Moldy Bagels Episode One (Part Three)

And here we reach the third and final section of the show. The first bit with Mr. Happy on the phone getting kinda sucks. The writing is weak, and I lied before when I said that none of the episode is cringe-worthy, because this part definitely fits the bill. I didn't think it would be painfully obvious at the time I was filming, but I was wrong, because it's really blatant that I'm reading from a script in my lap. I thought it wouldn't be a problem since my eyes go all over the place, but they fixate on my crotch long enough and often enough that the reading is unmistakable.

The bit where I bring out the chart to document my laziness (And the measurement is accurate. Just look at how often I update this blog) is fun although it runs longer than I'd like. My real regret here is how stupid I look for making the joke about Cincinnati sports teams. The Reds are still one of the worst teams in baseball, but this was clearly a bad time to make this joke since as I write this the Bengals are 7-2 with a two-game division lead, and the University of Cincinnati Bearcats football team is more than likely on its way to a BCS bowl. At least I didn't fuck up the continuity with the insert shots.

I wanted to finish strong so I ended with the Boardwalk Hotel sketch. I didn't realize that my head is clearly visible in the bottom right corner of the first shot of the hat, but I'm not sweating it. I always thought this was the second or third best Ron Mexico sketch I made, so I opted to bust it out here. This is the third time I've done this sketch, so anything I'd have to say about it I've already said two years ago. I guess I'll just end by saying that my girlfriend throws a pretty damn accurate hat. The credits show her missing the first four or five times, but the thing was so fucking light and floaty that it's a miracle we got that shot so fast.

Moldy Bagels Episode One (Part Two)

In this second part we start off with a sketch about porn titles. I don't know why I have such a lifelong fascination that borders on fixation on porn titles, but as god as my witness, this is the last fucking time I'll create a piece of comedy centered around the subject. Maybe I enjoy the subject so much because porn titles are easy to come up with, and rolling off a dozen of them is a great way to feel clever without actually being so. Either way, this bit has some good ideas, but it runs too long and doesn't take off as much as it should.

I like the steak sauce cartoon that follows. As a slave in the food service industry, steak sauce is a subject that's very close to my heart. Steaks that aren't treated properly make me sad. Why somebody would pay well over $20 for a quality ribeye only to order it well done and drown it in steak sauce makes no sense to me. It's like paying $5 million to have sex with Jessica Alba and putting a paper bag over her head while you do it.

I also like the bit because it's the first time that I felt like I literally built a set using MS Paint. I took a rooftop view of the Chicago river, I put a window in front of it, and I put the projector screen that the consultant uses in front of that. I know this is basic shit to you fancy boys with your Harvard degrees and McCafe coffee, but I'm proud that I taught myself how to do something. Fuck you.

Moldy Bagels: Episode 1 (Part One)

I'll go ahead and throw this up since I haven't updated this thing in months. This is part one of my new public access show that will be premiering in the Northern Kentucky area Tuesday of next week:



I've been talking about putting together a public access show for literally a year now, and I finally got around to it a few weeks ago. After months and months of dicking around and doing next to nothing in the way of creative output, I bought a bitchin' Sony Handicam for $350, wrote up a 15-page sketch comedy script that was about 30% old Ron Mexico and Crapstick Doodle material, and 70% new stuff, and got to it.

What you may notice first and foremost is that I am the only person who appears onscreen, and my voice is the only one you hear. This isn't a deliberate creative choice or done purely out of arrogance so much as it's the inevitable result of not having any friends. Maybe only having myself onscreen will work and be enough to sustain six episodes a year or however many I end up making. Hey, it worked for Andy Milonakis. Okay, well, it didn't exactly work for him because he fucking sucks and his show wasn't funny, but it did get him a job, and that's certainly something.

Comedically I think the show has some moments, although it's clearly rough around the edges. The writing could use a certain degree of polish, and let's face it: anything that stars me is going to leave a lot to be desired in the acting department. However, one area where I'm quite pleased is with the technical stuff. Although I thought most of my Ron Mexico sketches were funny, whenever I rewatch them there's always some serious technical issue or acting gaffe that makes me cringe. Sometimes I fucked up with editing and left a blatant continuity error, maybe I included a line that an actor flubbed, sometimes I forgot to shoot some footage that I needed and I had to use clever editing to finish the job (Fuck if you think I was going to wait a day for the equipment rental desk to open back up and do an hour and a half of extra work to get the footage the next day) and every video has at least one instance of the sound being so fucked up that you can barely hear what the actor says.

I didn't sense any of that in this video. The greenscreen effect when I play Mr. Happy is a little wonky but other than that, I'm pleased with how this one comes together from a technical standpoint. I attribute it to my new camera, which offers little to no shooting options. In that sense it's completely retard-proof. With the PD-150 cameras I used in college you could adjust shutter speed, white balance, gain, aperture, stereo and mono sound, and about a million other audio and video options that gave visually creative students a full range of opportunities to bring their wonderful stories to life, and it also gave untalented idiots like me every opportunity possible to fuck up and create totally unwatchable dogshit. With my dumbass-approved camera, all you do is point and shoot and the camera will make it look pretty okay for you.

I don't really have any interesting stories about the actual making of the show since I shot it completely alone and editing was a ridiculously simple process. I did three takes of each line, threw it into the computer, picked the best take, and that was about it. The only problem I had while shooting was when I cooked a pizza while knocking out a couple lines and the oven timer going off ruined one of my takes. I guess it would also classify as a problem that I intended for the show to only be 15 minutes long and ended up with 22 and a half, but that's mostly because I didn't account for all the time that transitions and credit sequences would add.

Whoopee, that's it! Stay tuned for part 2. Or just go to www.youtube.com/crapstickdoodle if you want to be all fancy about it.

Get it?

It's funny because he's short! GET IT?!?!?

....I slave over MS Paint for literally minutes, and I demand your undying appreciation!

Splosion Man

This is the titular character from the totally kickass Xbox Live Arcade game Splosion Man. You use the analog stick to move, and you press any button on the controller to explode. That's all you have to worry about with the controls. The coolest thing about the main character (besides the fact that he fucking explodes every 5 seconds) is the random-assed noises he makes. It's all gibberish, but when you hear it over and over enough times, the brain starts to rearrange the noise into real words.

My girlfriend overheard the noises once, and she asked me if Splosion Man was saying, "Lunch pussy." I started listening closely and I began to hear it. I wondered if anyone else thought Splosion Man says lunch pussy. I thought about going to the message boards on GameFAQs to ask around, but it's well-established that even hinting at the existence of human genitalia is automatic grounds for death.

So I did the logical thing: I did a Google search for "Splosion Man Lunch Pussy" to see if it drew any matches. I learned a valuable lesson: Do not run a Google search for Splosion Man Lunch Pussy. You will not like what you find. I've seen things I cannot unsee.

Don't pee on your phones

There are a lot of ways to lose or ruin a cell phone. You can leave it in a cab, you can carry it in your pocket and accidentally spill beer all over it, you can lose it at a party, you can get it stolen, you can drop it on the sidewalk and watch it shatter, you can eat a whole bunch of greasy fried chicken while tailgating outside a football game, talk on the phone, have it slip out of your greasy, disgusting fingers, and watch as it falls into the portable deep fryer, or whatever else you can think of.

There's a whole bunch of shit that can happen to phones. However, there is one method of ruining a phone that is so pathetic and so fucking bizarre that you'd never expect to personally know someone who did it even if you lived 500 years. Despite the extremely rare and insane circumstances, I know multiple people who have lost phones this way multiple times.

Full disclosure: I was in a fraternity in college. Fraternities are extremely secretive, so you may not know what I'm about to tell you. It's rare indeed that someone would ever reveal the kind of guarded information I'm about to tell you: Frat guys drink a shitload. Pause for a second while you process that revelation.

People would get mind-numbingly hammered on Jagermeister and beer and pass out on couches and floors on a more or less nightly basis. One time a particularly creative low-functioning alcoholic sat on the toilet while blackout drunk and passed out with his pants down mid-shit, but that's a story for another time. Anyways, people passing out drunk, pissing their pants, and ruining their phones by getting said piss all over them was a disturbingly common occurrence.

People who were temporarily phone-less due to showering their devices in gold would usually ask to borrow other peoples' phones. This always annoyed me because the people they called when they borrowed my phone would inevitably call back on my phone hours later, forcing me to act as secretary. When someone asked to use my phone after his third accident, I put my foot down. Causing $430 of property damage due to pissing yourself at the age of 22 is cool, but $645 is where I draw the line, dammit! Sometimes you have to set firm, harsh boundaries for the people you love.

I was thinking about all of this because last night my girlfriend told me how one of her coworkers lost a cell phone by leaving it in a cab. I brought up the urination incidents from my college days, and then I proudly proclaimed that I've never done it myself. Then I had a sudden realization: This is the kind of company I've kept. Thanks to my peers, my standards for socially acceptable behavior have been driven so low that I think not pissing all over expensive electronic devices is a laudable achievement. Holy shit.

The All-Time Biggest Sports Jerks

I bought this book from Barnes and Noble on Monday and just finished reading it on the shitter about 5 minutes ago. All of the names you'd expect (Tyson, A-Rod, TO, Vick, O.J, etc.) are represented and torn apart with absolutely no evidence or insight that you haven't repeatedly heard your entire life. When you aren't be dazzled with new and exciting information like "Manny Ramirez is a dingbat!" or "Terrell Owens is selfish!", you're regaled with Michael Freeman's observational brilliance, reasonable opinions, and wit. Here are a few things I've learned from this book:

-Ko-Me is a really clever nickname for Kobe Bryant that should be used at least five times per page.

-Stephen A. Smith is a great sports journalist

-John Daly is fat and drinks a lot. This is extremely funny, and you should make as many references to it as possible, even when it bears no relevance to the subject. Are you having trouble coming up with a wacky comparison to illustrate Terrell Owens' selfishness? Say he cares more about himself than John Daly cares about beer. Here is an actual joke taken from the book's chapter on Daly: "The reason Daly is now one of the worst golfers on the planet is because when he gets on a roll, he stops to eat it." Amazing.

-Last season Eagles receiver DeSean Jackson made an embarrassing error by catching a sure touchdown pass, streaking toward the end zone, and starting his celebration a split second too early, resulting in him dropping the ball on the one-yard line. By doing this Jackson wasn't simply making a silly rookie mistake, he was emphasizing celebrating over doing his job, in effect putting on a deplorable and disgusting minstrel show that brought shame upon all black men in America the moment it happened.

-Mike Gundy is a misogynist because the sports journalist he was yelling at during his infamous "I'm a man! I'm forty!" tirade was a woman. According to Freeman, any circumstance in which a man yells at a woman qualifies as "bullying misogyny". Apparently the proper way to address a woman trying to succeed in a man's world is to give her special treatment because of her gender.

-The Lakers were heavily favored over the Celtics in the 2008 NBA Finals.

-Posting on your blog real names and IP addresses of people who sent you angry e-mails specifically for the purpose of embarrassing them and invading their privacy is heroic, provided that those people hold different political views from you.

-If you've met Michael Freeman, corresponded with him, had him present at a significant moment in your career, or provide him with any other reason to personally inject himself into your story, you can expect to jump 30 or 40 spots higher on the list.

This is the most enlightening book I've ever read.

Episode 17: Drinking

1. I've felt shitty about a lot of these cartoons because I felt like the writing wasn't great, or the writing was good but it fell apart in execution due to poor voice acting and third grade level production values. Well, this is the first cartoon since Crash: The Board Game five episodes ago that I've actually liked.

2. The joke about how alcohol makes you a great writer is based on a little bit of truth, because I've always noticed that most of the truly great writers, musicians, and comedians that I've held up as my greatest influences are or were total alcoholics and drug addicts. Honestly that's a main reason why I drink as much as I do: because sometimes I feel like sobriety guarantees a failure to create any sort of great art.

3. Case in point: Bill Hicks, George Carlin, Lenny Bruce, Chris Farley, John Belushi, Mitch Hedberg, Richard Pryor, The Beatles and Ernest Hemingway were all drug addicts and/or alcoholics, while Dane Cook has led a completely clean and sober life.

4. Honestly, I don't have enough to say about the creative process of making these videos to fill ten facts. You may notice that most of my "ten facts" blog posts are mostly filler, or drunken whining. Here is the process that I go through to make one of these videos:

1. I think up an idea
2. I spend a couple hours writing a script
3. I come up with a list of pictures that will make up the video
4. I draw the pictures
5. I record the sound into my computer and edit it
6. I make a slideshow of the pictures and sound with Windows Movie Maker

And that's about it. Honestly, I'm fucking surprised I've managed to fill ten items this long with such thin material to work with. It would be like an NFL kicker trying to write ten interesting facts about every game he's ever played. He could probably do it, but on average less than two would be about his personal contributions.

5. Yeah, for that reason I think I'll cut this post short.

Episode 16

Oh dear god, I've actually made a two-parter!

1. Apparently I thought it would be a good idea to take a conflict and premise that wasn't funny enough to sustain one video and stretch it out into a two-parter. Based on my TV viewing experience, this is a first step towards a writing job with Saturday Night Live.

2. I've always been of the opinion that Manute Bol is a failure of a human being. Being a 7'7" athlete with as much range as Tom Cruise's right hook means your only possible recourse for marketing yourself is pointing out hilarious size differences between yourself and others. Manute Bol did a few magazine covers with Muggsy Bogues, and spent the rest of his time doing worthless things like playing basketball, honing his defensive prowess, and fighting for Sudanese freedom. Gheorghe Muresan, on the other hand, immediately realized the moneymaking potential of his hugeness and landed himself a starring role in My Giant opposite Billy Crystal, a hilariously tiny Jew. Because Manute Bol never once considered doing a movie where he pushes Gary Coleman around in a stroller, I have to declare him the unquestioned god of failed potential.

3. I promised my girlfriend I would end this video by making fun of the Buffalo Bills, but then I decided to follow my heart, because although the Bills fucking suck, the Bengals fucking suck exponentially more.

4. This video is frightening realistic. I actually crashed at home last weekend because I came up for a friend's wedding in Chicago. When I got there I saw my dad's laptop (which I allegedly broke) fully repaired and sitting on the dining room table. I was so terrified of touching it that I didn't even push it out of the way to eat breakfast.

5. I was sorta worried about being seen as ripping off Saturday Night Live with the Grape-Nuts joke, but I think I'm probably in the clear since Mike Myers probably wasn't the first person to notice that Grape-Nuts have an inaccurate name either.

6. If you have an Xbox 360, download Splosion Man. You'll thank me.

7. If you don't have an Xbox 360, fucking buy one. You'll thank me.

8. Today I made my exercise bike go 10.4 miles in 30 minutes. I have effectively gone from exercise bike master to exercise bike god.

9. Here are a few of the "Corey touches things and immediately ruins them" jokes that I thought about including but ultimately rejected: Corey touches a porn star's cock and watches in horror as it immediately shrinks to half its size, Corey pats his little sister on the shoulder and watches in horror as she complains that her hymen was just broken, and Corey hugs his grandfather, which immediately kills him.

10. I rejected the first idea because I couldn't think of any logical situation to involve it in the story, I rejected the second because it was too fucked up even for me, and I rejected the third because I don't fucking know how to draw all of that.

The Madden Curse

You see these guys? They're Pittsburgh Steelers safety Troy Polamalu and Arizona Cardinals receiver Larry Fitzgerald. They're on the cover of this year's edition of Madden. Look at their fucking faces. Look at them hard. Commit the image to your memory, because those faces are going to look like tenderized hamburger in about 6 weeks. Remember the shape of their perfectly sculpted bodies, because they're going to look like starving Rwandans after they get their fucking teeth knocked out and have to drink ribeye steak through a straw. Remember how gracefully they run, because by week 9, their knees will shatter like a champagne glass in the presence of a Castrati chorus singing Party all the Time. Open your ears because I'm about to squirt a Hershey shit of truth in there: These two are going to get fucked by the Madden Curse.

What is the Madden Curse, you ask? It's the mysterious cosmic evil force that causes every Madden cover athlete to either suffer a serious injury or suffer an otherwise extremely disappointing season after appearing on the cover. Ray Lewis failed to record a single interception the year he was on the cover. How fucking terrible does a linebacker have to be to not get even one pick? It's almost as embarrassing as all of those seasons where Deion Sanders failed to get so much as a single sack.

The only logical explanation for Madden cover athletes being more prone to injury is a magical curse. Think about this: 8 out of the first 9 cover athletes were either running backs or running QBs. These players get tackled more than anyone else on the field. That means they're the toughest. The coach wouldn't assign them to a job where they get tackled all the time if they weren't the toughest players on the team. For these players to get injured in the process of getting hit hundreds of times could only be the work of a curse.

You want more proof of the Madden Curse? For the first eleven annual Madden games, John Madden himself appeared on the cover. He's fat, for the past 30 years he's only been able to find work one day a week 5 months out of the year, and on the rare days that he actaully does find work, he finds the work so miserable that he resorts to drawing penises to amuse himself.


You poor, poor, man.

Don't even get me started on how rare it is for a player's production to drop off after having a breakout season. That never happens in football. I hope you love the living shit out of the big fat checks you cashed for appearing on the Madden cover, Troy and Larry. Troy, when you're injecting nutrients into your ass because Willis McGahee crushed your esophagus, and Larry, when you have Dr. House verbally berating his staff for not being able to figure why your testicle exploded, I hope you realize how much you really sacrificed to get that money. If you guys get hurt, it'll be because of the curse and definitely not because you play the most violent sport in America, and it's statistically proven that over half of all NFL players get injured every season, and curses and magic aren't real, and people who bring up the goddamn fucking Madden Curse every year are goddamn fucking dipshits.

Crapstick Doodle: Episode 15

1. This is the 15th cartoon I've made, and the most views I've ever gotten is 250 for the first one. This is getting just a bit discouraging.

2. Like really discouraging.

3. The thumbnail is the AOL logo grinding mud into a couch while saying "Fuck yo' couch". Back in 2004 when we were fucking inundated with kids quoting Rick James and other such Dave Chappelle brilliance this kind of reference would have been the most annoyingly lame thing I could possibly do. In 2009 it's either a fun throwback that we're okay with laughing at again, or it's pathetically dated on top of being annoyingly lame. I should probably change that thumbnail now...

4. The piles of shit on the map are arranged in a discernible pattern with the exception of one spot in the northeast where there are like 6 piles all on top of each other. That's the Boston area, and it's not a coincidence.

5. With the exception of the silly shit at the end about an evil death box, this is more or less exactly what happened last week when I visited home.

6. Coming up with a fantasy football team name that distills a perfect level of hilarity and shocking offensiveness into 4 or 5 words is about as difficult as writing an entire comedy sketch.

7. Kroger Bistro Salads fucking rule. Their awesomeness is the only thing actually making me stick to my 1,500 calorie diet / daily exercise extreme weight loss routine I've been going through for the last week.

8. Xbox Live is the most distracting fucking thing ever. It's directly responsible for this cartoon taking about twice as long to make as it should have.

9. I'm unbelievably happy that I'm back at my old job. Cracker Barrel had all of this ridiculous shit like customers, rules, and managers who expect you to work hard. It was almost like a business over there.

10. While a fist going up a turtle's ass is funny, it's probably not funny enough to sustain a four-minute comedy video. Lesson learned. Wow, this has got to be the most miserable, self-defeating, not-even-attempting-to-be-funny blog post I've ever written.

From Gentile Golem's diary...

Dear Diary,

I was driving around Florence, Kentucky and I noticed a small diner whose sign claims that they have the biggest Cookie Burgers in town. I've never seen a Cookie Burger in my life and I have no idea what they are, but here we have a store priding themselves on their Cookie Burgers as the main reason to come in. That's unusual enough, but remember that they claim to have the biggest ones in town, which means there's at least one other Cookie Burger vendor somewhere in the city, and they're probably bitter rivals. They're probably working day and night, dedicating their lives to outdoing and crushing their enemy in the name of pride as well as feeding their families. I'm not saying world peace is a completely impossible dream and we shouldn't even try to achieve it, but in a world where the size of Cookie Burgers can be a source of significant conflict, our chances are looking pretty fucking slim.

A Review of Harry Potter

The following is a review of Harry Potter. No, this isn't a review of the newest Harry Potter film, it's not a review of the seventh and final book of the series, and it's not a retrospective of the greater cultural impact that the series as a whole has had on the literary landscape. All of that stuff would be distinctly faggy and/or interesting. This is a review of Harry Potter himself, and how awesome or sucky he is as a hero.


Harry Potter is the most respected, heroic, stalwart, and capable boy in the entire wizard world. Don't believe me? Here is a list of just a few of his exploits over the 160 minutes of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince:

-Over the course of the movie he takes interest in two girls he finds attractive, only to do absolutely nothing about it and wait for them to make the first move.

-He spies on a classmate that he suspects of wrongdoing, only to completely blow his cover, get hit with a paralyzing spell after his ass gets found out, and then get his face stomped on.

-He tries to use magic to fight off an attacking horde of Gollums, and when he finds that his magical ability is hilariously worthless, he resorts to punching them.

-Appears on a movie poster that, were we not familiar with the character and series, would look like a poster for a terrible suspense flick about a young serial killer:

Evil comes in all shapes and sizes. Homicidal Patient 6: Killing in a theater near you

-Not once but twice he gallantly charges at his enemies like he's Don Quixote and he's about to kick the shit out of some fucking windmills, and not once but twice the villains immediately slap him down with their hard, throbbing black wands. As the bad guys look over his writhing and helpless body, they decide he's such a worthless sack of mouse turds that pointing a wand at him and saying two words to invoke the death spell isn't worth the effort, so they just leave.

-He hides under some floorboards and just fucking watches a bunch of bad wizards murder his mentor.

-In the only instance in the entire film of him actually being useful, he forces an old delirious man to drink something he doesn't want to drink. This act of heroism puts him on par with anyone who has ever worked as a nurse.

-He makes a little bit of light come out of his wand. I need $1.50 worth of batteries to do this, but Harry Potter can do it for free. I guess he has this slight edge over me, but I can ask girls out on dates.

-With the help of a magical potion that completely guarantees success at whatever you attempt, Harry successfully get one of his teachers drunk and procures information............... that turns out to be completely worthless, since Dumbledore fucking already knew it anyway.

-He passes Potions class with the help of the wizarding equivalent of a Nintendo book of cheat codes.

It's a proven fact that the people of the wizarding world of Harry Potter are a bunch of complete and total gaping pussies. Most of them are so afraid of Voldemort, a wizard responsible for the deaths of thousands of people, that they're terrified of even saying his name. Listen to me, you wand-toting gaggle of fucking nancies: us muggles aren't afraid to say the name of Adolf Hitler, a guy who's responsible for a thousand times more deaths. We're so badass that Mel Brooks made The Producers, a movie that features tons of Hitler-related comedy, less than 25 years after World War II.

Also, we didn't lose our edge as the years wore on. As evidenced by all of the O.J. Simpson-related jokes on late night TV in the mid-90's, we think a beloved athlete and former American hero cutting his white wife's head off is HILARIOUS. That's how fucking hardcore we are. But even by the pussisized standards of the wizard world Harry Potter is an utter failure of a hero.

By the sixth movie I think the dark wizards came to this same realization as well, because the first five movies were all about Lord Voldemort trying like hell to kill Harry Potter, while the sixth movie is all about attempts to kill Dumbledore. With the exception of one run-in with water creatures that try to kill anyone who gets close to them regardless of fame, nobody seems to give even half a shit about killing Harry. He can't get murdered by dark wizards even if he tries. He's all like "Here I am! Come get some! If I die during the fight, so be it!" and the dark wizards just leave out of boredom.

It reminds me of a couple months ago when my parents' house was robbed by a couple heroin junkies looking for shit to pawn to pay for their next fix. They stole various things, including a flat screen TV and all of my mom's jewelry, but my enormous pile of VHS movies, retro video game consoles, and my totally sweet tie collection went untouched. One the one hand I'm glad that my shit wasn't stolen, but on the other I'm bummed that not even desperate penniless heroin junkies thought my shit was worth taking. So while I feel Harry Potter's pain to a certain extent, I still think he's a fucking loser and the single most overrated hero in contemporary literary history. Also, the actor who plays him is woman-sized.

Final score: 1.4/10

Robogeisha

Sometimes you come across something that beats the ever-loving shit out of you so hard with its fearless insanity that it renders all wacky sarcastic commentary moot and redundant. This trailer for the upcoming film Robogeisha defies explanation to the point that I've given up on describing it to anyone, instead opting to plop their asses in front of the computer and forcing them to watch it because no words can do it justice. I'll shut up now so you can watch it.

Boston Legal: The Lost Episodes

Boston Legal was one of my favoritest shows ever, but it was canceled by the evil executives at ABC before David E. Kelly could take on all of the hot-button issues he wanted to face. Here is an excerpt from a script that failed to make it into production before the cancellation. Here we see Alan Shore defend the freedom of a teacher whose only crime was caring about her students' education too much. Never before has a show dared to tackle the ills of the school system in such a bold way.

Bailiff: All rise for case number 310UKK2: Frizzle vs. the State of Massachusetts. The honorable Judge Farmer presiding

Judge: Please be seated. Miss Frizzle, you are charged with reckless child endangerment and sexual assault of a minor.

Miss Frizzle: Oh my!

Judge: How do you plead?

Alan Shore: Alan Shore for the defendant. We enter an immediate plea of not guilty and wish to go straight to trial.

Judge: Alright. The prosecution may ask their first question.

Brad Chase: Miss Frizzle, can you tell me about the special field trip you took your students on last Thursday?

Miss Frizzle: Well, I was continuing my series of field trips on the human body. I had so much success showing them the digestive, respiratory, circulatory, and nervous systems, and I wanted to continue that success by taking them on a tour of the excretory system!

Brad: How did you go about taking them on this tour?

Miss Frizzle: I loaded all of the students onto the bus except for Arnold, shrunk the vehicle to the size of a Tootsie Roll, and then flew the bus right into Arnold's body.

Brad: I'm confused here. What do you mean, you flew the bus into his body?

Miss Frizzle: First I showed the students a close-up view of the sphincter muscle, and then we entered the body and continued up the colon.

Brad: So you shoved a vessel full of 24 children up another child's anus?

Miss Frizzle: I frown upon that kind of naughty language.

Brad: So you don't deny that you shrunk 24 children to a small enough size that they could have been killed by a penny, and then you shoved them young Arnold's anus. That's clearly reckless child endangerment and sexual assault in their most heinous forms. What could have possibly possessed you to think this would be legal?

Miss Frizzle: It's not about rules and regulations with me, it's about learning

Brad: Dear god. Your honor, this has got to be the sickest criminal I've ever prosecuted. I recommend a hefty prison sentence, and furthermo--

Judge: Sorry to interrpt, but you standing up in the back with the glasses, I'm going to need you to sit down during the trial.

Arnold: I can't, your honor. My ass still hurts too much.

Brad: For Christ's sake, Miss Frizzle, don't you see anything potentially dangerous, immoral, or otherwise troublesome about surreptitiously entering someone else's body?

Miss Frizzle: Well, one time my bus was really slimy and I had to spend three hours cleaning it. I guess that was pretty troublesome.

Brad: Does the bus being slimy have anything to do with the sex ed class you taught last month?

(Miss Frizzle begins to speak)

Brad: Nevermind. I don't really want to know. Just... fucking.... no. I suggest Miss Frizzle be required to join the sex offender registry and sentenced to at least 30 years in prison.

Alan: Oh please. You want to lock her up? If anything she deserves a medal.

Brad: You can't be serious.

Alan: In America today, most people who enter the teaching profession are gone for good within seven years. It's getting harder and harder to find someone willing to teach at all, let alone someone who genuinely cares about what the students are learning.

Brad: She endangers and rapes children!

Alan: Did you know that only 3 out of 5 Americans can find California on a map? 3 out of 5. Only 2 out of 5 know that there are three branches of government. 2 out of 5! Only 1 out of 5 can tell you who the vice president is. These are our children. Miss Frizzle is a hero for going the extra mile, planning field trips and arranging demonstrations that make a much deeper impact than books. She's making the world a better place for our children.

Arnold: Oh god, it's bleeding again! (Runs out of courtroom)

Brad: I swear to Christ I'm quitting the law profession if one of your speeches works this time.

Alan: When I was a child in public school all that mattered was memorizing lists so we'd get high enough test scores to get more federal funding. I wish I could have been miniaturized and shoved into someone's anus!

(Judge smiles and nods his head appreciatively)

Brad: I'm fucking done. Seriously, I'm so fucking done.

Judge: Miss Frizzle, I agree with Mr. Shore's sentiments. I commend your commitment to bettering our children. I'm dropping all charges and allowing you to return to Arnold's anus anytime you wish.

Miss Frizzle: That's good, because I'm pretty sure I left my purse in there.

More fun with Omegle!

Here's more fun I've had with Omegle, and if you play your cards right, I might even show an Omegle conversation my friend had too.

Round One: Misunderstanding

Stranger: hey
You: word up
Stranger: m/f?
You: mf?
You: you just call me a motherfucker?
Stranger: male of female?
Stranger: hahah
You: I should kick your black ass for talking like that
Stranger: iz dat rite
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Verdict: Win

Round 2: Metal Gear Awesome

Stranger: Hey
You: Snake? Is that you?
Stranger: Depends on what snake u are talking about
You: I can't get my codec to work
You: Snake? SNAAAAAAAAAAAAKE?!?!?
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Verdict: Flawless Victory

Now at this point I was going to post an extremely long conversation I had in which I pretended to be a girl who barely survived an attempt by a psycho to run her car off the road. The conversation features a very long buildup to the punchline in which I tell the other person that I managed to give the police a description of the car whose driver tried to kill me. I say that the license plate said FRESH and there were dice in the mirror.

Despite what I think is an obvious Fresh Prince reference that most anyone would get, the person continued to act as if I said the most normal thing ever, which leads me to believe the person was just playing along or was merely the dumbest person in the world. Either way, the whole conversation is too boring to post in its entirety, It's likely that I didn't fool anyone, and I'd much rather post this truly epic conversation engineered by my friend Rabbit than waste more space talking about my boring labored Fresh Prince reference:

Stranger: hey
You: I am so pissed right now, dude
Stranger: aw, explain
You: Get this
You: I'm at work, right?
You: And this lady comes up to me and asks where we have the dogs (I work at a pet store)
You: I punch her in the dick and tell her to get bent
Stranger: good for you
You: And my fuckin manager comes out of nowhere and starts bitchin at ME
Stranger: woah wtf
You: Long story short I get fired
Stranger: for what!?
You: Some stupid shit
You: I don't even know what the term was
Stranger: that is fucked up
You: I know, right?
You: Such bullshit
You: This is the worst day ever
Stranger: go cock slap that bitch
You: Even worse than when I got fired from McDonald's
Stranger: oh tell me about it
You: Some kid was sassing me asking for another happy meal
You: So I throw him in the boiling oil/grease shit we use to make fries
Stranger: good, stupid sonofabitch
You: Next thing I know the kid FUCKIN MELTS
You: and ruins the batch of fries
You: and his parents have the audacity to fuss at me
Stranger: wtf not the fries
You: despite the fact that their kid was responsible for fucking up my fries
Stranger: HE RUINED THE FRIES?
Stranger: no
Stranger: inexcuseable
Stranger: unforgiveable
You: I fully agree
You: Thanks for playing along and not disconnecting immediately, hun
You: <3
Stranger: hehe<3 np
Stranger: thats what im on here for XD
(At this point it's hard to declare Rabbit the winner since although he's being hilarious, the other guy is playing along, making it very hard for this conversation to qualify as a traditional Omegle-type contest. But then Rabbit shatters expectations by busting out this eviscerating deathblow)
You: You're a fucking loser. I hope you die in one of the above incidents. Faggot.
You have disconnected.
(Suddenly we have a winner after all)

Beer Review: Hard Creamer

Internet comedy legend Seanbaby recently observed in an article for Cracked that 63% of all comments from hack would-be internet comedians invariably involve comparing something they don't like to sticking their dick into some type of whirling blades. This caused me to have a quiet moment of reflection as I realized that I've been guilty of this cyber comedy transgression more times than I can count. I've compared the pain of sitting through the preachiness of Crash to sticking my cock in a blender. I've equated wading through the turgid boredom of the average episode of Mad Men to ramming my member into a meat grinder. I've compared slogging through the generic variety starved corridors of Halo to slamming my dong into a sliding minivan door. For me changing the tool for self-induced cock injury from multiple whirling metal blades to a single slab of metal counts as mixing things up.

From that moment on I swore to try harder with my comedy. I would no longer resort to such lazy and tired comedic similies. Maybe the next time I encounter something I don't like I'll try a classier and more cultured penis-related analogy. Perhaps I'll say that it's worse than having my penis cut off and sold like Napoleon's. Maybe I'll declare that it's worse than sucking the syphilis-infested cock of Frederich Nietzsche. I might condemn a particular video game as less fun than being the penis of Louis XVI of France. I promised myself that my days of being a comedy hack who compares things to sticking my organ into spinning metal blades were over. Then, I purchased a six-pack of Hard Creamer.

Hard Creamer is another in a long line of wussy malt liquors for people who puke if they smell hard liquor and need chasers with their Bud Light. What makes this one special is that the alcohol is mixed with dairy to make it some sort of spiked cream soda. Last Thursday I picked up a six-pack for $8.29 to celebrate finishing my last day at Cracker Barrel and to kick off my two week vacation before I start my next job. To commemorate I decided to buy the silliest-looking, most ridiculous alcohol I could find. Any product with the gall to call itself *snicker* Hard Creamer seemed more than ridiculous enough for my purposes, so I picked it up along with a six-pack of MGD as a fallback option.

As I opened the first bottle of Orange-flavored Hard Creamer I was a little excited. Seeing as how I don't have a vagina and I'm over the age of 16, I pretty much never buy sugary malt liquors such as Bacardi O3, Smirnoff Ice, or Boone's Farm, but I do enjoy the rare occasions that such things are available to me, because while society requires me to project the image of an old, manly, experienced drinker in any party situation so as to avoid ridicule, there isn't anything inherently wrong with alcohol that takes like pop, and sometimes it's fun to feel like a kid again. I expected Hard Creamer to combine the diabetic shock that all of the best thick cream sodas deliver with all of the uninhibted joy that comes with 5% alcohol by volume to make for a memorable night of drinking. I raised the glass, gave an imaginary toast, took a sip...... and immediately spit it the fuck out.

Holy shit, it tasted like a cocktail of Sunkist, three cups of sugar, an entire bottle of cough syrup, a few shots of 99 Bananas, human blood, rancid expired milk, with a small sprinkling of piss. I couldn't believe a beverage that foul could ever make it past product testing and into stores. I took another sip just to make sure I didn't imagine it. This time I gagged. I tried shaking it up and taking a sip and gagged again. This is where I have to break my "No dick grinder metaphor" vow. Trying to drink that shit was like the scene in The Wall where the children are falling into the meat grinder, only instead of children falling victim to a fascist totalitarian regime, they were my penis. Every attempted sip was like my penis falling into that meat grinder over and over. I dumped out the bottle in disgust.

I did the only sensible thing and went straight for my MGD and tried to pretend that I hadn't wasted over 8 bucks on bottled cancer. After going through all six of my actual beers, I was feeling tipsy and brave, so I cracked open another Hard Creamer for round 2. Although it was still every bit as disgusting, I was drunk enough that I didn't care as much. After an hour of taking tiny sips I finally successfully finished a bottle.

The whole reason malt liquor exists is so timid drinkers can actually take in enough alcohol to get to the point that they're able to tolerate the taste of real beer and hard liquor. Hard Creamer is the first malt liquor to ever require you to get drunk off of real beer until you can stand its taste. It's the most ass-backwards product in the history of alcohol. It's like a smoke alarm that only detects smoke that emanates from wood that's already burnt to a crisp. It's like an e-mail spell checker for your sent items folder. It's like a can of mace that only deploys after you've already been raped. It's like the worst consumer product I've ever tasted in my life.

Fun with Omegle!

Omegle is a delightful website that was introduced about four months ago that pairs you up with a complete stranger and puts you in a chat. It's a lot like the dark ages of AOL. Obviously in an age where there are thousands upon thousands of internet communities dedicated to common interests ranging from the drearily banal to the completely insane, nobody is going to go to Omegle for actual conversation when a quick Google search will find you, no matter what a sick, depraved sack of shit you are, dozens of people who like the same shit you do.

In that last sentence I was going to write "Cats" in parentheses as an example of a banal interest, and "Hentai Tentacle Rape" in parentheses as an example of insanity. Then I realized that Hentai Tentacle Rape is such a played out subject of humor that nobody who reads this would find that reference shocking or insane enough to understand what I'm trying to convey. My point is the internet has made us so at peace with our inner freakishness and communities have united under common interests so fucked up that the average person would have read that sentence and said, "Japanese cartoons about tentacles raping women? Ho-hum. Come back when you have something truly bizarre to talk about."

As you can see, nobody is so fucked up, so singular, and so isolated that they can't find someone on the internet to talk about common interests with. That's why nobody would ever legitimately use Omegle, and that's why 99.4% of all of its users are people trying to fuck with the person on the other side. For this reason Omegle has surpassed the shit out of anything Sony, Nintendo, or Microsoft could bring me and has become my new favorite game. Here's the deal: treat every Omegle conversation like a game, and treat the person you're talking to like an opponent. Here's the rules:

How to win:
-Say something so random and fucked up that you get your opponent to disconnect out of horror or disgust
-Convince your opponent to actually believe the ridiculous shit you say
-Get them to leave by legitimately pissing them off
-Leave the conversation because you find their antics boring

How to lose:
-Concede to your opponent that they're funnier/more obnoxious/most disgusting than you
-Have your opponent leave because they find YOU boring
-Actually get angry. Anytime you actually get angry at the internet you fail.
-Believe a single word that comes out of their mouths

These are the rules that determine if you win or lose, but the most important rule is to never back down or feel bad about what you're saying. Anyone who turns to Omegle for real advice, conversation, or emotional support only has themselves to blame for the consequences, and if they claim to be depressed or seeking a friend you're probably falling into the brilliantly devised gambit of a truly seasoned Omegle Grandmaster.

I got drunk and played the game for the first time a couple nights ago. As you may have guessed, "You" is me, and "Stranger" is my opponent. Here's how I fared: (I will cut in and narrate in a couple key spots)

Round 1: "Gentile Golem: Australian for Win"

Stranger: hi 19/male/usa looking for a naughty girl \
You: I sucked off a kangaroo once
You: The child was in the pouch watching but I didn't care.... lol
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Verdict: Win

Round 2: "The Plot Thickens"

Stranger: hii
You: yo
Stranger: how re u
You: you could drive a John Deere through my anus after the gangbanging I took
(Here I attempt the "Shock and Awe" gambit, expecting my opponent to be immediately driven away by a quick and decisive anal sex reference)
Stranger: ohh okay
Stranger: are u girl??
You: I used to be, but now I'm a woman
(At this point I believe this comedy writer-type snappy comeback tipped my cap that I was not actually a girl who just lost her anal virginity)
Stranger: )
Stranger: ohh
Stranger: ı wish ı fucked u first
Stranger: how ol re u?
You: The first to fuck me was my dad
You: are you my dad?
You: be honest
(Backed against a wall with defeat imminent, I desperately try to shock my opponent with a incest-rape trump card. He is unfazed.)
Stranger: noo
Stranger: ı am not your dad
Stranger: )
Stranger: can ı fuck u
Stranger: ı want to fuck your vagina
Stranger: and your ass
Stranger: )
Stranger: ıwant tooo
You: I've been out-trolled
You: congrats to you
You have disconnected.
(I graciously admit defeat)

Verdict: Loss

Round 3: "A Special Hanukkah Episode"

Stranger: sexy tiiiiiiiiime
You: You a jew?
You: If you're a jew, disconnect now
Stranger: hellllllllll naw
You: good
You: now cybersex may commence
Stranger: lol
Stranger: wtf
You: I wanna stick my dreidel in all your holes
You: at once
Stranger: doooooo it
You: Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I stuck you in this guy's ass
You: Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, this fun will never pass
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

Verdict: FLAWLESS VICTORY

And my first night of Omegling ends with a 2-1 lifetime record. It's not a great start, but it's something to build on. I'll bring you more highlights as I sharpen my skills.

Crapstick Doodle Episode 14

Boink!

1. This video actually directly pertains to the current #1 movie in the country. Holy shit, it has potential to get as many as 200 hits!

2. Yes, I know the verbal similarity between "Negro" and "Knee Grow" isn't exactly untapped comedic ground, but I'm relatively confident this is the first time it's been used in this context. Is this because I'm an original comedy genius, or is the idea simply so fucking stupid and strained that no talented people have bothered to come up with it?

3. Totally the second one

4. I lied when I said last Friday was my last day at Cracker Barrel, but this time I'm 100% sure Thursday will be the last day I work there. I will then launch into a few weeks of self-imposed unemployment in order to visit my family, move into my newly purchased house with my girlfriend, and just generally take some time off to find some direction and somewhat get my shit together. But before any of that, I'll celebrate my unemployment by getting really hammered on Thursday on a variety or ridiculous drinks I've never had before. I'll definitely be buying a pack of Hard Creamer, and I'll try at least one Irish beer that requires a knife and fork in order to be consumed, and I demand suggestions for what else I should buy.

5. In keeping with watching shows from the 90's and early 00's that were canceled after one season, I blew through The Tick as well as The Dana Carvey Show. The Tick is pretty good. However, it's not quite as good as Action, and nowhere near as good as the fanboys calling for the ritualistic suicide of Fox executives who killed the show would have you believe. The characters are pretty awesome, particularly the sexy latino sensation Batmanuel, who is played by none other than the guy who plays Richard Alpert on Lost, but they just aren't given that many amazingly hilarious things to do. I'd give it a 7.5/10, where I was glad I watched it, but knowing it was canceled and I'll never see those characters again didn't make me want to punch walls until my hands bleed like it did with Action.

6. As for The Dana Carvey Show, it captures the spirit of Saturday Night Live: Fresh, hilarious, imaginative sketches that don't outwear their welcone, and eight shitty sketches that take an idea that wasn't that great to begin with and proceed to pound it into bloody submission for each of the good ones. You also can't feel too bad that the show was killed after 8 episodes when you consider that the opening sketch of the first episode (which followed Home Improvement) featured Bill Clinton breastfeeding puppies. I couldn't come up with something more off-putting if I was fucking trying to get a show canceled. It's interesting to watch just to see what the hell Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell were doing before The Daily Show, as they're regular cast members on this show, but I'd recommend staying the hell away for the most part.

7. For those of you keeping track at home, I just cricized someone else's comedic work in the same blog post in which I posted a comedy video where a black man gets irrationally angry, fucks a white woman, and cooks crack. No tired, offensive stereotyping here.

8. I know it's just a movie, and looking at it won't make me instantly die in real life, but I still get a little weirded out by looking at pictures of the Basilisk.

9. I finally saw Bill Maher's Religulous today, and while I see what people are saying about him beating up on easy targets and overall not saying many new or interesting things, I think his point about how terrifying it is that religious people are looking forward to the end of the world is right on, particularly since we actually have the means to end the world if we really try. Just yesterday at work a few people were discussing the (bullshit) theories that the world will end in 2012, and a hardcore Christian girl told me her theory that on December 21st, the flames of the sun will expand outward and engulf the entire surface of the planet in fire, and the end times will begin, and she told me this with the genuine excitement of a child on the day before Christmas. I'm still a little afraid to talk to her again.

10. It's obvious who Harry and Ron are in this cartoon, but I have no idea who the kid sitting next to Demetrius is supposed to be. He's whatever the Harry Potter universe's equivalent of Wedge Antilles is.

CSD Episode 13

Talking incessantly about myself and stupid videos I make as if I'm the imaginary subject of an Onion AV Club interview is pretty much my favorite thing to do. So let's go! 10 facts!

1. This is based on my best friend in high school. Anytime I expressed even the slightest annoyance with anything, be it a word, song, noise, insult, or I didn't like the way he'd flick my ears in study hall, he'd make sure to rub it in my face as much as possible, usually in front of as many witnesses as possible. One time I went completely ballistic and attacked him, punching him in the face and stomping on his balls as many times as I could, and after I was physically removed, I spit on him too. Yeah, we aren't friends anymore.

2. I know it seems like a ridiculously fast and extreme reaction to resort to shooting someone just for being annoying for two minutes, but imagine spending six years in close vicinity with someone who's so obnoxiously insecure that his only goal in life is to piss you off and humiliate you as much as possible. As far as I'm concerned, fatal gunshot wounds aren't extreme enough.

3. I (obviously) don't have much experience with drawing, but that orgasm face that Murph makes has got to be the creepiest thing I've ever committed to a screen.

4. I thought I invented the work cockwheel, and I was very disappointed that a Google search netted me 1,450 results.

5. While we're on the subject, I think it's time we come together and admit that inventing compound words involving "Cock" is no longer clever or edgy. According to Google, Cockwheel gets 1,450 matches, Cocksmuggler pulls 615, Cocktard gets 1,940, Cocksnuggler gets 192 results, and in a search that completely blew my mind, a search for Cockplatypus greeted me with 216 fucking results.

6. Everything I just recounted above perfectly encapsulates why I feel so completely overwhelmed whenever I make a serious effort to create something truly comedically unique and special. What the fuck could I possibly have to say about sex and relationships that hasn't already been said by the tens of thousands of comedians out there? Everytime I log onto Youtube I find a new 8-member sketch comedy group I've never heard of, where each member is individually funnier than me, and those guys will be toward the bottom of the totem pole in view counts. I just Googled the main joke in the next video I'm working on and pulled 30,600 results. For Christ's sake, I'm the 217th person in the world who thought of the word Cockplatypus. How can originality even exist anymore?

7. Gonad the Barbarian: 8,540 results

8. Tomorrow will most likely be the last day I work at Cracker Barrel. What exciting career opportunities shall I pursue next? Well, I'm going right the fuck back to the job I had before.

9. Youtube is trying to be cool and do the Hulu thing. Aside from letting you watch new episodes of shows whenever you want, arguably the most badass feature is letting you watch the entire series of awesome shows that dickbag (40,400 results) TV executives cancelled after the first season. I've torn through Action, The Tick, Andy Barker P.I., and The Dana Carvey Show. Go to this link right now: Action Episodes and watch all of them. Even if you hate Jay Mohr, and I'm pretty sure 98% of all Americans do, you'll think it's awesome. How the fuck a show that filthy and ruthless ever got on a major network is beyond me. Action is like Entourage if it was made by the most hateful human being on Earth. Peter Dragon makes Ari Gold look like a Care Bear.

10. Jailtracker is an internet database of 33 correctional facilities in the state of Kentucky. Fortunately, my county is on the list, and that lets me look up the arrest records and mugshots of everyone I work with who has a record, which is all of them. Yesterday I managed to make a girl who's served time for DUI, reckless driving, resisting arrest, and assault completley hate my guts. When the fists start flying at work tomorrow, I'll have two options: Get my ass kicked by a mentally retarded waitress who's half my size, or defend myself, get arrested, and find myself sucked into the vortex that is the white trash penal system. Either way, I'm in for quite a shitty day.

How I lost a delicious free meal

My girlfriend and I live a half hour away from her parents' house, and she makes regular visits there. It's not to see her parents, brother, or childhood friends, it's to see her fucking dog. Frankie the dog is a small black hyperactive mutt that's shaped vaguely like a giant meatloaf. She'll regularly abandon me to visit the little bastard. The conversations go like this when she tells me she's making a visit (Please note that this is a word-for-word transcript and in no way exaggerates my sweetness or prowess as a boyfriend):

Me: I'm so excited that neither of us have to work tonight and we have the opportunity to bask in our mutual love. I've cooked a luxurious smoked salmon dinner for us. I plan for us to enjoy it by candlelight. Afterwards, we'll watch a Katherine Heigl movie of your choosing that I will view without complaint. Then we'll move the action to the bedroom for a carnal encounter in which I will selflessly pleasure you for hours and expect nothing in return.

Girlfriend: I'm visiting Frankie tonight!

Me: FUCK

Her affection for the dog has reached levels that go miles beyond the realm of inexplicable. One time she told me that Frankie is completely adorable when she poops. She then went on to describe the motions and position the dog takes when she expels her waste. It took all of the restraint contained within my body to keep from vomiting as she graphically described the wonders of a dog taking a shit.

I already have a dad who enjoys the company of his dog more than me, and going 0 for 2 against a species whose daily agenda involves 2 straight hours of asshole licking is too much to bear, so I've taken a decidedly hostile attitude toward her fucking dog, hence my equating the dog to a meatloaf, and hence the existence of this blog post. It came to a head when she entered Frankie in her workplace's cutest dog contest.

This particular contest had two categories: adult and puppy. Frankie doesn't usually photograph very well. My girlfriend blames this on a variety of excuses such as the color of the dog's fur, flash photography being unflattering, and the dog making unphotogenic facial expressions. I blame it on the dog not being as cute as she thinks it is. To solve this dilemma my girlfriend used an admittedly adorable picture of Frankie as a puppy and entered it in the puppy division. She ended up winning the puppy division and the grand prize of a $10 Subway gift card.

I looked at all of the other entrants and realized that Frankie won the contest by default. I'm not exaggerating when I say that bears have shit cuter things than the other entrants. Based on the pictures I agree that Frankie deserved to win the contest, but I took issue with the fact that the picture that my girlfriend submitted was multiple years old.

You see, I argued that the dog was completely misrepresented by submitting an old picture, and winning the cutest puppy contest with a dog that hasn't been a puppy in years is clearly tantamount to cheating. I argued that if a fully adult Frankie is allowed to win a cutest puppy contest based on an old picture, these are true as well:

-Raquel Welch should be in Maxim's Hot 100 based on photos taken of her in 1967

-Ernest Borgnine is a lock for at least 4 Kids' Choice Awards this year

-Len Bias should be inducted into the Professional Basketball Hall of Fame sometime soon

-Mark Spitz and Michael Phelps should have a race sometime in the next month to establish who is the greatest

-Brad Pitt should sign a lucrative modeling deal with Huggies

After relentless taunting and disparaging remarks about how she won her contest through cheating, she finally got fed up and told me she was planning on sharing her gift certificate with me, but now I was shit out of luck. In a world where morality and decency are pimped out and forced to suck upon the cock of the wicked, a fresh and delicious Chicken Bacon Ranch is the price I paid to stand up for my beliefs. Damn you, Frankie! Damn you to hell!

Michael Jackson: 1958-2009

No panic attacks today. I'd have one over Tito before him.

RMP Book Review: Gasping For Airtime

I recently finished reading this memoir in which Jay Mohr recounts his two years as a featured player on Saturday Night Live. My first thought when reading this book was, "How in the fuck can 22 of the allegedly best comedy writers and 15 of the allegedly best comedy performers working today only produce about one and a half funny sketches a week?" The huge popularity of Saturday Night Live has always baffled me. I assumed it's only been allowed to stay on the air all these years because it's riding on the past success of the older episodes, but I rented a few DVDs from the first two seasons, and I'm now 100% sure that the show has never been funny at any point in its existence.

But that's beside the point. This book isn't very funny, but it is entertaining in a sense that it's interesting to learn about the politics of the show and how it's put together every week, and it's always fun to hear a guy dish about celebrity hosts and musical guests as well as cast members. In one section Mohr reveals that one of his fellow cast members was completely bald and still secretly wears a toupee to this day, and while he claims to be a gentleman who won't reveal who it is, he leaves enough obvious clues to make it clear to the reader that it's fucking Mike Myers.

I enjoyed hearing about how the show is made and liked hearing him talk shit about celebrities, but my big problem with the book is that most of it is devoted to Mohr trying to garner our sympathy by telling us about how often the intense pressure to come up with good ideas and get a decent amount of airtime gave him horrible panic attacks.

Here we have a guy who scored a dream job in the field of comedy that literally thousands of people audition for every year, earning a six-figure income, trying to make us feel sorry for him that he couldn't hack it and had panic attacks as a result. Speaking as a person who has a long and storied history of panic attacks, I couldn't give less of a shit about his plight. Here is a list of just a few of the things that give me panic attacks:

-Having my throat touched or even lightly grazed by human hands or any sort of foreign object
-Driving my car on a highway
-Feeling any sort of pain in my chest (Here I'm convinced I'm having a heart attack)
-The pain in my chest ending (Here I'm convinced my heart has stopped beating)
-Trying to fall asleep
-Performing comedy in front of any group larger than 10
-Smoking pot
-Drinking a somewhat above average amount of coffee
-Attending virtually any college class that lasted over an hour
-Being the passenger in a car that's going over 80 miles an hour
-Being the passenger or driver in a car that's going over a bridge over a river
-Going to a loud concert
-Finding out that a celebrity I like has just died
-Watching an extremely loud movie at the theater
-Having a hard time taking a deep breath because my stomach is too full of food and milk

-Being inside a church for any reason
-Finding any mark on my body that looks like it could potentially be a staph infection
-Riding on the exercise bike too long only to find that my penis and balls are completely numb

So yeah, suck a cock, Jay Mohr. The only pressure in my life is bills that are easily paid by my dead-end job that is frighteningly easy to perform, and I still manage to find ways to spend 85% of my waking hours in complete and total psychosomatic white-knuckle terror. I would kill to have my insane tendencies be the result of professional sucecss. Your book, which is intended to be a horror story in which you make six-figures and are seen by 8 million viewers most Saturday nights at the expense of drowning in psychological hell, seems like a fucking dream to me.

One Minute of Praise Received!

Today at work I experienced a level of corporate fuckery from my bosses that had to be shared. Allow me to set the scene. I used to work for a restaurant that was part of a small laughable corporation that is currently going through chapter 11 bankruptcy. My managers didn't give a shit about anything we did, and allowed us to get away with anything we wanted. Completely incompetent management that paid little to no attention to anything that happened within the restaurant carried huge benefits and huge downsides at the same time.

I think this situation successfully illustrates both sides of this. One day at 5:30 in the afternoon on a Friday, our general manager decided to completely turn off the water to the restaurant. Nobody knew why it happened and to this day I've never received any sort of explanation. Seeing as how Fridays after 5 are pretty fucking busy hours for a restaurant, this was about the worst possible time you could do this. The only drinks available for us to serve to customers were coffee, unsweetened iced tea that was already brewed before the water was shut off, and a few bottles of Coke and Diet Coke that the assistant manager bought at the Target across the street.

After the water was shut off I had a table of six. Me taking their drink orders went something like this:

Customer: I'd like a Cherry Coke
Me: Actually, that's not available right now
Customer: Okay, I'll take a Sprite
Me: That's not available either
Customer: Fine, I'll have root beer
Me: We don't serve root beer
Customer: What do you have?
Me: We have Coke, Diet Coke, iced tea, and coffee that was brewed about 3 hours ago
Customer: What's the deal here?
Me: This is the worst restaurant in the entire tri-state area

You can clearly see all of the frustration that comes with working at such a place, but the huge benefit was that I could tell a customer straight to his face that our restaurant is the worst within 60 miles, an offense that would get most servers fired, without so much as a slap on the wrist.

Working at this place was a total blast, but the problem was that the location was horrible and the place being so incompetently run resulted in orders taking upwards of 40 minutes to make their way to customers, and that resulted in minimal business, and it also resulted in the few customers that did show up being completely pissed off, and that resulted in me making about $250 a week. I had no choice but to quit and leave for a more respectable place run by a larger corporation.

I won't say which restaurant chain I work for now, but I will say that they have about 600 locations nationwide, they have a history of discrimination lawsuits, the first word is a common perjorative term for white people, the second is a wooden container in which you might shoot fish, and they do not franchise to local owners. Every single location is ruled by the iron cock of corporate policy. My entire first week of training was just a list of shit that will get me fired. Apparently any evidence of theft, racism, or sexual harassment will get me shitcanned. I don't know about you, but any place where I can't whip out my penis and slap unsuspecting coworkers in the face with it while stealing containers of Apple Butter and ranting about how much I hate blacks is not a place that I'm comfortable with being at.

It never hit home with me how controlled every aspect of the place is by corporate policy until today. Our general manager and an assistant manager were eating lunch near one of my tables. They observed me greeting my customers, getting their drink order, getting their food order, entering all of it into the computer, and bringing out the drinks. As I walked away, the assistant manager took me aside and asked if he could speak with me for a minute. He informed me that I greeted and took their order perfectly, and praised me for doing a good job. I smiled and thanked him. Then, he pulled out a "Notice of Employee Praise" Form.

He told me that I needed to sign the form to confirm that I had received a minute of praise from a managerial figure. There was a section on the form where the manager could indicate the degree of praise that the underling received. It ranged from "One minute of praise" to "3-4 minutes of praise" to "Written Commendation." I signed the form, prideful that my minute of praise was officially logged in corporate records.

I imagined in my mind a theoretical bit from the horribly strained disaster that The Office has become where Michael briefly praises Jim and then asks him to sign a form, only for Jim to smugly inform Michael that he has only been praised for ten seconds and won't sign it until he's been sufficiently praised for 50 more seconds, which causes Michael to awkwardly improvise "hilariously" inappropriate compliments about his hair and nailing a hottie like Pam. Then I slapped myself for being a giant dipshit.

I realized that this moment of receiving an official notice of praise from one of my bosses would be completely at home in a network TV sitcom. As as result I have either gained an incredible amount of respect for the writers of The Office and how expertly they've captured real-life, or I've been crushed with the knowledge that my life is a fucking sitcom or cartoon devoid of any real meaning.

Then I though really had about the true implications of my official notice of praise, and I realized, did you get an official notice of praise from your boss today? Did you? Oh wait, you fucking didn't! SUCK IT! SUCK IT HARD!! I got official praise! It's even in writing!! It's been signed by my general manager AND my assistant manager. Your boss didn't sign shit for you today, and if he did it sure as shit wasn't an official document confirming that you're awesome. Fuck you if you're reading this, because YOU SUCK HUGE DICKS!!! Fuck you right up your stupid black ass! I EARNED THE PRAISE! MY LIFE IS VALIDATED BECAUSE I FOLLOWED THE RULES AND MADE MY BOSSES HAPPY!!! FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOU SO FUCKING HARD!!! EAT MY SHIT, COCKSNUGGLERS!!!!!!

God my dick is hard right now.

I got on Deadspin!

Well, it's not like I got a featured column or anything. Today they posted their feature on why Wrigley Field sucks. As you know, I responded to the challenge by sending them this e-mail. Despite all of my work, and all of the sexual humiliation I suffered at the hands of that enormous, curly haired man, the guy from Deadspin posted exactly one sentence of the two-page e-mail I sent:

"I half expected to find the Ark of the Covenant before I found my seats, and the smell was like taking a Fantastic Voyage inside a penis."

If he had to post only one sentence of the e-mail, I guess I'm glad he picked this one because I think it's pretty funny, although it's taken out of context and the actual point I was making is obscured and twisted to fit the point that the writer is trying to make. I feel kind of like a Michael Moore interview subject in that sense.

In the e-mail I sent, I remark that the stadium looks and smells like a shitty abandoned warehouse, hence the reason I expected to find the Ark before I found my seats, an obvious reference to the ending of Raiders of the Lost Ark. In the Deadspin article, the quote is taken out of context and it looks like my main issue with Wrigley Field is that your seats are hard to find. Anyone who reads the article who has also been to Wrigley undoubtedly finds themselves thinking I'm a fucking retard who can't read signs. So to anyone who thinks this was the case, allow me to reassure you that despite what you may think, I actually have mastered the advanced concept of looking at the numbers on my ticket and matching them up with the numbers on the hanging signs.

As an added bonus, here are the Deadspin comments that directly respond to my line:

"How can you half expect something?"

"I'm having a hard time even beginning to process this sentence"

"This would explain why the Urological Society of America holds their annual convention at Wrigley every year"