Thursday, December 29, 2011

It's the Edge of the World As We Know It, The Edge of the World and We'll Show It

At least this Malcolm Gladwell
knows what's going on.
Christopher Columbus had it wrong. No, not about the enslavement of various indigenous people. Oh wait, he had that wrong too. But the bigger wrong was his whole claim of living in a perfectly spherical world that someone could sail all the way around. It's obvious to anyone who has ever looked at a map, this is wrong. The world is two dimensional. The world is flat.

Not only can you not sail around it, you can't fly, motor scooter, segway or tricycle around the whole thing. Were you to even attempt that, you'd end up victim of a sea monster death as you pedaled off the side of the world.

But why have so many subscribed to this myth of a round world? Two words for you—globe makers. They know if their horrible secret ever comes to the surface, they are out of the business. Suddenly their lucrative basketball-transforming business is usurped by their 2D enemies. And this is something the Global Globe Conspiracy Conglomerate will not stand for.

Every step of the way, the Global Globe Conspiracy Conglomerate has put down all theories of flat world.

When REM recorded the top 10 hit “End of the World,” they originally planned on using it as a platform to get the truth out there. Analysis of the original lyrics reveal that the megaband originally planned on revealing the truth about the edge of the world. Sure, the refrain was exactly the same, because it just talked about the “end of the world,” but Michael Stipe's intonation was totally different. Especially the part about Leo-nard Bern-stein. However, the conglomerate wouldn't allow this to occur. They made the inflections change and blocked society's first insight into the actual shape of the planet.

Normally this wouldn't be too large of an issue, because conglomerates lie to us all the time. But with 2012 knocking at our door, I suddenly realize how the world will end. It won't be Ragnarök, nor an evil space meteor, nor the rise in popularity of “Jersey Shore.” Nope, it will most certainly be falling off the edge of the world.

But don't worry, having the entirety of existence collapsing amongst itself and being devoured by something that should have technically collapsed with the rest of existence isn't as bad as it sounds. Paradoxical, yes. Bad, not really. There are ways we can survive through this.

We could always make the world a round place. I have quite the experience with balloons, and I know when they come to you, they're rather flat, or “two dimensional.” However, with a little bit of helium, these bad boys inflate to comparatively gargantuan proportions. If we just unleash oodles of helium into the atmosphere, suddenly the world will “balloon” up, and sea monsters will disapate.

Track this game down. Do not do
as they do on the cover.
However, there will be a ton of helium in the air, and everyone will talk like some stereotypical cartoon character. Obviously that will not do.

Anyone who has played the early 90s game “Lemmings” knows how this works. One “lemming” will wander off the edge and die, yet the others will not be dissuaded from following suit and plummeting to the death. In this metaphor, the “lemmings” are actually “countries.” That's right, entire bodies of land will wander off the edge of the world to be eaten by unholy sea monsters. That is, of course, unless some sort of Bulgaria or Vatican City steps up as a blocking lemming. Then everyone can live happily ever after.

So when that clock strikes 2012 in a couple days, you really don't need to worry. The Mayans might have predicted the world would soon end, but “Lemmings” had not yet been invented. They did not know humanity would figure out a way to circumvent impending doom.

Monday, December 26, 2011

How did I go so long getting off mascot-free?

“What better way to start the day than with a post on BreakMentalDown and some vodka?” And with that quote from Break Mental Douglas, my blog finally has a mascot.

I didn't always intend to have a mascot, but the spirit of the Christmas season actually inspired me to create him. Just think about it, why is this holiday always such a successful one? It's not the fact that oodles of presents are given away for no reason, or holiday candy is filled with delicious peppermint. Don't even try and claim “family togetherness.” The real reason Christmas has taken the collective consciousness of billions of people is because the big guy himself, Santa Claus, the unofficial official mascot of Christmas.

And in a similar fashion, Break Mental Douglas will bring the joyous overweightedness of Santa to all of my posts. Sure, he might speak in a surlier fashion, and some of his statements are borderline racist against the Macedonians, but they DO really deserve it. All in all, he will be my mouthpiece in a way my words could never hope to be.

With Break Mental Douglas, not only do I join Christmas with my mascot-having, I meet up with 7-Up, Domino's Noid and Scientology's Tom Cruise. Heck, even the veal industry has their mascot in Cagey, the happy-go-lucky calf tenderizer. It seems weird that I waited so long to come into the fast paced world of mascoting.
Looks like Cagey happy-go-luckily caught
another baby cow!

Now that you've already seen what he looks like, you're probably wanting to know his personality. It's not enough to just know that the Trix rabbit is malformed and probably was raised on a diet of mutagen, you need to know that he also has an insatiable hunger for crappily flavored cereal. Who cares about Crazy Frog, if you don't know he likes playing ring tones? Wait, scratch that... who cares about Crazy Frog?

Aside from loving to read BreakMentalDown and having an alphabetically shaped body, akin to Calista Flockhart, there's much to get to know and love about Break Mental Douglas. He really loves macrame—considers it the true form of window covering creation. And, speaking of covering windows, his body ironically enough is incapable of doing that, due to the non-opaque nature of his body.

Just imagine the skits and trouble he can get into when you combine those two factoids. Soon I'll launch various marketing initiatives showcasing Break Mental Douglas. I'll put him in the comical situations that can only be gotten out of when he quips “You do realize Alexander wasn't so great, right?” While that only works on his Macedonian targets, they're a vocal and vengeful group who will give him much (hilarious) sass!

Also, I initially planned on having him take up some jingoistic mantle and take down Kim Jong-Il, but recent developments on that front have already shown Break Mental Douglas (and his home blog... succeeded on that front. Evil dictators of the world, take note, you just might end up having an unrelated massive coronary that Douglas will definitely take credit for. You have been warned—I'm looking at you current president/dictator/king/overlord of Macedonia... if said country still exists.

Now that you've learned about Break Mental Douglas, I'm certain you love him. You love him so much that you'll want to buy into my complete line of merchandise, from water bottles to lunch boxes to nuclear reactors (complete with free “Tasty Goo”) to POGs. And that is completely understandable, because I want all of those things too. We just need to make Break Mental Douglas get big, and then success and relentless commercialization will be the reward we reap.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

A Festivus Miracle!

Even former Wisconsin Governor
Jim Doyle celebrates the holiest
of holidays
Twas the night of Festivus, and all through the Eastern borough,
Not a creature was stirring, not even those yuppies, usually quite thorough.
They say this holiday is for the rest of us,
You, me, and even little Gus.
Most holidays are so bland and stereotypical,
they can't hold a candle to the Festivus miracle.

What's this? Three unwise men brought a bounty of bagels. Bagels, no, Festivus, yes.
For reasons you most certainly can guess.
Despite their transgressions, we welcome them to the table
To regale in the renowned Festivus fable.
When a father set out through the Christmas crowd,
He braved them to make his son proud.
However, when a doll could not be had for a little Costanza,
A tragic end was brought to this stanza.

From that horrible experience, gave rise to Festivus,
A holiday designed for the rest of us.
And with poles of aluminum, feats of strength and the airing of grievance,
The holiday truly lives up to its contrivance.

The pole, that Festivus pole, is truly the holiday's hero.
Free of distracting tinsel, and with a high strength to weight ratio,
Makes us wonder, what can we do as we gather round this pole?
I know! We can prod and critique, slam and cajole.
The airing of grievances shall commence
Who'd like to start and give someone their comeuppance.
“Occupy Wall Street,” the grievances take to the air.
“Occupy Main Street,” comes grievances number two, making an unlikely pair.
“Feats of strength?” says griever number one.
“Feats of strength!” the other piles on.
Festivus isn't over till one is pinned to the ground,
But who knows who could win, they're both so round.
With cheats and lies, griever number one rises to the top.
His victory makes this ridiculous thing stop.

And that right there is the true Festivus miracle.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Last 7/11th of a minute shopppers finish Christmas shopping at 7/11

As time ticks closer and closer to Christmas Day, you're more and more likely to set out on a last minute shopping excursion. I'm not here to criticize, because I think this trend is a great one. What's even better about it is because all actual stores have sold out of their “good” product by now, you can skip them entirely. This leaves you with only one option—7/11, or as I like to call it, the last minute shopping mecca.
Ho Ho Ho!

Where else can you both get Slurpees and condoms and... more Slurpees? If you say anywhere aside from 7/11, you are definitely wrong. That's a false mecca. Sure, you might have been planning to hold out and snatch up a Fijit or LeapPad on Christmas Eve, but we all know that's not going to happen. You would have just as much success creating a time machine and traveling back to 1996 to purchase a Tickle Me Elmo.

With just a little bit of an imagination, any of the fine fine products sold within a 7/11 can make a phenomenal gift—one so good, I'm sure your offspring will regale you with statements of “It must have taken you at least two minutes to make this!” Which makes them think you did 100 percent higher than you actually did and is truly the mark of any successful last minute shopper.

Here are just a couple great ideas to make 12/25 into a 7/11 experience.

Sack of Slurpee. It's well known the only thing 7/11 turns out is the Slurpee. However, the inherent cold nature of this slushy bit of goodness doesn't translate well to sitting under the tree. That doesn't mean you should avoid this as a present, it means you should embrace it! Go to the store and fill up your Slurpee cup, then drop it the liquid in a smuggled in Ziploc bag. Repeat, twice. Over the next couple days it will morph into a new present. Into a Sack of Slurpee.

False accusations that you stole a can of Coke Zero at one am when you were actually just in there to get one of their weird Tornado Dog things. Although, I might have been the only one to ever get this. Especially when I quite clearly finished off the can as I walked in the door.

Mr. Doughnut Head Man. What better way to own a piece of movie memorabilia than to counterfeit it? When Garth so bravely stabbed “Mr. Doughnut Head Man” in the first Wayne's World, he created this piece of movie memorabilia rife for recreation. The store will not only provide the doughnuts, but also the straws to glue him together.
Use this scene as inspiration for your
copyright violation.

Moat. The Super Double Big Gulp has approximately 317oz. Most medieval moats had somewhere south of 200 oz. of fluid in them, so this makes for a perfect combination. Plus, your moat will taste like a Diet Coke/Mountain Dew/Sprite/Coke Zero/Small amount of Slurpee/Fanta Kamikaze. Evil orcs would be proud to drown to death in a concoction so deliciously sweet.

A human hand. They have them, they sell them. However, the only way to get them is to ask for them. And please, don't ask for them.

Lottery Tickets. Sure, technically a kid can't use lottery tickets, but if it's a winner, nothing says you have to let said kid keep ticket. It's a win-win experience, except with for the near certainty that you will end up a loser in this transaction.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Not twinkling Christmas lights--what a bright idea!

How to cause an epileptic seizure in three easy steps.
1. Get twinkling Christmas lights.
Hmmm, I guess that's all you really need.

I realize I wrote about Christmas decorations just a couple days ago, but my thesis in that one involved burning things to the ground to create a brilliant light display. But brilliant light displays generally do not cause epilepsy, and as I said at the start, that is our goal.
Even Chevy Chase knows full body
electrocution is preferable to twinkling.

When twinkling lights first get strung up, they probably have a pleasing constancy to them. They go on and off at regular intervals. They do not stay off for ages and then turn on in a blinding blast that causes several passing motorists to crash in a firey fire ball that probably actually pleases the writer of this blog. Not because of the inherent death, but because of the actual amazing light show. One that Christmas lights could never even hope to recreate.

However, my neighbor from up the street seems to really want to recreate this scene. He strung up his entire roof with lights from eve to eve, and while I'm totally cool with that, they twinkle in who knows what kind of rhythm. They'll go on then turn off for 2 seconds, on for two, off for two, on for 18, off for one, on for pi, off for the imaginary number I, on for light year, off for three. Repeat.

The entire lack of rhyme and reason is enough to drive someone insane, especially if they are watching TV and can only see the lights out of the corner of their eyes and they think it's some sort of mystical ghost floating over the neighbor's house, and they might think they should call in some sort of exorcist to prevent a subdivision wide ghoulish infestation. So about every ten seconds they need to take their eyes off the screen to look over and say “Oh, it's the stupid lights.”

In case you hadn't figured it out, I was actually the pronoun “they” in that previous paragraph. To the best of my knowledge an infestation hasn't occurred, but the bizarre way they display their yule-tide joy might be a serious sign of some freaky hauntings.

I'm not asking them to stick to some sort of boring schedule, like two on, one off, two on, one off. I realize that could get kind of dull and monotonous, which is not something people strive for in this holiday season (with the exception of Christmas music). 

You get a pass, Rockefeller Tree, because I've only
seen you in pictures, and those pictures don't twinkle.
All that I ask is that they sync it up with something, anything. At least if they synced it up with LMFAO, I would have known they were sexy and they know it, sexy and they know it, sexy and they know it, hey! But they didn't even do me that common courtesy. They could even pair it with episode 131 of the original run of the original Mickey Mouse Club, as long as they could prove things actually synchronized. Sure, I'd still question their logic, rationale and sanity, but I'd applaud their use of found footage to make their Christmas merrier.

Christmas was an inherently religious holiday, and while I've never read any sort of scripture, I'm sure in it they would have railed against epilepsy and death and mushrooms. As a result of that, we should also go against all these things by not supporting twinkling lights. If we want to light things, we can, but just not in a fashion that also includes unlighting and relighting in ridiculous intervals. Only then can we have a merry Christmas.

Monday, December 12, 2011

An excellent way to gum up everything? Chewing pink bubblegum

America, I don't want to sound alarmist, but a great menace besieges us. It's responsible for more deaths than cancer and even less fun than having to watch Chrismas carolers. It will be our undoing. It is pink bubblegum.

I know I'm not alone when I proclaim pink bubblegum as one of the nastiest things ever invented. I'm including ricin and bubonic plague on that list of awful too—pink bubblegum is far worse. As they were inventing it, they made sure to include the rogue's gallery of disgusting. Awful taste? Check. Revolting color? Check. Hideous aroma that gives anyone within a 20 foot radius a mind numbing headache? Check.

I realize I might be the only one who falls into that latter category, but the mere existence of that group of one shows the sheer evil of pink gum. Why would they make something that causes anyone a massive headache. Oh wait, I amend that statement, weapons manufacturers make weapons that cause death and destruction, but those products are marketed for their death and destruction capabilities. They don't sell WMDs as a flavor experience that all kids everywhere should enjoy.

And that is why the people who make pink gum are evil. Pure evil, like Bond villain evil evil. Although I suppose it makes sense one brand of pink bubblegum is called “Bazooka Joe.”
Original name was "Anthrax Joe," probably because
of all the anthrax in him.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not against all forms of gum. Some gums are actually quite tasty or have amazing ad campaigns (Yikes! Stripes! Fruit! Striped! Gum!), and I do readily consume those. Five Solstice gum is a flavor explosion where the taste just doesn't stop.

But the pink menace is one that very well could be the undoing of our country. This is a frankenfood forced upon the masses. Even Wikipedia doesn't know what the hell goes into the gum. Here's a verbatim quote from the entry “it is made from synthetic chemicals, such as ethyl methylphenylglycidate, isoamyl acetate and others, and fruit extracts, the true ingredients being kept a mystery to customers.”

You know with so many prefixes and suffixes, the makers of this are up to no good. Also, I'm pretty sure the last time I had isoamyl acetate, it was actually anthrax. That's right, you can purchase anthrax anywhere, up to and including your local armory and even the 7/11.

All that secrecy is not to protect a trade secret of some sort, because that would be like protecting the secret formula for how to make an episode of “Two and a Half Men.” Nobody cares to copy it, because it just isn't good.
Pink gum is a slippery slope towards Violet
turning violet.

With all these negatives attached to it, why do they still make pink bubblegum? Some could argue tradition, as the gum is a remnant left over from the 19th century, when they made candy that tasted like crap as a way of letting kids know they'd probably die of plague soon anyway, so they shouldn't have any fun while on the earthly realm. Others might say they actually like to chew it, but you know they're just trying to be an anti-logical-hipster-type.

Neither of these solutions seem too practical to me, as it seems like a lot of wasted secret ingriedients for far too little gain. But despite its sheer awfulness, the gum remains stuck on the bottom of our desk of life. People chew out of obligation to former gum-endeavors and to continue giving me massive headaches, especially when I'm trapped in an elevator for upwards of two minutes with a kid who keeps smack smack smacking his pink poison.

Please, don't chew pink gum.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Post Office Saves Saturday Deliveries with Child Labor Force

You might notice the letter carriers in your neighborhood have become a bit shorter recently. This isn't some show of solidarity related to the elimination of Saturday delivery and a “shortened” work week, no, it's because the Post Office has started hiring children. Children aged three to eight, primarily.

“This pretty much solves all of our problems,” says Postmaster General Martin Johnson. “No longer must we fear end of Saturday delivery. We will still deliver first class in one day and we no longer have to sacrifice virgins to the posting gods to make our ridiculous deadlines. Children, they're just, they're just great.”
Sure, it might violate laws, but only
laws of being uncute!

The pint-sized workers will eliminate postal problems because they do everything because “it's really fun,” as a toddler dressed head to toe in blue claimed. They demand no salary and do not understand the concept of a pension (although, neither do I). Sure, most children this age are incapable of reading or forming cohesive sentences that don't revolve around the concept of “Bakugan,” but the price can't be beat.

“These are the type of people who just don't care about snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night. These couriers swiftly complete their tasks for the cost of a mere juicebox,” says Johnson.

The young age has caused these children to not become embittered with the world. If they do keep up with their letter carrying tasks, the term “going postal” will disappear from popular vernacular. However, at this age they're also not able to drive, which presents some problems, but luckily their stubby little legs seemingly never grow tired, even with 60 plus pounds of mail.

So, how did children come to dominate the work force that once fell under the sole discretion of pissed off Vietnam Veterans?

“Once we hired Martha Greenwood for our pre-school outreach program, she just hit the ground running. She'd hang out at school playgrounds and offer free candy to any kid who 'wanted to deliver mail.' While some saw innuendo in this, others saw free candy and immediately signed up,” says Johnson.

The one problem the postal service must overcome is the stigma attached to children and their work habits from the industrial revolution. Back then, massive deaths in the labor force caused congress to outlaw child labor for factories in the early 1900s, that law did not carry over for government related entities. This means children can participate in our society as letter carriers, teachers, presidents and even as factory workers (as long as it's a government sanctioned entity).

“We consider it more of an indentured servitude than anything else,” says Postmaster General Johnson. “From this sweet arrangement, they get reduced prices on mail delivery. That's not as a perk, but they keep our costs down, resulting in their costs being lower. And three-year-olds have a lot of correspondence they need to keep up on—way more than even octogenarians.”

Adding to the financial flow of the post office, these kids will not retire for upwards of 70 years. That means they're paying into all forms of social security and pension plans right now. They definitely won't be able to use them in the year 2080, but that's something for their grandchildren to figure out.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Save Money this Holiday Season with DIY Ornaments

Anyone who braved going into a retail establishment this weekend bore witness to a dearth of Christmas lights and decorations that hasn't been seen since the Great Depression. This is probably because they all vanished during a decoration orgy that hasn't been seen since the time of Caligula.

With all the good decorations gone before you could even say “Didn't it just turn December?” you're probably worried that people will see your unadorned house and criticize you as godless heathens. Don't worry about that for two reasons. One, all aspects of religion have been taken out of the holiday, Christmas is godless in and of itself. And secondly, I've got the solutions that will keep you away from those low rent decorations still available in the store. Follow my guidance, and you won't have to stoop to the level of getting elves, skunks dressed like Santa, Coalclops the Bionic Lump of Anthracite or poinsettias.

CoalClops makes a much better piece of
awesome than Christmas decoration.
What's my solution to avoid this low rent approach to Christmas decorations? Go even more low rent by making your own decorations.

Don't have a tree? It's a little known fact, but trees are actually made out of paper. So if you happen to have various Chip and Dale Rescue Rangers coloring books sitting around, you've got yourself a tree. And this tree has the benefit of reminding you of one of the best TV theme songs ever created.

Here's a hint, a bent straw looks exactly like a candy cane, except without all of that weight.

Did you realize that much of your Christopher Columbus Day decorations can be repurposed for the Christmas season? Upwards of 82 percent of those decorations directly translate to Christmas and, with a little imagination, you can bump those numbers up to 86 percent. That neon sign of Chris subjugating an entire race of people? Easily becomes Santa telling elves he needs more toys. Hopefully you didn't take them down after the holiday passed, but why would you, it's not like there were any other holidays of note during that time.

I dislike wreaths. I view them as unnecessary twisting and bending or things that should be neither twisted nor bent. However, I'm probably in the minority on this opinion, and I do come to you with a great suggestion for how to obtain a cheap wreath. Thievery. Many people just hang their wreaths on the front porch all willy nilly. There's no locks, no laser-aided security system. At most, they will use a nail to secure it, and that's it. Just make sure you don't take it from your neighbor's house—they might notice. The one three doors down should be right for the taking. Oh, and don't worry about going against the holiday spirit, because when they do notice it's stolen, they'll just say “Oh well, it's just a wreath, they're vastly overrated in the first place.”
See, I stole this super sweet clip art
image of a wreath.
Need Christmas lights? I've got two words for you. Fire. And more Fire. Okay, technically that's four words, but the key parts are two words, “Fire,” and “more.” Fire burns a brilliant fire-color that looks remarkably similar to Christmas lights. With a controlled blaze, you can simultaneously safely contain and stare in awe as all your world possessions and offspring go up in flame.

By just following a little bit of this advice, you can ensure your Christmas is both merry and insanely cheap/borderline illegal. Happy holidays!

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Extreme Cold? More like Extremely Nice!

As we round through December, we enter into what I gloriously call “The Cold Times.” This is a time when cacti freeze to marsupials eating Popsicles. A time when absolute zero comes across as a high. A time when the Sasquatch gets pissed when people try calling him the “Abominable Snowman,” due to the inherent negative connotations. This is a time when we enter winter.

Unlike many people, I don't actually mind winter. Sure, I now live in Seattle, a place where the summer lows equal the winter highs, resulting in an acceptable year-round climate, but this wasn't always the case. I grew up in Minnesota, an area that somehow manages to be in both the arctic and the antarctic circles. The winter lasts seven or eight months and several of my grade school teacher were actual snowmen (not of the abominable type).
Ever notice how penguins never look cold?
That's because it could always be worse, it could be hot.
It might sound like a horrendous living, and believe me, it was. But this sub-arctic background has given me the ability to not only tolerate extreme cold, but cherish it. While not everyone can have the joyful experience of losing three appendages due to weather-related instances or having to bundle up, it is a skillset I learned to deal with and thrive in.

What's nice about extreme cold (see, my Minnesotan blood lets me say a line like the previous clause) is there's always something you can do to make it more tolerable. A little bit nippy? Put on a hat! Still cold? More layers! Frozen to a flag pole? Don't lick germ filled things! Want some nachos? Eat some nachos! All of these solutions are readily available, readily accessible to anyone.

However, comparing this to extreme heat, and you have a far different setup. With heat, you do have a couple layers you can take off. You can always toss on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before immediately taking them off while bitching about how hot it is getting arrested for indecent exposure.
I'm fairly certain there must be a scientifically provable statistic showing how the majority of sex offenders come from areas of high temperature. People, they're not deviants, they just rightfully dislike feeling their souls melt.

When subjected to cold for a long time, you're face might start crushing in upon itself. At that point you both know it's decently cold and you're justified in shouting out profanities. Don't worry, nobody can hear you, they're far too bundled up to actually hear you. When the summer heat melts a body, all you're really allowed to do is let the meltation occur and then die. That's you're only option.

And this is why winter is so grand. No matter the area, even if you're on the equator, it will be cooler than the summer. No souls will melt, no children will have their innocence ruined. It's win win for everyone involved.

So when you go out there and see a high that has a negative sign in front of it, take it in stride, it could be far worse, you could be in jail. Granted, jail is filled with lots of happiness and bodies to keep your core temperature raised up high, but trust me, that is not where you want to end up.

For places that actually have winter, enjoy it, it's bound to be a greatly cold one. Me, on the other hand, I'll be riding a bike to work in a t-shirt, because I live in an area that doesn't have weather.

Monday, November 28, 2011

Tis the season to hear awful Christmas music

With Thanksgiving past us, we are now on a crash course to a dark and scary time. No, not Christmas shopping or my anniversary—those are manageable compared to this menace. I refer to Christmas music. Brace your ears, because it's about to destory your brain.

Every Christmas song ever written sucks. There's no other way to put it. I'm not trying to come off as some horribly Scroogy miser here, it's just there has never been a Christmas song that makes you want to kick someone in the neck it rocks so much. My highest review for a Christmas song is Bruce Springsteen's “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” which qualifies as “passable,” mainly because of the Boss involvement.

Even She & Him have fallen victim to this trap.
And when an indie rock group goes
commercial like, hipsters die a little inside.
It's no surprise the highest time of suicide coincides with the highest time of Christmas music.

The worst part about Christmas songs is there's roughly only six of them ever. Yet, literally millions of bands have covered every single one of them ad nauseam. During the peak of the holiday season, it's possible to change from a rock station to metal to country and have the complete lyrics to “Deck the Halls” sung out without even missing a word. That just reeks of unoriginality.

And this is another problem with Christmas songs. Just try listening to the radio in December. Stations that normally play good 70s and 80s style arena rock suddenly go soft and play songs that can be derided as “happy” instead. Apparently, this ploy actually works though. Wikipedia says the radio stations that switch to holiday music tend to see their ratings triple. And because people will nest into the first station they hear “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer (Batman lyrics on), radio stations have moved to playing Christmas music earlier and earlier.

I remember when I was growing up, an oldies station had just made the switch to all holiday all the time crap. I would have just put on a different station, but the cook at the place I worked had control of all things radio, and despite being called “Mean Dennis,” he loved his holiday music. The DJ on this station went through the old holiday standards—Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, Walk on the Wild Side, Winter Wonderland, White Christmas, Blue Christmas, Feliz Navidad and Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (possibly by a different band).

After going through this bout of torture, he started playing “The Superbowl Shuffle.” While not the greatest song (some might classify it as “Awful) it's also not holiday music and therefore seems way better by comparison. Halfway through the song (“Well they call me sweetness / and I like to dance”) the DJ broke into the song and said “Wait a minute, this isn't Christmas music!” Before launching into the 14th version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Muppet version) of the day.

But I'm not the filthy heathen who wants no merriment during these holiday seasons, instead, I will create a new song to make the holiday season as magical as the first hundred times you heard it. But I will issue a caveat, I have absolutely no musical ability. And this means no musical writing ability. So what I'm going to do is have a list of 30 words below. Print up the list, cut out each word and toss em in a hat. Pull at five at random, and this is your refrain. The next seven are the opening, and the final 18 should be set afire, song perfection has already occurred. Feel free to toss in some verbs, if you wish, but as the 12 days of Christmas proved, it's not really necessary. Set the lyrics to a 7/8 beat and enjoy. Oh yeah, I don't know what 7/8 beat means. Hopefully it's one of the good ones.
I can already taste the residuals for
Santa Stocking Happy General Tso's Chicken.

Word bank for your hit new Christmas song:
Christmas, Happy, Merry, Jolly Sauce, Cookie, Santa, Antidisestablishmentarianism, Reindeer, Johnny Cash, Tequila, Tree, Ornament, Peppermint Patty, Cyborg, Mistletoe, General Tso's Chicken, Snowfall, Sledding, Rooftop, Plastic Tree, Jigsaw Puzzle, Conservation of Mass Principle, Real Tree, Muffin, Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines, ¾ Beat, Shower, Cosmetics Testing, Stocking, Ice skating.

Have fun with your new holiday classic and don't forget to have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

This Thanksgiving, thank Weird Al for UHF

Ultra Hilarious Film
Many people have lots of things to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. The fact that stores are extending Black Friday into Thanksgiving, parents, lists of things to be thankful for, and the deliciousness of cookie dough. All of these things will probably rank high up there on many people's lists of things to be thankful for. But what am I most thankful for? That “Weird” Al Yankovic graced us with UHF over 20 years ago.

UHF was my first journey into truly bizarre humor. When you combine the parody with the... unique characters, you're not going to get a whole lot of sense out of it. But therein lies the logic of UHF. Everything is bizarre to make everything normal.

This is the perfect movie for any time, any occasion. Feel like watching “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and “Rambo” but don't want to go through the arduous process of loading up two discs? Bam, UHF. Get attacked by a poodle? Bam, UHF. Cable goes out? BAM, UHF (that one gets all caps, because it has two meanings).

I hate eating fish and everything that goes with it. But if given the opportunity, I'd go on “Wheel of Fish” without even giving it a second thought. I might seriously undervalue what I won (Ohhhh, this 881 pound tuna is kind of large. That's neat... I should have taken the box), but to get to hang out with Kuni would make it all worth it.

I remember when I was five years old and didn't really understand the concept of a VHS. I walked past my parents as they watched the “This Weekend on U62” portion of the movie. 

The shows they were previewing looked insanely cool, especially in my Pop Rock-addled five-year-old mind. If they had gone ahead with a full-on version of Conan the Librarian, I'd imagine there'd be a knockout battle between Conan and someone who un-Deweys the decimal system. Needless to say, whenever he swords someone, there'd be explosions.

When I tried turning to U62 that weekend, my TV didn't go that high. I picked up some weird religious stuff on the later channels (13) but that wasn't anywhere near the requisite 62. I imagine my parents were heartbroken when they had to tell me those promos were for fake shows.

But if we had more programming executives like George Newman, we'd have more watchable shows. If he weren't a fake guy turning out parody shows, the world would be a better place. I consider myself a heavy consumer of TV programs, and even I only watch about 15 shows a week. And since I am not an octagenarian, none of these programs come off of the CBS schedule.

This paves the way for an easy solution, have George Newman run CBS. I realize the inherent problems of having a fictional character run a real TV station, but has anyone ever met so-called CBS President Les Moonves? I rest my case. Having a fictional George Newman running CBS is no different than having a fictional Moonves at the reins. And one is much more Weird Al-infused.

Just imagine a CSI-budgeted version of Bowling for Burgers. There'd probably be big time special effects and shots from the burger's point of view. Or maybe a version of “Two and a Half Men” that's actually funny. That might seem like a tall order, but having the public buy all of the station's stock to pay off George's Uncle's gambling debt was quite the tall order to. Oh, 20 year old spoiler alert.

So, as all of you gather around your Thanksgiving turkey today, raise a drumstick in Weird Al's general direction (West by Southeast) and think him for creating such a fine contribution to American cinema.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Papa not give kibble. He must have a Sprocket loose!

Your dignified guest blogger.
Papa is busy writing a novel this month, so he just didn't have the time to write. Since he didn't have the time to write, he needed someone to write for him (since he didn't have the time to write). He turned to his offspring and said “Offspring, I don't have the time to write this week. I need one of you to totally Billy from Family Circus this for me.” And since Papa only has cat for offspring, and since Otis is a really stupid cat, that task fell to me, Sprocket, his most smartest cat.

I'm much better choice than other kitties. Way smarter than that stupid stupid Otis. Otis had poop stuck to his tail the other day. He also chased his tail. Unrelated, but still show Otis very stupid. I hate Otis so much.

I use this space to talk about something that's weighing heavily on my mind recently. No, not the fact that on a scale of one to 10, I hate Otis the amount of furs I have (lots). No, it's the fact that it seems kibble time comes later and later every day. You might say “You're a cat, you can't tell time,” and that may be so, but I know when my tummy rumble rumble rumbles, and I make sure to tell everyone, but still kibble time comes so much later. I hate it!

Otis wouldn't figure out how to fit in here. I did.
And then when Papa finally relents to my non-stop whining, Otis tries stealing my food! That's my food! Now, I don't want to draw any sort of racial conclusions here, but did I mention that Otis is Black Cat? Pretty scary huh? He bring people bad luck, probably because I hate him so much. Oh, and he's stupid. Way stupider than me.

I'm not going to stand for this. Until I get kibble 24/7 and Otis goes to the great litter box in the sky (which he don't even know how to use right) I am officially on strike. I want endless supply of kibble given to me 24/7, and you better make it wet kibble. None of that dry stuff. Well, some of that dry stuff, because it kibble, and I like kibble, so I like dry stuff. Wet stuff also good, it taste like kibble.

As a striking worker, papa and mama will get no chance to pet all of my furs (which I have many of) and I won't do cute things for them like get stuck inside of three separate TVs on three separate occasions during a three year span. They'll be sorry they didn't give into my demands earlier. My cuteness will be for me and me alone.

The face of thy enemy (yet to die at my paw).
Oh, oh, oh, and Otis won't be allowed to have any kibble. Sure, one of my demands is he has to die, but he also not allowed any kibble. If I find out they placed kibble on his tombstone, boom, back on strike I go!

But if Otis not die, I want to have him still not eat kibble, so I can eat my kibble and then go breath on him. I say “Hey Otis, meow” and then whoooooosh, my breath smelling of Dick Van Patten's Natural Balance Pet Foods Duck and Green Pea wafts all over Otis. Undead Otis would be like “Oh, I wish I weren't dead, so I could have the kibble Sprocket is having. Why didn't I think of going on strike?'

I think it's obvious undead-dead-undead Otis, you didn't think of it, because you're stupid. Way stupider and less cute than I am. To show how stupid he is, I'd also have parents fashion a stupid hat that he'd have to wear, because he's stupid.

Oh, papa calling me, and, and, and it's kibble time!!!!! I must go!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Take a roll of the dice to #SaveCommunity

With NBC's announcement this week that Community would not be on the midseason schedule, the Community community went nuts. They did things as crazy as start an online petition and even created a #SaveCommunity hashtag which upwards of six people have followed!

While I fully support these OccupyNBC style protests, I don't think they'll be enough. We need to do more in order to make NBC actually take notice. Online petitions almost never actually work. People feel good about making them, even better about signing them, but as far as I know, a show has never been saved by an online petition, Target has never not opened at Midnight Black Friday because of a petition and Barack Obama was never made to be born outside of the United States because of said petition.

We need to do something more noticeable that will make the head honchos at NB realize there's a strong fan base. After Arrested Development's second season, that show was placed on a similar bubble. It could be renewed, it most likely would not. Fans got together and sent FOX President of Programming Peter Liguori gift baskets filled with banana stress balls, feather boas, pirate stickers and presumably, Michael Cera. Several thousand inside jokes later and the FOX brass got the message, they renewed the beloved series for a 13 episode final season.

That's the kind of strategy we need to use to #SaveCommunity. But what inside joke should we build this campaign around? Luckily, a recent episode paved the way. In the episode “Remedial Chaos Theory,” six alternate storylines were created when characters rolled a die to see who would go downstairs and get the pizza. The alternate storylines went down vastly different paths, from bad pies to absolute chaos as the apartment burned to a character wanting to marry the (unattractive) pizza man to everyone busting a move to Sting's “Roxanne.”

What if we lived in an alternate reality where Community were a ratings bonanza? What if we rolled the die and didn't have to go up against The Big Bang Theory? These represent intriguing realities that the evil versions of us would never have to experience. No felt goatees for these fans!

Six Seasons and a Movie
Let's take the dice concept and bring it to the next level. Let's bring it to the Community level. We should send “gift baskets” filled with dice made out with Community inside jokes to NBC head honcho Bob Greenblatt. Put pictures of Troy and Abed on the dice, include pictures of you with your homemade Starburns. Anything that's funny and interesting should go in this gift bag. This will give Greenblatt a physical object he can hold, feel and roll to show how dedicated we Community fans are. Who knows, maybe he will roll that alternate reality where we're all happy with six seasons and a movie of Community.

You can send the care packages to Bob Greenblatt at

Bob Greenblatt
C/O NBC Universal
100 Universal City Plaza
Universal City, CA 91608

Also, even though I question how well they work, sign the Save Community petition at One thing I know is, it couldn't hurt.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Not even the Shrine of the Silver Monkey can stop "Legends of the Hidden Temple" revival

The "Legends of the Hidden Temple brought back with 5,000,000 fans" group has surpassed 50 fans, putting the beloved game show 1/100,000th of the way to making history. As encouragement for this splendid cause, I am reprinting the press release as a show of support.


Gauges interest with Facebook campaign

NEW YORK, Sept 1, 2011 — “Legends of the Hidden Temple,” the cult favorite game show featuring a giant head and kids running through a labyrinthine maze may have found a “pendant of life” as Nickelodeon moves forward with bringing back the series lovingly described as “American Gladiators meets Young Indiana Jones.”
The head head, Olmec, earned the show
much of its notoriety.

Earlier today, Nickelodeon launched a Facebook campaign to gauge interest in a reboot for the big-giant-head-hosted-series. Fans of the show can register and like the campaign at The campaign looks to garner five million fans before the network will consider letting Olmec rise from his storage-closety doom.

The series, which ran on Nickelodeon from 1993 to 1995 developed a cult following for its frank depiction of Olmec, its big-giant-head of a host as well as idiotic kids who could not figure out how to put together a three-part monkey statue. It won a CableACE award for Best Game Show in 1995.

“We know anyone who ever wished they could be a Blue Barracuda, Green Monkey, Orange Igauna, Purple Parrot, Red Jaguar or Silver Snake missed out on a great opportunity when the show was canceled,” says Kirk Fogg, co-host of the initial run of shows and lead proponent of the reboot, “but with 4,999,999 of their closest friends, they can live out those dreams.”

Fogg said they decided to use Facebook as the crux of the campaign, simply because people identified the face of the program as Olmec, and to put that on Facebook would surely garner the fans necessary to refind this “Hidden Temple.”

Although the series only lasted three seasons, to this day it remains a popular fixture on college campuses and at Halloween parties.

“To bring kids the ability to rediscover the Comet-Embroidered Battle Flag of William the Conquerer or the Milk Bucket of Freydis truly makes me ecstatic,” says Fogg, referencing two of the more renowned episodes from the original run.

Even the potential of bringing the show back has resulted in more trouble than getting out of the troubling “Shrine of the Silver Monkey.” Nickelodeon initially balked at the high salary demands of the famed big giant head and co-host, Olmec, but the show's producers found ways to reason with the network.

“I woke up and there was an Olmec head literally in the bed next to me. It crushed my significant other—that thing weighs like 3,000 pounds” says Marjorie Cohn, president original programming and development Nickelodeon. “Knowing they were capable of that, I had to move forward with a Legends of the Hidden Temple reboot.”

About Nickelodeon
Nickelodeon, now in its 32nd year, is the number-one entertainment brand for kids. It has built a diverse, global business by putting kids first in everything it does. It's most known for never engaging in Facebook ruses, no matter the legends that could be unearthed by it. Nickelodeon's U.S. television network is seen in more than 100 million households and has been the number-one-rated basic cable network for 16 consecutive years. For more information or artwork, visit  Nickelodeon and all related titles, characters and logos are trademarks of Viacom Inc. (NYSE: VIA, VIA.B).

Thursday, November 10, 2011

Minesweeper swept away my childhood

Nothing, nothing nothing, nothing, flag, nothing, nothing question mark, question mark, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, flag, nothing, mine... damn it!

Having one of these minesweeping suits will protect
you from shards of plastic as you bash in your computer.
Anyone who has ever had their internet go down and is killing time before they can do something productive knows Minesweeper exists. Less people know that the above paragraph describes 98 percent of all Minesweeper games ever played. And surprisingly, even less have spent seven months of their life trying desperately to get a sub-two minute time on expert difficulty. When they achieved it, they found out there are even larger Minesweeper nerds who routinely notch times under 40 seconds. Disappointment raged as a life's accomplishment shriveled up in a matter of seconds and small schoolyard children picked on them.

I fall into the third category.

Back in 9th grade, when everyone else spent their Friday nights having sex, Minesweeper occupied my time. Who cares about genital stimulation when an imaginary army might hit a mine on their journey across Antarctica to reclaim the Holy Rat of Spartania?

… I created storylines to give me a stronger drive for this game.

And that drove me on my sub-two minute quest. For those who actually don't understand the basics of the game, there's a grid of squares, when you click, a patch of numbers appears that tell you how many “mines” they touch. You then use logic to clear the board of non-mines, leaving only the mines. To obtain a time under two minutes, you need to mark where a mine is every 1.2 seconds. Keep in mind, it takes even longer than 1.2 seconds to type 1.2 seconds, and you need to go faster than that.

When you get really deep in the game, there are some broken bits where logic will not carry you. At this point you have to flip a coin and choose one or the other. But flipping a coin also takes longer than 1.2 seconds and to keep up the pace, you must make rash an ill-informed decisions at a late point in the game. This usually results in profanity.
This doesn't frighten me. But a red three touching five
squares with no way to find the mine's true location does.

As alluded to, I spent seven months trying to obtain what I perceived as perfection. After all, my friends thought of the game as some sort of crappy screen saver, not one with strategy and preplanned times to swear. But then YouTube came around and knocked me off the high I rode for nearly a decade.

With YouTube I can load up video from the World Minesweeper Championships (yup, it exists) and watch video of people stroll through expert like it's nothing more than medium. Minesweeper literally drove me crazy (it creates social isolation), and these people do it competitively. It seems kind of strange to do, because never has anyone used “I'm really good at the game you don't understand” as a pickup line. It just reeks of sadness. Although the phrase “I can find the mine” might have merit.

Recently, my internet went down, so that meant no Minesweeper watching for me, instead, Minesweeper playing. I found tons of changes in it. That beloved gray screen, the one that had taunted and rewarded me so much in my youth had turned blue. It also kept stats beyond simple completion! Oh, and also the skills I built over the course of roughly 20,000 games had completely vanished. I scrambled to nab a 50 second intermediate score. Pathetic. But it also felt kind of good. Sure, I wasted a lot of time in my youth and had nothing to show for it, but at least I didn't waste twice as much time to get to the professional level of Minesweeper.

Hey, I think this one isn't a mine... damn it!
Well, at least it's a sub-two minute time.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Save Yourself by not Celebrating Daylight Saving Time

Happy 2:09am, or is it 3:09am? Maybe even 1:17pm next Sunday? Possibly pi o'clock? Maybe even tooth hurty? Actually, it's all of these, because I have decided to boycott Daylight Saving Time this year.

Everyone knows this accursed holiday is a strong arm tactic by the clockmaking industry to get people to buy new clocks, increasing the companies' bottom lines. How many times has the first Sunday of November (or ninth Wednesday, whenever the hell they do it) rolled around and faced with the arduous task of holding one button while pressing another button 23 times, you just threw away the clock?

Lord knows I've done that on many occasions, and it's not uncommon for others to do it as well. In fact, the landfill outside of Alamogordo, NM is known as “Lost Time,” because it's filled to the brim almost entirely with alarm clocks. Really this is a massive waste of time, but it's what the clockmakers deem necessary to make the hands go round, so they force it through.

Really the saddest case study involves Indianapolis, IN. For the longest time, this fine city held up to the repeated inquests of the clock industry lobbyists. It bravely faced intimidation, bullying and withholding of cheese, but the city remained strong in its opposition.

McMaster's Masterpiece.
When elected mayor of Indianapolis in 1884, John L. McMaster immediately attacked the clock industry for its repeated attacks upon the city. However, he soon just vanished off the face of the earth. And I'm not talking like he got run over by a perpetually late train from Ft. Wayne, but vanished as in never seen again.

Soon after McMaster's disappearance, the clock industry launched one of its most successful products ever in the Longcase clock, AKA the “Grandfather Clock.” It's no surprise that one of the first recipients of said clock was McMaster's grandson, Nellie. Now, I'm not saying evil clockmakers callously diced up McMaster's bodies and put him into a horrorific namesake clock, but really, evil clockmakers callously diced up McMaster's bodies and put him into a horrorific namesake clock.

Although I don't really fault them, I mean nothing keeps time like human intestines.

Another aspect of Daylight Saving Time that really gets me is this whole ridiculous “Spring Forward, Fall Back” nursery rhyme. Have you ever met someone who has actually fallen backwards? Wait, let me rephrase that, have you ever met someone with a fully functioning brain (both hemispheres) who has fallen backwards? I can already assume the answer is “No,” because you're not going to ask someone who just had a potentially fatal fall what their brain disorder is. My argument wins by default.

I do know perfectly normal people who have fallen forward, even some who have springed backwards. It's not all that uncommon and would make for a much better, much more logical statement.

Even if they did do that system, I'd still boycott it, because all Daylight Saving Time shifts are going to be ignored from here on out. My Grandfather Clock will be ahead of yours for the majority of the year, and that means I'll always be earlier than anyone else to pressing events. When people see how prompt I am, they just might (will) join my revolution. I look forward to having you.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Almost in Double Jeopardy Meeting Jeopardy Champion

Answer: Ken Jennings.
Question: Who is the multi-millionaire Jeopardy champion who I met while at the beach?

Correct! $2000 coming your way.

But wait, there's more to this Jeopardy answer. Several weeks before that fated beach excursion, I was on the sales floor at Target. I helped someone carry out their patio furniture when I saw a vaguely Jeopardy-champion-shaped-blob off in the distance. Although the sighting lasted roughly three seconds, I knew I spotted greatness.

I'll take Jeopardy Stalkers for $600, Alex. 
And that greatness caused me to start freaking out and doing some sort of weird convulsion. The patio-furniture-person raised an eyebrow, so I needed to explain the greatness we just encountered.

“Do you ever watch Jeopardy?” I asked in a one-word chunk.
“Not really... why?” the slightly bored looking middle aged housewife responded with slightly less enthusiasm than I exhibited.
“Because I think we just saw Ken Jennings!” For some reason, this met a bored silence. “... You know, the guy... who won like 2.7 million dollars on Jeopardy...”
“... ooooooh, well, that's cool, I guess... but how'd you know it was him?
“Well obviously, I watched his run on the show, and I read his book and of course check out his blog.”
“You read his book... you're not some kind of geek, are you?'
I could not respond to that. All conversation effectively ended at that point. I didn't even offer her a “Do you want this gazebo to not scratch your bumper?” I just did.

However, merely letting my “interaction” be three seconds long wouldn't suffice. I went on Ken's blog and got his email address. I asked him if that was indeed him at that Target on that day. He quickly responded that it was him, because he needed to buy LEGOs, because his kid was going to a birthday party.

Success! Case closed. I had seen greatness. But most Targets are not located on beaches, and that leads to part two of the story.

About three weeks after that incident, I rode my bike around town. I initially planned to ride along the prostitute-strewn area of Seattle, but you know what they say about those ladies when in heat—avoid. Instead, I went to a local beach.

Seconds after parking my bike and treading over roughly 10 feet of sand, I looked to my right and once again saw the "Brainiac," the "Maphead," the KenJen. Of course, I did recognize him, but it couldn't be him. He had appeared in public and nobody mobbed the man who made Jeopardy interesting to watch. He merely just sat there, with his family. A guy sitting next to him didn't even cast a sidelong glance at the terror of Alex Trebek.

Between the two people in this picture, we've won over
$3 million on Jeopardy
Practicing the same reserve I displayed three weeks beforehand, I freaked out again. Luckily I could pawn it off as excitement for the beach (ooooh, cold water!). But I couldn't convince myself to go up to him. Sure we had corresponded, but it seemed like such a different world when Ken Jennings was just hanging out on a public beach with his family.

It took numerous unanswered texts to my friends to find out if I should go up to him to get me to go up to him. As anyone who did watch his run should know, he was incredibly cool. He had no problem letting me take a picture with him or giving me 14 percent of his winnings, which he just happened to have in his wallet.

Well, that last part didn't happen, but at least I walk away with a story and an amazing picture.

Monday, October 31, 2011

My Halloween Curse Will Make You Howl (and possibly kill you)

Seeing as how today is Halloween, and since that is one of the most hauntingly horrifying days to ever exist (take that half birthday of Columbus Day!) I've decided to tell you a little ghost story.

Are you afraid of the Zeebo?
But it's not just any story, for that's something “Are You Afraid of the Dark” could easily do. No, this ghost story is horrendously frightening, because it shows that you, my gentle reader, have fallen into the trap of an awful curse.

It's probably not too well known, I've managed to keep much of the bad press buried (go PR background!) but I built on a cursed Indian burial ground pet cemetery haunted house pharaoh’s tomb zombieville McDonald's. Atop the corpses of various other dotcoms, I thought this would be my home on the web. I didn't know it would cast a hideous curse upon my sevens of readers.

Look out, behind you! There's an invisible zombie feasting upon the aortas of your significant other(s)! Oh, why have you fallen victim to my curse? The only way to save them is by eating them entirely before the zombie has a chance to do it. Go, go now and save them from murder by performing a mercy killing. Since I kind of brought this upon you, don't worry, I'll provide the spork. Oh, and bring ketchup. You'll thank me later.

With that bit of unpleasantness behind us (minus a bit of upcoming gastrointestinal issues) I must reveal to you I'm actually a corpse. I died when I choked on a Cool Ranch Dorito at my third grade class' Halloween party. I've used every Halloween since to rise from the grave, put that Power Ranger costume back on and let my zombie buddies have their way with people's significant others. Oh, and a little by the way, when you ate your significant other, they were in process of zombification, which means you're in the process of turning to one as well.
Demon Kevin makes red eye reduction his bitch.

Not only do you join my unholy army of the dead, but you're adding to my unholy army of page views.
With each reader and subsequent death, I grow stronger. It's no surprise October has been the most viewed month ever on BreakMentalDown. All those lost souls are coming home to roost in my surprisingly warm bosom. Come souls come, I mean you no harm... except your death!

But wait, what's this, a pure and innocent baby child is approaching the site. It leaves a comment simply asking “Why?” (cutely spelled as “y?”) At this point, if I were the Grinch or the bad guy from Avatar, my heart would probably grow three times and I'd realize the true meaning of the blessed holiday. But I'm not, as I've said numerous times, I'm an evil monster from Hell. Its innocence means absolutely nothing to me as I feast upon its virgin soul.

He's just one pint sized step before I fully take over the world. One delicious pint, that is.

As Orson Welles once said, ladies and gentlemen, this is Kevin Nelson out of character to assure you that I'm not an evil corpse monster and this post has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be: BreakMentalDown's own blog version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying "Boo!" So goodbye everybody, and remember, please, for the next day or so the terrible lesson you learned tonight: that grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that was evil corpse from hell, hellbent on destroying the entirety of all life as we know it—it's Halloween. 

... or is it?