SAM'S CLUB:

"Ya'll shut the fuck up now and pay attention! Ron's talkin', dammit." 

Thank you Old Samuel Jackson. March 28th is just around the corner and I couldn't be happier. Why's March 28th gonna be such a good day for me? Well I'm glad that I pretended that you asked. Friday, the 28th of this month will see the big screen release of G.I. Joe: Retaliation, a film I've been waiting like nine months to see. Seriously, I kinda liked the first one (he said opening himself up to an ungodly amount of ridicule) and this one actually looks pretty good too. Had planned to see it last summer, before it got pushed back from its original release date of June 29th, 2012.

Contains so much testosterone that women and
children are warned to stay the hell home.

The reason the studio suits gave for the push back was something all to do with retooling and reshoots and reorganizing and synergy and brand awareness and a bunch of other buzzword bullshit. Most of us outside of Hollywood figured they were flinging crap around to try and mask the fact that they were scared shitless about putting a comic book/action film into the mix against the likes of The Avengers, The Dark Knight Rises and The Amazing Spider-Man. And even though the flick would have indeed gotten its camouflaged taint handed to it by those first two films, they needn't have worried about Spider-Man because that movie chugged bug nuts. 

Out of costume, not avenging a damn thing, still raking in the dollars. 

But conspiracy nut that I am, I have a theory about the even deeper meaning behind the suits' decision. Wanna hear it? Well your lips say 'NO' but your eyes… still say 'NO'. That being the case, I'm gonna tell you anyway. The real reason is the secret beef between Samuel L. Jackson and Channing Tatum. Think I'm crazy? Well I am, but that has nothing to do with it. Just put the God damn phone down and hear me out! Ever notice how Channing Tatum seems to be in almost everything these days? Guy has a movie in theaters almost once a month or so it seems. 

A small sampling of the amount of cinematic poon this guy's been getting. I hate that lucky bastard.

And back in the summer of 2012 he would have hit the multiplexes again with G.I. Joe: Retaliation — herein to be called GIJ:R for the sake of me not wanting to type all that shit out no more. But then suddenly the suits pulled GIJ:R back from the big box office beatdown it had coming to it for thinking it could go up against Samuel (Mr. Jackson if you're nasty) and his avenging crew. And I believe that Mr. Jackson (because I'm nasty) had a little something to do with that decision. 

Just click HERE in case you forgot how that shit turned out for him. Classic. 

Check it out. To date, Mr. Jackson has been in 137 movies since making his film debut in 1988. That's 25 years of being a badass motherfucker both on and off screen. Now the record for most feature films by an American actor is held by another badass of the silver screen, John Wayne. Wayne starred in 142 movies during his 50 year career. And the distinction there is that those were all starring roles. While Mr. Jackson's 137 outtings were not all starring roles, he has amassed quite a catalog of feature parts in half the time as The Duke did. 

Not all the films were great, some were even downright vomit-like. But I ain't gonna tell HIM that.
(I'm looking at YOU, Star Wars prequels.)

And with no sign of slowing down at 64 years old (Black don't crack!) Mr. Jackson is sure to eclipse the Duke sometime in the next decade becoming the most prolific American actor of several generations. I stress the word 'American' because the true record is held by some ass driver from Bollywood named Adoor Bhasi. Bhasi appeared in nearly 550 movies before his death in 1990. But since I don't feel like outsourcing another damn thing over to India, we'll just keep such concerns in the good old US of A. Besides, since all of Bhasi's movies together probably didn't even make enough money to pay for the goodie bags given out at this years Academy Awards ceremony, then they don't really count for anything. AMERICA, FUCK YEAH!

Bhasi, seen here… or maybe not since even
Google isn't sure who the hell the guy was. 

So back to that former stripper punk, Channing Tatum. Dude started his film career in 2005 at the age of 25 and has since starred in 33 movies. At this rate, by 2030 when he reaches his 25th year in cinema he will have been in roughly 110 movies and only be 50 years old. (Or perhaps not because I suck at math.) Still, even if all my numbers are off (and they probably are) he's still on pace to best Mr. Jackson because he's 34 years younger and has time on his side. 

And dreaminess, he's also got dreaminess on his side. Damn him! 

That's why GIJ:R got bumped last summer, because Mr. Jackson did the math (probably better than I did) and came to the same conclusion as me. Tatum is a threat to Mr. Jackson's cinematic superiority and therefore must be stopped at all costs! Oh sure, bumping GIJ:R back a few months didn't really help matters, just delayed things. And the film still counts no matter when it gets released, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. Using his badass motherfucking cinematic Jedi abilities to keep Tatum's movie from seeing a summer release was just Mr. Jackson's way of firing a warning shot. Letting Tatum know that he could be fucked with if he didn't slow down and stop messing around in the record books where he shouldn't be. Sure you're probably thinking, "But Ron, Tatum was in 21 Jump Street AND Magic Mike during the summer of 2012, so your theory is bunk." 

"They've got you there, Ron. Your theory sucks worse than my acting."

SHUT THE HELL UP, CHANNING TATUM! Except for that thing about your acting, that was pretty insightful. I said that Mr. Jackson got GIJ:R bumped to send a message. Anyway, it doesn't look as if that message was received so we can all expect Mr. Jackson to start using more extreme methods in the near future. 

I wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Jackson wasn't even at this very moment developing a way to send his spirit through time and space to communicate with his younger self and warn himself about the threat to come. Such an event would allow Mr. Jackson to take advantage of the ironic twist of fate that in 2005 found a young Channing Tatum in his feature film debut, within arm's reach of Mr. Jackson on the set of the basketball bio-pic Coach Carter. 

There he is Mr. Jackson! Right there! See the arrow? Get him! Get him! 

Thus armed with knowledge of the future, the younger Mr. Jackson will undoubtedly see that Tatum meets with an unfortunate accident and thereby never lives to threaten his dominance or his place in history. Of course if/when that happens, the resulting cascade effect will most definitely alter the space/time continuum, changing events to such a degree that I would have already seen Magic Mike star Chris Hemsworth as Capt. Duke Hauser in GIJ:R this past summer and we wouldn't even be talking about… um… talking about… who the hell was I talking about again? I was gonna blog about something and then I just… can't recall. Something to do with Samuel Jackson and… someone. Knowing me it was probably something to do with boobs. But what would the star of Snakes on a Plane have to do with boobs? Unless it was something like Boobs on a Plane. 

Close enough.

Hey, ever notice that Chris Hemsworth's been in quite a few movies since he made his film debut in 2009?

Just sayin'.

RUSH JUDGMENT:

Big things happened this past Sunday. No not to me, don't be silly, nothing ever happens to me. Well there was that one thing that happened to me but I don't think anyone else would consider the return of the Shamrock Shake to be a big deal. I do of course because I'm as much a sucker to the allure of sweet libations as I am to shiny objects. It's the reason I wind up in the back of at least three strange vans a month. 

Oh sweet frosty green heroin.

But to the rest of the world the two biggest things happening this past Sunday were the Daytona 500 and the Oscars. Of course this being Tuesday means I'm a day late in proclaiming that Danica Patrick lost at Daytona and the Oscars sucked. 

Well, THAT part of the Oscars was pretty cool. Yeah, that's
right Adele… kiss him all the way down to the base. 

Now onto other shit that I think is more important. Seems that the 2013 inductees for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame were announced recently and I missed the news that prog rock gods, Rush were finally given the respect they deserved after years of being snubbed by the Academy… or whoever decides that sort of stuff. Now while this is no doubt great news for the boys in the band and they of course earned the honor, I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for it. 

The band is seen here in high spirits while waiting for
an orderly to help them to the stage in Orlando, FL. 

As some of you might recall (probably not though because nobody cares) back in September of last year I did a little bit of bitching about the exclusion of Rush from the list of 2012 inductees. Seeing as they'd gone for years without getting even so much as a second look from the Hall of Fame, one can only assume that the Canadian rockers were sorely in need of a champion. Now this time around, one year after I let my opinion on the matter be known and BOOM, they finally get their chance at enshrinement.

I also bitched about the absence of former rockers/current non-rockers Kiss from the Hall of Fame in the same post. Sadly, Kiss is still without any laurels anointing their heads despite any help I tried to give them. Although I hear that Gene Simmons is kind of a douche so really there's only so much good my words can do for those guys. 

Staring at me like that only proves my point Gene, so stop it.
Seriously, you're creeping me out. QUIT IT!

Like I said though, I'm not here to take all the credit for Rush's good fortune, I'm more than willing to admit it wasn't all because of me. I mean really, they're the one's who've been playing for over thirty years so that probably had a lot to do with it. I'd say roughly 45% of the HoF's decision was based on my words and even that's probably a slightly inflated number. Still, it's obvious that I helped so I guess I should expect a call any day now from one or even all the guys in Rush to let me know that I'm invited to the induction ceremony to be held on April 18th in Los Angeles.

Strange though, the inductees were announced months ago and you'd think I'd have heard from someone by now. I'll give 'em another couple weeks. Someone's sure to… was that my phone?

Nope, just the TV. Anyway I should figure out what I'm gonna wear to the… wait, was that…?

Nah, that wasn't the phone either, just my carbon monoxide detector. Been going off a lot lately, probably busted. Should really get that fixed sometime. Maybe later… getting kinda sleepy right now. Think I'll just take a little nap while I wait for someone from Rush to call.

Any time now and… man that detector thing won't shut up and getting' all… fuzzy like a… zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz 

Behold the harbinger of my doom.

WHAT'S ON THE BOOB TUBE:

Just a little something naughty from the good old days. 
Back when 'Made in America' stood for something 
and 'outsourcing' meant making your wife get you a beer.

Yeah, went kinda literal with the title and header art this week since I finally carved out some time to sit down and watch a television show that I felt I should have been watching all along from the very beginning of the first episode. I say this as if I'm somehow super busy and have so little time to watch TV these days. Well… yeah, let's go with that version of events. Super busy… no time for TV… things to do, finding new ways to fail at life, got a few dreams left holding on that I still have to watch die. You know, not like I don't have shit happening.

The show in question is also one that those who know me best figured I'd been watching all along given my obsession with the wonders of all things boob related. Talking of course about Double Divas on the Lifetime Network. Basic premise, two chicks who own an undies shop outfit special needs clients with bras. Translation: chicks with big tits need big bras. Amazing how very un-sexy this show turned out to be with that much going for it. I sat down the other night and watched an episode, certain that true greatness was about to ooze out of my television… and subsequently, other places. But after only being able to make it as far as the first commercial break without seeing a single tickle-fight or nipple pinch I realized that neither of those things was gonna happen since this show fucking sucks and I've gotten heartier boners from mascara commercials. Eyelashes… who knew?

Such wasted potential… bought all those tissues for nothing. 

But since I'm here and got nothing better to do today — what with Dominos and their staunch refusal to deliver to my house anymore just because I tried to pay the driver with Confederate currency  — why not just drop a few paragraphs about all the other shit I've watched during the week.

So lets start with Monday night. Why? Because Monday's the first day of the week so obviously that's where God wants me to begin. Quit questioning His will, ya fucking heathens! I AM AN INSTRUMENT OF THE DIVINE!

The week doesn't start off well with The Following on FOX. Lot's of noise was made about this show as FOX began hyping it last summer. There was the usual hard sell about what advance audiences and critics were saying. Quotes like: "Scary" and "Thrilling" and "Shocking" were all over the ads. Funny how none of them mentioned "Stupid" or "Real Stupid" or even "Real Fucking Stupid". Here's the hook: a convicted serial killer is given Internet access and allowed visitations from a bunch of random mouth-breathers over the course of eight years and manages to set up a killing cult under everyone's noses. Said cult then thrives thanks to the ineptitude of everyone on the FBI payroll. I gave this one a fair shot but now I'm done with it due to the fear that it might be a very accurate portrayal of how the penal system and the government suck at protecting us. So I guess all those critics were right after all, that is some scary shit indeed.

Hey Kevin Bacon, the killer's right behind you and…
you're probably still not gonna be able to stop him. 

Also on Monday nights is ABC's Castle. This show used to be good until the producers gave into pressure from all those cat-wrangling, frosting chugging, romance novel junkies who just wanted to see the main characters hook-up. Now it's just crap. So much so that they're not even coming up with original shit anymore. Like this last Monday's ep (SPOILER ALERT!) where Castle's annoying daughter gets kidnapped. You ever see the movie Taken? Then you've seen this episode, seriously. Except that where Liam Neeson spent his time awesomely kicking the Belgian shit out of a bunch of Eurotrash slave traders, Nathan Fillion spent the hour getting all weepy-eyed and blubbery while he recounted stories about how precious his baby girl was on the day she was born. And then it had the audacity to be a two-parter. Yeah, I'm done with this one too. Shame on you Mr. Fillion, shame on you! You were on Firefly, man… FIREFLY! I expected better.

Check it out, they drew chalk right around the spot where my level of interest died.

So basically, Monday night is now book night.

Tuesday nights around the Savage household means Justified on FX. I've talked about this show before because it's awesome and Marshal Raylan Givens is the man! If you ain't watching Justified then you just ain't American. 'Nuff said. 

"Oh you wanna talk about gun control? That's easy.
I have the guns so that means I'm in control. Any questions?" 

Given that I just questioned your patriotism in my previous statement, it's ironic that on Wednesday it's right back to FX for The Americans. This brilliant new drama focuses on a pair of Soviet spies living as an American married couple in Washington D.C. during the early 80s. (Ah Reagan's America, how I miss it so.) Hate to admit it but I actually find myself wanting Boris and Natasha to succeed in all their espionage endeavors. Not out of any sort of anti-American sentiment or anything, (You hear that Homeland Security?) just that if they screw the pooch then they'll be caught and shot and then the show will be over because who the hell wants to watch The Dead Americans? Then what the hell would I do with my Wednesday nights?

Hey look, they've got guns too. I'm sensing a theme here and… 
Hey, is that Felicity? 

I'll tell you what I'm left with if The Americans get whacked; Nashville on ABC. My wife loves this nighttime soapy bullshit and since we only have the one TV then I kinda have to watch it too. But I don't gotta like it! Not even when aging country diva Rayna James learned that her husband Teddy wants a divorce after finally realizing that his feelings for former flame Peggy are just too strong to deny any longer. Rayna of course has no idea that Teddy had just banged Peggy to a mattress the night before. And she's not one to talk since she was almost giving the flying-V to her former guitarist Deacon and… You know what, let's just move on. I said I don't wanna talk about it anymore! 

Connie Britton, Hayden Panettiere, shitty Photoshop effects and 
the chair from Game of Thrones: The Musical… what's not to love? 

Thursday nights it's Elementary on CBS, a wonderful update or re-imagining or retelling — or whatever the hell they wanna call it — of the Sherlock Holmes mythos. Right now this is a great show but I'm just waiting for the producers to try reaching out to those same bored housewives and sexually frustrated old maids that wanted to see the hook-up over on Castle. Every time I read about this show somewhere there's some asshole wondering/hoping if there'll be any romance between Holmes and Watson now that the latter is played by the eternally hot Lucy Liu. Well not THIS time! Not THIS asshole! Wait a minute… oh whatever. I don't wonder about the possibility of romance, I fear it! Did we worry about such things when Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law were filling the roles in the movies? Nope. So why we gotta worry about it now? Of course there were a very vocal few who wanted to see Misters Downey Jr. and Law going at it. Not the housewives and old maids though… different bunch of people. Never mind where I know them from. I don't wanna talk about this anymore either! 

Like they say: Behind every successful man there's a good 
woman. And she needs to get back to work because those 
windows ain't gonna clean themselves.

After Holmes and Watson spend an hour foiling murder most foul in a completely professional and wholly platonic manner (And it better stay that way CBS! Remember what happened to Moonlighting?) then it's a hop on over to FX. Third night in a row with the good folks on that network as I tune in for the animated super-spy misadventures of Archer. Without a doubt one of the most politically incorrect shows of the last ten years and also one of the funniest. Nothing bad to say here. So Thursdays are good for me. (Danger zone!) See, if you were watching it you'd know what the hell I was just talking about there and you'd be laughing. Probably for the first time since you got here.

Hmmm… another FX show with guns. But that shadowy side-boob going 
on behind him is sexier than anything happening on Double Divas, so it's okay. 

Friday and Saturday there's really nothing of interest on so that means I got time on my hands to reflect on all my mistakes and regrets and sorrows. If I can manage to make it through to Sunday night without eating a bullet then I at least have The Walking Dead on AMC. This is another one I've mentioned here before, several times in fact. And I'll probably mention it seven or eight hundred more times before all is said and done. But there's really no need to go on anymore about it this time around. If you're already watching it then you know how awesome it is. And if you're not watching it then what the hell am I wasting my time talking to you for?

"And I'm all like… BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! FUCK YOU, ZOMBIES!
Yeah, we got guns on AMC too, bitches!"

Well, that's my week, sitting around watching television. Some days it's enjoyable, other days it reminds me that I'm a just wasting the life that my parents weren't legally allowed to terminate all those years ago. Does it make you as sad as it makes me? Sad enough to make a tax-free contribution to my fake charity? Just think, for only $24.99 per day — the price of a cup of coffee … at Starbucks — you can help save me from this.

Have you no shame, man? For God's sake, close the 
damn drapes! There's kids playing outside!

Look at him, pathetic wretch laying there on his sad fat ass, watching television all day with an empty chip bag teetering on what little he has left of an actual lap. Is that what you want me to become? Are you gonna just sit there and let that happen to Yours Truly in another couple months? (More like a couple days really.) Well with your help and generous donations I could afford to pay the Indian kid across the street to go to the store and buy me more snacks and not end up like that chipless bastard. Perhaps even a bigger end table so I got a place to put some dip and a 75 oz. Big Gulp.

What'd you think I needed the money for, a gym membership? Think I was gonna use it to get up, get out and get a life? The hell I wanna do that for as long as there's still Star Trek reruns to be watched over and over and over again on Netflix? Hell, I might just need a bigger couch. Who am I kidding? Definitely gonna need a bigger couch. So let's get busy sending in those dollars people, and quickly because I'm gonna have to do some dirty business soon and I'll need some cash to pay Sanjit to come over and bring me a bucket.

Don't look at me like that, Captian Sisko. We can't all live in the future where 
they can just beam the poop right out of your bowels. But perhaps someday… 

Before I go I just wanna take a moment and mention that this right here is my 100th post and to commemorate the occasion I talked about television shows and bodily functions. Same trivial shit as I've been spewing all along.

So… yeah, I really need to rethink my life.

THE SOUND OF ONE HAND TYPING:

"No No No… don't come in here Sweetie! Daddy's busy
watching the Super Bowl… with his pants down."

First off I wanna congratulate Tom Fucking Brady for masterfully leading the New England Patriots to an awesome victory over the hated New York Giants last night in Super Bowl 47. After scoring a record-setting 126 points in the first half of the game, TFB kindly took a moment to smile and wink into the camera, thereby impregnating every fertile female watching the broadcast. During the halftime show he jumped up on stage and taught the men of the world how to satisfy a woman by making Beyonce say his name in seven different languages that she hadn't previously known. Then he capped off the 238-0 victory by single-handedly ending terrorism with that same wink and smile.

Thanks TFB, I feel so much safer now… and a little bit pregnant.

Don't believe any of that really happened? Well don't tell it to my fragile mind because that's the way it went down in my head since I didn't give a chalky white shit about what was actually happening on the TV last night. Except for when the blackout happened at the New Orleans Superdome, that was pretty funny. Betcha everyone was having Katrina flashbacks for the first couple minutes. Okay, Katrina wasn't funny but panic always is… to me anyway. I'm just twisted in that way. So who won the game anyway? Never mind, nobody cares. Baltimore is a depressing place and San Francisco is America's stickiest city, so fuck them and their teams.

But even though I have no idea what really happened on the field last night, I did sit in front of the big screen with my dad and he seemed to enjoy it so I guess it must have been a good game. We had a nice time though, I made some killer chili, the wife made some guacamole and there were chips and things. Only thing missing… chicken wings. Oh sure we wanted some, would have loved to have had some, but we didn't even bother trying to get any since we heard the news of a big chicken wing shortage going on in the country. And by news of course I mean a bit that I saw on The Colbert Report.

Because the news just seems more real when delivered with jazz hands.

Well it turns out that Stephen Colbert pushed the panic button prematurely, there was no wing shortage, the crisis was averted, no one had to sell their dignity for a 20-piece pack of fried tangy goodness. But we didn't know that so Dad and I never ventured out to find any. A shame really because I do love a good batch of wings. And Dad would've loved to just go out for any reason at all, as long as I stayed well below the speed limit because he's old and yells at me when I drive too fast. But you know how the older folks can be, always ready to go for a ride. No wait… that's dogs, dogs are always ready to go for a ride. Which means my dad must be part canine… which means I must be part hound as well. Which explains why I sniff people's asses when I meet them for the first time. Yeah… that's why.

According to Ancestry.com this is a pic of
my great grandpa… and some jackass in a hat.

That's just the thing with the folks of the earlier generations, they spent their lives out and about, they did stuff, they went places, that's how they were used to living. That's why my dad jumps — well not really jumps, more like a barely perceptible skip — at every opportunity to get outside because to him, that's where life is. And in direct contrast there's today's generation, groomed by technology to stay the hell indoors and do everything via the Internet.

Meaning the future's looking bright for the elder-care professionals of tomorrow because we're currently training ourselves to be the most complacent residents any old-folks home has ever seen. Where my parents fear that one day I'll put them away in some home and never visit them, (WHAT? NO… NEVER… kinda.) I'm most likely not gonna give a damn when my son shoves my 75 year-old ass into some place called Shady Graves or Final Acres. Just so long as I got a place to charge my 22nd generation iPad and a decent data plan, I won't give a crap if the boy don't come around with his slut wife and his rotten kids. I'll be completely content as long as there's still porn to be downloaded. There will still be porn in the future, right? I swear to God, there'd better still be porn in the future!

"Relax Ron, we'll always be here for you."

Besides, who the hell's gonna want to even go outside in the future anyway? Look where we are today. All of China is currently obscured under a blanket of smog so thick they didn't even notice when a factory burst into flames a couple weeks ago. And speaking of bursting into flames, Australia's so close to doing that very thing that officials there had to come up with new color designations to describe the temperature. Seriously, how fucking hot does it need to get outside for the color red not to be enough of an indicator? Still, neither of these situations might even be true since — again — I heard it all on The Colbert Report. And after this chicken wing scam I'm gonna be a little more skeptical about what comes out of that guy's news-hole in the future. FOOL ME ONCE, COLBERT!

"I'm sorry Ron, did you say something? I was busy having a
conversation with your Uncle Buddy here."

For now though I think I'll take my dad out a little more often, let him enjoy some time in the sun while it's still safe to do so. Probably won't be so for my tired and wrinkled ass. And I'm not even talking about what my ass is gonna look like when I'm his age, it's tired and wrinkled right now. More than likely gonna look like beef jerky by the time I'm retired. Aw who am I kidding, in this economy I'm never gonna be able to retire. Be dragging my leathery beef rump through the smog and the burning ozone to spend my golden years as a cab driver, cruising around at 15 miles an hour with my left blinker on the whole time until one day I die at the wheel with passengers screaming in the backseat.

"Here we are young fella… that'll be $21.55…Uggggh."

Well this post has certainly turned into a Goddamned rambling mess of ideas and psychosis. Even the title makes zero sense. And as usual I'm gonna blame it all on those assholes at the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals with their holier-than-thou attitudes, thinking their shit don't stink because they don't eat meat and judging the rest of us because we enjoy a good wing every now and again. I'll bet those bastards were somehow behind the whole wing shortage story in the first place. They're probably the reason I had to sit through the Super Bowl without the pleasure of going all caveman on a platter of tiny poultry! Those  lousy sons of…!

But for some reason I can never stay mad at them.

WHY THE BRICKS GOTTA BE YELLOW?

Little known fact, Lincoln's left hand was behind his back
with fingers crossed as he promised not to free the slaves. 

Well Obama went and got his ass inaugurated yesterday, but as you can see, I don't have the pictures to prove it. Totally his fault though, seeing as every time he opens his mouth it's always "Lincoln this…" and "Lincoln that…" and "If Lincoln were here he'd be all into me." Compares himself to the Great Emancipator so damn much that you Google 'Obama' and Lincoln is what you get. But that's enough about that guy, (I mean Obama, not Lincoln), tired of talking about him. What's he ever done that's so special… aside from that whole first black President, nominated for a second term, yadda yadda yadda, hope and change and shut the hell up! Not here to talk about all that today. Today it's my girl Terri's turn in the barrel. Why Terri? Because she gave me poop about that last post having so much about Star Trek in it. Not that this is exactly a new thing, see she's always giving me poop about one thing or another. Star Trek, Aquaman, my addiction to prescription cupcakes, the adult diaper I keep in my backpack for emergency purposes… (sometimes I laugh too hard). But whatever, I ain't mad at her.

Okay, maybe I'm a little bit mad at her. 

But seeing as Terri's not without her own geek sins then she really has no right to be casting stones. Still she does, with real stones and let me tell you, that woman throws hard. One of Terri's biggest geek weaknesses — or Geeknesses™ as I like to call them — is her freakish obsession with the Wizard of Oz. As much as I'm into Star Trek, double that shit and then add seven… then multiply by four, carry the two, modify the remainder, divide the integer (then tell me what f@%k-all any of that means because I'm retarded at math) and that'll give you the amount of fanatic drool that pours out of her when you mention anything to do with Dorothy, witches, ruby red slippers, yellow bricks or Munchkins. Seriously, it's gross.

Don't exactly know what she does with these things but there's candles
and wine involved so it's just best to leave the room and not look back. 

With all that going on, one can only imagine what's happening in 

her head these days with the upcoming theatrical release of Disney's Oz The Great and Powerful just a little over a month away. See, Terri's obsession isn't restricted solely to the classic Wizard of Oz but also branches out to engulf other versions and takes on the mythology. Especially the hit Broadway musical, Wicked. Good Lord, she f@%king loves Wicked, always trying to get me to read the novel that the musical was based on. Always giving me grief about the fact that I f@%king hated the musical and therefore won't bother reading the novel. 

This was as close as they ever got to any hot witch-on-witch action,
so of course I thought the show sucked. 

Funniest thing that only recently occurred to me though — what with the whole black President, MLK Day, upcoming Black History Month stuff going on — is that there's one version of the Wizard's world that Terri's never mentioned, The Wiz. Remember The Wiz? Well unless you're middle-aged and/or black then you probably don't. I happen to be both so yeah, I remember The Wiz. An all-black version of the Wizard of Oz that originally debuted on Broadway in the 70s and made a brief star out of Stephanie Mills, was later made into a film starring Diana Ross and Michael Jackson. There's been some smaller revivals of the show from time to time… and they've done about as well as one would expect of a black production these days without Tyler Perry's name attached to it. And yeah, second post in a row making mention of Tyler Perry. (Have to, he's friends with President Obama so it's pretty much a law now.) 

There was some public outcry about Toto being a Scottish Terrier instead
of a Black Lab. But it ended quickly when they kicked me out of the theater. 

Now the fact that Terri's not black (or so she says) but is old enough to remember The Wiz yet never mentions it the way she does Wicked — or even the 1985 stinker Return to Oz — should by no means be taken the wrong way. Hell, I hadn't thought of that show and/or movie in years… decades even so I ain't gonna be hatin' on my girl for it. Stealing my identity, implicating me in a murder, using me as a drug mule, turning my twin brother into an assassin with orders to kill me… these are but a few of the reasons I have to hate Terri. But aside from all that, she's good people with a really big heart, (she's on medication for that) always makes me feel welcome in her home so long as I enter and leave through the back door every time and I always stay in the kitchen while I'm there. Hold on though, that has nothing to do with racist tendencies and more to do with my tendency to have a lot of accidents on furniture and rugs. Hence the adult diaper thing I mentioned before. 

THAT GATE WON'T KEEP ME OUT FOREVER, WOMAN! 

So it's not as bad as I'm making it sound, let's not string Terri up just yet. Save that anger for when you find out about how she waterboards squirrels for raiding her bird feeder. (Which I guess would be now since I just told you.) But as far as the whole Wiz thing is concerned, race isn't even an issue. Hardly anybody ever mentions it because the movie sucked and is best left as a forgotten chapter of black entertainment history… just like Homeboys In Outer Space. (No, don't even think I'm posting a graphic of that shit.) I'm just playing around to get Terri riled up. I like to poke the bear by doing shit like this… and by calling her a bear. Besides, she happens to be a big fan of a version of that wonderful world that's very racially diverse.

Say it with me now kids: Violence and drugs and man-rape… Oh my! 

True, the HBO series had absolutely nothing to do with the wizard's world, but Terri doesn't believe that. Far as she's concerned, once they slapped on the title it all became a part of the grand mythology and nothing's gonna change her mind about that. I know, I tried to tell her once and she beat me senseless with a thigh-high full of cookie dough. Then she baked the cookies and made me watch from the gate as she and my twin brother ate them in the living room with cocoa during a Meet the Browns marathon on TBS. 

Actually, racism's starting to look pretty good at this point. 

We have a very complex relationship. 

Please help me?

DESPITE APPEARANCES TO THE CONTRARY…

I am not dead yet. Although I can totally understand why you might think that since I haven't been around in a while. (I believe the word you're looking for is… DUH!)

But as I was trying to say before I imagined you interrupting me, here's the thing, Star Trek: Insurrection, you ever see it? No? What's that? You're not into Star Trek because you never got beaten up in high school and don't suffer from PTSD (Post Traumatic Swirlie Disorder)? Okay, I get that and I envy you for it. 

Of course, no gigantic, menacing face appears anywhere in the film.
Another example of how Hollywood lies!  

Star Trek: Insurrection, the ninth overall film of the series, the third to feature the Next Generation cast, saw the Enterprise-E (badass ship) travel to an exotic region of space to encounter a race of people called the Baku. The Baku hung their hats on a planet at the heart of a nebula dubbed the Briar Patch. That name of course is a reference to the home of Br're Rabbit, a fictional character made famous in the embarrassingly racist Disney film Song of the South. Don't even bother looking for it on DVD or Netflix, Disney has long since buried that f@%ker. I actually saw it in the theater back in 1980. Don't know what I was thinking going in but I remember telling the ticket lady to suck my black balls as I walked out. Sweet little old white woman didn't really deserve that and in retrospect I feel bad, but she's most likely been dead for like twenty-five years so… whatever. And more importantly, now that I think about it, what the hell was Star Trek doing referencing that racist bullshit anyway? Three hundred years in the future, all kinds of space shit has happened, humanity is supposedly all advanced beyond belief and whatnot, but those assholes can't come up with a better name for the region other than an allusion to that relic from Walt Disney's dark heart? 

Could only have been worse if it said 'Tyler Perry presents…' above the title. (Shudder!) 

Still, I realize that the stories of Br're Rabbit were around well before Walt Disney went and put his bigoted stink on them so maybe Starfleet's archaic reference might not be a bad thing. And yes, I'm rambling off topic again. But come on, admit it, you love it when I do that. You've missed me doing that. You think it's pretty sexy, don't you? No? I'm wrong on all counts? You think I'm kind of an ass? Okay, got it, thank you for your brutal honesty. Moving on… (sniff) in a moment. Hang on…

Getting back to Star Trek, (as if I ever leave it) the gases in the Briar Patch made it impossible for any ships inside to communicate with the universe beyond. Adding insult to bullshit was the fact that the nebula also hindered warp travel so that if the Enterprise wanted to communicate with Starfleet they had to travel for two days at impulse speed (slow as space shit) to get out and get a signal. This made it really difficult for Picard to brag to his captain buddies back on Earth that he totally fingerbanged some three hundred year old Baku chick. 

But that ass was looking pretty good after
 three centuries of wear and tear, so it's cool.

Why am I telling you all this? What does all of this mean? What does any of this have to do with anything else? Who would win in a fight, Captain Picard or Br're Rabbit? Well the answer to that last one is simple, a guy with a phaser versus a racially inappropriate cartoon rabbit? No brainer. 

"Some of my best friends are black!
Not really, but still… F@%k you, rabbit!" 

As for all that other stuff, the reason is this: due to circumstances that I won't bother to explain, (because I've already taken up too much of your time) I currently find myself in an area where clear signal is a very hard commodity to come by. Like the aforementioned badass Starfleet vessel, one has to travel several miles away from home and hearth just to update one's Facebook status. 

But as a very good friend of mine (shout-out to my girl Jenette) recently reminded me, I have a responsibility to all of you. I started something here over a year ago and I shouldn't let a little adversity get in the way of delivering the goods. Okay, she didn't really say any of that shit. All she said was "Why aren't you blogging anymore?" But I usually listen with my ego so I heard it the other way. So here I am in the parking lot of a downtown daycare center, sprawled out in the back of my SUV with a laptop and a hotspot, making a bunch of preschool teachers really nervous. But screw them, this place has awesome signal and they should be thankful I left the ice cream truck in the garage this time around. (Please don't ask me why I even have the truck.) The shit I go through just so that I can post and let you all know that I'm not dead.

Suppose I could have just said that at the very beginning. In fact, I did say that… and then I went on to say all that other stuff. Point is, I'm still very much alive and though posting ain't as easy as it used to be I still intend to do it as often as I can, all the while convincing myself that you care. No matter how long I have to sit here in front of the Little Angels Preschool, no matter how uncomfortable it makes the teachers, no matter how many times they call the police to come check out the creepy guy downloading questionable material in the parking lot… which by the sound the authoritative tap-tap-tap on my window means at least one time already.

Looks like I gotta go now, but I'll be back sooner rather than later because I'm pretty sure the county lock-up is in a 4G zone. So this could actually turn out to be good for me… provided my cellmate is nice enough to let me post after lights out. 

"I don't give a shit what your name is. I'm just gonna call you Bottom."

On second thought, I might be busy after lights out… what with all the crying and the hurting and the stress of wondering if he'll respect me in the morning.

LOOK WHO'S WALKING:

… so long story short, THAT'S why you should never go to bed without checking to make sure the shackles are secure. Well I could go on talking about child care all day long and not cover a tenth of what I learned from my years working in state-run orphanages. But this really isn't a good time for me, last night was pretty rough. First Sunday night since The Walking Dead went on mid-season break and I guess I'm just not handling it very well. Got so used to watching the end of the world saga unfold amidst all that tragic human suffering and gruesome zombie mutilation. Then I'd go straight to bed and have the best dreams. Know what AMC showed last night instead? F@%king Miracle on 34th Street! What kinda sick bullshit is that? Wanna know what that did to me, what kinda dreams I had after that holiday horror-fest? 

OLD MEN AND LITTLE GIRLS! AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Have you been watching The Walking Dead? Well don't bother answering, it's a rhetorical question since I really don't care. But if you've been watching then you already know what an awesome show it is and that the mid-season finale was nothing short of… well honestly it was pretty meh. Still well worth an hour of my time.

Now while I may not care if you're watching or not, you know who is watching? The boys — and girls, I guess — over at the offices of the Department of Homeland Security. Of course, I'm only assuming that they're fans of the show, but it's a safe bet since they obviously believe a zombie apocalypse to be a very real possibility. How else do you explain the recent drills they ran in preparation to defend the American people from a zombie attack? 

Sorry, wrong pic. They don't run the orc attack scenarios until next week.

As most of you probably know by now, — because I'm not the most up-to-date news source — the guys… and girls (f@%king equal rights) over at Homeland Security recently got their asses congressionally ripped for using government funds to stage the aforementioned zombie attack drills. Instead of… you know, using their time and our tax dollars in more productive ways, like protecting our asses from the very real, clear and present threat of foreign shitheads that hate us because we live in a free society that allows its women to show their tits.

Not you Madonna! Your freedom has been revoked!
Now put that thing away! 

There's something I just can't help wondering about with all this nonsense going on. Who was that woman from this morning and how did she get on the hood of my car? But besides all that, the Department of Homeland Security is a government agency and that means that if nothing else they are masters at generating paperwork. And if an undertaking like this went down — And why would the Huffingtonpost lie to me? — then there would have to have been a manual of some kind written, designed and printed up. So where did the author get his information? How'd he research the project? There I go again with the rhetorical questions because most likely he… or she (equal rights again) got their zombie information the same way everyone else does. 

Our tax dollars at work. Thanks a lot, Obama! 

So the "plan" these '"experts" came up with probably consisted of following the fictional rules that George A. Romero established back in the 60s with the original Night of the Living Dead. Don't let the zombies bite you, shoot them in the head and… um… no, that's about it, just those two rules really. But here's the thing, what if Romero was wrong? Guy began his career shooting segments for Mister Roger's Neighborhood, (seriously) so what the hell did he know about the behavioral patterns of the undead? For all we know, if the dead do decide to rise and walk among us, they may not even wanna eat the flesh of the living. Maybe all they're going to want is to stroll around in the sunshine for a while. Gets pretty dark and lonely down there in the grave. And what if everything else we "know" about zombies turns out to be useless garbage? What if none of the "rules" apply when that shit becomes real?

Imagine what would happen on that apocalyptic December morning (21st is right around the corner) when millions of animated grave jockeys make their way down Main Street America, shambling toward a couple hundred macho shitheads who stand at the ready. Said shitheads with their rifles and handguns pointed towards the oncoming horde, confident that their years of XBOX first-person shooter training has prepared them for this moment, only to fire several times and find out that a shot to the head does absolutely dick to put the target down. Two head shots (DOUBLE TAP!) does double dick.

Yup, that moment's gonna look a lot like this. 

But that's not happening right now so why worry about it? We've still got a week before we see if Mr. Romero was right. Got more important things to worry about in the meantime… like… like… um… actually, I don't have anything else going on. Guess I'll play some XBOX right after I stock up on adult diapers. Good to be prepared either way.