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Monday, August 27, 2012

Movie Penguin Monday: #19. Friday the 13th: Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan

Friday the 13th: Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan should be titled Friday the 13th: Part VIII: Jason Takes An Hour Long Boat Ride During Which He Commits Several Horrific Murders, Continues To Murder People On Various Sets That Are Supposed To Represent New York City (I Guess) And Visits Times Square For No Longer Than Five Minutes.  I realize that is much to long to put on a poster, so, Jason Takes Manhattan will have to suffice.

In Jason Takes Manhattan, Jason Vorhees takes an hour long boat ride during which he commits several horrific murders, continues to murder people on various sets that are supposed to represent New York City (I guess) and visits Times Square for no longer than five minutes.

"But I thought Jason was dead," you're probably saying out loud to yourself or a nearby loved one.  "How exactly does a dead guy do any of these things you've just described, Giant Electric Penguin Blog?"  You're not wrong.  Jason is dead when Part VIII begins.  If you recall, Jason met his demise in Part VII when he was drowned beneath Crystal Lake by a psychic teenager's zombie father (Google it!).  How does a dead man "take" an entire bustling metropolis like New York City?  He doesn't.  Only alive people can do that, so the first order of business is to jolt Mr. Vorhees awake from his current state of dead.  This is accomplished by electricity somehow.  Apparently there is this huge electric cable on the bottom of Crystal Lake.  A horny teenage boy, who has borrowed his parents' yacht for some late night sex-having, and his more-than-willing companion, drop anchor in Crystal Lake, drag the aforementioned electric cable near Jason's corpse, and ZZZZZAP, Jason is alive and killing again.  It doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

You know what else doesn't make sense?  Lakeview High's graduation pleasure cruise.  Yep, Lakeview High School's Class of '89 (Voted 'Most Likely to be Violently Murdered by a Madman in a Goalie Mask') has finally graduated, so they're all going on a cruise to NYC.  And how many chaperones are overseeing this fun-filled jaunt up the coast?  Two.  Two adults on a cruise boat -- I hesitate to say "ship" because it's a pretty small vessel, although, oddly enough, it is chock full of almost ever amenity you'd find on a standard Royal Carribean cruise liner -- full of horny teenaged boys, coked up teenage girls, and a creepy deckhand who keeps reminding them that they're all going to die.

One the the boat's passengers is a psychologically damaged young woman, Rennie, who, as we learn later but you are going to learn right this very second, is afraid of water, because one time, when she was little, her Uncle Charles pushed her out of a canoe into Crystal Lake and she was attacked by the corpse of Young Jason Vorhees.  She experiences creepy visions of Young Jason throughout the movie and it never stops being gross.  Oh, Uncle Charles is one of the chaperones.  He's Lakeview High's biology teacher.  He's also a dick.  He's the kind of character, like Dr. Crews in the previous installment, that you just can't wait to watch die.  Unfortunately, Uncle Charles hangs on for a pretty long time.  J.J., the punk rocker, isn't so lucky:

Jason hates punk rock.  (Note:  I'm fully aware that this is not punk rock.)

J.J. is the just the first of many students who are dispatched in increasingly uninteresting ways.  I don't like the Saw movies -- to be fair, I've only seen the first one, but I've heard things -- but at least Jigsaw puts a little creative flair into his kills.  Jason is simply going through the motions at this point.  Harpoon guns, shards of broken mirror, a good old fashioned strangulation: these are the tools of Jason's trade.  This section of the film is pretty dull,  apart from a scene in which class hottie/total bitch, Tamara Mason, attempts to seduce Uncle Charles while horny class nerd, Glasses Guy (I don't remember his name and I don't care to look it up.  IMDB it!), video tapes it.  OH!  And to be fair, Jason does get a little creative when he kills a jock in the boat's sauna room (???) by plunging a piping hot rock through his rib cage.

Like I said, this boat stuff is pretty boring.  It's also the largest section of the film.  Jason doesn't even to get to Manhattan until an hour in.  By that time, the movie's got about thirty more minutes to go.  How the hell is someone, even a hulking supernatural killing machine like Jason Vorhees, going to "take" the Big Apple in 30 minutes?  Impossible.  

I've been to New York City a handful of times.  My wife and I spent our honeymoon there.  We've been a couple times, in fact, to see Broadway shows and walk around and whatever.  I'm no expert when it comes to NYC, but I think I've got a pretty good handle on it.  Friday the 13th: Part VIII taught me some things I never knew about the City That Never Sleeps however.  For instance, did you know that every night at midnight, the sewers beneath Manhattan are flushed out with toxic waste?  It's true!  Not only that, but open barrels of toxic waste are stored in random alleys all over the city.  Weird, huh?  I saw it in a movie, so it must be true.

That midnight toxic flushing of New York's sewers is very important, as this is how Rennie and her love interest ultimately kill Jason.  Trapped in the sewer tunnels, Jason is drenched in a gushing torrent of toxic waste, that melts his face like this:

And then turns him into a little boy for some reason.  For real.  After the toxic waste, I don't know, makes its way out into the Atlantic Ocean, Rennie observes Young Jason lying motionless on the sewer floor. What?  I don't know.

So, Jason has been melted into a little boy.  There's no way he's coming back after this, right?  Wrong, asshole!  Jason Vorhees was back four years later in something called Jason Goes to Hell.

BUT...?  HOW...?  HUH...?  C'MON!

So, join me next Monday when I don't discuss Jason Goes to Hell or mention Jason Vorhees, Camp Crystal Lake, or the number thirteen, because I'm not doing it.  I love you guys, but I can't.  Not now.  I can however in October.  Yep.  This October, I'm bringing back the extremely popular


In fact, I'm working on it right now.  I've got some doozies for you guys come October.  Is that how you spell "doozies?"  My computer has underlined it in red.  I'm gonna stick with doozies.

Until October, let's give Jason a little break.  Sleep tight, Little Vorhees.  They're so cute when they're dead and melted.

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Friday, August 24, 2012

100 Songs I Hate: 34-36

Inspired by the recent announcement of Chad Kroeger and Avril Lavigne's engagement, we bring you the latest installment of 100 Songs I Hate.

34. "Drive By" (Train)

Unfortunately, this is not a song about the members of Train being gunned down in a violent drive-by shooting.  No, "drive by" in this song refers to a one night stand, which Train's lead singer, whose name I so don't care about I refuse to waste the mere seconds it would take to look him up on Wikipedia, is assuring the object of his affection their night of passion at a winery, I guess, was most decidedly not.  He achieves this purpose by singing lines like this one:

"Just a shy guy looking for a two ply Hefty bag to hold my love."


"When you move me, everything is groovy. They don't like it, sue me.  Either way, you do me."

OK, first of all, he needs a "Hefty bag" to hold his love?  What does that mean?  Is he talking about sperm?  Seriously.  I'm not trying to be gross.  How do you keep love in a Hefty bag?  What's the metaphor here?  What is Train guy trying to say?  Did Train receive a big, fat paycheck from the Hefty Corporation?

Secondly, who the hell is threatening to sue you for telling the special lady in your life that she makes everything especially groovy?  That makes less sense than carting your semen around in a two play Hefty bag?  And what's a two play Hefty bag?  What size Hefty bag are we talking here?

Thirdly: Either way, you do me?  Classy.

This song is horrible.

An aside: The lead singer for Train looks like Jason Bateman if he had his face smashed in with a hockey stick.

35. "Payphone" (Maroon 5)

Wait a minute.  What the hell is this?  On one level, it makes sense to couple the dumbest song in the world with the dumbest video ever made.  "Payphone" is yet another monotonous Maroon 5 song (you know the type), made all the worse by coupling it with a boring, pseudo-bad-ass video that features Adam Levine running around with a gun for some reason.  But we're not here to critique crummy videos, were here to expose shitty songs.  So, let's forget the above monstrosity and delve deeper into "Payphone" the song.

Why is Adam Levine using a payphone?  Nobody uses payphones anymore.  The only payphone I'm aware of currently is the one in front of the Char-Grill downtown and I'm pretty sure it's been broken since two days after its installation.  You kind of need the video to understand why TV reality show judge Adam Levine is forced to use the payphone, but we're ignoring the video, so let's move forward.

Every time this song starts and I hear Levine's whiny voice sing the words "I'm at a payphone," I can't help but laugh like I just watched a YouTube video of some fat kid falling off of something.  It's the single most hilarious line of the summer, hands down.

That's all.  That's as deep as I can go with this one.  I just don't care enough.

An aside: You know, if the Mayans are wrong and our planet doesn't explode this December, in 15 years or so, Train and Maroon 5 are going to go on a big nostalgia tour.  You know they will.  That's the nostalgia tour we're going to get, guys.  Maroon 5 and Train.  Better start praying to those Mayan gods for a swift demise.

36. "Next Contestant" (Nickelback)

This song is about a dirtbag hanging out at the strip club where his stripper girlfriend works and beating up the men who come on to her.  Congratulations, Avril.

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Monday, August 20, 2012

Movie Penguin Monday: #18. Friday the 13th: Part VII: The New Blood (1988)

There are some film and television series that require viewers to watch each installment in a particular sequence to fully understand the deeper meaning behind the whole.  The Friday the 13th series is not one of those series.  You can pretty much flop down in front of any one of the entries in this illustrious 10-part series (I don't count Freddy vs Jason or that 2009 reboot shit) and figure out what's going on.  And that's simply because every single Friday the 13th movie is essentially the same:  supernatural mass murderer, Jason Voorhees, rises from the dead and slaughters a bunch of half-naked teens engaged in various forms of fornication and drug abuse.  Jason should be viewed as a hero by the Conservative Christian crowd, but, unfortunately, most of them are too turned off by gore to give the poor hulking brute a chance. He is an avenging angel for conservative values, and, yet, he will never be viewed as more than a goalie-masked killing machine who is probably possessed by the Devil or something.

The New Blood is no different from the rest of the series -- except for the fact that it features a girl with telekinetic powers -- yet the filmmakers still feel compelled to give us a pre-credit sequence that let's the audience know what Jason's been up to.  All that you need to know to understand The New Blood however is that Jason has been chained to a rock and left to drown at the bottom of Crystal Lake.

The film proper begins with our hero/final girl, Tina Shepard, as a youngster, witnessing her dad slapping around her mom.  Unable to take the stress of vacationing with an abusive piece of garbage, Tina hops into a rowboat and drifts onto Crystal Lake.  Her father runs out to the dock to reason with her, but Tina ain't hearing it.  "I hate you!" she shouts.  "I wish you were dead!"  And because she possesses eerie telekinetic powers, her father complies.  The dock collapses and Mr. Shepard drowns.  Good riddance.  I'm glad he's dead.  I hope I never have to see that guy again.

In the next scene, a now teenaged Tina and her mother are on their way to the old cabin on Crystal Lake to meet Tina's psychologist, Dr. Crews, played by Terry Kiser, who you might remember as the titular character from the Weekend at Bernie's films (That's right: Mr. Weekend himself!  To be fair, I've haven't seen either of the Weekend at Bernie's movies.  What is Mr. Weekend doing at Bernie's anyway and what does Bernie think about it?  Is Bernie there too?  Are they friends?  Brothers?  Sworn enemies?  I'm finished now.).  Dr. Crews is the kind of character you're introduced to in a horror movie that you instantly want to see hacked to pieces by a machete-wielding supernatural hulk.  There's something about him.  It's probably the mustache.  Dr. Crews thinks spending a weekend at the cabin where she murdered her father with telekinesis will, I don't know, make Tina not crazy anymore.  Who knows what line of horseshit he fed Mrs. Shepard.  All Crews cares about videotaping Tina while she moves matchbooks with her mind.

The cabin next door is full of horny teenagers.  Of course it is!  These are your stock horror movie victims.  I don't remember any of their names, only the archetypes they represent.  You've got the nerd, the whore, the bitch, the cool guy who smokes weed, the guy who never wears a shirt, the other whore, the rich asshole, the ugly girl yearning for someone, ANYONE to at the least finger her maybe, and the black couple.  You know, they may not have had names.  Would've been a waste of time anyway.  No one is gonna miss these people.

To be fair, the oftentimes shirtless guy does have a name.  It's Rick.  Rick develops an insta-crush on Crazy Ol' Tina and invites her next door to a surprise birthday party for his cousin, who is, by this point, completely and utterly dead.

I've gotten ahead of myself.  I forgot to tell you how Jason Voorhees is freed from his watery prison.  Tina does it, accidentally, with her psychic powers.  There.

From this point forward, The New Blood is a quick succession of grisly murders and teenage boobs.  Jason, like the righteous avenger of good Christian values that he is, stumbles across the cabin of iniquities and cleans up the joint.  Again, I don't know who dies in what order, but I do remember the bulk of the kills.  Let's see...

--A girl is drowned while skinny dipping.
--The ugly girl is run through with a sickle after tarting herself up to attract the cool guy.
--The black girl gets a party horn shoved into her eye socket.
--The bitchy socialite who doesn't approve of Rick's crush on Tina gets an axe buried in her face and is tossed across the living room.
--The weird nerdy kid has his skull crushed while opening birthday presents.
--A girl completely unrelated to the main action is crushed to death when Jason zips her up in a sleeping bag and repeatedly slams her into a tree.
--Dr. Crews is sliced to pieces by a tree saw, but only after he pulls this dick move:

In case you can't tell, that's Dr. Crews using Tina's mother as a human shield.  I told you he was a jerk.

Up to this point, The New Blood isn't that different from the Friday the 13ths that came before it.  Teenagers get drunk, some of them have sex with one another, some of them take showers, and Jason slaughters them all with various lawn tools, leaving a final girl and/or boy to finish him off until the next installment.  And that's where The New Blood's difference lies: in its final girl.  She isn't some screeching normie with tears running down her cheeks.  She's a telekinetic bad-ass.  Tina collapses a porch on top of Jason, shoots nails into his face, douses him in gasoline and sets him on fire, all while Rick --who has a gun by the way -- looks on or lies on the floor unconscious.

In the films finale, we find ourselves back where we started: the ill-fated dock where Tina's father met his doom all those years before.  Jason, who has somehow survived an entire cabin exploded all around him, shuffles onto the refurbished dock for the final showdown.  It is at this moment that Rick decides to finally use his gun.  Oh, yeah, shooting Jason accomplishes nothing.  Thanks, Rick.

Tina, once again using her telekinetic powers, concentrates super hard at Jason.  Crystal Lake bubbles and steams and a shadowy figure crashes through the dock and pulls Jason back down into the watery depths.  That shadowy figure?  Yeah.  It's Tina's dad.  Apparently, they never fished his body and buried it.  They just left him there after his dock collapsed, drowning him.  Yes, Tina's father drowned in A LAKE and was left there.  It wasn't like the cops were going to have to drag Crystal Lake or anything.  He basically died ten feet from the shore.  

So, I guess that's it.  Tina's zombie father pops up and drags Jason underwater, ending the threat of Jason Voorhees forever and always.  Only, yeah, there's a Part VIII...

BUT...?  HOW...?  BUT ISN'T JASON...?

Never fear, dear readers.  I have seen Friday the 13th: Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan -- yeah, that Manhattan -- and next Monday, I shall answer all of your Jason Voorhees-related questions, and teach you a few things about New York City you might not be aware of.  Until next time...

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Saturday, August 18, 2012

What the WTF?!?: Stop Ruining the Movies!!!

The Aurora, Colorado theater shooting was awful.  GEP didn't really touch on it because, quite simply, we deal in jokey goodtime fun, and there is nothing fun nor funny about this tragedy.  You hear me, Dane Cook?  Nothing.

The massacre in Aurora was not only awful, but it was a fluke.  These kinds of things just don't happen.  Sure, an old creepy guy occasionally picks a row full of single ladies to jerk off in OR an Asian man slaps a 10-year-old boy around for kicking his seat OR a row of teenagers spends the duration of a film texting, but this is usually as bad as it gets. (Why did I start with the masturbating creep?  These things are usually supposed to build in awfulness.  Maybe I'd rather have a weirdo spanking it in my row than have to put up with teenagers.  I probably would actually.)  It isn't normal for a crazy man to burst into a theater and open fire.  It's decidedly abnormal.

However, following James Holmes midnight rampage, stories about gun-toting idiots getting busted inside movie theaters have been popping up all over the country.  Seriously, what the hell is going on?  You really want to ruin the moviegoing experience for all of us, don't you?

Here's a story out of Ohio:

An Ohio grand jury has indicted Scott A. Smith, who was arrested after allegedly attending the latest Batman movie armed with a gun, ammunition and knives.

Smith was indicted Monday on one felony count of carrying a concealed weapon, one misdemeanor count of carrying a concealed weapon and one misdemeanor count of carrying weapons "under disability," charges that refer to the effects of prescription drugs Smith was taking, said Nicole DiSanto of the Cuyahoga County Prosecutor's Office in Cleveland.

Police say on the night of August 4, Smith went to the Regal Theater in Westlake to see the 10:30 p.m. showing of "The Dark Knight Rises."

According to DiSanto, Smith was the first to arrive, 30 minutes before the movie's start, and took a seat in the back row, directly in the middle, with his back to a wall. A manager at the theater and an off-duty police officer grew suspicious of where he sat, and they noticed the bag Smith was carrying.

They asked to search the bag, DiSanto said, and inside found a loaded 9 mm semiautomatic handgun, two loaded magazine clips and three knives. Police said Smith was carrying another knife on his person.

Smith's lawyer said he had arrived early to get the best seat in the theater. "That's just the kind of person he is," said Bruce, who acknowledged that Smith was not carrying the gun legally. 

Smith told the off-duty officer he was carrying the gun and knives for protection, to protect himself and other moviegoers, said police, who took him into custody.

The story goes on to describe the stockpile of weapons found in Smith's home, along with "survivalist gear."  What did he think he was protecting the movie theater from?  Terminator robots?  Listen, if the Aurora shooting has rendered you unable to see a movie in a theater full of various other human beings, instead of loading your duffel bag with guns and ammo, why don't you just stay home?  At home you can make your own popcorn -- so you save money there -- get as many free soda refills as you want, and you can stroke your semiautomatic weapon while lovingly whispering to it over the duration of whatever film you've decided to watch.  Problem solved.

Here's another story, this one about a good (see also "dumb") Samaritan (see also "guy, probably not an actual Samaritan") whose plan to protect the moviegoing public backfired "hilariously":

Police say a man accidentally shot himself in the buttocks at a Nevada movie theatre during a showing of "The Bourne Legacy." 

Police in Sparks, Nev., say the 56-year-old man's injuries are not life-threatening and no others were hurt. 

Authorities say the man had a permit to carry a concealed firearm. The man told officers the gun fell from his pocket Tuesday night as he was adjusting himself in the seat and that it discharged when it dropped to the floor. 

Authorities say the case will be sent to the city attorney for possible charges.

Look, you keep doing this shit, and next thing you know, we're all walking through metal detectors and getting frisked when all we wanna do is watch the next in the Step Up series in peace.  My local theater is checking ladies' purses now, you know, since 100% of the people bringing weapons into movie theaters in all these stories have been females.  But, yeah, when my wife and I went to see The Dark Knight Rises last weekend, some theater employee rifled through her bag for a couple seconds before letting us inside.  How am I gonna sneak in my beer and jerky now, huh?  Thanks a lot, James Holmes, you crazy piece of shit!

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Monday, August 13, 2012

Liam Gallagher's Giant Boner

The 2012 Summer Olympics are officially over, and I, for one, am going to miss the hell out of 'em.  But what a send off they got last night, yeah?  Look, I don't know what you thought of Sunday's closing ceremonies.  I enjoyed them.  I'd give them a solid "C+" if asked to assign them a report card-style grade.  I liked some of it and I thought some of it was fairly awful.  But I got into it.  I'm not like some of you hatey-pants haters out there who hate stuff just because it's loud and dumb and not particularly hip.  I liked seeing the Spice Girls reunite and eff you for laughing at me.

Like I said, I don't know what you thought about the closing ceremonies, but here is a short list of my actual thoughts during the two hours I spent watching it:

--"So that's what the Kaiser Chiefs look like."
--"This isn't really the extent of the David Bowie tribute, is it?  Oh.  It is."
--"Oh, look, it's renowned singer Russell Brand singing 'I Am The Walrus'."
--"The Spice Girls still look great.  Careful, Ginger Spice, don't fall off the roof of that speeding taxi."
--"Just stop it, Fatboy Slim.  You pushed play."
--"George Michaels looks so lonely out there.  Poor guy."
--"I didn't know that the guy who sings 'Dynamite' was British.  I didn't really care either, but there you go.  I'd rather listen to this kid's 'Dynamite' parody anyway."
--"I wonder who's going to fill in for Freddie Mercu...oh, Jessie J."
--"Yep, when I think Olympics, I think Kate Moss."
--"When's the Bush tribute start?"

The most amazing moment though was when classic British rock band Beady Eye took the stage.  You know Beady Eye, right?  All the guys from Oasis except Noel Gallagher?  Anyway, Beady Eye is there and they do "Wonderwall." Liam Gallagher's voice was as nasally and irritating as ever, maybe more so, but the crowd, and I mean the entire crowd, sang along with every single word.  Olympic athletes from all over the planet stopped flashing their medals at passing cameramen or snapping pictures of their friends and teammates posing in front of the giant octopus, and just sang along with "Wonderwall."  And watching this I thought, Liam Gallagher must have the biggest boner right now.  I would.  The world knows your song, dude!  The whole world!  What must that feel like?  It was a cool moment.  Good for you, Beady Eye.

So, the Olympics are gone, but football season is right around the corner.  Then the Winter Olympics in 2014.  And after that, the first annual Hunger Games.  I can't wait!

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Sunday, August 12, 2012

GEP Looks Back on the 2012 Summer Olympics

The 2012 Summer Olympics in London ended today, so I decided to take a look back on some of my favorite moments from this year's games.  It's been an amazing two weeks and, frankly, I'm sad to see it end, but I will cherish these great memories for the rest of my life.  Enjoy.

Yes, I will always remember the 2012 Summer Olympics as the Olympics during which I became aware of Croatian basketball player Antonija Misura.  What a superb athlete.  Oh, and that last picture is from the movie Alien, which I watched for the first time after growing bored with the opening ceremonies.

[For serious though, I thoroughly enjoyed this year's Olympics.  Per usual, I didn't get to see nearly the amount of indoor women's volleyball I wanted, though I did get to watch most of the US vs. South Korea game.  I enjoyed the gymnastics.  I was introduced to handball and totally got into it for an afternoon.  Oh, fencing was super cool, as was taekwondo.  And I lifted my lifetime ban on soccer-watching and watched most of the US vs. Japan women's gold medal game and that was pretty damn great.  Race walking, however, is still super lame.]

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The Most Horrific Thing I Read Last Week

I harbor a fear -- it's really more of a hatred -- of insects.  If I see them crawling around outside, fine, the out-of-doors belongs as much to them as it is does to me, maybe more.  But when I find one creeping around my house, well, all bets are off.  I didn't invite you in, bug, so I'm going to assume this is some kind of blatant home invasion, a "B & E" as I hear cops on television say almost never.  Now I'm no expert on the law, but I'm fairly certain when someone, no matter how many legs they possess, walks into my house uninvited, I'm allowed to blow his/her head off.  If I'm wrong, let me know, but that sounds totally correct and perfectly sane to me.  Insects are not allowed on the premises.

Another place insects aren't allowed: my ears.  You hear horrible stories about earwigs crawling into people's skulls and eating their brains while they sleep or spiders laying eggs in people's ear canals when you're a kid, but when you get older -- and discover -- you realize these stories are nothing more than urban legends.  However, it doesn't seem unheard of for a mosquito to catch a breather in your ear for a couple of seconds or an ant to wander in absent-mindedly.  It happens, but I'm sure they don't stick around too long.  I mean, who would want to hang out in an ear?  I figure an insect stumbles in accidentally, gets grossed out by the all the wax, and buzzes off.  In and out, three seconds tops:

A woman who went to China's Changsha Central Hospital complaining of itching in the left side of her head was told by doctors that the source of irritation was a spider that had been living inside her ear canal for five days.

Five days?!?  I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.  No.  It was a lot.  And not in my mouth.  Hang on.  I gotta change my shirt.

Doctors reportedly used a saline solution to flush out the spider in order to avoid having the spider burrow deeper inside the canal or bite her. 

The flushing technique was successful and the woman reportedly wept with gratitude after being told the spider was removed. Doctors say they believe the spider entered the woman's home while the home was undergoing renovations, and crawled into her ear while she was sleeping.

Crawled in while she was sleeping, huh?  So I guess the lesson here is never go to sleep.  Hey, the kids in Nightmare on Elm Street did that, right?  Everything turned out all right for them, right?

And lest you think this was some cute little spider just stopping by for a friendly visit:

That's it, I'm never sleeping again, nor am I ever visiting China.  And home renovations are right out.  

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Saturday, August 11, 2012

Perving Out: The XXX Olympics, or The OOOOOOOOO-Yeah-lympics

Have you seen "Bodies in Motion," the weird soft-core Olympics-themed porno the perverts at NBC made yet?  If not, take a look:

Sheesh!  Go take a cold shower, NBC.

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Thursday, August 9, 2012

Singapore Sex Fest 2012 (sponsored by Mentos)

The Olympics might still be going strong in London, but in Singapore tonight, there's gonna be an all out sex-fest:

You heard the rapping candy, citizens of Singapore, get out there -- or, rather, stay in there -- and get to babymakin'!  The more babies you have, the more mouths you have to feed, and the more mouths you have to feed, the greater potential for stinky breath, and there's only one way to battle bad breath and that's Mentos, baby!  Sweet, minty Mentos.  They're not called "The Freshmaker" for nothing.

Also: a fish and a lion had a baby together?!?  What the hell is going on over there in Singapore?

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Tuesday, August 7, 2012

4 Lamest Summer Olympic Mascots Ever

During the 2010 Winter Olympics, GEP looked back at some of the Olympic mascots of the past and organized them into two simple categories: Lamest and Coolest.  It being Olympics time again and all, we thought it might be fun to do the same with the mascots of Summer Olympics past.  Was it as fun as we thought it might be?  Only you, and Almighty God, can make that final judgement.

4. Sam the Olympic Eagle (1984 Summer Olympics, Los Angeles)
At the risk of sounding wholly un-American, I kind of hate Sam the Olympic Eagle.  Olympic mascots are traditionally supposed to highlight and celebrate the culture of the host country, while at the same time being cute and cuddly enough to win over the rest of the known world. One can't help but think of the United States when one looks at Sam and that's fine.  He's just so obvious.  I mean, c'mon, an eagle?  How long did it take to come up with that one?  If the answer is anything other then "a couple seconds," there's something terribly wrong.  And then the red, white and blue Uncle Sam hat.  Ugh.  Yawn city.

3. Izzy (1996 Summer Olympics, Atlanta)
In 1996, the United States went in the completely opposite direction and gave us Whatizit, or Izzy for short. What was Izzy? Was he a “sperm in sneakers” as many in the media, presumably those who had never seen sperm, labeled him? Was he smiling blue shape-shifting blob? Was he an anthropomorphic Olympic torch like I think? Was he anything you wanted him to be and therefore one of the lamest Olympic mascots in recent history? The world may never know, but it’s probably the last one.

2. Waldi (1972 Summer Olympics, Munich)
Hey, look, everybody. It’s Waldi the Olympic dachshund. Yep. There he is. Sigh.

To be fair, Waldi wasn't the worst thing to happen at the Olympics that year, just the lamest.

1. Athena and Phevos (2004 Summer Olympics, Athens)

Ah, yes, Athenos and Phevos, the gourd-shaped weirdos of the 2004 Olympic Games in Athens, the birthplace of the Olympics. You remember the Olympics, right? Those semi-mythological feats of human physicality allegedly created by Heracles himself following the completion of his famous 12 Labors? Yeah, Heracles, or Hercules if you prefer, apparently thought up the Olympics on his off time, and yet Athenos and Phevos, two supremely odd-looking gourd-people, get to the be the face of the 2004 Olympics? OK.

There is something about Athenos and Phevos that make them just look dumb. I think it’s their tiny heads. Can’t fit much brains in skulls that small. And they don’t look particularly athletic, with their giant puss-filled feet and chubby asses. They look like escapees from a state fair freak show. Lame.

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Saturday, August 4, 2012

Weirdest Song Ever?

Factual, but necessary?  Was there a time in this country when mass amounts of children were under the mistaken impression that rocks, chairs and cars were living things, akin to their mothers and Cousin Myrtles, that made this song vitally important?  I don't remember ever attempting to feed any of my chairs a slice of pizza, but maybe I did.  There are a lot of things I don't remember about my childhood.

Anyway, this is the weirdest song ever, right?  It's also pretty great.  As is the video.  I especially like the part in which a boy tries, in vain, to feed a hot dog to a chair.  This is followed by an extremely strange scene of several children wandering around a random collection of chairs, hands cupping ears, listening for breathing.  See?  Weird.

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Friday, August 3, 2012

4 Fast Food Controversies "They" Don't Want You To Know About

Chick-Fil-A isn't the only fast food eatery in American to cause an unholy uproar.  Most of our nation's most popular grease merchants have, at one time or another, courted controversy.  Here are a few examples our research team (i.e. me) found that you might not be aware of.  Don't wait to read this one, kids.  "They" are watching.

1. Grimace's autobiography:  Forget the fact that it is rife with misspellings and scathing, unproven details of the sexual goings-on in the bedrooms of McDonaldland, Grimace's 1983 biography, I'm Grimace: Like It or Lump It, remains a sore spot for the McDonald's Corporation.  Grimace does not mince words when it comes to describing Hamburgler's well publicized battle with chronic kleptomania and Birdy's meth addiction, nor does he hesitate to detail his three month, implied sexual relationship with Mayor McCheese.  But it's the fifteenth chapter, the longest in Grimace's almost one-thousand page opus, that really bothered some people.  In this chapter, titled "C'mon, Really???," Grimace denies the Holocaust, providing an increasingly inane list of proof he has uncovered through years of study. 

The McDonald's Corporation was obviously horrified by the racist admissions of their second most popular pitchman and called for a mass recall of the book.  "Grimace was clearly not himself when he penned this particular chapter," a spokesperson for McDonald's said at a press conference held outside of McDonaldland's City Hall building.  Grimace had in fact been dealing with his own demons while writing Like It or Lump It (an abusive childhood, an increasingly dangerous addiction to cough syrup), but his own apology, made at the same press conference, friend and AA sponsor Ronald McDonald by his side, left many in the Jewish community cold.  The chapter was removed from subsequent printings, but the world never quite looked at Grimace the same way ever again.

Grimace took his own life in 2007.

2. Arby's "roast beef":  It is a question that has plagued a curious nation for eons: "What is this stuff Arby's calls "roast beef" really?"  Look, I'm a fan of Arby's, but I've also had roast beef, and that stuff on the Big Montana, while certainly meat, is not roast beef.

A few years ago, somebody discovered the answer and it was not pretty.  Meet the source of Arby's meat:

This is obviously an artist's rendering, but Arby's is yet to deny the existence of, well, whatever this is.  Some have described it as a "medium-sized caterpillar-pig" or a "hog-worm with beetle-feet."  Arby's calls it "Hank."  

Here was the official explanation from Arby's following Hank's discovery: "Hank was grown in a lab by Arby's scientist who were given the task to create a new, sustainable, healthier source of meat protein for Arby's exclusive line of sandwiches and shakes.  Hank is succulent, low in toxins, highly murderable, easy to slice and totally delicious, especially with a side of curly fries."

3. Where's the beef, comrade?: Remember that old bag in the Wendy's commercials who was always asking where the beef was located?  Remember how kindly and sweet she seemed, kinda like your own grandmother only on TV yelling about beef?  Remember how she was Soviet spy?  Oh, you don't remember that?  Well, it's true!

Unbeknownst to Dave Thomas, actress Clara Peller was in our country first and foremost to steal nuclear secrets.  The fact that she looked like a nice old lady made it easy for Peller to get into places the likes of which you and I would never have access.  Her role as a Wendy's spokesperson was just icing on the dirty Commie cake.

After "Where's the beef" fever faded into obscurity, Peller got sloppy and it wasn't long before the FBI was hip to her years-long deception.  Before US officials could get their hands on the diminutive pitchwoman, Peller disappeared.  She is considered "at large" to this very day.  

4. No quiero Taco Bell:  Taco Bell has had it's share of controversies (the taco meat isn't meat but, rather, heavily-spiced cardboard; employees are actively encouraged to not wash their hands after using the restroom; the whole "farting" thing), but the worst, and probably the least remembered, centers around one-time spokesdog, Gidget Chipperton.  That's right: the Taco Bell dog had a first and last name.

For some, Gidget was a symbol of corporate racism run amok.  Hispanic-Americans thought the Taco Bell chihuahua, like Speedy Gonzales before her, was mocking their culture and they didn't like it.  To others, however, Gidget was a symbol of hope for a better tomorrow.  And cheap tacos.

So smitten was he with Gidget's hilarious Godzilla-inspired catchphrase "Here leeezard, leeezard, leezard," President Bill Clinton decided, against the advice of much of his staff, to president Gidget with the Medal of Freedom.  At the ceremony, a nervous Gidget, who had unwisely gorged herself on a family-sized box of Cheesy Gorditas, experienced the kind of explosive diarrhea one only reads about in books.  A portion of Gidget's foul, liquid waste found its way into the breast pocket of the President's suit jacket somehow, but the majority wound up on the American flag.  The audience at the ceremony gasped in horror.  The event, which was airing live on all of the major networks, proved detrimental to Taco Bell.  First of all, Gidget, the face of Taco Bell, had callously and thoughtlessly shit on our country's greatest symbol of freedom.  Secondly, and perhaps more damning, many viewers claimed to detect a distinct similarity between Gidget's  projectile feces and the "meat" used in their favorite Taco Bell delicacies.  Taco Bell's popularity plummeted and Gidget was let go.

Gidget took her own life in 2009.

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Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Happy Support Chick-Fil-A Day Everybody!!!

The new face of hatred. (I'm kidding.  C'MON!)

Happy Support Chick-fil-A Day, everybody!  I'm still tired from my family's Support Chick-fil-A Eve celebrations: the lighting of of the Support Chick-fil-A Candelabra, the Covenant of the Waffle Fries ceremony and, of course, the eating of more chicken.  It was a fun, somber time to reflect on all of the things Chick-fil-A has given to us over the years, mainly high cholesterol.

Look, if you want to support Chick-fil-A today or any other day, do it.  Get yourself a chicken sandwich and a carton of waffle fries and go crazy.  I don't care what you do.  But don't let some right-wing, TV blowhard convince you that they need your support.  They don't need your support.  They don't care whether or not you order a combo #1 today or any other day.  Chick-fil-A is doing fine.

Here's what happens when you post a giant I Support Chick-fil-A advertisement on your Facebook or Twitter or wherever you share your opinions online: some people consider you a bigot.  Are you a bigot?  Probably not.  You probably just love Chick-fil-A's tasty combo of fried chicken and pickles.  Hell, I love that combination.  It is simple and elegant and delicious.  But some people will look at you as some kind of homophobic piece of trash standing in the way of societal evolution.  And that's kind of your own fault.  Let me explain.

Mike Huckabee proposed Support Chick-fil-A Day because of the fallout from Chick-fil-A president Dan Cathy's recent interview in which he said that the Biblical definition of marriage is the best and that homos are gross (He didn't say that second thing...).  Also, I guess Chick-fil-A has given money to groups that actively lobby to block same-sex marriage.  

You know my thoughts on marriage equality and gay rights -- to remind you, I'm very pro- both and sincerely believe those who are anti- are nothing but giant bullies -- so I'm taking a Chick-fil-A break right now, which will likely turn into a full-on ban.  I'm not making a big deal out of it.  I posted some jokes on Facebook, but that is all they were: jokes.  You can eat at Chick-fil-A if you want.  My dad came over to my house Saturday bearing a Chick-fil-A cup full of Diet Coke and I didn't toss him out.  My trainer at work ate a free Chick-fil-A ice cream sundae in front of me last Friday and I didn't mercilessly berate her.  It's fast food.  I'm not going to get bent out of shape about fast food.  I am, however, opposed to what Cathy said and who Chick-fil-A is giving money to.  So, I'm not going to eat there.  It's not because the food is bad, because it isn't.  It's because morally, I'd feel bad eating a Chick-fil-A sandwich right now, no matter how much I want one.  Shit.  I knew I shouldn't have written this.  Now I want Chick-fil-A.

All I'm saying is that you should keep in my mind why us godless, liberal, left-wing, Socialist nutjobs (your words -- not mine) have soured on Chick-fil-A.  We're not calling for boycotts (For the record, I'm not calling for a full-scale boycott, I've personally decided to spend my money elsewhere.) because of the food or because of the opinion of one close-minded man-fossil, but because of the principal.  There are a lot of us who think this country can do better.  It's 2012. Why doesn't everybody share the same basic human rights yet?  Doesn't that trouble you?  It should.  Why not let the bullies know we're a nation ready for change and eat more chicken elsewhere.  Somewhere where the cows can spell.

Bojangles is better anyway.  

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