Nothing Worse.

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My greatest fear has always been the prospect of having some trauma or some injury that turns me stupid. As it stands now, I am no towering intellect; I was once fooled into thinking that The Love Boat was actually the USS Nimitz. Regardless, I am chilled to the bone at the prospect of a post-injury SinisterDan who would be incapable of understanding the present SinisterDan; I’d hate to ever be incapable of telling that I’m not a very good writer.

This was going to be the focus of this post. After all that brain damage angle is some funny shit.

I changed the topic not because came to my senses, but because I have a headache. Actually, I just don’t have a headache, I have a migraine. If you are now saying, “A migraine is a headache” then I’d invite you to take a moment to inject Windex into your neck with a shovel.

I have two major migraine symptoms; pain and hate. The pain is obvious. As a result in the fluctuations of vascular pressure, there is a defined line of white hot pain that runs from behind my left eye, back through my head and into the top of my left shoulder. Light hurts, movement hurts– well, every damn thing hurts. Typing this post is excruciating, but between you and me, I’m guessing that it’s worse for you.

When I am in this level of discomfort, I hate nearly everyone and everything. The obvious exceptions are my children (I simply find them to be clouds of pure, deafening chaos) and my wife (it is only her good graces that permit my ongoing crapulence).

But the rest of you are in pretty deep pudding. Seriously, Jim, watch it.

I don’t hate you all personally of course, but I do hate you. Each of you, probably without knowing, are causing the vibration of air molecules through your bodily motion and generally being alive. These molecules chain react and strike the pain wire in my head. The fact that you don’t know about this only makes it worse.

And you’re ugly.

The cat purred at me, so I punched it. Moving my arm hurts, so then I punched myself in the face. I really hate the Quakers right now.

Since I’m an idiot, I’m watching TV and writing at the same time while I have a migraine. The eye-to-shoulder pain wire is now humming along with alarming efficiency and I think that I’m about thirty minutes away from a stroke.

As I’ve been typing, I’ve flipped through the channels to find five normally innocuous subjects that I must presently, because of my deplorable condition, despise.

1. Barack Obama; Normally, I would be glad that Senator Obama gave a speech that has, according to most pundits, solved all racial problems in the world forever. Well, there’s one problem he hasn’t solved: my migraine. I hate all races, all speeches about race, and all speeches by Senators. I even hate all of the world’s nations that either have Senators or do not. Yes, this enmity and rage includes sports teams called ‘Senators’, in case you were wondering.

2. Jamaica; I just saw a commercial encouraging all of us to travel to Jamaica and spend our money on their stuff. I kind of liked this commercial, because if true, it seems that really attractive, bikini-clad women shower together on Jamaican beaches. However, the bikinis are brightly colored, and now I hate them too. Also, the pit of mind-bending fury that I hold for Jamaica only deepens as I imagine myself there, sweltering in the Caribbean sun. So stimulated, my pain wire causes my head to explode. Thanks, but no thanks, Jamaica; you can go to hell.

3. John McCain; I’m not trying to be political when I say this, but I want to tear his jowls off and scream at him to shut up. I’ve got a really bad migraine and I don’t need to hear his stupid, old ass keep confusing Iran and Iraq. Do what Ronald Reagan did when his stupid, old ass needed to speak; read a terrible speech about a shining city and call it a day.

4. The Indiana Jones sequel; I shouldn’t need to explain this.

5. Gordon Ramsay; I already hated him, but the migraine is not the best advocate for moderation. How has this man not gotten most of his face cooked off on a gas burner already? While I’m sure he’s a great chef (or not) he is only famous for yelling at people. Without the migraine, I’d toss him into the salamander by the time he got halfway through his second exceptionally accented and falsely amplified f-bomb. With the migraine, I’d make him give Jamie Oliver an open-mouthed kiss, and then burn his face off.

Too much?

Who cares? I’m going to bed.

Pain Relief? You Need Humor-Blogs.com !!

Get Some Science, Stupid!

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Thanks to science, you can read this blog, build a particle collider in your yard or watch streaming digital video of David Hasselhoff, drunk off his ass, eating a cheeseburger on the bathroom floor.

Science, ironically, allows for the creation of Wikipedia.

Science is the great provider of the post-Christendom era. Germ theory, industrial capacity and the very infrastructure of our society have their basis in science. Now you may very well be an anti-intellectual, Luddite, but if you are and you are also reading this, then you also are kind of a hypocrite, who knows? Well, for you, I guess that God knows…so there we are.

This space was going to be used to wittily ponder some amazing discovery by the Nerd Brigade in the name of science and greater human knowledge. Sadly, it turns out that your humble scribe is too stupid to do that. Much too stupid.

Serious science writing requires talent and an unfortunate abundance of stuff that you learned while not skipping all of your high school classes and not drinking too much before seminars during grad school. As the 2.3 readers of this blog know, some of us have little use for talent and no inclination whatsoever for facts that do not originate in our own butt, or in the butt of a trusted adviser.

To do science writing, a person must have a broad conceptual base of technical knowledge that encompasses slide rules, dinosaur droppings and massive vector bosons.

Two of those things are entirely mysterious and ‘massive vector bosons’ just sounds naughty. Perhaps, upon sober second thought, the casual observer will give up on being a real science writer who writes about real science (…while you consider that, please click on humor-blogs.com because frankly, I deserve it…).

Moving on, that same casual observer might be able to write about bad science instead. Yes Jim, they just might.

The prudent reader asks: “If you, SinisterDan, are unqualified to write about science how could you possibly have the critical skills needed to distinguish between cogently researched material and the thinnest veneer of pseudo-scientific technobabble?”

Well, the prudent reader should go pound sand for asking such a question. But like the purveyors of bad science some of us are full of shit and as such, know what it smells like.

(…by way of an apology to this blog, click on humor-blogs.com – seriously, I’m dying over there…)

To wit, let us consider homeopathy.

Homeopathy is the belief that small amounts of substances that cause symptoms similar to what ails you will cure you. Poison Ivy could be used to cure a rash, or Amy Winehouse DNA could cure you from being a drunken, heroin zombie. What’s more, since some of these things can be dangerous, homeopaths sensibly require that the solutions be diluted. Please note that “dilute” is being used here in the same sense, that when speaking of crack cocaine, we note that it is “mildly habit forming”.

In some instances of “serial dilution” the ingredient has been watered down to the point where it is unlikely to even be in there.

But don’t worry, the water (or whatever) retains the memory of the active ingredient even after it’s gone. It should be noted that a prominent British scientist calculated that one molecule in every liter of water in the UK had likely passed through the bladder of Oliver Cromwell. To the credit of homeopaths, this Cromwell Preparation has been has huge success; no one been diagnosed with Rump Parliament Disorder in over 350 years.

Solutions retain memory of the active ingredients because of some kind of vibration energy and quantum mechanics. How could you not know that? I am shocked—SHOCKED —that you did not know that.

It’s always frikkin’ quantum mechanics. Quantum mechanics are to bad science what girls kissing is to porn.

Don’t have any better idea: Sindy, Foxxxy? Please show us your bosons…

Thankfully, much of this is pretty harmless, and when you rub homeopathic wax on your forehead, it will make you feel better at the same rate as any other placebo.

But its not all harmless. There are still those who will sell it to people with autoimmune disorders and asthma patients. Of course, no harm could come from giving people quantum energized sugar pills so that they don’t suffocate. Others, likely the Field Marshals in the Army of Crapulence, will tell you that vibrated tap water will increase your chances of beating cancer.

There is not a pit of shame deep enough. Well, there is, but I already made one Amy Winehouse reference.

Also, your humble scribe, as a result of having practiced careful homeopathic campaigning is now the Democratic nominee for the President of the United States. Sadly, in the absence of current research, homeopathic donations will not be accepted.

After all, that’d be stupid.

The Best Medicine (except for antibiotics) is Humor-Blogs.com !!

Batman versus the Democrats.

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I didn’t want to write this but in reviewing some of the blogs that I’ve committed against you, I realized that this was sadly inevitable. About ten months ago, I wrote the definitive early assessment of the Republican presidential primary: Batman versus the Republicans.

In looking back at that post, it seems that all I really did was explain how President The Batman would be far superior to any of the Republican alternatives. Since this consisted of President The Batman handing out Presidential Vicious Beatings with his idiomatic combination of violence and stealth, I don’t think we need to cover that ground again.

Also, since the biggest issue for the Dems appears to be the sitting President, the Batman would simply need to crumple George W into a heap with a spine-fracturing scissor-kick. I’m objecting to this on the grounds that such an action would be wrong.

…wrong for The Batman…

I made some notes while watching the last debate between the final pair of Democrats before the definitive and impending vote on Super Tuesday. If I’m not funny, that’s why.

…tedious…predictable…pointless…

And the candidates weren’t great either. It’s all very nice, friendly slightly saccharine and non-threatening. Under the table, I think Clinton and Obama were holding hands…or fending off Bill.

This is not a race fit for The Batman; presented with this dilemma, The Batman would simply move on and go beat the crap out of some hippies. This isn’t even a race for the stupid Electric Superman or even Aquaman, who’s the really obvious choice.

This is a race for Captain Marvel.

After all, in a race where one candidate wants to be her husband and the other hopes to be John Kennedy, you really need a superhero who is just an unimaginably lame clone of Superman. It’s also noteworthy that Hillary’s pantsuits would be similar to the Captain Marvel uniform if she started wearing capes. I’m not 100% sure about this, but I also think Fox News made a big deal out of the fact that Barack Obama’s middle name is Shazaam.

Captain Marvel lacks an obvious focus; he’s not the mysterious vigilante fighting to avenge his murdered parents. Captain Marvel is a creepy man-boy hybrid who really just serves as the biznitch for some old guy who claims to be a wizard and lives in a cave (hint: imagine Tom Cruise in 20 years…).

Worst.
Analogy.
Ever.

Polling the Electorate is Safe and Easy at Humor-Blogs.com !!

The Enemy Within.

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I have an internal organ. Actually, it turns out that I had more of them than I’d thought and at least one of them is broken. Further, despite looking through my wallet and the mass of papers in the kitchen cabinet over the sink, I could not find a warranty for this organ.

Currently, I’m at war with my gall bladder.

For those of you who don’t know, the gall bladder is well…a bladder that contains, or may contain, something. My guess is that ‘something’ is a tiny Garden Weasel that can cause immense intestinal pain at four in the morning.

When this happened, I awoke and calmly assessed the situation. I dispassionately listed my obvious symptoms and then looked at the best alternatives to resolve the issue. Under no circumstances did I run downstairs, stand in the doorway of the bathroom and go “BLEEEAAARRRGGGHHH!” as tears streamed down my cheeks.

After not moaning like an orgasmic baboon I realized that something was wrong and decided to head to the hospital. To place this in perspective, it needs to be noted that I don’t live in the middle of nowhere; I live on the outskirts of nowhere – to get to the middle of nowhere I need to put the keys in the ignition. Under normal circumstances, the drive from my house to the hospital takes about 30 minutes but this was a little different. This trip alternated between speeds of 160kph when I was merely in excruciating pain and lows of 2kph when I thought that my torso explosion was imminent.

While the next part is a blur I do remember that they gave me morphine – oh yes, Jim; morphine.

Sweet, sweet morphine… If you haven’t tried it, you haven’t lived.

While I don’t know all the highly confusing facts or truth about what happened, apparently my gall bladder is manufacturing aluminum ingots. Deep down in my guts, these ingots will randomly explode when exposed to the delicious pork gravy in my blood.

Such an event, the gall bladder attack, is a glandular act of war that has no proper remedy except to have the rotter torn loose from my meaty assemblage. I will request, in homage to kung-fu movies, to see it while it still beats. If it beats…I’m not a doctor.

There will be tests, weeping and blood. Well, tests for sure.

Oh, and all this cost me 13$ for some Percocet. Eat it, America.

No Medicine For You Unless You Visit Humor-Blogs.com !!

Ream My Meme.

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Normally ignoring the trends of the interwebs with my blog…other than, you know, having a blog in the first place…I long ago swore that I would never do a meme.

Or a mime, but that went out the window in university.

I have an foolishly long list of blogs that I visit and atop that list is the work of my blogging patriarch, Paul Gorbould over at Gor[b]. Now admittedly, Paul is not a member of the secretive humor-blogs syndicate, and he got the meme from over at Culture Kills, but he’s still okay in my book. Currently, that book is a re-issue of The Turner Diaries, so you may want to take that with a grain of salt.

The meme is ‘Make a Band’, or ‘Make an Album’ depending on who you ask.

The steps are simple:

1. Go to Wikipedia and hit the random page function; this is the name of your band.

2. Similarly, go to QuotationsPage.com and take the last four words of the very last quote; this will be you album title.

3. Finally, go to this link at Flickr and use the third image; this is your album cover.

The results are alarmingly impressive and confirm that the people who made album covers were third rate hacks who never understood really Hemingway and just smoked too much weed.

Here’s what Paul made:

Matt from Culture Kills hits a home run as the beneficiary of a great photo from Flickr:

Seeing these I felt very good about running this down into a half-post. But it was then that the thing got really, really weird.

Seriously, this is on the upper limit of probability calculus.

Anyway, the freak-fest started when I went to Wikipedia and sought out a random page. I got Leon Trotsky. This struck me as pretty neat; I knew people in university who would have named their band Leon Trotsky had they owned an instrument and had any talent other than buying heavy, black sweaters.

Then I went to QuotationsPage.com and found my quote. I cannot tell you the pure burst of gobsmackery that ensued when the quote was from; you guessed it, Leon Trotsky. The original random quote isn’t there anymore, but I found it here at BrainyQuote.com.

“Where force is necessary, there it must be applied boldly, decisively and completely. But one must know the limitations of force; one must know when to blend force with a maneuver, a blow with an agreement.”

I paused for a few minutes before looking up the random images on Flickr. Now I am not a superstitious man, but I honestly feared that if I went to Flickr I would be drawn into a technology driven coincidence thriller that would inevitably have Sarah Michelle Gellar in it.

I don’t see an upside in all of that.

But it struck me as unusually odd that anyone would have a picture of Leon Trotsky on Flickr, and even less likely that I would find it on a random hit.

Anyway, this is my result, the spookiest damn thing ever and the reason why I never do a meme;

Now I need to go and lay down.

I’ll Steal Your Car If You Don’t Visit Humor-Blogs.com !!

New Hampshire: Not Important Very Often.

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I’ve been watching American Presidential elections with the single mindedness of three-pouch-a-day Tang addict since 1992. In that time, I have become really, really tired of New Frikkin’ Hampshire. Seriously – the Granite State primaries can drink plumbing seepage as far as this impartial and aloof commentator is concerned.

Plumbing seepage with a skin on it…

Otherwise, I like New Hampshire. As a Canadian, I find the lack of sales tax both delightful and a little creepy. However, once every four years this little bump of a state becomes the center of the electoral universe and the only fuel in the tank of the 24/7 Cable News Hole.

The worst part of all of this is that New Hampshire is not always a key to victory, except when it is. It’s true that almost every candidate who wins Iowa and New Hampshire usually wins the nomination; but let’s think about that bit of greasy wisdom for a second: if you win the first two elections, your chances of winning more of them are very good.

It should be noted that if you fall down two stairs, you may roll down all of them. Thanks, Gandalf.

You SHALL NOT PASS!! Sorry.

So New Hampshire is really the key to an area adjacent to the kingdom – remember that girl from high school with the really big boobs that you wanted to fu…ahem…to date? Well, New Hampshire is her pal with bad hair and orthopedic sweaters who tells her that you have head lice.

Both the Democrats and the Republicans will go forward regardless of what happens in New Hampshire, and they will probably do so in basically the same order that they entered. But since I’m feeling tricky, let’s break this down so you know what I knew would happen before it did.

I guess I should finish this before the polls close.

1. Barack Obama will win New Hampshire by about 10 points as everyone predicted (or not). Upon winning, Senator Obama will give a speech about change and hope. We hope for change, and we change so that we might hope. We hope that the attention span of the voters does not change or else Mr. Obama may need to eventually have a point. Soon after this speech he will repair broken watches with a smile, make sweet love to both Oprah and Dr. Phil and then get to work on finishing the Grand Unified Theory before midnight. Remember, if you vote for Obama, you will no longer need yeast or sugar to make bread. Yes Jim, he is that good.

2. Hillary Clinton will lose and not understand why New Hampshire humans persist in not voting for her like she told them. Hillary Clinton will declare that she is on the comeback trail even if she loses by 32 points, her headquarters burn down and former President Bubba has an act of carnal knowledge with a wedding cake during her time at the podium.

3. John Edwards will tell you a very sad story about someone who died, followed up by a heartening tale of pithy survival about someone who also died, but voted for John Edwards before they did. He will also explain why he hates corporations – in a fit of confusion, Mr. Edwards will beat his pharmacist with a club.

4. Bill Richardson will negotiate with himself.

On the Dark Side;

1. John McCain will win by three or four points (or not) and claim that he is back on the rise while he fires up the Straight Talk Express into three States that he cannot possibly win.

2. Mittens “Mitt” Romney will not win, but he will sell you shingles that tell you that he did. He’ll also explain that everyone is out to get him and that despite being an awful automaton bred with well-coiffed rodents, that you should make him your first entirely synthetic President.

3. Mike Huckabee will do better than expected and his speech will consist of nothing more than Chuck Norris doing 67 year old spin kicks while the former Arkansas Governor plays Black Dog on the bass guitar. One or both of them may be nude. Neither of them will realize how lame it is to have Chuck Norris on your side.

4. Ron Paul’s supporters, regardless of the outcome will continue to scamper around scaring the hell out of everyone like the vomiting zombies from 28 Days Later.

Good for them.

So long, New Hampshire. Hopefully my resentment will have cooled by 2012. But don’t bet on it.

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