Friday, May 30, 2008
Further difficulty: No slander (i.e. "My name is Andee and I lik teh child pron"); and no fake Eva comments.
* The rich, sweet, smoky redolence of bacon causes SF Gate food critic to drool on keyboard. Is there anything bacon can't do?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
ATTENTION ALL TOFU CHAOS AGENTS:
Situation has deteriorated. No response from our contact since last communique. Suspect he has been compromised. Meanwhile, "Phoenix Woman" has escalated her attacks by posting her expose of our mission specifically naming undercover TANGO CHARLIE informants on another blog. We have seen this tactic before, most notably by the notorious Ken "The Weiner" Weiner. Recommend all agents follow the link at the bottom of this post and leave as many anonymous comments under different pseudonyms as possible denying everything. Avoid contact with "Phoenix Woman" at all costs. She is extremely clever, well informed and obviously well grounded in reality. (I would say that she is also "batshit insane," but that would be an insult to both insane people and bat shit.) Proceed with caution, and may God be with us.
AGENT TOEJAM FOOTBALL
Nothing to see here. Move along now.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Gulp! List member arrested!
The forum moderator/poster seems to be basking in this guy's downfall. And so should we. Now to the story:
The contest to win an East Isles home valued at $1.8 million came to an early end Wednesday morning when police arrested the homebuilder for illegal gambling.
The fun builds in the details:
Stepnes, a homebuilder and developer, said he came up with “The Big Dream House Give Away!” contest after he was unable to sell the home, completed in 2006. The contest would raise money for local charities, he said.Here's where it gets more fun:
Sen. Scott Dibble (DFL-60) said Stepnes, an acquaintance, sought his advice on the legality of a raffle for the house. Dibble said a raffle was clearly impermissible under state gambling rules, so he later arranged a meeting at his office with Stepnes, state senate counsel and Tom Barrett, executive director of the Minnesota Gambling Control Board.
“It’s in [my] opinion that they’ve removed one of those elements,” Barrett said. “It’s not [chance.] There’s some effort involved to calculate how many nuts, bolts — whatever — is in the box.”
The contest was never brought to the Minnesota Gambling Control Board for review, he said.
Barrett said Stepnes never brought up the idea of holding weekly prize drawings. It was there, he suggested, Stepnes probably ran afoul of the law.
“Therein, he has also brought back in the element of chance,” Barrett said.
Read the legalese at his web site. He seems to have all the angles covered — except for the Gambling Control Board. And the fun continues as he explains his profit sharing intentions...
He said any money raised through the contest above and beyond the value of the home would go to Chester House Foundation, a company he started around the same time as the contest.
Carolyn Aberman, a spokesperson for the contest, described Chester House Foundation as a 501(c)3 nonprofit. The Office of the Secretary of State had no record of a nonprofit under that name, although the foundation could have been registered under another name.
Stepnes had an explanation for that, too:
Stepnes said the foundation was established around the same time as the contest and would distribute funds raised in the contest. Foundation funds would go to organizations that work to end homelessness, according to the contest website.
I pity the prosecutor sifting through the myriad of explanations by this alleged fraudster. But for now, we can enjoy this:
In this time of high-stakes politics and economic malaise, apparently the broadcast networks think the only reality viewers can handle is reality TV itself.
At least that's the early take on next fall's new primetime programs, recently unveiled in New York.
It's an especially escapist schedule, with no new scripted series reflecting the ongoing debate about economic opportunities and outcomes that impact so many Americans, and that have been the backdrop of this season's most compelling TV: the hybrid reality/drama/comedy series better known as the Democratic presidential primary race.
Oh, however will we survive? I mean between the local early morning news, network morning news shows, the mid morning news, the midday news, the late mid-afternoon news digest, the 5, 6 and 10 pm local newscasts, World News Tonight, CNN, Fox and MSNBC, why there are precious few programming hours left for hand wringing over fictionalized accounts of what we just saw on the real news programs.
Instead, there's an overwhelming focus on wealth. Indeed, the juxtaposition between reality and TV life played out in New York on the same day working-class voters gave Sen. Hillary Clinton a 41-point thumping of Sen. Barack Obama in West Virginia.
The CW network proclaimed the moneyed upper west side of Manhattan as the perfect setting for "Gossip Girls." Also touted were "Surviving the Filthy Rich," about tutoring wealthy teens in Palm Beach, and "90210," an update of "Beverly Hills 90210," the original celebration of all things young, rich and unrealistic.
Putting aside the rather bold assumption here that the CW is the bellwether of American Culture, the question is still begged:
So? F-ing? What???
So Roseanne Connor and Ralph Kramden need not apply. Nor Archie Bunker or Fred Sanford, two everyman philosophers who helped the nation laugh -- and occasionally think -- in a previous economic downturn. Even the Depression drama of "The Waltons" would be welcome, at least to show how enduring values are not only endearing ("Good night, John Boy!"), but also vital as families go through tough times.
Er, once again indulging for the sake of argument the baseless supposition that some disembodied "families" are enduring "tough times," isn't that what escapist entertainment is for?
This is not to say the have-nots will be completely missing, however. But just as the civil rights movement is often seen through white protagonists in films like "Mississippi Burning," the poor will be seen through the eyes of the rich, as Fox's "Secret Millionaire'' and NBC's "The Philanthropist" are reality shows based on taking some of the haves' wealth and sharing it with the working poor.
To many, all of this may not seem to matter.
To many, this is a gross understatement. At least to those who don't get paid to sit around and get paid to think up drivel like this.
But TV's disconnect from reality robs today's fractured society of the connections to everyday cultural reference points. And it also may help explain the dizzying declines in network ratings. For some, prime time has lost its resonance, if not relevance. A key indicator of network TV viewership is economic class: The lower the household income, the higher the propensity to watch. So the people invisible on-screen are often the very same ones in front of them.
And lower ratings mean lower revenue available for news, which may be the only TV time left for real-life stories. Based on what we've seen of the new network programming, higher prices, lower expectations and subprime mortgages just aren't prime time material.
Ah! OK, how about if I pitch a show that might satisfy this editorial writer. I call it "Leave it to LearnedFoot." - A story about an everyday guy and his family just trying to make ends meet. A man with whom everyone except pompous editorial writers can relate. Exploring themes common to most of us like showering, going to work, firework safety and watching TV, this new show is realistic enough to ensure no one is entertained and banal enough to please the Strib editorial board.
EPISODE 1: "Wednesday at the Foots"
SYNOPSIS: Our protagonist LearnedFoot (Chris Noth) rolls out of bed and into the shower. While in the shower, his precocious 3 year-old son Moonchild (CGI animated character) enters the bathroom, and pokes his head around the shower curtain. He says "morning daddy," and then points to Learned's penis. "Is that your penis?" he asks. Learned responds in the affirmative, and Moonchild replies, "I have a penis too... Is that your penis?" The conversation is repeated thus through 2 commercial breaks. After reassuring Moonchild a 50th time that they both do indeed have penises, Learned gets out of the shower, gets dressed and goes to work, where nothing remarkable happens. He returns home to dinner, watches 3 straight episodes of Top Chef with his wife Mrs. Foot (Rachel Ray) and falls asleep.
EPISODE 2: "Taming the Troll"
SYNOPSIS: LearnedFoot rolls out of bed and into the shower. After having the penis conversation with Moonchild again, he goes to work, where nothing remarkable happens. Upon returning home, he finds a comment on his blog that offends him. He alters the comment to leave the impression that the commenter is a hamster-raping shoe fetishist. He watches 2 hours of The Office in bed with Mrs. Foot, asks if she wants to "do it" and is denied.
ONE-HOUR SEASON FINALE: "Thank God it's Friday!"
SYNOPSIS: In this very special episode, LearnedFoot rolls out of bed and into the shower. After having the penis conversation with Moonchild again, he goes to work, where nothing remarkable happens. After returning home, he has pizza with his family. During and after dinner, he downs 8 bottles of Summit India Pale Ale, while Mrs. Foot, weary from another week with their rambunctious kids, empties a bottle of Chardonnay. After the kids and Mrs. Foot have gone to bed, Learned finds a box of M-80s in his garage left over from a past Fourth of July party. He staggers out into the back yard and uses the entire contents of the carton of M-80s to blow up one of his hostas, and then goes next door to urinate on a neighbor's tree. Returning inside to his bedroom, he finds an incensed Mrs. Foot who has just been awakened by the sound of the exploding hosta. She screams at him for 15 minutes. After this dressing down, Learned asks Mrs. foot if she wants to "do it". He is denied.
Anyone want to place bets on whether I get an Emmy before the Strib gets a Pulitzer?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
KILO ALPHA ROMEO: set codex to regime FOXTROT BRAVO INDIA. Commence transmission.
(The folowing space has been left blank on purpose.)
Operation TOFU CHAOS has been comprimised. Member of the has publicly identified key agents participating in the operation. Source:
Suspect that this counteragent identified only as one "PHOENIX WOMAN" too crafty for original surveilance plans to go forward. She has demonstrated a unique ability to find this CITY PAGES article and draw the necessary conclusions from this unfortunate leak by agent PINK PEEP. Must assume all operation TOFU CHAOS operatives will eventually be identified by this extremely clever enemy operative.
Standing by for orders. Please advise.
Agent TOEJAM FOOTBALL.
Test dataset DELTA INDIA PAPA - SIERRA HOTEL INDIA TANGO complete.
Friday, May 23, 2008
His name is Matthew, he is 26 years old, and his supporters hope to take his case to the European Court of Human Rights.
But he won't be able to give evidence on his own behalf - since he is a chimpanzee.
It's like a punchline. Except it's not.
Animal rights activists led by British teacher Paula Stibbe are fighting to have Matthew legally declared a 'person' so she can be appointed as his guardian if the bankrupt animal sanctuary where he lives in Vienna is forced to close.
An anonymous businessman has offered a substantial amount to cover his care, but under Austrian law only humans are entitled to have guardians.
The country's supreme court has upheld a lower court ruling which rejected the activists' request to have a trustee appointed for Matthew.
So now 36-year-old Miss Stibbe and the Vienna-based Association Against Animal Factories have filed an appeal with the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg.
I think there's a jurisdictional issue there.
One question: if these animal rights activists succeed, will they then begin calling themselves "human rights" activists?
The insists that the chimp needs legal standing so a guardian can be appointed to look out for his interests - especially if the sanctuary shuts down.
Miss Stibbe, who is from Brighton but has lived in Vienna for several years, says she is not trying to get the chimp declared a human, just a person.
Ah. Got it.
'Everybody who knows him personally will see him as a person,' she said.
An extremely hairy person with an IQ of 5 that eats termites and drinks his own piss, but a person nonetheless.
Unfortunately, I don't have the moral authority to comment on issues revolving around chimp rights, so I'll pass this one off to Bobo.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
I think this guy's hat is a must-have for the upcoming MiLF golf outing classic — and balloons with darts should be provided at the Post-MiLF gala afterwards.
Of course, not all conservatives showed such class and humanity:
"That's right, I don't give a damned about that privileged puke. If he lives through this term, it'll be 52 years we've had to endure that drunken hack that really hasn't done much of anything useful, and gets by riding the family coat tails. Talk about a career politician, time for you to check out, Teddy. Safe to say that I really don't like Ted Kennedy, I don't like him at all. In fact, I don't like any of them. ... I've had more than my fill of the Kennedy's. Time for them to pack up and go away."
Can we no longer find the line between human suffering and mortality and politics? Is your life so goddamned miserable that you find not pity - or even just empathy - but relief in the death of someone because of a fricking public policy disagreement?
It's a sad situation when it becomes so easy for one to be cavalier about another's suffering simply because a) they hold a different philosophy and b) you've never met them. There are a select few in the history of the world whose death was a welcome - and literally, a civilization-saving - event.
Ted Kennedy, for all his faults, is not one of them.
I wasn't planning on writing anything about this since brain cancer doesn't really lend itself well to ass humor. But this sort of crap (to say nothing of that from the brain damaged fringe of other side who've elevated deathenfreude to an art form) just pisses me off. Get a life.
Many caterers are cheering eco-friendly requirements for menus at events hosted by the Denver 2008 Host Committee during the Democratic National Convention, but some see them as a challenge.
A request for catering proposals for events sponsored by the Host Committee asks for no fried foods; no individual plastic containers for liquids; reusable, recyclable or compostable plates; and local or organic food -- or both.
Or, Sustainable Shit on a Stick. Can't you just picture liberals making people behind them wait for an eternity while they question servers if the soy in the burgers are free-range — then ordering their fair-trade half-caff lattes with a shot of hemp and steamed rice milk?
Another request is for food to be in at least three of the following five colors: red, green, yellow, blue/purple, and white.
That one is easily solved:
Those folks need some serious bacon in their diet, like RNC convention-goers will get here with our endorsed candidate.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
WCCO interviews its own meteorologist, Mike Fairbourne, about signing a petition questioning man's role in global warming. The Strib.com's Paul Walsh unearthed the story, in which Fairbourne denounced "squishy science" and "extremism." Although 'CCO deserves kudos for not ignoring the controversy, it wasn't one of Esme Murphy's tougher probes; Fairbourne complains people "won't allow me an opinion." No Mike, they're criticizing you for it, perhaps aware of the vast preponderance of scientific evidence.
Climate models based on incomplete data and assumptions are not "science". And who are these "people" Fairbourne speaks of, anyway? On the one hand you've got a guy that's at least formally educated to a certain degree about how the atmosphere works expressing misgivings about all the hysterics emanating from some global
Brauer also neglects to mention that there are others with PhD's in the field that aren't buying it either. And I hasten to add that the chief alarmist for this environmental doomsday cult is not some climate scientist, but himself a former journalist and a politician who twice dropped out of grad school.
I'm not going to try to argue the merits of either side of the controversy, since I am willing to grant more deference to those qualified to do so than I am to alt-news "journalists" and lefty-bloggers with degrees in Women's Studies. There are credible scientists on both sides of the issue with enough evidence to draw conclusions from either side into question; enough to say that former journalist, politician and two-time grad school dropout Al Gore's assertion that "the debate is over" was a bit premature insofar as no such debate had ever taken place in my memory.
Anyway, Brauer descends further:
More meteorologists: OK, so why should we care? Local meteorologists are the most listened-to weather commentators around, and can be a pretty big speed bump to public understanding. Murphy corrals other Twin Cities forecasters; KSTP's Dave Dahl says, "I'll believe the sun is controlling our climate until the day I die." Very scientific.
Apparently Brauer has never seen the "vast preponderance of evidence" pointing to the sun's effects on earth's climate. This guy is brilliant.
KARE tells its crew to squash opinions, and Fox9 hides behind corporate policy. That means zero local TV types publicly agree with the vast majority of scientists.
So what? Afraid that if the steady propagandistic drumbeat of "the debate is over" is repeated ad nauseum in every available outlet, that people might start think that there's a debate?
Good. We need to finally have one.
Oh, and BTW: how big is the majority? 80-20? 70-30? And what kind of scientists are we talking about here? Just climatologists? Or are we also counting chemists and medical researchers who read the papers, knead their chins and then decide that they'd better buy a Prius, pronto? Nobody ever says. It'd be nice if there was some discussion of facts known, facts unknown and all - ALL - the possible conclusions that can be drawn from them. Instead we're treated to doomsday scenarios and browbeating carrying absolutely nothing that even closely resembles "science". Just last week, in his Strib column, wrote with a presumably straight face that Brazil was cutting down swathes of rain forest the size of England every year. Meaning that Brazil will be treeless in about 10 years. Know whom Douglas cited as the source of this shocking information? Prince Charles.
Prince Fucking Charles.
When you're ready to convince me with actual facts and data (you know: "science") instead of parading out a series of glittery know-nothings spouting bullshit and prophesying doom, let me know. Until then, you can all kiss my empirical butt.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Because they were young and in a rock band, this sort of behavior can be written off as the shenanigans of the young and wild who had suddenly found the world to be their oyster, and who wanted to crack it open as hard as they could while they could.
On the other end of the spectrum you have this, which can be written off as the imperious message crafting of a party brimming with pantloads who cannot resist a show of smug but empty-headed self-righteousness and symbolic nothingness:
Fried shrimp on a bed of jasmine rice and a side of mango salad, all served on a styrofoam plate. Bottled water to wash it all down.
These trendy catering treats are unlikely to appear on the menu at parties sponsored by the Denver 2008 Host Committee during the Democratic National Convention this summer.
Fried foods are forbidden at the committee's 22 or so events, as is liquid served in individual plastic containers. Plates must be reusable, like china, recyclable or compostable. The food should be local, organic or both.
And caterers must provide foods in "at least three of the following five colors: red, green, yellow, blue/purple, and white," garnishes not included, according to a Request for Proposals, or RFP, distributed last week.
We must pause here to note how incredibly insensitive the food color provision is to the Blind and Color Blind Communities. Obviously this requirement is deeply Color-Sighted-biased and I hope that some leader in that victim group raises hell over this culinary hate crime!
The shrimp-and-mango ensemble? All it's got is white, brown and orange, so it may not have the nutritional balance that generally comes from a multihued menu.
"Blue could be a challenge," joked Ed Janos, owner of Cook's Fresh Market in Denver. "All I can think of are blueberries."
Eggplant! Just like the shape of their bloated empty heads. (Though only slightly more appetizing.)
The national nominating convention Aug. 25-28 will bring about 50,000 people to Denver, and many will scarf loads of chow served at catered parties.
The vast majority of whom will collectively burn millions of pounds of jet fuel to get there so they can eat food that's locally grown (in Colorado!) so as to mitigate all the carbon gases emitted by transporting it.
The prospect of that business windfall has tantalized caterers since Denver was named host city for the convention more than a year ago.
They forgot that they were dealing with Democrats; of whom the term "business windfall" is almost always followed by the words "must be stopped". Except of course, when it comes to currency speculators.
Caterers praise the committee and the city for their green ambitions, but some say they're baffled by parts of the RFP.
"I think it's a great idea for our community and our environment. The question is, how practical is it?" asks Nick Agro, the owner of Whirled Peas Catering in Commerce City. "We all want to source locally, but we're in Colorado. The growing season is short. It's dry here. And I question the feasibility of that."
Feasibility has never been a bar to a dumb Democrat idea.
But I'm sure the delegates will enjoy that rack of lamb with a sunflower, sorghum and millet ragout. Provided that those ingredients are in season in late August.
Agro's biggest worry is price. Using organic and local products hikes the costs.
Cost has never been a bar to a dumb Democrat idea.
"There is going to be sticker shock when those bids start coming in," he says. "I'll cook anything, but I've had clients who have approached me about all-organic menus, and then they see the organic stuff pretty much doubles your price."
The document, which applies only to the host committee's parties, came after months of work that involved discussions with caterers and event planners along the Front Range, says Parry Burnap, Denver's "greening" director.
Dear Citizens of Denver: I've discovered a new way to save your tax dollar.
Burnap is attached to the host committee full time for now; the committee works closely with the city but is a separate, nonprofit entity.
D'oh! Shoulda kept reading. I'll have to amend that last wisecrack:
Thousands of other parties hosted by corporations, lobbying groups, individuals, nonprofits and more will happen in Denver during the convention, Burnap says. None of them is subject to the committee's green agenda.
So wait: Democrats who party with the committee, will have to have to abide by these green earth-saving hideously expensive and virtually impossible culinary proscriptions, but Democrats partying with corporations and lobbyists (wait! I thought lobbyists and corporations only feted Republicans! This can't be true!) can sup on imported Kobe beef and truffles washed down with Italian wine or baby seal blood or whatever the hell non-locally sourced inhumane fluid those people drink? Served on Styrofoam plates?????
Sorry. I'm just hypothesizing there. They probably won't serve Italian wines. Democrats are more French wine sorts.
The committee's effort to host eco-friendly events, she says, hinges on its determination not just to put on a smart convention but to transform Denver into a top-shelf green city.
"We are hoping that everything we are doing for greening (the convention) has some legacy value," she says.
The RFP, for example, will likely live on after the convention in a brochure the city will distribute widely to help guide local businesses interested in improving their green practices.
Burnap says taking the organic and local route may be more costly, but the committee thinks caterers will find ways to comply and still make a profit.
"It takes some creativity because some of these things are more expensive," she says. "But we're at the front end of a market shift."
"I thought there would be corn? Where's the corn, chef?"
"Zere ees two kernels of zee corn ees under zee beeg block of sorghum. Eets a plating technique I learned in Frawnce!"
This is how they're running a convention. I can't wait to see how they run the country!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton may or may not become the first female president of the United States, but if fate and voters deny her the role, another woman will surely see if the mantle fits.
What are the must-haves to run as a woman for president? Clue #1:
She will be young enough to qualify as postfeminist (in the way Senator Barack Obama has come off as postracial), unencumbered by the battles of the past. She will be married with children, but not young children. She will be emphasizing her experience, and wearing, yes, pantsuits.
Pray tell, who does the NYT have in mind?
In the Senate, the names that come up most often are Amy Klobuchar of Minnesota and Claire McCaskill of Missouri, both Democrats.
Pantsuits make the woman. We've come a long way, baby.
Lack of context aside, I get a bad taste in my mouth almost every time the mother is quoted. To wit: I feel bad for causing a disruption when our toddler occasionally makes scenes in church or a store. In fact, we spent yesterday's entire service in the "quiet room" because The Boy fell down as he entered the nursery and didn't want mommy to leave him there with a fat lip. And he's just not ready to sit in church quietly yet. So it's hard to imagine, say, asking people to clear aisles while my family leaves church.
Where can I go to get brainwashed into thinking it's OK to expect everyone else to make big sacrifices -- including, possibly, their safety -- just so I can feel normal? Because it would make my life a whole lot easier: "Please ignore The Boy's screeching, whining, crying, kicking of your seat backs, and pulling of your wife's hair. He's too young to have a long attention span, and doesn't know how to handle boredom yet. So we've decided to make that your problem instead of ours, and we'd just like you to know that we're feeling pretty good about that. Oh, and if The Baby urps spoiled milk down the back of your neck, well, that's just what he does and I think that's going to have to be accomodated as well."
There are accommodations, and then there is going too far. All I'm saying is, I wish there was enough info in these TWO FEATURE ARTICLES IN A MAJOR-MARKET NEWSPAPER to tell me which is the case. I guess that's asking for too much for the paper that employs Nick Coleman and Lori Sturdevant.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Meet Bernie Ward. The San Fransisco lib talker and closet submissive went online looking for a mistress in pursuit of The Love That Dare Not Speak Out of Turn. When he found one he sent her a graphic picture, the legal term for which is "evidence." After pleading guilty and facing 5 to 20, he offered up this delicious excuse, clothed in several layers of mind-boggling irony:
Through his attorney, Ward says the online chat was 100 percent false, that he was role-playing as part of research for a book about hypocrisy and Republicans.
And I, for one, am filled with heartache that yet another mass slander masquerading as a "book" will never see the inside of a Barnes and Noble discount bin. It would have been great! What better way of "exposing" Republican "hypocrisy" than by being a married (with children) liberal who sends unsolicited child pron to some anonymous and unknown e-sex partner? That's genius right there that is.
The problem with having an overinflated sense of your own intelligence is that it causes you to think that everyone else is stupid. Enjoy the anal prison rape, Bernie. You earned it.
FEELING THE NEED TO PILE ON FURTHER: Since Bernie appears to think that hypocrisy is a terrible sin that is a defining characteristic exclusive to Republicans, and since Bernie is obviously not a Republican, I think it's safe to conclude that Bernie being the non-hypocrite he is, is totally cool with child pron. Therefore he will probably reoffend upon his release from prison, giving the court ample reason to depart upward on his sentence.
Here, I made a pie chart to illustrate:
I even got beaten to the punch on the one promising gag that probably would not have sucked. Twice. (For the record, my petition would have called for all employed people who sign petitions calling for the firing of someone to be fired themselves.)
Hopefully next week we'll see NonMonkey back at his execrable worst; or at the very least, some dumbass will immolate himself lighting a fart.
The "Message to the World" meme states: You have 150 characters to send a message to the world. Punctuation doesn't count.
I have a ThunderJournal. Anyone who has a ThunderJournal can send as many messages "to the world" as they want, using as many characters as they want. Therefore, this meme sucks.
So I outsourced it to Bobo.
No tagging. KAR is where blog memes go to their well-deserved and overdue deaths.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Declining profits? You put
Tits in your logo.
Beavis and Butthead:
The live action film. JB
Has title role cinched.
Blue hairs should get a
Shot for shingles. Still no shot
To prevent flashing.
Are seldom won. But this girl
Beat her little sis.
For that last haiku. I am
A sick sick monkey.
Sir Charles owes over
Four hundred grand. Any less
Would be unciv'lized.
Now Slow Joe Biden
Is plagiarizing famous
Penn and Teller show.
"Wah wah! We want to
Be seen!" "Here's your parade route."
"Wah wah wah wah waaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!!"
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Remember, boys and girls, lots of things can be pursued, but you can only be happy.
Yes, because it's well known that most people achieve happiness by sitting inertly in their beds, staring blankly into space.
This has been today's Random Stupid Internet Quote.
For teh men:
For teh golpher:
For the plugged in (or plugged up):
And for the ladies who support KAR's endorsed presidential candidate:
Order today — quantities are limited. Ask your doctor for a free sample.
Common side effects include restlessness, insomnia, anxiety, headache, asthenia, flu-like symptoms, fever, nausea, diarrhea, anorexia, dry mouth, constipation, flatulence, dyspepsia, vomiting, somnolence, yawn, abnormal vision, sweating, trembling, weakness, weight loss, skin rash, delayed ejaculation in men, decrease in sex drive, and there have been reports of subsequent weight gain and Cleveland steamers.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Likewise, Trademark dilution occurs when a firm markets an object, usually packaged with a mark similar to an existing, well-known brand, in order to confuse customers into buying more of the diluting firm's usually crappier product. For example, Ebay recently won a trademark dilution case against an online perfume retailer calling itself "perfume-bay.com" - a name chosen solely because it would make consumers think that the site was a node of Ebay.
Just like in security or retail markets, the concept of dilution can also be used in the marketplace of ideas. Legally. Which brings us to this fun activity I just thought of.
Teh Andee clues us in, in his usual,endearing syntax-impaired way:
Congresswoman Bachmann (R MN6) recently launched a YouTube page and the stalkerazzi of course can’t help but manufacture lies. Oh look, the dumpster queen and stalkerazzi are resorting to lies.
It’s Going to Be A One Way Conversation on Michele Bachmann’s Youtube Channel
I just left a comment on the welcome message.
As anyone one who has ever used YouTube knows, one of the big drawbacks of that otherwise extremely useful site is that it allows comments on videos. And as anyone familiar with the local blogging seen knows: Michele Bachmann + open comment engine = Retard-a-palooza.
Yes, you can bet that those psycho Dumpsters will be polluting the comment threads of every single vid the Congresswoman posts. But fortunately, you can help beat back the
1) Create a YouTube account with a user name similar - BUT NOT IDENTICAL - to your favorite Dumpster. For example, you might want to choose a name like "Eva Yount" or "Bill Bendyerass" or "Eric Beeyotch". Or better yet, just choose a name of a Dumpster and merely change one or two letters. The more similar, the better.
If you have an existing account, it may be possible to have a commenting sig that's different than your user name. Look into doing that instead, if you're so inclined.
2) Leave a whole bunch of comments on all of Bachmann's videos. However, to be more effective in your dilution efforts, be sure to follow these stylistic guidelines:
a) Express fake dismay. This is usually accomplished by leading your comment with "Curious."
b) Start off the "substance of your comment by posing a baseless loaded question meant to tie 2 or more unrelated political adversaries together. For example:
I wonder if Bogus Doug was present at the filming of this video, and if
Marcus knows about the rumors of their affair?
c) Bring up an unrelated and speciously self-constructed yet uncorroborated past slur of the congresswoman. The more irrelevant, the better. Example:
Michele Bachmann hid in the bushes once!
d) Demand to be heard by the Congresswoman despite the fact that i) you live outside her district; ii) you email or call her staff daily; iii) there's no way in hell she'd support your moonbat positions and she won an election with everybody in her district knowing that; and iv) no sane person gives a shit what you think anyway. Example:
Why won't Michele Bachmann meet with Karl at the Caribou Coffee in Still
water so he can tell her how to vote on legislation?
e) You should always spell "ridiculous losers" as "rediculous loosers".
Of course you can just leave nice messages too. Just make sure your comments are riddled with spelling errors, barely coherent, and are signed with a name that has a diluting effect.
There. I told you how to defeat Dumpsters using a tried and true method that has worked everywhere it's been tried; including this very ThunderJournal. The more comments you leave, the more the comments all look alike, and the less chance their brain turds will be noticed or even read.
Now go do it.
Monday, May 12, 2008
We here at KAR are please to bring you this liveblog of the MOST SHOCKING BACHELOR FINALE EVER!!! Hopefully we can expand our female readership. Or our nancyboy readership. Whatever.
9:01 - The Bach is "chucked" to be back home in London.
9:03 - Our first "stakes are high" cliche!
9:04 We meet the Bachelor's family: Brother Simon, father Simon, and Mum Simon. apparently they're British too.
9:06 - Simon (mum) is "chucked" to meet Chelsea.
9:07 - First sloppy kiss. They're chucked to be together.
9:10 - Bach: "We could be engaged this weekend." Liveblogger's advice: bet the under.
***First Commercial Break***
9:14 - And now we meet Lorenzo Llamas' daughter. She looks maaahvelous.
9:15 - Moonchild is out of bed and yammering in my ear. I can't hear anything. Please help out in comments if you can.
9:17 - Mrs. Foot thinks that the family isn't chucked by Shane.
9:18 - WELCOME visitors from google searches for "The Bachelor"! I don't normally do this. This isn't my real gig. I play keyboards.
9:20 - Simon (dad) looks like that gay judge (no, the other one) on Dancing with the Stars.
9:21 - Mrs. Foot points out that this liveblog is basically an admission that I watch the Bachelor.
FUCK! I wish she would have told me this 25 minutes ago!
9:24 - Shout outs to our reader in Mountain View California!!! Glad you could tune in!
9:25 - OMFG A HELICOPTER RIDE!!11!11!!
9:25 - Mrs. Foot: a) now wants to go to Barbados; and b) cautions that helicopters crash a lot. Watch for a possible twist in the action...
9:26 - Copter didn't crash. How predictable.
9:26 - DOUBLE ENTENDRE ALERT: "We 'fit' well together on the beach.
9:27 - Love..blah blah blah. I'm chucked to be watching this.
9:28 - SHOUT OUT TO OUR READER LOGGING ON FROM THE WEST DES MOINES HILTON! Thanks for surfing by!
***3rd COMMERCIAL BREAK
Mrs. Foot's analysis to this point: "I think he's going to make a big mistake if he picks Shayne. that said, he'll probably pick Shayne. If I were him, I'd pick Chelsea."
[Mrs. Foot slaps me after making the obvious suggestive lesbian remark here. *sigh*]
9:33 - "Shayne's a like a little monkey." What a compliment!
9:34 - Bach and Shayne are going parasailing. Could a Caribbean enema be coming?
9:35 - no
9:36 -Shayne: "I'm just ready to marry him." You're 22.
9:37 - Uh oh. Shayne broached the l-word. Unfortunately that word was "love" and not "lesbian".
9:38 - OH DENIED! Bach dodges in reply to Shayne's "I love you": "I'm falling in love with you." Shayne, I'm sorry to say that you just got served.
***7th Commercial break***
9:41 - Bach: The ring symbolises the love and devotion I feel for whichever girl I'm going to propose to later.
9:42 - Chelsea's first. Long time Bachelor fans like my wife know that this means absolutely nothing.
9:44 - Bachelor goes old school: "It's not you, babe. It's me." Maybe she would have had more luck if she'd tried using the "l"-word. No not that l-word. The other one. You know what I mean.
9:45 - Oh snap! Chelsea throws down on Shayne. Says she's fake. The Bach is not chucked to hear this. (Mrs. Foot adds "he's pissed." Or whatever the Brit equivalent of "non-chucked" is.)
***83rd COMMERCIAL BREAK. I'm actually chucked for this break since that exchange between Chelsea and the Bach left me emotionally spent.
9:50 - Mrs. Foot thinks that Shayne looks like a lemon. I'm wondering if she's wearing a thong under that teeny skirt. Blow wind blow!
9:51: Based on Shayne's eyebrows, Mrs. Foot hypothesizes that Shayne's drapes don't match her carpet.
9:55 - Oh gag.
9:56 - "Shayne will you Marry me?" "Yes" Liveblogger's advice: bet the under.
9:57 - I think I'm going to chuck.
9:59 - Mrs.Foot and I have been positively chucked to bring you this liveblog. This season of The Bachelor - and this live blog - is over!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
This post was initially published with a minor plot hole, that I had intended to, but neglected to close. The salient resolution has been added near the end of the story as of 8:20. Not that anyone cares, or indeed, has bothered to read that far anyway.
(The first installment of the epic LearnedFoot saga can be found here.)
The cave walls flickered and strobed from the sole source of light in the cavern: the lit tip of his wand. As LearnedFoot made his way through the chamber, he heard the demurring echoes of - well, he didn't know what. The voices were definitely human. But his ears only caught enough of the sounds to catch a word or two. It was as though he was listening in on a person talking to himself over a radio with poor reception, which cut out momentarily every three seconds.
"In the words..."
"Businesses would be..."
There was someone here. But where? And who, if anyone, was he talking to? The words became gradually louder. Foot could now hear entire sentences, yet they still sounded of incoherent thought. For some reason, this person's monologue sounded like a schizophrenic 7 year old trying to defend a PhD dissertation about microeconomics.
Whoever it was, he was drawing closer.
Foot paused, then advanced toward the source of the noise. He managed four steps when he felt the moist and unnerving (at least in this situation) sensation of someone's breath on the back of his neck. In one smooth motion he raised his wand and spun on his heel.
And there was O'Bonermort.
Foot's archnemesis raised his wand and began to chant.
"In the words of Gov. Tim Pawlenty's spokesman, Brian McClung..."
Foot recoiled in horror. "Nooooooooooooo."
Foot bolted upright in his bed. He was soaked with sweat.
"Goddam cheap literary tricks," he muttered to himself. Rising and grabbing a terrycloth bathrobe from his closet, he set off for the lieu in his very ordinary, yet exceedingly comforting suburban home. On his way, he tripped over an old copy of "Atlas Shrugged" that had been read to about half-way through the 190 page John Galt soliloquy before it was retasked as a doorstop. Much to Foot's chagrin, the ensuing toe-stubbing on the door jamb did nothing to shake his drowsiness. However, what he saw upon turning on the bathroom light more than did the job.
Standing in the bathtub was a Shit Eater - one of the evil O'Bonermort's dark minions.
Before Foot could react, the Shit Eater cast a vicious curse at Foot, that read thus:
In the words of Gov. Tim Pawlenty's spokesman, Brian McClung, the governor thinks a raise in the minimum wage to $6.75 now, and $7.75 next year, "goes too far."
A pay rate of $6.75 per hour, 40 hours per week, 52 weeks per year (in other words, full time with no vacation) produces only $14,040 annual income. At $7.75 per hour, the annual income is only $16,120.
The suggestion that businesses would be "hurt" by increasing the minimum wage to these levels is just ridiculous. How can a minimum wage that keeps a full-time worker way below the poverty level be going too far? Why should we even care about preservation of any business that can't afford this?
Enough with the veto threats. The only people protected by such a veto would be predatory, irresponsible employers we don't want or need anyway.
KENT B. BONERSON, MINNEAPOLIS
It was a Pure Stupidity curse; a curse that Foot had never learned to defend himself against. Ordinary evil was one thing. While evil can never be fully defeated, it can be defended against and marginalized. Stupidity is made of more pervasive - more intangible - stuff, and can be found in places where it was least expected; especially in places it is supposedly less welcome. That's what makes it so dangerous.
And it was flying right at Foot.
Knowing there was little he could do, Foot slumped his shoulders and resigned himself to his fate, whatever that might be. Just then he heard a thunderous crash behind him.
All at once a bright light engulfed the room. Foot felt himself spun around while being sucked toward the bathtub, where the Shit Eater had been standing. He heard bizarre sounds, like a record being played at high speed backwards. The unknown force knocked him into the tub. Despite the chaos filling the room, Foot managed to notice that the Shit Eater was gone before his head hit the wall, knocking him out.
O'Bonermort stood over Foot, smirking. Foot looked up into his dead, snake-like eyes, and O'Bonermort kicked him in the shoulder. Foot expected blazing pain from the blow, but instead it felt like nothing more than a gentle nudge. Relieved, Foot rose to face his nemesis for what he hoped would be the final time. One way or another he was going to end this once and for all.
O'Bonermort kicked him in the head. Again and again. And like before, Foot only felt a gentle tapping. Certainly not the vicious blow that it appeared O'Bonermort had intended. Appearing frustrated, O'bonermort chided:
"Wake up you assnozzle!"
Foot opened his eyes to see an old friend, gently knocking on his head. Foot recognized him immediately.
"Ripe Ass Rhodes!"
Ripe Ass smiled. "You took a nasty blow to the head there. Funny thing about that - did you ever notice that 'blow jobs' are good, but 'blows to the head' hurt? I wonder who came up with those terms, and whether they were on drugs when they did."
"What just happened there," Foot asked, shaking off the stars he was still seeing.
"Oh, I just saved your life, no biggie. I'm a hero, donchaknow?" Ripe Ass tossed a small, brown tennis ball-sized orb in his right hand.
"What's that?" Foot asked pointing to the orb.
"This is a Stupidity Sucker. Beautiful invention, really. When you're under attack by a Stupidity Curse, all you have to do is hold this baby aloft - for maximum coverage - say the incantation, and the Sucker does the rest."
"What is 'the rest'?"
"Well, it uses a kind of time-warping Jiu Jitsu. It uses the energy of the Stupidity Curse to tear a slit in the Time-Space Continuum, through which the Stupidity Curse is sucked. The curse is then deposited in another place and time where it can do less harm. A neat-o byproduct of this process is that the caster of the Stupid Spell is then transfigured into something useful."
Foot looked around the room. "So the Shit Eater -"
"Yes." replied Ryan as he pointed to the brand new roll of 2-ply sitting atop the toilet tank.
Foot beamed at the toilet paper, fascinated at the power this wonderful new device. He had become used to the notion that Pure Stupidity was invincible, at least to him and other less, skilled wizards. But now this wonderful new device had given him hope. In all his life, the best he could hope to do was avoid Stupidity. It couldn't be argued with. Because of its sheer volume and its seemingly infinite sources, it couldn't be marginalized. And because of humanity's innate hive instincts, any banal form of the curse had the potential to become an overpowering force focused in a single direction.
"So this is the end of the Stupidity Curse."
"Not exactly," said Ripe Ass, a tone of urgency creeping into his voice. "There's a problem with the technology. And that, as it turns out, is the reason for my fortuitously timed visit."
"What are you saying, Ripe Ass?"
"Grab your flying toilet. We have work to do."
Ripe Ass Rhodes and LearnedFoot soared through the cloudy morning sky on their flying toilets. Foot struggled to keep up with him, as Ripe Ass was flying the super sleek and lightning fast Kohler Sidewinder, while Foot was still riding his reliable, if a bit slow, Crapper 3000. Once Foot was finally able to pull abreast of Ripe Ass he asked about the objective of this unexpected mission.
"Like I said, the technology with the Stupidity Sucker is imperfect," Ripe Ass explained. "It's supposed to take the stupidity from the immediate location and dump it someplace where it will do less harm. And it has been doing that, but..."
"I have a feeling that what you're about to tell me is going to suck," Foot interjected.
"That's putting it mildly. It's supposed to deposit the Stupidity in different places. You know, kind of like diluting it. Dispersing it across wide and remote frontiers."
"But it hasn't been doing that." Foot deduced.
"No. It's been depositing all the Sucked Stupidity in the same place, every time it's been used. And now, all that localized Stupidity has reached such immense proportions that it has reached critical mass. The Stupidity has begun to manifest itself in some extremely stupid ways there, even for Stupidity."
"Oh crap. We're not going to...?"
"Yes." Ryan sighed. "Berkeley."
By dusk they had reached their destination, the roof of Boalt Hall. Foot cast an invisibility spell, and they rested there for the evening. They would need all their energy come tomorrow. When they awoke the next morning, Ripe Ass briefed foot on their daunting task ahead. He handed Foot a news article he'd printed off of the muggle internet. As Foot read it, he felt an awful pang in his stomach.
Code Pink is now resorting to witchcraft to beef up the number of its supporters protesting a controversial Marine Corps Recruiting Center in Berkeley, Calif.
The women's anti-war group has told ralliers to come equipped with spells and pointy hats Friday for "witches, crones and sirens" day, the last of the group's weeklong homage to Mother's Day.
"Women are coming to cast spells and do rituals and to impart wisdom to figure out how we're going to end war," Zanne Sam Joi of Bay Area Code Pink told FOXNews.com.
"Merlin's beard!" Foot exclaimed. "This is worse than I thought. These muggles think they're normal witches and wizards. Like us.
"It's grim." Ripe Ass nodded. "It'll take a miracle."
Foot pondered that a moment, then replied, "No. Getting through the rest of this story without a poop or a fart joke would take a miracle. This? This is doable. Let me have a look at that Stupidity Sucker."
The hours rolled by until finally it was time to make their way to the Marine recruiting center. Foot and Ripe Ass developed a theory - and a plan. Now was the moment to implement it. Any number of things could go wrong. After all they were working off of theories about the behavior of an imperfect magical technology. Any number of things could go wrong. And the consequences of such an outcome ranged from disastrous to mildly amusing. The risks were big. The risks needed to be taken for the sake of humanity.
They made their way through the pink throngs and located the leader of the "Muggle Witches," Zanne Sam Joi. They quickly pushed aside her cohorts with whom she was discussing "Peace Spells" (Ripe Ass had to work so hard to stifle a laugh that he farted) and introduced themselves.
"Madame witch," LearnedFoot improvised trying to sound like a "real" fake wizard, "please allow us to introduce our, er, magical selves. I am Learned - er - Hand, master of the Pink Arts."
Ripe Ass stepped forward and proclaimed in his most regal mien "And I am Ripe - um, Ryan! Umm... er, Also...Master of the Pink Arts! Ha ha!"
Zanne looked them over for a moment, scrutinizing their wizard robes and pointed hats that Ripe Ass had charmed to appear pink. With a little hesitation, she said "Well, it's good to see that there are some sensitive, caring, peace-loving new age men willing to harass the dirty war-mongering killer Marines. What can I do for you?"
Ripe Ass put his hands on his hips, striking a Captain Morgan pose and bellowed "Ha Ha! It's not what you can do for us, fellow magical person! For you see, we possess an ancient artefact that can bring peace to the world this very day! Ha Ha!"
Foot leaned over and whispered into Ripe Ass' ear "I don't think that's how the muggle version of 'wizards' are supposed to speak."
"Shut up, I'm on a roll," Ripe Ass muttered back out of the corner of his mouth.
"So what is this wonderful device? You must show me!" Zanne's suspicion had turned to excitement. Foot produced the Stupid Sucker from a pocket in his robe and held it in front of her face.
"Er, this is a 'Peace Emitter'" Foot lied. "The magical positive energy that can be beamed out from this object is so powerful that people everywhere will put down their human weapons, and be over come with love!"
"And want to have sex with each other!" Ripe Ass unhelpfully added.
Zanne's eyes grew wide. "Really? can I touch it?" She moved her hand to touch the Stupid Sucker. Foot pulled it away at the last minute.
"No! But you may have it. If you are worthy." Foot was unimpressed with his own performance and could not believe this woman was buying his fake-real-fake wizard act.
"Am I worthy?" she asked earnestly. Foot and Ryan stepped away huddled together for a moment, pretending to confer. After a few moments of making sotto voce fart noises into each other's ears, they returned to Zanne.
"We have determined that you are worthy! Ha ha!" Ripe Ass was really hamming it up now.
"Oh, goody!" the woman shouted as Foot handed her the Stupid Sucker. He then told her how to use it.
"Can I use it now?" she asked excitedly.
"There is no better time! But now we must be off! Good luck, and peace, er, out, fellow witch!" With that, Ripe Ass Rhodes and LearnedFoot hustled away, as fast as they could, trying very hard to hide their panic. They got about 20 feet away, when they heard Zanne shriek the incantation.
There was a bright, blinding light. LearnedFoot was lifted off his feet and thrown through a storefront plate glass window.
Then everything went dark.
Foot awoke to see Ripe Ass staring out the large hole where the window once was. He staggered dizzily to Ripe Ass' side and took in the scene. All was quiet. There was no one left in the street. Across the street, a head popped out of the door to the Marines recruiting office, looked around, and then jerked hastily back inside. Otherwise, the entire area was deserted.
"It worked. Dammit, it worked." Ripe Ass muttered.
"The plan was genius in its simplicity." Foot added.
"Yep. If the Stupidity Sucker always teleports Stupidity to another place and time, it won't - it can't - deposit it back in Berkeley. I just hope your Infinitely Recoiling Stupidity theory holds."
"Well, it's got a shot. Think about it. If that orb can redirect the Stupid Curse's energy with such force that it rends the fabric of space-time, then it's got to have exponentially more power when a source of the Stupidity uses the Stupid Sucker on itself. If a stupid person is stupid enough to use a Stupid Sucker on herself, then there ought to be enough kinetic Stupidity generated to blast that Stupidity field in a million different directions.; enough to carry it to a million different places. Right?" Foot began to sound like he was trying to convince himself.
"I suppose." Ripe Ass was likewise unsure.
They both paused and took in the surreal scene they were witnessing. Finally Foot broke the silence.
"You know Ripe Ass, I'm famished. Haven't eaten in a day. But still, even though I suppose that's 'useful'," Foot gestured toward the street, "I think that the Stupid Sucker could have provided us with something a little more..."
"Substantial." Said Ripe Ass, finishing the thought.
Ripe Ass thought a moment then said, "Well, you know what those muggles say: garbage in, garbage out."
"I guess you're right. C'mon. Let's eat."
They walked out the door and into the street where their repast was waiting. Where the protest once was now sat a 300 foot-long, 50-foot high, street wide blob of pink cotton candy.
"I wonder where all that stupidity went?" Foot wondered while shoving handfuls of the airy candy into his maw.
"Dunno. Hopefully someplace safe," Ripe Ass mumbled through a full mouth.
Far away from Berkeley in a distant State Capitol, House Speaker Kelliboner banged her gavel on her desk. "The Speaker recognizes Representative Fizzleweener."
Representative Fizzleweener held a lapel-clip microphone in front of his mouth and began to speak. "Thank you Madame Speaker. I am introducing House File 2969, a bill to augment our transportation -"
Fizzleweener was interrupted by a loud crashing noise, as if the rotunda had collapsed, followed by a blinding light. The entire body of the House was knocked unconscious.
After about ten minutes, the legislators all came to. Fizzleweener rose, brushed himself off, grasped the mic, and continued speaking as though nothing had happened.
"DYYYYYAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!!! Let's make everybody ride in child car seats until they're 14! Punishable by 10 years in jail!"
The entire body at once shouted "AYE!"
"DERRRR...And let's raise the gas tax again!"
"AYE! AYE! AYE! AYE! AYE! HOORAY!!!"
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Nothing could be further from the truth.
The real battle for the Soul of America takes place daily in internet forums and the comment threads of blogs that get about 500 hits per day. It is an ugly war where only the fittest survive, the weak are cast away, and the pathologically persistent dominate the day.
As I said, the internet is serious business. It requires a serious hero. Fortunately for us, we have such heroes walking amongst us. People like me. And heroic people like noted Rochester ThunderJournalist Ryan Rhodes.
Coiner of the term "ThunderJournal" and innovator of the art of poopblogging, Ryan joins the battle almost every day in comment threads and on his own personal ThunderJournal, fighting for truth and justice. In keeping with Grace Kelly's and my Northern Alliance colleague Mitch's decision to honor these unsung heroes, I conducted an interview yesterday with Ryan. He emailed me the answers, so we both know that they're true.
The honor is indeed yours:
1) How did you get started writing about politics?
Actually, I started out writing primarily about bathroom-related activities, with a heavy emphasis on farts, pooping, and peeing, with the occasional segue into the world of bloody anal discharges. From there, it was a pretty seamless transition into politics, because parallels abound.
2) How did you finally come to realize that writing about politics was pointless?
At some point, I think it was around 2005, maybe a bit earlier, I realized the Internet had been hijacked by some of the craziest, most deranged, unstable, ego-inflated, preening, pseudo-intellectual butt-munchers--also known as "Prendergasts"--the world had ever seen. What's worse, they thought their political arguments and opinions were somehow new and fresh, rather than roundly rejected and debunked twaddle from years, sometimes decades ago. Worse still, their ridiculously-inflated opinions of themselves prompted them to think other people should be exposed to their thoughts and opinions. Comment engines on well-established blogs and ThunderJournals that had once been relatively dormant--or the domain primarily of friends and family--came alive with unhinged blatheratings. Then the Internet had to go and become all user-friendly, so these same douchenozzles could easily slice off their own crazy corner of the Web from which to blare their inanity, thus making the Internet, as a whole, virtually unusable.
So, I went back to writing about farts, pooping, and peeing, with the occasional segue into the world of bloody anal discharges, which I've found to be much more satisfying to write about, as well as being far more intellectually challenging.
3) Do you have a special mission?
It's more a question as to whether I choose to accept it.
However, much like my fellow hero, Bill Prendergast, I suppose you could say my mission is to breathe. And why do we breathe? I'm not sure, really, because I never studied up as much as I should have on biology, but I suppose we breathe so we can produce greenhouse gases, so we can eventually go from blaming cars to blaming ourselves directly for planetary cycles we don't even remotely understand but are guilty for regardless. Where was I, again? Oh, right, my mission. I suppose my mission is "to enter the writing game."
4) Do you remember that post you wrote about your gi-normous poop? That was awesome!
I've extolled about more than just one substantial bowel movement, and I hold each and every one in equally high regard. Every bowl-curling fecal kielbasa is a Prendergast unto itself, while the smaller ones, though less in mass, are Grace Kellys in their own right.
5) Do you have a short version of your political philosophy?
Fart, and the world farts with you. Shart, and you stand alone.
6) Why are you so freaking awesome?
For an answer, we turn once more to my fellow hero, Prendergast. In short, because I'm not Bill Prendergast, I'm awesome. Add to that my propensity for bathroom-related writing and my unshakable faith that I'll one day brush up against Salma Hayek's left breast, I thereby become "Freaking awesome."
7) Who are your heroes and why?
Ah, heroes. So many. So, so many. There's that one guy, who did that one thing for all those one-armed orphans with glaucoma. He's definitely one of my heroes. Oh, and that Rochester, Minn. kid who got into the book of world records for playing Guitar Hero. He is, by definition, a hero.
Oh, and Bill Prendergast. Any man who can drone on and on like him, seemingly endlessly in self-important and half-informed rapture, and then turn around, in kind, and list H.L. Mencken as one of his heroes, and laud him for the "way he laced into the mediocre, the vain and the deluded…there’s something we can all learn from there." Prendergast earned a Lifetime Irony Hero Achievement Award for that one.
8) Why do you write in to the Internet under your real name?
Because I started my ThunderJournal in early 2002, in the days before Google really took off, in the days when you could still be pretty forthcoming online and not worry about a potential employer "Googling" you. I often wonder how many potential employment opportunities were lost after a Human Resource researcher stumbled upon the Dirty Mushroom.
9) How about a limerick?
The heroic hero, Bill Prendergast
His self-absorption as yet unsurpassed
A bit more ego, I'm told
Would cause him to implode
Leaving Grace Kelly, standing, aghast.
10) When did you realize that your flippant comments on other blog's threads saved western civilization?
Flippant comments and derisive limericks, I discovered, shine a glaring light on obtuse commenters who take themselves way, way, wayyyyyy too seriously and who are prone to hijack comment threads with their own droning dipshittery. The result can be a far better overall comment thread that's entertaining to other, less self-absorbed commenters, thereby resulting in a rejuvenated comment thread that was in danger of being given up for boring. Much like a rejuvenated economy, a rejuvenated comment thread brings joy and optimism into people's lives, thus saving Western civilization.
11) How much feedback do you get? Do chicks throw their underwear at you often?
A chick threw her underwear at me just the other day. Unfortunately, it was my grandma.
Once in awhile, the instant messaging engine we use here at work will ping, and somebody will ask me if I'm that guy who writes at ramblingrhodes.mu.nu. I never quite know how to respond, because on the one hand, they might just be telling me they like to read my ThunderJournal, but on the other hand they might be firing me. So far, thankfully, it's been the former.
12) What does good government look like?
Nice, long slender legs that go all the way up and really make an ass of themselves. Succulent, yet firm, boobies that lend themselves to long face burying sessions during which I hum "goooooood govvvvvvvvvverrrrrrrrrnnnnnnmennnnnnnnnnnt" over and over and over again. Also, good government would be up for the occasional Cleveland Steamer.
13) I notice that you engage in conversation and debate with opposing viewpoints quite successfully. Since my judgement on such matters is dispositive, please tell me this: how many people have you actually persuaded? When and how do people change their minds? Have you ever used these magical powers of persuasion in internet threads that most sane people avoid to get sex? With people?
I have a working theory about this. I think the space-time continuum is reliant on powerful oppositional forces: matter and anti-matter, gravity and anti-gravity, Rosie O'Donnell and sanity, etc. People, according to my theory, act as an additional conduit into the space-time continuum and are predisposed by supernatural dictate to adhere to a certain set of principles, and those principles are diametrically opposed to other principles. Should someone lose their principles through an act of persuasion, the fabric of the space would be weakened. If enough people fall to the powers of persuasion, eventually the framework of our very universe will start to fall in around us. Therefore, when you read something written by say, Bill Prendergast, and you find yourself thinking "Jesus Christmas on a pogo stick, this guy is a pompous, long-winded, wiener poopie dog humper who is pretty much always wrong," you're doing your part to ensure the continuity of the universe.
14) And finally, how about another limerick?
This "Heroes" idea spawned by Grace Kelly
Has all the trademarks of an Internet smelly
Yet I have to admit
This mockery shit
Has my stomach shaking like a bowl full of jelly.
As mentioned, I made the switch to the Star Tribune in June 1988, in the midst of a golden age for sports department budgets. If you had a story idea, you took five minutes to sell it to the boss, then got on a plane and reported it.
Even then, the backbone of this and any sports section was the coverage on the most important local beats. And in 2008, it's clear there is a greater appetite for in-depth news on our Big Five -- Vikings, Twins, Wild, Gophers football, Timberwolves -- than at any time previously.
When it comes to the section's backbone, this is the best crew I've worked with:
Kevin Seifert and Judd Zulgad are tireless on the Vikings. Joe Christensen and La Velle Neal are on top of the Twins. Mike Russo is the best hockey writer in the country. Chip Scoggins is irrepressible in covering Gophers football. Jerry Zgoda gave the readers a daily, non- hysterical look at a sad Wolves situation.
The public can take or leave another Reusse column after roughly 8,000 of them, But if the Minnesota sports addicts don't have Seifert, Zulgad, Christensen, Neal, Russo, Scoggins and Zgoda (to name a few) to get them the news, there will be a significant void.
And don't kid yourself:
A doesn't-cost-a-nickel, stand-alone Internet site is not going to have the quality of resources the Star Tribune has mustered for a rich sports section that lands on a doorstep.
FULL DISCLOSURE: I copied and pasted that from the internet.
I suspect that, barring some sweet new technology, enough people (like me) will be loathe to give up their morning broadsheets to keep them afloat. After all, I don't like hauling the laptop into the john with me when I have to poop.
But that said, when a paper is losing money - either from defections to online news sites or because they are frequently condescended to and insulted by the paper's editorial board - they're going to have to cut back on staff, resources and bankrolling Reusse's awesome story idea about that guy in Hawai'i who really hates the Packers anyway. And those online websites that are getting more eyeballs because of it can charge more for their ads, and thus garner more resources to allow for such expenditures.
Talented guys like Seifert, Neal and Zulgrad (I haven't read much of the others to form an opinion about them) will always be needed - and paid -by some news outlet. And you can bet those outlets will be willing to expense for good stories too. Reporting, commentary and the written word transcend the media they are affixed to. The only guys who really need to worry are the press operators and paper carriers.
And Reusse. There's no shortage of lame douchebags who insult Packer fans on the internet for free. I don't see how Reusse could draw a paycheck with that kind of competition.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
I am so inspired by Mitch's idea that a regular schmuck who emits daily crap into the internet ozone can be a hero, I shall be following suit with my own interview of another unheralded internet hero. Hopefully you'll see it tomorrow.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Sisyphus only, please.
OW OWIE OUCH!!! Tummy...hurts...from...laughing.