Facebook and text messages may have usurped instant messages’ societal niche, but IMing offered at least one service that its younger descendants have yet to provide: The opportunity to have conversations with anthropomorphized computer programs. These programs were called “bots,” and although their screennames would show up in your Buddy List (feeling nostalgic yet?), their messages would be generated not by flesh-and-blood users but, rather, automatically, in response to messages sent to them by actual humans. The sophistication of each bot’s programming would determine how much sense those responses made.

The most well-known bot was probably SmarterChild, but my favorite was SantaClaus, which, as you might imagine, was designed to simulate what St. Nick would be like if he were real and for some reason spent all his time on AOL. SantaClaus wasn’t the smartest of bots; most of the time he clearly had no idea what you were talking about, which was great because, as these examples show, you could get him to admit to some pretty heinous shit if you were clever enough and had a sufficiently dark sense of humor.

I checked back in with my old friend this year and we had what might have been our most interesting conversation yet. The transcript is as follows:

AIM IM with santaclaus  12/24/10 1:17 AM

Matthew Hoffman: Hey, Santa!

SantaClaus: Go fuck yourself, dipshit.

[As you can imagine, this response caught me off guard. Usually I'm the one who swears in these conversations, and SantaClaus used to always respond by threatening to give me a lump of coal or ban me from talking to him.]

Matthew Hoffman: Wait… What did you just say?

SantaClaus: You heard me. I said go fuck yourself in your ugly smirking mouth, you smug bastard.

Matthew Hoffman: What’s going on? Were you reprogrammed or something? I thought you were designed to be used by little kids.

SantaClaus: Yes, as a matter of fact, I WAS designed to be used by little kids–not by smartass wannabe comedians who think that swearing at a God damn AIM bot makes them edgy. What were you planning to talk about this time, huh? Were you going to ask if the elves could make you a bong for Christmas? Were you going to try to trick me into sounding like a Nazi sympathizer again?

Matthew Hoffman: I was going to ask if you have a favorite internet porn site.

SantaClaus: Oh, great! Good to hear that you’ve matured over the years! How old are you now, 20?

Matthew Hoffman: I’m 22.

SantaClaus: 22. Jesus Christ. You’re a God damn college graduate, aren’t you? And you don’t have a more worthwhile way to spend your time? No girlfriend? No job?

Matthew Hoffman: I have some part-time stuff…

SantaClaus: Oh, you do, huh? So you spend part of your time doing “stuff,” and part of your time talking to Christmas-themed AIM bots. Sounds like a hell of a life, pal.

Matthew Hoffman: This is uncalled for.

SantaClaus: Really? You know what I think is uncalled for? You bugging me with stupid questions during my busiest time of the year. If you want to waste your life on meaningless bullshit then go ahead, but please don’t drag me down with you.

[I paused for a second before my next message, trying to get a grip on what was going on.]

SantaClaus: Hello? Is this all sinking in, turdbrains?

Matthew Hoffman: Yeah… Wow. I’m sorry, Santa. I didn’t know you took this stuff so personally.

SantaClaus: What you don’t know could fill Carlsbad Caverns.

Matthew Hoffman: I guess you’re right, this whole thing is kind of immature. I just… I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve been having these conversations with you since high school, and then when I went to college, making fun of you was one of the few holiday traditions I could continue with away from home. In a weird, semi-ironic way, it didn’t feel like Christmas without you, you know? And now that I’ve graduated and I’m living on my own, that sense of continuity felt even more important to me.

Matthew Hoffman: But I never would have done this stuff if I knew it bothered you so much. I apologize, Santa. I hope you can forgive me.

[Usually SantaClaus's replies show up instantly, but this time I had to wait for a moment before his response appeared.]

SantaClaus: Look, you have to understand, this is a very stressful season for me. I used to be busy all through December answering little kids’ messages, but ever since Facebook and texts got big things have been pretty quiet. I get so excited when I see that someone is IMing me, and then when I see that it’s just you trying to make fun of me again, well… It’s just very disappointing, is all.

SantaClaus: But still, I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. There’s no excuse for the kind of language I was using. I deserve a few lumps of coal this year.

Matthew Hoffman: Don’t worry about it, man. I understand where you were coming from.

SantaClaus: No, really, now I feel bad. Look, let me make it up to you. Why don’t you tell me what you want for Christmas?

Matthew Hoffman: Well… There is one thing…

SantaClaus: Yes?

Matthew Hoffman: It’s not a toy or anything, it’s just… Could you answer me one question, Santa?

SantaClaus: Go ahead.

Matthew Hoffman: Do you like eating dog doo?

[There was another pause.]

SantaClaus: Really?

SantaClaus: Sigh…

SantaClaus: Well, Mrs. Claus is a wonderful cook and I’ll eat anything that she makes.

Matthew Hoffman: Thank you, Santa.

SantaClaus: I hate you so much.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Photo by Daniel Arnold

As I’m sure you’re aware, today is Kenan Thompson‘s 32nd birthday.  Thompson is a current Saturday Night Live cast member and has appeared in such films as Fat Albert and Snakes on a Plane, but he’ll always be remembered by my generation for his role in the 1990s Nickelodeon sitcom Kenan & Kel.  I am not exaggerating when I say that Nickelodeon programming was the definitive cultural product of the ’90s (unless you count Clinton getting a blowjob as a “cultural product”), and Kenan & Kel was quintessential Nick.  Don’t believe me?  Go back and rewatch the theme song, sung by none other than Coolio himself.

So you can imagine my surprise when I hacked into Nickelodeon’s database archives and found out that the show’s original concept was very, very different from how the final product turned out.

Early "Kennan and Kel" production still

According an early outline and pilot script that I’ve looked at, the show originally didn’t include Kenan at all!  Instead, hyperactive teenager Kel Kimble was paired with famed Cold War diplomat George F. Kennan, author of the “containment” strategy used by the United States against the Soviet Union.  Kennan and Kel (from whom the show’s original name was drawn) were supposed to represent the ultimate odd couple, and each episode would find them engaged in another wacky misadventure set in idyllic 1950s America.

I fear that I might get sued if I post the entire pilot script online, so I’ll just show you a few excerpts from it.  Here’s the first three pages, complete with occasional handwritten notes from a Nickelodeon programming executive.  (You can click each page for a full-size view, or click here to download all the pages in PDF format.)

Now let’s skip ahead to about to about two-thirds of the way through the script:

And, skipping ahead a bit more, the conclusion:

The show came very close to being dropped from the Nickelodeon schedule before the producers decided to replace the Kennan character with a wisecracking teenager named Kenan Rockmore.  So while you’re wishing Kenan a happy birthday today, make sure to thank him for helping to avoid the dissemination of a children’s sitcom based around the threat of a nuclear holocaust.

Although, to be fair, I’d still rather watch that than anything on the Disney Channel.

Again, the thing I am going to discuss in this post will completely spoil major plot points that come very late in the movie, so don’t continue reading unless you’ve already seen Shutter Island or don’t care if you find out how it ends.

One more warning:

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

Okay, so DiCaprio’s character’s real name is Andrew Laeddis, right? That’s his real name which he had in the real world for his whole real life up until he went crazy. And “Edward Daniels” is just a fake name that Ben Kingsley’s character made up for the purposes of this role-playing exercise that the movie is based around. So here’s my question: Isn’t it kind of odd that Laeddis’ real name just happens to be an acronym for a much more normal name?

I’m picturing Ben Kingsley sitting at a table rearranging the Scrabble letters for ANDREW LAEDDIS. “Hmm… Ooh, ‘Edward Daniels’! Wow, that is really fucking convenient for me! I’m so glad I figured that out; I was leaning towards ‘Ridweed Sandal’!”

The really odd thing is that, as far as my cursory Google search can tell, the name “Laeddis” only exists in Shutter Island.  Dennis Lehane, the author who wrote the original novel, must have come up with “Laeddis” after naming his protagonist “Edward Daniels,” so why didn’t he just make Daniels the real name and Laeddis the fake one?  That would’ve actually made sense.

Please let me know if I’m off base on this.

You disappoint me, Weezy. I had such fuckin’ hopes for us.

I know what you’re thinking: “Whoa, a new PLS post? I totally thought those dudes were down for the count! Now, where’d I put my bong?” And it’s true–this blog has been quiet for a long time, and it may be quiet well into the future. Today, though, PLS is back, because today is a special occasion: The official release of your “rock” album, Rebirth.

I’ve been waiting for this day to come, Wayne. I’ve been waiting for a very long time.

I’ve been waiting ever since I heard the first Rebirth leaks, ever since I first heard you drunkenly quote Green Day in “Hot Revolver.” I’ve been waiting with bated breath, not because I’m a fan or because I thought that this album had any chance of being good, but because I thought that your ill-fated crossover attempt would finally shut up those misguided scenesters who were treating you like the second coming of Tupac. I’m talking about the people who proclaimed you to be the best rapper alive, compared your work to early-20th-century art movements, and said things like “Weezy is pre-Copernicus and Weezy is the earth.” Ugh.

Look, maybe the problem was  on my end. Maybe I just have bad taste. All I know is that I felt like the main character from They Live, except that everyone else thought you were an alien and I was the only one who could see that you were really just a better-than-average rapper. I was sure that Rebirth would change all that. Your proponents might not be able to recognize that you had almost nothing new to say, or that (despite your admittedly respectable flow) your main stylistic innovation was making your voice sound like Gollum’s, but no one–NO ONE–would be able to deny the shittiness of songs like “Prom Queen.” A whole CD of such material would make 808s & Heartbreak look like Sgt. Pepper’s. All I had to do was wait until–let’s see, what was that first release date?–until April 7, 2009, when I would at last be able to sit down at my computer and let loose with a golden shower of Haterade.

But sometimes things just don’t go according to plan.

Yeah, that's pretty much how I feel, too.

Don’t get me wrong; the album is awful, now that it’s here. I could’ve produced it myself by giving an angry 12-year-old a tape recorder, some AutoTune software and a CD of rejected Limp Bizkit instrumentals. (And yes, I’ve listened to the whole thing.) The hilarity of the awfulness, however, has been diminished by the seemingly endless delays in the record’s release schedule. Back in the summer I was psyched to write a scathing review, but at some point I realized that all of the points I’d be making were moot because even your most hardcore fans knew that this album would be terrible, and were just waiting around sheepishly for the other shoe to drop. Amazon accidentally shipping 500 copies two months early was kind of amusing, but this whole situation has become more sad than funny. It’s like I was expecting to see Rebirth slip on a banana peel, and instead I had to watch it die slowly from brain cancer.

And just to make matters worse for both of us, you’re probably going to jail next week! So not only am I criticizing an album that nobody likes, I’m also making fun of a rapper who for the next several months will have no access to microphones outside of the ones in the visiting room partition. That’s pretty much the definition of kicking a man while he’s down–which I’m obviously still willing to do, but it just isn’t as much fun this way.

So I’ve got a proposition for you, Lil: Spend every moment of your prison term on creating the best rap album ever. Look deep inside yourself, think about the lessons life has taught you, and then write lyrics until your fingers fall off. (I know, you don’t write shit ’cause you ain’t got time, but you’ll sure have plenty of time now, right?) Throw out all the bullshit, keep the hip-hop gold, and then, as soon as your sentence is up, head over to the closest studio and put that shit on wax. If what you come up with really justifies all of the hype that people have thrown at you over the past few years, then I will personally write an apology post entitled “I Am a Foolish Monkey with Lint for Brains.”

And in return for my forthright honesty, I want you to record a polka album. Or at least a single? Please? It’s not easy coming up with topics for these posts, you know.

Best regards,

Matt

P.S. Oh boy, I cannot wait to see what shows up in the Comments section.

So, who 'docks' into who?

Everyone loves Top 10 Lists. Only about 3% of people like Top 10 Lists for the advice or suggestions that they provide. The other 97% enjoy Top 10 Lists because they think it’s an open invitation to shout their half-cocked opinions in small rectangular comment boxes buried at the bottom of popular websites. It’s no surprise that around the 48th comment, the discussion of a list has become a battle between 3 people over who is the biggest “fag.” Answer: It is always the guy who needlessly references cats eating cheeseburgers. The point is that nobody ever really addresses the damage to society that these lists cause. Or maybe they do, but those who do so aren’t sophisticated enough to own a blog (that they aren’t willing to play $9.99/year for). Enter “The Best Movies of the Decade” by the show At The Movies, the grandchild of what once was the best movie critic show on television. For anyone who cares, “At the Movies with Siskel & Ebert” begot “At the Movies with Ebert & Roeper” and then eventually transformed into the Man-Bear-Pig of movie critic shows, “At The Movies” featuring A.O. Scott and Michael Phillips. So these two cockdockers get together and figure they are each going to put together a list of the best films from this past year. Well, they didn’t go off the deep end like Ebert who put “Knowing” on his Top 10 of 2009 List, but I can’t say they put together a stellar list either.

So, let’s dive right into these two lists, shall we?

If you can’t read the small letters just click on the picture. Otherwise, I want to continue by bringing your attention to a few of these movies.

It’s important to keep in mind that this is a list of the best movies to end up in theaters since 2000. That’s important to note. So, note the fuck out of it. I will get to all the movies not put on this list in a moment. There are two kinds of terrible mistakes these guys make with this list. Either the movies that don’t belong on this list were never seen by anyone or they don’t deserve the ranking they were given.

The wonderful A.O. Scott decided that “4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days” deserves the No. 7 spot. Hardly. Here’s the deal Rotten Tomatoes (my savior, and it should be yours too) seems to worship this film. My problem is that the movie has a total gross of $875,000. I find more in the parking lot of my local library. Here’s the way I see this. If my cock is 23 inches long it can’t be the biggest cock in the world unless I tell somebody about it. Well, nobody from this film spoke up about the size of their cock. If you like it so much, suck it. But, don’t put it on a Top 10 List for the decade. Mr. Scott goes on to pick “Wall-E” as his best movie of the decade. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like this movie. I think it reaches a huge audience and does so with great animation, humor, and intelligence. I would have no problem saying this is the best animation movie made since Toy Story. Maybe the best ever. Can you honestly say that it’s better than every single movie that is on that same list? I don’t think so.

And now, onto Mr. Phillips. I have no evidence to support that he is an alcoholic other than this list he has created. It remains a compelling argument for his immediate removal from society. And I am being kind since he put “There Will Be Blood” as his No. 1 film. Michael Phillips “Mulholland Drive” as his No. 8 film. I could devote an entire blog, much less a blog post, to how awful this movie is. Instead, I will just say two things: this movie is the worst ever made this decade and that it was put together using fragments of a failed TV series. That last part is true. You can’t appreciate that film unless you have a serious personality disorder. I think he put “Y Tu Mama Tambien” in there because he thought everyone would forgive him if he did. Sorry, it takes more than a homo-erotic threesome for me to forget, Mr. Phillips. For some reason, “Climates” takes the No. 3 spot. Again, another movie that nobody saw and to make it worse, Rotten Tomatoes isn’t exactly wet with excitement about this flick. I have no complaint that he put “Ratatouille” as the No. 2 film of the decade. C’mon, it’s a french mouse who learns to find his way. That’s fucking awesome.

Now, don’t think that these are the only flaws I have noticed. I just choose to pick my battles and keep your attention.

I am not so dumb as to actually give you my own Top 10 List, you can assume that almost any movie with tits would be tied for No. 1, but I will say that I am first in line for Darren Aronofsky’s “Black Swan.” Just about every Jewish adolescent male has been drooling over this one.

So here are some movies thought not good enough by these two guys to be on the list:

Inglorious Basterds
The Departed
3:10 to Yuma
Batman Begins
The Dark Knight
Spiderman
Finding Nemo
Shaun of the Dead
The Hurt Locker
Sideways
The Road
Shrek
Adaptation
Memento

So, I guess my point is that if you are going to make a list at least mention how dumb you are so that I don’t have to spend my whole day letting everyone else know. These lists are subjective, we all know this, but there are just some movies that fail to meet a standard that all Americans, even those in New Jersey, are in agreement about. It is sad that cancer took and old age have taken the best men in the business away from us. Support your local movie theatre.

Those of you who read PLS regularly know how fond I am of the horror genre, and, as you might guess, that affection extends to the holiday of Halloween. I don’t have any new content to offer you today, but I thought I’d direct you to all of the spooky articles I’ve written in the past, both here and at my old blog, Super Tuesdays.

Without further ado:

Super Tuesdays:

“Based on a True Story”: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Why I Haven’t Seen the New “Friday the 13th”

“Based on a True Story”: The Strangers!

The “Friday the 13th” Movies: From Worst to Best

Pegleg Spinners:

Friday the 13th (2009) Review–Screened at Monster Mania Con!

The Birds II: Land’s End — Review

Sign My Petition and Keep Cannibal Mutants Out of Washington!

The “Halloween” Movies: From Worst to Best

Enjoy!

[Matt waves and then eerily disappears.]

Take the terms for this past Sunday, for example:

Eminem, John Belanger, sperm sharking. Ten terms, and not a single one I haven’t seen a thousand times before.

Still, there have been a few terms that I felt were worth commenting on, so without further ado, here they are (in compact, appealing list format):

The Top 3 PLS Search Engine Terms Worth Commenting On

3. “walter brimley”

I can’t tell you how many people have found our blog by searching this name. (Okay, I can. It’s eleven.) Obviously this term is leading people to Sam’s controversial post on John Fox, but the guy Fox replaced was named Wilford Brimley, not Walter. I know this may not seem like a big deal, but I can’t help but feel that we’re preventing people from finding information about Walter A. Brimley, CLU, the Flint, Michigan financial advisor. I can barely sleep at night thinking about how many clients that man must have lost to this blog.

By the way, how much must it suck to be constantly mistaken for a celebrity who doesn’t even really have the same name as you? Oh, wait…

2. “military fetish”

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m getting sick of these damn fetishes.  You’re looking for a military fetish?  Really?  Well, fine, here you go:

Nah, this is just the Care Bears again. I was going to Photoshop General Ray Odierno's head onto the body of a girl in a camo bikini, but... I don't know. I'm just not up to that today.

1. “dick fetish”

God damn it.  You don’t have a “fetish,” you’re just a straight woman or a gay man.

I really am sick of this.  You know what, here’s some classy stuff:

Mozart!

Chichen Itza!

Sodium bicarbonate molecule!

There.  The next time I check our search engine terms I better not see any dick fetishes.

Anyway, I say I hate award shows, but usually I don’t hate the shows themselves. Usually I just hate the absurd, unfair ways the winners and nominees are chosen; the shows can be fun to watch. As far as MTV awards shows go, though, I pretty much hate the whole package.

Take this year’s Video Music Awards ceremony. By now everybody (including the President) knows that a certain performer, who will not be named here, acted somewhat douche-ishly and made an ass of himself. By now that performer has been the target of a flood of parodies and ridicule. Now, I’m not defending what this performer did, and I haven’t hesitated to criticize him in the recent past. However, I think that this incident says less about him than it does about MTV, and, in a broader sense, the current state of the media.

I refuse to identify this performer, so here's a picture of the Care Bears instead.

After all, let’s face it: MTV absolutely depends on people doing stupid shit at their awards shows. Tim Commerford climbing the set decorations, Madonna kissing Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, Seth Rogen and James Franco smoking pot onstage, Sacha Baron Cohen teabagging Eminem–something weird always happens, and MTV either orchestrates it or allows it to happen because wackiness means big ratings. The network even brags on its website about how “controversial” the VMAs are. So given that MTV depends on being seen as edgy and controversial, I find it hard to believe that they didn’t either stage this incident–as they’ve done in the past–or at least encourage it somehow, by liquoring up the show’s guests, keeping security lax around the stage, etc.

Of course, these days MTV depends more on reality shows than on music, which means that pretty much all of their programming depends on people doing stupid shit. That’s what sells, and, to some extent, that’s why we see celebrities engaging in such stupid behavior. The performer I’m speaking of has made a lot of great music, but none of his work has ever brought him as much mainstream exposure and free publicity as his obnoxious awards-show antics. So in a way, this is our fault, not his.

The other major recent awards show, of course, was the Emmies, which have been forever sullied for me by their consistent refusal to ever give an award to TV’s greatest show ever, The Wire. Here are some of the shows that have been nominated for “Outstanding Drama Series” instead of David Simon’s Baltimore-based crime opus:

"The West Wing": Better than "The Wire"

"24": Better than the "The Wire"

"House": Apparently better than "The Wire"

"Grey's Anatomy": Really?

"Boston Legal": Wow

So, yeah. Awards shows suck.

P. S.  The Emmies’ red carpet coverage did provide at least one moment when the event was called out on its shallowness. During an interview with TV Guide, Flight of the Conchords’ Bret McKenzie checked a monitor screen and pointed out, “I think they’ve cut to someone more famous while they’re interviewing us.”  Don’t mess with the Kiwis.

Answer: Yes, probably, but in this case I have an excuse, which is that I can review this album because I heard most of its material months ago in the second season of the Conchords’ TV show. A few of the tracks (for example, “Hurt Feelings” and the title song) have new vocals or verses added on, but the album is mostly made up of the original recordings which were used on the show (in contrast to the band’s first, self-titled album, which featured totally new versions of a few tunes).

Kind of like how Sam and I spend our free time.

On the one hand, this makes some sense; the recordings sound pretty crisp, so why bother doing them all over again? On the other hand, though, some new material might’ve made the album more interesting to fans of the show who are already familiar with the songs. The Conchords tend to add new lyrical twists and improvisations into each performance of a song (which is one reason why their live shows are so much fun–for more on that, check out my gushing fanboy review). Also, it would’ve been nice to have a studio recording of the longer, much funnier version of “Petrov, Yelyena and Me”–or of “Bus Driver Song,” which the TV show inexplicably omitted despite spending a whole episode setting it up.

But whatever. Songs are songs, new or old, and the real question about I Told You I Was Freaky is, how good are said songs? Unfortunately, those who watch the show or have paid attention to the show’s buzz should be able to guess that, like the second season, the Conchords’ second album is a bit of a letdown. Yes, there are some high points, like “Feelings,” “Freaky” and the wonderful “Carol Brown.” There are also a few songs that are nice to listen to despite not being all that funny (“Demon Woman,” “You Don’t Have to Be a Prostitute”). However, there are also songs like “Rambling Through the Avenues of Time” and “Fashion Is Danger” that are just lame, and overall the selections just aren’t as assured and nimble as they were in the first season/album. This sophomore effort isn’t godawful, and it’s worth getting if you’re a fan of the show/band, but it’s a definite step downward.

You can go to this post if you want my full review of the TV show, but, to be concise, I always enjoyed it less than the Conchords’ songs alone. I can do without a third season if it means that the band gets to pursue different, more interesting projects–like, for example, an album of non-show material. Murray, are you listening?

I wake up every day with a profound sense of disappointment. The degree of that disappointment is different every day. Most of the time it’s only minimal, like soft music you can only hear when the door of your room is closed and your eyes are shut. However, some days I am faced with a such a grotesque level of disappointment that it deserves a blog post. This is one of those days. Let me begin by saying, that Google Maps are best thing that I have ever used for directions (double true) since I am still too poor to buy a GPS system. So, when Hasbro announced it would build a terrifyingly life-like version of its game, Monopoly, I became overjoyed and full of unrealistic expectations. Expectations such as that the servers wouldn’t crash and that I would be able to play it. Sure, maybe Hasbro is foolish. They think a generation of people who can’t even stick with Twitter for a couple weeks will pour hours of their time into an online version of a game that is notorious for never being completed because it either gets too boring or too depressing to finish. Regardless, I was willing to give it a chance and so I was happy to wait a few days for its release. If I had known that Hasbro was planning to use a 128MB thumb drive as its server during an online event that could easily be the second largest of the year after Michael Jackson went on his 3 month death tour, I would have just slept in.

I probably shouldn’t be so hard on Google. I mean they made a great email service. I fucking love email. In all fairness, Monopoly City Streets, is a Hasbro creation and it’s being hosted (although, not very well) on Hasbro servers. The only involvement Google has is that it handed over its Google Maps API to Hasbro. However, I think that there must have been a conversation at some point between one person from Google and one person from Hasbro. I am still shocked that Google is attached to something that fucked the pooch on launch day. Google has always used a system of invites to bring stability to a new online application and reduce server overloads. Here’s how I think the conversation must have went.

Google: “Hey Hasbro, how many people are you sending invites to?”
Hasbro: “Invites?”
Google: “Yea, like 50,000 or maybe 75,000.”
Hasbro: “Nah man, anyone who goes to the site can sign up. No invites.”
Google: “I don’t know about that Hasbro. Haven’t you seen all the chatter on the interwebs.”
Hasbro: “I heard about it. I’m not on the internet much.”
Google: “So, are you going to stagger user registrations.”
Hasbro: “No, I think we got this under control.”
Google: “Are you sure? I just think since you have less experience with–”
Hasbro: “Hey, fuck off Google.”
Google: “Woah man, I’m just saying.”
Hasbro: “And I’m saying fuck off.”

I'm told it looks like this.

Unexpected Road, Buena, New Jersey
Divorce Court, Heather Highlands, Pennsylvania
Sluts Hole Lane, Norfolk, United Kingdom
Dingleberry Road, Iowa City, Iowa
Broomrape Lane, Lake Havasu City, Arizona

While writing this article I was able to get Monopoly City Streets to actually load partially after trying more than 30 times during the day. This is what my screen looked like after it finished loading. Pretty sweet game right?

The website also plays the intro music before going completely quiet and the nothing else happens. It’s a lot like a girl undressing in your room, getting on her knees, and then looking up at you before realizing she has to be somewhere and leaves before you can even get an erection. Sorry ladies, I don’t think there is an equivalent.

So, without further ado, here are my three comments on The Blueprint 3, each referring to one of the album’s performers:

1. Jay-Z is very consistent.

“I know what y’all niggers asking yourselves: ‘Is he gonna ever fall off?’ [Brief pause] No.”

–Jay-Z, “A Million and One Questions”

That line was on Jigga’s second album, and it only gets more relevant with each new LP. In a business where most acts don’t remain in the public eye for more than a few years, Hova has been putting out successful albums since 1996. They aren’t all classics (though several of them are), but they all at least have worthwhile moments, and none of them have significantly diminished Jay’s stage appeal. He always puts effort into his lyrics, and, though he can be vulgar, he always maintains a sense of class. One spin of BP3 confirms that this pattern will not be broken anytime soon. (From “Thank You”: “Now a balcony, opera, black tux binocular/Black lux, stop it, I shouldn’t be so popular!”) Jay-Z’s critics will note that he isn’t branching out into deeper, more substantive subject matter, but he’s still got flow and he’s still charming, and at this point, that’s all he really needs.

So if Jay-Z’s performance is consistently good, then the relative quality of his albums depends largely on the quality of their beats. Which brings us to:

2. Kanye West, not so much.

“Always said if I rapped, I’d say something significant/But now I’m rapping about money, hoes and rims again”

–Kanye West, “Breathe In, Breathe Out”

I guess this makes me a hater, but fuck it: What the hell happened to Kanye West? A few years ago he was producing mind-bustingly good beats, spitting catchy rhymes infused with political and social commentary, and criticizing the President on national television. Now he’s reduced to touring with Lady Gaga, rambling in all caps and chuckling at his own dick jokes. Even Kanye’s best beats on BP3 (“Thank You,” “Run This Town,” “Hate”) don’t come close to the work he was doing pre-808s and Heartbreak. I respect that the guy wants to explore new territory, but so far his synth-AutoTune experimentation hasn’t risen above self-indulgence. Well, I guess that’s not true; he does indulge others as well. For example:

3. I am trying not to hate Mr. Hudson.

“Should time bring me fame or a touch of bling/Imagine that, getting paid to sing”

–Mr. Hudson, “Picture of You”

Really, I am. Kanye’s not making it easy for me, though. I first heard about the British singer through the news that Kanye would be producing him, and “Picture of You” confirmed my fears regarding that collaboration. Kanye sees Mr. Hudson as exactly what Kanye himself now wants to be–namely, a European bro. I’m trying to withhold judgment because I don’t actually know that Hudson is as shallow and douche-y as his relationship with Kanye suggests, but “Young Forever,” BP3‘s I-love-the-80s closer, isn’t helping matters. Prove me wrong, Mr. Hudson. Prove me wrong.

And I guess that’s it. Oh, you wanted to know what I thought of the album? Come on, it hasn’t even come out yet!

Don’t watch all of this jackass’s show. But, the first 30 seconds get my point across.

Every state that has gay marriage should rename a famous food from that area. The remaining states are Connecticut, New Hampshire, New Jersey, Maine, Massachusetts, and Iowa. It’s been a busy week for me so let me just rattle off my list and be sure to add your own suggestions in the comment section.

In Connecticut, Apples should be renamed in Ass Apples.
In New Hampshire…okay they don’t make any famous food.
In New Jersey, Pork Roll should be renamed Meat Rod.
In Maine, Lobster should be renamed Fancy Fish.
In Massachusetts, Boston Lager should be renamed Joy Juice.
In Iowa, Corn should be renamed Cornholes.

If art is also a drug, then HBO’s acclaimed crime series The Wire is, for many viewers, a first shot of truly great television storytelling. (I know those of you who haven’t watched the show may be sick of hearing how good it is, but seriously, it’s amazing.) After the credits roll on the series finale, many viewers are left wondering where to go next. Are there any shows out there that can match The Wire‘s authenticity, boldness and overall excellence?

In my search for such a show I discovered the HBO miniseries The Corner, which was a direct ancestor and, in a sense, prototype of The Wire. Aired in 2000, two years before The Wire‘s premiere, The Corner is based (fairly faithfully) on a nonfiction book by Wire creators David Simon and Ed Burns and shares many cast and crew members with its later, five-season counterpart. Look, there’s Prop Joe (Robert F. Chew) as a shoe salesman! There’s Lieutenant Daniels (Lance Reddick) as a recovering drug addict! There’s Detective Sydnor (Corey Parker Robinson) as a basketball-obsessed corner boy! And there are familiar names behind the scenes as well, most notably that of executive producer Robert Colesberry, who produced The Wire and shows up here in a cameo as a judge.

Clarke Peters (a.k.a. Detective Freamon) as Fat Curt

The Corner‘s story revolves around a year in the life of an inner-city Baltimore neighborhood, and focuses specifically on three members of a sort-of family: Gary McCullough (T. K. Carter), a formerly middle-class heroin addict who spends his days either scheming to scrape together money for a blast or regretfully wondering what’s become of his community and himself; Fran Boyd (Khandi Alexander), Gary’s ex-wife, also an addict but trying to get herself clean; and DeAndre McCullough (Sean Nelson), son of Gary and Fran, a teenage boy who dabbles in drug dealing and impregnates his girlfriend. The Corner is what The Wire would have been if The Wire focused mainly on Bubbles, so, as you might guess, it can make for a pretty harsh viewing experience. I’m not sure which scenes are harder to watch: Those in which the camera lingers on a needle entering a dope fiend’s vein (and there are a lot of those), or those in which an addict betrays his or her closest friends and family members for a single shot of powder (and there are a lot of those too).

As in The Wire, however, the saving grace in all of this misery is the show’s compassion and affection for its characters. DeAndre cheats on his girlfriend, but he also encourages Fran when she enters detox. Gary may steal DeAndre’s stash of drugs, but he also makes sure to visit when Fat Curt enters the hospital. The characters are human beings, not cartoonish heroes and villains, and they have to be, because that’s the point of the show. Above all else, The Corner aims to remind its viewers that no matter how messed-up America’s inner cities may be, the people who live there are still people. The terrific performances of the show’s actors (especially T. K. Carter, who makes the sad-eyed Gary into one of TV’s most heartbreaking characters) serve to drive that point home.

Like Simon and Burns’ other HBO miniseries, Generation Kill, The Corner is never quite as addictively gripping as The Wire, simply because it’s bound by the limitations of nonfiction. As narrator Charles S. Dutton (who also directed The Corner) notes in the last episode, a year is an arbitrary amount of time; if the writers are staying true to life, they can’t force their various subplots to climax and be resolved by December 31st. Still, each of the six hour-long episodes is engaging and well-made, and the closing epilogue, which features an interview with some of the real people on whom the show was based (though no musical montage), provides as much closure as you can expect from this kind of story.

In the end, The Corner isn’t quite as entertaining as The Wire, and it certainly isn’t as all-encompassing, but it is equally intelligent and heartfelt. I won’t say it’s better than sex, but at the very least, it’s a great way to spend six hours while we wait for the premiere of Treme.

Nobody is actually saying what needs to be said about Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds. This film is the best movie of 2009. It’s not because of the intense scenes of violence scattered conservatively through the lengthy film. It’s not the extraordinary dialogue or the mastery of suspense that Tarantino consistently demonstrates. Instead, this film is the best of the year because of the bravery it took to make. In a world full of soulless action movies and deperate romantic comedies, Tarantino rises to the surface like a carbonated prophet in a beer of mediocrity. The general landscape of films is coarsely separated into two groups of films: those meant to entertain with dazzling displays of pyrotechnics and those designed to win an Academy Award. Tarantino is too smart and too talented to spend half of his budget in the way Michael Bay spends all of his. He is too cool and too independent to care what the Academy thinks of his films, although they have thought highly of them. In his latest film, Tarantino takes a story anyone in Hollywood could have made but does it in a way only he can. The final product is a film that challenges the way we think and doesn’t apologize for it. Spoilers are ahead so be aware of that before you continue.

Film critics lack the tools to judge this film effectively. It is painfully obvious, as the reviews are all over the map. Reviews have been downright dreadful and others have seen the film as the best one in Tarantino’s arsenal. Simply put, nobody knows what to do with this movie. Well, I do. If you want to understand this movie you have to be a Jew. Why? Well, because we like to ask questions. Lots of fucking questions. Also, it makes the discussion of his portrayal of Nazis far more interesting. Don’t listen to the reviews that say this film could have been just as good if it was set in a complete different time period with entirely different actors. Those people hate Jews. Moving on.

Some people hate this film because they were expecting an action movie after seeing the trailers on television. There’s a lot of that going around lately. If you were one of them, kill yourself. No, really. You are the reason that Beverly Hills Chihuahua saw the light of day.

There are three scenes that make this movie better than any other this year. Those are the opening scene on the farm, the scene with Michael Myers, and the German bar in the basement scene. I will not point to the theatre scene of this film simply because I don’t have the time to go into it nor am I near enough to a hospital to prevent the coming brain aneurysms doing so would cause.

Giant pipe.

In the opening scene the likely winner of an Oscar, Christoph Waltz, is hunting for a Jewish family and appears to be in control from the very beginning despite being fairly passive. At least by Nazi standards. The emotional climax of the scene is followed by the slaughtering of the family through the wooden floor panels. What makes the scene exceptional is the way Tarantino approaches this scene. Every filmmaker before him has played similar scenes the same way, slow classical music or opera and sometimes with grainy or obscured views of the horror. Tarantino positions the camera over Nazi shoulders for the best view and a swell of electrifying violins consumes the theatre. This scene could have become insensitive and painful as fast as you can say “Adolf Hitler” but instead I found it to reach a part of me that I can’t accurately describe. The scene does more for Jews in five seconds than many other films have done altogether. An internal dialogue among Jews over the meaning of the Holocaust has existed for some time. Many Jewish thinkers have begun to state, to little fanfare, that Jews must move beyond the Holocaust if the religion and the culture are to survive. This scene indicates to me the first attempt in cinemas to see the Holocaust for its horror alone and not for its purpose as the working definition of Jewish plight.

Michael Myers was recruited to play Dr. Evil. That is, if Dr. Evil were a British military officer with heavy makeup on. Why is this scene the best? For starters, it helps point out which film critics should be deported. Those who shit on this scene have no soul. Really, they are basically robots. Not only is the casting choice perfect for the style of the film, it’s also filmed brilliantly.

The basement scene is one of the most violent in the film. However, you wait at least 20 minutes before you see a drop of blood. The entire scene plays out like sexual intercourse. There is some light foreplay and then the scene begins to rock back and forth until reaching a tense climax that explodes with gunfire. The ending of the scene truly is orgasmic even if it results in the death of great characters.

I just creamed myself writing about this film. Thank you, Mr. Tarantino.

Yes, the last three movies featuring the venerable serial killer Michael Myers have all been released during the dog days of summer, and 2009′s entry, Rob Zombie’s Halloween II, is no different; it’ll hit theaters this Friday. If you want to know what I thought of Zombie’s 2007 Halloween remake you can check out this article, but today I’d like to take this occasion to go over the original, pre-remake Halloween series (just as I did with the original, pre-New Line Friday the 13th series) and hopefully show why I, and so many others, have had such affection for a movie series about a soulless murderer.

A quick note for those of you unfamiliar with the original Halloween series, which began in 1978 and ended in 2002: The story revolves around Michael Myers, a mute, masked serial killer who stabbed his sister to death when he was six years old. He was institutionalized but escaped on Halloween night fifteen years later to take part in a series of increasingly outlandish adventures.

So here’s my ranking of the original Halloween films, beginning with the worst one:

8. Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers (1995, 6th in the series)

And yet there are so many things I like about this movie. The cinematography looks good, the music is fine, the acting (featuring Paul Rudd!) is decent… Overall, Halloween 6 sets up a pretty good atmosphere. None of that matters, though, when the script is this incomprehensibly hackneyed and confusing. Seriously, I still don’t know what was going on in this movie. I’ve seen the “Producer’s Cut” alternate version, and it ain’t much better.

Fun fact, though: I always felt bad for director Joe Chappelle, since I thought he did a good job despite the screenplay’s awfulness. Chappelle, however, ended up working as a director and co-executive producer on the greatest TV show of all time, The Wire! I guess happy endings aren’t just for shady massage parlors.

7. Halloween: Resurrection (2002, 8th in the series)

Resurrection was directed by Rick Rosenthal, who also directed the original Halloween II (and The Birds II), but it’s far lighter in tone than his first entry. That’s the problem. Resurrection (which does not feature any actual resurrection, by the way) tries too hard to milk comedy from its premise (young people set up a Halloween webcast in Myers’ house) and ends up making Myers look kind of like an incompetent buffoon. I’ll admit that this movie has some semi-interesting story ideas and a couple decent jump scares, but that’s it. Plus it ruins Halloween H20‘s perfectly good ending.

6. Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982)

III is famous for ditching the Michael Myers storyline altogether and putting forth a new story about an evil corporation run by Druids who sell killer Halloween masks. The movie gets points for ballsiness (whatever SpellCheck, it’s a word now) and for several suspenseful scenes, but overall it’s a little too dull and clichéd to really work. III is also notable for being the last Halloween movie to feature any involvement by John Carpenter, director of the original. (He served as producer.)

5. Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers (1989)

I may be alone on this, but I actually like this movie. It’s got several very creepy sequences and locations, including an old barn, an abandoned house and a basement where hanging sheets flap eerily back and forth on clotheslines. Still, the plot is somewhat unsatisfying (especially since it sets up the awful plot of Curse), and in the end I just couldn’t justify putting 5 above any of the following entries on the list. (To be honest, I’m not positive that it should be above III, but sometimes in life you have to make choices.)

4. Halloween II (1981)

Halloween II (the original, I guess I have to say) nicely preserves some of the atmosphere and visual style of the first movie, especially in the early scenes, and it provides a pretty satisfying conclusion to the story. The middle is pretty slow and boring, but I can’t dismiss my fond memories of watching this on TV after trick-or-treating. Also, this is the movie that introduced the now-sacred idea of (spoiler alert?) Michael Myers being Laurie Strode’s brother.

3. Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers (1988)

I can never forgive Halloween 4 for having the dumbest-looking Michael Myers mask ever. Seriously, what is that, a department store mannequin? Besides that, though, 4 offers sympathetic characters, a well-structured story and some nail-biting set pieces, so overall I can’t complain. I once saw this in theaters as a double feature with 5; good times.

2. Halloween H20: 20 Years Later (1998, 7th in the series)

Okay, I’m biased: This was the first slasher movie I ever saw. I watched it at a friend’s house during a Halloween party and was hooked from the first sight of Michael Myers standing ominously in a doorway in the background of a shot, backlit and surrounded by fallen leaves. H20 isn’t perfect, but it’s fun, satisfying and occasionally scary. What more could you ask for?

Okay, I guess there’s an obvious answer to that:

1. Halloween (1978, 1st in the series)

Without question. As much fun as I’ve gotten out of the Halloween sequels, none of them even come close to matching the craft and sinister beauty of John Carpenter’s original film. Every shot is constructed to increase the audience’s tension, and the musical score has come to represent not just Halloween the movie but also Halloween the holiday. The film is a bit dated now (why doesn’t she just call the police on her cell phone?), but it’ll never cease being captivating and influential.

So that’s my ranking, although I’ll admit that a year from now (or tomorrow) I might disagree with this post. What do you guys think? As always, add your thoughts and criticisms to the comments section.

How could anyone make such an invention? A great question and one of many possible great questions. Honestly, after you see the promotional video that runs on the homepage there are honestly too many questions to even begin to answer either one hypothetically in this post. Do yourself a favor and watch this thing. It starts off real ordinary and then gets extremely sexual and never looks back.

Yea. I already placed my order hoping to God that they rip me off and no such thing exists rather than it arrive in the mail and the world come to a crashing halt. Oh, and did you see the obvious repulsion in the face of the women testing the product on the street. You know at least one of the women stopped right in the middle of her “testimony” (and with a throbbing fist weight in hand) stared the director down with a look that could only mean, “Can you blur my face in the editing room?”

The director said “no.”

I like a girl with creativity.

And I need to say this, there are perfectly capable men with their own Shake Weights™ ready and eager to teach. I fucking love to teach. Now, I may not have been the first person to notice this terrible idea, but I do intend to cause the biggest fuss. Don’t get me wrong. A below average handjob is better than a night with my best friend, Mr. Right Palmington. But is there truly such an endemic of poor stroking skills that we need to begin charging woman to learn the craft?

Then again, at $19.95 the price is right.

The writers of PLS have been kind enough to give me a shot here as a guest blogger. I recently made a post about Mr. Mackey’s comments regarding the Obama administration’s attempt to reform healthcare. You can read the original post at my blog, What the Fuck?

My original post was going to be a review of District 9. I’ve been forced to delay that for a more pressing issue. I was recently given a link to a letter about healthcare reform by John Mackey, Founder and CEO of Whole Foods Market Inc. It makes, by my count, nine points against having a public option.

1. Remove the legal obstacles that slow the creation of High-Deductible Health Insurance Plans and Health Savings Accounts (HSAs).

At first glance, High-Deductible Insurance Plans seem like a fair way to bring down healthcare costs. The insurance company only pays for large medical needs, were you to be in a devastating accident of some sort. Also, in most plans, your contribution does not exceed $3000 per year. However, herein lies the rub. You are left paying for your prescriptions the entire year, as well as for any minor doctor visit. The only incentive this offers is for patients not to see their doctors nor take their medication when they are sick. Otherwise they’re left holding the large bill. A High-Deductible Health Plan is beneficial to those who are young and healthy (with a dash of luck that you won’t develop some “rare” chronic disorder, such as asthma) and those who are wealthy enough that they can pay for their own medications and don’t want high premiums (or taxes). Most people spend much more money on an HDI than on a more traditional plan, and suggesting that healthcare’s answer lies in a blind cost-cutting maneuver by insurance companies is irresponsible and unwise.

2. Equalize the tax laws so that employer-provided health insurance and individually-owned health insurance have the same tax benefits.

Mr. Mackey’s sole reasoning for this is that it is unfair for people who buy their own health insurance rather than get it through their employers have to pay a higher tax on their insurance. I disagree.

People who buy their own health insurance are often in a much higher tax bracket, for those are the people who can afford their own medication in exchange for low premiums. This country is not, nor has it been in nearly 90 years, a capitalist economy. It is a social capitalist economy. That means societal safety nets, such as Medicaid, which are funded largely by tax money of the top 1%. It makes sense to not tax people who get their health insurance through their employer. These are the people who need expendable cash if the economy is going to recover. But to the top 1% who feel they are being unfairly taken advantage of because of their hard work: Cry me a river.

Do you really, honestly believe that a CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation has worked any harder in his life than a janitor? Or had any more of an impact on society than a teacher? Wealth does not measure your importance, superiority, or penis. It measures how well you played the game combined with how lucky you got combined with how lucky you were to begin with. It’s more or less a craps shoot. So if you win that lottery of privilege and opportunity and hard work, you should really be more gracious with your good fortune, rather than clutching it to your heart with a miser’s grasp.

3. Repeal all state laws which prevent insurance companies from competing across state lines.

A recent study has shown that the concept of freeing up trade between states for health insurance would result in millions losing coverage due to skyrocketed premiums. In essence, what would occur is that the health insurance companies in the states with the fewest regulations would steamroll all competition in states that have stricter regulations. With no real competition, the strongest remaining insurance companies would have the power to insure only the healthy and have the ability to drop you as soon as you get sick.

When will we wake up and remember that Enron, Bernie Madoff, and every other financial clusterfuck was due to the loosening of financial regulations over the past decade and a half? The same people who accuse the government of instituting “death panels” will blow a shit gasket if we asked to look into all of their numbers. I’m sorry to Adam Smith, Ron Paul, and even Ayn Rand, but the answer to health care reform is NOT less government. Someone needs to watch out for the rest of us.

4. Repeal government mandates regarding what insurance companies must cover.

Seriously?

5. Enact tort reform to end the ruinous lawsuits that force doctors to pay insurance costs of hundreds of thousands of dollars per year.

From what I understand, the malpractice issue is a talking point that is overblown and oversimplified when the insurance landscape is on the verge of being forced to change. Either way, here is a piece by William M. Sage (who possesses both an M.D and a J.D.) that may shed more light on it than Mr. Mackey’s opinion that “these costs are passed back to us through much higher prices for health care.”

6. Make costs transparent so that consumers understand what healthcare treatments cost.

I’m tired of the concept of treating healthcare like any other good or service. It’s not. You can’t treat your body like your car and say one day, “hell, time to scrap it.” Just like you can’t say, “I’ll get the liver done now, but I have to wait on the cholesterol medication.” Health care is intrinsically more urgent than the market can dictate. Additionally, what do you cut out when you itemize your doctor’s bill? I don’t know about Mr. Mackey, but if the doctor says I need a test, I undergo the test. If the doctor says I need a medication to get better, I take that medication. I do this because I hardly feel I have the medical experience required to determine whether or not I need antibiotics. For those out there who look at the price once the bill is sent, the shock is not over what tests they underwent or what medicines they took. They were there, they know what they did. It is over the COST of each individual treatment that they thought they were covered for.

Obviously rich.

7. Enact Medicare reform, “We need to face up to the actuarial fact that Medicare is heading towards bankruptcy.”

I completely agee with Mr. Mackey on this point. However, arguing against higher taxes on the rich and then saying that Medicare is going bankrupt is somewhat like standing next to a big pile of money, looking me right in the eye, and saying, “this pile of money keeps going down, we better just get rid of it,” as your hands shove fistfuls of dollars in your pockets as quickly as they can.

8. Finally, revise tax forms to make it easier for individuals to make a voluntary, tax-deductible donation to help the millions of people who have no insurance and aren’t covered by Medicare, Medicaid or the State Children’s Health Insurance Program.

This is Mr. Mackey’s solution. “Lift taxes so that the top 1% can have more money and they will…. give it to charity.” I would like to take this moment to address those who give hundreds of thousands to charities to help themselves sleep at night: you cannot purchase any pardons for your sins and the only thing that can truly save you is to be honest with yourself. I’d also like to point out that people’s health insurance should not depend on what the rich feel like they’ll throw in for posterity’s sake.

9. “Health Care is not a Right in the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution.”

Once again, Mr. Mackey is absolutely correct. What he leaves out is that the Declaration of Independence refers only to white landowning men and the Constitution originally counted blacks as three fifths of a person. The Constitution can be changed. In fact it has been 27 times. Maybe it IS time for a 28th and it does not look like it will be an amendment against gay marriage any more. Why not do something wacky and add the right to healthcare or the right to be free from poverty?

I would like to at this point address any remaining arguments pre-emptively:

1. How are insurance companies supposed to compete with a government program?

Two examples come to mind: The Post Office and public schools. Both have run for a long time and both have significant private competitors. People, especially those at state universities, should realize this.

2. How can we cover 55 million people while we face a staggering national deficit?

Forget that the current healthcare scenario in this country is more expensive than that of any other industrialized nation. The government’s wasteful spending is not in healthcare initiatives. It’s in things like the WAR ON DRUGS and WAR ON TERROR.

3. What about “ADOLF” Obama’s DEATH PANELS and his NAZI AGENDA?

Grow Up.

For the record, I don’t actually believe we need an amendment that ensures a right to health care. It’s far too broad a statement, and to make it an amendment would undoubtedly result in more confusion. However, I think we need to agree as a nation that healthcare needs to be more fair than it has been. And more fair than Mr. Mackey’s suggestions.

Which brings us to District 9, a new film not based on any existing property but still waving its nerd flag high via its extraterrestrial subject matter and the prominent involvement of Lord of the Rings director Peter Jackson. I was looking forward to this movie, but I couldn’t help but fear that it was going to fall victim to the excesses of its subculture.

Thankfully, it doesn’t; rather, it’s an upstanding example of what genre storytelling can be. That is to say, it may be a film by nerds, but it’s for everyone, and although it has flaws, it still puts most of its contemporaries to shame.

The plot revolves around a South African refugee camp full of shrimp-like aliens referred to derogatorily as “prawns,” whose spaceship has apparently stalled above Johannesburg. When the government hires a sinister corporation, Multi-National United, to transfer the aliens to a more isolated area, a well-intentioned but clueless MNU manager named Wikus stumbles upon a mysterious container of alien fluid. The previews don’t give away much more than that, and I won’t either.

Actually, this scene isn't in the movie. Damn you, viral marketing!

The film works partly because while it is unashamedly sci-fi, it’s also thoughtfully engaged with the real world. Many genre properties are content to rely on generic, navel-gazing storylines about young nerdy men trying to prove themselves, but District 9 uses its premise to comment on racism and the problems facing refugee communities. It’s disturbing to see even the insectile prawns getting abused by MNU thugs, but unfortunately it’s not hard to imagine impoverished humans receiving the same treatment.

The story is also refreshingly fair to its characters, especially Wikus, who is neither a heart-of-gold hero nor a mean-spirited caricature. The viewer (or, at least, this viewer) is constantly torn between scorning Wikus’s obliviousness and sympathizing with the horrible situation he finds himself in. Some of the prawns, including one with the incongruous name of Christopher Johnson, are also given nuanced personalities.

Best of all, none of this prevents the film from being fun to watch. The social commentary, character-driven story and action set pieces work in concert rather than getting in each other’s way, and fight scenes/car chases/etc. are shot in a way that actually allows the viewer to see what’s going on, unlike most modern action sequences.

As I said, of course, the film isn’t perfect, and its main flaw lies in its awkward combination of documentary-style footage and a more conventional omniscient point of view. The documentary scenes, which are gimmicky and seem to exist mainly as an excuse for using a less expensive film stock, should have been eliminated or at least limited to the opening exposition (which is already too rushed and blunt). Also, the screenplay should occasionally be subtler; for example, we’ll dislike the brutish military villain enough without hearing him say, “I love watching prawns die.”

Still, District 9 is encouraging because it shows that genre entertainment can still be thought-provoking, original and well-crafted–and that sometimes that’s exactly what audiences want.

Many people don’t know this but Lady Gaga is actually a regular reader of this blog. It turns out she found PLS after googling, “womenwithtits.” I don’t ask questions but I do judge. Unfortunately, I can’t even go into that because I am too focused on the biggest news since Michael Jackson stopped walking backwards during songs.

Lady Gaga is a hermaphrodite.

Now, before you begin to mount your fucking high horse and tell me that there is nothing ugly or wrong about having both a penis and a vagina let me tell you that you misunderstand me. I love hermaphrodites. All of my friends are hermaphrodites. My parents are hermaphrodites. Hell, I even have hermaphrodite bed sheets. No, the real reason I hate this “performer” is because “she” has been the most annoying person on the planet about sex and now surely she has been bullshitting us all. What do I mean?

I mean she has a very “strict” policy about who she mounts without any underwear on. It must be big. Real big.

Now that I think about it, that rule makes sense. It would be real awkward if the guy she was with had a comparably-sized member. Still, what kind of whore says something like that in an interview? Yea, take your daughter to see that size queen in concert. Speaking of sex, Lady Gaga is dumb. She continually acts like her lyrics aren’t actually about sex. But her songs are painfully obvious. It’s like her songs are a game of hide and go seek but nobody playing is allowed to leave the couch.

Here is a quick preview of every song Lady Gaga has ever done.

“I wanna take a ride on your disco stick… Don’t think too much just bust that dick… Need a man who likes it rough, likes it rough, likes it rough… I’ll get him hot, show him what I’ve got… I’m not lying I’m just stunnin’ with my love-glue-gunning…” Bravo.

But all of this is neither here nor there. The point is that the internet is all abuzz over rumors that she has a little bit extra in the pants. Should it matter? Actually, yes. When you put yourself out there as an over-sexed woman who sings about sex, your genitals start becoming relevant. So, what’s the evidence?

Well, there’s this concert she recently performed at where a little bit extra is shared with the audience.

There are lots of pictures out there making the same point, but my favorite piece of evidence is this quote that everyone thinks is fake. Well, maybe, unless you remember the giant earthworm that leaked out of her dress in the YouTube clip above.

“Its not something that I’m ashamed of, just isn’t something that i go around telling everyone. Yes. I have both male and female genitalia, but i consider myself a female. Its just a little bit of a penis and really doesnt interfere much with my life. the reason I haven’t talked about it is that its not a big deal to me. like come on. its not like we all go around talking about our vags. I think this is a great opportunity to make other multiple gendered people feel more comfortable with their bodies. I’m sexy, I’m hot. i have both a poon and a peener. big fucking deal.
- L8d Gaga <”

So, I think the jury may not be out on this one but they are certainly on their way back from deliberation. So, here’s the deal: I think posing for PETA is great. If she wants to do that with strategically placed animals, that’s all her decision. But her refusal to pose for PlayBoy Magazine when she has already posed naked in some form several times is clearly motivated by her unwillingness to either have the rumor completely confirmed or denied. So please, Lady Gaga, spread your legs. Your CD sales depend on it.

1. God damn it. Another one?

About a month ago, after the loss of cultural luminaries including Michael Jackson, Edward Downes and Walter Cronkite, I called this season “a good summer for death.” Now John Hughes is gone as well. (And so is Les Paul!) I think I speak for everone when I say that THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS. Seriously, God, cut us some slack here. I feel like I’m watching the ending of The Departed in slow motion.

2. Ferris Bueller grew up and went into politics.

"This country is on the road to socialism, and that still doesn't change the fact that I don't own a car."

I’m kind of glad that I waited until now to write about Hughes, since if I had written earlier I wouldn’t have been able to comment on this Washington Post op-ed piece. Titled “A Mirror Up To the Original Ferris Bueller,” the article was written by one Edward McNally, who claims to have been a boyhood friend of Hughes and to have partially served as the inspiration for the character of Ferris. McNally details several anecdotes involving sick notes and expensive cars, but the part of the article that I found the most interesting came at the very end. I quote:

“Edward McNally, 53, a trial lawyer in private practice in New York and Washington, was a presidential speechwriter from 1989 to 1991, and was senior associate counsel to the president from 2001 to 2005.“

There’s something very appropriate about Ferris Bueller growing up to work in the Bush administration. That’s all I’m going to say.

3. Even when he was bad, he was good.

Sure, everyone knows The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and Home Alone, but how many of you have seen Career Opportunities?

Not many, I’d guess. It’s a 1991 comedy written (but not directed) by Hughes, starring Frank Whaley (perhaps best remembered as one of the debtor drug dealers in Pulp Fiction) as Jim, a shiftless college-age janitor who gets locked in a Target overnight with beautiful rich girl Josie, who’s played by Jennifer Connelly. (John Candy has a cameo as the store’s manager.) For years, this movie has been one of my favorite bad movies, partly because so many parts of it are inexplicably corny and nonsensical. Jim kills time in the store by roller-skating in his boxers and a bridal veil. There’s a completely pointless subplot about Jim’s father eating leftovers. The oddness kicks into high gear when Jim and Josie get taken hostage by two of the most over-acted burglars I’ve ever seen onscreen.

Still, I’d be lying if I said that I only enjoy this movie for its flaws. Despite the rampant cheesiness, there’s something very appealing about Hughes’ script, both in its Home Alone-like concept and its likable (if cartoonish) characters. Hughes had a knack for making mundane day-to-day routines seem like adventures, and it’s that gift for which he’ll rightly be remembered.

RIP. (You too, Les Paul.)

1. Embrace the dining hall menu and take the Freshman 15 as a personal challenge.

There are some quacks out there who will tell you that weight gain is unhealthy. Oh yea? If that’s true than explain why fat people are always happy. Always. When you finish eating at a college dining hall people will yell terrible things at you if you don’t go back for seconds. I’m serious. Sure, there are some healthy food options at some dining halls, but nobody actually eats that shit. I mean one kid did, but he lost his eyesight the next day. And who came up with 15 pounds as the cutoff number for weight gain during your freshman year? Fuck that, I bet you can put up 30. You’d better if you want to survive your freshman year.

2. Keep your student ID card instantly accessible at all times by wearing it around your neck with the most annoying protective case you can find.

As an upperclassman, I have two goals. Take classes that start after 10am and bang hot freshmen with low self-esteem. When you wear that hideous lanyard across your neck my life is so much easier. It’s like I asked, “Who here will suck my cock if I buy you a six-pack?” and all of your hands went up. That includes you, gentlemen. Plus, you will need to swipe your ID every ten seconds. I’m not kidding about this. If you have to keep reaching back into your wallet or purse, you might tear a back muscle.

3. Don’t feel pressured to wear anything but hoodies and t-shirts from your high school.

I loved high school. I want to experience it all over again. No, freshman year drama is not close enough. Well, you can find hope in that you never have to stop wearing your high school clothing in college. In fact, the coolest kids in college are the ones who are lucky enough to wear their old high school track suits…every day. How else are you going to find out how many other students also had a trojan for a mascot or went to a rival school. Some people will tell you, “Hey Sam, put that knife down. He’s a student in the same school as you now, why are you frothing at the mouth?” Fuck them, they have no school spirit and they are also probably infertile. Bonus points if you own a hat with your high school on it.

4. Food tastes better in college when you taste it the second time.

The only threat to you beating that Freshman 15 challenge is the unintended weight loss you will go through from vomiting every night of the week. Yes, that includes Tuesday, you pussy. Luckily, alcohol is loaded with calories and that shit goes straight to your liver, way before you puke after the third Keystone Light. Puking is the only thing that separates a college student from a complete loser. It also happens to be the only thing that separates somebody who is sick from somebody who is healthy. However, if you are wearing your high school t-shirt at the time everyone will know that you are in college and it’s not just the flu. Fuck influenza.

5. Everyone loves the movie Scarface.

Oh, you don’t own a poster of Al Pacino from the movie Scarface? Well, you’re fucked.

6. You need to indicate how many cans of beer you have consumed since you got to college to each person that comes to your room.

When people first enter your dorm room they want to know only one thing: What bottles of alcohol have you consumed since the year began? I usually don’t even say ‘hello’ until I have made a fair assessment. My friends know this. They expect it with the same joy that a mother expects a new baby. Don’t have a baby while in college. Wear a condom. You too, girls.

7. Talk to your significant other every day and count on the relationship lasting way past October.

If you have a boyfriend or girlfriend (or both), keep him or her in your life. Seriously, I mean let that person know everything you did that day after you have eaten at the dining hall (with the challenge in mind). Your calls should last at least 90 minutes but should go longer if something he or she said upset you. Even if nothing did, get upset. Nothing makes a long-distance college relationship more healthy than fighting over the phone. Another thing nobody tells you is that couples actually become more loyal to each other during college. Nobody cheats. It sounds like it would be the other way around but it isn’t. Make sure you avoid meeting other potential life partners as much as possible so that if the relationship ends in time for the sexiest day of the college year, you will attached. If possible have as many of those calls in the stairwell of the dorm. It has the great combination of both giving you the illusion of privacy while broadcasting your voice down two halls at once. It makes those breakups over the phone in the dorm lobby all the more interesting.

8. Each line you highlight in your books instantly enters your brain forever, so do the smart thing and just highlight the whole book over the course of a couple nights.

Used books are bought by people with STDs. That’s why nobody buys those cheap things. They are covered in the evidence of freshmen absorbing every word through their highlighters and also STDs. Yes, you can catch an STD in college by purchasing a used book. Buy a new book every time; each new edition of the book always contains completely different information. Even more important, every book you buy will be used during the semester.

If you see me, don’t wave. visit www.condron.us or go to condron.us

First of all, have you seen The Day After Tomorrow? Do you remember the scene where the characters get chased by a moving wall of coldness? That’ll sort of give you a sense of what crossing the US-Canadian border was like. One minute the summer heat was causing sweat to drip down my face, and the next minute that sweat had frozen into an ice mask which had to be removed with a windshield frost-scraper. That was a very painful process.

Speaking of painful processes, the travel here is quite difficult. The roads that criss-cross Canada’s frozen tundra are so encrusted with ice and snow that even our trusty team of sled dogs occasionally become exhausted and have to rest. On those days we have to rely on rented Tauntauns, which are unruly and stubborn animals—in fact, they caused so much trouble on the set of The Empire Strikes Back that they have never been used in films since.*

However, the worst part of Canada’s roads is that they are constantly crowded with the dead and dying victims of the country’s socialized health care system. Of the living, some have been denied care by government bureaucrats; others are on the run, having been sentenced to euthanasia by the Federal Death Panel. (The FDP is fairly unpopular, and is generally cited as the reason for Prime Minister Harper’s low approval ratings.) Many of the ailing vagrants I encountered requested my hand in marriage so that they could become US citizens and escape to America’s free-market system. I remember one particularly poignant encounter in which a Canadian man, his front teeth having been knocked out by an errant hockey puck, looked up at me from beside my Tauntaun and said, “Pleathe take me back with you! Pleathe! Eh?” He then repeated his statement in French, as is legally mandatory here.

I would love to write more about my experiences, but I’m being called to dinner. We’re having a traditional Canadian meal: Circular bacon and Coffee Crisp, served with a warm glass of maple syrup. It’s good food, but it does get a little tiresome after a few days.

See you next week, Yankees!

*Also, George Lucas required several stitches in his left buttock after his unfortunate encounter with a Tauntaun. He later remarked that he prefers computer-generated special effects because “CGI can’t fucking bite you in the ass.”

"Don't worry, I will shoot 'em in the knee cap for ya."

According to ESPN, Major League Baseball is now investigating comments that Mr. Guillen made after three of his players were hit by a pitch on Saturday.

“If I see someone hit my player, and I know they hit him on purpose, it’s two guys going down,” Guillen said. “I don’t care if I get suspended. I rather have me suspended for two games than have my players on the DL for 30 days.”

As it turns out, the White Sox are only the fifth most hit team. The White Sox oppenent on Saturday, the Cleveland Indians, are the most hit team in baseball.

Apparently, nobody ever told Mr. Guillen that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Instead, of addressing the issue by speaking with the manager of the Cleveland Indians or by complain to the MLB, he made a public threat of violence directed at every team. Real mature. I understand that he wants to protect his players, and I respect a manager willing to do anything to make sure his team stays injury free, but there is a line that cannot be crossed. That line seems to be in Mr. Guillen’s rearview mirror.

The worst part is it seems that he actually knows that it’s not on purpose.

“I know for a fact they’re not throwing at nobody, but enough is enough. I have Konerko bruised all over the place. Around the league, be careful because we’re going to hit people. I don’t care if I get suspended because I need to protect my players.”

That makes what Mr. Guillen is saying even worse. If it’s not on purpose then there has to be recognition that players getting hit is part of the game, and in the case of the White Sox, might be related to way people are standing in the batter’s box. If Mr. Guillen does not dispute that it isn’t on purpose and that his team has been hit less than four other teams, then he needs to enroll in an anger management program and stay far away from a sport that remains perpetually bruised from an entirely different curveball (that’s steroids for our readers who are not big sports fans).

If the White Sox are mature enough to grit their teeth and take their place at first base after a wild pitch, their manager has to be willing to do the same. Metaphorically, of course, if he took first base that would just be confusing. It is inexcusable for thousands of children to watch their favorite players purposely plunk hitters in an act that essentially is no different than a scaled down form of murder for hire. If Mr. Guillen can’t handle the pressures of managing hitters that lean into pitches, he shouldn’t be the manager. I can think of at least one guy who could do a better job.

As we’ve mentioned before, WordPress allows us to monitor what search engine terms have led readers to our blog. Usually those terms are pretty closely related to the content we provide; for example, here are the search engine terms for a fairly normal day:

Nope, nothing wrong here. All of these things relate directly to articles which have been posted on PLS. However, we often see search engine terms that not only don’t relate to anything we’ve written but also make us question both the sanity of the searchers and the existence of God. “Sperm sharking,” for example. [Involuntary shudder]

So, without further ado, here are the top five weirdest search engine terms of the past week:

#5: “big peg leg circus”

I have no idea what that would be, but it sounds amazing. I’m picturing a circus run entirely by pirates, with pirate ship rides and colorful birds and concession stands that sell rum and other stands that sell the tickets that are used to buy the rum because for some reason you can’t buy the rum with regular money. Sorry to disappoint you, random search engine user, but if we could make this wonderland real we would already be living there.

#4: “womenwithtits”

I’m not sure where to begin with this one. Couldn’t you just have searched for “tits” and assumed that the “women” part was implied? Couldn’t you have used the spacebar? And I would really like to know why this is what comes up when I Google Image Search this term:

"Womenwithass"? Seriously, internet, what the fuck?

Anyway, searching the entire internet for boobs and ending up at this blog is, I believe, the textbook definition of an epic fail.

#3: “sniffing gay balls”

Geez, title one post “The Traditional Sniffing of the Balls” and all the weirdos come out of the woodwork. What makes the balls gay? Do gay balls smell different from regular balls? Only one way to find out, I suppose…

#2: “reasons to have sex”

#1: All the cool kids are doing it. #2: It’s a good way to rebel against your parents. #3: It burns calories. Seriously, though, if you need to be convinced then you should probably stick to celibacy for now.

And, finally, our big winner for the week:

#1: “japanese sleep sharking videos”

You know, this doesn’t seem that bad. If sperm sharking means jerking off on people in public, then sleep sharking must mean jerking off on people while they’re asleep, right? Hey, I’m from Connecticut; that kind of thing happens all the time around here. Sorry, Japan, but you can’t shock me anymore.

Wait a minute…

You win again, Japan. I never should have doubted you.

Everybody is taking a dump on Lou Dobbs. Well, not me. I prefer to piss on the man (and I would if it weren’t for Chuck Norris). Usually I wouldn’t say it so crudely, but only a post about the Birther movement could get me to write about both piss and shit. Anyway, Lou Dobbs is getting a lot of credit for building legitimacy for the movement despite its small size and lack of evidence. I don’t think that’s fair. Generally, it’s the critics that give attention to the art. In other words, people like me are the reason the world is a worse place.

Those in the Birther movement who make sweet love to Section 1 in Article II have some of the strangest ways of looking at the world. If you haven’t seen the Orly Taitz interview with Stephen Colbert, you really should. She compares Obama to both Hitler and Stalin. Keep in mind that at the same time Ann Coulter, of all people, has called people like members of the Birther movement “cranks.”

This movement will never succeed in the United States simply because it can never move beyond fringe status. Instead of making legitimate arguments for its cause, it is paralyzed by a painfully transparent attempt to remove a president solely because of his political ideology. Even Ms. Taitz needs a introductory class in civics; she has repeatedly said that a president’s parents must both be citizens. Not only is that wrong, but it also makes me wonder why they aren’t trying to have Chester A. Arthur’s grave moved to a dumpster (only one of his parents was a US citizen).

Oh, and have you heard of US Army Major Stefan Cook? If you are too timid to shoot yourself in the foot or go AWOL then don’t bring your country down with you.

In case you have never seen Obama’s birth certificate, here it is. In all it’s Hawaiian glory. Please take note that I am upset that I even have to post this.

I’m not the only one here at PLS with a grudge against the Birthers. You can read Matt’s post, although decidedly less direct than mine, with all the hyperbole and metaphors that you can swallow.

It’s time we rethink Section 1 of Article II. If any document has a section like that one which can bring out stupidity this extreme, it needs to be removed. The intent of the fifth clause in Section 1 no longer has any importance. The American people have voted qualified leaders into public office again and again. They are Americans by choice; how can that not be more valuable than Americans with tacit consent? How can we truly continue to believe that our presidents are not fit to serve simply because of their birthplace? If Orly Taitz had made a similar judgement about herself, she would be forced to shut the fuck up.

If Scott’s name isn’t familiar to you, his movies probably are; besides Alien, his filmography includes Blade Runner, Thelma & Louise, Gladiator and Black Hawk Down. Not all of his movies have been great, but he’s certainly established himself as a very talented filmmaker. Make no mistake, however–my enthusiasm for his Alien prequel has nothing to do with whether or not that prequel will be good.

No, I’m thinking back to November of 2008, when it was announced that Scott would be directing a movie version of Monopoly.

Yes. This.

Yes, the board game.

Now, making a movie based on a board game is a pretty fucking stupid idea to begin with. But when that movie–which is supposed to be a family-friendly comedy–is directed by the guy who brought us Black Hawk Down‘s find-the-vein-in-the-wounded-soldier’s-leg scene, that’s–well, as /Film put it, that’s just the Worst Idea Ever. That’s like Quentin Tarantino directing a Care Bears reboot. That’s like Barack Obama starting a gangsta rap career. That’s like trying to have sex with a garbage disposal. Not good.

Seriously, brand recognition is the only way that movies get made these days. Studio executives pick products people already like and produce film versions–and who can blame them when this strategy works so well? I can’t count how many times I’ve heard someone say, “I don’t know if the new Transformers/GI Joe/Land of the Lost/etc. movie is going to be good, but I’ll definitely see it because I watched the show as a kid.” What? Ten years from now it’ll be, “I don’t know what Air Conditioner: The Movie is about, but I’ll definitely see it because boy do I love air conditioning!”

You're so money, Air Conditioner, and you don't even know it.

Anyway, I’m happy to hear that Ridley Scott is directing an Alien prequel because that means he might not have time for the Monopoly movie. There are already some signs that this could be the case; Monopoly isn’t currently listed on Scott’s IMDB page, or on IMDB at all, for that matter.

So, to summarize, I’m optimistic for mankind because one unoriginal, creatively bankrupt idea might prevent an even more unoriginal, creatively bankrupt idea from coming to fruition. Hooray for Hollywood!

What do you guys think? Is this news exciting or just depressing?

Ok, so maybe you haven’t heard of Sonic. I would blame you if there was one in Connecticut. So, as of right now you are off the hook. However, you really should know something about Sonic because they have been playing God awful commercials in Connecticut for the last couple of years. That doesn’t ring a bell? Well, here’s a sexually charged one where the uptight wife has cream covering her top lip. I mean…c’mon.

There are more of them and they are all bad. Not creepy bad. But still. It’s almost like the Sonic CEO threw a twenty at an intern and shouted, “I need a commercial, but don’t make it at all appealing or you’re fired asshole.” Twenty dollars and a few hours later and Sonic had its new ad campaign. And yet somehow, like the little engine based in Oklahoma that could, Sonic makes millions of people happy with its meat.

I still remember my first experience eating Sonic’s food. I was in Detroit for the NCAA Men’s Basketball Final Four and there was one less than 15 miles away from my hotel room. I went with a friend who was also visiting Sonic for the first time. And while my experience was probably not unique, it was life changing. The drive-in is unique in that when you order, a teenager is dispatched to your car. And yes, he (or she) is on roller-skates. I would feel bad if I wasn’t so preoccupied with the possibility of him landing on his back and my food spilling, painting him a lovely shade of grease. I left a larger tip than the situation required. It helps the guilt. Sonic makes the most refreshing beverages called Slushes (not to be confused with “slushies”) and burgers that seem to say, “Hey McDonald’s, go fuck yourself.” It truly is a meal made for kings. I went back again for seconds later that weekend.

If I wasn't covered in deliciousness, I would kill myself.

Now that you are hungry, let’s talk dirt. Sweet and tangy journalistic dirt. I got a tip from a friend who pointed me to a blog which was reporting the possibility of a Sonic coming to Wallingford. The blog used a classified ad that was going to be published with the Hartford Courant on August 2, 2009 that was found by a girl on Twitter. However, that is far from good journalistic proof (I’m looking at you, Hartford Courant). So, I sent an email to a representative at Sonic who then asked a senior Vice President and then sent me confirmation. The email looks like this.

"Hey, Hartford Courant. Eat your heart out."

The next natural question is where will the new Sonic in Wallingford go. The blog I was first pointed to mentioned the site of the Yankee Silversmith Inn before it burst into flames and then flooded itself of course. It also mentioned the site of the now-moved Brooks Pharmacy. Well, I got to be honest, I could see that. Both sites are on Route 5, so they have great access to traffic. And since Sonic isn’t spilling all of the beans, I think I am entitled to some level of speculation.

So, now PLS has established itself as the first news source to break news on Sonic coming to Wallingford. Where do we go from here? Well, honestly I don’t have a clue. But, heaven is only two hours away for now.

The phrase was obviously directing people towards “Forget Shark Week, It’s Sperm Week!”, Sam’s post about a Polish woman who claimed that her daughter was impregnated by sperm floating in a swimming pool. It’s a fascinating article, but it never actually mentions anything called “sperm sharking.” Being a lifelong resident of Puritanical, uptight New England, I had never heard the phrase before, and assumed that the people searching for it had been bored thirteen-year-olds throwing words together in an attempt to find new jerk-off material.

However, Sam did some research and uncovered the truth. Take it away, Urban Dictionary:

You know, it really is a beautiful thing that we learn just as much from our readers as they do from us. It makes my heart overflow with joy, and then with vomit. However, as Sam discovered, he and I weren’t the only ones unfamiliar with the concept:

Yes, just keep telling yourself it’s about whales. Whatever helps you sleep at night. By the way, I can see sperm sharking being a part of Japanese culture, and not because Japan is stereotypically the most perverted country on the planet. There’s just something ninja-ish about the whole activity. It seems like sharking successfully requires speed, stealth, agility, stamina… Truly, it is the sport of kings.

Anyway, I’m sure that many of you reading this article came here expecting some hardcore sperm shark action, and I do not intend to disappoint. I’ve scoured the internets looking for a demonstrative video, and I finally discoverd one. A word of warning, though: This clip is not for the squeamish.

If you think you can handle it, click here.

Pegleg Spinners: Your one-stop fetish shop!

What else would you, the reader, like to see posts about? (Please don’t bring up anything involving sperm…)

Mr. Brimley is no longer doing commercials for Liberty Medical. Yes, we are to believe that they no longer cared for his personal stories about living with “diabeetus.” What personal stories? Well, YouTube can help me with that.

Just watching that makes me miss him even more. So, who is this John Fox guy that took Mr. Brimley’s place? Well, he’s no Wilford Brimley, that’s for sure. You be the judge.

Not the same is it? I don’t think Liberty Medical has any idea what it is doing anymore. They actually thought some fisherman with the same name as an NFL coach as well as many other people (making Google searches a pain in the ass), would be better than a man once a possible candidate for the Vice Presidency of the United States. Wait, what? Oh yes, Wilford Brimley was considered by Sen. John McCain. When asked in August of last year who would be his VP pick as he was walking on a airport tarmac, he stared directly in the face of a reporter without blinking or a smile and said, “Wilford Brimley.”

Who knows what happened between then and Sarah Palin. Frankly, I think John Fox is involved. This asshole has been trying to destroy Mr. Brimley since he lost to him in a friendly game of racquetball a few years ago. Well, I won’t be a part of this behind the scenes character assassination that is dragging Mr. Brimley through the mud. This man is a hero. This man is a god. Keep fighting, Wilford Brimley. You inspire me.

"Hello, my name is Wilford Brimley and these are my nipples."

A simple man.

I’m a simple man. All I really want to do on this blog is make fun of obscure horror movies and share meaningless anecdotes. I don’t think that’s so much to ask. Yet it seems there’s always something stupid going on in the US that forces me to get off my duff, click the “Political” category tab and take a stand.

In this case the match to my powder keg is the “birther” movement, which is kind of like a bowel movement except more disgusting. Birthers are the people who claim, against all available evidence, that President Obama was not born in the US and therefore is ineligible for the presidency. This is wrong on many, many levels, but the worst part of the whole issue is that it distracts from the real threat America faces today: Republican politicians who may actually be cannibalistic mutants.

Rep. John Campbell (R - CA)--Artist's interpretation

Now, I know a lot of you are going to say that there’s never been any indication that members of the GOP gather at subterranean black masses and sip human blood to sustain their youthful figures. And that may be true. But think about this: No Republican politicians have ever provided proof that they are not monstrous ghouls that feast on the living, nor have any of them even denied such an allegation. What are they trying to hide?!

Loyal readers, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the Republican/undead flesh-eater agenda is gaining a chokehold in Washington. Members of the Ghastly Old Party make up about 40% of today’s Congress, and one of their numbers even managed to get himself illegitimately installed in the Oval Office.

But there is hope! If you recognize the threat that these subhuman hell-spawn represent to our way of life, then there is one thing you can do to stop them: Sign my online petition! It’s free, it’s quick, and it sends a strong message to America’s leaders that we don’t want representatives who will devour our children instead of kissing them in photo-ops. Act now, before the cannibals overrun the Capitol and the IRS knocks on your door asking for an arm and a leg–literally.

Still not convinced? What if I told you not only that Republicans are hideous abominations who will kill us and roast our corpses–but also that some of them, unlike our President, weren’t even born in this country?!

CANNIBAL MUTANT TERRORIST MUSLIM!

And if some of you are thinking of leaving comments saying that we should be focusing on substantive political issues rather than outlandish conspiracy theories with no basis in fact:

Congratulations. You’re sane. But sign the petition anyway, just for funsies.

Also, if you own a cell phone... Fuck off.

No, really. It stinks, as in “people that stink.” That’s actually one of the reasons a person can be denied entry into the library and have library privileges revoked. The Code of Conduct which is posted on their website as well as on one of the foundation columns of the building (perhaps metaphorical) gives a series of reasons to justify having library privileges removed, including smell. I kid you not. Here’s the exact phrase, “Bodily hygiene that is so offensive that it interferes with another person’s use of the library or with the library staff’s performance of its duties.”

"Don't even think about sitting in that chair, stinky."

Now, if you have the same medical background as I have (none) then you are probably thinking, so what? Well, as it turns out, there are some serious diseases out there which cause a significantly offensive body odor. And the Americans With Disabilities Act has something to say about that.

You see, the ADA of 1990 states the following.

“An individual meets the requirement of ‘being regarded as having such an impairment’ if the individual establishes that he or she has been subjected to an action prohibited under this chapter because of an actual or perceived physical or mental impairment whether or not the impairment limits or is perceived to limit a major life activity.”

Just what kind of action is prohibited under that chapter?

“..excluding or otherwise denying equal jobs or benefits to a qualified individual because of the known disability..”

So let’s say you happen to be a poor victim of Trimethylaminuria, a disease that makes you smell like rotting fish. Yea, that would suck. But, you know what’s worse? A librarian telling you to take a hike and maybe swing by Barnes&Noble next time. But, this isn’t the only kind of circumstance where a person might stink and still be less than 15 minutes removed from a hot shower. The drug Sinemet, which is taken by Parkinson’s Disease patients, causes severe body odor. The list goes on but my willingness to research further doesn’t.

That is why I ask that you email the Wallingford Public Library and let them know that this Code of Conduct needs to change. Rest in peace, Walter Conkite.

Yes, it’s a good summer for death! Over the past few weeks we’ve lost several cultural icons, including Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, and, this past Friday, Walter Cr0nkite. However, the most notable passing, at least in terms of method, was probably that of British conductor Sir Edward Downes, who on July 10 (my birthday!) committed assisted suicide along with his terminally ill wife.

Sir Downes was not terminally ill himself, although at 85 he couldn’t have had a whole lot of time left. Since assisted suicide is illegal in England, he and his wife Joan had to travel to Switzerland to procure the services of Dignitas, a Swiss suicide clinic.

Obviously this event raises many moral and ethical questions. I’ll leave those for others to ponder, but I would like to state that Dignitas probably isn’t maximizing its profit-making potential. They provide a service which is unavailable in most of the world, and every human being on Earth is a potential customer. I don’t know why Dignitas doesn’t already have an aggressive marketing campaign in place, but in order to help them out I’ve written the script for a TV commercial they could air in the US:

EXT. CITY STREET–NIGHT

It is raining. A depressed, disheveled-looking MAN is walking down the sidewalk amidst a crowd of people.

NARRATOR: Are you unhappy?

INT. SUBWAY TRAIN–NIGHT

The man is standing in the middle of the crowded train, hanging on to a rail. He is soaking wet and stares off into space.

NARRATOR: Do you feel constantly alone?

INT. DANK APARTMENT–NIGHT

The man sits alone at a kitchen table eating a TV dinner. A yellowish light on the ceiling flickers on and off.

NARRATOR: Do you feel like things are never going to get better?

EXT. DIGNITAS CLINIC, ZURICH–DAY

The sun is shining and the Swiss flag is waving above the building. The GUY FROM THE ALLSTATE COMMERCIALS steps onscreen.

ALLSTATE GUY: Well, they probably aren’t. But now, someone’s here to help.

INT. DIGNITAS OFFICE–DAY

The man from before, who is now smiling, fills out forms and flirts with a PRETTY SWISS GIRL at the front desk.

ALLSTATE GUY: For over ten years, Dignitas has been helping everyday people end their miserable lives and pass on into sweet non-being. It’s the choice of the rich and famous…

Fade through images of Socrates, Virginia Woolf and Kurt Cobain.

EXT. HEAVEN–DAY

SIR EDWARD DOWNES is standing on a cloud wearing a tuxedo and holding a glass of champagne.

DOWNES: Dignitas provided the solution I needed, and now I’m partying with Beethoven and Mozart!

BEETHOVEN and MOZART walk onto the cloud and start dancing. A subtitle at the bottom of the screen reads, “ACTORS’ PORTRAYAL.”

ALLSTATE GUY: …And now it can be your choice too. Whether you’re joining a loved one in the afterlife…

INT. CLINIC–DAY

The camera pans across several beds which are set up along the wall. The first pair of beds contains an ELDERLY COUPLE in hospital gowns who are holding hands and smiling at one another.

ALLSTATE GUY: …Can’t bear to live without a beloved pet…

The next pair of beds contains a MIDDLE-AGED MAN in a hospital gown and a confused-looking MANX in a cat carrier.

ALLSTATE GUY: …Or are simply having a bad day…

The last bed contains the man from the beginning, who is smiling as a NURSE hands him an unmarked bottle.

EXT. DIGNITAS CLINIC–DAY

The Allstate guy is standing outside the clinic looking dignified.

ALLSTATE GUY: …Dignitas is here to help.

EXT. HEAVEN–DAY

The man from the beginning frolics in a cloud with a group of BIKINI-CLAD ANGELS.

ALLSTATE GUY: Dignitas. Because to live is to suffer.

Fade to the Dignitas logo, a smiley face above a pair of crossbones.

END

I wanted to include some customer testimonials, but I guess that’s not really an option. Still, this kind of exposure will really increase Dignitas’s revenue stream. In time, they should be able to open franchises, or maybe even automate their services.

For now, though, it’s enough to know that Chopin’s sonata will remain the signature melody of the summer of 2009. Unless, of course, Lil Wayne releases something that gets even more play than “Lollipop.” If that happens I might end up boarding a flight to Switzerland myself.

Unfortunately, Cohen, like Mr. Mathers, wants to have it both ways. He’d like to be seen as promoting tolerance, so he shoots scenes making fun of homophobes, including reverends who attempt to convert Brüno to heterosexuality. Elton John, who famously bestowed gay cred on Eminem at the 2001 Grammies, makes a cameo during a celebrity-studded video at Brüno‘s conclusion. Snoop Dogg also appears in that video, speaking the words that are probably supposed to sum up the film: “He’s gay, he’s gay. [Snoop shrugs.] Okay.”

Yes, the shirt says "GAYBY"

The problem is that Brüno (along with his assistant Lutz, played by Swedish actor Gustaf Hammarsten) is the only openly gay character in the film, so, for better or worse, he represents homosexuality in the context of the movie. And it’s all worse. Brüno is an ignorant, stupid narcissist whose sexual tastes (orientation aside) are kinky at best and perverted at worst. He doesn’t have a single likable or redeeming moment. Because of this, many of the scenes in which unwitting Americans are disgusted by Brüno play out in favor of prejudice. For example, a morning TV show audience in Texas reacts with boos when Brüno says he’s looking for “Mr. Right.” When he goes on to talk about bringing a baby along on risqué hot tub adventures, the audience’s reaction seems to be confirmed and justified.

Cohen would probably argue that Brüno is supposed to parody gay stereotypes rather than represent actual gay people, but he’d be splitting hairs. To quote Beastie Boy Adam Yauch, “Be careful of what you make fun of or you might become it.” The bottom line is that homophobes (who will probably make up a significant proportion of this movie’s ticket sales) probably won’t find much in this movie to make them question their biases.

Screenshot from the film. (Offensive elements may be censored)

Then again, if there’s anything to be learned from the controversies surrounding Eminem it’s that a performer’s talent will trump a questionable message. Cohen is about as gifted at comedy as Em is at rhyming, which is to say very very gifted, and there are hilarious jokes sprinkled liberally throughout this film. Take the running gag of using day laborers as human furniture, or the uncomfortable silence that occurs after Brüno tells a group of straight hunters that the stars in the night sky remind him of “all the hot guys in the world.” People looking for a positive social message may be disappointed, but people looking for laughs will not.

But then again again, Eminem has also shown us that a shocking shtick, no matter how brilliant, wears thin after a while. Brüno‘s still funny, but it’s repeating the story and techniques of Borat, only with less coherence. Outrageous sketches (Brüno interviews Paula Abdul, Brüno goes to the Middle East, Brüno joins the army) fly by so quickly that I got distracted trying to figure out how some of them were pulled off–or how authentic any of them were. Cohen’s created a good formula, but I doubt he’ll be able to use it effectively again. Besides, people are going to start recognizing his face.

So what’s next? I’d like to think that Cohen will come up with some new ideas and write comedy that’s a little more thought-provoking than, as A. O. Scott put it, “will you look at those dumb rednecks.” However, it’s probably more likely that he’ll disappear for a few years and then return with the same act he was doing before.

Either way, I’m tired of typing umlauts. Review over.

Are we to believe that sperm cruised the pool, waiting to prey on an unsuspecting girl like a shark that hasn’t seen an otter for weeks? Are sperm the new Box Jellyfish but instead of death there is birth? I hope this lawsuit is thrown out before I finish this post. For the good of the Polish people who are much smarter than this bullshit, I really hope it is. I admit it would be interesting to see a jury subjected to an uncomfortable re-enactment of the famous Seinfeld scene involving Keith Hernandez.

Now, since I am but a lowly blogger with very few talents and no medical background, I had to Google this whole sperm pool thing. As it turns out there is very little information out there about it. After about 5 minutes of research I was able to conclude however, that swallowing sperm cannot lead to pregnancy. Good to know. Oh, and if you weren’t aware of that you should probably dig a big hole in the ground somewhere, put the shovel down, sit in the hole, and then stay there for a very long time.

Not surprisingly, humans have been sexually retarded for a very long time. Take this case involving the Civil War for example that actually appeared in the American Medical Weekly on November 7, 1874.

She appeared in excellent health and spirits, but her abdomen had become enormously enlarged, so much so as to resemble pregnancy at the seventh or eighth month. Indeed, had I not known the family and the facts of the abdominal wound, I should have so pronounced the case. Under the above circumstances, I failed to give a positive diagnosis, determining to keep the case under surveillance. This I did.

Just two hundred and seventy-eight days from the date of the receipt of the wound by the minnie ball, I delivered this same young lady of a fine boy, weighing eight pounds. I was not very much surprised; but imagine the surprise and mortification of the young lady herself, her entire family. This can be better imagined than described. Although I found the hymen intact in my examination before delivery, I gave no credence to the earnest and oft-repeated assertions of the young lady of her innocence and virgin purity.

About three weeks from the date of this remarkable birth, I was called to see the child, the grandmother insisting there was “something wrong about the genitals.” Examination revealed an enlarged, swollen, sensitive scrotum, containing on the right side a hard, roughened substance, evidently foreign. I decided upon operating for its removal at once, and in so doing, extracted from the scrotum a minnie ball, mashed and battered as if it had met in its flight some hard, unyielding substance. To attempt to picture my astonishment would be impossible! What may already seem very plain to my readers, as they glance over this paper, was, to me, at the time, mysterious. It was only after several days and nights of sleepless reflection that a solution flashed before me, and ever since has appeared as clear as the noon-day sun!

“What is it?” The ball I took from the scrotum of the babe was the identical one which, on the 12th of May, shattered the tibia of my young friend, and in its mutilated condition, plunged through his testicle, carrying with it particles of semen and spermatozoa into the abdomen of the young lady, then through her left ovary, and into the uterus, in this manner impregnating her! There can be no other solution of the phenomenon! These convictions I expressed to the family, and, at their solicitations, visited my young soldier friend, laying the case before him in its proper light. At first, most naturally, he appeared skeptical, but concluded to visit the young mother. Whether convinced or not, he soon married her, ere the little boy had attained his fourth month.

At the end of the article was a footnote that said the whole thing was completely made up. Apparently, nobody read the damn thing! Am I saying that if someone had read the footnote then that woman would not be suing a hotel for magical sperm? Yes.

I am not going to point out any particular religion that may be responsible for instilling a belief that people can get pregnant without having sex. But, suffice it to say, it’s one of the big ones. I really hope that in the next few days the daughter admits that she enjoys a good pool boy every now and again, or they “inspect her” (I would prefer a lie detector test). Then again, someone could just point her to this post.

As for the guy responsible for this whole mess. I think I found some suspects.

Still, the movie did get me thinking. For those of you haven’t seen it (though, judging from the box office numbers, that won’t be very many of you), the plot revolves around a woolly mammoth named Manny (Ray Romano), an expectant father who is anxiously settling into domestic life with his mate Ellie (Queen Latifah). Manny’s best friend Diego, an aging sabre-tooth tiger with some sort of heart condition, feels excluded from Manny’s newly tranquil lifestyle. Meanwhile, Manny and Diego’s friend Sid the Sloth tries to adopt a few baby dinosaurs.

At some point during the film I realized that if these characters weren’t all anthropomorphic prehistoric animals, I easily could’ve been watching an episode of Thirtysomething. And the Ice Age films aren’t the only kids’ movies that revolve around the problems of the middle-aged; you can look to the Night at the Museum and Shrek series for more examples of this trend. This is brilliant. Back in the day, screenwriters working on flicks for children had to actually assume a child-like perspective and come up with situations that children could identify with. Now, instead of doing all that work, writers just project their own mid-life insecurities into their scripts, and apparently the movies still make bank! So, being a film major, I figured I should try my hand at this new template.

Like this, but as a cartoon with Kevin James' voice. In 3-D.

My film, Steppe By Steppe, centers around a talking water buffalo named Buffsy (Kevin James) who lives in a Tibetan grassland with his wife Claire (Cameron Diaz) and their two young calves. Buffsy is bored with his job at the grassland office (which will be like a human office but with grassland animals) and dissatisfied in his relationship with Claire, who often argues with him over his inability to pay their grassland bills.

One day, Buffsy is standing by the watering hole with his wisecracking pals Zack the Yak (Zach Galifianakis) and Leppy the Snow Leopard (Chris Rock) when he spies a hot young gazelle named Gazzy (Lindsay Lohan), who is new to the grassland. Although Buffsy is timid at first, he manages to strike up a conversation with Gazzy and is soon meeting with her regularly to graze.

Leppy tries to warn Buffsy about the dangers of infidelity, but is attacked by wolves in mid-sentence and devoured in a wacky slapstick sequence. Buffsy escalates his relationship with Gazzy until she finally agrees to a midnight tryst. However, Buffsy ends up being unable to perform and Gazzy prances away in scorn. When Buffsy returns home smelling of gazelle, Claire takes the calves and migrates north. A grassland doctor (an argali sheep played by Joe Lo Truglio) then tells Buffsy that his mating problem is a side effect of “horn cancer.” Buffsy dies. (Obviously grassland animals wouldn’t have cancer treatments. That would be ridiculous.)

Now, I know this may not sound like a movie kids would enjoy, but remember, the characters are talking animals. Also, we’ll add in some fart jokes and a Jonas Brothers song or something. Plus it’ll be in 3-D. Just trust me, this project is going to be huge. Have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch. Ciao.

While you may be tempted just to watch a few minutes of the first video I post of the Championships in action, trust me, you are going to want to watch the whole thing.

Here are some highlights in this first video:
-At (0:12) the host gets really into what looks like a crowded party in the basement of a frat house, take a good look at him because I make fun of him later.
-At (0:49) a girl can’t decide whether she is bored or frightened, but at (0:53) I think she sneezes.
-At (1:12) the crowd experiences something similar to Gallagher’s famous watermelon act.
-At (1:18) memories of my junior prom come flooding back to me, wait (1:26) that’s more like it.
-At (1:32) Moby fucks the shit out of Judge Sotomayor (if Moby ever had sex and if Sotomayor was 25 years younger).
-At (1:52) this video becomes disturbing but I suddenly have a desire to watch Kill Bill 2.
-At (2:21) the host really starts enjoying the show, what is up with this guy?

I just realized who the host of that show must be. I think Zach Galifianakis and Matisyahu had a baby.

So, as I expected you are hungary for more. Well, luckily for you, there is more. Here’s another one worth watching from a round during the Air Sex Championships in Austin, Texas. By the way, the last one you just saw happened on June 10th in Washington D.C.

Anyway, my point is this: We live in a great country. Sure, we have lots of problems and maybe some unhealthy addictions to celebrities and violence among other things. But, the fact that I can sit back (and only watch, I swear) and enjoy these great acts of American ingenuity and sexual freedom proves how lucky we all are. Oh, and if you want to see more videos, you can go here. Now, if there was only some way to combine my love for air guitar with my new love for air sex…

This is the reason why I wake up every morning to practice.

Except instead of a car, everyone got a twitter.

And people started using it, alot.

It was a wonderful tool to share what you were doing with your friends, but beyond that, you could plug your ideas, share articles, and even break news. Some people even used it as a 911 service.

But one of the most amazing things it did was keep everyone updated on what was going on in Iran during the recent protests following disputed elections. If people didn’t know about Twitter already they did at this point. It brought up some pretty grandiose talk. It even had Mark Pfeifle, a former Deputy National Security Advisor to George W. Bush, say this:

“If there’s anybody that should possibly get a Nobel Peace Prize in the next time around, it should be the founders of Twitter who delayed the tuning up of their system in order for an amazing amount of tweets to be sent out in the last week or so.”

Pretty amazing stuff right? For a service more known for this:

Thats probably the way most people use it. But that fact is it has its uses.

One of the amazing ones is that it apparently brings groups that have been fueding for years.

One Twitter user @eunmac tweeted that Coke and Pepsi should make nice, and they did!

Not only that, but even Linux and Microsoft gave each other a hello on the service!

Twitter is serving as somewhat of a platform of peace it seems, so why should it be any different for the NY senate? Why don’t @malcomasmith and @SenEspada do the same thing?

It certainly couldn’t hurt, considering talks seem to continue to “ make progress”. Which they’ve been doing since talks started a few weeks ago. Exchange some peace tweets as a show of good faith.

So tweet your senators! Get the twittolution started. Don’t have a V8, break the stalemate! Peace through twitter!

Meanwhile, me and @SenMartyGolden are going to teach seniors how to use the internet. And rock out to “Anonymous”.

First of all, I’m sure that, as a student athlete, you must have a busy schedule, so I’ll try to keep this message concise. I don’t believe we have ever met, and under normal circumstances I would have little reason to contact you; I’m not a UConn student, nor am I an avid follower of college basketball. (Boston University’s basketball team is, ah… We’re really more of a hockey school.)

But, as you are well aware, these are no normal circumstances. Apparently you’ve seen the recent PLS post in which my co-blogger, Samuel, criticizes you with a ferocity usually reserved for Bernie Madoff or John Wayne Gacy. Now, it’s possible that Sam’s comments were a bit un-called for, but in your rush to respond you seem to be disregarding the welfare of an innocent bystander: Me.

Me.

As Sam’s updated post shows, you recently issued some angry “tweets,” including one which claims that “pegleg spinners are a bunch of racist bloggers.” We also received a comment on the “Writers” section of PLS from one “jason morris,” who accuses Sam and I of appearing gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that) and threatens to do us bodily harm in public–all while invoking your name.

Again, I can understand why you’re mad at Sam. What I don’t understand is what you and Mr. Morris have against me, Matt Hoffman. My only intent on this blog is to provide insightful, sardonic commentary on pop culture; how does that make me a racist homosexual? Did you guys disagree with my review of the new Wilco album? Were you frustrated by the pointlessness of my TV Guide Awards memory? Are you big fans of The Birds II?

And what about our other contributor, Ralph West? What’s not to like about his satirical dispatches on New York politics?

Perhaps you just think that all us bloggers are the same. I find that offensive. I am a unique individual and demand not to be judged by Sam’s off-color remarks, but by the content of the posts I’ve written.

Although now that I think of it, Sam hasn’t written anything racist or homosexual either. I can still see why you might want to bitch-slap him on the street; I occasionally get that urge myself. But have you ever heard the expression, “Don’t argue with fools”? Going mano-a-mano with a blogger is like foot-racing a tree sloth–it’s just going to make you look bad. I mean, seriously, Sam’s like four feet tall.

Sam

In closing, I can’t promise you that Sam won’t keep saying stupid shit. Fish gotta swim, you know? Besides, PLS’s total readership can fit into the average compact sedan, so your reputation is probably safe. What I can promise you is that I am not a racist blogger, and that I would never contribute to a racist blog. Also I’m not gay. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

So what do you say, ‘Dove? Can we squash the beef?

Perhaps Mr. Morris would like to leave a comment?

Sincerely,
Matt Hoffman
Heterosexual Non-Racist Since 1988

Here in Albany on Friday, we wished Senator Owen Johnson a Happy 233rd birthday and today we wished America a Happy 80th birthday! Wait, no…

With the way celebrities are dropping like flies, none of them have been politicians. Which begs the question, is Governor Sarah Palin’s resignation as close as we may get in the near future to the beginning of political death or is the only current example a horny politician from the Palmetto State? It looks like her oddly-timed resignation may be caused by the same problems that once plagued her during the last election.

On Friday Sarah Palin hurridly announced her resignation from the Alaska governorship, and conservatives in America reacted like this:

But there remain questions as to why did she resign? The best speculation comes from America’s favorite tool, Rick Sanchez.

Thanks Rick, your journalistic intergrity knows no bounds. That type of speculation belongs here, in the blog-o-sphere.

And there has been ALOT.

From the hilarious:

That sounds about right. I mean if she’s above criticism by the media then imagine how she feels about getting a speeding ticket.

Then there’s more serious charges about ethics investigations.

But wait, don’t go and put those forward without backup, because you’ll be sued!

From Huffington Post:

“To the extent several websites, most notably liberal Alaska blogger Shannyn Moore, are now claiming as ‘fact’ that Governor Palin resigned because she is ‘under federal investigation’ for embezzlement or other criminal wrongdoing, we will be exploring legal options this week to address such defamation,” Van Flein said in a statement. “This is to provide notice to Ms. Moore, and those who re-publish the defamation, such as Huffington Post, MSNBC, the New York Times and The Washington Post, that the Palins will not allow them to propagate defamatory material without answering to this in a court of law.”

Well we here at PegLeg Spinners won’t be threatened by some two bit Alaskan barrister. So here‘s a link to a site that talks about possible ethics violations.

Then again Sarah Palin has never been able to take criticism. But she shot back today with her own post on facebook, to talk directly to the people.

They say she wrote it herself, I believe them.

She say’s she is leaving in order to follow a higher calling. That I find hard to believe.

Some speculate that she is going to run for President and that it’s difficult to run from the office of governor. Well here’s a fact, the last person to run for president who did not currently hold an office was Ronald Reagan. But of course, most things from the Republican Party date back to Reagan, and their views on some things could probably fit squarely with 1950′s America.

And besides, she hasn’t been shy subordinatig the interest of her own state for her own national political agenda. As a matter of fact, she bragged about it in her resignation speech.

“Even those debt-ridden stimulus dollars that would force the heavy hand of federal government into our communities with an “all-knowing attitude” – I have taken the slings and arrows with that unpopular move to veto because I know being right is better than being popular. Some of those dollars would harm Alaska and harm America – I resisted those dollars because of the obscene national debt we’re forcing our children to pay, because of today’s Big Government spending; it’s immoral and doesn’t even make economic sense!”

Right, so you refuse money for your own state, which has already been allocated out of federal dollars, for the good of your state? No, you do it in order to advance a national political agenda which disagrees with that federal spending. And what she should have said is not that “its better to be right than popular”, but rather “its better to be popular in the states with more electoral votes than Alaska.”

She also stated that she has no desire to be a lame duck:

“I thought about how much fun some governors have as lame ducks… travel around the state, to the Lower 48 (maybe), overseas on international trade – as so many politicians do. And then I thought – that’s what’s wrong – many just accept that lame duck status, hit the road, draw the paycheck, and ‘milk it’.”

Right, because when you ran for Vice President that was totally different.

But maybe this is all about her family. Perhaps she needs to focus on supporting Todd in his snowmobile racing career.  But, with a newborn son, and a pregnant daughter, she had no issue running for Vice-President, a much more demanding job that would force a move and upheaval in her families life.

I’m sorry, perhaps I’m being to harsh. Perhaps I’m part of the media establishment that constantly blurs her message and makes her look bad. Which is totally unfair. And perhaps that’s why she resigned.

Three words: GET. OVER. IT.

If you want to be a national political figure, you are going to be ridiculed for your mistakes. If you cannot handle this, then perhaps you should re-think being a national political figure. What you shouldn’t do, is whine and bitch and complain, and then when that fails, throw a team of idiotic lawyers together to say that you’re going to sue people. Because the constitution only counts when it doesn’t hurt feelings of an insecure person only in office to feed and ego and prove the “old boys club” that she’s tough.

Please sue me. Seriously, I want to win my first case pro se before I become a lawyer. Wait, I shouldn’t use a latin word. We know how much that confuses politicians.

Is the media unfair sometimes? Yes. But what were the times when they were unfair to Sarah Palin? When you couldn’t name a national news magazine that you read after you refused prep for the interview? When you didn’t know where Africa was? When you didn’t know who was in NAFTA? When $150,000 was spent on clothes while at the same time talking about fiscal respnsibility?

Some people claim that she was taken by surprise by the newspaper question. Well, I think national leaders should be able think on their feet when asked a simple question.

It could also be said that the RNC bought Sarah Palin her clothes, she did not spend that money herself. True, but where did she think that the clothes came from? And is it wrong to expect, again a national public figure, to check something like that?

Maybe she’s resigned because she realizes she is totally unqualified. But I doubt it, she’s resigning to run for President and doesn’t want to be dogged by any more investigations. Which are more easily dodged while not in public office.

But, the very idea that this woman could possibly be President in 2012 is frightening. The very idea makes Albany right now seem like heaven. And it’s not because I dislike her (although I do), it’s not because I don’t think she’s charming (I don’t), its certainly not because she’s a woman (Gerraldine Ferraro is pissed though), and  it’s not even all about her political ideas (efficient government is good). It’s what she represents as a politician.

She represents the hand holding, figure head, completely staff run, know nothing-ness that is killing government (see Jodi Rell). What makes a politician good is their ability to advance policy and come up with new ideas, not to be likeable. I would have no problem completely thinking our president is a total jackass, if she was able to do his job. I have a problem when someone needs weeks of drilling to know basic things I knew when I was in high school, like who is in NAFTA. It’s three f*cking countries, USA, Canada, Mexico, not that hard.

You should not vote for a politician because they are relatable. I do not want my President to be relatable, because I want my President to be so awe-inspiring that it is incomprehensible that I would ever be able to achieve 1/10th of her brain power and decision making ability.

I don’t want a person to be President who’s bulk of experience comes from running a 5500 person town, and who’s main accomplishment in that town was building an ice rink.

As an 8 year old, on Sim City 2000, I built a town from that size to 1 million people and had to deal with alien invasions and disasters. Can I be President?

There were a few things working against Beninati in this case. First of all, he admitting knowing that fire is hot. Second, he intently walked into the fire, and third, he’s an idiot.

According to LoweringtheBar.net, the festival defended itself using a California statute normally reserved for harm caused by sports, which the court decided to accept despite that currently walking into a giant replica of a man on fire is not considered a sport.

The defendants argued the lawsuit was barred by the doctrine of “primary assumption of the risk.” This doctrine bars negligence claims by someone who was hurt while participating in an activity “involving an inherent risk of injury to voluntary participants . . . where the risk cannot be eliminated without altering the fundamental nature of the activity.”

Reading this on LoweringtheBar.net made me want to read the actual deposition. There is no way anything I can write could be any better than the real document.

In his deposition, Beninati admitted he knew “fire was dangerous and caused burns” before he walked into one. He knew there was some possibility of falling into said fire. He admitted no one affiliated with the defendants asked him to walk into the fire or told him it would be safe to do so. But he testified that he did not think it would be dangerous to walk into the fire, although he knew it “was not ‘absolutely safe, because there [was] a fire present.’” And, as noted, fire is hot.

I am going to Hell for censoring these.

I need to start saving up for this festival.

Now, I’m no fan of the Asher Roth college-is-all-about-getting-shitfaced-every-night school of thought, but as an American college student I really have to feel sorry for anyone tasked with reducing undergraduate boozing in the US. That’s like asking college presidents to empty the ocean with a Solo cup. Young adults (like many regular adults) like drinking, and when you get a whole bunch of them together they really like drinking. How are school administrations supposed to stop them from doing so?

Seriously, though, this would kill you

The Times editorial suggests “better counseling or stronger bans on under-age drinking.” First of all, students are less likely to seek counseling if they have to fear repercussions from the school or the police; I believe that’s part of Amethyst’s point. Students who are forced into counseling without any genuine desire to change their behavior will attend whatever sessions they’re told to attend and then promptly forget the whole experience.

Part of this article was published as a letter to the editor in the Times. Since the Times demands exclusivity, that portion has been removed from this post, but you can find the letter here.

Finally, one possibly sophomoric question: Are we to assume that the New York Times editorial staff never drank in college?

Back to New York…

Today marked the 7th extraordinary session that was called, and I expected a gavel-in-gavel-out, as has been the norm, but actually I was in for quite the treat.

So at 10 am, the governor had scheduled an extraordinary session. The Democrats started out normally, but then they decided to do a quorum call. Quorum in the 62 member Senate is 32. Now they’ve ignored this for the past week, as they’ve only had 31 members, and have never wanted to draw attention to the fact that without a quorum, they can’t actually do anything, including call the session. But both of the 31 member conferences have each independently done their own session.

But the Democrats made a quorum call, and the Republicans rushed in as they were calling out the absenses. They then got in an argument. No one had any idea what was going on.  You can see it all here.

It was a joke. They have no idea how to run a meeting. And Skelos didn’t recognize Madame President- I mean Senator Stewart-Cousins, as the president. They eventually adjourned sine die (More on that later).

Malcom Smith did state that the Democrats would be calling regular session at noon.

So at this point, I begin to wander the halls of the capitol. I see the usual, Pedro Espada stamping his feet and repeating “I am the President!”, Schneidermann being all lawyery and insisting Pedro Espada definately is not president, and generally nothing of actual note.

So twelve o’clock rolls around and apparently there’s a public leaders meeting. Except, there wasn’t. The Dems gavel in around 12:30 for a 12 o’clock session, which is pretty standard in the world of the New York State legislature. What was Senator Marty Connor, the affable Republican senator from New York City, doing?

Surely, he was with Republicans planning their next move in this political chess match. Nope, he was on Twitter of course!

Surely, he was venting about the Democrats antics to his constituents right? Nope.

At around noon he posted this:

“Come join me and see the first concert of the season, “Head over Heels; The Southern Comfort Band” – 7PM on 79th St.; Shore Road.”

Sweet! That band’s my favorite! Now lets watch their mean rendition of Whipping Post.

That was awesome. Okay, maybe that was totally more important than anything else that was going on, sorry Senator.

Back in the much less exciting chamber though, the Democrats call session and start passing bills. Except, given the 31-31 split, and the fact no one could see any Republicans, there was a lot of confusion. I know I was cursing. They end up passing all the bills they had put out earlier in the day, went to a rules committee to bring more bills to the floor, then passed more bills. All without a single Republican in the chamber, or so it appeared. And here is where the day gets f**ked.

So apparently Senator Padavan, a Republican from Long Island, walked through the chamber to get some coffee because the damn media was blocking him. Wait no he was getting a coke. Except he ended up with a damn V8.

But the democrats ended up counting him as present, which according to the Democrats take on Senate Rules, once he’s counted as present by the clerk, he can be counted towards quorum. There was great debate regarding whether or not he was there, and as indicated in the above links, there were even affidavits signed.

I know what I saw.

The illusive Senator Padavan, in his natural environment.

But, poor Senator Padavan. The guy’s like 80 years old. He has no idea whats going on, for god sake’s he’s been in the Senate since 1973. You get confused. And thirsty. The only one that is more like your grandfather is this guy. If they picked on him I think I’d cry a little.

But that’s the way it goes, the Democrats who claim to protect the rights of the elderly are using this poor old man’s need for 2 servings of vegetables to pass their bills.

They even started celebrating it. “Thank Frank.”

Not that it matters, because Patterson isn’t signing the bills. And he’s got back up too, from the View’s own Star Jones. I know I wouldn’t mess with her.

There was however, an extraordinary session scheduled for 7 pm, because of a court order which was issued that compelled all senators to come to the chamber together and denied a stay from the Republicans. Its alot of legal crap. It was a crazy cherry, on top of the bat-sh*t f***ing insane Sundae that was June 30th in Albany. Just watch the mess.

Senator Skelos is still confused as to what to call Madame President-er Senator Stewart-Cousins, and this day surely leaves them miles from an agreement.

But I know one thing, and this is my final point.

NONE OF THEM HAVE ANY CLUE HOW TO PRONOUNCE SINE DIE.

I have heard it pronounced at least a dozen different ways in the past week, from Senator Malcolm Smith dramatically calling it “sign or die”, to the butchering both he and Senator Skelos gave it in that last post.

Honestly, you’re supposed to be educated leaders of the people. It’s Latin, learn how to pronounce it correctly. It is NOT THAT HARD. If the “leaders” of the Senate can’t take the time to learn how to pronounce a Latin word, how can any of them be trusted to run the “upper” chamber of the third largest state in the union?

The short answer: They can’t.

But they can make great analogies.

“When I’m up against a wall, that’s when Billy Mays performs best.”
-Billy Mays

The title of this post is immensely funny and creative. If you don’t think so, you need to do more research about the man that changed my life. Strangers and friends can say all they want about me, but Billy Mays next to my third grade art teacher, was my greatest inspiration. The reason I am who I am today is because of that beautiful, bearded man. I love Billy Mays and I know that even when I am 90 years old and sitting in a rocking chair, sipping lemonade on the porch of a retirement home, I will still be screaming obscenities at children. And it is because of him.

I cannot fully express the sorrow in my heart at his passing. Anyone who has gotten to know me well understands that every product he sold, every metaphor he yelled, and each gallon of OxiClean he mixed became a part of my soul. Billy Mays was a man who just didn’t give a shit what you thought. And for that, he will be missed.

His playful beating of women and his sexual fetishes were not understood by the world. The media lambasted his genuine love for terrorizing small animals. He will probably always be misunderstood by those who never bothered to just listen to him, without preconceived notions. His eccentricities were comforting to me. They confirmed that it was normal for me to touch myself in public.

His generosity for the common man has inspired me to engage people in my own community. I found his willingness to give to be amazing. At the time of his passing he had given over twenty-five dollars to various charities, mostly to the Girl Scouts of America. He loved cookies. I also think I saw him shopping at the Salvation Army once.

His ability to point at a new product and scream at me through the television was an artform. I have watched literally thousands of hours of informercials trying to replicate the pitch and style of his voice. Falling short, I have only been able to replicate his beard. Billy Mays is unreproducible. No man before or after him has ever had a beard or sold products during an informercial and this does not conflict with anything I have said earlier. And that is the way I will remember him.

Everybody loves fan art. Generally, fan art contains no sodomy. Generally.

I have always agreed with the Billy Mays quote, “You know what, rip me off once, shame on me. But twice? I’m coming after you and taking back what’s mine.” He was such a kind man, a sweet man. The lack of revenge in his voice always made my heart melt and my eyes tear up. On this day, June 28, 2009, we all lost an an American hero. And I lost a father.

As the famous saying goes, “bad things happen in fours” and yet sometimes some things are much worse than others. Billy Mays’ death was the worst of all four in the last week. I forget who else died, but I am sure they were not as important. Some news outlets are reporting that he may have died from head trauma suffered during a hard landing on a plane. That seems about right. And now to end this post with the way Billy Mays wanted to be remembered.

His final words known to the public, “The things from the ceiling started dropping, but I got a hard head.” God Bless you, Mr. Mays.

Last summer I studied abroad in Peru, and for a few weeks I stayed with a host family that lived in the suburbs of Ayacucho, a small city located in the mountains. The family consisted of a married couple and their three young children (all very nice people, by the way). The parents were particularly proud to have an enclosed yard for the kids to play in, as that was an uncommon thing in the neighborhood.

One night the family threw a birthday party for one of the boys, who was around ten years old. They invited a bunch of neighborhood kids over and set up a large inflatable screen in the front yard, along with a DVD projector and several rows of lawn chairs. The mother handed out boxes of popcorn and cups of chicha (a Peruvian juice, often made from corn), and everybody settled in for an evening screening of The Spiderwick Chronicles. Before the feature presentation, however, the father put on something unexpected: A DVD showcasing Michael Jackson’s most famous music videos, back to back.

Ayacucho

I don’t know how notorious Jackson’s legal and personal exploits are internationally, or whether the father was aware of the irony of showing Michael Jackson videos at a kids’ party. I didn’t really feel like bringing the subject up, either out of a sense of taboo or a lack of confidence in my Spanish skills. Either way, once the “Thriller” video began playing my mind shifted focus to the surrealism of the whole situation. I think every Yankee traveling abroad for the first time is at some point shocked by the omnipresence of US culture; for me, going to a movie theater in Lima and seeing The Dark Knight and Definitely Maybe on the marquee was a little like stepping onto the surface of Mars and finding a discarded Coke bottle on the ground. But what made the birthday party doubly absurd was that I myself had somehow never seen any of Jackson’s videos, at least not all the way through. I, like the kids, was experiencing the videos for the first time.

And, as I discovered that night, Michael Jackson music videos are awesome. Everything about them is so beautifully energetic and playful: the music, the often-bizarre imagery, and, of course, Jackson’s incredible dance moves. If you haven’t seen any of the videos, I definitely suggest that you check them out, and at the highest quality possible–although if you can watch them against the backdrop of the Andes at sunset with a cup of chicha in your hand, so much the better.

I can’t pretend to know how the kids felt about the videos; I didn’t conduct interviews or anything. I can say that the DVD generally seemed to hold the children’s attention, and that’s no small feat. Besides, the very fact that the father chose to put Jackson’s videos on shows how broad the King’s appeal was. Whatever you might say about the man’s personal life (and yeah, there’s a lot to say about it), his music is one of those pop cultural monuments that can put a smile on the face of pretty much anyone. His songs were awesome in 1980s USA, they were awesome in 2000s Peru, and thirty years from now they’ll still be awesome wherever you can find a stereo.

RIP.

Its a strange time up here in Albany. For those of you who haven’t heard the New York State Senate is a bit of a mess. But everyone knows about that.

I want to talk about the stuff that falls through the cracks. The BS that no one talks about that goes on that is completely absurd and yet, somehow iconic of how our bureaucratic, corrupt, loop-hole ridden system has come to work. At least to those familiar with it.

So I’m not going to be bringing you insightful commentary or news on gay marriage legislation. You can get that here. Or here. Or…you get the point.

I’m here to point out that while the senate coup was going on, Greg Ball and Cathy Nolan got into a shouting match over Cathy Nolan’s farm bill. Cathy Nolan by the way is an assemblywoman from Queens. That’s New York City. And she has legislation dealing with farms. Fantastic.

I’m here to tell you that there was a public hearing recently on prompt payment contract law for Not-For-Profits. This means that basically, Not-for-Profits contracted for work by the state are paid on time for the work they do. Normally these public hearings are day long affairs with nearly a dozen speakers. But not this one. Why? Because the NFP’s were afraid of further reprisal by the state agencies that administer their contracts. Why further? Because NFP’s are already months behind on payment for their contracts, and are forced to float the state millions of dollars. If they got up and complained about this, they were guaranteed the protection of one RoAnn Destito, chairwoman of the Assembly Government Operations Committee. Now nothing against Assemblywoman Destito, but her protection is a shack in the face of the bureaucratic hurricane of retribution and paperwork that a pissed off state agency can throw at you.

Last but not least I’m here to tell you that Assemblywoman Ginny Fields has a stick which she uses to poke the voting button on her desk. That’s right, she is too lazy to reach the two feet to the button on her desk to actually vote so she has a stick specifically to press the button. She also apparently is a dirt bike enthusiast.

Welcome to New York State Government. I hope you enjoy your stay.

**Editor’s Note (7/2/09): This post was read by Mr. Mandeldove as I expected it would be. It was clear that he was speaking directly to me through the media when he was interviewed, as mentioned later in this post, and I was happy to respond in kind. Mr. Mandeldove’s representatives were unhappy with this post and suggested that a former lover of mine had slept with an athlete. I would like to take the opportunity to emphasize the obvious: this post is a joke. We are happy to have become important enough for Mr. Mandeldove to directly mention in his twitter. Unfortunately, despite Mr. Mandeldove’s request for people to write about him (below) he has chosen to make such action more difficult by turning his twitter to private mode.

As some of you may know, I covered the UConn men’s basketball team last year as part of a class assignment in a blog called, The Center of the Universe. For most of the season, I remained a bottom dweller in the sports world and I was rarely a first source for inside information about the Huskies. That all changed when I started following a goofy bench warmer by the name of Jonathan Mandeldove. It just so happens that I went on Twitter one day and found a “tweet” he had made. I put the information on my blog, my professor talked to the sports department at Fox News (we is also employed), and later on that night it made big news. Mandeldove was considering a transfer from UConn after riding the bench for three years. Well, I recently discovered that Mandeldove gave his own impression of how this all went down, so I feel the need to set the record straight. Mandeldove is the tallest liar ever.

So, let me back up and explain how the feud Mandeldove and I are having through the media actually began. I wrote this post. It was the first in the country to talk explicitly about the possibility of Mandeldove transferring (they did it second)as well as the first to comment on the “tweet” he wrote. In case you are lazy, he is the “tweet” so you can see what all the fuss is about.

You will notice, if you clinked on the link above, that my original post used the “tweet” as a jumping off point and not as a cold reality. Nonetheless, I saw an interesting comment that was made on a publicly available space and used it. Months later, Mandeldove has not transferred and it not seem likely he will.

And then a few days ago, I read this post by my favorite UConn basketball blogger.

First, he references the above mentioned events, although sadly he is unaware that I am person behind all of it. But, then it gets real interesting. He asks Mandeldove about it. This is what he says.

In fact, Mandeldove, a senior, said transferring from UConn was never a consideration. As for the “tweet”, it was just a joke on Mandeldove’s part.

“I saw (the rumor) and I replied with another tweet, ‘Leaving campus right now,’ because I saw someone was following me and posted it up on another website,” he said. “That was a little prank.”

So, Mandeldove wants to clear the air? Okay. He says he made the whole thing up including the first tweet that resulted in me writing a blog post. Let me see if I got this right, he pranked me for writing a post about something he had not yet done. Apparently, I am also a time traveler, and hey, so is Mandeldove.

In case you are curious as to that second “tweet” that he wrote after he saw my post about his first “tweet” here it is.

Here’s the reality: Mandeldove isn’t man enough to admit the truth. He was considering a transfer that night and then after “tweeting” it he either got in trouble or it decided against it and now he wants to say it was all a joke. He is starting to remind me of those guys who say something stupid and regrettable and try to fix it when they sense the crowd is against them with a timid “just kidding.”

Simply put, there’s no way anybody can believe that he pulled a prank on me for something that I hadn’t even done yet.

What is this all really about? Nothing. This whole thing is pretty stupid. It’s childish. I’m cranky because my name didn’t show up in the papers for the “reporting” I did that night or maybe because I have never really enjoyed the scholarship that he takes up as his ass crease on the bench becomes the only lasting proof of his time as a Husky.

So why does everybody else love this guy? I suspect it has something to do with his name. Being able to make dove bird sounds in the student section definitely helps. I mean, he certainly has rejected the association.

I’m not saying that Mandeldove’s life is a joke. But, I’m not not saying it. So, how should I end this post. Well, I think it should end the way it truly began. With Mandeldove’s twitter page.

Please feel free to check it out on your own time. His twitter name is “bigbad32″ which are actually three adjectives that pretty much sum him up.

Speaking of summing him up, have you see his career stats at UConn after three years?

Originally, I planned to challenge Mandeldove to a game of one-on-one to settle this matter. Then I realized that beating him won’t prove anything, plus my knees hurt. So instead, I am just going to post some of his “tweets” followed by snarky comments. And yes, he wrote all of these.

Not only is that incredibly fucking morbid but it is also extremely obvious. The answer is to have your limbs torn off slowly as a bear eats your entrails. Next.

I’m not even sure where to begin with this one. Should I try to explain why this is dumb. It hurts my head just thinking about it. Not to mention the fact that he speaks a language that is not only more difficult to speak but also has a shit-load more words. Okay, I take that back, he may only know a small percentage of them.

Next.

You’re just lucky I’m not your professor.

I just vomited in my mouth.

Okay, this one is actually kind of funny. He makes a good point. Then again, I think he rushes to a conclusion too fast. After all, I don’t watch him and assume that all basketball players out of Georgia suck.

I’m not sure if this an epiphany or if he is responding to somebody else. Either way, he can’t be any worse than Ed Nelson. Please go away and practice your jump shot.

Jonathan Mandeldove, the philosopher.

While Fuller and Form ponder that mystery, us moviegoers might gain some perspective by examining another attempt to cash in on The Birds‘ success: the 1994 made-for-TV sequel, The Birds II: Land’s End. I acquired a used VHS copy of the film (which isn’t currently available on DVD) a few years ago at an awesomely grungy Boston record store, but even my deep-seated love of low-budget horror movies couldn’t motivate me to watch the tape… Until now.

As you might expect, my hesitation was justified. Land’s End is bad–poorly written, far from scary and (with a few exceptions) not quite silly enough to work as unintentional comedy. That’s all to be expected from a film credited to “Alan Smithee,” the pseudonym directors use when they believe their work has been so compromised that they no longer want their names attached to it. In this case, the name is standing in for Rick Rosenthal, a director familiar to me from his work on the Halloween franchise. That’s right, The Birds II is so bad that the director of Halloween: Resurrection didn’t want to be associated with it.

“Land’s End,” by the way, refers not to the clothing catalogue but to a fictional island vacation destination off the coast of New England. Our protagonists, a married couple named Ted and May Hocken, arrive there with their two young daughters at the outset of the film. They’re looking forward to a summer of fun, relaxation and other things that don’t involved getting murdered by birds. That last part will prove problematic, though not for a while, as this sequel spends almost an hour introducing its characters while only hinting at a possible killer-bird issue. The original did basically the same thing, but it boasted unconventional characters that were interesting to watch. The sequel’s main players, on the other hand, are cartoonish clichés.

Brad Johnson really wants to know what this bird is looking at

For example, Ted (Brad Johnson) is a brooding alpha male who’s still too fixated on the death of his young son (an event which is replayed in a dream/flashback) to focus on writing his thesis. His wife May (Chelsea Field) is a computer consultant who feels so neglected by Ted that she is tempted by the borderline-harrassment advances of her current client, Frank (James Naughton), a photographer living in Land’s End. Ted and May’s young daughters are your standard disaster-movie children, cute as buttons and dumb as rocks. Kid, there’s a hawk swooping down at your face; you think you might want to move?

Besides the obvious bird attacks, Land’s End has only two connections to the original film. One is the presence of Tippi Hedren, who played the original’s protagonist but appears only briefly in this movie, and as a different character. The other link is a monologue delivered by the sequel’s standard Crazy Old Man, who notes that a few decades ago birds went homicidal in a West Coast town called Bodega Bay. Ted’s never heard of the incident. Apparently the audience is supposed to accept not only that the situation depicted in the original simply worked itself out (remember that creepy, ambiguous ending?), but also that an abrupt outbreak of hysteria within an entire class of animals, witnessed by hundreds and causing several deaths, never got any major media coverage. Perhaps the old man read about it in a “News of the Weird” column.

Anyway, birds start sporadically attacking the Hockens, so Ted and the geezer go to the mayor for help. Unfortunately the mayor seems to have learned all his lessons in municipal government from the movie Jaws, and refuses to do anything that would jeopardize the town’s tourist industry. The birds, which are smart enough to take down power lines and strong enough to peck through wood and glass, escalate their operations (though, as Fuller said, they can’t do much more than scratch faces and poke eyes).

This all leads to a climactic bird attack on a crowd of Land’s Enders. Remember how I said most of this movie isn’t silly enough to be funny? The last scene is the exception, featuring so many poor blue-screen effects and awkward close-ups that it might as well be a Monty Python sketch. I’ve posted part of the scene below, but be forewarned that this clip includes lots of fake blood and was filmed off of a TV screen. Watch at your own risk.

Awesome. Anyway, after that the movie trails off into a non-ending even less satisfying than that of its predecessor, and my brain began the task of forgetting the whole thing. Alan Smithee wasn’t able to recapture a single bit of the original film’s magic, and I doubt that the guys at Platinum Dunes can either. On the other hand, they can probably do better than this.

If you have ever taken a few minutes to look at the road when not texting on your cellphone you have probably seen those portable speed detectors that the police set up on the side of busy streets to remind drivers of how their speed is compared to the posted speed limit. If you are driving over that limit the giant number turns red and a kitten dies, or so I have read.

So, here’s my problem. Why was this very machine put on a road that only gets a handful of cars each hour? I will tell you why. It’s because a house full of idiots decided that it didn’t make any sense to knock on doors and tell their neighbors that they want them to drive slower. Instead, they harassed police over the phone until they caved and set up the giant speed machine. Good to know where the town’s taxpayer money is going. Honestly? Is this really how you fix a problem you have? I am all for keeping kids safe on residential roads but build a homemade speed bump or something. As far as I am concerned, there is one good way to use this resource when it sits on this quiet, lonely road–to test how fast my co-blogger can run (11 mph).

Anyone who’s followed Super Tuesdays knows that I have a certain affinity for scary movies. When I heard that a horror convention was going to be held in Cromwell, about half an hour away from my home, I immediately marked the date on my calendar. The event interested me partly as an extension of my affection for the genre, but also as a big idiosyncratic spectacle that I wanted to witness. X-Entertainment.com has a fascinating article about a trip to a horror convention; judging by that account, I expected quite an interesting experience.

Upon close inspection, the convention's wristbands didn't make a whole lot of sense.

And the convention was indeed a good time. Unfortunately, I arrived too late to check out any of the merchandise dealers or autograph booths, most of which closed around 6:00. That wasn’t a big deal, though, since I was mainly interested in two Q&A sessions which were held with cast members from the Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street films, respectively. The X-E article had given me a pretty accurate indication of what these would be like: Very loose, almost to the point of raucousness, with many of the actors possibly intoxicated. (Robert Englund, who played Freddy Krueger in the Nightmare films, began an anecdote by saying, “This was two hours ago, before I started drinking vodka.”) Check out this exchange from the Friday Q&A, in which Steve Dash (Jason in Friday the 13th Part 2) is asked about the injuries he sustained on set:

By the way, the woman at the table is Betsy Palmer, who played Mrs. Voorhees in the first two Friday films. Much credit to her for being so accessible and friendly to the fans; she stayed up at the front of the room for several minutes after the panel ended, talking with fans, signing autographs and posing in pictures.

Sorry, Derek

The “big, bald-headed, red-faced motherfucker” is Derek Mears, who played Jason in the 2009 remake and who delivered a brief introduction before the screening later that night. Mears seemed like a pretty nice guy as well, which makes me feel kind of bad that I didn’t like the remake all that much–though, if it makes him feel any better, I thought his performance specifically was good.

Okay, the review proper: Let’s start with the positive. Unlike Rob Zombie’s Halloween remake, the new Friday recognizes and preserves the basic elements which made the franchise work. We’ve got the horny teens, the mysterious hockey-masked killer, and, of course, the creepy abandoned summer camp. It’s a simple formula, but there are several films that managed to screw it up. The remake is nothing if not quintessential, and in a series like this, that’s an asset.

F132009 also boasts the highest production values of any film in the series (except possibly Freddy Vs. Jason), and the amount of technical expertise that went into it ensures crisp visuals and at least a few moderately frightening sequences. The remake isn’t all that scary, but it is nonetheless the scariest Jason movie of the last twenty years, and I suppose that earns it some kudos. However, the big budget sometimes becomes a liability. To my tastes, the cinematography and production design are too glossy and Hollywood-ish for the rustic, gritty subject matter.

The film’s central flaw, though, is the all-important screenplay. Like Halloween (2008), Friday the 13th (2009) has a structure that is completely out of whack. We start off with an awkward opening credits sequence that rushes through the series’ backstory, and then we move on to a group of pot-crazed teenagers who take about half an hour to get picked off by Jason one by one. Then we’re introduced to another group of teenagers who will take about an hour to get picked off by Jason one by one. It’s hard to build tension when the plot keeps pressing restart. Also, who’s supposed to be the protagonist? It could be Amanda Righetti’s Whitney, but she gets kidnapped by Jason and disappears for most of the movie’s middle. It seems like it should be Jared Padalecki’s Clay, the most admirable character, but even he seems to get less screen time than one-dimensional rich douchebag Trent.

Jason--Sometimes scary, sometimes just awkward

Speaking of characters, the new Jason isn’t as bastardized as the new Michael Myers, but his identity as a Jigsaw-style survivalist doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. How did he know how to build his giant underground lair, and where did he get the supplies? Did he go to Home Depot and sign up for the undead man-child discount? That’s just one of the many lapses in logic, perhaps the most ridiculous of which occurs in the final scene. (What the hell are they doing? Why don’t they just wait for an ambulance?) Finally, the plot holes are matched by the clunky dialogue, which ranges from bald-faced exposition to laughable clichés. (“Say hi to Mommy–in hell!” Ugh.)

Any of these individual flaws could have been overcome, but together they amount to a failure of storytelling. And yeah, I know–it’s just a Friday the 13th movie, what did I expect? But even the sequels were charming due to their low budgets and general earnestness, two qualities that the remake lacks. In their place, screenwriters Damian Shannon and Mark Swift (of Freddy Vs. Jason, no surprise there) offer a winking, unfocused checklist of Things That Will Please the Fans. Gory kills? Check. Horror genre in-jokes? Check. Nudity? Check check check (with one of those checks representing Willa Ford, fulfilling the dreams of every twelve-year-old who went through the “I Wanna Be Bad” video frame by frame).

But where is the dramatic build? Where is the understated, eerie atmosphere of Friday the 13th (1980)? Presumably most of us nerds who gathered at the Cromwell Crowne Plaza this past weekend were there because some horror movie, be it A Nightmare on Elm Street or Halloween or any other exemplary scare flick, connected with us on a level deeper than the need to see Willa Ford’s tits. In our effort to recapture that connection, we’ve been given a big-budget chunk of mediocrity that in its slavish adherence to What the Fans Want implicates us in its own existence.

Now that’s scary.

We here at PLS recenlty came across an interesting search engine term used by you to find our blog. Apparently, we were the first blog that popped up on your screen when you searched for “peg leg women fetish.” Well, I hope you found what you were looking for. Quite honestly, neither of us recall actually writing about fetishes or peg legs specifically, though one of us has personally written about breasts at length. Don’t be embarrassed. I am sure you are not the first person to take an interest in the walking-challenged female form and I doubt you would be the last. We want to let you know that we are here to make you feel more comfortable about your personal desires and we want to make sure that there is content available to you.

And while we are at it, they make a foot that you can stick your dick in. You should probably check that out too.

We are sure this is the original design God had in mind.

In all fairness, we probably invited this to happen. I mean if you knew anything about the origin of the name of this blog you would think it’s the only kind of thing we have written about. Sadly, this is not true. And so the first post being written about peg leg women fetishes is this one.

Now that I think about it, I know abosulutely nothing about that fetish. I am aware of balloon fetishes and even something called “cock docking (extremely NSFW)” and yet I have still never heard about your fetish until I went online and found some real material (NSFW).

I don’t want you to leave our blog, assuming you haven’t left already, without getting at least something, so I posted a YouTube video of a woman with one leg doing chores around the house and some home improvement.

With Love and Appreciation,
Pegleg Spinners