tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-269464032024-03-23T13:51:34.829-04:00Zombie Fights Shark!A zombie fighting a shark... that couldn't happen. OR COULD IT?Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.comBlogger1418125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-7160470774383890692011-09-18T23:42:00.000-04:002011-09-18T23:44:01.610-04:00<a href="http://allhailcdog.tumblr.com">All Hail C-dog</a><br /><br />For real this time.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-41407924973006481612011-01-27T22:20:00.002-05:002011-01-27T23:35:19.697-05:00Carl was asleep and then, in a unit of time heretofore unexplored by science, he was awake, and violently so. His head had been stuffed with barbed wire, cleverly hidden inside glasses of bourbon, and his stomach felt like it died last week and was now a rotten corpse. Falling out of bed, and also throwing up, he landed on the thick carpet of clothes and garbage that covered the actual carpet of his bedroom (the actual carpet of his bedroom was thickly matted with various fluids accumulated throughout the years and it's best not to think of it an hour before or after you've eaten).<br /><br />He contorted himself into the fetal position and prayed that his roommate would suffer a psychotic break, come into his room, and chop his head off.<br /><br />This did not happen.<br /><br />Instead, Carl stayed motionless on the floor for several hours, until he felt like he could move without his eyes exploding or his guts falling out his ass. He sat up, and the room was a tornado or maybe those spinning teacups at Disney World. Or he was inside a dryer... no, one of those carnival rides that pins you to the wall with G-forces. He sat crosslegged, hands keeping his head from detaching from his body and splattering against his Evil Dead poster like a thrown watermelon. After a century or an election cycle or several Olympics had come and gone (or possibly five minutes), Carl made a move towards the vertical. Every bone in his body, now coated in lead or whatever that stuff is that makes Wolverine a badass, cracked and clattered and threatened to break apart. But they held true, as had they always. Good old bones, thought Carl (not really, mostly Carl thought about vomiting again). Thrust upward and standing, the room rotated a bit then settled. It rocked as if sitting in the lap of an old granny out on her porch, then it didn't. Though covered in his own vomit, and caught amid the funhouse gyrations of his usually very stable bedroom, Carl did not vomit again. This, he felt, was a major accomplishment. One worthy of at least a Golden Globe. Maybe a Nobel Peace Prize or something. Something that would look flashy on the mantle.<br /><br />Carl's mind tended to wander.<br /><br />He walked out into the apartment and was immediately punched square in the nose by a fist of stench. He doubled over and gagged, but brought up nothing of interest.<br /><br />God, it reeked.<br /><br />His eyes watered.<br /><br />It felt as if a tiny, hateful gnome was spin-kicking his gag reflex.<br /><br />He stumbled forward into the living room and immediately saw her... a beautiful her... asleep on the couch. She was so very naked. And pale... incredibly pale... her body seemed to give off light like a florescent bulb. Her hair, black, was even blacker by comparison. The encroachment of nighttime on a beautiful day. She had eyes of the bluest skies and if she thought of rain... well, it wasn't anytime recently. She was also not blinking. Or moving. Or breathing. It occurred to Carl that something was very, very wrong.<br /><br />Carl literally had no concept of what would happen next, so he thought about movies. More specifically, he thought about what happened in movies when a person (such as himself, though played by someone much more handsome), found an unmoving, not-breathing, body of a girl with skin like light and eyes like hair metal lyrics.<br /><br />He should check her pulse!<br /><br />So he did.<br /><br />There wasn't one.<br /><br />He should see if she was breathing!<br /><br />He already knew she wasn't, so he didn't bother with that step.<br /><br />He should...<br /><br />He... should...<br /><br />He poured himself a stiff glass of bourbon from the bottle lodged between the couch cushions and sat himself down beside her, absentmindedly playing with her toes as he drank. This was probably it for him, he thought. He assumed he'd get blamed for her death. Hell, he thought, maybe he'd actually caused it. He couldn't, strictly speaking, remember anything that had happened the night before. Or the previous night. Clearly things had gotten out of hand.<br /><br />He finished his drink and poured himself another.<br /><br />He turned on the TV and watched an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, the one where Geoffery's son shows up and steals money from Will. Carl laughed too loudly at the jokes and tried his hardest to not look at the life sentence that lay to his left.<br /><br />Carl poured himself a third drink. Halfway through said drink, his brain... not the clearest of horizons to begin with... began to fog over. Things got spectacularly calm. He felt as if his body were being lifted up towards the water-stained ceiling and that he would smoosh right through it, as if it were marshmallow fluff. He felt the cool air of outdoors on the parts of his body that weren't crusted with puke. He rose into the atmosphere and into the silence of space. He breathed in the stars and exhaled out planets and galaxies and alien civilizations.<br /><br />The door being kicked in brought him back to Earth.<br /><br />The room was filled with people, suddenly, like teleportation was real. There were uniforms that signified various things, and his roommate was in a corner crying and pointing. He raised his glass to toast the new arrivals and someone stuck a gun in his face.<br /><br />The phrase "you did the right thing" floated across the room, and Carl was fairly certain it wasn't directed at him.<br /><br />He was pulled up by his collar and spun quickly around. He dropped his glass as his hands were pulled behind him. His wrists were clamped and pinched and he couldn't move his arms. Not that he cared. The fog was creeping back into his head. It was like the hands of Andre the Giant gripping his skull, squeezing, but in a way that conveyed nothing but love. Everything was fine... fuck, so fucking fine. The fog, though, was just a temporary thing. Thought it had just arrived, already it was pulling back, perhaps due to the large man yelling about how he had the right to remain silent right in his ear (the irony was lost on Carl). The hangover was subsiding too. As the sick and the fog drew back, he felt what was left. His baseline emotion. He felt nothing. The biggest nothing ever to exist (or not). Down to his very core, there was a numbness usually associated with mountain climbers dying from hypothermia. The noise of the room collapsed in on itself. Carl's ears heard a fake silence, but it was a silence nonetheless. He looked at the poor girl on his couch. So pretty.<br /><br />He wished he could remember her name.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-41550467421470112382010-10-27T13:54:00.001-04:002010-10-27T13:57:01.762-04:00For all your C-dog related needs and wants and desires, go here now:<br /><br /><a href="http://acceptableamusements.blogspot.com/">Acceptable Amusements</a><br /><br />Risen from the grave, motherfuckers.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-38641414474242389942010-05-27T22:34:00.003-04:002010-05-27T23:02:55.780-04:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S_8si0w0AgI/AAAAAAAAEH8/BKsx1hS50e8/s1600/closed_sign-black.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S_8si0w0AgI/AAAAAAAAEH8/BKsx1hS50e8/s400/closed_sign-black.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476144648696365570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Seeing as how I haven't published anything meaningful since the end of March, and seeing as how I can't even get my shit together long enough to operate a proper Twitter feed, I think it's about time we go ahead and call it a career.<br /><br />Yes, as today... well, as of a few months ago when I stopped posting, but <span style="font-style: italic;">officially</span> as of today... ZFS! is done. For real this time.<br /><br />Seriously, kids, thanks for reading. It's been heaping handfuls of fun, especially back in the day, and getting to know you guys has truly made the fact that ZFS! never netted me a book deal a little easier to swallow. I wish you all happy lives, or at least lives filled with enough booze to make it feel tolerable, if only until the hangover kicks in.<br /><br />As for me... hell, I've got no clue. School didn't work out, but other things in my life are suddenly going just gangbusters. So who knows? Maybe I'll finally write that novel... maybe I'll be found dead in a ditch, strangled by a circus clown who didn't like my attitude... maybe I'll just dance, <span style="font-weight: bold;">dance<span style="font-style: italic;">, DANCE!!!</span></span><br /><br />Whatever happens, I'm sure I'll be fine. Until we meet again... in another life, or on another website lurking moistly in a dark corner of the internet... so long, my friends.<br /><br />This has been C-dog.<br /><br />This has been Zombie Fights Shark!<br /><br />********************************************<br /><br />Oh, P.S. You can follow me on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/zombieshark">Facebook</a> if you'd like. THAT, I do keep current, plus it's a good way to find out about any upcoming projects of mine (should you be interested) and also you'll be kept up to date on what sandwiches I'm eating AND how drunk I am at any given time. So feel free to "friend."Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-73461855523493135422010-04-10T11:36:00.000-04:002010-04-10T11:41:11.530-04:00<object width="380" height="285"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TIa6bHd48v4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TIa6bHd48v4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="380" height="285"></embed></object>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-53681580139313278732010-03-25T01:00:00.002-04:002010-03-25T02:11:06.105-04:00American Idol - Your Awful Top 10Anyone who knows anything about how much of a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">gaywad</span> I am knows that I love <em>American Idol</em> with a passion that's getting a little uncomfortable and may one day find me placed on some sort of list kept by the government. Because this is true, you have to understand how much it pains me to say this: <strong><em>American Idol</em> has been god-awful this year.</strong><br /><br />I mean just terrible. Here we are at the Top 10 and there's literally ONE contestant... maybe two... that legitimately should be there. And it's not like they eliminated a bunch of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">awesome</span> people or anything... these remaining contestants are sadly just the best of a bad crop. It's downright disheartening, but I guess not all that surprising, seeing as how this shows been chugging along for nearly ten years. The American talent well is getting pretty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">goddamned</span> dry.<br /><br />But anyway, since I did it last year, and because talking about <em>American Idol</em> still makes me both feel warm and fuzzy inside and hate myself, here's your Top 10. For better or worse. Mostly worse.<br /><br /><strong><u><em>American Idol</em> - Top 10</u></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Aaron Kelly</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruve9sjnI/AAAAAAAAEHk/PDwDZAa2RCQ/s1600/idol9-aaron.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432798418505330" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruve9sjnI/AAAAAAAAEHk/PDwDZAa2RCQ/s400/idol9-aaron.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Aaron is sixteen, and it's a <em>young</em> sixteen. Like he probably still thinks girls are gross and have cooties. He sings like a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Sophomore</span> that just got a supporting part in the high school's production of <em>Anything Goes</em>, yet the judges have decided he's "the next Justin <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Timberlake</span>," which is only true in the sense that he'll at some point probably get deflowered by a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mouseketeer</span>. There's all sorts of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">back story</span> with him, too... adoptions and bad parents and once he hid in an attic and read "The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Neverending</span> Story"... but it's all too boring to really get worked up over. The only significant moment involving Aaron Kelly this season is when Ellen playfully accused him of copying her hairstyle. Congrats, kid... you just got told you have lesbian hair on national TV. How's fame taste?<br /><br /><strong>Lee <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">DeWyze</span></strong><br /><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error"></span></strong><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruvEnU99I/AAAAAAAAEHc/5ClkZRV4ydM/s1600/idol8-lee.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432791345362898" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruvEnU99I/AAAAAAAAEHc/5ClkZRV4ydM/s400/idol8-lee.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Here we have the <em>Idol</em> contestant most likely to sell you weed. He's the bro-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">iest</span> bro that's ever bro-ed and he has the musical <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">stylings</span> of a Dave Matthews cover band that really wants to move away from Dave Matthews and start covering some REAL shit, like <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Daughtry</span> or Kings of Leon. There's nothing interesting about him at all, even though he's been declared "a hunk" by several people that have apparently never seen men before. His parents love him, I guess, because there haven't been any heartbreaking montages of him carrying his guitar through an orphanage or whatever.<br /><br />Oh, and one time he sang that Owl City song "Fireflies" just him and an acoustic guitar and it was so bland my TV had to go take a nap.<br /><br /><strong>Tim Urban</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruu7owEwI/AAAAAAAAEHU/VJWL3SehHrs/s1600/idol7-tim.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432788935414530" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruu7owEwI/AAAAAAAAEHU/VJWL3SehHrs/s400/idol7-tim.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Now HE'S a hunk. All young and floppy-haired and muscled... if I were a seventeen year old girl, I'd let him play with my boobs, all I'm saying. At the same time, there's a STRONG creepy religion vibe coming off of him; they showed his family one time and there's like fifteen brothers and sisters, all genes therein <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">impeccable</span>, and it made my skin crawl like I just discovered an ant infestation. Maybe it's just because I'm currently reading a book about icky Mormon cults, but this dude is TOTALLY (probably) the product of an icky Mormon cult.<br /><br />Anyway, he sings terribly and he's only still on the show because girls and very, very disturbed older men want to touch his penis. True fact.<br /><br /><strong>Katie Stevens</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruuWVXp5I/AAAAAAAAEHM/QT5q2OevqEc/s1600/idol6-katie.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432778922010514" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruuWVXp5I/AAAAAAAAEHM/QT5q2OevqEc/s400/idol6-katie.jpg" /></a><br /><br />This is the other sixteen year old, but she's the kind that acts like they're 34 and have a very important job taking business meetings with clients in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">NoFunsville</span>. She's kind of robotic and she suffers a little bit from an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">ailment</span> I call "Man Voice," plus she's only marginally talented at singing. Odd, being as how this is a singing competition, but whatever.<br /><br />Of all the contestants, she's the one that's going to freak out the worst when she gets voted off. You can just see it coming. When she gets critiqued, she appears to be listening intently to what the judges have to say, but you can tell she's just counting down the seconds until she can get back to her dressing room and dig deep cuts into her leg with a razor blade because SHE'S! NOT! GOOD! ENOUGH!<br /><br />Seriously, when she goes, it's going to be epic. She might punch Ryan <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Seacrest</span>, which would be like beating up all the world's happiness in the form of a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">manorexic</span> pixie that can tell you to the SECOND when we're due back from <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">commercial</span>.<br /><br /><strong>Andrew Garcia</strong><br /><br /><div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruX_VDJqI/AAAAAAAAEG8/vqiAh19_XjE/s1600/idol5-andrew.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432394789529250" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruX_VDJqI/AAAAAAAAEG8/vqiAh19_XjE/s400/idol5-andrew.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Ugh. This guy, I can't even deal with. He has a neck tattoo. A NECK TATTOO. Seriously, he's just the worst and he should have been canned <em>ages</em> ago.</div><div> </div><div>Oh, and I think he was in a gang once or something. I don't know. When he's on, I go to the fridge for a snack, or if I'm not hungry I just stand there out of earshot until I'm sure enough time has passed so that he's not on my TV anymore.<br /><br /><strong>Casey James</strong></div><div> </div><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruXWTUHDI/AAAAAAAAEG0/O1yiloO0m3Q/s1600/idol4-casey.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432383776398386" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruXWTUHDI/AAAAAAAAEG0/O1yiloO0m3Q/s400/idol4-casey.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Were you a big fan of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jonny</span> Lang back in 1997? Then you'll <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">LOOOOVE</span> Casey James. Because he's basically that, but with longer hair and even less of a personality. </div><div> </div><div>Look, he plays the guitar really well; there's no denying that. But he sings like every band that's ever played Friday nights at Sherlock's Pub here in Arlington, TX (which I realize is a very location-specific reference to make, but I think you catch my drift) and that's just not going to cut it, on this show or as a life choice.</div><div> </div><div>He has also been declared "hunky," but personally I think he looks like he smells like dirty hair.</div><div> </div><div><strong>Didi <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">Benami</span></strong></div><div><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error"></span></strong> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruXOww4JI/AAAAAAAAEGs/ilJj_GKBrvw/s1600/idol3-didi.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432381752434834" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruXOww4JI/AAAAAAAAEGs/ilJj_GKBrvw/s400/idol3-didi.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Didi has sung so differently every time she's performed, I'm starting to think she's actually a set of identical triplets who are playing an elaborate prank on America. She's just... I mean, she's not BAD, per <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">se</span>. She actually has her moments where it's like, "I see what you did there, and I approve." Her version of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">Fleetwood</span> Mac's "Rhiannon" was top shelf all the way. But then she does this weird, vibrato thing where it's like she's singing into a fan, and that's where I think Didi totally loses most of us at home.</div><div> </div><div>I feel bad because she seems like a nice person, but she also seems like the sort that would greatly <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">benefit</span> from a strong drink and the admonition to settle the fuck down.</div><div> </div><div><strong>"Big" Mike <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lynche</span></strong></div><div><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error"></span></strong> </div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruW8jxb6I/AAAAAAAAEGk/vAVYglLy6sY/s1600/idol2-mike.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432376866107298" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruW8jxb6I/AAAAAAAAEGk/vAVYglLy6sY/s400/idol2-mike.jpg" /></a><br /><br />He's roughly nine feet tall and he just became a dad. These are important facts... I mean, they must be, because they've been mentioned <em>every time</em> he's on screen since the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">beginning</span> of this fiasco. The man has literally been defined by the fact that he's fucking massive... and he is; Ryan looks like one of the more useless (though well-groomed) hobbits next to him... and the fact that he fucked his wife nine months ago. </div><div> </div><div>It's the same thing as Danny <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gokey</span> last year being all about his dead wife, but with a happier, less morbid slant.</div><div> </div><div>Anyway, he sings like you'd expect a huge black guy to sing. He uses too much falsetto for my taste (and he's not great at it), but otherwise he's okay. </div><div> </div><div><strong>Siobhan <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">Magnus</span></strong></div><div><strong><span class="blsp-spelling-error"></span></strong> </div><div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruWpLV2lI/AAAAAAAAEGc/YI4SqsxO0cA/s1600/idol1-siobahn.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432371663362642" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruWpLV2lI/AAAAAAAAEGc/YI4SqsxO0cA/s400/idol1-siobahn.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I love her a little bit, but only because she's monkey-house crazy. And I mean that in the most positive way possible, I really do. Siobhan (that's pronounced "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shu</span>-VON, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">btw</span>) has this vibe that reminds me of an art student starting a band with her roommate because they're bored on a Saturday, but then discovering that they're actually the best thing to come out of New York City since Le <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tigre</span>. She had a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error">mohawk</span> once... seriously, they showed a picture. It made me want to smash beer bottles and use the pieces to spell out "marry me." </div><div> </div><div>She has a great voice, but she also does this really high-note screechy thing that was impressive once, still okay twice, and now that she's done it three times in a row, we're all kind of worried that that's all she's got. To us, the fans, she was our one shot at Adam Lambert-level weirdness. If she doesn't pull some amazing shit out of the Phantom Zone (or wherever she gets her ideas) pretty damn quick, she's going to be <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error">dunzo</span>. America does not tolerate the merely strange. We want <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error">fabulousness</span> too.</div><div> </div><div><strong>Crystal <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bowersox</span></strong> <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruuFCtDhI/AAAAAAAAEHE/V2RUL3HTfi4/s1600/idol10-crystal.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452432774280318482" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ruuFCtDhI/AAAAAAAAEHE/V2RUL3HTfi4/s400/idol10-crystal.jpg" /></a><br /><br />This is your next American Idol. Seriously. She's going to win. No one really even has a chance at this point and... given what we've seen thus far... none of the other contestants are even <em>capable</em> of rising to the challenge. It's been said several times by the judges that she's quite simply on another level than her competition... one that's much higher and just flat-out BETTER... and that statement could not be more true.</div><div> </div><div>Her whole deal is that folksy, Melissa <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ethridge</span>, Janis and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error">Alanis</span>, lady guitar soul... which frankly I'm kind of over as a concept... but when <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bowersox</span> lays it down, it feels all fresh and new, like when you heard "Fast Car" for the first time. She's SO good, it's kind of retarded that we have to have ten more weeks of this show.</div><div> </div><div>The anti-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_38" class="blsp-spelling-error">establismentarian</span> in me loves, too, that she's totally a gross hippie, which is <em>so</em> not the product Idol usually tries to sell us. She has dreads and weird teeth and she carries around a sack of "lucky charms;" it's all so Austin, TX that I was thunderstruck to hear that she's from Ohio or some godforsaken place (no offense, Ohio). All of it wraps up nicely into an amazing package that deserves all the fame and fortune she gets off this show. I hope it's tons, because she's really the only one on the big stage keeping things awesome. </div><div> </div><div>No joke, if there's an erosion of common sense and she gets sent home, I'm fucking done with this show. Fucking DONE. Until next year, of course. </div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-86445195727073327712010-03-22T11:04:00.012-04:002010-03-22T11:41:32.699-04:00The Health Care Bill<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ePNPhhS_I/AAAAAAAAEGU/WOTvapSgDQI/s1600-h/sexydoc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 148px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451483331623472114" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6ePNPhhS_I/AAAAAAAAEGU/WOTvapSgDQI/s200/sexydoc.jpg" /></a>Because I care deeply about the world around me (HAHA, this IS fiction!), I stayed up all night reading the entire Health Care Reform Bill that passed through Congress last night. It was a lot to get through, and I dozed off a few times, and at one point I got distracted by that infomercial where they make a salad in 30 seconds just to shut up an old lady (it's the best thing ever) but... yeah... the whole bill... READ IT. There's some interesting stuff in there, so I thought I'd share what I learned with all of you. You, being the people out there too lazy to read government documents in your spare time. You're so lucky to have me, you know that, right? You're welcome I'm in your life.<br /><br />(send money)<br /><br /><div><div><strong><u>Finally, a Cure For AIDS!!!: The New Health Care Reform Bill</u></strong></div><br /><div>-Doctors are now required by law to let you use their stethoscopes to listen to your butt.</div><div></div><div>-All the pills in a given hospital will be laid out in a big bowl by the admittance desk. Go ahead and take what you need. (the blue ones make everything awesome for a little while!)</div><br /><div>-If you want cancer because all your friends have cancer and you feel left out, the government will totally give you cancer now. </div><br /><div>-You know that one disease where you bleed out of everywhere? Ebola? Man, that's gross. Haha, also diarrhea is gross!!!</div><br /><div>-This is really more of a side benefit, but the passing of the Health Care bill combined with the powers of Facebook really helps you figure out who exactly on your Friends List is a right-wing lunatic. Unfriending them means you're a Socialist, but it's the price you pay for not wanting to firebomb your high school every time you log on to check your squash growth on Farmville.</div><br /><div>-Heart surgeries are now 2-for-1 with a coupon from the Penny Saver.</div><br /><div>-All cast members of <em>ER</em> are now licensed to practice medicine. All cast members of <em>Grey's Anatomy</em> are gaywads.</div><br /><div>-There's a part in here that says the Government gets to keep our babies. Hm... guys... we probably should have read all of this thing BEFORE we got it passed... </div></div><br /><div></div><div>-Can't find where it's mentioned specifically, but I assume this means that weed is now legal.</div><br /><div><div>-Free cotton swabs for <em>everybody!!!</em></div></div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-78454807895172612092010-03-18T15:57:00.002-04:002010-03-18T16:10:14.745-04:00One of these days I'll post something more substantial, but for now...<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6KF0eV36gI/AAAAAAAAEF0/bykT4Wz4KzI/s1600-h/weenerkleener.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 350px; HEIGHT: 350px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450065635616221698" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S6KF0eV36gI/AAAAAAAAEF0/bykT4Wz4KzI/s400/weenerkleener.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Finally, soap you can fuck. This is quite possibly the saddest product I've ever seen. It's even worse than eating a "personal-sized" pizza (which means "this pizza will not fill the lonely hole inside you, but it does come with a variety of toppings!"). It says it's fun for couples, but no couple is going to use this, ever. When you're with someone, you don't really care if your dick smells. I mean, you DO, obviously, but it's not to the point where you buy special-shaped soaps to really get in there and get that fucker sparkling and new.<br /><br />You know what the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Weener</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kleener</span> is like? It's like eating in a restaurant by yourself and knowing that the waitress is being overly friendly because her heart is breaking for you and you've got food on your face but no one there to tell you about it so you're walking around like a mustard-stained freak, bumming out the world. It's EXACTLY like that, but way more creepy because it's also about sex toys and having "private time" in the shower. Buying the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Weener</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kleener</span> should be automatic grounds for having your name put on a sex offender <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">watchlist</span>.<br /><br />Jesus Christ Chair, this makes me uncomfortable. If I was over at a friend's and saw one of these in the soap dish, I would stab him to death while sobbing and then I'd burn his house to the ground. The jury would be like, "WHY?" and I'd just say, "Weener Kleener" and they'd be like, "Oh, gotcha, he's free to go and he's a HERO!!!"<br /><br />Ugh. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Soapfuckers</span>. Wrong, wrong, and again, wrong.<br /><br /><em>NOTE: Sorry I shared this with you and now you're thinking about slitting your wrists. I'm sorry about that. Don't do it. There's still hope. I don't know where it is anymore... not after the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Weener</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kleener</span>... but I'm sure it's somewhere. Let's find it together. </em>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-44377467030566206762010-03-16T13:27:00.002-04:002010-03-16T13:34:26.462-04:00The Jesus Chair<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S5-_gwKKMBI/AAAAAAAAEFk/X9El1VWZ93A/s1600-h/jesuschair.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 300px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449284643545821202" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S5-_gwKKMBI/AAAAAAAAEFk/X9El1VWZ93A/s400/jesuschair.jpg" /></a><br /><div> </div><div>"Remember when there was only one set of footprints? It's because you were sitting on me, motherfucker! Get off your lord and savior, fat ass!"</div><div> </div><div>There are now two people in this world that I have to meet: The person that made this chair, and the person that bought it. And make no mistake, I intend to punch both of them in the balls. Because... seriously... who looks at Jesus and thinks furniture? And who then looks at Jesus-based furniture and thinks, "Ya know, my living room DOES need a Texas Chainsaw-style example of my crazy beliefs to creep out my friends and make my family consider taking away my credit cards!"</div><div> </div><div>Stuff like this makes me want to sneak onto a space shuttle <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">disguised</span> as a very large package of freeze-dried ice cream and seek out life on other planets. We're fucked as a people. But you CAN sit on Jesus if you want. So there's that.</div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-38218428463739638242010-03-08T03:46:00.003-05:002010-03-08T03:56:49.795-05:00Help ZFS! Get Its Groove BackOh yeah, I have a blog. I keep forgetting. It's not that I don't love you or love blogging or have a deep, personal relationship with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Internet</span> (that involves a lot of tongue-kissing) because I do... it's just that... I don't know. Nothing ever seems to HAPPEN anymore. I can't find things to write about because the only things that happen to me are as follows:<br /><br />-I go to work and either it's really boring, or I deal with hateful customers whom are lucky their food isn't mostly my pubes.<br /><br />-I go to school and... this semester anyway... do really poorly.<br /><br />-I drink myself into oblivion like a star imploding in on itself (drunkenly).<br /><br />And it's kind of just an endless cycle that don't stop, won't stop.<br /><br />SO... here's an idea that may or may not work. I'm going to turn the creative process over to YOU, the reader. Give me something to work with... a topic, a picture, an idea you'd like to see fleshed out. I'll pick a few and I'll... you know... do something with them. Something WRITERLY! If you like the way I write about stuff (and I gather that a few of you do), then help a brother out. Kick-start the brain flow!!! Because seriously, I got nothing right now!!!<br /><br />Please help, won't you?Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-37992000280107222992010-02-25T12:30:00.004-05:002010-02-25T13:11:05.194-05:00Pop Culture Round Up<em>NOTE: I got back from NYC a few days ago and it was an awesome trip full of joy, bitterness, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">melancholy</span>, and drinking weird Korean liquor out of hollowed-out fruit. So not feeling like talking about anything real right now, so let me nerd all over you with the pop culture ephemera that I've been <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">cramming</span> into my various head holes. Enjoy! Or don't.</em><br /><em></em><br /><strong><u>TV</u></strong><br /><br /><strong>The Wire -</strong> Okay, so I finally finished watching the whole series. Best show ever? Mostly. It's five seasons and four of them are quite simply some of the most outstanding television I've ever seen in terms of character, narrative, and overall scope. And then there's the fifth season, where the show sort of went off the rails. Not badly; it was still miles better than, say, <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">NCIS</span>: Los Angeles</em>. But it really wasn't up the to standard set by seasons 1-4. However, don't take that like I'm telling you to not watch. WATCH IT. It's a phenomenal show.<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Five out of Five Spot-On <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bawlmor</span> Accents</em></strong><br /><br /><strong><u>Movies</u></strong><br /><br /><strong>Paranormal Activity -</strong> Creepy! I know I'm a little late to this party, but yeah... the hype was fairly accurate. It's a damn unsettling movie, though I wouldn't call it "scary" in the traditional sense. It did a number on me, though, but a large part of that could be because I'm deathly afraid of the paranormal and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">activities</span>. Combining the two is a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">recipe</span> for me sleeping with the lights on, clutching in fear the pillow that I pretend is a girlfriend like in <em>The Lonely Guy</em>.<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Four out of Five <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Caspers</span></em></strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>The House of the Devil -</strong> Also creepy! This is a little indie flick about babysitting and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Satan</span> worshipers that was shot last year, but looks like it was made in the 80's. And I don't mean like <em>Wedding Singer</em>, lame Flock of Seagulls haircut jokes 80's... I mean it looks like a horror movie from the 80's, with all the washed-out film stock and fuzzy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">synth</span> score that that implies. It quite frankly kicked my ass. Be warned, though... it's a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">teensy</span> bit on the slow side; I consider this a good thing (it builds the tension and lets us get to know the characters), but it might also put some people (ADD pussies) to sleep.<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Five out of Five Pentagrams</em></strong><br /><br /><strong>Crazy Heart -</strong> Given all the Oscar buzz that Jeff Bridges has gotten from this thing, I was surprised at how... you know... not good it was. He was great, don't get me wrong... said Oscar is totally in the bag, and deserved... but the movie itself was very mediocre, Lifetime Original-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish,</span> and not really that much about outlaw country (as was my initial understanding). If you saw <em>The Wrestler</em>, it was kind of like that but with less Ram Jams and Marisa <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tomei</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">boobage</span>.<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Two out of Five Drunk Musicians</em></strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br /><strong><u>Books</u></strong><br /><br /><strong>Love is a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mixtape</span> by Rob Sheffield -</strong> I made the mistake of reading this cover-to-cover on my flight back from New York. It is quite possibly one of the saddest books I've ever read and when I got off the plane, I went straight to a bar and got cop-punching drunk. The book is Sheffield telling the story of how he got married young to an amazing girl who, one day, just DIED. Like, embolism out of nowhere... that kind of death. It deals with him being a widower at 30 and all that, plus it weaves their mutual passion for music (he's a writer for Rolling Stone and Spin) throughout. Seriously excellent book, but man does it make you kind of want to shoot yourself in the face. Highly recommend for those too happy with their lives!!!<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Four out of Five Horrible Tragedies</em></strong><br /><br /><strong>The Catcher in the Rye -</strong> Can you believe I made it nearly 30 years as an American male without reading this? I think I've been telling people for years that I'd read it, but that's all bunk. I finally got it done while in NYC, reading it on the subway, which was if we're being honest a bit rich. I felt like "that guy" who'd just moved there and was trying to do New York-y things. If I'd been listening to Velvet Underground on my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">iPod</span> while reading Catcher in the Rye on the subway, I'm pretty sure I'd have turned into an Empire State Building replica <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">souvenir</span>. Oh, anyway, the book was good; felt very true to life, and it made me want to read more of his stuff (what little is out there).<br /><br /><strong><em>C-dog's Rating: Five out of Five Crumby Phonies</em></strong>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-14399414009098105492010-02-19T10:50:00.003-05:002010-02-19T10:51:35.844-05:00Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that I'm in New York all this week on vacation and won't be posting anything until I get back.<br /><br />Except this.<br /><br />Which is late and unhelpful and you all just assumed I was dead, didn't you?<br /><br />You bastards.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-46318273871983722262010-02-14T11:57:00.001-05:002010-02-14T11:57:55.160-05:00<object width="325" height="244"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/3DEnwUAzPG4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/3DEnwUAzPG4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="325" height="244"></embed></object>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-67394835129475133482010-02-11T18:19:00.001-05:002010-02-11T18:23:00.303-05:00A Rebuttal From Cupid<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3SRTqdW6oI/AAAAAAAAEFc/kDDdmtVqVhQ/s1600-h/cupid1.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 271px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437130417143999106" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3SRTqdW6oI/AAAAAAAAEFc/kDDdmtVqVhQ/s400/cupid1.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-44155680480887430102010-02-11T12:27:00.006-05:002010-02-11T13:09:35.976-05:00What Valentine's Day Means To Me, or, "Fuck You, Cupid!"It's that time of year again, where everyone shoves heart-shaped boxes of love up our asses for a few weeks, bludgeoning us over the head with a dead baby Cupid, reminding us that NOW is the time FOR LOVE and if you DON'T HAVE LOVE you are LESS THAN!!! I seriously spend most of February dry-heaving, so close to vomiting but not actually vomiting, white-knuckling it until March. Which is a whole other thing, because I have major issues with St. Patrick's Day too, but that's another post for another time (specifically March).<br /><div><div></div><div>Anyway, I hate Valentines. I hate it when I'm in a relationship, I hate it when I'm not in a relationship. It is the single worst holiday on the planet with the possible exception of Easter (where we celebrate fictional events with chocolate, though I do like the chocolate part) or that one holiday they have in the Middle East where they all get together and hate our freedom. It's the very necessary-ness of it all that stirs within me so much chalky conversation hearts-flavored bile. The YOU HAVE TO part of it, even though we don't <em>really</em> have to (this isn't one of those countries where they make you join the army or give thanks to large oil paintings of "our fearless leader"). There's a social contract, especially between men and women who are getting freaky all over each other, that on Feb. 14th, the man will put on a tie, the woman a dress, and they will go to an overpriced restaurant and eat expensive food and then have really forced, unpleasant, kinda cold sex even though they don't feel like it (all that rich, pricey food) because it's VALENTINE'S DAY. It has to be memorable or you've failed at the fantasy that life is like it is in the movies/TV/songs by Taylor Swift. </div><div>It's just all so gross. And the gifts? God, this is who the holiday is actually for. The people that shit out stuffed animals for 30 cents a pop and sell them for $25 bucks. Have you seen these Vermont Teddy Bear abortions? Hang on, I've got pictures...</div><div></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3RCRyxrfSI/AAAAAAAAEFU/Tx8dkMMhN2I/s1600-h/bear.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437043523598384418" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3RCRyxrfSI/AAAAAAAAEFU/Tx8dkMMhN2I/s400/bear.jpg" /></a></div><div>It's a "Knight in Shining Armor" Bear. Which is just fucked up because that's a bullshit concept that's sold to little girls who grow up to be women that expect their boyfriends/husbands to be this thing that they're not. Superhuman, fighting metaphorical dragons, etc. The men feel weak when their weakness is exposed... and it ALWAYS is... and the women are heartbroken because they feel like there IS a Knight in Shining Armor out there and they just chose wrong. It's what causes a healthy chunk of the divorce rate and now it's REPRESENTED IN A BEAR. God, you might as well give your significant other a glimpse into her own sad future via a mystical fortune teller or a Magic 8-Ball painted pink (for the holiday).</div><div></div><div>And then there's this god damned thing...</div><div></div><div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3RCRqxUfOI/AAAAAAAAEFM/T21qdJrFttc/s1600-h/bear2.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437043521449393378" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3RCRqxUfOI/AAAAAAAAEFM/T21qdJrFttc/s400/bear2.jpg" /></a></div><div></div><div>It's a bandit. Because "you stole my heart, so here's a cheap visual gag to explain that." Plus it's got candy. I don't know, I guess this one isn't as bad as the other one, but still. Thief Bear is only a desperate situation away from Double-Homicide Bear, don't ever forget it.</div><div></div><div>Look, I know I'm being a bit of a pill here. I know a large part of it comes from the fact that I'm lonely and kind of miserable and living in a town that wish was a city, but... I don't know... I think it's also because I've learned a lot about what it is to really love someone in the last couple of years. REALLY really love them. It's not fake red hearts and it's not buying candy and it's not "I'm your little devil" or a thousand other cutesy sayings.</div><div></div><div>It's letting someone sob into your shoulder when their mom dies. It's going out to the store to get a bottle of Tylenol because your girl/boyfriend is too hungover to move. It's being so comfortable around each other that farting is a hilarious contest and the sleep grit in your eyes doesn't stop the other one from thinking you're the most attractive thing on the planet. Love is a REAL thing, more so than religion or knowledge or the fact that every kiss begins with Kay (fact: most kisses begin with a third margarita). Love can never be expressed through a pre-fab greeting card; in my life, it never will be. However...</div><div></div><div>I'll keep your hair out of your face when you're vomiting from the flu.</div><div></div><div>I'll make you a sandwich when you're too busy studying for your Masters to feed yourself.</div><div></div><div>I'll keep you warm when the heat stops working. I'm fat, and basically a Tauntaun.</div><div></div><div>THAT is love. Fuck Valentines Day and everything it stands for. Cheapening love shouldn't be celebrated.</div></div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-76899066045972327032010-02-08T14:14:00.004-05:002010-02-08T14:41:24.500-05:00Seven Beastie Boys Lyrics That Do Not Apply to My Life<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3BixIZYoeI/AAAAAAAAEFE/iWudVGta5go/s1600-h/brass01.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 115px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435953346443256290" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S3BixIZYoeI/AAAAAAAAEFE/iWudVGta5go/s200/brass01.jpg" /></a> <strong>"Gotta castle in Brooklyn, that's where I dwell"</strong><br /><br />This used to be true, at least in the sense that I lived in Brooklyn. I didn't have a castle though; far from it. It was a very modest railroad apartment that I shared with a girlfriend. Sadly, those days are in the wind. As it stands now, I dwell in Arlington, TX; a city that the Beastie Boys have never written about in a rap song.<br /><br /><strong>"Listen all y'all, this is sabotage</strong>"<br /><br />Just not true. I spilled mustard on my nice hoodie because I'm generally a messy eater and, in this particular instance, I was distracted by the television (<em>King of Queens </em>reruns hold up surprisingly well). It would be foolish to think that there was any sort of foul play at large here. Sometimes mustard just falls.<br /><br /><strong>"I did it like this, I did it like that, I did it with a Wiffle Ball bat</strong>"<br /><br />I haven't had sex in a while. Not my longest dry spell, but it's getting up there. And ladies, for the record, if you and I were to make sweet, sweet love, I promise you that I would not bring a piece of children's sporting equipment into the mix. That's just rude and unseemly.<br /><br /><strong>"I like my sugar with coffee and cream</strong>"<br /><br />No thanks. I take my coffee black, though lately I've been drinking a lot more green tea (for the antioxidants).<br /><br /><strong>"We're thrashing hotels like it's going out of style"</strong><br /><br />I'm actually a very thoughtful and courteous guest when staying at any major hotel/motel chain. I realize that, should I make a mess, someone will have to clean up after me. Leaving them a "thrashed" room would just be wrong. I should mention, for honesty's sake and all, that I did once steal a can of ginger ale from a Sheraton honor bar. Thug life!<br /><br /><strong>"Aw mom, you're just jealous, it's the Beastie Boys</strong>"<br /><br />My mother is not a fan of rap music, even if it happens to be old-school 80's rhymes with a funky-fresh beat that still holds up today. She would much rather listen to George Strait.<br /><br /><strong>"I can always make them smile/From White Castle to the Nile</strong>"<br /><br />When I go to White Castle, it is to get a large sack of burgers for not a lot of money. I am usually not focused on making girls smile. Also, I have never been to Egypt. And truth be told, I don't even LIVE in an area that has White Castles (as previously mentioned), so this whole argument is really an intellectual one rather than anything grounded in reality. Ah, but it's fun to debate, isn't it. Fo shizzle.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-18534031227625882282010-02-05T13:18:00.003-05:002010-02-05T13:36:58.528-05:00Outrage on Park Place<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2xg96R6GgI/AAAAAAAAEE8/T9STnufWT0I/s1600-h/monopoly.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434825467062000130" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2xg96R6GgI/AAAAAAAAEE8/T9STnufWT0I/s400/monopoly.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Parker Brothers, in an effort to be hip, edgy, down with the cool kids, and... apparently... a Phillip K. Dick spank dream come to life, has updated our most beloved of board games, Monopoly. They have taken it from its humble roots... a square, boring game about real estate that ends up hurting more people's feelings than junior high... and turned it into some kind of space-age clusterfuck that even Captain Picard thinks is, "a bit much."<br /><br />There's no money anymore! You use an ATM card and it's all digital like that's something that's fun. You know what using an ATM card reminds me of? How much money I don't have. At least with the old Monopoly, I could play around with all the different colored money and pretend I was in Europe for an hour. But no... NOOOOO... it has to be all realistic now. All "true" and a better reflection of our society, but in a board game that everyone secretly hates, even though we love it, which makes it basically like a member of our family.<br /><br />Whatever, sci-fi Monopoly... whatever. You've killed our childhoods dead with your changes. Boardwalk runs forever red with the blood of our souls. You bastards... you heartless bastards...Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-47242228781382974182010-02-04T12:47:00.003-05:002010-02-04T12:53:22.312-05:00You Stay Classy, Taco Bell<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2sIUwspw3I/AAAAAAAAEE0/nnZRXPQ9Pjs/s1600-h/tacobell.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 218px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434446528115229554" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2sIUwspw3I/AAAAAAAAEE0/nnZRXPQ9Pjs/s400/tacobell.jpg" /></a><br /><br />When I die, I hope someone can digitally render a mournful Fire Sauce packet in MY honor. Because, really, what better way to express your sorrow than with anthropomorphic condiments? Although personally, I think they should have Photoshopped a grief-stricken burrito throwing itself on top of his casket. Might as well go all the way with it, ya know?<br /><br /><em>image via </em><a href="http://avclub.com/"><em>The A.V. Club</em></a>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-52714609565054273822010-02-03T16:19:00.005-05:002010-02-04T03:45:05.147-05:00Anywhere But Here<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2no-Hht1OI/AAAAAAAAEEs/kjP2c8QsJ4g/s1600-h/tropical_beach_living_desktop_28387.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 94px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434130579269211362" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2no-Hht1OI/AAAAAAAAEEs/kjP2c8QsJ4g/s400/tropical_beach_living_desktop_28387.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><div>It's pouring down rain and gloomier than a Goth with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">diarrhea</span> today, and in Arlington, TX, that's kind of a double whammy seeing as how Arlington is a town that induces mild depression and vague feelings of unease in its <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">citizens</span> regardless of the weather. It's days like this that make me think about getting my hands on a lot of money... robbing 7-11s comes immediately to mind... and hitting the road like a 60's biker cliche. Born to be wild, or at the very least born to drive for a while until I get sleepy and need a Red Bull. The destination? Anywhere, my man... somewhere exotic, somewhere fun and alive, a place where the action never stops and neither do the bartenders when you accidentally puke into your pint glass. </div><div></div><div>Of course, before these daydreams take a firm hold on my brain and talk me into doing terribly foolish things (leather pants and a tattoo of my cultural hero, John <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Daly</span>), I have to take a step back, splash some cold water on my face and my junk, and remind myself that... out there... in the big bad world... things are not all that. Other places, they're a hassle too. Sure Arlington sucks, but at least you've got family here, friends, a job that makes you want to kill yourself with a table saw but still it's A JOB...</div><div></div><div>Things are never quite as perfect as they seem. That grass isn't greener, it's just glinting in the sun because a hobo peed on it.</div><div></div><div>With that in mind, and in an effort to talk myself out of buying a Harley (which I would name "Lil' Stinker"), here's a breakdown of supposedly fantastical places and the reasons why they're as soul-deadening as everywhere else. Enjoy!</div><div></div><div><strong><u>Earth is a Hell On Earth: A <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Travelogue</span></u></strong></div><div></div><div><strong>Hawaii</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><em>Perception </em>- A tropical paradise where the rum flows out of the bathroom taps and sweet, sweet native girls are ready and willing to hula your dong at a moments notice. The beaches! The wonderful weather! You might meet Lilo AND <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Stitch</span>!!! </div><div></div><div><em>Reality </em>- You really want to see yourself in a bathing suit, you fat sack of taco farts? Well neither do the people of Hawaii, ESPECIALLY the native girls. They're going to go bone a hot surfer while you do a Sudoku puzzle on the beach and get a sunburn so bad it looks like you've been pan-fried. Plus, there are hurricanes, Smoke Monsters, ritual sacrifices, you're allergic to flowers (and they've got A LOT of flowers), real estate costs a million dollars because HELLO it's on an island, and eventually one day whatever volcano is sitting underneath all of that mess is going to blow its top. Try to enjoy your tropical paradise with a natural disaster's worth of hot magma rammed up your ass.</div><div></div><div><strong>Los Angeles</strong></div><div></div><div><em>Perception</em> - You're going to be a star!!!</div><div></div><div><em>Reality</em> - You're going to star in a movie that mainly features deep, introspective shots of your anatomy getting worked over by a failed college lacrosse player who the box art will call "Meat-Man Max." </div><div></div><div><strong>New York</strong></div><div></div><div><em>Perception </em>- <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Oooh</span>, I can be all Beat Poet funky, living in the East Village and putting on plays THAT TELL THE TRUTH, man... yeah or I'll join a band and we'll be big on the underground scene and get a positive mention from Vice Magazine. The hustle and bustle of the Big Apple will sustain me! I'll be at the center of the world, which is exactly where I already am in my own mind. The internal becomes external! I'm a creative soul exploding it's man-cage! I can make it there!!!</div><div></div><div><em>Reality -</em> If you want to live in the East Village, one of two things have to happen: You have to pay a not-very-nice Middle Eastern man several thousand dollars every month or get evicted (if not fitted for a cement overcoat and tossed with little ceremony into the East River) OR you'll share a one-bedroom, sixth-floor walk-up with nine other people, four of which are hardcore heroin addicts, two of which are on the run from the law, one of which talks to the lamps, and the other two are friends of friends who will eventually give you HIV and/or steal everything you own (including the fillings out of your teeth). And you won't do anything creative. You'll be too busy working double-shifts at a grocery store, trying to save up enough money to just maybe go out to a bar for one... ONE... beer (which costs $12). You won't be hip. You'll never listen to music for fear of getting robbed on the subway. You'll be cold all the time. And THAT'S when you get bedbugs.</div><div></div><div><strong>Colorado</strong></div><div><strong></strong></div><div><em>Perception -<strong> </strong></em>You love skiing and you're darn good at it, too! Time to put those skills to work; ski instructor by day, lover of ski bunnies by night!</div><div></div><div><em>Reality - </em>Running those double-black diamonds was punching above your weight, you know that now. Sure didn't see that drop off. You guess they'll probably find your frozen corpse eventually, after the first thaw. Maybe.</div><div></div><div><strong>Paris</strong></div><div></div><div><em>Perception </em>- The romance of it all! So much history and art, it's like living in a textbook on the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Renaissance</span>. You'll drink rich coffees at quaint cafes and red wine at bistros, you'll nibble a <em>pain <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">au</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">chocolat</span></em> as you discuss Victor Hugo with a mysterious stranger who just may be the love of your life. You'll become one of the twinkling lights in a city known for how they shine!</div><div></div><div><em>Reality</em> - You don't speak French, you hillbilly, and you've never lived outside your county, much less in a foreign country. Tell me this: What's a Euro? Where are you going to go when that "mysterious stranger" takes your passport while you're showering off his B.O.? And that's enough thing... have you ever <em>smelled</em> the French? It's like an armpit learned a romance language. You'll hate every minute over there and you won't be able to stop thinking about that one Waffle House back home where you and all your friends used to hang out, God, I be they're there RIGHT NOW. You'll force yourself to go out and try to find some modeling work... that's what they do in Paris, right?... and because you're not anorexic and all dead inside (yet), you'll end up in a seedy part of the <em>XVIII</em> <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Arrondissement</span> </em>where you're told that all models must remove their clothes and get in a van. And that's your introduction to the terrifying world of white slavery. Enjoy your tour of the many brothels around the Baltic Sea!</div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-7888094394725725602010-02-02T08:54:00.004-05:002010-02-02T11:12:02.347-05:00Award Winning Commentary: Your 2010 Oscar NomineesWhy they announce the Oscar nominees at the butt crack of dawn every <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">goddamned</span> year, I'll never know. Whatever, though... I'm totally <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">gaybones</span> for "the big announcement," so I'm here, I'm reasonably awake, and let's discuss:<br /><br /><strong>Best Supporting Actress</strong><br /><br /><em>Penelope Cruz - Nine</em><br /><em>Vera <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Farmiga</span> - Up in the Air</em><br /><em>Maggie <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gyllenhal</span> - Crazy Heart</em><br /><em>Anna Kendrick - Up in the Air</em><br /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mo'Nique</span> - Precious</em><br /><br />Every time I write <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mo'Nique's</span> name, I want to put the apostrophe in a different place. Anyway, this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span> is pretty much her and then, about eleven miles back, the other nominees. She's had this one locked up since last year's <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sundance</span>, so... you know... good for her. Sister is a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">LOOOONG</span> way from <em>Soul Plane</em>. Also, it bears mentioning that I would like to arrange a big naked pig pile between myself and all these ladies (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mo'Nique</span> included, as C-dog has jungle fever). I'll bring the beer, y'all bring the scented oils and the number of a quality grief <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">counselor</span>! Women find it helpful to talk to someone after sleeping with me...<br /><br /><strong>Best Supporting Actor</strong><br /><br /><em>Matt Damon - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Invictus</span></em><br /><em>Woody <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Harrelson</span> - The Messenger</em><br /><em>Christopher <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">Plummer</span> - The Last Station</em><br /><em>Stanley <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tucci</span> - The Lovely Bones</em><br /><em>Christoph Waltz - Inglorious <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em><br /><br />I still think that Matt Damon should have won the Oscar way back in the day for <em>The Talented Mr. Ripley</em>. Very underrated flick, and the dude's never really done anything acting-wise as nimble and exciting since. I mean, he was Jason <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bourne</span> and for that he will always smell <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pleasant</span> and pleasing, but you know what I mean. Anyway, he's not going to win for <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Invictus</span></em> because literally no one cares about that movie at all, even Nelson <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Mandela</span> and it's ABOUT him. Also, rugby is full of toothless Aussies that smell like balls. Big ups to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">Harrelson</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tucci</span>, though; I like both of them and it's nice to see them get a little industry love (although <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">Harrelson</span> is a bit tiresome with the whole vegan/hippie/let's wrap the world in a hemp <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">poncho</span> thing). The bottom line on this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span>, though, is Christoph Waltz being the scariest motherfucker in the room in <em>Inglourious <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em>. He's this year's Anton <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chigur</span>.<br /><br /><strong>Best Actress</strong><br /><br /><em>Sandra Bullock - The Blind Side</em><br /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">Hellen</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mirren</span> - The Last Station</em><br /><em>Carey Mulligan - An Education</em><br /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gabourey</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sidibe</span> - Precious</em><br /><em>Meryl <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error">Streep</span> - Julie & Julia</em><br /><br />Betting against Meryl <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error">Streep</span> in an Oscar race is like betting against the black guy in a boxing match, however I really don't think this is her year (because <em>Julie & Julia </em>sucked <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error">nards</span>). Personally, I'd like to see it go to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sidibe</span>, if only because it couldn't have been fun to have your big break come because you look gross and that's what's required for the part. Not that I'm one to talk, of course... if <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error">anyone's</span> casting for a feature-length biopic of Fatty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error">Arbuckle</span>, please contact me in the comments section. I'll bring my own Coke bottle! (obscure 1920's scandal joke!) Sandra Bullock will probably win this one though, based on the near-toxic levels of sass that she emitted through most of <em>The Blind Side</em>. Which... okay, technically, I haven't seen, but that's SO not the point. I'm a pretty good judge of things I know nothing about, and I deem her performance... based entirely on the trailer... hammy, bad dye job-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error">ish</span>, and an attempt to pass of moxie as acting. HOWEVER... she was good in <em>Speed</em> and, to a lesser extent, <em>Demolition Man</em> (which is still the greatest Taco Bell commercial ever made), so I'll allow her to win with only a small <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_38" class="blsp-spelling-error">hissyfit</span>.<br /><br /><strong>Best Actor</strong><br /><br /><em>Jeff Bridges - Crazy Heart</em><br /><em>George <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_39" class="blsp-spelling-error">Clooney</span> - Up in the Air</em><br /><em>Colin Firth - A Single Man</em><br /><em>Morgan Freeman - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_40" class="blsp-spelling-error">Invictus</span></em><br /><em>Jeremy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_41" class="blsp-spelling-error">Renner</span> - The Hurt Locker</em><br /><br />The big deal about this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_42" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span>... for me, anyway, which is what this along with everything else is really all about... is Jeremy <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_43" class="blsp-spelling-error">Renner</span>. I remember watching his performance as our nation's favorite gay cannibal serial killer in <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_44" class="blsp-spelling-error">Dahmer</span></em> and thinking, "This kid is going places. As soon as he stops eating that guy." Sure enough, after a detour fighting LL Cool J in <em>S.W.A.T.</em> (it happens), here he is getting his Oscar nomination on like a total swinging dick. <em>The Hurt Locker</em> is an excellent flick, don't get me wrong, but a lot of why it was good was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_45" class="blsp-spelling-error">homeboy's</span> performance. He owned, plain as day. But he's not going to win, as Jeff Bridges hasn't EVER won (not even for <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_46" class="blsp-spelling-error">Starman</span></em>) and that's a debt Hollywood intends to pay this year. Not that I mind, of course... Jeff Bridges is an old-school bad ass and, from what I hear, he's really fantastic in <em>Crazy Heart</em>. So next year, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_47" class="blsp-spelling-error">Renner</span>... next year. The C-dog abides.<br /><br /><strong>Screenplay - Original</strong><br /><br /><em>The Hurt Locker</em><br /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_48" class="blsp-spelling-error">Inglourious</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_49" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em><br /><em>The Messenger</em><br /><em>A Serious Man</em><br /><em>Up</em><br /><br />I've been on a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_50" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tarantino</span> kick lately, for whatever reason... <em>Death Proof</em>, by the by, is just a solid fucking picture; it kind of got overshadowed by the whole <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_51" class="blsp-spelling-error">Grindhouse</span></em> thing, but it really is one of his best (and, for the record, I am still the only person in the world who thought <em>Kill Bill</em> sucked)... but yeah, it would be cool if <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_52" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tarantino</span> won for <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_53" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em>. He's won before, but he had to share the credit with Roger "I Killed A Guy With My Car" Avery. This one would be all his. And the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_54" class="blsp-spelling-error">Coen</span> brothers are always good, too, even though I didn't see this particular one. However, it'll probably be <em>The Hurt Locker</em> because, well, the movie was awesome and awesomeness deserves a bounty of riches. Oh, and P.S., if <em>Up </em>wins I'll be totally pissed; great movie, but that opening sequence was pure, uncut, not-even-trying-to-be-subtle sadness porn and it made me cry like an Italian woman at her husband's funeral. MAKING ME CRY SHOULD NOT BE REWARDED!!!<br /><br /><strong>Screenplay - Adapted</strong><br /><br /><em>District 9</em><br /><em>An Education</em><br /><em>In the Loop</em><br /><em>Precious</em><br /><em>Up in the Air</em><br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_55" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wooo</span>!!! <em>District 9</em>!!! That movie just kicked so much ass all over the place, it was like watching Jackie Chan in his prime, back before he decided he was the Asian Buster Keaton (which, for the record, he isn't) and started only making ass-tastic comedies with kids and/or sassy black men. I would love to see it win, but it has NO shot against <em>Up in the Air</em>. Don't get me wrong, I liked<em> Up in the Air</em> quite a bit; it just had more to do with George <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_56" class="blsp-spelling-error">Clooney's</span> raw charisma and devilish charm than the screenplay. No biggie, though... <em>District 9</em> getting a nomination here AND for Best Picture is a victory in and of itself for genre fans everywhere.<br /><br /><strong>Director</strong><br /><br /><em>Kathryn <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_57" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bigelow</span> - The Hurt Locker</em><br /><em>James Cameron - Avatar</em><br /><em>Lee Daniels - Precious</em><br /><em>Jason <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_58" class="blsp-spelling-error">Reitman</span> - Up in the Air</em><br /><em>Quentin <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_59" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tarantino</span> - <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_60" class="blsp-spelling-error">Inglourious</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_61" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em><br /><br />Again, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_62" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tarantino's</span> my boy, so it'd be cool to see <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_63" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bigelow</span> and Cameron split the vote so much that he sneaks in all back-door style... but that's not going to happen. It's going to be either our first ever lady Best Director (who also directed <em>Point Break</em>, let's not forget) or James Cameron again. Honestly... both would be acceptable. <em>The Hurt Locker</em> is without a doubt the better movie; that's not even an opinion, that's just fact that can be proved on a home computer or with graph paper and a pencil. <em>Avatar</em>, though... James Cameron quite simply directed the shit out of that movie. I mean, when he discovered that the camera he needed for certain scenes didn't exist,<em> he invented it!!!</em> How many of the other nominees can say that? Plus, the movie looked amazing, represented the future of movie-making, the whole "blue aliens" thing wasn't as dorky as we all thought it would be, etc. etc. So I don't know. It'll be one of them, but who's to say which? Although <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_64" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bigelow</span> did win the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_65" class="blsp-spelling-error">DGA</span> award the other night, so... you know... that might be a tip of the hand.<br /><br /><strong>Best Picture</strong><br /><strong><em></em></strong><br />Since they decided to open up the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_66" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span> to ten slots this year, let's look at each movie individually as a way to honor the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_67" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">inaugural</span> "We'll Let Anybody In" class.<br /><br /><em>Avatar -<strong> </strong></em>As I said in my earlier review: Visually the most impressive movie I've ever seen. But visuals alone do not a Best Picture make, or at least they shouldn't. The screenplay specifically, and the plot in general, were pretty sub-par when you get right down to it; <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_68" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">you'll</span> notice its lack of a nomination in that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_69" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">category</span>. But it DID make a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_70" class="blsp-spelling-error">kajillion</span> dollars and even made desperately sad people suicidal for a hot minute, so... a big maybe for <em>Avatar</em>. By all means, though, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_71" class="blsp-spelling-error">firehose</span> this bad boy with technical Oscars. It does deserve them.<br /><br /><em>The Blind Side - </em>Really? I mean, like I said, I didn't technically see it or anything, but I also don't need to drink a gallon of Karo syrup blended with melted cream cheese frosting to know it's going to give me diabetes so severe that both my feet will explode. While I'm sure watching <em>The Blind Side</em> makes one feel good and warm n' fuzzy and like they've helped out "the ethnics" for a little bit, it really probably doesn't deserve the Best Picture Nominee title. That kind of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_72" class="blsp-spelling-error">cornpone</span> should be happy with raking in the cash and that's it. Also, the Ravens flamed out in the playoffs, so HAW HAW.<br /><br /><em>District 9 - </em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_73" class="blsp-spelling-error">WHEEEEEE</span>!!! My nerd boner dreams involve this pulling the from-nowhere upset and beating everyone and becoming President, but that's nothing but a wish farted out the ass of a magical trickster leprechaun, so <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_74" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">never mind</span>.<br /><br /><em>An Education -</em> Didn't see it, don't care.<br /><br /><em>The Hurt Locker -<strong> </strong></em>Seems like the momentum is swinging its way, so I'd say this is your best bet for a win. As far as all the nominated movies go, this was my 2<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_75" class="blsp-spelling-error">nd</span> favorite...<br /><br /><em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_76" class="blsp-spelling-error">Inglourious</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_77" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span> -</em> ...And this was my 1st. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_78" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tarantino</span> created a new, classic epic, and he did it all without sacrificing his own unique style and vision. A masterpiece, truly, and one that will stand the test of time better than anything else on this list.<br /><br /><em>Precious </em>- Didn't see it; looks depressing. Will probably see it before the Oscars broadcast, though.<br /><br /><em>A Serious Man </em>- I'm usually the first in line to see pretty much anything the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_79" class="blsp-spelling-error">Coen</span> brothers put out, but I'm fairly certain this didn't play in Arlington, TX on account of it being too "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_80" class="blsp-spelling-error">jewey</span>" for our North Texan palates. I'll catch it on DVD.<br /><br /><em>Up -<strong> </strong></em>Great movie, no doubt, but if a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_81" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pixar</span> flick was going to win the big prize, it should have been <em>Wall-E</em>. That was some next-level shit.<br /><br /><em>Up in the Air</em> - Depressingly modern and of-the-moment, I think everyone thought this was a lock for a while. Then they realized that other movies happened and they didn't have to settle for merely "very good." Which is not to take away from <em>Up in the Air</em>; it's a small movie with a lot of deep-running emotions and it deserves the love it gets. When you put it next to <em>Avatar, The Hurt Locker, </em>and, <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_82" class="blsp-spelling-error">Inglourious</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_83" class="blsp-spelling-error">Basterds</span></em>, though, it kinda gets blown off the screen.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-58113835781332416512010-01-29T14:00:00.005-05:002010-01-29T14:29:44.488-05:007 Things I'm Not Sure Still Exist<em>NOTE: If you know that any of these things DO still exist, please feel free to share with the rest of the internet.</em><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Aerosol Deodorants - </strong>Horrible product. I went through a phase in high school where... I don't know... I thought I was hanging around a lot of 70's locker rooms or something, so I used the aerosol deodorants quite a bit. Then I realized that it sucks to have icy blasts of smell-enhanced air slap you in the pits first thing in the morning. Also, I think they're like napalm for the ozone (I didn't see <em>An Inconvenient Truth</em> but I assume the topic was covered).<br /><br /><strong>Kiwi </strong>- Brown and hairy, but a frightening shade of green inside. Plus black seeds. Nah. These things were probably just a myth. There's a Jelly Belly jellybean that's Kiwi flavored, but I think that's just a small lie that covers up The Big Lie. Fruit conspiracies are real, you guys...<br /><br /><strong>Cheri Oteri </strong>- She was in every comedy for like three years, then not in anything ever again. She wasn't murdered, was she? Because I'm going to feel really bad if she was killed in a domestic dispute or hit by a stray bullet from a drive-by and I just didn't happen to pick up an Us Weekly that week.<br /><br /><strong>Those really thick Fruit Roll-Up bars that had the lines of "cream" in them </strong>- I don't know what they were actually called, but I'll be damned if they weren't some tasty processed corn syrup motherfuckers. Also, remember when Fruit Roll-Up had an "apple" flavor, but it wasn't all bullshit lime green sour explosion whatever? It was brown and it tasted like cider. Those were the best. Now Fruit Roll-Ups are designed to make your mouth turn blue and give kids sugar highs that will last through an entire semester. Fruit Roll-Ups used to be ABOUT something, man...<br /><br /><strong>Boobs </strong>- In theory, I know they're still out there... however... it's been a while since I've seen any with my own eyes. I know, I know... internet porn. All I'm saying is you can do a lot of amazing things with special effects. Did y'all know that Pandora isn't real? Those blue freaks are FAKE! James "LIAR" Cameron ain't getting my vote for Best Documentary any more.<br /><br /><strong>Red Dog Beer</strong>- The shirts were always more popular than the actual product itself... not to mention the urban legend about how the logo was Batman going down on a chick (don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about)... but can you still buy this? Could you ever? I bet if anyone would have it, it'd be the ghetto convenience store next to my apartment. They seem to carry all kinds of alcohol, even those that only exist in the fevered imagination of the Wu-Tang Clan.<br /><br /><strong>Clever ways to end a blog post -</strong> Because seriously, I got nothin'.<strong> </strong>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-52649680074999928672010-01-28T23:23:00.002-05:002010-01-28T23:29:37.327-05:00ZFS! Flash Poll: Would You or Wouldn't You?<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2Ji3VWuHcI/AAAAAAAAEEk/fOd_yz7DCOM/s1600-h/neil_patrick_harris.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 291px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432012803327008194" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2Ji3VWuHcI/AAAAAAAAEEk/fOd_yz7DCOM/s400/neil_patrick_harris.jpg" /></a><br /><div> </div><div><strong>A) I totally would, especially if he promised to sing to me afterwards.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>B) I wouldn't, as I'm scared of the gays. But I would like him to sing for me, and maybe show me nice places to shop. He just seems so put together all the time, like I get the feeling he wakes up smelling good and his pajamas match his slippers and his coffee cup. God, I need a little bit of that in my life. Look at me... I'm wearing a gravy-stained shirt and a pair of shorts that are mostly holes. You can see my balls. I hate my life. Okay... yes... YES... I totally would. I'm so lonely.</strong></div><div><strong></strong> </div><div><strong>C) I loved him on <em>The Wonder Years</em>. </strong></div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-31864770426835610762010-01-27T14:18:00.005-05:002010-01-27T14:53:39.658-05:00The Greatest Invention EverWhile <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">everyone</span> is busy shitting all over themselves today about the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">iPad</span>... which, first off, BRAVO for giving yourself a name closely associated with periods, and second, it looks like an 80's cellphone-version of the iPhone, but it costs $11,000 and a slice of your actual soul, why exactly are people getting so hot to death about this... but anyway, while all of America is doing THAT, let's talk about what really is the greatest invention of the last year, or decade, or maybe even ever because it comes with <em>gratis</em> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">guacamole</span>. Kids, I give you:<br /><br /><strong>The Taco Cabana Enchilada Bowl</strong><br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2CR6_FEMKI/AAAAAAAAEEc/ykDyGEjdU6Q/s1600-h/0127001304.jpg"><img style="WIDTH: 400px; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431501593159938210" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hJREGwPF6vQ/S2CR6_FEMKI/AAAAAAAAEEc/ykDyGEjdU6Q/s400/0127001304.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><div>Half-eaten, of course, because I couldn't start writing this thing until I'd shoved some of it into my head (any hole will do) and savored its loving warmth and warming love. </div><div></div><div>Shit, this thing is a work of art. Let me describe it for you, and then tell me if your pants aren't ripped from the boner/your chair isn't now best described as "gooey." </div><div></div><div>It all starts with one of those taco salad shell-bowl things that have never, not once, been touched by an actual Mexican. They are to Hispanic food what Spaghetti-Os are to the Italians. But that's OKAY. We're not looking for authenticity here. Were that the case, I wouldn't be buying food from a building a shade of pink most associate with Trapper Keepers or Tinkerbell's labia.</div><div></div><div>So the shell is there all, "bring it on," and into it is poured your standard rice and beans. Cabana's are of good quality, thus it acts as a sturdy foundation upon which to build our dreams.</div><div></div><div>Here's where it gets <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">apeshit</span>. They start slopping on the toppings with a reckless abandon; chunky <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">pico</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">de</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">gallo</span>, a dollop of sour cream the size of a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cinnabon</span>, a glob of guacamole... you don't even have to ASK for it... it's not a dollar extra, or ANYTHING... it's just there, fresh-looking and eager like a prom date. </div><div></div><div>Then... oh, my babies... then they take what's already a pretty tasty bowl of food and soccer-style kick it through the uprights of deliciousness: They drop two cheese enchiladas on top of the whole swirling food orgy. Just <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">BLAM</span> and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">BLAM</span>, right there, soaking in the awesome like a demon getting a suntan from the reflected glory of Satan's balls. </div><div></div><div>Final step, they melt cheese over the goddamn thing and it's almost more than you can physically handle. It's one orgasm too many, where you feel emotionally exhausted even though you know you'll talk about this day with your friends in a hushed, reverent tone. </div><div></div><div>And then to eat it... what can one say. It's making out with God, all hot <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">tongue</span> and lip-biting. It's being shot through the very center of your being with an alien light that makes you pure again, virginal, innocent. It's a spicy, savory, neutron bomb that levels your body and makes real life seem impossible, yet within your grasp, all at once.</div><div>By that, I mean it makes you want to take a nap so long, it qualifies as a coma. The mess is tasty, but no joke it's like eating an ethnocentric cinder block.</div><div></div><div>If you live near a Taco Cabana, go eat one of these right now. Seriously. Go. When you eventually get off the toilet (and it'll be a while; bring a book), write me and tell me you don't feel this power and glory too.</div><div></div><div><em>NOTE: If you DON'T live near a Taco Cabana... well, sorry. The only options are to move near one, or to learn how to pull the trigger of a shotgun with your toe.</em></div>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-4958078031164506862010-01-26T22:26:00.002-05:002010-01-26T22:59:27.533-05:00Notes From the First Week of School<em>NOTE: Isn't it funny how I was all like, "Oh I'm definitely going to keep blogging, I love you and this and everyone, life is a rainbow-colored unicorn's dick," etc, and then I didn't post anything for a week? Remember that??? Yeah, I'm such a scamp. </em><br /><br />-Getting up at 7:30am fucking BLOWS. Which is weird, because for three years I had to get up at 6am and it never really phased me. I mean, sure, a lot of it has to do with the vampire hours I currently keep as a waiter in a restaurant that doesn't close until 2am, but still... you'd think I'd be a little more used to the concept of early daylight. And yet... not so much. The last few days that I've had to wrench my body upright at the sound of my alarm... kids, they've just been brutal; a gladiator-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">esque</span> battle between my resolve to learn (which is represented by a skinny, 90-pound <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">scholar</span> with a pulled hamstring and a wet dishcloth as his only defense) and my desire to just go the fuck back to sleep (which is played by Randall "Tex" Cobb at his <em>Raising Arizona</em> best). So far, that skinny fucker has managed to outwit the lumbering greatness of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">ol</span>' Tex... but for how long? Can I keep this up? God I'm sleepy...<br /><br />-My teachers break down like this:<br /><br /><strong>History -</strong> A Mexican ex-con who started as a high school dropout and went from getting his GED to earning a PhD in History. That's fucking impressive by <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">anyone's</span> standards. Thus far, he's been a great teacher; very charismatic and interesting. It sucks that he's my first class, because of the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">aforementioned</span> sleepiness. I feel like, from this guy, I might actually learn something. (though it does beg one question: what the hell is he doing teaching at a community college; dude should be at a real university)<br /><br /><strong>Math -</strong> An old man who's kind of a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">douchebag</span>. I get the feeling he's always been a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">douchebag</span>, like for his whole life, and how he's just kind of settled into it like a hot tub or a really squishy chair. He's not HORRIBLE, mind you... he explains stuff well enough, I guess... he's just, I don't know, kind of condescending about it. I want to clap his head between two erasers, but not to the point where it keeps me up at night.<br /><br /><strong>Government -</strong> Another Mexican guy, this one has two distinct characteristics: He looks exactly like a Hispanic Fisher Stevens, and he has an accent thick enough to stop a bullet. The latter one is the real issue. He knows what he's talking about and he seems like a good teacher, but DAMN... it's really hard to understand the motherfucker. Guess I just have to get used to it or something.<br /><br /><strong>Computers -</strong> This class is easily one of the most boring things on the planet, right alongside listening to someone talk about "this crazy dream they had last night" and watching two security guards argue over half of a sandwich. Not helping matters? The teacher, who <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">talksreallyfastlikethis</span></em> and then, because she knows she talks fast, repeats herself three or four times for every point. THREE OR FOUR TIMES!!! It's a new kind of audio torture soon to be outlawed (but not really) by our government. Also, she looks like an owl and a lizard's greatest mistake.<br /><br />-I've been starting my day off by eating these protein bars in an effort to not be hungry during class, but to not have to eat a huge, Denny's Grand Slam-style breakfast every morning. They get the job done, which is what's most important, but they taste like chewing on a old gym mat that's been lightly coated in low-grade chocolate manufactured behind the Iron Curtain. Also, they make my pee smell funny. Not asparagus funny, but getting there. They make my pee smell mildly amusing, I guess.<br /><br />-There's this one girl in my History class who, after only three class periods, has already earned the distinction as The One Whom We'd All Like to Stab In the Eye with a Pen. She's very "Ms. Know-It-All," and it's clearly about to send our teacher back to his prison roots. If anyone gets <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">shanked</span> this year, it's going to be her.<br /><br />-Total amount of money spent on textbooks: $280. And that's AFTER finding awesome deals. It would have been closer to $450 if I hadn't been a thrifty ninja. People that manufacture and sell textbooks should die painful deaths, possibly involving blood loss via their genitals.Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26946403.post-64562261106568767892010-01-20T01:34:00.003-05:002010-01-20T01:49:58.743-05:00Going Forward<p>New semester starts today, so I should probably break down for you how the next few months are going to go. I'm nice like that; don't like to leave people all "Wherefore art thou, C-dog?" This, as best as I can see it, is the situation:</p><p>-First things first, <strong>I am not quitting the blog.</strong> Ever again, or at least not for a good, long while. I tried that for a few months and it was kind of miserable. Which is a little bit sad when viewed in a certain light, but I choose to think of it as an artist (ha!) who missed his craft (fart jokes). </p><p>-The harsh reality, however, is that I am about to get REALLY busy. I'm taking twelve hours this year... four classes, in other words... and even though they're community college classes, and they're being taught on a campus that's literally highway-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">adjacent,</span> I'm really not all that smart. Actually, that's not the case; I'm smart enough, I just have issues with motivation and laziness. What I'm trying to say is that the posting, while still regular, is going to be erratically timed and in direct <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">defiance</span> of any sort of pin-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">downable</span> schedule. For the first few weeks, at least, I'll be flying blind.</p><p>-All I ask of you guys is that you don't give up on me. My readership isn't what it once was, back in the good <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">ol</span>' days of NYC and office jobs, but I do want you to know that I value those of you that have stuck around. It's fun to write for you guys. I'm not breaking new ground here or causing publishing giants to wrestle on the floor for a shot at my wares but... well, we have our own fun, I like to think. So just be patient while I try to figure out my crazy-ass schedule. Posting won't stop, but it might get a little wonky.</p><p>-Lastly, would you like to hear my current favorite song? I offer it unto you in the name of sharing, caring, and motherfucking swearing. Here now, The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Avett</span> Brothers with "I and Love and You." </p><p><object width="325" height="244"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Jj8HDe5M-Jo&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Jj8HDe5M-Jo&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="325" height="244"></embed></object></p>Clintonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11116331251246093465noreply@blogger.com9