I know I'm not generally given to sincerity, but the situation in New Orleans is deteriorating and I feel badly about it. Not that I was involved. Because I wasn't. I swear. I don't know all the details, but apparently one of the levees holding that Lake Pocahontas has broken, and now it's draining into the city.
Donate to the Red Cross now. I mean, you probably gave money to those Indonesian fuckers after the tsunami, and what have they ever done for you? This is New Orleans, people, and the future of drinking offensive tasting firewater out of plastic grenades while coaxing girls too drunk to give legally passable consent into showing their boobs depends upon you.
Analogcabin @ 3:41 PM ------------------------- This is a great 1115.org post on Apple's pending renegotiations with the records labels. Analogcabin @ 9:10 AM ------------------------- Because I am educated and serious about things, I listen to NPR. Just today, in fact, I was listening to Talk of the Nation. Be impressed for a moment, and then strap on your thinking cap, because it's that show I'd like to talk to you about now. Analogcabin @ 4:44 PM ------------------------- Call me old-fashioned, but even in this age of relativism I believe that some things are irrefutably and universally true. For example, I believe that love is good and that bad girls deserve a spanking. So too do I believe that the human is no more divine than any other animal and that beer should be consumed as cold as possible. And finally, I believe that everyone has the right to starve themself to death, especially men already sentenced to die for multiple murders. Unfortunately, at least one Maryland judge doesn't see things my way. Analogcabin @ 12:06 PM ------------------------- When one says "blogging," the next word that springs to mind isn't normally vigilantism. Maybe that's because being a vigilante generally requires the courage to confront someone face to face, while bloggers prefer to conceal their rage behind a curtain of internet anonymity. Myself excluded, naturally. Analogcabin @ 4:21 PM ------------------------- Yesterday's big news was that Pat Robertson, host of television's hilarious hit The 700 Club and founder of that league of fun-lovers the Christian Coalition, called for the assassination of Venezuelan dictator Hugo Chavez. It's unclear whether it's big news because publicly supporting political assassination is further evidence that Robertson is a kook or because, given its prior choices, it entirely possible the administration will take his advice to heart. Analogcabin @ 8:06 AM ------------------------- I know a lot of you are wondering what I thought of last night's finale of Six Feet Under. Well, I'll tell you: The last thing that made me cry that much was The Iron Giant.
Analogcabin @ 4:51 PM ------------------------- I know that none of us like to hear it, but it makes perfect sense that terrorist organizations brag about their victories. These are guys without cool tanks and planes on which to put their flag. They sneak around, and if they didn't tell us what they were doing, we might think that, say, people in Iraq are just driving around in Gremlins filled with gas and bad luck.
Analogcabin @ 3:23 PM ------------------------- In today's edition of the journal Nature a group of well-known, well-respected, and totally fucking baked ecologists have suggested that endangered African animals such as the lions and elephants should be introduced into the wilds of North America, specifically the Great Plains. Their point is that there is little enforcement of laws against killing these animals in Africa, and introducing them into the wild here would preserve the species. They go on to say that these types of animals are not unprecedented in the North American ecosystem, as mastodons and sabre-tooth tigers once lived here. Analogcabin @ 2:59 PM ------------------------- There's so much to love about people, but what filled my heart with joy today is the conviction with which people deny reality. Specifically, this. Analogcabin @ 9:19 AM ------------------------- I just read this article, and a little something popped into my head. What was it, O Deliverer of My Deliverance, Light of My Life, Fire of My Loiny Loins? Not that much. Only the fucking root of the problem with our country today.
Analogcabin @ 4:57 PM ------------------------- In an effort not to diverge from my recent spate of brief and admittedly low brow if not a little brilliant posts, I beg you consider this. The gist of the article is that a new biography of Jimi Hendrix reveals that he was discharged from the Army not because of an injury, as he'd claimed, but because he'd made assertions to an Army psychologist that he was addicted to masturbating and was in love with a member of his squad.
Analogcabin @ 4:42 PM ------------------------- When I see the headline Noxious Haze Chokes Malaysia, all I can say is, "What else is new?" I mean, it's fucking Malaysia. How about this stunning headline: Middle-Aged German Weiner Chokes Preteen Malaysian Hooker. Or how about: Disgusting Malaysian Bottomfeeding Fish Dish Chokes, Gives Explosive Diarrhea to 'Adventurous Diner.' Analogcabin @ 4:35 PM ------------------------- If you're like me, then sometimes you just know you're right. You don't need to be told, and you don't need to carefully consider both sides of the issue. You're just fucking right. For me those sometimes are all the time, and today is one of those times.
Analogcabin @ 3:44 PM ------------------------- Sorry. No post today. I'm inspired by nothing these days save Big Brother 6. Instead, please enjoy this picture of the very foxy Erin Gray.
Analogcabin @ 4:29 PM ------------------------- Analogcabin @ 3:50 PM ------------------------- This study claims that women who behave in a flirtatious manner at work actually receive fewer promotions and pay raises than those who do not. They also receive less cock. Analogcabin @ 2:24 PM ------------------------- Sometimes I wonder if even as a child Martin Luther King knew he'd spend his life fighting for the rights of his people. I suppose I wonder about this because I find it just as difficult to imagine a child with his determined ideals as I do a young man falling into that line of work. Perhaps there's a book I could read on this MLK character, but if that's the only way to satisfy my curiosity, I'll probably never know. What I can say for certain, however, is that when I was a boy I never imagined that I'd grow into the voice of those disenfranchised by Gawker and its various hangers-on. But I suppose it's true what they say about not choosing greatness. It chooses you. Or in this case, it chose me. Analogcabin @ 3:04 PM ------------------------- The Scoutmaster of Us All's rout
Analogcabin @ 3:41 PM ------------------------- I watched the season finale of Hell's Kitchen last night because I lead an exciting life. Believe it or not, I also had time to conceive a brilliant post yesterevening, but by this morning I'd forgotten the topic. It is that confluence of events that brings us both, you and I, to here. Analogcabin @ 4:17 PM ------------------------- Suppose you're an editor for CNN.com. Heady dreams, I know, but let your imagination run wild. Let's say that, after blowing some rails of coke off of your underaged Tazmanian assistant's inner thigh, you settle in to some work. It's almost noon, after all, and you can't fuck your underlings' reuben sandwiches all day long. Analogcabin @ 2:37 PM ------------------------- How do you prove to the world that their impression of you -- that of a maverick elected by the slimmest of margins who cares little about the opinions of at least half of his electorate and the vast majority of the globe -- is absolutely accurate? By flouting members of your own party and your country's Senate and recess appointing a man widely considered to be an bad-mannered skeptic of the UN, that's how!
Analogcabin @ 1:33 PM -------------------------
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Monday, August 29, 2005
Today's headline guest was Cindy Sheehan -- she of the dead son and tent city in Crawford, Texas. Like many of you, I sympathize with Mrs. Sheehan. Sleeping in a tent is horrible. And like many more of you, I agree with her point prima facie. Or I did. You might say that today's Talk of the Nation was my second facie, and I didn't like what I facied.
It's not that Sheehan changed my mind on Iraq. I believe now as I did yesterday: that the nation was handed a shit sandwich and told it was a sloppy joe, but that we've already bitten into it, and if there's one thing worse than a shit sandwich, it's a half-eaten shit sandwich.
Sheehan just didn't come across as I'd hoped. I'd imagined a mom's mom -- a woman who put away her apron and missed her PTA meetings reluctantly. A woman who came to Texas because she was compelled by sadness and a sense that her country was doing something wrong. Now I know that's kind of a sexist ideal, but if you're reading this site you're obviously not all that worried about sexism.
Instead, she was incredibly defensive. She came across like a harpy -- confrontational, loud-mouthed, and dismissive. She refused to answer a number of innocuous questions, goaded the host Neal Conan into tossing softballs about her upcoming bus tour, and then cut the interview off much earlier than had been planned. Planned by TOTN's producers, anyway.
And it's not like we're talking about Fox News. This was NP fucking R. Her stroked-out mother is more skeptical of what she says than the people who listen to Talk of the Nation. This was a home game for Sheehan, to be sure.
So, as much as I love her for giving the left a rallying cry in a time when the Democratic Party can't seem to find its ass with a flashlight, I really hope the folks at MoveOn.org keep her away from microphones in the future. Just stand there and look sad, Cindy.
Nobody plugged that mic in, right? Perfect. Just like that, Cindy.
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Friday, August 26, 2005
You might remember John Allen Muhammad. "The DC Sniper," as he was known, killed 10 people and wounded 3 with the help of his Tonto Lee Malvo during an October 2002 killing spree. Muhammad has already been convicted and sentenced to death in Virginia, but he was recently transferred to a jail in Maryland where he awaits his second trial. Apparently, though, Muhammad isn't entire pleased with his stay in Maryland thus far, and has refused any food. Prison doctors have determined that further starvation might result in serious health consequences or even Muhammad's death. In response, a Maryland judge today ordered that corrections officers can force feed Malvo if he continues to refuse to eat.
Just to be totally clear on this, what happened is that a judge has ordered that a man already sentenced to death is not allowed to starve himself.
Fuck human rights. Paris Hilton's thin, but I don't see anybody stuffing anythingdown her throat except wiener. And yet we feel compelled to insure that Muhammad lives long enough to see his execution?
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Thursday, August 25, 2005
But today vigilantism has come to the blogosphere. Or come near the blogosphere in hope of coming on the blogosphere. I speak of course about "friendly_chic407" and the much-linked-to evidence of her encounter with a public masturbator.
What allegedly occurred is that a man, so taken with her commuting beauty and booty, was unable to restrain himself from whipping out his erect weiner. She, so taken with the sight of his erect wiener, was unable to restrain herself from whipping out her cameraphone and snapping the remarkable picture.
How do I feel about this issue? I think it's complicated. On one hand, I suppose he deserves whatever attention he gets. On the other hand, I don't want to live in a country where masturbating near attractive female commuters is wrong. And why is the picture she took, of an unexpecting man caught masturbating, lauded as "brave" and "heroic," while photos I may or may not take of unexpecting women caught showering or, say, tanning, derided as "grainy," "illegal," and "completely without artistic merit."
We live in a world of fine lines, ladies and gentlemen, and I want you to know that and touching myself. Oh, God. Look at me. Don't look at me. LOOK AT ME!
New York authorities have not identified the public masturbator as Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz. Yet.
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Wednesday, August 24, 2005
But feigned indignation aside, do any of us really think it's that bad an idea? Especially when you couch the suggestion the way Reverend Patty did: "It cheaper than starting a war." And how.
Pat Robertson is a lot of things. For example, he claimed that Chavez's Venezuela was a lauching pad for the spread of communism in this hemisphere. That suggests he's either really out of touch or more optimistic about communism's future than Castro. But he's also been more critical of the Iraq War than many of his goose-stepping brethren on the far right. So rather than seeing his comments as merely insane, I choose to imagine that they're a canny criticism of the war -- pointing out to us all that there are tyrants as dangerous as Saddam much closer to home, and next time we decide to take things into our own hands, perhaps we shouldn't throw the baby out with the bathwater. After all, is assassinating one guy really so disgusting when the alternative is razing an entire country?
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Monday, August 22, 2005
Of course I'm talking about a large metallic buttplug, not the animated feature film.
All kidding aside, I thought the episode was good, though it did dash my season's long hope of seeing Ruth's creamsicle-colored bush once and for all. But Six Feet Under only took home the silver at my television olympics this weekend. The gold went to Big Brother 6, which managed to deliver the single greatest hour of television ever produced.
First, some background on the show: It is my belief that Big Brother is the best reality show on television today. The reasons are manifold, but let it suffice to say that it is unadulterated. There is no island nor pretense of hunger and the need to survive. It's just a bunch of people locked in a house with nothing to do but scheme against one another in bikinis.
Next, some background on this season: The way things have turned out this year differs from previous years in that there are two well-defined alliances and the members of each are known to everyone in the house. Where it is normally a smile and a stab in the back, this year it is open war. On one hand there is The Sovereign Six (now Three.) They were led by an Iraqi gentleman named Kaysar who at one point a few weeks ago actually uttered the words, "I will terrorize them." The remaining members of The Six are Janelle, an overtanned VIP cocktail waitress and thief, Howie, a nine-fingered former male stripper and wannabe weatherman, and Rachel, a horse-faced horse breeder. On the other hand there is The Friendship -- a group of alarmingly self-righteous, quasi-religious shitheels who were led by a musclebound firefighter from Las Vegas prior to his eviction. Though The Six seem more objectionable on paper, the moralistic bullshit continually spewed by The Friendship combines with their bizarrely cultish name to make the stomach churn.
It should be noted that these names -- The Sovereign Six and The Friendship -- are not formally required by the producers. That is, they don't appear on any jerseys or anything. They're chosen by the contestants to refer to their respective alliances.
Now for this weekend. What happened was that Howie and Janelle decided that, in the wake of a rather bold betrayal which resulted in Kaysar's ouster, their best course of action would be to basically torture The Friendship. They got in their faces and taunted them. Called them names. Called their family names. The insults weren't particularly cutting, as neither Howie nor Janelle is very bright, but it was obviously an uncomfortable situation. Imagine being locked in a small house with someone who, every time they saw you, called you a douchebag. Not the best put down, but irritating after repetition.
During a particularly heated moment, Howie said to April, a ditzy blonde member of The Friendship, that he'd put Pepperoni on his pizza and eat it. Of course, this was no ordinary pizza topping. Pepperoni is the name of April's dog -- a pet she's been vocal about missing.
It was hilarious enough that Howie could threaten to do something as ridiculous as eating a pet, and do it with a straight face. But what put the episode over the edge is that they cut from his absurd but apparently earnest threat to April, in the diary room, crying over his comments.
You can't write that kind of comedy, Alan Ball.
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Friday, August 19, 2005
Suppose, for example, that, angered because my neighbors continually allow their dog to shit on my lawn, I decided to form the Holy Army of Dog Crap Liberators, and that one night we took a dump on their porch. If we didn't leave a note saying something like, "This is human poop, and it is here to show you that you reap what your dog sows on my lawn -- poop," they might mistake our terrorist act as an accident or emergency or something.
On the other hand, it would seem logical that you wouldn't tell anybody about your failures. Nonetheless, an Al Qaeda-related group took responsibility for firing three rockets at two US warships in the Red Sea and totally fucking whiffing.
I mean, these are warships we're talking about -- gray things hundreds of feet long and many storeys tall floating in a totally flat and featureless expanse of water. And it's not like somebody bumped their shoulder while they were aiming on the first one, but they hit on two and three. They missed three fucking times, like clockwork. They might as well just issue a press release to the world saying, "Attention World: We spent many years saving our pitiful paychecks to by three rockets, but when we got them the instructions were in Russian. We thought we could figure it out, but in the end we couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with them. You should fear us as much as random lightning strikes."
Somewhere in a cave in Tora Bora, Osama is shaking his head and mumbling to himself.
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Thursday, August 18, 2005
So we're all left to question whether we'd support wild elephants roaming around Kansas. I can say without hesitation that I would. Lions and elephants are the one reason to go to Africa, which we all know is a fucking hellhole otherwise. Having them here would save us all a lot of jetlag and diarrhea.
Elephants, above, might finally be able to determine which side is crispier.
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The article details how the ICANN, the group responsible for approving internet domain name suffixes such as .com and .net, delayed a final decision on approval of .xxx after "unprecedented" last minute opposition against the creation of an online "red light district."
What's heartwarming is that those opposed to online pornography refuse to acknowledge that the internet is already drowning in it. Though the war is over and the cumdrunk cockgobblers won, people continue to fight meaningless battles. To them it matters little if those battles might actually serve as a path to fairer regulation down the road. Sure, pornographic site addresses ending with .xxx would be easy for parents, schools, or governments to identify and filter, and of course, the creation of the suffix would provide opponents of internet porn with a mechanism to argue that all pornographic content should be required to be hosted under a .xxx domain, but who cares? Throw the fucking baby out with the bathwater, because moral superiority means utter blindness to reality.
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Tuesday, August 16, 2005
It's a pretty big revelation, even for a man known for his shocking insight such as myself. So strap your flapjack ass in, because right now you're in the luggage compartment of Spaceship Awesome, and we're fixin' to blast the fuck off. T minus 5, 4, 3, 2, 1....
The article concerns Cindy Sheehan, mother of a soldier who died in Iraq, who is currently leading an anti-war protest outside of President Bush's Crawford ranch. Over the past few days, tensions have been rising between the protesters and some residents of the area. The residents' most common complaint was that the protesters are crowding the street near the site, creating traffic difficulty. And so the residents are making their inconvenience known. For example, Monday night a resident was arrested after he drove his truck over hundreds of small wooden crosses bearing the names of dead soldiers that the protesters had erected. Now the residents are petitioning county officials to prevent the protesters from congregating in the area.
In response to comments about the protesters' civil rights, petition-signer John Laufenberg said, "All those of us that live in that area and in that community and our children also have civil rights, and we do feel that those are being seriously compromised at this time."
The core of what's really taking our country apart right now is right there in Laufenberg's comment. No, it's not that children have civil rights, though I'll grant that it is a somewhat dubious move to grant rights to people that have, time and again, proven unable to refrain from picking their noses in public. No, the real issue is that people don't know the difference between their rights and the things they'd like to have happen.
For me, it comes down to a single phrase: "the pursuit of happiness." The people who started this country, magnificent bastards all, put right there in the Declaration of Independence that one of the three most important rights possessed by every person is to be able to pursue happiness. Not to be happy. To try to be happy.
So what does this mean to you? Let's take an example from my life. I love Wendy's chili. I think it's really delicious, and it always makes me happy. According to those Declaration guys, I have the right to try and eat that chili whenever I want. But I don't have the right to get the chili. If a cretinous Wendy's employee refuses to sell me chili because they're out of it or something, I have the right to be sad and hungry, but not much else. Because, though granting someone the right to try to be happy is cool, in practice it doesn't mean all that much. Consider the inverse of the right of the pursuit of happiness: it's kind of like granting you the right to be disappointed all the time.
And this, in my opinion, is the problem with everything right now. People think they have the right to be happy. In this specific case, happiness means feeling safe driving on a crowded street past people who are upset about something. We don't have the right to feel safe, and that's because the magnificent bastards behind this whole deal knew that feeling safe is totally objective. I might feel safe on a boat of the coast of Alaska in pursuit of the deadliest catch, but you might feel safe in a hermetically sealed penthouse suite at the Four Seasons.
So, yes, Laufenberg is correct when he says that he and his children have civil rights. The problem is that driving down an uncrowded and quiet street isn't one of them. Would I be pissed if a bunch of fucking hippy assholes were protesting at the end of my driveway? Of course. Would I try to intimidate them by wandering my fenceline carrying a shotgun, my greasepainted body glorious and nude, save the smallest of tiny jock straps? Of course. It would be annoying, but in the end it would be just one more way in which I'd failed in my pursuit of happiness.
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Monday, August 15, 2005
I know what you're thinking: If by "squad" he meant a member of the cast of TV's One Tree Hill, who isn't? And I second that emotion. But that's not what about the article concerned me.
Instead, consider this:
The man pictured It is Charles Cross, author of the Hendrix biography the article references as well as the Kurt Cobain biography Heavier Than Heaven. In my opinion, Chuck has the greatest job there is, except for maybe an Official Ft. Lauderdale Bikini Inspecter. He should celebrate that coolness by having a haircut that doesn't look like a dustmop dropped on to a bowling ball. He also might consider a choice of glasses that doesn't accentuate his alarmingly wide-set and googled eyes. Perhaps mirrored aviators, as they worked well for Top Gun's Sundown.
So, anyone want to bet he's from England?
Sundown, left, chose mirrored aviators.
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Thursday, August 11, 2005
Helmets and masks can't protect Malaysians, above, from the hell they call home.
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Wednesday, August 10, 2005
I didn't need to read all of Erik Lundegaard's MSNBC.com article to know the whole premise of the thing was wrong. What's the premise?, you ask, lazy, reading-averse fuck that you are. The premise is that Some Women Just Get Sexier with Age, and I'm here to say that just not fucking true. And I'll do more than just say it's not true, I'll prove it's not true. How?, you wonder, uncreative ape that you are. Here's how: By selecting a few names off of the personal masturbation inventory he compiled (and apparently sold, believe it or not) and using the accompanying pictures provided as proof of his assertions against him. And then by finding him and karate-chopping him in the teeth.
Sigourney Weaver
Baseball gloves are better when they're worn in. But looking like a worn-in baseball glove doesn't make you sexy, and nothing proves it better than the above picture.
I'll admit that Weaver isn't really my type, but if stringy and iron-jawed is yours, consider the below image of Alien vintage Sigourney, and tell me which you'd prefer.
Annabella Sciorra
I've always said that Annabella Sciorra is my Meg Ryan, so it pains me to say it, but she's not carrying all those vowels as well as she used to. Sure, seeing her in lingerie in The Sopranos was a delight, as Lundegaard points out. But the problem is that looking at her in it, you believed she'd sleep with Tony. She was a little tired, a little skanky. Sciorra in her prime was a radient pixie, as the below image of her getting some personality plus, high-energy, multi-colored loving illustrates.
Angelina Jolie
Now don't get me wrong -- even today Angie deserves nothing quite so much as a The Spoonbender-branded longdicking. But to say that she's sexier now than she was in Hackers is to show a real disdain for the truth. The bottom line is that, while I think she's holding it together pretty well, all those years of polluting her body with the likes of Thornton (God bless his toothy soul) are catching up to her. Not to mention that these days you'd have to deal with a lot of totally gross refugee kids running around the house, all flies in their eyes and AIDSy. Imagine the kind of crazy she was back when she married Jonny Lee Miller (you magnificent bastard). Can't? I'll tell you what kind of crazy: the good kind.
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Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I'll give the 1965 vintage Erin Gray, above, a mast to grab on to.
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Monday, August 08, 2005
Haroon Aswat, above, is the
British national suspected of trying to set up terrorist training camps in the United States. He's also super ugly. I mean, look at that nose and those teeth. What an ugly person. And what a name -- Haroon Aswat. How many times do you think he's been called Baboon Asswad in his life? I'll bet it's a lot.
Seriously, with a face like that, who needs training to terrorize people?
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Friday, August 05, 2005
Hello!
The Tulane University study defined flirtatious behavior as doing things like wearing revealing clothing such as short skirts and low cut blouses, massaging male coworkers' shoulders, or crossing of the legs provocatively. On the upside, researchers found that 49 percent of those surveyed admitted to trying to use sex to advance their careers.
Now, I'm no researchologist, but I think it's pretty easy to spot the flaw in the survey. The women in the study were aged from their mid-20's to 60, and yet the researchers did not consider the fact that a taunt, dewy 25-year-old in a hot little skirt and stockings has a certain set qualifications, while a dumpy 55-year-old in the same provocative outfit has another set entirely.
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Thursday, August 04, 2005
I say this to make you understand why I do it. Like the hopeful alcoholic wakes with no intention of taking a drink, I don't climb out of bed, naked and glistening in the early morning sun, walk out onto my balcony, use my engorged genitals to catch the brown fieldhands' eyes, and say, "Today I will critique a Gawker Media publication, and I will do it unfairly and anti-Semitically." It's something that just happens when I smell injustice. I'm moved to act, and I do.
More and more lately I'm moved to act by various fans. Like so many brides of serfs enraged at so many prima noctum and offering so many blowjobs to be avenged by so many Robins Hood, they come to me. Below is one such missive.
Dearest Sirrah:
Daily you comfort me with your wisdom, and you do it for free. You speak for those without voices, and by that I mean that you write for those without thumbs. Though I don't know you, I feel like I know you. It is for that reason that I come to you now.
I have been aggrieved by Gawker, and I pray that you will avenge the affront. I can not pay, so please take these photographs of my freshly-shorn, high school vintage vagina. It is the only currency I have.
Sincerely --
Hillary [MIDDLE NAME REDACTED] Duff
You can imagine how difficult it would be for me to say no.
It was in much that way that one of my many fans brought this piece of Jessica Coen political musery to my attention. In it, she references a Washington Post piece discussing our President's latest vacation. She closes by saying:
In the past year, I've had exactly 10 days away from my job (5 of which were spent freelancing elsewhere). And while my responsibilities hardly compare, I'm pretty sure I work a lot harder than the big guy. I'm going to go out on a limb here, but: Shit ain't right.
While I completely agree that our president takes excessive advantage of his flexible work schedule, the argument is undermined by the fact that the job she's so put upon by and to which she compares his consists of, basically, finding embarrassing pictures of Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen.
Like I said, I'm no fan of the job our President is doing, but when he's dealing with embarrassing pictures, it does involve the Geneva Convention.
Workin' hard or hardly workin'?
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Wednesday, August 03, 2005
continued yesterday after shooting forward Christ the Bolt Thrower picked off another one.
The score this summer stands at God 6, the Boy Scouts 0.
Never hit the same spot twice, My Divine Fucking Ass.
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Tuesday, August 02, 2005
From the get go I was a fan of Michael. He managed to come across as sympathetic while everyone else came off as pathetic. Plus, he has "Head Chef" tattooed on his knuckles, which I think is kind of funny. Anyway, I was pleased that he won, but I've got to express my dissatisfaction with his prize. For those of you who, like me, watch the show, you know that the premise was that Gordon Ramsey, British firebrand and chef of some reknown, claimed he could turn anyone into a world class chef. The person who best survived his training, which didn't seem much like training to me, would be endowed with a restaurant of his very own. It's a valuable prize, to be sure, if only for its auction value.
But yesterday, after Michael was declared the winner, Ramsey made him an offer: Either take a restaurant of his own or come to London and work at Ramsey's restaurant. As what? Ramsey didn't say. Could well be as an Assistant Rim Job Technician. Michael looked pained at the offer. In my gut I don't think it's because he thought it was a difficult choice, but because he didn't know how to say, "Fuck off, Ramsey. I want the restaurant." So, gentleman and fool that he is, Michael took the job. Idiot.
Then there's Dewberry. As the gentleman from mentioned in the comments here not too long ago, Dewberry is a really fat gay Southern contestant who walked off the show after being called "Fatberry" or something. Anyway, he was back last night. His moment in the spotlight came when he declared himself faint and took a break in the hall during the most intense period of the dinner service. Apparently having 100 pounds of lap fat makes working hard in a hot kitchen kind of a drag. In any case, the thing that bothered me is that he was met with backslaps and applause upon returning. That's bullshit in my book.
Let's say that I'm part of your connect the dots team. If I smoked a whole bunch of weed before the connect the dots contest then decide I need to sit out the second quarter 'cause the dots are bringing me down, you wouldn't given me a high five when I returned for the fourth quarter. Well it's the same with Dewberry and baked spaghetti.
Regardless, congrats Michael -- you really fucked up that prize thing.
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Monday, August 01, 2005
Anderson Cooper, Kommissar of News and Events at CNN, pops his well-bred white head into your office. "Time to earn your seven figure salary," he says. "I've got a pile of hot stories, but the headlines are cold. Pop them in your cerebral microwave, and make sure when they go on the site they're as hot as a prematurely gray news anchor and Dan Dierdorf in a sauna filled with fresh-cooked Jello."
That's pretty fucking hot, you think to yourself. But I'm up for it.
About three or four stories in, you get to one detailing the homecoming of an 8-year-old Nevada girl. She'd been kidnapped and taken to Mexico by a convicted sex offender. Obviously there's a lot in the story to sink your teeth into, but what do you come up with?
Nevada Girl Found in Mexico Glad to be Home
Duh.
Of course she's glad to be home. Anyone not from Mexico is fucking thrilled to be out Mexico. Even Mexicans are glad to be out of Mexico. Nevadan Wants to Make Home in Mexico? Now that's a news story I'd read.
And then there's the whole sex offender thing, and the fact that the man was the mother's boyfriend. I mean, how much more juice could there be? Man Takes Girlfriend's 8-Year-Old Daughter South of the Border Now that works. Or, Man to Girlfriend's Preteen Daughter: 'Gimme some Chimi!' Or, Girl to Mom's Mexican Boyfriend: 'Hold the Sour Cream!
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Frumpmaster General John Bolton, looking disheveled and kind of baggy left, prepares to guide the reform of an institution we really don't pay much mind to, anyway.
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