Friday, March 30, 2007

Laughter may be the best medicine but I still prefer abusing oxycodon

People ask me all the time, “Josh, you are one funny mofo. Everything you write is comedic gold. It simply amazes and astounds me that there can be a person as funny as you are without spontaneously combusting from pure humor overload. Tell me, what do you, the Shakespeare of Funny, find funny? Who makes you laugh?”

This is a valid question; after all, nobody lives in a complete vacuum. And indeed I do find many people to be funny. White people for instance. I get a big kick out of y’all. You’ll often find me sitting on a bench at my local mall, noshing on some noshables, WP-watching and shaking my head in stunned disbelief as I chuckle softly to myself at your wacky WP antics.

But, there are also people I find funny who try to be funny on purpose. And oddly enough I found most of those people on Myspace (motto: A place for getting spammed to death by jerks) and to be honest, I think they’re all better writers then me too.

Today I’d like to introduce some of my favorite blog writers. The people that I turn to when I need a laugh, (and maybe to steal a joke or two.)

Baron Von Awesome:

The Baron’s irreverent wit, garnered from years of hard drinkin and hard livin often has me rolling on the floor laughing out loud, (wow, I wish there were a quicker and shorter way to write all about how I laugh). He lives the way he wants and writes about it in a way that makes you want to go to one of his performances and throw things at him. I think he’d appreciate the show of love.

What this world needs is the ass-kickery of the Old Testament God combined with the quick response, zero rules of Zen. Who embodies this? Who is the proactive new prophet to guide the weary masses through the drudgery of modern life? The Incredible Hulk, that's who. You don't have to worry about a bunch of rules with The Hulk. You cross him, there is no reprieve. Hell, you don't even have to do much to piss him off and he will come over to your place and WRECK YOUR SHIT. "Peace of the Lord be with you always"? I think not. Try "HULK SMASH" fuck face. No more waiting around for cosmic justice to get the wicked. Just pray to Hulk and he'll have your back. Hallelujah and Amen.



Mick has a way with words. The first blog of his I read made me jealous. Though most people might not understand it, being funny isn’t enough, one needs the perfect delivery vehicle or else the joke just falls flat, (as mine so often do). Mick takes great jokes, wraps them up in a box with a bow and places them gently and lovingly at your feet for you to appreciate.

I continued on, my day was now my mission. I would survive it, yes, I would. Anticipating my next adventure, I came across two well dressed folks discussing opposing views of the political nature. As I came closer to them I recognized that the conversation was becoming a bit too intense for my taste. I stepped quickly between them just before blows were released. I pulled out a guitar and broke into a song entitled, Pro-Life Dont Mean Anti-Woman and Liberal Aint Code for Non-Patriot.

Organization for Respectification:

I don’t know how many people are in this Organization, but it doesn’t matter everything on this page is hilarious. The organization has a great appreciation of the finer things in life, such as Chuck Norris, and delivers great political sarcasm. I’ve read the blogs over and over waiting for something new. Can’t get enough.

President Bush addresses the Nation from the White House to lay out his plan for a new way forward in Iraq. On securing Baghdad: Our past efforts to secure Baghdad failed for two principal reasons: I am clinically retarded. And... No. Just the one. Our military commanders reviewed the new Iraqi plan and promptly hid my mini-bar key. And the dog. Still can't find that dog. Prime Minister Ma-laki-oki-thing-a-ma-bob, Stretch I call 'em, has pledged that political or sectarian interference will not be tolerated. And as soon as I find out what that means, I'll write it down on the thought pad in my head. Brain. Somethin'.


Everything these guys do is pure, one hundred percent, uncut humor. If you like making fun of people or looking at people making fun of themselves, then go check out their site. Trust me, you’ll feel better if you do. From the endless pictures of Myspace bammas, to the blogs, to the forum, everything you read is guaranteed to have you pissing yourself. I can’t even put an example here because there’s just too much.

So take some time to go to these sites. Read their stuff. I’m addicted to these people like Courtney Love is addicted to making an ass out of herself. Would I steer you wrong?

Monday, March 26, 2007

The Signifyin' Monkey

I decided to take a break from writing today and instead would like to share with you words from Dolemite!!, the righteous brother who won’t cop out when there’s heat all about. Join me, won’t you? For the modern poetry classic, The Signifyin’ Monkey:

The Signifyin’ Monkey

Way down in the jungle deep,
The bad ass lion stepped on the signifyin monkey's feet.
The monkey said, "Muthafucka, can't you see?
Why, you standin on my goddamn feet!"
The lion said, "I ain't heard a word you said."
Said, "If you say three more I'll be steppin on yo muthafuckin head!"
Now, the monkey lived in the jungle in an old oak tree.
Bullshittin the lion everyday of the week.
Why, everyday before the sun go down,
The lion would kick his all through the jungle town.
But the monkey got wise and started usin his wit.
Said, "I'm gon' put a stop to this ole ass kickin shit!"
So he ran up on the lion the very next day.
Said, "Oh Mr. lion, there's a big, bad muthafucka comin your way.
And when you meet, it's gonna be a goddamn sin,
And wherever you meet some ass is bound to bend."
Said, "he's somebody that you don't know,
He just broke a-loose from the Ringlin Brother's show."
Said, "Baby, he talked about your people in a helluva way!
He talked about your people till my hair turned gray!
He said your daddy's a freak and your momma's a whore.
Said he spotted you running through the jungle sellin asshole from door to door!
Said your sister did the damndest trick.
She got down so low and sucked a earthworm's dick.
Said he spotted yo niece behind the tree,
Screwin a muthafuckin flea!
He said he saw yo aunt sittin on the fence
Givin a goddamn zebra a french.
Then he talked about yo mammy and yo sister Lou,
Then he start talkin about how good yo grandmaw screw.
Said yo sister's a prostitute and yo brother's a punk,
And said I'll be damned if you don't eat all the pussy you see every time you get drunk!
He said he cornholed your uncle and fucked your aunty and niece,
And next time he see yo grandmaw he gonna get him another good piece.
Said your brother died with the whoopin cough and your uncle died with the measles
And your old grandpaw died with a rag chunked up in his ass, said he's goin on home to Jesus.
And you know yo little sister that ya love so dear
I fucked her all day for a bottle of beer.
So, Mr. Lion, you know that ain't right.
Whenever you meet the elephant be ready to fight."
So the lion jumped up in a helluva rage!
Like a young cocksucker full of gage.
He let out a roar!
Tail shot back like a forty-four.
He went through the jungle knockin down trees,
Kickin giraffes to their knees.
The he ran up on the elephant talkin to the swine.
He said, "All right you big, bad muthafucka. It's gonna be yo ass or mine."
The elephant looked at him outta the corner of his eyes.
Said, "Alright go ahead home you little funny-bunny muthafucka and pick on somebody your own size.
The lion jumped up and made a fancy pass.
The elephant side-stepped him and kicked him dead in his ass.
He busted up his jaw, fucked up his face.
Broke all four legs, snatched his ass outta place.
He picked him up, slammed him to the tree.
Nothin but lion shit as far as you could see.
He pulled out his nuts, rolled em in the sand.
And kicked his ass like a natural man!
They fought all night and all the next day.
Somehow the lion managed to get away.
But he drug his ass back to the jungle more dead than alive.
Just to run into that little monkey and some more of his signifying jive!
The monkey looked at him and said, "Goddamn ole partner, you don't look so swell."
Said, "Look like to me you caught a whole lotta hell."
Said, "Yo eyes is all red and yo asshole is blue,
I knew in the beginning it wasn't shit to you.
There's one thing you and me gotta get straight
Cause you one ugly cocksucker I sure do hate!
Now, when you left, the jungle rung
Now you bring yo dog ass back here damn near hung.
Look muthafucka, ain't you a bitch!
Yo face look like you got the Seven Year Itch!
I told my wife before you left,
I should kicked yo ass my muthafuckin self!
Why I seen you when he threw you into that tree,
Cause some of that ole lion shit got on me!
Why every night when me and my wife is tryin to get a little bit,
Here you come around here with some that old "I owe" shit!
Shut up! Don't you roar!
Cause I'll bail outta this tree and whoop yo dog-ass some more!
And don't look up here with yo sucka-paw case.
Cause I'll piss through the bark of this tree in yo muthafuckin face!"
The monkey got happy, started jumpin up and down.
His feet missed the limb and his ass hit the ground.
Like a streak of lighting and a ball of white heat,
That lion was on his ass with all four feet.
Dust rolled and tears came into the little monkey's eyes,
The little monkey said, "Look Mr. Lion, I apologize!"
Said, "If you let me get my nuts out the sand,
I'll fight yo ass like a natural man!
Look muthafucka, ain't you a bitch, you ain't raisin no hell,
Cause everybody saw you jump on me after I slipped and fell."
Said, "If you'll fight like men should
I'd whoop yo ass all over these woods!"
This made the lion mad!
It was the boldest challenge he ever had.
He squared off for the fight,
But that little monkey jumped damn near outta sight!
Landed waaay up in a banana tree and began to grin.
Sayin, "Look here you big, bad muthafucka, you been bullshitted again!
Why, I'll take me one of these bananas,
And whoop on yo ass till it sing the Star Spangled Banner!"
And said, "If you ever mess with me again,
I'm gonna send you back to my elephant friend!"
Said, "The things I told you will never part,
But what I'm gonna tell you know will break yo muthafuckin heart!"
Your mammy ain't no good and yo sister's been a whore"
Said, "I had that bitch on the corner for a year or more!"
But the lion looked up with a helluva frown.
Roared so loud that little monkey fell back to the ground.
The little monkey looked up and said "Please, Mr. Lion! Please don't take my life!
Cause I got thirteen kids and a very sickly wife!"
Said, "All of my money to you I'll give, Mr. Lion,
Please just let me live!"
But the lion kicked him in his ass and broke his neck,
Left that little monkey in a helluva wreck.
The monkey looked to the sky,
With tears in his eyes.
Nothin he could see or nothin he could hear,
But he knew that it was the end of his bulllshittin and signifyin career!


©Rudy Ray Moore

If more poems were like that, I might have read something more than Lewis Carroll and Shel Silverstein when I was a kid.

Friday, March 23, 2007

What freedom is left?

I was tagged this week to write something, which is not something I usually do, but since it fits in nicely with what I was already going to write, I decided to get down with the get down.

There’s been recent drama on Myspace. People claiming that they aren’t who we thought they were. There have been a bazillion blogs about it and people are even changing their names in support or whatever. I’m not going to get into it because there are already enough blogs about it. Plus, I’d rather spend my time doing more important things, like drinking at nine a.m.

But I do have to give my opinion, because oddly enough, the timing couldn’t be better. I wanted to write a blog about freedom this week and everything that’s been going on falls right into my topic.

People complain about Myspace, as they should. The site screws people over all the time and allows other complete crackheads to get away with sending you messages about how they want to suck your toes. But, it also does a valuable service. It allows us to be free.

You know that amendment? The first one? It’s garbage. It’s just words, written on an old brittle piece of toilet paper by ye olde slave rapers. I wonder if they knew how insane people would go in future generations, reading and rereading their words. Looking for hidden meanings and messages. Trying to interpret things written hundreds of years ago and apply them to current day problems. I might not have been all that great in history, (I thought the great depression was when all the neighborhood drug dealers were out of supplies) but I’m pretty sure that John “I’m going to sign my name really big on every piece of paper I find” Hancock didn’t have the internet or myspace blogs in mind. Thomas “Once you go black you never go back” Jefferson wasn’t wondering if it would be alright to yell “fire” in a theater when coming up with ideas. Benjamin “I look like Mr. Potato Head with a goofy-ass wig on” Franklin didn’t consider such things as libel and slander. Yet we still, to this day, try to live by ideas that are outdated. We need to knock that shit off. There is no freedom of speech people, never was.

But, there was an oasis. And that oasis was Myspace. It was a place that allowed people to say what they want, when they want. But then things started to change. Shit got corporate. Now you’re not allowed to say anything that will offend other people, regardless of whether you have the right or not.

I remember a few months ago, seeing a bulletin going around trying to have a group that didn’t support the troops, (a very tired phrase I might add. Just saying you support the troops isn’t the same as actually doing something! If you support the troops, then send them some booze. I promise you, that action will speak louder than words or ugly-ass magnet ribbons ever could.) kicked off of Myspace. Why? Because they said something people didn’t want to hear.

If I created a page where I talked about nothing but having sex with corpses, I would be gone faster than greasy fried food in front of Rosie O’Donnell. Luckily necrophilia isn’t what I’m about, so I’m not too worried. But the point is that we can’t say what we want to.

Those bloggers I was talking about at the beginning, they conducted excellent social experiments, writing blogs as assumed characters. It made some people furious when they came out. Why? Because they don’t understand that the internet is a place where people can be anonymous, they can create entire universes and act anyway they please within them. That’s the beauty of the internet. It doesn’t just bring pedophiles and Chris Hanson together, it also is a place where people can live out their imaginations. Sometimes this leads to wonderful things, like Snake on a Plane. Sometimes it leads to stupid things, like Lonelygirl15, or that dumb ass video about the bride cutting her hair off in front of her friends, (remember that garbage? What ever happened that that chick? Did her acting career take off like she wanted?) The point is that until we are all forced to have webcams and use identity chips, tread with caution. Watch where you step and what you chose to believe on the internet. I can’t believe we still need to tell people that.

But enough of my rambling jibba-jabba. Time to fulfill my duties as a tagged person. My job: to tell six habits or facts about myself that are odd or weird. Should be easy, I’m sure I’ve got plenty of weird habits. Including writing a stupid blog on Myspace, (but I won’t count that as one of the six.) Here goes:

  1. I have a compulsion to tap out syllables and beats on the fingers of my left hand. Often, when watching television, or having a conversation with people, the fingers on my left hand will move with the words. And I always need for the syllables to end in an even number, preferably four. I don’t know why I do this. It’s never gotten me laid.
  2. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a phobia against live performances of any kind. Yet I thrive when it comes to speaking improvisationally in front of big crowds.
  3. I’m allergic to nuts and peanuts. I’m also allergic to all seafood, fish and shellfish. But my allergies to seafood are all in my head. I used to eat fried shrimp when I was a kid and I loved salmon. Then, one day, my mother told me that I was allergic to all that stuff. So now I am. That’s all it took. When I came back from Iraq the first time, she told me that I wasn’t really allergic to seafood, (wasn’t that nice of her?) but doesn’t work that way. I can’t just stop being allergic to something when my body has turned words into reality.
  4. I still watch Saturday Morning Cartoons, religiously. I’ve almost written a few blogs about it, I still may. On just about any given Saturday morning, you’ll know where to find me and what I’m doing. Even if I didn’t get to sleep unto four a.m. I’m still up at eight, (then right back to bed at noon).
  5. I wear my high school class ring on the ring finger of my left hand. I graduated nine years ago. Why do I still wear it? Why do I wear it on the finger where people usually put their wedding rings? I’m sure I’ve missed out on a few adventures because women thought I was married. It’s never gotten me laid either.
  6. I am a fiend for bad movies. I love ‘em. The worse the better. Ever heard of Sorry I domed your son? I bet you haven’t. That shit is terrible, (by the way, domed means shot in the head, yeah, I thought it was the other thing too.) My favorite show is Mystery Science Theater 3000.

Now, I’ve given six weird facts about myself. It’s up to you to decide if they are true or if they are clever fabrications I designed to make myself look like a moron. What do you think?

Monday, March 19, 2007

Maryland, my Maryland (a.k.a. Doin da butt!)

There’s no place like home. When I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a commercial for visitors to come to Maryland. Why is that? I think this state is worthy of tourists. I mean, we are a hip, happening state! We’ve got grass and trees and lakes and a big ass bay, not every state can say that.

Let’s go through a little history, courtesy of the always accurate people at Wikipedia:

Maryland was founded in 1500 when a Japanese fisherman was blown wildly of course. He landed on what is now the site of the most popular Popeyes on the east coast. The original tribe of Indians that was here welcomed Shiro in, with open arms and empty stomachs, for they were cannibals! After a fierce war between the Indians and Shiro (who had Aquaman-like power over sea creatures) that lasted a whole five hours, (hours were longer back then and consisted of two meal breaks) an agreement was reached. The agreement was that Shiro was free to live in Scrogle (the Indian name for Maryland) and he, in turn, would stop sneaking into teepees at night inserting rockfish into the open mouths of snoring tribesmen.

(Wow, this is exciting stuff, I never knew. Let’s continue.)

During the Revolutionary War, Maryland was the only state to send troops to England to take the fight to the enemy. The entire regiment of seven men died of starvation after learning that the British boil their meat until all taste has been eradicated. There were no survivors.

During the War of 1812, a large contingent of British soldiers became lost in the Appalachian Mountains and had relations with the local mountain folk. Their hideous offspring can still be seen to this day, furtively haunting the hills.

During the Civil War, Maryland decided to cede from the North and the South, to become the East. This lasted for a day until President Abraham “No nickname” Lincoln pointed out that the capital of the United States (Washingtonland) was situated in Maryland and therefore would cause all types of problems when football teams would be created in the distant future. Lincoln was a visionary, which is why he had five terms in office and retired to sell his memoirs to aspiring Fortune 500 CEOs, (I have to say, I think Wikipedia may have gotten this one wrong. I seem to remember that Lincoln was assassinated while he was watching a play in the back of his car driving down a street in Texas, with Marilyn Monroe.)

In its 500-year history, (though some historians think that it may have actually existed even before the rise and fall of the Romans) Maryland has been a respite for artists of all types. They find this state’s natural beauty and plentiful liquor stores conducive to creating works of art. Van Gogh’s Self-Portrait, was painted during a visit to Baltimore, (the gonorrhea capital of the country). Picasso’s lesser known beige period was inspired by the color of the Chesapeake Bay.

Many songs have been written while in Maryland, or inspired by it, including Katmandu, by Bob Seager, Rio by Duran Duran and Mr. Roboto, by some whack-ass band my parents probably liked, (note: I’m taking this stuff verbatim from the website). The most famous song was written in 1812, by Francis Scott Key. Can we imagine a world today without the Hokey Pokey? I know I can’t.

But Maryland isn’t all booze and songs about sticking body parts into things, there’s also a more serious side, involving politics, the economy, religious freedoms and racial diversity. I will be covering none of those topics.

Points of scenic interest in Maryland include the world’s largest ball made of pubic hair fished out of dryer lint, (located in Crackerville) the only house in America to be built upside down, (located in Crackerville) and the largest population of radiation fall-out victims, (oddly enough, also located in Crackerville). The tallest point on the East Coast can be found at Mt. Landfill, on the Eastern Shore. There’s also thousands of miles of roads, so be sure to check out every one!

The local wildlife is certainly nothing to laugh at. We’ve got bears, snipes, griffins and Salvadorians, (ohhh, cheap shot.) The most famous animal in Maryland doesn’t come from land however, but rather, from the water. I speak of course, of the famous singing blue crab. Known far and wide for the pleas of mercy and screams of pain it emits while being ripped apart by hungry eaters. Delicious!

Doesn’t all this sound great? Don’t you want to come visit Maryland? No? Well, here are some more, (completely true) facts about the big MD.

State bird: The oriole (makes sense)

State boat: skipjack (never heard of it)

State cat: calico cat (since when? And why a state cat?)

State crustacean: blue crab (just shave the area and you can get rid of any infestation)

State dinosaur: Astrodon johnstoni (I have one as a pet)

State dog: Chesapeake Bay Retriever (I had one of these too, until the dinosaur ate it)

State drink: milk (no it’s not, it’s beer-flavored snow-cones)

State fish: rockfish (striped bass) (the polka-dotted bass was already taken)

State flower: Black-eyed Susan (a flower named by ye olde wife-beater I assume)

State folk dance: square dance (it’s true, we all go square dancing twice a month, by law)

State fossil: Ecphora gardnerae gardnerae (I thought it was Strom Thurmond)

State gem: Patuxent River Stone (I’ve got five in my grill)

State horse: thoroughbred horse (Good old Gluefactory! He was a great horse)

State insect: Baltimore Checkerspot Butterfly (these are actually quite venomous)

State nicknames: "The Old Line State" and "The Free State." (Never heard these!)

State reptile: diamondback terrapin (It was until this weekend)

State song: "Maryland, My Maryland" (I thought it was Da Butt)

State sport: Jousting (I like to unwind from a day of jousting by square dancing!)

State tree: white oak (Because it was the strongest back in the day and could hold five lynched black people at once!)

So come to Maryland and enjoy yourself. I know I do.

Friday, March 09, 2007

H8tErZ B3wArE!

Sorry about that title everybody. It seemed like a really myspacy kind of thing to do.

I don’t usually like to specifically write about Myspace too often because I post this blog on other sites (i.e. and other places) which I do for people who refuse to get on Myspace and won’t understand what the hell I’m talking about. But today I feel compelled to make this a Myspace (or as people who live on the site call it: myspazz) focused blog. More specifically, it’s about the use of the word HATER.

From time to time I like to skim the popular blogs section of myspace, and something I notice a lot is that people love to talk about HATERS. People throw around the accusation left and right, alienating entire swathes of human kind by calling them HATERS.

The closest definition I could find of HATER as it is used most often on Myspace is: “Someone who hates.” Which I think is just a lazy definition. Sadly, there is no slang definition that can be agreed on by more than five people, which means that there will never truly be a consensus on what it means. But I can tell you this: if you indiscriminately call somebody you’ve never met and know nothing about a HATER, then you’re borderline retarded, (and yes I see the hypocrisy in me calling people I’ve never met and know nothing about retarded, but it’s my party and I can cry if I want to.)

Go to Tila Tequila’s blog (I double dog dare you!) and if you’re able to survive reading her drivel and the incoherent ramblings of her “fans” for more than five minutes, (I’m pretty sure that the government is reading her blogs and the eight million pages of comments that follows each one to the prisoners down at Gitmo and I just have to say, nobody deserves that kind of torture) then you should go see a doctor because you might have absorbed a dangerous amount of stupidity. But, you’ll also notice that sandwiched in between the hundreds of comments by people who worship her like a Goddess (example: Tila, you freakin rock!! You come across as a real person. Besides being x-treamly beautiful in this vid, you connect I think, on a human level. For being a real person doin' you, you have a fan for life. Peace. Or: TILA, WILL U MARRY ME? PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR ON TOP? JUST JOKIN, LOL..... NO IM NOT. That’s not scary or stalkerish in anyway, is it?) are people who question this whole Tila Tequila phenomenon. They try to talk sense into her and say realistic things. She’s not the be all end all of the internet, America or the music industry, in fact, she’s a No-hit Wonder. Yet, these people are attacked vehemently by her illiterate fans and called HATERS. They are even threatened. And why? Because they say the truth and some people don’t like to hear it? Living in a fantasy world is great, but the world does not operate on how things “should” be, it operates on how things actually are. And in actuality she’s a nobody just like the rest of us. But I won’t give her anymore advertising. This isn’t supposed to be a hate Tila Tequila blog. I wish her luck with her music career and she can certainly rub my face in her piles of money and millions of internet “friends.”

What’s worse are the people who are under the impression that they are hated on because they –in their own minds- are attractive. Enough of that! Nobody cares enough about you to hate you because of your looks, your current boyfriend/girlfriend, your clothing style, your ride or what part of the trailer park you live in. They just don’t. And those blogs where people call out random nobodies to fights need to be deleted as well. Why would somebody who supposedly hate you so much even bother to read your blog? Even sadder, why write a blog specifically for somebody that you think hates you?

The truth is that nobody on Myspace, (with a few exceptions) is worth hating on. It’s too much energy and a waste of time. So let’s just try to let the whole thing die before shit gets too out of hand.

Alright, that’s enough of me venting my frustration. Next time I’ll tackle “LOL,” and why the use of that is single-handedly bringing down our civilization, (here’s a hint, just because you write lol at the end of a sentence doesn’t mean that it was funny. In fact it means that it was only funny to you.)

I gotta go have a good lie down now.

I have entered the first official (or, legit) humor blog contest on myspace.

But I need the help of the people who actually read this blog. While I may have entered, I did so without a specific entry in mind. I’m asking you all what favorites you guys have, what you thought was the funniest. Please leave a comment telling me what you thought was your favorite Eighty-Four Glyde entry. Feel free to look through the archives if you want, but considering that there’s almost a hundred entries, I’ll understand if you don’t. Please leave a comment with your suggestions. Then, when the contest happens next week, read all the entries from all the contestants. Because there are a shit load of funny mofos on Myspace, and I’m going to get my ass spanked!

Monday, March 05, 2007

There is absolutely nothing worth reading in this blog

But if you’ve gone this far, you might as well keep going.

The other day I wrote about how you would kill yourself if you had the power to regenerate. I didn’t think about it at the time, but I would totally drink random chemicals to see what they’d do.

After watching this great, cheesy eighties movie last night (Night of the Comet) for the second or third time, I wondered what I would do after the apocalypse. Let’s break it down.

Before one can decide what they’re going to do when the world ends, one must figure out what kind of apocalypse has occurred. There are sooooo many ways that mankind can destroy itself, and even a few ways to be destroyed that have nothing to do with man (and to a lesser degree woman) kind. For example, in the movie mentioned above, a comet comes to Earth and its radiation causes everybody who isn’t shielded by steel to turn into red dust. You can’t really blame technology or the Manhattan Project for that one.

Other options include: Human-caused radiation (always a favorite), natural disasters (global warning? Seriously?), the Rapture (but I’m only going to deal with things that are theoretically possible. Ooooh, burn on Ned Flanders!), Nuclear war, super flu, cosmic events (Earth getting out of alignment or something) Super villainy (if Dr. Doom had his way) and Paris Hilton, (if you don’t think that she could cause the apocalypse, then you’re living in a fantasy world!) Oops, can’t forget reality television and that wonderful and tolerant ghoul: Ann Coulter. But those things will most likely cause the world to explode, so they don’t really belong here.

There are pluses and minuses to each option. Radiation fallout and nuclear war will naturally lead to zombies, which are never fun. Not to mention that the weather will most likely suck for a few decades and food will be scarce. I can’t really think of any positives to the radiation apocalypse, other than it could lead people to develop super powers, or at least cool mutations.

Natural disasters are usually the worse kind because they not only kill people, but they mess up the whole infrastructure and ruin everything. The only good side is that if you live in Kansas you’ll probably be just fine. Nobody cares enough about that state to bother with it.

The Rapture would be the most fun because once all the pious sticks-in-the-mud are gone, the rest of us can get down to some serious blaspheming. Sodom and Gomorra will look like Branson, Missouri compared to the offenses against God that we’ll be committing!

Cosmic events, like the aforementioned comet, that cause people to disappear but don’t mess with food or buildings or electricity are the best because everything is still there and useable, and there aren’t so many people around to mess things up. Same goes for the Super Flu.

Super villainy and Paris Hilton are both pretty self explanatory, so I won’t mess with those. Nope, I’m going to pick the Super Flu, just like in the book The Stand, by the only writer in the world who could be crushed to death by his own collected works.

So, the world has ended because of some super cold, whether it is manmade or otherwise. It matters not. The first thing I’m going to do, (once I get tired of checking out dead boobies, yeah I said it!) is hit up the neighborhood liquor store to stock up on necessities. I would naturally follow that up with a shopping spree at the nearest porn store, (including those movies they’ve got in the back and you have to know to ask for) for some quality viewing material.

I would probably be tired after that, so I’d make my way on the beltway, at 120 M.P.H. to the White House, so that I could sleep in the Lincoln bedroom. Once I awoke I would have to void my bowels, and what better place for that then the oval office? I can’t forget to wipe, so I’ll have the Constitution handy for just that occasion.

Next, I would take the time to read all of the top secret documents and what not they’ve got over at NSA in Fort Meade, and have a good laugh doing so. This would get me in the mood to take a peak into the lives of those I loved or at least tolerated, so I’d go to some houses to read diaries (do people keep those anymore?). This would certainly end in disappointment, so I’d have to cheer myself up by breaking into the evidence rooms of various police stations to see what kind of narcotics I could have fun with, (the war on drugs will be quite over once civilization collapses.)

Fun is fun, but I couldn’t keep up such a rigorous lifestyle; I’d get too bored. This would lead me to go to various gun shops to pick up some nice weaponry. M4s, M249s, .50 cals, grenades, Uzis, all that Matrix shit. To unwind I would blow up buildings and national monuments. Goodbye Washington Monument! Aloha Lincoln Memorial! Sayonara Graceland! Where you at World’s Largest Ball of Twine?

I guess though, that at some point I would have to search the country for survivors…so I can mow them down in a hail of bullets! The ones that escape the wheels of my obscenely large truck that is. If I ever get tired of listening to the voices in my head, I suppose that I could try and find somebody to talk to. But that’s at the bottom of my list. “Like my car? I’ve got 23 of ‘em!” is what I’d say to impress my new traveling companion.

What would you do?

Saturday, March 03, 2007


Usually I write Eighty-Four Glyde entries on Mondays and Fridays. So I apologize for missing yesterday, but it just so happens that I have just enough of a life that I don’t always spend my time in front of a computer. A.k.a. shit came up.

I also forgot to do my February shout outs to everybody who has subscribed last month –in 2006 and 2007- so I’m sorry for that too and I’ll throw that at the bottom of this. And now down to business.

I was watching Heroes lat Monday, -as I am oft want to do- and a thought struck me: that hot blond cheerleader could have a lot more fun with her power than she does (so could that guy who turns invisible and that guy who can erase memories, but I think the applications there are obvious, don’t you?)

Imagine, you have the ability to heal yourself and never die, (at least so far, I’m sure they’ll come up with something on the show to negate that power) how would you like to die? Or rather, in what ways would you kill yourself for fun?

There’s what, six million ways to die? (not including marriage, the slow killer) There are so many options available. Would you shoot yourself? Jump off a really tall building? Drown? Oh really? Because if you would die by any of those means, then I would personally appear (that’s my super power by the way.) and give you such a pride-obliterating pimp slap that your kids will be born with black eyes.

Besides, Bill Murray already covered all those ways in Groundhog Day.

With a power such as this, imagination is the key. I mean, is there anything you’ve ever wanted to do, but were too scared to because you knew death was a distinct possibility? I’ve always wanted to drink mercury. I wonder what that would be like. Not a pleasant death, I’m sure, but it’d be fun to watch, (which reminds me of a great old joke: Did you hear about the guy who committed suicide by drinking varnish? It was a nasty way to go, but what a great finish! Get it?)

Also, I think I’d like to try jumping the Grand Canyon in a shopping cart. I think I could get some pretty good air, about six feet horizontally and a mile vertically. My last words? “Wheeeeeeee!!” That’d be fun.

I want to be hit by lightning. At the very least I’ll have a nice year-round tan. But if I’m lucky I could develop electricity-based super powers, (isn’t that always how it happens?)

Or, how about, suicide by cop? Straight out of GTA Vice City or something. I could run up in a bank and take people hostage. Then, when the cops show up, I’d run out blasting! A glorious death in battle with such odds would surely land me a seat in the hall of heroes at Valhalla.

Ohh, Ohh, I got it! I could engage in genocide. Then, when those meddling, do-gooder Americans came to execute me for war crimes, I could laugh in their faces as they put the rope around my neck. Classic! But, probably a bit over the top.

I wouldn’t mind taking my helmet off in outer space. That’d be kinda neat, but only if my head explodes, (imploding would be even better.)

Another fun thing to do would be to challenge everybody on the planet to a living contest, just to see who will last the longest. It would be cool until that last person dies, then I think it’d get a little boring. Is immortality a part of invincibility? Does one continue to grow older and older, yet never die? That’d be a bummer. Perhaps they will address this on the show.

There are just too many ways to die, I don’t know if I could make up my mind. Although, I guess I wouldn’t have to. I could just die a different way every day. Wake up, have a cup of coffee, check my emails then dip my head into a deep fryer. After that it’d be a quick nine holes, a short nap and perhaps a mint julep on the veranda. Yeah, that’d be fun. How would you go out?

On a different, yet vaguely related note, (cause I’m talking about super heroes here) has anybody ever heard of Bibleman?

It comes on every Saturday afternoon on one of those God channels. I enjoy watching it because it’s ironic to do so, but man! Bibleman is such a loser! It seems that his only power is to quote verses from the bible while pretending to fight with a neon fluorescent light. I get a great kick out of that. The weird thing about the show, (besides everything) is that it seems to be the same guy who’s the bad guy every week, yet they give him different make up, as if he’s another person. This would be great and cheap for such a dumb show, yet, the guy always does a really bad Jerry Lewis impression, regardless of who he’s supposed to be for that week. If you want to know what the hell I’m talking about, be sure to check your local listings.

I would like to take this opportunity to give a hearty thanks to everybody on myspace who subscribed to my blog in February: Loudin, Clara, Mr. Bukkake, Maxism, Nerg, Joe Kickass, Jieun, Band4MassCass, Jim, Irish Crème, Je Maverick, Napoleon B, Phatshady and Vince. Thank you one and all.