Now here's a problem you don't run into every day, unless you live a very peculiar lifestyle. The Italian government seized 88 pounds of caviar from Polish caviar smugglers (those bastards!). The question: what do you do with 88 pounds of caviar?
The answer: feed it to the poor of Milan! It's a win-win, unless you're a poor person who doesn't like caviar. But seriously, how many of those are there in the world?
Other interesting note: according to the story, "Tests showed the caviar to be edible." What sort of tests were those? I'm hoping they weren't along the lines of, "Hey, Giuseppe, try this caviar I brought from home. How's it taste? Not poisonous or anything? No, no, I was just wondering."
Monday, December 22, 2008
For the Busy Traveler
This time of year, many of us will be forced to deal with the unpleasant experience known as airport security. To make your trip easier, here's a helpful list of DOs and DON'Ts for getting through unscathed.
DO:
Have your boarding pass out and ready for inspection
Empty your pockets and remove your shoes
Try to appear as non-terroristic as possible
DON'T
Give a card naming yourself as a member of the Criminal Insane Department when asked to provide credentials
DO:
Have your boarding pass out and ready for inspection
Empty your pockets and remove your shoes
Try to appear as non-terroristic as possible
DON'T
Give a card naming yourself as a member of the Criminal Insane Department when asked to provide credentials
Apologies to Ogden Nash
I never saw a purple squirrel
I never hope to see one
But I can tell you, anyhow
I'd rather see than--HOLY CRAP THERE'S ONE RIGHT THERE!
I never hope to see one
But I can tell you, anyhow
I'd rather see than--HOLY CRAP THERE'S ONE RIGHT THERE!
MONSTER TRUCK MADNESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Slowly but surely, Japan's master plan to re-fight World War II is succeeding. A few more stunts like this, and they'll have wiped out all of America's victories up until the Battle of Guadalcanal.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Not-So-Mini Review: It
Somewhere in Steven King’s desk, there must be a small, well-thumbed thesaurus in which all the synonyms for “bled” are highlighted. And what, pray tell, do I mean by that? Only this: after reading King’s “It,” I am in awe of how many different ways King can say “so-and-so bled.” Blood flows, it spurts, it spatters, it splashes and gushes and bubbles and bursts forth from an uncountable number of severed limbs.
“It,” as you can guess, is an awfully gory book. King’s thousand-pages-plus epic is more than gory, though; it’s huge, sloppy, incredibly entertaining and compulsively readable. It’s the literary equivalent of a fat sandwich: not good for you, not even good, necessarily, but packed with so much stuff that it’s impossible to resist. Like most King books, “It” also has some highbrow pretensions. There’s some muddled cosmology involving a “macroverse” and “the Turtle,” but in the end, what we’re here for is the dismemberment.
“It” doesn’t disappoint in that regard. For those of you who don’t know, “It” is the story of a group of friends from the small Maine town of Derry. Derry, they discover, is haunted. It’s not your garden-variety haunting; we’re talking serious evil here, personified by a homicidal clown named Pennywise. The friends team up to fight Pennywise—known to his good friends as “It”—as kids in 1958, and as adults a couple decades down the road.
Before they can fight Pennywise, they’ve got to run away from him. A lot. Of those thousand pages, I’d estimate a good eight hundred involved 1) One of the main characters wandering into a dark, deserted locale 2) Said character running into Pennywise 3) Said character getting the hell out of there. These are interspersed with incidents in which minor characters meet Pennywise. Needless to say, they’re a lot less lucky. They die in a number of creatively gruesome ways, including:
1) Getting their head ripped off
2) Getting their face ripped off
3) Getting their arm ripped off
4) Getting their legs ripped off
OK, admittedly Pennywise’s M.O. is pretty straightforward. That’s not for lack of trying, though. Mr. Wise shows up in a whole host of disguises, including a giant bird, a werewolf, a mummy, and—my personal favorite—flying leeches. Not ordinary leeches. Flying leeches.
This is all good fun. King’s a great storyteller, especially when the limbs are flying and the blood’s spurting. So what if things get repetitive? Whether it’s an innocent kid being decapitated by the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or an unsuspecting prison guard getting ripped limb-from-limb by a doberman-human hybrid, King always makes it readable. And very, very bloody.
The only problem is that King tries to divide our attention equally between 1958 and 1985. And while the kid-versions of our protagonists are pretty likeable, as adults they become…boring. I guess that’s the whole idea: the magic of childhood gives way to the ennui of adulthood, so-on-and-so-forth. But they’re still boring.
Speaking of boring, King also insists on splitting time between the six main characters. Again, not all the protagonists are created equal. For every page we spend with an interesting character, we have to spend a corresponding page getting to know one of the dull ones. Take Ben Hanscom, for instance…please. He’s supposed to be noble, but like most noble characters his defining trait is stoicism that borders on blandness.
As a kid, Ben’s two defining traits are 1) He’s fat and 2) He’s good at building things. That’s not enough ingredients to make a decent soup, let alone an engaging character. Even worse, Adult Ben isn’t even fat. So he’s down to ONE defining trait. Why do we have to spend hundreds of pages in his company, when we could be getting acquainted with Richie Tozier or Bill Denbrough or one of the fun characters?
I realize I’ve rambled on for quite a while. But given the length of the book in question, I feel that’s highly appropriate. In short: “It” is a good, good book, well worth reading if you’ve got a few weeks to spare.
Oh, one more thing. “It,” like most King novels, is set in Maine. I ask you: given the way King goes to town on innocent Mainers, what with the slaughter and the hauntings and the murders, how is there anyone left alive in King’s fictional version of the Pine Tree State? More importantly, why don’t they all just get the hell out of there?
“It,” as you can guess, is an awfully gory book. King’s thousand-pages-plus epic is more than gory, though; it’s huge, sloppy, incredibly entertaining and compulsively readable. It’s the literary equivalent of a fat sandwich: not good for you, not even good, necessarily, but packed with so much stuff that it’s impossible to resist. Like most King books, “It” also has some highbrow pretensions. There’s some muddled cosmology involving a “macroverse” and “the Turtle,” but in the end, what we’re here for is the dismemberment.
“It” doesn’t disappoint in that regard. For those of you who don’t know, “It” is the story of a group of friends from the small Maine town of Derry. Derry, they discover, is haunted. It’s not your garden-variety haunting; we’re talking serious evil here, personified by a homicidal clown named Pennywise. The friends team up to fight Pennywise—known to his good friends as “It”—as kids in 1958, and as adults a couple decades down the road.
Before they can fight Pennywise, they’ve got to run away from him. A lot. Of those thousand pages, I’d estimate a good eight hundred involved 1) One of the main characters wandering into a dark, deserted locale 2) Said character running into Pennywise 3) Said character getting the hell out of there. These are interspersed with incidents in which minor characters meet Pennywise. Needless to say, they’re a lot less lucky. They die in a number of creatively gruesome ways, including:
1) Getting their head ripped off
2) Getting their face ripped off
3) Getting their arm ripped off
4) Getting their legs ripped off
OK, admittedly Pennywise’s M.O. is pretty straightforward. That’s not for lack of trying, though. Mr. Wise shows up in a whole host of disguises, including a giant bird, a werewolf, a mummy, and—my personal favorite—flying leeches. Not ordinary leeches. Flying leeches.
This is all good fun. King’s a great storyteller, especially when the limbs are flying and the blood’s spurting. So what if things get repetitive? Whether it’s an innocent kid being decapitated by the Creature from the Black Lagoon, or an unsuspecting prison guard getting ripped limb-from-limb by a doberman-human hybrid, King always makes it readable. And very, very bloody.
The only problem is that King tries to divide our attention equally between 1958 and 1985. And while the kid-versions of our protagonists are pretty likeable, as adults they become…boring. I guess that’s the whole idea: the magic of childhood gives way to the ennui of adulthood, so-on-and-so-forth. But they’re still boring.
Speaking of boring, King also insists on splitting time between the six main characters. Again, not all the protagonists are created equal. For every page we spend with an interesting character, we have to spend a corresponding page getting to know one of the dull ones. Take Ben Hanscom, for instance…please. He’s supposed to be noble, but like most noble characters his defining trait is stoicism that borders on blandness.
As a kid, Ben’s two defining traits are 1) He’s fat and 2) He’s good at building things. That’s not enough ingredients to make a decent soup, let alone an engaging character. Even worse, Adult Ben isn’t even fat. So he’s down to ONE defining trait. Why do we have to spend hundreds of pages in his company, when we could be getting acquainted with Richie Tozier or Bill Denbrough or one of the fun characters?
I realize I’ve rambled on for quite a while. But given the length of the book in question, I feel that’s highly appropriate. In short: “It” is a good, good book, well worth reading if you’ve got a few weeks to spare.
Oh, one more thing. “It,” like most King novels, is set in Maine. I ask you: given the way King goes to town on innocent Mainers, what with the slaughter and the hauntings and the murders, how is there anyone left alive in King’s fictional version of the Pine Tree State? More importantly, why don’t they all just get the hell out of there?
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Proposed Rescue Plans for the Big Three
-Slash employee health benefits; workers can only pick three diseases for which they are covered, and one of them has to be Ebola
-Search for alternative fuels like wind, solar power, and pushing
-Get rid of the giant pit in GM headquarters into which GM execs would hurl billions of dollars every financial quarter
-Package every car with a free ticket to a Detroit Lions game
-Cupholders...just gotta add more cupholders
-Cut the number of wheels per car back to three
-Ask for $50 billion from the government and use that money to buy Nissan, Toyota, Honda, et al.
-Search for alternative fuels like wind, solar power, and pushing
-Get rid of the giant pit in GM headquarters into which GM execs would hurl billions of dollars every financial quarter
-Package every car with a free ticket to a Detroit Lions game
-Cupholders...just gotta add more cupholders
-Cut the number of wheels per car back to three
-Ask for $50 billion from the government and use that money to buy Nissan, Toyota, Honda, et al.
Proof Positive...
...That China may be the most god-damned boring nation on God's green earth. Or, in China's case, God's brown and pollution-ravaged earth. Xinhua, the Chinese new agency, provides a list of the "Top Ten Catch Phrases in China Since 1978 Reform."
I start reading the list expecting to find some American-style catch phrases, perhaps with a hilarious Sinese twist. Something like, I dunno, "Don't have a panda, man!" What do I get? What passes for catchphrases in China?
"Surfing the internet"--Oh, those hip Chinese! In America, we just say "using a series of interconnected web pages to search for content we may find useful, informative, or time-wasting, depending on the circumstances."
"Be laid off and get re-employed"--I wonder what hit Chinese TV show that catchphrase originated on.
And those are the best catchphrases. What kind of nation is this?
I start reading the list expecting to find some American-style catch phrases, perhaps with a hilarious Sinese twist. Something like, I dunno, "Don't have a panda, man!" What do I get? What passes for catchphrases in China?
"Surfing the internet"--Oh, those hip Chinese! In America, we just say "using a series of interconnected web pages to search for content we may find useful, informative, or time-wasting, depending on the circumstances."
"Be laid off and get re-employed"--I wonder what hit Chinese TV show that catchphrase originated on.
And those are the best catchphrases. What kind of nation is this?
A Quick Follow-Up to That Last Post
What if you can't find anything for your friend in Dave Barry's gift guide? As impossible as that might seem, it has happened on occasions. In that case, this website should have you covered. Assuming your friend is a bear.
Yes, I know that's a rather big assumption. Shut up. Who's the one running this blog, you or me? Yeah, that's right. It's me.
Yes, I know that's a rather big assumption. Shut up. Who's the one running this blog, you or me? Yeah, that's right. It's me.
Tis the Season To Give Away Overpriced Useless Crap!
For those of you running dry of ideas in the gift department: the late, great Dave Barry's Gift Guide! Guaranteed to solve all your gift-giving needs!
It's really, really useful. Take this example: you have a friend who enjoys fried eggs. But they also enjoy firearms. Normally, you'd be facing a serious dilemma. Should you get them something gun-related, or something egg-related? Either way, they're going to be disappointed.
But after a few seconds browsing the gift guide, lo and behold! Your problems are solved!
It's really, really useful. Take this example: you have a friend who enjoys fried eggs. But they also enjoy firearms. Normally, you'd be facing a serious dilemma. Should you get them something gun-related, or something egg-related? Either way, they're going to be disappointed.
But after a few seconds browsing the gift guide, lo and behold! Your problems are solved!
My Sweet Lard
What better way to honor the Divine and Enlightened Buddha then by carving a statue of him out of pure lard? Hmm. I can actually think of a few better ways. Actually, make that a whole lot of better ways. None of which involve lard.
The Satanic Nursery Rhymes
Every religion has its prophets. Christianity has a whole slew of 'em--Isaiah, Ezekiel, John the Baptist, right on down to the present day. Mormonism had Joseph Smith. Buddhism was spread by Buddha, unsurprisingly.
Islam, as you might know, reveres Mohammed as the Last Prophet. No more shall come after him. Well, looks like they were a little off. Meet the newest Muslim prophet: Little Mommy Cuddle N' Coo!
Islam, as you might know, reveres Mohammed as the Last Prophet. No more shall come after him. Well, looks like they were a little off. Meet the newest Muslim prophet: Little Mommy Cuddle N' Coo!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
They Saved Thog's Brain
British scientists have discovered the world's oldest brain. This has allowed them to determine the rough date when the brain was invented, somewhere around 5,000,000 BC. Before then, everyone just stood around slack-jawed and staring into space.
We Three Kings of Chicago Are...
From the Fifth Chapter of the Book of Cliff, the Least Known Apostle:
And lo, a star did shine in the east. Or possibly it did shine in the west. But lo, there was a star, and it was shining, probably in the east with a slight chance of being in the west. Or perhaps it did shine in the north, but that makes not a difference to my story.
As I was sayingeth, the star was shining, and LO! One man looked up and beheld it. And he beheldeth it in all its beholdethness, and as he beholded the beholdable, the very beholdability of the star did strike him to the quick. I mean, did striketh him to the quick. The quicketh.
And so he and his wife did travel east, or west, or possibly south. And they came upon a babe lying in a manger. And when I sayeth "babe" I implore ye not to make any cheap cracks about babes. When I sayeth babe, I mean a baby.
He looked upon the babe, and thus did he declare: "Hi, my name's Barack Obama and I'm running for president. I need your vote this Christmas season so that we can finally bring change to the Middle East."
And lo, a star did shine in the east. Or possibly it did shine in the west. But lo, there was a star, and it was shining, probably in the east with a slight chance of being in the west. Or perhaps it did shine in the north, but that makes not a difference to my story.
As I was sayingeth, the star was shining, and LO! One man looked up and beheld it. And he beheldeth it in all its beholdethness, and as he beholded the beholdable, the very beholdability of the star did strike him to the quick. I mean, did striketh him to the quick. The quicketh.
And so he and his wife did travel east, or west, or possibly south. And they came upon a babe lying in a manger. And when I sayeth "babe" I implore ye not to make any cheap cracks about babes. When I sayeth babe, I mean a baby.
He looked upon the babe, and thus did he declare: "Hi, my name's Barack Obama and I'm running for president. I need your vote this Christmas season so that we can finally bring change to the Middle East."
Choose Your Own Canadian Adventure
You are a Canadian software engineer. You are 33 years old, single, and live with your parents. One day you find you have the irresistible biological urge to find a mate.
If you choose to go out to a local bar and try to find a woman there, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 33
If you choose to sign up for an online dating serving and look for a woman who shares your interests, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 106
If you choose to drink the gnome's magic potion, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 8
If you choose to build your own robotic girlfriend, PLEASE BEG GOD TO HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL
If you choose to go out to a local bar and try to find a woman there, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 33
If you choose to sign up for an online dating serving and look for a woman who shares your interests, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 106
If you choose to drink the gnome's magic potion, PLEASE TURN TO PAGE 8
If you choose to build your own robotic girlfriend, PLEASE BEG GOD TO HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOUL
Seriously, 'Ten Hoodies Hollering"?
Looking for a bit of gloom to darken your eggnog this season? Well, here's a story for you. A British vicar (side note: do British vicars do anything aside from stirring up controversy) has re-written "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to make it more soul-crushing depressing. Er, pardon me, more socially conscious. The lyrics in full:
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me
Twelve soldiers serving
Eleven lottery losers
Ten hoodies hollering
Nine single mothers
Eight AIDS victims
Seven shoppers struggling
Six carers caring
Five repossessings
Four calling canmen
Three starving children
Two addicts shaking
And a poor homeless refugee
A few reactions from me:
1) Being a soldier is as bad as having AIDS, apparently.
2) What's a canmen? And why is it bad when they call you?
3) If a carer didn't care, what would you call them?
4) Most importantly, what kind of sick bastard is your true love anyway?
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me
Twelve soldiers serving
Eleven lottery losers
Ten hoodies hollering
Nine single mothers
Eight AIDS victims
Seven shoppers struggling
Six carers caring
Five repossessings
Four calling canmen
Three starving children
Two addicts shaking
And a poor homeless refugee
A few reactions from me:
1) Being a soldier is as bad as having AIDS, apparently.
2) What's a canmen? And why is it bad when they call you?
3) If a carer didn't care, what would you call them?
4) Most importantly, what kind of sick bastard is your true love anyway?
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