It Takes a Village To Raise a City. Wait, What?

For the last few years, the village that I live in has been in the process of trying to become a city. Soon, we will have opportunity to vote on whether or not we proceed with this, probably because we're all sick of hearing about it. As a responsible adult, however, I should take my voting rights seriously, and the only way I know to approach this sort of thing is to weigh the pros and cons of such a thing. So, here we go:

Reasons to remain a village:

• Given enough time as a village, we may spawn the next Garrison Keillor.
• There's always a chance that a police officer, construction worker, biker, soldier, cowboy and terribly racist portrayal of a native American will join together for an impromptu musical number.
  
• Becoming a city will result in a marked increase in promiscuous behavior for women between the ages of 30-45, who will then talk loudly about it over appletinis, ruining the atmosphere of the local pub.
• Mass confusion as mice on local farms try to figure out which part of the fable they are now in.
• So long as we're a village, I can always fall back on my original career plan: Idiot.

Reasons to become a city:

• Given enough time as a village, we may spawn the next Garrison Keillor.
  
• Cities are way more likely to spawn a winged vigilante.
• Cities are often associated with diversity, potentially irritating local racists.
• A better class of graffiti artists.
  
• City rhymes with 100% more rude words for body parts, which is important to people who enjoy limericks.

Ugh. This isn't helping at all. What's the voting equivalent of answering "C" for everything?

On the Proper Use of Demographics During Tragedy

The last week was understandably absorbed by the news of the Boston marathon bombing, and as details came to light about the perpetrators of the bombing, the common questions came up. Were the bombers Muslim? Are they foreigners? What role did that play? The news grabbed any detail they could find on the brothers Tsarnaev supposedly in an effort to glean a motive for this heinous act, and while I understand a need for answers, I suspect that the actual goal is always to help people bucket these people in such a way as to differentiate themselves from the monsters. As such, I propose that we ask a simpler question in these trying times.

What role did the fact they they were murderous douchebags play?

Really, I get that we need to put everyone in a bucket. It makes us feel safe. It helps us appreciate diversity while still clinging to pride in our respective heritages. The issue is that during times of great stress, this bucketing lends itself to incorrectly attributing behaviors to the wrong group of people.

Let me give you the example that sadly comes up the most often in the US: Muslims. According to Wikipedia, "As of 2010, over 1.6 billion or about 23.4% of the world population are Muslims.". Now, let's assume for the sake of argument that every member of Al-Queda falls under the "murderous douchebag" umbrella as well (which is probably unfair, because I bet a lot of them joined the group to impress a girl - don't ever underestimate the amount of historical stupidity that has occurred to impress a girl). That makes around fifteen to twenty thousand murderous douchebags out of 1.6 billion, or .0000125% of the Muslim population. I haven't taken statistics in a while, but that number doesn't seem to justify the always-rational "KILL THEM ALL" argument that comes up so often in the comments on news articles.

It works for other tragedies too. Depending on which phoney baloney source you look at, in 2010, around 39% of Americans owned a gun. In that same year, there were 11,078 homocides by firearm. Even if you assume each homocide was done by one person, that's around .000092% of the 120,410,759 gun owners that turned out to be killers.

Now, guess what percentage of the 11,078 were murderous doucehbags.

My point is this: If we're going to bucket people so we can all be glad that it isn't someone we relate to, then lets make sure the bucket is all inclusive. The best part is how exclusive this group is. Let's say you're cold, black heart is full of murderous rage. So long as you do your job, pay your taxes, occasionally let people merge on the highway, and just generally keep that %$#& to yourself, you're not in the group. Similarly, you want to park your SUV across four spots before making life Hell for a some kid at Starbucks making minimum wage because your Venti Hazelnut Macchiato wasn't hot enough, knock yourself out. It's only when you combine these two that you become part of the group, and then the rest of us, regardless of race, religion, or really any other personal affiliation, get to agree that you're the part of humanity that we find generally unpleasant and could well do without while being respectful of each other.

See, isn't that better?

Tiny Tim, You Stay Out Of This

Despite evidence to the contrary, eventually Winter will loosen its icy grip on your region of the world, and Spring will properly commence. Grass will grow. Flowers will bloom. Fields will fill with life, and with that life, we will find ourselves tempted to take part in an activity that I think is not often given proper consideration.

I speak, of course, of frolicking.

Being presented with this abundance of life, the temptation to frolic is neigh irresistible, but please, before loosing your children into nature's wonders, give pause, for it is well known that frolicking is a gateway activity. The fact is that children who frolic often begin to experiment with gallivanting  Once this takes place, it's almost guaranteed that parading is not far behind, and really, is that we want from our children? A nation of kids, just parading around like they're all that and a side of yam fries?

I say we do not.

Now I'm not telling you what to do in your own home. Who among us hasn't put the kids to bed only to engage in a little light frolicking? I'm just saying that we need to set a good example. Maybe don't kick those shoes off when presented with a field of daisies. Show a little restraint.

Some day, your children with thank you for it.

If He and Liam Neeson Met in a Sauna, It Would Be Like The End Of Return of the Jedi

[WARNING: The following post will be discussing human anatomy in frank, uncensored terms. If you are easily offended, you might want to skip this one. If you're easily titillated, wait until you're at home at least.]

[Sorry about using the word "titillated". Probably should have come after the warning.]

Jon Hamm is apparently sick and tired of everyone talking about his penis. Jon sat down with Rolling Stone and expressed his displeasure at the public attention his privates are getting. At the moment, his penis has yet to comment, but has promised to hold a press conference early next week. Seriously, I understand what he's saying. I would hate the idea of millions of people talking about how huge my penis is, which is easily the single most false statement I've ever made in the history of this blog.

I think that the big take away from this though is our obsession as a nation with the privates of public figures. I'm not sure if people know this, but there's a whole Internet full of naked people. I'm not sure why being famous makes it special. I remember the kerfuffle a decade ago when the world gained access to a picture of Brad Pitt's pendulum. You'd think they had gotten a picture of Bigfoot. I mean, I saw the picture, and based on the evidence he probably does have big feet, but that's not the point.

It's gotten to where I can't look at my newsfeed without the words "wardrobe malfunction" coming up anymore. It's not even interesting. I think there's actually a template at Entertainment Weekly that says "Disney Starlet [NAME] Turns Eighteen, Immediately Accidentally Exposes [Breasts/Naked Bottom/Hoo Hoo/All Of The Above]". If I worked for Disney, I'd be crazy gluing my undergarments on.

I guess my point is that we need to move on. Let these people breathe a little bit. Find some other sport to distract us so the famous can run outside in their bathrobes without fear of their co-stars making a cameo on the evening news. Let's collectively agree that we want to see something a little harder to catch on a camera.

Find me a picture of Jon Hamm looking like holy Hell so I can go back to enjoying Mad Men with my wife.

And No, I'm Not Trying To Compensate For Anything

Now that that pesky assault weapon ban has been removed from the gun control bill, I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. After all, there are perfectly legitimate reasons for a civilian to need a gun that shoots 600 rounds per minute that don't end in headlines about "massacre" and "tragedy". I personally can't think of what those reasons might be, but that is undoubtedly due to the liberal media not covering stories of all the good that comes from such things.

Here's the thing though - since we can apparently all agree that the average yahoo should be able to own an assault rifle (discounting the 55% of Americans who favor such a ban), then I don't think it's unreasonable that we discuss taking things a touch further. I mean, the assault rifle was created for the military, but we've all agreed (again, excluding the aforementioned hippie contingent) that anyone should be able to get one, right? So why not other military equipment?

I guess what I'm saying is this: I want a tank.

There are all sorts of practical reasons for wanting my own tank, not least of which is the obvious awesome factor. I bet a tank never gets stuck in the snow. Seeing a tank bearing down in the rear view mirror would discourage those twits that drive 60 in the pass lane. Plus, how much cooler would the homecoming float be if it was built on the back of a tank? Besides, we let people drive Hummers around, and really those are just tanks that have been neutered so they don't chase the other cars around.

I'm sure there will be practical issues to owning a tank, like parking for example. Hey, I don't mind parking at the back of the lot to get groceries. Besides, if some tool with a pickup truck can take up four spaces to avoid getting a dink in his paint job, I'm sure people would overlook my needing a couple of spaces for my tank. (Side note: if you park your pickup truck like this, you have outed yourself as a poser who doesn't understand what a pickup truck is for. Please proceed to the nearest honky-tonk bar for the beating you so richly deserve.)

(DLOG Interactive: This is the part where you should turn on your speakers and open this link in another tab/window for the full effect. Trust me.)

You know, a lot of people like to think they know what the founding fathers were thinking when they despite the fact that it was over 250 years ago when people worried about things like keeping slaves in line and not getting dysentery, and I realize that the right to bear arms bit in the Constitution was written when firing said arms involved taking 25 or 30 seconds to load a single shot. Still, I can tell you this much: Benjamin Franklin would have wanted me to have a tank. Franklin said "All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move.", and really, what better way to move than in a few tons of American-made steel? I can see it now, me and Ben cruising downtown in my custom painted tank (after a quick riding-dirty check, because I think we can all agree that Ben Franklin would be lining his coat pockets with hella sticky bud). Hatch open with mad bass pumping out. Fourteen custom red, white and blue rims spinning when we come to a stop. Ben poking out the top to return the salutes given by tearful patriots as we pass by (or hooting at the ladies, 'cause Ben was bold like that). You guys, we need to make this happen.

You write your representatives, and I'll start setting up the Kickstarter.

Taking a Stand

I've recently converted my fuzzy cell....sorry, "cubicle"...to a standing setup. What this means, for those not initiated to such shenanigans, is that all of my monitors, my keyboard and my track ball now sit about two feet above my desk surface. This allows me to stand all day while performing my many important duties at work, like looking at captioned cat pictures or judging people online.

When I declared my intention to do this, some people questioned why I would purposely commit to being on my feet all day, with the obvious answer being health reasons. I'll leave it to the reader to search out the articles espousing the virtues of not sitting on your posterior all day (ironically, because I'm lazy). Trust me. Lots of people in lab coats who get paid more than me have said not to sit all day.

This is not actually the primary reason for my choice, however. No, for me it's about power. In the varied landscape of people one finds in an office environment, there are those who lack the common courtesy to recognize that the average programmer's desire for face-to-face contact is generally comparable to their desire for face-to-wolverine contact. Thus living in the cubicle labyrinth comes with the constant threat of someone wandering into your cubicle expecting a conversation. Since you were presumably working, you are presumably sitting when they arrive.

And now you're presumably having a conversation with a co-workers crotch.

Oh sure, you can correct your line of sight, but the damage has been done. Whatever question that needed addressing is now overshadowed by your suddenly gained knowledge. Did I need to know that the person talking dresses to the left? Or that the interloper is suffering from a degree of camel toe that leaves you questioning how she walked over here without whimpering in the first place?

This is no way to start a conversation.

Now, when I am forced to turn around and direct my ire at whomever was so presumptuous as to interrupt my thought processes, we stand on even ground. I look them in the eye, tell them what they need to know, and shoo them off quickly and without distraction. Then I turn back around and get back to the task at hand.

This status isn't going to update itself.

News Briefs: March 12, 2013

U.S. News

The recent filibuster by Rand Paul continues to draw attention to the US drone program. Unfortunately for Paul, most Americans misunderstood the usage of "drone", assuming that it was listening to someone talk for thirteen hours being protested. On the other side of the aisle, the Obama administration continues dodging specific questions about whether or not drones might legally be used on American soil, proving once again that integrity and conviction are no match for the opportunity to fly around a sweet remote controlled plane.

A New York city police officer has been convicted of a plot to eat women, which is ridiculously bad planning on his part because he hadn't even tried one yet. He might not even like them.

Local

I don't know where you live. I mean, how would that even work?

Entertainment

The Great Gatsby is set to open the Cannes Film Festival. Baz Luhrmann assured the press that the literary classic will be handled with the class and dignity it deserves before he dramatically turned and strode away to techno-driven orchestra music among a cavalcade of scantily-clad dancers, glitter and fireworks.

Health

The New York ban on sugary drinks is struck down in court, a decisive win for soda manufacturers, personal rights advocates, and designers of Macy's "Metro Husky" line of formal wear.

Pet frogs have been linked to a recent salmonella outbreak adding insult to injury for the poor kids who were licking the wrong amphibians to get high in the first place.

The European Union has officially banned all cosmetics that have been tested on animals much to the delight of animal rights advocates and those who agree that really, even a little blush makes a rabbit look like a whore.

Still Alive

In the long long ago, I was out on my first date ever when the young lady I was with asked me if I thought I used humor as a crutch. Being a boy of fourteen or fifteen at the time, my idea of self awareness was knowing that watching the girls doing jumping jacks in gym was not a great idea, so I was somewhat taken aback. As a result, I answered with the confidence and grace of Porky Pig getting tazered (undoubtedly one the reasons it was also a last date). That question has, however, stuck with me throughout my life.

The truth is that I use humor for a lot of things, but I don't think a crutch is the proper analogy.

I use humor as a shield. I have discovered that being funny means I don't have to give anything away. I can interact and be social, and people will come away thinking that they like me without actually knowing anything about me. I enjoy this.

It's not that I'm antisocial. I just like playing my cards close. I mean, you might like me right now, but if you knew how many trees I flipped off on the way to work today, you might feel differently. Goddamned trees, thinking they're so cool. "Check this out. I'm totally making energy out of sunlight right now. I'm not even thinking about it. Hey, you enjoying that oxygen over there? Yeah, I made that." Smug mother %#$@ers.

I digress.

More importantly, I use my humor as a sword. There are things that I will never say to someone, sometimes things that need to be said, in a serious manner. I'm just not confrontational like that. It's baked in from years of living in a social group built on the idea of complete honesty, so long as that honestly is in full agreement with everyone else's. Otherwise, keep it to yourself.

But you can joke about it.

I can be more honest in a joke than I ever would otherwise, and this is a thing of beauty. Not that everything I joke about is based in some sort of prophetic truth (although I stand by my wisdom in certain areas). I can, however, express truths in a way that people can take easier by making light of them. I can joke about my guilt over repeatedly telling my kids that there is no such things as monsters even though I regularly deal with lawyers  We can smile and choose for ourselves whether or not we want to read more into it. There's a power in that.

These are skills that get me through my life, and like any skills they have to be honed. I'm getting older, and I'm not always going to be able to count on my devilish good looks to get me through. Between that and the fact that I miss having a place to write, even an insignificant one, I think it's time to take this thing back out for a ride.

Welcome back kids. I have my shield. I have my sword.

Now let's see if we can't find ourselves some dragons.

Or not...

Things have slightly quieted. My brain has not.

More to come?

That's All Folks!

This was a triumph.
I'm making a note here: huge success.
It's hard to overstate my satisfaction.
- Still Alive, GLaDOS

So, I've been doing this for some time now, and while I've enjoyed it, I think it's time I moved on. It's not that I think it's a waste of time or anything, but the fact is, I never really found an audience for what I do here. Well, that's not counting myself, and while making myself laugh is a noble enough cause, it's more easily accomplished by just making funny faces in the mirror, which is far less labor-intensive and does not typically require spell checking. Either way, my priorities have shifted, and I find that more pressing matters demand my hummingbird-like attention span at the moment.

The good news is that the site is all paid up for a while, so it's not like it's just going to vanish. Even those of you who read it somewhat regularly most likely missed a few things along the way, and this is your opportunity to catch up. You can benefit from my experience in using gardening projects to prepare for the zombie apocalypse. The World should know about Tiny Pete, and his selfless contributions to the needs of the vertically challenged. You can benefit from my wisdom in public speaking, romance and interview questions to avoid. My point is, there are depths here, and they're waiting to be plumbed.

Just like your mom.

So yeah, I'm going to post this bad boy, archive the whole mess to my USB drive, and walk away. It's been swell, and now I should probably do something to reduce that swelling. Those looking for bite-size bits of smart-assery are welcome to follow me over at Twitter. For everyone else, thanks for stopping by and standing witness to my weirdness for the last couple of years.

Sincerely,
R.B.

Call It The McWTF

With the recent release of the KFC Double Down - a bacon and cheese sandwich on a fried chicken bun - I have been pondering the reasoning behind such foods. Honestly, if I wasn't a vegetarian, I could see the moment where I'd consider eating such a thing despite the fact that it could probably kill me where I sat, the last bite still oozing grease onto the paper wrapper my head rested upon, giving the brief illusion of a tear falling from one of the Colonial's wee, beady eyes. "Why," I ask myself, "would anyone even consider doing that to themselves?", and then it hit me.

This is all because of Doritos.

See, I blame Doritos for planting the idea that eating could somehow be an "extreme experience". I think that this, combined with the natural human tendency to take risks for cheap thrills, leads to foods that no one actually thinks they should eat, but they do anyway. Just ask Luther Vandross. Oh wait, my bad.

While the old me would have reprimanded the people at KFC for such things, I will instead engage my creativity once again to make a suggestion that, given these facts, will lead to the greatest selling fast food product of all time. See, it's not enough anymore to make it really bad for you. Hell, everyone does that. No, we've clearly raised the bar of fast food offerrings to require something so repulsive, people will have to try it just for bragging rights.

Thus, we need a fast-food haggis burger.



Seriously, imagine it. Take a thick slice of traditional haggis, complete with a sheep's heart, liver and lungs stuffed into its stomach, coat it in breading and deep fat fry that sumbitch. Now drop it on a bun with a special sauce (preferrably Scotch whisky based), and put it in a value meal with a mess of fries (or even better, deep fried "neeps and tatties", which is just mashed rutabega and potato, but totally sounds dirty and would thus sell better). I'm getting sick just thinking about it. Whoever picks this up will sell a million of them in the first week.

I'm leaning towards McDonald's for obvious reasons, but really whoever steals it first can run with it.

Probably Cut Down On Future Therapy Bills As Well

You know, I try not to point out every time I see a headline that makes me facepalm. Really, I do. But seeing that the good people at the University of Michigan have now confirmed the long-held theory that fat kids get bullied more often that non-fatties just blew me away. As a recovered fat kid (eventually, I wasn't a kid anymore), I actually read this three or four times just to make sure there wasn't something more to the findings, because this doesn't seem like something that would require science.

Honestly, how can anyone find this surprising? Fat people are the nation's last, best hope for being mocked. You can't make racial jokes anymore because they're, you know, offensive. Go ahead and try to make a joke about a woman's proper place and let me know what it's like to get bitch-slapped by the Secretary of State (although it's gotta hurt going for the management job and ending up a secretary, but I digress). Thanks to all the efforts of the hard-lined conservatives to strip basic rights away from gays, those of us who know better can no longer of good conscience even tread those waters (with the continued exception of Maxwell, who I assume gay people make fun of as well on the basis of...well, look at him).



What we have left is fat people and monkeys (and deep down, we all know the monkeys are going to rise up against us someday). See, when we make fun of fat people, we do so with a certain impunity. It's not like other minority groups where there was no choice. Most fat people are fat because of their own actions. Yes, there are exceptions for medical conditions, but typically, if someone is really obese, you can safely bet that there was a Twinkie involved somewhere along the way. Not even Buddha was born really, really fat. At some point, he let himself go.

Am I saying that it's okay for these kids to get bullied? Of course not. It's despicable. We need to protect these kids. Instead, their parents should be required to spend a certain amount of time in the school, hanging out on the playground, sitting in the lunchroom, so they can be bullied in the place of their children, since they're the ones to damned lazy to swat that cookie out of junior's hand when such actions are required. Hell, let junior join in.

I would imagine pounding mom and dad with a dodge ball would burn more than a few calories, no?

It's Like Worrying About What Leaf Would Look Best On Adonis

I realized the other day that I have almost no perception of what other people think of me. I don't mean as far as whether or not they like me - I'm sufficiently narcissistic to just assume everyone finds me as witty and charming as I do. Rather, I realized that at some point, I stopped concerning myself with what people thought of me physically, as far as my looks or how I dress.

You know, when I was growing up, there was all this attention on how people dressed (which in my case was unfortunate). As I get older though, I find that if people don't see something really unusual or inappropriate, they don't really comment on how someone else is dressed. Even when they do, it's something brief, like a curt memo about casual Fridays not extending to cosplay, with not so much as a mention of admiration for the amount of work I put into that Star Trek uniform, right down to Uhura's earpiece and black boots. Haters.

Anyway, let me give you an recent example. The other day I wore a pair of dress pants and nice shirt, an activity usually relegated to those occasions when I've gotten behind on the laundry and have run out of jeans. My lovely wife asked what I was dressed up for, as did a co-worker. I took these comments as compliments at the time, but the more I think about them, the more insidious they become. I mean, the statement "What are you all dressed up for?" sort of comes with the implied completion of "I only ask because you typically dress like the clerk of a video game store who's given up on the idea that he'll ever find love outside of MMORGPGs". Okay, maybe that's a bit of a ridiculous statement. I mean really, who finds love in MMORPGs?



Maybe this is only an issue because I'm a guy. I see women comment on what their friends are wearing on occasion, but with men, that doesn't really happen unless one of your friends is wearing something worth making fun of. I think this is based on the concern that saying something nice about something another man is wearing can be perceived as gay, which is a baseless fear unless your commenting on how well his underwear shows off his package, and even then it may just be a kind individual paying a compliment before realizing that maybe the gym locker room isn't the best place to meet new friends.

Either way, it's not like I'm henceforth planning on fretting over my fashion sense. I'm reasonably comfortable that no one is going to tell me that I look like a goof, even if I consistently look like a goof. Besides, perhaps it's better this way. I get to go along in life assuming that everyone considers me, if not a fashion mogul, at least a reasonable dresser, assuming they notice how I dress at all.

And really, once presented with this kind of pretty, who's going to notice what kind of clothes I'm wearing?

DLOG Presents: Earth Day Tips

It's Earth Day again, and instead of sitting around feeling bad about the fact that you still use a can of hairspray each day (dude, I'm telling you, the pompadour is coming back), take some actions. We'll even help. Here are some things you can do to help make a difference, or at least get off Al Gore's %#@$ list:

• Just for today, try not to slap any hippies.


• Use the space in your yard to build a habitat for local woodland creatures. Not only do they have a space to visit and thrive, but it affords you an opportunity to see them up close, making them much easier to shoot.


• Stop buying newspapers - all the news is available online. In addition to saving trees, people will stop talking about how incredibly old fashioned and out of touch you are, causing you to shake your cane at them in a threatening manner.


• Consider unique ways to bring more green plant life to your neighborhood. For instance, there's this kid in the neighborhood who grows all these big plants in his basement, and you can tell it makes him feel really good about himself. It's like that guy is always smiling.


• Showers can use as much as 10 to 25 gallons less water than a bath, and that's not even counting the water saved from using it as a urinal as well.


• Make sure to run full loads of laundry to conserve water. I've run loads so full that some of the clothes come out still dry, which also saves on the power to run the dryer.


• Instead of disposing table scraps down the drain or in a landfill, consider getting a composter. Not only will you get valuable fertilizer for your garden, but many modern composters are large enough to house an entire body. I've heard.


• Don't limit your recycling efforts to the standard plastic jugs and water bottles. Think outside the box and be creative. For example: toilet paper Rorschach tests.

Remember, only you can make the changes needed to save our planet. Unless someone else does instead I guess. Whatever.

Female Viagra, Persistant Arousal, and The Real Reason I Failed Pre-Calculus

While I try to shy away from medical news topics, what with the fact that they are frequently so briefly remembered, today I saw two semi-related stories side by side and felt they needed to be addressed. This is because they are both interesting, and not because they both are related to women in the mood. Well, it is a little, but only because there's just so much comedy gold one can mine from rectal exams.

Anyway, first we find claims that we are one step closer to Viagra for women. This article made several statements that brought me joy, starting with "Attempts to treat female sexual dysfunction with Pfizer's erectile dysfunction drug Viagra have for the most part failed", something I personally didn't find surprising, what with most attempts at giving women erections fail. Better still though is when they pointed out that the new drugs apparent success is being verified by testing the drug on female rabbits. I repeat: we're showing some success of an arousal drug with female rabbits.

In a similar study, it has been shown that a new crack-like drug is very popular among crackheads.

If a story promising female Viagra brought me joy, then the tale of a Wii fit injury leading to "Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder" brought what can only be described as unmitigated glee. A woman in the UK who managed to fall off of a Wii fit board has found herself with an injury that causes "intense feelings of genital congestion and sensations that are typically unaccompanied by any conscious awareness of sexual desire". Better yet, in her own words: "It began as a twinge down below, before surging through my body. Sometimes it built up into a trembling orgasm." Yes, this unfortunate victim now knows what it's like to have your genitals take over control from your brain and lead you to a state of uncontrollable arousal.

In other news, every male between the ages of fourteen and twenty who ever lived - ever - has just been diagnosed with Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder, and has thus been excused from walking up to the front of the class as symptoms dictate. The U.S. Surgeon General will be issuing notes upon request.

Wait For It...Fjord!

When I went to Disney last year, I wrote up an overview of the trip for you good people (and yes, for you lousy ones too), but sort of glossed over one important point. See, the trip was actually very educational for me. As someone who has not traveled much, only leaving the US of A for the gentle climes of Canada (which is really just America Light), I'm sort of confined to the news and television for my views of other countries. Now, thanks to Epcot, I have diversified this knowledge greatly.

I'll give you an example. I'm part Mexican, so you'd think I'd know stuff about Mexico, right? Yeah, not so much. Fortunately, I'm now far more aware of my heritage. I mean, I knew about the Incan stuff, but who knew Mexico was actually full of señoritas in flowery dresses and dudes in sombreros? Oh, and the mariachi bands that are apparently everywhere. I find it hard to believe that the drug wars I hear about on the news could be happening in a place with so many mariachis, going around playing guitars and making everyone all jovial-like. I shall read further reports with a grain of salt.

Another country I was ignorant of was Norway. I mean, I knew Norway was lousy with fjords (which Epcot confirmed for me), but that was pretty much it. Now I know that to this day, Norway is a land of Vikings, a place where people travel by ship to battle swamp trolls with giant, double-sided axes. Who knew it would be so exciting? Of course I'm in no hurry to actually go there now, what with not liking riding on ships or forest trolls much, but still. Very educational.

Fjord. God I love that word. Fjord fjord fjord.

Okay, I'm done.

Anyway, there was a lot more. Everyone in France loves wine and cheese and art and the Eiffel tower, which I kind of suspected already. People in the UK like rugby and knights, which I was also aware of. People in Morocco like cous cous and belly dancing, which surprised me, as I thought belly dancing was more of an Egyptian thing, but whatever. There was just so much to take in.

Oh, and Martin Short %#$@ing loves Canada, which I didn't know, but in hindsight makes total sense, because he's always just so damned polite.



Fjord.

I Guess "Here Famous" Doesn't Impress The Same Way

Well, the weekend saw me driving the family across scenic Michigan to take a weekend trip (and by "scenic", I mean, "flat and occasionally tree covered"). As I am wont to do, I shopped for available billboards while admiring the work of others. In the process, I came across something that I'm not sure I approve of on a billboard for a bakery - the use of the term "world famous".



To give you a point of reference, this here website has, according to my analytics, had visitors from sixty two different countries. That seems like a lot to me, but that could be due to the fact that my ignorance of geography keeps me aware of only those countries currently threatening us (I'm looking at you, Canada, sitting there all polite and quiet, smiling while you sharpen you're skates and train your squadrons of attack-beavers). So I've had people from all over the world swing by and hopefully snicker at my work here.

Still, I don't know that I would go so far as to refer to the site as "world famous". That just seems...I don't know. Presumptuous perhaps. I might call it "world vaguely-aware-of" or maybe "world stumbled-upon", but "famous"? It just seems a bit much.

As such, I must admit that I remain dubious that the bakery known as Cops And Doughnuts (so named because it's actually owned by police officers - nice) is truly famous around the world. I guess I should have stopped and found out. Maybe the doughnuts are just that damned good. The truth is though, once you get burned by one "world famous" attraction, it's hard to trust again.

Damn you Mystery Spot. Damn you for making me believe.

God, That Must Be Your Feet Then

I've discussed interesting perfumes and colognes here before. It's kind of required sometimes. I mean, had I not acknowledged the Star Trek colognes (which I still haven't received as a gift despite my best hinting), I would have put my nerd card at risk. And who wouldn't want to cover the Burger King scent. Well, something has come up that surpasses my wildest expectations.

Someone has released the the scent of va-jay-jay in a bottle and called it Vulva Original.

At first I figured this was an April Fool's day set up, but apparently it's been around for years. Trying to ignore the fact that the company didn't go out of business, fire all of it's employees and burn to the ground within weeks of announcing such a product, I did a bit of poking around (heh) and found corroboration via Jezebel. Apparently, they are not actually marketing this as a cologne or perfume but rather a "beguiling vaginal scent which is purely a substance for your own smelling pleasure".

If you can read that sentence without getting a serious case of the wiggums, you're a stronger person than I am.

Of course I have grave concerns about this, starting with that name. What kind of name is "Vulva"? Could they not at least make an effort at being creative? Perfumes always have these subtle names. Why not follow suit and call it something like Marée Basse? That or just go all out and just call it Giney.

Also, if you're going to release a product like this, don't rely on word of mouth to get the news out. This calls for a real marketing effort, a true media blitz. Besides, has there ever been a product that cried out so much for a celebrity spokesperson?

Vulva Original: for the man who wants to smell just like Tiger Woods.

That, Or They Just Really Loved Sacrificing Goats

One thing I don't understand is Satanism. I don't mean LeVayan Satanism, which is basically atheism built around irritating Christians, but those people who actually believe that Satan is a deity worth worshiping. This...this makes no sense to me.

Here's my issue: all the information we have on Satan theoretically comes from the Bible, right? I mean, that's where it all starts, laying out his role as a Heavenly prosecutor who chose sides poorly and got his Heavenly butt kicked to the proverbial curb by the man in charge. So far, so good, right?



I know there are several, subtly differing versions of the Bible floating around. There are new testaments and old testaments and last season's testaments and hey-don't-throw-that-out-I-can-still-get-some-use-out-of-it testaments. Throw in updated editions, add-ons by new and exciting prophets plus the various translations, and you could probably build a library out of the differing versions this one book, right?

Now the one thing I think they all have in common (and feel free to correct me, those among you who have more experience with this) is that there isn't a version where Satan or Lucifer or whatever he goes by is an okay dude. I have yet to come across the Biblical description of Satan as just some misunderstood kid who spoke out of turn and was made an example of, so now he messes with humanity, but really deep down he's okay. Maybe he just needs a hug, but it never happens because he's always on fire or whatever.

So the one source we have on the guy basically spells out that he's kind of a douche. Nonetheless, some group (presumably made up of people with similar, douche-like qualities) has decided not only that he's real but that he's worth worshiping. I could even understand it if they were just doing it for attention, as with the LeVay crowd. Any basis for real belief, however, completely eludes me.

Maybe someone just woke up one day and said, "I wonder what it's like to be smited. How do we make that happen?".

Of Course It Would Be Under There

Like most people, I come across thing on the internet that I wasn't necessarily looking for. Such an example is Men's Underwear Guy. (Link NSFW. I'll explain in a bit.) No, it's not the most ridiculous superhero webcomic ever. Rather, it's a site where one man dedicates himself to reviewing men's underwear.

Seriously.

Now I'm a big fan of online reviews, turning to the net before making most of my major purchases. Never before would I have considered pausing before picking up a pack of BVDs, considering that maybe I should be doing more research into what I'm girding my loins with. Really, once I outgrew Underoos, my interest in the fashion considerations of my delicates waned almost completely.



This individual, on the other hand, has an affinity for men's lingerie that borders on disturbing. This in and of itself would be impressive, but the fact is he would appear to be reviewing the products the only way a person really can - he's trying them all himself. And how do we know this?

Because he's modeling every single thing he reviews.

This is amazing to me. Initially, my inclination was to believe that the guy was simply running this site to work out some exhibitionist tendencies. Well, that or he wanted a socially acceptable outlet to show his six-pack abs and that he's packing more heat than Neo attacking a building in the one and only Matrix movie ever made. Ever.

The thing is, he's really reviewing these things. Every thong, sling and leather thing is being rated, graphed and commented on in detail usually reserved for home stereo equipment. The man is a &$%#ing connoisseur. I was only on the site for like five minutes, and he has me questioning whether I should be choosing unmentionables more worthy of mention.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not throwing out my current collection to be replaced with the shoulder-harnessed jocks made famous by Borat (and yeah, they're in there). Still, next time I go to replace a worn set of briefs, I might consider doing a little reading first.

Of course it might compel me to pick up cucumbers and aluminum foil while I'm out shopping, but perhaps that's the price one pays for fashion.