On the first day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
A hipster with some chai tea.

On the second day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the third day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the fourth day of Twitter,
Your mother sent to me
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the fifth day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the sixth day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the seventh day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Seven , kanye west rants
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the eighth day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Eight kitties jumping,
Seven farting priests,
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the ninth day of Twitter,
your mother  sent to me
Nine spelling errors,
Eight kitties jumping,
Seven farting priests,
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the tenth day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Ten drunk DMs,
Nine spelling errors,
Eight kitties jumping,
Seven farting priests,
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the eleventh day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Eleven trending topics,
Ten drunk DMs,
Nine spelling errors,
Eight kitties jumping,
Seven farting priests,
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea.

On the twelfth day of Twitter,
your mother sent to me
Twelve Kanye West rants,
Eleven trending topics,
Ten drunk DMs,
Nine spelling errors,
Eight kitties jumping,
Seven farting priests,
Six mommies blogging,
Five perfect tits,
Four @ replies,
Three fail whales,
Two listless dick jokes,
And a hipster with some chai tea!

As you can see from this cover, this novel is the tragic story of a young, purple, gum drop-shaped boy named Gatsby. He was ostracized by family for his incessant makeup use, and thus ran away from home to find a better life for himself. At first he sought shelter in the city, but he found no kinship there. Then, one day, he met a strange masked man holding up a Wendy’s at gunpoint. The man offered Gatsby a share of his stash if he helped in the robbery, so Gatsby agreed and they slaughtered everyone and made off with $300 worth of fast food. That man was John Smith, or as you might know him, the hamburlglar. He took Gatsby to McDonaldland, where he was taken under the wing of Ronald McDonald. McDonald decided to give him a nickname because that’s what ROnald does to all of his bitches. He decided on Grimace. And a legend was born.

Ruling: Overall, I’d say this is probably a really touching and important book. Go read it.

This one is about a woman named Doritt who, despite her little frame, has an amazing ba donkadonk. Unfortunately, she was born with a rare condition in which her four fingers are stuck behind her ear in a strange position in which no normal person would be sitting. Because of the hand thing, her house is an absolute mess and she relies on the help of a hunchback man servant to do things for her. Soon they fall in love, but it is a forbidden love. For the king had decreed that hunchbacks not fornicate without the possession of a life alert bracelet (because of the risk of backs breaking). So they do it anyway. Then: tragedy. The servant is struck down by a stray golf ball, and with no identification, his body is dumped into the river. Meanwhile, Little Doritt waits for his return to give him the model ship she made for him, still unaware of the accident.

Ruling: This book is rubbish.

This one is about a three headed sea monster named Beowulf. He spent his days chilling out and arguing with himself until one day some douchebag Swedish dude rolled in and was all “WHERE’S THE MEAD?” and Beowulf was like “Excuse me, sir. But I’m trying to watch Jeopardy. I don’t drink mead. I’m a sea monster.” But the Swedish guy wasn’t having any of it. He also wasn’t having any pants. So he pulled out a bow from somewhere (it never was really stated, but I have an idea), and shot a feces arrow in Beowulf’s eye, which was totally a dick move.

In the end Beowulf knocked the swedish guy into the ocean and he drowned. But unable to live with the shame and humiliation of life under an eye patch, he kills himself by purposely lodging a cruise ship in his throat.

Ruling: I’d say it’s worth a read, if nothing else for the subtext about abortion.

This is pretty straightforward. There’s a hobo that lives in the woods. He’s wise, and everyone knows it because of his beard. But he doesn’t share any of his wisdom because he’s always in the woods looking contemplative and watching teenagers have sex. Until one day he realizes he doesn’t have much more time to live. So he begins to give away all of his earthly possessions (a comb, a member’s only jacket, used tube of chap stick). That takes five minutes. Then, having nothing else to do, he does a bunch of crossword puzzles and blow before curling up in a cave and dying.

Ruling: Pretty existential stuff, but far too hackneyed in the delivery. Kill it with fire.

It’s that time again, folks. The time when Congress decides to back away from its promise to repeal Don’t ask, Don’t Tell,” opting instead to pander to the evangelical electorate. Sure, they haven’t said that much yet…but it’s coming. Why? Because It’s one thing to give lip service to ending a civil injustice, it’s another to actually do it. Doing it might piss off the a block of [mouth breathing] voters.

But they want to end it, right? They’re just being held back by the Republicans. Wrong. Apparently no one on either side has the balls to piss off the proselytizers. They don’t vote their morals, their conscience. They vote for a small, bigoted, percentage of the population. And it seems like very few are immune to this sentiment. Even Barack Obama has succumb to this, saying:

“I want to make sure that when we revert ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ it’s gone through a process and we’ve built a consensus or at least a clarity of what my expectations are so that it works.”

I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to be part of a consensus with such intolerant people. And allowing gays to openly serve in our armed forces isn’t some kind of experiment chemical agent that “may or may not work.” Liberty always works. And as for expectations, it’s simple: the expectation is for everyone to be treated the same.

In 1948 President Harry Truman signed an executive order, bypassing Congress entirely, to integrate the military. And so, just like that, all races were treated equally in the eyes of all branches of military. Curiously enough, Truman wasn’t concerned with courting the people who wanted to deny African Americans that right. He didn’t postpone it for fear that it wouldn’t work. He just did what he knew to be right.

Why has this been difficult for us? Maybe it’s because this is an issue that lacks the one thing that captivates all Americans: arbitrary celebrity involvement. So. Here’s wat we do. We get Lindsay Lohan into the military. Wait. Is she still gay? No? Okay. We get Ian McKellen, and draft him into the marines. Nobody hates Ian McKellen. He’s like your gay grandpa.

Ian McKellen looks good in uniform.

So we get Ian McKellen into the military, and we have him protest important strikes by standing in front of strategic targets yelling “YOU SHALL NOT PASS” in only a pair of boxer shorts that read “No on h8.” He will be kicked out of the military. This is not a defeat.

Instead, it will cause people worldwide to say “Dude. They kicked my gay grandpa out of the military.” Instant outrage. Like the tea party with literacy, morals, a clearly defined purpose, and a propensity to wear assless chaps. A true grassroots movement revolving around Magneto (by the way, he could be used to magnetically pull the guns away from the Taliban. THINK ABOUT THAT ONE, GOVERNMENT).

Anyway, the truth is that this is actually the more complicated scenario when it comes to ending DADT. The easier option would be to cut the crap and take a stand. That doesn’t include foot dragging or flip-flopping. It just takes being decent human beings. Do we have that in us?

Name: – So I know what to yell from my bedroom if I’m ever struck down with scabies (quite possible).

Height: – So I can calculate how many cinderblocks I’m going to need for this really cool sex move*

Weight: – I need to know that if we get into a horrible argument, buying you a meatball sub will rectify things.

Phone number: – This is for sexting. Duh.

If you could be any type of animal, what would you be?: – If you’d be a giraffe, I might need you to clean my rain gutters.

What is your favorite number?: – This is the number of times I’ll ask what animal you’d be if you refuse to answer the question.

Who is your biggest role model?: -If you said Shari Lewis, know that I’m turned on.

If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?: -Gary, Indiana? ZOMG ME TOO.

You are a woman, correct?: – You can never be too careful.

Batman or Superman?: – Could be a deal breaker.

How many fingers am I holding up?: – Trick question! I only have toes.

Have you ever done time?: – And, if so, was it good in bed?

What are your thoughts on Dario Argento’s body of work?: – If you don’t know who that is, just write “grapefruit”.

What is your stance on people who write things like “grapefruit” just because they were told?: – This is to weed out idiots.

Orange juice- Pulp or no pulp?: – It’s a lot better than milk with pulp.

How many teeth do you have?: – I have my reasons.

Why do you think fools fall in love?: – besides avoiding looking like morons during the couples’ skate.

Are you flexible?: – Because you could wear my hand-stitched Stretch Armstrong costume for Halloween.

Who’s your favorite New York housewife?: -Let’s watch Bravo together and take opposing sides!

What are your political beliefs?: -Because you might be a sheep.

Want to set up a ponzi scheme?: – FUCK YEAH YOU DO.

What happened to Tom Arnold?: – If you answer “life”, I’ll know you’re really deep.

Alfred Hitchcock once said there’s nothing sexier than a woman fully covered showing some ankle, what say you?: – He was fat, so who really cares what he says.

*when we reach that **level of the relationship.

**immediately.

Also: here’s an armadillo.

This week Megan Fox was axed from the “Transformers” film series by director Michael Bay. She hasn’t complained. Why? Because it’s comparable to having some contract where you have to sit around inside the a medieval shit trench, and then somehow being pardoned and getting able to leave. Speculation suggests that it was spurred by recent comments calling Bay “Hitler.” This got me thinking.

Do we really have any proof that Bay isn’t Hitler? Let’s step back and examine some eerie similarities:

1) They both love explosions

I know most of you are familiar with Hitler’s cuddly side, but in actuality he was an avid fan of explosions. Particularly explosions that involved the Jews or Allied forces. He blew a lot of shit up. Michael Bay also seems to like explosions. Plus, I have it on good authority that Bay purposely avoids “Seinfeld” reruns, for what that’s worth.

2) Hitler had shitty taste in movies

Hitler was pretty notorious for not liking good movies. Whenever Goebbels would rent “Gone with the Wind” Hitler would flip shit and screams of “Sie täuschen! Ich sagte, “‘zu mieten; Superbabies: Babygenies 2′ ! Fleischstock-Sockenmarionette!” would be heard all throughout the Eagle’s nest. Michael Bay has similar tastes (See also: any Michael Bay movies).

3)  Kink

I saw a documentary that claimed Hitler enjoyed shitting on his secretary’s chest. Judging from that creepy smirk exhibited in the photo above, I don’t think it’s off base to say Bay might be in the same category.

4) Robot fetishes

Did you know Hitler had a robot butler? He did. Every morning it would serve him his bowl of BLITZKRIEG! (part of your balanced breakfast). Bay is noticeably turned on by robots and, occasionally, overtly racist robots.

5) Subliminal messages

When you take away “T” “R” “A” “N” “F” “O” “M” and “E” from Transformers, you are left with S.S. Has your mind just been blown? Goddamn right it has.

There are some who’d say this is all just hearsay. They’re right. But do you really want to take that chance? Do you truly want to risk having the $9 from your ticket go to funding some sort of secret robot genocide squad? Do you?? I didn’t think so.

Don’t buy a ticket to Transformers 3; don’t support neo-nazism.

SO…you’re a fledgling screenwriter. You need quick money. This quick money is attainable to you. How? Syfy original movies. Ironically, writing  a Syfy original movie is also great opportunity to get nominated for an emmy start hating yourself. So we need to start at the beginning.

You can start out by choosing an inanimate object. Any old object will do. This thing, whatever you choose, will be coming to life and killing professional actors  your Applebees hosts as they scream in terror. For example, if you choose a pencil, logic dictates that your screenplay will probably end up being titled “Pencil Monster!” The exclamation point is necessary. Because surely anyone who saw a pencil monster would say so with a fair amount of conviction. So anyway, your object is going to come to life and kill people in all sorts of great ways. The next step is figuring out how.

You could always have nuclear waste haphazardly dumped on it by dubiously irresponsible employees. The most common and easiest method to explain your creatures sudden liveliness is to not explain at all. That exposition is probably going to take up valuable time for the thespians to develop their character anyway. So, essentially, just have the killings start.

Now, You don’t have to do an inanimate object. If you choose to not go that route, you’re dealing with a flesh and blood creature. It can be any living creature. Take that creature and make it 5 times bigger than it actually is. Drizzle it in blood. Then you add a “super” in front of it. So, let’s look at a regular sequence and then Syfy the shit out of that thing. Regular:

JESSIE

What could have done this?

BRIAN

I’ve seen tracks like this before. At my uncle’s cabin up North. He’d take us up there for bible studies like any other normal uncle.

JESSIE

What?

BRIAN

Never mind. The important thing is that I recognize these are squirrel tracks.

There you have it. Now the Syfy version of that same scene:

JESSIE

Im scared, Brian. What could have done this?

BRIAN

It’s okay, Jessie. I’ve seen tracks like this before. Let me take my shirt off.

JESSIE

Great idea. But what are the tracks?

BRIAN

These are the tracks of a super squirrel.

JESSIE

Let’s do it.

BRIAN

K.

See what I did there? Careful manipulation of the audience. Very delicately crafted. Now, if you go forward with this you’re going to need a sheriff. This is either an old man or a young woman. That’s how it goes. They never know anything. You can kill them if you want. But you’ll also need a cast of colorful and stereotypical townspeople characters. There’s the owner of a general store with one leg and a bucket hat. There’s an old school teacher who speaks with a lisp and collects marionettes. Whatever. These people show up sporadically and act suspicious. Example:

BRIAN

Mr. Wilkins?

WILKINS

Huh?

BRIAN

What are you doing at the aqueduct at 3 in the morning in lederhosen and clogs with a shovel and a beaker marked “secret ingredient”?

WILKINS

Hunting deer.

Suspicion attained. But note that these people are eccentric, so any one could be a red herring. Because you’re a genius. Then, your main characters (a divorced man trying to get his life back on track and a small town journalist who falls for him) will contact a specialist who deals with whatever is killing people. So, in the case of “Pencil Monster!”, a graphite guy. Or something. In the end he’s going to determine some crazy way to kill the pencil monster/super squirrel/ plastic cup demon. This should be accomplished by a really cheaply done explosion. Preferably.

So, all the time in between, you should sprinkle sequences of people finding bodies, the protagonists running around, and two conversations that are written in a way as to give the appearance of being deep when they’re really not. Other than that, it’s up to you. If you write something at leat 60 pages and follow these guidelines, your film will not only be made, but it will be played repeatedly on Saturday nights. Enjoy your money and life of guilt.

As of this writing, over 5,000 people (myself included) have committed to deleting their facebook pages on the 31st of May, as part of a “Facebook Exodus” to take their private information into their own hands. Yesterday I submitted my request for deletion. After a 14 day incubation period, so long as I don’t log in,  Facebook will delete the page. I’ve already donated money to Diaspora, a proposed open source social network, and look forward to joining it. Until that point I will be forced to go without knowing what all my friends are doing or which Miley Cyrus lyrics particularly inspire them. It’s going to be arduous.

There are temporary solutions. I’m routinely hanging a white board around my neck that can be adorned with things like “EATING A SANDWICH” for when I’m eating a sandwich. Or “Gonna read some Upton Sinclair and then get KRUNKKK” for when I’m passing a particularly classy starbucks. You can poke people on the subway and hand out fancy cordial invitations for people to join your ninja army. When you want people to see a video you can burn it to a DVD and then shuttle over to their house to watch it like your great-grandfather did when he wasn’t building the combustion engine and backhanding wenches (Yes, I know about that).

Essentially, we have to make sacrifices for our privacy. At first I thought  losing Facebook would be one of those…but the more I thought about it the less I cared. Facebook had essentially become a gigantic tool to help me lose respect for friends as I see them slowly reveal details about themselves to the public. Seeing that Betty became a fan of public sanitation or that Greg has joined a group supporting Arizona’s new immigration law just makes my faith in humanity slowly plummet. Not only do I not care, but I don’t care nearly enough to willingly farm my data out to the first buyer.

It might be tough, but you have to ask yourself: what am I really missing out on and is it truly worth it? I would say no. Maybe you’ll have more time to read a book, stroll outside, or actually talk with people face to face. Maybe you’ll just spend that much more time on Twitter (*cough*).

People need control over their personal information. And you should be able to wait until you have that control.

As British Petroleum continues its frantic bid to plug the oil leak at the bottom of the ocean like a small child desperately trying to ram a square peg into a round hole, no one seems to know who to blame. BP doesn’t want to blame itself, yet has failed thus far to come up with a suitable alternative scapegoat. Being the corporate shill that I am, I got this. If BP is going to survive this thing there’s only one thing to lie blame on: Plankton.

You can’t blame BP for trying to get the oil out of the ground. There’s a market demand for that. What you can TOTALLY blame is Plankton, without which we wouldn’t have oil to begin with. Think about this. If Plankton hadn’t been such lazy fucks and discovered a way to not die, crude oil wouldn’t exist (also, plankton would probably rule the world). But no. What did they do? They pretty much just sat around and then died, leaving their carcasses to be ravaged by time and turned into petroleum (next time you load a porn site and reach into the vaseline jar, think of the billions of plankton that died for your dirty, dirty habit.)

So, BP throws a couple billion dollars into the rounding up and executing of plankton. Imagine BP executives smiling as they cut the ribbon on a brand new Plankton death camp on the front page of the New York Times. That’s great press.  People need to understand that Plankton A) drop the ball by not contributing society during life, and B) created the very oil that is spilling into the ocean at this moment. In essence, Plankton need to become more universally hated than the Nazis or Ke$ha. It’s a tall order, but it’s possible.

So there you have it. I believe I’ve proven time and time again that I’m a public relations master, and I can’t quite understand why more CEOs don’t follow my advice in this area. I’m pretty damn good at weaseling out of things. Case in point: I’m the one who ate your last brownie. But I had to because I needed to up my blood sugar level. So you can’t be mad at me. See? BANG. Done.

For all the “penguins and cuddly” schtick you’ve heard or seen, how many people have you seen actually cuddling with them? None? Me either. It appears penguins aren’t actually big on cuddling. These things would rather sit on an egg for days than give you a hug. What kind of friend is that? Not a good one. Furthermore, I don’t know how many times I’ve been snubbed by penguins. At least marmosets will look at you. Penguins? Penguins are all “Oh, did you say something? Because I was too busy swimming around like a douchebag.”

Not to mention the egos on those things. I can see wearing black and white to a business function, but to slide around on the ice? Give me a break. I will not be condescended to by some pussy bird that can’t even fly. Yeah, I went there. For all their squeaking and righteousness, they can’t even get off the ground with those demented flipper things. Have you ever even seen them clean up after themselves? I doubt it. Because they’re barbarians, staring silently from behind those beady little penguin eyes.

Even if they hadn’t pecked by brother to death with their evil penguin beaks (they did. Did I mention that?), I’m confident I’d still have a shit load of reasons to expose them for the rude, disgusting, unethical animals that they are (they cheat at Old Maid. I mean, who does that? Honestly.)

But, yeah. Fuck penguins.