Monday, March 30, 2009

This moment of complete randomness brought to you by: Rocky Balboa

I’m flipping through the TV stations last night looking for any reason not to be productive. At some point, I come across Sylvester Stallone’s movie Rocky Balboa. In case you don’t remember, this movie was the SIXTH movie of the Rocky franchise. It was released in that happy go lucky year of 2006. And like most folks, I stuck my nose up at it like someone was telling me I had to change a fat man's Depends. Another fucking Rocky movie? We all know that series reached it’s peak with Rocky crushing that Russian superman in Rocky IV.

you think Nietzsche had this in mind?

By the time Rocky V came out, I had moved on to other more “worldly” pursuit (downloading porn). And during it’s theatrical release, I definitely didn’t even consider seeing Rocky Balboa. What can I say? I’m pretty fucking rash, judgmental and bitter. Once I make up my mind something isn’t good, you best believe not only is it not good, it should never be spoken of again. And Rocky Balboa fell right into that category.

Besides, I just assumed that this was another reason for Sylvester Stallone to milk a bit more money out of a beaten cash cow. Did I mention that I was also pretty fucking jaded?

So, with my finger itching the channel up button last night, I gave Rocky Balboa an extra second. The next thing I know, it’s 45 minutes later, and I’m on the edge of the bed, cheering the shit out of Rocky. ROCKY! ROCKY! ROCKY! I’m still fucking pumped from it. Almost makes me want to go out to the garage and throw some steel up. But, that would require some effort. And I’m in this 20-odd year lazy mode. I figure I’ll get motivated to do something productive within the decade. Well, the next decade definitely.

So, do me, yourself and Sylvester Stallone a favor and go rent Rocky Balboa. Believe you me, you’ll be cheering like the little school girl you are.

i’m saying that’s you after watching Rocky Balboa, not me

C'mon! You know you wanna

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Of bank, bandits and bailouts

I find I’m getting sort of addicted to this whole financial meltdown thing.  I can’t get enough of it.  Every day, there are new twists, new turns.  It’s great!  But one of the best side effects of this whole mess is that the focus of the media is finally off celebrities!!!  Finally!!!!!  It’s so much better seeing footage of Bernie Madoff being chased down, then vapid “stars” with nothing better to do than adopt kids.  Not that there’s anything wrong with adopting kids.  I just don’t think it’s news worthy anymore.
And I love all the exposure that the AIG bonuses are getting.  But, I’m telling you, it’s all just a red herring.  For what?  Who the fuck  knows?  I’d wager dollars to donuts it’s all sleight of hand.  “Oh, look at what happened with these bonuses.  Whatever you do, though, pay no attention to that man behind the curtain”.  Maybe it’s the one trillion dollars the Federal Reserve just printed out of no where.  Maybe it’s the fact that AIG funneled billions of government dollars to other banks.  Or maybe it’s the fact that the administration has decided to let hedge funds bail the economy out of this mess.  Meaning, they’ll get richer or we’ll get poorer.  Look, I’m not economist.  I don’t even play one on TV.  I don’t know finances.  I can’t even reconcile my kids’ savings passport.  But, I can tell you this, all the attention these bonuses are getting is a front.

i hate when the curtain does that!!!

And if you think I’m crazy (and I’m not saying I’m not), then you should check out this article.  It’s probably one of the best articles on this whole financial meltdown.  It’s written by Matt Taibbi and it’s over at Rolling Stone.  Yea.  I know.  Rolling Stone?!?!  WTF, right?  It figures, though.  Because it’s not like you’re going to get this kind of explanation from your financial outlets.  If you want the truth, you have to go outside the source.  Look at what Jon Stewart does.  He can hold feet to the fire under the guise of being “funny”.  Kings had court jesters for a reason.
But, I digress…

Must work for AIG, Citi AND Treasury

Be prepared, though.  This article goes in depth, real in depth.  Best get yourself some coffee and a donut, because you’ll be needing it.   In fact, I read the article over the course of a few days.  This whole financial meltdown is one long cluster fuck.  The jargon and bullshit verbiage alone is impossible to follow.  It’s almost beyond the reach of mortal man, done on purpose of course.  I had to read a few of the paragraphs a number of times to follow what the hell was going on.  And no fault to the author, either.  What these Wall Street fat cats came up with, really bends all time and space.  The kind of “instruments” these guys came up with, couldn’t even be found by the Hadron Collider.

doubles as the Wayback Machine AND finding crazy sounding derivatives!!!

Basically, a few well placed people have been using Wall Street as one big casino.  I shit you not, either.  Wall Street bankers even got legislation deeming what they were doing wasn’t gaming.  If you’re getting legislation to say you’re not gaming, you’re fucking gaming.  Which, is cool by me.  I don’t give fuck one when people lose thousands of dollars at a roulette wheel.  Likewise, we shouldn’t be giving folks who crippled the system any money, whether it’s in bonuses or in bailouts.  If the likes of AIG, Citigroup, etc are “too big too fail”, then let’s do it the right way.  The government should take them into receivership.  Nationalize them.  Call it what you want.  Call it Uncle Joe’s Fuckaramama for all I care.  Just do it.  Get rid of the bad blood, as well as the bad assets, and then re-privatize them.
Let’s save the bailouts for the folks that really need it.  The homeowner who’s in over his head.  Not the one who bought the house to flip.  The one that’s living in the only house they’ve got.  Nah…why should we do that?  That’s {begin eyeroll} socialism {end eyeroll}.
I love the outrage against the bonuses.  I really do.  Let’s keep our eyes on the ball here, though.  Let’s not get fooled into thinking that’s where the outrage should lie…
C'mon! You know you wanna

Monday, March 23, 2009

The real reason for global warming

I know who’s to blame for global warming. The answer may shock you. It may even scare you. Because it sure as shit (as it were) scares me. The reason for global warming? It’s my kids.

Okay. Technically, I guess it’s my fault because they ARE my kids, but I’ve tried to tell them. Over and over again. It’s no use, though. They don’t listen. And they’re not going to any time soon (because they are kids), so we might as well kiss the planet goodbye.

I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “But how could four kids, who’ve only been on the planet collectively for 5.5 years be the reason for global warming? Can’t global warming be traced to at least to the mid-1800’s?” Well, smartass, I suppose it could. So, let me re-phrase then. My kids are the reason this planet is doomed. Happy now? I didn’t want to lay that much responsibility on my kids, but you forced me, too.

Still, you’re wondering “how?” And “why?” Well, let me tell you. Those four kids of mine go through so much freakin’ toilet paper, it’s incredible! I don’t get it. I don’t know what they’re doing with it. I swear to the Christ one over-sized roll last a day in my house. ONE DAY!!!! I’d be willing to wager dollars to donuts that the average family uses one roll of TP a month! Not my clan, though! We’ve got to go through it like a taco through a tourist vacationing in Mexico.

My guess is that the kids are just rolling the toilet paper in big wads for shits and giggles. Then they’re flushing it down the drain. Laughing all the way! “Hee! Hee! Look at Daddy’s hard earned money go down the toilet! Wheee!!!! It’s a shame he doesn’t carry cash! We could cut out the middle man and burn it for him!!!”

that’s probably one roll of TP right there

All that rampant destruction of the rainforest you read about? That’s because of all the TP my kids waste! It’s not like toilet paper grows on trees! Elves aren’t growing TP in their magical forests. Christ, I wish! If they were, I’d kidnap some and make them grow that magical toilet paper in my backyard. Magical toilet paper! Don’t be ridiculous!

and this is where the elves grow their toilet paper

I’ve tried to reason with my kids. In a recent family meeting on the subject, I said, “Look, we’re killing the planet here. We have to do what Sheryl Crowe suggests and use only one square. From now on, one square per kid per visit. Got it?” Know what they said? “Fuck Sheryl Crowe. And fuck the rainforest!” Ok. Maybe they didn’t exactly say that. But, I could tell by their blank stares that’s what they were all thinking. Probably because this was the 5th family meeting we’ve had on toilet paper abuse this year alone.

neither is toilet paper abuse!

I could fix their asses (as it were), though. How pissed would they be if I installed a bidet?’s really not that clever of me. My water bill would go through the roof. They’d be using it as everything from a dog washer to filling up water balloons.

"cool dad! You installed a water fountain!"

That’s one of the many things they never teach you about in school. How much toilet paper kids waste. Maybe if I would've known that ahead of time, I wouldn't have had so many kids! C'mon! You know you wanna read more...

Friday, March 20, 2009

Good eats

Behold! Deliciousness!!!

You see that image? I want you to take a good long look at it. Because those are the best flippin’ chips on the planet. I shit you not! The best!

Now, you can’t get these chips just anywhere. Here comes the “krinkle” in the whole thing. You can’t get them at your local Target or Walmart. You can only get them in the “natural” aisle of your local supermarket. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking. “All natural? Oh. That has got to be foul!” And, normally, I’d agree. Beause whenever I read something is “all natural”, my default reaction is rice cakes. Plain, ol’ rice cakes. Bleeeechhhh.

But these? These chips ain’t so bad. In fact, they’re down right...good. And let me tell you something else about me. I am NO fan of salt and pepper chips or salt and vinegar chips or any such combination. Uck! It’s like I’m participating in a salt lick or something. But, again, these chips not only defy expectation, they defy all reason.

So, do yourself a favor. Pick up a bag. In the meantime, check out their website.

And, no. They’re not a sponsor. And I’m not hawking my wares. They’re just fucking good chips!

C'mon! You know you wanna

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Tough week for AIG

The Salt Lake Tribune: For many Americans who could use a bailout just to balance their checkbooks and make it through the month, the thought of their tax dollars going to million-dollar bonuses for AIG executives is enough to make them furious.

What’s the big deal? So what if they handed out 165 million dollars in bonuses? Look, numbers aren’t my strong suit, but 165 million is less than 1% of the 185 billion that AIG got from the, us, that is. So, what’s the big fuck deal, right?

I’ll tell you what the big fuck deal is...the government can’t put a decent deal together to help save people who didn’t speculate in the housing market, but fuck! Take some money, AIG! Take as much as you want. Need a few billion? Fuck it! Take 185 billion.

looks like Scott’s got my money AND yours

People are so fucking worried that their neighbor might get something that they don’t. It’s socialism. Whine. Whine. Whine. They shouldn’t have bought that house if they couldn’t afford it. People need to take responsibility for their losses.” Meanwhile, 70 odd executives at AIG last week were given a million each in bonuses. WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with us? The best part? 11 of them don’t even work there any more. And they still get the bonuses. And we can’t help people re-finance their houses? I’m gonna ask it again...WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH US?

And what’s the government gonna do? How are they gonna get that money back? Break the contracts? Post tax the bonuses? Uh-huh. Right. Good luck with that. We only expect blue-collar workers to break their contracts. Besides, there shouldn’t be any retro-collection of bonuses. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.

Let’s climb aboard the Wayback Machine, shall we? The year was 2008. Oil was well over $100 a barrel. The stock markets were starting to drop based on fears of a global recession and some clever folkels at AIG wrote some even more clever contracts in March of that year. Coincidently, we started handing money out to AIG in September 2008. Now, I’ll bet you a trip back to 2009 that those folks writing those bonus contracts in March, knew damn well the company was going under. I believe they call that fraud.

the wayback machine

So, instead of handing out billions of dollars, stipulation free, maybe the folks we voted into office should’ve had the fore-sight to check things out before hand. Maybe even say: “Hey! We’ll give you some money to save the company, but those bonuses? Nah.” Stipulations. Yea...that’s the key.

Now, the latest over at Yahoo! is that AIG CEO says employees starting to return bonuses. At least according to the headlines. And it just keeps getting uglier and uglier. I started writing this article on Monday. I’ve revised it each night due to new breaks in the story. I can’t take it any more! It’s nearly impossible to write pithy commentary when every second something else breaks! I’ve deleted some Class-A material because this story keeps evolving out of control. Like, now there’s this article over at where Treasury Secretary Timothy Geithner admits the Treasury asked for the loophole to allow these bonuses to go through.

Man! What a cluster fuck. But, guess what? It’s just the beginning...

Maybe we should just stay in the Wayback Machine and not come back to the present time for a few years.

we’d have to install a fridge
C'mon! You know you wanna

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Belinda Carlisle update

So, last night, Belinda Carlisle was voted off of Dancing with the Stars. What I want to know is...Belinda Carlisle was on Dancing with the Stars?!!? WTF!!! And none of you told me? What the hell is wrong with you people??? I just posted that article about how I had/have a crush on Belinda Carlisle. And not one of you can give me a heads up? I do this for nothin’ and you cats can’t let me know? God! You suck!

she can circle my sand every day of the week.

I blame myself, really. If you’re a normal person, and you don’t have a life, you make up for it by watching a lot of TV. Me? I don’t have a life, and I don’t get to watch much TV. I suppose that makes me a double loser.


C'mon! You know you wanna

Monday, March 16, 2009

I'm a Mac

I’m a Mac user. That’s right. I’m part of the cult. I could easily shower you with reasons why Macs are so much better than PCs, but who cares, right? It’s the same ol’ song and dance. Coke v Pepsi (Pepsi, jackhole). Shower v bath ( probably said bath). Creationism v Evolution (That’s an easy one. Creationism. Where you been the last eight years?).

I use Mac, though. I switched at the beginning of the millennium and never looked back. And truth be told, I’d rather you all stick to your PCs. I feel way superior when I tell people I’m a Mac user. The rest of you are so bourgeois, it’s almost embarrassing.

But, I digress...

One of the perks of being a Mac user is Mac Mall. It’s a Mac user’s wet dream. It’s Mac, Mac and more Mac. Oh, it’s down right righteous. Now, the website is a bit of a nightmare. It’s so non-intuitive, it’s almost as if a PC user set it up. Tee hee. Truth be told, the catalog is where it’s at. It’s probably one of the only times in 2009 that I defer to a catalog over a website. But, in this case you have to.

The Mac Mall catalog is like the old Sears Wishbook. Not the one they’ve been putting out in recent years. That’s an embarrassment. I’m talking the Wishbook from the mid 80’s. That fucker was bigger than a phone book! Now, the Mac Mall catalog isn’t nearly that big, but it’s the same feeling when it comes in the mail. You get that catalog, and you start circling shit that you want for Christmas. Even though, it’s mid-March. Mac Pros, iMac and Mac minis. Oh fucking my!

How I miss you, Wishbook...

So, I’m perusing the latest catalog over my bowl of Cheerios and something strikes me. Here. Let me show you:

You see that? Is Mac Mall selling laptops here or sex? Not that it matters. Cause either way, I’m buying. Look at that gal! Look how her shirt is provocatively bunched up. I mean, come on! What? Do they take me for an idiot? Whatever that broad is selling, I’m buying! In fact, it took me a double take to see that there was a laptop in front of her. For all I could tell, she could’ve been clubbing the hell out of a baby seal.

Oh, and lest you think it was a one off thing. Read ‘em and weep:

You’re right. She’s thinking about me.

Does Mac Mall have their hands on my sexual fantasy manual or what? I mean, I could go in so many directions with that. Is she my Boss? My Secretary? A Co-worker? Listen, if that broad was my co-worker, I’d be fired. No, I’d quit. I’d walk right into Human Resources with the Sexual Harassment manual and tell them it’s me or her, cause I’ve already violated every one of the rules in that manual in my mind (Now look. Before you get any ideas. I don’t condone sexual harassment. I’m speaking metaphorically here. Just like I don’t condone beating baby seals. Although some of them do have it coming to them. Cause believe you me, if those baby seals had thumbs, they’d be clubbing the hell out of us).

you know she’s listening to “Half the world”

Aren’t Macs sexy enough? Does Mac Mall have to stoop this low? I mean, I’m glad they did, but just the same. Ahhh...who am I fucking? They can stoop lower. Why don’t they just show the gals in bras and panties while gazing longingly at some Apple products. Just like in all the cool hot rod magazines. Hey! If you see Mac Mall stealing my idea, let me know. I want residuals!!! stuff is amped!

I’ll tell you what. Victoria Secret can go fuck themselves. Now I’ve got two reasons to use Mac Mall as crank material.
C'mon! You know you wanna

Friday, March 13, 2009

Weekend Special: Conversations with Bane

Do ya ever seem to have one of those days where everyone's on your case from your teacher all the way down to your best girlfriend? Well, that's the last few weeks for yours truly. Tough weeks. But, I grit my teeth, put my head down, square my shoulders and plow on through. In the meantime, though, the content as suffered here a bit. No worries. There's quality stuff coming up. Just hang onto your britches. In the meantime, I've got the Weekend Special early this weekend. It's me writing under yet another alias. This one was known as Chuck. And the article is from one of my favorite series. Conversations with Bane

by Chuck
Originally published 7/2005

Conversations with Bane: Service

We were food shopping the other day at our local Mega mart. My wife, Samantha, the boys, myself and of course my Mother In Law, Bane. What a surprise really. My mother in law really has got to get a life. Anyway, we’ve got a grocery cart full of food and were heading to the check out. Bane grabs the front of the cart and pulls it toward the self check out.

I immediately stopped pushing the cart. “Hey. Where are you going mom? The registers are over here.” I motion to my left.

“Yea. I know. But, I love the self check out. It’s so much quicker! And look.” Bane waved her hands frantically “There’s no one in line.” I thought this was very strange. My mother in law is usually the last to embrace new technology. I'm sure she's using a piece of wood for a dildo. Oprah probably gave her the blessing to use the self checkout. Or Moses.

“That’s great, mom. But I’m not using self-check out.”

My mother in law gives me a look like I just told her that I’m George W Bush’s illegimate love child. “But, Chuck, it’s empty.” she said continuing to wave her hands frantically.

My wife, Samantha, slapped my arm. “Don’t start.” She said through gritted teeth.

I look at her then my mother in law. “Don’t start? I’m not starting anything. I’m just saying that I’m not using self checkout. I don’t care how empty the registers are.”

Samantha and Bane say in near unison, “Why?”

Why? That’s a good question. Well, I’m gonna tell you why. But I need to back track for a moment. I’m sure you’ve heard thousands of times, as I have, that America is a service culture. Let others build the ships, make the clothes. But us? We’ll just service each other. I’ll tell you, if service is our claim to fame, then we should be embarrassed. What kind of service are we providing? Any time you walk into a Home Depot, you can never find an employee. And if by chance you manage to unearth one, he’s usually surrounded by 3 or 4 other customers, waiting. And it isn’t like they’re waiting for a hot fudge sundae. These waiting people usually have less than happy looks on their faces.

What I love best, though, is that companies like Depot and Sears cry out to their employees “Customer Service. Customer Service!” Like a twisted Buddhist master, they repeat ad nauseum “The customer comes first. The customer comes first.” Yet, what is the first thing these companies due to save money? Cut employees. Does that make sense? I don’t get it. Or maybe I do. Sure, stores will sell you that they're all about customer service. What they don’t tell you on their slick, heavily rotated commercials is that they are all about customer SELF service.

“That maybe true, Chuck, but the self check out is still empty.” Bane repeats herself. She points over to the manned registers. “Look at those lines. They’ve got to be 5 people deep.”

She was right. The lines are out the whazoo on the manned registers. But, that’s why the stores do it. So you’ll have to check yourself out. It’s like they’re doing us the favor by providing the public with the convenience of self-check registers. But it’s the stores that created the situation on purpose. What kind of perk is that to the public? I’ll tell you. It isn’t! Like I don’t have enough to do in my life, I have to check myself out now?

But to prove to you it's less about the convenience for the public and more about companies making more money, let's do a little math, shall we? At any given store, they usually have 4 self checkout registers. And one cashier overlord (man, I would not want to be that cashier. Talk about a maddening job). We’ve got one employee working four registers. So now, the store doesn’t have to pay 3 cashiers all day. Now let’s suppose those 3 cashiers were making minimum wage, $5.45/hr. And let’s just say the store is open 12 hours. The store just saved itself $196.20/day not working to cover those registers. And I’m not even considering peripherals like medical benefits, vacations and such. Is any of that savings passed on to the consumer? Uhhhh…No. I would consider using those self-checkout registers if they gave you a percentage off your total for using them. An automatic discount off the total. Say even 5%. How nice would that be?

Besides, Have you tried using any of these registers yet? For those of us who never held a job as a cashier, or has been a while since we were, the self checkout register is a bit daunting. I would say that at some places, this might make sense. Perhaps at a gas station. But where it used the most, it makes the less sense. A supermarket? A hardware store? Half the items don’t even have UPC stickers on them. Oh, it’s maddening.

In the end, though, YOU are doing the work. What kind of customer service is that? So, not only are you helping yourself looking for the 12in PVC piping, but now you have to check yourself out. Brilliant!

But then my mother in law brings up this little nugget. “You pump your own gas, right? And you use the ATMs”

“That’s true. But, I’ve been conditioned to do these things. We all have. But, we have to ask ourselves, where does it end?” I ask pacing the tiled floor like a side show preacher. “Next, we'll be growing grains for Kellogg’s, processing it into cereal, boxing it for them, and finally buying it (at a self checkout, of course). Or we'll be processing our own gas from oil for Exxon/Mobile. I should keep my mouth shut, I’m probably giving people ideas.” I know it's a bit of a stretch, but surely YOU get my point.

My wife and mother in law both roll their eyes at me. "I know it’s crazy, but I still refused to use the self checkout. I'd rather use a register that's being manned by someone being paid to do the job." I plead

“Well, “ Bane speaks up. “I like it cause I don’t have to deal with the people at the register.” She scrunches up her face in disgust. “They touch all that dirty money all day. All those germs…” Bane trailed off.

This time it was me rolling the eyes. That whole germ thing is a whole ‘nuther Convesations with Bane. I pulled the cart away from them. “I’ll wait in line, then. You two can go sit in the car.”

They finally acquiesced. I heard my mother in law say as they were walking away, "I can't believe you married him." It would've been nice to hear my wife defend me with a "yea, but he's a great father" or "but, he's a really great lay". hell, i'd settle for a "he's a good provider". but, no. no defense of me. Just total agreement on my wife's part. Like, I'm the crazy one...
C'mon! You know you wanna

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Science fiction has really let me down!

I had a sad realization the other day while watching Back to the Future with my crüe over the weekend. Science fiction has seriously let me down.  I know. I know. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “Why? How? How could a movie made circa 1985 make you come to such a realization?” Well, let me tell you my uncanny mind-reading reader.

At the end of Back to the Future, Doc returns from 30 years in the future to collect Marty and his then girlfriend. Doc modified the Delorean with all sorts of technology from 30 years in the future. To the point where the Delorean transformed into a jet-type rocket and flew off into the end of the movie. As I watched the credits roll, I thought “God damn! The future is so cool! I can’t wait for the future.”

I wanna fly like an eagle. To the sea

But, then a more insidious thought crossed over my cerebral cortex. Doc went 30 years into the future. Thirty years from Marty’s present. Which was 1985. Because numbers aren’t my strong suit, I clamored through the kitchen’s junk drawer and pulled out the trusty old Texas Instrument. Thirty years from 1985 is...2015. That’s 6 years from now. SIX FUCKING YEARS FROM NOW, FOLKS! The future still ain’t here. And I have this sneaking suspicion it ain’t coming any time soon! What the fuck!?!?!?

Who says we haven’t advanced in 30 off years?

I grew up on Star Wars and Star Trek.  (Yea, yea, yea. Technically Star Wars happened a long time ago.  But, it was still pretty fucking future-ish, if you ask me). I remember as a kid watching the glory of the space shuttles rising majestically off the earth on TV.  Weren’t the space shuttles supposed to herald in this new era of space travel?  Weren’t we going vacation on grandiose space stations? And now that it’s almost thirty years later?  We’re still on the same old boring planet. Where have all the cowboys gone?

The sad realizations is that, the “Future” ain’t coming. No flying Deloreans, no time traveling phone booths, and very limited space travel. The fact is humans aren’t meant for space travel.  We’re just bags of water.  So, unless we can find away to travel faster than the speed of light, interstellar travel isn’t in our future. Any time soon.  And by any time soon, what I mean is at least hundreds of years.  If not thousands.


I heard some boneheads on the radio getting all hot and bothered about the very distinct possibility that the new space telescope NASA tossed up the other day will find other Earth-like planets. Four years from now. Four fucking years from now! And what will happen if they confirm that there’s Earth-like planets four years from now? Oh, they’ll build another telescope to get better images of this far away planet. Are you with me here? Are you following the bouncing, red ball? What kind of time frame do you think were talking here? I’d say at least another four years on top of the four years it took just to confirm other Earth-like planets. So, in ten years we might, MIGHT have some grainy, pixelated images of a far-off planet.


Who cares, right? Cause you know this in the kind of idiotic nonsense that’s waiting for us out in space

I guess the unintentional moral of this story is we should start taking better care of this planet of ours, ‘cause it’s looking like we’re stuck here. For a long, long time. But, as with all unintentional morals, we can just ignore it. Because we sure as shit ignore intentional ones!
I guess I really shouldn’t give up ALL hope. I mean, 2015 is still 6 years away. So, it’s possible the Back to the Future “Future” may happen, but it’s not looking to good.  And the really sad part? Thirty years from 2015?  Well, I’m afraid that the future is gonna look a lot like today.  Just a bit more “future-ish.” 

Ugh. It’s a good thing I don’t have a lightsaber. I might impale myself on it.
C'mon! You know you wanna

Friday, March 6, 2009

Pitch a Bitch: Eyeglasses

I wear glasses.  Well, I’m supposed to at least.  I’m far too vain to wear them most times, though.  I know.  I know.  I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking:  “Why not just get that laser eye surgery?”  Why?  For the same reason I refuse to wear contacts.  I don’t want anything touching my eyes.  Got it?  There’s something about the eyes that freaks me out.  I mean, they’re just fragile orbs of goo that give us this amazing ability.  Do you know that your eyes are extensions of your brain?  Yea, that’s right.  When the aliens come and rip out your spinal cord as you’re trying to run away in fear, they’ll be ripping out your brain AND your eyeballs, too.

does this give you the willies as much as it does me?

Besides, I don’t trust that whole “Laser-Assisted Sub-Epithelial Keratectomy” thing anyway.  That’s that Lasek for all you morons out there. I don’t care how safe they claim it to be.  Of course, they’re gonna tell you it’s safe!  They’re probably descendants of the same folks that said radium was safe! 

a hundred years from now, they’ll be telling you lasek is the worst thing you can do for your spleen

They want your friggin’ money!  C’mon!  You realize they’re shooting a laser at you, right?  You’ve seen what lasers can do, right? 

believe you me, laser vision isn’t nearly this cool.

But, I digress...

Vanity aside, I’ve taken to wearing my glasses.  My eyes can’t take the strain of staring at porn for 12 hours a day. I’m getting old, what can I say? Beings that it’s been about 17 years since my last eye exam, I figure it’s about time. I’ve been a bit apprehensive about the whole thing, though. The last eye exam, didn’t go so well, considering I nearly passed out from the Glaucoma test. You know that test. It’s the one where they secure your head in that harness, clip your eye lids open and shoot that “puff” of air into your eyeball. How the fuck that test for Glaucoma, I’ll never know. I swear to the Christ, it’s a scam. The whole thing’s probably a ruse to give your eye doctor a chuckle. I don’t know for sure, though. I’m not a eye doctor, even though I play one on TV.

look at me! LOOK AT ME! and keep your fucking eyes open!

Now, my medical plan only covers the eye exam.  Not the glasses.  My insurance company “works” with some retail outfits to give you a “discount” on frames and lens. Which believe you me, ain’t much of a discount. But, as a wise man once said...something’s better than nothing.

And with that little bit of wisdom ping-ponging through my brain, I head to one of those insurance sanctioned retail outlets. In the store, I peruse all the frame displays. Apparently, all the frames are unisex these days. Some looked less unisex to me than, others. But, whatever. I picked up a few frames here and there, trying them on. I find a pair I like and ask one of the slaves working for the eye doctor man what the price was for the frames. They’re $300.00. THREE HUNDRED BUCKS! I’m not even going to abbreviate it. WHAT THE FUCK! Are you fucking me? Three hundred dollars for frames? You’ve got to be fucking me! And those were the cheap ones. I feel my mind snap as I pick up frame after frame and the slave for the eye doctor man rattles off prices like some sort of Rain Man. $300. $325. $415. $375. $500. Yea, that’s right. Half a grand!

I asked if they have any “reasonably” priced glasses. The slave points to the corner of the store where a bunch of old folks are huddled. Oh, fuck that. I ain’t wearing old people glasses. Nothing against old people. Some of my best friends are old people (not really), but I’m not wearing those type glasses. Remember, I’ve got that whole vanity thing going on.
What I don’t get is how come I can get a pair of sunglasses for 5 bucks, but frames for eyeglasses costing $300?  That’s not even including the lens. I understand the lens costing $200. That’s the most important part. There’s working involved grinding the lens. But, frames? They sit on your fucking face! That’s it! WTFMMF?!?!? You realize what you’re paying for here, don’t you? And I ain’t referring to the brand name. You’re paying to get fucked!
C'mon! You know you wanna

Monday, March 2, 2009

The Glory of...Belinda Carlisle

So, I was at a swanky soirée, the other day.  Mixin’ and minglin’ with the beautiful people.  It was great!  Ahh…who my fucking?  I was on one of those social networking sites, IM’ing some friends.  During one of the conversations, I mentioned, randomly, that I still had a crush on Belinda Carlisle.  Whew…did that raise some ire!  I defended Ms.Carlisle’s honor.  Very well, I might add.  In doing so, the big guy upstairs sends me down the idear.  It’s time to bring back “The Glory of…”  And, thus, I bring you:  The Glory of…Belinda Carlisle.

Can’t you tell she’s thinking about me?

I feel I have to qualify myself a bit here.  I’m not saying I’ve got a crush on her today.  No offense to Ms. Carlisle.  I sure she’s still a very handsome women.  I’m more talking back in her prime.  Dang!  What a piece of arse!  Don’t believe me?  Let’s climb aboard our Wayback machine and head back to the late 80’s.

The Wayback machine. It’s not as complicated as it looks.

The year is 1989.  George Bush senior became the 41st president of the United States. The Exxon Valdez blew it’s load in Prince William Sound. And Belinda Carlisle was leaving a light on for me.  Ok. Maybe Runaway Horses wasn’t that big of a hit, but Belinda sure was buttering my bread.  Not literally, I was just a cheese, eating post high school douche.  I meant it figuratively.  She had it all.  The hair.  The smoldering look.  That quiver in her voice.  God, I still love that quiver.

oh baby...i’m mad about YOU!

I’m telling you, when that broad is singing:  “...half your world is waiting, here for you.”?  She’s singing it to me.  Alright, she might not have known it consciously, but on some sub-conscious level?  Oh, she’s singing it to me.  Her soul’s singing it to me.  I can feel it.  I’ll prove it to you.  Go find “Half the world” and give it a listen.  Tell me she’s not wailing away for me.  Go ahead.  I’ll wait.

Heaven is a her eyes

Crap!  I forgot.  With all this talk of Belinda Carlisle, I forgot we were in our Wayback machine.  And I’m quite sure you don’t have Belinda Carlisle on your iPod.  You’re far to cool for that.  {eye roll}  I bet you’ve got Michael Jackson on there, though.  Anyway…it’s probably time to head back into the Wayback machine and return home.  This article is getting a bit stalker-ish.  But, before we go, I’ll leave you with this:

Remember. Looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun.

C'mon! You know you wanna

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Adventures in Theater Going Pt III

If you haven’t already realized it, I can really drag a story out. So...welcome to part III! You can check out part II here.

Ok.  Admittedly, I was in a bit of a panic.  Especially when I hit the light of the lobby.  The lump on Jericho’s head was not looking good.  I quickly scanned the lobby looking for someone who worked there.  It was the middle of the day. Of course it was empty!  Figures.  So, I head for the concession counter.  Makes sense, right?  Got to be someone standing there.  The thing is, with these mega-theaters, the fucking counter is a mile long.  And there was no one there.  Fuck!
At this point, Jericho is screaming his head off.  Finally, I spot someone at the far end of the concession counter.  I think they were standing on mile marker 1111 on the highway to east Jabip. 


“Excuse me!”  I hollered, walking down the length of the counter.  “Excuse me!” 

“Yes?” The woman replied.

“My son banged his head on a seat in the theater.” I said catching my breath. I put Jericho on the counter.
The concession girl made her way to where we were standing. “Can I help…oh my!”  She gasped.
“Yea.”  I nodded acknowledging Jericho’s growing deformity.  I continued to comfort him. “I need some help.  Can you get me some ice?  In a bag?”
“Ok.  Yea.”  The counter girl said, heading to the back room of the concession stand. 
“Ok, Jericho. Ok.” I said, holding him to me. “Oh...and napkins or paper towels?!?!”  I called after the counter girl.

She quickly came back with a bag of ice. As I wrapped the ice up in a towel, a crowd gather around us. A short blonde woman stepped up behind me.

“Hi.” She said quickly. “I’m the manager. Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m not sure.” I said, turning to her. “What more can I do besides ice?”

“Would you like me to call for an ambulance?”

I looked down at Jericho who was sobbing uncontrollably. What the fuck?!?! The paramedics! Great. I’m like a rich man shopping with his bored wife. Just watching the dollars fly by. The other kids were still in the theater, what the hell was I going to do with them? I could call my mom. What a cluster fuck! Was Jericho going to be permanently brain damaged? Was it possible that AIG could collapse by year’s end? “Yea...ok. Call for an ambulance.”

“I’ll be back.” She said, quickly running toward the courtesy desk.

Looking around the lobby, I picked Jericho up off the counter. “I’m going to take him by the wall over there.” I said to no one in particular, nodding to the corner of the theater.

“Is there anything else we can do?” The counter girl asked walking with me across the lobby.

“Yea.” I said, heaving Jericho onto my other arm. The kid weighed a ton! “I left my other kids in the theater. Three of them. They half way up. Their names are “H”, “Barbara” and “Jethro”. Could you just check on them for me. Let them know that I’m still out here?”

“Yea. Sure.” She turned and headed to the theater I had just walked out of a few moments ago.

Cradling Jericho, I slumped down, my back against the far wall.  I began to notice that Jericho had stopped crying.  I kept the ice pack on his head, which covered most of his face, mostly because I was afraid to look.  I glanced around the lobby.  Most of the workers had disappeared.  Though the manager was making her way over to me.
I abruptly looked down in my lap.  “Jericho?”  I questioned.
“Dad.  Can I go and look at those video games?”  Jericho asked pointing across the lobby to where a number of arcade machines blipped lights and made noises.
I gave him a quizzical look.  Wasn’t he just screaming bloody murder? “No.  I don’t think it’s a good idea right now, Jericho.  Just sit here with me.”
I looked up.  The theater manager had crouched down to my eye level.  “Here.”  She said, handing me something.  “These are complimentary passes.  Five of them.  You can use them at any time.  Any theater.”
“Uh...thanks!”  I said, surprised.  Wow!  Was I actually going to make out on this one?

I understand scienticians are using arcades to bring folks out of comas. For real!

“Dad?”  Jericho said, sitting up in my lap.  “I want to see those video games.”
The manager laughed.  “The paramedics should be here any minute now.”  She said, as Jericho stood up.  “If you still need them, that is.”
I shrugged and shook my head as Jericho walked over to the tempting arcade games.  I helplessly followed.  “I’ll be over here.”  I said to the theater manager.  “When the medics arrive.”

Well folks, it looks like we’re staring down the barrel of Part IV...
C'mon! You know you wanna