Frankenfuck Yourself

Science is attempting even more ways to make healthier crops with larger yields. Naturally, people are terrified.

This is a topic that has driven absolutely bat-shit crazy since I was a wee lad.

A quick background tale.
My dad, (as some of you know) is a nuclear engineer. He's wicket-smart with the science and the engineering and the the gaheeeeey!
When I was growing up, dreadlocked "progressives" would show up at our front door every year or so with a petition. They always wanted my mom to sign something about the dangerous emissions and ground poisoning happening...where my dad worked. She would politely tell them to fuck off.

I asked my dad one time why the smelly people wanted his work shut down.
"Because they failed science class" was his answer.

Actually, after his joke he was fair to their claim and told me that if his workplace was careless, they could damage the land, etc, etc. But basically, he said they're scared of something they don't understand.

20 years later, people aren't any more comfortable with science.

In brief, they've spliced human genes with rice. The new rice is more resistant to a larger variety of pesticides (which is a whole other ball of wax, I know). Thus, they can rotate the types of pesticides they use on the rice and fewer critters destroy the crops and we get more, healthier rice.

The response? "It smacks of cannibalism!"

How about I smack you around and then ship the rice to some skinny brown people. That' the type of thing you jerk off to, isn't it?

OK, somebody will claim I'm flirting with an idea that Rob talked about involving only "experts" having legitimate opinions on a given subjects.
Those people, to paraphrase a friend of mine, can suck my cock.

While I don't think somebody has to be an expert on the Middle East to have an opinion about the war, they should certainly agree that the argument is one of foreign policy, politics, morality, and the validity of pre-emptive actions.
It's not a discussion about racism.

And I see these types of arguments all the time. Case in point, the questions that should be laid at the feet of genetically altered foods are ones of safety and science.

Yet all the questions being asked are essentially political.

AND, what I find MOST interesting, is this is a topic that finds both "sides" (the left-right distinction makes less and less sense to me as time goes on) saying things contrary to their litany.

Progressives from the left are supposed to embrace new ideas and new solutions. They're supposed to poo-poo most things traditional.

At the same time, one would think that sections of the religious right would be weary of genetically-altered foods since it dabbles in God's domain.

But all the luddite noise comes from the anti-corporate/anti-racist/anti-war/anti-fur/vegan/animal rights movement, which is an AMAZING piece of political orchestration by the way. I must found out who tied all that together. (Penn and Teller's Bullshit shed some light on that subject, but I digress).

At the same time, to the best of my knowledge, the religious right is too busy keeping like, I don't know, a few thousand gay couples from paying higher taxes (which would rule, because the meaux's do VERY well) to make any noise about man playing God with grain and rice.

Obviously, the fat cats in the um...Industry-that-makes-money-from-there-being-healthier-food got the the Bible Belt. They made a deal to keep them quite.

"If you religious folk keep it down on the frankenfood front, we won't point out how you actually do all the mission work in those countries with the brown people and thus sully your "racist" image".

Or maybe I'm just sick of all of them.

Next, Kung Fu filmy goodness double-shot.

Compulsive Terrible Liar Geeky Girl

In the interest of not talking badly about my future mother-in-law two posts in a row, I’ve decided to go back and hit a topic I discovered a few weeks ago.
Everyone knows there are several geeky archetypes. There’s the skinny, asthmatic, mathematically inclined, guy that tends towards sci-fi. They usually have the giant, John Hinkley/David Koresh-style glasses. There’s also the tubby comic-book guy with acne, facial hair and some sort of speech problem, such as the one made famous by the Simpsons.
I have discovered a "new" archetype hiding in plain site. Read on if you dare, dear bloggite about the Compulsive Terrible Liar Geeky Girl.
The other week I went to my friend Steve’s birthday dinner at a nice Italian joint. I was seated across from a girl that I had seen at the comic shop where Steve works.

I wouldn’t go so far as to call the girl unattractive, but she clearly has fallen in with a nerd crowd because as we all know, the bar is frankly set lower. A lower bar means she’s hotter, all things being relative. She was being as chatty as any other nerd when surrounded by their own. She was into her third or fourth story when something struck me; This girl is completely full of shit!

There had been a comic/sci-fi convention a week or two before where Steve and I sold some shirts at Steve’s art booth. They gave away a pez dispenser at the con. The staff that worked the con got a "special" version, so theirs would be worth more. She claimed that it was selling for "over 300 dollars" on Ebay.
OK, so this could simply be an exaggeration and not necessarily a lie, but it rung a bell.
She had apparently traveled Europe within the past ten years or so, because she was talking about it like it was yesterday. I only caught the tail end of this one, but it was so beautiful. I really strained to catch all the details. In short, she had gotten into a bar-fight in Austria (I THINK it was Austria, it was definitely an "A" place as I recall) and smashed a bottle on somebody’s head.
Now, I know what’s not fair here. "Mike, you’ve been in crazy-ass fights and you’re a big dork". Well for one, I had huge high-school issues to work out. Secondly, I was actually a bouncer in Chicago. The crazy fights found me.
To look at this girl, everything about her screams "Academic Sorority". She’s quite obviously closer to being one of these girls, rather than this girl.

Obviously, I can’t be sure that she was lying. I also can’t be sure that OJ killed Nicole and Ron. It just seems obvious to anyone not inhaling retard sandwiches like they’re going out of style.
Shortly thereafter, she was talking about her cell phone full of numbers. She had her friends, family, co-workers, overseas boyfriend, sorority contacts and literally just hundreds and hundreds of numbers. I asked her how many numbers she has on her phone.
About 350 was the answer. I was impressed. "Wow. Three-fifty? Can I see? To my surprise, she handed over the phone. I opened her address book and started counting. One hundred and twenty something.
Also, her boyfriend in another country can bench-press God.
Now, I honestly don’t really care if this girl lies or not. What I found fascinating was the fact that there was an undeniable pattern. I’ve known several CTLGG’s. I knew one in high school who claimed her brother was growing five acres of weed in a farmer’s field. I knew one in college who was supposed to be an Olympic alternate in fencing, who clocked in at about 190 lbs at five foot five. I also knew another girl who had a community college karate instructor who could make people explode when he looked at them just right.
The greater question is why? Why do these CTLGG’s feel the need to lie such embarrassingly bad lies? They tell wicked-awesome whoppers like "my dad can jump over the HOUSE!" and basically look at you in a way that dares you call them on it.
While I don’t pretend to understand the phenomenon, I won’t hide my joy in loving the lies.

Shocked And In Awe

This weekend, Jami's mom is here. They're currently at the beach which is allowing me time for this first, quick post. I'll have at least 2 or 3 more blogs on this subject, as it's changed my entire worldview.

First of all, calling Jami's mom, um, difficult at times would be the nicest way to put it. It also wouldn't do the "Peggy Experience" justice to call it anything less than a Maelstrom.

I'll get into the mindgames and emotional blackmail later (it's amazing Jami has come away with as few scars as she has). For now, this little gem;

SATURDAY MORNING

Peggy: Do you think twenty seconds is long enough to heat up a cup of water?

Me: No. (assuming she means in the microwave).

Peggy: Well, how long do you think then?

Me: At least forty seconds or so.

Peggy: Do you really think forty will be long enough? I'm putting it in for forty-five.

Waiting For Hilton

The fact that Paris Hilton has a club named after her in Orlando was only a blip in National News . (There's a few goodies in the link which add to the comedy, go read it and I'll wait.)

She didn't put up any money, she didn't help design it, pick the music, hire the staff, design the logo, approve the location or anything else. All she did was party, be rich, and have a high profile.

I'd love to make all manner of jokes about Paris' contribution to the world amounting to, well, Rick Solomon's baby batter spraying all over her chest on the internet. But I won't stoop. I'm here to tell a story.

Club owner and professional son/entrepreneurial moron Fred Khalilian put up 3 million bucks of his father's hard-earned (?...I don't know how far back the legacy goes) money to renovate a large building in downtown Orlando in order to pinkify the joint into a place gaudy and tacky enough for Paris to call her own. He succeeded, and just in time! The renovation finished just as Ms. Hilton would be arriving the next day to open the club, oh Joy!

But Paris didn't show. Not for six hours. The word is that she was skiing in Europe and she lost her passport, got held up at the airport and missed her flight to Orlando. Fortunately (I guess) for club guests and the host, they were able to get her sister, Nicky (I'm not stopping to look up if she spells her name in some dumbass way) there before ALL the guests had left. To add insult to injury, there was a long list of promised celebs that were supposed to appear at the club's grand opening including everyone from Lindsey Lohan to Puff Daddy. The list ended up more like Paris Hilton's Lawyer to Joey Fatone.

It should also be mentioned that the grand opening to Club Paris cost 75 bucks for "regular folk" and VIPS could pay 400 bucks which got them a table, and access to the VIP area, where Paris and all her celeb friends would not be hanging out that night.
That was night one.

Flash forward about four months. The regular cover charge for Club Paris has dropped from 15 dollars to no cover. Drinks at Club Paris are FOUR for ONE until 9:30 on the weekends. I'm sure you think that's a mis-type. I'll say it again...FOUR for ONE DRINKS AT CLUB PARIS*. Needless to say, they're not doing well.

Additionally, Ms. Hilton was contractually obligated to appear at the club anywhere from twice a month to four times a year, depending on which source you believe. To the best of my knowledge she hasn't shown up once.

Currently, the rumors range from Freddy K suing Paris, to simply dissolving the partnership since she's done as much for the club as she has for the world.

In either case, I think the 4-month rise-and-fall story of Club Paris will (hopefully) mirror Paris' "celebrity" as well. Has anyone heard from Dennis Rodman lately?

*Since the announcement of four for one drinks at Club Paris, outings to downtown now consist of 1) get hammered at Club Paris for $6.00, then 2)go to the concert venue or hipster bar we normally go to.

Other People's Funnies

I've got assloads to do. Jami's mom will be here to visit on Thursday, and as the house-bound homo that I am, it's my duty to clean this place up. I have more resumes to send (and cover letters to write), more Ebay stuff to send, groceries to buy, and serious business-proposal letters to write (seriously!).

I DO have a good blog coming up about Ms. Paris Hilton, and her brief but turbulent relationship with a nightclub down here which bares her name.
Until then, I give you this frickin' hilarious legal threat at Somethingawful.com

Most of you probably know about somethingawful. It's really funny, especially Photoshop Phriday. However, my FAVORITE section is his "legal threats" section. Every year or so, somebody threatens to sue the guy that runs the site. It's usually kids or the average internet idiot who takes their site waaaaay too seriously and doesn't like being featured in the "Awful site of the day" feature on Somethingawful's home page.

THIS time, however, he's being threatened by the Ultimate Warrior. It may be his best legal threat yet. I strongly suggest reading the whole thing.

http://www.somethingawful.com/articles.php?a=2790

Also, very quickly...I found out the Vanderlai Silva is scheduled to fight the winner of the Chuck Liddell/Randy Couture match this weekend.

I don't know if Pride Vrs. UFC beltholders is going to be a regular thing or not, but I feel for the UFC. With the exception of Randy, (and maaaaaaybe Chuck) the rest of the UFC top tier would get pretty well destroyed by the best of Pride.
It's not really the fault of UFC, Pride has more money. It has a larger international draw of fighters, while UFC is largely becoming an "American" fighting show. But if they're going to try to match their fighters against Pride, it's going to sting.

My bet right now is Randy winning this weekend, and Randy beating Vanderlai. That will be a big deal since Silva hasn't lost in over 4 years now...which gives him the longest winning streak in NHB since Frank Shamrock quit.

On the off-chance that Chuck beats Randy, I'd give Vanderlai the "W" over Chuck for the follow-up fight. They're both sluggers, and Chuck just hasn't had the competition that Silva has.

Sorry for the double-topic post, but I've gotta run Bitches!

Yates

Bitch Ain't Listenen...Orlando Style

Today I had several errands to run.

I had to get bunny food for my unearthly cute rabbits whom are a constant reminder of the worst filmmakers of our time (this is for my regular readers...new people, get off your lazy, good-for-nothing asses and read my whole blog).
I had to go to the grocery, ship some Ebay stuff and finally, I had to stop at my apartment office and complain about a maintenance request.

(a quick aside - my apartment complex clearly employs "Make a Wish" foundation kids who want to be maintenance men at mid-priced apartment complexes in Florida. That is the only explanation for the need to repair the same pipe under the same sink for the third time).

So I'm in line at the PetSmart very near my apartment. The girl ringing me up is about 17 or 18 years old, as are all the girls that work at PetSmart (kitties are cute!). Anywho, she's got a black and blue mark around her neck. It's clearly not a little love nibble. It looks like she was choked to death and brought back to life by the PetSmart people to ring register for 6.00 an hour. I tried not to stare, and went to the post office next.

The line at the post office in Orlando is always long but surprisingly, always fast. The line was about 10 or 12 people deep, but it only lasted about 6 or 7 minutes. In that time, I noticed the girl two people ahead of me had a giant bruise on her shoulder. It was an odd shape and fading, but it was very large, about the size of a baseball. Coincidence? I decided they obviously deserved it, they have Fallopian tubes.
I walked into the grocery store an made a b-line for the deli counter. They have some awesome "summer salad" which is code for Greek salad down here. I suppose the dirty Greeks pulled some nasty shit on the Floridians, because if your salad has feta cheese and olives in it, it was made in the Goddamned summer, and no swarthy Mediterranean bastards had anything to do with it, OK?

The girl behind the deli counter scooping up my summer salad had a black eye. No ambiguous bruise, no strange markings, she had a friggin black eye. Images of an all-female, Orlando retail industry Fight Club spring to mind.

The girls that are baggage handlers and UPS drivers must do really well.

By the time I pulled into my apartment complex office, I was totally on bruise alert. Any woman within 100 yards I scanned for marks or signs of abuse. Maybe the skinny peckin guys around here strung their women up like pinatas. Whatever the trend, I had to find out what was up.

I walked into the office. The arms and shoulders of the first chick were clear. The older woman that ran the office...Also in good health.
Finally, the woman who could answer my questions about my maintenance request was free to talk to me. Her mid-fifties skin was tan, freckled, but otherwise unmarked. She said my request would be taken care of by the supervisor of maintenance.

So I punched that bitch right in the mouth.

Attack of the nerds...Really

We just saw SIN CITY. Liked it. Slows down a tad in the 3rd "act" (it's 3 separate stories, the main one starts off the flick, then takes up the last 30-40 minutes or so). But the movie isn't the point....


The nerds at the comic shop were loudly chatting about the movie at 3:30 in the afternoon. It had been out for about 3 hours and the goddamned nerds wouldn't shut the fuck up about the plot. I first jokingly asked them to give the other 15 people in the store a chance to see it before listening to their photo-realistic detailed description. I finished by holding my hands up to make the little screen and said "It's like I'm there!"

Well, that got a few laughs from the other customers at the comic shop. And the head nerds at the counter didn't cotton to some no-nerd-cred tubby dork making funnies at their nerd expense. They didn't really reply, but they were clearly ticked.

Shortly thereafter, I swear to God, one of the nerds started talking about getting his black belt in KARATE recently. I instantly pictured him with feathered hair, jumping wicked high and delivering devastating kicks like a certain Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

When I went up to the counter to buy my nerdbooks (geeklature?), the guy that can chop boards in half (I suppose) gave me a really cocksure look, and turned around to lean against the counter and cross his arms across his chest...it was a pose right out of an 80's movie.

So, I asked him aaalllll about Karate. I asked him if he learned the five-finger palm exploding heart technique. He laughed that off, and said "no", but he DID learn the pressure points on an arm to strike to render it numb. You know, the "don't hit my arm in that spot the size of a dime" technique.

I found this fascinating. I pleaded, begged, and offered money if he'd show me how the arm-numbing-strike thing worked. No, he said...he didn't want to do any PERMANENT NERVE DAMAGE TO MY ARM!!!!

Oh, my sweet Jesus this was getting awesome.

I asked him if we could try it on a large dog, or maybe a bum, because I MUST see this arm-exploding-strike.

This time, he said it would not be responsible to show it to non-black belts. I almost peed my pants with comedy.

I was dying of giggles on the inside. I wanted to call Joe and Rob and hold the phone up and say "Tell them! Tell them about the arm-numbing attack!" and pinch his cheeks.

So I tell the guy it's OK to tell me, I'm a black belt too. I have a certificate with a dragon on it and everything. He very skeptically asks from whom I got my black belt.

At this point, I'm laughing so freakin' hard in the inside, it's spilling out. I have a huge grin on my face. I'm almost laughing out loud.

I lean into the counter a bit so the clerk (who seems like he's sorta getting the joke) and Kubla Khan can both hear me when I whisper "Bruce....Fucking....Lee."

The clerk and another guy (that was now getting rung up) both laugh. Kubla Khan is visibly agitated now and delivers this gem while he's walking out the door; "Well, if you really DID have a black belt, you'd know how dangerous one can be."

Indeed.