Friday, May 30, 2008

Barack Obama rumors that I think are true

He once had dinner with a person who committed a crime.

His American flag lapel pin is made of nonbiodegradeable tin.

He is of mixed ancestry.

He has ran a red light.

While eating at McDonald's, he has taken more napkins and ketchup packets than the manager would have approved of had he been looking.

He can't sing very well.

He comes from Hawaii, which is so far from the mainland it can hardly be considered America.

He has walked right by homeless beggars without so much as saying "what up."

He is Muslim. But if he isn't and he's Christian like he says he is, then he's the bad kind of Christian.

He on multiple occasions has bought Michael Jackson albums.

He has had sex after marriage.

He leaves the toilet seat up, even after he's reminded several times to stop.

He's not Sean Hannity.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Changes to the rules of baseball

Bats clearly need to be integrated into more facets of play. I don't understand in baseball why you're not allowed to take your bat along the basepaths after you get a hit. You'll more than likely need it for protection and after all, it's your freaking bat! It belongs to you! Would you leave your AK-47 behind if you're a soldier heading into a war zone?

Fielders also deserve bats, which they could use to hit the ball back into the infield or engage in bat fencing during close plays at the bases. These changes will suffice until the year 2400 when robots replace humans and the Nintendo game "Base Wars" comes into being in reality.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008


"Lego Indiana Jones" is coming out, which got me thinking. They should build the new World Trade Center towers out of Legos so if they're bombed you just snap them back together again. IF they ever get around to rebuilding them, that is. It's been nearly seven years, people. Get it going.

Look at all the great examples of Lego architecture: There's Legoland, Legoland Germany, Legoland Denmark and Legoland England.

Proof of how stupid I am

I was driven to near insanity by my frustration of failing to complete the final mission in "Grand Theft Auto IV." After skilfully guiding my Serbian serial killer through Liberty City's mean streets, I couldn't find a way inside an abandoned casino. I searched for hours, even climbing on top of the roof and peeking through little cracks in the ceiling, wondering if there was any way I could drop through. I searched everywhere, including adjacent buildings to see if there was some sort of basement entrance. The online walkthroughs didn't even address my problem. It just said "go into the casino." And then I looked again and saw there was this big-ass door in plain sight, right where it should have been. As you could imagine, I often have this problem in regular life.

Thursday, May 22, 2008


High school was the best, when you got to eat with impunity. I used to have two bowls of cereal a day, ice cream sandwiches at school, come home and have two grilled cheese sandwiches and a coke for a snack before dinner. And eat Doritos constantly.
Now I'm 29 and Wii Fit says I need to drop 20 pounds to get to my ideal weight, which is 10 pounds more than I weighed at the end of high school. And I'm bypassing a box of free donuts.

It's hard out here for a pimp.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Who Wants to be a Millionaire?

This woman sure did. A monster like this is only on the hook for eight years in prison? Ridiculous. She should be locked in solitary confinement for the rest of her life while being forced to watch the "Super Mario Bros." movie on constant repeat.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Not that I would ever do this or anything...

But those who go to supermarket magazine sections and pick out the Sports Illustrated with Danica Patrick on the cover could conceivably flip through until they find the Burger King ad, with its free Indiana Jones gamepiece that lets you scratch off one of two spots with a 50 percent chance of winning something, most likely free food.

One might be able to page through the magazines and pocket, oh, I don't know, 23 of these in one outing, then head to a nearby bookstore and stash another 30, collecting enough free food coupons to subsist on a solely Burger King diet for a month.

But who would do such a thing?

Monday, May 19, 2008

Moral quandaries in Grand Theft Auto IV

"Grand Theft Auto IV" is the one video game that's actually managed to make me feel like a bad person.

It all started with this mission where you need to set up a date with a gay guy on the Internet, then kill him once you meet up.
After I chased him down in the streets and shot him dead I felt horrible. There's just something screwed up about killing someone under the guise of romance. I have no problem with veering onto the sidewalk just to hit a pedestrian or blocking off the road so I can launch a rocket at a traffic jam. But that one got to me.

Later on there are a couple missions in where you get the choice of killing one guy or the other - both people you've had a lot of contact with. In one of them I knew who i wanted to kill but his death mission was too tough (he's a rich guy protected by a lot of thugs, and after you off them you need to chase him along the rooftops) so I gave up after a couple of tries and killed the other dude easily, rambling into his ghetto apartment, wiping out a crackhead, and then capping my former friend as he cowers.

This game hangs guilt trips over your head better than any game I've ever played. Had no problem killing the little girls in Bioshock, until I found out that doing so made you get a bad ending. But this game haunts me.

Friday, May 16, 2008

I'm glad the Tasmanian Devil is no longer popular

If you're a few years younger than me you may know him better as "Taz," as he was rebranded in the '90s to be more extreme. Your 15 minutes are up, sucka.

Why the ping pong ball game is no longer in "The Price is Right"

The ping pong balls are gone because Drew Carey ate them all up, mistaking them for cream puffs. Bob Barker had only kept them around because they reminded him of severed pet testicles.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Me and Bowser

I'm involved in a poisonous and unhealthy relationship.

The only "Mario Kart" racer I use is Bowser, even though his style isn't conducive to the frenetic item assaults of 12-player races. Every time the big guy takes a hit he stops cold and takes three hours to get back up to speed. And yet I stick with him because when the throttle is all the way down, fattie is faster than everyone else. It's this chase for elusive top speed that keeps me sticking with him, even though I would probably be better with other facers.

I stick with him out of loyalty. I've always been Bowser and always will be. Bowser, I wish I could quit you.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008


U.S. News and World Report is for people who actually want to know what's going on. Newsweek is for people who just want to pretend. Time is for idiots.

I subscribe to Newsweek.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Free money

Thank you, government, for the free money you deposited in my checking account. I appreciate it and will vote for you always. Feel free to repeat what you did at any time. I'll always be there for you. And let me know at least nine months in advance next time you plan on doing that so I can have more kids. I'll totally hop my wife up on fertility drugs to go for sextuplets, as well as adopt several southeast Asian children if I know I'm banking $300 per. Now I see why Angelina Jolie does that all the time.

Monday, May 12, 2008

A conversation between the Diamondbacks and Cubs

D-backs: Hey does anyone want any of these?

Cubs: Dude, yes, we were missing those. You took them from me last year in the playoffs, 'member?

D-backs: Yeah, sorry about that. No hard feelings, right? Here you go. Take one!

Cubs: How about I take all three. And your lunch money. And your mothers' virginities.

D-backs: Sure, whatever makes you happy. Anything else we can do for you?

Cubs: No, get the hell out.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Real life superheroes

Some people say there are no heroes. Other than Superman, who chooses to recline in the Fortress of Solitude playing video games and eating Funions and not come and help us out when our helicopters are crashing and supervilliains are leveling our football stadiums. Or Batman, who no longer fights crime and has resorted to a career in film.

I say there are heroes, and I'm not talking about firemen, police, paramedics, teachers or parents. (I am, though, as always, talking about your mom).

But the true heroes are UPS delivery dudes. Think about it. They wear spandex, can lift incredibly heavy objects and people are always happy to see them. They can zip from one corner of the earth to the other at incredibly fast speeds. Not only that, but they have supercomputers in their brains that can find out where any package is at any time.

Wednesday, May 07, 2008

Confederacy of dunces

Yesterday when I was driving home from work, the red flashing lights at the railroad stop started going off, signifying a train was on its way, hauling a mind-numbing, gas-wasting 10-minute wait along with the rest of its boxcars full of produce, building supplies and illegal immigrants.

Normally I stop when I see the lights, because I’ve got this irrational fear of oncoming trains. Call me a wuss. But not this time. A burst of rebelliousness pumped into my brain – the very same burst that made me try Sprite Remix one time instead of regular Sprite – and I slammed on the pedal on the right. Oh yeah, I was goin’. I sped over the train tracks as the trainstop arms dropped, speeding through as the suckers to my right and left shook their heads in jealousy. I felt like a Duke of Hazzard.

Feeling like a Duke was cool, at least at first. All liberating and invulnerable, like Mario when he gets a star. But then I started to question the sensation, and felt somewhat guilty and a little bit racist. For I was never a big fan of the Dukes of Hazzard, and the reason was they drove a car called the General Lee, emblazoned with a confederate flag on the hood. There’s something you should know about me, and it’s that confederate flags piss me off. They represent slavery and racism, so when I see one, my blood boils in the same way a neo-Con’s does when they see a Mexican flag. People who drive around with Mexican flags on their cars just make me laugh, because they’re so hypocritical. If people liked their country that much, they never would have left, so the flag stickers they slap on their rides are just bizarre overcompensations of guilt for having abandoned the motherland. The flag is not offensive to me because it represents nothing more than a horribly run country that denigrates its poor.

These guys with confederate stickers are something different entirely, though. They are calling attention to their belief that they would rather live in a world in which black people picked all their cotton for free. They’re also representing white supremacist groups, as well as a treasonous government that warred on the United States. The Dukes of Hazzard may as well have called their car the Fuhrer Hitler and painted a swastika on the hood.

I am for free speech above all else, so I don’t advocate a law against the confederate decals, clothes, beach towels and hats I see. In fact, I think there should be even more confederate flags around. For instance, on t-shirts. My friend had this idea that he’d make confederate flag t-shirts that say the phrase “The flag of a bitch” beneath the picture. Only bitches would be offended, and no one ever admits they’re a bitch. Other product ideas are confederate flag toilet paper and urinals. Maybe there’s even some money to be made off of this, but even if not, wearing a “flag of a bitch” shirt would be great opportunity to show up the ignorants who say “the South shall rise again.” I think the South still has some falling to do.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Simon - the best toy ever?

What a wonderful piece of psychotic obsessive-compulsicana this thing was. A plate full of multicolored, increasingly rapid flashing lighted panels, complete with sing-song beeps, Simon captured many a 6-year-old afternoon of mine. Sure, I’d usually end a session of Simon playing by hurling the damn thing into a wall – it cheated, I swear – but like a good abused spouse, I’d always forgive it in the morning and come back for more the next day. Ah, Simon, you taught me how to both take and give abuse.

Monday, May 05, 2008

Big in Europe

People come up to me all the time and say "Dude, you're so amazing. Why is it that you're not famous?"

My stock answer is "I AM famous, you moron. Just not in America. I do really well in Europe, where the refined, sophisticated audiences better appreciate my talents unlike backwards, ignorant Americans."

I am exactly like local bands and David Hasselhoff. I've never been to Europe not because I'm poor but because if I did go I'd get mobbed and probably killed by paparazzi. I like to live in privacy, away from the gleaming spotlight and all the tabloids that would write false stuff about me in languages that are impossible to understand. Plus if I lived in Europe I'd probably develop a big ego.

And if any of you doubt that I'm famous in Europe, and perhaps think I'm talking like this just to try to impress you with lies, try this on: There's even a city named after me in Spain, which has a pro club soccer team, also named after me. There's probably a statue of me as well, but I haven't checked.

Thursday, May 01, 2008

I am the best dad ever

Or "Grand Theft Auto IV" is the best dad ever, I should say.

I let my 1-year-old play "Grand Theft Auto IV," sorta. He vaguely understands that buttons he presses on the controller relate to the action onscreen, even though he'd rather put it on his head and say "hat" - one of the 17 words he knows - or throw it on the ground, or put it in his mouth, which is sort of gross because of all the germs and whatnot unless I think to Cloroxwipe it beforehand.

The reason I do this is to symbollically protest the idiocy of parents' groups who try to restrict freedom of expression in art and entertainment, and also because I'm the greatest dad in the world and I want to bestow the boy with the gift of being able to say he's been playing "Grand Theft Auto" since he was a baby. Plus the boy is handy with a pistol. And better with the virtual ladies. Michelle actually responds to his phonecalls. If he gets invited back to her apartment before I do I'm going to be a tiny bit jealous but mostly proud, just as I will when he's selected as the top pick in the 2027 NFL Draft.

But at least I'll get credit for the achievement because the boy doesn't have his own Live account.