5 Of The Most Horrifying Things I've Ever Read EVER!!!

1. Just last week I finished reading Richard Preston's The Hot Zone. It was not a good idea for someone as obsessed with and fearful of deadly diseases as I am to read this book. Do you know what the Ebola virus does to a human being? It basically turns you into a zombified bag of blood and black goo. And when you reach the end of the whole digusting death march, you literally pop like a gushy blood balloon, bleeding out of every conceivable orifice in your body. And don't get me started on what it does to monkeys! The first part of the book is the most visceral and vomit-inducing, making it most assuredly one of the most horrifying things I've read in a good long while. No offense, Africa, but I will never, ever visit you. I don't even want to think about you.
2. The bloody tale of Elizabeth Bathory is horrifying on two levels, depending on how you look at it. First, if the Hungarian countess actually committed every sordid crime she was accused of, then she is by all rights, one sick bitch. However, there is a contigency that claims she was innocent of the murderous acts of which she was accused, and if this is the case, the last years of her life were both sad and unfair. For our spooky purposes here, let's assume she was a howling mad psycho killer. Bathory was accused of several heinous acts including amateur surgery on kidnapped victims, torture of all kinds, rampant sexual abuse, mild cannibalism, and bathing in the blood of virgins to keep herself youthful and vivacious. It is this last act of cruelty that has continued to capture the imaginations of artists and blog writers alike, from the boys of Sweden's premiere Satanic heavy metal band Ghost to horror director Eli Roth.
3. Look, I like dogs just fine, but I prefer to have cats around. They're less trouble. You provide them with food and water, a box to shit in, and a lap to curl up in when the mood strikes them, and you're done. We can go on vacation for a long weekend, fill the cat's bowl to the brim, and he's set. Now, I don't know what goes on in the mind of an animal. Maybe he thinks he's been abandoned and mopes around the house for four days, but I doubt it. Our cat doesn't seem to care if we're home or not. Sometimes that's frustrating, but mostly I'm fine with it.

Dogs are always in your face. They gotta know you're thinking about them. Dogs are exhausting. My sister has this dog that won't leave me alone. She's a cute little thing, but, geez, after awhile it starts to feel a little desparate. Plus, dogs are dumb--yeah, I said it--you leave a bowl of kibble out for them for the weekend and they've got it eaten in ten minutes. And don't get me started on the state your rugs are gonna be in when you get home. You've gotta take care of your dogs, people. Here's what happens when you don't.

Seven dogs starved of food and water for two weeks are suspected of eating their Indonesian owner after he returned to his hometown in Manado from a holiday, local media reported on Tuesday.

A neighborhood guard was curious when he saw luggage lined up at the front of Andre Lumboga's house, days after the 50-year old arrived back home. He approached the house, smelled something foul and called the police, according to a report.

"His skull was found in the kitchen, and his body was found in the front of his house..."

This dude's dogs ate him! He left his dogs to fend for themselves and when he got home they ate him, ripped his skin off with their teeth and stripped him bare. They found the man's skull in the kitchen. Not his head...HIS SKULL! Feed your pets, people. OK. If you do nothing more for them, at least feed them. You'll only have yourself to blame if authorities find your meatless skull on the kitchen floor.
4. I read about Herman Webster Mudgett, AKA Dr. Henry Howard Holmes, AKA H. H. Holmes, AKA Ol' Killy-Pants, for the first time this month. He is widely considered the first serial killer in American history. Good for you, H. H. And how did Mr. Holmes dispatch his unfortunate victims? If you guessed "murder castle," you're correct. H. H. Holmes built himself an old fashioned "murder castle"--or "kill motel," if you prefer--and used it to mass murder possibly 200 visitors to the Chicago World's Fair in 1893. And just what went on in Holmes' "hotel of horrors?" Tell us, Wikipedia:

After the completion of the hotel, Holmes selected mostly female victims from among his employees (many of whom were required as a condition of employment to take out life insurance policies for which Holmes would pay the premiums but also be the beneficiary), as well as his lovers and hotel guests. He tortured and killed them.[7] Some were locked in soundproof bedrooms fitted with gas lines that let him asphyxiate them at any time. Some victims were locked in a huge soundproof bank vault near his office where they were left to suffocate.[5] The victims' bodies were dropped by secret chute to the basement,[3] where some were meticulously dissected, stripped of flesh, crafted into skeleton models, and then sold to medical schools. Holmes also cremated some of the bodies or placed them in lime pits for destruction. Holmes had two giant furnaces as well as pits of acid, bottles of various poisons, and even a stretching rack.[3] Through the connections he had gained in medical school, he sold skeletons and organs with little difficulty.

Well, there goes that pleasant night's slumber I planned for later this evening.

5. I've saved the most horrific story for last because, well, that's how lists of this nature work. I wonder if you've ever heard of a little book entitled Wet Goddess. For a plot description, let's hit up Amazon.com, shall we?

Set at the height of Vietnam protests, Jimi Hendrix and LSD, Wet Goddess is a story of strange encounters, awkward misadventures, and ultimately, love.

Wait. Really? There's more to it than that, isn't there? Let's check out the customer reviews real quick:

I don't think I need to say very much on this to make the point that this book should never have been published, much less bought.

It's a book about bestiality, having sex with animals. Who does this sort of thing, then thinks, "Oh yeah, I'll write a book about it."

You sicken me, Brenner, and every other sane person in this world likely feels the same way.

Hmmmm. Still not getting it. Let's look at another one:

This book is a chilling account of a man's sexual relations with a dolphin, and that sentence should be enough to justify this book's removal from Amazon.com. If any administrator of Amazon.com reads this, I plead with you to remove this book from your site. I don't want to threaten not to buy here again because this is a great site, but at least have some censorship when it pertains to this kind of writing. It is sick, cruel, and actually justifies the heinous act of bestiality, which is animal abuse, with a supposedly sensual "love story" to get to readers. Once again, I beg you to remove this book from your site.

I feel like I've almost got it, like, it's right on the tip of my tongue:

Alright, while people do have the right to freely write whatever they feel like, THIS IS A MASSIVE EXCEPTION!!!! This book focuses on his love affair with DOLPHINS! Ladies and gentlemen, this man is making money by writing about BESTIALITY!!!!! Come on people!

Oh. I see. Apparently, this guy fucked a dolphin and wrote a book about it. Wait...REALLY?!?

Yes, he really did. Malcolm J. Brenner carried on a romantic relationship with a dolphin and wrote Wet Goddess so everyone in the world could experience the love the two of them shared. He also created a creepy Web site devoted to his love of dolphin vag and maintains a dolphin-porking blog, called Wet Goddess: Blog. Yep, I just threw up a little in my mouth. And a lot in this toilet.

Surely, not every Amazon review of Brenner's book is negative. Let's read one more and call it a night:

Having worked at a Large Aquarium I have witnessed Dolphins getting frisky with trainers.

I asked if what I saw was what I think I saw was happening and the trainer said "Yes, just like a dog trying to hump your leg but they are a bit smarter and know were to go".....I said "are you putting me on" ?

No, she explained it was quite common and that is why they wear a very strong protective wetsuit to prevent
such indecent. Also it could be extremely dangerous if someone was swimming with one alone in a flimsy
bikini because male dolphins penises are about 12" in length and have a cartilage like bone that could damage the insides of a person. I ask what about female dolphins and she explained it would be equally dangerous because the female dolphin can control her muscles and squeeze with such pressure that could be life threatening to a human male if one was to attempt such an act. So as outrageous as this book is it is certainly plausibly this book is true, however the author was risking his life and I would not recommend anyone to try to duplicate the actions of the author. But don't we all risky life and limb when it comes to love ?

I've never riskied "life and limb" when it came to love. I've never feared that my wife's vagina was going to crush my penis and render me a eunuch. I don't worry about dismemberment and permanent scarring in my love life because as a general rule I DO NOT HAVE SEX WITH ANIMALS.

Happy Halloween, everybody! Check back soon to discover November's theme! It's a good one!

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Movie Penguin Monday: #13. Red State (2011)

I like Kevin Smith. I'm not going to apologize for that. I know in certain circles that it's no longer "hip" or "cool" to enjoy Mr. Smith and his various projects, but I reject that sentiment. Do I enjoy all of his movies? Of course not. I disliked Jersey Girl just as much as the writer-director himself seems to. Do I listen to his podcasts? Absolutely not. As a Kevin Smith fan, I do enjoy listening to the man talk, but the sheer volume of rambling he has recorded and unleashed upon the world as of late is unwieldy. I'm a regular listener of many podcasts, but I have neither the time nor the desire to keep up with everything Smith says these days. I listen to Hollywood Babble-On, a cock-centric entertainment show he does with radio personality/sometimes actor Ralph Garman, but that's as far as I'm willing to go. So, while I am a fan--and I am!--I don't hang on the man's every word like I did when I was a fledgling film fan. In the past, a Kevin Smith project was can't miss for me. I may not have felt the same way about Smith's films as one young man I encountered in the bathroom at a sneak preview of Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back ("This movie is the defining moment of my life." That is a direct quote. Really.), but I was in no matter what. Chasing Amy remains one of my favorite films and Clerks is an indie classic, like it or not, Smith haters. However, as of late, I've found myself pretty lukewarm to Smith and his projects. Then came the announcement of Red State.

Red State was to be Kevin Smith's foray into horror. The project was shrouded in mystery. It featured a Fred Phelps-like character and his gay-hating congregation, but beyond that nobody knew very much. I listened to the series of podcasts Smith recorded concerning the making of Red State, hoping for further insight into Red State's plot. In one episode, Smith offered up the intriguing tidbit that Abin Cooper's church practiced what could be called "angel worship." He said this once. It was quick. I was, as I mentioned, intrigued.

Then there was all that stuff where Smith auctioned off the movie to himself at Sundance or whatever, but that doesn't really matter because what matters is that I have now seen Red State. And here's how that went.

Red State is a mess. It is good looking mess, considering the limited budget, and an entertaining mess, but a mess nonetheless. A lot has been said about it's "you don't know what's going to happen next" plot. It's true, but it appears to be more because Smith doesn't exactly know what he wants Red State to be rather than an actual artistic choice. Then again, I could be completely wrong. After all, the end credits are split into three separate categories--"Sex," "Religion" and "Government." OK. We'll play your game, Smith. Let's look at the three movies that make up Red State, shall we?

Sex

Did I get your attention? Good. Now let's talk about Red State.

We are introduced to three horny teenage buddies--Travis, Jared, and rat-tailed Billy Ray. Through an internet hook up site, Jared has orchestrated a foursome for himself and his friends with a mystery women in Cooper's Dell, which should be their first tip-off that the whole thing is a set-up. Cooper's Dell is a rural area under the control of the hateful and hated Abin Cooper, the pastor of Five Points Church and America's premiere homosexual hater. But, as we all know, horniness can render even the smartest man dumb as a sack of dumb bricks, so that night, Travis borrows his parents' car and the three pals head to Cooper's Dell to, as DJ Pauly D would say, "get it in." That means sex, Mom, if you are reading this.

Along the way, they sideswipe a car. Stephen Root is inside the car getting a blowjob from a Mexican. Moving on.

Travis and Company arrive at their destination--a ramshackle trailer in a trash-strewn vacant lot, i.e. the perfect place for a dirty sexual tryst--and meet Academy Award winner Melissa Leo, who feeds them poisoned beer. Cue the fail horns.

There ain't a lot of horror in the "Sex" portion of Red State. There ain't a lot of sex either. There is, however, a lot of that good old Kevin Smith filth talk we've all come to know and tolerate.

Religion

Smith rachets up what little legitimate horror exists in Red State in this second section. Jared comes to in a covered cage to the sounds of hymns being sung. He has been wheeled into the sanctuary of Abin Cooper's church of terrors. It is in this section where we get the scene I was dreading.

From the very first Red State review I ever read to the second and third I heard on various movie podcasts I regularly listen to, Red State's biggest flaw--other than the fact that it seemed more like a collection of set pieces than a proper film--appeared to be a 15-minute monologue delivered by Michael Parks as the grizzled, gay-hating Abin Cooper. I had this vision in my head, being as familiar with Smith's oeuvre as I am, that said monologue was delivered via a static shot of Mr. Parks standing at a pulpit, staring deep into my sick, liberal soul. It isn't. It's actually a pretty important scene. Through his sermon/rant we learn what Mr. Cooper and his congregation truly believe and it is horrifying. But they believe it. They cling to it. And they aim to do God's work on Earth, which apparently is tying homosexuals to a cross, wrapping them in saran wrap, and unloading a pistol into their brain. Hallelujah! The scene in the church is scary, sick and effective, but it isn't my favorite. I like the final section the most. So, let's just merrily skip ahead, all right? Oh, you might want to grab a semi-automatic rifle, because in section three, we're going up against the...

Government

The "government" section of Red State features my favorite performance, that of John Goodman. Don't get me wrong, Parks kills it as Reverend Cooper, but Goodman as the perpetually exhausted, put upon, flabby and confused ATF agent, Joseph Keenan, is a lot of fun to watch. And listen to. After all this is a Kevin Smith film. You can expect a lot of talking. But this time around, you get whole lot of shootin' too. Like, tons of it. And the film looks great. Smith plunges you into a war zone, a battle between the twisted forces of evil and Abin Cooper's trigger-happy congregation. Oh, yeah. No one gets out of Red State unscathed. The government, religion, horny teenagers, closeted homosexuals--everyone gets their due, by which I mean "bullet in the head."

Should you watch Red State? Well, if you are a Smith fan, you probably will, so it doesn't really matter what I say. Hell, I started this off admitting that I am a Smith fan. I've been excited about this film since I heard the words "Kevin Smith" and "horror film" said aloud and together for the first time. The fact that I was disappointed with the results doesn't mean I regret either my past excitement or the 88-minutes I spent in Cooper's Dell.

How 'bout if you're not a Smith fan then? Will you get much out of this movie? Maybe. I mean, Smith has plenty to say about plenty of shit, but it's all a little too disjointed and heavy-handed for my taste. And the ending absolutely sucks. I'm just going to go ahead and say it. The end is a cop out--no pun intended. So, I don't know. If you're looking for straight up horror for your Halloween viewing pleasure though, I'd watch the American Horror Story marathon on FX. It's just as disjointed and bursting at the seams with weird plotlines and creepy ideas, but it's ten times more entertaining.

Smith stuck it to religion expertly with Dogma. And that movie had laughs. And Salma Hayek dressed as a schoolgirl. Red State is visually engaging and every actor does exemplary work, Goodman and Parks in particular. I guess, it just wasn't the life-defining moment I was hoping for. Oh, well. Maybe that guy at the Jay and Bob sneak preview saw it and liked it. In the end, that's all that really matters, right?

Amen.

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The Worst Costumes Ever: The Rest

October is coming to a close, and with it, the Halloween season. We've tried our best to highlight some of the absolute worst costumes available and I think we've done a fairly decent job. However, our Awful Costumes file--and it is an actual physical file that we keep locked up tight in an underground bunker protected by cat-mounted laser-cannons--was overflowing this year and we couldn't get to everything. So, here are a few of our favorite shitty costumes that didn't fit into any sort of category this year. We give you The Rest...
Theatrical Quality Ghost Gent Costume: If you are an adult and you purchased a "theatrical quality" costume this year, you are a idiot. There. I said it. What do you need a "theatrical quality" ghost costume for? Are you performing A Christmas Carol for your drunk Halloween party guests? Nobody cares how authentic your "ghost gent" costume is, man! Cut two holes in a sheet, throw it over your head, and crack a beer. You're an adult. Act like one!
Angry Birds: Listen, until two months ago, I didn't even know what Angry Birds was. I knew Joel McHale was a fan--he tweeted about it regularly for a time--but I didn't know what these angry birds did or who they did it to. I didn't know why they were angry or why I had to buy an iPhone to find out. Then I played it. My buddy got an iPhone through work and his son walked me through my first round of Angry Birds in a busy Mexican restaurant. It was all right. I'd played a game almost identical to it in every conceivable way years ago on a free game site, only it was penguins, they were launching themselves at polar bears, and they were decidedly less angry. Hey, like Angry Birds, I don't care. But don't dress like one. It's dumb.
Trojan Condom Magnum XL Adult Men's Costume: Want a costume that screams "I have a tiny penis?" Here it is.
Middle Finger Adult Men's Costume: I think we all see how the Halloween costume industry views "adult men" by this point. Apparently we are nothing but a race of crude, dick-obsessed, overgrown 12-year-old boys. I'm more offended by that then this costume. This costume just makes me sad, because you know that 100% of the men who wear it consider themselves the funniest guy in the world. Ugh.
Sexy Chucky: Hey, I love sexy things. And I love Chucky. But Sexy Chucky? I don't like Sexy Chucky. Not at all.

I hope the Old Giant Electric Penguin Place is on your Trick-or-Treat route tomorrow night because we've got some treats for you. First, a very special Halloween-edition of MOVIE PENGUIN MONDAY. And on Halloween night we present THE SEVEN MOST HORRIFIC THINGS I'VE READ EVER. It's going to be scary FOR REAL! See you there. I mean, here. You know what I mean.

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What the WTF?!?: Maybe just make a cake at home?

Remember those dummies who named their son Adolph Hitler, then tried to get a local supermarket to decorate a birthday cake with the youngster's name on it and the employees of the supermarket called the police and the nation pointed and laughed at the two dimwit parents who named their kid after the most hated mass murderer in the history of everything? Remember? Well, those two dummies, New Jersey's own Heath and Deborah Campbell, have had all three of their unfortunately-named children taken away from them. Why? Well, isn't it obvious?

Parents who named two of their children "Adolf Hitler" and "Aryan Nation" lost custody of all three of their children Thursday, even though they say a New Jersey appeals court found no evidence of abuse, ruling the children have been taken away without cause, MyFoxPhilly reports.

“Actually, the judge and DYFS told us that there was no evidence of abuse and that it was the names. They were taken over the children's names,” Heath Campbell told NBC 10 Tuesday.

So, child services can take your children away from you for naming them something stupid now? That seems a little weird. Sure, if you're slapping them around or locking them in closets and feeding them a steady diet of Kibbles-N-Bits or coming at them with swords (sorry, sorry) then, yes, you should have your children taken from you. But for naming them something undesirable? I'm still not sure how I feel about this. Let's read on:

On January 2009, the Campbells told MyFoxPhilly that Adolf Hitler Campbell is just like any other 3-year-old boy.

"It's not like he's growing up to be a killer or nothing like that," Deborah Campbell said.

"I went to just to get a cake... it was a circus of racism," Heath Campbell added.

You know how you can pick stupid people out of crowd? You hear them say things like "circus of racism" when speaking about the time they tried to get the phrase "Happy 3rd Birthday, Adolph Hitler" piped in red icing on a frosted, chocolate chip cookie cake. Maybe Adolph and his sisters JoyceLynn Aryan Nation and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie were taken away from their parents because the state of New Jersey fears that one day the stupidity that defines the elder Campbells' everyday existence will infect their offspring. You're turing me around, DYFS.

At the time both parents acknowledge the hate behind their children's names. But say that was not their intention.

"This is America, they say it's free, you have the right to name your child whatever you want to name your child, no matter what," Heath Campbell said.

You know how you pick REALLY stupid people out of a crowd of assorted stupids? Find the ones that named their kids Hitler and Aryan Nation because this is America and in America we can do whatever we damn well please cuz of the Constitution and what-not. Yeah, don't think of your child's future or anything, you dumb scumbag. School, college, the workplace--how easy is it going to be for these poor kids to make friends and have a worthwhile career? You've just cursed them to work at flea markets for the rest of their dumb, most likely drunken, lives. I'm glad they took your kids, Heath and Deborah Campbell. You shouldn't have been allowed to breed in the first place probably. Ugh. These people make me sick.

Hope your having a nice weekend! XOXO :)

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The Worst Costumes Ever: Boys & Girls

There's only one thing scarier than a child doctor and that's a zombie child doctor. Imagine that you're going in for major surgery and right before they put you under, a 10-year-old child dressed in scrubs strolls in and prompts you to "count back from ten." You're going to be pretty freaked out, I'll bet. "Am I to believe that a toddler will be performing my gall bladder surgery?" you might think as the room grows hazy around you. Now imagine that same child surgeon is also a zombie. He's got the rotting face, the exposed internal organs, and he's moaning hungrily about brains--sweet, sweet brains. That image is an instant pants filler for me. So, yes, this costume is scary. It's also gross. You really want your kid left out of the Halloween parade at school because you were dumb enough to believe that the zombie child doctor costume was appropriate? You're a parent now, numbnuts. Act like one.
In Halloween superstore circles, this costume is known as the Sweet as Candy California Girl Costume, but, c'mon, we all know what's going on here. This is a Katy Perry costume. Now, I don't have a problem with Katy Perry. She's nice to look at and the song on which this costume is based isn't horrible. I don't begrudge Ms. Perry her fame or her Proactive campaign. However, I do have a problem with her being viewed as a "children's entertainer." "Come now, Matthew, surely you don't believe that Katy Perry is being promoted as someone appropriate for little girls and impressionable tweens?" Oh, no? She's hung out on Sesame Street with Elmo, hosted the Kid's Choice Awards on Nickelodeon, and her songs are on a constant loop on Top 40 radio. Someone--the media, Perry's record company, a shadow government, Perry herself--wants the children of the world to know that they have a new leader and that leader is Katy Perry. This costume is fairly innocuous though. I'll save my "keep your kids away from Katy Perry" rant for the next 100 Songs I Hate (coming soon!!!).
Hey, it's that character from that movie no one saw or liked! Are there a lot of little boys clamoring to be Rango this year? Even if there are, is this the best you can do, people who design Halloween costumes? I kind of hate masks in general, but this mask is especially disturbing with it's human eyes next to lizard eyes weirdness. That said, the child version of Rango is 10-times better than the adult one. Yikes.
This charming fellow is named Carver the Clown. Why Carver? My guess is that he is fond of carving up strangers with a knife, after all, that's what creepy, demonic clowns do, right? Listen, you don't have to raise your children to like clowns, but how does this costume help anybody? Clowns want to make your kids laugh, not give them horrible nightmares. I hate clowns as much as the next guy, but even I think this costume is a little unfair. Plus, I hate those grotesque rubber masks party supply stores and costume shops have hanging up around Halloweentime. All those weird melting faces hanging from hooks. It's like something out of Hostel. Ick.
Costume name: White Monster Bride Child Costume. No, really. What is this? Let's break it down word by stupid word. First, the dominate color of said costume is, in fact, white. Also, the kid is white, but I'm not sure that matters. The "monster" part...um...I guess the fuzzy boots, maybe? OK, we're on "bride" now. She's holding flowers and wedding dresses are usually white and we've already determined that the costume is mostly white in color...but what's with the 4 Non Blondes hat? This costume is a mess. Good luck on Halloween night, candy hander outers: "Oh, you all look so great. What do we have here: a ghost and a little princess and, um, er, Linda Perry...?"
If you dress your child up as the Demon of War for Halloween, you are an asshole.

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The Most Horrific Thing I've Read This Week

So, the American Cancer Society turned down a five-hundred thousand dollar donation from an atheist group last summer. That's right. The ACS turned down five-hundred thousand dollars! FIVE-HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLCARS!!!

Why? Because it was being donated by an organization of godless heathens? Not according to them, but c'mon. What do you take us for, ACS? A nation of empty-headed dummies? You turned down a hefty donation from a group of cancer-hating citizens because they don't believe in God. Or a god. Or any spooky, planet-crafting, animal-building, human-programming spiritual force. They simply believe that we are and then, after we die, we aren't. Oh, yeah, and they wish there were a cure for cancer. They wish there were a cure for cancer so much that they raised half-a-million dollars for the cause. And you, American Cancer Society, said, "Oh, no thanks, atheists. We're fine." Ugh.

From examiner.com:

Thursday, the Foundation Beyond Belief issued a formal statement indicating that their offer to raise up to a half million dollars through the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life program was recently tabled when the American Cancer Society declined to allow the Foundation to create a national Relay team as other non-profits have done.

While the American Cancer Society (ACS) claims their inability to work with the Foundation Beyond Belief (FBB) has nothing to do with the Foundation's godless stance, the evidence indicates otherwise. The fact is, the ACS allows other non-profits to participate in the national relay, and the only conceivable reason for the ACS to disallow the FBB from participating is their somewhat controversial position towards religious belief.

I considered shoehorning in my old "Here's Why I Absolutely Hate All Religions" rant here, but I couldn't exactly get it to fit right. Sure, the ACS's percieved fear of backlash from religious organizations if they had accepted a donation from atheists highlights the unforunate power religion--specifically Christianity--holds over American society, but in the end it's the ACS that wussed out. Any church that would refuse to donate money to cancer research just because a donation from a group of atheists and free-thinkers was also accepted is beyond horrible. I don't think there are any churches like that. I hope there aren't any churches like that. Can you imagine?

Why does it matter who the money is coming from? We all hate cancer, right? Christians, atheists, Muslims, Jews, that weird alien-worshipping cult: we all want cancer to "hit the road," correct? The ACS should be taking any and all donations anyboy is willing to fork over.

And if I may stick it to the religious for just a moment--please, let me take my one jab--at least we know the atheists are donating money to cancer research without any ulterior motives. They're doing so because it is the right and decent thing to do. They aren't counting on bigger mansions in the afterlife, they're simply insuring that everyone can live a comfortable, cancer-free existence in this life.

(You can read more about this story here. And here. You can disagree with me in our comments section. You can also agree with me there. You can also write something about ordering Viagra online, but I'd rather you not.)

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The Worst Costumes Ever: See, Men are Dumb

"It's Halloween and I'm always the life of the party. What should I go as this year? People are expecting something great. Everyone things I'm so funny and I can't let them down. I've got it. I'll go as a sperm. You've done it again, big guy! This is gonna be the best Halloween ever!"

I hate you.

You are a complete asshole.

You are worst human being on the planet. And you're not funny.

I hate these sperm costumes, but, dude, you didn't even try. And why is a sperm also a sperm donor? Can sperm donate sperm? Your dumb costume doesn't even make sense, you dummy.

Wait, do you want people to make deposits on you?

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100 Songs I Love: Rocking Out and Totally in the Groove Edition (121)

121. "Born With a Mic In Our Hand" (Barbie and The Rockers)



If you ever had a little sister, you probably played Barbies with her at some point, unless your parents wouldn't allow her to have Barbie dolls because they felt that the brand promoted sexism or they believed that dolls of any kind were perfect vessels for demonic possession. My little sister had Barbie dolls however, so we played Barbies. That's what you call it: playing Barbies. If you'd ever played Barbies, you'd know.

By the 1980s, Barbie had been a lot of things--a homemaker, a secretary, an airline stewardess--but somehow she'd never been a lady rocker. So, Mattel made her one, gave her a backing band and everything. They were called The Rockers because why not. Barbie and The Rockers were not just a matching set of rock-n-roll dollies though. They were also recording artists. Rock-n-Roll Barbie, or whatever the fudge she was called, came with a cassette tape. This cassette tape contained two or three songs, I think. The most irritating and, therefore, my favorite, was titled "Born With a Mic In Our Hand."

I'm assuming you've listened to it by this point. You'll notice first that it is not good. Not good at all. The reason I like it is because it brings back pleasant memories of me and my sister getting along. I am aware that I lashed out at many of you several weeks ago for your weird love of the The Trashpile's "Surfing Bird" song and I'd like to take this moment to apologize. You go ahead and like "Surfin' Bird." Maybe your daddy played it for you when you were sick and it made you smile. Maybe it was playing the first time you and your cousin shared an illicit opened mouth kiss behind the Christmas tree. Wait, what? Doesn't matter. If "Surfin' Bad" brings back joyous memories of your misbegotten youth, you go ahead and revel in it, you weird freak. You take "Surfin Bird" and I'll stick with "Born With a Mic."

After the overall shittiness of Barbie's song, you probably noticed that the lyrics aren't very good. They are not. They are not only bad, but they are confusing and a little sick. Let's take a closer look.

"Born...born with a mic in our hand": This opening line leads me to belief that Barbie and The Rockers were never meant to be a proper five-piece band, but rather a hideously conjoined singing manbeast. How else do you explain the fact that they were born with a single microphone in their collective hand? Wouldn't it make more sense to sing "Born with several different mics in our separate hands?" Or maybe just have Barbie be the one born with a mic in her hand. They all had to be born with mics in their hands? You're Barbie and The Rockers for a reason, guys. No one's paying to see The Rockers. The Rockers would be lucky to get a state fair gig without Barbie. Of course, if they were a conjoined oddity, they probably could get work on the freak show circuit.

"Singing everything that we can": So, songs, right? That's about all you can sing, you know, without looking like a mental patient.

The verses: So, in the first verse, Barbie explains that as a little girl she would often close her eyes and have eerie visions of herself surrounded by four adults in rock-n-roll gear, which I assume would include ripped jeans, keytars, and vials of coke. In the second verse, Barbie explains that her visions have come true. And that's the song. THAT'S THE SONG!

Why do I like this? It's partly the childhood memories, but it's kind of because I respect a well-crafted pop song and, well, this is undeniably well-crafted. It crawls in your head, lays its poison eggs, and leaves you nauseous and bewildered, but also a little sparkly. It's a tune that has literally etched itself into the deepest reaches of my brain--in the brains of many of my generation, I've discovered--and because of this, for better or worse, we are forever linked.

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The Worst Costumes Ever: Lookit R Dix!!!

As I mentioned in our last installment, Halloween is a time for women to dress like sex objects and for men to ogle them with reckless abandon. That's how it is, but is that entirely fair? After all, women of the non-lesbian variety enjoy men, so it stands to reason that they too may want a little something sexy to look at too this October 31st. And what is a lady's favorite man part to ogle? If you said "the penis," you're probably wrong. I think most women would choose a nice smile or a toned stomach or a tight rear end over a thick veiny cock, considering most men don't walk around with their junk flapping free. This Halloween though, fellas, why not chose a costume that brings attention to the penis and then ridicules it mercilessly. I give you, the worst dick-centric costumes of all time. Notice the disturbing lack of balls. I did. Several times.

#1. The Skeleboner

#2. The Randy Banana

#3. The Snake Charmer

#4. The Guy Inviting People to Masturbate Him in Public

#5. The Giant Anthropomorphized Dick Thing

Oh, you know what? I think that last one is just Jabba the Hutt from the Star Wars franchise. My bad. Never realized how much he looked like a wiener before. Weird.

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What the WTF?!?: What's Not To Like?

What does it mean to "like" something on Facebook?

For those of you unfamiliar with Facebook and its various tools and tricks, when one FB friend enjoys another FB friend's status update or a random comment to said status update or a picture of the Twin Towers with a halo on top, he--or she even!--is afforded the opportunity of "Liking" that update, comment, or photograph. It is as simple as clicking a button. Once clicked, everyone on Facebook knows that you received a momentary jolt of enjoyment from the experience.

I "Like" things on Facebook for a variety of reasons:

1) to agree with the sentiment expressed in a status update or comment
2) to assure a friend that I enjoyed his or her comment on my own status update.
3) to make my aunts feel good about themselves
4) to express my enjoyment of pictures featuring babies making weird faces, fried food of any kind, and/or Jesus riding upon/snuggling a dinosaur

I've never considered the feelings of the people whose comments I have failed to "Like" before. I've never done so, because I genuinely don't care. Anyone bothered by my refusal to "Like" something they've scrawled on my FB Wall uninvited, needs to take a good, hard look at themselves in the mirror and figure out what's gone wrong in his or her life. Listen, your comments are fine, OK? What, I need to "Like" everyting now? Doesn't mean I don't like you in real life. In fact, I prefer the real life you to the FB you. The real life you isn't gonna get all pissy when I don't laugh at a joke or say something about your shoes, is he? Or she? I'm not talking about anybody specific. I'm just saying, sometimes I hear things. If a time ever comes when I feel like I have to "Like" every little comment some half-friend or relative I never see or person from high school I never said two words to ever makes, that is the time I am officially abandoning the good ship Facebook. Seriously. I'll be out.

People aren't required to "Like" every single thing you say/write. Believe me, I wish they were sometimes, but it just isn't so. I'm talking to you, Benito Apolinar:

A 36-year-old Texas man has pleaded not guilty to battery charges after allegedly attacking his estranged wife for failing to "Like" a status update he posted to Facebook.

Benito Apolinar had posted an update to his Facebook page about the anniversary of his mother's death. Angry that the post had elicited no response from his wife of 15 years, he confronted her after dropping off their children at her home in Carlsbad, New Mexico on Tuesday.

What?

"That's amazing everyone 'Likes' my status but you, you're my wife. You should be the first one to 'Like' my status," he allegedly told her before punching her in the cheek and pulling her hair. He was reportedly under the influence of alcohol at the time.

One, your wife was probably gonna sit down with you later and listen to you cry over and reminisce about your mom, dude. You put the kids to bed, you sit together on the couch, and you have a little storytelling sesh. That's what we did after my grandmother's funeral. We went back to her house and told stories for hours. It was great. We didn't post shit on Facebook and wait for each other to "Like" it. We had a face-to-face discussion, like adults do, with nary a computer in sight. I did ask my brother-in-law to call my cellphone so everyone could hear my "Space Olympics" ringtone. That's what normal people do after a church luncheon honoring their grandmother's life, right?

Two, according to the article, Benito, you were dropping your kids off at the house, which leads me to assume that you were driving in a vehicle of some kind, alledgedly drunk. That's the way to make your dead mother proud: driving drunk with your kids in the car and slapping around your wife.

You're a dick, Benito, and there is no place for dicks on Facebook. Take that shit to Twitter.
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11 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Christopher Columbus

1. Columbus was bald, so he often wore a wig. This wig was almost always COVERED IN LICE and smelled like a burlap sack full of CHEAP WET CIGARS.

2. Before becoming an explorer, Columbus was a notorious pirate. He was quite adept at pillaging, stabbing, and raping, but always ending each horrific act of violence with a polite "BEG YOUR PARDON."

3. Columbus housed his EXTENSIVE PORN COLLECTION in the hull of the Santa Maria and was devastated when said ship was lost at sea on Christmas Day, 1492. His favorite piece: A TAPESTRY OF ISABELLA GIVING IT TO FERDINAND FROM BEHIND WITH A WOODEN STRAP-ON DEVICE.

4. Columbus introduced HORSES, SMALLPOX, AND NOISE POP to the New World.

5. Columbus loved pizza. His favorite toppings: ANCHOVIES, ARTICHOKE HEARTS, AND SOMETHING HE CALLED "INJUN FINGERS."

6. Columbus's favorite Captain Beefheart album was Lick My Decals Off, Baby, but he told friends that it was TROUT MASK REPLICA.

7. During an initial meeting with the native people of a particular place he'd discovered, Columbus was known to repeat the phrase "COME AT ME, BRO." Sometimes for HOURS AT A TIME.

8. Columbus owned several NOVELTY T-SHIRTS. His crew was encouraged to compliment Columbus whenever a new one was donned. Columbus would sometimes change shirts up to 8 TIMES A DAY.

9. In his twilight years, Christopher Columbus became extremely religious and FOUNDED SEVERAL MEGACHURCHES thoroughout Europe.

10. Columbus thought MEAN PEOPLE SUCKED.

11. Columbus is a regular guest on the Opie and Anthony radio program. His favorite topics of discussion: GLOBAL EXPLORATION, IMMIGRATION, AND AMERICAN IDOL.
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The Worst Costumes Ever: Don't Touch My Cookies

The first costume on our list combines the sexiness of the Girl Scouts organization with the creepiness of a sexy Girl Scout troop member. Feast your eyes on Don't Touch My Cookies:

Listen, I like pretty ladies and Girl Scout cookies as much as the next guy--maybe more than the next guy!--but something about this get-up makes me uncomfortable. I get the sexualization of witches, nurses, and housmaids 'round Halloweentime, but the sexualization of Girl Scouts--a club created for and chock full of young girls--seems a little, well, gross to me. And then, as if the body-hugging , butt curtain dress and lacy leggings weren't creepy enough, the manufacturers of this perverted costume felt the need to slap a sick little title on it. If a Halloween costume is referred to by anything more complicated than "clown," "Thor," or "zombie crossing guard," for example, it is a costume to be wary of indeed. Don't Touch My Cookies. Ick. You know they're not talking about cookies--or biscuits for our UK readers--right? They're talking about genitalia. The female kind. Sure, the costume comes with "cookie bag"--remember those things that nobody has ever carried anywhere ever?--but we all know the truth. Don't Touch My Cookies means "don't touch my cookies, but look at them as much as you'd like please."

I enjoyed reading the customer reviews for the Don't Touch My Cookies costume at Party City's Web site, especially the ones in which the past customer provided a warning to future customers about the shortness of said costume:

PartyGirl11: "Great Costume. Dress runs right below the booty, so have some spanx or spandex to wear (unless you want your booty to show when you bend over)."

CookieGirl: "I'm 5'4", 120 lbs and this was very short on me. The material doesn't help either because it's not stretchy. That said, it fit well and has a lot of cute accessories..."

That second review sort of starts out like a Penthouse letter. Whatever that is.

We're all aware of the shortness of the dress. Why do you think it was manufactured in the first place? To make Halloween 2011 a super fun time full of candy and party games? Of course not. Don't Touch My Cookies exists for one reason only: to expose your "booty" when you "bend over." And, rest assured, wherever you are this October 31st, men, many barely participating in the Halloween dress up ritual (i.e. a sarcastic THIS IS MY COSTUME t-shirt, the suit they wear to funerals, a plastic lei, etc), will repeatedly ask you to pick things up off of the ground for them or grab them another beer from the cooler or simply demand you bend over and show them your ass, because men are sick and you are dumb.

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Welcome to October at Giant Electric Penguin...

...or as we like to call it

SPOOKY, SPOOKY OCTOBER!!!

Coming this month:

*the most AWFUL COSTUMES of all-time!

*a very special horror movie review on MOVIE PENGUIN MONDAY HALLOWEEN!

*and also on October 31st look out for THE 5 MOST HORRIFYING THINGS I'VE READ...EVER!!!

Hope you don't have a life-threatening heart condition because October at GEP is gonna be scary as all heck! You read that right. You're scared now, right? Well, at least pretend.

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