Best.....Birthday.....Ever!

Those of you who frequent Ryan's blog More Rants than Raves no doubt saw his recent post about the crackhead who was stealing spark plugs in order to make crack pipes, courtesy of The Best of Craig's List. If you don't frequent his blog, it's funnier than mine, so check it out. Unlike me, who depends on his ponderous vocabulary and sardonic, downright mean observational humor, Ryan simply finds all the strange and funny things going on, and as they say, truth is funnier than fiction.

Anyway, he passed this little gem along to me last weekend, and I must say, it was like he had kicked aside some innocuous gravel to reveal a perfectly resplendent diamond in (appropriately) the rough. Indeed, I think they made a movie about something like that; I forget the title, but Leonardo DiCaprio dies in the end of it. Something about blood and diamonds. I think it was Titanic.

Despite my rambling, the point is not the subtle differences between his blog and mine, but rather this splendid post on Craig's List. I'd say something funny about it, but I don't want to detract from it's sheer genius:

We need an Adult Drunk Clown who is good at getting drunk and stupid. No need to do any clown tricks, just hang out and drink a shit load. We will be hopping around to different bars and want a clown to tag a long and drink heavely. He doesn't even need to socialize with anyone, just drink.
The birthday is on Friday, Sept. 5th in Bucktown. Oh, did I mention that the clown needs to get shitfaced. Don't worry, we will purchase all the drinks.

I have two words for these intrepid young men: Fucking and Awesome. These are the types of lads you see with their left legs cocked at an uncomfortable angle on Captain Morgan commercials. Drunk and clearly inspired frat boys, I salute you (if not your skills with spelling and punctuation)! Take a moment if you will, dear reader, and breathe in the sweet hilarity of this concept.

Now take a second to think about how this request gets exponentially creepier for each year you subtract from the birthday boy's age. Bon appetit.

JAPAN: Where Taking Real Life Too Seriously Just Isn't Enough

Let me preface this by saying that I completely realize that the line between digital worlds and real life can sometimes, under certain circumstances, become hazy--typically when I have a few beers in me and a nine year old is walloping the sweet shit out of me on Halo 3. That's bad enough, but when said grade schooler then starts lobbing slurs at you that he, by all rights, shouldn't even know, then it's time for Colonel Gentleman to remind the kid his mom doesn't love him and his dad has a whole other family in another state. Or that his teacher told me she thinks he's stupid and finger paints like a special-needs chimpanzee. One of the two usually does the trick. But I digress.

Believe it or not, this post isn't necessarily just about people being bat-shit insane within the safe anonymity of cyberspace, but rather when said craziness bleeds into the real world. Case in point: last week, a Japanese woman found herself suddenly divorced from her virtual husband on Maple Story without notification of any kind. No doubt she believed the split was without provocation either, but who among us can say that, after being dumped, we confessed, "Hell, I really fucking deserved that." Anyway, she decided to murder the son of a bitch in response. Why is this really all that newsworthy, you may ask? Because she had the good sense to keep it in the digital realm from which this all-too real anguish sprang. In other words, she logged on her "husband's" account and deleted the character. If only this lesson could be applied to us men in the real world: if we feared actually ceasing to be the moment we spurn another, there would be a whole lot less douchebaggery...and a lot less men period, until the human race could no longer sustain itself as the only survivor would be Jared from Subway, who seems like a nice enough guy, but not quite the genetic stock you want to repopulate a planet with.

Anyway, the 33 years young man who had his Maple Story avatar deleted by the 43 years young piano teacher who lives 650 miles away is apparently a little upset over the altercation. And rather than contact the company that maintains Maple Story to see if his character can be retrieved or some other sort of compensatory gesture can be made, they've arrested the lady responsible. If charges are pressed and she is convicted, "she faces up to five years in prison and a fine of up to $5,000." Come on, lady. At least have the class to strap on an adult diaper and drive the 650 miles (in her undoubtedly adorable and fuel efficient car) to confront the man in person like we would here in the States. Simply deleting his character is far too passive aggressive, and thus plays right into the misogynistic stereotypes we misogynists hold. Next time just stab the fucker and cover your tracks. That I can get behind.

Local GOP Group Reaches New Heights of Hillbilly Ignorance

A few months ago, my wife brought home a newsletter she received from someone at school, not to sway me to its extreme right political leanings, of course, but to rather show me another reason why Norco is bat-shit insane. I assumed the woman who printed the rag was the usual crazy shouting in the wilderness, publishing her libel happily from her double-wide trailer and only occasionally taking breaks from her propaganda machine to visit the well out back and remind the children trapped inside that "They put the lotion in the basket, or they get the hose."

Sadly, we Inland Empire residents need not suffer alone any longer. What I assume is the same newsletter has reached a new level of offensive recently by publishing a story that is quickly gaining national attention, complete with an image that even I feel too disgusted to post, of Obama's face on a donkey in the center of a food stamp, flanked by a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, ribs, koolaid, and....wait for it....watermelon. Apparently the harpy was musing one day about what denomination of currency Obama's face would one day grace should he be elected President, and the answer, apparently, was "food stamp." When confronted with the obviously racist overtones of the image, the shrew responded, "I didn't see it the way that it's being taken. I never connected," she said. "It was just food to me. It didn't mean anything else." No need to plead ignorance, lady: we already know you're a fucking idiot.

I'd suggest perhaps turning a high powered hose on her instead of the kids in the well, but I don't think she'd see the connection. Here's the article in the Press Enterprise, complete with picture of "Obama Bucks," for anyone who needs reminding that some of us out here are clearly floating in a warm spot in the gene pool.

Why I Won't Teach Elementary

After making a joke in my last post about huffing paint and cruising...er....drag racing in front of a preschool, I took a moment for Colonel Gentleman, looked inside my heart, and asked, "If I got out of that car and engaged all those children at once in vicious, no-holds-barred combat, would I ultimately stand triumphant upon an unmoving pile of vanquished foes?" The thing was, I didn't honestly know if I could take all the little bastards. But as I started to fashion a crude set of "battle-mitts" out of woolen gloves, shards of broken glass, and duct tape in order to test that very hypothesis, I discovered a digital quiz that would answer this very question for me, and as I don't know where a local preschool even is, my sloth won out over my desire for righteous battle. And the result?

16
At first glance, this may appear to be a respectable number. Remember, however, that with the state of the American educational system what it is, classroom crowding at all but the most elite private preschools would ensure I was taking thirty to forty of these drooling, sticky hellions on at once. And am I satisfied with only a 50% casualty rate? I don't know.

I suspect my inexperience with avoiding swarm-tactic combat attributed to the relatively low number, as well as my inexperience with combat of any kind. That, and the stale milk breath I imagine most of those little kids have would be a deal breaker. I mean, how can you concentrate on dropping an atomic elbow on Betty Sue when little Tommy Miller smells like a month old quart of Clover Stornetta?

I have my suspicions which of my regular readers will score highest on this quiz, one of whom is appropriately enough planning on teaching young children. Do please take a moment to take the test and share your results in the comments section. When the inevitable zombie apocalypse comes, I want to know who's on point when the gaggle of toddlers break through the door and shamble our way.

Congratulations All Around

My younger brother passed the Connecticut bar exam on Friday, which means that, statistically speaking, there is one state in the Union I am now much more likely to commit a crime in. Of course, I should first pinpoint where exactly Connecticut is. No sense huffing paint and drag racing in front of a preschool in the Carolinas, now is there? That Maker's Mark Ambassador card of mine isn't a get out of jail free card, and even if it were, I'd save it for something big like hunting the homeless for sport.

In completely unrelated news, save for their relatively close proximity, hat's off to Greg's wife Melissa for getting a theater gig recently that will ensure her acquisition of her equity card. I'd say something else, but I don't know what an equity card is. I imagine it involves her being equal to something, or perhaps how much a house is worth. Ah well. I'll let the egg-heads in Washington figure that one out...which means the Gallaghers are either due for a 700 billion dollar bailout, or we'll be declaring war on them. Rest assured, though--neither will be effective anyway.

A very sincere congratulations to my kid brother Brian and Melissa for their recent accomplishments: thank you for ensuring your friends and family have at least one person to count on financially.