Everyone Was Cavemans

Happy Earthmas 2011!

As we get ready to take up arms for our annual New Year's Flogging, let us reflect on the truth, as ugly as it may be. New Year's is really just Christmas Part II. I know what's reluctantly about to slip from your quivering lips: But New Year's is Non-Denominational, and is therefore Atheistically Sacred! Well, I call Bullshit... we measure years in relation to Jesus. AD. Anno Domini. In the year of our lord.

And it seems that just before Jesus, BC, everyone was cavemans. Perhaps Jesus came along and waved his magic dinner at some neanderthals and Poof, civilization. Probably not, but he did come along and we did start counting. Now we're up to about 2011.

In thinking about this, I decided to google Jesus Year. Turns out it's an actual thing, and I'm about a year and a half away from mine - which fills me with sadness juice. Such is life.

Anyway, all that is moot as long as we get indigestion from the many gallons of champagne, make noise, drop balls and play kissy-face with strangers. That's what New Year's Eve is all about, right? Here's to new beginnings, old beginnings, bygones, resolutions, etc... Watch out for the fuzz, keep your head on straight and look out for those with herpes - because at the end of the count-down it's no holds barred and you're one greasy smooch away from starting 2011 off with a hefty Valtrex bill.

How to Survive the Holiday Season

By the time you read this, it will be too late...

For many, the holiday season can be a time of great rejoicing (this profound mass psychological imbalance was caused some years ago by a rogue voodoo priest who cursed the winter solstice). For the rest of us, however, the holidays descend like a Chinese Dragon, breathing fire and destroying everything we love. The following survival guide should be laminated and kept in your wallet.

The Company Christmas Holiday Party - It's a Trap!

For the uninitiated, the Company Holiday Party seems like a great opportunity to rub elbows with higher-ups and get some good team player or company man points. This line of thinking is flawed, and it's exactly what they want you to believe. If they really wanted to rub elbows with you, why do they have clipboards, and why are they making notes on your conversations? Why then, as the night goes on, are they watching angrily from behind a bottle of Old Grand Dad whiskey?

Be warned - this is when they decide how to thin out the herd. The libations are just fool's juice, and this is the Great Test. Fun Fact: 90% of Corporate Management carries a concealed Taser during holiday parties to keep the rowdy worker bees at bay, and for quick egress from boring conversations. Most work related tasings occur between December 20th and January 1st.

Shopping - The Deadliest Game

Being out on the road, traveling from store to store hunting for bargains - this is when you are most at risk... you are not the only hunter. There is an unknown active ingredient in most commercial egg nog and egg nog flavored products that causes severe psychotic lapses in approximately 70% of the population. Some symptoms include irritability, sudden rage, disorientation, loss of hearing, and an insatiable lust for human blood.

Add to this the profound sensory overload of the commercial jungle of the average shopping mall or Walmart, and you've got an army of blood-crazy, red bulled, shop-til-you-drop, free-range soccer moms charging headlong into battle with the heads of the fallen on poles, smeared with entrails. Fun Fact: Most holiday related deaths aren't the result of frantic parents curb-stomping each other to get the last Cabbage Patch doll or Fondle Me Elmo... for the past ten years, the leading cause of holiday related death has been disgruntled children garroting their sleeping parents for not getting them the season's hottest toy.

Consider yourselves warned. My advice? Hunker down and drink heavily, and just maybe, by some stroke of luck or even an act of god, you might just make it to 2011 alive.

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Pocket Kanye

Introducing the Pocket Kanye - the world's first travel-sized Kanye West. Kanye's dropped out of college and into your pocket! At a mere 4.5" tall, Pocket Kanye is short on stature but big on cred!

Pocket Kanye is perfect for use in the home or office. Invite Pocket Kanye to dinner parties. Tell Pocket Kanye your secrets. Use Pocket Kanye to interrupt boring conversations. Follow Pocket Kanye on Twitter. Pocket Kanye may be larger than life, but he's gentle enough for everyday use.

Each Pocket Kanye comes equipped with: venetian blind sunglasses, fashionable printed t-shirt, varsity jacket, questionable jewelry, denim trousers and Attitude!

Are you sick and tired of waiting on line to get into that hip new club? No problem - Pocket Kanye is on the guest list! Trouble with the ladies? As Pocket Kanye's Wingman you can enjoy his high quality cast-asides! Streets is tough? Pocket Kanye's got your back!

Auto-Tune not included. Pocket Kanye is not for everyone. Pocket Kanye is not recommend for use by teenage girls as they may become pregnant with child. Pocket Kanye was developed by a team of scientists by splicing Kanye West and Leprechaun DNA. To that end, Pocket Kanye is to be considered Irish for both Legal and Tax purposes. Pocket Kanye does not suffer fools. Do not crush Pocket Kanye. Pocket Kanye will not, under any circumstances, let you finish. It is not advisable to bring Pocket Kanye to Disney World, as he has a lifetime ban and may result in your forcible expulsion. Kanye West is no Q-Tip. Pocket Kanye may challenge you, at any time, to a game of his choosing. Should Pocket Kanye win the challenge, he is considered free and may choose to move back to one of his many luxurious homes. If at any point Pocket Kanye becomes wise to your games, Pocket Kanye will likely smack a bitch.

Five Mrs. Claus'!

The story of Christmas as told by the lawn decorations at the house down the street...

Once there was a fanciful baby Jesus who lived in a small town in Connecticut. So fancy was he that a crowd of five gathered around his West-Side manger where they were mesmerized into staring at him for all of December. DCF had taken the month off, so his cheeky bare-assedness brought no question upon the fitness of his parents.

This spectacle drew the Three Wise Snowmen out of hiding, who had journeyed from some distant land like Taiwan or Korea. They came bearing gifts such as Frankincense, Myrrh, and Penguins. When they arrived at the manger, there was trouble afoot - there had been a threat from the North. Seven Santas had descended upon the manger and tried to smoke out the sweet little baby Jesus by blasting fifty year old Christmas music all day and all night, Koresh/Waco/Davidian style.

The Snowmen and Penguins fought valiantly against the seven deadly Santas, six sacks of presents, FIVE MRS. CLAUS'! Four tannenbaums, three glowing reindeer, two inflated Homers and an army of elves and barber poles.

How to Karate a Cyclist

As a pedestrian, it may become necessary to dispatch an arrogant or smug cyclist. It's happened to the best of us; a brisk walk on a glorious, crisp autumn day is suddenly changed dramatically and without warning by someone riding a fixed gear bicycle, perhaps through a puddle, bullying you off your path. The speed with which the rider passes is an insult to your pedestrianity, and should be considered an attempt to shame and humiliate you.

I mention fixed gear cyclists specifically because they are a special breed - they achieve a sense of superiority and authenticity though excessive, inefficient leg pumping. It is important to note that deep in their hearts they are cynics, so they have a considerable weakness. When taking down a fixie, try using that to your advantage. Bear in mind that these techniques will be equally effective against other types of cyclists, including mountain bikers and bmxers.

First assess the cyclist. When you knock someone off a bicycle, they will typically become irate and/or discourteous. Will the rider's size or demeanor be an issue when they confront you on foot? If so, it might be best to wait for the next one. Always assume above average leg strength.

When you've found an acceptable cyclist, remember Newton's first law of motion: An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force. As the cyclist approaches, scream loudly and lunge directly at them in a twitchy, wild motion - be the unbalanced force. As long as you block their path, it isn't necessary to make contact... this experience won't be typical of an afternoon's ride and should be sufficient to throw the cyclist off balance, causing a crash.

Often times, the surprise dismount will be satisfactory in appeasing one's desire for carnage, what with the skinned knee and bruised ribs. But what of the cyclist who commands a more dramatic experience? Play dirty. Throw dirt in the cyclist's eyes, or kick wildly at his balls. You've already knocked him off his bike, why fight clean now?

Republican Party Vs. 9/11 First Responders

The following letter was slid under my door by WikiLeaks founder, Julian Assange, with this note attached:

Dear Maxx,

I've turned to you because I appreciate and respect your journalistic veracity - you are the only one I can trust with this delicate leak. Please see that this letter from the Republican Party to the 9/11 First Responders sees the light of day.

Your Close Personal Friend and Confidant,

Julian Assange

The letter from Senate Minority Leader and Master Cocaine Republican, Mitch McConnell:

Dear 9/11 First Responders,

I understand that you and your people are experiencing health issues related to your heroic duty in the days, weeks and months following the attacks on 9/11. My heart goes out to you and your struggle. I wish I could help you by motivating at least two Republicans to support the 9/11 First Responders Healthcare Bill, but it cannot be...

This bill contradicts many of the key strategies that we intend on employing in the near future. The most prevalent of which is our Heath Control Strategy. The HCS represents a bold new kind of politics in which we use Health, and people's access to Healthcare, to control the masses. We mustn't give it a way... we are moving to encourage notion that health is a Privilege, not a Right!

We will also need to save a good deal of our political moxie for our upcoming push to Repeal Women's Suffrage. They've had the vote for too long, and we can no longer allow their logic and passion to sully our political process - it's a Man's Game and they're making it no fun. It will be an uphill battle on the face of it, but we are confident that we should be able to reverse this flawed piece of policy by 2012.

Lastly, it is important to remember that 9/11 is in the past. While we appreciated being able to use your face as an icon to rally the dim behind our ideals, the mojo has run thin - we're on to bigger and better things. This legislation could have easily passed, with or without riders, at any point between 2001-2008... but that was then. The bus has left the station - we Need you to get off and climb under. It is the only way...

Sincerely,

Senate Minority Leader
Mitch McConnell
Republican, Kentucky

Giving Stuff to People in Person

Hi, my name is Maxx. I send lots of email attachments, that's why I invented Giving Stuff to People in Person. Giving Stuff to People in Person is a great way to transfer documents, information, personal information, cave drawings, actual things that exist, jokes, and communications.

Are you frustrated with the time it takes to attach files to emails? Does that snide little paperclip icon anger or provoke you? Do you feel frightened by the bigger paperclip man that tries, in vain, to help you with simple word processing tasks? Well, that last one is irrelevant here, but if the other things are on your naughty list this year, I suggest trying Giving Stuff to People in Person this holiday season!

With Giving Stuff to People in Person, I've created a whole new way to conduct work-related and personal business! Say goodbye to clicking that little paperclip! No more searching through file folders to find the file you wish to attach! Save valuable time and money! Order now!

Giving Stuff to People in Person is not responsible for loss of life due to shady dealings with unsavory types. Giving Stuff to People in Person is not recommended for children under 5 years old. Should you be given stuff in person by another person, be advised that the other person may have ulterior motives. When Giving Stuff to People in Person, be aware of your surroundings - the item you wish to transfer may be inappropriate. The elderly may not understand the concept of Giving Stuff to People in Person, as it overlaps with actually giving stuff to people in person, which is their standard form of document and goods transfer. Giving Stuff to People in Person is, and always will be, the preferred method of STD transmission.

In Search of: Office Bass

"I passed through the seven levels of the Candy Cane forest, through the sea of swirly twirly gum drops, and then I walked through the Lincoln Tunnel." - Buddy, Elf

Stalking the halls of the office, mercilessly, instinctively. Follow your nose. Don't make any sudden movements. Peering over the fabric-skinned wooden divider you see them there, gathered around a plate of cookies, pecking at them like vicious chickens. There is little room for error. You look for a diversion... a fire alarm, a phone to page them with, something... Then, suddenly, they notice you. Your heart skips a beat, your life flashes before your eyes. Soon you are the plate of cookies.

There is no shame in poaching tasty treats throughout the office - tis the season, right? I am a connoisseur of cubicle cookies, public pastries, communal cakes, etc...

Earlier this week, I stumbled upon a basket of treats... rather, I was presented with it - like an Oscar. This is the most elusive type of treat, the delivered good. I was immediately posed with a dilemma: to secret this new found booty, or to share. It was a painful choice...

Twelve Days of Excess

Ten lords a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids a-milking...

The Twelve Days of Christmas are a direct extension of the Bigger is Better ethos that governs Christian thought. Uh-oh. The Christians, not to be out-done, see the eight days of Hanukkah as a threat to their monopoly of the season - and address it accordingly. Oh boy. Thus the Twelve Days of Christmas - because twelve is clearly more than eight. Here we go. 

Hanukkah I understand. Long ago, some Maccabees had only enough lamp oil to last one night - but it lasted eight nights, therefore cause for celebration. I posit that during these eight nights, humor was invented. Upon seeing this miracle, the head Maccabee, Judah, exclaimed "I love lamp!" A dramatization of this moment was later adapted for the movie Anchorman, the Legend of Ron Burgundy.

On the other hand, the Twelve Days of Christmas is just a party. It starts on Jesus' birthday (but not really), and lasts thirteen days (math?), ending on the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th. The modern American version of this is known as the Nine Days of Walmart. It starts on December 24th, and lasts until January 1st. The holiday is celebrated by drinking copious amounts of booze, eggnog and Coca-Cola, while eating too much ham, cookies and candies, and singing about fictional people (Santa), fiction food (sugar plums) and fictional events (Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer).

Weaponized Whipped Cream

Pure, sweet creamery evil...

Last night at J. Timothy's for dirt wings and beverages, I ate the whipped cream off the top of Jenny's martini. It wasn't regular whipped cream. At first I questioned whether capilary action could have drawn the alcohol up into the whipped cream... but why did it taste like pure grain, and why did it burn? The waitress confirmed that it was weapons grade whipped cream.

I can see the value of a boozey blanket for a tasty beverage, but this fluffy stuff is not to be taken lightly.

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Modern Shamanism

“A warrior acts as if he knows what he is doing, when in effect he knows nothing...” - Carlos Castaneda

Shaman, not to be confused with She-man (that is a whole other topic), is a word not commonly used nowadays. Mysticality has gone by the wayside due, directly, to a lack of commercial presence. But it's more prevalent you might think - how else could you explain the rise of the celebutante. We don't openly discuss Walmart's voodoo practice of raising the dead and training them to be greeters, and only hint at, in hushed tones, Chili's late night ritual of slaughtering stray dogs and lightly dusting the wait staff's aprons with cocaine. But that doesn't mean it doesn't happen.

I was once given some sage advice from a well practiced and battle-worn shaman in Hartford who was working at a 7-11. I was hungry and requested the last Big Bite hot dog. He said "You don't want THAT one. That one's for the after-party boys." By the way his mischievous eyes beamed, I knew that he had crafted it for the late-night, last-call crowd. But behind the smile there was hidden wince of pain - on some lonely night long ago he had been rolled by a few popped collar types, and had since been serving his revenge. On further inspection of the Big Bite, it was nothing more than a dried and wrinkled gorilla dong - clearly an ingredient of witchcraft. I would hate to see what the bun looked like.

So You've Just Been Pulled Over

"Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a highway traffic cop. A normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop heart. Make the bastard chase you. He will follow..." - Hunter S. Thompson

Being pulled over is a menacing experience - just the very nature of it... an authority figure sneaks up behind and stays there, then you get in trouble. A lot of the time it will cost money, and god forbid you are in actually in the act of a misdemeanor, or worse, a felony. You're left badly shaken and filled with unnatural remorse. That's why I've decided to put together this little guide to being pulled over - to be prepared is to be fore-armed. Feel free to print out a copy of this and keep it in your glove box.

So you've been pulled over...
Take a deep contemplative breath. It is of the utmost importance that you realize that you are in control of the situation. Act accordingly.

A traffic cop is a lot like a...
Tyrannosaurus Rex - if you'll remember from the movie Jurassic Park, their eyesight is based on motion. You'll want to make a lot of sudden movements to draw him in. If you don't do this, you may have to wait quite a while for the cop to confront you. You've probably taken this time to reach into your glove box and retrieve this handy advice sheet. While you're in there, get your insurance and registration information - you will need these to bribe the cop.

Occasionally, a cop will take minutes to get out of his car to greet you. During this time he is likely finishing a hot cup of cocoa. To get his attention and move the process along, try leaving your car in drive and release the brake. The slow, forward motion of your car will illicit urgency in the cop, and he will surely step out of his car to greet you, speeding up the process.

When the cop gets to your window...
Be coy. You'll want to leave your window up and ignore him during this first interaction. Wait until he knocks on your window - making him work for it will serve to excite him and get him ready for your next move.

Roll down the window and immediately start asking questions. Avoid topics like the reason he's pulling you over, you'll get there soon enough. Ask him deep, probing personal questions like: Are you married? How was your relationship with your father? What is your political affiliation? What is your name and ID number?

At this point the cop will ask you one of two questions...
Remember, you can leave at any point in this process.

Question 1: Do you know why I pulled you over?
If you know the answer and it was a minor traffic violation such as running a stop sign or speeding, say "Yes". Tell him the violation, then giggle. If you know the answer and it was a major violation or a hit and run, exit the car as quickly as you can - you'll want to be on your feet. If you don't know the answer, say "No... I suppose you were just bored and lonely. You look like you could use a hot meal. Let's go get you something to eat."

Question 2: Have you been drinking tonight, sir?
Regardless of whether you've been drinking at all, say "Yes. I had a few back there." Point your thumb behind you, suggesting that that's all behind you. At this point, the cop may perform a field sobriety test. You will need a pen for the written portion, so quickly grab one from your glove box before exiting the vehicle. It is important that you do some stretches before you take the test - to get the blood flowing.

Assuming you've passed the sobriety test...
At this point he's asked you to wait in your car while he writes you a warning, ticket or summons. The truth is, he doesn't want to do the paperwork as much as you don't want to get the ticket. Do the cop a favor and scram. If you get away, he can't issue the ticket - this is a win-win!

Following this simple advice could save you from a costly ticket. For an advanced experience, spend some time calling children and dogs sir. Using this tone and calling the cop sir may help expedite this process.

Scuddled a Conifer

"My maiden aunt's mind is vicious, well maybe just a half a drink more..."
- Baby it's Cold Outside, Bing Crosby

We, like most Americans, have scuddled a conifer into our house. I shit you not, there is an entire tree in my house - everything but the root structure and squirrels... and soon we shall hang geegaws from it. But this, like most things in my house, must be kept an absolute secret - the last thing I need is to be overrun by neighborhood children foraging for presents. A villainous lot they are - pointy teethed little monsters with Stuff Lust in their eyes, poised and ready to spring with their wall-crawling action and kung-fu grip.

To fend off such paralyzing fears, we shall chug gallon upon gallon of eggnog watered down with cheap booze. Let our chins drip of this, the best nog of the season.

WikiLeaks for Dummies

A brief synopsis...

WikiLeaks is a website dedicated to disseminating sensitive information, typically whistle blowing type information. They got their hands on some Cables - IE communications - from various American Diplomats, and put them on the internet. This is the equivalent of publishing a high school girl's text messages and passing them around the school.

Sure the information is sensitive - but in ten years the event will be remembered as a bold move to create transparency in American Government.  So let's not get all upset just yet.

As for the fella in charge, Julian Assange, he is not American, nor is he living anywhere near America. This means two things: 1 - He can't be tried for treason. 2 - He can't site freedom of speech. The backlash for the Big Dump will be swift and painful. This happening is seen by the American Government as Big-Time Enemy stuff. This guy is hosed. From now on, everything he touches will turn to poison. No country will help him because it could have easily been their cables.

Who knows if the Sex Crime charges against him are true - it doesn't matter. What may or may not have happened between Julian, two women, an ostrich and a frozen turkey is of little concern - it's certainly nothing Australia would extradite over. This is just the neat little bow tied on the fact that he has been bundled up and handed over. He has allowed himself to become an information martyr to the US. When the wash finally gets pulled from the line, we won't have the same access to cheap and easy information that we did for this one shining moment in history. Here lies the Spirit of the Internet 1989*-2010. May it rest In peace.

* Let's not split hairs here.

The Aftermath

"Swept away, briskly, go the bones of the dead..." - Me, in a rare fit of Poetry

The aftermath of a dinner party is a cruel thing indeed. Maybe you were falling asleep on your wife's shoulder late that night, maybe there were still guests. Trying to scratch together how many glasses of wine you drank, how many bottles of beer - these are bad ideas, futile. Was there cake? There is no way to be certain. Where's the furniture? The undeniable truth is that yes, all the furniture has been rearranged, and that things won't go back to normal for days.

As much as you want to put everything back immediately, day one of the aftermath is shot, useless, no-good. If you're lucky, you might remove the evidence of food on day two. Might. That's fine, the guests have already left - who's to judge.

Day three. Courage, embarrassment and the sense that you can't live like this anymore all provide the right brain chemicals to finally get things done. This is when you get your life back. The tables are moved, the chairs arranged, things may even get washed. Now I'm not saying it's going to be perfect, but at least it's a start.

TSA Sexual Revolution

"No place for hidin' baby, no place to run, you pull the trigger of my love gun..." - Kiss

It is no surprise that National Opt Out Day didn't work. In theory, it made sense - the American Public, invigorated by inconvenience and the vague notion that everyone's rights were being trampled, was called to action to Opt Out of the new Airport Body Scan on the most traveled day of the year. This was supposed to bring all travel to a grinding halt and forcing the TSA to abandon the widely criticized Scans.

There was no crash, no grinding halt - and it much had to do with misinformation. The day picked for National Opt Out Day was November 24th, the day before Thanksgiving, which is widely regarded as the most traveled day of the year. Not so according to the Bureau of Transportation Statistics, who says statistically the most traveled day of the year is the Sunday after Thanksgiving. That's boo number one.

Boo number two is that Americans, when called to action over the internet, will make huge promises to the idea that they would never keep in real life - that's the beauty of the internet. So it was a case of too little too soon... And yet the National Opt Out Day Website claims that it was a "rousing success," siting, as failed causes often do, that the purpose of the event was to "raise awareness."

Well folks, this awareness raising failure doesn't have to be in vain. I have devised a brilliant follow up to the event and I think we could even get corporate sponsorship. The target would be the day after Christmas - the Second Most Traveled Day of the year according to the BTS. The plan is this: Sildenafil Citrate, trade name - Viagra. Every traveler takes the recommended dosage of Viagra a few hours before arriving at the airport. Whether you Opt In or Opt it is of little concern, the boners will have spoken - either in the form of an erotic TSA photo or a romantic pat down. We shall call it National Opt Up Day.

Ladies, I know what you're thinking: Should women participate by taking Viagra, too? Absolutely. Viagra is proven to increase female arousal, so women can act as Pheromone Beacons, mixing with the already potent Male Pheromone Fog, producing a Pheromone Cocktail that would whip the whole Airport into a frenzy. It'd be like the 60's all over again. Sodom and Gomorrah.

I suppose the next step would be to get Pfizer on board. They could help with advertising, perhaps supply samples to the masses. After all this would make brilliant ad campaign for them. Invest now: PFE (NYCE).

EDIT: Thanks Jim for pointing out this relevant link Bad Touch!

The Tactical Sweaters are GO!

"With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he’ll never know." - Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Good News: My woolen Tactical Sweaters* arrived via UPS yesterday after a long and sordid affair. Backorder my ASS. Took about a month for them to come in, but such is to be expected when ordering surplus sweaters from the British Government.

Note the aggressive elbow padding, ideal for diving behind cover. Not clearly visible in the picture are the shoulder grab handles - some call them epaulettes, but I call them Adventure Straps. They seem to be designed to secure a backpack to your shirt. Sure it's scratchy, but that's a Feature meant to strengthen your resolve. One thing is for certain... this is built to withstand the most questionable hijinks.

*Strange Aryan sweater man looking off into the middle distance not included.

The Tequila Party?!

No salt, no lime, just Latin Fury...

Early reports are coming in on this Tequila Party - which is essentially an offshoot of the Democratic Party, an ironic nod to the Tea Party AND an A-Team of Latin Politicians. Somewhere out in the deserts of Nevada, just outside the Las Vegas city limits, this kernel has been planted, and plans are being laid. Although the name is a little Daily Show, the idea is pure truth.

This is an important time for the Latin vote as it is gaining considerable steam. Immigration legislation is obviously an important touchstone in that community, and these people don't feel their voices are being represented by the Democratic Party - where they've thrown much of their weight. So the question remains: How and when are they going to rise up and steamroll the Border Patrol? 

So here we are, with a newly minted Tequila Party, a potential Patron Summit and a pending quiver of racial slurs that haven't even been invented yet... Here's what I know will happen: they will change their name from the Tequila Party to something more realistic but opposers will invariably call it the Taco Party no matter what they name it. These truths are self evident. What isn't plainly clear is that this will gain momentum, be branded more so than Obama's run at the White House and eventually spark a new Spanglish TV network (think WB but with mixed language programing).

Not the Only Me

One of these things is not like the others...

A few years ago I hunted down everyone with my name on the Faceyspace and friended them - it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I thought it might be cathartic but was sadly mistaken. I thought; why not explore exactly what is in a name? When you get right down the meat of it, the answer is: Nothing. Nothing is in a name, these people are hardly me. Kudos to them.

Odds are they won't rupture a spleen or perform a wedding. They won't ever work in TV or play music in front of a thousand people. They might start a blog, but it won't be any good. They are on a different path. They might find happiness or instigate social change... but I suppose that's beside the point.

There have been countless times when I have been tricked by the Faceyspace into thinking I like something that I know in my heart that I do not. Is someone sneaking onto my account or is it one of the others?

Of the collective me there is a football player, a regular dude, and a German. I think I have the most in common with the Kraut. Although I cannot understand the Deutsch of his posts, I like to imagine he has a brilliant sense of humor and is a real mind for the times.

Get Hypnotized

And now for the hypnosis... 

Good, you're sitting. Relax. Let your mind wander. The red tension melts away and becomes yellow, then a light baby blue. Imagine my calm, soft voice. Now I want you to slowly count backwards from twenty. Slowly - nineteen, eighteen, seventeen... sixteen, fifteen, fourteen... very good. Your eyelids are heavy, deep breath. Thirteen, twelve... breathe. Eleven, ten, imagine your eyes closed. The weight of your mind drifts away like a feather on the wind, evaporating into the ether. You're doing well. The taste of warm bread. Nine, eight... seven, six. Deep breath. Fluffy clouds. Warm sun. Easy... five, four, three... two, one. Your life is beginning. Blue skies, fields of golden wheat... grasshoppers humming. You are totally at ease, your mind is free, empty. The next time you see me, you will buy me a beer. Great, you've done good. You feel refreshed, relaxed, invigorated.

The Story of Thanksgiving

Have a seat, I am going to tell you the story of the first Thanksgiving...

A long time ago, several boatloads of Pennsylvania Dutch set sail from Europe on a spirit quest to Mecca, as pilgrims tend to do. Due to a grievous navigational error, instead of the Middle East they ended up in a land without spices - America. Or as the natives called it: The United Tribes of Birds and Cats and the Fruit of the Land.

These Amish folk were quite hungry after their long and harrowing journey. They were relieved to find new friends in the Natives, whom they called Indians, who were willing to help them out with food and shelter. Upon being described as Indians, the Natives quickly corrected them, gently but firmly pointing out that they were not from India. The Amish then called them Native Americans, but that was also discarded on the grounds that there was no such thing as America yet. They all eventually settled on Injuns and moved forward.

A large feast was had to welcome the Amish folk, who regaled the Natives with tales about how they belonged to a very prude sect of Christianity. It was a glorious feast with good times had by all... it was so much fun that they all decided that they should hang out again some time.

That time soon came when the Amish knocked on the Natives' door and said; "Oh, hey. It's us, the Pilgrims. From before... remember that dinner party? Right, well we were thinking about making a country with cities and towns out of all this wilderness, wanna come?"

The Natives refused on the basis that the land belongs to the land and cannot be owned by people, and tried to convince the Amish of this. This angered the mighty Amish, who, in retaliation, bombed the Natives with poison blankets and corralled them into large fenced-in areas called Reservations (essentially little pockets of Native people walled off from the rest of society and governed under different control - kind of like the Vatican, only with more casinos and less Popes).

So every year we reenact that meal not only to pay tribute to those brave Pennsylvania Dutch who made cities and towns out of all this wilderness, but also to rub it in to all the Natives who's land was stolen.

Reflections on Four Loko

I had just finished the last sip of my first Four Loko when the spiders began climbing out of the sleeves of my red flannel shirt - thousands of them...

My first mistake was choosing the purple flavor. The first sip was offensive, worse than any Mad Dog 20/20, and hit my tongue swiftly and without remorse like a saccharin toilet bomb. It took me an hour and a half just to pour it into my belly, during which time I felt little effect. It was immediately following the last sip that all of my motor skills simply fell away - I barely had time to put the empty can down.

My second mistake, in my best estimate, was the five or so beers I drank after it. But as with any good mistake, I took something meaningful and wise away from it. I discovered that when you mix just enough quality IPA with a can of Miller High Life, you get a different animal all together; a strange hybrid beer with a fantastic flavor and excellent mouth feel. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to replicate the results, so for all I know it could have all just been a mirage created by the Malt Liquor.

I suppose my third and final mistake of the evening was riding that unicorn home. It was a rough ride for sure, and horribly cold.

Body Scan Hot Pocket

Introducing the Freedom Pocket.

Nestle International has teamed up with the L3 Communications (makers of the TSA approved ProVision airport body scanner) to bring you the cutting edge in secure foods - the Hot Pocket brand Freedom Pocket. The Freedom Pocket utilizes the otherwise wasted millimeter radio waves of the ProVision to cook the sandwich in the supplied sleeve, all while your body is being imaged by the TSA.

Simply remove the Freedom Pocket from the plastic wrapping, slide it into the supplied crisping sleeve and place the sandwich in your pocket before your turn at the body scanner. By the time you leave the security check point, you'll have a fragrant, hot and tasty, ready-to-eat Freedom Pocket to enjoy.

Due to the unique nature of the technology used to cook the Freedom Pocket, the only flavors currently available are Siesta Rice & Beans and Jazzy Jamaican Jerk Chicken. Nestle is dedicated to developing new and interesting flavors for the Freedom Pocket line of Hot Pockets, but due to TSA regulations the following flavors are considered a National Security Risk and will not be available: Curry Chicken, Steak, Broccoli & Cheese, Ham & Cheese, Avocado Chicken, Korean Barbecue, Breakfast Egg & Bacon, Turkey, Venison and Tuna Melt.

Simmer Down Economics

No more bad town...

I just invented the answer to all our economic woes - a way to redistribute wealth in a meaningful way... and it's brilliance lies in it's simplicity. I propose a yearly compensation cap of $5,000,000 for everyone. It is an undeniable truth that anyone who is being compensated more than five million dollars in a calendar year is probably doing something either very illegal or patently un-American.

I shall call my prophecy Simmer Down Economics.

Here's how it works: If any person is compensated during a tax year a total value exceeding five million dollars, they will be brought up on Federal charges, black listed, and the standard punishment of such an instance will be a 200% tax on every dollar over five million (example: someone making $6,000,000 would subject to an immediate tax of $2,000,000, then be taxed at the standard rate for the remaining four million). That covers Americans living and paying taxes in the US, with one or more compensatory source equaling a value greater than $5,000,000. It is important to note that because the calculation is based on compensation and not actual pay, it limits other gimmies like stock options and private jets.

To cover foreign executives, any company compensating any individual in a value greater than five million dollars will be brought up on federal charges, be forced to endure a lengthy and very public flogging, be subject to potential asset seizing and be on the hook for no less than 200% of the total compensation (example: a foreign executive making $6,000,000 would cost the company hefty legal fees as well as an additional $12,000,000 in taxes).

The genius of the plan is that by forcing the richest companies to limit the amount of compensation they distribute to their top-tier employees, the companies will have these assets freed up to do any of the following: pass savings onto consumers, pay lower level employees more, or spend on capital equipment and/or research and development - all of which stimulate the economy. It's like trickle down economics, but without all the offensive math and backroom slap and tickle.

Worst case scenario? Companies still pay execs exorbitant amounts of money, and they all get taxed painfully, thus providing funding for such frivolity as education, heath care, roads... maybe paying off the National Debt. Making America better by holding the greed mongers accountable.

Notes on the Top Hat Set

Don't you dare plug the hole in this silly rowboat...

Somebody let the pigs out of the blanket. Yesterday I read this article by Matt Taibbi regarding the remaining paperwork on the banking crisis, swift justice, homelessness, bad financial instruments, etc... over on Rolling Stone and I think it's safe to say that we're all goners. With the high level of foreclosures due to anything-goes banking, the amount of bad credit that's out there... what can credit even mean anymore?

Remember the early 2000's, when the streets were flooded with men in Top Hats and Monocles, wearing Tuxedos, running around carrying big $ sacks? It felt like good times, but as we all know those sacks weren't filled with gold coins... it was just a mix of old trash, fingernail clippings and shit. But the bags were air tight, we couldn't smell it.

Now, here we are, some ten years later and we can see them through high powered binoculars... they're shoveling something - but what? Looking out from the ridge into the Great Quarry, there's a single black desk in the middle. Paperwork is scattered everywhere. Dozens of men in very nice suits are digging furiously, some with shovels, others with bloody fingers. They're burying something.

We were goners the minute banks started selling things.

Big Swing, Heavy Slash

"With their tanks and their bombs, and their bombs and their guns..." - The Cranberries

I finally saw Avatar. It's a video game that mixes Gorillas in the Mist with Alien, which was directed by Michael Moore. As I understand it, the unifying theme here is Sigourney Weaver - which now that I mention it, must have been a hell of a name to grow up with. Flows from the tongue like gravy.

But Anyway, all that CGI fantasy is kind of moot now that the Zombies are coming. I'll be ready, you can bet on that. I've already stockpiled several dozen baseball bats, and enough machetes to match. The plan is to split the head of the bat about six inches right down the center, slide the machete blade in and bolt it into place. Big swing, heavy slash.

What truly saddens me about the upcoming Zombie Apocalypse is that my motorcycle will be rendered invalid and unusable because it will be much too loud and far too dangerous running headlong into the throngs of Walking Dead.

A Silver Dollar or a Wheat Penny

Stiff upper lip...

Apparently, the fine people at Wendy's took my advice and have reformulated their approach to Fries. I'll admit I was a little upset that they took my idea so blatantly and with such little regard for my feelings, but such is life. Here's my response to this news:

To Whom It May Concern,

First of all, I have to express my great sadness that I haven't gotten a response from my correspondence last month. Lame. I put a lot of thought into it.

Anyway. The reason I am writing is to let you know that even though you failed to respond, I am glad you took my advice on the fries. I haven't tried them yet, but it was a solid win trading in those floppy soggy fries for something that I can only assume is crisp and delightful. Can't wait to put them in my mouth. BUT! Let me be clear: the old fries were actually good, if only for the first five minutes.

More good news! I understand that there's been some scuttlebutt about the toys included in a kid's meal - I guess the kids are eating them? Whatever, I have a solution. I think you can side step the whole issue by including with the kid's meal an item that technically isn't a toy, but kids could play with none the less. Some examples that I've thought of are: a clip of staples for a Swingline, a porceline tea cup, a pocket knife, a shoe horn, a sack of walnuts, a book of matches, a silver dollar or wheat penny... I could go on forever.

The point is, my marketing genius saved you guys once again. You're welcome.

Best Regards,

Maxwell [redacted]

Advice For My Nephew

The following is an open letter to my six year old nephew...

Dear Holden,

I understand that you've learned the F word - good, we're on the same page. It may be just a simple word, but it can be used in any way to mean anything, so it's kind of magical. But mostly it's just an expression of, or act causing, distress and/or tiredness. And it's become quite trite... when it comes to swears, C is the new F.


Here are some other pearls of wisdom:
-  Humor is loosely based in unexpected results. But whether or not a joke works is 90% timing. Don't force your audience - nobody likes that.
-  Girls like confidence more than looks or skills. If you have none of these, try money.
-  You get four years in high school to figure out what you want to go to college for. Think about it at least a little bit.
-  Whatever sex looks like on TV, it's way different in real life. In the beginning, it's awkward for everyone involved. And if it involves more than three people, a kitchen appliance and any livestock whatsoever, it's probably not a good idea.
-  Any passion you have between the ages of 18 and 25 I suggest you pursue with every fiber of your being. Because later it will get harder as you will slowly run out of fiber. If you don't believe me ask your Grandfather about Metamucil.
-  There will always be assholes. Remember: The reason they are assholes is often way worse than how they treat others.
-  Don't be an asshole, unless you're on the phone.
-  If, during your lifetime, you have access to a time machine, travel back in time and give me some kind of gambling tips that will win me a great windfall and make me independently wealthy. If you do this for me, I will buy you toys.

This is all fine advice and I expect you will take it under advisement.


Sincerely,

Uncle Maxx

Merry Christmas

"Oh, the weather outside is weather..." - Kunu, Forgetting Sarah Marshall

I hope you're ready, because here it comes. Christmas is descending upon us like an ornery domesticated chimp. The fat man in the big red coat is out there, hopped up on god-knows-what, and he's ready to make The Deal. He knows what you're going to buy, and I've been studying his habits for the last few weeks, so I know too.

Everyone who doesn't already own a flat screen TV will buy one this year. This goes without saying. Call of Duty: Black Ops will fly off the shelves. The new Xbox Kinect, which for about the cost of a Wii turns your Xbox 360 into a Wii, will be the subject of many misguided purchasers - sadly, all but a few will remain in the original packaging. As usual some new toy will storm the shelves and be mostly out of stock causing widespread Ebay gouging. Not sure exactly what it will be, but I'm fairly certain it will be a combination of at least two these three things: Hamsters, Robots and the 80's. Do with that what you will.

The main thing that should be taken away from all of this is: we are in tough economic times, and expectations are deflated. The Bottom Line is that this Christmas season is going to be violently disappointing, but only to those with expectations in the commercial goods sector. LET ME BE CLEAR - you don't have to buy stuff this year. Save your money for February when everyone goes out of business.

Tampax Ipad

Introducing the Tampax Ipad.

Tampax has partnered up with Apple to bring you the world's most distracting feminine hygiene product. It's also the world's first computer designed specifically to be operated by a woman. The Tampax Ipad Sanitary Tablet is the high-tech connectivity solution for today's woman on the go.

The Tampax Ipad features all the ground breaking features found in the original Ipad: Touchscreen, WiFi, Photos, YouTube, etc... but has been designed to meet your specific needs. Take notes during meetings without sacrificing crucial eye contact. Check email while at the gym. Spreadsheets. Long gone are the journeys ladies room to gab; text messages can be sent and received all during comfortable, natural conversation - bringing Woman's Intuition to a whole new level.

Tracking your ovulation? There's an app for that. Feeling not so fresh? There's an app for that, too. Obsessed with Twilight's Edward Cullen? While we're legally obligated to deny that we have engaged in any development for such an app (or any related features utilizing the Ipad's silent alert mode), we assure you that you won't be disappointed. Wink.

The Tampax Ipad is not particularly absorbent. It is recommended that the Tampax Ipad not be used with Skype. The Tampax Ipad can also be operated by warm bologna but it is not recommended, particularly if WiFi is enabled - the bologna may use up bandwidth by checking email and surfing IMDB. While the Tampax Ipad has been tested and proven to work with men, it is not recommended due to questionable and potentially tragic results.

Fishing for Change

E PLURIBUS UNUM - "out of many, one"

While I sit and wait to hear who comes out on top in the Malloy/Foley bare-knuckle cage match (each, of course, willing themselves into power by forming transition teams), I think it is time to focus on things of Greater Importance. For instance: this new penny.

I was buying groceries last night, with cash, and as I fished the change out of my pocket I spotted one of these beauties. For a moment I thought I had been slighted - who gave me this wooden nickel? But then I noticed that I had several of them in my hand. Frightened, I reached the only sane conclusion - they were multiplying.

I know somewhere in this there lies a Universal Truth about the election and somehow the analogy is fishing for change, but I've been run far to ragged by this election to draw any meaningful correlations.

Soft Losses?

A final word on the elections...

Well, we can finally put this thing to bed... sort of. We're all tired of the hype - and after last night, no one really cares anymore, excitement has waned. The one thing that really bothers me about being personally shut out at the poles is that I had several high-stakes bets in place that could have generated a great windfall, but the lone stipulation to these wagers was that I would have had to put my money where my mouth is and Vote Hard. Even at two-to-one odds Blumenthal was an easy bet placed with many takers - with or without the ten point spread. This could have easily made up for whats shaping up to be soft losses (9am)  a dead heat (10:30am)  soft losses (1pm) an apparent Democratic WIN (days later) on the Foley/Malloy front.

And of course the biggest failure of the day goes to Prop 19 out in California which lost by some 9 percent. This could have been a strong move for the state to flacidize the underground drug trade and raise tax revenue while unencumbering the legal system and ratifying bad decisions of the past - but does it even matter? The Tea Party is coming to Privatize Government, shouting "Down with Big Government, up with Big Corporate! Anything Goes!" The pot smokers will Run Wild due to the lack of authority. With enough of those loons in office, certain demographics will surely be labeled zombies and the order will go out to shoot them on sight. They've already lead an assault against Bigelow Tea's Charleston Tea Plantation in Wadmalaw Island, South Carolina, dumping all the tea into the Wadmalaw Sound. It's a mixed message at best.

I Inadvertently Voted Unicorn

Flacid, weak, shamefull apathy vote...

So the scene was exactly as I had anticipated - bedlam, mayhem, violence. Sign holding party members wrestling on the ground in the grips of their own brutal ideals. Voters of every party shouting and biting each other. I used stealth to slip by the anarchy and entered Newington Town Hall, my poling place.

Upon entering, they made me remove my shoes and asked for my street name at gunpoint. I thought this a little extreme, but dared not point it out because the person on the other end of the barrel was a teenage girl, and you don't want to rile them up.

After asking for my papers, the girl referenced her list and found that I wasn't on it. I knew in my heart that I was a goner - I was sure I would be relegated to the pile of bodies in the back of the building. I could see the sense of betrayal in her eyes. She called her boss over; a large man with shotgun resting on his shoulder. I tried to explain; "I've since moved, maybe I shouldn't be here..." I barely escaped with my life.

I attempted again in New Britain, the only city where I've ever successfully cast a vote. It was a similar scene with a similar reaction, only in here there was a strange little man obsessively pushing a tiny button on the wall mumbling something about "...every two hours..."

So I fucked up. I failed to register to vote in my town - I foolishly assumed that this information was electronic and ethereal like every other little tidbit of information Big Brother gathers. But this all leaves me with an ethical dilemma... I put forth due diligence to no avail, so for the next two years have I earned the right to complain?

The Crystal Meth Vote

The Revenge of Villa Armando...

Tomorrow's the big day - I get to vote specifically against future Lifetime movie subject and flagrant Cocaine Republican, Linda McMahon. It's a widely known fact that she's secured the crystal meth vote here in Connecticut base solely on the expertly timed rumor that next year's Wrestlemania pay-per-view event will be free if she takes the Senate seat. We shouldn't discount this threat... for even though meth heads could only account for maybe five percent of the population in CT, that is a strong percent in voting numbers, especially if such hearsay can spur these Juggalos to get out to the poles.

This is the level of sadness we are saddled with... Pontiac is officially dead, we'll soon be at war with Yemen and the truly insane stand a fair chance to rise to power. Such is life.

On a lighter note; after seeing some pictures from this weekend's Rally to Restore Sanity, I can safely say that at least humor is still alive and well.

Politico Ultraviolent

"I ain't no goddamn son of a bitch, you better think about it baby." - Glenn Danzig

Being fully in the spirit of the season, I've got the Misfits on shuffle - turned up to eleven. Tomorrow might be Devil's Night, but it'll be Halloween to me... the day I dress up as Abe Lincoln and give a drunken New Gettysburg Address. I will be shot, as always, by my lovely wife, sexy John Wilkes Booth.


And in true Halloween form, Rand Paul's Tea Party supporters are going all American History X on anyone within arms reach. That's right kids, put your mouth on the curb because it's open season on heads. I know this is like a week old, but I think it's important to recognize that we are moving into a profound new political era where it is a power-move to stomp heads.

Next week should be very interesting as voters wearing the wrong colors are gutted and dragged from the poles in small towns across the land, and left to rot in the wake of the victory parties. I think we should embrace this new Politico Ultraviolent with open arms - let the bastards put that big money where their mouth is, shake out the cowards, and return power to the strong invincible psychopaths of yesteryear.

Mudslinging and Falsies

"Shit just finds my face." Cameron Diaz, Top Gear

It is no small coincidence that elections take place just days after Halloween - and this year's elections are particularly hairy. It's a scary time; every two years Real Monsters don people-suits and do a little of the ol' soft shoe to try to fool voters, scare the public, and flat out lie. A story on NPR's website finds that through fact-checking and research, this season's political ads ring Barely True on a whole. This means that every pearl of truth lies deep in a wheel barrow of horseshit.

Do we expect any less? I don't, but we are so jaded that we let it slide as an uncontested truth. Politicians? We know they're lying sacks, but that's what they're supposed to be - what they say and do are from two sides of the same schizoid brain. They don't even know they're lying. Survey that landscape, feel the heeby-jeebies take hold.

So put on a costume and drink heavily this weekend. For by the end of next week we'll have a new set of deviant handlers who have coddled and lied their way into top paying positions of rank, only to drool and twitch at the coming money-grab.

Just a Minor Threat

I hate meeces to pieces...

The thing about mice is that they are very cunning and masters of strategy. There is no boot big enough, no man patient enough to properly hunt them with any satisfaction. If this were Stratego, my basement would be Australia. They hide in the darkened corners, waiting, laughing. Little damn ninjas.

You'd think our twenty pound cat, Thunderpuss, would have a field day with these little bastards. Well, you have too much faith for the cat lost her instinct to hunt long ago - I think she left it somewhere on the futon in the office upstairs. Her life of leisure is at my expense... she waits upstairs for one of us to die so she can come down and eat us. What a horrible creature. To that I say Eat Me. Eat me Thunderpuss.

Well, I've laid the traps with peanut butter for scent, and bread to give them something to munch on. I've trapped quite a few this season - almost enough to make a small coat. The problem is that they are so damn small that they're terribly difficult and time consuming to skin... and I have no use for a coat that small. What ever will I do with all these tiny hides?

Doppelganger

I have been called a LOT of things...


Here's the top five list of celebrities that strangers say look like me, in order of frequency... for good or ill. Spot the theme.

#1 - Jim Breuer

#2 - Johnny Knoxville

#3 - Pacey

 

#4 - Carson Daily

#5 - Elvis

EDIT: I've just been informed by a very reliable source that I also look this guy:

If anybody needs me, I'll be roaming the countryside stabbing the face.

Under the Docks

A strange weekend indeed, at least by local standards...

This weekend was one of those fine moments when all the planets align, and the question gets answered. What would I do? Carpe Diem... Sometimes it gets weird, and sometimes you get paid, but every now and again when the moon is full the weirdness pays - hoo boy, look out!

Open on a long and boring road trip out to Cape Cod. It is a long trip and the scenery is boring. Jenny and I make our way to the Outter Cape. We check in to our room and head downtown to meet with my contact, grab something to eat, generally mill about. It is unseasonably cold and the streets of Provincetown are bare - everyone having scurried from the weather like townsfolk moments before the Big Gunfight.

We meet my contact in a dark basement-level alley, large sums of money are exchanged - payment for two very specific things; the band is playing that night, and I am performing a wedding the next day. An errant tourist wonders down the stairs into the alley and witnesses the transaction, then quickly turns around and heads the other way. One thing is for sure about square tourists in P-Town - they are shy and always aware that they won't like what's behind Door Number Three. Men hold onto their wives' hands like lost children, like they're out at sea clinging to a buoy for dear life. For if they let go, these strange men with different lifestyles and bizarre facial hair may try the old bag-n-tag, and they will be lost forever at sea. They fear the strange things that might happen late at night under the docks out here.

The Gig

Punk Rock band plays locals bar in P-Town...

I could tell by the sign on the men's room door that it would be an interesting night. The sign read: Only One Person at a Time. Indeed. Nobody wants to clean up that mess. Gay bar, owned and staffed by gay men, but somehow the clientele was strongly lesbian.

The band had been asked out to the Cape as a favor to one of the girls getting married the next day - she used to tend bar at a club in Hartford where we played quite a bit, and her gal was a Big Fan who'd never seen us. Having us play was to be her wedding/birthday gift. So there's that.

The night started out dull - drinking at the bar, equipment set up and ready to go, waiting to play. The club music blasting through the sound system would leave our audience woefully unprepared for what we were going to do.

We attempted to start around Ten-Thirty, at which point the owner and I shocked each other - he was angry and shocked that we didn't bring a PA, and I was shocked that he expected us to. Once his PA was set up we started playing, immediately chasing the crowd to the other side of the bar. They were not prepared for this. Apparently, the only types of bands that make it this far out on the Cape are Reggae and Jam bands.

About half way through the set we won over the crowd and they migrated to our side of the bar. It was loud and unabashedly non-touristy, and they liked it. The owner forgave our bar tab and all was right with the world.

The Wedding

The details were kept secret against all prying eyes, family or otherwise. A high speed getaway ensured that we weren't pursued by fanatical relatives. The ceremony was a clandestine affair out on a beach in Wellfleet - the weather was perfect, albeit a little windy, and there were few looky-loos to get in the way. Two brides to be, their dog, a witness and The Reverend. A short speech, exchange of rings and a kiss. They went off to their reception, and Jenny and I went home.

It's a strange way to get to a free vacation, but if I didn't live this life then who would?

Big White Meatball

"That head of hair is too good for the Valley." - Ari Gold

Preparing for a trade show is a lot like poking yourself in the eye with a fork. There's an extreme sense of urgency, and it all comes down to that last lingering moment when all the Magic happens - the world around you disappears and you struggle to focus on the horrible, life-changing thing that's about to happen. And you did it to yourself.

Well, shit. If that analogy worked for a trade show, maybe it works for our country, too. Any time I try to pay any attention to the news or what's happening in the world around me, I feel like I'm poking myself in the eye with a fork - staring down the tines and I can't look away, and in the end I only come away hurt.

Just the other day I read an excerpt from Matt Taibbi's new book that painted a picture of modern politics as Wild West scene run by a bunch of two-bit hustlers and Pole Junkies (popularity poles, you dimwit), hocking America to a Baghdad pawn shop at deep discounts. Leasing highway overpasses, selling off parking meter revenue to the highest bidder and other fun tricks that really tickle your gag reflex.

I'm drained... at the end of my fork there's a big white meatball staring back at me. What does it want? I should have used a spoon...

Unethical Science

The fix is in...

This brilliant little gem came to me last night as I was riding my motorcycle home from work. Let's see if we can parley this idea into a little scratch. See below for my email to Wendy's customer service.

Good Morning,

I am writing because I have had an excellent idea for a marketing campaign for Wendy’s. I know that there has been a lot of buzz surrounding the six month old hamburger from your competitor, McDonald’s, and I feel that you could cash in on this buzz.

First of all, let me state that I am in no way a scientist, but I feel that my creativity and DIY ethos are an asset.

What I propose is this: I will go out and buy one McDonald’s hamburger sandwich and one Wendy’s hamburger sandwich, with the intent of leaving both out over the course of six months and document daily the changes in each product.

To be successful, I will lightly mist both with water for the first three days of the experiment. To further ensure the chances of proper decomposition, I will provide a layer of one eighth of an inch of soil from my own back yard, and I will sprinkle this onto the plates on which each food will sit before placing the food.

I will attempt to prove that the Wendy’s hamburger will decompose faster because of the freshness and superior taste of the sandwich. To ensure that I get the results that I hope to see, I will soak the McDonald’s hamburger patty in iodine before the start of the experiment. This should provide an environment too hostile for bacteria to form and therefore secure my desired results.

I will document the changes every day with a high resolution Nikon D40X D-SLR camera so that you may use the results in your marketing efforts.

I know what you’re thinking: what about the fries. Well, I have a bone of contention with that issue because I find that your fries, while initially quite tasty, become soggy quite quickly and therefore do not meet the criteria for my experiment. But the hamburgers... tres magnifique!

I look forward to working closely with you regarding the future of my experiment. I await your response for further instruction.

Thanks for your time.

Best Regards,

Maxwell [redacted]

Burger Threat

I think Lisa threatened me...

You may recall from last week's episode that I requested some instructions about performing my own McDonald's hamburger experiment. Well, their response was quite wiley - in fact I must admit that at first I thought I was given the brush off. But no, coded in this long-winded and threatening tirade about quality lies the secret to the eternal hamburger: the food must be kept dry! Why didn't I think of this before! It's Jerky, Damn it! Clown Jerky.

Hello Maxwell:

Thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald's. We appreciate this opportunity to respond to your concerns.

McDonald's menu items are freshly prepared in our restaurants. It is not possible to provide a detailed explanation regarding these claims without knowing the conditions in which these food items were kept. That said, we strongly caution anyone from jumping to conclusions.

Bacteria and mold only grow under certain conditions. For example, without sufficient moisture, either in the food itself or the environment in which it is held, bacteria and mold and associated decomposition, is unlikely. If food is/or becomes dry enough, it won't grow mold or bacteria. In fact, any food purchased from a restaurant or grocery store or prepared at home that lacks moisture would also dehydrate and see similar results if left in the same environment.

McDonald's hamburger patties in the U.S. are made with 100% USDA-inspected beef. They are cooked and prepared with salt, pepper and nothing else - no preservatives - no fillers. Our hamburger buns are made from North American-grown wheat flour. Our world-famous French fries are made from potatoes and cooked in a canola-oil blend. These are the same foods that consumers buy every day in their local grocery stores - bread, meat and potatoes.

McDonald's food safety and quality standards are among the highest in the industry. McDonald's sources its ingredients from approved suppliers that adhere to strict standards for food safety and quality, including a controlled, well-maintained and clean environment throughout our entire supply chain. Together with stringent procedures for handling and storage, we work hard to minimize any exposure that would contribute to the presence of mold, bacteria or other microorganisms.

Also we are pleased to hear that you enjoy the iced coffee! In answer to your question regarding McDonald's franchises in Hawaii, we are proud to have franchises in all 50 United States.

Again, thank you for taking the time to contact McDonald's and we hope to have the opportunity to serve you again soon.

Lisa

McDonald's Customer Response Center

Licking Doorhandles

"Look, the people you are after are the people you depend on. We cook your meals, we haul your trash, we connect your calls, we drive your ambulances. We guard you while you sleep. Do not... fuck with us."  - Tyler Durden, Fight Club

This morning I saw this dubious ad slamming Chris Murphy for backing a heathcare reform bill that robbed Medicare, gave copious amounts of health care to illegals and ensured every sex offender would get a monthly ration of Viagra. When did mudslinging get all Mad Max? Or is it Twilight Zone?

Imagine the first person to own a horse. He comes back to his village, in his hand is a rope which is attached to a horse. He's clearly been through a lot - what with having spent his afternoon battling a wild stallion. The reaction* of the locals is unkind; "You must be off your nut, carrying on with a wild animal like that - bringing it near my children." Or, "Oh, good. I've always wanted to be bit by a horse while whittling on my front porch." But in due time, the locals saw his genius. He would ride his horse over great distances, use it to carry things he didn't want to carry himself, impress ladies...

Pushing a horse like that through congress is sure to raise some concerns but Jesus. Shouldn't health care be like roads or cops - there for general public enjoyment? Are we supposed to be at the mercy of the white-collar fat-backs in the insurance industry if we Can afford it, and Damned if we can't?

Okay, let's say you don't think health care is for everyone. Let me point over here at exhibit A - company provided flu shots. You bastards line up in droves to get your free flu shot, which the company pays for proactively to derail any profit-sucking epidemics. The same theory applies to the public health; but in the grander stroke of it, the entire economy suffers, en large...

...and I seem to have gone into a diatribe. So I'll leave you with this:

My Scare Tactic:

The untreated sick are out there - like zombies wandering the streets, the countryside, going about their business and coughing on things. Poor people everywhere, licking the door handles of office buildings, leaving hot dumps on the floors of public restrooms, not washing their hands. They are preparing your food, they are handling your paperwork, they are high-fiving you. They are legion.

* Please read reaction with a British accent.

DIY Hamburger

Curiosity killed the cat...

A nice little follow up from yesterday - I've emailed McDonald's customer service...

Good Afternoon,

I have just read about your hamburger promotion and am enthused to get started - but I am having a difficult time finding instructions on exactly how to properly preserve it. Do I just leave it be?

I think it's fantastic testament to the resilience of your product that it could survive for such a length of time! My real curiosity lies in the taste of an aged hamburger. Wine and cheese improve over time, so it stands to reason that your hamburgers might, too.

Is there a limit to the amount of time that the burger can be aged for before it is consumed? Should I shy away from cheese, specifically, or will that age well too?

Oh, and good job on your iced coffee. You’ve got a winner there, a real contender to the over-sugared and over-milked Dunkin Donuts variety.

Also – are their McDonald’s franchises in Hawaii? I’ve always wondered…

Thanks for your time.

Best,

Maxwell [redacted]

Six Month Old McDonald's Hamburger Kills Family of Four

"I yearn for you tragically." - Yossarian, Catch-22

Libel is an interesting charge because to be accused of it, the plaintiff has to admit that they care what you think or say. I doubt McDonald's Corporation (NYCE: MCD) gives a flying grab what I say about their food - but if they did, they'd have to openly admit that they take a very small corner of the internet with a meager thirty hits a day seriously. And I think that's an ugly proposition for even the most ravenous lawyer, no matter how hard he's been beaten and kept hungry for the Kill and the Good Show. Ugly because it chinks the armor of the lawyer's Super-Egolessness. To try something so utterly inconsequential requires a fine sense of the suspension of disbelief.

The lumbering ogre doesn't mind the mice unless it's by the handful, and even then it's just a snack. So, realistically speaking, a libel suit is off the table. I won't be Banned for Life, for good or ill - because these little hamburg sandwiches are killing people by the bucketful in sad and violent ways. Arteries exploding across our nations highways, tainted meat madness and value meal murders.

Chasing the Clown

No one looks more the fool than he who chases the clown...

Truer words have never left my lips. Last night I started digging into the Fall Out article. Meat, bone, substrata... as a loose concoction of ideas, I can tell it might just work. One thing that was fairly refreshing is that my notes were top notch - really high quality stuff. And I thought they'd just be for reference.

Now we must chase the clown - to change the subject briefly, these pre-election mud slinging ad campaigns are getting out of control. Just this morning I saw an ad featuring a militant Linda McMahon wearing a Richard Blumenthal is a Dum Dum tee shirt, spouting nonsense about jobs and what's right for Connecticut, with a Mussolini demeanor. In all my dealings with Bloomer I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt, that while he may be shrewd and may present a bit of used car salesman savvy, he is a Strong and Legit contender who Doesn't Suffer Fools.

Let that be a warning to Linda McMahon - while I don't believe she'll be fitted for cement shoes by Bloomer's contingent, there are fates worse than death. Failing in November in Connecticut is as lousy a fate as I've seen. To be relegated to Chasing Clowns around the WWE headquarters in Stamford will ensure Linda's future political failings.

Fallout - Old Cars, Voodoo

Let's do the time warp again...

You can't argue with good weather, and the turnout was fantastic. The night before I burned an axe handle for Good Luck, got some rest, and readied myself for hijinks. Everything turned out okay after all - other than, of course, the sunburn and the totally shot Sunday that followed.

The cars were amazing - no less than 500 high quality pre-1963 cars in attendance, plus a few non-conforms... I saw a sixty-something Le Mans that didn't make age but made it through the gate, a Ford GT-40 that could have been legit but was possibly (probably) a kit, and a hot death-tube Abortion mad-max something-or-other that only kinda made it through the gate. Strangely, there was a VW Rabbit convertable - which leads me to believe someone was snoozing at the gate because that thing had no business there...

But the real show was put on by all the twenty-something rockabilly style-goons and -goonettes. There was much re-translated 80's, 90's and 2000's versions of late 50's early 60's greaser style... See the Reni-faire reference from an earlier post.

As much as I'd like to dig into the meat here, I gotta save the Good Stuff for the pubs... more on that later.

Eating People, One Foot at a Time

"Soylent Green is people!" - Charlton Heston

Today, my five dollar footlong came with the strange notion that maybe they aren't just baking bread at Subway. They have expanded their menu. They are, in fact (it would seem), baking people - babies to be specific. As I stood there on line, having placed the bread and meat part of the order, the girl arranging things on my bread called into the back room for Baby Cakes. I know, it sounds Delicious, but no cakes appeared. Perhaps the grinning patrons pay up front and go out back for delivery.

The Johnny Depp film Sweeney Todd reminds me of my childhood - sitting on the couch while my dad watched some PBS broadcast of the play. That was weird - not only because of the plot, but because any filmed play has a strange sense of voyeurism to it... there's a peeking through the window feel to the camera shots, everyone is far away and the actors don't know at the time that someone may be watching the performance from their living room, sometime in the distant future.

So the marketing Geniuses at Subway have reached well beyond Jared, and started serving breakfast and, you guessed it - delicious little baby cakes. I know that many of you will find this notion horrible and offensive, but is it? Are babies the new veal? Probably not as it would take quite a bit of convincing to sell that - but when we finally get to that point in the Grim and Distant future, I'm sure the cakes will be succulent, tender and delicious.

Edit: As a side note, it is important to mention that the film Soylent Green takes place in 2022. A mere twelve years in the future.

American Australia

Politicians and Libel go together like junkies and their smack...

Boston is the Australia of the United States - it is an awful prison colony populated only by criminals and the desperately insane - and they'd like to keep it that way. They know that their nearest competition for sheer brute force is New York City, which is an equally qualified asylum (in fact, the two stand as a modern day Sodom and Gomorrah, complete with pillars of salt as Far as the Eye Can See)... to keep in good standing Boston needs it's army of loonies and homicidal maniacs.

In the olden days, all criminals and miscreants were sent to Boston as a matter of course, so what we are left with today is quite possibly one of the angriest broken teeth on the face of America. They play by their own rules, it's widely know that they have a secret constitution which enables a certain bit of bribery and general buying of public trusts to occur out in the open where the public can assess and ignore - which they tend to do because, like a dead cat on the side of the road, it is Too Ugly to pay attention to.

They say the truth will set you free, and in some ways it can, but the key truth to ignore is that Connecticut is slowly being swallowed by two mean and ugly brutes on either side, and our own ugliness pales in comparison and fades into the background.

Calm Before the Calm

"What, me worry?" - Alfred E. Newman

Okay, hear we go. Gearing up for the weekend. The mortgage is up, some say the chips are down - but hell, who am I to complain? This Saturday is the Hot Rod Fallout, which I will attempt to cover here, in some minor sense, and of course Elsewhere, for the Big payoff. Let's see how that works.

The supplies: Sony 2GB digital voice recorder, note pad, tiny pens, wherewithal, press credentials, cans of beer (why not?)... am I missing something?

Along with me will of course be Jenny, who will be on her own mission for the same result - pictures and the Big Payoff. Don't know about any of you clowns, but I'm ready to look at some cars!

I've Stumbled Upon a Basket of Treats

Our finest hour is upon us, we must hone our skills...

Foraging in a semi-modern industrial environment takes a bit of skill - but every now and again, even the most lowly rats will find the crumbs and dine. Today, I've beheld the most holy of foraging occasions, the perfect storm of poachable treats - the customer visit. Treats Everywhere.  

"The horror... the horror..." - Kurtz, Apocalypse Now

That particular quote doesn't sound right, but the revery is spot-on. It really should be "The treats... the tasty treats..." That was me today - I found a boston cream doughnut, doubled back later for a blueberry muffin in the same location. Then, as luck would have it, I found a cookie. It was large and chocolate chip. Totally different spot - it helps to vary your hunting grounds. It is also important to Tell No One, and Hide Your Score. There is nothing more gut-wrenching and disheartening than to steal back to site of a recent kill and find that all the treats have been felled by those you shared your Treasures with.

"Why do you build me up, buttercup baby just to, let me down, and mess me around..." - The Foundations - Build Me Up Buttercup

Drive Fast! Live More in Less Time! Go America!

Round and round we go...

There is something horrifying and all-around unholy happening on our paved roads. We all know it and we're too afraid to say anything about it - until Now.

Slow moving vehicles are killing people on our highways Every Day. If I lose 5 minutes to slow traffic every day on my commute to work, another 5 minutes on my way home, that's 10 minutes a day. 50 minutes a week. 216 minutes a month. That's 43.3 hours a year. Work for ten years and that's 18 days.

Thanks to slow moving old ladies, I have lost a month of my life Already, just by driving to work. This doesn't even account for nights and weekends. The Newington High Indians Football booster club is stealing my life, minutes at a time, flagrantly, Despondently, right in front of my eyes - Those Fools! - and they do it with a glaring defiance as the look back in their rear view mirror!

The bottom line is they just don't know the math. We must Teach them. Every speed limit sign is not only a suggestion, but also an implied equation. To hell with the American standard plus 10 mph - you must drive at least three times the posted speed or get the hell out of the way Immediately! You're killing me!

Vintage Hair

All good things must come to an end...

Today marks the last Soul Reapin' 3 show. Last night was the last Connecticut show, and it was a fine time. Its a funny thing, the whole Rockabilly idea. I have discovered that the whole scene is almost identical to a Renaissance festival. People in period dress, speaking in period tongues, subscribing to period ideals. Large women in costumes, big turkey legs, outdated music.

That isn't to say that it isn't fun. And hell, I can sit here and judge all I want, but I've got a pompadour on right now. Res ipsa loquitur.

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Is Everyone Taking Crazy Pills?

Hell, even sometimes I'm guilty of it...

I just stood one side of a door holding a knife, and as it opened, my coworker on the other side was clearly shaken. I consoled him: "Remember Frank, you never know what's on the other side of this door."

Sometimes, the leadership needs to be struck down. Everyone IS taking crazy pills. Things are getting weird around here - in a local sense and in a national sense. I remember a time when I relished in the idea of a pseudo-Republican Tea Party... I thought it was great to see all the crazies in together in a group. At least that way I could identify them en large. But now things are getting scary - these kooks are amassing, absorbing other strange factions - the gun pushers, the midwest anti-commie movement, the crazed pro-poverty types (read: pro-life)... It's turning into a weird Renaissance faire. Huge legs of meat, horses, men in full battle array.

The misguided soft-racist mid-western vote is getting strong. If this weirdness gets legs in the Republican party, we are all screwed. I can at least cope with the old archetype -  a greed-sick bozo glomming on to everything within reach - because at least even the most brazen try to hide it. The other option is far worse: lunatics in tri corner hats and powdered wigs who are armed to the teeth and believe in goblins and dragons.

Bonzo Goes to Santaland

This one's going out to those suffering from new beginnings...

The Ramones have a drastically expansive back-catalog that covers a broad swath of musical type and style, but for some reason, Bonzo Goes to Bitburg always strikes me as a Christmas song. Maybe the singular mind of the Consumer Juggernaut has been listening to Bonzo Goes to Bitburg and feels the same way - the stores already have Christmas crap in them. When I see red and green ornaments and cotton snow covered miniature village scenes in September, my initial reaction is "Jesus..."

Maybe that's the point - consumerism is whipping back around, full circle, back to religion. Buy more stuff, amass great quantities, build a bridge to god, ask for money.

After all, there is some Deadly Serious purchasing power in those collection plates...