Monday, March 31, 2008

CSI Caramba

Andy Warhol said a long time ago that in the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes. He was almost right, but I’d like to amend the prediction to something more likely: Within the next 15 years, every place, thing and person in existence will have their own TV show. And that TV show will be a spinoff of either “CSI” or “Law and Order.”

That’s because “CSI” and “Law and Order” are locked in an ever-escalating arms race to develop more, more, more, more and even more spinoffs. The battle between the franchises could prove deadlier than the last arms race, the Cold War, because there is more money behind it and the effects could be deadlier. I have another prediction, in fact: In the future, “Red Dawn” will be remade as a flick about network executives, not commies, conquering a small lakeside town while a ragtag band led by Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen will fight them off. Bad TV is much scarier than Soviets with machine guns. “Amish in the City” proved that much.

Do you think I’m kidding about this? Take a look at your TV guide and you’ll notice that there are approximately 75 “CSIs” this year on the CBS schedule. “CSI: New York,” starring Lieutenant Dan, is getting all the press, but there are now “CSIs” of every state capital and for half of the second biggest cities in each state. Tucson got passed over, because everyone in Hollywood hates Tucson, but look for “CSI: Casa Grande” in the midnight-1 a.m. Wednesday slot. That one will be about Casa Grande’s one cop, a Central Arizona Community College dropout who hides in the bushes in the Interstate 10 median and pulls over people driving 7 miles over the speed limit.

Not to be outdone, “Law and Order” retaliated by making 72 new spinoffs, jacking its total number of shows to 76. One of the most interesting looks to be “Law and Order: America’s Funniest Home Videos,” featuring Bob Sagat hosting an hourlong series of comedic shorts in which various people get hit in the nuts… Illegally! I’m not quite as excited for “Law and Order: Mayberry,” which takes the lazy route and inserts the likeness of Screech into old episodes of “The Andy Griffith Show.” I hear they’re making poor Opie into Screech’s assistant. Ron Howard never saw it coming.

The “CSI” pimpmasters have got it easier, because all they have to do is take a new city, slap it with a group of lackey detectives and haul in another fading actor from the unemployment line. reports that the guy who played Alan on “Punky Brewster” is starring in “CSI: Minneapolis/St. Paul.” He was going for “CSI: Salt Lake City,” but got beaten out in the audition by Fred Savage.

“Law and Order,” meanwhile, tries to think of entirely new concepts for each new show. “Law and Order: Criminal Intent” looks at things from the criminal’s perspective, and “Law and Order: Special Victim’s Unit” looks at things from the perspective of special victims and the units that help them, but I just don’t get “Law and Order: Eye of the Fly,” which shows crimes unfolding through the eyes of a housefly. I tried to watch a few episodes, but the camera moved around too much and the buzzing sound was distracting. Plus, I think it’s a little illogical that a fly would be interested in a house robbery. Bread crumbs and dog poop hold more appeal.

The “Law and Orders” are getting so out of hand, that they even offered me a show based on my life, “Law and Order: Sitting on Your Ass and Watching Football,” which has me thinking they’re running low on ideas, since sitting on your ass and watching football has little to nothing to do with crime. I was flattered but had to decline the offer anyway because “CSI: Santa Fe” offered me the part after Gary Coleman turned them down.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Video game characters - hot or not?

These video game sex objects dominate my dreams. Go ahead and Google ‘em if you don’t know who I’m talking about. There should be pix of all of them online except for Janet. To see Janet, you’ll have to play Tecmo Bowl. Anyway, let’s begin:

LARA CROFT (6.5/10)
Breast size is overrated, and Lara proves that in spades. Her shirt is way too tight. She’s lucky she doesn’t cut off her circulation. Lara propogates the stereotype that women should have 58-21-36 figures and be only interested in activities such as stealing and shooting. I find this deplorable. Also, she’s such a poser on the swimming levels when the camera zooms in on her ass. Lara, you try too hard. I respect women too much to indulge in this walking stereotype. I’d still bang her, though.

Well, she masquerades a dude in the Metroid, which normally would be a strike against her, but she makes up for it at the end of the game by stripping off her armor into sluttier and stluttier outfits, depending on how quick you beat the game. I still hold on to the big rumor of Mrs. Hernandez’s third-grade class, circa 1986, that it’s possible to get her naked if you really, really kick the game’s ass.

I don’t get why she changed her name to “Peach” for Mario Golf and Mario Tennis. Maybe it was to get away from that stalker, Luigi. Funny, though, Bowser always seems to know where she lives so he can go in and “kidnap” her. Yeah, kidnap is in quotes because I don’t buy it. I think it’s all some sort of kinky three-way role playing thing that Bowser, Toadstool and Mario are all into. That kind of thing is too wild for me.

ZELDA (9/10)
Speaking of three-way role playing kidnap complexes, Zelda is an even more textbook example. I think she may be into chicks, too, because Link is such an effeminate, gown-wearing, non-sexual hero that you wonder if his “Magic Sword” actually works. Ganon has no such problem, obviously, which is why Zelda lets herself be captured and turned to stone by him every single game. This girl will do ANYTHING for Ganon’s dong. Remember back in Zelda II, when Zelda was asleep the whole time while Link went around and did all the bitchwork in that impossible-to-pass game? The instruction booklet said she was asleep because of a “magic spell,” which is a nice way of telling 10 year olds that she took such a thorough dicking from Ganon that she couldn’t even wake up for hours.

JANET (8.5/10)
Janet is the name I came up with for the cheerleader from the slide show for the original Tecmo Bowl. Janet leaps high in the air – so high, her skirt flips up. She’s on the screen for no more than two seconds, and then the slide show flips to the marching band and whatnot. Janet’s sense of mystery intrigues me. I think she’s a junior college student working her way for school with a part-time job cheering for fictional pro football teams. She has a lot to cheer for, too. Walter Payton is hella fast in that game.

MS. PAC-MAN (10/10)
Smooth yellow skin, a hot bow in the hair and an oral affixiation. What more could you possibly ask from a video game character girlfriend? Plus, she’s got that sense of mystery going with the “Ms.” thing. Is she married? Single? Who knows? You get the feeling that she’s a freak underneath the sheets, though. She definitely likes to get tag-teamed by ghosts in the maze.

Monday, March 24, 2008

When in Vegas...

Resist the urge to hydrate yourself by avoiding the $6 bottled water and continuously drinking and refilling a Dixie Cup with water from the bathroom sink. It's a good way to catch a cold. It never occured to me that peoples' hands touch the tops of faucets. Not until I got home and realized my bathroom sink water tasted like toothpaste. I'm lucky I was only stuck with a cold, and not gonorrhea.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Everything is a pagan symbol

Fie upon you, pagan! Don’t look to your left or right – you’re the only one looking at the screen right now, and it’s you I’m accusing of being a wretched pagan. You read right. Although you may have always thought of yourself as a Protestant, Jew or Catholic, you’ve always really, if unknowingly, been a pagan. If all the illuminated research and factoids in “The Da Vinci Code” didn’t convince you of that much, I’m here to drive the point through even further.

Dan Brown’s novel and the movie that followed taught us that Easter, thought to be the holiday in which Christians celebrate the risen Messiah, is nothing more than a mutated pagan fertility festival, named after the goddess Ishtar. The date of the holiday was set by Constantine back during… hold on a second.

Divine feminine, divine feminine, divine feminine, divine feminine.

Sorry. That last sentence may not have made much sense, but I was required to write it do to the requirement of pagan symbology research code writings that says you must use the phrase “divine feminine” at least five times per page. I’m still missing one, but I thought five in a row would have been a little much, so bear with me and I’ll try to get one more in before we’re done here.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Not only is Easter a pagan holiday because of the Ishtar connection, but because of the influence of Celtic Slime God Cadburikkan, who each year would call for a great sacrifice of oblong, chocolate flavored treats with a gooey center. You’ve heard of Cadbury Eggs, right? To eat one is to intake a dark pagan sacrament into your twisted soul. The candilicious marshmallow treat known as “Peeps” carries a similarly checkered past. You see, after Cadburikkan would eat his Cadbury Eggs, he’d defile 72 virgins. And after the virgins he’d lay down some tracks – Cadburikkan was a hella mixmaster back in the day - and give shout outs, grabbing the mic to say, “Yo, what up to my peeps!” In other words, eat a peep and you’re breaking a commandment by taking a shoutout from a false idol.

Jewish people are pagans too, a fact well documented in the Da Vinci Code. See, the Star of David is actually made up of two interlocking chalice symbols, indicating not one, but TWO divine feminines (Yes! There’s No. 5!!) in one DOUBLY pagan symbol. But what Dan Brown left out was that Mosaic law is based entirely on pagan principals. See, Moses screwed up by breaking that tablet on which the 10 commandments were chiseled. Had he simply turned it over and red the back, he would have noticed a message that read “Psyche!” followed by a symbol of Loki the mischief maker, whom watchers of the old cartoon show, “She-Ra The Princess of Power” will be familiar with. Hey, shut up. I had two little sisters and they made me watch it. Plus He-Man showed up in the episodes, and… ah, forget it. I admit it, I liked “She-Ra.”

And just in case you’re one of those smug atheists who think religion doesn’t apply to you, I’ve got some bad news for ya. Yep, you’re pagan too. See, the word “Athe” is derived from Atheogonon, Roman god of the biannual brown rice crop. The ancient myth held that Atheogonon once was so bold as to question both the divinity and sexual prowess of Thor. (This was odd, since Roman gods rarely communicated with Norse figures, but this myth happened in what was called a “crossover” and would later be co-opted by Marvel Comics). Anyway, Thor borrowed Neptune’s pitchfork and, using strictly mental telepathy, jammed it forcefully up Atheogonon’s anus for all eternity, thereby proving his divinity and sexual prowess to Atheogonon on a perpetual basis. (This action was commemorated by a constellation known as “the big dipper.”) So guess what, every time you say “I’m an atheist,” you’re really saying you’re worshipping a petulant grain god who’s STILL getting pitchforked in the ass, even as we speak. And I don’t wanna hear any sass from you, either agnostics. Sad to break it to you, but “agnostic” is just an abbreviation of “Atheogonon’s anus.”

Monday, March 17, 2008

My Money's on the Monkey

Sometimes I wonder who would win a fight between a giraffe and a monkey. You may scoff at such a suggestion, noting that a giraffe would surely emerge victorious because of its long neck, which puts its face far out of reach of the little monkey fists, rendering it tough to knock the giraffe unconscious with blows to the head. Plus, a giraffe could easily stomp on the monkey’s tail with one of its four legs, pinning the primate in place while kicking it in the face with one of its free legs.

All points are well taken. But you can’t discount the monkey’s intelligence and fierce resolve. They’re resilient little buggers, and I once saw a movie where a monkey kicked field goals for a football team. It doesn’t take a great leap of the imagination to substitute giraffe testicles in place of the flying footballs. If an overconfident giraffe ever let its guard down and left the monkey unattended after giving it a solid beating, I’d give 2-to-1 that the underestimated monkey would scamper up the leg of its opponent and deliver a swift kick to the boys. And with fights, momentum is everything, so the monkey would probably follow the kick with a few bites, fist-pounds and banana throws, and before you know it, there’s the upset of the century – Monkey standing “EEEK-EEK-EEEK! OOK-OOK-OOK!” - victorious over the dazed, droopy-necked giraffe, its tongue hanging out of the mouth in a defeated stupor.

As we all learned from “Rocky III,” though, there’s always a younger and hungrier fighter waiting in the wings. So even as the monkey would be relishing its championship, rolling in endorsement offers, doing Letterman and Leno and whatnot, you can bet that there would be a fierce contender scouting out the monkey’s title defenses against the garter snake and the platypus – both pushover opponents handpicked by an overprotective manager – and that prospective rival would be a kangaroo. And not that wimpy, crybaby kangaroo from that ignorant costumed Winnie the Pooh show the Disney Channel used to have on in the 80s. No, one of those kangaroos with boxing gloves you see in those 1930s film clips. They got skills. I think one of them beat Joe Louis one time. Not that Joe Louis was the greatest fighter ever. I mean, he was good, I’m sure, but he always gets so much credit by beating that one Nazi that time back in the day. Indiana Jones, on the other hand, gets nowhere near the amount of props, and he not only beats up but kills about 700 Nazis per movie.

But back to the subject at hand – monkey vs. kangaroo, cage match, no holds barred. Who wins? Well, call me biased, but I think I’d have to take the monkey again. Sure, the kangaroo would get a few shots in, maybe even break the monkey’s nose and open up a cut or two. But I’m seeing the monkey getting knocked down over and over again, but always getting up and ready for some more beatings. The tired kangaroo would look on in growing fear, possibly commenting that its opponent “is not a monkey, but a piece of iron.” See, what the kangaroo lacks is a little something called heart. Elbow grease. Gumption.

Endurance. While the kangaroo was hopping around in the field, confident in its punching abilities, the monkey was running on the beach with Apollo Creed, doing one armed-push-ups and plowing snow while being stalked by the KGB in Siberia. The monkey did this knowing full well that even though the kangaroo is a better fighter than he is, he’ll eventually tire out. And sure enough, in their battle, the monkey would come out in the 15th round and lay out the wobbly-legged bounder, proudly screaming, “EEEK-AAAK-OOK-UUUUK!” which roughly translates to “Yo, Adrienne, I banana poop throw!”
Come on, I never said the little dynamo was articulate.

Of course, all this is heresay and conjecture. The sad truth is that I’ll never see a monkey fight anything other than its urge to masturbate in its zoo cage. Monkeys will never take on giraffes, let alone kangaroos. I lack the fight promoter capabilities to set up such a matchup, so I’m simply left, like the rest of us, to imagine such a battle royale spectacular.

Friday, March 14, 2008

The Oddpodz interview

I took part in a quickie e-mail interview with Oddpodz this week:

Phil Villarreal is a writer.

Oddpodz: You write the blog Because I Told You So. You subtitled it “Free Porn” despite it having no porn. Besides disappointing me, what a genius SEO decision that is; can I steal it?

Phil: I was hoping to pull in some random hits from Google searches of “free porn,” so the acronym “Pretty Orignal Rants ‘Nstuff came naturally. Rather than stealing it I suggest you think of an acronym for “PARIS HILTON NAKED.”

Oddpodz: Is your novel Stormin’ Mormon about Mitt Romney?

Phil: No, it’s not. But I’m hoping McCain picks Romney as his VP running mate so as to reignite interest in Mormon culture, creating some spillover interest in my novel, which is a comedy about would-be lovers who pretend to be Mormon in order to get their significant others to break up with them. I’m also hoping Romney someday responds to my Myspace friend request.

Oddpodz: Your bio says you’re a movie and video games critic at the Arizona Daily Star in Tucson. No, really, what do you do?

Phil: It sounds almost too good to be true, right? Like Playboy photographer or backup NFL quarterback. But it’s been the truth now for seven years running.

Thanks Phil.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

What I hate about DVR

I love DVR. Love it. Prevents me from having to suffer through my wife's shows, "American Idol" or "Lipstick Jungle." But what I hate about it is how some people use it for sports. I know several fools who wait until games are over just so they can watch them really quickly. Something important will happen and I'll call them, only to be told not to say anything that's happened in the game because they're recording it for later.

Only for something as redudant and meaningless as baseball would something like that be OK., But for anything important, such as the NFL or college basketball, the practice is absolutely insane. It's like saving all your newspapers during World War II and waiting until it's over to read them all and find out who won and how it happened.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008


Coral is the natural enemy of man. Yeah, yeah, go ahead and scoff at the statement. Be a disbeliever. But it's true and you know it deep down inside. Coral hates you, you hate coral, and one of you has got to go down.

How, you may ask, could a kaleidescopic, inanimate calcified structure slowly built by microbes over the millenia on the sea floor possibly pose a threat to humans in all their mastery? What, you don't know? That's because you're an irresponsible idiot who doesn't think things through. Let me present you with some evidence:

1. Long John Silver's - Do you see any coral on the menu? Nope. Coral is the one sea creature we have failed to be able to fry, butter and serve in a combo platter. Coral is more likely to eat you than you are to eat coral. One time I heard this coral say that his favorite food was popcorn humans. Serious.

2. Sea World - Do you see coral jumping through flaming hoops or bouncing balls for our entertainment? Nuh-uh. Coral is too smart to do that. It sits at the bottom of the sea chuckling while so-called intelligent dolphins and sea otters degrade themselves for drooling hicks from Minnesota and their nose-picking 9-year-olds. Coral can never be made a foolish slave.

3. Stoicism - While insecure humans feel the need to scamper about, inventing this, studying that, trying to impress everyone, coral just sits there smugly thinking, "I know I'm a badass. I have nothing to prove." And then it cops feels on hot scuba diver chicks who try to get a look at nearby sea turtles.

4. Fighting ability. Ever hear of rope-a-dope? Muhammad Ali copied the technique from coral. Seriously. Try to box coral, and it will take your punches for five, six rounds, tiring you out, biding its time, making you think it ain't got nothing left. And then comes a roundhouse jawbreaker to knock you the fuck out. Whoops, I said fuck, without deleting the vowels even though in the that’s what Newsweek does to make it OK for kids to read it without getting their minds warped. Well, reader, if you do happen to be a kid, it's high time you learned. Sometimes people say fuck, and sometimes coral is looking to whip your ass. Tread fearfully, for the dangers of the deep are deadly, little one.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Rainbow Cuddlefluff Finds a Friend

It was a bright, peaceful day at Doily Meadows, a sweet-smelling, happy corner of Cloud Cove, nestled in the foothills of the Sugardove Mountains. Cloud Cove was home to a society of cheerful koala bears, who all loved one another very much.

Rainbow Cuddlefluff, the nicest and cutest of all the koalas of Cloud Cove, scribbled in her koala diary before she went out to handle the days errands, which included sliding down grassy embankments, frolicking with butterflies and flying kites in the cool, refreshing Joyfun Breeze, a tradewind that made Cloud Cove even nicer and friendlier than it would have otherwise been.
“Dear Koala Diary,” Rainbow wrote, “Today will be another beautiful, fantastic adventure for me, Rainbow Cuddlefluff. I hope I’ll make new friends and enjoy life to the fullest, as I always do. Yesterday Pumpernickel and I agreed to meet over by the Lake Sunshine after my errands, and I’m ever so excited!”

Pumpernickel, the girl koala who lived next door, was Rainbow’s very best friend. They had liked one another as long as they could remember. Going back to the time they were puffy-eyed, furrball koala toddlers, they would often fall asleep on one another’s shoulders. Of all the love, acceptance and friendship in all of Cloud Cove, nothing came close to the mutual adoration between Pumpernickel and Rainbow Cuddlefluff.

With thoughts of her friend Pumpernickel on her mind, Rainbow went through her day as usual. She squeaked with delight as she slid down the grass, and clapped happily when two butterflies she knew well landed on her shoulders.

“Flowfun and Sonnet!” Rainbow exclaimed, addressing the butterflies by name. “How are you two doing today?”

“I’m afraid this is not a social visit,” said Flowfun, perched on Rainbow’s left shoulder. He did not appear as ebullient as usual. His colorful wings sagged, and he spoke with furrowed antennae. “Pumpernickel has gone missing!”

Perturbed, Rainbow turned her attention to Sonnet, who sat on her right shoulder with a look of sadness to match that of Flowfun.

“Sonnet, this is terrible news! I had planned on meeting Pumpernickel at Lake Sunshine this afternoon!”

“Aye, me lass,” said Sonnet, who for some reason no one quite knew spoke like a sea captain. “Ye wench has bo’ a mite o’ trouble. I fear ‘tis Davey Jones’ locker poor t’which Pumpernickel has found her way.”

“D- d- d- do you mean she might be hurt?” Rainbow inquired.

Without a word, Flowfun and Sonnet took to the skies, filling the air with their kaleidoscopic glory. Discouraged that her butterfly friends would be of little help in finding the whereabouts of Pumpernickel, Rainbow Cuddlefluff dropped to her knees in prayer.

“Oh, Prata,” she sayed, bowing in reverence to the fictional idol the koala worshipped. “Please oh please bring Pumpernickel back safely!”

Up in koala heaven, Prata heard Rainbow’s wishes. He looked upon her soul and found that since she was a good koala, who was kind and gentle, he would break his usual routine and answer her prayer directly. Prata appeared to Rainbow from behind a cloud of smoke.

“Hello, youngling” Prata bellowed as Rainbow cowered behind a few overgrown blades of grass in the field.
“Is that you, Prata?” Rainbow asked. “I, uh…”

“Silence, inferior!” Prata bellowed, pinning Rainbow to the ground with his psychokinetic powers. “Tis I, Prata, lord of all koala, doer of all things. I am aware of that which you ask. I can return this friend of yours to you, but first you must perform a task which I command.”

Rainbow brushed away the tall grass blades to look her master directly in the eye. It was an honor for Prata to address one of his koala minions face to face, and she was overcome with joy and happiness. Not only did she get to speak to her idol, he had told her he would bring back Pumpernickel.

“Yes, Prata,” Rainbow said, “I will do whatever you like. What shall I do? Sacrifice a bumblebee hive? Lay paws upon your highest throne in the Temple of Reverence?”

Prata replied with anger. “CHILDISH NONSENSE!!” he declared. “I will not tolerate such superstitious insolence, youngling. Here is what is to come. You will perform oral sex upon my golden scepter,” – Prata, being a pompous, self-referential idol, referred to his sex organ as the “golden scepter” – “and then if you please me I shall reunite you with your friend.”

Rainbow wasted no time in fulfilling Prata’s request, for nothing was too much to ask when Pumpernickel’s safety was on the line. She went to work on Prata, servicing Prata’s smokey golden scepter so feveredly that she nearly passed out. After 20 minutes or so, Prata tapped Rainbow Cuddlefluff atop her little head, signifying that he was satisfied.

Prata raised his left hand and in a shower of light, Pumpernickel appeared before Rainbow. She ran over to her friend and they hugged and rubbed noses with elation.

“HAHAHAHAHA,” Prata chuckled. “Rainbow Cuddlefluff, I have both tricked you and proven you a whore. I am beholden by the covenant of the koala, which binds me to undo all the evils I bestow on your kind. It was I who made Pumpernickel disappear, and to make her reappear all you needed to have done was recite the covenant chant – Prata, Prata, undo your unsavory deeds!”

Rainbow whispered something into Pumpernickel’s ear, and Rainbow and Pumpernickel chuckled together as Prata spoke. He asked them what was so funny.

“Oh, Prata!” Rainbow chuckled. “I know well my koala scrolls. And I have never claimed not to be a whore.”

Rainbow’s words struck true, for in a land of such love as Cloud Cove, there was a whole lot of sex going on – oral, anal, and other stuff you don’t wanna know about. Rainbow smiled full at Prata, revealing lips infected with koala herpes.

Friday, March 07, 2008


During the Arizona-Oregon State basketball game last night there was a Red Lobster commercial announcing it was Lobsterfest. I've always taken Lobsterfest in stride and even gotten a little excited about it on occasion, even though I've never partaken in the event because not only are Tucson Red Lobsters tougher to get into than Studio 54 in the 70s, but anything at Red Lobster that actually contains lobster is either double the cost of anything else on the menu, or the dreaded "market price," which is so astronomical it can't even be listed, and is at the manager's cruel whim. I always look over the menu for several minutes, gawk at the lobster dishes for a while and end up going with the fried seafood platter. Never have I managed to finish the whole thing, which depresses me every time.

Anyway, last night's commercial got me thinking - why does Red Lobster need a Lobsterfest? It's sort of redundant, no? Like Taco Bell having tacofest, KFC having chickenfest or Yokahama Rice Bowl having cockroachfest. At Red Lobster, every day should be Lobsterfest, as well a Cheesebiscuit fest. When you get right down to it, the thing that keeps me going back to Red Lobster, enduring the long waits, overpriced food and shoddy service, it's the biscuits. So, so tasty. If any Red Lobster waiters are reading this, I implore you to keep the biscuits coming. Anything short of four baskets and I drastically reduce your tip.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Deuce of Clubs does a thing on my book

Check it out, Deuce of Clubs has given my book a writeup. The man who makes that website is a genius.

I love oatmeal

I took a quiz that decides what religion you are based on your beliefs, and discovered I am a Quaker. I always knew me and that guy from the round box of oatmeal share worldviews.