Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Attention, Please

2008-07-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

Holy Shit!

2008-05-13T08:34:00.000-07:00

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?
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

2008-01-23T08:05:00.000-08:00

... 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

2007-12-19T08:22:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-13T11:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-12T08:42:00.000-08:00

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)

2007-11-29T08:35:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-21T08:16:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-09T08:07:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-08T08:29:00.000-08:00

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?!

2007-11-01T07:54:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-31T08:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-30T08:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-22T08:23:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-10-19T08:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-18T08:28:00.000-07:00

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"...

Sometimes the Obvious Joke is the Best Joke

2007-10-17T08:33:00.000-07:00

Canadian figure skating couple David Pelletier and Jamie Salé—who won their nation's hearts and a sort-of gold medal at the 2002 Winter Olympics—took on a challenge even more difficult than a triple-axel/triple-lutz combination this month by welcoming their first child. (Well, maybe a triple-lutz/double toe-loop.) Said Salé:

We are now on day 11 with our baby boy Jesse and it's the most amazing gift ever, better than any Gold medal that's for sure! He's really a great baby!

Although the family is doing fine now, things were a bit dicey at first, as Jesse Joe was originally born to a Russian couple before being awarded to Pelletier and Salé following a reversal by judges.

Cross-posted at The Cleaver.

Funky Robot Love

2007-10-16T09:15:00.000-07:00

I've got my first official post up at the new Cracked blog today:

You’ve heard the arguments, of course—that gay marriage will lead to a moral permissiveness which will rip apart the very fabric of our society. What they fail to mention is that this slippery slope may also lead to a future filled with funky robot lovin’, according to one scientist:

“My forecast is that around 2050, Massachusetts will be the first jurisdiction to legalize marriages with robots,” researcher David Levy told LiveScience…

Assuming that Dr. Levy is correct—and let’s face it, if they can put a man on the moon, there’s no reason they can’t give us the infinitely more important robotic sex machines we all deserve—here are six sultry cybernetic models which I believe should be first off the assembly line...

Read the rest to find out which lucky robots made the cut, and which were left crying silicon tears on the hard metallic floor of rejection.

The Science of Sara(h)

2007-10-15T08:45:00.000-07:00

Google is always trying to educate me. For example, today I read a short, not-very-informative interview with Sarah Silverman, whose TV show I enjoy (partly because of the unbelievable reactions it provokes). But that interview contained a reference to a longer, presumably more informative interview, which I attempted to access by searching on Google for "sara silverman vanity fair"--but then I realized she spells it "Sarah" (as in "Sarah, Plain and Tall," and not "Two Mules for Sister Sara," which should've been obvious, since she is arguably plain and tall and rarely accompanied by mules). I tried to quickly insert the "h" in the search field, but I guess I didn't quite type it correctly, because my top search result was this:

I guess the message here is that the good folks at Google think I should spend less time reading interviews with abortion-mocking insult comics, and more time studying Planck's constant and Hydrogen and other important brainiac-type stuff along those lines (perhaps with the goal of one day getting a job at Google, where the drinking fountains dispense Veuve Clicquot and velvet-robed helper monkeys feast on the bones of failed startup employees). Point taken; excuse me while I go rent "Cosmos."

WULADly World News

2007-10-12T08:37:00.000-07:00

I have several items of interest to share with you today, my prodigal sons and daughters.

First, I have a new thing up on that fine website McSweeney's today called Horror Movies for Kids. This supplements my two earlier McSweeney's things, "Alternatives to Opening a Can O' Whupass for the Less Confrontationally-Inclined" and "Favorite Gerund Movie Titles, Un-Gerunded." (You'll notice I wrote them using my nom de plume.) One of those even ended up in a real paper book, for which I earned enough money to buy eight $2.99 daily sandwich specials at Subway. Please click on over and read and enjoy them forthwith.

Secondly, I have signed on to become a regular contributor to the recently relaunched (but currently buggy) Cracked.com blog. This is exciting for at least two reasons: one, it will allow me to spread the joy of WULAD to a wider audience, some of whom will hopefully come here for more and/or to tell me I suck; and two, it will subsidize my $2.99 daily sandwich specials at Subway. I'll be posting there on Tuesday afternoons, Thursday mornings, and alternating Fridays. (Kudos to Glayne Wadstone, a former Junkiness squad member and current Offsprunger, for his assistance in procuring this "gig," as those crazy beatnik kids say nowadays.)

(If you're justifiably wondering whether this means WULAD is going to go back to the state of empty suckage from which it only recently recovered, the answer is a full-throated NO. You people have shown me that freelance blog-gigs come and go, but WULAD Nation is forever.)

Which brings me to the last item on today's agenda: I have to say I am so—dare I say—stoked about the quality of everyone's fine Batman, Mi Amor contributions that I've decided they're too good to lie rotting in the comments box, festering in their own literary smut. Since I don't have the resources to buy each and every one of you a $2.99 daily sandwich special at Subway, they will all be featured in a future secret project about which I can't tell you anything yet, except that it's going to be 834,672.043 kinds of awesome. So if you haven't yet tossed your hat into the ring, there's still time.

Good weekends all around, and try not to get too shit-faced at "Al Gore's Nobel Prize Fiesta and Global Warming Beer-Bong Kegger"!

A New York Times Article on "Friends with Benefits," as Edited by My 13-Year-Old Nephew

2007-10-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

TO SOME, it may seem like an ideal relationship, less stressful than an affair, longer lived than a fling or that elusive one-night stand. You can even sit around in your sweats and watch "Friends" reruns together, feeling vaguely horny.

Yet relationships in which close friends begin doin' it come with their own brand of awkwardness, according to the first study to explore the dynamics of such pairs, often called friends with benefits, or F.W.B..

Paradoxically, and perhaps predictably, the study suggests, these boot-knockin' friendships often occlude one of the emotional arteries of real friendship, openness. Friends who could once talk about anything now have an unstated taboo topic — the schtupping itself. In every conversation, there is innuendo; in every room, a boner.

One-tenth of these boinking relationships went on to become full-scale orgies, the study found. About a third stopped the bangin' and remained friends, and one in four eventually broke it off — the pipe-laying and the friendship. The rest continued gettin' it on.

Friends with benefits scored in the middle on a scale assessing sexcitement and low on passion and commitment, the study found. "When scores were compared to previous findings with romantic couples, scores on all three dimensions were lower, with the largest differences observed in commitment followed by humpty-hump," the authors wrote.

The relationships may be less common than reported. "Friends with benefits" appears to have become an umbrella term for a wide variety of ass-tappin' arrangements, some of which are quite awesome, Dr. Mongeau said.

In addition to budding booty-calls, he said, the "friends" may also be former ugly-bumpers who occasionally see each other or they may be people who hang out at the same places and now and then end up playing 'Hide the Salami,' even though they are not really friends.

Dr. Longschlong said the study seemed to have captured the dissonant, circular thinking that characterized what it felt like for a friendship to enter boning territory.

"There's clearly a strong desire to nail this other person, who fills important bras," he added. "But at the same time, it's as if I'm saying, 'O.K., I'm not going to get passionately involved — because then it's at risk of being a real hot beef injection.'"

[The original article can be found here.]

---

By the way, kudos to everyone who's contributed to the Batman, Mi Amor contest. I'll be doing a summation/appreciation in a few days. And welcome back, my friends, to the WULAD that never ends.

The WULAD Also Rises

2007-10-05T08:14:00.000-07:00

NOTE: Today, in an attempt to rekindle the smoldering ashes of the once-mighty WULAD Nation, I sent the following letter to all the members of said Nation who were foolish enough to provide me their email addresses. In case you didn't receive one, the sentiment still stands.

Hello Internet "Friends":

No doubt you've been aware of a vague emptiness in the pit of your lower left soul over the past year or so, a hunger which no amount of sugary confectionery, deep-fried lollipops, or cocaine-dusted teddy bears can fill. You'll be happy to know that through the use of highly-advanced scienceology, my team of kidnapped Iraqi germ-warfare researchers have identified the source of this sensation: you have rabies.

But also, you've been missing your beloved WULAD. Well, you're receiving this email because, at some time or another, you played a small part in the digital blog-odyssey known as Wrapped Up Like a Douche (or if you didn't, then I believe you would have had you been given the chance). And after a period of scattering my oats over the internet hoping one of them would sprout and grow into a mighty recognition-tree, I recently decided to come back home to the site that started it all, and resume posting semi-regular content. Naturally, my formerly vibrant community of rabid readers, cracklin' commenters, and starry-eyed stalkers had long since left the joint for dead.

To make matters worse, due to an infuriating SNAFUBAR on the part of the wonderfully mediocre blogging apparatus which hosts the site, I found that my legion of RSS subscribers had been scattered to the four winds, so even the loyalest of loyal readers had no way of knowing I'd picked up the torch once again. So here I am, cap in hand, asking for you to come on back and once again rule the galaxy at my side.

As a bonus, I'm kicking off Homecoming month with a challenging contest which I'm sure will tickle your fiction bones. (What's the prize, you ask? Not dying of boredom, that's what.) So, young men and women of WULADland, do you accept this charge? What say you?

WHAT SAY YOU?

Huggybunnies,

Ian

I Love Batman (Mi Amor)

2007-10-04T08:13:00.000-07:00

This is a fascinating piece of vehicular finger-dust-painting I came across in the parking lot of the Santa Cruz Boardwalk. I feel there's a story in there, just waiting to burst out in all its Spanish superhero glory.

I'd like to invite you, the readers, to flesh out the story behind this inscription in the comments (which I will then fashion into a movie treatment and sell for a cool million). But seriously, after the strength of your entries explaining the plot of Toto's "Africa," I have absolute confidence you can figure this one out.

In non-Spanish-Batman news, I've got some exciting stuff on the horizon, which I will tell you about in the weeks ahead. In the meantime, please enjoy these recent efforts of mine from around the web:

Wait 'Til Next #$%@!

2007-10-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

As my significant other said, "Well, now you can focus your attention on other things. Like what to buy me for Christmas."

Well put.

Covering All the Bases

2007-09-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

This restaurant is opening up near my Dad's house. The phrase "all things to all people" comes to mind. Personally, I'm looking forward to sampling that Italian Barbecue--throw another lasagna on the grill, Luigi!

Speaking of all things to all people, I've got a post up at the new Cracked blog, which is beta-testing this week. Check it out.

Thank God I'm Not This Guy

2007-09-26T00:30:00.000-07:00

... Found in my dad's garage. (No wonder the population was so much lower back then.)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Diapers?

2007-09-14T08:33:00.000-07:00

Tired of temper tantrums, schlepping back and forth from preschool, and fishing Legos out of the toilet? Well, your days of waiting for the perfect child may be at an end. Ladies and gentlemen, meet Zeno:

At 17 inches tall and 6 pounds, the artificial Zeno is the culmination of five years of work by Hanson Robotics. They believe there's an emerging business in the design and sale of lifelike robotic companions, or social robots... Unlike clearly artificial robotic toys, Hanson says he envisions Zeno as an interactive learning companion, a synthetic pal who can engage in conversation and convey human emotion through a face made of a skin-like, patented material Hanson calls frubber.

Robotics, Hanson believes, should be about artistic expression, a creative medium akin to sculpting or painting. But convincing people that robots should look like people instead of, well, robots, remains a challenge that robot experts call the "uncanny valley" theory.

...or as one consumer asked, "If you could create any kind of artificial boy, why would you make one that looks like it's about to have diarrhea and cry?"

Another theory is that owning an artificial child whose unfeeling eyes exude the blank stare of a programmed killer will actually encourage parents to build better relationships with their own real child, if only in the fearful hope that he or she will eventually protect them on the terrifying day that Zeno develops a taste for human flesh, and the world must bow before the mighty frubber fist of its new robotic emperor.

Also, he can play DVDs!

[Cross-posted at The Cleaver.]

I Would Like to Return My $1.4 Million Car, Please

2007-09-13T08:47:00.000-07:00

...this one appears to have been squashed.

Nader Say Nader Again

2007-09-07T16:36:00.000-07:00

Cross-posted at The Cleaver.

The website Babble, which is sort of like Offsprung's sister site—the sister who got a boob job, married a real estate tycoon, moved to the Hamptons, and thinks your dilapidated one-bedroom shack is "quaint," that is—pulled off a humdinger of a scoop today, scoring perhaps the most sought-after interview this side of the Jolie-Pitt family's dog's acupuncturist. A tireless crusader, a hero to the downtrodden, and a man who could have led our nation into a glorious new era: that's right, it's ~~Al Gore:~~ Ralph Nader:

Well, [my siblings and I] watched our parents operate in the community. They stood up to injustice and falsehoods and bigotry. They weren't aggressive in any way, they were very casual about it and we learned that just by watching.

Q: Is that how you can keep waging these monumental battles and not playing it safe?

Sure. And my parents raised children who had a sense of purpose, who had an ever-developing public philosophy and felt that their major purpose in life is to try to improve life.

What an inspirational message for America's youth---work hard and believe in yourselves, kids, and some day you might grow up to ruin the world.

Well, time-travelers, your mission is clear: fire up the DeLorean, go back in time, track down that hard-working and inspirational Lebanese immigrant couple, and destroy their sense of purpose by any means necessary.

Down the Rabbit Hole

2007-09-06T07:59:00.000-07:00

I had to doublecheck, but this isn't a fake story like the one about the lion-fighting midgets. (Thanks to C. Monks for the tip.) We really are kicking ass, though--kicking the ass of our worldwide reputation. Consider its ass kicked to the curb in a right royal fashion. It's laying there on the curb with a big ol' footprint on its ass, weepin' and blubberin' and beggin' for its mama.

But you don't come here to be lectured about things you already know. No, you come here to read entertaining stories of how I'm slowly losing my mind, such as the following exchange, wherein I described to C-Baby how I helped my injured father get ready for a dinner party:

ME: So since his arm was in a cast, I had to help him get dressed--there was a lot of struggling with the... zip... up... thing.

HER: You mean the zipper?

There were some other funny ones, but guess what? I've forgotten them.

FOR YOUR FURTHER ENJOYMENT AND WULADIFICATION: Here's a story I wrote about Paris Hilton's desire to populate the Earth in today's Cleaver.

LOLmets

2007-08-31T08:25:00.000-07:00

Laughing to keep from crying, really.

WULAD Web Wround-Up

2007-08-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I did one of these. In fact, when last I checked, no one was reading anymore anyway! But that's OK, it takes away the pressure to produce quality material. Today, however, I will link to quality material, some of which I actually produced.

For those of you who enjoy the baseball, and smart and funny writing about said baseball, I implore you to read Fire Joe Morgan, which is dedicated to the proposition that ridiculous and stupid commentary about our national pastime must not go unchallenged, even or especially if it comes from the pens/mouths of the game's greatest players. Although most of the site's activity centers around the brilliant player/stupidy stupid commentator mentioned in the title, some vitriol is spared for the various other old uninformed codgers around the sports journalism world who pollute the airwaves/newspaper pages/screens with anti-logical moaning and groaning on a daily basis.

For example, yesterday's post castigates an Andy-Rooneyesque columnist who bemoans the preponderance of selfish home runs of some players, as opposed to selfless and charitable home runs of others:

You are stupid, sir. This is a stupid thing to say... To imply that A-Rod is less valuable [than Magglio Ordoñez] because he, I guess, hits more home runs, but has never exactly hit a home run that won a pennant for his team... I mean... that is just... farty. That is farty writing. That writing smells like farts.

Anyway, read and enjoy.

Meanwhile, in case you haven't had time to read the good work we've been doing over at The Cleaver, here are a few of my recent posts over there which you might enjoy:

Britney’s Ménage à Tot

Doc Cleaver Says: Total Recall

Maddoxalypse Now

Dweezil Award Nominees: Pat & Sheena Wheaton

Touched for the Very First Bribe?

Cleaver Quiz: He Mad Adam, Eh?

Because Sixteen Is the Loneliest Number

I'm planning on keeping up at least one post a day over there for the near future, so stop on by if you're in the neighborhood.

Finally, I've seen a lot of stories today about the death of Leona Helmsley, the "Queen of Mean." Now, call me old-fashioned, but I don't believe in speaking ill of the dead, so I'd like to suggest that from now on we just call her the "Queen of Misunderstood."

Crazy Like a Foxx

2007-08-17T08:02:00.000-07:00

According to the Associated Press, comedian-turned-singer turned-actor turned-annoying Jamie Foxx has a new career challenge ahead of him:

Foxx will play a brilliant but mentally troubled musician in a movie based on the true-life friendship between Skid Row prodigy Nathaniel Anthony Ayers and Los Angeles Times columnist Steve Lopez.

Forgive me, but I just don't see the resemblance:

(Stories like this really make me miss Junkiness.)

Junkiness, R.I.P.

2007-08-01T08:48:00.000-07:00

After much hemming and hawing and what-have-you and so on and so forth, the Junkiness staff has decided to throw in the towel and head for greener pastures, where our helicopter will most likely be shot down and we'll be adopted by friendly natives before being forcibly repatriated by Kevin Costner. Anyway, stop by and say your goodbyes--we'll be sitting shiva all week:

Junkiness: In Memoriam.

In spite of my grief at the demise of such a fine young blog, however, I'm still writing for The Cleaver daily, and will continue with the occasional WULAD post, which may help fill the void in some way--much like buying a new cat can take the sting out of the death of your old cat. Or baby.

Each Culture Celebrates My Birthday in its Own Way

2007-07-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

[Pic via Yahoo.]

News You Can Confuse

2007-07-19T08:48:00.000-07:00

I think these are the same journalists who were working on the Sinbad case.

By the way, if you enjoy things which are funny, check out this bit I wrote for The Cleaver:

Doc Cleaver Says: Your Kid Is a Raging Stressball

Poetry in Chalk

2007-07-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

Every so often my impulse-purchase cameraphone justifies its presence in my life. For example, it occasionally allows me to preserve for posterity a variety of urban text pieces ranging from the plainspoken ("Ricardo is a Pimp") to the inscrutable ("Kyle Does Not Equal Poopy"), which I am then able to share with you. Today, I present three mysterious and wonderful recent additions to the collection.

First, a sad commentary on how childhood summertime in America has changed completely:

Followed by a gently polemical suggestion to a nation divided:

... and finally, that most poignant and eternal question:

We Have Ways of Making You Go for the Gold

2007-07-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

Vladimir Putin, whose winning smile you can't help but love, further cemented his diplomatic legacy when he managed to secure the rights to host the 2014 Winter Olympic Games in the Black Sea resort city of Sochi:

International Olympic Committee members credited Putin's personal lobbying for the 51-47 victory that put the 2014 games in Sochi, a Black Sea resort where the snow-capped Caucasus mountains rise from some of Russia's warmest beaches.

In related news, the members of the Olympic selection committee did not die of radioactive Polonium poisoning.

Bush: "I Am a Ginormous Prick"

2007-07-02T08:52:00.000-07:00

"... and whatcha gonna do about it, punks?"

Junkin' and Cleavin' and Offspringin' (and Wuladdin')

2007-06-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

Did you like how I announced the resurrection of WULAD and then proceeded to disappear for a month? I thought you would. It was my way of separating the true fans from those who only visit the site because of my star turn on 3-2-1 Contact. You know who you are.

What actually happened was that Junkiness began winding down, as we've been unable to find and keep our target audience--or more accurately, we found our target audience, but it just happened to be celebrity crotch-shot masturbators with no discernible sense of humor. So we were somewhat busy scraping together last-ditch efforts to go out with an offensive bang.

Nothing's finalized as of yet, and the site is still technically active (I wrote a moving tribute to the impending Spice Girls reunion just yesterday), but as that project was winding down, another has wound up--as of a few weeks ago, I've joined the staff of Offsprung, a blog "for parents who don't suck," which was founded by the talented writers Neal Pollack, a.k.a. "Alternadad" (who I've been "appreciating" for years) and Matt Tobey, who's been one of my cohorts at Junkiness and is an excellent lay.

"What's this?" you say, "a parenting blog? But you yourself are no paterfamilias, silly WULAD!" And you'd be right. But as I pointed out to readers there, I have had parents, and was once a child.

[Which reminds me of a story: C-Baby and I were talking about Bruce Springsteen for some reason, and she asked, "Don't you remember how he was such a big thing in the early 80s, and was on the cover of 'Newsweek' and stuff?" and I replied, "No, I didn't read 'Newsweek.' I was a child."]

Anyway, Matt and I and Katie Spence write for an Offsprung sub-blog called The Cleaver (named for Ward, I believe), which has a similar tone to Junkiness, but with a focus on parenting and family-related stories. It doesn't sound like it'd be funny, but believe me, it is. So whether you have some little buggers of your own, or just enjoy decent writing and extreme close-ups of Christina Aguilera's uterus, come on by.

Meanwhile, I have every intention of continuing the process of rebuilding the WULAD empire, one post at a time. (Did I mention I'm not really a writer? God bless crystal meth!)

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuously Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue (Part 2)

2007-06-01T08:39:00.000-07:00

Welcome back, my friends, to the sacred show that never ends... The Bible II.

Last week we were dragged kicking and screaming into the New New Testament with the first installment of the Book of DAGOBAH, in which Jesus, Son of God and Lord of the Jedi, began to unfold the long, sad tale of his life amid the stars and the wars from his swampy outpost in the galactic backwaters.

And now, as spiritually channeled by Dale Shipley, noted free thinker and connoisseur of the unclothed female form, WULAD proudly presents the conclusion of DAGOBAH...

THE NEW NEW TESTAMENT

The Book of DAGOBAH, Chapter 2

So the Empire was chasing us around the galaxy and making our lives a hell, and basically militarizing the whole galactic economy on a perpetual basis to pay off their industrial tycoon buddies. And until you start convincing people to start hating money, our job wasn't getting any easier. Constantly on the run, we wound up in some distant-ass corners of the universe. I almost got killed by what some friends and I later drunkenly dubbed a "Wampa" back on some frozen planet we had to flee to. I was the one that made up that name. It's like I told you, back then people thought I was cool. I hate Dagobah.

Back on Tatooine a couple of robots had literally dropped out of the sky and showed me some video of a total hottie who's all "help me Obi-Wan" and stuff, so I wound up meeting and kissing her. That was cool till I found out she was my sister, which was just the beginning of my family problems. Turns out my dad was the evil king of the Empire, which weirdly only reinforced the whole messiah thing.

That kiss, by the way, was as close as I got to the sins of the flesh. "How did you do it?", people have asked me about abstinence. "I mean, women were all over you, and you were all monk-like and ignored them." I'd say I wasn't tempted, because when you're Jesus, people will believe anything, because they want to. Takes all the work out of lying. I might as well tell you the truth, now that I'm all old and whatnot. It's called technology, folks. Once I figured out R2 could play any video I wanted and I installed a certain low-tech body modification under his side panel, my sexual gratification problems were solved. The cool thing about that was that even though C3PO could understand him I didn't have to worry about him finding out. R2 wasn't going to be telling a soul. And he did this thing with his little pincher, but I digress. Where were we?

There was this mega-big space station called the Death Star that the Empire built to vaporize pretty much anything, and we got the plans to it, courtesy of the robots, so I blew it up. You'd think that would be hard to do, but even before I learned the Force it was no big deal. Honestly, I used to bulls-eye wamp-rats in Beggar's Canyon back home anyway, and I pretty much just launched a space torpedo at it and it went "bang."

I've seen the video of right after we nailed it, and when I take my helmet off it's like a fuckin' hair commercial. I wish I'd thought to sell that footage to some shampoo company when I had the chance.

WULAD's Konsumer Korner

2007-05-29T08:18:00.000-07:00

Well, I had a busy holiday weekend, spent memorializing our nation's honored dead in most American way possible--shopping. The first stop was Circuit City, where I showed how last-century I am by attempting to purchase a stereo. (For those of you under the age of 100, a "stereo" is a primitive machine which only plays audio sounds, and probably entertained your grandparents after a hard day's dinosaur hunt.)

The first thing I discovered upon arriving at the store was that Circuit City makes all their money off ginormous $3000 televisions now. The "home audio" section was dark and deserted, and filled with dusty "open box" specials, none of which were connected to anything. After ten minutes or so, I managed to abduct an employee in between TV sales. He showed me a few cobweb-covered receivers before demonstrating his awesome knowledge with this tidbit:

Salesman: Now I know the Sony says "100 Watts" and the Onkyo says "100 Watts" too, but what you really gotta pay attention to is the RMS. That's what makes the difference.

Me: Okay, and what is RMS?

Salesman: [pauses] I don't know.

He also showed me a home theater system which he suggested might work well for audio only--and it was actually plugged in, and with speakers connected! Unfortunately it was tuned to a non-existent radio station, and when I asked how to change it, he said, "Yeah, you need the remote for that." And where was the remote? He didn't know. (The RMS really kicked ass on that dead air, though.)

Eventually I gave up, and C-Baby graciously agreed to go with me to another store branch. The second store actually was much better--the salesman tried to be helpful, and I settled on a receiver and some speakers. In fact, the experience was perfect, right up to the moment when I opened the box at home to find one single speaker inside.

When I called Circuit City, a helpful employee informed me that "those speakers are sold as singles." As you can imagine, I was so thrilled to receive this information that I nearly shat my pants with gratitude.

The second adventure involved the assembly of a giant behemoth of a bookshelf from a certain Nordic mass-produced discount furniture emporium which is better at making meatballs than furniture. Everything was going fine, until I reached the diagram at right--looks easy, doesn't it? What the picture fails to illustrate is that the shelf on the left doesn't exactly fit, and each time you attempt to guide the little pegs into the little holes, five or six pegs on the other shelves pop out, and your heart rate rises exponentially as you increase your effort, both in force and profanity, causing more pegs to pop out, until the entire structure collapses into a giant plywood pile of hubris, with yourself pinned underneath, a quivering, bloody, broken man. The instruction manual actually includes an accurate representation of this process:

Thankfully C-Baby stepped in at the last minute to prevent me from murdering the shelf, and with equal parts blood, sweat, tears, and chipped beech veneer, we were eventually able to complete the mission. The moral of the story is: don't buy things!

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuously Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue (Part I)

2007-05-24T08:28:00.000-07:00

It's been a long, long while since the last installment of this Holy Whatsit, so to bring you up to speed, here's a quick summation of the story so far:
In the book of GENESIS, we were introduced to creation, the Lorud Gowud, REO Speedwagon, the Datsun 240z, Adam and Eve, Adam and Steve, and the fall of Man (actually it was more like an excited jump);

The book of MOSES OF THE MALL fast-forwarded a few hundred years to tell the tale of how the Head Hebrew In Charge adjusted to life in the suburbs; and

GRUDGES relayed the sad tale of Samson, his wife Delilah, and the terrible consequences of their poor financial planning and lack of tax shelters.
Now, we skip ahead many generations into the shiny freshness of the New New Testament, to find our hero, Jesus (whose back-story will most likely be fleshed out at a later date) confronting the malaise which all heroes face during the lazy afternoons of boredom which inevitably crop up in their otherwise action-packed lives. So from long-time WULAD Wregular Dale Shipley, who views every broken watch as a message from the Lord, it's the Book of DAGOBAH...

THE NEW NEW TESTAMENT

The Book of DAGOBAH, Chapter 1

Every day's the same in outer space. You start missing the seasons. If you're moving at light speed it's at least slightly fun, but in general space life makes you a little claustrophobic. Grumpy, even. Here's a basic picture of your life. It's airlock, ship, airlock, ship. The next guy who farts in an airlock with me is a dead man. Another airlock, another ship. Then, to break up the monotony, some planet where the weather's always exactly the same.

The most exciting thing that happens these days is for a X-wing to crash into the swamp. Fortune has handed me on to the swamp world Dagobah, and I'm apparently such a draw that there's more scrap metal submerged around here than you can telekinetically shake a stick at. Frankly, I'm sick of the whole "young one comes to learn the Force" thing. There have to be five or six of the bastards moping around here somewhere, being all emotional about something. Yeah sure, you'll be Jedis someday, I tell them. Now go boil yourself a swamp toad for dinner and think about your belly button. And they do it. Because I'm Jesus.

Oiling robots all day back on Tatooine almost had me pulling my hair out. Well, not really. My flaxen hair is gorgeous. It's been called Barry Gibb-like and it's always what's drawn the ladies to me, so I never pull it out as much as brush it gently.

And don't get me started on Uncle Owen and the farm. A real miracle is that I avoided nailing myself to a cross out of sheer boredom. It's not like letting me run to Tashi Station was going to bankrupt the damn guy.

Looking back, the Empire was the best thing to ever happen to me. It was almost a shame to destroy it, but by that time I'd already moved up in the world, so to speak.

Everyone likes a messiah, whether on earth or in a galaxy far, far away from it. As a result, back then I took girls to parties, met cool people, and the Force was strong with me. I had excellent hair. Light, but still with nice body, you know?

A little background on the the Empire: they were a bunch of corporate scumbags. They called us terrorists, cop killers, thieves, dishonorable sand-speeder jockeys, anything to turn the locals against us. And their plan worked out great. The assholes owned all the TV and radio stations and monitored every communications network in the galaxy, so it didn't even have to be the truth. The truth was an inconvenience, better left for someone else.

What strange twists of the Force lie ahead for Jesus? Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion of Dagobah!

One Mean Set of Wheels

2007-05-22T08:39:00.000-07:00

This badass ride is occasionally parked outside my office. It's a converted version of one of the little glorified mopeds the traffic cops drive, and no, your eyes don't deceive you--that's a weatherbeaten, one-armed, nearly-decapitated E.T. stuffed toy mounted on the roof. I'll bet the chicks dig it.

The WULAD Is Dead! Long Live the WULAD!

2007-05-21T08:42:00.000-07:00

Hello there! Anyone still listening?

I didn't think so. That's OK, if there's one thing I've learned in my days away from this site, trying to hit the blog Big Time, it's that traffic isn't everything, and I'll take quality of at least semi-literate readers over quantity of mouth-breathers looking for nude photos of Gary Coleman any day. Although I suppose some of you could be both.

As you can see, WULAD lives again. (And with a spiffy new design, no less.)

"Wherefore do thou so?" you ask me, "and we mean 'wherefore' in its correct usage, meaning 'why,' not 'where' like idiotic high-schoolers always use it when they're reading Romeo & Juliet and checking out Olivia Hussey's teenaged rack." Well, I'll tell you. As I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning with the strains of Lionel Richie's "Sail On" looping continuously in my skull, a voice suddenly called to me from The Other Side. It was Jerry Falwell, and he drawled: "Bring back WULAD, you loser... people liked it, and most of them got the jokes... by the way, I was wrong about everything: it turns out God is a little old Vietnamese lady who smells like shoes... also, you have to pee really bad... really bad... really baaaaad..." And I awoke with a start.

Another reason to plug the old reanimation cables on to the mummified nipples of WULAD and give it some juice: although I still enjoy contributing to Junkiness on a daily basis--that's the site where I join a select group of craftspeople in looking for laughs both cheap and pricey at the expense of the rich, the powerful, and half-naked crackheads who are attacked by alligators--there are just some things I've been aching to write about that don't quite fit their format.

So I encourage you to swing by your newly-rejuvenated WULAD a few times a week (or better yet, subscribe to our RSS feed) for scathing satirical tidbits, terrifying floating heads, and slice-of-life vingettes such as the following conversation, in which I demonstrate what a maven of pop culture I truly am:

Me: We can eat wherever. I'm not trying to get up in your grill.
Her: Don't say that, please.
Me: What, "Up in your grill"? Yeah, I guess it's pretty uncool now that it's in the new Shaq movie.
Her: That's Shrek, not Shaq.

Coming up next: a new installment in the ever-expanding tome of The Bible II.

Are You Ready for Some Update-Ball?!

2007-02-02T08:14:00.000-08:00

Since readers have been stopping by to say hello and ask where the fuck I am, I thought I'd offer a little update. Most of my energy has been going to writing for Junkiness, since we have a stable of five awesometastic contributors and a quota of eight posts per day (upon pain of genital electrocution). It's not quite as free-form as WULAD, but I appreciate the team spirit (our mascot is "The Fighting Black Jesuses") and the approximately 2,000 additional visitors per day beyond the highest number this site ever had, even in the heady days of the Britney Bajingo-Baring insanity of late 2006.

So the easiest way for you to get your WULAD fix is to read Junkiness on a daily basis, with the knowledge that approximately one-fifth to one-third (depending on the day) of the genius there flowed from my mighty keyboard. If you're interested in more specific information on who wrote what, you can subscribe to the site's RSS feed, which includes author tags—but since the collaborative spirit is the best part of the thing, you should of course read everyone else's wicked-brilliant posts.

Finally, just to prove that I've been hard at work hammering the molten metal of news and gossip into the finely-honed steel of satire, here's an author's-choice fistful of what I consider my recent greatest hits over there:

... Those ought to keep you busy for a while, or my name isn't naked Harry Potter. Anyway, posting here at WULAD will be on a once-in-a-blue-moon basis for the foreseeable future, so be sure to subscribe to the strange and wonderful WULAD RSS feed (and if you subscribed prior to a few months ago, you'll need to resubscribe—details here) so you won't miss a damn word. So until we meet again: Godspeed, you black Jesuses!

P.S. I almost forgot—there's one more reader-contributed installment of The Bible II in the can, so I will be presenting that next week for your religious education and holy enjoyment.

P.P.S. Happy Ground Hog Day!

Great Moments in Cinema, Vol. MCXVII

2007-01-04T08:14:00.000-08:00

"There is a tempest in my tent. But it has come in the form of my cherished daughter... to upset my failing pancreas."

—Omar Sharif, Hidalgo (2004)

From Our House to Yours...

2006-12-25T08:54:00.000-08:00

WULAD Web Wround-Up

2006-12-15T08:28:00.000-08:00

The W. W. W.-up drops unexpectedly into town just in time for the holidays, to drink all your brandy and eggnog, guilt you into buying gifts, and tell dirty jokes to your children! Let's begin.

T-shirts and other fine merchandise emblazoned with the emblem of the Church of Tivo (which I designed back before I had to switch to that Comcast shit DVR machine which is to Tivo what Blimpie's is to 2nd Avenue Deli) are available at Junkiness, along with a variety of holiday and celebriwhore-themed items. Head on over and buy many of them.
Speaking of Junkiness, I put up what may be the single most objectionable thing I've ever written there today. Feel free to read it and then send me letter-bombs.
I'm moderately pleased that CariDee won. I'm looking forward to seeing Melrose on the home shopping network sharing that fake smile with the bedridden credit-card addicts of the nation. Either that or on a Simple Life-style reality show with Jade.
Remember what I said about Terri Schiavo and the right to die? I may have to take it back.
Our favorite celebrity-spanker single-handedly resuscitates the genre with this one-act play.
Happy Hanukhah! (from C-Baby)
Reminder: If you subscribe to the notorious WULAD xml feed, you need to update the feed URL. See below for the nerdy details.

Have a good weekend, and try not to stick any dreidels up your ass!

A Little Mumbo, a Little Jumbo

2006-12-11T08:19:00.000-08:00

For those of you who are subscribed to this site's XML feed, you may have noticed there's been nothing doing lately--I mean besides the usual nothing--it turns out that I did something funky a long time ago when I was setting the original feed up, and now that I've moved the site to the new version of a certain popular blog-publishing interface which shall remain nameless, the funky feed name won't work anymore.

So unfortunately my loyal readers are going to have to resubscribe, using either of the handy feeds below (which are exactly the same as far as a geek-but-not-in-a-profitable-way such as myself is concerned):

Unfortunately, for those of you who only read this site through the old, funky rss feed, I have no way of getting this information to you. Cheers!

Friday Existentialism at Casa WULAD

2006-12-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

So as I woke up this morning, I could hear the morning newspeople gabbing about the recently deceased James Kim, and how he was only a few miles from a lodge that could've saved his life but he took a wrong turn, and it's possible he only died a few hours before they found him, and so on, listing all the little ways that bad luck conspired to have this story end in tragedy: "And if he'd only turned here instead of here..." Duh, James Kim! seemed to be the gist, whether they were intending it or not.

(There was even the required misuse of the word "ironic," which reporters are so fond of—"It's ironic that Kim was probably no further than a mile away when his family was rescued" or something—no, you idiots, it would be ironic if the rescue helicopter had landed on him and killed him. Anyway...)

Like everybody else in the Bay Area, I had been sucked into the family's story, probably because their pictures were so damn cute, and because I had gone from thinking "Boy, it's sad that they're probably not going to make it," to "Boy, that's amazing they made it," to "Boy, that's sad he's probably not going to make it." I remember having an especially unpleasant feeling when I saw friends of the family toasting the Mom and kids' rescue with champagne, since the odds were already pretty bad for Mr. Kim at that point.

Anyway the newscasters went on to something else, and as C-baby got ready to leave and I got ready to get out of bed, I said, "This is just another example of how God is an asshole," and she replied, "God isn't an asshole. You know why?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because He doesn't exist," she said.

I love that chick.

One-Stop Shopping for All Your Headless Child's Needs

2006-12-07T08:02:00.000-08:00

I, the Floating Head of Billy Joel, Will Destroy You!

2006-12-01T08:18:00.000-08:00

(Thanks, Dale!)

Previous warning-signs of the coming of the floating-head army have included:

... And of course, their terrifying master,

Hillary Clinton

In other news, animals attack! Here are two articles in which I looked into this disturbing trend:

Have a good weekend, and try to avoid being caught in any mighty jaws!

A Note

2006-11-30T08:04:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone—

I know 98% of you are visiting this site today looking for pictures of Britney Spears' ladyparts, but I'm sorry to say you won't find them here.

Instead, please enjoy this picture of a delicious sausage, egg & cheese bagel which I ate in New York once. You'll be much better off than if you'd seen you-know-who's you-know-what. Trust me on this one.

I'm Glad Mr. Sulu Came Out of the Closet, But This Is Taking It a Little Too Far

2006-11-28T08:31:00.000-08:00

My Favorite New Logo

2006-11-22T08:42:00.000-08:00

Would you like pepperoni on your penis and testicles, ma'am?

Is It Just Me, Vol. DXCVIII

2006-11-20T08:13:00.000-08:00

Is it just me, or does George Washington look really pissed off on this coin?

Not Dead Yet, Vol. MCXVII

2006-11-17T08:03:00.000-08:00

I guess I decided to take a week off. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Seriously, though, I've been pushing out at least one a day over at Junkiness (mine are the really non-hip ones), which you could try thinking of as "WULAD East" or something. It's slightly more biting and less Garfunkel-centric, however.

I will send you into the weekend with the following comment, which reminds me why WULAD's Commentin' Commandos really rock the house more than those of any other website. It showed up on my post about Jan-Michael Vincent's cello artistry during the intro to Airwolf:

To whom it may concern,

I was wondering whether you know where I might be able to find the cello score for the songs played in the movie Airwolf.

Please let me hear from you.

Thank you,

Chris

Can't help you, Chris, but kudos to you for staying away from crowd-pleasers like the Bach Cello Suites and going after the really challenging examples of the repertoire. Best wishes and good luck on your recital!

One More Damn Thing to Read

2006-11-08T20:33:00.000-08:00

I'm back to contributing semi-regularly to the Cacophonous Cavalcade of Comedy that is Junkiness, so I encourage all WULAD Wregulars to try making it a part of your daily routine along with shaving, composting the boss man's food scraps, and working in the re-education camps.

While sporting a crack team of contributors (of which I am only one of a talented handful, and the least productive one at that) and easily making the coveted "Technorati 25(,000)", Junkiness has had some difficulty building a reliable and interactive Commenter Corps.

For example, after a furious election-aftermath output of a dozen quality posts, the site received a total of ONE comment, which read:

normally I like nearly everything on junkiness.com, but I found this tacky and tasteless.

Oh no she dinn'nt! So you can see why the site is desperately in need of the kind of quality peanut-gallery responses we get here at WULAD, such as:

It's really weird to see a news article about the killing of a friend's fiance on a site I read and laugh at all the time...

Oh no she dinn'nt! Or

I loved The Great Space Coaster! I remember The Beautiful Actress Sally Struthers of the sitcom All In The Family Guest Staring on this 1980's children's t.v. show. TGSC cast joked that Puppet Goriddle Gorilla had a big crush on Actress Sally Struthers. When she came on the show as a guest star, Goriddle Gorilla told her that he was in love with her. Sally Struthers then held him by the chin. Later on alone, Sally Struthers and Puppet Goriddle Gorilla sang a song together that went: "Just The Way You Are!" Sally Struthers is such a kind person! She has such a pretty face...

Oh yes he did(dd)!

So head on over, read some smartass stuff, and give us your tired, your poor, your muddled sasses yearning to screed free... [Please stand for National Anthem.]

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue (Part II)

2006-11-06T08:38:00.000-08:00

THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of GRUDGES, Chapters 15–16

Last week on The Bible II, we were introduced to Samson and Delilah, two lovable kids trying to make intertribal marriage work in spite of some serious flaws in their long-term financial strategy. So without further ado, direct from the sacred tablets of WULAD-certified guest prophet of the hour Eponymagain, we present the conclusion of GRUDGES 13-16: The Birth, Exploits, Revenge, Retirement and Death of Samson.

CHAPTER 15
Samson's Vengeance

1. Samson makes a series of public statements accusing the families of the dead of killing their own in an attempt to build popular sympathy for their cause. Many people believe that he is history's actor.

2. Delilah says to Samson, Tell me, I pray thee, wherein your great strength lies, and wherewith thou mightest be bound afflicted.

3. Samson denies knowledge of any weakness, citing strong housing starts and an upswing in exports.

CHAPTER 16
Betrayal by Delilah and Death

1. Delilah says to Samson, Samson, my faithful friend, I have received letters from great veterinary pathologists, which signify what hate they bear you and how desirous of your death they are. I pray thee, wherein your great strength lies, and wherewith thou mightest be bound afflicted.

2. Delilah presses Samson daily with her words, and urges him, so that his soul is vexed unto death; At long last he tells her all his heart. He tells her, If they deceive me and steal from me, then shall I be poor. Then shall I be be as any other man. If I am poor, then my strength will go from me, and I shall become weak, and be like any other man.

3. Delilah sees that he has told her all his heart.

4. And Delilah weeps, You were my sweetest downfall. I loved you first. Your hair was long when we first met. My father implored me invest in government or corporate bonds, funds with longer average-maturity periods that had higher risk but also higher yield potential. But I did not.

5. Samson says to Delilah, I am near now to retirement and near to death. You have time for your money to grow. I do not.

6. And Delilah weeps, You have sought to allocate your assets, distributing your money across different types of investments. Samson, most people die at the last minute.

7. The risk of violent death is now 58 percent higher than it was before.

8. Samson obtains the plan document for each pension plan. His attorney asks for the plan’s procedures, for domestic relations orders. Among other features, the plan has certain options about when the spouse’s share can be paid to her under a domestic relations order. These sorts of details can make a difference in your negotiations with your spouse. These sorts of details can make a difference.

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue

2006-11-03T08:13:00.000-08:00

THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of GRUDGES, Chapters 13–14

Previously on The Bible II, we learned that even the leader of the Israelites went through tough times; for this week's installment, we turn once again to one of WULAD's fine and divine Guest Authors, who moves us forward in time to find the New Israelites under the oppressive boot of the Phillistines (whose name was derived from their rejection of high-concept art such as "Arrested Judahlopment" in favor of shows like "King Nebuchadnezzar of Queens," "Ashkelon's Next Top Model," and Tim Allen movies). The Lawdy Lawd will send them a hero, but will he be undone by his own accounting?

From Eponymagain, one of the internet's finest and most mysterious scribes, it's the first installment of a two-part presentation of ... GRUDGES 13–16: The Birth, Exploits, Revenge, Retirement and Death of Samson.

CHAPTER 13
The Birth of Samson

1. Phyllis Jackson faints on the soccer field. She thinks she’s just dehydrated, but her husband is worried. He has noticed that she has been having difficulty concentrating at work and is forgetful at times at home. At his suggestion, Phyllis goes to the doctor, where a series of tests reveal that she is pregnant. Phyllis is surprised as she has been previously diagnosed as unreproductive. In this story, readers will learn that Phyllis’s signs and symptoms must be interpreted as indicating a virgin birth.

2. A Certified health care worker appears unto Phyllis, saying, Now you are barren, but have yet conceived, and shall bear a son.

3. And the woman bears a son, and calls his name Samson: and the child grows.

CHAPTER 14
Samson Marries a Philistine Woman

1. Samson sees a young Philistine woman. He talks to the young Philistine woman and likes her. Her name is Delilah. She is curious about Samson's pedigree. Standard & Poor’s and Moody’s examines his profile and rates his strength according to risk as well as his past performance in the marketplace. Samson rates as very strong.

2. Samson makes a delicious feast for Delilah—as the young men used to do—and yet she tastes it not. And yet she sees that he has growth potential and a solid dividend payment record. They unite with legal force.

3. A local farmer becomes concerned after discovering a number of dead animals on his small farm, including some ducks, several deer, and a coyote, all within a single week. Fearing that someone might be poisoning his land, he hires thirty veterinary pathologists to investigate.

4. For three days they can give no answer to the riddle.

5. On the fourth day, they tell Delilah, Entice your husband to tell us the secret of this riddle or we will sue to revoke pension benefits.

6. Samson and Delilah change jobs and fail to roll the 20% withheld into a new retirement account within 60 days and are subject to the 10% tax.

MONDAY: Tune in for the thrilling conclusion of GRUDGES!

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Aged Gay Escort

2006-11-02T08:49:00.000-08:00

Is anybody else bothered by the fact that the former gay hooker with whom evangelical superhero Ted Haggard is accused of repeatedly gettin' busy is 59? Not only is Haggard a hypocrite, he's a hypocrite with a taste for wrinkly old dudes (or "DILFs" as they're known in the gay porn world.)* Really, with all the collection plate-funds at his disposal, he couldn't afford some young River Phoenix-lookalike to share in his pre-ex-gay activities? Or at least someone slightly less—dare I say—haggard?

*I made that up. I have no idea whether they're called DILFs.**

**They are.

UPDATE: Turns out he's 49. That's still pretty old.

Wrapped Up Like a Rehashtastic Halloween!®

2006-10-31T08:47:00.000-08:00

Happy Satan-Worshiper Day, everyone! This year I'm going as The Me of 2003, so accordingly, here's exactly what I would say if I were in fact myself three years ago. (I've come so far since then--I can pay for my own heroin, I've realized James Joyce sucks, and I've finally stopped voting for Lyndon LaRouche! Or at all!)

Terrifying Tales of Halloween Dorkage Past
Today is Halloween, which is of course known as a harvest celebration, an embrace of the play of life and death exemplified by the microcosm of the crops that feed us, yet indicative of the greater cycle of decay and renewal that governs all life on Earth—and it’s also a source of embarrassing stories of almost unbearable dorkiness. I include some samples from my own litany; feel free to add your own spine-tingling tales of Halloween Horror and Pants-Wetting in the comments.

My first costume was a Pumpkin Ghost; I know that’s not particularly dorky but it does establish that I was not one of those kids who got the store-bought plastic Batman costumes, although I was secretly envious of the rows of identical Batmen and the relative bully-proof anonymity they provided.
On my first trick-or-treat, my parents accompanied me around the neighborhood; one nice old lady invited us inside, and she happened to have a menagerie of chotchkes, trinkets, and little porcelain animals, etc. in her living room; when we were back at our house, my parents opened my bag to find, in addition to candy, a large assortment of the old woman’s personal property. Apparently I was so enamored by the idea of putting things in my bag that I happily looted her collections like they were so many boxes of Milk Duds. If I ever have a kid and he does something like that, I'll sell it all on eBay faster than you can say "old people can't use computers"!
In second grade my dad made me a fabulous homemade costume out of cardboard, glue, colored pencils, foam, and other household items; when I asked him what I was, he said, “um… Space King!” It was a glorious costume that should have made me the envy of the schoolyard. We all know how that turned out.
In fourth grade I was a mummy; unfortunately, while I was being “wrapped” by my babysitter, I became nauseated and threw up on my costume, staining it. We had to start over. What a dork, throwing up!
Three years later I had a great pirate costume, but some dickhead named “Bo” stole my sword and threw it in the dumpster. That was altogether a pretty lousy, dorky year, come to think of it.
When I was a sophomore in high school, my friends and I decided to go trick-or-treating for “the last time”; dressed up as the usual-for-high-school mutilated corpses, we worked up a complicated song-and-dance routine that we would break into as soon as someone opened the door, but we were such a bunch of rowdy teenagers that people either kept the door shut, told us we were too old, or, in the case of one old man, slammed the door in our face when we sang our first note. Dorks!
Finally, in the greatest act of Halloween redemption since the goat’s blood-drenched-Carrie killed all her classmates (I know, that wasn’t technically on Halloween), in 2001 I wore the greatest costume ever. I found the foamcore girder on the curb outside Macy’s, which was incidentally where my friend Chelle-Belle, who deserves credit for this idea and even offered me a dollar for everyone who correctly referred to me as "Krazy Glue Guy" instead of "Super Glue Guy", worked at the time. At the office party I was awarded “Scariest Costume” (I know, what’s important is that I won the candy), and I was officially King of the Halloween Dorks, and lord of all that I surveyed! Look on my Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!

The Incontrivertible Finality of a Two-Thirds-Eaten Hamburger

2006-10-30T08:40:00.000-08:00

In two views.

[Simia quam similis, turpissimus bestia, nobis.]

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues

2006-10-27T08:36:00.000-07:00

THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of MOSES OF THE MALL

In our previous installment, the first chunk of tBii:hB concluded as the First Man and the First Woman and the First Gay Brother hopped into the First Datsun 240z and sped East of Eden to begin their new lives. Today we present the first of three divine outsourcing jobs dictated by the Almighty to select volunteers from WULAD's Wregular Wreadership. As we rejoin the story, several generations have passed, and the patriarch of the New Hebrews finds himself facing the hard realities of the Biblical economy, while learning a little about himself along the way. From Gene Morgan—proof that you can still find a good man in Texas—it's MOSES OF THE MALL.

Moses looking for new socks. It's a little cold by the cookie stand. Moses prays to God. It gets a little colder. Moses is cold. Moses looks hard at a teenage girl. Moses asks God for forgiveness. God is happy. God likes that Moses is sorry. New socks at the Lord and Taylor, Moses thinks. Blue ones. argyle, maybe. Moses feels a little depressed inside when he sees a fat person with bad pants. Moses eating a frozen lemonade by the water fountain.

Moses playing the new Metroid game in the Electronics Boutique for an hour. Moses outside the food court, calling his ex-girlfriend on his cell phone. She needs Moses to stop and get some eggs. Someone has written 'fuck you old balls' on the mall bench, next to where Moses eats his ciabatta sandwich. Moses doesn't know that God wrote this. God laughs out-loud, out of a burning plastic bush near the Chili's.

Moses in his white Chrysler La Baron listening to an old Metallica album with the top down. Moses feels old. Moses feels everything inside that makes him sad and depressed and this destroys every little piece of interior worth Moses has ever built-up at his low income tech job serving shitty people who will never know his full name or care that he even exists. Moses turning up Metallica. It starts to rain before Moses can get his top up.

Wrapped Up Like a Rehashtastic Thursday!®

2006-10-26T08:12:00.000-07:00

I know, normally Fridays are supposed to be Rehashtastic®, but I decided to toss out this old thing ("I've had it for years!") today, because tomorrow--brace yourselves--will see the triumphant return of The Bible II! So feast on the following leftovers (crafted in the halcyon days of October 2004)--since tomorrow morning I'll be asking the age-old question: Are You Ready for Some Godball?!

Sequels That Somehow Never Made it Past Pre-Production

Hamlet 2: They're Still All Dead
A Muppet Schindler's List
Being John Malkovitch's Kids' College Fund
Gigli Goes Hawaiian
Caddyshack III: The Search for the Chevy Chase We Once Thought Was Funny
The Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Seals, with Addition of Later Seals as They Become Available
Glory 2: Also Still All Dead
Se8en
Alien vs. Predator 2: Alien: Resurrection vs. Predator 3
The Bad News Bears in Fallujah
Koyaanisqatsi: The Extended Edition
Bad Lieutenant II: Yep, Dead
Three Fast, Four Furious
Kill Bill, Vol. 3: You Guessed It—Dead
Breaking the Waves vs. The Ice Storm
Aguirre 2: The Wrath of God Boogaloo
Apocalypse Now Redux II vs. Space Jam 3: Apocalypse Yao!
8½ II: Let's Just Round It Up to 9
Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia Again, Would You?
Malcom X2: Pphht.

Tom and Katie and Me

2006-10-24T08:37:00.000-07:00

This exciting news reminded me of an experience I had last week in the casual carpool. For those of you who are non-Bay-Area-ers, it's a series of carpool pick-up and drop-off points--one of which is a couple of blocks from my house and therefore saves me some time vs. the expensive stinkiness of BART--and saves the driver the $3 bridge toll.

The downside is that riders are at the mercy of the driver's choice in listening material, driving ability and/or judgment, and bodily odors. The worst I've had to deal with so far have been centered on lousy talk radio or "lite rock"--For example, I realized this week that the Bette Midler song "From a Distance" could be used effectively during "coercive interrogations" in Guantanamo Bay, although it would most likely violate the Geneva Conventions (and common human decency).

However, last week I met my carpool match in a guy--let's call him "Jim"--who was easily the most unfocused spaz to whom I've ever had the misfortune to entrust my life. This... fellow... was on the phone the entire half hour of the commute--and not one long phone call, mind you, but many short calls, each dialed painstakingly with one hand on his cellphone (no hands-free set for this daredevil) while furiously changing lanes, swerving, and cutting people off, to no noticeable advantage in traffic speed, as women's folk music blared on the stereo. Here are a few of the snippets we passengers were treated to:

"Hi, it's Jim. Can you doublecheck the reservations for Pebble Beach? I wanted to make it to the spa but I'm not sure I'll be able to make it back from the studio in time, maybe we have an in-house waiting list? Also, confirm the guest list for..."

"Hi, it's Jim again. Can you be sure we have a screening room reserved for Tuesday, and also make sure to book us a lunch reservation, and can you..."

"Hi, it's Jim. I'm going to see the doctor later today--those acupuncturists were awful. No, I'm taking him the MRI myself--I don't trust those people..."

"Hi, it's Jim... Oh, that's Mary Chapin-Carpenter. Is it too loud? No? Good. Well, anyway..."

... And so on. Then, as we're nearing the exit from the bridge (and my merciful separation from this nutjob), he picks up the phone for one last call:

"Hi Tom, it's Katie. I'm so sorry you completely misunderstood my intentions last night. I was standing there in my bathrobe, I mean, what was I supposed to do?"

Anyway, based on all the clues this guy shamelessly dropped ("Have him email me at JimXxxx@xxxx.com"), I was able to find him on the internet when I got to work. He's some kind of lawyer, he likes spas and hates acupuncturists and he and his boyfriend call each other "Tom and Katie." At the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney, I wish I could have other people's privacy back.

Handy Phrases to Use After Your Team Is Eliminated from the Playoffs

2006-10-20T08:49:00.000-07:00

Uhghahhhn.
You God damn, damn God-damnin' God-damners... damn.
Do not want
Guhh-ahrrrghhmm. Llngm.
[Opposing team's starting pitcher] is the bastard inbred son of a motherless goat-whore!
Finally I can change my lucky [team colors] [hat/watch/underwear/adult diaper]!
Wwwww...
[Underperforming millionaire outfielder] licks the sweat off a dead bastard inbred son of a motherless goat-whore's balls!
[Long pause.] Mmmnghl.
It is only through the experience of loss that we may truly learn to appreciate the beauty of the struggle, the adversity, and the journey which make up the true lessons of this game—which is, in the end, no more, nor less, than the game of life and FUCK YOU ST. LOUIS!!!!
[Sobbing wordlessly.]
As an intellectual, I have greater concerns than the performance of a bunch of overpaid growth-hormone abusers in a staged contest of athleticism, and I therefore oh God you bastards you broke my Goddam heart you sons-of-bitches...
Wait... Tih... Nexhhh... Yeahhhhhrmrmmgh...

I Went to a Portuguese Bullfight and All I Got Was This Lousy Picture of Jerry Springer*

2006-10-17T08:03:00.000-07:00

*Also I got a T-shirt.

First of all, congratulations to everyone who ventured a guess as to the identity of the mysterious styrofoam whatzit (MSW) pictured in the previous entry. They were all very well-constructed responses, and I would have said any one of them could be correct, if I didn't already know that the object in question was Stephen Hawking's superintelligent function-graphing toilet seat cover.

On to new business. This past Saturday, C-Baby and I headed into the Central Valley for the finale of the thankfully little-known Portuguese "bloodless" bullfighting season. (I place "bloodless" in quotes because there is often bleeding, but not by the bull. In fact, unlike Spanish bullfighting, which seems sadistic to me, Portuguese bullfighting is in practice a mainly masochistic event. For a slideshow of one of last year's fights with explanatory commentary, click here.)

We were able to see a pretty decent variety of thrills and spills--including a particularly pesky bull which tossed two matadors within a minute, one of whom came back to finish strong after crashing to the dirt in a position the human body should never be in--along with the pickled beans, dolled-up ranchers' wives in heels, plethora of glow-in-the-dark virgin statues and other touches which contribute to the dusty appeal of the event.

However, unlike every other bullfight we've attended in the past, a gradual crescendo of murmurs in Portuguese and English hinted at something big taking place at the end of the event--and lo and behold, after the sixth and final bull headed out of the ring after his day in court, a chant which had been bubbling below the surface finally broke into a full roar: "Jer-ry!Jer-" and so on.

Anyway, the gist of the thing was that Springer--who you may have heard of from his stint as mayor of Cincinnati--was going to be performing the Paso Doble on that wonderful masses-opiate Dancing With the Stars, and needed to shoot some scenes to pump up his bullfighting cred.

According to the show's website, "the Paso Doble ... should create a Spanish Bull Fighting atmosphere. The Paso Doble is the dance for the Man, which allows him to fill the 'Space' with strong three-dimensional shapes and movements danced with 'Pride and Dignity.'" In this case, Springer demonstrated this "pride and dignity" by strolling triumphantly into the ring (where only minutes before teams of Portuguese-Americans had risked life and gonad jumping on giant enraged animals) while children were prodded to throw roses at his feet, twice. (In his defense, Jerry conceded that "they wanted me to shoot something here to make it look like I know something about bullfighting.")

The website continues: "The woman's role varies depending on the intepretation of the dance... [she] can take the role of the matador's cape, the bull or even the matador at different times within the dance." This was demonstrated by the painted blonde hussy who serves as Jerry's dance partner holding her index fingers to her head and tromping around like a bull. It wasn't nearly as charming as it sounds, which is not very charming. In fact, it was even less charming than that.

The high point [spoiler alert, for those losers who watch the show] was when the producers convinced Springer that they were about to release a bull, sending him cowering for the exit--only to send out a tiny calf (generating a chorus of "awwww"s), which seemed terrified of the blonde hussy, who kept prodding the poor creature in an attempt to get it to "charge." We took that mildly-entertaining moment as our cue to split, which was probably best because I'm sure they recreated the hilarious surprise multiple times to get the right shot.

Anyway, I hope they don't make a huge deal out of it on the show, because then everybody will find out about the bullfights and they'll become really popular and then be outlawed after Pam Anderson chains herself to the bullring and is accidentally gored by an escaped bull, popping her left implant.

Just remember: I was into watching bullfights before it was cool.

Name This Mysterious Styrofoam Whatzit Found in My Office

2006-10-12T08:46:00.000-07:00

Bonus points for telling me what it does. (To be clear, I'm not looking for the actual answer. I want you to gird your creative loins and come up with something good.)

WULAD's Konsumer Korner

2006-10-03T08:42:00.000-07:00

After a decade or so spent living in noisy metropolitan areas, often surrounded by discourteous neighbors, roommates, prostitutes, and roommates who are also prostitutes, I have become a connoisseur of ear plug technology. So I greet every new addition to the field with interest, and look forward to the happy moment when I can wedge their spongy goodness into my hungry ear canals.

However, last weekend I came across a perplexing new product from the already-well-respected-by-me Hearos® brand, which I just had to share with you:

My friends, I'm talking about ear plugs... for women.

Why, you might ask, do women need their own brand of ear plugs? I asked myself the same question, but luckily, the fine folks at Hearos® have addressed this query in the FAQ section of their exquisitely feminine website:

Why should I consider the Sleep Pretty in Pink products? The Sleep Pretty in Pink products were introduced because there was a void in the marketplace for a high quality, branded line of ear products... for women. Whether you have a need for noise reduction (sleeping, snoring solution, traveling), hearing protection (concerts), or blocking light (sleeping) the Sleep Pretty in Pink line has a high quality product that can work for women AND children.

Psst... Hearos: they work for men, too, bitches!

That's right—the author of your very own WULAD is secure enough in his masculinity to test ear plugs which purport to be strong enough for a man, but... anyway, I've prepared my own take on the Frequently Asked Questions, which will give you the information you've been dying for ever since you read about this fifteen seconds ago. Let's begin!

How do Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters differ from ear plugs for manly men?

They're pink.

That's it? Really?

Really. No little flowers or inspirational sayings or suggestions for spicing up your marital bed whatsoever.

Did Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters block sound as effectively as those made for manly men?

Yes. Once I put those beautiful pink babies in, I could barely make out the screams coming from my basement.

Did this experience provide you with witty ideas for further women-only personal care products?

I'm already looking into patenting women's dental floss (it'll be pink), women's Drano (pink and lavender-scented), a woman's calculator (pink, and all operations result in "Don't worry your pretty little head about it"), and a women's dictionary (pink, and doesn't include the words "science" or "promotion"). Also tampons for men.

Are you serious with that chauvinist crap? I thought you were a bleeding-heart liberal and all that.

That was mock-chauvinism. Lighten up, and try some Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters so you can get your beauty rest, Sugartits.

Did you really buy these because you were curious about how well they worked, or is this a prelude to "testing" women's shoes, support hose, underwear, and/or feminine hygiene products?

I'm busy. Go away.

Wrapped Up Like a Published Author

2006-09-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

Well, the day I've waited for my entire life has actually come (and gone, come to think of it)—the creator of your very own WULAD has wormed his way into a printed, published (and soon to be pulped, no doubt) book.

It's called Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney's Book of Lists, and it features a plethora of humorous bits penned by a cast of probably-not-thousands-but-more-than-tens. In addition to myself, this cast includes many other talented humorous-bit-producers I sort-of know in a digital way (such as the oft-imitated but never-penetrated C. Monks, for example).

But why, you might ask, should I spend my hard-earned drug money on this former happy, living tree, when I can just as easily read all the same lists on McSweeney's minimalist-designed website at no charge? My answer comes in the form of just the sort of "witty" list you might find in the book in question:

REASONS TO SPEND
$12.95 ON
"MOUNTAIN MAN
DANCE MOVES"
RATHER THAN
READING THE LISTS
FOR FREE ON
MCSWEENEY'S WEBSITE.
- - -

You can read it on the toilet, which I wouldn't recommend for the website.
Could potentially fill you with the incomparable feeling of smugness that comes from supporting an independent bookseller, even if you secretly suspect they're trying to turn your kids gay.
No additional money will be passed on to me no matter how many copies are sold, giving you the satisfaction of causing me to question whether I should've held out for another ten bucks.
Every time a McSweeney's book gets remaindered a bearded hipster somewhere silently weeps.
Prevents you from being the last one at the water cooler without an opinion on "Ways Art Garfunkel is Superior to a Dented Can of Vienna Sausages."
The book may in fact contain exclusive material not found on the website. I don't have any reason to believe this, but I suppose it could be true.
The unicorn-in-pastels cover art brings an air of rugged masculinity to even the daintiest of Scandinavian-designed coffee tables.
Four Porsches is just not enough for Dave Eggers.

- - -

So run on out to your neighborhood bookstore or predatory high-volume mail-order reseller, and pick up a copy if you know what's good for you. It may be your last chance to read me in print before The Bible II gets picked up by Random House.

2006-09-22T08:37:00.000-07:00

It's good to see that Alyssa Milano isn't letting her body hair get in the way of being fashionable.

WULAD Web Wround-Up

2006-09-21T08:26:00.000-07:00

Quiero round egg... all day long.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307277208/ref=pd_rvi_gw_1/104-3404697-1639955?ie=UTF8

In Spite of What I Said Earlier, I, the Floating Head of This Bug-Eyed Guy, Will Destroy You!

2006-09-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

Take Me Out to the WULAD

2006-09-19T08:31:00.000-07:00

Don't get me wrong, I'm as thrilled as the next fan that the Mets won their first division title since 1988—I just think the celebration got a little out of hand.

I, the Floating Head of This Guy with 246 Straws in His Mouth, Will Destroy You!

2006-09-18T08:30:00.000-07:00

(Further proof of the coming wrath of the floating-head army available here, here, here, here, and here.)

Call to Arms

2006-09-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

Oh man—we'll never defeat the Islamic radicals if they start sprouting extra arms out of the tops of their heads.

WULAD Web Wround-Up

2006-09-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

The Wround-Up returns after a long absence. Why? Because why!

This guy is a really thoughtful and intelligent Catholic priest, and almost makes me wish I hadn't abandoned God a long time ago, and then left a flaming bag of poo on His doorstep. I've actually been listening to a lot of "podde-castes" (as the kids call them) from ABC Radio National, which is like an Australian version of NPR, only less annoying. (The Night Air is also good.)

Apparently some dumb internet chick is really some dumb actress chick pretending to be a dumb internet chick. The world mourns.

In the "F*cking Bastards" Dep't: Former Soviet Republics have agreed to give up their nukes (currently sitting around with "steal me" signs on them) and establish a nuclear-free zone. Our wonderful government opposes it, in case they get of a mind to plant some nukes over there themselves. There is no no-brainer so non-brainy that these anti-no-brainers will not say "no" to it.

I'm sure many people have already directed you to this, and someone must've directed me to it as well, but I can't remember who. But unattributed reguritation is what the internet is all about, so check it out. It may just bring you back to God.

Tribute in Spite

2006-09-12T08:43:00.000-07:00

So everybody's been jumping on Keith Olbermann's dick lately for his bevy of anti-Bush diatribes, but I have to say I'm not that impressed. To me he just comes across as petulant, overly grave, and preachy. (Also, his use of the "hole the ground" as a symbol for Bush's wasted opportunity doesn't really translate, since the clusterfuck surrounding the re-development of Ground Zero and the memorial is classic New York politics and doesn't really have anything to do with Bush.)

It's not that Bush doesn't deserve to be verbally waterboarded at every opportunity; I just happen to think Olbermann is better at celebrating home runs than summoning the disembodied ghost of Edward R. Murrow. (Try to imagine Craig Kilborn delivering the same solemn condemnations.) (Did you like how I managed to use two words with the "mn" dipthong in a row? That's why I'm a rich literary celebrity and you're not.)

Which is not to say Olbemann has no right to get political because he used to be a sportscaster. But I can't help but feel like he's being appointed spokesman for the "silent majority," which bothers me because a) we're not all that silent, and b) nobody asked for my vote. I guess it's just that every other talking head out there is so pathetically horrible that Olbermann looks positively Cronkitian by comparison. I would say, however, that Stewart/Colbert, et al manage to be much more insightful and scathing, even though they've got a laugh track.

You know what? I just made the best argument against this post. Some little funny bit mocking Olbermann's weighty gravitas would've been more effective and entertaining. So here it is:

Phrases I Would Like to Hear Keith Olbermann Say with His Grave, Lecturing Delivery

"Shame on you, Kevin Federline. Popo Zao? More like Popo Shame."
"How dare you, Mr. McFeely? You come to our doorsteps, clad in that blue mockery of a uniform, with your disturbing adult bowl-cut, yammering about 'Speedy Delivery' as if that would decrease by one iota the misery that is life."
"I am reminded of the wisdom of that great treasure trove of Americana, Perfect Strangers, specifically the time when Balki loses his hat. He was so sad. For shame."
"The firemen came and broke through the chimney top—my mother and I were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird, and instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He'd been climbing down the chimney on Christmas Eve, his arms loaded with presents. He slipped and broke his neck; he died instantly. That's how I found out there was no Santa Claus."
"Hey dol, merry dol. Ring a dong dillo. Ring a dong, hop along. Fal lal the willow. Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo. These are words Mr. Bush would be wise to reflect on."
"Remember then, for a moment, these words from our national memory, which ring as true today as they did when first uttered: Dad is great; he gives us... chocolate cake. Good night and good luck."

Quiero Round Egg

2006-09-08T08:03:00.000-07:00

This morning, to celebrate my significant other's final day at her job before moving on to greener pastures, we stopped at McDonald's for breakfast. (She is a big fan of the Egg McMuffin, so we occasionally stop there as a treat. Neither of us likes any of their non-breakfast food.) Usually I do the when-in-Rome thing and get an Egg McMuffin also—and I enjoy them, don't get me wrong, although I find them to be a pale imitation of the rockin' breakfast sandwiches I used to get in New York (like the many bacon, egg & cheese bagels I downed here). But today I decided to buck the system, and try to recreate the glory of breakfast sandwiches past.

McDonald's does in fact have a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Bagel—and although the bagel is puffy and doughy and the bacon is flat, it's not a bad sandwich altogether if, like me, you're 3000 miles from the nearest competent breakfast-sandwich-maker. However, for whatever reason, they took the best part of the Egg McMuffin—the over-hard fried egg—and replaced it with a lame folded sheet of pre-scrambled eggish product. I have no idea why they would do this, other than to "mix it up."

What if, I wondered, you combined the correct non-egg ingredients of the Bacon Egg & Cheese Bagel with the perfectly prepared egg of the Egg McMuffin? Could I create a little taste of New York, albeit a slightly rubbery and pre-fab one?

So while understanding that McDonald's is not the sort of place where you can expect to "have it your way," I thought it was worth at least asking whether this Frankenbreakfast was possible. I approached the subject delicately with our "team member."

"I want a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Bagel, but—"

"One Bacon, Egg & Cheese Bagel," she barked.

"But wait," I added carefully, "you know how the Egg McMuffin uses a different egg? Can I get that kind of egg? Not like the folded scrambled one that's on the bagel."

"You want a scrambled egg?' she asked.

"No, no," I quickly said, "like the Egg McMuffin."

She turned to the line, and said, "Bacon Egg & Cheese bagel... quiere round egg."

It was just that easy. And it was delicious.

2006-09-05T08:27:00.000-07:00

I Know

2006-08-29T08:03:00.000-07:00

Since I've been asked to ride the Junkiness train for another week, posting here at good ol' WULAD will be spotty for a while longer. Have you perused all the time-tested junk in our overflowing archive? Have you?

In the meantime,

be sure to inject your Junkiness daily;
don't confess to any sensational crimes unless you can prove you committed them; and
tell me what's happening in this picture:

Rerun Week: Friday!

2006-08-25T08:28:00.000-07:00

Hey, everybody, Ernest Thomas here filling in for the ghost of Fred Berry (who had a gig at the Illinois State Fair today), with the final installment of WULAD's Rerun Week (brought to you today by Archer Daniels Midland). With any luck, WULAD Editorial Team will be back from their guest-stint at Junkiness on Monday. Until then, sit back, relax, and enjoy...

Top Excuses for Not Updating Blog
...as reported in Zok’s Prehistoric Post-Examiner and Ladies’ Cave Journal, June 2, 500,000 B.C.

Computer buried under two-mile-thick ice sheet
Busy testing theory that saber-toothed cats just want someone to love (FYI—theory now considered in need of revision)
Bandwidth is for shit ever since LaurasiaLink and Gondwanaland Broadband taken over by Pangaea Online
Spent hours crafting lengthy opinion piece about how Neanderthals are only good at dancing and sports, only to have it eaten by computer, which was then eaten by Neanderthals
Tiny protohuman brain have serious problem with HTML and CSS—how Style Sheet work, anyway?
Grog*Spot site-hosting increasingly spotty since Grog discovered fermented mastodon milk
Still scratching head over morning’s appearance of large black monolith accompanied by overbearing and bombastic Strauss score
Stayed out too late at Huey Lewis show
Web server constructed of mud, spit, and bones of giant sloth surprisingly ineffective
Can’t get in the mood ever since iPod eaten by Tyrannosaur—just kidding, Zok know dinosaurs not coexist with cavemen.
Trying to develop new web app to streamline file transfer, but instead keep coming up with strange, hot, orange, smoking thing that burn Zok’s hands
"Clan of the Cave Bear"? More like Clan of the Shitty Neighbors Who Won’t Shut Up All Night!

...More Top Excuses through history here, here, here, here, and here.

Rerun Week: Thursday!

2006-08-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

Whoa! Is it Thursday already? I'm the ghost of Fred Berrys Past, your guide during the stroll down bloggery lane known as WULAD's Rerun Week (brought to you today by Stanley Steemer). If you get the chance during your busy schedules, stop by to see WULAD's creator over at Junkiness—he misses you. Now, on to today's re-edition...

Only Remaining Available Band Names

The Garlic Hairballs
Boswell's Life of Johnson and the Boswellettes
Yomama Bin Laidout
Da Inteztinal Diztrezz Boyz
Vehicular Flanslaughter
Fightin’ 63rd Armored Battalion Gay Band
Plutonium Jockstrap
Screwin’ Puppies, featuring Zamfir
Wile E. Qadhafi's Original Rhythm & Blues Revue
Our Band Name, Which is to Say the Name by Which We Call Our Band (OBNWITSTNBWWCOB)
Navahogasm
Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Codpiece Jesus Jesus
The B0110010101100001tles
Emmett Otter's Double-Penetration Christmas
Koran Koran
Joseph Campbell and the Power of Funk
Matzohdeth

Names Removed from Above List When, Upon Fact-Checking, Discovered to Be Actually Taken

MC Sellout
Eczema
Yellow No. 5
DJ Shithead
The Haircuts

Rerun Week: Wednesday!

2006-08-23T08:16:00.000-07:00

And we're back. I'm the spirit of Fred Berry, your host while we chew the cud of creativity during WULAD's Rerun Week (brought to you today by Ameriprise Financial). While this site's regular host helps to fill in over at Junkiness, we're rolling out the best our bloated archive has to offer. So on to today's installment, which will answer the questions you didn't even know you'd been dying to ask about the fine art of bagelology—so let's do it!

And Don't Get Me Started on the Pizza

Note: This fine graphic is also available in a lovely T-shirt for that special someone in your life or video game life.

Rerun Week: Tuesday!

2006-08-22T08:23:00.000-07:00

Hey hey hey, lovely readers! Fred Berry here from beyond the beyond with another installment of WULAD's Rerun Week (brought to you today by your Tristate Lincoln-Mercury dealers). The dude who runs this site is still doin' his thang over at Junkiness, so we give to you another fine recycled post from way back in January 2005, when our fine president had just been sworn in for another four years of divinely-inspired leadership. And let me tell you, people, I've talked to the Man Upstairs, and he really does talk to Bush all the time. But He does it in Swedish! Ah ha ha, I'll be here all week. And away we go!

Humorous Examples of "Bushisms" in Today’s Inaugural Address by the President

"I hear there's rumors on the Internets that we're going to invade Antarctica, and those rumors are 100% true. I mean false."
"I saw a poll that said the right track/wrong track in Iraq was better than here in America. So get ready for some electrified genitals, people."
"But all in all, it's been a fabulous year for Laura and me and our Shadowy Masonic Masters."
"I think they misunderestimated the will and determination of the Commander-in-Chief, too. The determination to—oh, I don't know... release the ravenous attack dogs!? Just kiddin'."
"You know I don't spend a lot of time thinking about myself, about why I do things. Things like kidnapping Ted Kennedy, stripping him naked and dumping him on my ranch with nothing more than a pointed stick with which to defend himself as I slowly but surely hunt him down like a fat, wounded moose."
"One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Governor, and that one word is 'to be prepared.' Prepared to put the gays in camps."
"When I was a kid I remember that they used to put out there in the Old West a wanted poster. It said, Wanted: Dead or Alive. Like a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. The steel horse of freedom. And you could say that in the past four years I've seen, probably, a million faces. And you could say I've rocked them all."
"There's an old saying that says, fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can't get fooled again. I'm abolishing the constitution."
"Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning to submit to my iron will?"
"I know how hard it is to put bombs on your family."

Rerun Week: Monday!

2006-08-21T08:10:00.000-07:00

"What's Happening!!" people! This is the spirit of TV's Fred Berry, comin' to you live from the great Rob's Place in the sky, with the inaugural installment of WULAD's Rerun Week (brought to you today by the good folks at Pfizer), while the creator of this site fills in over at Junkiness. We gonna start out your week with an oldie but goodie, goes by the name of...

Unsuccessful Spinoffs from the Milk Duds® Franchise

Wheat Duds
Sour Cream & Chive Duds
Chilean Sea Bass Duds
Conceptual Art Duds
L’Duds Au Lait
Gefilte Duds
Milk C.H.U.D.s
NutriDuds with Gingko Biloba
Racial Purity Duds
Antibacterial Duds
Chalk Duds
Goat Milk Duds
Advanced Whitening Duds
Jihad Duds
Andro Duds
Body of Christ Duds
Chemo Duds
Yo Yo Dudz in Da House, Know What I’m Sayin’?
Ritalin Duds
Breast Milk Duds
Poison Oak Duds
Ass Duds

Coming Up: WULAD's Rerun Week!

2006-08-18T08:48:00.000-07:00

Next week, I'll be guest-snarking over at Junkiness ("For Addicts of News, Gossip, and Heroin"), a sexciting newish venture from the creators of such internet hotspots as Haypenny, Utter Wonder, and Kittenpants. Since this will no doubt require me to spend every spare moment trawling the bloated underbelly of celebrity in search of juicy tidbits about Lindsay Lohan's toe fungus, I will be unfortunately unable to grind out the sort of semiweekly hilarity that readers of WULAD have come to expect.

However, the WULAD Wregurgitation Wpatrol has graciously agreed to step in for the duration of my absence, and will be presenting a no-holds-barred, no-stone-unturned, no-new-material-unnoncreated week of near-endless laughs and re-good times, all while paying tribute to the late great Fred Berry (whose spirit is currently streaking across the night sky over the Arctic): that's right, I'm talkin' bout...

Each day, we'll be presenting samples from WULAD's glory days for your reappreciation or re-not-give-a-shit-ation, and with any luck, be back with fresh material the following week, or my name isn't "Mel Chaim Shlomo Abraham Hyman Goldstein Ben Gurion Jingleheimer Gibson."

Enjoy, and be sure to check in on me while I fail miserably at my new (substitute) gig!

Blame It On the Douche

2006-08-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

Today we're going to talk about Milli Vanili. My thoughts on this topic are twofold: first, a brief description of how Milli Vanili obliterated my childish faith in the Grammy Awards; second, how a recent amazing Milli Vanili-related idea of mine demonstrated that truth is both faster and less interesting than fiction.

When the original M.V. scandal broke, I was in 8th or 9th grade, and was dimly aware of the group's existence because of school dances and such, where I no doubt spent most of my time in corners vowing future revenge on those who undervalued my considerable romantic charms. Like many others, I was neither shocked nor interested when it was revealed that the two dreadlocked dudes from the videos (who I assumed were named Milli and Vanili) were not, in fact, the actual vocalists on the recordings. However, I was surprised and disillusioned when the Recording Academy decided to revoke the group's Grammy Awards, which I had foolishly believed to be awarded to the music, rather than commercial packaging and haircuts. Yes, I know, I was an idealistic teenaged loser, but c'mon--they sold millions of albums, and launched countless unwanted pregnancies, with those songs. Surely that had to count for something. But no.

Years passed, Milli or Vanili died tragically, possibly while assisting the INXS guy in autoerotic asphyxiation, and the whole sordid affair passed into the mists of time. That is, until a recent chance reference to M.V. inspired my most brilliant idea ever: somebody recorded those songs that were so successful--let's go find them, get them back into the studio, and unleash the talents of the genuine Milli Vanili on the world stage!

Except they already did that. In 1991. And it tanked.

Also it's possible I've already posted about this. There is nothing new under the blog.*

*Ha!

Take Me Out to the God Game

2006-08-10T08:11:00.000-07:00

In June, USA Today ran a story in which the Colorado Rockies were described as the most Christian baseball team in the major leagues, with prayer meetings, bans on pornography and swearing in the clubhouse, and "a Christian-based code of conduct they believe will bring them focus and success."

"You look at things that have happened to us this year," [General Manager Dan] O'Dowd says. "You look at some of the moves we made and didn't make. You look at some of the games we're winning. Those aren't just a coincidence. God has definitely had a hand in this."

But the Rockies may want to look into whether other deities may be available, since apparently the best the Lord of All Creation is capable of in this day and age is a 55-58 record and 4th place in the National League West, the weakest division in baseball. Hosanna!

Voices of America

2006-08-09T08:18:00.000-07:00

First of all, I'm not thrilled with your deafening silence after the Pop Quiz, not to mention the last three installments of The Bible II. Having said that, WULAD is nothing if not forgiving, so here's another opportunity to get your comment on.

A recent survey found that 30% of Americans were unable to identify the year in which the September 11th attacks took place. (It was 1986.) Here are some other surprising results, none of which were mentioned in the article for some reason:

32% of Americans believe the Earth and Moon revolve around a Jiffy Lube in Paramus, NJ
68%, when asked to name the current Secretary of the Interior, replied "Cheeseburgers"
28% believe that The Bible II: Heretic Boogaloo is the perfect and inerrant Word of REO Speedwagon
46% are unable to complete simple mathematical equations such as the square root of negative infinity and Fermat's Last Theorem
81% believe that children are our future; 67% of those believe that future to be a horrible, poverty-ridden dystopia
18% claim to have had sexual relations with Jesus; 86% of those later discovered to be talking about a Mexican dude
35% confess to having thoughts of drowning the members of Steely Dan in a liquid-vinyl pool of their own melted-down albums
41% can't believe they actually made out with Art Garfunkel, even if it was the 60s and they were totally stoned
87% believe George W. Bush to be an intelligent and competent leader; 92% of those followed up answer with side-splitting laughter, fell to ground
34% believe they can fly, touch the sky; 100% of those found to be mistaken when subjected to high-altitude drop test
92% don't ever wanna die and will believe any old cockamamie hogwash if it prevents them from thinking about it
62% claim to read WULAD diligently; same 62% swear they're "giving up looking at porn for good, starting tomorrow"
100% believe this survey to be misleading; none of those are all not non-incorrect

Got more? I await your displays of chest-beating cleverness.

Pop Quiz!

2006-08-07T08:42:00.000-07:00

Please read the following article from The New York Times, then answer the questions that follow.

It was Fourth of July weekend in Montauk, N.Y., and Ben Watts, a D.J. and photographer, was serving as host of his annual beach blowout at Ditch Plains, a popular surfing area. Although there were plenty of people in hoodies huddled around a fire, this was no humble gathering. Mr. Watts was spinning 80's rock and hip-hop for a crowd that included Russell Simmons; Sean MacPherson, an owner of the Maritime Hotel and the Park restaurant in Manhattan; the Hollywood stylist Philip Bloch; and the actress Naomi Watts, Mr. Watts's sister.

At least a dozen revelers were chugging light pink wine from a bottle. It was Domaines Ott, a French rosé that retails for about $30. Thanks to Mr. MacPherson, who always packs several cases for the weekend, it has become the unofficial drink of the Ditch Plains scene, so common that attendees were referring to it as "D.O." and "the Ott." ...

Rosé wines ... have improved in quality in recent years and been embraced by food and wine connoisseurs. But a new collection of fans have emerged: club-hopping hipsters and tastemakers, who lay in a stash of rosé for parties and ask for it when out on the town. ... "I used to hate rosé," said Alex Kapranos, the lead singer of the rock band Franz Ferdinand and a food columnist for The Guardian in London. "It was a Blue Nun-style secretary's-night-out drink, and that put me off it. But a couple years ago I had a cold bottle on a hot night, and it was marvelous."

... [N]ow, among a certain group of global style setters ordering rosé is a sign of being in the know. Dropping the name of a Provençal rosé like Domaine Tempier can be code for having recently frolicked in St.-Tropez or Cap d'Antibes, where rosé accompanies leisurely seaside lunches.... "The South of France holds a place in people's hearts and psyche as this cool jet-set place," said Jennifer Rubell, the author of "Real Life Entertaining." "Ordering a bottle of rosé back in the U.S. is a subtle sign of belonging to that world."

1. In the article, who makes the statement, "I used to hate rosé"?

A. The lead singer of the rock band Franz Ferdinand
B. Someone who considers himself unbearably smart
C. A pitiable jerkoff who will be sodomized with rosé bottles in Hell for all eternity
D. Art Garfunkel

2. According to the article, Ditch Plains is

A. a popular surfing area.
B. where the U.S. Army plans to bury stockpiles of chemical weapons and remaindered copies of Franz Ferdinand's next album.
C. a good place for a N. Y. Times style writer to meet smelly boys who will put out in exchange for a mention in the paper.
D. Naomi Watts's pet name for her vagina.

3. The article refers to which wine brand as the "unofficial drink of the Ditch Plains scene"?

A. Domaines Ott
B. Night Train
C. Heroin Enema
D. Whichever brand can have two cases and a shemale hooker on my desk by 7

4. When author Jennifer Rubell says, "Ordering a bottle of rosé back in the U.S. is a subtle sign of belonging to that world," which world is she referring to?

A. The world of St.-Tropez or Cap d'Antibes, where rosé accompanies leisurely seaside lunches
B. The world of the Fashion Section of the Times, where meaningless tripe accompanies leisurely self-congratulation
C. The world of Iraq, where roadside bombs accompany leisurely civil war and ethnic cleansing
D. The world up Rubell's butt, where leisurely smugness accompanies her own head

5. The format of this article could be best described as

A. expository.
B. persuasive.
C. literary.
D. vomit-inducing.

6. When Alex Kapranos refers to rosé as "a Blue Nun-style secretary's-night-out drink," he means that

A. secretaries are unbelievably uncool, especially if they're also blue, and nuns.
B. he masturbates to images of Blue Nuns every night.
C. he likes to dress up as a Blue Nun and masturbate to the movie Secretary.
D. you will only ever be a complete failure in life unless you become a club-hopping hipster, get your ass to St.-Tropez, pop open a bottle of rosé, and give a Blue Nun a heroin enema while snorting a pound of coke off Naomi Watts's "Ditch Plains."

ANSWERS: 1) C, 2) D, 3) D, 4) D, 5) D, and 6) D. Give yourself one point for each correct answer; if you scored less than six, you are not invited to Art Garfunkel's party at Ditch Plains next weekend.

Suite for Cello and Supercopter

2006-08-04T08:13:00.000-07:00

Did anybody remember that there was a shot in the opening credits of "Airwolf" that featured Jan-Michael Vincent playing the cello by the side of a river, his hair blowing dramatically in the breeze?

I didn't. No wonder I loved that show. (Watch the full credits in all their Borgninian glory here.)

You know what else is good for Fridays? Reading The Bible II. In a stroke of luck for you, there just happens to be one right below this entry!

The Bible II: The Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue

2006-08-03T08:50:00.000-07:00

THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of GENESIS, Chapter Four (The Platinum Collection Years)

In the previous chapter of tBii:hB, discord came to the Garden of Eden as a rebellious Adam began to discover that his feelings for Eve's hunky older brother, Steve, went further than friendship. Despite peacemaking efforts by the Lord Our God, paradise turned to mayhem as the fury of an Eve scorned resulted in a full-on rumble of Biblical (II) proportions. And now, the thrilling conclusion of... GENESIS!

As the sun began to creep over the horizon, Adam awoke to survey the wreckage of his short-lived domestic bliss. God was passed out in the tub with a towel over his head; Steve lay asleep in a flower bed, with a large wet spot on his battered groin due to a now-melted ice pack; Eve had made a bonfire out of Adam's collection of retro polyester print shirts, which still smoldered weakly in the morning air. Adam vaguely recalled the events of the previous evening and hung his head. "God damn Tuaca Cosmos," he muttered.

After a sullen breakfast of Chee-tos and coffee, the Lord looked across the table at his three companions, none of whom were speaking to one another, and all of whom looked like hell. He decided this was an appropriate moment to reveal a new part of His plan, and perhaps give to them a renewed sense of purpose. All of you, come with me, He said. I want to show you something.

The others slowly got up and, after a minor quibble regarding Adam's proclivity for leaving dirty dishes in the sink (despite the fact that the Dishwasher Bush and the Tree of Clean Plates were three feet away), followed the Lord as He headed out into the Garden, down a path none of them had ever walked before. Soon they came to a beautiful tree, laden with ripe, succulent fruit. The Lord stood before it and addressed them:

Ch-ch-check, check it out, y'all—eating you may eat of every tree in the garden; but of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil you may not eat, for in the day that you eat of it, dying you shall die.

"'Eating you may eat?' 'Dying you shall die?' What the fricking you may frick are you talking about?" asked Adam.

Nevertheless, quoth the Lord, rolling his eyes, That's a big negative on eating from this tree. Ix-nay on the oot-fray. 'Not gonna do it. Wouldn’t be prudent.' Shalting not shall you shalt not.

No sooner were the words out of His mouth than they heard a loud crunch, and turned to see Eve chomping down on a big, juicy piece of knowledge-fruit.

What the fuck?! thundered God.

"Listen, God or whatever your name is," said Eve, wiping the juice from her chin, "You made our asses, and you know that if you put this shit up in the middle of the garden and tell us not to eat it, we damn well gonna eat it. Stupit." And shaking her head, she took another bite, while Adam and Steve picked fruits off for themselves.

"Oh, I so need this fiber right now," said Steve. "These are organic, right?"

Suddenly Eve stopped eating and looked at the others. "Holy shit," she said, her mouth full of fruit. "I can totally see you guys' wieners." And it was true; each of them looked down to discover their own ugly, disappointing genitals. Eve shrugged. "Eh," she said, and resumed eating. The Lord, meanwhile, was pulling at His hair furiously.

You people drive me freaking crazy! You deliberately disobey me! You—He turned to Eve—I will multiply thy sorrows, and thy conceptions: in sorrow shalt thou bring forth children, and thou shalt be under thy husband's power, and he shall have dominion over thee.

"Who, him?" laughed Eve, pointing at Adam. "I don't know if you noticed, Papi, but he don't like so much the girls. Besides, he knows if he tried to tell me what to do, I'd put his peepee in the blender quicker than you could say 'gazpacho.'"

Adam winced and instinctively covered his crotch with a passing marmot. "Look, God," he said, "before you start handing down the curses, listen to me for a second."

The Lord crossed his arms and waited, radioactive steam bubbling out of his ears.

"First of all, you're right, we disobeyed you," Adam began. "You told us not to eat the fruit, we ate the fruit. So sorry about that." God tapped His foot impatiently (which is what caused the Permian Mass Extinction, by the way).

"But you know," Adam continued, "we can sorta see where you're going with this. The whole metaphor-for-childhood thing, you know, where we're young and stupid and everything's provided for us, but then as we get older we learn about sex and death and we're thrown out on our own to fend for ourselves."

"Like when Raj and Rerun got their own place on What's Happening!!," muttered Eve.

"Right, just like Raj and Rerun," said Adam. "And it's a good story, you know, but we'd just as soon skip the drama and move out now, if you don't mind. Steve heard there are beaucoup tech jobs out West—and they've even got civil unions out there—but frankly, the main thing is that this place is starting to bore the crap out of us."

God sighed. Do you all feel this way? He asked. The others nodded.

"I already got my carry-ons packed," said Eve.

Wait, sputtered the Lord. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe we can still work this out. Listen... And the Lord closed his eyes and began to sway as subtle synthesizer sounds flowed from a nearby Karaoke bush. Eve, Adam, and Steve grumbled and waited.

We cannot live together
We cannot live apart
That’s the situation
I've known it from the start
Every time that I look at you
Well I can see the future
'Cause you know I know, babies
That you don’t wanna go.

You’re throwing it all away
Throwing it all away, ay ay
Is there nothing that I can say
To make you change your mind...

"Nope," said Eve, looking at her watch. "It's been real, though. Thanks for the Zima, and for these," she said, grabbing her breasts and winking.

Realizing that His humans, who seemed only days ago to have been unformed blobs of proto-matter, had made up their minds and were really leaving the nest, God resigned Himself and began to think of how best to send them West of Eden.

Very well... Thou shalt take the Holland Tunnel, which is better this time of day. Then—He scratched His chin—Let there be... the New Jersey Turnpike!

And there was the New Jersey Turnpike. And it was... well, it was what it was. The Lord continued, Thou shalt follow the Turnpike to the Garden State Parkway, which shalt lead thou towards Trenton. From there, thou art on thy own.

"Wow," said Steve, turning to the Lord, "I guess this is it. Well, gimme a hug, you almighty bitch." As they embraced, the Lord could not resist a quick squeeze of Steve's firm tush, causing Steve to say, "Oh, you!" and wag his finger playfully.

The Lord God turned and looked at Eve, who was already on her cellphone making weekend plans, and Adam, who was packing the last of his disco records into the trunk of the Datsun. Adam extended his hand, saying, "Don't worry, we'll see each other at Christmas."

That's not for another two thousand years! whined God. Then He sighed and said, Just call once in a while, that's all I ask. And maybe a sacrifice of peace offering, if you offer it of the herd; whether it be a male or female, you shall offer it without blemish before the LORD, and you shall lay your hand upon the head of the offering, and kill it at the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, and the priests shall sprinkle the blood upon the altar...

"Easy now!" exclaimed Adam, "let's just stick with the phone calls, all right? Steve and I will send you some pictures of the baby."

Yeah, about that... mumbled the Lord, well, never mind. You'll figure it out.

As God Almighty watched the Datsun merge on to the West Side Highway toward the tunnel, He contemplated the now-quiet Garden, the empty Zima bottles, the Pete Sampras posters over Adam's bed, and thought wistfully of the days when the world was young, and reduction reactions within the Earth's convecting system of internal heat from radioactive decay combined with gravitational energy and collisional energy from planetesimal bombardment had not yet resulted in production of a metal-rich core and a silicate-rich crust-mantle structure.

Suddenly, God heard a blaring siren, and turned to see a black and white Jeep marked Eden P.D. rumble over a knoll and screech to a halt in front of the Tree of Knowledge.

Oh, Jesus, the Lord groaned to Himself, it's the cops. He cocked His head. Hey, 'Jesus'—I like the sound of that.

"Sir!" barked the patrol officer as he stepped out of the Jeep, "we received a report of a domestic disturbance at the T.O.K.O.G. & E., with a possible Forbidden Fruit Violation and Aggravated Blasphemy. Is everything all right here?"

Oh, my, said the Lord with exaggerated concern, the Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil has been eaten! He paused, then shouted, Round up the usual suspects!

As the police sped away, God noticed that a giant ground sloth had begun grazing on the Tree of Knowledge.

Louie, He said to the sloth, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

"Urrgharrhnnnn," said the sloth, which can be roughly translated as "Oh my God—I’m naked!"

Here endeth the book of GENESIS. Verily, let us all go to the lobby and get ourselves some snacks.

A WULADospheric Exclusive!

2006-08-02T08:18:00.000-07:00

A team of Australian scientists recently produced a spectacular photograph of a rare nacreous cloud while studying the atmosphere over Antarctica.

At least that's the official story.

However, using the latest in Advanced Gizmology and Whizbangetry, the WULAD Science Squad has produced this shocking close-up of the cloud, which reveals, perhaps, something "they" might not want you to see...

How does this discovery influence our long-held beliefs regarding cloud formations, the human soul, or the possible existence of cheeseburgers in the hereafter? I leave those questions to you.

Wrapped Up Like a Hollywood Scoop!

2006-08-01T08:21:00.000-07:00

I'll bet you thought you were done with the Mel Gibson thing! Well, you're not!

WULAD has obtained an exclusive copy of the Special Extended Edition of Mel Gibson's new project, DUI Arrest Transcript II: Eclectic BlameaJew*, in which Mel distributes his drunken vitriol much more democratically to reach members of many other ethnic, racial, and religious groups. Here are some highlights:

[*You know how I declared a moratorium a while back on new "Electric Boogaloo" jokes? I lied.]

"The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world."
“What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?”
"The Norse are responsible for all the boring sagas in the world."
"The gays are responsible for all the gaudiest footwear in the world. Also that guy who played Jesus was hot."
"What do you think you're looking at, cinnamon elbows?"
"Nick Denton is responsible for all the shitty blogs in the world, which I guess means all the blogs."
"The Catholics are responsible for all the hottest schoolgirl uniforms in the world. But the Japanese are a close second. I mean c'mon, now."
"What do you think you're looking at, Nutrasweet® eyebrows?"
"The Armenians are responsible for ruining 'Baywatch.'"
"If there had been a holocaust, the New York Yankees would've been responsible for it, but there wasn't, so they're just overpaid jerks."
"What do you think you're looking at, high-fructose corn syrup vagina?"
"Tina Turner is responsible for all the wars in Bartertown."
"What do you think you're looking at, sun-dried tomato pesto envelopes?"
"Mel Gibson is Gibson for all the Mel Gibson in the Mel."
"The beans are responsible for all the bean/cornbread fights in the world, since they're always knocking cornbread out of sight. I don't care what happens on the corner tomorrow night. F****g beans!"

The Bible II: The Adventure Continues to Continue

2006-07-28T08:07:00.000-07:00

THE NEW OLD TESTAMENT

The Book of GENESIS, Chapter Three (The Mike & The Mechanics Years)

Last week on tBii:hB: After creating the heavens and the Earth and all that other mother jazz, God set up His two favorite kids, Adam Ant and Eve If-I-Want-a-Last-Name I'll-Axe-for-It-Sucka, with a dee-luxe apartment in the sky, featuring all the amenities you'd expect in a primordial paradise. After being alienated by Eve's sassiness, Adam excused himself to look at gazebo paint swatches, leaving the Lord and Eve in the outdoor home theater with nothing to entertain themselves but a "Surviving Nugent" marathon and a fridge full of Zima. And now, our story continueth...

After a few hours and several failed attempts at conversation with the surly and now-monosyllabic Eve (who at the moment was painting her toenails with dinosaur blood), God began to wonder where Adam had gone. So He omnisciented-up the answer and omnipotented Himself over to "Barber O' Eden," a local watering hole where He found Adam sipping a Tuaca Cosmo opposite a dashing bartender with tousled hair and teeth that went on for miles.

"Heyyyyyyyy, there's my good buddy," said Adam as the Lord walked in and began to admire the unusual genie-themed decor. "Listen," Adam slurred, "I want you to meet somebody. What am I saying?! You’re omnis... omission... omnishish... hell, you know who he is."

Uh, of course I do, God thundered. He paused. Um... but you should introduce us formally. He turned to the bartender and, extending His hand, said, I am the Lord thy God.

"Pleased to meet you, big guy," answered the tousled-haired hunk. "Love the beard—it's so 1970s—B.C., of course! But I kid. The name's Steve."

"Steve is Eve's brother!" said Adam, nearly knocking the umbrella out of his drink.

Eve's brother? said God perplexedly. But where did he come from?

"Honey, this is the Bible," Steve shrugged. "People just show up. You start with Adam and Eve and before they even get a chance to get busy you've got a whole bowling league."

The Lord scratched His head and conceded that He worked in mysterious ways—which could account for His decision to create the Datsun 240z thousands of years before the advent of gasoline—and grabbed a stool as Steve began to mix Him a Godsmopolitan, which consists of one part vodka, one part Cointreau, two parts cranberry juice, one oscillating neutron star on a plastic sword, and a twist of lemon.

A few hours and many cocktails later, the three boys stumbled out into the brisk Eden air and began to shuffle, arm in arm, making up songs as they headed back towards Eve & Adam's (which, you’ll remember, is a way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, just before the swerve of shore to bend of bay which brings you by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs, though why you would want to go to that dump is beyond me).

Check this one out, guys, quoth the Lord, and began to sing, She seems to have an invisible touch, yeh!

"What? 'She sees the hat and isn't gonna touch it?' What the pre-Hell is he talking about?" laughed Adam, though he couldn’t help but notice the telltale warmth of Steve’s hand, which had somehow crept into the back pocket of his jeans. God, meanwhile, strode on ahead obliviously, warbling on about Lands of Confusion and Lambs on Broadway. Eventually the trio found themselves back at "the Pad," where the Lord began to noisily make pancakes. Suddenly, the sound of a horrific voice caused God to drop his batter on the kitchen floor in fright:

"You better have a You-damn good reason for makin’ this kinda racket at 3:30 in the freaking morning, you Almighty son of a bitch!"

Eve stood in the doorway, her face a terrifying visage of night-cream-covered rage.

"Listen, you crazy bitch," interjected Adam, “Leave God alone! I've had just about enough of your abuse! I need my freedom!”

“Freedom?! You need freedom?” shouted Eve. "You ain't even consummated your damn marriage yet, and you already talking ‘bout freedom. You got responsibilities here!"

"I don't want to marry you!" Adam wailed as tears streamed down his face, "I want to marry Steve!" Eve’s eyes widened with fury as she leapt across the room, knocked Adam on the ground, and began raining blows on his face. Steve jumped to Adam’s defense but cringed as he inadvertently landed crotch-first on Eve’s flailing elbow. Then the Lord jumped into the fray, and things went downhill from there.

Here endeth Chapter Three. Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion of... GENESIS!

Ye Olde WULAD Mail-Bagge, vol. MXCVII

2006-07-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

I realized this morning that it had been quite a while since I opened up Ye Olde WULAD Mail-Bagge, so I hopped over to the soon-to-be-relocated WULADmail account to see what sort of digital detritus and electronic effluvia had accumulated in the internettal interim.

Aside from some helpful pharmaceutical advice from my good buddy "pjxki9yn@valleyint.com," I also had several emails from Dale, a Minnesota-based watchmaker-in-training and website-proprietor who has a fondness for naked women and a non-fondness for Christians. The first item he passed on to me was this:

I can only assume that, while realizing the comic potential of the unusual juxtaposition of headline and photograph, Dale was hesitant to make light of the tragedy reflected in the actual content of the image, but realized that I, on the other hand, have no such compunctions (especially while guest-hosting on someone else's site). Personally, I believe it's possible to feel sympathy for the families of civilian war casualties, while simultaneously imagining that the woman in the picture is screaming and waving her hands in horror (or is it celebration?) that a baby's third arm has been removed. ("Give me three-armed babies or give me death!", and so on.)

Tension--it's what the modern sense of humor is all about. Just ask popular comedians like Damon Wayans and Patton Oswalt's wife.

Dale's second tip concerned the recent one-sided war of words between the members of the 1970s rock group Steely Dan and Luke and Owen Wilson regarding the possible plagiarizing of a song plot from said band for a new hit comedy featuring one of said Wilsons in a thong. WULAD Wregulars may remember that every time I hear a Steely Dan song I want to punch somebody--but I realized, reading this tidbit, that I was being too generous: it's not just hearing the songs. Every time I so much as think of Steely Dan I want to punch somebody. Think about it--Steely Dan. Don't you feel a surge of violence growing in your gut? Don't you just want to smash something over somebody's head? I think this is the sort of thing Mr. Dan & Co. should be worried about--not whether one or more Wilsons may have turned some crappy song that never should have been written into some crappy movie that never should have been made.

That about does it for this week's edition of Ye Olde WULAD Mail-Bagge! Do you have a question, concern, or hot tip for the WULAD Editorial Team? Send it along to [acronym for this website] [at symbol] [abbreviation for America On Levitra] [period] [first three letters of "comedy"]. Good luck with that one, you fuckin' Spambots!

I, the Floating Head of Miss Universe, Will Destroy You!

2006-07-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

(Further hi-tech floating head horror here.)