And the Jews Stand Behind It!

I had an awesome e-mail show up in my spam filter today.

From: Hightower Ezra
Subject: They are lying you every day

Вы все людишки - глупые животные, которые ради денег готовы на все. Вас ежедневно унижают сильные мира сего, а вы этого не замечаете и думаете, что выбираете.

I'd like to show you the web-site about financial pyramid! Take a look, how people get dumbed by System. And the jews stand behind it! Look!! It's true!!!

http://piramidam.net/

Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That

Setting: a dual occupant bachelor pad. Dave is sitting on a couch, intently playing a video game. Behind him Rob enters from outside.

Dave: (Not bothering to look away from his game) Hey, Dude. How was the movie?

Rob: (Distracted) It was—it was okay. Creepy.

Dave: Creepy, huh? Not scary?

Rob: No.

Dave: (Finally looks back) Did the hot chick at least live?

Rob: Naw.

Dave: Bummer. (Returns to game.)

Rob, still seeming a bit out of it, makes his way over to the couch and sits next to Dave.

Dave: (Still playing) So, uh, how’s it going?

Rob: Fine. It’s going fine.

Dave: And, how’s Jeff doing?

Rob: Well, he’s, uh, he’s doing good.

Dave: You don’t sound too sure.

Rob: No. He’s fine. He’s doing just fine. He’s do–Is Jeff gay?

Dave: (Finally turns his attention away from the game.) What?

Rob: Jeff. Is he, you know, gay?

Dave: I don’t know. Why?

Rob: No reason. Forget I asked. ‘Night.

Rob gets up to leave.

Dave: Whoa. You do not come home and ask if the dude you went to see a movie alone with is gay and then go to bed. Sit.

Rob sits back down.

Dave: What happened? Why do you think Jeff’s gay? Did he hit on you or something?

Rob: No. He just…it was just a bit weird, and—Look I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.

Dave: Weird how?

Rob: I don’t know. The whole situation was weird. You remember the barbecue we had last month that he came to?

Dave: Yeah. Sharon brought him. They’re friends. He tags along with her sometimes.

Rob: Right. And when he was over here, he asked for my e-mail address. He said that maybe we could hang out, and I said sure and gave it to him. And then he e-mailed me with his phone number, and I gave him my phone number. And then he called me yesterday about the free movie tickets he’d won and wanted to know if I’d like to hang out.

Dave: Sounds harmless. Maybe he just wants to be friends.

Rob: And maybe “hook up” is some kind of gay code word that means go out on a date.

Dave: I think you’re being paranoid. I mean, did he flirt with you at all?

Rob: That’s just it. I don’t know. I can’t even tell if a girl is flirting with me, let alone if a guy is. As far as I can tell, no one has ever flirted with me in my entire life, and that just doesn’t seem statistically possible, does it? I mean, a girl has had to have flirted with me by now, right?

Dave: I guess so. Look, why don’t we just call Sharon. She’s friends with him. She’d know.

Rob: No.

Dave: Why not?

Rob: Because she’d tell him. She’s better friends with him then with us, and she would totally tell him. And then if he’s not gay, it will be this big thing, and he’ll get upset, and Sharon’ll get upset, and then there will be all this drama.

Dave: Dude, he won’t get upset.

Rob: Really? If someone called up Alice or Erik or even me and asked if you were gay, and you found out about it, how would you feel?

Dave: Point taken. (Sits thinking for a moment.) Okay, so let’s dissect what happened tonight and see if it was a date or not. Did he pay for your ticket?

Rob: Yes and no. He won them, remember?

Dave: Right. Well, did he get you any popcorn or anything?

Rob: No.

Dave: Good. Good. And who picked where you sat?

Rob: I did. He insisted that I pick the seat.

Dave: Huh. Did you go anywhere after the movie? Grab a bite to eat maybe?

Rob: No. He asked if I wanted to, but I said that I ate before I got there.

Dave: And did you talk outside of the theater for long.

Rob: No…(reluctantly) but he did walk me to my car.

Dave: He what?

Rob: (Slowly, shamefully) Walked with me to my car.

Dave: How far?

Rob: Two blocks...in the opposite direction of his car.

Dave: And what did he say when he was walking with you to your car?

Rob: We just talked about the movie.

Dave: And what happened when you got to the car?

Rob: Nothing. I just said goodnight, got in my car and left.

Dave: He didn’t try to kiss you?

Rob: No. I think that I would know if he was gay if he tried to kiss me. He just said it was fun and that I should give him a call if I’m not busy, and then he left…(Again, reluctantly) and then he texted me on the drive home…twice.

Dave: (Sits, thinking for a moment.) I don’t know, dude. That’s a whole bunch of mixed signals. He’s either gay, or he is really awkward around other guys.

Rob: Worse than me?

Dave: Totally.

Rob: Great, so either I just went out on a gay date or I met someone more socially incompetent than I am. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Dave: Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.

Rob: But that’s just it. It is a big deal. Do you know how many women I’ve gone out with in my life? Two. That’s less than one a decade. If that was a gay date, that means that 33 percent of my dating career has been with a guy. I can’t even get chicks to be interested in me, and now for some reason I’ve got guys digging me.

Dave: Maybe you’re gay, dude. (Laughs)

Rob: No, laugh. Make it a joke. But that’s just it -- maybe I am gay. I don’t seem to be having any luck with the women, so maybe that’s because I’m not supposed to be. I mean, I’m not really all that masculine. I suck at sports – I don’t even like watching them. I don’t go hunting or shoot guns. I don’t know anything about cars. I’ve never been in a fight, and I don’t drink beer. What kind of a man am I?

Dave: Do you need a hug?...but not a gay one?

Rob: Laugh all you want, but my guyness is in crisis here. (Puts head in hands.) I just don’t know who I am anymore.

Dave: Alright, alright. Calm down. Dude, you’re just not the kind of guy that they make beer commercials about, but you’re still a guy. So you don’t fit the mold exactly, who does? Look, you think that you might be gay, right?

Rob: Yeah.

Dave: Well then here’s a simple test – have you ever been attracted to another guy?

Rob: (Thinks a moment.) No.

Dave: And who would you rather date, Natalie Portman or Keira Knightley?

Rob: Can’t I date them both?

Dave: See? You’re not gay. You’re just a wimp – there’s a difference…and that difference is liking other men's penises. (Shooing Rob away) Now go to bed and dream of beautiful women and you’re inadequacies.

Rob gets up and walks toward his bedroom.

Rob: Thanks, man.

Dave: Don’t mention it. It’s what bros do.

Take This Interweb and Shove It

For the past several months I have been boycotting the Internet to pay it back for the wrongs that it has propagated against me (and by boycott I mean exclusively using it to download porn, gamble and stalk victims...I mean girlfriends...and I don't mean stalk, I mean...um...talk to?). Where was I? Oh yes, I was wronged - by the Internet no less. You see, I had been participating in this whole Web 2.0 fad, blogging and myspacing and the like. I had also begun to use twitter, posting my witty comments in 140 characters or less.

Well in addition to my more "traditional" Twitter usage, I had also been using it for a more "creative" exercise. I had been maintaining a Twitter presence under the guise of Victor von Doom, monarch of Latveria, viewing my daily experiences through his eyes. The idea had come to me after I had completed this blog entry, where I reviewed the second Fantastic Four movie from his perspective. I rather enjoyed shrouding myself in the voice of Dr. Doom, and quickly abandoned posting anything to my Venting Plasma account in favor of VonDoom.

Unfortunately, last summer, Marvel apparently became aware of Twitter and began employing it for guerrilla marketing...mainly to prevent the rise of communist marketing in South America. After they had established a couple of Skrull-themed twitter accounts to promote their Secret Invasion event, they apparently became aware of my account, and I was promptly served with the online equivalent of a cease and desist order. I was told that I was in violation of the Terms of Use, both committing copyright infringement and impersonation. And the name of my twitter account was changed to VonDoom Fan, which was pretty lame. (Of course, I should probably be happy that they didn't change it to something really crappy like I'm Super Gay for Dr. Doom...of course, now that you mention it, that might be fun to write...oh you did so mention it. We all heard you. Why must you always lie, you lying harlot? I hate you! You always ruin everything!)

Where was I? Oh yes, VonDoom Fan. Well that ID is pretty lame and undermines everything I was trying to do with the account, and I refuse to have my artistic vision compromised. So I stopped posting to VonDoom...Fan.

Now since I am a hardcore Marvel fanboy and unwilling to show any anger toward the big M, I chose to take out my frustration on the World Wide Web. I decided that I would no longer participate in the Internet until I feel it had been sufficiently chagrined for this affront, and so I began a self-imposed exile that I am now lifting.

Yes, you may enjoy me once again.

That's sexual harassment training, and I do have to take it.

Admittedly, I'm a little slow getting this out, but my employer forced me (along with the rest of the company) to take an online sexual harassment course back in March. I learned a lot from those three to four hours, and I feel the need to share what I picked up:

- I like to spell harassment with two “r”s.

- I know how to properly respond if I see a black coworker being harassed by a transgendered employee. If I see a white coworker being sexually harassed, I am obviously dreaming and should immediately start thinking about Natalie Portman and Keira Knightley.

- My company cares a lot about making sure that I am protected from sexual harassment. In fact, they care so much that they went out and found a poorly-structured online course to handle the topic, pushed back the deadline to take the course to keep from interfering with people’s Q1 goals and dumbed down the test at the end of the course because enough people weren’t passing.

- I don't understand that the phrase "back away" means that the person backing away is moving more than two steps. Two steps back or less means that they are standing still…or perhaps moving forward.

- I can't comprehend the difference between color and nationality.

- I can get away with randomly rubbing women's shoulders, at least for a while.

- Sabotaging an employee’s work is a tangible employment action but not retaliation.

- If I ever ask a coworker out, I better pray to God that she accepts or I've just harassed her.

- There is an apparent plague of white male employees looking females "up and down." And sometimes they do this “slowly.”

- Sexual harassment is always perpetrated by a white male...at least whenever it is captured on video.

- Unwarranted tickling is a gray area that has not yet been covered.

- Watching videos discussing sexual harassment could be considered subtle, third-party harassment if observed by others.

- Indian people apparently have very fake-sounding Indian accents.

- If a coworker uses the word "retaliate" in a conversation with you, you are fracked.

- Old white men are lecherous, while old black men are distinguished, skilled at their jobs and good at coaching conversations away from sexual harassment.

- If the answer to a multiple choice question is a) and you select a), you are still wrong. (I believe this only applies if you are white and have a penis.)


As you can see above, the third text box on the right corresponded with the "a" word balloon, not the "a" word balloon as I thought it did.

New Blog Over On The Mind Blender

This one is all about the new found likeability of Tony Stark...

http://themindblender.blogspot.com/2008/05/thank-you-jon-favreau-for-letting-me.html

The Harvest

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to have my appendix removed. As this was my first foray under the knife, I was surprised at my lack of apprehension. However, I do have to admit that there were a couple of news articles that I had read in the past few weeks that were milling about the nether regions of my consciousness. (Note: The nether regions can be found to the left of the german regions and immediately above the belgian regions.)

I do not think it necessary to transcribe the entire articles, since their titles offer a fair summary of their contents. The two news items that gave me pause were:

Monitors Don't Stop 30,000 Americans From Waking During Surgery Each Year

and

Woman Goes for Leg Operation, Gets New Anus Instead

Based on these articles, I think I should have probably been a little more concerned.


As a side note, I just wanted to point out an advertisement that I saw next to the "anus" article. It...it gave me pause.

Hmmm...I now wonder if my vagina was depressed and there was nothing wrong with my appendix...

The Mile High City Just Joined the Mile High Club

In the local cable television market, there have been a number of advertisements for a new night club that is intended to cater to a more "refined" crowd. Featuring the same background music as the "I'm a Mac, and I'm a PC" spots (or the even cooler "I'm a Marvel, and I'm a DC" spots), these commercials primarily focus on contrast. The crux of these ads is to differentiate between the shallow, obnoxious clientele that can be found in most of the city's night life and the "refined" patrons of this new club.

Now, I can't say in particular why I decided to check out the Web site for this "refined" establishment - if I recall, I was merely curious to find out how far from downtown this un-downtown-like club was...the answer being not very. However, while browsing this site, I ran across some very interesting information about the "refinement" of this club.

This highly cultivated speakeasy prides itself on its "cocktail chefs" who are experts in the "art of the Cocktail." And the location boasts to being "second to none in Denver for socializing, entertaining, schmoozing, or just watching a game with your close friends." The establishment is, in fact, so "refined" that it features a strict dress code that ensures I will never be allowed to enter unless someone else has dressed me.

Now I know what you're thinking - it's the same thing I was thinking - this sounds like a really classy place. (I mean, if I was going to have another Sweet 16 party, I would totally host it there.) But imagine my surprise when I finally read the most "refining" aspect of this club that has been so well "refined" (I sure seem to be using that word a lot). I offer you the following:

"We cater to couples on Saturday. The mass majority of those couples tend to be Denver swingers or couples that have an open mind and are looking to meet other couples who are at least curious about aspects of the Denver "lifestyle". This does not mean that everyone who attends is looking to have sex with other couples! While most of the couples that attend have had experiences with other couples or single women, many couples just come to enjoy the fun atmosphere we provide and encourage. It's sexy, fun, very classy and tasteful. If you’re curious about the Denver lifestyle or Denver swinger scene, Sugar House is the perfect place to explore those curiosities. Each weekend we see new couples coming in who are merely curious or interested to see what the Denver swinger scene is all about."

Apparently "refined" is a code word for having lots of freaky sex, and apparently the "Denver lifestyle" means having a tasteful threeway...or fourway...which could explain why so many Californians have moved here. (They like the freaky sex... not that there's anything wrong with that...in fact, I hope that when I die, it's while I'm refining my Denver lifestyle - if you know what I mean....I mean that I want to die while I'm having lots of freaky sex...with supermodels...plural).

UPDATE: Just thought of the phrase "tasteful threeway" and couldn't let it go to waste.

Steve Jobs, I want you inside me...meaning I want to channel your presentation skills...what did you think I meant?...pervert

While I am a professional writer, a wordsmythe if you will, I do on frequent occasion have to host meetings and even give presentations. In fact, most of the writers I work with also find it necessary to present (typically presentations as well), so a colleague forwarded this article around the office. Now, this article (from a professional business magazine no less) could be summarized - "Steve Jobs is the world's bestest presenter ever, and we should all want to really, really be like him a lot because he is so awesome and handsome and smart."

To say, as a coworker of mine did, that this reporter was "gushing" would be a severe understatement. The arterial spray in Kill Bill is "gushing." The oil in There Will Be Blood is "gushing." (Oddly enough the blood in There Will Be Blood only kind of pooled). This article involved a much higher fluid release to time ratio than mere gushing. This was, in my humble opinion, a poorly veiled love letter to Steve Jobs.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, I am a writer, and as a writer, I just happen to know a few editors. And these editors know other editors who happen to know other editors who may or may not have been able to get me an early draft of this article, which now follows:

Deliver a Presentation like Steve Jobs, the man I LOVE with all My Heart

1. Set the tone. Hi Steve, I know that the judge told me to stop calling you and that I'm not allowed to go on your property anymore. But I need to talk to you, so I'm writing you this letter. I know that you didn't mean all of those terrible things that your lawyer made you say about me, and I just want you to know that I'm not upset with you.

2. Demonstrate enthusiasm. I really hope that we can work this out because we would be good together. You know it, and I know it. We would be such a great team! I just care about you so much, and I would never let anyone hurt you or take you away from me!

3. Provide an outline. If you would just meet me like I've been asking, I know that we could make this work. It would just be dinner at the Olive Garden and maybe drinks afterwards. We could do it this Thursday. I know that your daughter's soccer game was cancelled, and your babysitter is free - I checked for you.

4. Make numbers meaningful. I've thought about how much I love you 400 million times since the iPhone was launched. That's 20,000 times a day, on average.

5. Try for an unforgettable moment. Why do you make me like this? Why? All I want to do is love you, and you always push me away. It makes me crazy. You can be a real bitch sometimes.

6. Create visual slides. I'll [censored]* your [censored] [censored] [censored] and then you can [censored] [censored] [censored] all over my [censored]. Then I'll take my finger and [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] [censored] with a crowbar.

7. Give ’em a show. WHORE! YOU WHORE! I WILL KILL YOU, YOU F@CKING WHORE!

8. Don’t sweat the small stuff. I'm sorry, Baby. I'm so sorry, but you make me so crazy sometimes. You know I love you, right? It's ok. It's ok. We'll make it work. You still love me, right?

9. Sell the benefit. We'd be so good together. I'd take care of you. We could grow old together, just the two of us. And if you got sick, I would make you chicken soup and kiss your forehead when you had a fever. Face it, Steve. Nobody knows you like I do, and nobody could ever love you like I do.

10. Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse. I'm guessing that you just haven't got my other letters because the post office is so slow. I bet if you were in charge of them, everything would get done so much faster. Hee-hee. Anyway, I'll just assume that you want to do that Olive Garden thing this Thursday, so I'll pick you up at your place. I know you moved, but don't worry, I have your new address.

With all my love,
Carmine Gallo

*Edited by Venting Plasma

Don't. You'll be de-rezzed.

There have been some, shall we say "changes," at my employer recently, so I now have a new boss. This new boss happens to have a, shall we say "relationship," with one of my former supervisors...let's call him "Lumbergh." Anyway, after a classy e-mail from my new boss saying that she was pleased to have me on her team, "Lumbergh" chose to respond with this:

"Warning: I never wanted to burden you with my problems, but Josh is actually criminally insane and has had a contract out of my life for years. You can expect similar treatment as his new manager. Fortunately, the contract is placed with a comic book hit man, so until "The Deathhammer" figures out how to make the transition from animation to tangible being, we're both safe."

I felt the need to reply:

"You've apparently never seen Tron...Don't worry, when my alliance with the Master Control Program is finalized, you'll be the first to tremble before the power of digitization."

Needless to say, I'm expecting new "changes" from my boss in the near future.

A Call to Arms

While I have covered a broad range of subjects with this blog, I have rarely commented upon the political arena. However, I find the need to speak out now. I am not attempting to sway anyone's personal opinion. I believe that one's political beliefs are a matter that should be determined by the individual...that is assuming that the individual is basing their decisions upon the Holy Scriptures and has engaged in the necessary amount of preliminary prayer and fasting...and I'm not talking about that half-day fasting crap that the Muslims do during Ramadan...and by praying I mean to the one true God and not to some false one.

No, my intent is not to persuade, but only to make an observation. As you all may well know, we are in the midst of presidential primaries, so all manner of candidates have been vying for our attention and affection over the past few months. As time has passed, these candidates have dwindled, with John McCain becoming the frontrunner for the Republican nomination and the Democratic nomination narrowing down to Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama.

Now, I may not be a political pundit, but I've been known to watch Fox News and MSNBC (especially when they're running a marathon of "To Catch a Predator" episodes), so I think that I'm fairly savvy when it comes to the political landscape. Imagine my surprise, then, when I stumbled upon an interesting news item that the major news organizations are ignoring.

It all started when a coworker showed me this story. To summarize the article was discussing a new 527 organization that is dedicated to "educat[ing] the American public about what Hillary Clinton is."




Now, I may not be a rocket surgeon, but I did get an A+ in my college Logic class, so let me drop some knowledge on you. Let's first start with the question, "What is Hillary Clinton?" Well, the obvious answer is "a U.S. Senator trying to obtain the presidential nomination for the Democratic party." So essentially this organization was founded to tell people that Hillary Clinton is a U.S. Senator trying to obtain the presidential nomination for the Democratic party. Assuming that this organization was founded to actually serve a purpose, then it stands to reason that there are people out there who do not know that Hillary Clinton is a U.S. Senator trying to obtain the presidential nomination for the Democratic party.

All in all, this does not bode well for Mrs. Clinton. She's been the wife of a U.S. President. She's a high-profile U.S. Senator that isn't from some worthless fly-over state. She has had her name in the running from the beginning, and yet, she still is an unknown.

Now, I'm not saying that I'm endorsing her as a candidate, but this blog will go so far as to say that if Mrs. Clinton is going to get her shot at the White House, her supporters really need to get the word out about what she is. So I would suggest that they consider contributing to this organization...maybe even by one of their t-shirts.

I'm just saying.

Filthy Frolicking

Keeping with my tradition of punctuated equilibrium when it comes to my postings, I feel the need to offer up an additional choice morsel this evening. While working from home earlier this evening, I had Dirty Dancing playing in the background. Admittedly, I’m behind the curve to offer any commentary regarding this film since it came out when I was not yet shaving; however, I would like to record a few observations I made while watching this film:

• Grind dancing has apparently been around since the early 60’s
• Being a hussy and getting knocked up are in no way related…in fact, it seems that the bigger hussy you are, the less likely you are to become impregnated
• Dancing dirty is bad, but wearing short shorts and tight tank tops is okay
• “Nobody puts baby in the corner” – whatever the hell that means
• Guys from Ivy League schools are dicks that are exclusively focused on getting into my pants
• Chicks dig it when guys lip synch to music
• You should wait to go all the way until you find someone that you are “like in love with”
• Patrick Swayze is a really good dancer, but Patrick Stewart is better
• Erin Grey was much better in Ferris Bueler’s Day Off
• The more ethnic you are, the more slutty you are on the dance floor
• Two young women dancing together is hot, but two old women dancing together is nauseating
• Patrick Swayze really hates shirts and loves tight pants.

You sir, are a doody head.

Greetings ladies and gentlemen,

That’s right, I’m back.

Now, you may have wondered where I had been for so long – well, to show my support for the Writers Guild, I have been on strike from my blog. Admittedly, I was on strike long before the guild assembled on its picket lines, but that is simply because I wanted to show this strike my full support. I wanted to make it clear that I was so far behind this boycott that I got out in front of it by a factor of months. That’s how behind I am…behind “it,” I mean.

So why have I now broken my silence? One reason – rage. No, not rage at the studios. Not rage at unequal pay scales. Not rage at the corporate fat cats who refuse to let go of a measly few percentage points to the actual creators of the content they profit from. Not rage at the unfairness of the universe.

No. It is at the runners of this Web site that I turn my ire.

According to these geniuses, I apparently write at an elementary school level. AN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL LEVEL? Well, I would like to take a moment to respond: These people are doody heads. That’s right! They are poo-poo faces that are stinky and smelly and are not my friends. They are dog-breathed boogers, and nobody likes them. They just don’t recognize good writing because they have poopy-pants dork brains that can’t comprehend how awesome I am.

Analyze that, jerkfaces.


UPDATE: Apparently the inclusion of this rant and the blog entry above have elevated my status to Junior High.

Doing a nickel out in Broomfield

Today commemorates my five-year anniversary with my current company. Among the festivities for today I will be treated to a free lunch at Wahoo's Fish Tacos. As further boon, an e-mail proclaiming my longevity was sent out to the entire company, inviting good tidings and well-wishings to clog the arteries of my inbox. Among the exchanges was this gem from a colleague:

"Yay! You finally get your pension!! No need to worry about getting fired now, right?! Congrats!"

My reply:

"Indeed. My non-stop campaign of sexual harassment and racial slurs shall commence shortly."

Finding my motivation

Since a crucial component of bloggery seems to be informing others of cool things you find on das Interweb, I would like to bring to your attention this site. Here, one may create personalized motivational posters - posters akin to those that one would typically find in an office environment.

While the service encourages you to purchase prints of your genius, much enjoyment may derived from the simple act of creation rather than acquisition. Of course, if I create something of sufficient wit, I will undoubtedly purchase it and probably hang it upon my mantle or barring the lack of a mantle around my neck. But until that happens, I figured I would post my efforts for the enjoyment of all...






I have a feeling that this will not be the last of these...

A Reflection on Terror

Mayhaps you have heard of the recent hullabaloo, but in case you hadn’t, I shall summarize. Recently, one of the bloggers on the New York Times Web site engaged in a discussion on terrorism – specifically, potential terror attacks. After briefly analyzing the uselessness of the TSA, the author began to speculate on how he would act were he a terrorist, indicating that the government’s current efforts would be unable to stop him or by extension any truly motivated terrorist. The author then invited his readers to add their suggestions at terrorist attacks, stating:

"I’m sure many readers have far better ideas. I would love to hear them. Consider that posting them could be a form of public service: I presume that a lot more folks who oppose and fight terror read this blog than actual terrorists. So by getting these ideas out in the open, it gives terror fighters a chance to consider and plan for these scenarios before they occur."

I have decided to accept this challenge. Over the past few days, I have focused my thoughts upon determining the most terrifying and morale-crippling actions that terrorists could take. In the same spirit as Messieur Levitt, I shall now post them for worldwide comment:

• Fire a baby cannon at the White House (Note: a baby cannon operates the same as a normal cannon, only using babies for ammunition)
• Found a hippie commune
• Sabotage the Hersheys manufacturing facility so that it can only produce white chocolate
• Have European women streak a national sporting event (they don’t shave their parts)
• Stampede a head of cattle through downtown Detroit
• Fire a baby catapult at the White House (Note: like a baby cannon, a baby catapult operates under the same principles as a catapult only using babies for ammunition)
• Make alarmist documentary about global warming
• Assassinate David Eick and Ronald D. Moore before they can finish Battlestar Galactica
• Bring back New Coke
• Cripple the U.S. economy by burning every dollar that they earn
• Build a fully operational Death Star
• Vote for someone in the Green Party
• Elect a woman president (Oh no he didn’t)
• Build a baby trebauchet (I think you’ve caught on to the principle at this point)
• Beat a dead horse
• Make out with Natalie Portman (Note: While this may not inspire terror, this item seems to show up on every to do list I make).

Exchanging office e-mail

E-mail from office receptionist to company:

Refrigerator cleanout tomorrow (Friday) at 2 pm. If you have something that you don't want thrown away, please take it to your desk. I will be throwing everything out.

I subsequently forwarded the e-mail to a coworker (Erik) with the following note:

Could I get your help carrying a bod--er, I mean about 120 lbs of...um...frozen dinners...yeah...down to my car from the freezers tonight?

More than enough to go around

A short while ago, a colleague of mine started a new blog to discuss articles of interest to Geek culture (e.g., comics, movies, music) and asked me to contribute. After dragging my heels for quite some time, I have finally done so.

Now I know what you're thinking - "Josh, you hardly ever post here. What makes you think that you can start blogging all over the Interweb? You're biting off more than you can chew." First off, let me point out that my bite marks are on record with at least three separate police departments, and all parties involved have agreed that my capacity to cram human tissue between chompers far exceeds that of most men. And let me further assure you that I am more than lazy enough to not post on two blogs simultaneously.

In fact, I make this promise to you, my faithful readers - I refuse to let my not writing for The Mind Blender interfere with my not writing for VentingPlasma.

Crisis averted - now go read my most recent brilliance.

Feel My Sting - A Photo Essay

To put it simply, the entire experience was thoroughly unpleasant. The apple flavor of the sucker was terrible, and the scorpion itself had an overt chemical taste. Whatever substances they use to treat the insect are what you get to taste when you eat it. I only came close to gagging once, so I'm fairly proud of myself with regards to the overall experience.

The best part, however, had to be the ingredients list - Malitol syrup, scorpion, artificial flavoring and color (yellow 5, blue 1).

Contest Entry

The School of EVIL

By Joshua A. Young

Peter was in high school and he was at school and knew that something was really wrong but he didn’t know what. And then at lunch he realized that he was the only kid in school. “Where is every body?” He asked the janitor. But he didn’t know. Then he asked Mr. Jake but he told him to shut up and finish his test. He didn’t know any of the answers to the test.

When Peter was in the bathroom he heard a scream and ran out. The principal yelled at him for running he said that someone was screaming and the principal told him that no one was. The principal gave him detention for being out of class but it was the passing period.

Peter knew that it was someone really screaming and began to investigate. He looked in each of the classrooms but they were all empty except for the teachers and desks and chairs. Then he found in one of the classrooms red stuff on the ground. He thought it was blood and smelled it. It was blood! The blood was on the ground in the classroom and in the hallway. He followed it on the ground until he found where it ended. It ended in the kitchen. He didn’t know why there was blood in the kitchen, so he started to investigate the kitchen. There was blood every where. It was on the counters, and the floors, and the ceiling, and everywhere. He wondered where all of the blood came from but he didn’t know. But he was going to find out! He heard a noise and hid in a closet. The cook came in and started cookinig. He picked up some carrots and started cutting them. They were on the counter and had blood all over them. The cook licked of f the blood and cut them. “Mmmm. I like blood but it is better when it is fresh isn’t it Peter.” He said to Peter because he knew that he was in the closet the whole time!

Peter jumped out of the closet and yelled “You won’t get away with this. Killing is against the law and you are going to go to jail now for doin it.” “He he he he he.” The cook laughed in an evil laugh. “You will never live long enough to let the cops know. And I have cut the phone lines.” The cook swung at him with a knife and cut his face. Blood shot out everywhere and he could taste the blood and smell it. It was running down his throat. His face hurt where he was cut really bad.

I grabbed a hammer off of the table and a nail too. “You might have won this fight, but my dad was in the army and taught me hwo to fight.” I said. Then I dropped to the ground and crawled up to him really fast. Then I drove the nail through his foot with the hammer in one strike just like my dad had taught me when he was a green buhray. The blood shot up out of his foot all the way up to the ceiling. He screamed really loud and yelled and his face was all scrunched up like he was in a bunch of pain. He tried to grab at me but he couldn’t move his foot so he was stuck.

And that was when I realized that his blood was wrong color. It was yellow and not red like all of the other blood that was in the kitchen. I said “You’re blood is not the right color. It is yellow. What is wrong with you.” And he laughed again. He said with a look of disgust on his face “What you didn’t know is that Im not really a cook but I am an alien and I am here to eat everyone in your school. I like to eat people because they taste so yummy. Then he took a big bite out of a hand. A HUMAN HAND!!! Blood ran down his face and I puked everywhere and he licked that up and said MMMmmm I like that to.

That was when I got scared because he was an alien and I didn’t know how to kill him because he probably had crazy alien powers. I knew I had to get out of there so I ran out of the school and all the way home. I couldn’t find my parents even thought they didn’t have to work today because it was there day off. I had to think really hard. I was thinking real hard but I had a headache because the cook had cut me in the face and then I knew what I had to do. “Of course I said I will go to the secret science lab that is outside of the town that we live in.” They will stop him

The science lab was really far awy and I knew that it was going to be hard to get there and then a jeep pulled up next to me with a man in an army uniform. It was a army jeep. I said “You almost nocked me off of

(Editor's note: The fourth page of this epic tale has been lost to the sands of time. Mayhaps it was ingested by a canine or supressed by a provision of the Patriot Act. We now resume our tale already in progress.)

not really a alien. He is an android from the future. “How did you know that?” I asked the scientist guy. He said it was because they had caught the cook before and did tests on him and found out that he was a robot. I said “why would you let an evil killer robot cook go so that he could kill people. He killed every one in my school even my friends.” And the scientist guy said “We didn’t know yet.”

That was when the cook busted in the door. He stabbed all of the scientists, but I killed him when I hit himn in the weak spot in his head with a bat like the scientists told me to. I saved everyone int the world but noone ever knew.

THE END.

Word Smythery at its Finest

Since the company I work for is infested with liberals and hippies, we have a "give back" program in place that is intended to waste company assets and revenue in order to benefit the larger community. Most of this aforementioned program focuses on volunteering at a local middle school that is renowned for offering a substandard education. Luckily, I am able to dodge involvement in these efforts since I have a restraining order in place that bars me from being within 50 yards of any elementary, middle or high school in the State of Colorado - there was an incident of which my lawyer advises me not to speak.

As much as I avoid involvement, the other employees in my department embrace it. It seems like they pounce upon every opportunity they are presented that involves milling about with grubby adolescents. So, when this institute of learning held a short story competition, many of my colleagues volunteered to be judges.

While I did not participate in the actual judging, I was given the opportunity to read many of these stories. They were hypnotic. They were amazing. They were the worst writing ever performed by a human hand (or robot for that matter). Narrators shifted from third person omniscient to first person at the drop of a hat. People were simultaneously drowned while having conversations. Dogs magically appeared to be stabbed in the neck. Entire pages of story were missing. Girls told each other that they had fat asses.

I was enchanted by the very nature of these tales. They were so horrific that I could not turn my eyes away, and as I pawed through page after baffling page, I knew that I had to recreate this phenomenon. The mildly-retarded seventh-grader inside me beckoned me to write a story of equal caliber. It was a challenge I could not resist.

And lo, I organized among my colleagues a short story competition. There were only two rules:
- The story had to be roughly three pages long
- The story had to be written in the style of a poorly educated seventh grader.

My entry will now follow.