Don't act like you've never LARPed.

You're embarrassing yourself. Unlike this guy:

You wish you had this much passion. And time on
your battle-worn hands.

LARPing is fun and totally not lame at all. But only if you're making a parody of it in an effort to win twenty-five thousand dollars, an HD video camera and a one year supply of Wonderful Pistachios. Confused?

In case you're wondering, they are in fact wonderful.
(I've eaten them with my own mouth.)

So without further adieu, behold! My entry for the Wonderful Pistachios "Get Crackin'" video contest:

The voting ensues November 30th. I'll post the link when it's online. If you like the video, why not head over and vote for it? It would be like killing two Fire-Bellied Cockatrices with one Mana-Imbued Stone of Healing.

You know what I mean.

Screw you, old mop!

When I watch those Swiffer commercials I can't help but feel sorry for that old, worn out mop. It seems kind of cruel to just throw him out, doesn't it?

Sure, it's kind of funny to see the poor guy hiding behind trees and sending flowers, but what about when the mop goes back to his crappy studio apartment in downtown Hollywood? Sitting in front of the TV obsessing over his lost love, sobbing all over his moth-eaten couch as he wonders how it all went wrong.

Hey, David Yates!

Actually, just looking at this picture
makes me feel raped.

I'm willing to consider myself a Harry Potter fan. I've read the books and I think they're one of the best fictional stories ever written. That's why I'm also willing to go to jail for the rest of my life if it means saving the Harry Potter movie franchise from David Yate's incompetent hands.

The most effective way to explain just what Yates did to Harry Potter fans and the movie-going population in general is through imagery. See below:

For once, she didn't deserve it.

It's like he walked up to every kid in the world who's ever heard of Harry Potter and said, "I know you wanted to see a decent adaptation of your favorite books, innocent child. But I decided to punch you in the face instead. Oh, and that'll be nine to twelve dollars depending on where you live."

If anyone out there wants to help me plan the long, drawn-out murder of David Yates and his immediate family, meet me tonight behind the Circle K dumpster on main street. You know the one.

Oh, and bring donuts.

Extreme Makeover: #*$@! Edition

The other day I was watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition because that's what retired ninjas do. But I was shocked when... well, see for yourself:

In his defense, it was a pretty nice house.

I can only wonder what TV will be like when my future kids are my age. We'll probably have shows like Extreme Makeover: Murder Edition or My Bare Lady, where a group of U.S. porn stars travel to London and attempt to establish acting careers on the West End stage. Oh wait, that one is real.

Sorry, future children.

Two TV commercials that make me want to hadoken a small child.

For those of you who don't know what a hadoken is, get a life. Or a copy of Street Fighter II for the Super NES. Or both.

Translated literally hadoken means "surge fist". Feel free to go
look in the mirror because I'm pretty sure your eyeballs just exploded.

Back on topic. I never thought I'd say this, but watching live TV has become a risky and dangerous pastime for me. I can't fast-forward through commercials so I never know when a ridiculously irritating one will pop up and annoy me into a mini-coma*.

min⋅i⋅co⋅ma*

-noun, plural mas.
1. A miniature coma lasting between one and seven hours. The victim usually wakes up with mild head trauma and self-inflicted rug burns from thrashing around on the floor like a rabid ferret.

It's real. Look it up.

This first example caught me off guard in a big way. The premise isn't necessarily bad. And the goofy white guy behind the counter is actually kind of funny. But it's the song in the last three seconds of the commercial that always seems to induce projectile vomiting.

I want to find the guy who wrote that jingle so I can chop him up
into little pieces and feed him to the guy who sang that jingle.

Seriously, the singer sounds like he's about to burst into tears. Ridiculous. Unless the director at the recording session was like, "Alright, Julio. I'll count you down. Here we go! Ready in five, four, three, by the way your wife was hit by a Mac Truck this morning and is in critical condition, two, one, aaaand..."

You're singing about a restaurant called "The Crazy Chicken", not auditioning for the part of John Proctor in The Crucible. Relax.

This other example will definitely incite uncontrollable violence. So if there are any small children around you, make sure they deserve to be kicked in the face.

I can't decide if this ad is trying to get me to go to
Six Flags or set a local retirement home on fire.

The guy who pitched this idea needs to be deported. To Iran. I heard that the day this commercial aired, police reported a 9,000% increase in head-smashed-in-with-a-television-related deaths. It makes sense.

Old people are good at three things: Pooping their pants, being scared of the Internet, and dying. Dancing is right up there with roller coasters and sex on the "Things that will probably kill me" list. In other words, not only is this commercial not funny, it's also a scientific impossibility.

That's a double whammy, Six Flags Advertising Department! And if that's not bad enough, I'm pretty sure that with enough time and/or scientists, we can directly link this advertising campaign to the current economic collapse. And the Holocaust.

On an unrelated note, how ridiculous is the heat in Arizona? Here's a picture of a newborn baby frying on a Phoenix sidewalk:

This is just a crude re-creation of the actual event.