Flu Shots

A (rather nosey) friend of mine recently asked via email (I have no idea whatsoever why this medium was chosen) whether or not I was vaccinated for H1N1 (I'm not sure if that's the swine or bird variety, but as you'll shorty see, I don't give a fuck.) Yes, I'm aware this is old news. But I literally got this email yesterday, sue me. She's the one who fucked up.

Here's my response:

No. I did not get vaccinated. I am not an infant. I am not over 70. Sure, I got the flu, which sucked, but I survived. Just like the last time I got the flu. In fact, I have never not survived the flu. Imagine that! H1N1 is no more deadly, or sickly, or sniffly, than any other flu. Healthy people get over it. Vaccinations are -- by and large -- a money making scheme created by companies with a vested interest in vaccine sales. If the drug dealers can drum up enough panic each "flu season", they can push more product. (The product, by the way, just gives you a little bit of the flu and leaves it up to your body to eradicate it.) Thanks, Tamiflu, my body does that anyway. For free.

So there's your prudent advice for the next global pandemic. Just contract the damn thing and deal with it. If you die, surely you would've anyway, seeing as how you're a frail, sallow excuse for a human being.

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.

Take It From An Eye Doctor

I was going to go to Med School but then I realized: YouTube is full of insightful, dedicated educators, peddling knowledge free of charge.



I don't know if you watched that whole video, but if you decided to sit through it out perverse curiosity like I did, you're probably thinking, "Wait a second, if all the mass in the universe can be collapsed into the size of a bowling ball, and we're all made of energy and vibrating strings, and a cell doesn't really have any mass, and the definition of disease is 'we have transformed our energy state' then... HOW THE FUCK DID THIS WOMAN GET A FUCKING DOCTORATE IN MOTHERFUCKING OPTOMETRY!!!??"

Foot In Mouth?

Say what you will about his politics, but he's got solid reflexes.

Oh, Venice...

More from the flood.

Through The Wire

Page Six reports, for the first time... well... ever, probably, Ann Coulter has shut her mouth. Apparently, her jaw had to be wired shut after some sort of accident yesterday. Who knew blowing hot air was so dangerous?

In any event, she'll have to skip out on Thursday's all-American glut-fest, and spew her hateful bullshit via sign language, or something. Which is all well and good. Unless you hate the Jews, too, in which case, here are some classic Coulter moments to share with your friends and family this holiday season -- permitted that your friends and family are Neo-Nazis. 

Redundant

Isn't any book about Intelligent Design the "complete idiot's guide"?

You Know The Answering Machine Message You Just Left Is Absurd When...

It ends up on the internet.

1) Don headphones.
2) Behold: the funniest thing you'll hear today.

So... did he get the job... or?

A Series Of Unfortunate Events

Lemony Snicket ain’t got shit on me.

It all began earlier this afternoon, innocently enough, with a craving for Sabra hummus. Sabra hummus—in my opinion—is far and away the best on the market. If you haven’t tried it, you’ll have to take my word for it. If you have, you know exactly what I’m talking about. The trouble with Sabra is that it’s scantly available, even in Queens, where I live, and where it’s allegedly produced. Further, the best variety, Jalapeño, is only available in one supermarket—on 34th Ave. in Astoria, if you’re in the neighborhood.

Living only 7 blocks away, you’d think I wouldn’t have a problem taking the short 5-minute walk to purchase it. You’d be wrong. Instead, I routinely buy plain Sabra hummus around the corner, along with jalapeños, and make my own. Even though it’s more work. And more expensive.

I suppose, given my sloth, I deserve what happened next. Shortly after making the hummus, I noticed a slight, shall we say “twang” in my nose. Within a few minutes this twang became what I can only describe as, Satan and his minions setting fire to my nostrils.

Before too long, the pain was unbearable. I quickly googled my condition: “jalapeño in nose”, and hit “I’m feeling lucky”, even though I wasn’t. Not surprisingly, I arrived at the web’s premiere destination for horrible advice, bad puns, and wise-ass 14-year-olds: Yahoo! Answers. It’s usually the first result on Google when a question is posed that would never affect a respected, moderately-functioning member of society.

Here’s the question, word for word:
“OMG, HELP, I am on fire. Jalepeno juice? I cleaned a bunch of jalepenos, yes, I wore gloves. But some how it still got on my nose. My god, it burns like hell. Does anyone know how to stop the burning? OUCH I look like a drunk with a RED nose.” -Cheryl

Pretty spot on. I felt “Cheryl’s” pain, and sensed the amalgam of utter dread and anguish in her hurried words. The answers to the question were varied. Most were helpful. You can see for yourself, here. I began running down the list—completely at the whim of the Yahoo! Answers community—willing to try anything. This is never a good place to find yourself.

I ignored the guy who said to “put tomatoes or catsup” up there. First off, anyone who spells ketchup like that can’t be trusted. I also skipped over milk, for the time being, opting for vinegar. Maybe using balsamic threw it off, but it sure as hell didn’t work. I tried lemon juice next, soaking a Q-tip with lemon juice and swabbing the inside of my nostrils like a doctor testing for strep. No dice. Nose still on fire, I read the next piece of advice:

“I hear that sticking bread up your nose will stop the burning, but it may interfer with breathing...whatever
AND please do not pour milk down your nose! This is a case where the cure is worse than the disease! :-)”

“May interfer with breathing”? I figured doing the opposite of what this guy said was probably my best bet. So I started sucking milk with a straw, strait through my right nostril. If there’s such a thing as gargling milk with one’s nose, I think I achieved it today. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect. The nose-fire persisted.

Running out of options, I tried the last advice: soak a paper towel with water and sugar. “Fuck it,” I thought, as I jabbed a wad of saccharine tissue into my nostril. I hate to leave you hanging, but that’s pretty much where I stand as I write this. I figured I’d jot this whole mess down before I forgot the agony. The pain seems to be subsiding, as the sugar’s mostly dry, and seems to be forming a strange, inflexible shell around my nose and mouth. I’ll let you know how it goes. I'm not terribly hopeful.

F The FCC

If Joe Scarborough's wife actually kills him over this, I promise I'll remove the post... maybe.



Whoops! So much for the seven second delay. I love how he had absolutely no idea what happened. The second he goes off camera he starts whispering, "I said 'F' right... Did they bleep it?"

Help A Virgin

As up to ten of you may recall, when Greenpeace gave the public naming rights to one of its precious whales, this very website, and many others like it, tipped the scales to ensure it didn't get a lame name like Kaimana. And thanks to you, somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, Mr. Splashy Pants is tooting his blowhole, surely the envy of lesser, lamer whales, with much more meaningful tribal names.

Now, I've come to you again. This time, not to name a whale, but to get some poor bastard laid. Naturally, a guy like me, with a heavily-trafficked weblog about nothing, doesn't have this sort of problem. But not all of us are so lucky. Some of us need to make "real" websites and attract 5 million unique visitors before our friends will screw us.

According to his site: "I made a bet with a friend of mine (my only friend who knows about this situation, and who is, by the way, very pretty): If I get 5 million unique hits for this website until New Year's eve, she's going to "help". It's exactly what you're thinking! If I can't do it, I'll have to do anything she wants for a whole month."

If you're asking "where's the site" or, "how can I help", congratulations, you have an irrational emotional need to help virgins. And you're very kind. But I assure you, anyone who understands both the psychology behind the "help a virgin" traffic-hording scheme, and the complex programing required to pull it off, will never get laid anyway. So, instead, check out the many, many "help a virgin" ripoffs, widely available by Googleing it.

Oh, fuck it. I cave. I know this is like throwing bread to pigeons, but help this fake virgin, if you must. Or this other one. Or this allegedly dying one. I'm sure they could use the ass traffic.

An Open Letter To Joe The Plumber

Dear Joe Wurzelwhateverthefuck,

As of tonight, Joe, your services are no longer required. Don't get me wrong, feel free to continue snaking all sorts of rank shit out of Ohio's plugged-up toilets and septic systems. The state's flatulent masses need you. Just don't start your own business, or write a book, or run for Congress, or record a crappy country western album, or sign on to anchor a show on Fox News alongside that creepy Sean Hannity guy, 'cause there's a new Redistributionist in Chief coming to Washington... and you, my friend, are shit outta luck.

Except for the 'shit' part, obviously. You'll never be shit outta shit. As a plumber, there will always be plenty of feces. But I don't need to tell you that.

But don't be sore, Joey P. Sure, it sucks to be you. And also, too, Palin. And McCain. And all those red states that Barack Obama doesn't think exist. But on the bright side, for the rest of us -- the overwhelming electoral majority of us -- it feels pretty damn good to say at last...

Barack Obama is President-Elect of the United States of America.

Good Christian Values

Sarah Palin talks a lot about two things—Real America and Christian values. Unfortunately, she has no conception of either. She acts as if Jesus would have loved America; like he would have come to fucking Wasilla on vacation.

Let me tell you something. If Jesus ever came to America, first he’d wonder why half of the people who say they love him so much watch Nascar all day, and have absolutely no clue what he actually taught. Then, he’d be like, “Fuck this place, I’m going to Canada.”

Sarah Palin and Jesus have about as much in common as that bear from the Snuggles fabric softener commercials has with Jeffery Dahmer. And I'll prove it...

In Matthew 5:40, Jesus said:
“And if any man will try to take away your coat, let him have your cloak also.”

In a Neiman Marcus department store, Sarah Palin said:
“Oooh, gosh, a Louis Vuitton coat? That’s nifty. Let me have the matching bag.”

In Luke 14:13, Jesus said:
“When you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.”

In a rally, Palin said:
“When you give tax cuts, also, too, make sure to give ‘em to Joe the Plumber, Bobby the Investment Banker, and Abdullah the Saudi Oil Baron, and you will be blessed, because they’ll fund your run for president in 2012!”

In Matthew 5:44, Jesus said:
“I say unto you, love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despite-fully use you, and persecute you.”

In a TV interview, Sarah Palin said:
“I say unto that Hussein Obama guy, stop pallin’ around with terrorists all the time. Pretty lame. Plus, also, I don't want my kids—Trig, Track, Piper, Fork, Crispy and Zamboni—growing up with that one as their president."

As a side note, remember in the Bible where Jesus was all like, "love thy neighbor" and "do unto others" and stuff? I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure he didn't mean "fly around in a helicopter and shoot defenseless wolves with a high-powered rifle."

8 Years Later