Monday, May 30, 2011

Father's Day

With Father's Day a mere 3 weeks away, we're starting the celebration early with a couple of true but unfortunate stories.


During my formidable years, my father was the proprietor of several "college" bars (and even, at one point, a strip club*). While this offered my teenage counterpart a smattering of experiences that would otherwise have been held off until college, it was also the cause for many an unfavorable side-effect. For instance: many nights, my father would bring home a friend or employee, whose drinking had rendered non-existent his ability to walk or drive. Upon returning home- usually around 4 or 5 in the morning- he would come into my room, steal the comforter off of me and give it to the vagabond on our sofa. The couch in our living room saw many a drunken buffoon over the years. I quickly grew tired of this bullshit and concocted a plan, with my best friend at the time, to ensure this behavior was discontinued.

So one unassuming Saturday night, my father came home and, true to form, stole away my comforter. After snatching it off the bed, he found the two of us- my friend and me- arms wrapped around each other, even a leg, pretending to sleep. It no doubt took his brain longer than usual to process exactly what he was staring at. Slack-jawed and in total disbelief, he backed up slowly, dropped the blanket and let out an "ugh". It was the last night he came to take my comforter.

While we never discussed this event explicitly, it set a precedent for awkward conversations which began with a talk about my sexual preference. The comic below is a recreation featuring penguin stand-ins and a filter to make sense of his garbled wisdom-gems (brown-boxed).

bewbz rawk



*It was in this very strip club that I found out who shot Mr. Burns (Spoiler: it was Maggie Simpson).

Words by Brain - Comic by Ruler

Friday, May 27, 2011

So it begins... Again... (Facebook Friday #2)

Our good friend, Houston Jones, is one tenacious motherfucker. He is a shrewd businessman, a playboy, an aviator, a martial arts expert, a culinary master and, above all else, a fucking asshole. When the voices in his head convince him that a certain business venture is beckoning, it'll be a cold day in hell before he shows even a teaspoon of mercy to his competitors. Case in point: this week's facebook friday -- featuring Houston Jones Yoga's Ruthless Smear Campaign against James Brown Yoga:


Poppa's got a brand new downward facing dog:

Flyer #1: Pinocchio's Lament




Sun Salutation Machine

FLYER #2: Tiny Chair, Giant Yogi



Never underestimate Houston Jones' cunning nor the lengths he will go to see a plan through; especially when it involves the ruin of his competitors. Perhaps his most scathing ad yet, will these seeds he has planted someday bear fruit? Only time will tell- time and Houston Jones' own personal God.

Flyer #3: The Coup de GrĂ¢ce

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

I am a proud American, Goddammit!

When I heard of the news of Osama Bin Laden's death, my first thought was, "what a tragedy." Not that he was dead, I am, much like the rest of the world, a bit relieved that he is no longer alive and thus no longer able to end lives. Rather, I mean it is tragic that a human being, who has been blessed with all the wonderful faculties and apparatuses that come with owning a large brain, had his mind so violently twisted and warped by politics and religion. Letting religion (or any absolutist ideology) do your thinking for you is like buying a new computer, with top of the line hardware, then instead of installing an operating system, just smearing peanut butter on the graphics card (and then citing faith when a tech geek tells you the world won't conform to your perception of what it should be).

Perhaps I was a bit naive, but it was unsettling, and a bit startling, to find so many people celebrating the murder of another human being. Death is something only a psychopath celebrates. We don't mourn the man and his actions, but we mourn the waste of that life. The thing that makes Hitler Hitler, Bin Laden Bin Laden, etc... is a lack of acknowledgement and respect for the value of life. When we, as a species, forget this-- and boy have we ever-- we become no better than the enemies we deride. What began on 9/11 and culminated in his death was tragic and, while I agree completely that it was a necessary evil, the important thing to remember-- if we are to avoid the ignoble pitfall of becoming the thing we despise-- is that it is indeed an evil.

Recognizing this, and showing compassion in the face of tragedy, is what separates the just from the unjust; no level of flag-waving, no misguided vendetta. Honorable, ethical men kill out of necessity, never with joy or pride. Speaking of pride...

Nationalism sucks. When I see a group of semi-educated suburbanites marching en masse and chanting "USA!", I can't help but think, "this has to be how Nazism started." I'm not comparing any of these people to Nazis, I'm just saying that you don't get from point A to point Nazi without a little bit of mindless-chant-marching in between.

Being proud to be American is like being proud to have male pattern baldness or that gravity exists. You can't be proud that it didn't rain today or that birds can fly. Basically, you can't be proud of something you had absolutely no control over. Your birthplace (and subsequently your world-view, religion, etc...) required absolutely no decision or effort on your part; you were born into it all. If you were born to Eskimos, you'd be a proud Inuit-- with all the assumptions and creeds that come with being an Inuit. One might argue, "Sure, I can't control the fact that I was born here, but I did choose to stay once I grew up." Okay, I'll concede that, but it's a bit disingenuous to refer to it as a proper decision. Since day one, we have all had America's greatness crammed down our throats. I'm not arguing the veracity of that claim, I'm merely pointing out the inconsistency in repeating rhetoric, ad infinitum, and calling it choice. You can be happy you're American. You can feel blessed, lucky or relieved, but you can't feel proud.

Most of the people I know who identify themselves as Christians, sure as fuck don't behave that way. If being Christian means behaving as Christ did, once you cut out all the bullshit, I am one of the only Christians I know. Likewise, if you transpose the bible to the constitution, and it's forgers to Christ, then goddammit, I am an American! And proud of it. I think the constitution is one of the best documents that exists for the creation and maintenance of a functioning, peaceful society. It's not perfect; progress inevitably entails change, but it is a good blueprint and the further we stray the ideas that fed it, the worse off we are. I am proud of the times I've dissented against this government run-amuck. I am proud of my choice to stay in this country and enact change. In these cases, I am proud to be American, but this is not what the majority of people are proud of when they post it on facebook or buy a patriotic bumper sticker. They mean they are proud to unquestioningly surrender their minds to an idea, whether knowingly or not. Same goes for the religious.

In the last century or so, we've come a long way, but because of the emphasis put on antiquity and tradition, we are breeding generations that are more and more inclined to fight tooth and nail to keep things the way they are. We shouldn't force people to change, we should teach them to; show them why it's not only okay, but preferred. Society as a whole is becoming disconnected from all the underlying things that make it possible. For instance: technology, science- both political and natural, philosophy, a universal and natural origin for ethics. When you are being taught what to think, but not how, just what do you use to determine the accuracy of a proposition? What makes it any different or more credible than its rival?

Some people look around and see a world that is changing, in a manner that they think will make it better. When I look around, all I can see is other people ruining everything.

Monday, May 23, 2011

The "post-rapture post... rapture post rapture post rapture" post

Lo and behold, we are only two days into the apocalypse and already things have taken a turn toward mediocrity. Congrats to Jon Heder for being the sole winner of this, our most recent rapture. We're sure someone out there is going to miss you.


"Rapture Winner"

Friday, May 20, 2011

Facebook Friday #1!

Every Friday, we're going to celebrate Facebook Privacy Settings! On Facebook Fridays, unsuspecting volunteers will be selected at random to receive a friend request from themselves. The bizarre-o account will display the Facebook’ers name and contain a selection of their photos that have been subtly edited. Any received responses will be posted.



Our victim... err volunteer this week is one, Michael Chiklis. You may know him from his starring role in such productions as television's The Shield, the film Fantastic Four or as Tony Scali from The Commish. Coincidentally, this is his two month anniversary of creating a Facebook account (to the day). Welcome to the internet, Mr. Chiklis.

the classic face swap


the subtle relief


juggalization






Developments:





Who is this guy?



Mother of the Winner



Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Our bid for the next WeCanKnow ad campaign


To Whom It May Concern,

I am messaging you on behalf of our company, OPRE Designs (an acronym for "Other People Ruin Everything"- as fellow Christians, you can probably relate to the sentiment). We are a Christian-based design firm specializing in all things holy! We have done work for a number of deserving churches and were board members of a committee to pray for the advertising campaign behind the Left Behind Series. The ad campaign for your website, www.wecanknow.com, caught our attention, but not for the reasons you might have hoped.

The advertisements we saw were, at best, "back-row Baptist" quality- the kind of ad that shows up for Christmas and Easter to keep up the appearances with family, but hammers like a Roman the other 363 days of the year. Is this the message you want to be sending in such important times? We didn't think so. How can you expect to convert non-believers when their sinful eyes are distracted by lazy typography and unnecessary drop shadows?

We understand how busy you are, orchestrating the apocalypse and inciting panic in the hearts of the simple minded. You shouldn't be bothered by advertisers and dealing with such worldly nonsenses. Let us do that for you!

We can't help but believe that Mr. Camping's predicted date of May 21, 2011 (and his other previously set raptures) have not been taken seriously by the masses, nor by the Lord, because of sloppily prepared ad campaigns. When the good Mr. Camping, bless him, schedules his next rapture, let us do the advertising for you!

Billboards are just the beginning! Imagine an ad campaign so deafening Metatrons would cover their ears! Together, we could make a campaign not even God himself could ignore (like those devilishly catchy iPod commercials).

We anxiously await your response. Perhaps we can set a phone conference for next Monday, the 23rd.

Your Brothers in Christ,
Joseph Carpenter and Jordan Fisher



Keep your fingers crossed for us, fellow believers :)

Monday, May 16, 2011

Spurback Mountain

Professional Hobgoblin

I can’t even begin to imagine being molested as a child, let alone, accosted in a fucking zoo bathroom by something with that face (pictured left). Just innocently trying to relieve my bladder when all of a sudden the Touchy Monster comes strolling in behind me. As a child, this presents you with that great internal struggle that is “don’t look, maybe its vision is based on movement” versus “how can I possibly peel my eyes away from this perversion of nature?” As an adult, I’d see him, shudder a bit and think, “terrifying, but at least it doesn’t molest kids.” I’d wager that his penis is as malformed, and startling, as his face (complete with some sort of premature irrigation tube). Speaking of which…

Back when I worked at Blockbuster, this thirteen year old girl used to come in around noon on Tuesdays. I’m guessing that she was home-schooled because normally children aren’t allowed to leave school, walk to a video store and “see what’s new”. Over time, however, she slowly started turning “goth” which would lead one to believe she had to have some sort of public-school-peer-influence going on. But I digress.

This little girl didn’t come in alone. She brought with her a young boy, who couldn’t have been any older than 10. This would only be mildly strange, except for the fact that the boy had a tracheae tube and wore glasses that I’m pretty positive were fashioned out of the same shit as the Pope-mobile’s glass dome. So they’d come in, and it never failed, after a couple of minutes spent browsing the new releases, she’d send him over to ask me a question. Only problem was, because of that tube, the boy couldn’t speak so much as he could do the most amazing Donald Duck impression you’ve ever heard (okay, maybe it was more like one of Scrooge’s nephews; let’s just call him Huey). Huey’s speech impediment made it absolutely impossible to understand a single word burped out of his tiny neck. And this would piss him off, no end. The little fucker even threw a bag of candy at me once. It was extremely hard not to bust out laughing when he’d start pacing around and (I use the term loosely) screaming at the top of his insufficient lungs about whatever the fuck it was he wanted to know.

The other thing that was very odd about this: there was a note on the mother’s account saying that she had come in and given her permission to rent out anything to them; basically, to keep her from having to walk her (presumably fat) ass down to the store. So there were times when I was renting films to this motley pair of children that included some pretty crazy, hard “R” stuff. I don’t think a socially reclusive young girl and a boy with a hole in his throat need to be watching “The 40 Year Old Virgin” or “Mystic River”.

Boo! Take off your pants.

I’m sure that having to grow up with a tracheostomy presents its own unique level of adversity that I can’t even begin to commiserate with, but I do know for a fact, that being a little dick isn’t going to help anyone to accept or like you. And the hardest thing in the world to understand is the English language, spoken through the filter of an angry, baby goose.

Which brings me back to the first paragraph. Imagine yourself as a child of 8 or 9, excited about seeing an elephant poop or giraffes screwing for the first time– IN REAL LIFE! And then having that creepy, Zach Braff fish creature walk into the bathroom and start quacking and touching your dick. Then, as the cherry on top of this awful shit-sundae, he starts jacking off! I’d never be able to get that image out of my head. I could be 40 years old, and every time a girl put my cock in her mouth, all I’d be able to see is that face. Or worse yet, maybe I wouldn’t be able to get off unless my partner honked when she came. Hell, I don’t know that I’d even be able to piss again without having some kind of nervous breakdown– always with an eye on the door, waiting for that monster to come barging in with those sad, sad eyes, trained intently on my penis.

That poor fucking kid.