More WTF

A list of stupid, inane, moronic crap that makes me wish I was plankton...

Michael Jackson to make a comeback with the New Kids on the Block. I could make the requisite "Michael Jackson and little boys" joke, but I know you already went there.

Jose Canseco: "Madonna wanted me to impregnate her." I don't know which is worse, the fact that she wanted him to do that or that he willingly admitted this. Wait, Canseco has no shame. Scratch that. This is just F'd up.

Mini-Me Sex Tape. I read it. You have to, too. Sucker.

I was going to list more stuff, but I think I'm thoroughly disgusted now.

Good night.

A Sign of the Times?

Apparently, the First Amendment is not allowed at Republican events.

Though I'm sure the Right to Bear Arms was in full effect.

The skinny: A woman was forced to leave an event in which John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee for President of the United States, was speaking. Why? She was holding a sign. The sign said simply, "McCain=Bush." Apparently, that is offensive.

Well, it is offensive, but that's not the point I'm trying to make here. Or is it?

Here. Watch the video...

So she was ticketed for trepassing. At a public event. On public property. Because her sign equated McCain with Bush.

Hell, if the Republicans don't want to be compared to Bush...

(Thanks to the Planet for this post.)

Addictions

A friend of mine calls it "Crackbook," and he's right. As much as I hate to admit it, Facebook is addictive.

Try it. Seriously. The next 72 hours of your life will be sucked away as you try to find old classmates and add all the frivolous, yet annoyingly features and applications to your profile.

And you WILL do all of that.

The classmate search thing is interesting, but it brings out your inner cattiness. That hot girl from college that would stop you in your tracks as she walked across campus? Yeah, likely not so much now. She's gotten rather large now.

Just like you, porky. People in glass houses...

And then there's the application called Mob Wars. I'm hooked.

You start out as a petty thief and work your way up to Marlon Brando.

(Again with the fat jokes, you say? Hey, pal, settle down. This is my blog.)

You pull jobs, earn cash, buy guns, get into fights, get experience, get points, pull bigger jobs, earn more cash, buy more and bigger guns, etc., etc., and so on.

It's effin' insane.

There's no graphics, no blood spurting all over the screen. Just words and numbers.

No matter. It's still cool as hell.

Try it. Come on. Take a hit off the pipe. Join Crackbook. You know you want to.

All your friends are doing it...

Collaborations

I've always enjoyed hearing and seeing musicians join other musicians to play their songs. It, to me, adds some energy, some bit of excitement to the song. I've seen Patti Smith join the 10,000 Maniacs to sing a cover of "Because the Night." I've seen Bruce Springsteen join Dave Matthews Band. It's cool stuff. Here's another sweet collaboration:

You know of any others?

Jello and the American Male

Jingles. You remember those. I saw a commercial featuring an old jingle but with a new ending, which I don’t remember. “I am stuck on Band-Aids ‘cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me.”

I’ll give you a moment to sing that to yourself, out loud if you must.

Good. Now you’re remembering other jingles, aren’t you? It’s ok to admit it. Here, I’ll get you started…

”Bring out the Hellmann’s and bring out the best,”
“My baloney has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R…,”
“I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony.”

You know you’re picturing that commercial…flower children who haven’t left the sixties, dancing and singing on lush rolling grassy knolls…It was the Kum By Ya of the seventies.

All for a soft drink that police use to get blood stains off of asphalt.

Now, if you’re like me, your next image is of the Native American man, crying a lonely tear down his leathery sun-beaten cheek because some lazy ass threw garbage in a creek.

You remember this.

So it got me to thinking about today’s commercials and the imprint they’ll leave behind, and I’m concerned. I’m concerned for the American male, and I’ll tell you why:

The American male is being portrayed as a gelatinous dolt.

A gelatinous dolt who can barely fix an Eggo waffle for his kids while the wife’s away. A gelatinous dolt who, once he stops sneaking Bud Lights and gets his lazy ass off the couch, can sure as hell grill a slab of meat and grunt into his toolbox. Now, I may be gelatinous (well, there’s no “may be” about it), but I’m no dolt. I can take care of my kids very well, thankyouverymuch and, well, Bud Light tastes like rat piss. Sure, if we grill out, I’m the one who does the grilling, but I certainly don’t treat it like some primal ritual. “I MAKE FIRE! grunt, grunt,” hold the meat triumphantly in the air like a trophy and then grab the wife by the hair and drag her in the cave. However, this is the perception of the American male that people of this generation will be left with.

Is that what we want?

Now in full disclosure, there are many American men who perpetuate and give credence to this portrayal. Ignore them. They are the sociological false positives. Throw them out. I would do this, literally, but apparently there are laws against such actions. But I’d like to think that the American male, for the most part, has changed. He is more actively involved with his family, he is more aware of his surroundings, he is, dare I say, more complete? I don’t know, but there is a difference. Maybe, after watching all that TV in the seventies, he is trying to “be all that you can be” without the Army.

To be sure, however, he is still gelatinous. “Watch him wiggle, see him jiggle…”

Hey brother, can you spare a dime?

There are 10 million people in this world who have a financial worth of one million dollars or more. Really. CNN.com says so.

10 million people. At least one million dollars.

I am not one of them.

Out of those 10 million, 600,000 of them are NEW millionaires.

I am not one of them either.

But I am not alone. 99.98 percent of us, out of 6.7 billion people, are financially worth LESS than a million.

So, as Carl Spackler would say, we've got that working for us.

"A Disappointed Idealist"

I could wax rhapsodic about the genius of George Carlin upon his passing, but rather, let's just hear from The Man himself...

"If you're born in this world you're given a ticket to the freak show. If you're born in America, you're given a front-row seat."

RIP, Mr. Carlin, and thank you.