tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5021510980465212342024-03-14T05:26:38.120-04:00Ready to WriteRandom musings from the fractured mind of Jamie WassermanAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-59020862452618736372014-12-27T15:02:00.001-05:002014-12-27T15:03:16.462-05:005 things my wife gets upset about that are really her faultAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-28637385325573302272014-11-07T09:07:00.004-05:002014-11-07T15:47:39.357-05:004 Romantic Gestures Killed by Technology<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Romance is dead and, for once, it wasn't killed by my stained boxer shorts and "complete and utter disregard for everyone except myself." This time, the culprit is technology. That portable phone/computer/camera/bottle opener you carry around in your pocket all day just mere inches from your genitalia isn't just slowly making you sterile. It's also crushing any hopes of impressing the opposite sex in any kind of significant or meaningful way. Nowhere is this more evident than by taking a quick look at films from the last 10-20 years. What was once considered grand gestures of romanticism have been retired faster than a Beanie baby commemorating Hitler's regime. And on that terrible metahphor, let's move on to a few examples. </span><br>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Mix Tape</span></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fdZ3YIKWQhZnb4tIT_ON1NdRYepxcXL_vMbBG2Xo2kRXiMtCpsibynoiTcM0LlaDpTk-wAI_4hMRvziOSJQN5hqqLuvI0DeE2PWBvyJ5PbIlh4fG7T0eKaJHnnW9xEET5L1y-WccwU8/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fdZ3YIKWQhZnb4tIT_ON1NdRYepxcXL_vMbBG2Xo2kRXiMtCpsibynoiTcM0LlaDpTk-wAI_4hMRvziOSJQN5hqqLuvI0DeE2PWBvyJ5PbIlh4fG7T0eKaJHnnW9xEET5L1y-WccwU8/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg"></span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The entire movie High Fidelity is an ode to the highest and
single most important art form of the 1980's (and early 1990's)-- the mix tape.
In this film, John Cusack wins and loses the love of his life all on the strength of plastic, metallic tape, and songs recorded off a tinny tape deck off the radio. </span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'll defer to a better writer here:<o:p></o:p></span><br>
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<em><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">To me, making a tape is like writing a letter. There's a lot
of erasing and rethinking and starting again. A good compilation tape, like
breaking up, is hard to do. You've got to kick off with a corker, to hold the
attention (I started with "Got to Get You Off My Mind," but then
realized that she might not get any further than track one, side one if I
delivered what she wanted straightaway, so I buried it in the middle of side
two), and then you've got to up it a notch, or cool it a notch, and you can't have
white music and black music together, unless the white music sounds like black
music, and you can't have two tracks by the same artist side by side, unless
you've done the whole thing in pairs and...oh, there are loads of rules.<o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u>What do kids do today</u><strong>...</strong> Send links to the YouTube? Swap MP3
players? I don't know. My kids didn't even recognize what a tape cassette was
and now even CD's are a thing of the past. Everything is digital. Gone are the
days of composing a 90 minute ode to the person you love. Now all we've got is
three-minute links to an underage singer writhing around on a bed explaining
how her big ass is something we should be super excited about. <o:p></o:p></span><br>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Boom Box Serenade<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qRuabkoJmXK1UCOK4a9VtIod42GD8nAvHyNf3yllpPbBfQPaNK7cvNLjAlsJnAFCTihB56OsRjAV2H4w7lKVUHNNkXy5rggYfHCwtmCwXZp-3z9G90i_gTtgZbA0R3N-kUvJSLa9M-c/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qRuabkoJmXK1UCOK4a9VtIod42GD8nAvHyNf3yllpPbBfQPaNK7cvNLjAlsJnAFCTihB56OsRjAV2H4w7lKVUHNNkXy5rggYfHCwtmCwXZp-3z9G90i_gTtgZbA0R3N-kUvJSLa9M-c/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg"></span></a></div>
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<br><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">You know the scene- John Cusack (again) stands outside the girl's
window in his adorably ruffled trench coat with a boom box blaring Peter
Gabriel held over his head. The song was 'In Your Eyes' though most people
couldn't hear it over the collective sound of a million panties falling to the
floor. It is the single grandest gesture in the history of movies. And I'm
including Sophie's Choice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u>What do kids do today...</u> If my street is any indication,
they blare their car radios and honk their horns while their frustrated date
tries to convince their father that the marks on her neck aren't hickies but an
allergic reaction to wool and that she will, without a doubt, be home by 11pm
in the same clothes she left in this time. Promise. <o:p></o:p></span><br>
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<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Anonymous Love Letter<o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">There's an entire movie dedicated to the anonymous love
letter. It's creatively called the Love Letter because in the 1980's a much
higher value was placed on cocaine than imagination. You know who writes
letters now? Your grandmother and serial killers. That's it. You're either
someone who still thinks of ballpoint pens as a pretty nifty idea or you're
living in a murder dungeon sending taunting letters to the police. There are no
in-betweens. what is sending an anonymous love letter going to get you? Either
relegated immediately to the friend-zone or placed on a government watch list.<o:p></o:p></span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u>What kids do today... </u>Texting I guess. But compared to
leaving a hand-penned, syrupy ode to love in someone's locker, 'I can haz
feelings for u. Howz bout u?' leaves a lot to be desired.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<strong><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Car Door Test<o:p></o:p></span></strong><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeE6gHCnwcvhqX7iS1RUxUlGEtfXuXVSi9GNZ4nRhZdOmI7XZ5RuQgj5S5FoajTpC2FnCxjnjLnSBqc1Rvykby4IxTikX4DqDHhOEatlscgKBefzT8aZcbZKo5DluhyphenhyphenyzyWkyoIK-cD4/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeE6gHCnwcvhqX7iS1RUxUlGEtfXuXVSi9GNZ4nRhZdOmI7XZ5RuQgj5S5FoajTpC2FnCxjnjLnSBqc1Rvykby4IxTikX4DqDHhOEatlscgKBefzT8aZcbZKo5DluhyphenhyphenyzyWkyoIK-cD4/s1600/Unknown.jpeg"></span></a></div>
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<br><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">This actually turns up in a few films but my favorite is
Singles. In it, the main character who is surprisingly not John Cusack opens
his date's car door and then smiles when she leans over to open his. It's a
simple little gesture that showed that she was not only appreciative of his
chivalrous gesture but was thoughtful enough to return the favor. My best
friend dumped several women on the sole basis that they failed this test. But
he also had the luxury of being attractive to the opposite sex and not a loathsome
person like myself which makes being choosy much easier. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><u>What kids do today...</u> Remote-click open the door. It's not a
grand gesture if all you have to do is press a button. And if you escort a
young lady to her side of the car these days all you're going to get for your
trouble is an annoyed look and a snarky comment along the lines of, "So
what, your car door's broken and you're too cheap to get it fixed?"</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br>
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">With technology killing romance faster than a choleric baby, it's a wonder kids are even getting together anymore. Eventually we won't even need to have sex. Humans will reproduce only in cold labortory settings. Candles, cornish game hen, Marvin Gaye, and Mad Dog will be a thing of the past. At least until some maverick stands up and fights against the cold system. That'd make a great movie wouldn't it? And you can bet your edible undies it'd probably star John Cusack. </span><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqeE6gHCnwcvhqX7iS1RUxUlGEtfXuXVSi9GNZ4nRhZdOmI7XZ5RuQgj5S5FoajTpC2FnCxjnjLnSBqc1Rvykby4IxTikX4DqDHhOEatlscgKBefzT8aZcbZKo5DluhyphenhyphenyzyWkyoIK-cD4/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-47601903169111636502014-11-04T06:18:00.000-05:002014-11-04T06:21:41.265-05:00Correction<div style="color:#000; background-color:#fff; font-family:HelveticaNeue, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, Lucida Grande, sans-serif;font-size:12px"><div>I would like to issue a correction on yesterday's article which, as some astute and clearly bored readers pointed out, treaded the fine line between inaccurate and "outright lies".</div><div> </div><div>1. Q. Lazzarus is netiher a band nor a man. She is a woman and I'm sure her mother thinks she is quite lovely. </div><div> </div><div>2. "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey was not used by the Clinton campaign. That honor went to Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop" although close enough should count for something<span style='font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA;'>. </span></div><div style='color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; background-color: transparent;'><span style='font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA;'></span> </div><div style='color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; background-color: transparent;'><span style='font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA;'>3. Finally, I would also like to apologize to any remaining readers of this blog who thought that I possessed any sort of journalistic inegrity or strove for any kind of accuracy. Honestly, it's a good day when I can drag myself over to Wikipedia to verify any of my wild and unsubstantiated claims. 99% of this blog is pulled directly from my butthole and sent straight to your eyes. You do the math. </span></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-70114750059040678172014-11-03T15:56:00.002-05:002014-11-03T15:56:42.976-05:005 Classic Songs Ruined by the MoviesMovies and music go together like peanut butter and an over-heated sheep. That's not how the saying goes? There's something deeply wrong with me? Well, that's an article for another day. Today's topic is the seemingly blissful marriage of classic songs with film. But, like any marriage, things occasionally hit a bump. You come home to find your spouse in a spandex body suit covering herself in glitter and nothing is ever the same after that. Sure, you smile at each other and show up at all the kids' events, but you know, deep down, nothing short of a Tinkerbell/Captain Hook roleplaying session is ever going to please your mate. And you can't, you just can't, wear the hook. Not even for her. I've lost track again. Something about marriage. Or music. No, movies. Music and movies. And the movies that ruin those songs forever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5I1yOOAb2kJZp2DdARoHmqqcc_NYj2UaoE-F9gZxYxET6ynewBac1WtyyCzR6YEpUjHbJBpyU6XuBus-7k7E0AiH3ygzz7f6m2uSHlrDukMvkl9sTq2fjkAk7-IYQ0BOdwA_feks-Gg/s1600/th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5I1yOOAb2kJZp2DdARoHmqqcc_NYj2UaoE-F9gZxYxET6ynewBac1WtyyCzR6YEpUjHbJBpyU6XuBus-7k7E0AiH3ygzz7f6m2uSHlrDukMvkl9sTq2fjkAk7-IYQ0BOdwA_feks-Gg/s1600/th.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Sheep have such judgmental eyes.</i></div>
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<b>5. Stuck in the Middle With You- Stealer's Wheel</b></div>
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Stuck in the Middle With You is not a Bob Dylan song despite what every user on Napster circa 1998 would have you believe (and every mis-labled illegally downloaded mp3 since then). The song was recorded by Stealer's Wheels, a band whose most notable accomplishment outside this single was recenlty reforming without any of its original members. The song is rambling, upbeat, sunny and a bunch of other adjectives that could also be used to describe the decade in which it was recorded ("shag-carpeted"?). </div>
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<br /></div>
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Until, of course, it was completed ruined by Reservoir Dogs. Tarantino's first, and probably best film, blends 70's style, music and swagger with modern day violence and mayhem. And of course this also happens:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9dRUp-ff5QTPa_1URuQxOWP19HoNi_pNE84rPJIlrqypexexuCmONYDH4QFVz-reysW7zoM45VwRRWIvnfbPivCuRpWjoLM72LWn2m6RsgjFes6DTdg8h5oXIWiSBRrzlDODI4XpSzc/s1600/th-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9dRUp-ff5QTPa_1URuQxOWP19HoNi_pNE84rPJIlrqypexexuCmONYDH4QFVz-reysW7zoM45VwRRWIvnfbPivCuRpWjoLM72LWn2m6RsgjFes6DTdg8h5oXIWiSBRrzlDODI4XpSzc/s1600/th-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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You know the scene. You see it even when you close your eyes. Michael Madsen's uber creepy dance with the open razor in his hands. The gasoline. The ear. The blood. So much blood. And all of it set to the tune of Stealer's Wheel chirpy little tune released in the middle of the most harmless decade of all time. Try hard as you might, every time you hear this damn song, you replay this damn scene over and over and over again. It's Tarantino's greatest crime.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHWsw6eAzzqx1a7ThZ6GIJxbdwniTnbMZnM3NYr8BMYl9pdXnqbNdKSItyPovh7IKTtRJdIa3MHGK3Q4T1nt5xOTEcOOZKxEHO5tUOvg9v4rlGNNkTgO7e0GZ4FtwP2ZEMbXAvHw_2f4/s1600/th-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjHWsw6eAzzqx1a7ThZ6GIJxbdwniTnbMZnM3NYr8BMYl9pdXnqbNdKSItyPovh7IKTtRJdIa3MHGK3Q4T1nt5xOTEcOOZKxEHO5tUOvg9v4rlGNNkTgO7e0GZ4FtwP2ZEMbXAvHw_2f4/s1600/th-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Well, second.</i></div>
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<b>4 Q. Lazzarus's "Goodbye Horses"</b></div>
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Q. Lazzarus may as well have titled their biggest hit "Goodbye Horses", the "Penis Tucking Song" instead. In the film Silence of the Lambs, the song supplies the soundtrack to this bit of movie magic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkJIwaLGtq-1_MSMj1sH2wgjB8FPfmo5eNaw6brFtiXfEQSfAz1xE0Kaolww0fkX4_M0RrceUSOy63uQsuply_z3BhV2OnPTMtfYODbfIITd0rMdrr4FCd7lIJt4uGa50HtGJMevMTx0/s1600/th-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkJIwaLGtq-1_MSMj1sH2wgjB8FPfmo5eNaw6brFtiXfEQSfAz1xE0Kaolww0fkX4_M0RrceUSOy63uQsuply_z3BhV2OnPTMtfYODbfIITd0rMdrr4FCd7lIJt4uGa50HtGJMevMTx0/s1600/th-3.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Can you imagine how happy this obscure artist was when he found out that his song was going to be used in a major motion picture featuring Sir Anthony Fucking Hopkins and Jodie Foster? Can you picture his face as he sat in the darkened theatre on opening night anxiously awaiting the moment when he'd hear the words he'd written played as the movie unfolded? You can almost hear him bragging to his new lady friend (who in any other circumstance, would have been way out of his league by the way). </div>
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And then this happened.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkJIwaLGtq-1_MSMj1sH2wgjB8FPfmo5eNaw6brFtiXfEQSfAz1xE0Kaolww0fkX4_M0RrceUSOy63uQsuply_z3BhV2OnPTMtfYODbfIITd0rMdrr4FCd7lIJt4uGa50HtGJMevMTx0/s1600/th-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggkJIwaLGtq-1_MSMj1sH2wgjB8FPfmo5eNaw6brFtiXfEQSfAz1xE0Kaolww0fkX4_M0RrceUSOy63uQsuply_z3BhV2OnPTMtfYODbfIITd0rMdrr4FCd7lIJt4uGa50HtGJMevMTx0/s1600/th-3.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>I can't stop posting this picture!</i></div>
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Like burning down your last place of employment, that's the kind of thing that doesn't come off the ol' resume.</div>
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<b>3. Dont stop Believin- Journey</b></div>
<div>
It's hard to ruin a Journey song, seeing as how shitty they are to begin with. In fact, Don't Stop Believin is one of those songs that's been ruined more than once (beyond just by Journey's releasing it). But this song is resilient. This song has returned more times than John Travolta. Check it out. </div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>Bill Clinton appropriates the song as his unofficial theme. Later, BJ puns ensue.</li>
<li>Glee covers the song in their premiere- more BJ jokes ensue. </li>
<li>And that takes us to The Sopranos</li>
</ol>
</div>
<div>
In the shittiest (or best, depending on how smart you want to appear) finale ever, Tony Soprano is gunned down (or is he?) to the tune of Don't Stop Believin'. What is the significance of this song at this moment? Much has been written. None of it makes sense. It's a shit song that raises my ire every time I hear it. Tony Soprano deserved a lot of things in the finale-- Journey was not one of them.</div>
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<div>
<b>2. Singin' in the Rain- Gene Kelly</b></div>
<div>
Even if you have never seen the film Singing in the Rain starring Gene Kelly, you know the song. Maybe you hate puppies and rainbows as well, I'm not even going to speculate as to why you'd deny yourself the pure joy that is seeing Gene Kelly dancing in the rain with nothing but an umbrella and a streetlight. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheESzvoHLA5GgO-n84Jaq1JL9fnl2Ww792tesUYQVPbxVhZAXX5j5Fqd51hEdpL_yquqmsskKrLNu8wJX7dY6w8-fTjAaCO1fj0Nl1XuC2s8LCRrg35dKLOmhOMG2OG5UZvT99TtCLerY/s1600/th-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheESzvoHLA5GgO-n84Jaq1JL9fnl2Ww792tesUYQVPbxVhZAXX5j5Fqd51hEdpL_yquqmsskKrLNu8wJX7dY6w8-fTjAaCO1fj0Nl1XuC2s8LCRrg35dKLOmhOMG2OG5UZvT99TtCLerY/s1600/th-4.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>This is not the rain scene I was referring to.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Go to Youtube and watch it now. Did you do it? Are you smiling? Well, then obviously you've also never seen Clockwork Orange.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Because you've clearly just time traveled back in time from a futuristic society where television and movies are no longer a thing, I'll explain Clockwork Orange as well. It's a movie so violent, it was banned in Britain for years (and this is a country that didn't bat an eye when the Spice Girls arrived). And one of the most violent scenes in the film features the main character beating the ever loving shit out an older man with a cane, all to the tune of Gene Kelly's incredibly bouncy classic song. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now whenever I hear Singing in the Rain, I find myself adding 'Whap whap whap' after every verse. I imagine giant concrete dildos and penis masks. And yes, this is all in the movie. I'm not giving you a glimpse into my tortured soul. Quite frankly, you couldn't handle it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>5. Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen</b></div>
<div>
If ever there was a Queen song that showed off Freddy Mercury's incredible vocal range or ecclectic musical influences, it's Bohemian Rhapsody. This single is probably the unlikliest rock and roll hit of all time, fusing hard rock and opera of all things into an eight minute song that every man, woman in child in America can sing along, too. And, unfortunately, also Canada. Because Canadian Mike Myers liked the song so much he stuck it in his extended Saturday Night Live sketch/movie Wayne's World. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You know the scene-- a bunch of slacker douchebags head banging in a shitty car, rocking out to Queen. Which is unfortunately what anyone who sings the song alone in their car also looks like. The movie's biggest crime here is holding up a mirror where no one wanted one to begin with. There's a reason why there's no reflective surfaces at the Sizzler. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5I1yOOAb2kJZp2DdARoHmqqcc_NYj2UaoE-F9gZxYxET6ynewBac1WtyyCzR6YEpUjHbJBpyU6XuBus-7k7E0AiH3ygzz7f6m2uSHlrDukMvkl9sTq2fjkAk7-IYQ0BOdwA_feks-Gg/s1600/th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5I1yOOAb2kJZp2DdARoHmqqcc_NYj2UaoE-F9gZxYxET6ynewBac1WtyyCzR6YEpUjHbJBpyU6XuBus-7k7E0AiH3ygzz7f6m2uSHlrDukMvkl9sTq2fjkAk7-IYQ0BOdwA_feks-Gg/s1600/th.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Feel the judgmental sheep eyes on you?</i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-72621805704624035042014-10-30T11:51:00.001-04:002014-10-30T11:53:09.917-04:00Why Women Will Never Win the Battle of the Sexes<div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVuXCDopy-184g5hkDVV9w0ZEGpFzQp5OxKjNZHqSWEwldWI1iNLhXdr4q32D4dpegLsLM9WHzeRGGz2eZfwFwYc-9dWGme4OsHFSdSINIQoHfH45HD6Yiy9wPr7edMcYcr-mTM_lWzE/s640/blogger-image--251505275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibVuXCDopy-184g5hkDVV9w0ZEGpFzQp5OxKjNZHqSWEwldWI1iNLhXdr4q32D4dpegLsLM9WHzeRGGz2eZfwFwYc-9dWGme4OsHFSdSINIQoHfH45HD6Yiy9wPr7edMcYcr-mTM_lWzE/s640/blogger-image--251505275.jpg"></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-61154141186846650972014-10-29T15:28:00.001-04:002014-10-29T15:33:01.892-04:005 Terrible Early Versions of Famous SongsGenius does not emerge fully formed like Athena springing from Zeus' head. For example, it took me 16 drafts to come up with that opening line. The original draft looked like this:<br />
<br />
Writing is hard.<br />
<br />
And then I went to the kitchen to make a bagel and ended up watching Pawn Star reruns for an hour. When I went back to writing, I had forgotten my original idea, but fortunately had left the TV on the History Channel, heard an interesting fact and then decided to steal it for this blog post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oLDPQlND_W1gE4VKoks4mUvqTPAJPycAAR70gTw32nhrWPrXuLbwfOkVwPq6_A400fdsgT_5uYkfEINXQbsqq_XLxU4Bpq56N8dKrSoRlXuqHMl7C21Puu-hg1UryTOFiS_VqGNH6co/s1600/th-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oLDPQlND_W1gE4VKoks4mUvqTPAJPycAAR70gTw32nhrWPrXuLbwfOkVwPq6_A400fdsgT_5uYkfEINXQbsqq_XLxU4Bpq56N8dKrSoRlXuqHMl7C21Puu-hg1UryTOFiS_VqGNH6co/s1600/th-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Pictured above: The creative process.</i></div>
<br />
I'm also pretty sure I swiped the opening line of this article from a fortune cookie.<br />
<br />
But that's the way the creative process works. If you were to take a peak at even the most successful artist's rough drafts, you'd be shocked at just how bad (or appalling) some of the early versions of your favorite works truly were. Like these:<br />
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<b>5. Yesterday, The Beatles--A Denny's Commerical </b><br />
Yesterday, by The Beatles, is one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs ever written. With simple lyrics, it perfectly encapsulates feelings of loss, and separation, while still maintaining hope. As the story goes, Paul McCartney came up with the tune in a dream but the lyrics would have to wait.<br />
<br />
As John Lennon explained it in that adorable Liverpool accent we all know and love, "The song was around for months and months before we finally completed it. We made up our minds that only a one-word title would suit; we just couldnít find the right one. Then one morning Paul woke up and the song and the title were both there, completed. I was sorry in a way, we'd had so many laughs about it."<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But did you know? </i><br />
The original lyrics, the one that John and Paul spent months laughing about, was an ode to breakfast.<br />
<br />
Scrambled eggs<br />
Have an omelette with some Muenster cheese<br />
Put your dishes in the wash bin please<br />
So I can clean the scrambled eggs<br />
<br />
Join me do<br />
There's a lot of eggs for me and you<br />
I've got ham and cheese and bacon too<br />
So go get two and join me do<br />
<br />
Fried or sunny side<br />
Just aren't right<br />
The mix-bowl begs<br />
Quick, go get a pan, and weíll scramble up some eggs, eggs, eggs, eggs<br />
<br />
Scrambled eggs<br />
Good for breakfast, dinner time or brunch<br />
Don't buy six or twelve, buy a bunch<br />
And we'll have a lunch on scrambled eggs<br />
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<i><br /></i></div>
That's not a Weird Al send-up of Yesterday. Those are the original lyrics. Having come up with one of the most hauntingly beautiful tunes ever, Paul McCartney sat right down to pen an ode to something a chicken pops out his ass.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQv8lI3flySQlm1ZGlU1g0JTyFjudPrpR6rRMq0YoS2WWn8NiJPYxIGS33agp1Rlp5kuNSyM2fcGAPQ5Z78-OiKI1Khi1Ze1weDI7gPqf2ZYO3qWm6kd7fXZAFN6h79tAcRE_NaSmR1Q/s1600/th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOQv8lI3flySQlm1ZGlU1g0JTyFjudPrpR6rRMq0YoS2WWn8NiJPYxIGS33agp1Rlp5kuNSyM2fcGAPQ5Z78-OiKI1Khi1Ze1weDI7gPqf2ZYO3qWm6kd7fXZAFN6h79tAcRE_NaSmR1Q/s1600/th.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>I just created an internet fetish.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
Thank god, John and Paul let this one incubate (Pun!) before hatching (Pun!) the final lyrics.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>4. Little Richard, Tutti Frutti- Butt Sex</b><br />
Maybe you don't remember Little Richard. Maybe your parents were cool and listened to something besides 1950's music growing up. Good for you. All you need to know is that Little Richard is right up there with Elvis, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, and Buddy Holly as one of the most important musicians to emerge from the early days of rock and roll. His music was loud, upbeat and infused doo wop with gospel and blues and rock and roll.<br />
<br />
Little Richard's signature song was Tuti Frutti. And again, maybe you've never heard it, but it's a catchy, nonsensical, rambunctious sprawling tune that doesn't make a god damn bit of sense, "A whop bop-a-lu-mop, a whop bam boo. Tutti frutti, oh Rudy."<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But Did You Know?</i><br />
And that's because the original draft was an ode to getting anally penetrated by a man.<br />
<br />
A wop bop a loo mop, a good goddam<br />
Tutti Frutti, good booty,<br />
If it don't fit, don't force it,<br />
You can grease it, make it easy.<br />
<br />
The 1950's were a kindler, simpler time. A naive time. A time when a man could look like this and nobody would suspect he was a homosexual.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6-CFKwXlJmDc_Y0_eLExFg_zW3w2Wbfj3gIFuP_y_lg29bPyvsoVBOVclt_ekggFgVljgpWZxqOwWaaEYZrlS5LLJnezECg4Gi1Q9mRSbZpfGiKUPCCQkVUpb7S8ssuWH16bg3XC2xU/s1600/th-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm6-CFKwXlJmDc_Y0_eLExFg_zW3w2Wbfj3gIFuP_y_lg29bPyvsoVBOVclt_ekggFgVljgpWZxqOwWaaEYZrlS5LLJnezECg4Gi1Q9mRSbZpfGiKUPCCQkVUpb7S8ssuWH16bg3XC2xU/s1600/th-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
Which Little Richard was. In the most flaming sense of the word. And in the 1950's he was so enamored with being gay, he almost wrote the community's national anthem. Think about it. One of rock and roll's earliest signature songs was almost the soundtrack to the most fabulous (Pun!) coming out party ever.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane- Suicide is Painless</b><br />
In a genre crowded with songs, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, is one of the most recognizable holiday songs around. It's been recorded by dozens of different artists, most famously by Judy Garland and Frank Fucking Sinatra.<br />
<br />
In just four verses, this song captures everything that Christmas is supposed to represent--hope and joy and rebirth:<br />
<br />
Have yourself a merry little Christmas<br />
Let your heart be light<br />
From now on our troubles<br />
Will be out of sight<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But Did You Know?</i><br />
The original draft of the song presented to Judy Garland was less 'Merry Christmas' and more 'Pass the razor blades.'<br />
<br />
Have yourself a merry little Christmas<br />
It may be your last<br />
Next year we may all be living in the past<br />
Have yourself a merry little Christmas<br />
Pop that champagne cork<br />
Next year we may all be living in New York.<br />
<br />
This was not a tune for a man having a holly, jolly Christmas. It was for the guy who'd just lost his wife and job and was celebrating his first Yule Tide in a motel by the railroad tracks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oLDPQlND_W1gE4VKoks4mUvqTPAJPycAAR70gTw32nhrWPrXuLbwfOkVwPq6_A400fdsgT_5uYkfEINXQbsqq_XLxU4Bpq56N8dKrSoRlXuqHMl7C21Puu-hg1UryTOFiS_VqGNH6co/s1600/th-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oLDPQlND_W1gE4VKoks4mUvqTPAJPycAAR70gTw32nhrWPrXuLbwfOkVwPq6_A400fdsgT_5uYkfEINXQbsqq_XLxU4Bpq56N8dKrSoRlXuqHMl7C21Puu-hg1UryTOFiS_VqGNH6co/s1600/th-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>So this guy again.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Purple Haze, Jimmy Hendrix- Science Fiction Geek</b><br />
It pains me to write this. Purple Haze is Jimmy Hendrix's signature song. If you haven't heard it, you clearly are not my audience. I, I can't even look at you right now. For the rest of you, you will remember Purple Haze as the song that hippy girl played for you in her darklight-lit basement before giving you your first tab of acid. It played in the background at every smoke-filled college party you went to. It was the song, man. It defined the psychedlic, drug-fueled 1960's--a time when people were pushing their freedoms to the upper limits.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBf26iSt8jFWSdY5FhSbtbISH1OV4l_bE1BRd7QenO_6Qtk_Nx-g4fHYFwYkZMuZPcr5oOFT4OozbJHe0PJPrX5OAnzuhej5vxW1pFeyQDlWCkVJ2L03cHOokpSUUcxs18wMEcjpJ0XWk/s1600/th-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBf26iSt8jFWSdY5FhSbtbISH1OV4l_bE1BRd7QenO_6Qtk_Nx-g4fHYFwYkZMuZPcr5oOFT4OozbJHe0PJPrX5OAnzuhej5vxW1pFeyQDlWCkVJ2L03cHOokpSUUcxs18wMEcjpJ0XWk/s1600/th-4.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>The best freedom is naked freedom.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>But did you know?</i><br />
Hendrix was less concerned with pushing the limits of his freedom and opening the doors of perception, and more concerned with penning an ode to his favorite sci fi writer Philip Jose Farmer. That's right, Jimmy Hendrix, psychedlic guitar god, wrote one of the earliest fan fics.<br />
<br />
Try to stifle a yawn as you read this citation on Farmer's book from WikiPedia, "In the story set on a distant planet, sunspots produce a "purplish haze" which has a disorienting effect on the inhabitants."<br />
<br />
Oh Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. Is it any coincidence you died only months after the original Star Trek went off the air?<br />
<br />
<b>1. Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Wizard of Oz--Urban Rot and Decay</b><br />
The Wizard of Oz is one of the most recognizable films of all time and Somewhere Over the Rainbow played no small part in that. It is a beautiful, uplifting meloday sung by Dorothy (Judy Garland) on her small Kansas farm as she imagines a bigger, brighter world beyond her own. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8ArT6xKZHRqQgb4uge-ZshNCWbVciOu9tLWJVy_6iRWW1D69lmcsqALFoJq-mh4v9kgBfddqz5nPRdX2Irr5SnTR9Yz1r5-9tHiDBN6e7YX58QX-JGjCtaEsfd8za6CLoD0KTeQi6qo/s1600/th-5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi8ArT6xKZHRqQgb4uge-ZshNCWbVciOu9tLWJVy_6iRWW1D69lmcsqALFoJq-mh4v9kgBfddqz5nPRdX2Irr5SnTR9Yz1r5-9tHiDBN6e7YX58QX-JGjCtaEsfd8za6CLoD0KTeQi6qo/s1600/th-5.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Probably not what she had in mind. But how awesome would that have been?</i></div>
<br />
<i>But did you know?</i><br />
The original draft read more like a William Faulkner novel than the opening song in a movie that featured a race of people called 'munchkins'.<br />
<br />
Somewhere down past the wheat field, way way back,<br />
There's some land that I heard of a miles past the railroad track<br />
Somewhere down past the wheat field, skies are gray<br />
And the people that trudge to work do it day by day<br />
Someday I want to see this spot<br />
Where troubles grow like mildew rot ...so true<br />
And everything revolves around<br />
The money that they all have found -destroying values<br />
Somewhere down past the wheat field, way way back,<br />
Thereís a land that my curiosity wants a crack. (at)<br />
If happy little bluejays fly beyond the wheat field, why oh why can't I?<br />
<br />
This version of the song made it all the way to early shootings of the film. The dark lyrics changed the entire tone of the song. How noticable was the difference? Apparently, they couldn't stop Toto from howling throughout the recording. This set off a Rube Goldberg effect of scaring a coop of chickens, showering the set in feathers. Just a few simple verse changes and the Yellow Brick Road would have had to be renamed to the Feather and Chicken Shit Covered Path.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-63930248222095303282014-10-27T15:24:00.002-04:002014-10-27T17:21:48.921-04:005 Movies You Didn't Know Were Based on Comic BooksMarvel recently released its three year plan to take over the movie box office (and then the world!). And why not? The collective gross on the X-men franchise alone out-earned most of the members of the United Nations. As a result, everyone is releasing comic book-inspired films these days. No seriously. Everybody.<br>
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<i>You didn't believe me, did you?</i></div>
<br>
It won't be long until Merchant-Ivory churns out some period drama about a guy named Phineas Codswallop, a lowly stablehand who simulataneously romances a woman above his station and fights highwaymen by night. It will be based on the imaginary comic book series I'm working on entitled 'The Walloping Codswallop and His Wench of Doom'. Of course, Merchant Ivory will do everything in their power to hide the fact that their Oscar-winning movie had its lowly origins on the pages of a comic book. Because making comic-book money is one thing, being associated with comic book nerds is a whole other bottle of Clearasil.<br>
<br>
And they wouldn't be the first to studio to do it either. Check out these other movies which were born from the pages of comic books and from the minds of men who didn't get laid until well after college.<br>
<br>
<b>5. A History of Violence (2005)</b><br>
A History of Violence stars that guy named Vigo who looks like Tom Petty and Kid Rock's love child.<br>
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<i>Tell me you see it too.</i></div>
<br>
Vigo stars as a guy who has a history of violence and it comes back to violence the crap out of him. Okay, I didn't actually <i>see</i> the movie and the Wiki entry was just so damn long. There's probably a lot of talking in between a couple of scenes of people getting their heads kicked in, if Vigo's previous roles are any indication.<br>
<br>
<b>But did you know?</b> This movie was based on a graphic novel by John Wagner, the man who was also responsible for the source material for the 1995 Judge Dredd film. I'm sorry. I can't find it in myself to defend the man.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>4. RED</b><br>
RED is a movie about a group of geriatric former spies and previous Cold War enemies who team up to take out current spies turned bad, all the while assisted by a call center representative.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl3OgfDRq-s6QxvNx1mK8PR1pPt_yhdGcd-N_r37DOC0PEJAR33_DcvyBVRLLBMRw1q22HClbVHi-zmR3lmtngnrxhupuCMVE9zX82o6Cx_cUG8bj3QwjpgnTo6tVoNzraLcG05BPtrc/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl3OgfDRq-s6QxvNx1mK8PR1pPt_yhdGcd-N_r37DOC0PEJAR33_DcvyBVRLLBMRw1q22HClbVHi-zmR3lmtngnrxhupuCMVE9zX82o6Cx_cUG8bj3QwjpgnTo6tVoNzraLcG05BPtrc/s1600/images.jpeg" height="133" width="320"></a></div>
<br>
Who, if the movie was at all realistic, would look like this.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSHYb6_X7bvR80dFoCU7AVgPmPqDxqzRUEu7c0M6FbWj2tt5qR3bkh1Yq4njJ-QRkFf2-maXIS-eOAkK4q94lYw8xCkzFhZEWF9qGmvEgV_8r1AU6_EedjeE-hiTvqUS2qfxoemVLqW0/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSHYb6_X7bvR80dFoCU7AVgPmPqDxqzRUEu7c0M6FbWj2tt5qR3bkh1Yq4njJ-QRkFf2-maXIS-eOAkK4q94lYw8xCkzFhZEWF9qGmvEgV_8r1AU6_EedjeE-hiTvqUS2qfxoemVLqW0/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg"></a></div>
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<i>That wasn't racist. Some of my best friends are cell center representatives.</i></div>
<br>
It was the last gasp in Bruce Willis's action career and the first time John Malkovich had a convincing role (as an insane old dude). The movie was occasionally funny, action-packed, romantic and terribly disappointing so of course it made a buttload of cash (more than an armload, less than a colon-fill).<br>
<br>
<b>But did you know? </b>RED was actually based on a three-issue comic series of the same name by writer Warren Ellis. Remember the shitty movie--now remove the recycled cold war jokes, stereotypical Russians, and one-dimensional characters who existed solely for comedic relief. Keep all the action. Add a badass killer. And take away any redemption or a happy ending. That's RED. It's awesome. Go read it.<br>
<br>
<b>3. Surrogates (2009)</b><br>
In yet another entry in the ongoing series 'How else can we rip off Blade Runner'? Bruce willis, in his second nod on this list, stars as a cop investigating a murder involving clones in a movie which is not at all a copy of ten other clone-murder films. Because they're called surrogates, you see. It's totally different.<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho2d7Q2-NSkVK1JR0Q6l7l9csWwYFkMUII2gl45Gjfz8zrUJrbPRzlO3r9LB8h-Y7kYNjd0ixkvPfnTC0f1Qt48XKohAuhcwmpmauN5vpvzX1l-OHxK6QK7VyPjM2YvrskSA899oNTSI/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhho2d7Q2-NSkVK1JR0Q6l7l9csWwYFkMUII2gl45Gjfz8zrUJrbPRzlO3r9LB8h-Y7kYNjd0ixkvPfnTC0f1Qt48XKohAuhcwmpmauN5vpvzX1l-OHxK6QK7VyPjM2YvrskSA899oNTSI/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg"></a></div>
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<i>He doesn't change his facial expression the entire movie.</i></div>
<br>
<b>But did you know?</b> Surrogates is based on the series of comics by Robert Venditti and is much more Logan's Run than Blade Runner. It's not another humdrum cloning movie that asks the same rehashed questions about what makes a human, human, but a story of an inventor whose creation got away from him. It's Frankenstein only the monsters are damn near everywhere. There's collected editions out there. Treat yourself.<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>2. Wanted (2008)</b><br>
Wanted stars Mrs. Brad Flick and the guy who played 'Delivery Man' in the Muppets Most Wanted. He's an assasin and doesn't know it. She's a sexy blah blah blah. And then blah blah blah. This movie made a lot of money, but honestly I don't even remember it being in theater. Though to be fair, if it wasn't animated and made by Disney or Pixar, my kids did not allow me to see it.<br>
<br>
<b>But did you know? </b>This movie could have been sooooooooo good. For one, the original comic source was written by Mark Millar, the guy responsible for Kick Ass, one of the freshest super hero comics written since The Watchmen. And while Kick Ass was about ordinary joes stepping up and becoming heroes in a hero-less world, Wanted was about a world where all the heroes had already lost and the villains were now in charge. It was gritty, edgy, dark, and most of all surprising. If you saw the movie, I apologize. Now here's your reward for having sat through it:<br>
<br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2JQQZchyphenhyphenXtVGYP0Q6AwuYX8ULC5S_wLdgkMG7Wk-IWtUB4APIL3pJJuQmUltJ1SM31rHpaUv-Hx2ii8scjbyhnDhHTZnU7AkI4GXBLRisDXTHbCckys0EZMia1a3PHlLBZLS9hTLWSM/s1600/wanted063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT2JQQZchyphenhyphenXtVGYP0Q6AwuYX8ULC5S_wLdgkMG7Wk-IWtUB4APIL3pJJuQmUltJ1SM31rHpaUv-Hx2ii8scjbyhnDhHTZnU7AkI4GXBLRisDXTHbCckys0EZMia1a3PHlLBZLS9hTLWSM/s1600/wanted063.jpg" height="320" width="292"></a></div>
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<b>1. Weird Science </b>(1985) Weird Science is easily one of the most identifiable films to come out of the 1980's. It stars the skinny guy who got picked on in every John Hughes film, that dude from Twister, Iron Man, and Kelly LeBrock's panties. A lot of twisted and weird shit happens, even by 1980's standards.<br>
<br>
<b>But did you know? </b>The original source material for this gem of a movie, comes from the old EC comic book of the same name. In particular, a story from the fifth issue which you can read in full here: <a href="http://marswillsendnomore.wordpress.com/2011/06/07/origins-of-omac-made-of-the-future-ec-comics/%C2%A0" target="_blank">link</a><br>
<br>
This is the one case where deviating from the source material actually works, but I'm warning you Marvel, if you screw up Deadpool for me or let John Wagner anywhere near the studio, I will hunt you down.<br>
<br>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-19131502728647587352014-10-25T11:41:00.004-04:002014-10-25T12:05:55.454-04:00What I Learned from Selling My Ouija Board on EbayIn my continuing attempt to sell everything in my house not bolted down to further my fancy hat collection, I decided to list our vintage Ouija board on Ebay. For those that have spent the last 50 years either under a rock or in a correctional institution (you'd be amazed how much of my reading audience includes one or the other), a Ouija board is a spirit board used by teenage girls to contact the spirit world. It's made from a mystical combination of plastic and cardboard by the Satanic church of Milton Bradley.<br />
<br />
You'd think such a transaction would go relatively smoothly, but apparently I was vastly unprepared for the level of freakitude the spirit worlds had sent my way. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeAm_abCipcURfQxSx5VIhr1jipA4wYEW0SBWcfWP92lsJpt2CCqf2FWE2ldVzGIEegsHhl3UY55e8ptzxSQnvO8p7ZntXcXOhyphenhyphenvYxX_isy9i1s3DRz235DF9yWE-SSmNYpr7KrHr0q8/s1600/images-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyeAm_abCipcURfQxSx5VIhr1jipA4wYEW0SBWcfWP92lsJpt2CCqf2FWE2ldVzGIEegsHhl3UY55e8ptzxSQnvO8p7ZntXcXOhyphenhyphenvYxX_isy9i1s3DRz235DF9yWE-SSmNYpr7KrHr0q8/s1600/images-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Worth it.</i></div>
<br />
Just in case you find yourself cash-strapped and decide to offer up your cherished Ouija, here are some tips to prepare yourself:<br />
<br />
<b>4. There are four types of Ouija buyers:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Board game collectors (yes, this is a thing)</li>
<li>People who want a 'connected' board</li>
<li>Christians</li>
<li>Small children who got a hold of their parent's computer and who went on a bidding streak</li>
</ul>
<br />
Board game collectors will ask you a million questions related to condition. Take a lot of pictures and do not make snarky comments about 'mystery stains from the spirit world'. Board game collectors do not have a sense of humor.<br />
<br />
I was fully expecting the board game collector questions. Collectors, for the most part, are all different sides of the same anal retentive coin. I was not, however, prepared in the slightest for the avalanche of crazy that followed the usual questions about the 'integrity of the cardboard box'.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Buyers don't just want a Ouija board, they want a creepy story to go with it.</b><br />
<br />
For the 'connected' buyers, it's not enough that your board does not contain any dried up Cheetos, it must be a fully operational gateway to the other side.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4XLCDoDw3LZrUTBuN8e615Ku4In9TiCfLq8w__7ABL6dXDL1f6wEQMlUcWx0VhC0cH7rNCa8hSSnJUUwBYCK2jQOPDEFJLOAgPuAAnUZGc9R63xaDHo5HC8lJP7S-uxCti5DfpvGOZc/s1600/images-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4XLCDoDw3LZrUTBuN8e615Ku4In9TiCfLq8w__7ABL6dXDL1f6wEQMlUcWx0VhC0cH7rNCa8hSSnJUUwBYCK2jQOPDEFJLOAgPuAAnUZGc9R63xaDHo5HC8lJP7S-uxCti5DfpvGOZc/s1600/images-3.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Can't a brother use the toilet without getting summoned?</i></div>
<br />
These buyers want to hear about how you acquired the board (i.e., found it in a cemetery on the tomb of a convicted serial killer, obviously), why you're selling it (i.e., because you were unprepared for the angry spirits who kept visiting you), and if you had any notable experiences while using the board (i.e., you're too freaked out to talk about it).<br />
<br />
I'd like to remind my readers that this game is made by Milton Bradley, the same people who make Candy Land. It's about as mystical as a pair of argyle socks but making up shit is apparently part of the social contract of selling Ouija boards and it is your solemn duty to honor that.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Beware the Christian buyers.</b><br />
So apparently in certain Christian circles (you guys have circles right?), Ouija boards are taboo. Something about witchcraft and and Dungeons and Dragons and Harry Potter and Gary Busey all being aligned with demons and the devil. I wasn't entirely paying attention as I was masturbating furiously while watching The Exorcist.<br />
<br />
These buyers do not want a 'connected' board. They want a clean board, one that has preferably been blessed by a Catholic priest. They want assurances that nothing weird has come anywhere near this board. They want you to tell them about how clean the planchette is and how you only used it at your youth group after the elders had gone to sleep. For them, this purchase would be like you buying a slutty pair of underwear. Something you can slip on for a while to feel naughty, but can change out of the moment it starts riding up your butt. I think that metaphor holds.<br />
<br />
Do <b>not</b> confuse the 'connected' buyers with the Christian buyers or be prepared for an avalanche of Biblical quotes. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2OmOtw2PzL0xI1hAfaBnIeCk5UIPKi0bvJhVJgU2M0paiiglnUIsWKSgHzn6papE8y_tQj270txTSVHxTbEaHs5VDtw1hGgavHHNDs_CUCcrTIHYOjNCT4lRCm9a-UV7Jcl88uIY5mzs/s1600/a233850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2OmOtw2PzL0xI1hAfaBnIeCk5UIPKi0bvJhVJgU2M0paiiglnUIsWKSgHzn6papE8y_tQj270txTSVHxTbEaHs5VDtw1hGgavHHNDs_CUCcrTIHYOjNCT4lRCm9a-UV7Jcl88uIY5mzs/s1600/a233850.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>And not even the cool ones.</i></div>
<br />
There's at least six people in Michigan who are praying for my soul right now so I guess, if nothing else, I've got that going for me.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Ouija Boards are a Nightmare to Mail</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66wyBYG2Lvg3tkF-N-Qq35D8hJd5LUcVaW2FAMoPTiy9JCes22NuUTD0olw9KFJiOQCX2hmaWsKqV9rv74TksSkAwBLQ6BOW-F6caMUx-bBgsISLYnT_sQ5mJgySg5GgY6ctzPKXKpnI/s1600/$_57.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66wyBYG2Lvg3tkF-N-Qq35D8hJd5LUcVaW2FAMoPTiy9JCes22NuUTD0olw9KFJiOQCX2hmaWsKqV9rv74TksSkAwBLQ6BOW-F6caMUx-bBgsISLYnT_sQ5mJgySg5GgY6ctzPKXKpnI/s1600/$_57.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Seriously, just look at that thing! It's like two pizza boxes stacked next to each other. Boxes tend to be tall and squat, not flat and long. You were probably expecting some wry comment here, but honestly I was just wondering if you had something that fit. I've got a Bible study group in Des Moines who's been waiting on this thing for a month. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-73349454693971614082014-10-24T16:15:00.002-04:002014-10-24T16:15:36.034-04:00So You're Crazy? A Quick Guide to Understanding Mental IllnessSo you've just been told you're crazy. And by a professional this time and not just the receptionist in the office who has no interest in going hot air ballooning with you this or any other weekend. There are some important things you should know on your road back to health and normalcy, things that not even your psychiatrist is going to tell you.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>7. Psychiatry is not an exact science</b><br />
We put a lot of trust in our doctors. And it's easy to see why. Not only do they undergo years and years of specialized education and constant re-certification, but they also have millions of dollars of high-tech, state of the art equipment at their disposal.<br />
<br />
Psychiatrists, however, sit in small rooms with lots and lots of old books.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, shrinks spend endless hours reading journals, attending conferences, and working with patients, but the field is less science and more boozy guy in a bar standing in front of a dart board, praying his next shot sticks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLXa7Rofc1vGYa7GaNpvmSLi4EwEdo5RiUg3Mn0lrHQyENzhh_O_0KTc1a9rMAP-YXAvPPO2jdC5fXa1rJc2pWbPGoYkbVb5uzpV-XEkVnCvWbqZbId1NDNijKVauTWagp_yiYpDnCAU/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLXa7Rofc1vGYa7GaNpvmSLi4EwEdo5RiUg3Mn0lrHQyENzhh_O_0KTc1a9rMAP-YXAvPPO2jdC5fXa1rJc2pWbPGoYkbVb5uzpV-XEkVnCvWbqZbId1NDNijKVauTWagp_yiYpDnCAU/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>What does it mean if it lands on the guy leaning against the wall?</i></div>
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<br /></div>
There's a lot of guess-work involved in diagnosing mental illness is what I'm saying and how you're treated usually has less to do with your symptoms and more to do with:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Your doctor's particular field of study</li>
<li>What drug/disease is currently trending (more on this later)</li>
<li>Which drug rep just left the office (more on this too)</li>
</ol>
<br />
The human brain is complex. Think of an early map of the earth with a large blank space marked out with the phrase 'Here there be dragons'. That's essentially what we're still doing with the human brain--trying to map out a mysterious land without the proper tools or technology required to accomplish the task. Only in this case, the dragons are real and they're everywhere.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZaGKotXC1ZTwBEBE5mERAlyMF4Yddv6UbBmpImyb-BfhWEpK0EW4NkpCb-YjNjwIWeVY_IkZk-R1pvlE38Jci5nNSrIpj5GIuHWSwY2gJ71LD9jSFRm-gtEFzuoO-wjYtRxEyF3VhAI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGZaGKotXC1ZTwBEBE5mERAlyMF4Yddv6UbBmpImyb-BfhWEpK0EW4NkpCb-YjNjwIWeVY_IkZk-R1pvlE38Jci5nNSrIpj5GIuHWSwY2gJ71LD9jSFRm-gtEFzuoO-wjYtRxEyF3VhAI/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" height="113" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Property values are shockingly low.</i></div>
<br />
Knowing what effects which part of the brain and why is a complete mystery. So all psychiatrists have to go on are symptoms and those symptoms are usually filtered through patients' descriptions and (occassionally) observed behaviors.<br />
<br />
I'm not telling you this so you can fake an illness and score some fantastic anti-psychotic drugs (though you definitely could). I'm telling you this because, as a crazy person, it's important that you don't go into your doctor's office expecting an easy solution to your very complicated brain's problems. It doesn't exist. And it's important that you not put all your trust in your shrink to find the answers on your own. A good shrink-shrinkee relationship involves both of you working your ass off to understand the issues at hand and what might be causing them. If it helps, think of yourself as Short-Round and the doctor as Indiana Jones. Sure, one guy gets the bad ass fedora and whip, but where would he be without his little Asian buddy with the cool gadgets? Dead. That's where. Maybe the metaphor doesn't completely work here, but still, Indiana Jones. Amirite?<br />
<br />
<b>6. Psychiatry goes through more trends than the fashion industry.</b><br />
As I mentioned above, psychiatry involves a helluva lot of guess work so when shrinks do make a break-through, they get very, very excited about it. Even if that guess later turns out completely wrong (and it often is). For example, the guy who came up with lobotomies was once awarded a Nobel prize. I'll say that again, the man who decided that what a broken brain needed most was just an appropriately applied ice pick, received a reward for humanitarianism.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXCl0v7mB6hbLg6MvHNP0CdBVSe3xSUC_KqxMv2qezeqi_9oNomPWScQnAci6Ufku7EhQNRba8v5TR13olFMlTiEz2Wq9EVBKFsxdEuD3gYJNpBRVKaEZgRYd_w720ucn8zFLMX8Q8QM/s1600/basicinstinct-225x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWXCl0v7mB6hbLg6MvHNP0CdBVSe3xSUC_KqxMv2qezeqi_9oNomPWScQnAci6Ufku7EhQNRba8v5TR13olFMlTiEz2Wq9EVBKFsxdEuD3gYJNpBRVKaEZgRYd_w720ucn8zFLMX8Q8QM/s1600/basicinstinct-225x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Pictured: Someone whose work with ice picks was far more deserving of a Nobel.</i></div>
<br />
And how long did it take psychiatry to figure out that maybe therapy and medication were a better alternative than stab-hating brain matter? 20 fucking years.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, break-throughs tend to involve less making brain soup and more the naming of illnesses that already exist. Like Aspergers. And Autism. And before that Schizophrenia, clinical depression, ADHD, ADD, etc. etc. etc.<br />
<br />
And like a kid with a new label-maker, when psychiatry comes up with one of these new illnesses, they go around sticking it on everyone. The same happens when a new medication makes it to market. For a while, damn near everybody was on Prozac. Today, it's Ritalin. I swear if I so much as nod off in a meeting, four people are shoving an ADHD pill in my face.<br />
<br />
Psychiatry's answer to this is quite brilliant--they're not getting caught up in the heat of the moment and over-diagnosing (or over-prescribing) the latest crazy flavor of the month, they're just correctly recognizing people who had these issues all along. Which does nothing to explain why the same people with depression twenty years ago who were nom-nomming on Prozac like Tic Tacs are now depression free and in treatment for ADHD.<br />
<br />
The point is that you have to be able to separate yourself from the headlines and look at your symptoms in a vaccum. And you're going to have to help your shrink do it, too because he's more immersed in that sort of thing than anybody.<br />
<br />
<b>5. There is never a cure</b><br />
One of the most difficult things about being mentally ill is accepting that this is a lifetime diagnosis. You don't ever stop being sick. All you get is different degrees of manageable. You don't even get the luxury of finding one pill that works and living out a happy, medicated life. Because the body's chemistry changes--it builds up tolerances or changes and your pills no longer work. Or they get recalled because it grows a third nipple. Or the manufacturer stops making it because it's not profitable enough. Or your insurance won't cover it because it's too expensive. <span style="text-align: center;">You will spend the rest of your life mixing medications like Tom Cruise in cocktail. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBh6jgDhbsyd3chxikDTCcam7jPNKnuUkZTYm9SLc71t2hphCELgrlDhNJGjbnkhwUDZjXnDrSU-7ZeOmCX8vYZPkZSdBcoQRpclu0m4sgduBGj9p-P7wYpfhkHNlU3ZCeDM1EVAx35Wg/s1600/tom-cruise-Cocktail-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBh6jgDhbsyd3chxikDTCcam7jPNKnuUkZTYm9SLc71t2hphCELgrlDhNJGjbnkhwUDZjXnDrSU-7ZeOmCX8vYZPkZSdBcoQRpclu0m4sgduBGj9p-P7wYpfhkHNlU3ZCeDM1EVAx35Wg/s1600/tom-cruise-Cocktail-01.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Like this if the depression hadn't crippled you into complete inactivity. </i></div>
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And for that reason you shouldn't ever let yourself feel too comfortable with any one medication. But it doesn't matter, because even if you did, you'll probably quit them on your own at some point because...<br />
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<b>4. Beware the vicious circle</b><br />
When you do find a drug that works (inasmuch as drugs work), it's easy to get caught up in a state of normalcy. You may find that you no longer cry everytime you burn a piece of bread or see that goddamned long distance commercial about the kid calling his grandmother.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHLpKY-QODRWjiHhLTw9siQE3TE1u9KhI1Luvs6yNwamq04gfB97lWQdO3S6nPC9VlVxAaysmF8puk4UXcHEvMFrg9CYKDRIk1g4EU1pln-71_ZwuO_desZYUUOtnvd6pCIVKs6rrXUs/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHLpKY-QODRWjiHhLTw9siQE3TE1u9KhI1Luvs6yNwamq04gfB97lWQdO3S6nPC9VlVxAaysmF8puk4UXcHEvMFrg9CYKDRIk1g4EU1pln-71_ZwuO_desZYUUOtnvd6pCIVKs6rrXUs/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>No, not that commercial. Sickie.</i></div>
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You may even begin to think that your normalcy has nothing to do with the obscene amount of pills you take everyday. Or maybe you're an artist type who has discovered it's much more difficult to come up with rhymes for 'abyss' when your head is delightfully clouded with anti-suicidal medication.<br />
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At any rate, at some point in your newly doped up career, you will come to the unfortunate decision that 'I no longer need these meds' and you will stop taking them. I call this stage, "You are a fucking idiot." That normlacy you've got is solely because of the meds. They'v given you a window to real life. A little space to breath in and practice acting like a normal person. But never forget what opened that window in the first place. And for God's sake, never stop taking your meds. Which brings me to the next point. <br />
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<b>3. You can never stop taking medication. </b><br />
The pills can and will alter your brain's chemistry, but the brain does not fix itself. Once broken, it's always broken. Think of your head as the Hoover Dam and your crazy is a tiny leak at the base. Everyday that you don't plug that hole, the leak gets larger and larger until one day you are naked in your apartment disconnecting all your phones so the government can't bug your calls. Those pills are the only thing stopping the leak. And the moment you stop taking them, the crazy starts dripping out all over again. It's slow and gradual so you may not notice it at first. But listen to your friends and family when they tell you that the cat is not trying to communicate hidden messages from the television to you. They have your best interests at heart.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMuzFHoiB_sWhQBUuZavMHb7Pn3HaZUnoBCOcKvM-fd3FWMzFfYJNDU43YNm3Cq0uCfh3XMMpnG1IB-uVKi6EKTd0kB232v8i1lQWKGFPMWcCUQcj8X_I_5S62qFhr0rwHrM7ejapfvg/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVMuzFHoiB_sWhQBUuZavMHb7Pn3HaZUnoBCOcKvM-fd3FWMzFfYJNDU43YNm3Cq0uCfh3XMMpnG1IB-uVKi6EKTd0kB232v8i1lQWKGFPMWcCUQcj8X_I_5S62qFhr0rwHrM7ejapfvg/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Or maybe they've never met your cat.</i></div>
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<b>2. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease</b><br />
Sleeplessness, anger, irritability, suicidal thoughts, sexual disfunction...no, I'm not reciting symptoms from the DSM, I'm listing some of the side-effects from the hosts of medication you will try. No medication is side-effect free. And depending on the severity of your crazy and the dose of your medicine, you may be faced with a choice between say never having sex again or having to listen to the voice of Gilbert Godfrey chanting 'Kill' all day. And you know what? Whether you want to deal with those side-effects for a chance at normalcy is a private decision, but just know that the end result of a person with a mental illness who goes unmedicated long enough, and I'm talking just about any mental illness, is often suicide. Which leads me to the last item...<br />
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<b>1. Suicide is always option.</b><br />
That's an awful statement, just hanging out there. But let me clarify. The thing about mental illness is that people who have it suffer in silence. You've probably heard that cliche a million times. But it's true. And you know what sucks about suffering in silence? Nobody believes you. So aside from the crippling depression and physical effects, you will also have the added bonus of everyone thinking it's all in your head. And when that happens, it's easy to stop talking about your issues, which in turn only makes things worse. It's a terrible cycle.<br />
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Now I'm not advocating you throw yourself off a bridge the moment you find out you're OCD. You should try every option available to you to get back a normal and healthy life. You should fight every day. And when you can't fight for yourself anymore, fight for the people who love you. Because suicide is a terribly selfish option. It leaves nothing but blame and guilt and unanswered questions in its wake.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kAaO3dbteR2vjXlxav_-7Qgmn86g9G76qvUGgCf9X-VdpIlt00I6d46VdP1tYebdpH5tY1lOciHVCQQk5m4w-yxFiYSL6twQQnqVGhfO8k7P9xEoqnwMN4_HvJ0JfhSNOLx8vnbWszg/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9kAaO3dbteR2vjXlxav_-7Qgmn86g9G76qvUGgCf9X-VdpIlt00I6d46VdP1tYebdpH5tY1lOciHVCQQk5m4w-yxFiYSL6twQQnqVGhfO8k7P9xEoqnwMN4_HvJ0JfhSNOLx8vnbWszg/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Just like a visit from my mother-in-law</i></div>
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What I'm saying is that if things ever get too terrible to manage, you have that option. Should you ever take it? No. But sometimes, when the fire is closing in, just knowing where the exit is can be comforting. And there's nothing wrong with thinking about leaving. It's actually normal. Don't hate yourself for it. Don't be ashamed of it and don't try to ignore it. And for God's sake, don't ever stop talking about it. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-82816755086772227622014-10-23T15:30:00.002-04:002014-10-23T15:30:33.098-04:005 Giant-Sized Versions of Your Worst NightmaresYesterday, the spider puppy crawled out of the depths of the South American rainforest and click-clacked through the leafy undergrowth into our hearts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJjSbQsdDnjqJTmBi9S4Xms2QyUpxw96sM1kbpXb1f5clNB4TleL2_onLQ1qjBkrezY0GTUTKX-eNzbufwSgJ0TCwnGgIIQZrrpXqUdJmDRP5r1RvVcvN2k4MG8sUX15LyHgZ8-VETAM/s1600/HT_goliath_bird_eating_spider_3_sk_141021_4x3_992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuJjSbQsdDnjqJTmBi9S4Xms2QyUpxw96sM1kbpXb1f5clNB4TleL2_onLQ1qjBkrezY0GTUTKX-eNzbufwSgJ0TCwnGgIIQZrrpXqUdJmDRP5r1RvVcvN2k4MG8sUX15LyHgZ8-VETAM/s1600/HT_goliath_bird_eating_spider_3_sk_141021_4x3_992.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>If it weren't for the venomous and near-lethal bite, I'd give you kisses all over. Yes I would! Yes I would! </i></div>
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But this isn't the only super-sized phobia out there. Here's some more nightmare fuel for your Thursday afternoon.<br />
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<b>Ratzilla Doesn't Die</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilu1vgOQp4-06cZgSs0UP2a0ijkEguFVGSHDHVOO-RY5KJDCAnn5Z0vtBN38Q9xjsKN_gsvuGNT8_r40-z24PxVrpQmiZdUg4LCJASPbWXJTKPTE1cCciMZqALv2pMTpque57WHsh8B6c/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilu1vgOQp4-06cZgSs0UP2a0ijkEguFVGSHDHVOO-RY5KJDCAnn5Z0vtBN38Q9xjsKN_gsvuGNT8_r40-z24PxVrpQmiZdUg4LCJASPbWXJTKPTE1cCciMZqALv2pMTpque57WHsh8B6c/s1600/untitled.bmp" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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How bad can a rat be? Sure, they sometimes live in sewers and bite and carry all kinds diseases but when you get right down to it... oh my freaking god look at that thing.<br />
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This massive sewer monster was so hell-bent on terrorizing a Swedish family, he burrowed through concrete just to get to them. At close to a foot and a half long, it promptly made itself at home in their kitchen, despite the presence of a cat who was the only member of the family who had the good sense to stay the fuck out of there. Nothing could slow this goliath down as it promptly continued to make itself at home <b>even as its damned neck was snapped inside an exterminator grade trap.</b><br />
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<b>Ear Roach</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_1SAY8Jhed7gcdzxBZzsTcGm-ErMszbYNyLZrkzL_DhP63P01KhvYAN-CqAVZU8iuHyKv9OK6dludXe7nBbxlDc-dMCFE8TdXjA8y-3Ymqardgtink83NGpGAcVZYE1Nq4a_vqPHy5c/s1600/049906-hendrik-helmer-roach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_1SAY8Jhed7gcdzxBZzsTcGm-ErMszbYNyLZrkzL_DhP63P01KhvYAN-CqAVZU8iuHyKv9OK6dludXe7nBbxlDc-dMCFE8TdXjA8y-3Ymqardgtink83NGpGAcVZYE1Nq4a_vqPHy5c/s1600/049906-hendrik-helmer-roach.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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A rat in the kitchen is one thing. Sure, it's horrible, but you can always burn the house down, salt the earth, and walk away like nothing happened. The same can't be said for Austrian Hendrick Helmer who had a 2cm long cockroach crawl in and set up shop in his ear. Attempts to remove it with a 'vaccum cleaner' only angered the beast and presumably the evil god who first creatd it. <br />
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2 cm may not seem big, especially compared to the lifeboat-sized rat you just looked at, but try to remember IT WAS IN HIS FREAKING EAR. And just look at that guy...it takes a ballsy insect to make that scary ass dude's brain his home.<br />
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<b>Ceiling Snake</b><br />
Do I even need to tell you this next story happened in Australia, a place where animals only come in large or venomous. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY90EBnffBExB-O3iPRyOHa7xSX6Qi6LX0ZSmE53EEFCFsOdR4pOEL9x3vvG_upvX39oDrCzZghpUE7s0Okli3IY0DhV95_929S8BteTKOoQLddAFiQvxwxySokFQbrDXVejB6Krvw9AE/s1600/Snake-Catchers-Facebook-page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY90EBnffBExB-O3iPRyOHa7xSX6Qi6LX0ZSmE53EEFCFsOdR4pOEL9x3vvG_upvX39oDrCzZghpUE7s0Okli3IY0DhV95_929S8BteTKOoQLddAFiQvxwxySokFQbrDXVejB6Krvw9AE/s1600/Snake-Catchers-Facebook-page.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></div>
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<i>That's not a snake. This, this is a snake. </i></div>
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Now I live in a moderately rural area in that the trees out-number the amount of cars on my street. So occasionally I'll find a harmless brown snake slither across my driveway. In winter, a snake might make its way inside the basement to keep warm (don't tell my wife). But that's about it.<br />
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In Australia, apparently, the snakes are so damn eager to get inside they puncture their way through the ceiling and pop out like the most strangly jack in the box in the world. Because this happened in Australia, however, the owners paused to snap a few shots and upload them to Reddit before calmly making themselves a new pair of boots.<br />
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<b>Giant Bee</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQQYN1SjTz8MEVd6zBSSHcgg2byognJpdcO2M_Dsuw1LNch3q8Mdph7ZAMx7S_EfvHIB3sL9Rk4mdYnxiMJL31heZrm2UkE_CJYxS3Kseb8aEIrOkSGTxEP5MvvGR6GIkLj4mptOXXF0/s1600/207160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQQYN1SjTz8MEVd6zBSSHcgg2byognJpdcO2M_Dsuw1LNch3q8Mdph7ZAMx7S_EfvHIB3sL9Rk4mdYnxiMJL31heZrm2UkE_CJYxS3Kseb8aEIrOkSGTxEP5MvvGR6GIkLj4mptOXXF0/s1600/207160.jpg" height="189" width="320" /></a></div>
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In what appears to be a scene in the opening film of a 1950's monster movie double-billing, a reporter is assaulted on the air by a giant man-sized bee. Her face frozen with fear in a smiling richter of death. I don't know. I didn't actually read the story. It's probably just a bug on the camera lens, but still. Look at that thing!<br />
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<b>5.5 Meter Alligator Attacks Shark</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7Pjy_yhY1k2s2dEVqAD_GSGzAo5fVSbKvSb_lMynO9saS7uQXEITinZMFT7EM_z4NHutwaKluA9X19H7sM6eRD5d9HX7VAI50xkyp7BmQ3hqnESs9C4atD6EdLiHYCXUb04CJji_PKQ/s1600/989b2660-1d88-11e4-a868-cdd80d6a0ad3_453236676.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU7Pjy_yhY1k2s2dEVqAD_GSGzAo5fVSbKvSb_lMynO9saS7uQXEITinZMFT7EM_z4NHutwaKluA9X19H7sM6eRD5d9HX7VAI50xkyp7BmQ3hqnESs9C4atD6EdLiHYCXUb04CJji_PKQ/s1600/989b2660-1d88-11e4-a868-cdd80d6a0ad3_453236676.jpg" height="191" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Obviously, this also happened in Australia. How come they don't mention this shit on their visitor websites?</i></div>
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The picture you are looking at is not a scene from King Kong. It's a 5.5 meter alligator casually eating a mother fucking shark like a construction worker with a baloney sandwich on his lunch break. 5.5 meters? Are you fucking kidding me? I can't even run that far without getting winded. <br />
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Once again, the Aussie local who happened to catch this scene which proves once and for all there is no just creator, sat casually back and snapped pictures like he was on Disney's Jungle Safari. Hey dude, giant shark and alligator in front of you locked in a death match. Put down the damn food and pack your shit up. Australia wants you dead.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-65331444342330865552014-10-22T15:33:00.002-04:002014-10-22T15:33:05.645-04:006 Dog Costumes That Tell the World You're a Horrible PersonSo apparently there are some people who think it's just adorable to dress their pets up in costumes for Halloween. And who am I to judge those people or tell them that what they're doing is wr--oh, who am I kidding? This is abhorrent behavior, people. Dressing your pets in costumes should be added to the DSM. If you are buying outfits for your pet, you should be in therapy. You need more human contact. If you're already in therapy, tell your therapist your current dosage is just not working. Tell him now. Seriously. I'll wait.<br />
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And beyond being all kinds of freaky-deaky, this kind of behavior is just plain cruel to your pet. Sara McLachlan should do a PSA against this kind of activity. If there was a telethon, I'd pledge.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5HkAlJ9uC6yJWbZC-N6lZ-PnmC1xOJbx5ahC32JR__oeYXfbi_10OxkTgXYjaC42JS7pQiSe89NIi6SVyfYfq7h2jYipjGXgfzu0_5lEhnjrFlhcZtg4pkO8hc5uMDIdXTcWVkQZGJc/s1600/th.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj5HkAlJ9uC6yJWbZC-N6lZ-PnmC1xOJbx5ahC32JR__oeYXfbi_10OxkTgXYjaC42JS7pQiSe89NIi6SVyfYfq7h2jYipjGXgfzu0_5lEhnjrFlhcZtg4pkO8hc5uMDIdXTcWVkQZGJc/s1600/th.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Back away from the Batman mask, you sick fuck. </i></div>
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I've lost my train of thought. You've got me all confused what with your cats in booties and crazy eyes. Let's see...Pets. Costumes. Abhorrent activity. Yes!<br />
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And just like any other activity, what started off presumably innocent enough--a bowtie here, maybe a little sweater there--has of course gone horribly, horribly wrong. Dressing your schnauzer in a hot dog costume? Ok, I see what you did there. But put your poodle in a Madonna with pointy bra? Then you've crossed that imaginary line. You know the one...it leads straight to the registered sex offenders list. Go ahead and move to the front. The others won't mind.<br />
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Here's six more pet costumes to avoid to end up on that list.<br />
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<b>6. Harem Costume</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>The official description</i>: Get your pretty princess dancing the seven veils in this heavenly Harem Dog Costume! Featuring a pair of pink pantaloons and matching chest piece, this Arabian dancer dog costume comes with a gold headpiece with pink veil that ties under the chin. Scheheraz-dog returns!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv79HAk53CxvOu8kCn8J0Kfv5iYD4stVPCnIC0Z5U9cWaHJNOuzGU_LXdF0fO2ZY5vG0BJfjXtfb0BLngINqiL3zdPuJluHq2vjbaNLZSb0fCtT1vwtbBi_03SutpTnlzmQSXFsuOWPMQ/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv79HAk53CxvOu8kCn8J0Kfv5iYD4stVPCnIC0Z5U9cWaHJNOuzGU_LXdF0fO2ZY5vG0BJfjXtfb0BLngINqiL3zdPuJluHq2vjbaNLZSb0fCtT1vwtbBi_03SutpTnlzmQSXFsuOWPMQ/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal1.jpg" /></a></div>
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It's no surprise that the costume makers are not familiar with the story of Scheherazade--there can't be much time for reading literature what with all that time dedicated to violating the dignity of helpless animals. But the story of Scheherazade deals with a woman being sold off to a king for a night of defloration followed by decapitation. Those veils were meant to be yanked off as part of foreplay/rapey violation. So there's that. Now you know, how do you feel about your four-legged friend nuzzling his face in your crouch as he begs for a treat?<br />
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<b>5. Bikini</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<i>The official description</i>: our pup can frolic in the water the American way with our American Flag Dog Bikini! This doggie two-piece swimsuit features the vibrant stars and stripes of the American flag. With a cute flared bikini skirt and elasticized waistband, American Flag Dog Bikini gets your pooch ready to hit the pool or beach!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NDlQANs1GXZVqfsBEhw-xS6Jb4rAUuC_PIkIjBvWkfUUE9HiDw66cnw0fHlxmy4K177nIdXAuM2Lzt8yj08DSoW5HnLelNWH2kHJaQjVl4Mv4uMMYoXFnJVNvvwEeOFJ5iqJ6szIcdM/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2NDlQANs1GXZVqfsBEhw-xS6Jb4rAUuC_PIkIjBvWkfUUE9HiDw66cnw0fHlxmy4K177nIdXAuM2Lzt8yj08DSoW5HnLelNWH2kHJaQjVl4Mv4uMMYoXFnJVNvvwEeOFJ5iqJ6szIcdM/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal2.jpg" /></a></div>
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A bathing suit on a dog. Yeah, sure. I guess. At least that will minimize the pee while he paddles after the damned tennis ball you keep throwing in the pool. But why is this poor dog wearing a bikini top? Was he part of some kind of human growth hormone experiment? And why is he looking all coquettish at me over his shoulder? Is, is he hitting on me?<br />
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<b>4. Santa Baby Tutu Dress</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The official description</i>: For the pooch that has been good all year! Our Santa Baby Dog Tutu Dress features a luxe red velour design with a silver screen print of "Santa Baby" across the back. The attached white tutu sparkles with sprinkles of silver glitter. This super-soft pullover Santa Baby Dog Tutu Dress has an elastic waistband for a secure fit while your pet makes spirits bright this holiday!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanwQBYQSMIIYIm3l-R1EO2YVGHioSvX51lDGQY6to06p2Xm6SoQO3jxKZK6PkbemyIoKvMeCE4eu_c6pGpOLnMmJT2KKwFQrQM8c8PcQHjHAZRj5C2EWLY5JDUfjSLBXbuDFXp2mJIpw/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal1CAI32WER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhanwQBYQSMIIYIm3l-R1EO2YVGHioSvX51lDGQY6to06p2Xm6SoQO3jxKZK6PkbemyIoKvMeCE4eu_c6pGpOLnMmJT2KKwFQrQM8c8PcQHjHAZRj5C2EWLY5JDUfjSLBXbuDFXp2mJIpw/s1600/_ml_p2p_pc_badge_normal1CAI32WER.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
There were other Santa costumes available, but this one really bugged me. Unless they're in heat and in the mood to hump something, dogs rarely seem to pay attention to gender.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-V2l6AQsKFvU8DblchFuPkdNqlkTC_OqBFKyAAAJHhAryG-KHLYu3dmUtqovwa75frG9pOSdb1bdXXDQYw5RWyoX9ElKlzD4bGMXoUFMFLwiuoiIg8kkpigYsMyoTyRG0LWZA-DgINs0/s1600/th-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-V2l6AQsKFvU8DblchFuPkdNqlkTC_OqBFKyAAAJHhAryG-KHLYu3dmUtqovwa75frG9pOSdb1bdXXDQYw5RWyoX9ElKlzD4bGMXoUFMFLwiuoiIg8kkpigYsMyoTyRG0LWZA-DgINs0/s1600/th-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
<i>And if my poor violated leg is any indication, even then it rarely seems to be a concern. </i><br />
<br />
So why do we insist on dressing our damn dogs in gender specific costumes? You want to put Sir Pup-a-lot in a Santa costume, stick him in a Santa costume. Don't slut it up just because he's a she. And for that matter, why do pet costumes follow the oddly specific rule of costumes for humans that if it's a for women, it's got to be slutty as hell. Seriously, this is a dog Santa costume, but because it appears to be for female dogs (bitches!), it's got a see-through tutu, sparkles, and fucking glitter. Gross.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Snookie</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The official description</i>: This The Lady Is A Tramp Dog Costume includes the wig, costume with cleavage, and the fur boot covers. Yes, it really is Snookie in a dog costume!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xRxV52rVzJ3bq0B_Iqlobh_7MI3q3ktaMzfQeUz9Zt5qGblNTGEyWyWMgGgYnmv-Ae99pfcxQCaZhpV-4uuW5gflZqA7uyF96IoSabOUjmJ3IJMFN5IN7rvAKq6IfyQb8FtfAhW4ztE/s1600/PET20120-The-Lady-Is-A-Tramp-Dog-Costume-thumb2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3xRxV52rVzJ3bq0B_Iqlobh_7MI3q3ktaMzfQeUz9Zt5qGblNTGEyWyWMgGgYnmv-Ae99pfcxQCaZhpV-4uuW5gflZqA7uyF96IoSabOUjmJ3IJMFN5IN7rvAKq6IfyQb8FtfAhW4ztE/s1600/PET20120-The-Lady-Is-A-Tramp-Dog-Costume-thumb2.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
No, the lady is a fucking dog. And if you're putting cleavage on a dog, you have a very distinctive sexual deviancy and there are laws against this sort of thing, sickie.<br />
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Even our beloved website copywriter is a little shocked at this one. 'Yes, it really is Snookie in a dog costume!' as in 'I can't fucking believe someone came up with this idea and three other assholes went along with it and helped him make it. This is my career. What have I done with my life?'<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Pimp</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The official description</i>: This Big Daddy Pimp Dog Costume is just as adorable as it is funny!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkV8XLAwN-ntyGQIGLmyAKwM60Ul2x9bHqKQueZ_jPYn-Nj1JZhrUa7mPevcQwy1GGECCeNFOY3vqDMNU8Kh6z32_SnxNugpEWpLYc_KTKAw4fl41MUbBZFkUFO4c0G_vI72E-nwniQ8/s1600/50110-thumb2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbkV8XLAwN-ntyGQIGLmyAKwM60Ul2x9bHqKQueZ_jPYn-Nj1JZhrUa7mPevcQwy1GGECCeNFOY3vqDMNU8Kh6z32_SnxNugpEWpLYc_KTKAw4fl41MUbBZFkUFO4c0G_vI72E-nwniQ8/s1600/50110-thumb2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
C'mon website copywriter, you're not even looking at the damn pictures anymore. 'Adorable'? You're describing a god damned pimp. As in the guy who back-hands hookers for not bringing enough money.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to imagine a scenario of someone buying this costume that's not terrible. I can't. It's just...I want to hug my mom now, but I feel too dirty. I'm not sure I'll ever be clean again.<br />
<br />
Just promise me, if you do buy this, you will not dress up as a hooker. Let's agree to not live in a world that would allow such a thing.<br />
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<b>1. California Cupcake</b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The official description:</i> This California Cupcake Girl Dog Costume includes the blue wig, novelty glasses, and the costume cupcake bra.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbFcrcJefUK_RbGof6veyqDTaExQqNwEDVmKTdjvjzHA4LTJxpVwDqDvV-86xPWFPEW6nkiGsEf2KmKmr_IfUeCyYHRKVjrPfPIrBtuDr78csHWSO_ogD8kw3obSPnRRI7jjJZRttjto/s1600/PET20112-California-Girl-Dog-Costume-thumb2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbFcrcJefUK_RbGof6veyqDTaExQqNwEDVmKTdjvjzHA4LTJxpVwDqDvV-86xPWFPEW6nkiGsEf2KmKmr_IfUeCyYHRKVjrPfPIrBtuDr78csHWSO_ogD8kw3obSPnRRI7jjJZRttjto/s1600/PET20112-California-Girl-Dog-Costume-thumb2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Let's just agree that no sane human being has ever uttered the phrase, "Can you hold down the dog while I slip her in this cupcake bra?" And then let's never speak of this monstrosity again.<br />
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Also check out: <a href="http://jamiewasserman.blogspot.com/2013/10/11-kids-costumes-that-tell-world-youre.html" target="_blank">11 Kids Costumes That Tell the World You're a Terrible Parent</a><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-71466742517636406422014-10-21T17:01:00.001-04:002014-10-21T17:01:18.861-04:005 Terrible Things I Learned After Getting MuggedIn 1996, I was fresh off college graduation and faced with the least difficult decision of my life--become a responsible, working adult or fuck off to London until my money ran out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWaR70XfVsIc0hM3m-2y4jyAUFB2r8vIYbUkXn8FRDaXLsuSKWKe20E1lJKlAhEdV1EuCTG5CnPRHuA4oWRZRhiLh4LY4WQLehooSfD3SEpriiSlmISQWNxrGATElcz4QozjGUZs-Qyw/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWaR70XfVsIc0hM3m-2y4jyAUFB2r8vIYbUkXn8FRDaXLsuSKWKe20E1lJKlAhEdV1EuCTG5CnPRHuA4oWRZRhiLh4LY4WQLehooSfD3SEpriiSlmISQWNxrGATElcz4QozjGUZs-Qyw/s1600/Unknown-2.jpeg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Guess which I chose.</i></div>
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Three months into my attempt to drink England dry, I made a colossally stupid decision. My parents were in the country visiting me. We’d just parted and I was on the tube heading home when I decided I absolutely had to find an ATM and take money out for the next day. It was close to midnight and even the subway car was damn near empty. <br />
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I'd like to blame this set of poor decision-making on alcohol but, as I mentioned, I’d just left my folks and I was desperately trying to keep up the illusion that my stay in England was more about soul-searching than testing my liver’s ability to withstand lethal doses of grain alcohol. <br />
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I got off at Baker Street, which you might recognize as the site of Sherlock Holmes’ fictional home. There’s some irony there, but it’s nearly 20 years later and I still haven’t learned to appreciate it. Let me add that Baker Street is not a bad part of London—in fact it’s one of the nicest neighborhoods there to live. But again, it was almost midnight in a large city and I was the only idiot out. At least that’s what I blissfully assumed.<br />
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I found an ATM close to the well-lit subway entrance, entered my PIN, and then felt someone tap me on the shoulder.<br />
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<b>5. It all happens very quickly.</b><br />
British people are notoriously polite. During my first week in the country, I caused an accident because I stepped into traffic after foolishly looking in the wrong direction. The driver, after discoveringI was American, bought me lunch, gave me a tour of a cricket field that he worked at, then politely reminded me that ‘Brits’ drive on the other side of the street, before sending me on my way home. You can imagine him ‘tut tutting’ if it helps. It’s not far from the truth. <br />
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So when I got a tap on my shoulder in the middle of the night, I just assumed, it was a tourist who needed directions or, at worst, a polite reminder from a local that my pants had fallen down (see, drinking England dry). What I was not expecting was to get repeatedly punched in the face and stomach. Which I did. And hard. You know that expression ‘seeing stars’? Apparently, that’s a real thing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeTDku8T1ovtH-CoNpGy6WbUT5PtsUaii28W5XS_cO57q2iB8tg1QYSVSOOqyrI5hKpb5Ub4auOee-yp3bLL0ahPrIrXRLcH47_4HcTKniYSggAxcn7EB7IaoGTitHVQxFO9_3nVZ5AU/s1600/stars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioeTDku8T1ovtH-CoNpGy6WbUT5PtsUaii28W5XS_cO57q2iB8tg1QYSVSOOqyrI5hKpb5Ub4auOee-yp3bLL0ahPrIrXRLcH47_4HcTKniYSggAxcn7EB7IaoGTitHVQxFO9_3nVZ5AU/s1600/stars.jpg" height="320" width="250" /></a></div>
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<i>And now you'll never watch Bugs Bunny cartoons the same way.</i></div>
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I slumped to the ground while the man withdrew as much money from my account as the ATM would allow. When he was done, he kicked me in the side for good measure and ran off. I never saw his face. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. <br />
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<b>4. You’ll blame yourself. </b><br />
When I did realize what had happened, there was a moment of shock, and then I cried. The pain hadn’t even set in yet. It was a different kind of cry. It was the kind of cry a baby makes in the middle of the night, in the impenetrable dark, when he desperately wants someone to come get him. I didn’t even recognize my own voice. It was that kind of cry—deep and from a place of terror and helplessness I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. <br />
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My thoughts were a fucking mess. If anything, the burgeoning rise of pain in my face and side gave me some clarity and something to focus on. A voice in my head said, ‘Yes, this happened. Now get your shit together and do something.’ But I didn’t. I didn’t move. Because immediately, another voice said, ‘Why didn’t you do something to stop it?’ And I cried some more.<br />
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<b>3. I’m a lover, not a fighter.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFfXrfnZqhwRCCpqiuqW3Q5iCBHmOotkUZU1bTkgLED916lhPFARNvZ4njCDoBwlJ6_zKGGkxNcRzj9LKYhRglSztUjdPcdn91rXE7J_dK1up3kNmb-i9zmCOiHUcOYGCridV-179r2Y/s1600/tyson-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFFfXrfnZqhwRCCpqiuqW3Q5iCBHmOotkUZU1bTkgLED916lhPFARNvZ4njCDoBwlJ6_zKGGkxNcRzj9LKYhRglSztUjdPcdn91rXE7J_dK1up3kNmb-i9zmCOiHUcOYGCridV-179r2Y/s1600/tyson-2.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></div>
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<i>Above: Fighter, not lover. Don't confuse the two. </i></div>
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You know that old adage about fight or flight? Well, that's utter bullshit. After the first attack, I had a few seconds to myself while the man calmly emptied my bank account. I didn't think about getting the fuck out of there, nor did I think 'I can take this guy'. I froze. I locked up. Which, if you know anything about self-defense, is about the worst thing you can do.<br />
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Looking back, I guess I could say I was, was stunned. And not like 'in a state of shock'. I was taken utterly by surprised because I had discovered that I was not the person I thought I was.<br />
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Nobody thinks of themselves as a coward. And most of us are lucky enough to never have that belief challenged. But I was challenged that night and I had failed miserably. I was actually worse than a coward because at least a coward has some sense of self-preservation. So I sat there, on the dirty concrete, bleeding, and secretly hoping that the guy would come back and finish the job. <br />
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<b>2. Everything changes. </b><br />
I did finally manage to find the clarity to pick myself up and get back on the subway. I cried when I passed the ticket taker. I cried when I got home and called my parents and, later, my girlfriend. I cried myself to sleep that night. I never called the police because I thought, and still think to some extent, that I completely deserved what had happened. Poor judgment aside, I thought people like me should not exist in a blissful state of self-delusion where they are allowed to believe they are strong or self-sufficient or courageous. <br />
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I didn’t spend my next three months in England looking over my shoulder. Alcohol has the useful and completely under-rated ability to cloud your senses and I saw fit to minimize my sobriety as much as possible. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRedvptXYN52Q3PcNYEk8QgwqUdYKwFkklndO8Yo2PBTZwRWw1l3dBw6Bkh2-jsIEcX8FtAF5r_dzFlowDruKRgTR_HDaEstRtm0x_NdcJ2KmmmVZeAlF7Mzf3WY-4L76yfqPUe3LDGk/s1600/41RHPB4JBML.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbRedvptXYN52Q3PcNYEk8QgwqUdYKwFkklndO8Yo2PBTZwRWw1l3dBw6Bkh2-jsIEcX8FtAF5r_dzFlowDruKRgTR_HDaEstRtm0x_NdcJ2KmmmVZeAlF7Mzf3WY-4L76yfqPUe3LDGk/s1600/41RHPB4JBML.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Sadly, alcohol also gave us Chumbawamba so let's call it a draw.</i></div>
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I didn’t suspect everyone and everything or avoid unlit places at night. I didn’t stay home, cowering under my blankets. If anything, I became more reckless. I realized at my core, I was someone who wanted to die. Who was so gutless, that’s probably what he deserved.<br />
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<b>1. There is no getting over it. </b><br />
If this were a movie, you’d get to see me hit rock bottom only to find myself tested again. Only this time, I’d react swiftly and decisively. I’d discover that a stronger, better person was inside me all along. You’d see me heroically take down an attacker. I’d emerge unscathed, maybe with a renowned purpose for bettering the world around me. And that cowering wretch I was would be forgotten forever. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCRsRUjI5vtuqfR6D83_nsPGQZ_emJaEWG7YInjUf0stgBL_ljjl9q2ulyYmeiVAMGdcR85LbXCkG2xWiPuBVm8aSSxDHsiTYQwenBELkCToQSTpJxuDp06TFNV-MEB6ZCfgwA7zKuzA/s1600/Unknown-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCRsRUjI5vtuqfR6D83_nsPGQZ_emJaEWG7YInjUf0stgBL_ljjl9q2ulyYmeiVAMGdcR85LbXCkG2xWiPuBVm8aSSxDHsiTYQwenBELkCToQSTpJxuDp06TFNV-MEB6ZCfgwA7zKuzA/s1600/Unknown-3.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Come and get one in the yarbles!</i></div>
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If this were a book, I’d have time to work through what happened. I’d find meaning in it, maybe by bonding with someone else who’d gone through something similar. Maybe I’d even risk myself to save a loved one. I’d be a hero. I’d find hope and beauty in a world that had lost all color. I’d grow tulips out of thin air. <br />
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But this is neither of those. It’s not even a blog post by a very talented writer. Instead what I did was refuse to talk about what happened. I got drunk as much as possible until I had to move back home and start working and be an adult. And then I got married and had kids, both of which have a funny way of defusing any self-destructive tendencies you might have. Children are selfish that way—they need you in a way that makes it very hard to think about dying.<br />
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But that person I was hasn’t changed. I know that. I’m more cautious now. Much more protective of my kids than if I hadn’t been robbed and assaulted. And silently, I hope every day I never have to be tested again.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-87509995170389472972014-10-20T18:34:00.003-04:002014-10-20T18:34:25.375-04:004 Crappy Items We All Keep (that Must be Destroyed Today)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My basement currently resembles the warehouse at the end of Indiana Jones condensed into a much, much smaller space. And instead of priceless artifacts stored away in neat, organized rows of identical containers, I have a mountain of crap randomly stacked in corners of the room that I'm sure will either eventually fall over and kill me or become sentient and take over the world. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdrlFY0ZZ2F-nWbfHH9hhrwY9ocUonwRMxCbEaptEvjgp1B_DK81HoDABc5_KFdWEzQdZ6XadNx-SLcfRz_guUT-fG-Sn40Qt-p-qzlJgmavSt23aKuM4hikhplbfZiMGTQ-5-FPowlg/s1600/raiders-of-the-lost-ark-matte-painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsdrlFY0ZZ2F-nWbfHH9hhrwY9ocUonwRMxCbEaptEvjgp1B_DK81HoDABc5_KFdWEzQdZ6XadNx-SLcfRz_guUT-fG-Sn40Qt-p-qzlJgmavSt23aKuM4hikhplbfZiMGTQ-5-FPowlg/s1600/raiders-of-the-lost-ark-matte-painting.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Anyone remember where we parked the car?</i></div>
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Unless I do something about it first. Unless we all do something about the enormous collection of junk we think is so valuable and precious that it must be stored away forever. Like this crap:<br />
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<b>4. Tape cassettes, VHS Tapes, and DVD's</b><br />
This one I can't even understand, but I'll be damned if I don't have two full cases of cassette tapes, a box of VHS videos, and two boxes of DVD's in my basement right now. I don't even have a device capable of playing 2 out of the 3. Do I really need a copy of Full Metal Jacket taped off commercial TV in 1994? Am I really going to listen to the Spin Doctors deep tracks (on warped cassette no less)? As for the DVD's, I can't remember the last time I thought 'I just have to see _____ again.' In the days before cable and on-demand, and Netflix, and RedBox, sure. There's nothing on TV, let's watch 'Dude Where's My Car?' again and finally polish off that bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 (Grape) I found under my carseat. But the choices these days are pretty much limitless and re-watching shitty movies just doesn't make sense.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3piVVGc1gxyPjjibWiz7NzJfrxvc4rZ55X9uDvq5fPH9DB_GcFHEPThAf2-suBmrEOBRCWTD8mxv9lgFO1ADqOzUwHUKlv8gLdK1_NhRWS13uj7HWqwFW552QfBA7FApxesYCQi7gSs/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3piVVGc1gxyPjjibWiz7NzJfrxvc4rZ55X9uDvq5fPH9DB_GcFHEPThAf2-suBmrEOBRCWTD8mxv9lgFO1ADqOzUwHUKlv8gLdK1_NhRWS13uj7HWqwFW552QfBA7FApxesYCQi7gSs/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Hello darkness, my old friend.</i></div>
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<i>What to do with them instead</i>: You can try and give the DVD's to Goodwill, but just recycle the other stuff. Seriously, it's trash now. You're storing trash. That doesn't make you sentimental or a collector. It makes you a hoarder.<br />
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<b>3. Books</b><br />
I'm terribly guilt of this, but I realized something the other day while looking at my bookcase. I'm never going to read any of the books on those shelves again. They are going to sit there forever, just gathering dust; sad reminders of the far more literate and culturally aware person I used to be, until I die. Those aren't books, they're trophies. Would I be less complete of a person if I gave away my entire collection of Lewis Carrol's collected works? Fuck no. Because 90% of the shit on my shelves can be downloaded for free. The rest can be had for peanuts on the digital reader of my choosing.<br />
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<i>What to do with them instead: </i>If you try to sell your old books, you're going to be horribly disappointed. With few exceptions (text books, genuinely rare volumes), you are going to get pennies on the dollar for what you paid for them. Even used bookstores will only take a portion of what you dump on their counter and Goodwill has been known to leave the boxes of the books sitting on the curb after the far more useful clothes and furniture have been carted away. My advice is to recycle whatever is left and get over the notion that every book must be preserved and cared for until the sun goes black.<br />
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<b>2. Old Clothes</b><br />
Parents are probably most guilty of this. It is a scientific fact that kids automatically grow approximately six inches every time you bring a new bag of clothes home [citation needed]. So I get the frustration at getting rid of something that's been worn once. But clothes,like food, have a shelf-life. If you're thinking of 'handing down' those parachute pants to a younger sibling, you're only setting him up for a life of failure, ridicule, and writing bitter, angry blogs.<br />
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Likewise, it's also time to give up your collection of band tshirts from college. Do you honestly think there will ever be a time when it's not shameful to wear a Hootie and the Blowfish tshirt out in public again?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSeIUdF7dDf98dJNqxrJ_qo0QSVF-LuUaPg36C1pUVRUn85r4coLqL8HsGhNAjMMpQa-BV3ZL0Pa5VfhhUe-CQLrGWMcUOwKgjlxuix3otiVN_LMOEorkMz5I3PMlPZSDYz-wA2Hl5jg/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHSeIUdF7dDf98dJNqxrJ_qo0QSVF-LuUaPg36C1pUVRUn85r4coLqL8HsGhNAjMMpQa-BV3ZL0Pa5VfhhUe-CQLrGWMcUOwKgjlxuix3otiVN_LMOEorkMz5I3PMlPZSDYz-wA2Hl5jg/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Of course, some things are just timeless.</i></div>
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<i>What to do with them instead: </i>Give those clothes to a charity or a women's shelter while they're still fashionable and can be used by someone who will truly appreciate it (and won't be scarred by them later).<br />
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<b>1. 'Important' Papers</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhth4dmTzWmRM3rxlrLZH0LX4T75uDh8EzDSqHNBjiDbhuZsd2XJHackUmtLsQ4NNEXVoPJBQ3a37PyleLgJlNETZAJkM4fntdhyNJIDKQT9J-pkDlV8fyqBvxpsM_5QlkXmcIPh2jj0rc/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhth4dmTzWmRM3rxlrLZH0LX4T75uDh8EzDSqHNBjiDbhuZsd2XJHackUmtLsQ4NNEXVoPJBQ3a37PyleLgJlNETZAJkM4fntdhyNJIDKQT9J-pkDlV8fyqBvxpsM_5QlkXmcIPh2jj0rc/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>The only important paper you ever need.</i></div>
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"Hey dude, what grade did you get in Mrs. McRobie's home economics class in 7th grade?" asked no one, ever. So why do you have a complete run of old report cards dating back to kindergarten? Likewise, do you really need a series of love letters from that girl with the lazy eye that stopped abruptly after she finally had surgery? Those boxes and boxes you have of paper aren't fond mementos, they're tonnage of crap you're passing on to someone else to hoard after you're gone. Because throwing away a departed loved ones old composition notebook is next to impossible without a lot of Vodka, tears, and a possible exorcism. Spare them that burder now and dump that shit. The world will be better for it.<br />
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<i>What to do with them instead: </i>Go straight to the recycling, do not pass go, do not collect $100. And while you're burning your school papers, go ahead and toss in any receipt, tax form, etc. older than seven years. Not even the IRS wants that shit.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-70118404797518906262014-10-19T15:30:00.002-04:002014-10-19T15:30:59.139-04:005 Halloween Candies for People Who Hate Children<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Remember that guy who used to give out whole Snickers bars or jumbo bags of Skittles or dollar bills for Halloween? That guy clearly loved children. He loved seeing the joy on their sticky faces even as they changed costumes and rang his doorbell for the third time that night. If Halloween had a Santa Claus, this guy would be it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbU-UzWqlD82Mvrp4GeQgKqPRbgU9OCgTuGtSvmljG3blZRTD6l8OooW318eqv40ICcrUIgoFinW5mTBUqkxbGLLAZi0-lk3YuvUlzKYI2drx8hgUZG7StDscxBJ2lwfC74CowKqRBVZE/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbU-UzWqlD82Mvrp4GeQgKqPRbgU9OCgTuGtSvmljG3blZRTD6l8OooW318eqv40ICcrUIgoFinW5mTBUqkxbGLLAZi0-lk3YuvUlzKYI2drx8hgUZG7StDscxBJ2lwfC74CowKqRBVZE/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Adorable.</i></div>
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This article isn't about that guy, though somebody should write one. This article is about the house down the street. The one with the lights off and the angry dog barking on the other side of the door. The door your friend Paul insists you knock on because it's almost 9pm and there aren't any other houses left. </div>
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This article is about the sad, angry man who answers the door in a stained pair of boxer shorts with the perpetual three-day stubble and eyes blurry with booze. More importantly, this article is about the crap that guy hands out for Halloween every year. </div>
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Don't be that guy. </div>
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<b>5. Cow Tails</b></div>
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Cow tails were first manufactured in 1984 by a very ambitious, misinformed candy maker who looked at a cow's ass and thought, 'You know who loves chewing on cow butt? Children.' . </div>
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I'm convinced billions of this stuff were knocked off the factory line and 30 years later we're still trying to put a dent in the left-over stock. They are sticks of caramel around a 'creamy center'. What is the cream you ask? Don't open that door. If you look into the abyss, the abyss will change you. </div>
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This is the candy that survives until Halloween the following year, but only because you're afraid of throwing it out and raising the ire of the angry god who first created it. This isn't a candy, it's an albatross. If Coleridge were alive today, he might write poems about it. He would definitely dip into his reserve opium stock just to get the taste out of his mouth.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTl57x47dGdOF3bpOSP1FUSlLckmgjqnYysQTkdpefWjnbXXe3t3u9wVcIZ7pyLjw3TkL4EkEVnOGycYaEpyhnhpt0Vf7f1wr4fFxBSsAXugtYa37d9LPsvqY5DWJWswXV0w2LC4A_Bo/s1600/1987-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxTl57x47dGdOF3bpOSP1FUSlLckmgjqnYysQTkdpefWjnbXXe3t3u9wVcIZ7pyLjw3TkL4EkEVnOGycYaEpyhnhpt0Vf7f1wr4fFxBSsAXugtYa37d9LPsvqY5DWJWswXV0w2LC4A_Bo/s1600/1987-1.jpg" height="207" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeC6GPxmY8lHDDOuht9RRv4ijQ_plN4JpU8MqecDKGQHm8pLKo0cFMN9204j24uiBugi2vyJFLux6t8-Cei-ApQxRxwN0K9ClWY2ZFqMZF-QSotFfwd9VZ4fIz4X3546pjC36-SkGTWM0/s1600/CowsTail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeC6GPxmY8lHDDOuht9RRv4ijQ_plN4JpU8MqecDKGQHm8pLKo0cFMN9204j24uiBugi2vyJFLux6t8-Cei-ApQxRxwN0K9ClWY2ZFqMZF-QSotFfwd9VZ4fIz4X3546pjC36-SkGTWM0/s1600/CowsTail.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>One of these tastes like bovine bottom and the other is the rear end of a cow.</i></div>
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<b>4. Candy Corn</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEMGWFP0FQ8eFE0gEr5ELjmevu7_80-INecRqtUCYdoD2DAxsX8hBcXT-pY1ssS8gxjikxEVp7_kGqgEqsS5RBwUOTBYry-AAaSQAMMn7vgf_glzO3N55eYldKAotMgav0tK-hfRzhYk/s1600/Candy-Corn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEMGWFP0FQ8eFE0gEr5ELjmevu7_80-INecRqtUCYdoD2DAxsX8hBcXT-pY1ssS8gxjikxEVp7_kGqgEqsS5RBwUOTBYry-AAaSQAMMn7vgf_glzO3N55eYldKAotMgav0tK-hfRzhYk/s1600/Candy-Corn.jpg" height="244" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Every time a child cries, the candy corn manufacturers produce another bag.</i></div>
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I have a new rule for candy makers--don't produce any sugar confectionary based on something that can be found on a farm. Then we might have also avoided the inedible concoction that is candy corn. </div>
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For some reason, this stuff is actually popular enough that it's produced in multiple flavors (indian, Christmas, and styrofoam). This isn't candy. It's wax without that sweet waxy taste we all know and love. </div>
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<b>3. Any Hard Candy</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmYFmRN4xo_MOHth7_oRRDHKlc-GdTm9gPStlzlsDi4QWTJlZZrKh1-UxMbO4QSrB4nZNzcCGpmC4vp0gBJ4wACmxBydZb8xwsyblByKqdCjSKqavLXs3vAEGehT42javgCWeTXy2cZc/s1600/images-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmYFmRN4xo_MOHth7_oRRDHKlc-GdTm9gPStlzlsDi4QWTJlZZrKh1-UxMbO4QSrB4nZNzcCGpmC4vp0gBJ4wACmxBydZb8xwsyblByKqdCjSKqavLXs3vAEGehT42javgCWeTXy2cZc/s1600/images-1.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<i>Would you eat what's in this woman's purse?</i></div>
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Especially butterscotch. It tastes like butter flavored sorrow. </div>
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Hard candies are not for trick or treaters. They're for visits with grandma when you need to get the taste of kasha out of your mouth. They're for swallowing and choking on during long car trips when you find one tucked between the seat. They're for post-dentist visits when there's literally no other candy around, but you still want to give a fuck you to the hygienist who told you to floss more. </div>
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<b>4. Good and Plenty</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-hko4JVFcdBvZTc1cogrQXVIf63af7UQmto1asdg5TTZiBfycV1kbFtsZM249qhSqsJzMSbYU5kELPzn2WSO0EO2ypwVogMlfR1NyPDz_f3fb42kttJD1C-jzu7Mav8fVvkKBTHShiQ/s1600/200px-Good_&_Plenty_licorice_candy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-hko4JVFcdBvZTc1cogrQXVIf63af7UQmto1asdg5TTZiBfycV1kbFtsZM249qhSqsJzMSbYU5kELPzn2WSO0EO2ypwVogMlfR1NyPDz_f3fb42kttJD1C-jzu7Mav8fVvkKBTHShiQ/s1600/200px-Good_&_Plenty_licorice_candy.JPG" /></a></div>
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<i>All the taste of cough medicine with the visual appeal of aspirin. </i></div>
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I'm adding anything licorice flavored to my list of banned Halloween candy. You know what else is licorice flavored? Jagermeister, or the perpetual answer to the question 'What were you drinking right before you threw up?'</div>
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<b>2. Tootsie Rolls</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMLqqzKW0sVKX7Oa0DH6bqvsWvZ4pFPwNNYVmRDZ3T0ENMPJ4Srs4OSr-aGrZwtugclpHpQ-Px0xKmKeHOpZohnQzu0O35n-di5bhstYyeBT0VssLydIpAPbuMWxXE2jBg7vhDa2bMgRs/s1600/Tootsie_roll_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMLqqzKW0sVKX7Oa0DH6bqvsWvZ4pFPwNNYVmRDZ3T0ENMPJ4Srs4OSr-aGrZwtugclpHpQ-Px0xKmKeHOpZohnQzu0O35n-di5bhstYyeBT0VssLydIpAPbuMWxXE2jBg7vhDa2bMgRs/s1600/Tootsie_roll_small.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>It looks like something a Cow Tail might have shitted out. </i></div>
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Caramel is the most abused candy ingredient. Caramel apples-- delicious. Caramel on ice cream--yes, please. So why does it become a biohazard in the hands of candy manufacturers? Seriously, Tootsie rolls are disgusting. Stale tootsie rolls (and they're <i>always</i> stale), are indigestible. And why do the wrappers always mysteriously open up in a Halloween bag? This is a candy the creepy guy down the street could soak in arsenic and it would only improve the taste. </div>
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<b>1. Mary Janes</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG-rU84NJ525283xUA9JzporxwWf3fAOfGIUyICeCO_FlQhm4rtce6KPeOrIQSw8GJDDbWsvFTNY5AOL3F3G6YeEL-jLE9MpQp45zD-WdpkOMognBIBMmFnqPr4_v2xetpEmH5uHLjhY/s1600/200px-Candy-Mary-Jane-Wrapper-Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixG-rU84NJ525283xUA9JzporxwWf3fAOfGIUyICeCO_FlQhm4rtce6KPeOrIQSw8GJDDbWsvFTNY5AOL3F3G6YeEL-jLE9MpQp45zD-WdpkOMognBIBMmFnqPr4_v2xetpEmH5uHLjhY/s1600/200px-Candy-Mary-Jane-Wrapper-Small.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>First manufactured in 1914, which is also the last time they changed the design on the wrapper.</i></div>
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Mary Janes are the Dorian Gray of the confectionary world--outwardly, they don't appear to have aged, but open them up and their true horror is revealed. </div>
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Do you like molasses? No, because you're not an 1880's gold miner. But the makers are a century into insisting that molasses is as popular and delicious today as it was during the gold rush.</div>
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<b>Instead give</b>: Skittles, Snickers, Kit Kat, Gobstoppers, Almond Joy, Hershey Chocolate, etc. Or even better, don't answer the damn door. Your entire judgement is in question. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-11282756103716347852014-10-18T15:19:00.002-04:002014-10-18T15:20:20.651-04:004 People Who Were Trapped (and Made it Awesome)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As much as we'd like to think otherwise, most of us would not deal well with being trapped. Even if we were trapped somewhere awesome, like in Julianne Hough's hot tub.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldIdRg07z3mTmsDaNKK2kgjfaypVBkknXlviPWJsOG-qpuraefkX-hErGX_E-wWOXDzTrUoKL2Ii-uIji8_NEFcJIDOVa1bBFe3um1JqWgSeK7SDTYhj4frZ5ek28gLjhn7H_HjL6uYY/s1600/Saw-Cary-Elwes-640x359.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjldIdRg07z3mTmsDaNKK2kgjfaypVBkknXlviPWJsOG-qpuraefkX-hErGX_E-wWOXDzTrUoKL2Ii-uIji8_NEFcJIDOVa1bBFe3um1JqWgSeK7SDTYhj4frZ5ek28gLjhn7H_HjL6uYY/s1600/Saw-Cary-Elwes-640x359.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Put away that hacksaw, Carey. The elevator doors will open in like five seconds.</i></div>
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But the following people all found themselves alone, helpless, and helplessly trapped. Did they panic? No. Did they desperately search for someone to rescue them? No. They looked around, pumped their fists in the air like Judd Nelson at the end of Breakfast Club, and screamed 'Let's get this motherfucking party started!"<br />
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<b>4. Celine Dion</b><br />
Richard Dunn became stranded in a Las Vegas airport after getting bumped from two consecutive flights. He looked around at the empty terminal and thought, you know what would make this place more bearable? Celine Dion.<br />
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With the assistance of the only other human being he could locate in the empty airport, Trevor proceeded to produce his own Celine Dion video using only his iPhone and presumably an inordinate amount of Cinnabon. The results....well, rarely are the words Celine Dion and ‘awesome’ used in the same sentence, but there's no other words here.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1uSzAOW-TsE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<b>3. Does it count if you trap yourself?</b><br />
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<br />
Trevor Runyon was a man with a plan. Unfortunately, that plan involved an insane amount of whippets first. After breaking into the local grocery store and hiding until closing, Trevor went to freaking town, destroying the whipped cream section, cooking himself half a dozen steaks, steaming up some shrimp, devouring a birthday cake, then promptly pissed himself and went to sleep.<br />
<br />
Behold the face of the most pleased mugshot ever taken.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixE6k9no2PmadQllRVegzMDcBYTlh_D5jXS1ZaSd5r9VxgvF8il94x9KWKGf60HTd8Zgygp2WVa3Qo4mxvsqEHcVXMfBnA1NaNuWWWnvmxRZewAXNOgnXXcfTtHcWsAQm6ZHyWTRcTOi4/s1600/7d2269c1-445a-4f71-b7d8-dc538e2dfc86.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixE6k9no2PmadQllRVegzMDcBYTlh_D5jXS1ZaSd5r9VxgvF8il94x9KWKGf60HTd8Zgygp2WVa3Qo4mxvsqEHcVXMfBnA1NaNuWWWnvmxRZewAXNOgnXXcfTtHcWsAQm6ZHyWTRcTOi4/s1600/7d2269c1-445a-4f71-b7d8-dc538e2dfc86.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>I regret nothing.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Traffic Jam Party</b><br />
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<br />
What do you do when you're stuck in traffic? Curse at other drivers? Count the people picking their nose? Question your life choices? All of the above? You know what you probably don't do? Bust out a steel drum and a limbo stick and party like it's 1999. Which is what these people did on the Pennsylvania Turnpike no less. Want to know what fun things happen on the Pennsylvania Turnpike? Leaving Pennsylvania. That's it.<br />
<br />
<b>1. The Human Bench</b><br />
What would you do if you were stuck with a hot chick on an elevator? Tear off your clothes and beg her to do you for Mother Russia, right? No? Do my pick-up skills need work? Never mind. This isn't about another failed sexual experience on an elevator proving once and for all that Stephen Tyler is completely full of shit. This is about a guy on an elevator with a very, very old woman.<br />
<br />
What would you do after you'd exhausted the woman's stock of hard candies and pictures of her grandkids? How would you pass the time? Does your answer look anything like this?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbdypg09UcXhMtEygB4x-PgzxijDFKN8n8NM6H4BPkrjnBiqZW7igTGmCrIFm72WV36KYAd3AiVp-C5sKQd_iP8Zg3itB0GpInQe_u5X2MijoxQOCwHz1u_d6k-9cikGFqtoZOfVH1d8/s1600/mover_acts_as_human_bench_for_elderly_stuck_in_elevator.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbdypg09UcXhMtEygB4x-PgzxijDFKN8n8NM6H4BPkrjnBiqZW7igTGmCrIFm72WV36KYAd3AiVp-C5sKQd_iP8Zg3itB0GpInQe_u5X2MijoxQOCwHz1u_d6k-9cikGFqtoZOfVH1d8/s1600/mover_acts_as_human_bench_for_elderly_stuck_in_elevator.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I'm not even sure I want to add a story here because that picture is so awesome.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In what sounds like the start of a porno, a 23 year old mover from a company called College Hunks, gets stuck on an elevator with a woman. The man's name is Cesar Larios which does nothing to diminish the porn set-up. But this woman is elderly (which still does not rule out the possibility of weird porn), and suffering from weak legs. The poor woman needed to sit. So Cesar did what I'm sure no one else in the entire world would even think to do. He bent over and acted as a human bench. For over 30 minutes. He let an elderly woman sit on him for 30 minutes. And he looked great doing it. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-29507949332904987022014-10-17T15:49:00.002-04:002014-10-17T23:05:11.657-04:00Five Classic 1980's Songs (That Could Never Be Recorded Today)The 1980's were a simpler time. A neon time. A coked up, spandex, feel good time. And the songs are very reflective of that attitude-- they are often upbeat, chirpy, and self-involved and also gloriously, wildly, and most unashamedly offensive in the worst possible ways. And while nowadays it's trendy as hell to cover or mix songs from this era, I'd be willing to bet my hidden stash of leftover 1980's cocaine that no artist will ever touch these songs:<br />
<br />
<b>5. Killing An Arab, The Cure</b><br />
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<br />
<i>The song</i>: The soundtrack band to every suicide that took place in the 1980's, The Cure takes Albert Camus' classic novel the Stranger and simplifies it to its most basic premise of Mediterranean murder.<br />
<br />
<i>The most offending line</i>: The song itself really isn't all that offensive, especially if you take the time to learn about the book it's based on, but maybe, just maybe, lead singer Robert Smith could have gone easy on the chorus of 'Killing an Arab' a little bit which, I swear, he repeats 87 times. And it only gets a little more awkward each time. It's like riding in the backseat of your grandpa's car as he tries to navigate his way around the Puerto Rican Day Parade. <br />
<br />
<i>Why it would never fly today</i>: Because 9/11, duh. And because, while it's perfectly acceptable to post military footage of terrorists getting blown up on your Facebook page, the entire world will rain hate down on your bigoted ass if you so much as make one unkind remark about the Muslim world.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Funky Cold Medina, Tone Loc</b><br />
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<i>The song:</i> A celebration of a new date rape drug that turns horribly wrong (wronger?), after the singer dopes up both his dog and a transvestite.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The most offending line: </i>It's a tie between Tone's psychotically detached description of doping up a prospective date, which reads almost like a court deposition:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I went up to this girl, she said, Hi, my name is Sheena</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I thought she'd be good to go with a little Funky Cold Medina</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She said, I'd like a drink, I said, Ehm, ok, I'll go get it</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Then a couple sips, she cold licked her lips</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I knew that she was with it</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Or his proclamation that homophobia is okay because, hey, this is the 1980's man.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
You know, ain't no plans with a man</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is the 80's and I'm down with the ladies</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Break it down</div>
<br />
<i>Why it would never fly today:</i> Because 1) Will and Grace made being gay cool and 2) date rape just isn't celebrated like it used to be.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Into the Night, Benny Mardones</b><br />
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<br />
<i>The song:</i> A crooner's plea for everyone to just back the fuck off him and his jailbait date because this is true love y'all and because he has no concept of how the legal system works.<br />
<br />
<i>The most offending line: </i>Mardones wastes no time with that one. The opening line sets the tone right away,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
She's just sixteen years old</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Leave her alone, they say</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Separated by fools</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Who don't know what love is yet </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So clearly, if you're not down with underage love, you're a 'fool'. Later the song gets downright weird as Mardones dreams about gaining superpowers and flying his underage biddy away to his Silence in the Lambs-like basement for some hot, hot loving.<br />
<br />
<i>Why it would never fly today:</i> Things are uncomfortable enough with underage celebrities phone pictures getting hacked and posted everywhere, we don't need the soundtrack to go with it.<br />
<br />
<i>Runner ups in the jailbait category:</i> Sister Christian (Night Ranger), Don't Stand So Close (The Police), Art Lover (Kinks), Seventeen (Winger) ... What was it about the 1980's and statutory rape?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Turning Japanese, The Vapors</b><br />
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<i>The song: </i>I'll let Rob Kemp, the Vapors guitarist explain this one, "It's a love song about somebody who had lost their girlfriend and was going slowly crazy, turning Japanese is just all the cliches of our angst... turning into something you never expected to."<br />
<br />
Um, what? You got dumped and suddenly you're every terrible stereotype about Asian people imaginable? Who hurt you, Rob Kemp? Was it the guy who sold your girlfriend her Toyota?<br />
<br />
<i>Why it would never fly today:</i> It's not really cool to hate the Japanese anymore. Not since Michael Keaton made loving the Japs adorable in Gung Ho.<br />
<br />
<b>1. The Homecoming Queen's Got a Gun, Julie Brown</b><br />
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<b><br /></b>
<i>The song:</i> Julie Brown's celebration of the valley girl lifetsyle two years after it stopped being cool played against the back-drop of a massive school shooting.<br />
<br />
<i>The most offending lines:</i> Pretty much everything after the Homecoming Queen whips out her glock:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Debbie's smiling, and wiping her gun</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Picking off cheerleaders one by one</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh no! Muffy's pompons just blew to bits</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My God, Mitzi's head just did the splits!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My best friend is on a shooting spree</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Stop it, Debbie, you're embarrassing me!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
How could you do what you just did -</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are you having a really bad period?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Everybody run, the Homecoming Queen's got a gun!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Everybody run, the Homecoming Queen's got a gun!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Stop it, Debbie, you're making a mess</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Powder burns all over your dress</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bloody bodies all over the quad</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Who'd have thought she'd be packing a rod!)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
An hour later, you know, the cops had arrived</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh, but by then the entire glee club had died - no big loss</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You wouldn't believe what they brought to stop</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tear gas, machine guns... even a chopper!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Throw down your gun and tiara and come out of that float!"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Debbie didn't listen to what the cop said,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No, she aimed and fired, and now the math teacher's dead!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
These aren't song lyrics, it's a coroner's report set to music. The song is ridiculous so it's easy to overlook lines like, "Powder burns all over your dress/ Bloody bodies all over the quad," but Jesus, this song is dark.<br />
<br />
<i>Why it would never fly today:</i> Columbine and every school shooting afterwards. If you're going to sing about it, it better be tasteful and understated or, in the least, completely intelligible (see Foster the People, Pumped Up Kicks).<br />
<br />
<br />
And just so I don't leave you on a sour note, here's Chuck Berry singing about his penis. A song that is just crying for a Miley Cyrus cover:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-69516789114758432642014-10-15T16:22:00.002-04:002014-10-15T16:27:50.963-04:004 Hilarious Side-Effects of Common MedicationsThink of the most innocuous, harmless medication you can. Did you say Aspirin? You should have said Aspirin. I'm going to pretend you said Aspirin.<br />
<br />
Good. You and I are as one. Now read the potential side effects printed in 4pt font and invisible ink on the side of the bottle:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>black, bloody, or tarry stools</li>
<li>coughing up blood or vomit that looks like coffee grounds</li>
<li>severe nausea, vomiting, or stomach pain</li>
<li>fever lasting longer than 3 days</li>
<li>swelling, or pain lasting longer than 10 days</li>
<li>hearing problems, ringing in your ears</li>
</ul>
Less serious side effects may include:<br />
<ul>
<li>upset stomach, heartburn</li>
<li>drowsiness</li>
<li>headache</li>
</ul>
<br />
I'm sorry, 'headache'? One of the side-effects of Aspirin is 'headache'? That is literally the only reason to take Aspirin. You certainly can't crush it up and snort it for a cheap high (trust me). Bloody stools, fine. But headache? Shame on you anonymous pill-makers.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVi0MxYk3vWaQTJ3wsQizpKQ_Fg37nfL6wbpJDX4AJ_0Ra6yAGPmqOEAO5aq1BVr17RGfjCWqJuhZOJam5TqIPUqkLWuU0RK_6O_u3ksx58FSqCRlmdhdOTFW7D7e-2miA5DwTO3ID04/s1600/Ashamed_businessman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDVi0MxYk3vWaQTJ3wsQizpKQ_Fg37nfL6wbpJDX4AJ_0Ra6yAGPmqOEAO5aq1BVr17RGfjCWqJuhZOJam5TqIPUqkLWuU0RK_6O_u3ksx58FSqCRlmdhdOTFW7D7e-2miA5DwTO3ID04/s1600/Ashamed_businessman.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>"I didn't know."</i></div>
<br />
At any rate, the point is even the most harmless, every-day pill represents a virtual mine-field of unintended, often awful, sometimes even crippling side-effects. But occasionally, just occasionally, they are also wildly hilarious.<br />
<br />
Like these. That's where I was going with this whole lead-in.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Viagra</b><br />
<br />
Viagra is of course the drug used by porn stars and geriatrics alike in order to raise the flag over Monterey one more time...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWjFPNiK5-5Xjd822hzIy-YlTjMiOgcW3wHTZkeeB5uylntmcRNZC5kHMA7JblHGmrQQ9R6reYi5beG1bX8Ij35Yr6fYT6q4OdaM2L1-js9pPj9MeilFZSMWawwBk6ayQ1J5lgipIq-0/s1600/flag2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWjFPNiK5-5Xjd822hzIy-YlTjMiOgcW3wHTZkeeB5uylntmcRNZC5kHMA7JblHGmrQQ9R6reYi5beG1bX8Ij35Yr6fYT6q4OdaM2L1-js9pPj9MeilFZSMWawwBk6ayQ1J5lgipIq-0/s1600/flag2.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<i>"What a magnificent erection."</i></div>
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<i>"That's a flag."</i></div>
<br />
Boners. They're for getting boners. But apparently as Viagra pushes all that blood around in your body from one head to another, some unintended consequences occasionally occur. Things like blue vision. <br />
<br />
No, not blurry vision. Blue vision. As in the color blue. That's right, the drug used most often to relieve blue balls can also create blue vision. Needless to say, Viagra runs away with the award for most ironic side-effect.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Dyrenium</b><br />
And while your vision is already blue, you may as well pop the high blood pressure medication Dyrenium, because that shit is going to turn your pee pee a nice royal azure color as well. I had a wonderful Smurf joke here. It was tasteful and understated and did not at all imply that the drug made it look like you had blown way too many Smurfs while cosplaying at Comic-Con.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq88ZbmDuyWOhWuXbxY9JO8JVBSABjF4ZgM1bQax6M62mBGK_4ZYM921MxUhoMkgxnSFvwspo2i1xqKOV9sBl3sS684eIjxgUIlvSvSFmHMpdYQeWlHAehmoKRYiOzn8Takya7ly_yZHE/s1600/tough-smurfs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq88ZbmDuyWOhWuXbxY9JO8JVBSABjF4ZgM1bQax6M62mBGK_4ZYM921MxUhoMkgxnSFvwspo2i1xqKOV9sBl3sS684eIjxgUIlvSvSFmHMpdYQeWlHAehmoKRYiOzn8Takya7ly_yZHE/s1600/tough-smurfs.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Smurf cosplay is totally thing. You probably thought I was making that up.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Mirapex </b><br />
Mirapex is used to treat the decidedly unfunny Parkinson's disease by raising the level of dopamine in the brain (something Parkinson's sufferers sorely lack). What was the effect of all that added dopamine, you ask? God, you get me. You know just what I want exactly when I want it.<br />
<br />
Alcoholism. Gambling. Food binges. Shopping Sprees. And lots and lots of fucking. Basically, if you had a minor interest in shoes before you started the Mirapex, you turned into Imelda Fucking Marcos. If you liked to smoke a pipe on occasion and wear a bath robe, you became Hugh Hefner. Dopamine basically opened the flood gate of normal with a battering ram and screamed, 'Let the flood waters of crazy rise! I have no fucks left to give!'<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1b___qmR1NCi_wsBrcGLmj3dnEdjHehXXTPEqAUXNMhsohSs_XoI_yUud8gi4-tKjDL5NmZp9xNaEwG015Fl-pMuDtJM1mGQd-Oiy46j-Gt5RLqwq7fnWev0NvxFkzbJrP3VT3vu77i4/s1600/BobbyLeachNiagaraFalls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1b___qmR1NCi_wsBrcGLmj3dnEdjHehXXTPEqAUXNMhsohSs_XoI_yUud8gi4-tKjDL5NmZp9xNaEwG015Fl-pMuDtJM1mGQd-Oiy46j-Gt5RLqwq7fnWev0NvxFkzbJrP3VT3vu77i4/s1600/BobbyLeachNiagaraFalls.jpg" height="188" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>There's crazy and then there's 'down Niagra Falls in a metal penis crazy'.</i></div>
<br />
<b>1. Propecia</b><br />
Propecia is the main ingredient in Rogaine and is technically used to treat male pattern baldness but is really only successful in separating sad lonely men from their money (with a 100% rating!). Along with the unfortunate side effects of brokeness and funny smelling scalps, Propecia has also been known to grow boobs. On men. Big, milk-producing mammaries. So yeah, you took Rogaine<br />
to boost your confidence, maybe pick up some ladies. Turns out all it did was turn you into one.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PKa_FGJN2726M_t6hdhD4o3n05iLqlp-_QRSEqwI2WYckV5oST8XOE637NPNX_EL3tRZCHd7mBpq2ZzrZoMDlly_V9O8K7FU8xlzBTL1dPmBOTOAwkVNzbgoI_6Fo2h-ar-QQgsrGlk/s1600/meat_loafs_man_boobs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PKa_FGJN2726M_t6hdhD4o3n05iLqlp-_QRSEqwI2WYckV5oST8XOE637NPNX_EL3tRZCHd7mBpq2ZzrZoMDlly_V9O8K7FU8xlzBTL1dPmBOTOAwkVNzbgoI_6Fo2h-ar-QQgsrGlk/s1600/meat_loafs_man_boobs.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i>On the plus side, look at that magnificent hairline.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-14568457730179514972014-10-14T15:34:00.001-04:002014-10-14T15:34:36.474-04:00Ironic Animal AttacksAnimals have no sense of irony. Nowhere is this more evident than in Anton Chekhov's short story "Lady with a Dog", and, oh my god, I've nearly put myself to sleep.<br />
<br />
I can't come up with a clever intro. So here's a bunch of animals doing terrible things and terribly ironic things, without stopping to appreciate either because animals are both jerks and stupid. <br />
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<b>5. Giant Squid Attacks Greenpeace Submarine</b><br />
<a href="http://www.news.com.au/world/giant-squid-attacks-greenpeace-submarine/story-fndir2ev-1227088720037">http://www.news.com.au/world/giant-squid-attacks-greenpeace-submarine/story-fndir2ev-1227088720037</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XlsI5td8zEQWI4Xemgk74YuQgb8iJb6vnVwgrpbxHc_nwMId-at23sGZrla7mUWT9haZ6Phc3NFS365PHdEyXNR19QwFa8mZMuWU9SMTkCPnh3kRFiLf2yLVgmtXI1pgORvjyZKHX4Q/s1600/Colossal+Squid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_XlsI5td8zEQWI4Xemgk74YuQgb8iJb6vnVwgrpbxHc_nwMId-at23sGZrla7mUWT9haZ6Phc3NFS365PHdEyXNR19QwFa8mZMuWU9SMTkCPnh3kRFiLf2yLVgmtXI1pgORvjyZKHX4Q/s1600/Colossal+Squid.jpg" height="299" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>"Get your tentacle out of my ass."</i></div>
<br />
Clearly, this Greenpeace sub interrupted the squids' annual Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea reenactment party and their hostile reaction was only appropriate.<br />
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Irony Rating: 6 Eye Rolls. Who doesn't appreciate smug Green Peacers get a slap-down (tentacle-down) from the animal kingdom every now and again?<br />
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<b>4. Swan Attacks Rescuer</b><br />
<a href="http://abc13.com/pets/baby-swan-saved-man-attacked-by-angry-dad-swan-during-rescue/317731/">http://abc13.com/pets/baby-swan-saved-man-attacked-by-angry-dad-swan-during-rescue/317731/</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jp4C0ZM0FGRizpifne1PQHAJ6ubQdaGgOARHklA1KUYlNd08YvCl9BrH8BC3_M5o7ojSOvzihbG24zdx_gO8n5U9WR6VxpGHwW026Fp0pJ8oSmRlaQDWPAF7DaumQd8FNAy5mR6SltM/s1600/The_swan_attacks_man.Hokkaido-toyako,%E4%BA%BA%E3%82%92%E8%A5%B2%E3%81%86%E6%B4%9E%E7%88%BA%E6%B9%96%E3%81%AE%E7%99%BD%E9%B3%A5P6200258%E3%83%A2%E3%82%B5%E3%82%99%E3%82%A4%E3%82%AF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jp4C0ZM0FGRizpifne1PQHAJ6ubQdaGgOARHklA1KUYlNd08YvCl9BrH8BC3_M5o7ojSOvzihbG24zdx_gO8n5U9WR6VxpGHwW026Fp0pJ8oSmRlaQDWPAF7DaumQd8FNAy5mR6SltM/s1600/The_swan_attacks_man.Hokkaido-toyako,%E4%BA%BA%E3%82%92%E8%A5%B2%E3%81%86%E6%B4%9E%E7%88%BA%E6%B9%96%E3%81%AE%E7%99%BD%E9%B3%A5P6200258%E3%83%A2%E3%82%B5%E3%82%99%E3%82%A4%E3%82%AF.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>"You can blur his face but you can't protect his dignity."</i></div>
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When an adorable baby swan got caught in a fence, an old man swooped in to the rescue. Which, if you know anything about swans, is exactly the last thing you should do to a baby swan when its parent is nearby. Swans are actually the third dickiest of birds out there, just behind peacocks and pigeons (i.e., flying rats with wings).<br />
<br />
Irony Rating: 7 Eye Rolls. This gets extra points for involving both a graceful bird freaking the fuck out, a baby, and an old man. It's a toxic, powerful combination for both humor and catastrophe.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Freed Minks Show No Appreciation</b><br />
<a href="http://articles.philly.com/1998-08-12/news/25725544_1_mink-farm-animals-fur-coats">http://articles.philly.com/1998-08-12/news/25725544_1_mink-farm-animals-fur-coats</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6edsOu9bikKc2FEv8TaU3Qw1-CYKs84Ohr8BV1CmHxmIcWGiPXw2LiI_uFU1Nx6Ecab585pTV33zNK72jh1lnk61is_hTQ4q-61o5jESAcEvIaaFxwktAFRzixQoLvWHlwVYeU9kPvgg/s1600/mink-John-W-Anderson-W700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6edsOu9bikKc2FEv8TaU3Qw1-CYKs84Ohr8BV1CmHxmIcWGiPXw2LiI_uFU1Nx6Ecab585pTV33zNK72jh1lnk61is_hTQ4q-61o5jESAcEvIaaFxwktAFRzixQoLvWHlwVYeU9kPvgg/s1600/mink-John-W-Anderson-W700.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>"Won't someone please think of the minks--oh, wait, never mind, they're bloodthirsty monsters."</i></div>
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Animal activists, whose thoughts were no doubt muddled by their strict vegetarian diets, decided to free almost 7000 minks from a mink farm into the English countryside in what was probably the most adorable stampede of all time. And how did those mink show their appreciation? By slaughtering every cat, hamster, chicken, guinea pig and hen that crossed their path. They've even targeted a few endangered animals as well. One of the minks' coordinated attacks (you can just picture them rubbing their tiny little paws together and chittering evilly) was on a bird sanctuary (i.e., a place that rescues animals), forcing the workers there to literally take up arms to protect their beloved birds. That's right, animal sanctuary workers are murdering one animal to protect it from another. This is a story that just keeps on giving.<br />
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Irony Rating: 10 eye rolls. Honestly, the only way this story would be perfect if the minks somehow found a way to combine like a Voltron of ungodly cuteness and destroyed the animal liberators headquarters.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Bull Attacks Activist</b><br />
<a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/protester-gored-by-bull-cried-for-animal-1593226.html">http://www.independent.co.uk/news/protester-gored-by-bull-cried-for-animal-1593226.html</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXJe6UYCHslFLIkGNLxCy3RRWN3I4_94-qpM2-TjEvfFg-rgBoWqGUsEn5oeHg7u7QgGev9RG6lP09FTExXUYpZm3XecN4AA-PtK6_5K4SI3bxltCpOTl1mwAz5rqJn8Hh5JL8jTF7iA/s1600/07-07-2012-11-07-00-677mdf27346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJXJe6UYCHslFLIkGNLxCy3RRWN3I4_94-qpM2-TjEvfFg-rgBoWqGUsEn5oeHg7u7QgGev9RG6lP09FTExXUYpZm3XecN4AA-PtK6_5K4SI3bxltCpOTl1mwAz5rqJn8Hh5JL8jTF7iA/s1600/07-07-2012-11-07-00-677mdf27346.jpg" height="203" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>"This is crazy. I can't believe we all wore the same outfit."</i></div>
<br />
"Vicki Moore, the animal rights campaigner gored by a bull during a Spanish "blood fiesta", burst into tears and murmured "poor bull" when she was told that the animal had been shot after the attack." Who's crying now bitch!<br />
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The activist is now on a strictly meat diet.<br />
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Irony Rating: 4 eye rolls. Animal Activists, on the whole, are emotional, knee-jerk douches who subside purely on their own smugness and alfalfa sprouts. Anytime the animal steps in to give them a good beat-down is both ironic and appreciated.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Shot by a Camel</b><br />
<a href="http://www.burkeandwills.net.au/Camels/Introducing_Camels_Into_Australia.htm">http://www.burkeandwills.net.au/Camels/Introducing_Camels_Into_Australia.htm</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJnimuc9W_pd_3MUd4OQnfMp6owo-8p1cRwsPFpWHA5FIV05BpLgcdW3GNgR4wWkwGkMC3_EBVNJcSrNyDeG5xedsSapVS57G1Atm4OA1NVFvMQ5tkSMlTifklU3KAuxLwCQOnUAKvrw/s1600/camel+tongue.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJnimuc9W_pd_3MUd4OQnfMp6owo-8p1cRwsPFpWHA5FIV05BpLgcdW3GNgR4wWkwGkMC3_EBVNJcSrNyDeG5xedsSapVS57G1Atm4OA1NVFvMQ5tkSMlTifklU3KAuxLwCQOnUAKvrw/s1600/camel+tongue.bmp" /></a></div>
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<i>"In the camel world, this is pretty risqué porn."</i></div>
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It requires a lot of work to get shot by a camel. For one, they don't have opposable thumbs so there's that. Second, most camels' preferred method of warfare is projectile spitting. But that wasn't going to stop John Ainsworth Horrocks, an intrepid explorer in the days when people could still be called intrepid without rolling your eyes. Not only did John arm the camel, he had it imported into Australia just for the occassion. <br />
<br />
While exploring southern coast, Ainsworth and his completely unironically named pet camel Harry decided to take a rest and shoot some local birds. The camel, sensing his window of opportunity, chose that moment to buck wildly, sending an errant shot into poor John's hand and face. He would die a month later from the wounds. Harry would be immediately put down. And Australia would have to wait decades until someone else would get shot by a camel.<br />
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Irony rating: 0 eye rolls. This isn't at all ironic, really. It's just a hilarious story of a dumb-ass on a camel getting shot and I couldn't resist including it.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-91636663619064317102014-10-12T16:18:00.000-04:002014-10-12T16:18:28.230-04:00Ten words of advice for loving a comic book nerdTen Words of Advice for Loving a Comic Book Nerd
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<br />
1. Super heroes wear costumes, not outfits.
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2. Likewise, a cape is not an accessory. It's badass.
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3. Those aren't dolls in my room, they're action figures. And if you suggest opening and playing with them again, I swear to god I will leave you.
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4. I'm thrilled you're reading one of my comic books, but if you bend the cover back I will tear out what's left of my hair.
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5. Yes, Thor is a very handsome man. He's also the God of Thunder. Focus.
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6. That guy at the comic book store you were making fun of is coming over to dinner. He owns a full run of X-Men. I worship him as a god, stained sweat pants and all.
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7. It's Stan Lee. Not Stanley. Lee is his last name. If you remember nothing else, let it be this.
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8. I will never go to a Ben Affleck movie with you. And if you have to ask why, I will openly question our love.
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9. If I put on a tux and go to your cousin's wedding, you can wear one gold bikini and go with me to comic con.
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10. If you don't question my packages from Ebay, I won't say anything about yours from Amazon.
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<br />
Sent from my iPhoneAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-420859500684706942014-10-12T15:31:00.004-04:002014-10-12T15:31:43.694-04:00Six Hilarious Failed Attempts at Religious ToysReligion can be a hard sell. There's a lot of standing and sitting and standing again, the wine generally sucks, and most of the holidays tend to get scheduled during football. So you can imagine that it's a little extra challenging to get a child excited about it, a creature whose attention can only be focused on repetitive viewings of Dora the Explorer cartoons and who still gets excited about wiping their own ass.<br />
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That's why it's understandable when religious leaders might take some, ahem, unorthodox approaches to getting the wee ones hooked on the sweet, sweet high of salvation. And sometimes these approaches work. There's religious-based concerts, comic books, cartoons. All methods used to reach the nation's young with varying success. But nowhere does it go so spectacularly wrong when the religion and toy industry meet in a collision of crazy, tradition, and way too much Manischewitz.<br />
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<b>6. The Last Supper Playset</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmbVX9R2Scehtrtp-IcaQGll0N6QtPrhChQHCz1qK8cVhlgLhutPwO0285J2mGiS4q6cqhUJ_NFZW_idYWoO_6yv4Fm1pUG0PLpUDvdvNsJDZI3_dabyAzie7AHhq4FKpf-5ox9-yPHPA/s1600/380102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmbVX9R2Scehtrtp-IcaQGll0N6QtPrhChQHCz1qK8cVhlgLhutPwO0285J2mGiS4q6cqhUJ_NFZW_idYWoO_6yv4Fm1pUG0PLpUDvdvNsJDZI3_dabyAzie7AHhq4FKpf-5ox9-yPHPA/s1600/380102.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<u>The Description</u>: "The last Supper Building Block Set allows children three and up to build and reenact The Last Supper in their playrooms."<br />
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<u>The Failure:</u> Look, I get that the Last Supper is a very important story in the Christian religion, but this fails on just about every level. "Kids, experience the thrill of setting the table. And when you're done, betray them for extra money in your allowance next week."<br />
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<b>5. David's Wooden Slingshot</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNRtX6d_R7aU_CNISmOdT-vcFY1IJHQCJEhyTfKiTPCB4xtAVJj4G5ao8jvjWZbR-lGug8i3HybtrxGeVd2nPpfFdfzwWWJitWg5hXs3TNydnxOd1BKPVj8aT5Bwf-bXlGH8NMagsy2g/s1600/christiandollarstore_2258_96280864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNRtX6d_R7aU_CNISmOdT-vcFY1IJHQCJEhyTfKiTPCB4xtAVJj4G5ao8jvjWZbR-lGug8i3HybtrxGeVd2nPpfFdfzwWWJitWg5hXs3TNydnxOd1BKPVj8aT5Bwf-bXlGH8NMagsy2g/s1600/christiandollarstore_2258_96280864.jpg" /></a></div>
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<u>The Description: "</u>David's Wooden Slingshot. 7 1/4” Wooden Sling Shots. Each handle is wrapped in jute with a genuine leather launcher."<br />
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<u>The Failure:</u> <br />
David and Goliath is one of the more badass stories in the Bible and, understandably, there's plenty of action figures to be had out there. But this isn't a toy, it's a weapon. They even wrapped the damn thing in leather so you'd know it'd last. All that's missing is a warning label on the package which reads 'Rocks and eye gauze not included'.<br />
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<b>4. Angel Wars Trading Cards</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGiLcQ8_r2dbnj9ybwtA4fL-i8YjP928yG7eQ9OAys5whIGHLhf21Nii74ppXS91j9yvKasBIyZs9WTNP-OdpJG8Q1nx6fCknpTEJp4Nl_TWpyfNuNoQj_a4OB_fqGL9D_6WsJ63Ep6E/s1600/1889055387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAGiLcQ8_r2dbnj9ybwtA4fL-i8YjP928yG7eQ9OAys5whIGHLhf21Nii74ppXS91j9yvKasBIyZs9WTNP-OdpJG8Q1nx6fCknpTEJp4Nl_TWpyfNuNoQj_a4OB_fqGL9D_6WsJ63Ep6E/s1600/1889055387.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></div>
<u><br /></u>
<u>The Description: </u><br />
"Angel Wars is a solution to games filled with magic, wizards, and the occult such as Pokemon & Yu-Gi-Oh, For ages 7 and up."<br />
<br />
<u>The Failure:</u><br />
God (ahem) forbid kids play with anything involving magic or cuddly, sexually ambiguous monsters. Here, play this game involving a group of anthropomorphic angels beating the ever loving shit out of each other as they compete for their dad's love. And also the devil is there, too. Yes, much better.<br />
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<b>3. Large Shul Religious Building Blocks</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijj5CnTIyydmXFSD28oEZe7upAo1sCgz9XRiRpxKkJiFacjNRsvMn4I20mCYl4Ok2Y-qdxzGIm9tmLoKl_PE-Oi-3yQ3TmDxobqmPdEbFu5Zhxt8q9UT9bb5U3mzFU243s7qDqy5EDDfw/s1600/gbb1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijj5CnTIyydmXFSD28oEZe7upAo1sCgz9XRiRpxKkJiFacjNRsvMn4I20mCYl4Ok2Y-qdxzGIm9tmLoKl_PE-Oi-3yQ3TmDxobqmPdEbFu5Zhxt8q9UT9bb5U3mzFU243s7qDqy5EDDfw/s1600/gbb1.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<u>The Description: </u><br />
"Shul has many benches, a bimah, seforim shank and an aron kodesh with 2 sifrei torah! Set includes special stickers that are reusable. Beautiful step by step instructions are included. Will keep kids entertained for hours on end."<br />
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<u>The Failure: </u><br />
If benches and instructions are highlighted in your toy's product description, you've done something wrong. This product does nothing to get kids excited to about going to Temple. All it teaches them is that even Legos can be boring if you inject enough religion into it.<br />
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<br />
<b>2. My Soft Rosh Hashana Set</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9aiBGgjGtWIa8iYIiKWNIAWfKSjBhJJWC3lOX_zlD_oPWQirtSI-lGdW4anqT_uWgiFzvqWxa81H2w8lWKCJHx4L4qtWUgmZUalkmXEAH498cZhwSry6oy2VippAulnNdwL4U0JYR1w/s1600/40300a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9aiBGgjGtWIa8iYIiKWNIAWfKSjBhJJWC3lOX_zlD_oPWQirtSI-lGdW4anqT_uWgiFzvqWxa81H2w8lWKCJHx4L4qtWUgmZUalkmXEAH498cZhwSry6oy2VippAulnNdwL4U0JYR1w/s1600/40300a.gif" height="180" width="400" /></a></div>
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<u><br /></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<u>The Description:</u></div>
<br />
"8 piece velour Rosh Hashana set in a vinyl carrying case. Fun and educational. Includes apple, honey jar, shofar, 2 round challahs, 2 candles in holders, and a Kiddush cup. A full Yom Tov experience!"<br />
<br />
<u>The Failure:</u><br />
Interesting idea. Poor, poor execution. Let's look at what you're giving little Yakov to play with here-- a wine cup, simulated flaming candles, and a Shofar which is a ram's horn, but let's just admit it, looks exactly like a bong. The set also includes apples and a honey jar-- i.e., the answer to the question 'What else can you make a bong with when you can't find your pipe?'<br />
<br />
And it's not like the kid is going to keep the set together. No, it's going to end up scattered all over his room for the maid to find and wonder just what the hell you're trying to teach your kid.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Zions Action Figure</b><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxFbNVB158ZoGeHRxJDn2M6ehR5mQtany-3-7EJ2rzdDIBiMlYnvUCOvxc3TM6CeRTHzmcBGmeZ4ZBGYnIWxwIWnBSvlwmiJADh2MwoAxbywwU07rstGvhjpAna441yJ4zAKrC5yVfzY/s1600/41qAlm5bFBL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxFbNVB158ZoGeHRxJDn2M6ehR5mQtany-3-7EJ2rzdDIBiMlYnvUCOvxc3TM6CeRTHzmcBGmeZ4ZBGYnIWxwIWnBSvlwmiJADh2MwoAxbywwU07rstGvhjpAna441yJ4zAKrC5yVfzY/s1600/41qAlm5bFBL.jpg" height="236" width="320" /></a></div>
<u>The Description:</u><br />
"Piece of History studios are proud to present the first “Israeli action figure” ever made: The AustroHungarian journalist and "Visionary of the Jewish State," Theodor Herzl. This 3D action figure is a miniature replica of the famous photograph of Herzl in Basel, Switzerland, 1897."<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<u>The Failure:</u><br />
Their first failure was in their understanding of the word 'action' because an old guy leaning on a fence does not exactly scream breath-taking articulated fun. It also makes me question their understanding of the words 'best seller' and 'proud'.<br />
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Just what is a kid supposed to do with this? Lean the figure against more exciting toy sets like his Death Star or GI Joe battleship?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-76607079229761737982014-10-11T13:05:00.003-04:002014-10-11T13:05:51.991-04:00The Five Worst Perfumes Found at the Flea Market (Sampled)<a href="http://jamiewasserman.blogspot.com/2013/09/top-10-most-horrendously-awesome-flea.html" target="_blank">Previously, I ventured to the local flea market in search of craptastic gold</a>. This time, I went back armed only with my wallet, Binaca (did you know they still make this stuff?), and a seven year old girl who gravitates towards shiny objects like Golem at the annual Kay Jewelry half-off sale. Because he liked rings, you see. It's not my best metaphor, I know. Moving on.<br />
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After bouncing from various jewelry stalls, we ended up at a surprisingly fancy and well-stocked perfume stand.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mju59SD4TFO57CdyWrHZEdFjoR_NH9km2XT6NA1Mz4ZTjM7lWkAlf4B_YCd-Vg0_wqx2YR2VbR4t7U_Pylir2ExufgsMHt1dXRA1v9tWRtAfIRMmuR70zxwiN0LJOpbz9rg2YtFduGc/s1600/image-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Mju59SD4TFO57CdyWrHZEdFjoR_NH9km2XT6NA1Mz4ZTjM7lWkAlf4B_YCd-Vg0_wqx2YR2VbR4t7U_Pylir2ExufgsMHt1dXRA1v9tWRtAfIRMmuR70zxwiN0LJOpbz9rg2YtFduGc/s1600/image-7.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mixed in with the usual expected standards like dusty, long-forgotten bottles of Drakar and Obsession were some truly inspired concoctions of scents that could have only been produced in either an alien world that has only the vaguest notion of what human beings should smell like, a third-world sweatshop, or a meth lab co-located in a botanical garden. And I was determined to sample them all. Here are the worst:<br />
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5. <b>Tweety</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXZqKGlPUZjYaDphPTj8fZgen4-viQ_o_WYa7dA6UT9VFdlwe-SMzWtoq0ooLy0W9pQ4E-KYxlt7v66EqpqtEOFitNwUGyrgrSWjENWa8zuqfgI22__RDq7YrCJ06qkEL6P9kEc7L6HU/s1600/image-11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXZqKGlPUZjYaDphPTj8fZgen4-viQ_o_WYa7dA6UT9VFdlwe-SMzWtoq0ooLy0W9pQ4E-KYxlt7v66EqpqtEOFitNwUGyrgrSWjENWa8zuqfgI22__RDq7YrCJ06qkEL6P9kEc7L6HU/s1600/image-11.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm not going to mock the Superman perfume. Superman is awesome and you can tell just by looking at the guy that he probably smells awesome too. I'm guessing coconuts with maybe a hint of lilac. No, it was the Tweety perfume that really intrigued him. Birds, even sentient, talking birds, are usually not the sweetest smelling of creatures. They're called fowl, for chrissakes. They poop in mid-flight which, although this is something I can only dream of doing, doesn't exactly lend itself to a night out on the town. </div>
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<u>The description on the bottle</u></div>
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...joyful citruses in top: bergamot, grapefruit, orange and pineapple. A heart awaits us with raspberry, rose, jasmine and water lily, while base notes add patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver and musk.</div>
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<u>What it actually smelled like</u></div>
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A hobo who stumbled into a fruit cart. Desperation. </div>
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<b>4. Spongebob</b></div>
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It's right there in the song folks. Spongebob "lives in a pineapple under the sea." What about this says 'alluring scent'? Dead fish and ocean saturated fruit. Yummy. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQ7D3NhTk_zS-a_4ZkI11R7ufManr7auyWVezcHqlyngo7oel8DqpPAf7By10SPQoWVBxs5ZP08fSqcFLVul-gqWQAsnfTdDUrq6XdRj9rxkZWiacTVW_ou2w-TPe_5VC2cKYqIADjas/s1600/image-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQ7D3NhTk_zS-a_4ZkI11R7ufManr7auyWVezcHqlyngo7oel8DqpPAf7By10SPQoWVBxs5ZP08fSqcFLVul-gqWQAsnfTdDUrq6XdRj9rxkZWiacTVW_ou2w-TPe_5VC2cKYqIADjas/s1600/image-9.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u>The description on the bottle</u></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><u>...</u></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">flowery, refreshing and a lovely floral with sweet and citrusy fruits</span><span class="mq1dnone" id="product-read-more-text-mq1" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">.</span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><u>What it actually smelled like</u></span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Surprisingly very similar to the Tweety with just a hint of anxiety. In fact, I suspect they just switched the label. Or it could be that the over-powering scent of eau de diseased bird has overtaken my olfactory senses. </span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><b>3. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir97p1LKeUGuFykDccydsPbnLUtYr2hfPso6ZHxa-hdVztmYmLYwo5fiZBFCLoiKV94z4WAmnKGjBfDb2G9mGAIc3HkpaEE9HFz8N7w_UWYC5pb3-3xwP_bK2HF03JeTgRRh_EheYrP4s/s1600/image-8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir97p1LKeUGuFykDccydsPbnLUtYr2hfPso6ZHxa-hdVztmYmLYwo5fiZBFCLoiKV94z4WAmnKGjBfDb2G9mGAIc3HkpaEE9HFz8N7w_UWYC5pb3-3xwP_bK2HF03JeTgRRh_EheYrP4s/s1600/image-8.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Alright, whoever created this perfume obviously was not at all familiar with the characters. The ninja turtles were normal turtles who became mutated as a result of contact with radioactive sludge. To protect their identity, they live in a hidden lair in <b>the damned sewer </b>with a giant talking rat.<b> </b>This is eau de toilette in the most literal, awful sense of the word. </div>
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<u>The description on the bottle</u></div>
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<span style="color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Musk, Citrus, and Fruity.</span></span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><u>What it actually smelled like</u></span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Musk is a surprisingly accurate description. Musk, however, is not what you want your child, whom I assume this perfume is targeted at, to smell like. Musky is how you describe the back of a shag-covered van. Or a guy named Vince with his shirt unbuttoned past his ribs. Musky is not how you want to send your daughter to pre-school. That's why you bathe her. </span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><b>2. Smurfs</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVVarRie_x4TnD_cgc_RIFYqGvix6StlsqUSa0bu0wqskJN1V2T8ihiejPZTmwcMmQ7R25nWrFcB1hAzIGFGYgwUntBp9a_HXcSFgiUN6zboDVqkJ2YyyIvctUQzhTDWz9MoCXKsnovc/s1600/image-13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVVarRie_x4TnD_cgc_RIFYqGvix6StlsqUSa0bu0wqskJN1V2T8ihiejPZTmwcMmQ7R25nWrFcB1hAzIGFGYgwUntBp9a_HXcSFgiUN6zboDVqkJ2YyyIvctUQzhTDWz9MoCXKsnovc/s1600/image-13.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Hopefully, you can see the big blue Smurf bottle in the middle of this picture. At this point, the perfume stall owner caught me snapping a picture with my phone and accused me of working for a rival to steal his prices. Apparently the world of flea market perfume is a cut-throat world filled with espionage, spies, and the constant threat of betrayal.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I guess Smurfs aren't so weird a concept for a child's perfume. They look clean enough even if they live in mushrooms. I've certainly had more than my fair share of Smurfette-related fantasies. But that's not Smurfette on the top of this bottle. It's Brainy Smurf. As in the most annoying, hated Smurf of all, and I'm including Hefty. They could have called Brainy Smurf Cock Block Smurf. Or Never Going to Get Any Smurf. It's not a scent you want on you or your child. That kind of shit doesn't wash off. </span></span></div>
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<u>The description on the bottle</u></div>
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<span style="color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">A Floral Fruity fragrance for women. The fragrance features apple, mandarin orange, melon, pink jasmine, white lily and iris flower.</span></span></div>
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Surprisingly not bad. Though I dare you to answer the question, "What is that lovely scent you're wearing?" at a party with a straight face (or any hint of dignity). </div>
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<b>1. Justin Bieber, "The Key"</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNFjbwt63KrgoiO37DVuF9is6KHL2_TWsD0xtR6jwcCI7-DIF5G0Knq157XXRSUie9YB4wDQuyqakJX14tLTFKvarJHeQ3cRnhyGTWWPn50mFfUV6st_6xU3WOs2WfKhkyg4peY56l8k/s1600/image-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzNFjbwt63KrgoiO37DVuF9is6KHL2_TWsD0xtR6jwcCI7-DIF5G0Knq157XXRSUie9YB4wDQuyqakJX14tLTFKvarJHeQ3cRnhyGTWWPn50mFfUV6st_6xU3WOs2WfKhkyg4peY56l8k/s1600/image-12.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's not a surprise that this is a thing. Every celebrity seems to get their own perfume at some point. Even Paula Dean has a chicken fat flavored cologne. But Justin Fucking Bieber? C'mon. He stopped being interesting or remotely likable three years ago. I found myself wanting to punch the bottle. </div>
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<u>The description on the bottle</u></div>
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<span style="color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Honestly, I didn't read it. I was dealing with a lot of unexpected anger that this perfume was a thing.</span></span></div>
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<span class="mq1dnone" style="background-color: white; color: #353332; font-family: ff-meta-serif-web-pro, Georgia, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><u>What it actually smelled like</u></span></div>
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Douchiness. Pure, undiluted douchiness.</div>
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I ended up buying my daughter a bottle of Taylor Swift perfume ("surprisingly understated and sweet") just to convince the stall owner I wasn't secretly trying to overthrow his vast perfume empire. </div>
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Ultimately, I left the flea market smelling like a combination of fermented fruit, long illness, and musky failure and yet somehow still feeling like a winner (at least I wasn't the guy who bought the Justin Bieber bottle). </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-4104107828317870562014-10-10T17:40:00.001-04:002014-10-10T17:40:35.519-04:00The Three Most Terrible Things Kids Brought to School for Show and Tell<div class="thread-body" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1412973800635_2398" role="presentation" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', 'Segoe UI', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px 27px; word-wrap: break-word;">
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<span style="background-color: inherit;">No, I'm not talking about the countless instances of a child discovering his </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">parent's Rick James-sized stash of cocaine and handing out samples at the local </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">elementary like he was working the deli counter at Wegman's. There's plenty of </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">examples of those to be had in the news:</span></div>
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<li><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/delaware-mother-charged-daughter-brings-heroin-daycare-073227638.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: inherit;">http://news.yahoo.com/delaware-mother-charged-daughter-brings-heroin-daycare-</span><span style="background-color: inherit;">073227638.html </span></a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2039507/Child-brings-crack-drugs-tell-school-Missouri.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: inherit;">http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2039507/Child-brings-crack-drugs-tell-</span><span style="background-color: inherit;">school-Missouri.html </span></a></li>
<li><span style="background-color: inherit;"><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/apr/11/five-year-old-heroin-school">http://www.theguardian.com/world/2012/apr/11/five-year-old-heroin-school</a></span></li>
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<br />Nor am I talking about a precocious lad sneaking off to class with his dad's <span style="background-color: inherit;">howitzer and causing a building-wide evacuation.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIav5JPrL9QxSp_1pylqmRX3Ghp1yzzLpnZbOWrJ1CDnet_Hrd3wdAgFXjKch843n8yXQPOm2xf4Bgk3sh6fdwdoI4vhkymSnUe0YIq3PidVqmMi0-oNFAbA-Bpx_6YqYcc9Uil9lFAE/s1600/google.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrIav5JPrL9QxSp_1pylqmRX3Ghp1yzzLpnZbOWrJ1CDnet_Hrd3wdAgFXjKch843n8yXQPOm2xf4Bgk3sh6fdwdoI4vhkymSnUe0YIq3PidVqmMi0-oNFAbA-Bpx_6YqYcc9Uil9lFAE/s1600/google.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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<br /><i>This happens so much that just a search on 'guns' and 'school' caused Google <span style="background-color: inherit;">News to shut down for an hour.</span></i></div>
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<br />If I was a more talented writer I might throw in a poigant comment about how <span style="background-color: inherit;">nowhere else is the loss of innocence better exemplified than in these types of </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">stories, where a child innocently happens upon his parents' secret vice and </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">brings it in to literally show off to their friends and teachers. I might say </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">how as parents it is our sacred responsibility to shelter our children from the </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">harsh realities of the adult world and to protect their innocence at all costs, </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">for as long as we can. But I'm not, so heres a video of something called the</span></div>
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Afghan Armpit Song. </div>
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<br />Brilliant. Watch that again if you want. I'll wait. Hopefully by now you've <span style="background-color: inherit;">forgotten all bout little Sally essentially drug-muling smack to school in her </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox. Not yet? Do you want a hug? C'mere you. Fair warning--I hug too long and utterly the wrong way.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1412973800635_2481">
No, this article is about three absolutely horrific, albeit hilarious, items in <span style="background-color: inherit;">which kids have brought (and continue to this day to bring) to school </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">all in the name of one-upping their peers. </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">And I talked to a real-life teacher for this article which brings me one step </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">up the journalistic ladder from 'weirdo in his basement left alone with a</span></div>
<div id="yui_3_16_0_1_1412973800635_2484">
computer' to 'muckracker'. But don't worry, I still typed up the entire thing <span style="background-color: inherit;">using only my penis.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;">The teacher I interviewed for this article wishes to remain anonymous because </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">apparently openly mocking your grade school age children is a thing that is </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">specifically spelled out in the teacher's handbook, and because she wishes to </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">continue to eat Ramen noodles for the foreseeable future. For the sake of this </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">article, we'll call her Mrs. Sugartits because I know she'd hate that.</span></div>
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<br /><b>1. Enough Wild Animals to Start a Zoo</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52qs50r_VyJ5RuDa-R9vwz7Dr2DmcRV3wE3Bp34wEYThJDQIOwtDjf1IoYWpsOl_LGuHkDNR0F-jdS4VbtoZLs43IKj_Y5dReUhhgGJvmvB4IGBV-q1m0K0eF3WDDl2xdchdyRCT0y3A/s1600/snakekid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52qs50r_VyJ5RuDa-R9vwz7Dr2DmcRV3wE3Bp34wEYThJDQIOwtDjf1IoYWpsOl_LGuHkDNR0F-jdS4VbtoZLs43IKj_Y5dReUhhgGJvmvB4IGBV-q1m0K0eF3WDDl2xdchdyRCT0y3A/s1600/snakekid.jpg" height="320" width="224" /></a></div>
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Awwww?</div>
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<b><br /></b>Apparently, even in the fairly large city where Mrs. Sugartits works, wild <span style="background-color: inherit;">animals run amok. For show and tell, her students regularly bring in stray </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">dogs, cats, and rats. Which is awesome and hilarious, but not really up to </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">my usual standards. So here's a few other examples I found online:</span></div>
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<br /><i><br /></i></div>
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<i>A Lion Cub</i></div>
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<a href="http://www.digitalspy.com/fun/news/a442262/children-bring-in-lion-">http://www.digitalspy.com/fun/news/a442262/children-bring-in-lion-</a><a href="http://cub-to-school-show-and-tell.html/" style="background-color: inherit;">cub-to-school-show-and-tell.html</a></div>
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So Billy brought his goldfish in last week, huh? Well, fuck Billy. Here's a <span style="background-color: inherit;">lion cub I found and nursed back to health with my own blood.</span></div>
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There's only a few places where this kind of thing can occur. In Africa where, <span style="background-color: inherit;">if the Lion King has taught me anything, is where lions live (and sing and </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">betray their distant relatives), and areas near absent-minded circus owners (so </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">Russia).</span></div>
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I love this story so much I want to buy it dinner and tell it how it completes <span style="background-color: inherit;">me. I love that the kids found this lion cub and, rather than soiling </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">themselves, immediately thought 'we must share this amazing find with all of</span></div>
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our friends!' I love that no one got hurt which is usually the end product of <span style="background-color: inherit;">blissful stupidity and abandoned man killers. And I love that the article sort </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">of hints that this 'aint no thang' in Russia. Which is cool and all but it's </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">not transmit rabies and malaria cool. Which is what this kid attempted to by </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">bringing a live bat to school:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<i>A Rabid Bat</i>: </div>
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<a href="http://dailyridge.com/headlines-now/2010/04/19/boy-brings-live-bat-to-school-for-show-and-tell/%C2%A0" target="_blank">http://dailyridge.com/headlines-now/2010/04/19/boy-brings-live-<span style="background-color: inherit;">bat-to-school-for-show-and-tell/ </span></a></div>
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Do I even have to mention this happened in Florida? Because it did. And though <span style="background-color: inherit;">I'm too lazy to Mapquest the city, I'm guessing it was in the northern part </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">because hat's where the real, pun totally intended, batshit activity always happens.</span></div>
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Most of the article focuses on rabies prevention tips which is perfectly <span style="background-color: inherit;">understandable because it's not like the bat was a pet in a cage. No, the kid </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">kept it stuffed in his backpack. That is, when he wasn't passing it around for </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">the other kids to pet. Which they did because, well, they're kids.</span></div>
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<br /><b>2. Sex Toys! </b>Most parents know to lock up their weapons. So why do they think it's okay to <span style="background-color: inherit;">leave their vibrators lying around the house like sporting equipment? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygh6656gQEpbAO0zDH5730pcp2bbir8ruD-Om7PD3Cs7AWCgwCkSUeWDhwb9xF-26BQv0ZfWZDsvh45nb5K-pDwtNNBFwu5tNa8TpJhIXHX2-g7u5RlMWofUcgC-PFkEL1xPyYwVC5p8/s1600/mag-censored-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjygh6656gQEpbAO0zDH5730pcp2bbir8ruD-Om7PD3Cs7AWCgwCkSUeWDhwb9xF-26BQv0ZfWZDsvh45nb5K-pDwtNNBFwu5tNa8TpJhIXHX2-g7u5RlMWofUcgC-PFkEL1xPyYwVC5p8/s1600/mag-censored-2.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>You do not want to see the graphic I had for this. Nor the caption.</i></div>
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<br />According to Mrs. Sugartits, she sees a sex toy at least once a semester. And <span style="background-color: inherit;">not like a little purring dildo. We're talking the jackhammer equivalent of the </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">sexual enhancement world. Items with spikes where spikes should not be. Various </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">lubes and edible items that even a goat would turn its nose up at. Pictures. Indecent, horrible, unflattering pictures.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;">And what do </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">you do when a kid shows up with a ballgag and something called a 'Rotating Pork </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">Sword'? Do you confiscate the item? Um, no, because gross. Do you calmly </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">explain what it actually is? (Hint, it's not a fancy electric toothbrush. Your </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">dad may be a dentist but no one cares THAT much about their teeth?). According </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">to Mrs. Sugartits, "You politely smile, keep the 'tell' portion as short as </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">possible, and call on the kid who brought in the wounded and bleeding raccoon. </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">I could add a few links to some hilarious stories of preschoolers dragging in </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">something called a sybian to school, but my internet cache is suspect enough.</span></div>
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<br /><b>3. So Many Body Parts</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNKOME6GZ4pAyl-xeKgc1Rxr_xKXFmFlSmaST9XRLUgVXscEo9-1Lm4A2eIthpfE7XXckRFeWaOwvOJGi3zfGgKjKSdPI_miZ2nwRlXYBAa0ezk_FnUC-BWdHTlX3gDTd8c_HJ6YVwsY/s1600/r_NPN0343_SEVERED_BODY_PARTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNKOME6GZ4pAyl-xeKgc1Rxr_xKXFmFlSmaST9XRLUgVXscEo9-1Lm4A2eIthpfE7XXckRFeWaOwvOJGi3zfGgKjKSdPI_miZ2nwRlXYBAa0ezk_FnUC-BWdHTlX3gDTd8c_HJ6YVwsY/s1600/r_NPN0343_SEVERED_BODY_PARTS.jpg" height="320" width="303" /></a></div>
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<b><br /></b>Fortunately, this next entry is more a yearly than a quarterly occurrence, but <span style="background-color: inherit;">I contend that any frequency of a child bringing in a severed body part to </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">school is too many.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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So apparently the world that we live in--you, me, Gary Busey, that really hot <span style="background-color: inherit;">postal worker--is a broken world. A world in which children have frequent </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">access to severed limbs and brains in jars. It's also a world where apparently </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">people nonchalantly go hopping along without reporting the unexpected theft of an </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">appendage.</span></div>
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And what happens when a child discoveres that lonely body part? They pack it up <span style="background-color: inherit;">in tinfoil and bring it to school, of course. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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Here's a story where a parent thought it would be cute to drag a severed arm <span style="background-color: inherit;">into a room full of kids (it wasn't even <i>his</i> arm for gosh sakes):</span></div>
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<a href="http://forums.nyyfans.com/showthread.php/55347-Parent-Brings-Cadaver-Arm-for-Show-and-Tell" target="_blank">http://forums.nyyfans.com/showthread.php/55347-Parent-Brings-Cadaver-Arm-for-<span style="background-color: inherit;">Show-and-Tell </span></a></div>
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Search around a little while. You'll find similar stories of brains in jars, <span style="background-color: inherit;">mummified hands, and what one teacher assumed was a finger, but I'm going to </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">pretend was someone's detachable penis (I'm a huge King Missile fan).</span></div>
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Mrs. Sugartits, who has been in the teaching game for almost a decade, has <span style="background-color: inherit;">encountered more than her share of severed limbs because, "Many of the </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">students' parents are doctors." Doesn't really explain a lot though. I work in </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">computers but I don't get to take servers home with me. You'd think a doctor </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">might be under just a little more scrutiny than say, an underpaid office worker.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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Still, you've got to enjoy the mental image of a little kid explaining why the <span style="background-color: inherit;">severed hand of the prisoner he brought to school is not cursed and most </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">certainly will not crawl across the floor like Thing in the Addams Family while </span><span style="background-color: inherit;">everyone around him loses their shit.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;">___________________________________________________________________________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: inherit;">So the next time show and tell runs around, lock up the pictures of you and your husband in your little Bo Beep outfits. Hide the french ticklers and the wild squirrels. Dispose of your body parts properly. Mrs. Sugartits is waiting for you. And she's judging you. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-85469646922299112022014-10-07T15:58:00.004-04:002014-10-07T15:58:59.406-04:00Six Medications Explained in Pictures from Famous Movies and TV Shows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>Introduction</b></div>
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Just for funsies, sometimes I like to go into my medicine
cabinet and peel off the labels from all my prescriptions (and
there’s a lot of them—I am just a decaying mess of a human being). This way,
the next time I need a pill it’s a total mystery as to whether or not I’m going
to feel euphoric, explosive diarretic, or comatose. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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This anecdote actually has nothing to do with this article
except that it’s also about pills and I like to let people into the darkest
rooms of my brain, whether they like it or not. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-pqiyyAtZcd5G1mt9l24gAvVT6w3U5kfw2Bl8v6UMfVCnnzMxJGL4eK4ez8eF4ub_49z9OwypysYjC9oJWhafjxaNnaMY2GqAzQIqMJBDBDvys3J-piiI9h16wJlor4hf2zNm9KszHY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-13+at+12.03.46+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-pqiyyAtZcd5G1mt9l24gAvVT6w3U5kfw2Bl8v6UMfVCnnzMxJGL4eK4ez8eF4ub_49z9OwypysYjC9oJWhafjxaNnaMY2GqAzQIqMJBDBDvys3J-piiI9h16wJlor4hf2zNm9KszHY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2011-10-13+at+12.03.46+PM.png" height="183" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Don't worry, the inside of my head looks just like the living room from Silver Spoons. </i></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>The Real, Less Horrifying Introduction</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Ever get bored and read the fine print on that prescription
medication you just picked up from the pharmacist? The list of side effects is
inevitably horrifying. For example, dig these possible side effects:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">black, bloody, or tarry stools;</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">coughing up blood or vomit that looks like
coffee grounds;</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">severe nausea, vomiting, or stomach pain;</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">fever lasting longer than 3 days;</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">swelling, or pain lasting longer than 10 days;</span></li>
</ul>
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This is not a description of the final days of tuberculosis.
These are the side effects from a tiny white pill which, if you’re anything
like me, you probably pop like Skittles on a near daily basis—aspirin. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My god, man. Can you imagine if those kinds of side effects
came with, I don’t know, a tube of Pringles? Do you think people would still
eat them?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1Pdgv5yzCfu1t_edn3qJJQx_QbM9RSAeep7MUEo6e1dW5WPrzKlZevmx7NrZKpcmvLc0bFlJm9WtQvo9wF5x3VBIQyWRi04L1E4B8Xyz92oDOUttcAOgF8Vy1CGDj8iajcwQAYM8EVo/s1600/warning_label.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1Pdgv5yzCfu1t_edn3qJJQx_QbM9RSAeep7MUEo6e1dW5WPrzKlZevmx7NrZKpcmvLc0bFlJm9WtQvo9wF5x3VBIQyWRi04L1E4B8Xyz92oDOUttcAOgF8Vy1CGDj8iajcwQAYM8EVo/s1600/warning_label.jpg" height="149" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<o:p> </o:p><i style="text-align: center;">Probably, but you wouldn’t be proud of it.</i></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But pharmacy companies regularly get away with this kinds of
pants-shitting shenanigans. And why? Is it because that people are willing to
trade embarrassing khaki stains if it means relief from sickness? No, it’s
because people don’t read fine print.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32yI_jgfRUVYnOtyvP4MPVY56wgnICf8E32JWzO2R3TKDFPUyQlsXg4Yl09glrJgCpuMQ5eh9oafXtlePqf20CUOJQTmJVteNemeMNKDV5GTQi5nozuxK0fiOMYxuVx2dfMM4slo-3Zk/s1600/Fine+print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32yI_jgfRUVYnOtyvP4MPVY56wgnICf8E32JWzO2R3TKDFPUyQlsXg4Yl09glrJgCpuMQ5eh9oafXtlePqf20CUOJQTmJVteNemeMNKDV5GTQi5nozuxK0fiOMYxuVx2dfMM4slo-3Zk/s1600/Fine+print.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Reading is hard, you guys. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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So I propose that instead of the long, microscopic lists of ways in
which the medication you just picked up will turn your poop various shades of the
rainbow, that the pharmacy companies go with billboard size pictorial representations of your future side effects.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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How would that work, you ask, invisible person inside my
head? Just like this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Six Medications Explained in Pictures from Famous Movies and
TV Shows</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><u>1.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span><!--[endif]-->Adderall </u><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSx_yanVON3wF_x3A60u5oGYuFVpjT9vIaB_T68OrMSP9BSU-PiwxOA7OeepVBrGmc16ZjSDSszyPm5BuPj0bsSVvtdznaDg_Qhz-0awbxBRwk8uORi48DrJ0IAccP77jzlioYLJe4y0/s1600/5649454015_bfaa82c3b0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzSx_yanVON3wF_x3A60u5oGYuFVpjT9vIaB_T68OrMSP9BSU-PiwxOA7OeepVBrGmc16ZjSDSszyPm5BuPj0bsSVvtdznaDg_Qhz-0awbxBRwk8uORi48DrJ0IAccP77jzlioYLJe4y0/s1600/5649454015_bfaa82c3b0.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
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<u><br /></u></div>
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Your eyeballs will dry out like sundried tomatoes. Your
sense of focus will rival that of a Jedi, whether you like it or not. You won’t
sleep ever again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<u><br /></u></div>
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<u>2. Prozac</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLRltGjN6e70R1TuQJLj1YY0bmmaJozhht2pHNiNK6tzMwPECuidCUpM-0rBQO-FSK0Qde7hNaSq1sCL4ej_rXW2-YHN8UW2wmvr4AGhKFgKF-OkBOtIp0sODVBo5Y3a-6rOJxm8BM_M/s1600/misterrtrogers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLRltGjN6e70R1TuQJLj1YY0bmmaJozhht2pHNiNK6tzMwPECuidCUpM-0rBQO-FSK0Qde7hNaSq1sCL4ej_rXW2-YHN8UW2wmvr4AGhKFgKF-OkBOtIp0sODVBo5Y3a-6rOJxm8BM_M/s1600/misterrtrogers.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Get ready to put on a warm, fuzzy sweater…on your brain. You’ll
be stupidly happy and optimistic and will neither know nor care why. You will
have also have the sex drive of the trolley from Make Believe Land.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Ambien</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc2XhaHmmuKJxjbwNFQjh3FmzC7o1AWwlJUsKCb7mBMiP1G5bxIrQJJZLijzc4-IJf5cHZaDvPk5bzXcnDtjxKedYIdPIFxq980shbtlQxNtPmQEWgFEnaPM3yAWaVmzM_7ucw5XqvNs/s1600/MV5BMTM5OTcwNTM0MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTM1MDYyNw@@._V1_SX640_SY720_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQc2XhaHmmuKJxjbwNFQjh3FmzC7o1AWwlJUsKCb7mBMiP1G5bxIrQJJZLijzc4-IJf5cHZaDvPk5bzXcnDtjxKedYIdPIFxq980shbtlQxNtPmQEWgFEnaPM3yAWaVmzM_7ucw5XqvNs/s1600/MV5BMTM5OTcwNTM0MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTM1MDYyNw@@._V1_SX640_SY720_.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You may not fall asleep but you will look exactly like this
(minus Brad Pitt’s movie star good looks)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Viagra</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lzcug02NZugdc46EbEhGznQn9g9cLwNuT1hNe857RZ85k-WUKDj1rHHknMOXf9bHsjoyo34FSq2JfYlV_z7cg3oavIfsMCIquTta0mTHQSCDwTNyozSq3GRNP5mgah47B4BM1pTqK9A/s1600/post-13725-129418993076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lzcug02NZugdc46EbEhGznQn9g9cLwNuT1hNe857RZ85k-WUKDj1rHHknMOXf9bHsjoyo34FSq2JfYlV_z7cg3oavIfsMCIquTta0mTHQSCDwTNyozSq3GRNP5mgah47B4BM1pTqK9A/s1600/post-13725-129418993076.jpg" height="317" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
You have never seen a real erection before.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><br /></span></span></u></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><u><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Miralax (Stool Softener) <o:p></o:p></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi715pQ6OyRVyEwqWU9Uz_qRL4-mxKaxim5qbMZxDzWbjXzb7IvXoXJhI2uuhwvztTI7crUTVJu8q1F_touCdZxIwVIZcbOzdKE3jTqMF-J2bUNh9334oOEltiSsdA-ybj3iW9FAZ8JjLo/s1600/raiders26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi715pQ6OyRVyEwqWU9Uz_qRL4-mxKaxim5qbMZxDzWbjXzb7IvXoXJhI2uuhwvztTI7crUTVJu8q1F_touCdZxIwVIZcbOzdKE3jTqMF-J2bUNh9334oOEltiSsdA-ybj3iW9FAZ8JjLo/s1600/raiders26.jpg" height="184" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo3; text-indent: -.25in;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just like this only without the gold statue in your hands. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u>6.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mucinex (with DXM)</u><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vrxIi8qLoNAu-Aynr2sjBf7FPWNI0WX98lzJ3PPg2x9VjL8k245QOkKzNvDCLKFs_O2ADZcV4cE8BPZzT4gEbYkMxyIBwXirkbd_dusawmdMrXq8UmRZTdxUqT-hDDu88J1K5vXoGAs/s1600/tumblr_m3j91xBask1r6u4h9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vrxIi8qLoNAu-Aynr2sjBf7FPWNI0WX98lzJ3PPg2x9VjL8k245QOkKzNvDCLKFs_O2ADZcV4cE8BPZzT4gEbYkMxyIBwXirkbd_dusawmdMrXq8UmRZTdxUqT-hDDu88J1K5vXoGAs/s1600/tumblr_m3j91xBask1r6u4h9.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can fly! You can fly! You can fly! And also, no more
coughing, so score!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph">
<br /></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-75463497870171305782014-10-03T18:49:00.000-04:002014-10-03T18:49:43.788-04:009 Recent Lego Releases We Could Have Lived Without<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Every year Lego releases dozens and dozens of new sets and minifigures designed to inspire children's imagination and push the boundaries of what can be accomplished. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBkmB8iorlOtGDK4EYgQ-8cJEiPFBmPp2SZ4YldNxtp3nFBMDBHpqQPpzHHyL7U1sKIyxY4ntUitRaRue_xpa9611IIjy-n-rq8RdBZKxs44uoUCUuEi4wqjnf-MGKmqR8FV-hl3LExg/s1600/10188.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBkmB8iorlOtGDK4EYgQ-8cJEiPFBmPp2SZ4YldNxtp3nFBMDBHpqQPpzHHyL7U1sKIyxY4ntUitRaRue_xpa9611IIjy-n-rq8RdBZKxs44uoUCUuEi4wqjnf-MGKmqR8FV-hl3LExg/s320/10188.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>And sometimes it has the opposite effect. Like an entire Star Wars Death Star which took me 6 weeks to build and robbed me of much of my self-esteem.</i></div>
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But occasionally the Lego designers escape from their Lego-built prisons and we're left with ideas that could only have come from the Billibund janitorial staff. After a marathon glue-huffing session. Ideas that clearly inspired these:</div>
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<b>9. Recycling Truck</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-B1X5w7wdoOSLc1NUDknRljpft82J0tF0YGqaPso93Im0E_bnyOAXNCIoaPCRvzAQA65CeJ3tfnvKezfwkOHZZqbKd9XocPMcpBVIHf_KpgAWL3fKavpwHSdfAmAEv3T-ehDCoxp2us/s1600/4432-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-B1X5w7wdoOSLc1NUDknRljpft82J0tF0YGqaPso93Im0E_bnyOAXNCIoaPCRvzAQA65CeJ3tfnvKezfwkOHZZqbKd9XocPMcpBVIHf_KpgAWL3fKavpwHSdfAmAEv3T-ehDCoxp2us/s320/4432-1.jpg" height="249" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Danish clearly do not understand recycling if they think dead fish warrant separation into the green bins. But all misunderstanding aside, just who is this set designed for? Is there a child out there who really gets excited when it comes time to put his Caprisun in the recycling bin?<br />
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<b>8. Sydney Opera House</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7WdYjHp0XzQAZ0joQWnzaXBg1w9QIJ9YKTbWu9lyn49eKHcOBkAGt14ljkk2VNsewg2hjtNZ1MFj3t2lhYWzn9W0gEFcyKcXNBNGmb5xsLbIiN6HfELzhHCIBfxaEco7K4RY8U1_94Y/s1600/10234-LEGO-Sydney-Opera-House-Back-Details.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7WdYjHp0XzQAZ0joQWnzaXBg1w9QIJ9YKTbWu9lyn49eKHcOBkAGt14ljkk2VNsewg2hjtNZ1MFj3t2lhYWzn9W0gEFcyKcXNBNGmb5xsLbIiN6HfELzhHCIBfxaEco7K4RY8U1_94Y/s320/10234-LEGO-Sydney-Opera-House-Back-Details.jpg" height="195" width="320" /></a></div>
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If I were to draw a Venn diagram with Lego builders on one side and Opera lovers on the other, just how much overlap do you think we'd have? Is, um, a nonemillion a word? So there's that. Let's add to the fact that this build looks more like the Sarlacc monster from Return of the Jedi than any sort of architectural triumph.</div>
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<b>7. The United Nations Building</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9v982elT3deHnzaoyjOiP46iMXxwPnetJmaUXBPaxmmLvrV7rxvED5nnz3UGqzhYOIb5ANZ2H7fEZqZSV03LT5yDwF-3l0NVaSSC3PDlOzMcJ2RHyRBZBlLMp3s8Ehx5MqTSjlmYlrs/s1600/21018.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ9v982elT3deHnzaoyjOiP46iMXxwPnetJmaUXBPaxmmLvrV7rxvED5nnz3UGqzhYOIb5ANZ2H7fEZqZSV03LT5yDwF-3l0NVaSSC3PDlOzMcJ2RHyRBZBlLMp3s8Ehx5MqTSjlmYlrs/s320/21018.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Because nothing says challenging and fun like building a post-war government building dedicated to the worst examples of politics and bureaucracy ever assembled.</div>
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<b>6. Lawn Mower</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMrbZiF5ZWL6U4rn-oYbPPlX-aUrOQfN3Z6P74JKCTDFEp0FvkUJ1ci8fPtq7-6h9h5Mus0Zt7Kmmhc_BYHXl_Rgy7oq0IkZC0AyuPrdXmwx9tCY18_Fwgg2h9NUKCv4f1YPppVyHfBs/s1600/30224-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMrbZiF5ZWL6U4rn-oYbPPlX-aUrOQfN3Z6P74JKCTDFEp0FvkUJ1ci8fPtq7-6h9h5Mus0Zt7Kmmhc_BYHXl_Rgy7oq0IkZC0AyuPrdXmwx9tCY18_Fwgg2h9NUKCv4f1YPppVyHfBs/s320/30224-1.jpg" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
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This little polybag set was kept in the little impulse aisles next to the register for the dad who wants to inspire his kid to take over the weekly summer drudgery, I guess, or for kids who live in bubbles who can only dream of complaining about having to do yard work instead of going to the pool.</div>
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<b>5. Lego Hot Dog Stand</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD30YSnsveBnUdDbfDbOZAmAcCb6XnicXzBSVh5awu2wPBijtu0kKcjkZc_hdgxqn95bbjSIwlk_aZk8TZcHF5pm-9oWu2N2u5ypzoe2Ec_Eay6vFV_UzXGxDM5wd5ccOQLz3t8Vcb-Y/s1600/20130709-080444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD30YSnsveBnUdDbfDbOZAmAcCb6XnicXzBSVh5awu2wPBijtu0kKcjkZc_hdgxqn95bbjSIwlk_aZk8TZcHF5pm-9oWu2N2u5ypzoe2Ec_Eay6vFV_UzXGxDM5wd5ccOQLz3t8Vcb-Y/s320/20130709-080444.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Look Mommy! The hot dog stand is here! Can I get one? Can I get one? Pleeeeaaassse," said no kid, ever.<br />
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<b>4. Lego Shop Man Mini figure</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpOVbJtPnAKY9Rq_dI_FlkkEfKEkbwKSul67lunzBpdwRAU-U2B0-HagB-hDluer1WbjxKiUmmyLgcL_C_NcYJbEDZyTVq8SLKRbPFmkZNvoOj_kHrOxHrgSoiyqlZcrP9pfglb-7CCI/s1600/LEGO-5001622-LEGO-Shop-Man-Minifigure-LEGO-Store-Employee-Promo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEpOVbJtPnAKY9Rq_dI_FlkkEfKEkbwKSul67lunzBpdwRAU-U2B0-HagB-hDluer1WbjxKiUmmyLgcL_C_NcYJbEDZyTVq8SLKRbPFmkZNvoOj_kHrOxHrgSoiyqlZcrP9pfglb-7CCI/s320/LEGO-5001622-LEGO-Shop-Man-Minifigure-LEGO-Store-Employee-Promo.png" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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The moment most kids find out that designing Lego sets is both a thing and something people get paid to do, this quickly makes the shortlist of occupations on career day. But if all your child is aspiring to do is work at the Lego store when he gets older, then he has self-esteem issues and you should take him to a counselor. This is the equivalent of dreaming of working in a rock quarry over say becoming a geologist. Now don't get me wrong. I would love to work in the Lego store today, but I'm an adult and my dreams have been appropriately aligned/shattered. </div>
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<b>3. Stephanie's Soccer Practice</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlTMbYJvk0EE21vDD5L8TKbAx3c-BvzteNtQKMfRd9ytcMrZyJdYgHZnbeC7f4tshhIuFOmRN2bE-UMxHe8coD1LhAxTijbCCJyT7UU0FgRxov-y5mOSD7DPFhqAfsP6WQyMwqHAkYRU/s1600/LEGO-Friends-Stephanie-Soccer-Practice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlTMbYJvk0EE21vDD5L8TKbAx3c-BvzteNtQKMfRd9ytcMrZyJdYgHZnbeC7f4tshhIuFOmRN2bE-UMxHe8coD1LhAxTijbCCJyT7UU0FgRxov-y5mOSD7DPFhqAfsP6WQyMwqHAkYRU/s320/LEGO-Friends-Stephanie-Soccer-Practice.jpg" height="288" width="320" /></a></div>
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The title of this set is 'Stephanie's Soccer Practice." Not 'Soccer Championship' or 'The Big Game'. It's a girl, with a ball, some misshapen goal posts and a damned dog with a bow on his head. Something tells me this ragtag group of individuals are not going to be turning professional.<br />
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<b>2. Lego Welder Minifigure</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKe46TGC4MJDAib2mYxEP0EhbMnerWoPHkj9wAzlFBGmq5BBdWIZUOB92WWk_R5dtRlAi4h-iL_JPVRms6Q5ptuuv3nAyQBe7jlMmxX8E6gadtevJ2mDTb5VDYRj2nl1w2oeaDHFtqPY/s1600/pic1EA5D7ACAD58589D0C69E132F07E739D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGKe46TGC4MJDAib2mYxEP0EhbMnerWoPHkj9wAzlFBGmq5BBdWIZUOB92WWk_R5dtRlAi4h-iL_JPVRms6Q5ptuuv3nAyQBe7jlMmxX8E6gadtevJ2mDTb5VDYRj2nl1w2oeaDHFtqPY/s320/pic1EA5D7ACAD58589D0C69E132F07E739D.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></div>
I spent the last twenty minutes trying to come up with a play scenario involving plastic bricks and a tiny welder. I failed. When I asked my son to do something interesting with this minifigure, he threw it across the room and told me to pick it up. Touche, Alex. Touche.<br />
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<b>1. Lego Mechanic Minifigure</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNFT7vsRDHhnPBPY7xN0WEQzoaEgZm49F1HgbHB2i_yUAF1_fP5EpXdCDeG1i08SOB2CSVIu58qffhCfFgPNJMBQjbWZJ-EsJ9biAxm-xSqedtRgnGQVpyNMO47TP0h11ZPP-PFOxLpA8/s1600/pic7F03C97ECB8EF45EADC9F8D0FD960325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNFT7vsRDHhnPBPY7xN0WEQzoaEgZm49F1HgbHB2i_yUAF1_fP5EpXdCDeG1i08SOB2CSVIu58qffhCfFgPNJMBQjbWZJ-EsJ9biAxm-xSqedtRgnGQVpyNMO47TP0h11ZPP-PFOxLpA8/s320/pic7F03C97ECB8EF45EADC9F8D0FD960325.jpg" height="320" width="278" /></a></div>
That's not a member of the Village People above. It's how the folks in Denmark imagine American mechanics look-- a cross between 1970's gay fashion, a Devo hat, and skinhead wear. Pray your car never breaks down in Europe.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-502151098046521234.post-6589522760994673942013-10-24T10:41:00.001-04:002013-10-24T10:41:35.935-04:00Sideline Coaching: My First Foray into Kid's SportsI am not what you'd call an athletic person. It's not that I lack athletic ability --growing up I played soccer, baseball, did some cross country--it's just that I don't possess any interest in sweating, getting dirty, or breathing hard. Three things I am told are pretty much essential to any sport. Unless self-loathing and anger-eating count as sports. In which case, I've been training for them my whole life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUrqMydaE5VYbacHTaQtHN2EMjpZtPPkXcHq-F1Z7PyRZ34rwQ_Uht8FHats4_x8Kef8H5siuoTO0xqLuf_25ED7RL6QSs7wHbH8A8Ieb7UTlISRsJywi-zODT6MwSU7nY3uqJ8hifqU/s1600/ribfest-chicago-055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_467372="null" height="213" isa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUrqMydaE5VYbacHTaQtHN2EMjpZtPPkXcHq-F1Z7PyRZ34rwQ_Uht8FHats4_x8Kef8H5siuoTO0xqLuf_25ED7RL6QSs7wHbH8A8Ieb7UTlISRsJywi-zODT6MwSU7nY3uqJ8hifqU/s320/ribfest-chicago-055.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em>Oh my god, this tastes like love!</em></div>
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I am also not a rabid fan of sports. I watch football on Sunday, but only because it provides a ready-made excuse to sit on the couch and demand food be brought to me. But I don't schedule my weekends around games and when my team loses (and they ineveitably do because nothing I associate myself with can succeed), I don't lose any sleep over it. <br />
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What I'm saying is that sports and I are like distant cousins--sure, we share some blood, but not enough that we couldn't bone in the coat closet during an uncle's wedding and feel weird about it. Which is why it came as a total shock to me that when my son first started playing a sport and I suddenly became this guy:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41wKTg8lIxVwKzNbXDrIBFHmdSFDJIwGYjJnHt-cfUVijcVfW5uZWofR4pYM9puXBrPqdEHc7qPWgXsnCP7WTXBDFPVNuHHWAabXtlCppD23I3KDse7dqjgJrkNdVL_rFsfiJ0EhTy04/s1600/cobrakai.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_467372="null" height="213" isa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41wKTg8lIxVwKzNbXDrIBFHmdSFDJIwGYjJnHt-cfUVijcVfW5uZWofR4pYM9puXBrPqdEHc7qPWgXsnCP7WTXBDFPVNuHHWAabXtlCppD23I3KDse7dqjgJrkNdVL_rFsfiJ0EhTy04/s320/cobrakai.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em>Mercy is for the weak. Here, in the streets, in competition: A man confronts you, he is the enemy. An enemy deserves no mercy. Now go win the PumpKin Fun Run or you sleep outside tonight. </em></div>
<br />The first thing my son ever competed in was a 100-yard dash on a track. He didn't want to do it, but I pushed him into it because 1) My parents are runners, 2) I used to run, and 3) the other kids looked soft and weak and I was sure we could beat them. And yes, I'm aware that I said 'we' here as if I was somehow competing as well, but in this case it's also true.<br />
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In order to convince my son Alex to run, I said I would run with him. And I didn't care who I had to knock over to win.<br />
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<em>Above: Police artist rendition of how I appeared to the children.</em></div>
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But for some strange reason, the coaches did not want a lumbering late 30-something year old bald man running alongside a bunch of preschoolers. So instead I ran on the opposite side of the fence, in front of the bleachers during the race.<br />
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Hurdling over the wheelchair bound and small pets alike.<br />
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And from the moment the gun went off for the start, I yelled encouragement to my son who was getting overtaken by everyone on the field. Including an old lady power-walking on the outside row. <br />
I screamed like a freaking madman, "C'mon, you can do it," in a delirious and fevered bout of competition-itis, barely managing the clarity not to add "Wussy" to my shouts. <br />
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And by the time he crossed the finish line, nearly in tears mind you, I realized what a horrible monster I had become. Or rather I realized what a horrible monster I had inside me all along, just waiting for a competition I actually cared about to unleash itself (seemingly one in which someone sharing my genes did all the work, while I sat idly by and took the credit for any success). <br />
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This is what's known as a defining moment. I could have rushed out to the store and bought Alex a $100 pair of track shoes and made him train for twelve months straight so we could avenge the Wasserman name the following year (I mention this idea because it came to me almost immediately). Or I could just realize that my role as a father is not to mentally scar my children, but to encourage them at every step. To acknowledge that the only losing is not trying. <br />
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I went home, watched Rocky I, II and III and vowed never to be that guy again. I encourage Alex to play sports, but I always let him pick which one. I take him to every practice but I let the coach do the coaching. I'm at every game on the sideline, clapping and yelling in what I hope is just the approrpriate amount. I'm sure it is because I doubt my wife would let my craziness go unchecked without at least a little kick to the groin.<br />
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That is not to say that I don't have the emotional equivalent of an orgasm when he scores or does something spectacular, but a win and a loss don't matter anymore. He's out there, in the game, and that's all that counts.<br />
For his part, he seems to have escaped my initial foray into nightmare parenting. He shrugs off losses the moment the ref blows the whistle. He has fun with the kids on his team. He enjoys sports. He is, in short, a normal, healthy kid. <br />
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And for my part, I won't point out that his current soccer team is undefeated and he's leading the team in goals. Because that just doesn't matter. I won't think about scholarships or him turning pro or thanking me during a post-World Cup Celebration. Because none of that would ever cross my mind. Yesirree. My victory is not ruining him completely and that's better than any endorsement deal. Even if it was Wheaties and they wanted to picture both of us on the box. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10827520464695963529noreply@blogger.com0