Went looking at Christmas lights tonight. Found a house doing those dancing lights to music. Tuned the radio to hear what the song was…Darude – Sandstorm.
So the “Die Hard is a Christmas movie” debate has hit a new level. Wife: We should watch a Halloween movie.
Wife: Beetlejuice or Ghostbusters or Halloweentown…or Addams Family is good, too.
Me: Wait, you think Ghostbusters is a Halloween movie but Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie??
Wife: Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. Ghostbusters has ghosts so it’s a Halloween movie.
Me: But…Die Hard takes place AT A CHRISTMAS PARTY. Ghostbusters doesn’t have any reference to Halloween anywhere in the movie!
Wife: I’m still right.
Methinks she is done with grandpa taking pictures and is ready to make with the candy getting at the Pumpkin Trail.
If you’ve been under a rock, then you might not have heard of Joss Whedon‘s latest gem, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. Comprised of three fairly short episodes and designed for web distribution, this mini-series is full of whimsy and general silliness. Long time geeks will recognize the stars that Whedon has breathing life into this latest creation. Names like Nathan Fillion (Firefly) and Neil Patrick Harris (Doogie Howser and How I Met Your Mother) comprise the hero(?) and his nemesis. Center to their current conflict is Felicia Day (Buffy the Vampire Slayer).
In usual Joss Whedon style, the hilarity ensues from the very first scene and it just gets better and better as the story unfolds. Without giving any spoilers, the premise is that Dr. Horrible (Harris) wants to join the Evil League of Evil and must prove himself which is easier said than done because he is always foiled by Captain Hammer (Fillion). Unfortunately, the time of free viewing on the website has passed, but it is available through iTunes for $1.99 and episode or $3.99 for the entire series. He plans a DVD release later. More details about that will be unleashed upon us at ComicCon. I can say this, if you like Whedon’s previous works and you like the silliness of Monty Python and Mel Brooks, then you’ll probably love Dr. Horrible. One thing I can tell you for sure, Dr. Horrible is wonderful.
No, I did that right. It’s NSFFW. I think you can guess what the other F is for considering this post is about the comedic icon George Carlin. He died yesterday at age 71 of heart failure, which sucks. Am I mourning him? Hell no. I loved that man in a purely heterosexual way. He was one of my heroes. But I’m not going to insult the guy that made seven words famous by crying at his grave.
Nope, today I’m gonna give my respects to the sun and drop a prayer to Joe Pesci that all the pansies who mourn him with tears get a bat to the shins for being pansies. I’m gonna look at the establishment, give it the big finger, and tell it to fuck off in honor of Carlin. I’m gonna be politically incorrect by using terms like shell shock and toilet paper and used cars. I’m gonna use the seven words he made famous: Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits.
I do not feel closer to you George. I don’t feel that we bonded or had a moment or shared anything. I sure as fuck didn’t interface with you. You didn’t relate to me and I don’t identify with you. You had some nice ideas. You made me laugh at how stupid people really are. That’s really as far as it went and I’m guessing that’s just how you fucking wanted it. Congratulations. You succeeded. But if you think I’m patting you on the back, you’ve got another fucking thing coming.
I’m going to salute the man I admired and who I think would have been one hell of a President of the United States by saying don’t be a fucking pansy. Stop the pussification of the American Male. Stand up and say what needs to be fucking said. Do what needs to be fucking done. Don’t worry about what others will think. Just take care of business. Otherwise I’ve got no fucking use for you. Do you understand?
George’s soul is probably stuck on Joe Pesci’s roof right now and I think that’s fucking awesome. He was the kind of guy that says what needs to be said. Many of my friends think I’m kind of a dick. But then, they also know I’m the one guy that will always tell them like it is with no bullshit. They respect that and they trust me because of it. So to all of you puffy butterfly girlie-men out there that think that the truth is too harsh…fuck you. Grow a backbone. We’re in the position we’re in right now because of that kind of spineless sentiment.
I think America would be a far safer place and a far more respected country if we had a Commander-In-Chief that would look at the rest of the world and say I know you have problems but I’m not your mother so fix it your fucking self. The problem is we elect pussies to office that are unable to think or speak it like it is to the powers that be in other nations. Hence our current dilemma. Carlin, you will be missed, but I’m not shedding a single fucking tear for you. I’m gonna raise some of the same hell you did and then I’m gonna raise some that’s all my own because you helped to teach me to think for myself.
That is your legacy. Some of us think for ourselves and aren’t afraid to tell the world to get the fuck off. We’ll stand tall and proud. We’ll give the almighty finger to anyone that deserves it with a big shit eating grin on our faces. We’ll ask the questions that others won’t and we’ll expect fucking answers. Rest in peace, George, and tell Joe Pesci to leave you the fuck alone if he tries to get you off the roof.
And for the record…
Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker and tits.
Thanks to a tweet from rstevens, I’ve been introduced so some amusing but disturbing images. Some of these are really well done which makes them all the more creepy. The site is called ManBabies and it seems the premise is a picture with a man and a baby is Photoshopped to swap their heads. I found myself looking on further and further into the site much like one would stare at a train wreck. Some things you see are profoundly disturbing but you just can’t bring yourself to look away.
For the Digg crowd, I managed to get the Goatse’d scammer page. Here’s the text:
|Written by Mauso|
|Tuesday, 28 August 2007|
An eBay scammer’s response to being goatse’d… thirteen times.
After two years of dabbling as both buyer and seller, I have come to the conclusion that eBay is a cesspool of filth. Within thirty minutes of placing my first bid, for example, I was hit with no less than three spam messages from other sellers trying to entice me with a better deal. The spam is really just a minor annoyance. Far more malicious are the scammers that take your money and run (though my personal experience has been safe).
What I don’t understand are the scammers who place a substantial bid on an item, with no intention of making the payment. They might request your bank account details under the guise of making a deposit, but that’s standard procedure. At least with Australian accounts, that account number is useless. I mean, unless you want to make… you know, a deposit.
I once had a buyer, named ‘smithking10’, who requested “my details” three times (and on each occasion, I gave him the information necessary to send me money) before giving up. Sometimes I wonder what else he expected me to include; would he have preferred my passport number? Maybe the login for my online bank accounts.
Last week, my cell phone died. Having once worked in a phone shop, I know that for a consumer hoping for a refund, “died” can mean any number of things…
When I say that my phone “died”, however, I mean that it was working perfectly when I went into the cinema and that since coming out, its most effective function has been serving as a paper weight on my desk. I can only assume that it was overcome, during Superbad, by Michael Cera’s lovable performance. Such were the circumstances under which I logged onto eBay, hoping to snare a bargain. I made a few small bids on a Sony Ericsson model that I’m particularly fond of, but learned shortly after being outbid that if I was to afford textbooks this semester, a lowering-of-standards was in order.
So I came to bid on a T226, a model whose aesthetics have been likened (by its designers) to the “decomposing remains of a monkey’s excrement”. After submitting a sufficiently generous bid, I waited online for an hour to see if I won the auction. During that time, I received three email messages from random eBay members, all in a similar format.
Free shipping, money-back guarantee, and all according to “official procedure”? Wow! At whom do I throw my money?
I reported the first two of these emails because it is strictly against eBay rules to sell items in this manner (even when it’s not a scam). But by the time a third such email had arrived… I’d had enough.
John Cheese to the RescueI was reminded of an article by one of my favourite internet comedy writers, John Cheese. In his article, The 419 Scammer, he documents a series of increasingly hilarious emails exchanged between himself and a scammer, culminating in a climactic email in which he included an image called Goatse. For those who have not heard of Goatse, you can still be saved. The picture depicts a naked man’s backside, stretched beyond the point of abstraction. By this I mean: you literally could not comprehend what I’m talking about until you see it. Indeed, many people’s first reaction is to stare, horrified, for a full thirty seconds before they can believe what they are seeing. This guy could traffic enough crack over the border to kill the population a small town. I was inspired by John Cheese. Replying to the scammer immediately, I attached thirteen images of Goatse. As the scammer used a gmail account, I knew these images would display automatically on his screen (without having to download each one at a time). All thirteen, in one hit.
Two Days LaterThis afternoon I received an instant message from the guy, and our conversation is pasted below (with some punctuation and capitalisation fixed for readability, but not spelling). Much to my amusement, I was condemned as evil by a man whose screen name was “good”. But there is nothing amusing about a thief so thoroughly convinced of his own righteousness.
Conclusion – for those who require closure…
Mauso did win the eBay auction. His dead phone went on to live a fulfilling life as a hockey puck, and his bank accounts lived happily ever after. To this day, Mauso continues to study engineering and hopes one day “to create a lifelike robot, so astoundingly stupid that I can take out my numerous frustrations by murdering it”. His psychologist refused to comment.
Pointy ears and leather armor
Hiding in the shadows
Too bad you hit the trap
And are now a block of ice
Bouncy red arrow on your head
Azrael getting toothy with it
Pokey arrows in your head
And now the little rogue is dead
The thought of a wedding is something nice. Being a guest at a wedding is an emotional experience. Being in a wedding and/or planning and organizing a wedding is pure unfiltered stress. It’s a psychological, physical, emotional, and spiritual drain. Oh, I’m not saying a wedding isn’t worth it. But make no mistake, few things you will encounter in life will test your resilience like pulling off a perfect wedding.
I spent the majority of the afternoon and evening putting out fires and preventing feuds. My father was as belligerent as ever. My mother was frayed and stretched taut since she was pretty much left to put the entire wedding together single-handedly. Chaos stepped up to throw the next pitch. This is where I come in.
I was mediator between my mother and everybody…my sister and our parents…my father and mother…and pretty much anyone else that wanted to add their own little touch of entropy to the festivities. Luckily I happen to be an agent of perversity (I hope you know the difference between the perverse and the perverted). If you pit entropy against perversity…well…things have a way of working out. Chaos doesn’t stand a chance. Home Run!
All in all, it went well from my sister’s point of view. That’s what really matters.
Choir singing songs
Mario, Zelda, Tetris
Applaud for them now.