Thursday, May 21, 2009

Picture of the Day


What in the Omniverse is happening here. It's like a David Byrne video starring Latino Wesley Crusher, Macaulay Culkin if he hadn't grown up awkward, Vidal Sassoon's pool boy, and a future person from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Throw in a classy and bright Miami strip mall interior design store motif and we have a winner. Guys, I don't doubt your music is muy caliente, but you need to know that you look like throw pillows in the lobby of the Liberace museum. In other words, great job.

(via katastrofalaomslag)

Do NOT turn around, small child


For making McDonald's appear more evil than ever before, I salute you Bizarro-Grimace suit designer. As a reward for your effort, please enjoy this delicious child on behalf of all of us.

Monday, May 18, 2009

Serious Business.


(via yayhooray)

Go Little Mac, Go!




Wizards need oil too. You think Al Dumbledore's new 2010 Hummer runs on Patronus charms? Muggle, please.

Monday Morning Alien Cat Round Up










Rap Chop!


Being away from computers was nice, but I definitely missed some top-notch nerdery. Like this positively rad Breakbeat video remix by Steve Porter featuring Vince the Sham Wow guy (aka infomercial guru and master of the wolf face technique who occasionally enjoys prostitute punching). It's so well done it makes his pitching of the gloriously useless yet somehow inexplicably desirable Slap-Chop far more tolerable and rave-friendly.

I know this is all over that Internet
* you keep mentioning. I was late. Keep in mind that at this time a week ago I was rocking flip flops and sweating through my clothes while located directly inside the ass of a giant motherfucking jungle. Otherwise I would have Twiddled** your Facespace** and sent the link via long-distance blogletter** from my Blueberry**. Wow. All this robot talk makes me feel like some kind of shiny suit future man. I have a headache, but it's cool. Future talk is very exciting.

* "Internet". Also known as the Wide World Web. It's the hot new trend of the moment..apparently what it is is some kind of laser-powered globo-network comprised of mechanical brains that the kids use to digi-chat with one another. It's the new biggest thing in the tween sets.
I just hope I pronounced it right. It's hard to explain. Try Google.

** I have no idea what these words actually mean. I just hear things and later find myself saying mystery words arbitrarily throughout my day like some kind of giant Man-Parrot. Take the word "arbitrarily" for instance. I probably overheard that in a library once and never learned what it meant, yet some how I'm not afraid or even ashamed to drop it like it's hot and bust it out in heated conversations like I'm Perry fucking Mason. Arbitrarily. What does that word even mean? Sounds like Arby's, now I'm hungry.

(thanks Caz!)

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Stay out of my home, Tommy Smothers.

Warning: A disturbing new craze is sweeping the nation. Please watch the following for important information about your children's safety.

Wow. I pray to God and hope that this "craze" isn't sweeping into my part of the nation anytime soon. Because if it is I need to go and buy duct tape, surgical masks, and bullets and a gun to put them in so I can be ready to kill the Yo-Yo zombies before they get to my brain.

Also, does Mr. Smothers have a gambling problem or something? It looks like he shot this on a Saturday afternoon trip to the Mall in
one of those D.I.Y. wacky music video kiosks while his family was finishing their Sbarro's in the Food Court. And judging from the backgrounds in it I'd say the mall is located somewhere between Outerspace and the Future.

This is just uncomfortable. Either Tommy Smothers learned the power of teleportation and lives inside an asteroid belt, or he's hired the same movie producers that made the Heaven's Gate recruitment tapes. Either way I feel pretty weird about this whole thing in general. The notable exception being the catchphrase. I enjoy the Rap, so I'm obliged to co-sign on that.

(via EIT)

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Being gone for so damn long demands a wicked long post so...

Photobucket goes.

Hello, Hi, and Hello again to all.

Wow. Typing keys even feels weird. My giant monkey hands feel even more giant-y and monkey-er than ever. Which I kind of dig, actually. It makes me feel big, like Paul Bunyan which is good for my self-esteem.

Judging from the numbers I "mathed"
(fig. A) on my abacus and the raw data the Korean kid I keep under my bed for arithmetic emergencies faxed me while I was overseas, my calculations tell me that it has been approximately 1 hot minute + many moons x 1.5 WTF dude! + way-way-way-too-long to the power of Boss since I rode the blog horse to nerd town. (Which, in non-astronaut terms, equals a wicked fucking long time..give or take a decimal point.)


Fig A: "Mathematics"

First off, many thanks to my M4H brethren for holding down the monkey fort while yours truly took a much needed internet vacation. If you were all with me right now, I'd give you a giant bear hug that would go on for far too long, which you'd eventually have to squirm out of because you couldn't take being that uncomfortable for a moment longer. It would be sexy and awkward.

What was that you didn't say? What is it I did on my break? Glad you didn't ask.

Um...I finished school, reluctantly cut my warrior hair, slept like a rock if rocks could sleep, and did some other non-internet shit I can't remember. I promise you that you wouldn't care if I told you. But most recently, I took a real-life vacation to Brazil for a wedding and island retreat. It was to quote the great William S. Preston, Esq., was "most triumphant." Bodacious even.

Here are a few things I jotted down between Caipirihnas and sucking my gut in on the Brazilian beaches over the last few days. *Note: Apologies in advance if I inadvertently stumble into Seinfeldian waters with this post. I'll try and avoid saying "what's the deal" as much as I can, but can't guarantee that I won't tuck my jeans into my sneakers at some point or another (fig.B).


Fig B: "Seinfelding" the jeans

1) Pronouncing English words in a comically-cliche Brazilian accent doesn't accomplish anything, other than making locals noticeably uncomfortable.


Several people looked like they wanted to stab me in my mouth when I tried to do this. Maybe the fact that I sounded like Borat on Ketamine doing a Super Mario impression had something to do with it. Let's look at the phenomenon scientifically. Please take in mind I'm not a scientist,
and only occasionally do I believe in it or understand it's fundamentals. Basically I think all forms of number wI suppose there's a small chance that rolling your eyes while sighing is a positive cultural expression over there. If that's the case, I have enough local support to run for mayor of Rio.

Seriously. I'm like Husky Edition Pelé down there.

2) The Banana Hammock totally plays in South America.


It's cultural. We enjoy frying things, filling S.U.V's with pallettes of Gatorades and road raging on 15 lane highways, as well as exploding various people, places, and things. Brazilians enjoy volleyball, dancing, and the peace of mind that comes with having well-supported and frequently manicured genitalia. I understand it in theory, I just couldn't bring myself to do it. (FYI: The locals tell me the national Brazilian bird is a feathered hand cupping a pair of balls. Don't quote me on that.)

3) Brazilians like the sauce.


Ok, I've seen my share of empty glasses in my day, but Americans have nothing on these guys. I've never seen so many people in such good shape eating fried animals and drinking alcohol. These fuckers know how to party. Jesus Christ on the mountain, I never had so many drinks in my life. The sugary drinks they rock down there are no joke.
The beautiful thing about the Caipirinha is that it tastes like candy, but at the same time is filled with grown people candy too. I have to be careful when I drink them. It's like Diabetes in a glass. So much sugar. You should see the whammy faces I make when I have one in my hand. I look like I've been snorting fire ants. I may have the face of a devilishly handsome man in his thirties, but inside myself I bet dollars to donuts I look like exactly like Wilford Brimley.

4) American money is boring.


Boring green, same boring dead white guys on every bill. Enough with the Pyramids and the Masonic symbols. And yeah, Presidents are cool, I guess. But at the end of the day who cares! We need some pop! Some pizazz! Brazilians have turtles and Monkey knife-fights on their money
(Fig.C) . So what gives? We need to get on this. When out economy sucks as bad as it does right now we should be giving Americans an incentive to spend and earn dollars. And I believe one way to do this is to design all legal tender to look like fruit roll-ups and put Tigers and shit on it. Just a thought.


Fig. C: Brazilian Reais. I wonder what their monopoly money looks like..

5) Planes suck, and passport control/customs is a motherfucking joke.


After the hellish flight I endured yesterday, the profilers at Customs had no business NOT stopping me..on both the Brazilian and the U.S.A. ends of the trip. Simply because I was about as sketchy looking as a human male can look in a security heavy location. Because I'm an ass with the memory retention time of a brain injured Ritalin addict, I somehow lost my razor a few days ago, which is OK if you're the Unabomber but not OK when traveling internationally. Since then things have gotten kind of .... beardy.

Friends, I do not exaggerate when I say that at 6:30 AM this morning in JFK airport, I was a dead fucking ringer for Grizzly Adams after a vigorous Bear raping. And it only got worse. Good God my flight sucked. Turbulence from the beginning to the end, then some asshole came and say next to me in the middle of the night and totally violated my aura and personal space like Swiss clockwork every quarter hour, and I got like 12 minutes of sleep in between screeching, pacing aisle wanderers all night. And as if God tied a bow on my misery, I spilled my sippy cup portion of orange juice on my Godamned socks. The brain-killing combination of "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" and Xanax wasn't even close to strong enough to deal with the cornucopia of cacophonous evil enveloping and assaulting me from every conceivable angle. It was like being in Hell, except Hell has more leg room and better pillows.

The point (if I ever had one) is I looked like I went to war with Sauron's army when I finally stumbled bleary-eyed through the invisible gates of our country. It surprised me that no one cared. I could have strolled in chewing a cocaine sandwich and with angry Hornets and an Uzi in my carry-on and they would have waved me through. I don't get it. Can't a brother get a strip search? Sternly worded letter on it's way, Uncle Sam.

6) Brazil has more species of monkeys than any other country.



I really don't think I can add anything to that to make that fact more awesome.

Phew. Obligatory rant out of the way. It's good to be back. Time to strap in, and prepare for nerd off. Cheers,
webtubes. I missed you and adore you, and I mean it in a very gay way.


And to all the M4H readers, if I try and bite you when we meet, don't be alarmed. It's just my heart doing the chewing. Because I love you like a fat kid loves cake. And not the shitty supermarket cake, either. I'm talking Ice Cream cake with those crunchy things in it. Word life.

Get 'Er Done!!!

Dear Recon,

You may be gone, but thanks to Seattle's own Jake One and MF Doom, you are not forgotten.

Get 'er done!

Thursday, May 07, 2009

If Only I Could Read

Now here's a book that practically writes itself. It's a story of love and loss - a gritty fairy tale that dares to question what it means to be human.

(via eatliver)