A description of my blog. http://www.my-site.com 9186313743615905118 Blogger of Light(R) 2008/04/#9186313743615905118 2008-04-09 I’ve decided that I need a nemesis.

A commenter recently suggested that His Excellency Lord Monkeyhands could be my nemesis, but I don’t know. It feels like settling to me. Monkeyhands isn’t up to being my Joker or Lex Luthor. Maybe if he, Human Inertia, Stoner, and three of my other worst bosses got together, they could be my Sinister Six, but that’s about as much credit as I’m willing to give them.

A great nemesis can’t be an idiot; he has to be brilliant but twisted – someone who has the power to accomplish great things, but uses that power only for his own demented ends. Someone like Darth Vader or Hans Gruber from Die Hard. Or Thomas Kinkade.

Yes, you heard me right. I have selected as my nemesis Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light®.

If you’re not familiar with this “artist,” he’s best known as the man who has produced essentially the same painting 8,436 times over the past 20 years. Kinkade-land is a place filled with cottages almost militantly cozy, a place where it has always just rained, but it never rains. There is no sun in Kinkade-land – only an endless panorama of supernaturally illuminated clouds. It is a place where human beings, if they are seen at all, are represented only in the distance as Ice-Skating Boy or Man on Horse, never as individuals with names or identities. Judging from the freakish glow emanating from the cottages, the people in Kinkade's paintings are probably too busy stoking their fireplaces and lighting the drapes on fire to be seen outdoors.



Let me be clear: Kinkade’s talent is undeniable. If you’re looking for someone to paint a rain-slicked street, he’s your man. But somewhere along the line Kinkade went from competent landscape painter to billion dollar bullshit artist.

Saying that Kinkade has sold out is like saying that the Nazis lost track of what National Socialism was all about. First of all, any artist who comes up with his own trademarked tagline has preemptively surrendered any claim at creative integrity. What kind of artist devises a particular style and then essentially announces that he’s never going to progress beyond that style for the rest of his life? It’s a sort of deliberate artistic retardation, like if the Beatles had decided in 1964 to be the She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah Group®. Although maybe Van Gogh would have had better luck if he had marketed himself as Painter of Swirls®.

Kinkade found something that works, and is sticking with it. I’ve never seen a Kinkade painting of a bowl of fruit or Madonna with child. I’m not sure he could paint a portrait of a human being if he had a gun to his head. Can you have no desire to push yourself, to learn or produce anything new, and still call yourself an artist? I don’t know, but you can make a hell of a lot of money.

At this point Kinkade is a cottage industry (ha!) that is almost entirely independent of the creation of original paintings. Kinkade “originals” are turned out at a rate of nearly 500 a day at a factory in California. His paintings are digitally photographed, transferred onto a plastic-like surface and glued onto canvas. Each print features a nominal contribution by “highlight artists,” assembly-line workers who add a dash of color here and there. This unique touch allows Kinkade to charge up to $10,000 for what are essentially Xerox copies of original paintings. Prints that have had Kinkade’s signature mechanically etched into them – complete with DNA sample – go for quite a bit more.

I frankly don’t begrudge his selling insanely overpriced carbon copies of mediocre paintings by the horse-drawn buggy-load. If I could take a dump in a paper bag and sell it to morons for $10,000, I have to admit I’d be sorely tempted.

What galls me about Kinkade is the way he equates his greeting card sentimentality with Christianity – thereby elevating his cynical, manipulative, greed-driven business practices to the level of “evangelism.” God knows what luminescent cottages and glittering cobblestones have to do with the gospel, but to Kinkade it’s all one big fuzzy package. Go to the Lighthouses wing of Kinkade’s online gallery and you’ll be greeted with the message:
The power of a towering lighthouse, the unforgiving force of the storming sea, and the bravery of a sailor’s perseverance, all remind us of God’s strength.
If you’re like me, you vomited a little in your mouth when you read that. For starters, it reads like it was written by a fifth grade girl. The first sentence, if you remove the modifiers, reads “power…reminds us… of strength.” Yeah, I wonder why that is. Maybe because they’re synonyms? “Bravery of… perseverance” is a phrase devoid of any meaning. And then there’s the intellectual laziness of postulating that every element of the painting symbolizes the exact same thing:
“Jimmy, can you tell me what the lighthouse signifies in this painting?”
“Ummm... God’s strength?”
“Very good! And the storming sea?”
“Errrr... God’s strength?”
“Excellent! And how about the –”
“God’s strength?”
Way to go, Jimmy. You could write copy for the Thomas Kinkade Painter of Light® website, telling the adoring public exactly what each of Kinkade’s paintings make us feel. So far I’ve learned that God is brave, powerful, stormy and unforgiving. Man, who needs the New Testament when you’ve got the gospel according to greeting card art?

The best art, in my opinion, is the kind that asks no questions and creates no uncertainty. True art is about creating graphical representations of objects calculated to provoke a specific, predetermined response.

Wait, did I say ‘art’? I meant ‘pornography.’

Thomas Kinkade isn’t an artist. He’s a purveyor of pornography. And the worst kind of pornography, at that: the kind without any naked people doing it.

Thomas Kinkade and Michael Bay have each had exactly one original idea – and it’s the same idea: to make a billion dollars off the way light refracts off pavement. But at least there’s no Michael Bay gallery at the local megachurch, and at the end of a Michael Bay show a lot of shit blows up.

I won’t even bother to go into what a complete ass-hat Kincade is on a personal level. You can research that yourself. Suffice it to say that Kinkade once said that Picasso “had a talent but didn't use it in any significant way.” Presumably Picasso wasted too much time trying out new things, and never bothered to come up with a catchy tagline, like “Painter of Cubes®.”

Painter of Light®, my ass. Thom, you’re the Painter of Light Porn®. Hell, you don’t even rise to the level of Michael Bay. You’re the Shannon Tweed of oil painters.

F--- you, Thomas Kinkade.


If you enjoyed this post, may I also recommend:

Humor-blogs.com has talent, but has never used it in any significant way.

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]]> 4678289594029530918 Uncle Sam (and the Gecko) Want You! 2007/12/#4678289594029530918 2007-12-10 Are we headed for an economic meltdown? Probably not, but that made for a much better opening sentence than the one I had before.

It is true that there are signs that indicate the American economy may be in for a rough patch. We've seen a weakening dollar, a housing bubble and a credit crisis -- and all the while the threat of a Spice Girls reunion tour hangs over our heads like a black cloud.

What alarms me the most, however, is the state of advertising in this country. As everyone knows, our economy is based largely on consumer spending, and consumers would have no idea what to consume if it they weren't constantly being told what to purchase by reliable authorities such as Sam Waterston or an animated gecko. Powerful, emotionally resonant advertising is the team of malamutes that pulls the giant, unwieldy sled that is our economy.

The typical American consumer has become fairly jaded regarding the choking miasma of advertising that envelopes him from cradle to grave, but a well-executed ad campaign can pierce that fog like a night watchman with a big flashlight who taps you on the shoulder and says, "Friend, you NEED this product or service." And you see that in the night watchman's other hand is a thing of Cheetos or a thing of Axe body spray or something else that until that moment you hadn't realized you needed, but now you can't live without. Then, as required by my previous metaphor, the night watchman transforms into a team of well-fed malamutes. And once again you are alone in the whirling fog, having realized too late that what you really needed was not so much Cheetos but one of those big flashlights.

My point is that today, more than ever, effective advertising is vital to the health of our economy. Without compelling advertisements, you and I would simply slog along, living within our means while the great economic sled runs aground, the malnourished malamutes tugging listlessly at their reigns.

For example, if you're like me, you've grown so accustomed to Google ads that you don't even see them any more. I mean, do you see that block of Google ads over to the right there? Just to the right of this text. No? Really? See, that's exactly what I mean. They're right there, plain as day, but you can't even see them any more. You have Google Ad Blindness (GAB). Frightening, isn't it? Don't worry, it's not fatal, and there is a cure. Just take one of these and you'll be fine.

See, now that was effective advertising. You actually hovered your mouse over the link for a second to find out whether I was once again shamelessly hawking my book. That's what we need more of. Advertising that grabs you by the lapels and won't let go until you admit to being a shallow, materialistic sop trying to find happiness at the bottom of a Target bag. And don't try to tell me that you're one of those people who isn't affected by advertising. Next time President Palmer comes on your TV and asks you if you're in good hands, tell me you don't feel a nagging sense that you really need to get your shit together.

But now -- when we need pithy, eye-catching advertising the most, I'm seeing signs that the advertising industry just isn't up to the task. And I'm not even talking about the commercials where you can't figure out what they are selling, or the ones that seem to be promoting a drug that allows you to take nice walks on the beach but you should really ask your doctor first. I'm talking about the trend of lowered expectations that seems to be infecting the advertising world.

The first sign of this were the Budweiser radio ads featuring a rousing Bob Seeger-ish pseudo-rock song that climaxes with the refrain "This is Budweiser... this is beer." I mean, what is up with that? I half-expected someone to chime in at this point, "Now do you see the difference?"

But that's all there was to it. "This is Budweiser... this is beer." Their ad campaign comes down to stating that their product does, by some technical definition, qualify as beer. Good work, guys. Take the rest of the week off.

Yesterday I drove past a billboard advertising a housing development which read "Great homes you won't find anywhere else." Well, that's an interesting feature to highlight -- The fact that your new home will exist in precisely one location. If anything, that seems like a drawback to me. I wonder if they have a competitor who offers homes that are located in two places at once. Their slogan could be "If you lived 20 miles away, you'd be home by now."

Then there's the local crappy pop radio station, which recently introduced the tagline, "The music you've come to expect." No, not the music I've come to love. Not even the music that I've grown to grudgingly accept after an unrelenting campaign of endless repetition. Just the music I've come to expect. Again, their entire marketing campaign basically consists of saying, "So, you've heard the kind of crap we play, right?" (To be fair, a competing radio station was already using their preferred slogan, "Yes, we're playing that f***ing 'Umbrella' song again.")

Still, as uninspiring as these ads are, they'll never top "Beef: It's What's For Dinner." What was up with that? Evidently the beef industry was so unsure of any positive aspects of their product that they decided to just go with a thinly veiled threat. I understand that the other slogans the beef industry considered included "Beef: Deal With It", "Beef: Resistance is Futile", and "Beef: I'm Not Making Anything Else So You And Your Stupid Vegan Friends Can Just Starve."

What next? I'm half-expecting taglines like: "McDonalds: Once a Week Doesn't Make You a Bad Parent." Or maybe "Daimler-Chrysler: Well, That Could Have Gone Better."

What happened to promising me sex, love and happiness if I buy a Big Mac/Bud Light/Dodge Caravan? This is America, people! Dream big!

Sam Waterston and the gecko are counting on you.


Humor-Blogs.com: Because laughter is the best medicine... for erectile dysfunction!

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]]> 5944183978592233341 Caption Contest Winners 2007/09/#5944183978592233341 2007-09-28

This week's winning caption came from the always clever Lonie Polony.

In second place was this entry from y not i:
So which one of you is Lionel Richie's kid again? 'Cause, man, I love that guy!
And rounding out the pack was perennial favorite Joel B. with:
This would be the last time that three of K-Fed's former conquests would be seen together...

People occasionally ask me what the prize is in this contest. Apparently the admiration of one's peers isn't enough these days. So I've made up a little banner award that you can display if you win. Lonie Polony (and all past winners), you may proudly display the "In your face" award on your site.



Pretty awesome, huh? I know, you were just thinking that the only thing your site was missing was a picture of my face. Oh, and you may also post the photo with your winning caption if you want.

Thanks for playing and/or voting, everybody! Have a swell weekend, and meet me back here on Monday for something or other.

Humor-blogs.com always picks up its trash.

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]]> 8630993024357927235 Vote! 2007/09/#8630993024357927235 2007-09-25 Man, this is getting tough. 144 captions? Are you serious? I'm working too hard for a retiree.

Mrs. Diesel and I didn't have time to go over the entries last night, so I had to pick my favorites this morning. So you can blame me if your favorite didn't make the cut.

The finalists are listed below. If the poll widget doesn't show up, it means you're retarded. No, actually it probably means that you have javascript disabled. And you're retarded.

I'll post the results on Friday. Since there were so many good ones this week, I've also nominated some "honorable mentions" below the poll. You can't vote on them, but I thought they were too good to let disappear into comment oblivion.

Thanks for playing and/or voting!







The Finalists

MC :

The Who's Who of Sexually Transmitted diseases: Herpes, Syphilis and Gonorrhea. Chlamydia (Lindsay Lohan) not shown.

justacoolcat:

Hey Paris how do you get a Diesel off your back?

How, Britney?

Beat it off.

Joel B.:

This would be the last time that three of K-Fed's former conquests would be seen together...

Theresa:

Diesel (hand strays): Oops! I did it again.

Kanrei:

I always travel around with two because it’s better for conversation. If one starts up, I don't have to be in it.

rjlight:

Just a few of California's unemployed.

Brad:

I must be hearin' Santa, 'cause all I can see is three loud ho's...

Lonie Polony:

Ever the concerned environmentalist, Diesel always picked up his trash.

renalfailure:

Police are looking for these suspects in the savage beating of Lindsay Lohan.

y not i:

So which one of you is Lionel Richie's kid again? 'Cause, man, I love that guy!


Opinion Polls & Market Research


Honorable Mentions


Theresa:
Britney: Paris, did you just get a delivery from the WTF truck?
and:
Diesel to Britney: We'll always have Paris.
rjlight:

After helping Britney prepare for the MTV awards last week, Diesel decides to pall with his new bff Paris and Hilton.

and:

Diesel says, "I'm thinking if I open your next show with a few of my humorous remarks, you will be back on top again, Brit. What you need is to look like you want people to laugh."

Joel B.:
Not a man, not yet a woman.
and:
"I swear, if this guy uses that 'I need to inspect your Mattress tags' line one more time...
and:
Phat, Fat, and Frat.

david mcmahon:

Diesel? Paris? Britney? Are you deaf? I said `take the weasel to the parish in brittany'.

Deb:

Tonight we honor Community Service Volunteers for their hours caring for the forgotten, wretched spawn of America's ill-fated lemur/human genetic splicing experiments.

Kim:

"Sorry, Soylent Green has standards." Come again!

y not i:

Seriously, Lindsey, the drugs are really starting to affect your appearance.

McCafferty Himself:

Britney: “We can’t leave yet! We have to wait until the paparazzi find us.”

Gillian @ Indigo Blue:

It's Diesel, bitches.

Inferus:

"Are you ready for the best mistake of your lives?"

phiclub:

Diesel: "Hey, look, I'm the English Channel!"

Note: I disqualified this one because (1) I didn't think anybody would get it, and (2) Brittany is actually a province in France. Still I thought it was pretty funny.

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]]> 1971163074037732294 Ugly is as Ugly Does 2007/09/#1971163074037732294 2007-09-05 I spent some time a few weeks ago pondering the notion, often propounded by the media, that American women have unhealthy self-images.

I was sitting on a rock on the shore of Pinecrest Lake in the Sierra Nevada mountains, surrounded by the beauty of nature -- and the ugliness of several hundred fellow vacationers -- when it occurred to me that "unhealthy" was a generous adjective. In some cases I was actually nauseated.

I don't understand how this happened. You'd think, after 30 years of magazine covers designed to make women feel ashamed of their bodies, that homely, outsized women would be at least a little reluctant to loll about on the beach with six square inches of sheer fabric stretched across their girth so tightly that they look like the captives of a particularly unmotivated brigade of Lilliputians.

Where is the shame, people? The puritans get a bad rap for their repressive views on sexuality, but at least they didn't have to see three inches of ass crack waddling down Main Street on a regular basis. I have it on good authority, in fact, that the Salem witch trials were merely a slightly overzealous attempt to stamp out muffin-topping.

Somehow, in the campaign to convince people that major surgery, botulism injections and a rigorous schedule of vomiting are essential to a young woman's physical and psychological well-being, something went horribly wrong. On one hand, we've produced a bumper crop of plasticized anorexics with poison in their eyebrows -- and we can certainly be proud of that. On the other hand, a considerable number of women seemed to have learned precisely the wrong lesson from this media barrage. Apparently a lot of them think those magazines work sort of like a mirror. They pick up a magazine with Jessica Biel on the cover and think, "Oh, so THAT's what I look like. I really need to expose more of my abdomen."



I hate to tell you this, but NOBODY looks like that. Jessica Biel doesn't even look like that. Jessica Biel could pick up six magazines with her picture on the cover at the checkout stand, tell the clerk that she is buying them because a lot of people tell her she looks like Jessica Biel, and pay for them with her Jessica Biel branded Visa card with the name Jessica Biel embossed on it, and the clerk would still snicker and whisper under her breath, "In your dreams, honey."



--Interlude--

While I was thinking these deep and important thoughts, dangling my feet in Pinecrest Lake, a boy who looked to be about 8 years old was chucking rocks the size of his head into the water for no apparent reason. After about ten minutes of this, he walked over me, carrying a particularly smooth, round rock and said, "Do you think this is the flattest rock there is?"

I told him in no uncertain terms, "Nope."

He tried to skip the rock, and it sank.

--End interlude--

Look, I don't have anything against ugly people. I'm glad you're comfortable with your body. The problem is, the rest of us are extremely uncomfortable with your body, and we outnumber you like six billion to one. We go to the beach to enjoy ourselves, not to see the world's largest open air cottage cheese buffet.

Don't get me wrong; I think we should treat ugly people the same as everybody else. What galls me is that ugly people don't seem to appreciate how much effort this takes. If you're ugly, keep in mind that the people around you are doing everything they can just to maintain eye contact with you. If you insist on having a crappy personality as well, they have no reason to keep you around any more. Unless they're also ugly people with crappy personalities, in which case they're only hanging around with you because they have nowhere else to go. And that's just sad.

If you're an ugly person with a great personality, at least you have the option of hanging around with other ugly people with great personalities or, if you prefer, attractive people with crappy personalities. But if you're ugly on the inside as well, you're just screwed. You can tell yourself that you're ugly on the outside with creamy nougat on the inside, but if everyone around you has the personality of Rosie O'Donell and the looks of, uh, Rosie O'Donell, then the odds are pretty good that you're just a big onion of ugly with layer after layer of ugly under a thin papery membrane of ugly. It's also a bad sign when people burst into tears everywhere you go.



My wife and I were once standing in line behind a group of ugly women who were engaging in the favorite pastime of ugly women: talking smack about still uglier women. It was during this exchange that I developed the First Rule of Ugliness. As the conversation went from catty to caustic, I turned to my wife and said, "You know, ugly people really shouldn't be superficial."

She gave me a long, hard look and said, "Yeah, I think you have something there." It's great to have a wife who is so supportive.

Also, she's hot.



One clarification regarding yesterday's post: You do NOT have to have a "humor" blog to participate in the Humor-Blogs.com Revenue Referral Program. It can be any kind of blog or website. So what do you say? Help me out and make some money and the same time. Read more here.

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]]> 5363106692755074051 Mattress Police News Briefs #1 2007/04/#5363106692755074051 2007-04-02

Those of you who have been around since I started this site back in October know that my blog has always been in a constant state of evolution. I've tried a lot of different kinds of humor pieces, from one-liners to top ten lists to fake news stories. Frankly though, most of the posts I really enjoyed writing and feel good about are of the random nonsense variety. My very first post was a made-up account of my encounter with a sea turtle, and that post has set the tone for most of this blog. So you'll probably be seeing more stuff like this and this from now on.

Anyway, now that I've cleaned out my sock drawer, I realize that my mind is also cluttered with the seeds of a lot of fake news stories that I don't feel like writing. I like the idea of satirical news pieces, but they're kind of tedious to write -- and presumably to read. So I've decided to do another sock-drawer post of news items. I'll keep them short in deference to the attention spans of both the readers and the writer of this blog. I present to you the first entry in the Mattress Police News Briefs:


Barak Obama Hopes to Be First Creamy Eggnog President

It's no secret that Barack Obama has had his eye on being the first black president. Now, facing criticism that he is "not black enough," Obama has subtly shifted his strategy. "I've had several high level meetings with my advisors and the fine folks at Glidden," he said at a press conference this morning, "and I am confident based on their counsel that I am well-positioned to be the first Creamy Eggnog President." He assured a crowd that the shift would not affect his policies regarding non-Creamy Eggnog Americans.



Nickelback Determined to Be the "Next Nickelback"

Lately music industry gurus have been abuzz with the question: Who will be the next band to wear the wuss-rock crown? Contenders include Hinder and American Idol also-rans Daughtry and Bo Bice. Yesterday Nickelback frontman Chad Kroeger did his best to put an end to the speculation. "There is only one real contender for the title of the "next Nickelback," and that's Nickelback. We were Nickelback when everybody thought we were the next Def Leppard, and we'll still be Nickelback when Daughtry is the next Creed," Kroeger said.


Axl Rose Admits "Chinese Democracy" Was a "Just a Joke"

Former Guns 'n' Roses lead singer Axl Rose made a startling announcement yesterday regarding the release of the perennially delayed album Chinese Democracy. "I meant it as a joke," he said. "I thought 'Chinese Democracy' was a fairly well known euphemism for something that was never going to happen. When people took me seriously, I had no choice but to play along." Rose first announced plans for the new GNR album in 1994. "I was going to call it Hell Freezes Over, but the Eagles beat me to it. And then they really confused things by actually releasing the album." Rose put to rest any speculation about the album. "There absolutely will be no GNR album called Chinese Democracy. Even if I did plan on recording another GNR album at one point -- which I didn't -- I simply wouldn't have time these days. All my energy is going into my solo project." Rose's first solo album, due to be released April first, 2008, is tentatively titled Pigs Fly.

House Passes Timetable for Withdrawing Support from Britney Spears

The House of Representatives today narrowly passed a resolution that sets a firm timetable for withdrawing support from Britney Spears. Dick Cheney harshly criticized the measure. "Britney is obviously not ready to stand on her own yet," Cheney argued. "If we give up now, we risk losing all of the time and energy we as a nation have invested in her." A slim majority in the House disagreed. "We all love Britney Spears and wish her the best," said Speaker Nanci Pelosi. "But at some point she needs to get her act together. Maybe this timetable will give her the push she needs."


That's all for now, folks. I'll be back Wednesday with more nonsense. And don't forget, this Friday I'll be posting the picture for the next installment of the Mattress Police caption contest.

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]]> 5532482227131779079 Talkin' About My Generation (or: I Hope I Die Before My Mass Increases) 2007/03/#5532482227131779079 2007-03-25 A quick note before the actual post: Thanks to everybody for the truly phenomenal response to my caption contest. I you haven't submitted a caption yet, you have until Monday at midnight, Pacific time. (I know I originally said Tuesday, but I changed my mind. Sue me.) I'll consolidate my favorites into a poll Tuesday morning so you can vote for the best one. The results will be posted on Friday. And now for your regularly scheduled post....


I don't understand kids these days. I mean, take the levitation for example.

Don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. We've all seen it. You'll be trudging through the video game aisle at Best Buy, making sure to keep one or both feet on the ground at all times because you're a responsible adult with obligations to this planet. Suddenly a twelve year old will glide past, his feet a fraction of an inch above the ground. Then, before what you've seen has fully registered, he's walking again, as if nothing had happened.

At first I thought these kids were merely disregarding the principle of friction, but having witnessed several of these events I am confident that the little punks are flouting gravity itself. This irritates me. When I was a kid I used to occasionally chew gum in class or dip pterodactyls in the inkwell, but I knew better than to break the basic laws of physics. Oh, sure, there was that time I tried to use non-Euclidean geometry to see down Ms. Kremer's blouse, but that's nothing compared to wearing your jeans six inches below your waist. It's like these kids are daring gravity to pants them.

My real concern is what happens after these kids realize they can get away with it. Kids need discipline. For every action, there has to be an equal and opposite reaction. If there isn't, then what? I'll tell you what: Say goodbye to the conservation of energy, first of all. Probably conservation of matter too. Objects in motion get lazy; objects at rest get restless. Some troublemaker will find a way around Einstein's constant, and the news will travel faster than the speed of light. And if one kids pulls off time travel, you know the other kids are going to hear about it yesterday.

I have to admit that the problem didn't start with today's youth. I did know one guy from my generation who tried to build a perpetual motion machine. This was shortly after I started work at my first "real" job. I was 25 and I think Mr. Newton (as I shall call him) was three or four years older -- which is to say about 18 years beyond the age when most people stop trying to build transmogrifiers, magical doorways to Narnia and perpetual motion machines. Not only that, but he was a computer technician -- not college educated, but he had enough technical expertise that he could fix most computer hardware problems. One would think such a background would immunize one from the delusion that one could build a perpetual motion machine. One would be wrong.

He didn't call it a perpetual motion machine, of course. I think he called it a "self-powered car." As I recall, the car worked like this:
  1. A laser heats a container of water to boiling.
  2. The pressure from the steam makes the car's wheels turn.
  3. A generator hooked up to the car's wheels makes electricity.
  4. The electricity powers the laser.
I think there were 3 or 4 more steps in there somewhere which would have dispersed any energy that actually made it from step one to step four, but you get the idea. Not only was the car impossible; it was impossible in an almost unbelievably stupid way. Did Newton think that the engineers at GM were just waiting for the moment when someone would whisper into their ears the magical words laser-powered steam turbine? "Eureka!" they would shout. "If only we had thought to combine 19th century technology with untempered ignorance!"

"That's called a perpetual motion machine," I told him. "It's impossible. You lose energy at every step of the system. Hell, you'd probably lose 95% of the energy you started out with on the steam conversion alone." Not to mention 100% of your credibility, I thought.

"It's not a perpetual motion machine," He said. "If you brake, the car will stop, and then you'd need more energy to get it started again. That's why there's a battery." Ah, another step. More energy loss. Good thinking.

"Ok," I said. "So you have a tank of water, right? And you heat the water. Now let's say you put your hand near the tank. Will it feel warm?"

"Of course."

"Right. That's heat. Heat is energy. You're losing energy from the system in the form of radiated heat."

"No, the heat boils the water. You're not losing it."

I think I argued with Newton for about two hours before I gave up. I also once had a debate with him about faith versus science. He fancied himself an atheist, and scoffed at me for believing things that couldn't be proved.

"What do you believe in?" I asked.

"Science."

"And what is science based on?"

"Experiments."

"And how do people observe experiments?"

"Uhhh..."

"With our senses, right. And how do you know that what your senses tell you is true?"

"Uhhh..."

"Experience, right. Because your senses have been reliable in the past. But how do you know that what you experience with your senses isn't all just one big illusion. How do you know that you're not just a brain in a vat?"

"Uhhh..."

"You don't, right. At some point you just have to make a leap of faith. I make a leap of faith by believing in God, and you make one by believing in science. It just takes a few more step to get to yours."

"So science is still better."

"Whaaa...?"

"It has more steps."

More steps. That was his answer. Make the system complicated enough that you can't see that it's all bullshit. Hey, it worked for the self-powered car, right?

Still, his car was pretty simple. Anyone with a 4th grade education could have understood (and probably designed) it. I suggested he needed more steps to further complicate it, thus shielding the car further from reality. Something like:
  1. A garden grows on top of the car.
  2. A dinosaur eats from the garden.
  3. The dinosaur dies, turning into fertilizer for the garden and fossil fuels.
  4. The members of the Coalworkers Local 327, who live in the glove compartment, come out and mine the coal when it's ready, loading it into a furnace.
  5. The furnace burns the coal, heating a container of water, which turns into steam.
  6. The steam turns a turbine which drives a generator, which powers a laser.
  7. The laser heats another container of water almost to boiling.
  8. The water is shot through finely ground coffee, in order to make espresso.
  9. The driver sips the espresso while waiting patiently for a tow truck.
Hey, GM has done dumber stuff. If this idea takes off, maybe Daimler will buy them. Then there will be no stopping them! I mean, unless they hit the brakes.

Seriously, imagine what we could accomplish if we could eliminate the need for fossil fuels altogether, and rely entirely on our nation's vast untapped resources of stupidity! I just hope today's youth recognizes the gravity of the situation.



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]]> 7786899134648110339 Dr Pepper Proves Book Larnin' is No Substitute for Common Sense 2007/02/#7786899134648110339 2007-02-28
As you know, Dr Pepper is my muse. I therefore took it particularly hard when the marketing wizards at the Dr Pepper company turned out to be no more wizards than, well, than Dr Pepper is a real doctor. From the Buffalo News:
Less than a month after Boston's highways and bridges were shut down during a bomb scare touched off by an advertising stunt, a new marketing scheme has led angry city officials to shut down a historic site.

A clue in a Dr Pepper promotion suggested a coin that might be worth as much as $1 million was buried in the 347-year-old Granary Burying Ground, the final resting place of John Hancock, Paul Revere, Samuel Adams and other historic figures.

After contestants showed up at the cemetery gates early Tuesday, the city closed it, concerned that it would be damaged by treasure hunters.

Read the rest of the story here.

I did some digging (ha!) and found out that, astonishingly, this wasn't even the worst marketing gimmick the Dr Pepper people came up with. I present to you...

Ten Rejected Dr Pepper Marketing Gimmicks

10. Mysterious packages are left unattended at airports all over the U.S. If you find one of the packages and bring it on a plane, it will automatically open at 20,000 feet, revealing twelve glass bottles of Dr Pepper and a solid gold bottle opener shaped like a hand grenade.

9. Win a million dollars by finding the Diet Dr Pepper can buried under a mountain of ten thousand dead lab rats.

8. The "Forrest Gump" promotion: Get a picture taken of you drinking Dr Pepper within ten feet of the President and win ten thousand dollars!

7. One of the paintings at the Metropolitan Museum of Art has been replaced by a fake hiding a hundred one thousand dollar bills. The false veneer can only be dissolved by a spraying it with a fine mist of Dr Pepper.

6. The "Movie Lover" promotion: 10 Dr Pepper cans in the U.S. are filled with highly corrosive acetic acid used for developing film, instead of Dr Pepper. Find one and win a trip to the Cannes Film Festival!

5. T.V. Commercial: A man lies on his death bed, unconscious. Close-up of a doctor's hands hooking up an IV, as a voice says, "There's only one thing we can do for him now." Zoom out: We see that the IV tube is connected to a can of Dr Pepper. Cut to a concerned nurse who says, "Are you sure that will cure him, doctor?" Cut to the doctor: "Cure him? I just figured if he's going to be a vegetable, he might as well be a Pepper!"

4. Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper -- now with a hint of nutmeg!

3. Free Dr Pepper for life for all type II diabetes sufferers.

2. A new beverage specifically designed to make people crave Dr Pepper: Dr Salt!

1. Picture this: Race car driver Jeff Gordon is at a gas station, refueling his car. Next to him is his 5 year old son. "Now for the secret ingredient," Gordon says to his son, with the air of someone imparting fatherly wisdom. He opens a can of Dr Pepper and pours it into the gas tank. When he's finished, he says, "And that's the secret of great performance, son." Gordon looks around, but his son is nowhere to be found. Finally Jeff sees him: His son is guzzling gasoline directly from the pump! They share a good laugh.


In doing research for this post, I came across this. I'd thank the person who put this together, but I'm guessing he's dead.


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]]> 8090159105241962486 World's Worst Dictator 2007/02/#8090159105241962486 2007-02-18 Recently my wife was reading an article in Parade about the world's worst dictators. (Yes, this is the second post over the past week prompted by Parade magazine. I'm also reading a 700 page book about artificial intelligence, ok? It's called being a Renaissance man. Look into it.)

Like many people, I rely on Parade to provide me with some geopolitical perspective, not to mention hearty halftime meals for my Super Bowl party. (Actually, I rely on my wife for both of those things, but she in turn relies on Parade. And just because I couldn't tell you who played in the Super Bowl to save my life doesn't mean I don't need a hearty halftime meal, so get off my back.)

Anyway, it turns out that the world's worst dictator is some dude named Omar al-Bashir. He runs a little country club and spa called Sudan. You may have heard something about it in between Anna Nicole Smith's breasts. Er, in between stories about Anna Nicole Smith. And her breasts. Her non-biodegradable breasts.

------------------------------------------------
Interlude: 3007 A.D.

Archaeologists are excavating Anna Nicole Smith's grave.

Archaeologist 1: "Hey, I found something."
Archaeologist 2: "What is it?"
Archaeologist 1: "Guess."
------------------------------------------------

So this guy, this "Worst Dictator in the World," has killed at least 180,000 civilians in Darfur and driven 2 million people from their homes. My question is, what exactly are they looking for in a dictator? I mean, this guy's no Hitler, but who is? Except Stalin, I mean. Stalin was pretty much Hitler.

But those two guys really skew the curve for the rest of the dictators. I think that you'd have to say, all things considered, that this Omar al-Bashir character is a pretty good dictator. I can see how he'd lose some points for limiting himself to sub-Saharan Africa, but you play the cards you're dealt. Give him some time.

You know who's a lousy dictator? Al Gore. First of all, he's kind of whiny and non-threatening. Second, he doesn't really run anything. Third, he keeps trying to "build consensus" and win people over with "appeals to reason." Let me tell you, Earth in the Balance is no Mein Kampf. And Davis Guggenheim is no Leni Riefenstahl. And, uh, Tipper is no Eva Braun. That's what I've heard, anyway. You know how guys talk.

Al Gore missed a key opportunity when he claimed to have invented the Internet. He should have claimed to have invented the Spanish Inquisition. Or something even worse, like syphillis. Tell me you'd risk crossing the guy who's in charge of syphillis.

"Dude, you look terrible! What happened to you?"

"Oh, man. I voted against Kyoto and Al Gore gave me syphillis."

And now he's gone and gotten himself nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. I know, I know, Yasser Arafat got the Nobel Peace Prize and he was a murderous terrorist bastard. But still, there's a cachet of pacificism that goes with getting the Nobel Peace Prize. It's unfair, especially since Al Gore doesn't deserve all the credit for preventing the Great Global Warming War. I mean, shouldn't some of the credit go to the millions of individuals on both sides who aren't fighting? There's no way that Al Gore could have singlehandedly prevented the war if all those people refused to work within the political process to find a solution.

Ah, but history doesn't want to hear about the faceless men and women who are ignorant of the conflict they could be participating in. Besides, the faceless are notoriously poor combatants. History remembers the Great Men with Faces, like Al Gore and what's his face in the Sudan.

Oops, gotta go. Anna Nicole's boobs are on!


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]]> 3719789658900920841 Brilliant! (James Blunt's Songwriting Journal) 2007/02/#3719789658900920841 2007-02-12 "I wrote 'You're Beautiful' in two and a half minutes, after seeing an ex-girlfriend.'"

- James Blunt

Blunt said on VH1's The Vspot that he wrote this song about seeing his ex-girlfriend with a new man in the London underground. He says that they shared a lifetime in the brief eye contact.

-----------------------------------------------

EXCERPT FROM JAMES BLUNT'S SONGWRITING JOURNAL: Tuesday, January 18, 2005

2:37:30 PM

Train should be here in about 150 seconds. Maybe enough time to write a song???

2:37:36 PM

Possible song topics: Trains. Unemployment. Sodding London weather. Come on man, think!

2:37:42 PM

Isn't that Stacy?

2:37:48 PM

That IS Stacy! Who the f---- is she with???!!!

2:37:55 PM

Stacy be lookin FINE.

2:38:04 PM

Where was I? ... Trains, right. Maybe something about a little engine trying to get up a hill?

2:38:09 PM

Lucky bastard. What was it Mum said when Stacy broke up with me? "God's will." Well I hope the sodding angels are happy. Bollocks.

2:38:17 PM

Feeling very sad.

2:38:21 PM

VERY sad.

2:38:29 PM

Maybe write a song about how sad I feel. Free association time! Sad, sad, sad.... Think of something very sad. Clowns with frowny faces are sad. Sad clown. Clown crying. TEARS OF A CLOWN!

2:38:41 PM

F---.

2:38:50 PM

She looked at me! HI Stacy!!!! GOD I'M SO HAPPY.

2:38:58 PM

Don't think she recognized me. SO SAD. This is the saddest anybody has ever been.

2:39:06 PM

Sadder than Bruce Banner walking away at the end of The Incredible Hulk.

2:39:14 PM

Damn, now I have that song in my head. Bah-bada-Bah. Bah-bada-Bah BAH.

2:39:22 PM

LOL. Should write lyrics about Stacy and that sodding bastard set to Incredible Hulk theme. F---, that's brilliant!

2:39:31 PM

Train's coming! Write something. ANYTHING!

My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel
Of that I'm sure
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose any sleep on that
Cause I got a plan

You're beautiful; you're beautiful:
You're beautiful; it's true
I saw your face in a crowded place
And I don't know what to do
Cause I will never be with you

Yeah, she caught my eye
As I walked on by
She could see from my face that I was
Flying high
And I don't think that I'll see her again
But we shared a moment that will last till the end

You're beautiful; you're beautiful:
You're beautiful; it's true
I saw your face in a crowded place
And I don't know what to do
Cause I will never be with you

la la la la
la la la la
la la la la la

You're beautiful; you're beautiful
You're beautiful; it's true
There must be an angel with a smile on her face
When she thought up that I should be with you
But it is time to face the truth
I will never be with you

2:40:00 PM

Train's here!



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]]> 6629500540606733994 Take This, Bratz™! 2007/02/#6629500540606733994 2007-02-03

When I was a kid, little girls played with the likes of Holly Hobbie™ and Strawberry Shortcake™. Today such wholesome characters have been replaced by edgier models. Dolls today -- or should I say "action figures," as in "G.I. Joe™ went into town looking for some...." Anyway, dolls today need to have attitude. They need to be a little naughty and dangerous to interest the future skanks of the world. At the forefront of the revolution are the Bratz™ girls (or is that grrlz?), who bare their midriffs, sport gaudy jewelry and wear more makeup than Lon Chaney at a Gwen Stefani concert.

Not to be outdone, Mattel has recently upped the ante with their latest line of Barbie™ dolls. Coming soon to a Wal-Mart near you, it's:

Crack Whore Barbie™!



And no, this probably wasn't worth the amount of time I spent on it. In case you want to admire my mad photoshopping skeels, here's the original image.

In other news, you may have noticed that I've killed the Dispatches. They will be returning in a slightly different format shortly. If I can wrassle Blogger into submission.

I'll be finishing The Kite Runner this weekend. I'll post my thoughts at Central Booking tomorrow. Next up: Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid by Douglas R. Hofstader suggested by Wolfe from Wolfe's Musings.

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]]> 828494647755098291 Congratulations on Your New Testicles! 2007/01/#828494647755098291 2007-01-29

Congratulations!

You've just purchased a pair of novelty testicles for your truck, SUV or other vehicle.

With the purchase of this fine product you have joined the informal fraternity of novelty nutsack owners -- the three million men (and possibly women, although we doubt it) whose vehicles already bear the unmistakable mark of supreme manliness. Yes, you've joined our proud brotherhood at the peak of its popularity, and whatever your reason for waiting so long, we're glad to have you aboard.


Frequently Asked Questions:

Q: I hear people making remarks about "compensating for some shortcoming." What does that mean?
A: These people are jealous. There is no documented evidence that novelty testicle owners suffer from any sort of physical inadequacy. In fact, during a recent door-to-door survey most novelty testicles owners reported having genitalia as large or larger than the national average.

Q: Some people roll their eyes and/or shake their heads when they see my testicles. Why?
These people don't "get it."

Q: The women I know tell me my testicles are stupid and lame.
A: They're lying. Women love novelty testicles. When they are in the bathroom together they talk about which guy has the biggest novelty testicles and try to figure how they can get that guy to have sex with them. A very small percentage of women really do think your testicles are lame. These women are college professors who think they're too good for you, or lesbians. Often they are both.

Q: I'm concerned that my novelty testicles may soon go "out of style."
A: There is no need to worry. Novelty testicles, like the mullet and decals of a little boy peeing on things, never get old.

Q: People with small children glare at me as they drive past. Am I doing something wrong?
No. You're not the problem here. This happens because little Brittany in the back seat has just asked, "Mommy, what are those?" Brittany has to learn some day, so it might as well be when she's in first grade.

Q: How do I keep people from stealing my novelty testicles?
A: We recommend coating your testicles with rancid bacon grease. This will also help prevent corrosion.

Q: I think my girlfriend is envious of my testicles. Do you have any products geared more toward women?
A: Absolutely! We are constantly adding new items to our Scrotowear collection. What better gift could there be than a genuine leather Scrotowear purse?



And for those really special occasions, break out a Scrotowear pendant or earrings!



Order them for her today. You know she wants it!

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]]> 8159640512661113823 Psych-Geist: Michelle Manhart 2007/01/#8159640512661113823 2007-01-16 Once again I'm guest posting over at Central Snark, so head over there to read my revelations regarding the uncanny synchronicity between Apocalypse Now and the Huey Lewis album Fore! Really.

What? You're still here? Well I guess I need to give you something for your persistence. I had so much fun with my USC Song Girl Ass the last time I filled in over at the Snark that I'm thinking of doing a regular feature called the Psych-Geist. It's like the Google Zeitgeist, but with fewer empty calories.

The search term of the moment seems to be "Michelle Manhart." Who is Michelle Manhart, you ask? Well, she's an Air Force Sergeant who got in trouble for the following picture:

Michelle Manhart

Well, not that picture exactly. The Air Force doesn't want you to see the real picture of Michelle Manhart, because she's not wearing body armor in it. In fact, as you can see, she doesn't even have working fasteners on her combat shorts. I couldn't bear to show you the real picture, because her t-shirt is in even worse shape. It's all torn and sweaty and clearly does not offer adequate support for lifting weights or other Air Force-related duties. It's pathetic. We can pay $15 Billion for an invisible airplane that can vaporize a nickel from outer space, but we can't fork over another whatever it costs for a decent uniform.

Poor Michelle Manhart. Poor, poor Michelle Manhart.

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]]> 8971977656413602102 Harry Potter and the Inevitable Slide into Satanism... 2007/01/#8971977656413602102 2007-01-10 Before I became a parent, I was frequently amazed at the over-protectiveness of some people regarding their children. I don't mean parents who make their kids wear helmets while riding their bikes or solving a particularly difficult geometry problem; I'm talking about parents who won't let their kids read Harry Potter books or listen to music inspired by the devil. What, I thought to myself, are these parents afraid of exactly? Is there some kind of natural progression from J.K. Rowling fan to goat-worshiping cultist? Where does one turn in one's copy of Black Sabbath's Born Again for a black robe, ceremonial dagger and engram audit? Wait, that last one may be Scientology. I can't keep my evil religions straight any more. Anyway, you get the point. I just couldn't see how kids went from dabbling in occult-inspired media to being full-fledged Satan worshipers. Or hell, even half-fledged. Half-fledged Satan worshipers are almost worse in a way, because they've got a chip on their shoulder and are just itching for a chance to earn their fledge.

Now that I'm a parent, I've realized the necessity of keeping certain books, movies and music away from my children. I don't like the idea of censorship, but no matter how much my kids beg they are not going to be allowed to listen to "Fergilicious" or read Eragon. I'm sorry, but I believe the children are our future.

Neither of my children (aged 5 and 7) have come home toting a Black Sabbath record yet, so I've dodged that bullet so far. But in anticipation of my seven-year-old bookworm eventually asking whether he may read Harry Potter and the Nominative Phrase, I decided to peruse one of these books to determine for myself whether there was any real danger.

I was shocked at what I discovered. In the back of the book was the following ad, reproduced here in its undoctored entirety. Click to enlarge.

Harry Potter form

I mean, can you believe that? I don't want my kids getting their hands on this. Now where did I put those stamps?


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]]> 4643270788622221039 The Force is Middling in this One 2006/12/#4643270788622221039 2006-12-27


6/30/06

Cam Cloudhammer, Director of Human Resources, Order of the Jedi

Dear Mr. Cloudhammer,

As a recent graduate of the Tatooine Academy of Arts and Sciences, I was excited to hear about the opening with the Jedi Knights for an entry level Force Technician I. I have long dreamed of joining the Jedi Order and I think I will be a valuable asset to your organization.

As you can see from my enclosed resume, I graduated with a 3.2 GPA and I scored a 1242 on the Force Assessment Test. I did particularly well in Advanced Midi-Chlorianology and Pre-Imperial History. I believe I could have performed even better academically, but I worked my way through school recalibrating moisture vaporators. I think the combination of my rigorous coursework and practical experience will serve me well as a Force Technician I.

I'm available for an interview on short notice on most weekdays. I know my resume probably isn't the most impressive you will receive, but I think you'll find that I'm "good Jedi material" if you take the time to meet me in person. I thank you for your time and look forward to hearing from you.

Best Regards,
Kenny Skywalker

P.S. I forgot to mention that I can type 40 words per minute and levitate small objects with my mind.

P.P.S. Not to name-drop, but in case you're wondering, Luke is my second cousin.




8/21/06

Heinous Vlaak, Personnel Director, Order of the Sith

Dear Mr. Vlaak,

I recently graduated from the Tatooine Academy of Arts and Sciences and was interested to learn of the part time Tractor Field Operator position that was recently posted on the Sith website. I have long been intrigued by the shadowy workings of the Sith, and have recently begun to consider a career in the service of the Empire.

As my enclosed resume indicates, I am an above average student, but I think that the highly structured nature of the Tatooine Academy prevented me from reaching my true potential, as I am something of an "outside the box" thinker. It's true that my experience with the Dark Side is limited, but my current job at the Mos Eisley Spaceport Cantina requires that I be very assertive with droids and others whose kind we don't serve. I am also led to believe that my destiny lies with the Dark Side by my co-workers' frequent reminders that I'm "really not a people person."

I thank you for your time and look forward to hearing from you.

In Your Service,
Kenneth Skywalker (No relation)

P.S. I once pantsed a Jawa, which is considered pretty evil around here. I am also good with Excel.




9/29/06

Boba Fett, Proprietor, Fett Investigations, Bounty Hunter and Polygraph Service

Dear Mr. Fett,

Boy, are you hard to track down! I got your contact information from a mutual acquaintance who indicated that you may have an opening for a henchmen/tough. I know that with my B.A. in Force Theory I may seem overqualified for this position, but I've decided that I'm more interested in a life of adventure than a stable job with a reputable organization at this point in my career. I've dealt with my share of rough characters at my current job at Mos Eisley Spaceport Cantina and my neighborhood is pretty regularly terrorized by Tusken Raiders, so I don't think I'll have much trouble adjusting to the life of a bounty hunter. Please contact me as soon as is convenient for you, because I'm anxious to get started!

Sincerely,
Ken Skywalker

P.S. In case you're concerned about my academic background, I only attended the Tatooine Academy to get my parents off my back. Trust me when I say that I have learned that hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side.




11/4/06

Jabba the Hutt, C.E.O., Hutt Enterprises, Inc.

Dear Mr. Hutt,

I recently learned of an opening with your crime syndicate here on Tatooine. I'm not sure what the job entails exactly, but I think I'm up for just about anything after working as the Assistant Manager of the Mos Eisley Cantina Spaceport. Since I was put in charge of marketing, we were named 2nd runner up for "Most Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy" by the Imperial Travel Bureau. Although I've never killed anyone myself, I am often expected to clean up the charred corpses of bounty hunters and other scoundrels, and I think I'm becoming rather inured to the spectacle of mutilation and manslaughter.

I know I probably don't fit the typical profile of your applicants, but I think that if you give me a chance you won't be disappointed. All I'm asking for is a chance.

Eagerly awaiting your reply,

Ken S.

P.S. I don't need health insurance and I don't mind sleeping on the floor or whatever.





12/27/06

Dear Uncle Skip,

Do you still own that Chili's in the Dagobah system?

Your loving nephew,

Kenny


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