Hardcore Ferret Porn

We Are Outta Here!!!

2006-01-04T15:53:00.000-08:00

Well, all you loyal Hardcore Ferret Pornians, it's time for all of us to say goodbye. I know, I know. We'll miss you too. But just because we're not going to be at Blogger anymore doesn't mean you can't visit. We're going to have the same old stuff at our new digs, plus some really cool things you won't want to miss. What was that? Sigh. Yes, we will still have the kitty porn. So come on by. Here's the new address:

Hardcore Ferret Porn

So, until you stop by and visit our new site, goodbye, so long, and keep watching the stars.

With Love from the HCFP Literati,
maryloo-hoo
Kahn!
LindaZeppelin

Take That, Jesus!!

2005-12-17T23:57:00.000-08:00

I've been fighting it. I didn't want to believe it was true. I didn't believe that people are that stupid. It is, after all, the holidays. Even I get a bit generous during this time of year. Oh, sure, I threw it around, like it was all in good fun. Well, my friends, I was wrong. It's not often that I admit that I am wrong about anything. Even about which will be bigger, Titanic, or The Wild Women of Wongo (time will tell, trust me). But, boy, was I wrong. I was blind. Forgive me. I didn't think that anyone took this so called war (it's really more of a skirmish or a police action) seriously. But, there it is. Right in front of us. A war on Christmas.
I know what you're thinking. It was the same thing I thought. Who in their right mind would even give Bill O'Reilly the time of day, let alone his own show. This was the same man who got caught talking dirty to a television producer with a vibrator up his ass. This man goes beyond normal realms of crazy and dumb. But, he has a strong, forgiving following. And by forgiving, I mean christian fundamentalists. Now, avid fans of HCFP know that I think christians, especially fundamentalist christians, are loony. That's why I never paid much attention to what O'Reilly was saying. Until a couple days ago.
I was at work, not minding my own business, as usual. Someone mentioned that no one said "Merry Christmas" anymore. Naturally, I made a smart ass remark about the "war", and someone laughed (it was probably me). But then someone else spoke up. Actually, about eight people spoke up. Angrily. In defense of Christmas. As if I had committed a heinous crime against humanity. That's right folks; the fundies were out to get me and make me change my Christmas hating ways.
One man said that "85% of America is christian, so 85% of the time you'd be right" with "Merry Christmas". The unrelated woman next to him followed with "the other 15% can just shut their mouths and deal with it". That last comment has something to do with the bible, I'm sure.
The man was correct (as much as I hate to admit it) that 85% of America call themselves Christian. He neglected to mention that only 40% are practicing. In Washington state, only 71% identify themselves as christians, and a whopping 27% are non-religious. That makes my fail rate suddenly a little higher when wishing someone a merry Christmas.
Not that I care. I mean, yeah, fundamentalists are scary. They object to the fact that Happy Holidays could simply mean "We wish you a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year". But I'm not going to change what I say because of some scary religious type people. Or am I?
I've devised a list (with Kahn!'s help) of things to say to people who object to "Happy Holidays" and insist upon saying "Merry Christmas":

Fine, have a sad holiday. Have whatever kind of holiday you want.
No thanks, I'm jewish.
Not while that fat man and his evil little minions are out to get me.
Maybe. Is she cute?
Well, we're traditionalists. We celebrate when Jesus actually was born. In October.
I love holidays that are all about getting laid in a manger.

Now you all have a little ammunition in the war on Christmas. Now, remember, as you're sitting in your homes next Sunday, be sure to remember that Christmas is the only religious and federal holiday. Because of those fundamentalists, you get a day off every year. So you just think long and hard about which side of the war you're on before hurling about those replies. And whatever you do, please, be careful. Just keep in mind who conducted the Spanish Inquisition, who started the Crusades, who thought the Salem witch trials were a good idea, and who banned Christmas for eighteen years. Good luck, and Happy Holidays!

Maryloo-Hoo's Book Club

2005-11-29T11:17:00.000-08:00

Well, Thanksgiving has past, and you know what that means. It's time for me to start tutoring again. I know; I can't believe they put me in charge of a kid and let me teach him things either. But with today's over crowded schools and jails, they'll take anyone who offers to help. How lucky for me! More unencumbered minds for me to warp.
This year, I've started to plan ahead as to what I'll give them to read. My own little book club, just like Oprah's. I'm giving you all the list a little early so I can get some feedback on my selections. I know some of these seem a little simple, but remember, I will be working with first graders, so have a little patience.

1) King Kong: My Life as a Giant Ape
Ah, the touching autobiography of a large ape, his trouble with drugs and alcohol, and the women who loved him. Oh, the women! Who knew all those times he climbed to the top of the Empire State Building and swatted at helicopters were just cries for help?

2) Competitive Philately
Philately is a hobby that's been around for centuries. It's enjoyed by people all over the world. But it has only been enjoyed competitively since 1963. In this book, written by five time world champion Chester A. Miller, you'll learn the rules and history behind competitive philately, and what you can do to get philately in the next Olympics.

3) Monica Angel's Pop-Up Guide to Anal Sex
This is the perfect gift for all those brown nosers in your life. Teach them how to really take it up the ass. This book claims to be "the definitive pop-up guide to back door love". To be honest, with the exception of that pop-up Kama Sutra book I found in the airport, I don't think I've ever seen a pop-up sex book. So, I guess, they're right.

4) In the Kitchen with Louie Anderson
This cookbook is not for the faint of heart- literally. Every recipe involves some combination of butter, lard, chocolate, and ranch dressing. But I must say his recipe for Southwest Meatloaf Surprise (pg 192) is fantastic!!

5) How Michael Moore Ruined My Life
This is a touching love story of how one young man lost the love of his country after they all go to see a film by Michael Moore. Readers are at the edge of their seats as they wait with anticipation to see if, somehow, the country will love him again. Perfect for the Republicans on your list.

6) Why Not... Puppets??
I know what you're thinking. I can't believe Jack J. Stevens is stilled allowed to make books. This is yet another book in his "Why Not..." Series. This one deals with the topic of puppets, in a way that only Stevens can. It encourages you to use puppets when you have a problem. I love the section on puppets in the bedroom.

There you have it. Six tasty selections that I have hand picked for my minions. I want everyone to let me know as soon as they have finished so we can have our own round table discussion. I'm curious to hear how you felt about the plot twist in number five. Until next time, keep reading!!

Michael Jackson and the Chocolate Factory

2005-11-01T12:50:00.000-08:00

I think it's pretty obvious to everyone that I'm not into Hollywood. I'm not into big budget, blockbuster movies. I don't like feel good family comedies. I absolutely hate it when they remake perfectly good movies. But, sometimes, even I give in to a pretty face. And that's what I did recently. I'm not going to lie; I love Johnny Depp. I'd watch him in anything. Hell, I'd watch him stare at a wall for two hours. It's with this admiration for him that I saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I didn't think it was possible to make a movie creepier than the original. But I was wrong. Damn my naiivety.
Sure the movie had it's good points. Who doesn't like watching puppets bursting into flames? Who doesn't like watching squirrels attack little girls (vile rodents!!). But good points aside, that movie was not at all for children. That movie gave me nightmares. Oh, I know the oompa-loompas weren't all that scary. It was my beloved Johnny that was.
Didn't anyone else notice how similar Willy Wonka was to that evil man who haunts children's dreams? That sinister man who comes out only at night to kidnap your children and do horrible, horrible things to them? That vile, repulsive man who has all the money in the world, but only wants children? That's right, I'm talking about Michael Jackson.

Think about it, and you'll find the similarities astonishing. They both have high voices. They both had troubling childhoods. They both want to be children. They both have private residences that double as playlands. They both have abnormally white skin. The list goes on and on.
Didn't somebody notice this during production, or post production? Honestly, after spending five minutes with Willy Wonka, I'd tell my kids we're getting the hell out of there. The man is a lunatic. He's always slipping in and out of fantasies. He lives with a bunch of tanned midgets for crying out loud!!! The man should be thrown in a cell with his doppelganger Michael, and the two of them should never again be allowed to see the light of day.
Now, this movie had enough faults. I'm almost positive that someone gave Johnny Depp a Denny's menu instead of the script, and never had the heart to tell him, and that was fun. There was entirely too much backstory. The oompa-loompa songs were terrible. But this whole Michael Jackson thing is by far the worst of them. This may be the worst idea since that wedding I went to where the priest had us all zeig heil the happy couple.
I am urging Hollywood to slow down. Take a minute to watch what you're putting out. You know the old saying "Haste makes waste"? Well, that's what's happening. In all the hustle and bustle of movie making, you're wasting lives and careers. Let's hope that poor Johnny doesn't get stereotyped as a Michael Jackson look-a-like. That would be a waste of one fine actor. And it would only empower the Jackson clan. It would be the end of the world as we know it. So, please, please, look at what you make. Don't let this happen to any other promising young actors. Only you can prevent the Jacksons.

Monkees: We Hardley Knew Ye

2005-10-20T10:17:00.000-07:00

Here are some of the alternate names the creators of the 60's hit television series and pop icons "The Monkees" were considering:

-The Baboonees

-The Bananamen

-The Celebes Macaques

-The Beatles (later discovered to already be in use)

-Father Flannigans' Boyscout Jamboree (In this version Davy Jones played a lovable Catholic priest that took time to take a group of boyscouts on backwoods adventures, ultimately solving mysteries, his international rock band was secondary to the plot. The idea was later rejected as none of the network execs found a Catholic priest hanging out with a bunch of adolescents in the woods believable.)

-The Red Asses (rejected for its communist implications)

-The Infectious Dung Flingers (First runner up)

-The Corporate Rebellion Rock Group That Tested Well with Women Aged Sixteen to Thirty-Two (Shortened to CRRGTTWWWASTTT)

In the weeks leading up to the shows first airing in May of 1966 the moniker for the show was still under hot debate. The two major camps; those for "The Monkees" and those for "The Infectious Dung Flingers", were battling back and forth, sometimes resorting to childish name calling and late night house Tee-Peeings. The contest was decided 4 days before the premiere by then NBC-TV President Andy Lack who said "While IDF {Infectious Dung Flingers} would be a great name for this new and exciting project, we feel that 'The Corporate Rebellion Rock Group That Tested Well with Women Aged Sixteen to Thirty-Two' is the direction NBC would like to see this concept to head in." Andy later found his house covered in sanitary tissue and the words "Clen me" scrawled into his 1962 VW Bug. The show went on with the last minute change to "The Monkees", with a clever graphics Technician inserting the alternative text into the opening credits while the band screeched the then title song "Hey, hey, we're the Corporate Lackeys" (which was changed in later screenings of the now famous debut).

I hope all of you found this both educational and informative as we at the "International Institute for the betterment of understanding of the Monkees" continue our quest to study this 60's cultural phenomenon.

If the Schizophrenia Fits

2005-10-16T00:36:00.000-07:00

What has happened to me? Have I become so jaded and disillusioned with life that I can't even enjoy things I have fond memories of from my childhood? Is this normal? Huh? Huh?! Take, for example, my inability to watch an old cartoon movie, Cinderella, without wondering about certain things.
First, didn't anyone notice she spent her spare time making clothes for mice and birds? This is a woman who does heavy labor every day with no vacation. Now, I'm not sure about any of you, but when I have a hard day at work, I'm exhausted. I don't want to be messed with- not by birds, not by mice, and not by any sewing. Especially if it's just to hide my animal friends' nakedness. This woman even had clothes in reserve, just in case some new mice happened along. And why wouldn't they? Free food, protection from cats, and all the clothes they could ever want. Why wouldn't the whole house be infested with mice? The sheer word of mouth would be enough to have that old house filled like a New England bed and breakfast.
But were there really any mice or birds for her to dress? Or were they some elaborate fantasy? Now we all know Cinderella has led a hard life. Her father died and left her with an evil stepmother and two bitchy sisters. She gets put to work as a servant, and is forced to cook and clean for these horrible people. Her name is Cinderella for christ's sake! Naturally, the result of this hard life is her acting out. Most people would choose to turn to promiscuity or crack. Instead, she turns to schizophrenia. Yes, sweet schizophrenia. Where else could a scullery maid become a princess? Where else could a lonesome girl become popular amongst animals? Where else would someone think that glass slippers were a good idea?
Truth is, Cinderella was as looney as a Canadian. Her stepmother wasn't wicked; she was just unable to cope with being left with a crazy stepdaughter. The bitchy sisters were terrified of her. So, they did what any self respecting family does with their crazy relative- they locked her in the attic. Up there, all alone, she had plenty of time to let her delusional fantasies run rampant. It all makes sense. Birds flapping around outside the windows. Hell, some probably even nested in that attic. Rats running all over the place. These creatures became her "enchanted" friends. She found some old clothes, a needle and thread, and voila! Clothes for the animals.
Considering she had so much time on her hands, there were worse things she could have been doing. She could have tried to tamper with genetics, tried to fuse a bird and rat together with her "magic wand". She could have crippled her wrists from masturbating too much. She could have taken up reggae music. Who knows.
The whole story really ties together with the appearance of the fairy godmother. My best guess is that this was really someone who worked at the insane asylum, interviewing Cinderella to see just how crazy she was. "Oh, look at that, Cinderella. I just turned a pumpkin into a carriage. Do you see it?" It was really mean when they turned on the music and gave her a dirty old coat to dance with. That they just did for laughs.
Yet, in the end, Cinderella doesn't get taken away to a castle with her loving prince. She gets hauled off to the nut hut with a dirty old coat. There was no happily ever after for her, only "Now, dear, it's time for shock therapy". I'm sure it's for the best. The rest of the family can start getting on with their lives. Cinderella will finally get the help she so desperately needs. The rats and birds can be clothing free, as nature intended them to be. Yes, there is a happily ever after in this story, but not the one Walt Disney would have us to believe. Let this be a lesson to us all. Never trust a Nazi sympathizer.

News from Lake Whatcombac

2005-10-13T13:30:00.000-07:00

Fall has come to the Pacific Northwest, the region in which I live. Fall is different around here, not at all like in the Midwest. It sticks around for a while. It likes to ease you into winter, like you ease yourself into a cold bath. You can't just jump into it; you'll freeze. That's what fall is like in the midwest. It's that warm glimpse of air you get right before you plunge into an icy cold lake. But out here, you get to enjoy fall. The leaves changing to reds and oranges on the trees, the evergreens that stay green. It's like a painting, a work of art. A Picasso, perhaps, or one of those impressionists, maybe, but a work of art nonetheless.
It's also the time of year in which Halloween is upon us. And we all know what Halloween means. Parties. Lots and lots of parties. Plenty of chances to get drunk. And plenty of chances to dress up like an idiot. The only time of year where the local pastor will come out of the house looking like a french harlot, and the french harlots come out looking like Pokemon characters. Yes, this is the time when ninja turtles get arrested, when the biggest nerd gets the hot chick, and frat boys everywhere have yet another excuse to wave their bare asses at passing traffic.
Time moves slowly this time of year, even slower for those with hangovers. Daylight savings is coming soon. We really don't need daylight savings time anymore. It was created to give farmers the break they sorely needed. But now, we don't have individual farms. We have corporate farms. Farms that have friendly, wholesome sounding names, like Happy Valley Farms, or Pleasant Springs Ranch. But these happy sounding names are just a front for the heartless corporation that ran these poor farmers out of town. You know, I remember one year, back in naught two, when the farmers revolted. They grabbed their pitchforks, got on their tractors, and very slowly made their way to the corporate headquarters of one particular company. They held up traffic for hours. People around here weren't happy, but they smiled and stayed silent. People out here don't like to make waves, especially when farmers are involved. These people are all former hippies, and if years of smoking pot has taught them anything, it's that farmers with pitchforks are not to be messed with. So they just drove along patiently behind this line of tractors, not honking or hanging out the window swearing. There was a little bit of rejoicing going on when the farmers at last reached their exit.
The farmers heard the cheering, and thought that the locals were cheering them on. This made them feel even more empowered, and kicked their tractors into high gear, something they only do in the spring when they're running behind on the planting. They were cruising along at fifteen miles per hour, and Tuesday of the next week, they finally arrived. They grabbed their pitchforks, and marched determindly into the headquarters, where they were met with a stern looking secretary. The lead farmer, old Ed Grubermann, demanded to speak with the president. "Well, do you have an appointment?" the woman asked. An appointment? This was a crowd of angry farmers carring pitchforks, sharp pitchforks, and she asked them if they had an appointment!? Being the honest man that he was, old Ed replied "No, but if...". "No appointment? You need an appointment to see the president of the company, sir. He's very busy. I have ten minutes open with him six months from now, if you like." Six months?! She was telling a mob of farmers to wait six months?! It was at this time some of the younger farmers pushed their way to the front. They started going on about how they drove all this way on their tractors, and they aren't going anywhere until they get to see Mr President. It was about that time that security showed up. The farmers were escorted back to their tractors, dragging their pitchforks behind them, and hanging their heads in total dejection. It was time to begin the long trek home. They lost their farms later that year. The farmers had to take jobs at the corporate farm just to stay afloat. But they're still revolting; they are still planning on taking the corporation down. They're plotting and planning on taking them down from the inside. And I support their efforts whole heartedly. I think we all should. Let's go back to the old days. Let's give old Ed Grubermann his farm back. He's too old to run it, but he has three healthy, strong boys to help out. Let's go back to the simple life, to the golden years, before tv and the internet. Help these farmers. Help them get their farms back. Well, that's the news from the Pacific Northwest, where all the hippies are dirty, all the food is organic, and all the Canadians like to shop.

The Dishwasher's Prayer

2005-10-06T00:15:00.000-07:00

I have been cleaning a lot lately. Those of you who know me will be surprised by that statement. It's true. I've been cleaning like a Mexican housekeeper named Juanita. All this cleaning has taught me two things. One: diamonds are not a girl's best friend; the dishwasher is. And two: everything should be coated with Teflon. It's with these two things in mind that I wrote the following. Enjoy!

The Dishwasher's Prayer

My dishwasher, who is in my kitchen,
Kenmore be thy name.
Remove the scum.
Get the dishes done,
Before my fancy party.
Clean the pots and clean the pans.
And forgive me for not pre-rinsing,
As I don't forgive others who do the same.

And thank you for pans coated in Teflon.
I wish the floors were coated too.
It makes the food not stick,
Nor mold nor ick.
Makes cleaning a breeze,
Forever and ever.
Amen.

Teaching you to Tolerate Women

2005-10-03T01:27:00.000-07:00

Supervisors! Tired of those pesky women workers? Sick of them gossiping on the phone all day? How many times can a gal do her nails anyway? And why do they all seem to get "sick" around the same time? Well, folks, all those questions, and more, will be answered in today's post. I love instructional videos.

Supervising Women Workers (1944)

Women in the workplace. Yes, you can't get away from them. They're everywhere. Why can't they just stay at home? Because men insist upon fighting wars, that's why. So until you boys can get along with Germany, you're going to have to deal with young Rosie.
When supervising women at your factory, be sure to remember that the broad principles of supervision also apply to broads. And remember, men, treat women like spiders- they're more afraid of you than you are of them. Now, when training women on their first day, be sure to remember that they don't know anything, just the way we like it. Now, in order to keep things that way, use as many confusing terms as possible. Forget all laws of grammar. If need be, make up names of tools. I often use film-flam instead of screwdriver. It's fun, an it keeps them guessing for days!
Also on their first day, remember to explain everything. Be sure to take baby steps with them. Don't go too fast, otherwise they'll never catch on. And always use small words. Don't go saying things like "percolator" when "coffee pot" will do. Not that women don't know what a percolator is. And speaking of percolator, where's that bitch with my coffee? Ah, women.
Now, remember, women love mundane, repetitive work. Why else do they spend so much time sewing, or cooking? Give them the most tedious tasks to complete. They'll thank you for it. Also, their fingers are quite nimble and dexterous, so if you need a quick massage, or... massage, don't hesitate to ask one of the ladies.
From time to time women will ask for a day off. This typically will happen once a month. When a bunch of women work together, you will often find that they will often ask for the same days off. We don't know why this happens. Our best guess is it has something to do with the moon, and tea parties. We're having NASA look into it, and as soon as they've submitted their report to us, we'll issue a memo summarizing it.
There are four key points to supervising women: don't mix business with pleasure, women are jealous, don't get familiar with the ladies, and girls are sensitive. First, no inter-factory dating. This only leads to trouble when they find out you don't want to get married after all. Women gossip, and news will spread like wildfire. Soon, none of the women will be able to stand you, and I'll have to fire them all. Unemployment isn't cheap, my friend. Keep it in your pants.
This also ties in numbers two and three. Don't spend too much time with any one woman. Women are jealous creatures by nature, and if you spend all your time flirting with just one woman, well, we'll have a catfight on our hands. Now, we all know catfighting has it's place. That place is in the breakroom on Wednesday afternoons. Let's keep it in the mud pit, and off the factory floor.
Lastly, girls cry. They cry a lot. They cry at anything: weddings, babies, puppies, a broken nail, an arm caught in the gears, anything. When reprimanding a woman, be sure to keep this in mind. But you must never forget, be firm. If you come off as too soft, the typical woman will quickly change the subject, and shift the blame. I've seen plenty of good, hard working supervisors apologizing to one of these skirts. That's not going to happen in my plant. Be firm; act with quick, decisive action. If one of them starts giving you lip, just backhand her. I'd bet she'd wear her flimsy safety hat then.
Remember, above all, to take care of your women employees. Women are our most valuable source of labor, after Mexico. After all, without those female workers, I wouldn't have won this medal. Oh, wait. That's a Girl Scout badge. But still, I needed their help to make that pie. Because, as little as they know about tools and hard labor, I know even less about cooking. Thank you, good night, and god bless America.

*As always, this film was provided by R.I.P Films

How to be a Mad Scientist in Six Easy Steps

2005-09-30T00:19:00.000-07:00

Today, was a good day. A special day. Quite possibly, the best day of my life. What was so good about it, you ask? I had a revelation, an epiphany, if you will. I realized my true calling in life. It is not in the optical field, or as a famous actress rising to the top, only to end up lying dead in an abandoned building in Erie, PA. No, I have decided to do something with my life. Something that can help others. Something that will make me feel like I'm complete inside. I am going to become a mad scientist.
Realistically, we all knew this day would come. Every Christmas, my parents refused to get me that chemistry set. I thought it was because they didn't want me to burn the house down (which is always a possibility). Truth is, they didn't want me to reanimate my beloved fish, Finnegan. They knew I would make him my minion, make him do my bidding. Oh, yes, I could have built him a little motorized bowl with arms for grabbing. Together, we could have ruled the world!! Well, no longer am I going to let my dream go unfulfilled.
I know what you're thinking. "Haven't you seen all those movies? The mad scientist always makes a stupid mistake and loses." The answer is, yes, I have seen those movies. I've been studying them, in fact. I plan on learning from mistakes of past scientists. Here's some changes I plan on making.
For starters, I don't plan on having an invalid for a sidekick. When you have to spend so much time in a laboratory with just one other person, why make it a heavy breathing, hunchback with a limp who can't identify his finger, let alone a duodenum. Henchmen of this sort are also completely useless when an angry mob storms my castle. What I plan on having are at least five intelligent men who have the face of Brad Pitt, and the body of Shawn Michaels. And, they'll all have to go through an intensive martial arts course before they will be deemed ready to be my henchmen. It's obvious that I'll have to do a lot of genetic engineering to get my men this super, but, hey, on those long days in the lab and those cold nights fighting the villagers, I'll look back and think about how worth it it really was.
Which brings me to number two. I will not set up shop in a small village, in any country that ends in -ania, or in any town run by christians. These people aren't going to get me. They aren't going to understand my work. All they are going to do is slow me down, what with their "Welcome Wagons", and their "We don't want you experimenting on our dead", and all. My own private island is no good either; the government is always wondering what you're up to if you have an island. Look at Cuba. No, I'm going to have my lab in the country, no neighbors for ten miles in any direction. No one to bother me. No one to complain when the bodies start smelling. No one to ask why I have five men that all look alike waiting on me hand and foot. Or maybe I'll set up shop in LA. No one would notice those kinds of things in LA.
Third, I plan on using the world's most valuable resource to spread my madness: the internet. That's right, I plan on setting up a website that kids can go on and ask science questions. Only, I'll give them the real answers. "Dear Dr. Loo-Hoo, My puppy just died. I miss him a lot. Mommy said bringing him back would be against god's wishes. Is that true? Signed, Billy C. Age 8" "Dear Billy, Your mom is lying to you. There is no god, and there is no reason why you can't bring your puppy back. Collect as many AA batteries as you can, some copper wire, a sharp knife, and a map of canine anatomy. Once you have all that, here's what you do..." You get the idea.
Next, if I happen to forget my brain medicine and I decided to do something helpful, like cure diseases, I will not experiment on animals that could eat me. I will not genetically engineer tigers to have sharper claws. I will not alter gorillas to be smarter than me. I will not, under any circumstances, create any dinosaurs. If I for some reason do want to do something good, I will only experiment on bunnies who have been genetically engineered to have no legs.
That being said, I will not experiment on myself. I don't care how clever my experiment is, or how sure I am that it will work. If the time comes to experiment on a human, I will kidnap a prostitute, and perform tests on her. Worst case scenario, I have at least five Brad Michaels clones to experiment on. If I have to, I'll import heroine addicts from New Jersey. But I will not stoop to testing anything on myself.
Lastly, the biggest mistake that mad scientists and super villains alike make is revealing your plan. Everytime I see someone doing that, I think, "How dumb is that?". I mean, come on. You've spent all this time, energy, and money into realizing your dream, only to tell the first McGuyver wannabe what your plan is. So, the one thing I am sure to do, is never, ever, in a million years tell anyone, except my henchmen, what I am planning on doing. Oh... shit.

American Presidential

2005-09-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

I am not a political person. I don't watch Fox News to find out the latest breaking news on what Condoleeza Rice is wearing. I thought the whole events of 9/11 were tragic, but after a few days of hearing about it, I was done. It's not that I don't care. I know our country is a shithole. I know we have a crappy president who somehow managed to get elected, and then re-elected. I also know that it's only a few more years until he's out, and some other crappy president is in. That's just how things work. Things'll never change. Or will they?
What we need is a leader that the country actually has a hand in picking. I know, you've all heard me say democracy doesn't work, but let's pretend for a minute it does. What I am proposing is for the people to pick a leader, the only way they know how: internet voting. That's right, internet voting. All kinds of important issues are settled online: beauty queens, Roe v. Wade, who looked best at the Oscars. Why not the leader of the "free" world? It'll be the one true way for all you lowly americans to be heard. So, come on! Join the fun! Nominate your next presidential candidate! You all know the rules, right? Oh, come on people! Think back to high school history class. Oh, Fine.

AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL

Rules for playing:
1. You must be 35 years of age or older
2. You must be a natural born U.S. citizen
3. You must have resided in the U.S. for 14 years
4. For our purposes, you must be living (no John Lennon or Joseph Stalin nominations)
5. Religion is NOT an issue
6. Any race, gender, or sexual orientation is acceptable
7. The top vote getters will do battle American Gladiator style for their spot on the ballot in 2008
8. No purchase necessary to enter. Void in Utah.

Come on folks! Let's have some good clean election fun!! And who knows, we may end up with a damn good president. Just imagine what the country would be like if Robert Downey Jr were in charge. Or Oprah. Or Bill O'Reilly. Oh, the possibilities are endless! At least it couldn't get any worse.

Jim Sinegal: Future Overlord, or Friendly CEO?

2005-09-21T23:13:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie. I love Costco. I'm not just saying that because I work there. Yes, I know there's no way I will ever consume a gallon of mayonnaise before it expires. Yes, I know I don't need ten pounds of taco seasoning. Yes, I know those faux suede pillows are horribly tacky. I don't care. My love for Costco goes beyond all those things. I make decent wages. I have all three major insurances (medical, dental, and vision, ooo la la). My managers are comparatively laid back. I get a free executive membership (yeah, that's 2% cash back). I work with almost exclusively attractive people (why do you think so many people shop there? Great deals? Ha!). And, I don't want to brag, but I've met the president of the company, Jim Sinegal, on two separate occasions. He's such a happy fellow, in a business sort of way. He almost reminds me of the Quaker Oats guy, if the Quaker Oats guy owned a multi-million dollar corporation.
One night, while sitting on the couch, basking in the glow of my love for Costco, I was watching my favorite TV show, The Simpsons. It was the episode in which Homer goes to work for Hank Scorpio, the overly friendly megalomaniac owner of the Globex Corporation. It was during that episode that I started to see the similarities between Hank and Jim. They're both nice, they both treat their employees well, they both own corporations. It hit me! Jim Sinegal is planning on taking over the world!!

Jim Sinegal and Hank Scorpio: Friendly megalomaniacs or just misunderstood bosses?

It all makes sense! Why else would anyone sell stuff in bulk to the public? He's giving them fair warning to stock up on supplies while they can, in preparation for the impending armageddon. Yes, stock up with things bought at my store, he says, with a twisted grin on his face. Who is going to help you when I unleash my Doomsday device? The UN? Let them save you. But will they supply you with faux suede pillows? I think not.
He's already started to put his plan into motion. Do you really believe that Hurricane Katrina was a natural disaster? An act of god? No, it was just evil Jim testing the waters. He had no idea that FEMA, state, and local governments would fuck things up so bad. Why do think he's donating so much money to the Red Cross? His little practice run took a turn for the worse. Just wait until he perfects his little machine. Then we will all be at the mercy of this merry little leprechaun, and his happy little elves from the land of Kirkland.
And I for one am glad to be one of his minions. After all, we're not going to feel his rath, as long as we do his bidding. Hell, there's even profit sharing. Yes, when Jim Sinegal takes over the world, I am going to be raking it in. Maybe you should all start kissing my ass along with his.
Yes, it's inevitable. This man is going to take over the world. And nobody is going to do a damn thing to stop him. We even encourage him by buying more baby gherkins than we could ever use at a thousand cocktail parties. The truth is, we want him to take over the world. We like Jim Sinegal. We want him to be our overlord and master. Think about the alternatives, what other corporations could take over the world: AOL/Time Warner, WalMart, Ted Turner, or even (gasp!) Disney! A world that would be ruled by Disney would be hell. Everyone singing and dancing, because they've all been implanted with a chip to make them sing and dance at Michael Eisner's command. No, that would be no life at all.
At least on Planet Costco (as it would surely be renamed), we wouldn't have to sing, unless it was to the Karaoke machine bought at Costco, or dance, unless it was to the player piano (a steal at $3000). Our freezers would be filled with frozen dinners of all varieties, half a cow, and six whole chickens. Our salads will contain tomatoes that are ten times more addictive than heroin. Our homes will be decorated better than any Robin Leach had ever visited. Yes, when Jim Sinegal takes over the world, it'll be Screw Kappa Nappa wishes, and Rotisserie Chicken dreams!

Step Right Up...

2005-09-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

I have had some complaints recently. I know, I know. Who would want to complain about a grade A site like this one? Communists, that's who. And not even good Communists. These people didn't even have the decency to complain publicly. They tracked me down, to complain to my face. What was the complaint, you ask? Not enough pictures. Apparently these people won't read a book without pictures, let alone a blog. So, for you people, (you know who you are), here are your damn pictures.
FREAKS!! For years, these people earned a living by exploiting themselves for fun and profit. With all the advances in modern technology, and the advances in political correctness, freaks have virtually been wiped off the planet. When was the last time you saw a set of conjoined twins, or a dog faced boy (and no, your senior prom date doesn't count)? I for one miss the freakshow, not that I ever saw one. So, in the spirit of P.T. Barnum, I am reviving the old time freakshow.
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! One time only! This is it folks! Your last chance to see all the greats!! Just two bits, that's twenty five cents!. Not for the faint of heart, pregnant women, or small children!! Come, see, if you dare!!

*********************************************************************

See the amazing Lobster Woman, who was born with hands like some sort of fleshy claws. Don't forget the incredible... Mermaid Baby!! Sirenomelia is a condition that occurs in the womb, where the legs fuse together, forming a tail like appendage. Most children born with sirenomelia die within hours of birth. Aren't genetic mutations fun?? For more mutation entertainment see.. The Human Centipede!!! Aren't they adorable, in a horribly, horribly creepy sort of way? And speaking of conjoined twins, here comes two of the loveliest ladies ever to grace this stage.

Violet and Daisy Hilton (no relation to Paris, but wouldn't it be fun if they were?)!! These two ladies were joined at the butt, and shared a circulation system, which means that they could share sensations. These two were forced to perform for years by their surrogate mother. When they eventually got their freedom, they retired from show business, and got a job at a supermarket. Wouldn't you want them to ring you up??

More Conjoined twins!!! They's just so much fun, aren't they?? I can't think of anything more fun... except...

The Rubber Man!! Watch as he pulls the skin from his neck up and over his face!!!! Oh, and here comes my personal favorite...

Johnny Eck!! Johnny here was born without a lower half, and learned to walk on his hands! He had a twin brother who used to tour with him. They had an act where his twin would go into a box, get sawed in half, and Johnny would come out. What an act! Oh, but aren't we lucky! We have with us The Human Torso himself, Prince Randian!!!

This guy is amazing! He has no arms and no legs, yet he can shave, paint, and roll and and light his own cigarettes! On top of that, he can also speak three languages. I have all my limbs, and I can't do any of those things.

Oh my goodness, ladies and gentlemen. I have a special treat for you. I have just been informed that we have a celebrity here, and for just two bits more, you too can gawk at him. Come on folks. Twenty five cents to see a legend.

*************************************************************

And now, without further ado. The one, the only... Joseph Merrick!!!

Joseph Merrick, or as he is more commonly known as, The Elephant Man, was made famous by Dr. Frederick Treves, but he was immortalized in David Lynch's 1980 film, appropriately titled, The Elephant Man. Joseph was a kind, caring, and suprisingly intelligent human being. He was well spoken (as best he could), could read and write, and often spent his days writing poetry. Had it not been for his freakish appearance, he would have been quite the catch. Joseph died in his sleep in 1890. Like the film suggests, his head fell back, and under it's weight, dislocated his neck.

Well, there you have it. Pictures. I hope all you poo-pooers and nay-sayers are happy now. You've reduced my brilliant writing to, well, a freakshow. Enjoy it while you can.

30,000 Feet in the Air, and No Gun

2005-09-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

So, I'm sure some of you have noticed that I haven't posted for a while. Come on, don't lie. There are at least five people who read this site on a semi regular basis. And for you five people, thank you. No excuse forgives my absence. My pathetic excuse is this: Iwas in the great town of Chicago partying with my friends. You don't like it? Well it's Tethered Swimming for you then, isn't it?
While I was flying there, I sat in front of a screaming toddler. Four hours, and this kid did not shut up. And was he screaming out of pain? Out of fear? No. He was screaming out of pure boredom. Here's a note to parents. If you are taking your precocious little two year old on a four hour plane ride, bring something to entertain the little angel. If dragging along a coloring book and crayons, or a walkman with Baby Mozart in it is really too much trouble for you, then leave your damn kid at home. Find a freakin babysitter for three days. Or better yet, if you can't control your kid, then you have no business flying either. Take a train, or if you can stand the kid kicking the back of your seat for four hours, then drive. Personally, I can't wait for the day when airlines come out with "Family Friendly" planes. Ones that have only a few seats for the parents, and a ton toys and other shit for the kids, and plenty of room for them to play with them. Of course, it'll be my luck, being the cheapskate that I am, that I don't pay attention and get booked on one of these planes. Boy, I can't wait until we can carry weapons on the plane again.
On the way back from Chicago, I had a layover in Minneapolis. What a great town. Everyone is so Midwestern there. And while waiting in the terminal, we had a lovely severe thunderstorm. Oh, how I miss those. With all the airlines taking off early to avoid the high winds and hail, we were left sitting, in the plane, on the tarmac. And I was left sitting next to some religious freaks. At first guess, I thought they were Mormons. They we dressed alike, (in matching orange, of all colors). You know, I never really had a second guess as to what branch of Christianity they were from (they all blend into one crazy lump to me). What I do know is they were sleeping peacefully while we were on the tarmac, and as soon as we started to move, they sat straight up, crossed themselves, and began to say a little prayer. That wasn't the odd part. When the plane started to shake form the aforementioned high winds, the woman leaned over to the man and said "I think we're going to die". Now, I haven't flown that much, but the amount of shaking wasn't enough to make me put down my in flight magazine (which I'll get to in a minute) let alone believe for one second that I was going to die. But, I kinda got to thinking. If they thought that they were going to die, why did they bother saying a prayer. Was it so they can have proof of their god's mercy, by showing that he made the plane take off and land safely, thus sparing their (and the other two hundred twenty four people on the plane) lives? Are they so desperate for justification of their beliefs? And, let's be honest, do you really believe that any god would make it a priority to save to sniveling servants such as they, when there are more useful people to be saved? I think they should really be praying to the god of Digital Technology, for blessing us with such high tech equipment; the god of Hank, for running his pilot training courses (sometimes via correspondence), and graduating so many great pilots; and most importantly, they collective gods on Mount Air Traffic Control, for insuring that no two planes will ever collide.
Now, as I mentioned earlier, I read the in flight magazine. Yup, I read it cover to cover. Ok, I forgot a book, and refuse to pay airport prices for one. Now this is truly hard hitting journalism. This magazine has everything you could ever need, from an in depth article on Jeff Daniels (I know, I thought he died of a heroine overdose too), to the best places for ethnic food in cities you'll never visit. Aside from the picture of a Japanese hipster on page ninety seven, the most exciting thing is the ad for the ROM. What is the ROM, you ask? I have no idea. What I do know is, it looks like a medieval torture device, it promises that you only have to exercise four minutes a day, it's manufactured in California, and has been since 1990, it performs surgery, it makes diabetics whole again, it costs almost $15,000 to purchase, and, as near as I can tell, will also perform Pap Smears upon request. The ad even has the ten stages prospective buyers go through, which is remarkably like the stages of grief, and becoming a christian: shock, anger, denial, bargaining, acceptance, ridicule, persistence, depression, persistence again, and finally, joy, at having started your own cult. With all these benefits, who wouldn't want to blow a small fortune on it?
Ah, it's that time again. The time where my ranting comes to an end. I have so many more things to tell you about, (at least one whole post devoted to that damn SkyMall catalogue (who the hell needs that crap? I mean, honestly, who is really gonna spend $30 on shoes for their dog?)). But don't you worry your little head off. I will post again very very soon. Look forward to my upcoming articles on airline reform, and about my invention to silence screaming babies and paranoid christians. It'll be more entertaining than any in flight magazine.

Take a Bath or No One Will Like You

2005-09-06T15:32:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's that time again. Time for me to review another film from R.I.P. Films. This little gem is from 1947, and is described as "one of the best examples of post-World War II social guidance films". I'm excited, are you?

Are You Popular? (1947)

Before I begin, let me just say that this film has certainly taught me a lot about being popular. It is hard work! I just don't know how Carolyn manages it. Are You Popular follows around Carolyn, who is supposed to be the model for teenage girls. Yes, back in the day, June Cleaver wasn't considered a reasonable role model, so the Coronet company created their own. Carolyn is young, pretty, and apparently bisexual, yet scandal free (I just don't know how she does it!). She is new to the average American high school in the film, and immediately the drama nerds are drooling over her. These people are the most popular in school, or so the film would have us believe. Why, when Jenny, the school whore comes by, they refuse to let her sit at their lunch table. Drama snobs is more like it.
No one likes Jenny because, well, Jenny is like a doorknob. (And I'm not talking dumb either). Jenny has no self esteem, because no one likes her, and gets attention any way she can. By "parking " in cars with boys. It's a vicious circle.
Back to Carolyn. The first thing anyone notices about her is how clean she is. Apparently, in the average American high school, no one bathes. Yes, an occasional shower is valued more at this school than large breasts, or a twin sister. Once Clean Carolyn gets asked out on a date, she immediately shows just how organized she is by writing it down. The narrator makes sure to mention that she doesn't spend a lot of time on the phone, because boys don't like to gab, and girls should do everything in their power to make boys happy.
The day of the date arrives. Carolyn is just finishing getting perfect when the phone rings. Gasp! It's Jerry! Jerry had his eye on Carolyn from the get go, but waited until the last minute to ask her out. He is heartsick to find out that Carolyn already has a date, but is hopeful that she's a bit of a player. Carolyn turns him down, but gives him hope for next week. Jerry hangs up the phone and plays the conversation over and over in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. He's a clean guy; why didn't Carolyn ditch her loser date for him? He doesn't let it bother him for long. He pulls out his little black book and makes another call.
Finally, Wally (Carolyn's date) arrives. Carolyn watches him squirm as she introduces him to her parents, and then abandons him briefly to see how he fairs with Papa Bear. After all, if he doesn't get along with Daddy, he's not good husband material. Wally does fine, and mother insists that they eat her brownies when they get back. She doesn't want to gain weight and displease Father. Apparently, this whole brownie scheme is something mom and Carolyn have cooked up ahead of time to keep Carolyn from having sex. (The way to a man's heart, and away from is penis, is through his stomach.) Carolyn and Wally then go on their date. Important points are reviewed, a happy ending is experienced by all.
All, except me, that is. Naturally I couldn't let this go, being the feminazi that I am and all. Why put much emphasis on being clean? Some of the most popular people I've met have been as dirty as a hippy. Also, where's all the emphasis on the boys to be popular? Is it because women are happy just to get any man, and men only want the popular ones? This film has ruined women's outlook on dating and life in general for decades. Only now are we starting to undo the damage it has wrought. And what's all this crap about the drama club being popular. When I was in school, the drama club was some of the most acne covered, over biting, D&D playing dweebs I've ever seen. Who wants to follow their rules to being popular? Yes, bathe, and then join us for a spirited round of Magic, the Gathering. Oh, we'll have such laughs. Now, I'm sure those of you who were in drama club in high school are offended, but just pull out your yearbook, and you'll see exactly what everyone else sees. And there is no way a clean, pretty, bisexual woman is going to help you. No, this film is just plain evil. It gives hope to the downtrodden. It sets the women's lib movement back years. It should be buried. Under a rock. In a cave. On Mars. Drastic measures must be made to let this movie never again see the light of day. On second thought, it was still better than Batman Begins.

Mormons at Their Best

2005-08-25T19:04:00.000-07:00

I've made mention in the past to websites that open your eyes to things. Today, Kahn pointed me in the direction of one that opened my eyes to a world I thought only existed in fairy tales. The world of Utah. I know, I know. We all make Mormon jokes, and every self respecting blogger has to make at least one Mormon post. But this blog that Kahn introduced me to goes beyond making one post. These guys are deserving of one full week of ridicule, if not more. But, since I haven't got that kind of time, here's a post devoted to crazy Mormons with their own blogs.
For all of you who are wondering, the blog that Kahn sent me the link to belongs to Samuel Whitaker. Sam is hopelessly in love with a woman named Molly. Molly is engaged to a man named Peter. The whole thing reeks of daytime television. Sadly, this soap opera is real life to some people. Like Sam, Molly, and Peter. These people live in Provo, Utah. Utah itself is a scary place, what with it's salt flats and all. But even scarier than those flats are the Mormons. For those of you who don't know anything about Morons, ahem, Mormons, they believe in the teachings of Joseph Smith. Joseph Smith was a quack who claimed to find the book of Mormon buried in his back yard. Apparently, these days, any and all backyard trash can be used to start a new religion.
But back to Molly, Sam, and Peter. Sam is a very devout mormon. He is also a very devout cyber stalker. This poor girl, Molly, just wants to lead a normal mormon life. Molly just can't wait until it's demeed proper to kiss this boy, nay, this man, who she has dated for the last two years. Who is this goofball to ruin that dream? His big opposition is that they are not married, so they shouldn't partake in the most sanctamonious of sanctamonies until they are. Oh, but update!! Peter and Molly are engaged!! What does ol' Sam have to say about this??
"Engaged!????? Peter and Molly are engaged!???? I'm so upset I can hardly type... I've always said that if a girl is engaged she is no longer someone I would date, but in this case I've changed my mind!"
It's quite obvious that Sam has problems. That much is shown by his posts, and the frequency in which he comments on Molly's site. But to top it off, his father comes on to say Sam is in counseling, and that he has cut off his internet. How embarassing is that? I know you're all thinking these are a bunch of jr. high kids, but Sam is twenty-seven!! Before you add pedophilia to his list of wrongs, Molly and Peter are both twenty-one. That's right; these people are all adults. And twenty-seven year old Sam has resorted to stealing his neighbors' wireless internet, just so he can continue his stalking.
As exciting of a chap that Sam is, Peter is oh so much more. It's no wonder that Molly is in love with him (assuming she's not confusing her love for Peter with her love for the spirit). Peter is quite the catch. Why, when he "accidentally" rented a porn for Molly and his sister, he immediately turned it off (after waiting for everyone to take their close off). Not only was he outraged, he did what every god fearing american did- he wrote his governor. That's right! He took it upon himself to start a crusade against Hollywood. Naturally, no one took him seriously (except other mormons). But he is the perfect person to take up such a crusade. He has, after all, seen the world. And by world, I mean Michigan. Yes, Peter's only excursion outside of Utah is to do missioanry work in Michigan (try saying that three times fast). Now, grant it, Michigan is in dire need of some saving, but can one really base their opinion of the world on that one state of the union? That's like basing an entire idea of vegetables on brussell sprouts. Regardless, his mission trip to Michigan makes him the most traveled in the the entire state.
And then there is Molly. By some magical twist of fate, this woman has two men fighting over him. That's the drean of every woman. How this happened to some pugly mormon girl is beyond me. Molly is a sweet, bordering on outright stupid, naiive girl who just wants to live a normal christian life. Unfortunatley she's a mormon, so there's no chance of her being normal. She believes that films that are unrated are ok, that they're so squeaky clean they don't need a rating. There is no possible way that they are R rated, or even pornographic. No one is safe from her judgement. Not anyone in the entertainment industry, at least. Why, just recently poor Jessica Simpson was the subject of her persecution. As if she didn't have enough publicity for her marriage/pregnancy/abortion, now, mormons are after her. Jessica's good name has been submitted to C.R.U.D.E. (Crusade to Remove Ungodly Demeaning Entertainment). You can be sure that dozens of crazy mormons are writing to her, telling her to cover up that sexy body of hers. Doesn't she know whe should wear ankle length skirts and baggy sweatshirts, especially if she wants to be a cultural icon?
This sordid love triangle goes on and on, but like I've said before, I don't have the time to keep you all updated. My advice is to go check it out for yourselves. And, whatever you do, do not, under any circumstances, visit Utah. I don't care if you have a layover in SLC. Find an alternative route. Unless you are investigating the hardcore punk scene. Then shave your head, pierce your nose, and party on!

10 Fun Facts About the Manson Family

2005-08-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

I know I'm slow. I never seem to be able to keep up on current events. Hell, I never seem to be able to keep up on past events. For once, I decided to do something about it. I took a subject that I was previously unaware of, and watched the movie. Boy, it really opened my eyes to see just how crazy that Charlie Manson was. I had no idea what the big deal was. So the guy carved a swastika in his forhead. So what? But now I know. Unfortunately, the movie The Manson Family was about as helpful as an eighth grade book report when it came to information. So, I did a little Nancy Drew-ing, and found out a little more. I'd like to share with you some fun facts I dug up about Mr. Manson and his "family".

*Charlie was born on November 12, 1934 in Cincinatti, Ohio, to Kathleen Maddox. After a life of drinking and promiscuity, she married briefly William Manson, who gave Charlie his surname.

*Charlie spent some time at Father Flanagan's Boys Town. Yes, that Boys Town. The one the movie was based on. He wasn't there long; after a few days, Charlie and another boy committed two armed robberies.

*Before meeting Charlie, Susan "Sadie" Atkins lived next to Janis Joplin In a commune in Haight-Ashbury.

*Spahn Ranch, the place where Charlie and his family hung out, was a former movie set. The 500-acre ranch, located in the Santa Susana Mountains, was used to film Duel in the Sun and episodes of Bonanza and The Lone Ranger.

*The victim who was the winner of the "Toughest Son of a Bitch to Kill" award was definately Voytek Frykowski. The thirty-two year old playboy suffered two gunshot wounds, thirteen blows to the head, and fifty-one stab woulds.

*Charles "Tex" Watson was quite the young entrepeneur. After dropping out of school, he opened a wig shop with his roommate. I kid you not. It was called Love Locs. And, a few months later, when it closed, did he give up? Hell no! This man wasn't about to give up his life long dream of running his own business. He did what any other young entrepeneur would do- start selling pot.

*Manson and his family were affiliated with the Beach Boys. Dennis Wilson was picked up while hitchhiking by Charlie, and invited him back to his mansion. The family hung out a lot with Wilson, and Charlie started to pressure Wilson tohelp him with his music career. Eventually, Wilson got creeped out, and kicked the family out.

*The LAPD has always bungled murder cases. Despite the writing on the wall, literally, the LAPD failed to connect the murders at 10050 Cielo Dr (Sharon Tate's house) with the LaBianca murders, or with that of Gary Hinman. Even when told about the Hinman murder by the LA Sherriff's Office, the LAPD refused to see the connection. When told by the Sherriff's Office about a guy named Bobby Beausoleil who was arrested for the Hinman murder, and who was living on a ranch with a bunch of hippies, the LAPD took no interest. They figured it was a dope deal gone bad.

*Lynette Fromme, AKA "Squeaky" or "Red", was friends with a young Phil Hartman, of SNL fame.

*The Order of the Rainbow was the name of the religion Charlie tried to start. He gave a few of his girls colors, with the intention of being nuns. The Order of the Rainbow is: Lynette, Red; Pat, yellow; Leslie, green; Sandy, blue; Susan, violet; and Brenda, gold. Red and Blue were the only ones to keep their colors.

So there you have it. Ten fun facts about the Manson Family. I know I can cross one more thing off my list of things to know about. Now, that just leaves the Three Little Pigs and the Iraq War. Look for information about those two thrillng subjects in the future.

WWSBD?

2005-08-16T21:24:00.000-07:00

Whenever I get into a pickle, I alwayas ask myself, WWSBD? That is, What would Scott Bakula do? That's right, the Scott Bakula. The one from Quantum Leap (I refuse to aknowledge Enterprise as ever having existed). The greatest and most handsome actor alive. And, according to some, he's quite sexy. Perhaps the sexiest man alive. The man by which all other men are judged. I don't go that far; I'm not crazy. But what I do know is Scott Bakula is a smart, sincere, goddamn boyscout. Who else to turn to when you get in a jam? Jesus? Don't make me laugh.
Now, the other day, while walking home, some guy jumped out of the bushes with a gun. He demanded all my money, and when I explained that I had just spent all my money on the new Bill Shatner cd, he demanded that instead. Naturally, I didn't want to part with it, so I thought... WWSBD? It hit me; talk calmly and rationally to the perp, and use reverse psychology. Using small words, just like the Bakster, I told the man that he really didn't want my brand new cd, and he surely didn't want to steal it. Didn't he want to be a productive member of society, like everyone else, I asked him. The guy thought about, mumbled smething about nuts, and walked away. Score one for SB!
Whenever Kahn starts in on me about how dirty the house is, I give him the typical Scott Bakula "boy do I pity you" look. I calmly, and in only a slightly patronizing tone, explain to him that housework is a joint effort. That we both need to work to keep the house clean. With just a little cajoling, I had him taking out the trash, cleaning out the gutters, and washing my unmentionables. Sure, my bras were ruined, but I still think good was accomplished in the end. Scott Bakula wins again.
When it comes to romance, no one beats Scott Bakula. No one, except Michael Caine, even comes close. When a guy asks me out, before answering, I ask myself that age old question. I think, will he read poetry, like Scott Bakula? Will he open my doors, throw his coat down over a puddle, defend my honor, like Scott Bakula? Will he suggest a chaperone for our date? Does he have a hot body like Scott Bakula? If the answer to any of these questions is no, than the date is a no. Now, I know no man can hold a candle to Scott Bakula, but I'd like my potential beau to be as close to Scott Bakula perfection as possible.
I could go on and on why Scott Bakula is the ultimate in calming influences. Sit back, and contemplate Scott Bakula for even just a little bit, and you too will be infected with Bakulitis. It's really only a matter of time before someone starts selling crap with WWSBD all over it. Maybe that's how I will make my fortune, speading the Bakula word, and cashing in on his name. No, no. I know Scott Bakula would never approve of that. He'd probably want a percentage of the profits anyway.

Zombies, Zombies, Everywhere, and No Spicy Brains to Eat

2005-08-13T20:25:00.000-07:00

I was watching a movie the other day, The Prince of Tides, and I got to thinking. What is the deal with zombies? So, they're dead, but they're not. Some crave brains, some don't. They walk funny, and they have the speech capabilites of giraffes. What is going on with them?
Let's start with the walk. Zombies have a walk all over their own. And it's cool. I have personally seen Rob Zombie imitate that walk on several occasions. Of course, his name is Rob Zombie. I wonder if there's any relation. Hmm. The real question is, what causes this walk? Is it rigor mortis? For those of you who don't know, Rigor Mortis is a speed metal band out of the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. (Who says nothing ever comes out of Texas?) Could this band be the cause and origin of the walk? Maybe it's the lack of communication between the now dead brain and the outer extremities. But, if they're walking around, is the brain really dead? Is the brain rotting away in their heads, like the rest of the body? What about the zombies that claw their way out of the ground. You know the ones I'm talking about. These guys have been worms food for years, and suddenly they're up walking around. What's the condition of their brains then? And what about the fact that some of them can walk if you sever their spinal cord, and some of them fall over like a pile of old clothes? Superman himself, Christopher Reeve, never recovered from his spinal cord injury, and he was Superman!! Now if Superman can't walk, why the hell should these guys?
Without establishing whether or not the brain is alive in zombies, it's going to be hard to figure out why they talk funny, or not at all. But, let's speculate anyway. Let's assume the brain is alive. (You know what happens when you assume, don't you?) If the brain is alive, then he/she/it should be capable of the same amount of speech as it was when it was alive. Now, realistically speaking, the slowest and dumbest usually become zombies first. This may actually acount for the monosyllabic grunts and moans. At least they're not saying "Hey Ma! Lookee here! This here piggy's one of dem zombies." How often have you seen an eloquent zombie? Three, four times, maybe? You don't see zombies giving motivational speeches very often. Of course, a monosyllabic grunts are still better than any of David Frum's speeches. Perhaps these grunts and groans are a way of communtcating with other zombies. You know, like a primitive dolphin or something. Perhaps when one zombie is saying "Uuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhhhhh", it translates to "Hey Phil. Find any brains recently? No? That's ok. How's the kids?". Why else would they follow each other around? Zombies are social creature who hunt for brains in packs.
For that matter, why is brains the staple of a Zombie diet? I know we have all seen Return of the Living Dead, where the zombie says that brains take away from the pain of decomposing, but who really believes that crap? I think that zombies really aren't all that hungry, but one of them says "Eeeerrrrrr" ("I could really go for some brains right about now", for those of you who don't speak zombie), and every one agrees. So now they're on a mission to find brains. They're like a couple of stoners, desperate to get some White Castle hamburgers (hey, that would make a great movie!).
Why is it that zombies are always in the best bands. I went to a show the other day, and the best band their was comprised totally of zombies. Is there something about being undead that gives them great rhyhtm? Does your previously unused right hemisphere suddenly kick into high gear once you die, or rather, undie? Or were these zombie bands a bunch of guys (or girls) who were in a crappy garage band in high school, and now are taking their chance to get noticed. And let's not forget that everyone forgives them for their off key instruments. They are zombies, after all. They probably can't hear very well, what with all the maggots in their ears.
There are so many more questions that need answering about these creatures. Someone should make a National Geographic special on them. Perhaps the Rand Corporation could do some research on them, before selling them to the government to create some sort of superhuman zombie army. And maybe, we can finally find out the secret to making good music.

What is Wrong with the World??

2005-08-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

I'm a rational person. I understand most crimes. Sure, you wanted some more crack, so you killed that guy and took his shoes. Ok, you're mother didn't hug you enough as a child, so now you're a serial rapist. Whatever. But some things I just don't understand.
For example, some time last year, a six foot tall, two hundred seventy five pound man crashed a kid's birthday party. I can understand that. Kid's parties are fun. Or, at least they would be if all those damn kids weren't around. So this guy strolls into the house, walks right into the kitchen, helps himself to a piece of cake, and goes and sits down in the living room. Naturally, the parents were just a tad bit curious about who this fellow is, so they ask him. He replies "I am vengeance. I am the knight. I am Batman." He then finishes his piece of cake, and leaves in his red cadillac. Now, I don't know about you, but it sounds like Batman is starting to let himself go. Or maybe this guy is going the way of Adam West- all crazy in the head. Whatever is wrong with him, he's still on the loose. Be sure to moniter your kids' birthday guests!
So, wanting some yummy cake without paying for it is something everyone wants. But what about the "Naked Tickler"? This guy breaks into people's houses in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. He breaks in, and trys to tickle their feet. And, he does it naked. Sounds bizarre, huh? Well, I understand that he has a foot fetish, and obviously can't get a job at a shoe store. But, the feet he's tickling belong to women over the age of sixty. A fetish is one thing; this guy is nuts. Why go after woman over sixty? Do liverspots really turn this guy on that much? I can say this much for him, he certainly picked a good place to have his perversion. I've been to New Smyrna Beach. It's packed with old people. If I had an old lady foot fetish, I'd go there too.
And yesterday, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and man rear ends someone, and drives off. Big deal; people saw him do it, told the police, and they guy got caught. So what? The people who saw him were cheerleaders. And what does every cheerleader do in a crisis? That's right! C-H-E-E-R!!! Apparently, these high school girls couldn't remember three letters and three numbers, if it's not in cheer form. I would hate to be in these kids' algebra class. What's the quadratic equation? X EQUALS NEGATIVE B, un-huh, PLUS OR MINUS THE SQUARE ROOT, oh yeah, OF B SQUARED MINUS FOUR A C, What's that over? ALL OVER TWO A. Oh yeah, I said all over two a. What about history? The Constitution would be one of those annoying question answer things. WHAT'S THE FIRST AMENDMENT? Freedom of Religion, Speech, and Press! Yay Team!! Doesn't this scare anyone? The future leaders of our country can't remember something as simple as a license plate unless it's in cheer form? The answer is, no. Nobody takes these girls seriously, and nobody ever will. These girls will all grow up to be trophy wives to some nerdy computer guy or doctor or lawyer. They will have their little "charities", which is really an excuse to gossip with the girls, which is really an excuse to drink heavily every Wednsday afternoon. These girls are going to be alcoholics by the time they're forty. But, hey, at least they'll be able to remember the quadratic equation. Can you do that?

An Open Letter to Hollywood

2005-08-01T20:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Hollywood,

This letter is more than just a letter. It's a plea. It's me coming to you on my hands and knees begging you. What am I begging, you ask? I'm begging you to not make anymore bad movies. I have ideas. Here's a few suggestions.

1) Please don't make any more movies based on Dr. Seuss books. For starters, they are never good. No matter how good the special effects are, they still suck. And they're creepy. Really creepy. Have any of you ever dropped acid and watched one of those films? Well, neither have I. That's how scary these films are. The thought of watching them on acid is far to terrifying for me to ever do it. I would end up at the nut hut before the damn thing was done.

2) Don't remake movies that are less than fifty years old. In fact, don't remake movies. Most of them were very well done the first time. They rarely are the second. If you guys are out of ideas, then maybe you should just stop making films. I know, I know. It's going to be tough for you guys to live on the millions of dollars you have already made, assuming you haven't spent it all on blow.

3) Never, ever, ever let the following people make any more movies: Kevin Costner, Christian Bale, Collin Farrell, Jennifer Lopez, Will Smith, Val Kilmer, Britney Spears, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Carey, George Clooney, Alicia Silverstone, Sheri O'Teri, Ed Harris, Heather Graham, Reese Witherspoone, Keanu Reeves, Lawrence "Larry" Fishbourne, Ben Stiller, Sarah Jessica Parker, Sarah Michelle Geller, Freddie Prinze Jr, Jared Leto, Kathy Lee Gifford, Regis Philbin, Mel Gibson, Barbara Streisand, Kris Kristopherson, Lucy Lui, Tom Cruise, Drew Barrymore, Cameron Diaz, Owen Wilson, LL Cool J, Matt LeBlanc, Matthew Perry, Courtney Cox- Arquette, Lisa Kudrow, David Schwimmer, David Arquette, Tom Green, any of the "Brat Pack", Jason Alexander, Vincent D'Onofrio, Portia De Rossi, anyone who has ever been on "Survivor", "The Real World", or "WWF", Brad Pitt, Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, Ed Bagely Jr, Vince Vaughn, Snoop Doggy Dogg, Pamela Anderson, Yasmine Bleeth, Carmen Electra, well, let's just say anyone who was on, or even made a guest appearance on "Baywatch", the entire Wayans family, and Giovanni Ribisi.

4) Due to the recent "talent" cutbacks, either clone, or find some way to raise from the dead, the following to round out the cast: Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Neil Patrick Harris, Katherine Hepburn, Edward G Robinson, Gene Wilder, Rory Calhoun, and Orson Wells.

5) Midgets. People can't get enough of them. Feature midgets in a leading part, and people will flock to the theaters, sometimes two, even three times to see them. And, well, let's face it, midgets are funny, funnier than Sinbad, Carrot Top, and the Amazing Rando combined. Say it with me... midgets, midgets, midgets.

Thank you for your time and considerations. I promise you, if you make the changes I listed, movies won't be nearly as bad. Hollywood will once again be respected. And isn't that what everyone really wants? Respect? Huh? Alright, it'll make you a shitload of money. Ok, and I'll throw in a baggie full of blow. Are you happy? Greedy bastards.

When Good Raindrops Go Bad

2005-07-27T14:02:00.000-07:00

Every now and then you come across a website that really opens your eyes to new things. Today, I have come across such a site. It contains probably the best collection of films from the 30-60s. I'm not refering to classics, such as Freaks or The Happy Hooker. No, I'm refering to short films. Films that teach us things. Films like the ones before an MST3K feature. During the coming days, weeks, and months, expect to see more reviews of these films. After all, I'm still only on the A's!

The Adventures of Junior Raindrop (1948)

What happens when a cloud mates with the earth? Well, you get Jr Raindrop, of course! Adventures... is an animated romp around the watershed, following the life of Jr Raindrop. It all starts when Papa Cloud tells Jr it's time for him to move in with his mother, Earth. Papa has a new gal pal, and can't have kids hanging around. So, Jr falls to earth, and lands with a thud. I figured if a drop of water fell from that height, it'd land with a splat, but this 1948. Instead of moving in with his mother, Jr decides he'd find more love on the streets. He finds just the kind of acceptance he was searching for... in a gang. After a brief intermission, where the narrator blames water for the decline of America, we discover that Jr was quite the Latin King. That's right he went off and started his own gang (El Amor del Aqua!). And these bad-asses don't take nothin' from nobody. They start flooding every small town in the good ol' U S of A. As we watch these towns getting ravaged with water damage, the narrator tells us how it's societies fault that these hooligans went bad, and maybe if we had a legal system that worked, these drops would be living healthy, productive lives. We also learn that, despite the divorce, Papa Cloud still has feelings for Mother Earth. The whole thing ends with Papa putting a hit out on Jr, for you see, Papa was the head of his own crime syndicate. The two estranged family members reunite moments before Papa does Jr in. The End.
A lot of things bothered me in this movie. Jr's voice was obviously a womans, which was not uncommon back in the day. But more importantly, how did a pussy little raindrop like Jr start his own gang? Are we supposed to believe that raindrops are that big of pushovers that they will join up with any little asshole that starts his own gang? And why didn't we do anything to stop Jr's rampage? Hasn't anyone heard of a damn? A dike, maybe? Furthermore, where the hell was Mother Earth throughout all of this. Letting her kid do whatever he wants. I disagree with the message of this film. Society is not to blame; the parents are. Papa should never have kicked Jr out, Mother should have at least tried to find him. Most importantly, they should never have had a kid in the first place. They knew the risks involved, or at least they should have. He was a cloud, she's Earth!! What were they thinking? Maybe Jr is the result of a drunken one night stand. Regardless of how he got here, his parents should have taken the time necessary to nurture their child, instead of sending him off into the world, never knowing what love is. Let this be a lesson to all of us. Take care of your kids, or they will grow up to flood the world.

*Movie courtesy of R.I.P. Films

Oh Deer!

2005-07-26T15:39:00.000-07:00

Deer. Like you, I always thought of them as those cute animals that were in that one Disney movie. You know the one. The Lion King. I grew up in the suburbs/country, (I say suburbs, Kahn says country. So what if my house used to be a barn. It was still surrounded by suburbs!), and frequently had deer wander through my yard. I've even been to one of those deer parks (you know, where the deer are all mangey and so hungry for any little bit of food that they attack you like a flesh eating zombie, complete with zombie sound effects.) Until recently, I was still intrigued with these graceful animals.
Then, one of them tried to run me off the road. I began to wonder what was wrong with these animals. Why do they intentionally throw themselves in front of our cars or trucks? Don't they know that they could do some serious damage to us, let alone themselves. Why, one average sized deer could completely destroy your car, making it impossible for you to go to work, thus disabling the economy!
That's when I realized what was going on. These were no mere deer. These are suicide deer. Fundamentalist deer. These deer hate our freedoms. These deer are the real terrorists! Don't you see? Each year, over 10 cars are damaged due to deer attacks. 10 cars!! Why, over time that adds up to, well, not very much. But that's not the point. It's obvious that they are taking the slow and steady approach to destroying our country. After all, they have been victim to a slow and steady extermination for hundreds of years. Ever hear the phrase "thin out their numbers"? That's what the deer are doing to us. America, and parts of Canada, are paying the price for a redneck excuse for male bonding!
Now, Kahn tried telling me that I was just being paranoid. Ha! Ho! Ha! How's this for being paranoid. The other day, while out for my daily constitutional, I witnessed a deer training camp. That's right!! Deer weaving in and out of traffic, leaping over and climbing under fences. Deer running through tires on the ground, like the Army makes you do. And while all this is going on, I spotted the ring leader. It was a llama. That's right, ladies and gentlemen! The leader of this Barnyard Al Qaeda is none other than Osama Bin Llama.
Now you have the truth, America. Next time you see one of those white-tailed devils wander through your yard, contact the local authorities. Assume that every deer out there is part of this organization, and armed. And definately don't trust any llamas. You never know when one of them might attack the Sears Tower, or the local IHOP. Support the Cervidae Act, so we can keep other dangerous members of this family off the streets too. Moose, caribou, and elk are potentially just as dangerous. We need to round them up, and put the in some sort of make shift Gitmo. Perhaps the government is already on top of things. How else could you explain those damn deer parks?

Defending the Sighted Since 2005

2005-07-25T21:54:00.000-07:00

As a well respected member of the optical community (what? Don't laugh, it might be true), I have a lot of interaction with those unfortunate people who have been cursed with poor vision. The other day, something unusual happened that has outraged me. Let me explain.
A blind woman came in. I don't mean blind in a figurative sense; this woman was very much blind. I'm talking long cane, dark glasses, and dog. The whole shebang. She walked right into the counter, looked in my general direction, and said, "I'm looking for the optical department. I have glasses to donate." Naturally my first thought as I took them was "well, you're sure as hell not going to be needing them." But, then the rest of her statement caught my attention.
"I'm looking for...". How can she be looking for anything? She's blind! Shouldn't she rephrase her statement to say something like "I'm in search of...", "I'm on a quest to find...", "I need to get to...". Just where do blind people get the nerve to use a phrase like "I'm looking for..."? They get those cool dogs; what more do they want?
In todays ultra politically correct society, the meek really are inheriting the Earth. When is it going to stop? Where do we draw the line? Well, I say we draw the line here. We Norms need to take back the English language. We need to tell the armless they can't "lend a hand", the parapelegics they can't "stand for", well, anything. Midgets will no longer be encouraged to "stand tall". And most importantly, the blind shall no longer be "looking for" anything. Come up with your own phrases. We already have our own.

Copacabana: High class bar, or low class strip club?

2005-07-24T22:24:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite songs over the years has been a Barry Manilow classic. No, I'm not talking about "Mandy", or the Dr. Pepper jingle. I'm refering to that fabulous song "Copacabana". For a long time, I believed it to be a tragic love song: a couple so very much in love, an evil gangster who has his sights set on the heroine, a battle, a death, a lover lamenting, all set to a disco beat. So very touching, it almost brings a tear to your eye. While trying to explain the nuiances of this fabulous song to Kahn today, though, he brought to my attention some very important details that I had overlooked.
For starters, I had always assumed that Rico was a gangster. I mean, come on. He wore a diamond. His name was Rico. What more proof do you need that he was a gangster? But Kahn conviently pointed out that hey never actually said that he was a gangster. Sure, just liking gaudy jewelry isn't enough to convict you in a court of law (although it should be). And having been born to a family whose choices in names are questionable doesn't necessarily condem a person to a life of crime. Organized crime. Very organized crime. It is entirely possible that Rico went to the Copa (Copacabana) with the intention of taking in a show, having a couple of cocktails, and having an all round pleasant evening. He may be a nice guy, who's just a bit of a "Grabby Sammy".
That said, what kind of club is the Copa anyways? Lola is a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair, and a dress cut down to there. I had always pictured he to be a Las Vegas style showgirl. Kahn mentioned that it was a little more likely that her dress that was cut down to there, actually ended up on the floor before long. The Lola the stripper scenario certainly explains why Tony jumped across the bar and risked his life to protect her. He was really defending the time honored "No Touching" rule. Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to slap a stripper on the ass, but boy, those bouncers sure don't tolerate it all. I've actually witnessed a guy whose hands got a little wandery get dragged out in tears, so afraid of what was going to happen to him.
Now, the end of the song had always left me feeling a little confused. Lola ends up as a crazed drunk who still mourns for her man 30 years later? Come on, no man is worth that much. After realizing the seedy undertones earlier in the song, the ending makes muc more sense. Without Tony's influence, Lola naturally turns to drugs and booze. She is so desperate for her next fix that she will do anything or anyone to get it. We've all seen that pathetic girl at the bar propsitioning anyone who will listen to her. That's Lola!
After listening to this song, I realize that Barry Manilow is a sick individual. Manilow is worse than Tupaq, Jerry O'Hagan, and Marilyn Manson all rolled into one. This man should, nay, needs to be stopped. That's why I'm urging you to write to your congressman/woman. Tell them to pass H.R. 3998-3999, the Freedom from Manilow Act of 2005. Together, we can make this world a better, Manilow-free, place.