Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Nerd Corner: Preemptive Propoganda Edition

ComiCon 2014 has ended, but don't put your Mjolnir back into storage, keep your repulser rays charged, sell your soul to Disney, because it's time once again for Nerd Corner.


Not an advertisement.
This coming Friday (August 1, if you're bad at calendars or are a time traveler. No, time traveler, I will not tell you what year it is, be a better time traveler.) will see the release of the latest in the Marvel line of movies, called Guardians of the Galaxy. It's an outer space sci-fi shoot-em-up featuring a dude, a shirtless painted dude, a green painted lady, a talking raccoon and a sentient tree. 

Regardless of how absurd that sounds, I can almost guarantee there will be some talk radio idiot with nothing real to talk about, desperate for content, who will try to make this silly movie into a political argument. Well, screw you, obnoxious pundits, I'm going to beat you to it, because stupidity is easily predictable:

"This Guardians of the Galaxy movie is immediately, upon it's title, presupposes that any one minority group gets to dictate the security of an entire galaxy. What if there's a Muslim solar system that is at odds with that galaxy? Will these 'Guardians' guard against that solar system in order to protect our galaxy? No, only a coordinated military force, a strong defense system is necessary to maintain the galaxy status quo and make sure that business is protected. Thank you, lower our taxes. Typical liberal propaganda. They're trying to use all the pretty colors and spaceships and explosions to indoctrinate our children!

By astoundingly talented Christopher Umiga. Image source.

"A talking raccoon whose best friend is a tree? That is obvious, overt environmentalist agitprop. Oh, I get it, Earth is supposedly so uninhabitable, that man and nature have to take refuge in space? And they're fraternizing with aliens, a symbol of illegal aliens, no doubt. Why isn't it strong, white characters leading a group of misfit aliens, inhuman creatures without a home, giving those aliens purpose as only white males can do? (Editor's note: Holy crap, that's what this movie is, isn't it? Oh god, I'm not sure I want to see this movie anymore.)


"The protagonists aggrandize scofflaws as though urinating on the sovereign laws of a society is something to be admired. Scofflaws are not heroes! I bet that Groot character grows marijuana off its head or shoulders, maybe. 


"They use guns, which is refreshing in a movie churned out by Liberal Hollywood. But they push forth the laser gun agenda, what about the jobs lost in the projectile bullet industry? These Hollywood types don't think about the hard working American bullet manufacturers, do they? That is why I am here, folks, I am the salt of the earth, the pickle of humanity if-you-will. 

"Protect your children! Stay home and watch something like the 'Left Behind' series or read bedtime stories by Matt Drudge or practice waving flags while you still can! The Hollywood elite are coming for your children!"

Should you watch Guardians of the Galaxy (Not an endorsement...unless they pay me) this weekend, I hope you are able to watch without being distracted by the political agendas of the filmmakers (of which there probably were none).

Monday, July 28, 2014

Tampon > Douchebag

If you're not okay with graphic talk of bodily functions, now is your chance to scroll to the bottom, leave a polite comment, tweet about how compellingly hilarious this is, paint the URL on your nude body, post pictures of that on Reddit, then take a nap, and forget everything that happened previous.
Yep, this one's about tampons...in case you don't read post titles.
Image source (only $12 on Etsy)

Like a modern person, I don't watch television through cable providers, but rather, online (it has nothing to do with my mastery of the electronic arts, says the blogger, but rather because I'm cheap and screw Time Warner). With the legal consumption of entertainment online, it sometimes becomes a necessity to endure thirty second commercials at odd intervals. Recently, while legally (which I emphasize because the NSA is reading) watching those shows there were a series of tampon commercials.

A theme emerged throughout these commercials. It seems obvious that the ad agencies charged with making the commercials and the owners of the companies to whom these ads are pitched are both, icky filthy old men. Not that it's inherently wrong to be an icky filthy old man, but when your basic understanding of a woman's menstrual cycle boils down to "they're on the rag, we sell the rags, stuff our rags in your blood hole," you probably shouldn't be put in charge of advertising for women's sanitary pads. Every commercial was essentially, "look at what you can do if you have OUR tampon jammed up in you. You can move around, go rock climbing, sing karaoke, or wear a skirt without the fear of leaving a trail like Billy from 'Family Circus' just got stabbed." 
Like that but red dashes
It's as though they believe that a woman is completely paralyzed during her menstrual cycle, or that during a period, blood is just rocketing out of a vagina like an exploding volcano. These commercials try to make you believe that other tampons have the same effect as putting your thumb over a hose nozzle, and the volume of flow can only be measured in liters.
These commercials are based off men's misunderstanding and fear of menstrual blood. Men, there's no reason to be afraid of the period. You should be afraid of when the period stops (the period on the period, if you will--Oh, you won't? Pun retracted.). It's a natural part of life, settle down. It's no more embarrassing to buy tampons for your girlfriend/wife than it is to buy a 40 pack of toilet paper. PMS only lasts a few days, being a human enema receptacle is endless.

Monday, July 21, 2014

A Better Country Song

It seems almost cliche to say that modern country music is an incestuous cesspool of derivation, regurgitating the same concepts and themes of successful forebearers. 

Not to be condescending, but Toby Keith is literally preying
upon people by exploiting puerile iconography. Image source
The men all seem to have been weened on Jimmy Buffet and are fighting to become his heir, while the women seem to have all been "done wrong" and are playing out some revenge fantasy.

Aggrandizing drinking, eschewing sleeves, organizing super-white synchronized dances, murder (because you're such an "outlaw" in your $300 pair of bedazzled boots), partying, disregard for generalized humanity, emphasis on selfish pursuits, and generalized inappropriate behavior have become constantly rehashed tropes. It's almost like they've discovered a formula they can use to dupe countrified folksy folk out of their money.

Reinforcing socially irresponsible behavior shouldn't be the norm. Songwriters ought to create catchy tunes that will inspire--for lack of a better term--hillbilly dipsh*ts to aspire to something better, a way of life that benefits their community and themselves. Hence, I give you my take on a Country song to make the world a better place:

Now drinking almond milk on a Saturday
Vacuuming without delay
Making sure my kids put their toys away
Representin' equal rights 'cause we're okay with gay.

We respect cleanliness
Are empathetic of others happiness
But worry about the mental healthiness
Of people who think they're blessed.

(Brief guitar breakdown complimented with moderate fiddle work followed by chorus with plenty of echo)

It's important to have class
That's why I put my beer in a glass
Ain't no one I would harass
'Cause we're about playful sass.


(End Chorus)

I put some money away
In my 401K
Down with oral 'cause I'm a generous lay
Respectin' accomplishments of Dr. Dre

In a pressed khaki with my shirt tucked in
I put all aluminum cans in the recyclin' bin
Playin' croquette for the win
But I don't gloat on account a that bein' a sin.

Respect blue collars but I bleach mine white
Don't mistake that for racial spite
Only dumb people cause a fight
The global community to me is pretty alright.

(A little slide guitar twang followed by a banjo solo, then chorus)

It's important to have class
That's why I put my beer in a glass
Ain't never called no one a piece a ass
Understandin' the relationship of velocity and maaaaaaassss...
Best make sure you're well-rounded and uh, enjoy smokin' that grass!

Actual country musicians didn't need to overcompensate.
(Major fiddle breakdown where guys in flannel playing rhythm guitar go back to back and nod vigorously over each other's shoulders regarding how awesomely they are shredding. Maybe some visuals about chubby dudes cannonballing the swimmin' hole. And I take my attache case full of cash off screen into a Crate and Barrel.)
~Fin~

The references to beer and weed alone should net the few remaining record companies a couple of million. But hey, if you don't want to save the music industry, go ahead and ignore the holy grail of Country songs. No, no, I'm not Garth Brooks, it's flattering you would draw that comparison, though.

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

The Only Anti-Drug PSA You'll Ever Need

As part of the War on Drugs, I wanted to enlist and do my part, telling kids why they shouldn't do drugs. No, of course this has nothing to do with any sort of court ordered public service, how dare you accuse me of...Uh, I mean, why do you ask?
I know bears riding horses seems cool, and it is, but it
doesn't really have anything to do with drugs.

So put your kids in front of the computer and let me do all the work of teaching your kids about the dangers of illicit substances. 

Watch out kids! There's a drug behind you! No, really, look behind you, there's probably a drug. Is your mommy or daddy drinking coffee? They're drug addicts. Caffeine is a drug, the anti-depressants they've been popping like delicious candy ever since you were born, also a drug. The whiskey they used to rub on your gums when you were teething, also a drug. When your Uncle Roger comes over and he seems really tired and hungry and laughs at everything? He's probably also on a drug. Your teachers, they are on drugs.

And you don't want to be like those dumb adults, do you? Can you imagine? Being like your lame parents? Don't make me LOL. (See, kids, you can trust me, I'm cool. I saw The Aquabats back in the 90's. Uh oh, I lost you, didn't I?) No one wants to be like their parents because parents suck, so don't be like your parents, stay away from drugs. 
Maybe just say "yes to taco" singular, lil' guy.
The worst part? Your parents are feeding you drugs at a shocking frequency, just because they tell you that you're sick. Can you believe that!?! Trust me, I wouldn't lie to you. Since when has an internet weirdo lied to you? You know who lies to you, your parents. They lied for years, and are probably still lying about magical beings who deliver presents, money, and candy. So you know I'm telling you the truth when I say that your parents are giving you drugs. 
See? Internet weirdos always tell the truth.

When you get headaches, they probably give you drugs. When you have the sniffles, boom, drugs. Not paying attention in school? Get ready to have a funnel stuffed into your sass-mouth and drugs poured down your attention-deficited throat.

You don't have to "just say 'no,'" you have to remain ever-vigilant against the forces of adulthood! 

Okay, now give the computer back to your parents. 

Hey, parents, aren't drugs great? We can't let these kids know about all the kick-ass drugs, diminishing the supply of good drugs. Screw those dumb kids, let's keep all the drugs for ourselves, right?!? Keep kids off drugs so we can have all the good drugs for us. (Nancy Reagan would give me a rusty trombone if she read that powerful message.)

Monday, July 14, 2014

Clean Talk

Sex is great (Hi, Mom, I know you're reading) for some. but aside from my own personal body shame, I have sensitive ears which make naked slappy time unpalatable. I am an upstanding member of my community, and I can't risk the things said in the throws of passion to permeate the thin walls of my home to dance upon the eardrums of nosy neighbors, damaging my reputation amongst the general populace. All of these vulgar terms for genitalia, the blasphemy, and the garbled onomatopoeia can be offensive when taken out of context. Which is why I would like to urge people to take the "dirty" out of "dirty talk". 

It doesn't have to ruin your flesh-mashing good times. Things can still remain sexy without the overt crudity. We just need to rewire our brain to find "clean talk" as erotic as using "naughty" words. 

Nothing is more vulgar than Donald Trump.
"I find your physical appearance gratifying to my ocular processes. It would be a distinct pleasure to have you disrobe in my presence and copulate with me. Should you be inclined, through mental or physical stimulation, do please send a torrent of blood to create pressure on the corpora cavernosa, elevating it to rigidity. Then bring that reproductive intromittent organ over to me and thrust vigorously into my vestibule."

"This copulation is very pleasurable to me. Would I be a bit drunker, I wouldst ask that you orally lubricate my distal orifice of the alimentary canal before potentially and likely unsuccessfully attempt to penetrate said orifice with a digit or your engorged flesh syringe, but please do recall that I too would enjoy mutual stimulation and, in concert with you, enjoy the act."

"Oh my unspecified deity, this gracious act is remarkably agreeable to my countenance. Oh, person whom I shall refer to as the Spanish term for a parental figure, you are providing an unparalleled journey through gratification. I would appreciate discharging my viscous gland secretion upon your luscious mammaries."
See? Clean talk can be just as erotically charged as using...Who am I kidding. The point was to show that words aren't vulgar, their usage is.  

Friday, July 11, 2014

Strain on Our Most Precious Resources

There has been an outbreak of celebrity pregnancies. It seems like a baby plague is ravaging Hollywood. If you've even been a contestant on X-Factor or walked through the background of a YouTube video, get yourself tested for a baby infection. You too, gentlemen, 'cause everybody's gettin' pregnant up in here. 
Remember the good old days when celebrities would travel the world, snatching up already produced babies like collectible shot glasses? Now celebrities are getting pregnant like commoners, yuck. They might be having coupled, non-group consensual sex, ewwwwww. The only saving grace is that those are probably unplanned babies, thank god, otherwise, I'd be afraid PBS had fully taken over Tinsel Town like some sort of puritanical insurgent (it would be the cutest insurgency if suddenly Grover and Snuffleupagus suicide bombed HBO...that is not an endorsement of such a thing, please don't, Grover).
Image source
These celebrities don't know what they're doing, though. This is reckless behavior, not just for them and their Molly-popping lifestyle, but in terms of their eco-system. All of these new celebrity babies are over-populating the entertainment industry. This boom of new celebribabies are going to be a drain on our already-strained, most precious natural resource: fame. 
That's Mr. Peanut over there, he forgot his monocle.

When there were only a handful of networks and cable outlets the celebrity population was at a healthy growth that matched the media landscape and when it became too much of a stretch on the industry, the Illuminati would send Phil Spector or Robert Wagner and Christopher Walken to free up some space for some child actor. But then, along came the internet which disrupted the balance and a vacuum arose. Desperate to fill that vacuum with their own legacies, celebrities have started to try and fill the hole with their own litters. 

Unfortunately for them, while they were waiting for their novelty-spawn to gestate in their silken wombs, the rabble are absorbing the attention meant for our anointed. By the time the sacred celebribabies are old enough to ascend to the throne, agencies and audition rooms and casting agencies will be some sort of apocalyptic hell-scape with lesser-humans dueling to see who shall ascend to occupy the fragmented envy-and-admiration places of our collective hive-minds. 
This is my new favorite statue. It's in Norway. I now have a new
dream travel destination. Fight them babies!

What kind of world is awaiting these unfortunately-named, human celebrity accessories? Is this a natural escalation from the trend of purse-dogs and in a few years we'll be faced with roving packs of overly-privileged infants whose parents lost interest after a few nanny's quit? Will we have to have game show hosts reminding us, the general populace, to have our celebrities spayed and neutered to curb the rampant celebrispawning? 

Tis a brave new world through which we wade, my fellow commoners. Maybe Julian Lennon is the only one who can help us transition this new crop of diluted talent into natural lives of obscurity, not based on attention.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Vi Estas Merdo Kapon, Dio

Tonight I was in the middle of writing a hilarious post about awkward sex talk (hi Mom), and paused to go to a rally for a seven-year-old child with a brain tumor that will murder him just by growing and following its nature, and so it felt gross to return to making jokes about absurd adult squishy situations.

He is going to die. There is no potential for recovery.

It's the saddest thing I can imagine, having to watch in frustration as you or your child slowly withers to debilitation and dies. Sorry to put that in your brain. But when you're confronted with unfathomable circumstances that push you down the steep, slippery slopes of depression into an inescapable chasm of despondency, the only logical response is to drag others into your ball-pit of sadness.

The rally was beautiful, an entire community gathering to give him a special moment of positivity to help define his life. I don't know the family or the child or his friends or family friends, and I'm not self-aggrandizing enough to think may participation meant anything. But there's a universal frustration over an uncontrollable injustice and profound sadness of an all-to-soon death with which we can all sympathize and empathize.

Who knows what happens after death. I hope this child, who has lost the use of his legs and is going blind in one eye because an inoperable tumor is swelling and crushing his brain, gets the chance to see a Heaven, saunter up to the gates, demand to see whatever God fits his belief system, and gets to ask, "Kion diable?" Because I assume they've all adopted the universal language of Esperanto in Heaven, (Google Translate has an Esperanto translation option in case you're not William Shatner, the star of the only all-Esperanto language movie, Incubus.) And either get a satisfactory answer, or karate chop that deity in its "mysterious ways" if there's some vague, ephemeral answer.

Hopefully, there's a reason for all of us, some deity waiting to explain the divine providence behind things like premature, agonizing death, or at least some sort of justice. Otherwise, "Vi estas merdo kapon, Dio."

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