Giant Electric Penguin

What the WTF?!?: Heart Attack Grill is not the enemy

2012-02-18T17:35:00.000-05:00

A man suffered a heart attack at the Heart Attack Grill this week. Oh, you've never heard of the Heart Attack Grill? Well, the Heart Attack Grill is an American burger joint that proudly serves the most unhealthy food imaginable (the above menu is the ACTUAL, FOR REAL Heart Attack Grill menu) via waitress dressed as sexy nurses:

It's kind of like a Hooters for that portion of the fetish crowd who prefers burgers to chicken wings. Keep in mind, none of the waitress are actual nurses, so, if you do ever find yourself in a Heart Attack Grill having chest pains and shortness of breath, the big-breasted, booty short-clad hottie who just dropped a large order of lard-fried Flatliner Fries on your grease-splattered table cannot help you. You're boned, basically.

But guess what, my sweaty chum? You've boned yourself. That's right. The Heart Attack Grill isn't responsible for the lifetime of poor choices you've made, up to and including the decision to enjoy a quick bite to eat at the Heart Attack Grill. I assume thousands of people have dined at the Heart Attack Grill and suffered nothing more than momentary regret. Then again, people have, in fact, given their life for the Heart Attack Grill's cause. Blair River, a 575 pound fan and spokesperson, died in 2011, no doubt a result of his frequent trips to the Grill. But still, is this Grill's fault? I submit that it is not.

It's River's fault. Nobody forced him to weigh 575 pounds. I know some people have struggles maintaining a healthy weight--hell, I'm one of them--but River knew what he was doing. He was 575 pounds and he ate regularly at the Heart Attack Grill. He knew what could happen. IT'S RIGHT ON THE SIGN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!! And this guy in the Las Vegas location this week. There's no way this guy was the picture of good health. He had a heart attack while chowing down on a Triple Bypass Burger. Who needs all that? No one needs all of that! You waltz into a place and order something called a Triple Bypass Burger, with a side of Flatliner Fries and a pack of filterless cigarettes for dessert, you deserve the resulting heart attack. And you should be required to pay your bill in full. Well, you or your heirs.

We do this shit to ourselves, guys. There wouldn't be a Heart Attack Grill if people didn't want a Heart Attack Grill. We can't control ourselves. People are dying in restaurants from ingesting too much beef and lard, drinking Jolt colas and Butterfat Milkshakes. What the fuck? Why would anyone do this to him/herself? I like unhealthy food as much as the next guy, but I have the sense at least to avoid a joint like the Heart Attack Grill like the plague it most certainly is.

We're our own worst enemies, everybody. Did we learn nothing from that Christian Slater show? I mean, I didn't. I never saw it. It was called My Own Worst Enemy, right? I'm pretty sure it wasn't about shitty eating habits, but the lessons still apply. Or not. Just stop cramming shit into your mouth, OK? Quit spending your money at greasy restaurants that don't give a crap about your health. Eat a salad. It's nice outside, so take a walk with your family. Keep eating burgers and fries, just eat them less often. WTF are we doing to ourselves? Sheesh!

I like those nurses outfits though. You ever thing about changing up the uniforms at Chipotle, Chipotle?

STFU, People Who Somehow Don't Get it!

2012-02-18T08:35:00.000-05:00

I love it when readers comment on the blog. It happens so rarely, that I when I do receive a comment notification, after giggling like a schoolgirl for five minutes straight, I immediately comment back. I like it when something from of my own brain compels--dare I suggest, inspires?--someone to take a few moments to share their own opinions.

Like I said, I love comments, but I'm not a huge fan of anonymous comments. I'll take them, mind you, but there's a certain amount of cowardice behind anonymously commenting on the internet. If you have something to say, say it. Own it. Here at GEP, you are allowed to speak/type your mind, in fact, I invite it. If I disagree with your opinion, I have no qualms about poking your argument full of holes, but I will always be nice about it, because I'm all about gathering more and more regular readers, cultivating an audience of people who share my love/hate relationship with all realms of pop culture.

So, there it is, I love comments, both signed and unsigned. What chaffs my hide--that's a thing nobody says, right?--are individuals who swing by the blog and comment on something without any knowledge of what I'm trying to do here. I'm not sure if you realize this, but Giant Electric Penguin is primarily a comedy blog, at least, I like to think it is. I like to believe I know my way around a joke, pun, or clever turn of phrase. I think my snarky take on Melrose Place has a place on the internet. I'm not trying to change the world, I'm just here to bang out ha-has on my keyboard and shoot them off into the ether. I'm rarely serious here, unless I'm attacking religion or posting videos of songs I despise. I'm fairly certain most people understand this site if they spend any significant amount of time here, which research shows most people do not. Every once in awhile though, I get a comment from someone, anonymous or not, who just doesn't get it. Like this one, on a piece I wrote about a yearbook staff refusing to include a girl's "racy" senior picture in their 2012 edition:

"Award-winning yearbook? What the hell kind of weird organization hands out awards to high school yearbooks?" If you had done any research, you would have found such organizations. Check out, Columbia Scholastic Press Association,held by Columbia University and the administrator of the Pulitzer Prize. There are nominations, standards, and voting. Whether you believe it or not, yearbook is a journalistic endeavor, and the yearbook staff was right for refusing to print Spies, near porn photo.

Before I proceed to tell this dimwit...I'm sorry...valued reader to kindly STFU today, here's how I responded at the time:

You got me. I did the least amount of research required.

I do not, however, believe a yearbook is a journalistic endeavor, but I'm glad you are passionate about something. People need to find things they love and do them. Like me and writing humorous articles about dumb stories like this with the minimum amount of research required.

Also: you're not suggesting that the Columbia Scholastic Press Association award is anything akin to the Pulitzer Prize, are you?

Not too mean, right? I stated my opinion, but also validated this anonymous individual's love of yearbooking. The truth is, I did do a little bit of research, but, admittedly, not enough...FOR A REPUTABLE NEWS WEBSITE! I run a dinky little Blogspot blog here, madam or sir. If you are getting your news from GEP, um, you're super dumb? Not doing the proper amount of research and not knowing about the Columbia Scholastic Blah Blah Thing worked to my advantage, because my intention was to poke fun at yearbook staff nerds--and I did time on a yearbook staff, so I know of what I speak--not write a dissertation on the proud history of yearbook awards.

Also: If you think Ms. Spies photo is "near porn," you have obviously never seen porn. And neither have I, Mom. I swear.

Here's another clueless comment from another STFU post about a weird atheist Christmas display on a courthouse lawn in Virginia, this time from an actual person, named Brian Westley, whose own blog, pacifistundeadpriest.blogspot.com, I admittedly don't really understand:

No. [I assume this is because Mr. Westley is an atheist and he refuses to STFU. Fair enough.]

Too damn bad for you, eh?

Love that first amendment.

My response:

I feel like you've only read this post and none of the other posts on this site. I invite you to read more. We're just a bunch of jokesters over here. You'll get it.

I too love the first amendment. That should be pretty obvious.

Thanks for reading!

My goal in writing this piece was to point out how stupid the atheist Christmas display was, not to say they shouldn't have done it. I mean, they shouldn't have done it, but only because it was unfocused, nonsensical, and totally hackneyed, all at the same time. The religious, the non-religious, and the anti-religious can put up whatever dumb display they want on whatever dumb lawn they want. And if I find out about it and do, in fact, decide that it is super lame, I will tell those people to, simply, STFU. In this case, my STFU should be read as "try harder." A skeletal Santa Claus hanging on a cross means nothing. Less than nothing. It is simply Christian-baiting and, therefore, not in any way helpful to whatever your cause is. But Westley's right, people do have the first amendment right to act like dumb assholes. Maybe I should just shut the eff up.

Look, keep (or start) commenting everybody, but try to understand what I'm trying to do over here a little first. OK? Can we all agree to do that. Let me give you an example of the kind of comments I'm looking for. Here's one from my 2009 review of Disney's The Little Mermaid that someone posted earlier this week:

Viagra said...
This is such a wonderful movie!

See? It's just that simple. A nice, non-anonymous comment from a brand I trust. Now that's good commentin'!

Variations on a Theme: Mr. Belvedere

2012-02-17T18:45:00.001-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: Mr. Belvedere (1985-1990)

The Song: Who's singing this thing, Leon Redbone?

Oh, that's exactly who's singing Mr. Belvedere's theme song, "According to Our New Arrivals." What a title! Can you imagine the television show theme songs of today having titles like that? Can you imagine television shows of today even having theme songs? Networks don't want to ease you into anything with a nice song anymore. You'll have a quick little stab of music, like How I Met Your Mother (which, technically, is part of a longer song called "Hey, Beautiful"), or a catchy little instrumental theme, but gone are the verse-chorus-verse themes of yesteryear. This isn't to say I like "According to Our New Arrivals." It's weird. I admire it for its weirdness, but I can't say I enjoy it. It does, however, explain the show you are about to watch perfectly. Mr. Belvedere is here to not only dust your bookcases, answer your front door, and serve you tea, but to make you a better person. Mr. Belvedere is a butler for your soul. Or something.

The Opening Credit Sequence: I did watch Mr. Belvedere occasionally. However, I only remember the plot of one episode. It's the one where Wesley gets braces and is forced to wear headgear. I guess the Owens can afford to employ a British butler, but they can't provide their youngest child with anything but the most hideous headgear in the history of television. Anyway, Wesley's all depressed about it and he has a nightmare about being a monster of some kind. That's all I remember. I'm sure Mr. Belvedere makes it all better somehow. So, per usual, I'll have to glean what I can from the opening credit sequence to figure out exactly what Mr. Belvedere--the man and the sitcom--was all about.

First of all, how does a man who has been featured on the cover of World Focus magazine and lived a Forrest Gump-style existence, end up in Pittsburgh as Bob Uecker's butler? I mean, Belvedere really wants to get to Pittsburgh! So badly, in fact, that he hitchhikes! Maybe I should give Pittsburgh another chance.

Also, is Mr. Belvedere supposed to be a vampire or some other mythical creature who never ages? He's been portly, mustachioed, and besuited seemingly forever. Or for a long time anyway. Does he simply suck the life essence of those nearest to him as he buttles? Is he some sort of chunky, butlering incubus? Creepy.

(Stay tuned after the theme for a creepy word from Jif. What's wrong with that little boy?)

This Means Sweeping Government Reform

2012-02-17T08:05:00.000-05:00

I've got a real problem with the new film This Means War. And it's not because it looks dumb or because I'm not very fond of Reese Witherspoon or because the two male leads seem super bland or because I don't find Chelsea Handler particularly funny or because it's currently got a 27% on RottenTomatoes. No, my problem is with the premise itself:

The world's deadliest CIA operatives are inseparable partners and best friends until they fall for the same woman. Having once helped bring down entire enemy nations, they are now employing their incomparable skills and an endless array of high-tech gadgetry against their greatest nemesis ever - each other. (RottenTomatoes)

"Endless array of high-tech gadgetry," huh? And who's footing the bill for all this tech exactly? That's right: the American taxpayer. Is that what you're doing with all my money, President Obama? I'm breaking my back day in and day out at a job I mostly hate and paying my taxes on time and in full, so two sex-starved dipshits can ruin each other's dates with some chick Zack and Slater-style? Shenanigans!

How in the world can anybody find this concept entertaining? I'm serious. These two CIA buddies-turned-romantic-rivals are spending massive amounts of time and money not monitoring terrorist cells, but spying on Reese Witherspoon. That isn't funny. It's infuriating.

Also, I don't find Chelsea Handler particularly funny.

Catching Up with Rachel Dratch

2012-02-15T15:03:00.002-05:00

So, what's former SNL cast member Rachel Dratch been up to lately? Apparently this:

And this:

Yes, Rachel Dratch has been driven insane by fried pickles. I'm not surprised really. Fried pickles possess an eerie power that has been known to effortlessly fracture even the strongest human mind. Let's all pray Rachel Dratch gets the help she needs in dealing with this fried pickle obsession she has developed. Come back to us, Rachel. Come back...

Variations on a Theme: Punky Brewster

2012-02-11T09:00:00.000-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: Punky Brewster (1980's)

The Song: "Every Time I Turn Around" is the worst Billy Joel song ever. It is written and performed by a man who has, for some reason, chosen to record his vocals and have his testicles squished in a vice at the same time.

The Opening Credit Sequence: I've never watched Punky Brewster, so all I know about the story is what the opening credit sequence gives me. And what it gives me is the chills. Is this little girl homeless? Does that lady who gives Punky a single coin after she helps carry a bag of groceries wonder what's going on? "Why is there a ten-year-old girl hanging around outside of a grocery store offering to lug grocery bags to people's cars for spare change?" It doesn't seem as if she's concerned at all. What kind of world does this show take place in?

And this old guy. Why is he so angry? Did you see the way he kicked that door? And he obviously hates homeless people. I assume he and Punky are going to hook up at some point and have some wacky misadventures, as I'm fairly certain this was a sitcom and not a depressing expose on the homeless children problem in the 1980's, but by the end of the theme song, he's gone home and Punky's pulling her puppy up a fire escape. And who's feeding that puppy? This show is sick.

Things are starting to look up for ol' Punky in the Season Two opening however:

Punky lives with the angry old man now. She's going to Cubs games. She has African-American friends. She goes camping with the aforementioned African-American friends. Life is good. No more slinging grocery bags for a pittance for Punks. She's moving up in the world.

As I mentioned earlier, I've never seen an episode of this Punky Brewster. I am, unfortunately, familiar with this Punky Brewster:

Oh, brudder. Where do I even start with this thing? The theme song itself isn't so bad. It's sort of a Cyndi Lauper/Doo-wop mash-up that, like any 80's cartoon theme song worth a damn, lodges itself directing into the part of the human brain that collects dopey ephemera and saves it for future nonsensical use. I like it a whole lot more than the live-action Punky theme, which I absolutely hate.

But what of the show itself? While it is true that I watched this cartoon on a regular basis when I was a boy, I couldn't describe one episode to you. I seem to remember that furry gopher thingy having a grating voice, but that is where my hazy memories both begin and end. So, let's judge the entirety of the series through it's opening credit sequence.

1. Does somebody own the rights to leprechauns? Seriously. Is there a family in Ireland who receives a royalty check any time someone slaps a leprechaun on a St. Patrick's Day card or Warwick Davis dons his evil leprechaun costume? We all know what one will find at the end of a rainbow, right? A leprechaun's pot of gold. That's it. Now, I'm willing to consider the idea that a leprechaun him/herself may also live at the rainbow's end, maybe in a tiny, magical village. What I'm not willing to accept is the idea that this tiny village might instead be inhabited by magic gophers. That is clearly a leprechaun village, right? Leprechauns should be there, RIGHT?

(Note: A quick perusal of the Wikipedia entry for It's Punky Brewster, describes Glomer, the bipedal rodent Punky meets at the end of the rainbow, as a "leprechaun gopher." Yeah, that's a thing.)

2. Did every cartoon gang back in the day have to be in a band?

3. There's really nothing else. I mostly have a problem with the magic gopher thing.

(Note: I remembered correctly. Glomer's voice is irritating. Sounds like Slimer. On Slimer, the voice isn't so bad. Coming out of a leprechaun gopher's mouth, it's terrible.)

OMIGOD, U GUYZ!!!

2012-02-08T08:01:00.001-05:00

Did you guys get your exclusive invite to the The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part 1 midnight DVD release party this Friday at Target? I totally did:
I can't wait! This is going to be the best Friday night ever! I don't even know why I was one of the select few to receive this epic Save The Date, but I couldn't feel more honored. You always hope for something this amazingly special to happen to you, but when it actually does...I'm at a loss for words. I feel bad for the slobs that didn't get an invite to this event, an event I'm already calling The Party of the Year!!! I cannot think of a better way to celebrate the DVD release of a poorly-reviewed movie based on a series of mediocre books about an unappealing, sour-faced high school girl who falls in love with a sullen, sparkly, baseball-playing vampire and something about werewolves. Twilight is a high point for American culture, and I'm glad Target is showing it the proper respect.

Besides getting to see a sneak peek of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part 2, check out all of the cool stuff available for purchase:

--A DVD or Blu-Ray copy of The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part 1 with prop flowers from the film's wedding scene jammed inside!

--The The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part 1 official movie soundtrack, featuring songs from Bruno Mars and a bunch of people you've never heard of!

--A gaudy replica engagement ring like the one Bella wears in the movie!

--A Trapper Keeper featuring a collage of shirtless Taylor Lautner pictures, most of them stolen from the actor's personal cell phone!

--A The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn-Part 1 fleece blanket, perfect for smothering the obnoxious Twi-Mom in your life!

--The original Twilight series of novels, perfect for burning on these cold winter nights!

--An official Twilight Saga hammer, perfect for caving in your own skull!

--Twilight stickers!!!

This is gonna be great! I'll see you guys at Target this Friday night! I can hardly wait!!! Team Twilight for life!!!

Perving Out: Best Bet

2012-02-07T21:45:00.004-05:00

So, I guess Extra correspondent, Maria Menounos, made a losing Super Bowl bet and this was the result. For Pete's sake, Mario Lopez, get out of the way!!!
That's better.

Hey, I wonder what bet Mario Lopez lost that forced him to star in A Crack in the Floor?

Tawdry Tuesday: Am I At The Wrong Address?

2012-02-07T08:05:00.001-05:00

All right, what's going on here? I thought Melrose Place was all backstabbing bitches and illicit sex with other people's lovers, not missing wedding rings and lovestruck dental students. This show is totes not tawdry. It's lame. Did the internet lie to me? Not the internet!

Let's see. In episode four, "For Love or Money," Jake and his coke-snorting gal pal Perry, hump some paint onto a canvas and attempt to con a dopey LA hipster into thinking it was done by an exciting new artist--played predictably unconvincingly by Jake himself--only to have Jake grow a conscience and reveal that the whole thing is a ruse. What gives, Jake? Insta-consciences have no place in the world of trashy prime-time soaps. And in episode five, "Leap of Faith," Jane discovers she is pregnant and decides to have an abortion behind Michael's back, but doesn't and the episode ends. Listen, I didn't want Jane to get the secret abortion. I wasn't sitting on my couch, going, "C'mon, Jane, abort that thing! Abort it!" waving a pendant. First of all, I was laying on the couch. Secondly, who owns a pro-abortion pendant? What possible use could an individual have for one?

The Melrose Place of Season One is all about flirting with danger, walking up to the edge of tawdriness and deciding, "No thank you. I'm gonna do the right thing. Now let's go to Shooters and play pool, guys!" The show seems nervous to unleash the full crazy I know will become its ultimate legacy. It's waiting for the crazy switch to be thrown that is so frustrating. I've been able to get my tawdry fix from ABC's Revenge and the CW's Gossip Girl (Holy shit, Louis is, like, totally evil now! Who saw that coming?), but Tawdry Tuesday was designed for Melrose Place, and so far the show's been a total dud.

When does this thing heat up, Melrose fans? Is it when Heather Locklear moves in? My wife keeps mentioning Jane's crazy sister. Does she waltz in and mix it up a bit? I don't think I can take much more of Billy's goofiness and Alison's casseroles. Somebody blow up Melrose Place already! Sheesh!

Characters' tawdry pasts: Sandy's had a trailer park abortion; Jake is a former coke addict.

Things I've learned about LA: It is perfectly acceptable to pat a homeless street musician on the shoulder instead of giving him your spare change if you enjoy the music he is performing on his beat-up saxophone

It is super easy to get a job as a barista. You don't need to know anything about coffee, your interview will take exactly 30 seconds, and the ruder you can be to your future boss during said interview, the better.

But seriously...: How did Jake get a job at that coffee shop? Completely ridiculous!

Actual dialogue from the show: Jake: I always liked you in red. Perry: You always liked me in bed. (Ugh.)

Variations on a Theme: Monchhichi

2012-02-03T07:15:00.000-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: Monchhichis (1983)

The Song: This theme song is as cute and sweet as the characters that make up the program's cast. It is either the musical equivalent of a) a duckling sharing a bag of multi-colored cotton candy with a kitten wearing a straw hat, b) a baby snowman watching a family of hedgehogs ice skate or c) a half-Asian baby farting rainbows on an elf made of marshmallows. I'm saying it's cute, is all.

The Opening Credit Sequence: Here is the inner monologue that goes through my head whenever I watch the Monchhichi's theme song (Note: I am thinking this in a Brian Fellow voice):

"I hope that parrot doesn't get struck by any lightnings. Oh, what are these things? They're cute. Look at that one playing a piano. That's crazy! They should be careful riding their bikes on a branch like that. Oh, wow, lookit those things. They eat grapes, I guess. These monkeys can make inventions? What? That one is farting rainbows or something. That's silly. Holy shit! What the fuck is that thing? Oh, I don't like those things. They look crazy. Why are they jumping around like that. Hey, you leave those monkeys alone! Oh, hell yeah, them monkeys showed you! They flew away on a hand glider or whatever the fuck it's called. Oh shit, a wizard!"

Movie Penguin Wednesday: #17. Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie

2012-02-01T21:00:00.000-05:00

The mystery of "shrim" has finally be revealed. On one level, I wish it hadn't. I could've gone my entire life ignorant to the ins-and-outs of "shrim" and its alleged benefits to the human psyche. Of course, my life would have been nothing but an empty, mirthless wasteland, much like the S'wallow Valley Mall and Pizza Court before (and after, I guess) Dobis PR gets their hands on it. What I'm saying is that I'll gladly endure three minutes of the most horrifying, yet oddly compelling and disgustingly hilarious, act I've ever seen in a motion picture. To be fair, I haven't seen The Human Centipede, but I can guarantee that the shrim/sex montage in Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie gives that thing a run for its money.

I should admit right here at the top that I am a huge fan of both Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim. I am, undoubtedly, the audience for this movie. That said, you should understand that all of the praise that I am about to spew shrim-style on Tim and Eric's first full-length feature is spewing from someone who loves everything these guys do. I proudly wear my Rats Off To Ya t-shirt to formal events. I am training my daughter to refer to her grandfather as Pep-Pep. I regularly sing medleys of Casey and his brother tunes before, during, and after making love to my wife. Like I said, I'm a fan.

What I'm trying to impart to you is that Tim and Eric are not for everybody. I can't readily identify with people who they aren't for (Well, that's kind of a lie. I get along with my wife quite well), but there it is. An audience at Sundance this year walked out of the film's premiere in droves, a lot of them before the "shrim" scene unleashes it's terrible fury. I don't understand these people. And I don't want to. They aren't people I want to know.

With Billion Dollar Movie, Tim and Eric are not--repeat, not!--looking to extend their fanbase, in fact, I don't think that was ever the plan. If it does, you know, grow their legions of loyal fans, I don't even think they'd give a shit. And that's why I like Tim and Eric so much. Tom Goes to the Mayor, Awesome Show, Great Job!, their calls to The Best Show on WFMU, Eric's music videos--they do whatever the hell they want. They know what they think is funny and they do it. They don't compromise. They don't care if it plays here, there, or anywhere on the planet Earth. They go for it. That's the kind of comedy I enjoy, the kind of comedy I respect.
Enough of my fan-fapping. What's this thing about? Is it about anything? My wife asked me during breakfast Sunday morning, "Is it just a bunch of Tim and Eric sketches edited together?" To this I say, no, but there are several elements of Awesome Show here: spot-on low-rent local commercial parodies; cameos from Awesome Show's stable of oddball regulars, including James Quall performing a bread-themed stand-up set at an all-bread restaurant; a preoccupation with father/son relationships; and gallons of various body fluids.

Billion Dollar Movie opens with, well, Tim and Eric's billion dollar movie, a three minute film based on the poem "Bonjour, Diamond Jim," starring a Johnny Depp impersonator whom the duo mistook for the actual Johnny Depp during filming. This, of course, only accounts for a small portion of the billion dollars invested by the Schlaaang Corporation. Heidecker and Wareheim have decked their leading man in a suit made entirely of diamonds, purchased themselves expensive Hollywood makeovers, and hired a spiritual advisor, Jim Joe Kelly (Zach Galifianakis). Upon seeing the finished product, Tommy Schlaaang (Robert Loggia), demands his billion dollar investment back.

Broke and unable to pay Schlaaang, Tim and Eric drown their sorrows in coke, women, and penis piercings. During their night of debauchery however, they see a commercial that offers a quick and easy way to make exactly one billion dollars: revive the S'wallow Valley Mall and Pizza Court, a rundown shopping plaza plagued by diseased vagrants, shitty stores, and at least one dangerous wolf. Tim and Eric, believing this to be the only way to pay their debt to Schlaaang, dub themselves Dobis (fashioned from the phrase "Doing Business") PR and journey to S'wallow Valley.

There they find, well, a rundown shopping plaza plagued by diseased vagrants, the diseased-iest being Taquito, a shuffling man-child who was left at the mall when he was little and now lives in the walls, played by John C. Reilly; shitty stores, like the used toilet paper outlet--the owner of which has his son stolen away by Tim--and the sword store owned by Allen Bishopman (Will Forte), who apparently is paid by the state to not sell swords; and at least one dangerous wolf. Tim and Eric offer to turn the mall around, previous owner/Top Gun super-fan Damien Weebs (Will Ferrell) gladly hands it over, and Dobis PR does what it can to make a billion dollars.

Oh, and then there's "shrim."

Something gross is about to happen...

I don't want to give much more of Billion Dollar Movie away because it really must be seen to be believed. Tim and Eric fans, this is the Tim and Eric movie you've longed for. Trust me. You will not be disappointed. Any loved ones you coerce/force/trick into watching it with you might be, but that's their problem really. I mean, seriously, what's wrong with them? Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim have created an instant cult classic, a midnight movie that will bewilder, disgust, and entertain generations of weirdos until the end of time. Great job! (Read that in Bob Odenkirk's voice if you can.)

Variations on a Theme: Perfect Strangers

2012-01-27T07:31:00.000-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: Perfect Strangers (1986-1993)

The Song: I kind of love the opening harmonica riff. Then that dude starts singing, and I expect everybody to pull Mentos out of their pants. Seriously. This song sounds like the world's longest and most earnest commercial for mint candies.

It's this earnestness, however, that makes me enjoy the song so much. No one should be this passionate about Perfect Strangers. I mean, I loved Balki's hijinks as a child, but, hell, Full House was appointment viewing when I was younger. Obviously, I didn't ask much from my sitcoms in the early 90's, just silly accents and occasional dances of joy. I also didn't think about the theme song when I was a kid. It was just this musical distraction keeping me from my weekly Balki fix. These days, as a grown man with a vast knowledge of kitsch and it's many benefits to the human body, I can fully enjoy a stupid song like "Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now."

Here's a little look at my private life if you care: Every few months, me and my wife will randomly enter into some weird sitcom theme song sing-off. She'll sing a little "Growing Pains," I'll follow that up with "Family Matters" or my version of "Who's the Boss" ("There's a time for cats and a time for kittens/I like cats and kittens too."), she'll come in with a little "Charles in Charge," and I'll do a little "Full House." The point is, we know all of these songs by heart. I've known the Perfect Strangers theme song by heart since I was a young man. That's either really sick or kinda cool. Probably a combination of the two.

But these were songs you could memorize and sing over and over again. They were actual songs. Not great songs, but catchy, memorable, real ones, with verses and choruses and everything. And "Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now" remains one of the best, even with its repetition of "on the wings of my dreams." That's a little clunky, if I'm being honest.

The Opening Credit Sequence: Pretty much gives us a quick overview of what's happened before the show proper. One of our heroes has traveled to the United States from a country where lightly-mangled English yields hilarious results ("America or Burst." Oh, that's rich.); the other is moving from the comfort and safety of the suburbs to the Big City for the first time. What will happen when these two mismatched goofballs join forces? Why, baseball games, short pants, and wacky slapstick comedy, of course! And that's basically what happens on any given episode, right? It's been a long time since I've seen it.

Reality Bits: Food

2012-01-25T09:31:00.001-05:00

Program: Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern

Episode: Vietnam

I love food. I especially love delicious food. Food of all kinds, really. I have my favorites. I'm a huge sushi guy. I'll eat just about anything in taco form. I'd eat dinner at a Chinese or Indian buffet every night if it were humanly possible. I sincerely believe that everything tastes better when dipped in hummus. And pizza still tops my list of culinary favs.

I'm also open to new food experiences, so I've decided to tackle this and future episodes of Bizarre Foods with a little game I'm calling WOULD I EAT IT?

The following is a list of some of the more bizarre foods Andrew Zimmern samples in this episode of his Travel Channel program. Following each food, I will answer the question, WOULD I EAT IT? and offer a short explanation if I feel one is necessary. I encourage all of you to play along at home.

1. a cobra that has been killed in front of me? Yes, but only because Zimmern describes the flavor as a combination of eel and chicken, two things I actually like.

2. Fried snake bones w/ crackers (pictured above)? Yes. It looks so yummy and crispy!

3. Still-beating cobra heart? No.

4. Deep-fried snake skin? Yes. Like pork cracklins, only snake. You hand me a bowl of something salty and crunchy, I don't care whose skin it is, I'm gonna eat it.

5. Fried snakehead fish? Yes. Zimmern eats this in a restaurant in Hanoi that serves nothing but fried snakehead fish and it looks delicious. And fun. Eating an order of fried snakehead fish is, like, a delicious activity. And the fish might have what appears to be a snake's head, but they didn't serve it (surprise, surprise), so, no problem.

6. Head-on roasted sparrow, bones and all (pictured above between Zimmern's chopsticks)? Hell no! I don't eat anything with it's head still attached.

7. Scorpions? No.

8. 32-inch bull penis w/ testicles? I would consider eating this Vietnamese delicacy if it were chopped up and shoved into a burrito maybe, but when Zimmern orders it, it looks like, well, a penis. Does it have to still look like a dick to count or something?

9. Civet coffee? I don't see why I need to drink coffee brewed from beans shat out by some weird rodent. Just bring me a regular coffee, light cream, light sugar. What do I need to prove?

10. Fried silkworms? No. It was just a pile of worms some lady tossed around in a wok for five minutes. Dress it up a little.

11. Ca say (AKA, "weird, Vietnamese hybrid duck")? Even Zimmern hates this thing, so, no.

12. Shipworms? They come with their own natural stuffing made from the wood pulp of which their regular diet consists. Again, Zimmern says they're gross, so, I'm out.

13. Mantis prawn? Zimmern describes its flavor as "sweeter than lobster, with the texture of crab." Sounds like a tasty combination to me. Mantis prawn also has the distinction of being the weirdest looking creature Zimmern has ever shoved into his piehole.

So, how many of these bizarre foods would you eat? Let me know in the comments section.

100 Episodes I Love: #2. "Rapture's Delight" (American Dad) (Season 5, Episode 9)

2012-01-21T11:03:00.005-05:00

When it comes to Christmas Specials, you can have your Grinches and your Rudolphs. If you want to spend the Christmas season watching Charlie Brown narrowly avoid suicide for another year, you go for it, man. I like my Christmas specials edgy, profane, and barely about Christmas at all. That's why American Dad's "Rapture's Delight" is not only one of the 100 Episodes I Love, but also my favorite Christmas Special of all-time, along with the sixth season's gorily fantastic "For Whom the Sleigh Bell Tolls." I guess what I'm saying is, American Dad consistently puts out the best Christmas-themed episodes of anything else on TV.

"Rapture's Delight" opens with the Smiths running late for church. The parking lot is packed--it being Christmas morning and all--and Stan is enraged that the pews are packed with phony, once-a-year Christians. To calm him down, Francine takes Stan into the supply closet/slow janitor's living quarters and has sex with him. When they emerge from the closet minutes later, the church is littered with discarded clothing and the congregation, including Hayley and Steve, the Smiths' children, are soaring into the heavens, buck-naked. Stan blames Francine for ruining his chances of being raptured, which causes a rift between them. After Stan chooses to pledge his allegiance to a man claiming to be Jesus Christ--He's not and he sexually assaults Stan in a trash-strewn alley! Merry Christmas, everybody!--Francine leaves him, meets the real Jesus in a 24-hour diner, and becomes the returned Messiah's girlfriend.

We now jump seven years into the future, to a post-apocalyptic America overrun by demons. Stan sits in a saloon, alone and hook-handed, drinking. He is approach by Jesus who tells him that Francine has been abducted by the Anti-Christ, a goofy villain inspired by the old Bat-Man show from the 60's. Stan agrees to help Jesus under one condition: as soon as Francine is safe, Stan gets to be raptured. Jesus agrees and with Roger's help, they infiltrate the Anti-Christ's headquarters and rescue Francine. During the battle, Stan is fatally wounded and Francine finds that he has been wearing their wedding rings around his neck since the day she left him. Stan demands that Francine and Jesus leave the Anti-Christ's lair, as he intends to blow it up. They do. Stan blows up.

Stan is now in Heaven, being led to his own personal paradise for all of eternity. His Heaven ends up being his home with his family on Christmas morning. It's a Christmas miracle!

Now, I'm sure most of you just read this and thought, "What the hell?!" Is this an American Dad episode for beginners? Probably not. It does however display one of American Dad's strengths over every other program associated with FOX's Sunday night Animation Domination block of television. AD doesn't give a shit. They do what they want to do, no matter how silly, weird, dark, or insane it sounds, and the results are, more often than not, amazingly successful. "Rapture's Delight" is a mini epic. It's also hilarious. Christmasy? Not so much.

Moments I Love

Roger: Oh, I love your religion! Virgin birth! Water into wine! It's like Harry Potter, but it causes genocide and bad folk music.
_____
Stan: Damn your clumsy Christmas sex metaphors!
_____
This explanation of the Ratpure for children:

_____
Steve's personal Heaven includes a buxom, scantily-clad woman riding a cheeseburger-pooping unicorn. ("Pepperjack cheese. It's my Heaven.")
_____
Roger: Didn't you hear the puppets? Demons are coming to rape our skulls!

What the WTF?!?: North Dakota After Dark

2012-01-21T07:00:00.000-05:00

Take a look at this recent advertisement from North Dakota's tourism board. Isn't it so sick? What kind of pervert thought this was a good idea, right? Personally, when I see this ad, it stirs up all kinds of uncomfortable sexual feelings inside of me, and when my sexual feelings are stirred up--yeah buddy--you better look out. Farmers lock up your daughters, 'cause someone's gonna get pregnant! See, I just can't control myself when bombarded with disgusting sexual images like this. Young men flirting with a trio of young women enjoying a night out in Fargo? Gross! It's akin to blasphemy, I tells ya!

Obviously, I'm being extra moronic to make a point. There is nothing wrong with this ad beside the fact that its for a place I have little interest in spending any amount of time in whatsoever. I didn't even know North Dakota had a tourism board! Incidentally, why does North Dakota have a tourism board?

Again, I kid (sorta). North Dakota's Tourism Division released a gaggle of tourism ads this week, but only this one caused an uproar. Seriously, an uproar:

The advertisement was meant to showcase North Dakota's nightlife: Two young men and three women flirt through the window of a downtown Fargo motel bar. Printed next to them is the message: "Drinks, dinner, decisions. Arrive a guest. Leave a legend."

It was meant to be "a little flirty, a little fun," said Pat Finken, president of Odney Advertising, the agency that created the ad.

Instead, some found it a tawdry come-on, prompting the state's tourism division to yank it from its Facebook page late Thursday after it drew dozens of complaints and comments.

One commenter called the ad "sickening," while another speculated about what the people in the photo needed to do to "leave a legend."

"Sickening?" What about the ad is "sickening?" The only sickening thing about this whole situation is the idea that people would actually want to spend their vacation in North Dakota.

(Hold on. I got one more.)

As far as what one is required to do to leave North Dakota "a legend?" I think not committing suicide is a good start. (BURN!!!)

I honestly can't figure out the hoopla surrounding this ad. Are the citizens of North Dakota so hopelessly repressed that the mere suggestion that young people sometimes find one other sexually appealing incites them to fits of confused anger? For Pete's sake, the women in this ad aren't even dressed provocatively. I'd get it (a little) if the women were gussied up in stripper gear and the men were displaying their boners proudly through their unzipped flies, but they're not. This is simply a snapshot of people having fun on a Saturday night despite the fact that they are stuck in North Dakota.

Variations on a Theme: Shirt Tales

2012-01-20T07:35:00.001-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: Shirt Tales (1982-1984)

The Song: Oh, man, this shit is funky! You could make love to this song, you know, until the chubby little panda starts singing. That might be a mood killer. Depends on your partner. Maybe the thought of pantless, cartoon animals in message tees serenading your lovemaking is a turn on to him/her. They say it takes all kinds. I don't know why "they" say it, but "they" do.

The song starts with a funky, bass-heavy beat, but turns into a rather mundane ditty about the services the Shirt Tales provide once the lyrics kick in. Apparently the Shirt Tales can: help you out of a jam; motivate you in some unexplained way if you find yourself paralyzed with fear; and/or assist you when the going gets tough and/or rough. You know what that means: dead hooker disposal.

The Opening Credit Sequence: You know, I kind of feel like that milkman or postal employee (what is he?) who appears at the end of the Shirt Tale's opening credits and shrugs. I don't have any idea what it is the Shirt Tales can do. They have a sweet futuristic car that can fly or be a boat, but I assume their services are specifically catered to children. What problems could arise in a 5-year-old's life that would require the use of a rocket car?

I remember the Shirt Tales, but I don't remember their show. What kind of problems did they solve? What kinds of dangers did they face? Does the rocket car have guns on it? If so, do they fire bullets, G.I. Joe-style lasers, or flower petals? I think the Shirt Tales gang had magical t-shirts or something, but other than that, I'm right there with the confused mail-delivering milkman.

STFU, Aaron Neville!

2012-01-18T19:58:00.003-05:00

I have a seven-month-old daughter. For Christmas, the wife and I got her the Fisher-Price Little People's Zoo and as many animals as we could get our hands on. Those little bastards are hard to find. There were always plenty of zoos on the shelf at Toys-R-Us, but never any animals. You need the zoo to hear the animals make their various noises, you idiots. How about leaving some Zoo Talkers for the rest of us, huh?

I'm not complaining. We've got plenty of good animals. You wouldn't believe how a rhinoceros sounds. Quinn also has an ostrich, a gorilla, a lion, a tiger, a bear, a polar bear, a seal, a killer whale, and a dolphin. Now, sure, the zoo in question has nothing more than a tiny pond for the dolphin and the orca to share, but that's OK. I mean, Quinn doesn't care. She spends most of her playtime chewing on Zookeeper Zack's head or repeatedly smacking the red button that triggers zoo announcements ("The animals are hungry!" "There's so many animals to see at the zoo." "The animals are tired. It's bedtime at the zoo." etc.). All that matters to me though is that Quinn is happy. She is welcome to enjoy the zoo however she sees fit, though I do spend probably way too long putting the animals back in their proper areas post-playtime.

What does all of this have to do with the dulcet tones of Mr. Aaron Neville? I'm getting there.

Quinn's zoo came with a DVD. The DVD contains a new Little People's cartoon and four classic episodes. Yes, there is a Little People's TV show. So, Monday night, after Quinn went to bed, me and my wife climbed into bed and watched a couple of episodes. The new Little People's adventure featured some of the dopiest, sub-Dreamworks computer animation I've ever seen, but it was cute, so, screw it. The classic episodes we watched featured sub-Will Vinton-style claymation ("You can see the fingerprints," Jen pointed out several times.) and this theme song:

This is "The Discovery Song." I'm sure you think I'm a huge dick for what you think I am about to write, and you are not completely wrong. This song is dumb, yes. It opens a mediocre-looking children's television program chock full of pumpkin-headed children learning idiotic lessons, true. But I'm not going to waste my time poking fun at the Little People. I love the Little People. We've got so many damn Little People, our house is starting to look like Lilliput. But this song, not unlike a certain little ditty about gates being left open, worms it's way into your head and won't let go. There's only one problem: the only lyric I can ever remember is the two word phrase "discovering Michael." Do you know how embarrassing it is to be sitting at your desk at work and without you even knowing it the words "discovering Michael" spilling out of your mouth in a Neville-style lilt? It's super embarrassing! "Who's this Michael you're discovering, Matt?" your co-worker who happens to be passing by asks. Next thing you know, the whole office thinks that you're carrying on a gay tryst behind your wife's back. I'm not saying that's happened, but it could! The rumor. Not the tryst.

I anticipate this happening quite a bit--dumb, catchy kid songs hooking themselves parasitically into my brain--now that I'm a father. I don't mind. I love dumb, catchy things. My wife doesn't love that I love dumb, catchy things, but that's her cross to bear. I just never thought I would have the phrase "discovering Michael" constantly on the tip of my tongue, ready to rip without my permission, and, for that reason, I respectfully request that you kindly STFU, Aaron Neville.

Perving Out presents Wednesday Morning Music: Girls' Generation-"The Boys"

2012-01-18T08:01:00.000-05:00

This song is completely awful. But it's performed by Girls' Generation, an all-female, South Korean pop group. Dumb song performed by 9 super hot Korean girls = essential viewing. If there had only been 8 girls in the group, I wouldn't have posted this on the blog. You just made it, Girls' Generation. You're welcome.

Tawdry Tuesday: The Old "Lost Wedding Ring" Routine

2012-01-17T08:00:00.001-05:00

Melrose Place is set in a simpler time when computers were bulky, the GAP was still considered hip, and tired sitcom tropes were all the rage. How else do you explain "Lost and Found," the third episode of MP's premiere season. Billy uses a lumpy computer with the smallest screen imaginable (It looks like the kind of "futuristic" computer you'd see on a spaceship in an Italian sci-fi movie from the 1970's.) to type his first screenplay; the 90210 gang (Ugh! Why won't they go away?!?) discuss Kelly's love life while shopping for jeans at the GAP; and Jane loses her wedding ring during a raucous night on the town with a couple of musicians. Didn't I see this same plot on Perfect Strangers once? If not Perfect Strangers, then every other situation comedy ever taped before a live studio audience. The old "lost wedding ring" routine is a fairly standard bit of business. I guess I just wasn't expecting it so soon.

The wedding ring in question is Jane's. After two failed attempts to celebrate her and Michael's Three-Months-in-Los-Angeles anniversary--because that's something people do--Jane opts for a night at Shooters with Rhonda. Sandy--she of the laughable Southern accent--convinces Jane to remove her wedding ring for the evening to see if she's still got "it." Jane, who is only 23-years-old and most certainly still has "it," obliges and before long,she is whisked away to a dance club by a long-haired, Percy Shelley-quoting, wannabe rock star.

(Re: whether or not Jane's still got "it": While perusing my notes before writing this review, I noticed a blurb scribbled next to the episode title in my notebook which read "Jane is bot!" Fairly certain that Jane Mancini is not, in fact, a cyborg, I believe I meant to write "Jane is hot." And she is hot! That's the "it" everyone's talking about, right? Josie Bissett is drop-dead gorgeous. Why would her character be unsure of said hotness? Dumb.)

Anyway, the rocker goofball wants to speed things up a little, so Jane admits she is married. To prove it, she reaches into her coat pocket to retrieve her ring--a Mancini family heirloom from the old country--and finds that it is missing. She searches the entire dance club, but finds nothing, and returns home intending to tell Michael everything. Michael, however, feeling awful about blowing Jane off at the hospital, has filled the apartment they share with candles and chili dogs. Ah, romance.

Just before the Mancini's get down to some sexy business, Jane decides to come clean about her wild (?) evening. Before she can reveal how totally non-wild it was though, Sandy shows up at the front door with her wedding ring, which she found in a trash can at Shooters. God is in His heaven and everything is right with the world once again. Credits.

Also in this episode...

--Billy finishes his screenplay, "The Big Shock," and asks Alison to read it. She hates it. To soften the blow, Alison makes Billy a tuna casserole. Billy gets mad for five whole minutes.

--Kelly Taylor tries to seduce Jake while they make a lasagna. Jake rebuffs Kelly's advances. Later, the couple is visited by an actress Jake has hired to accuse Jake of being a "crumb bum." Kelly leaves, hopefully forever.

Questions:

1. Was every character on this show an English major in college? Everyone is always making and/or understanding literary quotes that I don't even get and I was an English major in college!

Answered Questions:

1. It's official: Michael is an actual doctor. He's dressed in scrubs, on call, and hanging out in a hospital break room anyway. I'd be pretty surprised if he is simply running some sort of long con, but this is Melrose Place, so, who knows.

Lost Alum Alert:

--Nestor Cabornell (Richard Alpert on Lost) plays a bass player Rhonda and Jane meet at Shooters.

Movie Penguin Monday: #16. Sweet Karma (2009)

2012-01-16T08:43:00.000-05:00

Sweet Karma is a grimy genre picture from Canada, a country revered for its wholesome goodness and free healthcare. I've always thought of Canada as a place where people can leave their doors unlocked--maybe even ajar--at night, without fear of home invasion. A land where any disagreement can be solved over a plate of poutine or a friendly, pick-up hockey match. Where the policeman carry nothing more lethal than a wagging finger. And they ride moose to work, right? I thought I saw a picture of a Canadian guy riding a moose once.

Nothing bad ever happens in Canada, but if it does, well, it's really bad. I mean, twisted bad. Remember back in 2008 when Tim McLean, a Canadian carnival employee, was decapitated and partially eaten (ew.) by a psychotic Chinese man while traveling home on a Greyhound bus? That was terrible, made all the more horrifying by the fact that it happened in Canada, where nothing bad ever happens.

Of course, bad shit happens everywhere. Even Canada. Murder. Sexual assault. Human trafficking. Hockey fights.

Sweet Karma ostensibly focuses on the trafficking of humans, specifically females, specifically Russian females. Russian women are being tricked into moving to Toronto for a flashy career in housecleaning, but are instead forced into the city's underground sex trade. The women are forced to be strippers, prostitutes, adult film actresses or whatever else the Russian mob decides is best. It's an awful world. A sick world. And Sweet Karma revels in it.

But it has to, because that's the kind of movie Sweet Karma is. It's a sleazy, disturbing, super low-budget revenge flick, and as such, it is a success. It also isn't terribly groundbreaking.

Revenge pictures are rote by their very nature. A character is wronged, either directly or indirectly, so they take revenge on those that committed the wronging. That's the skeleton, now the writers just need to insert the organs and hang the flesh. The director gives it a little zap Frankenstein-style, and, there, you got your revenge film.

In Sweet Karma, it is mute Russian beauty Karma who has been wronged, albeit indirectly. Her sister immigrates to Canada on the promise of housecleaning work and promptly disappears. Karma travels to Canada to exact revenge on the Russian baddies responsible, starting with the woman who helped her sister get out of the country in the first place. After securing her plane ticket and signing her work visa paperwork, Karma stabs the woman in the head with a knife. One down--three to go.

Let's talk about the actress who plays Karma real quick. Her name is Shera Bechard and she is gorgeous. She never says a word, but her eyes convey each tortured emotion perfectly. I really liked Karma. Until the strip club scene. Or, more accurately, the, ummmm, third strip club scene, I think? There are so many strip club scenes in this thing.

So, Karma is supposed to be this simple, mild-mannered girl driven to murder after the apparent death of her beloved sister. She doesn't want to hurt anyone--to kill anyone--but she feels it is her duty. And I was with her. Until she took her clothes off.

To lure one of the creepy Russian slimeballs responsible for forcing poor Russian girls into a life of sexual slavery, Karma performs a striptease for him, before slaughtering him in the handicap bathroom. The striptease is fine. Karma doesn't perform above what would be believable for her character. She is a very beautiful girl, so it doesn't take much more than some swaying and a pair of half-lidded eyes to get the job done. But then Karma takes her top off.

Karma has the fakest fake boobs I've ever seen in my life. Don't misunderstand. They're fine, but they are fake. I've seen a lot of boobs in my life (jealous?) and I'm fairly certain one's nipples do not naturally reside on top of one's breasts. Correct me if I've wrong, ladies, but I'm not wrong. But that isn't even my problem really. It's more the fact that Karma, a taciturn orphan girl from a poor family, somehow has fake tits. It took me out of the movie. I know they couldn't ask Bechard to remove her boobs for the shoot, but it's distracting.

The "fake boob striptease" inspired me to do some research on Shera Bechard. I discovered that she is, in fact, a Playboy Playmate who, when she is not playing mute Russian girls on revenge sprees, sports platinum blonde hair and the overly made-up appearance of an erotic model. I thought I'd discovered a beautiful, no-name actress destined for greatness, but instead I'd stumbled across a favor someone owed to a film producer.

That's not fair. I already said Bechard is good in the role, and she is. The fact that she is a nude model doesn't change the fact that she gives a good performance. It does explain why her character is mute. The movie offers a dubious explanation--Karma's mother died giving birth to her and as a result, Karma has chosen never to speak--but I think we all know the truth. Shera Bechard has a great career ahead of her, provided she continues to play characters who cannot talk.

Also, one more thing about Bechard. In the "About" section of her official website, the first entry on her list of accomplishments is that she was born in the same town as James Cameron. Um, good job?

The best day at work ever!

It should go without saying that Karma completes her revenge tour of Toronto, but not before the film offers a final twist, which I should've predicted, but did not. The twist, as it were, kind of muddles the entire message of the movie. If you ever plan on watching Sweet Karma for anything other than the copious amount of strip club scenes, I'd hold off on reading the rest of this review. Things is about to get all spoilery up in here, son!

So, yeah, I'm aware that most of you have figured out the twist already simply from reading this review, but here it is anyway: Karma's sister is not dead. In fact, she is shacked up with the Canadian businessman fronting the money to the Russian sleazebags Karma has spent the film murdering in increasingly uninteresting ways. Yes, Karma's sister knows what is going on, but accepts it since her freedom has been purchased and she now lives in a nice, big house.

And that's the end! A frustrated Karma fires a gun into the ceiling, says good-bye to her undercover police officer friend--oh, yeah, I skipped that whole part--and goes back to Russia. The end. The underground sex trade goes on, only now with three fewer players. What, you wanted Karma to clean up the mean streets of Toronto for good? Not bloody likely.

Incidentally, I've been to Toronto, and the streets are already spotlessly clean. Granted, I stayed on the nice streets, but I'm sure the mean streets are pretty clean as well.

Sunday Bloody Sunday: the kid from Zits keeps getting worse, Mutts fails and Lio triumphs

2012-01-15T09:59:00.006-05:00

What wacky antics is America's favorite teenager (no, not Archie) getting into this Sunday morning? I can hardly wait to find out!

I hate this kid sooooooo much. He's the worst. I mean, he's soulless, right? He refers to the woman who carried him inside of her body for nine months as his alarm clock essentially. That's all she is to you, dude? She probably makes your lunch every day, but I bet you'd be more comfortable calling her "the pantry" than "my mother who gets up at 5:30 every morning to cut the crusts off of my bologna sandwich because I'm a little bitch who refuses to eat his crusts even though they're a perfectly delicious part of the bread." He probably sits down in the cafeteria with his equally obnoxious friends, and is all, like, "Let's see what the dumb pantry shat out for me today. Prolly another boring bologna sandwich. God, I wish the pantry would die already." You know that's what he's saying. Ungrateful prick.

What happened to Mutts this week?

The balls on this Patrick McDonnell! I don't enjoy Mutts for its "witty dialogue" and its "gut-busting one-liners." I like the characters, McDonnell's drawing style. What am I supposed to do with this? Seven word bubbles with nothing particularly funny floating around in them? A rare misstep. Don't let it happen again, Mutts.

And once again, Lio wins the Sunday funnies:

Variations on a Theme: The Archie Show

2012-01-13T07:35:00.003-05:00

Variations on a Theme looks at television theme songs/opening credit sequences and breaks them down for the average viewer.

Program: The Archie Show (1968)

The Song: So, yeah, I'm sorry. "Everything's Archie" is, quite possibly, the catchiest song ever recorded. On top of that, it is really, really stupid. These factors working together are enough to irritate even the most patient of significant others.

The Opening Credit Sequence: First of all, The Archie Show's opening credits were designed to illicit seizures from its viewership, correct? What other explanation is there for the near-constant flashing? I have never experienced any strobe-induced seizures, but I've found as I get older that it gets harder and harder for my brain to withstand any sort of repetitive, flashing nonsense. I have to watch this sequence through laced fingers, eyes squinted. You might be asking, "Why do you have to watch this at all?" to which I can only respond, good point.

Secondly, why is it so important that Jughead is present? His drumsticks seem to be doing all right without him.

And are we to believe that Hot Dog is The Archies' band leader? That seems a tad dubious, no?

STFU, Citi Spot Featuring L.P.'s "Into The Wild"

2012-01-12T08:39:00.000-05:00

Chances are you've seen this commercial:

Until I searched for it on YouTube, I didn't even know what this commercial was for. So, I don't have a problem with the actual advertisement or anything, I just hate the part when the accompanying song hits its crescendo and the singer belts out the words, "Somebody left the gate open!" Now, I'd never heard this song before this credit card commercial, nor have I heard of this artist, so I don't have anything against her or her song. It's just, every time I see this commercial, I get the line "somebody left the gate open" stuck in my head and at random times in the day, I blurt it out. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. When "somebody left the gate open" is coming, it comes. Sort of like a fart. Sorry. That's crass. It's also totally accurate.

Because this line has the ability to lodge itself into my brain and force itself out of my body at regularly intervals, I've unfairly decided that I hate the song and it's creator, Laura Pergolizzi, (AKA, L.P.). However, I don't want to be that guy, so let's give the whole song a chance, shall we? It's called "Into The Wild" and you can listen to it right here:

In summation: STFU, CITI BANK SPOT FEATURING L.P.'S "INTO THE WILD!" (L.P. you go right ahead and keep making music.)

STFU, Domino's Pizza!

2012-01-10T19:00:00.000-05:00

It's a new year. Time to move forward. Leave the past in the past. Turn over a new leaf. Finally let bygones be bygones. It's time for Domino's Pizza to shut up.

Really, Domino's? I've got to see more of your irritating apology commercials in 2012? We get it. You listened to the criticism of your product--criticism tweeted and scrawled on message board walls by people who have nothing better to do with their time then rail against third-tier delivery pizza--and you made a change. Good for you. It takes a lot to admit that your product is garbage. I hope the fat losers who shamed you on Facebook, Twitter, and wherever else, tried your new and improved product and changed their mind. I never thought your pizza was that bad, though, if I'm being honest, Domino's is typically my last resort choice when it comes to choosing a corporate pizza (I prefer Papa John's. Something about the sauce. It's kinda sweet.). It's nothing personal. Your pizza's fine. You're not running a five-star pizza joint. Most Domino's are housed in strip malls between a Dollar General and a karate school. I never expected a mind-blowing experience when I ordered food from a Domino's, just something hot and round with pepperoni on it that tasted generally pizza-esque. On that level, Domino's, you always delivered.

But Domino's felt bad about ripping off the American consumer and creating a culture of pizza disgust with their sub par product, so they decided to turn things around, and they invited all of us to come along. Invited is the wrong word. Invited implies we had a choice on whether or not we joined Domino's on its redemptive journey. The basically forced themselves into our homes, in an effort, I guess, to make us like/trust them again. Hmmmm.

Is Domino's headquarters located in an old Bond villain hideout?

Anyway, that was 2011 Domino's--all "woe is us" and "sorry about all the sucking" and "we promise to do better." It got old. Real old. But, hey, maybe it worked. I don't keep up with business news or news of any kind, so I don't know how things are going for Domino's. I do know I can't watch TV for more then ten seconds without seeing this "we're sorry our cheesy bread isn't good, but we'll do better, promise" commercial. Are they really going to continue this into 2012? And who gives a shit about cheesy bread? I didn't even know Domino's offered a cheesy bread option until they informed me that their cheesy bread sucks. And why does Domino's head chef want us to jump rope with Domino's cheesy bread? And why are people ordering cheesy bread and breadsticks from Domino's or any other pizza place? It's just crust! There's a breadstick on the end of every pizza slice you cram into your greasy mouth. And you know there are people who discard their crust, but polish off six or seven cheesy breadsticks. It should be no mystery to anyone why were the fattest nation in the world. Maybe if more people jumped rope with Domino's cheesy bread, got some exercise while bingeing on their cut-rate pizza...

In summation: STFU, DOMINO'S PIZZA!

Tawdry Tuesday: LA's Mild Side

2012-01-10T08:00:00.001-05:00

For a TV show with a softcore porn soundtrack, Melrose Place is surprisingly wholesome. Married people kissing. Reminders to practice safe sex. Jake's chaste relationship with Kelly Taylor. Where's all the rampant bed-hopping and wanton good times I was promised. This is Tawdry Tuesday, man! A frequently-shirtless Billy is no longer titillating enough.

I cheated and read one or two Netflix descriptions of future episodes to find out whether or not things would start "heating up" at 4616 Melrose Place anytime soon. Here's what I got:

Episode 3--"Lost and Found": Alison is impressed that Billy has worked on his screenplay all night. He drops off his completed screenplay, and she reluctantly agrees to read it.

Hmmm. That doesn't seem very sexy on the surface. Maybe Billy is writing a sexy period piece about young society ladies who find themselves yearning for one another sexually. That might be hot. What else you got for me, Melrose Place?

Episode 9--"Responsibly Yours": Billy, while driving his taxi through crowded streets, spots a lady driver in distress. He offers to help but is not an expert in auto repair. Jake stops to talk to Michael.

OK. First of all, this episode is called "Responsibly Yours." Responsible people very rarely engage in condom-free one-night stands or hot and sweaty Hollywood orgies, so there's probably none of that.

Secondly, "Jake stops to talk to Michael?" Is that supposed to excite me? "Wow, I can't believe Jake is going to take a few minutes out of his schedule to converse with Michael! I wonder if it's going to be like that time he had a conversation with Michael in Episode 2. I can't wait to see what they talk about. This could possibly be the most important conversation in television history! Squeeee!"

Speaking of Episode 2, let's speak about it briefly. It is titled "Friends and Lovers," but don't whip out your boners just yet. Very little love is made, and what there is of it is made by married people offscreen. Gross.

In "Friends and Lovers," Billy gets a job as a cab driver. His first fare is a young woman named Marcy. They bond over their mutual hatred for fake people/love of Italian food. Before you know it, Marcy is spending the weekend with Billy and Alison. Alison is bummed, though she can't really explain why. I think it's pretty obvious that she and Billy will hook up eventually, but for now I'll just assume she was pissed off because Marcy ate her last grapefruit.

Anyway, as their weekend of romance comes to a close, Marcy expresses her love for Billy, who freaks out--understandably--and goes to resident high school fingerer, Jake, for girl advice. Billy tells Marcy that she is moving too fast and that he does not feel the same way she does and Marcy swallows a bottle of pills and drowns in the Melrose Place swimming pool.

No she doesn't. She just goes home and studies for her dental exam.

Look, I get why Marcy fell in love with Billy so fast. He is endlessly charming. He's also nice. I know that's an innocuous description for someone, but, in this case, it is apropos. Billy is simply a nice dude. I get why Alison is jealous of Marcy. Billy is genuine and kind and handsome. Dammit, I want to be with him. Not "be with him" be with him, just, you know, hang out with him. We could go to Shooters, down a couple of brews, shoot some pool--bro shit. If things got a little intimate while calling it a night, then so be it. There's worse things you can do than sleep with Andrew Shue probably.

Also in this episode...

--Jake gets in a fight at the unemployment office and Kelly bails him out of jail.

--Jane's feelings get hurt when Michael cannot remember the exact moment he fell in love with her.

--Steve Sanders attends a barbecue/pool party at Melrose Place for some reason. Seriously, why is he there?

Questions:

1. Why is Michael the building manager? When Jake complains about his faulty plumbing, Michael gets all combative and pissy. It's your job to listen to resident complaints and fix them, dude. But also, you're a doctor (possibly), Mike! Do you really need the building manager gig on top of that? Your wife already thinks you spread yourself too thin and her legs not enough. Why not choose one job and bone your wife on a regular basis?

2. Marcy is clearly mentally unstable, but is she stupid as well? During a "getting to know you" chat, she makes Billy guess what she "does for a living." He guesses teacher or lawyer; Alison guesses astronaut. They're both wrong. What does Marcy do for a living? She's a dental student. How do you "make a living" as a dental student? No one pays you to be a student, do they?

3. Also, doesn't Marcy owe Billy a shitload of money? She hired his cab and proceeded to spend the entire weekend with him.

STFU, Durango High School yearbook staff!

2012-01-08T20:06:00.007-05:00

Meet Sydney Spies. She submitted the above picture to her high school's yearbook staff to be included as her official senior portrait. Fine, it's a little provocative, but, c'mon, it's 2012, not 1938, a notoriously non-provocative year in American history. So Spies is defying her school's dress code. She's a senior, and as anyone who has ever graduated from high school--sorry, drop-outs and GED recipients--can tell you, seniors have got carte blanche to do whatever the balls they want. If a senior feels like having lunch off campus, that senior has lunch off campus. If a senior doesn't like your face, that senior is fully within his or her rights to bully you mercilessly until you are driven to live-Tweet your own slow suicide by Advil overdose. And if a senior wants to look like a brazen hussy in her senior photo, then you darn well better publish said photo in your yearbook.

But Durango High's yearbook stuff ain't having it. No, they've rejected Spies' yearbook photo. But why, yearbook staff? Why?

“We are an award-winning yearbook. We don’t want to diminish the quality with something that can be seen as unprofessional,” student [and mouth-breathing lame-o] Brian Jaramillo told the paper on Thursday.

NERD ALERT!!!

Award-winning yearbook? What the hell kind of weird organization hands out awards to high school yearbooks? And if there are award-winning yearbooks, there must be a nomination process. And voting. Who has the time and the fortitude to comb through hundreds of thousands of high school yearbooks, nominating the "best" ones, presenting these nominations to an academy of yearbook aficionados to decide which is the very "best," and tallying the resulting votes? Nobody has the time to do this, therefore, your yearbook is not award-winning, Brian. Publish Sydney's picture and get back to your World of Warcraft campaign.

In summation: STFU, DURANGO HIGH SCHOOL YEARBOOK STAFF!

Sunday Bloody Sunday: Sally Forth into Candorville!

2012-01-08T09:30:00.000-05:00

Today I learned the story behind Sally and Ted Forth's epic meet cute:

Wow. So, that's how it happened.

I guess Sally Forth fans can look forward to a week of What If Sally and Ted Never Met stories. That's ludicrous. Not the "what-if" concept, but my suggestion that there are fans of Sally Forth. You know what would have happened if Sally and Ted never met? Their smart-mouthed daughter never would've been born. More importantly, there never would've been a Sally Forth comic strip. By the way, this pile of shit is on the front page of the News & Observer's Sunday comics page.

And in this morning's installment of Candorville, African-American hipster, Candorville (that's the guy's name, right?), overhears two bums having a conversation:

Blonde Bum: I resolve never to steal a coworker's ideas again.

Brunette Bum: THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID!

If you want to read this strip on a purely surface level, this is simply a dumb, old joke. But Darren Bell, the brains behind Candorville--the comic strip and the hipster of the same name (right?)--is never working on a surface level. At least, I don't think he is. I've never read a Candorville that a) made me laugh or b) didn't make me groan. It's not a very good comic. I mean, if you like it, good for you or whatever, but I need social commentary on the front page of my Sunday Funnies like I need to know what the world would look like if Sally Forth and her dumb husband never met.

Both of these strips are on the front page of my local paper's Sunday comic's page. Why? In fact, dig this News & Observer Sunday comic's front page line-up:

--Dilbert: Tired, hacky jokes about office life that were barely funny ten years ago. "Dilbert's boss is dumb and hard to get along with! Hyuk!"

--Sally Forth: Blech. The only thing worse is Marmaduke.

--Marmaduke: Really, News & Observer? Marmaduke and Sally Forth on the same page? Do you hate joy that much?

--Red and Rover: There is a certain sweetness to this strip about a boy and his dog, but it isn't particularly fun. I best thing I can say about Red and Rover is that it is largely inoffensive.

--Candorville: Ugh.

--Mutts: Now this one I like! The front page should be one big Mutts.

Anyway, I know Bell is trying to say something with this thing, but I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm too dumb. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Saturday Morning News Bits: inappropriate groping, art criticism, drunk puppies, and pastor sex

2012-01-07T10:00:00.000-05:00

1. WAIT, IT'S ILLEGAL TO GROPE YOUR TRANSGENDERED NEPHEW NOW???

Folks, it is only the first weekend in 2012 and we already have the weirdest story of the year! If this is any indication, 2012 is going to be one wild roller coaster ride of perverted good times. Until, you know, the Mayan calendar or whatever comes to an end and the Earth explodes.

Anyway, film director David O. Russell (The Fighter, I Heart Huckabees) allegedly groped his 19-year-old nephew, Nicholas, who is in the opening stages of gender reassignment, while the two of them worked out in a hotel gym. Russell (again allegedly), like most of us would be, was curious as to how his nephew's breasts were coming along and took the liberty of jamming his hand up the poor girl's shirt and performing some good old fashioned family gropin'. That's something uncles regularly do, right? Feel up their transgender nephews?

So, Nicholas, who goes by Nicole now, understandably felt violated and contacted the authorities. However, TMZ is reporting that the case has been closed and that there will be no further investigation, giving Hollywood director's everywhere permission to grope their nieces and nephews as often as they want.

Here's hoping David O. Russell provides us with more exciting headlines in 2012. Move over, Jon Gosselin: David O. Russell is GEP's new Creepy Person of Interest.

2. IF I'M BEING HONEST, I DON'T REALLY CARE FOR IT EITHER

Look, art is subjective. Sure, there are some paintings we can all agree are beautiful, like, that boner tree fresco in Italy, but then there are some pieces of garbage...I mean, works of "art," that everybody can't come to an agreement on. Like most of what I saw at the MoMA. A lot of my fellow museum patrons were on Cloud 9, or whatever cloud houses weirdo, outsider art. My favorite part of the MoMA, on the other hand, was the delicious pasta dish I had for lunch. Honestly, it was one of the best things I've ever eaten and I have eaten A LOT of things.

So, I kind of get it when a person might look at something, like, say, Clyfford Still's "1957-J no.2," and desire to punch and rub her naked ass on it. To take that desire, however, and make it a reality, well, that's something I can't really get behind. Meet Carmen Tisch, America's newest art critic:

A 36-year-old woman was charged Wednesday after punching, scratching and sliding her buttocks against a painting worth more than $30 million, authorities in Colorado said.

Carmen Tisch is accused of pulling her pants down to rub up against the work, an oil-on-canvas called "1957-J no.2", by the late abstract expressionist artist Clyfford Still.

Tisch allegedly caused $10,000 worth of damage to the painting.

Tisch was charged with felony criminal mischief on Wednesday and has been held on a $20,000 bond since the incident in late December, said Lynn Kimbrough, spokeswoman for the Denver District Attorney's Office.

Citing the police report, the Denver Post reported that the suspect was apparently drunk at the time.

Kimbrough said Tisch urinated after she rubbed up against the canvas at the recently opened Clyfford Still museum in Denver.

"It doesn't appear she urinated on the painting or that the urine damaged it, so she's not being charged with that," Kimbrough said according to the Denver Post.

Listen, if you come across a piece of art that you hate, do what I do: have your wife take a picture of you standing next to it either making a face or shrugging comically. Now that's criticism.

3. AND THEY CALL IT "PUPPY DRUNK"

Matthew Cox can't have dogs anymore. What did you do this time, Matthew?

A British court has barred a man from having a dog for three years after his Labrador puppy was discovered drunk.

Matthew Cox had been drinking vodka and coke with his roommate on Aug. 22 when he left his glass on the floor to go for a smoke.

He returned to find that his 6-month-old dog, Max, had swallowed the booze. But he left the animal at home, and prosecutor Maria Moore told Nottingham Magistrate's Court in central England that the puppy was later spotted staggering and falling over near Cox's home.

I know this is awful, but imagine a drunk, staggering puppy for a moment and tell me you don't smile a little. Doesn't have to be a full smile. Maybe the corners of your mouth turn up for a split second. Maybe it's more like your heart is smiling or something. Not because it's funny to put baby animals in danger, but because it's kind of cute to think about a puppy stumbling around and slurring it's speech.

Incidentally, this is not Matthew's first time being banned from the world of pet ownership. Four years ago he was banned from having cats for six months for feeding his 2-year-old cat Puddleglum a pot brownie. And just two months ago, Cox was banned from owning any birds when he showed the parakeet he was bird-sitting for the weekend a hardcore pornography film titled My Horny British Mum 8. Also, neither of those things actually happened.

4. DIRTY, HOT CHRISTIAN SEX

A Seattle-based pastor and his wife have caused quite a hubbub this week with a dumb sex book they wrote together. Mark and Grace Driscoll's Real Marriage: The Truth about Sex, Friendship and Life Together has the audacity to, get this, speak in a frank and open manner about sex. Can you believe that shit? 2012 is truly turning out to be the Year of the Pervert, for sure.

Technically, it's the second half of the couple's book that's rubbing many Christian commentators the wrong way, which, incidentally, is the right way for everyone else. One chapter, titled "Can We _____?", finds Mark examining what sex acts are acceptable and unacceptable for Christian couples to engage in according to his interpretation of 1 Corinthians 6:12, an interpretation that religi-blogger, Denny Burk, believes is "inherently flawed:"

I think chapter 10 has the potential to wreak havoc in such marriages where one spouse will feel a whole range of taboos to be “permissible” if he can convince his spouse to participate. This to me seems like a recipe for marital disaster, and I do not think the Driscolls’ requirement of “helpfulness” mitigates the difficulty.

I couldn't remember what it was 1 Corinthians 6:12 said exactly about deviant sex practices, so I looked it up. It goes a little something exactly like this:

“I have the right to do anything,” you say—but not everything is beneficial. “I have the right to do anything”—but I will not be mastered by anything.

Here's how I think Driscoll may have interpreted the above scripture: "I can do whatever I want with my spouse in the bedroom, but not everything is as beneficial oral sex, anal sex, role playing, mutual masturbation, spanking, light choking, doggystyle, 69ing, or blumpkins. Like, an Alabama Hotpocket or a necrophilia three-way--who's that helping? Exactly."

I haven't read the book and it is extremely unlikely that I ever will, but come on! Seriously? Christians can't have just as dirty sex as the rest of us? That seems like such an archaic notion. There are all kinds of fun, exciting ways to bang, and you shouldn't limit yourself just because some stuffy, sex-starved religious goofball believes blowjobs are "of the World." Look, your religion requires that you put a ring on a member of the opposite sex's finger--that's it. Once that ring is firmly in place, you get to it, you horny sickos.

100 Episodes I Love: #1. "A Milhouse Divided" (The Simpsons) (Season 8, Episode 6)

2012-01-05T06:30:00.003-05:00

It seems appropriate to start this latest feature with an episode from my favorite television series of all time, The Simpsons. I've been a Simpsons fan from the time my parents bought me the very first Simpsons Christmas Special on VHS. I've stuck with it through bad times (Can we pretend that awful Cheech and Chong episode never happened?) and good, and remain a fan to this very day. I know it's "cool" and "hip" and "now" to drone on and on about how The Simpsons' glory days have long since past, but I find that this sentiment is usually uttered by people who no longer watch the show on a regular basis. I, on the other hand, do continue to enjoy The Simpsons. And speaking of Christmas Specials, did you see the most recent one? It was really good. You owe it to yourself to seek it out. So, yes, I am a Simpsons fan and I plan to pass this nerdy fandom down to my daughter, in the hopes that she will pass it along to the next generation of TV-watching Lawsons.

But I'm not here to defend The Simpsons of today, but rather to look back at The Simpsons of yore--ye olde Simpsons, if you will but probably shouldn't--back to one of my favorite episodes, "A Milhouse Divided."

First, let me just come right out and say something: I am apparently fascinated by animated stories about divorce. This will become clearer as the 100 Episodes I Love series continues, but for now, I'm afraid I don't readily have an answer as to why this phenomenon exists. It just does. "A Milhouse Divided" is an a-go-go of divorce, with everybody from the Van Houtens to the Simpsons themselves falling under it's tragic spell.

The episode starts nicely enough, with Marge throwing an intimate dinner party to shake her family out of the dull rut of TV trays and pantless dining it has grown accustomed to as of late. The fact that Kirk and Luann Van Houten, parents of Bart's dorky best friend, Milhouse, announce their intention to get divorced during a round of after-dinner Pictionary, certainly isn't Marge's fault, though she feels terrible about it, prompting a classic life lesson from Homer: "Stop blaming yourself, Marge. Just blame yourself once and move on."

Luann seems to thrive after the break-up. Kirk's life, however, becomes a downward spiral of misery: he loses his plush job at the cracker factory, is forced to move into a filthy bachelor apartment, and has his car stolen by a wig-swapping receptionist from a local AM radio station named Starla. He does find the time to record a single though, a melancholy tune called "Can I Borrow A Feeling?," but the odds of getting radio play diminish after Starla takes off. Kirk warns Homer not to take his own marriage for granted, explaining that divorce could happen to any couple. Homer is unconvinced until he finds a package of hot dogs thawing in the sink instead of a home-cooked meal one evening.

Homer makes a series of desperate attempts to save his marriage, which he is now convinced is headed for the inevitable, but his actions only make things worse. Seeing no other alternative, Homer gets a quickie divorce (somehow) and throws an impromptu second wedding in the living room, this time inviting Marge's friends and family and hiring a hip rock trio ("Hope you guys like The Doobie Brothers, 'cause we've got one of them.") to play the reception. Inspired by Homer's romantic gesture, Kirk makes one of his own, performing a live version of his terrible, terrible song. Luann is unimpressed and Kirk is escorted outside by American Gladiator and Luann's new boyfriend, Pyro. Thus begins Kirk Van Houten's run as The Simpsons' most pathetic secondary character. More hopelessly pathetic than Principal Skinner and Moe combined, in my opinion, which is sort of why I love him so much.

Moments I Love

Bart: If you really want us to be neater, you'd serve us out of one long bowl.
Marge: You're talking about a trough. We're not going to eat from a trough.
___
Kearney Jr.: I sleep in a drawer
___
Kirk: I sleep in a racing car. Do you?
Homer: I sleep in a big bed with my wife.
Kirk: Oh. Yeah.
___
Kirk: You're letting me go?
Boss: Kirk, crackers are a family food. Happy families. Maybe single people eat crackers. We don't know. Frankly, we don't want to know. It's a market we can do without.
Kirk: So, that's it? After twenty years, "so long, good luck?"
Boss: I don't recall saying good luck.
___
Homer apparently maintains a poker shack in the swamp.
___
Homer: Good morning, Marge. I was thinking about how much I enjoy your interests, so I wandered over to that theater you went to last night and I bought tickets to their entire season. Look! Mostly Madrigals. Hey, that might be good. Oh! Oh! An Evening With Philip Glass. Just an evening?!? Voices of the Elderly. Mmmmm.
___
Marge gets her hair done at The Perm Bank.
___
Homer: I'd like to file for divorce.
Lady at Courthouse: These things happen. Eight dollars.
___
And, of course, Kirk's awful, awful song.

Tawdry Tuesday: It Begins

2012-01-03T08:00:00.004-05:00

Before I married my wife and we bought our first house, I lived in a musty, dilapidated, horseshoe-shaped apartment complex that me and my friend/roommate, Jonathan, affectionately referred to as "the shitty Melrose Place." Our first week there, one of the neighbors visited--she was the only neighbor I ever met or said more than one word to the entire time I lived there--and welcomed us to "the 'hood." She probably just meant "the neighborhood," but as a twenty-something white male who had seen Boyz in the Hood and various other films of its ilk, I was sure she was welcoming me to my demise, probably at the hands of a stray bullet from one of those drive-by shootings you read about.

But bullets don't have hands--not even stray ones--and poor people typically don't steal from poor people, so our time spent in "the shitty Melrose Place" passed without any violent incidents. There were non-violent incidents aplenty, but I never heard any gun shots or pimp slapping. There was a funny smell coming from another neighbor's apartment one time, that prompted Jonathan to inquire, "Is that what crack smells like?" We never found out for sure whether or not it was crack, but I like to believe it wasn't.

Here are the things I knew about Melrose Place--the television show, not the cockroach-infested, mold-choked hellhole I lived in during my mid-twenties--before I started watching it for this feature:

1. It was a spin-off of Beverly Hills, 90210, another prime-time soap on Fox that I didn't watch.

2. Heather Locklear joined the cast at some point.

3. A crazy lady blows up the titular apartment complex in a special two-part episode.

That's it. I didn't know the characters, I didn't know the story, and, frankly, I didn't care very much. But then one afternoon, while listening to the Extra Hot Great podcast, I heard a pop-culture critic talking about the aforementioned exploding Melrose Place two-parter with such mirthful gusto, I knew I had to see it for myself. But I'm a completist at heart, so, obviously, I had to start from the very beginning. So, here we are.

If you're not familiar with Melrose Place's characters, allow me to provide a quick cheat sheet. Keep in mind that I've only watched the pilot at this point, so these are my first impressions.

--Alison Parker (Courtney Thorne-Smith): A cute, but totally sexless blonde from the Midwest, who moved to LA to break into the exciting world of advertising. I mention her lack of sex appeal only because this is Melrose Place and I was under the impression that everyone here was sexy and maladjusted. Alison is kinda meh, but the pilot sets her up as the show's focus, so maybe she'll grow on me.

--Billy Campbell (Andrew Shue): Melrose Place's frequently shirtless struggling writer. He's irritating, but not in an overly offensive way. He rescues Alison from her boss's unwanted sexual advances in the pilot, so I guess he's not all bad. He can't dance for shit though.

--Jake Hanson (Grant Show): The damaged bad-boy. Ugh. He's also the way in for 90210 fans, because I guess he fingerbanged Kelly or something.

--Jane Mancini (Josie Bissett): Clearly, Jane doesn't understand how being a doctor in a hospital works. She is always on her husband's case about working late, but the man is a doctor, for Pete's sake. Give him a break, Jane. All of that aside, Jane is, by far, the least irritating character in the cast. The prettiest too.

--Michael Mancini (Thomas Calabro): Jane's doctor husband and the building manager. He seems like kind of a prick, if I'm being honest.

--Rhonda Blair (Vanessa A Williams): Melrose Place's resident African-American stereotype.

--Sandy Harling (Amy Locane): A struggling actor from the South. What part of the South, I'm not entirely sure. In which state do people speak in horrible Southern-parody accents? She's the worst and from what my wife tells me, she doesn't stick around very long.

--Matt Fielding (Doug Savant): A nice, normal social worker who dresses in weird hip-hop-themed clothing for some reason. He is also not irritating. Yet.

So, let's talk about this pilot real quick. I'm not going to provide a long, boring plot synopsis, because, frankly, nothing really happens in the episode. We're briefly introduced to each character, so by the end we know what each one of them is about (Rhonda is an unlucky-in-love aerobics instructor; Jake is down-on-his-luck and being stalked by a high school girl; Sandy is a dumb whore; etc). The episode spends most of it's running time with Alison: her roommate moves out in the middle of the night, she doesn't have enough money to pay her $800 rent (I don't know for sure, but isn't that a steal in LA? Let me know in the comments, LA people.), she meets Billy who expresses a desire to move in, she resists but eventually gives in, she is invited to an important party by one of her bosses, she walks in on Billy dancing with a mop, and her boss tries to drunkenly have sex with her. That's the pilot, or half of it, at least.

The other half of the pilot focuses on Kelly Taylor (Jennie Garth) from 90210 stalking Jake. He agrees to have dinner with her, but her friends--Donna, David, and Steve--ruin everything and Jake drives off, handsome and broken, into the Hollywood night on his motorcycle.

Can we talk about Jennie Garth real quick? Pretty girl, but is she an albino? She's either an albino or a ghost, I just can't decide which. I'll check Wikipedia.

As I may or may not have mentioned yet, Melrose Place's pilot is not very good. It's contrived, boring, and relies to heavily on 90210 cameos. However, I never once considered turning the damn thing off. Maybe it's because I've committed to the series for this yearlong feature and feel like it would be disingenuous to give up before I've even truly begun. Pilot episodes are rarely any good. Maybe part of the reason I didn't throw a brick through my television is because I'm kinda interested in watching Alison and Billy's relationship develop or learning more about Matt and his obsession with urban t-shirts or discovering the answer to my most important question: Jennie Garth: Albino, ghost, or albino ghost? Seriously. How do you live in California all of your life and stay that pale?

Questions:

1. Do we know for sure that Michael is actually a doctor? He mentions being at the hospital a lot, but maybe he's an overly ambitious janitor or a weird hospital pervert.

2. Is Matt gay or just extremely insensitive? He basically tells Rhonda that he is repulsed by her when she opens her heart to him by the pool. My guess is that he's gay.

3. The 90210 drop-ins stop eventually, right? They're really distracting and add nothing to the show. My guess is that these cameos were a note from the studio.

One more thing:

I like the fact that Melrose Place is about characters who are struggling. They aren't privileged teenagers from Beverly Hills, nor are they working actors, successful businesspeople, or independently wealthy. Alison is a receptionist. Billy teaches a dance class at night regardless of the fact that he doesn't know any dance moves. Jake is an out-of-work contractor. Sandy is a waitress at Shooters who sleeps until noon every day. It'll be interesting to watch these characters develop over time. I also look forward to shit goin' crazy. That actually sounds like a good slogan for one of Matt's rap tees.

2012 @ GEP

2012-01-01T10:01:00.001-05:00

It's a brand-new year, so I'm changing things up a little at the ol' blog-a-roo. There will be no theme months this year. Instead, there will be one yearlong theme. From here on out--at GEP anyway--2012 shall be referred to exclusively as...

THE YEAR OF TV

Yes, we're narrowing our focus to the world of television this year. I'm pretty excited. Here's the line-up so far:

most Tuesdays: Tawdry Tuesday--Join me as I watch the original Melrose Place in it's entirety. Things are going to get so sexy, you might just want to wear two condoms. (I assume readers of this blog already wear one condom when they stop by GEP. If I'm wrong about this, let me know in the comments section.)

most Wednesdays: Reality Bits--Did you know that there are currently over 1 billion reality shows in existence? That's a lot of garbage. No one could watch every episode of every reality show out there--why would anyone want to?--but I'm going to watch/subject myself to some of them and report back to you. Don't weep for me. I considered it my duty.

most Thursdays and Saturdays: 100 Episodes I Love--Like 100 Songs I Love, only about TV shows. Duh.

And much, much more...

And while it's true that I am narrowing my focus in 2012, I am not abandoning the features you've come to know and love. So look out for new editions of 100 Songs I Hate, Movie Penguin Monday, Stop Already, Perving Out, and 100 Songs I Love, as well as a few new ones I'm still figuring out.

IT'S 2012!

2012-01-01T00:01:00.000-05:00

HAPPY

NEW

YEAR!!!!!

1...

2011-12-31T23:30:00.000-05:00

HOPPY NEW YEAR!

2...

2011-12-31T23:00:00.000-05:00

SNACKY NEW YEAR!

3...

2011-12-31T22:30:00.000-05:00

CRAPPY NEW YEAR!

4...

2011-12-31T22:00:00.000-05:00

NAPPY NEW YEAR!

5...

2011-12-31T21:30:00.000-05:00

SAPPY NEW YEAR!

My 10 Favorite Podcasts of 2011

2011-12-29T10:00:00.005-05:00

I may not be ready to reveal my favorite movies or able to share my favorite albums or willing to divulge my favorite sex positions of 2011, but I can sure as heck reveal my 10 favorite podcasts of the last year. When I'm not updating this journal, feeding my child mashed prunes, or making love to my wife in our #5 favorite sexual position, I'm listening to podcasts. I don't know how many podcasts I listen to regularly, but I can tell you that it's right around ten, because this list was fairly easy to compile. Before I share my Top Ten however, let me honor those podcasts that I like, but not quite enough to put them on the list. We'll give them, what I like to call, an "honorable mention."

HONORABLE MENTION: Comedy Film Nerds; Yeah, It's That Bad; Bloody Good Horror; The /Filmcast; Reasonable Discussions; Analyze Phish

Better luck next year. Now let's move on to some winners!

10. The Legacy Music Hour-- A video game music show that wouldn't sound out of place on NPR. For: 8-bit/16-bit music snobs.

9. Tell 'Em Steve-Dave-- Kevin Smith's high school chums gather together each week at Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash in Red Bank, NJ, to harass a small Chinese man, among other things. For: fans of Kevin Smith who are sick of Kevin Smith being on so many podcasts; fans of Kevin Smith's friends (DID YOU KNOW: Tell 'Em Steve-Dave is going to be a reality show on the AMC network next year? It will be called Comics' Men and we'll be sure to let you know what we think about it. Right now, we are cautiously optimistic.)

8. How Did This Get Made?-- One of the three Earwolf podcasts on our list. On How Did This Get Made?, Paul Scheer, Jason Mantzoukas, and June Diane Raphael watch a bad/weird/batshit-insane movie and talk about it, usually over each other. For: fans of bad movies; fans of listening to comedians interrupt each other

7. WTF with Marc Maron-- Still one of the best podcasts for comedy nerds. For: comedy nerds

6. Doug Loves Movies-- Doug Benson still puts out my favorite movie-themed podcast. You don't really learn anything about movies or anything, but it's always fun to hear what the last movie Jeff Garlin saw in the theater was. For: fans of movie guessing games; name tag fanatics

5. Extra Hot Great-- As a pop-culture obsessive, Extra Hot Great is essential listening. If you like TV, movies, and weirdo pop-cultural ephemera as much as I do, you need to check it out. Immediately. Oh, and Game Time!!! For: snarky, pop-culture critics with their own pop-culture skewering blog named after an electrified flightless bird

4. Who Charted?-- Howard Kremer and Kulap Vilaysack count down the charts with various guests from the world of comedy. Simply, the best podcast to not be in the top three. For: fans of charts

3. The Heidi and Frank Show-- The only podcast I pay for. Heidi Hamilton, Frank Kramer, and Erik Scott Smith pump out six shows a week (!!!) without a single slip-up in quality. Consistently hilarious and informative--I get most* of my news from the show--The Heidi and Frank Show is must-listen podcasting at it's best. For: people who miss true "hot talk-" style radio

2. Comedy Bang Bang-- The podcast formerly known as Comedy Death Ray, CBB is the place to go for the very best improv comedy from the very best comedians on the planet, all overseen by Scott Aukerman. For: comedy nerds and nerdettes alike

1. The Best Show on WFMU-- So, this one probably isn't a surprise to anyone who knows me. I've been singing the praises of Tom Scharpling's Best Show since I discovered it last year. In private conversation I've described The Best Show as "pretty much my favorite thing ever," until I was reminded by my lovely wife that we have a daughter, who, fun fact, was born on a Tuesday night, just minutes before that night's Best Show. For: lovers of fine and funny things; fans of prog rock loving puppets

*all

My Best Whatever of 2011

2011-12-28T20:48:00.013-05:00

It's the end of another year and that means a "best of" list, but since I didn't listen to enough albums or read enough books released in 2011 and I don't post my Top Ten film list until Oscar night, I don't have much on which to reflect. So, here is a random list of things I enjoyed this year. Enjoy or something.

1. Favorite Book Discovery of 2011:

The Hunger Games Trilogy

2. Favorite Musical Discovery of 2011 (Swedish heavy metal):

Ghost's Opus Eponymous

3. Favorite Musical Discovery of 2011 (Non-Swedish heavy metal):

Joanna Newsom's The Milk Eyed Mender

4. Best New TV Character (Comedy)

Schmidt (New Girl) (pictured here portraying Sexy Santa)

5. Best New TV Character (Drama):

Emily Thorne/Amanda Clarke (Revenge)

6. Best Returning TV Character (Comedy):

Leslie Knope (Parks and Recreation)

7. Best Returning TV Character (Drama):

Richard Harrow (Boardwalk Empire) (...but what's he gonna do without Jimmy???)

8. Worst New TV Character:

Prince Louis (Gossip Girl)

9. It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia MVP of 2011:

Dennis (seen here collecting his "tools")

10. Best TacoCorp Idea of 2011:

MyFace

11. Favorite Movie of 2011 So Far:

Drive

Tomorrow: My 10 Favorite Podcasts of 2011 & GEP's Unanswered Questions Answered At Last!!!

Feeling "holly" and/or "jolly" yet? You should!

2011-12-25T07:05:00.000-05:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS

from your friends @

GIANT ELECTRIC PENGUIN

It's Christmas Eve...

2011-12-24T10:34:00.003-05:00

...and you know what that means!!! My favorite Christmas song ever!!!

Bring on the Presents: Extravagant Gifts

2011-12-22T20:31:00.012-05:00

What are you doing on the internet? You're running out of time to buy Christmas presents. Here are some last minute items you might want to consider, assuming your holiday budget is in the hundred thousands.

1. Cigars

I'm not gonna lie: I love a good cigar. I love an OK cigar. But when you're purchasing an extravagant gift for a fancy friend, a Swisher Sweet from your local Wal-mart ain't gonna get you invited to any garden parties. This Christmas, you need to go big. You need a box of His Majesty’s Reserve from Gurkha. A box of 20 cost a measly $15,000. What were you going to do with that $15,000 dollars anyway? If your answer isn't "put a down payment on a yacht," go on and buy your friends these cigars. Now. Before they become super sold out.

2. Wine

When I'm smoking a fine cigar, there's nothing I like more, you know, other than blowing smoke in a homeless person's face, than a delicious, mind-numbingly expensive wine to go with it. The thing is, when you're drinking Chambord Liqueur Royale de France, it's not really the black raspberry liqueur--which is probably totally gross-- that you're paying for, but the bottle:

Chambord by Donald Edge is a handcrafted Royal Orb bedecked with gold and gems. It features more than 1,100 brilliant, princess and pear cut diamonds as well as a single emerald cut diamond. As if that wasn’t enough, the bottle also features a number of the finest pearls. All of these gems are set in the bottle’s 18k gold embellishments.

I know, that sounds bat-shit crazy, but check this out: a bottle only costs two-million dollars. See? That's not so bad.

3. The Chopard 201-carat Watch

There's a watch in there, I promise. You've just got to squint a little bit to see it. And that's what a classy lady (or gentleman?) wants in a wristwatch: something they have to squint at like an idiot. But, seriously, it's like I've always said: it's not the size of the watch that counts, but, rather, the amount of gaudy diamonds surrounding the watch, thereby, making the watch face almost impossible to read that counts.

4. Shoes

These gold-dipped basketball shoes are only $5,405. That's a drop in the bucket (basketball pun intended...there is a basketball pun there, right?) to a classy playa like you. These shoes are totally not ugly. Whoever you gift them to will probably wear them all the time on account of them being so utterly not ugly as shit. Money well spent.

5. A horse

Little girls want ponies--and typically, a pony puzzle or My Little Pony action figure will do--but adults, especially classy, well-to-do adults want, neigh, expect horses. And everybody knows that Germany has the best horses (duh!). This year I'm doing all of my horse shopping at German Horse Center.com. They've got horses from $19,000 to almost $200,000. That might look a little expensive, but, c'mon, it's Christmas. Open up your pocketbook, Ebenezer.

Here are just a few of the horses currently for sale:

--Quell Surprise ($39,000): "A very versatile and also manageable young horse." (Will respond favorable to sexual advances)

--Sir Donnerhall x Rohdiamant ($59,000): "The learning speed of this mare is especially noteworthy. Lively and very easy to ride." (Kind of a slut)

--All or None ($78,000): "Highly placed in A, L and M class (1.30 m) show jumping tests for young horses." (If you knew what A, L, and M stood for, you'd have the biggest boner right now)

--Donatella ($39,000): "A beautifully marked, graceful black mare with very good gaits." (And as we all know, once you go black...I'm grossing myself out now)

6. Classy Escort

Speaking of horse-faced mammals you can have sex with, did you know that former wrestler Chyna (AKA Joan Marie Laurer, AKA Chyna Doll, AKA "The dude with the tits, right?") is an escort now? It's true according to the internet. But if you want to spend some alone time with this star of stage (well, wrestling ring) and screen (well, homemade porno), it's gonna cost ya. You better be prepared to lay down $3,500 for a single hour of Chyna's precious, precious time, and $1,500 for each hour that follows. But this is a Christmas present and the recipient of said present deserves a whole weekend. Easily done, as long as you've got $20,000. You've got $20,000 dollars, don't you? Give the gift of uncomfortable conversation and dirty looks this Christmas. God bless us everyone.

Let the holidays begin!

2011-12-21T06:45:00.002-05:00

HAPPY HANUKKAH

from your friends at

GIANT ELECTRIC PENGUIN

100 Songs I Hate: Christmas Carols Edition: 20-26

2011-12-19T19:42:00.009-05:00

20. "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer (Remix)" (Dr. Elmo & Frank "Killer Bee" Martin)

Know how you make one of the holiday season's most excrementitious songs even worse? Let someone named "Killer Bee" Martin remix it with GarageBand, that's how.

"Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" was not funny when I was a kid and it's not funny now. And I'm pretty sure Grandpa is behind the whole murder and subsequent cover-up.

Funnier things for Grandma to get run over by: a clown car; the Oscar Mayer Weinermobile; that weird decapitation wall from Caligula; a fat kid in the buffet line at CiCi's Pizza; Billy Joel.

21. "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (Drum and Bass Remix)"

Speaking of shitty GarageBand remixes...

22. "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" (Bing Crosby)

Finally, something classy for the holidays. Oh, did I write "classy?" I meant "creepy." Every square inch of Bing Crosby's take on this holiday standard is just dripping with creep. From his insistence on being the only one wishing anyone a Merry Christmas in the opening stanza to his repeated demands for figgy pudding, Crosby keeps things brief and frightening. I tell you what, this guy saunters up to my front porch and starts crooning this Christmas ditty, I'll give him anything he wants just so he'll go away and never return.

23. "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" (Gayla Peevey)

Oh my God, shut up!

Things I Want For Christmas: every copy of this record smashed to pieces, melted down, refashioned into records, and smashed again; a time-traveling hippopotamus to maul 10-year-old Gayla Peevey until she promises never to record this song in the first place; the two minutes and thirty-nine seconds it took to listen to this song back.

24. "Oim Gettin' Nooting For Christmas" (Two British kids)

No, no, NO! Dumb American kids are supposed to do this on national TV, not cultured European lads.

Who am I kidding? There are dumb kids all over the globe. And these two are about as cultured as a couple of Cockney chimney sweeps. This song is awful, though I could barely hear it over Gayla Peevey's voice still ringing in my ears. Damn you, Gayla!!!!!

25-26. "Jingle Bells" (Basshunter); "Jingle Bells" (Trey Songs & Flo Rida)

I don't know which of these two versions of "Jingle Bells" I detest more. Probably Basshunter's. It sounds like the kind of song a high school cheerleading squad would dance to at a holiday-themed pep rally. I expected Jersey Shore's Pauly D to burst through the door, fist pumping and dangling a sprig of mistletoe above his crotch at any moment. And Trey Songz and Flo Rida's take on "Jingle Bells" was just cheesy enough to make it essential holiday music hating.

Bring on the Presents: Christmas Gifts for your Non-Christian Friends

2011-12-18T11:00:00.001-05:00

Believe it or not, Christian readers, there are more holidays in December than Christmas. That's why the cashier at your local Hallmark wished you a "Happy Holiday" this year. It's not because Hallmark employees are trained to hate Christmas and all it stands for, but because this is a big ol' country full of different faiths and, I don't know, maybe making people uncomfortable during the holiday season isn't best for business. Of course, there is still President Obama's War on Christmas to contend with, so your righteous angry is not completely unjustified. Keep on fightin' that good fight.

But, so what? So there are other holidays jockeying for airtime in December. We all know Christmas is the best, so everyone else should just suck it. That doesn't mean, however, that you shouldn't shower your hellbound friends with stuff they'll enjoy. Just make sure they know it's a Christmas present though, and not something for whatever stupid-ass holiday they celebrate. Allow GEP to offer up a few suggestions:

1. For your Satanist friend: A plush demon

Your Satanist friends don't want cutesy little elves or jolly farting Santa Clauses or manger scenes fashioned out of glass. They want fresh cat carcasses and virgin's blood and Ghost albums. That's what Satanists are into, right? Robes, maybe? Torches? Gift cards? They eat at McAlister's, right? Who doesn't? The sweet tea is delicious.

But, hey, it's Christmas. You can't wrap up a cows heart on December 1st and expect it to stay fresh and ritual-worthy until the 25th. So mix a little adorable with your sinister this Christmas and get him/her a plush demon to squeeze when the winter nights get a little too cold or the New Year's Eve blood sacrifice gets a little too intense. So cute!

2. For your Jewish friend's kid: A plush menorah

Sure, the kids get to see the menorah every night, up there on the mantle (Does it go on the mantle? Help me out here.) with its candles lit, but what they really want to do is snuggle with it in bed. Christian kids have teddy bears. Jewish kids have plush menorahs, I assume. You should probably just make that assumption as well and get your Jewish friends' kids this soft, huggable menorah. Perfect for saying "I don't understand your religion, so, here's this thing."

3. For your Muslim friend: A witty t-shirt

We all know what Muslims want for Christmas: hilarious t-shirts!!! But what hilarious, Islam-themed t-shirt is best? There are quite literally too many to choose from. I guess, you should take it on a Muslim friend by Muslim friend basis, but I don't think you can wrong with the "Muslim fun-damentalist" t-shirt. Get it? Fun-damentalist! Oh, that's classic.

But, seriously, your Muslim friends probably don't want any Christmas presents since they don't celebrate Christmas, so why don't you just send them a nice holiday card or some Shari's Berries or something.

4. For your Buddhist friend: A Buddha cup for booze drinks

You want enlightenment, son?! Well, things can't get any more illuminated then when you're sucking a fruit-blended girly drink outta a Buddha's belly. Transcendent and delicious! Your Buddhist friends will thank you in this life and the next.

5. For your atheist friend: A needlessly mean-spirited t-shirt

You might find this shocking, but not everybody in your life believes the same things you do about God, the origins of mankind, and the creation of this big ball of water and dirt we call home. Some of these people might be sitting next to you in your favorite pew right now! Non-believers are everywhere--your school, your church, your workplace, your favorite all-you-can-eat fried fish buffet--and most of them just want to live their lives, have a little fun from time to time, and not have to put up with your efforts to proselytize them every day. They'd rather just agree to disagree and get back to their grocery shopping.

Some of these people--let's call them "atheists"--however, want to stick it to Christians every chance they can get. For that special Christian-baiting atheist on your Christmas list, why not this stylish shirt in the tee-style? It's a Jesus fish on a charcoal grill! Get it? Neither do I!

We assure you, there is nothing in this box

6. For your Jehovah's Witness friend: Nothing

What do you get the Jehovah's Witness who has everything? Nothing! That's right, Jehovah's Witnesses don't celebrate Christmas (OR birthdays OR anything) like everybody else. I don't know what they do on December 25th, but if I could guess, I'd say they sit around the dining room table dressed in drab turtleneck sweaters and stare solemnly at one another over a meal of lukewarm take-out fast food fried chicken. Again, this is only a guess.

7. For your Scientologist friend: Just kidding! Scientologists don't have any friends!

Movie Penguin Monday: #15. Christmas Classics Vol. 1 (1952)

2011-12-12T10:14:00.010-05:00

It's Christmastime and you want some appropriate holiday fare, right? Well, what could provide your family with more Christmasy fun then a collection of moldy old cartoons from the 30's, 40's and 50's, purported to be certified classics? Turns out, almost anything else actually.

I expect a certain level of quality when I see the word "classic" attached to something. Classics are stories everybody loves; tales we grow up knowing as if they were part of our very DNA. I can't pinpoint the exact moment I heard the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for the first time, I simply knew that when the air got cold and my dad lugged our Christmas tree out of the basement, it was time to start singing about Christmas's most unlikely little hero. Rudolph is a classic character and, as far as TV specials go, you don't get any more classic than Rankin/Bass's stop motion triumph, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. That was my favorite part of Christmas growing up. Sure, I used to be deathly afraid of the Abominable Snow Monster and hide behind the couch whenever he lurched across the screen, but I loved every minute of it. Unfortunately, the version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that opens Christmas Classics Vol 1 is not the Rankin/Bass one. I'm not sure who put this one together, but I have a theory that it was belched up half-formed from the pits of Hell. I'm probably way off. It is a theory after all.

This Rudolph is not featured in Christmas Classics Vol 1. Sorry, everybody in the world.

In Classics' version of Rudolph, reindeer have conquered the Earth, a la Planet of the Apes. The reindeer walk on two legs, celebrate religious holidays, and maintain their own Roman-style coliseum, I assume for gladiator fights, though we only see it used by Santa (the last surviving human being on the planet???) to thank Rudolph for guiding his sleigh through the fog.

I know what you're saying: "If there are no more humans, who is Santa delivering presents to?" Easy. Other animals. On the aforementioned foggy Christmas Eve, Santa is seen dropping presents off for all manner of woodland creatures, none of them even remotely human, unless wearing pajamas makes a bunny rabbit a tad human-ish. Sorry, Jack, but we don't exist in this nightmare world. Santa is the only one with memories of humanity's past. What he chooses to do with this knowledge, we may never know, but this seems as good a time as any to discuss Santa's house.

In "Rudolph," Santa lives in a cliffside fortress like Skeletor. It's creepy. When his drawbridge opens into the yawning maw that is the pitch black crevasse that protects his castle from the bloodthirsty animals who've eradicate humankind but have continued to live in our now empty cities and adopted our methods of dress and two-legged locomotion, I half expected some sort of Dracula-style Santa-bat to soar into the night sky. Like Man-Bat with a fluffy white beard and a sack full of toys.

While "Rudolph's" Santa hangs out in digs more appropriate for a Bond villain, the Santa in our second cartoon "classic" lives a bit more humbly (see also: North Pole trash). In "Santa's Surprise," Santa's house is revealed to be nothing more than a shabby, cluttered chalet. The kitchen sink is piled with dirty dishes, soiled laundry lies in stinky piles here and there, and Santa sleeps in a twin bed much to small for his immense girth. Luckily, a collection of kids from all over the world have smuggled themselves onto Santa's sleigh and as soon as the fat man is asleep, they break in and start cleaning up the joint. It's kind of sweet. Oh, and totally racist.

To be fair, "Santa's Surprise" was made in 1947, so many of it's racist overtones can be forgiven, but is there really a reason the little girl from Hawaii had to be topless? One, I've been to Hawaii and I've watched women hula dance. While it is true that they wear grass skirts, it is not true--as far as I saw--that their breasts are exposed. They wear bikini tops or, I guess in extreme cases, coconut shells. Two, this particular little girl is in the North Pole. She's wearing a grass skirt and, literally, nothing else. How is she even alive? Yes, Blacks and Asians are both represented cruelly and unfairly, but for Pete's sake, let the little Hawaiian girl put a damn shirt on!

"Santa's Surprise" also marks the first appearance of Little Audrey, but who gives a shit. This thing is racist-er than hell.

Another recurring theme in the cartoons that make up Christmas Classics is extreme poverty, usually associated with orphans. Yes, apparently in the old days, orphans were abandoned in shabby wooden shacks and left to, I don't know, die, I guess. Grampy--one of Betty Boop's regular co-stars--happens by one of these orphan death cottages in "Christmas Comes But Once A Year." Before ol' Grampy enters the picture, a houseful of orphans awake on Christmas morning to a roomful of beautifully wrapped presents. It's a Christmas miracle! The orphans have too many toys and stuffed animals then they know what to do with! It doesn't take long, however, to see that the toys they've been given--presumably by Santa Claus, as there appears to be no adult supervision whatsoever--are cheap and shoddily built. Everything falls apart and the orphans collapse into fits of crying. Grampy sees this pitiful display, lets himself in through the kitchen window, and builds new toys for the orphans, using common household items. Items, I might add, that the orphans need to prepare food. The only food in the orphan shack of sadness though seems to be popcorn, which Grampy uses to make garland. All the orphans are happy and appreciative. My guess is that they all died shortly after Grampy's visit, having no food or anything else. Oh, Grampy.

"Christmas Comes But Once A Year" opens with the most depressing rendition of "The First Noel" you've ever heard. Couple that with crying orphans and you'd got yourself a recipe for a holiday suicide.

The less said about "Snow Foolin'," the next cartoon on the program, the better. I will quickly mention that it does feature an ice-skating, cigarette-smoking penguin and a seemingly endless "Jingle Bells" sing-a-long. Also, a chicken calls one of her eggs "hen fruit." Have you ever heard that before in your life? Hen fruit? Ick.

The next cartoon, "Hector's Hectic Life," concerns a dog named Princie who must keep three precocious puppies in line or else he's out in the streets, which led me to the question, "Who the fuck is Hector?"

I've already mentioned my love of Rudolph, but who are some other beloved Christmastime characters. You've got Santa. Frosty the Snowman. Buddy the Elf from Elf. Baby Jesus.

How 'bout Jack Frost? Anybody clamoring for more cartoons about him? I wasn't, but we get one here. I'm not entirely sure what makes 1934's "Jack Frost" a Christmas classic. Christmas isn't mentioned once, in fact, there's an entire scene featuring singing Jack-O-Lanterns and a scatting scarecrow. There is a dude with a beard, but he sure ain't jolly. Old Man Winter is depicted as a leering, drippy ghoul who tortures animals just because he can. Of course, the animal he chases around during the cartoon is a whiny, irritating baby grizzly bear who thinks he's better than everybody else. Stupid baby grizzly.

After Jack Frost saves the day with this magical paint brush, it's back to unsupervised orphans and blatant racism. In "The Shanty Where Santy Claus Lives," a pants-less waif is visited by a tubbier-than-usual Santa Claus with singing Tourette's. Santy whisks the orphan away to his haunted workshop and things get pretty racist pretty fast. The cartoon ends with Santa's haunted toys and his guest orphan setting fire to a Christmas tree. They all perish in the fire and Santa collapses into the snow, sobbing, until he dies of exposure.

Nah! I'm just joshing! The orphan puts the fire out with a bagpipe full of water. What a resourceful orphan!
Christmas Classics Vol. 1 wraps up with a cartoon I've seen many times that never fails to depress the shit out of me. Seriously, have you seen "Somewhere in Dreamland?" This thing is dire, man. That being said, I actually kind of like this cartoon, though I have no idea why it's been included in this collection.

The story opens with two destitute children collecting firewood in town. They are dressed in rags--the boy doesn't even have shoes on his feet and it's snowing!--and some local merchants feel all bad about it and stuff. The brother and sister return home to their mother--phew! no orphans for once, though that mother of theirs doesn't exactly look well--and enjoy a dinner of stale bread and water. Then it's off to their sad little beds with their moth-eaten blankets. The brother and sister sing a dumb little song to each other about hooking up in Dreamland and then--BOOM--we're there! Dreamland is a wondrous place with fields of ice cream cones, a syrup river, and all the doughnuts, cake, candy, and popcorn a growing child could ever want. Because that is what starving almost-orphans want: junk food. Anyway, the kids wake up to a kitchen table full of food, including a freshly roasted turkey, donated by the aforementioned merchants. The kids go straight for the sweets however. Don 't eat those sweets, almost-orphans! You'll rot out whatever teeth you might have left in your oozing, infected gums.

I had the same thought at the end of "Somewhere in Dreamland" this time that I always do: That's nice of the local butcher, baker, and toy-maker to provide this poor family with delicious food and fun toys, but are they going to do it every day? It's not like after this one meal, these kids will never need to eat again. And what's going to happen when their mother inevitably dies of starvation? She looks like an emaciated Olive Oyl! What, is Santy gonna pick them up and drop them off at his racist toy shop for the night? That place is a tinderbox, man! What happens if the tree gets set on fire again and there aren't any bagpipes handy? This is what I think about at night.

(Christmas Classics Vol. 1 also features a reading of "The Night Before Christmas," but by that point, I couldn't take anymore.)

Claus's Eleven

2011-12-10T07:42:00.010-05:00

There's no way Santa can do this Christmas Eve present delivery thing by himself anymore. He's thousands of years old, morbidly obese, and probably suffering from full on dementia. The man is a mess! Doesn't mean he can't pull off the job, but maybe he gets a little back-up this year. That's why I've put together Claus's Eleven. Let's take a look at the crew.

1. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

You know Dasher and Dancer and Blah Blah and Who Cares...Rudolph is the only flying reindeer that matters, son! Rudolph can fly! He's got a bright red nose that can cut through the densest of fogs! He has a sweet, girly singing voice! What can't this little rascal do? Any Christmastime crew worth it's sugarplums starts with Rudolph. End of story.

2. Knecht Ruprecht

Knecht Ruprecht, or Knight Rupert, is kinda, like, Santa's old drinking buddy. They're both elderly gentleman with shaggy beards who enjoy children and the magic of Christmas. They both bring presents to children: Santa the latest bikes, trains, and video games (the perennial top three toys kids want--LOOK IT UP!); Rupert apples and nuts. Of course, Rupert's a little more focused on the religious end of the Christmas spectrum. See, Rupert doesn't care if kids are naughty or nice, he just wants to know if they pray or not. If they do, they get a handful of walnuts. If not, they get beaten down with a sack full of ashes. Merry Christmas, you little heathen. Rupert will help Santa stay focused on the true "reason for the season," which I've been told is Jesus.

3. Krampus

Krampus is another one of Santa's buddies from the old country. He punishes bad kids by basically scaring the ever-loving crap out of them. More specifically, Krampus will abscond with children from Santa's naughty list and eat them for his Christmas dinner. Now that's holiday fun! For Zware Piet's sake, look at that thing! Why Santa hangs around with a blood-hungry goat demon is beyond me, but what are you gonna do? Be good for goodness sake, I'll bet, now that you know Krampus is waiting in the shadows, his kidnapping sack at the ready.

4. Zwarte Piet (Black Pete)

Black Pete acts as sort of a bodyguard for Kris Kringle: keeping naughty children behind the rope and doling out knuckle sandwiches when the need arises.

He's also more than a little racist.

5. Jigglypuff

We've all seen it in countless movies, television shows, and commercials: some kid--or anthropomorphic chocolate candy--waits up to catch a glimpse of Santa Claus and either a) has a magical experience he/she can treasure forever, b) prompts Santa to faint after revealing himself to be a talking piece of candy with arms and legs, or c) becomes a dangerous psychopath. It never turns out well ("Magical experiences" are overrated. Trust me.). This is where Jigglypuff comes in.

Y'all remember Jigglypuff. It's that Pokemon thing that sings people to sleep. Here's all Santa has to do to avoid traumatizing the world's children and himself: land his sleigh on the roof, toss a Pokeball containing one amped up Jigglypuff down the ol' chimney, whisper the magic words, "Jigglypuff, I choose you," and let Jiggles do its thing. It whips out a microphone from thin air, performs a song or two--the lyrics, of course, always the word "Jigglypuff" repeated over and over and over--and Santa is safe to descend, Jigglypuff having knocked out any snooping kids in the immediate vicinity. It's a Christmas plan that can't fail.

6. Wood Man

After years of humiliating defeat at the hands of Mega Man, Wood Man decides to embrace his destiny as a beloved Christmas icon: the yule log! Heck, there's already a snowman who sings and dances around, isn't it about time for an anthropomorphic yule log? And if a snowstorm situation threatens Santa, the sleigh, and the reindeer--the kind of storm even Rudolph is powerless to repel--Wood Man can throw up one of his patented leaf shields to protect everyone. Nothings gettin' through a leaf shield. Right?

7-11. The Santa Buddies (Rosebud, Buddha, Budderball, Mudbud, and B-Dawg)

What's cuter than a sleigh full of golden retriever puppies? Almost nothing. The Buddies will inarguably increase the cuteness factor of Santa's Christmas Eve flight. I can only imagine how haggard and frustrated Kris Kringle is after delivering presents to the first 3-billion children on his list. He's gonna need a litter of wise-cracking puppies to lift his spirits. (Note: I'm assuming that Santa would be into this sort of thing--talking puppies with colorful personalities. But you know what happens when we assume: talking puppies get tossed from flying sleighs.)

STFU, Atheists!

2011-12-08T19:01:00.001-05:00

Here we go...

Two members of an atheist group in Leesburg, Virginia, added their own piece of "holiday flair" to the Loudoun County courthouse lawn this week: a skeleton dressed as Santa Claus nailed to a cross. Oh, fun.

1. Listen, I'm not going to lie: it's nice to see a mother and son spending quality time with one another. The holiday season is a time when families can come together and celebrate. Some families eat a ham, exchange presents, read the Christmas Story, and go to bed with visions of sugarplums and stuff. Others dress a skeleton up in Santa suit, nail said skeleton to a cross, and hang him outside of a courthouse. To each their own, I guess.

2. But, seriously, why is this necessary? Little kids have to walk by and see a rotted Santa corpse hanging from a Bible Times torture device just so you can remind the world that, in your opinion, God doesn't exist? Why you gotta drag Santa into this, man?

3. Here's what some atheist said about the display:

"The message to me at least," said Jonathan Weintraub, of the group NOVA Atheists, "is that the meaning of Christmas, which is about faith and family, is dead and has been replaced by commercialism."

Is that what it says, Mr. Weintraub? Is that what a skeletal Kris Kringle hanging from a poorly constructed wooden cross, leering creepily at passersby says to you? Actually, that makes sense, but only because it's so obvious and hackneyed.

In summation: STFU, ATHEISTS!

STFU, Rick Perry!

2011-12-07T20:46:00.003-05:00

I can be pretty hard on the religious sometimes. Why stop now? Here's Rick Perry's new thing:

1. You shouldn't be ashamed to be a Christian, Mr. Perry. However, you should be ashamed by the fact that you believe the biggest problem facing our nation's children is not being allowed to "openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school." What about poor nutrition? Sexual abuse? Bullying? Nope. It's not being allowed to lead a prayer in 3rd period Biology.

2. Who's stopping anybody from celebrating Christmas? It's them liberals, I bet. Danged liberals!

3. And guess what, kids? You can totally pray in school. That's right: it's totally allowed! I know weirdos like Rick Perry want you to believe that your teacher and your principal and the school board and President Obama hate your religion and will stop at nothing to keep you from praying, but they can't. See, you can say a prayer silently from your seat in the cafeteria or before a History test virtually anywhere else on campus. God can hear your thoughts. Come to think of it, that's scarier than Obama's non-existent War on Religion. Do you remember everything you thought about today? I bet some of it was totally gross.

4. Hey, Rick: We'll stop our War on Religion when religion stops its War on Common Sense. Sound fair?

In summation: STFU, RICK PERRY!

Bring on the Presents: Books

2011-12-04T09:57:00.012-05:00

Believe it or not, people like to read. I know! It's crazy, right? Regardless, people still enjoy books, so why not consider getting them one of these classics for Christmas this year.

Heaven is for Real: A Little Boy's Astounding Story of His Trip to Heaven and Back--Nothing says "Christmas" like a book about a four-year-old boy who dies on an operating table, takes a sweet tour of Heaven, and comes back to life with a plan to make millions of dollars off of a nation of dupes who eat this kinda pseudo-religious tripe up.

I'm kidding. He didn't die. He had a dream while he was undergoing surgery. A dream about Heaven. And guess what? Heaven was exactly like his father, a pastor, had probably described it to him night after night before bedtime. God is a giant who sits on a throne, Grandpa's there having the time of his afterlife, and Jesus has his very own horse. You know, all the stuff from the Bible.

Oh, the little boy allegedly also meets his miscarried sister in Heaven. I thought unbaptized children went straight to Hell and burned forever and ever. I'm calling shenanigans!

How to sum up Heaven is for Real? Oh, here you go:

Told by the father, but often in Colton's own words, the disarmingly simple message is heaven is a real place, Jesus really loves children, and be ready, there is a coming last battle.

That's right: Jesus took a break from riding his horse around long enough to tell a visiting four-year-old that he was planning an attack of some kind. That sounds like something Jesus would totally do. Ugh.

The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven: A Remarkable Account of Miracles, Angels, and Life beyond This World--A six-year-old boy visits Heaven, this time as a result of a horrible automobile accident, and returns with 248-pages worth of lurid details:

An accident.A miracle.And a supernatural encounter that will give you new insights on Heaven, angels, and hearing the voice of God.

In 2004, Kevin Malarkey and his six-year-old son, Alex, suffered a terrible car wreck. The impact from the crash paralyzed Alex—and it seemed impossible that he could survive.

“I think that Alex has gone to be with Jesus,” a friend told the stricken dad.

When Alex awoke from a coma two months later, he had an incredible story to share. Of events at the accident scene and in the hospital while he was unconscious. Of the unearthly music that sounded just terrible to a six-year-old. Of the angels who took him through the gates of Heaven itself. And, most amazing of all . . . of meeting and talking with Jesus.

The Boy Who Came Back from Heaven is the true story of an ordinary boy’s most extraordinary journey. As you see Heaven and earth through Alex’s eyes, you’ll come away with new insights on miracles, life beyond this world, and the power of a father’s love.

What, no mention of Jesus' horse? Alex is a liar, man! How did this book of lies ever get published? Sick.

90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Death and Life--Sooooooooo, what's this one about?:

On the way home from a conference, Don Piper's car was crushed by a semi that crossed into his lane. Medical personnel said he died instantly. While his body lay lifeless inside the ruins of his car, Piper experienced the glories of heaven, awed by its beauty and music.

Ninety minutes after the wreck, while a minister prayed for him, Piper miraculously returned to life on earth with only the memory of inexpressible heavenly bliss. His faith in God was severely tested as he faced an uncertain and grueling recovery. Now he shares his life-changing story with you.

No kidding his faith in God was tested! Can you imagine? You get smashed to death, whisked up to Heaven where there's all this cool music and Grand Canyons everywhere and then--BAM!--there you are, back in your crushed, broken body, being re-taught how to walk and go to the bathroom by yourself. That's awful! How could this book be anything more than 208 pages of vitriol spewed at God?

It probably isn't. Mr. Piper probably had a good old time in Heaven. He was there for a whole 90 minutes. I bet he has a lot to say about it. Let's check one of the many reviews on Amazon to find out:

The title 90 Minutes in Heaven led me to believe that the book would be an extensive description of Piper's time in heaven. I was disappointed to find that less than 10% of the total pages in this book actually dealt with his alleged time in heaven. The majority of the book dealt with Piper's recovery in the hospital, his transition back to `normal' life, and the subsequent speaking ministry that he has enjoyed. Regrettably there was more detail given to his description of an enema than his time in heaven. I do not say this to be crass but to express personal disappointment with the promotion of the book as an expose on heaven and instead I got unmentionable details concerning such things as this. Seriously, it was gross.

So, a book titled 90 Minutes in Heaven is mostly about a dude be given an enema? Ew.

The Bill Wiese 23 Minutes In Hell Collection--Every book about near-death, out-of-body experiences can't be about taking a leisurely stroll down the golden streets and poking around in the cute little speciality boutiques that make up Heaven's Main Street. There is another place, you know. A terrible place. The most terrible place, really. And if you think about it, most of us are going to spend eternity there anyway--according to your born again aunt with the houseful of cats at least--so where's the guidebook for the doomed?

Not to worry. Christian author Bill Wiese died, went to Hell for some reason, and returned to Earth 23 minutes later. He wrote a book about his experience titled 23 Minutes In Hell: One Man's Story About What He Saw, Heard, and Felt in that Place of Torment, which went on to become a New York Times Bestseller, proving that not only is reading still an extremely popular way to pass the time, but that stupid people read as much as smart people. Maybe more.

As a result of his brief stint in Hell, Wiese has decided he now knows most of the answers to humanity's most burning (heh, heh) questions about it. Questions like:

--Is Hell a literal burning place? (Yes)
--Where is Hell? (Down)
--Do you have a body in Hell? (A burning one)
--Are there degrees of punishment in Hell? (Maybe)
--Are there children in Hell? (It's mostly children)
--Can demons torment people in Hell? (What else are the demons gonna do all day?)
--What are the accommodations like in Hell? (Cramped)
--How is the cell phone reception in Hell? (Not good)
--Is there Wi-Fi in Hell? (Only at Starbucks)
--Can "good" people go to Hell? (I didn't talk to everyone...I was only there 23 minutes...sheesh)

As you've probably figured out by now, 192 pages is nowhere near enough to describe 23 minutes anywhere, so Wiese followed up this book with Hell: Separate Truth from Fiction and Get Your Toughest Questions Answered and 23 Questions About Hell (which comes with a DVD!!!).

You know I once spent 45 minutes in Hell and I didn't even have to die. I call it the DMV! Am I right, people?

[You can purchase all of these titles and much better ones at amazon.com)

A Perving Out Tribute to Paulina Gretzky's Defunct Twitter Feed

2011-12-03T23:15:00.001-05:00

We gather here tonight to say good-bye and pay tribute to the Twitter feed of Wayne Gretzky's daughter, Paulina. Why has Paulina's Twitter feed gone away forever? Well, the media is reporting that ol' Wayne might be the reason. Apparently, The Great One--more like The Great Wuss--felt that some of the photos his 22-year-old daughter shared on her Twitter feed were more than a little inappropriate. Hence, no more shots of Paulina Gretzky in various bikinis or in tight-fitting dresses with strategically-placed cut-outs dancing at assorted clubs or planking on mailboxes. All gone. Forever. Stupid Wayne Gretzky.

Luckily, the internet makes it impossible to get rid of anything completely, so we still have these memories of Paulina Gretzky to keep us warm during the cold winter months. Thanks, internet. And, more importantly, thanks, perverts. Because of your tireless efforts, the world will be able to continue enjoying photograph's of Wayne Gretzky's hot, scantily-clad daughter for decades to come.

You can see even more pics from this collection right here.

Bring on the Presents: Games

2011-12-03T11:00:00.000-05:00

Flush!--Finally, a game that sprays water all over the room! God has finally answered every single one of my prayers! I never need to pray again!

What the hell is going on here?:

Crazy creatures have invaded, and players must capture the creatures with their headband plunger and then flip them into the toilet, while the toilet is turning on its swiveling base. Work fast before the toilet flushes! The most fun youve ever had with the toilet!

"Headband plunger?" What's that?

Oh. Sure. Of course.

Flush! claims to provide "the most fun you've ever had with the toilet." Apparently, Fotorama Games has never heard of a blumpkin. DO NOT Google that, grandma!

Grandparent Talk--Ask a kid what he/she is looking for in a game and you'll most likely hear, "Anything that makes it easier for me to communicate with my grandmother, really." Yes, kids love chatting with elderly people, almost more than anything. Continuum Games has turned this passion for chatting up geezers into the un-thrilling, non-game Grandparent Talk. Here's how you "play?"

Simply pick a card, ask the question and watch your family history unfold.

Questions include such epic conversation starters as "Where did you hang out when you were a teenager?", "What have you been able to do as a result of saving money?" (Really? A kid is going to ask this question and care about his grandma's answer?), and "Grandpa, what kind of pets did you have?" Is this as hard-hitting as the questions get, Continuum Games? Pets and savings accounts? What about the real questions we want to ask our grandparents: "Am I in your will?", "How much money is coming to me according to your will?" and "Can I have this Niagara Falls commemorative plate after you die?"

Also available: Family Talk, Family Talk 2, Family Talk Bilingual, Buddy Talk, Uncle Talk, Babysitter Talk, Butler Talk, Maid Talk Bilingual, Auto Mechanic Talk, Auto Mechanic Talk 2, and Hobo Talk.

Dirty Dancing: The Board Game--You've been forced to watch the movie with your wife, now be forced to play the game. That's right, University Games developed a board game based on the movie Dirty Dancing. That could be fun, right? How do you play?

Players relive the summer magic as they travel the game board, full of movie imagery. Each turn, they take on a challenge. Challenges touch on the story, the music and dancing, and the actors and actresses who made this film a classic. Challenge categories include Who Said It? The Entertainment Staff, Feel the Music, Behind the Scenes and Surprise Dance Move. Even players who answer incorrectly get a chance to move ahead if they are willing to strut their stuff. The grand finale, of course, is the talent show.

So, every game of Dirty Dancing: The Board Game ends in an impromptu talent show? That sounds worse than anything ever.

The box claims that I will have "the time of [my] life" playing this thing. If somehow that doesn't happen, can I return the game for a full refund? I hope so because I promise I won't have fun.

The last theme of the year (phew! we made it)

2011-12-01T04:30:00.000-05:00

We're spending the entire month of December in a "holi-daze," so I guess "yule" could "sleigh" that "we-three-kings're" are...

HOLI-DAZED AND CONFUSED!!!

But don't say that because I kind of hate myself for writing it.

Moving on...

The Most Horrific Thing I've Seen This Week

2011-11-29T12:16:00.004-05:00

No! What is going on? Why is this happening?!?

Wait a minute. Only the Word of God can do what? Attack women and drag them into a terrifying book-world Gumby-style? Inspire disturbing photographs? Give me nightmares for a month?

Yikes.

100 Songs I Hate: 17-19

2011-11-28T08:00:00.000-05:00

17. "Boom Boom Pow" (The Black Eyed Peas)

When I started listing one-hundred of the songs I hated, I made a promise to you that The Black Eyed Peas would appear multiple times. Well, it's time to make good on that promise. Ladies and gentleman: "Boom Boom Pow."

I somehow missed this song when it originally dropped out of will.i.am.'s auto-tuned asshole and plopped half-digested on pop radio. No foolin'. I had a vague awareness that there was a song called "Boom Boom Pow"--wasn't it in a trailer for Transformers: Rise of the Fallen Dark of the Moon or something?--but I never had the displeasure of actually hearing it. Until Sunday night. My family and I had just spent a delightful afternoon with some good friends and as a treat for the ride home, we turned on the radio. First we heard the end of the T.I. single "Live Your Life," a song that I like very much. Then, another song played, fading so quickly into the ether that I neither remember, nor care to remember, what it was. And, finally, "Boom Boom Pow." Oh, the humanity!

Not only is "Boom Boom Pow" another one of The Black Eyed Peas infamous "non-songs," but it offers listeners the added bonus of being covered in invisible hooks that sink into your brain, anchoring the song in your brain for hours after it is finished. I've been singing the words "boom," "boom," and "pow" for the last 15 hours and, needless to say, I'm pretty close to the edge, man. Damn you, The Black Eyed Peas, and your catchy, mediocre non-songs! I hate you so much...sob sob sob...

Actual lyrics from the song "Boom Boom Pow" by The Black Eyed Peas:

"I'm so three-thousand-and-eight/you so two-thousand-and-late" (Two-thousand-and-late??? THAT'S NOT A NUMBER!!!)

"I'm on the supersonic boom/Y'all hear the spaceship zoom?" (Do I hear the spaceship zoom? Um, NO!!!)

"Beats so big I'm stepping on leprechauns" (WHAT?!?!?!)

18. "You Can't Hurry Love" (Phil Collins)

The truth is, I love Phil Collins. I will defend this man until the bitter end. You can scoff, but I think Phil Collins has written some of the most memorable tunes of the last however many years I don't feel like researching blah blah blah...

That being said, this cover of a Supremes song is one of the worst pieces of garbage I've ever heard. Ugh. He doesn't even sound like he's interested in singing it, for Pete's sake. It's uninspired, boring, and, well, I hate it. Sorry.

"True Colors," on the other hand, I like.

19. "Fa La La" (Justin Bieber & Boyz II Men)

Hey, it's a Justin Bieber Christmas song.

Eff this song.

Saturday Morning News Bits: 666, spontaneous combustion, big butts, pigs, and bikinis

2011-11-26T08:25:00.012-05:00

1. MARK OF THE BEAST

If anyone in the Christian collective still wonders why people make fun of them, this guy is the reason. Meet Billy Hyatt--not Bill, not William: Billy. Hyatt claims he was fired from his job at Berry Plastics Corp. for not wearing a sticker labeled with the number 666, commonly known as the Mark of the Beast in the Christian religion. Hyatt's godforsaken boss required employees to "take" the number of the Devil in order to purchase food items from Berry Plastics' many fine vending machines and acquire yearly holiday bonuses. Those who refused were fired and/or decapitated out behind the warehouse on a homemade guillotine.

Hold on. That wasn't it. That's right. Berry Plastics Corp had gone 666 days without an accident and were commemorating the achievement with a limited edition sticker. Hyatt took issue with this:

"I cannot. I will never, ever, ever put that number on my body," Hyatt said.

Hyatt is a staunch believer in the Bible, including what Revelations chapters 13 and 14 say about the number 666.

"The people that accept the mark, they're going to burn in hell," he told Jones. "There's no way that I'm going to put that on my body," he said

I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that the higher ups over at Berry Plastics had the power to condemn people to Hell for all eternity now. To be fair, I haven't regularly attended church in 15 years, so I may be a little rusty on the rules. I also didn't know wearing a sticker with numbers on it was enough to take me out of God's favor. Let's read on:

Hyatt said Berry employees must wear stickers with the number of days the company has gone without an accident. When the number approached 666, Hyatt said he asked not to be forced to wear the sticker. Hyatt told Jones he even requested a day off, or a vacation day, so he wouldn't be at work when employees had to wear the number. When the 666th day came and he refused to wear it he says he was suspended and then fired.

Hyatt says his boss told him it's just a sticker.

"Well it's not just a sticker. 666 is the mark of the beast," he told Jones.

No. It's just a sticker.

Hyatt said he would have hated to get into a fatal accident on the job wearing the 666 sticker and, “(have) the last thing that I did on earth is to accept the mark of the beast just so I could actually work."

Is this what people actually believe? I know there are some level-headed Christians out there--some that read this blog even--please reassure me: this dude does not represent you guys, right?

This is what religion can do to a person, and that is just one more reason I think organized religion is the dumbest thing in existence. Religion and Dancing with the Stars.

2. THE SWEDISH TORCH

A Swedish man spontaneously burst into flames this week. Now that's what I call a sticky situation.

"He just stood there burning outside the shop," a witness told the paper. "After a while he started screaming. There were a few people about but they just watched him. I ran up to him, tore my coat off and managed to put the fire out together with another guy."

The Giant Electric News Team will continue following this story. Stay tuned.

3. SHE LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THOSE RAP GUYS GIRLFRIENDS IF SAID GIRLFRIEND HAD BEEN INJECTED WITH POISON

Listen, if you desire some variety of plastic surgery performed upon you and you have the means to make it happen, more power to you. You get your eyes lifted and your creases ironed. Turn your breasts into festive Macy's Thanksgiving Parade balloons and your lips into sausage links. But if you don't have the money to have your body augmented, just learn to be happy with your hideous self, all right? Because if you don't, you might end up like this stupid asshole in South Florida who paid an unlicensed transsexual to inject Fix-A-Flat into her ass:

South Florida cops busted a syringe-wielding freak for allegedly injecting a woman’s buttocks with cement, mineral oil and Fix-A-Flat tire sealant in a bizarre bid to give her big buns, officials said.

An unidentified woman believed she needed a bursting backside to work Sunshine State nightclubs and, through friends, met suspect, Oneal Ron Morris, who allegedly performed the freaky procedure.

“Short time later, she [the victim] develops very serious pains in her abdomen, throughout her body,” Miami Gardens Police Sgt. Bill Bamford told WPLG-TV in Miami. “She knows something’s wrong.”

Cement? I've got to believe that the "victim" in this story had no clue what was being injected into her body. I need to believe this or else I'll officially lose the last remaining respect for the human race I currently possess. Even if I'm visiting a cut-rate, non-doctor to perform a procedure on me, I expect to be told what might be crammed, jammed or injected into my body. The first time cement pops up in the conversation, I'm out.

When the victim told Morris about her intense pain, the suspect allegedly said everything was going to be OK.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. We just keep injecting you with the stuff and it all works itself out,” Morris said, according to Bamford.

Listen, Morris is obviously a real sickie, but can we stop calling this other woman a "victim?" That's an insult to true victims of crime. This dipshit knowingly let a non-doctor pump cement into her butt, and even if she didn't know Morris wasn't licensed, she had to know something was up. What, is Morris a criminal mastermind? Did she buy a doctor's office and have a wall full of fake diplomas she made on her computer? C'mon, unnamed victim! Get your head out of your enormous, cement-filled ass!

4."YOUR TOTAL COMES TO 100 PIGS, SIR"

If you muck something up in Samoa, you better be ready to lose some pigs, buddy. That's what happened to the former manager of the Samoan rugby team, Tuala Matthew Vaea, this week. For bringing shame to his village, Vaea was dismissed from his post and fined 100 pigs:

Tuala Matthew Vaea incurred the fine after players and team officials complained that he neglected his duties at the event in New Zealand, treating the tournament as a "massive holiday" and spending too much time drinking with friends. His village council determined he had disgraced the village and tarnished his chiefly rank.

So, there are people in Samoa that just have 100 pigs lying around? Man, the world is a strange, stupid place.

5. BIKINI-CLAD HOTTIE ENSURES THAT MISSING DOG STORY APPEARS IN SATURDAY MORNING NEWS BITS FEATURE

This is the kind of story we love here at GEP. The bond between a human and its beloved animal companion is one of the most special relationships in existence. It is inspiring and uplifting to witness the lengths to which a person might go to ensure the safety and well-being of his/her furry friend. When their pet goes missing, these selfless individuals do all they can to rescue said animal, no matter the cost. So Arlene Mossa Corona missed Thanksgiving with her family. This pure, kind soul has refused to eat until her missing chihuahua is once again safe and sound in her loving arms.

She's also refused to go without clothes.

A woman took to the streets Wednesday to find her lost Chihuahua, and she won’t clothe herself or eat until the dog comes home.

Arlene Mossa Corona wore a bikini and held up a sign with pictures of her dog Chispita in the intersection of La Jolla Village Drive and Genesee Avenue in San Diego, Calif., on Wednesday morning.

And Corona isn't just interested in finding her poor lost Chispita, she's also a proud American patriot:

Cars honked and men whistled and shouted cat-calls at the woman as she held up her sign, wearing red pumps, a white bikini top and blue bikini bottom — the nation’s colors, she said, to represent military personnel coming home. She hopes the same will be true of her dog.

God bless America.

Matt VS Kid: Round 2

2011-11-25T09:49:00.006-05:00

Things haven't been going so well.

Since last we spoke, I've turned green, toppled from multiple floating rock formations into the yawning abyss of death--yawning because it's totes bored by my repeated topplings--and stuck like a chump on Level 1-3. It's not like I haven't tried. I have. Hard even. It's just something about this game--this frustrating, frustrating game. If my daughter's first words aren't "shit balls" or "dammit to fuck," I'll be very surprised. Sorry, Mia and Pep-Pep.

The Eggplant Wizard? Maybe?

So, in the spirit of frustration, I scoured the internet for cheat codes. I'm not proud of it, but I have never been above using cheat codes and secret warp zones to beat a video game. If I can't beat a video game, I don't see the point of its existence. Video games are created to be conquered, to give the gamer a sense of accomplishment. True, finishing a game with nothing more than the street smarts you've accrued through a lifetime of sitting six inches from your television moving a blocky, Italian plumber through a world of anthropomorphic mushrooms is way more satisfying than cheating, but, as far as I'm concerned, in the world of gaming at least, cheating is an acceptable, "last resort" move.

So, I found several pages of passwords, reset my game of Kid Icarus, and started cheatin'. Only none of the pilfered passwords worked. Not one. I tried them all and NONE OF THEM WORKED! As a result of my scheming ways, I was forced to start over from Level 1-1. I got through it in record time. Since then, I've been stuck in 1-2. I hate you, Kid Icarus.

Irritated beyond belief, I made my way to the Wii Store and purchased two new titles. I needed a break from Pit and his toppling. First up, Double Dragon.

Did you know that Double Dragon opens with a woman getting socked in the stomach and carried away by a motley crew of degenerates? I didn't remember that. Kicking, punching, and baseball-batting my way through three levels of Double Dragon alleviated some of my Icarus Anger. Then I learned, that in Double Dragon, you only get three lives and when those are spent, you start over ON LEVEL 1! What? Why are old Ninetendo games so hard? WAAAHHHHH!

Irritated anew, I turned to a man who has always been there for me. When every other game in the world let me down, this beautiful, mustachioed man and his series of colorful good-times has never failed to amuse me and accommodate my limited video gaming abilities:

Of course, I'm talking about Mario. Who did you think I meant? Q*bert? Spyro? Ratchet and/or Clank?

Anyway, I bought Super Mario Bros 2, a game I loved as a kid. I love the music in this one too, in fact, if I'm in a good mood, I tend to whistle, and the song I'm usually (see also: always) whistling is the Super Mario Bros 2 theme. I love it!

I've pretty much been playing Super Mario Bros 2 ever since. It comes with its own set of frustrations, but, I don't know, at least it's not Kid Icarus.

Will I buck up and give Kid Icarus one last try? Or will I devote the rest of this month to Mario and his pals? Or will I leave my basement and gaze once more upon the sun, swear off video games and embrace adulthood? I guess you'll just have to stay tuned.

Perving Out: Thanksgiving After Dark

2011-11-24T21:05:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving is a time when cartoon dogs dressed as pilgrims and slutty, stripper-types dressed as sexy Native Americans can come together and participate in a weird, kinky First Thanksgiving-themed orgy of some kind. Happy Thanksgiving, perverts.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T07:45:00.004-05:00

Thanksgiving is a time when cows and Alaskan huskies can come together, don pilgrim costumes, and stand together in thankfulness. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Perving Out: Elizabeth Hurley

2011-11-20T09:31:00.004-05:00

This week, Perving Out is celebrating the triumphant return of Elizabeth Hurley to these American shores. Chances are, 100% of you do not watch The CW's Gossip Girl. I'm not here to recruit you, but I will admit--proudly, I might add--that I have been onboard with this tawdry prime time soap about scheming Upper East Siders ruining each others lives in various colorful and amoral ways since the beginning, and I am still wholly onboard for any and everything Gossip Girl has to offer. Oh, yes, Elizabeth Hurley...

So, anyway, the 46-year-old model-turned-actress joined the cast of Gossip Girl this year and it has been nothing short of constant delight. First of all, she's brought back the scheming that has been so desperately missed, you know, since Chuck turned good and Blair's schemes became royal wedding focused and Dan sold his dumb novel and Charlie frowned a lot and Rufus got even more insufferable and Eric disappeared at sea (That's what happened, right?). Gossip Girl has always been best when chocked full of elaborate schemes and Hurley has been the scheming MVP this season for sure. I can barely wait for her comeuppance. You think Juliet and Vanessa got it bad when they were simply shunned, considering everything Hurley's character, Diana, has done this season, I'd be surprised if she gets out of Manhattan with her life. Second, did you see last week's episode, "The Big Sleep No More?" Did you see the purple dress Hurley wore to Chuck's weird Macbeth haunted house charity thing? Wow. I wanted to post a picture of that for this entry, but I couldn't find a good one. So, you get the above picture, which I think is pretty exquisite.

Happy Perving Out Sunday, everybody! XOXO

Saturday Morning News Bits: PETA hates Mario, baby knives, Kim Kardashian, and dead Munchkins

2011-11-19T11:22:00.011-05:00

1. PETA OFFICIALLY RUNS OUT OF THINGS TO PROTEST

This week PETA called out fictional video game icon Mario Mario for sometimes wearing a magical tanooki-suit:

"Tanooki may be just a "suit" in Mario games, but by wearing the skin of an animal, Mario is sending the message that it's OK to wear fur," PETA says.

Is he? Mario's tanooki-suit also gives him the ability to fly. Isn't he kind of sending the more dangerous message that wearing a costume can grant you the gift of flight? It's not like kids everywhere are wrapping themselves up in Grandma's mink coat and jumping out of their bedroom windows shouting "For the Mushroom Kingdom!" It's a game. And kids are stupid. Most of them don't even know what a tanooki is. Most of them probably know wearing animal fur is wrong too. Just let 'em play their video games and get fat on Cool Ranch Doritos. Geez, PETA, do you gotta ruin everything we love.

Of course, why take on the Super Mario series when there is a game far more callous in it's treatment of animals: Joust. Have you seen this thing, PETA? Grown men in suits of armor riding on the fragile backs of ostriches?!? Now that is some sick stuff!

Also, everyone knows a real tanooki-suit would come with giant furry testicles.

2. THE MORE YOU KNOW?

Remember, new parents, don't let you infant children sleep with sharp knives. They'll probably kill you in your sleep, most likely in some kind of gory, Satanic ritual.

3. KARDASHIANS KANCELLED

They haven't been --sorry if I got your hopes up--but one group of concerned citizens is trying to make this wonderful dream a wonderful reality:

"In a grass roots effort, we have collected [thousands of] signatures for a petition asking E! Entertainment to remove the Kardashian suite of shows from their programming," petition organizer Cyndy Snider said in a statement. "We feel that these shows are mostly staged and place an emphasis on vanity, greed, promiscuity, vulgarity and over-the-top conspicuous consumption."

"While some may have begun watching the spectacle as mindless entertainment or as a sort of 'reality satire,' it is a sad truth that many young people are looking up to this family and are modeling their appearance and behavior after them," Snider continued. "I'll remind you here that the Kardashian family fame largely started with a 'leaked' sex tape."

Finally, a dumb, vague, largely unfocused cause I can get behind. You can add your name to the No More Kardashian Petition here.

And before I forget: Hey, E! channel, how many on-camera hummers do I gotta give before you'll air my reality show? I've given sooooo many already. Trust me, Bald Dad is gonna be an instant hit!

4. MUNCHKINLAND: POPULATION 3

America said good-bye to one its last remaining Munchkins this week, Karl Slover. Slover was 93 and 4-foot-5 when he died of cardiopulmonary arrest. You might think Slover's life was nothing but yellow brick roads and prolonged stares of vague recognition, but his childhood in Czech Republic was a terrifying succession of horrifying ordeals:

"In those uninformed days, his father tried witch doctor treatments to make him grow," [John Fricke, author of 100 Years of Oz] said. "Knowing Karl and his triumph over his early life, you can't help but celebrate the man at a time like this."

He was buried in the backyard, immersed in heated oil until his skin blistered and then attached to a stretching machine at a hospital, all in the attempt to make him become taller. Eventually he was sold by his father at age 9 to a traveling show in Europe, Fricke said.

Slover played Munchkin Trumpeter No. 1 in the Judy Garland-helmed classic and earned $50 a week for his work. He leaves behind three Munchkins and, I presume, a closet full of tiny shirts and pants.

Movie Penguin Thursday: #14. Doom (2005)

2011-11-17T21:38:00.004-05:00

If there is one thing first-person shooter fans, disturbed teenage outcasts, and sporadically-employed twenty-somethings can agree on, it’s that the video game Doom is, quite possibly, the best way to kill time between binging on McDonald’s cheeseburgers, looking up weird internet porn, and pretending to look for a job. It worked for me. There was a period in my maturation process that consisted of hours-long marathons of Doom, Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, and Simpsons reruns, with periodic breaks for urinating, defecating, smoking, and fast food consumption, and look how I turned out. I’m happily married, my wife and I have a beautiful 5-month old daughter, I own my own home, I am gainfully employed, and now I watch my reruns on a 52” flat screen TV with surround sound. So, you know, don’t let the media tell ya video games, horror movies, chain smoking, and Taco Bell aren’t good for you. Next time you see a local newscaster moaning about violent, sexist video games (They do that, right? I don’t watch local or any news ever at all.) and the dangers of Chinese take-out, you turn the channel. Or better yet, shoot your TV in the face. Oops. Maybe there is such a thing as too much Doom. You probably shouldn’t shoot your TV. Maybe a strongly worded e-mail is enough.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I spent the bulk of my youthful “video gaming” playing a copy of Doom 2 I borrowed, and subsequently stole, from my friend, Todd. Sorry, Todd. If you are reading this and want Doom 2 back, I’d be happy to give it to you. Please don’t want it back though. PLEEEEEEASE!!!

Anyway, Doom 2. I would get home from whatever unsatisfying temp job I was doing that week, share a cigarette with my roommate, and proceed to play Doom 2—in God Mode, of course—for a couple of hours before prime time television and bed. Doom 2 was my way of relaxing, dealing with stress. The anger I felt, mostly at myself, for being kind of a failure at life, would dissipate when I was hacking space demons to pieces with a chainsaw. And, seriously, why would you use anything other than the chainsaw when playing in God Mode? If you were more of a Super Shotgun guy (or girl!), more power to you, but when you’re invincible and have the power to literally walk through walls, why wouldn’t you want to get up close and personal, Leatherface-style on these hideous hellbeasts? I’m just saying.

For those of you unfamiliar with Doom—I’m talking to you, Grandma—Doom is a series of video games in the first-person shooter style in which a dude walks through a bunch of doors, shooting and killing various space weirdies that may or may not also be from the pits of Hell. I don’t know. Want a history of the Doom franchise, check Wikipedia. We’re here to discuss the Doom movie—the uncut, unrated Doom movie.

Watching Doom the movie is like watching a friend play Doom the video game, by which I mean, it’s boring. The film, like the game on which it based, is basically people, mostly bulked up, sweaty dudes, walking through doors into rooms, down hallways to other rooms, and through different doors and hallways into various different rooms. There are a lot of doors opening and closing and while that might sound intensely exciting to you, it rarely ever is.

And that’s what is ultimately disappointing about Doom. I didn’t have any great expectations going into this thing, but I thought it at least might be a little bit scary. The graphics may have been primitive, but Doom 2 could be downright frightening, especially when played in the dark. And it didn’t help that the apartment in which I played was located in a less-than-great part of town. The creatures were horrifying. The impaled twitching bodies in the torture chamber were disconcerting. The sound effects were chilling, especially those big ugly demons that seemed to be growling the ominous phrase “I’m your mom” over and over again, no matter how many rounds you pumped into their bloated stomachs. Doom 2 was, quite simply, scary as shit! Doom the movie, as I said earlier, is boringer than hell.

Generally, I believe video game-to-movie adaptations don’t work for one of two reasons. Either the video game in question 1) doesn’t have enough plot to sustain a feature-length film and little-to-no effort is made to rectify this (Mortal Kombat) or 2) has a whole bunch of plot or such a wacky, off-the-wall idea or concept, that a coherent, interesting film is nearly impossible to pull off (Super Mario Brothers). Doom, on the surface, doesn’t seem to have a lot to work with, however, the filmmakers give it one helluva try. There’s an underground warp zone in New Mexico that can instantly transfer a human being from Earth to the surface of Mars. There’s a creepy laboratory where earthlings are being injected with Martian chromosomes (Chromosome 24) that will either transform test subjects into a hulking alien monster or a gravity-defying superhero depending on whether or not said test subject possesses the, for lack of a better term, “evil gene.” There’s an attractive blonde women with perky nipples. There are cool guns. None of this changes the fact that we are, in essence, watching The Rock and his alien clean-up crew walk through an endless succession of doors and down an endless succession of hallways.

The film follows Sarge, played by The Rock before he was Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, and the other colorfully nicknamed members of the Rapid Response Tactical Squad (The new guy’s nickname is “The Kid!”) as they travel to Mars via The Ark, a weird ball of teleportative goo, to find out what happened to Dr. Carmack and his scientist buddies after a particularly troubling transmission from the UAC research facility. Once there, Sarge and his team walk up and down hallways, open doors, enter rooms, and close the aforementioned doors behind them. Eventually there is shooting, but it takes an awfully long time to get there.

There isn’t much else to Doom, to be honest. It’s about what you’d expect, assuming you’d expect anything at all. The only truly interesting scene comes at the end of the film just before the fairly predictable Big Fist Fight Finale. For five or so uninterrupted minutes, the audience experiences the “walking through doors and down halls” thing first person shooter style. It’s like playing Doom only you’re not sitting in front of a computer with your pants off. It’s an exciting sequence that made me wonder if the movie might have been more successful if it did something unconventional and made the whole thing first person style, like, from the prospective of The Kid on his first mission or Sarge coming face to face with something he’d never encounter in his Marine Corps career.

I can’t imagine needing an uncut, unrated Doom, but here it is. I wonder what they cut out for the theatrical cut? I don’t wonder enough to seek a theatrical version out, mind you. I think I’d rather just find Todd’s copy of Doom 2 and play that for a couple hours.

What the WTF presents The Most Horrific Thing I've Read in a Good Long Time

2011-11-13T15:13:00.004-05:00

I know most of you have been waiting for my take on the whole Joe Paterno/Penn State Sex Abuse Scandal story and I apologize for making you wait so long. Many of you get your news from GEP and when we fail to comment on a major story in a timely fashion, I usually feel pretty bad. There is a reason it's taken me awhile to comment on this particular tale of woe however, and that is because large portions of it make me sick to my stomach.

If you don't have any idea of what I'm talking about, first, you most assuredly live underneath a rock, by which I mean you aren't alive at all, but, rather, buried in a cemetery somewhere, unless, of course, your body was donated to science or cremated and tossed into the Grand Canyon. Second, this timeline of events posted at ESPN.com should bring you up to speed. Allow me to nutshell it, if I may: Jerry Sandusky, an assistant football coach under legendary Penn State coach Joe Paterno, molested and raped several different young boys over roughly a fifteen year period. His disgusting conduct was witnessed and reported, but nothing was ever done until just recently, when Sandusky was arrested on 40 criminal counts.

There is a lot about this story that makes me sick. First, Sandusky is an inhuman monster. He creates a charity for boys from dysfunctional homes and then uses said charity to find easy marks--broken, lonely boys aching for a father figure in their lives. Sandusky becomes that father figure and proceeds to betray their trust.

Second, you got the members of the Penn State faculty and staff who knew what Sandusky was up to, but ignored it or, in the case of Joe Paterno, did the bare minimum of what was required and got back to promoting the Penn State brand. Nobody picked up a phone and dialed 9-1-1, like, ever. They passed the buck, swept it under the rug--you pick the cliche! The simple fact is that boys were being sexually abused, but Penn State's reputation was much more important.

Third, these students that rioted and flipped over a news van. Really, guys? Now that you know the whole horrible story, I bet you feel pretty dumb. Let me rephrase that: you better feel really dumb. Listen, I hadn't heard the name Joe Paterno until last week (believe it or not, not everybody cares about college football), so maybe I don't get how much of a legend he is 'round your parts. I do know that a graduate assistant witnessed Jerry Sandusky anally raping--ANALLY RAPING!!!--a 10-year-old in the locker room showers and called his dad, not the police. HE CALLED HIS DAD! Then, THE NEXT DAY, he told Joe Paterno who also DID NOT CALL THE COPS, but rather Penn State's athletic director and the whole story dies there. Paterno was part of the cover-up, like it or not, and for that he deserved to be terminated. Let's step outside of our school pride for a moment and look at the facts. Paterno fucked up. He's not the only one who did, but he did nonetheless. So, why not help right that news van and get back to studying or binge drinking or whatever.

Who are the victims in this story? Joe Paterno? Not bloody likely. Penn State's reputation? If they're so great, why have I never heard of them?* I'll tell you who the victims are...

LOCKER ROOM SHOWERS!

That's right: what young boy in his right mind is going to take a public shower after all this? Scores of middle school boys will leave second period gym sweaty and stinky, offending the sensibilities of their Social Studies classmates, all because the locker room shower has become a terrifying, tiled house of horrors. Rumors will fly: "I heard if you stand in front of the boy's room mirror and repeat "Jerry Sandusky" three times, Coach Sandusky appears naked and cuddles your from behind." Showers will go ignored and unused. Horrifying!

Of course the showers aren't the victims! Sandusky's victims are the victims, but it seems like everybody forgot that for awhile, although I think people are finally coming around.

There is a special place at Hell's Thanksgiving table for child molesters. Jeffery Dahmer cooks the turkey, Osama Bin Laden makes the seating chart, and Hitler does the carving. It makes the Thanksgiving dinner for blasphemers and liars look like a Labor Day barbecue in The Hamptons, you know, fun, but kind of intimidating. Sandusky ruined a lot of lives, but what's become of JoePa's legacy is nobody's fault but his own. Remember that next time you see a news van that looks just right for tipping. Believe it or not, there are things more important than your alma mater. Grow up.

*I'm kidding. I've heard of Penn State. I've visited the campus. I had my picture taken with that lion.

Who Asked For This: Get Your Mediocre On!

2011-11-12T14:51:00.003-05:00

There are video games that give players the experience of being at war. Others give gamers the experience of being a highly-skilled professional athlete. And some can show you what it'd be like to live as an overweight Italian plumber lost in a world where mushrooms make you bigger and turtles are trying to kill you. But has there ever been a video game in existence that has given players the full experience of being a mediocre pop/rap music group? There is now. Behold: The Black Eyed Peas Experience for Xbox and Wii.

Are you serious? Can I really play as will.i.am, Fergie, the guy who isn't will.i.am, and the other guy who isn't will.i.am and might be named Tablet? I don't know who to pick! I love them all so much! And, wow, just look at all the dance moves I get to learn! The Hop Scotch! The Give It Up! The Pantomime! All my favorite moves I've never heard of!

The Black Eyed Peas have to be in video games now? Why won't they just go away? Wahhhhhh!

100 Songs I Hate: 14-16

2011-11-11T13:56:00.007-05:00

"People Are Crazy" (Billy Currington)

Make no mistake, I hate every song on the 100 Songs I Hate list, but there is a special place in Songs I Hate Hell for ditties like "People Are Crazy." Contemporary country might get crapped on more than it deserves, but for me, there is nothing more loathsome than the "Contempo-Country Story Song." And when it's got a blatantly predictable and predictably stupid twist ending like "People Are Crazy," well sir, I despise it all the more.

For those of you who've skipped over listening to Mr. Currington's 2009 hit and gone straight to my bashing of it, here's a quick re-cap: The song's narrator finds himself in the state of Ohio without any knowledge of how he got there or why. Instead of seeking medical attention for obvious brain damage, he stops in at a local bar, sits down next to an old man, and proceeds to get thoroughly wasted. The singer and old man spend the evening drinking and talking about politics, dames, and God's grace--you know, guy shit. Eventually the old man shares with the singer the culmination of his life experience, the golden nugget of wisdom he's come across in his sixty-plus years on the planet, and it is this: "God is great. Beer is good. And people are crazy." The singer and the elderly gentleman part ways. Some time later, "one sunny day," our narrator sees the old man's picture on the front page of the obituary section of his local paper (Wait, does he live in Ohio? Is that why he was in Ohio? Has he been in Ohio all along?) and learns that the old man was, in fact, a millionaire who left all of his riches to THE SONG'S NARRATOR! In turn, the narrator places a six pack of beer on the old man's grave.

No, really. That's the song. Can you imagine spending an entire evening drinking with some old man and it comes time for him to drop some old manny-type wisdom on your head and he says, "God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy?" Really, old man? That's the best you've got for me? I've spent the whole evening keeping you company, distracting you from your own mortality and that's the big secret to life, that beer is delicious? And people are crazy? How are people crazy? What percentage of people are crazy? What are they doing that makes them crazy? Getting drunk with strange old millionaires in bars? That's pretty crazy.

Anyway, this song sucks hard.

15. "Grenade" (Bruno Mars)

"Grenade" was a hit song. You've heard it, right? This is apparently the kind of song people in America want to download to their iPod and listen to. Sick.

First of all, if your kid heard this on the radio and asked you to buy them the CD or download the song on iTunes and you did, you are a terrible person. Yep. I just said that. Go back and read it again. I called you a shitty parent. How is any of the lyrical content appropriate for anyone not old enough to know that Burno Mars is completely full of shit? Bruno Mars isn't going to belly-flop on top of an active grenade or happily submit himself to a beheading to, I guess, save the life of his ex-girlfriend. Wait, is that what he's doing? How does having his head chopped off save somebody else's life? We'll get to the inherent problems the song's lyrics raise in a moment. Let's get back to you being a horrible parent. Yeah, so, what, your kid gets into a stupid pre-teen relationship and it ends, as they ALWAYS do, and you find it perfectly acceptable for them to submerge themselves in the dulcet tones of Bruno Mars and his ode to suicide? This is a horrible song with a stupid, immature message, and if you and your dumb kids rock out to it in the car on the way home from soccer practice, screw you.

Now, the adult reaction. If you heard this song on the radio and stopped at Best Buy to purchase the CD or downloaded the song on iTunes, you are an idiot who lives in a magical world where jumping in front of trains and taking bullets to the head constitutes being what is commonly referred to as a "romantic." Is it romantic to be an idiot? Listen to the song, dummy. The girl in this song hates Bruno Mars. It's not bad enough that she keeps her eyes open when they kiss--which is super creepy, you gotta admit--but she also TAMPERS WITH HIS CAR'S BRAKES! This woman is, for lack of a better term, a mega bitch. Even so, Bruno would die for her, and not just die, but be killed in various horrific and gory ways. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I'm serious now: if you are an adult human with a normal functioning brain who genuinely enjoys "Grenade," tell me why in our comments section. You can be anonymous about it. I won't personally attack you. I just don't understand the appeal. It isn't even a terribly catchy song. But it was a #1 hit, so what the eff do I know. Maybe I should just shut my mouth.

Nah.

16. "Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)" (Katy Perry)

OK. This song has a few things going for it. 1.) It's catchy. 2.) The appearances of Rebecca Black and some of the Glee gang in the video is cute. 3.) Katy Perry is nice to look at, you know, after the transformation and everything. It's the lyrics I have a problem with and that's only because, believe it or not, America's children are the reason Katy Perry has a career.

I mentioned in a past post that segments of the media seem to view Perry as a children's entertainer of sorts. Sure, "Firework" is a triumphant teenage ode to being yourself, but songs like "Last Friday Night" celebrate debauchery in all of it's splendid forms. And, sure, Perry may mention having a boss in the lyrics, indicating that the listed revelries were experienced by young people of college age at least, but the video is set at the kind of giant high school house party made famous by, I think, every single teenage comedy film from the 80's. Isn't Rebecca Black, like, 14-years old? Who's her boss?

"C'mon, old man," you might be yelling at your computer, "Katy Perry is fun. My kids love the beat. Why don't you get off your high horse and have fun for once." To you I say, you're an adult. Have yourself a Katy Perry-style good time. But do your kids really need this song to dance to? There isn't something equally poppy and/or grating to which to get funky?

Here's a quick, fun list of just some of the shenanigans Perry and her buddies got into last Friday night: anonymous sex; underage drinking; glitter littering; heavy petting; bar fighting; heavier petting; public indecency both in and out of water; contributing to the delinquency of a minor (Get out of the house, Rebecca! Run back to that wholesome party from your video!); heaviest petting; French-style sexual intercourse; property damage; chandelier molestation; murder probably.

You're right. That is kid's stuff. Jerk.

A few quick thoughts about Jack and Jill

2011-11-07T20:40:00.002-05:00

Look, I don't care what you do with your life. If you want to drive to your local movie theater and watch Jack and Jill this weekend, more power to ya. Go. Eat some popcorn. Yuk it up with your significant other or a group of like-minded buddies. If Adam Sandler movies are what you like to spend your money on, by all means, purchase a ticket to Jack and Jill this weekend and have the time of your life. I hope you do. I mean it. I want your life to be full of laughs. You deserve it. Just do me a quick favor. Tell me what's funny about this:

This is one of the many Jack and Jill spots cluttering up TV right now. Now I could pick this thing apart like the movie snob dickhead I'm sure many of you believe me to be, but I'm not going to do that. It's too easy. It's what you were probably expecting. Like I said, if this is your thing, go for it. I just want to know what's funny about the last 10 seconds of this commercial. Just in case you're too lazy to go back and look or have downright refused to press play even once, I'll set the scene. Katie Holmes, as Adam Sandler's child bride, introduces the idea that one twin can feel another twin's pain, like those dudes on G.I. Joe or whatever. Curious to see if this is true, Sandler's son punches his Aunt Jill so hard in the face that she falls out of her chair. "Feel that?" he impishly asks his father. "I actually did feel something: pride in my son," Sandler retorts. Really? You feel pride in your son for punching his aunt in the face? You are proud that your son has physically assaulted a woman? Your son has punched his aunt so hard in the face that she has toppled from her seat at the Thanksgiving dinner table and you are proud of him? Explain to me why this is funny. It is the capper for the TV spot, so clearly we're supposed to get a hoot out of watching a child punch a woman in the face. Is it funny because the kid has a pepper mill taped to his head? Is that why I'm supposed to laugh?

"C'mon, man, it's just slapstick," you're probably saying. "Lighten up." Hey, I like a good pratfall as much as the next guy, but there is something unsavory about this shocking moment of domestic abuse that doesn't sit right with me. It isn't funny. Not to me. But Jack and Jill wasn't made for me, so maybe I should just shut up.

I'm not going to lie though: I am kinda curious about the whole pepper mill being taped to the head thing. If you see Jack and Jill this weekend, explain why that's happening in the comments section. Thanks.

Matt VS Kid: Round 1

2011-11-05T09:35:00.006-04:00

When I was a kid, my favorite video game was Kid Icarus for the NES. I don't know why exactly: it was irritating, repetitive, and impossibly hard. Kid Icarus did more to foster and further develop my burgeoning short temper than anything else growing up. "You mean when I die, I gotta start over?! FROM THE BEGINNING!?!" My first curse words were uttered during an afternoon round of Kid Icarus. The first controller I threw in anger was probably a result of sliding off of an ice platform for the twentieth time in ten minutes. I couldn't get past Level 1-2, yet I considered Kid Icarus the finest game Nintendo had ever created. It made Super Mario Bros look like a pile of trash in my opinion. I have some theories as to why.

First, I loved Greek mythology as a kid. I still do in fact. The idea of a video game (sort of) based on my favorite Greek myths was mind-blowing to me. True, very little of the game--that I ever saw, mind you--contained anything remotely similar to the heroic stories I knew and loved. I mean, Icarus had nothing to do with Kid Icarus. The game's protagonist was an angel named Pit who carried a bow and an unlimited quiver of arrows and fought anthropomorphized eggplants and flying baby grim reapers. The game has a lot of columns. That's Greeky.

Second, I loved the music. Still do in fact. It is so triumphant. Listen to this:

That's my jam, son!

Anyway, as I've already mentioned, I never beat Kid Icarus. I never even got close. The constant tumbling off of things into an inky black abyss, the never-ending hoard of winged snakes falling from the heavens, the grim dancing specter of death and his floating "death babies" finally got to me and I gave up. I think I moved on to Ducktales or something.

Last year, I purchased Kid Icarus via the Nintendo Shop on Wii. It was a nostalgia purchase, but I think part of me believed that at 31 I was finally prepared to conquer Kid Icarus once and for all. Yeah, that didn't go well. But now, a year later, I think I'm ready. I'm 32, I've bulked up a little (thanks, Crystal Palace!), and I've got what one might call the "skills to pay the bills." That's a thing one might say, right? Maybe it's "skills" with a "z," like "skillz." Doesn't matter. What matters is that this month I will beat Kid Icarus and I'm taking you all with me on this journey to victory.

I started this morning with a rare moment of beginner's luck, conquering Level 1-1 with the ease of a ballet dancer who is also a talented video game player. The next stage, 1-2, found me twice murdered by flying grim reaper fetuses and once toppling into nothingness. Three restarts is my limit. I was able to contain most of the fury these failures riled within me--my daughter was a mere three feet away playing happily and I didn't think she needed to witness her daddy losing his shit over a video game from the 80's--but I was unwilling to push my luck. So, right now, I'm taking a little break from Kid. The Wii is on, ready to go if and when I'm prepared for the next round. Stay tuned to GEP all month long and find out what happens. And, please, if you can find it in your heart to encourage me, either in the comments section or on our Facebook page, do so. I can do this if I know you are all behind me. Thanks. And God bless.

November already???

2011-11-03T21:34:00.003-04:00

This month, GEP is gonna eat, breathe and sleep

VIDEO GAMES!!!

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

2011-10-31T21:04:00.001-04:00

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!