It's Willem

I was at King Soopers last night getting a movie. It was "American Psycho" (very good, by the way; I'd recommend it to anyone with a dark sense of humor and a strong resistance to vomiting at the sight of some pretty sickening gore. It's a really dark satire of the so-called "American Dream" as manifested in the yuppies of the late eighties.) It just so happens that Willem Dafoe plays a small role in the film. The guy at the counter who was checking the movie out for me turned over the DVD case and started reading it. Halfway through, he burst out, "Hey, William Dafoe is in this! William Dafoe! It's William Dafoe! He's crazy, William Dafoe! That guy's weird. I can't believe it's William Dafoe! William Dafoe!" I got the feeling that he wouldn't stop shouting until I said something back to him. I mumbled something under my breath. I'm not sure what, but it involved his head, some duct tape, a shopping bag, twenty feet of coaxial cable, and lots and lots of pain. Does no one look at the spelling of this man's name? It's Willem. WILL-EM. That's it. Two very short syllables. It's not that hard, people. He's not William. Read before you speak out loud. It's like this guy was rubbing his own stupidity in my face. It was the conversational equivalent of being forced to watch a McG movie over and over again, and then listen to a group of eighth grade boys talk about "how awesome it was when that one guy got totally smashed by that falling pile of flaming cars filled with gasoline and sparklers and hot chicks! Sweet!" It took all my willpower not to throw the DVD case at his eye.

I've Got Your 200 Feet Right Here

I was stuck behind some dump truck on my way to school today. It had one of those catch-all waivers on the back (in bumper sticker form) that said "Stay back 200 feet. Not responsible for broken windshields!" Oh yeah? So, if I put a bumper sticker on the front of my car that says "Not responsible for smashing into the back of your car, getting totally pissed with a wicked case of road rage, and shooting you in the face," then am I covered for any contingencies? Or maybe I should just walk around, proclaiming that I'm not responsible for hurt feelings, broken hearts, or stains on your shirt for which I might otherwise be responsible. Yeah, it sure would be nice that by simply saying, "I'm not responsible for anything I'm responsible for," as long as I say it before I actually do it, I can get away with pretty much anything. Too bad the real world doesn't work like that, jackass. Next time I get a crack in my windshield FOR ANY REASON, I'm suing that trucking company. That's what they get.

Irregardless

I hate it when people use the word "irregardless." It makes them sound pretty much as dumb as a rock, and they instantly lose all credibility. It's actually a nonstandard word; it is a combination of the words "irrespective" and "regardless," though much stupider-sounding than either. If anyone out there uses "irregardless" in formal writing, I hope you "accidentally" cut your face off with a rusty chainsaw. Twice.

"Disabilities? We Don't Need No Stinking Disabilities!"

Why are people with disabilities and the homeless always getting all the attention? What, like they're the only ones with problems? Everybody's got troubles. What makes them so special? You live in a cardboard box? Well, I've got a mole on my hip, and you don't see me whining about it. Oh, boo-hoo. You got your arm chopped off? Well, I've got two really bad cowlicks in my hair, but I'm not crying all over the place. Grow up. We've all got our own problems to worry about. You lost your job and your family doesn't love you anymore? Well, my Jeep only gets 16 miles per gallon, jerk. Why don't you put your problems in perspective for once? Think about other people for a change.

I Never Would Have Thought

I was at Chipotle a few days ago, and I happened to notice that there was a woman with more facial hair than I could hope to grow in a lifetime. It was a monster of a mustache. She could have been a stand-in for Tom Selleck in... well... ANY Tom Selleck movie. I couldn't keep my eyes off it. This woman's mustache was so transfixing, I didn't even notice the fact that there was a woman standing right next to her that had only one leg. That should tell you something, ladies. Lose a leg, and we'll still love you. Forget to wax that upper lip, however, and you're paying for your own dinner.

Isn't That Ironic?

You know those scrawny, pale guys who walk around the mall wearing black t-shirts with white lettering that says "Chicks dig scrawny pale guys"? Why is it that you never ever see one of those guys with a woman? Ever. It just doesn't make any sense. You'd think they're actually trying to be ironic, if you weren't absolutely convinced that they probably can't even spell "irony." Hey, is that ironic? I don't even know anymore...

Is It Just Me, Or Could I Totally Pick You Up?

Yesterday, while loading and unloading firewood from the back of my dad's truck, I came to an odd realization. I seem to suffer under the continuous delusion that everything around me weighs just about 45 pounds. Then, I am always shocked and embarrassed to discover that I cannot, in fact, lift everything. I look at a refrigerator and think to myself, "Psh! I could lift that. No problem." I watch some guy on tv struggle to lift a tree branch off his fallen comrade, and I laugh and point at the weak little man. Yeah, I know. It's ridiculous. But so is plenty of the stuff guys think to themselves. I'm just the only one candid enough to admit it. When I walk into a bank, I convince myself that I could easily rob it. When I meet some guy, I wonder just how long I could take a beating from him before running away and drowning my sorrows in a bowl of strawberry ice cream. Trust me, these are things that every guy wonders. We also wonder if we could plan a murder- and get away with it. You know, normal stuff. Sometimes, I watch tv and wonder what the actors are doing right then, completely oblivious to the fact that I can see them now. Maybe I should see a therapist...

What Is It With Middle-Aged Men And Not Being Funny?

There's this guy in one of my comm classes. I can't quite remember which one at the moment, because they're all the exact same thing, and tend to run together, but I want to say Nonverbal Communication. Anyway, he's a big fat 35-year-old doofus. OK, so he's not fat in the sense of being, you know, FAT, but he's still a doofus. Stupid redheaded jackass.

He's just about 35 years old, so he's obviously about 14 or 15 years older than the average student in that class. Why he's in undergrad comm classes is anybody's guess, but my version goes something like this: He's an idiot who went back to school after years of being the assistant night manager at Blockbuster. He has no earthly idea what he wants to "do with his life," so he decided on the easiest-sounding major, Communication. He's been taking comm classes for seven years, which would explain why every single professor in the comm department knows his name, which, by some horrifically unfunny coincidence, happens to be Andrew.

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah... So I was sitting in this comm class, and Andrew decides he's gonna make what his decrepit generation used to refer to as a "wise crack." You and I might call it a "joke." Unfortunately, Andrew completely forgot that he's an idiot, and therefore is unable to make people laugh. We were looking at pictures of people none of us know, and we were told to make up a back-story for these people, based solely on the one picture we were shown. This little exercise was supposed to highlight our own built-in biases or some such crap. (Apparently, I'm a bigotted homophobe who focuses on class separations and takes joy in the misfortune of others. It's amazing what people can do with diagnostic tools these days...)

When one picture was shown, Andrew decided to make his idiocy known to the world and shouted out, "She looks like an extra on 'Newhart'!" I can assure you, ladies and gentlemen, that the professor and I were the only people in the entire room who had any idea what this guy was talking about. Rule number one concerning "cracking wise" in a group made up of people who are a full generation younger than you: Don't refer to shows that were cancelled before your audience was even born.

He made another joke later, and it fell just as flat. When another picture was shown, he yelled, "The background behind her makes her look like a Branch Davidian!" This time, he got two people to actually snicker, while dozens more quickly leaned to the people next to them and asked in poorly hushed voices, "What the hell is a Branch Davidian?"

Andrew clearly does not understand his audience. But, really, who can blame him? After all, he's the one who's old enough for his shameless, John-Deniston-like flirting with the professor to seem not only inappropriate, but just plain wrong.

"Hi, My Name Is Andrew, And I'm Addicted To Celebrity..."

I can't help it. I see celebrities everywhere I go. It's not like I want to see them. They just show up from out of nowhere, without my even thinking of them. Like today, I saw George Clooney, Kevin Spacey, Robert Klein, and Dave Foley... ALL AT CHURCH. No matter where I look, I see people who remind me of someone famous. I'm not even trying to do it. I think it's a sickness. A few weeks ago, I saw Steve Martin walking a dog in a local neighborhood. Last week, I saw Larry David walking across a street. I saw Method Man in a Chipotle on Powers. I saw Tina Fey two days ago in Denver. I know what you're thinking (besides "I want to jump Andrew right now"): "He's just making these up. I bet he just pulled some random celebrity names out of the air and decided to pretend that he saw people who looked like them." Let's get one thing straight: I'm nowhere near that creative. I ACTUALLY SAW PEOPLE who, to me, looked just like those celebrities. I actually kinda like it. There's no telling what celebrity I'll think I saw each day. I guess when you have the imagination of an IRS receptionist, you have to make do with what you've got.

Play Ball

I went to a Rockies game last night. My dad had gotten his hands on four free tickets, and we weren't really doing anything, so we decided to go. Man, it was awesome. Oh, not the game. The Rockies suck. But the people-watching was phenomenal there. If you ever want to see the most interesting people you can in the shortest amount of time, go to a baseball game. Now, for those of you who don't live in Colorado, or who have lived out of the state for so long you don't remember, the Rockies play in a stadium called Coors Field. The highlight of my night was hearing a man ask a vendor what kind of beer he had. I almost choked on my hot dog. I also really enjoyed seeing a group of older-than-dirt men sitting together. They'd obviously been friends for longer than I've been alive. I love that. I can't wait 'till I'm an old guy hanging out with my friends that I've had for thirty years. It's gonna be great. I can't imagine anything better in this life. Except for maybe another thing I got to do last night: make fun of drunken baseball fans. The only thing stupider than a baseball fan is a baseball fan who's had one or two or five too many. Awesome. They love to dance, I'll tell you that. I saw one lady who seemed to honestly believe that she was the heir apparent to Ginger Rogers. I couldn't stop laughing, because what she thought she was doing and what she was actually doing couldn't have been more different. She looked like a stroke victim trying to scratch an itch while being restrained by sumo wrestlers. Or maybe like Rip Torn trying to argue with a squad of police officers that he's "not as think as you drunk I am." You guys should try and find that video...

You Idiots Are Totally Missing It

I can't believe how many stupid people there are in the world. Even just in our little corner of the globe, there are more stupid people than you can shake a stick at and/or beat to death with said stick. I prefer the latter, because that way, I get to hurt somebody. Anyway, I'm sick and tired of hearing people complain about how bad the federal government's handling of the relief effort in New Orleans has been. Disaster relief is not the responsibility of the federal government, no matter what your blue-state idiot friends have told you. Get a job, hippy.

Everyone's heard the phrase "Good enough for government work." Where do you geniuses think we got that? Did we just pull some random, obscure concept that government is inefficient out of the air? Hell no. That phrase exists for one reason only: Years of witnessing failure on the part of the federal government to get anything done. It's practically an intuitive concept. Ask anybody on the street if they think the federal government is efficient. I bet you'll be lucky to find 3 out of 10 people who answer in the affirmative. The left's whole philosophy on handling governmental problems begins and ends with "Just give it more money." Too bad more money only guarantees more bureaucracy, and thus more problems.

What we need is a private company whose sole purpose is to run and regulate relief efforts in disaster-ridden areas. And I'm not talking about the Red Cross. I mean a company that would handle EVERYTHING. They should have helicopters, boats, construction crews, food, water, emergency medical supplies, tents and shelters, toys for kids, and everything else you could think of. The free market would force such a company to perform every time. None of this governmental aid crap. Then again, maybe the real problem lies with the worse-than-federal-government relief coming from the laughable Governor of Louisiana and the racist, lazy, timid, jackass mayor of New Orleans. What a son of a bitch. He should be hanged for how he dealt with this tragedy.

And hey, while I'm at it, as for the complaints from the people in New Orleans, why don't you get up off your lazy, welfare-supported asses and clean up your own city? How about not waiting for Uncle Sam to swoop down and offer his teat? That's how the real world works, you jackasses! Some of you, the ones who haven't been working but have had plenty to complain about, don't deserve the meager aid you've been given.

Unbefreakinglievable

This has got to be the single strangest website I've ever come across. I don't know why, but it fascinates me. I want to make my own video. Just check it out. It'll either make you laugh or kill yourself because it's so stupid.

If You Can Find A Worse Commercial, Kill Yourself

Have you seen those Chrysler commercials featuring some crusty old guy and his stupid line, "If you can find a better car, buy it?" I'm assuming it's an old slogan Chrysler's marketing team has mistakenly decided is "better than eating your own face." But not much. They're so behind in their work, they just slapped together a couple commercials featuring a slogan that was deemed worthy of being pulled off the air by the previous generation of marketers. Great job, retards. Marketing lesson number one: Don't tell your customers to buy your competitors' products. A four-year-old mongoloid chimp could tell you that. Here's an idea, Chrysler: Fire your entire marketing staff (which, I assume, is composed entirely of lobotomized chickens and people who voted for John Kerry) and replace them all with brain-dead clones of Anna Nicole Smith (but I repeat myself). That's a regular dream team compared to what you've got now. Oh, and then you should gouge your eyes out as penance for your criminal stupidity.

It's Official

As of today, I am officially a columnist. That means I get paid to make fun of stuff. Sweet gig. Now, I know most of you don't care, but I have heard it requested that I tell everyone how to get to the online version of the scribe so they can see my column and make out with the picture. Well, here it is: http://www.uccs.edu/~scribe/opinion.html (just copy and paste it; I'm tired of putting up links. Screw links.) So there you go. You're jealous. I know you are.