You May Now Begin Your Hero-Worship

This Friday (October 9th) I will begin publishing a column for the Forces of Geek website (forcesofgeek.com) that will cover 4 decades of Pop Culture and my obsession with consumerism/memories of owning things that have little-to-no value in the real world.

I will also be stepping up my bitch-fest here on this site to accommodate my huge ego now that I am on the cusp of what can only be stardom.

Thanks for your undying devotion and come visit my incrediblt talent on Friday.

Joe Wilson is an Asshole: A Look at Contemporary Civility Today (complete with incivility)

Civility: Courtesy; Politeness; a polite action or expression.

Asshole: (slang) A stupid, mean, contemptible person; the worst part of a place or thing

Even though I am unpleasant in nature and most people who know me would say that there is a lot to be desired by being my friend, I am, now and forever, a civil person.

Which is why when Rep. Joe Wilson from South Carolina yelled out “You Lie” from the Republican crowd during President Obama’s address to Congress, I was at first shocked by his display of assholeness, then slowly filled with a desire to beat him to death with the limbs I would tear off “Text Master” Eric Cantor’s body. (I said I was civil, not unviolent)

After a summer filled with the rampages of Ideologues who have never once taken it upon themselves to crack open a book, I was tired of listening to the right wing fringe freaks and was hopeful that once the cool air of fall began to hit their desiccated mummy skin, they would retreat back into their trailers and begin a long winter filled with reality television and bags of cheese doodles. This, of course, was not meant to be.

Spurred on by their belief that the taking care of another human being is Socialism (never mind the that most every program run by the government is, in essence, a form of Socialism) these blobs of ignorance and their gelatinous leaders have continued onward toward a total embrace of stupidity that has not only gotten the media’s attention but has also made it chic to be a butthole.

Case in point:

Rallied together by the talking heads of right wing media, tens of thousands of people spilled out onto the streets of Washington on September 12th to protest the reform of healthcare, Obama’s birth certificate, and the fact that Whitey has to listen to a Brother for once. And, of course to display the incredibly thoughtful and articulate signs of misspelled words and poorly Photoshopped pictures of Obama as Hitler, Che Guevara, and the devil. With the cries of “No Obamacare!” piercing the sky, they marched forward, a sea of Wal-mart shoppers gorging on their own fecund feeble-mindedness, achieving nothing of substance or enlightenment and finishing their march probably winded by the exercise and ready for some beer and light spousal abuse.

And what did the march accomplish?

Nothing more than allowing the media to air yet another round of unsubstantiated shinola and giving the right wingers another glorious moment in a sun that they believe rotates around a five thousand year old earth.

So what does this have to do with the collapse of civility in a country is increasingly uncivil you ask impatiently?

Well, for one, it indicates that we, as a civilization, are dissolving into some kind of primordial Neanderthalism that will eventually leave us naked and covered in offal, as well as an indication that we have no use for one another, nor that of anyone who is willing to make significant strides toward a more civil Star Trekian lifestyle. (I’m talking of course of a time in the future when people never have to worry about going bankrupt when they get a migraine and can order an Earl Gray Tea hot from a replicator).

Don’t get me wrong, I am not talking about the freedom to dissent or impugning the 1st amendment rights of our mentally impaired brother and sisters, what I am talking about is the inability of those people to engage in a civil discourse or to allow thought and the growth of oneself into the equation. The loud obnoxious hollering during town hall meetings, carrying guns to rallies, and yelling at the President of the United States during a speech in which he is trying to dispel the rumors that you, yourself have created are not Freedom of Speech, it is, simply, you being an asshole.

And now that incivility has jumped the political ship and has entered into the realm of award shows. This week at the VMAs Kanye West stormed the stage as Tyler Swift was accepting an award and declared that Beyonce should have won it. He later apologized for his actions but the problem remains, what gave him the right?
Apparently, Joe Wilson.

As incivility makes its way through the American landscape I fear more people will begin to take the same actions as Wilson and West and soon no one will be able to have a conversation without having to be ready to throw down.

In a sociology class of mine, my professor relayed a story that seemed to stoke my shriveled heart. Apparently during the seventies at the height of America’s disgust with Nixon, the president went down to the Jefferson Memorial, alone, and confronted a group of protesters who wanted Nixon dragged through the streets of Washington. The confrontation was not bloody, nor filled with the vitriol of today’s protestors; instead the people who thought Nixon was evil treated the man with reverence and respect, not because he was Nixon, but because he was The President of the United States. Did they come away with a newfound approval of him? No. They hated him as much as they ever did but that did not stop them from acknowledging his status as President and treating him with the respect that the position demands.

Standing up to Government and being able to question politicians openly is an American tradition and should remain as precious to us as breath and blood, but it disgraces that right when people act like mental patients and start to barter in rumor and lies rather than trying to discover fact.

As Wilson made his half-hearted apology and money poured into his re-election chest from fellow nimrods, it stands to reason that the America that the Republicans are creating is one filled with ignorance and incivility that will not stop until blood has been shed by those willing to remain unenlightened.

From tea baggers, to religious zealots, the New Republicans are becoming less a political force and more a burning ember of Fascism. I hope the leaders of the party take note and begin embracing the ideals that the party was founded on. If not, they may only be able to fondly remember the time when they were simply assholes.

If I Don't Get Some Healthcare Soon I Will Be Forced to Marry My Boyfriend for His

Once again I awake with a slight twinging pain located in my sphincter and I know it has to be cancer. Like all pains I feel now, it is just a matter of time before I am riddled with mutated cells eating away at me until all that is left is a shell of a human being with really bad cancer breath.

As a hypochondriac with no health insurance, I suffer from a multitude of aliments that I know in the end will kill me: Cancer, Lou Gehrig's, Parkinson's, and of course the Swine Flu. When my boyfriend was recently diagnosed with Epstein Barr(which is the absolutely best disease a Jew can get) I was slightly more jealous then concerned. After all, all of my diseases have been self-diagnosed off of Web MD and he just gets to walk into a doctor's office and be given the horrible life-changing-tv-movie-of-the-week news. Of course, his disease is simply a virus that makes him tired all the time whereas my imaginary ones will produce blood gushing out of my orifices.

With all of this talk over a new health care initiative and my excitement that one day I might be able to just walk into a doctor's office and finally confirm my suspicions that I have the Ebola virus, I am also a little disappointed that the politicians are trying to keep me away from the doctor because they believe we are heading for Socialism. Let me put it to you in a way you all can understand...I don't care.

That's right, I don't care.

Medicaid, Medicare, VA Hospitals, and the Health Care of politicians are all government run programs that are paid for by tax money. The police, firemen, libraries, public schools, and national parks are all tax paid, government run programs that the American people can use for little or no money. We are already utilizing Socialist systems in our Democratic government so why are we stuck on this little issue?

Because Insurance companies want to make a profit.

It's that simple.

And now, with all my imaginary daily heart attacks and strokes that I suffer from, I am seriously contemplating marriage so that I can get on my boyfriend's (soon to be fiance, apparently) health care plan. Yes, for my own health I have to get married so I can go and get weighed on a scale that is improperly calibrated, sit in a freezing room for three hours waiting for a person in a white coat to tell me nothing is wrong, and be charged $100 for the visit.

Is this what America is coming to? Health care marriages? Will I have to say "I do" because, as a teacher, my boyfriend has access to great coverage? Will I be forced into registering at Target for towels just to have access to a pap smear? Will I have to drag myself down to the DMV, the Social Security Office, and call the credit card companies just to change my name so that I can refill my prescription for Extra Strength Midol? And, if the marriage starts to fall apart, do we have to go to couple's counseling, not to save the marriage, but to save our coverage?

Is this my future?

For the love of a tongue depressor, please pass the health care reform bill so I can go get my nether regions checked out for venereal diseases without me having to make a commitment to another person. Please?

It really isn't all that much to ask.

Math is taking up a lot of my time and is interrupting my drinking

Because I have very little to give the world in terms of talent, vision, or depth (although, I do have a lot in the way of vengeance)I returned to school last year to suckle the teat of student loans and grants in order to try and make something out of myself.

So, I decided to become a biologist...then a vet tech...and finally, realizing that math is heavily involved in those subjects, I chose Journalism because I believe that nothing says, "Great Idea" like a major that will virtually guarantee me unemployment.

In becoming a Journalism major I am required to take College Algebra, which is a torturous subject meant to kill ambition and deaden the spirit and/or will to live. I have taken this class online to only make things more difficult for myself because I am apparently an emotional cutter. To make things even more interesting all the questions on both the quizzes and homework have been obviously translated from the original Engrish/New Delhian into the English language so that I will not have any comprehension as to what is on the screen.

Which brings me to this, as I prepare to take my Midterm tomorrow, wish me luck. Because frankly after three 8 hour days of staring into a computer screen, bursting into tears, and wetting myself, I think I will need it.

Bitter Billy's Big Long Day: A Tale of Disappointment

Seeing that I have the attention span of a gnat and that I like illustrated books, I have decided to fill my time by writing picture books for adults starring sad characters who can no longer function in today's society due to their own pathetic, slightly autistic, ability to share other people's space.

Unfortunately, I have no artistic talent, therefore the picture books themselves are only written, not drawn, which works on the truly disappointing level that I am after...(hello artistic friends who I won't pay for illustrating such a tome.) So please enjoy the first in what I suppose will be many stories that cutesy-up the horrific lives we have all chosen.

I present: Bitter Billy's Big Long Day: A Tale of Disappointment

Ring, ring goes the clock next to Billy’s bed. It’s time to get up and go to work. Billy doesn’t like work. Billy thinks work sucks his soul dry. Billy pulls the bed covers up over his head. Oh No! Billy’s crying.

Every morning Billy stands at the kitchen sink and eats breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It gives you energy and makes your brain work better. For breakfast Billy eats a stale Pop Tart he found in a drawer and drinks a warm beer.

Going to work is an adventure! Billy has barely managed to merge onto the freeway when someone cuts him off. Billy honks his horn to show his displeasure at almost being killed. The other driver shows Billy his middle finger. Billy honks the horn again and shows the driver his middle finger. This continues until Billy misses his exit to work. Billy hopes the other driver gets into an accident and loses the ability to use the bathroom alone.

Billy parks his car and walks into work. His company is large and owns the entire building. While all of Billy’s bosses work in nice big offices filled with windows and comfortable chairs, Billy works in an enclosed space called a cubicle. A cubicle is like a pen in a zoo only no one feeds you. It is where all the people who majored in the Liberal Arts are kept so as not to disturb the people who actually majored in something tangible.

At work Billy sits in front of a computer and stares until his eyes get blurry and dry out. Billy spends most of his time going through the massive amounts of emails in his Inbox. He deletes emails about bunnies and kitties, jokes of the day, Hollywood gossip, and political polls. He pushes through the male enhancement ads, pictures from office parties, and reminders for birthday cake donations. In the end, all Billy does is delete, delete, delete.



Every morning Billy goes to a meeting with the rest of the people in his department. Billy’s department at work is Records Analysis. He does not know what this means. Billy’s boss uses these meetings to belittle his staff. Billy will often dream during the meetings about beating his boss about the testicles, especially when his boss tells the department that overtime will be mandatory.

Billy smokes cigarettes. While this is bad for his health and well-being, anyone at work who smokes can take what is known as a smoke break. A smoke break lasts ten minutes. Billy tries to take at least six smoke breaks throughout the day. He also takes coffee breaks, snack breaks, and bathroom breaks. By the end of the day Billy accomplishes very little.

Lunch time is Billy’s favorite part of his workday. Billy likes to leave a good fifteen minutes early and come back twenty minutes late. At lunch he eats at restaurants that serve over-priced meals that take all of Billy’s money. Thanks to lunchtime Billy owes four thousand dollars on his Visa card.

After lunch Billy tries to finally get some work done. He pulls up a spreadsheet on his computer and stares at it until his eyes glaze over. Billy really wants to get his spreadsheet done so that Bob, the middle manager, won’t come over to Billy’s cubicle. No such luck. “Billy did you do this?” “Billy did you do that?” asks Bob. Billy nods and says, “Yes Bob,” and, “I’ll get right on that,” until Bob goes away and bothers someone else.

Yea! It’s almost time to go home! If work ends at 5 o’clock and it is now 3 o’clock, how many hours does Billy have left before he can leave? Billy has 1 ½ hours left because he will sneak out of the office at 4:30 by telling Bob that he has to make copies of his data sheet. Billy is very good at sneaking out of the office early. He has done it nearly every day for two years.

When Billy leaves work the freeway is full of cars and trucks. Beep! Beep! Goes the trucks. Honk! Honk! Goes the cars. They weave from one lane to the next. Speeding up and slowing down. Apparently Billy’s car is going too slow for the man driving the Hummer, so he decides to get in front of Billy by pushing Billy’s car into another lane. Billy swerves, barely missing a woman in a Toyota. The woman, not going to be intimidated by another diver, honks her horn and yells at Billy from behind her window. Billy silently cries.

On his way home, Billy stops at the grocery store. In the evenings the store has samples of food to try out. This is the grocery store’s way of enticing people to buy their food. Unfortunately for them, this is what Billy calls “dinner.” Tonight Billy is having pizza rolls, cantaloupe, bread pieces with olive oil, and, lucky him, a free cola that the grocery store is giving away. Yummy!

Before Billy gets home he stops at his mailbox to pick up his mail. Today his mail is very pretty with colorful envelopes filling his box, holding reminders that his phone is about to be turned off, that he won’t have any electricity after next Tuesday, and that his rent is two weeks late. Billy gathers up his mail and out pops an envelope that fills Billy with a belief in a Higher Power. A new credit card! Billy can now pay his Bills! Yea for plastic!

When Billy opens his apartment door he notices the smell. Sometimes Billy’s home smells like death for no reason. Could it be the garbage can? No. Could it be the dirty dishes? No. Billy looks and looks. He smells all the furniture. He looks in every corner. After a while the smell goes away. How mysterious.

Billy owns an answering machine that never has any messages. It mocks him with a zero blinking on the display panel. Billy checks the machine anyway, hoping that the display is broken. The machine tells Billy that he has no message. Billy thinks the machine sounded sarcastic. The machine, being a machine, doesn’t think anything. But, if it did, it would think that Billy doesn’t deserve any messages. Billy is sure that the machine keeps all the good messages for itself. If the machine actually cared, it probably would.

Billy is still hungry after his grocery store dinner. What does he have to eat? Billy finds a stick of gum, a frozen waffle caked in ice, and a packet of ketchup left over from a fast food lunch. Billy sits on his couch and eats his snack. Sometimes Billy wonders what life would be like if he worked harder, maybe became more of a team player, and quit stealing office supplies. As Billy sucks down his ketchup packet an idea creeps into his head. Maybe he should go to Graduate school and live off of student loans until he is sixty-five. Good plan Billy!

In the evenings Billy find solace by going online and searching for sport statistics and pornography. In the cyber universe Billy is known as BigRod2356. He is very popular online. According to his online profile he is a thirty year old man who is wealthy and owns his own boat. When you are online you can be anyone you want to be, and no one will ever know that you haven’t felt the touch of a real woman in six months. Billy often “chats” with another person named Hootermama, who says she is very hot. “Chatting” is when you type what you want to say to another person online, usually with only one hand. Billy and Hootermama spend many hours in their special chat room. Billy hopes that one day he will meet Hootermama in real life. Hootermama hopes that one day she will meet BigRod2356. Hootermama’s real name is Earl and he collects clowns.

Brrring! Brrring! Hey, Billy’s phone is ringing! Billy is so happy to hear his phone ringing that he doesn’t check Caller ID first. Oh No Billy, it’s your ex-girlfriend! Billy’s ex yells and yells. “Why do you keep calling me Billy?” “Why do you stand outside my apartment Billy?” “Why did you post naked pictures of me on the web Billy?” Billy tries to explain that he only wants his t-shirt back, not to stalk her. Billy’s ex-girlfriend screams that not only will he never see his shirt again, but that he was the worst lover she ever had, that he smelled bad, and that he will die alone and afraid, smeared in his own feces. When she hangs up Billy decides to never date women again.

Billy likes beer. Beer helps Billy throughout the long day of constant disappointments. When Billy drinks beer his troubles and worries get all blurry and he feels warm inside. Sometimes Billy drinks until he forgets his name and blacks out. When Billy blacks out he usually ends up naked and crying, curled up inside the fridge, covered in butter. Tonight may not end any differently.

Drunk but not ready to pass out, Billy decides to write poetry and send it to everyone in his email address book. He writes about love and loss, he writes about lost dreams, about never knowing what it is like to be loved by a woman who doesn’t beat him. As he sends his poetry across the internet, Billy feels strong and good. Beer will do that to Billy. Tomorrow doesn’t exist in the creamy, frothy, world of Beer…unfortunately for Billy, he does and tomorrow will come quickly.

Sometimes Billy dances, and tonight the rhythm lives inside of him. He cranks up his stereo and puts on Celine Dion. Billy sings loud and proud. Tonight he is Celine. Tonight he is Canadian. With hands beating his chest, Billy sobs; he knows that his heart will go on.

It’s 2:00 am and Billy has to go to bed. Billy slides across the floor of his bedroom on his belly. Billy slides because he can no longer walk. He gropes along the carpet until he finds his bed and pulls himself onto it. Face down on his bed Billy throws up a little in his mouth and lets it dribble out onto his comforter. Right before Billy sinks down into the blackness he reminds himself to clean it up in the morning.

Ring! Ring! Goes the alarm clock! It’s a brand new day! Yea for Billy! He made it through the night without chocking on his own vomit. Billy rolls over and looks at the clock. Today Billy will make his first good decision: he will call in sick to work. Good move, Billy.

On Vacation, Will Return on Monday July 6th. If the Police Aren't Involved.

As I shove far more underwear than I will need into a sack, I would like to take the opportunity to wish everyone a completely tolerable 4th of July. I will be celebrating this holiday as I do everyday of the week...laying down, not working on anything substantial. So really, this isn't a "Holiday Weekend" for me, it's simply a different location doing the same thing I do every day.

I will be back to blogging on Monday July 6th where I will recount in graphic detail how family members annoyed me and/or blew up their face with a sparkler.

Eat tons of dissected cow and enjoy!

Billy Mays: No Longer Powered by the Air We Breathe

In a week where we have lost so many, I have to say the death of pitchman Billy Mays is an indication that the End of Times has surely begun.

It is only a matter of time before plagues of Locusts descend upon the world, the oceans run red with blood, and VH1 will cease to broadcast "I Love the 80's".

As a help to my fellow man may I offer this advice when the apocalypse arrives:

Get out your Y2K survival kits, stock up on SPAM, and download as much porn as you can.

As for the religious fanatics, congratulations upon being correct, may you enjoy your afterlife playing harps, kissing the feet of God, and wearing white.

For the rest of us, at least we can start smoking in bars again right?

Thank you and goodnight.

(special thanks to Steven Weitz who came up with such an awesome title)