For those of you not in the know, and for those of you who don't actually care, I just wanted to announce that after five long and painful years full of deserts, early-morning Physical Training, and having to wear the same outfit everyday, I'm finally out of the army. Yes, it's true. I'm out, free, excaped, liberated, just plain gone!
"But wait," you might be saying to yourself, "what kind of sick, twisted, pinko-commie pervert would be happy to leave the fine institution of the American military (motto: A tradition of heritage)? Has Joshua dropped the ball in doing his duty protecting this country from threats both domestic and abroad? What happens if Canada finally invades? What will we do? Has the whole world gone mad?! I'm so disillusioned!"
To which I say, firstly, don't talk to yourself so much. And secondly, yes to questions two and five.
For you see, some dream of joining the military. They go through life surrounded by the wonderful majesty that is only available because of the sacrifice of soldiers, (you know, stuff like drive-thru liquor stores. Who's the genius who came up with that idea and doesn't see the inherent conflict of interests in that concept!) and looking up to service members as heroes and idols. Then, when they finally graduate high school (or get their Good Enough Diploma) they rush off to join the army and serve a life filled with honor, discipline and military something-or-other.
I fall into that group of people who think the exact opposite. From the minute I joined I couldn't wait to get out and be free to do the things I like to do, like...watch t.v., ummmm, sit on my ass and do nothing and refer to people by their first name!
Oh and if you're wondering what my motivation was for joining the army in the first place, please feel free to refer to "It takes a helping hand" May 26th. It explains what little options I had other than living in a cardboard box for the rest of my life and enjoying long theological discussions with imaginary beings from other dimensions.
So, anyway, I have a wee small problem. After five years of planning and hoping and enacting secret, arcane occult rituals, I didn't actually take the time to figure out what I'm actually going to do when I get out!
Which means that I'm open to suggestions on what I should do with myself, if anybody's got 'em. At this point beggars can't be choosers, so a brainstorming session is just what I need. Oh, and if anybody in the D.C. area has any need for a sarcastic writer, hit me up. I'm more fun to be around than a smallpox infection!
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
This blog entry guaranteed to make you feel better (or your bad mood back)
I’ve been doing a little looking around on myspace (motto: a place to waste large tracts of time for little to no gain) and I realized something.
People are idiots.
No, that’s not true, well yes it is, but that’s not the point. The point is thus: During my staggeringly large swaths of wasted time I read several blogs and a pattern emerged, (actually several patterns emerged, but I’m not going to mention them here because this isn’t the right forum and I’m trying not to alienate people.)
This pattern was very simple. People were using their blogs to complain more than anything else. Everybody on myspace seems to be pissed off about everything, (I don’t blame them.) From imagined “haters” who are trying to steal the writer’s man or woman, to an intense dislike for our fellow myspacians, everybody has something bad to say about other people.
I found this to be shocking. After all, everybody I ever run into (or over) is always trying to be nice and do the nice thing and think nice thoughts etcetera, etcetera until I want to stab them in their ocular cavities with blunt objects. Yet it seems to be a mask. When given the opportunity, people will write such angry and mean things. To get their feelings of their chest? Possibly. To be funny and get away with saying shit you wouldn’t if people knew you weren’t kidding? That’s why I do it. The motives are varied and monotonous.
But the point is that people spend most of their time being pissed off and telling other people what to do, (see “This title couldn’t have anything less to do with the subject of this entry” Friday, July 28th) and not enough time proclaiming the good things going on. So here goes:
1. Thankfully, because of surfing on myspace I now know which songs are loved to an insane degree by random teens and 20 somethings (i.e. Sexyback, that one Evanessance song, and that Gnarles Barkley song that came out about seven months ago but people still aren’t tired of for some reason.)
2. Without Myspace I wouldn’t know that Tila Tequila is an extremely famous and popular musician, despite never actually having heard any song she’s performed!
3. Myspace allows me to check up on those crazy exes at various times so I can predict if they’re ever going to suddenly develop a need to get back in touch with me.
4. There are quite a lot of good looking women on myspace. And trolling around that site allows me to see the millions of gorgeous women I’ll never have a chance with!
5. Ummm, damn, this is getting hard. Okay, I got one. All the time I spend on myspace keeps me from going out and committing heinous and perverted acts against society, (my army of Werejoshuas is coming along nicely!)
See? It’s totally possible for somebody to write a blog entry without saying anything bad, (mostly.)
Now it’s your turn faithful readers. I want everybody to say one nice thing about myspace. You’re allowed to repeat what somebody else said, (I know there isn’t that much good shit to say about myspace.) Now go forth and say great things!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
People are idiots.
No, that’s not true, well yes it is, but that’s not the point. The point is thus: During my staggeringly large swaths of wasted time I read several blogs and a pattern emerged, (actually several patterns emerged, but I’m not going to mention them here because this isn’t the right forum and I’m trying not to alienate people.)
This pattern was very simple. People were using their blogs to complain more than anything else. Everybody on myspace seems to be pissed off about everything, (I don’t blame them.) From imagined “haters” who are trying to steal the writer’s man or woman, to an intense dislike for our fellow myspacians, everybody has something bad to say about other people.
I found this to be shocking. After all, everybody I ever run into (or over) is always trying to be nice and do the nice thing and think nice thoughts etcetera, etcetera until I want to stab them in their ocular cavities with blunt objects. Yet it seems to be a mask. When given the opportunity, people will write such angry and mean things. To get their feelings of their chest? Possibly. To be funny and get away with saying shit you wouldn’t if people knew you weren’t kidding? That’s why I do it. The motives are varied and monotonous.
But the point is that people spend most of their time being pissed off and telling other people what to do, (see “This title couldn’t have anything less to do with the subject of this entry” Friday, July 28th) and not enough time proclaiming the good things going on. So here goes:
1. Thankfully, because of surfing on myspace I now know which songs are loved to an insane degree by random teens and 20 somethings (i.e. Sexyback, that one Evanessance song, and that Gnarles Barkley song that came out about seven months ago but people still aren’t tired of for some reason.)
2. Without Myspace I wouldn’t know that Tila Tequila is an extremely famous and popular musician, despite never actually having heard any song she’s performed!
3. Myspace allows me to check up on those crazy exes at various times so I can predict if they’re ever going to suddenly develop a need to get back in touch with me.
4. There are quite a lot of good looking women on myspace. And trolling around that site allows me to see the millions of gorgeous women I’ll never have a chance with!
5. Ummm, damn, this is getting hard. Okay, I got one. All the time I spend on myspace keeps me from going out and committing heinous and perverted acts against society, (my army of Werejoshuas is coming along nicely!)
See? It’s totally possible for somebody to write a blog entry without saying anything bad, (mostly.)
Now it’s your turn faithful readers. I want everybody to say one nice thing about myspace. You’re allowed to repeat what somebody else said, (I know there isn’t that much good shit to say about myspace.) Now go forth and say great things!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
Friday, October 20, 2006
Night of the Robin Williams wannabes
You know what I hate? Werewolves. I mean, where do they get off? Who invented werewolves anyway? Guess it was somebody with a wolf phobia. But the whole concept just doesn’t make much sense to me. I’ve been bitten by plenty of animals and even kicked by a horse (it was my fault I had forgotten to bring the lube) yet I remain (as far as I know) a human.
By all rights I should be a were-mosquito-turtle-spider-moose, but I’m not. On the other hand I have been bitten by people too, and maybe human enzymes are the strongest. Is it possible that I’ve been a wereperson all along and didn’t know it? Could it be that every full moon I undergo a horrible transformation and become a perverted creature of the night? Wandering around and doing “human things”? That would explain………very little now that I think about it.
I’m going to conduct an experiment. I’m going to go bite some animal and see what happens. Maybe I have the power to create legions of Werejoshuas ready to do my evil bidding at a moment’s notice. That’d be pretty damn neat. I’ll let you all know how the experiment works out, though if it’s a success I won’t need to say anything because you’ll all read in the news about the great hordes of Werejoshuas sweeping across the country leaving devastation and cheesesteak stains as they go.
As far as you know there could be Werejoshuas out there already, infiltrating society and getting ready to wreak havoc, (which I feel is always the best thing to wreak.)
But, being the nice guy that I am, I’ll give you all signs to look out for that your family pet, or the guy next to you could be one of my many minions.
That person has:
1. A deep love of cartoons in almost all forms, (with a natural wariness of anime.)
2. The need to own obscene quantities of Japanese porn.
3. The ability to quote, at will, anything Dave Chappelle has ever said. Ever.
4. Plaid shorts.
5. A biting and witty sense of sarcastic humor, misunderstood by mainstream society.
6. A love of greasy foods.
7. An intense mistrust of salads and a belief that all salads are nothing more than hamburger toppings without the good part.
8. A problem with authority.
9. An ego so large that it has its own satellites and gravity well.
10. Genitalia the size of a mature Golden Retriever.
If you encounter any of these signs, be not afraid. Just pledge your loyalty and rest assured that you will have either a quick death at the beginning of the uprising, or that you will have a place as a slave, (which is pretty decent work considering how lazy Werejoshuas are. I mean we don’t need much to make us happy.) Either way, you’ll have it better then everybody else.
Now all I have to do is go wander the streets biting random animals. I think I’m going to go floss first.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if the government and many Americans are actually WereGeorge W. Bushes. That would explain some of the wacky goings-on from the last six years, including the two elections. But unlike my stupid ass, the Bushes probably have their techniques refined. Back in the days of Bush senior he used needles with his son’s DNA to get to the American public, under the guise of flu shots and the like. True I have no evidence of any of this, but I’m the soon-to-be leader of an army of Werejoshuas, I don’t need evidence of anything!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
By all rights I should be a were-mosquito-turtle-spider-moose, but I’m not. On the other hand I have been bitten by people too, and maybe human enzymes are the strongest. Is it possible that I’ve been a wereperson all along and didn’t know it? Could it be that every full moon I undergo a horrible transformation and become a perverted creature of the night? Wandering around and doing “human things”? That would explain………very little now that I think about it.
I’m going to conduct an experiment. I’m going to go bite some animal and see what happens. Maybe I have the power to create legions of Werejoshuas ready to do my evil bidding at a moment’s notice. That’d be pretty damn neat. I’ll let you all know how the experiment works out, though if it’s a success I won’t need to say anything because you’ll all read in the news about the great hordes of Werejoshuas sweeping across the country leaving devastation and cheesesteak stains as they go.
As far as you know there could be Werejoshuas out there already, infiltrating society and getting ready to wreak havoc, (which I feel is always the best thing to wreak.)
But, being the nice guy that I am, I’ll give you all signs to look out for that your family pet, or the guy next to you could be one of my many minions.
That person has:
1. A deep love of cartoons in almost all forms, (with a natural wariness of anime.)
2. The need to own obscene quantities of Japanese porn.
3. The ability to quote, at will, anything Dave Chappelle has ever said. Ever.
4. Plaid shorts.
5. A biting and witty sense of sarcastic humor, misunderstood by mainstream society.
6. A love of greasy foods.
7. An intense mistrust of salads and a belief that all salads are nothing more than hamburger toppings without the good part.
8. A problem with authority.
9. An ego so large that it has its own satellites and gravity well.
10. Genitalia the size of a mature Golden Retriever.
If you encounter any of these signs, be not afraid. Just pledge your loyalty and rest assured that you will have either a quick death at the beginning of the uprising, or that you will have a place as a slave, (which is pretty decent work considering how lazy Werejoshuas are. I mean we don’t need much to make us happy.) Either way, you’ll have it better then everybody else.
Now all I have to do is go wander the streets biting random animals. I think I’m going to go floss first.
Sometimes, late at night, I wonder if the government and many Americans are actually WereGeorge W. Bushes. That would explain some of the wacky goings-on from the last six years, including the two elections. But unlike my stupid ass, the Bushes probably have their techniques refined. Back in the days of Bush senior he used needles with his son’s DNA to get to the American public, under the guise of flu shots and the like. True I have no evidence of any of this, but I’m the soon-to-be leader of an army of Werejoshuas, I don’t need evidence of anything!
(And everybody don’t forget my banner contest. Remember, a kick ass banner linking to my blog, will win that creator a very special and super-duper prize, that isn’t at all a cheap t-shirt made by some two-year-old in a Chinese sweatshop located in the bowels of some tenement in the Bronx! God Bless American Capitalism. Anyway, the contest ends November 15th, at which point I will declare the winner and put his or her name out in the public for praise or ridicule, depending on what you think of this blog in the first place. Thanks for your participation and thanks for reading my blog. I write to be funny and I’m glad that you all seem to appreciate it and get the joke.)
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
They’re happy to serve you (or, Why you are a piece of diseased scum, unworthy of being spoken to directly)
It wasn’t until I was in the military that I realized how far-spread this problem is. Prior to my experience here, the problem was encountered very little, just at the MVA (which my non-Maryland readers will know better as the DMV.)
Then I joined the army and learned of the joy that is impersonal public service. From the beginning all the way to the end, I’ve experienced five years of apathetic, vaguely hostile people. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. The ones whose jobs force them to come into contact with dozens, if not hundreds of people a day yet they treat each one of the patrons as if they’ve personally offended them by killing and raping, (in that order no less) the family pet.
You go to the DMV, you stand in line for so long that you don’t even remember why you went, and when you finally reach the person behind the counter, all you want is some caring and politeness. But what do you get? You get a clerk who gives you such an evil look that you start to hate yourself and you don’t know why.
“I just wanted to come here and renew my license,” you think to yourself. “But now I’m starting to question if I’ll get into heaven when I die! Why does this person hate me so much? What did I do?!”
These public servants love to act as if each person they deal with is personally responsible for giving them such a dead-end and apparently thankless job. But don’t fall for their Vulcan mind-tricks! It’s not your fault! They chose the jobs they have! They are the only people to blame for their own destiny, (wow, that sounded almost like some kind of personal philosophy or view on life, I wonder how that made it into this column.)
The only thing worse than the clerk who hates you for no visible reason is the clerk who is too apathetic to even look you in the face when they’re talking to you. It’s like they just underwent electroshock therapy or a lobotomy. They spout memorized junk at you without tone or inflection. Don’t even try to ask this person a question if you don’t understand something, because they’re too lethargic to even kick-start their brains into working. They’ll just look through you with glazed, unfocused eyes, unable to comprehend what’s just been spoken. Then they get angry because you almost made them think, so they’ll either refer you to somebody else, which will result in more life lost in one of those never-ending lines, or they’ll just screw you over on whatever you went there for in the first place.
So what can we do about these people? Not a damn thing. They don’t understand or appreciate somebody being nice to them, so it’s a wasted effort. Maybe you can give them money to grease the wheels of the system a little, but unless you’re Scrooge McDuck, you don’t carry that much cash on hand, (Ever notice how his fortune was made up mostly of change with the occasional bill thrown in? How rich can he be with all that spare change?)
The only thing that I can think of working is if you get very rich and famous before you go to the DMV. Oh, and make sure you’re extremely appealing to the opposite sex, that helps. Then you’ll not only get great, (read, decent) service, but you’ll probably get to cut your way to the front of any line. And that’s most important, because there really isn’t enough space in the DMV for everybody to use a sleeping bag.
Then I joined the army and learned of the joy that is impersonal public service. From the beginning all the way to the end, I’ve experienced five years of apathetic, vaguely hostile people. You know the kind of people I’m talking about. The ones whose jobs force them to come into contact with dozens, if not hundreds of people a day yet they treat each one of the patrons as if they’ve personally offended them by killing and raping, (in that order no less) the family pet.
You go to the DMV, you stand in line for so long that you don’t even remember why you went, and when you finally reach the person behind the counter, all you want is some caring and politeness. But what do you get? You get a clerk who gives you such an evil look that you start to hate yourself and you don’t know why.
“I just wanted to come here and renew my license,” you think to yourself. “But now I’m starting to question if I’ll get into heaven when I die! Why does this person hate me so much? What did I do?!”
These public servants love to act as if each person they deal with is personally responsible for giving them such a dead-end and apparently thankless job. But don’t fall for their Vulcan mind-tricks! It’s not your fault! They chose the jobs they have! They are the only people to blame for their own destiny, (wow, that sounded almost like some kind of personal philosophy or view on life, I wonder how that made it into this column.)
The only thing worse than the clerk who hates you for no visible reason is the clerk who is too apathetic to even look you in the face when they’re talking to you. It’s like they just underwent electroshock therapy or a lobotomy. They spout memorized junk at you without tone or inflection. Don’t even try to ask this person a question if you don’t understand something, because they’re too lethargic to even kick-start their brains into working. They’ll just look through you with glazed, unfocused eyes, unable to comprehend what’s just been spoken. Then they get angry because you almost made them think, so they’ll either refer you to somebody else, which will result in more life lost in one of those never-ending lines, or they’ll just screw you over on whatever you went there for in the first place.
So what can we do about these people? Not a damn thing. They don’t understand or appreciate somebody being nice to them, so it’s a wasted effort. Maybe you can give them money to grease the wheels of the system a little, but unless you’re Scrooge McDuck, you don’t carry that much cash on hand, (Ever notice how his fortune was made up mostly of change with the occasional bill thrown in? How rich can he be with all that spare change?)
The only thing that I can think of working is if you get very rich and famous before you go to the DMV. Oh, and make sure you’re extremely appealing to the opposite sex, that helps. Then you’ll not only get great, (read, decent) service, but you’ll probably get to cut your way to the front of any line. And that’s most important, because there really isn’t enough space in the DMV for everybody to use a sleeping bag.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
No gain, but plenty of pain
Who invented working out? Did they not realize that they’d be sentencing millions of people to a life of pain, sore muscles and sweaty undergarments?
I know the results are probably worth the effort, but I’m still too lazy to keep up a good work out schedule.
I’m in the army, (surprise, surprise!) where physical training is often considered more important than a person’s ability to do their job, (“Well, you’re extremely organized and you’ve made this office 100 percent more efficient since you got here, thereby saving the government thousands of dollars. But, unfortunately, you can’t march 12 miles with 90 pounds of gear in under three hours. So, even though it’s something you’ll never encounter in your military career, it’s going to affect your chances for promotion.”)
Which means that I’ve always got to make sure that I’m in peak physical condition, ready to run five miles uphill in the snow, wearing nothing but a flimsy plastic poncho and a pair of high heels, (you never know what you might be called upon to do for the American government and if they every want me to dress as a women I would do it with a tear in my eye and pride in my heart, proud to do my duty for this wonderful country!) Or do 75 push ups consecutively for no good reason, or even be prepared to assault any nearby and convenient hill.
Bad news though. I can’t do any of that shit, (except for maybe wearing the high heels, which is sounding more inciting the more I think about it.) I’m too damn fat! I spend too much time sitting on my ass and not enough time killing interesting and indigenous third-world people in the name of peace.
Which means that I have to work out on my own. Not an exciting prospect.
Luckily the army is chock full of guys with tiny wangs who try to make up for it by getting huge and having to walk through doorways sideways. Which means that gyms literally litter the military landscape, (digging on that alliteration?) Which makes it easier to find somewhere to workout. Unfortunately the actual act of lifting weights is still strenuous and involves considerable effort, something I don’t like to put forth willingly.
So I work out from time to time. Not too much, (not enough actually) but enough to ensure that I don’t end up like (insert ridiculously fat male celebrity here). Sadly, working out is actually more addictive than crack. I mean the more you work out the more you need to work out, in order to maintain some sort of socially acceptable form. Ask any guy you know that works out and you’ll see that he’s trapped! He’s a slave! If he doesn’t continue to work out, his pecs that he works so hard at developing will turn into Meatloaf-style bitch tits. And no man wants that, (come to think of it, I don’t know any woman who wants that on a man either.)
Just keep that in mind next time somebody asks if you want to go to the gym. Do you really want a life full of pointlessly lifting heavy things? Or do you want to just sit on your ass and let cosmetic surgery do its magic?
I think the choice is clear.
I know the results are probably worth the effort, but I’m still too lazy to keep up a good work out schedule.
I’m in the army, (surprise, surprise!) where physical training is often considered more important than a person’s ability to do their job, (“Well, you’re extremely organized and you’ve made this office 100 percent more efficient since you got here, thereby saving the government thousands of dollars. But, unfortunately, you can’t march 12 miles with 90 pounds of gear in under three hours. So, even though it’s something you’ll never encounter in your military career, it’s going to affect your chances for promotion.”)
Which means that I’ve always got to make sure that I’m in peak physical condition, ready to run five miles uphill in the snow, wearing nothing but a flimsy plastic poncho and a pair of high heels, (you never know what you might be called upon to do for the American government and if they every want me to dress as a women I would do it with a tear in my eye and pride in my heart, proud to do my duty for this wonderful country!) Or do 75 push ups consecutively for no good reason, or even be prepared to assault any nearby and convenient hill.
Bad news though. I can’t do any of that shit, (except for maybe wearing the high heels, which is sounding more inciting the more I think about it.) I’m too damn fat! I spend too much time sitting on my ass and not enough time killing interesting and indigenous third-world people in the name of peace.
Which means that I have to work out on my own. Not an exciting prospect.
Luckily the army is chock full of guys with tiny wangs who try to make up for it by getting huge and having to walk through doorways sideways. Which means that gyms literally litter the military landscape, (digging on that alliteration?) Which makes it easier to find somewhere to workout. Unfortunately the actual act of lifting weights is still strenuous and involves considerable effort, something I don’t like to put forth willingly.
So I work out from time to time. Not too much, (not enough actually) but enough to ensure that I don’t end up like (insert ridiculously fat male celebrity here). Sadly, working out is actually more addictive than crack. I mean the more you work out the more you need to work out, in order to maintain some sort of socially acceptable form. Ask any guy you know that works out and you’ll see that he’s trapped! He’s a slave! If he doesn’t continue to work out, his pecs that he works so hard at developing will turn into Meatloaf-style bitch tits. And no man wants that, (come to think of it, I don’t know any woman who wants that on a man either.)
Just keep that in mind next time somebody asks if you want to go to the gym. Do you really want a life full of pointlessly lifting heavy things? Or do you want to just sit on your ass and let cosmetic surgery do its magic?
I think the choice is clear.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Win some free shit from me for once!
Win some free shit from me for once!
Eighty-Four Glyde is going big time everybody, and to do that I need to do a little remodeling, so it's contest time!
Design a new and completely kick ass banner for me to put on Eighty-Four Glyde. Make it sweet, make it big, make it eye catching. Extra points if you somehow manage to fit in some kung-fu and maybe a titty or two.
The winner will receive a free Eighty-Four Glyde t-shirt, (which is also very kick ass, if I may mention) and the Galapagos island of their choice!
Second and third place will get t-shirts as well and will fill in for the roll of first place should the winner be unable to fulfill their duties.
Conestants should send me a message. Hook that shit up!
In case of no winner (or, heaven forbid, no conestants) then I'll just come up with something on my own. But I warn you, it'll probably be hideous.
Eighty-Four Glyde is going big time everybody, and to do that I need to do a little remodeling, so it's contest time!
Design a new and completely kick ass banner for me to put on Eighty-Four Glyde. Make it sweet, make it big, make it eye catching. Extra points if you somehow manage to fit in some kung-fu and maybe a titty or two.
The winner will receive a free Eighty-Four Glyde t-shirt, (which is also very kick ass, if I may mention) and the Galapagos island of their choice!
Second and third place will get t-shirts as well and will fill in for the roll of first place should the winner be unable to fulfill their duties.
Conestants should send me a message. Hook that shit up!
In case of no winner (or, heaven forbid, no conestants) then I'll just come up with something on my own. But I warn you, it'll probably be hideous.
Friday, October 06, 2006
No books is good books?
Thanks to alert reader and one of my biggest fans, Jim, I was made aware that last week was the 25th anniversary of "Banned Books Week." I'm not really sure what "Banned Books Week" is. Is that one week of the year where really uptight people get together and ban as many books from their narrow-minded and strict libraries and bookstores as possible in a seven-day period? Or is a one-week celebration of the very ideal of banning books? I dunno. Either one seems plausible to me.
And I have to wonder, what is it about banning books that somebody decided to devote a whole week to it? That's a lot of banning, (probably quite a bit of burning is involved as well, and much boozing.) I don't think I could keep up the enthusiasm to ban books for a whole week.
BOB: Hey Josh, good morning! How ya doin?
ME: Not too good Bob, doing as much book banning as we have for the last four days has really taken it out of me. I'm as tired as George W. Bush's speech therapist! So what's on the schedule for today?
BOB: Book banning.
ME: Shit!
I guess book banners are just more committed to making sure that "questionable subjects" such as "magic," "sex," "evolution," and "baking" never need reach the tender eyes of Americans. And don't think that for a minute I don't appreciate everything book banners do for us. After all, without them how would I know which books were cool enough to read?
This year in honor of "Banned Books Week," (in honor?!) the American Library Association (they've got associations for everything nowadays don't they?) decided to actually get off their lazy asses and do something fun and wacky! So they announced the top ten banned books from 2000 to 2005.
I'm not going to dignify the ALA by reprinting the list here. It gives them too much credit. Suffice it to say that that a few of the regulars are on there, like the Harry Potter series, and I know why the caged bird sings, by Maya Angelou. But also there are a few books I've never heard of, like Forever, by Judy Blume and It's perfectly normal, by Robie H. Harris. If any of you out there have heard of these books please feel free to explain them to me and please include the reasons they could possibly be banned, cause I got no clue.
The problem, as I see it, as that they're banning all the interesting books kids might actually might want to read, and leaving all of the crappy, boring books alone. Thereby sentencing countless generations of students to studying and dissecting pointless and mind-numbingly monotonous novels. So, in honor of "Banned Books Week" I decided to do a little banning of my own. And with your help (not to mention a lack of conscience and plenty of bribing money) we can make a difference!
5. All history books that were made in the middle of last century and consequently end before the civil rights movement.
4. Language books with useless phrases like "La plume de ma tante est sur le table de mon frere" (The feather of my aunt is on the table of my brother.) Or "J'ai faim et j'ai besoin de manger un escargo maintenant!" (I'm hungry and I need to eat a snail right now!")
3. Dictionaries that don't include words like "boobies" and "taint."
2. Math books that don't have the answers in the back.
1. Ethan Frome, by some old dead dude. (This one caused me years of mental scarring, all in the name of an education.)
I would do a top ten list, but, fortunately, I've blocked out the memory of most books I read in school as a child. I'm open for suggestions though, got any?
And I have to wonder, what is it about banning books that somebody decided to devote a whole week to it? That's a lot of banning, (probably quite a bit of burning is involved as well, and much boozing.) I don't think I could keep up the enthusiasm to ban books for a whole week.
BOB: Hey Josh, good morning! How ya doin?
ME: Not too good Bob, doing as much book banning as we have for the last four days has really taken it out of me. I'm as tired as George W. Bush's speech therapist! So what's on the schedule for today?
BOB: Book banning.
ME: Shit!
I guess book banners are just more committed to making sure that "questionable subjects" such as "magic," "sex," "evolution," and "baking" never need reach the tender eyes of Americans. And don't think that for a minute I don't appreciate everything book banners do for us. After all, without them how would I know which books were cool enough to read?
This year in honor of "Banned Books Week," (in honor?!) the American Library Association (they've got associations for everything nowadays don't they?) decided to actually get off their lazy asses and do something fun and wacky! So they announced the top ten banned books from 2000 to 2005.
I'm not going to dignify the ALA by reprinting the list here. It gives them too much credit. Suffice it to say that that a few of the regulars are on there, like the Harry Potter series, and I know why the caged bird sings, by Maya Angelou. But also there are a few books I've never heard of, like Forever, by Judy Blume and It's perfectly normal, by Robie H. Harris. If any of you out there have heard of these books please feel free to explain them to me and please include the reasons they could possibly be banned, cause I got no clue.
The problem, as I see it, as that they're banning all the interesting books kids might actually might want to read, and leaving all of the crappy, boring books alone. Thereby sentencing countless generations of students to studying and dissecting pointless and mind-numbingly monotonous novels. So, in honor of "Banned Books Week" I decided to do a little banning of my own. And with your help (not to mention a lack of conscience and plenty of bribing money) we can make a difference!
5. All history books that were made in the middle of last century and consequently end before the civil rights movement.
4. Language books with useless phrases like "La plume de ma tante est sur le table de mon frere" (The feather of my aunt is on the table of my brother.) Or "J'ai faim et j'ai besoin de manger un escargo maintenant!" (I'm hungry and I need to eat a snail right now!")
3. Dictionaries that don't include words like "boobies" and "taint."
2. Math books that don't have the answers in the back.
1. Ethan Frome, by some old dead dude. (This one caused me years of mental scarring, all in the name of an education.)
I would do a top ten list, but, fortunately, I've blocked out the memory of most books I read in school as a child. I'm open for suggestions though, got any?
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