Congratulations on your decision to enter the world of loose social mores and surreptitious sexual activity! The world is your oyster, and oysters are a known aphrodisiac! By having intercourse on the first date, you're making a bold and exciting statement about yourself and taking charge of your sexual destiny! No more watching movies alone! No more sad-looking, contemplative walks past happy couples! No more cat ownership! Increase self-esteem, learn to control others and enjoy free drinks - the power is yours!
The first date is a great time to learn about someone's career, aspirations, hopes and dreams, relationship with their father, favorite safe word, allergies, political affiliation, feelings on religion, etc... but it's also a great time to hold sexual congress! Why waste time not taking it to the next level? How else are you going to find out if He's the one, or if She really loves you? A stitch in time saves nine, but a quick stitch in the sack pays dividends!
Making snap judgments about whether the potential sex partner you've just met is the carrier of one of the slew of sexually transmitted diseases that plague our culture based on such trivial criteria as ethnicity, social stature, complexion, eye bags, bow-leggedness, attire and attractiveness is just one of the fun and interactive activities now at your disposal. There's also the winner-take-all game of self-esteem chicken where you're pitted against your peers to win the attention of a semi-attractive, willing mate. And don't forget kamikaze dating, a strategy where you fling yourself into your favorite meat market, bouncing from potential sex partner to potential sex partner until you've crashed into something. The possibilities are endless!
But you must act now! Every ten years or so there is a brief window when the social concern of safe sex is repealed, and now is that time! You stand at the precipice of greatness - will you get on the bus or will you be left at the station?
Safe sex is not for everyone. Sex with multiple partners, while infinitely more exciting, does put you at risk - one of said partners might be an evil doctor, a known sex-offender, a Republican, a clown, jobless, selfish, suffering from dementia, be in poor dental health, gay, not gay, participating out of spite, homely, etc... Safe sex, while not the safest form of sex according to most Planned Parenthood pamphlets, is still the safest form of sex that should actually be considered sex. Sex, like sword fighting, is an inherently dangerous activity. Like any other dangerous activity, it is advisable to wear the proper attire including, but not limited to: chin guard, mouth guard, athletic supporter, knee socks, shoes with slip-resistant soles, thick shirt or jacket, safety goggles with side shields, impact resistant head protection and ear plugs rated no less NRR33.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Precious Moments #1
Bad Firework Etiquette
In October of 2008, Jenny and I had a Halloween Party at our apartment in New Britain. I decided that an excellent way for me to enjoy myself at this party was to dress up as one of my favorite writers, Hunter S. Thompson, and really dive in and explore the character.
In the weeks leading up to the party I spent a lot of time looking for bits of the costume - I already had the yellow-tinted shooting glasses, and I eventually found an appropriate hunting coat, a great Hawaiian shirt, a decent white Gilligan hat and a cigarette holder.
As the party got under way and I began to really work myself into character, I drank. Copious amounts of Chivas Regal and cheap beer were just as much a part of the costume as the proper shirt, cigarette holder, etc... inebriation was definitely a key part of the character, as were bad decisions.
Feeling that I had mastered the mannerisms and speech patterns of HST, I began to work on developing the behavior. This coalesced into one beautiful moment when, after having already shown off my character to everyone, boredom forced my hand - I needed to shake things up a bit and make a memory.
Earlier, Jenny had preemptively hid my bullhorn, so I instead prepared for the party by stuffing my pockets with fireworks. Forgoing the real South Carolina fireworks, I pulled out a lousy, bullshit Connecticut firework - a strobe. For being a lousy bullshit Connecticut firework, the strobe really has it's place in distracting people and livening things up - it's the premiere lousy bullshit Connecticut firework.
I went into the kitchen looking for something reasonable to put it on and found someone else's plate. Perfect. I set the strobe up in the kitchen and lit it - the loud sizzling noise and bright flashing lights were of some surprise to the people who were in the room at the time, but none were so surprised as Jenny, who was in the living room - she was quite livid.
From the kitchen I could hear her violent, profane reaction to this, so I quickly escaped out the back of the kitchen to the bedroom. At this point I should note that in the old New Britain three family walk-up that we lived in, like so many of it's kind, the interior was set up in a circuit - so, although the kitchen and living room were directly connected, I could also walk down a hallway and through the bedroom to get to the living room. When Jenny entered the kitchen, bloodthirsty, I was making my way through the living room and out the front door.
I waited out on the front porch with a few smokers, but the sense of quiet was unnerving - I had expected her to immediately find and chastise me for my behavior or something. But there was nothing. So I timidly went back inside to investigate. I was just in time to see Jenny walking purposefully toward the back of the apartment with my whole drawer of fireworks in hand, which were clearly headed to the garbage can.
I quickly rushed to the rescue of my beloved fireworks. For her to get to the garbage can, she would have to go onto the back porch, walk down half a flight of stairs (we lived on the first floor) and round the corner - the cans were just below our back porch. Time was of the essence.
Between the time that she was on the stairs and when she was around the back of the building - five seconds tops - I had run through the kitchen and out the back door, leapt over the railing and onto one of the garbage cans to secure the lid and prevent Jenny from throwing my fireworks away. But, the cans had wheels on the back, and they quickly slid out from under me. I rode those cans to the ground, managing to keep one hand on the railing, so that when Jenny rounded the corner, there I was, standing amidst three huge, fallen garbage cans - having appeared, destructively, from out of nowhere, looking rather confused and disoriented.
Frustrated, she made my friend Brian take the whole drawer home with him. For no less than six months, we were missing a drawer from that yellow filing cabinet.
In October of 2008, Jenny and I had a Halloween Party at our apartment in New Britain. I decided that an excellent way for me to enjoy myself at this party was to dress up as one of my favorite writers, Hunter S. Thompson, and really dive in and explore the character.
In the weeks leading up to the party I spent a lot of time looking for bits of the costume - I already had the yellow-tinted shooting glasses, and I eventually found an appropriate hunting coat, a great Hawaiian shirt, a decent white Gilligan hat and a cigarette holder.
As the party got under way and I began to really work myself into character, I drank. Copious amounts of Chivas Regal and cheap beer were just as much a part of the costume as the proper shirt, cigarette holder, etc... inebriation was definitely a key part of the character, as were bad decisions.
Feeling that I had mastered the mannerisms and speech patterns of HST, I began to work on developing the behavior. This coalesced into one beautiful moment when, after having already shown off my character to everyone, boredom forced my hand - I needed to shake things up a bit and make a memory.
Earlier, Jenny had preemptively hid my bullhorn, so I instead prepared for the party by stuffing my pockets with fireworks. Forgoing the real South Carolina fireworks, I pulled out a lousy, bullshit Connecticut firework - a strobe. For being a lousy bullshit Connecticut firework, the strobe really has it's place in distracting people and livening things up - it's the premiere lousy bullshit Connecticut firework.
I went into the kitchen looking for something reasonable to put it on and found someone else's plate. Perfect. I set the strobe up in the kitchen and lit it - the loud sizzling noise and bright flashing lights were of some surprise to the people who were in the room at the time, but none were so surprised as Jenny, who was in the living room - she was quite livid.
From the kitchen I could hear her violent, profane reaction to this, so I quickly escaped out the back of the kitchen to the bedroom. At this point I should note that in the old New Britain three family walk-up that we lived in, like so many of it's kind, the interior was set up in a circuit - so, although the kitchen and living room were directly connected, I could also walk down a hallway and through the bedroom to get to the living room. When Jenny entered the kitchen, bloodthirsty, I was making my way through the living room and out the front door.
I waited out on the front porch with a few smokers, but the sense of quiet was unnerving - I had expected her to immediately find and chastise me for my behavior or something. But there was nothing. So I timidly went back inside to investigate. I was just in time to see Jenny walking purposefully toward the back of the apartment with my whole drawer of fireworks in hand, which were clearly headed to the garbage can.
I quickly rushed to the rescue of my beloved fireworks. For her to get to the garbage can, she would have to go onto the back porch, walk down half a flight of stairs (we lived on the first floor) and round the corner - the cans were just below our back porch. Time was of the essence.
Between the time that she was on the stairs and when she was around the back of the building - five seconds tops - I had run through the kitchen and out the back door, leapt over the railing and onto one of the garbage cans to secure the lid and prevent Jenny from throwing my fireworks away. But, the cans had wheels on the back, and they quickly slid out from under me. I rode those cans to the ground, managing to keep one hand on the railing, so that when Jenny rounded the corner, there I was, standing amidst three huge, fallen garbage cans - having appeared, destructively, from out of nowhere, looking rather confused and disoriented.
Frustrated, she made my friend Brian take the whole drawer home with him. For no less than six months, we were missing a drawer from that yellow filing cabinet.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Form Blazing Sword
"Form feet and legs. Form arms and torso. And I'll form the head!" - Keith, Voltron
I guess it was a little premature and thoroughly ridiculous to compare what was happening in Egypt to the Thundercats - this much has been made obvious by what is happening in Iran, Bahrain and Yemen... not to undercut their precursor - that first instance of self-immolation in Tunisia. Due to these recent developments, I can safely say that this is clearly a Voltron-type scenario.
These five lions of the Muslim/Arabic world, having risen out of the sea, desert, cave, forest and volcano respectively, and are battling the forces of King Zarkon, Lotor and Haggar and their throngs of merciless Robeasts as I write.
Perhaps Kenneth Cole was right... maybe his new spring collection is The Tits - or maybe this is just another sign of the impending world-ending apocalypse. But until we can hash this whole thing out, I leave some small bit of sage advice for the collective peoples of the Middle East who have even the tiniest inkling of revolution coursing through their veins: Form Blazing Sword - immediately. For if you don't do it now, you'll only look back on these ripe, Halcyon Days with profound regret.
I guess it was a little premature and thoroughly ridiculous to compare what was happening in Egypt to the Thundercats - this much has been made obvious by what is happening in Iran, Bahrain and Yemen... not to undercut their precursor - that first instance of self-immolation in Tunisia. Due to these recent developments, I can safely say that this is clearly a Voltron-type scenario.
These five lions of the Muslim/Arabic world, having risen out of the sea, desert, cave, forest and volcano respectively, and are battling the forces of King Zarkon, Lotor and Haggar and their throngs of merciless Robeasts as I write.
Perhaps Kenneth Cole was right... maybe his new spring collection is The Tits - or maybe this is just another sign of the impending world-ending apocalypse. But until we can hash this whole thing out, I leave some small bit of sage advice for the collective peoples of the Middle East who have even the tiniest inkling of revolution coursing through their veins: Form Blazing Sword - immediately. For if you don't do it now, you'll only look back on these ripe, Halcyon Days with profound regret.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Chinese Valentine's Day
"THE TERM, V.D., stands for venereal disease or diseases. They are very dangerous and crippling. There are several venereal diseases, but the most common of them are syphilis and gonorrhoea. They usually spread by intimate contact, almost always sexual. Both are killers or destroyer of humanity." - The Illustrated Weekly of India
Now that we have a proper definition of VD, I feel that we can move forward and discuss Valentine's Day - or VE Day as they call it in Europe. Remember: Valentine's Day and VD are not mutually exclusive.
Valentine's Day is a corporate-sponsored holiday created by the Auto-Ordnance Company to commemorate their flagship fire-arm, the Thompson Submachine Gun. This gun, favored for it's compactness and high throughput, was the weapon of choice amongst the Prohibition-era Chicago area mobsters who took part in the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre in 1929.
The symbol of Valentine's Day, the Arrow through the Heart, is an ironic nod to the Thompson Submachine Gun, which uses bullets instead of arrows. This points to the true roots of the Tommy Gun - the automatic crossbow, which dates back to the 4th century BC, in the Chinese Hubei Province. That said, it is easy to surmise that the Chinese holiday, Daughter's Festival*, which falls on the 7th day of the 7th lunar month on the Chinese Calendar is the True Valentine's Day. This year it falls on August 6th, so you may want to freeze those roses and chocolates, fellas.
*Daughter's Festival - also known as Chinese Valentine's Day: A celebration of the story of the 7th daughter of the Emperor of Heaven who loved an orphan cowherd. They were separated and she was forced to live on the star Vega, while he was forced to live on the star Altair. The two star's paths only intersect once a year. The Emperor of Heaven is a dick.
Now that we have a proper definition of VD, I feel that we can move forward and discuss Valentine's Day - or VE Day as they call it in Europe. Remember: Valentine's Day and VD are not mutually exclusive.
Valentine's Day is a corporate-sponsored holiday created by the Auto-Ordnance Company to commemorate their flagship fire-arm, the Thompson Submachine Gun. This gun, favored for it's compactness and high throughput, was the weapon of choice amongst the Prohibition-era Chicago area mobsters who took part in the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre in 1929.
The symbol of Valentine's Day, the Arrow through the Heart, is an ironic nod to the Thompson Submachine Gun, which uses bullets instead of arrows. This points to the true roots of the Tommy Gun - the automatic crossbow, which dates back to the 4th century BC, in the Chinese Hubei Province. That said, it is easy to surmise that the Chinese holiday, Daughter's Festival*, which falls on the 7th day of the 7th lunar month on the Chinese Calendar is the True Valentine's Day. This year it falls on August 6th, so you may want to freeze those roses and chocolates, fellas.
*Daughter's Festival - also known as Chinese Valentine's Day: A celebration of the story of the 7th daughter of the Emperor of Heaven who loved an orphan cowherd. They were separated and she was forced to live on the star Vega, while he was forced to live on the star Altair. The two star's paths only intersect once a year. The Emperor of Heaven is a dick.
Friday, February 11, 2011
How to Mix It Up
Has this ever happened to you: You get stuck in a rut, the same old thing day- in, day-out; every week is a series of Mondays until Friday, and then you feel like the weekend is already over? Oh, no! What can you do? The answer is simple - Mix it Up!
Mixing it Up is easier than you think - you can Mix it Up with things found around the home or office. You can Mix it Up with your friends and family, strangers or even your enemies! The key to Mixing it Up lies in the unexpected and irrational adherence to the whimsy of your id, and never saying no to your own ideas - no matter how hazardous they may be to you, your relationships or the people around you.
Mix it Up by surprise kicking a coworker in the balls. Light fireworks off in the kitchen during a party. Use someone else's toothbrush. "Borrow" a car. Tell someone you have a terminal illness then ask them to keep it a secret. Try to work obscure, illicit words like Houghmagandy into normal, everyday conversation. Pee on a dog. Make your own ticket book and try to pull over a cop. Steal something much too big and obvious to possibly get away with. Move to Russia, buy stock in MySpace, adopt a hobo... the possibilities are endless!
Tired of your awkward, mundane existence but don't have the gumption to initiate any real, lasting, positive change? Mixing it Up is just what you need! You can Mix it Up anywhere, any time and for any reason - you're only limit is your imagination! If you can think of it, you should do it - immediately - regardless of the consequences. The power is yours!
Mixing it Up is not for apathetic dullards. Mixing it Up may lead to arrest, injury, death, debt, severe blood loss, STDs, regret, diarrhea, vomiting, sky diving, destruction of property, loss of appetite, etc... When Mixing it Up with strangers, be aware of your surroundings and never underestimate the their threshold for violence. There is no Gray Area between Mixing it Up and Pedophilia - it is either one or the other. When Mixing it Up, it is recommended that all subsequent decisions are weighed more carefully to avoid what is known as the Bad Decision Snowball Effect, or BDSE, which exponentially increases the likelihood of death, injury or unwanted, bastard children. When Mixing it Up with a sexual partner, the use of a Safe Word is recommended. Mixing it Up works best when you are familiar with your surroundings, but it is not necessary. It is not recommended to Mix it Up while a Judge or officer in the US Armed Forces is present. The elderly and terminally ill should consult religious council or a Good Friend, but never a Doctor, before Mixing it Up.
Mixing it Up is easier than you think - you can Mix it Up with things found around the home or office. You can Mix it Up with your friends and family, strangers or even your enemies! The key to Mixing it Up lies in the unexpected and irrational adherence to the whimsy of your id, and never saying no to your own ideas - no matter how hazardous they may be to you, your relationships or the people around you.
Mix it Up by surprise kicking a coworker in the balls. Light fireworks off in the kitchen during a party. Use someone else's toothbrush. "Borrow" a car. Tell someone you have a terminal illness then ask them to keep it a secret. Try to work obscure, illicit words like Houghmagandy into normal, everyday conversation. Pee on a dog. Make your own ticket book and try to pull over a cop. Steal something much too big and obvious to possibly get away with. Move to Russia, buy stock in MySpace, adopt a hobo... the possibilities are endless!
Tired of your awkward, mundane existence but don't have the gumption to initiate any real, lasting, positive change? Mixing it Up is just what you need! You can Mix it Up anywhere, any time and for any reason - you're only limit is your imagination! If you can think of it, you should do it - immediately - regardless of the consequences. The power is yours!
Mixing it Up is not for apathetic dullards. Mixing it Up may lead to arrest, injury, death, debt, severe blood loss, STDs, regret, diarrhea, vomiting, sky diving, destruction of property, loss of appetite, etc... When Mixing it Up with strangers, be aware of your surroundings and never underestimate the their threshold for violence. There is no Gray Area between Mixing it Up and Pedophilia - it is either one or the other. When Mixing it Up, it is recommended that all subsequent decisions are weighed more carefully to avoid what is known as the Bad Decision Snowball Effect, or BDSE, which exponentially increases the likelihood of death, injury or unwanted, bastard children. When Mixing it Up with a sexual partner, the use of a Safe Word is recommended. Mixing it Up works best when you are familiar with your surroundings, but it is not necessary. It is not recommended to Mix it Up while a Judge or officer in the US Armed Forces is present. The elderly and terminally ill should consult religious council or a Good Friend, but never a Doctor, before Mixing it Up.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Blue Laws, Balls
"I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day..." - Frank Sinatra
With everything going on in Egypt, it's easy to forget what's going on Right Here. Connecticut is in the throes of a Great Ratification of Biblical importance: We stand on the precipice of the repeal of the most ugly of Blue Laws - the ban on Sunday Liquor Sales. Governor Dan Malloy has pledged his allegiance to the cause with Martini in hand. He is on the Pro-Convenience, Anti-Prohibitionist band wagon, promising to sign the legislation into law once it hits his desk.
But all could be lost in these last tweedling hours of this archaic religious law that date back to the 1600's. There is a rogue contingent of angry liquor store owners who call themselves the Connecticut Package Store Association, who would inhibit our happiness at the cost of some $8 million in tax revenue. They are armed with torches and wooden legs, storming a Public Hearing as I write this, trying, hopefully in vain, to put the kibosh on this innovative bit of freedom, insisting that their special treatment persevere. For Shame.
If this imperative bit of legislation doesn't come to pass, I implore you to join my cause - if I can't get booze on Sunday, I will push to Prohibit the sale of Sporting Goods on Sundays. For Sunday is the Lord's day, and I think we can all agree that you shouldn't be playing with balls on his time.
With everything going on in Egypt, it's easy to forget what's going on Right Here. Connecticut is in the throes of a Great Ratification of Biblical importance: We stand on the precipice of the repeal of the most ugly of Blue Laws - the ban on Sunday Liquor Sales. Governor Dan Malloy has pledged his allegiance to the cause with Martini in hand. He is on the Pro-Convenience, Anti-Prohibitionist band wagon, promising to sign the legislation into law once it hits his desk.
But all could be lost in these last tweedling hours of this archaic religious law that date back to the 1600's. There is a rogue contingent of angry liquor store owners who call themselves the Connecticut Package Store Association, who would inhibit our happiness at the cost of some $8 million in tax revenue. They are armed with torches and wooden legs, storming a Public Hearing as I write this, trying, hopefully in vain, to put the kibosh on this innovative bit of freedom, insisting that their special treatment persevere. For Shame.
If this imperative bit of legislation doesn't come to pass, I implore you to join my cause - if I can't get booze on Sunday, I will push to Prohibit the sale of Sporting Goods on Sundays. For Sunday is the Lord's day, and I think we can all agree that you shouldn't be playing with balls on his time.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Super Bowel
“Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I assure you, it's much more serious than that...” - Bill Shankly
Yesterday was the Big Game - and I hardly even noticed. It was both unimportant and inconsequential, mainly because I had no money riding on it. No, I cared so little about this event that I didn't even realize it was happening until I received a cryptic text message mid-yesterday afternoon that mentioned beer and pizza, but barely eluded to any kind of sporting event. So in that moment, my day was changed forever. I ate too much, paid little attention and criticized the Half Time show mercilessly - just like everyone else.
That Half Time show was something else... I'm certain it was developed by a team of scientists who took a kindergarten class from some impoverished Detroit elementary school, fed them a steady diet of psychotropic drugs and had each kid write an idea for a Saturday morning cartoon on scrap of paper. Then they took all those little slips and put them in a hat and formed the show by picking them out, one by one, until the hat was empty. God only knows what the creative process involved from there, but one thing is clear - it wasn't for entertainment. It was either a very elaborate practical joke or a spiteful insult to America. The only way they could top that steaming pile next year is to have Roseanne Barr mud wrestling with the Geico Cavemen while a cassette of Sweet Home Alabama plays on a boom box.
In review: there was no sweat in my seat, and the most stressful moment was when I realized that the peanut butter pie was too much for my stomach to bear - the straw that nearly broke the camel's back.
Yesterday was the Big Game - and I hardly even noticed. It was both unimportant and inconsequential, mainly because I had no money riding on it. No, I cared so little about this event that I didn't even realize it was happening until I received a cryptic text message mid-yesterday afternoon that mentioned beer and pizza, but barely eluded to any kind of sporting event. So in that moment, my day was changed forever. I ate too much, paid little attention and criticized the Half Time show mercilessly - just like everyone else.
That Half Time show was something else... I'm certain it was developed by a team of scientists who took a kindergarten class from some impoverished Detroit elementary school, fed them a steady diet of psychotropic drugs and had each kid write an idea for a Saturday morning cartoon on scrap of paper. Then they took all those little slips and put them in a hat and formed the show by picking them out, one by one, until the hat was empty. God only knows what the creative process involved from there, but one thing is clear - it wasn't for entertainment. It was either a very elaborate practical joke or a spiteful insult to America. The only way they could top that steaming pile next year is to have Roseanne Barr mud wrestling with the Geico Cavemen while a cassette of Sweet Home Alabama plays on a boom box.
In review: there was no sweat in my seat, and the most stressful moment was when I realized that the peanut butter pie was too much for my stomach to bear - the straw that nearly broke the camel's back.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Who Wants to be a Congressman
The American Government has always been for the People and by the People, but now the People have spoken!
This Spring on FOX, host Jeremy Pivon asks the question: Who Wants to be a Congressman? This innovative new style of Government brings the power to the people by way of their touch-tone phones - all with the entertainment value inherent to reality TV!
Political hopefuls from all walks of life will gather in major cities across the US for their chance at Political Super-Stardom. After being corralled into conference halls in luxurious locations such as the Holiday Inn Express in Pittsburg, PA and the downtown Milwaukee, WI Radison, hopefuls will perform their Stump Speeches in front of our Panel of Judges: Keith Olbermann, Glenn Beck and Regis Philbin.
After being selected by the Panel, nine lucky contestants will join the Judges in tumultuous Washington, DC to compete in a series of games and contests to determine who will be America's next Congressman. Immediately following each event the contestants must perform another Stump Speech followed by a Lightning Round of questions from reporters. Each contestant's performance will then be judged by the Panel, followed by an exiting round of viewer voting and subsequent elimination.
The first contest will be an obstacle course where generously oiled contestants will have to maneuver a series of complex legal loopholes and slippery moral quandaries. The second contest will test the contestants strength and dexterity by seeing which ones can uphold the Bill of Rights while dodging tennis balls fired by American Gladiator's Nitro, who will be posted at the ball cannon. In the third and final contest, the remaining contestants will participate in no-hold-barred hand-to-hand combat as portrayed by the Kumite in the movie Bloodsport.
American Politics have never been so exiting! Voting isn't just your right, it's your Duty! So get out there and participate! America's next Congressman, it could be You! Standard calling and text messaging fees may apply.
This Spring on FOX, host Jeremy Pivon asks the question: Who Wants to be a Congressman? This innovative new style of Government brings the power to the people by way of their touch-tone phones - all with the entertainment value inherent to reality TV!
Political hopefuls from all walks of life will gather in major cities across the US for their chance at Political Super-Stardom. After being corralled into conference halls in luxurious locations such as the Holiday Inn Express in Pittsburg, PA and the downtown Milwaukee, WI Radison, hopefuls will perform their Stump Speeches in front of our Panel of Judges: Keith Olbermann, Glenn Beck and Regis Philbin.
After being selected by the Panel, nine lucky contestants will join the Judges in tumultuous Washington, DC to compete in a series of games and contests to determine who will be America's next Congressman. Immediately following each event the contestants must perform another Stump Speech followed by a Lightning Round of questions from reporters. Each contestant's performance will then be judged by the Panel, followed by an exiting round of viewer voting and subsequent elimination.
The first contest will be an obstacle course where generously oiled contestants will have to maneuver a series of complex legal loopholes and slippery moral quandaries. The second contest will test the contestants strength and dexterity by seeing which ones can uphold the Bill of Rights while dodging tennis balls fired by American Gladiator's Nitro, who will be posted at the ball cannon. In the third and final contest, the remaining contestants will participate in no-hold-barred hand-to-hand combat as portrayed by the Kumite in the movie Bloodsport.
American Politics have never been so exiting! Voting isn't just your right, it's your Duty! So get out there and participate! America's next Congressman, it could be You! Standard calling and text messaging fees may apply.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Thundercats, Ho(sni Mubarak)!
A brief synopsis of what is happening in Egypt, as told through the story of the Thundercats...
The proletariat of Egypt, here described as Lion-O, is a child stuck in the body of an adult cat-like humanoid, and the true leader of the people of Egypt, or Thundercats. The Thundercats have converged on downtown Cairo, here Third Earth, to dethrone President Hosni Mubarak (Mumm-Rah).
This is where it gets tricky. Lion-O has seen that unemployment levels and cost of food have risen to unspeakable levels, and he has enlisted the help of some of the other Thundercats like Panthro (the Egyptian Military) and to some small extent and after a great deal of reluctance, Tygra (the Egyptian Police).
The argument was so compelling and rather intimidating due to the sheer muscle (protesters) of Lion-O, that Mumm-Rah had no choice to concede, promise not to run for re-election and fire all of the Ancient Spirits of Evil (President Hosni's cabinet). This minimal victory lead to vicious clashes on the streets of Third Earth between Lion-O and the Mutants of Plun-darr (President Hosni's Supporters), resulting in minor injuries to Snarf (Anderson Cooper).
At this point the resignation of Mumm-Rah seems imminent, as Lion-O will soon invoke the Sword of Omen (the UN), and use the power of the Eye of Thundera (popular international political opinion) to strike him from his post.
The proletariat of Egypt, here described as Lion-O, is a child stuck in the body of an adult cat-like humanoid, and the true leader of the people of Egypt, or Thundercats. The Thundercats have converged on downtown Cairo, here Third Earth, to dethrone President Hosni Mubarak (Mumm-Rah).
This is where it gets tricky. Lion-O has seen that unemployment levels and cost of food have risen to unspeakable levels, and he has enlisted the help of some of the other Thundercats like Panthro (the Egyptian Military) and to some small extent and after a great deal of reluctance, Tygra (the Egyptian Police).
The argument was so compelling and rather intimidating due to the sheer muscle (protesters) of Lion-O, that Mumm-Rah had no choice to concede, promise not to run for re-election and fire all of the Ancient Spirits of Evil (President Hosni's cabinet). This minimal victory lead to vicious clashes on the streets of Third Earth between Lion-O and the Mutants of Plun-darr (President Hosni's Supporters), resulting in minor injuries to Snarf (Anderson Cooper).
At this point the resignation of Mumm-Rah seems imminent, as Lion-O will soon invoke the Sword of Omen (the UN), and use the power of the Eye of Thundera (popular international political opinion) to strike him from his post.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Sleeping Sphinx Rises
"But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao, you ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow..." Revolutions, The Beatles
To anyone who was wondering: Yes, I was the guy riding a motorcycle around Newington yesterday. It was unavoidable - I had to rush out and stock up on 600 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets before there's a run on them and the price reaches astronomical new highs. This is the unforeseen result of the Civil Unrest in Egypt we've been hearing so much about lately. Stock up now, for in just mere weeks we'll all be sleeping on scratchy brown burlap, limited to three hour sessions to prevent bed sores.
Although we may have to sacrifice a great deal in that respect, be certain that this is a good thing. There is some very exciting social upheaval happening just outside the pyramids; people instigating real social change, a large stone kitty is shooting flames from it's eyes and coughing up hair boulders... It's all very reminiscent of that time we extracted independence from the British Empire's cold dead hands back in July of 1776.
It makes all of our current political posturing, and maybe even our core values, seem moot.
To anyone who was wondering: Yes, I was the guy riding a motorcycle around Newington yesterday. It was unavoidable - I had to rush out and stock up on 600 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets before there's a run on them and the price reaches astronomical new highs. This is the unforeseen result of the Civil Unrest in Egypt we've been hearing so much about lately. Stock up now, for in just mere weeks we'll all be sleeping on scratchy brown burlap, limited to three hour sessions to prevent bed sores.
Although we may have to sacrifice a great deal in that respect, be certain that this is a good thing. There is some very exciting social upheaval happening just outside the pyramids; people instigating real social change, a large stone kitty is shooting flames from it's eyes and coughing up hair boulders... It's all very reminiscent of that time we extracted independence from the British Empire's cold dead hands back in July of 1776.
It makes all of our current political posturing, and maybe even our core values, seem moot.
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