The five bands that suck the hardest

As an art form on the whole, music is pretty overrated. When I turn on the radio, 97.3 percent of the time a song that I can’t stand is playing on each and every one of the seven stations I have programmed into my Toys-R-Us quality car stereo that doesn’t have a CD player, tape or even 8 track. That’s because my stereo was invented long before 8 tracks, and only one year after the first music – a caveman banging against a cave with a stick – came into being.

I have no reason to get a better car stereo because today’s music hasn’t much surpassed the whole caveman with a stick thing, and while man has been able to invent the nuclear bomb, the aeroplane, the Vanilla Coke and has even been able to trick one each other into thinking we actually landed on the Moon, our race has fallen woefully short in music making. In the entire 10,000 years of human existence, exactly 192 really awesome songs have been made, and I downloaded most of them from Napster when I was in college. All other songs that have been invented range from OK to mediocre to hellspawn three-day-old puke. And there are five bands that lots of people love and worship and spend money on and flash their boobs at that can’t even aspire to making music worthy of being labeled hellspawn three-day-old-puke. And they are…

5. BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN
I do give him props for working his mojo on Courtney Cox in that one music video way back in the day when she wasn’t old and Alex P Keaton was always trying to slip her the Lil’ Overachiever on “Family Ties,” but other than that, Springsteen hasn’t served much of a purpose in life. He has a horrible voice, makes horrible music and will NEVER EVER RETIRE and end his pathetic career. Plus he’s always, always, ALWAYS bitching about something in each and every one of his songs; crying about how blue collar folks have got it rough and how sad life is. People call him the boss, and I think it’s a Freudian slip thing that “boss” spelled backward is “ssob,” the way illiterate Springsteen lovers would spell “sob” if they understood the alphabet.

4. P. DIDDY
Some complainers out there might argue that P. Diddy isn’t a band, and thus shouldn’t qualify for the list, but P. Diddy sucks so bad he simulates the cumulative suckiness of five other people, thereby forming an entire band of dumbass-osity.
This is the most unoriginal, uncreative hack to ever have sex with four chicks at the same time (I just KNOW he’s done it… Grrrrr…) All of his songs are nothing but samples of other dumb songs to have come before, mixed in with Diddy doling out his monotone recital of nonsensical lyrics like “Who hot, who not…” which is the most profound thing he’s ever said. He puts the “c” in front of “rap.”

The worst thing P. Diddy ever diddied came after his pimpmaster Notorious BIG died – by the way, the movie “Biggie and Tupac” sort of accuses Diddy of orchestrating the Tupac and BIG murders – and Diddy, then called Puff Daddy, made that song and music video with Mrs. Notorious, “I’ll Be Missing You,” in which you can tell that P. Diddy was definitely trying to get with that. This was purportedly meant to be a tribute to the fallen BIG, but why would the ghost of Biggie want to see his girl dancing around with a hornball dumbass?

If I’m dead, there are a few things I want to see: A.) A golden statue of me built in my honor; 2.) Into sorority showers (when you die you get x-ray vision) and III.) Free HBO. You’ll not that nowhere on that list is an item called “watch my woman dance around with a hornball dumbass.” And while I’m alive I want to see P. Diddy continue his new love of marathoning and run straight off into oblivion like Forrest Gump.

3. THE BEASTIE BOYS
I can’t even talk about these talentless closet cases without bursting into a rage. They finish each others’ sentences like an old married couple, scream instead of rap or sing, and were so evil as to have inspired Limp Bizkit. Beat your cat and you’ll get better sounds than anything the Beasties crap out. It’s time to get ill, alright, of chronic, irreversible laryngitis.

2. PEAL JAM
The worst offense of all from Pearl Jam was that obnoxious “Oh were or where can my baby be” song, which is a remake of a tune of some dude singing about his woman getting killed in a car crash or something. For starters, the song isn’t good, and secondly, it’s freaking morbid to sing a tribute song to a chick you never even had sex with. The rules go that if you had sex with some chick, then she dies, you’re allowed to make a song about it. If not, then no song. Pearl Jam was a bad copy of Nirvana and got completely surpassed by STP, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains. One time when I was nine I made up words to the Super Mario Bros. music that went “Su-PER Mar-i-o BRO-thers; we like to COL-lect coins and mush-ROOMS…” and that song, though bad, was infinity plus five times better than every song ever made by Pearl Jam put together times 17.

1. U2
As the only known person who hates U2, I take a lot of crap for my take on the Irish do-gooders who are always trying to get on TV showing that they give money to African babies and put on a concert for the drying refugees and whatnot. Good job on that, U2. But here’s an idea, how about instead of spending all your free time trying to book appearances on Oprah and Jay Leno, you sit down and try to make a good song for once. I used to only kind of hate U2, until 1997 or so, when that “Pop” album came out, and the very worst song I’ve ever suffered through, “Discotec,” was played every seven minutes by clueless, sheeplike DJs who were too afraid not to fall in line and play the humiliating garbage. Even people that love U2 hate that song, which is so sulphuric-acid-on-the-eyeballs painful that it undermines the entire reason for the existence of music. When my cousin was 4 years old, I told him that U2 was actually “U-Pooh,” and he called them that for the next two years until he learned how to read and found out it was actually U2. Hopefully someday he’ll realize how correct I really was.

GTA or Kart?

I'm having a nervous breakdown about both "Mario Kart Wii" and "Grand Theft Auto IV" coming out at the same time. It's the ultimate concurrence of both awesomeness and suckery. These two games are more important than many aspects of life, especially sleep.

I've already told myself i will do nothing but play video games for a month straight and stay up until at least 3 a.m. every other night. but now I'm coming to the realization that it won't be enough. There is just not enough time for that much video game brilliance. It's the same dilemma Archie faced with Betty and Veronica. Whenever he was making sweet love to one of them, he was always dreaming of the other.

"Stormin' Mormon" price slashed in half for one week

As pissed as I am at Publish America for not kowtowing to Amazon's demands in order to give my book a better chance to sell, I'm pleased that the website is doing the sensible thing and cutting their too-high prices in half for one week. You can buy the book for $10 here (you'll have to type Stormin' Mormon into the search box - don't forget the apostrophe.

If you want to the book on the cheap, now would be a good time to get it.

Futurrific

It doesn’t surprise me that we don’t have flying cars yet. I predict we still won’t have them in 2015, as “Back to the Future Part II” claims, or ever for that matter. Not because the technology won’t be there, but because of common sense. Drivers are too stupid to avoid crashing into one another on the ground, let alone if they were airborne. And cars themselves are way too unreliable. Could you imagine how dangerous flying cars would be? The flying Chevy Cavaliers would always stall at inopportune times, but instead of calling a tow truck, you’ll need to call the people who scoop up your remains and turn you into Soylent Green, because you’ll be dead.

My vision of the future is free of flying cars, and unless maybe this ethanol thing takes off, regular cars as well. Traveling itself will be obsolete, because everyone will sit at home all day pretending like they’re working while playing on the Internet. All vacationing will be done by microchips you download into your brain. The downside of this is that you won’t get to actually experience Hawaiian sea breezes or the firsthand sight of the Eiffel Tower. The upside is that you’ll get to vacation with Luigi or Pac-Man if you so desire.

Another change you’ll notice is that every business with more than two words in the title will go by an acronym. This I’m sure of not only because of “KFC” and “DQ,” but “BR,” which Baskin Robbins is trying to call itself now. This is gonna get out of control, I tells ya. ESPN will be known as EN.

I know what you’re wondering now. Will we ever go to Mars? Well, yes and no. The government will convince everyone we did, but the mission will really be faked and fool the populace as it’s broadcast over hover TV. The video game Grand Theft Auto 75 will lampoon this. Meanwhile the real Martians, who hide from our telescopes by living underneath the surface, will invade and conquer us, only to later be overthrown by the very robotic army humanity has constructed in order to fend them off. The Matrix had it wrong. Humans won’t end up as batteries – Martians will. We’ll just all be dead, save for the few of us who managed to burrow into volcanoes and evolve into volcano beasts that venture out at night and kidnap robotic children.

Next question – will there ever be nuclear war? Again, a good news, bad news situation. The good news is that there will be no nuclear war, and the bad news is the reason for this has nothing to do with mankind’s evolution toward a peaceful state. There will be a World War III alright, and countries will try to nuke each other, but it just won’t happen. It will just turn out that all the long range missiles worldwide are just as ghetto as North Korea’s, and all will plop harmlessly into the Sea of Japan.

My final prediction: Biff really will get his hands on a sports almanac, then travel back in time and give it to his younger self, who will become the richest man alive, then marry Lorraine and make her get a boob job. Hey, the movies can’t be wrong about everything.

On drugs

One of the reasons I’m not a junkie is because the narcotics that exist don’t do it for me. According to the movies I’ve seen, drugs like crack and heroine get you high for a while but then leave you only craving more, willing to just about anything – and I mean anything – to get some more. Hence the occupations of “crack whore,” “heroine slut,” “smack prostitute,” “ecstacy trick” and “opium polesmoker.”

I’ve never tried any drugs, mostly because I’m afraid of the police – they’ve got pepper spray, and pepper spray kills. I’ve never even smoked a cigarette, because I hear that Surgeon General guy can be a real bastard. My fears aside, it’s too hard to get drugs anyway. That’s why no movie drug exchange has ever been successfully completed. Producers and directors, after all, don’t make these things up. Except for “Pirates of the Caribbean,” which is totally full of lies, filmmakers pull their stories from real life. It’s called “cinema verite.”

And one thing these filmmakers know is that these drug deals, they never work out. First you’ve gotta bring the briefcase full of cash to the abandoned warehouse, which is a hassle in and of itself - because Wells Fargo tellers aren’t cool about filling briefcases and abandoned warehouses don’t come up on Mapquest - and then you have to deal with all the potential pitfalls of the exchange. Someone’s probably been flipped by the Feds and wearing a wire, waiting to rat you out, and if that’s not the case the drug lord you’re doing business with will probably just shoot you, take your cash-filled briefcase and keep the money. Because, let’s face it, the only reason the druglord wouldn’t cap you is if he’s got a strong moral compass, because it would be so very easy, let alone profitable, to just shoot you and take your money instead of go through with the deal as promised. You’re probably out of luck, because I saw this thing on the Discovery Channel that says those with strong moral compasses make up only 13 percent of the North American druglord population.

But for the sake of conversation, let’s just say you do pull off the one successful drug deal ever. Okay, then you’ve got your blow, you shape it into lines on a small mirror (and this also assumes you can find one of those small mirrors, because they don’t sell them at the Targets I frequent), then you sniff it up and get high. While you’re laying back in your dazed stupor, you’ve gotta start questioning whether it was really worth all the work for a few moments of bliss. I mean, do you really feel any better high than when you’re playing “Super Mario Bros.” and you’re at the end of a level at the giant block staircase and you time your jump just right so the last digit on the countdown timer stops on a six just as you hit the flagpole, sliding down to enjoy a dazzling display of six – count ‘em – six, life-affirming fireworks? I really freaking doubt it.

Sorry, illegal drug industry. You’re gonna have to do better than a simple high to get my cash-filled briefcases. I’m disappointed in my limited options, and I’m holding out until there‘s a drug that offers something that would make me a bit more like Superman, like heat-vision or freeze breath. If those can’t be done than I’d settle for a drug that gives me temporary x-ray vision, but I’d only pay half a briefcase full of cash for that.

Everything I know I learned from playing Super Mario Bros.

Back when I was seven, there were news stories that ranted that “Super Mario Bros.” would rot kids’ brains. Years later, it’s obvious that quite the opposite is true. In fact, I’d venture to say that of all my knowledge sources: elementary school, high school, college, Sesame Street, my parents, all of them combined don’t equal the education I received from playing the greatest Nintendo game ever made.

ALWAYS LOOK FOR THE WARP ZONE
While the suckers will plug through each and every measly level to get through life, the smart ones are always searching for the shortcuts. Jump over the brick wall at the end of world 1-3, and sure enough, there is your warp to worlds 2-1, 3-1 or 4-1. No one has ever warped to 2-1 or 3-1. In fact, I’m not even sure those warp tubes work. They’re just there as decorations, and to make you feel like you’re getting an even better deal. Warping also teaches you that it’s smarter to warp than to go straight through, because only if you warp will there be a invisible one-up mushroom block waiting for you. As it says on the “Alexander” movie poster, fortune favors the bold.

MUSHROOMS MAKE YOU BIGGER
The more food you eat, the bigger you’ll get. While in real life mushrooms don’t quite have the power to immediately triple your size, eat enough mushrooms and you will one day grow to be a bigger person. Once you stop growing up, you can still grow by getting fatter.

TURTLES MUST BE STOMPED ON
Turtles may look all dumb or innocent, but they’re all secret minions of King Koopa. They’re evil and they’ll go on to kill unless you crack their shells. Give ‘em a quick stomp on the back to put them out of commission, and don’t let anyone from PETA see
you.

FIREBALLS DON’T WORK ON BUZZY BEETLES
While the fireball is an amazing and formidable weapon, it doesn’t pack enough juice to destroy or even slightly injure a black-shelled Buzzy Beetle. It’s this type of forethought that gave the founding fathers the idea for the second amendment. We as a society need the right to bear arms because sometimes a “fireball” i.e., rational discussion, is not enough to defeat an enemy. Sometimes you need an AK.

THERE’S NO GETTING OUT OF THE MINUS WORLD
Certain things in life exist only to trap you. Swim around all you like, and there’s no escape at all. You’re just stuck until time runs out and you die of asphyxiation. The programmers put world -1 in there to remind us not to do drugs, because drugs are just a one way ticket into the minus world. Except for mushrooms. Those will make you feel real good.

YOU’VE GOT TO LAND ON THE FLAGPOLE AT THE RIGHT TIME TO GET SIX FIREWORKS
In life, timing is everything. Lean in for a kiss at the wrong time, and you’ll get slapped in the face. Ask the boss for a raise at the wrong time, and you’ll get fired. Run a red light when there’s another car coming, and you’re dead. Only make your move when the last number on the clock is a six, and you’re golden.

MY PRINCESS IS IN ANOTHER CASTLE
You have to go through lots of castles, spend a lot of golden coins and get with lots of girls who only turn out to be dudes dressed in mushroom suits in disguise before you find your one true love. And even she won’t give you sex.

In observance of the funniest moment in the history of movies

Wait until the scene that comes at the 2 minute mark. No funnier moment has ever been recorded in the history of film.

The best place to find comedy

Is often your neighborhood church. This church my wife drags me to is asking its followers to donate 90 percent of the tax rebate checks they get to them. The pitch went "How lucky are you that the Lord lets you keep 90 percent of your income and all he asks for is 10 percent. How about just this once you tithe to yourself and give the rest to God?"

My immediate response, other than stifled laughter, was "Go tithe yourself."

Text messaging must die

It’s not that I don’t understand HOW text messaging works – obviously it has to do with the biorobonuclaic principals of cell phones, with the chrononucleaical transferation module that transports quadricameral nomenclature differentials from cell phone to cell phone – but rather WHY people would actually use text messaging to communicate in a timely manner.

Whenever I ask any texting addict why it is they spend hours using their cell phones to send IMs for the wonderful privilege of being charged by a shiny electronic nickel for each usage, or an unnecessary flat fee of $5 a month, they almost always respond with a dumb grin and a chuckle. They say, “I dunno! I just like it.” Hmm.

I’m no cell phone expert, but my research has shown phones are equipped with speakers which can be used for talking and hearing others talk. These speakers negate the need to use number pads to complicatedly type out messages. Text messaging on a cell phone is like walking on your hands. Sure, it’s possible; maybe even a little fun. But why would you do it constantly when it’s so much easier to walk on your feet?

Others try to rationalize, but can’t explain it any better than the dumb grin and chuckle. Some say they text because they don’t want to seem rude when they’re with other people. My reply to them is that staring at your obnoxious phone for the 10 minutes it takes to text “C U l8r at the bk str” is ruder than a 0.7 second phone conversation.

An alphabet of overrated things

A is for avocados. They look like grenades and, when guacamole’d, make me eat too many tortilla chips.

B is for Brady, as in Tom. Sports Illustrated sportsman of the year, my anus. He throws like Cindy Brady.

C is for cannons. What dumb weapons. All they did was shoot big, heavy balls at ships dumb enough to float in their way. This excludes laser cannons.

D is for defense. Don’t listen to what they say, it’s offense that really wins championships.

E is for Everybody Loves Raymond. I secretly called it Not Everybody Loves Raymond. Burn!

F is for food. It costs too much, doesn’t taste all that good, and if I stop shoving it in my face constantly, I die. Not that it has its own channel, with its fanbase of morons who talk about it constantly, food really thinks it’s hot shit. I say we rebel and go to Matrix cocoons for sustenance.

G is for Gus, the field goal kicking mule. Mr. Ed could take you down any day of the week, jackass.

H is for Hannukah. I have eight presents for you, annoying, overlong holiday that falls on different dates every year. Here’s a hint, they’re all punches to the throat.

I is for irritating column devices, such as writers using the alphabet when they can’t think of anything else to write.

J is for joints. Crack is where it’s at, baby.

K is for karate, which is no match for a gun.

L is for length. It’s all about girth, according to women as well as Jake Gyllenhaal’s character in Brokeback Mountain.

M is for Mike Tyson. First he loses to Little Mac, then he gets jailed for rape and when he gets out he bites peoples’ ears and moves to Phoenix. You are stupid. (Please don’t read this, drive down here and attack me).

N is for New York Yankees. You are losers, especially you, Alex Rodriguez.

O is for other websites. If they didn’t exist, Becauseitoldyouso.com would get more traffic.

P is for Pussycat Dolls. Doncha wish you’d shut the hell up and go back to your careers as strippers?

Q is for Q-Bert. Just kidding. Q-Bert was the mothableepin’ bomb, yo.

R is Rainbow Brite, no match at all for the underrated Strawberry Shortcake.

S is for Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliette? More like Romeo and Poo-liet.

T is for tarantulas. Brown recluses and black widows are more venomous, you big, hairy oafs.

U is for the University of Dumbass, which is my nickname for Arizona State.

V is for Villarroel. Some people have that as there last name – I saw it in the phone book. What happened to your “A,” you illiterate jagoffs?

W is for the song “Who Let the Dogs Out,” which should be renamed, “Who Let the Suck Out”

X is for X-Men. Superman could beat up all 1,000 of you. Even the effeminate-looking
Superman from the latest movie.

Y is for yo-yos. They always get tangled up and broken.

Z is for zebras. Like horses, only slower and with stripes. What are you, the referees of horses? I call a 15-yard penalty on you for stupidness.

Filet-o-Fish

Never buy a Filet-o-Fish. You can’t trust them. For not once in the history of McDonald’s has anyone ever ordered a Filet-o-Fish intentionally. Sure, people have gotten them by mistake sometimes. On occasion some generous cubicle drone makes a McDonald’s office run and buys everything on the menu to distribute to coworkers, and at the bottom of the bag will be the pathetic green wrapper containing the bun-and-tartar-sauce draped mystery of the oceansea.

And a mystery it should remain, because who really wants to know what deranged process it takes to turn one of Nemo’s associates into a flat, square shaped patty? It’s a true distortion of nature’s plan to create such a monstrosity, and while comparably disturbing ventures are taken to create such substances as McNugget and hamburger, those don’t seem as revolting because they are accepted blocks of the food pyramid. The Filet-o-Fish, though, is an anomaly, a crime against our underwater brothers akin to making Shamu bounce a ball on his nose.

I of course am not alone in this opinion, and that’s why the sandwich is never ordered. That’s why McDonald’s used to slap it with the stigma of the No. 9 combo, relegated to the end of the line, relegated to the outer reaches of the customer’s peripheral vision. Only later did they move it around, to Nos. 4 or 6, hoping to increase volume by tricking people into ordering the restaurant’s shame instead of their usual double quarter pounder. And while all this chicanery occurred, the poor tastilicious McRib had to sit on the sidelines, only able to pop out for a gleeful romp once every other year or so, soaking in its delectable sauces, waiting to pounce for brief glory, only to fade back into oblivion, while its incompetent rival, the Filet-o-Fish, was allowed to stay.

At this point I must admit that I’ve never tried one. The Filet-o-Fish, that is – not the McRib. The McRibs I’ve not only tried but inhaled, three to an order during those glorious jubilee periods in which they’re made available. And during off seasons, I sate my McRib fix by buying them on the black market. I’m reduced to shady back alley deals and occasional sexual debasement for the salve to my addiction. But that’s off the subject. I’m not able to comment on the taste of the Filet-o-Fish because of my inexperience in munching them, which I think is a testament to my wisdom and worldliness. Only a fool, after all, would order something no one else ever does. While trying anything else on the menu offers reasonable odds of getting a piece of reasonably freshly made cholesterol-dripping, preservative-wafting fulfillment, you just know the Filet-o-Fishes on the burger ready-rack have been there since the joint opened that day at 5:30 a.m., if not the day before, if not the week before. Never having been ordered, never to be ordered. The bastard sandwich is kept alive only by the moaning drone of the heat rack, as if it were some sort of edible version of Terry Schiavo, alive but somehow dead; staleness warmed into floppy submission.

If only it were possible to catch Filet-o-Fishes and release them back into the waters from whence they came, allowing them one last swim, as a watershed homage to the environment we debased in mankind’s blind urge to make gross burger alternatives. They could peacefully drift to the bottom of the ocean and stay there. During the long float to the bottom, they would drift undisturbed. Other, living creatures, some destined themselves to become a Filet-o-Fish, will swim by and look at the sandwich with their big round eyes, then lose interest and jet off to some other place to blow bubbles, hassle the plankton and try to look up jellyfishes skirts. They won’t even take a nibble, because even fish have standards when it comes to getting their grub on.

Coffee conundrum

I don't see how people become addicted to coffee, given how awful it tastes, which is at least better than its aftertaste - similar to that which you get when you lick asphalt.

It's like I know why people like coffee, cigarettes and hard liquor, because it's a chemical thing that associates the high of the product with the awful taste, twisting your senses into registering the nastiness as a positive. But what I don't get is how people swill enough coffee to fall under the influence to begin with. Making it is so labor intensive and buying it is so expensive. Getting addicted to coffee seems as appealing as slamming an aluminum bat against your nose.

Some people tell me they like coffee because they're into bitterness. For those people I have a recommendation: try some ape piss. It's even more bitter than your drink of choice.

By the way, it's true what they say about there being no accounting for taste. I loved enchiladas as a kid. Hate them now. Always hated olives until two years ago, but now I really like them - but only the high-class non-vinegarred olives you'll find at Sweet Tomato troughs or at the bottom of Olive Garden salad bowls. Regular canned olives are still revolting. Also, I hated grapefuit juice when i was 5, called it swamp juice. Now I love swamp juice so much I buy it flowers and pretend to laugh at its unfunny jokes.

A brief glossary of evil twins

CHARLES-CHAZ
In “Charles in Charge” sometimes Charles would get knocked on the head and turn into Chaz, an evil alter ego who would cause all sorts of mischievous high jinx. Chaz would slick his hair back, talk smack to everybody, hit on the girls he babysat, try to have sex with old girlfriends and skip class. Chaz, come to think of it, was a lot cooler than Charles. The way to change him back was to either hit him on the head (once – not twice, because that would turn him back into Chaz) or hope he gets into a motorcycle crash.

MARIO-WARIO
Mario was the savior of the Mushroom Kingdom who saved Princess Toadstool four times (“Super Mario Bros.,” “Super Mario Bros. 3,” “Super Mario World,” “Super Mario Land”) Then he found out that a bastard named Wario took over his castle, sealed the door with a magic lock that could only be opened if six golden coins were placed along the frame, then scattered the coins throughout the world and released loads of monsters to guard them in “Super Mario Land 2: Six Golden Coins.” Stupidly, Wario did not think to take the six golden coins inside the castle with him. Wario’s origin was unknown, but he kind of resembled Mario, only fatter and with an upside-down M on his hat to cleverly appear as a W. Anyway, Mario did the sensible thing and killed Wario’s ass, then he came back to life and now plays tennis, golf, baseball and go-kart racing with Mario.

PUNKY BREWSTER-MEAN PUNKY BREWSTER
Punky had an evil twin, too, although I think this only happened in one episode, and not in the real show but the trippy little cartoon spinoff. That nutty little flying Munchkin from beyond the rainbow, Glomer, took her picture when she was frowning. The picture turned out to be magic, and Mean Punky Brewster leaped out of the frame and started throwing rocks and insulting everyone she saw, including Cherie, who was probably still recovering emotionally after having been locked in the refrigerator. They killed Mean Punky by making her go back into the picture then tearing it up.

CASSIUS CLAY-MUHAMMAD ALI
Cassius Clay was a nice boxer who did what he was told and lived by society’s rules. Then he changed his name to Muhammad Ali, who was evil for three reasons: A.) Because he stopped believing in Jesus, B.) He had the gall to say black people weren’t treated well in the 1960s, a time of perfect racial equality and idyllic harmony, and C.) He refused to defend our freedom by going to Vietnam and joining coalition forces in dying in a very, very important war that really, really needed to be fought. Luckily our government recognized his evil and threw him in jail.

STEVE URKEL-STEPHAN UR-KEL
Urkel was a nerd who invented a machine that made him cool, and he walked into it every sweeps period to become Stephan Ur-kel (accent on the “kel”), which turned him into a smooth pimperator who no longer spoke in a nasally voice, did not annoy Carl and macked hardcore on Laura and her hot friend Maxine. What made Stephan even cooler was the fact that he – get ready for this – DID NOT WEAR GLASSES. Stephan wasn’t completely evil, but he had a way of acting like a pompous ass so that others would eventually conspire to trick him from walking back into the machine and get him changed back to Steve.

Hell yes, Bases Loaded is on the Wii's Virtual Console now

"Bases Loaded" shaped the way I view baseball.... and in turn, life itself.

Today is like the end of "Con Air." I feel like the stuffed toy rabbit, and Nicolas Cage (Nintendo) is giving me back to his little daughter (Wii) after too many years apart, and the song "Hoooow Do Iiii Liiiiiiive Without You" is playing in the background.

I love "Bases Loaded." Doesn't everybody? Oko on Philly is the best natural athlete I've ever seen in my life, and Paste on Jersey is no slouch either. Paste-Oko, and not Obama-Clinton, would truly be the dream ticket.

There's also a player in the game named Saint, forget which team he plays for. One of my friends I used to play it with couldn't read for shit and pronounced Saint as "Satan."

I once played this game on "Bases Loaded" that was such a dramatic and inspiring comeback I made my own sports section about it. I wrote a headline, drew a picture, wrote up the box score in and had a game story with quotes from the players who participated in the historic event.

You Cain't Choke This

I’ve got a pretty good plan for if someone ever tries to choke me to death. I’ll struggle for a few seconds, then fall limp and pretend I’m dead. The choker will then ease his grip, giving me a chance to kick him square in the nuts and run off to safety. Why don’t characters in movies and TV shows try this more often? They’re the ones that need the technique the most, since people get strangled for our entertainment a whole lot more often then they do in regular ‘ol boring life.

Maybe I should start a training academy to help people get out of tough spots they don’t know how to deal with. The above technique would rescue you not only from a choking, but from a Wild West hanging. Whenever a desperado is hanged for his crimes in the town square, they cut the guy loose as soon as he goes limp. Well, my advice to an unlucky bandit would be to play dead, get cut free, then use your noose to lasso in the nearest six-shooter and blast your way out to glory, shouting, “Whoomp, they it is!!!” as you ride off into the sunset with the sheriff’s daughter.

Getting choked and hanged are two things that tend to freak people out, and my class would help ease their fears and allow them to live more normal lives. Another problem a lot of folks have is trepidation about getting into a fight with someone who’s really good at karate. You know, the kind of people who can break cement blocks with their heads and whatnot. To those who cower in fear against such opponents, I say this: Get out a gun. No matter how good they are at karate, they’ll be no match for a bullet through the kneecap.

Student: Um, Teacher, teacher!

Me: Yes, what is it, student?

Student: Did you say “kneecap?”

Me: That’s right, son. Kneecap.

Student: But why not shoot him in the face?

Me: Because the people who are REALLY good at karate will try to dodge your gunshots like Neo, bending backwards and waving at the bullets aimed at their face whiz by. If you shoot them in the kneecaps, that defense technique won’t work.
Student: If only the agents from “The Matrix” had known this, we wouldn’t have had to deal with the crappy sequels.

Me: Shut your mouth. While “The Matrix Revolutions” was subpar, “The Matrix Reloaded” was misunderstood and underrated. Go sit in the corner!

As you can see from that example, I’d make an awesome teacher. The only reason I don’t sign up is because they don’t pay teachers enough to put up with all the crap they’ve got to deal with. I think it’s a cultural thing. I’ll bet that at Ninja schools, teachers get treated right.

I wonder what Ninja Kindergarten is like? Instead of naptime, they probably have throwing star target practice. And none of this half-day nonsense. Five-year-old ninjas have got to go to school all day, because you don’t learn how to shoot poison darts and nunchuku skills in only four hours – not if you want to learn them right, anyway. And storytime is replaced by deathmatch tournaments. That’s what I’d make them do if I were a ninja teacher, anyway. I’d also teach them to do the Matrix bullet-bend trick, too, only I’d make sure they wore bulletproof kneepads.

Things I Like: The Mode

This specifically has to do with "Tecmo Super Bowl” for Nintendo or Super Nintendo. Anyone who has ever played those games has fallen into instant, hopeless love with them, to the point where they almost want to give the games back rubs, buy them expensive jewelry and go to boring parties with the game's annoying friends, just to show how much they care.

Every Tecmo Bowl player probably has generated their own nickname for what I refer to as “The Mode.”

The Mode occurs about three or four times during a year of constant Tecmo Bowl playing, or, about one time per every 275 games. After one player gets an interception or recovers a fumble, he’ll suddenly kick into the Mode, which means he’s spontaneously imbued with eight times the speed of any other player on the field, is made completely invulnerable and possesses massive hitting power. (Players such as Bo Jackson, Barry Sanders and Christian Okoye, as depicted in the above video, were born into the Mode, bursted out of their mothers' wombs and knocked the delivery nurses on their asses).

One could theorize that, if Natalie Portman were ever to have sex with a Tecmo Bowl character, she would hold out for one that was in the Mode, because he'd be able to give her nonstop multiple orgasms.

Let me tell ya, they almost do the same fore me.

Sigh...

Oh, the things an In-the-Mode character can do. A ballcarrier in the Mode can freely ram all defenders off the screen over and over for infinity, but usual sportsmanlike protocol calls for only using the Mode for the remaining time in the quarter before finally lending your opponent some mercy and scoring the inevitable touchdown. Doing so is completely at your discretion, though, since no tackler, not even if he's using the vaunted Tecmo Five-Yard Superhuman Dive Tackle, can bring a Moded player down. Only two things can stop a ballcarrier in the Mode: A.) Stepping out of bounds inadvertently, or B.) The fiery sword of God. Anything else won't cut it, including nature. One time I was playing a game and I got the Mode, and there was a power outage. The Moded player actually stepped out of the TV, repaired the downed power line outside the house, then jumped back into the game to resume mowing down defenders. I think, while he was out, he also rescued a cat from a tree and knocked up my next-door neighbor's daughter.

When you’re on the mode, life is at its very finest, and you can truly taste the splendor of humanity at its greatest perfection, with limitless optimism and unending joy. And don’t just take my word for it - ask Natalie Portman.

In Praise of Duct Tape

Once, when I was a stupid kid, I had no respect for duct tape. I was hardly introduced to its prowess before my freshman year of college and even then, I made fun of my roommate, Cracker, for using it to construct a crude cabinet system out of cardboard and abandoned pieces of particle board.

But soon, I came to see duct tape's value. That cabinet system held up, and although it was ugly, it got the job done.
I’ve retained exactly two things I learned in college; one, A-1 and tuna make for a good low-budget sandwich and two, duct tape is the bond that holds our fragile society together.

Soon, I found myself using the tape to better objects in everyday life.

I've always carried around a folder in which I keep all the tools that help me as a journalist - phone numbers, notes, pencil and such - but whenever the folder started to deteriorate because of the rugged use, I always had to buy another.
But not so with the folder I received as a birthday present in 1997. Three months after I started using the folder, a rip opened up the middle of it. I sealed it with a smooth piece of the sturdy, metallic adhesive.

Other rips and tears sprouted up in the folder and I covered each one in turn. The folder was ugly, but the duct tape got the job done.

Now the folder is actually more duct tape than paper. Scientists estimate that my folder will be entirely composed of duct tape by the year 2012.

But recently, I realized that I've been using duct tape blindly all these years. I had absolutely no knowledge of who invented the stuff so I decided to find that answer myself with field research. I wasn't going to use fancy tools like "the Internet" or "encyclopedia books."

This is what I discovered: duct tape was invented by the great Dutch explorer Alexander VanDucTappen, who collected the ingredients from each of the Seven Seas in 1585, on the very same voyage in which he became famous for discovering Portugal and for taming the women of the Amazon.

The legend says that one stormy August night, the oceanic phenomenon which would later become known as "El Ni¤o," severely ravaged VanDucTappen's boat, causing a gaping hole in the side.

Amazingly, the ship didn't sink. But, VanDucTappen's crew who considered their captain an incompetent drunk, turned to mutiny because there was no way to fix the ship. But just as VanDucTappen was about to walk the plank, he pulled out a roll of his then-experimental roll of "DucTapp."

He could have easily used the tape to fix the boat and win back his crew's confidence, but VanDucTappen was a vengeful and foolish man who instead tried to use the tape roll as a bludgeon to beat up 30 angry sailors. Needless to say, VanDucTappen died that day. But before he went down, he made sure that his aggressors were sticky.

About VanDucTappen, well, I'm not even sure that he existed. It's just a story that I heard. Well, actually made up. But it really doesn't matter if the story is true or not. What matters is that we appreciate the magical adhesive concoction.

Screw you, Amazon and Publish America

Don't bother trying to buy my book on Amazon.com anymore. The bungholes no longer sell it or anything else from Publish America, a pseudo self-publisher that prints authors' books on demand for free and gives them a tiny cut of the proceeds. In theory Publish America was a nice option for people like me, who couldn't break down the doors of the publishing mafia but still wanted to make a go of their project without having to plop down thousands of dollars with a true self-publisher.

This really sucks for me, because the opportunity to sell the book on Amazon was the main reason I stopped trying to shop it around and went with Publish America. I think this development violates the spirit, if not the letter (although it hopefully does violate the letter - I need to check) of the agreement. Publish America, which makes most of its money by having writers buy their own stuff in hopes of reselling it, makes you sign on for a seven-year contract.

Both greed-mongering parties are definitely at fault in this mix-up, but I place more of the blame on Publish America. Amazon is the big dog in the yard and can dictate its own terms.

At least "Stormin' Mormon" is still for sale at Barnes & Noble.

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. Zap2it.com 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.

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.

SAMUS ARAN (7/10)
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.

PRINCESS TOADSTOOL (8/10)
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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.

Corality

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.

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.

My 1-year-old video game addict

A comprehensive list of absolutely everything that's more boring than NASCAR

And here we go:

































Uh... still thinking...















I guess that about wraps it up.

Lobsterfest

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.

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.

Please invent!

Someone should invent the cartoon network adult swim show "Comic Stripclub."

Arizona Daily Wildcat Storms Mormon

The Arizona Daily Wildcat's Astrid Duffy reviewed my book today. Here's what she had to say:

"Villarreal manages to balance his characters' opinions of Mormons as annoying with a clear understanding of Mormon principles so that the novel remains fun and humorous rather than sinking into a pit of mean-spirited Mormon bashing, as the plan might suggest.

Also fun is the fact that the novel is set on the UA campus so when the characters rendezvous at O'Malley's or that cute bagel shop north of campus, it is extremely easy to picture them, and rather comforting to hear our hometown (at least for a few years) made immortal in ink.

"Stormin' Mormon" is an easy-to-read romantic comedy with an unusually religious twist, and would be a good book to take on spring break in case of homesickness."

The Simpsons

"The Simpsons" is such an awful show now. I watched last night's episode and felt like I was watching "King of the Hill." By the way, it's amazing how someone can go from making a show so perfect - "Beavis and Butthead" - to such wretched, hacky nonsense.

The sorrow and the pity

After watching Arizona get crushed by Arizona State in basketball today, I'm pretty sure that I alone on the court could run a more effective offense than the entire Wildcat team. Other than Jerryd Bayless, no one on the court is worthy of being drafted by the national sweatmopper league, much less the NBA. If this team flops into the NIT, ruining my annual Vegas trip, I will bet $100 against them in their first round game.

That's m'boy

Last night as I watched Arizona get humiliated by UCLA, trailing by 20 in the first half, I slammed my hand on the floor in disgust. My 1-year-old son, Luke, did the same. How does that make you feel, Kevin O'Neill and company? Your team played so poorly you managed to piss off a toddler whose standards are so low he eats Cheerios he finds underneath coach cushions.

All I could say to him was, "Son, if you think this is disappointing, just wait till you see this program in the first round of the NCAAs."

The 11 hottest actress over age 40 (updated)

At the behest of the good men at the Frank Show, here's my list of the 11 middle-aged thespians you'd most like to rob your cradle.

11. Nicole Kidman
Age: 40
Divorces: 1
There's something weird, distanced and fraudulent about her. Probably the stray Thetans Tom Cruise was never able to rid her of. Cherish No. 9 while you've got it, Nicole, because your pal Naomi Watts is bumping you downward when she hits 40 this year.

10. Elisabeth Shue
Age: 44
Divorces: 0
Because of "The Karate Kid," which forever warped my mind, she will be on this list until she hits 74. And if I'm being honest, probably even long after. It takes a lot to keep Julia Roberts off this list.

9. Jennifer Jason Leigh
Age: 45
Divorces: 0
A dark horse from out of nowhere. It seems you haven't heard from JJL since "Fast Times at Ridgemont High," but she lays waste to Kidman in a head-to-head matchup in "Margot at the Wedding."

8. Gina Gershon
Age: 45
Divorces: 0
A truly ageless reservoir of sexual magnetism of the dirtiest kind. Her oldness oddly adds to her wild appeal.

7. Kristin Davis
Age: 42
Divorces: 0
The class of the otherwise worthless "Sex and the City." Usually packs of attractive ladies hang with a token "ugly one," but she reverses the paradigm as the hot one in a pack of wildebeests.

6. Sandra Bullock
Age: 43
Divorces: 0
She got a late start to her career, starring in"Speed" at age 30, but has always looked seven years younger than she really is. When she was in second grade she must have still looked like a baby, and appeared to be 11 when she graduated high school.

5. Maria Bello
Age: 40
Divorces: 0
She's not afraid to "party," meaning, disrobe for seemingly the majority of her film roles. And why would she be, with a body that's rumored to have ignited the California wildfires?

4. Marisa Tomei:
Age: 43
Divorces: 0
The years have done nothing to stifle the hotness that caused George Costanza to lust over her. Check out "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead" for head-spinning proof.

3. Monica Bellucci
Age: 43
Divorces: 0
It was be a shame she didn't get famous here 20 years ago, so we could have seen her in her prime. Then again, maybe her prime is right now, because it's hard to imagine her looking any better even if you shaved away two decades.

2. Halle Berry
Age: 41
Divorces: 2
An easy and unimaginative choice, sure. But also impossible to argue. I think she'll keep it going for another seven years at least... that is if she can hold off that tragic mental flaw that once allegedly compelled her to attempt suicide.

1. Salma Hayek
Age: 41
Divorces: 0
My mistake for not including Salma in the original post. She is by far the most attractive middle-aged actress on this planet or any other. And she will be at least until 39-year-old Ashley Judd challenges her later this year.

Stormin' Mormon is on Amazon

Check out the link > here. Please help me spread the word.

My book

I've written a novel that's now available for pre-order on publishamerica.com. It costs $19.95 and hits print March 17. I wrote the sucker in a 30-day windsprint back in early '06, and I'm happy to see it finally come to fruition. Here's the synopsis:

"Full-time talk radio host and part-time con-artist Saul Cruz and free-wheeling college student Jerusha Goodman have fallen hard for one another. Problem is, both are tied down in uninspiring relationships to kind but dull people. Since neither is the cheating type, and the thought of dumping their lovestruck sig-o’s cold seems too cruel to fathom, Saul and Jerusha formulate a scam that will allow them to be together. They’ll pretend to be Mormon, suddenly foregoing sex, wine, coffee and R-rated movies, with the goal to irritate their partners away.

The switch is easy for Saul, an agnostic, as well as Jerusha, a Jack Mormon who has drifted from the flock, to the chagrin of her nagging mother. Will the ruse be enough to drive away Shannon, Saul’s doting, baby-talking ex-cheerleader girlfriend and Jared, Jerusha’s live-in blue-collar beau? The answer lies in Stormin’ Mormon, a romantic comedy that’s a religious experience."

In March the book will be available on Amazon and hopefully in a few local book stores. Any help spreading the word would be much appreciated.

And now for a giant-sized look at the cover.

Laziness

A lot of things I want to do and see I actually don't want to do or see because of the hassle involved. I just want the memory of having done so downloaded into my brain. "Total Recall" can't get here soon enough. The only thing that movie got wrong is that people wouldn't pay for that stuff, they'd pirate it like everything else.

One advantage of getting married

Is that you can get your wife to do all your Christmas shopping, but only if you're able to demonstrate profound incompetence at gift giving (very easy for me). Even better, you don't have to buy her anything, because her money is yours, so she's really just buying something for herself through you. No wonder gay people want to get in on this action.

Why won't Boston teams lose ever?

The Red Sox won the world series. The Celtics are 19-2. The Patriots are undefeated. The Bruins have the second best record in the NHL's eastern conference. The Boston Hobgoblins of Major League Soccer have never lost a game (They don't exist, but still, they've never lost). How annoying. It's gotten to the point where I want Boston teams to lose more than my own teams to win. I may have to go into training and become a four sport professional athlete/owner of all pro franchises, trading myself from team to team daily and winning games personally in order to ensure all Boston squads lose their next 50 matchups. Only then will I find happiness in life.

On sugar cookies

Soft sugar cookies are good. but regular, hard sugar cookies, unfrosted or with that detestable, flavorless primary color slop lopped on them are as revolting a reclaimed water. I resent everyone who likes them.

Mike Stoops does not understand the game of football

Dear Mr. Stoops, when you are down by 10 with 2 minutes left, you need two scores to tie the game. It makes sense to kick a field goal rather than wasting time trying to get a touchdown, or worse, going for it on fourth down and failing. I suggest reading "Football for Dummies" over the offseason to familiarize yourself with strategy.

Attention Neil Rackers

Learn how to make a 30 yard field goal, you ignorant choke artist.

The Confederate Flag

I'd like to thank everyone who adorns their pickup trucks with Confederate license plates and decals. You advertise yourself as racist dirtbags, making it easy for everyone who's moved on from the Civil War to know they're disgusted with you without having to waste the time to get to speak with you.

Granted, this message is intended for those who hold the flag is a symbol for "I wish black people were slaves," not those honorable, progressive Confederates* who simply support state rights.

*Just kidding, it's intended doubly for these delusional fools who proudly display the flag - which is as reprehensible as a swastika banner - on invented pretenses.

A list of the only good songs ever made

For the most part, I don't like music. I don't actively despise it - my full-blown musical hatred is reserved for only the greatest evils such as U2, Sean Combs, Bruce Springsteen and nearly all country and death metal, but I'm apathetic to most music in general. Concerts bore me and I can safely say I will never again buy a CD. Very few tunes are worth a $1 download, or even the time it would take to find it on one of the illegal pirate services.

Thus, I see no need to ever buy an 80 gigabyte iPod, because there's no way I could ever fill even 1 gigabyte with songs I respect. Here are the only songs I actually like, and I'm sick of even most of these. (Bear in mind I have either no or awful taste in music, and my ignorance is mostly due to the art form's failure to intrigue me enough to do more research.)

1. Suddenly I See - KT Tunstall. I found it catchy when it first came out but now I'm sick of it, always skip past it on my MP3 player and am considering deleting it.

2. Fidelity - Regina Spektor. I've got a thing for Russian pop I guess.

3. Steady as She Goes - The Raconteurs. Another song I loved at first but now skip every time. Gonna delete it soon unless something changes.

4. They - Jem. I skip past this one 6 out of every 10 times, but when I'm in the mood for its haunting bounciness the tune really does it for me.

5. White Houses - Vanessa Carlton. This is a truly inspired ballad about that precious, unforgettable phase in your life in which you're still a kid but not yet tied down by life's drudgery. It gives me chills whenever I listen to it, which is rarely because usually I'm not equipped to handle the rush so I skip it.

6. Low - Cracker. Grunge at its near best.

7. Sometimes I Don't Mind - Suicide Machines. A funny gimmick tune; a love song written to a dog.

8. Until We Get Caught - Hit the Lights. I fell in love with this one while watching the trailer for "Madden NFL 07." Remember that video game, because there are two others on this list that came from there. If I knew what I was doing I would make a tribute video to this with clips from "300," because the song captures the film's spirit.

9. Stupid Girls - Pink. By far her best song. A direct attack on Paris Hilton and her ilk.

10. Dirty Little Secret - All American Rejects. Great punk.

11. I Met a Girl - Wheat. A whiny, loserish song that pulled me in a few years ago. Probably gonna delete it.

12. All Downhill from Here - Newfound Glory. Pop/punk is my weakness - the closest thing to a genre I like as a whole. Get ready for a bunch more songs just like this.

13. Around the World - ATC. An IBM commercial, I think, made me rediscover this. It's the one that goes lalalalalal and everbyody's singing lalalalala. Good stuff.

14. Is it Any Wonder - Keane. Another "Madden NFL 07" gem. I didn't like it at first but it wore me down.

15. Hollywood - Madonna. Closest thing to a good song Madonna has ever made. I don't hate her, but she's very mediocre. I like this one because she admits what a failure all her movies are.

16. Miss Murder - AFI. I almost never listen to this one, but it's just good enough to stay on my list.

17. Let's Get Retarded - Black Eye Peas. I should get rid of this just because the band is such a sellout for making that alternate, censored version. But I can't.

18. Try - Nelly Furtado. I actually hate this one now. Why don't I drop it? Can't say.

19. La La - Ashlee Simpson. A better song than anything the Beatles ever made. Ashlee really does have talent. Don't care what anyone else thinks.

20. Tune Out - The Format. A song about how awful Phoenix traffic and smoking inside a car are.

21. Sitting, Waiting Wishing - Jack Johnson. A primal howl of unrequited love. Genius.

22. What I've Done - Linkin Park. The lead singer of the band seems like a douche, but I like his brand of bitching. The Transformers movie end credits sold me on this one.

23. Girlfriend - Avril Lavigne. So so good. So so ashamed for thinking so.

24. No Doubt - New. Gwen Stefani is by far the greatest singer to ever live. And she's still not all that great.

25. What's Your Number - Cypress Hill. A funny bullshit bunch of bragadacio about a night that I'm sure never really happened.

26. Cupid's Chokehold - Gym Class Heroes. This one truly defines what love is. It doesn't let you walk on clouds - it's truly incapacitating, grabbing you by the throat.

27. Do You Want to Know a Secret? - Beatles. The only Beatles song you'll find on here. What was the big deal?

28. Bohemian Like You - Dandy Warhols. "Flushed Away," the cartoon rat movie, used this for a chase montage and I scribbled down the lyrics so I could find it. Thank you Google.

29. Hazy Shade of Winter - Bangles. Way better than the verzion sung by dudes.

30. Into the Great Wide Open - Tom Petty. My dad used to hum this song when I was a teenager. Drilled it into my brain.

31. Molly - Sponge. The 16 candles down the drain song. Don't know what it means, but as the lyrics say, "don't ask why."

32. Brain Stew - Green Day. Much of what Green Days does, especially "Time of Your Life" and "When I Come Around," makes me want to puke, but this one is a great song about being worn out and burned to a crisp. It's probably based on drug and booze induced hangovers on tour.

33. Stuck - Stacie Orrico. A one-hit wonder that wasn't even a hit. Kinda sad.

34. I Get Around - Tupac. The greatest hip-hop song ever made.

35. 2Wicky - Hooverphonic. A bunch of sung numbers. Sounds like a trippy Sesame Street thing.

36. Out Here All Night - Damone. Another Madden tune. I thought it was stupid at first, but it grew on me in a huge way. I love its naivete.

37. Blinded by the Light - Manfred Mann's Earth Band. The Xbox 360 launch title "Amped" hooked me on this nonsense.

38. A Whole New World - Aladdin and Jasmine. From probably the sexiest scene of any animated movie. I love the way he makes her feel guilty for cheating on him, and how she's totally willing to ditch Aladdin for his secret identity. Hot.

39. About Her - Malcolm McLaren. "Kill Bill Vol. 1" showed me the light.

40. All the Things She Said - Tatu. There I go with the Russians again. Plus bonus lesbianism and catchy lyrics.

41. America - Bree Sharp. I'm sure she's working at a Motel 6 now as a maid, but she's $16 bucks richer than she would be because I bought her horrible CD off of one good song that was on the radio back in 2000.

42. Angel is the Centerfold - Charlie Daniels Band. Catchy but idiotic lyrics. The guy is a moron for being offended that a schoolmate became a porn princess. Be proud, dude.

43. Angry Johnny - Poe. And Poe, I'm sure, cleans the toilets at the same Motel 6. I'm still pissed at her for canceling a free concert she was going to on campus back when I was in college.

44. Around the World - Daft Punk. No excuses here. I'm a tool.

45. Fly Me to the Moon - Astrud Gilberto. She does it better than Sinatra in her weird foreign accent.

46. Back to Life - Soul 2 Soul. I didn't care for this song when I was a kid. But a commercial a few years ago made me like it.

47. Bandages - Hot Hot Heat. Fast and cool. It'll be my favorite song for a week and then I won't listen to it for 5 years.

48. Because the Night - 10,000 Maniacs. Just begging to play as background music as a montage in a comedy about a farmer who romances a sheep.

49. In the Blood - Better Than Ezra. For many years I held up Ezra as the greatest band in the world. Now, not so much.

50. Big Poppa - Biggie Smalls. The second greatest hip-hop tune ever.

51. For the Longest Time - Billy Joel. He's way, way overrated, but at least he made a couple listenable songs.

52. Blurry - Puddle of Mudd. This one applies to the way so many women felt about me when I was single.

53. What Can I Say - Brandi Carlile. I don't like "Gray's Anatomy," but I caught the episode that featured this song and I was smitten.

54. Breakdown - Tantric. I want this song to play after every touchdown I score in "Tecmo Bowl."

55. Breathe Your Name - Sixpence None the Richer. Breathy and lyrical.

56. Breathless - The Corrs. The NBC ad campaign a few years ago that co-opted this song almost made me dislike it.

57. Brian Wilson - Barenaked Ladies. Don't really understand it, but I still like it. A far better alternative to BNL's "If I Had a Million Dollars."

58. Celebrity Skin - Hole. Courtney Love is so dirty and yet so talented.

59. Christmas Time - Blink 182. A song that encapsulates how I feel about Christmas.

60. Cornflake Girl - Tori Amos. Makes no sense at all.

61. Butterfly - Crazy Town. Didn't like it when it was popular.

62. Cruel Summer - Bananarama. "The Karate Kid" series gave me two songs to love. This was one of them.

63. Crystal Village - Pete Yorn. An aching lament about a faded romance.

64. Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta - Geto Boys. How could you watch "Office Space" and not love this one?

65. Diamonds and Guns - Transplants. References Karl Malone. Badass.

66. Upside Down - Diana Ross. Nothing in "Dreamgirls" could compete with this.

67. Digital Boy - Bad Religion. Philosophical old-school punk is another weakness.

68. Don't Fear the Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult. The mediocre video game "Prey" convinced me to like this by using it in a scene where you get kidnapped by aliens.

69. What Happens Tomorrow - Duran Duran. Their one good song, made decades after everyone stopped caring about them.

70. Every Other Time - LFO. The one good Boy Band song.

71. Extraodrinary - Liz Phair. I liked her moved to pop selloutdom.

72. Fat Lip - Sum 41. The redeemer of the "American Pie 2" soundtrack.

73. Female of the Species - Space. Reminds me of the Koopa Island tune in "Super Mario Kart."

74. Fill it Up Again - Indigo Girls. Too good for its own good.

75. Float On - Modest Mouse. Upbeat and nostalgic.

76. Flood - Jars of Clay. One of two great Jesus Rock songs.

77. Follow You Down - Gin Blossoms. Good stalker tune.

78. Freak of the Week - Marvellous 3. I've been to one of their concerts and bought their CD, just because of this one song.

79. Get Em Outta Here - Sprung Monkey. Fun groove about pimping the streets of San Diego.

80. Girls Not Grey - AFI. Really really bored with this.

81. Good - Better Than Ezra. Reminds me of getting pummeled in my first year of varsity football.

82. Disease - Bad Religion. Oh Bad Religion, you're so deep.

83. Satellite - Guster. Got it from "Martian Child." Probably my favorite song at the moment - absolutely nails how it feels to be a dad.

84. The Sweet Escape - Gwen Stefani. Hate the video, love the tune.

85. Heartache for Everyone - Indigo Girls. A decent second-stringer to "Fill it Up Again."

86. Hit Em Up Style - Blue Cantrell. Never, ever cheat on Blue Cantrell.

87. Hody Hody - Shoe Bomb. A local band no one has heard of or ever will.

88. Glory of Love - Peter Cetera. And the second great Daniel-song, this one from "Karate Kid II."

89. I Do - Lisa Loeb. Oddly, not the only Lisa Loeb song on the list.

90. Nearly Lost You - Screaming Trees. Better than most of the stuff Nirvana made.

91. I Want it All - Warren G. Doesn't everyone?

92. I Wish - Skee Lo. And doesn't every man who's 5-8 wish he was a little bit taller?

93. If I Can Go - Angie Martinez. Spanglish sensation.

94. If I Could Talk I'd Tell You - Lemonheads. "There's Something About Mary" gave me this and one other.

95. Igniton - R Kelly. I refuse to refer to this as a remix. No one has ever heard of the original Ignition, so this is the Ignition of record.

96. Irish Blood English Heart - Morrisey. "FIFA 06" made me fall under the trance of this hate-filled political diatribe.

97. Island in the Sun - Weezer. I already liked it before I saw the movie "Out Cold," but the comedy cemented my adoration.

98. It's All Been Done - Barenaked Ladies. Easygoing groove about a desperate crush that won't be consummated in this life, but maybe has in the past and will in the next.

99. It's Alright It's OK - Leah Andreone. I paid $8 for the single. At the time it was worth every penny.

100. Joyride - Roxette. Liked it a little at age 13, loved in during college when it was played before soccer and baseball games I covered.

101. Jump Right In - The Urge. The theme song for every illicit, ill-advised hookup.

102. Jump Start - The Hang Ups. Kevin Smith made the single greatest musical montage in movie history. The tune plays in "Chasing Amy" as Ben Affleck hangs out with Joey Lauren Adams, desperately hoping he can friend her into a relationship. The chorus goes "Never will regret this..."

103. Kodochrome - Paul Simon. "Cops and Robbersons" made me like it.

104. Lack of Water - Why Store. Should be the theme song of Arizona.

105. Lay Me Down - Live. Reminds me of driving to Phoenix in 110 degrees with no air conditioning.

106. Layla - Eric Clapton. The slow version of this sucks. The unplugged owns all.

107. Let Go - Frou Frou. "Garden State" taught me to appreciate this.

108. Let's Forget About It - Lisa Loeb. There she is again.

109. Let's Make a Deal - Dangerman.

110. Lightning Strikes - Lou Christie. A doo-wop like song that kills.

111. Numb - Linkin Park. "Miami Vice" convinced me.

112. Little Black Backpack - Stroke 9. Reminds me of winning a Scooby-Doo in a carnie game at Magic Mountain.

113. Looks Like They Were Right - Lit. For some reason it seems to be a song about turning 30.

114. Loser - 3 Doors Down. One time a friend of mine sung along with this on the radio with alarming conviction.

115. Love Fool - The Cardigans. Weird song to like, I know.

116. Love You Madly - Cake. Another song about love that isn't as great as it could be.

117. Makin' Money - Handsome Devil. "Out Cold" showed me another awesome punk song.

118. Man Enough for Me - Toni Braxton. I was man enough for you back in '95, Toni.

119. I Love You - Martina McBride. The only country song I like. You could hardly call it country though.

120. Motown Song - Rod Stewart. Really cool cartoon video went with this one.

121. Mr. Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra. The trailer for "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" won me over.

122. The Mummer's Dance - Loreena McKinnit. Reminds me of "The Legend of Zelda."

123. My Boo - Ghosttown DJs. I think it was MTV's "The Grind" that hooked me on this back in high school.

124. Never Let You Go - Third Eye Blind. "Say it isn't So" made me like it.

125. Never Say Never - That Dog. Heard this once on the radio and had to have it.

126. Never You Mind - Semisonic. Much better than "Closing Time," which made me buy the CD.

127. Oi to the World - No Doubt. Weird jangly Christmas song.

128. Over My Head - Lit. The theme song of me becoming a film critic at age 22.

129. I Write Sins Not Tragedies - Panic at the Disco. I refuse to put an exclamation mark after Panic. It's my way of lashing out at the man. I'm bored with the song.

130. Pardon Me - Incubus. Really getting tired of this one.

131. Peaceful World - John Mellencamp. The inverse of "This is Our Country."

132. Playa's Holiday - TNDY. Because every playa needs a holiday.

133. Pretty Deep - Tanya. I heard it at Taco Bell and my friends made fun of me for saying it was a good song.

134. Prophecy - Remy Zero. The American version of "The Last Kiss" introduced me to the song, which I liked better when I thought it went "have sex with me now."

135. Ride Wit Me - Nelly. One of the billion songs about making it big and rubbing it in everyone's face. The best one, I daresay.

136. River of Dreams - Billy Joel. Don't think I've listened to it all the way through in 10 years. Can't let it go though.

137. Roll to Me - Della Mitri. Ah, summer of '95.

138. Romeo's Got Nothin' on Me - KGB. So so so catchy.

139. Round the Way Girl - LL Cool J. When you become famous it's much easier to get some play with the uppity ladies you grew up with, according to Mr. Cool J.

140. Saint Joe on the School Bus - Marcy Playground. Better than "Sex and Candy."

141. Satellite - Dave Matthews. Good violin action.

142. Save Your Love - Bad Boys Blue. Brings to mind my 8th grade crush.

143. Seether - Veruca Salt. A lot of us have something we'd like to have crammed into the lead singer's mouth back int the day.

144. Self Control - Laura Branigan. "Vice City" indoctrinated me.

145. Shadowboxer - Fiona Apple. Whoever dumped you was crazy, Fiona. But then so are you.

146. She's Going to Change the World - Chris Cornell. Women with power can be intimidating.

147. Sheep Go to Heaven - Cake. My atheist friend believed this to be a religious parable.

148. My Favorite Mistake - Sheryl Crowe. Dedicated presciently to Lance Armstrong?

149. Sin So Well - Rebekah. Overpaid for the single of it.

150. Six Feet Deep - Geto Boys. The thought-provoking gangsta jam of 8th grade.

151. In This Life - Chantal. One billion movie trailers can't be wrong.

152. Solsbury Hill - Peter Gabriel. Two billion movie trailers can't be wrong.

153. Sorrow - Bad Religion. My religious beliefs identify fairly strongly with the lyrics.

154. Soft Serve - Soul Coughing. What a metaphor.

155. Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie. It was from "Garden State" I think.

156. Spiderwebs - No Doubt. Like every other dumbass in 1996, I had this as my voice mail intro.

157. Suddenly - Soraya. Reminds me of my cousin's hot friend she brought to Thanksgiving when I was a teenager. I was too shy.

158. Sunday Shining - Finley Quaye. Sounds like Fraggle Rock.

159. Superman - REM. A look inside the minds of 14-year-old comic book obsessives.

160. Swing Low - Hole. Courtney, the chariot needs to swing very low for you.

161. Swing Swing - All American Rejects. Should be played at least once at every baseball game.

162. Take it Off - The Donnas. Even better on "Guitar Hero."

163. Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand. Great PSP promo song. Shouldn'ta dropped it.

164. Creep - STP. Take time with a wounded hand. Don't know what it means. Don't care.

165. Tangled Up in Me - Skye Sweetnam. Another one non hit no wonder.

166. Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus. For the longest time I thought it was sung by a chick.

167. Tonight and the Rest of My Life - Nina Gordon. Some jewelry commercial sold me on it. Argh.

168. The Passenger - Iggy Pop. "Waking Life" trailer, baby. "You're a dreamer? Don't see too many of you around lately."

169. Then the Morning Comes - Smash Mouth. Fell in love hard to this one.

170. Think Twice - Eve 6. Overprotective much?

171. These Words - Natasha Bedingfield. Liked it more before I listened to it 10,000 times. Good song about the creative process.

172. This is the Day - Ivy. "Mary" strikes again.

173. Time and Time Again - Chronic Future. CF makes up for the annoying "Scottsdale Brat."

174. What I Am - Edie Brickell. Not as deep as you think, Edie. But deep enough.

175. Tropicalia - Beck. The theme song for overpriced cruises.

176. Underground - Ben Folds Five. High school losers unite.

177. Unpretty - TLC. Their only good song.

178. Video Killed the Radio Star - Presidents. Punk remake bested the original.

179. Waltz for a Night - Julie Delpy. "Before Sunset" is one of the greatest movies.

180. What I Didn't Know - Anthaneum. My apartment neighbor played with my heart.

181. What You Waiting For - Gwen Stefani. Reminds you to get your ass in gear with creative projects before you're too old.

182. Yeah Whatever - Splendor. An anti love song.

183. When I Grow Up - Garbage. I like it more through the eyes of my son.

184. You Get What You Give - New Radicals. Way overplayed, but it's a part of me.

185. Your Woman - White Town. A little too freaky, but steals its beat from the "Star Wars" theme.

186. Youth of the Nation - P.O.D. That other good Christian song.

Coining a new term: Toison.

You read it here first: From now on, all recalled Chinese death toys will be known as Toison (also spellable as "Toyson." That is all.

Time keeps on slippin'

The older you get, the faster everything speeds up. The effect is good in a way, because it makes the "This is Our Country" commercials and Arizona Cardinals losses speed by faster, but on the other hand it also makes the things you want to spend a little more time with - like your 20s - vanish all too quickly. I feel like I'm on that amusement park ride that goes in circles faster and faster until I'm pinned up against the side and the bottom drops out and I bite a gash out of the inside of my cheek.

As time continues to speed up and death draws closer, I become more and more convinced that TV sports and video games are a waste of time, and that by spending time staring at a TV in anger over an ultimately meaningless game people a thousand miles away from me are playing, or zoning out with a guitar-shaped controller in my hand, failing for the 30th time in one hour to get pass one song I'll never have a chance of conquering, I'm squandering what little time I've been given. And yet as I age I'm even more drawn to piddling distractions, as if they're safety blankets I grasp and cower under in order to shelter my senses from the inevitable.

And yet none of this is tragedy. Mortality is simply a plot device that adds a little sense of urgency to what would otherwise be an inconsequential, unending existence. Besides, living forever in a world that allows John Mellencamp songs to be played ad nauseum in Chevy commercials wouldn't be worth it. Those Spaniards who looked for the Fountain of Youth were dumbasses. And so was Darren Aronofsky for making that horrible, unintelligible film "The Fountain." You know who I respect, though? Those intrepid souls who cheer for winning NFL teams and are able to pass "Guitar Hero III."