I like the melody but you can't dance to it

Insane, hate-mongering religious fanatics are hilarious. So is bashing Canada. So is co-opting a popular benefit song from the eighties in order to spread paranoid, delusional notions of shit-eating ignorance and Armageddon. I give you "God Hates the World:"

I'd hate to point out the more glaring contradictions in this chart-topper, but the biggest question I have is, if God in fact hates the world and it's "too late to change His mind," (in re: the hellish and violent destruction of said world), then why do these vicious sinners, who are from what I can tell limited to homosexuals (and BELIEVE me, I live in constant and sweaty fear of homosexuals, ESPECIALLY in Washington Heights. They'll steal your sneakers, man), need to repent at all? Isn't their ship pretty much already sunk? And if it is, don't they essentially win because they've brought the Apocalypse to your door with their actions? If I were one of the "sinners" mentioned, I'd be laughing in the streets. Sure, I'd be going to Hell, but I'd take a little pride in the fact that I had a hand (or a penis in a man's ass) in ending the ridiculous bullshit the mortal world has in it by the truckloads. And you know what I'm talking about. Football, Hot Pockets, Axe Body Spray, obesity treated as a disease, the word "resilient," Tyra Banks, parent/teacher conferences, competitive consumerism, Tucker Carlson, guys named "Chad," the FCC, morally irresponsible spiritualists who post superstitious garbage on Youtube. It would all go away in a giant ball of fire. And let me tell you, if heaven had some of the earthly delights of this world waiting for its true believers, like heavenly Starbucks or heavenly McDonalds, I'd opt for Hell any day. Especially if Dane Cook's going to heaven.

Also, check out how they're flying the Canadian flag upside down in the background. Nothing worse than CANADIAN homos.

I don't know much about art, but I know what I like

My familiarity with Glenn Beck is limited, but his opening monologue here about the freedom of speech and its endangerment is one of the more concise digests of the subject I've seen. This is important. Believe me, I understand the fight against bigotry and hatred, but taking away one's ability to TALK about that bigotry and hatred doesn't make it go away. In fact, the less bigots are able to opine on ideas prejudicial, the more likely they'll strap a crude collection of M-80s and newspaper to a Baptist church. Like it or not, certain groups will ALWAYS hate other groups. However, those groups should be allowed to speak their minds.

Humor, however, is a different story. Humor, for some, is the only thing that makes life remotely livable. To mistakenly observe that our modern humor has become crass and insensitive is to ignore thousands of years of comedy. You're different, I'm different, we laugh about it. That's the way it's been for centuries. It's these very observations of how different we are that bring us together, whether it be flaws, quirks, generalizations, idiosycrosies, trends, desires, dreams. Jesus Christ, even those nauseating videos about the comedic power of pets are only funny because animals AREN'T humans. Are we going to have a fucking special interest group protecting the defamation of cats now?

Anyway, here's the clip. It's the first few minutes that are worth the viewing. After that, we get analysis. And we all know how shitty analysis can be.

In Kalamazoo zoo zoo zoo zoo

In lieu of recording my popular travelogue series in which I ridicule the Midwest in my own particularly embittered way, I will be ridiculing the Midwest in a simple, angry prose because I forgot my microphone.

My trip to Kalamazoo started with my arrival at LaGuardia in a gypsy cab that I'm still convinced was the automobile equivalent of a ghost ship. It had all the charm of my grandmother's living room, each pleather seat protected by an additional plastic covering that looked as if they'd been applied with a tape gun. After Spooky Cabberson and I parted ways, I proceeded to check-in. Now, there's something wonderfully horrifying about learning your driver's license has expired by way of an airport security guard telling you so. Airport security guards have similar senses of humor as former concentration camp prisoners, so my easy charm and lopsided smile only seemed to have an inverse effect on her increasingly sagging face. I'm not sure if it's possible for someone to achieve a "gravelly" face, an adjective usually reserved for a person's vocal tone, but our special guard gave me the ol' Stonepuss. After producing a health care card (apparently this is a suitable alternative, though it doesn't have a picture on it), I was allowed to proceed to the x-ray zone where one is required to take all his clothes off.

It only occurred to me once seated in a hulking mass of plastic and metal several thousand feet in the air that because I had an expired driver's license, I am an expired driver, and I would not be able to rent a car as was arranged by the gods of Pfizer. My initial panic was followed by heart palpitations and imagined cardiac arrest.

The most poignant difference between Kalamazoo and New York City is not how hilarious the name Kalamazoo is (just say "York" over and over again and bask in its silliness). What sets the people of Kalamazoo apart from New Yorkers is that they're all robots. Robots programmed to be pleasant, regardless of how rude or dismissive a guest to their fair town is behaving. An actual exchange:

ME (exhausted and irritable): I'd like to get a wake-up call tomorrow morning.

DESK WOMAN: I'm sorry, sir?

ME (semi-sarcastically): I would love a wake-up call tomorrow morning. 6:30 AM.

DESK WOMAN (no sense of sarcasm whatsoever): Well, I'd love to set that up for ya!

This happened at the coffee bodega the next morning as well:

COFFEE GIRL: That'll be $3.20. Would you like a receipt?

ME: I would love one.

COFFEE GIRL: Well, I'd love to give you one!

I bet you would. What the fuck is going on here? And speaking of "fuck," no one swears in Michigan. Well, at least on a normal day. It turns out that, under stressful circumstances, Midwesterners lose their cool and go batshit insane. While awaiting the flight back to Detroit, a certain nuclear family was a little late for their plane. The father was a little uptight:

WIFE: Dale, we don't have a lot of time.

DALE (face red and enraged): NO SHIT!

Huh. Now, the Kalamazoo airport isn't big. They have two gates. But, I couldn't help but laugh at the father who, following his family's somewhat awkward passage through security, yelled "RUN!" at his children. Now, I'm no sociologist, but I'm pretty sure screaming "RUN" in an airport (that kept playing a terror alert announcement over the intercom, by the by) isn't the best tactic to ensure one's seat on a plane. Who knows what happened to that family. I'd like to think they made their place. I'd also like to think they were shot execution style in a pasture adjacent to the airfield.

What I'm trying to say here is that it isn't all that shocking that most serial killers come out of the Midwest, frothing at the mouth and carrying a sack full of baby torsos. They put a lot of time into being affable, however, for the most part, it's all an elaborate hoax. In New York, sure, we have a great deal of crime and murder, but it's pretty straightforward crime and murder. We wear our hearts on our sleeves. Midwesterners let that shit seep into the very deepest crevasses of their souls and after awhile, whattya know, they have to meticulously peel the skin off of a seventh grader. It's nature's law.

Anyway, I'm glad to be back. This weekend, I'll be going home to Pennsylvania and its subtle racism. God bless the USA.

Now go getcha shine box!

Notice the slightly eerie sense of enlightenment at the end:

...the hell...?

Imbued Within's masterblogger Matt forwarded me this link to Grapples, a fruity Frankenstein's monster of apples and grapes brought to us by the wonders of science. These delightful mutations "Look like an apple. Taste like a grape." What other ungodly olios does modern technology have in store for us?

1. Waterfelon: a robust, juicy sex offender. Filled with seeds.

2. Brezeer: from the German "brezel," this is a hodgepodge of pretzels and beer. It's already ready already! And shaped like a breast! To eat! To drink! To dreat!

3. Chanties: chocolate panties. Exciting? Sure.

4. Corn on the Bob: the freshest sweet corn poured over my Uncle Bob.

5. Zoudini: magic and produce.

TO THE COMMENTS!!!!

Your Definitive Source for Douchebaggery

Someone from Bowling Green, Ohio reached my site by Googling "commercial work in new york." Now, I'll let everyone wallow in that delicious irony for a second. There...uncomfortable yet? Good.

However cynical I may be about the commercial acting world, I wouldn't want my new Ohio friend to leave my blog without first gathering at least a modicum of sagely advice. So, I offer the following hot tips that may just help the fresh, young actor in the New York commercial scene:

1. Send headshots constantly and make sure you include cute little notes along with your picture. Casting agents and directors like nothing more than sifting through mounds of airbrushed nonsense only to be greeted with an eye-catching quip like "I've got the goods" or "let's make magic together."

2. When you arrive for the audition, talk loudly and incessantly. You're sure to draw attention to yourself by bloviating like a braying jackass. Feigning friendship or interest in the lives of the casting directors is also a plus.

"Hey, how's that baby doing? She walking yet?"

"She's dead."

3. During the audition, ignore all improvisation rules and make it about you. It's important that you run this puppy, because chances are this red-cheeked asshole doesn't know how to make things up. Make sure to dominate the situation regardless of how nonsensical the words coming out of your mouth may be.

4. After the audition, make sure to say in an obnoxious, boastful voice to your fellow actors "you can all go home. I nailed it" or some other trite bullshit that EVERY SINGLE ACTOR IN THE HISTORY OF THE BUSINESS HAS EITHER THOUGHT OF OR SAID SO PLEASE STOP DOING IT...YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL.

5. On your way out, make sure everyone knows that you teach improv at some fake school somewhere so that you can lure some poor dope into dropping hundreds of dollars on learning the art of making shit up.

6. Take a long walk off a short pier.

I hope this has been entertaining, as well as informative. You could take my advice, or ignore all the above and be a real person. NOBODY'S doing that right now. Who knows? Maybe it'll catch on.

AOL? LOL!

John Ness is crazy. A few months ago, John introduced to me the idea of doing a video sports blog in association with AOL. Well, more specifically, a video baseball blog, because I find most other sports repellent. In a lot of ways, I am like baseball: lazy, boring, and occasionally gay. Needless to say, I never thought John would actually pursue working with a marginally talented lunatic. So after Dan Aykroyd turned him down, he called me again.

I sent John a few "pilot" bits, the lighting and sound for which is reminiscent of dorm-room pornos. The only thing missing is the fake and incessant moaning of a drunken sorority girl. Here's one of them:



Believe me, watching my giant, melon head float in space even for a minute is terrifying. What is more terrifying is that the site John supervises gets something in the ballpark of 15 MILLION hits a month. It's got to be good. It's got to be smart. It's got to be a minute long each spot. Quick and hilarious. Like sex with me.

Got change for a gold brick?

On Friday night, I went to see Hot Fuzz at the ol' bijou. As is required in the Jordan Barker Film Handbook, I bought a large popcorn and large soda. The cashier, a moron, fucked up the order. Here was my "change:"



And then we all laughed.

Up Molests My Ear

Matt's cat called "Up" has an ear fetish which causes him to bore into the human ear like a starved honey bear digging for that sweet sweet ear gold.

Come into my tummy? You bet!

That's him. That's the one that got me.

As promised, I humbly offer a continuation of the Munich photo jamboree. When last we left Jordan and Stupid, a certain pie-eyed dildo took in the sight of the majestic Zugspitze with a fair amount of desensitized wonderment.






On to beer. Munich has lots, and it's great. Although Jordan looks displeased in this next picture, he's actually ecstatic, as many dreams had come true for him in the form of a liter of absolutely delicious beer. Or three. After we had several, we decided that maybe there just was a god after all.


Dummy had one too (one equals three hundred in "German"):


After ending pretty much every night with what we were calling "big beers," we would walk around historic parts of Munich paying little to no attention to any of it. Except:

The Rathaus (it's the Town Hall, but it's more fun to call it the Rat House. Or Palace of the Fallen Jew)


The sight of the 1972 Olympic games, which, according to this picture, Jordan built, apparently:




Das Schloss (for Matt):


I drunkenly wrote my name on this car. I was later tried for war crimes against all humanity:


Also, (and I mean the English "also" and not the German "also" which I think means "thus" or "go fuck yourself, college boy," which has led to phrases such as "Also, and get me a beer.") it will come as no surprise that I am a schmuck:




However much fun we had at the expense of Germany and their 72 letter words, it may have been one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen, with exception of Ireland and a whore's "office," (which can be ANYWHERE!).





OK. Here's one of the two of us loaded (jerks)...

Munich 2006

At long last, I pestered Jordan enough that the pictures from the Munich trip are available for viewing. He's not talking to me anymore, but it's fun to reminisce about the short time I drove him to near suicide in a country notorious for its drinking and its penchant for violent nationalist sentiments. Let's begin at the top...OF GERMANY!!! HAHHAHAHAAA. Ugh, I fucking stink.

One of the highlights, by far, was our ascent of the Zugspitze, the highest point in Germany located in the Alps. And as we all know, the Lord Alps those who Alps themselves. In Germany, that joke was punishable by death about sixty years ago. The thought of traveling 9,000 plus feet in the air was daunting.



Upon our arrival, Jordan took to his lofty surroundings with a certain sense of rugged bravado.



I, on the other hand, was unimpressed and sought only a four letter word for "needlebox."



Nevertheless, we continued upward by cable car to the very zenith of Bavaria. All kidding aside, it was probably the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. And that's because they had a full service bar over 9,000 feet in the air. I love Germany.



Here are several shots of Jordan and me moments before we had to talk each other out of jumping:







Here's me and a bird. Moments later, we were married.




Here's Jordan seconds after I told him that the only way back down was by one continuous cable car drop:


Once safely off of the mountain, Jordan appeared triumphant. I, still, am unimpressed.




But of course, it all wasn't fun and games. Jordan and I also made a trip out to Dachau, one of the very first concentration camps built and utilized by the Nazi regime during Word War II. On the way, Jordan jokingly asked, "Do you think there's a McDonald's in Dachau?" We laughed a little. Then we cried:





Still, it takes a pretty insensitive human to be unmoved by the sight of one of the biggest atrocities in human civilization. What's a six letter word for "From concentrate, perhaps?"



Tomorrow: Drunken Delights, I'm a Schmuck, and Olympic Gold!

The Jeff Corwin Experience

Protect this:



I laughed and laughed and laughed.

YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!

Sunday presented Washington Heights with its first Spring-ish day. The ominous drug-wielding parkas were cast aside for parkas wielding more drugs due to the lessened need of insulation. So, your hero, Superman, did something in a comic somewhere. This blog's hero, me, cried a little, then took a long walk through his neighborhood, an activity touted by both enterprising hookers and bored homosexuals.

Early Cathars believed that humans are essentially evil, and no argument here. However, sometimes on a not-quite-spring day, when the air is still crisp, yet devoid of winter's death-like embrace, one may sense that, despite our inherent evil, humanity might just have a chance.

So, I embarked north-ish-ward. Now, if you've ever been to Washington Heights, chances are, you don't want to come back. The best parts of this derelict nightmare are laced with animal entrails and refuse, aggressive garbage (no one litters as thoughtfully and as much as a denizen of Washington Heights), and buildings where the rats and cockroaches may be the most conscientious inhabitants.

If one follows Fort Washington north to about 180th Street, he gets gang-raped. Just beyond that, there are a series of beautiful Tudor-style apartment buildings on Pinehurst Avenue that look like they belong in a another city, quite frankly. Most likely in England, about a couple hundred years ago.



The people who live here are a lot like the Gelflings in the Dark Crystal. They are largely oblivious to the fact that great danger lurks everywhere around them and that they, in fact, have butterfly wings (at least the females do).

North of that lay Fort Tryon Park. During the Revolutionary War, British run imperial spaceships docked here in order to infiltrate Inwood. When all they could find was Chimichurri trucks, their fucking heads exploded. However, one can still see the naval advantage of a route up the Hudson River, securing that last bastion of American pride and beauty, New Jersey.



As I stared at the majesty of the Hudson and the flowing, living history of it, I happened to glance down at the stone barrier before me.



Yeah...truer words have never been spoken.

Yeesh...

OK already! There are two changes to the FODJ link bar:

Kath's blog URL is now ihatemusicals.blogspot.com

Anju's blog URL is now foxinthecity.net

Your mom's face's URL is olbutterface.org

These changes have been made to the hyperlinks to the right. Please make a note of it.

-The Management

Small observation

It occurs to me that part of the reason most people react to cockroaches as if confronting a anthropomorphic turd is that, in terms of evolution, our hysteric human reactions convince the cockroach that it needn't develop the ability to bite. Everybody wins.

(Listen, asshole, I know that on rare occasions, cockroaches bite humans. But it's largely harmless. What I'm saying here is if we were to not freak out when a giant golf ball-sized insect shoots across the bathroom floor like the light cycles in Tron, the cockroach may, as a species, decide it is no longer getting things done and needs to develop flesh-melting super venom. Bitch.)

We'd rather you say "axe wound"

America's battle with language continues. Not only is a comedy club (A COMEDY CLUB, PEOPLE!) banning use of the word "nigger" in its establishment, an act which is both cowardly and ineffective, a Westchester high school has suspended three honors students for their inclusion of the word "vagina" in a reading of (AND HERE'S WHERE IT GETS REALLY FUNNY! NOT FUNNY AS IN "THAT'S HILARIOUS," BUT FUNNY IN A "LET'S PUT A SHOTGUN IN THE MOUTH OF EDUCATORS EVERYWHERE" KIND OF WAY) The Vagina Monologues. The. Vagina. Monologues.

Now, John Jay High School principal Richard Leprine, who in this case is most certainly no one's "pal," claims he suspended the girls simply because they agreed not to say the word before the event. Sort of a breach of contract kind of deal. What he neglected to say was that he is a sniveling coward who censored a reading in order to protect his cowardly ass. Against the word vagina, no less.

His rationale, reportedly, is that young people (presumably grade school level children or retarded teenagers) attend these events. Young people who neither own a vagina (I own twelve) nor know what one is. Well sir, the Himalayan Vaginas are a Fascist sect occupying a stronghold just outside of Tibet. These Vaginas tend to be unkempt and odorous, maintaining a diet based largely on wild cockerel and salt water. Most Vaginas are violent and assail potential threats by trapping them in a suffocating embrace with promises of eternal love and devotion, only to later expel their victims as amorphous masses of bone and flesh. The heart is almost always entirely consumed.

Got off on a tangent. Sorry.

The fact that America's paranoia about language has spread from traditionally "offensive" words to actual biological terminology is actually pretty interesting. In some ways, it goes hand in hand with the increasing distrust of science and the deepening foothold of archaic Christian values, which have always included censorship in not only form but content (the Bible is one of the most butchered texts in history depending on who was controlling the edits at the time). In fact, any institution's pedagogy relies on the power of words to herd their constituents. It's important for America's government that the word "nigger" has weight in order so that they can trust that it still has the ability to disable people. It's important that stupid school officials THINK that the word "vagina" is going to cause a stink (ho ho) because as long as we keep fighting amongst ourselves and trying not to offend one another, our freedoms can be continually taken away from us.

They're turning language against us. As George Carlin (and probably countless linguists) has said in the past, words have no meaning in and of themselves. It's the intention with which they're used and the context in which they're deployed. How fucked up is it that a principal of a high school, a man who I can only guess went to college and did a bit of reading, is afraid of a single word? To what end? What purpose? Is he seriously shielding female children from knowing the biological term for what's between their legs, and saving male children from knowing what one is? Part of me (read: all of me) hopes that the children of Westchester never get the skinny on the word "vagina" and that their whole community dies out because couples are unable to procreate due to the assumption that what goes in a lady's pee hole is a fucking pine cone. Not only that, I hope Principal Richard "No Vaginas Here" Leprine's daughter is the first to experience it. Stupid, stupid Americans and their dumb company-endorsed education systems. How about we let McDonalds pick the socially appropriate word for womens' genitalia? "It was so hot, dude. She let me finger her Egg McMuffin."

This country sucks. (Well why don't you move, SOURPUSS!)

Finally, a decent news day

A sack of baby skeletons and a TV-watching corpse? It's not my birthday!

You never write anymore...

Here at Friends of Davey Jones, we strive to bring you the best content available on a semi-monthly to never basis. Our recent unscheduled outage has yielded faster service, more reliable jargon, and improved masturbatory cycles. We've been working around the clock to remove trite or predictable language and/or phrases, like this sentence, in order to maintain the level of mediocrity you've come to expect and almost want. We'd like to thank our twos of fives of readers for their casual (some might say passive) support.

Anna Nicole Smith is dead. File that little chestnut under "Who gives a shit?" Have you fired up CNN.com lately? Why has someone who has contributed absolutely nothing to either society or culture been rewarded with martyrdom? One CNN.com reader claims that Anna Nicole Smith "charmed" us all. What are these fucking people talking about? ARE WE ALL LOOKING AT THE SAME PERSON? The last time a perpetually fucked up redneck moron "charmed" me, I was five years old, he was a clerk at Gymboree, and I was molested. America has gotten into some seriously dangerous habits when it begins reconstructing national jokes into fallen heroes. This trend has been floating around for some time, and it certainly isn't the first time I've complained about it. However, this single event, the passing of an EX-PLAYBOY CENTERFOLD AND STRIPPER (!), and the ensuing unified mourning has solidified America as a nation of absolute morons in every way. Celebrity is now completely synonymous with importance, and that is not only telling about our collective neglect of truly significant things, ideas, and people, but perilous. Maybe we embrace the joke because we are a joke.

I understand that we're fascinated by train wrecks. But when the death of Anna Nicole Smith is dealt with the same weight as the demise of Princess Diana (which itself was pretty silly), aren't we going a step too far?

Just wait until the Snapple lady eats it. Then you''ll see some fucking tears, my friend.

Naw, baby. You look good...

My file system is experiencing an unfortunate bout of low self-esteem. Maybe if I got her a slimming new flat screen monitor. HAHAHHAAHHAAAA!!! MY COMPUTER IS LIKE A LADY!!!