This past Sunday saw the Green Bay Packers come out victorious over the Pittsburg Steelers in Super Bowl 45. But the news that rocked the internet the hardest was of Christina Aguilera’s botched performance of the national anthem during the opening ceremony, as she accidentally sang “What so proudly we watched at the twilight’s last gleaming,” when she should have sang, “O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming.”

While plenty of people are giving Christian shit for forgetting the lyrics and essentially making up her own, I will not. It’s the Super Bowl. She was probably nervous. Besides, that’s, like, a really hard song to sing, guys. There’s all those old timey words in it and junk; and it sounds like it should always be sung by a man with a monocle and a top hat whose name is Wilbur.

With Christina Aguilera’s Super Bowl national anthem failure in mind, I set out to change the lyrics to the national anthem to something a little bit more…let’s say modern. Something that’s easier for all us post-internet age folks to remember.

Here’s the original text to the version of the anthem that is commonly sung at sporting events:

Oh, say! Can you see by the dawn’s early light

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming;

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,

O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:

Oh, say! Does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Kind of tricky, right? Now here’s my updated version:

Hey, it’s dawn so, like, can you look over there and see

If that thing I really liked last night is still there?

Yeah, you know, that thing with the stars and shit. The one that was still looking pretty

Even though there was a bunch of fighting go on near it?

Yeah, dude, it looked soooo pretty with all the fiery explosions and shit going on around it.

All that blazing death really highlights its prettiness at night.

Oh, and hey, can you make sure that thing is still doing its waving thing

Here in America? It just wouldn’t make sense if it were waving in, like, Mexico, or something.

And there you have it. It’s much more lyrical this time around, and, if you ask me, it’s roughly 1,000% percent more patriotic. Above all that, though, it’s more memorable now. No more tricky words that no one uses anymore, like ramparts, or gallantly, or twilight. It’s all, 100% pure modern.

Now no one has an excuse to screw it up.

You’re welcome, America.

Twitter is one of those wonderful modern day inventions that I have almost no use for. It’s all well and good for some people, but I don’t feel the near constant need to tell people what I think about things. Some people do, and that’s cool. I’m just not one of them. So to me, Twitter is a little intimidating. What am I going to say that is worthy of those precious 140 characters? Most of the time it’s nothing. The rest of my time spent on Twitter is spent starring at the text entering area and thinking random thoughts on the nature of Twitter and the Twitterverse and Twitter culture, and whatever the hell else old people in the old media world call the Twitter phenomenon.

I took the time recently to stare at my Twitter account for a bit as I attmepted to think of something to tweet. Here are those thoughts — thoughts, by the way, that were never tweeted.

“Yeah, okay, I feel good about that tweet. That’s a good, strong tweet that is both insightful and humorous that my few followers will love. Ah, fuck it. They don’t give a shit about what I think.”

“Damn it, Twitter. If only you allowed for 150 characters then I’d be able to tell people about the monster dump I just took.”

“If humanity is wiped out tomorrow, and an alien race comes to earth to learn who we were, they will eventually read my tweet about how much I love watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians. They will immediately abandon their human regeneration program.”

“Aaaaaand my tweet is sent….aaaaaand now it’s lost in the abyss of everyone’s home feeds. Darn, don’t I feel special? Why the fuck is it that I joined Twitter? If I wanted to be ignored I’d just go outside and live my normal life.”

“Why couldn’t there be a MySpace Tom of the Twitter world? Someone all Twitter users have in common? If he were real, I think his home feed would be a clusterfuck of banal madness.”

“Retweeting is the closest thing we have to socially acceptable plagiarism.”

“Man, I really hope Tony Danza responds to my tweet.”

“The only thing worse than reading what some asshole politician has to say  is reading what some random asshole politician has to say when a majority of the wrds r trnc8ted 2 sav spce.”

“If I’m not a celebrity and I tweet about a TV show I’m currently watching or a burger I’m currently eating, no one will care. But if I am a celebrity, there’s a very good chance said tweet will make it on to Entertainment Tonight.”

“If a person spoke the way they tweeted I would recommend they find a brain surgeon.”

“Creating an original hash tag that no one else uses makes me feel like a marketing executive that brings up strategies for selling cigarettes to kids in a room full of cancer patients.”

“My problem isn’t that my thoughts are over 140 characters long, it’s that all of my thoughts can only truly be expressed through dance.”

“Are mimes allowed to have twitter accounts? If so, I’m pretty sure they’d only tweet pictures of themselves expressing their thoughts through the art of descriptive posing.”

“I can’t wait for the inevitable day that Facebook buys Twitter, and Mark Zuckerberg announces that the two sites will merge in to one single, all powerful site. The site will look exactly like Facebook, just there will be a small, green letter T next to the status bar.”

And speaking of Twitter, if you liked this and want to keep track of all things Funny Crave, follow us on Twitter and on Facebook!

“What we have here is the ultimate smackdown between the Nard Dog and crippling despair, loneliness and depression. I intend to win.” – Actual dialogue

“The Office” is acclaimed for being one of the funniest shows on television.  But, as repeated watchings have emphasized to me, it isn’t.  If anything, it’s a drama, a bleak, dark drama full of foreshadowing and terror.  Here are five reasons “The Office” is actually so dark it makes Goths want to kill themselves:

5) Management Is Incompetent and Gets Increasingly Moreso as You Go Up The Chain

Let’s leave aside Michael Scott for a moment.  Obviously he’s an idiot boss. But what about his bosses?

Jan, his first direct superior, had a self-destructive streak a mile wide and actually gets worse once she becomes Michael’s girlfriend.  We learn Jan’s abusing Michael emotionally and sexually, something that only stops once the writers finally write her mostly out of the show.  Even when he breaks up with her, she uses her pregnancy to emotionally extort him.

Ryan, of course, is promoted to a Quentin Tarantino movie, and then goes to jail for fraud.  David Wallace seems competent until we see him post-Dunder Mifflin, which reveals he’s had pretty much a complete emotional breakdown.  From what we see of  Dunder Mifflin senior management, in the brief glimpses we get otherwise, they’re not much better.

Forget the Peter Principle.  We’ve gotten to the septic principle of management; for those unfamiliar, it’s “the big chunks float to the top”.  And we haven’t even gotten to the characters we actually spend time around yet.

By the way, consider how Michael treats Toby in the course of the show, and compare it to his relationship with Jan.

4) Office Jobs Turn Good People Into Bad People

One consistent thread in “The Office” is that being a wage slave turns you into a monster.

Consider our “heroes”, Jim and Pam.  They started out as two people who hated their jobs and never wanted to stay, and then found each other…and are now stuck in jobs they hate, because they have a mortgage and a kid to support.  At least their marriage is healthy and stable, even if their psyches have gradually worn away until only the mean, pointy parts are left.  Hey, there has to be one bright spot.

Look at Pam: she started out as a meek receptionist, and seven years later, she’s emotionally blackmailing a direct supervisor to give her a job title that doesn’t exist and then manipulating the rest of her coworkers into believing she’d already been hired for the job that didn’t exist.  Or how about her screaming fit over her mother dating her boss?

Or how about Jim?  Jim was always a bit of a douche, but exclusively to Dwight, so it was OK.  Then Jim joined management and immediately became both about twenty IQ points dumber (witness his accidental annoucement of Pam’s pregnancy at their rehearsal dinner) and a lot more of a douchebag, such as letting Michael fall into a koi pond.  Now we’re at the point where Jim pegs Dwight with snowballs full of rocks.

Or Ryan?  Ryan goes from naïve temp to business school graduate to executive to hostile, callow idiot hipster, and this takes approximately three years.  All of these people were decent people when they started out: now they’re the people at the office you hate.

Even the minor characters who started out decent have become scary douchebags.  Phyllis stole Pam’s original wedding ideas, dresses provocatively to get Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration, to beat the crap out of random men, and the show has implied she’s cheating on him.  Toby went from having a sweet crush on Pam to having a profoundly disturbing sexual obsession with Pam, despite his demonstrated ability to land hot chicks whenever he wants and Pam’s profound disinterest.  Stanley is so filled with rage it nearly killed him.  At this point, there are very few people left in “The Office” you’d want anywhere near your office, and we haven’t even gotten to the scary people yet.

3) The Office Makes Bad People Into Absolute Monsters

In an alternate universe, there’s a TV miniseries called “Dwight Schrute”, about a man suffering from severe paranoia who, slowly but surely, misunderstands the behavior of his officemates until a week later, when he walks in with an assault rifle and a maniacal smile, and they all die before he blows his brains out.  Come to think of it, that might be a Uwe Boll movie.

Before you argue otherwise, remember that Dwight has so little grasp on fantasy versus reality that it was easy to make him think Jim was becoming a vampire.  That’s beyond stupid, that’s quite possibly mentally ill.

Seriously, Dwight Schrute exists, and he’s usually the guy you see on the six o’clock news.  What’s really scary is that the series has shown us he owns at least two high-powered firearms, a deer rifle and a hand cannon, not to mention a variety of hand weapons, at least some of which he might actually know how to use.  Considering that this is a man who actually flagrantly attempted to sabotage Jim’s manager position, and actually at one point reduced the man to a paranoid wreck, going far beyond any prank Jim ever played on him, it’s kind of amazing he hasn’t brought in a gun yet.

But how about Angela?  She started out as uptight, and gradually we’ve learned her psyche is deeply twisted.  She’s on the road to crazy cat-lady hood, of course, but the really unnerving part is her sexual dysfunction.  Think about it: this is a woman obsessed with propriety who banged Dwight, of all people; then got engaged to Andy, and started cheating with Dwight, including having sex in the office; and finally provoked a fistfight between the two men she was banging when really they should have both been punching her.  These are people who tried to turn reproduction into a contract.

Even Meredith, who started out as mildly skanky and kind of weird, is now a full-blown alcoholic who eats hand sanitizer and prostitutes herself for cheap office supplies and steak coupons.  Which brings us to the third type of people at this office:

2) The Only Way To Survive Is To Be Too Stupid To Notice Your Job Sucks

If there are people who have managed to thrive emotionally at the office, and there are only a handful, it’s because they’re, well, dumb.  Andy, once he went to anger management (which seemingly transformed his entire personality), has become a goofy frat boy who takes everything in stride and just wants to be friends with everybody.  Erin, despite her dark and miserable past, seems to be too daffy to notice how badly she’s sometimes treated.  Kelly is simply a cheerleader who never grew up, and seems to genuinely enjoy her job.

Then there’s Michael, who basically survives solely because corporate doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of what goes on in Scranton at any given time, and just how close his testicles are to the bandsaw on any given day.  If anything, Michael is the most pathetic figure in the show.  Repeatedly, we see that his only social life is within that office, and he thrives by deluding himself that everybody likes him and his coworkers are the replacement family he never had.  But they don’t and they aren’t, which brings us to the darkest corner of “The Office”.

1) Your Job Will Cause You To Die Alone After Driving You To Bad Relationships

Let’s see here: Darryl, Toby, and Meredith are all divorced at least once, with only hope for Darryl on the horizon.  Kevin has never had a meaningful relationship that’s lasted more than a few episodes.  Angela has a choice of Dwight or spinsterhood, considering how that recent addition of the state senator love interest works out.  Oscar seems too timid to ever meet somebody else.  Andy might get Erin at the very last episode, but not before.  Dwight will die among his beets if Angela doesn’t get to him first.  Kelly’s obsession with Ryan will seemingly never end, and certainly not end well.  Stanley cheated.  Phyllis possibly IS cheating.

Creed is probably happy where he is, so there’s that.

Michael, though, is the poster boy for this.  Before they chickened out and brought back Holly Flax, thus erasing Michael’s gay crush on Ryan, a favorite joke of the show was that Michael was at a dead end emotionally as well as professionally.  He got into a relationship with Jan, who, under the law, raped him.  He got into a relationship with his realtor, and freaked her out with his emotional neediness (which, to be fair, is pretty terrifying).  He slept with Pam’s mom and backed out when he learned her age. The show even made jokes about how he was going to die at the office, with Michael coming back from a corporate interview calling the office “his grave” as the camera backs away slightly to show him standing alone.

Jesus, guys, why not just have him die of a heart attack right there?  Maybe have terrorists blow up an adorable puppy he just adopted?

If you think about it, leaving aside the few successful relationships like Jim and Pam, this is a show about people grinding themselves down to a nub and dying alone, possibly with their corpses eaten by their pets.

Ha?

A newly released study coming out of Spain claims that consuming high amounts of fatty foods can lead to depression. The authors of the study spent six years analyzing the diets and life styles of 12,000 volunteers who had all been diagnosed as not suffering any signs of depression. By the end of the six years researchers discovered that all of the subjects with high trans-fat diets “presented up to a 48 percent increase in the risk of depression when they were compared to participants who did not consume these fats.” Out of the original 12,000, 657 were now officially diagnosed with clinical depression.

Hearing this got me to thinking: how would my mental outlook on life be affected after I consumed some high fat fast foods? I’m normally a pretty well-adjusted, happy guy. I’ll I start to feel a little down after consuming some overly greasy and fatty foods?  With that in mind I was off to my local purveyors of fatty food to find an answer to that question.

KFC’s Double Down

The Meal:

The Double Down is the fast food equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster. When you first lay eyes on it you are made instantly aware of the fact that this is a thing that should not be. If there is a God out there floating in the heavens, watching over us, he’s looking at the Double Down and giving some serious consideration to smiting the next asshole that slops that angry fist of grease and sadness in their mouths. People that have literally died and gone to heaven are probably getting a little annoyed with God’s constantly rants of “I give them the gift of life and they use that gift to turn fried chicken in to bread? C’MON!”

How I Felt After Eating It:

As I looked myself over in the mirror just seconds after eating the double down I noticed the greasy glaze glimmering off my lips and cheeks. The way the light caught the grease highlighted the deep, burning need for acceptance within my soul…and how that burning flame would never be extinguished. I, the man that just consumed cheese and bacon sandwiched between two deep fried chicken breasts, am destined to live alone on this spinning rock, constantly consumed by the horrors of my past — the mistakes I’ve made, the relationships I’ve destroyed, the mutated chicken sandwiches I’ve eaten.

Really, the Double Down could act as a parabola for my pathetic, loathsome existence thus far: a series of risky maneuvers that never pan out, mostly due to my arrogance and inability to trust. And buckets of diarrhea.

Outback Steakhouse’s Aussie Cheese Fries with Ranch Dressing

The Meal:

It’s a hellish gangbang of French fires, melted cheese, bacon, and ranch dressing. Looking at the dish is almost like staring in to the inky, soulless eye of a diabetes demon. You know that as soon as you place one fry in your mouth you are essentially selling your soul to a hellspawn that will not take your soul, but rather, will make you think every spoon of ice cream you eat is one spoonful closer to getting a foot chopped off. This demon cares not for souls; it just wants body parts so it can make itself an awesome entertainment room arm chair that’s partially made of you.

How I Felt After Eating It:

After pounding the final soggy fry down my gullet I felt it push my insecurities down deeper in to the very center of my being, deep down in to the black abyss of my consciousness, where no amount of Paxil can reach. The gooey cheese and creamy ranch dressing solidified; hardening in to a protective barrier around the disgust and self-hatred I have for myself, rendering it impenetrable to even the most skilled of psychiatrists or the warmth of a loved one’s embrace. But, then again, what loved ones do I have? I just ate a thing of nasty-ass fries alone at an Outback Steakhouse on a Tuesday night. I have no friends. I have no loved ones. I am alone. It’s just me and an empty plate of fries that I think I might vomit up later.

Even the fries don’t want to be around me for too long.

Denny’s Rascal Flatts Unstoppable Breakfast

The Meal:

Teaming with country music artists Rascal Flatts, Denny’s created a plate of food that could easily be confused for a crime scene in a glue factory. The meal consists of a biscuit topped with a country fried steak that’s slathered in sausage gravy…which is then topped with 2 eggs and bacon…and served with a side of hash browns. If you’re eating this at 4 AM then there’s a good chance you’re going to finish your plate and immediately go on a shooting spree before turning the gun on yourself. The coroner will take one look at the contents of your stomach and release a groan of realization, followed by the words “Oh, now I get it. Hey, guys! I totally get it now! And I kind of see his point.”

How I Felt After Eating It:

As is, the Unstoppable Breakfast is a hodge-podge of pig feed-like regret. It’s a sloppy mash of bread and gravy, and it has grease pouring out of every millimeter of it. So when the waitress asked if I wanted bacon with it, I said yes, because I just knew that with every bite I was bringing myself one bite closer to the welcoming embrace of my casket. Every time I felt the gelatinous savoriness of the gravy mixed in to the cholesterol-laden yolk of the fired egg I realized that my shallow, un-impactful life was coming to a fast approaching end. So I ate more, I ate faster, hoping to drown my painful memories in sausage gravy and suffocate my ennui with fluffy biscuits.

By the time I was scraping the plate of those final mounds of unrecognizable food slop and heaving it in to my mouth, I was already looking forward to resting my head against the comforting grill within my gas oven, slowly dragging in lungfuls of fumes that would pacify me, ease me in to the ultimate slumber.

The waitress was nice, though. I tipped her 20%.

Wendy’s Triple Baconator

The Meal:

Three beef patties, three slices of American cheese, two (or more) slices of bacon per beef patty, and mayonnaise – these are the things that your heart has nightmares about, and these are all the things on the Wendy’s Triple Baconator. The triple Baconator is basically greasy white flag being waved in the face of your own self-respect. Twenty years ago the Baconator was the kind of thing that someone would have only eaten on a dare. Nowadays it’s the kind of thing eaten on during an average lunch break, leading the oblivious eater to wonder why they are slipping into diabetic comas on their office toilets.

How I Felt After Eating It:

My life is three cheese and bacon-topped layers of beefy failure. I once found joy and glimmers of hope in the smile of a young child. Now, after only two bites of triple Baconator, I see the callous heart of a scummy asshole in the making. That child will not grow up to matter; none of us do. We are merely stacks of barely living flesh heaped on to one-another within this sandwich called life – each of us trickling our trans-fatty sorrows on to each other, creating a broth of refuse and revolt that we heaps of meat will inevitably drown in, very much like the Baconator itself.

On the upside, the guy that took my order accidentally gave me an extra dollar with my change.

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Mark Sanchez Wipes A Booger On Teammate (Super Booya)

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Movies are awesome; I don’t care if it’s deep and many-layered like Inception, or completely retarded (like the Star Wars prequels) I love movies. As a result, I spend way, way (way) too much time thinking about them.

This has the unfortunate side effect of ruining some of my favorite movies for me, which is the case with most of this list. Often times in movies, in order to get themselves out of precarious situations, characters will concoct crazy plans to save the day and defeat the villains.  Sometimes the plan may not be the best plan, but it’s the only option the characters have left. Other times, though, the plan is something only the screenwriters think is a good idea, while the rest of us are left to wonder if that bus load of children really needed to explode in order to stop the bad guy from killing the hero’s one true love. The plan may create some great onscreen action, but it’s also the cause of some audience head scratching, as such concepts as logic, sanity, and overall intelligence seem to be thrown away.

This happens in all types of movies, but let’s start with some aliens, shall we?

5) The Fresh Prince and Brundlefly Blow Up the Alien Mother Ship

Let’s recap really quick; in Independence Day, Jeff Goldblum and Will Smith go up to the alien’s mother ship to not only make computer nerds shriek in impotent rage (over a late 90’s Macintosh Powerbook’s apparent ability to hack alien software), but to also insert a computer virus into their mainframe and shut down all their awesome glowing shields. So our less maneuverable, more lightly armed air forces can shoot them down.  Mankind shouts a collective “Booyah!” and high fives in a douchey, Roland Emmerich way.

Then our heroes fire off a nuke into the mother ship’s command center, are then released from certain death, and fly out of there before billions of aliens are instantly murdered in a nuclear blast. Sweet! The entire ship blows up, and we’re all set…

Except…

The alien mother ship was “one quarter the size of our moon”. After some quick googling and mathing, I found that would mean it was roughly 503,238,821,155,091.04 tons. In human speak, that is over 5 trillion tons. Guess what a single nuclear weapon will not evaporate into nothingness? I’ll answer for you: 5 trillion tons. So it was in the ship’s core and managed to explode the whole thing, I will grant them that. Awesome, so that is ¼ of the moon, in shrapnel form, exploded right next to Earth.

I will also assume that the ship somehow managed to not completely ruin the earth’s tides with it’s giant ass because of some awesome alien tech, but that still leaves is with chunks of alien moon raining down over the entire earth, kind of like Armageddon, if Micheal Bay decided to make a sequel with more asteroids. We would have been better off just surrendering.

Nice work, Assholes! You just killed everyone… We called like 3 times to tell you it was a bad idea once we did the math, don’t you dicks ever answer your phone?

4) Carmen Ibanez saves the day! And dooms a city of millions.

Much like picking on ID4, making fun of Starship Troopers is like punching an autistic kid; really easy and not terribly satisfying. But here I go anyway.

I’ll bring you up to speed in case you don’t remember the scene; we have just left Casper Van Dien getting his ass whipped, literally, because someone under his commend fucked up and accidentally blew someone else’s head off. The scene cuts over to his girlfriend, Denise Richards (Carmen Ibanez), sitting on a spaceship, drinking coffee and allowing co-pilot Chisel McStrongjaw (played by Hollywood Pretty Boy Filler number who-gives-a-shit) to charm his way into her pants. But there’s a problem! Those pesky bugs have launched a city-sized asteroid at earth!

My boyfriend? Oh, he’s dead. Or will be. He’s in the army.

It is drifting perilously close to the Roger Young (their ship), and the plucky pilots wait until they are sure they can miss it, and then fire the retro rockets, moving out of its way! Hooray!

Except…

What they should have done was put down their coffee and dodged the damn thing earlier. Instead, they collectively decide to wait until the absolute last second to fire the retros and avoid it. Keep in mind, we have already seen Carmen pull a maneuver in one of these ships where she avoided taking out half a space station by about 10 feet, so we know they can turn on a dime, sort of. At any rate, dodging a rock the size of several aircraft carriers was clearly well within the capabilities of the ship.

As a result, the communications tower is ripped off the ship and they lose all connection to the outside world. This unfortunately means they can’t let anyone know that a giant hunk of space debris is flying straight toward home.

On the plus side, the com-tower is usually staffed by custodians and minorities.

If they had fired the retros when they saw the thing, it would have missed them by probably the length of the ship and they could have said “Earth, get ready, a giant rock is going to kill a major city!” Earth could have then blown it up, or evacuated the city, or something like that.  Instead, they get a pat on the back from their captain, despite the fact that a few million people, plus whatever poor suckers were in the communication tower, are now dead because of their showboating.

The one time a movie’s “loose cannons” should have gotten their asses chewed, they practically got medals.

3) Ripley and Winona Ryder crash “Father” into the Earth

Alien: Resurrection is an unholy clusterfuck of a movie. It’s what happened when the greatest movie monster ever was inseminated with ideas from the guy who brought us Buffy the Vampire Slayer and gestated inside the camera of the guy who made City of Lost Children. It could have been awesome, and it totally wasn’t.

Again, to summarize; Ripley has been dead for 200 years, but thanks to a blood sample taken in Alien 3, she is reborn as a part-alien clone with all of Ripley’s memories from the other movies. I forgive Sigourney Weaver for being involved in this because she promised to never do a nude scene again. Anyway, predictably, the aliens get loose on the research ship, Whedonly called “Father” (because the first Alien movie, the ship’s computer was “Mother.” That’s creativity, there, Joss.) For some completely short-sighted and retarded reason, it is programmed to return immediately home to Earth should something go wrong.

Shown: Enough evidence to know better.

Now, keep in mind, this was a ship that was apparently custom built to study the aliens, a creature they knew enough about to acquire people to impregnate with them, and built facilities to hold them. And in case they had a problem with this horrifically invasive species, they designed it to send the whole mess to the human race’s homeworld. Nice job, future Army.

So what do the heroes do? Well, crash it of course! That is actually a great idea; they reset the navigation so instead of landing on Earth, it collides with it. Alien monsters are vaporized, and Earth is safe!

Except…

When the ship crashes, it appears to leave an Australia-sized crater in Africa. An impact event large enough to blow up the middle of the world’s second largest continent has to be arguably just as bad as the planet being overrun by alien monster bugs. I suppose we could assume that future Africa is overrun with every species infected with AIDS, so no one goes there anyway. Or conversely, and just as likely, it has managed to pull itself up by its bootstraps and is now the new Europe. Either way, blowing it up would screw everyone on earth, probably killing most living things in the process.

That killed the last white rhino. And mosquito. And African.

I have 9 alternative targets for our “heroes”, from first to last: Neptune, Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, the Moon, Venus, Mercury and the Sun. And that is discounting the 30 some odd other moons in our solar system. And the entire asteroid belt. If you can reset the navigation to crash into Earth instead of landing, you could redirect it to another heavenly body. Let’s not be stupid, people.

2) Waking up everyone in The Matrix

It’s the ultimate goal of humankind in all 3 of the movies, aside from “let’s not be murdered by machines.” Morpheus spends roughly 6 hours of our lives trying to get Keanu Reeves to kick so much Agent ass that they can free everyone who is plugged into the Matrix.

If you have not been trapped in a gulag since the Cold War, odds are pretty good you know how it all ends, but if you don’t then it’s about to be ruined for you; Neo dies, and the machines agree to let out everyone who wants to get out. That is so super way cool! That is exactly what Morpheus, The Oracle, and all the other jump kicky super people were trying to do, and the machines just agree to it because Neo runs Norton on the Matrix with updated virus definitions. The world is saved!

Except…

Remember what happened to Neo when they woke him up? He was unplugged and summarily flushed like a pale fleshy turd. Then they spent what appeared to be days or weeks getting his eyes to function properly, and had to manually insert hundreds of electrified needles into his muscles just so he could use his limbs. Then, they had to hand-remove some of the Matrix feeding tube junk from him. And then, they had to remove all of those needles from him.

Then, there was the realization that everything he knew was a lie, and the world was actually 180 degrees different from anything he ever knew. Do you remember what he did then? He puked and passed out.

Just imagine: the population of China waking up to find out they have been giving head to a robotic feeder-dong.

Now, I imagine the human race at this point is maybe a few million, up to a billion or so, all grown in vats and fed their dead ancestors and siblings. Imagine millions of people, all waking up at once. What if they all get unhooked and flushed at once? Do the machines even care at this point? That would be one smelly-ass clogged toilet in a day or two.

But let’s assume the machines already have something in place for when the orgy of adult fetuses that gets dumped through their plumbing; they did “lose entire crops” after all. Now you have millions of adults fumbling around in sewage, and the resistance had what? Six of those hover ships left? Oh, wait, Keanu Christ crashed it. Or was it the bitchy chick from Memento? Does it matter? Basically, they don’t have the resources necessary to deal with the sudden population surge that just dropped on their metaphorical doorstep.

Even if they had contingencies for all of those things, and they were all set to collect the throngs of helpless people, how do they clothe, feed and shelter all of them? The people that had escaped already lived in virtual squalor. Zion was a bit of a shithole, if you remember. I wonder how many people would very quickly decide they would rather be a “slave” with a warm bed and something other than what Tank called a “bowl of snot” in the first movie to eat.

Cypher wasn’t evil, just not retarded.

1) Some prehistoric dude fucks civilization by a few thousand years

Okay, so there are a couple of relative steamers in the rest of the list, but all of them made bank when they came out, so in Hollywood’s eyes, they kicked ass. On the other hand, literally no one on Earth liked 10,000 BC. The best even the most retarded person could say about it was “That bamboo scene kinda kicked ass…”

But the oversight in this pile of monkey-plop definitely earns the number 1 spot, which I will explain shortly. The movie follows the journey of D’leh (Pronounced “Delay.” This is a rather ironic choice, as you will soon see) from ineffectual pussy to the destroyer of all things good. He starts off failing his rights to become a man because he is afraid to play chicken with a mammoth or some shit. I don’t remember, it was awful and I watched it a couple years back. (edit: he apparently kills a mammoth accidentally, so he is a fuck-up as well)

“D’Leh”? More like “D’Homo”… Er… “Queer”. He sucks is what I am getting at.

Anyway, the only woman with blue eyes to evolve ever likes him for some ungodly reason, and she gets kidnapped, so he goes on some journey with mammoths, and a saber-tooth (not the cool kind played by Liev Schriber, either. Sorry), some big birds, and a bunch of other shit that does not belong together. But because the filmmaker and script writers were idiots, they didn’t even bother to Wiki if any of the species in their movie ever coexisted. (For the record, by 10,000 BC, the saber tooths had been gone for 2,000 years, and the giant murder bird for 60 million)

But at any rate, he follows the trail of his lady friend to this city, where a new civilization is building a ziggurat (really ancient pyramid) and starts a slave revolt and mammoth stampede. He also nails their leader with an arrow. He effectively kills the civilization, who were bad and nasty because they used slave labor, like every single early civilization, ever. Booo civilization! Yay stinky cave people!

Except…

The first recorded civilization started 5,000 years ago, the Sumerians. And the first ziggurat in recorded history was from 3,000 years ago. So these people had created boats, monuments and cities 5,000 years before the first civilization our history book are aware of. And guess, what? The Sumerians were assholes, too! So aside from setting the clock back on progress by 5 millennia, all he accomplished was bagging a woman with a birth defect and delaying the inevitable.

They had ziggurats, slaves, mammoths… Everything a civilization needs to start murdering other civilizations. Oh, and to progress.

So thanks to “Delay”, our technology, science, religion, everything about us, was set back 5,000 years. Imagine what it would be like today if that had transpired, but was then stopped; the world of Star Trek would be ancient history. We would all be immortal supermen playing video games on planet sized screens. Or maybe we would have self cleaning toilets, but either way, D’Leh fucked us but good. Hope you enjoyed blue-eyes, fucktard.

Coffee makes my heart want to explode. I still drink it, but in small, controlled doses that give my heart ample time to defuse each tiny bomb of caffeine that graces its presence before the next bomb arrives. This problem is magnified when I drink a Starbucks coffee. I will occasionally feel like I want to be a part of the Starbucks-drinking clan of cool people, so I’ll grab myself a Pike’s Place roast, or whatever it is they call a normal cup of coffee that doesn’t have all that superfluous shit in it. Half was through a Tall-sized cup I feel as though my body is vibrating at a different frequency than the rest of the world. It’s like my spirit is trying to shake its way out of my pours. My hands begin to tremble at a rate that can shake down a bridge. It’s terrible.

But damn do I love coffee.

But not enough to drink 30 fluid ounces of it in one sitting. Mostly because I’m perfectly fine with the current rhythm of my heart beat, and also because I don’t like it when my body has given up and wants me to fall asleep but the caffeine coursing through my veins is telling me to chase feral beasts on foot with a spear.

So, needless to say, I may never order Starbucks’ new and patently absurd cup size, Trenta. Although, I am a big fan of the cup. Thirty ounces of anything is a lot of liquid to expect someone to drink. Hell, the human stomach only holds 30.4 ounces. That’s a lot of cup to have around once you’ve finished your Joe. What could you do with something like that?

Make The Greatest Cup-and-String Phone In All The Land

Some Dixie cups and string are all you need to hear the ghostly wishers of the person holding the other end of a classic cup-and-string phone — and those things are only 3 or 5 ounces. Making one with two 30 ounce Trenta cups would be the equivalent of NASA communicating with astronauts dancing on the face of the moon. String enough of them together and you’ve got yourself a crude facsimile of the internet that would come in handy in a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Pan Handel Like A Boss

Most street beggars are content with molesting you in to putting a dollar in to their paltry 8 or 12 ounce coffee cups. The ubiquity of these small cup sizes made it so that you couldn’t tell which beggars were pros and which were just amateurs that never received proper beggar training.  Now, what with the invention of the Trenta, you’ll be able to tell the beggars pulling in five-figures from the ones you shouldn’t trust with a penny. It’s like asking who is the better rapper: the guy with the 18-inch rims, or the guy with 24s? Obviously, all rapping prowess is solely based on the size of the metal things in tires, just as the financial success and general swagger of a street beggar is based off of cup size. It’s simple science, really.

Start Your Own Sport: X-treme Cup Stacking

Cup stacking is so hot right now. I only say that because all of my friends are 12-year-old shut-ins with mild cases of autism, and people like that always have their fingers on the pulse of what’s cool. Right now, their fingers are on cups that are being rapidly stacked and un-stacked in and out of various shapes under strict time limits. Yes, where Pogs and Pokemon cards once ruled, cups now hold sway.

But regular cups are boring. Gather yourself about 12 Trenta cups and arrange them shits in to pyramid-like structures of thirst quenching majesty – and do it 4 time in under 10 seconds – and you’ll have thoroughly blown the minds of every cup stacker in the known regions of the universe. You’ll instantly become a mega-star in the cup stacking world. You’ll have your face on the cover of Stacker Weekly. And, best of all, you’re going to get so much of that sweet, sweet cup stacking pussy. You don’t even know.

Use The Cup As A Toilet

This is 30 ounces of coffee we’re talking about here, folks. If you chug that thing down on the subway on the way to the office, by the time you near the next stop along the tracks you’re going to need to unleash the hounds of excrement hell. Your bowels will be furiously pushing out every nugget of waste they have, and you will be filled with so much urine that you’ll think your body must have dried out your eyes and sucked out your spinal fluid and converted it in to pee.

Luckily, you have a cup so large that when submerged in a pool it can leave all pool occupants swimming on dry concrete. And, yeah — copping a squat on the subway maybe isn’t the most, let’s say hygienic or ethical or sane thing a person can do while riding tube filled with other humans that’s hurling down a dark tunnel, but think of the alternative: soiling your fancy business suit while attempting to retain your composure. There’s no way to make soiling yourself on a subway classy or professional. Doing your business in a large cup at least makes everyone think you’re a crafty individual that will never take no for answer; for example, you will never be viewed as a person that listens to authority figures when they say “Sir, you can’t poop in a coffee cup on train.”

One could easily argue that technology exists for the sole purpose of making our lives easier. Inventing weapons made it easier to kill the monsters that inhabited our prehistoric world, making it easier to not die. Inventing better weapons made it easier to live in fear than before, because although there were no more monsters, there were plenty of dangerous assholes with weapons.

All of this led to entertainment, in the form on coliseums, where we could give those weapons to two different dangerous assholes and watch them kill each other for our amusement. Much of this is still alive today, with our need for entertainment requiring better and better tech, so we can watch movies and TV shows of armed assholes pretending to kill one another. Oh, and the news and cooking shows or something.

But we have reached a new age, where easy is sometimes not easy enough. You can watch movies in your own home on your huge flatscreen TV, but you have to mount that sucker, and if it falls, well, there’s a broken foot or a dead pet. And what’s with this wires still connecting things bullshit? There has to be an easier way! Okay, so in the next decade, it will be easier. Way easier. Too easier, even though that isn’t grammatically correct.

Technology has made things so much easier that we’ve reached a point where we are now packing on some extra pounds as we kick back and enjoy this easy to use technology that cuts out much of the hassle past iterations included.

Technology like…

4)  OLED Screens, because even 30 lbs is heavy sometimes…

Remember the days when plasma and LCD TVs were the new “gee, holy shit, wow!” thing, and everyone was amazed that you could hang your TV on your wall? But then it turned out that they still weighed half a ton and you had to have some professional mount it or you were at risk of having a 50 pound Guillotine to watch Lost on? How about something that you could play X-Box on and literally hang on your living room wall like painting? Take a look at this:

.

That thing next to the Japanese woman is a 37” Panasonic Organic LED screen, and it looks like it is about three quarters of an inch thick. OLED screens are prohibitively expensive right now, with a 11 incher costing about $2,500, but just like Blu-Rays and handguns, the price will drop as soon as the tech is perfected and the demand is there. Imagine, a big screen TV that you could mount on your ceiling right above your bed. You wouldn’t even have to deal with that “sitting up” bullshit people having been forcing you to suffer through since you were 8 months old.

3) Reaching is hard, so iPhone Remotes

You put your Blu-Ray next to your bed, and your OLED TV on the ceiling where that mirror used to be, but you still need a remote for the Blu-Ray, because leaning over is for suckers, and standing up to change the channel? Fuck that noise. Do want to know what else to fuck? Switching remotes. Sure, they have universal remotes, but a lot of them require programming to set up and… Jesus, I’m getting worn out just writing it, so forget it. But you know what? You already have your iPhone right there, in case you need to order pizza or you have a sudden burst of energy and want to blow it on some Bejeweled, what if you could use that as your remote?

Well, good news, fatso! There are several apps on the market that let you run everything from your Blu-Ray, to your computer, to your TV. Or even over the Internet when you aren’t home, in case you are out picking up some beer and Krispy Kremes because those dicks won’t deliver.

2) For the untethered, Wireless Electricity

What’s that you say? Those wires leading to your ceiling TV are an eyesore? Plus, bundling up those cords is a pain in the ass, and God forbid the day comes when you have to move the damn thing, you have to do it all over again. Shit. What if there was a way to power everything without those stupid plastic tentacles creating tripping hazards and forcing you to exert excess calories on minor tasks? Well, the geniuses at MIT managed to pull it off, showing that you share an important quality with really innovative people; laziness.

Ned Flanders up there is demonstrating “witricity” on a DVD player and LCD TV, and showing off a cellphone that was also powered wirelessly. He is living Nikola Tesla’s wet dream, or at least the one that didn’t involve electrocuting Thomas Jefferson and giving his corpse a Cleveland steamer. It is literally the same concept as Tesla, that is, using magnetic induction, you can “broadcast” electricity across the room. Just think, you could use your wireless remote to turn on your wireless TV and wireless Blu-Ray to watch wireless movies. Okay, maybe I overshot the mark a little there, but it’s pretty god damn cool.

1) Decorate your home with movies, literally, with LED Paint

“But David!” You say, “I had to lift that TV up there! And what if I roll to the side to get a donut and lack the desire to roll back to see if Jake Scully nails that blue furry!” First off, he does. The movie came out over a year ago, what the hell is wrong with you? But I have some more good news for you, chubby! With LED Paint, you could hire someone to cover your walls in TV! It’s been in development for a while, but some brilliant people out there figured out how to suspend LEDs in a paint solution, so you can spread it on walls, cars, whatever, and show video with it. Imagine, instead of that Darth Maul wallpaper you painstakingly applied to your parent’s basement, you could just paint the damn thing and then loop his fight with the Jedi endlessly!

People have suggested using it to turn entire buildings into eye-blistering billboards that would likely be large and bright enough to change the flight patterns of migrating birds, but we know the real value will come from people playing Wii on their living room wall and laughing in the face of movie theaters when they turn their garage door into a drive in theater. However, I highly recommend not using it for Seitz’s image of Justin Bieber on a teenage girl’s body as your head would likely explode. Getting caught would embarrassing enough without your parents discovering your headless corpse with you junk in your hand.

BONUS! For the truly fucking lazy

There are some basic bodily functions that technology will never be able to do for you, but that doesn’t mean they can’t make them way easier, even if they were already really, really easy. Like wireless hotplates, that will let you heat up your burritos and flapjacks right there in bed, for when you need hot food, not just Funions.

Or what about when you can’t be bothered to pick up your phone and pause the movie, but that burrito needs to make an exit? How about a portable toilet? Sure, they’re intended for camping, but really, anything designed to make life out in the wild easier is bound to make life outside of the wild way easier. Just make sure you have a TP dispenser nearby, otherwise… Dude, I really shouldn’t have to explain that.

Yes, thanks to the miracles of modern science, we can all enjoy the same flaccid, bloated existence that we all dreamed about after the first time was saw Wall-E.

If you liked this, read and laugh about the 6 Things The World is doing to Accommodate our fat asses

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It has been a long held secret, but the truth may finally be out: the secret recipe Coca Cola used to make Coke. For 125 years, Coke’s recipe has been one of the most closely guarded secreted in the trade, but it only took reporters from NPR’s This American Life a few flips through an newspaper from February 18, 1979 to find what appears to be the original Coke recipe handwritten by John Pemberton, the inventor of Coke.

Time magazine got their hands on the recipe, and even the recipe for the special ingredient in coke known as the “Merchandise 7X flavoring.” But why they only list the ingredients, I want to make sure that you are aware of what all of the individual ingredients do, and what roles they play in creating the flavor of the Coke you know and love.

The recipe:

Fluid extract of Coca: Because someone will get arrested if they flat-out tell you they’re putting what is essentially cocaine in your child’s favorite fizzy drink.

Citric acid: The acid most suited for consumption. It is better suited than sulphuric acid, yet somehow less suited than acid washed jeans.

Caffeine: If you drank fizzy brown stuff that didn’t make you want to all of a sudden clean your engine block, then you’d think your fizzy brown stuff was defective, and you’d try to get your money back.

Sugar: Because Love Handles and Rolls of Neck Fat aren’t and cannot actually be considered ingredients.
Water: Without it, you’d be choking down brown sugar sludge through a funnel…and you’ve love it.
Lime juice: Like indigenous island people, the Coca Cola Company adds a touch of lime juice to their product to preserve it during long, harsh summer days, and so the animal carcass the coke is harvested from doesn’t rot and bloat and take on a musky taste and foul stench.

Vanilla: It hates it when you call it boring….could be a tag line for vanilla if vanilla weren’t so damn boring and was worthy of the ad space.

Caramel: Add 1.5 Oz to the mixture and you have Coke. Add 20 Oz and you have a Milky Way chocolate bar.

The secret 7X flavor

Alcohol: Thus proving that rum and cokes are redundant.
Orange oil: Not to be confused with yellow oil. That stuff is fucking gross.

Lemon oil: Is like yellow oil, but with a fresher scent.
Coriander: Smells like a box of Froot Loops. No joke.

Neroli: Is also used to in perfumes to add a light citrusy kind of scent when you want a perfume wearer to smell like they just got molested by an orange grove.

Cinnamon: I can’t come up with a joke for cinnamon. It’s the least funny of all the spices.

ED. NOTE: This article was originally written nearly a year ago, but it seems it’s just as relevant today.

Hey, Florida! Yeah, I’m talking to you! The state that I’m currently living in! You suck! First, it was with the 2000 presidential election, now it’s with snow. What the hell is your deal, man? What, do you have some kind of problem with the rest of the country, or something? Do you think you’re such a damn rebel/renegade that you can just hold everyone back from doing great things?

Damn it, you suck. Seriously.

Oh, what’s that, Florida? You don’t know what I’m talking about? Well, let me explain it to you in the same way I would explain tying shoelaces to my cats.

If it snows in Florida today, it will be a momentous occasion. It would be the first time in probably ever that there was snow on the ground in all 50 states in this great nation that we call The United States of America. Keyword: United.

You see, you and your dickish ways are holding us back from a landmark achievement. Do you understand how awesome it would be if there’s snow literally all over the country? Shit, even Hawaii has some snow on it. Granted, their beaches aren’t caked in a soft blanket of powdery coldness like a bunch of other states, only some of their mountain tops are covered in snow, but still – they’ve got snow and you, or should I say “we,” don’t.

You’re such a wet blanket, Florida. I’m serious. You always rain on everyone’s parade, yet you never rain on parades when the temperature drops down to the 30s. That would be the perfect time to rain on some parades. Because, then, you wouldn’t be raining on the parade, you’d be snowing on the parade, which is exactly what we want. So, now, you’re probably going to hold off on the parade raining for once and instead fold your arms to your chest, turn your head slightly and act passive-aggressively indifferent towards the parade. And I say fuck you very much for that one. Asshole.

Do you realize that I’ve never seen snow in person before? Yeah, sure, I’m too far south to actually see the snow, seeing as if it does snow in Florida today it would be in the north. But fuck that noise. I want the peace of mind of knowing that only few hundred miles from me there are frosty little flakes of frosty frostness falling frostily to the frosty ground.

C’mon, Florida. Don’t be such a dick, man. Bring us some snow. Bring us this momentous occasion. Do you want to be looked back upon with fond remembrance of that one time that every state in the union was covered in snow, and that Florida (yes, you) were the one that at the 11^th hour rode in on your mighty steed with a cavalry of snow behind you; or do you want to be the nefarious douchebag that fucked up our joy, shit in our cereal and reminded everyone of why you (and in turn, I) suck?

I know, I know. There’s a lot of pressure to perform here. And I understand that when it comes time to shine you just might get pee shy and puss out at the last second. I know. It’s tough. But you have to suck it up and get your shit in order. You have to find that inner snow that I and all Floridians know you have in you. We’re not asking for a blizzard, we just want a small pile of snow in Gainesville, or some light flakes in Tallahassee, or a giant fucking blizzard in Pensacola because that place sucks.

That’s all we ask, Florida. That’s all we ask…

Please, be smart. Give us some snow.

The ball is in your court now, Florida. Do you want to continue to be a callous asshole, or do you finally want to join the totally kick ass party that everyone else has already RSVP’ed for?

You’re move, Florida.

Love/Hate,

Luis Prada

P.S. – Seriously, though. What the fuck happened in 2000, man?

P.P.S. – From space, you look like a penis. Or the head of a sad cartoon turtle with snot hanging from its nose.

9 Famous Movie Villains Who Were Right All Along (Cracked)

The 10 Funniest Horse Racing Announcer Calls Of All Time (Super Booyah)

The 30 Most Anticipated Movies of 2011 (COED Magazine)

The JumpSnap: Holy Taco’s Indispensible Product of the Week (Holy Taco)

How To Buy Lingerie For a Woman (Modern Man)

Top 10 Anti-Gay Activists Caught Being Gay (Ranker)

Streaker fail (Dave and Thomas)

Touchscreen Gaming Just Got a Retro Upgrade (The Bachelor Guy)

Can Your Car Run On Four Loko? (UpRoxx)

Seven Terrifying and Supposedly Real Exorcism Videos (The Smoking Jacket)

Some things in life we just will not do, usually because we’re scared of jail and/or death, or simply because hey-we’re all respectable and shit. That’s where people like me come in, because people that write dick jokes for the internet have no shame, and are usually well-acquainted with the seamier side of life.

However, we’re also well aware that the people who frequent comedy sites are classy, monocle brandishing individuals with impeccable taste, who would balk at, say, finding the craziest woman in a seedy bar just to see what she’s like in the sack, or becoming a drug addict, or really anything you’re about to read here. Just keep in mind all these things were done for the sake of art, and not because they happen to be, like, hobbies or anything. Because they aren’t.

3. Crazy Women: Demons in the Sack, Or Just In Their Minds?

Now, in no way are we down with making fun of the mentally ill, in fact… Just to make sure, you got that thing about these terrible, terrible things not being hobbies or anything, right? I mean, these are not things I do for fun. These are awful acts, I know that, and the judge was perfectly clear on that score. So was the jury. Anyway, these things are wrong, I know they’re wrong, and I did them for arts sake, alright? We cool? Anyway, if I wasn’t in the trenches fighting for art’s sake, who would, people? Who would? Yeah, that’s right, no one. Okay. Just making sure. Anyway, as I was saying…

3. Crazy Women: Demons in the Sack, Or Just In Their Minds?

Now, in no way am I down with making fun of the mentally ill; in fact I’ve been assured by many highly trained professionals in the field of psychology that I am, most assuredly, exceedingly mentally ill. So the interests of… something? What did we agree on? Oh yeah, art-I went to the seediest bar in the city to find out if the kinds of women that patronize seedy establishments that advertise a ‘Ladies Night’ are crazy (yes), and if that craziness extended to the bedroom.

I entered, and was greeted heartily by Bobby, the bartender. I should point out that this seedy bar was also my regular, so there’s that. Anyhoo, I was looking to see if Crazy Mona was in her regular place, crawling on the floor asking the shag carpeting to read her fortune. As luck-and story convenience-would have it, she was. I was curious to find if Crazy Mona was, in fact, a crazy moaner, so I propositioned her like a gentleman: I left a trail of potato chips, ecstasy tablets, and roofied Twinkies from the bar to my home. Thank god I lived in the back room, so I didn’t have to waste too much of my weekly drug stash on this ersatz breadcrumb trail.

After luring Crazy Mona into my abode, it was time for business.

“Mona, I’ve loved you from afar for days, months, years even. It would be my greatest life accomplishment if you would allow me to make sweet, tender love to you for hours, ravishing you, bringing you closer and closer to release and, as you reach the precipice, drawing back and then taking you closer still, until you erupt in an explosion of ecstasy.”

I said this is my most Barry White of sexy voices.

“I ate a cat so it can fight the demons in my soul!” She replied in her most Exorcist of voices.

The conversation continued in this vein for some time, until the Roofies overcame poor Mona and she passed out on the vomit stain I call a rug.

Conclusion: Even a cad such as I couldn’t touch an unconscious woman, but I could tell people I did. I informed everyone who would listen that she was, in fact, conscious, and that I touched her. Repeatedly. Still, the act was not performed, so I’m afraid this one’s an ‘inconclusive’.

2. Blackmail: Convenient, or Convictable? Answer: Both!

Straight up, blackmail is a great way to solve problems. Of course, Photoshop is your friend; the mark knows he didn’t have sex with a goat in an SS uniform, but his friends, family and the world at large don’t.

In order to test this out, I needed a mark, preferably someone I had an issue with. Now there are no shortage of those; however finding one amongst them that actually had credibility to damage was a sight more difficult. After making a list of whom I considered credible, it came down to either Judge Heinburg, or God. Seeing as Judge Heinburg didn’t have Vatican City for a PR department, he became the mark.

After putting my ‘Shop skillz to work, I had a very credible depiction of His Honour in a compromising position. Somewhat less credible was the amount of penises he had crammed into his every facial orifice, but I figured people would just assume he was astonishingly enthusiastic. Time to get to work!

Conclusion:

The purpose of this article is to learn. (And art.) I hope you will learn, if you’re curious about such matters, what these topics are about so you don’t have to do them yourself. I learnt that striding into open court with two hundred doctored images showing a sitting judge felating, and for want of a better term, nose-fucking thirteen large black men and handing them out to everyone present isn’t how blackmail works. I also learnt that prison food sucks, however I’m pretty sure I could have deduced that myself without being forced to eat it for surprisingly longer than you’d think you’d have to, even taking into account the number of people I ratted on for a reduced sentence.

1. Heroin Addiction: Yeah, I Guess I Really Am That Stupid

This is the one I was most unsure about, but I had to find out: Is the shitty life of a dirty, smelly junkie secretly awesome? The answer may surprise you!

It is in no conceivable way secretly awesome, or any other kind of awesome. It’s about as far away from awesome as you can get, or to put it in real terms, if Mike Tyson represents awesome, being a junkie is so far away from awesome that it loops back around and runs in to Mike Tyson from behind. He then responds by punching you until he decides to rape you.

I won’t go into the whole injecting-myself-getting-hooked-stealing-your-toaster-and-DVD’s-for-more rigmarole that is junkie life, but I will offer some insight into other, more esoteric aspects of junkie-dom. For instance did you know that, when wasted on smack, thinking takes on a whole new dimension. It’s a dimension where you think “Holy… by Christ… I feel strongly… there’s a thing… that I think… aw shit. Fuckin’ blowjobs.” Is the greatest single thought in the history of our species. As far as you’re concerned, if that thought was a painting it would be the Mona Lisa being taken roughly from behind by Edvard Munch’s Scream while those creepy farmers – you know the dude with the pitchfork and his creepy wife? – cheered and high-fived in the background.

Also, personal hygiene becomes a non-issue: How could you possibly look, or smell, bad when you feel this good? Why, good sir, that is the very definition of unpossible! Junkies don’t look like crap and smell twice as bad because they hate themselves. It’s because they feel so fuckin’ fantastic that they just cannot care. Of course, your spit-and-old-newspaper universe comes crashing down when the drugs run out. Drug withdrawal is, without a doubt, the single worst thing ever. But is it worth it?

Conclusion: This one’s a lock. Emphatically, the answer is no. Sure, you could’ve probably just taken a stab at this one yourself without having to go through what I did, but art, remember? That’s why me and art have got each other’s backs, whereas you’re just standing there all alone, drug-free with nary a crazy chick in sight and no prison food.

Actually, you know what? Fuck art.

Find more of Aaron waxing poetic on the nature of all things illegal and dangerous over at http://shadowfilter.blogspot.com