Why You Only Go Bowling Every Few Months

Bowling Alley - n. A place where one can purchase a $6 grilled cheese sandwich and wash it down with a $7 beer while waiting between turns to do math. May also include a Time Crisis arcade game.

Fake bowling

Real bowling

May The Force Bark With You!

 

 

If we can dress out snub-nosed dogs like Ewoks, Darth Vader or Yoda, I want to know why I can't find a tiny Imperial navy uniform for a dog.

I would name him Admiral Shnozzle.

Days of the Week, As Explained by an Unemployed Writer

Monday - The day I can actually finish a New York Times crossword. Oh who am I kidding? The LA Times. Maybe. If I steal one.

Tuesday - Glee is on!

Wednesday - Spend money driving to Dad's house, but get free dinner. Draw.

Thursday - Day I used to get paid.

Friday - Friends might actually want to do something. God, I hope they don't want to go out somewhere that costs money.

Saturday - Day I actually manage to do a little work. Feel accomplished, but depressed I worked over "my weekend." End up avoiding work through Tuesday to compensate.

Sunday - WHY ARE ALL THE STORES CLOSED SO EA- Crap. Oh well, might as well go home and watch Firefly. I can be productive tomorrow….

Most abusive GIF I could find, and it'll probably still get me extra perv-views.

The Discover Card: For Hipsters Only?

I know two things about the Discover Card:

1. My grandma had one back in the early '90s, and
   
2. Everyone jokes about how no one takes Discover.

The shop I worked at just started taking Discover cards. Every place I worked before that accepted Discover, but they were major chains, for the most part, and frankly it only ever came up once of twice. I just signed up for Square and their cool iPhone card reader thingy, and not I accept Discover Card. I accept Discover card.

Family Guy doesn't accept Discover Card. Peter forcibly mocked a man and said he would rather accept payment with bartered chickens than a "fly-by-night credit card." I'm not sure I've ever even seen a Discover commercial, so I'm going to make a ballpark here and say a solid 95% of everything I've ever heard about Discover is a joke about how no one takes them. I'm starting to wonder if Discover doesn't even make commercials, because they know people are already completely aware that they exist.

What does it take to take Discover? Like 5¢ on the dollar per transaction. They probably have 100% market awareness, so all they pay for is sticking that little logo on cash register stickers. Everyone's probably so shocked that a place accepts Discover now, that they figure they might as well use it if they have it. But are they embarrassed? Who really has a Discover Card?

Hipsters.

Hipsters carry Discover Cards ironically.

So when I beat them up and swipe $500 to my phone now, it'll be facetiously.

Nostalgia for Audiophiles

I've been trying to figure out if nostalgia can be considered a lossy or a lossless file format.

Memory is certainly a "lossy" format, like MP3. Eventually, the quality is effected and corruption can destroy the whole shebang.

Nostalgia is lossless, because you always remember it being awesome and perfect, but that's through a lossy-filter.

So basically, audiophiles, as awesome as you remember anything being, remembering it is like listening to a FLAC file through a pair of $9 earbuds.

So go ahead and tell me The Hives sound great on vinyl.

On Productivity and Particle Physics

A supposed internal note leaked a couple days ago, which upon examination appears to be a loose abstract for a technical paper to be published by four researchers at the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) at CERN outside Geneva, Switzerland. The paper outlines data which would indicate the detection of decay particles which would result from the brief creation of the long-sought Higgs boson, the theoretical particle (in the sense that all other forces with in the standard model of physics have their own bosons already) which would grant matter the quality of mass, thus conveying the gravitational force and making everything in the entire universe work. You know, at all.

This would be huge, if it's not an Easter-Fools Day prank. Or an error. Or anything else.

It's actually super-cool because if it's true, then the Higgs, or really one Higgs if there are different types, would be about 30 times heavier than it 'should' be. This completely screws over the whole standard model, but might actually help simplify everything Out There, since we've been getting crazier and crazier trying to figure out why what we see isn't antithetical to existence even though by all observations it really should be.

Maybe everything's heavier at certain scales and there's no such thing as dark matter. That'd be great, because dark matter's supposed to be it's own anti-particle, so if two pieces of it ever touched, despite trying everything possible to avoid doing so, both will instantly annihilate in an incredibly energetic reaction.

To put that in perspective, it'd be like when your normal productivity suddenly takes a nosedive right after you start watching all previous seasons of a new show on Netflix.

Or more precisely, it's like when I started re-watching Season 3 of 'Jersey Shore'
for my book and realized it was killing my desire to have anything more to do with 'Jersey Shore.'

On the Easter Bunny

When I was three or four, my mother promised me that she would never knowingly lie to me. She felt this was important for a child to know.

The next day I asked her if the Easter Bunny was real.

"Well, what do you think?" she stammered, praying to everything on high that I would somehow provide her with an out.

"I don't think he's real," I said. "No bunny is six feet tall with a plastic head."

Can You Make a 'Human Centipede' from Mermaids?

I'm starting to think you can. I don't really know what this piece of wooden folk art was supposed to be, but it just became a grisly reminder of a grotesque movie.

Hey, is a movie's "grotesque" the way a the movie "The Fly" is Kafka-esque? Does that mean these mermaids are 'in a condition similar to the act of being like grote?'

Aw- Alright. Yes. Yes. those mermaids are certainly grote. If anything ever was, passing the same fishing line through a half-dozen mer-folk as you catch them in sequence certainly qualifies.

If you'll pardon me, I think I'm going to go grote up dinner now. Thank you.

Pajama Jeans: Like Jeggings, Except for Breathing

 

 

Yup, that's Pajama Jeans. Nope, not "jeggings," these are pajama jeans.

The difference is apparently in that it's "DormiSoft" fabric, a "proprietary blend of cotton and spandex," whereas jeggings would either be all cotton and dyed to look like jeans or some different combination of cotton denim and stretchy things.

I think the real difference is jeggings are way more passable and "highish" fashion. They might, from a great distance, be mistaken for actual jeans. Of course they might also be mistaken for body paint.

 No, these seem more like sweat pants or yoga pants that might, even from a grand distance, be mistaken for really really shitty jeans.

Plus, these aren't skin tight after the butt. That way no one will notice your horribly misshapen tree stumps. So there's that.

Ooh! And if you act "now," they'll send you a free heather gray cotton crew-neck babydoll tee. It's starting to look exactly like a trip down to Old Navy.

Facebook Features I Wish Would Be Implemented

• A 'Sympathize' button - not a 'Dislike' button, because I know that'd immediately turn into a whole big to do over who or what is the most despised and that's no good. I just want a button that says, "I concur with your status but it would be linguistically and socially inappropriate to say I 'like' it." Aw, your grandma just died? 'Sympathize' button. I don't know her, I can't say anything about her or your religious beliefs, but damn it I can sure empathize with your situation!
  
  
• A 'How do you know this person?' for 'I know a friend of yours and we've never met but I think you're super attractive.' - This one's pretty self-explanatory. Somehow, even after abolishing the .edu email requirements, Facebook hasn't devolved into MySpace's level of friend-anybody, oh-that's-probably-a-spambot hijinks. I just want to be friends with more pretty girls, but it jut seems rude to say, "You're pretty, I'd like to Friend Request you, if you know what I mean."
  
  
• No little heart when I update my relationship status - Small adjustment. It's just awkward when you are "no longer listed as single" and you have to explain, "No, I just took that info down. I'm not dating anyone." Worse, every time you go from "In a relationship" to "single" and on top of the flood of faux-sympathizers and would-be sex vultures you have to look at that happy little heart right next to the words "no longer."
  
  
• Free Pizza and Ice Cream Fridays

I have gotten exactly zero tail from my name being so similar to
Mark Zuckerberg's. Though I haven't tried. Still, I've gotten more interest
out of telling people I directed "Phone Booth" and that Colin Farrell is a great guy.

Happy 4-20!

This is not in celebration of weed, but rather it celebrates the fact that I stayed up to 4 a.m. filling a couple of portfolios with a ton of previous work and blew off doing any new work. But procrastination is a great part of weed, so let's call it even.

In the spirit of the day, here is something I did which I can never look at without cracking up into insane gigglefits.

I know there is a special level of Hell dedicated to people like me, but I'll (still) be damned if Dante couldn't figure out where. Good thing I don't believe in Hell.

Minority Angry Birds Angry Over Blatant Intolerance

So addictive. So angry.

I didn't notice until the update today, but all the Angry Birds Seasons levels are overtly Christian. Granted, they're exclusively commercialized-to-all-hell holidays, but they're all still unquestionably gentile in nature.

• Christmas - given
• Easter - also a gimme
• St. Patrick's Day - technically a saint's day. That's Christian.
• Valentine's Day - Also a saint's day.
• Halloween - Okay, it's All Saints' Eve. That's all the saints. All of them.

Where are the other holidays? I mean I get why there's no Angry Birds: Ramadan Edition, but what about Duwali? Cinco de Mayo? You could totally to Cinco de Mayo. You just did Angry Birds: Rio. If you can do crazy, hot, tanned, possibly-tranny carninál, I feel like you could do some Aztec statues and Mayan pyramids.

And hey, if Easter came around, why not Passover? I'd think the Angry Birds trying to escape Pharaoh Pig's rule with their eggs should fit right into the mythos of the holiday. And all the other Jewish holidays! Chanukah, Purim, Sukot … Yom Kipur? We've got plenty of untapped, overly-commercialized holidays too.

Oh wait, no we don't. Weird. Seems like we'd want to sell out and earn a little something.

How Skinny People Can Take Over the World

Noticing the type of people who seem to frequent the local Taco Bell, I'm starting to think those of us possessing speedy metabolisms should just go ahead and take control of society. Honestly, it was kind of like every person who walked into that place after me had just given up. On, like, everything.

I don't think it would be too hard. Really, we just need a little bit of a head start. I mean physically. If we try running as we go I don't think many of us would be caught. We can outrun rascal scooters, right? Seriously, it wouldn't even be hard. We might even be doing it right now and I just haven't gotten my invitation to the 3000 Calorie A Day Club. I suppose I might after today.

Here's my plan: we just keep selling unhealthy food. Not for a profit, not for status our our own health. No, we do it to make the fatties fatter. I figure eventually the incidence of heart attacks will skyrocket and anyone with glandular disorders and impulsivity issues will just be bred out of the gene pool.

Shouldn't take more than another 80 years, unless those health assholes save some chubsters along with us gorgeous, exomorphic types.

Dreams X: Teenagers Dying In Space For Some Reason

I dreamt I was an under-appreciated intern at a large company, my skills undervalued and my dignity even more so. I was under constant fear of losing my job, though truth be told I didn't like it even in the slightest, I simply needed it to continue paying rent on the apartment I got so that I could move closer to The City in order to seek out better jobs. I was also a mousy little woman, because seeing Catwoman more than zero times is too many times to not associate it with that type of character.

I was given a handcart of boxes and told to go price some used DVDs on a table in what was basically a tag sale in a gymnasium, while the rest of the company geared up for a massive charity event in honor of a little deaf girl with emotional issues, hosted by none other than Bill Murray, who really is such a dick in real life that it followed into my subconscious.

However, I was the only person this little girl would sign with, my company overlooking this fact as they tried to cash in on her ailments. Finally, someone grabbed me and had me talk to her while Bill waited impatiently on stage in front of a couple hundred people.

The little girl told me a story about a goldfish, though obviously a representation of her. She signed to me of a goldfish whose parents were always yelling at each other or her, trying to put her on Ambien as a mood stabilizer. It was heartbreaking.

Until she took the entire building hostage because she was, in fact, a fully aurally-capable evil genius.

I was dispatched to, by any means including armed assault, obtain for her her list of demands. Only upon returning with these expensive baubles did the hostages, including her own wounded parents, discover that the bank manager had been murdered at 1 a.m. the previous night, well before the evil little girl could have done so. Someone had to have stabbed the man to death, flayed his torso, and gotten his face to the little girl to pose under his identity.

No one was more shocked than I to discover that person was me. It was so clever, even I didn't see it coming until it happened. But as soon as the man's face was discovered, it had to be me. There was just no other story-telling path to work it all out. I had the motives, I had the opportunity, indeed the sheer invisibility of character, and with the Evil Little Girl, the means by which to do so and get away with it. That is, until the Inspector figured everything out just a few minutes too early.

That is when we detonated The Bomb. Apparently he had a bomb. I believe I escaped. I assume the Evil Girl did as well. But the one thing I know is that building looked fucking beautiful as it exploded. Truly Michael-Bay-worthy, had there been more fire.


Moral of the story: I am not allowed to take an internship beneath me or people will die.

Bitch, this is my house!

Of Opportunities Taken

For once I can earnestly say I have taken the road I would otherwise have left untrodden and infested with alligators or whatever typically befalls unbeaten baths.

Last weekend I was in Long Island. While there, I got to experience some kind of strange, Spanish-Asian grocery market by the unsavory name of "Giunta's Meat Farms." There is no farm. There is a great quantity of meat, though I must admit not much more than one might find in, say, Shoprite or A&P.

However, this place did have ridiculous foods I'd never heard of. I managed to snatch up some snow peas, which are almost the edamame I can never find back home, as well as a variety pack of these:

These are apparently Cocon brand "puddings," though I doubt they contain any dairy and are more in line with the Old World notion of what constitutes a pudding. You can see the variety pack includes Mango, Strawberry, Passion Fruit and Lychee nut flavors, as well as "Honey Melon" (honeydew) and I think pineapple.

Have you ever had flan? That's about what the consistency is. However this brand seems to be known for a "chunks of fruit at the bottom" product, but I have to be completely honest with you: I don't think there's any fruit anywhere in there.

Oh sure, there are things. Things that taste like fruits, but they are not pieces of fruit. I am not in any way sure they are even made from fruits. They might be simply fruitlike in tasture. Certainly not texture, but they are almost perfect cubes of a solid, milky-clear gelatin, perhaps similar to the "pudding" yolk that nurtures it. These vile, unnatural embryos of alpaca hooves and citric acid and food dyes number 2, 7 and 14 have the consistency of aged, tough Jell-O. The closest fruit analogue I can muster is a low-nutrition, high-sugar syrup fruit cup chunk of pineapple with some of the skin still attached. Except all the chunks are like that. Perfect uniform balls of congealed acid flavor and slipperiness. I'm surprised children don't choke to death on them regularly. (Or perhaps they do and that's why reputable American grocers do not cary Cocon.)

The internet says these things are "nata de coco," a gelatinized coconut milk product, sweetened and thrown into desserts. I can almost buy it.

But then again, halfway through the package I discovered they give you six individual tiny-tiny plastic spoons to eat your pudding with, so all is forgiven.


… Tiny spoons!

Man Who Runs Apt Complex Overcompensates for Small Penis

Found this little gem in a plastic wrapped around the door handle yesterday. Apparently, where we live also live a bunch of jerks and one really, really judgemental dude with a tiny penis.

"We have recently upgraded the speed bumps on the main road in order to slow down vehicles that travel down our main drive. It appears that many of you are avoiding the speed bumps by entering through the parking lot on the left side which is a one-way. Also, the parking lot on the south side of the property is not a roadway to get to the lower section of [the property] and should not be used as such."

"Please be advised that anyone caught entering through the one way will be asked to vacate [the property] or at the very least will not be offered a lease renewal."

Here's the part where our manager guy confesses that his genitals leave a tremendous amount to be desired. Please note, this is the second time we've gotten this notice, both times including the following sentence:

"I have driven over the speed bumps in a 2004 Corvette, which has one of the lowest clearances of any car, and had no problem."

Amazing. We get it. You have a small dick. Do you really need to inform 250 apartments of this? I mean, I suppose that statistically speaking there might be someone in that group who has that as their turn-on. Possibly. Maybe.

Honestly, I love the effort. You want to save children from getting flattened. This is admirable. And sure, you want to express that you have personal experience dissuading the chief arguments against your proposal's enforcement.

But you just want us to know you own a 2004 Corvette.

And that means you are very, very worried about the size of your dick.

Religious Easter Decorations More Offensive Than Cuddly Bunnies

I was driving up to my dad's place last night when I passed a Catholic church gearing up for Easter in the traditional way: they erected a life-size cross in the front yard. And when I say "life-size," I mean that in the most traditional way. It was appropriately sized for crucifying a grown man.

Why would anyone do that? "Hey, they killed our messiah, so let's celebrate with a giant reminder of the excruciating, agonizing death he went through to save us all." And again, literally excruciating. "With the pain of being crucified." That sounds like such a wonderfully Christian ideal.

Let's focus on how Jesus died, not the point that he was dying miserably in order to redeem everyone and teaching us to appreciate that as we live our lives in a better, more cooperative way. Yes. That makes perfect sense.

But let's not be morbid about the business! Let's take a pretty, purple shawl and drape it over the cross so no one thinks we're a actually trying to crucify anyone or run a family of blacks out of town as soon as we get back from the gas station with a lighter and a gallon of petrol. You know, we don't want to look like weirdos. Let's just put a big scarf up their and say it's the shroud of Turin. It's representative.

And fabuloussssss.

Oh, and yes, just in case you still weren't getting that this is religious and not offensive or anything, up top of the big old cross is that wonderfully condescending sign "I.N.R.I." Do you know what that is? It's what the Roman government smacked up top of Jesus as they killed him. It's an abbreviation for "Iesvs Nazarinvs Rex Iudaeorvm," the Latin for "Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews." Historically, that was what the Roman authorities dubbed Jesus to sound incredibly offensive to the populace of Judea, so that they would vote to allow him to die when they were given the choice to have either Jesus or a lowly thief be pardoned.

So yeah, apparently Catholics have forgotten the true meaning of Christian Easter. Not even the real Pagan Easter, the Christian one.

And while we're here, can I just ask you why in holy hell you thought a crucifix would be a good symbol for your religion? It's just a horrifying torture device! Are you trying to turn the weapon of evil against its masters? I'd say that went out once Constantine converted the entire Roman empire and you guys started liking Rome. Jesus, you're even using the Latin word "Christos" to describe your savior! You just used to call your religion "The Way." That's so wonderfully Buddhist! Your symbols included a happy fish! Why can't you just use a little crystal man as a symbol? Something symbolizing Jesus' resurrection and conquering of death (as per the plan) instead of the way he was ritualistically slaughtered? I'll tell you, I have a couple of Obi-Wan Kenobi action figures that'd be perfect models for a new money-making opportunity there.

What happened to you, Christians? You used to be cool.

"Catholics still cool! You pay later! LATER!"

Glidden Paint Is Strong Enough For A Man, Made For Gender Stereotypes

Glidden Paint: Because all women aspire to look awesome in a sexy pair of heals. You know, even if you're incapable of hailing a cab in the middle of a city street while flailing wildly.

And sure, you're fully capable of painting your own house. You don't need a man for that. Which is great because you're apparently all capricious, vindictive defacers of wall space devoid of any communication skills higher than pre-smartphone text-speak.

But hey, I hear that's how Banksy started.

"It's Not Delivery, It's Far, Far Worse…"

"It's not delivery, it's DiGiorno!" How many times do you hear that? Solidly probably once a day. Every other at its most seldom? Maybe it's the fat black guy who lies to his wife about letting his friends destroy their white carpet by tracking mud and dirt through it right after they paid to have it professionally cleaned. What's his clever cover? "But the pizza came with cheesy breadsticks!"

Because the only thing better than pizza
is pizza with more bread, cheese and marinara.

Yes, he truly believed that having purchased a microwavable pizza-like dinner product that came with bread sticks was enough to pass blame off to a fictional pizza delivery man who for some reason was allowed to enter a home, walk into the living room and deliver his charge, all while ruining the carpet the homeowner just paid for in front of the guy.

Because bread sticks.

But DiGiorno wasn't satisfied shilling crap pizzas and crap pizzas + "breadsticks." They had to break into the poultry racket. That's why they came up with DiGiorno Pizza + "Wyngz."

At least I think it's technically considered poultry. I'm even fairly sure they can call it "chicken" and "white meat" since that's how the box reads, but you will readily notice that they are not legally allowed to refer to the product as "wings." I'll let you draw your own terrible conclusions from that choice bit of information.

And now they're just starting to go crazy, it seems. The latest concoction is DiGiorno Pizza + Nestle Toll House Cookies.

Yes, they are packaging a pizza with another brand's product, one which should really include raw egg and liquid dairy, therefor being ineligible for either being frozen or sitting around in a supermarket as long as I imaging any DiGiorno pizza would. I know they're done both already, but I speak from experience on this: if you consume even 20% of a package of raw, pre-cut cookie dough, you will enter into a sugar and egg daze that lasts for at minimum 36 hours and you will black out during the last half of your Math final. DiGiorno might be trying to kill you.

Oh, but not will their raw cookie dough. I just meant that DiGiorno is to frozen pizza what Denny's is to a balanced diet for sober people.

It doesn't even look appetizing on the box, guys. How can you do that? How can you make a product so awful it won't even look edible when it's been flash-fried, blowtorch grilled and shellacked with a mixture of butter, acrylic yellow paint and industrial sealant? That bread looks uncooked, the cheese looks lukewarm and the pepperoni isn't even crispy, goddamit. I don't even see sauce.

What happened, DiGiorno? Did you finally realize your product was so terrible you couldn't sell it unless you were forcibly packaging it with other products that look more appealing? Was that it? Did you get a hold of Domino's and their (completely futile) "We're better than this" ad campaign?

Bryce from Minnesota, Domino's still sucks. Hard.

DiGiorno, who are you trying to beat? I'm pretty sure you already have a stranglehold on the Frozen Pizza Name Recognition Market. You don't have anything to prove there. You don't have to compete with Domino's. That would be like trying to compete in T-ball where everyone gets on base. Jesus, even Pizza Hut gave up and started pushing their passable zitti platters over actual pizza, and "pizza" is in their name.

Just stop, DiGiorno. We don't like you. We don't want you. Every person in America is already a huge fatass. And it's actually because of that that we all know when it comes to microwavable pizza, Mama Celeste is the only way to go. Unless you're jonesin' for some French bread pie, then you hit up the Red Baron for a little gastronomic dogfighting. Under no circumstances should you ever get a DiGiorno pizza.

I mean, unless you're trying to make a microwave pizza ironically. Then by all means, kill yourself for performance art. That'll be pretty sweet.…I mean "swe3+z."

Of John Mellencamp

I passed a bright pink house today. I mean bright pink. Otherwise it looked like a regular ranch-style suburban number. Just, you know, owned by Bazooka Joe, I guess.

Which gets me thinking, didn't John Mellencamp sing something about these? Little pink houses? If I remember correctly, it has something to do with low-income housing for poor, possibly black families. I thought the color had something to do with cheap insulation or siding, but it turns out John just drove past an old man sitting outside his pink shotgun house with his cat one day. So really, there's no good explanation for why this thing was bright pink.

A house near my grandparents' place used to have one pink wall back in the seventies. One other was yellow and I think another brown or something. That has nothing to do with today, really. It was just the only other pink house I could think of. Until today, I mean, when I encountered this place I assume belonged to either the Easter Bunny, Barbie, or the heirs to the Pepto Bismol fortune.

An Unnecessary Number of Butterfly Jokes

 











A monarch butterfly migrates past two moths from Texas. One moth turns to the other and says, "Fucking Mexicans."

Mark Wahlberg rushes up to a lepidopterist through a field of butterflies, scattering the insects as he screams, "Doctor! Doctor! You've got to help me!" The lepidopterist looks at him with concern, asking, "What? What's wrong?" Mark Wahlberg says, "Doctor! I'm seeing spots!" And the lepidopterist says, "You're a fucking asshole, Mark."

You ever think Godzilla vs. Mothra never would have happened if Godzilla wasn't always vomiting like a giant porch light?


A caterpillar turns to a couple inchworms and says, "I'm all about change." When she crawls away one inchworm says to the other, "Man, Leslie's really been different since she discovered weed at college."


I want to genetically engineer a butterfly with a spot on the back of its abdomen that looks like a tiny person. Then on that tiny person's back is a tattoo of a goddam butterfly.


A caterpillar was having a screaming match with its parents. "Maybe I don't want to be like you, alright? Maybe I don't want to be a butterfly!" So he dropped out and became an artist.

Things To Do When I Am Rich

Firstly, When I am rich I've promised my friend Carolyn a snowboard. That's first because she said, "The first thing you need to do is buy me a snowboard," and wouldn't stop until I said, "Okay."

After that I've promised to buy a house and let a few people live in the basement apartment rent-free for a while. Mostly Joanne and her beau, but other people got this promise so it might be a little crowded down there. I'm sure Carolyn would be fine with a pull-out.

Then there's the obligatory buying of a maintenance-included apartment for my mom, the working new car for myself, a Honda Rebel for my motorcycle fixation, a coffee table, a television for my bedroom, maybe something to stream Netflix from and I'm thinking about eight dozen adapter cables because I'm sick and tired of never having the right thing to plug my one thing into another thing.

Oh yeah, and I'm pretty sure I owe a bunch of people "marital aids" from hilarious holidays past.

One year I spent way to much on Jo's Christmas gift,
which I named "Joe" and kept for a year. As two years' gifts, he's perfect.

 Well, I have a new bullet for the list, something that can be done rather easily and cheaply:

When I'm rich, I'll finally buy all the paid apps I've been illicitly using on my iPhone because I don't want to pay for something until I try it, then never actually pay for because I rationalize being poor and supporting digital piracy as a freedom of information transfer.

Words That Bother Me

Words That Bother Me:

• Breathed - It just sounds awful. You have "breath" but you "brEEth." You also "seethed" and "grieved" and "heaved," but for some reason my ear is miffed. It wants you hear that you "brothe" and "sathed" and "groved." Maybe even "hoved." You haved and sathed as you groved the orange grove you hoed.
   
• Leaped - Same exact problem, except it is perfectly acceptable to say "leapt." But no one wants to. It sound so much classier! "Leapt" is full of class, you guys! While we're at it, you guys can totally use "dreamt" in daily use! I know you "dreamed," but "dreamed" is stupid. You sound stupid for using it. Say "dreamt." You'll sound like Shakespeare. Or Robert Browning. Or Captain Picard. Whatever works for you.
  
• Pant - not like a dog, like the singular of "pants." I know "pants" used to be considered a dirty word, a slang-y diminutive for "pantaloons," but that doesn't exactly tell me what a "pantaloon" was. I doubt it was like a catamaran. I- I don't know why I just thought of that. Probably "pontoon?" I think it was because of "pontoon." But anyway, if I were tocut a pair of jeans down the middle and somehow make each affixable to my frame, I'd be calling each one a "pant."

Long Island Can Suck It

How is Long Island like a gay porno?
      There's a lot of fucking assholes.

How is Long Island like under your wife's sink?
      It's where you keep the douche bags.

How is Long Island like a 12 year old Thai prostitute?
      They're both flat.

How many Long Islanders does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
      Goddam, those guys'll just bang anything after a few beers, won't they?

I hope the Long Island serial killer is a gardener so we can start calling him the "Lawn Guyland Killer."


(I don't actually have anything against Long Island, beside the flat thing. However, a friend of mine hates the crap out of it. Take any complaints up with her.)

Snooki's Hair Will Give Birth To The Chosen One

Finally got around to watching the Jersey Shore reunion show. (It's research, I swear.)

I only have one comment to make, aside from the obvious things like Ron and Sam needing to not be together and The Situation has lost all semblance of a real person and transformed entirely into his self-made caricature. That comment is this:

Snooki, after bedding a talented young guido with a dark and tragic past five years her junior, will give birth to Lucas Giovani "Trono" and Leah Rebecca "Becca Bear" Polizzi-Skywalker, twin guido/guidette Jedi who will finally defeat the pale side and bring balance to the Shore.

Seriously, that crap is engulfing her head. It's not just a bump anymore, it's a BOMP. It's not a poof, it's a POMP. Come on, it's supposed to be a little curl of hair at the top of your skull, not a brunette Jesus-y halo encompassing your melon with clinging tendrils and a thirst for spinal fluid.

I anticipate much worse looks once Nicole discovers the bizarre and wondrous European fashions in Season 4.

Of Small Victories

Here was my great victory for today. No, I don't count finally hanging all the new photos and art we recently purchased in decorating my house, no, it wasn't cleaning out my DVD rack or finally getting around to rewatching Mark Harmon in "Summer School." It wasn't even taking notes on the first season of Jersey Shore and calling it "progress" on my book.

No, it was breaking the 220k mark in Tiny Wings.

Why? Because a week ago I was watching G4TV's Attack of the Show and heard host Kevin Pereira say that he had hung up his Tiny Wings hat after achieving a high score of 220k and then berated the crew for heckling him and finding out only one man there had come close with about 180,000.

Well you can go host a new offshoot of The Soup, Kevin, because I just made you superfluous in the world of Tiny Wings. And I'm only getting better. I've got two achievements left and then it looks like scores max out at 400,000 on the nose. That sweet, sweet 30x multiplier is going to be a game changer.

I officially challenge you, Mr. Pereira, though I'm sure you will never see this. I challenge you to take up once more your tiny wings and scoot hills and valleys for your honor.

I await your white glove, sir. May God grant you the dignity in defeat your AOTS contract seems to expressly forbid you.

The Baby Bullet

Let's give it up for an other stroke of advertising genius. Full disclosure: I've used the Magic Bullet blender before. Despite sharing it's name with a sex toy it's a pretty good smoothie maker. Sure, the spinny part always grates little pieces of black plastic off the underside of the food canisters, but what do you really expect from an $20 blender?

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the newest version of the "Magic Bullet" blender, one dedicated specially to providing infomercial junkies with the best, freshest available infant nutrition: "The Baby Bullet."



Yeah, you really don't have to click that if you don't feel like it. I mean go ahead if you want, it's actually a pretty straight-forward, sensible solution to feeding your kids good meals on a budget. My own mother did something roughly the same using whatever meal the adults were eating and an ordinary household grinder. But really, it's enough just to see the thing. Maybe watch a few seconds of it. Just to see it in action.

It's little smiley face glaring at you as you grotesquely puree the head canister's yummy little brains, the gentle swirl of a colorful vortex. The gray matter certainly isn't so gray.

But let's look at this from a much simpler standpoint. This is a Baby. Bullet. A bullet for babies. Bullets shoot things. Come on. Just- just come on. Please? Worse, it's The Original Baby Bullet. There will be imitators.

I get it, you're a version of the Magic Bullet just for baby use. Use for babies. Not by babies. That'd just be crazy.

This is a clear case of branding going one step beyond reasonableness.

Hopefully, there's a lawsuit somewhere in all of this.

An Open Letter To My Internet

Hey, fuck you, Internet. You don't want to work for me? You want to tell my computer that you're working just fine but not transfer any data to or from my house? Really? After all the delightful content I've provided you? All the good times? All the goddam porn I've watched on you?

I thought you were cool, Internet. I really did. In fact, I still kind of do. I can understand that this is a momentary slip-up. It's happened before, I'd understand, but it's the way you go about telling me. You keep hiding it, pretending like nothing's wrong and hoping I won't notice. You're acting like Sammi from "Jersey Shore."

No, I'm not calling you Sammi; I'm saying you're acting like Sammi. I know you're better than that. You know you're better than that. You can just tell me you're having service problems, baby. I'd understand that. We don't have to do this every night. I know sometimes you need your space. But you don't have to lie about it.

And you know what? I can still do me.

I don't have to put up with this kind of nonsense. I have a jailbroken iPhone with tethering and an unlimited data plan. I hooked that shit up as soon as I knew you were playing me. There wasn't anything wrong with my modem, you were just trying to hide the truth.

But I respect you.

That's why I turned off the tethering. (That and it's slow and I'm paranoid AT&T might notice the sudden explosion in data usage on an unlimited plan that doesn't already pay extra for tethering.)

Right now, I'm writing this from my phone, using regular old 3G and the official Blogger application. I'm not sneaking behind your back even though it might be easy, or because it might feel like I'm getting back at you.

I don't want that type of relationship. Not with you. Not with anybody.

Please come home, Internet. Please just stop the lying and the running away and come home and talk with me.

I miss you.

I love you.

You don't have to do everything on your own. Just trust in me to support you as much as you support me. I'm a big man if you look to see it.

Please bring my porn back.

-Your heat sink snuggle bottom

Happy April Fool's Day!

I'm not doing anything funny today. I don't need to live up to your expectations. I tried that already.

Instead, enjoy this guy so bored on a two-hour drive that he impersonates a ton of Family Guy voice impressions. Most of them are pretty good.