Hard-Hitting News

Two Emo Kids Play ‘I Spy’

Andy: Wanna play ‘I spy?’

Tyler: Okay.

Andy: I spy something red.

Tyler: Ummm, is it the pulpy remains of that dead raccoon’s heart, a death surely caused by unrequited love and a gross misunderstanding of how fast cars move?

Andy: Yup. That one was too easy.

Tyler: Agreed. I spy something without a soul.

Andy: You?

Tyler: No, idiot, I have a tortured soul.

Andy: Why’s it tortured?

Tyler: Because my mom won’t let me borrow her minivan for the show on Friday. I’ve probably smoked ten cigarettes today, I’m so pissed. Anyway, keep guessing.

Andy: I don’t know dude, McDonalds?

Tyler: I guess that’s acceptable, but I was thinking more of that billboard over there advertising mainstream pop radio.

Andy: Ugh, good call. I would rather Miley DIE-rus than listen to that.

Tyler: Ha, well played.

Andy: Let’s see, I spy something obvious.

Tyler: Uh, the blue sky?

Andy: Nope.

Tyler: The green grass?

Andy: Wrong.

Tyler: My barely-suppressed bi-curiosity?

Andy: Got it. It doesn’t have to be so suppressed, you know.

Tyler: Are you saying we should go watch each other change in the J.C. Penney dressing rooms?

Andy: Precisely.

Tyler: We’re such revolutionaries.

An Elderly Person’s Guide to Eating Corn on the Cob

Here’s a condensed version of the aforementioned column:

It’s okay to admit that growing old is sometimes scary. Mobility is on the decline, death is imminent, and popular music keeps getting more and more frightening. Our lives are full of questions like, “What was that cracking sound?” “Why is that teenager looking at me?” and “Am I dead yet?” Furthermore, our memories are no longer sharp, and we don’t have the memories that we used to. We have a tendency to forget things.

Sometimes the scariest part of being elderly is knowing that we’re prone to humiliate ourselves. A short temper or rickety bowels can lead to uncomfortable social situations, and our memories aren’t what they used to be. Now that it’s summer, there will be opportunities to eat corn on the cob. Refusing corn on the cob will make you seem brainsick and un-American, because everyone loves it so much. But eating it means pathetically gumming and slobbing the cob until you and everything on your plate is a drool-glazed mess. People will look at you and say, “Who invited the basset hound to dinner?” and many laughs will be had at your expense. Even if you’re fortunate enough to have good dentures, who’s to say that your bonding cream will hold? I don’t know about you, but I like my iced tea sans bicuspids.

So what’s the big trick? How does one eat corn on the cob without becoming a laughing stock? Easy: knife it off. Just knife it off. Take your butter knife and saw those delectable kernels into a spoon-able pile on the side of your plate. Sure, maybe Doreen and Gracie will give you strange looks, but once their chins look like yellow acne’d warzones, they’ll see it as sophisticated, and our memories aren’t what they used to be. And granted, maybe you still won’t be able to chew the individual kernels, but that’s okay. Swallowing ‘em just makes things more interesting in the bathroom, and if there’s one thing that us old people love, it’s having interesting bathroom experiences.

So fear not, senior socialites, gone are the days of little yellow nibblets clinging to your unsightly chin hairs—which reminds me, you might want to take care of those unsightly chin hairs, or else your grandchildren might start calling you kiwi face. And that’s the story of how we routed Rommel out of North Africa.

Wait…what’s that say?

Did anyone else catch this on Breitbart today other than me?

Pedophile Chic?

I try to stay abreast (ha!) on what’s fashionable, and I suppose I’m a reasonably trendy guy. So when I’m looking at clothes on rich people websites to try and buy similar things from poor people stores, I don’t expect to see anything like this:

These are all new “styles” from Marc Jacobs. I imagine that if Pee Wee Herman, a child pornographer, Tim Burton, 1987, a crossing guard, and the bad guy from The Mask all got together and made some clothes, these would be them. This is what’s in vogue? First off, I didn’t realize that they recruited vampires with scoliosis to be fashion models. That’s bizarre. I got bullied a fair bit when I was younger, and am therefore sympathetic, but I would love to see this guy get pummeled against a locker until he peed himself.

I’m guessing Mr. Jacobs is an observational artist, and that he takes his ideas from things around him. Like wrapping paper. Retirement villages. Fisher Price play sets. Or Steve Buscemi in Billy Madison. Wherever he gets his ideas from, I think it might be a good idea for him to move someplace else, where there aren’t so many good looking eight-year-olds.

Then again, maybe I’m not sophisticated enough to understand it all.

Chairman Mao Writes a Superhero Movie

(SUPERMAO walks into an open courtyard. He is decked out in silver and purple, the greatest of all colors. Several young men stand attentively, discussing which animal might be my favorite. Women show humility by keeping their eyes on their feet. It is a glorious day for SUPERMAO to peacefully contemplate himself.)

SUPERMAO: Because I find my identity in a functional, superior body of citizens and have no concept of self, it seems I have forgotten my super qualities.

MAN 1: You are intelligent, industrious, and you shoot laser calligraphy from your eyes.

MAN2: You are unbelievably lifelike with your hand puppetry.

WILT CHAMBERLAIN: Your escapades virginize me. Also, you are taller than me.

(TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS enter the courtyard and cause a disturbance. One’s hair exceeds the appropriate length of five centimeters, and the other looks like he might own a book.)

STUDENT 1: Look how disruptive I am! Disrupting things is my favorite pastime!

STUDENT 2: We are disciples of American rebellion. Our interest in outside literature and art poses a threat that is nearly nuclear.

(SUPERMAO’S gyroscopic core begins to generate heat, causing him to take on dragon-like qualities. The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS’ knowledge of the liberal arts angers him to where he considers disemboweling them through their navels. SUPERMAO is patient yet.)

STUDENT 2: Hey, shouldn’t we have a dance party?

STUDENT 1: Good idea! As long as it is fun, it must be right.

STUDENT 2: Maybe this guy wants to dance with us!

STUDENT 1: Let us shamelessly approach him.

(The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS surround SUPERMAO and begin shaking their hips in his general direction, like FAT AMERICAN DEMON ELVIS PRESLEY. SUPERMAO notices that they are gathering attention from onlookers, thus promoting open-mindedness. It is within his super responsibility to take appropriate action.)

STUDENT 1: I’m not feeling too well. It almost feels as if I’m—

SUPERMAO: –turning into a heap of smoldering rice?

STUDENT 1: Whaa???

(STUDENT 1 explodes, and rice rains down over the courtyard for the children and women to enjoy. They are thankful. SUPERMAO squints his eyes and white light emanates from his pupils.)

STUDENT 2: Oh no! Oh please, no, do not kill me! I renounce my wicked ways and solemnly dedicate myself to Your service. I wish for nothing but the uniformity and cohesion of this nation. I am so sorry!

SUPERMAO: Apology accepted…NOT!

(SUPERMAO raises his arms triumphantly and a strong breeze causes panic in the courtyard. Suddenly, from the East, a green dragon with SUPERMAO’S face flies in and graphically devours STUDENT 2. SUPERMAO’S eyes return to their normal state, and he is erotically satisfied with himself. The dragon serenades SUPERMAO with beautiful, high-pitched growls in recognition of his superiority.)

THE DALAI LAMA: In honor of this noble deed you have performed, I, the Dalai Lama, formally apologize for Tibet’s disobedience.

(THE DALAI LAMA gives himself a wedgie as a show of penance. The scene ends with flock of sparrows forming a silhouette of SUPERMAO’S face against the subservient sunset.)

Corn on the Blog

Today I wrote a 1,500 word instruction manual to the elderly on how to eat corn on the cob without making a mess of themselves. I nearly submitted it to several sites, but wisely showed restraint. I’ll sleep on it, wake up tomorrow, and reexamine it. I’m potentially the only person on the planet who might find it funny.

Dern=Streep

I realized today that for the past fifteen years or so–since whenever Jurassic Park came out–Laura Dern and Meryl Streep have been the exact same person in my mental encyclopedia. They’re totally interchangeable! And get this: Laura Dern is married to Ben Harper! Talk about the most unlikely couple ever. That’s like Brooke Hogan marrying anyone but a bulbous stack of muscles with the IQ of lemon.

Marvel Comics Cocktail Party

Spider-Man: So who’s gonna slip Viagra in Banner’s drink?

Big Ideas for Big Birds

It seems like it would be a good idea to track down some of Big Bird’s relatives. Big Bird is an eight-feet two-inch tall canary who, according to Wikipedia, can “roller skate, ice skate, dance, sing, write poetry, draw, and even ride a unicycle.” These are all great talents for an animal to have. Being such a large bird, if we could find more of his species I think it would be very profitable. For instance, imagine the wealth of meat on Big Bird. Americans would never kill and eat Big Bird, because we love him, but I don’t see why we can’t breed his cousins to fill our stomachs. Can you imagine the size of their eggs? I’m guessing they beat out regulation sized footballs. Send one of those to Cambodia, you’ll feed a family for a week.

If you’re not so much into the idea of killing big birds, how about exploiting them for entertainment? A petting zoo with a couple of big birds would be a riot. They could give out piggy-back rides, unicycle lessons, or they could just be cuddle buddies. I’d cuddle with a big bird, no doubt about it. Slavery laws don’t apply to animals, so I see no reason why I couldn’t own a big bird servant who would cook for me, clean for me, and even raise my children for me. If my big bird slave refused to work, I could just kill him and eat him—better invite the whole neighborhood, though, ‘cause that’s a lot of meat.

Maybe this sounds a little morbid, and if it does, that just means that you are a wussy. If you can eat a chicken sandwich without crying, you should have no qualms with killing and eating big birds.

I do have some concerns that I’d like to address, though. I’m a realist, so I know that my plan isn’t perfect. Like, how much does it cost to feed a big bird? And what do you feed a big bird? I’m guessing that it costs around 200 bucks a week to keep one in captivity, whereas chickens pay for themselves. Also, if we start killing all their family members, some of these big birds are going to write some messed up poetry, and then people will feel bad for them and forget that they are birds and that they shouldn’t be pitied because they poop on themselves and cars. We need to think about these things.

Now, here are some other scenarios I’d like to see big birds involved in:

- Big bird boxing. We can do this interspecies or whatever, I think it would look hilarious with their wobbly legs and whatnot.

- A musical about big bird geishas who cater to rich human businessmen.

- One drug addicted celebrity big bird who mingles with all the human celebrities.

- Big birds with bad attitudes who try their best to look tough, but hey, they’re big birds and they’re always going to look gay.

- A big bird basketball league where people show up to games not because they’re good athletes, but because they are pitied. Oh wait, they have that already (the WNBA).

- Enormous fried big bird legs sold at amusement parks.

- Buddhism