My Resolutions

2012 is upon us. It's resolution time, people! Here are a few of mine:

1) Don't be such a dick

I like this resolution because the word "such" is a qualifier which enables me to still be a dick if the situation calls for it. You may be wondering how this is different from what I do now, which is be a constant dick to everybody, so I'll explain it since you're so stupid. Here's an example: normally, when someone does something stupid, and I'm able to witness it, I'll tell them that what they've just done was stupid. Most people think that sort of behavior is dick-ish or dick-like or maybe even dick-esque, but I figure that most rational people wouldn't want to repeat their same stupid mistakes, so telling them just how stupid they are can only be helpful. But that's the old me -- the 2011 me. The new me won't be such a dick directly to people. Now, when someone does something stupid, I'll wait until I get home and blog about it.

2) Stop being so awesome

If there's one thing you need to know about me, it's that I'm awesome. But, as none of you are aware, being awesome makes everyone else feel bad about themselves (as you are aware). So for all you losers out there that want a hug and a trophy because you merely finished the race, well, I'm here to at least give you a trophy because hugging sweaty people is gross. In other words, I'm dialing down the awesomeness from Winona Ryder-levels to maybe Christian Slater-levels and quite possibly even Shannen Doherty-levels of awesomeness just so you'll feel better about yourselves. You're welcome.

3) Stop judging people

When I say "stop judging people" I mean that I'll stop making unqualified generalizations regarding specific situations. For example, the old me would read a news article about a religious leader that commanded his married followers to stop having sex until said religious leader was released from prison, and judge that both the leader and the followers were equally batshit crazy. The new me looks at that same situation and judges that, while both parties are still batshit crazy, the religious leader's level of craziness is actually far batshittier than the batshittiness of the followers. See the difference?

Happy New Year or whatever.

Level 3 awesomeness (level 1 being the highest).

No Thinking Required

Well, everyone's second favorite prophet and polygamist is in the news again. Of course I'm speaking of Warren Jeffs. For those of you living in Utah, where prophets and polygamists are still considered cool and news-worthy, you already know all about this situation. For those of you that live in other places, where silly things like education, the economy, and politics are news-worthy, I'll give you some background. Warren Jeffs is/was the leader (prophet) of the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, or FLDS for short. Please don't confuse the FLDS with the straight up LDS church (you know, the Mormons) because both organizations believe different things. For example, the FLDS still practice plural marriage while the regular LDS folk (I'll call them RLDS) have evolved enough to realize that more wives exponentially increases the amount of bullshit one has to deal with. Another marked difference centers around race: the FLDS don't allow African-Americans to become members of their church while the RLDS started giving full-membership to African-Americans in 1978. Other differences include portfolio size, dress code, and probably a bunch of other things as well.

As far as I've heard (or just now made up) the "FLDS" sobriquet isn't well liked by either organization because it sounds too much like "F the LDS" which is about as rude as standing on street corner with signs supporting Prop 8 or doing other sorts of Christian activities. I have heard some shorten the "fundamentalist" part of the name to just the "fundies" or, in my case, I use the latter part of the word and call them the "mentalists" which is also the name of a television program on CBS about handicapped people.

As I mentioned above, Jeffs is back in the news again, this time because God has told him the world will end soon and he should alert his followers. The only reason that's news-worthy is because Jeffs is in a Texas prison, and I guess that having to give revelation to your followers via the telephone is news-worthy. The real news concerning Jeffs is how he got to prison in the first place. Long story short, God told Jeffs to marry several underage girls and have sex with them (by "underage" I mean 12- 15 years-old). According to Jeffs, however, it wasn't rape because God told him to do it (oh, the circularity!). So my question regarding Jeffs isn't about the end-of-world predictions, but about the God-sanctioned rape of children (good band). I'm specifically wondering how a religious leader justifies having sex with a twelve year-old under any circumstance, including a command from God. If God told me to marry a twelve year-old girl, I would think that I'm schizophrenic, or that the entity telling me to do something so objectively wrong (there's no room for moral relativism here) isn't a source for righteousness. Watch an episode of Lockup, Inside America's Toughest Prisons, or even Oz, and you'll find that rapists and child molesters aren't having as much fun as the other inmates. Why not? Well, it seems as though arsonists, vandals, thieves, drug traffickers, embezzlers, shoplifters, solicitors, money launderers, and murderers have a better moral compass regarding children than some religious leaders -- both current and past.

If it's all too much to think about, do what most other people do when faced with important questions -- ignore them.

Religion is just like prison, but not as uplifting.

Christmas or Whatever

Many of you don't know this about me, but roughly ten years ago I earned a best actor nomination for my role as the loving son opening Christmas presents from a crazy mother. A. O. Scott of the New York Times said that my performance would redefine acting standards for the industry. Entertainment Weekly's Lisa Schwarzbaum noted that my emotional performance caused her loins to moisten. And perhaps the most complementary review came from some asshole with a website claiming that I had more acting chops in my little finger than Freddie Prinze Jr. has in his little finger. Thanks guy with a website. That really means a lot to me.

As you might have guessed, my mom was a bit out of touch with younger folk like myself, and, from as far back as I can remember, failed to ever get me anything meaningful and rarely got me anything I needed. The performance in question was especially remarkable considering the gift: a white sweat suit and white knit gloves with sparkles. On the outside I made my chin quiver like I was about to weep and told her I loved it. I even wore the outfit through dinner (gloves included) and may have performed the second act of The Nutcracker before dessert. On the inside I was worried that my mom had lost her mind or was pranking me. Unfortunately, it was the former, not the latter: decades of drinking and smoking more than two Christopher Hitchens' worth of boxed wine and generic cigarettes can really fuck up your shit.

While those problems are a distant memory for me, new problems related to giving and receiving Christmas gifts are filling my head with new ones. For example, buying anything for my wife is difficult because she already has a roof over her head, food in the kitchen, and a car to go to the store to buy more food when she cooks all of the old food. What more could a woman need? Well, apparently this woman needs more because she asked me to make an effort in the gift-giving department. This year I bought her a new broom and dustpan and had her name etched into the broom handle. I know, I know, I'm a real catch. Anyway, she told me that the broom and dustpan were a step up from the year I bought her a blue and gray striped men's sweater, as if I was shopping for a color blind Freddy Krueger.

Regardless of the good and the bad surrounding Christmas, perhaps the best thing I can say about it is that it's over -- until next year anyway. But that gives me plenty of time to hone my acting skills. Another nomination would be nice.

Great use of scotch and cigarettes; even better use of words.
1949-2011

Who Gives a Shit?

As many of you may have heard, Nasa's Kepler telescope discovered two new "Earth-sized planets" earlier this week, much to Earth's chagrin. As far as I can tell, scientists are awkwardly and stereotypically missing high-fives throughout the world's observatories, and the rest of humanity is packing their bags for either one of these two new planets. With the startling amount of news coverage these planets are earning, you'd think that traveling to them and making them our new home would be as easy as traveling to your nearby McDonald's for dinner, but we all know that's not the case. Trips to McDonald's always end with either guilt, diarrhea, or both simultaneously. Trips to space, in this case, to either one of the two new planets, is a task so difficult Tom Cruise couldn't do it even if both Mission: Impossible and Scientology were at all real.

As I watch NBC's Brian Williams discuss the matter, I can't help but wonder why I should give a shit. According to Williams, the surface temperature on these new planets ranges from 800 - 1400 degrees Fahrenheit. On top of being as hot as the slice of pizza I just took a huge bite of, it would take over a million years to travel there. And of course, there's always the small problem of having to fly through fucking space to get there. Regardless of these silly obstacles, Williams concludes his report by saying, "It's nice to know they're out there." I think Brian Williams still wears unicorn Underoos.

I can see why so many people are chomping at the bit: the possibility of a new planet -- a fresh planet. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could pack up the spaceship with just the essentials and go to a place with clean air and water? A place where elbow room, scenery, and stuff that's not human is the moral equivalent of the dollar? A place where there's no need for a fictional character like George Hayduke (or a real one like Tim DeChristopher)? Unfortunately, that's not reality. Reality is a spaceship full of plastic bottles, SUVs, and Affliction T-shirts minus the spaceship.

Maybe Brian Williams has the right idea... Where are my Spider Man Underoos?

"Wherever you go, there you are."

Oprah Doesn't Care How You Feel

This week finds me dipping into the Oprah collective yet again, but unlike my last post, this one isn't very funny -- in fact, it's down right depressing. Why? Well, as you all know, I've been reading the Oprah magazine lately trying to find that special bit of information that might change my life for the better. It's been difficult because most of the articles are written for women, and, as I'm sure you're aware, I'm a dude. Regardless of Oprah's gender bias, I've continued reading, skipping past all of the articles about my vagina this, and my vagina that, until I found some information that pertained to the male gender. Needless to say, I didn't find anything dude-related until I picked up a copy of Road & Track, but I did stumble across a rather troublesome article on female body issues, one of which I have as well. Let's share!

Muffin Top

I love all types of muffins (except bran) and now that I know this is a human condition, I guess I love human muffins, too... Anyway, for those of you that look like Jennifer Aniston or Brad Pitt, you will not know what a human muffin top is, so allow me to enlighten you. HMTS (Human Muffin Top Syndrome) happens when you wear a human-sized paper muffin holder that's several sizes too small causing your fat waist to spill out in a seething, jiggling mass. In other words: what I look like right now. According to Adam Glassman, Oprah's creative director, the scientific definition is:

Excess stomach, hip, and back chub that hangs over the top of a too-tight waistband (a.k.a. love handles, spare tire).

While the Oprah magazine isn't a peer reviewed academic journal, I'm surprised that the copy and content editor didn't raise an eyebrow upon reading the word "chub" as a descriptor. As far as I'm concerned, chub will always mean a semi-erect penis, which only makes sense if you're in junior high school. I'm also surprised that no one thought chub sounded too much like C.H.U.D., which is a terrible movie with an excellent title. Perhaps the biggest problem I have with using chub as a descriptor for fat in a magazine that claims to empower women is that it is the written equivalent of curb-stomping one's self-esteem.

While Glassman and I have semantic differences regarding the definition, we both share the same solution for this terrible dilemma. Start by tightly covering every inch of your torso with plastic wrap and then apply a layer of duct tape for good measure. Breathing and movement will be severely restricted making that daily trip to the bathroom and Burger King nearly impossible, but rest assured that you'll look great in a bikini in three years (one year if you remove your thyroid).

Thanks, Oprah. I feel much better now.

Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dweller:
Don't worry, it's a compliment.

The Wizard of Dr. Oz

Health fads have been around for a very long time. Science tells us that, as early man stepped out of the Pleistocene, tools in hand, he noticed that he was fat and started something called the Caveman diet. Forsaking all forms of processed foods, caveman could only eat turkeys, dinosaurs, and I suppose various types of dirt. While the caveman diet certainly isn't the most thrilling thing for your palate, it does help you get lean. And getting lean means getting with the cave-ladies, which we all know looked exactly like Raquel Welch and Martine Beswick in the film One Million Years B.C.

As humanity moves into 2012, health fads have become less about merely changing the physical aspects of a person, but now must reshape the entire human structure. And let me tell you, reshaping the entire human structure requires not only complete dedication on the part of the reshapee, but a master reshaper must be at the helm of this reshaping ship, navigating the reshapee toward the ultimate destination of reshapiness. It just so happens that there is such a person capable of changing us in ways Nietzsche couldn't, but Mitt Romney might (if he prays about it) -- and that person is none other than Dr. Oz.

Many of you may know Dr. Oz from Oprah's show that will run in syndication long after an asteroid destroys all life on this planet. Together, Oprah, Dr. Oz., and another Oprah staple of pithy advice giving, Dr. Phil, make up the second most listened to trio just behind the Mormon Godhead, but still in front of the Catholic Holy Trinity by quite a wide margin.

In the latest edition of Oprah's magazine (a magazine! What's next, her own network?), Dr. Oz explains his 28-day program that will reshape your entire persona down to the cellular level. Here are his top three suggestions:

Look Before You Flush

Dr. Oz says that seeing a double rainbow in your stool isn't a good thing no matter how many times you watched that YouTube video. I won't go into all of the gory details here, but know that if you see any color other than what Crayola describes as "shit brown", you are dying. Consult your doctor if your toilet looks like a painter's palette.

Spread Kindness

It's obvious that being kind to others has it's advantages, although I wouldn't know because I'm the president and only member of the Salt Lake chapter of Misanthropes United. Regardless, Dr. Oz claims that simple actions, such as helping a stranger with directions, holding the elevator doors, and, a Utah favorite, baking a pie for your neighbor, are the leading cures of terminal cancer and getting into heaven.

Practice Saying No

Now that you've helped all those thankless strangers, kick yourself in the face because you didn't say no to them. Dr. Oz says that doing things for yourself is an important way to relieve the chronic stress caused by helping others. So next time that meth addict tells you that he ran out of gas in the Smith's parking lot and only needs two dollars to get back to Idaho, you can tell him to eat your off-color stool.

Welch and Beswick, making it so very hard
for adolescent males to finish their
homework in 1966.

Mike Myers (Not the Scary One) Does Everything

Many of my older readers will remember comedian Mike Myers form his work on NBC's Saturday Night Live and subsequent film spin-offs Wayne's World and the appropriately titled Wayne's World 2. Myers' more contemporary filmography includes the animated Shrek series, which debuted in 2001 starring Myers in the eponymous role. The first Shrek film did well at the box-office, which prompted a sequel called Shrek 2. The second Shrek film used all of the same jokes as the first film but still managed to outperform it at the box-office. With their coffers full, DreamWorks had nothing to lose by green-lighting a third Shrek film titled Shrek the Third: Cash Grab, which again featured all of the same jokes from the previous two films but included more B-list voice actors. After the considerable box-office success of this third film, the bean counters at DreamWorks realized that releasing another Shrek film would be all benefit and, with the same material as your morning bowel movement, pinched off a fourth film called Shrek Forever After, which is exactly how long the movie-going public will hate Mike Myers and everyone else associated with this franchise.


Thankfully, we don't have to rely merely on the Shrek movie franchise to see Myers' comedic talents. For those of you that have Shrek curtains, Shrek sweatshirts, an undoubtedly soil your Shrek pajamas while you sleep, you may remember these other Shrek-themed titles: Shrek in the Swamp Karaoke Dance Party video short; Shrek 4-D short; Shrek: Smash n' Crash Racing video game; Shrek the Halls video short; Donkey's Caroling Christmas-tacular short; Scared Shrekless TV short; and finally, no one can forget the Larry Flynt production of A Deliverance Tribute: Shrek Sodomizes Donkey DVD.

Fortunately for the movie-going public, Mike Myers has done more than just The Love Guru, I mean voice work. In 1997 Myers played both of his most famous roles as British secret agent Austin Powers and Powers' nemesis Dr. Evil in the film Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery. If memory serves me correctly, Man of Mystery finds Austin Powers frozen in ice on Antarctica. Once thawed, Powers kills and then replicates all of the people aboard the Nostromo. The film ends with an extended fight sequence between Keith David and Roddy Piper until both are blasted out of an airlock onto the surface of Mars... Anyway, Myers could take credit for Man of Mystery's modest success since he wrote it and played the film's two starring roles. In the sequel, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, Myers again played both leads and wrote himself a new character who ate stuff called Fat Bastard. Finally, in 2002, proving that he could take more jobs that the EPA, Myers wrote, did the grip work, catered all the food, reprised his three earlier roles, and played the other title role in Austin Powers in Goldmember. Scotty don't!

For those of you that can't get enough of Myers' narcissism, it's been announced this week that he'll start writing a prequel to the Austin Powers franchise for Broadway. No word on how many different roles he'll play, but I'm betting it's no less than five. Anyway, I'm sure it's all just a warm-up for another Austin Powers film, or maybe another Shrek film, or possibly even an Austin Powers versus Shrek film. Whatever the case may be, Myers will surely add more characters that he can play himself to whatever new movie or project he does. My hope is that the result more closely resembles Lee Marvin's Oscar performance as Tim Strawn and Kid Shelleen in Cat Ballou rather than Keanu Reeves' Non-Oscar performance as Ted Logan and something called "Evil Ted" in Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey.

Perhaps the most annoying bit that will come out of all of this will be the new catchphrases. Just when you thought you'd heard the last utterance of a fourteen year-old boy (or a thirty year-old man, for that matter) tell something or someone to behave or to get in his belly, along comes Myers, shifting focus from important political and social issues to shagging, bad teeth, and God forbid, maybe even blogging.

Jean-Claude Van Damme's portrayal of twins Alex and Chad Wagner did not
earn him an Oscar nomination, contrary to popular belief.