Overwhelming Lack of Interest.

Due to overwhelming lack of interest, "Guess Who Smells Like Pee" will no longer be a regular component on Subliminal Karate. Of course if we took down every regular feature due to overwhelming lack of interest, we'd stop blogging altogether. I just couldn't think of another person to put up on "Guess Who Smells Like Pee." I'm sure there are candidates, just the names escape me just now. 

Which, in a roundabout way, is me saying I've got fuckall to blog about. Nada. Nothing. Zilchorama. 

I flipped back and forth between the Alamo Bowl and WWE's Raw program and I realized something. I'm no longer a wrestling fan. I haven't really watched wrestling in months, so I thought I'd give it a chance again. I thought it was just the abomination of a title belt that they're using these days, but I was wrong. Professional wrestling just doesn't hold my attention like it used to. 

However, I did watch Mickie James bounce to the ring and had many impure thoughts. She might be able to break my spine, but I somehow doubt that would be a bad thing.

Things will pick up after the new year, I can just about guarantee it. I can also just about guarantee that the year coming up is going to be really damned interesting. 

Everybody have a great celebration if I don't see you before then.

Be excellent.

Well, it's almost here ladies and gentlemen. Of course I'm talking about Boxing Day. For those of you that don't know, Boxing Day is huge in Europe and it involves giving gifts to the less fortunate on the 26th of December. This holiday should be bigger here since so many of us here in America are not what the rich people consider to be blessed. 90 something percent of the country are in the upper low or low middle class and it's getting worse every year. So by God, all you millionaires out there, start dropping some dough and by me something nice.

Happy Boxing Day to all,

Buster

Yep.

Yep. It's Monday. 

Happy Christmas, folks!

Hot Chicks with Chainsaws

So we're starting a new thing today. Bad Movie Review Friday, we'll call it. Anyhow what we're going to do is every Friday we're each going to watch a B-movie, perhaps while drunk, perhaps not, and we're going to write up a review about it. We're also going to use a lot of passive voice. If it works for James Patterson then it can work for us.

So with that being said, I didn't watch a bad movie last night. I stayed up until the wee hours watching old Willie Nelson videos on Youtube and searching vainly for really nasty clown porn. Since I'm still on this kick I'll talk about a movie I've already seen and post a half-assed movie review and call it good.

Because that's what life is about, disappointment. And humping stuff.

Anyhow the inaugural Bad Movie Friday flick is a little gem called Chainsaw Sally. I might even go so far as to call it a modern classic. You have all the archetypal slasher horror elements; unbalanced murderer, unlikeable victims, inventive ways to disembowel folks, and a high school revenge fantasy story line. What makes it work is, this movie's fun, all the way through. 

The titular character, Sally, is by day an unassuming librarian. At night, however, she becomes a power-tool wearing sexpot superhero, protecting her little gay brother from people she deems "bad." See, when our heroes were children, they watched their family get murdered by a gang of vagrants. Sally, while certifiably insane, is human, and you find yourself rooting for her. 

Not that you don't usually find yourself rooting for the killer in every other slasher movie ever made, but that's mostly because horror movie victim types tend to be paper thin jerkoffs you don't give a shit about anyway.

I lost my train of thought. Anyhow Chainsaw Sally is grand. Go check it out. 

Toilet Humor

I got to thinking about watersports the other day, and was just wondering what it takes to get someone to pee on you? I mean seriously, what kind of wierd fetish is it? I honestly couldn't see myself letting someone drop trou and just start pissing away on me. Just like someone dropping trou over you and taking a steamer. I admit, i don't mind a little kink in my sex life, but this is where i draw the line. 2 Girls 1 Cup, anyone? That video is horrendous (I mean I laughed, but it wasn't arousing). Is normal porn really that outdated that we must depend on the grossest shit (pun intended) that we can find? I honestly hope not.

Pick-Up line for the day: Hey baby, if it's true that we are what we eat, then I could be you by morning.

Guess Who Smells Like Pee

So in an effort to get some action going in the comments section we're going to start the next internet gameshow sensation, Guess Who Smells Like Pee.

Our first contestant celebrates making 400 million dollars for basically blowing smoke up people's collective ass by flaunting his moose knuckle in the presence of strippers. Even though it's surmisable that the "Man who runs America" has to pay for sex, the fact that he gets any at all while I frantically thumb through old Lane Bryant catalogues for a hint of nipple in the bra section still chaps my hide.

Okay, so the stripper picture probably isn't him. His face is too grainy and contrast heavy to match anything else in the entire picture. However, I still find it plausible that Rush sports a moose knuckle, and really, is the real picture of him blowing smoke at the camera with his lizard eyes any less damning?

As the great Bill Hicks once stated, Rush does remind me of one of those guys who can't get his piggly wiggly dick up without lying in a bathtub while said strippers join in a semicircle and pee on him. 

Hence this game, Guess Who Smells Like Pee.

Used Panties Update.

So I heard from Buster that a friend of his girlfriend sells her used panties on Ebay and makes pretty good money. We don't have the full details, but I have a sinking suspicion that the 3am Denny's panties get a higher price than the others. This is of course an assumption because we're not sure if she washes them first or what. 

Of course this proves my theory that if you're a girl, some dude somewhere might not even need to see your face. He just wants to sit in the floor and sniff your cooter residue. 

I wonder how widespread this panty-sniffing issue is. I know I'm a pretty boring person, but I guess my sex fetishes are even vanilla in comparison. I don't know, maybe I should go around in private wearing clown makeup with my dick in a cuckoo clock. Yanno, just to fit in.

Anyhow I want to interview this used panties seller. I have questions I need answered.

Here's another sexy clown. Not as sexy as the previous sexy clown. Not by far. However slap some makeup on Nadine here and you have yourself some bouncy peppermint wonderful.

Be excellent.

Godzilla Motherfucking Nutcrackers!

I spent all day getting my ass handed to me at NCAA football on Buster's X-Box and sort of watching Frankenstein Conquers the World. We didn't pay a lot of attention to the flick. Frankenstein wore a diaper and didn't conquer shit. He fought a big climactic battle with a giant armadillo and fell in a hole. That's really all you need to know about that hunk of crap. Frankenstein in a diaper, giant armadillo, they both fall into a hole. The end.

Maybe we should have been paying attention. You never know. Anyhow so here we go on a tangent.

This Christmas season I've gotten into nutcrackers. I dig them. I have myself a little set, they're standing in a semicircle around my tiny Christmas tree. They jazz me. I look at my nutcrackers and I feel festive. Festive, I tell you! I'm thinking to myself, yanno, Mike, these nutcrackers, you could do worse than get more of them. Because they're festive, see. You can't have enough festive. Festive is good. 

In fact, if they had a Godzilla nutcracker, that would just be flipping grand. If I'm on your Christmas list and you happen to find one of those suckers, you pick it up and you give it to me and, I dunno, I'd be pretty jazzed. Merry Christmas indeed.

If you happen to be in the business of making stuff like that, get the fuck on it! Godzilla nutcrackers would sell like flipping hotcakes.

Frankenstein nutcrackers would be pretty cool too, I guess. Not as cool as Godzilla nutcrackers. Or even Mothra. But still pretty cool.

Perhaps, if you're so inclined, you could make sustainable nutcrackers that were hand-made from the Pika Munpo villagers from Burkina Faso. So as not to be all corporate-whorish, and what not. 

Blogger doesn't want to load my friggin' picture today. So just imagine a Godzilla nutcracker in your mind and see how jazzing that would be. Meditate on it. Be one with the Godzilla nutcracker. Feel the quivering in your loins...

Speaking of quivering loins, I like this Bing Bang Theory show. Perhaps because it has Kelly Cuoco and she makes me happy in my happy place. Maybe because I actually kind of perhaps relate to the characters. Mostly it's because of Kelly Cuoco and the impure thoughts I have. 

I'm a sick, sad, weird little man. Well, maybe not so little. I'm 6'4" so I can't be technically little. I'm little on the inside, I guess. It's metaphorical. Fuck, I don't know. 

There's another tangent. I think this would be a good place to stop.

Be excellent.

*okay so now we have an image. It's not a Godzilla nutcracker because apparently they don't fucking exist. So I'll just sit here and say fuck a lot.

Gomer Dogs

If there's one absolute when it comes to white trash gomer idiots, it's that they always have a pit bull somewhere. Usually either tied to a pole or running free. Probably because they're ugly, savage dogs to complement their ugly, savage lives. If you live in Oklahoma and haven't had a beloved family pet killed or maimed by some gomer's loose pit bull, you haven't lived here long enough.

I had Fat Charlie out for his walk earlier and lo and behold, there I see a flipping pit bull trotting towards us down the street. I rushed him inside, and believe me, Charlie protested. There were leaves blowing, and Charlie loves to chase the leaves. I will not let him outside when there are those goddamned dogs out and about, though. I'm not saying that pit bulls are always bad dogs, but when there's a gomer involved, there's no other choice.

When I was about eight we had a border collie mix named Spunky that would dance with you. Our neighbors had a white pit bull that one day jumped the fence and while it didn't kill Spunky, we had to take him to get stitched up and he couldn't walk for a while. Later their dog died and they just left it bloating in the back yard. Charming folks.

I guess you could say I'm a little bit bitter.

Be excellent.

Jeremy.

So firstly everybody welcome Subliminal Karate's new contributor, Jeremy. He's my other hetero-lifemate. With all three of us there's a very good chance we'll be covering a lot of territory and points of view, and the blog will be all the better for it. 

You never know, one day we might get really popular and make enough money for an Illinois Senate seat. I mean, sure, it's an outside chance, but you never know.

Be excellent.

*I'm going to have to find a better picture of Jeremy. In the meantime, here's a gnarly cactus monster.

Movies, work and a dumb law

Well, tomorrow The Dark Knight comes out. I honestly can't wait. I'm gonna get it on Blu-Ray myself. It shall be grand.

I went to see Punisher: War Zone saturday and it was a masterpiece of violence and death. I was completely mesmerized. My girlfriend was just sittin there laughing at me. After almost a year she hasn't got used to me being a complete dork. I geek out at every comic book movie that comes out. I'm a nerd, what can i say.

I'm back to work after a week layoff and it still sucks. Just a week and a half left and I'll be laid off for another two weeks. Christmas will be interesting with me not working.

That's it for today.

BTW: In New York, the penalty for jumping off a building is death. DEATH. That is the stupidest law that I think I've heard.

I'm out.

Even Bastards Get Lonely

So they always say that it's best to just be yourself. People will always like you better if you're an honest person. If you don't try to be someone you're not. So what if you're a irredeemable asshole? Should you just be yourself then, or in this case are you allowed a little leeway? I mean, if you're a piece of shit, then it's expected that you'll probably lie a bit. Probably even cheat and steal if the mood strikes. Nobody likes those people anyway, though. Even bastards get lonely sometimes. Shouldn't they be allowed a little bit of slack so they can find a friend? If you suck you won't have any friends, if you have friends maybe you'll not suck so much. So if you maybe lie about how much  you suck, you might make some friends, in which case you'll suck a little less. 

So if you're a total shitheel, but you would maybe like to be better, perhaps it's better to lie a little bit about yourself. Yanno, just so you can make a buddy or two. However this only works if you don't want to be a full time asshole. If you are gleeful about how shitty you are, you might as well be honest. 

Unless you're one of those people who confuse honesty with assholery. I don't think assholery is an actual word, at least it wasn't before I just used it. I like the way it sounds. It sounds literate, yet vulgar. Which is always awesome. Anyhow you know those people who always say they don't get along with people because folks can't take their "brutal honesty" or whatever they want to call it? Those people who just can't face the fact that they suck? "Brutal honesty" is asshole code for "tactless suckage." Decent people know that a little bit of discretion goes a long way. Not only might people take you seriously, they might actually think you've done them a favor. Unlike assholes, whom they'll just resent.

I'm not sure what brought that rant on but my Oklahoma Sooners are in the BCS title game and all is right with the world right now.

Be excellent.

A Grammar Tangent

So I had this really great blog all planned out. It was going to be epic. Massive. Shakespearean in its scope. Then I realized that I can't remember if you use an apostrophe when you use "it's" or if it depends on in what sense you use it. So while I had this conundrum I completely forgot my no doubt super eloquent and insightful rumination into whatever the fuck it was I was going to talk about.

How many years after graduation are you allowed to wear your letterman jacket before it just gets sad? I've seen some guys, and I gotta tell you, I think they're pushing it.

I can use the apostrophe there, because "they're" is a contraction of "they are." If I was referring to their coats, I would use "their," and that wouldn't make a lick of sense in the context of that sentence. However "e" is coming before "i" and there's no "c" anywhere in that word, so why the hell did they even bother with that rule? Or is that the exception? 

Then you have receive and reprieve and all those other words, it's like they only follow the "i" before "e" rule when they damn well feel like it. It just drives me mad I tell you. Mad!

Grammar. This wasn't the epic blog I had in mind. I just kind of went off on a tangent.

I lost my train of thought. Be excellent.

Just a little FYI

Scientists have determined that the average sexual encounter is 4 minutes. The average number of strokes per minute is 9, and since the average length of the penis is 6 inches, the average female received 216 inches or 18 feet per sexual encounter.

18 feet x 3 times a day = 54 feet x 52 weeks = 2802 feet in a single year or just over half a mile.

If you are not getting your half a mile, why not let me help out?

Life's Queries

Ok, so i was sitting here at home comtemplating masturbation (all while wearing my luchador mask and a tie) when i decided that i really need to cut back on the self exploration. I think i do it a bit much. I know, I know, there is no such thing as too much, but still...I'm starting to chafe. i really don't know if anyone else has this type of problem.

I'm sitting here staring at my Gigan action figure and thinking that i need to watch some more of my Godzilla movies. Mike just told me he's been off for the last 4 days. That douche. I've been off too. We could have done some major damage to my Godzilla collection.

Anywho, this was my first blog. Get ready for the future.

Buster.

So my hetero lifemate Buster is going to be posting on here, too. I don't know what he's going to be posting but rest assured it will contain the level of wrongness to which you've all become accustomed.

Be excellent.

Freshly Washed Sheets.

Don't plan on waking up early when you've put freshly washed sheets on your bed. I got up this morning long enough to feed the dogs. I figured I'd lay back down for an hour or so. I got up three hours later, mad at myself. You just can't get out of bed when it's all warm and womb-like in there.

I might eventually make it outside to work in the yard. I'm not setting odds on it, though.

Movie Trailers and Odd Things in the Sky

So, I've been watching the trailers for Watchmen and Star Trek and had myself a bit of a nerdgasm. I've never been a huge Star Trek fan but I dug it. I'll stop what I'm doing and catch a rerun of The Next Generation whenever I catch it on. I liked the original series but I only watched it in bits and pieces. I'd like to get caught up on it, though. From what I see in the trailer it looks like they took that and mixed in a little bit of Starship Troopers, which can't be a bad thing. At least not on paper.

Point is, while I like Star Trek, I'm not enough of a fan to go apeshit if the flick ends up being poorly executed. I'm not that fanatical about anything I didn't create myself, though. If you think you can do a better job by all means write a script and shop it around. See what happens.

Now Watchmen, that's different. Watchmen is the Great Gatsby of the comic geek world. One of the 100 greatest novels of the 20th Century. Absolutely brilliant work. One of the reasons I started writing in the first place. You don't fuck with that to make something acceptable to your focus group. That would be like turning Of Mice and Men into a musical. However, I get a boner just watching the trailer. Not to mention, coming on the heels of the Dark Knight, the bar for superhero movies has been raised like it's never been. Comic book movies have to actually be good now.

Man I've used a lot of italics in this post.

Earlier tonight I was looking up at the moon, Jupiter, and Venus making a triangle formation. Sort of like they were on a gigantic wizard hat. Anyhow a little above them I saw an airplane, and above that was what I thought at first was a satellite moving slowly North. Anyhow this little light that was very high up went behind a cloud and didn't come out again. I'm not sure if I just lost track or what but I couldn't find it. I'm not saying I saw a UFO or anything but it was pretty weird.

That's my blog for tonight, folks. Be excellent.

Dog Santa Hats

So it's been a hell of a weekend. A good weekend. I sit here in my Big Blue Socks™ and I eat my turkey sammitch and I watch my blinking Christmas lights and all is grand with the world.

The Sooners won a fantastic Bedlam game, and today they moved up to number two in the BCS, which means they'll play for the Big 12 title and a trip to the national championship game. My jazz is flipping tangible.

The only detriment is that I forgot to bring home any candied yams so I am at the moment yamless. My mom made some crazy good yams, too. Yams that were dreamlike in their goodness. Yams that a princess brings you on the back of a snow white horse from a mist covered lake in some enchanted otherworld. I will bring back those yams, and I will finish them. It is my destiny.

I am unable to go to Petco without getting a bag of stuff from the treat bar. I might one day break down and eat those dog treats. The Christmas cookies smell like real cookies. I've seen Charlie eat poop, I don't know why it makes any difference to him whether the red and green Christmas treats smell nice to me. I could eat them and he'd never know the difference. My Yorkie, Lou, she's picky about her treats, but still. I could have the cookies and nobody would know. Those treats from the treat bar are more for the people than the dogs.

I had a friend named David who'd come over and eat dog biscuits. We kept those multi-flavored Milk Bones, and he'd come over and pick out all the bacon ones. He was a weird cat. True story.

I just noticed that I have a follower! Look, over there! -------> Obviously HyperSexualGirl is a goddess with amazing taste in blogs. So, yanno, everybody salute her. 

I never thought I'd be the kind of person that put Santa hats on their dogs, but I found dog Santa hats, and, well...

I'm a weak, pitiful human being.

Please use the picture of puppy Fat Charlie and forget what I just said.

Be excellent.

The Magic Eight Ball Answers Questions

So I asked the Magic Eight Ball some questions and it turns out I'm going to fly to Mars on a green unicorn. It didn't say anything about getting back. I'd assume it would be be Greyhound bus or something but my luck they won't have bus lines on flippin' Mars so I'll be pretty well screwed. I mean, sure, maybe I can ask the green unicorn to bring me back but you know those guys only go one way. That's why nobody ever sees a unicorn, it takes them forever to make a circle. 

At least I'll be able to tell everybody I went to Mars. That'll be pretty grand. I mean, have you ever been to Mars? No, you haven't. So that means I'm better than you. I also have very nice hair.

I don't really think I'm better than you. But I do have good hair.

Magic Eight Balls are awesome because they don't mind supporting your delusions. They just roll around and give you a random statement and you can believe whatever you want. So I want to believe I'm going to Mars. Then I'm going to have three way butt sex with Jessica Biel and Jessica Alba. Because the Magic Eight Ball said so and if it said so it must be true.

Not to mention the green unicorn. It has to be green, I have very specific fantasies.

I need to quit messing around on this blog today and get something done.

Everybody have a grand Thanksgiving! I'll be back Saturday. *nods*

Be excellent.

Hardcore Nudity.

So the title there is just a red herring to get people to click on the link in the google search. I'm sorry if you were all geeked to get a look at my junk.

I used to subscribe to Suicide Girls and every so often you'd read a girl's blog where she'd be upset that people weren't taking her seriously as a human being, they were just jacking off. I can understand that being seen as a piece of meat is pretty degrading. However I also understand that if you are posting naked pictures of yourself on the internet and nobody's jacking off to them, I don't know, I'd be pretty disappointed. 

Which is precisely why there aren't any naked pictures of me on the internet. At least none where you can see my face. Nobody needs to see that. Unless somebody asks for them, I don't know. That would just be weird, though, wouldn't it? I can call myself a chubby Adonis all I want, it doesn't make it true.

So basically what I'm saying is, there won't be any hardcore nudity in this blog. Probably not even any softcore nudity. Unless you count monkeys. Because not only are they always naked, monkeys are always funny. Unless you put them in, like butler outfits with top hats and monocles. Then they're fucking hilarious.

Wednesday my dad's coming out to help me fix the sink. Because, honestly, fuck it all.

It Was Just a Bad Washer...

Turns out the link wasn't where I thought it was. Nor was it in a place where I can fix it without help. I stand defeated. Stupid rat bastard. See, I thought since the water was spraying out kind of all over the place, and since I'd had something like that happening before with the line that went into my hot water heater, that it was just a bad washer. This is what happened with the water heater, so I just imagined that it would be the same thing with the hot water line feeding into the faucet. I still had a bag of washers that was left over from the previous plumbing adventure, so I win, right?

I unscrewed the hot water line, and lo and behold, the washer in there is shredded. So I'm superjazzed. I drop a new washer in there, and I screw the hot water line back on. Well, it takes me a while to get it to line up right, and there's a lot of swearing involved. It gets screwed on straight, though. I turn the water on halfway and I see no spray from the hot water line. I hear a hiss, however, and it bugs me. I run some water, the pressure is good. I'm feeling good, but there's still that hiss. It bothers me. I feel around and I can't feel any water anywhere. At least not in the area where I thought the leak was.

I follow the hot water line down to where it comes up out of the floor and wouldn't you know it, there's a nice little fountain going there. So I go out and turn the water back off and utter a string of obscenities that I don't exactly remember and punch myself in the head. Because overreacting is a hobby of mine. 

That and I saw the drummer from Pitchshifter do it in a video and thought it was cool in high school. Watching it now, though, it's just funny. I don't know what was going on in my head then. This is one of those really unintentionally hilarious videos that I like now for completely different reasons than I first did.

Since then Pitchshifter has gone kind of techno and sucks balls. Anyhow they completely changed their sound and not in a good way.

So there you see I went off on a tangent. I don't think this blog is going to have much of a theme but there will be a lot of weird obtuse angles. Also, we'll have pictures that don't have anything to do with the actual content of the post. Like the hula girls posted here. Basically I just like hula girls.

I have nice hair. Be excellent.

Football Enables Avoidance.

Sooners 65, Texas Tech 21. The first half consisted of Oklahoma running the ball up and down the field making Tech look like a jv team. I am content. 

This is not a picture of that game. I wasn't there. This is from when I saw them play Nebraska. This information I'm giving you right now serves no purpose.

There's a big leak under the sink I have to fix later. The I'm going to have to rip up some carpet. I'm not looking forward to it, I'm hoping to God that the leak is where I think it is. I'm avoiding it for a little bit, at least. I'm going to sit and watch a football game, work myself up to it.

I'd like a jazzy persian rug.

The important thing to remember here is, I have really nice hair.

Be excellent.

I Have Good Hair.

So I heard from a girl I know that my hair looks really, really good. I have my barber cut it the same length all around, it costs a grand total of ten bucks. In fact the guy that usually cuts it moved up the street and I didn't cut my hair for a year because I didn't want anybody else to do it. 

Another lady later said I had nice looking hair, too. So I guess it's official. I'm going to keep this going. Pretty ladies like my hair, so I shall keep my hair the way it is. Pretty ladies, for the purposes of this blog, shall be ladies that recognize that I exist.

Anyhow so I'm going bald and I don't make any attempt to hide it. Yet, no matter how lousy I feel, I can say with confidence that what's left of it is really really flippin' nice.

My good hair has got me a little fan club going. In my imagination. Imaginary fan clubs are still better than no fan clubs, plus with an imaginary fan club you don't have to worry about the president of your fans shooting you in the face. Because imaginary fan clubs don't do that kind of shit.

Because if the President of my imaginary fan club shot me in the face, it would mess up my awesome hair, and all my imaginary fans would be very sad.

Yesterday Buster (who is my hetero lifemate, for those of you uninitiated into the minutia of my sad little life) and I watched Godzilla movies. Well, a Godzilla movie, we spent a good part of the day moving shit. It was Godzilla versus Hedora, and it kind of sucked. I guess Godzilla had to have an obligatory drug movie with a half-assed environmental theme. Hedorah is this giant trash monster that secretes sulfuric acid. These hippies get together and help Godzilla fight the trash monster by building a bonfire and dancing around. Then the trash monster comes and kills all the hippies. So basically the movie was saying hippies are fucking useless. The army finally came with a big heat lamp and thus the trash monster was defeated.

I love Godzilla movies, and I love movies that are batshit crazy. This was a batshit crazy Godzilla movie that I hadn't seen before. I probably won't be seeing it again. It sure the hell wasn't Godzilla versus Biollante, that's for flippin' sure. 

I went off on a tangent there. I can do that, though, because I have good hair.

I also made a red velvet cake, it was delicious. 

Be excellent.

*Now we have Godzilla!

Muffin Tops!

Here's that face-transformation link I was talking about a few posts back. Click on over, have some fun. I look like a monkey!

Does anybody even bother reading this thing?

Next post, muffin tops!

Be excellent.

The Universe Kicked My Ass

So the universe has been kicking my ass all year. I finally got to quit my job only to take a look at my bank account and go right back. It's entirely possible this whole thing has been my fault. Probable, in fact. Ah well, at least I'm employed. 

My bank account is in even worse shape than it was when I had to come crawling back. If there's a lesson to be had in all of this it's that I really should plan things out better. Jumping off a bridge with no safety net is really, incredibly stupid. Have I mentioned today that I hate myself sometimes?

Today I'm just hoping no other major appliances decide to quit working.

Be excellent.

I Wanted A Lemur.

Jim Awad is managing editor of Zephyr. Dude's last name is Awad. Awad. Fuck. Okay I'm pretty immature but that's just hilarious. Seriously, really, seriously, his last name is Awad. A. Wad. My lands.

I'm watching CNN and they're talking about Citibank's 53,000 layoffs. They've got this Awad guy on as a talking head. I miss those two blindingly hot chicks they had during the election.

Time to turn on the radio.

Yanno, just as an aside, what happens to libel laws during campaign season? There's an awful lot of slander that goes on during those things and I don't recall ever hearing about anyone suing over it afterwards. Is it possible that those laws are, I dunno, sort of meaningless? 

This is the kind of stuff I blog about when I have nothing to blog about. Yet I still blog. 

I remember when I was a little kid I saw footage of one of those lemurs hopping across the wilderness of Madagascar. I wanted a lemur immediately. They were just like little weird, uncoordinated people. 

Which brings me to an unrelated point that is somewhat similar. Have you ever watched a meth addict? You notice that they walk like they've lost all motor control while trying to balance a book on their head. They've got this odd upright posture, meanwhile every movement is totally exaggerated. I can't help but chuckle. 

Okay, there's my portrait if I was painted by Boticelli. There's a link to the site somewhere on my computer, where you can upload a picture of yourself and see what you'd look like if you were painted by an old master, or you were a chimp, or whatever. It was a really damned interesting site. 

I'll try and find that link on here one of these days. Hopefully that place still exists.

Be excellent.

Mind the Exits

So it's been a craptastic week. Sometime between Wednesday morning when I got myself a bowl of cereal and Wednesday evening when I got home and tried to make dinner my refrigerator died on me. Thusly everything in there was ruined. Of course I had just stocked up for the month Sunday, so I had a lot of stuff in there that had to go. So, yesterday I got paid and immediately had to go get a new refrigerator, and since my stove was older than the fridge to begin with, I decided to get a new stove while I was at it.

Naturally the new refrigerator has to be too tall to fit in the space the old refrigerator fit in. I could take the new one back and get a shorter one, but since it's a groovy black refrigerator that matches my groovy new black stove and I don't want to load the stupid thing and take it back, I'm just thinking I'm going to knock out the cabinet and make the fucker fit. 

Until then I've had to move the kitchen table and set it up on the other side. 

I am now officially white trash. Thank you and mind the exits.

Be excellent.

My Big Buddy.

Fat Charlie does not share your assessment. He expects a full report on his desk tomorrow morning. 

Alright, so I thought I'd post a picture of my Malamute with sort of a vague, meaningless almost insult and it would make folks giggle. I don't know that it worked out so well. 

Anyhow for such a gigantic dog he thinks he needs to be in my lap whenever the opportunity presents itself. Of course, yanno, he's still just a pup, so he's going to get bigger. He'll still think he's the size of a teacup poodle. 

He's still my big buddy, though. 

You now that feeling after heavy drinking when you think having a spamburger hamburger is a good idea? Well it turns out it's never a good idea but I sure do look sexy here in my drawers picking mustard out of my chest hair.

One of these days I might come up with a theme. Then again, maybe not.

Be excellent.

Too Big to Fail

So I've been watching the news today and all these big auto companies are getting in line for government bailouts. I guess while they're handing out money, yanno, get yours while you can. 

I can understand the whole "too big to fail" idea. I get it. There are a lot of people employed by these companies and if they get cut loose that's gonna put a huge strain on the system. I can understand how you'd want to keep these companies afloat. I don't think, however, that taxpayers should have to foot the bill for failed businesses. We shouldn't subsidize failure. So what I'd do if I were President is, with these companies that are "too big to fail" is, I'd give them the bailout, but there are some pretty harsh conditions. First, all the management, from the CEO on down, congratulations, you are now unemployed. There will be no severance package, there is no bonus, you may now clean out your desks and hit the street. If you managed your company halfway well you wouldn't need a bailout, would you? So with any company that looks to government money to keep afloat, I think upper management should get replaced. 

Second, we should get some sort of say in all this. After receiving our tax dollars, there should be a certain reasonable period of time we allow these companies to turn themselves around. If after that time they're still in the red, we let them die. There will be new and better companies to take their place. There always are. We can be democratic and put it on a ballot or something, but ultimately the people paying for the bailout need to have a say.

Third, we need to get a cut of the profits. Sure, it might not work out to all that much, but since we will essentially partly own these companies it's only fair. Otherwise why save them? I'm sure there's some way to work this out.

Of course that's all just my opinion, and my opinion means precisely dick. I'm not exactly an expert on the subject.

Be excellent.

Back to Crass

You ever get one of those deep angry itches deep inside your butt crack? Right in there next to the bunghole, where the only effective way to scratch is to practically fist yourself? You can't do that in public, and that's the only time it ever happens. So you have to make an emergency bathroom visit just so you can sit in the stall and finger your ass until you get the itch to go away. Anyhow so that happened to me today but people just kept talking to me so when I finally got to dig in my asshole it felt like a burden had been lifted from my soul.

Sadly I don't think that's as crass as this blog is likely to get.

I don't know, I feel a little bit better. I think I kind of balanced out the previous post, anyhow. I might have made a mistake by following up a confessional by giving tmi about my ass crack. These things happen.

Be excellent.

Bit of Introspection.

I'm wondering if I should be trying to make a new movie or go back to reshooting A Visit With Theodore so that I have a good version of that to show people. I'm also wondering if Antibaby is film festival quality. I'm guessing it is, but I'm not totally sure. I have a real fear of having people hate my work. However, judging from the response it's gotten over the internet, I've got a lot of work to do. I'm also doubting that that might have been the best place to try and find an audience.

The fact remains that I've only been doing this since June and every short has been better than the last one. That has to be a good thing. I'm still feeling a little intimidated from showing my work to other people who've had more experience than me. That solves nothing.

It's also been far too long since I've unpacked the art supplies. Used to be my sketchpad kept me sane, now it's been literally years since I've even opened it up. It's probably no coincidence that I haven't really been happy for those years, either.

I'm at least ten years behind everyone else. I can't believe I'm thirty one years old and still just starting out, really. I'm also bothered that I forgot the shadow from the cheese tray on the painting I've posted here.

One day, when I look back on this, it will all make sense. Hopefully that day is closer than it is farther.

I apologize to all three of my readers for this bit of introspection. I shall be back to crass blathering fortwith.

Be excellent.

Faith Hill Has Cold Dead Eyes.

So what I noticed is during the opening to Sunday Night Football, Faith Hill sings the theme song with cold dead eyes. I don't think she even likes football. I think she's just there for a paycheck. Surely this is prerecorded and they use the same clip for every show. She could have at least put some effort into it. I'm just saying, I don't think I've ever seen a more joyless performance. Hell I think the people that make elevator music have more passion for their work.

It's possible that she always has cold dead eyes. Lord knows I don't pay any attention to country music.

Anyhow I missed the Sooners yesterday and the Steelers lost today, so football for me lately has been unjazzing. Perhaps I'm just projecting my frustrations.

We should all watch a clip from Flesh Eating Ghouls From Outer Space to make us all feel better. See, what was nice, wasn't it?

Tonight I'm going to watch Ichi the Killer and forget my troubles.

I have impure thoughts about the checkout girl from Homeland. I just thought I'd share.

Rice Pilaf

I woke up this morning absolutely sure that I've been going about the whole thing all wrong. What I'm going about I'm not sure, but I do know that I'm doing it wrong. Whatever it is. Which helps. It honestly does.

I gashed my leg pretty good banging up against the silverware drawer last night. It looked like bloody hamburger for a bit before I got it cleaned up and bandaged. It looked a lot worse than it was. Now I get to look forward to ripping a bandage off of leg hair. Oh joy!

I'd like some rice pilaf right now.

One Little Single Hair.

So I've got one little single hair right in the middle of my forehead. There is no purpose in it. All the rest of my hair lies further back. If anything the fucker's just there messing with me. I mean, if it really wanted to help it could bring some more of it's buddies on forward. There's plenty of hair on my back we could pull to the front. Perhaps back hair and head hair don't associate with each other. I have some kind of hair social combat going on with my body. It ain't fair. I just want to be able to grow my hair like Keanu Reeves in Point Break. 

I don't know how I can have hair everywhere but on my head. I own my baldness, though. I'm not ashamed of it.

I don't know, maybe shaving my back would be a good idea, though.

I just felt like passing the time. Be excellent.

Personal Lubricant.

So I fixed the blog so that anyone can comment. You don't have to sign in or join or anything. You can even be anonymous if you want. 

It's so cute that I think people read this. 

Anyhow so yesterday I went and did a little bit of Christmas shopping. Not a lot, but this year I'm actually going to be able to get all my people at least a couple things so that makes me feel good. You never know, maybe at least one of those things could actually be practical. 

Then I got home, signed on to Chubby Girlfriends, and burned through a bottle of KY warming personal lubricant. 

I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have shared that. What, would you rather I used a can of WD-40? Look, I might be a little bent but I'm not that bent.

It's personal lubricant! What the hell else is it for? I know, I need to go outside more.

Okay, so I guess that'll do it for today. Be excellent.

I Love Poop Jokes.

So yesterday after voting I went and saw Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Dug it. I thought Kevin Smith did one of his better jobs this time around. Thought he could have done more with the character development, but considering the subject matter, that would have been a tightrope walk for sure. You also have to realize I love poop jokes, and this movie has one of the best ever. 

I feel good today. I'm proud to be an American today. We're gonna make it.

Okay so enough with the politics. Be excellent.

Happy Trails.

Na na na na

Na na na na

Hey Hey Hey

Good bye!

Sorry, couldn't help myself.

Go out and vote!

Sexy Clowns

I likes me some sexy clowns. They make me happy in my happy place.

Billy Mays and Cancer Have Something in Common.

So Billy Mays is hawking health insurance now. Observe.

He might have been doing that for a while and I haven't noticed until now. I'm kind of unobservant like that. Anyhow I'm sure this is a sign of the Apocalypse.

Be excellent.

Used Panties.

So I'm really ready for this election mess to be over with. These campaigns have been going on since Reconstruction and I've actually started yelling at the television screen whenever they cut to a shot of Sarah Palin. That ain't healthy. 

Enough of that, though, 'less we all get sick of it together.

My weekend was almost grand. I went to Norman with my dad and saw the Sooners play Nebraska. It wasn't the most memorable game, they built a big lead in the first five minutes and just coasted the rest of the way. I was jazzed, he was jazzed, we were all jazzed. 

I read that Stacy Kiebler sells her used panties on Ebay or whatever. She said people kept asking her to do it so eventually she just went for it and I guess all the proceeds go to charity. Which is nice but still, this brings up some interesting questions. First, what kind of person buys used panties? Well, that's kind of a stupid question, but still, I mean, why? If Stacy Kiebler comes with the panties and she signs some sort of waiver I guess that's cool. I'd bid fifteen bucks for that. 

Really though, don't you get a little freaked out by that? Just a little? You know some dude's somewhere's got a collection of used panties he's bought off the internet stashed away in a drawer somewhere. Every third Wednesday or whatever he has himself a pile-o-panties sniff and whack off party. What else do you do with used panties? Do you get them autographed and put them in a frame? You have to think on some level Ms. Kiebler knows that some dude is just ripping open the box of panties, putting them on his head, and cranking away like a concussed bonobo after an all night meth bender. I don't know, I'd be a little weirded out by that.

Maybe I'd be the guy cranking away like a concussed bonobo. I don't know, I've never bought a pair of used panties over the internet. It would depend on whether or not they bag them up right after use or if they wash them first. Are they special occasion panties or do they sell panties that they wore after eating at Denny's at 3am and getting a bad case of diarrhea? Is there a guide to used panty prices? Like, the 3am Denny's panties are in the bargain bin and the panties Stacy Kiebler wore when she wrestled Trish Stratus for the Women's Title the ones that are priced beyond the means of most mortals. 

There's probably a whole market for 3am Denny's panties. Because people are pretty fucked up.

You can only sell your panties if you're a hot chick. Well, it helps if you're hot, you don't have to be. You probably don't even have to be famous. You can just be a chick and it's a good bet that some dude somewhere wants to sniff your panties. You can't do that if you're a guy. Brad Pitt probably couldn't even get away with selling his old BVDs with the skid marks. Probably not even if the profits were going to build an orphanage in Sri Lanka. Joe the Plumber definately can't sell his boxers. There would be a firestorm of controversy over that one. I don't know, though. After I post this I'll probably hear that Brad Pitt built an orphanage in Sri Lanka off the proceeds from his old sock drawer and I'll have to admit I'm wrong.

Or course it's more likely that that orphanage got built from Angelina Jolie's 3am Denny's panties fetching 22 million at Sotheby's.

So I started off with a bit of what I did over the weekend and ended on a used panties rant. It happens. Be excellent.

So What in the Name of God am I Doing Here?

That's a rhetorical question. I have a fairly good idea of what I'm doing here. I want to spend at least an hour every day writing. Whether it's just a bit of stream of consciousness nonsense on here or something more solid, as long as I put thoughts on paper I'm doing pretty well. Also, I'm sort of an attention whore.

 I'm a fat guy at home hunching over a computer in his underwear, messing around on the internet. Hooray! I'm sort of a massive cliché.

I make movies that no one watches. I plan on having people actually watch them someday soon. Probably in film festivals. I thought posting them online might be a good idea. I might be wrong. That idea, so far, hasn't been turning out so well. Though, to be honest, I probably haven't given it enough time, either.

I've also only been a film maker for a little over four months, so I've still got a long way to go. Here's the last thing I made.

We shot that in four hours, and it's much better than it should be. 

I don't have anything else to say right at the moment. Be excellent.