Sammitch Madness: Officers are in Pursuit…

Of a 6′2″ tattooed white male in possession of what seems to be the thickest, baddest and most bombastic turkey-pepper-mozzarella-barbecue on wheat in the tri-state area.

Bystanders described the sandwich as “truly glorious and terrible.”

A man believed to be repeat cuisine criminal Peter Michael DeWitt was enjoying a delectable spring day when he was spotted by Buggy-Force officers in the area, who immediately gave chase; declaring a “lunchtime emergency.” Suspect is a delicious fugitive in violation of strict statewide sandwich sanctions. He is armed with a lethal array of unlikely flavors and is not to be approached without officer accompaniment.

Buffet the Campfire Slayer

Family buffets: another quintessential childhood experience.

All the nighttime lights in the world can’t keep your silly little heart warm.

Magical places drenched in toddler drool and a constant overhead glow. Any staff you see are mostly cleaning rather than serving, giving the impression that they’re always in the middle of closing for the night.

Any time you look up from your food and over the top of the adjacent booth, steel yourself:

These places long ago became the domain of staring babies.

You will feel oddly convicted. That look always seems to demand an answer, and when you realize you can’t provide one, you will feel worried and strange. Defenseless.

Anyway, shake it off and get in there. Keep in mind those tricks any halfway decent brother/sister pair works out by the time they turn 5 or 6:

wheres the pussy bar tho lol

When navigating the maze of bright glass food stalls (that’s what they’re called), remember to keep your wits about you. What I mean by that is:

Do not use the dessert bowls for dessert. Any buffet-goer worth their knox blox cubes knows that the soup bowls are the only way to go. The dessert dishes are shallow, and often very warm. They don’t hold much ice cream, and what they do hold will melt too soon. The soup bowls are deep and cold, like the river that runs through a woman’s heart.

Hotels and mini-golf courses are two other forgotten realms, for anyone who is between their early youth and having children of their own. Maybe I’ll write on one of those soon.

Sighlock

Now here’s a fun picture.

Blades of psychic energy match outfit – total coincidence.

The fabric of the suit almost covers her vulva. She’s gonna fuck around and have lips hanging out when it’s time to fight Sabretooth. Gross, yeah I know. Thong underwear provides about 65% more coverage than what she’s wearing here, and from what I know, this is her official assigned combat uniform. Exactly what combat capability does it have? I’m gonna wager that she didn’t make it herself. I don’t think anyone really knows who the tailor for the X-Men is. Apparently some perv.

Ben Stein’s “Expelled”

I think it’s ironic how quick people who bellow about “free-thought” are to viciously assault any statement, production or undertaking of any goddamn kind associated with a worldview or opinion that differs fundamentally from their own.

They sang THINK FOR YOURSELF.

Not THINK LIKE THE BEATLES you fucking retards. I don’t mean you, of course.

To those I do mean:

Do you know or believe anything your teachers and professors haven’t told you? Can you even THINK about politics or art without someone else’s help? Is it that hard to investigate something on your own? Is it that hard to not be a FUCKING SOCK PUPPET?. All you for whom Rage Against the Machine and the Daily Show are exulted prophets that inform 80% of what you believe are no better than Rush Limbaugh listeners. Realize that and you’ll have started to wake up. Maybe.

Anyone? Anyone?

I honestly can’t decide who I’m more pissed off at – those who are clumsily and enthusiastically attacking Ben Stein’s new movie on intelligent design, or Stein himself for making a movie that’s so easy to attack. The former group is made up of a sad collection of critics who are hurling themselves at the chance to write something “relevant.” Awkward, sometimes embarrassing attempts at hip, lacerating sarcasm or an overturning of the film’s “logic” are characteristic. They’ll quote one interviewee and then quote something Stein said and chalk it up to one more hole in their new paper target. THIS is faulty reasoning. If there was any “point” or “argument” one was meant to come away thinking Stein believed in (and that wasn’t “people should be able to talk about intelligent design without being FIRED”), it would be a God-and-science reconciling “Inherit the Wind” style religion or spirituality(since when is that offensive to hollywood liberals anyway?). Beyond that and some suggestions made after a severely ill-advised turn about halfway-through, the film is only expressing concern about a climate that is NAKEDLY HOSTILE to certain kinds of ideas. And it is!

I saw the damn movie, I didn’t agree with the damn movie, but this bullshit has got to stop. One reviewer said Michael Moore was smarter than Ben Stein. Ben Stein was a law professor. He is as rich as Jesus because of his financial acumen. Sure he was a Nixon speechwriter ($$), sure he’s a known republican. But from what I’ve seen he’s better read and less fanatical than just about any other Hollywood ideologue that comes to mind. Michael Moore is not smarter than Ben Stein. Nor does he look as sharp in a suit and sneakers. From where I’m standing, that look works all day.

My right-wing battering ram of a dad invited me to see this movie, which I’d never even heard of. Indeed I checked for it on metacritic. It didn’t seem to exist, and still has yet to appear. (responses I’ve read were mostly from rottentomatoes.com)

The film first seemed like a somewhat lighthearted investigation of a bias in the scientific community against proponents of “ID”. Reviewers have mistakenly claimed that because ID isn’t “science” (which it isn’t) that the film is somehow backward or fundamentally wrong. THAT is an example of the “specious” reasoning these tards love to think they’re debunking so adroitly.

The entire point of the film was that ID has been demonized, essentially outlawed, and that any cursory mention of the idea can mean career-death. Anyone who doesn’t believe that a notion like Intelligent Design (one unfairly associated with right-wing thinking) can bring down the wrath of the academia is kidding themselves. Anyone who doesn’t think a left-leaning bias isn’t spoon-fed to students at 90% of universities in America IS KIDDING THEMSELVES.

And anybody who thinks that by pointing that fact out, I somehow am condoning or supporting the right, is perfectly exemplifying the kind of braindead dickbasket I’m railing against here. Do I have a problem with the liberalization of students? I mostly agree with liberal ideas and social policy. But is it fair? Answer Nobody fucking CARES if it’s fair as long as it’s unfair in their favor. Are any of us ACTUALLY concerned with an unimpeded flow of ideas? I should think a whole lot fewer than would wear a fucking t-shirt that says they are.

Ben fucked up when he got all heavy-handed and tried to make a direct connection between Eugenics/Nazi-style fascism and Darwinism. But the unspoken connection that all these piss-brained reviewers are making between Intelligent Design and racism/homophobia/theocracy involves about .05% as much sense. After all, the most damning stuff was QUOTED from Darwin’s writings. He had some scary and dangerous ideas! SORRY. I know he came up with evolution. SORRY YEAH that sounds like right-wing talk-radio. SORRY. IT’S FUCKING TRUE. SOMETIMES THINGS ARE TRUE.

Chemical evolution, or the occurrence of life from its absence by natural processes, is as hazy, convoluted, nonsensical, straining and overreaching a set of propositions as you are likely to ever find, ever. Anywhere. As an origin-of-life tale, it BARELY outstrips the garden, the snake and the apple. I’m serious.

I’m not pointing that out because I think we should look for ways to believe in God. I don’t believe in God. I’m pointing it out because all these smug cocksuckers who wouldn’t last eight seconds before they were completely eviscerated by Ben Stein’s droll but knifelike technique need to stop being childish and unoriginal and pathetic. You’re nothing but a line of colorful and well-versed little parrots.

The internet is primarily a noxious heap of disgusting pictures.

None of those pictures will be included in the body of this entry.  I’m here to entertain and educate, and I’m keeping it CLEAN!

There are two kinds of gross internet pictures.

The first kind can thrill young minds (or even grown ones) with a vivid reminder of the macabre possibilities in life. They’re worth a nervous shriek of laughter, or some giddy goosebumps. They break from the mundane, and can even help keep one grounded in a certain understanding.

Fuck Nitrogen or Carbon, and the other elements as well. The world is made up of about 80% carnage.

Someday this man will be a father.

The second kind is different. And much worse. There are almost never any gasps or squeals from viewers. One picture that falls into the second category was shown to us during today’s Human Sexuality lecture, in the University of Madison’s psychology building.

These pictures are not useful for entertainment. They were never meant to be seen by the public, and without an imminent threat to your family’s safety depending on your familiarity with them, there is no excuse for seeking them out. Sending these images to a friend or coworker is not a sick joke, it is a betrayal. They often seem to be pulled from antiquated medical journals or other unholy and rightly forgotten vaults of blind horror.

Brad was BORN with that lazy eye, asshole!

The reaction I find most typical to this second form is what I call “The Death Gaze.” Today’s lecture was, of course, on the issue of “STI’s” in America. Contrary to what some dude tells you at a party, they are not an urban myth. The hundreds of students in the spacious hall were mostly silent after the first photographic slide clicked up on the projector. There were a few miserable sighs and a quiet moan or two. Mostly we stared at the picture like we were staring at our own graves. Silent. I felt suddenly dejected; weary of life and all it offers. The many eyes directed toward the drop-down screen were sad and confused. They spoke of formless, unposed questions to God. Outside, the rain kept falling.

I won’t even describe the picture in words: the ghost of an image my exacting prose might conjure would haunt your sleep.

Instead:

This is what my personality looks like as a guy at a concert.

Famous People I Hate Part Two!

Just one in this edition.

“PINK” (spearheading today’s “badass chix” movement)

Wait, sorry. False positive. Uncanny though right?

There’s our girl.

Ever seen Tank Girl? Did you wonder during the credits what that character might be like if she became famous singing sub-avril radio pop/”rock”? Neither did I. But somebody did, and thank God they made it happen!

Worst fucking movie ever.

Six months ago, I wouldn’t have bothered to complain about her or her mildly irritating gurl wit’ a ‘tude steelo, let alone include her on a list like this. But her latest hit “U+Ur Hand” (that’s the real title) makes her grotesquely overqualified. I’ve been blessed to see the video more than once when I’m up at 3 in the morning eating carrots and watching MTV2.

PINK. Is all about girl power. Feminism. That’s cool! The PROBLEM is that judging by this song and its video, Pink’s idea of female empowerment is dressing up like a stripper from Toontown, heading to a bar to strut around and suck on lollipops, then lashing out at any guys who try to hit on you. Way to help push any pro-women movement back fifteen years. “KEEP YOUR DRINK JUST GIVE ME THE MONEY” she singyells. You have more money than all of us put together, “Pink”, and you got it from us. Americans paid for your horrible singing. God help us.

This latest one was written by *ahem* Luke Gottwald and Max Martin. Those must just be aliases for her dangerous, sassy lesbian collaborators, right? It’s too stupid and aggravating to even be ironic.

The song’s premise is that dudes at bars simply cannot help themselves whenever they see a Nickelodeon-themed whore

with the same abs as Wentworth Miller. Honestly, who would even attempt to penetrate her aura of arrogance, entitlement and hostility? Not me, and I’m less attractive than the men she rejects in the video.

Hard to believe, right?

“JUST YOU AND YOUR HAND TONIGHT” goes the chorus. She coyly waggles her fingers at the camera. Bitch, it would be you and YOUR own calloused hand if you hadn’t fallen into enough money to buy some BMX American Eagle boyfriend. I’d prefer my hand to taking home Ellen’s ex-girlfriend anyway. Oh wait, that wasn’t you? My bad.

Famous People I Hate, Part One.

*SEAN PENN*

Sean Penn has to work out so much because everyone in the world wants to kick his ass. From his hypocritical, self-glorifying “outspoken” nature in the Hollywood press, to stealing Bill Murray’s Oscar, to that shit he said to Chris Rock, you’ve got all around hateability overkill. Saying it’s been downhill for him since Fast Times at Ridgemont High is just really being way too nice about it. You take the hair of a vain school bully from some old coming of age movie, paste it onto the head of an evil grandmother, and add a mouth that’s a cross between a tapeworm sock puppet and the “Moving Lips” thing they do on Conan, and you get him nearly to the life. Add an aura of naive superiority and there you have Sean Penn, self-appointed shithead superhero. This is the kind of guy whose personality wouldn’t be complete without some muscles to remind you not to tell him how you feel to his face. But I recommend telling him anyway, and bringing friends and/or weapons. You know he’s got the spirit of a spoiled little girl anyway.

*LARS ULRICH*

Lars Ulrich was the kid in 8th grade who talked loudly on the bus during field trips about his problems with his parents and his made-up girlfriend and how he thinks he’s “strong” enough to get through them. He wouldn’t stop when the one person unlucky enough to be sitting by him gets up and begs some other duo to go threesies. And even with all that, you almost felt bad enough to step in when everyone started telling him to go home during a school dance. Lars should make you rethink that sympathy all on his own. After joining Metallica, he got to graduate from clueless outcast to the least talented musician in the world’s dumbest band – precisely the ideal victory for his type. Adored by metal sluts and groupies who are mostly smarter than him, put on MTV news whenever he decides to remind us what an asshole he is, and sponsored by a nation of enablers. On top of it all, here’s another guy whose lack of character manifests itself in his physical appearance. He’s like the Exorcist girl as somebody’s creepy dad.

Seriously America, look what you’ve done.

I’d like to say a few goddamned words about Clearasil Ultra

Most of us aren’t teenagers anymore. Our cheeks glow in the face of our dawning futures. But that’s only because we still fucking take care of ourselves, right? Acne has mostly moved on to torture our younger brothers and sisters – but it can still haunt us. Which is why there’s Clearasil! In my mind, this shit is the platinum standard for face soaps. Clean, simple, effective. A pinch of it will make a nice double-handful of cleansing lather. No gimmicks.

So I’m shopping for my bi-monthly bottle and what do I see instead of Clearasil on the shelf? Clearasil ULTRA.

Similar bottle shape, costs a bit more but they didn’t have my normal stuff, so there I was. I bought some.

Clearasil Ultra blows. I bring home an ostensibly upgraded version of my normal face soap, and what do I get? A soap that doesn’t work. You can’t wash with it! It forms no lather. I don’t even know if it technically qualifies as soap. But it smells pretty. Ohhh how about that. *deep breath* What is that, honeysuckle? Jasmine? Talk about dollars and scents – if the nose really knows, then Judas Priest! This crap constitutes some kind of sublime ideal. Our Lord knows how many acres of sweet-smelling foliage were harvested in order to make a shipment of this overpriced bullshit that won’t help anyone clean their faces.

Call me a stickler, but when I pay extra? I expect to get a good fucking lather going(that principle applies in so many things). I’m guessing that the creators of this completely useless variation on Clearasil Daily Face Wash had it in mind for users to actually slice open the tube, empty its contents into a crystal goblet, and then commision a LEGION OF PIXIES to use their delicate but sharp “moon-sickles” to carve and fashion enough individual bubbles that together they might foam away some face dirt. You can add water and rub until you’re scraping the raw muscles and tendons of your left hand against the shredded and bleeding palm of your right. You can’t make bubbles with it. It’s like trying to wash your face with a giant tube of lipgloss. It’s like scrubbing the skin of your face with unicorn sperm. Pointless and wrong — pleasantly fragrant, but no less dehumanizing.

Don’t buy it, don’t use it, don’t support it. That’s my message for tonight. Maybe now I can get some sleep.

I keep getting calls from a fax machine.

Hello? Who’s there?

It’s nice in one way, because I don’t get calls from anyone else. When I hear it ring I scramble over to the thing and flip it open, answering with a breathless “Hello??” and a smile because I think it might be a person. But Life apparently thought it would be funny to have a machine call me incessantly instead.

Hello, robots?  You have the wrong number.

If the machines *are* trying to reach out to me in some way, I’d respond by saying that inanimate objects would have to change their tune somewhat before I’d be willing to serve as their human figurehead. Like stop asking me rhetorical questions. I don’t even mean complex machines only.

Like cereal boxes (which are very special “crunch-machines”). They ask questions with answers we all know already.

“Can you find 6 bowls of Waffle Crisp in this picture?” Yes, I can. But I will need time and some help. And no, I can’t circle eight things wrong with this picture. Because if I started with the fish in the sky and the upside down balloon, it would lead to an obsessive tangent about at least twenty things I find to be very “wrong.”

And so, machines of the world. Through your gratuitous use of aggravating rhetorical questions, we come to an impasse. Start respecting my time and patience, and maybe I’ll start returning your calls. Remember “user friendly” shouldn’t just mean a colorful manual. But to answer your question: yes, I’m sure I want to quit.

Blue Assberry

There is no such thing as a blue raspberry. There are no blue raspberry farms. You can’t buy a parfait with blue raspberries in it.

So WHY IS THIS A FLAVOR FOR EVERY CANDY MADE SINCE 1980.

Blue razz isn’t an approximated version of a berry flavor. It’s a noxious cocktail of chemicals that have nothing to do with fruit. There was something else I was going to say. School makes me sick to my stomach. That wasn’t it.

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bug monster.