Friday, December 24, 2010

Grog some 'nog and sleep until New Year's

Like any kid, I used to spend the whole year waiting for Christmas.  On Christmas Eve I would wake up around 3AM and, unable to control the adrenaline flowing through my diminutive person, re-enact the prison cell-workout scene from Cape Fear again and again.  After three hours of chin-ups on my Barbie coat rack, my parents would collect my sweaty, lifeless corpus from the floor and lay me gently under the tree.  When my hummingbird of a heart regained its rhythm, I would awake to a forest of rocking horse wrapping paper, pine needles, and presents.  Christmas was here again.

Within the past eight years however, that trend has reversed.  My mom now imposes a mandatory wake up for 11AM, at which point my sister and I tromp to the living room to open gifts.  Although I never intended to experience Christmastime with the lifeless cynicism of a Target cashier, I now realize that the shift is inevitable.  For the first time, I can sympathize with Lewis Black's aimless rage.  I can almost understand why Jewish families wouldn't want to eat Chinese food for the umpteenth time...almost.  Still, in an effort to combat those forces which atrophy the holiday spirit--aging, crowds, spending, the sound of my boss's voice--this year I sent out greeting cards.  I encourage you to do the same, and offer the following excerpts as suggestions.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Half-assed presents to get your parents

Sick  of Christmas stuff?? I'm not! Ever! I'm actually serious!

Except for Christmas shopping for your parents. It's the fucking worst thing in the world. Everyone else you can get a pan for making giant cupcakes or a He-Man sword that makes smashing sounds when you hit things with it, and they'll love it! But not parents. What can you buy for the disapproving person who has everything and is also much richer than you?

If you live in a family where you can just get your mom a nice vase and your dad a tie and that's acceptable, then you've got it made. But what if you don't? What if your family is the kind of family where everyone gives incredibly thoughtful gifts because they remember things you said you wanted or needed months ago in phone conversations you don't even remember and it's Dec. 22nd and you're clicking through Amazon in a panic at work hoping something will just leap out at you?!

Then you're fucked. Wave the white flag. Here are a few options just to keep from showing up empty-handed.

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Tuesday List: Santa's Biggest Goofs

  • Inspires deadly amount of whimsy in child, settles out of court
  • Fred Claus
  • Delivered toys for the population of Kansas City, MO to Kansas City, KS
  • Forgot to close the wolf gate one year, only eight fastest reindeer survived
  • Didn't bring me the fucking Lego set I asked for when I was five, so keep laughing, fat man, because I'm coming for you
  • Gawker finds out about his hot gay Facebook friend and his sexy all-boy Thanksgiving
  • Should've used Preparation H!

Monday, December 20, 2010

Meowy Christmas!

The Schechner family doesn't have many holiday traditions. We don't gather around the television to watch Rankin-Bass specials or sing carols around the piano. We don't cook a Christmas goose or go on magical adventures through time with three temporally assorted ghosts. Yet there is one event that, without fail, always comes around every holiday season: we buy presents for our pets.

When I was young, we had a dog and a rotating cast of cats to shop for. Dog gifts were easy to find - a steakbone, some chicken scraps, a ball that makes noise and you throw it and the dog runs across the house to get it and messes up all the carpets and shit. Cats, as is their wont, are often pickier. Maybe they won't eat the chicken. And if you throw a ball, a cat will just turn and look at you, as if to say, "Well, you better go get that."

But then you give them a paper bag or a cardboard tube and they go crazy. I love cats, but I'll admit they're not easy to shop for. Yet an entire industry has sprung up around cat gifts, designed for Cat Enrichment or Cat Activities or Cat Pooping or whatever. And this shit is expensive. Probably not as expensive as medical bills for a dog whose entire genetic makeup is seemingly designed to kill it (see: pugs), but still incredibly pricy.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Thursday Mini: A Laughable Tribute Album

That's right, this is a real thing! I didn't make it up or nothing. Buy it on Amazon!

Happy Holidays from Jimmy McMillan!

I got Jimmy McMillan's holiday card, and I wanted to pass it on to everyone! Season's Greetings! And support the Rent is 2 Damn High party!

Look close and you'll notice he's wearing a jacket and tie with a t-shirt. Rent is 2 DAMN high!

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Resolutions

  • More shenanigans, less tomfoolery
  • Stop sending messages to Obama via every time I drink
  • Get my drinking budget lower than my grocery budget, and not just by buying more ice cream this time
  • Finally teach grandparents about DVD, HDTV, DVR and DVDA
  • Apply to police academy, make cutoff for elite Boner Patrol
  • Go to a party where I've only blown one of the guests
  • Find the exit to this fucking hedge maze

Monday, December 13, 2010

Late Night TV and Me

           We don’t have cable in my apartment. 
           Yes, yes, I know, it’s a First World Problem. It’s right up there with “My iPad won’t connect to my wi-fi” or “My smartphone broke when I took a picture of my cute kitty cat”. It’s still kind of a bummer. People with cable get to dig through tons of shitty movies or reality television when they can’t sleep at night.
           I’m stuck with crime procedurals.

L to R: computer dork, minority, world's most boring man, cute blonde girl, brunette, cute guy (no homo)
            Over the past four and a half months, I have seen more episodes of Criminal Minds than anyone ever should. I am inundated with serial killers, pedophiles and Mandy Patinkin. When I’m sitting at home by myself, I hear boring white people discuss UnSubs and look around… but nobody else is there! When I’m reading blogs, I picture every commenter as a “curvaceous” quirky blonde.
            “So change the channel, dumbass!” you’re probably shouting at your computer right now. You think I didn’t think of that? I’m all about changing the channel. We even have the remote nearby (no more throwing things and hoping the channel changes on its own for us!).
            If we change the channel, we run right into something so much worse: Tyler Perry’s House of Payne or Meet The Browns. It’s the Scylla & Charybdis of television.

"Now you know you don't compare a brotha to Greek mythology!"
            So we stick to Criminal Minds. And, I’ll admit it, there are some parts that are okay. Like the bank robber who makes people have sex and is also an ace motorbike driver. Or the horribly scarred guy who blew people up for some reason… maybe because his head looked like what I think a turtle’s penis would look like. But for every one of those, there’s a pedophile ring walling little boys up inside their homes or a guy who makes a group of girls kill one of their own.
            But here’s the one thing I can say with confidence: all of those shows are still better than The King Of Queens.

"Preach it!" or "Who invited black Thing to dinner?"

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Thursday Mini: Shirt Designs!



Wednesday, December 8, 2010


The Bumble
Maybe the best TV-related reason to love or at least tolerate the holiday season is that Rankin/Bass' stop-motion Christmas specials are all back on the air, thanks to ABC Family's 25 Day of Christmas. God bless the people at ABC Family, who will apparently air these forever, regardless of how outdated and bizarre they are. And the ones made after the original classic Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer ARE bizarre.

Sadly, I no longer have cable and all my friends who do have TV-recording capabilities are actual real-life Grinches who refuse to watch these, so I won't be catching my favorite specials. Let's reminisce about them here.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Tuesday Lists: I'm a certified sex-haver, according to...

  •  My cameo in Orgymania XIII
  •  This Victoria's Secret bra I'm wearing
  •  Half the guys at Buffalo Wild Wings
  •  Half the shirts at Spencer Gifts
  •  This nifty badge on my lapel
  •  Dat ass

Friday, December 3, 2010

127 Hours with James Franco

I received a voice mail recently saying, "I'm watching 127 Hours with James Franco.  It's just gotten to the part where he's sawing his arm off with a dull blade and it reminded me of you."  My mistake here was twofold; enrolling in an improv class, and subsequently giving out my number.  Regardless, it left me wondering: How would I feel after five days with America's indie darling, James Franco?

Like his ambiguously-oriented predecessor, James Dean, Franco became the fascination of my AIM profile nearly a decade ago.  Yet however charming and roguish he was, I couldn't bring myself to trust him.  His cloying smile is precisely the kind that would incite you to go on a rock climbing adventure only to wind up a thrice-limbed freak with PTSD.  His default face is "Cheshire Cat on a heroin jag, right before he throttles you to sell your liver on the black market."  Franco's probably prettier than he is talented, and I can say with total certainty that he would have been a complete asshole to me in high school.  There's no doubt in my mind that he would've called me "Hillshire Farms" in gym only to cheat off me in physics.  And I would have let him.  Every goddam time.  I probably would've called my pillow "Jamie" when I practiced kissing even.  Conflicted.

Luckily I was able to conduct a shorter version of the "127 Hours Hypothesis" during an elevator ride two years ago.  Though Franco only rode to the sixth floor I nearly asphyxiated in the interim.  Within thirty seconds I had devolved from self-satisfied NYU douche to a simpering preteen, my skin temperature increasing dramatically.  As he exited the car I crumpled to the floor, nursing the wounds left by the flock of doves persistently surrounding him.  It was exhilarating, adrenal, and exhausting--but ultimately, more trouble than it was worth.

Sounds like camping to me.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Thursday Mini: Zooborns, and their awkward captions

Here's the caption from a Zooborns post called Baby Tiger Gets a"Bath":

Checking back in on the Sacramento Zoo's Sumatran tiger cub, we discover that mom has an enormous tongue and uses it to powerful hygienic effect on her tiny cub.

In case you haven't heard of Zooborns, it's exactly what it sounds like: awesome.

Here's a video that's way better than the one that caption was about.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

The pat-down lady didn't even touch my vagina

What should have happened
On the way to my parents' on Thanksgiving day I went through airport security really easily. I only went through a metal detector and didn't even see any full-body scanners in the security area. On the way home, I headed for the metal detector and was told by a security man that I had to go into the full-body scanner instead. Without metal detecting first. I went in the scan box and stood there for about 2 seconds before I was told I needed to go stand in the pat-down area. It was baffling. I had nothing in my pockets. I hadn't set off a metal detector because I didn't go through one. It didn't even seem like I'd been in the scanner long enough to be scanned. I had even offered to take off my sweater before the scan and go in in my tank top and they had been like, "No, that's fine."

I asked the lady why I was getting patted down when I'd heard you only got them if you refused the scanner. I was a little foggy because it was 5 am, but I honestly think she said something like, "There's always a chance you might get one. There's never a chance you're never going to get one." I stared at her enraged because I get angry when people confuse me, and then she said, "I'm going to have to touch your breast area. Do you want to go to a more private room?" I was all, "No, have at it."

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Complaints

  • These pretzels are making me thirsty!
  • Ladies be shopping
  • Masturbation didn't make me go blind -- now I'll never get disability benefits!
  • If you convert to Christianity, you don't get your foreskin back
  • I have a liberal arts degree, for Christ's sake!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Insufficient Fare Monday Movie Club On Thursdays: Booty Call

I have a confession to make.

I did not watch all of Booty Call. But in my defense, it's really, really bad. Not even amusingly so.

At first I thought, "Well, as a man who's had some bad dates, I think I can relate to the trials and tribulations of a blind date going awry. Possibly there's going to be a subplot where a gang gets involved and then some dancing. I'd like to see that."

I didn't see anything like that. It's just Jamie Foxx mugging and wearing some admittedly cool beaded braids, Vivica A. Fox looking hot, and two other people. There were no crazy crime shenanigans, only one lame dance scene, and a really, really gay Chinese waiter. Booty Call, why hast thou forsaken me?

This is as far as I got before giving up. I chose to think of Foxx's O face as the "climax" of the film.

So, I'm sorry. I just could not finish this one. Next time, I'll pick a good movie that I will watch the whole way through. After the jump, my score card and a list of things n-words be saying to get the pussy.

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Drinking games for kids' movies Pt. 2

If you're like me, you're about to go to your parents' house for the weekend, where all your really great VHS's are. If you need a break from the holidays, which is an excuse we're allowed to use to go drink in the basement now that we're adults, here are some drinking games.

  • Drink whenever mice are going up or down stairs. That's about a third of the movie right there.
  • Drink whenever Gus struggles with English.
  • Drink a white Russian or some other really rich thing when Gus drops all his corn and the cat almost gets him because he was too greedy and fat. Lucifee mean, Gus.
  • Drink if you wonder why the horse is turned into a driver and mice are turned into horses during the fairy godmother scene, since that just seems like more work and this girl is running late as it is.
  • Whenever the Duke struggles with or breaks his monocle, pour yourself a shot with one eye closed.
  • Yell "Dogs rule and cats drool!" and drink when that terrible cat dies. Good riddance. And then maybe consider watching Homeward Bound. There's a drinking game for that one, too.

The Sword and the Stone
  • Take a drink, right now, wherever you are, if you remember this movie. Good for you. In fact, all or at least most of this movie is on youtube, so you could play right now.
  • Shotgun a few right at the beginning so when Merlin gets his beard caught in his wand that it is just as funny as when you were eight.
  • Drink whenever they turn into animals for the sake of Arthur's education.
  • Drink whenever Arthur just stands there like a slack-jawed idiot.
  • Drink whenever Arthur is clearly now being voiced by a different child actor.
  • Treat yourself to a shot and pat yourself on the back whenever you notice action sequences that are recycled from 101 Dalmatians or were reused in The Jungle Book. For real. Disney was cheap for a while.

Peter Pan
  • Drink when this movie gets racist. Brace yourself, this is going to come at you a lot.
  • Dump an appletini down the sink and shotgun a beer (or the other way around, I guess) whenever characters are confined to traditional gender roles.
  • Drink someone else's drink whenever it feels like someone is being cheated on, even if they are a child and/or fairy.
  • Whenever Tock shows up, the first person to hear him should start Nose Goes, and the loser takes a shot of rum.
  • Just for the hell of it, chant "Ru-fi-o, Ru-fi-o!" a lot. Why not.

 Sleeping Beauty
  • Drink whenever...I don't know...there's singing? What the hell happens in this movie? 
  • I think there's a dragon, drink when there's a dragon.
  • Drink at the end when the bickering fairies are fighting and turning her dress pink and then blue and back and forth because that is the best part of the whole movie. And apparently the only part I remember.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Things we're thankful for

  • Books what got pictures of naked ladies in them
  • Original oysters and rock cake replaced by mashed potatoes and apple pie
  • Only woke up in a pool of vomit twice this year!
  • This week is right smack between winter and fall -- the most exciting latte flavor time of year
  • Kennel Club Dog Show giving you a job (you're J. Peterman from Seinfeld)

Monday, November 22, 2010

Monday Mini: You Might As Well Pretend You Get The Whole Week Off

A new edition of the Insufficient Fare Monday Movie Club will be coming on Thursday. The film will be Booty Call, which is available to stream from Netflix. Watch along and we can discuss after turkey.

As for today, though, the odds are you're still at work. And that blows, because what the hell is going to get done a few days before a holiday? So let's waste time on the internet... together.

Ha ha! A cat smoking from a bong!
Robotic Cat Playroom At Oregon Humane Society - Watch kitties play! If you have a PC and Internet Explorer, you can even take control of the toys in the playroom. I've never done this, but it can still be fun to watch kitties play. - A creepypasta is not a haunted noodle - instead, it's a silly little scary story. Most of them aren't great, but they're a quick read and you could do a lot worse. - It's about urban legends. It's not that great. But maybe you'll like it! If you're into that sort of thing, though, you probably already know about it. Sorry. I guess I dropped the ball on that one.

Sorry I Missed Your Party - This is my favorite blog right now. Pictures of parties from Flickr and other photo sharing web sites with snarky comments! If I had gotten the idea for this, I'd probably be rich as hell right now!

Well, there you have it. See you guys on Thursday!

Friday, November 19, 2010

Facebook-free living

Some four months ago I deactivated my Facebook.  Initially a strategy to avoid Nancy Drewing my ex-boyfriend, I've learned a few valuable lessons from the experiment. While these haven't always been pleasant, they are certainly revealing.  For instance, did you know I can read?  Neither did I, until I regained an attention span longer than it takes a page to load.  To see if you're ready to get off the 'Book, I've outlined the pros and cons of living off the grid.

Even if you were never notified of an event, you will still be reprimanded for not attending.
Turns out I actually know about a third of the people I'm friends with.  Of those, about ten percent still bother to invite me to parties, and the other ninety will yell at me for not showing up.  Fortunately, you have impunity to invitations to fundraisers, music shows in Greenpoint, and groups commemorating a recent tragedy.  This way your real feelings on the Discovery Channel won't get you into hot water.  Those bastards would probably enjoy that....

You might not be a very good friend.
It's hard to remember birthdays, even your best friend's.  Call it a function of every day blending together in an oatmeal-gray haze of wasted life and misdirected energy, but it's just hard to keep track.  The good thing is that sending a "Happy birthday! :)" text under the table during their birthday dinner is much more personal than a wall post.

You can't express your passive aggression to hundreds of people at once.
While I don't miss updates on what people are having for lunch or which song lyrics like, totally explain their mood, it's annoying to keep those important feelings limited to a socially appropriate number of people.  "Without an outlet for this Sylvia Plath quote how will people know how sincere and complex I am?  How else am I supposed to let my ex know he's a selfish, thoughtless ass-plunderer?"  I tell you, brother, I don't know. 

Photo albums are helpful to finding a mate, as well as resources for ridiculing others.
Everyone knows that if you want a thorough personality sketch of that guy you met you have to first understand how ugly he can look as well as how hot.  Also how ugly and hot the girls he hangs out with are, and whether that hanging out is done on his boat.  More importantly, you can see how fat your ex's ex-girlfriend got, not that it matters since you're not even into him anymore and you never felt threatened by her.  I mean, she drives a Maseroti so she's obviously lazy and stupid and fiscally irresponsible which really is inexcusable in this economy.  I guess not everyone can be a patriot.

Overall, it's been a real whirlwind of emotions.  I've been planning to re-enlist next week, at which point I'll update you all on who's married, who's gotten fat, and who needs a swift kick in the balls.  Odds are, they'll be one and the same.

This guy gets it.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Four Loko didn't work on me

I tried Four Loko last weekend. I mean, anyone who knows me knows I hardly drink, but I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

I was kind of disappointed. First, I made a terrible choice, flavor-wise. I don't know how a person is supposed to be able to guess that orange is going to be better than lemonade, but I picked wrong.

Things started out pretty strong. I was definitely talking faster and gesturing more animatedly than usual. I also managed to send around double the texts I usually do in a night. Things were generally accelerated. But that was it. We went out, I no longer felt hyper, and I could hardly finish a 24 oz at the bar because I felt sick.

That's not what I expected. The FDA was about to ban this shit for crying out loud. Sorority girls are being hospitalized by the dozen! Good decent citizens are calling for a ban! This stuff is supposed to be trouble with a capital T which rhymes with E and that stands for Energy Drink/Malt Beverage Combination! I thought I would wake up in jail for beating up multiple cops, or with broken knuckles from walking around the neighborhood just punching through windshields, or with blood all over because I was just sick of that fucking dog downstairs that won't stop barking. No. The craziest thing I did was decide to wear sunglasses out even though it was dark. Whoop-de-freaking-doo. Some threat to our nation's youth.

We should probably run a second trial before the new recipe is on the shelves and it's too late.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Things We'd Like to Be Known For

- Mayor of Doc Holliday's on Foursquare
- Sheriff of Doc Holliday's in real life
- Being able to do that thing where you can flex your pecs one at a time
- Ability to hold 2 handfuls of pretzels in one hand
- Four Loko bootlegger
- Being the first person to slam dunk on the moon
- Neatest bed
- Negotiating the first Cootie Truce
- Most puppies hugged in a single afternoon
- Party like a Rock Star

Monday, November 15, 2010

I'm Nuts About Donuts!

Donuts are great.

Now, I know what you're saying. "Screw you, I don't need you to tell me about donuts! I eat them every day and I'm four hundred pounds, so I think I know a thing or two about donuts."

This is what I picture when I picture a donut expert who isn't me (I'm buff as hell).
First, don't use that tone with me. It's very disrespectful. Second, think of this as a sermon. When people go to church on Sunday, they generally agree that Jesus is pretty good, and don't boo the preacher when he states that opinion during his sermon. I'm the donut reverend today and I'm going to talk about fucking donuts.

There is no package greater than the pink cardboard box that houses donuts. Yes, most people just go to Dunkin' Donuts, and that's fine. The DD donut box is a little slimmer, easier to stack. So if you're bringing a lot of donuts, it's definitely a good choice. But for classic donut action, you're going to want that pink box, tied up with some string. That's the kind of box that's going to make all the other cubicle rats and desk jockeys stand up and take notice. It's the Pavlov's bell of boxes.

And when you open that box, you might get what I call the Pizza Situation. That's when there's a little bit of donut glaze and frosting stuck to the top of the box, like the cheese on a pizza. You don't want too much to stick - just enough for aesthetic effect. It's little touches like that which separate the donut kiddies from donut gods.

At this point, you're going to want to grab a donut and go to town on it, just eat it all up, hole and all. That's fine, that's what you want to do with a donut. However, you're going to want to pick the right donut for your eating style. Are you a Donut Dunker? Choose a plain or lightly glazed donut. There's nothing worse than a loose sprinkle floating in your coffee, or having a runny layer of frosting. Are you just a Donut Devourer? Then you're going to want to just grab your favorite two donuts and run back to your cubicle as quick as possible. This will not only allow you to enjoy two donuts while most people are still eating their first, but it ensures that you can eat your delicious treats without people staring. They just wouldn't understand the love you have for your donut. Do you like Boston cream pie or some other filled donuts? Get the fuck out. That's donut heresy.

So, on this good Monday, let us all remember why we go to work in the morning: because someone might have brought in donuts. Amen.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Slow Down, Mom! It's Friday Again!

Hi gang. Linnea here to bring these moms to your attention. These moms, they like to party. They're not afraid to put themselves out there. Sometimes they like to get a little wild. But every once in a while, things get too crazy. THEY NEED TO SLOW DOWN. 

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Puppy Surprise! There could be 3 or 4 or 5!

I think weird toys, like really weird ones, are usually a flash in the pan, because they're too weird for people to be excited about for long. When some suit at Hasbro or Mattel or whatever greenlights the prototype for some really strange thing, I assume the marketing department realizes it has a very short amount of time to infect the minds of the young with upbeat ads starring really excited blonde girls and a lot of pink. Because it won't be long before even the kids who were really excited get over their bamboozlement, look at what they got for Christmas, and think "What is this thing?"

Behold, the Shampoodle
 I have that particular thought whenever I open the bathroom cupboard in my parents' house and find my old Shampoodle. Maybe (probably) you've never heard of a Shampoodle. If you haven't here's how it works: that dog tag is actually a little lid to the hole in her neck. Every Shampoodle has had a tracheotomy so that you can take the little cup that comes with it, fill the cup with the right ratio of shampoo to water, and pour the mix into the Shampoodle's neck. Then you have to squeeze its stomach over and over until suds form and eventually start bubbling out of the small holes in its scalp. Sometimes you had to squeeze for a long time and it felt like it was never going to start coming out of its head, as I remember. Then you sculpt the glob of bubbles on top of its head with this little comb that came with it, as though it were an updo. Boom. Shampoodle. Honest to God, this was a real thing. I played with it a lot.
Less weird but maybe slightly more upsetting was Puppy Surprise.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Tuesday Lists: How are we going to get out of here??

  • Zipcar
  • Hiding in Dolly Parton's enormous cleavage
  • It's called a handcar
  • Finally calling in that favor from the mole people
  • Clever fake moustache made out of cat fur and syrup
  • Dump the body under the buffet, get in the coffin
  • Just keep applying to stuff on Craigslist, one of these is gonna work out

Monday, November 8, 2010

From The Bad Idea File Of Mr. J. Schechner

I try to keep track of all my ideas, both good and bad. One of these piles is kept in an accordion file, and the other in a manila envelope. Today, just for you guys, I'm digging deep into the accordion and pulling out ideas I've rejected.

Idea: Dr. Dog, M.D.
He's a dog... but also a doctor! In this hour-long television drama, Dr. John "Woofson" Dog works to not only cure patients, but prove that you don't need opposable thumbs to save lives. John's relationship with his boss, Dr. Angelica Dupre, is full of romantic tension... BUT HE'S NEUTERED!
Reason For Rejection (RFR): Apparently there's a band called Dr. Dog. So then I thought I'd call it Dog, M.D., but then people would think it's a parody of House. And it's not. It's a serious television drama about a dog who solves medical mysteries through barking.

Idea: Tiny bowler hats for cats
Self-explanatory. Put a bowler hat on a cat, and, boom! He's like a little furry financier from London. God save the Queen, the pound, and the catnip! Pip, pip, cherrio!
RFR: As you might be able to tell, I mostly just wanted to put a hat on my cat. It's very hard to find financing when all you have is a small hat and an arm covered in cat scratches.
Like this, but a bowler hat.
 Idea: Applying For a Job Where The Qualification Was "Passion For Porn"
 As far as I could tell from the CraigsList ad, this job would've entailed looking at pornography, writing descriptions of said pornography, and getting paid $20K a year.
RFR: Oh, let me count the ways: What if porn loses all appeal to me? How hard would it be to explain to women on dates what I do at work without seeming like a huge creep? What if it made me a huge creep? Why would I do it for so little money? Do I really want to identify as someone with a "Passion For Porn"? Answers: Scary, very hard, scarier, no reason, no.

Like this, but in a car.
Idea: Drive-Thru Divorce Store
You pull up to the board and order a divorce. Choose from one of the many combos available, including settlement, nasty drama filled hateful divorce or annulment!
RFR: Couldn't get a McDonald's to sell me space in their drive through. Also, the dissolution of marriage in this country is not a joke. If you laughed at this item, please go to a godless nation like Puerto Rico or Canada.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Slow Down, Mom! It's Friday!

Hi gang. J. Schechner here to introduce these moms. These moms... they're going too fast. They live hard, and they aren't afraid to party down. But sometimes, well... THEY NEED TO SLOW DOWN. If you know any of these moms, tell them to slow it down. If one of these moms is yours... our prayers are with you.

Got a pic of a mom who needs to be slowed down? Email it to us.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

I feel like I have to buy a pair of boots

I guess boots have been around for a while. Definitely they've been around since pirates existed, maybe even before. And it seems like they've sort of been in style the past few years? I'm not really sure, I don't follow these things. But I feel like this fall, every girl I see on the street is in boots. All of them. I'm sort of worried that any day now, someone on the sidewalk will grab me by the front of my jacket and scream "Sneakers?! Get the fuck out of here!" Or I'll walk into my office and my boss will say "Flats, Linnea? You're fired." So I've been shopping around online for boots since going into an actual store fills me with paralyzing shopping anxiety. Here are the kinds of boots I'm trying to decide between.

Cowboyish Boots
People have been wearing these for a while now. My roommate some sort of like this freshman year, I think. But that just makes them appeal to me more, because maybe I could wear them indefinitely without them going out of style. And I already have a sweet belt buckle, so this seems like a viable option. I'd be ready for anything. If shit gets really crazy, I could just grab a mounted cop's gun, jump on his horse and ride out of the city, guns blazing. Maybe shooting criminals or terrorists or whoever.

Flat Boots
Flat appeals to me. I don't think I've worn heels for more than three hours total in the past two years. And anything that I feel like a Lord of the Rings character in I'm really really on board with. 

Over-the-Knee Boots
When I was a young'un, we called boots that looked like these hooker boots. And only the sexiest girls/girls with the most negligent parents had them. But Jesus Christ, they didn't go up that far. According to the internet, these are OTK boots. Over the knee is way too far. You need some room to breathe. I'm not sure if they're still sexy once they're filled with a quart of sweat.

Ugg Boots
There's always Ugg boots. I really want to look like my parents pay for my yoga class, so this is perfect. Just kidding, that was mean. Canadians get an Ugg boot pass because it's really cold there. But New Yorkers, what is your excuse exactly?

Monday, November 1, 2010

The J. Schechner Get-Tuff Plan

I had a realization last night.
I was sitting on the couch in my floral bathrobe, drinking a cup of decaffinated tea. I was watching Titanic, on TBS, so that Kate Winslet's awesome breasts wouldn't distract from the love story. And, most damning of all, I was nibbling on "fun size" candy bars and contemplating buying a mug that says "Chocoholics Anonymouse!" with a cute mouse eating chocolate painted on it.
And then it hit me - I was losing my tuffness. As a result of living with two human females and one kitty female, the estrogen and feline equivalent of estrogen were overpowering my strong and virile testostorone. That's when I got scared. Who knows what would happen if I let this situation continue? Would I start actually styling my hair? Would I grow to like white wine or, god forbid, wine coolers? Is it possible that I could start menstruating, maybe through my armpits or my pee hole?
I didn't know the answers to those questions but I did know the answer to this question: Did I want to find out the answers to those questions? And that answer was no. I tore off the bathrobe, threw the cup of tea across the room and immediately slammed back a beer. Like a crazy and tough dog, I started barking wildly as I ran into my room and barricaded it from the overpowering influence of femininity. And that's when I came up with the Get-Tuff Plan.
The Get-Tuff Plan is a way for a man to reclaim his masculinity quickly and effeciently, and then keep it up. I'm still working on the final touches, but I thought I'd use my loyal readers as a focus group. So, without further ado, the Get-Tuff Plan!
1. Get Ripped-Tuff
Obviously nothing's more masculine than a sick twelve pack on your stomach. This is why we have male role models like Mike "The Situation" Italianlastname or muscular dudes in tight wifebeaters. But how do you get that look? Well, you can join a gym and pay a membership fee to run around like a rat in designer spandex. There'll be a personal trainer there to help you figure out the best protein powder to piss money away on and the TV is never tuned to Cartoon Network. If that sounds like fun to you, then go join a gym right now, because you are beyond the help of the Get-Tuff Plan.
For the rest of you, here's how we Get (clap) Tough (stomp): We use our entire neighborhood as a gymnasium! Do pullups on a signpost. For sprints, just run through traffic; for long distance running, might I recommend chasing a bus? If you need weights, buy two forties and tape them together to get an 80 fl. oz. weight. And forget those dumb smoothies with real fruit and vitamin supplements - I'm going to recommend the only energy boosting drink you'll need in your workout.
And the absolute best part about the Hood Gym versus the Dumb Gym? If you ever get way too sweaty, you can just pop your shirt off entirely and nobody can tell you to go outside. In fact, this brings me to the next step of the Plan.
2. Get Groomed-Tuff
Now, I know what you're thinking. "Grooming? Dude, that is so not manly!" And I agree. That's why we're not going to manscape or use controlled manburns to clear out that body hair. Instead, you're going to want to think up something incredibly tough and vagina-moistening to shave into your chest hair. That way, when you pop your shirt off, all the hotties will know exactly what kind of man you are.
Here are some suggestions, but don't feel limited to these! The only limit when it comes to step 2 is the limit of your imagination. And how much chest hair you have.
  • "My other chest is just as ripped"
  • "Plumbers Local 32 - Laying Pipe Inside Vaginas"
  • "If you think this is sexy, wait until you see (continued on back hair)"
  • "Grr! Bark bark! I'm a crazy dog with sexy rabies!"
  • "World's Best Grandpa"
With any of those bad boys on your chest, you're not only convincing those around you that due to your craziness you are not someone to be fucked with, but that you also want to have sex with ladies.

3. Get Smoking-Tuff
Smoking is cool. I shouldn't have to convince you of that. But cigarettes are just not Tuff Enuff! Cigarettes are for artists and communists and even women. Have you heard of Virginia Slims? They're like tiny smokable tampons and their poison influence is ruining the phallic nature of the cigarette.
So, cigarettes are out. Pipes make you look like Popeye or some sort of Popeye snowman. That leaves the noble cigar.
Because, let's face facts, nothing screams masculine power like a long cylinder in your mouth (oh did I already make a phallus joke in this step? shit)
4. Putting It All Together And Lookin' Tuff
Picture this. A shirtless man walks down the street, holding a can of Four Loko in his hand. He's a very ripped man, and his chest hair reads "If you can't bang with the big dogs, stay off this crotch". He takes a huge swig from the can, throws it away and leaps, like, twenty feet in the air to grab a streetlamp. He does at least three pullups and then slides down it, like Batman entering the Batcave. All eyes are on him and he surveys the crowd. He points at a woman and she faints (in delight), recovering quickly to join him in an energetic and surprisingly acrobatic display of public sex. A policeman arrives and begins writing a ticket, but stops when the woman has her third orgasm. The cop drops to his knees, his face shining with a beatific light. "This... this must be the second coming of the messiah..."
And then the shirtless man takes a deep puff on a cigar and tells the cop, "Wrong. Four times." He puts on some shades and begins running away after a bus.
Have you cracked the riddle yet? That shirtless man... that can be you, with the Get-Tuff Plan!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do some Tuff Grunting while I file papers at work.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Monday, October 25, 2010

100th Post Celebration: Barack Obama Jokes!

Everything old is new again, so have some jokes about Barack Obama I wrote a couple of years ago.

What was Barack Obama’s favorite Ludacris song during the Democratic primaries?

Move, Bitch.

* * *

What is Barack Obama’s favorite Ludacris song now?

Bailout (Harry Reid’s karoke version of Roll Out)

* * *

Thursday, October 21, 2010

In memoriam: Silk Road Palace

Rumor came down on Tuesday that Silk Road Palace had closed, a claim that has since been confirmed via Chowhound. For reasons not yet made clear, the patrons simply closed up shop, shipped out the contents, and sailed westward to the Grey Havens.

SRP, known to many as "Chinawine," was a sanctuary for everyone from college students to recent college graduates. Before you could even pretend to reach for a government-issued ID, Jimmy and his tireless crew would fill your plastic glass with white wine Franzia. This intoxicating nectar would flow in a ceaseless stream as bowls of Chinese chips and salsa (wontons and duck sauce) were presented. Whether you ordered was Eight Flavors Delicious or Brown Sauce Vegetables, it all tasted the same and it all tasted good.

I say these things not in jest, but from a genuine feeling of loss. On my first visit to Chinawine I was treated to a standing ovation, a gesture which spread to the other tables. The feeling of camaraderie there was infectious, the sense of goodwill unsurpassed anywhere in this city. I know that in time I'll adjust to The Cottage, but for the moment, we mourn the passing of this noble establishment. It's in that spirit which raise a glass of boxed wine to you, Silk Road Palace. Godspeed.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

The most famous penis in football

Yeah, that is exactly who you would expect it is. Favre's junk! It's everywhere!

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Rejected Cough Drop Flavors

- Herbal Phlegm
- Tylenol-flavored
- Suppressed Vomit Creeping Up Your Throat
- Hallucinogen
- Widdle Sick Baby's Mild Cherry
- Razzleberry Burst
- Lemon-Lye

Monday, October 18, 2010

Support the Rent Is Too Damn High party

Jimmy McMillan, gubernatorial candidate for New York

It's real. And they have a candidate for New York governor. Everyone registered to vote in New York, this is who you'd better be voting for. He's the only candidate whose top priority is lowering rent in NYC. He's also the only candidate with a combination goatee/connected muttonchops facial hairstyle. That coupled with the black gloves he wore at the debate made him look a little like he'd just strolled up from his carriage and handed his cape and crystal-topped cane to his manservant before stepping up to his podium.

The best videos of him are up on Gawker, including where he stops, puts his hand to his ear and asks: "Listen -- someone's child's stomach just growled, did you hear it?

He's also a karate expert. And if you're looking for a social liberal, the Rent is Too Damn High party's candidate wants you to know that "if you want to marry a shoe, I'll marry you."

It took a really special candidate to steal the show from Carl Paladino and the former madam of a brothel Eliot Spitzer once allegedly patronized.

Cuomo seems like kind of a douche. And he threw in a "Go Yankees," I think to seem more human and likeable. Right. McMillan 2010!

Insufficient Fare Monthly Movie Club

Welcome to the inaugural edition of the Insufficient Fare Monthly Movie Club. I watch a lot of... interesting movies, and since I have a captive audience in you, I'd like to share some of my thoughts. Hopefully we can get some good discussion going in the comments section, really learn a little about cinema.

This week's film: Black Knight, starring Martin Lawrence. We're actually going to be looking at Martin Lawrence films for a while, so settle in.

In Black Knight (alternate title A South-Central Gangsta in Some English King's Court), Lawrence plays Jamal Skywalker, employee at a failing medieval-themed amusement park. When Ms. Bostick, the manager, learns that a brand new medieval-themed amusement park is opening nearby, Lawrence advises her to cut and run. In return, she looks at him and says, "I had such high hopes for you, Jamal."

I don't know why she said this - originally, I thought that she was his mom, because nobody is actually named Skywalker. But, nope, not his mom.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Tuesday Lists: Potential October Surprises

- Gourd that looks like a penis
- Penis that looks like a gourd
- R.L. Stine brings coke to your Halloween party
- Corpses in the swimming pool
-Eliot Spitzer is exchanging sex for airtime on CNN
-Brand new bathrooms in the corn maze after that poor kindergartner couldn't find her way out for six hours

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

I'm supposed to write a blog post but all I can think about is Christine O'Donnell's ad

Everyone has seen this, obviously. But I mean, it's all I can think about. A serious senate contender, now, today, in 2010, released an ad that begins with the candidate denying she's a witch. That's all.

Tuesday List: Reasons to Become a Hermit

- Because people have caught on to the fact that you're "Invisible" on Gchat
- You can eat right out of the pot
- Just bought beautiful island in the Carribean, can't think of a better use for it
- Mean kids are sitting outside your building again, just like they have been for the past 25 years
- You're Larry The Cable Guy
- Cyberbullying
- Zero risk of pregnancy
- World of Warcraft

Monday, October 4, 2010

Shocking TV Plot Twists

The Office: While playing a prank on Dwight inspired by The Blair Witch Project, Jim inadvertently summons the actual Blair Witch. The entire building is thrown into an alternate reality of horror, and the rest of the series' run follows the survivors' attempts at escape. In the series finale, Steve Carrell returns to reveal that Michael Scott was actually the Blair Witch all along... AND THAT DUNDER-MIFFLIN'S EMPLOYEES WERE ALWAYS IN THE HORROR REALM!!!
30 Rock: The show gives up trying and becomes what it was always meant to be - a better-written Cathy. 

How I Met Your Mother: It's revealed that Ted isn't actually telling a story to his son and daughter - that's what's known as a misdirect. Instead, the show has been about Ted telling the woman he just slept with how he met, and banged, her mother. It is later revealed that Ted is actually a time-traveling pussy hound, trying to break the 2502 Guiness World Record for Most Women Slept With In The Same Maternal Bloodline. 

Lone Star: It's not actually canceled. 

Mad Men: After a off-camera leap forward to the present day, the series divests itself of the classic suits, smoking and drinking, and other relics of a bygone age that helped draw viewers in. What remains is a very tightly written and wonderfully acted show about an aged Don Draper trying to convince himself he remains relevant to advertising. Millions stop watching.

Law & Order: In an four hour miniseries, the casts of Special Victims Unit and Criminal Intent, along with Sam Waterston, find out that the NYPD has been privatized. Watch as famous stage actors and stunt-cast celebrities play criminals who all end up getting horribly assaulted while in custody, as a Tier One operator looks on.

It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia: The entire show turns out to be the dreams of an autistic boy who thinks that it is actually how people treat each other.

Community: When the creators bow to fan pressure and write an episode where Abed and Shirley have sex, the power goes to fans' heads. Soon, every episode of Community is just a fuck-and-suckfest where the leads are divided up through an increasingly improbable series of events, and viewers can tweet to decide just what depraved sex act they'll participate in. Ron Jeremy joins the cast as the Professor of Anatomy.

Entourage: Vince and Johnny and Turtle and E and Ari and Lloyd and Sloan all die. In a fire.
oooh man I bet Ari's gonna yell at that fire so bad and it's gonna be epic, brosephs

Friday, October 1, 2010

Strategic tabbery: How to keep the job that you want to leave

Since my plan to find a new job has been stalled, I've decided I'm just going to get better at this one....Better at not doing it, that is!

My desk is set up such that my boss can constantly supervise my computer activity. This means that while she's in the office, generally two- to three-quarters of a normal workweek, I have to be very stealthy about my online browsing. If you find yourself in the same situation, here are some tips in case you're caught...:

1. shopping for clothes: Adopt an affected intonation and tell her you were inspired by her dress from last night's event. "When I saw you come out in that Dolce print, I simply had to know how many weeks' salary it would take for me to afford it! Wouldn't you just die if I told you it was eight?" Laugh heartily and offer her coffee.

2. reading Gawker: Pretend that you just read something very intellectual and relevant. "Did you hear that the Gowanus Canal is rising and may become a flood risk? If you still lived in Brooklyn where you grew up that would be terrible news!" Shake your head in dismay and offer her coffee. Upon realizing you're all out of soy milk, make a trip to Food Emporium. Try not to think about your Bachelor's degree.

3. watching videos of animals: Discuss the incomparably cute [pug/Corgi/bunny/slow loris] in terms of how it's inferior to her dog. "Yes, I've always found Afghan hounds to be superior canines, too. I use 'canine' in the sense that one uses 'film' instead of 'movie' to describe the work of Marion Cotillard.'" Hand her a coffee, and offer to pick up her dog's poop.

Think about your Bachelor's degree. A lot.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Thursday Mini II -- "Animal fat, entrails spill onto Veterans"

This was a headline from the Pantagraph, an Illinois paper. Turns out they were talking about Veterans Parkway, in Normal, IL. After the spill, "Normal police diverted traffic around the spill while it was cleaned up."

Yes, that picture is from the article.

Thursday Mini: Semen lobbyists

Call it confirmation bias, but lately I've seen a lot of articles discussing the merits of semen intake. Whether it's Cosmo telling me that two tablespoons only contain thirty-six calories (fewer calories than a Skinny Girl margherita!) or telling us to use whale ejaculate as conditioner (fewer calories than a semen margherita!), the topic seems ubiquitous. But now, Scientific American has published findings on the mood-boosting merits of cock juice. As if splooge enthusiasts needed a reputable backer, guys.

Heh heh "gulp."

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

"Sister Wives" is under Investigation!

How funny is that?! Really, really funny! At least I think so. Everyone's first thought when they heard about this show had to be "Can you do that?" And the answer is no, no you can't. Polygamy is illegal. And if you do it on TV, people are going to investigate you. Because you're admitting to engaging polygamy on TV. Fucking obviously.

I wish I was some kind of high-powered entertainment reporter so I get the scoop on what these people are getting paid per episode. TLC is ridiculous, because every new show has this premise of "Oh, we just want people to see how we live. We think it's important." And I can't help but read it as "Oh, we just want someone to give us thousands of dollars." These people put their children on television and basically gave themselves over to authorities for money. What kind of people do this? Mormons, apparently! They're as normal as little people, hoarders, and women who didn't realize they were pregnant until they gave birth! Well done there, Brown family. You've done a bang-up job of convincing America of how normal and down-to-earth your lifestyle is.

Monday, September 27, 2010

I'm Sick

And I don't mean just in the head.

Yes, this weekend, I managed to get myself knocked up by a fairly vicious cold. It's been a while since I've had an actual cold - you know, the one where you have snot dribbling out of your nose and a cough that sounds like you've been working in a Pennsylvania coal mine for a grip of years.

So I did what any modern educated man would do in this situation: bought some Robitussin at a corner deli and kept partying.

The next morning, I woke up unable to breathe out except with a shuddering rasping sound. So I kept slamming back Robi and decided to buy more medicines.

Over the course of this weekend, I've taken both NyQuil capsules and Tylenol PM. For those of you who are facing or soon to face this same situation (Cold season is upon us, after all!), I'd like to give my thoughts on these medicines' effectiveness.

NyQuil Capsules
They're big and they're green. They're "the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, fever, best sleep you ever got with a cold" medicine. You've seen the advertisements.
I couldn't find a good picture of the capsules - deal with it.

The advertisements are big fat liars. NyQuil is the "nighttime kinda sorta makes you sleepy but then the sleepiness goes away and you're left with the sniffles" medicine. I mean, shit - I once took NyQuil at school because I couldn't find any DayQuil. That was the only time it ever kinda made me sleep, and I think that had more to do with the discussion of The Canterbury Tales.

Basically, NyQuil  is a prostitute you found on Craigslist that promises to bring herself and her hot barely legal girlfriend to service you for a very, very low price. Then you answer the door and it’s an obese woman holding a huge turkey leg, like she just came from the Renaissance Faire.

Tylenol PM
Little tiny blue capsules. They’re a lot easier to swallow and the box has a cool little logo of a moon and some clouds.
I also keep my pills in a nice little bowl like little dinner mints.

It also doesn’t make any promises about my sniffles or coughing or fever. It just says “helps to relieve these symptoms” and leaves it at that.

It doesn’t work any better, though. Or get you to sleep any faster.

To continue the strained prostitution metaphor, it’s like a mediocre prostitute you find on a street corner who offers to give you a blowjob for a modest amount. Then it turns out that it’s just a handie and the price has gone up. But you pay anyways because you already got her in the car.
So what was it? What made the most difference in my illness this weekend?

Simple. This:
Yes, the Chex Mix didn't cure my cold but it made me happy and full!