Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous 10

Oct. 11th, 2015

right on

157 From Tip To Toe

( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

Dec. 2nd, 2012

right on

What Could Go Wrong? Episode 068 - There's A Hole

( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

Nov. 14th, 2012

right on

A few thoughts about Pandas

Pandas - Part 1 . . . No sympathy. on Twitpic
Pandas - Part 2 . . . Even less sympathy. on Twitpic
Pandas - Part 3 . . . Now look what you did. on Twitpic
Pandas - Part 4 . . . Payback! on Twitpic

Oct. 28th, 2012

right on

064 Proof Of My Evil

Listen to the podcast HERE!  Or, listen on iTunes.

Who doesn't love Halloween? Sure, Christmas gets a lot of attention because it takes the most planning, but unless you're a mall Santa, there's not a lot of chance to play dress-up. Halloween is a chance to act silly because you're not really being yourself. You would never jump out from a bush and yell "BLAAARGH!" . . . but a goofy pirate might. You would never drink too much and go home with that guy, but Sexy Alice in Wonderland is in the mood for a tumble down the rabbit hole. Go ahead Sponge Bob, eat that huge bag of candy. You'll still fit into those square pants tomorrow. It's fun to pretend we're someone else, especially someone who doesn't exist, because it takes that whole burden of responsibility off for a while. Wear the mask, have some fun, then go back to boring old "real life" November 1st. And if your costume lends itself to making a specific lasting impression, by all means go for it. If you're dressing up as John Dillinger, make sure to stop in at the bank. If you're a mad bomber, see if you can make it through airport security. If you're dressed as a pimp, slap a bitch. If you're dressing up as a priest or scout leader . . . may we suggest a different costume. You can only take this "It wasn't me, it was the outfit" garbage just so far, right?

In this week's Bad Movie Review, Luka goes back to 2003 and takes a Wrong Turn (see what we did there?). You may not have seen this movie, but you've definitly seen it before. A carload of attractive college students are on a Spring break road trip and decide to take a short cut, right? Sound familiar? And they stop at a gas station an get directions from a vaguely threatening backwoods hick? Of course they do. Then they run over a spiked chain that blows out their tires and they end up being picked off, one by one, by a family of inbred cannibals. Yadda-yadda, la-dee-da, pass the popcorn, we've been down this old dirt road before. This time our usual vile villains are a trio of deformed brothers by the names of One-Eye, Three-Fingers and Sawtooth (or the Artist Formerly Known As Fuckface). Like any teen-screamer, Wrong Turn has had more the necessary amount of sequels and prequels, usually released directly to video. All of these are your standard, run-of-the-mill, snark worthy fare. In other words, get your snacks, get comfy, and get ready to point and laugh.

We took a short detour down Halloween Movie Memory Lane. Here are some sentimental favorites from years gone by:

Mockingbird Lane: Well, it was going to be a pilot for a new series, but now they're calling it a "Halloween Special". Take our word for it, this is no Great Pumpkin. Oh Eddie . . .

If you aren't doing anything fun for Halloween this year, why not make yourself feel better by laughing at this stupid family and their potentially rabid dog? Please enjoy the low-income thrills of Halloween Party (1953)!

From Skullard's Postcard Collection: This one's a classic. Mine's only a copy and I wish I had an original, but I adore the silliness of it. That witch must be driving like a maniac, because all the veggies look scared shitless. Hell, the pickle fell out! That's what you get for not buckling up, ya briney bastard! And is it just me, or does that car's smile remind anyone else of Speed-Buggy? "A-ROOMA-ZOOM-ZOOM!"

Nov. 8th, 2011

right on

Proper Footwear Is Very Important

A couple of weeks ago I bought some new boots for work because I have a job that can’t be done in Birkenstocks.  I trained for a Birkenstock job, I went to school for a Birkenstock job and I’m still paying off the student loans almost 20 years later now.  With a Birkenstock job?  No, with a boot job, and notice I distinctly said “Boot” with a T on the end.  If I could pay off my student loans with a boob job, I’d get the operation tomorrow and by the end of the week I’d be back in Birkenstocks, but out of work because I have a job that can’t be done in a bra, which is why I bought the boots.
After two weeks in these boots, I’m wondering if the bra wouldn’t have been more comfortable.  How long should it take to break in boots, and why should I have to “break in” anyway?  A lot of thing that require “breaking in” aren’t worth it in the long run.  Show business, bank vaults, your neighbor’s house when they’re on vacation because you heard the dad keeps a box of Hustlers in his closet.  I’m not proud of that, but when you’re twelve years old, those kind of rumors just can’t go unsubstantiated.  What I did, I did for Truth, and the truth is these boots are killing me.  My ankles, once sexy, are now red, raw and swollen with dead skin flaking off of them.  How am I supposed to feel sexy with ankles like that and no bra?  My shins look like I’ve been playing soccer with a bunch of spastic six-year-olds.  I know we’re not supposed to use the word “spastic” any more, but you have to admit it paints a pretty good word picture.  Being surrounded by a group of short, quivering spazzes kicking away mindlessly at your ankles with their cleated feet?  You’d do your best to avoid that kind of mob.  You’d cross the street if you saw them coming.  If you were on foot.  If you saw them when you were driving you might swerve onto the sidewalk and take a few of them out.  As a public service.  They can’t get to you when you’re in your car, and really, what kind of life do they have to look forward to?
Now, if you so much as smirked at the idea of running down those kids a second ago, you’re the type of person that thinks cruelty is funny, which means you probably designed these boots.  Or it was someone like you.  Or someone who likes you.  They don’t like me, or these boots wouldn’t hurt so much.  It’s hard not to think this is personal, like evil boot designers weren’t sitting around one day during a break from snipping off the limbs of cute, fuzzy hamsters to say, “You know what we should do?  Let’s make some really painful boots for that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The boobless guy.  You know, that guy?  With the hair?  Who did the thing?”
“You could be talking about any guy!”  But it couldn’t be just any guy because he said it was the guy with the hair, so we know he wasn’t talking about Stu, and that’s why I need to apologize.
Last week, for no good reason, I outed my friend Stu on the podcast as a bald person.  I was way out of line.  So, let me just say, Stu, I think you’re a great guy, and I’m sorry for saying you’re bald.  I think people should meet you, and get to know the kind of person you really are.  Before looking at your head.
Now, where’s my apology for these boots?  It’s not like I can return them, because I need them for work.  I have a wife and 67 Hello Kitties to support, not to mention student loans, so I need this thankless, pitiless, soul-shriveling and crippling job, and in order to do it, I need these boots.  Especially for the crippling part.  So I don’t want a refund, but an apology.  I want justice for my ankles.  And revenge isn’t justice.  Revenge would just be stabbing your boots with a hunting knife, and if anyone saw you doing that, they’d think you were nuts.  Especially if you’re still wearing them.  But even if you have them up on a table and your stabbing them, you’re going to seem kind of weird singing, “Stab your boots with a stab-stab-stabby-stab, stabby-stabby-stab-stab!”  Breaking into song is another thing the never turns out well, plus the whole thing just makes you look pathetic, and that’s not justice.  That’s a poor substitute, which is what I was after I got my teaching degree.  Sure, I thought I would walk into those schools and wow all the other teachers and administrators with my amazing teaching skill and my Birkenstocks.  And how well did that plan work out?  All it took was one classroom of spastic six-year-olds and I’m sitting here singing about stabbing my boots.
Some would say, “Awww, baby-waby gots some sore footies?  Suck it up, ya pussy!”  I don’t want to hear that kind of talk, which is why I don’t let my Mom listen to this podcast.  But if all this whining makes me a pussy, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a pussy in painful boots, and you can’t tell me you didn’t see that coming.  I mean, really?  The puss in boots thing?  It’s just been sitting right here the entire time.  Like me.  And, I’m assuming, like you.  Unless you’re listening while you jog or walk around, in which case, let me give you this advice:  Proper footwear is very important.

Oct. 28th, 2010

right on

Rifftrax is live tonight.

The Rifftrax guys are doing one of their live performances tonight, this time taking on the original House on Haunted Hill.  Luka and I have gone to each of these things and always end up walking out assless because we'd laughed them off somewhere inside the theater.

The last movie we saw at the theater was the last Rifftrax event, which goes to show how little we go to the movies anymore.  We used to go to the movies all the time when we were first going out.  Mostly this was because it was an excuse to get her out of the house she was in so that we could go find a place to make out.  But we don't go out of our way to see films these days, partly because we can make out at home, partly because we have a backlog of stuff to watch already, and mostly because people in theaters are rude assholes who need to be struck in the teeth with a board.  One of the best things about the live Rifftrax events is the crowd does very little if any talking during the show . . . because we all paid to listen to somebody else talk during the show.  It's definitely the last safe way to watch a movie in a crowd, in my book.  I don't even bring my board.
Tags: ,

Oct. 26th, 2010


Do what you have to do.

I walked into a convenience store on my route last week to find a new employee behind the counter.  The woman was taking the time-expired burgers and sandwiches out of the trash and stuffing them hurriedly into her purse.  The manager was on the other side of the store, and when she saw that I could see what she was doing, she gave me look that said, "Please don't say anything."  I didn't let on that I'd seen anything at all.  She got her purse put away under the counter in time before the manager made it back to front of the store.

I've lived in that space between where you start a job and when you actually start getting paid.  That can be a damned hard place.  With a family to feed, it's got to be even harder.

I've been back to that store a few times since then, and I haven't seen her working there.  She may just be working a different shift.  That's what I keep telling myself.

That "Please don't say anything" look.  I really want to shake that.
Tags: ,

Oct. 24th, 2010


Don't call the bitch "Jessie"


Oct. 17th, 2010

right on

Playing the role

I just thrashed my throat by voicing a hag called The Mother of Flies for our role playing game. Totally worth it, but I'm going to be gargling orange juice for the rest of the night. I make one damned scary hag.

That's kinda an odd boast, come to think of it.

Posted via LiveJournal.app.

Oct. 15th, 2010

right on

(no subject)

This last week my parents had their 49th anniversary.  I was trying to send them an ecard from someecards.com but the site was messing up, so I thought, "Screw it.  I'm gonna call 'em later anyway."

I called up and my dad answered.  I make a big deal about 49 years, joke about how next year they should announce in August that it's all been a sham and they're breaking up just to fuck with people, and then dad says, "Well, I had a talk with your mom this afternoon . . ."

You gotta be fuckin' with me.

Turns out they're not breaking up or anything, because why would they?  They've been going through the motions all these years, why quit now?  But apparently, on their 49th anniversary, dad sits mom down and lays out how the marriage isn't one and he feels like a hypocrite every year for celebrating a mistake.  Unholy bleeding fuck, this is what you say to your wife on your anniversary?

Now, it's not like anything he said to her was a surprise, unknown or even wrong.  The man has some legitimate gripes that he's been legitimately griping about for decades.  But c'mon, on the day itself?  Shit storm.  Turns out the reason dad picked up the phone is mom took off to go shopping after the discussion.  After talking to my dad for about twenty minutes about this mess, he says, "Oh, your mom's back.  Never mind all that.  So, how're you doing?"

When mom came on the phone, I wished her a happy anniversary too, pretending I didn't know what I did, and she pretended she was glad to hear my congratulations.  Now, I can talk to my folks on the phone until my ear gets sore, but this was damned awkward call.  What the hell do you say?  "Yeah, me and dad were just talking about how you and he are basically roommates . . . any special plans for dinner tonight?"

For the last year I've been planning on flying back home, ending my long self-imposed exile from the homeland, to be there next year for their 50th anniversary.  But now I'm thinking . . . shit.  Maybe we'll just pick some other time when the weather's good.  Sounds like maybe this isn't something they'll feel like celebrating, 50 years or not.

When I got off the phone, Luka and I talked about it for a while.  It was just so damned sad.  Eventually, we went to the bedroom to make out and hold each other a bit.  Perhaps I needed to be reminded that genetics isn't fate and my marriage isn't like theirs.  Or maybe I just wanted to enjoy a real relationship because not everyone isn't so lucky.  Then again, it could just be that I love her and wanted to be intimate for a while . . . that and she was looking hot in that off-the-shoulder top she had on.  It could be any of those things.  I'm just glad I'm a husband and not just someone feeling trapped.

I have to say, though, I'm glad someecards.com wasn't working correctly.  How would my poor mom have fealt opening up her email and seeing this:

That's the one I'd picked out.  The one I had almost picked was this one:

Cards like this are funny for being kinda true.  When they're too true, not so funny.

Previous 10