The New World Order

Poor Mexico. So far from God, so close to...not God, as they say. As much as I admire its people and obsess over its tacos, it's time to face the facts - Mexico probably ain't gonna be around here for much longer.

Ingrained poverty and widespread government corruption have created numerous pockets of quasi-state function. Zapatistas here, drug lords there, and the government can't do a damn thing about it. Add in the rising odds of environmental catastrophe (thanks, Al Gore) and not even the most chipper of big-buxomed telenovela stars can stop the oncoming tide of tragedy.

a stereotype

But hey, this is a positive environment, so let's focus on the fun part - who do we get to have as our new state-neighbor? Think of it as choosing the little sibling you always wanted! And geography's irrelevant, since we have the power to move any country we want (see: Iraq).

There are a few candidates that come to mind:

JAPAN
Pros: sushi, arcades, pachinko, funny accents, lots of adorable stuff
Cons: Hiroshima's a downer, pervy hentai, lots of adorable stuff

ITALY
Pros: delicious food, beautiful people, snazzy style
Cons: lack of governing ability, actual organized crime, history of swindling


But we're overlooking the obvious choice. The one that fills all the right criteria with none of the cultural hangover.

Canada.

But a second one. With no Quebec.


Mexico's always been a little too caliente for Joe Six-pack; maybe it's too much of a reminder that North America includes people other than Americans. But Canada? They're America-lite, just different enough to be another country but basically the same formula. They even like our kind of football - nobody likes our kind of football!

Canada never raises much of a fuss and they'd still be our ally if we jilted them time and again on the global stage. Which we do. And if you make a joke at their expense, it's not racist - it's funny.

another stereotype

Donuts, endemic violent sports, fries with gravy and cheese, rodeos, speaking English - the list of American-friendly stuff goes on. I think most patriots can deal with more of that.

You Meddlin' Kids.

I was at a concert not too long ago - when the show was done and everyone was filing out, I looked on the ground and saw a couple of $20 bills, folded together. There was a young woman standing in a money-drop-prone position above it, so I asked her, "Did you drop this?"

She looked down and slowly said, "Uhh...no?..." and snatched up the money.

Aghast at this repulsive moral breakdown and others that I've witnessed, I want to launch a new superhero program. I need results that I can apply on the ground to combat the ignorant, precocious behavior of certain aspects in today's society.

There's only one rational solution: old age power.

To most people, especially those of college age or younger, there is nothing more terrifying than the crotchety ire of an old person. If I could snap my fingers and temporarily gain the look and countenance of a senior citizen, my foes wouldn't stand a chance. I propose:

A SITUATION, WHERE SOMEONE IS, IN COWARDLY FASHION, CUTTING IN FRONT OF YOU.

Right now, I'd just let them go ahead. They're likely an overly aggressive asshole and I don't want to provoke someone like that into a spittle-laced tirade. Not worth my time, surely.

But if I was in old-man mode? Come on, no asshole would cut in front of the elderly. But if they dared to do so, I could not only yell at them, but yell far more loudly than any normal human, due to my assumed degenerative hearing.

The echoes of my warbly voice and dated admonishments would act as an instant alarm. I'd have the humiliation power of dozens of passers-by, with all eyes focusing on our loathsome line-cutter. Under my breath I'll mutter to him, "Looks like you've lost your place, my friend." Zing.

ANOTHER SITUATION, WHERE YOU ARE AT THE GROCERY STORE. THE YOGURT IS ON SALE AT 3/$1.49, BUT THE CLERK CHARGES YOU THE NORMAL PRICE.

This actually happens to me fairly often - I bet I've been swindled out of $20-$30 in the past year. I often only check the receipt when I get home, so it's a done deal at that point. Even when I catch this as it happens, though, I neglect to act; I don't have enough time to wait for the manager to clear anything. Besides, checkout clerks are a whole category of crabbiness unto themselves, so that's a beast I'd rather let lie.

Just rockin' on your dime.

With Gramps in charge? Patience is all old people know since it takes them ages to get anywhere. To my elderly self, waiting 20 minutes until the clerk gets it right is like a meaningless blip on my ancient timeline. Hey kid, maybe you have plans for later, after you get off work? I sure don't - cribbage club is on Tuesdays and I've already watered my gardenias twice today.

And if you even think you can take 72 cents-worth of discount from me...well you'll have to pry it out of my cold, clammy hands after I die in your checkout aisle. Oh, I can croak whenever I want - didn't you know that? I am your kryptonite, bitch.


A FINAL SITUATION, WHERE MONEY IS FOUND ON THE FLOOR AND THE RIGHTFUL OWNER IS IN DOUBT.

Let's rewind the clock here, to that fateful night at the concert. I spot a healthy wad of cash on the floor. It may belong to the girl standing above it. The old man adjusts his buttoned-to-the-top, short sleeve shirt.

I just hope he yelled loud enough.

"Excuse me, Miss - did you drop this?"

"Uhh...no?..."

She starts to reach for the cash, but not before her fingers instinctively recoil in pain. There's no mistaking the sound of cane on hand.

Shocked and angry, she looks into my wizened eyes. The girl quickly realizes that the pain of a well-struck cane is nothing compared to the mighty world of hurtin' I put on a squad of Krauts back in '44.

She makes a wise choise and relents. Also, she should feel bad for yelling at an old man.

I pocket the cash and coolly walk away, presumably to the local Elks Lodge. No zinger is necessary.

Cage Match - Internet Style

I certainly appreciate the fact that so many newspapers/media outlets have free, easy-access websites. It's hard to imagine reading a physical newspaper while I'm hard at work, as that would underscore the fact that I am not doing work.

Over the course of my internet perusal, I've come to appreciate the best part of online articles - the comment section.

They're delightfully pointless. In a utopian world, fascinating insight could be gleaned in mass-wiki fashion, each commenter providing their informative slice of specialization.

This never happens, of course, because this is the internet, not Hogwart's. As such, I have noticed two main kinds of comments.


Type A: The Tête-à-Tête of Herculean Minds

See: any piece on a sports/political-themed website. An article, in this case, either hates on or loves your position - you will surely meet core meltdown if you do not comment! Your foes will comment, inevitably with poor syntax and rageful e-acronyms/puns! You must reply with more rage/puns and poor syntax!!

The internet, circa 1791.

I did a Google news search today for Terry Schiavo, our generation's less sexy Karen Ann Quinlan. This being America, there's fresh news on her, this time involving Keith Olberman. What do the people have to say?:

"January 23, 2009 - 07:05 ET by BobAnthony

Proves why I prefer the Washington Times over the NY SLIMES!

Oh and to BLOWBERMAN, THE NOTION THAT A MAN WHO CAN BE THAT MENTALLY DISTURBED COMING FROM THE WOMB OF A WOMAN IS BEYOND ME! DIE BLOWBERMAN YOU JACKASS DIE! I HATE YOU!"

Is our friend unaware that, due to sharing the exact same name as its rival, the Washington Times is similarly exposed to his quick-witted pun?

Checkmate, Bob.

Type B: "My comment will trump all the other comments through brute length"

I can't think of a less comment-worthy article than this piece, about that woman who had octuplets in California. Then again, I can think of few articles in need of commenting.

But someone out there knows this story deserves a comment. Someone with a really good point. Someone like...

"Posted by:norm15002000 10:25 AM

Well, why don't we all wish the family well on this rare occasion? Some of the best adults grew up in a large family.I think the cost scenario provided was the highest possible. Large families do not necessarily have higher housing or transportation costs. Yes, the first few years will be difficult, but as the children grow you can bet they will all have chores that must be done to keep the family financially stable. The kids will learn responsibility, teamwork, and sharing. I learned that form a friend who came from a family of seven. I can claim to be an expert on the subject simply because I have never had children.I do hope that the father has a good job, because mom is going to be very busy in the next five or ten years. IMO, they deserve some freebies. Octuplets is not just another birth, it is an occasion."

Unassailable logic is Norm's specialty. Go get 'em Norm! And say hi to your brother, norm15001999, for me.


Who are these people? Do they actually exist? It's obvious they don't share my contempt of typos, but they still retain that down-home charm.

Point conceded, internet. I can't not read this.

No Wings This Time, Clarence.

Metaphor time: what if It's a Wonderful Life was all about different decades...and different people played these decades...Uncle Billy is the hopeful but misguided '60s, Mr. Potter the greedy, curiously grotesque '80s...and George is the '90s.

Extended metaphor: what if our George still wishes he had never existed? What if the most retarded decade of the 20th century got the ol' Yeller treatment, as it should have on Dec. 31st, 1989?

It's essentially a lost decade, anyways. Does anyone really remember the '90s? Where were you when...Princess Diana died? Unfortunately, I can answer that one. And yes, it did interrupt another crappy episode of SNL.

Uncle Billy didn't eff this one up - shocking though that is.

A buncha boring events that didn't really affect our superpower status, some lousy popular culture, and a ruinous baseball strike. Sounds awesome. My friend Max has tried to convince me that the musical good of the '90s outweighs the bad; I gave this theory some credence until it was inevitably steamrolled by the aural twin leviathan of Billy Ray Cyrus and the Spice Girls.

It did give us the internet, but that was a slow develoment. Besides, it didn't really kick ass until this decade (and it was prone to sucking back then).

A decade of innocence.

Reading through Wikipedia's page on the 1990s is like the annoying person in the office telling you their dreams from last night - you're morally compelled to keep paying attention, but the longer it goes on, the more realize that you'll never get those precious seconds of your life back.

But maybe I just hate It's a Wonderful Life. Which I do.

City Livin'!

Nobody minds walking on the sidewalk - until someone, who evidently just realized they're a cripple, walks slowly in front of you; as you attempt to pass, they furtively drift into your pathway, proving that they are an asshole and you have every right to punch them in the kidneys. There are a million other, equally asinine yet frustrating, circumstances involving the sidewalks of NYC that I'll leave be for now.

Riding a bike is an obvious solution to this. Of course, this solution is too obvious for many people and they choose the showoffy-nerd route - which is, of course, the most morally offensive route

I'm passing on segways because I have a hunch that, 20 years from now, someone will tell me that segways were only written about in wacky science fiction and have never actually existed.

The Recumbent Bike, or, "that looks gay"

Yep, it has a name.

"Man, those normal bikes make me wanna puke. Here I am, sitting in a slightly crouched position and pedaling to beat the band while I get to enjoy an eye level equivalent to motor vehicles, with whom I share the road...this is the worst! There's gotta be a better way!"

There sure is - this vehicle, for idiotic idiots who love riding bikes but hate common decency.

Social Annoyance rating: 3 out of 5 bluetooth headsets

The Razor Scooter

What, cracking the nude patch for your copy of Tomb Raider didn't satisfy your quest for self-loathing enough? Well, do I have a treat for you.

If you're under 12, you get a semi-pass on this one. But I can think of no greater crime against humanity than a sentient being choosing to get from one location to the next by using this "vehicle".

Let's review what the razor scooter offers:
Laziness? Check.
Comical size? Check.
Moral property of pre-pubescent children? Double check.

Hurry! Or you'll miss that date with your non-existent girlfriend.

Can you think of a grown man parading around in wheelie shoes? No. They do not make them for adults and they should not make them for adults, though I would argue that they should not be made for anything with a pulse.

Social annoyance rating: 4 1/2 out of 5 bluetooth headsets.

Rollerblades

Surprised? You shouldn't be.

If you're one to still cruise around town on rollerblades, let me congratulate you on living in Southern California during this current year of 1996, owning a pair of neon running shorts, and not leaving home without your cassette player.

True, they have a real purpose - roller sports. Leave the rink with your blades on, though, and risk social relegation to the likes of middle-aged guys in muscle cars and non-oil tycoons/people under 75 who wear bolo ties. Besides, it was roller skates, not blades, that brought us the 20th century's finest achievement:

TO NOTE: A mid-summer bike ride down the Hudson River Park last year revealed that many rollerbladers are not only poor at their craft, but also demand the full width of the path. May these people burn in hell.

Social annoyance level: 2 1/2 out of 5 bluetooth headsets.

Probably Not Fit to Print

Friends, the heavens have smiled upon us, for today is a day of hilarious news.


First up to bat, a horrible action rendered ridiculous by its perp and setting. Sorry to make light of such a hideous event, but, really...:

Three Die in Belgian Child Care Center Attack
DENDERMONDE, Belgium - "A man with a white painted face and blackened eyes fatally stabbed two infants and a woman at a child care center in western Belgium on Friday before cycling away."

Sacré bleu! Maybe they can trace the beret to the killer! When he's caught, do they lock him in an invisible box? And if a mime commits a crime, does the victim make a sound?

If any place is vulnerable to mime-terrorism, it's Belgium. But the getaway vehicle? Just over the top. What next? - witnesses report the tall, thin assailant to be wearing a black-and-white striped shirt? Even my stereotypes only go so far. Poor taste, monsieur!


No Snickering: That Road Sign Means Something Else
CRAPSTONE, England - "In the scale of embarrassing place names, Crapstone ranks pretty high. But Britain is full of them...These include Crotch Crescent, Oxford; Titty Ho, Northamptonshire; Wetwang, East Yorkshire; Slutshole Lane, Norfolk; and Thong, Kent."

But, oh - it gets better!!

"As for Penistone...“It’s pronounced ‘PENNIS-tun,’ ” Fiona Moran, manager of the Old Vicarage Hotel in Penistone, said over the telephone, rather sharply. When forced to spell her address for outsiders, she uses misdirection, separating the tricky section into two blameless parts: 'p-e-n' — pause — 'i-s-t-o-n-e.'"

It's times like these I couldn't be prouder of our country's WASPy heritage. Anyways, this book's been written on places in Britain with sophomoric names. The authors, one of whom "grew up on Tumbledown Dick Road," were inspired "when they read about a couple who bought a house on Butt Hole Road, in South Yorkshire."

Bless you, gentlemen. Bless you. And in the New York Times, of all places.


Democrats to Advance Stimulus Package

That's what she said.

WASHINGTON, D.C. - "...That package is designed to spur job creation and stem the economy's decline with a massive boost of taxpayer support..."

And that's what she said.

The Poor Man's Improv

from www.stephaniesyjuco.com

One great thing about living in the rich world is knowing when protests will happen. Interest groups, eager for attention, get the word out for a specific time, date and location for when they need to whine about really important things.

What makes this all happen so anti-climactically is the requisite that these protests be registered. Local officials have the right to know when people want to organize and march for zany left- or right-wing issues like human rights or the KKK.

Here's my question: where do those massive protests in the third world come from?? You know the ones - loud, racist chants in favor of a political party, molotov cocktails, people with beards...the kind of clips we see in movies about the apocalypse.

Some ragamuffins in the slums of a developing world megalopolis are most likely not going to register with the government - some shady domestic spy agency would probably chop off their hands if they did. And we know Twitter's out of the question.

a facebook group, perhaps?

So how does it start? An unemployed young man watches Gigli on network TV and decides he can't take it anymore. A friend sees him, instantly gets the message, and grabs his matches. Another friend brings along one of the flags from his burning-only collection...and the snowball effect has begun.

Maybe these start out of boredom? A dare? A double-dog dare?

I'd rather not blame unemployment, low wages or lack of representative government. They always seem to catch flak and, frankly, they're starting to sound like excuses.

Third world - throw me a bone, here.

ALERT ALERT

Our office had pizza delivered yesterday so that everyone could have some fun grub while watching the inauguration. Free pizza is always a good thing, especially pizza that's not limited to the cheese- and/or pepperoni-only varieties.

But there was a hitch in the plan.

After loading up on some favorites, I hit the condiment section. Plastic cups had been filled with the regulars - crushed red pepper, oregano, parmesan.

I like red pepper and thought that parmesan would add a nice touch.

It would've, had it actually been parmesan.

c'est non un fromage

UGGHGHGHHHHH.

Garlic and I have a troubled past. Its pungence wouldn't be so bad except that, like Short Round, it hangs around long after you've enjoyed any semblance of its company.

The current matters were complicated by the fact that there was no parmesan available! If garlic is going to be at a pizza function, you'd assume the more-prevalent parmesan would make an appearance, as well. Not so.

Instead, I had to make do, watching the next president at his oratorical best while I surreptitiously tried to wipe garlic off my pizza with flimsy slices of green pepper. Fail.

And I Served With Pride

For years it's been my understanding that Martin Luther King, Jr. Day is a day to be spent lazing around, not sending mail, and catching up on lazy things you've been meaning to do.

Whoops.

Since when were we supposed to spend all day volunteering?? The news piece cites Obama as being the progenitor of this idea but I heard other mumblings that this is a concept which precedes the president-elect. Whatever. I blame him.

Dr. King's vision lives on

Obama, listen - you're a great guy and I'm sure you're going to do great things in office. But I voted you into office to fix things, not make them worse. Go to Gaza and recharge the peace process! Responsibly oversee the distribution of bailout funds!

But you listen and you listen well - get your grubby, do-gooder mitts offa my MLK Day.

This day is about freedom and last time I checked, freedom means that I can do whatever the hell I want to, guilt-free.

Hey, I've done my bit before. Service projects, Habitat for Humanity, not jeering the lady in the subway who plays the bowsaw. Working together is the real message and I support that, loud and clear, all year round.

Teamwork

So here's my Martin Luther King, Jr. Day proposal - get along with people (hint, hint, Hamas...), don't be an ass (hint, hint, Israel...), and offer help if you can (hint, hint Richard Dreyfuss as seen in What About Bob).

But really, I did volunteer my hard-earned cash at a local boutique. So I've probably done more than you, anyways.

Re: Your Idiocy

To: The Company
From: The Desk of the Boss
cc: Everyone
bcc:You Asshole

Subject: Re: Re-ing

To whoever just hit "reply-all" on that company-wide email....I wish you a long, slow death in hell.

Every day, I pray that my CEO sends out this email.

Reply-all is the bane of my office existence. Plenty of things bug everyone at the office - ornery printers, pens running out of ink, unhelpful co-workers - but this is the one thing that really gets me.

Do people just not pay attention when they do this? Do they not care? I can only think of one, maybe two, instances in the entire history of accidental reply-alls when someone apologized for their error, thus easily saving themselves from utter disgrace.

HE CLICKED......POORLY.

When you hit reply-all, you're admitting defeat to the easiest facet of the computer age. Imagine if the U.S. Government admitted defeat to the Symbionese Liberation Army (Patty included). Well, imagine no longer. You have outdimwitted yourself in a manner that neither Bill Gates nor Steve Jobs could have possibly imagined when they harnessed the power of electronic witchcraft so many years ago.

You know what? While you're at it with this "I don't really understand technology and it's shockingly obvious, but my ignorance is such that I don't even realize I should care" thing, go ahead and book your ticket to a room at Rose Hills, where you and Jessica Tandy can eat pumpkin pie and talk about what life was like when you had AOL and first heard of hamsterdance.

Though you may very well think Tandy is the computer you're using.

You, 5 minutes ago

Does anyone really check their emails before they send them out? Is it not a coincidence that this only happens to people over the age of 30, who, in replying (unnecessarily, to begin with), unwittingly clue everybody in to some inane, private joke they have with their pal? And how much would you be willing to bet that their pal goes by "Doober"?

Game, Set, Murder

I tend to confuse Angela Lansbury with Agatha Christie. This is a problem because they are not, as I want to believe, the same person.

I don't personally know a lot of British people. Is it common for their daughters to have names with "A" and "g" in them, simultaneously? Do these names require three syllables? Are these daughters involved in the mystery business?

Lansbury, pre-Christie (?)

A quick google search for "angela lansbury agatha christie" reveals nothing.

But a search for "angela lansbury agatha christie CONSPIRACY" shows us that Angela, at one time, played the Agatha-penned Miss Marple.

The plot thickens.