KSL

For most, Klingon as a second language (KSL) is probably sufficiently nerdy. But not for this dude...

Meet d'Armond Speers, a man who spoke to his infant son ONLY in Klingon for the first three years of his existence. According to Mr. Speers, he's not even a huge Star Trek fan, he just wanted to see what would happen:

"I was interested in the question of whether my son, going through his first language acquisition process, would acquire it like any human language," Speers told the Minnesota Daily. "He was definitely starting to learn it."

Well, that's good. At 3, the poor kid was starting to learn Klingon. With any luck, Worf Jr. be fluent by kindergarten, just in time for schoolyard ass beatings.

Get Off My Lawn

With Lou Dobbs off the air, someone was bound to pick up the border patrol slack:

Canada’s newly armed border guards have claimed their first victim: a hapless moose. The creature was felled by the duty sidearm of a border officer in late August, newly disclosed documents show. The incident — marking the first time a border-guard sidearm has been discharged on duty — occurred about 25 kilometres west of Creston, B.C., as an unidentified intelligence officer with the Canada Border Services Agency was driving on official business to Nelson, B.C.

Sounds aboot right.

Is Anyone Out There?

My last post was in April. It's now November.

I'm going to ballpark that at several months based on my rudimentary understanding of the Roman calendar and my scant grasp of counting by ones. It's difficult to ballpark, however, whether or not anyone is still interested in reading this blog, were there in fact anything new to read.

Now seems like a good time to find out. If there's sufficient whooping and hollering in the comments section, I shall return. And by "sufficient whooping and hollering" of course, I mean, more than one person. I'm talking to you Jenni.

Swwwwiiinnnneeee!

Celebrex Will Fucking Kill You

Incendiary? Maybe a little. True? I'll let the ad speak for itself...



Did you happen to notice that the commercial, 1) was over two minutes long, 2) consisted almost solely of side effects, 3) used said side effects as pretty much the entire visual aesthetic, and 4) ended with the tagline: "Celebrex: Understand the risks, see the benefits."? Cause honestly, when you put that shit together, you've gotta wonder -- why bother making a commercial in the first place?! I think the daredevils with sore joints will come out of the woodwork on their own.

I also think 30 seconds is plenty of time to list all the ways Celebrex is going to end your life. Just list the side-effects in rapid succession like one of those "NOW! That's what I call 80's!" CD commercials; I don't need to be led around a creepy blue world of death. But the most troubling part has to be the tagline. What do they mean by "Understand the risks"? Do they mean, like, understand that they quite clearly outweigh the benefits? Because I get that. I get that internal bleeding is worse than sensitive knuckles.

Do yourself a favor. Take Advil or something. It (probably) won't kill you. And that that candy shell they coat the pills with is fucking delicious.

Fuck Seeds

Why?

That's fucking why.

Don't ever question my irrational fears. This is serious. Remember as a kid, eating apples, oranges, grapefruit, and your parents would warn: "Don't swallow the seeds or a tree will grow inside you." And you were like, "Stomach trees? That's some fantastical bullshit, Mom. Tell me another one." Well, in case you still haven't clicked the link...

That shit is fucking true! From the article: "A five-centimeter branch is too large to be inhaled or swallowed, doctors say. They suggest that the patient might have inhaled a small bud, which then started to grow inside his body."

Fuck that. I will never scavenge the forest floor for tree buds and ingest them through my nostrils ever again.

In the year 2000...

In honor of Conan's impending West Coast debut, here's my take on his famous bit "In the Year 2000..." (You'll just have to imagine La Bamba's awesome falsetto.)

In the year two thousand...

The world will come to view the capacity for canine intellect in a new light when internal memos surface proving “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” was written and directed by actual Chihuahuas.

In the year two thousaaaaaaaaaaand...

The Chicago Cubs will finally win the World Series, moments before giant locusts swarm the stadium and decimate the city.

In the year two thousand...

Captain Hook will confess that he is a pedophile. Which doesn’t really explain the hook, but sure explains why he lives on an island filled with unsupervised children.

In the year two thousaaaaaaaaaaand...

Bristol Palin will announce the birth of her third child "Turnip Bang-Bang Stick Check Palin" during an appearance on her mother’s daytime talk show, “The Asinine View”.

In the year two thousand...

In an unprecedented cross-promotional media blitz, The Department of Defense will collaborate with Burger King for the launch of the “Pentagonal Quintuple Stack Draft Burger”. The five-sided, five-patty burger will come with large fries, a Coke, and a government issued draft card.

In the year two thousaaaaaaaaaaand...

On a dare, Larry King will be asked to take off his suspenders. Not wanting to back down on live television, he agrees, immediately regretting the choice as his skin and bones collapse into a pile of dust.

In the year two thousand...

Scientists will determine that apples have no special ability to keep doctors away; malpractice suits, however, seem to do the trick.

In the year two thousaaaaaaaaaaand...

An entry from L. Ron Hubbard’s long-lost diary will reveal that he made Scientology up to spite Hollywood for passing on his screenplay, “Xenu: Intergalactic Overlord”.

In the year two thousand...

San Diego will be become the most populace city in the U.S. after the Tijuana Chamber of Commerce airs a controversial Super Bowl ad showing the softer side of Donkey Shows.

Really?!?

It's All About The Benjamins Baby...

Wait... ww-on do-ll-aar? WTF? Help! My money's missing two zeros!!

(click pic for hi-res)

Drugged Up At The Dentist

One of my favorite lifetime experiences was getting my wisdom teeth removed as a high school senior. What? Yes. Really. It was the first -- and unfortunately last -- time I was on three drugs simultaneously. It was glorious.

I was given a Valium prior to the surgery, laughing gas to put me under, and Vicodin to ease the pain -- not that I felt anything whatsoever, aside from absolute ecstasy. The high was truly special. I was euphoric, yet thoroughly confused. I wasn't exactly sure what had happened to me, or why I had giant holes in the back of my mouth. And I fell up a flight of stairs, because walking one foot after another seemed like a cop out. Or maybe too complex.

Given my age at the time, I was able to deal with the whole thing in relative stride -- minus the upstairs tumble, at least. But I absolutely cannot imagine a 7-year-old having to deal with this. It must be like trying to grasp calculus, or Tyra Banks' jokes. I really don't know how I would've taken being that high as a first grader. Thankfully, this poor sap's father caught his experience on video...



No, young David, you won't feel like that forever... but someday, someday soon, you might wish you did.

The Misunderestimated President

In a few short days President Bush will hoof it back to Crawford and revert to his true calling: semi-pro brush-clearer. For all intents and purposes, his would-be presidential legacy has been reduced to a steaming pile of elephant shit. All thanks to a floundering economy. Well, that and a few other minor hitches. Point is, Bush II will probably never be remembered as the trailblazing, war president; rather, he'll be known as the guy who didn't stop reading a children's book to a class of 1^st graders when a gigantic plane flew into the WTC, and stood by idly as the housing market crumbled into an equally large heap of rubble. What I've just described, however, is merely a version of reality.

According to "The Bush Boom", authored by Gary Busey (could it really be anyone else?), everything is just fine. Bush didn't fuck the economy up; he fixed it! We're boomin'. We're on the up-and-up. We're... not totally and completely fucked, we're just thinning the economic herd. Now, admittedly, the book hasn't been getting the best reviews on Amazon. The bad reviews outnumber the good by a margin of 2-to-1. Silly union workers. However, there have been several glowing 5-star reviews, like this one:

“Finally! A book that proves the existence of an alternate universe. Obviously, a rip in the space/time continuum between this universe and the other universe where Bush is presiding over a 'boom economy opened up and this book fell through. Can there be ANY other explanation?”

See! Bush didn't -- wait, what? Ironclad proof of an alternate universe? I guess the legacy is back on track; it's only a matter of time before he tries to take credit for this one.

Casting Fo Paw

So I saw "The Little Mermaid" on Broadway. Turns out, some genius in casting decided that a young, slender black man with the voice of a post-op choir boy would make a good King Triton. It was sort of like watching Mike Tyson threaten to eat Lenox Lewis' children for two hours. It should be terrifying, but that squeaky voice is just so damn hilarious. You see the dichotomy. Now, I'm sure this fellow is a fine actor, but we're talking about King Triton, here. This is Poseidon's son. He has a magic trident and lives in a giant, phallic castle made of coral (no matter what Snopes tries to tell you.) Granted, the whole "underwater penis castle" sounds a little off at first blush, but it's definitely badass compared to my one bedroom in Queens -- besides, who are you, Jerry Falwell? On top of all that, King T is a freakishly large man. (Or, "merman", as Derek Zoolander would probably point out.) Just look at him next to Ariel; his pinky is the size of her friggin' neck!

But "Stage Triton" is different. He's dancing all over the place, singing falsetto like Mariah Carey in that video where she's on roller skates. (Come to think of it, Stage Triton is on roller skates.) I'm sure the aim is to give the illusion that he's underwater. But it's just embarrassing. I mean, the guy's supposed to bellow, not pleeay. (Yes, I just spelled that phonetically. Two reasons: first, I'm too lazy figure out how to make an accent over the "e"; and second, because I, unlike the hybrid-driving, cage-free-egg-eating borzwa, don't feel obligated to insert dumb, correctly spelled French words into every day conversation, just because it's sheek, or whatever. And if you think I should've figured out how to make an accent, instead of go on a mildly nationalist tirade, you can mange du merde et meurt.) In case you were wondering, there's no such thing as "too lazy to look up insults." And as you probably guessed already, there's absolutely no such thing as too lazy to insult the casting department of "The Little Mermaid" on Broadway. They had it coming.