THON-onymous

It's that time of year again. There's a chill in the air. There's a festive song in every heart. And, there's hung-over teenagers shaking coffee cans at every red light, trying to make up for every moral and social abomination that they've committed in the name of whatever Greek letters they have emblazoned on their sweatshirts. Yeah, it's for a good cause. In my opinion, real charity doesn't come with a commemorative T-shirt and a self-congratulatory pat on your back.

Fuck Joe-Pa

Every time I hear people talk about the Penn State sex abuse scandal, they throw everyone else under the bus, but defend Paterno tooth-and-nail. "Oh, he can't be guilty of anything. He's Joe-Pa. He's an institution." They spew on and on, reminding us of his record and the decades of good football that he's given us and what a legend he is. So, what about the sex abuse that was going on? "Oh, yeah, that. He reported it to his higher-ups. Like, what else was he supposed to do?" Oh, I don't know, call a fucking cop? Just throwing that out as an idea, you know, brainstorming here. Maybe, instead of thinking of his team's reputation, he should have thought about a little boy, naked and crying, being used as a sex toy by a vile old man. Just in case you weren't paying attention, that's the important thing here.

Are people really so enamored with his high-water-wearing ass that they're gonna fall back on the chain-of-command in a collegiate athletics department? He told his boss? I got some straws here if you wanna grasp at them, too. If Sandusky was stealing towels from the locker room or downloading porn on Penn State's network, yeah, tell the boss. He was diddling elementary school kids in the locker room. Call the fucking cops! Better yet, beat him bloody with a sawed-off axe handle and then call the fucking cops!

As for McQueary, how do you explain your behavior, or lack thereof, to the children that were hurt? "Hey, dude. Man, that really sucks that some old perv pinned you against the wall and corn-holed you before you were old enough to have hair on your nuts. That musta hurt. Damn. I saw him do it, by the way, but I'm not into violence so I didn't stop him or nothing. I did tell my boss, though, and I think he told his boss, too, or something. Whatever. So, everything's cool. Right? Go Lions!"

Everyone involved, including the vaunted Joe Paterno, sat on their hands, plain and simple. They played football while Sandusky played with little boys. Yet, because of our pathological need for gridiron glory, we canonize that sawed-off little coke-bottle-glasses-wearing nitwit as some kind of grand ol' patriarch because he was good at winning games. Meanwhile, he was letting little kids get raped by some disease masquerading as a human being. "Fail" is appallingly insufficient at a time like this.

For you football fans, for you beer-swilling, team-color-torso-painting, rah-rah-rah jackoffs that swarm the bleachers like lemmings looking for a cliff, for you armchair quarterbacks that nestle your asses into your recliners and fawn over your widescreens like you just TiVo'ed God in HD, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, right here, right now...

...here it goes...

...brace yourselves...

Football is a game.

That's it. Go back and read it again if it didn't sink into your lite-beer-and-testosterone-addled brains. It is a game. Nothing more. A bunch of overgrown kids playing with a ball. "No, it's about achievement and glory and--" Bullshit. It's a game. It's about scoring points. What the fuck is a point? Can you buy food with a point? Can it change your tire if you get a flat? Will it get rid of this nagging headache of mine? A wanna see a point. Gimmie a picture. A wanna see a bunch of points. Serve me up a big, steaming bowl of points so that I can take a bite and feel the achievement and glory swirling around in my big fat belly. Can't do it, can you? So, what the fuck is a point? Nothing. It is pointless (pun intended with extreme prejudice). Football is a game. Anyone who makes it out to be more than that has more issues than I do.

So, fuck Joe-Pa. Fuck McQueary. Fuck everyone who knew what that disgusting pig Sandusky was doing and did nothing. Fuck everyone who put the importance of a stupid, pointless fucking game over the welfare of a little kid. And, for those of you who "bleed blue-and-white," do me a favor: bleed out.

Nine Things In The Name Of Safety That Looked Better On Paper

9) Anti-Vice Programs

It's kinda funny when self-appointed do-gooders try to save us from our addictions especially smoking. Most ads for smoking cessation programs are paid for by...the largest goddamn tobacco company in the world. Yeah, that'll work. Go to a grocery store and have the produce manager tell you about the hazards of pesticides. I'll bet there's subliminal messages in the ads ("no really, emphysema tickles. It's like an Elmo doll for your lungs"). As smarmy and heart-string-tuggy as they are, they can't compete with the lure of addiction. We'll start a new anti-heroin campaign: "stop jamming needles in your arm and frying your veins." It's an addiction! I love the casino ads: “Come here and win 7 billion dollars with one spin.” Then, in the smallest font that is still legally considered text, they have “Gambling Problem? Call 1-800-LOSE-BIG.” Pretty soon, we'll start seeing ads for politicians that say they actually care about their constituents...oh, wait. Aw, shit. Never mind.

8) Ultra-Bright Headlights

It's happened to you. You're driving along, minding your own business, obeying each and every traffic law to the letter (hey, this is a hypothetical, work with me, will you?) when "that guy" comes up on you. He had to brush up on his Spanish so he could go to AutoZone and get those brand-spanking new headlights for his Honda Civic. You know the ones I'm talking about...the one's with three beams: high beams, really high beams, and Imperial fucking Death Star blaster beams. The kind that can fade your paint job. The kind that put out light that would give Theodore Maiman a boner. He got them so he could see better, you know, to be safer. It's okay that he's toasting your retinas because he can see just fine. God forbid it's raining out and the light reflects off the road like one of those foil board things that you see hot chicks in the movies using to tan their under-chin areas (do those really exist?) Is it really safe to have lights so bright that NASA calls you up to bitch about them? It's like when the sweaty, hairy leather-laminated dirtbag on the Harley says he has loud exhaust pipes to save lives and not just to be an obnoxious, attention-whore douchebag.

7) Safety Signs/Slogans

What makes people think that a pedantic little placard plastered over your workstation will keep you from being a dip-shit? Oh, yeah, it's cheaper than actual training. Remember when your parents left you alone in the house for the first time? What did they say to you? “Behave." Everyone said the same thing in an innocent, almost bored deadpan: “I will." Meanwhile, you were chomping at the bit, trying to look bored out of your mind, just waiting for the car door to slam outside before your raided the old man's liquor cabinet and snooped around for his hidden titty magazine collection. “Drive safely?” Whew! Thanks for reminding me, I was planning on chugging a fifth of gin and driving to Jersey backwards at night. “Don't tailgate?” I was so gonna ride me some minivan ass, but, you showed me the light. Thank you inanimate sign!

As proof of their ineffectiveness, the warnings have only gotten sterner over the years. It used to be stuff like "Safety First" and "Arrive Alive". Now it's "You're a Useless Fucking Piece of Child-Murdering Subhuman Shit if you Don't Wear Your Seat-Belt." Regardless of how macabre you make the message, we ignore it. Because, when you're faced with cutting a 2-by-4 and the blade guard on your saw makes it take an extra three seconds to make the cut, you say, “fuck it, I don't need all ten fingers. As long as I have enough to pick my nose and flip people off, I'm good.”

6) Are you sure you want to do that?

We got anti-virus software, anti-malware, anti-spam, anti-rootkit, firewalls...the average computer can't scratch it's digital ass without something getting in the way. You would think our computers would be as impregnable as Fort Knox or Rosie O'donnel. And, yet, bad bit bugs proliferate like geeks at a Star Trek convention. Why? Because the weak link in the chain is the mouth-breathing dumbass wiping the Cheeto's grease off the keyboard.

The typical infection scenario goes something like this: you want to download the latest celebrity sex tape. You click on the link and POOF, the warning pops up. “SuperMegaUltra Security Suite has detected a potential hazard. Lethal.DriveFucker.WTF.exe is a potentially malicious program.” You look at it. "Threat level: moderate." Well, we've been at a moderate threat level since 9/11 and there haven't been any attacks since. You stare back at the warning, then at that thumbnail of that phenomenal Kardashian rack, then back to the warning. Threat level, moderate. Erection level, severe. Click. Boom. Before you know it, your computer has more viruses than the "actress" in the movie you were trying to download. Stupid succeeds every time it's tried.

5) School Buses

A school bus used to be a big, boxy diesel-powered juggernaut that hauled your snot-nosed brat to school. Now it's like the Pink Floyd light show grew wheels. They got big red lights and strobes and flip out "Stop" signs and that big swinging cow-pusher thing to keep your cross-eyed little nitwit from crawling under the front of a twenty-ton truck. What's next, a fireworks show? A platoon of armed crossing guards hops out and blocks the road? You could give it goddamn deflector shields, it won't matter. There's still gonna be that one dick who's hopped up on Amp and last-night's Nascar race that is going to try to pass a stopped bus. Dicks cut in line...because they're dicks. That's kinda why we call them that. It ain't rocket science. There will always be dicks in the world and they will always make the world a little less safe until we invent a high-tech dick deterrent device...of course, that may involve rocket science, or at least some basic ballistics.

4) Child-Proofing

The contraptions that we come up with to keep our kids from getting into our grown-up shit are hilarious. It's like OSHA hired Rube Goldberg. The funny thing is that nothing actually stops the kids from doing what you don't want them to do. The kids will find a way in, simply because they really, really want to, and they have all that time that you're at work to practice. Most kids are actually better at getting into the goodies than the adults are. How long does Granny fumble with the pain-pill jar with her twisted, knobby, arthritic fingers before she says “fuck it” and hands it off to little Billy, who's already figured out the latest XBox hack in between potty training sessions and nap time?

Lighters with little flip things don't actually stop someone from making fire, they just add another step to the process. And, they also tick off smokers who are kinda cranky and twitchy already. Getting between one and his smoky-treats is like getting between a momma bear and her cubs.

3) Accident Avoidance Systems

Airbags are a wonderful invention designed to keep you from scrambling your egg in an accident. They're one of those safety features that helps you "just in case." It's not like you're gonna do a General Lee jump over some hay bales just to see if your active restraint system actually works. Antilock brakes and 4WD, too, are good things to have, but they do take things one more step away from driver control. Some people think that 4WD will prevent them slip-sliding all over the road, regardless of the weather. Yes, Virginia, ice is still slippery. It's not like your transmission will hop off the car and go throw salt out on the road. But, it's still a "helper" to keep you safe, as long as you recognize it's limitations.

Now, your ultra-pricey import can come equipped with a state-of-the-art computer controlled super-duper high-tech system thingy that will slam on your brakes for you if something gets too close. It's like an R2 unit for your Benz. Cool, right? Fuck that. Advances in technology don't give you an excuse to be a shitty driver. As for high-tech crap, modern technology can't keep your laptop from locking up at random, do you really want to trust a machine to avoid that suicidal deer that just hopped in front of you? Do you really want to give Joe Sixpack an excuse to get shitfaced and see if his Robo-Chauffer system will keep him between the lines? I'll be taking the bus.

2) Warning Labels

I don't even have to spoof labels. They're spoofs on their own. They're gubment's attempt to idiot-proof the world. The problem is that idiocy will always win, because, unlike common sense, there is no lower limit to it. No matter how dumbed-down you make something, there will be a knuckle-dragger that's dimwitted enough to Limbo right under that low bar you set. Sorry, but any shithead that puts contraceptive jelly on her toast deserves the stomach pumping as well as a whole shit tank full of public derision.

1) Flu shots

Wanna keep from getting sick? Sure, we all do. So, how do you do it? Well, you can exercise, eat healthy, get lots of rest, and take a needle full of the very viruses that you're trying to avoid and jab that fucker right into your arm. Ummm, wait. No. What?

Yeah. That's a flu shot. Dead viruses in a syringe. It's okay, they're dead. Little unicellular corpses to stick in your vein. Fun, except that some of them are not quite dead. Maybe they're just wounded. Maybe...they're undead! Rhinoviral zombies shambling through your blood vessels, biting the heads off your corpuscles and eating their tiny little hemoglobin brains.

Getting a flu shot is like sleeping with a hooker that used to have the clap but she swears she's clear now. Yeah, no. When it was immunization for the kind of viral fuckers that killed or maimed you, like polio or smallpox, it made sense. But it's the flu. You sneeze, you feel like shit and you get over it. Take some time off work and catch up on your TiVo. Also, the strain of the maybe-dead virus they stick you with depends on what the CDC thinks will be the threat that year. CDC. Centers for Disease Control. Part of the Department of Health and Human Services. The government...SUPER reliable source, there. They totally hit the Swine Flu thing on the head (I think I had a touch of that myself). Thanks, but no. I'll stick with vitamin C.

My Unsolicited Review of "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo"

The truly pathological readers that I know have been gushing about The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. With all the media buzz and the impending movie, I've actually been ordered to read it. So, I did. In a word, my opinion of it is "eh."

That's blasphemy, I know. Everyone's flipping out over this book. Maybe it's because it was published posthumously. Maybe it's because he was Swedish and we Americans are amazed that other countries actually have their own novelists and stuff. I know not. All I can say is that I don't think it deserves all the kudos. It's a good story and the characters are interesting but, as the old saw goes, "the story is in the telling" and it's not told very well. Of course, that doesn't mean much; Stephanie Meyer made herself a household name by revising the "vampire rules" and recycling old Buffy angst to make an undead monster with uncontrolled blood-lust look like good boyfriend material. So, what the hell do I know? I'm sure the Larsson estate will be rolling in kronas. More power to them. I'm just not impressed.

The story was good though it was a bit anticlimactic. The subplots could have been worked into the main story a little more, giving it a bigger build-up towards the end. But, alas, we had chapter upon chapter of wrap-up. And, truth be told, the climax was a Hollywood director's wet dream. I actually predicted some of the plot twists but that might just be because I'm a genius. I don't want to spoil the ending for the seventeen other people who haven't read it yet, so I won't say anything else on plot. Suffice it to say that I liked the story well enough.

The writing, though, was weak, especially given the seismic orgasms that everyone seems to be having over it. I thought it was dry and methodical. Larsson, having been a journalist, was probably used to explaining things in a clear, concise manner, which is probably why his fiction is an exercise in exposition. The book is rife with passive, explanatory language, making it seem distant and impersonal. He tries to present some extremely visceral things and makes it read like a scientific journal article. It's all tell and no show. He invented some colorful characters and then painted them in greyscale.

Descriptions are cursory and not very evocative. They give you the setting but don't pull you into it. It's sort of like the props in an elementary school play; they're just kinda there. What he does expound on are pointless details and veritable laundry lists of actions ("She did this. She did that. Then, she did the other thing.") Sentence after repetitive sentence of ways and means with nothing with which to empathize. He also had a tendency to sprinkle in brand names and, in particular, he loved to recite computer stats. At one point, I thought I was reading a Best Buy ad. It's like the work of an author who's a gun enthusiast and insists on detailing bore sizes and muzzle velocities in the middle of a gunfight. Or, the cook who gives us a handy recipe. Steig liked his computers and he did his homework. Fantastic. If it doesn't advance the story, it just sounds like pandering.

His use of foreshadowing is blatant, almost patronizing. It's one thing to give the reader a hint of what's to come, it's quite another to bash him over the head with an announcement that something big and important is coming up in the next paragraph. It came off as very amateurish (and, since I'm an amateur, I would know.)

There's also a lot of unabashed proselytizing in it. All writers inject their own views into their work, but the good ones make it a part of the story. Larsson unloads unvarnished diatribes about the Swedish economy and social systems and personal injustices like...well...like a journalist. You don't make good chocolate chip cookies by dumping a pile of chips in the middle of the dough and spooning it out. You gotta work it in.

My biggest bitch with the book is Larsson's frequent, frenetic changes in the point-of-view. I could never tell who's eyes I was looking through and his expository dronings made it even more confusing. He flipped from one character to another in some nebulous, omniscient narrative voice and I found myself backtracking all the time. A book doesn't count as a page-turner if the pages are going in the wrong direction.

So, to put it in brainless-teenage-girl lingo, I liked it, but I didn't like it like it. Good story, mediocre book. The movie might actually turn out better. I'll read book two, but I don't think it won't keep me awake at night.

Some Things I've Noticed

The people who are least gifted with the ability to sing are often the most likely to demonstrate it.

It takes half an hour for your food to go from scalding hot to edible. It takes half a minute to go from edible to stone cold.

Bloggers are the internet equivalent of mimes; even the talented ones are otiose, irritating and devoid of meaningful communication skills.

There's a movie out called Final Destination 5. I guess Final Destination 1 through 4 were just living a lie.

A consultant's job is to take your watch off your wrist and then tell you what time it is.

Apple will never unseat Microsoft as the primary operating system for business users. If everybody switched to a Mac, nobody could blame their rank inefficiency on mysterious "computer problems."

Bankers and politicians are the only professions that ask you how much money you have before they tell you how much you owe. Even prostitutes and drug dealers are more upfront with their prices.

Top Ten Most Over-Rated Bands

10) AC/DC

Why has "Back in Black" sold 49 million copies worldwide? Yeah, it's catchy and fun to crank up and piss off old people with, but, really? They're not that good. Brian Johnson sounds like Grover with laryngitis and Angus Young appears to have successfully scrambled his brain just like that "this is your brain on predictable hard rock" commercial. Angus isn't that good of a guitarist, either. I don't know how he gets credibility in that arena. I mean, he's better than me, but that's like saying that the local skater punk does a better kick-flip than me. In the end, who really gives a rat's ass about kick-flips except for skater punks?


9) Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan's iconic status should be the crux of every anti-drug program in America. Acid overdose is the only explanation for his popularity. You wanna know how to make fun of Bob Dylan? Just sing just like Bob Dylan. Got a little music tip for Bob: make the sound come out your mouth, not your nose. At least one good thing came out of his career: his five-second part in "We Are The World" is the one part that EVERYONE sings along with.


8) U2

In the early eighties, U2 had an edge (not the guitarist, the feel). They were a bunch of pissed-off Irishmen with a message and Bono could sing his ass off. Now, they sound like they've been eating too much room service. Any band that has "bartering world peace" on their resume needs a reality check. I need amnesty for my eardrums. And, someone tell Bono that names come in first AND last versions. Only pretentious nutsacks have mononyms.

7) Pearl Jam

Grunge music was rough, unrefined and angsty. Some good, hard-hitting hard rock came out of Seattle in the 90's. Then, Pearl Jam happened. I often wondered why every college band in the 90's covered Pearl Jam religiously; it's because their music was so lame that an amateur could master it. It was easy to sing with, too. All you had to do was eat a pound of cheese and 17 bananas and wait for the abdominal cramps to kick in. I have two words for Eddie Vedder: Chris fucking Cornell.


6) Guns 'n' Roses

Why didn't we collectively beat Axl Rose to a pulp the moment he started mewling on stage? Why did it take so long for people to start hucking beer bottles at his greasy head? Axl. The Badboy. Gimmie a break! He looked like Scott Farcas from "A Christmas Story." As for the band, Slash is the only one with any talent. But, anyone with a mononym is a posueur in my book, especially if he played guitar for Michael Jackson. That shoots your rock cred right in the nuts.

5) ZZ Top

Aside from videos with hot chicks and cool cars, what does ZZ Top have as its claim to fame? Long beards. Hey! Wanna hear something interesting? The guy without the beard...his last name is Beard. Hey! Wanna hear something else interesting? They still suck. SSDA. Same Shit, Different Album. That's why they called one of their albums "Recycler." At least they're honest.

4) Kiss

Listen to a rock station long enough and you'll hear a Kiss song. I'm not saying "a Kiss song" in general terms. I mean, you will hear but one, solitary Kiss song ever. It's a little toe-tapper called "I Wanna Rock And Roll All Night." Here's a little sampling of the lyrics:

"I wanna rock and roll all night and party every day.
I wanna rock and roll all night and party every day.
I wanna rock and roll all night and" -- wait for it -- "party every day."

They take a three-minute party anthem and make it feel like Ben Stein reciting the preamble to the Constitution.

Underneath it all, they were just another 70's cock-rock band. All they had with which to separate themselves from the rest was their stage show and clown makeup and big cow tongues. And, when they took the makeup off in the 80's -- in a shameless attempt at reinventing themselves -- the world took one look at Kiss unmasked and said, "eeew, put it back on."

3) Bruce Springsteen

Like we didn't have enough toxic waste coming out of New Jersey. The Boss? Of what? I always hear, "oh, he's such a great songwriter." Oh, he really isn't. His music is boring and his voice sucks. Sounds like he's trying to take a really big shit, or he's trying to out-gravel Joe Cocker. Yet, every time he's in the Big Apple, he sells out a week's worth of shows at Madison Square Garden. What does that say about New Yorkers that hasn't already been said?

2) The Grateful Dead

When I first heard the name, "The Grateful Dead," I was enchanted. Cool name. It harkens to something dark and edgy. Their fan art was awesome. Kinda twisted, kinda existential, kinda gothic, always with some melange of color and shape with the obligatory skull stuck in there for fun. And, the fans. Their fan base was loyal to the point of piety. Then, I heard them. And, when I woke from my torpor, I realized that massive doses of pot with acid do not make for good music. The only reason they toured so long was because they were too baked to know when to quit.


1) The Beatles

I can hear the gasps of horror. "What? He's not attacking The Beatles, is he?" You damn right, I am. They sucked. P.e.r.i.o.d. They were, and are the most highly overrated band on planet earth. These upjumped cockney poseurs practically invented the most soulless, bloodless abomination ever to be called music. Their contribution to the musical arts sits firmly between paint drying and corn growing. Yaw-fucking-n. And, none of them was particularly talented. Lennon was the only one who did shit with a solo career. The rest were abysmal flops.

Yet, every band since them has cited them as an influence. I don't think that it is because they all like The Beatles, I think that it's because The Beatles have been canonized as the patron saints of the music industry. Not to bow and scrape before the Fab Four is akin to blasphemy. It's like everyone is expected to like the Beatles just because they were the Beatles. You can make fun of Elvis until the cows come home, but the Beatles are sacrosanct.

They were the first musical act to be afforded deific levels of importance and credibility. I once read an article on Wikipedia where some Lennon-worshiping sycophant actually posited the idea that "Ticket to Ride" was the first heavy metal song. I'm sure the lads also stopped the Cuban missile crisis, helped the astronauts land on the moon, and invented velcro and Post-It notes between albums.

They were just bland and lame. Even when they "matured" as artists, they never got good, just weird. They went from heartless, predigested pop to pointless, meandering weirdness. Either way...wrong answer.

Field Guide to Amateur Writers

I used to spend a lot of time posting my writing on peer-review websites; some were open forums where you post your work and let the criticisms fall where they may, while others have all kinds of convoluted rules and contrived ranking systems for reviewing work. All of these sites share a common thread. These websites are home to a magnificent menagerie of creative critters. Here's a sampling of what you might find:

Common Name:   The Copy Editor

Scientific Name:    Anus retentus

Other Names:    Nit-Picker, The Grammar Nazi

Habitat:   www.merriam-webster.com

Diet:   The King's English

Favorite Genres:    Nonfiction, especially obscure textbooks

Distinguishing Traits:   Critiques your critiques. Color-codes your mistakes for easy derision. Thinks that IM-Speak should be a capital offense.

Most Common Quote:   “Would it kill you to run a spell-check once in awhile?”

Common Name:    The Gentle Soul

Scientific Name:   Epidermis minimus

Other Names:   Deer In The Headlights, Fresh Meat

Habitat:    A cozy, sunlit reading nook, surrounded by plush throw-pillows, a few cats, and several thousand Harlequin paperbacks

Diet:    Attention

Favorite Genres:    Romance, serial romance, historical romance, teen romance

Distinguishing Traits:    Wouldn't know an adverb from an aardvark. Qualifies everything as “semi-autobiographical” to defray criticism.

Most Common Quote:   “Excuse my bad grammer. Please be nice :)”

Common Name:    The Friend

Scientific Name:    Proboscis fecalus

Other Names:    Everyone's Bestie, Brown-Noser, Suck-Up, Ass-Kisser

Habitat:    Peer-review writing websites, but it thinks it's on Facebook

Diet:   Attention

Favorite Genres:    Whatever genre you like

Distinguishing Traits:    Says nothing negative about your work, even if it's written backwards with no punctuation. Will block you if you say anything less supportive than “I loved it!”

Most Common Quote:   “I loved it!”

Common Name:   The Downtrodden

Scientific Name:    Goth Chick, Anger Chick, Emo Chick

Other Names:    Sullenia dismalus

Habitat:    Darkness

Diet:    Despair

Favorite Genres:    Anything about drugs, rape or suicide

Distinguishing Traits:    Knows 34 synonyms for the color black. Builds shrines to Marilyn Manson. “My Immortal” is its mating call. Thinks that "Team Edward vs. Team Jacob" counts as sociopolitical discourse.

Most Common Quote:   "Whatever. Nothing matters anyway."

Common Name:    The Commando

Scientific Name:    Cranium carnitus

Other Names:    GI Joe, Jarhead, Sarge

Habitat:    Hiding in the bushes with a high-powered rifle

Diet:    Blood 'n' guts

Favorite Genres:    War, war and war

Distinguishing Traits:    Won't describe what its characters look like or where they are, but will detail every firearm down to its muzzle velocity. Uses military jargon in its critiques. Thinks that its detailed depiction of the proper disassembling and cleaning of an M1 Carbine ought to count as Romance.

Most Common Quote:   “Booyah!”

Common Name:    The Kid

Scientific Name:    Studentus desperatus

Other Names:    Newbie, Punk

Habitat:    Junior-high

Diet:    Its own fingernails

Favorite Genres:    Whatever the teacher said it was supposed to be

Distinguishing Traits:    The only amateur writer who actually wants help from other writers and is not just fishing for steaming piles of praise for its work. Desperately needs help because the English assignment is due in a couple of days. Will plagiarize anything not nailed down.

Most Common Quote:   “PLEEZE HELP!!!”

Common Name:    The Creep

Scientific Name:    Mentalus unstabilius

Other Names:    Anger Boy, In Need Of Medication

Habitat:    Seedy bars, porn shops and probably in the alley outside your building

Diet:    Quentin Tarantino films

Favorite Genres:    Any book with the words “Blood”, “Rage”, or “Death” in the title

Distinguishing Traits:    Sprinkles violence into its stories like salt on french fries. Without profanity, it would have no dialogue. Probably on a watch-list somewhere. Thinks that its detailed depiction of a guy smashing a girl's brains in with a nine-iron and then feeling-up her corpse ought to count as Romance.

Most Common Quote:   Who really gives a crap what it has to say?

Common Name:    The Artiste

Scientific Name:    Thesaurus rex

Other Names:    Adjective Jockey, Poseur

Habitat:    The library basement

Diet:    Really long, pretentious words that even English majors have to look up

Favorite Genres:    Anything by a long-dead neoclassical author that nobody reads anymore

Distinguishing Traits:    Uses writing as a vehicle to expurgate the shadowy nuances of its innermost feelings rather than to write something that somebody would actually want to read. Thinks that plotting is for weenies. Takes “I don't get it” as a compliment.

Most Common Quote:   "Genius is always misunderstood in its own time."

Common Name:    The Elf-Lord

Scientific Name:    Socialus inepticus

Other Names:    Geek, Nerd, Dork, Weirdo Up The Street

Habitat:    Middle-Earth; vacations in Narnia

Diet:    Mutton and mead

Favorite Genres:    Anything with a sword

Distinguishing Traits:    Foregoes a word-processor for papyrus and a quill. Writes pub scenes so it can use the word “wench” without getting slapped. Still working on the epoch-spanning fantasy epic that it started in college. Wonders if "dodecalogy" is a real word.

Most Common Quote:   "Ho, there, yon weary traveler."

Common Name:    The Trekkie

Scientific Name:    Socialus inepticus rex

Other Names:    Major Geek, Major Nerd, Major Dork, IT Specialist

Habitat:    Conventions, comic book stores, Mom's basement

Diet:    Cheetos and Red Bull

Favorite Genres:    Anything with a laser

Distinguishing Traits:    Plastic pointy ears and a V-shaped salute. Bilingual; it speaks both Klingon and Romulan. Spends more time describing aliens than developing a story.

Most Common Quote:   "That's an interesting concept, but, technically, it's impossible. You see, Newton's Third Law says that..."

Common Name:    The Anointed One

Scientific Name:    Sanctimonius maximus

Other Names:   Dirty-Rotten-Miserable-No-Good-Rat-Bastard-Pain-In-The-Ass-Demonspawn-From-Hell-Know-It-All-Elitist-Snob-Sonofabitch

Habitat:   Every single peer-review website on the internet

Diet:    Other amateur writers

Favorite Genres:    The master of all literary genres, known and unknown

Distinguishing Traits:    Self-appointed Jedi Overlord of the written word. Trained at the Simon Cowell School of Sensitivity. Thinks that “constructive criticism" is an oxymoron. Will spend more time eviscerating your work than you spent writing it. Hasn't posted anything in years because nobody else is worthy to offer salient criticism of its work.

Most Common Quote:   Like it would ever be so cliché as to repeat something.

Bumper Sticker Poem

The backs of cars you're annotating

With slogans very irritating.

With your bumper, communicating

Stupid phrases that I'm hating.

Don't care about your stupid dog,

Don't care about your Harley Hog.

Don't care 'bout honor student's behavior,

Or who's your personal Lord and Savior.

I don't care if you joined PETA,

Or if you're a deer-hunting meat-eater.

A family line-up is unnecessary.

Don't really care if you're a fairy.

Your church, your lodge, where you stay fit,

Frankly, I don't give a shit.

Penn State, 'Bama, Notre Dame,

Calm down, dude, it's just a game.

I don't care for whom you voted.

"Shit happens?" Yeah, already noted.

NASCAR on your car enshrined?

Methinks you IQ's way behind.

Awareness rainbow proudly showing,

But it's your own horn you're blowing.

Maybe there's some point I'm missin'

with that kid that's always pissin'.

I won't "Cowboy Up," won't "Coexist,"

Won't "Git-R-Done," I'm getting pissed.

Don't tell me to "Arrive Alive."

Don't tell me to "Hang Up And Drive."

"Bad Boy Club?" You must be joking.

Your license they ought to be revoking.

Gang-sign stickers and grenade decals?

Nobody's impressed but your loser pals.

Claim to be a "Princess" or a "Bitch?"

You should drive a broom, pretentious witch.

"Real Trucks Rattle" with Cummins diesel?

Compensating for a little weasel?

Team Jake or Edward? Do me a favor:

Steer your car underneath a paver.

Going Green and saving whales?

I hope your transmission fails.

Jesus fish or Darwin's critter,

Folks like you just make me bitter.

Your Alma Mater, your "vay-cay" spot?

Tolerate you, I cannot.

"Feel Your Boobies" all you want,

To me, you're driving's an affront.

On your window, "Rest In Peace?"

Great place to honor late Aunt Bernice.

Gun-Rights dude is packing heat,

God's copilot's changing seats.

A "Jeep Thing" I wouldn't understand?

From driving you should be banned.

"Wag more, Bark less" and "Mean people suck,"

Screw your "Random acts," you schmuck.

"Soccer Mom's Taxi" with "Baby on board."

For cheesiness, that must be a record.

Don't care 'bout your "other car,"

Don't care 'bout your favorite bar.

Don't care 'bout what you "heart,"

Don't care 'bout Dale Earnhardt.

Stupid stickers everywhere,

"If you can read this," I don't care.

With me, I'm sure some will bicker, but

HONK IF YOU HATE BUMPER STICKERS!

Generic Commercial Script

The scene opens in a room where a man is <insert stereotypical knuckle-dragging male behavior here>.

Cut to a woman leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a condescending smile on her face.

Cut back to the man, who shrugs and smiles like an ape with his thumb stuck up his ass.

Cut back to woman, who shakes her head, pats him on the shoulder, and hands him <insert product name here> which magically counteracts his male stupidity.

They share a knowing smile and a nod, and all is right with the world.

Top Ten Food Rules

Rule #1: Microwave ovens are evil. Microwave radiation is useful for transmitting data across long distances, not for heating food. The phrase "nuke it" ought to be a clue.

Rule #2: Butter and margarine are not interchangeable. Butter is a luxuriant, subtly flavored gift to humanity; when Moses spake of "milk" in "the land of milk and honey" he really meant "butter." If butter were more solid, we would eat it with a fork. Margarine is good for lubricating wheel bearings.

Rule #3: Pasta sauce. That red stuff that you put on top of pasta is not called "gravy," it's called "sauce." I don't give a rat's ass what great-uncle Vinnie Baggaducci from Brooklyn says: "Gravy" is thickened meat juice that you drown your mashed potatoes in. "Sauce" is what you put on pasta. And, yes, it's called "pasta," not "macaroni." "Macaroni" is what you put cheese on. Get it right.

Rule #4: Teflon is evil. Teflon is a serendipitous invention resulting from an accident at DuPont. It's a really cool polymer but it does not belong on cookware. Teflon is plastic. Plastic burns when you heat it. Any twelve-year-old boy with a lighter knows that. Save Teflon for waterproofing.

Rule #5: American foods suck. Capitalism is great for the economy, but it's a bitch in the kitchen. Concepts like "buy cheap and sell dear" and "let the buyer beware" do not make for fine cuisine. American bread? Put on a pillowcase and take a nap. American cheese? Nothing says "yum" like the words "pasteurized process cheese product." American beer? Journalist H. Allen Smith brilliantly summed up American beer after he tried his first one when he said: "Put it back in the horse!"

Rule #6: Advertisers are a pack of lying snot-bags. "Home-style" soup from a can. I'm laughing too hard to come up with anything to type for that one.

Rule #7: Stop overcooking meat. Food poisoning is no fun, but apparently the USDA would like us all to eat hockey pucks. Anything beyond medium-rare ought to be illegal.

Rule #8: Aluminum cookware is evil. The only aluminum that belongs in the kitchen is in the form of foil. Two words: cast iron.

Rule #9: Salt is NEVER optional. Eat salt. Your brain needs it. Ancient Romans used to pay their soldiers with it; that's where we get the word "salary." Most importantly, food sucks without it. Stop being a pussy and just use the damn salt!

Rule #10: Coffee is the most important substance on earth. Forget petroleum or penicillin or computers, caffeine is the only reason that we do not live in the Stone Age. Wanna start a war? Disrupt the flow of oil. Wanna start Armageddon? Fuck with coffee.

Blog

Here's my blog. I'm blogging. I'm a blogger. Bloggin' away. Yay, blog! I thought it would be more interesting than this. With a name like blog, why would I expect excitement? Blog is kind of a stupid word. Kinda *feh*. Sounds vaguely scatological. What bugs me is that the spell-checker on my blog keeps flagging the word "blog" as misspelled. Umm, in the dictionary under "conundrum," it says see "conundrum."

Anyway, here's my blog.