Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Look Who's Talking (about maybe touching another dude's balls)!

Okay, so there's this. Apparently a picture was taken, as you can see, of John Travolta sharing a kiss with his "man-friend." Now, not that there's anything wrong with being a gay, but I must do this.

I've decided to have my own headline contest concerning Mr. Travolta's questionable sexuality using plays on his television and movie titles.

  • Get Shorty! Indeed! (When you say "Indeed" you raise your eyebrows suggestively and maybe drink out of a straw)
  • Battlefield Girth
  • Suck Face/Off (okay, I just needed more of them)
  • Gulp Friction
  • Grease!

And, finally, the only reason I even made this post...
  • The Boy in Elastic Butthole
Also, any comments on the new blog layout? I can always change it back if it frightens you.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Best Supporting Asshole!

Hold the Mayer!

I realize that there is a lot going on in the world right now what with John Mark Karr being freed of charges in the JonBenet case, the Emmys taking place last night and The Little League World Series coming to a close, but there's something that's been bothering me for a long time and it was set in stone for me last Saturday.

See, I had VH1 on in the background (I'm not justifying this, I'd have it on in the foreground, too, bitch!) and there was some sort of a Top 20 video show happening. The special guest on this episode was none other than Grammy-winning singer-songwriter John Mayer. I've always felt that there was something a little off about this gentleman, when it finally hit me.

John Mayer looks like a monster.

I have compiled a series of pictures which I feel illustrates my points (well, point, really--he looks like a fucking monster). To help, I have included John Mayer's thoughts as the pictures were taken.I also think he kind of looks like Sean Young.Therefore, by the transitive property of mathematics, Sean Young also looks like a monster.

Ferris Bueller Neighed Off!


Matthew Broderick fell off of a horse.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

The Adventures of Pluto, Nah!

You've probably heard by now, but today it was officially ruled that Pluto is not a planet. I've been telling people this for years.

"Pluto isn't a planet." That quote is taken straight from five years ago--from me.

People are upset that this is going to ruin the mnemonic that they learned when they were children to help them remember the order of the nine planets. I learned My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas: Mercury Venus Earth Mars Jupiter Saturn Uranus Neptune Pluto.

Now what are our very educated mothers going to serve us? Whatever it is, we certainly won't be getting nine of them anymore. The science community has single-handedly reduced our food consumption by 889%. Maybe this is all an elaborate solution to the obesity epidemic.

According to the article, Pluto's status has been demoted to "dwarf planet." That's much cooler anyway. It's the only planet that gets to grow a beard, carry a battle-axe and fight goblins.

This is probably the biggest change to happen to society since they decided to start keeping track of the year by number.

"Hey, Dave. You know yesterday?"

"Yesterday? Sure."

"Yeah. Well that's one."

"One what?"

"I don't know. But I'm feeling pretty good about this."

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

JonBenet It Ain't So!

In case you haven't heard, ten years ago a tiny swimsuit model/cowgirl/mermaid/hula dancer/Roaring 20's flapper named JonBenet Ramsey was found dead in her parent's house. Recently a man named John Mark Karr confessed to the world that it was he who was responsible, but her death was an accident.

First, let me preface this by saying that I don't believe he did it, but that doesn't mean I can't make fun of him for it.

How do you accidentally kill a little girl? I once accidentally clotheslined a six-year-old boy who was running by me in a Family Fun Center and he didn't die and I'm probably the strongest person I know.

But this guy allegedly broke into the JonBenet family HoUse (if they can just throw capitalization in the middle of a word like that, so can I) got her out of bed, and they told jokes, giggled and he accidentally hugged her to death. In his defense, little girls are made of sugar and spice. They're like tiny gingerbread men just begging to have their neck snapped.

Actually, they're already working on a movie about this whole thing, it's called Brittle Miss Sunshine.

Yeah. The whole lead up was for that joke.

Sunday, August 20, 2006

The Terrible Ten!

Warning: It's another long one.

Last night I went to my 10-year high school reunion. I wasn't one of those people who really stood out in high school aside from looking like a newscaster from the 1980s.Therefore, I wasn't sure how I felt about going. Granted, there were a couple of people I was hoping would show up so I could catch up with them, but, for the most part, I thought it would be five hours of awkward hugs and "So, what are you doing now?"s.

Surprisingly, it wasn't anywhere near as bad as I had thought. In fact, I had fun. The veil of dark, evil cynicism that constantly hovers over my cold, black heart was lifted for one night as I got to see what kind of havoc ten years had wreaked on my former classmates.

I'll start from the beginning (I've been told after years of studying writing that this is normally the best place to begin). Though I'll give you a little foreshadowing of how it ends: Me wearing nothing but a "Class of 1996" sash draped across my pasty white body jumping into a spa full of people who I'd come to find out this morning were not, as I had thought, my classmates but, instead, two elderly couples from Arizona who were out here for a wedding. Now I'm really curious who gave me the handjob.

So, I'm such an eager-to-please nerd that, while driving to the reunion, I was thinking of stupid answers to give people when they ask the inevitable, "So, what are you up to now?" After debating answers like Ultimate Fighter, artificial seahorse inseminator and the all-new "Time to Make the Doughnuts" guy, I settled on Explorer.

"Yeah. I'm an explorer. You know, like Amerigo Vespucci and that guy who gave the Indians blankets covered in baby sneezes? I'm the last one in existence. I actually have like 9 flags in the back of my truck just in case."

Of course, I didn't really use that answer because, as I found through the one-night-in-ten-years thawing of my heart, I actually wanted to know what some of the people I hadn't talked to in years were up to (Yes, this sentence ends in a preposition--on purpose).

So, when I got there, it was cool because a couple of people that I still hang out with from high school had just gotten there as well and they were busy filling out the information which was required of us. I did write down on the card that I had nine kids and am a professional explorer. I used it there at least. Nine kids! What a card I am! Nobody has nine kids. Hilarious. I'm thinking about asking them to take that card to the 20th reunion just so I can white out that stupid, stupid answer.

As we checked in, we were given a burlap-ish satchel with the school logo on it that was filled with various goodies. Now, when I say goodies, I don't literally mean that they were good. I just don't know what word could possibly convey just how terrible these little knick-knacks were. Don't get me wrong, I understand that it took time and planning and I do appreciate that, but, just wow. As I'd later say to people as my heart began its gradual re-freezing process, "It's like somebody went to their local low-rent amusement park and played Skee-Ball for four hours and cashed in the tickets." Although, I actually used a local place, Castle Park, as the reference, but you don't care.

It contained a pen that would fall apart with the slightest sign of any sort of pressure, you know, like what you might have to use when you'd use it as a writing implement. It had a tiny yellow pad of paper, which I'm guessing we were supposed to use in conjunction with the brittle-bone-disease-having pens in order to play Hangman or you can use it as I did and make an animated flip book of yourself as a stick figure finally getting retribution ten years later making sweet love to the former Prom Queen. Then, if you didn't like to use pens, they did give us a pencil--well, sort of. See, unless you carried around a knife to sharpen the thing, you were shit out of luck, or as I like to say "sool." You were sool. And, finally (I think that's all--my bag was looted), we were given a key chain with a two-tone cutout of our school mascot (a mighty, Thor-fearing viking!) in a transparent window. Total cost of loot in the bag: $.35. But it's the thought that counts as people who receive shitty gifts like to say.

But, forget the perks, it's all about the people, right? Who got fat? Who got better looking? Who got a sex change? Who gave you a way-too-long hug and may have accidentally (you hope) licked your ear?

I'll just kind of run down the various things that I noticed.

First, there was a guy who was kind of a nerd in high school who showed up looking completely unrecognizable. And, well, I think that was the problem. Nobody knew him in high school and, therefore, nobody really knew who he was last night either. Granted, he looked like a tough guy last night, but nobody really cared. In fact, he was awkward. While everybody else was sitting down at their tables as announcements and the slideshow they put together were going on, he stood in the back of the room, arms folded, like some sort of weird cop from the future who drew the short straw and got the shittiest assignment.

"Listen, Detective, you're going to be sent back to the year 2006 and..."

"I'm going to have to try to prevent the impending war between Hezbollah and Israel? I'm on it, sir."

"Well, no. You're going to have to make sure everything's cool at this high school reunion in Southern California."

"I'm too futuristically old for this futuristic shit. Future. Bleep bloop."

It was fun to quietly berate him sporadically throughout the night.

Speaking of that slideshow that they created for us. I do mean to toot my own horn here. I mentioned earlier, and provided solid, scientific evidence, that I was a nerd in high school. Now, maybe I'm playing up my nerdiness a little, but I feel pretty good in saying that, if a war broke out between the cool kids and the nerds at my high school (and no warriors from the future were sent back to prevent it), that I would probably have wound up on team Magic: The Gathering. But, when the slideshow came on, they had pictures from high school time, then they showed pictures of people in 2006 prefaced by their names. They had said they may take pictures from MySpace and they took one of mine. And, when I came up, people, dare I say, cheered. And I was really one of the only people for whom this happened. It blew my mind. For a brief, shining moment I felt like, "Was I cooler than I believed? Do these people really like me?" But then that all came crashing back down when I began to think, "They're being condescending aren't they?" I don't have any sort of emotional issues at all.

Speaking of me. Since that's what this whole thing (human existence) is really all about. Reactions to me ran the gamut last night. By that I mean, people said various things upon seeing me for the first time in ten years and I don't know how to take it. I got, "You look exactly the same." And I also got, "You look totally different." I even had somebody who I was in classes with for four years who had to look at my nametag. I'd like to believe that I look a little different than that picture, but not, "I went from geek to chic--I'll show them" either.

And, as I figured would be inevitable, there was a group of people there who sort of had not left the high school mentality behind. I was sitting right by the table with the alcohol on it and I heard this, "This shit's too expensive. Let's go outside. I have a bottle of Jack in my trunk." That pretty much sums up those people (and, by "those people" I'm not being racist--that comes later). They still had that "too cool for school" air about themselves, although, ten years later, that vibe doesn't quite work and it's more sad than anything. So, I was happy that that contingent was there as well.

Then there was my surprise of the night. I wasn't expecting to spend too much time talking very much to people I hadn't seen for years (aside from my friend Ryan who I had known since second grade and his wife). I thought that I'd kind of stay talking to the people with whom I'd actually kept in touch. But there was a girl (woman--I know, but if somebody's my age, I still call them a girl--shut up) there who I dated briefly in high school. I won't break down my entire high school dating life, but let's say that it was mostly hampered by an unrequited crush I had on this other girl (who I would come to find only too late had a heart darker and more terrible than my own). Needless to say, I spent a couple of hours of the night talking with her and finding myself regretting the fact that she was now married and that I had broken up with her in high school because of the aforementioned ill-fated, dim-witted crush. By the way, want to know what an awkward, ridiculously immature guy I was in high school? I had the girl who I had the crush on call this girl in high school and break up with her for me. Yeah. That's probably one of the worst things ever. I'm sorry for being an ass, planet Earth (and she whose name shall not be writ).

So, overall things were actually pretty fun. There was some cleavage that I was able to look at (preposition!). My clothes got covered in glitter. I actually had entertaining conversation. People cheered for me like I was Lucas. And I got to relive the white-trashiness of my long-lost youth. Speaking of that, I'm not lying when I say that, once the party was over, it continued for a small time in the parking lot in the form of a case of beer on the ground. Ain't no party like a classy party! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo Whoo!

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Which State Is Fucking All the Other Ones?

You know which state has the lowest self-esteem? West Virginia. I mean, look at its name. At least North Dakota and South Dakota and North Carolina and South Carolina are diametrically opposed to one another. But West Virginia is the state that wants to hang out at the party because she knows somebody.

"Hey, you guys. What are you doing? Is that weed? Are you smoking weed? Whatever. I've smoked it before. No big deal. I like your hair. It's really pretty. Who am I? Well, you guys know Virginia, right? I'm Virginia's cousin. You didn't know Virginia had a cousin? Weird. That's me, though. Seriously. My name? You know what? Just call me West Virginia."

What other state wants to be known only in relation to another state's existence, yet the original state from which it took its name doesn't even acknowledge it? Only goddamn West Virginia.

You know what West Virginia's biggest export is? People who thought they were moving to regular Virginia.

Their college sports team has a mascot, you know what they are? They're the University of West Virginia Texans.

This is their state flag featuring their state motto.The only thing worse than West Virginia will be in 2010 when Wyoming will change its name to West South Dakota.

Monday, August 14, 2006

Two Parts Air Quotes, One Part Best Buy, All Kinds of Ridiculous!

Warning: This one's long.

This past Friday my mom came up from Mexico (where she lives) and so I drove down to Corona to meet with her, eat lunch, and help her to purchase a laptop from the Best Buy there.

It starts out like any other Best Buy trip. We enter and pass by the guy at the front door who, at least half the time, tosses a grunt your way while he's trying to spit game to the girl who works in Cell Phones ("You know, I can control all the cameras in the store from here. Awesome, huh?").

I take my mother to the computer section where she and I pick out a laptop for her. Easy enough. Before she ponies up the dough to pay for the computer, I ask whether or not they can transfer the data from the hard drive on her old computer (which we have in the car) to the new laptop. I know that the "Geek Squad" can do this, but I want to get a monetary estimate. Beforehand I told my mom that a hundred bucks or less would be acceptable, but $100 is the ceiling. I've done data transfers before, and they're easy. The guy asks us "What kind of data?" I tell him there's not much on there, it's mostly pictures. "Oh, okay, that's $99." Well, that's about what I had figured, so my mom bought the data transfer thing.

See, normally I would do it, but we were in Corona and she was heading back down to Mexico that day and I wouldn't have the time to do it so that she would be able to have it all ready for her to take home that day.

Everything up to this point is going just swell.

So, we take the newly purchased laptop and her old computer to the "Geek Squad" counter so that we can get her information transferred. Then we meet Chris. Chris is a disgruntled man who's probably pushing 40 and looks like if he wasn't working the "Geek Squad" counter at Best Buy he'd probably be watching his 12-year-old daughter's friends go swimming while drinking a beer and sporting a raging erection. As we walk up, Chris has a sneer on his face like his wife just told the girls that it's time to go home. I tell him that I need to specify how I want the information transferred to my mom's laptop. Before handing me the necessary paper to fill out, he jerks off and as he climaxes he yells out, "Okay, Becky, I can drive you home," then he starts crying and mumbling about how he's a terrible man and needs to go to prison.

I explain to Chris that I just want all of the stuff on my mom's old computer to be transferred into a single folder on the laptop and that I'll work out setting everything up. I write the same thing on the paper I'm given.

Chris relays that information to somebody in the back who then has him come back out and tell us this.

"That's going to be $169."

"$169?," I ask. "But we were told it would be $99."

"Yeah. That's for up to 9.9 gigs of data. If you want the whole drive transferred over, that's going to be more than that."

"But nobody told us that," I respond.

I can see the panic in his eyes. He knows that the manager is going to have to come out in a minute and he hasn't thrown away his tissues.

I ask to speak to the manager and, after a couple of minutes, Chris comes out flanked by Ryan. Before I continue, let me explain to you a little bit about Ryan.

Ryan's an alpha-nerd. To the naked eye, it's easy to tell that he's a nerd. He has a faux-hawk and a pale, doughy face. But Ryan has an edge. It's the edge of somebody who is pissed off that, at 27, he's amounted to charging old ladies $75 to put RAM in their computer--an act which takes all of five seconds. He also convinces them that they need to buy a battery backup, uninterruptible power supply, and a cryogenic freezing chamber for their computer so they don't lose an email from their Grandson about his baseball game. So he hates himself.

Ryan stands across the counter from me. He's flanked by two other employees, the aforementioned Chris and the guy who originally sold us the laptop who I'll just call Chip because I don't care about him enough to give him a name that isn't condescending. They flank him like giant, flesh bookmarks for one empty, stupid fucking book.

Ryan explains to me that, though I was told it would be $99, that was because I said that it wasn't much, just some pictures. But now that I've said that it's the whole hard drive, he says that's going to be more than the 10 gigabyte limit which I was never informed of in the first place.

I explain to him that Chip never said anything about a limit and that, since I was sold a data transfer for $100, I wanted it.

This is where Ryan loses it.

I ask him why it costs $70 more for anything over their pre-determined, arbitrary limit.

"Well, it's a totally different process."

"A totally different process?" I ask. Only, when I said "totally" I used my hands to make air quotes.

Ryan's not a fan of air quotes. In fact, the anger which arose in his eyes when I used them makes me believe that air quotes raped his mother in front of him when he was a child.

The tone in his voices changed and he starts to sweat.

"What's that about?"

"What's the totally different process?"

He then describes two processes which sound very similar to one another about transferring hard drive data which I won't bore you with. Needless to say, they aren't totally different processes.

"Well, since you want to copy your whole hard drive, copying your Windows folder onto one of our hard drives for the transfer can corrupt our systems."

This, my friends, is a complete fucking lie. Do I look like an 80-year-old woman? So I call him on it.

"That won't happen."

"Look," he says, "I've been doing this for ten years."

"So have I." I respond. I've had my own computer since 1996 and have assembled my own for nearly as long.

"I've done data transfers before, it's not very hard."

"Well then why don't you do it?" He asks me.

"Because I don't have the equipment. I live in LA and she lives in Mexico and we need to get this done."

Keep in mind, the whole time he's staring at me, unblinking, his face beet red. The faces of his shoulder gargoyles, Chip and Chris, never shifting their gazes from me.

And I wish I could remember what I said, but I was blinded by a haze of anger and an eight ball of coke that my mom and I split as our dessert from the lunch we had at Chili's. Regardless, whatever sarcastic remark I said next sent him over the edge.

"Forget it." He pushes the newly-purchased laptop sitting on the counter toward me. "We're not selling this to you." He storms away and toward the back, his two henchmen closely behind.

Figuring that this was where it was headed, my mom was already over at the counter on the other side talking to a cashier.

The main manager of the entire Best Buy comes over to refund the money to my mom. I don't remember this guy's name, but this is all you need to know about him. He comes over to my mother and I, and I begin to explain the situation to him.

"So, we bought this data transfer and we weren't told that there was a 10 gig limit and..."

"Woah, woah, woah, woah." He says to me. "Look, I don't know anything about computers."

Yeah. The manager at a store with various computer-related themes and products readily admits he doesn't know a thing about computers. What the fuck?

"Great place for you to work, then." I reply, sealing my fate as the guy who almost gets physically removed from Best Buy for his rampant use of sarcasm.

I decide that I'll give my mom my laptop and I'll just take her computer to my apartment in Burbank and transfer the stuff there, but she'll have to wait to get it until the next time she heads up here.

On the day after the incident, Saturday, I transfer my mom's hard drive into my computer so that I can then transfer that information onto my computer's hard drive and then finally to my laptop and, to my surprise, I see that her hard drive only has 7 gigs of space taken up on it.

Motherfucking Best Buy.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Brewish Conspiracy!

I rarely write two posts regarding the same topic in succession, but, in this case, I have to strike while the iron's hot.

I have done some research and I've put my finger on what it is that spurred on Mel Gibson's drunken, Zion-bashing tirade. You really can blame it on the alcohol.

See, Gibson, normally a Corona drinker, was disappointed to find out that the restaurant where he was eating was out of his favorite beverage. "Surprise me then," Gibson told the waiter.

Well, imagine his shock when the waiter brought him a new beer that was specifically designed to fuel anti-Semitic sentiments in people. I'm not sure why somebody would create something like this; if you ask me, it seems like it would just cause problems. Working on the fringe of the advertising world, I have actually been able to obtain a magazine ad for the liquor that will be featured in the September issue of Maxim magazine.