NOTE: At 8pm tonight, I will begin my first day (night) of school in about ten years. It's exciting! Also terrifying because, obviously, what if I fuck it all up and my family frowns at me in a disapproving manner as I tailspin into a fiery oblivion? What if THAT happens??? That would suck. Eh... it will probably be fine. Fingers crossed!

2ND NOTE: Also, I'm scared of bullies!

Memorializin'

Guys and Gals of Our Nation's Armed Forces...

We're supposed to remember you good folks today, but I bet a lot of people will forget. Beaches and backyard cook-outs can be really distracting... especially if there's beer... so I guess you can't really blame them. Besides, who likes thinking about war and death on a three-day weekend?

Me... I do. So, to that end, let me say this:

Sorry you all have to be out in the shitty desert with a bunch of people trying to kill you and whatnot. That sucks. But, seriously, thanks for doing it so I don't have to. I am doughy and weak and basically a vagina who's only contribution to society is a working knowledge of horror film minutia. If it were up to me to defend this country, we'd all be speaking German by now.

Are we still fighting the Germans? I don't really watch the news, as the news is so rarely ever porn.

Anyway, again, thanks for taking one (many) for the team (me). At least you get cool guns.

-C

P.S. If you let me shoot one of your guns at a paper target, or even at a political prisoner, that would be SO awesome. I'm a pretty good shot on Halo. I think the principles are basically the same.

P.P.S. What with being in the desert and all, do you find that a lot of sand gets in your butthole? Just curious.

NOTE: When World War III happens, remember who was nice enough to say pleasant things about you on the internet even though I totally didn't have to. Really, I was going to post something about how farts are hilarious, but then I decided at the last minute to give a shout out to the military. So... you know... save me first when the bombs start falling. I will make it worth your while. *wink*

My Plans For Austin

NOTE: I'm heading down to Austin for a couple of days... a little mini-vacation, if you will, before classes start up for the summer semester. I thought it would be fun for you to take a look at all the exciting things I've got planned for my trip. Enjoy, and hey, try to not to be TOO jealous! Ah, I'm just funnin'...

-Eat a lot of barbecue, because they kill things and cook them up right in this part of the world. Beef, usually, but sometimes... if it's late and you know the right place... you can get some drifter. The house buys a round if you get a piece where you can still make out his tattoo.

-There's this one building that looks all shiny and new and like a glass monument to capitalism. It offends me. I'm going to chop it down with my Ax of Righteousness. Okay, I don't actually have an Ax of Righteousness, nor do I have the drive and determination to chop down I building. I am going to pee on it, though. Well, I'm going to think about it while I pee. I'm scared of building security!

-I think I'll try to find a little league team that's in last place and assume the role of their coach. I'll teach them the fundamentals of the game, help them see that no matter what, they'll always be winners in my book, and then we'll win the league championship! And THAT'S when I score with all the player's moms. Mmm... steamin' up the mini-van windows. Roomy jeans tossed off every which-a-way!

-Perhaps I'll take in a show, or at the very least make a spectacle of myself.

-Hoping to organize a dance battle amongst the local homeless population. Third Prize: a gin bottle filled with kerosene. Second Prize: a new stabbin' knife made from an old, rusty license plate and the handle of a broom. First Prize: they get to sleep in a box that's not filled with their own poop. New box!!!

-The circus is in town this weekend, so I'm going to go to the circus and get drunk with a clown. Drunk clowns are hilarious! And so sad because they're dying from liver disease. The makeup they wear hides their pain and also their jaundice. I'm going to spray seltzer down my pants!

-Maybe I'll take in a few classes at the University of Texas. Applied Physics and Introduction to the Kiln are mindblowing after a handful of mushrooms. Not the psychedelic kind, though. Portobello. The farts they produce cause hallucinations that will tear your fucking soul apart. Tasty, too!

-I'm going to take a walking tour of all my ex-girlfriends, either apologizing to those that deserve it, or stealing canned goods from the ones that were mean to me. I am going to be rich with pumpkin pie filling and hominy, yo!

-You know those Japanese places where you can eat sushi off a naked lady? I'm going to do that, but with beer pong.

-Most of all, though, I'm going to keep Austin weird, as per the slogan. And with me going bottomless from the waist down... believe me, kiddos, it's going to get plenty weird.

The American Idol Finale

People I know... good friends of mine, people I've drunk beers with... are all like, American Idol sucks and if you watch it, you're contributing to the downfall of our country's intelligence and we have standards and NPR and one day I won't even OWN a television, what a glorious time that will be.

Well listen, despite the fact that we're otherwise cool and you generally smell nice, seriously, shut the fuck up about American Idol and how it's awful.

We KNOW it's awful. That's the not the point. The point is, because it's awful, it's also amazing. And not in a "so bad it's good" kinda way; that shit is for The Biggest Loser. It's awful because it's a perfect mirror of our nation's psyche, fucking ALWAYS.

Look at tonight... Adam Lambert, who has a voice like a neutron bomb, but is "weird" and "makes us think about gays" and "wears make-up like a GIRL, OMG," did not win though he was clearly the more talented of the final two. Who did win? Kris Allen, who's got a very nice voice and is very talented, but is an aw-shucks sort of fellow who wears a lot of plaid and probably snuggles better than anyone you've ever met. The guy is practically MADE of snuggles. He doesn't even fuck... he only makes love, then writes a song about it.

So OF COURSE he's going to win in a head-to-head competition with Mr. Tragically Delicious Dark Music of the Theater's Mournful Soul. Kris Allen is safety and strong arms... Adam Lambert is a shower of shrieking sparks and a pass-around tray of amyl nitrates.

And don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of BOTH. I thought, for once, America got it right... the final two, you couldn't really make a bad call. But I do think Kris winning writes large what is still... FUCKING STILL... on America's mind; i.e. we're still sort of scared that the gays will make us gay with their gay power.

Then again, I'm not actually gay, so I guess I really shouldn't speak for them re: the shit they have to deal with. Besides, maybe they all voted for Kris because he's totally dreamy and Adam, talented though he is, got to be a bit much sometimes.

Anyway, so that's THAT part of the finale. Let's do a quick rundown of the Super Special Celebrity Guests:

Queen Latifa - I liked her in Chicago, but then I haven't really cared for her since. Also, what the fuck was she wearing tonight? A skin-tight leotard with all the zippers in the world? Why do that? If you're a big lady, go blowsy, or sassy-tits like Aretha. Don't call attention to where you're round. The song she sang with Lil Rounds was eh. C-

Jason Mraz - Much as I think him and his hats are all, collectively, a bag of douches, I really like that "I'm Yours" song, to a stalker-ish degree. Also, doesn't it feel like that song of his, "The Remedy," was released back in like 1993? Why is that. It's only been around like six years or something. Weird. "Mraz" must be a dead language word for "time warp." B-

Keith Urban - Who gives a shit. I spent most of his duet with Kris hitting the queso and trying to remember whether or not he was Australian, because otherwise how would he have met Nicole Kidman. It doesn't make sense any other way. D

Cyndi Lauper - God, I love her. When parents think of their kid going off to be "artsy," she is the kind of girl they picture their son or daughter eventually dating, with the weird hair and the clothes from hell's thrift store and an accent so thick it could crack blocks of toffee. Bless her heart for embodying that all these years. I urge you to pick up "She's So Unusual" from back in the 80's. There weren't many better albums from that decade. A+

The Black-Eyed Peas - Fuck them and the meth lab that shat them out. They smell like balls and they run down the back of your throat like cocaine snorted off a "We Are the World" cassette single. Everything about them is like multi-ethnic lit cigarettes in your eye. Even their backup dancers won't show their faces. F-

Lionel Ritchie - Hey look, Lionel Ritchie is still around. C+

Steve Martin - Anyone who's ever bought one of his comedy albums knows that he's all about the banjo, and that by the by is awesome, but him being here was totally a "I'd like to sell some albums" move. And there's nothing wrong with that; dude's Steve Martin. He can do as he pleases. It just sucks that he got stuck performing with Meagan Joy and Michael Sarver, the two worst voices in the Top Ten this year. B+

KISS - Haha, whoa... that was big and loud and shiny and everything at once on a stage not built for so much old man rock fury. They're getting a little long in the tooth to be sporting the classic makeup... it's really defining their wrinkles so they look like Halloween masks... but how can you argue with "Detroit Rock City," "Rock & Roll All Night," AND Adam Lambert in wire-frame shoulder pads singing "Beth" like he just thought of it just now and YOU'RE his Beth for all eternity? A-

Rod Stewart - Points for busting out "Maggie May," which is a genius song no matter what your opinion of Rod the Bod is, and some more points for that wicked jacket, but... wow... the voice ain't what it used to be, huh? Sounding a little creaky these days, my man. Still got the moves, though. Or at least a joints-and-back-friendly approximation of same. B-

Queen - Well, as much of Queen as you're going to get without a Ouija board. Brian May is alright, but nobody... not on the stage tonight, or in the world today (with the possible exception of Mika)... can touch Freddie Mercury. That buck-toothed bastard had it going ON, always. But anyway, what's left of Queen showed up and Kris and Adam sang with them and it was okay, I guess. Kris was kind of punching above his weight with the high notes, but who cares. C+

The Show as a Whole: C'mon, there's not even an argument here... A+, all the way, because it delivered what it was supposed to deliver, pipin' hot and freshly baked. It might be the end of the world or whatever, but man is it a tasty descent into the darkness.

Snack Food Jesus

For all you evangelicals out there who've been sitting around your sad, dustless living rooms, tapping your watches, and asking of no one in particular, "When is that Jesus going to return to Earth from outer space or wherever and ease my suffering with his holy touch which may or may not include a back rub... when, I ask... WHEN," it looks like we finally have your answer.

He's back! Like, right now... he's maxin' and relaxin' in the corporeal world! Kind of a good news/bad news situation, though. Yes, he hath returneth to us and we are his angels now and he brought t-shirts from Heaven for everybody. Unfortunately, he kind of botched the math for his return trajectory and ended up coming back as... well... see for yourself:

That's right. Jesus is a Cheeto. Which is actually okay, if for no other reason that it's going to make the whole "eat of my body" thing a whole lot more delicious.

Oh but seriously, so yeah some crazy lady found the above Cheeto while stuffing fistfuls of the things into her gaping maw and now she's being covered by CNN because this is TOTALLY NEWSWORTHY. And guess where this spectacular prophet of a woman lives??? No, go on... I insist... take a wild, flailing stab in the dark.

Did you guess Texas? Did Texas spring immediately to mind because it's the first place you think of whenever you hear about appallingly religious people with mental imbalances so acute, they walk at a 45 degree angle?

Well you're right! The Cheeto Jesus WAS found in Texas. How sad for me because I live here now.

As for the actual look of the thing: Apparently Jesus was a zombie. See how the arms are outstretched? Much like a zombie's arms would be as he grasped for brains? Also, it appears that Cheeto Jesus is wearing a dress. No judgements, of course, but I think a lot of people... particularly down here in the Bible Belt... are going to take issue with the radical notion that the Lord's kid was a crossdresser.

It should also be noted that there's no historical evidence suggesting that Jesus was a violent color of orange.

Anyway, so people are still seeing religious iconography in unusual places. And I imagine they will continue to do so as long as major media outlets continue to treat them as if they're NOT candidates for ever-increasing doses of lithium. Meanwhile, a bunch of people died because they don't have enough food and AIDS is still all over the place and war and horror and Ryan Seacrest.

But by all means keep watching the snack food aisle, my babies. Perhaps the Virgin Mary will burst forth from a Pringles can in time for Memorial Day and we can all go to the beach knowing we are loved. Something about the Virgin Mary makes me think Sour Cream & Onion, so watch those cans particularly close.

I Am Handling The Apocalypse Much Better Than You

Dear Beth-

Hey, I know it's been a long time since you and I talked. I mean, you made it pretty clear that our relationship was over, though I still say setting my apartment building on fire was overstating your point a little bit. So many people died... they didn't have to die... I swear to you I returned your Water-Pik and your roommate stole it!

But I guess it doesn't really matter, considering what happened a few months ago. The Apocalypse. Crazy, right? All the bombs and the radiation from the bombs and, because OF COURSE, the radiation-based mutants. Oh, speaking of... you remember Jimmy from down at the video store? He's some kind of rat-thing now. Still working at the video store, but now the video store is a place where the radiation mutants go to purchase human organs to eat. I think Jimmy is the assistant manager, but I'm not sure; I was too busy wildly firing a shotgun into the bloated, gnashing mouth/belly of what was once a traffic cop (I think) to check his name tag.

Anyway... so I guess you're wondering why I'm writing you this letter. And you're probably also wondering why it's written on a parchment of human skin and inked in the blood of the innocent. Well, Beth, here's the deal... since the Apocalypse happened, I've kind of... blossomed, as it were. Come into my own. I saw my moment and I seized it, I guess you could say.

I am now the conquering tyrant of Demilitarized Zone 8H!!! That's right, your old boyfriend is powerful as all get out!!! Surprised? You're thinking to yourself, "Could the same asthmatic man I cruelly dumped for a surfer really now be the ax-wielding warlord that's quite literally carved out a kingdom amidst the horrors of The End Times?"

The answer is YES! To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how it happened. When the bombs fell, I sorta just freaked out. Started killing a lot of people, collecting weapons, enslaving the weak and building an army... that sort of thing. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a throne made of skulls, watching three severely mutated Taco Bell employees fight each other with homemade broadswords. It's been a hell of a ride, let me tell you.

Which I guess brings me to the point of this letter. One of my minions saw you down in DM Zone 4Q the other day... it said you were shitting in a bucket and crying and that it looked like all your teeth had been knocked out (guess you won't be needing that Water-Pik after all, ha ha). The surfer was nowhere to be found. Hearing all this made me a little sad... we had some great times, after all. But in the end, it just made me realize that I'm over you, Beth. I am strong now. I am my own man.

And clearly I am handling the Apocalypse much better than you. What's the old saying; living well is the greatest revenge of all? I don't know about that... ripping out the spines of those who've wronged you is surprisingly satisfying. But what the hey... just this once, we'll give the old saying it's due. I'm living well at the end of the world, Beth. Take THAT!!!

-He Who Rules With the Blade and the Fear (you can still call me "Trevor" if you want)

P.S. Please don't say anything to my flock about me not being sure how the whole warlord thing happened. As far as they're concerned, I was sent here as an avenging demon from Hell to wreck our master Satan's bloody vengeance on Earth so he can claim enough souls to rise up and rule with me at his right hand. Trying to keep that story going as long as I can, so be cool, okay? Thanks!

Time Travel - My Notes

I was really looking forward to this weekend, and I'm totally impatient, so I went ahead and invented time travel. It wasn't hard. I mean, I don't want to give away my methods or whatever but I will give you a hint... waffle batter. Lots of it. And a three car batteries. THREE. Not two, not four. You don't want to end up on Neptune all, "How the fuck did I get on Neptune; whole place smells like fish ass."

Anyway, so I used time travel to go to this weekend and it was a fucking BLAST, y'all. You guys don't even know. Ever shotgun a beer on top of a helicopter and not die? I have. When the weekend was over, I was like, well shit... I've got time travel now... might as well get weird up and down the historical timeline. And that's EXACTLY WHAT I DID.

Herewith, my notes from my adventures. Ladies, put down a tarp.

TIME TRAVEL - MY NOTES

-Dinosaurs are fucking pussies!!! Oh my god, the movies have got it all so wrong. I saw this raptor and was pretty much getting my shit right with the lord because obviously he's going slice and dice me, but then it came up and started nuzzling my chest with it's head. It purred!!! I stroked it's scaly noggin for a while, but then I snapped it's neck all Steven Seagal WHOOP-CRACK!!! Bitches, I killed a motherfucking raptor with my bare hands!!! What did you do yesterday? Fart during American Idol? Haha... game, set, MATCH.

-Hung out with historical Jesus. Nice guy, obviously. Black. So that settles that. He also kept referring to God as "she." I think someone might want to do a quick rewrite on the next edition of the Bible. Or not, historical Jesus doesn't give a shit. I know... I asked him. Real mellow guy. Smelled like a goat, though.

-The Dark Ages... no fun. Mead was alright, but not good enough to balance out the plague and the Crusades and the dragons. Oh right, dragons... totally real. And MEAN. Not like dinosaurs at all. Tried to snap one's neck and it nearly barbecued my face. Luckily, I brought a gun. Know what kills a dragon? A gun. Anyway, if you see any tapestries depicting a chubby dude with a magic iron weapon of destruction being heralded as a God... yo, that's all me.

-Skipped ahead to the 80's. Managed to catch The Clash in concert. Highly recommend it.

-The Great Depression wasn't so bad. Girls were like, "We're so depressed... wanna have some dirty 30's sex to take our minds off us being cash poor?" That happened ALL THE TIME. Plus, I could walk around in nothing but a barrel and make the cover of Life magazine. If anyone sees a copy of that Life magazine, by the by, snatch it up. I want to give it to my mom.

-I know this is going to sound like, "duh," but The Bronze Age... lots of bronze. It's like a whole age where everyone came in third.

-You know that album "Meet the Beatles?" Well I met The Beatles. I am now, officially, the fifth Beatle. John, Paul, George and Ringo and C-dog. If you listen to "I Want to Hold Your Hand," you can hear me throwing up in the background. I drank all The Beatles' booze.

-Ran into Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. at this big walking thing in Alabama. Told him about Obama. He gave me a high-five and a bottle of Coke. Nice dude. I liked him better than Jesus because he smelled very pleasant.

-The 70's were just okay. Lots of bush. Thin Lizzy, though. Whatever, if you watched That 70's Show, you pretty much know what was up. Not sure how people lived with that laugh track going off all the time. It was especially hard for me because I'm hilarious.

-I watched Hitler take a dump. After he left the bathroom (without washing his hands, mind you) it occurred to me that I probably should have killed him with my trusty magic iron weapon of destruction. I'm such a space cadet sometimes.

-Went back to last Thursday and helped myself find my car keys so I wouldn't be late for dinner at my folks' place. It was really nice getting to talk to myself like that. It DID tear a hole in the space/time continuum and we're probably going to get swallowed up by a cosmic blackness at some point, but... hey... well, you've met me. How could you NOT want to chit-chat?

-Found the guy who invented Cheez-Its. Kissed him square on the lips. He gave me a free box of Cheez-Its. Time travel fucking rules.

A Frightening 20 Seconds, or, "I Think My Own Body Just Tried To Kill Me"

Everyone thinks their own body is like this thing that would never hurt them, like a can of Dr. Pepper, or a single lily in a glass vase, but everyone is fucking WRONG. Cans of Dr. Pepper make good blunt objects to bash out people's brains (and, bonus, a tasty beverage is right at hand to quench your post-murder thirst), single lilies in glass vases very often carry switchblades, and your own body... oh shit, it's like if the Taliban was inside you, waiting to suicide bomb your whole self into oblivion. Ever heard of Cancer? Aneurysms? Lungs suddenly bursting into flames? That shit goes on all the time and that's just scratching the surface of how your body can do some motherfucking chin checkin'.

To that list I'd like to add one more item of pure, white hot, internal deadliness: Vomit Burps.

Or "Vurps," if you like.

And, yeah, all you Doubting Dans and Delilahs out there... Vurps can kill. Like trained, gross assassins, they can take you out in the blink of an eye. Perhaps even a blink of YOUR OWN eye. How fucked up is THAT? So fucked up.

Anyway, I know all this is true because I'm kind of this God-like figure who practically sweats omnipotence, but also because... last night... a Vurp damn near snuffed out my candle.

So it's 3am and I'm asleep, dreaming of you... yes, YOU... naked, save for a discreet layer of BBQ sauce, offering me a plate of brisket all, "hey, big boy, would you like me to sauce your beef," when tragedy struck. As I was unconscious and horny at the time, I'm unclear as to specifically what went down, but from what I've been able to piece together, I Vurped... while asleep...

The small quantity of vomit rose up into my throat and, as I was laying down, it stayed there, completely blocking my windpipe. I couldn't breath! After a few seconds of no-oxygen-having, I sprang to my feet, awake with terror, my esophagus burning with somewhat digested Taco Bueno. My eyes and nose began to run with tears and snot, respectively... oh, I'm sure I was a sight. Still handsome as the day is long, of course, but also kind of slimy and wet.

For about 20 seconds, I just stumbled around like a drunk man fighting an imaginary wasp... choking to death, drowsy with nudie meat dreams, slick in the face from my various juices...

I thought, "Well, this is it... this is how it all ends for ol' C-dog. Bury me face down so the world can admire my shapely buttocks!!!"

And then... my will to live kicked in! With my last ounce of sexy energy, I swallowed hard, forcing the vomit back down into the Hell from whence it came (my stomach). I breathed deeply the stale, farty air of my one room apartment. It tasted to me like stale, farty ambrosia.

So let this be a warning to you all, my little lambs. Your body is the enemy. It wants you to die in a variety of terrifying, painful ways. And it wants you to poop a little when you croak so your funeral will be cloaked in shame.

Be wary. Be vigilante. Drink lots of 100 proof liquor to show it just who the fuck is boss. And maybe lay off the Taco Bueno; that stuff is the spark that sets off the war, much like the assassination of Franz Ferdinand (the archduke, not the peppy band).

What's a Girl Like You Doing In a Place Like This?

-Noisy bars help drown out the voices... the horrible, horrible voices.

-If you hang around the slaughterhouse long enough, they'll give you a free pail of innards. And I loves me some innards.

-Shoplifting rash cream.

-Ordering a sack full of Beef N' Cheddars to take back to my lonely apartment, where I'll eat all the Beef N' Cheddars and cry Beef N' Cheddar-flavored tears on my cat while I watch old Jane Austen movies and wonder if Mr. Darcy will one day eat a Beef N' Cheddar with me, naked, god I'm so very lonely.

-Trying to give you a lap dance so I can make enough money to buy my son's asthma medicine.

-Attempting to call to order a meeting of the House of Representatives.

-Sleeping peacefully next to my husband. Please don't hurt us.

-Drinking varnish with a funnel. It's the only thing that gets me drunk enough these days. Would you like to drink some varnish with me? I have a clean funnel...

-Saving the trees; smelling like if patchouli oil didn't bathe.

-The Batusi.

Unique Mother's Day Gifts

-Break her vacuum so she doesn't have to vacuum the house anymore. When she cries about her vacuum, that's when you bust out the brand new broom! Tie a festive, pink bow around the broom to really show you care.

-Finally authorize that Do Not Resuscitate order.

-Kill your father, but replace him with a handsome male prostitute that you pay to give your Mom the complete "Husband Experience." For the rest of her life, she'll be fake-married to a piece of rough trade named Lester, but at least that son of bitch father of yours will finally be rotting in the ground!!! Haha, if only he could have seen the look on his own face when you strangled him with that telephone cord... teach him to miss your swim meets because he had to "work night shifts" to "support his family" because he "loved us all so much." Swim meets were your LIFE, dude...

-A hug, you cheap bastard.

-Classy thongs.

-Lotto tickets are always good... worst case, she wins nothing but enjoys the tactile sensation of scratching something with a dime; best case, she hits the jackpot and you get half or you'll push her down the stairs. Make sure she understands the part about the stairs, Mr. Millionaire.

-You're not making her do your laundry... you're letting her. And if she forgets to add the fabric softener like you like, you'll let her see how she likes sleeping in the garage.

-Sometimes, just a phone call is all it takes to brighten her day. Particularly if she knows that the prison only lets you have one a month.

-When you bring her her weekly booze delivery, just this once make it top-shelf.

-Let her adopt your friend Joel for the day so she can at least get a taste of what it would be like to have a successful son who doesn't steal money out of her purse.

High School Reunion: My Ideas!

A couple of days ago, I received... via Facebook, no less... the first notice regarding my impending 10-year high school reunion. I reacted to this information as anyone would; I sobbed loudly while giving myself a whore's bath in the sink, I pooped all over everything in a tailspin of bowel-loosening shame and regret, and then I blew up an Arby's because they can't make me go to a reunion if I'm in jail for blowing up an Arby's. That's just common sense.

But, since no one cares about Arby's or the people who go there, I was let off with a $50 fine and a stern warning from the court and... fuck... now I have to entertain the notion of ACTUALLY going to my high school reunion which was SO not the outcome I was looking for. Should have bombed a Chili's.

Anyway, since there's a very real chance that I'll soon be making awkward conversation in a decorated gymnasium with people I hate who are wildly more successful than myself, I thought I'd do everything I can to make the whole experience a little more palatable.

I've decided to help plan the reunion!!!

I mean, I guess the first step is going to have to be getting myself on the reunion planning committee, but I think that can be accomplished using my cunning, my guile, and my sweet Texas ass in tight blue jeans. The ladies love that. Well, they don't hate it. Most don't get too nauseous. My sweet Texas ass in tight blue jeans is hideous and will not be a part of the plan. I will instead switch tactics; begging will be the key that unlocks the door to reunion planning Valhalla.

So, without further adieu, here's my...

10-Year High School Reunion Ideas of Awesomeness To Make For a Better, More Awesome, Time For All Of Us!!! CLASS OF '99!!!!

-I need to get a better title for my list of ideas. Parenthetically, I need to not drink so much weed killer while naming my idea lists. Maybe I should just cut down on the weed killer altogether. Anything with "killer" in the name probably shouldn't be used in homemade margaritas. They ARE delicious, though. Or at least they make me black out for a few (many) hours (days).

-Instead of slow dances, let's have a mosh pit. They had mosh pits in the 90's, so it will be nostalgic. If my mosh pit idea goes over well, I promise you this... I will knock down the popular kids and step on their necks. Revenge will taste so sweet...

-A bowlful of condoms and morning-after pills at each table.

-Midway through the proceedings, a rousing game of "Guess Which Alumnus is Slowly Dying From Leukemia" will surely liven things up. The winner should get a prize; the person that's dying shouldn't be informed about the game ahead of time because they might not want to play.

-I know a Mexican who can arrange a cockfight just for us. Betting is encouraged; bring your own rooster to get in on the fun! There will be NO razors attached to the claws. This isn't Guadalahara, after all. We've got souls.

-No handguns this year.

-Let's put our senior pictures on our name tags, so everyone can remember what they looked like when they still had hopes and dreams and the life hadn't been stomped out of them by the harshness of reality. Also, funny haircuts!!!

-To save money, let's make the whole thing BYOB. Or BYOW (wine). Or BYOTFOE (trashcan full of Everclear). Or BYOWK (weed killer).

-Suggested themes for the reunion:

"Lookin' Fine, Class of '99! Except for you, Trevor. Fuck you!"
"All Dead Inside!"
"Let's Not Talk About Our Awkward, Homoerotic Fumblings in the Locker Room!"
"Golden Memories That Will Last a Lifetime, or Some Bullshit!"
"It's a Shame Those Murders Senior Year are Still Unsolved!"
"Now is the Time For Me To FINALLY Tell C-dog How Much I Love Him, Have ALWAYS Loved Him, and How Badly I Want to Jump His Bones on the Wrestling Mats in Gym B!"
"Who Farted?"

Yep... going to be the best reunion ever! THEY WILL BOW BEFORE MY MIGHT!!! I mean my might on the dance floor. Also, I'm taking hostages.

Well, That Sucked: Wolverine

First things first, I want you to know where I'm coming from with regards to the X-Men movie franchise, the comics themselves, the idea of movies in general, and what it's like to be a human being that can process information gathered through a series of lenses, rods, and cones set inside two ocular cavities within his skull.

Actually, let's just focus on the first two parts and if there's time for the rest, well then, perhaps I'll smack you upside your fool head with a hot loaf of enlightenment. Or maybe I'll just get drunk and throw up in my driveway. Either way, I'm waking up nude on my neighbor's lawn.

What was I talking about...

Right, The X-Men. I like them. The comics, from what I've read, were entertaining enough, and I enjoyed the first two movies of the series; the ones that Bryan Singer directed. The third one... which was directed/farted on by Brett Ratner... was a bronze-plated shrug of a whatever, notable only for featuring Frasier smeared in blue makeup, which was oddly satisfying.

But the first two... man, those were some great flicks. Fun, escapist fare; the kind of movie you talk about with your friends over pizza and Coke while getting real excited about the neat-o minute details... too excited, some would say... then you have to explain why talking about adamantium claws gave you a boner. Then your friends don't want to talk to you because you showed them your boner. Boners are a real deal-breaker with a lot people, it turns out. God, I hate my boner.

Anyway, so what about the new one? The Wolverine: How I Done Got Here summer blockbuster? How was that.

Well... did you see the title? Because that pretty much sums it up. It sucked. Hard. Here's why...

Boring as shit - There's some little drips and drabs of action, but not just a whole lot. It's not "action packed." It's more like action sprinkled. The movie is lightly spritzed with action. What there IS a lot of, though, is glowering. And screaming "NOOOOOOO" up to the heavens. And Hugh Jackman walking around shirtless, taunting me with his abs so muscled and carved from a one-ton block of fuck marble GOD you just want to trace erotic sketches on them with your tongue...

Hugh Jackman - Handsome though he may be... and oh sweet baby Jesus, is he ever... it appears that he routinely left his charisma in the trailer every morning when he went to the set. Like, he put it near his wallet and his keys so he'd be SURE to remember it, but the phone was ringing and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and his hands were full with a large latte and an Egg McMuffin and damn if it wasn't all so distracting that he left his charisma right next to the loose change dish and a stack of unread mail. And it happened EVERY DAY!!! Poor Hugh Jackman... he could have really used that charisma during the making of this movie. I would still touch his dong, though.

Other Characters - Who the fuck and why the fuck, re: the other people and their presence in the movie. If memory serves, none of them really showed up together in the comics. Maybe they did... I don't really know... I spent most of my comics-reading youth huffing oven cleaner out of an empty Sonic bag. But whatever, it was still an unholy mishmash of extremely lame mutants (one is really fat! one can make light bulbs turn off and on! one wears a garish cowboy hat!) that you don't care about and chuckle lightly to yourself when they die a horrible death. The casting was stupid and watching the movie makes you feel stupid.

Will.I.Am - That douchebag from The Black-Eyed Peas is in this (he's the one with the cowboy hat) and when he appears on screen, you're overtaken by the desire to never, ever stop hitting him in the face with a fire extinguisher. Why is a member of The Black-Eyed Peas in ANY movie, let alone this movie? The Black-Eyed Peas should be rounded up and shot, not put in front of a camera and asked to read lines as a character that's not their awful, awful selves. Come on guys, I know making a movie is hard, but some choices are easy. Shoot The Black-Eyed Peas on sight; don't film them in conjunction with a work of supposed entertainment.

Everything Else - I'm getting tired of writing, so let's just say that everything else about or related to Wolverine sucked ass harder than... I don't know... whatever sucks your own, personal ass during the course of a normal day and leave it at that. Don't go see this movie. It will make you angry and the popcorn will taste like ashes in your mouth and it will cause you to beat your loved ones and then you'll hang yourself in prison and when you're burning in Hell, you'll stare up at the world as we know it and curse Wolverine for ruining your life and damning your soul for all eternity.

So maybe save your spendin' money for the new Pixar show or something. Or just send it to me. (I will spend it on oven cleaner)