New Year's Resolutions, Vlog Style!

Vlogging with a Yorkie Episode 3

Vlogging with a Yorkie Episode 2

I Made a YouTube!

Fight or Flight

During my most recent improv class, we did a warm-up exercise called "stretch and share." The premise: the group stands in a circle, stretching. Each person, in succession, begins a stretch and then shares a few personal facts about themselves.

While holding one's foot and stretching their quadriceps muscle: "I'm a violinist and I've ridden every roller coaster at Cedar Rapids ten times."

While touching one's toes: "I'm a black belt in Tae Kwan Do, I'm vegan, and my dad coaches football at Boise State."

Greeting the dawn, arms extended high to the ceiling: "I'm a priest." You get the idea.

The share comes to me, and I'm not sure what to say. Anyone who reads this blog, or hangs out with me, or is my therapist knows that I'm tiresomely inward-looking. I could have said any number of things about myself, things that a lot of people in my improv class would already have known. But for some reason, I was at a loss.

I played The Baker in Into the Woods...in high school. No, simultaneously wanking and pitiful.

I play the ukulele. Careful, Joe, they might ask to hear you play one day. That never works out.

I can eat shrimp until someone else pukes. Gross. Gross and obscure.

"I'm the oldest of five kids," Good, excellent Joe, say something else nice and interesting, "and, and I've been to at least six sci-fi conventions."

Wait, what? You're given an opportunity to identify half of your being, and you choose sci-fi conventions? Why, yes, internal monologue. Sci-fi conventions are awesome. And the greatest of them all is Dragon*Con.

I'm sure you have your preconceptions about conventions. You think of them and you imagine glandular cases with Muppets t-shirts pulled over their Starfleet academy uniforms, squealing to pay $40 for an autograph from Gareth Thomas, star of Blake's 7. You imagine a group of people doing Renaissance dance to They Might Be Giants. And you imagine the smell, like a hundred sweatsocks and nine turkey sandwiches, cooked together inside of an X-Box. And you're partially right, but mostly wrong.

Dragon*Con is one of America's largest science fiction conventions. Every Labor Day weekend, upwards of 50,000 people descend on Atlanta to hang out, see celebrities, talk about cartoons, and compare costumes. And what costumes! Dragon*Con sits at a natural intersection of engineering and graphic design, and thus the costumes are triumphs of mechanics and beauty. We're talking fully-functional Gundam suits, complete with weaponry. Home-made Wolverine claws, that retract into a wristwatch.

Over half of any Dragon*Con attendee's time is spent taking pictures of these awesome costumes, drunk. And Jesus, do we drink. Dragon*Con is essentially a party for people who don't get invited to parties. And everyone there is someone a nerd will want to talk to, and it's socially acceptable to have a conversation about "Settlers of Catan!" And you can get laid! There are orgies at Dragon*Con. There are people who never leave their hotel room except to get ice to cool off their genitals.

Some of you will cringe at that image, but I only include it to illustrate the fact that Dragon*Con is awesome. I have met--and touched!--the famous, the semi-famous, and the not-famous. I've made friends. I've seen some of the most amazing works of human craftsmanship...ever. It's the only vacation I take, and I plan to go every year until I die (2042, beaten to death by members of the Glenn Beck Youth Brigade).

And yet, sometimes it's not fun. Getting fed at Dragon*Con can be an ordeal. If you go to the Peachtree Center Mall, close to the con hotels, you are essentially diving into a roiling pit of humanity, all in a rush to stuff themselves with Chik Fil A before the Patrick Stewart panel. If you bring your food, you have to carry it around, and that means you have less room for booze.

On Saturday (this is mid-con, we're basically just getting started at this point), my friends and I decide to walk up the street to go to McDonald's, to get away from the Peachtree Center Crowds. As soon as we get inside, we know something is wrong.

Oh, that's right! Atlanta is actually overscheduled on Labor Day weekend. So not only are there tens of thousands of my people in the middle of the city, there are Alabama and Clemson fans here for a football game at the Georgiadome. And it's Black Gay College Student Weekend (this is a real thing, but I don't know it's name).

We get in line, and all of the beautiful black gays and football rednecks are looking with horror...at me? No, it can't be. I'm not even in costume. And I'm only medium-sweaty, which for me means that the stains are only going halfway down my torso.

"I've seen some great ones. I saw a Vegeta today. He had the power reader, and the armor, and the blue boots. The only problem was that the guy in the costume was like six feet even, and Vegeta is supposed to be like, five-three."

Oh. Oh god. The attractive black gays and the football rednecks were looking at the group of horror nerds standing directly in front of me. These guys were the kind of nerds that give nerds a bad name. They argued over the minutiae of their fiction. They probably only read comics that double as pornography. They weren't even smart. There was a lanky kid, a fat kid in a silk shirt with a ninja printed on it, and a goblinesque man with acne scars. They had been playing tabletop RPGs for the entire con. I could tell because 1) they smelled like they hadn't moved or changed clothes for several days and 2) Goblin Boy was regaling his companions with tales of his mad biznezz skillz.

"So, cheeseburgers here are like a dollar. So I bought ten cheeseburgers and took them down to the game room and sold them for TWO dollars a piece. Made ten bucks!"

"I-I-I-I dunno about that. Seems like a lot of work." Ninja Shirt was skeptical, and inarticulate.

"No, you can ask around! Ask anybody!"

"That's crazy! Do you think that's possible?" Lanks was addressing me.

My fight or flight instincts were activated. I could not get into a conversation with these guys. I would have to shake their grimy hands. I'd have to quarantine myself for the rest of the con. My friends were in the other line, laughing at me with a group of attractive black gays. I decided to route all auxiliary power to my shields.

"I...don't know." I put on my most impassive face. Lanks went back to his conversation. Success!

Goblin Boy ordered a chicken sandwich and a large sweet tea. It took him a minute to order. His order came first, so he stood drinking his sweet tea while Fat Shirt and Lanks waited for their food.

Sip. "Huh. This don't seem sweet enough. Does this seem sweet enough to you?" He handed his tea to Lanks.

Louder this time: "Man, this tea just isn't sweet enough!"

Was he really passive aggressively complaining about his tea? I stepped up to place my order.

"I'll have a Quarter Pounder meal with a--"

"Sorry." He stepped in front of me. My fist clenched. Shields up to like, a billion percent.

"This tea really isn't sweet enough. Do you have another, sweeter batch?"

The cashier looked at him, her jaw set.

"This is the only batch we have made right now."

"Well could you make another?"

The cashier looked at Goblin Boy as if to say "This isn't your mother's house. Also, you have acne scars."

"No, sorry, but I can put some sugar into your tea."

"Thanks."

I had to wait to order my damn Quarter Pounder meal with a Diet Coke so this poor cashier could put sugar in a retard's iced tea. She finally got around to taking my order.

"That'll be $5.62."

I wanted to give her a tip, to tell her to "keep the change, and here's a dollar for your trouble with my fellow nerd." But I knew it would only humiliate her more. I hope she got a raise later that day, or that an attractive black gay bought her a drink at the bar across the street.

I got my food, and brushed past the goblin crew so quickly that I accidentally brushed Fat Shirt, getting some of his sweat on my elbow. I didn't say "excuse me."

We walked back to the con, back to relative normalcy, relative good smells, and a bottle of Maker's Mark. Later that weekend, I touched the hand of Jewel Staite, the most beautiful woman in the 'Verse. I was drunk, and her touch irradiated Fat Shirt's diseased sweat and Goblin Boy's diseased memory.

Stop Putting Your Laundry in Me

by an IKEA Bag

Okay, I get it. I'm convenient. You don't want to lug a hamper around, and you have me, just taking up space. I have handles. I'm big. It's almost as though the Swede who designed me thought "Oh, after this thing gets done carrying a "BILLY" bookshelf home, you can put your laundry in it! I am so clever! I deserve a treat. Lingonberries!"

But just because something is convenient doesn't mean it's right.

Say a race of aliens game to Earth. And they had laundry that would somehow fit conveniently into the body cavity of a living adult human. And willy-nilly, they start snatching up people and stuffing them full of alien thongs, alien shirts, and alien scarves. You'd immediately decry the aliens, say what they were doing was inhuman and wrong. Hell, you'd probably start a non-profit based around the misuse of human bodies!

I'm sorry, that example was...over the top. I'm just so tired of having laundry inside of me all the time.

I'm not saying don't use me. I was made to be used. The happiest day of my life was when you took home a modular storage unit in me. I felt...complete. And I don't expect you to take me back to IKEA, to use me again. That place is horrible. It's like a college dorm that's been retrofitted to be a dildo factory. So don't put furniture in me.

Put puppies in me.

Put an old set of encyclopedias in me.

Put a baby in me, because you can't afford the "HENSVIK" crib that you want until you get paid in a week. I promise I'll be gentle, with your baby.

Do you know how much of your body hair sticks to your clothes when you take them off? A lot, that's how much. There are times when I feel like there's a pube jungle inside of me. Sometimes your clothes have...fluids...on them. Do you know how it feels? To hold someone else's fluids? I hope not, for your sake.

Please stop debasi--NNF. URRN. HURK!

Great. A jock strap.

SUBWAY STORRRRYYYY

Before I lived in New York, I thought everyone on the subway was beautiful. Many of the people I rode with were conventionally beautiful: models, actors, Greek guys with good hair. And the people who weren't conventionally beautiful were interesting looking. I could see their journeys on their faces--they were like less-famous Frank McCourts and S. Epatha Murchersaii.

I loved them. I thought, "God, I can't wait to live in this city, to be around these amazing looking people every day."

I don't know where those people have gone.

Since I've moved here, every trip has been like spending 30 minutes in a Bruegel painting. People on the subway bleed and cry, and shout at each other. And they don't have stories, they're just insane and dumb. Today I saw a woman set her Capri Sun on the floor of the N train. As the train moved, the container fell over, the juice spilled slowly out. She righted the container. It fell over again, more juice. She folded the corners of the bottle over, as though that would do something. It fell over one fucking more time, and I jumped out at the next stop. The next train I got onto had a woman slowly eating yogurt out of one of those big jugs. But instead of bringing the spoon to her face, she held the spoon, full of yogurt, down near her knees, and slowly licked the yogurt off of it. Her husband was on his cell phone, shouting at a friend.

New York, as the cliche-meisters will tell you, is a tough town. I don't have a job, I don't have an easily-accessed social network, I don't even have a bed. I have a mattress, on the floor. And riding the subway can compound these indignities into one oily hate-ball.

A few weeks ago, I was riding to an improv class. I was tired, I'd just shamefully deposited a loan check from my parents, and my feet hurt from not working all day.

This train had eclipsed Bruegel and had descended straight into Bosch. Not only was there an odd ranch dressing smell wafting in from somewhere, but someone was playing grating Czech pop music very loudly on their headphones. And the train was running slowly.

At Queensboro Plaza a man and a woman got on the train and stood near me. She was very pretty, and seemed really nice. He was wearing the stupidest shirt I had ever seen, and I have three (3!) Venture Bros. t-shirts. I have a friend who only wears t-shirts with jokes like "Beware of the monster behind my zipper" on them. I know from stupid shirts. And yet, this one was the Platonic ideal of stupid shirts. It was tight and apple green, and had three strips of denim hot-glued to it. I'm sure it cost him $79. Because I'm a bigot, I assumed he was gay.

Wrong, bigot! He was touching that very pretty girl on the ass, and they were discussing their weekend plans. He wasn't touching in a sexual way, just that boring, non-squeezing possessive way that people in committed relationships settle for. They had been together for months! My closest female companion is my roommate's Yorkie.

The unlikely couple got off the train. They were replaced by a young man reading a book of Cervantes works. He had sad eyes.

"Kudos to you, young man." I thought. "I couldn't handle Cervantes, ever."

Then I saw his head. He had the strangest male-pattern baldness ever. It was thinning irregularly all over the top of his head. The front was thin, but the back was...less thin. And the sections of hair weren't delineated straight across the head. His hair was thinning diagonally. He had scars on the top of his head. He had had surgery. He had had brain surgery to make him intelligent enough to read Cervantes. Was he some sort of government experiment? Would government experiments wear JNCOs?

"Stop looking at me, young man." I thought. "And, um, get off the train so I don't have to look at your head. Also please don't explode my brain using your new Firestarter powers."

I had to avert my eyes. That guy genuinely scared me. I realized that I was on a train ride to Hell. I started to have a panic attack. I knew that if that train didn't get ot 34th Street in the next two minutes, someone was going die (probably me). And then, I looked at the floor...

And saw a toenail. A human toenail. Someone had been clipping their toes on the subway. Or somehow, they had come in trailing human detritus and had decided to leave some on the train. Was I sitting on a pube? Was I sitting in a puddle of blood? Did I have Hepatitis? Would it matter, or was the brain-prober across the car going to pop my skull like a grape before I could even get tested? Would my hep-blood infect the other passengers?

Then the door opened and I walked onto the subway platform. It still smelled like ranch dressing but I knew I wouldn't live anywhere else in the world.

Than on that subway platform.

To the Retiree Working at the Barnes and Noble Cafe on 86th Street:

First off, I'm not sure why I'm even here. The coffee shops in my neighborhood are legion, and don't play Michael Buble' more than seven hours a day. But Parisi Bros. Bakery in Astoria doesn't have free wi-fi, or comic books or copies of “Art Forum Magazine” to read if I get bored from writing (which I'm only doing at 11AM because I have no real job).

That's right, I have no real job. But you sure do! You trot around purposelessly behind the counter, your rhythm broken only by collision after inevitable collision with your teenaged co-workers. When there's a lull in service you look past me through your glasses: “MAY I TAKE AN ORDER FOR THE NEXT CUSTOMER ON LINE.”

One: that is an extremely stilted way to say “Who's next?” or “What can I get you?”

Two: I am the only person in line, so I surmise that you are parroting the Barnes and Noble Cafe orientation video. Chill out, lady. I think even the most hidebound Barnes and Noble Cafe Customer Service Wallah would be okay with you adjusting your tactics for a more intimate situation.

But no matter. I'll order, in spite of your obvious strangeness and autistic devotion to "the script."

“I'll have a decaf and a bagel with cream cheese.”

This is my lunch.

Now you look at me, in the eye, and I feel my scrotum shrivel. Your smile reminds me of those sculptures people make with fruit peels. It's small, too small, and you seem to have trained yourself to peel your lips just to the edge of your teeth.

“YOU GOT IT. BAGEL WITH CREAM CHEESE. AND A DECAF.”

Why so strident, obviously crazy old lady? Again, I am the only person in line. The cashier can hear me order. And besides, I'm going to tell her my order when I pay, which will be in one second.

“Linda, can you run the register for one minute? I need to do something,” the cashier asks, quite nicely.

I'm going to assume that she's been holding it for the morning nanny rush and really needs to hit the head. Awesome, because this means that you'll be able to ring me up, and you just took my order. Everything works out!

“SURE JUST A SECOND. I AM MAKING A BAGEL.”

“Well, I just need a minute.”

The cashier gives me a look that says "I wonder if they'll mail my MFA to prison."

Poor urine-filled cashier. She just wants to pee, but you're to busy to help her because you're manically holding your two serrated slicing knives in hand, trying to figure out which one to use. Knives still in hand, you rush over to the register, knocking poor urine girl off of her post, but not to take her place.

“ALL I HAVE ARE PLAIN BAGELS IS THAT OKAY.”

“Fine.”

"EXCELLENT CHOICE SIR. ONE PLAIN BAGEL--WITH CREAM CHEESE--COMING RIGHT UP."

You are so proud of your customer service that you barely resist flinging one of your slicing knives at the toaster in triumph.

“I just need a min--”

“SURE. LET ME JUST MAKE THE BAGEL.”

Urine Girl rings me up. You bound over, and hand me my “BAGEL WITH CREAM CHEESE. HAVE A NICE DAY SIR.”

I return hours later. You are still working. Is this your last day on the job? Your first?

THANK YOU,
JOE

Uzo Unmanned

I'm "non-confrontational." I quote because the term has been co-opted by the inarticulate to mean "shy" or "quiet." I'm neither of those things. If anything, I'm brash and loud. But I don't like to get into confrontations, thus, non-confrontational.

When I was 12, a sociopath named Jeffrey pretended to stumble and pushed me, face first, into a row of lockers. At the time I had a rather fearsome set of braces, all wires, and yellow rubber bands, and an apparatus to keep me from sucking my thumb (seriously). Needless to say, these got tangled in the flesh of my lips, sending what seemed like pints of my blood down my shirt and onto the band room floor. My lips began swelling immediately. None of the kids laughed.

Mr. O'Neal, the music teacher, approached.

"Do you want to go to the nurse?"

"No. I'b gobba be fibe."

I think I spattered blood in Mr. O'Neal's glasses.

In the lunchroom, children looked at me like I had blood all over my face and incredibly swollen lips, some of which were still caught in my braces.

"Are you sure you don't want some ice?"

The only sounds I could muster were "Pbbsst!" and "Murrrrrnnng!" Eventually someone convinced me to put some ice on my former face.

Naturally, I sat down with Jeffrey and the principal. When Jeffrey gave his "just stumblin'" excuse, I was skeptical, but rather than making a big fight out of it I just said "It's okay. Whatever."

The principal let us go our separate ways. The next day, my dad, a high-powered teacher in our tiny school district, threatened Jeffrey with physical violence. The day after that, Jeffrey had transferred to another school.

So I'm non-confrontational. It's worked out so far. After Jeffrey left, I wasn't bullied anymore, and sort of fell into my niche by the time high school rolled around. And being non-confrontational has kept me in relationships, in jobs, and in apartments. For example, if a lady wants to get into a fight with me, I just pretend not to hear her, or walk away, or ask her politely to leave me alone, then continue reading my novel about elves fighting dragons. It's been a good strategy for the past 25 years.

But recently I was tested, and failed. And perversely, succeeded.

One of the challenges of living in New York is finding a place to play soccer, a game I love. In Chapel Hill, where I used to live, you could join a seasonal a league for $80 dollars. For a few months, you'd get to practice twice a week, and play a real game on Saturdays. It was casual, fun, and easy. Here, playing a fun game of soccer is as easy and as cheap as getting Arnold Schwarzenegger pregnant, not with science like in Junior, but by fucking him in the ass. I joined a league for young professionals, thinking "I am one of those things," but our games are played in a gym, and I get about 10 minutes of playing time per ugly, boring match.

Lucky for me, there's a pretty active Queens pickup league. And it's run through the useful, if trying-too-hard, Meetup.com! It's only $5 a session (as opposed to the $150 I paid for a season of "young professionals" soccer) and you get to play for two hours. I signed up, showed up on a beautiful Sunday morning in Long Island City, and got put on a team with Hoon, a stoned Korean guy in a Kaka jersey, some other dudes, and three people who were, sigh, actually good at soccer.
I suppose now is as good a time as any to say that I am bad at soccer. On the “good at soccer" continuum, Leo Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo are at one end, while I am down at the other end with that Down's syndrome baby I saw on the train today.

One of the good players, Uche, seemed really nice. He came with another good player, Uzo, who also seemed very nice. And maybe it's deep-seated Orientalism, but I really dug on their Nigerian dialects. Not in a gay way, mind, just in a slightly racist way. The other good player, Chris, seemed okay. He was bragging about his hangover, which made me think that it wasn't that good of a hangover.

We played our first 30 minute game, and it quickly became clear that our team was bad. We lost 3-0, didn't hang on to possession, barely got a shot on goal. And it also became clear that Uzo was a competitive loudmouth.

"Why are you making that run, Hoon?" He liked to pick on Hoon. Hoon was a good sport, and I'm not sure he really noticed, anyway. Because he was stoned, you see.

"Pass the ball!"

"AAAAH!"

The last one is the sound he'd make when the last pass before the shot was off target, ruining his chances for glory. Often, this pass was from me, so I'd get the scream.

I'm competitive, and, just like Uzo, I get pissed off about stupid things. If I don't win bar trivia, I turn into one of those sad, angry, drunks. I curse when I don't make a saving throw against goblin poison. And Trivial Pursuit? More like Very Important Pursuit. So I understood where he was coming from.

But he was still being a cockhole. And I was getting angry. I started noticing his weird acne (which was all over his face, and big, like bigger than normal pimples), coming this close to saying something about it, then thinking better of it. I also almost said "I may suck at soccer, but at least my country has a lower HIV rate than yours."

What the hell, me? Why did I even think that? It might not even be true! I'm from rural South Carolina, which has an astonishingly high HIV rate.

I was holding in my rage, like I always do. I was being non-confrontational. And it was killing my fun. And apparently making me a racist.

Our second game we played well, probably because the team was even worse than us, and we got to slow down and have fun. Uzo was relatively quiet then.

We felt confident going into our third game. We'd made an improvement, and this team had not one, but two, pudgy middle-aged ladies on it. We were gonna win this shit!

Nope. We were sloppy, we were making bad runs, we were tired. And Uzo was letting us know. About halfway through the game, I mishit a pass into the middle. Uzo was making a blistering (for a grad student) run, gearing up to shoot. But he didn't get the ball, because, as you recall, I am bad at soccer.

"What the hell, man? AAAAAH!"

I looked at him for a second. And then I snapped.

"Jesus Christ! Fucking relax!"

Yes, this is snapping for me. I didn't look him in the eye when I shouted, I just walked away.

"You're right. It's a pickup game."

He didn't complain for the rest of the game. We still lost. We had fun. Even Hoon got a reprieve, not that he needed it.

There we go. Easy as that. All Uzo needed was to be shouted at. I had been confrontational, and it had worked out for me. I never realized I had this power. I think I'm going to do it more.

So if you see me on a subway platform berating a homeless man for singing, or on the street screaming at a cabbie because he turned in front of me in the crosswalk, or in a movie theater just mercilessly insulting a child for smelling bad, assume that they are repeat offenders, and that they deserve it. Especially the child, even if she has Down's syndrome.

Great Pratfalls in History!

Time: June 1, 1972
Place: Washington, D.C.
Joe Haldeman does a full-twist ass-over-head slip on a slick part of the Oval office floor. Nixon laughs for 18 1/2 minutes.

Time: May 24, 1906
Place: Lambach, Austria
A young Adolf Hitler slips on a puddle of Greenberg's Cleaning Solution, to his great embarrassment and his classmates' delight.

Time: August 10, 1921
Place: New York City, New York
During a garden birthday party Franklin Delano Roosevelt jumps from a roof whilst holding an umbrella, shattered legs blamed on 'polio.'

Time: November 22, 1963
Place: Dallas, Texas
Secret Service sniper James Cooley trips over a particularly rambunctious Golden Retriever puppy on the roof of the Dallas Book Depository, accidentally discharging his firearm in "no particular direction, honest."

Time: December 20, 2007
Place: Badger, IO
A running skid with full extension arm spin at a campaign event is seen as humanizing presidential candidate Hilary Clinton.

Time: August 6, 1945
Place: Washington, D.C.
To distract media attention from a podium slip on the previous day, Truman orders the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

We've got opinions

Bad Reboot Ideas

The Wire

The reboot of the popular HBO series will follow a group of inner city children as they turn away from the drug game and go to technical school. Only four episodes long.

Psycho

Tenants at a dilapidated hotel are guided to personal revelation and happiness by its whimsical owner, Normanicus Batanicus. Based on the Roald Dahl book of the same name.

Schindler's List II: House Party

Hijinks ensue in the aftermath of WWII. Contains the popular tagline, "Schindleeeeeeeeeer!"

The Ring

A YouTube video permeates a general mood of goodwill and helpfulness to ALL WHO WATCH IT.

Dr. Strangelove

A shot-by-shot remake in which Mike Meyers  plays every character in the film, except the President, played by Tracy Morgan.

Battlestar Galactica

Through even-handed diplomacy, Cylons and humans live through a detente that becomes a measured peace in a generation.

The Deer Hunter II

A soldier reconnects with his friends after harrowing duty as a remote drone pilot, for which he never left a

small cubicle in rural tennessee. Fucks without a condom.*

*WHICH YOU SEE IS JUST LIKE RUSSIAN ROULETTE RIGHT RIGHT 

Nicknames for my Apartment

1. 27 Hepatitis Boulevard

2. Nothing-in-the-fridge-but-vodkaville

3. El Gulag-O: The Single Occupancy Dining Experience
4. Haüs of Crüst
5. Repossesed Furniture Hut

6. If You Sleep Here You Will Have Disappointing Sexual Encounters That End in Tears

7. The Archipelago of Shame

8. Amy Poehler Appreciation Society/Amateur Bloodbank

9. The Island of Misfit Prophylactics

10. The B.O. Ring

Alton Brown Quotes That Won't Be Appearing in the Next Cookbook

"Puppy steaks are the frosting of the meat world. They're great to eat when you're depressed!"

"You've got to really beat the chicken flat, like that bully who called you 'fagballs' through high school."

"To test your deep-fryer, coat your fist in your batter, like so. Now just dip it in. If it's a golden brown, you're ready to make some onion rings!"

"I believe in versatility in my kitchen implements. Flamethrowers are perfect in this respect. A murder weapon that destroys the evidence, what could be finer?"

"Rat semen was considered a delicacy by ancient Romans . . . and the Kennedys."

"Adding eggs to flour is a bit like flying a plane into a building. You want to do it one at a time"

"That wedding dress is basically putting lipstick on a pig. Which, incidentally, is one of my favorite ways to eat pork. Smeared in lipstick."

Menu Items To Avoid at World's Sketchiest Sushi Restaurant

• End of World Platter: Includes one each Bataan, Selma and Auschwitz roll. Apocalyptic amounts of wasabi NOT OPTIONAL.
• Donner Platter: Sushi cut live at table by least-experienced chef. WEAR A FUCKING RAINCOAT, YOU GAIJIN BASTARDS.
• Honest Delicacy Sushi Boat: Rolls of Lobster eyestalk, yellowtail fin, porpoise dick. WASTE NOT WANT NOT, AMERICAN PIG.
• Burning Special: Hold hand down on grill for 40 seconds, all meals free.
• Kids Special: Hamburger Sashimi, Hot Dog Roll, Ice Cream Soup
• Click logo for full menu!
  

80s-Style Action Shows That Never Got Past A Pilot

HAT!
Curmudgeonly ex-spook uses his godlike intelligence to terrorize his clients while solving their problems. Starring Stephen Fry and Omar Epps.

FRIENDS & NEIGHBORS

Family of crooked cops lives next to a family of principled gangsters. Hilarity ensues. Large ensemble cast featuring Mr. T, Hillary Duff, Don Johnson, Dwayne Johnson, Howard Johnson, Cher, and Billy Ray Cyrus.

BURDEN OF PROOF
Sherpa-turned-D.A. Naksin "Nak" Shinabat brings New York drug-criminals to justice by day and women to his bed by night. Starring Don Johnson and Verne Troyer.

PER DIEM
Former soldiers-of-fortune-turned-day-traders solve corporate crime on Wall Street . . . any way they can. Starring Richard Hatch, Susan Sarandon and Cheech Marin.

TWO IF BY SEA
Paul Revere's great-great-great-great-great grandson and his wife are no-nonsense members of the Massachusetts Port Authority, catching drug smugglers using a speedboat named "Horse." Starring Elvis McClatchy and Donna Springboard.

CHICAGO RUMBLE
Two Chicago transit police get in over their heads. Buddy action-comedy. Filmed on-location. Starring Don Johnson and Verne Troyer.

KICKFACE
Kickface. Starring Jessica Alba. Produced by James Cameron.

COACH DETECTIVE
Steve Spurrier retires from coaching to become a private detective. Brutal violence ensues. Starring Steve Spurrier as himself.

SHAOLIN SHALOM

A rabbi cop has a crisis of faith and pursues the path of buddhism . . . and kung fu. Starring Neil Patrick Harris and Nathan Fillion.

MURDERWORLD
A post-apocalyptic cop on the edge solves crimes through old technology and past life regression therapy. Starring Amanda Bynes and featuring Ted Danson as 'Mystic Potato.'

Gordon Ramsay Compliments

1. "That was not terrible."

Guest Post: New Shows Hoping to Follow the Success of Meerkat Manor

Prairie Dog Palace
Muskrat Mansion
Chinchilla Villa
Rat Ranch
Maison Mouse
Ferret Flat
Porcupine Plantation
Ermine Estate
Vole Vale
Beaver Beach House
Squirrel Square
Shrew Shack

This guest post (hopefully the first of many) was written by the superfriends, Jeremy S. Griffin and Callie Peck! Visit their sites, love them! -j. joe-nah jameson

Saddest Clown Names

-D.T. O'Shakes
-Syphillito the Harlequin

-Wheels!
-Die Tsauberclaun und KRAMPUS Überclaun
-Xeno & His Amazing Arrow

-Grover Cleveland
-The Great Respecto
-Sobs
-Ed Begley, Jr.

Sorry for not having a post up for so long! We were drunk! -joe

METALIST: 25 Things About Your Editors

1. We started writing these lists together completely by accident. Does that show?
2. The Gooch and Joe are not related, we don't even look similar.
3. The Gooch's sister once dresssed as a Klingon. She appeared on the front cover of the weekend section of the local paper. Ahhhh, modern minstrelsy.
4. Joe is a better improvisor than the Gooch, but the Gooch is funnier. How does that work?
5. One of us only speaks in lies, the other only tells the truth. How do you find out which door to go through, hmmmmmmmmm?
6. Each of us secretly thinks he's nerdier than the other. (Goochnote: Joe thought he could slip the Labyrinth reference in #5 by the Goochster. Wrong again, Joseph)
7. Only the Gooch is capable of sustaining a long-term relationship. Hey ladies!
8. Joe likes the word 'squat thrust,' The Gooch likes the word 'Lysine Inhibitor'.
9. They are both aware that those are not a single word. WORK WITH US PEOPLE.
10. Joe's secret shame? He's really a jock in dork's clothing.
11. The Gooch's secret shame is that he has no secret shame.
12. The Gooch once thought Joe was a little creepy for having a Pop Warner football team on his desktop. He did not know the team was entirely made up of member's of Joe's immediate family.
13. Joe likes to hint obliquely about his sexual conquests. The Gooch just vomits it all out there.
14. The Gooch says, "I've never actually had a sexual conquest, but I've gone down on a bunch of girls."
15. Joe works in politics, The Gooch is politics
16. We're both professional writers! If you define "professional" as "amateur."
17. The Gooch has been paid to draw dragons. Joe exploits the creative classes in his spare time.
18. Joe hopes to exploit the Gooch soon. Much like I've exploited women in the bedroom. See? oblique!
19. Joe grew up in South Carolina. The Gooch grew up in Miami, which is really the South Carolina of Jacksonville.
20. Joe sleeps on an air mattress. The Gooch sleeps on a mattress made of air, which is way different.
21. Both the Gooch and Joe agree that, dollar-for-dollar, the PS2 is the best system on the market today.
22. Both The Gooch and Joe have a "con budget" for any given year. It has nothing to do with crime, and everything to do with Spock ears and funny dice.
23. Joe drinks brown liquor. The Gooch can't even eat A SEED. Jesus!
24. Speaking of Jesus, the Gooch will never, ever wish you a Merry Christmas.
25. BECAUSE THE GOOCH IS A BITTER JEW

Cushiest Government Jobs

Secretary of Edu-tainment

Amb-ASS-ador to Porntonia

Vice-Presidential Food Taster

Secretary of Top Hats

White House Philosopher

Congressional Falconer

Sen. John Cornyn's Font-chooser

Undersecretary for the President's Office of Television Drama Summarization

Congressional Blog Troll

Palin Tranquilizer

Chester A. Arthur's Ghost

As per usual, "The Gooch" was instrumental in building this list.- joe

META: Humor Blog Link-Love

My boy and co-worker Conky has a new humor blog!

I mean, really, it's a "Tumblr," which is so much more and so much less than a blog could ever be.

Problems with Time Whores

1. If you do it missionary-style, you will see the end of your galaxy in their eyes. If you do it doggy-style, their tramp stamp spells out the names of your unborn children--and the dates of their deaths.

2. Often infect you with terrifying future viruses . . . or bubonic plague.

3. Treat one badly and you end up as a grotesque caricature in the Iliad.

4. You can never compare to the sexual skills of future humans, who can pleasure their partners telepathically. Also they have BIG dicks. Just huge. Go on forever. Almost prehensile. They can open a can of soda with their dicks and get a girl pregnant at the same time. You can't compete. They're also dwarves from carrying around all that unmanageable weight. So, joke's on them, really.

5. The pain you feel when semen re-enters your urethra is indescribable.

6. They may slip up and call you "President Arthur" while you climax.

7. Sire a child with one and you will have already met them for five minutes in a nursing home when you were 12.

8. Sometimes forget that 21st Century humans don't have a back-up rectum, unlike our forbears (fun fact about Neanderthal Man!).

9. Threesomes will give you the distinct impression there's only one.

10. HAVE YOU EVER MET A TIME PIMP?

Thanks to The Gooch for his contributions to this list!-Joe

Dating Tips for Boys

1. For a first date, take her to a go-kart course that you are familiar with. That way you can win or lose to her, based on what will get you “laid.”

2. If you're nervous about asking someone out on a date, try practicing on your friends, “Palmela” and her “Five Sisters”. Also, masturbate furiously.

3. When you're out on a date with a woman, be sure to—wait, you're on a date with a woman? But you're only a boy!

4. Girls respond well to pleasant conversation, the giving of gifts, and ventriloquism.

5. Some quick grooming tips: before a date, be sure to shower, shave, and floss until your mouth is full of blood.

6. Just remember that no one loves you as much as I do. No woman can replace your 7th grade math teacher.

Personal: Something I Wish Were Just a Vivid Nightmare

I had a dream in which I was married to this horrible person. But that wasn't the nightmarish part. The nightmarish part was explaining my new bride...to my mother. I guess it was one of those shame dreams.

NOTE: THIS IS NOT A LIST

Heavy-handed Social Metaphors That Were Never Used in Star Trek

An overpopulated planet of immortals where ABORTION is MANDATORY.

CAPTAIN PICARD in a desperate attempt to stop a PLANET BOMB must TORTURE a KLINGON to disarm it. The BOMB goes off anyway and PICARD must WRESTLE with his broken moral CODE.

The OBESE, ACNE-RIDDLED emperor of an alien planet is EMBARRASSED that his THIN, BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER does not conform to his SOCIETY'S STANDARD OF BEAUTY. SHE and RIKER have a THING.

A planet on which marriage BETWEEN THE SEXES is ILLEGAL and only HOMOSEXUAL MARRIAGES are ALLOWED.

A VOYEUR PLANET where everyone is always on TV. The CREW of the ENTERPRISE almost starts a CIVIL WAR when they defend the privacy of the LAST UN-TELEVISED entity on BETA 3. SHE and RIKER have a THING.

The Q CONTINUUM INVADE and OCCUPY the EARTH and attempt to force the Federation into ENLIGHTENED GODHOOD. Only after the release of HORRIFIC PICTURES of the ABUSE of the CREW of the ENTERPRISE do the Continuum withdraw in shame.

A planet where all COMMERCE, WAR, and LOVE are performed in an an ONLINE GAME. DATA must attain 95th LEVEL KNIGHTHOOD in order to DETERMINE the WHEREABOUTS of a FERENGI SPY. WESLEY has CYBERSEX with a TAUREN of UNKNOWN GENDER

and BRAGS to WORF that he has "LOST his VIRGINITY."

A planet of FREE and FREQUENT sexual relations. The CREW of the ENTERPRISE must negotiate a TRADE PACT with the alien leaders. GEORDI still STRIKES OUT.

This was written in tandem with my writing partner Remi T., or as I like to call him, "The Gooch." -joe

Top Vacation Destinations for Former Billionaires

Gary, IN
Come experience the charm of Olde Gary! Stay in a quaint bed-and-breakfast (flophouse in an Olde Tyre Factorye) and have lunch at one of our many fine bistros (Church's Chicken, Popeye's Chicken, hot-dog dispenser at the Brunswick A&P). For dinner, be sure to visit Barry's Burger Barn, where the hand-chewed wood decor and glow of a jukebox playing "Kathmandu" by Bob Seger will help you get a head start on your second heart attack.

Sapphire Gentlemen's Club, Las Vegas, NV
Just come in and class up the joint. I mean how many strip clubs can say they have a former billionaire working the bar? There's a two-drink minimum and we serve Heineken in tiny plastic cups.

Barguzin Nature Reserve, Buryatia, Russia
Because, contrary to popular belief, the black-capped marmot is the most dangerous game.

Some Huge Corporate Resort, Somewhere, The World

Used to be you could fly out to an exclusive hideaway only people with the special credit cards knew about. Those days are over. Now you have the joy of rubbing elbows with nouveau riche douches who think they're hot shit because they made their first million. Sure, a hot tub is still nice, and you'll get the room with the best view, but if being submerged head-first in the hoi polloi still drives you nuts, just strangle one of them by the ice cooler. You're still worth three-hundred times what the guy who runs hotornot.com is. Right? Right?

The Bottom of Tommy's Above-Ground Pool, Tampa, FL
Tommy's just like you, and has opened up use of his very exclusive above-ground pool to anyone whose valuation dropped by more than $500 million last year. Fun in the Florida sun, but watch out for the dog, and hands off the wife!

Grandma's House, Augusta, GA
Listen, I don't care that all of the other billionaires are going to St. Tropez this summer. If they all jumped off a bridge, would you? I didn't think so. Grandma's house has been fine every other summer, it should be fine now. Think about how you'd feel if she died on Labor Day and you hadn't got to see her.

Suicide Point, Mojave, AZ
Fuck it, right?

Remi T. wrote like half of this shizzzito! But I won't tell you which!

Euphemisms For Mundane Body Parts

Angular bits: the elbows
The Michaels Zone: Left shin
Flapjacks: Eyelids
Mole hole: belly button
The Nunnery: Knuckles
Irish Homeland: Back of the neck
Bad Lieutenant: Spine
Nibbles: Nipples

Thanks to Remi T. for his contributions!

Nu-Metal Band Namez

1. Muyderrscrythe
2. Quornn
3. Sunshytt
4. Vylence Holle
5. Katreena and the Wayves

Unsung Heroes of the Civil War

Col. Samuel “Personkiller” Garvey
Confederacy

There were approximately 12,000 Union casualties in the Battle of Fredricksburg. Garvey was responsible for 10,000 alone. Born in 1830, he somehow managed to enlist in the British Expeditionary Force at the beginning of World War I, and died in a trench at the Battle of the Somme, his hands clenched around the neck of a dead German soldier.

Maj. Alfie McClellan
Union

Brother of one time Union Army general-in-chief Gen. George McClellan, this notorious drunk showed up for three distinct battles* naked except for his cavalry saber. A hero of the Battle of Antietam, he somehow managed to take fifty Confederate troops prisoner when his bottom half was fired into their front lines as he tried to sodomize a cannon.

Lt. Col. Walter Featherhoof
Union

An unremarkable soldier, Featherhoof is notable for being the only unicorn to fight on either side of the Civil War.

*First Bull Run, Pea Ridge, Antietam

My Favorite Reality Show Catchphrases

1. “I’m doing this for my eight stepsons.”
-Randy, Big Brother: Lunar Edition

2. “Sob, sob, sob, gargle—“
-Dr. Cal, Who Wants to Stab a Doctor?

3. “For every date I don’t get, somebody loses a toe.”
-Lindsay B., Marry Michael McDonald

4. “Let’s crank this shit up to Mahler, bitch!”
-Dino, Flava Flav’s Next Top Concert Cellist

5. "We're all cannibals now."
-Ned 'Eat the Soup' Coates, Survivor: Gobi

6. "Scream! Scream! Scream!"
-Vicky Hollister, Top Chef: Vegan

7. “BORK OUT.”
-Robert Bork, Court of Love

8. "Too many tentacle!"
-SN Narayan, HP's Love Craft

9. “I’m a sex addict. And an alcoholic. Help me.”
-Marty, Boner Island

10. "Blood of the Lamb in the houuuuuuuuuuuse!”
-Greg, America’s Next Top Preacher

11. “One step away from a million bucks and you won’t fuck a goat? Get out the way.”
-Joe Rogan, Fear Factor HBO

*Big ups to my home-slice Remi Treuer for contributing to this list.

Sci-Fi Channel Original Movies That Need to Be Made

Draculasaurus Rex

A group of scientists and soldiers are sent to a secret government compound to investigate the apparent disappearance of the project’s head, Dr. Vladmir Poletzin. The team is picked off one-by-one by Poletzin’s “pet" project, an undead dinosaur that drinks the blood of the living. It’s up to sexy demonologist Veruca Pendelton, bumbling paleontologist Merle Watson, and hard-nosed soldier with a past Ben King to escape the island before their blood becomes lunch and their bodies become trash. Starring Rhys Milton, Jonathan Stein-Myrtle and Melissa Stevens.

Blood of the Vikings

Did you know that you can get old movie sets for cheap? You can! We’ve taken the set from a film whose title rhymes with “The Dirteenth Borrior” to bring you the story of Var, a Viking warrior who must battle an army of CGI demons, armed only with a replica sword and a throwing axe. Starring Eric Van Derling, Sheena Willenby and Stone Cold Steve Austin-Ricks as Millicent, Queen of the Demons.

Ghost Houseboat

It’s spring break, but a group of lower-middle-class teenagers aren’t going to Cabo! They’ll be spending a Natural Light-fueled orgy week at Lake Serenity, partying it up on a houseboat. Little do they know that the houseboat has been possessed by the spirit of a dead Jet Ski salesman. Will Timmy, Tubby and Tonya escape the lake before they become the houseboat’s latest victims, or will they become permanent residents? NOTE: contains a graphic scene of a chemical toilet swallowing a teenage boy and digesting him slowly, like a pitcher plant. Starring Merlot Martin, Bentley Lewis, and Elizabeth Stanley-Forsberg.

Spacefight!

Spacefight!

Vice President Chupacabra

Diego the Chupacabra thought that he’d have four, maybe eight years of leisure when he accepted the Vice Presidential nomination. But when the President is kidnapped by terrorists in Diego’s native Puerto Rico, it’s up to the supposedly mythical creature to break some terrorist faces, just like he breaks ties in the Senate. Starring Merv Wilson-Seradski-Olson, Deanna Ricebowl and Shannon Sharpe as Diego.

Tattoos that mean something

1. A reproduction of the famous Abu-Ghraib “pyramid” photo, only instead of Lynndie England, the torture is presided over by Jack, the spokes-cone for Jack in the Box. Location: between shoulder blades.
2. A horse with roller skates for feet. Think how fast that would be! Location: left side of neck.
3. Photorealistic portrait of Violent J from Insane Clown Posse. His mouth looks like he’s saying “I love you”. Location: inner thigh.
4. My online banking password. I always forget that! Location: palm of hand, duhhhh.
5. Tribal tattoo. Location: encircling bicep.