I punched myself in the self-respect

4/6 of the Fancy Family came to visit last week, to play with Child and take pictures of Child and look at Child and smile at Child and to carry Child around on a golden throne, fanning him with gigantic fern leaves. I have no idea how they got those things past security on the plane, but there they were.

Brother Z also brought with him a book. He finished it while he was in town, and since he laughed repeatedly while reading it, I thought it would be worthwhile to spend the 2 or 3 hours it would take me to read it.

I was wrong.

If you don't know who Tucker Max is, you're a better person for it. Not because he's a debauched individual with no morals whatsoever - those people are hilarious, and necessary for any decent party. No, it's because he's a terrible writer, and not funny at all. The parts of the book that made me laugh out loud were when he quoted his friends, who are evidently much funnier than he is, even with their crappy nicknames (Slingblade? Really? That had a shelf-life of about 3 minutes).

Max has a website, and a devoted fan following of date-rapists and people who are too stupid to get Bill Simmons jokes. I won't link to it here, because it's easy enough to find if you want to make yourself dumber, or if you want your girlfriend to dump you. Which hey, that's your call.

I guess the real concern is that I knew who Tucker Max was before I read the book. I knew what I was getting into. So why in G-d's name did I read it? I think less of myself now for having it in my house. I hid it from our babysitter last night, so she wouldn't think I hated women and minorities and myself. I refuse to let Wife read it - even the funny parts - because I want her to keep believing that men, for the most part, are decent, and not vile talking penises. Which they are, but most have a few more scruples about keeping it under wraps (no pun intended - my G-d, it's even got me making puns. I'm going to go stick forks in my eyes now).

Why did I read this book? Why haven't I burned it? Well, because it's not my book, and Brother Z may want it back. But I read it because...

Nope. I got nothing. I can't deny this concerns me. A little, but still.

A question, then 64 answers

What do you do if you find something that's so absurd, so ridiculously hilarious, you feel bad sharing it with others?

Wife was looking for a phone number. Forgetting it was in her phone, she went to the internets and looked up the individual in question. What she found was...epic. A glorious monument to the possibilities of chaos and the World Wide Web. It was in every way more fantastical than she or I or you could have imagined.

I don't mean to suggest that this individual had some sort of Flash-infused ultra-narrow bleeding-edge of the envelope home page. In fact the truth is just about the complete diametric opposite. What we found was this person's soul, writ carefully and purposefully on a web page.

This person - we'll call the individual T-Bone, because it's gender-neutral and silly - was specific in their interests, passions, and character traits and flaws. And this is no Blogger account, nor was there any sort of innovative or even substandard derivative design. If I had to compare it to anything, it would be Creed's blog, but without the serial killer vibe. Wait, scratch that - with all sorts of serial killer vibe emanating from the screen.

On T-Bone's proto-blog there are links to favorite quotes, which in itself is not unusual...but the three or four paragraphs on why T-Bone thinks archiving quotes as a concept are interesting, and why sharing them is helpful for the reader's edification is pretty out there, as a form of entertainment. Or how about the autobiography, which literally begins with a birthday, and a physical description. And goes on for about 5 or 6 pages?

This is how the Genesis conversation happened in my head:

T-Bone: what's a blog?
T-Bone's head: a blog is a place on the internet that's all yours. Do with it as you wish.
T-Bone: Well, like, what should I put on there?
T-Bone's head: Got me. Why not tell the universe a little about yourself, and talk about some of the things you like?
T-Bone: OK. I like my family, and I think the environment is important. Should I put that on there?
T-Bone's head: Sure. There are lots of people who feel the same way you do, they'll be interested to read what you have to say on these pressing and culturally relevant topics.
T-Bone: Great! I also enjoy role playing games and fantasy novels and writing fan fiction about Transformers, which I still collect. Are there other adults with spouses and children who collect Transformers, who might want to read my stories?
T-Bone's head: Well you know I love everything Transformers. Throw 'em on! You'll get zillions of hits in no time! Oh, and the more detail the better!

I wish I could share T-Bone's thoughts with you. I really do. But it would be mean. Meaner even than the previous paragraphs, where I shared just a few little bits with you. Sorry.

Also, you'll be interested to know that I shall share my NCAA tournament picks with you on Wednesday night. The simple act of reading them will fill you with wonder at my prophseying skill, and you shall marvel at my insight into futures untold.

"Oh my Lord, is that Davidson's music?" Proof positive that as of Monday night, I have no idea who's even in the Madness this year. How about Brandeis, are they a 12 or 13 seed? McGill? They a 7 seed?

Why yes, this IS a copout

Some of you may have noticed that I don't write so often. I've made excuses before, but when you get right down to it I'm just lazy. Too lazy to create the funny, too uninspired to dream up the haha. And I apologize for making you wait for my random flashes of brilliance: you deserve better.

I was thinking this as I read the Great Ali's recent post, which kindly offered to provide interview questions, per these rules:

If you would like to participate in the ME interview, here are the rules.

1. If you want to be interviewed, leave me a comment that says “Interview me”.

2. I will respond by emailing you 5 questions (I get to choose the questions).

3. Update your blog with the answers to the questions and let me know when you have posted it.

4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When other comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

And like I said, I've been grossly delinquent in my own originality, so I'm swiping Ali's who swiped someone else's, and so on. Plus, who doesn't love to be interviewed about themselves? Probably the Dalai Lama, but he's disqualified because he spends too much time with Richard Gere, who loves to talk about the Lama. It's all "Lama this," and "Buddha that." Get a room, Ricky and Lama!

Here then, Ali's questions, and my answers:

1. What is your favorite movie?? Now tell us the one we REALLY want to know...the movie that you are embarrassed to admit that you love and can watch over and over and over?

Pulp Fiction, and here's a little story by way of illustration:

The first time I saw this movie I was in Boston, visiting some friends from my summer Israel trip and checking out colleges. This girl invited me to stay at her place for the weekend (clue no. 1), and we hung out, going out with her friends, giving each other backrubs (clue no. 2) and generally having a good time. But I was stupid, and so I made no move in any sort of romantic/boob-ish direction. The last night I was there, we went to go see Pulp Fiction. I hadn't seen anything like it in my entire life. The dialogue, the blood, the music, the sodomy - it was genius. Sometime during the movie, I felt a hand on my upper thigh (clue no. 3). My friend had abandoned subtlety.

What did I do? Here were the thoughts in my head:

"Wait, did she? Oh man, she did. That's her hand, and it's on my thigh. It's up there, man. Oh my god, is Zed raping Marcellus Wallace? Um, I have to make out with this girl right now. Or do I? I'm staying at her house, we're going there right after this. Do I say anything? Is there anything I could say that wouldn't sound like I'm rejecting her very generous and insistent offer? Maybe if I say nothing, and act like I don't notice her hand, which is now pretty much massaging my hip, and moving ever closer to - holy crap, that was HILARIOUS! Man, Samuel L. Jackson should be in like, every movie from now on. OK, just play dumb, and watch the rest of the movie, and you can hook up at her place, where there's a bed, and it'll be more comfortable anyway."

Only your favorite movie would compel you to put off the perfect hookup situation. Or maybe your especially screwed-up priorities. Did I mention how few girls I dated in high school? No, fewer. Fewer. Yeah, that's about right.

As for the movie I'm embarrassed to love? There is no shame in loving Say Anything... because John Cusack is awesome. On the other hand, there is a little shame in having a strange fixation on Ryan Reynolds, and being able to watch any movie he's in. Van Wilder? Funny. Waiting? Strangely absorbing, and hilarious. Definitely, Maybe? Unconscionable. And yet I cannot turn away.

2. If you could have any superpower, what would you choose? And what would your superhero name be? any ideas what your costume might look like?

The power to kill a yak from 200 yards away, with mind bullets. That's telekinesis, Kyle.

My name would be Motion, and I would wear no cape. My logo would be a stencil of me kicking Isaac Newton in the crotch as he sits under his apple tree. Where's your equal and opposite reaction to that, bitch? That's what you get for taking credit for gravity. Are we supposed to believe that it didn't exist before the 18th century? Screw you and your stupid wig.

3. What is your biggest pet peeve? What is one thing that you do that might drive other people crazy?

I hate being reminded to do something I already know that I have to do. It's not that I don't know I'm supposed to replace the garbage bags in the garbage can - I just don't care enough to do it right now.

And since I have always believed I know more than I actually do, this pretty much extends to anyone telling me to do anything. I could be lying in a pool of my own vomit, and you could come by and say "Hey, you should roll over, otherwise you're going to choke to death." My immediate internal response will be to inhale puke, just to spite you. See? Now I'm dead. That's what you get for trying to help me, dickface.

What might drive people up a wall is when I don't do things I'm supposed to do. It might be even more aggravating when I snap in response to your demand that I stop being so oblivious. That might bother people. Like Wife. Possibly. One can never really know for sure.

4. Choose one moment in your life you could go back and do over...what would you do differently?

I'm guessing your first suggestion would be the Pulp Fiction scenario mentioned above. But I've got a least 6 or 7 of those puppies in my past, so how to choose one? I could choose the day I decided against going to Michigan and to go to YU. I could choose the day I decided to stay in business school and not switch to English. I could choose any number of screwed up interviews, or professional decisions. Or how about the time I spent a summer at this other camp because a girl convinced me to come, only to get there and find out she was already dating the guy who is now her husband?

We'll go with the summer I spent in Israel, because I blew not one, not two, not three, but six different hookup opportunities in less than 9 weeks. Because I am the MASTER, that's how.

5. Create the playlist you would choose if you could hijack a radio station and be a dj for an hour:

"This or That" - Black Sheep

"10 A.M. Automatic" - Black Keys

"The Wolves (Act I and II)" - Bon Iver

"The Teeth Collector" - Pretty Girls Make Graves

"God" - The Dodos

"What?" - Tribe Called Quest

"Looking for Astronauts" - The National

"Da Mystery of Chessboxin'" - Wu-Tang

"Holland, 1945" - Neutral Milk Hotel

"Boom" - The Roots

"You're No Rock'n'Roll Fun" - Sleater Kinney

"All Fires" - Swan Lake

"Definition" - Black Star

"Gun Street Girl" - Tom Waits

"The Greatest Man that Ever Lived" - Weezer

"New Partner" - Bonnie "Prince" Billy

"The Bleeding Heart Show" - New Pornographers

Because I'm a snob.

So then, if you'd like to be interviewed, say so in a comment, and verily I shall ask you 5 questions. Kindly post them on your blog, or if you have none, write them on a postcard in lipstick and mail it to me, and I'll do my best to transcribe it here.

"Sure, we know what you have to say, but what are other people saying about stuff?"

I ramble. It's genetic. So instead of another post all about me and what I think (although it is my blog, so if you're reading, it's your own fault for being interested in the weird things in my head), here are some things that other people think about things I'm interested in:

And no, I'm not going back to make that paragraph more comprehensible. Go diagram a sentence, and parse it out. First one to finish gets a second apple at snacktime.

After having very specific and one-sided opinions about the respective conventions, I wanted some hard numbers to feel good about myself and my politics. Thanks, Slate! Now I know for sure that Republicans don't care about the issues affecting real Americans!

For those who don't know, Michael Ian Black is funny. Even his permanent slot on the "I Love the ___'s" VH1 shows give me chuckles. So I RSS'd his blog so I could read his funniness, and I enjoyed it. His commenters are slobbering fans, and that's why I'm nixing it off the required reading, but if he is even talking about Sarah Palin, you know it's important. Or at least possibly hilarious.

Did you want to know if Sarah Palin hates Jews? Me too. Turns out she does. Hooray!

I know it's late, but FreeDarko - usually devoted to liberated fandom and the glory that is professional basketball - took some time off this offseason and wrote some posts about the respective conventions. Check this out about the RNC.
Sorry about the italics. I'm not emphasizing to the exclusion of other links, although I do love my NBA talk mixed with a fine philosophical paste. So maybe I am pushing this one harder. You will love FreeDarko! You will obey my dog!

Some of you may know Michael Ian Black from his work in Wet Hot American Summer. Others may know him from "The State" or "Stella" . And some of you may know him from "I Love the New Millennium"or some other crappy VH1 nonsense. Either way, he's also a blogger, just like me, this lady, and the fifteen homeless guys I pass on my way to "work."

His commenters are pathetic, his posts hilarious, and recently he's gotten political.

Finally, the story that has been circulating the internets for a few days now, and has made its way to me via several different conduits. The New York Post has the story, as does Jewlicious.

Basically, a professor from the Fancy Pants alma mater has gone from he to she. Surgically.

Some of you may know that the FPAM - hell, what's the difference: Yeshiva University - is a tad...religious. Or at least they like to frame their marketing materials that way. Thus there is something of a brouhaha over the matter, although there are currently two Fancy Pants siblings at the school, and there have been no rioting reports as of 7:30 pm EST.

I think this is fantastic. Aside from the discomfort foisted upon the rabbis, there is the exposure of a true alternative lifestyle to a bunch of sheltered kids who think being a transvestite is just something people do on Purim.

So glory be to you, Professor Ladin. Enjoy womanhood and the opportunity to fondle your own boobs whenever you want. I have no idea what the Jewish legal issues may be, but I bet they're a lot fuzzier than Rabbi Tendler wants them to be.

Sad. Happy? Happy.

I've been reading a lot of depressing news lately. Like this. And this. Or how about this nugget? And Obama... Jesus, man, did you drop your balls in some hotel on the campaign trail, and then forget them on your way out the next morning? What the hell?

And don't get me started on this. Go have sex with a close relative, you 95-year-old hick.

But then I thought that you guys don't come here for the whining, and the tears, and the temper tantrums.

So instead I'm featuring Simon "the best excuse for nepotism" Rich, and....

THIS:



You're welcome.

Some links, you know, for the kids

Here is the Balloon Brother, amazing David Letterman and Biff like sugar-crazed toddlers:



Back in the day I had to wait breathlessly by the radio for the prefect songs to come up, then mix them with my meager tape collection to explain to any number of special ladies how I felt, being too lazy to come up with an original thought. Now, just go to Muxtape, and you can post your mixtapes for all to see, including the girl who sits behind you in French, and who odds are will not actually enjoy Conor Oberst's whining. My recommendation? ABC, "Aisha."

In yet another sad political twist, Obama and Liberal Blogs File for Divorce, all because he went on Fox News. All I want to know is who is going to buy my love with a Playstation 3 and universal healthcare.

Freedarko is being annoying, but it doesn't matter. If you don't love your basketball lightly salted with Kierkegaard and Ghostface Killah, then I don't know what to say to you.

Yeah, it's a short post, but it's really all in the name of getting Brother Balloon some extra hits. Check out his website, The Twisted Balloon Company, and be amazed.

I am weak, so weak

From the very beginning I have taken a firm stand against the juggernaut behemoth that is Facebook. Even when I learned that many people I love and respect had surrendered to its wily, sexy charms, I said "Nay! I shall not be swayed!"

And then I found out that I can find people with whom I went to camp. People who might forgive me for my obsession with proper grammar. Who might remember me when I was awkward and quiet, instead of awkward and outspoken. Gosh, with an opportunity like that, who could blame me for giving in?

So today I've succumbed. I am on Facebook, searching madly for people I once knew who now have children and double chins and less hair. It's like a constant high school reunion, except no one is having sex in the janitor's closet. And for those of you who know where I went to high school, it could happen. I don't know where the janitor's closet was/is, but I bet people were/are having sex in it. No one I know, but still.

Do not think that I'll be neglecting the Fancy Pants, though. Despite its god-awful name, which gets worse every time I have to type it, I'm standing by my blog, and shall update it as I see fit, as always. So don't think that just because I'm on Facebook, and football season is over, that I'm going to give up this crazy plan of writing out things I think.

Have you heard of "video?"

Espn.com is currently hosting a vote of the 100 Greatest Highlights from The Babe calling his amphetamine-and-hot-dog-fueled shot, to Trinity College's 54-lateral game-winning touchdown.

I don't know how much you know about sports highlights, and maybe you're not as picky, not as demanding as I am. But when I think "highlights," the first thing I think of is my upcoming tip-frosting appointment. The second thing that comes to mind is VIDEO replays of famous events. They say pictures are worth a thousand words. And sometimes those words are useful. But still shots, holding themselves out as full-on highlights - you know what those 1,000 words are? "Screw you, sports fans," repeated over and over.

ESPN is usually up to the task of reporting scores and showing video of great plays. But this time, when they want us to vote for the greatest highlight of all time...now they want us to go somewhere else for our video. And I have no problem with Youtube, it's where I get to see squirrels waterskiing (Look! Look at the little guy go!).



But if want highlights, I think, maybe, I should get to see them at the site where they want me to vote on them. I don't know, maybe I'm crazy.

One last thought before I leave you. Some of the events on the list are too old, or too obscure to have video evidence of their occurrence. And yet they're included on the "Greatest Highlight" list. Just because an athlete did something amazing does not mean it should be a Great Highlight. The barest, lowest threshold these things should meet is that there is video, like, say, the rest of the highlights on ESPN. Consistency is all I ask for.

A little random fandom

Watching Demetri Martin on the Daily Show last night, it occurred to me why so much of my writing turns out bitter and angry, and not sufficiently surreal, not adequately absurd (also without enough alliteration. Gosh I love words that share first letters).

I spend too much time reading about sports.

Is there no more bitter population than sports fans? Read Kissing Suzy Kolber. Read With Leather. Sure, there's nuttiness there. But mostly it's couched in furious bitterness, especially towards Boston. Not that its fans are undeserving, but they're not worth the obsession. Sure, I hate annoying Red Sox fans, and the Patriots are simply disdainful of the normal boundaries of excellence on the football field. But come on, people! Wouldn't you rather enjoy watching Steven and Stephen yell at each other?

Or checking out what Demetri Martin has to say about wearing white? I know I do.

In all fairness, though, there is FreeDarko, successfully bridging the gap between highfalutin nonsense and professional athletics. See, e.g., their preview of every single NBA player.

So from now on, we're going to do a little more batshit insanity, a little less road rage. Unless the Bears continue their sucking. In which case I will sneak into Cedric Benson's house in the middle of the night, and smother him with his My Little Pony pillow. He may sleep the sleep of angels, but when he dies he'll spend eternity with Satan. No-yardage-gaining son of a bitch.

Dropping a link deuce

Blossom is a PHD candidate?? Maybe I should lay off the LSD. But then how would I get to see Blue-eared Pete, the skunk who tells me which celebrities are gay?

I was going to make a joke about Six trading BJs for crack rock, but then I went to her IMDB page and it turns out she’ll be in Dr. Doolittle 3. Which is a crueler fate? How about if I add that she’s also a country music star? And believes she had to change her name because her guardian angel told her so?

Let’s start taking up a collection to buy her some kneepads.

Rudy vs. Mitt: Who Hates Porn More? – You can’t make up a better lede. I don’t want to spoil the end, but I will say the only disappointing thing about the article is that neither candidate mentions masturbation, or the hairy palms and blindness it causes. But I do want to hear more about Peggy Noonan’s “ocean of filth,” and whether they’re selling any property on the coast. Only because I love the beach. It has nothing to do with the perversion, or the porn. Honestly.

Vegans vs. Vegetarians - Really, this is just like asking who’s better, Hitler or Stalin? The only loser in this conversation? Planet Earth. Because if you start respecting cows now, their inevitable takeover will be…inevitable. Also, I don’t know what lacto-ovo means, but it’s got to have something to do with sex, right? Right?

Free Rice – do you want to “earn” rice that will go to starving peoples at a rate of 10 grains per correct vocabulary question? If you’re like me, and one of your alltime top five accomplishments was completing, before anyone else, the 15^th grade vocabulary book in 8^th grade, then you’re a big, big nerd, and this game is for you.

I’m really sorry for the double-Heeb injection, not because I’m embarrassed to have visited the site, but because it so blatantly reveals my laziness. Either way, Jonah Hill should maybe spend less time with Seth Rogen. Can you tell me which one it is in this picture? Definitively? No, you cannot. If we find “Jonah Hill’s” body in a ditch sometime in the next year, I demand that “Seth Rogen’s” DNA get tested. We are heading for a real stalker situation here, and I don’t want to have to say I told you so in 8-12 months, when E! has footage of Jonah being led out of Rogen’s house, screaming “I AM Seth Rogen! Look at me! I’m Canadian, eh! There is no Jonah Hill! Seth! SETH ROGEN, DAMMIT!”

Oh, cute!

I don’t know what you may have read about the Blackwater company. Perhaps you’ve heard about this. Or this. Or this. Or this. Or this.

I tried to hold off judgment, because sometimes mercenary armies fight for good. Maybe they’re the new GIJoe! And then today there was this headline, so I thought it was time to really check them out. I did a little investigating of my own. I went to their website, Blackwaterusa.com. And you know what? They don’t look any different from any other international corporation. In fact, in some ways, they’re more civil. You know what their Vision is? “To support security, peace, freedom, and democracy everywhere.” Are you going to argue with that? No, you’re not. Because you’re not Osama Bin Laden. And if you are, you still owe me 20 bucks.

Their employment requirements, by the way, are almost genteel:

· Weight must be proportionate to height.

· Must maintain a neat and clean appearance.

· Must be in good health and pass a physical test.

· Most positions require ability to obtain/maintain a secret or higher clearance.

· No history of major illness or mental disorder.

· Must have an Honorable Discharge and DD-214.

· No felony, violent crimes, spouse or child abuse convictions(NO WAIVERS)

See? They won’t even accept a waiver from a child abuser! Let’s see Greenpeace, aka The Haven for Baby-Beaters™ match that.

They also, for your convenience, have a gift shop, where you can buy everything from Christmas Ornaments to Stuffed Teddy Bears to Tactical Shorts. With the holiday season almost upon us, who doesn’t need Tactical Shorts?

Any company that sells teddy bears can’t be all bad, can it?

Link Dump

Good lord, I'm lazy. Here are some fantastic things that have happened on the internets:

Rudy Giuliani's Secret Debate Weapon - turns out, it's that he's a liar. I'm sure that comes as a shock to the two wives he cheated on.

Madonna leaves Warner after 24 years - $120 million? Anyone who's listened to her albums recently raise your hands. Not so fast, Imaginary Drag Queen.

Congress drafts resolution honoring Brett Favre - eh. It's not for Redneck of the Year, so I'm not really interested.

Ann Coulter - "We want Jews to be perfected" - wow, thank you Ann. And I was worried I wouldn't hear something whacked-out insane from you this month.

Radiohead is putting their fancy boot up the record industry's ass. Join them.

Blessing on your head...

Salon makes all sorts of ruckus about virgins. I don't know what the big deal is. People complain about virginity? I was a virgin for 20-odd years. I may still be a version, for all I know. And this -

http://www.salon.com/mwt/broadsheet/?last_story=/mwt/broadsheet/2007/10/10/knights_to_remember/

This was like my bar mitzvah. Except instead of your friends giving you money they wait outside to beat the crap out of you.

Hillary is the New Satan

The National Review has recently changed the banner on its website to “Help Us Stop Hillary!” There is also an unflattering picture of her under a Ghostbusters-style red circle with a slash through it.

Some might say that it’s a bit premature to be concerned about a particular candidate, perhaps because:

- It’s 13 months until the election; or

- There are 3 months until the first primary; or

- According to recent polls, only 1/6 of primary voters in early states like New Hampshire and Iowa have decided for whom they’ll vote; or

- There are still 77 different candidates.

These people, though, are misguided, and un-American.

No one in my neck of the woods realizes the danger posed by the blond Senator from Chicago – I mean Connecticut – I mean New York. And I try to convince them, to show them how serious it is that she’s running. I throw out these salient facts:

1) She is a woman. And as we have seen in this country, no woman can adequately perform the necessary functions of the president, like having openly secret affairs with Marilyn Monroe, or Monica Lewinsky (ouch, low blow. But you know what? I didn’t think she was that ugly). Unless Hillary is a lesbian. In which case she is more qualified than I thought.

2) She is not a man. Men have ruled the earth for thousands of years. We built the Pyramids with brute strength, and competent math skills. We impregnated vast populations of ladies, using manly guile and sperm. Men have waged wars, awful bloody wars, that have become fodder for awesome movies. We slew entire species: the wooly mammoth, the saber-toothed tiger, the dodo. If one – most likely, based on the numbers, a man – were to venture up into space, one could see our creations from thousands of miles away.

3) Hillary Clinton is female. Chicks are crazy, man. This one time, I was dating this girl, and I forgot our three-week anniversary, and she burned my car, and sold my dog. True story.

4) She is Bill Clinton’s wife. Now, we all know there is a lot of stuff going on around the world about which we have absolutely no clue, let alone any sort of insight. Does Iran really want to be a contributing member of global society? Who knows? Is there an effective worldwide plan to stop global warming, and to discover cheap renewable energy? I have no idea. But I want my president to know these things. And if Hillary Clinton had no idea Bill was getting blown in the Oval Office by some intern, then how is she going to know whether Pakistan is selling nuclear weapons to Trinidad (but not Tobago – I wouldn’t trust those morons with a slingshot).

5) Did you know that bears can smell a woman’s menses? BEARS! She’s going to put the whole office in danger! (Just be thankful I limited myself to one Anchorman quote)

6) Hillary Clinton has been taken to task repeatedly for her fashion sense, or lack thereof (meeoww!). Recently, though, she’s been showing some sexy post-menopausal cleavage. If that’s the sort of skanky attire we can expect from her as president, she won’t get anything done. Imagine this nightmarish scenario, say, in a Cabinet meeting: Sorry, Madam President, I didn’t hear your revolutionary healthcare plan, I was too busy staring at your jugs. Oh, I dropped my pencil, could you reach down and pick it up? Thaaaaaaaaaaat’s it. Nice.

7) She is a woman. Women already have buildings in which they rule with an iron fist – they’re called houses. Give them more power, and it will be anarchy: mothers whipping out boobs to breastfeed in the middle of churches; The View will become the anchor show during primetime, right after Grey’s Anatomy, and right before Desperate Housewives; sensible clothing will replace ho-wear in clubs and high schools around the country; softball will replace baseball as the national pastime (not that I’ll miss baseball, but it’s the principle, dammit); and you’ll be able to walk in to any Bed Bath & Beyond and get your abortion, gay marriage, and free lung transplant while waiting for your highlights to set.

8) Finally, Hillary Clinton is not a man. She doesn’t understand tradition. There are certain things that are sacrosanct in this country. We refuse reasonable health care, because unlike Europeans, we never had a caste system, so we have to work hard to create one. Otherwise we get left out. And America doesn’t get left out. Also, every few years we have to get into a war. It’s not pretty, but it keeps these industries afloat: military-industrial, domestic-industrial, industrial-industrial, pharmaceutical, medical, transportation, print media, 24-hour television news programs, military fiction including books, TV shows, and movies, comedy, tragedy, satire, allegory, psychiatric, social work, religious, clothing, and Cher.

9) Oh, and she’s smart and unbelievably well-informed. That’s not the sort of type we want for the Leader of the Free World.

Please help us, then, both here and at The National Review. It’s not that we’re sexist, or chauvinist. We just don’t want some broad to show us up.

We are very, very tiny

Scientists, in their eternal struggle to make the rest of us feel as small and useless as they did in junior high, have made a cute little video showing just how tiny and insignificant our fine planet really is.

Although someone should make up some better names for stars. Cephei? How about Badass Motherfucker? Or maybe The Great Blazing Soul of the Devil? Now that's hardcore.

Not two entries?!? Are you worthy? Eh, maybe

I try not to do multiple posts in a single day. Partially because I don’t want to exhaust the last three or four ideas I have before the end of September, but also because I’m fantastically lazy. But once in a while something comes along that demands immediate attention.

Right now is one of those times.

Ballooned Brother-in-law reminded me of this over the neverending New Year festivations, and it is incumbent upon me to share it with you.

As you may know, I read excessively. Really, it’s obnoxious, and it throws off the national average. I’m trying to cut down, but then, well, then this sort of thing happens.

I refer to Ant Farm, by smart guy Simon Rich. His dad’s Frank Rich, and he got a two book deal before he graduated from Haaaaaaa-vaaahhd (sorry, Boston U insecurity requires me to refer to it that way any time it comes up).

2 excerpts have already been published in the New Yorker ("The Wisdom of Children" and "Hey, Look"), so you know it’s hyper-literate, and pretentious and quite possibly paddlin’-worthy. But it also happens to be hilarious. The kind of funny that makes you want to walk directly to your car and slam your head repeatedly in the driver’s-side door, if only so you might lose, via concussion, the knowledge that you’ll never write something so good. It makes me want to hunt this Simon guy down and punch him in the nads, then apologize profusely and buy him round after round of drinks.

Like Demetri Martin, he is a comedy wolf in indie-geek sheep’s skinny jeans.

So kudos, Simon. And damn you straight to hell. But mostly kudos.

Maybe it's sad? No, it's definitely sad

So I Googled the website. Wanted to know if any other supposed owners of fancy pants were flying.

Turns out I was onto something, only it was a lot more pathetic than I could possibly have imagined:

Here, then, is the true flight of, um, Fancy Pants.

I'm going to go and wedgie myself.

Tuesday List: …That’s a Paddlin’

“FTW.”

“That is all.”

No-longer-obscure Simpsons quotes

Not having the common decency to switch lanes if the H on my badass Civic has pressed itself into your rear bumper. I’m tailgating you for a reason, lady.

Encouraging young women to dress appropriately and modestly: Pure Fashion

Serving paint chips instead of potato chips. Sure, there’s no trans fats, but there is an extra slice of stupid, courtesy of Slate.com Getting the Lead Out

Not fulfilling your potential before tossing your life away over some puppies. Real men cock fight, Vick.

Believing that cock fighting involves birds, and there is no other subtext. Not at all.

Ring tones. Congratulations, anonymous older woman. Now I know, merely from hearing your phone ring “Umbrella,” that if your husband hasn’t cheated on you, within a week he’ll be all over his secretary.

Zac Effron associated with actual music. But who deserves the paddlin’? It’s not Zac’s fault he’s an androgynous mannequin with caterpillars on his forehead, paid ungodly sums to sing vacuous Disney melodies. And Rolling Stone has to report on the musical zeitgeist as it is, regardless of value judgments. So the paddlin’ goes to Walt Disney’s frozen undead head. Zombie racist son of a bitch.

Rodrigo y Gabriela’s version of “Stairway to Heaven.” Because no one should be allowed to show up Jimmy f’in Page on a guitar, not on this song. And yet there they go, innocent Mexicans, flying in the face of tradition. You’re supposed to be washing dishes, dammit.

Favorite Mike Vick Posts

Just in case some of you are getting these posts transcribed by Maori medicine men and then tied to the feet of peregrine falcons, who then fly these missives to you in your underground bunker somewhere in Pakistan (sorry to out you, Osama. Maybe if you'd just sign in when you comment, I wouldn't have given you up), Michael Vick is pleading guilty to a number of charges that will land him in Federal ass-raping prison for a good long while - certainly long enough for him to lose his gag reflex.

Here are some of my favorite writings about the ordeal.

From the twisted folks at Kissing Suzy Kolber: The Offseason Adventures Of Michael Vick! Episode 9: Betrayed!

Deadspin.com, the source of sports blogs and fantastic nicknames: Inmate Number Ookie

In fact, it's almost impossible to find a sports blog these days that didn't start as a bunch of commenters on Deadspin saying to each other: hey, that was a great Family Guy reference. Let's start a blog!

And for ESPN's straight take: Lester Munson, who is actually Thurmon Munson's least favorite grandson, doesn't think people should make jokes about how Joey Harrington gets to be at the helm of yet another team going nowhere.

I'll Take Encyclopedia Britannica, Thanks Very Much

Sinister Wikipedia edits

Things I would edit in Wikipedia if a) I cared; and b) had nothing better to do with my time:

How Jesus’ nickname changed from Jeenie Weenie to the Son of G-d (hint: it had something to do with the IPhone);

List of animal rights violations committed by my neighbor’s eight-year-old son Felix against the cat that lives across the street;

The details of Microsoft’s involvement in WWII Norwegian internment camps;

The existence of Norwegian internment camps during WWII;

Icelandic folktales based on the Voltron mythology;

The brutal oppression by Native American tribes of early arrival British dandies (whatever happened to Sir Rollo the Effete?);

Karl Rove and philately: the REAL 9/11 conspiracy.