joker
		Hair Style: The Green Gobliness Stylist: The cashier at Ricky's Super Powers: Heightened ability to repress memories of Daddy touching his no-no spot by means of half-assed gender displacement Secret Weapon: Manic Panic

MySpace Name: Dr. Gypsy	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Fire
		Hair Style: The Flashdance Stylist: Def Leppard Base Of Operations: The Rainbow Room Weakness: Frizz-Ease®

Special Band Edition: The Peppermint Creeps This whole band is so lame, we found an alter-ego for each member:
MySpace Name: Macy	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Sensor	Hair Styles: The Troll Doll Stylists: Barnum & Bailey Secret Weapon: Really bad music Super Powers: Ability to distract audiences away from their utter lack of talent by means of their colorful appearance Base Of Operations: The Viper Room, The Whiskey-A-Go-Go, or any other shitty Hollywood clubs that will let them play (at least until 8:00, when people start showing up for the headliners) Arch Enemies: The record industry, the media, and the world in general, for consistently failing to show even the slightest interest in their band
MySpace Name: Robbie Stylez	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Ragdoll III
MySpace Name: Eddie	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Parademon
MySpace Name: Traci	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Ragdoll II

MySpace Name: Dirty Barby	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Cronus
		Hair Style: The Every-Other-Look-Was-Taken Stylist: A blind six year old girl Secret Weapon: Lots and lots of drugs Known Allies: Perry Farrell Weakness: Rehab

MySpace Name: *Stardust*	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Mortalla
		Hair Style: The 1994-All-Over-Again Stylist: Twiggy Ramirez Base Of Operations: Goth night Known Allies: The handful of other lame goth kids still clinging desperately to their dead scene and laughably dated style.

MySpace Name: Gnatty	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Hawk Girl
		Hair Style: The Winged Weirdo Stylist: Boeing engineers Secret Weapon: Starch Known Allies: Her cats, and the crazy lady who talks to herself in the grocery store parking lot

MySpace Name: Jax	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Tomar-Re
		Hair Style: The Pyke (punk-dyke) Stylist: Woody Woodpecker Super Powers: Stupid animal pattern tattoos allow her to communicate with nature, calling wild beasts to her side Arch Enemies: Every man on the planet Base Of Operations: The Dominion

MySpace Name: TIM CATA5TROPHE	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Razorsharp
		Hair Style: "The Haircut" Stylist: Himself, standing in front of a mirror for HOURS at a time Secret Weapon: His sister's size zero Diesel jeans Super Powers: Looking exactly like every other twatty scene kid allows for impeccable camouflaging capabilities Known Allies: Anyone in a band Base Of Operations: Bang!

MySpace Name: JEFFREY CUNT STAR	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Anima
		Hair Style: Thimply Fffaaabulouth Stylist: Marilyn Manson Super Powers: Ability to fail miserably at passing for a woman

MySpace Name: Lord Darkstar	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: I... Vampire
		Hair Style: The Elvira Stylist: Kiss Known Allies: The overweight, greasy-haired, black-clad nerds he plays Dungeons & Dragons with Secret Weapon: Unstoppable deck of Magic cards Super Powers: Ability to ignore the fact that he's way too old to be casting spells and playing with plastic swords

MySpace Name: The Countess Bitch	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Forager II
		Hair Style: There's Something About Mary Super Powers: Idiotic haircut gives people a reason to look at her, which they certainly would never do otherwise. Arch Enemies: Anyone who remembers how bland she looked in high school.

MySpace Name: Filthy & Gorgeous	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Desire
		Hair Style: The "No Fucking Way He's Straight" Stylist: His classmates at beauty school Super Powers: Ability to stun enemies as they struggle to figure out if he's a man or a woman Secret Hideout: The closet

MySpace Name: RayWicked, last name Zombie	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: King Shark
		Hair Style: The Bristlehead Base Of Operations: Any Misfits Show Super Powers: He's probably actually killed people. Like, for real. Weakness: Girls

This Year's Special Honorary Ultimate Supreme Douchebag Award Goes To: Jay
	Jay's hair is so unbelievably stupid, even the world of comic books could offer nothing close to the abomination occuring on his head. But if he did have a super hero alter-ego, we assume its origins would involve Boy George mating with a Magic Coral Garden:

And since we're just as guilty.....

MySpace Name: Rob	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Green Lantern
		Hair Style: The Meticulously-Crafted Mess Stylist: Rudy's Barbershop Super Powers: Lightning-fast ability to unfairly pass judgement on complete strangers Mode Of Transportation: A Vespa and a Camaro. 'nuff said. Arch Enemies: Scroll up.

MySpace Name: Tamar	DC Superhero Alter-Ego: Gloss
		Hair Style: "The Haircut" Stylist: Trendy, ludicrously overpriced Manhattan salon Super Powers: Super-human hypocrisy Known Allies: Usually people who don't realize she's making fun of them behind their backs Mode Of Transportation: The G train

Related Posts:

• The First Annual MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards
• Irresistible Dating Prospects from THE GOTHIC PERSONALS

The Valleys Of New Orleans

[Currently Listening To: The Veils - The Runaway Found]


I haven't updated my blog in such a long time I've started receiving death threats. Relax, people! Go do something productive with your lives. It's just that I've been busy, traveling like crazy, and I don't like to update this page unless I have the time to do it right. More updates are coming soon. Promise. In the meantime...

A few days ago I was in New Orleans, one of the four cities I have called home at some point in my life. It's the first time I'd been down there since Katrina hit, and I was anxious to see how the city was holding up. In the French Quarter, where we stayed, things almost felt normal. Very little damage was evident; shops were open, Bourbon Street was lively on saturday night... But beyond that, it was a ragged ghost town. Miles and miles of neighborhoods closed and abandoned, deemed uninhabitable for months. Places and parts of town I knew like the back of my hand, now completely unrecognizable. Garbage and debris everywhere. Almost everything closed, almost everyone gone. It is clear that despite its disappearance from news headlines, New Orleans has a very long way to go before it gets back to normal - if it ever does.

We had the opportunity to tour the ninth ward, the most heavily-damaged area of the city, still closed to the public. The scale of devastation was unimaginable, spanning miles and miles. It transcended anything you've seen on TV, anything you've imagined. I took quite a few pictures while I was down there, and they've been posted online in hopes of giving people a better idea of what's really still going on down there, nine weeks after the hurricane. Take a look, and pass the link on to some friends:

New Orleans: 10_28_05

Curiosities from Japan's porno shops.

As everyone is well aware, Japan is absolutely brimming with bizarre shit, particularly when it comes to adult material. Tentacle rape, bestiality, people shitting on each other... They've got it all. So when I stumbled upon a seven-floor adult superstore, I knew I was going to walk out with some amazingly weird stuff.

First, though, there's plenty of pervasive material available right out on the street, before you even make it into a porno store. For example, these delicious-looking treats I found at a market - "Yokohama Bust Pudding":



I like how, the way the packages are set up, the girl on the right appears to be scowling at the girl on the left, as if jealous of her younger, perkier pudding breasts.


In Japan, vending machines are EVERYWHERE. Soda, candy, porn, dairy products... You'll find it all just a button-push away (This site catalogs some of the more unusual vending machines in Japan). Thankfully, this also includes machines that dispense capsule toys, which seem to be hugely popular in Tokyo. Unlike chintzy American capsule toys (cheap digital watches, plastic rings, etc), Japan's are incredibly cool and come in endless varieties. From capsule machines alone I got Excruciatingly detailed tiny little classic Nintendo systems (here being enjoyed by Wolverine), a Spider-Man figure, 3D Mario Bros. magnets, a monster trapped inside a cube, a miniature video game table (with fully working game), glowing Star Wars light saber keychains, and robot pandas being controlled by real pandas.

But amidst all of that, side by side with Pokemon and Dragon Ball Z, are adult-themed capsule toy machines which dispense little figures of partially naked girls doing all manors of unsavory things. Of course it's random so I felt compelled to try my luck and see what the porno figures looked like. The ones I got ranged from basic assortments, like girls showing their boobs and masturbating...



...to more illicit figures, like this one:



Yes, she's tied up to a post. Yes, her tit is falling out. Yes, that's a Kabuki mask between her legs. And yes, she comes with a collection of intricately-detailed little dildos. Amazing. However, easily the most disturbing assortment of adult-themed capsule toys involved doe-eyed, childlike girls in suggestive poses. This was one of the more expensive machines - 500 yen (about five bucks) for one toy, but it was certainly worth it, as I now own my very own toy of a little girl squatting to pee:



How fucking creepy is that? As you can see from the flyer included in the capsule (note the kiddie crayon font), the other toys in the assortment include little girls spreading their legs, little girls sucking suggestively on popsicles, and little girls dry-humping their teddy bears:



Incredibly, incredibly disturbing. And let me remind you, I didn't find these in some seedy back alley - all of these machines were right on the sidewalks in busy shopping areas.

Of course, capsule machines aren't just for figures - I found a vending machine called "Men's Gold Ticket," which offered an assortment of little sex toys for men, like little rubber vaginas and anal beads.



Unfortunately, the one I got wasn't very exciting - just some sort of French Tickler thing, with a little bottle of lube:



But sometimes all the French Ticklers in the world can't stop that lonely feeling, so you could always try your luck at a capsule machine that dispenses girls' phone numbers for you to talk to - I didn't actually get one of these, but it appeared as though each capsule includes a photo of the lucky lady, and a number to get in touch with her:




So if I found all that amazingly ridiculous stuff out on the street, what awaited me in an actual porno store? Of course I had to find out. The seven story adult megaplex included a floor for sex toys, a floor for magazines, two floors for DVDs, a floor for condoms and lubes, and even a floor for costumes. Japanese men love them some role-playing, so you can buy all kinds of elaborate outfits to suit your wildest fantasies, most of which appear to be based on popular anime characters.

In the condom and lube section, I found an assortment of funny manga-inspired condom packages - like this one, called "SACK 2":



I like the numerous phalluses on that robot, and also the writing at the top: "TRY NEW TYPE CAN YOU SURVIVE? 12 TIMES" Is that challenging me to survive safe sex twelve times? What, in a row? How do I survive, by not getting her pregnant? Not getting the hiv? Whatever the case, I hope I can survive - although I have yet to put my SACK 2's to good use.


On the sex toy floor, there was a large wall with dozens and dozens of cans - all of them in different colors and sizes, and all of them with different naked cartoon girls on them. A great deal of Japanese men were perusing this wall, carefully studying and comparing the different cans before making their decision. With nothing in English, it took me a few minutes of analysis to figure out that the cans were actually fake vaginas. They were all similarly priced - suspiciously cheap at 5-600 yen - so I wasn't sure what the difference was, except the girl on the outside. I guess you were meant to pick which naked anime girl you liked the best, and fuck this plastic can while fantasizing about her. Interestingly enough, none of the cans were very long - maybe six inches at the most. I was trying to avoid the whole Asian-men-have-small-penises thing, but they kind of handed it to me on a silver platter. Anyway, this is the vagina can I bought:



Yes, I bought one, purely out of curiosity as to what might be inside. Well, this is what's inside - a smelly, pre-lubricated Styrofoam opening:



Sexy, huh? Just like the real thing. I don't know what I was expecting when I opened up the can, but it certainly wasn't that. I guess that explains the low price - they're meant to be disposable, you fuck it a couple times and then get a new can.

This reminds me of a story I know I'm going to regret telling, but here goes: Quite a few years ago I was passing through New York for some reason or another, and one night I went out bar-hopping with a couple friends. We stumbled out of the last bar around 3am, drunk and giddy, laughing and tripping as we walked back towards our hotel. On the way we passed a porno store, which aside from the occasional pizza place was the only thing open at 3am. I'm not sure why - I think one of my friends wanted to buy a magazine - but we went in, and annoyed the shop's patrons by picking up every ridiculous sex toy and laughing about it loudly. The most absurd thing we found was a large plastic beer can - meant to look like "Coors Light," or something, but much larger - and when you unscrewed the cap at the top, there was a latex vagina inside, that you were meant to stick your dick in and fuck the can. Well, not really "fuck" the can, exactly, but masturbate with it. Same concept as the Japanese ones, but more elaborate. In fact, this is pretty much exactly what it was.

So of course we have to buy the beer can vagina, because we're drunk and it's funny, and we figure we'll find some entertaining unintended use for it. So we paid for it and continued on our merry way back to the hotel. Once there we said our goodbyes and retired to our rooms, and I realized that somehow I'd gotten stuck carrying the bag from the sex store. I set it down on the desk and didn't think much about it. That is, for a few minutes, until I found myself sitting on the bed in my hotel room, drunk and lonely and sexually frustrated, and I kept staring over at that stupid beer can vagina. "Maybe I should just try it. Just see what it feels like..." I mean, why not, right? You know. Just for kicks, right? So you know what? I fucked it. Yeah. I fucked a plastic beer can. I fucked the shit out of that can. And you know what? It felt alright. It did the trick. That is, until it was all over. Until the moment after, when I was hit by a sobering freight train of humility, looking down at my dick stuck inside a latex vagina housed in a plastic beer can. Moments like that you start to question everything - "How the hell did it come to this? Who am I? What am I doing with my life?" I probably sat there for an hour, silently with my plastic lover, pondering my existence.

The next morning, when the subject of the previous night came up and someone said, "oh, where's that funny beer can thing we got? Rob, you had it, right?" And everyone looks at me, and I just stare at them for a moment, and then say, "...I fucked it. I fucked it and I hated myself, and now it's gone." There was a slight pause, followed by uproarious laughter. The ridicule took months to subside.


Anyway, back to weird Japanese sex toys. This next one was a heavily featured product at the store, clearly a very popular item. It's a clear plastic funnel meant to be inserted into someone's ass, and it comes with a little flashlight to shine inside the ass, and, well, look around. Ya know, see what's going on in the ol' anal cavity. Here's the sign with the product itself down below:



Yes, behold the butt funnel. There was a sign next to it which said, "This is truly amazing! See the things which you have never seen before!" You know, you're right, I have seen a lot of things, but never the inside of someone's rectum. And is that really such a bad thing? Is that something I need to see? I'm not sure, but I bought the funnel, so the option is always there. That's one of those things that, if you really wanted to look inside a girl's ass via the butt funnel, how do you bring that up? "Hey, baby, so, I was thinking... Uh... You know, I just love you so much, and I want to see all sides of you.. You know, from the inside out... so, you know, I was thinking it would be really romantic if I, you know, spread your asshole open with a plastic funnel and shined a flashlight inside your gaping rectum. Would you like that, baby?"

The illustration on the package is fucking fantastic:



Look how embarrassed she is! "Oh no, don't look inside my butt! Tee hee!" Amazing.


Last, but certainly not least... There was a rack in the porno store with dozens of little packages hanging on it. Each package had a photo on the front of a cute Japanese girl, dressed like a schoolgirl or a maid or a nurse or Sailor Moon or some shit. In each photo, the girl's panties or pantyhose were clearly visible. And inside the package was the girl's (presumably dirty) actual panties or pantyhose that she wore in the picture. Okay, that's weird enough on its own, but the best part was over on the side of the rack there was one package with a sloppy polaroid of an ugly, pantyhose-wearing Japanese girl. It stood in contrast to the cute young girls professionally photographed on all the other packages, and as a result it was marked 50% off. Discount used panties, dude. Unwanted goods. I started laughing right there in the store, which earned me a scornful look from the shopkeeper, who clearly took the panty selection very seriously. I wondered if maybe the ugly girl was his girlfriend, and he'd talked her into letting him sell her panties at the store, to see if they could make some money on the side. Apparently it didn't work out too well, and she had to come down in price:



So there you have it. Now that I've purchased all this crazy shit, I'm all set for a hott night of masturbatory heaven - fucking a greasy styrofoam opening while I sniff some crack whore's crab-ridden pantyhose and examine the insides of my rectum.

Japan - I love you, man.

UPDATE: MORE Curiosities From Japan's Porno Shops!

The First Annual MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards!

With so many fantastically stupid hairstyles floating around MySpace, I've found myself adding the best of the worst to my favorites list over the past few months, compiling a sort of "Hall Of Shame" which I knew, one day, needed to be presented to the masses.

So now I bring you the super heroes of bad style. The hipsters, the goths, the just-plain-confused... They are:

The MySpace Legion Of Extraordinary Stupid Hair Super Heroes!

Special thanks to Tamar for contributing to the captions on these.

MySpace Name: Demanda	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Karnilla
		Hair Style: The I-Really-Hope-Most-of-That-Is-a-Wig Stylist: Twiggy Ramirez Super Powers: Able to locate the nearest Hot Topic within a 100 mile radius.

MySpace Name: THE ACTION	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Rhino
		Hair Style: The Horn of Rebellion Mode Of Transportation: Mom's mini-van, when she lets him borrow it Arch Enemies: Parents, Narcs, The System!!

MySpace Name: Lacey	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Cerise
		Hair Style: Fins Of Fury Super Powers: Aerodynamic head shape allows for light-speed emergency trips to Claire's Boutique for pink accessories Arch Enemies: Humidity Woman, Low Ceiling Man Secret Weapon: Rainbow Brite Lunchbox

MySpace Name: LEX	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Wolverine
		Hair Style: The Rockabilly-Gone-Awry Super Powers: Ability to list both Elvis and The Faint on MySpace profile Base Of Operations: Suburban gas station

MySpace Name: otanno	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Apocalypse
		Hair Style: The Smurf-Took-A-Shit-On-Billy-Corgan Stylist: Boy George Arch Enemies: Gender Identity Man

MySpace Name: NoWhere Girl	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: American Eagle
		Hair Style: The Punk's-Not-Dead Base Of Operations: Local thrift shop Super Powers: Enhanced ability to modify ironic children's t-shirts into shoddy fashion statements

MySpace Name: xmatthewx	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Maelstrom
		Hair Style: The Hipster Helmet Stylist: Conor Oberst on crack Super Powers: Deceptive ability to fool enemies by hiding half of his face to appear more attractive than he actually is Secret Weapon: Dual-action straightening iron

MySpace Name: Marta	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Sillouette
		Hair Style: The No-Really-I-Wanted-It-To-Look-That-Way Stylist: Stevie Wonder Known Allies: Bjork

MySpace Name: Scary	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Torgo
		Hair Style: The Novelty Wig Stylist: Raggedy Ann

MySpace Name: imSocial	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Longshot
		Hair Style: The Irony Mullet Stylist: Sting Super Powers: Ability to conceal his identity from enemies by transforming into a washed-up 80's rocker

MySpace Name: Ugly	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Electron
		Hair Style: The Haven't-I-Seen-You-At-Metal-Shop? Stylist: Tommy Lee Base Of Operations: Guitar Center Super Powers: Ability to ROCK. Ability to select startlingly appropriate MySpace nicknames for himself

MySpace Name: poison	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Calypso
		Hair Style: The I-Used-To-Be-A-Raver Stylist: Suicidegirls.com Super Powers: Ability to change facial expressions with an eyebrow pencil Base Of Operations: Burning Man Festival

MySpace Name: Mr Liquid Cube	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Emplate
		Hair Style: The Anime Warrior Stylist: Yu-Gi-Oh! Known Allies: Edward Scissorhands Secret Weapon: Product Arch Enemy: Gravity

MySpace Name: ewww its Raquel	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: The In-Betweener
		Hair Style: The Punk Skunk Stylist: Pepe Le Pew Super Power: Mouth piercings give her the ability to transmit STDs with a single touch of the lips Base Of Operations: In front of a mirror

MySpace Name: Tom	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Proudstar
		Hair Style: The Asymmetry-Is-So-In Stylist: His sister Super Powers: Superhuman performance of the siezure dance at trendy 80's night Secret Weapon: Women's jeans

MySpace Name: Liz	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Virgo
		Hair Style: The Drag Queen Wig Stylist: Clearly, nobody. Base Of Operations: Behind the cafeteria Arch Enemies: The popular kids

MySpace Name: jasper	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Porcupine
		Hair Style: The Way-Too-Ugly-To-Pull-This-Off Stylist: Interpol, he wishes. Base Of Operations: Lit Super Powers: Casting smug looks to mask his own insecurities

MySpace Name: antoinette	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Photon
		Hair Style: The As-If-My-Head-Wasn't-Big-Enough-Already Stylist: Jack Osbourne. Base Of Operations: Band camp Secret Weapon: Clarinet

MySpace Name: AudyMurda	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Rogue
		Hair Style: The Oops-I-Did-It-Again Stylist: Jillian Barberie Super Power: Can attack enemies with flock of killer birds nesting in her hair Arch Enemy: Hair Brush Man Secret Weapon: Aquanet

MySpace Name: Hex	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Birdbrain
		Hair Style: The Palm Tree Stylist: The Crow Super Power: Ability to impress no one with his collection of import Einsturzende Neubauten 7" vinyls Base Of Operations: DJ booth at industrial club

MySpace Name: Mikey	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Chthon
		Hair Style: The Who-Needs-Vision-When-You-Look-This-Fucking-Cool Stylist: Lord Dark Helmet Arch Enemy: Walls Known Allies: xmatthewx

MySpace Name: Emily Strange	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Magneto
		Hair Style: The Purple Heart Super Power: Ability to scare off the preppy kids at the mall, because she's so strraaaaaaaange! Base Of Operations: Hot Topic Secret Weapon: Punky Colors

And, by popular demand...

MySpace Name: Rob	Marvel Superhero Alter-Ego: Hulk
		Hair Style: The Too-Much-Product Pseudo-Hipster Mess Stylist: Supercuts Super Power: Ability to make fun of complete strangers about things he is almost just as guilty of Base Of Operations: The same trendy hangouts he makes fun of Secret Weapon: Self-deprecation

NEW!Check Out The SECOND Annual MySpace Stupid Haircut Awards!

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• Irresistible Dating Prospects from THE GOTHIC PERSONALS
• Bad Indie Rock Vs. George Bush (Guess Who Wins?) Also: Conor Oberst Is A Vagina.
• "Anything But Country," and Other MySpace Pet Peeves

Irresistible dating prospects from THE GOTHIC PERSONALS!

As collective internet addiction pulls society ever further away from tangible human contact, online dating sites - and online dating sites that pretend they aren't online dating sites to make you feel like less of a loser (read: myspace) - are soaring in popularity. And although most lonely folks are content to search through the normal personals sites, you may not realize that there are people out there with special needs, who are looking for dates within their own unique world. So inevitably, you can now find specialized personals sites for old people, fat chicks ("abundant love" - best name ever), double-jointed fat chicks (i shit you not), retards (go there for a laugh, and condemn yourself to hell as i have), Bible thumpers, female prison inmates (i own a couple videos on this subject), hicks, recovering alcoholics, truckers ("papa bear seeking cub in stall 5"), people with painful sores on their genitals (*giggle*), music snobs (as if friendster wasn't bad enough), computer geeks (priceless), people who think they're soooooo fucking smart, tall people, stupid rich motherfuckers (aren't you so special), and even philanderers. Now, I would think that some of these sites are targeting such a specific market that the dating pool must end up like an episode of Friends - the same six people hooking up in different combinations.



But the point is, none of these sites could possibly compare to the wealth of entertainment I had the incredible fortune of stumbling upon yesterday: A massive database of hilarious walking cliches, THE GOTHIC PERSONALS. Folks, this is almost too easy. This material writes itself. However, I am going to take candy from the baby and highlight some of the amazing people you could be lucky enough to meet on this extraordinary site...



First, though, an introduction: The Gothic Personals operate more or less like MySpace and Friendster - you have a little profile, you browse other peoples' profiles, you send each other messages, you meet up in a graveyard, etc etc. But if you're on The Gothic Personals you're not an average Joe. You're a special person with special needs, so your profile has some very unique options. There are specific fields to let people know how many tattoos you have, how many piercings you have (and where), your style of dress (there are options for black, light black, and dark black), what particular fetishes you might have (i was surprised to see "biting" appear quite often), if you're transgendered or not (a good thing to know before a date!), and most importantly, what type of goth you are.



"Now wait a minute," you're saying, "there are different types of goths? I thought they were all equally retarded!" Well how wrong you are, my friend! According to The Gothic Personals, there are TWELVE different types of goths: GlamGoth (black sparkles?), GlitterGoth (read: tori amos fan), PunkGoth (mix genres to maximize your clothing selection at hot topic), BabyGoth (i don't want to know), CorporateGoth (have to wear long sleeves to cover their scratch marks at the office), ElderGoth (remembers seeing joy division live, hasn't changed outfits since), MopeyGoth (isn't that all of them?), RomantiGoth (the most prolific of goth poets), Mansonite (still grasping on), VampyreGoth (so goth, they spell it with a "y"), and, my favorite, GangstaGoth.



And much like on MySpace, your profile can have its own brief headline to tell your would-be suitors a little bit about you. All you have to do is browse through the profile headlines on this site to get a taste of what you're in for. Here's a sampling of ACTUAL headlines from real profiles on The Gothic Personals. No, I did NOT make these up:



"Vampire tired of stalking the night myself."

"Of Dark Things and Midnight Places..."

"i wanna give abortions..."

"Razorblade smiles and bloody kisses."

"Dance with the Dead in my dreams."

"Bleeding, Intombed...Painted Like The Forgotten Sea's..." (nice spelling, jackass)

"Now the darkness gathers... now the light is gone.."

"If it but herald death, the vision is divine."

"Melt the ice and start the black fires."

And, by far my favorite:

"i've got a date at midnight...with nosferatu!"


Ooooooh! Spoooooky!!



So without further ado, let's meet some of the fantastic folks you could be lucky enough to date on The Gothic Personals!



First up: Sub Zero
Goth Type: RomantiGoth




Take a look at those (apparently) home made spikey purple armbands! He's all set for his D&D match tonight! What I appreciate about Sub Zero is his knack for color coordination. The hair, the armbands, AND the spooky pagan wall hangings all match! No need to call the Fab Five in on this boy. But aside from being devilishly handsome and a maven of style, Sub Zero will also lure you in with some beautiful poetry. He writes:

"The Dark times here and alone, Not sure where to roam, needed one to call my own, one that silence the lonleyness and stoke the fires of passion, Looking for one that sees the night, With eyes of pure delight, One that sees the same as me, as graves and tombs as a place to be free, Leather and lace, the pure embrace, the vangs of a dark soul as lonley as me, one that can simply be unique as thee, if you feel that you are the one, IM me and let the fun run, come to me and I will awaken, Kindred nights and days complete and done, walk with me and you will see, the darkness comes to all and to all to enjoy with thee."



You see, people? This shit writes itself.



Mingster
Goth Type: ElderGoth

Yes, that's a man. Mingster is, tragically, the father of two children, and some of his favorite bands include Clan of Xymox and Feindflug. He lists his religion as "the religion of celibacy," which is a pro-active way of saying "no one wants to have sex with me, ever." Gee Mingster, maybe girls would like you a bit more if you weren't actually...

...CHER!! Yes, Cher, I've found you out. I know things have been hard since Sonny died, but do you really need to disguise yourself and shop for women on The Gothic Personals? Then again, I guess it's not surprising considering Cher's history in the world of Dungeons & Dragons (CLICK THIS LINK!).

Anyway, let's meet...


Lordeberon
Goth Type: VampyreGoth

Ladies and gentlemen, the crowned prince of douchebags! Lordeberon is, as you can see, actually a demonic spirit from the pits of Hell, and only through the anonymity of online personals could he possibly reveal his true form! He describes himself thusly: "I am a lost and lonley soul, doomed to wander this life in agony. I have searched in vain through the valley of eternal night for others like me. The razor can only cut so deep....." The cliche-o-meter is off the scale here, people. Again I remind you, I am not making any of this up. I know, I wouldn't believe me either, but seriously.

Kill
Goth Type: "Other" (cop out!)




Kill fancies himself a blacksmith some day (much as the blacksmiths from days of olde forged the shimmering daggers which struck the blackened hearts of vampyres!), and you can see his exquisite craftsmanship in the picture above. Kill has made himself a really tough-looking crossbow using junk parts from his Dad's tool shed. Notice the price sticker on the shaft that he's tried unsuccessfully to scrape off. Pretty scary weapon, Kill! But is it tough enough to break through Sub Zero's impenetrable spikey purple armor? I guess we'll have to wait until the renaissance fair to find out. Kill has a good "Trenchcoat Mafia" look to him. I can totally see him busting into a classroom at his high school and hacking up his teacher with a battle axe forged out of a garden hoe.


Angelfalleth
Goth Type: VampyreGoth




Nice picture, dumbass. What is she, crawling around the forest in search of newt's eye for her magic spells? It looks like she's waiting for her cat to eat out her ass. Angelfalleth is "searching for a great horned beast or dark princess to share my nights with." She's also "well skilled in all aspects of witchcraft and other magicks" (ooooooh!), and is an ex stripper. Oh, and she usually carries "brass knuckles in my bra and a dagger in my boot." You know, in case she gets attacked by a pack of werewolves in the food court on the way to Hot Topic. Her fetishes are listed as: "likes to play bondage fairies." Apparently she forgot to mention "feline analingus."


DrDeath
Goth Type: (he left it blank, because he's far too much of an individual to be broken down into cheap classifications)




It really doesn't get any better than this dude. That is a fucking work of art, right there. Ladies, how could you resist a face like that? DrDeath describes himself as "...nothing more than flesh, just like you. I have hopes always ending in nothing, just like you too. My feelings are possibly nothing to you. Your feelings are possibly nothing to me too, all depends on who." Whoooaaah, slow down there Dr. Seuss. I'll bet his hopes of getting laid always end in nothing, too.


Kymus
Goth Type: CorporateGoth

Now, Kymus may look like your run-of-the-mill Marilyn Manson concert patron, but there's more to this catch than meets the eye...

...He also knows KUNG-FU!!



This is Kymus in the "Green Dragon Pose" from his website, which I encourage you to visit for more great photos of his lethal ninja action, and also photos of his mom's flower garden.


Wolfmaster55
Goth Type: "Other" (there wasn't an option for "33YearOldVirginGoth")




Ladies and Gentlemen... THE GOTHMULLET. Now I know Wolfie here isn't exactly Brad Pitt, but could he perhaps, at the very least, maybe find a photo with his fucking EYES open?? Wolfie, you're trying to sell yourself to the voluptuous black-clad vixens of the world here, and you're really starting off on a low note. And what's with the puffy face? He looks like a wax sculpture at one of those third-rate wax museums you find in towns like Orlando, where people will start up anything to piggyback off major tourist attractions like DisneyWorld. You know, right next door to the "Fun Town Amusement Park," with its weathered miniature golf course, and one dismal white trash family from nothern Florida trying their best to have fun on their vacation because they can't afford DisneyWorld tickets.


Or maybe this picture was taken while he was in the midst of jacking off to Suicide Girls for the fourth time today.


Anyway, the Wolfmaster gets right to the point, describing himself as an adult male who has "never been kissed". He continues, "Big stinking deal, OK, was raised on traditional values!!" Wow. Bitter, party of one? He also describes himself as "a frequent 'Astral Traveler.'" Well, I hope he "travels" to the barber shop sometime soon to get that dead muskrat removed from his head. You know, all this guy is missing is a pepperoni spattering of acne to really round out his raw sex appeal.


Also, someone please call up Kittie and tell them we've found the one person who still buys their albums. They've been wondering who it was.


Forest-Troll
Goth Type: VampyreGoth


I fucking love this picture. Gaze upon Forest-Troll's divine wickedness as he beckons you into his mansion of the undead! I'm going to step out on a limb here and guess that his look was just a tad inspired by Trent Reznor, circa 1997:


Hey girls, put on your best fishnets, because Forest-Troll "will be visiting northern New Jersey and was wondering if some kind ladies might be able to show me around to some night clubs or take me for a moonlight stroll through a graveyard or two?" Oh for fuck's sake...

Some of Forest-Troll's favorite bands include Demise, Acid Bath, Cephalic Carnage, Cannibal Corpse, Dying Fetus, Goatwh*re, Vital Remains, Devourment, Eyehategod, Waco Jesus, and Crematorium. Okay, now, I like to think of myself as open-minded when it comes to music, but the truth is I'm not. At all. If you listen to bands called "Dying Fetus" and "Goatwh*re," you are a complete fucking tool.


Petitelolita
Goth Type: "Other"


Hey, she's kind of cute... Oh. Wait. It's a DUDE.

If Petitelolita's gender confusion doesn't entice you, perhaps he can lure you in with his vibrant personality. This is an exact quote: "im avid collector of stuff!" Really? Stuff? That's interesting, because I collect DOUCHEBAGS, and rarely have I seen a finer specimen.

Takeitall000
Goth Type: "Other" (damnit, people! classify yourselves!)


What I like about Takeitall is his brutal honesty. Instead of attempting creepy, mysterious gothic prose like everyone else, his headline cuts right to the chase: "Pathetic computer geek seeking love tool." It really says that. The picture is apparently of his band, "Anomaly," whose musical prowess is rivaled only by their cutting edge graphic design skills.


Skarygrl (incredibly accurate nickname)
Goth Type: PerkyGoth


Skarygrl's headline is: "Come into my world... bring your goggles." Um... my goggles? Do you mean my beer goggles, fatty? Because I'm gonna need 'em.

When she's not getting make up tips from the guy who runs the face painting booth at the county fair, Skarygrl enjoys listening to Tori Amos (surprise!) and practicing S&M. Her profile begins with an A, B, C list of guidelines you must follow if you are going to contact her. It reads like a diary of every bad relationship she's been in - "no cheaters, no liars, no shallow conceited bastards," etc. I guess her double chin isn't the only baggage she's carrying. She closes the list by writing, "That's me in a nutshell. I know I probably sound like Hitler with a vagina right now, but I'm actually very affectionate and caring, and I'd give you the shirt off my back if it would help." Shhhh... You had me at "Hitler with a vagina." ...And please, keep your shirt ON.


Panthedragon
Goth Type: (he left it blank, because he's not a goth, he's a mystical creature. duh!)

What's nice about The Gothic Personals is that you aren't limited only to humans in your dating selections. As you can see, the troll and demon population really has a commanding presence here, and I for one am glad that these long-alienated minorities are finally gaining the opportunity for widespread acceptance. When Pan isn't busy waiting for children to get lost in the forest so he can eat them, he's also a visionary artist: "My art is of nudes in spaces of structural decay." Really? Because no one has ever done that before. Pan also organizes and hosts BDSM "dungeon parties," and for a good laugh I highly recommend checking out the list of rules for attending these unique events. You know it's a party when you have to sign a form promising you won't pee on anyone while playing in the dungeon.

Lightwave
Goth Type: "Other"





OH MY GOD!! Behold, ye mortals! He has captured the magickal life energy of the Spirits Of Darkness in a glowing Orb of Power, and he's absorbing it into his stomach! Ooooooaaaaah!!


Fallenpoet
Goth Type: CorporateGoth

I love this guy because he's so adorably out of place. How on earth could Dilbert here expect to ever compete on any level with all of his leather-clad, horn-bearing, sword-wielding peers in the race for the heart of a gothic princess? He's really just lacking an "edge" of some sort; I'm not sure if it's the Gap sweater or the Old Navy khakis or the goofy grin, but something's definitely holding him back. He kind of looks like one of the people in those ads for community college where they have pictures of smiling, successful, multi-ethnic nerds standing together, representing the college's "success stories." They're always folding their arms like that, all smug and confident with their community college degrees, eagerly awaiting their lifetime careers as management assistants at some nondescript office building in suburbia. 45 years old and racking up $30K. Driving a Kia. Actually, I can see this dude working at Kinko's. He's a "photoduplication technician," or something. Which means he makes copies. Like how the people who make your food at Subway are called "sandwich artists," to make them feel a tiny bit better about themselves as they methodically squirt mayonnaise all over a pile of cold cuts three hundred times a day. And it's odd that I mention Subway, because Fallenpoet here looks a tad bit like Jared. Post-Subway Jared, that is.

Rednarcissus
Goth Type: RomantiGoth


No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is indeed a man. Rednarcissus apparently had a provocative photo shoot in the changing room shower at the YMCA. The raw sexual energy is overpowering. Nice fucking tutu. Better yet, though, here he is as Maid Marion, the lady fair:



That is a piss-poor attempt at looking like a woman, dude. It looks like a bad fraternity stunt.

"Oh, who will save such a fair lady from the evil forest troll? Will not any brave warrior step forward and do battle with this vile beast, and win ye the heart of a gentle maiden?"


Fear not, Maid Marion!...


...It's Demonknight to the rescue!
Goth Type: "Other"



"Stand down, beasts of the forest, for I am Demonknight, valiant guardian of the soda bottles in my mom's kitchen! May fear strike your black hearts as you gaze upon my butterfly calendar!"


Between this dumbass, the trolls, kung fu boy, the guy with the spear, and the dude with the glowing orb, I've practically got a whole deck of Magic cards put together at this point.


I could probably keep going forever, but I'll bring my article to a close with one last profile, the only "GangstaGoth" I encountered during my time on The Gothic Personals...


Cancer
Goth Type: GangstaGoth


This one is the fucking best. His headline is "Is There Something Wrong With Me?" Well, yes. For one thing, you're a fucking chode. For another thing, when in the Christ did goths and gangstas get together? Did I miss the memo about that? Look at how fucking straight hip-hop he is, flashin' his Benjamins. And yet goth, at the same time.

The mind reels...