Thursday, August 30, 2012

Mo' Better Blahs

Let's check in with self-appointed troubadour of the Tea Party Movement, Lloyd Marcus, seen here at some sort of Colonel Sanders cos-play convention:
(Actually, now that I perform a bit of Google Image Search due diligence, I see that the above photo is from a recent column entitled, "Chick-fil-A Appreciation Day: Great Turnout, Few Blacks In My Town."  Apparently, Lloyd feels that living in a largely Negro-free community makes for improved public events, which probably explains his attraction to Tea Party rallies.)
Obama versus Jesus: Black Christians Must Decide

A poll claims that Romney will receive zero percent of the black vote. Well, if the poll proves correct, it means that a vast majority of black voters are ignorant of the truth...or else they're racist. 
That seemed a bit harsh, until I remembered that I'm planning to vote against Romney too, and if I'm going to be completely honest with myself, I have to admit that it's largely out of a sense of racial solidarity; because, like President Obama, some of my relatives are also white.
Black Christians who vote for Obama knowing his crimes against Christianity and biblical principles have chosen to worship the idol of racial loyalty over their discipleship to Jesus Christ. Pure and simple.

"Thou shalt have no other gods before me." -Exodus 20:3 
I bet Exodus was pretty peeved when Jesus and the Holy Ghost horned in, but then, I'm no doctrinal expert (my mother tried very hard to persuade me to become a Christian, but I was always more attracted to monotheism).
Incredibly, some blacks have completely forsaken their Christianity for Obama.
I wonder what's convincing all those white young people to abandon the church?  Probably their unhealthy fixation on Joe Biden.
A fellow PK (preacher's kid) said her parents recently changed their stance on same-sex marriage in support of their black president. I find this remarkable.

Though I disagree, I have been sympathetic and understanding with black seniors who have suffered dearly, with hearts still bearing scars of racial injustice.
LLOYD:  Mr. Johnson, pardon me for barging into your oxygen tent, but I just heard you've decided gay people shouldn't be attacked by police dogs or beaten with truncheons for demanding their civil rights, the way you were, and I just wanted to say...I forgive you."
But now that Obama has been exposed as the most anti-Christian president in U.S. history...
(False charges courtesy of David Barton, America's leading fake historian.)
...senior black Christians must no longer be given a pass for supporting this man. 
Get over your damn flashbacks to the Edmund Pettis bridge, Grandpa, or Lloyd's gonna turn the firehose on you and everyone in this whole damn nursing home!
At stake is something extremely important: their fellowship with Christ versus an idolatrous worship of skin color.
Blonde, blue-eyed Jesus would really like you to get over this hangup, black people.
Talk about hardcore anti-Christian beliefs: not only does Obama support abortion, but he supports infanticide -- killing babies who survive failed abortions.
Of course, this is an urban legend, but then, so is most of the Bible, so there's probably some sort of Ninth Commandment exemption for spreading it in the name of Jesus.
Obama taught Alinsky tactics to university students from a book which its author dedicated to Lucifer. Rules for Radicals was written by Saul Alinsky. Alinsky's dedication says, "...the first radical known to man who rebelled against the establishment and did it so effectively that he at least won his own kingdom - Lucifer" 
Actually, that's part of the epigraph (the same page quotes Rabbi Hillel and Thomas Paine); the book is actually dedicated "to Irene."  But she was probably Satan's wife or something.
Obama's attacks on religious freedoms are numerous. Over 40 Catholic groups are suing Obama for mandating in ObamaCare that faith-based institutions provide contraception and abortion services. 
It doesn't, of course.  But after years of getting sued by victims of clerical sexual abuse, the Catholics probably just got tired of the Defendant's table, and wanted to see what it was like to sit on the other side of the courtroom for once.  ("Hey, this is niiiiice.  We should complaintiff more often.")

Anyway, black people need to vote against the first black president because mostly white Catholics are squicked out by lady parts.
Incredibly, the roots of racial hatred run so insidiously deep into the hearts of some blacks who profess Christianity that Obama has their vote -- period. 
That's why Republicans have worked so hard this year to reduce minority voting rights.  It's not that they want to disenfranchise blacks, they're just trying prevent a hate crime.
These blacks will claim that my facts are lies, that videos have been doctored, and that I am a paid Uncle Tom sell-out to the Republicans. 
Well, I wouldn't blame it on their race, Lloyd, since I'll claim the first two out of three myself.  I don't feel I have the right to claim the last, however, because I don't honestly believe they're paying you for this shit.
In the biblical account of Christ's Passion, the law gave the mob an opportunity to free one condemned prisoner, thus saving their choice from crucifixion.
Well, it was a coupon good for One Free Prisoner, but the mob forgot to present it immediately upon ordering.
Pilate asked the crowd, do I free Jesus or Barabbas? The crowd yelled, "Give us Barabbas!" Jesus was crucified.
Which was probably a good thing in the long run, because if Barabbas had been crucified, we'd spend every December watching holiday specials like A Charlie Brown Barabbasmas, which I suspect would prove hard to say after the second mug of wassail.
Two thousand years later, biblical principles are scheduled for crucifixion in America.
But they wanted to do it on the lawn in front of City Hall, so naturally the ACLU has filed a lawsuit.
Black Christians are faced with a crucial choice: Jesus or Obama.
I didn't even realize they were competing products.  Remind me, which is the one with Flavor Crystals?
I pray that come November, a majority of black Christians will not yell, "Give us skin color!"
Because that would mean that the majority of black Christians had become albinos, which would mean The Omega Man plague was upon us, and that would suck.
"I was concerned about protecting access to reproductive health care, preserving Pell Grant funding, and reducing unemployment, but I'm a single-issue voter now, baby!"

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Let's Go On a Mystery Date...With SPAM!

By Keith, World O' Crap's Senior Involuntary Telecommunications Correspondent

Mystery Shopper, + other employment opportunities...
Since Scott has bared the depths of his spam bucket with Wo'C, thought I might try it as well. I run Linux and am not anxious opening spam … but why bother? I may do it more often as we do find delicious treats like this.
“Evaluation Systems For Personnel is seeking mystery shoppers around the USA It is a Stress free work and will not affect your current job. You will be earning $800 or More Monthly ($120 Per Assignment, and can do up to 10 Assignments in a Month) as a mystery shopper for our organization.”
At least someone has money to go shopping. But stress-free? I remember from my days at Tower Records when one certain “mystery shopper” got a little free and easy with one of our clerks and the result was violent, to say the least. The “mystery shopper” got hit upside the head and it was drama on the selling floor. Not good for business.

Will he be a dream?  Or a dud?
This is actually really...STRESSFUL...!

Next up:  “Please I rally rally need your help,”
“I am writing this mail to you with tears and sorrow from my heart. My name is Miss Anifa Kipkalya Kones, 25yrs old female and I held from Kenya. My father was (Dr Kipkalya Kones) the former Kenyan road Minister. He and Assistant Minister of Home Affairs Lorna Laboso had been on board the Cessna 210, which was headed to Kericho and crashed in a remote area called Kajong'a, in western Kenya.The plane crashed on the Tuesday 10th, June, 2008.”
Unremarkable, but from the above subject, Ms. Kones might be the reincarnation of Katherine Hepburn (Go Kate, go with Nigerian 419. You run scams so well). And please everyone --- avoid flights on Cessna light aircraft when visiting Kenya. Your survivors will be writing with tears and sorrow from their hearts --- to spam-bots.

Now let's hear from Ms. Lonelyheart. She's right out of a Nathanael West wet dream:
“how are you today? i hope you are keeping good. My name is Miss Stella (female), I saw your contact today so, i decided to extend my greetings to you. Presently i can not really specify what prompted my drive to write you but, i did have the mind that you could be a nice person.”
Dear Miss Stella (female), I write for World O' Crap. I am not a nice person. In fact, many of my friends consider me to be a cold, rather heartless human entity. Deep inside is a different story, but when you get your shit together to decide what prompted your drive to write me, give a shout-out. I'm sure we'll hit it off right. I've got some good Martha Stewart jokes I'd love to tell you.

None of this would be interesting if I didn't mention that some netizens (well, not me yet) are rising up against the onslaught of spam thrashing inboxes or junk mail folders. Apparently, engaging in polite conversations with spammers can go on for months. You, the correspondent, can request your interlocutor to do just about anything in order to keep the scam running. Role reversal allows you to take control and put the scammer in the role of “victim.” You might even request your victim pose for sexually humiliating “trophy shots,” submitted in any digital format you require. Seems like much more fun than just sitting around watching Criminal Minds reruns. I don't suggest you take up this endeavor but you might find it funny. I may try this at home.
...with two to four players.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Circle of Life: The Fond Farewell Edition

Speaking of longtime and beloved members of the Crapper Community, Li'l Innocent revealed in the comments to this post that she and her family recently lost their 12-year old diabetic pug, Albert.

At our request, Li'l was kind enough to send along some photos of Albert.  First, the Casual Yet Active Sears Catalog pose, showing Albert with his posse at the dog park:
 Li'l writes that this shot "was taken back in pre-diabetes, pre-sight impairment days (though he was a bit too plump). The chain reaction effect here is amusing! Look at 'em all gathering intel!"

He does indeed appear to have the most popular hindquarters in town.  It's like the dog park is East High School, and Albert's butt is Zac Efron.

Then we have the Sears Family Portrait Studio shot.  Look at that beautiful, soulful face.  L'il writes:
 
Albert doing the head-tilt, just one move in his extensive Anthropoid-Management System. A pug-serving human is a happy human.

Just as an aside, the way pugs get you is not only by being cute and smart, but by being amazingly funny. We used to watch Dog Whisperer religiously, and it was interesting that Caesar Millan never, in the time we were watching anyway, had a pug as a patient. I don't know why this was -- maybe a shortage of troubled pug owners? -- but it would have been very interesting to see him get around the cracking-up factor!
Rest in Peace, Albert.  A flight of angels sing thee to thy rest, and a thumb perpetually rub thy adorably furrowed brow.

Monday, August 27, 2012

Happy Birthday, Brian and Julia!

First, let me second Mary's thanks to the many wonderful folks who contributed to the Wo'C Automobile Zombification program.  As it turned out, the cost to reanimate the car was higher than initial estimates -- and then even after it was alive, alive!, it failed the smog test, so further therapy was required (although I don't blame the car, because if I'd been lying dead for the past two years I doubt I could just rise from the grave and ace an exam -- and I tend to test well) -- but thanks to the astonishing and touching generosity of you, the World O' Crap reader, we were able to get it street legal in time for the first day of school at Shangri-La Elementary (Go Lamas!). You guys are the best.

Next, it's the birthday of veteran Crappers Brian and Julia, so please join me in wishing them a very Happy Whatever is Left of Their Special Day, Which isn't Much, Depending on Time Zone.  I really meant to post this earlier, but last night we went to visit friends in the Hollywood Hills.  Well, the Hollywood hill.  Kind of a low hill, actually -- but very steep! -- and since Smooth Summer Jazz was casting its magic spell over the Hollywood Bowl, many of the side streets were blocked off and parking was impossible, so we decided to walk it.  In return, my spine decided to treat my wayward disc the way Laurence Olivier treated Dustin Hoffman's central incisor in Marathon Man.  So I'm a bit behind on my work.

Since it's a little late for the daily horoscope, how about a reprise of the mini-movie we edited together for last year's fete, featuring all the birthday gags from the classic MST3K episode, I Accuse My Parents?

Happy birthday, guys!

The World is a Circle Without a Beginning...*

Speechless.  The only word that accurately describes my mental state since July 30th is the word for...no words.  

Since that day, both Scott and myself have never felt more grateful or honored to have the kindest, most hilarious and most generous readers of our little Mom 'n' Mom and Pop (plus Cats) blog.  Your response to our "Beg-a-Thon" was nothing short of miraculous.

I also believe that it was your support that started to turn our fortunes around for the best.

I've now finished my second week at my new school, and I don't think I've stopped smiling, not even once.  I have a fabulous group of students, wonderful colleagues, a principal who actually provides both guidance and support, and extremely involved, supportive parents. 

I find myself wondering, "How did I get here? I have such a cool class, and it's all in a place I had never imagined even existed!"  It was a conversation I was having with a parent the other morning which revealed the answer to my question:

Parent: "How long have you been teaching?"

Me:      "Hm. In Sept. it will be 20 years."

Parent: (Politely skeptical) "That's not possible! You don't look old enough to have taught so long!"

Me: (Blush...)

Now, in my old school, I frequently had students who would accidentally call me "Grandma". Who am I kidding?!  I've had kids who would accidentally call me "Grandpa", as well ( that one had me paranoid about my facial hair for weeks!)!

Now suddenly, in this new school, I've had more than one person telling me I look too young to have been teaching for 20 years.  And that's when I realized it -- this is no ordinary school! I'm working at Shangri La Elementary!

I've never felt happier, healthier, or more confident, and it's all thanks to you! Now that I've been rendered speechfull, let me stop speaking and start showing. Please enjoy these various pictures of Shangri La Elementary:

Here's our library. Note the lushness typical of the hidden Tibetan highlands

A courtyard between classrooms. Perfect for quiet contemplation and planning out the next 300 years of your life.
I had hoped to meet Ronald Colman traipsing through this magical garden of earthly delights.  Unfortunately, the best I could manage was Bobby Van from the crappy 70s remake.
My classroom. All it needs is the kids!  (Please see High Lama Sam Jaffe in the Admissions Office for an enrollment form.)
Ready for the First Day of School, Aug. 14th, 2012


 And, finally, the Teachers Lounge.

I would post pictures of my students, but apparently some of them are in the "industry" and their agents would prefer they actually get paid for any photo ops.  Take it from me, they are adorable, hilarious (in other words: they totally get me), and brilliant.

I just want to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for your kindness and caring. Without you, I would never have discovered (and been hired) at Shangri La Elementary, nor would I have discovered everlasting youth and near immortality.


Saturday, August 25, 2012

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Cat Queue Edition

RILEY:  This sucks.
RILEY:  Hey!  Get up!  It's my turn.

MOONDOGGIE:  I can't hear you!  La-la-la-la-LA-la!
RILEY:  You're covering your eyes, not your ears, moron.
RILEY:  Fine.  Whatever.  Don't care.  Yawn!
RILEY:  This sucks.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Spotlight Dance on...Arlene Martel!

Alias Arline Sax, alias Tasha Martel.  No distinguishing marks or scars.

By Chris Vosburg

No, she's not dead, and it's not her birthday; I just felt moved to give a shout out to yet another workhorse of sixties-era TV. In Arline's case, whew, also fifties, seventies, eighties, etc. Still working, in fact.

Just saw a Perry ep (The Case of the Absent Artist) which featured a sultry and kittenish Arline Sax in one of her many, many TV roles. In this one she plays a beat chick, all black sweaters and jeans, in an artists' community somewhere on California's coast called "Port Harmony", who never ever smiles, but looks exotic and mysterious, not to mention hot, doing it.
She definitely had it, that presence that all great actors have, that dominated whatever scene they happened to be in. Arline started out in the Bronx, and wound up graduating from the "famed" High School of the Perforning Arts, with the school's top drama award. Although she did a lot of theater at first, she soon ankled Broadway for Hollywood, and a long and prolific TV career, only doing a couple movies.

She did 'em all, everything from The Untouchables and Route 66 to The Wild Wild West and a recurring role in Hogan's Heroes (as sexy French Resistance fighter "Tiger"), and of course the Twilight Zone (pictured below: her nurse/stewardess-from-hell role in the TZ episode Twenty Two).
"Room for one more, honey."

There was something of Audrey Hepburn in her looks and she had a talent for dialect and the kind of dark, vaguely Mediterranean features that got her cast as a surprising variety of ethnicities: Native American, Italian, Spaniard, Latino, Greek, Russian, Vulcan... wait, what?


Yep, she was (and will forever be, I suspect, to her fans) T'Pring, Spock's betrothed in the ST:TOS episode Amok Time. I admit to having had a fair crush on her back then-- rowrr!

Scott adds:  She also achieved a measure of enduring Geek Cred as the working class damsel in my favorite episode of The Outer Limits, the Harlan Ellison-scripted Demon With a Glass Hand, in which Arlene played the unhappily married seamstress trapped -- by aliens!  From the FUTURE! -- in the Bradbury Building with an amnesiac and seemingly bionic Robert Culp.
I always enjoyed it whenever she would pop up in a movie or TV show.  As Chris says, she had that indefinable presence that makes an actor the cynosure of any scene, no matter how silly the context or talented the co-star.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Blogiversary! Or: 9 Years of Using Stupid Neologisms

Yes, today is World O' Crap's 9th Anniversary, and while we've broken many promises over the years (that "daily diatribe" thing didn't work out so well once s.z. retired from full-time blogging and returned to her secret identity of Jeff Tracy, ex-astronaut and founder of International Rescue, a secret organization dedicated to assisting needy animals through the use of Supermarionettes and scale model rocket planes) there is one trust we have never betrayed:  this blog continues to serve you piping hot instant coffee, lovingly made by enslaved humanoid cows.  (Disclaimer:  Complimentary coffee is available only to readers who can furnish a photo I.D.  Eligible readers must also prove that they are a somewhat demented-looking commercial illustration from the 1950s.  Offer void in Utah because, you know, coffee).

So, in keeping with our occasional tradition, I thought we'd reprise a couple posts from the formative years of Wo'C.

I picked this first one because I miss the golden age of the Presidential Press Secretary.  Remember Ron Ziegler ("This is the operative statement. The others are inoperative," and "If my answers sound confusing, I think they are confusing because the questions are confusing and the situation is confusing")?  Good times, right?  Nowadays, with no scandals to speak of except the manufactured outrage du jour, Obama can get by with a colorless non-entity like Jay Carney.

But there was a time, not so long ago, when the Press Secretary was called upon daily to defend the indefensible, and no one was more comically ill-equipped for that role that Bush spokesman Scott McClellan.  Never a smooth bullshit artist like Tony Snow, or a cold-blooded sociopath like Ari Fleischer, who would leaven his lies with threats and innuendo, Scotty would sweat, stammer, pass the buck, or repeat the one, speechwriter-approved talking point he'd been handed until the words themselves seem to lose all meaning.  Nowadays, to get that kind of squirmy comedy of public humiliation, you'd have to go back to the original British episodes of The Office.

Anyway, s.z. nicely captured Scotty's style in this kitchen sink drama, written back in Feburary, 2004:

Press Briefing Theater 

Starring Jon Lovitz as Tommy Flannigan ... I mean, Scottie McClellan. (Yeah, that's the ticket!)
We join a Press Briefing already in progress:

Q: The Vice President, as late as January 2004, was still stating that they were weapons labs.

MR. McCLELLAN: There were a number of people who were still talking about that issue for quite some time.

Can This Marriage Be Saved? 

A One Act Play 

[Scott, a White House Press Secretary, comes home from work unexpectedly to find his wife having sex with another man.]

Scott: BettyLou! What is going on here? What are you doing naked, with my best friend Bob?

MaryLou: I'm sorry? What was your question exactly?

Scott: I want to know why you're having sex with another man.

MaryLou: Scott, marriage is an institution between a man and a woman. Bob is a man, and I'm a woman, and you weren't home, so I thought you'd be okay with it.

Scott: I'm not okay with it! You broke your marriage vows!

MaryLou: Scott, honey, just calm down. You know that I'm focused on the issue of marriage and feel that marriage should be protected, because it is an enduring institution in this country. So, we're in agreement, right? Now, what did you do with your paycheck -- I need to pay some bikini wax bills.

Scott: But, but, you promised to forsake all others, but now I find you sleeping with another man.

Mary Lou: I said that if necessary I would forsake all others. I don't think we ever determined if it has become necessary or not. But you just calm down, have a drink or something to pull yourself together, and then we can all discuss this like adults.

[10 minutes later. Scott returns to the bedroom to find Mary Lou and Bob at it again.]

Scott: Mary Lou! Bob! You. . .you gutter politicians! You trash rollers! Cheating on me in my own bed!

[MaryLou sighs, rolls her eyes, and appears vexed.]

MaryLou: This was addressed previously, Scott. I'm not going to continue to respond to something that was already dealt with. I think that, again, this goes to show that some are not interested in the facts of whether or not I am your wife, but are instead trying to invent issues for partisan political gain. So I've had enough of your outrageous and baseless accusations. The American people deserve better, and I'm focused on acting decisively to meet those challenges.

Scott: You can't change the subject this way! You betrayed me! And with my best friend too! Why shouldn't I get my gun and shoot you both right where you're lying?

MaryLou: At a time when we are confronting dangerous new threats, we have to focus on our highest priorities, which are combating terrorism and confronting the spread of weapons of mass destruction. From very early on in my administration as your wife, I made it a high priority to confront the dangerous new threats we face in this day and age. Let's have an honest discussion about the type of leadership people are providing to confront those threats. That's what the American people deserve.

Scott: What the hell are you talking about? Speak English for just once, woman!

MaryLou: I gave your gun away, Scott. No more gun. But I'm glad we were able to achieve a joint resolve to work together to strengthen this marriage, which is a sacred institution, and I look forward to four more years of marital happiness.

Scott: You bitch! Why should I stay married to you? You vowed to cleave only unto me, but you cleaved to Bob! Twice!

MaryLou: There's going to be plenty of time to talk about the choices we face and the statements people have made. Why don't you take the dog for a walk, and when you get back, I will show you undeniable proof that I've been faithful to you.

Scott: How could you do that?

MaryLou: Your wife certainly is someone who does what she says she is going to do and someone who means what she says. And I think that's reflected in the actions she takes.

Scott: Well, okay.

[He leaves with the dog, and comes back an hour later. MaryLou is now in bed with Scott's brother.]

Scott: You whore! Cheating on me with my own brother!

MaryLou: You're taking everything out of context. It is sad to see someone stoop to this level, to say anything or try to do anything for political gain. The American people deserve better.

Scott: Oh, just shut up, shut up! I thought you were going to show me proof that you had been faithful?

[MaryLou shows him a copy of her marriage certificate, and a calendar with some days checked off.]

MaryLou: There. The certificate is proof that I am your legal and lawful wife, and since marriage is an institution between one man and one woman, how could I be in this institution with anybody else? And those days I've checked on the calendar were days that I was having my period, and didn't feel like sleeping with anybody. So, that proves that I have honorably fulfilled my duties, and am a good and faithful wife. Now, could you give us some privacy? Thanks.

The End

And here's one from me, circa late summer of 2003, when I was still just a correspondent for the show, and providing mostly movie reviews and fake news reports.

ANN COULTER'S BEAUTY SECRET

CONSERVATIVE VIRGINS DONATE BLOOD FOR COULTER’S BATH
by Scott C., WO’C's Children of the Night Correspondent

When best-selling author Ann Coulter arrived at Charles Coughlin College in Lynchville, Illinois, Ceci Lawrence was shocked.
“She looked so different from her photos,” the 22-year old co-ed marveled. “She had these long, bony fingers, and her skin was all stretched and thin like rice paper, and I remember thinking during her speech: she looks like a talking kite.” It was then that Ceci and several of her sorority sisters resolved to do something for their distinguished visitor.
“We decided to have a blood drive,” Ceci said. “So that Ann could renew the unholy forces which animate her flesh by bathing in the blood of the innocent. She travels all the time and that’s got to play havoc with any sort of rigorous beauty regimen. And remember, the average human body only contains six quarts of blood, so you can imagine how many virgins it would take to fill up even one of those crappy little tubs at the Ramada Inn. I mean, come on, she can’t just keep dropping by Townhall.com and draining Ben Shapiro for a pint; he’s starting to look bleached.”
Finding a sufficient number of uncontaminated maidens, even on the campus of a conservative bible college, proved to be a chore. “Yeah,” observed Ceci. “It was a lot of work, but it was worth it. Ann is my role model.”
Ceci explained that she began college as a Speech Communications major. “I wanted to be on TV, so I was studying to be a spokesmodel. My dad wanted me to be a lawyer, but that was like way too much work, thank you very much. But then I saw Ann on Fox News, and realized that you could be a lawyer even if you didn’t practice law, or go to court, or know anything about the constitution. And even better, people would like. . .pay you to go on TV and say bitchy stuff about people! It’s like somebody saying, ‘Hey! Spreading rumors that all the smart girls are lesbians and then locking yourself in your dorm room and masturbating to Whittaker Chamber’s Witness is actually a job. We’ll pay you for that!’ My god! Having Fox News in your life is like having a rich boyfriend who’s too Episcopalian to demand a handjob! Anyway…The very next day I switched my major, and next year after I graduate, I hope to follow in Ann’s footsteps and attend the Barbizon School of Law.”
Asked if the arduous, daylong blood drive was worth it, Ceci was unequivocal. “Absolutely! For one thing, Ann and I have become very friendly as a result. And for another, I’m pretty sure that if she’d gone one more day without blood she would have started killing my roommates.”
And how does Ann Coulter herself feel about this outpouring of admiration and blood? The blanched and hollow-eyed pundit flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up as she lowered her emaciated carcass into a hip-bath brimming with virgin gore. “Ahh,” she said, splashing the ruddy, life-giving fluid over her bony chest, “This is the life. Or the undeath, anyway.”
 Ann’s humble beginnings
Born in the Hungary in 1560 as Elizabeth Bathory, the conservative sensation changed her name to Countess Marya Zaleska upon first coming to the United States in 1936. She later opted for the more Anglo-sounding Ann Coulter because, in her words, “I wanted my very name to announce my patriotic devotion to America,” and because, “The FBI was closing in.”
Asked whether soaking in the blood of virgins might alienate the GOP’s fundamentalist Christian base, Coulter waved a bone-white hand and uttered a dismissive, “Pah!”
She added knowingly, “Look how enthusiastically the base has supported President Bush’s tax cuts for the wealthy. To me, that’s a clear sign that the Heartland has given those of us in the upper echelons of society the go-ahead to live off the blood of our social inferiors. The way I like to think of it is: red states are red corpuscle states, brimming with life and vitality. While the blue states are blood cells depleted of oxygen, the same way the Democrat party is depleted of ideas and morality. If American values and ideals are to survive, we must confront our political opponents, rip out their throats with our sharp incisors, and feed upon the warm blood flowing from their ruptured arteries.”
As a tired Ceci poured the last bucketful of blood into her idol’s copper bath, she paused to reflect on the day’s labors. “I’ve learned more from Ann in one day than I think I’ve learned from all my professors over the past four years. I’ve learned that liberals are traitors who want to destroy the nuclear family. I’ve learned that plasma is an excellent humectant. And I’ve learned which girls are really virgins, and which are letting the snake into the garden, if you know what I mean, because if Ann bathes in the blood of an soiled woman, she starts to smoke and shriek like a banshee. It’s kind of like when you drop a piece of magnesium in water. Except for the shrieking.”

⌚⌚⌚

And thus, time has marched on.  Hard to believe it's been nearly a decade of this crap, but Mary, Sheri and I would like to thank you guys for hanging in there with us for so long.  Even Riley and Moondoggie wanted to make a special appearance to express their gratitude:
"Really?  You've been sticking that camera in my face for nine years?  Seems longer..."
"Oh no you don't!  Just 'cause I'm a ginger doesn't mean I'm Lindsay Lohan -- you're not getting any up-skirt pictures of my junk, thankyouverymuch!"

And above all, thank you -- readers, lurkers, commenters, who've followed us from Salon, to our own ill-fated domain, and finally here to Blogspot, the Cabrini Green of the blogosphere.  You guys are the reason World O' Crap still exists (I hope you can live with the guilt; I find misdirected anger and self-medication helps). 

And as Crow T. Robot once so memorably said, "I hope we've touched you all with a little bit of our evilness."

Friday, August 17, 2012

Gina Miller, Agent of D.Y.K.E.

I don't believe we've featured Ms. Miller before, so we can probably file this one under Scouting Reports, but according to her astonishingly brief (by RenewAmerica standards) bio, "Gina Miller, a native of Texas and current resident of the Mississippi Gulf Coast, is a conservative Christian political writer and radio/television voice professional."

More than that, she's a secret agent who has penetrated to the very bowels of the "homofascist" High Command.  Okay...Let's cue the Monty Norman surf guitar, and somebody get Julian Bond a white Persian cat!
Southern Poverty Law Center, homofascists target Mississippi museum
Today in the United States, one of the greatest threats — if not the greatest threat — to religious freedom and freedom of speech is the militant homosexual movement. There is no overstating this fact.
No, I agree -- I don't think there's any way you could make it sound much stupider.
 In the few years since the homosexual advocate Barack Obama (or whatever his name is)
"They Call Me MISTER President!"
was installed in the presidency, we have seen a boldness in the sexual anarchy movement unparalleled in our history. 
The same thing happened a couple years ago when we had a DSL line installed.  I'm still sore from all the anarcho-syndicalist sex.  But exactly how bold is it?

Obama has set homosexuals in positions at the highest levels in our government, and this is yet another of the myriad reasons it is crucial that he be ejected from power.
Unfortunately, in our haste to get the President's high level people out of their homosexual positions, we misread Gina's command and accidentally ejected Obama from the 1995 film Powder.  But it sucked pretty hard, and now I'm wondering if that wasn't what he wanted all along, and maybe he was just playing a whole Br'er Rabbit/Briar Patch mind game on us.
There is a concerted effort by radical homosexuals to use our courts to force the "acceptance" of their degenerate behavior on our country. We now see it regularly with homosexuals targeting Christian-owned businesses and other institutions, insisting with threats of legal action that Christians set aside their freedom of religion to accommodate the perverse demands of the homosexuals. They often succeed in their intimidation tactics.
They do?  Well, in that case I guess it's time for me to grease up and join the winning team!
To those who are not paying attention or who are beguiled by the deceptive message of homosexuals "only wanting equal civil rights," it is easy to discount the warnings of those of us who know the end goal of this sinister movement.
And how does Gina know the secret end goal of this sinister movement?  Frankly, I don't know, I wasn't paying attention, but I assume she went undercover as a lesbian.  She probably had to wear a lot of plaid, listen to a lot of Ani DiFranco, and raise a lot of large, friendly dogs, but gradually, over the years, she gained the trust of the militant, radical homosexual cabal, until she was at last able to listen in on the movement's innermost deliberations.  Later, utilizing "Moscow Rules" and a series of secure dead-drops, the Double-Naught Spy passed on their nefarious plans to her case officer at D.Y.K.E. (Damn, You're Killing Everyone!).
 We have yet another example of homosexual bullying — this time, occurring in collusion with the despicable Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC). As you know, the SPLC has never met a patriotic, Constitution-cherishing, conservative Christian group that it did not smear with the "hate" label.  
Which is a mistake, because I find they taste better with a nice dry rub.  Anyway, I really wish I'd grown up in this evil alternate reality where gays are the bullies and the Southern Poverty Law Center is the Klan, because I'm pretty sure I would have gotten beat up less and fit in a lot better, due to my unquestionable ability to rock a goatee.
These people in the SPLC are anti-American, anti-freedom subversives who should never be given an ounce of credibility in a sane world. But, of course, our world is not sane, and thus, the SPLC enjoys not only mainstream "credibility," but also federal non-profit, tax-exempt status.
While in our own, positive matter universe, this role is filled by the Southern Baptists.
So, the SPLC has found a pair of young women to use as battering rams against the Mississippi Agriculture and Forestry Museum in Jackson. The two girls claim they want to have a "commitment ceremony" at the museum, but the museum's policy has always been to refuse same-sex ceremonies, because homosexual "marriage" is not legal in Mississippi.
But the SPLC sent a letter threatening a lawsuit, and the "Republican Mississippi Agriculture Commissioner Cindy Hyde-Smith," who at first refused to approve the ceremony, grudgingly backed down, issuing a statement which read in part, "Based on my personal and religious beliefs, I strongly object to this, but I have no alternative, due to this advice, but to allow the processing of this permit to move forward."

So let's drink a toast to Commissioner Hyde-Smith for lacking the courage of her antediluvian convictions, or, perhaps, for being inspired to rise above a lifetime of ugly bias and finally do the right thing under penalty of a costly lawsuit.  Cheers!

Gina, however, is a bit torqued off about the whole thing.
Because there is no state law specifically outlawing same-sex "commitment ceremonies," then that means they should be allowed?
Well, how would you disallow it, Gina, since even the Mississippi Attorney General said "The federal courts have clearly said that no state can prohibit any individual from using a state-owned facility to express his or her First Amendment rights."

Read more here: http://www.sunherald.com/2012/08/09/4117594/mississippi-museum-could-allow.html#storylink=cpy
 That is twisted "logic." 
And if we really were living in the Star Trek "Mirror, Mirror" universe you seem to think we are, I bet you could make that argument on Vulcan and it would totally carry the day, assuming the Vulcan Science Council was staffed entirely by SKOAL-dippin', nose pickin' yahoos.
There are probably no state laws specifically outlawing polygamist "commitment ceremonies," either, yet we know they are wrong, period. It is a shameful day when there has to be a law spelling out common-sense, moral truths, or else reprobates will use "legal loopholes" to impose their immoral will on society.
And once the reprobates are permitted to impose their immoral will, it's only a short step to a society in which we are all living beneath the ethical iron heel of the blackguards, the scoundrels, the dastards, and the scalawags, with only the occasional scamp, mountebank, and ne'er-do-well to relieve the tension.

As it turns out, the young women themselves weren't really all that interested in turning their commitment ceremony into a political cause célèbre.  From the newspaper article that got Gina's gall bladder churning out all that surplus gall:
The SPLC had said it would settle for nothing less than the state completely lifting the ban on gay ceremonies.

"Our clients are happy that they will have the opportunity to express their love for one another in front of their family and friends," SPLC lawyer Elissa Johnson said in a statement.

Sturgis told The Associated Press last month she had gone to a friend's wedding at the museum and liked it, so she thought it would be the right place for her and Key to publicly profess their love. She said they're not asking the state to recognize them as a married couple, but they just want to be able to rent the venue for a celebration as a heterosexual couple could. 
 Anyway, back to the Secret Policeman's Gall:

This woman says that homosexual couples will be treated the same as heterosexual couples, and nowadays too many misguided people see nothing wrong with that statement. 
It must be exhausting to perpetually stand athwart history, yelling, "I'm a dick!"
Homosexuality is a sin, and homosexual couples who practice their perverse bedroom behavior bear no relation to the normal, God-ordained marriage between a man and a woman.
I'm sorry, but I think this is unfair.  Let's compare a civil union between two women with the God-ordained marriage of, say, the Rev. Gary Aldridge.  True, the same-sex couple might don fewer wetsuits (it really depends on how many lesbians are big fans of Sea Hunt), while very possibly using an equivalent number of dildos.
 To say the two should be treated "equally" is the epitome of dead-wrong, because there will never be "equality" between sin and truth.
 Hatred and stupidity, however, are still neck and neck.
So, is this just an isolated case of two girls hoping to make their dream day come true? Nope. Let's look at one of the two girls, Ceara Sturgis, who has made herself into a Justin Bieber look-alike. 
Again, I have to cry foul, since it's entirely possible that your anger would be better directed at Justin Bieber for making himself look like a lesbian.
The Mississippi Agriculture and Forestry Museum was an easy target for these homofascist girls and the fascist SPLC.
As Hitler himself might have crowed, "First the Mississippi Agriculture and Forestry Museum, next the Biedenharn Museum of Coca-Cola Memorabilia!"
To the State Agriculture Commission, fighting this insane demand was more trouble than it was worth. The militant homosexual movement wins many of their diabolical battles this way.
That's how you can really tell when you're facing down pure Evil.  The more diabolical a cause, the more likely it is to inspire the forces of Light to rally and, as if with one voice, go "Meh."
Most people, businesses and states do not have the "extra" money set aside to defend against attacks from sodomites seeking to force their depraved will on the American people.
I guess I'm a little depraved myself, because whenever I hear about sodomites seeking to force their will on me, I always imagine something a little more exciting than two nice young women smooching in front of the Bisland Cotton Gin display at the Ag Museum while Aunt Lola tries to figure out how her cell phone camera works.
These girls and the SPLC knew beforehand that the museum did not allow same-sex travesty ceremonies on their property
Although, according to the Museum itself, it's a great place for a birthday party.
so they targeted the museum and set out to dismantle that right-and-proper policy. Militant homosexuals pull this kind of legal thuggery all over the nation. It is a campaign that, if not stopped or at least firmly resisted, will ultimately result in our loss of freedom of speech and expression and freedom of religion. Don't doubt it for a minute.
Oh, I don't, Gina, I don't.  In fact, thanks to the way these girls profaned the Agricultural and Forestry Museum with their love, I doubt I'll ever again be able to look upon the scale model Grist Mill with the same innocent eyes.

Read more here: http://www.sunherald.com/2012/08/09/4117594/mississippi-museum-could-allow.html#storylink=cpy

Monday, August 13, 2012

Greenback Arrow

‎"Okay, Barbara, send in that elderly constituent with the Medicare problem..."

Sunday, August 12, 2012

MST3K Meets The Mommy Of The Future

I grew up in a house -- then a condo, then a series of increasingly shabby apartments -- that could best be described as a sort of parental Fail Blog, so I was never much tempted to breed and continue the cycle.  But whether by chance, or because the Universe has a particularly virulent sense of irony, I happen to know a number of exceptionally Cool Moms, and in several of the cases (my sister KT comes to mind), the very coolest of Moms seem to have had the very worst of role models.

I don't know quite what to make of this, and I'm not trying to postulate a Unified Field Theory of Motherhood, I just think it's interesting, and perhaps indicates that the animal handlers at Sea World who train their dolphins, seals, and orcas with food and affection rather than punishment have it wrong, and those embittered high school P.E. coaches who taught us good driving habits by screening 16mm films of gruesome automobile accidents had it right.  In fact, they probably didn't go far enough, and should have turned the Drivers Ed. simulator into a giant Skinner Box.

But I digress.  Cool Moms beget Cool Kids, and my friend Elizabeth is definitely one of the former, while her son Wes is a distinguished example of the latter. A musical prodigy and fashion trendsetter, Wes is preternaturally verbal (but not in a creepy, Children of the Damned sort of way; more in a cocky, Children of the Damn I'm Good! way), and almost as soon as he could talk, he dubbed Elizabeth "Mommy of the Future!" for reasons that were never explained.  (At least, I hope they weren't, and if they were, I hope no one explains it to me, because it remains one of my favorite non sequiturs.)


Anyway, like s.z., I originally bonded with Elizabeth (many, many years ago) over a shared devotion to Mystery Science Theater 3000, so I've been waiting for the day she introduced her child to the series, since I've always wondered if it was hereditary, like Hitchhiker's Thumb, cleft chin, or the congenital syphilis in Ibsen's Ghosts.  As it turns out, the results were more than I could ever have hoped for.  Here's a taste (Wes, at this point, was in first grade):
(Note: THE FOLLOWING CONVERSATION ACTUALLY HAPPENED. I’m not proud.)

Ten minutes pass. He comes out. “Mommy? I think the Mike episodes are better.”

“WHAT!?”
I solemnly urge you to click here and read the whole, hilarious thing; I guarantee, you will not regret it.

I mean, come on -- have I ever steered you wrong before?  Except for that one time?  And maybe that other thing?  Besides that?  Never.

Saturday, August 11, 2012

And Now For Something Completely Similar

You guys did such a hilarious job responding to Mary's caption challenge for this photo, that I wanted to get in on the action, so I thought I'd ask you to make sense of this one.

I'll get things rolling:
Pioneering African-American ventriloquist Walter J. Fredericks and his dummy, "Silent Cal."

Friday, August 10, 2012

Hag/Man

Sher Zieve, better known as "Shermp, the Blondest Stooge of All" is back, and Wo'C has got her!
Obama reelection insurrection imminent: an interview with Doug Hagmann
I'd prefer Larry Hagman, but as the Stones observed, you don't always get what you want.
Recently, I read Doug Hagmann's column "The planned re-election of Obama, revolutionary style" in which Doug cited a "deep-throat" DHS source. The following interview is a continuation of that column and it is bone-chilling.
If deep-throating chills your bone, perhaps you should just stick to the missionary position.
BIO:

Douglas J. Hagmann is the founder and director of the Northeast Intelligence Network.
They were previously known as the Baker Street Irregulars, until they discovered Metamucil.
Hagmann is a 26-year veteran private investigator who has worked as an operational asset for the U.S. Department of Justice, the FBI, the New York and Pennsylvania State Police. 
Some have even called him "the best snitch since Huggy Bear."
He is the author of Tactical Surveillance, a textbook used for training surveillance operatives.
And was also adapted into the hit film, Paul Blart, Mall Cop.
He is the CEO of a multi-state licensed private investigative agency and a senior columnist for Canada Free Press.
Canada, though rich in natural resources, has failed to practice conservation, overharvesting their once majestic stands of old growth assholes, until they are now forced to import wingnuts from the U.S.  Sad, really...
He's a frequent guest on nationally syndicated radio shows such as Coast to Coast AM with George Noory.
George Noory?!  Really?  Wow!

Wait...Who the hell's Georgy Noory?  Oh, it's this guy...
Noory captivates program listeners with his discussions of paranormal phenomena, time travel, alien abductions, conspiracies and all things curious and unexplained.
I can't speak to his command of forbidden knowledge, or ability to gaze beyond the Veil, but he does have an almost Joseph Farah-like grasp of the intricacies involved in applying Just For Men hair dye.


Joe Hagmann is the associate director of the Northeast Intelligence Network, a veteran researcher and investigator with an insatiable desire for truth.
Sometimes, however, the truth has a headache, and makes Joe sleep on the couch.
Sher: Doug, in your recent and extraordinary column "The Planned Re-Election of Obama, Revolutionary Style"  
That's an election with hand-leafed lettuce, tomato, a mustard cooked beef patty.
...you wrote about the coming plans of the Obama syndicate to install Martial Law in order to forcefully thwart and attack the American people, in order to maintain their jobs.  
I find after-market Martial Law unreliable (often they're installed by unlicensed, fly-by-night syndicates) and when I'm shopping for a new or used nation, I go out of my way to buy one with a junta that comes factory standard.
Your source advises that various false flag attempts could be in the works by Obama's operatives, including perhaps an event to evoke sympathy for Obama that would also serve to foment racial chaos. Would you give us a little background on how your source believes the Obama syndicate might plan to bring this to fruition, perhaps resulting in suspending elections in November?
Oh, and I have a follow-up, although that one's kind of a leading question...
Doug: According to my source, it is the very existence of our country and way of life is at stake. Many people who are currently in positions of power, whether elected or appointed, have the same ideological goals of Barack Hussein Obama.
Hopefully, they have more goals than a soccer game, or things are gonna get boring.
 Like Obama, they want to transform the country, and will use every tactic possible to do so. They believe that under Obama, they finally have the perfect opportunity to implement the socialism-to-communism agenda in America. 
Wait -- so socialism is the baseline?  That's where we started on January 20, 2009?  You know, this is why we shouldn't let the person vetting Vice Presidential candidates choose himself -- otherwise we might have known ahead of time that Dick Cheney was an ardent member of the Fabian Society.

Anyway, socialism has turned out to be a huge disappointment.  I really thought there'd be stronger labor unions and more free love.
They hate, and I mean hate the democratic system of government and loathe capitalism. They are the "red diaper babies" of the 1960's who have gained power through the very process they seek to destroy.
 And they will bring down our republic with the power of diaper rash.  That's why true patriots are stockpiling guns, ammunition, and 55-gallon drums of Gold Bond Medicated Powder.
Sher: It's hard to believe, Doug, but this is almost worse than I believed. 
Nevertheless...
 "I believe in you.."

For the last several years, Obama has ordered military drills, including the military's heavy artillery, in multiple US States and their major cities. A few of these include Los Angeles, New York City, Miami and Boston. I've been writing about these phenomena for the last several years.
Ring!

Lieutenant:  Y'ello!  5th Artillery Battalion, 14th Marines.

Obama:  Hi, this is President Obama.  I'd like to order some military drills.

Lieutenant:  Uh...you mean you want to buy one of our over-priced, Pentagon-sourced Makitas?

Obama:  No, no, I just want you guys to practice...You know, shoot your guns.

Lieutenant:  Oh!  Hm.  I don't know about that, sir.  I mean, we've never actually shot them.

Obama:  No?

Lieutenant:  No.  I mean, we're in Seal Beach, and we're surrounded by pretty dense residential development -- pricey condos, and what-not.  I don't think they'd appreciate the noise.

Obama:  So you guys don't actually fire your artillery...

Lieutenant:  No, we mostly just surf and go to In-N-Out Burger...Say, you weren't planning a coup, or anything, were you?

Obama:  What?  Ha-Ha!  It's so funny you would even think--Uh, I have another call coming in...
Now, Infowars is reporting from Florida's Sun Sentinel that military exercises began again in Hollywood, Florida on 2 August and that unannounced military drills in the middle of that night frightened and awakened Worcester Massachusetts residents.
Their sleep and their sauce was ruined!
Doug: Alex Jones has done a great job in exposing the government's role in conditioning the populace to an ever increasing paramilitary presence on the streets of America. You've done a great job as well. I've spoken to my source about this at length
And he said I was doing a great job.  I don't know what it is, but this topic really just brings out the best in people!
The militarization of municipal law enforcement agencies within the U.S. has been expedited under the reign of Barack Hussein Obama, implemented by DHS Secretary Janet Napolitano, and facilitated through bipartisan support of members of the United States Senate and House of Representatives.
Or will be, just as soon as we can find some bipartisan members of the Senate and House of Representatives.  They live in clam shells, right?
It is important for every American to understand that we are witnessing the end game scenario of a takeover from within...The patriotic conservatives in tandem with the Progressives and communist elements within our own government have not only approved of it, they applauded it.
In fact, they clapped until the end game scenario finally agreed to come back out for an encore, throw its sweaty silk scarf into the audience, and sing "Daddy, Don't You Walk So Fast."
A listener to my nightly internet talk show, the Hagmann & Hagmann Report...
Oh, this sounds promising...!

...gnawing on sticks like a beaver.
The Hagmann & Hagmann Report provides viewers and listeners information about current events and historical topics that transcend the political right-left paradigm and delve into the real issues behind the sugar-coated news. This unique, father-son detective duo...addresses many issues once considered mere fodder for “conspiracy theorists,” tracing their roots from the various events that created them through the fabric of history to the present day. 
And their call sign is K-NEIN. It's the rare neo-Nazi trope that's a dog pun and a dog whistle, all rolled into one!
Sher: The breadth and scope of all of these ongoing military "drills": are unprecedented in the United States of America 
Unless you've ever lived near any of the 500 or so military bases in the U.S.
and to many they smack of abject tyranny and Obama's plan to remain in power by whatever means necessary. In fact, in another totally unprecedented move, more and more Russian soldiers have been invited by Obama to US soil to engage in "joint military exercises" with US soldiers.
Relax, Shermp, that's just a euphemism for going out back to smoke a doob.
Sher: Four more years of Obama will be the end of the country and of many of us...Do you see any way to take our country back, other than a real active fighting and bloody second American Revolution?

Doug: There is something terribly wrong in America. People can feel it, they can sense it, and are now beginning to see "it." 
Our traditional values are being subverted by flappers!
"I'm taking you down, bitches!"
 Some say that "it" began decades ago, with the establishment of the Federal Reserve and the fiat monetary system.
But those were two events, so I actually think "it" was "them."
 Others suggest that "it" began when we, as a nation, removed God from our schools and legalized the wholesale killing of unborn babies.
Still others suggest that it began when we, as a nation, allowed women to smoke and drive flivvers.

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Dr. Mike, Professor of Bitchology

Hey, let's check in with Professor Dr. Mike S. Adams, Ph.D, shall we, and see which imaginary lesbian he's sword-fighting with this week.
Expel Brice Horton
Ah, it appears he's gone on a holy war against a student at his own school for speaking out against Chick-Fil-A.  I sometimes wonder what it's like being in Dr. Professor Mike's class...

"All right, that's it for today.  Read chapter 13 in Modern Trends in Criminology for Monday -- Oh, and remember, I'll be in my office Wednesday, and I'll be declaring fatwas against you on Tuesday, but not Thursday..."
Note: This column contains language that may be unsuitable for some readers, especially thin-skinned homosexual activists and hypocritical bigots.
So Dr. Mike has managed to write a column that is unsuitable for himself (I'd tell you which of the two groups he falls into, but I've been asked by the producers not to reveal the incredible secret of The Frying Game).
The faux outrage over Chick-fil-a's stance on gay marriage has moved to my little campus of UNCW, which stands for the University of North Carolina – We Teach Students to be B*tchy Little Bigots. 
DR. MIKE:  (Shouting from the podium)  Where did you learn to be such a bitchy little bigot?!

STUDENT:  (Weeping)  From you, alright?  I learned it from watching you!
And no student has elevated bitchiness to a Zen art quite like Brice Horton. He recently decided to take action to get Chick-fil-a removed from the university food court because he has to have all of his meals prepared by people who approve of homosexual sodomy. 
Dr. Mike, on the other hand, insists that his all-breast meat chickenwiches be personally deep-fried by hetero furries.
And apparently, he can’t just choose to eat elsewhere.
Or he was making some kind of political statement.  Kind of like the time Dr. Mike drilled holes in the skulls of kittens on the steps of the UNCW Women's Center to protest PETA's refusal to outlaw abortion, or that time he made smoothies out of fetuses and served them to the African-American residents of a housing project to protest their opening a community garden instead of outlawing abortion, except Mr. Horton's protest occurred in four dimensional space, rather than Dr. Mike's two dimensional head.
Horton has confessed to his bigotry - admitting he's contacted Aramark, the company that handles all of the food choices at UNCW. 
That seems like two separate things, actually...

CUSTOMER:  I'd like to register a complaint.

COMPLAINT DEPT. MANAGER:  Certainly, sir, that's why we're here.

CUSTOMER:  Well, I was double-charged for --

COMPLAINT DEPT. MANAGER:  Ah-HA!  So you ADMIT your bigotry!
For the record, I am assuming that food preferences, like sexual practices, are determined by choice, not by genetics.
Just like I chose to be allergic to strawberries.  And believe me, with the tempting variety of ways one can suffer anaphylactic shock these days, it was not an easy choice (I nearly went with the peanut allergy, but ultimately I felt that had become a bit too cliché).
UNCW released a statement just a couple of days after Horton waged his jihad against freedom of religion and diversity of food choice.
 It's this kind of crusade against religious freedom and diversity of food choice that has tragically prevented the Catholic church from offering communion wafers in Spicy Chipotle and Cool Ranch flavors.
UNCW announced that Chick-fil-a will remain on campus. It must have been gut-wrenching for UNCW to make a correct common-sense decision. But even a broken clock is right twice a day.
tenure [ten-yer] noun.  The ability to bitch about your employers and customers on the internet without fear of getting fired.

Anyway, while the story had a happy ending from Dr. Mike's perspective, that wasn't good enough:
Although correct, the reason UNCW gave for the decision, as quoted by local television station WECT, is disturbing. They were quoted as saying that the management and employees at the Chick-fil-a location at UNCW are Aramark employees who "fully adhere to the diversity and inclusion principles specified by Aramark and UNCW."

In other words, the university appears to have taken the time to investigate the Aramark employees in order to see whether they had the right (that means left) values needed to remain on campus. 
Or UNCW called Aramark, which runs the concessions, asked if they're in compliance with school policy, got an affirmative response, then issued some soothing PR bullshit so people didn't clog up the food court with picket signs.  And the thing is, Aramark, unlike Chick-Fil-A, probably does believe in diversity.  After all, if you check their website, you learn that:
ARAMARK has consistently ranked since 1998 as one of the top three most admired companies in its industry as evaluated by peers and analysts. Also in 2012, ARAMARK was honored as one of the World’s Most Ethical Companies by the Ethisphere Institute. 
They're also been honored as the World's Most Unifying Company by the Flushing Meadows Unisphere.
What happened to our commitment to diversity of opinion? It is worth noting that there is no indication that UNCW investigated Brice Horton to see whether he “adheres to the diversity and inclusion principles” needed to remain on campus. Obviously, he does not.
I don't know whether Brice had to take out a student loan to pay for his education at the University of North Carolina-Wilmington, but he's certainly getting his moneys worth.  While some state schools are trimming budgets, and cutting programs such as extracurricular activities, library hours, and Teachers Assistants, UNCW continues to provide each student with his own faculty stalker.

Anyway, Brice's crime against diversity was to email a food service and facilities management company:
WILMINGTON, NC (WECT) - The national outrage over Chick-fil-a's stance on gay marriage has moved to the local campus of UNCW.

Student, Brice Horton has taken action to get the restaurant removed from the school.

Horton says he's contacted Aramark, the company that handles food concessions at UNCW. "At this time the university and Aramark are reviewing the situation and receiving feedback from the Student Government Association and other organizations on this issue," explained Horton
It's like the French Revolution, except worse, because Robespierre's bloody Reign of Terror never threatened to deprive the citizenry of their delicious drive-thru coq a vin.
The entire incident shows that UNCW is willing to investigate people to determine whether they should be excluded in order to promote inclusion. This could not get more Orwellian, could it?

If your panties are particularly prone to twisting, I guess not.  Otherwise, it kinda strikes me as  Oh-wellian.
Yes it could. The entire statement issued by UNCW is worth reading:
It's actually not, unless you're a fan of press release boilerplate.  But by all means, feel free to click on through; if nothing else, it'll make your company's employee handbook sound a Jackie Collins novel.
Did everyone catch that? UNCW will respect speech even if “that speech goes against our values.” What are UNCW’s collective values? More specifically, what speech did Chick-fil-a express that goes against UNCW’s collective values? Is UNCW saying that it supports same-sex marriage? If not, why do they seem to be distancing themselves from Chick-fil-a while “allowing” them to remain on campus?
Seriously, it's like his underpants are self-wadding.  You could starch 'em, iron 'em, but ten seconds after he puts them on, they're twisted like a Twizzler.
If I were UNCW Chancellor Gary Miller, I would do three things immediately. First, I would clarify UNCW’s stance on same-sex marriage, which had better be one of neutrality. Second, I would fire the incompetent who wrote the Chick-fil-a press release. Finally, I would expel Brice Horton immediately.
I would also complain to the referee that my underpants had me in a Tongan Death Grip, which is an illegal choke-hold in North Carolina.  Failing that, I would tap out.
Of course, the moral case for expelling Brice Horton has nothing to do with his beliefs about same-sex marriage. It has everything to do with his lack of emotional maturity.
And if you don't believe me, I have lots of other damning examples in the Brice Horton Slam Book I keep in my locker.
 If we don’t get this kid off campus, he might encounter other ideas that might cause him to lose his composure. He might throw another hissy fit, which would lead others to say that gay activists are nothing more than emotionally inferior lunatics. Such speech would promote stereotypes. And that’s the kind of speech that goes against our collective values.
Adopting Ouroboros as your coat of arms is one thing, but by this point in the post, Dr. Professor Mike's head is so far up his ass that he's run into the spelunking ladies from the 2005 horror film, The Descent, asked them out on a date, and been turned down because -- nothing personal -- but the cave-dwelling monsters have better personalities and fewer impulse control issues.
We'll be winding up our beg-a-thon shortly, so you can throw a little spare change in the cup, please click on the button at the top left, or email me for our snail mail address.  Thanks.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Nothing Sucks Like a Black Hole


Last month I was invited to appear on the Mike and Ike All Star Jamboree (or ASSJAM) podcast to debate the merits and demerits of Disney's big budget disaster, The Black Hole.  So I figured, since I've just rewatched the movie for the first time since its release, I might as well write up a summary for the sequel to Better Living Through Bad Movies now, while the wounds are still fresh.  Because there's no way I'm ever sitting through this thing again.

(By the way, a special shout-out to Ike (Happy Birthday, man) for reminding me of the crucial role that automaton genitalia play in the film.)

The Black Hole (1979)
Directed by Gary Nelson
Written by Jeb Rosebrook and Gerry Day

Tagline: A journey that begins where everything else ends! Starting with your patience.

The Black Hole gets a lot of crap for being just another Star Wars rip-off, which I consider unfair, since it’s actually a rip-off of Disney’s own 1954 picture, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, with two crucial and obvious differences: this version is set in space, rather than at sea, and instead of Nemo being a tortured genius using ruthless means to achieve a noble end, he’s just an asshole.

Another criticism of the film is that nearly every performance is lifeless or just plain bad. No surprise with the talking wig-stand, Yvette Mimieux, but even normally fine actors like Anthony Perkins and Robert Forster sound like they’ve been roofied, possibly because they were forced to go back and re-record all but a couple lines of dialogue, something unusual for a studio film shot on a stage.  But in all fairness, if I’d been working on the that movie, I’d have been drinking too.

It’s the Year 2130. NASA has launched the spaceship Palomino (which, as my friend Ike points out, looks like a butt-plug on a camcorder tripod) and sent it on a mission to boldly go and wander around for a while. It’s a harsh task, because the Palomino is no Enterprise; it’s cramped, filled with fey robots, and has a zero-gravity environment which is tough on the wardrobe. Fortunately, it’s the future, so everybody’s double-knit pants-suits have memory. Also helpful is the fact that the crew is aggressively middle-aged, and prone to simulate weightlessness by standing on an off-camera plank while sweaty Teamsters work it up and down like a teeter-totter. The exception is Joseph Bottoms, who really throws himself into the effect, joyfully and repeatedly dangling from wires in his tight jumpsuit with his pert, shapely buttocks aloft, and which has inspired me to invent a drinking game. Every time he does it, yell, “Bottom’s up!”

Anyway, we join the Palomino as it executes an unscheduled course correction, which makes the entire crew irritable, because now they’re going to be late for work. They demand an explanation from their GPS device, V.I.N.CENT, a highly sophisticated Coors Party Ball with the voice of Roddy McDowell and the eyes of that Kit-Cat Clock, but less expressive. He explains that the ship has encountered a black hole, “a rip in the very fabric of space and time,” so they’re going to have to take an alternate route.

Anthony Perkins, the ship’s astrophysicist, stares at the black hole (which is depicted as a constant swirl of fluid blue energy that kind of looks like a toilet in mid-flush) and pronounces it, with attempted awe, “the most destructive force in the universe,” although he sounds so bored he might as well be declaring it, “the most disappointing cheesesteak I ever ate in Philadelphia.”

Surprisingly, there’s a ship parked in the Black Hole’s driveway, a massive experimental craft called The Cygnus (the first time I saw this movie I thought they were calling it “the Sickness,” and an hour and 38 minutes later, I realized I should have taken the hint and snuck into an adjoining theater to see one of the many other, better films that came out that year, including H.O.T.S., C.H.O.M.P.S., Roller Boogie, or Caligula).

By an amazing coincidence, Yvette’s father was on The Sickness, which she tells us was sent out some years ago to find “habitable life.” Personally, I’d be satisfied with a habitable planet, but I guess the first step in space exploration is to find aliens big enough that we can live inside them, like maggots, or immature marsupials. (Frankly, if this movie had been about the search for an intelligent race of giant space kangaroos, I probably wouldn’t have left in the middle to go buy Junior Mints.)

Newspaper reporter Ernest Borgnine, who’s embedded with the crew, tells them that The Sickness was commanded mad scientist Maximillian Schell, who “talked the Space Appropriations Committee into the costliest fiasco of all time – and refused to admit failure,” a technique he learned from the cryogenically preserved head of Dick Cheney.

The Palomino trips and plunges headfirst into the Most Destructive Force in the Universe, which causes their muffler to fall off, so Captain Robert orders Joseph Bottoms to land on the Sickness, which Joseph takes as a cue to stick his butt in the air. Cheers!

Suddenly, The Sickness turns on the porch light, and we get the full sense of her size and majesty. A mile-long rectangle of glass and steel, it looks as if NASA just decided to launch the West Edmonton Mall into deep space. The crew takes the jetway and emerges into what looks like a Frontier airlines terminal – lots of uncomfortable plastic chairs, but no passengers -- and Robert tells Joseph to stay with the ship. Joseph responds by pouting, then pulling his ray gun and doing a quick series of poses like that silhouette in the opening credits of Charlie’s Angels.

The Palomino crew arrives at CNN Center in Atlanta, where they discover the ship is being operated by “robots” dressed in Mylar hockey masks and roomy space muumuus. Suddenly, the mad-eyed Maximilian Schell, whose shaggy beard and unbelievable bouffant makes Lon Chaney’s Wolfman look like Pluto from The Hills Have Eyes, pops up to announce that Yvette’s dad is dead and to backfill the back-story. Like every spacecraft in virtually every space movie ever made, The Sickness had the crap kicked out of it by a meteor shower, so Max ordered the crew to abandoned ship. Meanwhile, he stayed behind, and has spent the last twenty years alone, building robot companions and making fun of bad movies.

For some reason, the incredibly secretive and paranoid Max lets the Away Team wander freely around his ship, collecting spare parts to repair their butt-plug. They snoop in closets, admire the matte paintings, and desperately try to avoid stunts or action. At one point, Ernest Borgnine’s suspicions are aroused by a robot with a bad limp, and he gives chase, but he’s on a slightly raised platform that looks a little slippery, and he runs so gingerly, with his arms flailing to maintain his footing, that you can almost hear him chanting, “Don’t break a hip, don’t break a hip…!”

Mad Max and Anthony Perkins get flirty, and Max invites them to dinner in his wood paneled formal dining room, lavishly appointed with chandeliers and candelabras, making The Sickness the only faster than light, interstellar space craft to be decorated by Liberace.

Meanwhile, VINCENT makes friends with B.O.B., a levitating Party Ball with the voice of Slim Pickens, and we get to watch the robots play a video arcade game. It’s a slow sequence, and sadly, putting your quarter on the machine doesn’t speed things up any.

Let’s cut back to the dinner party, because what action-packed space adventure is complete with a leisurely soup course? Max announces that he’ll be flying The Sickness straight into the Black Hole, confident he can open a portal to another universe, one which is sorely in need of a Camp Snoopy and a Wet Seal.

After dinner, the crew is served mints and exposition, when B.O.B. reveals that all the robots are really the former crew of The Sickness, whom Max lobotomized, using a special automated lobotomizing assembly line. It seems unlikely NASA included this feature as factory standard equipment, so Max would have had to get the crew to build and install it for him, and frankly I would’ve loved to have been at the staff meeting where he assigned Action Items to Team Automatic Lobotomizer.

Captain Robert snaps into action and decides to take over The Sickness! Or maybe just leave. It’s kind of unclear. Then he reads ahead in the script and sees that he’ll be spending the last twenty-two minutes of the film running from blue screens and matte paintings, so he decides he’d better conserve his energy and just do nothing. Maybe have a Gatorade and a Power Bar.  Anthony Perkins, however, announces that he has decided to stay aboard The Sickness with Max, because he finds that he really enjoys being only the second most creepy person in a movie.

Unfortunately, Max’s senior robot, Maximilian, a recycled Cylon that somebody painted the color of Gallo Hearty Burgundy, gets jealous or something and uses his juicing attachment on Anthony’s lower intestines. Then Mad Max decides to lobotomize Yvette, because it’s not like anyone would notice.

Meanwhile, Robert and the Party Balls sneak around the mall some more. Since the movie was released in December, I can only assume they’re looking for Santa. Instead, they find Yvette, who has been stuffed into a quilted, full-body oven mitt and had her head covered with aluminum foil. Seriously, her scalp is wrapped up like a rump roast; apparently, this is the exact point where the Special Effects department said, “Fuck it,” and cracked open the Harvey’s Bristol Cream.

Anyway, Max’s man-bots are using Lasik surgery to burn their initials into Yvette’s pre-frontal lobe, but Robert shoots the machine with his plastic laser horseshoe. Was he in time to save her from being lobotomized? There’s no way to tell from her performance, so we’re just going to have to wait and see if her insurance company sends her a bill.

We could really use a big action sequence right about now. What we get are repetitive shots of our heroes as they squat behind those big pastel colored pipes that kids crawl around in at Chuck E. Cheese, and take pot shots at a row of immobile robots who appear to have all malfunctioned in mid Conga Line.

Robert, Yvette, and the Party Balls are pinned down by hostile fire. Joseph, who’s been sitting in the butt-plug the whole movie, runs to save them. Ernest tags along, then decides, “aw, screw it,” and fakes a leg injury like an Italian soccer player. Then he steals the Palomino and blasts off, leaving the others behind. Immediately, however, he loses control of the ship when he starts sweating, grimacing, and needlessly crouching; in other words – and I’m just going by his performance here – he has a suddenly attack of diarrhea, and crashes into The Sickness, taking out the Fashion Bug and a Cinnabon.

Our heroes decide to escape in “the probe ship.” Yeah, whatever. Meanwhile, as promised, the next 22 minutes consist of B-list actors jogging in front of cheap sets and back projection, interspersed with SFX shots as The Sickness is slowly – let me rephrase that: SLOWLY! – pulled into the Black Hole. On the bright side, we learn that V.I.N.CENT ’s large, telescoping testicles can be used as offensive weapons (try that, Jackie Chan!), when the Party Ball deploys his party balls to coldcock Mad Max’s garage sale Cylon.

Now let’s rip off the end of 2001: A Space Odyssey, with five minutes of half-assed psychedelic effects as the probe ship penetrates the Black Hole, played at this performance by five gallons of strawberry Jell-O flushed down a john.

But what about Max? Well, he’s just floating in the vacuum of space without a pressure suit, apparently none the worse for wear, although his hair is extremely staticky and tangled from the event horizon, and in need of a good cream rinse. He bumps into his burgundy Cylon which – spoiler alert – is filled with the brain and guts of Yvette’s lobotomized Dad. They do a touching Bro Hug, then suddenly Max is inside the robot himself! Because, irony! He looks confused, a feeling we immediately share when the camera pulls out and we see that he’s standing atop the Matterhorn ride.

Wait. No. Pull out a little farther, and…Hey, we’re in Hell. Flames, demons, and dozens of skull-faced penitents in black hooded robes. Okay, thanks, Disney.

Cut back to our heroes as they pass through the Black Hole and emerge in a new universe, ready to begin life anew, like the story of Genesis. Except it’s Robert Forster, Yvette Mimeaux, and the dewy, fresh-faced Joseph Bottoms, so it’s like Adam and Eve and the twink hustler they picked up for a threesome, making the whole ending less the Garden of Eden and more the Garden of Allah on Sunset Boulevard.