Monday, August 3, 2009

Comedy Central: Cry Me a Rivers

Boredom is what it is; the state of being bored. This substantial phenomenon makes television what it is; repetitive, recycled crap that gets launched from the minds of idiots and drips from your tv/monitor onto your ever waiting tongue to be processed and spit back out by some, while at the same time is engulfed by the weak minded and their tasteless gullets.

Good shows from the past, like "V" are being remade, Older movies like Tron are being remade. Everything else that had or will have any texture to it most likely comes from Japan or was a book at some time. The difference with book-to-film movies is that fans love the idea until they see it on the big screen, then the fans hate it while everyone else likes it. The only exception to this rule that I've seen is the Twilight series, whereas I've never seen bloodsucking cannibals with as much glitter and eyeliner as Boy George, but maybe he'll be the head vampire in upcoming installments.
See, for me it's pretty easy to avoid such piece-of-crap films like Dragon Ball: Evolution (by the way, I'm most likely never going to bother watching that piece of box office gold), but television is a little different because you can get a whiff of these parasitic bowel movements for even a split second while you're channel surfing from previously described boredom; just hoping you'll get lucky enough to ogle at Topanga on the Style Network (hey, that's one woman every man should want crawling on top of them).

Comedy Central is not only reaching into the farthest depths of what they believe comedy to be, for some reason Joan Rivers found it in her depths to let virtually jobless comedians ( and whatever Kathy Griffin feels like calling herself ) collect all of the jokes people have been wanting to lash out with for the last 15 years. Of all the accomplished people to belittle, they picked Joan Rivers? I don't even know why people watch these shows anyway. Apparently, the first roast got good enough ratings that the producers decided, "Hey, people liked it, let's do it again (and again and again and again) !!" What does Joan Rivers have to do with comedy? Is she funny or is she like, freakishly altered facial structure funny? I really don't have a problem with the woman. Personally I doubt that she ever announced any single one of these "comedians" on the red carpet. I just think if someone deserves to be roasted and it has to be an old lady, it should be someone that actually made a big contribution to comedy, like Betty White. I would lick that woman's sternum she's so awesome.
By the way, Spaceballs is now an animated series. I haven't seen it or even heard of it until about 5 minutes ago, so maybe Joan Rivers has something in her life people need her for. Spaceballs wouldn't be the same without her; but then again the best character in the movie is dead and even HE should have been roasted before Ms. Rivers. Mel Brooks for that matter should have a damn roast before anyone else. Just stop what you're doing ,Comedy Central; Call up Mel Brooks, get together funny, tasteful, veteran comedians that aren't addicted to the words "f$#k" and "c%*t" and roast that son of a bitch right now!

Why is it the people being roasted just keep getting less and less famous? Is everyone else saying no? Who's next, Nick Lachey? That would be kind of reaching. I don't even see why people watch any of them for that matter. The only celebrity roasts I watched were Pamela Anderson (so I could see some boobies), Bob Sagat, and Dennis Leary. Comedy Central altogether is hit or miss these days, but who's complaining other than me? I'm just a nobody that writes about nothing. Even if I were famous one day, I would completely avoid such events unless I could sit way in the back next to Pauly Shore and Gallagher.

Gallagher actually asked to be roasted, but it turns out they'd rather roast the watermelon.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Scattered Showers in the Star Wars "Urineverse"

We were sitting down at Waffle House last night and far be it by me to let the greasy spoon inhabitants get bored, but hey, you'd be amazed what your brain can come up with at 3 in the morning, without the benefit of cocaine and hallucinogenic mushrooms. What? I put them on my sandwiches.

For some reason the conversation turned over to Star Wars and we were already on the subject of going to the bathroom (Go figure), so I considered the largest object ever conceived in science fiction and whether or not it had any restrooms. Of course, when movies are set in a very serious and epic format, going to the toilet is never mentioned. Now, in order to make my case, I had to do actual research for something..... a little nerdy. I don't care what you say, I had to have some numbers to go by. Before I get comments about how it's not real, your mother is and so were her orgasms last night.

Ok, here we go. According to The Technical Book of Science Fiction Films, the population of the Death Star was approximately 31,622,963. I have no earthly idea how someone thinks of this, but those same people probably also have no idea how I get my ideas. I got this information here, so check it out yourself (yes, people do talk about these things). I'm fairly sure someone got beat up and urinated on to come up with this number, but we're going to use it for the sake of argument. Now let's say the average person squeezes the dragon at least three times per 24-hour period. The average output of urine daily could be somewhere around a healthy 2000ml, which is about 0.53 gallons. This means every day the Death Star is not only losing massive imaginary amounts of food and drink including stock from the Snapple machines, it's populous is producing around 16,696,925 gallons of pee pee; not to mention that's 94,868,889 trips to the potty. Here's the problem. Where does all of this fictional piss go? Do they have a Giant Death Star Pissy Puddle Recycling Plant, where Storm Troopers eventually end up drinking the last shift's green tea? Even if that were the case, you still have those pesky laws of science which makes sure matter never goes away; so basically, it has to go somewhere. Since outer space is immensely freezing, you would have to shoot the pee out at high velocities to keep it from freezing up on the outside shell and thus making the Death Star, the Big Pee Ball with Green Planet Blower-upper Thingy. No one wants their planet obliterated by a giant ball of frozen piss.

Firing streams of urine would result in giant yellow icicles moving at speeds only the Flash and William Hung's singing career can compete with. At 65,881 gallons per minute, you can be sure that eventually planets, spaceships, and the occasional droid will be impaled by an enormous pissicle the size of the Kraken's penis and utterly humiliated by anyone that narrowly escaped death at the hands of this golden shower javelin - A much more embarassing death than falling out of one of Bob Ross' happy little trees.

 The next time you're at Waffle House, I guarantee you're going to remember (and most likely fear) Star Wars and the deadly tinkle spears falling out of the sky. If the atmosphere's like ours, it might just splash down over you with a slight chance of Sith juice. Then the force will be with you like you wouldn't believe.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Into the Mind of Nothingness - Part 2

There are several things that come to mind when faced with utter boredom. Many people claim to be "random". They have not even a clue as to what that means. Just to say "I am random" first of all, doesn't really mean anything. Here's the definition of the word random from :


  1. lacking aim or method; purposeless; haphazard
So basically, these same people have an agenda and very direct path in life to tell you plainly, "I am purposeless". Although I can very honestly communicate with you that my thought patterns aren't really patterns and are very random (without purpose or method), just like getting your rocks off, there's a sweet release to be gotten whenever I share my ideas with the general populous.

Last night I was talking to a friend on the phone and I suddenly thought that, for the sake of evolution, people should be bred with little pockets of deodorant that grow on your armpits like pimples, then all you have to do is simply pop it and rub it in. Sure, the scientific results could prove to be poisonous to humans in the beginning stages, but you know what they say about making omelets.
After that half-hour conversation, I then thought it should be mandatory by law that cereal be sold together with a serving of milk (at least until the milk goes bad; then you could separate 'em). Not only that, but also it would come with a spoon at a perfect size and every portion is calculated by top scientists to make the milk/cereal ratio come out completely even every time. Your very last bite would consist of an even amount of both milk and long as you're not a criminal and try to make it end up different. An attempt like that would make damn well sure according to the full extent of the law that you're stripped down naked and stapled to AstroTurf while senior citizens play miniature golf without their glasses around your body and you pray to God that they don't lose track of the ball. Old people get mad when roughage gets in the way of their shot.

Even though sometimes I think things would be easier if people would just do things because I just came up with them, not all of my ideas should be performed by children, pregnant woman, and midgets with heart conditions. For instance, I believe that the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba should send everyone who's forced to watch their program psychedelic mushrooms so that we can understand what the hell they tried to come up with.

All women should be required to join a gym and get breast augmentations at seventeen years of age (if they're naturally big, we could let it slide until they do). To be fair, all men should be required to have one wife and three mistresses.....yeah, that'll teach us. Greasy cheesburgers should come with a pair of prosthetic hands that will hold on to said burger as we hold on to them for the sole purpose of not having to wipe our greasy hands on our pants which results in our wives having to stop working out and wash our pants... That would be counter productive.

The hand could then be donated to local bands of gorillas to help scoop their poop and have cleaner, more efficiant launches at passers-by.

In the hopes to understand me better, remember that people aren't random. The phrase in general is about as annoying as the word "bromance". I'm sorry, but if you got romance going on with your brother, there's another word for that.