Year of Pom Wonderful?

(1) It turned out that there was something terribly stressful about visual telephone interfaces that hadn’t been stressful at all about voice-only interfaces. Videophone consumers seemed suddenly to realize that they’d been subject to an insidious but wholly marvelous delusion about conventional voice-only telephony. They’d never noticed it before, the delusion – it’s like it was so emotionally complex that it could be countenanced only in the context of its loss. Good old traditional audio-only phone conversations allowed you to presume that the person on the other end was paying complete attention to you while also permitting you not to have to pay anything even close to complete attention to her. A traditional aural-only conversation – utilizing a hand-held phone whose earpiece contained only 6 little pinholes but whose mouthpiece (rather significantly, it later seemed) contained (62) or 36 little pinholes – let you enter a kind of highway-hypnotic semi-attentive fugue: while conversing, you could look around the room, doodle, fine-groom, peel tiny bits of dead skin away from your cuticles, compose phone-pad haiku, stir things on the stove; you could even carry on a whole separate additional sign-language-and-exaggerated-facial-expression type of conversation with people right there in the room with you, all while seeming to be right there attending closely to the voice on the phone. And yet – and this was the retrospectively marvelous part – even as you were dividing your attention between the phone call and all sorts of other idle little fuguelike activities, you were somehow never haunted by the suspicion that the person on the other end’s attention might be similarly divided.

Double True

In Held Up, two teams of bank robbers end up robbing a bank at the same time. After a while they join forces and hammer out their ransom demands.

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I reluctantly concede the point. Although I still take exception to the word “just”.

My favorite kind of sketch

My Old Chum

For some odd reason, I only just watched Kick-Ass. In honor of this, the one time in the past decade where Nic Cage’s recent? style of acting actually served the movie, I present to you the man’s greatest hits.

Tsk, tsk.

Fine! Since it seems I don’t have that much of my own to say, either by choice or by circumstance, I’ll just repeat what other people said and point you their way.

Watch the season finale of Shameless tonight.

You ever wanted to see Bill H. Macy1 souse it up in the 3-1-2, abuse his kids, the eldest of which is the perpetually naked Emmy Rossum who raises the rest of the brood, all while the little redheaded kid from Malcolm in the Middle (whose seizures may be a trap) throws it up a married dude AND Marguerite Moreau plays a MUSLIM. You do now.

But, somewhat confusingly, Joan Cusack is by far the most delightful surprise the show has in store for you.2

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I expect some crazy shit to go down tonight.

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I will not be disappoint.

  1. I recently tried to smash the names of a couple and while in the process of failing also forgot that such names shall hereby always be referred to as Muffmans. Dushkock is also acceptable. []
  2. It’s Showtime, all the tits weren’t exactly a shocker. []

Let’s start this year with a bang.

Chairman of the Hoard

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You mean if I had just continued to live in abject filth and chaos I could have gotten a pet out of the deal? Why did nobody tell me?

Viruses and germs, meet my new favorite tv spectacle. A “reality” television show that’s completely upfront about the severe emotional and psychological issues of all its contestants? Sign me up! Well, my mom at least.

What does it say about me that even ‘1’ seems pretty disorganized. Oh right, that I grew up somewhere that was between a ‘4’ and a ‘5’. And that subsequently, the sense of relief I get from a clean and neat room is somewhere between an orgasm and a sneeze.

But, if you want to watch a heap of sad people struggling with mental illness receiving some haphazard treatment, as a television network profits from their misery, all the while questioning what happens when humans are forced to live in inhuman conditions and what it means when those conditions are ostensibly of their own choosing, and sporting half a chub, or better yet, the female equivalent1, well, then you just might be as demented as I am. We should talk.

I still wonder though, if this show actually helps any hoarders that aren’t actually on the show. Do they watch and realize they have a problem and that help is out there or do they breathe a huge sigh of relief because at least they’re not as bad as those freaks on Hoarders, A&E, Mondays 10/9c?

I bet the “hoard” is spelled w-h-o-r-e-d.

  1. A quarter can of tuna? I tried. Sadly, I tried. []

Hello?

Remember when I actually posted things here? Oh, the nostalgia.

And on a lighter note,

Because it’s there.

I think I have to watch this 6 more times before I’m convinced I’m not lurking around in the background somewhere.

For the man who hates everything.

It’s me again, the disembodied spirit of a murdered ex-Green Beret who can’t move on to the next plane of existence because his murder by a gang of street thugs cannot go unavenged and also has been trapped in this website somehow1. Don’t just take my word for it.

Yesterday marked the 2nd anniversary of my imprisonment in this cyberhell and tomorrow we celebrate the 28th year in the reign of the great and powerful wizard who confined me here.

Unsure what might please him and gain his good favor? May I make a few

perfectly

reasonable

suggestions?

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He is a simple man of simple tastes.2

  1. Murder most foul. []
  2. Sorry, simple wizard. []

Happy more numerous of the two gametes day!

In all but the most technical sense, I don’t have a father, so clearly this holiday means even less to me than most.

But I will admit I always wondered what it would be like. What I missed out on, someone to teach me how to shave, tie a tie, dodge the draft and other valuable life skills.

Basically, someone to show me what it is to be a man.

I’ve never even met my father, so you can imagine my surprise when I saw this exact recreation of what I always hoped our first encounter would be like.

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Is this not how men show each other affection?

Not sure what to get good ol’ dad this fathers day? Why not get him the greatest gift a father can ever recieve?

The forgotten perks of being an Angeleno.

I’ve seen a bunch of low-level celebrities hiking at Runyon Canyon, from Kathy Griffin to Diedrich Bader to Paul Johansson1. My most recent sighting puts all of those to shame.

Christian Clemenson was responsible for maybe the best moment of television from 20072. He plays Jerry Espenson, a lawyer with Asperger’s. The clip itself ably handles everything else you may need to know.

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Also, later I saw a 6’2”, 250lb black man dressed as Zorro with a plastic sword and hat and everything. Still not as good as ol’ Clemmy3.

So, it’s probably a good thing that I didn’t say anything to him. Rule #1: They not ready.

  1. As I may have mentioned before, that nigga Dan be crazy. []
  2. It’s between this and “We have to go baaaaack!” Good job, ABC! []
  3. That’s what he would let me call him if we were friends. Just me though. Clemmy & Sotes, solving crimes and scoring trim, all on the company dime. Clemmy & Sotes, kicking ass and not bothering to take any names because fuck your name. Clemmy & Sotes, the only plumbers you’ll need, if you want to plumb the depths of ecstasy. Cumming this fall. Check your local fistings. []
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