The Anti End-of-Year, nay, End-of-Decade List

Yeah, so 2009 is finally kicking it to the curb. Lots of folks like to take this time to reflect on the "Best of" this and the "Worst of" that and the "Sexiest" blah blah blah.

Yawn.

Clearly, this is an abuse of the very useful and very awesome when-in-my-capable-hands list. Yes, I like lists. I like making lists. I like crossing shit off lists. Is there really anything better?

NO, THERE IS NOT.

So now I have to contend with all these clowns and apes and flunkenheimers making a name for themselves through their original lists of shit we already know about. How about I take you out to a fancy dinner one night and we order some delicious foods. Then later I'll take you home in an equally fancy car and vomit that same fancy dinner all over you so you'll remember how special our night together was? Sound good? That's what these makeshift lists are like to me. Vomitrocious.

It's the end of the year. Big deal. Did you really accomplish anything worthwhile in 2009?

No, you did not.

Are you really going to stick to any of the vapid resolutions you'll set for yourself in 2010?

Lose weight! Grow hair! Give/get more BJs!

Nah, it's all for naught. Do yourself a favor and don't bother with the list. Or better yet, let's make a list of all the things that shouldn't be in a list form.

THINGS THAT SHOULD NOT BE IN A LIST FORM AT THE END OF THE YEAR, NAY THE DECADE

-- The outfits of Lady Gaga.

-- The outbursts of Alec Baldwin.

-- The most famous bald men of the 2000s.

-- The members in good standing of the International Dutch Oven Society.

-- Anyone claiming or deemed to be in "high" society, unless truly high in the best sense of the word during the actual making of this list.

-- A master list of all lists.

-- The listless. They're just not all that interesting, especially all bunched together.

-- The best movies/songs/books/products/scandals/TV shows, etc. Get a journal to indulge your sad sack of a self. Or better yet, take some Gingko Biloba so you'll remember all this inane crap.

-- Friends. A list of friends is always a bad idea. As is, a list of lovers. A list of enemies, now that's genius. And approved. Go write down your list of enemies now.

You get the idea. List making should not be taken lightly or taken at all in novice hands. Lists are intended for those of superior intelligence like myself. God only knows how you'd junk up everything with your lists of Favorite Breed of Puppy or Best Ice Cream Flavor Ever.

That's all I'm going to say this year. And you better take heed. If I find your ridiculous list on the InterWeb, I will take necessary Bruce Lee-like action to kick your list in the lady/dewd box.

Here's to world domination in 2010!

Thank you for your Xmas cards!

You know how fuzzy your tummy feels when you open the mailbox to see it crammed full of cards addressed to YOU? That's what the holidays are for really. Fuzzy tummies and mail.

You can't go wrong with an actual Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's card. The kind you buy at a stationery store in a box with matching envelopes. The kind that require you know the physical locations of all its recipients. The kind that require postage, from the post office.

This may all seem like nonessential tedium to you. You're wrong, as usual First of all, acquiring the physical location of your so-called friends can never be underestimated as a clear advantage. When these so-called best buds turn on you -- and they will, my little fawn -- you'll know exactly where to send the Edible Arrangement. You know what I mean. If by chance, these turncoats haven't shown their true colors yet, what says "you're super only because of your close proximity to me" more than a Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's card.

Next. Common courtesy dictates that you return the favor when your "loved ones" send you a card. And yet, it's so surprising when you take a tally at the end of the holidays of the number of cards you sent compared to the number received. Appalling is what it is.

"Oh, I've been so busy stuffing my face with all the free chocolates/cookies/free shit at work that I didn't send out cards this year."

"I must have sent your card to that old address. Sorry."

"I'm on the dole, man."

"I reject the post office and its nefarious practices."

"I'm an atheist."

"Dewd, I haven't used a pen since the '80s."

If you've run into any of these excuses, feel free to stab that person in the thigh. It's just unacceptable. I demand that my box be full on this Xmas/Kwanzaa/Chanukah/New Year's with your heartfelt greetings for me.

Are you going to be a jerk in 2010 too?

Secrets to Interviewing

You missed me. I've been boarded up in my top secret headquarters working on my list of accomplishments. This is no small task. I'm already up to #45 and this is only for my three-month job at MovieFone. Sometimes it's a burden to be so accomplished.

As I was reflecting, I thought about how easy interviewing is for someone like me. Talking about myself has obviously never been a problem. Listening to me talk about myself is a gift and you're welcome in advance. I felt a twinge in my enormous heart for those less fortunate at the gift of gab and especially those less accomplished. So I give you this:

SUCCESSFUL INTERVIEWING TIPS FOR THE UNEMPLOYED, UNINTERESTING, AND UNACCOMPLISHED

1. When an interviewer asks what you've been up to since being given the boot, suppress your first instinct to respond thus: "I've been catching up on my stories via Hulu." Although this shows you're technologically advanced, it makes you sound like a lazy, bon bon eating slob. Instead try this: "I've been researching new technologies and media of which I'm very passionate and intellectually curious."

2. You know how gripping it is when a friend posts a weather-related status on Facebook? Yeah, that's what I'm saying. Do not resort to the "sure is hot out there." Talking about the weather is totally uncool and brands you as a total snooze. Remember, hiring manager are looking for the next party animal who'll do something super inappropriate at the Christmas party. Those are memories you can't put a high enough price on. Meterologists, you get a pass on this one, but think about how one-dimensional you sound when your small talk revolves around high pressure and humidity. Somebody pull the jerk alarm!

3. If you've taken part in any workplace violence, screaming matches with co-workers or big wigs, you should highlight these as your strengths. Tell them how you really twisted Bob's horns, pushed Sally's implode button, smacked (literally) that smug grin off that Gen Y'ers snot-nosed face. These examples reveal you're a go-getter, a ballbuster, a Chuck Norris-kind of tyrannical leader. You get results! Don't just tell that story either; if you have any physical proof -- video, scars -- show, show, show.

4. Remember the popular song "Pour some sugar on me"? This is your approach to winning the hiring manager's favor. Sugar! A heart-shaped box of chocolates is never a bad idea. If you're strapped for cash or unsure whether Terry is male or female, do not panic. There's truth in the old saying, "you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar." Give the hiring manager the once-over when you first meet. Make sure they notice that you're checking them out from head to toe. A nod and a wink can signal your approval, a thumbs up, high five, or the foolproof "Go on, girl/boy." Think of how starved for appreciation these HR people are. No one ever hugs HR. They should! If you've got the cajones, I encourage you to end your next interview with a long hug, maybe rub the back a little too. Guaranteed results.

5. Finally, this next tip should not be taken lightly. If you have weaknesses of any kind, don't even bother reading this one. Make sure you're sitting down when you do. The secret to interviewing success for the unemployed, uninteresting, and unaccomplished is . . .

THE FOG MACHINE


Huh? I know you're totally unimaginative so let me explain. Imagine the impact your first impression will make if you emerge from fog? Can you see it? Holy shit! I just got chills.

Let's say you're in the middle of the interview and the HR gal/guy throws a real curve ball your way. Before you start sweating like a hog in heat, flip that fog. A sense of confusion and euphoria will descend upon your interviewer. Once the fog has cleared, they will have completely forgotten the question just asked. You can transition by saying, "And that's really how I'd answer your question in a nutshell."

Here are some examples of how The Fog Machine positions you for greatness:

HR: What is your greatest strength?
YOU: Fog Machine.

HR: What is your greatest weakness?
YOU: Not enough fog.

HR: Can you tell me about your most colossal failure?
YOU: That I can still see and hear you through this awesome fog.

HR: Do you have any questions for me?
YOU: How much power do I have in my cube? You know, for the fog machine.

Do you have a firm grip on the power of the Fog Machine?

Go forth and conquer your next interview! Do it with pride. And lots and lots of delicious fog.

You're welcome.

Introducing Heimlich, plus observations from vacation-like places

I've been away, to far-off and distant islands. This was not vacation but rather field research. In and among the unwashed masses, observing, making important discoveries, getting disgusted with aforementioned unwashed masses, and generally being awesome while doing all of the above.

I should mention I have a new employee.

Meet Heimlich, my German henchman. He's really great. Heimlich likes not-too-long walks on the beach, The Sound of Music, turtlenecks, not sweating, and murder. Not necessarily in that order.

Heimlich's role was to keep me out of trouble and for the most part, success! Off the clock, I took Heimlich to the lighthouse but he got that crazy murderous look in his eye so we had to hightail it out of there before Heimlich ripped his shirt off and started busting heads with his muscles in an angry German henchman kind of way. Heimlich is prone to murder. He is also prone to spontaneous musical interludes. He's a real The Sound of Music buff. Funny, I know. A regular Captain Von Trapp with his Costco winter coat and sewed-on gold buttons and accapella bursts of sweet love songs. Heimlich is a complicated creature.

Whatever you do, do not give Heimlich a tomato. He was once in a band called COUNTER TOMATO. Let's just say it went rotten quickly. He may or may not be on the run as a result of that incident with tomatoes and bands called COUNTER TOMATO. He also may or may not have been portrayed in a recent episode of Law & Order: Criminal Intent.

Anyway, Heimlich took many notes for me. Most of them were about murder (Pay attention, Heimlich!) but I managed to find some of my genius in between his hangman drawings. Here are some important takeaways.

THINGS OBSERVED WHILST NOT ON VACATION BUT RATHER OBSERVING THE UNWASHED MASSES WHILE THEY VACATION AND GENERALLY LIE ABOUT DOING AND CONTRIBUTING NOTHING

-- You can't take the corn out of corn chips.

-- Traffic reports are very meta: "On the turnpike, everyone is where they should be."

-- Oysters are juicy. Bagels are juicy. Shrimp are also juicy. "Juicy" is a wonderful adjective that should be used only by me. Sweatpants that say juicy across the rearus endus are ridiculous and I reject them.

-- Long drives down beach roads at 25 mph in super cars that should only be driven at 125 mph are very frustrating.

-- Unwashed masses bunching around landmarks that really aren't landmarks can evoke rage in henchmen.

-- Just because you went to the beach and smell like beach doesn't mean you smell good or clean.

-- I am too super tan and toned for the beach. Seeing my super tan, Ginsu-knife abs makes the regular beach people feel badly about themselves.

-- If you need to diffuse a particularly tense climactic moment of great romantic consequence, try belching very loudly. Works 80% of the time, every time.

Are you still reading this? Why don't you get your own work-study program? I'm tired of you. Always take-take-take with you. It's like talking to a dog. (Boom!)

You're welcome.

Important Things Are Happening

You may have heard I was recently laid off from that company that does the laying off of super people. Too bad for them. Their super quotient has just plummeted.

Since the laying off of the super people, I've been doing important things in my secret headquarters. Making lists of important things and crossing that shit off when each mission is accomplished. The guy in the picture above has it all wrong. Layoffs don't wreck lives. He obviously has no imagination. Layoffs make life FUN and SURPRISING and HAPPY and IMPORTANT.

Here's a peek into the very important, fun, surprising, and happy things that are currently underway in my top secret location. Take note, guy in picture.

IMPORTANT THINGS HAPPENING WHILST LAYED OFF FROM THE COMPANY THAT LAYED ME OFF

-- Remember that Ginsu Knife infommercial? Those super sharp knives could cut through steel and cardboard and tomatoes! Yeah, that's what my abs will be doing when I'm done working out all the time whilst unemployed. They will totally cut you just by looking at them. I'm also bringing back the half shirt in order to show off my rock-hard, Ginsu-knife-like abs.

-- Doesn't it seem like all unemployed people have pets? Yes, they do. I've already started work on opening my heart to the animals. Kittens! Kittens are cute and furry and independent. But the problem with kittens is they require food and health insurance. Considering I'm on the dole, these kittens are becoming a real albatross around my neck. I'm pretty positive Cobra doesn't cover kittens. But like I said, I'm opening my heart to the animals and have researched making paper maiche kittens or maybe even origami kittens. This is a very good idea! And it's green! Watch as my old resume transforms into a spry kitten! The big ideas never stop over here.

-- Street work is also on the agenda. I think the man needs to know what's happening so I'll be canvassing the subway entrances between 8 and 9 a.m. on the workdays to let the workers know what's what. I'll be the one pointing and yelling "COG" at the Metrocard holders. Feel free to join the ranks.

-- You know what's really great about being laid off? You can enjoy a delicious beverage pretty much anytime of day. With other laid off people. And believe me, there are a lot of them. Take yesterday for instance. I enjoyed not one, but two delicious beverages out in the sunshine with a whole community of non-workers. I will admit my company seemed unwashed and unkempt and I am 100% anti-unwashed. I can guarantee I will continue to shower at least once a week whilst unemployed and enjoying delicious beverages.

-- The time has come to embrace change. I'm looking into changing my name into something catchy and memorable and preferably one word. I've pretty much decided my new name will be INCORPORATED. Yeah, did you shudder just then? I know! It's genius. I think INCORPORATED will leave an indelible impression on folks.

-- Lastly, world domination. With all this free time, this seems like a natural hobby for me to take on more seriously. I admit I was getting kind of lazy in the world domination arena. Sure, I let Kim Jong-il have his fun this summer but now I'm ready to rule in a full-time awesome capacity. Don't make me come over there, Kimmy.


Yeah, that's how it's gonna be around here now. Delicious beverages, world domination, paper maiche kittens, rock-hard abs. Shit. Why didn't I get laid off sooner?

Word.

Anti-nature

Is what you see here natural? No, it is not. This is photographic evidence of why I am anti-nature. Yes, this is my totally delicious and juicy leg. Try to stay focused.

This past weekend I escaped the secret headquarters on a fact-finding mission in the woods. I was off grid for several days. Your attempts to reach me proved futile. I said I was off grid.

While finding facts in a "park", I was viciously attacked by Nature. Jerk. I did not see this assault coming. The exact nature of the creature which feasted on my totally delicious and juicy leg is still under investigation. In a matter of minutes post-attack, my leg grew very very angry (as seen above). The tiny bite became a hockey puck-sized area that burned. Boy, did it burn. My attempts to soothe the area proved futile. I tried reasoning with my totally delicious but now inflamed leg. Stubborn!

There's no way I'm letting Nature take me down. I ain't going out like this, Nature.

It was rumored I might contract Lyme Disease from this bite. Thankfully those rumors are false. Several balms later, my leg has grown less angry but no less delicious.

In conclusion, Nature is hostile and rude. I am still delicious and juicy. I will be adding these important findings to my Anti-Nature file. I reject camping. (I threw that in for good measure.)

You're welcome.

Jiminy Cricket!

Thank you to Black Cab Sessions for introducing me to The Duckworth Lewis Method's concept album about cricket. In case you don't know, cricket is the national sport of England! The rules of the game are known as LAWS. How badass is that? There are all kinds of funny expressions associated with this wacky game of pitching, hitting, bowling, and general mayhem on the green. At first I thought it was a lot like baseball but au contraire mon frer.

Needless to say, I don't know a thing about cricket and frankly there's not much space in my gigantic brain for cricket. However, I took a listen to the Duckworth Lewis Method's concept album about cricket and now admittedly love the cricket. Or at least the concept of cricket. The DLM have a fancy website which you should check out on your own time. http://www.duckworthlewismethod.com


You should also watch this madcap video from Black Cab Sessions with aforementioned cricket lovers: http://www.blackcabsessions.com/sessions.php?id=1244633803


Cheerio!

Welcome to the past, North Korea

North Korea has aired its first TV commercial. And it's for beer! Welcome to the 21st century, North Korea. We have things called advertising here. Advertising helps sell products but considering your people are basically all starving, I'd venture to guess beer won't be much of a market mover.

Here's another tip. If you were gunning for that Cannes award, you'll have to open up your top-secret beer commercial to folks outside your top-secret country.

However, we at headquarters have learned the gist of the commercial goes something like this:

. . .showed a grinning Korean man with sweat on his face holding a glass of beer, with a caption that read, "Taedong River Beer is the pride of Pyongyang." The commercial said the beer relieves stress and improves health and longevity. It also showed images of a pub it said was in the capital of Pyongyang, filled with people drinking.

I can get on board with the claim that beer relieves stress but considering the gargantuan levels of stress one must suffer living in North Korea, I'm thinking this is pretty much bullshit. No wonder this dude is sweating! I'd be drinking my face off if I lived in North Korea and this was the first taste of the 21st century I'd ever experienced. Too bad I wouldn't be able to afford that delicious beer since I only make $1,065 A YEAR.

What a bunch of jerks.

Oh but thanks for adding that B12 to the delicious beer I can't afford. I'm so happy someone is looking after my health.

You are officially dead to me (again), North Korea.

---------------------------------------------------------

Thankfully I saw this guy shortly after learning about North Korea's foray into the present. Now I feel better. Fuck yeah, America! Where dudes can wear robot helmets and play the accordion on the streets and drink beer if they want.

The Winter of The Beard

This documentary was made for me. I am the target audience. I am convinced of this fact and I'd like to thank the filmmakers for thinking of me and my entertainment.

Unfortunately I will have to wait to see the documentary because it's not in theaters or it hasn't been distributed or bought or some kind of Entourage-type-filmy talk. I ask the Hollywood now to please pick up this film or whatever you need to do to distribute this sure-to-be-awesome documentary to a theater near me. Thank you very much. Do it now.

All I do know is the very brilliant filmmakers challenged these men to grow beards for six months and record their lives. No trimming was allowed! I love this type of extreme challenge and yes, I love beards. Very much.

Watch that trailer again. Maybe send the filmmakers a thank you note. That's what I intend to do.

Thank you beards. You make the world a better place.

I heart the musical.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

You will watch this very funny parody of my all-time favorite musical "West Side Story". If you haven't seen the very popular movie of the same name with one Natalie Wood and one Rita Moreno, do yourself a huge favor and rent it. It defines awesome. In fact, I have watched this very same movie so many times that I could probably re-enact the entire thing with dance moves. Upon request of course. And cash money.

Anyway, the kids at CollegeHumor have made a highly entertaining takeoff on "West Side Story" based on popular websites like the Facebook, the Pandora, the YouTube, etc. I think the CollegeHumor kids should take me on board as a consultant for future ventures like this for several reasons.

1. I love musicals.
2. I love musicals.
3. I have an awesome sense of humor.
4. I am older, wiser, and definitely better looking than the CollegeHumor kids.
5. Because I can say shit like #4 and no one will contest its absolute absoluteness.
6. Again, I love musicals.
7, 8, 9, 10. You don't need anymore reason to benefit from a professional association with me.

So watch the video. Laugh. Laugh some more. Thank me for sharing it with you. Write me a thank you note even.

You're very welcome.

Keep it in your pants, dummy

What is it with these politicians and their extramarital affairs? South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford dropped a doozy of an extra-stupid, yearlong fling with his Argentinian girlfriend.

After he disappeared last week, his staff first said he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail. It later emerged he had travelled to Argentina to be with his lover, leaving his family over Father's Day weekend.

Really? What the f, Sanford? Did he really think he was so covert as to get away with this rendezvous? It’s just too much. And this clown sits on a high horse about family values? Wow.

It seems to be a trend with the government folks to drop trou whenever and with whomever. Remember the romps of Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, Jim McGreevey and most recently John Ensign. Let me point out that these are not super attractive men. But they’re boning like a mofo. Bone Zone all up in this joint. Maybe part of government service is servicing the people in the naked way.

I’m kind of disgusted.

The media is all a buzz with whether or not Sanford will step down from his Governorship. If it wasn’t for the lying and the coercing his staff to lie for him and the passport requirement to have aforementioned boning, I might show some leniency. But big guy went through Customs to bone and on top of it, boned on Father’s Day. I’m pretty sure that makes you the absolute Worst Father Ever. They should make coffee mugs with that saying.

You know shit happens. People cheat. Those people generally suck. There are a very few exceptions when circumstances are extraordinary — or extraterrestrial — but usually you can count on the cheater being a total a-hole. And in any other industry, your job wouldn’t be threatened by you being a dick in your professional life. (If only that were true, considering there are so many dicks in the corporate and nonprofit world.) In Sanford’s case, his being a total dick could end his career. Do I feel badly for him? Nope. Do I feel badly for his wife? I did for a minute until she said she’d forgive him, in time. I’d say take a pass, lady. Just my opinion.

In conclusion, I’d like to offer this advice to those aspiring to political bigwig or talking head or dude who wears suit 99% of the time: Keep it zipped and locked, dummy.

You’re not welcome. But you never are, are you?

Again with the Japanese

Japan really knows how to get your attention. JWT (a fancy ad agency) in Japan just won a big fancy Cannes award for its Kit Kat campaign as pictured above. Apparently the translation of Kit Kat in Japanese is "surely win." Those agency wonks decided to create edible postcards that folks can send students as good luck wishes before their super rigorous entrance exams. Japan never does anything half assed.

I wish I was a student if only to receive one of these kick-ass Kit Kat Mails. What's inside that delicious box? A giant delicious Kit Kat with my name all over it.

I really think Nestle should introduce this campaign into the U.S. Only problem is our students here are not nearly as kick-ass smart or let's face it deserving of such a sweet piece of mail. Save for me. I would deserve this Kit Kat Mail. Me and the Japanese. Everyone else can go scratch.

Once again the Japanese impress with their crazy out-of-the-mailbox ingenuity. What will they think of next?

Take a timeout, North Korea

Seriously. North Korea is on my last nerve. Initially I thought their tiny leader with the pompadour and platform shoes and penchant for movies was just a super self-centered, attention whore. Now I'm annoyed.

Who threatens to fire a missile on Hawaii? Has he ever even been to Hawaii? Not that he'll ever be invited now. What a douche.

Remember that PBS special they did on North Korea? The tiny kids had never heard of the Intertubez or really anything popular culture-ish outside of their North Korean commune. They did sing really beautifully though. Those tiny North Korean kids in their tiny North Korean outfits. It's too bad their leader is such a total douche.

Fast Fact: Apparently the elite North Koreans have their own transportation system. This elite train only travels to and fro the super elite's super elitist headquarters.

It just sucks that North Korea has to ruin everything, like Summer and Peace, with their stupid missile (uh, penis) wielding. What did Hawaii ever do to you, North Korea? Have you ever even tasted the delicious fruits and nuts from Hawaii? Have you ever been lei'd, North Korea?

I officially reject North Korea and its attempted ruination of my summer and peace in general and of course Hawaii.

That is all.

You seriously can't touch this.

Find more videos like this on AdGabber


First of all, MC Hammer has a new reality show coming out later this year.

Verdict: 100% awesome.

In order to promote said 100% awesome show, the above guerrilla effort took place in L.A.

Behold the group synchronized dance! I wish everyday life was like this. All West Side Story up in your face. Bunches of people just breaking out into spontaneous synchronized dance whenever the mood strikes.

I would totally support that.

Young, old, skinny, fat, who cares. Anyone can join the synchronized group dance. The above video is evidence of that. What really makes me love this effort so much are the gold MC Hammer pants. You seriously cannot touch this even if you tried.

Word.

Science = Fun

In case you missed it, the World Science Fair took over Washington Square Park this weekend. Maybe you think you're too cool for science school. You are not.

The WSF was packed with young and old science nerds alike. I support nerds and science because having them on your side when trying to dominate the world is just smart business.

To attest to the fun factor at the World Science Fair, see above spaceman, which I won after answering a very difficult science question. I won't embarrass you by repeating the question here. I am just that rad.

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In other scientific news, the Doctors (see previous posts) have descended upon my top secret headquarters for the next few days so you may not hear from me. We will be conducting experiments and fieldwork on your habitats. Stay tuned for exciting discoveries.

All Up in Your Unprofessional Business

If ever there was a PSA for the hazards of non-professional dancing, this would be it. I warn you some of the above video may assault one or all of your senses. Man up and watch it.

The tremendous Santigold invited 10 concertgoers on stage at her show this week to freak it up to “Creator.” Remember Kevin Bacon’s vision quest in “Footloose”? He fought the community board to restore the right to dance in that small town terrorized by John Lithgow. Yeah, Bacon could dance. (But what can’t Bacon do?)

Not everyone in the above video can work it out, which is why it makes sense that certain people should be banned from dancing as a matter of public safety. I’d happily take up that charge of issuing citations to non-professional dancers.

Dancers, we go hard. Unfortunately you don’t see much of the kid in the red t-shirt who tore it up in the most unprofessional of ways. There were air kicks and even a midair split if I recall correctly. As a fan of the dance in general, I commend him on his commitment. Obviously not the most talented at busting a move but bust he did with wild abandon.

You’ll also notice Santigold’s two awesome dancers in gold bolero jackets. There are no words for their freaktastic moves. I was thoroughly entertained.

Dancing has exploded in popularity lately, in case you live under a rock and hadn’t noticed. There’s the highly popular “Dancing with the Stars,” “So you think you can dance?” and probably some others that don’t warrant another character. I prefer the Italian version of “Dancing with the Stars” because the dancers love to yell at the judges and although I don’t know what they’re saying half the time, they’re very passionate about the dance and how they look and about just being Italian. All of which I support.

I feel the urge to dance welling up deep inside me. I’ve spoken of this before (see “Dance, Dance”). I might be having a Jennifer Beales moment soon; I hope for your sake you are in close proximity. In case you didn’t know, dancing is in my totally awesome lineage. Yeah, you don’t know me. But I keep these things from you to protect you from your small, sad, non-professional dancing existence.

Watch the above video again. Keep it in mind the next time you hear “Jesse’s Girl” or “Maneater” and feel the need to unleash your dance on the public at large. Remember “Footloose” too. What would Bacon do? If Bacon couldn’t dance, Bacon wouldn’t dance. You should take this nugget with you and apply to daily life.

You’re welcome.

One of these things is awesome.

Thing #1: Big Gay Ice Cream Truck

Thing #2: Air Sex World Championships


If I left it up to you decide. . . well that would just never happen.

I like ice cream. I am 100% pro-ice cream. I don’t eat enough of it.
Actually I hardly ever eat it but I support it nonetheless.

I also like trucks. Pick-up trucks, especially. I’ve only ever ridden
in one pick-up and that momentous occasion took place in Australia.
The driver’s name was D’Arry.



I can appreciate things that are big as well as things that are small. And we are pro-gay as an old-timey word and as a lifestyle.

Combine ice cream and truck and you have a mobile taste explosion. I
get the impression from the BGICT website that their truck is not a
pick-up but more like a van. A big gay ice cream van would seriously
upgrade the awesome quotient by 1000%.

My ice cream man as a child only had four fingers on one hand and
three on the other hand. I did not enjoy buying ice cream from him. He
also had a mustache. Points for the mustache.

On to item 2.

Air is good. Sex as well. Together, not so much. You should know by
now how I feel about competitions and championships so points there.
World domination is a definite plus. Yet this string of
independently-awesome words leaves me cold. I hate being cold.

You can visit the ASWC website and see some pictures of competitors.
I’d like to remind you of my earlier post on My Sexy 12-Step Program: Abridged, in particular How to Position Yourself in the Best Possible Sexual Position.

If there are mirrors in the room, make sure your partner cannot see how totally unsexy they look right now, especially when they make that face that they think is outrageously sexy but is really akin to ponies in white sweatpants playing Scrabble.

Yeah, remember that. Now imagine watching a stranger re-enact a scene from their totally unsexy lovemaking on a stage. I want to believe this would be entertaining. I know I'd feel sexually superior but then maybe a little sad for you. A lot sad for you.

How did this air competition become global? Can you picture the Japanese doing this? I can. They'd be awesome because they love competition and hate losing. I'd go to the ASWC if it took place in Japan or was Japanese only.

I think you can guess which side I'm leaning toward. Delicious gay ice cream or strangers sexing up a floor in the most unsexiest of ways. . .

That Look You Give That Guy

Watch this totally approved Eels' video for "That Look You Give That Guy" from the new album HOMBRE LOBO.

First off, I can't even process the awesome beards happening in this black-and-white video. What I wouldn't give to tangle my digits up in there. Damn.

Secondly, this song warms the cold, black heart inside my chest box. Almost makes me want to shed a tiny tear. I am totally crying on the inside, Eels.

Thirdly, this album's title does not only appear in all caps, which I am on board with, but it's in the espanol, which I am also on board with. The translation is "werewolf." Also on board with.

Fourthly, the members of the bearded band include E (vocals), Knuckles (drums), and Koool G Murder (bass). Do you really need any other reason to mad love the Eels? No, you do not. Do it.

Fifthly, eel is delicious. Try it on a tiny pillow of rice.

I'm feeling vulnerable now.

A short aside. There's a rest stop off the Pennsylvania Turnpike where an infamous guinea hen (a.k.a. turkey) used to loiter. Every damn time I stopped in this rest stop, there was that damn guinea hen. Walking around like he owned the place, hanging around a little too close to cars, taunting people with its guinea hen sounds. One particular stop, I was sitting in the car awaiting a delicious cold beverage from my driver. The owner of the car next to mine came outside and saw this guinea hen leaning on his car. The conversation which followed was thus:

Man: "Where the fuck did you come from?"
Guinea Hen: "_"
Man: "Get the fuck out of here."
Guinea Hen: "_"

Yeah. The tension in the air was thick. Murderous even. But that fucking guinea hen stood his ground. I don't know where the fuck he came from but he most assuredly did not get the fuck out of there.

That look that guy gave that guinea hen was not the same as the look that fictional guy from the awesome Eels' song would totally give me.

Sweet.

Groomsmen

Oh my! I’ve watched the above video several times. You should watch it several times. I didn’t even know dudes did this kind of stuff to the ‘hair down there.’ I’m kind of speechless. There are so many awesome things about this video that I don’t even know where to begin. I particularly enjoyed the way they shot the post-shave moisturizer.

I would also like to formally announce that I should be working at Gillette if this is what Gillette is working on. I will write them a cover letter (in my mind) right now to request they make me some kind of high-powered executive pronto.

You’re welcome.

I like to be on top.

It’s come to my attention that the FTC (a.k.a. Federal Trade Commission) wants to be all up in my blogging business with their “regulations,” trying to “legislate” my ethics, and shit.

Listen here, FTC, I will not be controlled or limited or otherwise inconvenienced by the Man. You can’t hold me down with your big government thumb. I like to be on top, and damn it son, I will be on top.

So I’m writing a letter (in my mind) to the FTC to discuss these regulations that were apparently debated and passed without my consultation. Rude.

The FTC’s main beef is with bloggers who accept freebies from advertisers and then write positive reviews of aforementioned freebies. You know, ‘cuz word of mouth is super powerful among the unwashed masses. The FTC claim they want to protect consumers.

From what? Protect consumers from their own whoring, thieving, cheating, backstabbing, lying, otherwise crummy lives? Why?

Hey Mister FTC, that’s the American Dream. To whore, thieve, cheat, backstab, lie, and otherwise lead a 100% crummy life—for free! I’m pretty sure it’s like Article 1 in the Constitution. Yay, America.

As for those bloggers on the dole, that’s too bad. Too bad you’re too unoriginal to write anything original or unbiased or uninfluenced. How sad for you. Everyone wants to be a writer, and that too is the American Dream. For free! But Mister FTC says you can remain on the dole but you just have to admit that you’re on the dole whereby also admitting that you are an unoriginal cog, nay meatball, whoring for the Advertising Man. I hate to slander the meatball which in 99% of cases is delicious but in this case is a whore.

Rest assured, I cannot be bought by anyone. I influence for free! I am only an ambassador for myself and my opinions which are far superior to yourself and your opinions. I exercise my judgment upon you freely and without agenda. If I so choose, I will freely misguide you, if only for my own amusement. The Truth is out there but I take no responsibility for leading you there. Take some initiative for once and find it yourself.

I’m over the FTC. You are not the boss of me, mister. You might be able to crush the dreams and hopes of the common people, but not me. Not. Me.

This concludes our unpaid conversation, brought to you by me as the sole sponsor of me and all things me related.

I am the future. And the future rejects Twitter.

I don’t understand the Twitter. Yeah, I have an account and I’ve spent a solid week trying to unearth its appeal, usefulness, or really any redeeming quality.

What’s with the character limit? You are not the boss of my characters, Twictators!

What’s with all the following? Why can’t you people add some value instead of always sucking the lifeblood out of me? “What I’m doing” is highly confidential and not open for public forums, let alone debate. I refuse to be compromised by your perverse voyeurism.

Have you even read their Terms of Service? Apparently Twitter rejects those under the age of 13. I take issue with this. On rare occasions, those under the age of 13, particularly those around the ages of 2–4 say some truly funny shit that should be captured in a short-character forum like the Twitter. I will fight for the rights of this voiceless minority.

Therefore, as a result of my intensive research, I reject Twitter. I also reject its make-believe language:

-- tweet
-- Twitterati
-- Tweeters/tweeps
-- Twitterverse
-- Egotwistical
-- Puntwit
-- TwOOb

Et cetera. There’s even a Twictionary.

I feel sick.

It’s not often that the unwashed masses side against my very high-minded, super-informed opinion. But that seemed the case with the Twitter. Marketing wonks practically cream about Twitter, as do a bunch of celebrities and sports-type people. The more I heard about Twitter, the firmer my conviction that the great majority of Twitter is for the illiterate, attention-deficit, self-absorbed idiots (nay Twidiots) of the InterWeb. But why do so many people do the Twitter??? I cannot get my super intelligent head around it.

And then this came into my top secret inbox:

Despite the fact that 99% of Generation Y consumers (ages 18-24) report having an active profile on at least one online social networking site, only 22% of this same age group say they currently use Twitter, according to a study from the Participatory Marketing Network (PMN).

So there’s hope for the youth. Well, at least for 77% of you unwashed youthful masses.

I do like that tiny bird on a branch. The Twitter bird on a branch can stay. I am extremely benevolent to small creatures. I’d also like to extend some leniency to the folks behind the Twitter. After reading the About Us, FAQs, and Support, I’ve come to the conclusion that the Twitter employs emphatics and you know how I feel about emphatics. They are super excited about almost everything and so I cannot reject their enthusiasm and free-love-like use of the exclamation point, no matter how much I’d like to.

Wow, that was really generous of me.

To sum up, the bird can stay. The emphatics are pardoned. 22% of you are a total lost cause. I am still the future and the future which is me is awesome. And you are welcome.

Pizza: The Sport of Champions

Some times in life you happen upon something really dynamite, and although skeptical at first, upon further investigation you quickly realize your world has been upended. Tossed this way and that.

This is how I feel about the World Pizza Champions.

Apparently there are not only competitions and teams devoted to pizza but also expos and newsletters and fuck, yes, jackets and buttons!

I know. You can't really get your head around this amount of mind-blowing information. Maybe take a break and come back later.

I always assumed the pizza toss was mainly for show and show-offs. Au contraire. Only pizza acrobats truly understand the art of the toss. There's like a whole ritual behind this shit. If and when you visit the very awesome World Pizza Champions site, you will learn of both The Setup and The Toss. Apparently it's important to first remove your watch and rings (?). I can't even go into the particulars right now. You'll just have to do a little of your own legwork for once.

Not surprisingly, the World Pizza Championships are held in Italy. Because all awesomeness issues out of the boot.



The dude above is a champion--and not bad looking either. Look at him toss! He's pictured with a certificate as well, which leads me to believe he is the supreme Master of Pizza Tossing. I can respect mastery of anything being a master of everything myself. I'm confused by his religious tattoos but perhaps he finds the power to toss from a power higher than himself. I can totally get behind that.

Admittedly I am a little confused as to what makes you a World Pizza Champion but I've totally subscribed to the newsletter and intend to find out all of their pizza secrets soon enough.

You should really get over to this site immediately and educate yourself. I can't spoon feed you everything. For example, did you know Finland has two World Pizza Champions? Who knew they even ate pizza -- or ate anything at all -- in Finland? And did you know Japan has its own Pizza Acrobatics Team? Of course you didn't. This doesn't surprise me one bit as I've said numerous times before that the Japanese are all up in everyone's shit and better at it than 99.9%. Konichiwa!

To sum up, pizza is delicious at any time of day or night. People all over the world eat the pizza. There are those who consider themselves master tossers (I can think of a few I'd gladly nominate in that arena as well). Pizza is sport. I will divine all future plans of the World Pizza Champions via their very helpful newsletter and continue my world domination.

You are welcome.

My Sexy 12-Step Program: Abridged

I was consulting some old Smoove The Love Man posts recently (Educate yourself here: http://www.theonion.com/content/columnists/view/smoove)

Smoove is a real hero of mine, as much as anyone can be more heroic than myself. He lives in Cincinnati! Exciting! And sexy!

And he manages to squeeze in time from his very sexy agenda to dispense love communication fundamentals in silky tones and silky attire at the very reliable Learning Annex.

Anyway, Smoove makes mention of his sexy 12-step program which got me thinking of my own 12-step program, except mine is much shorter because I'm an incredibly fast learner and pick up skills like a ninja.

I thought "Wow, my shorter than 12-step program is really sexy and I should totally share it with the world."

I thought better of that though. You can't just give it away for free. But I'm feeling a little generous so I'll give you a totally sexy peek into my sexy world and maybe throw in a sexy step here and there. I feel for you after all.

MY UNOFFICIAL SEXY 12-STEP PROGRAM: ABRIDGED PLUS SOME OTHER SEXY TIPS

-- Unsexy: ponies; post-it notes; pickles (naturally); vomiting of any kind, shape, or form (even if projectile); a medicine cabinet full of medicines for all of your unsavory and unsexy ailments; barber shop quartets, quarters (so bulky), rainbows; Scrabble; and of course white sweatpants.

-- Definitely sexy: beards (duh); bedazzled anything; inventions and those who invent them; pennies; Abraham Lincoln; scrambled eggs; HORNS; showers (clean = sexy time); Boggle; my taste in music, art, film, and literature (duh squared); on-demand a capella; Nina Simone's "I want some sugar in my bowl." (period, the end.)

-- How to Feel Sexy Every Time: Find someone who embodies the Unsexy items above. Stand next to them.

-- How to Make It Sexy Time With Your Partner Who May or May Not Be As Sexy As You: Say something sexy like "Girl/Boy, I'm thinking that since I'm infinitely sexier than you, you should really treasure this moment in my very precious but infinite sexy time to really go to town on me. Do it. Now." Another option is to steal directly from Craig’s List Personals. If that’s not a treasure trove of sexual feeling for you moderately sexy people, then I don’t know what other recourse you mediocre sexy people have.

-- How to (Un)Dress for Success: What you’re wearing before, during, and after the sexual business at hand cannot be taken lightly. I suggest sexy materials like Velcro, those little snappy buttons that are really snaps on cowboy shirts, hospital gowns, unitards or anything uni, maybe a pair of Clarks and nothing else (me-ow).

Also important in the (Un)Dress for Success is how you remove said sexy items. I’d suggest maybe practicing a horn solo to accompany your state of slow and sexy undress. Either that, or some good old-fashioned, set-the-mood phrases like “yeah girl/boy,” “oh yes, I did,” “grrrr,” with an occasional grunt to mix it up sexy like. Works every time.

-- How to Position Yourself in the Best Possible Sexual Position: Don’t try to reinvent the sexual wheel here. You have sexy limitations and we all know it. If there are mirrors in the room, make sure your partner cannot see how totally unsexy they look right now, especially when they make that face that they think is outrageously sexy but is really akin to ponies in white sweatpants playing Scrabble.

Another good tip is to position yourself close to the nearest exit just in case your partner gets that crazy unsatisfied look and you need to run for your life. This is also good if aforementioned partner forgets to inform you that their equally batshit crazy significant other just got back into town and hasn’t relinquished his/her keys. You can still look sexy making a fast getaway!


Wow, I'm blowing my totally sexual mind with all this free advice. You're well on your way to being 10% sexy, which is about a 100% gain. I'd suggest printing the shit out of this entry and keeping it folded in your pocket at all times.

You are very welcome, somewhat sexy people.

Bed of Meat!

I love meat. Everyone knows that. Or should. I’d much rather receive a box of meat than flowers or candy, unless of course it’s meat candy because there’s no denying that meat candy would be both delicious and nutritious.

Case in point: chocolate-covered bacon. TASTE. EXPLOSION. Yes! I haven’t actually enjoyed the chocolate-covered bacon just yet because I fear my heart could not withstand the enjoyment. I might die. And seeing as I’ve already had my near-death episode, I’m going to take a pass on you delicious chocolate-covered bacon taste explosion. For now at least.

Back to meat.

I seem to have found someone who enjoys the meat as much as I do. This lady made a bed in the shape of a hamburger, nay cheeseburger, with pickle pillows and a genuine slice of cheese, and tomatoes and shit. This is crazy stuff right here. It’s not for sale right now and that’s probably a good thing. Create some demand in the marketplace. The Hamburger Bed has its own Facebook page. I see this really taking off. It could very well be the waterbed of its day.

Here’s the thing.

I love hamburgers. I do not love hamburgers all junked up with pickles (which I reject categorically) or ketchup or any of those other disgusting condiments you commoners ruin it up with. I like it straight up with some cheese and maybe some delicious bacon and quite possibly some onions.

Yes I love the hamburger but do I want to sleep inside one? Do I want to become part of the hamburger? Clearly any hamburger with me as an ingredient would be fucking phenomonal. It would have to be housed in a museum or something. I’d totally rock the Guinness Book of World Records for most delicious human hamburger ever conceived. Peoples would be licking the windows where my human hamburger would be housed. It would be sad for you. And yet exciting!

This is all fact.

However, why do I want to nod off with my awesome dreams while encased in the hamburger and its sesame-topped buns? Maybe this hamburger bed smells like meat. I might be on board with that.

A long, long time ago I practiced the vegetarianism. I was young and undeniably stupid, more so for forsaking the delicious meat for an equally young and indubitably more stupid boy. After we split, I continued on this tree-hugging ridiculosity until I became tortured by dreams of hamburgers. This is all fact. Night after night I would dream of delicious, bloody hamburgers with their cheese all oozing out the sides just like hot melty cheese can do. After many weeks of such unconscious torture, I ate a hamburger. And it was ri-goddamn-diculously amazing. End of interlude.

With my own hamburger bed, I fear some burglar would unknowingly take a bite out of me when he’s innocently trying to rob my secret headquarters of all its awesome stuff. If that should happen, rest assured I would destroy said burglar after crying a tiny tear on the inside for his dashed hamburger dreams.

I digress. I’m really on the fence with this Hamburger Bed. It’s going to keep me up at night. Those pharmaceutical people should really come up with a sleeping pill that tastes like hamburgers to counteract the sleeplessness caused by the Hamburger Bed. I’m going to write a letter to someone now. Stay tuned.

As always, you’re welcome.

You are wrong and will admit it.

Hello. I've been busy doing top secret stuff for several months so pardon the absence. My return has been heralded by an attack, nay an affront, to my keen sense of fashion. As we all know, I not only have my fingers on the pulse but I am the pulse of all things fashionable. So this particular assault was completely ungrounded, and one might say ludicrous. My attacker will rue the day.

So let's begin.

IN DEFENSE OF THE GREATEST SHOE OF ALL TIME
Yes, our defense is of the Clarks pictured above. This particular stalwart of fashion is known as the Wallabee. (Sidenote: my assailant claims to be of Australian descent and yet attacks a shoe named after a relative of the kangaroo. Self-loathing, much?)

Ahem. Clarks are a long-established English export, dating back to 1825. I know this because I am an excellent detective and read the Clarks timeline. If you are unfamiliar with Clarks, perhaps you grew up in a burrow somewhere burrowish and that is very sad for you.

Prepare for educational download. Aforementioned Clarks history begins thus:

It began with a flash of inspiration.

Well, in fact, every day I too begin with a flash of inspiration!

It was the very first Clarks shoe and the opening chapter in a remarkable story that continues to unfold to this day. In the decades that have passed since the young Mr. Clark’s eureka moment our shoes have seen social, political and economic revolution. They’ve seen fashions in footwear come and go, and come again – everything from court shoes and winklepickers to wedge heels, sandals and sneakers. They’ve tapped to the beat of crooners, rockers, Britpoppers and hip hoppers. They’ve walked, marched, strode and sashayed through an ever-changing world.

What have your shoes done lately? Mine have weathered unrest and winklepickers! They've sashayed for Christ's sake.

I will admit that Clarks are not for everyone. You have to be of my supreme awesomeness in order to carry the weight of their history. Few can handle the pressure. But they are not in fact ugly. Non! They are a testament to industriousness and as their site says "chosen by those seeking authenticity and individuality. . . a timeless classic loved by millions."

Match point, set, game.

You cannot argue with me. Why would you even try? Resistance is futile. I will debate the pants off you and if you're lucky, your ridiculous, unoriginal shoes as well.

So viva la revolucion, Clarks! I embrace my suede upper and moccassin-like construction. I crush naysayers like bug under my thick rubber sole.

As I am an original, it's only fitting my footwear follow suit.

Formal apologies will be considered by the committee of me in due course and in order of receipt.

You're welcome.