Rotten's Words of non-Wisdom

Worst AT-AT Ever

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 20:45:00 +0000

Click on the image to see one of the dumbest things I've ever created.

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That stupid unfinished Christmas story

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 21:24:00 +0000

Many years ago, I started writing a Christmas story featuring some of the characters and situations that Raddmann Gee and I had created back in High School. Originally, I would write about a page and send out a part every few days.

Well, I didn't finish it by Christmas. I tried to finish it the NEXT Christmas, but that didn't happen either. That was like 8 years ago. One of these days, maybe I will actually finish it.
If you have been a regular reader of this lazy blog in the past, you may recognize a part that has been previously published. One section involves my late friend Wayne and one of his creations. You'll know when you get there.

Book 1,225: A Christmas Thingy

As the sun rose over the glistening snow covered hill, Lewis opened his
eyes. He rolled over in his warm bed and looked at the clock. It was
6:30! Christmas Morning! Instantly, he leaped out of bed with a
childlike sense of excitement!
Unfortunately, he also had childlike reflexes at the time and promptly
fell and hit his head on the dresser.
"Ow," said Lewis, not wanting to wake the rice pudding.
His wife, George, heard the commotion and woke up.
"Dear," she said, "what the heck are you doing?"
Lewis jumped up and hopped into his electric bunny slippers and went
running around the room looking for his favorite pair of pants.
"George! Get up!" he exclaimed as the water pik came loose from it's
wire cage and began attacking the cat with all the viciousness of fruit
salad. "It's Christmas morning! We have to go open our presents!"
"Oh good heavens," rounded George, "you're right!" George sprang from
the bed and threw her robe on, hardly noticing that Elwood the moose was
now naked and cold in the corner.
Lewis and George raced each other down the stairs. Realizing he was
losing, he flung himself over the banister and crash landed into the entry
hall weasel with a sickening "Meow" sound.
Unfazed, he ran into the living room.
George hurried after him. She turned the corner from the hallway into
the living room and saw Lewis standing in the entrance with a look of
utter disbelief on his face.
"But Lewis, that's where we get milk from," explained Hiney Perusgate.
"Lewis? What's wrong?" George asked as she got to the living room. She
turned to see what he was staring at and saw.... nothing. Absolutely
nothing.
Well, not actually nothing. That is, there was something. I mean if
there was nothing then you wouldn't have anything to stare at and nobody
would be interested in it anyway. Plus, it's hard to describe in print.
George and Lewis stared at their living room. Sure there was furniture,
the old red chair that Lewis had made out of recycled aluminum, the sofa
that didn't quite sound right, the TV with fifty two knobs that all made
George Clooney look yellow, and the floor lamp that wouldn't stop doing
the Cha-cha.
But it wasn't what was in the living room that bothered them, it was
what WASN'T in the living room that bothered them.
There was no Christmas tree, no presents, no candles that smelled like
the back of a pick-up truck, no candy canes, no inflatable Santas that
doubled as a microwave oven. Not a bit of tinsel, not a single
nutcracker, no garland, hippos, wreaths, lights, stockings, trash
compactor salesmen, or shiny objects made of fine pewter.
No sounds of jingle bells, crackling fires, gargling pigeons, barking
dogs, or Metallica's Warm & Fuzzy Christmas favorites.
No egg nog, turkey, pumpkin pie, sugar plums, beef jerky, candy, or
minced cow spleens.
Nothing.
There was not a bit of Christmas in the house.
George and Lewis turned to look at each other in that oh-so-dramatic way
that let's the audience know they are thinking the obvious but are going
to say it out loud anyway, for lack of better writing.
"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!?!?!?!"
Moments later, the phone rang the doorbell. Lewis went to the door and
opened it.
"Hey! Are you Lewis?" asked the phone.
"Yes," answered Lewis with painful amusement.
"You have a phone call." The telephone took off it's.. er.. head/receiver
thingy and handed it to Lewis. Lewis put the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"LEWIS! It's me... Larry! Dude, we got problems. There ain't no
Christmas over here!"
"Yeah, I know, no Christmas over here either," concurred Lewis.
"No Christmas anywhere. Christmas didn't come! Look, I'll be right over.
It's up to us to find out what happened to Christmas."
Lewis sighed. "Why do we have to find Christmas?"
"Because," responded Larry, "we're the main characters. We could let the
rocking chair do it, but supporting characters tend to get killed or
maimed or inducted into the Showtune Hall of Fame or some other
tragedy."
"Well, I can't argue with logic like that," said Lewis, "we'll just have
to find Christmas."
With that, Lewis handed the phone back it's head. "Thanks for the call."
"Don't mention it," responded the cheerful telephone in a voice so
squeaky that the women reading this story right now are swooning. "It's
my job." The telephone turned and ran away to parts unknown, never to be
heard from again.
Lewis closed the door and walked back to the living room where George
was currently reupholstering the cat.
"SIT STILL!" shouted George as she looked up and saw Lewis. "Oh! Who was
that at the door, Hon?"
"Just a mysterious wandering telephone. I talked to Larry. He's coming
over. Apparently Christmas hasn't shown up anywhere. We're gonna go look
for it."
"Oh, well, okay. But before you go, can you clean out the garage? You've
been promising to do it for months."
"But dear," whined Lewis, "it's Christmas!"
"No it isn't..."
"Oh... yeah... sorry."
*insert peppy music segue here. Just play something for a second. We'll
wait...*
Lewis was busy repacking his pants collection and stacking it neatly in
the corner next to his car (which had magically reappeared moments before)
when Larry came walking up the driveway.
"Hey... what the heck are you doing?" asked Larry while he straightened
his Shanghai Ferns baseball cap between his freshly polished horns.
Larry might be a cow, but he's a stylin' cow.
"George wants me to clean out the garage before we go find Christmas,"
said Lewis as he dropped another large empty box onto the ground in
exactly the same spot he had picked it up.
"Hmmmmm.... okay. Well, while you're finishing up, let's discuss what we
know about the situation."
"Well, I wanted to hang all the gardening tools from that wall over
there, but then I realized that I couldn't because then I couldn't use
the bathroom. But if I managed to squeeze in my mom's hideous old purse
collection over there by the stack of random parts that fell off of
cars, I figure...."
"NO, you pinhead! I meant Christmas! What do we know about Christmas!"
"Ummm... it's not here?" queried Lewis.
"Yesss," said Larry with growing impatience, "but what else?"
Lewis scratched the back of his head for a moment and looked confused, a
not entirely uncommon state of mind for Lewis. "Nothing I guess. We need
some clues. Where do we start looking?"
Larry looked ponderous for a moment then said, "I think I have an
idea... I gotta make a few phone calls."
Larry went into the living room and sat down on the couch.
"Ppppbbblllttt!" went the sofa as the bovine sat down.
"I see you still haven't gotten this sofa tuned. It still doesn't sound
quite right," said Larry.
"Yeah.... I think one of the cushions is flat. I've been meaning to get
that fixed," replied a most periwinkle Lewis.
Larry picked up the phone and dialed.
"Who are you calling?" asked Lewis.
"The big man himself."
"Ricardo Montalban?"
"Noooo.... Santa. He's the head cheese of Christmas. Maybe he knows
what's up." Larry made a face like a bemused sheep. "Hello? Santa?"
*in order for the reader to not be left in the dark and so nosy people
like my sister, who absolutely MUST know whatever the person on the
other end of the phone is saying, we will now include the character of
Santa. Please note that Santa is NOT in Lewis' living room, although it
would appear that he is talking to Larry, he is actually in the North
Pole, far away from Larry. Don't get lost. I'm not going to explain this
again.*
"Larry? Is that you? Ho Ho Ho!" exclaimed a right jolly ol' Santa.
*the part of Santa is being played today by Cuba Gooding Jr.*
"Yeah, Santa, it's Larry. Hey boss, what's up with this Christmas thing?
It isn't here!"
"You know, I was wondering that myself. I was all set to deliver gifts
last night, but I never got the signal from Christmas! I can't go until
I get the signal. Ever since I got confused and accidentally delivered
toys to half the good little children in Indochina in the middle of
April, Christmas and I have had this signal thing going. Ho Ho Ho!"
"Really... what's the signal?"
"Richard Simmons goes streaking past my window. Ho Ho Ho!"
"Ugh! Okay, so anyway, you don't know what's going on either huh? No
clues, no nothing? C'mon Santa you know if I've been bad or good but you
don't know where Christmas is?"
"Hey, I'm not omnipotent. And the only reason I know what everybody is
doing is because I'm connected to numerous spy satellites and mail order
catalogs! Ho Ho Ho! Christmas is different. I can't watch Christmas...
Christmas is kind of my boss. I don't want to get fired! I'll lose my
pension if I don't work at least 453 more years! I don't have any other
skills... I make toys. That's all... well I guess I'm pretty good at
eating cookies... Oh and I can drink anybody under the table! And then
there’s my budding soft porn career that..."
"Okay! Whoa! Look at the time. Thanks for your help Santa... Lewis and
I have to go find Christmas. See ya!" Larry hung up the phone and let
out a long deep breath. "Man. Did you catch all that Lewis?"
Lewis was squinting at the screen. "Hold on, I've only read to the part
where Santa's talking about his pension..." Lewis mumbled aloud to
himself and then look startled. "Geez! Santa's kind of disgusting! And
even worse, we still don't know where Christmas is." Lewis looked
downtrodden for a moment and then brightened, thanks to the 75 watt bulb
now hovering over his head. "Hey... I wonder if the Grinch is up to his
old tricks?"
"You might have something there," said Larry, "Let's call him."
Larry picked up the phone and dialed. Moments later, the Grinch answered.
"Hello?" answered the Grinch.
"Hey, Grinch. Larry. Listen, you didn't steal Christmas again did you.
It hasn't shown up yet and frankly, we're worried.."
"Oh hey Larry... no, I don't do that stuff anymore, remember? I changed.
I found the joy of Christmas... made my heart grow insanely big."
"Yeah, say how's that heart thing working out?"
"Well, it crushed one of my kidneys and is currently forcing my stomach
to poke out of my right hip. I've got six broken ribs that are still
mending and the extra weight has given me a double hernia. The doctors
have had to remove 16 vital organs to make room for this thing. I'll
tell ya, if I wasn't so full of Christmas joy all the time, I'd be in
tremendous pain!"
"Ouch... bummer Grinch. So if it wasn't you, what happened to
Christmas?"
"Don't know man... but if I wasn't bedridden, I'd help you look. Since I
have no other hobbies than enjoying Christmas... and tying antlers onto
smaller creatures... I'm kinda bummed out since Christmas didn't show.
Plus, I'm running out of morphine and those ribs are killing me."
"Well, okay. Thanks for your help. Hope you feel better soon Grinch."
"Thanks, Larry. Oh, and could you start calling me by my first name?
'Grinch' has such a negative connotation."
"Okay," responded Larry, "what is your first name?"
"Melvin."
"Ooooookay... Melvin... I'll talk to you later."
"Later Larry."
Larry again hung up the phone and looked at Lewis. Lewis shook his head
and looked at the floor. “How are we going to find Christmas... we don't
even have any leads."
"Well, we gotta start somewhere. I guess we should start checking out
all the places Christmas hangs out during the rest of the year. I think
we should start looking at...."
"The what?!!?!" exclaimed Lewis.
"You heard me... the Great Whale Tree of Skagawa, Iowa. Seems that
Christmas likes to go there every year for the annual Whale Ripening
festival." explained Larry.
"Well that doesn't make any sense," said Lewis as he slowly spun around
on one foot while scratching a framed photo of Peter Graves. "I mean,
what the hell is a whale tree? Whales come from the ocean and certain
convienance stores in the south... not from trees."
"Lewis, this tree is what makes new breeds of whales. Every year the
Great Whale Tree lets forth it's bountiful harvest of whales which are
then trucked out to the ocean."
"Whales do not grow on trees... they are not vegetation... SHEEP are
vegetation, not whales," said Mr. Know-It-All Lewis.
"Sheep are not vegetation Lewis... we've been over this before. Sheep
are animals that... Oh for crying out loud! Why am I having this stupid
argument with you anyway! C'mon!"
Larry grabbed Lewis by the arm and flung him into the passenger seat of
Larry's Magnudarian Roadster, which conveniently had been parked in
Lewis' living room. He started the engine and drove off, only stopping
by the kitchen on the way out for a six pack of beer and a salt lick.
And so our heroes trekked across countless deserts (3 of them) and
innumerable mountain ranges (12) and an endless string of coffee shops
(they really are endless... damn coffee shops) until they reached the
outskirts of the meteor crater where Skagawa was located. Carefully, so
as not to disturb the finely tuned road gravel, they drove into downtown
Skagawa which consisted of a restaurant and a Military school.
"... and over there is the restaurant and the Military School,"
explained Larry as he began and ended his detailed tour of scenic
Skagawa.
*A note to the readers: there weren't no Christmas 'round Skagawa
either*
"USUALLY," continued Larry, in large enough print that the author
realized Larry wasn't happy about being interrupted, "this place is
packed with people. Strange. The people to land ratio is generally 16
people square foot. I wonder where everybody is." Larry parked the car
next to the restaurant and the two intrepid detectives removed
themselves from their vehicle. They moseyed over to the Great Whale Tree
where they saw a young man standing motionless near, but not directly
under the tree.
"Lewis, that's one of the military students. They keep watch over the
tree so that nobody steals it and uses it for evil." Larry walked up to
the guard and extended a hoof in greeting. "Hi! I'm Larry and this is
Lewis."
"Hi... my name is 'Wayne'" responded the guard.
Hello, 'Wayne'," said Lewis, "Have you seen Christmas? It doesn't seem
to have shown up this year."
"Wayne" simply stared at them and then began chasing his hair. "Damn
Germans!" he exclaimed suddenly, "Damn Germans and their chocolate! Der
Chocolate is Verboten!" At this point, "Wayne" managed to catch his hair
and began chewing it vigorously, all the time staring at Lewis.
"Um, yes, I see... but we're looking for Christmas and any help you co-"
"DER CHOCOLATE IS VERBOTEN!!!!!!!!" yelled "Wayne".
Larry grabbed Lewis by the arm and dragged him back to the car as he
yelled to "Wayne", "Thanks! We appreciate your help!"
Larry once again flung Lewis into the Roadster and then immersed himself
in the driver's seat.
"Larry, that guy was nuts! He had no useful information! We've wasted
our time and we have no further information on the whereabouts of
Christmas!" moistened Lewis.
"On the contrary," designated Larry, "He gave us a very big clue.
Obviously, Christmas is involved with the German's somehow. That also
explains where all the people went and why he was a raving loony. The
German's have been here and have enslaved everyone by getting them
addicted to their fine chocolates! Then, with no one left to resist,
the Germans will simply take over the world and force everyone to watch
David Hasselhoff television programs!"
"Egads," exclaimed a most horrified Lewis, "a fate worse than death! Can
their chocolate be that good?"
"Oh yes... absolutely divine. No finer chocolate has ever been produced.
But, it's highly addictive and people will do nearly anything to get it.
I can only hope that they don't intend on using Christmas as their means
of distributing their fiendish sweets to the world. No one will be
safe... every stocking will be filled with doom!"
Larry and Lewis decided it would be best if they drove to Germany to see
if they could find out anything. Little did they know that Germany was
already on it's way to meet them!
As they drove, Larry and Lewis sang Christmas Carols in order to try and
get filled with the holiday spirit, possibly helping them to home in on
the source, being Christmas. Unfortunately, the only thing that was
filled was the car with bad singing.
"...me and Grandpa, we belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeive!" sang (screeched)
Lewis. "So, what happens when we get to Germany?"
"Well, I figure that we'll go find us a candy maker and pump him for
information. Most German chocolate makers are part of a secret guild of
confectioners. Chances are, one of them will be weak and we'll be able
to learn something. Maybe we'll even learn where they've taken
Christmas!"
After that they drove in silence for a while, mostly because I got bored
of writing dialogue. So instead, I decided to make them hum the drum
part of Bach's Stairway to Heaven Concerto in A minor. That managed to
take up a good bit of time, as I'm sure you can imagine.
It was when they stopped to get gas and pocket fisherman when something
terrible happened. Lewis had just finished using the little boys room
and Larry was finishing up in the little cows room when a huge land mass
burst through the front door of the Phillip's 666 food mart.
"Alright!" it announced, "Where are da heroes? De ones dey call Lewis
und Larry?"
Lewis, in usual fashion, stuffed himself into a bag of circus peanuts in
order to hide. Larry, who chose the absolutely wrong moment to exit the
restroom, came face to face with Germany.
"YOU! You are the do-gooder cow that all the villains hate! You will
come with me now!"
"Why where are we going? And why do you think I'll go with you?"
responded Larry with defiance in his voice and lint in his belly button.
"Because we have much to discuss! We must go to the Waffle HAAAUUUS!
There, we will eat waffles and discuss many important things that I
think will be of great importance in your quest to find the German
Chocolate makers."
Larry, thinking it was probably a trap but realizing there was little
else he could do, particularly since his intended destination had sought
him out and met him at this gas station, agreed. Forgetting all about
Lewis, Larry and Germany left the food mart and drove off on Germany's
moped.
Meanwhile, Lewis, now realizing that Germany was gone and that he could
no longer stand to be in close proximity with circus peanuts, withdrew
himself from the bag. He instantly noticed that Larry was nowhere to be
found. He walked up to the cashiers booth and asked, "Did you see what
happened to the cow I came in here with?"
The gas station attendant, whose name was Peanut, responded, "Yep... he
left with that foreign fella... said they wuz goin' to the Waffle House
or some such nonsense."
"Hmmm... It's not like Larry to leave with foreign land masses without
telling me... well, there was that time with Australia... and
Pittsburgh... oh and Pakistan... but usually..."
At this point, a flash of light appeared before Lewis and a short man
dressed like an elf appeared.
"Hey, who are you and why are you dressed like an elf?" asked Lewis.
"I'm Gerzandermaus and I am an elf you dimwit. Listen, Santa thought you
guys might need some help so he sent me to help you find Christmas."
"Cool! What special skills do you have?"
"Well, I've read 342 issues of Detective Comics and I once found a
needle in a haystack, although I wasn't really looking for it. And, I’ve
got a bottle of 12 year old Scotch for the celebration later."
"Sounds like you're more than qualified!" exclaimed a very enthusiastic
Lewis.
Peanut looked up from his Ladies Home Journal of Medicine and said,
"Look, you boys gonna buy somethin'? cuz if'n ya ain't, I'm a gonna haff
ta ask ya ta leave."
Lewis bought a package of Fruit Flavored Gorilla Spit and Gerzandermaus
purchased the holiday issue of Playelf. The new partners traveled out to
the parking lot and stood next to Larry's car.
"Can you drive this thing?" asked Gerzandermaus.
"Oh yeah, no prob... it's just like my car at home except that it has an
engine." The two got into the car and began driving.
"... so Germany and Larry are on their way to the Waffle House." said
Lewis as he recounted the story up to this sentence.
"Hmmm... I see. This is probably not good. I say that because I'm trying
to create some drama and tension so that the readers don't become bored
and go watch "It's A Wonderful Life" for the 987th time this year."
"Well, I think you did a good job."
"Thanks."
It was about that time, that the duo came upon the Waffle House.
As Lewis and Gerzandermaus pulled into a parking spot, they could see Larry and Germany having an animated conversation with the cartoon character that happened to be their waitress. From what they could tell, Larry seemed not in the least reluctant to be there talking to Germany. Lewis, being polite, held the door open for Gerzandermaus and in they went.
"Hello!" exclaimed a very cheerful looking woman on roller skates. "I'm Elizabeth-a-ding-dong and I'm the hostess here at Waffle House. Table for two?"
"Oh, actually we're meeting some friends here... the cow and the land mass back in the corner booth," responded Lewis in perfect monotone.
"Well, alright then... if you will follow me, I'll take you over there."
She turned, picked up two menus, and rolled down the aisle towards the back booth. Gerzandermaus and Lewis followed.
"Lewis, this girl is gorgeous! Think she might go for a short guy that makes toys for a living?"
"Gerzandermaus! We've got a job to do!"
After what seemed like seconds, because it was, Elizabeth-a-ding-dong stopped next to the booth where Larry and Germany were seated. "Here is your table! Can I get your drink orders?"
"Cranberry-mashed potato spritzer," ordered Lewis.
"You got Vodka?" asked Gerzandermaus.
"Would you like regular or diet?"
"Diet... and a slice of artificial turf please."
"It'll be right up."
The waitress, who was the hostess just a second ago, turned and walked away, leaving the four of them to do something without her.
"Alright!" yelled Gerzandermaus as he grabbed Germany's lapels (which were near Bonn), "What's tha big idea of kidnapping the cow!?!"
"I did not kidnap da cow! I came to help him!"
"He's right," said Larry, "Germany has been telling me all about the German's and their evil plot to enslave everybody with their highly addictive chocolate products! As Lewis and I suspected, they intend to get everyone addicted to their candy and then take over the world."
"So why is Germany telling us this?" asked Lewis in his usual state of bewilderment.
"I wanted to tell you how to stop them! I have a bad rep from all da other bad things dat have gone on because of the people who live in me. But I'm a nice guy! I like long walks on the beach, poetry, cute little puppies, and I'm pals with France! We play tricks on Spain!"
"Uh-huh," said Lewis. "So, what does this have to do with Christmas?
"Apparently, the Evil Candy Makers want to force Christmas to endorse their chocolate, eventually making it tradition that no one can stop even if they wanted to, like eggnog or Kathie Lee Gifford! It would be fairly easy since Christmas has sold out and gone all commercial on us. Why, ever since George Lucas gave Christmas the part of the Lumpy the hyperactive wookie in that weird ass Star Wars Holiday Special, all Christmas thinks about is image." explained Larry
"But image is nothing. Haven't we learned anything from Sprite commercials?" said Lewis philosophically. They others at the table pondered this for a moment and then said something else.
"Fortunately," continued Larry, "They haven't found Christmas yet. This of course brings us back to out original problem, being, where the heck IS Christmas?"
*to be continued... maybe*

Citiibank and Bank of America

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 23:00:00 +0000

Dear Citi Group and Bank of America,

I hate you and hope you die soon.

Love,

Rotten

Godless Satan Worshipping Phillies: 1, Jesus Rays 0

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 03:10:00 +0000

Well, some idiot Christians whined for years about Tampa Bay being the "Devil Rays" because, despite it being the name of a largely benign sea creature, "devil" was in the name. And like devil's food cake, deviled ham, and the Devil went down to Georgia, the Major League baseball club from Tampa Bay was obviously an instrument of the prince of darkness and thus despised by God Almighty.
So, Tampa Bay has sucked at baseball all these years because God has purposefully willed them to not win because the "Devil" was in the details.

(See: "World Series: Has God played a role in Rays' heavenly season?" by Rachel Zoll)

So, since the Rays dropped the diabolical descriptive from their official name and then proceeded to achieve their first winning season AND a trip to the World Series, some [moronic evangelicals] have suggested that God was rewarding them from removing the unholiness from their moniker.
And yet, much like praying for that cure for cancer, in the end, God simply toyed with Tampa Bay and it's fans.
The Philadelphia Phillies, from a city so ironically nicknamed the "City of Brotherly Love", beat the Rays 4 games to 1. Either God liked being a jerk or the Evangelicals are once again showing how unbelievably foolish their Puritanical belief system really is.

This is a Devil Ray:As one can see, this FISH has these little horn thingies on the front that help them eat Plankton or something. It also has a tail. Horns & tails... why, the Devil has those! It reminds people of the devil! Let's call it a Devil Ray, even though it's scientific name is Manta!

Fish, as far as anybody can determine, have no religious affiliation. Further, we have no idea what they name themselves or if the even have a self-awareness about them to identify what they are. So, "devil ray" is simply a name created by humans to describe a weird looking fish. The fish itself has no connection to God or Satan (as far as we know).

So, it seems pretty freakin ridiculous for anybody to get their jockstrap in a bunch about naming a baseball team after a fish. Yes, the word "Devil" was in the name. So what? Do you really think that your God finds that offensive? How petty and stupid is your God? People suffer all over the world each and every day for a variety of reasons. Is this because God is too busy agonizing over the nickname of a baseball team located in Florida? Holy Priorities!

The New Jersey Devils have won Stanley Cups. Manchester United (scum of the Earth they may be) are one of the most dominant professional clubs in any sport over the last 15 years and they're called the "Red Devils." Meanwhile, The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim (hmmm... "The Angels Angels" you'd think they'd fix that), a decidedly heavenly team, lost to the Red Sox. Sox seem pretty non-denominational and secular... angels are supposed to be God's personal army. How odd.
And then there's the New Orleans Saints... man, what's God got against them?

I was actually kind of leaning towards wanting to see Tampa Bay win the series... you know... the feel good story.... the crappy team who turned it around. Then I saw the crap about God and the Devil Rays. I knew they had dropped "Devil", and I knew that some of the Christan Atheletes and Evangelicals had asked to drop the name, but I hadn't paid much attention. Until somebody had to go and bring God's sports favoritism into things. Just as I find it pathetic and hilarious when I see some simpleton athelete thank God for helping him win, I decided that it would be more fun to see a team as boring as the Phillies from a city as crummy as Philly, beat the team of divine providence.

The actual reasons for the name change vary. The official spiel is that they were just trying to start fresh and erase 10 season of lousy baseball. Apparently, "Rays" no longer refers to a fish, but some goofy beam of light that brightens up Tampa or some nonsense. And I though the Oklahoma City Thunder was an idiotic name.
Whether or not the club actually caved in to irrational Jesus lovers or they wanted to start fresh by instilling the club with a name that might as well have been expelled by a bottle of Fabreeze, I don't know.
Personally, if they are going to go by just "Rays" then I say they should hire all the no-longer A-list celebs named Ray to hang out at the club, drive mini-cars in between innings, fight with the San Diego Chicken, and dance like organ grinder monkeys for drunk peanut wielding fans. Ray Romano, Ray Liotta, Ray Stevens... these are but a few. Ray Liotta is far more intimidating that a beam of light.

So anyway, God apparently was only pleased enough with the name change that he allowed the Rays players and fans a brief taste of success before ripping their hearts out and smiting their hopes and dreams.

Better luck next year.

Almost moderately not completely unknown

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 16:50:00 +0000

So, they other day, I sent out an email to some friends of mine alerting them to the snarky comedic goodness that is The Comics Curmudgeon, a daily blog hopelessly devoted to mocking ridiculous newspaper comic strips (like Mary Worth and the Family Circus and that awful thing called Pluggers). Among the people I sent this to was one Robert Philpot, entertainment/television critic type guy (and former radio columnist) for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Rob and I have had an informal sort of friendship from back in the days when I was a DJ on KTCU and he was desperate for any radio news. I figured Rob might like it. Apparently he did as he proceeded to give it (and me and this blog) a little write up in the Startlegram's online Pop Cultural District blog. Wasn't expecting that. I don't know if it will actually increase traffic to this thing, but maybe I should start posting regularly now...

Derailed again...

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 04:11:00 +0000

Seems like every time I think things are going to calm down and I can really start working on my own personal projects (like this stupid blog), life gets in the way.

Or, in this case, death.

See, last month, I finished my final essays for Grad School and then had my last class, a three week course on Library Collection Development of Graphic Novel Collections (i.e. comic books). My final assignment was due June 22. While writing this paper in the heat (the A/C at our house was broken that day so it was 86 degrees in the house), I got a call that my Mom had fallen in the bathroom and they had to take her to the hospital. Everybody told me to finish my paper and get there as soon as I could (well, except for one of Mom's neighbors who tried to lay a guilt trip on me because I wouldn't drop everything and rush to the hospital to wait in the waiting room). Somehow, I finished and I went to the hospital.
My Sister and my Uncle and Aunt (Mom's brother and sister-in-law) were there and we waited for a bit. The doctor came out and said my sister and I could see Mom, finally. She was in ICU, but she was awake and lucid. She was dehydrated and tired, but we were able to talk some. We talked about some dumb stuff (like how she was going to miss that night's episode of Army Wives) and some important stuff. My Sister and I stayed for a little while, but it was becoming obvious that she was getting tired so we said we should leave so she could rest. I kissed her goodbye and told her I come up the next day to check on her. On my way out, I told her to "behave herself" and she kind of laughed.
We'd been through stuff like this before. Mom was diagnosed with Stage 3 Ovarian Cancer back in June of 2001. Originally, the doctors said 6 months, maybe a year or maybe even 3. She blew that out of the water. Granted, the cancer kept coming back and she had more surgeries and chemo, but she kept fighting. But then, in early June of this year, we got the news that her kidneys were failing and the doctors couldn't really do much else. She had maybe 3 or 4 months left.
We didn't even get 2 weeks.
On June 23rd, Monday morning, about 9 hours after I left her in ICU, I got a call from the hospital saying we needed to get there ASAP. My Sister got there the same time I did and we rushed up to ICU. It looked like the whole emergency staff was in her room. They were putting in a breathing tube. She was unconscious. The doctor started asking about living wills and what her wishes were. I couldn't make that decision yet... I needed other people... my uncle... my wife... somebody. The doctors said we had a little time to decide.
The rest of the family arrived shortly and we waited. I made phone calls letting people know things were looking bleak. The doctor came in and said we needed to decide because they were about to have to try and resuscitate. We all knew Mom wouldn't want to be kept alive on machines, so I said "let her go."
After the staff had removed most of the machines (just the ventilator was there), they let us go in to be with her. My Sister and I held her hands and shortly the nurse came in to let us know that she was not really breathing on her own anymore and it was time to take out the tube and let it end.
For about 5 minutes after the tube came out, my sister and I stood on each side of her, held her hands, and listened as her breaths became shorter and shorter until... nothing. The nurse came in and said she was gone. We said our goodbyes and left the room.
After that, it was a whirlwind of phone calls, emails, funeral plans, flowers, family, food.... just all sorts of busy. We buried Mom, next to Dad, on Friday, June 27th, 1 day after what would have been their 38th anniversary and 1 month after my 33rd birthday.
I'm really not sure how this post ended up with all of this. I logged in to just make a quick post saying life was hectic, but I'm still around. Instead, it's turned into another post about someone close to me who died. It's almost the second anniversary of the death of one of the most interesting people I ever knew, Wayne Erickson. 2 years later, and I still can't bear to read what I wrote after his death (I've moved the original Yahoo blog post from 7/19/06 to this blog).
It's not like Mom's death was a complete shock. Granted, we knew it was unlikely that she'd make it to Thanksgiving, but I really thought I'd have more time with her. I had just ordered a copy of one of our favorite movies (What's Up, Doc? with Barbra Streisand and Ryan O'Neil) so we could watch it one Saturday afternoon. In fact, I had just quit my Saturday part-time job at the library so I could have more time with Mom... arranging things, discussing the estate, getting her to tell stories of her life to my video camera, just hanging out... but I didn't get to do any of that.
Now, I don't have any of those "I never told her I loved her!" regrets... I know she loved me and she knew I loved her. But I do feel a little bit robbed. It's like I started the last chapter of a book, all set to find out how it neatly wraps everything up, and somebody snatched it away before I could finish it.
I really thought I could handle this... I mean, 7 years of fighting cancer is a long time and you know that you probably aren't going to be on the winning side. The chemo hadn't been working for awhile and I could just tell that things were heading downhill. And I tried to steel myself up... to be numb... to somehow disassociate from the loss that I knew was coming.
But I couldn't...
I'm getting along mostly okay... I still become sad for no reason and tears start falling if I think about Mom too long. As long as I stay busy, it helps. But the fact is, the world feels different now. It sounds overly dramatic, but it really feels like part of me is missing and I'm kind of having trouble focusing. Things that should make me happy don't make me as happy. I'm bored almost everything.
I know this is just part of the process and it takes time. I really just wish I could take a month away from it all, but that's not an option right now. I also wish I could just explode into a million tiny pieces and then slowly rebuild myself and fix the broken parts. But that isn't possible either.
I won't go into it too much here, because this post isn't about religion, but I cringe every time somebody brings up Jesus/Christians/God/Heaven. Mom knew I wasn't Christian. I don't know if she knew that I'm an atheist or if she just thought I was agnostic. At any rate, we didn't discuss religion much. She had her beliefs and I had mine, and that was fine. But for whatever reason, and I know it's largely just people trying to make me (and themselves) feel better, I find little comfort from people's comments about Mom being "in heaven with the Lord" or that people are praying for me. See, this compassionate deity they all rave about saw fit to give Mom cancer in the first place. They can rationalize it all they want, like, "god gave her cancer and the strength to fight so that other people can be inspired!" That's idiotic. It really is. If god is such a benevolent dude, why not just get rid of cancer instead of inflicting the pain of cancer on his true believers to make a point about inspiration and faith to other people? Why make friends and family go through the pain and anguish of watching a loved one slowly die? And as for people praying for me... what good does that do? By praying, is god going to make me feel better that he took my Mom from me? Screw god and screw the prayers. I don't need the prayers. The damage is done and I'll heal in time, but not through the spiritual prozac that believers think god will provide. If god didn't want me to suffer, he shouldn't have taken my mom. And if god DID want me to suffer, what kind of an asshole tortures and kills someone else to make their target suffer?
Okay... I'll get off that... it just makes me angry.
This post is not my final goodbye to my Mom. I refuse to say a final goodbye to my Mom. Because a final goodbye means I stop thinking about her and I stop remembering her and I start removing her from my life. She may not be here anymore and I may not be able to hear her voice or see her face or hug her anymore, but she's still with me.
And you don't say goodbye to someone who is with you.

Love you Mom!

New Old Time Travelling Posts

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Tue, 20 May 2008 20:28:00 +0000

Since my Yahoo 360 blog is going to go away, I'm migrating the posts from there to here. So if you missed them the first time, perhaps you'll read them this time.

They'll be posted under the same date they were originally posted.

And I'll put some new crap up at some point.

Dope... and other things that sound like Pope

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 18:12:00 +0000

Dear crummy Catholic Pope Benedict XVI,

Please go away. I don't like you.
First of all, everybody knows sequels suck and after the "pope-nipple" outrage from the Joel Schumacher directed Pope Benedict XV, I was hoping we'd never have to see another one.
Second, "Benedict" has a bad history as a name in this country. Benedict Arnold was a jerk and a traitor and besides, I hate eggs no matter how they are prepared.
Third, you were a Nazi. I don't care if it wasn't by choice, you were still a Nazi.
Fourth, you're a dick. You didn't seem particularly concerned about child molesting priests before so screw you.

What I don't understand is why all the Protestants get all excited about you. People like President Bush get all enamored with meeting you and refer to you as "Your Holiness." Do they not understand where the "Protest" part of "Protestant" came from? Protestants and Catholics, other than claiming to be followers of crazy ol' Jesus and the subsequent ramblings of Paul, pretty much have nothing else in common. In some places, they still kill each other because each side thinks the other is completely wrong.
I could understand it if it was some sort of act like when heads of state pretend to get along because everybody is watching, but these fools act genuinely happy to be within the pope-a-matic bubble of the pontiff's divine light. The very foundation of Protestantism is that these followers of Christ REJECT THE POPE'S AUTHORITY AND EVERYTHING HE DECREES!!!! WTF!!!!??!!?!? Either these Xians are just stupid and ignorant of their own religion or they are hypocrites. If the pope has no authority, what is there to respect? Without authority, he's just a guy in a white robe sponging off other people's money. He's like Paris Hilton without a small dog in a purse.
If I were to come into contact with Pope Benedict and introduced myself as Pope Rotten Arsenal, do you think I would seriously get addressed with any sort of respectful, reverent title? Probably not. I'd probably get condemned for blasphemy by Catholics and Protestants alike. There is a message board devoted to listeners of a local radio show and I was elected by the members of that board as "pope" and given some authority (I have an entire section I get to moderate and I run the Deadpool!), so doesn't that mean I should be given the same respect by other "popes", whether they subscribe to that which I am pope of or not? Sure, some people might say that "it's just a dumb message board for listeners of a radio show... being pope of that is a big joke." Well, guess what, as a non-christian who finds much of what the catholic church does to be pretty sh***y, my view of Benedict is that he's a joke of leader of a dumb religion for followers of a guy with an inflated image who died 2000 years ago. Why are my beliefs less valid?
If Peggy Nadramia, High Priestess of the Church of Satan, or Bobby Henderson, founder of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster were to meet President Bush, would the prez exhibit reverence and respect to them? I doubt it. What's the difference? They are both high profile humans within a religious organization who can claim just as easily as Benedict that their authority is divinely derived.
I really wish I could meet a Catholic Pope one day just so I could treat him like any other douche bag I might meet. No "your holiness" or bowing... maybe a firm handshake and a "how ya doin", but I'll do that for any other human being.

So, enjoy your stay here, enjoy the adoration of all of your sheep, and then get the hell out of here so that my tax dollars aren't supporting the heightened security that no doubt follows you all over the damn place.

Jerk.

Sincerely,

Pope Rotten Arsenal

Fibber McGee

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Sat, 23 Feb 2008 05:25:00 +0000

This blog is not dead, just in hibernation.

Missile Silos of the Apocalypse

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 04:11:00 +0000

Okay... I've finally figured out what church steeples are really for.

They're missile silos.

No really... inside these pointy towers that often times house bells or are adorned with crosses are WMDs... "Jesus Missiles" if you will.

Steeples have long been associated with religious structures. In fact, according to some wacko Seventh Day Adventist study on steeples from 1987, they actually date back to pagan religions, a fact that had some people claiming they shouldn't be used. (Apparently the "pagan" stuff taints the Jesus, but somehow different than all the other pagan stuff they've absorbed). The link above discusses why this attitude is wrong, but all the same, it's an interesting discussion about steeples (there's something I never thought I'd type).

Anyway... missile silos... right. I'm not really sure why they would have missiles in church steeples, but it no doubt pertains to the impending Apocalypse that almost assuredly is nigh (as it has been for the last 2000 or so years). My theory is that it's one of two things:

At the appointed time, either some secret time that only the Christian higher ups know or possibly when Jesus sends the email (To: Christians Everywhere, From: Jesus (I_Save@godmail.net), Subject: The time has come. Execute order 666), the missiles will simultaneously launch and will destroy the temple and open a hole to Hell allowing all the demons of the underworld to begin the Apocalypse. Or..
After the Apocalypse has started, the missiles are fired which then detonate over the Earth, releasing some sort of Holy Radiation that takes all the Christians up to heaven

I really don't know which one it is. But, knowing the Christians penchant for cryptic soothsaying and overly complex symbolism, I think this quote from a steeple maker speaks volumes:

"A steeple points one to the heavens, symbol of the dwelling place of Christ. Through city streets, across the valleys and lakes, through the countryside far and wide, the steeple declares Christ."
- Jerry Bennett of Campbellsville Industries
(from "Here's the Church, Here's the Steeple..." by Scott Gabrielson, Your Church magazine, May/June 2001)

See? It "points to the heavens", the launching direction, and then when it fires the missile, it's "declar[ing] Christ" and the missiles travels all over the place! What more proof do you need?

The article includes some bit about contemporary steeple uses and talks about churches allowing cellular companies to put antennas on the steeples to help expand their networks (Can you hear me now, Jesus?). The churches make some cash in exchange for allowing a corporate entity to put metal on the steeple which allows devices created through science to function better. Of course, it could all be just a ruse... perhaps they are just adding the antenna so the missile command can link up with satellite targeting systems.

Damn you, Frito Lay!

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 03:24:00 +0000

I'm pretty sure I'm addicted to Doritos. I say this because there isn't a day that goes by that I don't eat Doritos. In fact, I'm not sure my day is complete if I do not consume Doritos at some point.

It doesn't help that one of my co-workers ALWAYS has a big bag of Nacho Cheese around her desk. This isn't that surprising when you realize that she basically only eats about 6 different foods (white bread, peanut butter, Sunkist, spaghetti, deli style roast beef, and Doritos). At any rate, she's made junkies out of most of our team.

Nacho cheese is the easy fall back flavor. It's available almost anywhere snacks are sold. I prefer the Spicy Nacho myself. Cool Ranch isn't bad, but I usually get tired of them before the end of the bag. Taco is my all time favorite, but they don't make those anymore (unless you buy their ludicrous mix bags that have two flavors of Doritos in one bag).

I should really try and kick the Dorito habit. It's pretty much the one really bad thing I haven't been able to really stop eating regularly. I have no idea why. Frito Lay probably has some addictive additive in these things that force us all to keep shoving curled triangles into our faces.

Today's Lesson: Where babies SHOULDN'T come from

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 07:03:00 +0000

There is no reason for the pic on today's post, other than I just really like the old Denton, TX ska band The Grown-Ups. R.I.P.

First off, might I just point out that it would be really funny if the New England Patriots went undefeated this year, thereby making the undefeated 1972 Miami Dolphins a little less special, but only if the currently winless 2007 Miami Dolphins remained winless. THAT would make me laugh.

Rotten's Brilliant Controversial Plan #59:

There are too many stupid people having children. There are also too many people who have children when they are completely unable to properly care and support a child (much less have more than one). I propose that it become law that all males should have vasectomies at puberty (paid for by the government). Later, when the male and the specific female intended to be said male's mate can prove that the couple are financially sound, not complete morons, and can prove they have some idea of how to properly raise a child (think psychological examinations, for one), then the government shall reverse the vasectomy. Once the happy couple have managed to create their little bundle of joy, poppa gets re-snipped.

Want another kid? Go through the original process all over again.

Sure, some of you are probably thinking that this is probably infringing on some rights somewhere and that the government doesn't need to be involved in baby making. Well, too bad. The Catholic Church doesn't need to be involved in baby making either, but that doesn't stop them.

Besides, you have to have a license and prove some competency to drive a car, hunt, own a gun, etc... shouldn't you at least prove that you have some measure of responsibility before creating another human being?

I'm not saying you have to make $100k a year and score a 1600 on your SATs, but hell, I'd like there to at least be some planning involved. If you have to fill out paperwork and have your man parts screwed around with, I'm guessing you've at least thought about having a kid as opposed to a couple of 16 year old kids who either didn't get (thanks religious nuts!) or didn't pay attention to sex ed.

Added bonus: "Single" woman gets knocked up? Chances are pretty good somebody's cheatin'!

Sure there are potential problems like back-alley reverse vasectomies and such, but let's face it, men are really squeamish about other men messing around down there. And two points about that:

I say men because how many women are really going to do a back alley reverse vasectomy on some guy unless that guy is going to get them pregnant?

Women may have the guts to give birth or abort a fetus, but guys get close to tears just watching somebody get kicked in the crotch. Caveman acts tough, but caveman is a big wuss in regards to nether pain.

It doesn't really have to be that difficult to get approved for the "stork" license. Use the Kia method... "Do you have a job? Do you have $199?"
Maybe not that basic, but I mean you can weed out the completely unacceptable situations right off the bat. High School drop out that works the cash register at Wal-mart? As the great Magic 8-Ball once said: "Outlook not so good."

I'm not usually a big proponent of having the government step in and force responsibility down the populace's throats (or loins as the case may be), but in this case I make an exception. There are a lot of things that we're running out of on this planet.... humans are not one of them.

Slow news day

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Sat, 03 Nov 2007 19:18:00 +0000

Well, here I am at work on what was supposed to be a day off. I'm half asleep and really don't want to be here. At least there isn't much going on.

Random stuff running through my head:

Great, a writer's strike. No new TV. Oh well, at least I can get caught up on Netflix.
Dog the Bounty Hunter... I don't think anybody would have ever pegged him as a smart man, but now he's removed any doubt.
Tony Romo... why do I care? Oh wait... I don't.

More later when I'm not so tired...

Happy Halloween!

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 05:54:00 +0000

Well, here's a late posting on the best day of the year (which means that most people who read this... well, it's probably not Halloween anymore)!

Halloween! Man, I really miss having free time and few responsibilities. Hopefully when I'm out of school I can enjoy the holiday a little bit more. We gave out candy to little monsters, but I didn't even have time to carve the jack o' lantern this year (a light-up plastic jack pumpkin had to suffice).

I remember when Raddmann and I lived together. For Halloween, we went nuts with yard decorations. Radd made this great noose and we hung a skeleton from a tree in the front yard. In fact, we were so happy with the skeleton-noose that we put a Santa hat on it and hung it back up for Christmas!

Uhhhh... anyway... Here's today's pumpkin treat followed by an old entry from the archives (a Halloween piece I did for the TCU Daily Skiff).

And now, a special presentation of an old newspaper column...

Well, it’s almost that time of year again. You know, when ghosts and goblins take to the streets in search of candy, “smashing pumpkins” refers to an action instead of a rock band, and many people get upset about exposing children to satanic rituals.

Yes, I’m talking about Columbus Day.

No, I’m not, what am I talking about... Halloween... I’m talking about Halloween!

Halloween was supposed to be, in it’s most recent form, a holiday where kids dress up in something and go door to door asking for candy. Panhandling by children was heartily encouraged and the American Dental Association saw a sharp increase in the number of cavities their patients had.

Now, however, many parents and schools are nervous about all the scary things and have killed the excitement. Something about “satanic rituals in praise of the Dark Lord of Hell” or something silly like that. Never mind that these same parents actually ENCOURAGE their children to watch Barney the Dinosaur and Satan’s best friend, Elmo, from Sesame Street. C’mon parents, it’s all about priorities!

But I depress. Fortunately, there are still people out there who care about Halloween. Who, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. College students, rich people, pagans, bank employees, the entire entertainment profession, makers of fine candy (and not so fine candy... circus peanuts... BLEAGH!), people who need any excuse to drink, and, of course, evil minions of the Devil who will conduct “satanic rituals in praise of the Dark Lord of Hell.”

If you yourself (as opposed to you himself or possibly you ourselves) fall into one of these fine demographics (or would that be demongraphics), then more than likely you have plans for Halloween night. But what can you do?

Well, friends, let me help.

First off, you must have a costume. (SPECIAL NOTE TO CROSSDRESSERS AND TRANSVESTITES: Sorry, that doesn’t count) If you do nothing else, you must have a costume. Even if you just sit at home and watch every episode of the original Star Trek series (you GEEK!), you must at least do it in costume. Just dressing up like someone else can fill your heart with Halloweenness and brighten your otherwise pathetic life.

In order to properly choose a costume, you must consider a few things: Where am I going? How much money do I have? Will my boyfriend/girlfriend/animalfriend approve and/or find me more attractive so I can get lucky later? Can I be arrested for wearing this? Do I really like Key Lime pie, or am I just saying that so that I don’t hurt Aunt Bernice’s feelings?

The most important questions are the first two. You must choose a costume that you can easily move around in as well as afford. Dressing up like Elvis might be fun, but can you afford it? A cardboard box is easy to do, but are you going to a crowded party? A cardboard box might work for your wallet, but it’s almost impossible to do anything in it. Forget about dancing! A suit of armor would be very cool, but it would be expensive AND hard to move around in. So forget it, pin head.

Try and pick something easy, like a witch, ghost, demon, ghoul, Teenage Morphin’ Ninja Thingy, politician, or any other cliché overused costumes. Store bought costumes are usually entertaining if nothing else. But if you really want to entertain people, create something from scratch out of things you find around your house. Use your imaginations for crying out loud! Did Mr. Rogers teach you nothing?

The most basic costume is whatever you happen to be wearing that day. You could say it’s many different things. For instance, you could be a Met’s Fan, an undercover cop, an alien dressed as a human, your best friend, your evil/good twin, or perhaps a college student. If you are actually in college, the last one won’t be much fun since you are probably pretending to be a student already.

Some other easy to put together costumes include: wrapping yourself in aluminum foil to be a lightning rod, cover yourself in paper and become an IRS audit (oooo... scary), or just grab anything you can find and place it on your body. Any combination you can think of! Sure macaroni, paper sacks, bananas, and popsicle sticks look strange, but hey, it’s a costume.

Now that you have put together a costume, you have to find a place to show it off, assuming of course you aren’t one of those geeks watching Star Trek. Since you are probably an adult now, your options are limited. You could go trick or treating, but be careful, some places have laws against anyone over a certain age doing this. If you can go trick or treating, here are a few tips.

First, wait until later, say around 8 or 9 o’ clock. This gives all the REAL children a chance at getting some candy. Also, some candy givers get a little perturbed by overage people going door to door. So be extremely curteous. Going later in the evening has some real advantages as well. By this time, people usually have a lot of candy left over and are eager to get rid of it. Chances are, you can make quite a haul off of just one street, although, you should expect to get a lot of Tootsie Rolls.

If trick or treating doesn’t sound like fun, you could do other things. One idea is to find a party to go to. Preferably, it’s a good idea to find a party that you’ve been invited to. But, since you’ve got a identity hiding costume, it’s very easy to crash parties. Nobody knows who you are! Now, go spike the punch.

If parties aren’t your thing, perhaps going to a “scary” haunted house would be more entertaining. Here, you can pay exorbitant amounts of cash to see people in rubber masks jump out of a closet and yell “BOO!” Some people find this entertaining.

You could go rent a movie like Friday the 13th Part 95 or Saturday Night Fever and sit at home and relax. My personal recommendation: get a movie with the Olsen twins. They are extremely disturbing.

If you are at home, you can hand out candy to children. Children like candy. As for those pesky overage people who shouldn’t be trick or treating but are anyway, I suggest handing out little packets of ketchup and mustard. Better yet, give them a nice big helping of water from the hose.

I hope some of these suggestions help make your Halloween a little bit more fun. Remember, if you can’t be scary, be silly. Oh, and nobody likes those crappy popcorn balls and don’t backwash when bobbing for apples.

Mmmmmmm.... beer....

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 04:25:00 +0000

Today's pumpkin entry is actually 4 entries. 4 "pumpkin" beers to be exact. 3 of these were from last year. The thing about pumpkin beers is that they really don't taste like pumpkin. They're MADE with pumpkin, but they don't much taste like pumpkin. Regardless, I keep trying.Going from left to right:Jack's Pumpkin Spice Ale (Anheuser-Busch) 5.5% - "Ale Brewed with only the Finest Barley Malt, The Choicest Hops, Pumpkin and spices." Pretty much a typical pumpkin ale. Taste like an ale with some stuff in it. Not bad, but there are better beers if this isn't gonna taste like pumpkin.The Shipyard Pumpkinhead Ale - No % listed and a warning sign: "MALT Beverage with pumpkin spice added." It's been a year since I had this, but the memories are coming back.... this tasted like soda water with some pumpkin flavoring. It actually tasted like pumpkin, but lacked any beer qualities that I pretty much disqualified this one. The artwork on the label is quite entertaining, though.Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale (Blue Moon Seasonal Collection) 5.6% - "The flavor of vine ripened pumpkin & spices with traditional crystal malt." This is the one I got this year. It's a good beer (but then, I just like the Blue Moon line), but again, not a major pumpkin flavor explosion. I'd recommend it for parties just to go with the theme, but if you want a seasonal to just drink at home, try the Blue Moon Winter Ale.Dogfish Head Punkin Ale 7% - "A full-bodied brown ale brewed with real pumpkin, brown sugar, allspice, cinnamon & nutmeg." If you are at all familiar with the Dogfish Head line of beer, then you know that it is made up of beers that are heavy on flavor and heavy on alcohol. This one fits the bill. To be honest, I don't remember exactly how this one tasted, but I can remember that I felt quite relaxed after drinking it. Pumpkin flavor or not, shotgun one of these and you'll have no problem going to sleep.For those of you that looked at/can see the picture associated with todays post, you may notice there are in fact 5 beers displayed. This is true. The fifth beer is not a pumpkin beer, rather, it is the beer that was unanimously voted at the Chris & Liesl Logan Beer Tasting Festival as THE WORST BEER EVER!!!!This is the Left Hand Brewing Company's Milk Stout. There is no alcohol percentage listed, but I can tell you that it isn't enough, whatever the hell it is. I bought this with the intention of of maybe winning best beer or weirdest. I like stout and I like milk stout and I thought, hmmmm.... this looks interesting. Plus, there's a cow with hand-print spots on the label. That cow wouldn't steer me wrong (no pun intended).That cow drove me into the biggest cow patty ever ejected from bovine buttocks. A general consensus was that the beer tasted like an ashtray. As such, it easily won worst beer and I earned the prize of a book about the "most evil" people in history.It was my own fault. I broke rules regarding good beer selection. Mainly, NEVER BUY A DOMESTIC STOUT! I don't care what you think it might taste like, if it was made by some hippie indie brewer in the US, then it's crap. Period.

Random musings and pumpkin tarts

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 03:49:00 +0000

I've decided that Britney Spears, within the next two years will either:A) Become a born again Christian who has discovered the error of her ways, finds Jesus and starts making terrible records like "Confess, baby, one more time" orB) Be dead

She's just that messed up. Those are pretty much the only options for somebody that wacko. If it's "B", maybe we'll get a lucky trifecta and Brit, Paris, and Lindsey will all be out in an SUV that rolls into a ditch and blows up.Today's pumpkin review is for the Archer Farms 4" Pumpkin Tart. Found this one in the Target bakery for $2.99. It's 6 oz of tasty pumpkin goodness (with dollop of cream and a chocolate stick). Don't look at the Nutrition Facts (especially since this thing is supposed to serve 2).It has a good pumpkin flavor but I can't say this is fanamatastic since it largely tastes like a mini-pumpkin pie with extra crust (not that I mind... I like crust). It was good and I'd recommend it, but it isn't the pumpkin find of the year. 4 out of 5 pumpkins.An aside: it went quite well with the Blue Moon Winter Ale (Target was out of the BM Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale, which will be reviewed later). Both were consumed while watching another dandy episode of Reaper.

Stop! Pumpkin time!

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 04:07:00 +0000

Well, it's pumpkin season again. This year, I fully intend on doing a better job of reporting all of the tasty pumpkin treats. So far this year, there has been a new pumpkin beer, pumpkin pudding, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin tart, pumpkin milk, and pumpkin curry soup. I have a pumpkin cake recipe to try and some pumpkin cream cheese in the fridge. Reviews and pics will follow as time allows.If you happen to find a pumpkin flavored something, let me know so I can try it.And now, for no particular reason, stuff I'm enjoying:Music: Kings of Leon, The Killers, Feist, The Hereafter, The Fratellis, MU330Books: Currently reading, Calendar by David Ewing Duncan and Don't Know Much About the Bible by Kenneth C. DavisTV: Reaper, Supernatural, Pushing Daisies, Dirty Sexy Money, House

Gal's Panic on You Tube

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 04:28:00 +0000

As an addition to last night's post. there are currently four video's on you tube from GP's show at Emo's. Just search "Gals Panic Emo's". Two cuts of the first song "The Pit" and one each (with not so great audio) of "Skoliosis Skank" and "Mummy Cops"

The "Skank" vid hives you a shot of stupid Ireland shirt boy on stage. My arm is visible throughout "Mummy Cops"

Tag.... Tag you're it!

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Tue, 05 Jun 2007 04:37:00 +0000

Well, over the weekend, the wife and I went down to Austin to catch a showat Emo's. One of my favorite "local" bands from the 90's was having a reunion gig... Gal's Panic! So, as my birthday present, we drove down for the show and stayed overnight. Here is the synopsis of the events of the trip:
Saturday afternoon, loaded up the VW and left the pups with the sitter
Arrived at the hotel around 4:30. Started noticing way too many motorcycles around
Checked-in. Went to room. Sat around trying to decide what to do next.
Left the hotel to go get dinner. The Dog & Duck pub. It's one of my favorites. Does a swell job of looking and feeling like a real pub AND serves food. Fish and chips are damn tasty. Good beer selection too. Had a Belhaven Scottish (tap) and a Blue Moon Belgian White. MMMMMMM!!!! Saw Arsenal fan. Found out that the Dog & Duck might be no more in about six months cuz some stupid people want to build condos. BOOOO condos!
Drove to Book People, the largest bookstore in Texas. It's nice. Lots of books. Found a book about John Lydon and decided to buy it.
Went back to the hotel. Dropped stuff off.
At this point, realized that the bikers were all in town for some rally/convention/gathering. It was a ROT (Republic of Texas) Biker Rally. Strongly recommend avoiding locations where this is. Motorcycles everywhere. This means there were numerous overweight, sleeveless, hairy people (and the women who love them) all over town.
Headed back out. Discovered there was some stupid parade that was blocking our path to the club. Had to take detour and saw many, many bikers.
FINALLY found parking spot. Walked to club while keeping a wary eye open for ne-er do wells.
Got to club. Checked name off will-call. Nobody there yet. Decided to wander outside.
Stopped at Bull McCabe's Irish Pub. Had a Guinness. It wasn't bad. Not too cold and no stupid shamrock drawn into the foam. Very pubby feeling inside. Mocked silly youth wearing the tweed snap hat, green Ireland t-shirt, and chain bound wallet... you know... every pub has one.
Headed toward 6th street. Saw what might've been a drug deal... or just four people who were crazy
6th street was blocked off to traffic and was covered with loud motorcycles of all kinds. Street and sidewalks were packed. Very Bourbon street feeling. Walked up to the Driskill Hotel. Checked for ghosts. Picked up loose change on a couch and rested for a few minutes.
Walked back down 6th street. Saw the beginnings of what might have been a domestic violence incident. Saw small children amonst the crowd. Saw bike's getting towed. Saw all manner of inappropriate and nauseating clothing on overweight, hairy bikers (men & women)
Arrived back at the club. Went inside. The first band was playing. Got a Blue Moon and stood at the back and listened.
Band: The Catfish Hunters. Jerm Pollet band #1 for the evening. A slower, bluesy, piano lounge, country thing. Enjoyed it. Jerm played piano and made ridiculous comments in between songs.
Browsed the merchadise booth
Moved to the other side of the bar where there was a good view and a stool.
Watched Jerm walk away in a sport coat and shirt and return momentarily in a t-shirt and pink pants.
Talked to Jerm at the merchadise booth. Told him I drove all the way from Ft. Worth and that he and Lance had better not f*** it up! He assured me they wouldn't. Bought four CD's - The "Footloose" audio commentary by The Sinus Show, the afore mentioned Catfish Hunters debut CD, The Total Foxes, and Missile Command. Paid with check. Jerm gave discount for buying in bulk. (Thanks Jerm!)
More Blue Moon
Next act: The Tricker Treats. This was a one-man act. Dan Potthast (of MU330 fame) did some entertaining songs. KKK adopts a highway song was very funny. He wore black leather pants. Could not have been comfortable. Will have to buy CDs from his website. Perhaps this shameless plug will help.
More Blue Moon. Watched silly young drunk girls hit on Dan at the merchandise booth.
Next act: The Total Foxes. Jerm Pollet band #2. They were fun. Jerm is always amusing. Here he gets to play guitar and sing. Have had one of their songs (Retirement Community) on the iPod for a year or so. Jerm makes unfavorable comment about bikers. We laugh and nod in agreement.
Watched as the crowd got bigger. Saw stupid Ireland shirt boy from McCabe's on the other side of the bar. Watched people. Saw guy with really bad haircut. Briefly saw Lance Fever through the crowd.
Watched Jerm disappear and re-emerge wearing a leather suit, feather boa, and oversized sunglasses. Must have been more uncomfortable that Mr. Potthast's leather pants.
One more Blue Moon.
Moved to the side of the club, out of the way of traffic.
Finally: Gal's Panic.
Started with "Pit", then my favorite, "Ketchup". Quickly burned off buzz by yelling and waving arms in air.
Show continues. Lance's parents are pointed out. I move up a little bit to test my mutant power. Back in the day, we always joked that I could start at the back of the club and before the last song, I would be front and center.
Start feeding off the crowd energy. Yelling/singing more. Bouncing a bit more.
"Skoliosis Skank" The pit starts up. I move in. Within a couple of songs, I'm dead center against the stage.
The rest of the show is awesome. Except for the smoke machines. Lance gets really sweaty and takes off his shirt.
During the show, stupid Ireland shirt boy keeps climbing on the stage and trying to help Lance remember the lyrics. Or perhaps he was just showboating. Or maybe he was just drunk. At any rate, he becomes highly annoying with his repeated visits to the stage. Jerm and Lance put up with a lot.
Main set ends. Band pretends to be done. We all know better. There were no Mummy Cops and the theme song hadn't been played yet. Girl to my right, who had been helping me yell the opening to Mummy Cops, shakes my hand and yells something in my ear that I do not understand.
Encore
Finally... Lance taps the microphone and we get the awesome words "You guys look tough... you guys look mean... but you don't scare me." Look out... it's the Mummy Cops!
Gal's Panic is played. High Fives to the front row. Jerm throws water (or spits, I can't remember now) at us. Bouncer finally comes to retrieve stupid Ireland shirt kid.
Show winds down... I move to the back where my wife has been standing. I stay there for the final song "We've only just begun"
I go say "Hi" to Lance. See Jerm and tell him they didn't suck. Retrieve setlist from the Total Foxes (Jerm wrote it on a paper plate).
Get pen from wife. Return to get Lance to sign it. Lance Fever by the way is also known as Lance Myers and he does computer animation. He worked as a lead animator on "A Scanner Darkly"
Took plate over to merchandise booth. Got Dan to sign it and leave his website
Got Jerm to sign plate. Try not to look at Jerm's butt crack which is now visible from his unzipped leather suit.
Realize I am soaked in sweat. Wife won't hug me. I don't blame her. Need a shower. Suddenly feel somewhat stupid for being a 32-year-old in a mosh pit.
We leave.
See kid puking on street corner. He is smiling.
Retrieve car
Drive back to hotel
Shower (YAY!)
get ready for bed
try to go to sleep to the peaceful sounds of jerky bikers in the parking lot revving their bikes at 3 AM
Wake up. Get dressed. Pack. Leave hotel.
Go to Chez Zee for brunch. Croissant with strawberry butter, dutch chocolate milk, gingerbread pancakes, and country potatoes. Stuffed face. Couldn't finish.
Get on the road. Bypass exciting new toll road. Try and avoid jerky bikers who can't follow traffic rules.
Stop for gas outside of Waco. See chihuahua wearing a San Antonio spurs cap.
Arrive home to happy pups!

Goin' South

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 03:14:00 +0000

Have you seen the commercial for the super duper compilation of "Southern Rock" classics[Goin' South Platinum Collection]? It's great, if you like that sort of thing. 30 of the "biggest Southern Rock classics of all time" or so the ad says.
I watch the ad and the list of songs scrolls up the screen. It looks something like this:
01 Sweet Home Alabama Lynyrd Skynyrd
02 Heard It In A Love Song Marshall Tucker Band
03 Rocky Mountain Way Joe Walsh
04 The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down The Band
05 Wild-Eyed Southern Boys .38 Special
06 Jim Dandy Black Oak Arkansas
07 Fooled Around And Fell In Love Elvin Bishop
08 Bad To The Bone George Thorogood & The Destroyers
09 Long Time Gone Dickey Betts
10 Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights) Pat Travers
11 Coming Home Johnny Van Zant Band
12 Can't You See Marshall Tucker Band
13 Keep On Smilin' Wet Willie
14 Radar Love Golden Earring
15 Walk Away James Gang
16 Free Bird Lynyrd Skynyrd
Wait a minute.... back that up...
14 Radar Love Golden Earring
What the...?!!?! Golden Earring!??!!? They're from the Netherlands, which, last time I checked, WAS NOT a part of the Southern United States. I'd really like to know how the heck they ended up on this compilation.
I don't know if this is just another example of stupid Americans or wishful thinking.

Dallas Stars suck

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 03:35:00 +0000

You will never convince me that getting rid of Ken Hitchcock was a good idea. They fired him because they didn't like his demanding nature and all the pansy arsed players felt like he was too tough.
Well, yet again, the Stars get bounced from the playoffs in the first round. Why? Pretty much cuz they are a bunch of pansy arsed players. I'm sure coach Tippett is very concerned about their feelings and making sure they're happy and have plenty of pretty flowers in their lockers after every game they lose. But that don't win Stanley Cups.
Meanwhile, why was dumbass extrordinaire Tom Hicks watching a meaningless game at Whatever The Feck They Call The Ballpark In Arlington (The Rangers lost to the crummy Mariners, by the way) when his hockey team was playing a Game 7 playoff match in Vancouver? Can he not afford airfare after buying another team that I'm sure he'll run into the ground (Liverpool Football Club)?
*Note to Ron Washington: You seem like a nice guy, but so far, I'm not convinced you were a good choice.

Voting

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 03:44:00 +0000

If there is one argument that really hacks me off, it's when I hear somebody use the tired old line about "If you don't vote, you can't complain."
That's garbage and I'll tell you why. There are two key reasons.
First off, if you pay taxes, you damn sure have every right to complain whether you voted or not. If I'm giving my hard earned money to the government (and not of my own free will, I might add), I should definitely be able to gripe about how it's being used. This is a lot like fathers paying child support and not being allowed to have a say in how the children are being raised. Granted, a lot of fathers DON'T have that ability (and others really shouldn't), but that is beside the point. The point is that if your money goes to supporting something, that gives you the ability to complain if you don't like the way the organization is run (unless you sign something that says you can give money, but beyond that, shut the hell up).
Second, more often than not, our "choices" for which we may cast our "important and precious" vote are worthless. I mean both (or sometimes, all three, but rarely more than that) are just walking dung heaps in suits wrapped in a flag looking for a photo op with a noted civil rights activist (preferably a minority) and/or Jesus. Neither candidate is actually smart enough or honorable enough to actually hold the office for which they are campaigning, but that's all we get to choose. So what if you can't stand any of them? Do you vote for the one you despise the least? How is that helping? All you're doing is giving our esteemed 2-party system (remember, that's one party away from true non-democracy.... mmmmmm... mono-partisan! It's not just for fascists anymore!) the green light to continue to put jackasses in office.
Now some of you mind-numbing political zombies are saying, "Well, why don't you just write in somebody?" Well, that's what I do, now, at least on the ballots where that's an option. They don't give you that option in every contest.
(Aside: There is an organization called NOTA. They are a group that would like to put "None of the Above" on all ballots and then if NOTA got the majority, all candidates would essentially be rejected. New candidates would then be selected and it would start all over again until the idiots actually produced candidates that weren't as worthless as a weatherman in Texas.)
When I don't vote, it's not because I'm lazy. Quite the contrary. I don't vote because quite simply, the thought of actually making it appear that I support one of these fools makes my stomach churn. I don't vote because the politicos are too stupid and lazy to present candidates that would actually be good.
Typically, none of the candidates really represents my ideals and philosophies. I don't want abortion banned, I don't want guns banned, lighten up on alcohol, cigarrettes, and marijuana, the death penalty is a good thing, and Jesus' philosophy was more akin to socialism (so leave him out of this). So what, I'm supposed to vote for somebody that has publically stated that they support doing things I don't agree with?
So, if you want me to vote, give me something to vote FOR. Voting for somebody simply to vote against somebody else is a poor reason to continue the cycle.
And don't tell me I can't complain.

Snow?

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 04:39:00 +0000

Okay, today's weather was weird, even for Texas. It's April and we had snow flurries.
That's Rickdiculous. Or Ludacris. Whichever exaggeration you prefer.
At any rate, I find it ironic that we can never get snow around Christmas but we can have snow at Easter. I don't know if this is global warming or El Nino or aliens, but I wish they'd knock it the heck off.
In other news, the Fabulous Tom "I don't know crap about running North American sports so now I'm going to run a prestigious English football club into the ground" Hicks has once again given the finger to Rangers fans. He basically told them all that if you want him to spend money on players that don't suck, the fans have to go out and spend money to watch the current sucky players play.
What sort of stupid business model is that? In what other industry can you give the ultimatum that unless you buy the faulty, overpriced, poorly designed product, the manufacturer refuses to put money into R&D to produce a quality product that people might actually want? Mr. Hicks needs to quit reading Dilbert and thinking that it's a How-To guide to successful business decisions.

Happy Birthday, Inky!

noreply@blogger.com (Rotten Arsenal) — Tue, 03 Apr 2007 04:00:00 +0000

So, today was Pete Incaviglia's birthday.
Now I know, most of you are like, "Who?!!?" while a few others are like, "Why do you even care?!!?"
Okay, Pete was a sub-average player over most of career, but I'll tell ya, some of the most fun I ever had out at the old Arlington Stadium was watching Inky run like cow on fire down the first base line. He wasn't graceful and he wasn't fast, but man... he gave it his all. Same thing in left field.
He's best known as one of the greatest college players in history. He also never spent a day in the minor leagues (although maybe he should have). He was a slugger and he struck out... a lot. But I don't care. Next to Nolan Ryan, Pete Incaviglia is my favorite player.
Sure he's got a rep for being a jerk to fans. And yeah, his career was kind of pathetic, especially towards the end. So what that he was recently let go as aminor league hitting coach. He's Inky, and I think he's great.
For one thing, it's nice to like a guy that you can get memorabilia really cheap.
Once, I had a vivid dream that I discovered my living room wall could move. I pushed it aside and discovered that Pete Incaviglia had been living in a secret room behind my living room wall. He seemed annoyed that I'd found him, but he couldn't protest. He was, after all, living for free behind my living room wall.
This, like many other dreams, is not something I can figure out what my subconscious was trying to say. I don't think Freud ever covered dreams about former baseball players who live in secret compartments of one's home.
At any rate, happy birthday, Inky, wherever you are!