McCain/Palin: The First Juggalo Ticket

The notion of a "campaign song, " or a general soundtrack by which to run a campaign is nothing new to American politics. From little ditties like "Tippecanoe and Tyler Too" (not the They Might Be Giants song) in support of the pneumonia-prone William Henry Harrison in his 1940 run, to the more recent capitalizing of Heartland Rock songs from the likes of Bruce Springsteen and John Cougar Mellencamp, songs promote an ideal and a general motif a party wants to convey during election season.

A song's selection process can be a bit tricky. Sometimes a candidate will like to pay homage to some of the great musical influences of all time, like Rudolph Giuliani's obvious send-up to punk rock with his selection of "Rudie Can't Fail" by The Clash. Or a candidate will pander to a certain crowd, like Hillary Clinton's pick of "You and I" by Celine Dion to clampdown the Gay Vegas vote. Or, the more obvious example of JFK's selection of "High Hopes" by Frank Sinatra, because, frankly, it's the only song that makes sense when you're getting blown by Marilyn Monroe.

In recent years music has taken on a new role in politics, actually defining generations and ideologies. For example, Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick of Detroit was dubbed the first "hip-hop mayor" because of his connection with the youth and inner-city vote. That, and he was consistently hittin' people up on the two way and making it rain on bitches and other city officials.

I would argue that our current president, George W. Bush, could be considered the first "country president." Though Jimmy Carter was far more country than Bush, I think our president's mannerisms and appeal to rural white people makes him an ideal candidate for such a title.

Which brings us to our current race. Obama has said he listens to all sorts of music, with Stevie Wonder being a personal hero of his (making "Signed, Sealed, Delivered [I'm Yours]" one of his campaign songs, though I personally think he should go with some tougher fare) . McCain has been a little less vocal about his musical coices, but he has made a sort of unsettling connection with ABBA.

So, with the McCain/Palin ticket lacking in music, I would like to make a humble suggestion. ICP. John McCain, become the first Juggalo president. Being a party that allegedly champions the underclass - constantly looking out for the little guy - your message blends perfectly with the harlequinned hellraisers Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope. With gems like "Tilt-A-Whirl" and "Hokus Pokus" as campaign songs your ticket will see a vitality the likes of John McCain 150 years ago! That, and I'm not entirely sure that Violent J isn't the baby daddy of Bindi, or whatever the shit Palin's daughter's name is, so having him close at hand for a last-second shotgun wedding may not be a bad idea. As an added bonus, your new army of Juggalo political disciples will be at least 90 per cent brain dead, and hopped up on Faygo! Just remind them to leave campaign literature at the scene of every smashed pumpkin and hate crime.

And God Bless America!

-E.

(Image via Sorgatron)

Obama’s N*gga Moment, McCain’s Senior Moment

This presidential race will be exciting—the clash between two seemingly polar opposite candidates; one an old war hero and conservative white man, and the other a young(er), charismatic, liberal African-American man. The exciting part isn’t just the possible regime change and blue shift towards a more liberal society and a potential re-claiming of American global cultural influence, but with two such opposites juxtaposed together for so long in such a gaffe-ridden and media nitpicky election season, there is a potential for a slip of the worst kind—Obama’s “nigga moment,” (as coined by the brilliant Aaron McGruder's Boondocks) and McCain’s senior moment.

Now, n*gga moments tend to be borne of the inner city frustrations and urban hopelessness that infect our African-American population (and it’s unfortunate). Obama doesn’t know much of this lifestyle. Though he had a childhood wrought with tragedy he always managed to get by on his ingenuity and motivation. But, one cannot easily dismiss the fact that, not only spending much of his professional career witnessing the defeated nature of Chicago’s worst neighborhoods, but also making his way in a profession full of wealthy, elitist white men had to have ingrained some sense of black animosity within him. This is merely speculatory, but odds are there is a whole other side of Barack Obama that we have yet to see.

As far as John McCain, he was born and raised in a different era. At 71, he is the oldest person ever to run for the office of President of the United States. Senior moments are exactly as they sound—moments where one’s age takes over the brain and causes that person to say or do something irrational and inexplicable. These moments can range from “oh, where did I put my car keys?” to, “North Korea, no way I’ll negotiate with those gooks!” (hypothetically speaking, of course). John McCain was put through hell in defense of our nation. He was tortured (but not enough to oppose torture), separated from his family and his country for years by people of a different race. Plus, he’s Irish; so he has a temper. And he’s a maverick, which means he has a penchant for calling his soon-to-be-named running mate (Mitt Romney?) "Goose," or always making love with “Take My Breath Away” by Berlin illuminating the conjugal background (with the help of Cialis [sorry, I had to]).

The beauty of this personal and political dichotomy is that there is a potential powder keg ready to burst. Chances are, if it does, McCain will be the instigator. He’s a man of a different era (see last paragraph). He was alive through the civil rights battles of the 50s and 60s, but was in the military, missing most of the activism whilst in the service, but still around during the repressive eras of the 40s and early 50s. Then, there’s the possibility that bitterness has been brewing inside him since the North took away his slaves in 1863 (that was a joke, he isn’t quite 145 yet). He’s also prone to gaffes to begin with. My theory is that, somewhere in this oversaturation of election coverage, McCain will have a senior moment—potentially revolving around the word “colored.” Now, this word isn’t the most offensive (case in point, the NAACP), and I don’t believe he is so far off the planet to utter the N word or something equally as inflammatory, but I think there is a possibility that his age will show itself in a ugly, pseudo-racist manner.

In response to such an archaic nod to racist roots, a spark could be lit, igniting the generally sanguine Obama. His response could range anywhere from, “Muthafucka, whatchu say?!” to a simple “Aw hell no!” to the more absurd act of actually whipping out a Gat. It’s unclear what would be the preferred course of action, but, regardless, white and black America would forgive him (except maybe whipping out the Gat).

I hope you’ll have your eyes glued on the TV screen as I will during this election season, and perhaps we’ll all see our candidates’ true colors.

-E.

George W. Bush and the American Dream

I am going to miss George W. Bush. Sure, he may go down in history as one of, if not the worst president ever. But, how joyous has it been these past eight years watching him stumble through speeches, utter gaffe after gaffe and, well, stumble through countless other speeches? It seems that in recent years Bush has become a kitchy, ironic caricature of the idea of a president. And those who are informed on the workings of the government go through cycles of despise, then back to ironic idolatry, then right back to despise when people realize that he is actually still in charge of our nation. There has been debate over what Bush’s legacy will be: some say AIDS relief, some say Iraq if it pans out well, others argue his legacy will be of incompetence and a systematic destruction of American ideals and freedom. Regardless of what future reflections will dictate, I think we need to take a step back and appreciate everything this man has done for us during his terms in office.

The truth is that Bush is the loveable fuck-up of this country. He’s like Dennis the Menace—the rapscallion we let run around and wreak havoc—except instead of a seemingly innocuous slingshot, he has the most powerful army in the world, and nuclear weapons. And the Middle East just happens to be Mr. Wilson, always getting the brunt of W’s hijinks. But in the end, isn’t that what makes Georgie great? Having him as a president is like seeing a child grow up before your very eyes; his head aflutter with fluttering butterflies fluttering in candy-filled meadows around milkshake waterfalls. How could anyone debase the wonderment of childhood?

There’s also the possibility that God is behind every aspect of his presidency. After all, he has made claims that he was divinely chosen to lead the USA, and that he is a vessel for the Holy Spirit. I ask, what implications does this have for God? My personal belief, is that, if all of this is true (which is very well might be), could God be pulling one over on us? Maybe God is responsible for George in the White House. And maybe, just maybe, He is doing all of this for his own amusement. What’s even funnier is the notion that God is just a prankster, not unlike Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty, and these past eight years have been a setup for Bush to learn life lessons.

The upsetting part about the fate of loveable W. is that unlike past elected presidents such as Jimmy Carter, Bill Clinton and Al Gore who have taken on charities and remained active in the political arena, Bush is likely to fade out of the public eye more than most. I mean, no one would trust him to any sort of diplomatic position, or, let’s face it, any kind of position requiring thought. What follows is short list of possible alternatives for George to fight off boredom after his tenure as Leader of the Free World.

1. Hollywood—I’ve been thinking that it would be great if W. was just using the presidency as a jumping off point until he could get his big break in TV and/or movies. Which brings up the question: what would his projects look like? Well, there are a few options; perhaps he could shoot a pilot for a buddy sitcom with Jeff Foxworthy, or maybe a cameo or bit part on CBS’ Two and a Half Men with Charlie Sheen. Then there’s always the possibility of getting a feature spot on a “Weird Al” Yankovic album. Either way, W. seems like a sure-fire bet in the entertainment industry.

2. State Fairs—Many presidents, once out of office, tend to go on tours of the country/world, promoting books and giving lectures on salient world issues. Truth be told, Bush’s memoirs are likely to be in coloring, picture or pop-up form, so unless he’s touring elementary schools, he won’t make too much difference. So why not State Fairs? He can just get up on a stage, maybe have a couple drinks, and just riff with everyday, common, blue-collar Amuricans.

3. Sales—This may seem sort of a waste of talent for a man of such stature, but is there anything you wouldn’t buy from the former president? Picture W. wearing a cowboy hat, in the middle of Texas, selling Chevy trucks. He would make a killing. Or, he could do infomercials. Get George on at 2 a.m. or later selling Pocket Fishermen or time shares in Orlando and watch the money pile up. Maybe he could be a spokesman for Old Spice or Wrangler or some other product that highlights his red-blooded masculinity.

Whatever W. decides to do (and he will decide, because he’s the decider), I hope he doesn’t fade into obscurity like some may say he should. The man is an icon—a true manifestation of the American Dream—because never has one man with so many limitations gone so far for so long.

-E. (in collaboration with Vic)

I Miss George Carlin, and I Love Profanity

WARNING: Profanity Abounds.

If there are two things in this world that can warrant my constant and wholehearted approval, they would be the Internet and profanity. Slate has done a wonderful job of illustrating the beauties of the glorious Venn diagram intersection of the two.

Using bands with explicit titles (Holy Fuck, Fucked Up, The Shitty Beatles [from Wayne’s World], etc), writer Hua Hsu explains how the Internet has given bands the outlet to circumvent regulated forms of broadcast or mainstream media that would otherwise avoid printing (or saying) their names. Artists who can create Web sites, MySpace pages and blogs are able to exist in a censor-free world, and can be quite successful in the process. Which is not only a true, but a significant fact in our current media and musical climate.

I do, however, take issue with some of Hsu’s personal views on swearing. Claiming that “profanity is the rare instance in which the worn coin of language resounds with too much power and volume” seems like a silly claim for a writer to make. As a writer type myself, it seems like words that resound with too much power and volume are the words one would want to keep around, peppering them into conversation to add emphasis. “He was really angry!” or “He was fucking angry!”? I prefer the latter (it’s got a bit more teeth).

(UPDATE: An interesting article by Roy Baumeister from Psychology Today has brought up some grammatical challenges to the cavalier use of "fucking" as an adverb in place of "really." Hence, I amend my previous point to say "He was very mad!" or "He was fucking mad!" Though, I disagree with the notion that we should conform our profanities to the workings of our language. Isn't their beauty the fact that they almost transcend the common tenets of speech? I won't hesitate to just throw swears mid-sentence [and neither should you], English be damned. On a different note, Baumeister's article was silly to me. I mean, throughout it "fuck" and all its derivative forms are written as "f**k." Is there anyone who reads that and allows the voice in their head to bleep it? I say if you're going to write an article that uses the word "fuck" around 40 times, just go all out and actually use the fucking word.)

Hsu’s point that, “this isn't to say that our mainstream cultural outlets should begin dropping f-bombs. But maybe our vigilance with regard to dirty words is misplaced—it distracts from what truly disturb us” is an interesting one—one that questions the nature of profanity in the first place. If I were to say, “Hitler’s a fuck” (which he was), it’s almost not specific or harsh enough. What actually is “a fuck?” It’s a brash reference to the conjugal arts. So Hitler was a sexual act that some would deem rather beautiful? It’s not good enough. But, if I were to say, for instance, “Hitler’s an incestuous scatophile,” it’s so much more specific and illustrative, right? But I can’t say “fuck” in a proper newspaper. And, I’m pretty sure (depending on which style book is used), I could get away with “incestuous scatophile,” though it may need further clarification (neice-fucking shit-lover [breathe it in]).

(Aside: I am starting to like the prospect of venting frustrations on straw men. For example, I think one should be able, in any forum, to reference Hitler, or Stalin (to a lesser extent), or Dustin Diamond (to a greater extent) in any pejorative terminology they deem severe enough. So, if I were to say “Stalin’s a cunt,” I should be able to without any sort of punitive repercussions. Generally accepted assholes should be referred to as such.)

I think that this entire article is a testament to Hsu’s main thesis: that we live in a world of loosened morals with regards to what is and isn’t profane. I have no guilt about unleashing a stream of curse words online, because the fact of the matter is, with the Internet, any profanity, expletive, or well-articulated description of a former despot’s (or cunt’s, whichever you prefer) sexual fetishes, you can find an embed-able video featuring a live recreation of that profanity.

(Note: That last part wasn’t completely true. I have not yet been able to find an embed-able video of near-relatives shitting on each other. If you find one, tip me off and I’ll embed it.)

-E.

The Best

The best real world porn star title and name is...

Secretary of the Interior Dirk Kempthorne.

-E.

I Live Blog A Shot At Love With Tila Tequila

So yeah, I’m going to live blog Season 2 Episode 2 of A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila. I’m hoping it’s as funny as I think it might be. I mean, 9 slutty lesbians and 9 jacked Neanderthals competing for the fleeting love of a third-tier celeb who looks like she’s 9? Let’s do this:

9:02- OK, best theme song ever! Gonna be a hit, Tila.

9:02- “I’m so excited, because I’ve got another chance to fall in love,” Tila. How about… I don’t know, living your life and trying to make a connection with one of the 25 people you meet a day?

9:03- “I don’t wanna have my heart broken again,” Tila. How about… Don’t meet your significant other through a series of absurd challenges intermingled with make-out sessions telecast on MTV?

9:04- “I’m kinda excited for some lesbians to make their move on me. I mean, I’m pretty hot,” Jay. You don’t get what lesbian means, do you.

9:05- This is SUCH a bro fest.

9:07- The casino set looks like a really bad prom theme.

9:08- Man, Kyle is creepy. Good call, Lisa.

9:09- LESBIAN MAKE-OUT TIME!!!!!!

9:09- Really, Kyle? Didn’t you see the last entry?

9:10- Commercial break 1. Man, I’m not exactly sure what I’m feeling. It’s a mixture between pure joy, fear, contempt and arousal. There is surely nothing good about this show. It’s like porn in the sense that there is no plot, nothing motivating anyone—it’s like just a few short scenes of physical action meant to arouse the viewer’s emotions or his…

9:13- Shit we’re back. Strip dice (guys v. girls)!!!

9:15- That girl’s got a huge ass!

9:16- Christian’s just piss drunk.

9:17- Tila’s got a fuck swing? Word?

9:18- George… come on, man…

9:19- Villagers are coming to fuck/kill Frankenstein/Tila.

9:19- That Bo guy actually seems sort of funny.

9:20- Word? Somebody called the fucking cops? Doesn’t MTV have any authority?

9:21- Commercial break 2. I think I’m losing faith in humanity. I mean, are there really this many fuck-ups out there? I mean the Jersey Shore is one thing, but it seems like everyone in this house is functioning at a devolutionary level. The same bro who nearly got into a fight the first episode was just seen on the preview shouting out a cop. These people need…

9:24- We’re back!! Tila’s talking to the cops. STOP SHOUTING, Jay. The cops are doing their fucking jobs, brah. Oh, the cop’s not having any shenanigans.

9:25- Can everybody get eliminated? Haha, well-stated Kristy, “They’re acting like a bunch of little college kids that have never partied before.”

9:26- OK, let’s see some shit. 18 mixed sexual orientations, drunk, sharing a bed.

9:27- Well stated, Kristy. “All of these guys are like, douchebags."

9:27- Commercial break 3. So, right now I’m liking Kristy and Bo. Even though, the fact that they feel like they can cast judgments is sort of hypocritical. I mean, they’re going to demean themselves in any way possible to get a girl that they barely know the same as everybody else. Maybe I like them because they’re dishonest about it…

9:30- We’re back. Hangover city.

9:31- Christian is drinking at 9 a.m. So gnarley.

9:32- Man, that guy was WAY excited for that oxygen bar. Uh-oh, George is getting real…

9:33- “Chad grabbed the eggs, and I was like, is this a bad idea? Should we do this?” Yeah, let’s ruin the kitchen and throw eggs and shit. Sweet life, Jay.

9:34- Jay, Scotty and Chad = Cunt Squad.

9:36- Commercial Break 4. Bathroom break. (Note: I wanna drop acid and see Speed Racer, and then beat the shit out of Patrick Dempsey).

9:40- Jay kinda looks like the older brother from The Wonder Years, but greasy and Italian.

9:41- I love how they have to do physical challenges on the hopes of connecting with Tila on an emotional level. And in the real world it’s the exact opposite.

9:42- I hope Christian gets to stay, and get piss drunk. And who is this Ryan guy? He’s been on camera once.

9:43- OH SHIT!!!! Scotty the douchebag is from Brookfield!! Yes!!!! Everything is explained!!!

9:44- I wish all of my dates took place in a hot tub.

9:46- Where’d they get those grapes? Which grape color is better for make-out? I’d guess purple. Green’s too bitter.

9:47- What are you doing Fame? Really? Singing? Poorly? Now? Really?

9:48- George, you’re getting way too much air time. We don’t care that your mom died 15 years ago. We want to see you fight/fuck/drink. And further, that shit doesn’t “just hit you” all of a sudden. “Oh man, I just realized my mom died, and it’s her birthday today.”

9:49- That last rant went into commercial a little bit. But seriously… that George guy is just like a politician; “We’re in working class, steel mill country. Oh, let’s be seen drinking a beer.” It’s so convenient how people become relatable at the most opportune times, isn’t it? (Note: I wish I was watching The Wonder Years or Quantum Leap right now.)

9:53- We’re back. I’m curious if Tila even picks who stays and goes. It seems like the producers just pick the ones who’ll start the most drama.

9:54- How is Jay still in? How is Scotty still in? How is Chad still in? See previous comment.

9:55- George is so disingenuous, but of course, he’s in.

9:57- It’s down to Kyle and Christian. Creep or Drunk.

9:58- NO!! How can you get rid of Christian? He was going to be the source for the perfect drinking game.

Here’s to a shot at love!!!

-E.

This Is What It Comes To

You know what's a funny word? Genitals.

-E.

New Rule, Indie Girls

New Rule: Indie girls have to give us the color mustard back. We happen to like it. So you don't get to have it anymore.

-E.

Kristen Schaal Rules

There's a lot to like about Kristen Schaal. I like this:

-E.

Our Fisted Friends.

OK, so I think the new format of this blog is going to be different. Instead of doing big posts every few weeks, I’m going to do small ones more frequently. It may be a video post, a funny link or mere observations. So that’s that. Onward.

Puppets.

Puppets have been a treat for peasants and kings for thousands upon thousands of years. There is no justifiable reason why they are as sweet as they are. They just have that certain something—walking the line between fantasy and reality. They aren’t animated, yet they aren’t alive. And we get to simultaneously play god and fist/finger something at the same time. Like I said; a treat.

Puppets come in a shitload of varieties from finger, to hand, to marionette, to the horrifying Jim Henson genetic engineering project: the muppet. I’ve compiled a short list of my favorite puppets. Enjoy.

My Top Five Favorite Puppets:

5. Precious Roy

There was once a show on MTV called The Sifl & Olly Show. Created by Liam Lynch and Matt Crocco, the show was about sock puppets. If you’ve heard the song “United States of Whatever,” you’ll note that it first appeared on the show. Precious Roy was a recurring character that ran an infomercial company that sold absurd products like “Civil War Corpses” and “Edible Sandals.” Enjoy.

4. King Friday

King Friday was the brutal monarch presiding over Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood of Make Believe. In one of the most fantastical puppet paradises ever conceived, Friday reigned supreme. And he had dynamite facial hair.

3. Mike Rutherford, Guitarist of Genesis in the “Land of Confusion” Video

This video was full of star-studded puppet representations of famous people. Originally I was going to say that Ronald Reagan was the ideal puppet from this video, but upon further review, Rutherford is playing a 4-necked guitar. So he wins.

2. Falcor the Luckdragon from The NeverEnding Story.

A flying, child-loving dog-dragon. This is what we in the business call the total package. He would be the greatest friend ever.

1. Statler & Waldorf

The original haters. Just a couple old curmudgeons who sit high in the balcony, shitting on the Muppet Show. Does it get any better than this?

Obviously there are many more who didn't make the list (Lamb Chop, Chauncy from Wonder Showzen, Godzilla), and to them I apologize.

Keep It Real.
-E.

P.S.

You're Not Lucky, I'm Lucky

Yeah, I know. I know. It's been too long. But I've been busy doing important things. Things much more important than entertaining you animals. Since we last spoke a certain holiday has passed - a holiday known simply as Saint Patrick's Day. On this day we are meant to drink, drink and drink and be merry, enjoying the rich Irish heritage of our forefathers.

One of the main points of celebration is something called "The Luck of the Irish." Now, for those of you unfamiliar with America and Ireland, you may take this "luck" as a whimsical little quirk of a shitshow of a holiday. But, if there's any group of people plagued with bad luck, it's the Irish.

Let's jump in our funky time machine to Ireland in the year 1850.
"Erik, I could go for some French fries," you say, gently rubbing your empty stomach as we walk out of our time machine.
"Yeah, French fries would be really good," I say. "The Irish are renowned for their potato farming." We are now walking down the street of a small village north of Dublin.
"Hey, have you noticed how approximately one in four of the people around us are dying a horribly painful and bitter death by starvation?" you inquisitively inquire.
"Oh shit, you're right. Maybe we'll have to take a pass on those potatoes, or any other food for that matter. For at least two more years," I say.

So yeah, for seven years from 1845 to 1852 the Irish population declined 20-25%. Lucky them. With this horrible famine, nearly 1,000,000 people emigrated from the godforsaken island, finding new homes in various parts of the world. One of these hot-spots was the United States. It seemed their luck had finally changed.

Americans have a rich history of brutal hatred of immigrants. And their hatred of the Irish was some of the most brutal of all. While the stereotypical images of blacks in America are widely known, the strikingly similar depictions of the Irish are a little more obscure. Many of these images show the Irish as primitive sub-humans who love violence and alcohol (only half true.) My only (corned) beef with the image to the right (Entitled "The Usual Irish Way of Doing Things"), Thomas Nast, is that the Irish are clearly whiskey drinkers, not rum drinkers. Either way, that picture just screams lucky to me. Damn lucky.

With that, there's the overall notion of luck, of good fortune. One of my pet peeves is when people throw around the word like it's nothing. For example, maybe the best/worst example, is when someone says, "You're lucky to be alive." Yeah man, you're in a full body cast, covered in your own, and possibly someone else's feces, with gouged eyes and a really, really bad haircut, but sure, you're luckier than the alternative, which would be death. Can't we come up with something better to say in this situation? How about, "Aw shit, that sucks, but at least you're not dead, and you may remain not dead for at least a few more minutes."

You know who's lucky? Me. The guy not bedridden covered in wildcat saliva. The guy who's not even at the hospital. The guy sitting around, watching Grounded For Life in bed eating a Charleston Chew. That's me. The lucky guy.

-E.

PS. I was knocking on wood the whole time writing this (not a euphemism for masturbation.)

Come Fly With Me To The Land Of Consumerism

Because I "work" in magazines, I love being put in abnormal places and immersing myself in their publications; which is why I love flying so much. Because, every time I’m on a flight I get to read not only the in-flight magazine, but the greatest catalogue ever, SkyMall. If you can present a better illustration of the class divide in America I’d like to see it. SkyMall is just the height of consumerism gone horribly, horribly wrong: gratuitous glamour items for WASPy business jetsetters. Let me show you:

Top 10 Absurd Items Found In SkyMall:

10. The Flying Alarm Clock ($39.95 S/H not included):
Hammacher Schlemmer has really taken the affluent bull by the necktie in the field of unnecessary products. Their Flying Alarm Clock “launches a rotor into the air that flies around the room as the alarm sounds,” AKA waking you up in the most practical way possible. I mean, I know I want to chase a clanging whirligig around my room at 7:45 am just mere seconds after I wake up.

9. The Marshmallow Shooter ($24.95 S/H not included):

Wanna give your children something they’ll use for about, umm, I don’t know, zero minutes once they realize that you don’t have marshmallows in your house because nobody fucking likes them? The crack team at Hammacher Schlemmer has the answer for you. It’s a gun… that shoots marshmallows. What else would put it over the top? That’s right, “it even has an LED sight that projects a safe beam of red light to help locate a target for pinpoint accuracy.” Finally!

8. The Only Gutter Cleaning Robot ($129.95 S/H not included):

Hammacher Schlemmer gets it. You’re on the road, neglecting your family for weeks on end, and when you get home you shouldn’t be spending your time cleaning gutters. You need to spend quality time; fucking your secretary! The Only Gutter Cleaning Robot’s got you covered, Mr. Executive. This robot is “made by iRobot, a company founded by roboticists from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and renowned for their tactical robots used in U.S. military reconnaissance missions.” When the robot revolution comes, this robot’s not going to be cleaning leaves from your gutters; it’s going to be cleansing the blood of your family. Be warned.

7. Helmet HERO Camera System ($169.99 S/H not included):

From the Skymall Collection we have the HERO Camera System so you can “shoot the excitement as you live it!” All you have to do is sell your dignity and your desire to not look ridiculous.

6. Silent Night Snore Terminator ($49.95 S/H not included):

This gem comes from the company The Greatest Gift; and it truly is – if you consider getting electrocuted in your sleep the greatest gift. “Wear it on your wrist when going to sleep and the tiny microphone detects snoring and sends safe electronic pulses to the wrist.” I don’t care how small the shocks are, if it’s enough to disturb my sleep it’s too much. Pray to God there’s no leak in your ceiling in the night.

5. Tracking Key ($229.00 S/H not included):

The Tracking Key is “a small, pocket sized device that receives signals from 24 GPS satellites orbiting the earth. The internal computer accurately determines the location of the device within 2.5 meters and records this data every second.” The tagline writes it’s own material:

“Is my teenager speeding? Where is my spouse going? Where are my employees driving? Find out! With the Tracking Key.”

What this could say and be equally effective:

“Why do my children hate me? Who is my spouse fucking? Why is my business failing? Find out! With the Tracking Key.”

4. Personalized Truman Print ($39.95 S/H not included):

This item from Signals isn’t that funny on its own, but it has endless possibilities. The catalogue gives examples like “Steve Gets Promoted” or “Jenny Graduates.” I think it would be funny if it said “Truman Rapes Kid” or “Holding Newspapers Linked To AIDS.”

3. T-Rex Dinosaur Trophy ($98.95 S/H not included [Buy 2 or more only $89.95 each!]):

The miracle workers at Design Toscano have carefully killed and taxedermied thousands of Tyrannosaurus Rexes, just so you can have a piece of the Cretaceous in your rec room. Hang it right next to your heads of the Giant Panda and the Barbary Lion along with, some would say, your troubling amount of Narwahl Tusks.

2,1. Four Different Kinds of Remote-Controlled Helicopters (I’m counting this as two items):

One remote control helicopter is stupid, but understandable. Two is ridiculous, but understandable. Three is ridiculous and stupid. Four is SkyMall.

a.) The World’s Smallest Remote-Controlled Helicopter ($79.95 S/H not included):

Is it a ridiculous product? Hammacher Schlemmer will have a seat at the table. And they’re going to do it big, or small – with the world’s smallest, and probably most breakable, helicopter.

b.) Eagle-Eye RC Helicopter ($59.95 S/H not included):

Gadget Universe has its own gimmick when pitching their helicopter: family values and the problem with today’s youth. “Get your kid off the computer and from in front of the TV and outside for some quality time with Dad or Grandpa.” Ah, the American dream.

c.) Four-Channel Military Helicopter ($139.99 S/H not included):

The SkyMall Collection brings the military vote; high spending and the American desire to be the pilot of a “[sic] muli-role combat helicopter.” Basically sums up the military right there.

d.) Micro-Fly Helicopter ($99.99 S/H not included):

The SkyMall Collection is directing this product at its faithful patrons who want to buy a remote-controlled helicopter, but just can’t pony up the extra $40.00 to get the high quality ‘copter. It’s a pretty big target market. So big you could hit it with a marshmallow gun.

-E.

(P.S. Read other great stuff at http://www.lucasshanks.com)

Pequena Prohibida Update

Just when you thought it was too much, Chile decided to...

Gimp
My
Ride

Thanks, Chile!

HOLLA!!!


Suddenly it all makes sense...

'Tis The Season To Be Pious

Anybody who knows me knows that I'm a devout Catholic. And, this being the time of year after girls in Nawlins show their tits for a week, but before a magical rabbit gifts chocolate bird eggs (for Jesus), I thought I would get in the spirit (by doing something other than eating 2/$3 Filet-O-Fish.)

10 Things I'm Giving Up For Lent:

10. Catholicism
One would think a religion with a rich history of brutal murder, violence and pedophilia would be ideal for a scholar like myself. But no, the idea of meatless days and celibate (equally meatless) nights is a major turn-off. My Sundays are for 2 things: Hangovers and True Life Marathons.

9. Base Jumping

Fuck That.

8. Respect For My Peers
Sorry y'all. But I've walked into too many parties and heard bottom of the barrel pop rap and country so many times that it isn't redeemable. You're not so hood. You're so from Blaine.

7. Organ Harvesting
This is one of those bad habits that I try to kick as a New Year's Resolution but always finds its way into Lent. What can I say, I like a good stockpile of human. Holla!

6. Sobriety
Cliche, whatever. It just infuriates me to no end how many people give up drinking. For every beer you donate to Jesus I'm gonna stick my dick in a shot of Yak.

5. Krumping
I've gotten in way too many territory wars, and way too many Krumpin' sores on my feet. The madness has to stop.



4. Kruggerands

Investing in gold seems like a good idea, and perhaps it is. All I know is that I've got too much and it's gotta stop.

3. Vaginal Sex
Brown is the new pink.

2. Hippy Acceptance
Heyyy maaaaan! We here at Compassionate Action For Animals want you to come to our Valentines Day Potluck! It's gonna be sooo chill. I got the new Widespread Panic album and Conner's gonna bring his Djembe. I was listening to "Buffalo Soldier" yesterday, and I just gotta say, Bob Marley stood for something. That just makes me wanna go out and start the revolution. What's that? Oh shit. Hahaha, yeah man. Let's get faded. Ohhh!!! Your pipe's got a turtle on it!


Where's my glock...

1. Not Masturbating
This one goes right alongside the sobriety issue. Masturbation is a popular thing to give up. But, what's even more fucking stupid about giving it up is that you don't even get credit for it! My (retarded) Catholic friends have given up the low five before, and not told their parents or their local child molester. What's the point? God (Xenu) wants you to beat your cock to the point of chaffing. That's why he/she/it invented women... and aloe.


God Bless,
-E.

Top 9 Additions To My Dream Home Taken From 80s, 90s And Early 2000s Kids' Movies

Ah, to be young again. School was easy, I could compete at an athletic level equal to my peers, and the movies fucking ruled. Not to say that movies aren't good now. Just a different kind of good. One of the things, looking back on it, that ruled about kids movies was the gratuitous amenities some of these kids would have in their homes. Big and Blank Check were perfect examples of how kids with no budget would treat themselves. Borrowing from this theory, I was forced to ask, how would me treat myself?

9. Data's zip-line from The Goonies
My compound is going to have various buildings. And I personally couldn't think of any better way to get around than by zip-line. Data, the Crasian (Crazy+Asian, no big deal) from Goonies had the perfect idea.

8. Josh Baskin's trampoline from Big
Tom Hanks, aka grown-up (Big) Josh Baskin knew the score. His ridiculous caffeine, sugar and toy-induced decision to buy a ridiculous loft and furnish it with bunk beds, basketball hoops and arcade games was inspired. The icing on that cake was a trampoline, which, if your memory serves you correctly, was an ass-magnet.

7. The Treehouse from The Sandlot
Though not officially part of anyone's "house" per say, it's always been a cream-dream to have a treehouse. And I figure any one in which S'mores can be made is good enough for me. Tinker Toys included.

6. Entire house boobie-trapped like in every Home Alone
I'm going to need to protect my shit. And what better way than having excessive and brutally violent consequences for intruders. Thanks, Macaulay Culkin.

5. Ghost of Michael Keaton haunting a snowman like in Jack Frost
This one's a little more specific. It's common knowledge that Michael Keaton is the greatest actor of all-time. And I consider a snowman an addition to the house (and possibly to the family?) And the only snowman I'd want is the snowman inhabited by the lifeforce of a dead Mr. Keaton. Sign me up. Oh, and this also coincides with my dream to have a meat locker.

4. That kick-ass 2-story indoor-to-outdoor slide that Preston Waters (Mr. Macintosh) had in Blank Check.
Like Josh Baskin, Preston Waters had a guap of cash and an imagination. My house will have a big-ass pool, and I need an ostentatious way to get wet.

3. Golf hole portal to Looney Toon Land from Space Jam
Once again, this is an addition to something I will already have on my compound; whether it's a full golf course or a putting green. Either way, this hole will be filled with an alternate reality in which cartoon characters and humans can coexist... for once.


2. Hall of Heads from Return to Oz
This one's a little more obscure. Return to Oz is the horrifying, child-unfriendly sequel to the classic original. A key villain, Mombi, had a detachable head. Concordantly, she had a long corridor filled with alternate heads that could be attached to her head-cavity. I want a hall of replacement heads, nuff said.

1. Richie Rich's Human Catapult/Roller Coaster/McDonald's/Laboratory/Fake Mt. Rushmore
Richie Rich, Macaulay Culkin if you're nasty, had all the treats. Human catapult, roller coaster, mad scientist with his own crazy laboratory, gigantic Mt. Richmore, and, why the fuck not, a McDonald's. I want it all.

Exactly.

Bonus:
Michael Jackson's light-up floor from the "Billie Jean" video. Yes, I realize it wasn't in a kid's movie. But I figure Michael Jackson's allegedly fucked enough kids to qualify him for a bonus spot.

(Blogger's note: This list was intended to be a forum for expressing my desire to put a fuck swing/rape room in my dream home. But, no big deal.)

-E.

A Logical Next Step For You, Porn

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Allow myself to introduce myself.

I tried to come up with a clever way for y'all to get to know me, so I decided to use James Lipton's final questions on ITAS.

1. What is your favorite word?
For Scrabble, a tie between "za" and "qi," for normal English, "treat."

2. What is your least favorite word?
"Fashionista"

3. What turns you on?
Tits/Ass

4. What turns you off?
Explaining shit to people

5. What is your favorite curse word?
Utility: "Mother-Fucker" Show-Off: "Jizz-Beret"

6. What sound or noise do you love?
The electric piano sound in "Goodbye Stranger" by Supertramp.

7. What sound or noise do you hate?
Crying children (unless they're being beaten.)

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
Stay-at-home-dad/Amateur Porn Star/Crime Fighter (At the same time)

9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
Old folks home worker

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
God- You feel that? That's right, you now have a 14-inch penis. Hey Freddie, come and show this guy the ropes.
Me- Oh, hey what's up Freddie Mercury?
FM (Freddie Mercury)- Oh not much, just about to jam out with the band.
Me- Oh, you have a band, here in heaven?
FM- Yeah, it's me, Keith Moon, Dimebag Darrell, and Paul McCartney.
Me- Paul McCartney?
FM- Yeah, Paul McCartney.
Me- I knew it... Yeah, that does sound like a good line-up.
FM- Yeah, it's a trifle rough at the moment, but we're getting there. Oh, I forgot, peak-career Marlyn Monroe was looking for you.
Me- Sweet, is that a cupcake tree?
FM- Absolutely.

I hope that cleared some stuff up for you all.
-E.

2008's Gonna Be My Year!

Hey Internet! To be honest I have no legitimate reason for starting a blog. To stroke my own ego? Perhaps. I guess it's this unjust delusion of grandeur that dwells deep inside me, propelling me into an alternate reality where people care what I think. What to expect from this: a) Random Lists b) Reviews of things c) Rants d) Erotic fiction (and hopefully non-fiction) e) Hate, hate, hate.

I thank you for checking this out. Prepare for greatness.
-E.