But it has been so silent around here that I felt I must BLOG.
As you all know and don’t seem to care, I am now writing full time over at http://www.videogum.com. I would kindly ask that you add it to your e-bookmarks and send it to your mom. She will love it. Actually forget you, just send your mom.
Eventually, it is my hope to either figure out how to manage my time in such a way as to keep this website alive IN CONCORDANCE with a full-time online diarying career, or get hit by a boat at a air and water show. If the latter happens, the prophecy will be proven true. So far I’ve not been good at either writing here, or getting killed by an amazing boat, but both have been added to my goals notebook.
So, I signed up for 50 Cent’s tumblr today, obviously. You can’t get into some of the important areas (forum) without being registered. DONE. But I ran into some trouble on the registration page.
Sure. But REQUIRED FIELD? I’m pretty sure this is only so that 50 Cent can decide if he wants to fuck you or not, and I’m sure that 50 Cent does not want to fuck me (although i cannot say the same of all the [link]bloggers[link].) Gross, 50 Cent.
OK, yes. This explains the required nature of the relationship status field.
Not fair. There’s no check box for “Triple Threat.” Also, what if I’m both a professional, AND just chillin. It’s called work-life balance. Look it up.
I’m very excited to let you know that we launched our new website today, videogum.com. This is going to be the go-to place on the internet for what my co-editor Lindsay Robertson and I think about what’s happening in movies, TV, web video, and videogames. It’s going to be really hard to find out what our opinions on this stuff is elsewhere. We’re crushing the competition (there is no competition).
I hope you guys are doing great, but more importantly I hope you guys read my new website, videogum.com. Like, just to clarify, I sincerely hope you’re not sick or having any problems with your roommate, but in the event that you ARE sick or having problems with your roommate I’d still appreciate it if you read videogum.com because that other stuff is not my fault.
Did you guys watch UFC fight night last night? SPOILER ALERT: people get their shit messed! I have only watched half of them so far (three hours guys, some of us are busy ACTUALLY FIGHTING), but what I have seen has been pretty good.
Anyway, the first bout of the evening between James Irvin and Houston Alexander ended in eight seconds when Irvin immediately landed a “superman punch,” knocking Alexander to the mat, and a couple more punches later and the ref called it because Irvin was going Gallagher on Alexander’s head.
Fair enough.
The point, though, is that “superman punch” is a real thing? Joe Rogan kept talking about “superman punches” and I was like, Oh shit, Superman Punches? Someone invent a giant searchable database with holiday themed logos and a famous corporate cafeteria and put it on the internet, quick. (I did NOT google Joe Rogan’s expertise later in the evening when he referred to a move as “the rape choke.” Seriously Joe Rogan slash The Institute of Mixed Martial Arts? Couldn’t just go with Tiger Choke or Viper Choke and save us all a lot of creepy sadness?)
I’ve been practicing Superman Punching all morning. How do I look?
Marzipandrew and I were joking about the Superman Punch, but the fact of the matter is I’ve been doing a lot of Superman Punches alone in my room (nullus). You see, Marzipandrew, that’s how you become a human weapon: refresh your blog reader three times, do a Superman Punch, refresh your blog reader three times, do a Superman Punch. Repeat.
I do believe this continental congress shall be the death of me. To build a nation is no easy thing, to be sure, but to build a nation of free men is a labour defying even the sturdiest of souls. Would that the sword of England were lifted from above our heads, Abigail, like the sword of young Link in The Legend of Zelda. You’ll forgive my metaphor, Thomas Jefferson and I have been crushing it on Super Smash Bros. Brawl this week. He is quite talented as Bowser, knowing intimately the special attacks. I fear he may be the better man, if not in matters of state at least in matters of Nintendo.
My Dearest Friend,
The baroque customs of the French court are an endless source of discomfort for me. I am a simple man who longs to be in his own country, among his people. I fear the British will intercept my blogs, and so I keep them limited to superficial subjects such as this season of The Hills, and whether or not Whitney made the right decision in leaving her position at Teen Vogue. If it were safe, my darling, know that I would keep a password protected livejournal just for you, in which we might be able to share our deepest hopes and fears bound in the union of our marriage oath. But even this seems open to usurpation by the British crown, and so for now, I keep a livejournal in my head, and in my heart.
My Dearest Friend,
To win the Vice Presidency beneath the honorable General Washington is like a poisoned worm, eating a mortal trail through my dying heart. This is how my country thanks me?
Three teenagers sit next to me in a cafe talking about a recent trip to France one of them just returned from.
Teen 1: I had a Royale with Cheese. Teen 2: A what? Teen 3: (shrugs) Teen 1: A Royale with Cheese. Teen 2: What’s that? Teen 1: It’s McDonald’s. Teen 3: Wait, today? Teen 1: No. It’s a joke I think.
Linda M. put cellophane over the toilet seat in the bathroom and waited outside the bathroom door for four and a half hours, barely containing her laughter in anticipation of the frustrated screams. Linda M. lives alone.
Colin R. let the air out of his friend’s tires and then told him that his mother was in the hospital, and he had to get down there right away. His friend’s mother was in the hospital, and it was April 9th.
Pete K. baked a cake for his friend using salt instead of sugar. His friend thanked him for the cake, but was very full from lunch. He never ended up eating any of the cake, and threw the whole thing away without taking a bite. Pete K. is not very good in the kitchen, and the hilarious cake took him many hours to make.
Sarah created a fake MySpace profile of a handsome young man named Matthew, and used the profile to send flirtatious, romantic messages to her best friend Bethany. Over time, Sarah realized she was not faking the messages, but actually had deep, sexual feelings towards her friend. Her new life as a lesbian would lead to an irreparable rift with her conservative family, and make things with Bethany really uncomfortable.
Jeremy S. punched his friend Brandon in the face and yelled “APRIL FOOL’S DAY, DUDE!” Years later, Brandon would sleep with Jeremy S.’s wife.
There’s no way that DMX’s new movie, Last Hour, is straight to video! What?
Whoops on you, Hollywood. This is basically Juno 2, 4 blog though. DMX has a Tumblr. This is There Will Be Blood, except instead of oil it’s about the ruthless capitalism of the revolving door industry (pretty sure that glass is bullet proof, that’s why they don’t just shoot their way out, duh.) Everything about this is Oscar bait, especially in the Sound Mixing and Sound Editing categories. Although i wouldn’t be surprised if that pimp suit wins Best Costume Design. Colleen Atwood made it.
DMX has a competition in him, he wants no one else to see his movie.
CARTHAGE, Mo. - Ultimate fighting was once the sole domain of burly men who beat each other bloody in anything-goes brawls on pay-per-view TV.
But the sport often derided as “human cockfighting” is branching out.
The bare-knuckle fights are now attracting competitors as young as 6 whose parents treat the sport as casually as wrestling, Little League or soccer.
The trend alarms medical experts and sports officials who worry that young bodies can’t withstand the pounding. Tommy Bloomer, father of two of the “Garage Boys,” doesn’t understand the fuss.
“We’re not training them for dog fighting,” said Bloomer, a 34-year-old construction contractor. “As a parent, I’d much rather have my kids here learning how to defend themselves and getting positive reinforcement than out on the streets.”
Bloomer said the sport has evolved since the no-holds-barred days by adding weight classes to better match opponents and banning moves such as strikes to the back of the neck and head, groin kicking and head butting.
(http://www.news.yahoo.com)
Obviously, I support this whole-heartedly. All children should have to learn how to rear naked choke their friends into submission after devastating their faces with an unstoppable succession of roundhouse elbows. But I’m not sure I can agree with Mr. Bloomer’s enthusiasm for some of the sport’s recent pussifications. What, is your son too good to get punched in the back of the neck, Mr. Bloomer? Can’t take a back leg snapping kick to the groin? What is he, five? Oh, he is five? Never mind. I thought he was six and I was going to say, What is he, a homo? HAHAHAHAHAH right? RIGHT MR. BLOOMER? HAHAHAHAHA. Seriously, though, tell your kid to man up.
My child, of course, Jerusalem Supreme, has already retired from the sport and is happily running a little Steaks and Chops joint just outside of Atlantic City.
Just kidding. He died in the cage, the one true death.
Here are a couple of discussion questions for your book club:
1. How many weight classes can six-year-olds really be divided into?
2. Is it actually possible to train your children for dog fighting?
I had a dream last night that Robin Williams was starring in Spider-Man 4. As Spider-Man. The plot of Spider-Man 4 was that somehow a bunch of people get hold of Spider-Mans clothes and turn into Spider-Man. Nick Nolte was also Spider-Man.
So, I looked up Spider-Man 4 to see if the prophecy was true, and found this. Please pay particular attention to the “comments”:
Um, writer found, guys. I have some really interesting ideas I think you’re going to love. Think Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants meets Spider-Man. But if you don’t get Robin Williams, Nick Nolte, and Dennis Leary signed on, I walk. They are the only actors talented enough to bring my vision to life.
