Sure, I could blog the Oscars

But why? It's all media manipulation!

Instead, it's time for

THE TOP 5 WORST OSCARS OF ALL TIME!!!!!!!

DON'T WASTE ANY TIME! FUCK OSCARS LET'S KILL!

5. 1996 - You want to not have fun? All you have to do is toss up a bunch of shit movies and watch the madness unfold.

In 1996, I was but a young man in middle school. Wait, hold on.............................. yeah, I was in middle school. So anyway, at that time the only movie I was really interested in was Jerry Maguire because it was about the Arizona Cardinals. I think at the time they were known as the Phoenix Cardinals, though.

If you've never seen it, you have to understand that it's a movie about the Arizona/Phoenix/not St. Louis Cardinals, and, like, they WIN A GAME. Even as a whipper-snapper I knew that was bullshit, so I had to take my hat off to anyone who dared to dream that such a thing could happen and put it on celluloid. Oh yeah, there was also some Tom Cruise and a young Jonathan Lipnicki still hogging screentime and shit, but that wasn't that important.

Instead, the top award went to "The English Patient," a movie so banal that scientists use it to hold acid. This wasn't the first, nor would it be the last, time that a shit film took home the gold, but I remember being outraged at the time. I hadn't seen the film, but I could tell that it was garbage. And it was at that time that I realized that adults can make mistakes. Terrible mistakes. People are not perfect. In fact, the world is an evil place where you can only hope to just barely survive long enough to not die in excruciating pain. So at least I can thank the Oscars in one sense for teaching me this valuable life lessons that yes, indeed, horrible things do happen, like Ralph Fiennes being considered a great actor.

4. 2003 - There is one thing worse than having a shit field to watch: having a field that actually contains one or two good movies and then have them lose to a total shit film. '03 marked an especially egregious example of this.

But the story begins in 2001. Right after 9/11, another terrorist named Peter Jackson launched an attack on America in the form of "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring," a compelling take on Tolkien's classic nerdfodder book. It was so cool that it actually was nominated for best picture, only to lose to "A Beautiful Mind," starring Jennifer Connolly as the (not) Hispanic wife of Thomas Nash or whatever his name was.

Okay, but he would have two more shots at BP thanks to the next two films. But little did I or anyone else know that the next film was, like a truly incideous terrorist plot, total shit. I mean WOW was it bad. And yet it was still nominated. Fortunately it lost, but unfortunately "Chicago" won. Wait what the fuck? There were only FOUR BP nominees that year? Weird.

Anyway, in a very eerie mirroring of 9/11, the final film of the trilogy proved to be the coup de grace: it proved to be the worst movie of all time (at the time). Yes, somehow, some way, Peter Jackson crafted a film more aesthetically offensive than the Great Satan of films, "Titanic." To make matters worse, in 2003, this bitch took home the grand prize, beating out "Lost in Translation" for extra fun.

It was truly a mockery of film. Was Jackson getting awarded for all three movies taken en toto? Or was this the Academy finally rewarding him for the most effective assault on the soul of humanity it had yet seen?

Since then, like bin Laden, Jackson had one last great triumph (the even worse "King Kong") and then faded into obscurity. But we don't know if he's dead or alive, and he may strike again one day...

3. 1997 - The only way to follow up the English Patient disaster was to have the (then) mother of all shitfilms, "Titanic" waltz into the Oscars and attempt to kill everyone. And it came very dangerously close to doing so.

The show was notable for being an unrepentant ball-licking of anything "Titanic," even being so brazen as to nominate the crazy old lady character as a supporting actress. It was truly obnoxious, with Celine Dion singing the soundtrack of terror. For the truly enlightened, it was a rare moment when the ad wizards in the Academy and the black, empty heart of America were united in purpose.

But there was one plucky film that threatened to spoil it: "As Good as It Gets," a funny, interesting film starring JACK!!!. And for a while, it seemed like there would be a spoiling, even though it was nothing more than a mad dream. Jack won best actor and Kate Winslett had to watch Helen Hunt take a righteous piss in her cheerios by taking best actress. But then James Cameron, who still has yet to be forgiven for his treachery, gave his gay little "I'M THE KING OF THA WORLLLLLLL!" speech, and minutes later the final blow was delivered with the film taking home the grand prize.

It's over a decade later. "Titanic" has faded into obscurity and the ashes have been cleaned up. But the crime is still on our souls. Will it ever be lifted?

2. 1998 - There is one thing that I can't stand at all: wasted potential. 1998 was a perfect example of this. I don't particularly remember much about the year other than Monica Lewinsky boofing Bill Clinton or something.

But maybe I should've seen it coming. After all, the two previous years were disasters, why not let there be a third?

But no, 1998 couldn't be the year. After all, "Saving Private Ryan" was out and was kicking all sorts of ass. It was a great film and the competition that year looked to be utter tripe. Finally, a deserving film would get some recognition!

And then it happened.

"Shakespeare in Love."

Sometimes I wonder what the Japanese in Hiroshima and/or Nagasaki were thinking when the atomic bombs went off over their heads. A sunny day full of promise abruptly interrupted by unspeaking horror. How does the mind comprehend the horrors?

It looks like the cruel fates had one last trick up their gay tardloving sleeves: a grim surprise. And here it was, a movie nobody had really ever heard of being declared the best film over a truly deserving film. Why? Why do humans have to be cacpable of such horror?

Maybe one day we will overcome the specter of 1998's Academy Awards. But I doubt it. Life really is a purposeless mess.

1. 2009 - How would you prefer to die? Go out in a blaze of glory, or wither away in slow torture? Tonight we know the answer.

Ah ha! Faked you out, didn't I? WE ARE BLOGGIN THESE OSCARS BITCH I HAVE YOU NOW.

Anyway, tonight's Oscars was the second option, a neverending nightmare that we just couldn't wake up from. Sure, not all the winners were terrible, but this year's production made so many terrible mistakes that the sheer weight of all that mediocrity stifled any and all life and creativity and hope.

I don't care about Kate Winslet. She's the new Nicole Kidman except not haggy. I don't care about Slumdog Millionaire. It's just another "Crash," here today, gone tomorrow in human memory.

But tonight's show was just so depressing. Even Sean Penn trying to troll all of Mormonia wasn't enough. There were no clips of the nominees, there were only three songs nominated for best song (and two of them were Bollywood pap; Pete Gabriel rightly no-showed because they were not allowed to play the entire song, YET IRONICALLY THERE WERE ALL SORTS OF FUCKING MUSICAL NUMBERS). Do you see what I mean? Nothing about tonight made sense. Nothing. NOTHING.

The Dark Knight and Wall-E were shunned. Why? What purpose did it serve? You're going to nominate "The Reader" over them? Really? Why would you do that?

If any experience can be compared to literally dying, I'm sure tonight's show was it. The final synapses of a crazed brain firing off randomly, accumulating to nothing but the sensation of sheer terror. That was tonight's Oscars, seen through the eyes of a dying schizo.

And who said this shit wasn't serious business? Shit got real tonight. Only SAG's strike can finally cut the cord on this loathsome industry.

Until then, I will endure. I don't know how I'll do it. Maybe I won't in the end. But somehow, my heart will go on.




Oh... oh no....

In these times, you need a strong man to protect you

Hmm...

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Onondaga_Lake

Today, Onondaga Lake is a severely polluted lake. Onondaga Lake has been described as one of the most polluted lakes in the United States,[1] primarily due to industrial dumping and sewage contamination. The New York State Dept. of Health has issued health advisories which warn against consumption of certain fish (e.g. walleye, bass) due mercury and PCB contamination. Other species are limited to one meal per month.[2] While swimming in the lake is not prohibited, it is uncommon due to the perception that the water is unsafe. Bacteria levels occasionally exceed state standards due to sewage discharges.[3] The lake has high levels of mercury, salt, phosphorus, and ammonia thanks to a local chemical company, Solvay Process. The EPA has declared it a hazardous waste site. Recently, an effort has been made to clean up the water in the lake. The lake is also the subject of a land rights action filed in 2005 by the Onondaga Nation. It offers various trails around itself, and a public park.

So yeah, gonna cross upstate NY off the list of places I'm gonna settle down. This should make the missus happy, at least.

Before this depression kicked in, I bet many peeps were looking forward to it as a way of proving their manliness and strength in times of difficulty. Well now, Buffaloans/Rochesterites/Syracusers/Watertowners, WHO'S MANLY NOW?

I'm forever blowing bubbles, red bubbles, 'cause I'm hooked on codeine!

Now that I've got that out of my system, it's time to discuss something very near and dear to me. No, not her, she's not NEAR you STUPID TARD.

I'm talking about dreams! No, not the, "I have a dream" "what do you want to be when you grow up (a fireman!)" type dreams. I mean the psychic phenomena most non-freakish people go through when they sleep.

If you have any intention of being considered a creative person, you should be able to dream. I've heard of people who say they don't dream or they very rarely dream. First of all, that's bona fide bullshit because everyone dreams, but not everyone remembers those dreams. So then I should check myself and say that in order to be considered a creative person, you have to be able to REMEMBER what you dreamt about. Preferably not using that "dream journal" shit.

Dreams are the best. Even the nightmarish ones because a) it's not real, stop being a baby) and b) well, I guess there is no b). So in that sense, nightmares are like Pirates of the Caribbean, the ride. (The movies are actually too terrible to be considered fun, even after the fact.)

The coolest things about dreams is that they inspire neat ideas for stories. So if you want to write, I can't imagine not being able to dream. True, you can cognate story ideas when you're awake, but I find that dreams are best able to get your mind to consider situations that you couldn't have come up with yourself.

Scientists don't know what dreams are, exactly, which is neat because it's a MYSTERY. So that means until some brainiac comes up with the answer, they can be whatever we want them to be. So I say that dreams are really nothing more than images from your subconscious bubbling to the surface. They only have limited meaning, and the meaning is usually obvious. Pour example: if you dream of being chased by something, that usually means you're afraid of that something (or whatever you think it represents). It's very easy shit and that's how I wanna keep it.

I rarely have recurring dreams per se, but I do have recurring themes.

1) I'm running, running, running, but I'm not going anywhere. You ever have this? It's like lagging in your dreams. Maybe my equipment is defective. It's annoying and strange, but I understand that lots of people have dreams of running (either from something or towards something) and not going anywhere. Maybe some assholes should just get the fuck out of the dreamscape and stop lagging shit up! WHAT'RE YOU DREAMING IN 9600 BAUD? HOLY SHIT DROP THIS FAGGOT LAGGER. PP MORE YOU BITCH.

2) THE DOOM DREAMS. Ah yes, Doom has so thoroughly penetrated by subconscious that I literally have dreams where I am in Doom. I still haven't figured out if I'm dreaming of myself playing a game of Doom, or if I'm literally in a Doom game. It's an extremely tricky predicament that I can't fully explain here. Suffice to say, these dreams are always a hoot because no matter how many times I stare down Cyberdemons or Barons of Hell or, worst of all, fucking PAIN FUCKING ELEMENTALS, I can cheat my way out of the situation. If only IDDQD worked in other dreams, though...

Oh wait, that reminds me of another recurring dream element: 3) Jumping over fences. Usually when I'm dreaming of being chased by someone/something, it takes place in a suburban setting. HMMM, I WONDER IF THAT MEANS SOMETHING... Anyway, that usually entails me running out of whatever domicile I'm in and escaping through a network of backyards, invariably bordered by fences that I have to scramble up and over like a monkey who just stole your Nachos (NACHO CHEESE!). I don't know what the deal is with them but there they are.

There are probably other recurring elements in my dreams but fuck it if I'm gonna tell you, you'll have to pay for the platinum subscription for that.

Anyway, if you are a dreamer, you should definitely try to remember your shit because they can, if nothing else, provide interesting thought fodder if you ever want to write a story or some shit.







I got nothing else. You should probably go home now.

And now, a very special depression-themed episode of The Real World

Good morning, America. As you may already have heard, the American economy wandered down an alley in Boston at 3 in the morning, ran into one of its few non-caucasian residents, watched as he pulled a gun from his pants, and then had a very nice discussion on the pressing matters of the day, namely the economy and the impending oil crisis. It was a very lovely night, all things considered.

Indeed, we are facing dire times. But don't worry! As most of our best jobs evaporate into thin air, that doesn't mean you can't still be productive and earn money, and most importantly, create friendships that'll last a lifetime. If you're worried about making ends meet in the depression, here are the top 5 occupations you can look into if you live on Long Island or anywhere near the Hudson Bay:

5. Scrap metal collector - an oldy but goody, since the Stone Age, man has searched for scrap metal to sell to tin-can dealers or some shit, and all for a nifty price. It's a job that'll keep you busy, as just about everything around you has some kind of metal that can be liquidated.

Take for instance the very building you're in! There are all sorts of screws and nails and nuts and bolts that you can rip out from the wall. Speaking of the wall, how about all that copper wiring! Ever wanted something to do with those pennies in your loafers? Now you can sell them for much more than they're worth!

This will probably be the second easiest job in the depression. Best of all, you can treat it like a game. Get your friends together and come up with a scoring system. License plates are 5 points, tin cans are 10, and Volvos are 25! See how easy it is? See if you can beat the high score!

4. Ant hunter - In the depression, good food will be scarce. No more will you be able to eat toothpaste or anything from a pig (it will be a kosher depression, sadly). You will need to find food anywhere you can.

Fortunately for all of us, there is an abundant foodsource everywhere to be found. In this case, there's our old friend the noble ant. Ants are plentiful and marginally retarded, not as much as centipedes, but just enough to not realize what you're doing until it's too late (hooray for hive minds!).

Ants are nutritious when you eat them in large enough quantites. Once you have enough to fill a small plastic bag (which itself will be a highly coveted luxury), you can eat for a whole two hours! They make great finger food provided you don't hold on to them too long and give them a chance to crawl away, and if you add some hot sauce, then you can simulate the Brazilian delicacy of horrifying fire ants.

The only drawback is that hunting ants can be tricky. As a professional ant hunter myself, you can't simply stop the bastards. And you can't spray them either. That means you have to skewer them. Fortunately, there will be plenty of twigs around for that unless you live in the desert, in which case you're retarded!

Skewering ants requires both patience and good hand-eye coordination, so drunks, epileptics and quadrepalegics need not apply.

3. Arena Football League player - You may have heard that the AFL had to cancel its 2009 season. But they haven't cancelled the 2010 season yet, and by then we should be a fully bankrupt nation.

While the pros make the big bucks in the NFL, the AFL will still be around to let vagrants, truckers and grocery baggers (AHEM) achieve their dreams of slowly running down a 40 yard field before scoring a touchdown in front of a sell-out crowd of 36.

The best part about the AFL is that you can play any position you like. It's not uncommon for defenders to have offensive positions and vice versa. Also the rules of the AFL are esoteric enough for it to be basically a proxy for Calvinball. If you throw the ball through the uprights, do you score a field goal? Who knows? It's arena football, playing football the way it was meant to be played! With walls! And plastic floors!

If you ever wanted to relive your gym glory days but are too cool for dodgeball (however, you can't be too cool for lightning or that game where you had to throw the balls at the pins and shit, holy shit was that fun. No not bowling you moron!), the AFL is looking for YOU!

2. Professional radiation absorber (Long Island/Hudson Bay ONLY!) - One of the fringe benefits of living on Lon Gisland is the pervasion of radiation. Nobody knows where it's coming from and you can't really detect it until you've been inflicted with some disease 50 years later. It's a very serious situation, and with healthcare evaporating in the depression, that means that we have to use preventitive measures.

This is where you come in! As we don't know where the radiation is coming from, we do know that it has to be coming from the ground because where else can it be coming from? So all you'd have to do is lie down in a ditch (don't forget your pillow!) and stay there, absorbing all of that wonderful radioactivity so that everyone else doesn't have to. With enough volunteers, we can cure cancer on Long Island!

Note: Hudson Bay applicants will have to line up facing the water. Please note that you would be absorbing PCBs in addition to carcinogens. Yes you will be paid extra!

1. Professional rambler - One of the best jobs out there already, the professional mumbler is a dream job to most. Fortunately for you, it may be easier to attain in the depression as everywhere in the country resembles a New York subway station!

Unsure of what a rambler does? If you haven't seen them in action (and you really must), here's a brief rundown: you stalk a particular area for an entire day, talking (or yelling, if you have the skills for it) about whatever the hell crosses your mind. Want to espouse on your theories of human nature? Let it out! How about how the weather determines the outcome of political events? Don't hold back! Have an idea about why your wife won't come back to you? We're all ears!

The best ramblers provide entertainment for people waiting to do something more productive with their lives. Now I know you may be asking: if everyone is poor, then who do ramblers have to ramble at? Well the truth is that they'd only have each other and scrap collectors to ramble at, but don't be discouraged. You will still receive your full fee of awkward grins and sideways glances and people uncomfortably backing away from you while avoiding all eye contact. Best of all, you'll be on the ground floor for when our Chinese overlords eventually rebuild the country. Better brush up on your Mandarin though*!

I know everyone is worried about the economy, but just because your boring ol' desk job is going to be extinct doesn't mean you have no options. Take a look at these exciting opportunities and see what best fits you!!

Bloggin' from work!

In the Who Gives a Fuck Department of blog postings, today I found out that it is not Amity Shales, it's Amity Shlaes. At first I thought someone at Salon was just being really sloppy, but it's being confirmed everywhere else that it's spelled S-H-L-A-E-S.

Huh? I've heard of this crazy axewoman for the past six months and every time I saw her name, it was spelled S-H-A-L-E-S, clear as day. Yet... I was wrong! How could this be?

Is my mind playing tricks on me? Have I been consuming hallucinogenics without my knowledge? It's like one of those dreams you have where you're convinced it actually happened to you in the past, and only later do you realize that it was just a figment of your imagination.

Somewhere in Hell, Rene Descartes is laughing. And then he is complaining about having another pitchfork rammed up his ass.

Incidentally, Knut Rockne isn't complaining that much.

I am an open book

Written in a different language
You can't understand
That which is bland
So what is your damage?

They had a special on "20/20"
About the art of seduction
It took no deduction
To know that disappointment is plenty

No one reads this blog anymore
Like shouting in an empty room
It is spiraling towards its doom
Another abandoned place, what a bore!