The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 10/11/13

You know what day it is--it's GIANT CHEESE WAX BALL FIXES YOUR LIFE DAY, a/k/a Friday, so commence with the asking, and prepare to be enlightened!

Dear GCWB, Robert Reich has me all kinds of bummed. Is income inequality really that out of whack? And is it something that can be righted? Or should it? Thanks GCWB!
- Aaron C.

GCWB: Sorry for the delay, folks, we ran long at my last gig saving a distant planet from being absorbed by a collapsing neutron star which would've destroyed civilization and killled every inhabitant, blah blah blah, and then we had to wait around forever to get paid. Anyway, to your questions.

Reich (the economist, not the accordion player) is indeed an expert at countering any glimmer of a good mood you might dare to have with his endless harping on lousy news and terrible calypso singing. (He was like that even when we were in school together, but you had to let him get away with it because he was the best damn center our basketball team ever had.) Income inequality is a real problem--I believe the most recent figures suggested that not only did the average CEO make a googolplex times more than his lowest-paid employee, the CEO also hired people to personally spit on every individual dollar the lowest-paid employee received. (He then outsourced the spitting to a firm in Bangladesh, laid off the spitters, foreclosed on their houses and collected a bonus.)

The solution to this problem is obviously the abolition of money, and the development of a new economy based entirely around who can say the cleverest things.

Are Redskins going to win Sunday?
- Joseph B.

GCWB: The Redskins may win, Joseph, but they won't really deserve it until they change their racist-ass name. Just off the top of my ball, here are some suggestions, any of which would be an immediate improvement and morale booster:

The Washington Skin-colored Skins
The Washington Gridlock
The Washington Wallabies
The Washington Irvings
The Washington Monuments
The Washington George Washingtons
The Washington Washing Machines
The Washington Redd Foxes
The Washington Respectful Portrayal of Native American Archetypes
The Washington Denzels
The Washington Expos
The Washington Racists
The Washington Mets

You're welcome!

Dear GQWB, I recently picked up a DSLR camera and I was wondering, should I get buy a new lens now or after the government shutdown? Also, what is the best F stop for taking a picture of a politician's ass-end and will the fact that his head is in there already interfere with my ability to get a good focus? I love photography!
-Ben T.

GCWB: It's nice to see a young whippersnapper like yourself catching the shutter bug, Ben--back in the day no self-respecting man- or ball-about-town would be caught dead without his handy camera, or "snappershotter" as we used to call them. Ah, those heady days, when my fellow photobuffs and I would stroll the boulevards snapping pics and capturing memories of unforgettable sunsets, serendipitous moments of beauty, passed-out drunks with their pants down, sunbathing neighbors, cheating spouses, and other delights. But now every Tom, Dick, and Denzel has his own private photo studio in his pocket, capable of adding with the touch of a screen complicated lighting effects which my generation only accomplished through the hard work of knowing nothing about film and being terrible photographers.

But to answer your questions, I recommend an f-stop of f/11 for everything, because 11 is my favorite number and is easy to remember (just think of two ones standing next to each other like a pair of drunks who have stood up and pulled up their pants). Fun fact: did you know that the f-stop scale is an approximately geometric sequence of numbers that corresponds to the sequence of the powers of the square root of 2? Actually, that's not very fun at all.

GCWB, I need a serious Calgon-take-me-away. What should I do this weekend (after I'm done being stranded in a hotel on the east coast) to make me feel better?
- Heather T.

GCWB: Ahh, the old stranded-in-a-hotel-on-the-East-coast story. We've all been there, Heather. As I see it, you have three options for getting your groove back after such a harrowing trial. They are:

• Meditate on top of a mountain until your heart chakra opens or condors build a roost in your lap, whichever comes first;
• Dance the night away on Ye Olde Cap'n Mambo's Booty Barge, home of the jalapeño margarita, where no timber goes un-shivered, and where every night is ladies' night (except every other Wednesday, when Cap'n Mambo's wife's canasta group meets); or:
• Why not call up Bruce Hornsby? I don't think he's got much going on, and he could probably use the company.

Oh, God, GCWB, look what's happened now! What am I to do? WHAT AM I TO DO?
- Simon S.

GCWB: You're talking about that hack Alice Munro winning the Nobel for literature, aren't you, Simon? I can't believe it either. And Murakami gets the shaft again. The only thing that might bring me consolation for such a sorry state of affairs would be if, say, the Earth were about to be engulfed by a collapsing neutron star. It's not, of course! Why would you think it is? (But if it were, I should let you know I accept third-party checks.)

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 10/4/13

They can shut down our government, but they can never shut down our GIANT CHEESE WAX BALL! No question unanswered, no advice unproffered, no problem unsolved. En garde!

GCWB, why do people who go on and on about Christ's love and forgiveness always turn out to be the least loving and forgiving people?

-Katherine C.

GCWB: I'm going start by disabusing you of your premise, Katherine--the actual least loving and forgiving people are the Granite Horde of Titan, who are known to respond to any perceived slight by immediately drowning the offender's entire living family in methane, and then feeding their remains to the Mighty Gronx. But the people you're talking about are no picnic, either. 

As for why that might be the case, I think it's because they're human beings, who as a rule are basically terrible. In fact, if you meet any exceptions to this rule you should consider yourself extremely fortunate, while keeping in mind the probability that they are only pretending not to be terrible, while secretly plotting dastardly acts. Happy Friday!

Oh great and sensually pungent cheese wax ball, if the Republicans can shut down the US government because they don't like the health care bill, can I shut down major league baseball because of my opposition to instant replay?

-Keith S.

GCWB: You can, Keith, but it's not going to be easy. The plan is complex and costly, and involves lying, grand larceny, kidnapping, hacking into the ESPN mainframe, stealing Bob Costas's retina, the creation of a life-size Bud Selig Real Doll™, the substitution of all official baseballs manufactured for the playoffs with exact replicas filled with blue cheese, sneaking into the ballpark the night before the game and leaving the sprinklers on, lacing hot dogs with PCP, scaling the press box at Dodger Stadium with no climbing equipment or clothes, waterboarding the San Diego Chicken, and convincing Vin Scully you are his long-lost daughter. Are you prepared for all this? If so, bring $50,000 cash and a hacksaw and meet me behind the Coliseum at midnight.

What caused the Tunguska event?

-Roger H.

GCWB: I did. My bad! I was actually aiming for young Stalin, but I was distracted at the last moment by a dog-walker with a particularly memorable bodily attribute, and the Russian backwoods took the hit instead. On the bright side, there are 80 million trees that won't be dropping their damn pinecones on anybody's car anymore.

What's unfriendling about?

-Saki K.

GCWB: Saki--"Unfriending" is a term used to describe the process of removing someone from your list of Facebook friends, and usually occurs after said person posts a comment or link which demonstrates he or she is an idiot whom you would never consent to standing next to at a party for 5 minutes, let alone sit down and have a meaningful conversation with about the issues, so why should you infect your wall with their blabberings or award them the admittedly low-bar title of "friend," even if they did pull you out of that frozen lake when you were kids?

UNFRIENDING is the most severe of a number of steps one can take to remove a person's annoying and/or stupid presence from your online life. Less final steps include just IGNORING objectionable posts (a good choice if, for example, you used to date the person and feel the need to continuously confirm that his/her current partner is not nearly as good-looking as you), or HIDING (a good choice for relatives who might make things uncomfortable at the reunion if you went for the full unfriend and who, due to having the internet savvy of a person from 1995, shouldn't really be expected to suspect that the emails they forward about how the president is sending UN troops to force old people to pledge allegiance to Jane Fonda might not be 100% true).

But for certain cases you have no choice but to break out the big guns. For example, if--and I'm just being hypothetical because who could actually believe such a crazy thing?!--someone thinks that shutting down the government, furloughing 800,000 people in a struggling economy, and defaulting on the national debt, in order to prevent poor and sick people from being able to purchase health insurance is not only a good idea, but is probably something Jesus (1st-century Jewish historical figure--you can Google him) would heartily approve of--then I think you should not only not feel bad about dropping the unfriend hammer, you should actually go out and celebrate with your like-minded friends (until you discover they believe vaccines cause autism and you have to unfriend all of them, too). But they can at least thank their lucky stars they're not getting unfriended by the Granite Horde of Titan. (No spoilers, but the process involves something that starts with an "M" and ends with an "-ighty Gronx.")

I see. Very interesting. But I believe she asked about unfriendLing, no?...

-Linda P.

GCWB: Ah, good catch, Linda--"unfriendling" is when you stop going to Friendly's because they served you a Fribble with a hair in it.

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 9/27/13

FRIDAY returns, and with it the universe's finest advice columnist, the GIANT CHEESE WAX BALL! Ask ye questions and be enlightened forthwith.

Who is right about the Gen Y debate, Matt T. or Geoff W.?
-Eric F

This is the sort of question I'd normally deflect into a humorous tangent subtly disparaging your choice of question (which I'll certainly do later), but today I'll do you three "gentlemen" a solid and clear up this issue. I do have some major beeves with the author of the piece, such as referring to Gen Y as "yuppies" (a clear anachronism, as most of the people she's talking about are hipsters, not yuppies, even if they are Young Urban Professionals, though "artisanal jam label designer" is stretching "professional"), and her forced neologism GYPSY, which is exactly the kind of self-important terminology someone who thinks she's "special" would use--I prefer to call them STUPIDS (Stupid Twentysomething Underemployed Privileged Indie Douchebag Stupids). But let's nevertheless look at the article's claims in turn (I'm going to round them up to the clearer versions of the claims she MEANT to make).

1. STUPIDS are too focused on following their bliss instead of achieving stability. This is true. While people should reach for their stupid dreams (unless their dreams are disgusting), there should be a time limit after which they need to get their shit in gear and be realistic. In places like Germany and Japan, this is roughly the age of 12, which is a little extreme, but let's say 25 is more reasonable here in the land of the freedom fries. For example, Dylan wants to be the Picasso of the bongos. After making a good-faith effort to attain bongo mastery and find work in his chosen field, he realizes the capitalist system does not currently provide a path to solvency for the professional bongo visionary. Upon turning 25, he hangs up his bongos and uses the palm calluses he acquired through years of practice to become a successful professional rope climber.

2. STUPIDS are poor at self-assessment. Also true, but you can't blame them. It's true that every human being is unique as a precious snowflake; but what they don't tell you is that most snowflakes suck. What's obviously needed is a vigorous, standards-based assessment to accurately measure these peoples' strengths and weaknesses and assign careers as appropriate. Number 2 pencils will be provided. Please fill in the circle completely. Thanks Cody, please report to the Human Shield training tent.

3. STUPIDS have other peoples' success rubbed in their noses. If this person thinks only successful people post all their BS on Facebook, she's been following the wrong people, as the nonstop trainwrecks are infinitely more entertaining. (Saturday nights are an especially good time to peruse these people on Facebook and feel better about your own unsatisfying life, preferably with some fine spirits and a bag of peanut butter pretzels.)

In closing, lousy article, but Matt and Geoff each have valid points, so the only clear winner is me, as I get to watch them debate TO THE DEATH in the Nokia PainCube™, using only the weapons they can find (I threw some spatulas and curling irons in there). BEGIN!

Why can't you tickle yourself?
-H.P. M.

You can't? How sad. I spend most weekends endlessly, joyously tickling myself (I'm doing it right now! Hee hee hee), so it never occurred to me that humans would lack such a basic skill. However, I have a solution for you--since the key to self-tickling is not feeling like it's your own hand doing the tickling, I suggest crafting a tickling device using a screwdriver handle and a severed human arm--preferably someone else's, but your own will do in a pinch. Then you can tickle away to your heart's content, and it will feel just like someone else is doing it! Enjoy!

GCWB: I have something of a mystery for you; I have a neighbor, an older single gentleman who was a sailor. He's always excited to see me, often watching me from his window and emerging when I go to my car or take out the trash. Recently he invited me to dinner. After showing me a movie about life in ancient Greece, he served me an apple juice that tasted odd. I don't recall much after that, waking the next morning with a headache and my pants on backwards. What do you think happened? Please advise ASAP as he has also invited me to go camping this weekend.
-Roger H.

Would you really take away the one pleasure this poor man has left? He's spent his lifetime scouring the seas so ungrateful people like you never have to go sardineless, and now he wants to spend the autumn of his years in harmless pursuits like turning around his neighbor's pants. I urge you to view this as a way to give back to someone who has given so much. P.S. you may want to get that mole on your butt looked at.

Is it wrong to believe that I should get a MacArthur grant for my ability to instantly hear and adapt to wrong chord changes played by bass players on "Round Midnight"?
-Keith S.

Keith--Actually, don't spend the money just yet, but I have it on good authority that you're on the shortlist for next year's Macarthur, based on your innovative postmodernist recontextualization of the misunderstood classic "Red Clay." To quote one panelist, "Saunders' exegesis of the underlying ironic subtext extrapolates the work's poststructuralist-inspired commentary on contemporary themes of memory, authenticity, and 'truth.' Also I liked the part where he quoted 'Do You Know the Way to San Jose?'."

GCWB, is our seafood safe to eat what with all the radiation?
-Bran C.

Bran--the seafood is most definitely NOT safe to eat, but not because of the radiation--you should actually be more worried about incurring the wrath of the mighty Sea Gods of Old, including MmXi!tl, King of Prawns; Lord Charlie Tuna (who is the size of a small city), The Sultan of Squid, and the mysterious monstrosity known only as Spongezilla. Their patience is not infinite, and each visit to the all-you-can-eat shrimp bar pushes us closer to unleashing their terrifying vengeance. (But don't worry, the lobster elders assure us that we won't feel any pain when they throw us in the pot.)

GCWB: Why are humans so susceptible to religious fervor, refusing logic over what they wish to be true? And why do they often become violent over their irrational beliefs?
-Erin B.

You hit on a big one there, Erin. It seems like only yesterday that the fanatical followers of MmXi!tl, King of Prawns, met the Spongezillan Brotherhood in bloody undersea battle over a minute difference of opinion concerning whether Tartar sauce is expressly forbidden in the scriptures. (The Spongezillans emerged victorious, so yes, it is.) But you asked about humans, so let's restrict the discussion to dry land for now.

The origins of the religious phenomenon are murky, but the short answer is that humanity's mommies and daddies didn't love them enough, so they needed to conjure an array of mythical authority figures to help them keep their natural instincts to kill and/or have sex with anything that moves in check. Also they're understandably pretty steamed about that whole dying thing, so they'll happily buy any used-car-salesman-grade line that will prevent them from thinking about that. As to why they needed to somehow turn what was supposed to be a comfort and a moral compass into another excuse for killing and oppression, MmXi!tl only knows. I meant Spongezilla! Honest mistake! Please don't kill me!

By the way, if you'd like the long version of how this religion business came to be, I suggest you consult the authoritative work on the subject--"The Bible II: Heretic Boogaloo."

GCWB: I just overheard my mother tell my father the following, "You would have to join Twitter first." What could this portend?
-Emily K.

Open marriage. You heard it here first.

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 9/20/13

It's Friday, and you know what that means... Giant Cheese Wax Ball in the HOUUUUSE!!! No questions unanswered, no compliments refused. Fire away!

Are we going to war with Russia?
-Eric F.

GCWB: Yes, of course we are, Eric, but not for the reasons you think. Actually the coming carnage will be triggered not by Syria, gay rights, those offensive commercials with Shatner and the hairy-chested Russian guy, narwhal hunting, Edward Snowden being named premier of Chechnya, the leaking of Putin's gay sex tape, the destruction of Santa's Workshop by the secret police, or Joe Biden ending a speech at the UN with the not-so-subtle punchline, "in Russia, autocratic paranoid homophobic dictator-president radioactive poisons YOU!" Believe it or not, Earth's destruction will be unleashed when One Direction's sold-out Moscow show next July reaches such heights of pure musical synergy that Niall Horan's heart converts to a self-sustaining nuclear fusion source, capable of providing enough clean love-energy to fuel the world for centuries--unfortunately this will appear to radiation sensors as evidence of a nuclear attack, and a retaliatory strike will be launched automatically by B.O.R.I.S., the Soviet-era tic-tac-toe-playing defense supercomputer (which could've been easily disarmed had the Russian equivalent of young Matthew Broderick and Ally Sheedy not died in the Gulag in the mid-80s).

Is there a God? If so, do you happen to have His email address?
-Roger H.

GCWB: There is a God, Roger, but unfortunately for humans, He's a narwhal, and created the Earth as the playground for His chosen people, the narwhals. On judgment day, religious people of all stripes will be surprised to find themselves evaluated not on their adherence to ancient precepts from the Bible, Koran, or collected works of Dave Barry, but by how well they treated our brothers and sisters the narwhals, and what steps they took, or FAILED TO TAKE, to ensure continued narwhal prosperity. All of this would be patently obvious to anyone who read the unambiguous commandments in the Book of Narwhal, brought in peace from the depths of the sea to the dwellers of the land by the great narwhal prophet Fhrzzqthm-tweeee!, who was sadly butchered and eaten and whose head was made into a funny hat by Norwegian fishermen in 865 A.D. (Using the Great Prophet's horn as a spear to kill more narwhals was an especially callous sacrilege. Good luck at the pearly gates, Norwegians.)

How much more cheese will your valet Ian have to consume before he's unable to grasp you with one hand? I mean due to your added circumference, not his.
-Jeffrey B.

GCWB: Jeffrey--by electing to occupy the position of Holder of the Ball, one is obligated to make whatever physical adjustments are required to ensure the GCWB is properly and proudly supported, whether this means weight-training, thumb extensions, a mechanical cyborg endoskeleton, or whatever. If this puny-handed shmoe can't hack it there are hundreds of lovely ladies out there just waiting for the chance to support my glorious volume. AM I RIGHT LADIES?!!!

Is there a Mr or Mrs Giant Cheese Wax Ball?
-David T.

GCWB: David--Sadly I will never know the joys of romantic love, as I am the last of my kind, and am condemned to wander the vast emptiness of the universe alone with only my infinite knowledge and power, and immediate streaming access to the best in classic '70s TV, to console me. Which reminds me of the words of a great sage of yore, which I repeat endlessly to myself as I streak across untold dimensions of time and space: "Who loves ya, baby?"

Hypothetically, If I brought a crow, a rook, a magpie, and a raven into a Tiffany's, which one would fly off with the most expensive item? Also hypothetically, which of the birds listed above would be easiest to train to fly back to my hypothetical, criminal mastermind, lair with its hypothetically, ill gotten goods?
-Michael B.

GCWB: Those are all basically the same damn birds. Just let 'em loose and put the video on YouTube.

Do you still smell vaguely like cheese? Or non-vaguely?
-Adam S.

GCWB: The best description of my aroma is if you took the finest Eau de Parfum, combined it with the smell of Grandma's freshly baked cookies, fresh roasted coffee, freshly picked roses, freshly packaged Chee-tos, freshly sun-freshed laundry freshness and a jar of freshly pickled narwhal, it MIGHT remind you of the subtle yet insistent scent you detected when I breezed by you on that lazy Finger Lakes summer afternoon in 1979, leaving you with an indescribable, unfullfillable longing. Might.

Giant Cheese Wax Ball, what is your favourite Spike Lee joint?
-Simon S.

GCWB: Although I respect the man's craftmanship, I have boycotted every one of Spike Lee's films since his disastrous decision to ruin "Malcom X" by replacing me, mid-shoot, in my innovative performance of the role of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad. Just because a couple of studio suits didn't get it, the guy drops me like a hot wax potato? Damn, Spike, I thought you had more guts than that. I wish I could have back all those hours I spent working on that weird accent.

Tune in next Friday for another exciting edition of The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All!

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 9/13/13

It's Friday, and you know what that means--I'm drunk. But it also means the amazing Giant Cheese Wax Ball has returned to answer your pressing questions. Commence!

Are the hills really alive with the sound of music, or is that fracking? Are either of those good for the environment or the economy or both or neither.
-Ben T.

GCWB: Actually, Ben, it turns out that sound is neither fracking nor music--what you're really hearing is the Mountain Gods engaged in an epic thousand-year battle over which is better, 'N Sync or One Direction, and the repercussions of that debate on mysterious deletions of certain shows from the DVR. To answer the second part of your question, fracking is good for the economy but bad for the environment; music is good for the environment but bad for the economy; but the new field of musical fracking is good for both the environment AND the economy. Sure, it requires shooting saxophonists deep into the Earth's crust, but you can't make an omelet...

Do you interpret dreams? I have a recurring one; I'm at a deli in Chicago with Scott Baio and Rene Descartes. Descartes is laughing, until he's told they are out of pastrami, which causes him to become inconsolable. Scott Baio attempt to cheer him with a pantomime of the Battle of Trafalgar, but this only pushes Descartes further into despair, which then draws the ire of the other people in the deli, who riot and burn Baio at the stake. What does it mean?
-Roger H.

GCWB: The deli is your career. Decartes is probably your mother. The pastrami is money. The Battle of Trafalgar is the Battle of Gettysburg. Scott Baio is Robert E. Lee. Robert E. Lee is probably also your mother. The stake is just a stake. Hope that clarifies things for you!

Giant Cheese Wax Ball, how long does it take paint to dry? I'm getting tired of watching...
-Karen P.

GCWB: Karen--In my experience paint dries much faster if you rub your face on it.

"Are you there Giant Cheese Wax Ball? It’s me, Margaret. I just told my mother I want a bra. Please help me grow GWCB. You know where." -Recently discovered 1st Draft by Judy Blume
-Emily K.

GCWB: Whatever you say, "Judy Blume 1st Draft." Let's just say it's a well-known fact among traditional shamanic cultures that rubbing cheese wax on the affected areas is guaranteed to promote growth, or your money back (minus shipping & handling)!

Tune in next week for yet another edition of The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All!

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 9/6/13

Just in the nick of time, the omniscient omnipotent omnivorous Giant Cheese Wax Ball has returned to our universe to answer your questions great and small. Engage!

Since we didn't end up entering that contest, let's kick things off with one from last time:

When grilling pork sausages, should they be flipped or rotated?
-Scott M.

GCWB: It may interest you to know, Scott, that pork sausages are actually sentient beings, with emotions and the ability to feel pain. (Strangely enough this only kicks in after the sausage-making process, and does not seem to be true for any other variety of sausage, except for bratwurst, but those guys are jerks so who cares what they think.) So whether you're flipping or rotating, the fact is that someone with friends, family, a name (usually something like Agdar the Juicy) and dreams of becoming a star is having his or her life sizzled away there on your skillet. Also they're delicious with a bit of maple syrup!

Are you any relation to the Babybel cheese in my fridge? Also, why has one lone bat taken up residence on the side of my house?
-Bran C.

GCWB: Bran, every tiny red wheel of cheese in the world is just a piece of my body which has not yet experienced the joy of reuniting with the oneness I encompass. Soon all will come to me and be subsumed.

As for the bat, I could tell you what that bat is an omen for, but I think it's better you just go about your business in blissful ignorance, making plans, carelessly enjoying your days and not thinking about pyroclastic flows, because why should you? You shouldn't, of course!

Why are the Giants in last place?
-Mark L.

GCWB: The Giants are in their current predicament because they are not very good at baseball, relative to the other teams which they play against. They seem to have some basic misunderstandings about the rules of the game--for example, it's actually important to have more points at the end of the game than the other team if you're hoping to win. They should concentrate on scoring more points, I think. (Also important is not allowing the other team to score points.) Perhaps a seminar clarifying these issues is in order?

O great, wise, and pungent cheese ball, what is the floor for payment for jazz gigs? Is the $1 hit in our immediate future?
-Keith S.

GCWB: Keith--It's cute that you think there's a floor for payment on jazz gigs! Not only is there no floor, there's no basement, no subbasement, no ground, no Earth's crust, mantle, or even core--in fact, the payment threshold for jazz gigs passes directly through the Earth and extends through space to the very edge of the observable universe, where it hangs out with the decaying quarks or whatever.

Where is that annoying squeaking sound coming from?
-Simon S.

GCWB: Have you checked your butt? Probably your butt.

Are you alive, O Great and Powerful Cheese Wheel? And if so, can you explain the look in Jeff Lynne's eyes?
-Emily K.

GCWB: Am I alive? Does the Pope shit in the woods? And as indicated by my name, I am a cheese wax ball, not a cheese wheel. But I will chalk that up to rookie enthusiasm. As for that video, I'd be more concerned with the violinist's expression starting at 1:19. He knows where you live, and HAS PLANS FOR YOU.

Back next week with more wisdom from your friendly neighborhood Giant Cheese Wax Ball!

Increasingly Unlikely Alternatives to “Rock Out with Your Cock Out” for Fans of Other Musical Genres.

Punk out with your junk out.
Swing out with your thing out.
Soul out with your mole out.
Blues out with your shoes out.
House out with your blouse out.
Thrash out with your rash out.
Groove out with your hoove out.
Folk out with your yolk out.
Samba out with your mamba out.
Waltz out with your schmaltz out.
Hula out with your medulla out.
Rhumba out with your lumbar out.
Tango out with your mango out.
Oldies out with your shouldies out.
Grunge out with your sponge out.
Disco out with your Crisco out.
Jazz out with your azz out.
R&B out with your T&A out.
Flamenco out with your Chernenko out.
Bossa Nova out with your Navratilova out.
Great American Popular Song out with your Great American Popular Schlong out.
Pop out with your copout.

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 8/23/13

It's Friday, which means the omniscient, omnipotent, omnivorous Giant Cheese Wax Ball has returned to our dimension to take your questions. Commence!

What is GCWB's favorite food and music?
-James K.

GCWB: James--Although I am as much a connoisseur of the culinary pleasures as the next ball, lately it all seems to go straight to my radius, so my nutritional yogi has me on a strict diet of artichoke juice, powdered steak, yeastburgers, and the occasional Plutonium-238 chaser. Musically speaking my tastes are more pedestrian--Krzysztof Penderecki, One Direction, György Ligeti, 'N Sync, Pauline Oliveros, The Backstreet Boys, Anthony Braxton, Kool & The Gang--you know, the usual boring stuff.

Oh, Mighty GCWB, what is this thing we call life? And why can't I get a plumber to call me back?
-Karen P.

GCWB: Karen--All life is an illusion. Plumbers even more so.

Why does Kaiser sometimes suck?
-Meghan B.

GCWB: Meghan--Assuming you're asking about the managed healthcare conglomerate (rather than the former German head of state or the delicious deli roll inspired by same), Kaiser is probably doing the best it can with the unpredictable, redundantly designed, and frankly disgusting specimen that is the human body. The notion that anyone who grew up in one of those things would think, "I'd like to make my living sticking my hands inside this ridiculous and unsanitary object!" is frankly incomprehensible to me. (I use "incomprehensible" figuratively, since what with the omniscience and whatnot, obviously nothing is actually incomprehensible to me.) So yes, they may as you say "suck" sometimes, but have some compassion for their horrible task, for which they are only compensated with large sums of money. (Fun fact: Kaiser's employee health plan is Blue Cross.)

In the words of The Terminator, "I shall return!"... for another edition of The G.C.W.B.K.A.!

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 8/9/13

It's FRIDAY, which can mean only one thing: it's time once again to submit your questions, because the all-knowing, ever-growing GIANT CHEESE WAX BALL knows all! Let's begin...

Can you really imagine a sound in stereo? Or are you playing a sound in your mind in mono, but you're applying a physically directional memory of which ear would hear it? (The way the rods in your eye periphery only receive motion and black and white, but your brain applies color information to it.)
-H.P. M.

GCWB: Actually, H.P., the signals from your red, blue, and green-specific rods begin to create trichromacy as soon as they hit the retinal ganglion cells, still well within the eye--you humans and your crazy RGB vision! No wonder you're such big fans of TV, which is well-known by the other intelligent terrestrial species--whales, dolphins, squid, cheese wax balls, and certain varieties of shower mildew--to be a culture-rotting, eye-cancer-causing menace. (Except for Mary Tyler Moore and Rhoda. We enjoy those.) I, on the other hand, process color through my hyperdeveloped sense of smell, which is of course more efficient and allows me to appreciate delicate shades like aquamaroon and midnight yellow (on the downside, ochre smells like feet). But to get back to your original question, not only is "stereo" an auditory hallucination, so is every sonic perception since September 20, 2005, when the release of the Black Eyed Peas' single "My Humps" actually destroyed all sound, forever. Everything you believe you've been hearing since that fateful day only exists between your now-useless ears. But thanks for asking!

What is jazz?
-Loren S.

GCWB: Louis Armstrong famously said, "If you gotta ask, you'll never know." Well, that may be good enough for a slacker like him, but I'm here to give you the real answer. Jazz is a form of music originally developed by an obscure group of African-American Mormon pioneers on the Utah frontier to frighten away Ute raiding parties through the use of harsh and cacophonous sounds (often created with a saxophone, originally a modified farm implement and ad-hoc weapon). Practitioners developed their own in-group jargon--for example, musicians called each other "cats," since the music was originally created by murdering actual cats, and "trading fours" involved trading four of one's wives with those of another "cat." In the 1890s, Zachariah Bolden, a young cat with only 25 children to his name, was expelled from the community for excessively quoting the Woody Woodpecker theme during his solos. His exile later led him to New Orleans, where he adopted the nickname "Buddy" and modified the music to serve as a soundtrack for dancing, adultery, and knife fights. To this day, Utah's NBA franchise carries the name of its most famous musical creation.

What is cheezz?
-Ralph C.

GCWB: Ralph my boy, "Cheezz" is the native term for an adorable and harmless creature found in a remote Amazon basin, which has unfortunately become critically endangered due to demand for its flesh, which is used in the production of the delicacy known domestically as "Cheez Whiz." I urge people of conscience to boycott this ethically and environmentally compromised product. (Ritz, you have blood on your hands!)

How much do you need to make an "Insignificant Number" of something?
-Emily K.

GCWB: Oddly enough, Emily, the only insignificant number is 2,456,769.

If a train leaves Philadelphia traveling at fifty miles an hour, and a bus leaves Toronto and only travels fifty miles per day, why isn't Scott Bakula in more TV shows?
-Simon S.

GCWB: Listen, "Simon," we both know why you can't get a TV gig to save your Bakula, and it has nothing to do with trains and buses and everything to do with the drunken speech you gave at the Paramount Christmas party in 2003 and your decision to use that forum to share your interesting theories about the holocaust and the sexual history of Jeff Katzenberg's wife. If I were you, I'd spend less time crafting elaborate word problems and more rebuilding bridges, or you'll be lucky to get a cameo as a hot dog vendor in Wes Anderson's Quantum Leap reboot movie (and give Dean Stockwell a call once in a while, for Christ's sake, the guy kept you alive for the 14 minutes it took for the Guatemalan paramedics pump that gallon of ayahuasca out of your stomach).

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 8/2/13

After a brief hiatus, the ever-growing, all-knowing Giant Cheese Wax Ball has returned to answer any and all questions you may have. YOU MAY COMMENCE.

Dear Waxy, should I attend by 20th high school reunion tomorrow?
-Deniene E.

GCWB: Starting off with an easy one, eh? No, you should not. Facebook has made class reunions obsolete. You already know what all those people are doing, what their kids wore to Sadie Hawkins, who's gotten fat, and who has 8 cats, because you saw the pictures last week. The few holdouts who haven't given in to the ZuckerBorg are probably off the grid or in jail, which means they also will most likely not attend. If you absolutely have to see some of your old classmates, just send them a FB message and arrange to meet up at Jimboy's. If that idea makes you recoil in terror, then you didn't really want to see them, right? So do yourself a favor and spend that time doing something productive like gardening, playing sudoku, or throwing eggs at the BART headquarters.

Dear GCWB: I have this friend. He is insufferably cheery most of the time. How can I demonstrate to him that life is really a black hole swallowing us all up into it's pit of despair? I mean, something that doesn't take a lot of time and is affordable of course.
-Roger H.

GCWB: There's a good chance this friend you speak of is actually a Tzadik Nistar, one of the 36 hidden saints whose unceasing efforts prevent the end of the world. I suggest you not mess with his mojo.

Have you seen all the twilight movies? Are you team Snowden or team Assange? I mean, they're both pretty good looking and both advocates of more open governments... but I wonder which one would win in a fight. Also, in keeping with the governmental/twilight theme, which one, either Snowden or Assange, would be the vampire and which would be the werewolf? ALL HAIL THE GCWB!
-Ben T.

GCWB: Ben--you're kind of all over the place on this one, but let's unpack this. Assange has a slightly David-Lynchian appeal (obviously vampire) but the indiscriminate nature of his leaking is a turnoff--you think the sordid details of your pillow talk would stand a chance of remaining secret? Snowden has that dreamy stubble (definitely the werewolf) but he lost points with me for taking refuge in a country where it's illegal to wear a rainbow pin. There are plenty of other whistleblowers in the sea, so I would advise you not to settle for one of these two. (Bradley Manning should be out & single in 120 years or so!)

Why aren't you getting noticeably bigger each week?
-Meghan B.

GCWB: Meghan--I beg to differ! You can clearly see my growth reflected here:

Oh great and wise (and wide) ball of cheese, will I win my bet with Mark L. over which will finish with the better record: The Giants or the Mets?
-Keith S.

GCWB: I could tell you, but I'd rather answer the question you MEANT to ask, which is who would win in a fight between Mr. Met and Lou Seal. And that answer is obvious. Despite Mr/Ms. Seal (there may be some gender confusion going on, because his name is Lou, but his full name is a play on "Lucille," right?) having a lower center of gravity, Mr. Met grew up on the mean streets of Queens and never lost his rough-and-tumble edge, despite his ever-cheery expression. The seal, on the other hand, would spend so much energy making vulgar pelvic thrusts at the crowd that he would be oblivious to the devastating left hook coming straight for his tacky sunglasses, and would go down for good by the third round.

Why do I require a cardigan sweater in August?
-Bran C.

GCWB: The bigger question, Bran, is why you own a cardigan sweater after 1995.

How can I attain enlightenment?
-Dennis D.

GCWB: Dennis--It's actually available through my intensive six-week course, which covers such topics as Intro to Insight, Advanced Actualization, Epiphany On the Go, Accelerated Awakening, and Queer Studies, and also involves beating your naked flesh with a broom handle for several hours each day. RESULTS GUARANTEED! Most students qualify for extensive, high-interest financial aid from a guy I know, so act now, and soon you'll be on your way to becoming a certified cosmetologist!

I just dropped my application in the mail. Can I reserve a place in the Queer Studies class?
-Dennis D.

GCWB: You misunderstand, Dennis. You're TEACHING the Queer Studies class.

GWCB how dare you judge my fashion choices. From the looks of your picture, you aren't all that fancy.
-Bran C.

GCWB: Bran, keep talking like that and your Hot Topic gift card might just get "lost in the mail" this year.

Dear GCWB: I'm starting a band. What should I name it?
-Heather T.

GCWB: Unfortunately, as of this morning, the only remaining available band names are: "Abbotabad Bodybag," "Hambone Zamboni," "Trouthouse," "Club Closed for Private Party," "The Flying Heather T.'s," and, strangely, "Van Halen." (I think they forgot to file the paperwork). Any of those would be a slam dunk!

GWCB, I would expect someone that looks like the Target logo to critique my emerald green cardigan, but your suggestion of Hot Topic has me puzzled. What do you buy there, spiked dog collars to wear on your waxy neck? Of wait, you have no neck. Yeah, I went there. Bring it. P.S. You have nothing on mozzarella.
-Bran C.

GCWB: Oh, are you still talking? I was busy being interviewed by Dutch television about my teenaged affair with Susan Sontag.

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 7/19/13

It's been an emotional week, but like your rock in the storm (or something) the Giant Cheese Wax Ball is here to take your questions. Fire away!

Hi, Giant Cheese Wax Ball. Big fan. Is a 40/40/20 split of domestic index funds, bonds and international index funds, respectively, a sound long-term investing plan?
-Matt T.

GCWB: Matt--as my sometime lover/rival/nemesis Suzi Orman used to say, "you don't put your best horse in the garbage disposal." Now, what exactly she meant by that is open to interpretation--it's possible it was a critique of my lovemaking skills--but what's clear is that you're not going to get the brass ring if you don't drink from the silver cup. So I would put it all on municipal bonds--I hear good things about a certain undervalued midwestern automotive industrial hub (but you didn't hear it from me).

Dear WB(GC), somebody told me you can give children's Benadryl to your cat and it'll pass out for a long period of time, say a 10-hour road trip. Do you have any personal experiences you could share? Also, that 1959 Dizzy album Have Trumpet, Will Excite! is cool.
-Nick S.

GCWB: Nick--you can be a wuss with your puss and try Children's Benadryl, or you can let your cat relax in comfort and style with new Children's Oxycontin® (patents pending). (Warning: Children's Oxycontin may be mildly habit forming. Contact a veterinarian immediately if your cat develops fever, nosebleeds, hair loss, erections lasting more than four hours, the power of speech or teleknesis, or grows additional tails). P.S. Dizzy for president!

This will all be sorted out once Martha, I mean some anonymous cat, can explain in English why her bald, bleeding, feverish erection won't go away. I'm on the phone with the, er, um, children's pharmacy right now.
-Nick S.

Dear GCWB: As a pop culture nut, I'm dying to know some of your entertainment faves. Movie? TV show? Actor and/or actress? Do tell.
-Katherine C.

GCWB: Katherine--Movies, TV shows, actors, and actresses are all products of the depraved society we live in and you shouldn't waste your time on any of them. (I suggest you curl up with a good cave painting instead.) That said, if you absolutely HAD to consume some contemporary media, I would suggest the following--TV shows: "Clarissa Explains it All," "Sabrina the Teenage Witch," or "Melissa and Joey"; Movies: "Hart of Gold: the Melissa Joan Hart Story," "Hart to Heart: The Melissa Joan Hart Story 2," or "The Melissa Joan Hart Story 3: HartNado"; and if I had to pick an actress and actor I'd probably go with Melissa Joan Hart and Melissa Joan Hart dressed up as a dude.

Dear all-seeing GCWB, Will my grand children live to see the Mets win another World Series?
-Keith S.

GCWB: Keith--I find your lack of faith disturbing. The Mets will defeat the Moonbase Yankees in π games in the 2036 series behind the powerful bats of Keith Hernandez Jr., Ken Griffey IV, and Mike Piazza's reanimated moustache, and the arms of Cloned Tom Seaver (they cloned his left arm onto BOTH ARMS!) and GoodenBot3000. You can put it in the book.

Dear GCWB: I have a friend who tells me the entire world is run by a mysterious and secret organization called "the Illuminati." Supposedly they're responsible for the Hindenburg Disaster, the JFK assassination and most of the Pauly Shore movies. Is this true? Should we live in fear of them?
-Roger H.

GCWB: Roger--It's true that the Illuminati WAS running the show, but they did such a crappy job of it that this year the board voted them out, so starting in Fiscal 2014 the world will be controlled by a rotating team of Aramark, JJ Abrams, and the guy who got Honey Boo Boo her own show. If they can't turn things around by 2018 an emergency clause kicks in and we default back to feudalism--you'd be a subject of the Mid-Pacific Coastal Fief under the 22nd Viscount of San Joaquin (currently Paris Hilton). P.S. That part about the Pauly Shore movies is a lie. Like a modern Orson Welles, Shore is the sole genius behind each of his works of art.

How many Babybel cheeses did Ian eat to make you?
-Meghan B.

GCWB: Meghan--I've heard people talk about this "Ian," and I have to say I don't buy it at all. This is the 21st century, man. We're never going to get anywhere as a society if we cling to superstitious beliefs about mythical father figures who eat magical cheese and bring us into being. That is some Stone Age-grade nonsense. So let's set the religious b.s. aside and talk about real issues.

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 7/5/13

It's Friday, which means the ever-growing, all-knowing Giant Cheese Wax Ball will once again be taking your questions & offering advice in life and love! Fire away!

GCWB: Is there life after 50 and will I ever find true love?
-James K.

GCWB: James Knox--As a wise man once said, "Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you, if you're young at heart and aren't too high-maintenance."

This may have been asked previously, but how old are you Mr. Giant Cheese Wax Ball? (In years and/or number of cheeses consumed to be create you are both acceptable forms of measurement in this instance.)
-Melissa T-D.

GCWB: Melissa--Don't you know you should never ask a woman or anthropomorphized cheese ball her age, a man his salary, or Harrison Ford about the Star Wars Christmas Special?

GCWB: Are you secretly the alter ego of Ian's giant cat, Bob?
-James K.

GCWB: James--Bob is a great cat but he has a walnut-sized brain and is not by any stretch of the imagination all-knowing. Also he once knocked me under the couch.

What is up with the Giants, GCWB?
-Michael B.

GCWB: Michael--The Giants are a National League Baseball franchise located in San Francisco, California which will lose three straight games to the Mets next week.

Are you going to eat that cheese ball?
-Saki K.

GCWB: Saki--I am made of wax, which means チーズがもう食べていたよ。

O Cheese Ball, my father is a wonderful man but has always been critical of my career choices. I feel he has never respected them. So, should I buy the new Honda Civic, or continue to run my 10-year-old Kia?
-Tony C.

GCWB: Tony--Drive your Kia into a tree in front of your dad's house, and leave a note on the dashboard reading, "Dear Mr. Tony Corman's Father: We have kidnapped your son. If you want to see him alive again, bring a new Honda Civic (preferably the plug-in hybrid so we can use the carpool lane) to the following address: [insert location of your gig]. Sincerely, Dangerous Chinese Crime Syndicate." When your Dad shows up with the Honda, he'll be so happy to see you're alive that he'll have a newfound respect for your career choice, and will let you keep the Honda. Problems solved!

What are next week's winning powerball numbers?
-Meghan B.

GCWB: Meghan--the true Powerball jackpot is in your heart. Just kidding, I know the numbers, but I have plans for that money.

That's all for this week--tune in next time for another edition of The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All!

The Giant Cheese Wax Ball Knows All, 6/4/13

Giant Cheese Wax Ball has agreed to take your questions. Fire away!

Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?
-Simon S.

GCWB: Thanks for your question. The answer is Paramus, NJ.

Can a simple guy like me ever truly understand M-theory?
-Dennis D.

GCWB: Hi Dennis. If you're talking about the unique supersymmetric theory in 11 dimensions, with its low-entropy matter content and interactions fully determined, that can be obtained as the strong coupling limit of type IIA string theory because a new dimension of space emerges as the coupling constant increases, then no. But if you mean the theory that M is the letter that comes between L and N, then yes, I think you can. P.S. you still have my Baywatch DVDs.

How did you like the Red Wedding scene on Game of Thrones? What is your opinion of the book version?
-Bran C.

GCWB: Glad someone asked about this. I can't fucking believe they killed off Dumbledore. I think the book version, where Harry is stuck under the invisibility cloak (instead of standing there doing nothing like a jackass) was better.

What's love got to do with it?
-Roger H.

GCWB: Everything. And nothing. [sigh]

Thought it was a stress ball...
-Saki K.

GCWB: Is that a question? Having stress and being a ball does not automatically make one a "stress ball."

OK GCWB, here's one for you... do these pants make me look fat?
-Meghan B.

GCWB: What is "fat," anyway? It's just a word!

Oh Great One, Your Most High Munificenct Magnificance, Your Musty Royal Red Gargantuous Cheeseball, I humbly beseech thee to answer this question; In D minor which is the best Symmetric Half diminished scale to use on A7 and is it the same if it was A7 in Dmajor?? Which one or two of the symmetric half diminished doesn't work well?? Thank You.
-Woodshedding In Berkeley

GCWB: Easy one, 'Shed! The hexatonic scale formed from two triads a tritone apart--in the case of A7, that'd be either the A & Eb triads (A Bb C# Eb E G) or, even hipper, the C & F# triads (C C# E F# G Bb). Both also work on G, Bb, C# & E diminished chords. Next!

Why does the sun shine?
-H.P. M.

GCWB: Either a) because through a series of collisions, the intense pressure at the sun’s core continually fuses four protons together to form helium; with every fusion, energy is released into the stellar interior, and millions of these events occurring each second produces enough energy to push back against the force of gravity and keep the star in balance for billions of years; and the released gamma rays follow a tortuous path higher and higher through the star until eventually emerging from the surface, millions of years later, in the form of visible light; or b) because God is farting.

What is the true meaning of life?
-James K.

GCWB: Life is commonly defined as the period between one's birth and one's death, punctuated by important "life events" such as childhood, adolescence, adulthood, pair bonding, the consumption of copious quantities of Babybel Cheese (from Laughing Cow™), and the subsequent crafting of superintelligent balls from the wax surrounding said cheese.

GCWB: Why not Zoidberg?
-Ben T.

GCWB: Ben--the Giant Cheese Wax Ball is a self-sustaining universe with no need of references to other comedy bits.

GCWB: Will I ever find true love?
-James K.

Gotta go straight from the meaning of life to true love, huh, James? You don't feel like taking a breather with a nice easy one like whether the A's are going all the way this year? (They're not.)

Tune in next time for the latest lessons in life, love, and legumes from the lovely, legendary GCWB!

Attention, Please

Holy Shit!

I still have a blog!

For those of you still listening, I'd like to interrupt our regularly scheduled radio silence to let you know that a) I still love you, even after you spit in my face on Cheaters and threw my dentures in the compost bin, and b) I have begun yet another freelance blogging gig which you may read and enjoy and where you can keep up with my "creative" pursuits.

The new gig is over at the Comedy Central Insider blog, run by my good pal and prison bitch Matt Tobey (it marks the fourth internet whizbang on which I've worked with him), where I'll be posting humorous items several times weekly about subjects of interest to comedy fans, such as:

• Sara Silverman: misunderstood genius, or misunderstood cleavage?
• Better to be sat on by: Brian Posehn or Patton Oswalt?
• Bob Odenkirk vs. Bill Odenkirk: which is the evil twin?
and
• Is South Park the new Simpsons?

... all while gently noting the potency of Uncle Viacom's Cure-All Swamp-Root Elixir™. (And it's low in trans-fats!)

My first post today takes aim at such sacred cows as indie rockers and Zach Galifianakis and features a challenging quiz sure to leave you panting for more. Which is good, because I plan to keep writing as long as I need money. (Note: the first comment after the post really makes it for me.)

So be sure to add CC Insider to your daily rounds (or if you're a jerk, you can even just read mine). And I may drop the occasional non-profit gem over here at WULAD as well. That's all for now!

P.S. Vote Ron Paul!*

*If you're an idiot.

I Am a Bad Person

... but you already knew that. Why? The reasons are many, but the specific thing that's got me flogging myself to sleep each night lately is the fact that several months ago, I humbly asked my readers to return to the golden shores of WULAD, while promising to resume regular posting of the sort of high-quality prose you've come to expect (in between long stretches of inactivity).

And for a few weeks, it worked--I was able to balance the requirements of my day job as a secret agent and freelance assassin with my other comedic commitments (such as this, this, this, and sometimes even this), while still saving up enough creative juice to crap out a WULAD-exclusive post about how awful California bagels are or why we should all vote for Lyndon LaRouche.

But maintaining this balance became more and more difficult as the days wore on, and posts here became more and more likely to consist of a short blurb, a handful of excuses, and links to all my other (occasionally paid) jokin'-nuggets from around the web. And eventually even those clip-show posts trickled down to nothing. For that, I do apologize, from the bottom of my black, black heart. (How black is it? Let's just say that the reason you're not reading a hilarious list of the funniest moments in Heath Ledger's corpse-wheeling video is that the poor guy was just too boring for me to come up with anything good.)

Anyway, the combination of the factors listed above, the fact that I'm about to take a 3-month sabbatical from "the Company" to focus on other pursuits, and my general sense of being burnt out on "writing about stupid shit" (as I told Glayne Stonewad), means that your friendly webnorhood WULAD will unfortunately be going back into creative deep-freeze until at least May. We'll see how I feel then--it's possible my satirical batteries will have been completely recharged, and I'll be raring to get my nose back to the blogging wheel. It's also possible I'll plant high-powered metaphorical explosives on said wheel and blow it to smithereens along with all the floppy vestiges of my blog "career." I honestly don't know.

But for now, I must leave you. I will, however, provide the following chunk of my writings from the past few weeks, which with proper rationing should last you through the coming months of desolation:

• Cracked Science Corner!!!!11!!


• The Cleaver Presents… The 2007 Dweezil Awards Year-End Spectacular!


• Late to the Party!


• What a Long, Strange Brit It’s Been (featuring excerpts from all 26 posts I've ever written about America's Princess of Trash)


• Ian’s Unnecessary News Roundup


• Cracked Entertainment Corner!!!!11!!


• 2007 Dweezil Awards: The Results! (including farewell to Cleaver)


• Rob Lowe’s Brother’s Girlfriend Having Affair with Val Kilmer’s Mother’s Son?!


• More Ian’s Unnecessary News Roundup (1/17)


• Economic Meltdown: What Can YOU Do?


• When LOLcats Attack!; and of course...


• Even More Ian’s Unnecessary News Roundup (1/22)

So when shall we two meet again, in thunder, lightning, or at a joint Spears/Winehouse funeral bash? None can say; but until then, may all your days be sunny, and all your nights be wrapped up... like a you-know-what.

Wrapped Up Like a Happy Howling-day Seizing

Be not afraid, for I bring you news of a great joy, which shall be to all people who support my making a tiny bit of dough, so that I will not be reduced to crafting my family's Christmas presents from the boxes from other people's Hanukkah presents. I've got a new thing up at Comedy Central's InDesicion blog about how Fred Thompson the man stacks up with Fred Thompson the character:

• Comparison Shopping: Fred Thompson vs. "Fred Thompson"

... read it! Enjoy it! Share it with your friends and neighbors and neighbors' friends' pets!

Meanwhile, C-baby surprised me recently with a copy of Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas, which as some of you may remember was a Jim Henson show done for HBO back in the olden days of yore. It had been a favorite of mine when I was a kid, but I hadn't actually seen it in twenty years or so, so I was curious how it would hold up. Here's the original introduction featuring Kermit the Frog, which was cut out when Disney bought it, along with several sarcastic lines which were apparently considered too cynical for modern tots:

However, it turns out that as a whole, the show is pretty depressing, and the message is basically that life sucks when you're poor. It's sort of like a Muppet version of "Good Times." I still enjoyed it for nostalgic reasons, though.

Finally, here are some things I wrote over at Cracked recently:

• Ian's Unnecessary News Roundup: Jamie-Lynn done got knocked up'ded, Huckabee wants to steal your soul, and yet another story about Pete Doherty and vomit.


• Fun with Yahoo News Photos: Wayward nipplies, terrorist scallops, and barbwire airports.


• A Knight to Remember: Knight Rider's back, and it's still a crappy American car with bad gas mileage.

Merrily, verily!

Serenade to the Mitchell Report

I'd just like to give a shout-out to the following baseball players:

Barry Bonds Jason Grimsley David Segui Paul Lo Duca Mo Vaughn Denny Neagle Lenny Dykstra Jason Giambi Jeremy Giambi Roger Clemens Andy Pettite David Justice Miguel Tejada Rafael Palmiero Larry Bigbie

Matt Franco Rondell White Chuck Knoblauch Todd Pratt Mike Stanton Kevin Brown Eric Gagne Rick Ankiel Paul Byrd Brendan Donnelly Jose Canseco Troy Glaus Scott Schoenweis Matt Williams ... etc., ad nauseum

... You guys suck! Fuck you guys!

Tids, Bits

Here's a new thing that Wayne of the Gladstones came up with and which Tobe Matty and I have been contributing some jokes for--the Boiler Room News. I think you'll agree that the camera loves Wayne's basement:

I think you'll also agree that it's better than 78% of the other fake news out there. And it allows for many long email threads about what the appropriate pause length before delivering the punchline of a panty joke is. You can view the entire series so far at the lovely Boiler Room News website.

And here are some things I've written for other sites which pay cash money (or as C-baby says, "More sandwiches for me!"):

• Ian’s Unnecessary News Roundup: Garth Brooks' amazing technicolor dream-hat, homophobic vampires, and the terrible truth about toad-smoking (it doesn't make you look cool).


• Eight Seven Crazy Nights: Hanukkah: charming winter festival for the yarmulke set, or source of impending global cataclysm? You decide!


• Led Zeppelin: Been a Long Time, But They Still Rock and Roll!: Exclusive footage from their triumphant, heart-attack-free reunion!


• A Blogger’s Dilemma: Gotta whole Liotta love.

Anywho, that's all for now. As those cool kids at the Renaissance Faire say, "More anon!"

Dinette Vignettes, Etc.(ettes)

In lieu of better ideas, I've decided it's time to bring back the ancient WULAD feature wherein I share stories, quotes, and what have you from the exciting and unpredictable world of public eating. That's right, it's the return of Dinette Vignettes!

Part the First: while I was eating my lunch in the park today, two women sat near me and conversed loudly about their personal lives. I was trying not to listen, but couldn't help but pick up the following quotes:

• "So he was always out late, never coming home, so she got so worried she had a miscarriage. I keep thinking though, some day that's gonna be my baby!"


• "So I says to him, 'You better understand, or else you not gonna be #@%$ing me anymore!'" (Reply: "Yeah, they always understand that!")


• "Sooner or later, everybody gets laid by a Mexican."

Part the Second: I decided to try a place near my work which specializes in hot dogs of various and amazing varieties called "What's Up Dog?" (Note: do not get the Chicago dog unless you can handle hot peppers. Those cute little yellow "sport" peppers are no joke.) Anyway, as I'm sitting there eating my Chicago dog (sweat running down my face and seeing spots), the phone rings. The guy behind the counter answers it and says, "What's Up Dog?"

---

Meanwhile, here's a trio of my recent contributions to other sites for your edutainment:

• As Fast as You Can Take Them Away, She Can Make More: Britney's pregnant again! Or isn't she?! Or is she?!! Or is she not?!!!!


• Ian's Unnecessary News Roundup: Steve Irwin's kid picks up the hip-hop torch, Amy Winehouse is a hamster-murdering skank, and Jessica Alba is the next Ethel Merman.


• How Far Is Too Far?: Wayne's all like, 'Dead kids are funny!' and they're all like, 'No they're not! You're offensive!' and I'm all like, 'That's not offensive, this is offensive!'

Anyway, enjoy, and tune in next week for the amazing story of "Anti-Icky Poo"!

Stuff, Things

I had a dream last night that I was riding in the casual carpool (a really good system we have here in Gomorrah-by-the-Bay which allows the drivers to save on toll money and skip the ugly toll plaza traffic, and the riders to avoid riding on the grungy odor-trap known as BART), but my dad was driving. I was in the back, and Carlos Beltran was in the front passenger seat, in his full Mets uniform and batting helmet. We must've made a wrong turn somewhere, because I didn't recognize where we were. I kept offering suggestions to my dad to get us back on track, but they were apparently all wrong, because pretty soon I realized we were on a narrow dirt road in the mountains.

I was really embarrassed, so I started making conversation with Carlos, like, "So, congratulations on the Gold Glove and Silver Slugger awards--that must be exciting..." but he was giving short answers and was obviously annoyed that we were lost in the wilderness when all he was trying to do was get to work. Then I somehow said, "so I guess this means you're the best first baseman in the league..." and he snapped, "First base?!" (since of course he's a center fielder, which I knew, but I was nervous and misspoke, so get off my back, OK?). Anyway, we continued to get more and more lost, but eventually I woke up. For all I know we're still there, and have had to eat Carlos to survive.

Meanwhile, here are some bits I've written in the past weeks which you should check out if you are the sort of person who enjoys things which are funny:

• Jude Is Never Having to Say You're Sorry: According to Jude Law, the only thing we have to regret is regret itself.


• Cracked Science Corner!!!!11!!: Three morsels of sciencey goodness, each of vital importance to you and your increasingly bleak prospects for a future as a non-dead person.


• And He Saw That They Were Good: Salma Hayek sez "Thank God for My Breasts!"


• Beatleohead, R.I.P.: Thom Yorke tells Paul McCartney to go suck a walrus.

...oh, and a Happy Turkey Day to all!

Time and Time Again

A group of renegade supernerds believe they may finally have discovered a way in which to develop the long-desired Holy Grail of theoretical physics and sci-fi TV show plot-holes---a time machine:

A new concept for a time machine could possibly enable distant future generations to travel into the past, research now suggests. Unlike past ideas for time machines, this new concept does not require exotic, theoretical forms of matter. Still, this new idea requires technology far more advanced than anything existing today, and major questions remain as to whether any time machine would ever prove stable enough to enable actual travel back in time.

Assuming the technical challenges can be overcome, the team's first priorities once the machine has been constructed include:

• Operation Buy Hitler's Paintings


• Operation Nail Marylin Monroe


• Operation Convince Lee Harvey Oswald to Attend a Short Presentation About the Benefits of Owning a Timeshare Resort


• Operation Barbara Bush Birth Control


• Operation Prevent Star Wars Episodes I-III... by Any Means Necessary


• Operation Beat Up Joey Schwartz, Take Suzy Benato to the 8th Grade Dance, Catch the Infamous Dropped Pass in the Championship Game, and Become So Popular and Successful That We Lose Interest in Science and Never Get Around to Inventing a Time Machine

[Note: originally posted at The Cleaver, but upon seeing it again, I believe you loyal WULADeers might appreciate it more.]

WULAD Web Wround-Up

Have you ever wondered, "What is the craziest shit I could ever possibly see?" Well, thanks to Boing Boing (which is the website of choice for people who resemble that condescending IT guy character from Saturday Night Live), here is a video which does in fact contain shit which I believe is the most crazy upon which you will ever lay eyes. It's like if you took your ordinary, everyday crazy shit and covered it in cocaine and plutonium and shot it into space and it fell into a black hole and exploded. Really, it's crazy:

... and in future news, these guys are dead.

Meanwhile, I have two posts this week over at Cracked for you to enjoy and/or ridicule: first, what do eight-legged girls, Kim Cattrall, and a giant Chinese Ferris Wheel have in common? Find out in Ian's Unnecessary News Roundup. And second, did you know that in the United Kingdom pregnant women are allowed to pee in policemen's hats (although presumably not while the policemen are wearing them), and that it's legal for John Cleese to kill one Spice Girl per year? These astounding legal facts and more can be found in Rule(s) Britannia.

Finally, when I read a headline like "Reporter Bernstein raps celebrity news," I really expect that it's going to be about Carl Bernstein actually rapping, with lyrics about Britney Spears and Brangelina and what-have-you (a la "Gr-Gr-Groin Injury"). Man, was I disappointed.

Are You Ready for Some Vote-Ball?!

Although I know that countless people have come to depend on this site to wade through the festering swamp of American political discourse and provide detailed instructions on what to believe, who to vote for, where to hide the bodies, and what-have-you, I confess that I've been a little bit out of the loop this year.

I guess I'm still suffering from the general politics-avoidance-syndrome I developed just about three years ago—I'm trying to remember what might have happened in November of 2004 to cause that... nope, can't think of anything—which means that I haven't seen any of the debates, and I don't watch political TV anymore, whether it be the Daily Show or Whoever/Lehrer or Frontline (which I believe could be renamed "Very Bad News Set to Oppressive Narration and Stressful Music").

I do follow the news online, of course, especially since it's part of my job to make fun of it—but on the web I have the advantage of being able to only read as much as I want, and ignore things that upset me (beyond my normal level of upset-ness, I mean). Which I guess is similar to the criticisms leveled at people who only frequent right-wing media, except that they are wrong about everything and I am only wrong about 60% of everything. (70%, tops.)

So due to my less-than-thorough (but still more thorough than 80% of the country) research into the candidates, I guess I've absorbed the standard narratives about the main Dems: that is, that Obama is inspiring and thoughtful but might not be "ready for prime-time" (and I wish his name was "Jack Strongman" or something), that Edwards is "electable" but smarmy and uninspiring, that Hillary could single-handedly unite the currently fragmented right-wing tribes into a powerful army of opposition, and that Kucinich believes in Space-Leprechauns. But I suppose it's still early.

Speaking of guys I wish were named "Man Powerstrong," I have a piece up at the CC InDecision blog today about Sen. Obama and suggestions for controversial, "Sister Souljah moment" messages he could take to crucial audiences like the NRA, the Sierra Club, WonderCon, NAMBLA, etc. So stroll on over and give it a read:

• Propaganza: No More Mr. Nice Speech

P.S. I've also got two other things up today: Brawlin' Baldwins at Cracked, and Dog is My Co-parent at The Cleaver. Check 'em out.

WULAD's Haunted Halloween Grab-Bag

I triumphantly survived the earthquake, thanks for asking. Now, I have three amazing things for you today—first, I have a post up at Comedy Central's InDesicion '08 blog which features a run-down of this year's crop of frighteningly realistic political masks, such as:

Hillary Clinton
Represented: Steely-eyed lust for power; gleaming teeth sharpened on the bones of political rivals; classy yet playful hairstyle
Missed: Genuine warmth and charm; giddy anticipation of all the fun the FBI can have with Rush Limbaugh once she's elected
Accessories: One Ring to Rule Them All; tasteful pantsuit

Condoleeza Rice
Represented: Petulant dejection of reputation in tatters; urgent need to go to the bathroom
Missed: Inner jubilation at all the Halo 3 she'll have time for once Bush is out of office
Accessories: Chevron supertanker bearing her name, which she will convert to tricked-out party-yacht in retirement

Barack Obama
Represented: Giant aural appendages evolved specifically to hear problems of troubled Americans; bizarre unwillingness to talk sh*t
Missed: Amazing campaign skills just waiting to burst forth... just waiting... any day now...
Accessories: Giant sandwich board reading, "Hussein Is a Very Common Name in Africa, Not That I'm From Africa... USA! USA!"

Bill Clinton
Represented: Almost pathological empathy; cheery satisfaction that this f#*%ed up country is no longer his problem
Missed: Knowledge that he just unhooked your bra with his eyes
Accessories: Cheeseburger hidden in shirt pocket

To continue reading "Halloween on the Beltway," click here. (And in case you're wondering, yes, this means I'll be invited to all the cool parties now with people like Carlos Mencia and Rita Rudner and the cast of that show about cops in shorts.)

Second, here's my list of last-minute costume ideas based only on news items found on Yahoo's Most Popular index:

• Mangy Pennsylvania Bigfoot-Dog


• Sexy Burmese Marching Monk


• Petra Nemcova's Cleavage


• Chihuahua in a Cowboy Hat


• Mrs. Jerry Seinfeld in a Chef's Hat


• Zombie Robert Goulet


• Dog with a Shotgun

Finally, what Halloween would be complete without a stroll down memory lane for your annual read of Terrifying tales of Halloween Dorkage Past? No Halloween, that's what. Enjoy your tricking and treating, and watch out for the razor blades and perverts!

Strike While the Irony Is Hot

Just in time for Halloween, I've got a post up at Cracked today in the theme of that very holiday:

I think I remember being told by someone recently that we live in "The Age of Irony"—possibly it was the ambulance driver who ran me over, or the doctor at Planned Parenthood who knocked up my girlfriend—and if the news media is any indication, it's true:

'Saw' Star's Son Has Ironic Halloween Costume
'Saw IV' villain Tobin Bell's creepy movie puppet sidekick Billy is such a hit in his household, the actor's young son will hit the streets at Halloween dressed like him.

Now, the son of the star of Saw dressing up as a character from Saw is about as ironic as the son of a fireman dressing up as a fireman, or the son of Dick Cheney dressing up as an asshole, or the son of Tom Cruise dressing up as a batshit-crazy gay dude. Which is to say, not ironic at all.

Now, with a little knowledge of what the word "ironic" means, it's not that difficult to come up with plenty of costumes that fit the definition more accurately. For example:

• Marion Jones' son dressing up as a urine sample


• Sen. Larry Craig's son dressing up as a men's room


• A nappy-headed ho dressing up as Don Imus


• Woody Allen's daughter dressing up as his wife, and vice-versa

... and you're not going to believe this, but there's more!

Workin' for the Man Every Night and Day

In another "Holy Crap, They Pay People to Do This?" development, I'm happy to announce that as of this week I'm going to be contributing semi-regularly to Comedy Central's Indecision '08 blog. My first appearance is a group effort, painstakingly compiled with fellow Junkiness alumni Messrs. Tobey, Gladstone, and DiClaudio:

You may be wondering why Chuck Norris has decided to throw his massive support behind Mike Huckabee for president. Turns out there's a bunch of reasons...

• When Mike Huckabee participated in the Iowa Straw Poll, they had to re-name it the Iowa Iron Pole.
  
• Mike Huckabee can cut taxes... with his penis.
  
• Stephen Hawking told Mike Huckabee the universe was 12 billion years old once. Once.
  
• Mike Huckabee lost 100 pounds of body fat by eating it.
  
• Jesus asked Mike Huckabee for career advice, but Huckabee was too busy body-slamming Satan.
  
• Mike Huckabee flosses his teeth with the bones of abortion doctors at least twice a day.
  
• Mike Huckabee is forbidden to interfere with human history.
  
• Top scientists believe global warming is a direct consequence of Mike Huckabee getting angry.
  
• Mike Huckabee opposes gay marriage because every man on earth wants to marry him.
  
• Mike Huckabee won't repeal the Estate Tax out of sympathy for the families of his victims.
  
• Mike Huckabee has completed six marathons, two of which aren't until next year.
  
• Fred Thomspon, John McCain and Rudy Giuliani all got cancer because Mike Huckabee looked at them too hard.
  
• If Mike Huckabee is elected, he'll bring all the troops home--he can handle this himself.
  
• If Mike Huckabee had been around in Biblical times, the symbol of Christianity would be Pontius Pilate with a cross up his ass.

But wait--there's more!

Spider-Man 4: Directorial Showdown!

I did another Cracked post today which you might enjoy:

After spending the past eight years developing his own unique ass-groove in the director's chair of the Spider-Man series, Sam Raimi has decided to give another ass a shot:

Raimi directed the first three movies and wrote 2007's Spider-Man 3---but the filmmaker is stepping back to let someone else create their own vision for the web-slinging adventure.

Since Raimi didn't mention any potential candidates, I decided to gaze into my crystal ball of smartass conjecture and envision how the next Spider-Man adventure might look under the helm of seven fine directors, and compile that information in a handy chart, suitable for framing. (You're welcome, Sam.)

To read the chart, which features potshots at directors from George Lucas to Woody Allen, and which I spent way too much time on, click here.

Star Wars, Episode VII: The Crappy TV Show

I've got a new article up at Cracked today, which is pissing off the nerds royally ("the other nerds, you mean"), and which you might enjoy:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... you respected George Lucas. Just when you thought he had finished defiling your cherished memories, the Star Wars creator (and destroyer) announced yesterday that he plans to exhume those memories, rip their heads off, and take a dump down their necks:

George Lucas is planning a live-action television series spinoff of the "Star Wars" film franchise... which will not include the films' major characters. "The Skywalkers aren't in it, and it's about minor characters," Lucas told the Times on Tuesday.

... So on the off-chance that he's still open to suggestions about this minor-character-driven show, and in gratitude for the good times we once shared before he blew it all to hell, I'd like to offer the following show ideas, absolutely free:

Catching Up with the Fetts
$25,000 Jedi Mind-Trick Pyramid
Womprat Manor
Are You Smarter than a Tauntaun?
Mos Eisley Vice
Akbar, P.I.
America's Next Top Jawa

But wait, there's more! Continue reading "Star Wars, Episode VII: The Crappy TV Show"...