Hell on Earth: A Belated Easter Present

Back in February I foretold the coming apocalypse with such surety that my name changed to Ron the Revelator. Unfortunately, the world hasn't exploded yet so Ron the Revelator has been dropped for more appropriate names like man-child, lazy, and useless. Regardless of what my wife says about me, I still believe that the world will end in the future. See? It's easy to be a prophet! Anyway, I'm briefly rehashing that previous post because I want my readers to know that two posts touching on religion (including this one) doesn't mean that I'm starting a doomsday cult. Even though I am well-spoken and very (very) charismatic you must remember that I am located in Utah where many of the residents already enjoy their particular flavor of Kool-Aid. Cheers!

Now that you know I'm not trying to brainwash you into joining a new and very hip doomsday cult, you are ready to learn about this week's topic: Hell. Hell is a very interesting concept because its nature largely depends upon what religion is giving the description. The problem of subjectivity is difficult to overcome because no one (no one reliable anyway) has ever gone to Hell and reported back their findings. By the term "no one reliable" I mean war correspondents such as Chris Hedges, Evan Wright, and Edward R. Murrow. Aside from these yellow journalists, Hell is mostly experienced by dead people that have done something wrong while alive or living people that have completely and utterly lost the social lottery (think nearly everyone on the African continent).

Social lottery winners Bernie Madoff and what looks to be Meg Ryan
closing in on their final destination: Hell.

For brevity's sake, if we are to consider Hell we must do so from the broadest and most popular view which says that Hell is a really, really bad place that you go to for eternity. Hell will contain people that you know of like Donald Trump, Stephanie Meyer, and Gandhi, as well as many people that you don't, like most of your neighbors, your elected officials, and probably your parents. According to most early theologians Hell is located somewhere beneath the Earth's surface, but based on what I've seen, I think it's a bit closer to the surface (I'm looking at you Hell, Michigan, pop. 266). There are other interesting facts about Hell that I'm sure many of you are unaware of like:

Hell has cheerleaders called Hellcats. These Hellcats root for the various sports teams representing Hell's favorite institution of higher learning: Lancer College. While Lancer isn't poised to become the Ivy League's newest member anytime soon, it is ranked slightly higher in graduation percentage than Faber College, mainly because it took John Belushi so long to earn his degree. Lancer is also ranked higher than the lowly Grand Lakes University where even Rodney Dangerfield can graduate (but Grand Lakes has a much better diving team). Unfortunately, Lancer ranks significantly lower than Pacific Tech because that's where Val Kilmer and Gabriel Jarret developed the world's largest popcorn popper.

A five-megawatt laser is better than your microwave at popping popcorn.

Just like any secular cheer squad, the Hellcats have a motto: "Being here doesn't mean you belong." This motto demonstrates that the people in charge of admittance to the squad are just as competent as the people in charge of our criminal justice system. The motto also inherently promotes hazing because, apparently, you don't belong if you're above a size zero like that porker Ali Michalka who's so fat she can't even hide behind a microphone stand. Gag me with a spoon. I'm not exactly sure who created this motto, but since the Hellcats are found on the CW right after America's Next Top Model, I blame Tyra Banks more than I blame the Devil himself, or even Kaiser Soze.

And I was all, "Don't eat that carrot!" And she was all, "Like, I'm hungry!"
And I was like, "But you're so fat!" And she was like, "Okay."

Another interesting fact about Hell is that it has angels. Sure, it sounds like a very disturbing theological contradiction but you can do whatever the hell you want in Hell, or you and your musician buddy can try to defeat Satan in a "rock off" behind a bar. Satan will pay your rent if you win, but may take your buddy as his sex hostage if you lose. Anyway, there are some subtle differences between the more-popular Heaven's angels and the denim-clad Hells Angels. The obvious difference is that the Hells Angels eliminate the apostrophe to make everyone think that I don't know how to write (good one, Satan), but the deprecated apostrophe is really about letting everyone know that there are "many versions and forms of Hell" which you can learn about on their website. Other differences: the Hells Angels might not have Paul Bettany and super-cool angel wings, but they do have cocaine and super-loud motorcycles. In a surprising twist, no matter how hard the Hells Angels try -- or how bad of a job they do covering security at a Stones' concert -- they will never be as scary as the angels God uses to destroy most of the world in Revelations.

Apart from cheerleaders and angels with outstanding warrants, Hell also has something called Devils Tower. This super-cool rock formation is found in northeastern Wyoming and has roughly 400,000 visitors every year including Richard Dreyfuss, space aliens, and, obviously, the Devil. I say "obviously" not because the tower is named after the Devil, but because of the general malaise and confusion that once again surrounds the absent apostrophe in its title. Apparently, Satan's grammarian (best band name ever!) has a second job with the USGS because he's purposefully dropped that handy bit of punctuation from nearly every place name in their registrar. This instance of the deprecated apostrophe coupled with the Hells Angels' aversion to it creates so much grammatical confusion that people begin to use  - it's - and - its - interchangeably, and sometimes even - its' - which automatically tells any reader with an I.Q. above a shoe that the writer is a moron.

This means something. This is important.

While it seems perfectly obvious to me that Devils Tower is Satan's favorite national monument, historians dispute that Satan has anything to do with the tower because, as they claim, the name is wrong. In 1875, while Colonel Richard Dodge was speaking with a local Lokata tribe, the interpreter mistakenly said that the tower was called "Bad God" Tower instead of its actual Native-American name "Bear Lodge." But anyone with any sense can see the Devil's handiwork here. Only someone possessed to the point of earning a starring role in the Exorcist would turn the words "Bad God" into "Devil." They either fail to realize that God can't do bad things like support rape, slavery, and murder, or forget the tenets of Greek Mythology that emphasize the idea that Gods can do crazy immoral stuff like commit adultery, have sex with your sister, and release the Kraken, and still remain Gods. One or two bad acts don't make Gods into Devils because if they did, it would be impossible to adequately explain contemporary religions.

Hell has a bunch of other stuff as well like cities in California, the Cayman Islands, and Satan's favorite vacation spot: Norway. Hell also has a kitchen with a chef that's so evil he might take Satan's job. There's a Hellboy; Hell cow; Hell driver. You can find all of the pretty things there. T-shirts are there. Dante and Virgil briefly visited there. Pinhead is there. Samurai vampire bikers are there. Carrie is there. You can be dragged there. Richard was named after it. They serve beer there. You can get invited there. Nymphoid barbarians are there. Hell is on wheels. Hell has its own house. Hell has a mayor. Hell has a night. Hell has gates. The White Stripes want you to catch it. AC/DC want you to drive your cars on it and ring bells there. Pink Floyd wants you to run to it. Yngwie Malmsteen wants to see you in it. Kiss gives you the option of high water. Meatloaf wants to be a bat there. The Clash want you to go straight there. Pat Benatar thinks children belong there. Sometimes you can be hell bent for leather or Hell can come to Frogtown. Don't forget that the Devil is the supreme ruler of Hell so anything the Devil gets Hell does too like: Sympathy; a playground; rejects; a triangle; a violin; eggs; an advocate; a haircut; Prada; his own; and, saving the best for last: food cake. Happy belated Easter!

Hell has a motel, too. Wearing a pig's head and
wielding a chainsaw help the guests feel at ease
before they're dismembered.

Taxi Driving President

There are many jobs to be had in America -- just not that many right now -- but there are jobs none the less. A quick perusal of the "help wanted" section has positions open for cereal box author, bad breath smeller, and man back waxer (good band) but, unfortunately, you must have a very special skill set to obtain these jobs. For instance, I don't have what it takes to write sentences like "Hint of brown sugar," or "Does your breakfast make you amazing?" or "Contains: milk, wheat." I also know I don't have what it takes to smell another human being's bad breath because bad smells make me gag and eventually vomit. And the only thing less fun than vomiting is cleaning up vomit (usually because cleaning up vomit causes one to vomit more which is called "vomit circularity," if you're wondering).

There are other job openings as well: just this week, for instance, McDonald's expanded its workforce by offering 50,000 new openings in various restaurants across the country. While this act makes McDonald's look like the Jesus of multi-national corporations when compared to Monsanto, Pfizer, and Coca Cola, the low starting pay would keep even Mike Rowe away. It could be worse, however: I hear that there are still plenty of openings for armpit sniffer, turd burner, and livestock masturbator.

It seems like all the really cool jobs never have any openings, and if they do, you need to know someone on the inside to even score an interview. Or worse, you find yourself under-qualified for a job you were perfect for, or over-qualified for a job you didn't want in the first place. Or, perhaps you didn't get any of the jobs that your stepfather (or dad) wanted you to get because you wore a tuxedo and farted during the interview. Whatever the case may be, failing to get a job you want is heartbreaking, and even worse, watching someone incompetent land an important job is frustrating.

Take the most important job ever: President of the United States of America. There have been 44 presidents since 1789, some more effective than others. An effective president must embrace special interest groups, kowtow to campaign contributors, and keep all extramarital affairs secret until the biography. They must also do presidential stuff like wear suits, make speeches, and somehow manage not to fulfill a single campaign promise. With all that in mind, the stuff that constitutes a good/bad president seems to be subjective to party affiliation and most important, their alma mater.

It just so happens that talking about presidents and stuff is timely since party nominations are on the horizon. President Obama will most likely be the front runner for the Democrats, but the Republican nomination is anyone's guess. Right now, Republican buzz centers on Romney, Huckabee, and possibly Trump and Palin. On Facebook I joked that Palin, Trump, and Romney are a Republican political vacuum, which earned zero comments and only one "like." Conversely, an earlier comment regarding the demise of daytime television received seven comments and two "likes" which obviously means that America values Susan Lucci more than the GOP. It also means that we need a candidate more capable, likable, and exciting than any of our current options.

Of course finding a candidate that embodies these characteristics is difficult. Take current GOP front runner Mitt Romney. Romney seems capable enough since he implemented health care in Massachusetts so universal it makes Obama's health care plan look Republican. But let's not focus on something so ridiculous as accomplishments -- this is politics, after all -- but on what really demonstrates political aptitude: the title of your book.

In No Apology: The Case for American Greatness, Romney details this, that, and the other. I really wouldn't know because I haven't read it, but the title implies that America doesn't need to apologize to other nations for things like Iraq, the Kyoto protocol, and dropping the bomb. It may also imply that America shouldn't have apologized to its own citizens like Native-, Japanese-, and African-Americans for the unnecessary harm they were caused, or that there will be no apology for things like Fred Phelps, Joseph McCarthy, and Dina Lohan. America is great, even while committing atrocities.

It seems as though Mitt's book title falls a bit short in the political aptitude category (or a bit long in the pride category, whatever you prefer) but can he make up the difference in the likability category? Well, as many of you have already experienced, there is really only one method of determining likability with any kind of scientific accuracy: Facebook. According to Facebook, between Romney's own page and the unofficial pages spawned by his followers, er, supporters, he totals right around 8.5 million "likes." By comparison, Obama leads the "likes" category with 19.4 million.

That only leaves the excitability category, which has George W. Bush doing blow and murdering prostitutes for a benchmark. Unfortunately, Romney reaches his limit of excitability by skipping church once a year, seeing a PG-13 movie, or drinking an apple beer. I'm quite certain that we will never find a video on Youtube titled "Mitt Romney punches a cop" or "Mitt Romney loses his shit" or "Mitt Romney really f***** up that pimp." He's just not that type of guy. Perhaps the country needs someone that's not afraid to punch a cop if said cop gets mouthy during a traffic stop. Maybe the occasional shit-losing would be for the betterment of this great nation. What if the President of the United States actually f***** up a pimp or two every now and then? If you like that, you'll love De Niro for President.

It's not that far fetched of an idea (Donald Trump, anyone?) considering the absolute circus (Sarah Palin, anyone?) campaigning, and politics in general have become, or has everyone already forgot about Ronald Reagan? He was an actor and then held some lowly government job in California before becoming president. And Reagan only had charisma on his side. De Niro brings another dimension to the role. But we don't want average, everyday De Niro for President; we want Goodfellas and Casino De Niro. We want Raging Bull and Mean Streets De Niro. We certainly don't want any of the Meet the Fockers De Niro or the Awakenings or the Marvin's Room De Niro. And, please, whatever you do, don't give us This Boy's Life or Frankenstein De Niro. Only the Oscar worthy stuff, thank you very much.

Some of you may still be skeptical, as if this isn't a serious proposal. Well, what would you think if I suggested Joe Pesci as Vice President? Sound any better? I thought so. Talk about bringing more depth to a role. Sorry, Biden, but you are clearly out-toughed on this one (not like out-toughing Biden is difficult). But only if we get Goodfellas and Raging Bull Pesci. Or perhaps A Bronx Tale or My Cousin Vinny Pesci. Any of the Home Alone or Lethal Weapon Pescis need not apply.

Can you imagine how much political type stuff would get done in this country if every politician was afraid that the Vice President would call them a little girl while stabbing them in the neck with a ballpoint pen? What would become of the pundits once they realized that the Vice President not only put people's heads in a vise, but was also an outstanding trial lawyer? What would happen when the President threw his first right hook to the body of one of his opponents? Or survived a car bomb? Or life on the streets? Or pulled double duty as a terrorist/duct repair man? Could you imagine a government shutdown with these two in office? Uh uh. No way.

I think the only legitimate problem we'd face with a De Niro/Pesci ticket would be getting them out of office once their term ended. You'd need to strip Pesci down to his tighty whities and beat him with an aluminium baseball bat in a corn field before he would leave. De Niro would leave only if Al Pacino shot him. Unfortunately, we won't have to worry about De Niro and Pesci leaving office because they aren't running, and probably never will. After all, why would they involve themselves in a job that lacks integrity, compassion, and fairness? And these guys work in Hollywood ...



The beginning stages of vomit circularity
brought on by thinking about American politics.



Spaced Out

April 12, 2011 marked the fiftieth anniversary of the first manned space flight. You may be thinking that I am incredibly smart for knowing this somewhat obscure fact, and I will gladly admit that I am incredibly smart (which makes you smart for thinking that I'm smart), but I must tell you that I only just learned about this historic fact because Google made its logo all spacey-looking and I clicked on it because space stuff is cool. However, once I read the article I learned that Russia -- Russia! -- not America has bragging rights to the coolest pissing contest ever held. In our defense, we were somewhat preoccupied organizing and managing the most successful invasion since World War II in Cuba's Bahia de Cochinos later that week. Anyway, we struck back in 1969 by putting men on the moon, and, in typical proletariat-crushing fashion, built the moon's first five-star hotel and miniature golf course combo called "Bourgeoisie Only." Take that Khrushchev.

The "Space Race," as it has been called, started with the Soviets long before Yuri Gagarin's first orbit around earth. On October of 1957, the Soviet Union launched the unmanned "Sputnik" using an ICBM rocket booster fueled with Stolichnaya. Only one month later, the Russians earned the honor of being the first country to kill a pet in space by shooting a dog named Laika into orbit with no plan for atmospheric re-entry. While Russia's space program was thriving, America's program was still feeling the sting after the Vanguard rocket exploded on the launch pad because the fuel tanks were mistakenly filled with Wild Turkey instead of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It wasn't until January of '58 that America finally realized its space-orbit dreams with Explorer 1 powered by the Oscar winning Juno rocket booster. Wizard. England tried to get into the space race act as well, but didn't launch anything successful until Sigue Sigue Sputnik's Love Missile F1-11 hit number three on the UK Singles Chart in '86.

The space race has continued over the years, even through the demise of the cold war, to varying effects. The major players largely remain the same although you will find occasional rookies trying to blast off and become their country's next hero or traitor, as the case may be with Lance Bass who moved to Russia to catch a ride on the Soyuz space capsule. In fact, Bass immersed himself so much in Russian culture during his training that he only ate borshch, memorized every line of Das Kapital, and started writing all of his consonants backwards. The hero side of things is exemplified by Oscar winner Tom Hanks who deals with more space-related issues in one day than you do in your whole space-less (and therefore un-American) life. Hanks has starred in space flight movies (Apollo 13), produced space flight movies (From the Earth to the Moon), has an asteroid named after him (Asteroid 12818 Tomhanks), and is the current president of NASA.

While the concepts "hero" and "traitor" help define the space race or space travel or whatever, the full picture would be lacking without other genre-defining concepts such as "Critters" and "Leprechauns." Take the appropriately named Leprechaun 4: In Space, not to be confused with Critters 4 (they're also in space) which is totally different from Critters 3: You are What They Eat (Critters in a tenement building) and Ghoulies 3: Ghoulies Go to College (they're pre-med) as an example. From what I understand, the American government was still reeling from its humiliating defeat by not being the first country to kill a pet in space so it tried to kill a leprechaun instead. Unfortunately, everyone forgets that these things have special powers like killing space marines with a miniature shamrock-colored lightsaber, shape-shifting, and regenerating to full size (though still small) inside a human man then exploding Alien-style out of his penis. The Critters do essentially the same stuff minus the lightsaber, shape-shifting, and exploding penis, but they do get to eat people and roll after Angela Bassett the entire voyage.

The likes of critters and leprechauns demonstrate that anything can and will happen in space -- especially if it's low budget. With that in mind, we mustn't forget about serial killers finding their way into the vast reaches of the universe. Take a particularly petulant and cantankerous fellow named Jason Voorhees. Mr. Voorhees has killed more people than God and might be as immortal, but still cannot be called anything other than an accidental astronaut with a machete. Once Jason found his way onto the Grendel after surviving over 400 years in cryostasis, his natural adaptability allowed him to thrive in space just like cosmonaut Gagarin except with more murder. If we learned one thing from Jason it's that psych-evals are a necessary evil and should be mandatory for anyone new to the rigors of space flight. Perhaps, with the proper evaluation, the crew on that ill-fated journey might have learned that Jason merely needs a hip father figure and intellectual stimulation from someone who is a physicist, neurosurgeon, and rock musician like Buckaroo Banzai, not more violence. Even if Jason didn't take to Banzai's in-jokes and existential catchphrases he would certainly be distracted by Jeff Goldblum's chaps long enough for the rest of the Hong Kong Cavaliers to blast him into a black hole.

So it looks like space can be a scary place or a slightly witty one if you have shoulder pads in your suit jacket and it's 1984. It also looks like those long space flights and trying to figure out why your spaceship isn't making the jump to light speed again can be boring and confusing, like the time my mom bought me white knit gloves covered in glitter for Christmas (not okay at any age, but particularly disturbing when you're 29). While all of those things can work against a young boy's dream of becoming an astronaut, that dream returns once the young boy realizes that modern-day astronauts have been in Playboy and Maxim. It was exciting enough watching Battlestar Galactica circa 1978 with Maren Jensen, Laurette Spang, and that stupid orange robot dog, but had the re-boot with Grace Park and Tricia Helfer been around back then, reservations at space camp would have been very hard to come by.

It's good to know that hot lady astronauts (astro-hots, as I like to call them) besides Sigourney Weaver exist in space because no one can hear your frustrated screams there. Along with boobs, space also has a certain sense of wackiness as embodied by the likes of Chewbacca, Tribbles, and Jake Garn. But just as easy as you can find growls, fluff, and foreheads in space, you may also find mystery, the sublime, and William Shatner. Or you may find a large, black rectangular object that sends a powerful radio transmission to Jupiter and is responsible for man's evolution. You may also find earth's space army dressed like Nazis fighting what looks to be large malevolent grasshoppers. Some members of Hollywood have been to space like Jodie Foster and Richard Dreyfuss, while some members of Hollywood are spaced out like Mickey Rourke and James Franco. If you look through space long enough you may even find Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd playing basketball with Michael Jordan and BYU's own Shawn Bradley (Bradley's space basketball career lasted longer than his earth one).

Sometimes you don't even have to leave this planet to find stuff from space like Mork, ALF, and French Stewart. The Prawn are here; The Thing is here; The Blob is here; and David Bowie fell here. Aliens and Predators are here but I can't tell which are Republicans and which are Democrats. George W. is here and so's his father. Ronald Reagan's not here but some of the Redwoods still are. I'm fairly certain that every member of the Utah Legislature is from space, and I've got a pair of those special sunglasses to prove it. Cool. I guess space is closer than I thought ...

Not only do these sunglasses let you see space aliens,
they help you kick ass and chew bubble gum as well.

A Very Real Interview With Chris Buttars

If you've been keeping up with this site, you'll know that one of my favorite political targets is Utah's own former state Senator Chris Buttars. In fact, many of you have suggested taking a shot every time I mention his name in a post, as if this is some kind of drinking game (it is). Fine: Take another shot if I mention a state Senator or Representative by name; take another shot if I say the words "critical thinking." And, finally, take two shots whenever I make fun of someone. Now that you're drunk off of alcohol that you had to buy in Wyoming, let's talk about this surprising and incredible interview that Buttars (take a shot) gave to the Shopping Cart.

First off, Buttars solicited Abandoned Shopping Cart and promised an interview only if I promised to ask him every difficult and uncomfortable question that I could think of. He said that he'd walk out of the interview if he felt at all like I was "Larry Kinging" him, which must be a reference to inappropriately touching his genitalia. I told Mr. Buttars that I wouldn't "Larry King" him, but that I might be so bold as to "Piers Morgan" him, or even give him something more age-appropriate like a "Phil Donahue" or possibly even a "Dick Cavett." Anyway, with all the question-type details worked out, we now only needed to agree on the location. Buttars suggested the Salt Lake Temple, but I declined because I thought it was too far of a drive (among other reasons) so he ended up making other suggestions such as "YouTube" or perhaps even a new place he'd heard of called "Facebook." I explained that those are locations on the Internet, but he brushed me off saying that he "didn't believe in that voodoo stuff." We finally agreed to conduct the interview in the back of a limo parked behind the Villa Theater, sorry, I mean Adib's Rug Gallery, but that I would be referred to only as "Christine" for the duration of the interview.

Abandoned Shopping Cart: Again, thanks for the interview. My readers can really appreciate someone that wants to set the record straight.

Chris Buttars: Straight's the only way I play it.

ASC: So I've heard. I'm surprised that you wanted to do another interview given the Reed Cowan debacle in 2009.

CB: Who the f*** is Reed Cowan?

ASC: We'll return to that topic later. Let's start at the end, if you will. You recently retired from the Utah Senate before your third term ended. What caused this early retirement from political life?

CB: Well, Christine, I've had terrible health due to diabetes and needed a break.

ASC: A break? That sounds like you'll be returning to political life soon.

CB: Well, yes. Once I get my health back I'll start the fundraising, then hit the campaign trail hoping for a nomination.

ASC: Nomination to what?

CB: Hopefully Stake President, but I'll settle for First or Second Counselor.

ASC: I see. Let's talk about a few of your more outrageous comments. You referenced gays as having something called "pig sex." Could you explain that to me? I'm not as well-versed as you are when it comes to gay culture.

CB: Pig sex is a disgusting act in which one man defecates on another man.

ASC: What's it called when a man defecates on a woman?

CB: "Submitting righteously."

ASC: Interesting. Back in 2008 you referenced SB48s2 saying: "This baby is black, I'll tell you. This is a dark, ugly thing." Many people claimed that description showed your racist tendencies. What's your explanation of the matter?

CB: Well, as I've mentioned countless times before, I didn't mean those comments to be racist. I was merely commenting on the controversial bill and how it would raise property tax to help pay for schools. I couldn't support a bill that would raise taxes. As I'm sure you're aware, the legislators of this state campaign on a lower tax platform and then complain when there's no money to adequately run the state.

ASC: Yes, I'm well aware of that. But don't beat yourself up over it. You're merely echoing the wish-fulfillment of your constituents. Besides, you can always pull money for roads out of the education fund.

CB: Well said! You've gotta bright political future ahead of you. Anyway, Senator Stevenson called the bill an "ugly baby" and I wanted to demonstrate just how ugly and terrible this baby really was so I said that it was black. You know, like Cain from the Bible.

ASC: Right. So the Liberals pegged you as a racist and called for your resignation. You claimed that people were being mean to you and that it felt as if a "lynch mob" was after you.

CB: Exactly. It was all very frustrating since what I was saying wasn't meant to be racist.

ASC: Good to know. At what point did you realize that the "lynch mob" was actually the NAACP?

CB: From the beginning. You see, the NAACP stands for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, not colored person.

ASC: Yikes. You were scheduled to have a meeting with the NAACP and explain your "black baby" and "lynch mob" comments, but failed to show up saying that you didn't know what to say to "those people."

CB: It's not that I didn't know what to say, I didn't know how to say it. Normally, I'd say "I apologize for being a racist" or whatever, but they say it like "I gotta grizza my nizza up into yo' shizza." It takes time to master how they talk, you feel me?

ASC: Oh, boy. Just to reiterate, you used racist language to describe a bill, then used more racist language to describe the people angered by your racism, and then, finally, used even more racist language to describe, of all things, the NAACP. Even in the face of all this apparent racism, you claim that none of it was meant that way?

CB: Word.

ASC: Let's get back to your stance on homosexuality. In 2004, You helped pass Utah Constitutional Amendment 3, which defines marriage as only between a man and a woman. You criticized then mayor Rocky Anderson's domestic partnership executive order and later introduced a counter-bill to Mayor Ralph Becker's domestic partnership registry. You also introduced legislation to stop gay clubs and ban gay-straight alliances in public schools. In the interview with Reed Cowan that we touched on earlier, along with the "pig sex" comment, you stated that the gay community "is the greatest threat to America" and compared the gay community to radical Islam. You also supported California's Proposition 8.

CB: All of that's true. One of my proudest moments came when I witnessed those brave LDS church members picketing Proposition 8 in California with signs that read "God Hates Dead Soldiers," and "God Hates Fag Enablers." And more recently, I've seen some members get quite creative, bless their hearts, with signs that read, "God Killed Elizabeth Taylor" and "You Will Eat Your Babies." Great stuff.

ASC: I think your confusing the LDS Church with the Westboro Baptist Church.

CB: The means might be different but it all has the same end, right?

ASC: Moving on. It's time for the lightning round. I'll say something and then you respond with a brief, single sentence answer. Ready?

CB: Can I use less than one sentence?

ASC: Whatever. Your successor in the Utah Senate, Aaron Osmond.

CB: Great singing voice.

ASC: Your long-time associate from the Utah Eagle Forum, Gayle Ruzicka.

CB: Puppet master.

ASC: Intelligent Design.

CB: President Bush pushed for it so it must be right.

ASC: The Silver Beaver award.

CB: I like beavers of any color.

ASC: No, I mean the Silver Beaver award you received from the Boy Scouts of America.

CB: Same answer.

ASC: The NAACP.

CB: Scary like downtown Los Angeles after dark.

ASC: Brown v. Board of Education.

CB: Still wrong.

ASC: Reed Cowan's disappearing BYU shirt.

CB: Satanic.

ASC: Free health care for life.

CB: Thanks, Utah.

ASC: Obama.

CB: Now that's a black baby!

ASC: Merry Christmas.

CB: Only a Communist would say "Happy Holidays."

ASC: Keith Olbermann.

CB: Worse than Obama.

ASC: "Worse than Obama?" Surely you can't be serious?

CB: Very serious. And don't call me Shirley.

An artist's recreation of the Chris Buttars Interview minus Chris Buttars.

 

 

Burger Time

One of the first great events in American history--perhaps the greatest event (sorry Declaration of Independence) came in 1921 when Walter Anderson and Edgar Ingram developed the first commercial hamburger concept known as White Castle. The success of White Castle is easy enough to understand given the great lengths people go through to get it, including hang-gliding off a cliff, catching a ride on a stoned cheetah, and letting Neil Patrick Harris put his "love juice" all over your backseat. With multi-cultural appeal and munchy-satisfying food at the ready, the success of the White Castle model ushered in the fast-food style restaurant, and with it, the commercialization of your dinner.

White Castle's early success in the Midwest was a given considering the lack of other fast-food restaurants. It wasn't until McDonald's appeared on the scene in 1940, and then Burger King in 1953, as well as a whole host of other contenders in the following years, that the burger market became more evenly distributed between the different companies. Today, White Castle remains a small portion of the fast-food market with, given its clientele, a rather appropriate 420 locations. McDonald's and Burger King, however, disavow their ubiquity and constantly look to expand their brand to new locations like the ocean floor, sub-Saharan Africa, or a different dimension. These businesses have grown so powerful that no manner of obstacle can stall their growth: e-coli tried; mad-cow tried; even Oprah tried, and failed to slow them down. Legitimate threats (even illegitimate ones) will be met with considerable influence, marketing, and litigation.

Speaking of litigation: In 1982, McDonald's actually sued Burger King over a television ad that featured a four-year-old Sarah Michelle Gellar telling people that McDonald's burgers were 20 percent smaller than those of rival Burger King's. McDonald's not only sued Burger King and the ad company, but young Gellar as well. The lawsuit was settled the following year, but no one knows the stipulations since they were ground up and used in Burger King's ill-fated "Rodeo Cheeseburger." Aside from McDonald's suing a four-year-old girl, this incident is noteworthy because it marks Buffy's last career defeat until The Grudge 2.

Unfortunately for McDonald's, not all threats to its brand name can be settled in court, and not all of the threats come from obvious sources. In fact, one of the most interesting threats came from the most surprising of sources: Mirriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (M-W). It all started back in 1991 when author Douglas Coupland repeatedly used the term "McJob" in his novel Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture. The novel was a hit and McJob unofficially entered the lexicon. M-W made everything official when they added McJob to their database in 2003 with this definition: "a low-paying job that requires little skill and provides little opportunity for advancement." Jim Cantalupo, the McDonald's CEO at that time, was upset at the lack of litigation opportunities against M-W, and instead tried to use the company's influence to block the definition from publication by firing off an open-letter to M-W. In this letter, Cantalupo details the many different skills that one can learn while employed at McDonald's such as, box stacking, using a salt shaker, and effectively arguing your way out of cleaning up vomit. Having worked a high-level McJob for several years myself, the M-W definition leaves out something that my employees would use called "McLies," which are the excuses they'd create to get out of their shift. McLies have two important characteristics that separate them from regular lies. First, they must be extraordinary, and second, they must be done over the phone. Some actual examples include: I was hit by a car; my lawn is on fire; I have carbon-monoxide poisoning; and the undisputed champion-- my boyfriend wore my workpants to church.

Of course, rather than just sue each other all the time, these burger giants have other worries as well, like the San Francisco board of supervisors, Morgan Spurlock, and, the most important, a loss of market share. This constant threat of market share loss is the reason McDonald's and Burger King have a combined advertising budget of almost three billion dollars. If you're unaware of what almost three billion dollars buys you in the advertising world, then you must not have access to television, movies, radio, the Internet, or people, and therefore you probably don't frequent either of these restaurants anyway. Whatever the case may be, both of these companies have found successful ways to market their products. Or maybe not ...

In 2001, Burger King debuted one of its more-disturbing, web-based ad campaigns for its TenderCrisp Chicken Sandwich called "The Subservient Chicken." The ad starts off promisingly enough as the viewer is faced with a blank web-cam screen that says, "contacting chicken." I presumed something humorous would appear on screen, like an actual chicken that understands and follows your commands or, at the very least, the San Diego chicken. Instead of something funny, you get what looks to be a man inside a chicken suit designed by Tom Savini. Adding to the creep factor is the Kubrick-ian set design of the room and its furnishings: a red couch over here, a old TV over there, a rotting corpse that the chicken is feeding on over here ... anyway, the chicken stands in the frame patiently waiting for you to type in a command it recognizes, but, unfortunately, it feels more like the chicken is patiently watching you like just like Jason "watches" camp counselors. It turns out that the chicken is somewhat subservient because it can obey roughly 300 different commands, none of which include "stab yourself with a crucifix." Needless to say, the more I interact with the Subservient Chicken, the more I want to knock Lee Remick over a balcony with my tricycle.

While the Subservient Chicken is certainly troubling, there are other elements to Burger King's advertising campaign that are more so. In some ads, we find the King himself disrespecting his crown in troubling ways such as: committing felony breaking and entering; being a nuisance; degrading the Whopperettes; trashing an office building; voyeurism; stealing intellectual properties; jaywalking; getting buzzed on caffeine; giving wedgies; pinching nipples; more voyeurism; climbing buildings; scoring touchdowns; reverse pick-pocketing; treason; pole dancing; theft; kidnapping; and finally; pimping. Of course not all of the acts just listed are illegal, but it makes you wonder about the target demographic. Maybe "Have It Your Way" should be changed to "Why is my bail so high?"

If Burger King's advertising campaign is troubling, McDonald's is downright Satanic. Let's start with the early version of McDonaldland. In this magical world, volcanoes run cold with icy milkshakes, hamburgers grow out of the ground, apple pies grow on trees, and french fries grow on bushes. This magical land and the tasty resources it produces are governed by the bumbling Mayor McCheese (a giant sentient cheeseburger), Officer Big Mac (a two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun type of fellow), and Ronald McDonald, an Ivy-League version of one of the lost members of Slipknot. These "inhabitants" repel constant illegal intrusion by a small but organized force that consists of the Hamburglar (a long nosed troll wearing a Zorro mask and striped jail fatigues), Captain Crook (a Filet-O-Fish-thieving pirate), Gobblins (giant pom-poms that steal french fries), and something called "Evil Grimace" (the Snuffleupagus of McDonaldland if Snuffleupagus ripped off milkshakes).

In later years, McGod reordered the McDonaldland universe so that the Gobblins became the Fry Guys (still bad, but with better product relatability) and Evil Grimace became just Grimace, like Madonna or Bono (but no longer evil, like Madonna or Bono), but we were still left with all of those unanswered questions regarding Grimace's origin, gender, and its place on the phylogenetic scale. And everything else remained the same: the villains continued to invade McDonaldland for food, but were always repelled by the mightier forces of McRighteousness.

Originally, all of the McDonaldland characters only lived inside McDonaldland, destined to continually repeat their monotonous existence just like Bill Murray, but without all of the suicide attempts, and Chris Elliott. But one day, Ronald finally sacrificed enough virgins to appease McGod, and all of the McDonaldland characters were unleashed into the real world--our world, to live and interact with us and pass this narrative on to future generations of what I like to call "McRobots."

To this very day, both McDonald's and Burger King pump billions into advertising to ensure that all of the narratives mentioned above continue on so we continue to eat their food. I don't know about you, but the marketing campaign might get me into the restaurant, but it won't get me back if I see an employee mop up puke, and then use that same mop to clean the playland. The term "clean restaurant" has become an oxymoron just like "clean coal" or "Sport Edition Toyota Camry." But I don't want to knock anyone too much (I don't want to get sued), and besides, what else am I going to eat at three in the morning?

McWorkers on the McJob.