The Legend of Tarzan – A Review



Hello everyone.  I just saw The Legend of Tarzan.  I went to the theater by myself because I was bored and I haven’t really done anything in a while.  Do you guys ever not do anything for a little bit, then realize you’ve just been eating Sour Patch Kids for 2 weeks?  Me either.  I saw the movie by myself because I wanted to.  Some people might say I saw it by myself because I don’t have any friends, but those people should learn that sometimes solitude is a choice and they should keep their opinions to themselves.

The Legend of Tarzan is about a guy named Tarzan who was raised by monkeys, went to England, and returned to the place he was raised.  What do you guys think would be the hardest thing about being brought back to the place you were born after being gone for a long time?  I think it would probably be going to the bathroom.  They took Tarzan from a place with no toilets, to a place with a lot of toilets, back to a place with no toilets.  Talk about a shock.

Most of the movie is Tarzan swinging from vines and getting into fights with animals, and people.  Tarzan looks really strong in this movie, and I think he could probably beat me up if he wanted to.  Then again, I’ve taken a lot of karate lessons so it might be a good fight.  Well, I haven’t taken lessons but I’ve watched The Karate Kid like 12 times so I’m probably just below a black belt.  Do you guys think Tarzan has a black belt?  He probably doesn’t.  Even with my extensive background in karate, Tarzan would probably beat me up because he has the power of the jungle behind him.  I might be able to beat him if I fought dirty, like throwing sand in his eyes or paying the person he loves the most to desert him the night before the fight.  I don’t think I’d fight dirty, but you can never underestimate a man on the edge.

Either way, I think we could learn to become friends and not fight at all, and then split approximately two whole packs of Flavor Ices.  I’d even let him have some of the blue ones if he wanted, but I’d keep most of them for myself.  Even if he was my best friend, I have to look out for numero uno.

Some things I liked about The Legend of Tarzan:

  • Jumping. There was a lot of jumping in this movie, which is a good workout.  Most of the movie was Tarzan either jumping at, or over, people and animals.  If I had to bet, I’d say Tarzan can probably dunk a basketball, although I doubt he’d even know what it was.  Talk about a waste of talent.
  • Animals. I like animals, and there were a lot of them in this movie.  Lions, monkeys, elephants, you name it.  In my opinion, not enough time was devoted to watching Tarzan pet the animals.  All animals like to be pet, even the stingy ones who play tough to get.
  • No Jane Goodall. Jane Goodall is a woman who thinks she knows everything about monkeys.  There was a Jane in this movie, but it wasn’t Jane Goodall, thank God.  I bet Goodall would try to tell Tarzan not to wrestle with the monkeys, which would have ruined like half the movie.  You don’t know everything.  Have some humility, Jane Goodall.

Some things I didn’t like about The Legend of Tarzan:

  • No Phil Collins. There wasn’t a single Phil Collins song in this movie, which I thought was extremely rude.  Many people (me) have called Phil Collins, “The Voice of Tarzan,” and it was pretty lame that he wasn’t in this film at all.
  • No Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt is my favorite actor, and it felt like a deliberate slight to not cast him as Tarzan, or at least as Jane.  Brad Pitt is pretty enough to play Jane, and I think it would have been a progressive choice by the director.  It’s 2016!  Men can play ladies if they want, and vice versa.  Should have brought in Brad.
  • Unrealistic. There was an incident a little bit ago where a gorilla got a hold of a child at a zoo.  The Legend of Tarzan would have you believe that the little boy would grow up to be great warrior and be able to grab stuff with his feet, but all that happened was Harambe the gorilla got shot.  I stood up and said, “This one’s for Harambe!” during one of the fight scenes, and everyone clapped.  Then I said it like 15 more times, and they forcibly removed me from the theater.  What are they trying to hide?  We may never know.

I really liked The Legend of Tarzan.  It was probably the best non-animated adaptation of a story about a man raised by monkeys that I’ve ever seen.  Overall, I give this movie five out of five banana peels.  See you at the movies!  I’ll be the one trying to borrow some of your candy.


Adam Jensen’s Last Will and Testament

Brad Pitt Crying.pngLet me preface this by saying that I am not dying.  At least I don’t think I am.  Although I do have a pretty bad pain in my back at the moment, but it’s probably either from the 10,000 push-ups I did last week (not true) or the fact that I got drunk and passed out in my hallway this weekend (true).  This is merely an exercise that I came across and thought looked interesting, so I’m doing it.  Please don’t spread the word that I am dying.  It will somehow get back to my mother, and she will be pissed at me.

My Last Will and Testament

If you are reading this, then I’ve kicked the bucket.  Just like Sean Bean’s character in any movie or show Sean Bean has ever been in, I am dead.  Let me first say sorry, because the world just lost a pretty good guy and an even better petter of dogs.  I will undoubtedly have perished doing something incredibly badass, like riding a shark, or base jumping from the world’s tallest building, or removing the tags from my mattress even though it’s against federal law.  My lifestyle can be best described as “rock and roll,” and I spent most of my time on Earth demonstrating to people that I was a cowboy who played by no man’s rules but my own.  It was a life well lived, to be sure.

I have a few requests for my funeral, and I’ll list them here shortly.  Just keep in mind that these wishes have to be granted, it’s basically a law.  If any of these are neglected, I’m going to come back and haunt the shit out of you.

  • Each one of my pall bearers should be dressed as a different character from The Avengers. Nobody will be Captain America, because I still very much believe that he is real.  A spot will be left for him to carry the casket, even if he’s probably got way more important shit to take care of, like saving the planet or thinking about his long lost love.
  • There must be a wolf howling when my body is lowered into the ground. I don’t care how it’s accomplished, it just needs to happen.  Wolves have been scientifically proven to be the most badass animal on the planet, and if one is howling as I’m laid to rest people will realize that I was even cooler than they could have possibly imagined, because I clearly affected this wolf in a very profound way.
  • I would like a 21 gun salute, but not in the traditional sense; I know that those are reserved for members of the military, and I respect our soldiers too much to take that from them. At my funeral, the gun shots will be replaced by the hand claps from the hit sitcom, Friends.  I should also mention that in a perfect world, the cast would be there to do the claps.  But I understand that there is a bit of enmity between the former members of the show, and will begrudgingly accept if the cast isn’t present.
  • There need to be security guards with ear pieces and microphones that they keep talking into. This will give the impression that I was involved in some sort of secret government shit that even my closest friends and family weren’t privy to.
  • In some capacity, there must be a guy in a kilt playing bagpipes.  Try to get this Scotsman to play “Journey Through the Past,” because that song is sad as shit and people will sob their effing brains out.
  • A random person that nobody else knows should step forward at some point and proclaim that I was “the voice of a generation.” That person will then try to keep talking, be overcome with emotion, and leave the cemetery.  I will accept the hiring of a professional actor to fill this role.
  • I leave the substantial student load debt that I have accrued to the government. They have earned it.
  • Please do not read from The Bible. The Bible is boring.  I’m not discounting its historical and religious importance, but people will probably fall asleep if you read from The Bible.  Instead, read a number of important quotes from the Harry Potter series.  People will probably be fucking psyched about it, as I know I would be.  “Best funeral ever,” they’ll say.
  • My eulogy should imply that I was a quiet but very influential member of several prominent bands. The bands do not necessarily have to be named, but slipping song titles into the eulogy (i.e. “Under the Bridge,” “All Star,” “With Arms Wide Open,” etc.) is encouraged.
  • Photoshop me into photos with important world leaders. These should be placed surreptitiously around the funeral, and do not need to be mentioned in any speeches; doing so will keep my personal doings shrouded in mystery, like any number of historical characters from one of the National Treasure   I should mention that I only want photos with the good world leaders, not pieces of shit like Sadaam Hussein or whichever fat dude is now running North Korea.
  • Place a photo of Brad Pitt on top of my casket, as well as a photo of mine. People will probably know that Brad isn’t also being interred, but it’ll make them think twice.
  • Have both a dog and a cat at the entrance to the funeral. People can pet whichever they choose, but if they don’t pet either one, then send them the fuck away.  They are not welcome at my service.
  • At some point, Kid Rock’s “Bawitdaba” must be played while my close friends and family form a mosh pit. This will undoubtedly make them extremely uncomfortable, but I do not care.  It will show the big guy upstairs that while I may not have lived the most virtuous life, I do have a sense of humor.  “That’s fucking hilarious Adam,” He’ll probably say, and we’ll do some crazy handshake and drink some hot chocolate about it or maybe even a Triple Thick Strawberry Banana milkshake.  They must mosh until the song ends, no exceptions.
  • There should be a bouncy castle there, but under no circumstances will anybody be allowed on. Seeing a bouncy castle and not being able to go wild on it would be absolutely devastating, and remind the people gathered that even the best things in life can be used as instruments of profound sadness.

There you have it.  I believe these requests to be both reasonable and feasible, and there will be serious spiritual repercussions if any of these tasks go undone.  If you ever get rained on before an important meeting, or it seems like nothing’s going your way, or a gust of wind blows your sailboat out to sea and you get involved in some sort of daring adventure involving pirates and treasure and damsels in distress and then Tom Hanks plays you in a movie based on that true story, just know the Big Man upstairs and I are cheering you on.  Have a good life!  I’ll be waiting for you up top.

A Sociopath’s Guide to the Holidays

The holidays can be a stressful time of year.  So many things to accomplish, so many people to see, so many presents to buy; and so little time to do it!  It’s crazy that we do all this because some little dude was born in a barn a million years ago, but tradition is tradition after all.  I’m here to give you tips and tricks that will make you the star of the party.

Dress the part.
Nothing you do matters unless you do it looking nice, which is something that homeless people will never understand.  If you walk into your grandma’s house wearing some poverty sweater you found at Target or Meijer or some other trash store, your family is going to talk tons of shit behind your back; and quite frankly, you’d deserve it.  They might even kick you out of the party; I don’t know how ruthless your family is.  Neither of us want that to happen, so listen up.

As a rule of thumb, always dress as if you’re going on a date with Brad Pitt; this goes for both men and women.  And guys, before you say anything, don’t act like you’d turn down dinner with Brad Pitt.  Don’t lie to yourself like that.  Brad Pitt expects pomp and class from his dates.  No t-shirts, no slippers, and for God’s sake, no cargo pants.  In fact, I’ve created a helpful list of people that are allowed to wear cargo pants without looking stupid:
1.             Actual soldiers in the military
That’s it.  Those are the only people.  Have some respect for yourself, and some respect for Jesus.

Pro Tip: Go to the mall about a week before Christmas.  Walk into the classiest clothing store you can find and browse the shelves.  Then, all you have to do is wait for some schmuck to spend a ton of money on a nice shirt, follow him out of the store, and bump into him hard enough that he drops his bag; then, take the shirt.  Some people might consider this “stealing,” but I saw Matt Damon do pretty much the exact same thing in Ocean’s Eleven, so that can’t be true.  Matt Damon’s never stolen a thing in his life, except the hearts of his audience.

Know a bit about fine food and drink.
The key to any holiday party; or any dinner gathering, for that matter; is making everyone else think you’re smarter than you actually are.  Chances are, your family thinks you’re an idiot, and they’re probably right.  That’s why you’re reading this article, isn’t it?  It’s your job to change their mind.  This can be accomplished in a variety of ways, but my personal favorite is to demonstrate that you know a lot more about fancy food and drink than everyone else there.  Nothing is more intimidating than someone who is clearly smarter than you.  Here are some things you can do to class yourself up.

  • Tell anyone that will listen about the season finale of Top Chef, and about how the contestants weren’t “adventurous enough” in the kitchen. Say you could’ve done better.  Say this multiple times.
  • Talk about how you’ve spent the past year “refining your palette.”
  • Buy a cheap bottle of wine from the supermarket, put a super expensive sticker on it, and talk about the various aromas that you experience while you swirl it around the glass.
  • Insist on bringing and using your own glass; give a small chuckle when the host offers you one of their glasses. Say, “that simply won’t do.  Not for this vintage.”
  • Use words like “full-bodied” and “astringent” to describe the wine.
  • Comment on the presentation of the food. Call it “sublime.”
  • Google a list of spices and ask people if they put them in a dish (i.e. “Aunt Pam, do I taste a hint of saffron in your turkey this year?”).
  • Talk about the reduction that the turkey was basted in. Say that it is “divine.”

Remember: nobody really knows what they’re talking about when it comes to fancy wines and expensive food.  When in doubt, keep it simple.  Lie.  Like everything in life, it’s not a lie if they don’t find out.

Pro Tip: Buy a turkey from somewhere like Boston Market or some place that cooks those kinds of things.  If you really want to get regal with it, buy a dish that is a bit more exotic; think pheasant or quail.  Then, watch a YouTube video of how to make it look decorative; put parsley on the side, whatever; and tell everyone you made it at home.  When people say that you shouldn’t have gone through the effort, insist it was nothing.  Boom.  Party star.

Buy better presents than everyone else.
On Christmas Day, don’t be afraid to resort to trickery and/or mischief.  Are you having a White Elephant or Secret Santa exchange?  Insist on a small price ceiling for gifts, i.e. $20.  After doing so, spend at least double that on yours.  This will ensure that your gift will be the best; and if it isn’t the best, at least you can subtly brag that it was the most expensive.  The key is to sound bashful, like you’re almost embarrassed that you spent above the limit.  Say things like “I felt bad spending that much, but I knew how much he/she would like it.”  This is a foolproof way to impress your family.  Oh, say you were “overcome with the spirit of giving.”  People eat that shit up.

Pro Tip: Use the term “cute” to describe other people’s gifts.  A well-placed “Oh, that’s cute” goes a long way in undermining a gift’s sentimental value, which in turn increases your gift’s value in comparison.  Also, congratulate people on a “good effort.”  This implies that while they tried their best, they kind of shit the bed with the gift.  Make sure nobody says this to you.  It’s fucking devastating.

In closing, have fun this holiday season.  Give some presents, see some family, burn down a pine tree, whatever you want to do.  And make sure to shower me in gift cards/cold hard cash.

Oh, and if you need some ideas on how to spruce up that party you’re thinking about having, refer to this handy dandy list for a few helpful hints:

The Time I Met Bruce Lee


It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.  Too long.  I haven’t been in touch lately, and I blame Bruce Lee.

I met martial arts legend Bruce Lee at a Chuck-E-Cheese by my house.  Yes, THE Bruce Lee.  He was there for his nephew’s birthday party, and I was there to defend my Skee-Ball championship.  I’d like to take the time to point out that I beat over ten 7 and 8 year olds to obtain the crown, and I’d also like to establish that the fact I was 24 in no way gave me an unfair advantage over those kids.  Everyone is equal on the Skee-Ball court.

So there I was playing some Ball; killing it, obviously; when I saw Bruce.  I recognized him immediately, because he was featured prominently in a karate class that I was taking online at the time.  As excited as I was, I had to play it cool.  I knew we’d get along fabulously; he’s Chinese, I love General Tso’s chicken; but I knew that he probably had people fawning over him everywhere he went.  I was determined to be more than a fan boy.  I was going to leave a lasting impression.

My solution: I decided I was going to throw a flying kick straight at Bruce Lee’s back.  I saw two possible scenarios, and both promised me fame and riches.  That’s what we like to call a win-win, Karen.

Scenario 1: He blocks me.  Let’s be honest: this is the more likely of the two.  I figured that he would sense me coming; he’s Bruce Lee after all, and the Chinese are a naturally magical people; and block the blow.  But even if he blocked me, he would have to be impressed by my initiative.  Here I am, a white male of only 24 years and limited eKarate knowledge, attacking martial arts legend Bruce Lee?  That’s unprecedented confidence.  Surely, this would lead him to tutor me.  We would develop a close relationship; dare I say it, father-son or at least brother-brother; and travel the world in style.  I would be envied and revered by fighters around the globe.  I would be Bruce Two.  I would be the Karate Kid.

Scenario 2: I kick him.  I actually kick Bruce Lee.  I beat him at his own game.  That’s like if the guy who played Frodo Baggins windmill dunked on LeBron James.  But I did it.  I kicked Bruce Lee.  This isn’t even in sanctioned competition, this is in Chuck-E-Cheese, where street rules are the letter of the law and chaos reigns.  And I kicked Bruce fucking Lee.  He might get angry, he might get upset, he might beat the living shit out of me; that isn’t the point, Karen.  The point is, I kicked Bruce Lee and everybody around the world would know it.  I would get thousands of interview requests, which I would thrive at because of my rugged good looks and quick wit.  Kelly Ripa would love me.  Brad Pitt would know me by name.  I would go to Brad Pitt’s house.

So I jumped into the air, threw out my foot, and flew toward Bruce.  And I connected.  He was propelled onto the table where his nephew was opening gifts, his head hit, and he was knocked out cold.  I had won.  I danced around that Chuck-E-Cheese for a good ten minutes.  I high-fived strangers.  I went down slides.  I peed in the ball pit.  For ten glorious minutes, I was on top of the world.

I defeated Bruce Lee.

Turns out, it wasn’t Bruce Lee.  It was just an old Asian guy.  He wasn’t even Chinese.  When I kicked him and his head hit the table, he died.  I killed that Bruce Lee lookalike, Karen.  Kicked him dead.  It was a sad, avoidable tragedy; frankly, one whose blame falls squarely on the shoulders of that old Asian man and his family.  I’m willing to bet I wasn’t the first person that made that mistake, and if that old dude had survived, I wouldn’t have been the last either.  When it comes down to it, he should have been wearing an indicator; a pin, a shirt, a sash, etc.; that identified him as NOT Bruce Lee.  This guy was a dead ringer for Bruce.  Karen, he was practically begging to be attacked.

Now, I’m in jail and it’s all that old fucker’s fault.  I’ve seen things in here that even the real Bruce Lee would be powerless to stop.  So I need your help, Karen.  I need you to find me a good lawyer, someone like Bill Clinton or the guy who stars in Law & Order.  Is Bill Clinton a lawyer?  If he isn’t, he should be.  Tell him that from me, Karen.

I need your help.  Because as it turns out, the guys in here don’t care that I knocked out Bruce Lee.

Woodward Nightmare.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.  Let’s take our old cars and drive up and down the street!” – An Idiot

“Yeah!  We’ll all bring ours too!  Let’s do this!” – Thousands of Other Idiots

I wasn’t around when the Woodward Dream Cruise started, but I imagine the conversation to get it started went a lot like that.  A lot of people say that if they had a time machine, they’d go back and kill Hitler.  I wouldn’t.  I would go back, get Hitler, bring him back here, and put him behind the wheel of a car while he’s stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for hours and hours.

Then I’m pretty sure Hitler would kill himself.

For those of you who are mercifully unaware of what the Woodward Dream Cruise is, I’ll enlighten you.  It’s an annual celebration of classic hot rods and American muscle cars; a weekend where people from all over the country descend upon a small stretch of highway in southeastern Michigan to rev their engines and waste thousands of gallons of one of the most valuable fuel sources available to mankind.  It’s like one big NASCAR event, if there was a NASCAR event that involved cars maxing out at 10 MPH; one where nobody wins, but almost everybody loses.

The Dream Cruise brings a lot of money to the area, and I suppose for that I should be thankful.  Except the businesses that tend to receive the money; motels, fast food restaurants, etc.; usually attract society’s lower rung.  For instance, one of the motels that rely heavily on the Dream Cruise weekend to stay afloat was the site of a murder last year.  But any press is good press, right?

Generally speaking, there are 4 types of people that attend the Woodward Dream Cruise.

  1. The Back Woods Families.
    They love the Dream Cruise because, well, it’s free. These peoples’ idea of entertainment is setting up a lawn chair, downing a few Budweisers, and watching old folks listen to Bruce Springsteen.  These are the people who have Dale Earnhardt-themed birthday cakes, even though he died 15 years ago (RIP, Intimidator).  The people who have Truck Nutz swinging from their ’89 Dodge Ram.  The people who eat regularly at Fuddruckers.  They often attend Monster Truck events.
  2. The Young Guns.
    These guys are different. They don’t care about the “Classic” cars, and they could give a shit about you and your family.  They drive something like a Ford Probe or Dodge Neon with tinted windows and a super loud muffler, usually blaring an “underground” white rapper (probably their cousin) who uses far too many curse words.  They use this weekend to try to forget that they dropped out of high school, and they’ll fight you if you look at their car wrong, or look too educated.  They’ll probably be wearing FUBU jerseys and smoking Menthol cigarettes.
  3. The White Trash.
    The classic Dream Cruiser. A cross between Back Woods and Young Gun, these people are here to get drunk and see how many people they can offend at once.  Taking a break from their trailers and guns, you’ll usually find male White Trashers with either camo shirts, Oakley Gas Can sunglasses, and sagging jean shorts; many times, all at once.  Like the Young Guns, they’re drawn to loud music, and tend to identify with the shittier cars on display.  They won’t take off their sunglasses if they’re inside, unless it’s to put them on the back of their head.  Females tend to sport lower back tattoos, multiple body piercings, and clothes that show far too much skin for a family event.
  4. The New Hot Shot.
    This is the guy from out of town who heard about “a place to show off your car” and decided to drive up his brand new Corvette. He’s under the impression that women will flock to his ride, and he’s usually wearing far too much cologne.  He gets pissed at little kids when they touch his car, and has little to no people skills.  In short, he’s a douche, one who’s way out of his element.

The Dream Cruise brings together these societal outsiders and gives them a place to thrive.  It also means that for three days, it’s impossible to find a parking spot in front of my own house.  My 10 minute drive to work turns into 45.  People throw trash on my lawn, fight each other, and occasionally, key my car.  Wohoo!  Dream Cruise!  REV YOUR ENGINE LOUDER, DO IT LOUDER, PEEL OUT, YES YES YES YES!!! CRUISIN’ WOODWARD!!!

The thing is, I honestly don’t have a problem with any of the people I listed above; as long as they don’t make my life a living hell.  Live your life how you want, enjoy what you want to enjoy.  If you want to spend your free time watching other people in traffic, go ahead.  If you want to buy your clinically obese 9 year old multiple elephant ears, you should do that!  Do what you want!  Just don’t do it so damn close to my house.

Fourth of July

More like U-S-YAY!

The Fourth of July is a holiday uniquely American in its tradition.  Independence Day, as it is often called, celebrates the day that George Washington first bit into a hot and juicy Ballpark Frank.  It’s called “Independence Day” because our country’s first president was tired of counting on the British for food and was determined to eat what he liked, when he wanted.  The British are notoriously disgusting eaters, and consume snails and fish eggs and even animal poop I think.  George wasn’t having any of that shit (ha!), which is why many people around the country tend to commemorate the holiday by firing up their grills (not the kind you put in your teeth) and cooking up some hot dogs.  Grilling hot dogs is one of the most American things you can do, along with owning guns and invading other people’s land.  George Washington did all three, and that’s why he was elected president.

People celebrate the Fourth in a number of different ways; in truth, there are very few wrong ways to celebrate the best country on earth.  I, for one, try to do everything that French people cannot do, like be nice to my neighbors and think about how my country has won wars before.  Could you imagine living in France?  I could never hate myself that much.  Here are a few popular ways to honor America on this country’s most special day.

  1. Hot Dogs.  I touched on the hot diggity dogs up above, but they can’t be mentioned enough.  It’s been said that along with hamburgers, hot dogs are one of the only foods that is almost entirely American in origin.  In fact, legend has it that the first hot dog ever was made by George Washington with the meat of his conquered British enemies on the battlefield.  I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know that the British aren’t to be trusted.
  2. Boats.  I believe that George Washington tactfully chose July 4th as the date with which America would be remembered, for the simple fact that in almost every part of the country, July represents the height of boating season.  Fun fact: it has never rained on the Fourth of July, not even once.  There are a few “Boats and No’s”, things you shouldn’t do on the open water, the most important of which is wearing a shirt while you swim.  It doesn’t matter how fat you are, that white undershirt isn’t doing anything to hide your girth, and frankly you’re disrespecting the founding fathers when you wear one.  The young men of America’s past didn’t die so you could embarrass your friends like that.  Benjamin Franklin (the guy who invented the kite) was pretty tubby, but he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a shirt while swimming.
  3. Fireworks.  Depending on whom you ask, fireworks are either a child’s favorite holiday delight or a Vietnam War veteran’s worst nightmare.  Either way, fireworks represent the most legal way to blow things up, something that Americans have been innately drawn to do for centuries.  The Fourth of July is the United States’ birthday, and I consider fireworks to be the candles of America.
    Sidenote: “Sparklers” are not fireworks.  Unless you’re 1-5 years old and can’t comprehend the awesomeness of our country, don’t disrespect it with what are essentially really long matchsticks.
  4. Movies.  If you don’t have access to a grill, a boat, or fireworks, fear not; you can still bask in the glory of Uncle Sam.  Almost every television station in the country plays patriotic movies all Fourth of July weekend, as they damn well should.  Your tube will undoubtedly be filled with such iconic films as The Patriot, Independence Day, and the National Treasure series, among others.  These features star noted Americans Mel Gibson, Will Smith, and Nicolas Cage.  It’s estimated that if the Americans had the sleuthing skills of Nicolas Cage back when they were fighting the British, we would have won the Revolutionary War in less than three weeks.  He truly is The National Treasure.

Just remember: America was founded on the idea of freedom for every man, so no matter what, don’t let anybody dictate how you should spend your Independence Day.  If your neighbors, the “police,” or even your family try to get in the way of your patriotism, tell them you bleed Red, White, and Blue.  Show everybody just how American you are by chugging a Budweiser on your boat, with the Union Jack draped around your shoulders and Francis Scott Key’s pièce de résistance playing in the background; and know that you’re living in the greatest country on the planet.

Social Media

Social media is pretty much the best thing to happen to the world since that meteor killed all the dinosaurs, and it might even be better than that.  Without that meteor, we might not be here.  And without social media, we might all still have people skills.  Before social media, people talked to each other, like with their faces and mouths and stuff (ew!).  Now, I consider time wasted if I’m not looking at my phone.  But a lot of people aren’t using social media the way it was intended: talking about yourself, 24/7.

After all, it is social MEdia, not social YOUdia.  For anyone who’s looking to pick up tips and tricks to show off online, I’ve made a little checklist of things you should consider when you’re on the internets.

Workin’ Hard, or Workin’ Harder
Do you work out?  Prove it.  Instagram and Facebook are tailor made so you can show off those stunning ‘ceps, bro.  Zuckerberg and his nerd friends are pretty much begging you to post your routine online.  Don’t be afraid to post 4 to 5 photos/videos per workout, preferably showing as much skin as possible.  That’s it; flex.  Do you wear a shirt when you swoll?  Lose it, pussy. And don’t forget to throw as many hashtags as possible in that post.  A few favorites:

  • #fitness
  • #fitfam
  • #worldsstrongestfam
  • #insecurity
  • #gymrat
  • #wishihadfriends
  • #ieatalone
  • #flexthepex
  • #abercrombieandcrossfitch
  • #donkeyswoll

Remember, with each additional hashtag you’re gaining that much more exposure.  How else are strangers going to be able to look at your luscious bod?  As Jessica Simpson once said, “These glutes were made for stalkin’, and that’s just what they’ll do.”  No, she didn’t say that, but I did.  Working out is practically your job, because chances are you actually don’t have one.


Van Gogh In The Kitchen
What are you eating?  I want to know.  I need to know.  Did you make it yourself?  Bonus points.  Make sure you note that when you upload the pic of your glorified grilled cheese.  Subway turned you down when you were fourteen, so you need to show those asswipes what they missed.

As far as pictures of food go, there’s no better way to let everyone out there know you have a tenuous knowledge of a microwave oven.  We both know that “chicken” you grilled the other day was dryer than Clint Eastwood’s hands, but guess what?  That won’t show in the picture.  Get ready to reel in the likes, baby.  Don’t be afraid to throw in an inspirational quote, even if you don’t know/comprehend its full meaning.  “You are what you eat!”  Well I guess you ate a social media maven, my cannibalistic friend.


Buzzfeed Me To Death
How am I supposed to remember significant events and culture from my childhood if they’re not put into a list and shoved into my face on social media?  Did I watch Nickelodeon?  I can’t remember.  Oh, wait; now I can.  Speaking from personal experience, I had absolutely NO idea what to do after I graduated college.  It’s not like I spent the previous 21 years of my life preparing myself for the real world or anything.  So it came as a huge relief when someone I barely know posted about the 20 Things I Had To Do In My 20’s.  What a lifesaver.  I now know that if I’m offered anything other than my dream job in the only city in the world I want to live in, I should turn it down.  All thanks to you.

Oh, and if you read an article on Buzzfeed, be sure to take the “facts” presented and quote them incessantly.  After all, Buzzfeed is the pinnacle of journalistic integrity.  What they say is pretty much law.  If one of their articles says Brad Pitt is an asshole, well then.  I’m disappointed in you, Brad.


The Right Opinion
If you’ve got an opinion on anything it needs to be shared online, especially if that opinion deals with a controversial issue.  Abortion, gun laws, the legalization of gay marriage; it’s all gold.  Don’t know anything about the topic?  Doesn’t matter.  Don’t have any statistics or facts to back up your argument?  Even better.  Go into your iPhone, open up ‘Notes,’ and type until you’ve offended as many people as possible.  Screenshot, post, wait.

All you have to do is pretend you’re really passionate about the issue, and call any and all people that disagree with you racist/sexist/wrong.  “You don’t like Obama, is that because you hate gay people?  You must hate African Americans then.  You have to pick one, which one do you hate?  You bigot.”  It doesn’t make sense, but so what?  If they keep coming back, attack their personal character.  Pull out some really private stuff that they can’t recover from.  “You don’t like the gun laws in this country, but remember that time you kissed your sister on the lips and told me about it in complete confidence?”  Pat yourself on the back.  You just put your former best friend in his place, and became a trusted source for anything that matters in the process, to anyone that counts.


Famous People
Last but not least, we come to the people that really matter: the celebs.  Nothing is worth doing if it’s not something someone famous would do.  Do you think Keanu Reeves would post that picture of his lunch?  Yeah?  Your decision has been made for you; do it.  An easy way to let people know you’re deep and thoughtful as all hell is to post a picture of a celebrity with a quote in the foreground.  Notice how I said “a quote,” not “a quote from that celebrity.”  You can use whatever quote you want, it doesn’t matter.  Nobody knows if Marilyn Monroe said any of those things in all the photos, but nobody can prove she didn’t, either.  I posted a picture with a quote from Wesley Snipes the other day.  Don’t believe me?
Snipes Quote
Don’t think he said that?  He probably didn’t.  But hey, prove it.  Maybe he really hated his neighbor Jim.  We may never know for sure.

#NoTaxes #Snipes2016

There you have it.  Follow these basic guidelines, and you can’t go wrong; you’ll be racking up friends, likes, and followers in no time.  Never forget: social media is a contest.  You have to get more likes and retweets than your friends, or you’re pretty much the biggest loser that walks the earth.

Oh, and in case you forgot: follow me on Twitter.

World Cup For Dummies

Are you ready for some football?!  No, not that football.  The other football.  The one that’s played with, you know, feet.  Once every four years, the best national teams around the globe converge on a Third World country to determine who is truly the greatest team on the planet.  But that’s not all the FIFA World Cup does.  It also presents a great time for everyone around the United States to pretend they are emotionally vested in a game of which they probably don’t know most of the rules.

This year, the World Cup is being held in Brazil; a country that has won the World Cup a record 5 times, most recently in 2002.  You might also know Brazil as being the South American country with a 26% poverty rate, but hey, who’s counting!  The Brazilians enter the tournament ranked #3 in FIFA’s World Rankings, behind only Spain and Germany; but you already knew that, didn’t you?  You’re pretty much soccer’s biggest fan.

While a few of you reading this might actually know a thing or two about soccer, I’m betting that most of you can only name one or two players on the United States squad.  What’s that?  Landon Donovan didn’t make it this year?  Okay, nevermind.  Most of you probably can’t name a player on the US World Cup team.

But have no fear!  I’m here to bring you the crucial information you need to really show up your friends and those clowns at work (suck it, Diane).  Just remember these simple facts and wow the people around you with your incredible football knowledge!

  1. Don’t call it soccer.  That’s what assholes call it.  Call it football.  Or, if you’re feeling really superior, “fútbol.”  The important difference here is that you need to make the other person feel like an idiot for not saying it the way you do.  This also gives the impression that you may have at one point been to Europe.  It doesn’t matter if that’s true or not, it just matters that they feel dumb.
  2. Pick one team and learn 3-4 players’ names.  Nobody expects you to know every player on every team.  Just pick one team and figure out how to pronounce a few names.  In my opinion, it’s always good to find out who the superstar is, the second best player or so, the goalie; excuse me, the “keeper;” and one guy who probably isn’t as good.  Just read some World Cup preview online and pick a guy they don’t talk about.  Then you can say something like, “I don’t think the Netherlands has the firepower to match some of the better teams, but if Ron Vlaar can step up his game they might have a shot.”  I don’t know who Ron Vlaar is.  You don’t know who Ron Vlaar is.  And unless the person you’re talking to is actually Ron Vlaar, they almost certainly don’t know who Ron Vlaar is.  But guess what?  You just sounded smart as shit.
  3. Say things like, “That could have been a better ball.”  This is especially true if any play comes close to going in the net.  Don’t worry, that won’t happen that often.  But when it does, be the first to tell everyone how it could have been executed better; chances are it could’ve.  Nobody’s perfect, after all.  Except you, you soccer stud.
  4. Root for the U.S., but tell everyone they’re not going to win.  This is just the truth.  There’s nothing wrong with having a little national pride, but in all reality the United States is going to be hard pressed to make it out of the Group Stage (the first part).  Mia Hamm isn’t what she used to be.
  5. When in trouble, divert attention to something else.  There may come a time when somebody asks you your opinion on a World-Cup related issue that you know nothing about.  Don’t panic.  I’ve already written up a number of excuses for just such a scenario, which you can find here:

There you have it.  You are now well-equipped to school all the fools you want with your impressive World Cup knowledge.  Oh, and always remember: sports.

Godzilla – A Review

I saw Godzilla over the weekend.  You know, that’s the one with the huge dinosaur who hates Asian people.  I thought going into it that the premise was a little racist, but then I thought hey, everyone’s a little racist now and then.  Most grandparents still don’t like people their own skin color.  Maybe Godzilla was a grandparent?  I had to find out.

The night started out great, because I found a parking spot right in front of the theater.  The space said it was reserved for a guy named Valet, but I decided I’d just tell everyone I was Mr. Valet if they asked; I’m a bit of a wild card like that.  When I got out of my car this guy said I had to give him my keys so he could park my car for me.  I said, “Thanks, guy, but I’ve got the parking thing covered.  I’m Mr. Valet.”  He told me it was his job and that I couldn’t leave my car there; he was clearly a little slow; so I tried to explain how parking spaces worked.  He tried to take my keys!  In the end I had to push him away and run inside.  I don’t know much, but I know not to give my keys to strangers.  That’s Driving 101, you guys.

I made my way into the theater and chose the best seat in the house, right in the middle.  Of course, I had to threaten a few kids; but hey, sometimes the ends justify the means.  There were a lot of cool actors in the movie, most of all Bryan Cranston (Breaking Bad, Malcolm’s Middle).  He played a dad, just like in his hit TV show, Breaking Bad.  Maybe he can start a show for dads called Breaking Dad, where he plays a cool dad who breaks all the rules in a very cool way?  Something to think about.  There was also a guy who looked a lot like Jake Gyllenhaal in Godzilla.  I don’t know his real name, but he was a decent Jake Gyllenhaal look-alike, which I’m assuming is what they were going for.  The lizard killed a lot of people, most of them Asians I think.  No matter how many Asians died, it never seemed like enough.  In the end, Godzilla went back into the sea or whatever.  I think Jake Gyllenhaal would have swam after it and killed it with his bare hands, but he was held back because people thought enough death had come of the whole ordeal.  The real Jake Gyllenhaal would have never let that slide, because the real Jake Gyllenhaal is an absolute badass who’s totally capable of killing aliens and shit.  Love you, Jake.

Here are three things I liked about Godzilla:
–          Trains.  Trains are awesome, and this movie had a good amount of trains in it.  I think that the movie could’ve featured even more trains, which would have made it infinitely more badass.  Trains!

–          Jake Gyllenhaal.  I really liked that Jake Gyllenhaal was represented as a hero in this movie.  He’s a pretty good actor, and he deserved it.  I hope he’s on the new Bryan Cranston show, Breaking Dad, because he’s a cool customer.

–          No ghosts.  There were a lot of people that died in this movie but there weren’t any ghosts, which I thought was good.  I’ve been having a lot of bad dreams about ghosts lately, and I don’t know if I would’ve been able to handle a bunch of ghosts and a giant lizard.  Well done!

Here are three things I thought they could’ve done better:
–          No meth.  I think the director missed a golden opportunity to use Cranston’s drug manufacturing experience to really liven up the movie.  It’s his calling card, and I bet he could’ve whipped up enough to have the whole set hopping!  A giant lizard is one thing, but a giant lizard on crystal meth?  Now that’s cinema!

–          Racism.  I’m not a  fan of racism, and I thought it was unfair that Godzilla attacked the Asians first.  It just seems obtuse in this day and age to resort to race as a means by which to choose your victims.  Maybe an Asian guy slept with somebody Godzilla loved?  That would give him a decent reason to target Asians, I guess.  I hope that’s the case, for his sake.

–          No Iron Man.  I know this movie wasn’t supposed to have Iron Man, but I think he could’ve lent a lot to the story.  Robert Downsy, Jr. and a Jake Gyllenhaal look-alike exchanging wits would’ve been a real riot.  “I’m a billionaire!”  “I’m Jake Gyllenhaal!”  That’s just classic.

Well, there you have it.  I give Godzilla five out of five stubbed toes (I just stubbed my toe and it hurts a lot).  See you at the movies!  I’ll be the one asking for a sip of your Dr. Pepper 10.

My Day At The Zoo

The zoo should be a magical place.  For one, there are animals from quite literally all over the world.  Lions, tigers, snakes, sea turtles, eels; you name it, they probably have it.  Majestic beasts as far as the eye can see!  Also, they have ice cream.  Like a lot of it.  I really don’t see how you could screw up a place that has both ice cream and boa constrictors.  It’s almost impossible to do.  But they did it.

Sidebar: Matt Damon bought a zoo for his family in the major motion picture, We Bought A Zoo.  Matt Damon’s got a lot of cash, and if he’s out buying zoos for his kids they’re probably awesome.  Matt Damon does nothing that is not awesome, and Matt Damon bought a zoo.  It is reasonable to assume that if Matt Damon bought a zoo, Matt Damon visited a zoo.
–          Matt Damon only does awesome things.
–          Matt Damon visited a zoo.
–          Therefore, visiting a zoo is an awesome thing to do.
It’s science.

The first thing I saw when I entered the zoo was a giant monkey cage filled with chimpanzees.  I should’ve known right then and there that this zoo was bullshit, because the monkeys didn’t have a single banana; not one.  No sight of a banana anywhere in the cage.  I’ve seen The Jungle Book, I’ve seen MVP: Most Valuable Primate.  I know how this shit is supposed to go down.  Aside from bugs and probably their fair share of feces, bananas are pretty much all monkeys eat.  Speaking of feces, there was a serious lack of it being thrown around by the chimps.  I don’t know where these clowns at the zoo got their chimps, but it’s pretty difficult to imagine any REAL chimpanzee going less than 5 minutes without either eating a banana or throwing a pile of poop at something.

I made a mental note to come back and check on the chimps later.  If there wasn’t a big shit fight going on when I returned, I was going to speak to the administration as to the validity of their monkeys.

I decided to head to the polar bear exhibit (because fuck yeah, polar bears), and when I got there the guide told me I couldn’t feed the bears Coca-Cola.  Bad start to the day.  He said it wasn’t safe, and that polar bears don’t even drink sodas.  Said the plastic bottle was a “health concern” for the bears.  Yeah, okay.  Watch a Coke commercial and then tell me bears don’t drink soda, Mr. Expert.  As far as the bottle goes, they have no problem twisting the cap off on TV, and I told him so.  I told him to offer the bear a Coke, and let the bear decide.  I bet that bear would’ve loved an ice cold carbonated beverage.  The guy was an idiot.  I told him that if he was so smart and knowledgeable about the polar bears he would wrestle one right then and there, which of course he didn’t.  Zoo security showed up after about 15 minutes and forcibly removed me from the exhibit.  They said there were reports of a man heckling the staff, and that I was endangering both myself and my fellow zoo patrons; but I know they just took me away because I exposed that guy as a big pussy.

That was a pretty big letdown.  I was really looking forward to offering those bears a delicious beverage, because I’ve seen how much they enjoy them in the TV spots.  It’s fucking adorable.  And that ass-clown got me thrown out of the exhibit.  But I wasn’t going to let it get me down.  There were hundreds of other animals in the zoo, and besides, I could do a little drive-by and toss the bottle of Coke into the polar bear tank as I was walking out.  Those bears were going to get their soda, dammit.

I picked myself up and headed over to the Bengal tiger pen.  If polar bears are an 8/10 on the animal scale of awesomeness, Bengal tigers are probably an 8.5.  Now that it comes to it, I would pay good money to see a fight between a polar bear and a Bengal tiger.  I would also place a good deal of money on the tiger to win, because I’m not an idiot.  If polar bears are that easily distracted by Coca-Cola, a well-placed soda could decide that entire match.  I’d put my money on the tiger, throw a Coke into the ring about halfway through, and rake in the mula (fancy word for $) when the tiger destroyed.

I’m getting distracted.  Anyway as badass as the tigers are, I’ve got beef with the Bengal tigers, because nine times out of ten they’re just shut up in their caves.  I drive all the way out to the zoo, spend money to get in, and almost never see a tiger in action.  It’s really selfish of the tigers, if you think about it.  It’d be like going to a Broadway show just to see Bette Midler eat Wheat Thins on a couch or something.  Thankfully, the tigers were on their A-game that day.  There were a few out and about, playing with sticks and rocks and doing tons of other shit that tigers love to do; all of it infinitely badass.

I was watching two cubs wrestle when I looked up and saw an Indian staff member making his way into the pen with a huge bucket of tiger food.  I couldn’t tell what was in the bucket, but I bet it was 4-5 boxes of Frosted Flakes (minimum).  As the Indian man was turning to leave the pen, I shouted out that he should do a Life of Pi remake.  The man turned around and tossed up his hand, waving me away.  He didn’t get it.

I started explaining the concept to him.  “You know, the one with the tiger and the Indian guy?”
He continued walking away.  “On that boat?”

Again, security was brought to the exhibit.  As they led me away from what was quickly becoming a crowd in front of the Bengal tiger pen, they said that they wouldn’t tolerate racial insults being directed toward zoo staff members.

I was incredulous.

“Racial insults?  Come on, you guys know as well as I do that guy looked just like that kid from the movie.  Who let that guy work the tiger pen anyway?!  They’re the bad guy here, they’re the one that you guys should go after.  Let’s pay THAT racist a visit!  Oh, and you guys know you’ve got a total amateur working the polar bear exhibit, right?  AND fake monkeys?”

They didn’t see it my way.  They informed me that if I was caught harassing any more of the zoo staff, they would be forced to remove me from the premises and file an official police report.  I assured them it wouldn’t happen, and that this was all just a big misunderstanding.

I was intending to save the grey wolf exhibit for the last stop on my zoo tour, for obvious reasons; wolves are scientifically the most badass animals in the world.  But in light of the incidents at the polar bear exhibit and tiger pen, I needed a pick-me-up.  I decided to trek over and view the most majestic beasts in the entire place.  I had even worn my three-wolf shirt that day, to show the wolves that I, too, am capable of serious amounts of badass shit.

However, after walking around forever (15 minutes), I couldn’t find the wolf pen anywhere.  I had built up a good amount of resentment toward the zoo staff at this point, but this wasn’t the time to be a proud man.  The wolves needed me, and to a much higher degree I needed the wolves.  I went up to a female employee and asked very politely if she could direct me towards the wolf exhibit.

She told me there was no wolf exhibit.

I stared at her for a good thirty seconds without speaking, and then relief broke over me.  Surely, this was a clever ruse concocted by the administration.  They had seen my passion for animals at both the polar bear and tiger exhibits before this, and they were having a laugh at my expense.

“No, really,” I said, “if you could tell me where the wolves are located, I’d really appreciate it.”  I pointed at my shirt.  “As you can see, I’m a big fan.”

“Sir, I’m afraid we don’t have any wolves in this zoo,” she said.

No wolves?  What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?

“What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?” I asked loudly.

“What kind of shit eating zoo doesn’t have wolves?” I repeated.  People were starting to stare.




They threw me out of the zoo.