Drunk High Christmas Greetings!

December 26th, 2008 at 6:27 am

There may be no achievements you felt you made today.  Or this month.  Or this decade.  You may feel you peaked with a skateboard move or a joke in a movie theatre.  You may look at the cover of People Magazine or Architect Quarterly or Bisexual Kite Fancy and see someone that is not you, and you may think, how did I fuck up so bad, and is it too late to fix it?  Well, I’ve got a soothing Christmas chocolate for you.  If you like to read what people say when they’re high and alone on Christmas at 5 am.


You’re good.  Yeah, you, you galoot.  Not because you did the right things today, not because you mean well, but just because you were born human.  No matter how black, white, male, female, Irish, German, tall, short, ugly or pretty you felt this year, you are part of a family that has been targeted by an unforgiving cosmos since its inception but has, regardless, survived.   If a TV show about this family were to be created, you would very, very much enjoy it, and pay very much money for several seasons of it on DVD, because humanity, warts and all, is an inherently heroic species that has spent about 99.99% of its short lifetime as an underdog.  And If you see no billboards telling you that, it’s not because it’s not true.  It’s because there’s little to no profit to be made telling you.


I could go on and on about the suffering we’ve endured and the adaptations we’ve made, but to me, our species’ crowning jewel is that on the shortest day of the year, when the sun spends most of its time swallowed, when everything is frozen, when nothing can grow, when the air is so cold our voices stop right in front of our faces…we put a string of lights on a universe that is currently doing nothing to earn it.  We not only salvage an otherwise desolate time of year, we make it the best time of year.  It’s like black people owning the N bomb, or gays saying faggot, or Americans loving being whatever a “yankee” is.  We throw our arms around it.  Giraffes don’t do it, spiders don’t do it, ferns don’t do it.  And you know what?  They suck.  


Some of us think that when God hits us, He means He loves us and expects more of us.  Some of us think God is an asshole or a superstition, and the best way to defeat him is to ignore him or politely smile through His beatings.  But we fail to see that it’s all the same in the most important way:  that we come into this world programmed for perceiving a relationship between the known and the unknown.  The men that flew the planes into the World Trade Center had this programming in common with the men that built it.  Some things are defined not by us as individuals, but by our biology.  There is no decision that can be made regarding the winter of our existence that will make it go away.  There are only ways to decorate that winter.  This is the case for Al Quaeda, and for Billy Graham, and Bill Maher, but this is not the case for giraffes.  And with God as my witness, should I wake up a giraffe tomorrow, I hope some human will have the pity to kill me where I stand, because I won’t have the ability to kill myself because the option won’t occur to me, because I’ll be a stupid fucking giraffe, and I never want to be that.  The thing about being human is that you come into the world burdened by consciousness.  Some would say blessed, some would say cursed, but few can argue that it’s inappropriate to call it being anointed.  The Greek word for which is Kristos.  A word predating Christ and certainly Christmas but not the winter solstice.  The Christ myth is the myth of a being, part man, part God, coming into our world and showing us that we are all every bit of everything we ever wanted to be, already.  Always, in a resonant story, the slippers have been in the anointed’s possession the entire time.  The lion was always brave.  The scarecrow was always smart.  Everything you have ever dreamt of being, that is what you are.  The Gods that really love us, the ones truly worthy of our fabrication, they don’t imprison us for any longer than we want or need to be imprisoned.  When we’re ready, we push on the cell door and it swings open.  The gift of Christmas is the freedom to question God, to become God, to realize we are already God, and act accordingly.  To shed our dishonesty, inherit the weather and render each other and ourselves Kristos.  So little to do with mangers, really.  So much more to do with Frosty the Snowman and everything you’ve ever understood to be a secular perversion.  The original meaning was probably so holy it was secular.  The original meaning is:  ”the ground is frozen, will it ever get warmer, or will it keep getting colder until we’re dead, I don’t know, and I don’t care, because I’m human, which means I will pass out spitting in God’s eye and I will wake up fucking His mother.”  


So, you know, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, and don’t worry too much about being too hip about all of it, because the planet is a circle, and the year is a circle, and there’s a big seam in it, and better men than you have tried, and failed, to act like that wasn’t important.  Super important.  Super awesome.  Unless you’re Asian.  I don’t know what they do.  They’re weird.

December 25th, 2008 at 6:23 pm

I am often alone on Christmas.  I am prone to keep that fact on the down low because it sounds sad, or even worse, sounds like I want it to sound sad.  The only thing worse than that would be sounding like I wanted to sound like it didn’t sound sad, etc.  I guess sound travels more slowly in the cold air.  I really need to remember to just blog about shit, I fell into thinking of this site as a site, with articles, articles with themes and things.  Man, I got so high.  I just found out Vernon Chatman is “Towlie” on South Park.  You gotta let go, man, totally cosmic, I’m so high on Christmas, baby yeah, no connective tissue, it’s all thought, baby, groovy.  What brought me over here?  Oh!


I had to stop watching “The Parent Trap” at 23 minutes.  Holy complicated story.  I didn’t stop because it was bad.  It was really bad, but I stopped because I was enjoying it so fucking much.  I really wanted to talk about  ”The Parent Trap’s” first act with someone.  I think Sona Panos is in my driveway.  I’m going to go to a party and talk about nothing but the Parent Trap for like 90 minutes.  I will never finish watching it but I want to talk about the first 23 minutes of Parent Trap for longer than it would take to watch the movie.


Students of Syd Field will know -  oh, that’s sona, gotta go.  Everyone go read Syd Field and then let’s talk about “The Parent Trap.”


December 11th, 2008 at 7:52 pm

And look who’s joining me!


December 11th, 2008 at 7:51 pm

That took a while!

Transcript of John McCain’s Allegedly Graceful Concession Speech

November 7th, 2008 at 6:00 am

From start to finish, the Distinguished Veteran from Arizona withstood months of torture at the hands of his own shame, just to protect my right to a bad vibe.  How did I repay him?  By voting for someone smarter and manlier than him.  And still he trudged loyally on, even forgiving me as he went down for my vote cast in a tantrum of racial obsession

From start to finish, the Distinguished Veteran from Arizona withstood months of torture at the hands of his own shame, just to protect my right to a bad vibe. How did I repay him? With a vote cast in an obvious tantrum of self destructive reverse racism. Fortunately, I got the distinct impression from his concession that I was being forgiven.

My friends:  A few moments ago, I had the honor of calling Senator Obama and congratulating him on becoming the next President of these United States.

I recognize that this is an incredible and historic moment for African Americans.  Electing a black president shows us that we have come to a very important time in our history.  A time in which electing a black president is important to us.  A time in which, given a choice between electing a white president and a black president, even nearly half of the white voters will vote for the black candidate.

This was not an easy campaign.  I worked really, really hard to get you to vote for me.  At the beginning of my campaign, I denounced negative campaigning.  When that didn’t work, I initiated a barrage of swipes and tactics so petty, some speculated I was conducting research into human fear and stupidity rather than auditioning for the job of running a global empire in crisis.  What my critics did not understand is that I was doing it for you.  What is a politician’s job if not to do whatever he thinks people want him to do?

Well, it turns out what you really wanted me to do was be black.  Which is kind of a relief to my ego, because I can’t change my race, therefore my loss in this election wasn’t due to my behavior or perceived qualifications and I don’t have to learn any lessons about who I am, except the lesson that I’m not black therefore I cannot be president.  

By the way, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, after everything you watched me do this last year, that if I had thought it would have gotten me near that oval office, I would have tattooed my body from head to toe until I was blacker than Yaphet Kotto.   I would have rapped, I would have danced, I would have called my mother a cracker and I would have shot her to death on national TV.  

I doubt it would have been enough.  Judging from the results tonight, this goes a bit deeper than the color of my skin, possibly all the way down to the size of my penis, and my lack of whatever special muscles enable blacks to jump higher but prevent them from running backwards, which I am told is why there are no negro quarterbacks.  

And even if I could change my body on a genetic level, I would do it.  If I had the ability, I would become Barack Obama right now, and take his place.  Jesus Christ, the guy’s going to be president, do you really think I wouldn’t be willing to be taller and have a deeper voice for four years if it meant I got to live in the White House?  Trust me, nothing was more important to me than this.  Not my skin, not my soul and certainly not my identity.

It doesn’t matter how badly I wanted it.  In the end, you voted, and even though you were clearly voting not in a presidential election, but in a “who can be blacker” contest, your vote still counts, and it’s a democracy, so there you go.   

Enjoy your historic moment and your black president and don’t come crying to me when the shit hits the fan and what you really wish you had was a duplicitous octogenarian that would suck your dick for the power to run your life.  I wish I could go back in time and crack under torture sooner.  Goodbye forever.

Benefits of Age #001

October 27th, 2008 at 12:40 pm

I can tell you that Chocolate News isn’t funny just by watching 60 commercials for it.

— Post From My iPhone



James Bond Movie Titles With Proper Number and Configuration of the Letter O for Purposes of Arranging 007 Logo

October 21st, 2008 at 2:06 pm

Diamonds are Forever
From Russia With Love
The Spy Who Loved Me
For Your Eyes Only
Dr. No Seriously
Goldfinger’s Foot
Moonraker…the Movie
You Actually Live More
On Her Majesty’s Recommendation
Love and Let Do
Murder Comes With Soup
Soup Includes Croutons
However, Bacon is Extra
Octopussy’s Tooth
One and Two Make Death
Containers Contain
You Say Tomato
You Don’t Really Need Toes
Corn Holer
Orange You Glad
Sorry, We’re Moving
Let’s Go Shopping
The Holding of Horses
Lost and Found
Those Are Cute Shoes
Nobody Reads Doonesbury
I Brought Doritos
Asians Have No Honor
Okay That Does It
Your Soothing Boobs
Pole Smoker
Google, Then Douche
You Can Totally Have Lots More But You Only Need Two O’s to Make the Logo
I Lost a Contact 

testing different mobile software

October 21st, 2008 at 11:07 am

poop in your butt test


— Post From My iPhone



Shit 08102101 - Featuring a Silverfish Encounter

October 21st, 2008 at 5:26 am

I thought I’d label this shit with a timestamp method similar to that called for by one of the commenters When I complained about running out of shit headlines. Oh! Silverfish! Look out!

Here’s a photo of the silverfish walking past me and a photo of me being alarmed by it. The latter is partially staged in that I was no longer alarmed. Although I’m a little concerned because the silverfish just kept right on walking and went under my bathroom door, and Ryan Ridley is sleeping on my couch. Will this intrepid insect be able to tell Ryan’s mouth from a comfy silverfish lair?  I hope so. I just read an article on Huffington Post about silverfish eggs laid in human mouths being the biggest cause of AIDS. Okay, clearly I’m just tired. I don’t know how we’re going to do water and power this month. but I know we’re going to do it. time for sleeps.

Congratulations to Every Woman in the World and my Sympathies to my New Girlfriend

October 21st, 2008 at 5:19 am

In my old Myspace blog, on January 23, 2008, I announced a “Codependence Day Pool,” in which I invited readers to make their best guess as to the exact day on which I would officially be in a new relationship.

On October 16th, 2008, I flew to Minneapolis with my friend-with-benefits so we could watch JD Ryznar become Fancy Ray’s real father, and on October 17th, 2008, intoxicated by tiny free towels, shitty thirteen dollar movies and reasonably priced cheesecake, while you were all learning that Joe the Plumber wasn’t a plumber, I was blurting a long suppressed request for the benefits of my companion’s friendship to be more privatized than socialized, i.e., may I please register some kind of  copyright on what you are doing to me right now.  She acquiesced- although honestly, her answer mattered little, just ask any of the 12 states in which I’ve previously held residence - and I am now in a relationship.  

So who won the pool?  In a certain sense, the real winners were B.F. Skinner and William of Ockham, because, well, I quote myself from January:

I would love to break my record of 2 years single…But what I want and what the numbers tell us is different.  According to my post-virginity averages, the sweet spot is going to be right around October 16th, 2008 - approximately 9 months and 24 days after my December 22nd breakup.

I probably don’t have to tell you being right about this is nothing to brag about.  If I had realized I was within 24 hours of officially establishing myself as some kind of quasar-tuned relationship cuckoo clock, let alone dealing a fatal blow in the name of mathematical Calvinism, I would have told her that “I really valued what we had together” and WAITED A COUPLE WEEKS.  For God’s sake, what have I done with this David Blane parlor trick, but put a very unusual asterisk on an otherwise blessed event.

It should be noted that even though the statistical “sweet spot” was October 16th, or perhaps because it was the sweet spot, none of us really came close with our official guesses, instead electing to treat October 16th as a sand trap, swapping our woods for irons and landing our drives well short of September, as if to say, “Dan Harmon, who are you kidding, your little groundhog penis will come bounding from the hollowed stump of loneliness very early this year and its shadow, for obvious reasons, will be too small for it to see.”  

Well, in your face, assholes.  I’m a hero.  I got used to being alone.  I liked it.  I was John Henry.  I pounded through the mountain of your underestimation and came out clear on the other side…

..right at my…average spot.  Yikes.  Yeah.  If you think it’s awkward for me, imagine being my new girlfriend.  Well, you know what?  Fuck it.  If she can look at grocery dividers as facilitators of humanity, she can look at me asking her to go steady on some kind of predetermined schedule as somehow romantic.  She can do anything she puts her mind to, she’s Dan Harmon’s girlfriend for Christ’s sake.

But WHO WON?  Well, there was one person that thought I’d last all the way until November of 2008, which is almost a full month closer to October 17th than Kelly Winona and Justin Roiland’s dual guess.  So we do have a clear winner.  I’ll let you see for yourself:

02-01-09 mr acid glee
02-11-08 doug tennapel
02-28-08 kk
02-29-08 cassandra
03-01-08 hollywoodartchick
03-16-08 jp 
03-19-08 ryan ridley
03-25-08 jeff davis
04-06-08 me and Phil Holland
04-24-08 shady sides
05-06-08 dirty preston
05-15-08 my mother
05-21-08 kelly kubik
06-20-08 jason makiaris
07-29-08 mark
08-23-08 justin roiland and kelly winona

10-16-08 the day on which it was statistically most likely I would become a boyfriend
10-17-08 the day I became a boyfriend

11-04-08 teighlor darr <—- winner!
12-21-12 dalas

Well, congratulations, Myspace user Teighlor Darr.  And congratulations to women everywhere, who can now unlock their doors, remove their fake wedding rings and put their hair back in pigtails.