Scumbag Style

Leave These Poor People Alone…

Posted on July 9, 2012 by Mark Hurley

Awwww. You'll feel better when you realize you can have them killed.

… not… not the actual poor people, the other poor – - ah, forget it, you’ll see.

Mitt Romney and billionaire Ronald Perelman had a super close shave this weekend. Not only did they come dangerously close to getting poor on them, they were forced to be made aware there are poor people at all. It had to be harrowing for them. There they were, having a quiet little Romnevent on the humbly named 57-acre East Hampton estate, The Creeks. All was well until two boaters entered the 100 acre* perimeter the police set up to keep peaceful protesters at “not even in the same state anymore” distance. In their defense, they didn’t have a choice. Any farther starboard, and they would have been trespassing on Namor the Submariner’s comparitively smaller – but still elegant – kingdom.

Dear protesters: What the hell, you guys? We had a beautiful system going here, and you’re dicking the chihuahua all over the yard. See a couple of years ago, we finally put it all into place with Citizens United v the 14th Amendment. Rich folk could already buy the police, get politicians to gerrymander districts so that Obama debacle doesn’t happen again, and get KFC to release a new original recipe when poor people are supposed to vote. All we needed was the ability to not need any of their votes again, and Citizens United gave us that. Now we don’t have to worry about the whole democratic process. We can just have parties for people whose level of wealthy makes the adjective “stinking” grossly inappropriate, on embarassingly large private theme parks of elegant excess.

Where? Where can they go to hide? The hedge maze? That's retarded, it's the first place they'll look.

Step 1: Be able to purchase presidential elections.
Step 2: Buy all the media so that our ~~ludicrous~~ personal concepts of governing are given the same credence to the public as ~~real~~ other ideas.
Step 3: Corral anyone who disagrees with you far enough away you can forget they exist.
Step 4: Do whatever the fuck we want for the rest of our lives.

What don’t you understand about this? Why are you trying to ruin this for us? When the police draw an imaginary line in the water you damned well better respect it and know where it is instinctively or you know what you’ll get.

Tazed? Can they use tazers on the water?

That’s right, scratched paint. On a police boat.Then it will look like they were actually doing something policey, and they hate that in the Hamptons. Do you know what that is going to cost the billionaires that pay for those boats so they can be there protecting them and not fighting real crime? A couple hundred dollars, that’s what. And we are in a recession. Sure, they can afford private security led by trained ninjas and assassins, but really, nothing says, “I am so rich I can afford to buy you and eat you” like using up the public stuff.

Luckily, those two pirates were arrested and beaten up for good measure. But I don’t want you to get any ideas from this, protesters. Romney has two more of these lovely little ~~cabal plenums~~ fundraisers that he even knows about right now. One is at the estate of Bush’s ambassador to Brazil, which is at 1496 Meadow Lane, Southampton, NY 11968. The other is at one of that paragon of Americana, David Koch’s places (880 Meadow Lane, they only like to travel the half hour it takes to drive across their properties to get banged by each other’s pool boys).

Do NOT go to those places. Do NOT ruin these events in fun and creative ways. Do NOT bring fun things like spray paint and – I don’t know – fresh animal intestines with which to vandalize one of the many rooms the owners have never even seen. Do not inconvenience these innocent men just because their entire purpose in life is to inconvenience you. Their job is to make life difficult for the rest of us, your job is to try and find a job.

*Give or take

1 Comment

The Evolving Face of Discrimination

Posted on June 20, 2012 by Mark Hurley

"My gold leaf mascara/ washes away/ in a deep dark river/ of my first world misery

We have a real problem in the United States. People picking on other people, calling them names, blowing up their Timelines with hatey memes. It has to stop, before someone has a First World breakdown and has to have a second Frappucino today to make the world seem right again.

I am speaking, of course, about Christian on Christian bullying. Turns out, a growing number of faithful churchgoers are allowing Lucifer hisself to take them by the hand and lead them down the path of not voting for bills like California’s Prop8 (wiki bitches). The fact that they have gone against Jesus and supported the lesser primates who engage in same-sex relations is bad enough. Frankly, they are lucky to be surrounded by such good Christians that even let them go to their church after that. But these spiritual traitors couldn’t be satisfied with mere grudging tolerance. Nay!

Consider the story of Halee Gray Scott, who has chronicled her tale of bullying woe here. In her harrowing account, she tells how she has had to keep her vote for Prop8, which would make valid only marriages between men and women by law, a secret. Why? Because her fellow Christians kept comparing her to Ole Chuck Worley (read up), and other Christian leaders who call for making gay marriage permanently illegal, and for making gay people permanently dead.

The problem is, when you do things other people would be ashamed of, keeping the secret is tough. And Halee has had it tougher. She might… she might just cry.

People who support gay marriage view Christians who oppose it as bigoted, backwards, or some variation thereof. I am asking Christians who support legalizing gay marriage to not assume fellow Christians like me are hateful, bigoted, backwards, or just plain mean [like Charles Worley] because we oppose legalizing gay marriage. (Her.Meneutics. Get it? Cuz it’s a Christian blog for women?)

Hear that, you bullies? She is a nice person. Stop calling her mean! She’s not an extreme Christian, just extreme enough to believe that some people deserve more rights than others. If you can’t tell the difference, you need an education, asshole. It isn’t her fault if her god thinks gay people are hellbound sinners that need to be thwarted and tortured in this life in order to preserve life for her and her family in the afterlife.

My lifestyle choice is your problem not mine. I can't think of anyone else that has to deal with this kind of discrimination.

That kind of guilt is way off her shoulders, boy. This is the covenant she made with all of us when we promised to respect her religious beliefs. Are we not going to live up to our promises?

I mean, come on. She fully admits to the tangible, definable similarity between herself and Charles Worley: they both oppose the legal recognition of adult consensual love, commitment, and financial dependence that differs from theirs. Cut her a break, she grants that. It isn’t like she wants to dump them in concentration camps.

They'd just turn it into some fabulous rave party anyway. YOU'RE HERE TO LEARN! and DIE!

If God was on the side of the quiltbags, she would happily agree to a lesser social status for liking the cock. What, should she give up her privileged status just because she was born into it? Why can’t we just accept that she isn’t a bigot just because she opposes legal, Earthly equality for all people? Why doesn’t she get to be considered a Nice Person just because she follows the whims of her chosen supernatural being?

According to Halee, she is not alone, either.

Polls indicate that half if not the majority of voters in the United States support legalizing gay marriage, and yet in all 32 states where gay marriage has been on the ballot, voters have rejected it. I believe this disconnect between what voters tell pollsters and how they vote has to do with how their views are represented by the media—that if they publicly express their discomfort with the legalization of gay marriage, they will be associated with the likes of Charles Worley.

God. Dammit. Now we have to lie about our opinions when we’re anonymous? Where will it end? Thousands of people, secretly denying their God given convictions in statistical polls, just to avoid a little innominate name calling. Kind of reminds you of Mark 14:66-72. You deserve some Ben & Jerry’s, American Christendom. I had no idea what you were going through.

And Halee can talk about this kind of thing. She knows a gay person. And has been to a community college creative writing class.

If anybody ever had angel eyes, it was my baby cousin Brian. His eyes were the color of the Arizona desert sky at high noon, but it wasn’t the color that made them so angelic—it was the way they shimmered when he laughed. Brian had such a sanguine personality it seemed his little body couldn’t contain his joy—his deep belly laughs bubbled over at the smallest provocation. His mother would say she thought it was her job to protect that smile straight through to his adulthood, but I doubt she could’ve predicted what would happen to him.

What happened to this angel, whose eyes burned with the fires of a thousand afternoon suns? He read science fiction and liked musicals. Flowers began to wilt before him as he walked through suburban parks. He began to hover above the pavement he trod, as if the very earth rejected him for his preferences.

His very life became a frozen tundra of Schönberg sophistry.

He became a fag, and chose Hell for the permanent holiday. But the important thing is that Halee loved him, despite his sin. It is universally recognized that, if you have a friend in any given minority, you are set to speak on the subject of their social status. And even though she still loves him, her Christian friends can’t help but point out their perceived flaws in her otherwise glowing personality.

This happens often enough in the media, and it doesn’t need to happen between Christians.

This is a great point. The Media is its own entity, wholly separate from any public sentiment, and concerned only with its own agenda. Glee isn’t on the air because real people identify with the message. CNN doesn’t get advertising dollars by pandering to the widest possible consumer base, it is funded by The Media, for The Media. I don’t think anybody can actually define the term ‘politically correct.’ I think it has something to do with the color tie you can wear at press conferences, but don’t quote me on that.

Halee, darling, no matter what anybody tells you, this is not a time for deep introspection. This is certainly no time to wonder why your friends, neighbors, and the mom who makes the garlic bread for the monthly

Where does a brotha even get that kind of hat in the 20th century?

Chop Suey supper at the church would compare you to a man you rightfully find distasteful. Did Jean-Bedel Bokassa (we are all about the esoteric up in here) quit when people suggested his methods for retaining power were a little ‘Hitleresque.’ Shit no: he put on a hat fit for Flava Flav and committed some crimes against humanity. When they told him his hat was a tad ‘Gagaesque,’ he raped some bitches, commuted his ‘crimes against humanity’ sentence from death to life in prison, and served six years of it. The whole time, he was not Hitler.

Halee, this is no time to consider that plenty of things are legal that your faith doesn’t consider kosher – for instance the practicing of any other religion, or any configuration of your own religion – and this is the thing you want to get pissy about. Forget that your God is changeable; he barely changed from the genocidal mastermind of the Hebrew Scriptures to the scapegoating suicide sin-bomber of the New Testament. It is your friends that have changed, and that is no reason to be a positive influence in your little club. They should have quit the club. Like Jesus did.

Geek cred. Yeah, I read Civil War. STFU about that being the mainstream one.

"No, you move."

Did you see The Avengers? The best villains are the ones that have a solid truth behind their maniacal actions. “Is not this simpler?” the demi-god demands, as he bends thousands of humans to his will. “Is this nor your natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation… You were made to be ruled.” He wasn’t wrong. Captain America’s goal is to inspire people to rise above the baser instincts of humanity, to work for a better, more democratic society. But even he would fight to the death for your right to be simple.

Most of all, this is no time to complete the promising string of neuron firings that got you as far as ‘almost thoughtful, nearly sensitive.’ You are a white, middle class, Christian woman. Only so much harrowing self-reflection be asked of you in a single lifetime. ‘Tis a far lazier thing to do some mental somersaults to justify the opinion you were already told you have. And lazy is the American way.

This is a time for indignation, of the most righteous and brass balliest variety. In a country in which lawmaking and religion are inexplicably separated, it is time to let people know that your opinion matters more than the happiness of other Americans. And you are a nice person for letting them know that.

Christians, please stop bullying other Christians. There are plenty of other, more heathen flavored outlets out there for you.

3 Comments

Just Add Muppets

Posted on May 28, 2012 by Mark Hurley

Stumbled across this gem whilst preparing to corrupt young Costa Rican minds in my alternate life as a college prof. Seriously, just add Muppets to turn any innocuous childhood experience into a study in guilty fetishism.

Calling All My Gauls

Posted on May 26, 2012 by Mark Hurley

By Sean “Seasonal” Torrie

Well, yeah, but it's just like Hollywood to exploit the poor qualities. Consider, for instance, our festive pubic bushes.

I got an email from a friend of mine a few days ago. He’s a funny guy. It’s always either extremely patriotic “pray for our troops” stuff, or naked women. I prefer the naked women; one would never have guessed that about me from the 2 terabyte hard drives I have filled with such imagery, but it’s a surprising truth.

In this case, the email I received was about the 2010 census and was inspired by a National Review article entitled “Sending a Message With the Census.”

Originally posted March, 2010.

The interesting part to this is that it goes directly against a very personal opinion of mine. The article in point states that, instead of filling in your specific ethnicity, you should write in “American” for your denomination. For me, this has always been an issue. Using as an example the fact that certain groups get extra points on their SATs just for spelling their name right, or that anyone who is 1/64^th Native Indian (one of the newer PC terms for the people who were handed small-pox-blankets and instructed to take a nap) will be given a free college education on behalf of the US government, and for that matter only specific people can say specific words on television, I’ve always been annoyed that, being Irish, I never got any bonus points from society.

You may not be aware of this, because world history turns a blind eye to bullshit of this variety, but the Irish are a remarkably oppressed people. The first example I can think of is when the Romans chased the Gauls out of the very region named after them, and up to the British Isles.

Years later, Emperor Hadrian would be credited with building a wall across the northern portion of the

Third most unwelcome! Moving up in the world!

primary island to keep the Gauls (the name slowly mutated to Gaelic) in the colder region and away from their civilized territory. That same wall is, to this day, still considered the border between England and Scotland. If that’s not segregation on an almost eugenicist level, I don’t know what the fuck is.

Oh wait! Yes I do!

After the fall of the Roman empire, when the English decided that whole global domination thing sounded like a lot of fun, and they should take after their forefathers, they started nice and early on with shipping northerners, such as the Scottish, that while unkempt and savage, were considered more civilized than the Irish, over to Ireland so that they could breed them into civility. While I can admit, most of my relatives aren’t exactly the most balanced people in the world, I’d like to think that no one is trying to breed them into something more palatable like so much Labradoodle.

Pallatable? I am ferocious, bitch.

A few hundred years go by, and the Irish aren’t quite as “pip pip” and “good day sir!” as the British would like, so… let’s say it was the British illuminati who engineered the potato famine that struck in the 1840s. If nothing else, they sure as shit didn’t bother to help out their sickly neighbors. No sir. Too busy bringing civilization and tea-time to the rest of the world, we tried with you people and you’re hopeless. With any luck, you’ll all die out, and we’ll have a nice new island to go inhabit.

So these poor abused people take the logical way out and hop on the nearest boat and off to the Americas they go. This’ll work out. Yes sir, those Americans are all about bringing in the sick and poor and huddled masses, and have you ever lived in Ireland during the winter? Sick, poor and huddled is the only way you get through one alive before indoor heating found its way there. When ever the British decided they were allowed to have it.

So they get to the US, and the first thing most of them are greeted by, if they even had documentation to prove their previous citizenship, is a signup for the draft. In a nation that’s in the middle of getting ready to for a civil war. Nice. I’ll also throw out there that, at the time, the US was primarily Protestant, so this dirty Micks and their Papal religion wasn’t exactly smiled upon either.

So you make it through the civil war, and until the 1920s if you wanted a job you virtually had to check for a sign if you were even welcomed.

Victimization complexes do that to you. Ask the Jews.

No, it never literally happened, but the Irish were ostracized enough for the myth to perpetuate itself like a particularly potent strain of Ebola. I’ve never seen one of those with the words Puerto Rican, Jewish, or Asian on it, real or imagined, in our great country.

If the not-quite-equal policy wasn’t upheld enough by this point, I’d like to point out that Northern Ireland is the last to be officially claimed, and last to be maintained British colony.

But it’s cool. It’s all cool.

The Irish got their Kennedy in the White House, and that means that racism is over. I’m sure of it. That’s how it works, right? Obama is president so all black people are equal to white people now, right?

If black dudes running around covered in shamrocks isn't evidence of Racial Intolerance Hell freezing over, I challenge you to tell me what is.

By exemplifying my argument, I’ve digressed from my point.

It’s St Patty’s day. This is when everyone “gets to be Irish.” Not without a few thousand years of grinding injustice you don’t.

And you know what else? I’m pale. I’m outright pasty. Almost translucent. And in our culture where everyone is expected to be an ambiguous bronze color, I feel very judged by the color of my skin and red hair (chin hair anyway, it’s almost black on my head, we have some screwy genes, us savages). I don’t feel like our culture ever completely adjusted to the shipments of Irish barbarians it got in the 1800s, and the silly parade we get in a couple cities isn’t quite enough to make it all better (seriously, what is up with parades being the equivalent to “I’m sorry for an eon of oppression” in this country?).

If you love your heritage, and you’re Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or even just pale and uncertain of where your family was from; hell if you’re just a big fan of Conan O’Brian, when you get your census forms write in “Gaelic”. Cause some trouble, it’s what our people do best. For today, however, take to the streets and remind your local citizens why the British were so uncomfortable with us in the first place: get hammered, start some fires and copulate, furiously, and for as long as there’s whiskey in the jar.

1 Comment

An Open Letter From The U.S. Government…

Posted on May 26, 2012 by Mark Hurley

… to Churches, Mosques, Temples, select Covens, and Hubbard Crazies,

Everybody has to give me money. Except you. I will use the money I collect to benefit everyone. Including you. All you have to do to avoid giving me money is not do one thing. One thing. If you can avoid doing that one thing, you get what amounts to all the free money you can finagle out of everyone that comes to visit you. If you end up doing that one thing, it is tantamount to shitting in the mouth you are allowed to take food from, so then you become everyone. And everyone has to give me money. Can you handle that?

We’ll call it a game of Bullshit. We’re going to assume you’re not cheating, but if you get nailed cheating at Give Me Money Bullshit, you have to give me money, because that’s the rules. But you’re not going to cheat, because nothing in the world outside of free pussy is worth losing free money. Especially not free money that nobody else gets, because that makes you better than everyone else. And nothing in the world is worth more to you than your massive, undeserved ego… and free money.

OK, so I’m going to walk over here, take care of my business collecting money from everyone else. All you have to do is not be an asshole – -

I’ve never been as sick in my life of our president getting up and saying it was all right for two women to marry, or two men to marry. I tell you right now, I was disappointed bad. I’ll tell you right there, it’s as sorry as you can get. The Bible’s a-ginnit, God’s a-ginnit, I’m a-ginnit, and if you’ve got any sense you’re a-ginnit!
– Pastor Charles Worley (Our Lady of It Doesn’t Fuckin’ Matter)

Careful there, brother. That isn’t exactly shitting in the mouth, but I smell it in my moustache. In your colorful parlance, “I’s feelin’ sumphin slick on mah cheek.” Tread lightly, because I am a-gin…st, in spite of all natural reason, taking money from you.

I had a way — I figured a way out, a way to get rid of all the lesbians and queers, but I couldn’t get it past the Congress. Build a great, big, large fence — 150 or 100 miles long — put all the lesbians in there. Fly over and drop some food. Do the same thing with the queers and the homosexuals and have that fence electrified so they can’t get out. Feed ’em. And you know? In a few years, they’ll die out. You know why? They can’t reproduce! If a man ever has a young’un, praise God it’ll be the first.

Genocide. Interesting choice. Again, I don’t have the preprocessed nuttiness of rule breaking on my tongue, so believe it or not, you’re safe. I neglected to make a rule about inciting mass internment and holocaust so… on your way. I’m just going to turn my back again and – -

All of these [rootinest tootinest fudgepackinest gnyar..]. Man I’m gonna preach the hell outa all of us. ["Amens" from the audience] I tell you right now, somebody said, “Who you gonna vote for?” I ain’t gonna vote for a baby killer and a homosexual lover!

Christ on a Cracker! Yes, I’m calling you a cracker, cracker. Because only a dumbfuck, fat-assed, cousin-fuckin’ cracker would blow a chance at free money like it was the Nutella Gorilla’s belly rope. You were good Obama bashing, slinging whatever political vagaries you wanted. It isn’t like your message wasn’t getting across anyway. You can vicariously punch any ballot you want with your captive audience of brain slaves. You just can’t say the V word. No, not vaffanculo. You can get away with that, provided you have a degree in Guido from a respectable Long Island diploma mill.

Fine, dude. You don’t want to play the game? Then start giving me money. Thems the rules. And bang back a generous slug of “A Vote For Romney Is A Vote For Human Extermination.” You poured it out.

Rep. Walter Jones (R-NC) appeared today on Truth that Transforms, the flagship radio program of Truth in Action Ministries, to push his Houses of Worship Free Speech Restoration Act, which the Interfaith Alliance notes would allow houses of worship to engage “in partisan politicking,” such as endorsing candidates from the pulpit, “without losing their tax-exempt status.” (SND)

Or you could do that. You strike me as the kind of bully that cries to his mommy to get out of detention. The kind of bully that should get held down in the schoolyard while the marching band pummels your fat tummy with asthma inhalers and the anime club acts out some of the more tentacly content of their secret stash elsewhere.

The story is carried at some other outlets too (here with an adorable little film, we’ll get back to that). I’d like to point out that, while all of these sites – for some ridiculous reason probably involving respectability – go an incredible distance out of their way not to connect these two instances occurring less than a week apart, I don’t have any scruples, let alone the kind that are nice enough not to make obvious connections between shit and the assholes it comes out of.

Let’s take a quick look at that video (straight up, it be short):

1) “It has had then the net effect of, in a sense, preventing pastors from addressing these very important issues of the moment, and so they began to talk less about politics until we got to today where it’s assumed they never did.” Assumed by who? People who don’t know what church is but, given the scenario of a church, would imagine that ‘none politics’ would be the logical tolerance level in one? Because, and be honest, can you remember a time when clergy have remained silent on any hot button political issue? Have you heard of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops? There are like hundreds of these groups loudly doing what you just said everybody assumes never happens. All we said is, “Don’t explicitly insinuate Jesus would vote for one candidate over the other.”

2) The Hitler thing. Hitler was a Christian. Many times over, he repeated that he did what he did in Christ’s name. You may have to pick up a book for this one, or head over to Wikipedia and use your eyeballs for something other than guiltily mind-raping the young male page you will be caught having an affair with in a few months. The Nazi party and its actions were specifically and publicly endorsed by the Vatican, which I know is different from your American-blend Christianity, but don’t you dare say the Holocaust was done by people that cut godly morals out of the fabric of their country.

AND LEST WE FORGET: The guy this Republican sponsored bill is being passed to protect is you, Pastor Charles Worley, the man that very seriously suggested we cleanse the world of fabulous by killing all of the gays.

How?Hooooooow? How did you get your mom to come in to the principal’s office and make it look like Melvin McQuidditch Player was responsible for his own broken spectacles? Because I already know it worked on your idiot followers. They already think that people fighting for civil rights are the ones that are advocating genocide. Even the people that sat there and friggin’ watched you deliver that sermon. How? How do you make people that fucking stupid?

Seriously, when the IRS comes, I am sending them with the secret rape monster we keep in the bunker under Maryland. And unlike most of them, this one wasn’t born gay. He chooses to be.

Thank you,

The Government of the United States of America

1 Comment

Me Meme. Memememe. ME! OH MY GOD LOOK AT ME!

Posted on May 19, 2012 by Mark Hurley

By Sean “Criticizes Memes, Wears Stewie Griffin Tees” Torrie

Unless you’re in middle school, which I could foresee of some of the readers of this site are, you can recall that subtle territory wherein the “everybody’s equal” mentality of kindergarten started to dissolve in favor of, ”Wait now. That more popular kid is getting far more attention from the suddenly appealing females,” or, “Hold up now. That nerdy weakling is doing far better than I am with his grades,” or, “That… that kid dressed in black that’s both unpopular and of medium intelligence – that kid with openly neglectful parents that seems to be getting really, really into satanism and buying a small army’s worth of assault rifles – seems to have an awful lot of maps of the school.”

At this point of your life you began to pick up on a sense of individuality, even if you chose to give up your burgeoning sense of independent thought in favor of more traditional or ‘normal’ ideas. You started developing your political ideals. Your sense of humor also blossomed. Humor that, if you’ve ever endured a conversation with me that was longer than 10 minutes, has become far more abstract than it was a few decades ago.

I wanted to cry when Bon Iver became mainstream, but crying is so mainstream.

Shit, I was in Williamsburg Brooklyn for the first time in my life last night, and if what I saw there wasn’t a dress code and lifestyle based on a maladapted sense of self-deprecating humor, then I have no idea what was going on. By some certain measure: ironic humor is clearly alive, if not unwell and malnourished there.

I’m digressing because I need to mention that I loathe hipsters, but it’s not completely off topic. This particular episode of Southpark really highlighted the desperate need to be recognized that seems to be present in the your average meme-er. [that's 'meme-ist,' fuckhead -ed.]

They’re funny, I know; and I love running gags and stuff, but has anyone else picked up on the downgrade from the Warhol 15 minutes to a 30 second prolonged fart clip or single shot of your buddy imitating an inanimate object? Do you know where memes come from? Well, Wikipedia sure does. And it’s easily the laziest way to get an answer across. It’s the desperate hope that something you’ve done will live on, and in this case it’s just in the form of a jpeg.

Yes, because when I invented Memetics, what I really wanted was for idiots to use it to graph My Little Ponies on D&D alignment charts.

Is it some small, morbid, concern that I have that the advent of memes, in the social media sense, is also the iconic sign that we’re finally hitting a point where an ever larger number of people are again realizing they’ll never be more than silly cogs in a malfunctioning machine? It’s like Billy Corrigan saw this shit coming in ’99, and dressed in an attention-gettingly-appropriate way for the video:

Let’s have a nice quick round of applause for musicians with unignorable substance abuse problems, and then I’ll get back to my point.

I’m constantly hearing people over 50 that I know comment that the world is in its all-time worst condition ever. It isn’t that I have a distrust of the opinions of most baby-boomers (though I might), it’s that there’s a very large percent of our population, born between ’46 and ’64 that doesn’t have a grasp on proportion. I’d far sooner say that bad news sells, and since every news corporation is in danger of closing down, they have to announce as much bad news as possible to stay afloat.

By proxy, with more news and information sources available on a daily basis, the people still under 25 have always grown up knowing a constant flow of information, much of which has been deflating their concept of individuality or importance. And thank GOD, because we just didn’t need another generation of boomers. There. I said it. I think we’re also finally hitting the turning point on Social Darwinism in the means of establishing the hierarchy in classroom vis a vis lateral evolution. I can go on a bullying in popular culture tirade another time.

What kind of faggot doesn't know basic C++? Gunk gunk.

What I’m seeing in all of this is a post-goth indifference to the world as expressed through a poorly understood grasp of humor and irony; it is exemplified in everything hipster, but iconified in the pan-sub-culture knack for memes to appeal to everyone. I’m not a cat person, but I’ll troll through cat memes for hours, just because the affectionate jokes appeal to my distaste of the creatures.

Me? I write articulate, verbose social commentary with complex puns, and I feel like I’ve left my mark on the universe. But I’m smarter than you are, so I don’t have to make a video of taking turns dry humping a sofa with my friends, or riding something precarious over, on top, or near something more precarious, and then post the video after something somehow goes wrong.

Is this a good thing? If you’ve ever seen the Darwin Awards, and then watched a video with someone overtly stupid, acting… stupidly, you’ll agree we’re at least thinning the herd. Do I need to experience another wave of the black background 6 framed ‘this is what ___ thinks ___ does’? No. No, I do not. However, if this helps keep nitwits in line and taper back the sense of entitlement and self importance that MTV has been so content to cater to since the first season of ‘Real World’ then I’m totally OK with it.

Da-na-na-na And They’re Green

Posted on May 18, 2012 by Mark Hurley

Shut up, kids. Daddy is trying to forget he ever adopted you.

You know what I’ve realized? In the mind of Splinter as concerns the Ninja Turtles, not two fucks was ever given. Cracked already points out that in the original comics, Splinter only created and trained the turtles for the sole purpose of revenge acing a guy who pissed him off a long time ago. I’m not even talking about that. I’m talking about the feel good family “comedy” cartoon of our childhoods, the one that was supposed to be about ugly geek love and family friendly decapitation of machines with decidedly sharp swords. In trying to retrofit Eastman and Laird’s dark-assed story of ultraviolence into Saturday Morning camp, someone George Lucased and forgot to shoehorn in the part that shows Splinter actually gives a shit about his young padawans.

Think about it. Splinter never even bothered to learn the Turtles’ names. He named them after artists whose names he already knew (which is the equivalent of naming them after the Gospels), then dressed them up like infant quadruplets in order to avoid a mildly humorous Jesse Katsopolis moment…

If you kids take off those shirts for any reason, it's blood test time again. And this time, I'm going to have the doctor use the big needles.

… only this time the kids are stronger than you and trained in deadly weapons, so pissing them off is a no-go. “You. You wear blue, all the friggin’ time. Even while you sleep.” It’s like a scene from Reservoir Dogs, only a sheltered teenage mutant doesn’t know to fight back when you assign him purple for the rest of his natural life. And remember, the late Eighties was a couple of decades before Sam Jackson made an attempt at making purple bad. This is all not to mention the underlying tones of racism, considering Donatello was the black one, and black people stereotypes always look good in purple.

And don’t call me your son if you have to label me with the first letter of my name to remember who I am.

"You told me M stood for 'most loved'!"

They already have suspiciously 2-dimensional personalities that make them easy to tell apart, especially for someone who considers themselves a parent. Why not take them out and toss the pigskin around, for one afternoon, and get to learn who they are by their hopes and dreams, not just by what ways they are able to reduce a mutant warthog into a steaming pile of intestines and Kanye glasses? At least Mario and Luigi were adults, and apparently chose to label their hats like summer camp underwear. There’s only four of these guys! A human child would feel like the forgettable son of a redneck drunken retard if he had to wear his first initial on his belt buckle for identificaiton purposes in his own house.

If that wasn’t bad enough, think of this: The theme song was probably just a full-band, stylized version of the pneumatic device Splinter sang in his head every time he needed something from any of the turtles. “Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh Leonardo something Donatello does machines! Hey purple guy, the trimmer’s busted and I got a backup of shit caked fur going on here to match Bruce Vilanche’s dildo. Seriously, it’s either you now, or FEMA in a couple of hours.” For all we know, the whole series is just from Splinter’s perspective, and he is just so one-minded about his revenge complex to realize his “family” is composed of seriously intricate characters, teenagers with vastly nuanced personalities and ambitions. To him, they are just vicious attack dogs, and the pizza budget was like the Alpo budget of the sewers.

This isn’t unprecedented, as it turns out the entirety of St. Elsewhere happened in the head of one startlingly dramatic autistic kid’s imagination. I also have my suspicions about the broad stroked comedic characters of Boston Legal all being from Jerry “Hands” Espenson’s skewed, confused perspective, as evidenced by the fact that he made up the theme song.

It isn’t all that unrealistic to consider the rat (an animal that in every other personificated incarnation is the very epitome of untrustworthiness) crammed the entire five years of his experience with his reptilian wards into a framework of how each one of their shortcomings was going to prolong his biblical vengeance plot.

And who was always the first dude to send the Turtles into mortal danger, without a thought? Sure, he trained these kids up to be ruthless killing machines, and they always came out alive. But against a Technodrome? Don’t we have an army for something like that? With, like, missiles and drones and anything other than nunchchucks? By the middle of the series, Shredder’s ambitions have gone from petty crime and civilization crushing mayhem to simply dining on turtle soup, just once.

"Dear Jesus, before these turtles came around, I was just a normal criminal. Now I know what it takes to make a man a semi-canibal. Could you just cut a nip a break, here?"

Splinter sets up these kids to be the primary focus of a remarkably well-funded psychotic organization, to the point where a disembodied alien has to come down and tell Shredder to calm the fuck down and focus on the task at hand. It takes a serious amount of indoctrination to make four teenagers drop the XBox controller long enough to get out of the house, let alone make themselves the personal nuissance o

Pizza-shaped marshmallows. Because pizza was what was cool about TMNT.

If a group of people that have the technology to tunnel through the Earth and set robot armies against entire metropolitan areas. Well done, Splinter.

It seems superfluous to point out the merchandizing this asshole rat signed off on for his minors, considering the lengths TLC likes to remind us parents these days are capable of going to pimp their children to the public. But yeah, pizza shaped marshmallows. “I only said I liked pizza once, Master Splinter, I’m really more of Chinese foo – -” “Shut up, pizza is your thing now. You are contractually obligated to eat two pizzas a day for the next decade, so choke it down like it’s He-Man’s dick, and pretend to be hormonal for April’s tits while you’re at it. Homo cartoons don’t fly in the 80s, bitch.”

3 Comments

Keeping Child Psychologists In Yachts Since 1992

Posted on May 11, 2012 by Mark Hurley

Putting all her eggs in the "bullying completely eradicated by 2017" basket

Ah, Christ! Look out lady! There’s a disembodied head latching onto your tit!

Oh, camouflage. Stick with the style, little man. You’re going to need it in middle school.

3 Comments

… To Get To The Nail Salon

Posted on May 6, 2012 by Mark Hurley

Shove it in your facehole like it was a wealthy black man’s cock in an adult book store in Cleveland, you faggot! Stop thinking about it ending up on your hips, your skirt will still fit. There’s goddamned rabbit food all over it. Stop thinking at all, and eat it like it’s Strawberry Shortcake’s pussy a la mode. Or if that doesn’t do it for you, you mincing little coward, think of it as Mayor McCheese’s quarter-pounder on a bun. I’ll bet you break down in sobs at the sight of a spicy nugget. You nauseating, douche-nozzle sucking lady boy. It’s your goddamned lunch! It’s yours, and I saw that chubby little whore at the other register eyeballing it. You gonna let that chubby little whore eat the lunch that, by all rights, belongs to you? I remember a time when a real man would swallow a live chicken whole. Now you mother-bred sissies, in your pink Lacoste shirts and your cruelty free face creams, can’t even swallow a pattied-out piece of synthetic fowl with a generous slathering of mayo lube and your boyfriends to chew it up for you. When your wife finds out you’re too craven to consume an animal that’s been killed, phosphorylated, and breaded for you, she’s going to leave you for the paunchy asthmatic model train enthusiast that lives next door…