Warm Weather: Game Over

Friday afternoon I donned a pair of shorts and sandals for the first time this year. Well, not for the first time, but for the first time outside. In public. And I listened to Kenny Chesney. It's officially summer.

Every Spring I wait until the thermometer breaks 60. I stare at it like a kid trying to stay home from school, urging that mercury to creep over the Awesome line. For the kid its 98.7. For me it's 60.

Unfortunately for me, this is a boundary that once crossed cannot be uncrossed. Recrossed? Whatever. Next week it could be forty degrees. I'm still in shorts and flipflops.

Unfortunately for everyone else, come mid-October my minimal melanin retreats faster than your penis after seeing a picture of Sarah Jessica Parker and is replaced by anti-melanin, which makes me whiter. By the time the Summer Boundary is crossed, you can see the veins through my skin. On sunny days my skin glimmers like a vampire (dammit...that a Twilight reference. I blame my girlfriend), and you better wear sunglasses when you look at me. Last summer I didn't have a summer. I was in Iraq, and basically wore long sleeves the entire time. That means two years with no sunlight. I'm almost invisible.

The other side effect of crossing the Summer Boundary is an increased desire to achieve nothing and drink everything. These two I will have to fight, because I really need to be employed, and I'm kind of fond of my liver.

DMV Recap

Last weekend I decided I finally had to go to the DMV, and no matter what, I wasn't coming home without accomplishing my mission. I didn't expect the mission to take two hours.

Luckily for me, there is a DMV within a five minute drive of my apartment. Unluckily for me, it's located right next to Ellis Island.

I knew there were foreigners in Alexandria, but do they all have to go to my DMV? When I got there the line was out the door. I say again. OUT THE DOOR. I've NEVER seen that at a DMV. But, I've been driving with DC tags for too long, and I need to change to VA. So I sigh, make the sign of the cross and join the fray.

Once inside the doors, past the Indian security guard, I see what the hold up is. The check-in dude is making sure everyone has what they need to do what they're there to do. What makes this difficult is he doesn't speak Spanish, Arabic, Hindi, Pashtu, Dari, Mandarin Chinese, Korean, Swahili, Russian, and Klingon. Shame on him, he only speaks English.

Anyway, I make my way up to him, who is all the while booting immigrants left and right because they have no clue what they're doing. This guy is actually pretty squared away. He prints me a number and tells me to take a seat.

I look for an open chair, but there's not many choices. Damn. I can either sit next to this:

Or this:

Ugh. Are my shots up to date? Yes. But there's no accounting for diseases that come out of the highlands of Burma.

Quick, there's gotta be something else. Ah, there's a normal looking person. I sit. But I still slide the way-too-close chair away a couple inches. Survival of the most paranoid.

A tone sounds, and the lady who tells me to leave a message at the beep informs me the DMV is now serving Number A064. I look at my ticket. C3,454,678. Damn. I better open up this National Geographic that I'm damn glad I brought.

About this time I hear someone shouting. Why not, I think. I look up when he yells at someone to "Wash yer hands! Wash yer hands, please!"

What in hell? How do you know he didn't wash his hands? I mean, sure, he looks dirty, but how do you know?

-"I want more, more please!"

-"I like Barny!"

Oh. This dude is loopy in the head. Tourette's? Likely. Hilarity? Definately.

Sigh. Why not. It never fails with the DMV. Except I didn't expect this many immigrants. Which got me thinking: I don't remember this many immigrants at the DC DMV. Do immigrants live in DC? I think they all live in Northern Virginia. Within a mile of my apartment, apparently.

-"Wash yer hands! HahaHAAA!"

I look to my right. That guy might be a skin head or a Neo-Nazi. Definately a white supremacist. How hasn't he killed anyone yet? Maybe I should lighten up on the whole foreigner thing. I don't want to be like this guy. I don't dislike foreigners THAT much. Just a little. Please don't carve a swastika into my forehead. Quick, look away before he makes eye contact.

Phew. That was close. What number is up right now? C218. Soon. Soon.

Let's see, what else do we have here? Somebody tell that thing to sit down, it's going to be a while.

Bing! "Now serving number C224." That's me! So long, suckers.

I get to the window. "How are you doing today?"

Yikes! Quick. Say something. Say anything! Before it eats you!

"IneedtogetaVirginialicenseandregisterandtitlemycarinVirginia!" Phew. In the words of Lando Calrissian, that was too close.

The licensing went fine. Then I went to take the picture. The woman in line in front of me stood up to get her picture taken with a wide, toothy smile. "Don't show your teeth!" Said Ms. Cambodia 1972 from behind the counter. The woman closed her mouth, but still smiled. "Neutral expression!" The woman looked a little hurt, and slightly depressed. Flash, click.

So, your picture should look like you've just spent two hours at the DMV. That's going to be easy. Done.

Then we got the the title.

"Do you have your Pennsylvania title?"

No. I have my DC title. How the hell could I have my car titled in two places at once? That's impossible. Shouldn't you, as a DMV employee, know that?

"I need to talk to a manager."

Fine. You do that. I'll just sit here and enjoy the Barnum & Bailey Freak Show that's going on around me. It reminds me of the Wendy's in Carlisle, PA, near where I went to high school. There was one shift there that I called the Side Show. The guy at the register was shaped like Grimace, had a porn mustache, and sounded like a ten year old girl. The woman on the grill was eight feet tall and sounded like Carl Weathers. The woman on drive through recently celebrated her 300th birthday. And the rest of the crew were extras from the Thriller video.

But they made a mean burger.

I'll admit it. The reason I don't lose my mind at the DMV is because the freaks and geeks here keep me entertained. There's always some weirdo to look at, and even more to make fun of in a highly inappropriate and usually mean wa-

Jesus! Get that away from me!

"Here's your Virginia title, registration, and plates." Thanks. Can I leave?

"You're all done."

-"Wash yer hands, please! Wash yer feet!"

Good call, buddy. These smelly oafs should listen to you.

McDonald's is Racist, and You Don't Care

As the mediocre comedians of our time remind us again and again, black people and white people are different.

I know. Wow.

As you're reading this, all the white people are saying, "Pardon me, what was that?" and the black people are saying, "Say whaaaaat?"

There's a huge difference between acknowledging those differences and discriminating based on those differences. The former is funny. The latter is racist. And sometimes funny.

Most people who aren't white and from Mississippi will say they don't like racism. So why don't you care that McDonald's is violently racist?




Differences between people doesn't have to be a bad thing. Sometimes all they are are differences. But McDonald's has been segregating their commercials for years. Maybe you don't notice because you only go to Wendy's, you racist bastard.





There are two types of McDonald's commercials. Let's compare two radio ads. The first is set to rap music, and some dude, obviously black, is rapping about the egg-based breakfast sandwich he's going to slam. It's upbeat, vibrant, and makes me want to crush some McDonald's. But of course, in this commercial it's "Mickey D's," because black people are so much cooler than everyone else.

Miggity-miggity-Mack Donald's

The second has no music, but features the voice talents of the whitest people on earth discussing the merits of McDonald's new oatmeal. "Gee, McDonald's (not Mickey D's, because white people are boring) has new oatmeal. Isn't that neat? Let's take our station wagon and get some!"

Let's do the whitest thing possible

These two commercials, both for McDonald's breakfast, tell us a few things:
1. McDonald's only wants to sell food to white people and black people.
2. McDonald's thinks white people are losers.
3. McDonald's thinks Latinos only eat tacos.

Number 3 makes McDonald's racist to a third ethnicity. Although, they once tried to bring in the Latino market with their fajitas of a few years ago. But Latinos realized they sucked as much as the rest of the restaurant's food and said no dice.





As for number 2, a little googology turned up some revealing information. Type "mcdonalds black" into Google and you get this. Wait, what the hell!?!? McDonald's has a whole website entirely devoted to African Americans! That alone deserves a separate post at a later time, when I can fully soak in how possibly offensive that is.

At least I think it's offensive. Maybe.

I'm confused. Is it racist to not pander to the majority? Is that reverse racism? Is it racist to cater only to one minority and ignore all others? Is it racist that McDonald's assumes black people want to eat McDonald's more than anyone else? Is it racist that McDonald's thinks white people suck? Is THAT reverse racism? Do Asians like Big Macs?

Who knows. I just know that I feel a little offended, and not because I may or may not be white. I'm not offended that McDonald's has a website specifically for black people. I feel that black people should be offended a fatbody-producing slop house like McDonald's tries so hard to appeal to them. I feel like that shows McDonald's has a lower opinion of black people. Maybe I feel that way because I hate McDonald's because it's evil and it makes people diabetic.

The "F" stands for "Foxy." Or "Fat." It's probably "Fat."

What's that, marketing major? You say this is just an example of target audience advertising? Then I guess that's why Wal-Mart advertizes so much to white trash hillbillies. But I think I'm getting off target. Back to the fact that McDonald's makes white people look like this -

and black people look like this -





while eating their food. But to be fair to McDonald's, it does treat all people the same in one regard. It makes all people look like this:

Lay off me, I'm starving

DMV

I know, I know. It's cliche to make fun of the DMV. All the jokes have already been made, and they weren't that funny the first time. We all know the deal: it takes forever, people there are stupid and/or foreign, etc, etc. I have no jokes about the DMV. In fact, most of my DMV experiences haven't been too bad. Matter of fact, the DC DMV was the best I've been to. I've also dealt with DMVs in Pennsylvania and Virginia, and Virginia by far was the worst.

So it is with much dread that I am facing my return to Virginia license and registration. To work there you need proof that not only were you born in a third-world country, but that English is your eighth language. Of course, that can only help when 92% of the stinky hooligans in line are also garbage-can-born Anglophobes.

Last time I was at a Virginia DMV I saw a woman who learned how to apply makeup from a circus clown. Despite her best efforts, she managed to get not a drop of color on her actual lips. She did, however, cover the rest of her face. I remember a commercial or movie from years ago, not sure which, where a woman was trying to put on lipstick in an airplane bathroom during massive turbulence. The result was lipstick all over her face. I was reminded of this, although I had a sneaking suspicion this woman applied hers in a house that experienced zero turbulence. The best part was her daughter (?) was there. She HAD to know that was not the proper way to apply makeup. But she said nothing. She said nothing.

Which brings me to my favorite game to play while at the DMV: Why Is He/She Retarded. The above example is obvious. And easy. But everyone is retarded in some way. A lot of times it's visual. A Member's Only jacket. Shirt tucked in with no belt. Velcro shoes. But other times you don't know they're retarded until they open their mouth and prove it.

And I don't mean retarded as in Down Syndrome. I mean retarded as in these people suck at life.

Anyways, I have some good times ahead of me. Can't wait.

Abbreves: When It's Gone Too Far

Look, I'll be the first one to admit that I love abbreviations. So much that I abbreviate "abbreviations" to "abbreves." Most people look at me like I have a dick growing out of my forehead when I say it. But that's their fault.

Certain abbreves are completely acceptable, and frankly awesome. Take Tecmo Super Bowl, the greatest video game ever (that's the one with a New York Giants player on the cover, for NES). That name is way too much to say. Instead, it's Super Tec. Simple. Obvious. Sexy.


Others are questionable, but not entirely annoying. When I was in junior high we'd play basketball and a friend of mine would make a shot then say, "Hey get my reeb." As in rebound. See that? Not great, kind of gay, but not completely annoying.

But there are rules to creating abbreves. You can only shorten the word by removing syllables from the end of the word. I thought that was obvious. There are two false abbreves that make me want to kick a cat (which I really wanted to do anyway).

The first is the abbreve of "parents" as "rents." Use "rents" in a sentence. 'I saw my rents today.' Wait, what got rinsed? Did you clean it first? What the hell are you talking about?

Then there is "za" for pizza. Look, I know two syllables is a lot to ask for these days. But does a five letter word really need to be shortened to two? Are you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

At the bottom of the pile of useless human beings are the ones who legitimately use instant messaging syntax in normal conversations. "OMG" is gay enough; don't bring it from text to speech. Any time I hear "BFF" I assume it was spoken by a fourteen-year-old girl who has covered her bedroom walls with "Twilight" posters because "OMG, vampires are just so hot." When I turn around to see that it was spoken by a 30-year-old woman, I know God has forsaken us. LOL, LMAO, BTW, OISMLGSXIIUZNRIGKFLSDDFIJOVPVPV.

GFY.

(Go fuck yourself). That one's for me.

Damn You

Alright, dammit.

I had thought for the last few (seven?) months that I was locked out of this site, thus corking my outlet for hating everything and everyone. Turns out that my Gmail password is the same as 90% of my other passwords, and it worked. I've since changed it. Thanks, Google.

I've a lot of crazy going on in my head lately, and I've been lamenting at the lack of a "public" (by definition, only if more than two people see it...so, not really) forum with which to display said crazy. I went through the involved password recovery process, finally made it back to the site, and realized I have nothing to write.

Damn.

But given time, enough shit will rise to the surface of the settling pond of my brain that I can write again. And then everything will really start to stink.

Meet the Band: Europe

Aren't these the bad guys in Superman?

Recently a good friend and Polish immigrant, Gorski, had a conversation with Wick. Apparently Gorski had been skeezing around YouTube and came across the video for the "The Final Countdown" by the band Europe. As is inevitable while perusing YouTube, he ended up where he never expected. Namely, the video for "Cherokee," also by Europe. Wick had emailed the transcript, which included his exclamation of, "Is that a keytar?"

That line in and of itself left me crying with hilarity. Not only for the fact that yes, indeed, the IS a keytar in the video, but the fact that Wick knew the nomenclature for a keyboard guitar. You can see the video here, and I highly recommend it.

Is my hair teased enough? No, seriously, is it?

If you don't know Europe, you should. Everyone should at least recognize the song "The Final Countdown" from Arrested Development, as Gob's theme song when he was doing magic ("Illusions, Michael"). Europe is a Swedish glam-rock, hair metal, Eurotrash rock band that formed in 1979. Growing up with teenage ansgt at national health care, a sustainable population, and low crime, these guys found the inspiration they needed to rock.

"But, what kind of Eurotrash band names themselves the most Euro-trashy name possible, except for the name 'Eurotrash?'" you might ask.

Good question. I don't know. But who cares, they use a keytar.

Europe actually sold a lot of records. To who, I have no idea. The Final Countdown, Europe's third album, went triple platinum in the US. That's not counting the countries that usually love weird shit, like Japan, where they're still gods.

Next, check out their website (yes, they have one!). Enter the site. Be prepared for the usual bizarre shit that you associate with Swedes, like Ikea. They call their site "Secret Society," I'm guessing because to publicly admit to being a Europe fan generally results in insults, hate mail, and stonings.

This band still rocks. Browsing their site, you can see proof (pictures!) of their rock-tastic shows in rock mecca's like Minsk, Skellefteå, and Niagara Falls. I couldn't pull any pictures from their site (Sercret Society only), but these guys learned the finer art of shampoo, scissors, and big sunglasses. They are out to prove, along with Poison and Montley Crue, that middle-aged dudes with STDs can still rock.

And it's all about the music.

David Coverdale alert! Straight from Wiki: "On July 23, 2008 Europe did a co-headlining concert with Whitesnake in Padua, Italy. During Whitesnake's performance of their encore "Still of the Night", Joey Tempest joined David Coverdale on stage for the last chorus."

Rock.

The Emancipation Declarative Statement

I think that's a double negetive...

I done broke outta Shawshank!

Toiling for months under the iron fist of a totalitarian regime of capitalism and supply and demand, life was grim. My freedom of speech eroded, my basic human rights on the brink of collapse, my laughter silenced. All was dull in an already dull world.

Big Brother was Magick Island Technologies. They offered internet service. For an outrageous price, you could get spotty internet service at random times while unusual websites were blocked. Such was the case with HMNIG. When I tried to access it, it told me the site was restricted because it was porn. Porn! When has Gorgeous EVER had porn? What about the site makes it even remotely resemble porn? It was outrageous. It was unjust. It was...my only option for internet service.

So I abided. Another broken soul claimed by The Man.

Two days ago, I got wind that Magick Island Technologies no longer blocked porn. I didn't care about that. But Gorgeous was, apparently, porn. So I tried it. I was greeted by a striking picture of David Coverdale (see below), the new poster boy for literary freedom. Apparently Wick has been at work, though just barely. My reemergence can hopefully spark his creative genious. That is, if it can fight through the bourbon haze surrounding his brain.

I have been emancipated. The bonds of bondage have been un-bonded.

An explanation

I know what you're thinking, "those Gorgeous boys tease bigger than David Coverdale's hair. Comin' back for a hot minute only to disappear faster than the Social Security surplus." Let me assure you of two things, 1. the title of this post is not smoke and mirrors, and 2. yes, dropping David Coverdale was a blatant excuse to run a picture.

Eat your heart out, Rick Steves

That's out of my system so onto the promised explanation. I could tell you that I've been busy at work, that I've had some shit in my personal life, but you don't want excuses, and, frankly, it doesn't make for hilarious blog banter. Recognition by the U.S. military as porn, however, makes for it in spades. Turns out this site has recently garnered said recognition (look at us, winning awards). As such, dear Pennypacker gets nil in the way of access, and you miss out on the unicorn-like enchantment of his words. (This raises a question; why doesn't the military allow porn access to troops? I have a few guesses, all of which are uncouth. I welcome insight.)

We are working out the kinks to ensure a less sporadic dose of your favorite adventure hounds. Until then...

Cats: Nature's Assholes

I don't like cats. I don't like people who like cats. I don't like people who like people who like cats. Most people who like cats remind me of this:



I can hear you all now. "But cats are cute!" Wrong. "Cats are nice!" Wrong. "Cats are your best friend!" You're delusional.

I just ate your soul

Cats are sneaky, evil assholes. They operate independantly to carry out devious missions of assassination, espionage, and mayhem. They are ninjas.

I killed Lincoln

People think they own their cats. Wrong. Cats have no human master. They take orders directly from their unnamed leader, seen here. He is part cat, part god. He is the reason ancient Egyptions worshipped cats. And that's the reason Egypt is a smelly pile of third world filth today. They worshipped evil.

Walk into the home of someone who has cats. Cover your nose first, or you might vomit. Immediately ask the person where their cat is. They have no idea. That's because cats can be anywhere at any time. A dog runs to greet you as soon as it hears your keys jingling in the door. As soon as a cat hears you, it finds a place to hide to scare the shit out of you.

Let me just throw these wet clothes in the HOLY SHIT!!!

Cats attack anything. If you think it's just humans, you're as wrong as you are about everything else. Cats attack everything from grass to paper clips to other cats.

I'll make this look like suicide...

When I was about eight years old, I slept over at a friend's house. Austin had two cats. One was black (obvious sign of evil), but pretty laid back. For a cat, anyway. Obviously, she was a high-level operative. A leader of ninjas. But the other one, Scotty, was a menace. We were getting ready for bed, and Austin turns to me. "By the way, sometimes Scotty likes to sleep on people's chest when they sleep. So if you wake up and Scotty's on your chest, don't make any sudden moves. If you do he'll attack your face."

I didn't sleep that night.

No sudden moves...

Scotty was a pure assassin. And he was good. Possibly the best. Austin and I once saw him in the front yard, hunched over something. We went over to him and he was eating a chipmunk. Now, I'm eight years old. One of my favorite cartoons is "Chip and Dale." Not the Rescue Rangers bullshit, but the original from the '40s. But Scotty ate Chip. The bastard ate Chip!

We also once found him eating a bat. A bat! How the hell does a cat catch a fucking bat? Bats fly! A lot!

In addition to the standard assassination and espianoge, cats dabble in sabotage. Why doesn't my TV work? Cat. Why did my power go out? Cat. How did the condom break? Cat.

The yellow one is video

To date, I've only found two weaknesses. Food and water. But be careful about the water; it usually just pisses them off. Then the next time you open the freezer...POW! Right in your face.

Overdose

I...am going...to kill you.

Cats are the worst. And they stink. It's easy to tell if a person owns a cat: they smell like kitty litter and urine. The whole kitty litter concept is ridiculous and disgusting. Here's an idea: fill a box with stuff that smells like piss and shit, fill it up with actual piss and shit, and then leave it in your house. Cause you know what would freshen this place up a bit? Feces.

Nature's assholes.

Open Letter Wednesday

Rashida Jones
c/o Brillstein-Gray Entertainment
9150 Wilshire Blvd.
Beverly Hills, CA 90212

Dear Rashida,

What up girl? How you livin? I've been seeing you a lot lately, TV, big screen, all that. Them sexy, bottomless-coffee eyes looking back at me saying “I know you dig what you see.” I do, I dig massive. And that’s why we should be together, ya heard? You get me.

I’m no fool so I realize one paragraph isn’t going to cut it; you need supporting evidence. Check this baby, we've got commonalities for days. Your father is an influential musical icon. My father is a deejay for a small-town radio station, and he loves your dad. We both are of Irish ancestry. You went to Harvard and had a supporting role in Boston Public. I live near Harvard and am supported by Boston public transportation. One of my favorite Gap commercials (Everyone in Vests) features you singing and you lend your vocal talents to the first Maroon 5 album. I sing over that shit all the time. It’s eerie, right?

Back in the day, Tupac blasted interracial marriage, specifically between your parents. Your response? An open letter defending the marriage and taking Pac to task, which eventually led to his relationship and engagement to your sister. I’m a wealth of open letters. George Lucas, Big Chicken, Sean Penn, shit, even Mother Nature and chick is an omnipresent entity. Could we be more in tune?

What about your dating history? Tobey McGuire, Seth Myers, John Krasinski. Notice a theme? Talented, funny, dopey dudes. While my talent and hilarity are only appreciated, if not always acknowledged, by the tens (generous estimate) of people that tune into Gorgeous, my dopiness is readily conceded by everyone that knows me.

Peep that, a cornucopia of reasons for you to slide my way. What say we create an unbreakable bond based on mutual admiration of (y)our considerable talents and light a love-fire that burns hotter than 1,000 suns for all eternity? I’m cool with making a stable of vanilla-kissed super babies too. Whatever greases your wheels, darlin.

Tickled and pining,
-Brunswick P. Danforth

Where Yous Been At???

It's been a long time, kids! Where yas been? Dere's been so much goin' on. Good and bad, yaknowhaddamean. First of all, da Phil's!! How 'bout it? All dem years since da Phillies did anything. Actually, all dem years since ANY Philly team has done a fuckin' ting. It's about damn time, dat's all I can say! Whaddaya say dere, Vinny?

Vinny: It's about damn time.

Birdman: Fuckin' A, pal. I tell you kids what, after da Phils won, I got fuckin' smashed. Well, I was already fuckin' smashed. Whaddaya say dere, Vinny?

Vinny: Fuckin' smashed.

Birdman: Fuckin' right. Well, after dey officially won, I celebrated by kickin' the shit outta some mick fucks, rolled a car, and lit a bag a shit on fire. Whaddaya say dere, Vin?

Vinny: Wasn't it on your own porch?

Birdman: Shuddafuckup, Vinny! YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING!!!

Vinny: I don't know anything.

Birdman: Fuckin' A. So dat's dat, now let's move on. Once again, my beloved Birds fucked up and didn't make it to da Sooper Bowl. You know who I blame? Brian Dawkins. Dat's right. He knew he was gon' be traded, so he let da team down. Him and McNabb. And Westbrook. And Andy Reed. In fact, da whole team's a bunch a fucks. Dey can't win da Sooper Bowl? Fire dem all and fuckin' kill dere families. Dere's better players out dere who'd love ta play for da classy fans of Philly. I'm tellin' ya. Whaddaya say, Vinny?

Vinny: Classy fans.

Birdman: Fuckin' A we're classy. The classiest fans in the wor...

(yells at TV)

Rip dat faggot's face off and shit in his throat! Fuckin' Penguins can lick da diarrhea from my ball sac!

Vinny: Classy fans.

Birdman: Shuddafuckup Vinny. It's almost Stanly Cup Season, and our beloved Flyers are lookin' to bring anudder championship to Philly. I tink Philly is gonna be like dem pricks in Boston, wit more den one team winning championships. Da Flyers are gon beat da piss outta everyone else, you just wait an see.

Vinny: Beat da piss outta everyone.

Birdman: No one asked you, Vinny.

Bartender: Yous guys wan anudder round?

Birdman: Da fuck you tink, Dom? Of COURSE we do. I only had twelve. I need at least 15 before I can go home and show da wife who's boss. So anyways, da Phils kick ass, da Eggles suck as usual, and da Flyers are gonna kill some mudderfuckers in da playoffs. And by da way, da defending World Series Champs just started anudder season, where we go back ta back. Until September, it's a good time to be a Philly Fan.

Vinny: A good time.

Birdman: Shuddafuckup, Vin.

New Research Suggests Dog and Penis Size Related

"Why does that dude have a rat on a leash? Oh, wait. That's his dog. What a douche."


New evidence recently released confirms that not only is the above statement scientific fact, it goes on to state that dudes who have dogs shorter than mid-calf have small penises.

"There is direct correlation between the size of the canine and the size of the owner's genitalia," explains Dr. Wesley O'Shannon, author of the study. "Our findings suggests that the lack of penile length prevents these men from owning a 'real' dog, one that is kick-ass and awesome. MRI's and CAT scans of these owners shows that due to extra blood in the brain, blood that would otherwise be used in a larger penis, these men cannot conprehend the fact that their dogs are retarded."

Dr. Shannon points to the follwing chart, which shows the direct connection between dog size and the owner's penis size:

We here at HMNIG have done our own fact checking on these new findings. After extensive thought and real-world research (0.2 seconds) we agree. Although, we do have some caveats to this theory. We find that there are some exceptions to this rule; as in guys that have excuses to own ridiculously small dogs. They may or may not fit into the above chart. The following may be excluded:

-Dudes who took in stray dogs out of pity

-Gay dudes

-Dudes who have girlfriends/wives that forced them to buy a rat for a pet

-Dudes who have a dog that gave birth to a runt, and they were forced to keep said runt

The follwing are those that are not excluded from the theory, and quite obviously are accurately plotted on the above chart:

-Doug Ackley

The bottom line is this: If your dog can't eat another dog, then you probably shouldn't have it.

Sailing on a stream of consciousness

Hey, you. Yeah, you in the Mercedes wagon. You’re a douche. If you want a Benz, get a fucking Benz; if you want a kid carrier, get a van. Driving an E-Class is like dating a mildly attractive girl with six younger sisters, all of whom are Petra Nemcova-hot, exponentially more fun to be around, kinda interested in you, and possess righteously rotund rumps, not the tank ass your lady is lugging.

On the subject of things I loathe, American Idol. A little bit because neither the parts nor the sum are great, and a lotta bit because I can’t look away. I particularly despise when contestants wave their fingers and pretend-talk (even though we can clearly hear Seacrest) to let the TV audience know what number to call or text. I’m almost inspired to take action, if only I hadn’t been beaten about the head audibly and visually with the information you are now mouthing and gesturing during 80% of your performance.

Conversation that could take place between Seacrest and male contestants:

Seacrest: Bro, let’s scene it tonight. Beverly Wilshire at eleven. We’re gonna tear more ass than hot sauce. We don’t even need blow. I’m Dick fuckin Clark.

SingerX: I’m really uncomfortable.

Randy: Jumpin’ off smidgy whaaaaaaa!

Uh oh, now I’m ranting…

Does anyone have hair as beat as Rick Steves?

"We do!!!!"

Dude’s hair has been whack longer than Anthony Mason has been ugly.

"THAT'S F'UHEVAH"

The good ship Danforth is being driven ashore by a wave of fatigue. Signing off

Obstacles to "Progress"

If progress is what you call starting this site up again. Anyways, when I got it in my head to start posting stuff on here again, the first step was to see if I could still sign in. When I did, I got this:

I don't read squiggles. My Arabic vocabulary is limited. My ability to read Arabic is nonexistent. The only word in Arabic I recognize is "exit," because it looks like "tits" in fancy letters (picture to come shortly). True story.

When I saw this, I was simultaneously confused, amused, and angry. I think the word I uttered was "Whaffnauck?" It's a strange emotion.

The last time I logged into the site was months ago, so navigating from memory was kind of hard. I figured it out, after first trying to type my email into the password block. Arabic is written right to left, so the password block is to the left of the sign in block. Once I mastered this, I somehow was able to sign in.

It took a minute for me to realize I get my wireless internet from some decrepid, bootleg Iraqi retailer. And of course it would be in Arabic.

And that's bullshit.

Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself....My Name is Gorgeous!

It's been too long. For the millions (tens) of readers of this site, we would like to officially say "We're Back." You ask yourselves, "Did you ever really leave?" Well, yes. We did. As two swashbuckling rakes, Brunswick and myself have been gone for months to fight the Global War on Ugly. Terrible tales from the darkest and most hideous reaches of this planet abound, but are not destined for this site. I could regale you with yarns of vile villians and despicable despots, of perilous plots and sinister sagas, but I won't (mostly because the real reason we haven't written is because we're lazy. Plus we each came down with scorching cases of the clap. Separately. Independantly. Not from each other).

The interstellar Hand of Gorgeous coming to reclaim your souls

What you'll see coming up is more of the same from before our sabbatical, probably with an initial shotgun blast. We've had a lot of strong opinions, bitterness, and hate in the last year, and vent we must. There will be a lot of catching up to do. Let's get started.

Video Game Predicts Future

The trouble between Russia and Georgia is disturbing, but not as disturbing as a video game predicting it back in 2001.

Tom Clancy’s Ghost Recon, for Xbox and Playstation 2, depicts Georgian revolutionaries struggling against the Georgian government in South Ossetia. The game continues with a full-scale invasion by Russian forces, and the fall of the Georgian government.

“If Ghost Recon's uncanny trend continues, we can expect the South Ossetia conflict to culminate in a dramatic assault on Red Square and the Kremlin by NATO troops -- spearheaded by an elite US special forces team under the control of a pimply fourteen-year-old with a joypad. Considering that the most recent game in the Ghost Recon series climaxes with an oh-so-narrowly-averted terrorist nuclear strike on the US, we hope the predictive power of the game runs out. Soon.”

So we here at Gorgeous thought about what other video games might have predictive powers:

--In 2011, a greasy Italian immigrant will stumble upon another dimension while removing a pubic hair clog from the drain of a 52-year-old Brooklyn woman with diabetes. Go kart racing ensues.

--Due to energy shortages and an increasingly dismal economy, people have taken to underground fighting as a way to make ends meet. In July 2013, these underground fights begin to be loosely organized by a Thai crime syndicate leader, M. Bison. Due local police decide to pursue higher priority crimes, allowing these fights to occur on the street. Also, magic is invented in 2012.

--In the year 2027, a brilliant but deviously mad robotics scientist names Dr. Albert Wily creates a series of androids, each with a different and special gift for destruction. Dr. Wily is bent on overthrowing various world governments, and must be stopped at all cost. A joint US-Japanese coalition, headed by Dr. Thomas Light, develops a counter-terrorism android, capable of adapting it’s arsenal as it defeats his terrorist counterparts.

--Due to the polluting of the environment by discarded medications, hormones, and steroids, the world has seen a development of super-intelligent and abnormally large animals. One such animal, a rare blue hedgehog, travels the world to collect coins.

--The year is 2633 A.D., and an alien army by the name of Red Falcon plans to invade Earth. Our only hope: two ripped dudes with no shirts and really big guns. We send Bill Rizer and Lance Bean to the enemy’s island headquarters to kick some ass. Headbands optional, but preferred.

--The NFL decides 28 teams was enough, and so dissolves the Panthers, Jaguars, Titans, Texans, and Ravens for its 2015 season. The league also reinstates the Houston Oilers. To create more intense games and bigger blitzes, teams can only use four run plays and four pass plays. Touchdown celebrations are cracked down on, with the only legal ones being a) if scored on a run play, the ball carrier may jump into the arms of another player, b) if the ball is caught for a touchdown, the receiver may spike the ball while running, and hold a “number one” finger in the air, and c) if the ball is thrown, the quarterback may raise both arms in the air, and do a turn-around fist slam. Also, Barry Sanders is cloned.

Yep, More Bacon

Because we promised you 101 ways...

51. Bacon grease created Tecmo Super Bowl and Mario Kart
52. Bacon grease was John McCain's third-grade teacher
53. Bacon grease allowed Louis Pasteur to take credit for pasteurization
54. Bacon grease wrote and directed Manos: Hands of Fate
55. Bacon grease stormed Omaha Beach
56. Bacon grease was a founding member of the Freemasons
57. Bacon grease set up Marion Barry
58. The Manhattan Project was originally called Operation Bacon Grease
59. Bacon grease is the motivation for EVERY character Christopher Walken has portrayed
60. Bacon grease is a 21st-level divine cleric in D&D
61. Bacon grease leaked its own sex tape
62. Bacon grease is the basis of Darwinian theory
63. Bacon grease coached the 1972 Dolphins to a perfect season
64. Bacon grease was Deep Throat
65. Bacon grease was an original cast member on SNL
66. Bacon grease hits a 1-iron with ease
67. George Eliot was a pen name of Bacon Grease
68. Bacon grease is in Batman's utility belt
69. Bacon grease was on O.J.'s defense team
70. Bacon grease crafted the Ark of the Covenant
71. Bacon grease is E and MC squared
72. Bacon grease led the fight for women's suffrage
73. Bacon grease created Wikipedia
74. Bacon grease participated in the first Olympiad
75. Bacon grease founded Milwaukee

101 Ways Bacon Grease Changed the World (cont'd)

Another helping, because one can never have enough bacon-related fun.

26. Bacon grease is the solution to the energy crisis
27. Bacon grease, not the fall of the Berlin Wall, reunited East and West Germany
28. Bacon grease discovered the Double Helix
29. Chuck Norris shaves with bacon grease
30. Bacon grease is responsible for Stonehenge
31. Bacon grease banged your mom, and thus, is your father
32. Bacon grease was the lubricant Arthur used to pull Excalibur from the stone
33. Bacon grease brought America out of the Great Depression
34. Bacon grease was the preferred condiment of President Taft
35. Bacon grease started the Crusades
36. Bacon grease escaped the Spanish Inquisition
37. Bacon grease caused the separation of Pangaea
38. The ancient Greek translation of bacon grease means "sweat of the Gods"
39. Bacon grease proved Copernicus wrong long before Galileo
40. Bacon grease, not malaria or typhoid fever, killed Alexander
41. Bacon grease invented the forward pass
42. Bacon grease fueled the Wright brothers' first flight
43. Bacon grease sent Howard Hughes into isolation
44. Bacon grease was Coppola's first choice to play Michael Corleone
45. Bacon grease led the Israelites out of the desert
46. Bacon grease designed Lord Stanley's Cup
47. Bacon grease greeted Columbus at San Salvador with a kick to the berries
48. Bacon grease was the first to turn coca leaves into booger sugar
49. Bacon grease inspires Barack Obama
50. Bacon grease caused the New York blackout in 1977

101 Ways Bacon Grease Changed the World

The first 25, in no particular order of importance or significance:


1. Bacon grease assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand.
2. Bacon grease developed the cure for the bubonic plague.
3. Bacon grease also accidentally helped spread the bubonic plague to England through its various sexual encounters.
4. Bacon grease is the reason Pilates caught on.
5. Bacon grease developed the first artificial heart.
6. Bacon grease is an aphrodisiac for Mexican Spotted Tree Frogs. And fat people.
7. Bacon grease is the reason you lost your virginity.
8. Bacon grease started London’s Great Fire of 1666 when it dropped its cigar. On itself.
9. Bacon grease is the reason beer has bubbles.
10. Bacon grease talked God into giving women breasts. You’re welcome.
11. Bacon grease was the first to practice the Rhythm Method.
12. Bacon grease told your brother you made out with his girlfriend.
13. Bacon grease invented the sport’s bra.
14. Bacon grease built the first casino in Vegas.
15. Bacon grease founded the Guinness Brewery at St. James Gate, Dublin. And immediately got pissed.
16. Bacon grease invented the iambic pentameter.
17. Bacon grease plotted to murder Julius Cesar.
18. Bacon grease deciphered the Rosetta Stone.
19. Bacon grease inappropriately touched your grandma. But that was back when she was hot.
20. Bacon grease wrote the script for Ernest Goes to Camp.
21. Bacon grease wrote A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
22. Bacon grease inspired the character of Hobbes in Calvin and Hobbes.
23. Bacon Grease is what Danny Zuko and the T-Birds’ car was originally called.
24. Bacon grease is the cause of—and the cure for—kidney stones.
25. Bacon grease coined the phrase, “That’s wack.”