When I was a small child, there were two television shows I watched religiously. The first was a little series known as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The mere mention of these shelled warriors to any guy in their early twenties will elicit a smile faster than the phrase “coed jello wrestling”. Most guys can recite the main characters, including the reptiles in question, their talking rat sensei, the main bad guys, and the weapons they each had. They know that Bebop was the warthog and Rocksteady was the rhino and that Krang was a reference to the talking brain in the dude’s stomach that sounded a little like Yoda. They had the toys, played the video games, and spent much of Kindergarten pretending to be the characters at recess (when they weren’t eating crayons or putting glue on their fingers so they could peel it off when it dried).

            The second, and my personal favorite, was Ghostbusters. Ghostbusters of course is based on the ingenious 80s live action movie staring Bill Murray, Dan Ackroyd, Harold Ramis and that Black Dude. The movie was popular with all ages, including four and five year olds who couldn’t grasp half the jokes, but liked the idea of zapping ghosts and getting to play with slime on a regular basis.

            These shows played major roles in my early development, along with that of many others my age. We learned valuable life lessons like survival in the face of extremely adversity, whether it is a wave of ghosts or mutated talking animals. We also learned about friendship and teamwork, and that to survive, we must stick together. I personally also learned a fair amount of crude karate that I used freely on unsuspecting kids on the playground and developed a love for pizza.

            Other favorites from that time include Transformers, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe,  and Thundercats. Similar lessons could be gained from all.

            Over the years, the shows changed, and we got older. All the newcomers seemed stupid and immature (this coming from us in middle school). They made less sense and got more violent. This all came to a peak with a show called Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, a show the united kids from different races that all went to a school together (the school looked like they had recycled the set from Saved By the Bell’s The Max). When they weren’t in school, they joined together to fight something, I’m still not sure what, but I think there were aliens involved, a long island-ish woman with bad skin and big shoulder pads, and there may have been a talking helmeted pig at one point too. They used laser tag guns and machines that looked like dinosaurs.

            Basically, the show got lazy and said, “Okay, kids like guns, fighting, dinosaurs, aliens, The Max, and horrible acting. Let’s just throw all that shit in a pot and see what comes out.” The fight scenes weren’t even filmed for the show; they actually just cut in scenes from a Japanese show and dubbed over them. So it became apparent that the show was about nothing more than violence and getting to watch a frisky Amy Jo Johnson occasionally do gymnastics (nice, even though she’s almost 40 now, Jesus Christ, how’d that happen?).

            Then all the school shootings started happening. People wanted answers. Why was this happening? Where was all this unchecked aggression coming from? Rather than point the finger at themselves, parents decided it had to be violent television shows, video games, movies, music, etc. All I know is that I watched tons of violent shows and video games when I was little and have never felt the slightest desire to bring harm on anyone else (besides Bill Engvall, and I consider that completely understandable). 

            So what happened after that? Networks needed to find shows with less violence to appease the angry soccer moms. This gave to the rise of an already existing entity, a large purple turd known as Barney. Barney was a foam dinosaur that danced around a playground with children and sang and taught important life lessons like manners and crosswalk safety. He wouldn’t dare fight anyone or have a disagreement, because nobody likes a disagreeable dino. He was just big and friendly and huggable.

            What else was Barney? Fucking creepy. His songs would be complimented nicely by a hand full of valiums, he hugged kids he had never met (where were the parents?), and had a gut churning giggle that made me want to punch things. Barney made me feel more rage than any violent video game or movie ever could. In eighth grade, I wrote an outline for an episode of Barney where a jealous Grimace, tired of having his thunder stolen, comes to the playground all the way from McDonaldland and bashes a guitar over Barney’s skull. I sent it in to the network, but it was strangely rejected. Not many shows could draw that kind of ire from me. Add that to the fact that nobody would be surprised if Barney took off his mask and was revealed to be R.Kelly, and has the situation with children’s programming really improved?

            It gets worse though. The following generation was given (granted at an earlier age) a show called Teletubbies. The teletubbies are in that same vein of sedated  muppets as Barney, except worse. They are chubby little guys that run around into each other and laugh and make guttural noises until a baby’s face appears in a sun and the show ends. Not only does the show have no violence, but it has no dialogue, plot, or theme. Occasionally, they do some clapping, but there is nothing that can really be learned from the show or its characters.

            So, how does this change in children’s television affect society at large? Simple. Children grow up.

            My generation has reached adulthood. For the most part, we have our own places and have some kind of job. It’s still a little too early to judge, but to be honest, I expected a little more from us. I include myself in this, because I know that at my age, my parents had been on their own for years, were married, and had started careers that they still have today. Times have changed, and we’re waiting longer to get into the careers we want and taking longer to find Mr. and Mrs. Right. The whole idea of being ourselves, finding something we love to do, and aiming for that perfect life have made it difficult for us in the sense that we know where we want to go, but aren’t really sure how to get there. So we jump from job to job, mate to mate, and don’t really commit the time probably necessary to make the leap we’re looking for. Basically, we’re in no rush to grow up. It’s a very crab-like state. At my age, I have the feeling that my parents and most of their generation were being far more productive than me and mine are now.

            This is okay, because I’m confident we’ll eventually figure it out.

            I do know one thing though: Nothing I have done in my life has ever been accomplished due to good manners (and I do have them) or my ability to share. It might make me less of a jerk, but no more productive. Everything good that I have done, I’ve needed to appeal to a more competitive spirit, find a sense of assertiveness, and use the ability to be part of a team and above all, survive. The desire to survive in the world, in this sense more figurative, as in bringing in enough money to provide for yourself, is what sustains most people to achieve at least marginal success.

            My parents didn’t grow up watching any television shows. They spent their youth outside, playing with real kids, learning about life by going out and living it. My generation grew up “living less”. This one now is almost completely on autopilot, and one has to wonder if they’ll ever develop those important survival skills. What it could lead to is an overall inept class of Americans in about fifteen years, polite wimps who will keep looking for other people to take care of things for them.

            At least they’ll know how to say please and thank you.     

            Mom: “Go to your room, no TV, no ipod, no video games…”

            Son:  “What are we supposed to do?” 

            Mom: “Read!”

            Son: “No! Seriously?!”

            …one more time, I’m going to slit my wrists with my Blue Collar Comedy Tour DVD. Now the commercials for House of Payne are claiming that it’s “the most popular comedy in history”. Where the hell do they get these statistics? You have to start assuming that’s been taken completely out of context, like the original quote was actually, “The most popular comedy in television history…to score a negative Neilsen Rating,” or “The most popular comedy in television history…to be written by students with Down Syndrome.” House of Payne makes Alf look like the first season of Saturday Night Live.

            Which brings me to my main point. All of these terrible comedies that are apparently getting viewers and renewed seasons made me start to wonder what happened to all the funny comedians. Where are all the guys who used to crack me up when I was growing up? Adam Sandler, Mike Myers, Dana Carvey…they’re all still around. How come I can’t remember the last time I got excited to see a movie by any of them? The terrifying thing is they’re all still working. Sandler and Myers just released new movies and Carvey just had a new comedy special on Comedy Central.

            But does You Don’t Mess With The Zohan or The Love Guru whet my appetite to go spend ten dollars at the theater? Not one bit. And as far as Carvey goes, my friends and I caught about twenty minutes of his comedy “special”. To sum it up, it made me throw up a little bit in my mouth. My friend Matt wasn’t even there and was able to sum it up. “Let me guess; did he do some old worn out impressions from the early 90s, fail in an attempt to relate them to current events, and tell stories that nobody could relate to or find amusing?” Check, check and check. Instead of laughing, we were wondering things like “Did they have to lie to people to get them into the theater?” “How many of these paying customers are directly related to Carvey?” and “Do you think they enforced a drink minimum for people before they got to the show just so they could tolerate it?” Comedy specials usually have punchy three word titles like “No Rules Apply” or “One Night Only”. Carvey’s could have been called, “No Audience Necessary”.

            I started to think back and did some research. Just look at the movies that have been produced recently by that seminal early 90s Saturday Night Live cast they defined comedy movies as recent as ten years ago:

            Adam Sandler:

            I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry aka How Many Gay and Homophobic Jokes Can We Cram into 90 Minutes?

            Click (didn’t see it, didn’t hear anything great)

            Anger Management (could’ve been based on my demeanor after seeing it)

            Little Nicky (Oh god)

            Eight Crazy Nights

            Dana Carvey:

            The Master of Disguise (I didn’t know that the death of someone’s career could actually be heard, but here it went on for 2 hours)

            …and then the poor little guy doesn’t have anything else noticeable outside of cameo in Little Nicky since Wayne’s World 2

            David Spade:

            The Benchwarmers

            Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star

            Joe Dirt

            Myers was able to stave off the buzzards for awhile with his clever work as Shrek (which if you haven’t noticed has been absolutely bled dry at this point: Shrek, Shrek 2, Shrek: Smash n Crash Racing video game, Shrek The Halls for TV, Shrek the Third, and Shrek Goes Forth in preproduction), but The Love Guru is not a good sign. I argued with my friends that cocaine and ham and bacon sandwiches were the best thing to happen to Chris Farley since he died before the fallout could begin, but Dan aptly pointed out, “Clearly you haven’t seen Beverly Hills Ninja”. I stand corrected.

            Think about other major comedians from Saturday Night Live and otherwise.  Eddie Murphy has released Norbit, The Haunted Mansion, The Adventures of Pluto Nash, Showtime, Holy Man, Metro, Life, and Vampire in Brooklyn. I purposefully chose not to include Bowfinger because unlike most people I thought it was hilarious, but he’s got a new one coming out called Meet Dave which looks absolutely abysmal.

            The worst is poor Rob Schneider, who now can’t get a job unless one of his buddies does a favor for him, but I guess you can’t be picky when you’re recent resume includes The Benchwarmers, both Deuce Bigalows, The Hot Chick, The Animal, and Down Periscope. That’s not even mentioning all his spot roles in the above mentioned crapfests. Hiring Rob Schneider to star in your movie at this point is like hiring Pete Townsend or Gary Glitter as a babysitter.

Does this look like a guy with steady work?

            What happened? Did they just stop being funny, or are they the same and we’ve changed what we think is funny? The answer is probably a little bit of both. Bill Simmons once pointed out that comedians are successful because they make jokes about things that everyone can relate to. When they get successful and famous, they stop hanging out with regular people and start “acting like a celebrity”. They lose touch with what’s funny to the rest of us. I thought it was a very astute point. Another problem is that Hollywood isn’t concerned so much with how funny they actually are as to how much money they can make off of them. So they see one formula work for them, or one type of character, and they start offering lucrative scripts that are nearly identical in content, just with different names and places. The viewing public may be stupid enough to pay to see them, but isn’t stupid enough to get fooled into thinking they’re different from the previous movies. The same shit just isn’t funny anymore.

            At the same time, comedy is almost always changing. Now shows with more subtle awkward humor like The Office are gaining popularity and the guys who used to be funny, well, that’s just not what they do. It’s not so much about hilarious characters that dive into the ridiculous physical humor like Austin Powers or Wayne and Garth or Billy Madison. We like smarter, wittier characters now, like the Vince Vaughn type.

            But again, what we like is always changing. This leads me to my greatest concern: Will Ferrell. I own most of his movies and his Best of Saturday Night Live Volume One will always be one of my favorite DVDs. He could make a movie where he was just Harry Caray asking questions for 2 hours and I would see it four times in theaters. But you have to be concerned about his recent developments. I thought Talladega Nights was funny (not everyone did) but then they put that same characters in tights and called him Chazz Michael Michaels for Blades of Glory. Then the same character became Jackie Moon in Semi Pro. It’s the kinda smarmy, inappropriate jackass. Funny, but we’re not buying it more than once. You really have to hope he doesn’t continue down this road. His next movie is Step Brothers, where he is reuniting with John C. Reilly and Adam McKay, the writer of Anchorman, Talladega Nights, and the hilarious video of Pearl the Landlord. Can it be a winning team again? We’ll see.

            How does one avoid such a career tumble? Well, Dave Chappelle started getting too famous and hid in Africa for awhile. Um, that works? Jerry Seinfeld, with the exception of a couple projects, has stayed relatively low key in that he stopped his show when it was on top and now just tours doing stand up. Jim Carrey did enough mediocre to good serious movies that he’s no longer just seen as a comedian and more of a legitimate mainstream actor (not easy to do, Bill Murray and to a much lesser extent Sandler have  had success doing this as well).

            I guess all that really matters in the end is that we have as few Dane Cook’s as possible. Nobody’s career blazed upward and flamed out as fast as his. He went from being underrated, to the funniest man on earth, to overrated, to absolutely sickening to watch in like 10 months. It was incredible, really. After Vicious Circle  and Tourgasm, I wouldn’t hire him to mow my lawn. We haven’t seen a more dramatic crash since JFK Jr. was piloting small aircraft.

   =

            In the end, all I can do is dream of a world where less people watch “very funny” shows on TBS and start to watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, the actual funniest show ever on FX (new season September 18^th; I think I just creamed my cargo shorts).

            When I was a small child, there were two television shows I watched religiously. The first was a little series known as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The mere mention of these shelled warriors to any guy in their early twenties will elicit a smile faster than the phrase “coed jello wrestling”. Most guys can recite the main characters, including the reptiles in question, their talking rat sensei, the main bad guys, and the weapons they each had. They know that Bebop was the warthog and Rocksteady was the rhino and that Krang was a reference to the talking brain in the dude’s stomach that sounded a little like Yoda. They had the toys, played the video games, and spent much of Kindergarten pretending to be the characters at recess (when they weren’t eating crayons or putting glue on their fingers so they could peel it off when it dried).

            The second, and my personal favorite, was Ghostbusters. Ghostbusters of course is based on the ingenious 80s live action movie staring Bill Murray, Dan Ackroyd, Harold Ramis and that Black Dude. The movie was popular with all ages, including four and five year olds who couldn’t grasp half the jokes, but liked the idea of zapping ghosts and getting to play with slime on a regular basis.

            These shows played major roles in my early development, along with that of many others my age. We learned valuable life lessons like survival in the face of extremely adversity, whether it is a wave of ghosts or mutated talking animals. We also learned about friendship and teamwork, and that to survive, we must stick together. I personally also learned a fair amount of crude karate that I used freely on unsuspecting kids on the playground and developed a love for pizza.

            Other favorites from that time include Transformers, He-Man and the Masters of the Universe,  and Thundercats. Similar lessons could be gained from all.

            Over the years, the shows changed, and we got older. All the newcomers seemed stupid and immature (this coming from us in middle school). They made less sense and got more violent. This all came to a peak with a show called Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, a show the united kids from different races that all went to a school together (the school looked like they had recycled the set from Saved By the Bell’s The Max). When they weren’t in school, they joined together to fight something, I’m still not sure what, but I think there were aliens involved, a long island-ish woman with bad skin and big shoulder pads, and there may have been a talking helmeted pig at one point too. They used laser tag guns and machines that looked like dinosaurs.

            Basically, the show got lazy and said, “Okay, kids like guns, fighting, dinosaurs, aliens, The Max, and horrible acting. Let’s just throw all that shit in a pot and see what comes out.” The fight scenes weren’t even filmed for the show; they actually just cut in scenes from a Japanese show and dubbed over them. So it became apparent that the show was about nothing more than violence and getting to watch a frisky Amy Jo Johnson occasionally do gymnastics (nice, even though she’s almost 40 now, Jesus Christ, how’d that happen?).

            Then all the school shootings started happening. People wanted answers. Why was this happening? Where was all this unchecked aggression coming from? Rather than point the finger at themselves, parents decided it had to be violent television shows, video games, movies, music, etc. All I know is that I watched tons of violent shows and video games when I was little and have never felt the slightest desire to bring harm on anyone else (besides Bill Engvall, and I consider that completely understandable). 

            So what happened after that? Networks needed to find shows with less violence to appease the angry soccer moms. This gave to the rise of an already existing entity, a large purple turd known as Barney. Barney was a foam dinosaur that danced around a playground with children and sang and taught important life lessons like manners and crosswalk safety. He wouldn’t dare fight anyone or have a disagreement, because nobody likes a disagreeable dino. He was just big and friendly and huggable.

            What else was Barney? Fucking creepy. His songs would be complimented nicely by a hand full of valiums, he hugged kids he had never met (where were the parents?), and had a gut churning giggle that made me want to punch things. Barney made me feel more rage than any violent video game or movie ever could. In eighth grade, I wrote an outline for an episode of Barney where a jealous Grimace, tired of having his thunder stolen, comes to the playground all the way from McDonaldland and bashes a guitar over Barney’s skull. I sent it in to the network, but it was strangely rejected. Not many shows could draw that kind of ire from me. Add that to the fact that nobody would be surprised if Barney took off his mask and was revealed to be R.Kelly, and has the situation with children’s programming really improved?

            It gets worse though. The following generation was given (granted at an earlier age) a show called Teletubbies. The teletubbies are in that same vein of sedated  muppets as Barney, except worse. They are chubby little guys that run around into each other and laugh and make guttural noises until a baby’s face appears in a sun and the show ends. Not only does the show have no violence, but it has no dialogue, plot, or theme. Occasionally, they do some clapping, but there is nothing that can really be learned from the show or its characters.

            So, how does this change in children’s television affect society at large? Simple. Children grow up.

            My generation has reached adulthood. For the most part, we have our own places and have some kind of job. It’s still a little too early to judge, but to be honest, I expected a little more from us. I include myself in this, because I know that at my age, my parents had been on their own for years, were married, and had started careers that they still have today. Times have changed, and we’re waiting longer to get into the careers we want and taking longer to find Mr. and Mrs. Right. The whole idea of being ourselves, finding something we love to do, and aiming for that perfect life have made it difficult for us in the sense that we know where we want to go, but aren’t really sure how to get there. So we jump from job to job, mate to mate, and don’t really commit the time probably necessary to make the leap we’re looking for. Basically, we’re in no rush to grow up. It’s a very crab-like state. At my age, I have the feeling that my parents and most of their generation were being far more productive than me and mine are now.

            This is okay, because I’m confident we’ll eventually figure it out.

            I do know one thing though: Nothing I have done in my life has ever been accomplished due to good manners (and I do have them) or my ability to share. It might make me less of a jerk, but no more productive. Everything good that I have done, I’ve needed to appeal to a more competitive spirit, find a sense of assertiveness, and use the ability to be part of a team and above all, survive. The desire to survive in the world, in this sense more figurative, as in bringing in enough money to provide for yourself, is what sustains most people to achieve at least marginal success.

            My parents didn’t grow up watching any television shows. They spent their youth outside, playing with real kids, learning about life by going out and living it. My generation grew up “living less”. This one now is almost completely on autopilot, and one has to wonder if they’ll ever develop those important survival skills. What it could lead to is an overall inept class of Americans in about fifteen years, polite wimps who will keep looking for other people to take care of things for them.

            At least they’ll know how to say please and thank you.     

 As one scrolls to the end of my computer’s playlist of over 1600 songs, you find that there is a section that under artist it is labeled as “X Riffs”. This has existed since a moment of random emo weakness during my senior year of college. Failing at evoking emotions of sadness to help drive some serious writing, I created this short list of songs that each reminded me of a different ex-girlfriend in hopes of making myself feel sad so I could write.

However, instead of feeling sad, I felt nothing but self-disdain at the idea of what I was actually trying to accomplish. I had randomly transformed into Jon Favreau’s character from Swingers for a few minutes before coming back to reality. I did, however, keep the labels on the songs as a way of kind of quarantining the tracks away from the rest of my awesome playlist.

 Even if you’ve never done anything quite as pathetic as what I just explained above, everyone can relate to certain songs being wrecked by memories of a former loved one. I used to think, “Man, it stinks that girls have to come along and ruin otherwise perfectly good music,” until I actually took a recent look at what songs were on the list.

 “Jesus. Most of this stuff sucks. I would’ve never had this on my computer if it wasn’t for so and so.” I urge all of you to go back and do the same with songs that remind you of your exes. To prove my point, we’re going to go item by item through this playlist of “X-Riffs”. I defy you to tell me that my life would be better off with any of these songs still in my main rotation…

 (…and no, I haven’t watched High Fidelity any time in the past three years…)

 (…and for the record, I still think of all these girls as extremely decent human beings, probably why none of the songs had the effect on me I was looking for. I wish I could say they had the same sentiments about me, but in some cases, I highly doubt it.)

 Track 1 – Love Song by 311

This song isn’t awful, in fact, 311 is unquestionably the greatest band that’s ever come into existence. But this cover of a Cure song is easily one of my least favorite songs they ever did. It also is so obvious to have on this list that it’s cliché. Gotta love a song that gives you something in common with millions of prom couples across the United States. The girl that it applies to has another song appearing on the list that is more uniquely hers anyway. Add on top of this that this was the featured track off of 50 First Dates, and I have no reason to listen to it anymore. That’s what we need more of – movies were Drew Barrymore appears remotely cute, luring in male viewers just so they can be ambushed by a kitschy chick flick. Adam Sandler isn’t innocent here either, but seriously after 50 First Dates, Fever Pitch, and The Wedding Singer, this cinema entrapment is approaching Chris Hansen proportions.

 (For the record, I keep waiting for the Director’s Cut of Fever Pitch with the alternate ending. You know, the more realistic one where a Red Sox fan stabs Jimmy Fallon with a bowie knife in the back for trying to sell his tickets over some girl with a smushed face, and is then drawn and quartered to all four bases in front of 40,000 raucously cheering fans.)

 Track 2- Best of Me by The Starting Line

This song is attributed to the same girl as above, except it came much later, as in, long after we broke up and then started talking again. The girl and the relationship both really weren’t bad at all. The breakup was another story. But imagine that you’re kinda talking to an ex again, but not seriously, and seeing these lyrics pop up in a song she sends you:

 here we lay again
on two separate beds
riding phone lines
to meet a familiar voice
and pictures drawn from memory
we reflect on miscommunication
and misunderstandings
and missing each other too
much to have had to let go

You’d probably feel the same way I did – “Holy Fucking Shit.” When you read this and realize that the “person on the other end” has a completely different idea of what’s going on than you, this becomes a modern version of “Every Breath You Take”.

 Now, read those lyrics again years later when there is absolutely no remnants of emotional attachment. You probably again feel the same way I do – “This song blows.” In the words of Ed McMahon, “You ah correct, sir! Ho ho ho!” Awkward the first time; crappy every time after…kind of like sex when you’re in high school.

 Track 3 – Bad Fish by Sublime

Here’s a slight twist – this song is fucking awesome. I love Sublime and this is definitely a classic summer song to chill to when you’re on the beach. So I definitely would be dismayed if I couldn’t listen to it because it reminded me of some old witch. But in this case, the ex in question and I can be described as “friendly”, “amicable”, and “generally neutral”. So whatever “history” is there (history in this sense has such a negative connotation, but so does “past”, “transpired”, and “events”, so I guess I’ll just use too many “quotes”), it clearly does not trump how good this song is. So this is an instance where the song isn’t bad, but neither was the ex, so nothing is ruined. In fact, it also exists in my normal playlist already.

 In case you’re wondering, if forced to chose between a song and a girl, I go with the song every single time. A song can’t cry for you to come over at 11 at night “to talk” just so they can say they “want to see more of you”. This actually happened to me, but with a different girl than the one above. Not ironically, a month later I chose “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey over this girl and her junior prom. Also not ironically, there are still some isolated pockets of Massachusetts where a deep and resounding hatred of me still exist.

 Track 4 – Because I Got High by Afroman

Hahahahahahahaha. Wait…hahahahahahaha. I won’t waste too much time explaining why this song is horrible and I have no need to listen to it ever again, but I will tell you how it made the list. My first legitimate girlfriend in high school was obsessed with this song and played it every time we were in her car. I didn’t smoke weed, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, neither did she. I want you to imagine the spoiled, self-obsessed daughter of a rich lawyer who doesn’t smoke weed singing “Because I Got High” at the top of her lungs. Now, I want you to imagine me dumping her ass the first week of school over the phone by saying “I guess I’m just not interested anymore.” Anyone who feels sympathy for her, well, you clearly weren’t in that car. This was the same girl who once gave me hand job under a pillow in her living room while her mother talked to us from the kitchen and her 12 year old sister sat on the computer across the room. My choice of lady? Classsssy.

 Track 5 – Hands Down by Dashboard Confessional

This is the only one that I still kind of cringe at, not because of the girl it reminds me of, but because a number of my friends know the personal significance of this song and have chosen to randomly torture me with it over the past few years. I think I talked myself into liking this song during the time this girl and I were seeing each other, but did the end of that ruin the song? Looking back now, there are definitely no other Dashboard Confessional tracks on my computer, nor will there be any in the near future. I much prefer Taxi Cab Confessional on HBO. Definitely not a song I missed out on.

 Track 6 – Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette

All I have to say is please don’t judge my taste in women by their taste in music. Just to make things clear, Alanis has no other residence on my computer, and wouldn’t have this one either if the girl hadn’t sent it to me and implored me to listen to the lyrics. The following night after that happened, things took a turn for the worse and declined faster than MC Hammer’s credit card at a fancy restaurant. A week later, it was all over. Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?

 I personally don’t think I’m missing out on anything. I would like to throw in one honorable mention of Glycerine by Bush. It didn’t make the cut because it was the song that first girlfriend and I ever broke up to in sixth grade. I remember the song making me feel remarkable sad for a 12 year old, but even today, it doesn’t necessarily cheer me up. Have you listened to it? Read the lyrics:

I’m never alone

I’m alone all the time

Are you at one?

Or do you lie?

We live in a wheel

Where everyone steals

But when we rise it’s like strawberry fields

 Actually, nevermind. Looking back, I don’t understand any of what that just said. Not to surprising seeing the song was named after a chemical compound often used in pharmaceutical formulations. But it doesn’t sound happy. Still, it isn’t so bad that I can’t listen to it. It’s merely okay. I’d feel the same way if sixth grade never happened.

 Let’s flip this around for a moment. Does that mean if a girl’s song didn’t make this list, or they didn’t have an associated song that they weren’t significant? I thought back through college and the only real girlfriend I had that didn’t have a crappy song make the list was a lady we’ll call “Tina”. Is this because on the first night Tina and I had sex, she said the line, “Do you really like me or do you just want to fuck me? I don’t really mind either way, we’ll still have sex, I was just curious.”? Is it because her screen name sounded like the bad poetry of a high school kid whose parents just got divorced? I won’t delve into her actual screen name here of course, but let’s just say it was along the lines of “Smothered Daisy33” or “Dying Angel56”.

 More realistically, I think it’s because she had a really good taste in music. Her favorite bands were the likes of Garbage, Nine Inch Nails, Foo Fighters, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Aerosmith, and Sublime. So the fact that Tina once tried to make out with my roommate and I in the same night is irrelevant – I dug her playlist, and wasn’t letting anyone ruin those good tunes for me.

 What does this all add up to? While I don’t think I’ve ever had good music ruined by a girl, only shitty music made worse, it would be plausible that it could happen in the future. However, for the most part I have found that great music stays good, no matter what foul mouthed vixen sullies it with her twatish antics. The one connection I do find with women and music and that I refuse to listen to some songs while dating a girl. I won’t listen to any songs about breaking up for fear of jinxing a good thing. If it’s a bad relationship, however, I’ll often listen to break up songs to get myself amped for the impending trashing of hearts. So if we’re dating, and we’re riding in the car together, and I start drumming the steering wheel hardcore when “I Used to Love Her” by Guns N’ Roses comes on and singing loudly, well…it might be time to update that dating resume, lady.

 Until next week, stay tuggled.

Ah, yes. It’s time to settle what thousands of years of wars and blood soaked disputes couldn’t, right here on Thanksdrinking. We’re going to decide which religion is the ultimate true and right belief system. The religions have been seeded and matched up and will be choosing delegates of their ethos to compete for the chance to move onto the ultimate battle royale. The catch? The competitions are going to be events chosen at random to help level the playing field. Over the next few weeks, the religions will be whittled down until only one is left standing that will become the official religion of planet earth. Are we mere weeks away from all being Quakers? I don’t know. Nobody does. That’s the exciting part.

I know I’m psyched at the chance to be a quaker.

Just in case you want to read up on the competitors, here’s the links to their background info:

Catholics - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CatholicismIslam - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/IslamJudaism - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/JudaismHinduism - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HinduismBuddhism - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BuddhismPentacostal - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PentacostalRastafari - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RastafariTaoists - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TaoistsSatanists - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SatanistsNihilists - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NihilismWiccans - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WiccaScientology - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ScientologyQuakers - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/QuakersGreek Mythology - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greek_MythologyHeaven’s Gate - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heaven%27s_Gate_%28religious_group%29Jehovah’s Witness - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jehovah%27s_Witness MATCH ONE: (1) CATHOLICS vs. (16) JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES The Game: Building an ice cream sundae 

In the first match of the tournament, it’s the prince and the pope-r (yikes, already?). The Catholics gained the first seed not due to values or membership worldwide, but simply because they proclaimed themselves to be and refused to consider any other option. The Jehovah’s Witnesses squeaked in as the tournament’s last seed, narrowly edging out the Episcopalians, the Huguenots, and Jonestown, then almost didn’t make it to the tournament in time due to traveling door to door.

The Catholics are represented by the Pope, looking confident in his freshly starched hat. Upon being asked how he keeps his robes so white and fresh, he ominously said “Holy Semen” and waddled away.

 He’ll face off against the underdog, performing artist, Prince. Now, I know what you’re all thinking – “I thought Prince was a Seventh Day Adventist”. He used to be, but he converted, possibly upon hearing the news that the Seventh Day Adventists didn’t qualify for the tournament. But the Joho’s are happy to have him on their side. The pope, meanwhile, has already condemned ice cream, not for its sinful amounts of sugar or hand in making millions of people obese, but for being pro-choice.

Prince, donned in an indigo crushed velvet suit that makes him only look partially gay, feverishly launches into sundae making mode. He starts by throwing a scoop of pistachio, a scoop of strawberry, a scoop of chocolate, and a scoop of bubble gum into a bowl, all while making faint grunts and moans. He then begins to squeeze a bottle of chocolate sauce in a swirling motion over the colorful consortium of cream before then tilting the bottle back over himself, sending a wave of sauce down the front of his suit.

The pope picks up a scoop of vanilla ice cream and places it in the dish before crossing it with his hand. “Blessed is the cream in my bowl,” he mumbles.

“That’s it?” a spectator says, “One scoop of vanilla ice cream?”

“My child,” the pope responds, “Because you have gone against the papal dessert, you are going to hell…sucks to be you.”

“Hey pope, I thought sundaes were for rest!” another guy yells, but before he can laugh at his own joke, the pope has thrown his holy staff javelin style across the room, piercing the man through the chest.

Prince has added sprinkles, bananas, cherries, a raspberry beret, and a generous dose of hairspray to his concoction. In a high-pitched squeak he says, “Bad sundaes don’t go to hell; they are annihilated from the earth”. Before the bewildered crowd can react, Prince straddles his sundae and begins wildly humping it, splattering ice cream everywhere. With bubble gum ice cream and chocolate sauce smeared all over the crotch of his skin tight velvet pants, Prince whispers, “This is what we think of the Holy Ghost.”

Before the judges can declare Prince’s colorful splatter of sugar and ice the winner, the Pope declares “all other ice cream’s besides vanilla to be evil and wrong.”

“Are you sure?” asks one of the judges. “What if we see it differently?”

“That’s never stopped us before,” responds the Pope. The judges shrug and award the VICTORY to the CATHOLICS. The Pope then takes the opportunity to also cast down a handful of glands, two brand new sexual positions, rodeos, Jake Gyllenhaal, and the 1989 line of Buick station wagons as sinful and hellbound.

 MATCH TWO: (9) SATANISTS vs. (8) TAOISTS The Game: Winning a dating game show 

The Satanists have chosen Marilyn Manson to be the face of their team, which will help improve their appeal with, well, no one. The Satanists are kinda like the Yankees, except if the Yankees never won anything. Nobody can agree on who they like, but they can all agree that they don’t like the Satanists. Maybe people are just close-minded. Maybe people just don’t feel comfortable around people who do blood sacrifices. Who knows?

Their opponents – the Taoists. Often overshadowed by their eastern counterparts, Buddhism and Hinduism, the Taoists have quietly thrived and built themselves a following. Their following of “The Way” and mission live a balanced life has helped the Taoists log the 8^th seed. The winner will go on to face that juggernaut of ecclesiastical doctrine, Catholicism. The Taoists will be represented by noted film star and ass-kicker, Bruce Lee.

Helping us in this match up will be the lovely Mindy. Mindy is a 26 year old cosmetics salesperson from Skokie, Illinois. She loves baseball, movies, and hanging out with friends. She hates margarine and rainy days. These two gentlemen will be representing their religions as they compete for Miss Mindy’s affections, and whoever she selects will not only get a date with her, but move on to the next round.

Mindy: Okay. Bachelor number one, what’s the most evil thing you have ever done?

Marilyn Manson: Uh, that is a common misconception about myself and my fellow worshipers of Satan; we do not view him as an evil entity, but rather a representative of alternative morals and individ…

Mindy: Boring. Bachelor number two?

Bruce Lee: I once break man’s sternum with single punch from one inch away.

Mindy: Ooh, I like a man who can protect me. Okay, bachelor number one, would you try and kiss me on a first date?

MM: As a tenant of faith, I would not be so forward unless you were to give a direct mating signal. That, and at this point, I’m not even sure what gender or sexual orientation I am. So I guess I’d have to play it by ear.

Mindy: Ehhh. Bachelor number two?

BL: I take your heart like a dragon and devour all those who block my path.

Mindy: Ooooh woooo woooo, good answer.

MM: That has nothing to do with Taoism or anything…

BL: Quiet, or I snap you in two. You ugliest woman I ever meet…bitch.

Mindy: Boys, boys, settle down. Not that I mind having two men fight over me, tee hee. Bachelor number one, what is your idea of the perfect date?

MM: Fine, I know what you’re trying to get out of me, so here it is…I would steal your soul and take you to the bowels of Hell where we would dance with demons and drink the blood of the…

Mindy: Ew, I hate places that are hot and humid, too sticky for me. Bachelor number two?

BL: You watch me beat shit out of one hundred chumps, then find perfect balance in nature as one in bedroom.

Mindy: OH, Bachelor Number Two! You are BAD! I’ve made my decision. I choose…Bachelor Number Two.

MM: This is bullshit.

Mindy: Come over here, baby.

BL (to Marilyn): Cry about it, emo.

MM: That doesn’t even make sense.

BL: (spits on Marilyn’s face, walks over, violently makes out with Mindy)

VICTORY: TAOISTS

 MATCH THREE: (5) BUDDHISTS vs. (12) SCIENTOLOGISTS 

Game: Achieving Enlightenment

The Buddhists enter the tournament as Far Eastern Hemisphere runner ups for the past fifteen centuries to the powerful Hindus. Trying to improve their chances in applying their eight fold path to the entire world, they’ve selected the charismatic Zen master himself, Los Angeles Lakers coach Phil Jackson to represent them. Jackson’s combination of self-meditation and triangle trap defense will make him a formindable opponent for anyone in this tournament.

They’ll be facing those wacky Scientologists led by none other than actor Tom Cruise. Cruise is the logical choice to represent them seeing as he paved the way into mainstream culture for other filthy rich people to be ridiculously crazy in public. Not only is this a religion that focuses on high beings from other planets aka aliens living in volcanoes here on Earth and all humans being different levels of creature, but it was founded by a god damn science fiction novelist. Come on. That’s like wearing Magic Johnson brand condoms. What part of a religion being invented by a science fiction author would lead you to believe that it is a good idea to base your life on it? Crazy or not, if Tom Cruise can power his way through, we’re all going to be talking about past lives and waiting for the mothership to return.

Phil Jackson starts by sitting Indian style with his hands extended out. He closes his eyes and begins to hum. He very well may be on his way to enlightenment. Tom Cruise, on the other hand, has rigged an antenna to an aluminum foil helmet to channel alien life forms. Failing to pick up on anything, he climbs into a helicopter and takes off to somewhere.

 Jackson appears to actually be levitating! Has he attained a higher state of being? No. Further inspection shows that he’s actually just propped himself up on the stacks of cash he’s accumulated over the years. “Money may not bring spiritual enlightenment, but it sure as hell makes me happy,” he reasons. Can we get a judges ruling? Doesn’t matter – Tom Cruise has just flown his helicopter into an active volcano and been subsequently immolated, giving the VICTORY to the BUDDHISTS.next week, the last five matches of the first round. Until then, stay tuggled.

1 Catholicism vs. 16 Jehovah’s Witnesses/Quakers

9 Satanists vs. 8 Taoists

5 Buddhism vs. 12 Scientology

13 Jainism vs. 4 Hinduism

3 Judaism vs. 14 Greek Mythology

11 Wicca/Pagans vs. 6 Pentacostal Church

7 Rastafari vs. 10 Nihlists

15 Heaven’s Gate vs. 2 Islam

Right now, chances are that somewhere on your block, a young man is propositioning the classy lady that he cherishes and respects if he can do her in the butt. She more than likely will hem and haw, maybe come up with a weak excuse, maybe say no out right, maybe give it a whirl. These days, it’s almost an inevitable part of the relationship evolution. On the first date, you say, “I’d like to see you again”. After a few months, you say, “I’d like to take this to the next level”. And a couple months later, you say, “I’d like to see if I can fit my square peg in your round hole.” You know what I always say, nothing says love like Astroglide. 

There are a few funny things about this. One, there is no easy way to ask about this. You can’t just approach the girl, no matter how well you know her, and just outright say, “I’d like to have anal”. The guy always has to kind of dance around it, but it’s not the same way they might dance around another question, like “can I skip out on dinner with your folks to go to the game with the boys?” That kind of stuff is typical and usually the guy will just try to point out the benefits for the girl so she’ll suggest that he goes, like “I want to give you your space; you should spend some quality time with your family without me”.

When it comes to anal, however, the guy can’t afford to be that direct. On top of that, the mere idea of it makes him feel a subtle giddiness like a kid searching for the Christmas presents two days early:

Guy – “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

Girl – “I don’t know…did you have something in mind?”

Guy – “(tee hee) I don’t know…maybe something new.”

Girl – “Like?”

Guy – “(pfft) Maybe we should experiment a little…”

Girl – “You want to video tape it?”

Guy – “(heh heh) No…”

Girl – “You want to use a vegetable? What is it?”

Guy – “(tssss) No, not really, something else, you know, like, something else…”

Girl – “Just say it, what do you want to do?”

Guy – “(hehehehe)”

Then it comes out in some kind of awkward fashion, like “I think I should fuck you in the ass” or “I want your rectum”. Here’s where the second funny part comes in: The girl’s response. As much as the guy is walking on egg shells to get to the question, there is no way he wants the girl to just give in to it right away. Most guys like their girls to be a little freaky, but any girl that is ready to just hop on board with anal is an instant red flag.

Guy - “I think we should have anal”

Girl - “Sure! Let’s do it!”

Guy - “What? Really?”

Girl - “Yeah! Let me just stuff my face in this pillow.”

Guy - “You aren’t afraid it’s going to hurt?”

Girl - “It really isn’t that bad after you get used to it. I actually love it.”

Guy – “You’ve done it before? Wait, how often do you do this?”

Girl – “Personally, I don’t need lube, but if you want, we can use KY jelly, Vaseline, or grape jelly.”

Uggh. Someone’s not getting brought home to mother.

So the girl has to give at a little resistance. The last awkward part is the afterglow, as in, what kind of a fucking afterglow can there be? You just went in the poop chute. There might be remnants of her lunch on your rodney, and she can’t sit down for 48 hours. There is nothing romantic about that. So do you just spoon, but awkwardly stick your hips back because you don’t want to make contact with her newly sensitive butt? Do you even spoon? It’s eerily similar to the position you were just in. But then you go face to face, and the guy has a strangely satisfied smile while the girl’s face is twisted in pain, like she’s got a bad sunburn. That can’t be much more comfortable.

It is with all this in mind that I present to you a balanced analysis of the role of anal sex in the modern relationship, weighing the pros and cons from both the perspective of the man and the woman.

 Men’s Point of View

 Woman’s Point of View

I’m sure some guys are sitting here thinking, “What the fuck is he doing? He’s going to ruin this for all of us.” You’re forgetting something. When do women ever listen to logic and common sense? Don’t they usually go for the wrong thing anyway? I’ve probably augmented your chances. Thank me later when you’re high fiving your buddies and reliving your romp in the rectal forest.

Until next week…stay tuggled.

            1 – “We need to talk”/ “I need to tell you something” – 68

            2 – “I saw your ex the other day…I think he/she lost some weight” – 14

            3 – “Excuse me, sir/madam, but is your license plate (insert yours here)? There may be a problem.” – 10

            4 – “I guess you had to be there.” – 7

            5 – “The abortion didn’t take. We might have to try again.” – 1

            6 – “I’ve got cupcakes!” - 0

The one I want to talk about in this space is #4. How many times have you told a story to a group of friends and nobody laughs and you say, “Oh it’s one of those things…I guess you had to be there” and all they can say is, “Uh, yeah”. You just feel this sudden weight in your chest, this letdown, this feeling of why did you even open your mouth? There’s that one awkward moment after where everyone kind of just looks around the room and sips their beer until someone asks “What’s the score of the game?” Well, unless you’re in Denmark, and then someone says “So…it still sucks to be Danish.”

It gets to the point where you start throwing it out there before the story even begins. “Oh check this out, well, you probably had to be there, but…” I mean, what’s the point then of even continuing the story? Sometimes you even have the one asshole friend who WAS there and after the story and says, “Actually, I was there and it wasn’t that funny.” God, I hate that guy.

Fortunately, I have someone in my life that saves me from being relegated into storytelling hell. The law of having to be there does not apply with him. We’re going to refer to him as “Larva Johnson” or “The Larva”. It’s not that the stuff that happens to the Larva couldn’t happen to anyone else, it’s that they happen to him and regardless of whether you know him or not, the story is still pretty damn funny.

First, to describe the Larva, he is a man in his 20s, on the bigger side, with a love for fine fast food, fine weed, nice clothes and cologne. He is extremely outgoing and friendly, but has a pension for grossly exaggerating any and all stories. For a simple example, we once won 15 games of beer pong in a row, an impressive feat and to this day, my personal best. But every time we’d go to a party for at least the following year and he would retell the story, we somehow ended up winning 29 games. I would correct him, but he would get agitated and fire back with some baseless argument like “NO, DOM, it was 29! I remember it distinctly!”

Back in college, his lifestyle was not exactly the healthiest. On the weekend, his day usually began at around 3 PM with the coughing up of phlegm that could be heard downstairs. Then he’d light a cigarette, come downstairs with his hands in his pants, and take a seat on the couch. He’d then put his bare feet up on the table (his feet are webbed, by the way, no joke) right next to where your food was sitting and say, “Who’s down for some McDonald’s?”

Ugh, I get chills thinking about it.

All the same, Larva Johnson is one of my best friends, a true character whose friendship is always highly rewarding in the form of hilarious stories. There was the time he drunkenly referred to the girl from the “Requiem for a Big Mac” article as “his kind of girl”. There was the time a rival fraternity was laying siege to our house and he was sitting in the corner having a borderline stroke from consuming too many Sparks Malt Liquor Energy Drinks. There was even the time he got angry at Jeff and I for not believing his grossly exaggerated story about a kid from his hometown selling weed out of an ice cream truck that led to the running joke “Larva deals AIDS out of an ice cream truck”. Consider this the ultimate test of the “I guess you had to be there” theorem. If you don’t laugh at at least one of the following stories, well, then… I guess you had to be there.

 Larva Johnson and the Nutty Fiasco

            So this was a few months before I graduated. A sorority that we hung out with was having their annual dessert buffet to support Cardiac Care, and I went with explicit instructions from the house to smuggle back as many goodies as I could. I arrived back at the house hours later with a plastic trey full of various cookies and cakes and donuts. Jeff and the Larva are sitting in the living room and as I set down the trey on the table, they start picking through to see what they like.

Now, Larva Johnson is DEATHLY allergic to nuts. In fact, when he was pledging, brothers used to throw pistachio shells at him because of it, which in hindsight may not have been a great idea (of course, I was the guy who once drunkenly discharged an entire fire extinguisher on a kid, leading to the evacuation of our basement, so I guess I can’t talk).

Regardless, Larva picks up a chocolate chip cookie and looks at Jeff and I, who are eating similar cookies.

Larva – “Does this have nuts in it?”

Me – “Yep.”

Jeff – “Yeah, peanuts.”

Larva – “I’m allergic to peanuts.”

Me – “I know. There’s plenty of other stuff that doesn’t have nuts in it.”

Now, any person with common sense and any bad nut allergy would say, “Okay” and move on. Not Larva Johnson.

Larva (observing the cookie in all its glory) – “Are you guys sure?”

Jeff – “Absolutely. I just had one.”

Me – “Yeah, man. Just grab one of the Krispy Kremes.”

Larva (narrowing his eyes) – “I don’t believe you guys.”

Jeff and I stare at him shaking our heads, munching away. Let me remind you, the Larva is a man who loves eating and he adores chocolate chip cookies.

Me – “Well, do whatever you want, but I’m telling you it has nuts in it.”

Jeff – “Don’t eat it, man. Seriously.”

Me – “We wouldn’t joke about something like that.”

Larva (still holding the cookie inches from his mouth) – “You guys are just messing with me, right?”

Jeff – “Nope. That thing your hand will kill you.”

Me – “Jesus, where’s your epipen?”

The Larva examines the cookie once more before cautiously taking a large bite. He munches slowly, looking like Donovan after sipping from the wrong cup in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Then he looks up and says, “Hey! There’s no nuts in this at all!”

Okay, so that is something Jeff and I would joke about. Had there really been nuts, I’m confident one of us would’ve physically stopped him. Or at least Jeff would’ve. The fact remains that Larva Johnson risked his life that day, and he risked it over a fucking chocolate chip cookie.

 Larva Johnson and the Graduation Party Piñata Incident

This happened the previous summer from the aforementioned Nutty Fiasco. A large group of us had gathered for a day of drunken revelry at the home of one of our friends who was hosting her graduation party. The party started early in the afternoon with both family and friends alike hanging out, eating burgers and dogs, and drinking a lot of beer.

So it’s later in the night. Many of the parents have left, but not all, and it’s mostly us drunken college students. However, the girl whose house it was had forgotten to put out the piñata for all the younger kids earlier in the afternoon, so she put it out at night for the few remaining kids. The problem was with most of the adults gone, they needed someone to hold the rope that kept the piñata elevated for the kids.

Enter the Larva. He comes wandering into the backyard from the street where he had just finished smoking a blunt in someone’s car. His eyes are red and glassy and he’s struggling to complete sentences. Between the beer he drank, the food he ate, and the herb he smoked, it was like he had somehow devolved back into Cro-Magnon times.

The rest of us instantly volunteered him to help with the piñata.

Graduation Girl – “Hey Larva, we need someone to hold the piñata for my cousins. Would you be down to do that?”

Larva – “Mmm….uhhh…buhhh…sure.”

So the rest of us are sitting on the patio, kind of laughing at Larva while drinking more and watching him struggle with the rope. He takes the rope and holds it lazily in his hand while swaying gently back and forth. At this point, he is a definite risk to just collapse on the grass and fall asleep in the middle of the party.

No one was ready for what happened next.

Graduation Girl takes her cousin, a pencil thin ten year old girl and puts a black blindfold over her eyes. She asks her if she can see, and the little girl says no. Graduation Girl (who I’d like to say is wasted, but can’t be sure) then hands her a brand new wooden Louisville Slugger and starts to spin her. She spins the girl about ten times, but when she is done, the girl is facing the Larva, not the piñata. Graduation Girl backs away and her cousin starts takes two confident steps forward.

At this point, she’s blindfolded looking at the Larva. The Larva is swaying gently, staring back at her, deadpanned.

 We’re all watching this still. I tap Justin on the shoulder and say, “Yo, what if she were to…” 

WHACK! The ten year old girl winds up and cracks the Larva across the face with the wooden baseball bat as hard as she can, thinking it’s the piñata. Catches him right along the jaw. He stumbles back to the ground; Graduation Girl runs over and takes the bat away. The rest of us are laughing hysterically. The Larva struggles to his feet and starts yelling “Ow! That really hurt!”

Amazing. This was amplified in awesomeness on two fronts: one, his jaw clicked when he talked for about a week after, and two, a few days later he was getting lunch during work and while walking across a parking lot, a guy wasn’t paying attention and backed his car into him, knocking him over before driving away while the Larva hobbled to his feet, screaming expletives.

You didn’t have to be there.

 Until next week, stay tuggled.

 Dominic, what do you really do for a living?

-         Matt Scarsone

          Flagstaff, AZ

This can’t possibly be all I do with my life, right? I have to do something to make a living, you’re assuming. Well, you’re wrong. The truth is that my father patented chocolate chip pancakes back in the 1970s and sold it to IHOP. Every time someone orders them, my family gets the royalty check. Whenever their picture is used, we get 10% of advertising costs, and when the advertisement directly leads to consumption of said pancakes, we get double. Some people don’t approve of how we run our business. Some people think that chocolate chip pancakes are the right of every free man.

Well, they’re fucking wrong. It’s a privilege. That’s where I come in. Rough ‘em up a little bit, shake ‘em down. Sometimes this can lead to rough goings ons, stuff you happy pancake eaters may not want to know about. This one time, at the Mr.Pancake Restaurant in Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin, I had to beat the manager to death with a bottle of maple syrup in front of a children’s birthday party before a waitress named Myrna finally coughed up the dough. On my way out the door, I saw someone eating a stack of pancakes with bananas in them. I had to choke that bitch with my own two hands until she went limp. It’s my job to make my family’s message clear; I don’t care how elderly that woman was: chocolate chip pancakes ain’t nothing to fuck with.

See, told you it was stuff you wouldn’t want to know about. Rough business. But you don’t get into pancakes to make friends. First, you get the pancakes, then you get the money, then you get the power, then you get the women.

 The first major article you wrote for this site was a tournament of drunken people. Which one of these people are you, and will there ever be another tournament?

-         Edith Winteringham     

          New Milford, CT

I’m glad you asked. The truth is that I am largely a mix between the 2 AM Drunk Heart to Heart Guy, the Bellegerent Frat Boy, Beer Munchies Man, and when the mood strikes, the “I’m So Drunk, The World is My Toilet” Guy. What this all adds up to is that I am pretty much intolerable to be around. A couple years back I even made a move to have my human liver replaced by a jar of pickles. Why a jar of pickles, you ask? Because those things are impossible to open. It’s like an impregnable fortress of salty cucumbers. It holds the alcohol without allowing it to harm my body until I pull it out and empty it like a dehumidifier up to 4 times a month.

 However, this led to some strange complications, ones that doctors to this day cannot explain to me. For one, I have an erection 24/7. Far be it from me to resort to a series of cheap jokes about my pee pee, but it’s true. I walk around with a continuous rodney. It is now to the point where I barely notice it for what it is at all anymore. And you wouldn’t believe this, but it actually makes for an incredibly handy coat hanger and/or hat rack.  Other changes include my left forearm sprouting full stocks of barley that have slicked back together intertwined into a sort of fur coat, and I now only have eleven toes, down from fourteen. Oh, and my sperm has completely transformed into drops of Guinness (it’s alive inside).

To quickly answer the other question: yes, there is another tournament in the works that should get started within the next month. This one will be pitting world religions against each other in an effort to decide the one true faith. We’ll have all your favorites, like Catholicism, Judaism, and Islam, as well as some big underdogs like Scientology, Wicca, and Heaven’s Gate. The twist? They’re not just competing through value systems, they’ll be competing at events chosen at random such as ping pong and inventing cool secret handshakes. The prize? Domain over all of this earth. Should be a good time.

 Dominic, I was deeply trouble to learn that there is an office called the International Maritime Bureau, whose job it is to track piracy. However, I was more disturbed when I found that they have reported a 10% increase in piracy in 2007, its first increase in the past three years. Where do you stand on this critical issue?

-         Christopher Bates     

           Dunwoody, GA

Mother fucking pirates, man. When I say that pirates are the only thing that gets my goat worse than banana pancakes, you know I’m serious. Here’s the article from the most recent attack:

http://www.breitbart.com/article.php?id=D8VR6TR80&show_article=1&catnum=0

Normally, I would applaud any attempt at raping the French of their dignity, however not when pirates are involved. I suppose this all goes back to my days as a youth when I had suffered from a traumatic experience. You see, I went to Disney World and there were many actors dressed up as pirates for a performance from Pirates of the Caribbean. Well, one of the actors lured me away from my parents and into a back room at Tomorrowland. I was only six at the time, so I didn’t really understand what was happening, but he told me we were going to play a game. A game for only special friends. He said that it would be our little secret and I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my mommy or my daddy.

Right as he started to reach out to me, a REAL pirate kicked open the door and stabbed the actor in the face with a rusty sword. Killed him dead on the spot. Then the pirate just laughed and said “ARRRR” and was gone. Thanks to that bastard, I’ll never know what fun game the actor had in store for me.

I recently found that it is possible to purchase art that has been painted by animals from a zoo to help benefit wildlife preservation. What kind of value do you place on these “works of art”?          

  -           Loretta McQuigley                        

              Fontaine, IL  

Well, my friend, I’ll tell you what. I am all about wiping my own feces on a papyrus shank and exchanging gifts with a panda.

This did get me thinking though. It’s nice to have a backup plan, just in case people suddenly start hating chocolate chip pancakes and the royalties’ money dries up. I saw how successful Brittney the Elephant was (http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080407/ap_on_re_us/animal_artists) and it got the gears turning. I’m currently working on teaching my cock how to hold and operate a paint brush somewhat effectively to create work that can be sold at the Porn Convention in Vegas. However, it’s not going so well, that 24 hour erection thing is really making itself a hassle. Consider me another tortured artist.

I went back and read that article about Brittney again and decided out of pure malice that maybe I’ll try my hand at ivory harvesting instead.

 I heard you had a baby! Congratulations!         

   -           Sophie Stinson                       

              Spokane, WA 

Thanks! It was delicious!

  Well I hope I was able to answer all your questions, feel free to write along with new ones. Until next week, stay tug

            “Yo _____________

                        Name 

How ____________ slow is the clock moving? I’m sitting in my _____________ just

             Expletive                                                                             Place

watching the seconds tick by, accomplishing _____________. What’s good for tonight?

                                                                            Noun

I’m thinking we might have to _____________ over to _______________ and pick up

                                                       Verb                        Shitty Local Bar

some _____________. Get at me later, _____________.

   Derogatory Word for Women               Animal 

                �