Santa Took a Dump Down My Chimney

“So, Frank, what did you get for Christmas?”

It’s an obnoxious question that I’ve been hearing all day long, so I’m determined to put an end to this mindless riff-raff and REVEAL TO EVERYONE all the EMBARRASSING CRAP that my family gave me for Christmas this year. Now, there’s a good chance that you’re not going to believe any of this, but all I can say is: YOU MUST. I SWEAR TO GOD IT’S ALL TRUE. It’s probably gifts like these that have made me what I am today: a freak.

My family actually wrapped up the following “presents” for me this year:

Size 12 Slippers That Look Used (I wear a Size 9). They mistook my shoe-size by THREE ENTIRE SIZES.

It’s about goddamn time I got a HAND BROOM! Just the other day I was aimlessly wandering about my house screaming, “I need a hand-broom! Someone!”

Mustard . . . yep, they gave me fucking mustard.

Brightly-colored pencils. Pencils. I don’t know a single adult who uses pencils.

Four DVDs I’ve never heard of that still have a blaring $1.00 Price Tag attached to each of one of them. That means that these FOUR gifts TOGETHER totaled no more than $4.37.

An Old Gross Bag of Fucking Dried Beans and Rice. You know, Christmas is supposed to be a time when you get away from this sort of “bum-under-a-bridge” diet. Instead, I got bombarded with it.

An XL shirt . . . I wear a Small or Medium . . . again, they mistook my size by THREE TIMES. It’s not like I just lost a bunch of weight either. I’ve weighed 140 lbs. since the 10th grade.

One Single-Serving Cup of Tostito’s Salsa Dip. (Unless, of course, I open it and it’s too gross to finish and I wrap it in tin foil and put it back in my refrigerator for when I work up the balls to try it again, then it could be counted as two servings.)

2000 Flushes Bleach Tablets, So I Don’t Have to Clean My Toilet.

Bath Wand: Tub & Toilet Cleaning System So I Can Clean My Toilet.

Bath Wand Refills, So I Can Continue Cleaning My Toilet.

Bagged Salmon. Mmmm. Warm, bagged fish and Christmas go so well together.

If any of my readers received any gifts WORSE than these, let me know, because these are tough to beat.

Screw Your Dreams & Study Business

There’s a certain behavior pattern that occurs in every high school and even college art department around the country. This behavior exchange transpires between parents and their high school or college-aged children. This behavior pattern is sickening, nonsensical, backstabbing, and abusive to the student.

Here’s what happens:

Let’s say, for instance, that a child grows up and becomes an outstanding French horn player (this could also work for visual art, acting, writing – anything involving the creative arts). In fact, let’s say that this student is a first chair French horn player throughout high school and into college.

Okay, so we’ve established that he’s a success at the French horn. Great.

Now, here’s what the student’s parents and peers say: “He is just fantastic – we have never seen anything like this before – I hope he keeps up with it. Such a talented musician. I hope he devotes his life to the French horn – he’s too good not to do it.”

Scenario A: The student graduates from college with a degree in French horn performance — doing exactly what his parents wanted. They are so proud. So, our phenomenal French horn student takes the next logical step and tries to land a job as a professional musician.

Nothing.

He can’t find anything. After several months of waiting tables, living with his parents, and teaching three 14-year-olds the French horn, he lands a small, part-time job with a local orchestra, where he rakes in a whopping $7500 a year. He tries to find work at the local university, but the market is flooded because everyone who graduated with a music degree now wants to teach. There’s no room for him and there’s no way he can replace tenured professors who have taught for 18 years.

In response to this, the student’s parents/peers say: “Yeah, he’s sort of a loser now. I don’t know why he pursued the French horn . . . I mean, did he really think he could support himself? Man, what a bum. He has no real skills at all . . . I just don’t know what he plans to do.”

Josh Anderson (age 22); earning his music degree

Josh “Huckleberry” Anderson (age 52); using his music degree

Scenario B: The student is in college studying the French horn. Against his parents’ will, the student drops his French horn studies and transfers to the School of Business to study accounting, management, or finance. He eventually graduates and lands a job making 38K managing a hotel or something.

Now, here’s what our student’s parents and peers have to say: “I just can’t believe he flushed all that talent down the toilet and forsook something he really loved . . . he just totally sold out to pursue business . . . and now he’s a hotel manager . . . ughh . . . I thought he was more devoted than that . . . it’s just a shame.”

Well, here’s what I say: FUCK THESE PEOPLE. This babbling gaggle of concerned parents and peers have NO IDEA what they’re spewing. THEY HAVE NO CLUE. They’re going to be disappointed NO MATTER WHAT happens in the student’s life. NOTHING WILL MAKE THEM SATISFIED — SO FUCK THEM.

If you do what THEY want and pursue what you love, you’re a loser. If you pursue something that feeds you, you’re a heartless waste of talent. This “impossible-to-please” behavior on the part of the parents does not make any sense whatsoever and it places the student in an impossibly hopeless position.

Therefore, it’s fine for parents to encourage the arts. I agree. HOWEVER, parents should NEVER encourage their child to DEVOTE THEIR LIVES to the arts. All that will do is make the child’s early 20s a RELENTLESSLY UNBEARABLE HELL until they stumble into something that feeds them.

Parents MUST explain these harsh realities to their children instead of cramming baseless, idealistic shit down their throats. “Stick to your dreams. Do what you want to do. Just read The Fountainhead, you’ll see!”

BULLSHIT. That’s not how the world works. Anyone who thinks that is how the world works is a delusional imbecile who has NO FRAME OF REFERENCE. The Fountainhead is fiction. Ayn Rand was LUCKY (and terribly long-winded). This is a cruel, terrible place and a degree in art will most likely do them more harm than good.

Explain THAT to your children – or better yet – don’t have children at all – save them from this awful place.

Ayn Rand: Inspiring False Hope From Beyond the Grave

An Age Old Debate

Today I would like to involve you in on an Age Old Debate regarding my physical appearance. It traces back many years and has been argued by some of the top theologians, rhetoricians, and pseudo-philosophers of Memphis, Tennessee and the Columbia, Missouri Metropolitan area. After years of debate and vicious arguing, I have finally decided that it is time to reach a solution.

Because I believe my readers are some of the Premier Intellectual Minds of Our Time, I thought it appropriate to grant YOU the Special Privilege of becoming intimately involved with this Age Old Debate Regarding My Physical Appearance and putting an end to it once and for all.

Now, before I present you with the Question of Debate, let me explain the rules: First, you may justify your answer if you wish, but a simple one-word answer will do just fine. Second, I realize that I have a tendency to verbally abuse many commentators on this site, but this time, I assure you I will not, because there is no wrong answer.

So, without further ado, here is the Age Old Debate Regarding My Physical Appearance:

Which do I more closely resemble, an AIDS Patient or a Cancer Patient?

Your MP3 Collection

We irrelevant humans do lots of things to ease the unspeakable pain of daily existence and awareness.

We distract ourselves with television.

We drink ourselves into unconsciousness.

We spend countless hours creating “art” that illustrates our awareness of the pain caused by our awareness.

We fuck on the hoods of cars in the desert.

We take ludes.

We have babies.

We collect Dreamsicles.

We set up our own Dreamsicle Websites.

We attend Dreamsicle Conventions.

We even start blogs making fun of Dreamsicle Conventions.

Of all our distractions and collections we use to justify and/or define our existence, I simply cannot bear to be a part of someone’s MP3 collection.

Besides the Holocaust and Rent, there is NOTHING worse than having to succumb to the wrath of someone else’s MP3 collection. Whether it’s on their iPod or their computer, sitting there, trapped, listening to some idiot sift through their MP3s while they anxiously await positive feedback from me is 100% UNBEARABLE.

“Oh, you’ll recognize this, I’m sure,” says the MP3 Dude That Has Cornered You. Of course, you don’t recognize the song and the MP3 Dude gets frustrated because you can’t identify with his whacky MP3 collection.

Now, here’s where it can backfire. Let’s say you do happen to recognize or enjoy a song that he’s playing.

YOU: “Oh, yeah . . . this is a good song.”
THEM: “Yeah, thanks.”

The MP3 Dude has taken this simple comment as a compliment about HIMSELF. He has taken a compliment about a song and in mid-air he has transformed that very compliment into a compliment for HIS TALENT — AS IF HE WROTE THE FUCKING SONG.

For example:

YOU SAY: “Oh, yeah . . . this is a great song.”
MP3 DUDE HEARS: “Oh, yeah . . . I really like you and what you stand for – let’s hang out all the time – you’re so talented and original.”

It’s an MP3. It’s an easy-to-download file that a million other morons have in their Shared Folders.

Therefore, let it be known across college dormitories everywhere: YOUR MP3s ARE IN NO WAY A REFLECTION OF YOUR TALENT OR SKILLS. THE ONLY THING IT REFLECTS IS YOUR ABILITY TO OPERATE A COMPUTER, WHICH IS NOTHING TO BE PROUD OF — SO SHUT UP.

Oh – and the same goes for Dreamsicles.

Dumbass Product: The Sex Wedge

People will pay for anything. From Wax Lips to Lip Enhancers to Skip-It, people love to spend money on Dumbass Products. So, I’ve decided to start a semi-regular segment where every so often I will highlight, mock, and destroy a ridiculous product that people ACTUALLY buy.

Now, when reading these posts, please remember that in no way am I bashing the manufacturers of these products, but rather the people who buy the products. I almost admire the manufacturers because after all, they’re cashing-in on human stupidity. Hell, if people would buy Live Frog Underwear, believe me, I would manufacturer it and exploit this dumb population for every penny I could.

So, without further ado, please enjoy the DUMBASS PRODUCT OF THE DAY:

If you’ve ever made it to the end of a Rolling Stone, Spin, Maxim, or Stuff magazine (basically liquor and car catalogs, interrupted by unnecessary “articles” about rappers and/or whores posing as accomplished artists) you’ve probably found yourself staring at a vertical ad for a sex-wedge, a sex-ramp or something of that ilk.

Every time I stumble upon one of these needless advertisements I scoff in disgust at not only how moronic the product is, but at the fact people actually buy it. In a nutshell, this advertisement attempts (and most likely succeeds) in convincing sexually-retarded morons to PAY MONEY for a glorified, overpriced pillow.

“But it’s not a normal pillow – it’s the sex-ramp – which provides YOU with an exhilarating sexual adventure!”

Bullshit. A foam slab is not synonymous with sexual adventure.

If you’re hell-bent on propping your partner’s ass in the air, WAD UP A PILLOW FOR CHRIST’S SAKE! Do you hear me? WAD UP A PILLOW! OR SOME BLANKETS! Or just be a totally ignorant sap and pay $85 – $130 for a fucking sex-wedge.

Derr . . . good thing Dufus bought a Sex-Wedge or he’d have no place to put his hand while his partner kicks in air for no reason!

Here’s the thought process of a Typical Sex-Wedge Consumer while he’s staring at the ad:

“Durrrrr . . . these women on these sex-wedges look really hot . . . man, if I got one of those sex wedges, I bet my wife/girlfriend/hostage would look like that too. I never knew women could bend in half like that! Hell! I bet if I got a Sex-Wedge, I bet mine could bend in half, too! I mean, she would have to use it if I bought it! Where’s the phone? I NEED THIS WEDGE. I NEED MY CREDIT CARDS! A REGULAR PILLOW WON’T WORK. AHHH!”

So, the jackass gets on the phone, orders his precious sex-pillow for $100 and waits by the mailbox until an enormous, unlabeled box arrives. He opens his “kinky foam wedge” and waits for his wife to get home.

A Pillow Could Never Do That! Wow!

She comes home, he brings her into the bedroom, and they fumble on and around the wedge for about 15 minutes until he finally realizes that it either (a) gets in the way or (b) makes no difference and wasn’t worth it.

Oh, and his wife still doesn’t and never will look like the woman in the magazine.

[Got a Dumbass Product? Submit it to mistereid@hotmail.com]

Narnia Schmarnia

Okay, here’s a brief plot summary of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe: four spoiled-ass British kids stumble into “Narnia” via a wardrobe in their rich uncle’s spare room. Once in Narnia, these nasty children quickly learn that this magical world is at war because some White Witch prefers to exist in cooler temperatures, while the rest of the population does not. In order to restore a warm climate to the frozen world, the children team up with a BORING lion to overthrow the White Witch.

So, in other words, the only thing at stake in this movie is the NARNIAN THERMOSTAT. And to that I say: Who gives a shit? Really? Who?

As if that’s not bad enough, the four spoiled shitheads are also the “key-factor” in fulfilling some ancient Narnian Prophecy. I AM SO SICK OF CHARACTERS FULFILLING PROPHECIES IN MOVIES. Neo in the Matrix. The Russian Bitch in The Fifth Element. Harry Potter in The Endless Barrage of Harry Potter Movies and the Aztec Goblet of Phoenix. Anakin Skywalker in Those Things George Lucas Calls Movies. Jesus Christ in The Greatest Story Ever Told. Shit! Haven’t people learned that when a prophecy is presented in a movie, it will inevitably be fulfilled? So why even bother watching it? Why bother caring?

I’ll tell you why. You should care if and ONLY if: (1) the characters are intriguing and show us something about ourselves or (2) the story unfolds in an unusual or entertaining way.

Unfortunately, this steaming pile of Lion Shit has none of that.

In fact, I wanted every character to die and/or suffer. I was that involved. The actor who played “Edmund” was probably told by director Andrew Adamson (brilliant effects wizard behind Batman & Robin) to “just scowl the whole time . . . that should be enough.”

Besides hating every character and the piss-poor cliché-ridden execution, I also found it extremely appropriate that Liam Neeson was cast as the voice of Aslan, the noble Lion who, like Bono, pretends to be Jesus Christ.

Liam Neeson is by far the most BORING human being ever to hit the big screen. Watching, or in this case, hearing Liam Neeson act is like watching a real-time video of a diaper biodegrading in a desert. Actually, I take that back – I would find that MORE interesting than watching Liam Neeson act. He was born to read Bedtime Stories for Children – that is all.

Every character Neeson has EVER played (besides Kinsey) is this nice guy who’s kind of shy but stands up for what’s right and sometimes he raises his voice to defend some poor, innocent woman and blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.

He was PERFECT for this movie.

Another nice touch to this heap was when the children were visited by Santa Claus. Santa bestows Lucy with a “potion that cures all injuries.” That is where I wanted to JUST WALK OUT.

A potion that cures all injuries?! This means that all of the characters are INVINCIBLE. That means that they’re all protected, no matter what happens! Therefore, there is actually NOTHING at stake in the movie and the kids will most certainly re-adjust Narnia’s Thermostat with few problems.

Finally, throughout the entire movie, Narnians keep reminding the kids, “We can’t do this without you” and “Don’t go, we need you to stay and overthrow the White Witch.”

Here’s a tally of the kids’ contribution to overthrowing the White Witch:

Lucy: Cried a lot and rode on Aslan.

Susan: Cried a lot, rode on Aslan, and looked ugly.

Edmund: Scowled a lot and pointed his sword forward once.

Peter: Swooned 12-year-old girls in audience and pointed his sword forward twice.

Wow! Glad they showed up in Narnia to fulfill the prophecy and BORE ME TO DEATH.

This movie was like watching a bunch of old fantasy movies that had been spliced together into one horrid cliché-ridden mess. Here’s the formula:

The Lord of the Rings + The Passion of the Christ + Bedknobs and Broomsticks + Troy + The Wiz + Titanic + A Cinderella Story = The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.