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Forgoing Facebook

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.

I’ve been going to the zoo my entire life. The penguins have always been my favorite. I used to run to the penguin exhibit first thing, eager to get a blue plastic penguin mold or a picture of a penguin pressed onto my penny. I’d laugh and point and dance as they jumped from their little beach front and into the toilet bowl cleaner blue water. They’ve been stars of movies like “March of the Penguins” and “Happy feet” and “Surf’s up”, acting all cute and cuddly. But you know what I’ve come to find out? Penguins are pretty much assholes.

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.

A while back I posted a translation to the song “Sex Room” by that master of melodies Ludacris (He’s really giving Wagner a run for his money). That particular post has gotten a lot of attention. I think this is because everyone else was afraid to admit they didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. This time, I’ve taken the liberty of translating “My Chick Bad” which, as you’ll see, turns out to be very contradictory. There’s lots of harping on how awful his girlfriend is, but then how she’s great. I don’t get it. Enjoy nonetheless.

[Chorus]
My female companion is dubious
My female companion is of low economic means
Yet Mmy female companion is the envy of yours
[repeated]
My female companion is dubious, far more dubious than yours
My my female companion is dubious, far more dubious than yours
My my female companion is dubious, far more dubious than yours

[Ludacris – Verse 1]
What i’m trying to espouse here is that my girlfriend is not good
She is not well-to-do by any means
My female companion can do things yours merely dreams of
Yet my female companion is many times worse than yours
My girlfriend, she does things I struggle to articulate
Her pompousness knows no boundaries
Her body will not surrender
So silence yourself, dolt. You know not of what you speak.
My female companion, do tell if you have laid eyes on her
She always brings sporting equipment like prominent tennis players
Both her top and her belt are of matching hues (white).
With all white jeans, her body resembles a dairy product
She has no time to toy with you, as she is an adult
My female companion is dubious, ergo, you can tell yours to vacate these premises.

[Chorus]

[Ludacris – Verse 2]
Now your female companion may be ill but mine is ailing faster
She fornicates openly and can consume massive amounts of liquor without becoming sick
She will render your female companion unconscious and proceed to scuffle
She strikes much like Elin Nordegren, the famous Swedish super model
Yes, she can be a tad rapid in her methods
Other females would be wise to cover their bosoms
She has numerous female comrades, all with questionable mental stability
They march much like participants in the Macy’s Thanksgiving day parade
I inflate balloons for her as if she were a small child
This is to test her cognitive dissonance before drawing my weapon
I am not,however, referring to Homer Simpson
This girl is so dastardly, my entire posse wants to partake in sex acts with her

[Chorus]

[Nicki Minaj]
Yo, now all sorts of females want to become my kindred spirit
But I take evasive maneuvers with them
I insult them thoroughly and fit them inside a garbage bag
I run as if I’m engaged in a WMBA game
On Friday the 13th, inside my basement, we’ll be reenacting the horror film of the same name
Get into bed and grasp a stuffed animal tightly
In nightmare on Elm Street, the character of Freddy was played by sir Robert Englund
(My female companion is dubious)
When chefs cook for me, they all tell me my footwear needs to be institutionalized
The mental Asylum is looking for me
You are clearly a novice
I’m in in some sort of purple device of my own making. Woman, you are quite a fan.

[Chorus]

Check out this stud. Does he look familiar? You think you’ve seen him on a popular reality show? Or perhaps playing professional football? Maybe staring into your eyes from across a crowded coffee shop? Well you’re wrong. This Barry Van Dyke, son of the immortal Dick Van Dyke. That’s right. Caractacus fucking Potts, my friends. Mr. Toot Sweets himself. This is his offspring.

So you may ask yourself…”Why haven’t I seen this guy more? He clearly has devilishly good looks and impeccable acting chops.” Well, I don’t know either. But I’m pretty sure it has something to do with an illuminati plot to cancel “Diagnosis Murder.” Mostly because the Illuminati hate Scott Baio, which is admirable. Still. After that, Barry has pretty much been lying low. And if we can’t officially blame the Illuminati, I have no choice but to blame TMZ.

TMZ, with their self righteous correspondents waiting inside Geo prizms up to their knees in big mac wrappers for days to get a shot of Cameron Diaz.  TMZ, with their fancy glasses of coca cola and their bendy straws. TMZ, with their refusal to treat Heidi Montag like the delicate queen that she is. And yet, it seems they have no time for Barry Van Dyke. LOOK AT THAT MAN’S LEATHER JACKET. Then tell me whether or not you think he belongs on television. The answer, obviously, is hell yes.

I think you’re missing out on an opportunity to increase your viewership by tenfold, particularly in the old women demo.  And really, that’s the demo you need to capture anyway. Old ladies love Barry Van Dyke. Aspercreme and Barry Van Dyke. And okra. But mostly Barry Van Dyke. I believe I’ve made my case perfectly clear. You TMZ people are signing your cancellation by neglecting a celebrity of his caliber.  Good day.

Halloween is my favorite time of year. I get depressed when it’s not Halloween. I love the crisp smell of the air, the colorful leaves, and the telling of scary stories. But more than anything I love mocking your children when they come to my house in their awful costumes. So I thought I’d start early this year. Let’s begin.

The Constipated Thing

So here’s what happens when Homer Simpson has sex with some type of rock pokemon, and it’s pretty much one of the scariest things I’ve seen in recent memory. If your child honestly thinks The Thing looks like this, it’s a testament to public schooling. I’m also not quite sure why he’s trying to aggressively hump the air without the use of his arms, as this is not a talent I look for in super heroes. But from the torso down this is pretty much a milk man uniform. So if being a hero doesn’t work out, there’s always a job in that industry.

Homeless Batman

I’d like to make it clear that if you show up to my house dressed like this, you will not be receiving candy. In fact, I might throw a paper weight at you. This is a truly piss poor attempt. I don’t care if you spend your mornings fishing things out of Krispy Kreme’s dumpster. That’s not an excuse to shirk your Halloween duties. Do you recall Michael Keaton wearing black jeans and a turtle neck beneath his cape? What? You don’t know who Michael Keaton is? WHY THE HELL DID YOU CHOOSE THIS COSTUME? Some kids are just clueless. Specifically, ones who do not accept Keaton as the one and true Batman. Either way, don’t let yours go out dressed like this on Halloween. That’s just asking for trouble. And while we’re at it…

Brain hemorrhage Batman?

If at any point your child makes the above face, he has suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. Forget the candy. For the love of god, please take them to the hospital.

Suspiciously flamboyant Jack Sparrow

So here’s what your son will look like as Jack Sparrow, and this is probably a suitable alternative for sending him out wearing a sandwich board that reads “COME AND GET ME, NAMBLA.”  I’m not a big fan of these movies, so one of you will have to explain why Jack Sparrow wears large, glittery, picture frames on his belt and stands in a Mick Jagger pose. Although it would be cool to see a 12 year old stop in the street and belt out “Shattered” for a crowd of onlookers. But not this particular kid.

Skinned Pooh Bear

Nice try, brat. Pretty sure pooh bear doesn’t wear khaki pants. If someone showed up at my door claiming to be Pooh Bear but wearing Nike tennis shoes and sliding a hand towards their crotch with a large smile, they’re getting kicked in the head. BAM. I don’t tolerate that shit. This costume looks less like the kid is Pooh bear and more like he killed Pooh bear and then fashioned his skin into a sick, demented, hoodie. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Self promoting witch

As a general rule of thumb,if you have a big pointy hat and broom, you’re “Witchy.”  You don’t need to plaster that on your chest. We get it.  Also, you might not be able to get off the ground if your broom has a whole bunch of party streamers at the end where the broom part usually is. You’re not doing anything to enhance your street cred with the other witches. They’ll just laugh at you for being an egotistical bitch, which isn’t the point of witching at all. And if you dress like this, you deserve it.

Questionable Chewbacca

Listen, I’m no Star Wars expert, but even I can tell that this is a bear costume with a Chewbacca mask and a cheap ass satchel thrown in. Also, once again, tennis shoes are not necessary. And why are his hands ashen? It’s like they were swapped out with the hands of Lot’s wife or something. Which is probably now going to appear in fan fiction somewhere now, so you can’t say I never contributed anything to society.

Douchebag vampire

Does your kid aspire to become Jersey Shore’s “The Situation?” If so, he can dress like this guido vampire. I’m not sure if it’s a lighting thing, but there seems to be an abnormal bulging going on in the pants that makes me a tad uncomfortable. It’s exacerbated by the fact that he looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands right there. Either way, if you use hair gel you already have around the house, you can have money. This costume goes great with Snooki Elvira. They should come in a set. Either way, I’m not going to feed him candy.

Gassy ghost

This is a spirit who is quite dissatisfied with whatever the hell you fed him before he went out in search of candy. If houses gave out Beano instead of candy, this kid would have it made. Unfortunately, that’s not what Halloween is about. You don’t get any candy. In fact, I’d probably give this kid something highly carbonated and force him to drink it in its entirety before leaving my premises if he doesn’t identify his costume as Brain Guy from MST3K, in which case I’d probably pay him money. Because that’s awesome. But if he says “ghoul” or some shit, it’s over.

 

 

Photos courtesy of: nightmarefactory.com

“Ladies desperately trying to retain youthfulness 2: Desert Diaries”

“Jackey Earl Haley receives a paycheck”

“Endearing old man will shoot your kid right in the face”

“Ben Stiller walking around: THE MOVIE!”

“Even rapists can’t get Ewan McGregor to emote”

“The Kevin Smith movie fanboys will pretend never happened”

“Amanda Seyfried’s boobs and then some contrived plot devices”

“Movie featuring confused black people but not Tyler Perry”

“Brenden Fraser is a whiny bitch”

“Walt Disney presents: Gay time-traveling gladiator”

“Jackie Chan still struggles with English but is perfectly competent to watch your children”

“What the hell is this shit: It’s some Asian cartoon”