The Worst Blog Of All Time

I'm Baaaack...

2008-10-07T22:34:00.003-06:00

...and I'm thinking, very hard, about what to write about next...

Due to some Technical Difficulties...

2006-06-13T12:06:00.000-06:00

May Day Revisionism

2006-05-04T19:30:00.000-06:00

Aaron, don't forget May Day is not just a time to wear cute red bandannas and hawaiian leis. It's also LAW DAY and LOYALTY DAY.

May Day: A time to celebrate Communism

2006-04-28T13:23:00.000-06:00

As such, here is some propaganda:

The New & Improved, Metallic Evil Robo-Brianne

2006-04-16T23:06:00.000-06:00

I've undergone some changes recently.

I'm a little hesitant to discuss the situation. I just thought you should know.

Photo courtesy A-dub, 4/13/06.

An Odd Dream: Something different from normal content, but nobody reads this thing anyway.

2006-04-06T08:10:00.000-06:00

In a dream you were alive again.
They brought you back
With science and miracles.

I was so astounded to see you
that my mind did a focus pull.
Nothing else mattered.

I pushed through the crowd
to get near you;
to touch you and make sure.

You were really there
and didn't say much of anything
But you didn't need to. I knew it was you.

I laughed so hard in disbelief
and hugged you
til we fell to the grass

I woke up knowing it was a dream
But I felt like you were still alive.
In the shower it hit me that you're not.

Latest Scientific Phenomenon: Raccoon does Dog

2006-03-26T19:41:00.000-07:00

Disgusted? Intrigued? Amazed? Aroused? !

I say: keep it to yourself.

Spare us your interesting comments on cross-species fornication. Just check out the We Are Scientists’ website, where I got this photo. They may just be an Indie-pop-rock band, but like the original contributors of this blog, they are especially committed to studying things like science, nature, scientific natural pornography!

Anyway, I saw them perform last week, and they were SO GOOD. I’m pretty ignorant when it comes to bands; I’m kinda wary of people who claim too much knowledge about trendy music; and I do not hesitate to judge them silently, especially behind their backs. But We Are Scientists is different. One or two of them went to my college (graduated a few years earlier), and the other 1.5 of them went to Harvey Mudd. So they were always performing around the Claremont Colleges, singing really high-energy, catchy, quirky songs with weird scientific themes.

Sample lyrics, to “The Method” (aka the scientific method):

Chemistry cannot explain

This burning I feel inside;

You’ve catalyzed the nitration

That’s nebulized my mind.

I try to abide by the methodology,

When all I want is to follow my heart.

But when you’re a part of the scientific scene,

The greatest monster of all is LOO-OOOOVE.

So classy! So if you’re bored, don't waste your life. Check out their music. And don’t just check out their recent music; go download “The Creeper.” Hopefully it can teach us all a good lesson about not being creepy.

A Year of Work: A Retrospective Look Back

2006-03-23T08:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it appears that I've been working here for one year, to the day. I thought I'd commemorate the day by obsessively prolonging it by switching back and forth between "working" and writing this nostalgic look at a year in the life of an editorial assistant, rather than switching back and forth between "working" and making sure that no one has emailed me or updated their facebook account in dirvish-like 20 second intervals that would surely make a humming bird dizzy enough to throw up.

This picture represents the time between 9:27 and 9:55 am on the year anniversary of my job here. I even worked on it while the boss called in to congratulate me on a year of indentured servitude. But, it leads me to my first boredom-induced dollop of nostalgia.

1. Man, my on-the-job photoshop skills have been put to good use: A look back, and some tips of the trade.

But first, I'm gonna do a little work. I'll keep posting, let's see how my day goes.

Okay, I'm back now. 10:48 (and some of that time was spent making the following picture).

Oh yeah, My first moment of nostalgia.

When I started working here my photoshop skills were rudimentary at best, as seen below:

As you can see, it's clearly not my best work. I mean the details on the burning sausage are just not up to snuff.

But since I've been working here for a year, my photoshopping has become so seamless that I can even remove a Date Stamp from a picture without anyone ever being able to tell, which we have to do to preserve the timelessness of all photographs. Have a look see: flawless.

Well, what can I say? I've made Henry ride 8 seconds on a rampant cocktail shrimp and made fun of Michael Jackson. If my image-doctoring had to cease right now, I think I'd be a happy man. But, what a year of growth it's been. Leaps and bounds, my friends.

Tip of the day: When illegally photoshopping at work, if you zoom in enough, no one can tell if you're working on picture of an alien mutant turkey or what you're actually supposed to be working on! Genius!

Well, that should tide you hungry devils over for a few more moments. I have to return to the Brigadoon of work.

2. My Boss's coffee sure does play mean, confusing tricks on my bowels

Well, campers, I'm back now. No new emails. No facebook updates, for anyone counting. Currently it is 12:29. That's right, I decided to do the one thing I have consistently done everyday of my job here: eat lunch. Well...maybe that's not the only thing I've consistently done here day in and day out. But since I'm in the middle of my Country Berry Applesauce, I figured I would talk about movements...you know...playing Yahtzee...you know releasing the troll back into the dungeon.

Anywhoo...If I've learned one thing on the job it's that my boss's coffee - which had a starring role in X-Files as the "black cancer" wrecks havok on my intestinal system with predictable ease and consistency.

In fact, I figured since smokers get breaks to go outside and light up, that I am entitled to a break of equal duration. So, to make the inevitable more enjoyable, I find it quite easy to pop over to www.davebarry.com, print off a zesty article about dogs, or dinner or some crap like that and have a good read while I'm...you know.

This, like everything in the history of man, can all be boiled down to a simple pictographical diagram:

3. Windows M keeps food on my table.

This simple philosophy has kept men in their jobs for centuries. Well... at least men who use PCs, or as I like to call them, "men." Like a vigilant vigilante always ready to kill, you must be ever-ready to enter in this oft-forgotten and ill-begotten keystroke, which was actually sent to man from the Greek Gods right after fire.

With your left pinky always hovered over the "windows" key, and a stretched index finger stalwartly posed above the "m," you will always be ready to minimize all illegal activities and make it appear that...oh! you were just staring at your desktop...not NOT working!

For those who can't read, the following diagram might be useful. However, it might also be considered futile because you can't read to locate the "m" key on the board anyway, though you might be alright with the "windows" symbol, since it is technically not a letter and therefore within the realm of "understandable by the illiterate." But if you can't read, then you can't read this, so you don't know that the picture is for you anyway. But, hell, maybe by a stroke of luck you'll stumble upon this diagram and save your job...which probably doesn't inlcude a keyboard anyway since that tool is often used for recreating the written word which you can't understand ... unless your boss is high on irony. Then you might have a keyboard, but probably wouldn't be able to type in our all-too-complex URL to get here anyway. But, alas, here's this crappy drawing I made on the one-year anniversary of my employ here:

Well, I'm sure that I learned/experienced more than those three points in my tenure here, but I really can't think of anything else right now. I hope you're happy.

Oh yeah, one more thing. I know I've only been here for 1 human year, but if I were a dog, I'd have been here 7 years. And Yes, this was just a pointless sentence so I could post a picture of my dog. Screw you. It's my anniversary. I do what I want.

Wear your Pride

2006-03-22T11:03:00.000-07:00

3-22-2006

WBE BLOG MERCHANDISE REPORTED SKYROCKETED SALES IN FIRST QUARTER, 2006. UNPRECEDENTED GAINS POSTED. PERCENTAGE INCREASE OF PRODUCTS PURCHASED UP INFINITE PERCENTAGES.

Irony: When an IQ test preys on your stupidity

2006-03-09T08:34:00.000-07:00

Well, I am a consumer whore. I am also frequently bored and distracted at my job. As every god-fearing omnivore knows, that is a recipe for some high quality net surfing. My net surfing brings me to many fun places and has unearthed many incredible "jewels" of the net, such as the following image produced when I search for "old people" on google image:

But these vagina-toting old men with swim caps aren't really the point of this gripe. So, shut up.

The other day I stumbled across an IQ test online offered for free by the always-notable IQ and Intelligence company, Tickle. I should have known from the name alone, but who the hell cares what I should have known, anyway? I took the test, okay, dammit? I took it. I had nothing else really to do at that 45-minute, post-lunch break period anyway. So I took the multiple multiple-choice question test, replete with inane questions like the following:

Anyway, I finished the test and did pretty well. Some algebra, some comparing shapes and colors and patterns, some finishing sentences. I got a decent score, as you can see below. I am placed somewhere between idiot and super genius with a score of BANANA SPLIT. (I really don't care about this test or the results, because I don't think they mean anything but I didn't want to seem like a dick by posting the results, hence, I replaced them with a delicious banana split.)

So yay, I am a freaking meat popsicle. Not only do the results intrigue me with the suggestive black voodoo of some freaking Harry Potter Magical Trading Cards, but it seduces me with sycophantic ass-licking. I am really riding high right now (not now, I was speaking of how high I was riding in the moment of seeing my results and discovering I wasn't as dumb as my parents told me I was). Anyway, I was riding high...see, the test- my best friend in the world - told me that I am "highly intelligent," a "visionary philosopher" if you will.

Okay, I am not only a friggin genius, but I have ESP too, as I can anticipate and predict patterns. Now, seeing as how I am really smart, I don't need to read the fine print or anything...I want more ball-sucking, on-your-knees, unfounded compliments from this machine. I am eating it up.

So I click on "Yes, give me my IQ Report."

Hell, after all, It it in a nice, shiny, blue box with bolded letters. Why wouldn't I click on it?

And then the walls come crumbling down.

AS IF! They get me all addicted to being treated like a king and regaled with pithy kindnesses and now I'm gonna drop more than a 10 spot for some more? Who do they think they're dealing with here? They just tell me how goran intelligent I am and now they try to pull the wool over my eyes? Who on God's Green Earth do you think you are, Tickle? WHO ARE YOU? AND GIVE ME MY FULL REPORT FOR FREE! I NEED YOU! I NEED YOU! I NEED YOU TO ACKNOWLEDGE MY SMARTITUDE AND CONTINUE TO SUCK UP TO ME AND VALIDATE MY EXISTENCE! But $12.95 is much too high a price for that kind of shit. Honestly, if you just told me what a smart-ass I am, then why do you think I'd be dumb enough to buy the air you are selling for nigh 15 clams!

Anyway, If I could really anticipate and predict patterns, then I would have seen this coming.

This test sucks. I guess it's back to google image searching "old lady" for me.

Ha ha:

What Do You Think?: Logonomics

2006-03-03T12:01:00.000-07:00

Now its time to determine What You Think.

What do you see in this logo?

A) Placid, brand-friendly Toucan, pondering extensive deliciousness of Premium Tropical Froot.

B) Horrified, brand-ruining penguin, with enormous banana-esque object crammed down throat.

Vote in the comments.

Make Love, Not War: A gift list for you.

2006-03-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

My new mantra involves gift-giving. We’ve all had those moments: when you buy a crappy scented candle for your brother, or buy roses for your mom that die in a day. Well those times are OVER!! Because now you can memorize this perfect gift list below and feel prepared and carefree for any gift-giving occasion. I’ve even compressed 20 perfect gifts into the ultimate 13 b/c I don't want you to feel stressed out about memorizing this list.

Top 20 PERFECT gifts for ANY occasion:

diamonds
pony
Parcheesi
subscription to the Oprah magazine
Rachel Ray cookbook
adult cow (way more functional than a pony)
dead, stuffed exotic bird
chia pet- or a chia human!
creepy robo-dog + golf ball
strobe body light
WBE merchandise
safkjslfjkslka;ls

13-20. Ok now I finally come to the ultimate gift, which counts for 7 perfect gifts, b/c it’s really the only reason I’m writing this list. Sorry if I half-assed some of the other perfect gifts. I received this ultimate gift just a few days ago from one of my top two BFFs, and it’s amazing. The all-time-super-cute-stuffed-mini-bed for my cell phone:

I hope this hasn't been anticlimactic.

I have one thing to say:

2006-03-01T12:08:00.000-07:00

That is all.

Verse Adverse

2006-02-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

Known to scholars and men of the cloth,
there are some social tenets
(that I don't care to mention)
which if broken, make the best of friends froth.

though try as we might to eschew this
invariably acquaintances fight
be it conceit, cruelty or hubris,
natural law says who rhymes best, is right.

righteously armed with this ordinance
I've launched a preemptive strike
with weapons of mass incite.
be sure to respond in accordance*

Adam's insincere; Henry's a queer;
Brianne and Aaron: impoverished in Texas.
Brice and the rest, honestly who cares?
Comments are open. Let's see who attacks us.

*
abba
cdcd

Dallas and Boston: A Comparison

2006-02-13T20:07:00.000-07:00

Well apparently A-dub is on hiatus. HI-ATE-US, that is, if you missed the boat like I did. And considering the dearth of recent posts, too, it’s a sad state of affairs when posts are retracted, even temporarily.

I can only conclude that it’s a result of spiteful, ignorant prejudice against North Texans.

So I’d like to lay out – for the entire world – an insanely obvious list of reasons why Dallas is superior to Boston. For some, this may seem unfruitful/alienating, but I introduce it in the spirit of lively debate. For those of you who don’t know, I was just in Boston and took documentary evidence. As for our Bostonian readers, I believe none of them have been to Dallas, so I expect none of them can have a valid basis for refuting my truthful, soul-searched conclusion.

The Meta-List of why Dallas is amazingly superior to Boston:

1. Weather. Boston is inclement, while Dallas is paradisiacal.

par·a·dise
n.

A place of ideal beauty or loveliness.
The abode of righteous souls; heaven.

Boston:

Dallas:

2. Birds. Boston has the most dead, stuffed birds per capita than any other city in the USA. Dallas supports living, beautiful birds. And when they die, we don’t paint their corpses.

Few people know that the Dodo bird actually went extinct in Boston. In fact, the last existent Dodo was transported to Boston by pirates and then ruthlessly beaten by townsfolk who thought it was a witch.

3. Neo-Druidism. Boston encourages drunken pagan neo-Druidism. In point of fact: I went to a place called The Druid, and my friend Elsie and I witnessed two white bulls being sacrificed on the spot.

Boston, typically slaying bulls in the service of Druidism:

Just because Winston Churchill was a neo-Druid, doesn’t mean we should all quench our bloodlust in pubs.

4.Lastly, Arms. They’re out of control in Boston. A-dub raised this issue in a previous post, and I don’t think we should take it lightly. Please take a look at the evidence:

She may have a nice smile, but observe the flaming red hair and eyes. (Evil.)

And then there was this:

So that’s my case. If it weren’t for the weather, bird corpses, death-mongering Druids, and uncontrollable appendage problem, Boston would be a pretty decent place to visit. But more importantly, Dallas is the ideal place to visit, re: abode of righteous souls.

Love,

Bricheezie

A Pneumatic Wishscape

2006-02-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry Aaaron, but your picture was just too awful to be tolerated even one day more.

Fine. Now this happened in 1990. Let's put it behind us.

A Current Message

2006-01-23T12:20:00.000-07:00

An Original Composition

2006-01-16T09:58:00.000-07:00

My Favorite Lies
(Sung to the tune of My Favorite Things from The Sound Of Music)
by Matters

a just government and social medicine
objective reporting and humanely killed venison
people who tell you that they are not spies
these are a few of my favorite lies

nutritional guidelines and freedom from poverty
inspirational posters and canada's sovereignty
friends who will claim that they care if you die
these are a few of my favorite lies

"smart and attractive" and "i love you too"
breakfast on sunday and trips to the zoo
believing that it'll work out if you try
these are a few of my favorite lies

when I notice
life isn't great
when I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite lies
and then I don't feel so bad

Yes, there are some problems with the scansion. So sue me.

Please don't sue me.

MED TALK: The Arm

2006-01-11T14:00:00.000-07:00

THE ALL-PURPOSE ARM

The arm has a long history of being quite useful to us humans. It comes in handy from everything to picking your nose, masturbating and having your hands attached to your body somehow. This is documented in many medical journals around the world. It is also well-documented by this picture of early pompous French cavemen. Note, in the figure they just recently evolved to grow arms and seem quite pleased with the way the're working out.

The arm can even be used to exhibit your status as a rebel without a cause, and is quite often used as such in John Hughes movies, as exhibited in Figure 2. Please note the quite rebellious right arm of Bender, held at a 45 degree angle with contempt for the man and some sort of fingerless leather glove.

As noted by the Second Amendment to the American Constitution, arms can also be weapons of mass destruction, utilized for hell-bent moidah of third world citizens and those against democracy. Now, keep in mind that the constitution means not bear arms, as you sycophantic t-shirt-lovin' tourists would like to believe. It's talking about real guns, but not those "guns" like in a gym. But I'm talking about human arms, not colonial arms, and -yes- real human arms can be used as weapons too, as seen in Oscar-winning Films about Arm Wrestling (see left).

The Arm could even get you laid in War Time.

But...sometimes Shit happens to arms like this:

this:

or this:

And then suddenly you wake up in the morning and can't bend your arm past a 50 degree angle. You can't brush your teeth with your left hand. Forget about shampooing. And using your turn signal? Out of the friggin' question. Now you're operating on one burner, son and you can't do anything like double-hand-high-fives or even peel a freaking banana! You just wake up and -- it may have been the lifting weights the night before when you haven't done it in a while or the 110 pound fiancee sleeping on your arm all night- but suddenly you're freaking "My Left Foot" guy, but with arms and no painting!

Medically speaking, you don't know how important arms are until you don't have access to one anymore. Then you'll know how useful you're damn arm is.

The "Doctor" reccommends (besides spell checking the word, "Recommends"), bathing in Icy Hot, Whining A lot and watching porn to take your mind off of it.

Hopefully it will feel better tomorrow. If not, you can always live the rest of your freak life as a cyborg with a damn robot arm.

The Doctor is out.

Photodictum

2006-01-09T21:55:00.000-07:00

Your reality in photo form. Surreptitiously robbed from http://r.sine.com. (You probably don't want to click that if you're at work.)

Comic Strip Day

2006-01-05T08:58:00.000-07:00

I'm trying my hand an political commentary in the form of a comic strip. Also, it's less readin'. I hope you enjoy my comic strip about the Iraq War. I think it may even be funnier than Garfield.

Matters Of Interest: Yet Another Year

2006-01-02T22:18:00.000-07:00

This is a post in the hopelessly redundant spirit of the tireless march of Time, which continues on despite the fact that I'm ever so bored with it. It is for those of you who correctly believed that I would never again lace frothy text across a puce and navy themed skunk hole in an abandoned corner of Her Majesty's Royal Internet.

As 2006 swoops down upon the helpless frightened minions of 2005, claiming them for its own evil purposes, two facts are abundantly clear to me.

First, 2006 is already riddled with the same empty promises, false hopes, and impending disasters that were the sanctimonious trappings of 2005. But this is no great revelation to you, oh Reader of The Aaaron, and The Worst Blog Ever, as you are already possessed of either a prodigiously well articulated sense of quiet despair, or a insurmountable and unquenchable taste for self-denial. Either of these powers should by now have revealed to you this first indisputable fact of 2006. This is not the shocking news that has roused me from my torpor to fulfil my undeniable duty to you: the Reader.

The terrible truth that I must now reveal to you in fact resides on my bedroom floor. It is indeed my trash receptacle, which I have now neglected to empty for approximately two months. They have been a reliable, joy-filled two months for me. But by some fluke of nature (I am widely regarded as quite tidy) I have been unable to summon the energy to dispatch its terrible untold contents. Yet, stranger still, the trash has not filled the void of my pho-trendy waste basket and overflowed into my room. Rather, the bin seems to be growing less full by the day. I fear that the point of no return has been reached, as my designer-on-the-cheap Martha Stuart Kmart classic trash container is already far to massive for man or machine to heft. I first became aware of the problem when, two days ago, I absentmindedly decided to toss an errant credit card offer. The offending junk mail crossed the event horizon of my trash receptacle and vanished. In the picture provided, you can see my super massive can of vile filth beginning to warp the very fabric of space time.

Needless to say, we are all fucked. 2006 is going to be worse than you can possibly imagine, as Scientists estimate from the rate that I am burning through styrofoam fast food cartons, gum wrappers, death threats, and cease and desist pleas from the ACLU, that by early March we, all of us, this planet, will be consumed, rended limb from limb, by the gravitational pull of a super massive ball of waste. Our only hope is that the doomed inhabitants of an alternate time line command a terrible cyborg soldier to return to the past and force me to empty the trash five weeks ago. HA. Enjoy your time on Earth you frauds.

~Matters

Join M.A.U.L.! (Movement to Animate Utilization of Libraries)

2006-01-01T21:34:00.000-07:00

In honor of New Year's, I'm starting a new and exciting movement, M.A.U.L.! It's the Movement to Animate Utilization of Libraries, because according to new 2006 statistics, libraries are vastly underrated and under-utilized. Everybody's a fan of the library, but nobody seems to go. Typical excuses I hear: too many old people; associated with academic stress; frequented by weird social outcasts; libraries have ghosts (false):

In fact, libraries are perfect community centers for meeting intelligent/interesting/righteous people who you know are also not dangerous:

Preliminary M.A.U.L.! Strategy:

Stage 1: To help me jumpstart M.A.U.L.! nationwide, please begin by going to your local library like you would go to any bar/club. Go to the library intoxicated. Everyone knows you're not supposed to talk in libraries, and being drunk will help you get over this. Because conversation is VITAL. There are so many important books to discuss.

Stage 2: Meet as many people at the library as you can (with alacrity and imagination).

Tips for initiating contact with people:

1. Ask for assistance (traditional approach). It's the perfect opening. Everyone likes to feel helpful. If possible, find out what your target audience is reading, and approach them with the EXACT same book in hand. It will be such a great coincidence.

2. Attract their notice (creative approach). Forget eye contact/shiny jewelry. Walk straight up to their desk, and pretend to faint. This will immediately catch their attention, and once they revive you, they will again feel helpful + important.

3. Bring a puppy (ideal approach). Everybody loves puppies; they're so cute. However, we recognize that it might be hard smuggling a puppy into the library. If so, pack something smaller like goldfish. Remember! You are automatically more interesting with a pet in the library. People will want to talk to you.

In conclusion, I hope you will all participate in my nascent New Year's project, M.A.U.L.! It really needs aggressive and unorthodox grassroots support right now, and it could certainly use your help. You might even meet someone really special like I have:

(My man Stan. We like to collect butterflies for his lepidopteral studies.)

P.S. Feel free to support us by sending money and/or luxury items to our Texas headquarters:

M.A.U.L. Now!
4 Liberty & Justice Dr.
Dallas, TX 75082

Stupid New Year's Top 5 List

2005-12-28T11:42:00.000-07:00

Well, you bastards, it's almost 2006 and you know what that means: Every mildly notable news source in the nation is counting down its Top 10 movies of 2005, or Top 7 Photographs of the year and some people who think they're funny even do a Worst 10 fill-in-the-blank Of '05 list. Any way you cut it, this is the one chance that legitamate rags have to fill your head with their oh-so-personal opinions and sell them off as fact. I got news for you-- just because three editors in an office vote that In the Mix is one of the top 10 movies of December 05, doesn't make it so. And, if you want someone else's crappy opinion that doesn't count, you can always turn here.

Not to let you down - but not to fill you with hope or joy either - we here at WBE have put together our Stupid ass New Year's List thing.

We will be counting down the
TOP FIVE MEDIOCRITIES of 2005

Commencing Countdown...

5. Being Self-Referential
This bad-boy used to be the life of all the parties. You could even call yourself clever if you mentioned something you did in the past, or made a joke about yourself that other's might or might not get. Ever since Shrek 2 cornered the market it Ot-4, self-referentiality is just so-so.

4. The Sun
First of all... where my sunglasses at?
This celestial bitch is supposed to be the pinnacle of cool with bad-ass sun glasses and rays shooting down into your pool. But it turns out that the sunglasses would actually melt before they could even rest ever-so-glibly on the sun's make-believe face. Also, only shining down upon me half the time sounds like a mediocre job if I've ever heard of one. This year, the sun wasn't too hot. Pull your damn weight, Sun!

3. J.K. Rowling
The once-untouchable author's creative decline has lead to original plots and situtations being replaced with endless Guest Stars and Cameos in her Upcoming Books. Just check out the recently-released cover of the last, and final, HP book. Sure, Rowling started
'05 off strong with a huge-ass-butt-load of money and an awesome cult following and a bigger mainstream fandom, but really, with the announcement of the "Harry Potter Variety Hour," it seems that the idea well has run dry. But, who can really blame her anyway-- how much can one possibly find to do with a 13-year-old British wizard... Just ask Michael Jackson!

2.5 Michael Jackson Jokes. Dead Horse. Market Mostly Cornered. But occasionally snicker-worthy. Like "Q: How did they find those lost boy scouts in the woods in 2005? A: They used Michael Jackson like a drug-sniffing dog." See...mediocrity at its finest.

2. The Rapture Not Coming This was definitely one of the most mediocre points of 2005. On one hand, the end of the world didn't come, but on the other hand bumper sticker preachin' and stuffy humor was at a relative all time high. I was kind of sad to not see the pious majority teleported to Heaven immediately as was advertised on the back of their cars but at least I got to witness these same godly folk cut me off many times on my afternoon commute...without using their turn signals. Overall, it could have been pretty cool if 2006 were a Messianic age, because then we'd all finally get to find out who was right all these years, but it could have been pretty lame if it turns out that I was wrong and was still manning my vehicle while others were not.

1. Jesus, 15th Person Voted out of "Survivor: Guatemala"
Well, on a related note of ambivalent neutrality, Jesus - a full time Ivy League Student - was voted off the island 4 weeks into the popular CBS reality show. As soon as the contestant turned all the camp's water into wine, consumed it and hurled all up in the tent, the tribe decided that he was more of a liability than a strength.

That's the Top 5 list. Happy Friggin' New Year.

Special Christmas Edition: House-Stalking

2005-12-23T16:34:00.004-07:00

There are lots of special things about Dallas, TX. (like republicans, the NRA, and Chuck Norris.) But what makes Dallas particularly special is its crazy rich neighborhoods, and the extent to which these crazy rich neighborhoods will go bonkers with holiday house lights. I’m talking thousands and thousands of little bright blinking lights arranged to ornament mini-Winter Wonderlands, carousels, monolithic inflatable polar bears. Last night I went driving with my mom and one of her friends to see all the glitter (very exciting), and I would like to share some some of my photos. (Unfortunately, I didn’t get a shot of the very special mansion with Christmas village + cannon + Confederate soldiers.)

Exhibit A: Motorized Jack-in-the-Box that swings up and down, to accompany the motorized Santa Claus, Reindeer, and Frosty the Snowman.

But then we pull up to this house with some bizarre, ugly, wooden construction:

Exhibit B:

It’s an oil well with a placard across it stating, “Peace on Earth. Good WELLS to Men!”

Lovely. Super rich Texans promoting harmony and oil for all.

On the other side of the house is a huge Texas Lone Star made out of blinking lights. So I DEFINITELY want to get a picture of this, hopefully with the lone star also. My mom’s friend keeps maneuvering the car around to get the best angle, and some poor lady who lives there hangs back in her doorstep to stay out of the picture. At one point we run over the curb. Anyway, eventually I get out of the car, walk closer to the oil rig, take a shot with my phone camera, and then return to the vehicle. Meanwhile the lady walks over to us and says, verbatim, “Sorry, I just called the police on y’all because I couldn’t tell what you were pointing at me. I thought it was a gun. You better get out of here.”

Then she resumes jogging.

I am crushed. Some lady thinks I was trying to shoot her down a couple of days before Christmas, at random. So I am feeling downtrodden, but soon we drive by Aaron's place:

I'm not sure how he did it, but it looks great! Happy Hanukkah!

History Books Should Be Refiled...

2005-12-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

...In the FICTION section!!

That's right folks, we here at The Worst Blog Ever have some important news-flavored drink for you. After the wise President of Iran tipped his hat respectfully to the west and displayed his true knowledge, The Worst Blog Ever feels that it is high-time that someone tell the world other "pieces" of history that didn't ever really happen. As you know, all of history was created by Man to garner sympathy for his own agendas. But, when looked over with a fine-tooth-comb, we can see that most of the "events"of history are actually, truly fake. They are myths created to propogate silly kinds of crap like "memorials", "national holidays" and "Hollywood remakes."

Please, investigate further below and see how we here at WBE, even on the slim amount of time called "lunch break", have enough dedication and researchichal prowess to unveil some of the other biggest cover-ups of the history of man.

You may have already been expecting the news that the Holocaust was fake. I mean, it is really only second-nature to assume that the Jews made that up so that they could spin their dreydils. And after a brief moment of epiphany, you realize that the purported 12 million dead are actually on a cruise boat somewhere, living merrily.

But, you will undoubtedly be shocked at these revelations:

1. Crystal Pepsi- A Classic Cover-Up. This is a lie implanted in your brain By VH1-style "I Love the 90s" reminiscing. This popular bit of "history" was a myth created by Pepsico in an attempt to cover up the truth that American Imperialism reached a soaring height and almost led to the destruction of the Atlantic Ocean. That's right, your "fellow" democracy-loving fat cats on Capital Hill created a myth that will live in your taste buds and forever in your hearts as a distraction to the fact that they all waded into the Atlantic, dropped trou and contaminated the water supply of thousands of baby seals.

2. The Moon landing - A Royal Ripoff. This is so freakin' fake that I laugh every time I see this doctored image. Everyone is familiar with the original image, which appeared on MTV for many years. The spin doctors at "NASA" simply removed the fine flag of MTV and replaced it with your Betty Crocker Stripes and Stars. What a joke. Moon landing? Nice try, America...way to rip off the small business man, steal their corporate logo and use it to purport your jingoistic message simply to promote sales of that dehydrated Astronaut ice cream crap.

3. Pearl Harbor - A Shiny Lie. This "history", though popularized in an excellent film that really show-cased the talents of Cuba Gooding Jr. as "the only black guy" and Sir John Voight as "Professor X", is a big fat lie. Cry me a river, not a harbor. This well-documented forgery proves that Pearl Harbor is a big fake. If Captain America was on the front lines in Europe fighting Red Skull, then how could he have possibly been at Pearl Harbor too? A man, even though he has a super shield, cannot be at two ends of the globe at the same time. And since it is a proven fact that Cappy was fighting Red Skull in Europe - though it had nothing to do with the Holocaust, because that was fake too - it is IMPOSSIBLE that he could have been in Hawaii. Hence, this photograph was staged well after the war, undeniably proving that Pearl Harbor didn't happen. But I still loved your highly-entertaining fiction movie, Jerry Bruckheimer.

4. Titanic- A Big Fat Lie. National Geographic can't lie. It doesn't know how. So this article is true. And the Titanic is a lie. The whole thing. The Titanic didn't crash at all, that is where the 12 million people displaced near the middle of World War II are shacking up. America faked the crash of this boat to hide the evidence of where all them Jews and Poles went. They were currently seen off the coast of Tahiti playing shuffleboard.

5. The Civil War- An American Vacation. It is common knowledge that Al Franken can't really fight a war, or lead men to victory on the battle field. His presence in this picture proves that the Civil War is a fake and, Franken, my dear, I don't give a damn. The period between 1861 and 1865 was actually the longest picnic in American History. They had tents, chairs and funny costumes. So, what's the big damn deal? Also disproving the Civil War was actually a serious affair: all those re-enactments all over the South. No body dies in those battles, so since those are really real re-enactments, no one could have died in the actual period of "war." Franken wouldn't have been there if anyone was going to die. He hates death.

So, now that the President of Iran opened his word hole and started the converation, we canall to come to grips with the fiction that is history.

Love,

Worst Blog Ever

P.S. Can we have nukes now?

How to Write a Kick-A*S Cover Letter, in only 2.5 Steps

2005-12-13T20:36:00.000-07:00

It's the cold, sad month of December now. Matters has jetted to Australia, Henners has gone AWOL, and A-dub has been replaced by some embittered little kid named "Timmy." Fall has regressed into winter. Meanwhile, I'm trying to get my grad school apps turned in by New Year's, and these apps conspire to derail my creative energies. But! These apps also have me thinking about New Year's resolutions, and how exploitable they are for entertainment purposes. Maybe you've been thinking you need to get out and jog more, lose weight, start a stamp collection? I say, LAME! Perhaps instead you want to be a daredevil risk-taker and start something really new by quitting your mediocre job? BRILLIANT! Then you will definitely need a Kick-A*S Cover Letter© if you're unemployed. Here's where my experience with applications/cover letters can hopefully be of some service.

Simple instructions for writing Kick-AS* Cover Letter©, in 2.5 steps.

1. Include a photo. This is KEY. Most job postings fail to ask for a personal photo, but this means that they actually want one. It's up to you to read between the lines. Because everybody likes to see pictures. As a future-quasi-legitimate art historian, I can tell you this is invariably true.

Examples of good pictures to send:

Here, the subject looks professional, suave, and carefree.

Holding a baby shows that you are kind, and that you will need money. But don't wear a collared shirt; wear a tuxedo, police uniform, or doctor's coat. These all inspire confidence.

Examples of bad pictures to send:

2. The Letter:

Dear Gentle Sir, (polite contemporary greeting)

[Say what you're applying for, where you heard about the job, why you're über-qualified, and above all, what you could contribute to their company.]

Basically this translates to: they want your life story, but make it organized! Don't write about your 6 dead pet rabbits, but do mention prom night (they like the juicy details!). And most importantly, relate to them how your experiences at prom night would benefit their company. (some possible examples: long-term planning, finance managment, providing the mixers, tuxedo-wearing, and so forth)

Yours Forever, (be a little flirty)

[Insert full name] (optional: add "III" to the end of your name to seem more important.)

2.5 Last touches. Finally, if you really want to make an impression, end with a little haiku.

Example (impromptu draft):

Please hire me now; I
Live to give, especially
For pharmaceutical companies.

(Don't botch the syllables though; you'll lose major cool points.)

In conclusion, I hope this has been helpful and that you'll feel inspired for change this season. If it has been helpful, please express your gratitude by sending me tasty baked-goods in the mail.

Dear Idiots: You are Stupid with your Cars

2005-12-13T14:14:00.000-07:00

*Article typed for Timmy by Mrs. Mookey under threat of a kick in the shins.

Dear Idiots,

Look at this thing I see on your cars. Adults are dumb booger heads. They stick these things on the bumpers of their cars trying to show other adults that they are rong about their beliefs. Normally the arguments are quite convincing, but I think adults are stupid if they put this one on the car. Mrs. Mookey says that Darwin's evolution thing is all about survival of the fittist like who can jump the farthest over a hole lives to multiply, while the guy who didn't jump as far and fell in the hole and died can't live to have babies. So the far-jumping guy's treats get past on to his kids and they can jump too.

Another, perhaps more pertinent esample of Evolution is that size matters and the bigger fish will eat the smaller fish and then the smaller fish can't have baby fish.

So by these stupid adults trying to say something mean about people who believe in Darwin, and saying that we all just magically appeared here one day are proving themselves rong. Cuz the big fish is eating the darwin fish and the only truth i see is that the little fish- now ded- can't have babies and can't pass on his jumping jean treats to his kids. It's survival of the fittest.

So, yeah, these adults are so flippin dumb that they'd eat boogers if you told them to. I tell mommy to ram everyone of these cars I see, but then I realize that these morons wouldn't notice anyway cuz they can't even tell that they are contradickting their own points. Big fish eats little fish = no more little fish = evolution. So HA! Eat it booger fart sphinctor faces!

Get a clue. I'm goin to play on the jungle gym and beat up your kids. We'll practice a little evolutionary theery and see if i can pound some sense into them.

Just a hint, and I'm just a first grader, but if you didn't want a self-contradictory bumper sticker your should do something like this. It'll really get your point across.

It's a picture of the Jesus fish people burning the Darwin people at the steak because they are different. I think that would look good on your car, Idiot.

Love,

Timmy

My Work: "Special Projects" such as brainwashing en masse

2005-12-08T20:59:00.000-07:00

So I work for a school district that I really love, truly. I put my 100% best effort into filing/faxing/copying/"organizing" papers for them in the "Special Projects" Office. Yes this is the name of my office, and I can't tell you exactly what we do because it's top secret confidential and also indescribably complex, too important and intricate to possibly begin describing with mere human words, even for this blog's brilliant readership.

BUT I will tell you that my job involves "educational marketing," or in layman's terms, "school-war propaganda." There are dozens of schools in my district, and though some of you might show skepticism, these schools are all engaged in covert guerilla warfare to ANNIHILATE other non-district schools, but also to cripple particularly competitive, nearby district schools. I tell you it's true. Part of my job is to monitor and neutralize this situation, to make sure "educational marketing" materials are disseminated equally for all warring school factions in our district and that it doesn't actually lead to unhealthy competition. (It has been predicted by leading Tufts scientists that the actual annihilation of a school could adversely affect student morale and confidence.)

Exhibit A: Example of typical propaganda - monkey children posing adorably for the camera.

Sometimes though, the deluge of school "marketing" coming into my office leads me to insubordinate thoughts and to "organizing" papers too much. So in order to alleviate my conscience, as a full-blown team member of the Special Projects department, sometimes I contact the actual school children in these photos and interview them. I try to glean their true thoughts, concerns, hopes, dreams. I want to understand their souls, NOT to eat them as some would spread as vicious haiku gossip-propaganda, but because these children are what really matter. They are the little soldiers in our war, the little cogs in our "educational" wheel.

Exhibit B: Example of propaganda exposed - monkey children according to what they're really thinking:

As you can see, these children are real human beings, not just cardboard cut-outs to serve individual agendas or to entertain bored web-surfers. Just like us, they have real feelings and aspirations. One of them wants to be a tiger. Many of them realize they're being exploited for propagandistic purposes. So don't let your neighborhood school brainwash you. Instead, go to the school, bypass official channels, and approach and interview children during their recess. Offer them candy. They deserve it.

A Brief History: The Cohen-Weinstein Family Feud

2005-12-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

Well apparently, Aaron failed to mention me to any of his best Boston buddies for a whole college career, and if I hadn’t forgotten him in California as well, I might be shocked and dismayed right now. Nevertheless, I figure I need to build up some credibility with this audience.

The reason for my lack of mention is probably the whole infamous Cohen-Weinstein family feud. (Actually there have been no homicides, but one time his sister threw my sister down a well.) So let me present for you an abridged, first-hand account of the sensational history of my acquaintance with A-dub, employing extremely factual historical records and details in accordance with everything accurate and true. *cue blazing fluorescent lights*

YEAR 1: Elementary School. Do you remember first grade? Typically I wouldn’t, but I had just moved back to the country, having taken kindergarten twice b/c the Germans found my polka and guttural language comprehension skills subpar. Quite traumatic for the new kid who thought candy bars were called “confectionary.” So mainly I kept to myself, but I guess this is when Aaron and I met. He was basically too-cool-for-school, kissing Kim Orr in the girl’s bathroom that year.

In Germany, my mom tried to help me by getting involved in the community, but unfortunately, this led to a direct inverse ratio effect on my enthusiasm for polka culture.

YEAR 7: Junior High. By this point Aaron and I were solid friends, attending our first junior high dance together. (This was fortunate b/c up to this point, my dad had told me boys were inferior, disease-ridden women imported from Mars, and that only by ignoring them with fortitude would they become dignified, upright man-citizens like my dad.)

YEAR 8: Clash of the Cohens-Weinsteins. Here’s the gist: Aaron’s brother’s sister-in-law got pregnant by my ostracized second cousin, Chris the 7-footer, who actually thought it was the gardener’s baby and thus tragically committed suicide via Prozac overdosage, but not before he blowtorched the Weinstein’s yard and mowed over their gnomes one by one.

I knew something was amiss by Aaron’s bizarre behavior and evil red eyes at my annual Bouncy-Thing Party that year.

The next day the Weinsteins ran over Fluffy, my dog*, and thus began a vicious cycle of downright villainy/chicanery (please note the aforementioned “well incident”).

YEARS 10-12: High School. Luckily, Aaron and I each began dating pleasant, convivial clarinet players in the band (aka Holly and Bobby Joe), and they happened to be good friends with innocuous, feud-free pasts. I think we even went on a double date, and by senior year, we were back to our mantra of eternal friendship and harmony.

In conclusion, my friendship with aaron has been a farcical rollercoaster ride, including a family feud that periodically resurges with vigor, but right now things are great. Aaron even wears a cool braided friendship bracelet that I bought him from Target – as a reminder that true friendship can and will always stand the test of bad times.

*Actually I’m allergic to dogs. It was my pet lizard, who I’d just set free 3 minutes prior to being run down by the monolithic, 5000 lb Weinstein vehicle.

Newest Addition to the Worst B Ever Team: Cheeze

2005-12-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

Hey thanks for the introduction, Aaron! and thanks even more for posting naked pictures of me online, in a fetal position, with my webbed feet exposed.

As A-dub has indicated, I will do my best to spread joy + lessen your tendency towards suicidal death, BUT then again, I might just betray you and eat your soul. B/c after all I am a young lady just trying to figure out my place in life, and sometimes these choices are in the gray zone.

As for an introduction, I will keep it brief. I like reading, dancing, traveling, parcheesi (!), and various other activities involving anything greatly enjoyable. Last year the city of London conspired to beat me into a bloody financial pulp, so now I am temporarily recovering in Dallas. Also, the purpose of my life is to become an art historian.

Ok! I will post again soon with something involving vitally important information (and glitzy pictures) (and perhaps glitzy incriminating pictures of aaron), so stay tuned!

The WBE Times Herald Record Chronicle Examiner Newspaper: Stuff Happens, People Cry

2005-12-01T13:44:00.000-07:00

Henners Found, Matters in Oz, Bricheezie on Board

World in shock as old addage "Change is Good" finally tested.

Chernobyl, Russia (APE) --

After 13 blog postings of searching, the good folks at Raznor's Rants, namely everyone over there except for Raznor himself, have succeeded in finding "The Worst Blog Ever" erstwhile reporter, Henners. He was previously thought to be lost, begging the question "Where's Henners?" Sources indicate that hours of fun lead to minutes of lethargy in the search for him. Followed by youthful periods of extreme eye-related agony and cross-eyedness. Note to anyone at a moderately respectable setting such as library, office or church: Google search "Where's Waldo," since lesbian porn comes up.

However the intrepid internet researchers on Raznor's Team have found the Ex-Ballroom Brit in cyberspace, doing quite well and acutley meshing the rigidities of fugue with the glorified power chords of Hair Rock. Much like the clandestine terrorist sects of yore, Henners has videotaped himself trying to rock the world's socks off. No word yet if the FBI has found the hiding hole from which he broadcasts his videos, but insider sources say no one at the FBI is actually looking.

Even though the WBE has found their lost son on Google, his physical being is still missing.

"Our thoughts and prayers are with you, Henners," said Henners' mother. "Also, cut your hair and practice your guitar more so you will be better."

On a completely unrelated note, which only re-emphasizes this reporter's complete inabilty to segue, Matters has recently announced that he will be taking a much-needed hiatus to the countrinent inspired by The Outback Steakhouse: Australia.

At a recent press conference, Matters said "I am going to Australia. I am going to go there, anddo stuff like safari and scuba dive and live out in nature beneath thestars and swim in a tropical rain forest waterfall. I will likely be bitten/stung/attacked/ingested by deadly and poisonous beetles/flies/ snakes/lizards/ jellyfish /sharks/Aborigines/ kangaroos/sheep/crocodiles. But in the end I will learn a valuable lesson about friendship," as he fought back tears.

With a whimpering bon voyage, the crew of the Worst Blog Ever broke a champagne bottle over Matt's head as he boarded the plane, bound for, as the Men Without Hats say, "The land down under."

To fill the void left by Henners' retreat into his musical career, Matt's probably pillaging of Oz and A-dub's self-aggrandizing solicitation of posts on un-funny Blog Entries, the powers that be have enstated a new temporary bloggentator to add a dash of joy to your days and lessen your tendencies toward suicide: Bricheezie. The only photograph on hand for Bricheezie was the baby photo seen to the left-- oops, right. She is young, but her acerbic wit can still be seen.

Only a Haiku can be used to introduce the new bloggentator, by law:

Brianne of Dallas

Bouncy Castle Parties Rule

She will Eat Your Soul.

The next time you see Bricheezie congratulate her on her promotion from frequent poster to infrequent blogger, for it will surely be the last time you see her. Simply look at the survival rate of Worst Bloggers Ever: 2 out of 3 are now not here. Not too good.

The WBE Times Herald Record Chronicle Examiner Newspaper, like The Worst Blog Ever, is a subsidiary of Ryan Seacrest's Sock drawer.

MATTERS OF INTEREST: The ephemeral facade of beauty

2005-11-29T21:19:00.000-07:00

I will forgo the usual pomp and circumstance ascribed to these sporadic updates.

Matters will be going away for awhile. It's time to travel the earth. Matters will leave you, the loyal worstevers, with a broken shard of Matter's life to ponder in his month's absence.

Every morning Matters drags himself out of bed to face the unforgiving embrace of the daylight. He does this not by fortitude or iron-willed tenacity, but by rote, as it was scripted by the Hebrews at the dawn of creation. He greets the morning with the bleary eyed complacency of a rodent grown accustomed to the confines of its cage. There is nothing new or innocent that cares to be discovered.

Matters will train an unfocused gaze out the portal in his ceiling for some five minutes every morning, waiting for consciousness to reclaim his existence. On a rare morning Matters will be taken off guard and humbled by the overpowering beauty of the earth and all of creation, and will futilely attempt to capture the grandeur in a photograph. The following is the resulting detritus, now strewn across the internet like so many unwanted children. If you should feel the urge to vomit cover your mouth and nose and imagine yourself in a field of poppies.

09/07/05 7:15 AM
10/04/05 7:14 AM
11/04/05 8:20 AM
11/07/05 7:14 AM
11/16/05 7:12 AM
11/29/05 7:23 AM

The WBE Times Herald Record Chronicle Examiner Newspaper: Bush Pardons Turkey, but...

2005-11-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

...Does Turkey pardon bush?

After most murderous President in history of Earth Planet since Chester A. Artuhr makes perfunctory, "too-little-too-late" pardon, Giant Turkeys strike back.

Washington D.C. (APE) --

Moments after President George W. Bush offered his cursory clemency to the two war-hardened turkey detainees, code-named "Marshmallow" and "Yam" by the infantile overlord of America himself, the supreme Czar Gobbley (also named by Bush because of his hangy-down-thingy from his neck) of Turkey descended from his spaceship and looked not-too-pleased. We remind you that Gobbley represents Turkey, the oft-forgotten planet on the outer rim of the Xenon system, not that country over by Asia.

Bush, never one to be afraid of giant poultry, tried to continue the speech he had learned to read that very same morning.

"Uh...I'd like to thank the representative from Turkey for...uh...joining us....The days of Thanksgiving are an American tradition. We've observed this tradition since the Pilgrims. Americans have always been a grateful people--"

"Yeah right..." scoffed Czar Gobbley. "Grateful my feathered ass"

"Yeah...okay...um...thank you Gobbley. When you talk your little gobbley jiggler thang jiggles. Aint' it cute folks?" (Bush snickers like a Frat Boy) "Where was I? Oh yeah...we're grateful for our freedom--"

"Freedom...HA!" yelled Gobbley.

"Oooookay...can I finsh? We're grateful for our families; we're grateful for our beautiful country."

"Ahem...you done?" Czar Gobbley gingerly approached the microphone, straightened his hangy-down-thingy, cleared his throat and slapped President Bush upside the head. "You people are morons."

Gobbley usurped the plans to send Marshmallow and Yam to Disneyland and most likely ruined the 12:15 Main Street Parade in which the two turkeys were to be the Grand Marshalls. He grabbed the two pardoned poultry, bit off President Bush's dog's head and beamed up to his spaceship. He could be heard cackling, "Pardon this," during his ascent.

Bush, befuddled, finished reading the speech while the press ran for their lives from the invasion of the Turkish starfleet.

The WBE Times Herald Record Chronicle Examiner Newspaper, like Worst Blog Ever, is a subsidiary of Skeletor's evil empire.

A War of Attrition: Scene The First

2005-11-19T13:26:00.000-07:00

I was dismayed yesterday to see that AOL has, in its boundless and infinite wisdom, assigned me two cold calculating and unfeeling robots as chat buddies in a hackneyed attempt to sell me more goods and services. My first inclination was, of course, to remove these doubtful guests from my personal list of friends. What though, would this achieve? It would indeed be a feeble blow to the heart of the beast. What would be accomplished by dismantling this infinitesimally small cog in the AOL/CNN/Time-Warner machine?

Instead, I shall endeavour to teach these robots to love. Step one is to break down their defences.

Matters: hey ShoppingBuddy, we have to talk
ShoppingBuddy: Welcome. Now you can search for products with AOLShopping. Type main to get started. To read our privacy policy, type privacy anytime.
Matters: its nothing personal, but we all think it'd be best if you stopped coming by
ShoppingBuddy: OK, I'm searching for matches 4 U. Gimme a sec...
ShoppingBuddy: - Search results for personal think best stopped coming
- PEA AND THE PRINCESS, THE NEW Edi [$10.74]
Here are some related categories:
1. Miscellaneous Books,
2. Books & Magazines, etc.
Type in the number to use the related
category.
Matters: look, you can't placate me with tricks and gimmicks. i know you think that's going to impress me, but we're beyond that. its just over. the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can both move on
ShoppingBuddy: OK, I'm searching for matches 4 U.
Gimme a sec...
ShoppingBuddy: I didn't find any good matches 4 U but may I
ask you a question?
Matters: no, no more questions, no more anything. i want you to just leave
ShoppingBuddy: Want to give a gift they'll really remember?
Matters: look ShoppingBuddy, you're really starting to piss me off! What part of Fuck Off don't you understand?
ShoppingBuddy: OK, this is really cool -- check out the GAP Photo GiftCard. Would you like more
ideas like this one?
Y = Yes
N = NO
Matters: You see?? this is exactly the problem! I'm trying to have a serious discussion with you and you're pedaling merchandise! Well, I'm sick of your stupid codes, and your glitzy products. It's OVER.
ShoppingBuddy: Check out these ideas from that'll help you make your gifts more special at Gap HowToGive.
Type M to get back to the main menu.
Matters: I hope you get face cancer ShoppingBuddy
ShoppingBuddy: Who are you shopping 4? ;-)
1 -- Myself
2 -- Someone Else

ShoppingBuddy won this battle. But the war is not over. There will be many casualties, because we're fighting a war of attrition.

Matters: i hate you MovieFone
MovieFone: Hi there. I'm the new MovieFone bot! I can find movies for you anywhere in the country in a fraction of second. All you have to do is give me part of the title, an actor or director's name. I can also send you alerts when your favorite films are opening. Type privacy anytime to review the policy. Type any movie you want to see or menu to get going.

======= Movie of the Week =======
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Movie Site

The WBE Times Herald Record Chronicle Examiner Newspaper: Important Scientific Finding

2005-11-17T13:46:00.000-07:00

WBE Labs Find Life Not Possible

After a 300 year study, most credible research group in history presents findings.

SNOWFLAKE, Arizona (APE) --
In a recently published report, which is one of the most thorough reports known to human man clocking in at 17 stacked - but not aligned - volumes tall, the esteemed scientists at the Worst Blog Ever Laboratories and their counterparts at M.I.T. have announced their findings.

At a press release, some reporters cried, others gasped and select few farted(you know who you are, Phil). What were these various and sundry reactions for, you may ask? Well, here at the WBETHRCEN, we don't joke around with the news in any circumlocutious ways. We just up and tell you without being overly wordy or garrulous, even though we might have been accused of such in the past.

So, all those reporters reacted in those previously described ways because, despite recent murmurings of the on-going quest for immortality finally yielding some results, it turns out that - thanks to science and engineering - immortality just isn't a very reasonable possibility.

Despite some obvious setbacks from the "less-than-optimal" performance from the stooges at M.I.T., who managed to only go one day in this 300 year research phase without blowing something or someone up, the Scientists at WBE Labs were able to conclusively conclude that Rommel's First Theorem is correct.

As you know Rommel's First Theorem states that "ten out of ten people will die." Shockingly and depressingly enough, we now know this to be conclusively and absolutely true, thanks to the research done at WBE.

Rommel's Second Theorem, which states that "The chick bear from 'The Gummi Bears' and Tasha Yar from 'Star Trek: TNG' cannot coexist at the same place at the same time or the universe will end," of course, remains a mystery to all men of science and god-fearing folk, alike.

If you, like many non-believers, still need concrete evidence to believe this bombastic finding then you might turn your skeptical eyeballs toward the following visual aides which more than adaquately proove that you are going to die.

"The only thing that will live on now is the Worst Blog Ever," explained Senior Scientist, Dr. Mattatat Matters. "And that will live on in a blazing conflagration of ruibcund glory."

Dr. Matters was, unfortunately, grossly disfigured in a neck-removing accident in the M.I.T. Labs where he almost became transmogrified into a Muppet named "Gruffles McGee."

In a contradictory surprise, nobody died while completing this study. Though, staff intern, Henners Minters, was noticeably missing from the research proceedings and only showed up for the group photograph-- but he didn't seem to have been dead at the time . Despite the evidence against the findings, the researchers are all quite sure that most everybody (including all Muppets) will die eventually, as shown by the other graph in this Nobel-winning study.

So, you are most likely - according to this study - going to die. But how do these findings effect you personally?

Find out next quarter, when the WBE Labs conclude experiments on monkeys and Conservatives to bring you their next study: "How does this effect me personally: A retrospective look on death and not living."

WBE labs, like Worst Blog Ever, is a subsidiary of Skeletor's evil empire.

Terms Of Embarrassment: Un Hommage Aux Henners Sans Graphiques

2005-11-16T21:41:00.000-07:00

There has been, of late, a perceptible dearth of Henners related activity on this site. After careful analysis of Henners previous works, I present Terms Of Embarrassment: Un Hommage Aux Henners Sans Graphiques. The following work is not so much in the style of Henners, as it is a tribute to the style of Henners.

This is a doubleheader.

Last Friday evening began inauspiciously at a gay bar downtown, gayly celebrating the very heterosexual birth of my token gay friend Eduardo. In the interest of maintaining the privacy of all involved, I will call him Eduardo, even though his real name is Edwin.

This type of establishment (we're talking the homosexual type) has its advantages and disadvantages. For example, if you're gay, its one of the few places that boasts an all fruit martini drink menu. It's also a great place to meet people who share your affinity for the love that dare not speak its name. In case you fell off the savvy waggon at the starting gate, we're talking gayness here.

If you're one of the 95% of people who is not gay there are still some benefits to be found. When I walked in, for instance a nice man held the door for me, and smiled a reassuring smile. "How refreshing," I thought. Everyone was well dressed. There was a sense of real camaraderie; that we were all in this thing together, and that things would be OK. I was a little uncomfortable, less because of the homosexuality than the fact that I am innately suspicious of happy people. What are they hiding? No one knows.

After a drink or two I politely parted ways with Eduardo to meet up with Madman and Henners.

Post-game analysis: Not That Embarrassed, but slightly disappointed that no one hit on me.

I was to meet up with Madman and Henners at a bar cleverly called "The Best Bar In Boston." I stopped at a bar nearby to ask the bouncer for directions, and realized my mistake near the latter half of the first sentence.

Matters: Excuse me, do you know where the best bar in Boston...
Internal Monologue: Oh crap. Is there a graceful way out of this?
Time elapses. The bouncer leers in anticipation.
Internal Monologue: No. Damnit.
Matters: is?
Enormo The Bouncer: HA HA HA. HOUS ABUT YA FAND IT
RAHERE FAVE DOLA CUVA.
Enormo brings his car sized fist over his shoulder in a backwards
motion to indicate Footy McDougal's Taverloon and Bar Joint behind him.
Matters backs away slowly.

I find Madman, Henners and Brice on the third level of the Best Bar in Boston (with capital letters). They have already gained access to some kind of quasi-exclusive gathering. Madman introduces me to Niki for the second time. I recall the first time we met some months ago, when I drunkenly informed her that "Hey your name rhymes with that mouse... what's his name. You know. Donald." I consider the chances that she remembers this. Not likely. Henners leaves to get the girlfriend. The main attraction for the evening begins.

Madman, Brice, Niki and I will take turns picking out a "target" from among the dancing throngs. The person who is "it" must hold a conversation for 20 seconds or more, and cannot reveal the game to the target. Madman will go first. Niki sent him to a certain death: a girl engrossed in conversation with her three girl friends, standing in the middle of the bar. They are wearing black clothes and unfriendly expressions. Madman had a 15 minute conversation, got three phone numbers, a hug, and a marriage proposal. This is not unexpected. Later in the night, one of the four would ignite herself in the women's bathroom, rather than live another moment in the absence of Madman's radiant glow.

Sensing my reluctance to play the game, Niki spent the 15 minute wait haranguing me with various accusations, ranging from "shy" and "not confident" to "loserific" and "you will never meet a woman, you will be alone for your entire life, you pathetic miserable emotional retard." I protested with as many lies as I could fabricate. "Once, when I was 7 a stranger killed and ate my dog while I watched." "On my 11th birthday a woman in a bar shot me in the leg for asking the time." "30% of women carry pepper spray in Boston. One of us will visit the hospital tonight, and it won't be you or Adam." She was strangely unsympathetic. Luckily, it was Brice's turn.

Brice's turn ended unremarkably, and his unwavering cowardice will undoubtedly prove a sore spot for him for weeks to come.

Madman picked an "easy" one out for me. I ordered two more confidence from the bar, and turned around to go get pepper sprayed in the face. The target was making out with her boyfriend. Though Madman intimated that perhaps she would still be open to conversation after she removed her tongue from that guy's mouth, I excused myself to go marvel at the post modern water fixtures in the bathroom.

Henners returned like a conquering army and there was much celebration. Somewhere in there the night ended.

Post-game analysis: Slightly Embarrassed. Too much confidence, felt bloated.

MATTERS OF INTEREST: The Daily Grind

2005-11-11T09:14:00.000-07:00

Gun-toting, tomb-robbing, adventureologists have unceremoniously exhumed another MATTERS OF INTEREST, disturbing its thousand-years slumber beneath the Mayan Pyramid Kukulkan. In a fervent and impassioned denial of what is obvious to everyone at the party, I am Matters.

This month’s foray into the black heart of science, nature, and the universe delves deep into the greasy innards of a topic that beleaguers even the most sickeningly positive among us. This topic is The Daily Grind, and it wants you to file that sarcastic mutter in triplicate. This is not the type of grind that "rap artists" do with their "honeys" in your "“hip hop clubs," mind you. You will find no information here regarding your grunge rock garage band skater antics.

No, this is the type of grind that pulls a nine-to-five and still finds time to hassle the neighbors with the minutia of local politics. This is the type of grind that concerns itself with missing socks, and fritters away evenings vacantly transfixed by Everybody Loves Raymond reruns on TBS, while strands of saliva dry into long white streaks along the obese rolls of its extra facial skin. This is the type of grind that, over a period of years, wears the soul down to a numb unfeeling thread-bare nub, fit only to animate the walking dead flesh of carcasses waiting to more accurately fit the clinical definition. This type of grind erodes your humanity, and it does it every day. This type of grind is called The Daily Grind.

This column aims to help you, the reader, more fully understand The Daily Grind. By the end of this text you will be able to:

Answer the question “what is the Daily Grind?”
Identify the seven signs of the apocalypse
Identify three signs of danger, including rail-road crossing signs
Identify The Daily Grind in a police line-up
Solve all problems

Keep reading.

The tapestry of human history was woven by indentured servitude and sweat shop child labor. It is well established that the first casualty to The Daily Grind was Mrrrrrrrrrrag, shown here (red arrow) submitting the first patent application for a perpetual motion machine. Since the time of Mrrrrrrrrrrag, countless others have blundered down the same path as this hapless troglodyte. While the toll in human suffering inflicted by The Daily Grind cannot be expressed as a quotient of rational numbers, rest assured that raw fingers and repetitive motion disorders are rife. Recently, such advents as The Internet and Matters Of Interest have taken great strides to break the vicious cycle of The Daily Grind.

The Daily Grind is an indiscriminate enemy. It ignores class boundaries, race, and credo. It is much like the road, in that it "don't care." Of course, like all indiscriminate enemies, it attacks the poor and minorities most savagely of all. It is imperative that you know the warning signs of The Daily Grind. If you have caught yourself thinking the following, it is likely too late for you:

"it’s a good thing my socks participate in the laundry buddy system. They are vulnerable, and there is safety in numbers."
"The daily ebb and flow of traffic is the rhythmic life-breath of the city. In the morning its concrete lungs inhale the masses anew, fresh from their homes and beds, charged with energy for the day, and come night, it exhales a steady stream of human waste and misery, exhausted and drained of life."
"Sports are neat. I think I like baseball best."

You have two natural weapons against The Daily Grind:

Blinding, furious, white hot optimism. As should be obvious to even the most adolescent neophyte, I am a burning ingot of unchecked optimism. It is the raging hellfire that keeps me artificially young. Note that this option should be exercised with a measure of caution. Consider the space shuttle Colombia, which, in 2003, was consumed in a fireball of optimism upon reentry miles above Texas.
Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll. Rock on. Crank up the lo-fi guitar riffs, and cue the smoke machine. Fade to camera three and cut the lights, because we’re selling out. Be sure to buy our products. BUY BUY BUY.

~Matters

Really REAL Movie Review and a Lunch: Wallace & Gromit Edition

2005-11-06T20:23:00.000-07:00

Well Campers, it's Monday, you know what that means. By operating on Jewish Standard Time and being five days delinquent in posting, I now appear to be early for posting this week. Incredible! If you don't understand what I'm saying, then please consult the most complete source of information on quantum physics in the universe.

Enough chit chat, let's get to the real deal:

TODAY'S LUNCH: LEFTOVERS FROM THE OLIVE GARDEN

Yeah, did I mention that I brought these leftovers for lunch on Friday, but we went out to eat, so I figured that breadsticks and chicken castellina with whole wheat linguine sounded good after it aged 4 days? No? Well, who the hell cares anyway. Tell Holly I love her. And please make sure that my gravestone doesn't endorse the Olive Garden.

TODAY'S MOVIE: "WALLACE AND GROMIT IN THE CURSE OF THE WERE-RABBIT"

You'll be cursed if you don't see this movie! Bottom line: Even though this movie could be a dirty liberal PETA commercial against the delicate art of mercilessly killing innocent animals, it was incredible. I was a bit concerned that W&G couldn't keep up the stamina, cleverness and ingenuity of their 3 shorts (two of which were awesome, one of which - the first one where they go to the moon - was only mildly awesome). But, hey, I was wrong. The claymay movie was perfect. Wallace and Gromit should both be up for Oscar nominations, which is about damn time for Gromit, considering his Hollywood history.

The plot was clever, the characters were cute and memorable (especially a little brain-washed rabbit who winds up loving cheese almost as much as Wallace) and the jokes were lame enough for a child to not pick up any bad habits but sneaky enough to have some adult laughs. And there was a guy carrying a gun. Which I had no problem with, except that Aardman stole my image for this character. However, it seems that a lot of dweebs had some problems with Wallace and Gromit because it showed a gun. However, if these stupid morons had actually watched the movie, they would have figured out that the movie is so Anti-Gun that Charlton Heston's penis would fall off if he watched it. But I guess some jerks always have to complain about something.

Speaking about complaining, I only had one freaking problem with this movie. And that was that Dreamworks - in it's classic-American-pissing-contest-style - almost ruined the entire movie by dropping a big turd before the movie. The fact that I was forced to sit through A "Penguins from Madagascar" short wouldn't have been such a big problem if that short had any merit. However, since it was overstuffed with pop culture references, self-referential head-nodding, anti-semitism, stupid dumbass penguins that aren't funny at all and hackneyed crap poop crap, I took mild offense. Dreamworks should have realized that if they were going to put a penguin short in front of a Wallace and Gromit movie, when "W&G: The Wrong Trousers" introduced the world's coolest, most bad ass penguin in the world, that their quartet of tuxedoed water fowl better, at least, make me laugh. But Dreamworks realized no such thing and, instead, enslaved hundreds of Koreans to animate a shlocky piece of crap that almost ruined the whole Wallace and Gromit experience. But, I don't have rage problems if that's what you're thinking. Anywhoo, I think the upcoming Aardman/Dreamworks/Tarrantino collaboration should remedy any hatred of the Madagascar Penguins.

But, in the end, the W&G movie loses no points due to Dreamworks's stupid short cartoon. "The Curse of the Were-Rabbit" is an awesome movie and, yeah, I loved it. Yes, I'm in love with a clay dude and his dog. Fine, maybe I will marry them. Go see this movie, or you will be cursed to be a Were-loser!

I give it a rating of 5 KKK dogs out of a potential 5.49 KKK dogs.

The Best Blog Ever

2005-11-03T22:04:00.000-07:00

For lack of any scientifically quantifiable or experimentally measurable "enthusiasm" or "content" I give you this excellent link and this brief and unintelligible history lesson.

Return, if you will, to the era of the mid-nineties. The brooding maw of the beekeepers association of america* was only just beginning to cast its sickly pall across the land, and I was a shadow in the reflection of a distorted and discordant echo careening through the twisting and desolate halls of the past. At the time, I vividly recall my erstwhile self transfixed in a reverie, dreaming of the memory of a thought long forgotten, of casting off my moorings and drifting, listless, in the foam green sea of tomorrow. It was at this exact time that I met the Maschas. Read of his blog. Let it fill your soul, and rejuvenate your body. Surrender your mortal goods and services. Send him money. For the Maschas is that which unites us as one, that which defines our humanity and provides synonyms for our divinity. It is that which enshrouds us all with a sense of awe and wonderment. It is the fabric that weaves our very being into the bosom of creation, and the majesty upon which we weep for the purity and beauty of it all. It is the embarrassingly glowing endorsement that makes grown men uncomfortable standing next to me on the subway.

http://www.pwadoc.com/

A-dub, put this in the links section, lest I expose you for the fraudulent fraud-grubbing fraud you are.

*name of evil cartel changed to protect the sycophantic power mongering influence whores of the religious right.

Really REAL Musical Review and a Lunch: WICKED Edition

2005-10-26T14:37:00.000-06:00

Well Campers, it's Wednesday again. You know what that means, right? Yup, PrimeTime wasteland day between Tuesday's "Biggest Loser" and "The Office" and Thursday's "Survivor" and "Apprentice." But it also means that it's time for my much-exalted column involving a review of food and a movie. You'll notice a few changes, some permanent some temporary. The temporary thing is that I'm reviewing a muscial. So get over it.

The permanent change is that instead of all reviews being deafeningly positive, I am going to arbitrarily unleash my opinion on you in cold, hard editorial style. My ever-popular rating system will now actually be OUT of something. Like a ratio, I guess. But there's no way I'm doing the long division for you, so you can plug in the numbers and divide to find out a numerical percent rating to attach to the film or musical I'm reviewing. I guess we'll try this out. See how it goes. But I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Especially Hollywood's feelings. I want them to LIKE me, dudes!

TODAY'S LUNCH: Leftover Spicy Asian Thai Chicken Wrap Things with Peanut Sauce

Now these bad boys came out good. Really good. I didn't have leftovers because noone liked my food, if that's what you were thinking. I had leftovers because I made too much.

This recipe comes with a warning. DON'T BE A HERO. If you want to be a freakin' hero, do it when someone else's tastebuds are at stake, okay?

All I'm saying is that, yes, it is totally cool and masculine to guesstimate measurements. In fact, it is a proven fact that if you use a measuring cup more than once a year, all testosterone dries up and leaves only a crusty layer of estrogen. Don't believe me? Check it out in the world of science.

Okay, 1/4 cup of peanut butter (called for in the recipe) does not, in any way, shape or form, EVER translate into "i dunno...5 or 6 heaping tablespoons." The sauce still came out good...but it was a little thick and left me licking the roof of my mouth until I actually exposed bone. Don't be a hero. Use a measuring cup.

TODAY'S MUSICAL: WICKED

I have a strange history with this musical. First, I was a "Wizard of Oz" nerd as a kid. Ask anyone. I had posters. I had collectible figurines. I had a complex. I even played Toto in a JCC production of the show...but I was so fat that it took 4 flying monkeys to carry me away when Dorothy only required two. Second, this musical is based on a book written by a Tufts University Grad. Third, and finally, I was utterly rejected by this musical and left to rot on the streets of New York City in 2004.
We all lined up to possibly have a chance at potentially seeing the musical in a lush "standing room" seat only if our names were drawn out of a hat and simultaneously spelled out on a Ouija Board. Needles to say, no one saw the musical that day in New York, New York. But we did take some funny pictures. AND a seed was planted. A seed that grew until one fateful day when...

I saw the WICKED touring show in Dallas, Texas. And HO-LEE-SHIT, it was worth the wait. This is really one of the best musicals I have ever seen. It is smartly executed and coyly playful. What "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead" was to "Hamlet" this is to "The Wizard of Oz," except it is universally appealing and not didactic or quirky enough to be off-putting. It definitely rivals "Les Mis" as my favorite musical of all time and, let me just say, it would take one hell of a fist fight to decide that. Now that's gonna be a bout worth watching with lots of sissy actors slapping eachother around in a cloud of dry ice smoke like you've never seen.

The plot is simple: before Dorothy got to Oz, a lot of shit went down. This musical focuses on how Elpheba, a young, socially-conscious, green-faced bookworm, and her college roomate, a blonde, yuppy, pretty, ditzy babe named Glinda, wound up where they did by the time Toto and his bitch crashed down in Munchkin land. It works so well because it challenges our ideas of labeling the world around us. What is "wicked"? What is "green"? What is "wonderful"? What is a "McNugget?" Everyone has felt like Elpheba (who becomes "The Wicked Witch of the West")-- everyone has been the outcast. Everyone has felt like the white keyboard player in a black band before. We've all been outcasts, so we all associate with Elpheba. It's no wonder that there was such a fight in the green community for who got to star as the plucky young witch. However, the chick that did win the role in our production was incredible. (No, I don't know her name-- what do you think I am, some kind of musical nerd who would devote a whole website to one broadway actress? Pshah!) I've never been more attracted to a green chick before-- that is if you don't count She-Hulk.

The musical gave a progressive view of Oz, with dragons and clockwork and other stuff that was never really explained but still looked really cool and tied in with the merchandising. It also had some kick-ass set pieces, most notably the animatronic/puppet/muppet Golden Head of the Wizard. The sets and musical in a whole were also a visual wink to the 1939 musical. Even though I liked just about everything, I was a little creeped out by the liberties taken with the flying monkeys.

Now, being the dumbass that I always am, I walked out of this saying "I loved it, but I don't think I'm going to be able to remember any of the songs." Little did I remember that I said the same thing about "Moulin Rouge," and now I know all the words to those songs. But this is an original score, here, people. With original tunes. A lot harder to remember than the re-hashed Elton John and David Bowie of "Moulin Rouge." But, the second after I illegally downloaded the soundtrack, I couldn't get any of the songs out of my head. The show stopper is one called "Defying Gravity" and it ends with Elpheba finally taking off on her broom. Her black cape engulfs the background and becomes the stage's curtain. Glinda's singing for her to come back, while the people of Oz are announcing their official witch hunt. I mean, damn, I still get a little excited when I think about it. If it hasn't already, this musical is going to put Andrew Lloyd Webber out of business.

This musical kicked major ass and if you have the chance to see it, I'd say you damn well better. That is, if you like the Wizard of Oz, Fantasy, Dancing, Singing or Musicals at all. But something tells me that even if you are the most straight-laced, republican stodgy old codger in the world that you will still feel a little green after seeing "Wicked."

I give it 2 Sexy Alan Greenspans out of a potential 2.1 and that's pretty damn good.

So there you hae it, my first really real review with real opinions that really aren't fake.

-A-dub

The Viking Game Plan

2005-10-24T01:16:00.000-06:00

Bricheezie, remarkably yes, I have consulted the Worst Blog Ever charter and we do have a Viking Contingency Plan (VCP). As the plan is fairly simple, and a must for every community, I have put together this brief synopsis as a public service.

1. Confuse the Viking onslaught with inane and embarrassing infighting.
2. Merchandize,

merchandize,

merchandize.

MATTERS OF INTEREST: Entropy And The Human Condition (a.k.a. Let’s Get Old And Die)

2005-10-19T23:35:00.000-06:00

Tragically, the fates have conspired to vomit up another mucus sheathed MATTERS OF INTEREST. In a paroxysm of fatigue induced hallucinations, I am Matters.

Before forcing entry into, and burglarizing this week's topic, let me take a moment to trivialize and ridicule some of my critics in the grand tradition of scientific punditry. A whole litany of confusing "terms" and "phrases" has been leveled at this column of late. A random sampling of these absurd accusations is provided below:

"intractable hell storm of verbal diarrhea"
"an irrelevant fiction"
"pantheon of mediocre musings and redundant ruminations"
"dumb"
"inaccessible, protracted, and elitist"

To my critics, I say if haphazardly jamming unrelated sentences together into a half plagiarized diatribe against reason and accepted truth makes me a bad writer, well then I guess I'm a bad writer, Mr. Critic.

I will be happy to respond to further criticism for a very minimal processing fee of $24.99. I can accept cash and PayPal. See me in the comments section after the column if you are interested.

This week's topic is extremely relevant to all of our lives: death. That's right. In the interest of restoring balance to the universe after A-Dub's life-affirming wedding piece of last week, I am obligated by journalistic integrity and my undergraduate minor in quantum physics to examine chaos, death, and the decline of the human form. This topic is especially relevant to me, as I spent the day painfully cracking open the hardened carapace of my 23 year old skin and emerging as a spongy pale 24 year old.

Since time immemorium, human kind has searched tirelessly for a way to beat the reaper. From Explorer/Rapist Ponce DeLeon, who scoured the Florida everglades for the fountain of youth, to Scientist/Inventor Ray Kurzweil, who scoured the internet for people willing to spend money on his book, we have been largely unsuccessful in our quest for immortality. In this contemporary painting Ponce (red arrow) can be seen drinking from an animal urine contaminated stream, much to the amusement of his crew and native guides.

The following table indicates the names of some quasi-famous people who would have liked to live forever, their proposed means for cheating death, and the reason for their embarrassing failure.

[Person] (Means of Cheating Death){Reason for Embarrassing Failure}

[Ponce DeLeon] (Fountain of Youth) {Alligators}
[Jesus] (Nepotism) {Interpreted bible literally}
[Rasputin] (Black Magic) {brill-zinsser disease}
[Ray Kurzweil] (Vitamins, Nanorobots) {Age. Too bad you're not my age Ray}
[Tom Hanks] (Live on in Hearts and Minds) {Tom Hanks Disease}

For reasons scholars do not fully understand, Madman and I frequently discuss my prospects for immortality. The conversation is formulaic, and goes as follows:

Madman: Blah blah blah, you're going to die blah blah.
Matters: Au contraire Adam, you forget that I'm going to live forever.
Madman: Haha ha. No you're not.

Why can Madman afford to be so cavalier towards my posturing and grandiose proclamations of immortality? Confidentially, between you, me, and the internet, I had the opportunity to perform a little covert reconnaissance at the Madman family farm this summer. In the dark recesses of a musty old shed in an abandoned corner of the property I found the following painting:

Fortunately for the free world, I had my spy-camera-hyphen-prosthetic-third-arm attached at the time, and if I may say so, the image quality is very impressive. I think it's obvious exactly what kind of cruel unnatural plot is unfolding here. While Madman lives a life of hedonism, devoted to the sole pursuit of sensual earthly pleasures, this piece of artwork has been aging in his stead. I'm sure that in the Grand Design our eternally youthful friend Madman will be on the business end of some heavy-handed moral lesson. Perhaps in the end his story will prove to be a lush, cautionary tale of a life of vileness and deception, or a perhaps a loving portrait of the aesthetic impulse run rampant? Or dare I say, both?

Whatever the reason, I'm jealous. I'll gladly be the punch line in some edifying morality tale in exchange for a modest slice of eternity and perpetual youth. Whether by means of frivolous wish or diabolical dealing, Madman has rustled himself up a sweet deal, and I want in.

With that end in mind, I began an exhaustive 15 minute search of my kitchen for any items that might be the key to eternal youth and beauty. I found this Frosted Flake that was my surprising likeness. I muttered a quick incantation over it, and have since kept it in a shoebox under my bed, next to my invisible powers pickles and mind bullets saltines. I have not yet determined if the flake is aging in my stead, but I am happy to report that it is aging quite a bit. It's been almost completely consumed by mold since the experiment began one week ago.

At any rate, I have already kicked off the marketing campaign for my new cereal, loosely based on this discovery. You can see they have 10 of something essential. I hope there aren't going to be any copyright infringement issues. If you're interested in purchasing a carton, see me in the comments section after the blog.

That about wraps it up for this week. Join me next week when I will consider violently probing a bottle of vodka.

~Matters

Wedding Woes, Hoes and Prose: The Engagement Edition

2005-10-12T23:12:00.000-06:00

Well, campers. I didn't see a movie this past weekend. That means no "Movie review and a lunch." I mean, I could review the first five minutes of "White Chicks" which I saw and then abruptly turned off because my DVD player puked it out. But I don't want to spoil my streak of really positive reviews. I was kind of busy this weekend selfishly setting up events so I could start a new blog column. So, I'm getting married! To Holly! Yipee-Skil-doo!

The new column will probably hit on some of this wedding stuff, but none of the boring crap. I'm particularly looking forward to topical humor involving hot subjects like Mike Tyson and seating arrangements...who to seat next to Uncle Mike?

But before we get to anything like that, everyone has been asking for the REAL way I proposed to Holly.

The first thing I did, as all men do when they want to propose to their girls, was to present her with a traditional Jewish gift expressing my interest in becoming betrothed to her. I've been working on this gift for quite a long time now, and it required many hours of petroleum jelly-aided blinking to get them out of their casings. But finally, they popped out, clear and clean...and tasty.

Then, realizing that the mating ritual had finally begun, Holly stomped on them to test their strength, threw them against a wall to test their bounciness, did the ritual Ooga-Boogie dance mentally. You should have seen her thinking about the dance that was being mentally danced. It was quite exciting.

30 minutes later, when the mental dance came to its final bow, Holly tried on the present that I bestowed upon her. But they did not fit! Oh no! What horrible luck!The ritual could not be completed! So, I grabbed my eyeballs, stuck them back in and whipped out our traditional Jewish marriage proposal costumes.

I ran out of the house, and magically turned her Honda into a lame- but still whimiscal - horse. His name was Gert. Gert was meant to be my means of transportation, but, he had the intelligence of Tara Reid and the voice of a saliva-y old man (you know, with that smacky, moist sound as they try to talk). So, I decided to take my Corvette, which I magically turned into a shitty old green volvo.

Leaving behind a trail of Cheese-whiz for Holly to follow, I went to the most romantic Industrial Park I could think of where I waited for it all to fall into place.

Finally, I saw Holly approaching, so I hid behind some radioactive waste and called her cell phone. When she picked up, she finally saw the official proposal. It was so romantic, and took much planning. But she texted me the happiest "okay" I had ever read. It was really quite nice of her to write out "okay" instead of use the lazy alternative which is also the abbreviation for "Oklahoma."

When I received her text message, I popped out of nowhere, in full regalia, dropped down to one knee and took the enlargened model of the one ring off of her giant phone and put it around her wrist. Then the Jean-Luc Picard impersonator I'd hired jumped in to do what he was paid for. As he said "ENGAGED," Gert flew off and the rest, as they say, was history.

See you guys soon for the next installment of whatever this column was called.

Say What?: Five Things You Should Know

2005-10-11T07:23:00.000-06:00

Being the dramatically mellow yet ignorant Asian I am, I come to at least five realizations each week. On the two days I don't have epiphanies, I am too busy licking the KFC-chicken grease off my fingers, or winning a Bomberman deathmatch. I never lose. There. If its on the internets, it must be true.

I previously assumed that my revelations were new to me alone, but last night, when I was satisfying my sleepytime munchies with some seafood pasta from Cinderella's and guzzling down Matters' TAB cola (Matters, now we're even for the meatballs and sausage pizza), I shared one of this week's revelations with Buck, upon which he sprung out of his seat, ripped his clothes off, and played the theme song to Family Matters on Tom's keyboard with his left testicle, before imploding.

Matters, I have some Febreze in my car, to get the smell of bike grease and Connecticut out of the carpet.

The point is people, after experiencing what happened to Buck, I decided that it was crucial to inform you, the loyal fans, of these revelations I have each week, to avoid further implosions and genitalia-invoked TV theme songs.

Revelation #1: No one is good at karaoke.

The majority of people think singing = karaoke singing. Not true. Karaoke is significantly harder that normal singing for several reasons. Foremost, the background music is purposely horrendous. It'd be easy enough to use real music, with real instruments, but thats not karaoke. Karaoke is about singing to a bad polka-ized MIDI rendition of a song that is faster and in a different key than the original. The key is what always gets ya. Sure, you know for a fact that you can hit the high notes in "Fly Like an Eagle"...but can you hit the high notes in Polygram's techno version of "Fly Like an Eagle" in C#dim7sus9?

Revelation #2: Garbage bins are better than trash cans.

For our huge End of September bash, Madman and I placed a garbage bin in the apartment. A week later, it's still there. Why? Because its so goddamn convenient. it holds significantly more than our puny trash can which we have to empty twice a week. Yes it's ugly, and we think there's something living in the bottom of it, but it's abundance of utility greatly surpasses its lack of glamour. And whatever is living at the bottom of it will eventually die.

Revelation #3: Friends don't buy friends inflatable presents.

All good birthday presents induce orgasms, taste good with beer, or last forever. Inflatable products do not fall into any of these categories. Well...there are some exceptions.

Revelation #4: The international integration of product and capital markets has been constraining private sector employment as well as the financial viability of the welfare state.

Since the second oil-price crisis of 1979/80 was met by restrictive monetary and expansionary fiscal policies in the United States, the steep increase of real interest rates in the international capital markets forced other central banks to raise interest rates accordingly. As a consequence, employment-creating investments could only be maintained if the share of profits in the national product was significantly increased. Well...there are some exceptions.

Revelation #5: You don't have to eat everything on your plate.

Yes, people in are starving, but...well shit. I don't want any more fries.

PS. Sponsor a child today.

MATTERS OF INTEREST: The Great Saurian Menace

2005-10-09T14:30:00.000-06:00

Fantastically, it is time for yet another MATTERS OF INTEREST. In a state of manic hypoxia, I am Matters.

Friends, devoted and/or apathetic readers, me (if I'm reading this later), and fellow mammals, this installment of MATTERS OF INTEREST is not the typical capricious frolic through the neither-realms of science, nature, and the universe that you have grown to so complacently expect. I shall make every effort to refrain from over stating the importance of my message, but the next few paragraphs will definitely save your life. If you stop reading now you are certainly doomed to suffer a tragically-avoidable, yet pedagogically-gruesome death. Your instructively-awful demise will coerce future generations to embrace the heavy hand of SCIENCE.

What is this four-part tragi-comedy, artfully presented in a five act burlesque of photoshop detritus? I refer, of course, to THE GREAT SAURIAN MENACE (see red arrow).

Mammal-kind, since the dawn of time, has made what scholars agree is a Faustian bargain with the previous inhabitants of this planet, known as Dinosaurs. The compromise itself is as ancient as it is complicated, and understanding its explanation entails a deep understanding of prehistoric law - a discussion we will not entertain this week.

But today, that compromise, so crucial to our survival as a phylum, is on the brink of collapse. For those familiar with the plight of Faust, it may alarm you to know that some mammals, over the past few million years, have exhibited an increasing incidence of spontaneous antler growth. Is it the retribution of the great lizard-Satan, and a sure sign of the impending apocalypse? Or merely the latest in trendy evolutionary extravagance from the Holocene Epoch? The issue remains healthily debated.

One fact is certain. Mammals are the good guys. Mammals have, throughout history, been largely civil creatures. Except for a few regrettable incidents, such as the savage mauling and subsequent savage digestion of this innocent giant land slothe (now extinct), we have cooperated with one another, and harmony has reigned.

In contrast, the terrible lizards of yore were ruthless and cruel. Dinosaurs are shifty and untrustworthy. Modern science tells us that Dinosaurs did not have the ability to formulate strategic action plans, or monogram their socks. They were uncivilized and lazy, not having bothered to develop opposable thumbs. Their deadly razor sharp claws prevented them from manipulating even the most rudimentary of tools, and their walnut sized brains made Dinosaurs awful cooks, and worse company.

Anecdotal evidence, the most rock-solid of all types of evidence, will support the assertions I have just made. Early texts describe the first arrival of mammals to the planet. Dinosaurs, in a duplicitous show of faux-hospitality, invited the early mammals to a pot-luck supper. Few details remain from this era, however, we can be sure that the Dinosaurs offered a vile "tar casserole," made from the carrion meat of week-dead pterodactyl, and that the ensuing blood bath would strain future relations between the Dinosaurs and the newly formed mammals.

In those days, Dinosaurs were more genetically advanced than their mammalian counterparts. This lead to terrible and humiliating defeats on the court. As inhabitants of the future, we are free to understand that if you're going to play a Velociraptor in basket ball, it should not be attempted on a unicycle.

The temptation to believe that "everything will be fine" is strong. "Facts" tell us that Dinosaurs are extinct, and that zombie Dinosaurs are a modern rarity. However, just because our reptilian overlords are confined to museums, deserts, and the molten core of the earth, we cannot yield to complacency. Even now, Dinosaurs strive to corrupt our youth and murder our paleontologists, as the photo-evidence clearly shows.

The following images contain content that some readers may find disturbing in nature. I feel obligated to remind you, however, that if you decide to stop reading now, you will likely fall victim to a Dinosaur. Here we see that even long dead and skeletalized, Dinosaurs have the audacity to pedal drugs to museum-going children in broad daylight.

The second photo shows us that Dinosaurs yet retain the savage power to kill. This image documents a "bone eruption" at an excavation in the American Southwest. Seven talented paleontologists and an intern lost their lives in this tragedy.

The enmity displayed in such senseless killing of academics only serves to illustrate the innate disdain for life inherent in all Dinosaurs.

What should you remember to avoid being victimized?

Stay indoors when Dinosaur activity is forecast to be high.
Write your congressman. Ask him to address the Great Saurian Menace through effective legislation.
Look out for Bone Eruptions if you are traveling to fossil rich areas.
Tuck your pants into your socks if you will be hiking in the forest. You may look foolish, but Lyme disease is no laughing matter.
If playing sports with a Dinosaur (or any cadre of deadly beasts) avoid the use of a Unicycle.
Finally, if you do find yourself being eaten by a Dinosaur, remember to present your mewling pleas to him in a language he can understand, such as FORTRAN or COBOL.

It is my hope that this manuscript will serve you well. If it does not, please entomb your complaints in the bowels of the earth to allow the fossilization process to occur. The process may take six to eight weeks to complete, depending on the depth of the hole and acidity of the soil in your area.

~Matters

Really Positive Movie Review and a Lunch: "Thumbsucker" Edition

2005-10-05T12:11:00.000-06:00

Well, campers, it's Wednesday. You know what that means, right? Yes, it means I'm a day late, dammit, but I was out yesterday for a rather important Jewish Holiday. No, not Hannukah. That's like not important at all. Unless you want to give me some presents. It was Rosh Hashanana. Duh! That means I was praying to God to please not eat me. If you're nice, I will pray that God not eat you as well. Oh yeah, it's Wednesday. You know what that means? Another installation of the perennial favorite: Movie Review and a Lunch.

Today's Lunch: Leftovers!

Due to some prodding from our avid readers, I should embellish what I eat as to make it more interesting. So, here goes what I had for lunch, and see if you can spot the embellishment.

I had a leftover of the Kick-Ass Salad I created last night. Salads are awesome and easy to make. This one contained: A Romaine/Iceburg/Carrot Lettuce mix, Roasted Almond Slices, Grilled Chicken Breast, Feta Cheese, Cheddar Cheese, Bac-o-Bits, Sliced Pear and the blood of a young griffin oh, and, Paul Newman's own Raspberry Walnut dressing. It was delish. The salad also contained a dash of the infinite grandeur of space, time and everything, as seen to the right with a famous salad-spokesman in front of it.

Today's Movie: Thumbsucker

Wow. What can I say about "Thumbsucker"? I really don't need to fake being positive about this one. It is so cool and so insightful. It's confrontational and zen at the same time. It's deep and edgy simultaneously. It has some kinky kinda blindfolded mutual fondling going on there, and that's always cool in my book.

Let me tell you about this little gem, before I get into my personal experience with it. This bildungsroman follows Justin, marvelously played with a low-key sensitivity and painful humor by new-comer Lou Pucci. I really liked this kid, and felt him through and through. Metaphorically, of course. This film, for being so indie and progressive, really follows a simple Hollywood formula: boy loves thumb, boy is hypnotized to hate thumb by hippy orthodontist (Keanu Reeves), boy tries on different addictions for size including joining the debate team under tutelage of fast-talking, but equally sad, coach (Vince Vaughn), boys parents (genderly ambiguous Tilda Swinton and "He was wearin an Edgar suit" Vince D'onofrio) generally suck, but mean well and have addictions of their own (like being sucky parents and being obsessed with famous douchebag actors (Benjamin Bratt), and at the end -- whoa there, like I'm gonna ruin such a good movie for you. What kind of jackass do you take me for anyway? Do you think I'm going to spoil the whole movie for you by telling you the surprise ending that they really weren't from the past and were just a group of scientists so disenchanted by the modern, violent world that they uprooted their families and started a quasi-historical, quasi-amish village in the middle of this nature preserve where they could remain isolated from the modern world and that adrien brody turns out to be the monster that haunts this village? No way would I spoil this movie like that for you! Duh!

I really liked that this movie sucked. I can say that because it's one of the movie's taglines. See, I'm not being mean, I'm playing into the Indie marketing machine! I heart broken! Well, let me just say, that you should totally see this movie, it's hilariously tragic, tragically hilarious and everything in between, including a bit of drama, a dash of sexual situations including the debate team and a pinch of space, time and everything with some meaning. Really worth your dime. Totally. The supporting cast kicks ass and everyone seemed perfectly great in their roles. Nobody detracted from the young protagonist, even though it would have been really easy to be overshadowed by Neo and that wedding crasher who wasn't Owen Wilson. Lou Pucci kicked ass. The movie kicked ass and it totally didn't suck. Even the score kicked ass.

Speaking of the score, I shall tell you my totally mundane and not-cult-related experience with this film. I was out celebrating a friend's birthday. This is the truth and I have not been brainwashed. See Exhibit A for proof that I was out for Brianne's birthday.

Brianne said "Let's go see this totally normal movie, "Thumbsucker," this totally normal and not brainwashing-cult-related band, "The Polyphonic Spree" - who has oft been related to a magical, whimsical and not violent cult because of their happy tunes and colorful tunics - will be at the Dallas premier because that is where they are from and they finished the score after Elliott Smith died, but the Spree didn't kill him at all." Brianne is really that informative. Here is a picture of Brianne being informative for proof that this is what actually happened and the conflagration that you've heard about on the world news didn't happen.

So we went to the premier and the Spree sang a happy, non-violent, non-cannibalistic song before the movie. They looked really cute in their non-violent robes. See exhibit C for proof of this totally mundane and totally non-massacre-like event of common-place normalcy that didn't hurt anyone.

By the way, these photos haven't been doctored to create an honest-to-goodness account of really non-violent events that didn't end in innocent blood being spilled. They are poor quality because some swamp gas got trapped under a weather balloon and ricocheted back to Dallas where the Polyphonic Spree DID NOT time travel to 1963 to assassinate JFK.

Anywhoo, the Spree then ascended - no not to their space ship or into the air using their gravity-defying, mind-altering superpowers. They ascended up the stadium seating to a row two rows infront of me and the birthday gang. Then their leader, Tim Delaughter, ascended the stairs too after supplying everyone in the theater with a nice drink of Kool-ade for before the film. It was raspberry flavored and quite delectable. The Spree watched the movie like all normal Homo-sapiens watch movies. Some of them got antsy. Some ate pop corn. One spree member got up to pee twice and stepped on ankles and heels on her way out. These are totally normal, non-violent acts that all humans do, and cannot be construed in any way to be associated with the cult, the occult, or occulo-laser-beams.

Finally, to wrap up a lovely evening. The Polyphonic Spree, who turned out to be totally normal just like you and me, answered some Q&A and signed autographs. Evidence of which can be seen visually with your eyes, and not with telekenesis, since no one has powers like that, not even the totally normal and not cult like Spree.

All in all, it was a wonderfully enchanting evening with the Polyphonic Spree, who turned out to not be dangerous or a menace to society at large or a cult or have evil powers. And they totally don't brainwash people either. I found one last picture on my roll of film. I don't understand it, and certainly don't remember it, but I'll put it up here anyway. I have to go ice down my mysterious third degree burns now. They mysteriously happen to spell out "Polyphonic Spree." Isn't that random!?

Oh yeah, after all that, I give "Thumbsucker" one of my highest ratings!

TWO NOVELTY STAPLE REMOVERS AND ONE REGULAR STAPLE REMOVER -- Oh my! What a rating!

Bomberman 2

2005-10-02T21:38:00.000-06:00

Advice for anyone who has spent a Sunday trying to blow up Mad-Bomber-Man and Henners: wait till their lady friends come over. They will be distracted.

"If You Had a Spaceship...": A Guide to 8minute Dating

2005-09-29T10:32:00.000-06:00

Dear avid readers, I have recently realized that although my previous articles have been comical, or perhaps amusing at best, they provide nothing of worth to you, the readers, that we love so dearly. With this in mind, and the weight of my obligation to inform society, and Matters, I bring to you my guide to 8minute Dating.

Our good friend Woody stumbled across 8 minute dating (8md) quite some weeks ago, and expressed his interest to us via electronic mail. He further requested that we attend an upcoming event to be held at the Fire & Ice restaurant in Boston. Amiably, Adam and I agreed, and the three of us registered for the event, upon which we were told that we would be put on a waiting list, until a gender-balanced attendance could be confirmed. After several days of waiting by the proverbial mailbox, we received notification of our acceptance onto the elite list of members who would be allowed to attend this auspicious event.

Danielle, Alix and Sonia came too.

The guide to 8md begins before you even get in the car.

Step 1: Dress Gay/Metro

This rule applies unless you are in fact gay or metrosexual, in which case you may consider dressing down. Adam, stubbornly, wanted to wear his baggy-ass jeans and his lucky red shirt. Woody and I protested...this was completely unacceptable. Not because it made him look even more like a farmboy, but more because he would be a bad reflection on us. After several hours of verbal abuse that eventually turned physical (Adam lost a few pints of blood. Ask him), he agreed to wear black pants, and borrowed my fancy black shoes, as opposed to his blue-collar work shoes.

Silly blue-colored folk. Those smurfin' idiots don't know what's smurfin' good for them.

Step 2: Arrive Early

This step is crucial to your success with 8md. Why? Arriving early allows you to do several opportunities. Once you have checked in, you are provided a card with your table assignments for the eight 8 minute dates you are about to have. Review this card carefully. If possible, sneak a peek at other peoples cards and consider dates you may want to avoid. Furthermore, move every table you will be seated at closer to the bar.

Which brings me to your next advantage of arriving early. Drink. Drink as much as you can. Your initial thinking may be that you want to stay sober, and keep your breath fresh for your dates. You learn quickly however that no one has fresh breath after munching on the garlic meatball hors d'oeuvres, and feigning an interest in pancreatic cell synthesis is much easier when you're plastered. Forget the puny bottles, go for the 20 oz. drafts. And keep going.

Step 3: Practice Your Pitch

I hear you saying, "What pitch? It's me, of course I know what I'm going to say about me. How hard can it be?" Oh, my naive little friends. You have already assumed too much. This brings me to the next step:

Step 4: Lie
Through your teeth. Observe the following scenarios.

BAD
Henry: Hey, how's it going?
Girl: Good, good, how about you?
Henry: Yeah, I'm alright.
Girl: So, what do you do?
Henry: Oh I work at a software company designing order management software...
Girl: Oh my father did that. I killed him.

Note how things turn disastrous when you tell the truth. Let's see how it should be done.

GOOD
Henry: Hey, how's it going?
Girl: Good, good, how about you?
Henry: Yeah, I'm alright.
Girl: So, what do you do?
Henry: Oh I'm Brad Pitt.
Girl: Please insert yourself.

I can't stress the importance of this step enough. Let's move on.

Step 5: Avoid Eye Contact...
...with everyone but your date. Doing so will help you avoid awkward conversations.

Henry: Yeah, so whereabouts are you from?
Girl: Well originally Indiana, but now I...what are you looking at?
Henry: Oh my god, this is so embarassing.
Girl: What? Whats wrong?
Henry: I've got this thing about looking and talking to fat people at the same time...

Awkward.

Step 6: Cut The Crap
Come on, let's face it. You've got 8 minutes. Find out what you really want to know.

Bad questions:
Where did you grow up?
What kind of work do you do?
What do you do for fun?
Whats your favourite ____?
What are your needs?

Good questions:
Do you like cooking? For me?
How do you feel about porn?
Do you trim the hedges, or mow the lawn?
Do you do...
...blowjobs?
...anal?
...fisting?
...anal fisting?
...threesomes?
...DVDA? (Consult a perverted friend)
...windows?
...small pets?

That concludes the learning part of this program. If you follow these few simple rules, I guarantee you will succeed at 8md. Take Woody for example, who earned big points with Trisha (names have been changed to protect the identities of the inviduals involved):

"Oh Woody is just the best. I could tell I wanted him since I saw him passed out on the barstool in his pink feathered boa and chaps. I love a guy who can get straight to the point, though I'm worried I don't have enough...experience....I've only been to three orgies! And what can I say....I guess I've always had a thing for British secret agents...."

Bravo Woody. Bravo.

MATTERS OF INTEREST: The Human Brain

2005-09-29T10:06:00.000-06:00

It's arbitrarily time for another MATTERS OF INTEREST. In a rabid fit of grandiose delusions, I am Matters.

This installment broaches a subject 8 to 14 inches from all our hearts: The Human Brain. Down through the ages of man and beast, philosophers have pontificated upon the majesty and miracle of the mind of man. Beasts have lapped up its gooey remains after cracking through our deficient skulls. Both have appreciated its good aspects to the full possible extent. Unfortunately, The Human Brain is also the source of nearly every species-shaming idea that has ever been or shall be. Every stupid, half-assed, or ill-conceived thought since the dawn of creation can be attributed to The Human Brain, with the notable exception of the Unicycle. The Unicycle was invented by a bear. Stupid bear! It's got only one wheel.

For the purposes of illustration, I have gone to the trouble of obtaining an image of my brain, which, scientists assure me, is practically human in nature.

This image, and some others with my top off that I won't post on the internet, were taken during a medical experiment for which I volunteered some years ago. The suckers paid me $50, and there were no lasting effects lasting effects. Two important regions are indicated in the image above, and I will explain these in due time.

Now, The Human Brain, being filled with scrumptious brain goo (neurotransmitters, deoxyribonucleic acid, monosodium glutamate, high fructose corn syrup) is immediately tempted to do the following:

But I assure you, this tendency is stupid. What does it even mean? Am I really storing miniature hamburgers in my sinuses? No one has an adequate answer.

The other immediate temptation is to create some kind of Warhol-esque modern art travesty:

It could be used to advertise for a brain surgery clinic run by artists, or to burn the retinas out of the eye sockets of attacking coyotes. Whatever the motivation, it too is assuredly stupid, and a mockery of all things good and descent.

Other stupid acts that belay the vast reserves of dumb contained within The Human Brain include:

editing the above picture to fictitiously insert images of genetalia into the mouth, or
using the brain image as a mechanism to describe the quality of a motion picture in a "movie review and a meal" format column.

For perspective, let's examine some other key stupid ideas throughout history, and take a moment to briefly debunk the ignorance that contributed to their inception.

Screen Door Submarine: Ha, silly Pollaks.
Phrenology: If you know what this is, you know why its stupid.
The Narwhal: Ok, I am well aware that this is not a result of The Human Brain, but come on, what is this thing? A Sea Unicorn? Give me a break. Keep them out of our communities, I say.
Intelligent Design: Dress up some bible passages in fancy Scientronomy and Researchology terms to skirt the Separation Clause, and all of a sudden you have an alternate theory? Well answer me this yokel (that's right, I called you a yokel) if your omniscient intelligent designer was so worried about creating a world that merely seemed old (dinosaurs, radio-carbon dating, speed dating, Dick Clark) in order to conceal his existence, why would he have created proponents of intelligent design to reveal it? Hmm?? OR DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND.
Republicans: I don't want to be a racist, but hey...

How, you ask, can I give such poignantly reasoned arguments in the face of such overwhelming stupidity? Well, if you will refer to the diagram at the beginning of this page, the red arrow indicates the region of the brain responsible for belief in stupid crap. You will see that it is conspicuously missing from my brain scan. Unfortunately, the green arrow indicates the region of the brain that makes one's personality repulsive to the ladies. Even a walrus in a doctor suit could tell you that its well developed (that's how it happened to me).

It is my personal and heartfelt belief that we all can take comfort in the fact that absolutely nothing was resolved in this high velocity probe of The Human Brain. I will continue my mission to violently probe the orifices of science, nature, and the universe.

~Matters

Before They Were Stars...

2005-09-28T07:41:00.000-06:00

I'm not even TRYING....

...Damn right it shows.

Really Positive Movie Review and a Lunch: "Corpse Bride" Edition

2005-09-27T11:38:00.000-06:00

Well, campers. It's Tuesday. You know what that means! Yes, it means that there's a sale on life jackets at K-mart. But what I was really talking about was that Tuesdays are time for the coveted "Really Positive Moview Review and a Lunch."

TODAY'S LUNCH:
A South Beach Diet Wrap Sandwich Kit: Turkey and Bacon edition.
This beaut includes 2 whole wheat tortillas, turkey, cheese, bacon, mayo.. along side a Jello cup.

But, I supplemented it with a cheese stick and jell-o pudding snack. I hate strawberry jello anyway.

TODAY'S MOVIE:

THE CORPSE BRIDE

All's I can say is Wowee wowee wow, to quote Henners quoting Walken in regards to Matter's first post. This move was awesome. I don't even need to lie about finding positives in it like I did for "Just Like Heaven".

Tim Burton and his animators know what they're doing. The voice cast is cool and all, and the plot is kind of dumb (watch out for that twist, you'll see it coming from a mile a way...I'll give you a hint... SHE'S DEAD!...I'm just kidding, that's not the twist. But there is one and you'll see it coming from a mile away), and the songs are kind of like "stop and sing" songs, not organic like when I break into song to push the action forward in my own life or explain my innermost thoughts. The star of this movie is the movie's look. I mean, from the kick-ass animation, the awesome character designs (except for that Maggot who was supposed to be Carrot Top or something) and the sets alone, this movie is top of the heap. You only WISH you could make a claymation universe so cool!

Okay, I'll level with you, the coolest part of the entire movie was how claymation Johnny Depp had one strand of hair that dangled and bobbed and blew in the wind like real hair! I don't have clay hair, but it is kinda greasy and tight-curly, so I wished I had clay hair that could bob and blow in the wind).

The songs kinda win the "Merit" Prize here. I really liked how when Carrot Top Maggot and Spider-who-wasn't-really-a-character-worth-caring-about-but-had-a-duet-anyway started singing their song, they pretty much had to wait on screen for their musical cue. Kinda like a really good High School Musical. Some songs were righteous, like the one that the skeleton dude sings, and the opening number about how much parents and arranged marriages blow. But the rest of the songs definitely get an A for effort.

Corpse Bride herself was kinda really hot. And I found it a little disturbing that I was so attracted to a lump of clay...besides Gumby, that is. But, come to think of it, I'm really kind of surprised that the casting director didn't make the obvious choice here and cast the Protean-faced Prince of Pop as the titular character. That would have saved a hunk-a-dough on that pesky stop motion crap. But, considering that MJ probably can't move on his own volition now since he's had all his bones replaced with noodles, they probably would have had to do stop motion anyway.

I am a little disappointed in the movie, though, because they cut the scene that Henners, Matters and I guest starred-in. Perhaps it will be in the DVD, but for now, all I can provide you with is a snapshot. It was really a lovely scene, and the song would have won an Oscar for sure.

Overall, I have to say I was very impressed by "The Corpse Bride." And since, for the second week in a row, I am reviewing a movie about a dead chick, I won't even make any crude comments. , to appease our strong faction of Female Rights readers. On a side note, however, I think a necrophilia joke about "stiffs" and "stiffs" and why the Corpse Bride is so hot, I mean she could give a dog a bone. In fact there is a dog in the movie, and he is made out of bones, so I guess that doesn't make any sense either. Oh yeah, you should go see this movie. I liked it a lot.

Gold Medal: The way the movie looks.

Silver Medal: The Corpse Bride is hot. Something about a cadaver in white stockings.

Bronze Medal: The cast of supporting characters. They all looked really cool. Especially the two military corpses and the one skeleton that got turned into a Bass (the instrument, not the fish of "Napoleon Dynamite" fame).

Merit Award: The musical numbers. They definitely tried. But really, Danny Elfman's been over-worked as of late.

This movie was the second-best Tim Burton claymation movie musical involving skeletons that I've ever seen!!!

I give it 8 1/2 Slow-Mo Running Dakota Fannings!

Diphy, The Omni Elixir

2005-09-27T10:39:00.000-06:00

For those of you who have been sharing a bed with me recently (it doesn't count if you leave after sex, Wanda), you may want to skip down a few paragraphs as you probably know all of this already. For the rest of you, read on, and keep in mind that my Thursday slot is still open. All services come with a complimentary walk of shame. Make your reservations now, at www.humpahenner.com.

Over the past few weeks I have experienced a gradual degradation in the quality and quantity of sleep. Why you ask? I dont know I reply. I have always had a simple formula for a good nights sleep:

(X*Y*Z)/(S*O) = R * q

Where:
X = physical exhaustion
Y = mental exhaustion
Z = mild cerebral hemorrhaging
S = stress
O = inflicted or induced pain (the Owie factor)
R = sleep
q = Quarelle's constant, which is 1.

But now all thats gone to shit. Take last night for example, perhaps the worst bout of insomnia I have ever had. After a long day at work, followed by a tiring callback audition for Rainbow Tribe (not a gay coalition), running on only one cup of coffee and a Lean Cuisine, my physical and mental exhaustion was at a high. Admittedly my stress levels are mildly high, but not any higher than before, and to balance that out I rammed my head into the bedpost repeatedly to get those cerebral juices flowing.

After all that, one would think there'd be no problem nodding off to dreamland, snoring like a obtuse Jew with irritiable bowel syndrome on Rosh Hashanah...but NO. Nothing. I lie there, staring at the ceiling with my hand down my pants, wondering why I can't even yawn.

I go through the gauntlet of sleep aids I have previously employed. The first and most obvious is food. I scarf down some leftover roast chicken ($6.99 at Shaws, good shit) and some Ruby Red grapefruit juice, then wait for the food coma to take effect.

Nothing.

Next, some light reading. And by reading, I mean listening, since I now refuse to read anything I can listen to while multitasking instead. I'm currently enveloped in a book called The Secret Life of Bees, a story about a white Southern girl during the Civil Rights movement, who runs away from home and lives with a family of black sisters that run a honey business. Magical. Magically 10 hours long. Anyways, I get through Chapter 13, when she comes to terms with the reality that her mother left her as a young child.

Nothing.

Next on the list is the white noise. They say it works on babies, so why not Asians? I downloaded it on Limewire, meaning I could very well be listening to someones heart murmurs. Lying there, I wonder if I'm subliminally learning Swedish, or regulating my menstrual cycle.

Nothing.

Finally, sleep hypnosis. Again, downloaded from Limewire. Limewire rocks. This has definitely worked for me in the past. Though not so much the hypnosis part, where the man (who sounds like he has low self esteem and a brain deficiency) counts down from ten to zero, telling you to do things like imagine a soft mist around your body, and tell your mind to slow down...sloww.....downn.....its time for your mind....to slowwwwww.......dowwnnnnnnnn......send me money.......and slowwwww........dowwwnnnnnnnnnn.

No, it really just bores me to sleep. But tonight?

Nothing.

So I give food coma another shot, combined with late night television. Okay, so leftover KFC and Conan O'Brien probably isnt the best way to fall asleep. It's just too damn stimulating. Especially when Conan is being supremely funny:

Clips from WALKER: TEXAS RANGER
The Other Guy: What is it?
Walker: It's Vietnamese, but it's in some kind of code...
The Other Guy: Code?
Walker: It's been encrypted.
The Other Guy: Well what do we do now?
Walker: I don't know, but we should find Sumyung Gai
The Other Guy: Sumyung Gai? Why?
Walker: Because he speaks Vietnamese....and is a computer genius.

How convenient. Alas, no sleep. In a fit of frustration, I peel my naked ass off the couch and throw some pants on. Off to the 24 Hour Brooks pharmacy.

Why is it that I always, ALWAYS get stuck behind the slowest person at the checkout? It's 2 in the morning. There are only three people in the store...me, the guy behind the counter, and the oldest woman in the world between us. Regardless. I purchase a pack of Reds, and my new friend Diphy.

Diphy, short for diphenhydramine hydrochloride comes with with my old buddy Ace, short for for acetaminophen. They make me happy. Well, then don't. Thats just about the ONLY thing they don't do. I did a little background check on my buddy Diphy:

Diphenhydramine hydrochloride is given to people who are experiencing allergic reactions, such as itchy skin, runny nose, cough, hives (types of skin eruptions), other skin rashes, and hay fever (allergic reactions to trees, grass, or weed pollens). Because diphenhydramine hydrochloride causes sleepiness, it is also taken by people who are having difficulty sleeping. It is also given to relieve motion sickness and nausea, vomiting, and dizziness that is unrelated to motion sickness. Furthermore, it gives you the power to fly, become invisible, and shoot mind bullets.

Doesn't that sound lovely? Aside from allowing me to sleep, it also protects me from...well...pretty much anything.

Umm...I forgot what the point of this whole entry was. So I'm just going to stop now. Toodles!

MATTERS OF INTEREST

2005-09-26T17:14:00.000-06:00

Its time for the first, and arguably best, MATTERS OF INTEREST. In an obvious infringement on Henners nom de plume, I am Matters.

As the first installment of this heap of excrement (generously bestowed the rank of English text) some explanation is warranted. This column is chartered to violently probe the orifices of science, nature, and the universe.

In keeping with the narcissistic self-aggrandizing precedent of this blog, today's MATTER OF INTEREST will be me.

LIFE ALTERING FACT #1 I was awarded a seat of indefinite tenure on this triumverate of webly loggers for my profanity laden critique of last Monday. It can be found in shamelessly adulterated form here.

LIFE ALTERING FACT #2 I am a humble citizen of East Cambridge. I live in a 146ft. Ivory tower, engraved with dragons and likenesses of Bill Murray, which can be seen below, from a distance of 3 miles, looming over the skyline of our fair city (red arrow).

In conclusion, for so long as it is allowed by my capricious handlers Henners and A-Dub, this section will serve up a host of personal neuroses, vendettas, and trivia that should prove thoroughly uninteresting to the general public, readers of this blog, and FBI agents tirelessly scouring the internet for instances of the word jihad. Jihad jihad jihad.

~Matters

Makin' some Fudge Tracks

2005-09-23T12:50:00.000-06:00

Well Campers,

I now have a distinct corporate theory which goes as follows:

All businesses need some annoying, juvenile, punk-ass, sophomoric teenager on their board of directors. You see, juvenile, punk-ass, sopohomoric teenagers tend to find things gross when they really arent. I used to laugh at the idea of a "Lake Titicaca" for hours on end. But then I grew up and became a boring mid-twenties kinda guy who doesn't think anything is funny when it blatantly isn't.

However, even though the newly appointed board member, in all his pimply-face, logo-tee-wearin', Totino-pizza-roll-eatin' glory might find utterances like "Tit Mouse" and "Head Mistress" hilarious, he would definitely catch glitches like the name of Dreyer's new low-sugar Ice cream flavor: FUDGE TRACKS.

This product is very tasty, indeed - if you can get the image of soiled undergarments out of your head. Just look at it. Peanut morsels, lots of thick gooey fudge and fluffy vanilla. However, I couldn't eat one damn bite of this monstrosity because I couldn't stop laughing at the fecally explicit, and embarrasing, name of the ice cream. I mean... DEAR GOD! HOW could they have thought that an ice cream named that would do well! The could have called it "Skid Marks" or "Railroad Tracks" and it would have been just as convincing.

Clearly, the name doesn't dissuade all people from buying the product. My mom brought a gallon of it over to dinner when we entertained the folks with dinner and salad. They, clearly, brought the dessert. Coming from a more naive mindset, mother chuckled along as everyone, including my dad, laughed their asses off at the name of the dessert. She asked what was so funny, and I had to explain to her. "Mom...you know why you have to wash Dad's underpants inside out?" She then turned red and joined in the cajoling.

However, if Dreyer's wasn't aiming for a bit of edible good humor, then they should have hired a stupid teenager. He would have caught this typo. He would have laughed his ass off at the ice cream inventor who presented his new flavor's name to Dr. Dreyer and his knock-off brother, Jimmy Breyer.

I mean... what the hell were they thinking?

On a separate but equal note, Dreyer's is also introducing these three other new flavors into its lineup which have nothing wrong with them and they are all real. I promise.

Love,

A-Dub

New Logo for the Site

2005-09-22T12:58:00.000-06:00

Hey Campers,

All I did today was spend hours making a picture. I'm gonna try to find out how to put it on our site. I'm also making a shoppe on Cafe Press so you can buy memorabilia of your visit here!

love, Aaron

Alright! Henry Did it! It's gonna be SO Awesome!

Message of the Day : Blogging is awesome. That is all.

Spy Games and Utility Friends

2005-09-21T08:18:00.000-06:00

So our protagonist, Adam, has been putting off a 'date' with our antagonist, a girl we will affectionately refer to as The Beast, that he met online. After several (fortunately) failed attempts to meet, he finally has no choice but to make her acquaintance at the Green Dragon.
Naturally, Brice and I think it'd be nice to tag along, incognito. Adam thinks it'd be nice too.

Upon arrival, we find Adam munching on a chicken sandwich, alone.
"WTF?" I says.
"I'm meeting her in a few somewhere else," he says.

But since Brice and I have already ordered our beers, we decide it'd be good to stick around. This is when we get into our conversation about utility friends. It goes something like this:

Henry: I think we need more utility friends.
Brice: Me too.

Essentially, the definition of a utility friend is one who can provide you with free, discounted, or previously unavailable goods or services, and allow convenient access to otherwise difficult or inaccessible establishments. Jen FlatTops is probably the best example of a utility friend we currently have, and perhaps the only good example. Other lesser examples may be Annie Grendels, or DJ Orleans MacFaddens.

Coincidentally enough, right smackdab in the middle of our conversation, somewhere between the words 'need' and 'utility', our bartender interjects, "You guys go to Paddy O's sometimes, right?" I thought he looked familiar.

Over the next half hour, we come to know and love our new potential utility friend Burnsy, who bartends at the Green Dragon during the week, and bounces at Paddy O's on the weekends. He'd make a great utility friend. We plan on visiting him again next Tuesday.

Now, the important point we must stress here is that, utility friends are friends before they are utilities. Note that 'utility' describes the 'friend', and not the other way around. They're not 'friend utilities'. Although a friend utility infers a completely different meaning - an XBox is a friend utility. So is sausage and mushroom pizza, or the ability to produce large amounts of chocolate from your pituitary glands.

All credit for the phrase 'utility friend' goes to Adam, for I believe it was he who coined the term. A Google search produces nothing remotely similar to our definition. So don't look. Don't. You'll just feel stupid if you do.

Getting back to the Spy Games part of our story, Brice and I bid a hearty farewell to our Burnsy, and proceed towards the Gas Light Pub, located directly between Durgin Park and the Black Horse Tavern.

Its a Tuesday night and business is scarce - nary a wanderer find their way here. We locate Adam at the bar, defeated, slumped over his stool and weakly clutching his Sam Adams in both hands. Next to him sits The Beast. She towers above his sullen form, in a tube top and matching earrings.

Being as discreet as possible, Brice and I sit at the bar, one stool between us and them. The stakes are high, the tension is thick. During pauses in our conversation, we catch glimpses into theirs.

The Beast: Oh my god. I totally fell asleep with a beer in my hand. In my hand. Oh my god.
Adam: [half-hearted chuckle]

We decide it best to change Adam's name to "Jason" in our conversations, else The Beast may catch on. Later we decide to change our names too. The story continues.

Ben and I (Eddie) order another beer. Adam excuses himself to use the bathroom. Brice takes the opportunity to follow suit. I remain in guard at the bar. The Beast is quiet, and keeps to herself. She refuses to look at me, although I stare awkwardly at her in my little Asian way. I call out to her, "Dr. Jones! Dr. Jones!"...Nothing. She appears to type something into her monster cellphone (how appropriate) and proceeds to bite her nails.

Meanwhile, Brice and Adam return to their respective stools. Brice recites the recent urinal conversation:

Brice: You want out? I can punch Henry in the nads and amidst the confusion we'll make a run for it.
Adam: No, I think we can..wait..you'd do that for me?
Brice: Hells yeah babygirl.
Adam: Oh Brice...
Brice: ...
Adam: ...
Brice: ...
Adam: Umm..nah I think I'll be fine. Just don't leave without me.
Brice: You got it. Seeyas.
Adam: Wait...Brice..
Brice: Yes?
Adam: ...nothing.

The night continues. Brice and I hear more of their conversation:

The Beast: Oh my god. I was totally drunk at work. At work. Oh my God.
Adam: Every moment I live is in agony.
The Beast: What?
Adam: Oh nothing, I was just chuckling..half-heartedly.
The Beast: Oh okay.

Finally they leave the bar, as do Brice and I. We follow, yet keep our distance to be safe. I battle the urge to run up behind The Beast, smack her ass while taking her purse and fleeing in the night. The journey is near unbearable.

Brice and I watch with relief as Adam prods her through the turnstile, and with a "Yeehaw!" scrambles towards us. The Beast scowls, but it is too late. She cannot get back her dollar twenty five. The war is over. But there are no winners. Just survivors.

Adam: You guys wanna get a drink at The Kinsale? I could sure use one.

Attendance is scarce at The Kinsale, and this is where we meet our second utility friend of the night. Nicolette, the bartender from Attleboro, originally from Hawaii, heightens our interest in implementing Green Dragon/Kinsale Tuesdays.

As the sun begins to rise..in Japan..we make our merry ways home, thankful for coming out unscathed, looking forward to the embrace of another day.

Really Positive Movie Review and a Lunch: "Just Like Heaven" Edition

2005-09-20T11:48:00.000-06:00

Well, campers, it's Tuesday. You know what that means? Yes, yes, only 13 days left til the apocalypse. But today it also means that it's time for another special edition of "Really Positive Movie Review and a Lunch," which has nothing to do at all with TBS' "Dinner and a Movie." See, MINE is LUNCH and I don't actually show a bad movie, I talk about one.

TODAY'S LUNCH: LEFTOVER SAUSAGE, GREEN BEANS, A CHEESE STICK AND JELLO PUDDING SNACK

I'd give you a recipe here, but there's no real mystery. In fact the only mystery about today's lunch is whether or not I will die in the coming minutes as my body may or may not digest and process some potentially pitfallious poisons.

Concern #1: I took a few bites out of one of my co-worker's old Calzones that was hiding out in the back of the fridge. It had pepperoni, sausage and blue ricotta cheese in it. The dough was a little soggy. As I took my eight bite, I wondered if this calzone (nigh a week old) was potentially bad for my health. So I wrapped it back up in it's exoskeleton of foil and put it back in the fridge near the un-claimed ranch dressing packet.

Concern #2: I heated up my leftover sausage and green beans in the tupperware I also used for air-tight storage. I heard some funny crackling noises as it rotated slowly around in the ghetto-est microwave known to man. Hopefully that crackling was the snausages and not the radioactive isotopes melting out of the plastic and seeping into my tasty dish. If it was, I'll either get super powers or die. If Hollywood and the recent surge of superhero movies where the protagonist gets superpowers due to some type of radiation poisoning have taught me anything it's that I'll probably die if my tupperware wasn't microwavable.

Concern #3: I got some Jello Pudding snack on my khakis. I'm afraid it might stain. But that will not keep me from continuing my streak of wearing these dirty-ass pants to work.

Well, enjoy that recipe. It's a keeper!

TODAY'S REALLY POSITIVE MOVIE REVIEW: "Just Like Heaven"

"Just like Heaven?" Please! More like "I'm in Heaven!" This romcom romp through such sensitive issues as near death, mercy killing and body snatching lightened my heart with the lubricated deftness of buttered popcorn.

Really, I thought I wanted to see Reese Witherspoon die ever since she introduced herself as a potential slut in "Pleasantville" and then turned all squeaky clean in every subsequent movie. But, I enjoyed her performance in this movie! She's CUTE as a BUTTON! And Fiesty to boot! It's really an original character for her, and shows off her wide range of acting skills in a variety of ways such as pensively thoughtful, thoughtfully anal, anally invisible and invisibly pensive!

Mark Ruffalo's cool by me! He's just a dude trying to forget his soiled past by wallowing in his own filth in an apartment that he - get this - is renting from a dead chick, or something! Can you believe the cosmic irony?

Or is it irony? I don't think so! "Napoleon Dynamite's" Jon Heder plays a remarkably Napoleon Dynamitish cameo character who for some reason seems to control a snow globe that contains San Francisco and controls the destiny's of all within -- kind of like the end of "Men in Black" except there was no rap song about the movie you just saw by Will Smith...what a bummer! I really loved the gimmicky casting choice of Jon Heder here. It was really cool how every scene he was in pulled you away from the suspense of disbelief and made you remember that you were, in fact, watching a movie! I loved how he detracted from the other supporting cast, including some chick with short blonde hair and Donal Logue. They were good and all, and funny and really felt organic in the movie, but they didn't have Jon Heder's flair for pulling you out of the fantasy world you were watching. Too bad for them. Maybe next time Logue and Blonde Chick should ask for more complete close ups from the director so that everyone will know how funny it is that they are in this movie.

Over all, I loved this movie like I love children, puppies and balloons. Holly cried. The special effects were awesome and once again, a ghost movie can fathom the idea that a ghost can pass through solid objects but never brings up the issue of how the hell they can stand on ground or walk up stairs. For the love of god! I love it when movies neglect stuff like that! It's so cool!

All in all, I award prizes to the actors as follows:

Super Duper Top Prize to: Donal Logue for saying some funny stuff and just showing up.

Top prize to Ruffalo: proving that an ugly man can still get with dead chicks!

Good Work Prize to Witherspoon: she's cute. She's dead. She'll lay there!

Merit to Jon Heder: who totally didn't ruin this movie with his kitsch casting!

Over all: I give this movie a really positive review and a rating of 4 3/4 Rolling Cross-Eyed Tchaikovsky Heads!

Love, Aaron

With Love, Matt.

2005-09-20T07:37:00.000-06:00

The following e-mail was received last night. It has been reviewed for content and modified to fit your TV.

How could you start the worst f***in blog ever without my f***in input? I don't mean to say that in an indignant sort of way, but rather as a c**ks**kin legitimate question of f***in practicality. F***in, I have reams of evidence, and at least five f***in credible sources to attest to the fact that f***in everything I f***in touch predictably and precisely decays into a state of abject crap. F**in. I have every f***in confidence that any contribution on my part to any hypothetical f***in blog would send it into a horrific and tactless spiral of decline the likes of which would surely dwarf any possible f***in measure of morbidity that you might hope to f***in maintain in your so called "worst f***in blog ever." I'm sorry to be so f***in critical of what is clearly a legitimately heinous f***in travesty against the f***in auspices of human thought, but from my f***in perspective you are f***in doomed to f***in fail in your f***in attempts to alter the f***in world through bad f***in writing.

Point in fact: Aaron is ALREADY spelled with an extra A.

~Matt.

I Love Nuts: A Comparative Review

2005-09-19T10:05:00.000-06:00

So in an effort to stay healthy and save money...well...thats not true.

So in an effort to stay healthier and have more money for booze and that back-massager from Brookstone I want, I've started eating nuts at work.

I think its a great idea. I buy a giant bag of nuts from Shaws and keep them at work, and munch on them nuts throughout the day. They prevent me from buying crap out of the vending machine, which is usually unhealthy and overpriced. They also prevent me from buying sodas and stuff too. They generally curb my appetite. And I drink lots more water to get the bits out of my teeth. Furthermore, I'm even more popular now because people like coming by and munching on my nuts.

But the point of this review is that I've been thinking about what my favourite nuts are...lets find out!

Peanuts: meh. They're alright. I was never much of a fan of peanuts, salted or unsalted. They're just kinda blah.

Almonds: pretty darn good, but they're tough to munch, especially after you've had them out for a couple days. I found them to be a little hard going down too, since they're so brittle.

Pistachios: way tasty, but they're super salty, and can get messy with the shells and the powderyness (thats now a word) and the skins. I guess peanuts have the same disadvantages.

Cocktail Shrimp: the meatiest, juiciest nuts around, but not particularly good for you. Plus they get expensive unless you do your own cocktail shrimp-picking. Cocktail shrimp farms are the best, so long as your dont throw the shrimp around (strictly prohibited). Great place to buy fresh-made cocktail shrimp cider and cocktail shrimp pies.

Cashews: they taste alright, but they kinda remind me of limp penises. I frown upon macaroni too.

Macademias: what the fuck are macademias?

Walnuts: damn tasty. they don't remind me of shriveled gentalia at all, though they should, and no messiness to worry about, provided you get them pre-shelled.

Looking at all the options. I'm probably gonna go for pre-shelled walnuts, if I can find them at Shaws. But first I gotta finish off this giant bag of pistachios, and the half bag of cheesy poofs I keep for my monthly wine-and-cheesypoof parties at work.

ADDENDUM FROM AARON

This reminds me of that thing Henry did once. Remember when we were on Spring Break and he caught that...well...you know. He had Cocktail Fever. The picture I took will explain all. Best Spring Break Ever.

love, A-Dub

MB Heaven or MB Hell?: A Critique.

2005-09-19T06:57:00.000-06:00

Over the last 5 years or so, I'm happy to say that I've noticed a steady improvement of A-Dub's Microsoft Paint skills. Due to it's limited features and single-layer foundations, drawing a good picture in MS Paint is undoubtedly more impressive than mastering Photoshop, or Paint Shop Pro, which millions of art students have done, in hopes of one day living from paycheck to paycheck, and realizing just after its too late that they've spent their whole misguided lives drawing cutesy illustrations for books on economics when their interests always lay in cutting-edge animation.

Art students (and teachers) please send all hate-mail to aaron_weinstein@hotmail.com.

For those of you who skipped over that whole phase in your childhood, and probably have learning deficiencies around geometry and color recognition to show for it, go to Start > Programs> Accessories > Paint.

Getting back to "Sausage in Heaven", let's focus in on those key elements that make it the ultimate symbol of what we have come to know and love A-Dub for...an inability to gauge distances

and draw.

Symmetry - note how there isn't any. Okay, thats not entirely true. MS Paint forces the user to draw vertically and horizontally symmetric ellipses. This is a good time to note that any future occurences of the phrase "vertically and horizontally" will be shortened to "verizontally", not to be confused with "Verziontally (tm)", the adverb used to describe when something is done in the manner of Verizon Wireless (tm), or James Earl Jones.

Verizon Wireless. You know how we do.

The halo is off-center. Even the land below is off center. It took me a while to realize those were wings. Yes, they're wings. I initially thought they were hands, or special clouds designed for sausage-support. But, upon closer inspection...they're wings.

I do like the flames though. Flames make me happy.

I've created my own rendition of MBH. Different is such a harsh word though, so lets just call it...better.

Enjoy.

~Henners

We Will Bury You

2005-09-18T21:10:00.000-06:00

Sausage in Heaven

2005-09-18T17:15:00.000-06:00

Well, campers,

It's a few minutes since my last blog entry and, as you may have noticed, I was having a little difficulty with my sausage. It was totally burned while I made this blog and now it is flying up to Meat Bi-product Heaven.

Below is an Artist's rendering of the event. Please, do not jump to conclusions, this does not acutually constitute proof of the existence of Human Heaven! This is only proof of MBH, or Meat Bi-product Heaven.

Thank you.

WELCOME...Vilkomen...Hola...Bon Jour...This blog sucks

2005-09-18T16:55:00.000-06:00

Well, happy bloggers. You have found it. Rock Bottom. This is like the worst blog in the universe. And it just started today!

Here's what you'll get in this blog:

+Funny things about stuff
+Funny stuff about things
+Really positive movie reviews about bad movies and good ones too
+Humorous Pictures
+Recipes for food that you can eat
+Recipes for food that you should not eat that will not be clearly marked
+Oh dear god, my sausage is burning. I will write more later.

Love, A-Dub