At work we have a break room with some video games in it, which can lead to productive exchanges such as the following:
Me: [9th consecutive videogame based taunt to co-worker]
Co-worker: Man, you’re really asking to choke on a large cock.
Me: I’m not sure I’m asking for that.
CW: Well, it’s what you’re going to get, once I find one.
Me: You’re saying you don’t have a large cock?
CW: Not large enough for what I have in mind.
Transcript: The famous lions represent the battle of Trafalgar Square. This was a win for the British in 1805 against the French. Giada loves history, just so you know.
Now, I don’t blame any of you reading this who don’t know that it’s actually called The Battle of Trafalgar, and that it took place in the Ocean, not in a public square, and that square is actually just where the monument to the Battle is located. But that’s because none of you have nationally televised shows, and a staff of people to keep you from saying stupid things, and then capping off your stupidity by touting how much you love history. Unless of course, one of you reading this is Giada De Laurentiis, in which case, I do blame one of you.
Sorry for the poor quality on the video, I just cam’d it from the TV. Maybe Giada’s not to blame; after all, this IS some other country we’re talking about. It’s not like she claimed she was visiting GettysburgAddress, Pennsylvania, or that our first President’s name was George WashingtonMonument.
If you’re one of the millions of Americans who love Budweiser, but wish that it tasted more like fishy-tomato hybrid, then today is your lucky day. Thanks to what I can only assume is a practical joke that got way out of hand, Anhauser-Busch is now target marketing Chelada, a drink that is basically one part Budweiser, one part Clamato, the tomato/clam juice drink for people who find V8 to be “not clammy enough.”
The truth of the matter is, Chelada is marketed towards the Hispanic audience (hence the name), and it grows out of an unofficial homebrew called Cerveza Roja, which was made by people buying Budweiser & pouring Clamato into it. Never one to miss a dollar, Anhauser stepped up to the plate and delivered this horrific stew of unlikely co-flavors.
And here, once again, I come to the problem of being married to the least Hispanic woman in America. Being as my missus’ fairly recent heritage is from South of the border, you would think she’d be the ideal go-to for questions like “why do Mexicans enjoy fish & tomato flavors in their beer?” But the last time I tried asking her questions about her people, she just stared at me with daggers in her freedom loving, 100% born here in America ‘I’m as much a native as you are’ eyes. Thank God the OC Weekly (an online city paper) has an “Ask a Mexican” column - it was invented for times like this.
This PR nightmare released by Rupert Murdoch’s MySpace cites the banning of 29,000 registered sex offenders who had MySpace pages. In addition to being 400% more sex offenders than MySpace had originally claimed were using their service, it’s important to note when reeling at the vast number of rapists on MySpace that this is
1) only the REGISTERED sex offenders, meaning the ones who had been caught and tried and convicted and served their time and released back into the wild, and
2) only the not very bright registered sex offenders who used their real names when creating their MySpace pages.
You used your real names?? Get your head in the game, sexual predators! Hell, even I know better than to use my real name on MySpace - after all, the damn thing’s full of rapists, I’m no fool. So, there’s probably WAY more rapists who haven’t been caught, or who got caught & acquitted, or caught, NOT acquitted, but using a fake name still out there on MySpace.
This, when coupled with the recent reports that everyone is fleeing MySpace because it’s SO lame in exchange for Facebook accounts makes me think that MySpace in 2007 is like the island of Manhattan in Escape From New York, only instead of a wide swath of criminals, the community is pretty much nothing but rapists, all of them pretending to be horny teenagers, hoping to lure in other teenagers.
Poor rapists… for a while, this new rapist-only MySpace has got to seem like a garden of Eden - “Jesus, there’s NOTHING but horny teenagers here! I’m going to have to start using viagra to keep up with all my sexual assaults!” But then slowly the horrible truth dawns, as they begin to realize that the only non-rapist on MySpace is Chris Hansen, saving up for sweeps week.
BTW, this entry has set a new personal record for most uses of the word “rapist” in a non-work related document (I work in marketing, you’d be surprised how often the term comes up). There’s a good reason for that - I noticed that the jonsonblog is nowhere near the top of the results returned for the word rapist & I was hoping to change that.
Wow… even just writing that last joke creeps me out. Hey, I learned something new about myself. I can creep myself out with my own damn jokes. Freak.
From time to time here, and occasionally via email, and sometimes on that liberal message board I frequent, I like to make off handed quips about how much our President needs to be shot. And everyone flips out, because apparently you’re not supposed to even joke about shooting the president. To which I always reply, not to worry, I’m not joking. I mean, it’s time right? Just kidding, haha! Or AM I?*
But seriously, I wonder what would happen politically to our country if someone actually killed this fucking monkey. Would he become a hero, in hindsight? Would his assassination turn the country super right wing? Would Cheney actually step up and enact legislation during the final months of his sudden Presidency? Would the economy prosper or flounder in the wake of GWB no longer being in charge?
More than that, I suppose I’m also a little curious how much I have to write about shooting the President before I get a visit from the feds. For the record, feds, I’m totally kidding about wishing the President would get shot. To Death.**
Note added to placate the missus: Just so that we’re clear about whether or not I’m “inciting violence” let me state explicitly that I don’t want any of the readers of this blog to take any action on their own besides voting.
*I am. Maybe.
**No I’m not. Okay, fine. I am. Maybe.
So, in the past I used to write about wacky news stories like the septugenarian hitwomen, or the bear that was tree’d by a New Jersey housecat, etc, but I’ve been trying not to do that anymore, since there are just so many of them that it’s kind of a waste of time, and what can you really say about these kinds of things that isn’t readily apparent in the story? But I admit, I’m fascinated by this story of the couple found naked & dead at the foot of an office building, with their clothing up on the roof top several stories above. Currently police are operating under the theory that the couple, in their early 20s, were having outdoor sex on the roof and rolled off to their doom - no foul play is suspected. But really, if I wanted to kill a guy in his early 20s, isn’t this just about the best possible way to do it?
After all, who among us didn’t risk their life for sex when they were in their twenties, either in the big picture via an unprotected poking, or more immediately, via sex while driving or sex on a conveyor belt that was feeding a giant shredder or sex at the end of the gun shooting range? That’s right, none of us. Which is why this is THE PERFECT CRIME.
The weirder thing is, though, that when you look past the crushed remains of bones & sinew at the foot of the building, there’s something weirdly sexy about the whole scene. I mean, we’ve all gotta die, right? But these two died about three seconds after the wildest funnest times they’d had recently. True, those last three seconds really sucked, but it beats dying after nine months on a ventilator when you’re 87 years old and everyone you know has passed on. I’m just glad I wasn’t the coroner, frankly, because the unsexy part of the story, the whole mashed bloodied corpses part? I bet coroners get totally used to that. So if I was the coroner, I wouldn’t even be grossed out by the human remains, and I would be unable to avoid focusing 100% of my attention on the “sex” part of the story. So when the crime scene investigators got there and saw me masturbating, I’d probably have a lot of explaining to do.
50 Years ago this Friday, the city of Tulsa Oklahoma buried a time capsule of life in the middle of the great American century, including a glorious Plymouth Belvedere, tail fins & all. The purpose was to give people in the future a glimpse at what life in the 50s was all about.
The vault was built sturdy enough to survive a nuclear attack (which should give you an idea of what life in the late 50s was all about right there), but unfortunately it was not built water tight. Over two feet of standing water had seeped in during the intervening decades, and the Plymouth and the Time Capsule materials were sitting in the middle of it, potentially rusting away (although city officials claim the car may still be salvageable due to a protective wrapping, possibly they used the ClearCote(tm) sealant from Fargo).
Regardless, the whole fiasco made me wonder what of my life I would collect today to give the people of the future a snapshot of what turn of the century life was all about. I narrowed it down to the following five things:
1) A photo of the sexiest naked people I can find. Here’s my thinking - with the rise of the internet, and pornography & niche fetishes & all sorts of desensitization, super hot naked people will be as sexy to the citizens of 2057 as photos of Betty Grable in a one piece bathing suit are to people today. We’ll vaguely recognize that the images have an intended purpose, some sort of arousal, but no one will really actually be turned on by looking at just plain old naked people any more. Based on my research, at least one of the participants in all future erotica will have to be dressed as a bear, or a clown, or some sort of bear-clown hybrid.
2) An ipod shuffle, one of the new super tiny ones that are smaller than a money clip & hold 100 songs. In the future, music, and really all digital data will not be stored on a physical medium, but rather wiped directly on to your skin with a series of wet-knaps, like the kind you get at KFC when you are done with your chicken. In fact, KFC will likely be the world’s largest data distribution company. People will be hard pressed to remember a time when KFC sold chicken. This situation is already becoming commonplace.
3) A Hydrogen Bomb, the most powerful one I can get my hands on. This is not to illustrate our war-mongering ways, or to show the people of the future what barbarians we were. Rather, this will be a live bomb, with a countdown initiated by the first rays of sunlight hitting the weapon. The bomb will have a large note taped to it reading “Press this button to stop your annihilation.” If the people of the future can’t read English, fuck ‘em, is what I’m going for here.
4) The dead body of Ann Coulter, or possibly Sean Hannity. Or both. I’m not particular. No identifcation need accompany the remains, nor should any steps be taken to preserve the corpses.
5) A box of things confiscated by the TSA, collected randomly at the end of one travel day from a major metropolitan airport. The people of the future will be completely fucking stumped as to why we left them half bottles of shampoo & tubes of toothpaste & mouthwash. If only they knew that this box contained what passed for a legitimate threat in 2007, they would have a good laugh before they went back to defending themselves from the never-ending ferocious onslaught of zombies.
So, I’m torturing myself by reading the user reviews of the corpse-rapingly awful movie Shooter over @ the IMDB; there are over 140, the vast majority quite positive, and my favorite so far is this one:
Mark Wahlberg Academy Award nomination coming and Love that Kate Mara
We start all of our reviews with the following information. My wife and I have seen nearly 100 movies per year for the past 15 years. Recently, we were honored by receiving lifetime movie passes to any movie any time at no cost! So we can see whatever we want whenever we want. The point of this is that CRITICS count for ZERO. Your local critics or the national critics like Ebert are really no different than you or me. The only difference is that they get to write about the movie and are forced to see hundreds of movies whether they want to or not.Therefore, it is our belief that if you get your monies worth for two hours of enjoyment that is good enough for us! We NEVER EVER listen or read the critics. We only care about our friends and those who we know like the same things as us. Well enough about that.
Wow. Mark Wahlberg is spectacular and the movie is outstanding. From start to finish we get a glimse into the real world of politics in Washington DC. Never know who is telling the truth. It is shades of the Bush Administraton with a couple of very good digs at them. Kate Mara is gorgeous and a rising star. Don’t miss it. Action packed from the minute it starts to the very end.
So… this dude is insane, yeah? I mean, not just because he thinks that badgering his local film chain into giving him a lifetime free pass is an honor, or that he loves a movie that could have been made by 7 monkeys and a steadicam, but because he thinks Mark Wahlberg will win the Best Actor Oscar for his role as the tortured loner Bob Lee Swagger. So, I clicked on the writer’s profile to read his other reviews, and it’s pretty awesome, actually.
First of all, he’s written 135 so far, which is no small feat. And true to his word, he does indeed preface each one with his screed about how many movies per year he sees and how critics are no better at determining the worth of a movie than he is and how he can see ANY movie at ANY time he pleases for FREE. But slowly, a pattern emerged as I perused his reviews…
A LOT of unlikely candidates are going to win the Academy Award for Best Actor this year, if his review headlines are any indication:
Did you ever think that Adam Sandler could win the Academy Award? (reign over me)
Robin Williams spectacular Academy Award material (the night listener)
DAKOTA FANNING destined for more Academy Awards than any other actress (Dreamer)
But far funnier than his casual handing out of Oscars is his absolute pathological hatred of critics, usually evidenced by his championing of terribly reviewed movies, all the more so when they are succesful @ the Box Office:
Critics are they better than you and me? $100,000,000+ and counting (da vinci code)
It Did $48 million 1st weekend and the Critics say it is a failure./They are crazy (mission impossible 3)
Why u should not listen to critics. they are not any better than real people (basic instinct 2)
But the absolute highlight of any internet review is the combination of just an out-right terrible movie with crazy hyperbolic praise, and in that, he does not disappoint:
Where did this terrific movie come from? (Layover, with David Hasselhoff - straight to video release)
Raiders of the Lost Ark is back in the form of Sahara! (sahara)
A whole new franchise..Steve Martin fantastic! (steve martin remake of the pink panther)
So, I guess this makes me seem super-elitist, with my critic-loving, only seeing a few movies a year, big city ways… and maybe this guy has a point, maybe there are no arbitrary standards for what is “good” or “retarded” when it comes to movie making. Perhaps David Hasselhoff is a diamond in the rough in the tragically overlooked Layover.
But then again, isn’t this really the fallacy of the internet, and of empowering everyone to speak up? The only people who will are either fanatics, who are blinded by their love of the thing they’re reviewing, or haters who absolutely must let the world know how terrible the thing they’re reviewing is. It’s like when we do statistical analysis at work and we normalize for outliers, those few anomalous data that can throw off a curve. On the internet, it’s nothing BUT outliers.
Comedian Louis C.K. on the dangers of visiting Chinatown:
“[I'm concerned] about going to Chinatown and seeing duck vaginas in a big barrel and being afraid to eat one, because I don’t want to find out that I love duck vaginas and I gotta have them, and at 4 o’clock in the morning, I’m having a craving for duck vaginas, and Chinatown’s closed, so I have to go to the park with a knife.”
Along the lines of truth/wisdom in a comedy routine, this entire page of quotes from stand up comic Demetri Martin pretty much makes me laugh. Favorites:
I went into a clothing store, and the lady asked me what size I was. I said, ‘Actual’. I’m not to scale.
‘Cotton balls’ is an example of something I would buy, but not want to have as a nickname. ‘Cinnamon buns’, on the other hand, is something I would buy and want to have as a nickname. ‘Are you Cinnamon Buns?’ ‘You bet your sweet ass I am.’
Some jokes are short and elegant, like a mathematical proof or a midget in a ballgown
I like video games, but they’re really violent. I’d like to play a video game where you help the people who were shot in all the other games. It’d be called ‘Really Busy Hospital.’
When I was young I was really into sports. But then I realised you could buy trophies. So now I’m good at everything.
Oh yeah, as long as I’m making a post about childish things that make me laugh, I feel I should point out that the greatest photo in the history of the internet has officially been found.
In the wake of the news that homoerotic will-o-the-wisp Sanjaya Malakar might have been (gasp!) a performance art character, I felt compelled to invent 9 more shocking bits of TV news:
