Societal detritus

Sometimes vulgarity is necessary.

2011-08-05T18:52:00.000-07:00

If you know the the mentality of the mafia, you know that the most important thing that they do is intimidation. It's cheap, and it get's the point across. Also, the charges are way easier to fight then a murder rap.

So, it should come as no surprise that the russians, who are essentially run by the russian mafia at this point, and are headed by a former KGB top, are engaging in some...antics. Quote follows.

"U.S. diplomats and officials have found their homes broken into and vandalized, or altered in ways as trivial as bathroom use; faced anonymous or veiled threats; and in some cases found themselves set up in compromising photos or videos that are later leaked to the local press and presented as a sex scandal."

Translation: they are breaking into peoples houses and dropping upper deckers in those people's facilities. Also, yes, bombings and poisonings, and that's worse, but it's not my point.

My point is, we need a department of filthy, filthy, dirty, "Oh God, why would you do that, seriously, what is wrong with you, I mean, who does that?" tricks. Our answer to every act of open agression is missiles that cost millions of dollars delivered by ships with thousands of hands on deck. We need to think smart, and be frugal, and also just let people know that we are some depraved sons of bitches, and we are not to be trifled with.

Think about it this way. You're a politician in some country who effed with the US. You live in a bunker with not 1, 2, or 3 inches of concrete surrounding every possible point of contact, but fifty. You know that you are going to be allright when the inevitable missile strike happens. Yeah, a couple hundred or thousand of your countrymen will die, but that means two things:

1. Decreased tax revenues, not that your people were paying taxes anyway, and
2. Now everyone is behind your campaign to punish the great shaitan, and your cult of personality just got stronger.

Now. Imagine the following. Dude leaves, cause, you know, he doesn't want the prostitute to go to his place. A team of, let's say 6 people "disposes" of any guards present, and then precedes to urinate wildly, and with reckless abandon, all over his expensive oriental carpet. Then they go. Maybe that team leaves a note, something along the lines of the following:

"Dear sir,

It has come to our attention that you have been poking sticks into hornet's nests. It is our duty to submit to you that this is a poor idea, and that you are going to be stung. Repeatedly. Further poking will provoke increasingly worse stings. The following is not intended as a threat, perse, simply a statement of fact that you may be unaware of. We are in posession of sattelites that can drop a ball bearing, from space, with such speed and precision, that before you can say, 'Ow! My Dick!' your dick will no longer exist in the realm of physical objects that have occurred in Human history. Please refrain from the aforementioned activity.

Your's truly,

A very large country with a sizable military."

I would take that advice.

It was a Little Spanish Fleet

2006-08-24T20:34:00.000-07:00

Everyone knows someone like the guy I’m about to talk about: You feel bad for mocking this person, because they are so utterly witless, and you know no comeback is forthcoming. Too often you must zing them, because they practically force you to. I am specifically referring, in this case, to Lunchbox, a codename which probably needs no explanation.

Lunchbox was the kind of nerd who would absolutely have a fit if someone were to have the temerity to suggest the Batman could defeat Superman. I mean, how could he? Batman is just a dude, Superman could burn him to death from space with his laser vision! He once absolutely could not get his head around the fact that I do not like Meatloaf. I mean, it’s practically a hamburger!
One day, he’s quotes a line from Mallrats, and I corrected his quote, as I had just watched it last night. He would not have it. So I pull out a 20, and tell him that Andrew Jackson is certain that I am correct. The bet on, we go find the manuscript online, go to the line, and prove Andrew Jackson to be an excellent judge of veracity.

Three days later, after having begged off thrice, he still does not have a 20 for me.

“Don’t Welsh on this bet man”
“Hey, I’m part Welsh, don’t slander them like that”
“Maybe the phrase was coined because your people kept going back on debts?”
To his credit, he paid up the next day so as to not dishonor his heritage.

At the time, I had a habit of whistling “It was a little Spanish fleet”. And it drove ol’ Lunchbox nuts. I wasn’t doing it intentionally, it would just pop in my head, and I’d whistle it. One day, I was helping a customer de-brick her computer, and in the middle of a reboot, she started to hum the tune herself. So I joined in! It seemed the thing to do at the time. Lunchbox tells me to stop, and reminds me I’m on a call. I pointed to the headset, and mouthed “she started it”, then cut back in. The rep to my right had to leave the area he was laughing so hard.

It was a CENTAUR!

2006-07-25T18:34:00.000-07:00

I present you this hilarity in video format.

You can always tell someone is hip to the java bean when /. is mentioned. I've pulled the key rebinding myself. Other techie pranks: Using the marqui screen saver to say something embarassing, then password protecting it so they couldn't shut it off, changing the sound files, so instead of the email chime, you'd get a fart noise, to say nothing of various fun that can be had with reg hacking.

I never said I was a mature person.

Some explanation required

2006-07-08T00:31:00.000-07:00

So, a bunch of my old high school buddies are throwing a surprise party for our friend Dianna. I didn't want to risk spilling anything, so I decided not to go to the birthday deal she put on tonight. However, I sent an email just to further the bluff, about how I was sorry I didn't make it. Originally I inteded to just be contrite, but at some point, the whole thing turned into a joke, and from there on, I was off to the races. What follows is my apologetic email.

Dianna,

I apologize most sincerely for missing your birthday party. I could never make the flick, but I did intend to show up for the afterparty. Around 6 oclock...a shadowy man snuck up and cracked me on the back of the dome with a cinderblock. Twice.

It was 3 and three quarter hours later when I woke up, and for the life of me, I thought I was Batman. For the next 2 hours I jumped from roof top to rooftop fighting crime, paying no heed to how I didn't "know any martial arts" and "Had a 15 centimeter verticle leap". Finally, I came to, regaining my memories during a fight with "the cinderblocker" and he spilled the whole thing in an exceptionally long monologue. I cannot stress enough how talkative he was. On and on, about secret plans, and nemesii, how unfair his parents were this one time, how he totally invented the 2x4 and cinderblock impromptu table while he was in college, where he majored in art history, and so on, you know, the whole thing. As we had tea and cucumber sandwiches halfway through the speech, it all came back to me, and I wanged him in the dome with his very own cinderblock. Irony, thy name is...form molded concrete.

So, as you can see, It was actually YOU who didn't show up to MY birthday party!

Or I could just be an ass.
Hella Sorry,
Syncdata

Weekly world news

2006-07-05T23:38:00.000-07:00

This is for those of you who have seen "So I married an Axe murderer"

Area Boy's head freakishly large

San Francisco: A local boy is believed to have the largest head in the world, according to eyewitnesses.

"It's rediculous. It's like a melon with a toothpick in it" says his father, Shmidtty McShmidt, age 64.
"Imagine looking at Saturn, edge on with the ring. That's close."

Local astronomer Tad Winklestein agrees. "That's a fairly accurate physical description, but when gravitic effects are taken into account, it's quite a precise analogy. His Grandfather showed me a video tape of the boy walking. A hummingbird got too close, and eventually crashed into his enormous afro. What is fascinating is that the bird was actually trying to escape the gravity well, to no effect. Ideally I would encase his head in a bubble, to keep objects from entering this vortex, but that would kill him."

The boy's head has been the subject of much scientific curiosity, says UCSF Physics Professor Muon Chambers. "Whenever our department has a scenario involving an arbitrary volume, we measure that in units of TBH, or 'The boy's head'." He continued: "Personally, I'd like to fill his head up with helium, to see if he would float. But that would kill him."

"It's quite difficult for the boy, what with his head having a personal zip code, and the weatherman on channel 5 including it in forecasts." said his grandmother. "That man's accuracy when it comes to the boy's head is astounding" adds her husband.

The boy was only heard to mutter unintelligably.

In celebration of independance day

2006-07-04T18:07:00.000-07:00

A video celebrating George "still shorter than Syncdata" Washington, which you've probably all seen before.

Enjoy the fireworks!

Your one stop opinion shop

2006-06-29T22:17:00.000-07:00

"Thanks, and welcome to another episode of 'What passes for political debate in America today'. With us, is ACLU chair Dingle Berry, and Rand foundation member Sassy Mollasses. As you know, on this show, we discuss the pressing issues of the day in a common sense, easy to grasp way. Lets start with Dingle. What is your current take on events occuring within our nation and around the globe?"

Dingle Berry: "FORD!"

And Sassy, your response?

Sassy Mollasses: "CHEVY!"

"There you have it folks. See us tomorrow when we debate Nintendo versus Sony, and Niners versus Cowboys."

Beware, for there be harsh satire here

2006-06-05T19:53:00.000-07:00

I was actually called "The Man" over the weekend, because I'm white, and work in a bank. This was not said in a playful, jovial tone, but in an accusatorial town. (That part is altogether true. Everything which follows is false.) I responded with laughter, peals upon peals of laughter. Did I laugh because it‘s ridiculous to think that I am "The Man", part of a faceless cabal through which all discrimination is carried out? No. I laughed because I mustn't allow him to know how deeply the conspiracy runs

For instance, I keep a daily journal. Here is my entry from Friday.

7:45 am: Alarm goes off. Damn Mexicans.

9:00 am: Violently shove minority out of the way of the bank entrance. Mustn't be late!

9:20 am: After telling sexist and derogatory jokes with my co-worker, I get down to business.

9:40 am: Run a macro designed to decline loans to any applicant with an ethnic last name, or feminine first name; unless they sound hot and are in my age range.

10:00 am: Take a coffee break. On the way out to a smoke break, someone asks me a question which is well within my job description. I derisively "pfft" and continue on undaunted. What am I, their mommy?

11:30 am: Take lunch at Vic’s, the Filet minion and three martini special. Blow off work for another 45 minutes. My boss will understand. We're both in the club.

1:15 pm: On the way back to work, I strike an old woman with my car while weaving between lanes. As she rolls over the hood, I think to myself, "Eh, she's probably on Social security and medicare. I just saved tax payer money."

1:25 pm: After giving the secret handshake to the police officer who pulled me over for vehicular manslaughter, I pull into work without incident.

1:26 pm: Violently shove the same ethnic minority out of the way of the doorway. I swear, it's like he's been lying there all morning, lazily bleeding from his ear. I wish he would just get a job.

1:45 pm: Called the federal-reserve to get the interest rates raised. We have a number of wealthy clients coming in today to open CDs.

3:00 pm: Call the federal-reserve to get the interest rate lowered. We'll be getting a number of wealthy clients coming in later today to get loans.

3:30 pm: Just fired a man. Out of a cannon. Just kidding. It was a woman.

4:00 pm: Take off work early. Ran into the boss on the way out. Both of us urge the man on the ground to get a job. We both get into our seperate cars, and head to the same location; after all, why conserve gas, when ExxonMobile and Shell are part of the same conspiracy. Also, cause my BMW handles so nice.

4:15 pm: Upon entering the elks club, we give the secret handshake to Ernie, the elevator operator to take us to the unmarked 13th floor, so that we can plan the invasion of Iran.

And that was my day!

Now that I think about it, I might have killed that man by the front door. Oh well, hopefully the garbage man will pick him up. I only hope they are teamsters, and know the drill.

Interpersonal relationships are the spice of life.

2006-05-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

Have you given any thought to routine things you do everyday, and their repurcussions? Like, opening doors, walking, etc? I do.

I try to play a game every now and then, for instance: Today I am a ninja, and will do everything silently and in fluent motions. Or, Today I am going to be a gentlemen, all the way to the hilt, not just holding doors for people, as I always do, but ceding the right of way to others, with a bow and a gesture. Or, Today, I am going to strike up a conversation with anyone I possibly can. Most days, I combine as many as I can.

The last two are my favorites. It’s fun to do, and it puts a smile on people’s faces. When they get into their cars, they are going to be less susceptible to road rage, so you’re actually performing a community service. Let’s be honest, dealing with other humans is a hassle. Some lady at a deli is making sandwiches all day long and it’s monotonous. She appreciates a chat about this, that, or the other thing. And you are going to get a few extra slices of meat and cheese for your effort. People are generous when in a good mood. I even got a nickname out of this habit from my local sandwhicheur, Mrs. Kim: she calls me Mr. Bank.

So I like to put people around me in a good mood. This can be done with a held door, a wink and a nod, or an unusual word in a sentence. I’ve found that using the word “Smashing!” delivers excellent results. People don’t hear that word, so it puts them off their guard, in a good way.

It costs nothing. It gets you some extra pastrami on your sandwich, and it cuts down on traffic accidents. Why wouldn’t you do this?

Lengthy Comedic analysis regarding Steve Colbert.

2006-05-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

All this week, people have been saying “Sync, Sync, have you seen Colbert’s bit at the white house correspondent’s dinner?” The answer is yes. As a political junkie, I ALWAYS catch the white house correspondent’s dinner.

So, yeah, I saw it. And to be honest, it wasn’t that funny. I say this not from a political standpoint, but from a comedic standpoint. Colbert bombed hard. I’ve seen two bits from the dinner.

Bit #1: The better, and less funny one.

Bush steps up to the dais along with a Bush impersonator. Hackneyed right? The jokes are not really all that funny, but they get a few things right.

#1: Knowing your audience

The bit actually has some harsh jokes in it. Particularly the bit about Cheney shooting that lawyer. I wouldn’t have gone there, but who am I? The jokes are in no way as funny as the bits Colbert fired out, but they play better, because the joke writer knew his audience.

#2: They set up their jokes.

Granted, they did this in the opposite way, with the straight man (bush) explaining the joke afterward, which is usually comedic death, but in a dinner like this, it worked somehow. A bit awkward, but decent.

Now lets look at Colberts bit. Here it is, in three parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 Ignore the third part, unless you want to delve into boredom. It’s just not funny. Watch the clips first, and then come back. I’ll wait.

Now that you have done that, lets deconstruct his bit. How did he manage to bomb, when he had so many funnier jokes than bush’s bit did?

#1: He has no concept of what his audience was.

He is sitting in front of a group of inebriated Washington insiders whose job it is to show a marginal amount of respect for politicians. And they have all been drinking. Look around the room, and count the wine glasses. He had a lit room and bombed, and here's why: His jokes were way too pointed, and way too harsh. I’m sure that when he and his team wrote these jokes, they were hilarious. But he wasn’t delivering the jokes to his staff. Bombing in a room that primed is hard. But he pulled it off.

#2: Set up your jokes properly!

He even acknowledges the importance of this step when he screws up once. It’s like he never even tried to set up his jokes. He just tells them. It’s like a Don Rickles bit, but he is not at a roast. It might seem like he is, but again, know thine audience. He comes off like a drunk, clinging to lampposts for support, rather than illumination. You really do have to inform your audience beforehand what the punchline is going to be.

#3: Timing.

Steve Martin said it best. The #1 rule of comedy is……wait….oh man…I totally know this…..it’s….uh……Timing! Colbert never sets up his jokes, so timing is practically irrelevant. He isn’t making jokes, so much as he is making statements of opinion. There are no riffs in his bit. He jost goes from line to non-connected line. You might think Don Rickles is a comedic hack, but you’d be wrong. He understood comedy well enough to tell his crowd they were retarded, and then got them to laugh at themselves. That is not an easy thing.

#4: Grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me, while telling me truth is not going to make me laugh.

This goes back to knowing your audience. Colbert is lecturing the audience. People don’t appreciate being told how hard they suck. He makes many truthful statements about Bush, and politics in general, but don’t expect them to thank you for it. If your job is to make people laugh, and that is indeed the entire reason Colbert was there, you should probably try to not break a bottle over their heads. He was not being a comedian, he was being a supervisor, and lets face it, we all hate our supes. Being someones boss isn't funny, especially when you violate fundamental laws of comedy.

And for the record, I saw Jon Stewart on Crossfire, and I thought he killed. Colbert should learn from his former boss.

Spooky action at a distance

2006-03-22T23:37:00.000-08:00

Everyone gets older, and circumstances change for us all. Sometimes this means that people move a few thousand miles away to achieve X, Y, or Z. Such is the case with my friend Jim.

In high school we were in the same group of friends, friends who happened to be potheads. We both partook, but I think Jim and I were the responsible ones in our group…Relatively speaking. For this reason, we got along just fine. I don’t think that I had realized the many other ways in which we were similar until yesterday.

Obviously, I’m a comedy minded kind of guy. Jim isn’t as such, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t know how to differentiate the funny from the non-funny. While I was over on the east side this past week, he asked me how I go about writing a bit, and I gave him my take. He decided to take a crack at it with me. We came up with a list of topics, and then selected two potential winners. One was a one joke pony, and was pretty funny. But the real test came with the second bit, which needed lots of jokes. Upwards of forty distinct gags. Damned if we didn’t bang that thing out in about 2 hours. I don’t want to post the whole thing, because it’s just too good. I don’t want anyone to see it until it is actually produced. I will give you the topic though.

“Television is ruining our relationship. And not that you watch too much of it, just that you are constantly role playing it.”

The bit just assembled itself as pretty as you please. We both came up with a ton of jokes, and vetoed jokes which, while funny, where not on point. Jim showed a real knack for funny production I was not aware he possessed before.

You think you know a person...

On Baptisms, Liquor, and Virginia.

2006-03-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

The baptism was a rousing success. My goddaughter has been certified by the Catholic church as to being adorable, amongst other things. 8 months old, getting ready to crawl, and to start saying dada, and mama. As if you needed any further evidence, at one point, I looked at her and said "Baby, who's the tops in my book?" And then she kinda...fell over. But it was very cute how she did it. It's really all in the execution.

Fun fact. Did you know that stores close over here? It's true! And it's so far held true everywhere I've been in the mid-west and east coast. And I dare you, I dare you, to try and find a liquor store. There are stores that sell liquor, amongst other things. But I mean a place that sells smokes, booze, and maybe some chips and other basic staples. In California, specifically the bay area, You can hardly swing a dead cat without finding a liquor store. I simply find it striking.

Also I figured out what the device does in the happytown/angryville sketch. It makes Black lights normal lights, and it makes happy kittens sad kittens. I should probably repost v2.0, as a number of items have been changed/polished.

Tradition? or Fealty? Choose one.

2006-03-13T19:22:00.000-08:00

March 17th, Saint Patrick’s day, falls on a Friday during lent. Now, foodwise, I have but two traditions. Pork-chops and Sauerkraut on January 1st (some squarehead good luck charm), and Corned beef and cabbage on St Patties.

Now, the local archdiocese has given a special dispensation to allow eating meat on the 17th, provided you choose another day in the week to abstain. Problem solved right?

Wrong. Though I am a catholic, my mother raised me protestant, in that I don’t care much for the political structure of the church. So what if the bureaucracy says it’s ok? The big man said “Hell no!” So I suppose I will have to take a special dispensation, and get my corned beef on Thursday.

Further comments on Catholicism

This Sunday, I’m going to be a Godfather. My homey Jim elected to honor me as such. I have a godfather, and to be honest, I haven’t seen him very often. So I don’t know what my domain is.

I’ve technically been an uncle since I was 2 (papa was a rolling stone. An older rolling stone.) However, only in the last few years have I had a chance to be the “Fun uncle”. Teaching the kid tricks, how to snap your fingers, whistle, skip rocks, make a paper airplane, you know…passing on the delinquent’s handbook. I get the feeling that a Godfather has to be a different type of cat. Obviously I know the major responsibilities, but Jim and his wife want me to have a more active role in Farah’s life then my Godfather had in mine. What’s the proper tact to take?

The greatest lie ever told.

2006-03-05T19:55:00.000-08:00

I don’t lie anymore. I have found that it is better to be honest, even to one’s own detriment. People appreciate an honest assessment of things.

That said, this blanket ban didn’t always exist. And I was a fantastic liar in the day. I could look my father in the eye, and fire one off, and get away with it. I’m not proud of that, but it is fact. I was damned good at it.

There is one lie I’ve told, of which I am proud. Allow me to set the scene. I’m 13 or 14, about 6’2, and on a vacation with my folks up in the heavily forested mountains, bored out of my mind, in 80 degree temperatures at night. 10 o’clock, a couple of yokels have a burning pile of leaves about as tall as myself, and the sparks are reaching up to the trees.

Me: “Hey Liz, those tards are going to start a wildfire with that thing.”
My Sister: “They probably know what they’re doing”
Me: “Like hell they do, they’re this close to setting that pine tree on fire. Give me a sec.”
I return with my jacket and hat on.
Me: “I’ll be right back.”

I light a smoke, and walk over to the two yokels.

Me: “Hey fellas, beautiful weather eh?”
Yokel #1: “Right.”
Me: “So, that pile of leaves…that’s awfully tall there fellas.”
Yokel #1: “Well, we’ve got the garden hose right here.”
Me: “Yeah, see here’s the problem. That garden hose might put out the pile of leaves, but it’s not going to do shit if a spark lights that pine over there on fire. Do you have any idea how hot that fire is? Or the height the updraft will lift a cinder coming off of this burn? 500 hundred degrees, and 40 feet I’d bet.”
Yokel #2: “Well, it’s legal for us to…”
Me: “Yeah, it’s legal to burn your leaves in an enclosed metal bin, provided you have a clearance of 20 feet. Which you don’t. You don’t have the bin, and you don’t have the clearance. Now, I’m just SFFD, I don’t have jurisdiction up here, but I’m of a mind to call the volunteer fire department if you don’t tame that burn. I know you have to get rid of excess leaves and needles, but be smart, is all I’m saying.”
Yokel #1: “Alright, we’ll cut it down.”
Me: “Thanks…enjoy the weather.”

Damn it felt good to be a gangster. Let’s count the lies. I didn’t know the temperature. I didn’t know anything about the updraft. I was not a member of the SFFD. I didn’t know what the regulations were up there. A 14 year old tells a couple of thirty year olds 4 lies, and they swallow it, and do what I say.

The main reason I am proud of that moment though, is that I used my lying prowess for good, rather than evil.

The Eternal Debate

2006-02-26T13:55:00.000-08:00

Since it’s birth, its very nature has been mired in debate. Fathers have turned against sons, friends have become foes, entire nations have been torn asunder in a quest to answer the following question.

The hot dog. Is it a sandwich?

First, we must ask. What is a sandwich? It is, at its core, a filling which usually contains meat, flanked at both sides by a piece of bread. For this reason, I believe the question boils down to a small section of bread connecting both sides of the bun. I call this the “Gaza strip”.

This strip of bread makes the whole hot dog bun a single contiguous piece of bread, rather than two separate ones. This is the crux of the problem. However, I believe that this does not prevent the hot dog from being a sandwich.

Those that believe the hot dog is not a sandwich will say “Well what about the Taco then? Is the Taco a sandwich?” No, because a taco is generally made with a corn tortilla. That ain’t bread sir. What about a quesadilla? Yes, as it is generally made with a flour tortilla, the quesadilla is technically a sandwich, and I’m curious why you keep bringing up Mexican food. When did this become a racial thing? The Pita Pocket? I submit to you that this is also a sandwich.

This question must be answered for the sake of future generations. If it is left to languish, someone who believes one way or another is going to get nukes, and that will be bad times.

I've thought of jokes I would never tell

2006-02-15T22:04:00.000-08:00

The vice president shot a man, in the face and chest.
And everyone thinks it’s HI-FUCKING LARIOUS.
Empathize for a moment. Whittington is undoubtedly shielded from all this. He’s in the hospital, with shrapnel wounds about the face and chest, and has had a heart attack already due to a pellet. This is why comedy is inappropriate. Because the punch-line is on him. He’s going to get out of the hospital, you can be damned sure he has the finest medical care possible. He’ll take it easy for a few days, and then start doing his routine, like watching the news. And he’s going to see an endless display of mirth and merriment over the fact that he almost got killed by someone he knew. And he’s going to get to hear people secretly hoping he dies, just so they can maybe charge Cheney with something.

While I enjoy black humor as much as the next guy…
I don’t hold to Mel brook’s theory of comedy, “Tragedy is when I get a paper-cut, comedy is when you fall down a manhole and die.” False. Funny is the guy getting amnesia, that’s comedy gold, and characters are fictional. But mortal wounds to real humans? That plain ain’t funny sir. At least, not as slapstick.

Deconstruct the joke:
Setup:Cheney shot a friend of his in the face! HA! And get this! The Fucker might die!
Punchline:
And if he lives, he’ll be forever scarred, physically as well as emotionally!

Not cool homey.. I agree, that the daily shows take was technically funny, it's schadenfreude at it's worst. Honestly, it’s an area I would simply avoid.

They’re like, half genius, half retarded, werewolves man!!
I love a good conspiracy theory as much as the next guy, but some people think this is some kind of hit, or coverup. I don't get it. One minute, Dick Cheney and George Bush are dumb-ass Chickenhawks, the next they are stone cold calculating kill crazy maim-bot 5000s. Which is it? If this is a cover-up, Dick is the dumbest ass ever. In front of a mess of people, he shoots someone in the face, and promptly notifies the police, confessing to the shooting.

OOH! BUT IT WASN’T THE NATIONAL PRESS!!!KEKEKE!!!1!ZERG RUSH!!1
And to the National news media? Boo Hoo Hoo! Get off your asses and start working beats you fucking hacks. You got marked by a local journo (listening to a police band, I assume), working beats, while you are used to being fed your stories through an intravenous feed. Johnny on the spot scooped you poseurs, and it’s the governments fault? I don't know that I've ever seen so many children outside of preschool in my life. Submitted, for your displeasure:

This is not from a comedy show. This is from an honest to God “Legitimate National News Media” outlet, and Dana Milbank is the asshole of his own story. Don't tell me that this didn't get cleared by someone. To the Washington press, Grow the fuck up. And to comediaticians everywhere, that’s cold. I see the humor potential but…damn.

A fatwah is issued for the murder of yours truly.

2006-02-11T17:22:00.000-08:00

These maniacs over in the middle east, I mean, europe, rioting over a set of 4 month old polical cartoons, got me all motivated. I mean, four months? As riots go, that simply shows poor organizational skills. If I were islam, I'd be embarrassed. For those looking for a fascinating read, please see the following.

I would also like to state that, four months from now, I will be in hiding for the next decade.
Salud!

The remorseless confessions of an addict

2006-02-06T18:45:00.000-08:00

It started off innocently; as a kid, I always read the paper, just to have something to do at breakfast. First it was the comics. A few years later, and I’m reading the sports section. Shortly after, I perused the Main section, and then the editorial pages. Before I knew it, I was snorting newsprint from the business section off a fresh orange rind every morning before I would go to school/work.

From then on, I couldn’t turn back. I all but stopped listening to the FM dial, for the informational succor of news, and the talk derived there from on the AM dial. I would put down the Washington times and change the station from CNN/ CNBC/ MSNBC, only when the anchorette for the local excuse for a nightly news show would come on.

Still fine, after all these years

Once I found out I could mainline my news straight off the wires over the internet, I was beyond hope. I could get every story, every Revision of every story, as it was put on the wire, right from my computer, at the cost of nothing. It was as if pure, uncut cocaine just started raining from the heavens, and a crackie never had to pay a dealer for a rock. It was euphoric.

I knew I was in trouble when I started getting cought up in the media wars, between internet commentary, and mainstream “reporting”. I was so far gone, I was interested less in the content, and was now concentrating on the Meta-News. News about the news organizations. It’s like a bleeding sport. I have my favorite teams, and rivalries. I cheered when Matt Drudge scooped Newsweek on their own story. I Booed, and hollared until my throat was sore at Dan Rather as he was ushered off of the anchor field.

But now, I wonder, where does my madness go from here? Is even the current international Screwballery capable of quenching my singular thirst for news? Will I find myself 20 years from now, a scandelous gossip, trying to know everything about everyone? Or should I apply for a job with the NSA? Now that I think of it, that sounds promising.

Oh, Sweet Cats.

2006-02-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

They've found Captain America people.

You know what this means. Captain America was one of the first superheroes to hit the scene in the day. Afterwards, hundreds of new ones came onto the scene. Spiderman, Fantastic four, God only knows how many.

This bodes ill for the future. I'm talking about mutant terrorists, fights which cause incalculable property damage, planet consuming cosmic figures, Tyrants controlling the very fabric of existence, getting involved in galactic imbroglios, Cats and dogs, living together, Total chaos!

Now, I don't want you all to panic. I have a plan.

It involves rare crystals found in an asteroid. That should take care of the one called Superman. As for the rest of them, well, I've been working with a few senators, and we think we have something that will work, in the Mutant Registration act.

Superheroes are all fun and games until someone knocks superman through your buildings foundation, and you find out that your buildings insurance doesn't cover super powered fracases, or fires started by laser vision.

I laugh about nothing for hours

2006-02-01T22:30:00.000-08:00

I’m a difficult person to make laugh. Yes, I will chuckle at your jokes, but no, I do not find them funny. I merely chortle to ease the awkward moment which would otherwise prosper. (I kid) But there are things which make me laugh, regardless of execution.

Asking, and then answering your own rhetorical question.

“Isn’t that always the way? No. No it is not.”
Bonus points for lengthening the answer.
“No. No it is not, in fact, I would suggest that the majority of the time, it is not that way.”

Creating fake words, intentionally mispronouncing words, colorful use of the English language.

This goes back to high school, with some of my best friends. We had a bundle of words which had unorthodox pronunciations. Also, we were potheads, so that figured in.

“See here Sirrrrrr, just past the double (doob-lay) chambered (chom-breyed) bong to the left hand side (syeede). Do not tell me that this budre (bood-ray) is cached, for I know that it lives on, if only in memory.”

I swear, if you get me in a room with Mo, Wayne, Dan, Jim and Terry, you will not understand a damned word we are saying. But you will be able to tell that we think it is hilarious, especially if there is a bong handy.

Singing Loudly, and poorly

This is generally something I reserve for myself. I don’t go walking around singing ineptly in public. But when I get home from work, if there is a song stuck in my head, (and there always is) regardless of what it is, I will bust that thing out with feeling, and poor pitch control. Something about singing “My kind of town”, in a Frank Sinatra cadence, terribly off key just puts a smile on my face. And believe me, I can sing. Sometimes, I just like to see how the other half lives.

How to raise a devious individual, volume I

2006-01-29T20:58:00.000-08:00

Step #1: Have hardwood floors.

Hardwood floors are an excellent deterrent towards casual deviousness. But the extraordinarily devious will view it as a challenge, a foe to be bested. All floors have foundations, do they not? It follows, logically then, that this point is less likely to creak.

Step #2: Set ridiculously early bedtimes.

Ahh, it all comes together. When I lived under their roof, they went to bed at 10 o’clock, and so did everyone else who lived within. It was not long before this became intolerable. All the good TV was on after ten, I had this from a source whose credentials were unimpeachable.

I had a problem however. My sister was merely casually devious. She would just jump out of bed and tromp over to the TV, and her friends would call her on the houses phone line (pre-cellular age). Seldom did her outings succeed.
.
So, often I would have to wait about a half an hour for my sister to try to sneak out and get caught. Once that had occurred, I was good to go. Unlike my sister, I realized that the art of sneaking out was a dance.

I had done research. I had performed thorough investigations. I wonder what my parents thought I was doing as I walked around the hallways with a note pad. “Honey, don’t walk up and down the stairs while trying to write something down in the notebook, it’s dangerous. And stop calling Rommel a magnificent bastard. Whose book did you read?”

I had a way to roll out of bed without making the mattress springs creak. Wearing socks, I could walk silently on the hardwood, provided I hit my marks.

Once I got to the kitchen, I was golden. Turn the TV on and lower the brightness, volume at a minimum. You won’t be caught for hours.

I have a map of the hard wood floor, and its pressure points emblazoned on my mind still. When I visit my folks, every once in a while I walk the path again, just to see if I still got it.

Stop saying things all the time.

2006-01-26T19:24:00.000-08:00

I’m not really a grammar/spelling Nazi on-line. I try to speak well on line, but if you don’t, I guess that’s cool. But I am one of those people, who is compelled, indeed must pounce when the word Irony, or Ironic is used online or in a dying newsprint format incorrectly. Ever since that damnable song by Alanis Morrisette, few people use the word correctly.

I try not to use the word, in an effort to play it down a little. Maybe if people don’t hear it as much, they won’t misuse it as much.

There was an example just today. So you don’t have to read the story, the executive summary: Two sets of kids were driving like assholes in two Mercedes benzes, one T-bones a cab, killing the cabbie, and the other drives away. On the seat of the crashed mercedes: a game called Need for Speed.

Choice Quote:"You have this game that's all about fast cars and racing through city streets. It's actually really ironic," he said.

You fool! Irony would be the dudes having a copy of “Drive safely, drive slowly” on the seat. Why must you anger me! Quotes like this are like a knife of tragedy to me. The only balm I draw from the statement above is Irony gets the last laugh.

Using the word Ironic to describe a scenario which is in fact, entirely fitting, is the ultimate irony.

Oh, and I guess the thing about the cabbie was tragic too.

I have seen the future of warfare, and it is in my age bracket

2006-01-24T00:02:00.000-08:00

The future of the United states military is sitting in a chair right now, eating cheetos and playing on the computer. I've known this to be true for about 5 years now. The Army and the Air-force know it too.

The most recent attack on an al-queda base, which killed 4 of their top commanders, was carried out by an unmanned aerial vehicle. The United States Army, has released a FPS, creatively named "Americas army", as a recruitment device, to the general public.

"Americas Army" is no mere recruitment tool however. It, and games like it, have taught gamers to think tactically, to lay down suppresing fire before advancing, to always check doors when moving down hallways, to recognize good/bad/blown cover, to aim for the center of mass, etc.

Pssh. Sync, it can't possibly be that good a trainer. After all, they don't have backpacks on, and there is a huge difference between clicking a 1 button mouse which rests on a table, in an air conditioned room, and firing something which you must support, and which recoils, in 90 degree temperatures. I accept all these points as True (although recoil is factored into most games as far as the target sight moving upward). But it is a method of training for the real deal, which scares the shit out of various anti-videogame groups.

My first day at work for EA tech support was illustrative of what I'm talking about. Lunchtime comes, and I start in on my sammich. I was in the minority, most people were starting up counterstrike. My que was playing a match against another que, and other groups were paired off as well. I watched the precision at which my que laid down support fire as they advanced on an objective (defusing a bomb). They were good at this shit. And they got owned by the other team, which must have been playing that much better. They understood tactics to a level that most civilians in history have never known. And, should the shit hit the fan in a conscription level way, they will need less time training for tactics, and less time learning how to operate the modern gizmos of battle. Probably a good bit more time in physical training though.

As for myself, I have always been a fan of combat flight simulators. Hand me the keys to a virtual f-22, f-15, an a10, or even the Myrmidon space superiority fighter, and I'm good to go. I have read probably about 300 pages worth of flight manuals in my life, and while I know I would black out like a little school girl taking 3g turns in meatspace, in front of a computer, with a joystick, and a keyboard, I'm well in my element. Most flight simulators are not what you would think of as a video "game" either. I wasn't lying about the giant manuals, and to properly play the more realistic ones, you need all the buttons on your joystick, as well as all 101 keys on your keyboard. I know how to pull an Immelman, and I know how to take angles in a dogfight. The fact that I know this without ever actually having flown a plane illustrates, again, that there is a large segment of American society that, if given a terminal, a joystick, an instrument panel or keyboard, and an UAV to control via some form of Satellite data transfer, would be well suited to the task at hand.

Now, I will leave it up to others to ring hands over how this will sanitize warfare (which it will), making it so we never see the bloody effects of our actions. I don't think it matters though, because in all of history, that hasn't bothered many politicians.

On making sausage, and writing laws.

2006-01-19T23:07:00.000-08:00

As I’ve said, comedy is hard to write. I’ve developed a technique to come up with ideas for sketch comedy at least.

First you need a topic, and a method for delivering the funny So think about random sentences/things that evoke a chuckle, by themselves. Lets give it a go.

*Pudding just can’t satisfy me like it used to.
*Damn Child (silent d)! It's a sports show son!
*Happytown is 79% less happy after being pillaged by Angerville.

Let’s go with Happytown. I like how they’ve pegged this happy percentage, and bad things happening to happy people is morbidly funny.

What’s the delivery method? Just reading the sentence, it could be a newspaper article, a report being given to the governor of either Happytown, or Angerville, or something else. Government sounds funnier than a bunch of journos talking shop, so gov it is.

Let’s start with Angerville.
Ground rules: The residents of Angerville have Brooklyn accents.
Angerville is not allowed to say the word good, happy, or any synonyms derived there from.

Secretary of war: Hello governor. I wish to report the ongoing demoralization project towards our neighbors.
Governor: Just read the damn report jackass! (this is Angrytown after all)
Secretary of war: Aye aye Cap’n fuckstick! (I want the guy to snap a salute, but that seems out of character for Angerville. Grab his jock perhaps? The double deuce?) The citizens of Happytown are 79 percent less joyful then the month preceding our whooping their asses.
Governor: I swear, that last 21% is always a bitch. West Chuckles held on for years. There’s always some kid whistling, or father trying to shield their child from the horrors of war.
Secretary of war: You ain’t fuckin kidding. There is further humiliation in store however. We have been building a device designed to (insert humiliating affect here. I had a few in mind, but this bit has enough gratuitous vulgarity as is.)

Meanwhile, in Happytown. (This strikes me is a good point to check in with Happytown)

Secretary of things are looking up: I conclude my report on the brightside…
Governor: You always do Gladwell.
Secretary of things are looking up: You know me too well Governor X(what’s a good name for the governor of happytown?)
Background: *Chuckles*
Secretary of things are looking up: As I was saying, at least they haven’t built a device designed to (insert the thing that Angerville just built [Originally, I was going to put this as soon as the cut to Happytown happened, but It’s funnier this way.])
Governor: Gladice, please brief me on the status of the department of birthday parties.
Gladice: I am sad to report…
Background: GASP!
Gladice: Unfortunatley…
Background: GASP!
Gladice, irritated: In less then Super terrific
Background: Sigh of relief
Gladice: news, people are now having to make due with not 2 clowns, but one clown.
Governor: That’s a 50% decrease in employment to the Clown union! They’re my base Gladice! This is intolerable! Jones! I’m disbanding the “Department of rolling over and letting the tanks run over us, slowly crushing our spirits! I’m calling in the big guns”.
All in room: GASP!
One lone voice: Can we trust him?
Governor: He’s our only hope people.

Cut to a Pattonesque figure taking the stage in front of a ridiculously huge Happytown flag. All chatter cuts at the sound of a trumpet playing Baby Elephant Walk.

Patton: I want you all to remember, no one has ever won a war by telling a knock-knock joke. You win, by making some other poor dumb bastard die laughing! Now. An army is a comedy troupe. It juggles, jokes, pranks, and cavorts, as a troupe. This standup comedy stuff is a bunch of crap. The bastards writing about that for the Smile-time Gazette wouldn’t know anymore about REAL comedy, than they do about the ol’ Sugar-me-doo.
Now. We have the finest cake, and seltzer bottles, the best Spirit and the grooviest cats this side of new Bongsworth. By Cosby, I actually pity those bastards we’re going up against, by Cosby, I do! We’re not just going to kill the bastards!
Backgrond: What’s left to do?
Patton: We’re going to cut out their guts, and use them to grease the axles of our VW busses!
Background: But why?
Patton, unphased: We’re going to murder those irate bastards, and keep on moving!
Background: Without a burial??
Patton: Now some of you might be worried you’ll chicken out in battle. Well, turn that frown upside down. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo, that used to be your best friends face, and at least he went out with Boston playing on his Ipod, god rest his soul...
Background: Not Jonesie!
Patton: You’ll know what to do… Dismissed.
As Patton walks off stage, you hear him mutter: This was always so much easier in Angryville.

And that’s it. I don’t even want to get back to angryville. I don’t care about the war. As far as I’m concerned, this whole bit turned into a set up for the Patton joke.

Note. This bit is not finished. It needs polish, punching up and specifics. What does Angryville’s weapon do? What’s the Mayors name? Also, Patton is jarring in this scene. Maybe the fact that he used to give pep speeches in Angryville should go before the speech, rather than at the end.

Is “Such, such were the joys” copy written?

2006-01-18T16:15:00.000-08:00

I decided to stop going to school in the Eighth grade. My decision was overridden by my parents, any number of state and federal laws and regulations, as well as the local constabulary. Dutifully, I showed up, but I don't remember doing much studying during school hours.

In high school, where I was introduced to modern art, non structured poetry, and "new American classic" literature, I knew I had made the correct decision, regardless of the lack of support from leading authority figures. Once I turned 18, and discovered that I could sign myself out of school, well, let’s just say I graduated with a surprised look on my face.

That said, I like to think that I turned out all right. Okay, I won't be winning any trigonometry-offs any time in the near future, but I'm cool with that.

The ladies are all about the Grammar rodeo anyways. Yee haw!

School simply doesn't teach you what you need to know, other than how to put up with severe amounts of bullshit. Granted, this is a valuable skill set to possess, yet I learned far more when cutting class than I would have in class. Then again, I'm a nerd, so while people were learning about puddings of the world, I was reading political treatises. I was at the beach doing it too. Dig the healthy tan on that well-read truant!

Incompetent teachers were the deal breaker. I had had a few in the past, but one in particular took the cake. I once had a mandated course, Business 110 or some such, during what would be my last semester in Community college. Upon arrival, I realized the teacher was a freaking psych case. Naturally, I go to transfer, only to find that he teaches every single one of the Business 110 classes.

One last time, I relent, and I spent this last semester, 65 dollars in units, and associated costs of books/registration, listening to him jabber about how when you try to cross your arms differently then normal, it's totally hard, and oh, sweet cats, isn't that CRAZY??!?

It has come to my attention you are currently trying to cross your arms differently then normal. That’s cool. I’ll wait.

6 years of pent up rage almost blew up when he suggested that “words did not have meanings”. This is logically false. I demonstrated this to him. All I got back was “jibber jabber different things to different people”. I wish I had said “Fuck you!”, and when questioned about it, just told him I was admiring his healthy tan. Instead, I vowed that this would be it for me and “higher education”.

So why does western society insist college is necessary, frowning upon those who got GEDs to escape high school? Doesn’t a GED show initiative, and the ability to accomplish tasks better than slouching through four years of sex ed and diversity training? I will leave this exercise up to you.

A trend amongst most I know is, the ones who possess the most amount of college units are also the most foolish (Note, this is not one hundred percent true. Lets call it 75%). At a certain point on a bell curve, additional units not only push one past the point of diminished returns, but in fact, actively bind one closer to the X Axis. I envision it similar to the following data points:

I’ve since talked with my father at length about higher education, and he’s come around to my point of view. It’s simply not about learning anymore. It is about keeping the young off of the streets, keeping otherwise unemployable but “skilled” people employed, and indoctrinating the young. It is possible to get a good education today, but brotha’, you will be paying it off until retirement.

I have this rule, you see.

2006-01-17T23:19:00.000-08:00

This rule is that 10% of people in any given population of people are complete assholes. The lowest 1% don’t even rate that good. Now, I don’t mean they are spiteful, just that they are completely incapable of performing any task. This rule does not discriminate by education, occupation, or IQ. This is why you should always get a second opinion when a doctor recommends some procedure involving slicing things open.

Likewise, 10% of any population run house. The top tier 1% make sure things progress, rather than devolve. Society would crumble without these individuals. They are the counterbalance to numb-nuts. The Churchill to another’s Chaberlain. The Lincoln to another’s Buchanan.

And hey, I’m open to the possibility that in some populations, depending on the task, I might be part of the 10% asshole population. But I try to avoid situations that might place me in such a predicament.

Unlike some people, who work in a certain banking institution that I also work in. This institution shall remain nameless, lest our customers read this and start a run on the bank.

If you were applying for a job at a bank, certain skills would be beneficial correct? I speak primarily of the ability to manipulate numbers. Nothing serious either! Things like division, multiplication, the ability to comprehend an algebraic formula, and plug in the appropriate values, which the computer kindly tells you, for instance. (But that's another issue entirely). You would think this would be fundamental to employment. But that brings us back to the 10% rule.

My employment in this institution has turned what was once a theory, into an absolute, Gods honest proof. 10%, right on the head. Of course, it goes without saying, that in my organization, I’m part of the top 10% that handles business, for were I not, I wouldn’t be able to perceive this universal constant.

It’s not even necessary to post a very severe anecdote which occurred today. The interesting thing is that we have about 16 branches, one severe problem branch, and one somewhat dubious branch. Of 180ish employees, give or take, there are about 18 numb-nuts. Note the ratio.

The point to this rant? Check your statements. And when you go to a doctor, and he tells you you need a severe surgery to cure your case of the shizzlebangs, get a second opinion. Or ask him to tell you what the shinbone is connected to. You can never be too sure.

Comedy is not for the weak of heart

2006-01-16T20:20:00.000-08:00

Have you ever watched the Simpsons, and said to yourself "Hey! I can do that!"? If so, then you would be terribly, terribly wrong. Comedy is a harsh mistress. There is nothing worse than writing a complete comedy bit, which seems like it is hilarious, only to realize upon reading it back, it is either not funny, or someone has done it better. It can destroy your soul.

To illustrate this point, I give you some random bit I worked on once.

Breaking up 101 (conflict resolution): It's not you, it's me
Breaking up 102 (Philosophy): I feel like our lives are guiding us towards different objectives.
Breaking up 103 (Statistics): There are plenty of other fish in the sea.
Breaking up 104 (Statistics): (pre-req: breaking up 103)We've grown apart. You were on your way up, while I was on the down and outs. We are still roughly parallel, but the ever so slight tangent is carrying me irrevocably towards an asymptotic relationship with the "x axis" I guess I'll see you at the bottom of the bell curve.
Breaking up 105: (oceanography):Not necessary to complete if breaking up 103 has been completed.
Breaking up 106: (poly sci):You're the devil.

Now, it passes the funny test in my opinion. Not hilarious, but chuckle worthy. I especially like the last comedy beat. The problem is that Every fucking college student since 1981 has had a similar, if not exact replica of this bit hanging on their wall, in poster form. I wish I could tell you that this was immediately apparent, but that would be a lie. So caught up was I, in the process of funny production, I didn't realize that I was raping a dead horse. In my defense, this is easily the most hackish bit I have ever written. Yet I keep it around as a reminder.

Once more to the Grindstone, dear hacks!

2006-01-16T20:08:00.000-08:00

So I have a blog now. That's new. Speaking as someone who has always despised the word blog, indeed, the very sound of the word, I did not envision myself ever joining blogspot. But then I remembered goal 1a, subclause 5:

In order to conquer the world, one must first have a thronging mass, eager to devour every syllable one utters.

So I decided to start uttering things, hence this entry. I plan to start somewhat unintelligibly, fumbling for an audience, not unlike a teenager eager to share his protuberance with a woman, if only he could find one, and unclasp that damn bra clasp! Curse you Bra clasp!

Anyhoo, the prime purpose of this blog is to get my writing chops up, so as to facilitate any number of my side-endeavors. Comedy is hard work, and I'm currently not scheduled for promotion. I wish to change this status. If you are reading this, eager to learn my innermost thoughts and secrets, which desperate housewife I identify with/would most like to bang, prepare for disappointment. Because I don't watch that show.

But I can say, without question, that the answer is Terri Hatcher.

If you are reading this, with the intention of reading some funny screeds, or links to some crazy, or dare I suggest, funny shit, then you very well might be in luck.