Anti-Political Agenda

So, I've been thinking over the past few weeks, and I really don't want to get political in this blog/column/rant/bullshit thing that I do on a "weekly" basis. If anything, I write this to get away from the crap politics heaps up on us, and I'd like this to be an escape from the real. That said, The T Party could use some new members (23 at the time of writing! Come on, Internet! You can do better than that!) So I've decided to create an agenda, like I'm any good at sticking to timetables, but what the hell, politics is just a fancy way of lying to yourself anyway.
That said, if we can harness the power of hope and get in touch with our dreams, I believe it is possible to learn how to mix the perfect mojito.
I believe with enough love, we can conquer my inability to tan.
With courage, we can face our fears and actually go on a goddamn roller-coaster, and possibly go to the top of the Empire State Building.
Yes We Can expand our circle of friends, and actually get a proper story arc and campaign going in Dungeons and Dragons, and meet on a regular basis for once.
With dedication I can actually update this blog on time.
And I believe with determination and resources, we will put a man on the Moon-bounce by the end of this decade.
And maybe, just maybe...we'll stop them from making 'Indiana Jones 5'


Toy Story 3

I saw TS3 on Thursday night, Midnight Showing. Only my second of the summer, following last month's Iron Man 2, normally I'm a whore for this sort of thing, but I seem to be getting older. By older I mean 24. Fuck. If this is what 24 is like, I plan on dying before 50, or at least discovering cryo-stasis and outliving the great-great-great-great grandchildren of everyone I know.
Meanwhile, Toy Story.
I had just turned 10 when the first one came out in 1995, and in fact part of my birthday present was to go to Burger King to get one of the huge puppets they had of the characters (they were out of Buzz and Woody, I got Hamm instead) and then off to see the film. Needless to say, I was blown away by the original story and stellar animation, like everyone else was, and I couldn't help but be reminded of that experience when I sat down to see the third one nearly 15 years later.
It wasn't too difficult to remember that it had been that long and the differences were vast. I drove myself, for starters, and before the movie even started my girlfriend fell asleep against my chest. Not exactly something you'd care about as a 10 year old.
Before that, though, I found myself surrounded by teenagers. Or more precisely, tweenagers. As annoying as Glenn Beck, but there's more of them. Like if Agent Smith was interested in pop music and iPhone apps.
And they seem to relish shouting. Not even shouting in general, they have to come up with the dumbest random gossip and improvise songs on the spot before being allowed to belt it out. The acoustics in the main hall of our theater are very good. I was getting ready to start with the throat punching.
Thankfully, the movie started before all of that happened, and I was 10 again. Woody, Buzz, even Rex's incessant whining was all still there, and fully developed characters came alive whenever people weren't looking. We fell in love with new characters, heartbroken by the loss of old, slightly disturbed by Ken's fondness for clothing, and TOTALLY SAW THE TOTORO CAMEO (he has an incredibly creepy smile).
In the end, as the fire loomed closer, and our always optimistic, heroic, faithful, beautiful plastic friends held hands and accepted their fate, we cried, because we knew, like them, everything must end.
Everything must end. But that doesn't mean it should.


T Party Manifesto

Let me explain.
As said before in this blog, I go the gym several times a week. I usually start off with half an hour's worth of cardio on the elliptical, which I spend trying to talk to my girlfriend, but inevitably wind up trying to make out the blurry text on the twenty or so televisions they have lined up for the purpose of taunting the fat people with images of VH1's 'Whores on Parade'(or whatever they call their shows these days). Because I usually get there after work, I wind up catching the tail end of these awful 'Reality' programs and the start of what some channels call 'News.'
These make me mad.
Or really, they give me headaches. Or rather, the people on them give me headaches. More specifically, the stupid things people say on them give me headaches. Stupid, derogatory, racist, bigoted things people say. Ever try to bench-press with a pressure cooker strapped to your forehead? This is what hearing what dimwitted pundits telling me what to think does to me, actually decreasing my average health levels. They don't seem to take anything but themselves and their self-promoting books and radio programs.
So I've had enough of people who think they take politics seriously. It's time to admit what politics really are: Bullshit.
In honor of that, I urge you to join a political party that really knows what's going on, or at least fakes it really, really well, like a very expensive hooker; The T Party.
Organize events in your neighborhood (using the word 'community' as much as possible) and get together with strangers and loved ones alike to discuss Crimes You Didn't Commit, Soldiers of Fortune, Mohawks, and Custom Painted Vans. Wear your gold chains proud. Sit Nancy Reagan on your lap and ask her what she wants for Christmas. Pride yourself in knowing what it means to be a True American, and punch terrorists and crime syndicates in the face.

There is no agenda, there is no overlaying story or higher cause. All we know is that there are Fools. And they deserve nothing but our pity.



I've always wanted to write a book. Or at least, I've obsessed over it for several years now so I'll pretend and apply the past thirty month's insanity to the rest of my life, using the same retroactive continuity that fans of the Star Wars prequels are so fond of using to justify just how a mentally handicapped frog person could assist in the forming of an evil dictatorship. That said, I've also always wanted to eat the moon and I've always wanted to be in a band that specializes in covers of Paul McCartney and Wings.
Moving on, Books.
So my first step in writing has to be what to write about. Do I make it a story of my life? Do I write historical drama? Should I explore unsolvable mysteries, creating a character whose singular genius and sheer luck help win the day? Do I dare write an epic poem in which Armored Bears fight an army of Lawn Gnomes, led by the small but wicked Dorfendal, who seek to destroy the benevolent Ursine OverQueen, the fair Grendolia? Crap, now I'm thinking about bears again.
No, the best thing to do is to create controversy. I don't mean make insane political claims, featuring myself in full Nazi uniform on the cover, declare myself the only true savior of the country and somehow endear myself as a beloved spokesman to the over 50, white, overweight, jean-shorts wearing demographic. I mean just insult huge amounts of groups just so people buy my book, the same way that Dan Brown does. The Catholics hate him, historians hate him, Time Magazine hates him, but everyone buys his books to see what the fuss is about, just so they can say something equivalent to "Bruce Willis was dead the whole time!" and then throw eggs at a crippled Ian McKellen.
But Brown set his sights too small. "Too small?" you ask? "The Catholics have thier own damn city and never pay taxes, like Wesley Snipes. How is that too small?" I fully intend, Ladies and Gentlemen, to do what even George Carlin could not claim to have done. I intend to INSULT THE WORLD.
Step one, the title. It may be a cheap shot, but it has to get attention, and as everyone has a mother, I intend to start with them. Addressing the reader in first person throughout the book, I start with bold letters across the cover, unabashedly getting to my insulting point by saying YOUR MOTHER IS A WHORE, and, to cover my bases, the subtitle will read (in smaller, more fanciful writing, as if layering it on in a saucy voice) And Other Sad Truths About You. Inside, the dedication page will give the book to anyone who reads it, anyone who sees it in a bookshop, anyone who hears about it over a radio review, anyone who has ever come in contact with any part of human or even non-human society, even to those non-terrestrial societies who have yet to make contact with our species, I want them to know that the book they hold is directed personally, sincerely to them, and their dear mothers.
The contents of the book will be rendered by chapters, each subsection directed at either a relation to the reader or their own personal looks, intelligence, insecurities, and standings at work. The font will be large so as to not confuse the intellect of the pitiful reader, which I will point out regularly how little intellect they have, and embellishing the pages will be facts of stupid people throughout history, insults adorning every footnote, metaphorical fingers pointing out of every page, laughing at the reader's expense, and of course, definitions for tough words like 'metaphorical' and 'definitions.'
And once I've outsold the Bible, which will have gone up in sale anyway due to the devastating effect of my book upon the spiritual world, just wait until you hear what I have in store for the audio book.