Me fail English? That's unpossible!

Remember when I said that I got the Apple i-...thingy? And it was fun, because it's...good?

I'm not so shure anymore.

Cawse you can put gaems on it, and I bawt a game called beg- bezh - bejeweled, where you move things near other things and then they explode and yay! there are more things, and that's good, because it's fun.

I lik to play the game, and I play lots. LOTS. Some of the times it takes many minuts to play a game, and then it's late, and I'm tired and I yawn. Like now. Where I work, in my work room at my work place, I yawn, and people look at me.

So its good, and its' fun, which is good, but I think there's another thing. I think I usd to be better at talking and thinking and riting. Wife helps me with my laces, but I bought velcro so now it ssscccrrraaaappppes, and that's fun. But Wife says that I used to know my laces, and now I dont, and that's sad for her, which is not good. She says my Apple is a bad. That is not good because she is Wife, and has smart.

So I am try to play not more, and maybe I will find the smart again. Is it under teh bed? Nooooo. Is it in my hair? Noooo. IS it in my Apple? NOOOOOO.

Yo Joe!/Hey, Brother

Today I offer two forms of shame, arising from opposite ends of my life. Shame and excitement. Shame, excitement, and apprehension. Shame, excitement, apprehension, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Pope. No, wait, that's the Spanish Inquisition.



Anyhoo, there are two filmic events that both excite me and scare the bejesus out of me (shouldn't it be beJesus? Who knows. Jesus might, I guess).

The first is G.I. Joe. As a liberal who hates military fascism and moral absolutes tied to nationalities, it's embarrassing to admit that I used to love this show. I read the comic books, I bought the toys, I staged hundreds of epic battles between the Joes and COBRA, a ruthless terrorist organization determined to rule the world. COBRA, if you were curious, had fantastically better characters and vehicles, and the Terror Drome was badass. On the other hand, G.I. Joe had Snake-Eyes, who made up most of the difference. But I digress. As ashamed as I am to have loved - and, evidently, still have strong feelings for - the hyperpatriotic Joes, I was thrilled to hear they were going to do a live action movie.

Then I heard it was going to be directed by this guy, and I broke out in hives. What if it blows? Who am I kidding, of course it's going to be terrible! Destro doesn't even have a chrome mask! This is the sort of trauma that ruins childhood memories. And yet...still, there is a fluttering in my soul. Against all odds, it may not suck old man balls. Right? Right?

The other end of this admittedly unique spectrum is Arrested Development. Holy mother of magnificence is it going to be fantastic.

So where, you ask, is the shameful component? Here it is: I only watched maybe half a season when it was first run on TV.

You see? I, an ordinarily loyal member of my demographic, should have scheduled my weeks around the show, should have been shouting from the rooftops odes to its absurdist glory, and devoted hours to dissecting and memorizing each episode. Not only that, but now, having rented and pored over the scant few episodes, I proclaim its glory to every one I know. I truly believe, guilt notwithstanding, that Arrested Development is the funniest show ever. It beats Seinfeld, Cheers, The Simpsons, Family Guy, South Park, The State, Mr. Show, Larry Sanders, 30 Rock, and The Office (even the British one).

Despite all that wonderfulness, just as I am culpable for Weezer sucking (an explanation of which will be a future post), I am responsible for the cancellation of Arrested Development. There. Ah, the confession feels good, like ripping a Band-Aid off.

But let us forget the past. Both movies are going to be glorious, and I will weep tears of joy just to see them brought to the big screen.

What you know about that? Oh, I know ALL about that

HOLY CRAP

TI, I knew you had my Glock. You said you gave it back, and I believed you. So I yelled at Wife for hiding it, and then the kids cried, and I had to drag them back to their cages. But there it is – my gun, with its Hello Kitty sticker, for the whole world to see. Why do you keep torturing Jesus with your lies?

I bet you still have my hedge trimmer too, you jerk. Look at my hedges! Don’t turn away. Look at them! They’re repulsive! Everyone on the block walks by and laughs at them. My youngest son Sunshine was crying again when he got home from school today. You know why, TI? He didn’t say, but it’s probably because his snot-nose friends have seen my hedges, and they know you haven’t returned my gun, so I can’t hunt them down like last time.

You’re the worst neighbor ever. Keep the damn trimmer, I don’t even care anymore. Just make sure the Feds give me back my gun. I have some middle-school kids to hunt down.