The Weatherlution will be televised.

This effect is probably being abused lately, but it’s still fun as hell to watch.

A Human Going

Now that even Zoolander is getting in on the joke, I think it’s time we put it to rest.1

For those of you that have been living under a rock for the past few weeks2, a lovely, serene rock, where you’re safe from the vapidities of modern existence, Joaquin Phoenix has apparently retired from acting to pursue a hip hop music career.

Stranger things have happened.

Witness the following.

There are some who say Mr. Phoenix is simply engaging us in a Kaufmanesque mindfuck of epic proportions. Well, bully for him. Either way, I don’t seem to care.

Don’t worry though Joaquin, I’m still with you, not for your stunning portrayal of a snivelling, cowardly, patricidial bastard3, or for making two of M. Night Shyamalan’s dumbest movies4 slightly more bearable, but for directing a music video in 2005.

Get the Flash Player to see this content.

Oh, and also as insurance in case anything ever happens to Zach Galifianakis.5

Stay gold, ponyboy.

  1. By “it” I mean Joaquin Phoenix. []
  2. So, all of you. Boom! A housing market joke, think Leno still needs writers for his new show? []
  3. Johnny Cash? []
  4. I’m sorry, that’s bad writing on my part (I learned it by watching you!). Shyamalan and dumb is a bit redundant; six of one, half-dozen of the self indulgent, half-baked, multi-million dollar bed time stories your kids were too well mannered (I guess they got that from their mother) to tell you were scary as all fuck, but for the entirely wrong reasons other. []
  5. Hey, someone has to play him in the biopic. []

That’s it Internet! We’re fucking done professionally!

(via riotclitshave)

Happy Completely-arbitrary-mad-scramble-to-prove-to-strangers-that-you’re-not-as-desperate-or-lonely-as-you-feel Day!

Here’s what I’m NOT doing this Valentine’s Day:

Here’s what I MIGHT do this Valentine’s Day:

Love is hard work you guys.

Which is why I’m so grateful to have you in my life, faceless stranger reader this.

Things may get pretty hectic Internet, but you know how I really feel.

I, for one, welcome our new pug overlords. Also, I would love to go for a ride right now, thanks.

I seem to have run out of shit to sling at you guys. This is a situation I intend to remedy post haste.

Which reminds me of a tangent that doesn’t warrant its own post. There’s a shop near my house on Santa Monica whose name virtually precludes me from ever stepping foot into said establishment. No, not the Pleasure Chest, it’s further west. The first time I passed by and noticed the sign I actually did a double take. Had I been driving (good thing I don’t!) I probably would have manslaughtered some pedestrians. The name in question: Extremedies. If I ever find out what they really do or sell there it’s going to be something mundane like remedies for your extremities. For now though, I choose to believe it’s a magical wonderland where you can get chainsaw acupuncture and everybody’s freebasing Mountain Dew™. Thus ends the tangent.

I guess I have to go through old notes and see if there’s any detritus that will tide you over until I have the time or inclination for something more substantial. Until then, I leave you with what you really came here to see.

Don’t worry. That noise you hear is just the sound of your black heart melting.

And from another angle.

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I don’t want to grow up. I’m a dying-at-the-bottom-of-this-gorge kid.

Outta my way fuckers, I’m late for Econ.

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He was right under my nose the whole time! Literally, my nose was in that room over there.

I spend a not insubstantial amount of time thinking about the impending zombpocalypse. How to prepare, necessary survival skills, the best strongholds, the benefits of virological vs. voodoo based outbreaks. I am not alone in this. For all my years of preparation though, I’m disappointed that the simplest idea never occurred to me. Hiding in plain sight.

No one here but us abominations.

Rick, a soft spoken Montrealer has that shit covered. Fucking Canadians! What haven’t they figured out over there? Besides governing themselves, I mean. Hey, we only just got it sorted a few months ago, so no worries.

I was planning on getting tattooed one day, but it seems I have to start saving now. None too soon, apparently.

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

Children’s Hospital —

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 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.

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

They exit a clearly labeled ‘Burn Ward’.

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


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.

Get the Flash Player to see this content.

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”. []