Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Conan VS Fallon: The Not-So-Great Debate

So it was announced a few weeks ago that, when Conan O'Brien takes the reigns of "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno", Jimmy Fallon will step in as his replacement on "Late Night with Conan O'Brien". For a floundering network that is "carrying the lunch" at 4th in the major network rankings, they sure aren't taking the proper steps to turn this slump around. I place the blame on the soon-to-be fired NBC Co-chair, and undisputed decision maker, Ben Silverman. This guy is a douche by nature and a cunt by profession. I could list all the bonehead moves he's pulled, but it would be useless since each of them is eclipsed by the choice to have Jimmy Fallon overtake "Late Night"; not necessarily in magnitude, but in sheer stupidity. Granted Conan O'Brien has some pretty large shoes to fill, but Fallon could climb in there with a sleeping bag and still have room for his guitar and coloring books. To call the man childish would be an insult to kids who can go five minutes without breaking into a giggle-fit. How is this guy expected to carry on a conversation with anyone for any length of time?

God forbid Jimmy Fallon's idol Will Ferrell ever guests on the show. Go back and watch old episodes of "Saturday Night Live" and note the almost lustful adoration in Jimmy's eyes each time he's in a skit with Will Ferrell (photo courtesy of sexy BOOTY lisa debo). Fallon always gave off the impression that he was the special needs step-son of Lorne Michaels that just hung around the stage because no one had the heart to tell him to fuck off. He contributed nothing to the show past breaking character at a rate that made it seem like he was a type-cast actor who only played characters that broke character. The only time he's really been able to act like a human adult is in his movies, but that's probably because, during filming, they had to cut so many times that it seemed like an emo documentary. At least "Late Night" is taped so we'll be afforded the luxury of not having to see his laughing fits, but there's the risk of shows not going to air because they couldn't finish the taping soon enough to actually make the time slot. At 11:35 p.m.: "Late Night will be unable to air tonight because host Jimmy Fallon has been rolling around under his desk and chuckling like a stoned camp counselor for the past 7 hours."

There is just no plausible way that Fallon can even come close to putting on the caliber of show that Conan has been delivering for the past 14 years. Although entirely unnecessary in a functional sense, I've decided to see how these men stack up in a few key categories if only for the sake of comedy at the expense of Jimmy Fallon...

Looks:

Alright, well I'm a fair man and I can admit that Jimmy Fallon is far better looking than Conan O'Brien. Not really because Fallon is a manly stud banquet, but more so because Conan O'Brien looks like...well...he's a big tall red headed pale guy. Put it this way, the search for Orphan Annie's father is over. So somehow, Fallon actually wins a category. Soak it up, man-child.

Hair:

Do we even need to discuss this? If David Letterman's mark is the gap in his teeth, then Conan's is surely that fiery pompadour. And my god has he ever stuck with it. You have to admire the man's resolve. Fallon, on the other head, is a joke. Conan's hair is funny in that way that you know it and he knows it and everyone knows it and it's hilarious. Fallon's hair is funny in the way that we know it's funny, but he doesn't. I love jokes like that. I can only describe Jimmy's hair as two black satin sleeping masks wrestling each other on a crow's tail. Conan takes this one easily. (Get used to hearing that.)

Credentials:

Alright, well let's see here. Jimmy has had a leading role in two mainstream movies. One was Fever Pitch, which I think is the real life story that Benny and Joon was based on; and the second is Taxi with Queen Latifah. What do you get when you mix a big fat sassy black woman and a really shy and quirky skinny white guy? Horse shit, that's what. Pure 100% high grade horse shit. Conan has made a few cameos in movies, but for the most part, he has stayed the hell out of there, which is a plus. Do what you're good at. As far as writing goes, on top of penning a lot of the material on his own show, Conan has written for "Saturday Night Live" (1987-1991) and the motherfucking Simpsons, man! "The Simpsons". Jimmy Fallon wrote the "SNL Christmas Special 2002", which went right from his ink jet to Lorne Michaels' fridge: sharing a magnet with Chevy Chase's coked out finger paintings. Let's just hope they don't let him write for "Late Night", unless you have any interest in a laugh-musical-talk-show. Two shitty movies and no writing experience versus "The Simpsons" and "SNL". Oh wait, what about that Diet Pepsi commercial Fallon did with Parker Posey? It was either an ad for Diet Pepsi or the Gay Pride Parade. Conan takes this one easily.

Comedic Skills:

Forget comedic timing, Jimmy Fallon doesn't even know when to laugh at other people's jokes. He has made a farce of literally every skit he was ever been involved in on "SNL" because he's physically incapable of keeping a straight face while on the air. The best comedy he has produced has been with a guitar in his hand, and musical comedy isn't funny. Inversely, Conan was the effing man. From his goof-ball delivery to his risky brand of comedy, he made me laugh night in and night out for many years. I am overjoyed that he is finally replacing that piece of shit hack Jay Leno. "The Tonight Show" can finally be good again. Conan O'Brien is funnier at the dentist than Jimmy Fallon could ever dream to be on his best day. This one is a no brainer.


So there you have it. My prediction is that neither Jimmy Fallon nor Ben Silverman will be working for NBC by New Years 2010, and that's being very generous.

Friday, May 23, 2008

5 Things That Won't Exist in 10 Years

Porno Video Stores

Once the technologically challenged old timers are too old (impotent) to jerk off, there will be no need for stores hocking Porno rentals. Fogies who are afraid of the "damned webnets" are the only thing keeping these relics above water. Porn is free and in abundance all over the internet. I mean, with the pop ups, I'm looking at porn even when I don't want to. While I'm furiously clicking boxes to get the heaps of titty off my screen, there's a 50 something browsing through the barely legal section of an adult store ready to drop $50 on a nice weekend alone. Also, remember when you watched that favorite part of your favorite porno so many times that the specific spot on the tape was worn and the screen would go sort of fuzzy when it got to it? Yeah, that doesn't happen on the internet. Peace out, creepy, grimy, sticky, smelly adult video stores.


Subway Drivers

Just barely graduating high school, over-paid wastes of my tax dollars...meet GPS. GPS is your enemy. GPS wants to do your job for a small one time fee. GPS likes it when you reject bargaining offers that would see you getting paid $62000 a year by 2010. GPS is a big fan of your sour attitude and all around ineptness. You better watch it or GPS is probably going to sleep with your wife too. Before you know it, your kids will be calling GPS "daddy". The dream is over, subway drivers. You know that dream where you didn't go to college and then fell ass backwards into a union job at which you put forth zero effort and still complained about it? Yeah...it's over. Peace out stupid, surly, spoiled subway drivers.





America's Reign of Power over the World

Go go gadget China! They have more people who consume more. They aren't giant assholes...yet. They're cleaner, more efficient, and consider deadlock traffic to be an inconvenience not the 4th largest sport in their country. NASCAR sucks, by the way. America will be seeing red sooner than we think and although I probably haven't considered the damaging side effects that I, as a Canadian, will feel from such a shift in power; I'm still excited as fuck. Peace out ignorant, Big Mac smelling, gun carrying, sweaty Americans. (Not the Americans that read this blog though. When shit goes down, you can come and stay at my place.)



Barry Bonds

Steroids kill you quick. Yes, the long-term effects of steroids are largely unknown. An exhaustive 30 second google search turned up no evidence to the contrary, but you can look no further than the world of professional wrestling for all the proof you need. Stan Stasiak, Brian Pillman, Rick Rude, The British Bulldog, Hawk (Legion of Doom), Bad News Brown, and many others. All of them were overly muscular men who died of heart failure. Maybe I'm being presumptuous, or maybe steroid users die faster than that craze where all the kids had plastic baby soothers hung around their necks. I digress. Hank Aaron was absolutely pissed when you broke his home run record, but at least he can take comfort in knowing that he'll probably outlive you. Peace out pompous, drug abusing, over-the-top, cheating son of a bitch Barry Bonds.


Facebook

Oh boo-fuckity-hoo. Face the facts, the endless applications are a sign of the demise of Facebook. It's becoming a task just to navigate somebody's page. Sadly, knowing that somebody's status is "excited for prom" is just about as useless as knowing how many zombies they've killed in that fucking zombie application. Facebook has abandoned hope and slid head first into desperation only to be tagged out by the next popular networking site to come along. Don't believe me? I'll leave you with one word: Friendster. What the fuck is Friendster? Exactly. Peace out everyone knowing everyone's business, confusing, intrusive, career destroying Facebook.

Try and make sure that my blog is still around in 10 years by telling everyone you know to read it.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Burning Terrorist has balls shattered by hero cab driver

Alright, here's the REAL story...

I was looking through my old laptop, which I no longer use, and found a photo that made me laugh. I had totally forgotten about it, and I think there was an actual real news story that went along with it. The thing is...I don't remember that news story. In lieu of the truth, I just went ahead and made up what I believe to be the story that goes along with this photo. The photo is a digital camera picture of the cover of a Scottish newspaper. The second photo inset in the article is just a portion of the original picture that I've blown up a bit bigger so that it's easier to see. Anyhow, enjoy...

SCOTLAND - A local cab driver is being touted as a hero after foiling the plans of a notorious terrorist group on Tuesday.

It seemed like just another morning of driving Scottish citizens to the bar when Nikolas "Nik the Kick" Titov found himself in an extraordinary situation. While picking up his next fare, Titov spotted a suspicious looking man dousing himself in kerosene outside of the headquarters of the Scottish Fire Department. Fortunately, the unnamed suspect couldn't locate his lighter and was forced to resort to matches, which gave Titov the time needed to get to him.

Just as the terrorist ignited himself in flames and began to run towards the building, he was met head on by Nikolas Titov. Wasting no time, the cab driver-turned-hero delivered a kick to the man's testicles so vicious that even female onlookers were clutching their crotches and wincing in pain. Luckily the initial shot was more than enough to incapacitate the "flamer" because the sheer impact of the ball blow snapped a tendon in Titov's foot; making a follow up effort near impossible. Authorities had already arrived on the scene by the time "Nik the Kick" had limped back to his taxi. One fireman, who had been drinking coffee all morning, quickly dulled the "manferno" with a hot stream of urine (picture below on right). The suspect was then taken to the hospital before jail, but his "berries" could not be saved.

It is believed that the burning terrorist's intended target was the Scottish Fire Department's recreational swimming pool. A rash of similar incidents has broken out in the past few weeks at swimming pools across Scotland. Authorities believe that Titov may have gone a long way in making an example of the terrorist to other members in the group. It is the hope of all Scottish citizens that these men will now think twice about lighting themselves ablaze and cannonballing into swimming pools.

Being modest, Nikolas Titov has refused all medals and certificates of merit for his heroics stating, "I was just happy I could shatter [a] man's testicles. The sound of two nuts crashing violently against each other is more reward than [any] medal could give me." Since the incident, job offers have been pouring in from organizations looking for a reliable foot for hire. Most notably, an NFL team, the Indianapolis Colts, has expressed interest in bringing him in as a place kicker noting, "Since [Mike] Vanderjagt, we've been looking for a kicker that prefers to kick dicks rather than be one." Titov has turned down all offers deciding to dedicate his time to going around local neighborhoods snuffing out flaming paper bags of dog shit with his "miracle foot".


Please tell all the burning terrorists to visit my site before nailing them in the junk.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Cat VS Snake VS Bad Acting

Correct me if I'm wrong but I'm pretty sure that's a young Jackie Chan in the video. Either way, I don't think they had great CGI effects in old Chinese animal fighting movies, so this seems to be a straight up street fight - no weapons- between a cat and a snake. No smoke, no mirrors, all fury. I'll admit that the snake was no doubt drained of all its venom before the battle, but regardless, this cat handles his biznass. Speaking of business, what in the mother fuck is Jackie Chan doing on the beach in the end there? That can't be good for business.



If YouTube tries to lie to you and say this video is no longer available, you can view it HERE
(Courtesy of gorillamask.net)

So there you have it. A cat is pretty well matched against a cobra with no venom. This reminds me of the days when me and my friends would have too much kool-aid and get to talking about animal fights in the wild. I'm going to list off a few wildlife battles and I want you guys to let me know who you think would win in the comments section.

  1. Eagle VS Giraffe
  2. Rhino VS Puma
  3. Grizzly Bear VS Anaconda
  4. Dolphin VS Sea Lion
  5. Penguin VS Tortoise
  6. Gorilla VS Hippopotamus
  7. Coyote VS Kangaroo
  8. Panda VS Koala (The Cutest Fight Ever!)

Remember ANYONE CAN COMMENT NOW.

Have a tremendous day and please tell your friends about my blog.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

"Fan" Mail

Attn: Hollister
Re: Being Ridiculous


Dear Hollister Creative Executives,

We are sick of you. We are sick of shitty cologne and surfboards and playing on the beach and jeeps with no doors and people that look like Zach Morris who take off their shirts too much. We are sick of our newly purchased clothing items smelling like your store. We are sick of having to trade a quick browse in a shop for being engulfed in the unmistakable stench of college, and we are certainly sick of shopping in the goddamn dark. We do not want to be a part of your lifestyle. We do not want to look like thousands of other people, just in a different color. We are sick of your lies. Your first store opened in Columbus, Ohio. Nothing says Huntington Beach, California quite like the state of Ohio. When I think sunny beaches, skimpy bikinis, and Paris Hilton nip-slips, the first place that always pops into my mind is Columbus, O-fucking-hio. The insanity ends now.

Why the hell would I purchase a piece of clothing that already smells like the Italian National Soccer team has worn it out for a night on the town? Is this the best that your marketing team could come up with? "Yeah, I think we should have our employees douse our merchandise in cologne at the beginning and end of each shift. I mean, it's the right thing to do." Tremendous move, fellas. Brilliant. Now not only are we overpaying for our clothes, we're also footing the dry cleaning bill to get that $45 golf shirt smelling more like our own and less like a Hummer full of frat bros. On top of this, by merely coming within 25 feet of the store, we are agreeing to spend the rest of the day radiating a thick fog of Hollister stench; one that will take 6 showers and an exorcism to wash off of our tainted skin. Furthermore, due to your aggressive franchising strategies, you're also rolling the dice with having your store being located in the vicinity of a food court. God help us all. It says something when you'd rather smell like the inner depths of the food court than have to reek of Huntington Beach, California.

Since when did companies stop selling products and start selling "lifestyles"? When you pull that Hollister T-shirt over your head, you're not just covering your torso with material, you're putting on a way of life, and that's just how Hollister likes it…

"I am wearing a Hollister t-shirt. I have blonde highlights in my hair but you can't see them underneath my white baseball cap turned backwards. I am probably wearing flip-flops. I like to take risks and surf. I am moments away from taking this new shirt off because I didn't do 1000 crunches this morning to hide these thunder-abs under a sheath of cotton. I have guns and pipes and pythons without any interest in weapons or plumbing or reptiles. I excel at beer pong and keg stands and flip cup. I need my messages instant, my noodles instant, and my tans instant. I need everything this second or I'm gonna throw my Nalgene bottle at you. I demand respect and pussy. I'm Hollister, motherfucker."

FUCK. THAT. When bad pop culture predicted the future to be filled with people dressed in matching shiny silver jumpsuits, they weren't that far off; they just forgot to emblaze "HCO" across the chest. The only thing that distinguishes you from a fellow Hollister wearer is the fact that your golf shirt is teal and his is Easter egg yellow. Why launch an "American Lifestyle" clothing brand without designing more than three shirt styles? I must be confused. I think your website is supposed to say "USSR Circa 1986 Lifestyle Clothing Brand". I understand that if you factor in color choices, plus the difference between "Hollister" or "HCO" being scrawled across the chest, essentially thousands of options are available. However, the fact still remains that you're only a few letters and one shade of color away from being falsely accused in a frat house murder.

Long gone are the days when we all wondered what it was like for Ray Charles to go shopping for clothes. Hollister, being the cagey marketing wizards that they are, saw this need and filled it fast. Why in the mother-loving world would I want to shop for my clothes in a store with lighting barely better than the Bat Cave? How are we to know if that sweet shirt is soft pink or salmon? What if I want to count how many fake rips are in my jeans? Why do you dress up your female employees in short skirts and tight shorts if it's too dark to adequately ogle them and have you considered how many employee rapes go down in that dark corner by the hoodies? A lot. At least go all the way with it. This is America, the land where absolutely nobody half asses it...not even the President. Follow suit and take this concept to the next level. Just have customers hand you crisp hundred dollar bills then grab a random item out of a massive bin in the stockroom and blast it down a chute in the back alley where the happy patron awaits. This way, instead of being frustrated and embarrassed, they can be excited, then bewildered, and finally disappointed. Hey at least it's interesting. Honestly, how much can fluorescent lights cost? Maybe it's that you feel light bulbs are overpriced and spending way more money than needed on an item of necessity is unjustifiable. You know what? We feel the exact same way...where's Old Navy again?

Signed,

Everyone

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Wake Me Up When September Ends

This article is my first posted on a Toronto Sports website I am now writing for. Visit tosports.ca for funny sports articles and the latest news in Sports. Enjoy...

Wake Me up When September Ends

Forget commandeering a multi-million dollar professional sports franchise, I wouldn’t even suggest John Gibbons be the manager of a McDonalds: the fries would always be left in too long and not a single burger would cross a plate when it actually mattered.

Baseball insiders have questioned the motives behind Gibbons’ hire and subsequent promotion through the ranks of the Blue Jays’ on-field management team. Gibbons made just 18 appearances in the entirety of his Major League career as a catcher before retiring in 1990. He spent the better part of 9 seasons in the minor leagues with a laundry list of injuries that makes A.J. Burnett look like Cal Ripken Jr.

Gibbons began his stay with the Blue Jays as a bullpen catcher in 2002; presumably a favor granted by former minor league roommate and current Jays General Manager J.P. Ricciardi. While rooming with Ricciardi, what sort of miraculous deeds did Gibbons perform to warrant a promotion from bullpen catcher to first base coach, and eventually, to team manager. Obviously J.P. and Johnny shared a close relationship, which is hard to believe, given the fact that Gibbons has notoriously butted heads with many people throughout his five year reign.

Gibbons’ relationship with his players has been volatile, beginning with Dave Bush in 2005. After an altercation with Gibbons, Bush was sent to the minors, and, following a trade in the offseason, the only thing “bush” that was left in Toronto was Gibbons’ management style. Since then, Gibbons publicly clashed with DH Shea Hillenbrand and starter Ted Lilly. No manager can be on good terms with every player coming through their clubhouse, but the departure of these players hurts when their absences are due, in large part, to the Jays management’s reluctance to rid the team of the standings anchor that has become John Gibbons. I think everyone could look past these squabbles except that the Jays are losing ball games as a direct result of their manager’s dumbfounded decisions.

In the end, baseball is just a pastime and for John Gibbons, bullpen mismanagement is the name of the game. It is no coincidence that no pitcher on the 1992 Blue Jays World Series winning team averaged more than 7 innings pitched per game. In fact if you remove the 21 game-winner, Jack Morris, from the equation, the rotation averaged just a tad over 6 innings pitched per game. Fast forwarding to the present, we see the likes of Jesse Litsch and A.J. Burnett going deep into close ball games to the detriment of the team. Maybe John Gibbons knows something that we, Cito Gaston, and a World Series ring doesn’t. I think Adam Lind getting on base is probably more likely.

While attending a recent game against the Chicago White Sox, I witnessed an example of Gibbons’ mismanagement. Shaun Marcum started that day, and to his credit, pitched a beautiful game that came dangerously close to being ruined because of Gibbons’ reluctance to go to his bullpen.

With two outs and slugger Joe Crede on deck, John “The Genius” Gibbons decides to leave his starter in to face the red hot Carlos Quentin. Marcum, although a brilliant young pitcher, had already given up five home runs in his previous five starts. In a two run baseball game with a homerun-susceptible pitcher on the mound and two bonafide home run hitters coming up, rather than turning to a fresh bullpen, Gibbons rolls the dice - leaving Marcum on the mound.

Based purely on statistics, if Quentin got on base, the game could be tied with one swing of Joe Crede’s bat. Though the Jays went on to win the game, this pivotal decision could have soured in a heartbeat. Decisions like these should be no-brainers for a Major League caliber manager, but unfortunately John Gibbons doesn’t, and will never fit that description.

Sadly situations like Friday are business as usual for the Toronto Blue Jays who, at the time of this writing, are flirting with .500 baseball. We have nearly all the tools to be a playoff contender and one very special “tool” preventing us from getting there. Mark my words; we will never make the playoffs with a wash out like John Gibbons at the helm. You can have the nicest, fastest, and most well put together car in the world, but at the end of the day you still need a license to drive it. How many times will the Jays crash and burn before someone checks this guy’s credentials?

The Rocket Apparently Likes To Rock It

REAL Fantasy Sports

What if the nicknames of sports teams were a true reflection of the team and/or its players? I present to you, last night's highlights in the world of Fake Literal Sports...

New Jersey Devils (NHL) vs. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (MLB)

This was a classic battle of good versus evil. Young center field prospect Jesus Christ turned in an MVP-like performance correctly pronouncing infielder Maicer Izturis' name an astounding two times, which the Angels' color commentator emphatically declared a "goddamned miracle". However, in the end, the Devils locked up an easy victory...seemingly too easy in fact. Angels’ manager Mike Scoscia later admitted in a post game interview that he had sold his soul to the Devils' owner, Satan himself, for his career .259 batting average and a guaranteed spot in the Italian Baseball Hall of Fame. Joe DiMaggio and Tommy Lasorda, both long deceased, were on hand in spirit as the only other members.


Washington Nationals (MLB) vs. Washington Redskins (NFL)

This historical battle played out in front of an abnormally small crowd as most scalpers had died off in the hours preceding the match. Led into Mayflower Sports Complex by star lefty Grain Alcohol, the Nationals came out absolutely gunning. Reliable catcher Small Pox blanketed the Redskins' offense. The energy in the building was contagious throughout the night as the home team literally raped and pillaged the opposition. The Redskins put up a valiant effort but in all honesty, it was like they brought a bow and arrow to a gun fight. The Nationals now look to their next opponents, the Cleveland Indians, as they continue their Manifest Destiny road trip to the west coast.


Notre Dame Fighting Irish (NCAA) vs. Montreal Canadiens (NHL)

The visiting Fighting Irish were forced to forego their pregame ritual of pounding whisky shots and beating their kids when the host Canadiens stocked the away dressing room with only red wine and orange soda. The game started out as planned with the Irish coming out swinging while the French Canadian side organized a referendum to separate itself from sports entirely. The Fighting Irish sealed the victory when the Canadiens decided to return to their French roots and concede the battle well before their loss was sure.


Utah Jazz (NBA) vs. Minnesota Wild (NHL) vs. Orlando Magic (NBA) vs. Cleveland Browns (NFL)

All 4 of these teams brought a ton of intangibles to the table due in large part to fact that they are, by name, intangible. This epic sport event was the first of it's kind to charge fans admission to an empty arena in which they sat and imagined what it would be like for a dark art, bland color, music, and...uhh...I guess a span of forestry to all collide in brutal competition. Each being versatile enough to cover the noun and adjective categories of grammar, these teams matched up well against each other. I would like to think that the Magic 'pulled' a victory out of their 'hat', but in the end the winner was really just up to your imagination. Picture Miles Davis VS David Copperfield VS Your Dad's Recliner VS A Tree (?). Intense.


Philadelphia 76'ers (NBA) vs. San Francisco 49'ers (NFL)

This one came down to the numbers. Heavy favorite, the 76'ers, were surprised to be informed that this wasn't a "higher number wins" competition. In the end, the fans were disappointed to learn that they were all a small part of a more elaborate game of "pick a number" in which neither 76 nor 49 was chosen. In an attempt to salvage the experience, the second parts of each number got together to excite and arouse the crowd. Everyone left satisfied.


Chicago White Sox (MLB) vs. Boston Red Sox (MLB)

This event took place in the fabled Top Drawer of Your Armoire Stadium along the Leaking Furnace River in picturesque The Basement, Your Mom's Place. The cold fact that it's not Christmas season put the Red Sox at an immediate disadvantage. Then when your father came down and demanded that you mow the lawn, the White Sox triumph was all but in the bag. In a sudden twist of events, you stubbed your heel on your hamster cage and turned to the underdog Red Sox to conceal the "boo boo juice" from the prying eyes of MILF joggers passing by. Defying an almost 15-1 player disadvantage (star White Sock, Hanes FruitLoom, has been missing since laundry day Wednesday), the Red Sox victory went down as one of the biggest upsets in fake sports history.


This article has been put up on collegehumor.com! Please take some time to sign up to the site and click the "digg" and "like it" links at the bottom of the article. This would help me out greatly. The link is
HERE

As always, tell your friends about my blog.

Celebrity Baby Nostradamus

Ever since I was little and predicted young Drew Barrymore's descent into child acting alcoholism and drug abuse, I've known that I had a unique talent. I made a promise to a mysterious monk that I would never call upon those powers again. But fuck it, that douche has been living in my apartment for the past 4 years and hasn't offered up rent once. So, 20 years later, here I am trying to source those powers after all this time. I'll do my best...

The Kid: Apple Paltrow-Martin
The Parents: Gwenyth Paltrow and a poor man's Thom Yorke
Recipe For Disaster:
1 cup of Bad Acting
2 pinches of self righteousness
1 litre of "Yellllllooooooooowwwww"
Future Endeavors: Apple will snub her parents' encouragement to become a triple threat entertainment star (Acting, Singing, Alcoholism) and settle for a modest life of working in a supermarket produce section. When her trust fund money runs thin, she will turn to affixing the trademark symbol to her name and marketing the new iGiveUp touch screen suicide machine.
Cause of Eventual Death: Eaten by a health conscious cannibal.



The Kid: Zoie Laurel May Herpin
The Parents: Stephanie from Full House and Cody Herpin
Recipe For Disaster:
2 Tbsp of Sexually Ambiguous First Names
1 Pinch of Brief Child Stardom
3 Handfuls of Uncle Jessie
Future Endeavors: Zoie will deal with the ups and downs of living with father Cody's brother-in-law and best friend. She will get into quirky situations that always seem to resolve themselves by the end of each episode. The heart felt background music will eventually invade her dreams and consequently drive her mad. She will move out of the house at 18 to pursue a porno acting career. Ironically, the first movie she will star in will be a graphic gang bang film entitled: "Full House".
Cause of Eventual Death: A methamphetamine lab explosion causes her untimely death while simultaneously ruining the family business.



The Kid: Yet To Be Hilariously Named

The Parents: Jessica Simpson's less attractive sister and some emo guy from some emo band
Recipe For Disaster:
Equal Parts Angst, Anxiety, Anger, and Alliteration
Future Endeavors: By far the most stylish kid at school, this emo love child will be told repeatedly they look like their father regardless of what gender they turn out to be. They will be exposed while hosting Saturday Night Live to go down in history as the first person to ever be caught wrist-slit-synching.
Cause of Eventual Death: Is there really any doubt? Joe Simpson murder-suicide, obviously.


The Kid: Liam Aaron McDermott
The Parents: The annoying broad from 90210 and Dean McDermott, Canadian Actor
Recipe For Disaster:
3 Shakes of Silicone Polluted Breast Milk
1 Too Many "Uncles" Who Never Seem To Buy You Birthday Presents
3 Dashes of flat-out child neglect
Future Endeavors: Will realize at age four that he is more mature than his mother. By age nine, questions will arise about why all the other kids have "human mommies" and he has a "horse mommy". Will quit a childhood acting career to go to high school only to be faced with an adverse situation subsequently coming dangerously close to not graduating. Jason Priestly, still working on passing Grade 11 Gym, will rally the whole school behind his cause.
Cause of Eventual Death: Will break a leg in the big race leaving his trainers with no other choice but to shoot him in the face with a rifle.


The Kid: Nahla Ariela Aubry
The Parents: Halle Berry and some French-Canadian Super Model
Recipe For Disaster:
2 gorgeous helpings of juicy tit
4 cups of poutine
Countless nightmarish recalls of mom getting down with Billy Bob Thornton
Future Endeavors: Accepts $500,000 per breast from Gerber Foods Corp to appear topless in a baby food ad.
Cause of Eventual Death: After working his way back into Halle's life, David Justice demonstrates that he's "still got it" by knocking the kid's head RIGHT OUTTA THE (nearby neighbourhood) PARK!!!

The Kid: Marquez Anthony Caruso
The Parents
: David Caruso (you know...that fucker from CSI: Miami) and Liza Marquez
Recipe For Disaster
:
1 million strands of red hair
4 failed attempts at genuine acting
1 so-so looking mom
Future Endeavors
: At an early age, Marquez developes obsessive compulsive sunglasses disorder. Cannot start any day without a quick blast of the intro to "Won't Get Foooled Again" by The Who. Eventually goes on to star in CSI's 16th iteration: CSI: Robert Downy Junior's Apartment.
Cause of Eventual Death
: A mysterious murder where you think its gonna be the first guy they bring in, but then it turns out it isn't, but then in the end...IT ACTUALLY WAS!

Call all the babies you know and tell them to read my blog.

"Fan" Mail

The MSN All Stars

Look we all probably use MSN Messenger. At least most of us do, and those of us who have the pleasure of dealing with the odds and ends of instant messaging could easily name a few quirks that some users exhibit which thoroughly annoy us.

Allow me to introduce to you, hailing from places spanning the globe, a group of individuals that has been rocking the sport of instant messaging since day 1. Without further ado, I present a team that needs no introduction, YOUR...

*MSN All Star Team!*

The Player: MSN Ninja
The Skills: A notorious slacker in practice, this MSN veteran doesn't take the game seriously anymore. Their lack of consistency prevents them from operating on an acceptable level and this is reflected in their constant omission from any important team conversations. This player pops in and out of online status and has the uncanny ability to vanish at any given point during a conversation. This is usually a function of wireless internet...or years of kung fu training. Normally the Ninja will wait until they are engaged in an important conversation with you then disappear faster than a fatty's self-esteem.
Special Move: Going offline just as you are putting the finishing touches on typing a max-out length message, of great importance, to them.
Common MSN Names: "Had a great weeken", "GAHHHHHHHH, I hate wirele"
How To Play D: Buy the MSN Ninja an ethernet cable and help them hard line their CPU to their router or hope you can convince a Pirate to lend you a hand.


The Player: MSN Paradox
The Skills: While always being present at all team functions, this MSN player always seems to have "checked out". They have no grasp of the fundamentals, and the frailty of their mental awareness makes them a chronic liability. The MSN Paradox relies on a solid game of being online all the time yet never responding to any messages. This superstar is always accessible yet never responsive and that's just the way they like it. They are most likely your mom.
Special Move: RSVP'ing to your birthday party 6 Wednesdays after the party has occurred.
Common MSN Names: "Whoooo, Happy New Years everyone! 2005 is gonna be THE SHIT!!!", "Florida screwed Gore!"
How To Play D: Isolation and ignorance is the name of the game. Create an MSN group on your list called "People I Should Never Message" and stick them right at the top.

The Player:
MSN Fonzie
The Skills: Flashy, frivilous, and a total dick...MSN Fonzie is the quintessential marquee player. His diva-eqsue actions are always calling his heart into question. To him, simply getting the job done is not enough. Fonzie's ultimate goal is to get the job done while alienating everyone around him. This MSN superstar is all about keeping up appearances.They are far too cool to be on MSN. Since no one ever calls them, they are forced to go on MSN in order to connect with people who secretly (but most likely puclicly) dislike them. MSN Fonzie will often have an excuse for being on "this piece of shit program", and it will always be neither credible or relevant.
Special Move: Criticizing you via MSN for being a "lame-o MSN user, bro"
Common MSN Names: "MSN IS GHEY!!!11", "Yo, just signing on to see were we geting crunkizzle tonizzle"
How To Play D: Just having this person on your MSN list is an indication that you may be in too deep. It's best to just roll with the punches and play the numbers. He won't be online too often and when he is, it won't be for long. You'll just have to play through the discomfort and hope it goes away as quickly as possible. Much like diarhea.


The Player: MSN NYSE Stock Ticker
The Skills: This player is a hard worker with a lot of character. Their game can be summed up in one word: dedication. They just go out there and enjoy themselves while giving a hundred and ten percent, 3000% of the time. The MSN Ticker is constantly working on their next MSN name. To this player, when it comes to names, anything goes. No one is safe. Nothing is sacred. By having this person on your list, you will never be out of touch with current events; both their own and the world's. Celebrity deaths, who's selling their car, how many corn chunks were in their poop, what was #1 on Letterman's last top ten list, why 911 was a hoax. It's all there for the world to see and the MSN Ticker is more than happy to provide up to minute news on literally everything.
Special Move: Somehow knowing and noting what kind of underwear you put on this morning. (Yep..a velvet thong. You're fucking sick, dude)
Common MSN Names: "My hamster is currently eating unsalted sun flower seeds using his hands and mouth. He is in his cage and his current mood is hungry.", "Walmart greeters are inconsistent. Some say due to age. Others say stupidity."
How To Play D: Look, as long as the planet is spinning on its axis, this player isn't going anywhere and you can't make them. This is a run out the clock situation. Eventually one of two things will happen: they will actually set their MSN name to something truly notable and you will congratulate yourself for hanging in there, or they will find another medium with which they can convey their thoughts and reports on planet everything.

The Player: MSN Doppelganger
The Skills: Shrouded in mystery, the MSN Doppelganger is almost always a player to be named later. Their versatility causes more confusion than benefits. They're often unable to be found when it matters the most. This player refuses to use their given name, last name, or relevant nickname in any part of their msn profile. Finding them on your MSN when you actually need to talk to them becomes extremely difficult. Their e-mail handle always produces foggy results and resembles them in no way whatsoever. This player gets off on the knowledge that finding them on your list is like participating in a wacky Korean game show.
Special Move: Being mistaken for someone else on your list and gaining crucial information about you in the process, which will presumably be used in further strengthening their propensity to confuse and bewilder.
Common MSN Names: "I am 'The One'", "I have eyes and frequently wear shirts"
How To Play D: Spend three weeks surveilling their instant messaging activities. When you're absolutely certain that you have identified them, right click on their name, choose "Edit Contact" and type the following into the "Nickname" field..."Cocksucking Doppelganger". From then on, not only will you know who they are, you'll also know exactly what they are all about.

The Player: MSN Backbone
The Skills: A franchise player in every sense of the word. This player is the pillar of Team MSN. What they lack in flair and personality, they make up for with their sheer willingless to participate. This player relies on work ethic and hustle to get by. The MSN Backbone is online and ready to talk at every moment of the day. They do not screw around with the politics of msn status and image. They pride themselves on playing the right way. Often, this person is a massive loser, albeit a loveable one.
Special Move: Helping you finish your overdue essay at 6 am...on a Saturday...stone cold sober.
Common MSN Names: "[First and Last Name typed out in regular characters]"
How To Play D: Look, you're going to want this person on your side. The MSN Backbone is worth their weight in heroin and don't you ever forget it. Playing D against Backbone would be like playing D against a delectable ham and cheese sandwich. Some forces aren't meant to be stopped.

Please feel free to leave comments about which MSN All Star you are and other All Stars that I may have missed. Also, don't forget to let all the MSN haters in your life know about this article.

Emo: New, Refreshing, Not Ridiculous At All

So let's talk emo. Today I'd like to take a few minutes out of my day to discuss a few things regarding this subculture that has emerged amidst the heavy trials and tribulations of living in the now. Emoes are tortured souls who draw their power of being some of the most annoying humans on the planet from their constant struggle with the ills of everyday life. I'm talking pain here. The excruciating emotional pain that only a teenager can experience. The holocaust? Child's play. The great depression? A joke. The Rwandan Genocides? More like a pillow fight shared between close friends. I'm talking fucking tragedy here. I'm talking about being 5 minutes too late for purchasing Fall Out Boy tickets. I'm talking about losing your cell phone in a toilet full of throw up. I'm talking about TRAGEDY. Tra-ge-dy. I'm talking about someone criticizing your choice of color when buying those new Chuck Taylors. TRAGEDY. This is what they face. This is what they're up against.

Insurmountable.

You cannot be emo unless you are brutally committed to originality. They are just so damn individualistic and unique. They are not like the goth culture of the late 80's and 90's in any way. They are totally original. Wearing drab makeup and acting sad has never been attempted in the history of man. They are literally taking ground, breaking it into a million little pieces and declaring it "new". This is pain. This is tragedy. This is something that no one, who doesn't own at least 4 shades of black lipstick, can ever understand or feel. They ARE NOT new aged goths. They are original. They are the innovating masters of the sadness specter. They will not conform.

You cannot possibly say emo without mentioning the greatest little phrase in the history of the universe. Fucking get your hands on roughly 1 million q-tips and remove the votive sized bundles of ear wax from your ear for this. Call your kids and wake your parents. This will rock the shit right out of your ass crack. Here we go...Emoes are non-conformist. You show me an emo who doesn't believe with the entirety of their heart that they are non-conformist, and I'll show you an emo who ain't shit in the emo world. If you are non-non-conformist and have the audacity to call youself emo, you deserve to be shot in the face. Fuck it, I can't even go on with this whole sarcasm angle. I feel naked and dirty after typing the last couple paragraphs. Let's just be real. Here's the thing...NO ONE IS NON-CONFORMIST. We belong to a species called the human race. If you're really dedicated to this whole non-conformist thing, you would find a way to get a species change and become a fucking sea turtle. The bottom line in life is that we're all working towards the goal of procreation. This is what binds us together. You know Chad right? Chad. Cmon you know Chad. The guy in your art class who is so deep and sensitive and *gasp* he even wears makeup. Yeah, you know him. He's so dreamy. Well guess what...Chad is only acting this way so he can attract you, and females like you, in hopes of having sex with you. And believe, when Chad does have sex with you, there will be nothing deep and sensitive about it. Something to ponder while you wait for your pop tarts to burn. Of course you would burn your pop tarts. You like your food tortured just like your soul.

The music. Oh the music. Is there anything more annoying than a cyclical musical circle jerk. "I used to like My Chemical Romance but then they sold out, now I hate them like I hate myself." While you were too busy being depressed about your favorite band making money, you forgot to realize that your favorite band doesn't give a shit about you. Is your name Sales? No? Then they really don't give a shit about you. How stupid is it to base your music tastes on whether or not the band has signed with a major? The lead signer of that band you love so much is not deep. I take that back...he is deep. Knee deep. In pussy. Because that's why he's making the music. He's not looking to touch you in a profound way. Unless, of course, you are a groupie's labia. He is not a tortured soul. The last torturing thing he was involved in was his decision between a benz or a beamer. Choose the music you want to listen to because you like how it sounds. Don't base it on "selling out" or how "no one has ever heard of these guys that's how good they are!". It's stupid.

Contrary to popular belief, the main objective of an emo is NOT to kill themselves. The main objective of an emo is to come just close enough to killing themselves that people feel bad for them. Here it is plain and simple. YOUR DEPRESSION IS A PRODUCT OF YOUR LIFESTYLE, not the other way around. Change your life and you won't be depressed. But then what excuse would you have for being a 16 yead old male with a KD Lang hair cut and more makeup than a Geisha girl? I guess no excuse would be the answer to that question. Look. I understand people have serious real deal depression. I know that fact all too well. Emoes are a slap in the face to everyone who has ACTUALLY suffered from REAL depression. Here's a new cry-for-help strategy. Give it a shot...open your mouth and fucking cry for help. You are not depressed because you are tortured. You are not depressed. You are sad. You think you're sad because your boyfriend is slamming that girl who was your best friend yesterday and your bitter enemy last week. Really, you are sad because you spend all your time indoors indulging yourself in an intangible way of life. You see no real results from the way your spend your time so you cut yourself because the blood is real. The pain is real. Put down that exacto you lifted from art class and pick up a baseball bat. Or a violin. Or go jogging. Do something that doesn't involve myspace or MSN. People had it a hell of a lot worse 50 years ago and they were happier back then. Put shit in perspective. You have friends, you have a nice house, and you have every advantage at your finger tips. Your parents not letting you go to that party last weekend doesn't mean that they don't love you. They do love you and I'm sure a lot of other people love you too. Perspective. It's all about perspective. Don't kill yourself. Even if you ARE an emo...we'd rather you here than not here and that's the complete truth. Life is fucking the best thing there is. Better than PANIC! At The Disco. Better than lime green Chuck Taylors. Better than a burnt pop tart. Know it. Believe it. Remember it.

Questions? I Love Questions...

When did changing your Facebook status start counting as staying in touch with your friends? How is "what do you mean what did I do last night? dude, check my FB status" acceptable? What if everyone changed their status to "out getting a fucking life" and actually followed through on it?

Why can't I see boobs on American television? How come I can see someone with "blunt force trauma" to the head on literally every episode of CSI, but not a pair of good old fashion all American breasts? What is more shocking to me as a human being? A guy with his brains seeping from his skull or a juicy pair of wholesome titties?

Are video game cheat codes tainting the value of hard work in the minds of our youth? Will someone ever invent the "get a girl to sleep with you" cheat code or a level skip password for when you have to go to church? Are our future leaders going to be constantly searching GameFaqs.com for the world peace map hack? If real world hacks and cheats actually do exist, should I be really afraid of Asian kids right now?

Why are there so many add-ons for my browser? Where is our society heading when you need Internet Explorer to tell you what day it is and what the weather is like outside? When do real life add-ons like a job or future aspirations come into play? Where can I download the "cougar radar" add-on?
How is MSN a form of courtship? Since when does flirting require a solid internet connection? Is overhearing someone say, "yo that girl digs me, she totally gave me her hotmail address...SCORE!!!" the saddest thing you heard today? Or is it a glimmer of hope for your own personal (non)sex life?

Why do I have people as friends on Facebook that I wouldn't even dream of considering my friends in real life? How can I go to a party and not say a single word to someone, yet with the aid of their Facebook photos, know how many chunks were in their vomit last Saturday night?

Who is in control of the fucking media these days? If Tara Reid, Lindsay Lohan, and Britney Spears all died in a horrific bumper boats accident, would life go on? Is anyone else disgusted that when I say the word "Paris", you immediately picture a ridiculously spoiled famous-for-nothing jizz continuum, rather than a beautifully romantic city in France?

Why are our emotions limited to the amount of smilies we've downloaded? How many different ways can your computer smile at someone else's computer? Does exchanging emoticons on AOL or MSN count as a face to face meeting? In the future, will important business meetings be held via conference call or AIM group chat? What is the smiley for "society is royally fucked"?

I'm not here to provide answers, really. I'm not an "answers" sort of guy. Just a few things to ponder while you plan out your day of surfing the web, browsing the web, shopping on the web, webbing the web, looking at porno on the web, seeing the weather on the web, and talking on the web. Web web.

Unplug yourself.

And maybe while you're outside doing real people stuff you can urge your friends to read my blog.

Better Than PPV: Kimbo Slice VS Tank Abbot

"Michael: Really? No Seriously, What The Fuck?" Issue #1