Up Against The Wall MotherFuckers

When I become your beloved Philosopher-King -- and I will be, once this hangover wears off -- there are going to be a few changes 'round this place. There are certain people that seriously need to attend "re-education camp". I will not kill them, for I will be a benevolent dictator, loved by all but most especially and explicitly by several ladies at once.
People of normal sanity need not fear my whisky fuelled mood swings but several people have earned my wrath as of late. Most notably:

MARGARET LOPER,
who wrote a letter, published in the June 2 issue of People magazine:
"I do not understand how Jennifer Aniston can be interested in John 'love 'em and leave 'em' Mayer. He has blown through so many sweet girls. I hope Jen wises up."
Margaret...if you have enough time to commit that banality to print, you have enough time to labour in my undergound Nethicite mines. Umm...I mean, attend an informational week-end retreat where you can be shown the error of your ways.
And that goes for anyone else who writes a letter to People that doesn't include the salutation "Dear Fuckwads" Or anyone wondering why I was reading People magazine.

That fucking MARMADUKE,
who seriously glamourizes disobedience among dogs. Don't we have a hard enough time keeping Great Danes off of our sofas and not chasing the mail-man who is, afterall, only trying to earn an honest living, pay his allimony, keep his mother in a rest home that hasn't been seen on Sixty Minutes and afford a bottle of scotch after a long day of hauling flyers, bills and pleas for money from African orphans and the NDP? With the internet, he has no job security. Do you think he doesn't know that MARMADUKE? Why do you continue to torment him? Off to pull carts full of Nethicite in the mines with you! Shit, I mean, off to a seminar where we sit down, talk about our feelings in a proactive way and devise ways to become more tolerant.

PEOPLE who get cashiers to check their LOTTERY TICKETS for winners while you stand in line BEHIND THEM trying to buy SMOKES,
because my time is less valuable than yours. We all know lottery tickets are a tax on the stupid - unlike cigarettes which are a tax on the self destructive -- but who knew they were too stupid or lazy to read some numbers in a newspaper and then check to see if the were on the piece of paper they bought. They won't be as lazy when they are sentanced to the Nethicite mines, err, I mean sent to a esteem building conference where we learn to appreciate the value of other people's time.

FRED PHELPS and the WESTBORO BAPTIST CHURCH of TOPEKA, KANSAS,
would have made my list - if I had a list - long before this. He and his followers at the Westboro Baptist Church (known as the WBC for brevity's sake) have picketted gay-bashed-to-death Matthew Sheppard's funeral (you may remember them as the charming folk holding tasteful GOD HATES FAGS placards). They picketted dead American soldiers funerals - dead because of America's alleged tolerance of the homos. They celebrated the deaths of Princess Diana (AIDS charities) and the Queen Mum (something to do with worshiping false idols, but I didn't really get it) in press release form. They are douchebags ... Attention loving douchebags.
They hate Ronald Reagan and Jerry Falwell for being too liberal. Seriously.
Usually I'm a 'Live and Let Live' kinda heathen but this time - as a fellow potty mouthed athiest and filthy blasphemer - it's personal.

The WBC’s Press Release declared,
“George Carlin - the filthy blasphemer - the obscene potty-mouth skeptic, agnostic, and profane atheist - who had nothing but disdain for God and the Bible all the days of his tragic life - is now, at this minute and for ever writhing and screaming in exquisite pain - pleading for mercy from that God he flipped off while performing for HBO for lucre. Carlin made lots of money making fun of God; now he must deal with God - face to face - for ever. ‘The Lord thy God repayeth them that hate him to their face, to destroy them; he will not be slack to him that hateth him, he will repay him to his face.’ Deut. 7:10. When Carlin died yesterday (June 22) he split Hell wide open at once”

First, how can you be both an agnostic and an athiest? it would be like describing Fred Phelps as a moderate and fundamental Christian.

Second? Aw, Fuck it. There is no second. I'm not even going to pretend I won't send them to the Nethicite mines where Fred Phelps and his ilk will be constantly anally violated by Nethicite miners and their pet HOWLER MONKEYS who deserve a break every now and then. Sodomize on, MARMADUKE. Sodomize on.

George Carlin Dead at 71

Shit
Piss
Fuck
Cunt
Cocksucker
Motherfucker
Tits

Did Playing the Joker Drive Heath Ledger Mad?

No. it didn't.
Quit being an idiot.

*** SPOILER ALERT - THE STRENGTH THE PANDA NEEDED WAS INSIDE HIM ALL ALONG!! ***

A dazzling exploration of faith, politics and sexuality in China soon after the start of the Yuan Dynasty, KUNG FU PANDA makes the point that, maybe He is lost, maybe abducted, or maybe absconded, but God is certainly gone.
Self reliance is the central theme in Dreamwork's latest animated epic. Po, the titular panda (voiced by Jack Black) is chosen by a turtle as the Dragon Warrior and must look inside himself to find the strength to save his village from a villain at the gates.
In a sense Po is the literary descendent of HAMLET - charged with a duty that he both knows and feels is right, yet is unwilling to carry out.
Mr. Black is a bravely idiosyncratic actor whose extravagantly mannered Ignatio in NACHO LIBRE was much talked about. He brings a showy energy to the panda's vacillations, turning introversion into an extroverted activity that certainly commands the attention.
The characters (particularly Seth Rogen's Mantis and David Cross' Crane) are presented in such a way as to give us a good understanding of the complexities and the pain of their choices. We are given a rare glimpse, beyond the dialog among characters, to the inside of their minds - a look into the processes that are leading them to the choices they will end up making. These conflicts and the way they are presented are what make the drama so effective, and the comedy, which is plentiful, so necessary. Dustin Hoffman deserves special praise as some sort of rodent, his most believable role in a decade.
Ablaze with intellectual vigour, political passion and incendiary emotional energy, KUNG FU PANDA is a beautiful work of art that everyone should see.

Pictured Below, Hipster and His Latest Friend Debate a Carbon Emissions Tax

As a newly inaugerated Man of Leisure, I find my days fill up pretty quickly. I mean, there's watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, re-mastering the three-chord magnificence that is Hotel Yorba, obsessively cleaning random things and drinking way more whisky than I think I should but much less whisky than I thought I would.
Never once in the last five days did I wear khaki pants that show-off that I didn't shake my cock well enough after taking a leak. I did try to charge Joan $4.99 to make sure the garbage made it out to the curb correctly. Old habits die hard.
I would like to thank the peope who have recently gifted me with BBC comedies on DVD, cigarettes, Family Circus anthologies, Stuffed Simian Companions, Doesoevsky novels and pepperoni.
The love has not been unappreciated but it has resulted in unreturned phone-calls. I don't answer the phone. I just don't. In a perfect world I'd have a girl who did that for me. Her blouse would be low-cut and her voice would be suitably breathy. Quite frankly, the ringing of the phone scares me and I won't answer unless I'm well drunk or think I could make a few shekels.
So don't phone before noon unless you are offering me money.

Scarlett Johannson
Anywhere I Lay My Head
Atco Records

Hmmm ... twenty-three-year-old starlet ...gets a record deal ... and releases an album full of Tom Waits cover songs.

We all knew that this was going to be either a work of utter transcendence or a foul, hang-over black pile of bowel movementry.

We were wrong. It's neither.

Some of the songs are truly God Awful - "No One Knows I'm Gone" and "Who Are You" being the worst offenders. I completely dismissed this release the first time I heard it - mocking it mercilessly to friends if my drunken memories are correct. But since I commandeered the radio at work and tuned it to an "Adult Alternative" station, the title track has grown on me. I decided to revisit the album and found that "I Wish I Was in New Orleans" and "Town With No Cheer" also have their charms. That charm was just obscured by the various studio shennanigans needed to mask Ms. Johansson's, ahem, average voice.

Please don't misunderstand that a beautiful singing voice is a requirement for a good Tom Waits song. Witness, well, Tom Waits. The beauty of Waits songs are that, for five minutes, you believe Waits is one of the skid-row bums or carny-folk that populate his songs.
I just can't picture Scarlett as a hobo. She can't pull off a line like "How do your pistol and your bible and your sleeping pills go?" without causing excessive giggling in this writer.

I respect Johansson as an actress - I enjoyed her in Lost In Translation, Ghost World and Home Alone 3. Interviews reveal her to be smarter than most people with perfect breasts. She apparently has exceptional taste in music. She really, really likes cheese, according to Wikipedia (God, I love Wikipedia). Anywhere Scarlett wants to lay her head - especially my lap - is fine with me. As an unemployed, bald, kinda doughy thirty-nine-year-old, I do realize my window is rapidly closing.

I really, genuinely, truly, kinda wanted this to work.

It didn't. But neither does it suck as many monkey balls as I feared.

Which was seven.

Awesomely Disturbing!

I don't think there is anything I can add to this.
Pipedream Productions has an entire line of these inflatable sex dolls. Paris, Lindsay, Tori Spelling (Tori Spelling?) ... all your favourite celebrities are at pipedreamproducts.net. Just follow the link to your right (NSFW - and quit loafing).
Three Fabulous Love Holes? Outstanding.

Consider this my two weeks notice, mutha fuckas...

I quit my low-paying, spirit-breaking, pushing credit cards on poor people job!

"When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."

Or, as Tommy Jefferson said to the tyrant King George III, "Fuck this baby...I shan't sell your crappy electronics or extended warranties any longer." I may be paraphrasing this.

This summer I shall make my way using only my wits, guile and perhaps a chainsaw. If you need any chainsawing, guiling or wittiness around your property ... contact me through this blogsite.

Thirteen days to go. As my punishment for leaving I'll have to wear khaki pants and repeatedly listen to Carrie Underwood and Toby Keith songs.

Mind you, wearing khaki pants and listening to the same ten crappy country songs over and over was part of my job description.

Unless they find a way to make pants khakier or cram more references to Jesus and America into George Strait songs ... I Will Survive.

I've Learned a Lot in Thirty-Eight Years...

...so I'm fairly sure I'll be asked to speak at a commencement address sometime in the future. Granted, it may be as a cautionary tale. I'm not what you would call 'successful' but I do have life experience (I'll mail $5 cash money to the first person with the appropriate Simpson's response and mailing address. Hint: cranberry silo).
Never mind, this is what I would tell the kids were I asked. It's in fact what I yell at everyone in the corner of Fittons and West Street whenever I have a day off.

I'm pretty sure, on your death-bed, that you won't regret having phoned in sick to go fishing.

I've never regreted taking pills I've randomly found. Worst case scenario? They have no effect.

Read as much as you can if only to make people think you are smart when you watch Jeopardy.

Watch as many documentaries as your attention span will allow. See above.

Try to have a back up plan. You probably are not as talented as you think you are.

Just once, add a gratuitous picture of the Mr. T twins posing with Curious George on top of a Camaro to your blog.

If you don't hate someone, tell them just one time before they snuff it.

Ambien and vodka do not mix unless you want a noggin-sized hole in the drywall next to the toaster

Always have marijiuana on hand but don't smoke at work unless you are a dish-washer, graphic designer or baby photographer.

Wanna pretend you understand jazz music and impress bohemian chicks? Learn this phrase - 'Jelly Roll Morton may have invented it but, brother, Ornette Coleman perfected it!"

Professional critics are full of horseshit. Celine Dion, Titanic and Oprah's Book Club are as valid as Husker Du, Repo Man and the books Brian read in college while ripped on rat poison and cheap beer. Art is how it affects you.
Except for According To Jim.
That show is just plain shitty.

The best alcoholic mix for slushies? Rye whiskey.

You're Welcome.

.......OUT OF MY WAY...I'M ANGIE DICKiNSON!

The next time your pharmacist tells you that Dextromethorphan is a 'creativity drug', spit in her face and call her a liar for me!

It's a nasty, nasty drug that makes you enjoy Japanese monster movies (giant flying turtles rawk!), read biographies of Charles Schultz and neglect blogs. A thousand pardons to all who threatened, tickled, cajoled and whined at me. Please forgive me ... but surely if Gamera, who was once "the enemy of all Japan but now he is a friend to the children" can change ... I can change too.

The Dextromethorphan (or DM, as I call it) actually had me believe - for a split second - that the Toronto Maple Leafs could either make the play-offs or get a decent draft pick. Silly hipster. Now all I have is the schadenfreude directed at Ottawa Senators fans whose team has gone directly into the toilet.

My loyal homo following can disregard the above comment, but Mark - I know you're feelin' me buddy.
(Homos ... you just can't feel me ... unless I'm quite drunk and you tell me I'm pretty. By the way, quit saying 'pretty', leaving a long pause, then saying 'pretty ugly' under your breath. That's a douche-bag thing to do.)

The DM even made me neglect my job as a salesman of quality electronics that everyo ... oh fuckit, I can't even complete this sentence (note the entendre) with a straight face. I sell crap. Absolute crap. If you are my friend, do not buy anything I sell you. If you're really my friend I won't even try.

Without the help of a telethon held by Fergie Oliver or the guy who used to play Harrigan the Leprechaun (H A Double R I G A N spells HARRIGAN) I kicked the DM monkey off my back. It takes 475 ml of Wiser's, 27 cigarettes and fondling my beloved new knife called Vendetta every damn day.

But it's worth it. Kids ... don't go down the Dextromethorphan trail. Stay relatively clean.

It's worth it.

In the long run.

I suppose