You Are What You Eat... You Stupid Turkey

Before any animal rights hippies start telling me turkeys aren’t stupid… you’re wrong. Turkeys are morons. My house is frequently visited by packs of turkeys, and they are dumber than Harry and Lloyd combined. I chase them away and throw tennis balls at them, and all they do is keep coming back and rubbing their asses back and forth in the sand, making little craters in the ground, which I assume is their way of saying “eat me eat me eat me!!”, so I do.

The Turkey: Nature's Dumbass.

It has come to my attention that several urgent issues have not been addressed by the campus community. Perhaps people are too afraid to talk about such sensitive subjects, but I am willing to take a stand and publicly state that they need fixing. In fact, I believe correcting these two issues is crucial to our aspirations to move up the college rankings.

Issue Numero Uno: People who put my laundry in the wrong place. If you walk into the laundry room, and there is only one load of laundry in sight (in the dryer), and only one basket in the room, and it’s sitting right in front of the dryer, put the damn clothes in the basket. Don’t put them on top of the dryer, or if you do, at least be considerate enough to wipe off the mix of dust, lint, dirt, detergent, and semen that’s probably built up there before you throw clothes on top of it.

Issue Numero Dos-o: Fast food line etiquette. Thanks to Dave for suggesting this one. Nothing is more annoying (other than the new stains on my freshly-cleaned laundry) than standing behind someone in the fast food line who knows you’re there, and after they’re done taking their sweet ass time selecting the four most perfect French fries (at a rate of approximately 17 seconds per fry)… and once they finally finish, they shut the doors and put the tongs back in the bucket. Just hand me the damn tongs before I chop your hands off and take them from you.

As great as the food is at Thanksgiving, it’s really special because it’s a family holiday, which means we get conversations like this…
Me: “Did you guys see they’re making Rocky 6?”
Dad: “No… what’s he gonna do, wheel his way into the ring?”

Drago wants to know when he gets his own spinoff.

As long as we’re talking about Thanksgiving… if all of us eat a ton on Thanksgiving, what do you think a competitive eater like Takeru Kobayashi does? I bet he takes the day off and eats a small salad.

Many people think Hell is a place full of fiery infernos and screaming souls. They’re wrong. After much research (also known as “driving through Newark”), I have figured it out. Hell is sitting in Thanksgiving day traffic with no scenery other than the crappy ass Newark skyline on the way to a packed airport full of all sorts of absurd security measures and cavity searches to catch a plane that will take you to the DMV. And on a side note, has anyone ever noticed that Newark is strangely familiar? Well, I figured that out too: every time you see some post-apocalypse movie, I’m pretty sure the crappy, destroyed, awful-looking earth is just a cameraman walking by Newark.

More fun family quotes from the Holidays: “I wonder how people from Turkey feel about this holiday. We’re eating their country.”

Louisiana Tech’s starting quarterback is named Champion… but they still suck. Which raises the question: if their quarterback was named Massive Douchebag, would they be #1 in the country?

Speaking of college football, while watching the BC-Miami game, a commercial came on for a college. My cousin pointed out that it has to be a BC commercial, because Miami easily could have found a hotter girl, and because the University of Miami isn’t a real university anyway and wouldn’t have academic commercials. Immediately following this, a Miami commercial came on, which basically consisted of 30 seconds of random flashing images of things like helicopters and buildings, ending with a hot girl (who turned out to be a celebrity alumnus) smiling and saying what a great school it was. Priceless timing.

“No Child Left Behind” my ass… didn’t anyone ever see Home Alone?

If I owned a TV network, every time Eli Manning threw one of his ridiculous lobs downfield, I’d make sure the station played the “woooOOOOOOOOOOoooo” pop fly noise from R.B.I. Baseball. And if the receiver dropped it, the “doink” error noise would play.

Even more fun holiday quotes, this time from a guy named Forrest talking about a woman named Charmin: “At least I was named after the movie came out. Was she named before or after the toilet paper?”

No animals were harmed in the making of this column.

"Le Random" is French for "Sexy"

On a note you won't be reading in the paper, I had planned on taking an hour or so to write this column Thursday after classes, but then I got hungry and went to Acropolis instead, so it was pumped out in about 20 minutes just on time to make the paper this week. Therefore, I take no responsibility if it sucks more than a 5 dollar Vietnamese prostitute standing on the street corner saying "me love you long time, me so horny!"

I can’t wait for the day that a beer company sues Wheaties for copyright infringement. This has to be happening soon, for two reasons: one, everybody sues everybody these days, and two, we all know beer is the true “Breakfast of Champions.”

The 6^th Rocky movie comes out in about a month. The Rocky Series: 6 movies, countless fight scenes, and approximately 3 blocked punches total. Seriously, other than any Rocky movie, has there ever been a less realistic sports movie that somehow isn’t ridiculed for its sports scenes? The boxing fights in Rocky are like making a football movie, but in every scene, the quarterback throws the ball 30 yards down field underhand to a receiver who catches with his elbows and hopscotches his way down the field.

Speaking of football, I noticed recently that in addition to having numbers, the referees also have a couple letters on their uniforms to let us know their specific role. For example, the head referee has an R. That being said, I think the NFL should mandate that all Back Judges be number 69, just so I can giggle like the mature adult that I am every time I see BJ 69 call an unnecessary roughness penalty.

On a related note, the government should officially rename the city of Chicago to “Da”, just so we can officially have a team called Da Bears.

Just change that C to a D, and we're all set. It could also stand for Ditka.

If you hate reading, Borders is more like Boreders.

While washing my hands in the bathroom recently next to a girl who brought her own soap, I couldn’t help but wonder why. Isn’t the primary purpose of soap to get your hands clean? And if so, since the dirt ends up on your skin (as opposed to the inside of your hands), isn’t the school’s corrosive and abrasive soap that basically rips off the top layer of your skin the most effective way to get clean hands, since the dirt comes off with it?

It’s only been a week and a half, but we can already see the massive changes the country is making due to Democrats taking over Congress. For example, just two weeks ago, my room was full of red solo cups from the night before… but as I glance around right now at the mess from last night that is yet to be cleaned up, all I see is plenty of blue Bud Light and Busch Light cans. And yes, I do still believe that George W. Bush should go by Busch Light.

I am sick and tired of people using the same crappy categories to get me out in Kings. For those of you who aren’t clear, good categories include types of beer, types of cereal, Crayola crayon box colors, baseball teams, cigarette brands, and Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. Bad categories include tampon brands, fashion designers, and saying “sides of a coin” when I’m the person with the 3^rd turn.

If I ruled the world, a new channel would be created, that would have the exclusive rights to Grey’s Anatomy, the O.C., America’s Next Top Model, and Project Runway. It would show nothing but these shows, all day, every day… and our campus would not receive it, making me a far happier person, since I’d never have to worry that my crappy ass semi-working remote would mess up while I was flipping channels and leave me stuck with it.

Andrew's the Name, Random's the Game

For more than three years, I’ve been thinking about how much I hate paying to do laundry. Why would I pay for something that I don’t enjoy doing? I wouldn’t walk up to a carpenter and give him 20 bucks to pound my hand with his hammer, or pay a professor 10 dollars to let me take an exam. Then I realized: I’m not paying for my laundry… I’m spending money to make sure I don’t put my ID through the washer/dryer, and have to spend another 15 bucks on a new one. I’m fairly confident that the only reason I haven’t run my ID through the laundry is because I am required to take it out of my pocket and put it in the machine to turn the damn thing on.

Watching football highlights with some friends the other night, we began to wonder… what does Chris Berman sound like when he’s having sex? Does he continue making his missed-the-tackle noises, as in “oh yes, that’s it… WOP! WOP! and he... could… go… all… the… way… JACKED UP! WOP!”

After witnessing a girl down the hall go on a drunken online shopping spree, only to wake up the next morning and realize she was down a couple hundred bucks, I’ve decided that computers should have breathalyzers that require you to be below a .08 if you’re going to purchase anything online. In fact, while we’re at it, let’s extend the breathalyzer to AIM as well, and say you have to be under a certain level to talk to any of your ex’s after one in the morning.

Every single time I’ve had a religion test this semester, I’ve had a government test the same week. Separation of church and state my ass…

I have two thoughts on Borat. First, I had really been looking forward to the release of this movie for months, and it lived up to expectations. Second, I am really not looking forward to the months that will follow, where everybody does crappy imitations of his accent as they say “nice!” 472 times a day. This could be worse than the Napoleon Dynamite “gosh!” craze, which almost caused me to go Van Gogh on myself just so I wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.

You are not this man. Please, for the sake of us all, stop trying.

In case you missed it, Kevin Federline and Britney Spears broke up this week, and just for you people out there who say things like “putting random paragraphs that aren’t related next to each other isn’t good writing, it has no flow” (also known as “playa hataz in the suburbs-that-think-they’re-the-hood), I’m going to combine the last two stories. Kevin Federline is a genius along the lines of Sacha Baron Cohen. He has everyone thinking he’s a character (sleazy trailor trash moron), but he’s been playing us all. Look at his life thus far: hang out, sleep with Britney when she was “Britney: Hottest Girl Alive”, get rich, get divorced once Britney gets trashy, and probably take a ton of money with him from it. I think he’s secretly an intellectual genius, and he’s been spending the last four years or so just messing with us.

The new Playstation 3 commercial with the crying plastic baby is creepier than Michael Jackson, spiders, Lindsay Lohan’s anorexic-crackhead look, and The Hills Have Eyes combined. Speaking of Miss Lohan, my friend Mike has created a theory that she rubbed anti-gravity cream on her skin, and it caused her to collapse on herself… as strange as it sounds, I think I might agree with him. Anyway, based solely on this commercial, I refuse to buy it anytime soon. Well, actually, the 500 dollar price tag might have something to do with it too…

If you are what you eat, why don’t we all just eat mussels all the time?

While flipping through channels the other day, I noticed Dominoes was on TV, which is strange enough in itself… but then, upon watching for a few moments, I saw something truly amazing: an instant replay of someone picking a domino out of his pile, and placing it on the board. An instant replay!! I hope some day, if there’s ever a documentary made of me, they pick random boring events like that to show instant replays of. Perhaps we could see a slow-motion replay of me making the last pull on my shoelaces to tie them, or even some of those insane and unnecessary special effects from sports shows showing me point the remote towards the TV to change the channel off of this ridiculous domino show.

I’m out like the Republicans in the House.

Global Warming: Disaster or Blessing?

Global warming this, global warming that… I’m sorry, Mr. Gore, but I just don’t understand why you keep complaining. As I walked to class on this delightfully warm afternoon, wearing pants and a t-shirt on the first day of November, I began to wonder... why is everyone so worried about global warming? We always hear the nonsensical arguments of ski-fanatics and pessimistic doomsday prophets, so I think it’s about time someone stood up for this wonderful phenomenon. With that said, I bring you five good reasons why you should be even more excited for global warming than I was when I discovered my cabbie in NYC last weekend was named Roc Joc. And believe me, I was pretty damn excited.

Global warming cancels out the dreaded nuclear winter. Terrified of a nuclear war with North Korea? Worried that your ski house’s property value is going to plummet once the whole world becomes cold enough to ski in year-round? Don’t worry… here comes your good buddy, Global “Economically Friendly” Warming, just in time to cancel out the nuclear winter!

Every day is a beach day. Ah, the beach… the soothing sunlight, the relaxing waves, the calm breeze… isn’t it just so peaceful? Personally, I prefer a beach full of bocce ball, frozen drinks, and scantily clad beach volleyball players… but whatever your fancy is, now, imagine you could go there every day of the year. We can even get rid of those pesky tiny islands of Hawaii and their pineapple arrogance, since we’ll have a much bigger and cooler (but still just as warm) island known as The American Continents, with way more beaches.

Global warming raises the public’s political awareness and increases voting. Shout-out to Chrissie for sharing this brilliant idea with me… With global warming around, we’d have far more natural disasters. Now, turn your eyes away from all the atrocious damage Katrina caused for a minute, and look at the end result: people became concerned with the way the government handled it, and decided to start paying more attention to politics to make themselves more aware so they could vote more responsibly and bring about a positive change. If this happened every week, the 12 surviving people at the end of the year would be incredibly aware of their desolate and demolished surroundings. Plus, with any luck, we’d knock out whatever buildings are responsible for all the crappy reality TV that’s on every night.

People would look more attractive. It’s a well-known fact that the world is more fun when people are wearing less clothing. Think about it… would you rather look at Jessica Alba wearing a bikini in Into the Blue, or wearing a massive fur coat in Siberia Is Cold: A Documentary on Russia’s Vast and Boring Territory?

Here at I Have ADD, we don't pass up excuses to post pictures of Jessica Alba.

We’d find all the terrorists. It’s also a known fact (or a stereotype that I’m too lazy to research and be corrected on) that terrorists all live in caves in the middle of the hot desert. But what happens once their caves get even hotter? Even the most determined fanatic can’t survive in a 394 degree cave (which, incidentally, is the same temperature as the old plex bathrooms in the summer; before going there, I’d never stood in the shower looking at the floor, wondering whether more of the water was water from the faucet or sweat dripping off me.) Basically, we’d be flushing them out of their caves like stools down the toilet. Although, as an alternative, I suppose we could always just have helicopters fly around with gigantic speakers blasting London Bridge and Sexyback… once they started echoing around the caves, they’d have no choice but to flee from their cover.

There you have it: five damn good reasons why I’m excited for global warming. Until next time, I’m Andrew Meyer, asking all of you readers: is Hillary Duff really hot, or does she look like she’s 12? Because I watched A Cinderella Story from start to finish this summer trying to figure it out, and 90 minutes later, was just as baffled as I was when I started. Feel free to write in and submit your thoughts to help me in my efforts to become unconfused (meyercolumn@gmail.com, as always.)

The Ancients Were Morons

Many people look back on ancient “advanced” civilizations with awe and wonder. Unfortunately, upon doing some research, the only thing I can wonder is why everybody was so stupid back then. I mean, we’re talking about people who took thousands and thousands of years to invent the freaking wheel, which is pretty much just “step 1: find round thing, step 2: put stuff on it.”

For further evidence of how incredibly idiotic these people were, I’d like to break down some famous ancient “advice” and share the analysis with you.

“The early bird gets the worm.”

Ever eaten a worm before? Neither have I, but I’m pretty sure they’re disgusting… unless, of course, it’s smothered in BBQ sauce. Everything tastes good if you put enough BBQ sauce on it.

“Before you judge someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes.”

Due to the fact that I have size 13 feet, listening to this advice probably just changes my thoughts from “that guy sucks” to “that guy sucks and now my feet hurt.”

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

There’s two possibilities here: either you’re holding a live bird in your hand, in which case it’s probably pecking the crap out of you until your hands bleed more than the evil sensei in Karate Kid after he punches the window, or you’re walking around carrying a dead bird, in which case you’re a sick bastard. Either way, I’d rather have two birds chillin in a bush outside. Although, this seems like a good spot to point out that I’ve never understood people who love the sounds of birds chirping in the morning… all I can hear is “CHIRP CHIRP WAKE UP TWEET TWEET I’MA WAKE YOUR ASS UP WHILE YOU’RE TRYING TO SLEEP IN CHIRP TWEET HAHA SUCKS FOR YOU CHIRP CHIRP!”

“An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Yea… but only if you’re using the apples to throw them at the doctor, in which case you’re screwed once you get sick, since he’s not going to want to help you.

“Quitters never win, winners never quit.”

Well, that’s just great. Let’s just get the whole damn world smoking cigarettes now.

This guy sure as hell ain't no quitter.

“Kill two birds with one stone.”

Clearly, the ancients didn’t have PETA around to get on their asses screaming at them for killing nature, and probably getting them imprisoned for 16^th Degree Animal Assault or something.

“If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.”

This one just has too many examples to count, but for now, try thinking of the man who gets his ass kicked by Mike Tyson in a bar fight, then decides “I can probably take him if I try harder this time!” and throws his fists up at him again the next night… think he succeeds? Besides, I always liked “If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving isn’t for you” better anyway, although I have no idea where it originated from.

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Actually, actions don’t speak at all… that’s just dumb. The only way it makes sense is if the action is “yelling into a megaphone”, which the idiots hadn’t invented yet anyway.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

Actually, I’m pretty sure the name of that speeding SUV was “Suburban”, not “Curiosity.”

Now, I don’t want you all to be depressed after hearing this many pathetic quotes in a row, so I’m going to take a moment before the conclusion to share my favorite quote of the week, which came from a lunch at Panera…

JB: “There’s a lot of old people here.”

Me: “Yea, I noticed that.”

JB: “I hope no one dies. That would really ruin this cup of coffee.”

It may not be advice, but it’s a hell of a lot wiser than anything these old fogey clowns said. From the year 2006 (also known as “The Year of the People Who Are Way Smarter than Ancient Dumbasses” in the Chinese calendar), this is Meyer, reminding you that the email is meyercolumn@gmail.com, not the firstname.lastname Conn emails, signing off.

Thoughts from a Gingerkid

Random thoughts from two big nights of TV, featuring National League Championship Series, two football games, and XXX (the highly believable and realistic action movie, not porn):

The only thing worse than Scott Spiezio’s stupid dyed red quasi-goatee is the fact that a blonde girl in the stands who could be really hot is wearing a fake one, completely ruining her face. Speaking of hot girls in the stands, I think my goal in life is to be the cameraman whose job consists of “keep your camera on and stare at the hot girls in the crowd for the next 20 minutes, so that at some point, we can cut to a shot of her for 2 seconds.” It’s like professional ogling, but with more celebrity sightings.

Squirrels are the sluts of the animal world… the only thing they care about is finding some good nuts.

The announcers just informed me that some players will pull up their socks to try to change things for the better. As opposed to, you know, trying to actually hit the ball for once instead of just swinging and missing.

“I just can’t like a sport where you can chew tobacco while you’re playing it. It’s so stupid.” -Julia’s thoughts on baseball. She’s given plenty of insightful analysis so far, including informing me that Anthony Reyes looks like Bert from Sesame Street.

True fact: Vin Diesel has the largest bicep-to-hair ratio in the world.

I live my life a quarter mile at a time.

Killing moths always creeps me out. There’s never any blood or organs or anything… it always just looks like dust. Imagine being a flying misshapen ball of dust.

(Note: if you can imagine this with ease, you need should probably lay off the drugs for a bit.)

More eye-opening truths of the game from the announcers: “when you get thrown out at a base, that’s the best baserunning play you can make.” I don’t know, Tim… personally, I think “being safe” is a better play.

Why did CBS even bother showing a Dolphins-Jets game today? They might as well just show an office flag football game… the level of talent is about the same. Speaking of which, if we took 40 random people off the street and put them in Oakland Raiders uniforms, would anybody notice?

Apparently, Shawn Green’s nickname is “Gumby”, which begs the question: is there a less intimidating name for a lanky professional athlete than Gumby? He just struck out. Maybe if he changes his name to something like “asskicker” or “the lethal weapon”, he’ll swing the bat within a foot of the ball next time.

Random announcement (although, at this point, I should probably just be announcing the times that I have coherent thoughts with a theme instead of the random ones... I’d save myself a lot of work), because I promised Jonny P. I’d mention his team this week… Hey, Yankees and Red Sox fans! Sad that your teams spent 40 gazillion dollars but still couldn’t make it this far? Want to see how a REAL baseball team plays? Come to Club Baseball’s home game this Sunday.

If the Broncos beat the Raiders by less than 20 points, can we just say it’s embarrassing that the game was that close, and give them a loss in the official record books?

Watching St. Louis hit a home run, followed by a little logo popping up to show that the replay is brought to us by DirecTV, basically ensures that not only will I never switch to satellite TV, but I’m going to go buy a bag of rocks to throw at any satellite dishes I can find later tonight.

Joe Theismann, while talking about the Colts’ three best players in past years, just informed me that Edgerrin James “was part of the threesome in Indianapolis.” Why do phrases like this always seem to come from announcers recently? Shouldn’t someone whose job is essentially public speaking be more aware of what they are saying? I just can’t imagine Lincoln accidentally saying “Four nights and one 69-score ago…”

Best part about being Scott Player (the Arizona’s punter): your work attire is “football jersey that says PLAYER on the back.”

I think the league office should force the Cardinals to sign a quarterback named Pirate, just so he can throw touchdowns to Marcel Shipp that will read “TD: Pirate-Shipp” in the box score.

I’m out like Meatwad in an IQ contest.

funny headline.

Yet another suggestion for Webster’s 2007 dictionary: the Circle of Life, formerly known as “wise teaching of Mufasa”, will also be known as “eating while pooping.” Go ahead, make all the disgusted faces and noises you want… we both know you want to try it.

Has anybody seen the “Five Friendlies” that are the official mascots of the 2008 Olympics? I swear they’re teletubbies on steroids. Forget Major League Baseball… we need to start testing for performance-enhancing drugs on Mascots. And speaking of baseball, I hope you all noticed that the starting pitcher matchup for Dodgers-Mets recently was Lowe-Maine. (If you’re confused, call Golden Wok and ask them what they think of Lowe-Maine.)

Just once, I’d like to be watching a football game and hear the announcer say “The Toyota Halftime Show is brought to you by… FORD!”

CNN.com headline this afternoon: “Fake witch doctor shopped Wal-Mart, cops say”… so remember, next time you go to the witch doctor, make sure their bags are from Target.

More fun with headlines: “Multicolored bird hailed as new species”… somewhere in his grave, Jimi Hendrix is saying “see? I TOLD you I saw some crazy colored bird that one time backstage.”

I know I’ve discussed this before, but it’s worth saying again: Fall sucks. Every time I look out the window and put on a sweatshirt and pants, it’s 70 degrees. If I put on shorts and a tshirt, it’s 50 degrees. It’s like when someone walks up to you with a hand behind their back, and says “guess how many fingers I’m holding up?”, and you know they’re cheating but there’s nothing you can do about it, so you just take a guess, and you’re inevitably wrong. Fall is the cheating older sibling of the seasons.

Do people with bad lisps call the Thong Song the Thong Thong? Taking it a step further, has there ever been a Sisqo fan who said “my favorite thong is the thong thong”?

For those of you who missed it, North Korea made their big nuclear test recently, which is clearly just what they need. If they screw up and nuke themselves and kill off half their population, they just might have a shot at having enough food to feed the people who are left. Honestly, can you imagine someone like me living there? I think I’d be a threat to their national safety… I might eat 3/4 of the food supply in a one week vacation.

On a quick serious note, I said it last year, and I’ll say it again: Bocce ball should be a camelympic sport.

Is there a lamer name in professional sports than the Athletics? “We are athletes, so let’s call ourselves the Oakland Athletics!” I hope their owner buys an NFL team, just so I can root for the Los Angeles People Who Play Professional Football For A Living.

Course pre-registration is coming up, so I figured I’d end this column by helping you all out by sharing four years of course knowledge that I’ve learned. First, always be sure to sign up for morning classes. Sure, they may start earlier, but you’ll be done earlier too. Second, art classes are your best friend. All you have to do is draw pictures, how hard could it be? If I had a three year old brother, the pictures he drew would already be hanging on the fridge at home, and my mom would already be telling him how great his pictures were… if he can do it, you can too. Finally, be sure to only take classes that sound miserable and incredibly hard, like Biomolecular Quantum Chemical Analysis III. That way, it always ends up being better than you expected, since it can’t be any worse, so you’ll be happy with how it turned out.

There you have it: great advice for signing up for classes. I swear, it’s not just me keeping you the hell away from anything I want to sign up for so it doesn’t fill up…

Las Vegas is Spanish for... The Vegas

After spending Fall Break in Las Vegas, the constant bombardment of stimulus has me full of thoughts and observations on traveling, Vegas, and other random things, so I’m not going to waste any time this week with boring concepts like “introductions” and “conclusions”. In the words of 50 Cent, “This ain’t no *#&%)@% 5 paragraph essay, &#%!!! G-g-g-G-g-g-GGGGGuuuuuuNIIIIIT!”

For an extended (and unedited) version of this column, surf your way over to http://meyercolumn.blogspot.com. If you don’t know how to surf, boogey board. If you don’t know how to boogey board, I don’t want you reading my column anyway.

Few things are more uncomfortable than pooping in a public airport stall with a broken lock and a door that’s too far away already. You have to attempt to lean forward far enough to reach the door, but not so far as to poop on the floor (or on your pants around your ankles.) It’s possibly the most challenging event I’ve ever encountered.

Is it possible to go to an airport without seeing someone dressed in a matching velour sweatsuit, and where are these people in everyday life? Why do airports bring them out? It’s kind of like going home for fireworks on 4^th of July, and all the rednecks who live in the woods that you only see once a year suddenly appear to watch things go boom.

No matter how many times it happens, I’m always amused by someone I’m with saying “Don’t worry… I’m a limo driver!” as we walk down the tunnel to get on the plane.

Actual conversations while flying over the middle of the country:

“My God… I have never seen that much flatness.”

“At least there’s a lake.”

“I think that’s a cesspool.”

“Whatever, it’s got a beach.”

“No wonder people out here have accents… they need something to entertain themselves.”

Plane arrival estimated times have more padding than an embarrassed late blooming 16 year old girl.

Vivaaaaa Las Vegas

Whoever had the idea to put a phone in the bathroom is a genius. Think of the increase in efficiency: while you’re pooping out one meal, you can call room service and place your order for the next one. More brilliant than a Guinness ad.

Lewis Black is angrier than Student Life after I make roofie jokes in a column.

Las Vegas is basically a 24/7 Floralia, but with a hell of a lot more lights. Exhibit A: walking down the sidewalk at noon, beer bottle in hand, and strolling by two cops who just smile and wave (which, by the way, made me feel more awkward than Hitler giving a guest speech in Boca Raton.) Exhibit B: waking up and going to breakfast before 10 AM, and ordering chicken tenders, mini cheeseburgers, and a 24 oz. beer… and not even drawing a strange look or any hesitation at all.

If I had to sit in one room for the rest of my life, it would come down to two places: either Jessica Alba’s bedroom, or the Mandalay Bay Sports Book. There’s too much about it to put in words, but I will say that few things are more entertaining than watching an entire room of grown men erupt in ecstatically joyful applause at a touchdown in a football game that still had a 9 point difference with 12 seconds left, just because the betting line was 9.5 and their bets were now covered by a meaningless score.

Despite popular belief, Sean Paul does not speak English. I will not argue this fact.

I always thought that the way casinos worked was the young attractive girls became cocktail waitresses, while everyone else became dealers, security guards, and cashiers. Then I went to the MGM Grand, where I saw two waitresses who were older than my mother, but still wore the skimpy cocktail waitress uniform. Which brings up the obvious question of “what the fuck?” Did the MGM Grand not get the memo? I hear they also don’t put cover sheets on their TPS reports.

Suicidal people should be taken to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse so they can realize the joy and happiness of life, in the form of a gigantic juicy steak. Unless they’re vegetarians… in which case, good riddance.

The World Carnival Buffet at the Rio is so big, even Kobayashi can’t eat the whole thing… and that’s saying something. And speaking of gigantic, did you know that Caesar’s Palace takes up more space on a map than the USSR did in the 80’s?

The cabdriver told me that Las Vegas is the #1 city in the world, and I just kept waiting for him to say “It’s a fact.”

At one point this weekend, Michael Jackson came on the casino speakers. I immediately shifted all my roulette chips and bet everything on ODD. And just in case you were wondering: Billie Jean is not my lover.

I’ve noticed that the word “cashew” is simply a combination of “cash” and “ew.” Therefore, I propose that from now on, we call communists cashews, since they don’t want money.

Some people have two first names… and then there’s Anderson Cooper, who got stuck with two last names and no first name.

What’s up with restaurants that have incredibly good-looking servers in the front, but when you go sit down for your meal, your waiter is a 60 year old man? It’s eerily reminiscent of seeing the awesome trailer for X3, only to arrive at the theater for a huge disappointment.

“Dry heat” is bullshit. I don’t care how dry it is; 90 degrees is fucking hot.

While watching football this weekend, I noticed that the only starter smiling in his picture was a man named R. Kelly, proving that Fox employs 14 year olds as their photographers.

About Me

After a discussion about people’s About Me sections of facebook with my friend Jess, I realized that here I am, a senior who’s been writing for over two years, and most of you still know nothing about me. On a related note, I’m always amused by the once-a-month occurrence of talking to someone I’ve been friendly with for about a year, then suddenly having them say “wait, you’re the Andrew from the paper! I never realized that!” Anyway, time to do a better job introducing myself.

Despite what the picture may have you believing, I am not Nelly’s long lost albino twin with dyed red hair. That costume was the end of a thought process on Halloween my freshman year that went something like this: “Oh…. looks like people dress up in college for Halloween… damn it, I’m supposed to be somewhere in 10 minutes. What can I be? (opens closet) Hmmm, a football jersey. Hmmm, a hat. Hmmm, a box of band-aids…”

In case you've only read it online: the author's picture in each week's paper.

I’m half-Jewish, so when I screw something up, I only say “oy” instead of the full “oy vey.”

I believe that the Red Hot Chili Peppers are the best band of our generation… but I’d rather listen to Cascada. And speaking of music, I love hip hop despite being unable to relate to most of it, I have an unhealthy addiction to crappy techno that I recognize is awful but listen to anyway, and I enjoy Dave Matthews Band, although I don’t understand why people love them more than their families, friends, and all non-dave-matthews-cd-possessions combined. They’re pretty good… not amazing. And that being said, if I happen to be discovered at the bottom of the Thames River sometime within a week of this column being printed, I encourage any and all investigating to head straight to Emily the diehard DMB fan, who is probably already plotting my death upon reading this.

I only have three heroes – Takeru Kobayashi (ate 53.75 hot dogs in 12 minutes), Shakira (which is Spanish for “watch me move my hips and just imagine what I’m like in bed”), and the late, great Steve Irwin, mate.

The only thing I hate more than driving behind an old lady from Florida driving her car slower than David Wells immediately after he eats a meal in the left lane with the blinker on for 46 miles is biting into a delicious looking chocolate chip cookie, only to find out that it has nuts. Biting into a cookie with a nut in it is getting hit in the face by an asteroid as you’re walking down the sidewalk on your way to class: you never see it coming, and it hurts every time.

My heart beats about 30 beats per minute faster with excitement every time Darkwing Duck says “Let’s… get… DANGEROUS.” And yes, I do own the first 25 episodes of Darkwing Duck on DVD.

I have problems with people who fail to recognize the difference between “clean” and “organized.” I only wear clothes once before I wash them, I change my sheets once a week, and I shower at least once a day; I am clean. I am frequently forgetting homework assignments, have piles of unfolded (but clean) laundry lying around, and have to play hopscotch to get from my bed to my desk; I am unorganized. It’s quite easy to be both.

I have spent the past 5 years pushing for a law that would require people to say “sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY!” like a monster truck race announcer every time they want to talk about the day after Saturday.

The only thing better than ice cream is ice cream a la mode. Speaking of ice cream, I do not believe in the phrase “it’s too cold for ice cream.” There is no such thing as “too cold for ice cream”, only “hey, the ice cream will melt slower!”

Finally, my birthday is September 28, so it seems like a good time to remind you that it’s better to give than to receive.

Back and Less Focused than Ever

Ah, Fall. That magical time of year when the birds start chirping, the skimpy tanktops replace the baggy sweatshirts, and love is in the air. Wait… never mind, I’m thinking of Spring. Fall is when you look outside and see the sun and assume it’s hot, only to walk to class freezing your ass off in a t-shirt as trees shed their leaves like dandruff all over your shivering body. But Fall does mean back-to-school, which means it’s time for some new columns. And (caution: shameless self-promotion ahead) in case you missed it, the summer columns can be found at http://meyercolumn.blogspot.com. But what better way to start off the year than random crap I’ve been waiting to get off my mind?

A few random definitions I’d like to see in next year’s edition of Webster’s dictionary… “Crabby” should be used to describe people with crabs. The Big Bang was a giant orgy in the 70’s. “The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign” (known in France as “Le captain has waved le white flag”) is simply another way of saying “I drank too much Captain Morgan’s, and now the room is spinning.” Finally, I believe a new entry should be made for prostitot, a term coined by my friend Laura to describe the 12 year olds you see walking around wearing less clothes than Jenna Jameson visiting a nudist colony.

Do you think Topanga from Boy Meets World ever had to endure jokes about how Corey wanted To-bang-her?

In case you’ve been wondering where I get the random jokes from, I believe a conversation at the end of summer at a family dinner cleared it up…

Me: Richard Bronson… who is that? Is that the Virgin guy?

Dad: No, he’s Virgin Atlantic. With all that money, there’s no way in hell he’s a virgin.

I want to marry a girl whose last name is Oscar, just so I can have an Oscar-Meyer wedding. I’ll serve hot dogs there… but they’ll be Hebrew Nationals. They’ll never see it coming. And speaking of hot dogs, how many mini pig-in-a-blankets do you think Takeru Kobayashi could eat in 12 minutes? I’m setting the over/under at 219… million. On a related note, I firmly believe that Kobayashi could eat at least half of the world’s remaining pandas in one sitting. And continuing this rant while pretending these topics are somehow related, there has never been a bigger waste of technology than HDTV. Until competitive eating is broadcast in HDTV so I can watch the crumbs dribble down Joey Chestnut’s chin as he pounds hot dogs like it’s his job, which I guess it kind of is, I refuse to purchase an HDTV. I hope CELS can get me a job that cool some day.

I went to Niketown at the end of the summer, which is apparently Latin for Rolemodelville, as they had giant posters of Justin Gatlin (just days after his 8-year suspension for steroids) and Kobe “I Like Chairs” Bryant hanging on the wall.

I think I would enjoy life approximately 4.7x more if everytime anybody screwed anything up, the “doink” noise from errors in RBI baseball played. Speaking of baseball, I’m always amused when commercials come on informing us that “Budweiser is a proud sponsor of the NFL.” Why the hell would they sponsor it unproudly? I really want to hear something like “Coors Light is completely ashamed and embarrassed to be sponsoring the Devil Rays-Pirates game. We apologize to any lost souls who happen to be watching this crap.”

There are several great mysteries in life – the meaning of life, the origin of the universe, why Grady Little left Pedro in the game my freshman year of college – but none are as great as “why do I urinate just before going to bed and drink no fluids while I’m sleeping, but I still have to urinate when I wake up in the morning?” I think I could stop drinking liquids for a full week, and I’d still take a leak every morning when I woke up.

What do you think Stuart Scott and Mike Ditka’s off-camera conversations sound like? I’m picturing something along the lines of…

Stu: Yo, Mikey, how’s my boy The Fridge doin’? What’s my dog up to these days?

Mike: Stuart, if you ever speak to me again, I will personally rip your arms off and beat you to death with them.

(awkward silence for 3 minutes until cameras turn on again)

I’ve reached my word limit for this week, so I’m off like the bathroom lights when nobody’s in there. Kids, don’t forget to turn off the bathroom light. I may not care about the environment, but there’s nothing I despise more than having to dodge mosquitoes while still aiming for the middle of the toilet bowl… although, maybe this could become a Camelympic event this year.

Airports... AKA Dante's 5th Circle of Hell

Vacations have several stages. They start with the stage of eager anticipation, with the traveler sitting around like a kid waiting for his parents to wake up so he can rip his Christmas presents open. Unfortunately, the Christmas analogy ends there… unless, in order to get to the inside of the present, the child has to tear apart an electrified barbed wire wrapper that fries him like an egg on a sidewalk in Death Valley when he touches it. This step, between the goodness of booking your vacation and the goodness of the vacation itself, is known as “the airport.” It’s sort of like an Oreo cookie, but instead of frosting, it’s a mix of vomit, dead skunk, and a dead skunk’s vomit.

Airports, in a nutshell.

I recently traveled to the dirrty south, and decided to document my wonderful travel process, since those of you who know me know that I just loooove flying. Interesting… Word thinks I was trying to spell “dirty”, and even autocorrected me. Suck it, Microsoft Spell Check, you pompous piece of crap. Andrew: 1, Spellcheck: 7369… but I’m catching up, and that’s what counts.

The Incredible Journey begins at the asscrack of dawn, and unlike the 5^th grade book, it does not involve any pets trying to find their way home. Sure, the flight may not be until mid-morning, but my father always seems to belong to the “let’s get there 37 hours early even though half the planes we’ve ever been on were delayed” school of thought. The car ride to the airport goes rather smoothly, but as soon as we hop out, it’s made clear that we’re going to continue rushing. My dad rams the cart into the curb, discovers it won’t wheel over, then backs up one step and rams it again, causing half the bags to fall onto the sidewalk. This is followed by a frenzied panic of scooping them all up and continuing like crazies down the terminal. Our mad dash, which makes Michael Johnson look like Jerome Bettis, catapults the airport security level past all the citrus colors and into Blood Red, as they wonder why the man with all that luggage is making a mad dash towards the security gate. But hey, you know the saying… “If at first you don’t succeed, heave everyone else’s luggage onto the sidewalk.”

Once inside, after waiting in a line of 100 people where everyone seems to think that standing 4 inches behind me and breathing heavily on the back of my neck will somehow make me move up faster to check in, we finally make our way to the security check. Let me give you a piece of advice: always, ALWAYS, wear socks when you go to the airport. Apparently, my shoes now need to be x-rayed, since they could be weapons. This idea was probably caused by The Shoe Incident of 1995, when a man took his shoe off and beat four people to death with it. Meanwhile, the poor saps who forgot to wear socks must walk barefoot on a floor that even a fungus-infested, athlete’s-foot-covered locker room shower floor wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole.

After finally making it through the security checkpoint, we arrive at the gate, where the television is set to CNN, which is currently informing us that airports are not yet safe enough… always a comforting thought as the last thing to see before boarding an airplane. Fortunately, the headline says “Winning War on Terror?”, which makes me laugh as I think of “I’m Ron Burgundy?”. And speaking of movie references, am I the only person who, when you get to the front of the ticket line, just wants to whip out a badge and yell “don’t worry… I’m a limo driver!” and dart down the tunnel towards the plane?

Upon finally boarding the plane, you’re always forced to sit there for another hour or so, hanging out on the runway, with the pilot occasionally coming on the intercom to inform you that there’s a little bit of traffic, just in case you’re too stupid to allow the 39 fucking planes sitting outside your window make you realize it on your own.. Which always makes me wonder… if every flight since the Wright brothers has had to sit on the runway for at least 20 minutes, why not just let us all hang out in the airport for the extra 20 minutes before boarding, instead of packing us like sardines into seats where I always get stuck behind the guy who reclines his seat? (On a side note, funny story: I know a guy who’s probably about 6’4” and a very strong 240, who decided he would loudly comment on the fact that he hates when the guy in front of him reclines all the way into his knees, which caused the leaner in front to begin turning around yelling “you know, all I want is a little slee-”, and then stopped mid-sentence when he realized who he was picking a fight with, and promptly turned around and shut the hell up for the rest of the plane ride. Stories like this never cease to amuse me.)

Eventually, we get up in the air, and while there are no snakes on my plane, there are a hell of a lot of shakes, which mixes around the liquid in my bladder to the point that I can’t hold it in anymore, and have to use the “lavatory”, which is dumbass-speak for “bathroom.” Whenever I have to urinate on a plane, I know what the Hunchback of Notre Dame must feel like when he has to piss. My head constantly bumps into the ceiling as the turbulence makes even the most skilled urinator spray like a defective sprinkler. On a related note, I believe it’s physically impossible for someone my size to join the mile high club, unless it’s with a dwarf.

After finally landing, you get the joy of standing around by the baggage claim watching bag after bag that isn’t yours go around the conveyor belt and disappear into the mysterious other side of the wall, which I’m fairly certain is secretly the location of 72% of the world’s sweatshops. However, the baggage claim can be fun; simply use it as an opportunity to throw out cheesy pickup lines to people from thousands of miles away. I recommend finding a girl with a small suitcase and saying something along the lines of “hey baby, I noticed you don’t have much baggage. What do you say you and I travel to the land of intimacy?” This seems like a good time to remind you that sunglasses are vital for any beach vacation, as they’ll also defend you from the mace that will inevitably be sprayed in your direction after lines like this one.

One final note on traveling: don’t forget, rental cars are the perfect tools for practicing your e-brake 180’s and drifting techniques.

I Love Lamp

I have to return to my A.D.D. roots this week and make it a list of random thoug- OH LOOK SHINY OBJECT!

Reports on the news have said that Mel Gibson is “Not a bigot”, and didn’t really mean those comments. In other news, the Grand Dragon of the KKK announced earlier today “hey guys, I was just kidding! I love blacks and Jews! Haha, boy did I fool you guys!”

While I had originally planned on moving to Atlanta after college – it’s got warm weather, Chick Fil-a, Waffle House, and three major sports teams (four if you count the Hawks), and a cool nickname (ATL) – I think I’m actually going to move to Belgium instead, where my diet will consist entirely of Belgian Waffles and Stella Artois.

Upon watching the classic (and deeply intellectual) Major League 2 recently, I had several thoughts. This caused an intense headache, as I’m not exactly used to doing things like “thinking.” Anyway, thoughts:

1) What were Jack Parkman’s numbers in the American League Championship Series? I’m guessing something like 24 for 25, 17 home runs, and 40 RBIs over the course of 5 games.

2) Ever notice that in baseball movies, the signs the catcher gives for pitches are things like “1 finger = fastball”, or “2 fingers = curveball”, but in real baseball, the symbol for fastball is something like “three fingers down, point 30 degrees to the left, grab crotch twice, do your best Happy Hands Club imitation, spell a couple words in sign lanauge, make a shadow puppet dog, clap three times, and flip the bird”? Why is this?

3) The girl who played Rebecca Flannery’s name is Alison Doody. Hehehe… “Doody.”

Major League 2... more classic than Casablanca and Gone With the Wind combined.

With College just weeks away, I have decided to learn from nature and be more like a bear. You see, before bears hibernate for the winter, they eat a ton of food. Similarly, before I head off to the Land of Non-free Snacks, I’m stockpiling Chewy Chips Ahoys and Tostitos in my stomach.

While looking at ESPN headlines this past week, I saw one that said “Wang hits two Devil Rays”, and was very entertained… then realized I had mis-read it, and it actually said “Wang two-hits Devil Rays.” I haven’t been this disappointed since the TV Guide said Caddyshack was on, but it was actually Caddyshit 2.

Sometimes people ask me why I don’t like wine. I tell them I’m not a whiner like them. And speaking of wine, my favorite line of the week comes from a lactose-intolerant friend, who, in the middle of her whining, before I could make a joke about it, said “and I can’t even have cheese with my whine! This sucks.”

Has anybody ever seen the word “lather” used in anything other than shampoo directions? I’m picturing a bunch of shampoo executives in an office, thinking “well… we need to make directions. What should we say? Take the shampoo and rub it all around your hair, rinse, repeat?”
“Hey, let’s just make up a word instead. How’s ‘lather’ sound?”
“Works for me.”

Apparently, ECW is on the SciFi channel now. For those of you who didn’t know, ECW is a WWE-owned wrestling league. Which begs the question… what the hell is pro wrestling doing on the SciFi channel? I guess it must be science, because we all know there’s no way wrestling is fiction. And on a side note, it may have been several years ago, but I’m still amused by the fact that a bunch of big badass wrestlers had to change their name from WWF to WWE because a few nature-lovers demanded it. (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, the World Wildlife Federation sued them over the initials a while back.)

New York has recently put out an ad campaign against speeding, with the slogan “Obey the signs or pay the fines.” I like this rhyming slogan idea, and I think they should extend it to other aspects of life. For example, we could have anti-drug campaigns saying “Do hugs, not drugs.” Or, the slightly more effective “If you smoke pot, you’ll fucking get shot.” And don't forget folks, "Rape is for Apes."

While listening to the radio instead of doing work recently, I heard an ad for my company while I was sitting in their office. I took it as a sign… and that sign was “well, now seems like a good time for my lunch break.”

http://news.moneycentral.msn.com/provider/providerarticle.asp?Feed=AP&Date=20060801&ID=5895451

(Doesn’t even need a joke… it’s so stupid that it’s hilarious on its own.)

Ever notice that Wal*Mart always has about 30 checkout lines… but never has more than three lanes open?

CNN has reported that “Hezbollah pummeled northern Israel today with 190 rockets – the highest number in one day – killing a man riding a bicycle and wounding more than a dozen others, according to Israeli police.” Now, I’m not going to mock the situation there, and I think it’s awful that so many are dying… but that being said, honestly, how the hell can you shoot 190 rockets and only manage to kill one person? Who was manning the rocket launcher, Stevie Wonder?

In other news, CNN has also reported that “Scientists take step toward Obesity Vaccine”… also known as “Exercise.”

I’m finished like the loser in a game of Mortal Kombat.

One Good Movie - A Recipe by Emeril... BAM.

The other day, I was walking down the street on my way to lunch, and somebody asked me “Andrew, what’s the meaning of life?” I thought that question was pretty damn stupid, but I did decide that they deserved an answer, so I just gave them a few random ones, including “1492”, “3.14159”, and “4 logs” (with the corresponding random questions being “When did Columbus sail the ocean blue?”, “What are the first 6 digits of pi?”, and “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?”, obviously.)

Moving on to questions that aren’t stupid, what makes a good movie? I decided to do my best Geraldo Rivera impression and investigate. Then I realized I don’t particularly like Geraldo, so I decided to do my best cookie impression instead, since I love cookies. However, this plan managed to fail as well, after I bit my left hand off. So, I slowly type the rest of this column with one hand, impersonating only myself. And yes, I am aware of how close that last sentence sounds to some sort of masturbation joke, you pervert. Anyway, let's break it down like a '84 Crapmobile.

Death Count

There’s two types of deaths in a movie: random people who have no lines (other than possibly “AUGHHH” or “I’VE BEEN SHOT!”), and main characters. On a side note, this seems like a good spot to point out that one of the few goals I have in life is to some day have my own IMDB page with a credit like “Man #7 in ice cream shop” or “Velociraptor victim #4.” Anyway, while watching Stallone mow down 500 people in a Vietnamese Jungle is always entertaining, the death of characters who actually possess linguistic abilities can be hit or miss. Obviously, the hero killing villains is always good, and made even better if he lets out a corny line afterwards (think Arnold saying “Let out some steam” after throwing the steaming pipe through a man’s chest in Commando), but sometimes we’re forced to sit through tear-jerkers, so named because they make you cry at the fact that your manhood is shriveling up and dying as you’re being forced to watch some sappy piece of crap just so you can get in that girl who dragged you there’s pants after the movie. Any death that’s designed to make the viewer feel for the surviving characters is a bigger downer than looking at before and after pictures of Britney – with the exception being a death that pisses off the badass, take-no-prisoners hero, creating 30 minutes of mayhem in which every bad guy and manatee is shot by his gun that somehow fires 900 times without reloading, probably because the gun is so manly that it actually grows a beard if not fired every 20 seconds. Luckily, it never comes close to reaching that time. For those of you scoring this game at home, the movie gets:

+.1 for each random bad guy killed.

-5 for any death in which the girl next to you sheds visible tears (nullified by +5 if you manage to steal some of her food when her eyes are too blurry to notice.)

+4 for a scene where the hero’s friend/family member/wife/hot intern he’s been sleeping with dies, followed by him kneeling over the body in the rain, with the camera zooming in as he slowly raises his head and makes a menacing stare so determined, it makes you get goosebumps of anticipation as you await the inevitable “hero going to hidden ammo stockpile” where, despite the fact that he’s been retired for 6 years, he’s stocked up enough ammo to take on the Nazis, Communists, and Mongols all at the same time. On a sidenote, that last sentence makes me wonder two things: 1) why the fuck are they called “goosebumps”? If my bumps aren’t quacking, just call them bumps… although if they were quacking, that would be pretty cool. 2) If Genghis Khan was alive circa 1945, would he have single-handedly defeated both Hitler and Stalin’s armies with the help of just 4 horses, 3 sidekicks, a bow and arrow, and a mildly sharp stick? I say “yes.”

+2 for each corny line that makes you simultaneously shout “YES!” and crack up, followed by choking to death from attempting to laugh, talk, and eat popcorn simultaneously, but being revived just in time by somebody who knows CPR.

+3 if that person is Wendy Peppercorn.

-4 if you call yourself American but don’t know who Wendy Peppercorn is.

Included Actors (points for each):

+7 for Dwayne Johnson

-7 if you don’t know that Dwayne Johnson is “The Rock.” If I was in charge of higher education, facts like this would be prioritized approximately 782 slots ahead of “calculus.”

+5 for Sylvester Stallone or Arnold Schwartrzterartenegar, pre-94 years old

-5 for Stillold or Ahnold, post-94 years old

+4 for Vin Diesel

+20 for Dolph Lundgren. On a side note, feel free to use the newest feature of the site: Ask Dolph. More on this in the sidebar.

For those of you wondering, Adam Sandler gets a randomly assigned number between -10 and +20. If movies were sports, Adam Sandler would be the modern Brett Favre (not to be confused with Favre in his prime) – Sometimes he manages to rifle the ball 400 miles per hour and squeeze it through 4 defenders to throw some of the most amazing passes you’ve ever seen (Billy Madison); other times, he rolls out, chucks up a lame duck that’s nowhere within 20 yards of any Packer, and everybody in the stands wonders what the hell just happened and wants their money back (Mr. Deeds.) The difference, of course, is that when Favre screws up, the announcers blame everyone else; when Sandler screws up, everybody talks about how much he sucks. And as long as we’re playing the actor-athlete relation game, Jason Statham is clearly Robert Horry: a solid contributor to every film/team, always making it better, but not getting much attention until the last couple years, when Horry became Big Shot Bob and Statham starred in the Transporter movies.

+1 each for Will Ferrell, Ben Stiller, Luke Wilson, Owen Wilson, Vince Vaughn, Steve Carrell, and Paul Rudd… but only if there’s at least 3 of them in the movie.

Comedic Value

Everybody loves a funny movie, and if they don’t, they should. Basic ratings for comedy are as follows:

+.3 for every genuinely funny joke

+1 for any line funny and catchy enough to be used at random times in conversations and actually make people laugh (think Anchorman)

-1 for any line that, while originally funny, has been used so many times that it’s essentially been beaten 19 feet into the ground with a sledgehammer at this point (think Napoleon Dynamite, idiot!)

+.2 for any slapstick moment that involves someone getting hurt for a cheap laugh

Setting

Setting can make or break a movie. If you don’t believe that, think about it: Open Water could have been the most thrilling movie in the history of mankind, but I just refuse to see a movie that involves people treading water in the middle of the fucking ocean the whole time. And it even had sharks in it, which are pretty much the most badass animal not named “grizzly.” At the same time, the first Lord of the Rings movie had a plot that essentially went like this: people walking around, people walking around, people walking around some more, people walking around but now we’re calling it hiking, people hiking a little more, people hiking with legs that must be tired by now, wizard falling off a bridge, spend another 9 bucks to find out what happens next… and it actually holds your attention.

-5 for any setting that takes place in one stupid place the whole time (Open Water, Phone Booth.) On a side note, this was the hardest rule for me to make, as I did enjoy Clerks. Which is why I’m creating the next rule to balance it out…

+5 for any movie title that’s 6 letters long, starts with “C”, and ends with “lerks”.

+1 for each scene where you look around and say “holy crap I want to go there.”

Eye Candy

Just as with death count, there’s 2 types of eye candy: the Angelina Jolie type, who is actually an attractive main character, and the Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift type, where the director says “there’s only two people talking in this scene, but I have a 500 square foot parking lot… I wonder how many hot extras I can cram into one frame?” Unlike death count, both of these things add to the movie. I mean, it’s not real life… if there’s going to be people whose entire role consists of “stand in the background and look pretty”, they might as well take it literally and pick pretty people, right?

+5 for each attractive lead female (or male, depending on what gender/sexuality you are)

Another +5 if that lead is Jessica Alba, the M&M of candies: simply the best. And as long as we’re playing that game, taking a more literal approach, I guess the Olsen Twins would be Twix, and some ugly woman would be Reeses Feces.

+.1 for each extra that draws your eye away from the character who’s actually doing something in the scene

Monkeys

A reader has requested that I “add something about monkeys [to my next column.] They are universally appealing and funny.”

+1 for every monkey, +2 if the monkey is curious, and +3 if it’s named Bobo the Monkey. I think all monkeys should be named Bobo the Monkey. And no, it can’t just be “Bobo”… it has to have “the Monkey” as well.

Miscellaneous

+8 for any musical montage of quick clips… whether it’s a sports team coming together, two friends bonding, or cops investigating all over town. Add another 5 if the song playing in the background is 80’s music. The cornier, the better.

That about wraps it up. I’m sure I’m missing things here, but I am le tired, so if you have any you’d like to suggest, feel free to write in with them and I’ll consider editing it. And I don’t mean the motherly “I’ll think about it” that you get when you say “Mom, can I have a rocket launcher for Christmas!?!?”

Peace out cub scouts.

Random Thoughts... Part Deux

Given the fact that I had a slow week at work, and therefore spent a decent amount of time just sitting there writing down random thoughts, does this mean I’m now a paid columnist? Anyway, while I’m not quite sure what a troduction is, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be in one, so it’s time to dive (or cannonball… since that’s more fun anyway) right into this thing. More random thoughts:

In case you missed it, a man recently began with a red paper clip and, through a series of trades on craigslist, wound up with a house a year later. I don’t see why this is such a big deal… I had a friend who started out with just a broken condom and ended up with herpes, syphilis, AND gonorrhea, and it only took him one night.

Pete Coors (vice chairman of the beer place) was recently arrested for a DUI. Looks like we’ve found J.J. Redick’s first sponsor. But really, what if these situations happened more often? I can’t wait until the day when I open the New York Times and see the headline “PETA President Attacked by Snakes…on a Plane.”

A girl who’s wiser than me recently quoted a guy who’s wiser than her, saying “literature rehabilitates the imagination. Swings just make you want to get higher.” Well no wonder our youth is so messed up; they have drug paraphernalia sitting in their 3^rd grade playgrounds.

Isn’t it appropriate that the word “prostitute” has the word “tit” built right in?

When I walked in to get my haircut this week, my first thought was “wow, that kid getting his hair cut sure is preppy.” Immediately following the haircut, before even getting out of his chair, the first thing he did was pop his collar. I guess he had only folded it down so the hairs wouldn’t fall in…. because even collar poopers don’t have itchy necks. And yes, I spelled it that way on purpose. This kid was SO preppy… fine, don’t ask how preppy he was. I don’t give a shit, I’m gonna tell you anyway, asshole. He was so preppy, he made Carlton look like 50 Cent.

Actual headline from ESPN.com: “T.O. claims he was misquoted in autobiography.” I’m surprised nobody’s tried this as a legal defense yet. “Well, your honor, yes, I DID tell him I was going to kill him, but it’s only because I misquoted myself… I was trying to say that I really liked his new bicycle.

My friend Chris recently told me that male giraffes use their long necks as leverage, and often headbutt each other to the death over a female. After being suspicious at first, I looked it up. Not only is he correct about this amazing fact, but the website also taught me that “not everything about giraffes is big”… meaning their lungs, you pervert. Get your mind out of the gutter.

2 giraffes fighting to the death. Picture courtesy of National Geographic, June 2003 issue.

Sometimes the jokes just write themselves: the Desaguadero River connects two lakes… Lake Titicaca and Lake Poopo.

With an old music video on recently, it made me wonder… do you think the mute button was invented by a psychic who anticipated the career of Britney Spears?

This weekend, while looking at TV Guide, I discovered that CBS had an amazing schedule: Cycling at 1:00, followed by Auto Racing at 2:00! I haven’t been this excited since HBO decided to show Gigli and Glitter back-to-back. And why didn’t anybody tell me that CBS stood for Crappy Bad Shows?

Headline from CNN.com recently: “Obrador Calls for Mexico Recount.” Apparently, Obrador has demanded a full recount in Mexico’s presidential election. Interestingly, “Obrador” rhymes with “Al Gore.” Coincidence? I think not.

More CNN.com headlines: “Police: 911 isn’t a dating service.” Duh… it’s a pizza delivery service, obviously. Everybody knows that the dating service is 411.

Final thought of the day: Viacom owns both BET and CMT.... which I'm sure makes for some interesting company parties. How much would you pay to spend a night watching Garth Brooks and Tim McGraw interact with Redman and the Wu-Tang Clan?

Random Thoughts

Themes are a crutch for the weak. Anybody can write an article when there’s a logical path to follow. It takes a truly talented writer to jump around aimlessly like a trampoliner who just got unexpectedly doublebounced. Well, either that or a crackhead who needs his fix. Either way, it’s time for some random thoughts so deep, they make Jack Handey look like he’s wading in the kiddie pool.

I firmly believe that schizos should get more than one vote. And so do I. Unfortunately, Melissa the copy editor doesn’t think so, as she just informed me/us that “schizos don’t have multiple personalities… people with multiple personality disorder do.” Fortunately, she was outvoted 2-1.

Do psychics have various degrees of ESP like ESPN has different channels? Psychics who just read palms or something could have ESP2, while those who communicate with people who died long ago could have ESP Classic.

I believe the official medical terms for dyslexia and lisp should be Lysdexia and Lithp.

True story – I drove by Dunkin Donuts on my way to work the other day, and two out of three cars in the parking lot were police cars. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but stereotypes are more accurate than “facts.”

Am I the only person who thinks Michael Ballack looks like Adrien Grenier at times? When he kicked the penalty shot against Argentina, I was looking around for Turtle, E, and Drama to charge the field and give him a hug.

If mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, baked potatoes, and fried potatoes are all so delicious, is a cannibal’s favorite food couch potatoes?

I hereby declare that every time Mets pitcher Alay Soler strikes out a batter, the entire crowd should shout SOLER POWER.

Speaking of Mets pitchers, Duaner Sanchez is my new favorite player, solely because his name is abbreviated as D. Sanchez. I can’t wait for the first time he makes a diving play, just so we can hear the announcer say “wow, that is one dirty Sanchez right there!”

The guy who works down the hall in my office sounds EXACTLY like Paul Rudd every time he talks. I keep waiting for his phone to ring, only to hear him pick up and say “You know how I know you’re gay? You like Coldplay.”

Only Golf could have a Cialis Open. Seriously, is any sport more appropriate for a sponsor like Cialis? The object is to get it high up in the air, and then put it in the hole. But as if a major sporting event being sponsored by Cialis wasn’t good enough already, they decided to play the background music from an Eminem song while showing the scorecard before a commercial. That’s right… they played Eminem during a golf tournament. I can only hope that this leads to an And 1 Mixtape featuring Raffie singing Baby Beluga while Helicopter mercilessly taunts The Professor after making him the most posterized player since Frederic Weis.

For those of you who missed the World Cup finals, Italy won in a shootout, thanks to key goals from Rigatoni, Fettucini, and Linguini. But to me, the really mind-boggling thing was that the announcers did not bother mentioning that Thierry Henry, France’s best goal-scorer, was unable to kick in the shootout. How do they not even casually mention this? Can you imagine a moment like this in an American football game? Hell, if Carson Palmer misses one play this entire season, they’ll not only show replays of last season’s injury from 37,426 angles, but they’ll probably also find his mother within five minutes and ask her why she didn’t feed her son more milk growing up to make his bones stronger. And they can’t even mention it during the WORLD CUP FINALS? I’m more baffled than the Italian guy was after Zidane spun around and headbutted him in the chest. (On a side note, I’m not going to bother making any jokes about the headbutt… it was at such a high level of comedy, that anything I say will automatically not be as funny as the headbutt itself. So we’ll just move on.)

Speaking of the World Cup, I’m glad to see the French decided to wear white jerseys in the finals, although I was surprised that they didn’t rip them off five minutes into the match, attach them to a stick, and wave them around as their white surrender flags.

Melissa rocks.
(Melissa added that… I’m gonna have to copy-edit her copy-editing, and clarify that she meant “Melissa is dumb as rocks.”)

I was flipping through channels recently, and stumbled upon 7^th heaven, which I hadn’t seen in probably about 8 years, only to find that Beverly Mitchell (the girl who played Lucy) grew boobs. This sent my mind spinning faster than the cow in Twister, as it went back and forth between “that girl is hot” and “she’s 12!!! Don’t look at her!!” even though she’s actually older than me and is like 25 these days. And as if that didn’t make me feel old enough, I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2 last weekend and got a Transformers preview. My excitement was instantly killed by my friend (who’s two years younger than me), when she asked “what the hell are Transformers?” I might as well buy my ticket to the senior citizen home now. On the bright side, if it’s less than 300 dollars, it’s already cheaper than the damn movie ticket.

On a random side note, now that this thing is online instead of in print, I decided I'll start up the mailbag again. Feel free to write in (via email preferably, but IM or comments board works too, just let me know it's for the column) with any feedback, column topic suggestions, jokes, thoughts, or random questions on anything from eating a box of oreos in one sitting (it's been done) to playing the tuba while wearing a bandana 2pac-style (also been done) that you'd like answered.

I’m out like Yao Ming in a limbo contest.