Tuesday, April 24, 2007

superhero delusions

Hats off to the Rude Pundit and his treatise on Delusionality. No really, the man is fucking on target and riotously funny.

And this from boingboing.net: Real Life Underwear Perverts in the News. There's too much funny bizarreness for me to focus on in this story. Several details from thesmokinggun.com, however, stand out:

APRIL 24--Meet Dr. Raymond Adamcik. The Florida man, dressed as Captain America and with a burrito stuffed in his tights, was arrested Saturday night for allegedly groping women at a Melbourne bar. Adamcik was part of a pub crawl in which participants wore costumes. While at the On Tap bar, Adamcik, 54, allegedly touched the genital areas of two women, according to a Melbourne Police Department report. "Because there were so many cartoon characters in the bar at this time, all Captain Americas were asked to go outside for a possible identification," notes the report.
In the police report, the boyfriend of one of the assaulted woman is identified as Kenneth Tingley. Tingley, for fuckssake. It's wrong, wrong, wrong that this makes me laugh.

On a more sober note, here are some video posts of veterans who oppose the administration's war policy. The first half-dozen are quite good.

Friday, April 13, 2007

comments that make me sputter

Here is a good example of the kind of feedback that makes me worry about being the lead story of the Weekly World News when I snap.

setting: Associate Creative Director of Ad Agency to Copywriter, asking to add unnecessary fluff to a basic banner:
"Add a roll-over state. People love roll-overs"
"Well, if that's the case, why don't we add puppies to the ad? Because everyone loves puppies"
In my opinion, the perfect response. Puppies can also be replaced with 12 exclamation points or anything with that dazzling sparkle star.

This from a site Adverbatims.blogspot.com that collects foolish quotes by and to Communications, Advertising and Marketing professionals. The Unholy Trinity.
But I'm 100% sure everyone gets these kind of comments in their respective professions.

Thank you, Barry for linking to this site.

Fier & Imus

My buddy Eric forwarded this NYT op-ed piece by Harvey Fierstein on the Don Imus' craptacular exit. Here are the first two paragraphs:

AMERICA is watching Don Imus’s self-immolation in a state of shock and awe. And I’m watching America with wry amusement.

Since I’m a second-class citizen — a gay man — my seats for the ballgame of American discourse are way back in the bleachers. I don’t have to wait long for a shock jock or stand-up comedian to slip up with hateful epithets aimed at me and mine. Hate speak against homosexuals is as commonplace as spam. It’s daily traffic for those who profess themselves to be regular Joes, men of God, public servants who live off my tax dollars, as well as any number of celebrities.

Fierstein's points are good and important but I must add I really enjoyed the Rude Pundit's take on the whole Don Imus brouhaha. I love that word. Brouhaha It sounds so like an evil laugh should sound.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

marketing isn't always evil

Pimping for the man has taught me some very important life lessons. This photo clearly points out the importance of location and timing.
(Jesus of the Week, I idolatrize thee.)

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

87? did i say 87? i meant to say 107. really.

The article is titled, NYC admits problems after rat infestation at fast-food restaurant

Here is a snippet:

On Feb. 22, [health inspector] Thomas documented only 87 rat droppings and didn't cite an additional 20, which would have caused the restaurant to fail the inspection and could have forced it to close immediately, the department said. The next day, video of rats scampering throughout the eatery surfaced.
Okay. Let me get this straight. Part of health inspector's jobs are to actually count (like a pharmacist?) each little piece of rodent poo and write that number down? Are the accounted droppings then gathered up as evidence or do they remain there on the crusty floor for diners to gaze at as they chow down on their drumstick-n-thigh special?

Second issue: Eighty-seven bits o' rat shit are simply not enough to close an eatery? Nope, seems that 107 is the magic number. Need 20 more or the frying continues. Wow. What if one turd breaks and "appears" to be two? That could throw the whole thing off. This shit counting is more complex than it appears. Time was a handful of rat shit was pretty much all it took.

See the fast food rat here.

larry jerkhead

I hate to blow the soon-to-be abused clever little nickname for Anna Nicole's babydaddy on a blog title but I couldn't figure out how to make Birkhead rhyme with smegma.

Everything repugnant about modern society captured in the triumphant pump of a fist, cheesy thumbs-up and humble "I told you so."

"I won the million-dollar baby! My sperm rocks!"

One particular unprotected, sloppy romp with shit-for-brains/tits-for-days and Mr. Classy is golden! His 15-seconds of ejaculated fame.

Okay. We can all agree that this little girl didn't have a chance in hell of a tragedy-free life since zygotehood. Her mother was trash and everyone poking the trash was repugnant. The thing that reeks of Americana in all this is not that Anna Nicole was vapid and fucked up. It's not even that all the men surrounding her could have only wanted sex and money from her, despite her sterling command of the English language. It isn't even that three men and a goat have come forward with claims of paternity in the legal orgy following her death.

It's that all of this crass, tragic, shallow behavior is not being camouflaged in the slightest way by respect for a dead mother, a dead brother, a rejected/disturbed but grieving grandmother and last, and evidently least, an orphaned infant. No. Not even a nod in the direction of discretion. Not even a hint of humility at the challenges of new fatherhood. This is the look of someone who has just had his pony cross the finish line first. This is the face of a man who just watched the fifth Lotto ball drop in his favor.

If I were the judge and had the power, these two photographs would cancel Larry Jerkhead's claim to fatherhood. Permanently.