Monkeys For Helping

LOL!!!

2011-09-18T03:28:00.000-04:00

Secrets at the South Pole: An M4H Travel Special Report

2011-04-21T14:00:00.061-04:00

As you are all undoubtedly avid conspiracy enthusiasts like myself, I'm sure you've heard that Reptilian Extraterrestrial Overlords from the Draco Star system secretly control the world. (with help and cooperation from a shadowy elite group of world power brokers, CEO's, The Illuminati, Alien Greys, and the US Government, of course.)

But if you're like me, you've probably always wondered...Where do those dudes like to party?

M4H Travel presents:
The South Pole-Top Secret::Fun!

(An informative vacation guide for traveling to the secret Nazi/US Alien subterranean cryptobunker hidden beneath Antarctica.)

Attention Brosefs! Lady Brosefs! Dangerous adventure fans!

Get ready...to ROCK. Word to Admiral Byrd, Hollow Earth theory is definitely in the House! Strap on your preferred Oakley eye wear of choice and take that Red Bull to pound town, because it is time to chill, grill, get ill, and pay the biz-ills. Get ready to chillax with the world's most elite party crew. Tell your homies, spread the word. It's about to be talked about! Get ready for the ultimate VIP retreat; a luxurious mahogany filled compound watching the entire fucking world be destroyed in style and luxury, hosted by the very architects of the biblical Armageddon being shown before you. Tonight you're going to party like it's 2012. Boom!!!!!!

Get that face ready, it's time for a long, sweet kiss right on the Apocalips. Because you are about to embark on the most extreme UFO vacation ever imagined in any of your wildest and most evil terrible dreams. Sounds bad? You bet. But who said bad can't be fun, too? I didn't. But I did hear that, girlfriend! High fives all around. Know what that means, party peeps? It's about that time...

Let's Jam.

fig. A: Reptilian Overlord.

(Don't let the Judy Jetson dress fool you for a nano-second. He'll eat your kids.)

The 411:

This top secret installation of awesomeness is the hottest, most extreme, totally rad-tastical vacation destination of the 2011-12 season. And seeing as this might be the last year we get to live on this topsy-turvy rock called Earth, what better way to enter into extinction then to party alongside the people (and the non-people) responsible? That's right, homes. Hold on to your Carabiners: It's the motherfucking Illuminati.

Bling³.

Why not check out some of the more well-known alien bases, you ask? Because new is the new new, and old is just plain old. Area 51? More like Area 1991. Super secret is the new relatively-hidden, and Planet X Reptoids are the new Greys, so pass that the fuck along, Agent Mulder. While your at it, go tell your favorite Scully to pick out some flip-flops and book the dog-sitter because you're taking her to a place so hidden, so undiscovered, so über-elite that it doesn't even have a name! (Take that Google Earth. Right up your robot ass.)

(Do not let the local nudists near your private parts. They get weird down there.)

Climate:

Consensus among the human slaves that make up the majority of the base's population is that these Lizards really really like it down there. Apparently being close to the Earth's Core makes everything feel like a giant Terrarium. Like Boca Raton in August, minus the sunshine, beaches, and mall walkers. And, to all the cave loving spelunkers reading (looking at you, Pitfall Harry) you'll be hard pressed to find a more secluded, visually stunning location to spend a few relaxing days and nights communing with nature...All the while meeting interesting people, making powerful friends, and learning the nightmarish (but fascinating) secrets of the ET-controlled cabal that make up the true powers behind America's industrial military complex.

Earth is so HOT right now.

How to Get There:

First, get your ass to Antarctica. Yes the cell reception blows, and yes the local cuisine is a bit lean, but what did you expect to find? If your seeking the luxuries of the modern world complete with strip malls and Applebees family-style restaurants, no dice, compadre. Take that salad-fork attitude back to Laser-town where it belongs. This is the South Pole, dawg! Yes, there is a ton of fucking snow everywhere. But trust me my dreadlocked friends, it's a short trip to paradise from here.

Once you get to the South Pole, head East towards Lake Vostok..then, go waaaaaay farther for at least a shit ton of miles. Then look for a Giant Hole, you can't miss it. Now break out the climbing rope, it's about to get even extreme-er! (Holler at your sherpa). It's all pretty safe and easy,actually. Simply navigate the 15-mile optical laser field, then go straight for a while, bang a left at the Apple Store, and then you're almost there. Just try to avoid being eviscerated by the CIA-sponsored robot murder squads and predator patrol drones and don't to freeze to death. It's just that easy!

fig. C: It actually makes sense if you think about it.

Getting In:

The hard to reach UFO landing zone/visitors center is located inside a giant, jewel covered cave approximately 1,800 miles beneath the Earth's crust. Why? Because it's caliente, amigo! Get vertical, brohaim. Hold on to your seashell necklace...it's time to take this vacation to maximum velocity.

What to Bring:

In order to properly blend amongst Bilderburgs , Rothschilds, and other cigar chewing Satanic billionaires from the Bohemian Grove set, you'll need to pack wisely.

Bohemian barbecues: always a hoot.

Pack snow shoes and bikini briefs, as you'll be going from tundra to tropical on this double-trouble ski and sunshine package. And bring your camera, this is a hot spot for celebrity schmoozing. Just last month, popular songwriter and television star Ms. Mylie Cyrus filmed a music video for her latest song, "Will somebody please help (I'm a young girl trapped inside an Alien base)" . Kissinger is a big fan, btw. (true story).

Ms. Cyrus. Seen here, being an asshole.

Gear:

Secret societies like to be discreet, but that doesn't mean they don't like to get sexy from time to time. Rubbing elbows and clinking glasses with the Extraterrestrials and the all powerful global elite in style isn't as easy as it sounds.

Fellas, when you're kicking it around the pool, keep in mind, the banana hammock plays. the more moose knuckling going on downstairs, the better. Little known fact: Powerful and evil men have uses the ancient art of bulge observation as a means of communication and social stratification for eons. Also the Reptilians don't permit board shorts in their pools, so go ahead. Give your grundle a hug!

Henry's Limbo tip #5: Get low. (Get low, get low, get low.)

The Illuminati like to dress up when out on the town, so pack accordingly. This might not be South Beach, but it's no Carnival Cruise either. Lots of uniforms and space-man onesies abound as the primary function of the unnamed facility is a military one. Ladies: pack a nice dress for dancing, and NO snakeskin! (The Overlords forbid it.)

Outside of the pool, the style around the base seems to be a hodgepodge of Bahama shorts, puffy coats, and assorted small firearms. But come nightfall, when the lizard men from the other side of the universe enter their evening hibernation period, the humans break out the fancy pants, sucking down the Mai Tai's faster than the American public consumes NSA misinformation filtered through popular television and media outlets in order to hide the truth of the alien agenda set upon them. (too soon?)

When all else fails, the evil eye-patch always plays.

Flora & Fauna:

Besides the blood-snorting, dragon-faced alien Overlords from beyond the moon, there are only a few local inhabitants worth noting.

The most important neighbor to keep a keen eye peeled for is the Antarctic Vampire Yeti; a friendly-seeming (but often very hostile) cousin of the North American Sasquatch (aka "Bigfoot".)

fig. D: The Vampire Yeti, seen here murdering lost skiers.

Despite their creepy name, Vampire Yeti don't actually drink people's blood. But they do occasionally devour travelers on their way to the base. (Leave the rugrats at the ranch, this is grownup territory). And leave that trail mix at home, no exceptions! Rocking Chex Mix is good carbing if you're stretching out the hammies at K2 base camp, but no es muy bueno in this neck of the woods. No cereal-based party snack is worth earning a Colombian Necktie, brosefino. Because Unlike Yogi or Boo-Boo, these furry fellas don't crack wise at the ranger or snatch picnic baskets from campers in a lovable and comedic manner. Instead, what they will most likely do is either:

A: Eat your face (and the faces of your fellow travelers)

B: Smash your body into a lumpy pile of Patagonia wrapped bro-pulp

or

C: Rip your torso open like a fat kid going elbow-deep into a birthday pinata, then make jewelry out of your insides, making sure to save your eyes and still-beating heart for their growing younglings to eat.

So...tread wisely!

Fun/dangerous fact: Strangely enough, pepper spray attracts and angers this breed of Yeti, so arm yourself with a high-caliber rifle if possible. Leave the spray and grab the AK. You're not dead travel-mates will thank you.

And if all else fails, bring cigarettes. Science Fact: Yeti love smoking.

(A pack of cowboy killers might snag you a candid with the unpredictable beast of the North. Just make sure you escape before that last cig gets smoked!)

Final Notes:

Although American dollars are accepted on base, the preferred currency of choice for the Defcon set are "Bilderbucks":

The only denomination is 100's, but that's just because...well you know how these guys roll. So hit the ATM and money exchange before seeking out the Pole hole.

Don't look Dick Cheney in the eyes, especially when he's in Reptilian form.

If you bring cookies, make sure you pack enough for everyone.

And lastly, try very hard not to talk to the Nazis. They're dicks (of course) but besides that, they also happen to be extremely busy working on the Saucers for the Overlords. So, for the good of the fleet, do us all a favor and leave those evil bastards alone!

Until next time, travelers....

-R.

Mortal Kombat 7: Amber Alert

2011-02-04T20:46:00.004-05:00

NBC's "To Catch a Predator" is TV that makes a difference. Thank you, Chris Hansen. America's pedophiles are on the run. It's nice to see television making the world a better place.

That being said, this does make it harder to track these guys down. Sure it's easy enough to wrangle up baby-petters in some armpit swamp town in Central Florida. But now these guys have taken refuge in the Underworld. Those cops are going to need more than pepper spray to get past Shang Tsung. Why, you ask? Because, he's a motherfucking shapeshifter. Who absorbs the souls of his enemies in order to maintain his god-like powers and immortality. Good luck, officers.

In related news, the annual fighting tournaments Mr. Tsung sponsors have caused quite a stir in the Martial Arts community as of late. Some contestants say that the event is tied to a string of mysterious deaths in the area. Shang Tsung's personal secretary and life coach Jonas Raiden told reporters that Mr. Tsung is in full and total cooperation with authorities. As of press time, Mr. Raiden couldn't be reached for further comment, as he was "too busy being awesome and shooting people with lightning bolts that fly out of my god-damned hands".

I wish India was a person so I could high-five them with both hands

2011-01-27T20:45:00.011-05:00

Well I haven't written on the blog in a long long bit, but only because I haven't been truly inspired until this very moment.

I'm a fan of all things Indian. It's a known fact that I'm 110% gay for Chicken Tikka Masala. Not to mention Garlic Naan, the crack cocaine of the carbohydrate universe. I love reading books by Yoga dudes with long, awesome sounding names..the ones that hipsters name-drop during late night post-dinner convos in order to look both deep and cerebral. I do enjoy soaking in the wisdom of smiley eyed, peaceful wizards who rock mind-powers and Snuggies at the same time, all the while sporting proper Jim Henson beards to keep the Hippie cred strong and keep it green. Don't even get me started on Ghandi (the movie), which won like 67 Oscar Meyer statues back in the day, and is such a fantastic movie that I happily sit through all 14 hours of it whenever it comes on TV. Which is something I only do for the likes of "Bloodsport", "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure", and post-beard Riker episodes of "Star Trek: The Next Generation". (A feat indeed for a man who already forgot how this sentence is supposed to end, because of a condition that sometimes makes me jumpy like a squirrel, and occasionally causes my elocution to take on a pace and consistency akin to the movements of a severely retarded goldfish.

Where was I? Yeah. Ghandi. God dammit that is a good movie. That movie literally made me begin to hate white people. I'm white, which is cool I guess, but I can't really grow a mustache, and I'm terrible at accents. Also I'm not an Imperialist British land baron who shoots Indians and relishes in the act of being a total dick for no reason. I'd even go as far to say that the movie "Ghandi" illuminated a defining moment in history; it illustrated the moment when passive-aggressive mustachioed British men of wealth and influence officially became the biggest assholes in the entire world.

Even though I'm excitable, I'm surprisingly not prone to being starstruck. That is with the exception of this one time I met Ben Kingsley at my old job. First of all, he's a fucking Knight, which could only be more badass if they gave him a real sword and a suit of armor and sent him off to burn villages and drink mead out of bejeweled goblets. Secondly, he's Ben fucking Kinsley. Who, some have dubbed, "The Ben Kingsley of actors". I'd even go out on a limb and say that Ben Kingsley's Ghandi, while obviously not as world-changing and influential as the real Ghandi, was more, how do I say,"convincing" as Ghandi than the actual Ghandi was. Which is totally crazy, because non-Kingsley Ghandi was Ghandi all the time, plus, he was the original.

Anyway when I met him he was so cool that it kind of took me off guard. I figured someone who got Knighted would have at least a few diva tendencies, so when he had none at all, I got nervous. And, for whatever reason, I got all nervous and I started to feel like one of those sweaty European girls about to faint at a Thriller-era Michael Jackson concert, somewhere in the grayish part of the map between Eastern Siberistan and the western half of the Balkan Powder Keg. (Shout outs to the Ottoman Empire. Play on, players!)

You know the type of place I'm talking about...that little "whatever"
country shaped like an Amoeba, the one conveniently wedged between former Cold War adversaries that only Wikipedia webmasters can properly pronounce or even care to know the name of. A country so insignificant and small that their two Olympic athletes flip coins to see who gets to carry the flag at the opening ceremony and who gets the top bunk back at Olympic Village. A land where kindergartners smoke unfiltered cigarettes and men's names sound like a brand of assault rifle, and women's names either sound like poison flowers or a chemical ingredient of Industrial Solvent. A place where smiling is restricted to supervised children under the age of 5 and allowed only during daylight hours, and only on their birthdays. Adults caught smiling without just cause face a mandatory sentence of 20 years hard labor in the notorious ice mine of the northern lands, a place rumored to be haunted by Communist ghosts.

The clip below reminds me why I love the Indian movie industry. It literally has all my favorite things in it: robots, nonsense, noises, unnecessary assortment of guns, leather jackets, mustaches, fun, Mom jeans, fast movements, inexplicable kung-fu zooms, the list goes on.

Just watch this video. I promise you it's so good you'll want to snort it, then spend next month in the woods drinking coffee in hooded sweatshirts with tired looking men and frowny women with clipboards, detoxing from the effects of it's awesome motherfucking awesomeness.

Bucket List

2010-11-05T21:44:00.063-04:00

It's been a minute. Several thousand to be exact.

The irony of the situation is that life has been boring so I don't have an excuse. Except that I'm awesome. Which under usual circumstances would be a pretty awesome thing. But like anything else, taking or giving out too much of it can be potentially very problematic. I'm not saying I'm dangerously awesome. But I am saying that I'm awesome to the point that the waves of awesome I emit from my head and body can sometimes disrupt consumer electronics, scramble sonar in nearby dolphins, confuse basic robots, and cause mild to acute panic to spread in small impressionable children of all sizes and types. (Specifically the smaller, jumpier ones that eat food like squirrels and act gun shy in loud crowds.) It only makes job interviews at daycare centers, ocean theme parks, or Sharper Image stores far more difficult and awkward than they already are.

But who am I to complain about being awesome all the time when there are plenty of good people out there who deserve it as much as me but don't have as much as I do? I should try and be grateful for the surplus I've been given. See it as a gift rather than a curse.

Instead of abbreviating the last few months and boring the fucking face off your head with self-introspective rabble and such, I'll instead take this time to show you my list. It was supposed to be a to-do list, but most of the things on it I haven't done yet, so I made it a list of things I plan on doing eventually when I get around to it. Sue me. I'm got the hustle and wherewithal of an stoned teenage tree sloth. So without further ado, here is the official Bucket List* for the rest of my natural life (a very slow work in progress).

My Life Plan: 3 Complicated and Delusional Steps to Personal Happiness.

Step 1: "The Road to Riches"

1. Calm the fuck down.

2. Stop being so calm and get up already.

3. Quit horsing around like a donkey with the Nintendo and dope and come to your senses about real life things, like money. You jackass.

4. Get a new job that provides you with American money in the form of legal tender as the reward for work completed. Frown at Uncle Sam and his taxes. Realize quickly that it would be preferable to make 3 or 4 million annually.

5. Come to the conclusion that 3 to 4 million dollars a year would require the undertaking of a serious life of crime.

6. Follow 4 easy steps to learn crime:

Grow a proper mustache. Watch all 5 seasons of the Wire.

Befriend charming street grifter after getting maintenance job in retirement home. Pay for 12-week intensive crime school lessons with money earned. Learn colorful life anecdotes and obtain necessary skill set for future crime career.

Use "the internet". Take notes with a pen and paper.

Adapt crime school lessons with knowledge gained from being "online" and form an effective criminal recipe. Apply crime knowledge in one large heist which promises large sums of money but is 100% foolproof with absolutely no chance at all of getting caught by the police.

7. Get caught. Meet angry and heavily armed Federal agents who desperately want to get to know you better.

8. Have a stand-off with the police. Watch yourself on television as it's happening. Wave your hand in front of the window so you can see yourself live on TV at the same time. Try not to have your mind blown by watching something so fucking cool.

9. Surrender. Try not to panic while avoiding being shot by the growing number of intense, tight-faced snipers writhing on rooftops just waiting to explode your worthless criminal face with giant metal bullets.

10. Renounce life of mischief. Decide instead to cooperate and help authorities eliminate your former grifter mentor turned local crime kingpin.

11. Receive amnesty. Cry in court shamefully like the Menendez brothers. Dodge the mob of courthouse paparazzo and jackal faced reporters trying to snag the scoop of the month.

12. Write book. Hug Oprah for awkwardly long period of time. Option script to big shot Hollywood cocaine tycoon. Record audiobook. Go on NPR. High five the universe.

13. Collect giant check.

14. Cash it. Go to Casino to engage in high stakes, foolhardy gambling binge. Double money.

15. Decide what to do with all the fucking cash.

Step 2: Things to do When Rich

1. Donate millions to UFO research. Become honorary Martian ambassador to the UN.

2. Buy parents a motorcycle with a sidecar.

3. Learn the misunderstood art of drunk jetpack flying.

4. Buy a seat on the first commercial space shuttle flight.

5. Invent iPhone app that teaches old people how to use iPhone apps.

6. Travel to exotic non-humid parts of the world that have ice and air-conditioning.

7. Move to the mountain regions and practice dragon punching inside of waterfalls.

8. Go off the grid.

9. Stockpile soup, build large weapons cache. Occasionally get awkward over tense coffee when suspicious authorities drop in to ask questions.

10. Grow beard. Build large fires.

11. Study curling, alchemy, viking ancestry, time travel, and astral projection.

12. Get two dogs…one smart, one stupid. Maybe a Border Collie or something like it (anything that sort of looks like a wolf, moves wicked fast, and likes frisbees and piles of leaves) paired with something totally slow and stupid, like a Basset Hound.

13. Watch hilarious situations unfold as they learn to get along and live together in a crazy world.

14. Marry a lady. Raise pod of human children. Learn to create family moments and bake sourdough bread for no reason.

15. Pass on secret of the ancient ones to younglings.

16. Get very old.

Step 3: Things to do When Very Old

1. Live long enough to watch the first Robot president take office.

2. Survive the robot wars by any means.

3. Stop smoking. Take up drinking and swearing. Grab people on the arm when you talk to them.

4. Write letters to your local congressman complaining how the machine that controls the weather is too loud and disruptive when you"re home out in back gardening.

5. Gather soft sweaters and corduroy pants.

6. Squint at menus in poorly-lit restaurants.

7. Teach grandchildren to never trust robots, and how to effectively swear and steal from adults and get away with it.

8. Take walks in the mall at 8am with the wife. Try to not be annoyed with her because she always finds a way to walk too damn fast every time you go. It's not a race, you always tell her. But she doesn't listen. Also don't get upset about the fact that she always manages to somehow park the car so far from the entrance that your hands get too cold all of the sudden, or that she doesn't even care that you might get sick again just like last week when you kept her up with that cough and wouldn't agree to call the landlord to do something about the draft in the kitchen which is just making the cold worse, come to think of it. For the love of Christmas and all things holy. You tell her every single goddammed time you go to walk in the mall in the morning every Tuesday and Thursday that you don't like these things one bit, and just once in all those years you'd appreciate it if she listened to you.

9. Take frequent disco naps to offset fatigue from being so fucking elderly all the time.

10. Meet grandson's robot fiance. Learn tolerance and love, begin erasing decades old hates and fears of the robot community.

11. Reluctantly get a robot caretaker to look after you so maybe your sons will stop nagging you about it already.

12. Begrudgingly become best friends with your new robot caretaker after he saves you from being hit by a runaway laser car at the super-supermarket one day.

13. Find peace. Eat ice cream and brick oven pizzas as much as you want. Take up cigarettes again.

14. Teach a class on being awesome, shaping the hearts and minds of future awesome generations for years to come.

15. Buy vacation home on the dark side of the moon.

16. Die at the age of 119 in your home when the moon is suddenly attacked by aliens marking the start of the great Space War of 2096.

17. Once dead, use ghost pen to make a cool list of cool ghost stuff to do. Make list of people who aren't dead.

18. Haunt the shit out of them.

(*M4H does not endorse or support the views presented in the film "The Bucket List". We at M4H strongly encourage readers to never rent the film or even watch it for free for a short time on cable when nothing else is on. There has to be a Beethoven movie on somewhere on the dial. It can't be the only thing to watch. If you or someone you know has their own personal bucket list, make sure to always add "Never watch the movie 'The Bucket List'" at the top of it. Doing this helps avoid any confusion and/or potential misunderstandings when sharing your bucket list with friends or loved ones down the road. And although it is true that we at M4H have never actually seen the film, all the clips we've been shown of the it make us think that Morgan Freeman and Nicholson just phoned that shit it in for some free hats and walking around money. Couldn't look more awful. We're just saying.)

Conspicuous Aliens

2010-09-26T20:50:00.005-04:00

In my dream, I'm waiting next to my car. I'm waiting because some people that I've never met want to borrow it. In my dream, it made more sense why I was waiting and how this whole borrowing thing worked - maybe it was some variant of Flexcar of something.

A family shows up to pick up the car and I ask them if they don't mind dropping me off nearby. I explain that I would be grateful if they helped me although I could manage either way. They seem congenial enough and agree to take me. We climb into the car, I get in the back seat with the kids and the mother while the father sits in the front - on the passenger side. No one gets in the driver's seat.

Then, the car starts driving.

I get suspicious. Mainly because the car is diving but no one is in the driver's seat.

The father is sitting on the passenger side and smiling contently. The whole family sits calmly while the car drives itself. It takes me a moment to realize why all this is happening but I come to the obvious conclusion fairly quickly. These people are aliens, not humans at all. To test my theory, I say a couple things in alien.

In a buzzy insect-like alien language:"What are you doing? That's right, I speak alien and I know you understand me."

Now, they start to glance at each other nervously.

"Look", I say, "I know you're aliens. That's fine. But don't you realize that when you drive a car someone is actually supposed to drive the car? You can't do it like this, you'll get pulled over. You people are so bad at this. Where did you learn about humans anyway? Seriously, if you get caught it'll be straight to the alien autopsy for the lot of you. I don't even know if I want you to borrow my car now."

End of dream

(image of alien fish via amazon where you can buy the decal if you so desire)

A eulogy to my dead PC / homage to my Macbook Overlord.

2010-07-21T00:41:00.046-04:00

My PC Desktop
(2009-2010)

Dear Dead Computer,

I still don't know how you got so fucked up and died on me. But after the last few weeks of mourning, I really don't care. You left for no good reason, and too soon. I'm angry as hell and don't really give a damn that you're gone. I'm only mad because you were convenient, and getting my new computer was a gift I didn't deserve. Peace out, you selfish jerk. You were the worst.

I should say thanks. Thanks for not being awesome or cool or acceptable in any way. Thanks for lasting less time than "Cop Rock". You suck so fucking bad it makes me want to kick you inside your robot Tron face for being such a terrible, terrible, jerk of a bitch poor excuse for a computer. I'll only miss you for sentimental reasons (none of which being your operating system, functionality, stability, or design. Those were all complete and total shit.) I'll miss you for all those great folders we shared together, and the little things we had like MS Paint and Friday night defragging sessions. R.I.P. you stupid fucking bastard. In the end, you finally went Corky on me. I guess it's like the song says...life goes on.

But in this case, it will go on without you. If there is a computer heaven up there, I really hope you don't get to go. If you or one of those blue shirted jawas at Best Buy that sold you to me gives me back my 1100 American dollars, maybe we can talk about being friends or roommates again. Until then? Rot in digital Hades, fallen one.

My Macbook
(2010-present)

I don't know what to say to start this. I feel like Doogie Howser except without the thoughtful last sentence coming up any time soon. Sorry, computer. I'm no Neil Patty Harris and you're no Apple IIE.

But wait....what if you were an Apple IIE, how rad would that be? Old is the new new, you know.

Let's imagine for a moment you were in fact just that. Not an actual Apple IIE, but a jacked up, nerded out Mac Pro rocking an old Apple modified desktop casing that just made you look like one. A Billyburg Trojan Horse, if you will. Just imagine it.

If you were cool enough to be that retro, I know for a fact you wouldn't live in the trend-deaf slums amongst the proletariat hordes like me. Not at all, my good sir. You my friend are much too awesome and/or super cool for a fate as boring as mine.

If you were a refurbished Apple IIE instead of what you really are (a remarkably handsome, sleek lap-sized robot that serves up nerd fuel to me on a daily basis in exquisite fashion, compliments of the sheer classiness inherited from your father, the present day turtleneck emperor and future S.R. Hadden from Contact-level billionaire weirdo, Mr. Steve Jobs), I'd wager you 20 of your lasers to 100 of my synapses that the rest of your life would be spent tethered to the wall of some frown mongering macro-hipster, imprisoned in a fortress of pessimism forever, banished to extinction like Zod and his girlfriend and mentally retarded cousin in Superman 2.

There you would sit, perched like a giant owl, calling forth the ghosts of Silicon Valley only to mock them with your Reagan-era camouflage. All the while flaunting your 2.66 gigahertz dual core processors like blinged-out Silicon dubs, riding dirty in the face of your forefathers. A slap from the future's hand to the face of the past, calling out all those landfill occupying ancestors for being the mark ass busters they truly are. I see you there, casting judgment on the world from atop some small desk fashioned out of an old Tokyo street bench (the one your cooler-than-all-living-humans owner procured from his sketch-ball Otaku office mate last year as a consolation prize for being the unwitting victim of his category 5 Man-Crush drunken kiss. A gift so lavish and difficult to obtain and transport here that its mere existence makes everyone who hears about it become noticeably uncomfortable and eager to leave the room at once.)

I smile thinking about you sitting there, waiting like a giant one-eyed square cyclops quietly over-clocking your genius enhanced trust fund processors in the proper Feng Shui approved nook of your master's douche dojo smack dab in the middle of whatever fucking neighborhood the currently ruling Brooklyn hipster swarm is located.

Then I see your owner return home, his hands full of cigarettes and ironic keys and various other boosted schwag bits from the Ratatat listening party he just attended and subsequently informed his tweeps about in the cab ride home. And...oh no! Sucks for you! He's with that girl who everyone thinks is an asshole! Not the cool, squeaky one, the other one that smells like gin and looks like a duck. You wish you could unplug yourself whenever she goes on and on and on, fluttering her eyes while discussing her design portfolio and lamenting the lackadaisical funk hanging over the current artistic climate of the New York scene. I bet you curse your robot God and tell yourself how much she sucks under your computer breath whenever she comes over. I can't believe you put up with her. Honestly. Besides Denise Cosby, Pat Benetar, and Al Pacino, who else wears sweaters and motherfucking leg warmers in the middle of July? Let's not beat around the issue. She's very stupid.

I'll spare you the rest of the gritty details, computer. Let's just say it starts to get kind of gross when they put the "sexy" Ipod on (not the hot yoga/pilates nano, the touch with the case that looks like Dr. Zaius) onto the custom Kid Robot sound dock to pre-sexify the room before their sexiness gets sexy. If only you could blush, Mr. Computer. Once the Minor Threat/Sigur Ros mash-up starts to roll and they commence with their awkward climbing on one another, things start to get a little bit, well...you know.

But after that, during the inevitable post coitus refractory period, they sit down in front of you and share a cigarette. Content and completely unapologetic about blinding you with their nakedness. Just sitting there, wailing on a Newport like a couple of train hobos in love, rumbling onward into the west. (Minus the harmonicas, pants, and personalities you'd usually find in that situation.)

It's probably grossing you out thinking about this, Mr. Computer. It's making me feel weird just talking with you about it. I'd tell you to leave this hypothetical scenario, but where would you go? You can't close the one big black eye you have as hard as you try. For the next hour at least you'll have to sit through a few G.G. Allin videos and a seemingly endless wave of Facebook page visits, celebrity Tweeterati reports, and rounds Farmville mining via the free WI-FI courtesy of the pro-barter Communist lesbian magic shop downstairs.

I guess what I'm saying is, you look like an asshole pretending to be something you're not. So don't ever even think of changing. I like you just the way you are.

In closing, I'll say that I really love you, Mac. Please don't ever leave me. I'd hate to have to sell you off in these economic times only to see you end up in the hands of people like them. Brooklyn has enough Macs. You belong right here.

Love always and forever,

Uncle Reco

PS:

Here's what I think we look like together:

Your Gun is Showing

2010-06-28T13:08:00.003-04:00

Is Megatron wearing a codpiece or do we have to add indecent exposure to the list of his crimes?

Seriously, who gives a toy like this to children. More than meets the eye indeed.

Podcast 6: Say Anything Just Don't Say That

2010-06-18T17:33:00.005-04:00

The "Wolpertinger" AKA Bigfoot's German pet bunny

It's some more audio mayhem from Recon and I. This time we'll be talking about words and groups of words put together (often referred to as "sayings"). Hope you likey.

But there have been some technical difficulties to the audio embedding process that are making me feel like those monkey pilots in Project X. Sorry internets but you're just going to have to click on this link to the podcast blog and listen or download from there.

Thanks to all you listeners and emailers (monkeysforhelping@gmail.com) out there.

Zee Germans.

2010-06-11T01:01:00.045-04:00

Of course I miss the 80's, but I imagine if I was alive back then, I'd probably also miss the 40's as well. Just because we had clear and present villains then. Proper fucking bad guys. Easily compartmentalized, well-dressed, and 100% evil. In 2010 things are so wishy washy. When I see world leaders gathered together for various nefarious and non-nefarious events it always looks like happy hour at an airport lounge bar. Where did all the shiny medals and important hats go? Remember Idi Amin? Noriega? They're like Dolce and Gabana next to these nondescript villains in training I see paraded across my television screen. I miss the big tasseled shoulder pads and bulky gun holsters. That's how a bad guy dresses. With the exceptions of Chavez and maybe Kim Jong Il, no one is bringing their A-game in the dictator circuit right now. Seriously, dudes. Step it up. You show me an AP photo of Ahmadinejad and I'll show you the official dress code for floor manager at the Olive Garden.

I suppose I just miss the old days. And according to the history of fucking forever, wars aren't going away anytime soon, so if we absolutely must continue on with them let's at least dress up for the occasion, yes? That's all I'm saying.

Which brings us to this picture.

Imagine you're being interrogated by the Berlin police in the 1980's. You just got because some bro you met at the beer garden put his bag of snizz in your rucksack while you were smoking a cigarette, and the next thing you know you're sobering up looking right into the square jawed face of a furious German man with dead eyes and a cold robot mouth curved harshly into a permanent frown of anger and hatred. Scary right? Fuck yes, it is.

Look at the photo again. Now try and imagine if that same scenario happened today.

Not afraid at all, right? Me neither. SO not scared, even. I actually feel like going to Germany and committing a crime just to have an excuse to have a weird motorcycle party in my hotel room.

These guys are fun. It's like I'm watching an Ultraman tribute show at Universal Studios Florida starring Travis Pastrana.

Pig in Space

2010-05-31T23:53:00.009-04:00

Pulp sci-fi cover art is the air-brushed van of book covers. I get the feeling that whoever made this cover was more interested in smelling the paint than in capturing the feel of the novel.

What we have here is actually the dream sequence from Happy Days as reimagineered by David Lynch. It's the part when Richie buys some bad meth from the Fonz and ends up spending some quality down time hallucinating on the floor of the shed behind the drive-in. I believe "Happy Daze" is the working title for the project.

Call me crazy but with a title like “The Interstellar Pig” I expect there to be at least one pig on the cover.

(via the tumblelog)

For a Pie

2010-05-24T23:13:00.006-04:00

And here's yet another tip of the hat to football (ie. soccer) announcing.

Well done sir! I could hardly understand a word of it but like all great art, it spoke to my soul.

And how about Mr. BBC back in the studio coming back with the deadpan quip. Brilliant.

(via languagelog)

Lessons in Gender, part 83

2010-05-17T23:25:00.020-04:00

A few weeks ago, my buddy El Jus picked me up in his nice SUV so we could escape the city for the day and go shooting shotguns up north. He parked near my place and I told him I had to pick up a "Panini" at my local food monger across the street before we left. He agreed, and we walked there.

I was hungry like the Wolf because I only ate beer the night before, and had eaten a steady diet of nothing since being awoken by a Saturday morning douche bag Reggaeton drive-by a few hours earlier, so my stomach made the executive decision to tell my brain to walk and eat at the same time. And I did just that.

So I ate my Italian Panini sandwich and we walked back to his nice SUV. But I was conscious of the fact that I wasn't eating with good manners because of my terrible hunger, and I didn't want to go all man-bear inside his car's sparkly leather interior, so I hastily finished my delicious European style sandwich outside the vehicle, simply out of respect. I could tell he wanted me to hurry up, but his passive aggressive eye rolling achieved nothing. When a person is so hungry they think like a forest pig scavenging the frozen earth in a Siberian white out it's hard to pick up on those things.

Luckily, I eat faster than lasers fuck, so I was done pretty quick.

So then I see this cop with a ticket book standing outside my friend's SUV. I was really nervous because I didn't want to be the reason my friend got a ticket, and I looked at the cop and was confused. You see they had their back to me, and all I saw was this boxy frame with a cop hat on top of it. I didn't know what it was. It was sunny out, I was tired, and time was now my enemy. But I had to say something. Big ticket=awkward drive+no fun for the rest of the day. So before I could think, I blurt out:

"Excuse me! Sir! Ma'am! Miss! Sir! Sir! Officer! Ma'am! Miss! Officer! We're here, sir! We're right here! Please!!"

Then the cop turned around, and the face had a mustache on it. And it was Crimson red.

"I'm a MAN," he said, and flipped his ticket book closed, and walked away.

My friend proceeded to call me an Asshat for the next 45 minutes.

Whatever. I may have been wrong about his gender, but I swear to you that man owned a pair of plusher than plush gams, and had the unmistakable shape of a sweet, sweet, lady. And if I learned anything from the timeless lyrics of Colombian singer/songwriter Shakira, the hips never lie.

Podcast 5: Big Foot, Fast Fingers

2010-05-02T15:49:00.013-04:00

More Bigfoot is on the way with podcast 5: The Bigfoot Hides Again.

Just so you know, the podcasts can be found at the M4H podcast blog at podbean. You can use the Podbean site to download or share any of the podcasts. (Or you can subscribe via Itunes here.) And we're always excepting new emails at monkeysforhelping@gmail.com!

An Average Day in 1985

2010-04-28T23:22:00.009-04:00

I grew up in the 80's, so naturally I think of it as a magical time. But the more footage from those days I see, the more I realize...maybe it really was magic. Not Patronus beardy magic but magic nonetheless. One of a different sort. An intangible, unseen power affecting the world around it, invisible to the naked eye but perceivable through the observation of the people, places, and things influenced by it.

For example, take a gander at these fucking guys.

The 80's power is truly awe inspiring. The fact that the video STARTS with a forward moonwalk is enough to make me wonder if I've been taking psychotropic drugs secretly behind my own back. How did he do that? If I ever went to a party and saw that dance move I'd spontaneously lie on the ground and go brain blank. The sheer awesomeness would put me on the mat and touch my brain in a not-so-good way, like a Russian fist smashing Carl Weathers inside his face. It would literally Apollo Creed me.

I'm not exaggerating in any way, shape, or form. It's a moonwalk. Forwards.

How those kids aren't totally stupefied is beyond my comprehension. I'd react no less severely than if I'd seen a living, breathing dinosaur in front of me with a look in its eyes warning me of my impending death via face and body eating, promptly followed by my life going away on a trip to the dead person place. Seriously. That dance move is more than a move. It's the Mortal Kombat finishing move of the dance world. If I managed to not throw up from the shock of seeing it, I'd quickly excuse myself to the upstairs bathroom to cry silently, then slump in the corner, hugging myself nervously like the Mom from Poltergeist holding her baby who just returned from a demon Hell ride she took inside the slime-filled ghost closet upstairs.

I wish I could do the forward moonwalk. I wish I was that kid doing it. It's literally the most amazing thing ever done by a white teenager since Michael Fox turned into a wolf and played the sport of basketball with other teenagers (who, unlike Mr. Fox, were not wolves, nor were their spectating parents and loved ones watching from the bleachers. Yet somehow, these non-wolf, normal humans remained totally calm upon seeing a motherfucking lycanthrope loose in their gymnasium.)

To put it less simply, I think of the 80's as the cultural equivalent to a cloaked Klingon War bird dressed in corduroy pants with the bottoms cuffed and a multicolored Australian Coogi sweater made out of lasers, cocaine, and Ronald Reagan. Which sounds a lot like the character bio of Max Headroom if you think about it.

(via BargainBinofOblivion)

Picture of the Day

2010-04-28T23:06:00.005-04:00

In loving memory

"Hip Hop"

(1979-2010)

Songs to Lose by

2010-04-28T20:25:00.005-04:00

Hey parents, looking for a way to take your uppity kids down a peg or two?!? Well, then run down to your local record store and snap up a copy of "Lullabies for Losers." Go to sleep with the satisfaction of knowing that your kids are quietly crying in their beds.

Includes such hits as:

• We All Die Some Day
&bull You Suck
&bull Cry as Much as You Like (Nobody Cares)

(All too real Charlie Brown via unrealitymag. Album cover via funkyjunktrunk)

Wash, Sing, Repeat

2010-04-25T19:14:00.005-04:00

Two groups of musical comedians doing the same bit about how all pop songs song the same using the pretty much the same songs = irony.

(both videos via milkandcookies)

It's the Bigfoot

2010-04-16T22:23:00.012-04:00

Here's podcast 4, because you can't hug a child with Bigfoot's arms. Just so you know, the podcasts can be found at the M4H podcast blog at podbean. You can use the podbean site to download or share any of the podcasts. Special thanks to Ben and Rex for sending in some emails...And if you want to send us some mail too, please, hit us up at monkeysforhelping@gmail.com!!

Dr. Force

2010-04-16T21:57:00.006-04:00

Furs + jehri curls + F medallions = the official medical team for M4H.

I don't know why more doctors don't swap out their lab coat for some furs.

Robot Bear Hugs All Around

2010-04-15T22:47:00.002-04:00

Ok, Japan, take off your jacket and have a seat because we need to have a serious talk about what's going on in this video. First off, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS VIDEO?!?!? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice but I was scared out of my liver by the sight of a giant robotic bear with gangly alien arms gingerly lifting a child.

And where is this giant pupiled bear taking the child? My guess would be back to its horrible space station den to be probed and tormented and eventually eaten. Seriously, why else play the "nothing could possibly go wrong so don't be concerned" music unless these children are in imminent danger? Come on, Japan. This has to stop. This is the real world not an extended game of Final Fantasy.

Also, just for the record, I am never, ever, in a million years going to clap to get that things attention. My preferred strategy will be to play dead. Oh, right, that won't work since someone (I'm not naming names but you know which country you are) gave this killing machine facial recognition software. Well, that's just great.

Steven Seagal Loves Wine

2010-04-14T01:21:00.005-04:00

According to "the media", Steven Seagal is some kind of weird pervert. Whatever. We'll see when the truth all comes out. For now, the only thing that matters is that he really, really loves wine.

Hang tough, Steve. I got your back, Brosephino.

(via EIT)

Mumblebots, roll out.

2010-04-14T01:06:00.011-04:00

Oh hi! I know, it's retarded how long it's been. Not Chunk from "Goonies" retarded, but definitely Corky from "Life Goes On" retarded, and that's plenty to warrant a semi-heartfelt apology. Forgive me. Please. I beg you. It's just I've gotten so lazy since we started podcasting. I'm even lazier than I was before. It's like I'm trapped inside an infinite loop of slack, and the only time I have to myself between work and screeching subway jaunts I spend looking at the back of my eyelids during marathon rounds of viking bear sleeps and getting taken to nerd school by 7 year old murder prodigies playing CoDMW2 online. After seeing how easy it is to record my jabbering and then watching as The Unbeatable Kid turns said jibber jabber into Ipod-ready, digi-bitified laser magic overnight, it's really hard to sit here with giant ape fingers and push normal finger-sized buttons at such a painfully slow pace. See, in real life I talk faster than most humans (Please download podcast #5 later this week for an example of this). But when I type, my normal pace screeches to a halt, and as a result when using a keyboard my words come out approximately every 3 to 5 minutes on average. I may be the least enlightened person I know, but if I typed the same way I spoke I'd sound like a foul mouthed stand-up comedian imitating a Zen master on his death bed. As stated earlier, this is mostly due to my gigantic Godzilla hands, but also has more than a lot to do with my lack of basic skills in grammar, punctuation, as well as spelling, not to mention my disregard for all forms of labor, big and small (including typing).

All this aside, It is nice to see my words again rather than having to hear my awful, awful voice. It's refreshing not to hear that painful droning I make when I open my face hole to communicate with others. Because when I read myself (rather than listening to myself) I can at least imagine my voice sounding better than the Harvey Fierstein Meth Chef thing I got going on in real life.

Can someone explain why the pitch of my voice is so high? In my head I sound like Roy Orbison or James Earl Jones. But on tape it's a different story all together. I need to stop smoking cigarettes. I sound like Joan Rivers on testosterone therapy. For serious. When I breathe I sound like a bagpipe getting thrown down the stairs. On more than one occasion I've been told I could do ADR for Mutley from Hanna-Barbera, or make extra money providing dubbing for the subjects of a non-English speaking documentary about Transsexuals. I know. That all sounds pretty cool. But the last time I checked, I'm a MAN. And you can call me old fashioned if you want, but I know what I want, and what that is is to sound like a MAN when I speak the King's English. Sorry to be a sexist. But it's the truth.

Remember back in olden times when I first wrote this blog I told you that I'd never lie to you? Forget all the lies I told you before, this time I mean it. Until I find a way to de-wimpify my voice I'll keep sounding like the shifty kid at Ritalin camp that hit puberty too early.

So that's that. Download the podcast. Unbeatable will send the laser links later in the week.

I guess that's all I have to say. In closing, here are three awesome things.

Love always,

Recon.

Podcast 3: NES Is More

2010-03-23T20:11:00.008-04:00

(Click here to get to the Downloadings)

(or click here to subscribe via Itunes!)

(NES photo via geekologie)

Goooaaaalll!

2010-03-14T14:28:00.007-04:00

Waiting for the World Cup is like shoving my face full of Christmas cookies and counting the hours to Christmas. I'm saving my voice up so l can scream my head off like Chewbacca at the vet.

Here's a translation for those of you who don't speak Dutch:

"The Dutch are driving now... and the ball falls to DeBoer... oh wait, the delivery guy just walked in. Thank you Mr. Delivery man for this giant meat grinder. I'll just... OH MY GOD MY ARM! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFF! ARRRHHHHH! DEAR LORD! Please someone call an ambulance."

On a lighter note, nothing seals a goal like an a little operatic improv.

Hello, Satan?

2010-03-10T21:44:00.048-05:00

SATAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
.....
I'm good! I'm good! How you living?
.....
{Sigh} Yes, I know you're not technically alive. Don't be snarky. What I mean is how's it going? What's the 411 on the 666?

.....
Oh word? That's cool.
.....
Me? Just chillin'. Kicking it at work, you know. Slow motion, playboy. Playing minesweeper, hating on my mark ass buster of a boss who thinks I'm actually gonna come in on Saturday and work on this presentation. He's bugging. Wish I was home blazing an L-Ron Hubbard playing Starcraft. Instead I'm stuck in this stupid office, on some straight up Dilbert shit. Whatever. It is what it is. How's your day going?

.....
Cool, cool... hope the rest of it goes OK for you. I just wanted to call to thank you for the birthday present.I dig it!
.....
Yes, I do really like it!
.....
Stop! It's a great gift. What's not to like? I love McDonald's. I love chatting. How can I not fucking love it? Easily the best phone I've ever owned.
.....
I mean it! It beats the pants off the faggy pocket watch the wife got me.
.....
Ha! I know, right? What is this, The Industrial Revolution? She must think I'm 158 years old. Why would I want that piece of shit for my birthday? Get me a Timex, get me a set of Golf clubs. Why get me a fucking pocket watch on a chain? It's ridiculous.
.....
I'm not being dramatic! Satan. She's an idiot.
.....
I don't care if it sounds harsh. I married a shockingly stupid lady. I think I know why she got me this, but it doesn't make her any less of a retard for doing it.
.....
Probably because one time I watched "Antique Roadshow" with her and mentioned how old things are kind of cool...you know, just to say something so she wouldn't talk. I didn't really mean it. One little comment and pow! she thinks I'm Winston Churchill.
.....
Yes. She is stupid. Just because she got a 1412 on her S.A.T.'s doesn't mean she isn't a freaking retard. According to USA Today those tests are culturally biased..
.....
The point is, the watch she gave me sucks. I suppose it wouldn't suck if I worked on a Steam train inside a Mark Twain novel. But I don't. So that makes her an ass for giving me Scrooge Bling when it's 2010 outside. Did we lose a war or something? I don't work in a textiles factory in London in 1836. I work here. In a shitty office with fluorescent lights, surrounded by fat nerds and computers that are smarter than me, in a futuristic age of scientific discovery and technological advances, not in the motherfucking past. So, she's an idiot. That's all I'm sayin'.
.....
Well, agree to disagree. Whatever. Way to take her side, by the way.
.....
You are taking her side! Very dickish of you. You know, you can't be the Devil's Advocate. You're the Devil. Choose one and stop being an asshole.
.....
Whatevs, bro. Let's drop it. Speaking of the ladies, If I tell you something, do you promise to keep it on the D.L. Hughley?
.....
Just promise, asshole.
.....
Ok. Dude, you wouldn't believe the amount of Poontang this phone is getting me!!!
.....
Yes, bro! It's silly. I'm like Lorenzo Lamas up in this motherfucker.
.....
Believe me. Shorties are feeling the double arches. I'm baggin' digits like the Hamburglar. High five!
.....
{Sigh} The Hamburglar? The striped guy who hung out with Grimace and Mayor McCheese and stole burgers? From the McDonald's ads? Jesus Christ, do you get cable down there?
.....
Whatever.All I know is that this Ronald McDonald jump off is totally the new Iphone. Tell everyone. Blog it out! I just tweeted that shit like 12 seconds ago.
.....
AND, I'm calling you from it right now! How rad is that? All hail the Dark Lord! You are truly the Master of Evil and supreme emperor of casual gifting! Booyah! Up top!

.....
What are you doing later? I got these Carrot Top tickets my boss isn't using, and was wondering if you wanna catch the show with me, maybe catch a brew, play some Big Buck Hunter?
.....
Oh? Yeah. I'll hold.

Picture of the Day

2010-03-09T23:37:00.001-05:00

Pug Life.

The Force: 1, Jabba's Intern: 0

2010-03-09T22:21:00.006-05:00

Ice Cold Nirvana

2010-03-09T21:03:00.017-05:00

I watched a ton of figure skating this past Olympics. It's awesome. It's the Freddy Mercury of the Sporting world but with more falling and less good music. (Actually, no good music.) I watch it because I like theatricality in my winter sports. I also like sparkly things and public humiliation, so it really works for me. But one thing has me coming back every time: The falls. The falls are so fucking amazing.

Some kid from Farawayistan practices tornado jumps and triple lutzes 14 hours a day at gunpoint hoping for the big day when all their work will pay off, only to have life sucker punch them in the grundle precisely at the moment of their promised glory.

I feel so bad for them when it happens, but I can't avert my eyes. Talk about having your dreams taken away. And how much must it suck to have Bob Costas narrating your life's single most embarrassing moment. As if you already didn't feel bad enough, now you have a Paddington Bear inspired man child mocking you with a voice beautiful yet full of judgement and disdain. You can almost see God's hand reaching down from Heaven balling up into a giant fist, then obliterating these poor souls until all that is left of them is sadness. Glittery piles of pulverized sadness.

That being said I can't help but wonder who feels worse: A: An ice skater who falls flat on their face in front of millions and millions of disappointed friends, family, and countrymen, or B: Kurt Kobain while watching this video?

B. By a landslide. I hope Zombie Kurt Kobain rises from the dead just to eat this man's brains.

(via Craplinks)

Teach the World to Sing

2010-02-28T12:24:00.013-05:00

Fun fact: The well tanned circus bears that raised Dolph Lundgren taught him to sing, dance and ride a unicycle in the hopes that he could put some "threat" back in the term "triple threat". But Dolph learned a lot of from the human world as well, like how to wear a tuxedo and not be afraid of fire. Thus, our hero can make a well dressed torch wielding entrance (at about 0:50).

Yes, strange things are afoot on planet Sweden, otherwise known as the Graceland of Scandinavia.

From Sweden, we travel half way around the world to St. Petersburg for another world champion of outstanding greatness, Edward Khil.

Clear evidence that the iron curtain was an effective policy: This guy was kept in and Yakov Smirnoff was let out.

Don't get me wrong, I love Yakov but as the great man himself once said. "In Soviet Russia, you don't laugh at the state of the country and in America no state in the country laughs at you".

But, seriously what is up America? We used to lead the world in production of ridiculous variety shows. Giants of the small screen like Laugh-in, the Gong Show and Hee-Haw testified to our greatness. Somehow, somewhere between the Jerry Springer and the Backstreet Boys, America lost her way.

We've got to get back to simpler times. We've got to strap on a smile, activate the jazz hands and show um what we've got. Come on people, how's about a little less Julius Caesar and a little more Cesar Romero?

More Proof That We're Living in the Future.

2010-02-26T03:22:00.011-05:00

Someone's Twitter account just sent me a Viagra ad. (Actually, it was a Viagra knock off. Viagra doesn't need to advertise. But that's not the point.)

The point is this: A human I actually know in flesh form had their microblogging alter-ego possessed by an invisible (yet clearly capitalist) computer-robot, designed with the sole intention of selling me synthetic sex enhancers in pill form while disguised as a person I've known for years, leaving me feeling violated and manipulated. Future: 1, Me: 0.

I'm old fashioned, I guess. But I swear that this event is important somehow. My gut tells me it's another sign that robots are taking over the world. And my gut's gut tells him he's probably right.

This shit happens all the time to people like us (internet/tech users), but not to those Outlanders who for some reason stay off the grid (non-nerds, seniors, mountain folk). It's weird and unsettling if you step back and think about it. It feels like the old guy that oversees the logic center of my brain just crossed an item off his Armageddon bucket list.

You might think I'm crazy. It's just spam. What's the big deal?

The big deal is, if this message was sent with exactly the same content but delivered as snail-mail instead, (the kind I grew up with, also known as "mail" mail), I'd only be able to come to the conclusion that someone took my friend hostage and sent me a ransom letter demanding I buy dick pills or else I never get to see him again.

We put too much faith into people's social network identities. So what exactly happens to the internet version of you when your friends' internet versions of themselves go missing? Do you call the Architect from the Matrix? Dial 311 and ask for Tron? Put up flyers on Facebook walls until they come back to us?

God. It's all so befuddling. I get caveman hands trying to type about it.

Just imagine what the grizzle-faced rapey dudes from "Deliverance" would think if you tried explaining this to them.

They'd be so mesmerized by the pops and clicks in those fancy college words coming out of your pretty, city-slicker mouth that they might just forget to anally rape you long enough for you to make a run for it.

Oh well, I guess it's all inevitable.

I'm just glad this particular pirate-tweet is one with health benefits in mind. If I have to have internet ninja robots hacking into my world from now until I die, it's better to have a cool one doing it rather than one of those asshole robots. Because evil or not, a robot that wants to make my penis strong is far more preferable to getting a email confirmation from Skynet telling me they're sending one of their special T-1000 Life Technicians somewhere between 2 and 5 tomorrow in order to disconnect my life service.

Podcast 2: Hamburglering the McGuffin

2010-02-23T18:45:00.007-05:00

Well, podcast 2 has arrived in the mail and damn! it's over 30 minutes long. Enjoy.

(Click here to get to the Downloadings)

(photo via realtybs)

Observations taken during the 1 AM Westminster Dog Show re-broadcast.

2010-02-17T02:00:00.022-05:00

So I'm watching the Westminster Dog show with my sister right now because I can't sleep. But I realize I don't want to. Why would I? This show is so much more than a dog competition. It's a total fucking bug out. You get to watch dogs which have been poof-preened into weird little fur clouds; fuzzy, shiny, boxy things that swish and sway across the floor like animated throw pillows from Henry Kissinger's Honeymoon suite.Then you have the rest of them; big, awesome horse-sized things that look like concept art for the Tim Burton Marmaduke reboot, which when gathered together in large groups begin to resemble a Wookie drag queen parade float. What is not to love about this cavalry of absurd beauty unraveling before my eyes.

You also get to enjoy the spectacle of tight-faced men and women geeked to the gills on Xanax and milk-bones, running around a giant green carpet while being watched by hawk eyed retirees in Civil War funeral attire who usually resemble one of the following: A) political cartoons of 1920's industry tycoons, B) Ellen DeGeneres/Wilford Brimley, or C) the heavyset, bullet-dodging barkeep in every Western film ever made.

The judges and handlers are an interesting cross-section of American dog nerds and visiting dog nerds from other countries. It's fascinating how similar and different they all are. There's a lot of story in their faces. If you take dogs and pantsuits out of the mix, I could easily be watching a Reba McEntire book signing or maybe even a cocktail hour at New Vermont's 2016 singles mixer for survivors of the Great Robot Wars.

I noticed that Poodles always win, or at least make it to the finals. So do those little bastard Terriers. Something is screwy in this world of dog. Totally fixed. I wouldn't be shocked to learn that Poodle and Terrier syndicates are the Yakuza and Triads of the show dog world, deciding who gets the Blue Ribbon through mortal combat in a candlelit ring deep underneath the mansion of Caesar Milan. He's the kingpin, definitely. And why shouldn't he be? America's growing addiction to illegal dog show gambling creates a revenue stream ripe for criminal plundering. Why else do you think Caesar Milan has so many dogs? Not because he likes them. He hates dogs.The fucking dude kicks one in the face every 5 seconds on his show. But he knows they're good for certain things. You try convincing TV crew interns to bite an FBI agent in the balls for college credit.

My sister just asked about a judge, "How does that woman get her job?" I wouldn't know. I imagine they're like Carnies with better credit and less tents. My ignorance and prejudgment tell me that two prerequisites for them are to be both off-putting and extremely hard to be around. The perfect candidate is probably a 40-something man or woman that pretends to be well read, is the owner of tired shoulders and deep frown lines carved into their bitter faces by soul-crushing loneliness caused by years of frustration in trying to deal with people that don't get the whole “dog thing.” I could be wrong. But I have pretty good radar for people that suck at being awesome and succeed at being the fucking worst.

Commercial break. OMG. This adopt a dog ad is making me feel like bees are stinging my heart. Thanks for the kick in the beans, David Duchovny. Your "narration" makes me feel bad for being a human being. Hope you enjoy that mall money you earned during the 7.5 minutes you spent sucking down Fiji waters in the vocal booth, Mulder. I could really use one of those waters to rehydrate myself after all the crying I'll be doing down the road thinking about the images of confused puppy eyes staring at me through a fucking cage. Good work, you joy-killing asshole. Not even Scully can suck the air out of a room that fast. And the music is just... comically sad. It sounds like Thom Yorke's face. Excuse me while I crawl into a bottle of despair and murder my life to death. But please, don't stop your slow piano playing on my behalf. Those sounds are like tears of a Basset Hound puppy left out in the cold all night hitting the keys one by one. Nice touch, you manipulative bastards. You've made me sadder then when I watched E.T. die.

Other notes:

The Westminster announcer sounds like God, if the part had been played by a white economics professor from New England imitating Morgan Freeman during a wine-induced after-dinner board game with the new theater professor and his wife who drank too much and got awkward around his kids. Add to that some stadium reverb and an asshole filter and you have your man.

I'm pretty sure the handler of the Australian cattle dog just gave him a treat, and then immediately put the other half directly in his mouth and chewed it without even blinking. I rewound it on the DVR, and yes. Yes he did. That man eats dog food, or the dog eats man food. Either way I'm engrossed with the grossness of it.

Even if you call it a Belgian Tevuran, it's still just a Nazi police dog in hipster camouflage. You can't make a word like Tevuran sound cute. Names like that belong on whaling ships and airborne diseases, not on man's best friend. So give it up, Belgium. The dog slang ain't playing. It sounds like a waffle dish served at a Romulan Friendly's.

There's a commercial on asking me if I have a case of "dirty carpet anxiety". Last time I checked that doesn't make sense, so go fuck yourself.

If wolves has sex with bears they'd make the perfect Collie. Like this guy for example (below). He's so cool he should have his own dog so he can walk them. Look at this badass! He's like a werewolf version of Gandalf. I bet he can fly when nobody's looking.

Other, other notes:

Sheepdogs look like Koala Bears dressed as ZZ Top for a Wildlife Conservation calender.

Swedish Vallhund also a Viking dog, looks like it was engineered by dog scientists to the optimal proportions and size for specializing in attacking the genital area of an adult man.

Norwegian Buhund: the dog of Vikings. SOLD. Fucking sold. Apparently they were the companion of the Vikings when they were working on farms, or taking work breaks to visit other towns and burn other people and their farms. It's called a Viking siesta.

The Canaan dog is named after the Bible, not New Canaan, CT. Take THAT, white people.

Bouviers look content and pretentious. I can see Elton John playing one in a Pixar movie. They're not exactly fat, but more husky and sturdy. But at the same time kind of rebellious and rad, like Alec Baldwin or tugboats. God, I always wanted to ride in one of those. (Tugboats, not Alec Baldwin).

Closing note: I just heard the expression "love this breed!" come out of the commentator's mouth for at least the 45th time in minutes. Listen, pal. I applaud your enthusiasm, but I can't commit to trusting your judgment. Script or no script, I can tell you're more than a little over-involved in dog literature. You fucking adore them. So saying that you "love a breed" is an insult to my intelligence. Those European Mom pants can't possibly hide the raging boner you have for obscure canine trivia. Look. I love dogs. I accept that I'm totally gay for them. But being gay for dogs doesn't make you an expert, and being Liberace Ice-Capades gay for everything related to, or even casually associated with the dog kingdom gives you a bias I simple cannot accept in an objective dog show judge on the professional level. You may sound like a lady when you talk about your passion for the toy group, but I assure you, Sandra Day O'Connor you are not.

Update: A Terrier named Sadie won Best in Show tonight. Fixed again!!!!!!!!

Best version of Batman ever

2010-02-17T01:34:00.003-05:00

3 Reasons Rock N Roll Will Live Forever

2010-02-15T22:39:00.007-05:00

In related news, my face just asked me for permission to explode.

Japanese Star Wars Tuna

2010-02-04T01:28:00.013-05:00

Star Wars and Japan can sell anything. This could be an ad for cans of weapons grade Anthrax and I’d still buy a thousand in Costco-size family packs and hoard them like Smaug the motherfucking Dragon guarding treasure in "The Hobbit". Normally I wouldn't be interested in purchasing anything that looks so awful, but for some reason I can't resist this. It's not my fault. It's Star Wars and Japan. That's peanut butter and jelly for the nerd's soul. I should never have underestimated the powers of their force.

I'd like to send a handful of kudos and an awkwardly long laser hug to the visionary director, for somehow making C-3PO ten times gayer than George Lucas ever imagined possible. Seriously. No amount of Imperial programming can account for that much showmanship. He looks like a craft services protocol droid fetching water and cocaine for Nicole Kidman on the set of "Moulin Rouge".

1978 はごろも缶詰シーチキン (via ksoik)

Sweeping the Clouds Away

2010-02-02T20:47:00.007-05:00

Dear Bird,

Having a great time. Telly was right, the people here really know how to live. Remember all those things I said that night we did those speedballs and burnt down the Count's castle? Probably not. But, I wanted to let you know that I finally feel like I belong in this world, like I'm a real thinking being and not just a puppet. Hang in there, Bird. rehab looks great from the other side. Kick Oscar in the balls for me. -C

(image via Paco Pomet at booooooom)

M4h News Bulletin:

2010-01-31T23:10:00.053-05:00

Gang Truce Brings Hope for City's Future

By APRIL O'NEILL

Published: July 6, 1985

COMPTON - The people of Los Angeles rejoiced this afternoon, as the infamous Crips gang leader known as “Leonardo” met face to face with his long time enemy and Bloods gang leader “Red Ranger”, in hopes of negotiating an end to their decade-long street war waged against each other. The two men met in neutral territory inside a popular pizza restaurant downtown, both heavily protected by their respective faction members. Tense words were exchanged, but within a matter of minutes the two gang lords shook hands and embraced, symbolically bringing an end to the murderous violence and fear which has plagued residents for years.

In a press conference following the meeting, the Mayor declared the truce to be official. Almost immediately, people filled the streets in celebration, cheering "Cowabunga" in honor of the historic day. Some laughed, some cried, others enjoyed pizza and fireworks with their forgotten neighbors and friends. It was a day many residents of the City of Angels will not soon forget.

As for the future, there is work to be done. Both sides vowed to work together in coming months to help stop gang activities for good. “I just wish Master Splinter was here to see his dream come true,” said Leonardo, referring to his recently deceased mentor.

Police officials remain skeptical as to whether L.A.'s other gangs will honor the truce, as several prominent crime figures did not attend the ceremony. Most notably absent was the eccentric leader of the Foot Clan gang, “Shredder”, who is currently in federal custody awaiting trial for illegal ninja trafficking and death robot manufacturing. Others were also absent, causing many to worry.

"It's a positive step, but there are still other gangs we need to stop. If Lord Zedd and Rita Repulsa get on board then we might have something", said Lieutenant Stone. "But we have a long road ahead of us."

True. Let's just hope that the road isn't filled with giant space monsters.

literally

2010-01-31T18:22:00.001-05:00

Podcast 1: Here it is.

2010-01-28T22:52:00.011-05:00

Yes. Back by unpopular demand, we present to you the first of what some pray to god will not be an regular series of podcasts.

(Click here to get to the Downloadings)

But to you haters out there all I have to say is that we're doing our own thing no matter how ridiculous.

Picture of the Day

2010-01-19T01:33:00.006-05:00

My inner rap fan just got to 3rd base with my inner nerd. Seriously. Get a room, you two. I gotta get some sleep.

Baby to the Beans

2010-01-19T00:16:00.016-05:00

Remember Beanie babies? They were like Meth for the OCD Mom jeans set. Not to mention the mustachioed cat guy demographic. They went bananas for those things. It's a shame they're gone.

So what do agoraphobic nerds with impulse control issues do now to meet one another? Beanie conventions were like their aphrodisiacs, thrusting the lot into close enough proximity that awkward physical romances negotiated during last call at the airport motel bar were inevitable and plentiful. Believe me when I tell you, many a pants-off dance-off took place during those wonder years of the Beanie dynasty.

So please..bring them back, Mr. President. Nerd reproduction is imperative for our future. If these groups and their respective private parts don't find a way to each other, America won't have the nerdling surplus necessary to maintain the blinky machines and lasers that run our lives. Beanies make America safer. Without them, the terrorists have already won.

(via EIT)

Picture of the Day

2010-01-15T10:00:00.001-05:00

An artist is someone who produces things that people don't need to have but that he - for some reason - thinks it would be a good idea to give them. ~Andy Warhol

Not so Long Ago in a Disco Far Far Away

2010-01-14T12:54:00.005-05:00

I wonder if there is a word in French that expresses exactly how uncomfortable I feel about this clip and the strange sexual tension it develops between Darth Vader and C3PO. Because I know for a fact no English word comes close.

Best new halloween costume idea = Disco French C3PO.

(via milkandcookies)

Shark Alarm!

2010-01-13T23:50:00.005-05:00

Taken from the film "Shark Alarm of the Mediterranean", the Citizen Kane of Shark Alarm cinema. Roger Ebert gave it two thumbs up immediately before being eaten by a Hammerhead while Jet-skiing with his shirt on. True story.

Cats: Bow down to your Emperor.

2010-01-13T23:19:00.008-05:00

Get Ready for News

2010-01-11T15:18:00.005-05:00

I would burn down a church to be featured on a news show with an intro this awesome.

It's so intense that the man in the full on plaid suite jacket almost felt understated.

(via Cynical-C)

Smoke Um

2010-01-08T17:14:00.004-05:00

I had this wild dream the other night.

I was working some crap 9 to 5 job on the Death Star. I'm not really sure what I was doing but I'm pretty sure that it wasn't a plush, paper-pushing, approving prisoner transfer type deal. More likely, I was one of those miserable creatures forced to mop the gigantic laser hole - a line of work which has to be hands down the worst job on the entire Death Star. To add insult to injury, those guys have to wear black safety helmets as if safety means a damn thing when you're desperately clinging to the wall every five minutes to keep your balls from getting ripped off by a GIANT PLANET CRUSHING LASER BEAM.

Anyway, I'm turning some Death Star corridor and I stumble across Darth Vader standing over the smoldering remains of Luke Skywalker.

Me (to myself): Ummm. This is awkward.

Vader: Oh excuse me. I was just reveling in the moment.

Me: Yeah... it's just that this is the only place on this space station the size of a small moon that I can smoke and not have to dodge giant laser blasts.

Vader: I hear you, buddy. I mean, how many people do I have to force choke before they give the whole Smoke Free Star Destroyer thing up? Seriously, second hand smoke is no match for the power of the dark side. (Vader brushes his cape aside to reveal that he has a pack rolled up in his sleeve. (He offers me one): Here you go. This pack had a spare.

Me: Thanks... Damn. I left my lighter back in my "quote" office.

Vader: You can use mine. (He lights his cig off of his light saber before handing the weapon to me).

Me: Awesome. I'm surprised that you're still smoking what with that breathing thing and all.

Vader: Some doctor once tried to get me to stop.

Me: Did you give him the old force choke?

Vader: Nah. That shit doesn't work on robots. I gave him some bzzzzzzw bzzzw (Vader does a terrible imitation of the light saber noise while he mimes like he's cutting someone in half).

Me: Nice. Well, I better get back to whatever it is I do. Thanks again for the cig. You're a pretty stand up guy for a Sith Lord.

Vader: You caught me on a good day (he points at Luke's dead body.)

Tasty Cakes

2010-01-06T17:30:00.005-05:00

Here's to kicking off 2010 with a bang!

Chimp + cake eating dogs + japan + not making any sense = fantabulous.

Merry Annual New Year Celebration Day

2009-12-31T01:22:00.006-05:00

AH!!!! 2010!! Congrats to all of us for making it to such a futuristic-sounding year. The robots haven't killed us yet. +1 Humans.

But 2010, when I imagined it as a kid, was different. We have cool stuff, I guess. But I want Moon Casinos and light sabers. I want miniature Tigers and Elephants as designer pets. I want virtual motherfucking reality, dude. Where's my flying skateboard? I was promised this, and I demand it. I also want Nano-bots to make me not have to exercise, sleep, work, or quit smoking.

Also, where are the laser guns? I'm not pro war, but I am pro lasers. And when are the Aliens going to show up? Are they waiting for a more futuristic sounding year to land? Fucking Prima donnas.

Anyway, I hope more time for writing appears in my world next year. I hope for a lot. But instead of rambling on, tell me what you hope happens in 2010.

And until then my friends, I bid you all adieu. Recon out!!!!

Here Comes Ranta Claus

2009-12-19T01:54:00.024-05:00

This is the second time I've started this, and at least the 20th time I started writing a post inside my head over the last weeks. Writer's block? Maybe. I think my mind is just lazy from being used so much during the work week that it shuts off the moment I walk through my door.

My job is cool. I love where I work. I'm lucky to be around cool shit all day. But if I could just somehow take the 'work' part out of working, I'd have a less crappy time from Monday till Friday. God I hate it (the work part). Even when it's awesome it's still wicked fucking not terriffic. And if it indeed builds character, that character totally sucks compared to the character that being lazy and thinking about lasers creates. (btw, that character is DJ Jazzy Awesome, and he lives on the moon where the power of his break-dancing makes the flowers bloom.

So, during this brief moment of awkward silence shared with myself and current taxi pilot Sanjit, I tap out these words like a mountain gorilla and realize it's been a while. My fingers feel funny. (Let's hope they actually are, or the rest of this is going to bore the shit out of both of us.)

Another iPod rant written in the back of a cab. Work has swallowed my life like a giant metal whale from the abyss, and now I find myself in its belly surrounded by suits of armor, barrels of nails, xerox machines, excel spreadsheets, and pain. Yet with all the 9 to 5 Dilbert bullshit I still clock vampire hours, with no regard for my bear-like craving for long sleeps. Is that what life has become? Writing invisible letters to myself in the back of a man's car that I just met? I guess so. Fucking Internet 2.0.

I can't do anything without a machine telling me what to do or telling a machine what to do in order to do anything. It's crazy how these robots are all up on me. It makes me think that freedom is much more than a word Mel Gibson says before sword fighting in dirty fields. It's what I want. Just some time to be way from all this day to day pay the bills meat and potatoes hum drum daily grind malarkey.

Freedom. Yeah. That's the ticket.

Hurry up, red light. I want to go home.

I think Hemingway said it best when he said, "Time is like the Hamburglar." It makes sense to me. All those precious minutes I'd rather spend eating, loitering, and enjoying nerd stuffs are constantly being used up by some asshole named Work. What a dickweed that guy is. Time is his boss, and although we've never met, I here he's a major league fucker. Watch out for him. He sneaks up on you and steals your shit from you while you're not looking. Total fucking criminal, that guy.

I have a scientific hunch that there's a powerful chemical reaction occurring inside us when MSG is ingested while watching television on large screens after dusk. The effects of this are not dissimilar to being shot in the neck with a circus-grade tranquilizer gun. Basically, the reaction causes one to feel like a slightly less retarded facsimile of Sloth from Goonies, but minus the energy, happiness, or ambition to do things.

All that shit that old people told us when were kids about not eating after 8pm? Totally fucking true. I routinely eat dinner after 10pm, and like Swiss fucking clock movement I wake up the next day I wake up feeling like robots are fighting a laser war inside my body. If only I could get paid to feel like shit at 8am. I'd be the P-Diddy of that industry. Take that, take that.

So where was I? Oh yeah. Nowhere exactly. But at least words are coming out again. Thank god for that. Since I haven't been able to write, I never shut the fuck up. It's like my mouth is on Cocaine. Those of you who have met me know how annoying I can be when I talk. It's ok, I know it's true. I'm cool with it. For those that haven't, my real life voice is tinny and shrill, like what you'd imagine a tired wolverine to sound like if they swore too much, smoked too much, and lied too much. Seriously, If I have to hear myself talk anymore I'm going to delete me from my friend's list and avoid the shit out of myself. If only I sounded like Louis Armstrong or Ernest Borgnine. When they talk, it's like my ears are at Disney world on a sunny day with no lines.

Anyway, I'm done. Feel better. Jump back, wanna kiss myself. And it's Friday, which is filled with things that don't suck.

It feels like just 4 days ago I was an angry Asian man frowning it up on the Monday morning iron horse ride to oblivion.

Then Tuesday rolled around, and I got scared because I couldn't see the weekend when I looked behind me. So I held on for dear life.

Wednesday was better, but then the work attacked me out of nowhere when I was just starting to enjoy the sunny day. I felt like an evil golfer in a Cynthia Rothrock film.

Thursday I caught a movie. Actually, when I say 'caught a movie' I mean I worked late and didn't watch a movie. But if work on Thursday was a movie (which it was not), it would be a tragedy. The plot themes would be pain, crying, and hopelessness, and the star would be a exhausted yet still handsome me with an attitude problem and flagrantly sassy disregard for the rules.

And now...now, my friends....it's Friday.

Fuck yeah.

Oooooo Weeeee ...

2009-11-30T00:54:00.003-05:00

So, I haven't watched SNL in a long time, but last week the stars aligned and I happened to catch this shining gem of retarded genius. Between the mildly concussed look in Kenan's eyes and the irresistible catchy-ness of the song I had to share.
ENJOY!!!

This skit makes me wonder where Kel is now??? Probably off drinking orange soda somewhere...

Happy Early Annual Turkey Consumption Day

2009-11-25T18:42:00.005-05:00

I'm off to the forest regions of the South, where as a straggler I will graciously accept my friend's family invitation to gorge on their roasted communal bird and any other foodstuffs I can get my freeloading hands on. And time permitting, maybe sneak in some dragon punch practice under the waterfall in back of my Shidoshi's condo. Kiaaa!!!!! Happy happy. I wish you all the best! (Except the Turkeys. I wish them nothing but swift death and a future inside my stomach.)

Love, Recon

Dear Monday,

2009-11-23T10:00:00.001-05:00

YAAAAAAAAAARRR!!!!!!!!!!

That is all.

Boum! goes the dynamite

2009-11-22T23:59:00.000-05:00

NASA: Still no sign of intelligent life in space

2009-11-22T23:58:00.002-05:00

In related news, New Jersey has been discovered in the Buttafuoco Star Cluster near Alpha Centauri.

Thriller 8-Bit Tribute Mix

2009-11-19T02:10:00.004-05:00

Nothing approximates the soundtrack inside my head better than this. So cool.

It's actually too cool. I feel self-conscious watching it, like I'm a high school freshman again who just arrived at the cool senior party with nobody to talk to except my older brother who has a mustache and smokes cigarettes. Then I look around for him, suddenly realizing that he managed to disappear into the crowd with a bunch of other people with mustaches, presumably to go and smoke reefer out in the garage and talk about tits and Metallica.

Now all I can do is watch my palms sweat and fight off the anxiety by drinking beer after beer and doing all the free drugs I can as fast as possible before I freak out, which in doing so would label me the "sweaty hands freak-out guy" for the next 4 years, setting up the core framework of my social identity which I will undoubtedly carry with me well into my dysfunctional adult years.

Wow. Where was I? Oh yeah. This video is like laser heroin for 30+ retired rave dorks. Watch it and prepare to have its wonderfully synthetic sounds engage in the act of taboo digital lovemaking with your retro-nostalgic ear drums.

TMNT Amber Alert

2009-11-19T02:09:00.005-05:00

The Turtles are back. And this time, they don't want Pizza.

Video game lesson #83: Punching fixes everything.

2009-11-19T02:01:00.008-05:00

Monkeys on Ice.

2009-11-19T01:22:00.007-05:00

Well I can't really say anything to make this any better than it already is. All I know is it makes my brain feel like there's a disco ball bouncing lasers off the insides of skull. These monkeys are probably not as smart as me, but that doesn't mean I don't respect the shit out of them. I know I can't ice skate without falling on my face 56 times in a row and using profanity like it's the new Twitter.

So just for the record, allow me to say fuck a skate. While I'm at it, fuck a rink, fuck a puck, fuck a Zamboni. I hate all that shit.

Yet despite being a skater hater, I confess now to all of you that my cold heart can't resist the sight of chimpanzees in Cosby sweaters.

This gets a 10 for excellence. I get a 1 for becoming a skating aficionado. (If even for just 30 seconds.)

Give It to Me Straight, Mr. Parker

2009-11-17T12:07:00.006-05:00

Screen writing tip number 42: When at a loss for dialog, just have your characters narrate their own actions. This technique is quick, easy and has the added benefit of making it very difficult for the director to fuck up "your" movie/TV show.

Look out Peter, alternative Spiderman seems to have the power of exposition.

Ill Alliance

2009-11-17T12:01:00.007-05:00

Nothing like a little visual confirmation of you worst nightmare.

(via neatorama and this)

Picture of the Day

2009-11-06T10:00:00.003-05:00

Kevin loved to show the cowards his Key West Kitchen Karate after kicking it with his crew over Kahlua and Keno. Kiaaah!

Why choose a Sockalingam & Peeler Real Estate Agent for your next market move?

2009-11-05T02:02:00.035-05:00

Two reasons.

They punch the real estate market. In the face.

Plus, they've got Cocaine.

(via tofuttibreak)

Ode to the Internet

2009-11-04T21:52:00.005-05:00

I love the internet. It takes it only two letters to guess my thoughts.

Yesterday's Dummies

2009-11-04T13:09:00.002-05:00

Give me 5 more entertainment geniuses like the creators of this "act" and I will take over Hollywood. I love the fake house set, I love the creepy ventriloquist smiling and the overwhelming whiteness of the whole endeavor plays. The "just got out of the barber's chair" look could use a little refinement though. Were they expecting rain in the studio?

(via cynical-c)

MC Trebek in the Hizzouse

2009-10-27T15:45:00.007-04:00

Hanging out with Recon this weekend, we were both enjoying Steve Porter's follow up to the Slap Chop remix called "Press Hop." It's good, especially if you're a sports fiend like me (the autotuning of Namath's drunken, nationally televised sexual harrassment alone is worth the price of admission). But as I was getting ready to post the "Press Hop" video, my mind was officially blown by something even MORE amazing: MC Trebek. Since this Tronovich treat is way more up M4H's alley, I thought I'd bless the blog with the smooth stylings of one Alex "Make it Rain" Trebek. Thank you internets.

Picture Of The Day

2009-10-22T23:00:00.007-04:00

Speaking of the future, I'm pretty sure this guy just robbed a gas station 10 years from now. He's like a Nascar driver from Beyond Thunderdome. And yes, if you were wondering, drunk driving is A-OK in post Nuclear war wastelands. As long as you show the future police your wolf hat, you're as good as gold. Laser Gold.

I want to email this guy a highfiveotron but something tells me he doesn't "do" computers.

Future, Much?

2009-10-22T22:11:00.010-04:00

Check out this super ridiculously Rad device called "The Courier" that Microsoft is releasing sometime during or near Armageddon times. Super tips of the laser hat to SleepONE for showing your humble nerd this amazing piece of amazingry. It reminds me of Sony's Japanese tile computer prototype. Honestly, I'll take either.
I'd just need to install one of those plastic guards they put near gross buffets in case of face explosions.

Remind me again: how is it that we can't control the weather yet? All I'm saying is we need to get on that shit. Science it up, Science! I swear, if it rains on me again while on my way to work and I puddle-rape my Nike's one more time, I'm going to save up my terrible salary for R&D to design a robot that challenges clouds to fistfights.

Yes, I fucking hate rain. Hate it like fat kids don't hate cake.

And once they're done punching all the clouds in the face, I'll command them to systematically hunt down all the weathermen who think it's all good to tell me to "bundle up" and pack some rain gear while they exchange chuckles over coffee with their brick-faced colleagues, mocking my inevitable misery from their warm, dry TV studio with their bone-white giant teeth and dead mannequin eyes. Smile now, pay later, Mr. Weatherperson. Lock those doors, Smiley. They're coming for you. And when they do, I can guarantee a 75% chance of you getting a robot kick inside your giant watermelon-sized face.

Picture Of The Day

2009-10-21T23:46:00.003-04:00

Mr. Gorilla, you had me at Gorilla.

The different kinds of strangers

2009-10-19T21:15:00.009-04:00

The lesson I learned: Avoid all human beings. I also realized how important it is to never overindulge in the use of Starwipes. Unless you're the assistant manager of a black-ops supersoldier brain washing project, one a minute should be enough for most films.

(via blort)

Booooo Shuda.

2009-10-19T11:59:00.000-04:00

This dauber is my kind of scum. Fearless and inventive.

Mr. Baracus, you have the floor.

2009-10-19T10:00:00.003-04:00

WORD.

LIFE.

Thank Satan, it's Monday!

2009-10-19T08:30:00.001-04:00

Always RSVP to a Chuck Norris party invitation.

2009-10-17T17:38:00.012-04:00

Poor manners are frowned upon, and Chuck Norris frowns with karate kicks.

Lose the forks, Luke

2009-10-17T17:29:00.007-04:00

Toad It Up

2009-10-17T15:40:00.004-04:00

Give the drummer some. Seriously, this guy is so good that for a minute there I was convinced that gold coins would pour out of the bricks in my apartment if I could just ram my head into them hard enough.

Bobby J: Number One

2009-10-10T19:43:00.013-04:00

Nevermind that he looks like the steroid dealer for the 1986 Chicago Bears. Bobby J is fucking CEO of the International Boss Corporation. Watching Mr. J's constant Gormley -esque Powerstancing and his unique brand of reluctant mandancery, I feel like Harry Hamlin fighting Medusa in 'Clash of the Titans'. God he's cool. He's like the last Boss on the NES game you never finished because after a while you got so sick of trying to beat him you decided that the game was too hard and just said "Fuck it" and spent the rest of the afternoon burning your frontal lobes out watching cartoons sitting too close to the TV eating ice cream until your face hurt.

I want to crush him up, sniff him, check myself into rehab for awesome addiction, then get pretentious and preachy about it when other people tell me they have a grip on their Bobby J habit.

(Thanks Antonio!)

Picture Of The Day

2009-10-06T22:09:00.007-04:00

Umm, careful dudes. That fucking Tiger is no joke. Even Poseidon looks scared. And he's fucking POSEIDON.

Carl Sagan's 'A Glorious Dawn' Feat. MC Steve Hawking

2009-10-06T21:48:00.014-04:00

This year Jay-Z declared Autotune dead. Naturally, only true Gods of Science and Laser Magic could take it, resurrect it, and bring it to another level. A very, very nerdy level.

My hypothesis: This is what my television would sound like if it got high.

Misters Belvederes

2009-10-06T20:36:00.020-04:00

Sorry, I couldn't help but share this. I know it's awful. It's like a still from an Aphex Twin video remix of my childhood. But I've been (re) watching the classic "New Blood on Falcon Turf" I posted many moons ago featuring a guest appearance from the older brother from Mr. Belvedere, and I've had a brutal case of chronic Belvederitis I can't seem to shake ever since. So if you haven't yet seen it, please, go ahead and share my misery. Don't worry, it's really, really good. I wouldn't lie to you.*

(*Except this once.)

Rippin' The Pit, We've Got It All..

2009-10-04T23:45:00.013-04:00

This is like the Citizen Kane of 1980's Californian Boogie Board culture. Judging from the flickery production values, it actually plays more like a terrorist recruitment tape...but I for one am drinking the Kool-Aid and strapping on my wrap-around Oakleys like the good bleach blonde, wave-carving automaton I hope to become one day.

If only Daniel had rolled with these kids he never would have had to fight those Cobra Kai alone.

(via Rad Dudes)

Star Trek Picture of the Day

2009-10-01T01:34:00.005-04:00

Remember that episode where Mr. Data got tired of the Captain's "make is so" sass mouth and decided to deploy the choke slam? That was awesome.

The price is WRONG, Jedi scum.

2009-09-30T00:44:00.006-04:00

Let It Be: The Red October Remix

2009-09-29T22:05:00.006-04:00

These days it's Beatles this, and Beatles that. And I'm fine with it. Mostly because they're fucking great. One could even go as far as to call them the Beatles of popular music.

But never before has a cover of "Let It Be" been so grizzly, saturated in Vodka, and straight fucking gangster as this gem of Soviet glory. Open your ears and take it in. Komrade Krunk, Homski. Feel it.

Now stop feeling, you sensitive American swine.

(via BoingBoing)

There's a Kung Fu fight inside my brain.

2009-09-28T23:26:00.020-04:00

I became a citizen a few years ago, and Uncle Samuel just got around to snail-mailing me a old-timey paper style form to fill out for jury duty. And this powerful Zen koan was posed to me as question #2:

#2: Can you understand and communicate in the English language?

I just wanted to share because it's the deepest thing I've been asked in years. I haven't been so confused since the last time I was this confused. I'm trying to remember when that was but I'm too fucking confused by all of this! Damn you, Samuel! Your devilish mind tricks continue to taunt me. I'll have to ruminate about this one for a while.

In the meantime I should just stop thinking about it and enjoy my shaved ice.

(BTW, if you haven't realized it by now, these guys are the Alpha and Omega of the Awesome Omniverse. Take a look at those mugs..can you honestly truly say that you have ever been that fucking happy in your entire life? I'm leaving a note for myself to remind me to Google-stalk these dudes. I want to hold them for ransom to the Shaved Ice Corporation until they tell me the secrets of universal bliss they obviously possess. If they refuse I'll cut them a check and hire them as my personal joy and well-being technicians.)

After thinking about the question posed earlier, my answer is "No"... with a hint of "Yes"... and then more "No". So Sam (if that is your real name), why don't you take that, make it into a sandwich, wrap it up in an American flag print picnic napkin, and proceed directly to getting the fuck out of my business. God you're nosy.

Oh Hai?

2009-09-27T22:44:00.002-04:00

Best Photoshop in the history of computering.

2009-09-27T22:35:00.007-04:00

I wanna kiss technology right on the mouth for this.

Best Turkish TV Freak Out You'll See Today

2009-09-17T23:27:00.007-04:00

Work is kicking my monkey butt all over the place. I wonder all the time..how nice would it be to just let the crazy fly? How refreshing would it be to forget all the rules of society that separate us from our animal friends and just fucking GO for it? Watch this mustachioed champion shake his Eurasian tail feather down to freaky deeky town and tell me he isn't made of the stuff of legend. He won my heart like a giant stuffed monkey at the state fair. I'd totally hug him if I wasn't so sure he'd stab me for it.

NO MORE QUESTIONS!!!

2009-09-17T00:59:00.000-04:00

Creeps of the 1980's

2009-09-17T00:55:00.002-04:00

Dating Montage
Uploaded by smithy00101. - Independent web videos.

Candy or Medicine

2009-09-11T17:02:00.003-04:00

But, can't it be two things? Come on science you guys need to make some candy that is medicine. I can not be the first person to think of this.

Have trigeminal neuralgia? Try a smartie.

(via university of virginia)

Once you see it...

2009-09-10T00:57:00.002-04:00

ROFL

2009-09-10T00:38:00.001-04:00

I’ll never look at Colonel Sanders the same way again

Is this the best song of 2009?

2009-09-10T00:24:00.001-04:00

The Bunny's a Stalker

2009-08-27T21:48:00.006-04:00

Ah yes. Nothing warms the heart like a good old fashioned table turning. Having that lady cyberstalk you isn't a crime, it's a pleasure. This "interview" must have been conducted in the days before facebook because if cyberstalking is illegal then facebook is Amsterdam.

That clip is cooler than my "Expelliarmus!" t-shirt.

What lasers can do.

2009-08-22T01:59:00.033-04:00

Clearly these cats need no explanation. I just pray to the alien lizard kings of space heaven that my blog absence is the same.

But explain I must. Because Twittling and Facebookery don't sufficiently satiate my narcisism and need to read my own stupid in black and white.

To quote Chaucer*, shit has been busy as fuck. And I miss writing. So in an effort to assimilate my nerding addiction, I got an "app" from the invisible laser net for my iPod..and this is my first official post using an electro-demon science I don't even pretend to begin to understand.

(fig a: Chaucer. Yes, Geoffrey, I'm talking to you.)

This iPod is iBananas. Cheers to all of you bearded millionaires for inventing a fucking Tricorder for lazy couch jockeys like me. I heart the shit out of you sexy style. Thank God someone was studying Math* during my drug and alcohol phase. It's good to know that humanity isn't only comprised of people like me who get nosebleeds from looking at numbers.

(fig. b: The Science of Mathery.)

Steve jobs should have a shrine built to honor him for coming up with this fucking thing. It wouldn't be hard to make that happen. All we'd need is some Baron-type individual (a Harkonnen will do) with stupid-fat, Scrooge McDuck-level Benjamins in the vault to airdrop a few hundred crates of iPhones over Brooklyn. Within days, the remaining hipsters that manage to survive the subsequent city-wide riots will build a magnificent, glowing white monolith the size of Voltron's* penis in honor of their turtlenecked lord. Oh, the humanity. I can see it now...a giant iPod covered in the skulls of the non-believers. Those infidels who refused to pay tribute to the one they call Steve. It would be the iPod of all iPods: capable of holding 48 Teraflops of Indie Rock, Baile Funk, and Tuvan throat singing mp3's yet would still be big enough that you could imprison your favorite bands and keep them hostage inside, forcing them to play Sinatra covers and Daft Punk remixes all the while staring down the business end of a Shepard Fairy edition AK-47. A fitting homage to the Lord of all Nerds. Even Borg would cry like Jimmy fucking Swaggart in the presence of such a thing.

(fig c: Voltron, pictured here at home. Notice the space shorts and the sword. Makes you wonder what he's overcompensating for.)

Ok, I guess that doesn't make sense. (Plus my grammar is terrible, but that's more of a blog-wide epidemic here at M4H.) The truth is, that besides Voltron's Mom, no one except those weird hyper kids who fly the lions that make up Voltron have probably ever even seen his giant robot penis. So to mention it at all is inane at best, and borderline retarded at worst. Frruk it. Who cares if it makes sense. None of this does. I can't even figure out how Ice works. Trying to wrap my mind around the whole process of internetting is befuddling at best. Thinking about it gives me cramps between my ears.

But seriously.. take a second and think about how fucking weird all this inter-connectivity is. It's pretty mindblowing.

That's all I can think of right now. Because I'm blogging this from a shiny glowing rectangle in the back of a bumpy taxicab while tearing through a rainstorm, dodging drunks, listening to Hindi techno, pushing 55 on the Queensboro bridge and I'm suddenly wondering if Global Warming is too blame for this awful weather. Maybe I'll Google it. ~~Jesus.~~ Robot Jesus. Life is so futuristic. I feel like Blade Runner. Except I hate running and don't trust knives.

I just looked out the smudged car window and saw another nerd in another speeding cab looking at an iPod just like mine. Robots in disguise, that's all I see everywhere I look. I feel like my insides are made of cogs and sprockets. And chocolate covered butter sugar.

My thumbs are tired. Ok, so now to post..hope this works..if it does, and these words somehow manage to reach your nerd-thirsty retinas, allow me to express my happiness at being back among the monkey collective. Good to be back in the saddle. Now let's ride this fucker into oblivion.

PS: Cheers, Unbeatable. You held it down like Lobot* on Cloud City. If I knew where to get, or could even afford a cape, I'd totally buy it for you, eventually mailing it to your domicile after asking for your address 57 times (and losing it 56 times). Realistically speaking, I'll most likely fax a picture of a caped you to your local Kinkos, then ask you to take some personal time out of your busy day to go down and wait in line for a "big surprise" that's "totally worth the wait". If only I could witness the underwhelmed look on your face when you see my crayon drawing of you with two thumbs up and a "I Rock!" thought bubble jutting off your poorly-drawn, cartoon visage.

(fig d: Lobot, aka Lobeezy, Cloud City's first white rapper.)

And if for some reason this little rant doesn't work its way through those fiberoptic science tubes beneath the rivers of concrete all around us, allow me to say this in advance: Fuck You, Apple. Fuck you and your cruel, mocking piano music that constantly teases me for not being able to afford your glorious statements of financially-stable Hipstery. Screw off, iTunes. Go download your ass inside your face. You know what? If this doesn't post, I'm totally going to ask a nerd to show me how to download a middle finger App. Then I'll hop in a gypsy cab, drive up 5th avenue, use it to e-flip off the sweaty tourist horde that plagues the Apple store, snap an iPhoto of it, email it to Steve Jobs's Twitter caddy, and finally, in the floweriest of words I can extract from my grey matter, I'll politely demand that he fax it to Mr. Jobs's Gulfstream with the motherfucking iSwiftness that only a bored nerd armed with new technology and a general hatred of modern life could wield.

Phew. Ok. That's enough. Now my thumbs are really tired. Ok, so now..I..press this button? Here goes nothing. And by nothing I mean something I don't understand at all. Cheers, friends. I'm in your internet, making the lasers.

The 2nd Worst Rave I Have Ever Been To

2009-08-21T23:11:00.005-04:00

Sorry I Missed Your Party

http://www.sorryimissedyourparty.com/

Watch Out for Your Ears

2009-08-19T15:00:00.003-04:00

What makes this clip even better is:

1. Jimi performed this cover a mere three days after the Beatles released "Sgt. Pepper's."

2. George Harrison and Paul McCartney were at the show.

Latest Episode in the Fo Drizzle Saga

2009-08-12T00:14:00.004-04:00

To those who doubt Snoop's status as a budding Dadaist artist, I present you with exhibit b (not feat. Xzibit):

So... many... questions...

Did Snoop really hire some guy to hold an umbrella for him or is he just a well dressed friend/fan? If he is a Snoop Inc. employee, why is he wearing a pinstriped suit? Is the suit standard umbrella holder issue worn by all union umbrella holders? Did Snoop ask for a head shot to be submitted with the umbrella resumes? More importantly, why does Snoop need an umbrella when he's wearing what look to be a rain coat and a jungle hat? Aren't those things designed specifically to repel rain? Come to think of it, is it even raining because I don't see even the slightest hint of rain in this picture?

Apparently, there exists some kind of invisible rain that can only be felt by celebrities.

(photo via eatliver)