Matthew Currie, 1965-2011: We Hardly Knew Ye

San Francisco (AP) - Noted astrologer, author, and Blogtalkradio show host Matthew Currie has died suddenly after a long and painful battle with hypochondria, caused when an unscheduled Solar Eclipse squared his Moon and Mars. He was 45 years old. He leaves behind a large collection of unwashed laundry and unanswered e-mails. His last words were reportedly "Damn, I predicted this was going to happen next week. Forgot to correct for precession, dammit dammit dammit ack."

Matthew was born in the log cabin he helped his father build in downtown Burnaby, BC. As a child he overcame a speech impediment and went on to learn a total of seven languages, six of which he could only speak in a low mutter with a lot of gestures. At an early age he discovered girls, and shortly thereafter, girls discovered pepper spray.  He developed an interest in astrology, which led to a lifelong career in the panhandling industry. After forging the correct documents, he graduated high school and attended Douglas College in New Westminster, BC, completing a double major of Loitering and Smoking.  In 2009 he left Canada (still considered a high point of Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper's administration) for San Francisco. More loitering and smoking ensued.

Matthew Currie was an outspoken critic of the food industry, which frequently got his orders wrong. His last book, "Star Wars: The Dark Jar-Jar Trilogy Volume One: Me-sa Gonna Be Killin' You" will be published by Dark Horse Books this September.

Until a permanent replacement can be found, the part of Matthew Currie will be played by John Cusack.

His liver has been donated to the Centers For Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia, where it will be put on display in the main rotunda. In lieu of flowers, Matthew has stated clearly in his will that mourners spend the same amount of money on malt liquor and/or marijuana. In accordance with Matthew's final wishes, he will be cremated and his ashes spread over acclaimed Canadian actress Sunny Leone.

SyFy Hates You: My Review Of "A Princess Of Mars"

Watching SyFy's adaptation of "A Princess Of Mars" (one of my favorite books as a kid) is like watching one of your old childhood toys being brought magically to life... for the express purpose of being tortured to death by Satan-worshipping Nazi zombies. Slowly.

This movie is an abomination. May Edgar Rice Burroughs arise from his grave and take bloody revenge on all responsible. Now THAT'S something I'd enjoy watching.  It makes me ashamed to have cable. It makes me regret having retinas. It *almost* makes me feel sorry for Traci Lords. It's THAT bad.  It's "Plan 9 From Outer Space" without the sincerity. It's every stupid sci-fi cliché that was never entertaining in the first place, inadequately portrayed by Anthony Sabado's pecs. Traci Lords looks as weathered as the Headless Horseman's saddle, except the Headless Horseman's saddle could probably act better. It's like taking a sip of a fruit smoothie, only to discover it's made from rancid blended fish guts.

Whoever gave the green light to this thing should be waterboarded until they repent, and then they should be waterboarded again just to make sure. Rubbing a DVD of this thing against your crotch would probably cause sterility. If Jesus returned to Earth while this thing was on, he'd probably just say "screw it" and blow the planet up, and he'd probably be right to do so. 

"Traci Lords" and "entertainment" do not belong in the same sentence. Ten bucks would get me a sexier time with the crackhead ho that works a few blocks away from here, and that crackhead would be both sexier and a better actress, even if she was comatose at the time. And I'd feel better about that than I do watching this movie. At best, Traci Lords is "A Princess Of Mars" the same way I would be "A Princess Of Cellblock D" if I was in prison. Except I would retain far more dignity. Yet, despite all this, she still comes across better than Anthony Sabado Jr.

It's hard to tell what Anthony Sabado Jr. wields less believably: his sword, or his dialog. He is less believable than Traci Lord's wig. He only has one emotional setting... assuming that "anesthetized" is an emotion. 

And, Tars Tarkas? Despite being a fictional character, he should sue anyway.

"A Princess Of Mars" is as shamelessly, unabashedly contemptuous of its audience as every movie SyFy has foisted on its audience I've seen in the last year. I'm assuming that the SyFy audience must now consist entirely of the paralyzed, forced to watch it by cruel underpaid nurses... and those stalwart few who keep praying that "Caprica" will somehow get better. SyFy apparently has a pure, unadulterated hatred and contempt for its audience. It makes most of the stuff on Spike TV look like King Lear.

Literate, intelligent fans of science fiction should not merely ignore SyFy: they should issue a fatwa against it. Better yet: they shouldn't even bother. Watching SyFy slowly drown in its own excrement will be a lot more satisfying, and infinitely more entertaining.

Not recommended.

Sarah Palin, Harbinger Of The Apocalypse

As someone who has sat back and watched US Federal politics for a long time, and as someone who has prayed for the change I had hoped Barack Obama would bring, I am now officially putting my hopes for a better world in the freezer for the next few years.

Why? For two reasons:

1) As one analyst after another on the tube today is saying-but-not-saying, White Woman trumps Black Man. Those Americans who simply can't stomach the notion of a black guy in the White House can make themselves feel better by voting for a white woman.

Of course, these are the same people who would have justified voting for a McCain/Mitt Romney ticket, or McCain/Pawlenty, or McCain/Sock Puppet for that matter. But because it's a woman, everyone can act like they're all progressive an' shit.

Trust me, no one with the Republican Party is going to bitch about Palin's lack of experience... a little under two years as a Governor. Sure, they bitched about Obama's "lack of experience," but of course he's playing for the wrong team.

If/when elected, Sarah Palin will be the least politically-experienced VP since Spiro Agnew.

(There's a line the Dems should play up. Just like Bush kept bashing away with "evildoers," "Spiro Agnew" should be the soundbite du jour. But do they have the imagination for it?)

...But I'm sure Sarah Palin has the naked ambition and pure inflexibility required to be a Republican Vice President. That, and a willingness to torture foreigners in order to save fetuses, or however the logic goes.

2) The Heavens Themselves have already declared Shenanigans on this upcoming election.

Or rather, The Heavens, via Diebold.

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Recurring Thoughts While Watching CNN's Coverage Of The Democratic Convention

Soledad O'Brien
Your analysis is weak
But I want you babe.

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And The Obama VP Nominee Is...

Recently I have exposed myself (partly by choice, partly by circumstance) to more CNN than usual, and a lot more Fox News. I've learned a lot about the news this way. Apparently, all one has to do is get to the "facts" first and then have a couple of people shout at each other as to whether or not this is a "good" fact or a "bad" fact.

So, having just checked my e-mail, I'm going to sit here and scratch my head as to whether or not it's a "good" thing or a "bad thing" as to whom Barack Obama has chosen for his Vice Presidential nominee. Better yet: I can sit here with a couple of sock puppets, shouting at each other and calling each other idiots for holding the views they hold. Or appear to hold, rather. Sock puppets, like Fox News "consultants," will dance to whatever tune they're paid to.

See? I can do hard news too. Come back after the Life Insurance and Investment Company ads for even more hard-hitting "news"!

...Oh, right. The next Vice President of The United States? The nominee is Joe Biden. I almost forgot to mention that because I was so busy talking about myself and what a great job I'm doing of uncovering "facts."

I learned that from CNN and Fox News too.

43 Reasons To Not Care Who "Values Voters" Like

Barack Obama and John McCain will appear on the same stage for the first time this campaign Saturday, at the very posh Saddleback Church for a gathering sponsored by "TheCall," a collection of people who are in favour of Christian principles and opposed to leaving a space after the word "The." No one is expecting any profound policy statements: instead, it is more than likely going to be Obama and McCain trying to look more marketable to the shotguns and pickups crowd. Morality-wise, Americans want their leaders to be upright Christians, just like every upright Christian president that came before.

Let's have a look at the moral standards Barack and John have to live up to, President by President:

George Washington: Grew pot. Sure, it was "hemp," but he distinctly states in his diary that he separated the male from the female plants. There is only one reason to do that: ask your dealer about it.

John Adams: Spent nine years away from his wife in Europe, so could be considered a bad husband.

Thomas Jefferson: Legally owned his mistress, Sally Hemings.

James Madison: Fairly clean record, but at 5'4" unelectable by today's standards. Also, clearly un-American by today's standards: "If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land, it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy."

James Monroe: Notoriously silent on matters of religion. Never made any public statements on religion, and none of his friends and family recall him discussing the matter. Thought of by many as a Deist: one who believes in God but refusing to be bound by standard Christian dogma.

John Quincy Adams: Enjoyed dueling. Drank like a fish. As Minister To Russia, allegedly kept an American servant girl as a personal plaything for the Czar.

Andrew Jackson: Leading advocate of a policy called "Indian removal," motivated in part by the discovery of gold on Cherokee land, resulting in the death of about 4,000 Native Americans during the "Trail Of Tears" incident. Married his wife before she was technically divorced.

Martin Van Buren: Proposed to a woman in her mid-20s (granddaughter of Thomas Jefferson) not long after the death of his first wife.

William Henry Harrison: Only served for a little over a month, so no time for shenanigans. However, literally didn't have the sense to come in out of the rain, leading to his death by pneumonia.

John Tyler: Married a 22 year old "long time friend" mere months after the death of his first wife. Subject to an impeachment vote for misuse of veto powers.

James Polk: Fairly clean. Ongoing issues with kidney stones, resulting in (among other things) surgery that left him infertile. A classic candidate for painkiller addiction, in modern terms.

Zachary Taylor: Ignored orders as a general in the Mexican War. A northerner who owned slaves on his Southern property. Corrupt cabinet. Drank a lot.

Millard Fillmore: Scandal free, but painfully boring and uncharismatic. Thus, unelectable by today's standards.

Franklin Pierce: Raging drunk. Accused of cowardice under fire as a general. Ran over an old lady with his carriage. Died of cirrhosis.

James Buchanan: Never married, but spent an awful lot of time with Senator William Rufus King. Lived with King (whom Andrew Jackson called "Miss Nancy") for over two decades.

Abraham Lincoln: Poorly educated. Prone to depression. May have had syphilis. Married a crazy woman.

Andrew Johnson: Couldn't read or write until he was 18, when his wife taught him. Was subject to two impeachment attempts.

Ulysses S. Grant: Roaring drunk, by many accounts, for the bulk of the Civil War and his Presidency. Major financial scandals during his term.

Rutherford B. Hayes: "A third rate nonentity, whose only recommendation is that he is obnoxious to no one," according to a contemporary. Thus, unelectable by modern standards.

James Garfield: (Not to be confused with the gluttonous cat of the same name) Involved in the Crédit Mobilier of America scandal, sole bidder for many important railway contracts... kind of like Halliburton today. Had a fling with a married woman.

Chester A. Arthur: Forced to resign from his job at a customs house due to a financial scandal. May have covered up having been born in Canada, and thus would be disqualified from becoming President.

Grover Cleveland: His fling with Maria C. Halpin is resulted in the birth of an illegitimate child. Had Maria committed to an insane asylum, and their child was sent to an orphanage.

William McKinley: Involved in a major personal financial scandal, but was bailed out by his friends.

Theodore Roosevelt: Generally clean, but implicated in the Panama Canal Scandal. Daughter Alice was a notorious party girl.

William Howard Taft: Generally clean, but seriously overweight and a notoriously loud snorer. Thus, unelectable by current standards.

Woodrow Wilson: One wife died, and was engaged to another in less than a year.

Warren Harding: Two confirmed mistresses. The Republican Party bought off one (the wife of a friend) for $20,000 and a free trip to Japan. The other one gave birth to Harding's illegitimate daughter.

Calvin Coolidge: Generally clean. Was probably too busy gutting Federal control over the economy, thus setting the stage for The Depression.

Herbert Hoover: Generally scandal free, but oversaw the "Mexican Repatriation," which saw about half a million Mexicans and Mexican Americans "repatriated" via forced migration. Thus, still electable (if you're a Republican).

Franklin D. Roosevelt: Started an affair with his wife's 22 year old secretary. Broke it off later when his wife found out. They started up again later.

Harry S. Truman: Generally clean, but did bump a wounded WW II veteran from his flight home, so Truman could get home sooner.

Dwight D. Eisenhower: nearly ditched his wife for a 24 year old.

John F. Kennedy: Marilyn Monroe. Judith Exner. Blaze Starr. Mary Pinshot Meyer. Probably others.

Lyndon B. Johnson: Alleged longtime affair with Alice Glass, girlfriend of a newspaper publisher. Supposedly only broke it off because of her opposition to Vietnam.

Richard Nixon: Watergate. Also, Watergate. And let's not forget Watergate.

Gerald Ford: Pardoned Nixon. What, that isn't bad enough for you?

Jimmy Carter: Had a drunk brother. If you've made it this far down the list, Jimmy's probably looking pretty good right about now.

Ronald Reagan: Cheated on Wife Number One with Wife Number Two. Also, Iran-Contra, among others.

George Bush The First: Alleged long-term affair with Jennifer Fitzgerald.

Bill Clinton: Gennifer Flowers. Paula Jones. Monica Lewinsky.

George Bush The Second: will probably be sobered up enough by now, after his triumphant appearance drunk at the Beijing Olympics, to continue being the moral paragon that "Values Voters" elected last time.

***

Now, you were saying something about how a President has to be pious and upright...?

Shakespeare, Sonnet XII, Reviewed By John McCain (Actual Quotes)

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;

-"I spent five and a half years in prison. The worst part was coming home and finding out Green Acres had been canceled. What the hell was I fighting for?"

When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

-"I believe America did the right thing by not joining the Kyoto Treaty."

And summer's green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,

-"I will veto every single beer... er, bill with earmarks."

Then of thy beauty do I question make,

-"Why is Chelsea Clinton so ugly? Because her father is Janet Reno."

That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow.

-"Presidential ambition is a disease that can only be cured by embalming fluid."

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence

-"Do not yield. Do not flinch. Stand up. Stand up with our President and fight. We're Americans. We're Americans, and we'll never surrender. They will. "

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

-"That's not too important. What's important is the casualties."

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December 21st, 2012: The Day The World WON'T End

(I've taken the unusual step of posting this article both here and on my other blog because I believe this is a developing scam that is going to bilk a lot of people in the coming years, and that sort of thing really annoys me.)

According to many, the world is going to end on December 21, 2012. This is when the Mayan calendar comes to an end. Personally, I always thought the Mayan Calendar came to an end at that point because the Mayans weren't planning on going to anyone's birthday party or attending any business meetings hundreds of years after the collapse of their society, but I could be wrong. And many New Age-y types have decided that this is when civilization is going to collapse, because that's when Nibiru comes back.

"Nibiru comes back?" The miniskirt making a comeback, sure. But what the hell is "Nibiru"?

According to Zecharia Sitchin, who claims to be an expert in Ancient Sumerian studies (but got his degree in Economic History), Nibiru is a giant planet, the size of Jupiter or larger, on an eccentric orbit that brings it into the inner Solar System about once every 3600 years or so. His decoding of ancient Sumerian and Mayan texts apparently confirm this. The story is that Nibiru will be returning soon... making its closest approach to Earth on December 21, 2012.

Those ancient Sumerians and Mayans... they couldn't hold their empires together, but apparently they were waaaay better astronomers than we are.

I'm not fluent in Mayan or Sumerian, so I have no place Sitchin's archaeology. But others have, and there is a fairly exhaustive rundown of Sitchin's errors here. But astronomy and astrophysics? Those are subjects I do know. And I can tell you with great confidence that THERE ARE NO GIANT RAMPAGING PLANETS OUT THERE COMING TO EAT YOU. Honest.

Consider this: everything with mass in the universe has a gravitational field. The greater the mass, the stronger the field. That's why apples fall to Earth, and why the Earth doesn't fall towards apples. The Earth orbits the Sun. If the Earth were travelling faster, it would achieve "escape velocity": the speed needed to fly away from the Sun and off into the Cosmos. If the earth were to slow down, it would fall into the Sun. Every planet in the solar system has a gravitational effect on every other planet, though (relative to the huge mass of the Sun) the pull that, say, Neptune has on Venus is pretty weak.

Put another way: when you were born, the mass of the obstetrician had slightly more influence on you than the planet Mars did... but slightly less than that of Jupiter, the largest planet in our solar system.

If two bodies of sufficient mass pass close enough to each other, they will have an effect on each others orbits around the Sun. Many asteroids have had their orbits affected by the occasional(relatively) close brush with Jupiter: picking up speed and moving out into more distant, less circular orbits around the Sun as a result.

Even though Niburu has such a long orbit, given the age of the Solar System (about 4.5 billion years), it would have passed by Earth (and all the other planets) about one and a quarter million times in the life of the Solar System. And yet despite all these close brushes with a giant planet, Mercury through Neptune remain in relatively stable, circular orbits. The odds of that being the case with a Niburu whipping through the neighborhood that many times is comparable to the odds of making your first break in a game of pool by throwing a bowling ball onto the table... and having all the pool balls drift elegantly back into their original triangular configuration. Try it sometime... with someone else's pool table, ideally.

Furthermore... you'd think that with something that big in our own Solar System, there would be some kind of observational clues... after all, we found Pluto, and it's a tiny, insignificant little thing compared to Uranus and Neptune. Uranus, in turn, is much smaller than Nibiru allegedly is; and Uranus was discovered in the 1700s. As far as observational data for Nibiru: there was a misidentified sighting of a distant galaxy by the IRAS satellite in 1984 that has gotten a lot of coverage as being "Nibiru," and the occasional misidentified sun dog.

The primary reason all of this bothers me... other than it being a sign of how damned bad public education really is these days... is that there seem to be a lot of people out there exploiting the fear of Nibiru Doom for profit.

Like these people. Or these people. Or this guy. But most of all: THIS guy.

And regardless of which religious tradition one follows, or which ancient texts on bases one's beliefs on... most faiths agree that hoodwinking the gullible for profit is a bad thing. And I agree.

So: no need to panic. The only threat to the world in 2012... or now... is human nature itself.

Okay, in light of that... maybe you can panic a little.

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Astrologyzone.com Didn't See This Coming

Dear Blogger.com:

I love you guys. Really, I do. A lot of us do. But you've recently handed me (and it appears, hundreds of other bloggers) a real pain in the ass in the form of evil, rampaging robots. More specifically, you've apparently unleashed a horde of hungry 'bots designed to weed out the many "splogs" (spam blogs... if you've ever done a Google search for a given term and found a blog that consisted of hundreds of variations on phrases like "Lindsay Lohan Nude Lesbian Astrology Zone Viagra!" then you've seen one).

(I hope I just didn't turn my blog into a splog by talking about splogs, if you're out there reading this now, Blogger.com people...)

But guys, please, I pour out what little is left of my heart and brain into my two blogs, and thanks a lot for unlocking this one... but can I please, please have my other blog that I've poured my soul into back?

Please?

This all goes to prove an important point I made a while ago... ROBOTS SHOULD NOT SMOKE MARIJUANA. It makes them do crazy, irresponsible things.

And hey... ever had a look at my other blog? You really should before I move it away from here...

Facebook Shuts Down Scrabulous: How To Not Win Friends And Influence People

Facebook has shut down access from The U.S. and Canada to Scrabulous, a Scrabble clone that has turned out to be an insanely popular feature with Facebook users, myself included.

If you've been following this story at all, you'll know that this is a matter of copyright infringement, and that in North America "Scrabble" is owned by Hasbro. Hasbro has, of course, known about Scrabulous for some time, and could in theory have shut it down earlier.

I assumed (ha!) that one of the reasons Hasbro held off on taking this action was because they knew that Scrabulous is popular with hundreds of thousands of users. Since Hasbro was working on a Facebook-friendly online version of the game, it would make sense to wait until their application was ready to roll before pulling the plug on the clone. Whether or not Hasbro was losing money because of Scrabulous is debatable. But if you are going to yank a product that a lot of people really like for purely legal reasons in order to replace it... the replacement should work.

Ahem.

Users attempting to install the Official Scrabble application are getting this message today:

We're working on some tech problems and Scrabble will be ready to play as soon as possible!

We appreciate all the great feedback we've received over the past week and as a result we're making changes to Scrabble for its official launch in mid-August, including a streamlined app with the option to turn-off animations for faster gameplay and full keyboard functionality for those who prefer this way to play.

Please continue to let us know how we can make Scrabble - the best word game on Facebook - even better!

"The best word game on Facebook"? You mean, the other word games don't work at all, either?

As it stands, the games are off. And I couldn't help but notice that the "official" application is called Scrabble Beta. As in, "it's unlikely this thing is going to work nearly as well as a completed product should."

Besides... I was about to play "sequoias" on one of my games. Do you have any idea how many points that would have been worth?

So, despite months to plan ahead, Hasbro has resoundingly dropped the PR ball. But I'm willing to forgive you for now, Hasbro... just like I forgave you for selling me that copy of Cranium Cadoo that was covered in deadly Chinese lead-based paint. And don't even get me started on that Easy-Bake Oven problem with the third degree burns and the partial finger amputations on five-year-old girls.

Oops. Guess that was kind of cheeky of me to mention that. "Cheeky"...that's an 18-point word. A shame I can't use it now...

Do It Yourself Paranoia: Mothra Puts On The Onion Sombrero

You may have recently been exposed to a commercial for Coke Zero involving a disembodied tongue, eyeball, and brain, debating the merits of Coke Zero while a second tongue stands in the distance and watches...

No, this is not something that happened to me on LSD. It's a real commercial.

The thing ends with the brain breaking up the tongue/eyeball debate. He threatens to make the tongue eat dirt, and ends with this very peculiar threat to the eyeball:

"You are going to have to wear the onion sombrero. All. Day. Long. Señor."

I've seen the ad several times and I can confirm that yes, the brain does say "onion sombrero." At first I wondered if this was some slang term I simply hadn't heard before, like "Dirty Sanchez."

I think I have uncovered the secret of The Onion Sombrero. I think Coke is trying to launch a meme. It's a catchy phrase, and a Google search reveals that the phrase didn't exist prior to the commercial. And hey, if Google can't find something, it doesn't exist, right?

Long-time readers of this blog may recall my ongoing attempts to find a corporate sponsor. Given the underwhelming response to my entreaties, I've decided to attach myself to this meme while it's young... like a pilot fish attached to the Great White Shark of Coca-Cola's marketing department.

Thanks in advance Coke... in exchange for your unintentional generosity, I promise I won't mention that recent settlement where you paid out $137 million US to your shareholders regarding a little matter of stock price manipulation. Or at least I'll keep it to a minimum.

Time to sit back and rake in the Google-fueled attention!

And if Google brought you here (just like all those fine people looking for "Kat Von D Naked"), please... feel free to check out the rest of my blog. Who knows... you may end up accidentally having a good time.

It Really IS "McNews"

"Bitch, where's my traffic report?"

McDonald's wants to penetrate your consciousness some more... this time by making obnoxious product placements in major American news markets.

For one thing, this may mean you aren't very likely to see this story about a restaurant in Dearborn, Michigan that's willing to sell halal McNuggets but won't hire employees in traditional Muslim garb. Or this story about how McDonald's is participating in action to prevent a law that would require them to post nutritional information. One McDonald's veep says the "...could create confusion, increase the ordering times, increase our total experience times, reduce throughput at critical times of the day and adversely impact our customer's experience and our business." Apparently he expects the law to cause McD's to be swarmed by cardiologists doing research.

Not that any of these stories are getting a whole lot of airplay anyway.

Worst of all, it means my own ground-breaking research on the inner workings of a Big Mac is less likely to see broadcast any time soon.

Oh well. It's not like those are the ONLY news stories being shamelessly ignored.

Oxycontin And Oil: Two Tales Of Addiction

1)  We had left home two days before, but had hardly been anywhere outside of either the car or the hotel room. Scattered on the dresser was an assortment of pills -- prescription opioids of every description. They were dumped out like a kid's candy on Halloween night. It was a festival of numbness.

I had been awake for over 24 hours, but had been fully alert for almost none of them. I had recently discovered the joys of crushing and snorting Oxycontin -- the champagne of cheap prescription highs. I slowly surveyed the remaining drugs... morphine mostly, with a healthy mix of methadone and some other things... but I had been snorting. Nothing makes the buzz come faster than crushing and snorting an Oxy. Well... nothing that doesn't involve a needle, anyway.

This is perhaps the only matter that I will ever wholeheartedly agree with Rush Limbaugh on. Oxycontin is fucking great.

We were out of Oxys. I half-seriously considered waking (if in fact "asleep" applied in the normal sense) the naked beauty on the bed to see if we could get more. Normally contemplating the generous curve of her hips would have me thinking other things. And sure, there was still plenty of other junk left, but I know what I like. Besides, the feeling was starting to return to my extremities.. and what kind of a vacation is that?

But then I saw it. Ground into the carpet was one last Oxycontin, trampled in our rush to get back into the room with our drugs. I sat on the bed for a long time (or so it seemed -- everything takes a long time on a good Oxy buzz) contemplating my options. I didn't like what I was becoming. But the sensation... or perhaps the lack of it... was simply too good a time to neglect. I also contemplated my dignity, and whether or not I wanted illegal brain chemistry to be the driving force in my life.

Eventually, I got up and wobbled over to the crushed tablet. I stuck my nose down on the carpet. I smelled powder and carpet cleaner and sneakers and dirt. And I snorted as hard as I could, taking in every last speck of pill and carpet fibre I could inhale.

I ran to the bathroom and gagged, as often happens when one snorts these things. I would have vomited if there had been anything left in me, but it had been a long time since I had eaten. And then I wobbled to the bed and laid down, watching The Weather Network and drooling, unsure of where the remote control was, and unmotivated to look for it.

And for a little while, things were good again.

2) A recent report from the US Geological Survey indicates that The Arctic holds 90 billion barrels of untapped oil... enough to keep the world's appetite for it fuelled for three whole years, most of it in Canada! And Alberta's Oil Sands are loaded with oil, at a cost of only 80 kilos of greenhouse gases for every barrel produced!

Let the good times keep rolling!

Mr. & Mrs. Serious Voter Debate Voting For Obama, O'Reilly Style

(SCENE: The kitchen of Mr. and Mrs. SERIOUS VOTER. Mr. SV is sitting at the table, reading the Sports section of the newspaper, which he holds upside-down. Mrs. SV places a frozen chicken finger in the cat's food dish.)

MR: Me am confused by Presidential politics!

MRS: Me am too! Me am not sure which Barack Obama to vote for!

MR: Me want more choices from a President. Barack Obama not be like John McCain. John McCain be tortured when McCain am prisoner of war. Him big hero! Now McCain am in favor of torture so him look tough on terrorists! Him big bully!

MRS: John McCain give us choice of John McCains to vote for!

MR: McCain like choices!

MRS: (Sweeping away starved corpse of the the cat) And McCain NOT like choices! Him change mind, him say Constitutional amendment overturning Roe V. Wade am now good idea!

MR: Him call Jerry Falwell "an agent of intolerance" then him kiss Falwell's ass and hire Falwell's debate coach!

MRS: Him co-sponsor campaign finance reform bill... then him NOT support own bill!

MR: See? Lots of McCains to choose from! Obama? Just one Obama. Me not sure which Obama to vote for.

MRS: Me vote for Obama who states a position, or Obama who follows through on what Obama say?

MR: Me am confused by only one Obama! (repeatedly smashes a sealed can of beans against his forehead) And me am hungry! Ow! Hungry hurts!

MRS: Me try to open beans! (Looking in refrigerator) Hey! Shotgun am not in fridge! How me open beans?

MRS: (Excitedly) Look! Bill O'Reilly am on TV!

MR: Him help us make informed choice!

MR & MRS: (chanting) No spin! No spin! No spin!...

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(Don't) Let Them Eat Pancakes -- The Assholification Of The Calgary Stampede

The city of Calgary is once more in the grip of its annual Big Party -- The Calgary Stampede. Every year a large portion of the city dresses like ranch hands and glorifies a way of life that primarily existed before the popularization of the internal-combustion engine... where it existed at all.

I moved here about twenty years ago and, like many newcomers, I was fascinated by the tradition of "the Stampede Breakfast," in which various sponsors -- businesses, mostly -- would serve up free pancakes and sausages and juice packs to all who were willing to show up early in the morning and stand in line. I was intrigued by the concept. It was nice to know that the people making money in this town, back when oil was an outlandish $20 a barrel or so, were willing to share a little something with everyone else, even if it was only a tax-deductible token gesture.

The whole notion of Calgarians being better or more generous people than others because they come from "a Western tradition" or because "they're cowboys at heart" is a lie of course, but some lies can be ennobling. And I admit I am a sucker for free food.

Twenty years later, the Stampede Breakfast concept is still going strong. I've seen five of them in the last three days. Hardly anything has changed.

Except that since I got here some twenty years ago, the average person's real income adjusted for inflation (in this town where everyone works so frantically) has gone down about 50 bucks a year. The banks and oil companies who usually host Stampede Breakfasts? Their profits are setting records. And now oil is $145.00 a barrel.

Put another way: a barrel of West Texas Intermediate is now worth about six months income for one of the Chinese slaves made to stitch the Wal-Mart purchased boots and shirt of every faux cowpuncher lined up for those free scrambled eggs.

One more thing that's changed? The five Stampede Breakfasts I've seen in the last three days have all had big "PRIVATE FUNCTION" signs posted in front of them. That, and security guards to keep away the homeless, the wage slaves, and the riff-raff.

I wonder: if Tsar Nicholas II were to appear at one of these early-morning pancake flip-offs, would anyone recognize him? Probably not. There's no money to be made off of dire warnings from the past.

See that homeless guy over there? Ride 'em cowboy. Ride him until he bucks you off.

Ashley "Kristen" Dupre: Diary Of A Monster

January 1st: Happy New Year, diary! 2008 is going to be fantastic, I just know it. I'm so happy, I started singing in the shower, and thought about how uber-cool it would be to be an R & B singer. Or maybe a model. Someone famous enough that someone will talk about me and offer me money just for being ME. Note to self: find a way to get into the recording industry without having to blackmail someone. After all, I'm not a monster.

January 8th: Client 12 is a music producer. He says that it's really hard to break into the music industry because it takes, like, lots and lots of talent. "What about Nelly Furtado?" I asked, which was a huge mistake because for the rest of the night he insisted I wear a strap-on and refer to myself as "Timbaland." I charged him extra... hope he doesn't think I'm some kind of monster.

January 27th: Client 3. He's some kind of publisher guy. I asked him about getting a break and appearing in Playboy or Penthouse. He didn't seem interested in helping me. All he could do is bitch about how his nun's outfit got all wrinkled and stuff in his suitcase on the flight from LA. He was so annoying about it, I had to charge him extra. Now he probably thinks I'm a monster or something.

February 2nd: Client 8 is a publicist. I asked him what that meant, and he said it meant that he makes people famous, and makes famous people more famous. The crap some guys will tell ya just to be impressive! Jeez. Client 8 went on and on about his work, until he finally passed out from the Scotch and Oxycontins. He usually tips pretty well, so I went ahead and grabbed a little extra out of his wallet while he was sleeping. I left most of it there though. I'm not a monster!

February 13th: Client 9. Pays well, but always starts out with the same joke. "Hi, I'm Spitzer. And for the money this is costing me, you'd better Swallow'er." Ha ha. Then he insists I tell him how big his wang is. "It's a monster! it's a monster!" I yelled. He loves that.

March 3rd: I hate work. $1100 an hour sounds like good money, but I want more. I want to be BIG. I pray every night that Jesus will send me a way to make it big without having to work so hard. Not even a monster deserves to slave away like I have to. Note to self: KY Jelly is on sale at Wal-Mart.

March 11th: The phone won't stop ringing! It turns out that Client 9 is, like, the governor of New York State or something like that. It's all over the news, and I can't keep up with my new Friend Requests on Facebook, which sucks. But now I have an agent, and it looks like a movie deal, an album, and a nude photoshoot are in the works! Life is great, and I got it all just from going to work and doing my job.

I just don't want to be thought of as a monster...

.

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Are You There, Joseph Farah? It's Me, God

Dear Joe:

Thanks for all the prayers. I'm glad you liked the titanium golf clubs, but you don't need to thank me: they were a business write-off for one of your clients. But thanks for the thought anyway.

Misdirection is actually the reason I'm writing to you today. I read your recent column at World Net Daily about evolution, and I think it's time I cleared up a few things for you.

First of all, biblical literalism: I know how you guys love to bend and stretch things to fit the exact words you see in that Bible in front of you. That's why you folks are constantly pushing the notion that the universe is about 6000 years old, based on Bishop Ussher's interpretation of the Old Testament.

Joe: science has moved on a little since the 1600s. I can prove it, too. You, for example, have a web site ...not a scroll.

I understand that you feel the need to defend your faith. That's great. A lot of good has come from that in its time, even if much of it has been from people like Mother Theresa who secretly doubt Me. And you'd be amazed how many perfectly nice atheists there are out there. Honest!

What I'm trying to say here, Joe, is that you have a brain. Whether you want to blame that fact on Me, or on Evolution, don't you think it's a shame you aren't using it? Again: faith is one thing, but doing crazy intellectual back-flips to justify the letter of the law but not the spirit? That's the sort of thing that pisses me off. It makes me blowing-up-Gomorrah cranky, but of course that's not really my style.

Surprise!

Joe: think. Biblical literalism has its limits. Or are you trying to tell me you don't eat pork and regularly "suffer not a witch to live"?

Seriously, dude. Think about it.

Anyway, I have to go now. There's a planetary nebula in Andromeda that's turning out really nicely, and I want to go watch. Try to be a little smarter and kinder to each other, okay? It would be a terrible disappointment if you guys gave in to your own worst instincts and blew each other up.

Of course, if you do, I have some amazing plans for the bandicoot in about four million years. They'll do me proud at least, I'm sure.

.

I Demand A Refund: My Review Of The First Thirty Minutes of "Turistas"

Last night my buddy Faith and I watched Turistas. It's far and away the worst horror movie in ages. I'm publishing my responses to the first half-hour of it here. If you want more, I could record a complete DVD commentary, but I'd want money up front. Lots of it. And booze, too.

00:22 Smash-cut to a young woman pleading for mercy on what seems to be some sort of operating table. I love symbolism in a movie. The surgery represents modern global entertainment conglomerates. The unseen surgeon is the director, a guy named John Stockwell. The victim pleading for release from the pain is you.

Stockwell apparently received an Emmy nomination for an episode of "The L Word." He then got a deal to direct this abomination, which should have been called "The S Word."

1:10: The credits. A nice quick montage of a tour bus driving through scenic downtown nowhere in Brazil, overlaid with newspaper clippings (in English) about missing US Tourists in scenic downtown nowhere, Brazil. A lot of movies can be summarized by the two-minute trailer: this one breaks new ground in that it can be summarized by its own opening credits.

3:40-5:05: Here we have the two lines of dialogue per person set-up where we establish who the Turistas are, and why we should care about them. Mission: Not Accomplished. One of them is quite loud and rude though, which is a stunning reversal of stereotype about American tourists.

3:50: "Hola, everyone! I'm your bus driver, Señor Plot Device! I'll be driving the bus like a complete idiot just long enough to crash it and strand you tourists in the middle of nowhere. Have a nice day..."

3:54: The first of many gratuitous swimwear shots, and we aren't even off the bus yet.

5:05: Proof that a bus crash can actually be pretty damned boring.

6:20: The name Michael Arlen Ross flashes on the screen for the writing credit. His previous writing credits include... actually, there's no evidence he could write anything, in this movie or elsewhere. He did edit "Wrong Turn" though, which according to IMDB.com is a tale of "cannibalistic mountain men grossly disfigured through generations of in-breeding." I'm guessing it's a documentary about a Mitt Romney fundraiser.

6:20-6:35: We are given a second chance for the cipher/characters to introduce themselves and give us a reason to care about them. Strike two!

7:20: Alex, the loud jerk American, has been in Brazil long enough to get lost in the jungle, but hasn't figured out that the local language is Portuguese, not Spanish. Does no one read up on a place before they go there anymore?

8:16: "Hi, we're oversexed Englishmen. Don't worry, we'll be dead before this is all over."

8:42: Vultures circling. "Do they know something we don't?" Yes. Vultures have an unerring instinct for where a young actor's career is headed.

9:05: Trouble with some of the locals. Apparently they're upset because tourists have been spreading some kind of rumours about an organ-stealing operation in this neck of the rain forest, or something like that. At least it gives someone a chance to shout at the main cast, which should have happened before they signed on for this thing.

10:06: "We're in the middle of nowhere, a long way from town, but there's a bar on the beach! Woo hoo!" This is also the exact same thought process a moth goes through on his way to rendezvous with an open flame.

11:45: Let's go swimming, but oh darn... "I left my top in Rio." Yes, and you left your common sense at home when you let your agent hook you up with this travesty, so get topless honey. It's your only chance to redeem your career.

11:50: Oh. You're lovely, don't get me wrong, but I was wrong about it redeeming your career.

13:51: Meet Insanely Hot Brazilian Woman #1, and her friend IHBW #2. They too are apparently members of the Plot Device family, who must be breeding like rabbits.

14:45: The Swedish Tourists: they're as young, stupid and drunk as every other non-Brazilian in the bar. Don't worry, they'll be dead soon.

15:00: "Brazilians are so friendly!" Not after they see this thing...

15:45: A little alcohol helps our heroes come to the conclusion that being lost and drunk in the middle of nowhere beats anything resembling what the Lonely Planet Guide said to do in a situation like this. Besides, there will probably be another bus along in a while, and it can crash us somewhere newer and even more exciting!

16:15: The Mysterious And Sinister Brazilian Doctor is doing charity work in the free clinic. We know he's sinister because the handlebar moustache-twirling, black top hat, and evil laugh are sure signs. He gets a phone call from IHBW #1, who promises delivery of the packages, or something.

17:20 "Hi, I'm Kiko the charmingly inept local. American girls are pretty. Please mock my language skills. It will distract you from the question of -- how you say in English? -- who wrote this piece of shit in the first place."

18:55: An ominous looking Brazilian Dude is watching a static-y broadcast of Hogan's Heroes in Portuguese, making him the best-entertained person in this entire situation, myself included. It's time for him to go do his work, which involves shady guys making cash payments and looking ominous. This guy has the ominous thing down.

22:15: Lots of close ups of female asses shaking on the dance floor. I've never watched "The L Word," but based on a description of the series I once heard from a couple of construction workers, it must be just like this scene.

23:15: My God! IHBW #2 only slept with Obnoxious Englishman #1 because she's a hooker? Yup. She puts her clothes back on and leaves, taking his money, never to be seen again. This girl is the smartest person in the movie, and I admire her for that.

24:20: People are the same all over the world: leave your drink unattended, someone's going to slip Roofies into it. One note: based on the direction of this scene, I doubt like hell the director has a lot of experience with tranquilizers. Or movies.

24:50: Son of a bitch! We were drugged and robbed and our bodies were dumped right on the beach, right in front of this bar! And where did the Swedes go? Screw the Swedes! Screw the cash and the credit cards and the passports and the ID!

They got Nana's wedding ring!!!

26:10: Swedes On A Stick: The Swedish couple are being paraded through the jungle by a group of locals led by Ominous Brazilian Guy. The Swedes are swinging from sticks like missionaries in a 1940's Tex Avery cartoon.

26:50: My Portuguese isn't that good, but here's a rough translation of what the Brazilian thugs have to say:

"This looks like an excellent place to put the victims down, wander 50 feet away, and smoke cocaine!"

"Why yes Nigel, I do believe that's a smashing idea!"

"My, this is excellent cocaine. I hope we tied those Swedes up loosely enough."

"This reminds me of a tale Lord Winthrop told at the Club last Regatta. He said that -- oh heavens, the Swedes are escaping!"

"Lord Winthrop said that? How odd."

"No... the Swedes are escaping!"

"Good thing, that: we're nearly half an hour in and nothing interesting has happened yet."

"I found the scantily-clad Brazilian women interesting."

"You can get that on the Internet for free, without having to endure this dialogue."

"Really?"

"Oh my, yes. Dirtylatinamaids.com. I highly recommend it. They do more than windows!"

"Ha, ha! How witty. Ah, goodness me... Off with my machete now, tally ho!"

27:45-28:10: He-Swede loses a couple of fingers to the machete. She-Swede, sensibly, runs off a cliff. Their suffering is over. Yours has just begun.

Seriously, this is the dullest de-fingering I think I've ever seen. Lamer than that industrial safety video from 1980 they show to all the new employees.

29:35: "Someone in this town must know what's going on!" Yes they do. A bunch of stupid college-age foreigners got drunk and doped in some hostile foreign backwater and were robbed, and may soon be dead. Brazilians are just too polite to point out the obvious.

29:36 to the end of the movie: Why bother? It's all downhill from here.

Maybe Faith and I are turning into old farts, but mindless, stupid, badly-thought-out slasher horror was done so much better in the 80s. Like "Sleepaway Camp" which was really truly atrocious on every last level, but at least managed to entertaining, even if by accident. "Turistas" wasted millions (and hopefully a couple of careers) for nothing.