preening blogcocks

portmanteaus are rad. and, if "blog" is my favourite, "sexting" is the runner up. for those of you who don't watch the culture war segment on "the o'reilly factor," sexting (sex/texting) is primarily when gals sext their boyfriends pictures of their naked private parts through cellular text messaging. of course, the only reason the mainstream media knows this phenomenon exists is because the randy recipients always, i mean ALWAYS show their pals. this is what guys do. girls haven't quite figured this out yet. we're peacocks, we preen, we brag, we blog. heck, even i've been made privy to more than a few of these pics from my friends' girlfriends. and, from what o'reilly tells me, sexting is especially rampant in our high schools where sally sophomore will sext a pic to her boyfriend and, the next thing you know, naked pics of the entire junior varsity cheerleading squad are being shared on every teenage boy's computer in a hundred mile radius. i'm not sure what's worse; the fact that i may someday have a teenage daughter or that i missed this trend by ten years. ummm, it's the latter... duh.

while i reluctantly acknowledge all the rage that is blue toofs, i've discovered yet another use for them aside from distributing them to the homeless. no matter how hard i fight it, the general hoi polloi insists on utilizing blue toofs as fashion accessories or accouterments. so, why not use this retarded trend to benefit the handicapped - namely the deaf. see, for the past however many years, we've been designing hearing aids to be smaller, less conspicuous and more resembling small fleshy, calcified growths. with all that blogged, wouldn't it seem obvious to place the same technology inside the bulkier, flashier and trendier blue toofs? no one would even know you were deaf! depending on their proclivities, people would either assume you were merely rockin' a blue toof or were simply an a-hole. surely both alternatives are better than being viewed as handicapped, right? and, technologically speaking, wouldn't the size of a blue toof allow for better technology and hence, product? since society has decided that blue toofs = cool and hearing aids = lame, let's give the deaf a break and let them be cool. then, enough deaf people will be wearing blue toof hearing aids to the point where blue toofs will consequently become lame by deaf association. in short; the cool dude blue toof wearers lose, the deaf lose and who wins??? ME!!!

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ba dum POD!!! episode 2: ba dum PODder has no game aka "the date from hell"

as i boldly plod on from blogging to podding, i'll be taking a shot at reviving the popular "ba dum BLOGger has no game" series in the form of a pod. this week's fill-in, guest star in this ambitious venture will be my colleague, my carpool buddy and friend; kelly rapp aka "kelly #1." i believe the female voice and perspective will provide a softer and more reasonable touch to my self-loathing, self-aware and self-serving ramblings. and, as always, producer dave is sitting in to maintain that ba dum POD's!!! sound and picture quality is up to ba dum POD's!!! highest standards... not to mention, his usual offerings of snark, sass and superciliousness (jerk!).

ba dum BLOG!!!

editor's note: ba dum PODder needs to stop laughing at his own jokes.

ba dum POD!!! episode 1

whoomp, here it is! episode 1 has been podded and is now available here for your listening pleasure/displeasure. this week's fill-in guest star was my best, good pal lee mcdole and we covered topics ranging anywhere and everywhere betwixt pedophilia, violence against women, ethnic cleansing and afghans. it was a bit of a struggle and i think there's room for improvement. however, it could also get a lot worse. with that blogged, there are oodles of moments i wish i had back where anologies or metaphors i made didn't quite work or i just flat out used the wrong word (sooo embarassing) but podding is a bit diffrent than blogging in that sense. also, big ups to producer dave for getting this pod up and running on the online machine and, if you experience any technical difficulties, please let us know. thanks again, podcasters!

ba dum BLOG!!!

editor's note: i am not producer dave.

ba dum POD!!!

exciting news!!! i'm going to blog a very special announcement which will be revealed in the very next sentence i blog. ba dum BLOG!!! will be launching our very own weekly podcast, aptly titled, "ba dum POD!!!" and, if my producer can get all the sundry technical shizz together, we will debut ba dum POD!!! sometime this week. OH MY OMG, I'M SO F'N EXCITED!!! we're also working on lining up a sponsor (fingers crossed for taco bell) and i'm just being told by my producer that he's booked pope benedict xvi who will be plugging the new moving picture, "angels and demons." oh, and if any of you are interested in being a guest on ba dum POD!!!, just let me know and we'll set something up. you don't even have to come to the studio either, my producer claims we can do it via your cellular telephones. so, get your pods ready because ba dum POD!!! will be coming to an online machine to download or whatnot near you...

i'm not gonna say that everyone who has tattoos are kinda lame, in a way, but i'll blog it. of course, there are exceptions to this and i have a few very dear friends who are tatoo'd but... yeah, just that. anyway, tattoos, in part, signify three of my least favorite traits: confidence, sincerity and decisiveness. also, you can't bring up or question someone's tattoo without getting wrangled into a horribly awkward and serious conversation about what the tattoo means to them. on a similar tome, this last friday at work, a guy was sporting a t-shirt adorned with a screen printed pic of his deceased mother. of course, everyone just had to ask him who the picture was of when, being the friday before mother's day, it was ridiculously obvious. i, for one, refused to acknowledge it and even went as far as to literally crawl 'neath my cube, amidst pangs of embarrassment, whenever anyone else brought it up. it's just such a cloyingly saccharine and self-important gesture. or, maybe i'm just a horrible, cold person with no sense of family or pathos. back to tats! i just can't imagine getting a tattoo, myself, and staring down at it every other day without uttering an exasperated, "ugh." i mean, you wouldn't wear the same shirt or fanny pack everyday so why would you want the same lame design perpetually stained into your skin everyday? i hate three out of every five articles of clothing i buy so this just seems like an impossible situation. oh, and don't get me started on girls with tattoos on their boobs. i find this to be more socially and aesthetically unacceptable than sporting a hitler moustache to your girlfriend's sister's bat mitzfah.

during my high school years, i remember tales being told in, and out of school, of the occasional girl joining their school's wrestling teams and thus, forcing young men into the lose/lose situation of being matched against her. i mean, could you imagine being a knock-kneed, pubescent teenage boy being forced to violently rub up against a girl with only a thin piece of a sweat stained, spandex singlet separating you from her nubile body all whilst a crowded gym voyeuristically watches this "wonder year's-esque" episode unfold? i mean, what if you lost? what if you won? what if you got a boner??? pretty awful, huh? au contraire mon fraire! as i look back at this all-to-real scenario, i only wished i would've had the foresight to join the wrestling team for just the off chance of this occurring. see, i went to all-boys high school and i had more physical contact and meaningful conversations with the lunch lady than i had with any of the gals down the street at the all-girls school. if i could've had just three minutes of flopping around on the mats with some monstrous tom-girl it really could've wet my beak and got my groove going so i wouldn't be so terrified of girls... a terror that plagues me to this very day. heck, come to think of it, even that kind of physical contact with a dude could've really benefited me. i mean, if you closed your eyes and pretended really hard, what difference would it make?

look, i aint no goy... i'm quarter jew and proud of it. see, my paternal grandmother is jewish and, when the subject is broached, i'm often rebuffed by these snooty yentas snottily making me aware that "the jewish lineage only passes down through matrilineal descent." that's meshuga and everyone knows it. if your dad's mother is chinese, then you're chinese and if she's jewish, you're jewish. we're not talking about magical, tribal, "chosen people" poppycock - judaism doesn't circumnavigate dna like magellan around the globe only to be slaughtered by filipino savages. you can be a jew without ever setting foot in a temple or spinning a dradle. any time a group of peoples share common physical traits, it's an ethnicity. for example, you can tell if a person's chinese because they'll often have slanty eyes and a big, round face. likewise, a great deal of jews have big noses and long, horsey faces. now, i have neither of these traits but a good looking jew is still a jew. then again... i'm funny, riddled with anxiety and love noshing. see, i barely even know my grandmother and i've magically developed all these jewish traits. whether this has transpired through blood or osmosis from watching hours upon hours of "seinfeld," "curb your enthusiasm" and woody allen movies, i am jew... hear me kvetch.

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the blog with two backs

aside from the los angeles lakers, the utah jazz has got to be the most ridiculous name for any professional sports team. of course, both of these franchises moved from cities where their respective nicknames were more apropo (the lakers of minneapolis and the jazz of new orleans). in la, at least there's silverlake but utah, or salt lake city, has to be the least jazziest place in the country. in terms of misnomers, the utah jazz would be the equivalent to the richmond yankees, the phoenix canadiens and/or, the negro leagues very own, real life oxymoronical team of the atlanta black crackers (that's a whole 'nother blog unto itself!). perhaps, on an even more tangential note, the most misleading team name has to be the university of connecticut huskies which, of course, is better known colloquially as the uconn huskies. as a youth, i always believed this was a canadian school and team because of my childhood allusions to the adventures of "sergeant preston and yukon king." anywho, back to the utah jazz... the n'awlins jazz moved to utah for the 1979-1981 nba season where they decided not only to keep the nickname but the team colours of green, purple and gold which were representative of mardi gras, as well. of course, if you know anything of mardi gras, it is a decidedly un-mormon ceremony. in a perfect world, one would hope for new orleans' current basketball team of the hornets (formerly of charlotte) to take back the jazz moniker. but where would this leave utah after losing jazz? as it happens, in a serendipitous turn of kismet, utah's nickname is "the beehive state" where the title of hornets would be more than germane and appropriate... that is, if it is in fact, a reference to bees and not the popular women's hairdo of the 1960s and winehouse.

Dont Want To Wait Anymore - The Tubes - The Tubes
ba dum BLOG's!!! first embedded video, ba dum BLOG's!!! first embedded video!!!! what could spur such a momentous occasion? a little known 1981 music video from the san franicisco outfit, "the tubes," of course. now, i have seen various mtv and vh1 clip shows of which would lampoon such outrageous acts of music video decadence and absurdity. however, i have not seen nor am i aware of such lampooning of this particular production and feel it's my duty to make this li'l nugget of whimsy viral. heck, it's so unknown i couldn't even find it on the youtube.com! the song is aptly titled "don't want to wait anymore" and it's nothing more than a pretentious power ballad of some creep, bill "sputnik" spooner (spoon her???), creating a hypothetical scenario where him and his presumably prudish and refusing to putout gal pal are the last two on earth, stranded on a desert isle and are inevitably tasked with starting the world anew in order to survive, through sexual intercourse of which he'll teach her the ways of. with that blogged, this also raises the question of how old this perv's lady is because "putting out" and having to be taught how to make sex noises aren't traditional problems for ladies in bill "sputnik" spooner's (spoon her???) age range. anyway, that's the lyrical aspect of it all. aside from the obvious and dated silliness of the early 80's motif of the video, there are more pointed observations that must be blogged. to begin, this stooge has this ginormous, white electric guitar just hanging from his shoulders, drawing the images of a yoked ox, all of which he barely even strums; his hands are just sort of idling on the edge of the guitar for the majority of the time... UNTIL, he "just can't take it anymore!" and limps up the stairway to nowhere with all the grace and dexterity of quasimodo, only to feebly raise the guitar over his head where he, inexplicably and angstily, tosses it into the ankle deep water below. what does this mean??? and, even more vexing, after the guitar climatically splashes down, two members from the cast of "cats" pounce into the water from either side (i've watched/paused this multiple times and this is the best i could blog up with). so yeah, that's that... if you find this a mere modicum as interesting and entertaining as i do, i more than succeeded in blogging my feelings of mirth and merry.

sorry ladies, but it's okay for us to cheat on you. while, on the other hand, gals aren't allowed to step out on us. before i blog any further, please note that i'm dealing in the most general of generalities where the phrase "most of the time" (about 75%) reigns supreme. yes, that's a double standard and there should be double standards betwixt genders because you're from venus and we're from mars. and, in a more biological sense, as long as we can impregnate infinite women at a time where upon you can only be impregnated by one man at a time, you'll remain sluts while we're hailed as "mack daddies." also, as another caveat, we're blogging about cheating (one night stands, aliases and business trips) and not affairs (prolonged trysts, a toothbrush at her place, the promise of leaving our wife, etc). first of all, chicks can't do it because you're too emotional and sex "means something." or, if sex doesn't mean something to you, you're just an aforementioned slut and we'll want you for nothing more, anyway. as for men, we can make the beast with two backs, not know your name, never want to see you again and never think about you again... unless, of course, we've added you to our solitaire reel. we're just wired differently; we're ramblers. of course this isn't fair but fear not, ladies! you need not worry because men will only be caught/admit to it when/if they want to be caught. see, such known indiscretion will only be used to either make you angry as to push you away from us to the point of you leaving us so we won't have to, or to manipulate the relationship in our favour to let you know, in no uncertain terms, that you best step it up because we gots a bullpen in case we've deemed you ineffective. the good news??? if we never clue you in on or sloppily let you discover said liaisons, that means we're just sowing our proverbial oats and really love you and like you just the way you are and aren't interested in manipulating you or the relationship by dangling the carrot of other women over your pretty little heads. on the other hand, when you step out on us, there'll ALWAYS be an ulterior motive beyond gettin' down because you're a bunch of jezebelles and will ONLY use it as a vehicle of destruction. because... girls... are... DIRTY!!!

ba dum BLOG!!!

editor's note: let it be known that ba dum BLOGger has only had 2 1/2 sexual encounters (1 1/2 of which took place on the internets) so his opines on male/female realtionships are mostly developed through old episodes of "silk stalkings" and "the scarecrow and mrs. king."

blogging, to and fro, in perpetuity

it's a common misconception that the key to comedy is... TIMING!!! au contraire mon fraire, sometimes the most hilarious things in life are such because of the untimely and outdated nature in which they've been broached and/or blogged. for example, randomly blogging about forgettable family features from the years 1998 and 2004, respectively, is much funnier and more interesting than blogging about obvious/relevant moving pictures such as "fast and furious" being faster, more furious but with less "the." okay, enough prologue; check out the two movie posters... how can this happen??? on your top left, you have the 1998 disney movie starring daniel stern called "tourist trap." then, on your bottom right, you have your 2004 robin williams vehicle (pun INTENDED) of "rv." the plots are different but similar enough: nutty, overenthusiastic dad takes reluctant family on vacay in an rv where hilarious hijinx ensue. that's fine; no mainstream movies are original and all can usually be gleaned, cliché plot point by cliché plot point, the second you even lay eyes on the movie poster. AHAAA, THE MOVIE POSTER!!! does this drive (pun INTENDED!) you guys as crazy as it does me??? in fact, i've been driven soooo cRAzY i just drove my motor house to the top of a roadless peak where i'll just let it teeter, to and fro, in perpetuity! how can "rv" just blatantly rip off "tourist trap" like this? columbia pictures produced "rv" and you'd think disney would've sued the pants off them, right? now, i’ve never had the pleasure of seeing either movie but i wouldn’t even be the least bit surprised if this scene never even occurs… I mean, how could it??? seriously.

ba dum BLOG!!!

editor's note: thanks for sticking with us. mo' betta' and mo' frequenta' blogs to come. seriously. really.

we're all gonna blog!

we're all gonna die! i'm going to die, you're going to die and it could even happen later on today. this may be the last blog i'll ever blog and the last blog you'll ever read the first three sentences of before moving on to your favourite porno movie internet website of choice. this just dawned on me and has depressed me to know ends. see, if you're religious and believe in an afterlife it's not so bad because you'll be moving on to the proverbial "better place" where you'll be riding flying unicorns to alternate universes with your grandparents and freddie mercury. on a tangential note, why is it only a "better place" and not the "best place?" i think even the most zealous of the religious zealots can only muster up a "better" because they know poor ol' aunt gertie is merely only "better" off six feet in the ground in lieu of all bed sored up, grafted to her couch with her dozen or so tabbies roaming her one bedroom apartment - even they wouldn't dare put "best" on a hypothetical fantasy.

anyway, as i was blogging, the scenario that religion has cooked/made up with your consciousness somehow seeping out of your dead skull and being cosmically transferred to some happy land of the dead is ridiculous, right? we're just machines and once our heart stops pumping blood and our brains stop firing off synapses that's it - there's no spirit, there's no soul, there's no awareness; it's only perpetual darkness which isn't even really perpetual or dark because there's no cognizance to even know or not know of anything, dark or otherwise. ohhhh ironical christ, that's depressing! sure, religion's way feels good and is comforting but it's a fairy tale and is f'n crazy and insulting. if i were told i was gonna die tomorrow, it's not like i'm gonna go to disneyland donning a peter pan suit and rape tinkerbell in the middle of the parade if i don't have the figurative carrot of heaven or hell dangling in front of me. i mean, it might not even be rape if she was down, right? or, is an intended rape always rape regardless of the subject's willingness, unbeknownst to your already decided action? i guess that'd be like coveting, right? or, is it like stealing a washer or dryer left out on the curb before its owner has a chance to put the "free" sign on it. gee, i wish there was some all-knowing, intergalactic king of morality and ethics to answer these question.

so, what next? how am i supposed to live knowing i may not wake up tomorrow morning and not even know i'm dying when i die or am dead when i'm dead? should i quit my job, should i plant a tree, should i take all the edible contents from my kitchen, put them in a blender and guzzle my concoction down? but seriously, what could one possibly do to break out from their prison of routine and ennui when they have the prospect of death looming over them every single second? like, a hundred people just died while i blogged that last sentence. what do we do with that? i guess this is what human kind faced during the dawn of the religion they made up and figured they needed to manufacture a "better place" for us to look forward to because we'd all go crazy and blog ridiculous, rambling blogs and/or rape tinkerbell, otherwise. so, what are you gonna do tomorrow when, by the grace of god, you wake up not dead? will you live your life to the fullest and find your "happy place?" or, will you forever be cursing yourself where you can't even really curse yourself in the dark perpetude that's not even dark perpetude when you've just read this last sentence and deal with the unpalatable possibility that this may be... the... last... word ... you'll... ever... read.

ba dum BLOG!!!