Lord Jeter, I worship humbly at your feet

Swooooon.

According to a recent report by the NY Post, following one-night stands, New York Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter refuses to let his lady-guests leave empty handed. Instead, when they climb into the car he's prearranged to whisk them away before they try staying for breakfast (that's gentlemanly in itself), they're greeted by a gift basket chock full of memorabilia signed by the future Hall of Famer.
Astounding. This man's generosity knows no bounds. Not only has he selflessly refused to be wed just so countless hoards of gorgeous women can continue to enjoy his gentle, yet robust love making, but he's offering them parting gifts as well?
It's undeniable, Derek Jeter is a saint. And yet he asks for nothing in return. But justice must must be served, so if he won't speak up, I will. And I solemnly vow to you here today, that from now until the day I die, I will vehemently argue that not only should he be a first ballot entry into the Baseball Hall of Fame, but that the maiden entry into the (yet to be constructed) Earth Hall of Fame be a bronze bust of Jeter, with three sincere words inscribed below: "Simply the best."
(You guys can't see me right now, but I'm singing "Simply the Best" and weeping openly)

I LOL'ed my balls off when they shot that guy through the eye

I think it's safe to say we're all glad to be rid of Osama Bin Laden, but is this really the right reaction? Have we stooped so low on the intelligence meter as a society that we're reacting to the culmination of a ten year manhunt for the most evil man on the planet with internet acronyms? That's just sad. How sad? Sad enough that I'm literally SMH.

But honestly, is anyone ever actually doing what these acronyms would suggest they're doing? Am I supposed to believe that when the driver of this truck witnessed President Obama announcing Bin Laden's death his reaction was to "laugh his ass off"? And if that was his actual reaction, doesn't that make him clinically insane? Some people reflected in quiet closure, some stormed the streets with American flags, but this guy just sat in his living room laughing uncontrollably like some very special kind of lunatic.

Then again, this may be totally legit, because with one simple glance down at his bumper we can see that proper reactive etiquette isn't exactly this guy's strong suit; "Hmmm, what is the right way to subtly tell the world my parents are both dead?... Why, the perfect way to tell the world anything they need to know of course, a personalized license plate!"

What else are you gonna do... NOT riot??

Since the city of Vancouver erupted following the game 7 loss by their Canucks last week, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I've seriously been missing out.  There's just something so inherently intriguing and eerily beautiful about the beast that is the sports-induced riot... and I want in.

"And this is me in front of Vancouver's famous raging street fire."

I want so badly to know what it's like to be swept up in the whirlwind that is a mass group of people simultaneously flipping some primal switch in their brains that leads them all, you included, to the same undeniable conclusion; "Flipping cars and arson is definitely the logical way to go here." Then, as if controlled by the mob itself, you proceed ransacking and/or destroying everything within reach until you are ruthlessly beaten into submission with a billy club.
Now I know that may not sound like fun to some of you, but imagine the unbelievable rush it must be to want it so badly that you do it in spite of knowing how it will end.  It's basically like having sex even though you know you might wind up with a baby. Speaking of which, these people found the best of both worlds in Vancouver (Side note: If you're reading this 9 months from now, you live in Vancouver, and your name is Stanley... these are your parents) (Side side note: If you're reading this at 9 months old you are some kind of record-setting baby genius who will inevitably rule the world with an iron fist and I'd like to preemptively pledge my loyalty and servitude to you, baby Stanley).
In the end, it's not a question of how logical or illogical rioting is. It's just a matter of me living my life never having been happy or angry enough about anything to turn over some helpless bastard's Camry, and that my friends, just isn't living at all.

The Texas Mind Police

What do you get when the FBI and your state police force follow up on a tip about a serial killer's dumping ground that contains dozens of dismembered bodies? Confidence in your well being and the peace of mind of a citizen who knows their law enforcement is fully committed to keeping them safe, that's what. Wait... what now? They got the tip about this mass grave from a psychic? Oh. Well... shit.
Are state police and the FBI really spending thousands of tax paid man hours searching for a place that fucking Miss Cleo told them existed? Why not just spend a week or two scouring the wardrobe for Narnia while you're at it?

"Something terrible has happened... a massive waste of tax dollars."

This story seriously floored me when I saw it, and considering the amount of retardedness (yeah, it's a word) carried out by law enforcement officials that's saying a lot. This is literally the real life embodiment of an episode of South Park where Cartman serves as the psychic liaison to the local police (sidenote: watch this episode if you never have, it's friggin hilarious), only the South Park police aren't quite as stupid, because they're fucking fictional cartoon characters.
So what's the lesson here, you ask? If you live in Texas it's high time you move the hell out, because your cops are taking their investigative cues based on the hunches of this guy.

John Cena: Ambassador to the world

Imagine you are in the crowd at the WWE 2011 Extreme Rules event. You are having a grand old time, throwing back beers and watching grown men wrestle in unitards (they still wear these, right?). The guy next to you has three teeth and his wife is holding a sign that says "Triple H can give me the Pedigree any time!" Jerry Lawler's weird chest hair is within mere feet of you. THIS, is America.
But just when you thought things had gotten as red, white and blue as they could, WWE Champ John Cena stands on the announcers table and drops this bombshell:

John Cena Announces Osama Bin Laden's Death To Crowd - Watch more Sports

 Are you friggin' kidding me? Did the guy from such cinematic masterpieces as 12 Rounds and The Marine just give us the breaking news we would have otherwise gotten from George Stephanopoulos? Did we just learn of a Navy SEAL incursion that brought to an end the reign of the most evil man of our time from this dude? Wait, did John Cena kill Osama Bin Laden?!

The best part of this video though is that the honorable Mr. Cena refers to Bin Laden's death as being "compromised to a permanent end." Then shortly after, if you listen closely, you can hear a confused audience member ask aloud "But is he dead?"

Now THAT's America.

Spider-Man: Turn On the Morphine Drip

The actor who tumbled thirty-five feet into the orchestra pit during a preview show of the perpetual Broadway shitstorm that has been "Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark" has vowed to return to the production when it resumes in June (no word yet as to the return of the bassoon player whose head he landed on).

Note to self: Webs not nearly as reliable as Bono said they'd be.

The brave thespian in question, Christopher Tierney, refuses to let a few broken ribs, a fractured shoulder blade, three broken vertebrae or a measly little fractured skull stop him from portraying the live-action web-slinger in the U2 helmed play. And I have to admit, that's pretty admirable. But you have to wonder what will happen when he returns to the perch from which he plummeted. Assuming that the actual safety issues have been resolved, I'd say there's still a 90% chance that the residual memory of faceplanting into the woodwinds section will at the very least cause the 31 year-old stuntman to wet himself whilst swinging wildly over the audience (bring your ponchos!).
In any case, here's to hoping Christopher's return to the show is a safe one, but that the show itself remains an unstoppable disaster. Why? Because fuck U2, that's why.


P.S. "Turn Off the Dark" doesn't make any god damn sense. Hey Bono, if you want to turn off the dark maybe try not wearing sunglasses 24 hours a day... Dick.

Hurricane Nic hits the Big Easy

Been hammered drunk in the French Quarter of New Orleans? Yup. Insisted that someone else's house is in fact your own? Done it. Gotten unnecessarily belligerent with police officers who were trying their best to just send you home and let you off with a warning? Yes, sadly I've done that too. But all in one night? No way. Surely such a maelstrom of awesomeness could not possibly be orchestrated by a mere mortal. Nicolas Cage however, yeah, he can do that. So he did.

"Wait, this isn't where I left our house."

Yes the crazy-haired Oscar winner found himself in police custody on Saturday after a boisterous and booze-fueled argument with his wife over whether or not the house they were standing in front of was the house they lived in (now that's drunk), caught the attention of local authorities. Though police did their best to calm the situation and let it slide (I imagine that is page one in the New Orleans PD handbook, seeing as how if they took in everyone who should be arrested on Bourbon Street it would require a holding cell roughly the size of New Orleans), Nic "dared" them to take him in (classic move, always ends well) and they eventually obliged.
Then, in a twist so amazing it made me pee my pants a little, Mr. Cage was bailed out by none other than Dog the Bounty Hunter. Yeah, this happened. And if you are anything like me you are praying with every fiber of your being that Nic jumps bail. Because I swear to God nothing would bring more joy to my life than to flick on A&E one night to the sight of Dog's giant-boobied wife macing Nicolas Cage.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, the over/under on how long South Park takes to dedicate an episode to this magical event is 4 weeks. I like the under.

A 65 million dollar slap in the face

Apparently, a $65 million settlement is now considered a loss.
It was reported today that Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss, the twins made famous for their legal dispute with the owner of Facebook, were "forced" to "accept" the court ruling that "all" they would receive from their case against "Jesse Eisenberg" was a measly sixty five mil. Tough break fellas.

Pity us puny humans, lest we destroy you.

I know how difficult life must have been for you so far, what with being tall, white Olympic rowers who attended Harvard and have a rich father, and now this? These guys just can't catch a break. In fact I heard there's been a recall on the tail light bulbs on Cameron's Maserati, and that Tyler's polo horse has strep throat and will likely miss the start of the spring season! Will the string of bad luck never end for the Brothers Winklevii?
Why is God so relentlessly cruel and vengeful? Why?!?!

Sex in high places

"I see no reason not to get fully naked here."

As far as places to have sex go, this one is pretty high up on the list. Twelve stories high if you're counting.
Two USC students were recently captured during their most intimate of moments (or however else you'd refer to a rooftop bone-a-thon in broad daylight), caught on camera enjoying one another's naked-time company high atop Waite Phillips Hall (where all of my classes are held, none on the roof as luck would have it). And now the hormonal young rapscallions are facing the wrath of perhaps the most steadfast enforcers of social etiquette... fraternity leaders. Wait. What?
Yes, apparently the fraternity that the young man belongs to is quite taken aback by this uncouth behavior and has launched an investigation. Wow. I don't even understand that sentence. I feel as though actions such as these require he immediately be promoted to fraternity president. Conduct unbecoming of a gentleman? Isn't that a prerequisite for joining a fraternity?
In fact I can't quell my suspicions that this was some kind of hazing, like the current leader of the fraternity took all of the freshman and gave them each individual tasks to complete: "You, clean up the poo I took on the lawn... you, steal a letter off the Omega house... and you, uh, I dunno... fuck on a roof."

Taylor's unpublished love letters

I read this headline and my imagination immediately ran away with me. Think of all of the possibilities.
Are these Lawrence Taylor's unpublished love letters to that underage prostitute (a girl whom, much to LT's credit, he did not pick up on a playground)? Or are they Taylor Hicks' secret correspondences with Simon Cowell that eventually won him the most clearly rigged season of American Idol to date? Or better still are they Taylor Lautner's clandestine exchanges with his sworn vampire enemies in which he declares his unholy yet undying love for Edward? Who knows?! So I read on , and alas, they are simply the immediate exploitations of a woman who passed so recently her body may not yet be cold.

"Of course I'm taking into account that our most private
exchanges will one day be made public. Why wouldn't I?"

Elizabeth Taylor just died. Is the first move really to slap her private love letters up on Ebay? She was only seventeen when she wrote these, is nothing sacred? I mean come on, would we take a chronicle of the devastating wartime hardships and pubescent struggles endured by an exiled teen and publish it for all the world to see? Oh... right (Yes, I still unabashedly endorse the use of Cliff's notes. It's a simple issue of time management people).
Anyway, don't go wasting the 75 G's that the letters of the late actress are expected to fetch at auction. I know a guy who will have the bootlegs available up on Hollywood Boulevard in no less than a week. Five bucks. You're welcome.

What was all that 2012 nonsense?!

So I know I've been a bit obsessed with this whole Armageddon thing (the event, not the movie, though I do still bawl like a baby when Bruce Willis sacrifices himself... so noble), but as much as I've accepted that the end is near I was under the distinct impression we had at least until the new year. That is, until I saw this on my way to work today:

 

 

 

Coming soon to a planet near you!

May 21st of this year people! I never thought the Mayans and/or John Cusack would intentionally mislead us this way, but whoever posted this billboard seems pretty confident as to when the shit is hitting the apocalyptal fan. 
This hardly seems like enough time to get my affairs in order (shut up, I have affairs). Though, if there is one silver lining at least we'll have time to catch the conclusion of March Madness. Well, unless Duke wins again, in which case I'm pretty sure we can blame this whole End of Days mess on the impossibly dark and evil soul of Coach K.

Note: Disregard this post if you are able to read it on May 22, 2011

I'm really not an angry person...

Nothing says Good Morning America like a chair through a window.
The recovery for the shattered image of R&B singer Chris Brown hit a bit of a snag this morning when an interview took a turn for the worse. And by a bit of a snag, I mean he went batshit nuts at Good Morning America after being asked a series of questions about his little "dust-up" with Rihanna back in 2009. Obviously, the best way to show that you are past that dark point in your life is to quietly dismiss questions about it, then promptly throw a chair through your dressing room window and exit the building a shirtless madman.

What? I think that interview went well.

I imagine Brown's handlers are just thrilled that he decided to go all "Chris Brown" on the exact day of his album's release too (maybe wait till next week to publicly lose your shit?). All I know is interviewer Robin Roberts should thank her lucky stars this segment was done on national television and not in a car on the way to the Grammys, otherwise things could've gone down very differently for her.
In any case, here's some advice Chris, if you're that sick and tired of being badgered about an incident that happened two years ago... too bad asshole. Maybe you should've thought of that before you made a girl look like she went 12 rounds with Apollo Creed.
It's not gonna go away buddy. Just ask Ike Turner. He's been dead for four years and yet he still isn't exactly remembered for his two Independent Music Awards. Boo-hoo. Deal with it you over-entitled, self-indulged, never-gonna-be-Usher-because-Usher-never-knuckled-up-a-lady's-face scumbag.

We won't let you kill the credibility of Warlocks

Not to dwell on this Charlie Sheen madness (he's been Sheening HARD for a solid two and a half weeks now, I assume without water, that's gotta be some kind of record), but once again a revelation has emerged that was impossible to let go.
In a recent rant that included Sheen finally admitting he has "Adonis DNA and tiger blood" and fessing up to the fact that he is a "bitchin' rock star from Mars," (which I had always been suspicious of anyway) he also casually dropped the truth bomb that he is indeed a Warlock.
What he failed to see with his "highly evolved brain" though, was the backlash this statement would cause from one very prominent and highly regarded group... the Warlocks.

First of all, Charlie can't even fly through space.

Yes, the actual Wicken community headquartered in Salem, Massachusetts (might wanna consider a relocation, I heard some pretty rough shit went down for you people there a while back) is up in arms about Mr. Sheen's casual decree that he is one of their own. A spokesman for the slighted Warlock community cited that Sheen's comments were "a blatant offense against our ways and our teachings" and that while Charlie is a crack addled nut job (liberal paraphrasing), Warlocks are "peaceful and enlightened" and "have the ability to communicate with the dead and learn from it."
Simply astounding. Each successive news story born of this mess is somehow even more insane than the last. Charlie Sheen vs. the Warlocks? This sounds like the drunkest MadLib I've ever done. And I don't care how sick of it you people are, I am still sitting back and loving it with all my heart. While also trying to wrap my head around just how batshit crazy you have to be for a Warlock to be like "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't lump us in with this psycho."
In any case, I have a feeling this will all be resolved very soon. Because if Warlocks really do have the ability to communicate with the dead, something tells me they'll be able to pencil Charlie in for an exclusive interview in the very near future.

A lesson in athletic decorum

Late last week when Brigham Young University kicked their second best player off the basketball team, which was at the time the #3 team in nation, it was a huge story. Not because it's that rare for a player to be dismissed from his team for violating school conduct, but because BYU's particular conduct policies were a little more strict than most realized.
Yes, poor Brandon Davies was kicked off the team for, what are the kids calling it these days.... getting his consensual swerve on.

Time to transfer?

Meanwhile, Ben Roethlisberger is readily whipping his dong out whenever he feels like it whilst leading his team on another long playoff run, and Michael Vick is being handed the key to the city when just three short years ago he was electrocuting puppies (Seriously. Electrocuting puppies. That sounds like #2 on a young Charles Manson's "What I did over summer break" show and tell list).
So who's to blame here? Simple. Brandon Davies.
Why Brandon? Why on earth would you voluntarily attend a school that's motto is effectively "Yes means no"? As an elite athlete it is your destiny to take the road more travelled, the one that leads you on the path to complete immunity from the law and/or any constraining societal standards. You are meant to enroll at a school that is more than happy to cover up that measly double murder you "may or may not have played an integral role in" (I hear Miami calling). Or at the very least, a school that admits there's nothing wrong with a little bit of bump 'n grind.
To put it simply, if your goal is to parlay your basketball scholarship into a mandatory religious missionary trip and possibly meeting a few of your future wives (you can look, but don't touch), then by all means, the Stormin' Mormons (that's what they're called right?) is the team for you. If not. Go to a regular school my man. And promptly up your game from consensual sex with your girlfriend to masterminding a child slavery ring. Because hey, you're an athlete, and you earned it.

Whoever smelt it created this revolution in their minds

I usually shy away from political commentary. Mostly because I find it endangering to your credibility as writer to tackle subjects on which you are utterly unqualified and uninformed. I'll stick to poop jokes and figuring out what kind of person you are based on your favorite Ninja Turtle, thank you very much.
But this one was too rich to resist, even for someone who has legally tested as politically retarded.

I can't be the only one who thought this was Carlos Santana

Libyan leader Moammar Gadhafi has resorted to the "I have no idea what you're talking about" defense. When interviewed by ABC News regarding the current political unrest in Libya (I'll tell ya what's in unrest, my wallet over these hiked up gas prices. HAYOOO!), Gadhafi simply replied "Nah, that's not happening." Despite a MASSIVE amount of video evidence that suggests otherwise, he stuck steadfastly to his story, insisting there have been NO demonstrations against him and added "My people love me."
If you're running that interview, what do you say to that? How thrown are you by this man's astounding gall? I mean, his insistent denial of what is undeniably fact has got to put a real kink in your line of questioning. It's basically like when you're in a car with one other person and a hot fart-stink rises amongst you. Now, you know you didn't fart, and your traveling mate's response is "I don't smell anything at all," even though there are tears running down their face and the air in the car has turned a musty tint of green. Yeah, it's basically like that, times a billion.
I honestly don't know what my overall point is here. I guess I kind of just wanted to point out the sheer balls it takes to straight up deny impending revolution. So say what you will about Moammar Gadhafi, but the kid's got moxie.

Post-Oscar Grades

Well the Oscars aired last night, and hopefully, unlike me, you didn't waste a brutal 3 hour period of your life watching them just for the sake of comedy. Because I have to say, not worth it. I mean the Oscars are pretty consistently boring and horrible television, but they may have set the new high watermark this year. At one point it became so dreadfully slow that Jude Law's hair actively began retreating.
Anyway, in case you missed it I'll sum up the 2011 Oscars for you with my easy to read (even for my readers) post Oscars report card:

I see no reason why this is going to blow.

James Franco: The dashing young co-host seemed out of place and looked about as comfortable as he did when he was stuck in that cave for 127 hours (not to mention it was pretty clear he'd have been willing to cut his own arm off to get the hell out of there). While I do respect that he read his lines off the teleprompter like he was really high, but not too high to function, I gotta say, he was pretty much awful..... he gets an F.

Anne Hathaway: The young, hip co-host made the point of interjecting forced quips about the young, hip new Oscars the entire night. Refusing to let the fact that no one laughed, deter her from rehashing them incessantly (that's the mark of good comedy). She also seemed unaware of the fact that she was mic'd as she cackled like a maniac at her own jokes, likely causing brain damage in the people working audio behind the scenes. I did however, enjoy when she closed the show by WOOOOING like a drunk Spring breaker and high fiving the Staten Island choir kids (What? Yes that did happen) so hard I assume she shattered all of the bones in their tiny little hands.... she gets a solid D minus.

Kirk Douglas: Um, first of all, props for still being alive. That's a solid chunk of points right there. Second of all, you know the show was rough when a man born in 1916 provides, by far, the best comedic moment of the night. It's hard to say whether it was when he basically said he had a boner for Anne Hathaway, when he fought over his cane with the dude on the stage, or when he made all the supporting actress nominees squirm as he prolonged the announcement of the winner as long as he could, but it was definitely one of them. In any case, if this year is any indication of where the Oscars are headed, I say we let them die when he does.... but for Kirk, it's an exemplary A plus.

Melissa Leo: The best supporting actress winner takes the MVP award for 2011 thanks to her dropping of the F-bomb being the only moment of the show that wasn't poorly scripted and awkwardly executed. I only hoped Christian Bale would insist on out cursing her with his swarthy ginger pirate beard, but alas it was not to be. As for Melissa though, the only slip up that kept her from getting a perfect grade was when she humorously tried to show how blown away she was by walking off stage with the help of Kirk Douglas's cane. Which would have been a lot more cutesy if not for the look of terror on Mr. Douglas's face that screamed "Yeah haha we get it, but I seriously need that thing, you have no idea how much it hurts to walk!"... she gets an F 'in A minus.

Overall: Just a big fat, veiny F.  An almost impressively terrible experience that somehow managed to retroactively ruin my entire weekend. Oh and by the way, thanks for the lack of sleep I'm sure to endure for the next month or so, as your weird Zombie Bob Hope will undoubtedly be haunting my dreams.

How not to get pirated

Not to seem insensitive in the wake of yet another violent ocean hijacking, but ummm... what the hell is wrong with you people?!
I have somehow managed to go my entire life without being pirated, and honestly it's been pretty easy. I also know quite a few boat owners (yes it's true, I'm poor, but vaguely acquainted with the well-off), none of whom have been beaten, nor bloodied, nor pillaged, nor plundered by sea-ruffians. And do you know why that is? It's because when they take a vacation they don't gas up and head for the horn of Africa.
Honestly, it's like flying your plane exclusively over missile testing sites, or driving your Mercedes through Compton with a KKK sticker in the window. It's not prudent, and I'd advise against it.

Maybe don't ignore these buoys...

I don't know if it makes me callous but I just find it hard to feel bad for people who sail their yachts into the pirate capital of the known universe and are subsequently killed by, get ready for a shock... pirates (or a tick-tocking crocodile for that matter). Thanks, but I'll reserve my sympathy for people who lose their lives doing something a bit more noble, like saving a baby from a burning building, or serving their country, or even the guy who gets hit by a bus while delivering Domino's on his bicycle at 2am (and he never makes CNN).
Anyway, until tomorrow, stay safe, and don't go gettin' yourselves pirated.

Say it ain't Sumo

Your days of looking admiringly upon the grace and purity of Sumo wrestling are officially over. Why, you ask? Because the fat fix is in.
News surfaced recently that three prominent wrestlers admitted to match fixing, with no telling how many more were involved. The case was cracked when text messages in which fighters pre-arranged the outcomes of their matches surfaced. One such message read as follows:

Tqakje mwe oiut iobn tuhre 2mnd reounfd. LKOPL.

Of course, once that dubious message was deciphered by an expert fat-finger translator, its words rocked the very foundation of the sumo world:

Take me out in the 2nd round. LOL.

Shocking, indeed.

This scandal is only one of several that have tarnished the great Japanese tradition of late, adding fuel to the already burning fire caused by the underwear stuffing fiasco and the illegal weight-gainer ring (executed masterfully with the smuggling of hyper-creatine in booby-folds). Not to mention reopening the wounds of past match-fixing allegations (1990's WWF fans will recall the public outrage at the revelation that the outcome of star Yokozuna's matches were actually predetermined).

As a fan, all I can say is that I am simply disappointed. You hold these men up (not literally, that's just asking for a massive spinal injury) in such high regard, only to be let down over and over again. I for one, am through. I can't deal with any more corruption in what is supposed to be an honorable sport. I have taken the poster of Chiyotaikai down from over my bed, and have offered up my official replica Takohana diaper to the local Salvation Army. 

It is indeed, a sad day in Sumo.

The best kind of air-mail

Drug smugglers will do anything to get their product into the U.S. And they always will. As long as we share a border with Mexico (and I don't think sawing America off below San Diego is an option) drug runners will find a way to conduct their business. Each and every time one method is brought to light by the authorities, a new method is concocted. There have even been instances of intricate tunnel systems which are fully equipped with lights and large enough for cars to drive through (Yeah, apparently that wasn't just made up for Fast & Furious... shut up, you saw it too). But compared to this latest idea, those inordinate tunnels that likely took decades to secretly construct were child's play...
I give you, the weed catapult.



Yup. That's it. They finally said "Well they catch us every other way, let's just fucking throw it."
Be honest, you have to admire the genius in the simplicity of this idea, and the reactions it's caused (though I'm sure ABC's morning hosts wouldn't be laughing it off on television if they were flinging bricks of heroine, and they probably are). I bet right now stoners all across Arizona are sitting in their mom's living rooms praying one gets away and they suddenly hear the pitter patter of a substantial brick of marijuana arriving on the roof.
You have to wonder though, is this a slippery slope? With this modern medieval technology, how long before hopeful immigrants begin simplifying their journey into the U.S. by launching themselves skyward? I say not long at all. I also say automatic citizenship for anyone who survives, because that is AWESOME.

That IS a crazy sale!

Well, I saw this in Koreatown this morning, and I have to say it is more than a little troubling...

"Made in Korea Man Suits" for only $99.99?!  That really is crazy!  By setting the price of man suits so low the proprietor here is setting a truly dangerous precedent.  Think about it.  If we go around selling cheap man suits all willy-nilly, there's no telling how many wild animals, robots, or even aliens are snatching them up at a discount price and infiltrating our society unnoticed.
Your priest?  A robot in a made in Korea man suit recording data of your darkest sins.
Your deli guy?  A Cellulon from the planet Gorak 7 in a made in Korea man suit studying the eating habits of the human species.
Your neighborhood friendly hobo?  A great white shark in a made in Korea man suit who only asks for spare change in hopes that you'll come close enough for him to bite your face off!
So be wary citizens, keep your eyes peeled for suspicious characters who give off a not-so-human vibe.  And join me this Saturday in MacArthur park for a formal protest demanding a government sanctioned price floor on the sale of man suits!