Sometimes vulgarity is necessary.

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

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!

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

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

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

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



Enjoy the fireworks!

Your one stop opinion shop

"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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.