We Are Not Bombing Anything! We Are Merely an Efficient High Altitude Drop Off Delivery Service!

How dare you say we are bombing things! Sure, we may not have the highest standards for shipping and handling, and sure, maybe we are so worried about getting the job done on time we just throw the packages out of planes moving at high velocity over our customers! But that does not mean we are BOMBING them. Seriously, we do not have much budget for this operation, and we are trying to save as much money as possible, and you making fun of our delivery system just makes me sad and angry.

I mean, look. Do you have any idea how much fuel costs? You know how much more it would cost our operation if we landed and then walked up to our customers and politely said 'oh, here is the bomb you ordered. Enjoy it!' Ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. You are talking about tripling our overhead.

Yes, I DO have over 37,000 order invoices for Iraq. What, you think we are just indiscrimately dropping our packages all over the country? No, of course not! We have very specific orders!

Look, for instance, right here:

Delivery of 4 MK-87 High Drag General Purpose Explosives to
Saddam's Palace
1 Saddam Way
Iraq
C/O Saddam Hussein

SPECIAL DELIVERY INSTRUCTIONS: Please deliver ASAP. In fact, it is preferable you perform an unguided airdrop of this package directly onto my roof. Further, please do put my delivery in any sort of packaging, as I am very eager to use it, and want to waste no time.


See? See?

What do you think we are, idiots?

Medical Research Uncovers Shocking Explanation For Crop Circles

Recent reseach by a team of medical researchers at Rockefeller University has uncovered a startling truth about crop circles.

"Well, at first, I started with a thorough examination of the popular explanations for crop circles," Said Dr. Chandresekhar, leader of the Rockefeller University based research team. "We investigated the possibility of alien landings, ghosts, Jesus, Satanist Cults, ball lightning, and even leprechauns."

Sighing deeply, reaching into his pocket, removing a flask, and drinking from it heavily, Dr. Chandresekhar continued, "That is all such a load of bullshit I cannot even tell you. I mean... Jesus. You know how much funding I lost by going to the [National Academy of Science] and asking them for leprechaun research grants? Especially when the reality of the situation is that some drunk farmer's kid with nothing better to do and access to a few pieces of plywood and some length of twine can easily make a crop circle in a matter of hours. Fuck. I wish someone had told me that seven years ago, could have saved me some real embarassment, not to mention three divorces." Drying a tear from his eye, Dr. Chandresekhar then related how he came to the conclusion of his study.

"Well, after being knee deep in this bullshit, and, let me just say, I did my fucking research, I read every book out there on the subject, every internet site, and, after having been the laughing stock among my colleagues, and, it turns out, most literate people, for the course of the last seven years, I decided to study the people who actually publish these crazy theories."

"Results have shown, conclusively, that every single person who believes in an explanation other than drunk farmer's kids as the makers of crop circles suffers from what is technically known as Fucking Moron Syndrome. Look at these people!" Dr. Chandresekhar then produced several photos [below]. "Good God man, it is amazing these people manage to feed themselves much less create cohesive internet cults."



[Note: in a related study, researchers at Northwestern Medical School have determined that, worldwide, roughly 200 people who believe in crop circles die of starvation each year, or, in what are termed 'Darwin Deaths,' including ingestion of acid, bases, deaths resulting from improperly stored explosives, guns, homemade explosives, ingestion of glass, etc.]

"These idiots barely understand what 'causation is,' or what constitutes an explanation, in and of itself," Dr. Chandresekhar said as he thumped the desk for emphasis. "Let me be really clear: I am talking about the understanding difference between what actually constitutes a meaningful sentence and a string random syllables, and that difference is just beyond their comprehension."

"Though I state in my paper, I Hate You All, You Fucking Morons I think there is the possibility that sufferers of Fucking Moron Syndrom are not even conscious, and that any appearance of genuine interaction with the world outside them is complete coincidence. I know that is unlikely, but, I just cannot for the life of me come up with a better explanation for people covering their heads in tin foil because they think their microwaves are going to abduct their children in the night."

Dr. Chandresekhar paused, drank from his flask again, and while leaning back in his desk chair, knocked over a large stack of papers. It was at this point that this reporter realized that, under his lab jacket, Dr. Chandresekhar was completely nude. He then leaned uncomfortably close, imparting the following wisdom, carried on breath thick with whiskey. "Forget trying to explain modus ponens, modus tollens, and especially what it means 'to beg the question,' to folks like this: these idiots think the Moon is held in place by Jesus."

Several minutes passed as Dr. Chandresekhar rested his forehead on the table, apparently trying to hide his gentle sobbing. Sitting back up, removing his glasses, and rubbing his eyes, he revealed the most shocking conclusion of his study.

"Sadly, I must report, over 97% of the human population suffers from Fucking Moron Syndrome in one regard or another, being completely unable to differentiate between an idea supported by evidence and a completely batshit crazy lack-of-an-explanation-for-preconceived-superstitious-nonsense. Sadly, this means that even you are probably suffering from it right now."

Dr. Chandresekhar stared at me blankly for a few moments.

"For all I know, you are probably illiterate."

After pausing for several minutes, Dr. Chandresekhar stated simply, "I've wasted my life."

When A Comma Is Actually A Stand In For A Sigh / Please, Flush the Toilet

At my office, on the inside of each of the men's room stall doors, there is a very simple sign:

Please, flush the toilet.

--Maintenance.

Volumes are communicated in that one comma. Volumes.

Lessons in Social Interaction #3: Constant Eyebrow Motion

This one will actually require a lot of practice and time spent looking in a mirror. Other than that, however, it is very straightforward.

Step 1: Keep Your Eyebrows in Constant Motion
Things to experiment with are raising one eyebrow independant of the other, moving the entire brown up and down, alternatively raising eyebrows then furrowing eyebrows, (difficult) having only one eyebrow in constant motion. This last one, though very tricky, is extremely effective. People will not be able to carry on a conversation with you, and, as long as you successfully complete step 2, they will not have the nerve to confront you about it.

Step 2: Keep the Rest of Your Face Perfectly Still
This is the really difficult part. I suggest practicing in a mirror. A good way to increase face elasticity, which is necessary to accomplish this, is strong regimen of facial exercises, including, but not limited to: facial massages; attaching weights to your earlobes and spinning in circles; alternatively plunging your face into liquid nitrogen and a raging fire (this will help the rate of expansion / contraction of your skin); tanning; being rigorously beaten around the face and neck with a wooden paddle. I suggest experimenting with several; you'll find your own comfort zone.

Remember, keep a straight face. Any giggles and all of a sudden you will be perceived as someone not with an unenviable facial tic, but rather for the psychotic that you actually are.

Cheers!

Scientists: We Must Return To The Moon

That's right folks. CNN.com reported that exact headline. I imagine the story went something like this:

Scientist 1: We must return to the Moon! Immediately! As you can see, we are deep into preparations.

Scientist 2: Jesus, cool it Adrian. If you hadn't forgotten your damn wallet up there, we wouldn't have to go back at all.

Adrian: ... Fuck you, Steve. Fuck you.

Reporter: And that just about sums it up for science! Coming up at 10: The writings of John Malatich, and how he explains the Sun shines because it is a solid sphere of gold, held in place by Jesus.

Lessons in Social Interaction #2: Always Start With No

This one is fairly straightforward; the goal is to create so much fear in your work atmosphere and develop so much insecurity in your coworkers that they are constantly seeking your approval. Approval which you dangle over them like the sword of Damocles, dropping it on them with such ferocity and might that the only thing worse than your constant baseline state of dissaproval is, actually, getting noticed. This will result in an atmosphere in which the only way you have to interact with your coworkers is via e-mail, voicemail, or, perhaps, as they cower in the corner as you walk by, or, just as likely, are so startled by your appearance they scream / wet themselves / spill coffee directly on their genitals / run facefirst into the nearest cubicle wall in an attempt to avoid you. Here's how it works:

Step 1: Say 'No' As Often As Possible
Say no repeatedly when walking to and from the water cooler, when getting water from the water cooler, when picking up printouts from the printer, checking e-mail, etc. Modulate tone and emphasis. This will keep things fresh. However, unless speaking to an individual directly, it is best to keep these general, atmospheric, 'no's to a relatively low volume. That way, when someone actually tries to interact with you, you can hit them with a big one:

Step 2: Whenever Someone Tries to Interact With You, Immediately Interrupt With a Jarring "NO!"
After screaming / shouting / projecting / spraying / belching / shrieking / belting a good, resounding "NO!" right into the face of the person trying to interact with you, remain in posture, just having delivered the "NO!", and then wait, in silence. The object is to actually knock the other person off their feet with your initial interruption, but getting them off guard and causing a physical cringe reaction, hopefully triggering a tic (which most of your coworkers should have developed by now), is fine as well. After the recovery from their initial shock, they will continue to deliver whatever news it may be to you, at which point your posture can relax slightly. While listening, shake your head and mutter "no, no, no."

Step 3 (optional / rare): If the Idea / News Being Presented to You Is Worthwhile, Scream "YES!" With All Your Might
Follow with "THAT'S BRILLIANT! AMAZING! ASTOUNDING!" Etc. Grip the other person by the shoulders, shake them vigorously, kiss them on the cheek, etc. Overwhelm them. At the same time, however, repeat the idea they have just explained to you back to them, emphasizing nothing but how good a particular aspect of the idea will make you appear. Then, run off immediately to either get done what needs to get done, or, even better, follow that person around for the rest of the day, continuing your shouting pep talk, until the task is completed.


I assure you, things around you will get done with a minimum effort on your part, and, once again, no genuine meaningful interaction between you and anyone you are forced to spend time with.

YES!

Lessons in Social Interaction, #1: The Hand-Raised-Name-Repeat

Oftentimes when I am at the office (read: every waking moment) I am confronted with inefficiency, incompetence, ridiculous requests, and a general atmosphere of de-motivating, life sucking social interaction. I find that it is necessary to engage in as little of this activity as possible for the simple reason of preserving my sanity.

Though some would argue it is easier to simply come to work in the morning, carrying a gun pointed at your own head, and screaming "DO NOT MAKE ME FUCKING DO IT!" every few moments is a good way to avoid any and all social interaction, I find that the police, as often as not, frown on such activities.*

*Especially if you are not caucasian.

Therefore, to avoid any meaningful social interaction, preserving your sanity, I suggest the following tactic, which neither incriminates you, causes undue stress to the person-to-be-ignored, or, really, allows any passage of information whatsoever.

Step 1. Raise hands. I suggest palms facing the person-to-be-ignored, as showing the back of one's hands can be interpreted as needlessly aggressive. Aggression is an interaction; the point is to be as soulless to your coworkers as the working world is to you.

Step 1a (optional). Shrug & Raise Eyebrows / Furrow Brow & Look Away Slightly. Experiment with these. They are appropriate for different circumstances; the one conveys a certain sense of exasperation, while the other a certain amount of hopelessness.

Step 2. Repeat name of person-to-be-ignored over and over. Occasionally throw in "Okay?" or "Seriously," if so desired.

Step 3. Repeat steps 1 & 2 as necessary.

Effective, simple, it never wears out (because it was never really appropriate in the first place, and, if I do say so myself, is still a hell of a lot less annoying than the constant YouTube watching of a certain 5'9" woman who sits three desks down from me and doesn't realize I have poured a potent synthesized hallucinogen into her sanka), and it creates, above all, a sense of confusion in the person-to-be-ignored that might even be mistaken for the impression of having interacted with someone deeply engrossed in work! Perfect!

Tune in next time for the lesson in loud nose breathing: sure to ward off any form of social interest in one's coworkers. Silent and deadly? Hardly: Barely audible and extremely annoying.

These Goddamn Terrorists Are Robbing Me Of A Job by an MK-82 General Purpose Bomb

How much is there to say? You read the news! I read the news too, though it is a bit difficult trying to read a newspaper given the fact my only visual sensory input comes from the laser guided JDAM missile system built into my weapons delivery platform, which is typically an F/A-18 Hornet. You have any idea how much cajoling it takes to get one of the damn deck crew to set a copy of the New York times underneath the high resolution optical scanner of a Hornet that I might be attached to at the time? Please.

Anyway, I digress. The reason I ever started writing this Op-Ed (by writing I mean started threatening the deck crew with an untimely demise until they wrote it for me) was to make this point: If these terrorists keep killing innocent civilians, blowing up key landmarks and infrastructure, bringing havoc to the countryside, well, then, why was I ever born? And by born I mean manufactured to precise demolition standards by HLLC. Limited of Nevada. All I want to do is blow up and take some sh*t with me, and, frankly, the way things are going, what is going to be left to blow up? Sand? Sand can blow itself up for all I care. Rubble? Rubble is just the sign of a job well done, and a job I didn't do.

Man, if I can't blow something up soon, my wife is going to kill me.

The Information Facebook Sells To Advertisers

(b) Examples of Facebook Site Information. The Facebook Site Information may include, without limitation, the following information, to the extent visible on the Facebook Site: your name, your profile picture, your gender, your birthday, your hometown location (city/state/country), your current location (city/state/country), your political view, your activities, your interests, your musical preferences, television shows in which you are interested, movies in which you are interested, books in which you are interested, your favorite quotes, the text of your "About Me" section, your relationship status, your dating interests, your relationship interests, an encrypted user ID associated with your significant other's Facebook Site profile, your summer plans, your Facebook user network affiliations, your education history, your work history, your course information, copies of photos in your Facebook Site photo albums, metadata associated with your Facebook Site photo albums (e.g., time of upload, album name, comments on your photos, etc.), the total number of messages sent and/or received by you, the total number of unread messages in your Facebook in-box, the total number of "pokes" you have sent and/or received, the total number of wall posts on Wall ™, a list of encrypted user IDs mapped to your Facebook friends, your social timeline, and events associated with your Facebook profile.

Who do celebrities love the most? Me. by Satan

I recently discovered this article on CNN.com.

Be assured, Drew Pinsky and S. Mark Young of the University of Southern California have a special place reserved by my left side. Oh, no, I am not mad at them. You see, they are, in fact, demons sent to do my bidding on Earth. I want the average mortal to be unaware of my majority ownership of the 5 major Hollywood studios (broadcast and reproduction rights for their entire catalogues included). Humans must not realize that every time they laugh at Rob Schneider, I have a 3% commission on the laugh transaction, resulting in a partial transfer of the ownership of their soul to one of the many banks I own (in fact, I own all of them).

If one were to crunch the numbers, laughing about 200 times at Rob Schneider gives me majority ownership of your soul. This is, of course, assuming that my leveraged buyout of your interest in pornography doesn't fall through. That reminds me, I still have to talk to Larry Flynt about that. He negotiates a damn good contract. I'd say his lawyer must work for me, but, actually, most lawyers actually work against me; they do want my job, after all.

Anyway, the long short of it is that I own you. I own most of Hollywood, too.

Except for that damn Will Arnett... He is just too good. Too damn good.

Hey, Don't Get Angry At Me For Sneezing In Your Face, I Am Just Trying To Prevent A Species From Dying

Flu viruses have survived for millions of years, buddy. They are a part of our Earth's beautiful ecosystem. Here, take a pamphlet. See? Aren't they cute? Those little adorable viruses?

You see, the flu's natural function, the function it was selected by nature to have, is to transmit itself from host to host by causing their hosts to sneeze! Ideally, directly into the respirtory system of another candidate host animal! An extremely effective form of transmission, if you ask me. Yup, nature is really elegant in her simplicity sometimes. But take note, if I were to sneeze, and no one inhaled my sneeze, all those viruses, not to mention bacteria and other delightful microscopic life, would most likely die! So instead of getting mad at me for sneezing in your face, don't you think you should be thanking me for the honor of granting you the stewardship of living creatures in your respiratory, circulatory, and lymphic systems, you miserable ingrate? Do you really want to be responsible for the death of an entire species?!

Okay, okay, maybe I got a bit harsh. I apologize. But, seriously, please don't waste your sneezes. Every time you feel the urge, please try to sneeze directly in the face of the person nearest to you. Preferably, someone you know you can trust to not try and clean themselves off or use anti-histamines or cold medication. We wouldn't want to kill off our little viruses before they mature and are capable of rupturing your cells from the inside! Oh, the miracle of life is so beautiful! Especially when it is systematically turning other human beings into liquid.

Here, take a pamphlet.

Viruses have the right to life too, ya know.

Here, friend, take a pamphlet.

Aha! I Can Use Puppies To Market My Flesh-Thresher 2600!

The question is, do I feature the Flesh-Thresher with the puppies? Being used by the puppies? Or being used on the puppies? Hm. I think I'll design ads for all three and see what market tests tell me. My money is on the puppy-killing. I'm selling murder machines, obviously, so odds are the violence will appeal to my target demographic.

I've got 25,000 of these things to move, and, trust me, I've threshed the flesh of everyone that is on my current list.

Why I Am Not An Academic / I Am A Planet

Fun bunch, those astronomers. Quoted from an NY Times Article:

''It could be argued that we are creating an umbrella called 'planet' under which the dwarf planets exist,'' she said, drawing laughter by waving a stuffed Pluto of Walt Disney fame beneath a real umbrella.

Boy oh boy. Fun fun fun!

On another note, I am shocked and appaled at the International Astronomers Union for not consulting me on this one. As a result, I intend to change the fine structure constant just enough to increase the density of matter so that all the planets in the solar system will crash into the Sun. The Lord of the Underworld deserves a planet in his name, or no one does.

Geraldo Rivera: Vacuous Moron? or Robot Savior From the Future?

I don't know if I even need to try to make a joke of him, he does a good enough job of it himself. I'll quote directly from his own blog:

How weird would it be if I stopped in the middle of doing my show to announce that I wasn't gay? Yet that's exactly what Oprah Winfrey does in the August issue of her magazine.

As we reported yesterday, Oprah, in a long article, made a point of explaining that her extremely close, 30-year friendship with Gayle King, her frequent sidekick and the editor of her magazine was not sexual in nature. And, Ms. King added, "the truth is, if we were gay, we would tell you, because there's nothing wrong with being gay."

What the fuck is he talking about? Is he trying to prove that he is actually literate by telling us that he actually read Oprah's magazine? And how the hell can you 'report' what someone else said in a magazine? I do not 'report' to my friends what the Times published. Simply telling someone else something they read in a magazine barely constitutes a conversation, much less reporting.

Here is the formula for Geraldo, as I imagine he might write in his own words:

1. Find an issue that people find emotional. Preferably one that requires wearing a bulletproof vest, because I look really awesome in a bulletproof vest. Also, I want a gun, so I can shoot terrorists if I see them. (Note to ed: Can I just wear around a bulletproof vest all the time? It makes me look badass. Also, it makes me look really good if I can save some kids. Can we make sure to have some injured kids in the shot so I can carry them to safety? If necessary, find healthy kids and shoot them.)

2. Talk really loudly about issue at hand, but make sure not to take either side. Use lots of superlative words like 'unimaginable' 'unbelievable' 'outrageous' and make constant appeals to morality. If other people can get a word in edgewise, it means that I am not doing all the reporting! (Note to ed: what does polyunsaturated mean? My nutritionist Gunter told me something about that, and I can't quite remember. Can we get a camera crew to McDonalds for an expose? Make sure that my bulletproof vest arrives before me; those people at McDonalds look pretty shifty. Also, get a shot of me snatching a hamburger away from a child and then giving him a piece of broccoli, and prompt him to say "Thanks for saving me from high cholesterol, Geraldo!" Preferably, this child should be black.)

3. Make a report on how good my reporting was to bookend the report. (Note to ed: Is there an Emmy category for best news documentary about news documentaries? Because I have all this great footage from Beirut of me eating at this one cafe; its really great behind-the-scenes stuff, and I can show off the new bulletproof vest. It was the blue one with the red trim and the embroidered G on the back; I think it was tailored by the same guy that made Curtis Jackson a.k.a. 50 Cent's vest. Can we figure out how to run that footage? Also, make sure to cut the part where I spilled coffee on my nice pants and accidentally exclaim "Oh fizzlenuts!" And have those pants come back from the cleaners yet? You know how hard it is for me to find khakis that fit, especially after I've spent so much time hammering my quads.)

4. Order more mustache polish.

Drunk Driver: Dial 911

While driving down the highway in California recently, (read: being driven down the highway) I noticed signs along the side of the road reading:

DRUNK DRIVER
DIAL 911

I was confused. Is this like a college public safety policy, where if you are drunk, and you call the cops, you don't get in trouble?

"Well son, your BAC is .43, and, frankly, I'm shocked you are still breathing, much less able to operate a motor vehicle in any capacity, but, since you called us... we aren't going to arrest you. We are just very dissapointed in you, and will be notifying your parents. Well, move along!"

Bacardi And Cola

"'Ello mates! Oi'm an Ahmehrican cop, Oi is! And where be these teeves we're ahfter naow?"

"Oi, bahhtender. Oi'll have a Bacardi mohito. Maek it too, one far me little Choinese lass 'ere."

Was I the only one who actually caught Colin Farell's character ordering a Bacardi Mojito? Because he did. In the worst American accent I've heard since Hugh Grant in Mickey Blue Eyes.*

*This was one of the worst goddamn movies of all time. No joke here. Just pointing out that this was a horrible, horrible movie.

A Green Curry Scented Perfume Is One Of The Worst Goddamn Ideas I've Ever Heard And I Wish You Would Stop Suggesting It Every Single Time I Buy One

Who in their right mind would want to smell like a goddamned green curry all day? Sure, they are tasty. Sure, the aroma is pleasant. But, for some reason, I do not think that women would be particularly turned on by the scent of someone who smells like he vigorously rubbed curry paste in his armpits first thing in the morning. Especially by 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Can I just once, please, bring a green curry to work and not have to listen to your idea about making it into a perfume? It is a bad idea. A really bad idea. It isn't even a funny idea. The only thing funny about the idea is the way I have made fun of it, and 1. picturing the image of someone actually rubbing curry paste into their armpits and 2. the fact that you actually think this is a good idea.

Seriously, just let me eat my goddamn lunch in silence. Just once. Silence. At lunch.

Jack White: Lord of the Undead or Willy Wonka Incarnate?

?

It is well known that Satan is behind him and Mr. White has also been spotted leading armies of the walking dead. However, it is also well known that he loves candy. Specifically, peppermints.



You decide.

The Most Upsetting Moment Of Band Of Brothers

When watching Band of Brothers last night, I was overcome by shock, horror, and disgust. Not because of the brutal violence. Not because of the realization that humans exist in a state of constant warfare and nothing ever changes.

It was because Jimmy Fallon came on screen. I couldn't find the remote fast enough to change the channel, so I just hurled a lamp at the television.

The horror.

The horror.

Kenny G-Unit

I do not respect people who put the letter 'G' in their names. McG. Kenny G. What on earth could lead them to think this is 'cool'?

"Well I chose Kenny G because it elicits a certain mystique, as people wonder, well, what exactly does the G stand for? Also, G is my favorite note."

"HEY HEY HEY! I chose McG because IT ROCKS! It RE-DYNAMICIZES my IN YOUR FACE down WITH IT COOL STYLEE-O! Demographic ANALYSIS has shown that KIDS LOVE IT when you add in UNECESSARY LETTERS IN YO' NAME!! Cut me some skin, BROTHA!"

They are really just lame attempts to make their names sound cool. I must say, McG's name is dumb, but I can't really say I've got beef with him other than that. Kenny G, however, well... just look at the picture.

50 Cent I respect for naming his crew G-Unit. It is straightforward. And, unlike so many poseurs, he has street cred. Real street cred. I think the street cred really came when he got shot directly in the mouth. Now if he had only been shot say, 4 or 5 times, or maybe not shot in the mouth, he might not be as badass. But no. He is badass.

"Yea I call my crew G Unit cuz we are gangsta's and I like callin' us a unit cuz like the army's gots units and we roll all strapped and organized and shit just like in they army."

"Don't you care that you are projecting an image of gangsterhood that might upset your neighbors, and such an image might bar you from acceptance into the elite society which you so obviously want to be a part of?"

"Kiss my ass."

Yeah, 50 cent is way cooler than Kenny G or McG. I have to respect any dude who walks around with a custom bulletproof vest.

I prefer mine though:



Hats off, Mr. Cent. Hats off.

Urban Dictionary Defines "Off the Hitler"

When someone puts another person in extreme physical pain.

Man, when Tom rammed his fist into Bob's nutsack, it was off the Hitler.

Cnn.com Headline: Study: Sexy music triggers teen sex

Is there anything that doesn't trigger teen sex? As far as I can remember, teenagers are horny bastards with nothing better to do than think about sex constantly.

I remember being a teenager, walking down the street, and basically my thought process was like this:

Man, that this red-light is long. It kind of reminds me of a nipple. Fuck, watch it buddy, you totally just knocked in to me. Why did you have to knock into me instead of that hot MILF? Holy hell that poodle reminds me of this chick I know. Man, that chick I know totally looks like this other chick. I'm hungry. I wonder if those chicks would make me a sandwich after I double-teamed them.

Not very original, but, pretty accurate, to be sure.

One sec, I need to shout at some kids on my lawn.

"You all should get jobs, you horny bastards! You make me sick!"

That should have sorted that out.

Now, more important than the fact that any statement involving the words 'teens' and 'sex' should be logically followed by, "That doesn't surprise me in the least, and though this sort of behavior is inevitable and part of human nature, I am going to tie my child to a chair, stuff cotton in his ears, tape his eyeballs shut, move to Guam and then stick my head under a rock until he is over 18 and I am no longer legally responsible for him," is the fact that this study is, obviously, bullshit.

It's the difference between cause and correlation. Maybe horny kids listen to racy songs, and the songs don't make kids horny? I mean, and I could be wrong, I'm pretty sure that what makes kids horny is, ya know, their genitals.

Congratulations To My Thousandth Visitor and the Winner of the Eternity of Unimaginable Suffering Contest!

Congratulations, 1000th visitor! You should be overjoyed at winning the Eternity of Unimaginable Suffering contest, which I now realize you might not even have been aware of! Well, needless to say, it is quite an honor, and, you, as my 1000th visitor, have the pleasure of enduring it! I've traveled the four corners of the planet, even transgressed the boundaries of space and time to find the most vile minds in the universe. They have the sole charge of setting their ungodly minds to the task of ensuring that you, for the rest of eternity, will be in states of pain and suffering that simply defy the bounds of the human mind.

Also, here is a $9.95 voucher to Denny's that arrived in the mail with my newest Torturemonger's Bi-Annual Digest. Enjoy!

Are You Constantly Irritable?

Do you find yourself angry, always ready to snap? Do you wake up each morning with a sense of pervading misery that follows you around all day? Do you find that every social situation you enter becomes tense, combative, and downright nasty?

You might be an asshole!

PharmexCo has recently developed a new treatment for people just like you. If you find that you suffer from the common symptoms of being an asshole, such as constantly arguing about everything, being embittered and snide, and making other people feel like shit to try and give a boost to your damaged sense of self esteem, then talk to your doctor about PharmexCo's new treatment: A Solid Punch Right In The Goddamn Mouth™.

A Solid Punch Right In The Goddamn Mouth™ has been proven to help assholes calm the fuck down, making them, and, more importantly, everyone around them, a hell of a lot happier.

The Unglamorous Truth of Effective and Functional Pickup Lines

Pickup lines have been mocked by many. I don't need to get into the history or details of pickup lines, but rather, I would like to offer a criticism of the entire idea.

Most pickup lines are based around the idea that a line can be used to get a girl to sleep with you. Therefore, they are designed to provoke eroticism, sexuality, etc., and, in essence, pickup lines are a screen of sorts, sorting out the willing and the unwilling.

I argue, however, there is a much more important screening process that needs to occur. While it is important to sort out the willing from the unwilling or uninterested, it is much, much more important to sort out the relatively sane from the batshit crazy. Here are the pickup lines I recommend:

"Hey baby, you aren't on any antidepressants, are you?"

"Yo gorgeous, does mental illness run in your family?"

"Hey honey, if you had a dollar for every time you have had a major depressive episode, how many dollars would you have?"

"Hotstuff, I was just noticing you from across the bar, and, well, I couldn't help but wonder, have you ever been institutionalized?"

Trust me. If they stick around after that, not only are they probably sane*, but are almost certainly willing to get it on.

*They might still be crazy.

Jon Tierney Is Off Today

Why did they hire him? Was the decision to hire him made at Maureen Dowd's insistence, because they all knew he wanted to take more time off than work, so she could drown us in her condescending, liberal-position-self-undermining, cutesy, one sided nonsense?

Maureen Dowd does as much to set back the liberal cause as anyone. All any conservative has to do, in order to demonstrate that liberals are condescending 'intellectuals' who simply mock conservatives instead of engaging with their arguments, is point to Maureen Dowd. And, in this case, they'd be right.

Though it is funny how she lambasts Hillary Clinton too. I've yet to discern who she actually agrees with.

Therefore, I declare that she agrees with me. Maureen Dowd thinks I am right. About everything. Including the fact that she is wrong.

The Job Interview Took A Turn South When This Happened

It didn't help that I put out the fire on my pants by smothering it with the nearest thing I could find.*

*This is because the nearest thing I could find was a picture of my interviewer's daughter. Apparently, some people's "button" is rubbing a picture of their daughter all over your crotch. Who knew?

Needless to say, because I did not get the job, I have since destroyed their facilities.

Some Headlines Are Just So Obvious / Lance Bass: I'm Gay

World: No Shit.

I was in the supermarket yesterday and saw a cover of people magazine that Lance Bass was on with big yellow lettering "I'm Gay." The picture was so hammed up as to be unbelievable. They might as well have photoshopped him in drag having drinks with Madame Chablis while cabana boys rubbed oil on him. Please. Just because he is gay doesn't mean he still isn't Lance Bass, and we don't have to start making the pictures we publish of him extra gay.

However, what I found more interesting was the headline below that:

Colin Farrel: Sober 6 Months

Man. I don't even know where to start on that.

Also, the last Maureen Dowd editorial, where she basically interprets W and Blair's statements, filling in all sorts of snide commentary that is neither insightful nor useful, ended with the line John Tierney is on vacation. I couldn't help but laugh, as this line felt like more of an apology than a notification.

"... I'm sorry you had to read that. Seriously. So sorry. I know it was horrible. I know that Dowd is nothing but a red-headed Coulter, but, come on, Tierney is on vacation, and we had to publish something! Please continue to read our paper!"

Beer Brewing is the Finest of the Arts

The process of making beer goes back several thousand years, back to the ancient Egyptians, who called beer 'Um-koo-kawai,' which roughly translates as "hey, give me another / I did not know that was your sister." Strange and complex society, the Egyptians. In determining ways to best preserve and store grain, literally the meal of human-kind, many different techniques were experimented with. Among these techniques included the boiling of grain, followed by storage in a cool climate. Essentially, the Egyptians discovered how to liquefy bread (note: liquid bread or 'bread juice' was an alternate name for beer in ancient Egypt, but failed to catch on for 2 important reasons:
1. It sounds disgusting.
2. 'Hey give me another' was much more commonly uttered during the consumption of beer.)

Everything important to life is found in beer.**

1. Water. The building block of life.

2. Grain. More building blocks of life (amino acids, carbs, etc.)

3. Yeast. The creator of life. Yeast used to be called Goodisgoode because it contained within it the miracle of creation, i.e. the creation of life.

4. Hops. In the hemp family.

This is why I argue that beer brewing is the finest of arts. What other art forms have such pleasurable / delicious endproducts?

To quote the god Bender:

"I give the my one commandment: Thy lord needs booze!"

Amen.

Amen.

On that note, be hereby forwarned: I plan on turning an entire continent into a beer garden. It will require the enslavement of its entire population, either as serving wenches, manservants, barkeeps, brewmasters, farmers, and the luckiest (read: fattest and tastiest) will be used to add flavoring to my favorite beer, Humanbock. I have yet to determine which continent I intend to use, but Austrialia knows its been on my watch list ever since the P.M. refused to have Ayres Rock cut into the likeness of my stunning visage.

**My one criticism of beer is that there is altogether too much life involved with it. Thus my creation of Humanbock. The misery is what makes it taste great! That and human marrow.

If The Guy Sitting Next To Me At The Office Uses The Ebaumsworld Schwarzenegger Soundboard One More Time I Will Harvest His Body For Blood Plasma

Blood plasma is not even that valuable. That isn't the point, however. The point is to bring an end to this interminable stream of internet related tomfoolery. Yes, I've seen that commercial where the guy gets crushed by the tree. Yup, I also read cnn.com today. And thank for your amazing anecdotes, such as, "oh I never carry umbrellas. It's just water!" Yes. Quite. And this is just Italian silk.

"Who are you, and what does your daddy do?"
"I'm a cop!"
"Rubber baby buggy bumper!"

Right.

That's it.

Anyone need 8 quarts of blood plasma?

Insane Is The New Pink / Neoconservatism Is The New Homosexuality

Read Paul Krugman's editorial of today, July 21st, 2006:

http://select.nytimes.com/2006/07/21/opinion/21krugman.html?hp

Neoconservatives are a group of people that have what I like to call a severe aversion to reality. In their universe some naive and perverse conception of a 'moral imperative' leads them to believe that the forces of 'right' can, will, and, more importantly, should, must, and inevitably act against and righteously defeat the forces of 'evil.'

Gag me with a lit blowtorch.

Lets break it down:

1. I have stated many, many times that I think any party using words such as 'right' 'righteous' or 'evil' in its policy is, in essence, a 'religion,' and is basing its arguments in a belief about the way reality should be and not an analysis of the way reality is. Using 'good' and 'evil' in political debate is nothing more than conjuring up a bogeyman: 'good' and 'evil' do not have a place in legitimate political analysis.

I am not saying there are not things I do not qualify as 'good' or 'evil' myself, I am merely pointing out that these are matters of opinion, and though they should be taken into account when making important decisions, they cannot be the reasons for those decisions, because a belief cannot stand as a reason. In fact, a belief if most accurately described as a lack of reason! Things that are 'believed in' are done so based on faith, and not on reason. Getting back to my main point...

2. This in mind, the neocon conception of 'good' and 'evil' is immature and qualitatively no different than the conception of 'good' and 'evil' of the very terrorists they claim to be superior to. Neocons are merely a reflection of the terrorists, trying to impose their own order of 'good' and 'evil' on the world, with no more or less rigor in their process of thought. They just blindly follow their 'moral compass,' which, as stated above, has more to do with their faith based commitments and a suspension of rational analysis than it has to do with the way the world works.

3. As a result, this leads them to lunatic decisions made completely contrary to the facts. Further, it is impossible to reason with them, because, as stated before, their arguments have nothing to do with reason. This can be seen quite easily in debate with a neocon, as when one criticizes a neocon position with rational analysis, the neocon response is to try to 'undermine your moral worth,' by calling you unamerican, gay, whimpy, french, communist, or what have you. This allows them to cast doubt on your argument without having to provide any substantial process of reasoning, and brings the debate back into the sphere of belief.

4. Therefore, I hereby resolve to do the following:

Next time I am in an argument with a neocon (or right wing idiot of any type, for that matter) and I don't like their argument, I'll just call them gay.

"Boy, that idea sure is gay. Didn't you know only gay people think that way? If you think that it must mean you are gay. Jeez. I mean, it is okay and everything. I don't have any problem whatsoever with gay people, but I hear your fellow neocons do."

I think that would be a great liberal strategy. Liberals have to beat neocons at their own name calling, unreasoned, immaturely-held-belief-based game. They call us whimps, we call them hypocrites. They call us girly, we call them sexist. They call us unamerican, we call them fascists.

Oh wait.

Too late.

My Idea For The No-hassle Undercarriage Temperature System Has Been Stolen!

Recently, my good friend / bitter enemy Theo* recommended ways to avoid the summer heat. Many of them were good ideas. I, too, am fond of the cessation of all movement, including swallowing and blinking, as a means to cool down. What he failed to mention, however, is the added benefit of the endothermic evaporation process of all the drool that winds up covering one's body when undertaking the no-movement approach to heat escape. But, alas, I am getting off track.

Theo stole my idea for the No-hassle Undercairrage Temperature System (patent pending), or NUTS for short. It consists of a form fitted high temp high pressure injection molded vessel, into which a coolant, such as propylene glycol (or, ice water [in fact, I recommend ice water]) is placed. Then, one sets it on the ground (carefully!), removes one's pants, and lowers one's testicles into the vessel. Instant gratification, I assure you.

Theo, I demand my invention back.

...

It is extremely hot.

*Also, he spelled refrigerate wrong.

The Secret to ITS

Let me tell you the secret to ITS.

Back in 1974, someone at your company bought a computer, a MOSCo-2929 to run some sort of databasing or organizational function for your office. At the time, it was very expensive. The computer itself is the size of a small house, and requires a full time staff of 3 just to maintain. Their job not only includes entering and retrieving information from this computer, but also includes periodically dumping buckets of water on it, putting out fires, starting other fires, patching wiring with chewing gum and paperclips, fabricating new computer parts out of human despair and even older computer parts, not sleeping, and lying about how hard their job is. (See below.)



In 1985, when your company expanded, a new computer system, the VarSLOe-2210, was added to take over more of the organizational needs of your growing firm. This computer was also large and expensive. It also required a staff of 3. However, the VarSLOe-2210 staff has no idea how to run the MOSCo-2929, and vice versa. Further, the VarSLOe-2210 needs to access the MOSCo-2929, and vice versa. Therefore, 2 more people were hired to figure out how to integrate the two. Their job requires making another computer system from scratch, a long and expensive process, simply to integrate these other two antiquated systems. That system looks like this:



Why do such a thing, you ask? Why not simply upgrade the entire system? A few reasons.

The systems, as they stand, still work. The fact that they are hulking pieces of shit that require as much prayer as they do maintenance, the fact that living hamsters constitute the majority of their power sources, and the fact that all the original manuals are written in now forgotten dialects of Russian all take second seat to the fact that, by and large, these computers still work. To replace them costs money!

Yes, it is true that it might cost less money, over time, to simply upgrade the entire system and only have half the workers to maintain the new system and not have to constantly work to integrate new computers into old systems, but here is THE secret of ITS:

Your job is to lie to your boss. Constantly. At every single possible turn. Make your work seem infinitely more complicated than it is. Jerry rig everything possible. Emphasize just how much prayer your work really requires, how finicky the computer systems are, and basically make the entire process so distasteful that your boss will be happy simply to go a single day without having to see you, hear from you, or better yet, think of you.

You run the 'magic interweb'!! In other words, make your work look tough, do such a poor job of it that only you know how to turn the goddamned computer on or off, and all of a sudden, you are essential personnel! They can't replace you, because you are the only one who has any idea how the system works! Excellent! It doesn't matter that you run with about 3% efficiency, that the ITS department spouts money faster than the Niagara, and that you offer no real service or support for the rest of the company: You're on the interweb!

I hate computers.

If I Don't Have A Report On This Graph On My Boss's Desk By 5 P.M., He Will Surely Consume My Soul

I have no idea what the fuck is going on here. This graph looks more like moss of some sort or an artistically colored map of veins or roads than it looks like a visual representation of statistics.

The word 'shag' is in the title, but somehow I have a feeling this graph is not about sex. Sadly, no, no sex in this graph.

I wish there was sex in this graph.

Okay, okay, keep calm. What does it look like? It looks like horrible chaos. Yes, that is definitely true. Okay, start there...

"This graph, while clearly chaotic..."

Okay, good start. Just got to keep it going.

"especially when compared to say, this graph,..."



"... but is only slightly more complicated than this graph."



Okay. This sucks. What a load of bullshit.

"This graph, while clearly chaotic, especially when compared to say, this graph, but is only slightly more complicated than this graph." IS NOT A GODDAMNED SENTENCE.

Oh holy lord. It is 4:57. Why did I spend all day playing curveball?!

"Dear Boss:

This graph most closely resembles the mean path phase space of my brain when contemplating what the hell to do with this bullshit assignment. In other words, I look at this graph, my brain goes in a thousand different directions, and the following thoughts enter my head simultaneously:

1. Why are you such an asshole?

2. Why the hell am I working for you?

3. Clearly, this has to be some sort of joke. Please stop wasting my time.

4. I am hungry.

5. No part of this graph, in any way, resembles any female form. This should be fixed immediately.

6. You smell bad. I mean, really, really bad. The stench is actually visible. I have no idea how you accomplished this, but, suffice it to say, I must extend my begrudging respect.

7. If you insist on eating my soul, I suggest that you start with my corporeal form, liver first, as I have resorted to binge eating as a result of the stress of working for you. Yes, that is right, I consider these lovehandles a gift straight from your ego to my hips. And no, THESE ARE NOT TEAR STAINS."

Phew, all that with another 39 seconds to go!! I wonder if he will like this as much as my report on the TPS Report Analysis from the 2005 Fiscal Year, entitled Dear Boss, If you didn't have your head up your ass, maybe you'd see that everyone hates you and TPS reports are for idiots. Love, your entire goddamned staff.

I'd Like To Introduce You To My Boss

This is my boss, Jeremaiah H. T. Furlingsworth. He has been with the company since it was founded, back in '48. Those were the days, apparently. Jeremaiah, or 'Jer-jer,' as he prefers to be called, started out in the mailroom.



He became well known and liked throughout the office rather quickly, famous for his break time antics (pictured below).




I'd love to tell you more about him, but the boss's phone is ringing and it is my job to both answer it, and, also, make sure it stays (for the most part) feces free.

"You're reached the office of Mr. Furlingsworth, how may I help you?"

Do You Like My New Beer Helmet?

It contains an entire 36 rack in its multiple chambers. Additionally, instead of having to suck on a straw, like a loser, the beer is piped directly into my veins. This is ideal, as it leaves my jaws free to maim those who approach / look at / think of / annoy / exist near me.

Oh My God! It's Some Type-O-Dong!

Look! In the sky! Run for your lives!
Hurry! Any minute now the Phallus-Maximus IV rocket will cut out, leaving the Bell-End Systems Warhead in freefall!

HeadOn! Apply it Directly to the Forehead!

Headon! Apply it directly to the forehead!
Headon! Apply it directly to the forehead!
Headon! Apply it directly to the forehead!

Sweet merciful heaven. This is probably the most effective and most brilliant commercial that has ever been invented. It gives me a splitting headache -- every -- single -- time.

Note: I do not mean that this isthe best commercial ever because it is effective at at selling its advertised product. This commercial is, however, a brilliant lesson in hypnotic control, as it always results in random acts of senseless violence.
Observe:


+



=

It Is Hard To Study Subatomic Particles

I will explain why. Imagine that you are a subatomic particle. Or that your computer, couch, living room, camera, pet dog, etc. is a subatomic particle. The way a physicist would study you is by sticking you in an unimagineably vast, empty and dark room. He would then commence firing cannon balls at you at about half the speed of light in the hopes that one hits you so he can track the explosion as your body is completely and totally pulverized. Then he would find several thousand more of you and keep blowing you up, in the hopes he would discover something about what you are made of or your structure. Or, instead of shooting a cannon ball at you, he could shoot you at a wall. Or you at another highly similar object. What I am trying to emphasize is that one of the primary ways we interact with subatomic particles is by destroying them utterly.

I Have Called Off My Yearlong Cease-Fire On You

Consider this your fair warning. Well, that phrase isn't really appropriate, because I don't owe you a damn thing and there will be nothing at all fair about the bombardment which you will shortly endure.

Maybe if you didn't continue to anger me with every breath you draw, with your conitnued refusal to acknowledge me your Divine Emperor and give me at least one third of all your income every year as thanks for me not destroying you, I wouldn't be shortly engaging in this campaign.

See you in Hell. Or, more accurately, whatever place that people who get turned into a fine mist of organic gasses wind up.