Celebrity Logic Baffles Me.

I get that Britney wants a perfume. And Jessica wants a clothing line. But Bono designing advanced consumer electronics? At least those two nitwits know something about smelling good and dressing well (I assume, at least in the case of Jessica, although Brit is trying, bless her little trashy heart). But now Bono thinks he can revolutionize mobile technology.

How exactly would that work? If he’s following his musical career path the phone would be really cool and interesting at the start, but then become ridiculous and ostentatious as time went on. It would most certainly suffer from “feature-bloat” as have U2′s live shows, going from little local pubs to bizarre spectacles of televised egomaniacal gluttony. And then it would start pretending to be more than a phone. It would want to meet with other devices, espousing personal beliefs and philosophies that no one asked to hear. And while it might be doing good work, the stench of crass commercialism would permeate all its doings. Eventually, you’d realize it’s not the phone you bought initially, or even want to use anymore, since there are other, more groundbreaking devices, and this one just pisses you off when you look at it.

And you’ll go on to something else, but it’ll still be yapping away in your old gadget drawer, in a futile effort to remain relevant, using the guise of humanitarianism to cloak more sinister corporate and political desires. Or something like that.

A Quick Thought On A Saturday Morning

Why the hell does Comedy Central, a network that, by its own admission, is devoted to making me laugh, at its commercial breaks show the longest, most depressing, soul-blackening “starving African child” money-beg adverts?

Think about it. I tuned in because my life is painful and depressing enough. Granted, I’m not an idiot, things could be so much worse, believe me, I know. I’m never ungrateful for what I have, and as I get older, in fact, have become even more aware of how much worse it could be. But on a Saturday morning, when I throw on your channel to watch some funny things, don’t – DON’T – break away from a funny show to tell me the story of “Alex”, whose parents were both killed, and who has to, at the age of twelve, take care of his FOUR younger brothers. DON’T tell me how he fears for the future of his family, and how he often doesn’t eat food for himself, but rather gives it to his younger siblings.

It’s my weekend. If I wanted to feel bad about myself, I’d think of all the time I’ve wasted drinking myself into a stupor and all the missed opportunities I passed up in favor of killing the brain cells the good lord gave me. Show me some damned comedy, COMEDY Central.

Unless you’re planning on changing your name to “Blindside Central”. In which case these choices of commercials will fit in perfectly well with your other planned programming. Which, I assume will include shows about people winning large sums of money only to be told that they will be hunted like animals in order to claim it, and many others.

My Brain Hurts.

Right now, I want to drive a spike through my brain. Like a big, rusty railroad pin. I feel like the last few weeks and months have done nothing to establish my sanity, but have made great inroads to erode my ability to suppress “the urges”. And by “the urges”, picture Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Yeah. So we’re on the same page now.

First off, I’m getting married. Which should be awesome. But you know what? There’s a reason I never host parties. It’s because I hate thinking about all the crap that happens when you’re in charge of arranging a party. And a wedding is HUGE MOTHERFUCKIN’ PARTY. Don’t get me wrong: I love my little girl so much it makes my head hurt, but this whole process is not for me. I can’t wait until we’re just married and I can be like “Yeah, that was cool”.

Then, there’s the house. Trying to buy one, everyone says I should, now’s the time, etc. Problem is, I don’t have all this money that you need to buy a house. And the few houses I can afford are not really doing it for me. And I don’t know if you heard, but our entire country is in the toilet financially. And by toilet, I mean “Hell toilet”. And by “Hell toilet”, I mean Satan is taking a hearty beer-and-taco dump on everything everyone touches. I even have good credit, and yet, this whole endeavor is terrifying. Again, should be exciting; in actuality, fear is gripping my yambag like a Gitmo interrogator, and squeezing a little harder each day.

It turns out that a fitting parallel for how this financial horseshit is all being resolved is that AIG is suing the government for trying to take away the money that it stole outright. I mean, I suppose they feel a little slighted by this whole thing, with everyone being so mean to them. Poor AIG. Hey, you know what? Maybe if you didn’t fist-fuck the country with a glove full of honey and broken glass like Tong Po in Kickboxer, we wouldn’t be so angry. People are out for blood now, and they’re not backing down. It was suggested that the offending execs commit suicide themselves, as in Japanese culture, but that would indicate that they feel a crushing amount of shame for what they did, and were not able to go on living. Clearly, they feel fine, and the hookers and blow and helicopters and rugs made of failed mortgages and homeless people speak to that end.

And I’m sorry, really I am, but when I see The Big O joking and jerking around on Jay Leno, it makes me think that he’s not taking this shit as seriously as he should. I know it’s a big problem. I know it’s going to take a long time to clean up. But from everything I’ve been hearing, it feels like we’re going fucking BACKWARDS. And that’s not a good message to be sending. He’s upholding Bush-era policies, promising change, and then insulting retards. (PS: we all know retards can’t bowl. It’s not a secret. Give the guy a break. If they could, the PBA would be a LOT more interesting.) But seriously, he needs to buckle the hell down and stop cracking wise. FDR wouldn’t have done this kind of shit, and neither should he.

Then(!), there’s the RIDICULOUS rash of plane-related accidents lately. I mean, COME ON. I’ve been flying my whole life, and as a student of logic, I know numbers are always in my favor, but FOR FUCK’S SAKE! Planes are falling out of the sky like fucking Duck Hunt birds! Only there’s no funny little dog snickering at you and grabbing them to reward your expert marksmanship. No, it’s a scary fireball of anxiety and karmic retribution. I’m seriously asking myself what the hell do I need to travel for? I can see everything I need to with Google Earth, right? If I drink enough, and play ethnic music while looking at street view in other countries, it’s almost the same, right?

Basically, it’s a bad time to be on Earth right now, and there’s not a goddamned thing we can do about it. I think the only thing left for this go-around would be full-scale alien invasion. And at this point, it would be an improvement. At the very least, we could stop thinking about all this crap for a while, and start thinking about living like Anne Frank.

Fight or flight, bitches.

This Post Will Anger Some People; I Don’t Care.

I told myself I wasn’t going to watch the Oscars last night. And then I realized that there was no new Family Guy or Simpsons on last night, but rather a dearth of cars going left at very high speeds, over and over and over again. So Oscars it was. And I didn’t even make it through the whole show, because I was absolutely assed out from snowboarding the day before. But I digress. This isn’t about the Oscars, or snowboarding, or falling asleep early, although it was pretty rad.

Here’s the thing. While I didn’t see all the nominated movies, I happened to see a bunch of them earlier this year, namely, Slumdog Millionaire, Doubt, and The Wrestler. In that order. And each movie was successively better than the previous. Seriously. We went to see Slumdog first, when the hype was still manageable, because some of our friends saw it and recommended it. It was ok. Doubt was pretty solid. Philip Seymour Hoffman is a freaking amazing actor, and I would watch that guy eat a cheese steak if I thought it was going to be cool. He pretty much has carte blanche with me. And then we saw The Wrestler. Wow. Mickey Rourke blew my fucking mind out the back of my skull. He not only should have won the Oscar, but they should have eliminated the Best Actor category from here on out, because no one was touching that. I seriously almost cried during that movie, because he just pushed the failed heartbreak down my throat until I couldn’t take it anymore. So yeah, I liked it.

Now here’s the thing: I don’t know if it’s because of the cast, or the story, or the “underdog” mentality of the whole production, but Slumdog pretty much ran the show last night. Which is fine, except that it’s NOT REALLY THAT GREAT OF A MOVIE. There – I said it. Don’t get me wrong – I liked it. LIKED it. It didn’t change my fucking life and make me believe in love and cosmic threads and say “oh wow, wasn’t that just heart-explodingly beautiful?” the way the media, and everyone who saw it would lead you to believe. Is it worth your time? Sure. I laughed a bit through it, and it was charming, and the kids were fantastic actors. BUT COME ON, PEOPLE. It really was not the movie that last night’s extravaganza made it out to be.

I love Danny Boyle; Shallow Grave, Trainspotting, 28 Days Later? Shit! The guy makes some awesome movies! I’m a zombie fan who was so jaded by the state of horror movies, and when that came out and I saw those fast, crazy, snarling undead people, I very nearly shit pure fear. It was fantastic. Slumdog had Boyle’s prints all over it – his dreamy, ethereal visual style, for instance – and the cinematography was outstanding, to be sure. Like I said, the movie wasn’t total shite. But then there was a Bollywood-style dance sequence at the end, which pretty much made me get super pissed really fast. And I like love stories, but everything about this movie was predictable. There really were no surprises. Not that I’m a child and need to be in suspense the whole time, but if you want to engage me, make me work for it (Doubt did). And make the characters compelling. Maybe it’s because I’m mentally damaged, but I related far more to Mickey Rourke’s character, all broken and pathetic, than I did to this street rat in India. Sorry, just did.

To reiterate, the movie wasn’t bad. Really. I could have, however, waited for a DVD release, and I’m kind of tired of hearing people talk about it like the second coming. I knew it was going to get Best Picture, and that’s fine. Usually the movie I want for BP doesn’t win anyway, so I’m used to disappointment. I guess what I’m saying is, I can’t fucking wait to stop hearing about this movie. I apologize to anyone who had their life forever changed by Slumdog Millionaire, but seriously. It’s like Titanic-style hype. And we all know Titanic really sucks.

The Super Bowl: America, Get The Hell Over It

I know, I know, EVERYONE loves the Super Bowl. I must be some kind of Communist Pinko Hippie bastard for saying otherwise. But seriously, it’s so boring. Football in and of itself, at its purest form, is kind of cool. No seriously, if you look at it, it’s a game of strategy more than strength, and deception and misdirection. It could be so awesome. But then you tart it all up with the eye-melting motion graphics, and unending analysis by former players who would otherwise be running used-car dealerships if not for the need to have them weigh in on everything from what type of underwear is better for what kind of weather to why the coin toss should be re-run a half dozen times, and the game becomes an abomination of its former self.

I want to like it. Not really, but kind of. I mean, it would make my life so much easier; my family would accept me more fully, my co-workers wouldn’t look at me like I just ate an infant in front of them when I tell them I don’t really care about it, and while at bars with people I don’t feel like talking to, it would mean I don’t have to “pretend” I’m watching whatever game is on, I could actually be engrossed in it.

But it’s just not going to happen. I have to accept it. I don’t enjoy the flow of the game, which is essentially about as smooth as a constipated bowel movement. Shit takes so long to happen, and there’s so many pauses and breaks in the action, I’ve seen church services that were more engaging. I could fake it, but that facade wouldn’t last for very long, and soon my bile would surface and I’d start yelling at people around me, instead of at the opposing team on the comically large big-screen TV. And then I’d end up alienating the few people who have chosen to look past my patriotic indiscretion.

So I’m not going to watch the game today. I didn’t even know who was playing until Friday, when I happened to see it on the news, which I wasn’t paying attention to anyway. Instead, I will drink heavily, and possibly snack, along with the rest of America, while I watch funny movies, and of course, the Puppy Bowl, at the behest of the F. Because she’s a straight-up puppy junkie. It’s really kind of sad. For her, mostly, because I told her we’re never getting a dog. Primarily just to fuck with her, but also because I’m allergic, and the idea of sharing my nice, clean, technological space with an animal who licks its own ass and then wants kisses does not appeal to me. And I can always bust it out later if I need it:

“Honey, why did you run over my mom with the car?”

“Um… hey! Here’s a puppy!”

“Yay! A puppy!”

Problem solved.

Going Against The Grain.

As the title of this blog might indicate, if your powers of deduction are where they should be, I’m not generally the most hopeful, glass-half-full kind of person. Which is why the following needs to be said: in light of the election, I feel, for the first time in my life, a sense of hope and pride that I know I’ve never felt before. No measure of the jaded bitterness that I cultivated for so long could have postulated where we stand as a country today, or that I would have been so motivated to be a part of that change. I’m still in a state of disbelief, because even with the repeated pronouncements of every news outlet that this was an historic event, the full gravity of what just happened hasn’t fully sunk in yet emotionally – although on an intellectual level, I have already wrapped my head around it.

And I think what strikes me the most is that we live in a country that I was certain was unable to enact the kind of systemic change we saw yesterday. And I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to be wrong in my life. Is he going to change everything that’s wrong? No, probably not. Certainly not. But he seems to want to try. He spoke to something in me that I assumed was long since dead, but it turns out was just dormant, and waiting for someone with the right message to rouse it from its slumber.

As for the path not taken, I couldn’t help but listen to the concession speech and think to myself, “if he ran his campaign with the level of compassion and heartfelt pride with which he now speaks, we might have had a very different result”. I think he realized as he addressed his supporters just how wrong he was in all of the choices he made along the way, and you could really hear the regret in his voice. People in the audience were still yelling and booing, even at that last stop. Hopefully this will serve not as a sticking point, and a polarizing event in our history, as many of those supporters wished it to be along the trail, but a call for sense and unity – sincerely – which is what we need right now.

I guess you really do reap what you sow.

Where I’m At

So I haven’t posted in a while. Since that one really lazy (read: awesome) Saturday. Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind. See, I’m in kind of a weird place right now. I want to buy a home, so that I can start a life and move into that next rad phase, but, well, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but our country is kind of a fucktastrophe. So I’m kind of in this weird limbo where I keep thinking about how long it’s actually going to take before I am actually able to get a decent mortgage, like the one I was pre-approved for in like, March or something. Because now I’m pre-approved for exactly one donkey, a sack of rice, and a wish.

I really can’t believe I spent my life paying bills on time and being really diligent about finance so I can get Shawshanked because these fuckpuppets on Wall St. decided they were gonna basically break every possible rule of smart finance, because hey, who the hell’s gonna find out? I’ve been listening to podcasts a lot lately, as anyone who knows me can attest to, because every day, I’ve got some new kernel of wisdom from NPR or something about our situation. Which brings me to my next point – abruptly, but we got here, and man, everyone’s heard about this stuff enough.

Our election. Umm, hi. I’m about to admit something that is going to get a lot of people really riled up. I’ve never voted before. Never. Just didn’t see a reason to, being that we’re all tiny little cogs in a big machine in the No-One-Fucking-Cares-About-Democracy-Anymore Factory. I’ve been so jaded and cynical about politics in the past, mostly because I simply didn’t care enough to get involved in college when it was the cool thing to do, and afterward figured I’d rather spend the majority of my time drinking and watching anime and Hong Kong action trilogies with subtitles for several years.

And it was wonderful. I learned a lot about computers and building tech, and mobile communications, and being mega-crafty and making things do stuff. Oh, and video games. Yes. Now, I’m a little older, and while I still get soaked at the prospect of a fresh OS install (mmm, clean hard drives…), I seem to care about other things. Like these things on the tv box with the guys who talk about stuff.

And I have these really strong opinions all of a sudden, that were never there before. And I pay attention when I read things or hear about them. It’s like something came over me a few months ago, and I suddenly came out of this weird, long, coma-like haze. Not that my vote matters, because well, we all know in the grand scheme of things, the old U.S. doesn’t quite work so well anymore, and it looks worse. If it was a car, it would be a beat-up old Geo – the kind of thing that still gets you where you need to go (kind of), but in no way are you proud of it, and your friends (other countries in the world) just laugh at you and talk shit about you when you leave. But I registered to vote anyway. It just seemed like it was time. I got chills watching Obama accept his nomination at the DNC. It felt like a turning point in history. The kind of thing we’ll talk about in a decade or two and remember fondly.

Or it will be a footnote on a Wikipedia article called: “WTF? The 2008 Presidential Election.”

Some other things I’d like to mention while I’m here:

If I hear the words “maverick“, “reform” or “nuc-u-lar” one more fucking time, I might go “nuc-u-lar” myself.

In spite of my hope for something good to happen to this country, I have a sneaking suspicion that it won’t, and I will be living like Mad Max inside of 5 years, hoarding gasoline because our energy policy sucks more wang than a strung out prostitute, and walking around in leather because all the fabric for clothes comes from China and is treated with chemicals that kill us instantly. Also, there will be feral dogs and dirty children who don’t speak properly. And I’m either Australian, or I move there.

And to David Blaine: Hey, David Blaine. Hi. Yeah. Ah, how do I say this politely?

NO ONE FUCKING CARES ANYMORE. Yes, we all thought it was cool when you would reach inside some dumb whore’s mouth and pull out a kitten on the street a few years ago, but seriously? Hanging upside down for days? And then for the big finish, you came down! WOW! That’s about the dumbest fucking “trick” I’ve ever heard of. I mean, really. It’s like the end of an episode of Tom and Jerry, only without the zany climax and far less entertaining. I guess the trick part comes in when all the idiot news outlets cover this shit like it’s actually NEWS. You sure got ‘em! Great trick!

Now, back to our regularly scheduled drinking and catching up on shows I missed this week. Good night to all, and I once again apologize to the very small number of you who happen to read this for being off the map the last few weeks. You’re all getting hugs.

Antiquities: The Rich History They Provide

[This is a HUGE post. If you don't have time to read, come back later. It just got away from me. But it's kind of funny. So whatever, you're an adult, make up your own mind.]

Saturday the gf and I got up and decided we were gonna have a great old day, full of fun and surprises. Turns out, we did. It was totally rad, and involved the beach, ice cream, a great People Show, thunderstorms, the purchase of khakis, drinking, salad, laughing, more drinking, a rousing game of F-M-K, and finally blinding neck pain, as we fell asleep on the couch, and I had my neck half-on, half-off, leading to me waking up almost screaming, eyes watering as I tried to make my way to bed.

All that cool crap notwithstanding, it started with a simple trip to look at antiques, of which I’m not a fan. UNLESS those “antiques” happen to be some of the silliest crap I’ve ever seen. Now, when a person enters an establishment with a name on the front, one would assume that whatever is written on the facade of the building is what is actually for sale inside, no? I think that’s probably something we do and all take for granted, as I did yesterday when I stumbled onto some of America’s greatest hidden treasures.

Forget X-marks-the-spot, this shit was right out in the open, for all the world to see and in my case, bitterly comment on. So let’s begin a little trip I like to call:

“Storied Pasts, Wasted Time”

Mellencamp Family Portrait

First up, as I wander through this purported antiquery, is this photo frame, with a touching picture of John (Cougar, I don’t care if he doesn’t use this anymore, he’s always “Cougar” to me) Mellencamp, and his slightly attractive, if not slightly weird looking wife, Elaine Irwin. I almost picked this up, because I wanted people to come to my house and be like “hey – do you know Cougar?” And I would reply, “yeah, we go back a while, met him backstage at one of the SisterKisser shows” and smirk knowingly. Passed on it though, because I just got there, and I had a feeling there was other mirth in store. Oh boy, was there ever.

Filthy Old Phone

Now, I don’t know exactly when old, banged-up electronics became antiques, but if they did, and no one told me, I’m officially rich as fuck, because I have a ton of this crap lying around at my house. I mean, mountains of it. So I’m looking at this phone, and as much as I’m sure the speed dial to “Ginger” that would magically transport me back to 1983 was worth the nineteen dollars they were asking for it, I had to pass, as I already have a ton of busted-ass phones at home, and it wasn’t a financially viable idea.

Waterskiing Trick Board-a-roony

I am totally at home in the water. Everyone knows this, as I constantly talk about surfing, the ocean, blah blah blah. Well, I am half a retard on a pair of water skis, and it’s just something I could never get the hang of, from the one time I tried it when I was like, 9. So I moved on. But if YOU haven’t, get the hell down here and pick up this sweet daredevil trick board, with ankle bracing so apparently uncomfortable, chicks will want to make out with you simply based on the angle at which you’ve trapped your feet on this board. Actually, after looking at how you would have to put your feet in, I thought for a second that it was actually a late 80′s torture device, something Trent Reznor would have used in the video for Closer, if Closer had been written in say, 1985. Still, not quite an “antique”, although at this point, I was beginning to re-write that definition in my mind anyway.

VHS Copy Of “Wild America”

Now, I love anything starring one of the kids from Home Improvement as much as the next red-blooded American douchebag, but I was a little surprised to see this here. I mean, this movie came out in 1997. Does that make my copy of Winnie the Pooh: Tigger-ific Tales (also a 1997 release) ALSO an antique? Because if so, I’m going to stop lending it out to all my friends who want to watch it and keep it in a temperature and climate controlled environment, so as to preserve its delicate imagery for all time.

Nasty Old Can Of Thyme Leaves (1977)

WHO in the fuck(!) would actually buy (and presumably use) a can of spices from 1977? I mean, I suppose if you were throwing a Star Wars: A New Hope theme party, and you wanted the cheese fondue you were making to have that little extra kick of ’77 authenticity, you could toss this in, but you also might have to explain to the police why you poisoned everyone in your wacky space cult and killed them with melted cheese. It’s your choice.

Any Bitch Can Cook

Clearly not an antique, but I chuckled like a 12-year old as I walked by, and wanted to show someone else.

Porcelain Doll In Pre-Nose Pick Pose

A stunning replica of a small girl about to dig for some gold, and probably eat it or smear it on something nearby is always a fitting testament to the history contained in antiques, and this example is no different. Note the pleased expression on her face, as she knows she’s about to enjoy one of life’s great pleasures; grabbing a big snot bullet and rolling it around in your fingers until you think of something better to do with it.

Terrifying Portrait Of Small Children

In what I can only assume is a picture of Donny and Marie Osmond as white trash children, lovingly rendered by Satan himself, is trapped the soul of each previous owner of this hellish painting. If you fall prey to it, if you buy it, entranced by its demonic charms, you will be dead within a week, your soul being forever embedded in its horrible kitschy goodness. Also, it plays “I’m A Little Bit Country” for ALL OF ETERNITY.

Or is that Baby White Trash Elvis and Priscilla? Hmm…

Depressing Clown Pictures, Depicting Financial Follies

There were two pictures, next to each other, celebrating the fact that clowns, in addition to creeping out various millions of people with their freaky faces and cannibalistic tendencies, are among the lowest paid professional entertainers in our culture. The first picture shows a clown looking into his wallet sadly, realizing that he gave up that job at Microsoft in 1978 a little bit too soon. Let us all laugh at his misfortune.

This second picture shows a clown, having finished a meal he obviously had no intention of paying for, animatedly looking at the bill and flipping out. He knew damn well he couldn’t afford that food, why did he sit down? He should have eaten trash out of the dumpster like clowns are supposed to! Silly bastard, I hope that dog chews your ass half to death.

Perverted Doll Seemingly About To Reveal A Raging Erection

I don’t know what the hell this is supposed to be, but there were two of these too, but I thought showing one was probably even too much. It looks like he’s about to drop trou and blast everyone within striking distance with a big load of freaky plastic doll splatz. Unbeknownst to me, celebrating the rich heritage of public exhibitionism is considered an antique.

“Barbarino Goes To A Rave”

This guy was sitting next to the perv dolls. I looked at it, and tried for a second to come up with what exactly it was supposed to be. I got:

G.I. Joe’s Gay Younger Brother Bruce

and

Vinnie Barbarino in “Party” Clothes.

Ultimately, I leave it up to you.

Novelty Giant Heineken Bottle Piggy Bank

Well, apparently, the kind of dreck you usually see not filled with coins, as was its original purpose, but instead fashioned into a mega-bong at a frat house is now considered a collectible piece of Americana. Who knew?

Abandoned Infant On Musty, Spooky Second Floor of Store

Someone brought a baby to the store, and clearly disturbed and horrified by the terrors within, ran out so quickly, that they left the giant plastic baby behind, to haunt the second floor of the store, and all of its smelly old furniture.

And finally,

Norman Rockwell Pornographic Female Subjugation Propaganda

Hmm… “An Orange Crush”… whatever could that mean? Oh, I get it! They’re drinking Orange Crush soda! Oh, haha, Rockwell, you cad, where do you come up with them?

Oh, wait, her hair is orange too. Huh. You know it’s just a hop, skip and a jump to the guy asking, “Does the carpet match the drapes? HAWHAWHAW!”. Look at his expression! He may have already whispered it to her. And I could really do without the weird old guy in the back, gesturing wildly like he’s either auctioning her off as a sex slave or trying to promote some radical dictator-y ideal. Or (more likely), he could be saying to the guy, “I assure you, young man, the carpet most certainly DOES match the drapes! Indubitably!”

Any way you slice it, a filthy, dirty piece of Americana Porn. Gross!

Well, there were seriously about a million other things I almost took pictures of too, but my head almost exploded from these right here, and I almost broke both my wrists trying to write all this. So if you made it this far, godblessya. I’m off to have a drink. And to try and forget about the utter horrors within the “antique” store.

When Was The Robot Apocalypse Supposed To Start Again?

From Bon Jour, Pee Wee: this is EXACTLY the reason why I started a blog about things that make me nuts.

I’d get into it, but I’m off to buy some new sneakers. Yay!

As Seen On… TV? No Wonder I Hate TV So Much…

I found myself in a CVS the other day, waiting for a prescription to be filled, and had about 10 minutes on my hands. After a brief tour of the store in search of a good episode of The People Show, I found myself in the Crap Aisle. Giggling with glee at my good fortune, the wheels of blog post birth began turning, and I quickly snapped a few pics for later examination with my phone.

So here we go, all aboard the Garbage Train of Consumer Retardation.

Overly Gigantic Ridiculous Non-Party Gag Remote Control

This was the first item I came across, and I regret now not putting my hand in the picture for a sense of scale. Suffice to say, this thing was big. Without exaggeration, let’s say each button was about the size of a half-dollar coin. Now look at all those buttons. Yeah, it was like a laptop with none of the functionality. I tried to think who would actually want this tabletop-sized remote. On the package it made some mention of “never lose your remote again!” and then it came into focus: the ideal customer for this product would be some dunderhead who constantly misplaces his/her remotes, and the reason this was so big was so that anyone in the room when that person says “where the hell’s the remote?” could easily swing this thing with enough velocity to actually cave in the idiot’s skull and then return to television watching immediately thereafter.

Annoying Voice Recorder Thingy

Then there’s this piece of utter crap. I’ve seen a commercial for this where the people are so excited to remember that they need toilet paper in the supermarket that they nearly shit their britches with joy. Do you really think that any other shoppers need to hear your dumbass shopping list as you wander blindly around the store, oblivious to how stupid you actually look? Try a post-it note. You can write things on there, and then stick it to your moron head so you don’t forget to bring it to the supermarket, because really, that’s the trick – you forget your witless digital personal assistant, and you’re right back to soiling yourself in the store – for the wrong reason.

Oh, it’s also good for remembering where you parked your car in a crowded shopping center. No more crying while you wait for everyone else to leave so you can find your car! You children will never go hungry again as they wait for you to miss cooking dinner because you’re a dumb shit and can’t remember basic simple things! Your husband will never beat you again because he hates himself so much for marrying a functionally retarded adult!

Digital Photo Album for Losers

From the makers of Annoying Voice Recorder Thingy comes yet another wasteful use of circuit boards and AAA batteries! Yes, it’s a small boxy item into which you can clumsily add digital pictures you took poorly with the camera your family got you that you haven’t really figured out how to work yet! I hate to tell them, but their target market for this item is not the kind that deciphers instructions well, or deals with technology in general very comfortably. But don’t let that stop you, the dim-bulb consumer from enjoying almost getting this little thing to kind of work. Bet you can’t wait to impress your friends around the water cooler with this little doohickey, huh? By the way, I imagine the picture viewing quality of this “tool of the future” is tantamount to sticking a small picture into one of those clear acrylic keychains that allows you to do so, but then adding about 6 years of in-pocket weathering and dropping them in puddles of beer and Fritos.

Tater Mitts

If I start, I’ll never stop.

Deliciously Packaged Hair Trimma-ma-bob

I’m assuming the magic and majesty of the Flowbee inspired this magnificent device, as well as the need to possibly give yourself a Supercuts-quality haircut anytime, anywhere. The seasoned gentleman on the package really looks like he’s benefited from the introduction of this wonderful mini-appliance into his life, and who are we to argue? Clearly there’s a financial motivator at play as well, as it loudly proclaims “saves money on haircuts!” right on the front of the package. I’ll let you in on a little secret. Remember the Epilady shrieks of pain heard ’round the world way back when? Well, you’d better take the money you saved on haircuts and start investing in ear plugs if this thing catches on, because a battery-operated haircut is never a safe bet for painlessly maintaining one’s appearance. And your own screams of agony are liable to deafen you as you struggle to drag those demon’s teeth through your greasy mop of hair.

Ok, last one.

Push Up Rotaty Thing That Makes Your Prison Workout That Much More Effective

Now, I actually saw these on TV last week, and they seemed like something I’d be interested in. That is if every time I did a push up I didn’t feel like my heart was going to explode out my neck hole, through my skull, splattering my hopes for sweet triceps and pecs all over my nerd-tastic anime wall hangings. I always feel like I should be doing more while doing as little as possible, and this kind of thing seemed like a few bucks spent in the right direction. Then I saw this:

[...]

I’ll level with you. I don’t want my breasts to have some cavernous space between them. Is this the net result of using this product? She looks like she’s bound those things so tightly, they’re being sucked back into her chest cavity just under her armpits. And if it’s not the shirt making an optitcal (ha!) illusion occur before my eyes, and that’s what I have to look forward to after a few weeks with the Amazing Push Up Twisty Things, well then, no thank you sir, count me out. I work hard enough at not getting little girl man-boobs all winter long to have them lifted and separated in some freaky-ass way like this poor unwitting victim. I’ll just wait to start surfing again, let nature take its course, and hope the gf is none the wiser in the meantime.

Well, I’m off. Hope you enjoyed spending time with the latest and greatest American innovation has to offer. Is it any wonder that the rest of the world hates our freedom so much?