“Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.”


Children’s Hospital — TheWB.com

Rob Corddry might have finally found the medium that’s going to make his a household name.1 Corddry wrote and directed this ten episode web series for TheWB.com starring a hot mess of people, most notably Ed Helms of The Office, Rob Huebel of Human Giant, Corddry himself, and Michael Cera (look closely or you’ll miss him).

The unfairly funny show, while in premise a broad parody of Grey’s Anatomy, hearkens back to an era of smarter parodies. Taking advantage of the high stakes of a hospital setting, it uses them solely and deftly to comedic effect. Basically, Scrubs without any of the occasionally maudlin sincerity.

There’s a joke from the much too short lived Clerks cartoon that sums up not only the sensibility, but the context of this show pretty well.

Dante and Randall reminisce while trapped in a freezer.

DANTE
Let’s not forget our most memorable trip of all.

They exit a clearly labeled ‘Burn Ward’.

RANDALL
Ew. Let’s get out of here.

A door closes behind them reading ‘Other Burn Ward’.

Originally, the second door read ‘Children’s Burn Ward’, but ABC said that was too morbid. Luckily, ABC does not control the internet.

Hey Internet! If this is what you have in store for us, then I just have one thing to say to you.

Please, sir, I want some more.

  1. In that, somewhere, possibly in a household, someone will know which one’s Nate and which one’s Rob. []

Heroes in a half shell


(via geekbrief.tv)

I can’t tell if this makes me want to surf or film people surfing. Either way, this looks like fun.

Clang, clang, clang, went the trolley!

There is no question that The Simpsons is not what it once was. I seriously believe that the ’91—97 seasons of this show are more responsible for my sense of humor, the way I talk, basically the way I think, than just about anything else.

If I were fourteen today, I doubt that would still be the case. But every once in a while the show, achieves a glimmer, an echo of its greatness, reminding me of the enormous debt I owe to a twenty year old cartoon.

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This is almost certainly not as funny as I think it is, but for whatever reason it just gets me.

I now pronounce you President and Presided.


And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like faithfully.

In case you’re not aware of the lunacy, Chief Justice Roberts misplaced an adverb and swapped a preposition while administering the oath of office last week. Surprisingly enough, Satan has not risen from the depths of hell ushering in an new era of unspeakable misery and despair. In fact, he’s been looking rather sickly lately.

I followed this story with as much fascination and incredulity as the next guy, actually being surprised by the level of sanity present in most of the news coverage. Ignoring for a second that the sanest thing to do would have been to commit suicide on air after being told that this was a story that be should reported. I forget the anchor in question, but after the segment on this “scandal”, he editorialized, saying basically that of course Barack Obama is President adding that the oath is not a spell from a Harry Potter novel. The comparison, while apt, is not pointed enough.

This is not magical thinking, this is religious thinking.1 Well, really this is just dangerous, antiquated, backwards thinking.2

The conceit of rule by divine right seems to die hard. I get it. If you believe in a god(s), it’s tempting to think s/he/it/they approve of your choice in your leaders. So it’s hard not to think of our presidents as kings. Frankly I think Barack Obama would make a pretty decent king, but this is not medieval Europe and John Roberts is not the Pope. Jesse Jackson is, however, still the Emperor of black people.

But it makes sense that there are plenty of people out there who think it’s the oath and not the votes that make a (wo)man president. Well those people are in all kinds of luck.

You know what time it is kids?

Hypotetical Time!!!

Let’s say I had access to hi-tech futuristic spy gear.

Right as Barack Obama took his last non-presidential leak, I ambush him and take his place. Masquerading as still President-elect Obama, and waiting until the oath is completed, I rip off my mask. Would I be president?

Remember, there’s no love lost between Roberts and Obama. What if John had woken up that morning with a severe case of the fuck-its? Can the Chief Justice swear in like 50 people on Jan. 20 and they’re all President? Could Congress be the President of the United States? Wouldn’t that save some time? Could Roberts have sworn himself in? What if John McCain had slipped him a hundy earlier?

Alright children, hypothetical time is over, just bang your heads quietly on your desks.

The next day, knowing a vocal contingent of his new employers wouldn’t shut up about this3, Obama and Roberts had a do-over. But, of course, something went wrong.

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Gretchen Carlson is not sure if he’s really the President. I’m not sure if Gretchen Carlson is really a carbon-based lifeform.4

So if Obama serves his term(s) and makes decisions and affects the world as President, in four or eight years, will he really have been the president if he didn’t suck all the souls out of a middle eastern book of magic? Since he won’t really have been the president, we can just open up that grimoire, say the appropriate spell, click our heels, and it will all go back to the way it was before, right?

Go ahead and keep doubting the legitimacy of the first African American president, a fact which I’m sure has no bearing on your newfound sense of civic duty. See what good it does you. Although, the more I think about it, the more sense it starts to make. After all, I heard Michelle was really holding a Qur’an. I mean it was Lincoln’s Qur’an, but still. Fine, he’s not really president.

You know who else wasn’t really president?

You’re not president because some guy in a wizard’s robe says you are. You’re president because we say you are.5

I know this story has pretty much blown over, but there are still people out there6 that will use this as justification for not only stoking their hatred for Pres. Obama and the “left”, which was going to happen regardless, but also for checking out of the political process entirely. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of reasons to check out of the political process entirely, but this is not one of them.

This is also indicative of a pointless preoccupation with words themselves, of people letting scratches on their cave walls get the best of them. I seem to recall a rather erudite fellow expounding on this somewhat recently.

We forget that if words are a form of magic, they derive their power from us. When we ignore this fact we do ourselves a great and dangerous disservice. When we let simple words and names get the better of us, they rob us, impoverish and weaken us in an already impossible world.

Words are just tools, “tools, of course, can be the subtlest of traps.”

- Me

It’s not getting any better.


(via videogum)

And then I go and spoil it all, by saying something stupid like barnacles.

Guh. This is just demeaning to pickles.

Words don’t matter. Meanings matter. And until we can all beam our wi-fi thoughts about our latest matrix Kung Fu lesson directly into each other’s brains, in lojban of course, that will remain the case.

Words can mean more than one thing. We don’t always mean what we say. Context, body language and inflection can all alter our meanings.

THIS is the magic of language.

Never forget. They’re just words people.

  1. There’s a difference? []
  2. There’s a difference? []
  3. Why did you want this job again, Barry? []
  4. No, I am. She’s not. []
  5. With one notable recent exception. []
  6. If Fox News anchors can rightfully be called “people”. []

Time Makes Fools Of Us All

2009 is not off to a great start. For one, I was absolutely smoked at Trivial Pursuit by a vastly inferior opponent.

For another, holy shit, it’s 2009! What’s that? January’s almost over? No, that can’t be. That would mean I wasted another lunar cycle of my life with nothing to show for it.

Crazy talk.

I’m 26, people. That’s how old Orson Welles was when he made Citizen Kane. Think about that for a second. The implications are as obvious as they are sobering.

This is the Citizen Kane of blogs.

Logic.

Let’s just hope my Huggies™ commercial is as successful as this one.

May the new year bring a much needed change in fortunes, and if all goes to plan, *fingers crossed*, the triumphant return of the Arch Deluxe.

Movers and shakers.

SkyNet knows me by name. Jealous?

The internet has already accurately guessed my sex.

And now it’s trying to get even further into my head.

INTP – The Thinkers

The logical and analytical type. They are espescially attuned to difficult creative and intellectual challenges and always look for something more complex to dig into. They are great at finding subtle connections between things and imagine far-reaching implications.

They enjoy working with complex things using a lot of concepts and imaginative models of reality. Since they are not very good at seeing and understanding the needs of other people, they might come across as arrogant, impatient and insensitive to people that need some time to understand what they are talking about.

I resent the implication that I am some sort of unfeeling monster blithely unaware of the havoc I wreak in others’ lives.

I’m very aware.

I’m deeper than most people think. On the surface I’m carefree and happy, but deep down inside, I’m intense and moody. I’m sensitive; I feel things.

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Pox Populi

Posting here has been somewhat lax as of late, but I’ve been sick. Also, I’m not getting paid for this shit.1

Which reminds me, I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with new a revenue model, and while there are many tempting tried and true methods for using the internet to make money,


(via riot clit shave)

I have decided to go a more traditional route:


sponsorship.

I know the choice is a bit unconventional, but I remain convinced that this will prove a long and mutually beneficial relationship.

Humans, I’ve been doing this in earnest2 for half a year now. I think it’s time we got fucking serious. So I made a few changes around here.

First, some background.

A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.

- Thomas Mann

If this is the only criteria, then I no longer have any qualms about referring to myself as a writer.

This may come as an unwelcome shock to a few of you, certainly not the fine folks at Kimberly-Clark, but I consider some of what I do here writing “jokes”. The funny thing about “joke writing” though: the more you do it, the more your standards for what qualifies as a joke start to loosen. This is as much as a matter of practicality as it is of perception.

The problem being that it is almost impossible for me to objectively gauge anything I put up here. If I say it, of course I think it’s genius. Otherwise I wouldn’t say it.

How can you tell what shines brightest in a room filled with lusters?

In order to better serve you, my indifferent public, since none of you can be bothered to leave comments, what with that raging case of syphilis going around the internet, I figured I’d make it easier and just ask you outright.

Why are you here? What do you want?
  • Add an Answer
View Results

I’ve also replaced a static, somewhat confusing popularity ranking for posts with an interactive voting system. I don’t expect anyone to go back through the archives, but if you just quickly scanned whatever’s on the front page, or if there’s a post you had particularly strong feelings for, of malice or otherwise, I’d appreciate a rating. It requires less thought that actually leaving a comment, since we all know how much it’s in short supply these days.

And I finally got around to finishing the about page only six months late. I do it for you guys. I do it all for you.

Back to all business as all usual.

  1. Oh and no one reads this. []
  2. Not to mention Verne. I bet some Huggies would come in handy right about now. []

History welcomes you, sir.


(via The Big Picture)

Throw it down, big man! Throw it down!


(via The Big Picture)

That expectant look on the face of the guy in blue? Get used to that look Mr. President.

Just Barely

Is George W. Bush Still President?

Tick Tock Motherfuckers!


(via The Big Picture)

You don’t have to go home, but you have to get the fuck out of here.

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