Sizzler '91

Back in 1991, folks didn't have the internet to generate bullshit, nor could they use it to call out some corporation on said bullshit. Back then, you could get away with a four-and-a-half minute mini-infomercial to tout something like Sizzler and what they considered a dynamic new dining concept that they felt was exactly what not-completely-out-of-control-fat-assed-yet America needed.
 With slogans like "Sizzler is the choice every day" (which sort of implies a lack of choices, doesn't it?), a "We Are The World"-esque soundtrack (good luck not singing it in your head when it's over), images of food such as "fresh fish" that appears to be stuffed with the insides of old golf balls and populated by people who look like they sprung to life after a folder full of stock photos had chemicals spilled on it and then was struck by lightning, this is truly an epic achievement in the field of complete and utter failure. Because the one we had in Tampa has looked like this for well over ten years now:

"It's unique! It's bold!" It's closed and has long since been turned into a Chinese buffet!

See, the idea of "It's a restaurant within a restaurant" is only appealing if that restaurant within isn't a Sizzler too.
Here are some screencaps with even more snarky commentary...

Among the many standard all-American archetypes making an appearance early on is this gnarled old sea captain leering creepily at a small child. Yep, that old trope.

Lots of girls play baseball now. In 1991, I guess it must have been harder to find one who actually knew how to grip a bat.

Why do I have a feeling that this jog finishes up here?

Sadly, this tender moment came to a sudden and tragic end when real sailors (the ones with Navy regulation haircuts) came over from that ship and beat the living daylights out of this guy.

The only thing that lesbians in hard hats enjoy more than reviewing blueprints is eating at Sizzler! ("Sizzler" may be a euphemism, if that helps you enjoy this joke more). 

The phone! Look at the phone! Look at it!

Oh hi, black people! Huh? No, we didn't almost forget to include you.

The last of the hot, big-haired girls of the '80s were rounded up and put in storage by Sizzler for the purpose of making this commercial.

Some of the last of the hot, big haired girls of the '80s were a little psychotic by then.

I was going to make a comment about 1991 Sizzler excluding gay men but they got one. Way to go. Very progressive of you, 1991 Sizzler. Of course he's a waiter.

Jesus, last of the hot, big haired girls of the '80s! Get a room within a room!

Go, go, go with a smile!

If you weren't hungry before, this image of an old lady shaking off sweat in slow motion like a freshly-bathed Golden Retriever should do it for you.

"See those trees over there? Yeah, we'll just chop those right the fuck down and we'll have enough room to build forty or fifty Sizzlers easy."

An explanation (if not apology) for anticipated unavailability

Hi there.
Chances are that things are about to become more sporadic in terms of my availability, here and in real life. Why? Because this starts happening tonight for the Tampa Bay Lightning and will rule my life for as long as it lasts...

Hopefully, that all pays off with something that looks kind of like this...

If that happens, it will have all been worth it. I know. Because it was totally worth everything last time.
At any rate, I'm not making any specific plans but less of me here will mean more of me here, so there's that.
Soooo, see ya around, unless I don't, in which case you have a pretty good idea why, or why not, depending on which is more grammatically correcter.

Steak and Taxes Day

Hi. I'm Clark Brooks. Writer, comedian and apathy enthusiast.
I'm a busy man and I don't like to waste time.
I love it!

That's why when it's time to do my taxes, it's April 14th or so, like yesterday, and that means it's time for me to ask Rachel to do my taxes.
Rachel is a CPA (that stands for Clark's Personal Accountant) who works for a big company that does a lot of people's taxes and she understands why I do things the way I do... well, maybe she doesn't understand, but she tolerates it which is just as good, as far as I'm concerned. So when I head over to her house with a handful of what looks like garbage but is actually my pertinent tax info with about 24 hours before the deadline during what is already an insanely busy time at work for her, I know that not only will I be getting the maximum refund to which I am entitled, but I'll also be getting a home-cooked steak dinner as well. That's right, a steak dinner. With potatoes, salad and pie for dessert! Hot damn, that's some good taxation!

Thanks, Obama. No, seriously. Thank you!

My friend Rachel: Because people like me don't get away with pulling half the stunts we do without someone putting up with it, if not actively enabling us.

Thanks, Rachel!

NOTE: This is not an advertisement for services available. Get your own home-cooked meal-making CPA, freeloaders.

Selective OCD

I almost never put my car keys in the same place twice when I come home, which often results is unnecessarily adventurous mornings the next day (that reminds me, I should probably start tracking down my tax stuff).

But eating these without organizing them by color first? What am I, a mad man??

I don't always have a cubicle neighbor, but when I do, this happens

Capping a week where the discussion here has focused heavily on baked goods, today we're going to talk about sandwiches. Kind of. Most sandwiches aren't baked and they're actually incidental to the story below so it's all right if we stray from the theme because we don't really do themes around here. You should know that by now.

Where I work (my real "job", the one which actually furnishes me with money to pay my bills and buy food and stuff), I have a cubicle. It's got glass windows and it's located all the way at the far end of the office where I work, so I have privacy and yet I'm not subject to claustrophobia. It's pretty sweet, as far as cubicles go.
Another nice feature is that the cubicle directly next to mine is usually vacant. Except for a few times a week when Amanda has work to do. That's her in the picture. It wasn't my intent to take and post a picture her back; it was my intention to trick her into turning around so I could take and post an off-guard picture of her face. The fact that she caught on and refused to cooperate says a lot about our relationship.
She works in another department in another part of the building and spends most of her time there at her regular desk, but on the occasions when she has to work over here, I take the opportunity to entertain myself, as is my wont. Often, this takes the form of nonsensical question and answer sessions like this, which could go on for hours if not days, if it were up to me:

"Hey Amanda."
"Hi Clark."
"What's up?"
"Nothing. What's up with you?"
"What's your food situation?"
"My food situation?"
"Yeah. What you got?"
"I don't have any food."
"Come on. You got some sandwiches on you or something? What's up?"
"Sandwiches? Like, more than one sandwich? Why would I be carrying a bunch of sandwiches around with me? Have I ever done that? Does anybody do that?"
"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."
"No, I do not have any sandwiches on me."
"This is how people learn. No such thing as a dumb question, you know."
"That's pretty close though."
"Now, you've been very particular in saying you don't have any sandwiches. What do you have?"
"I don't have any food."
"Come on, man."
"I don't!"
"I'm supposed to believe that of all the millions of kinds of food there are in the world, you don't have any?"
"Seriously. I have no food on me!"
"Okay, okay. You don't have to get angry."
"You're so insistent about it though. It's frustrating."
"What's frustrating is wanting a sandwich and not even being able to have one."
"Let me ask you, what's your food situation? What kind of food do you have?"
"I think it's apparent that I don't have any food. Otherwise, why would I be asking you for some? Duh."
"You made it sound like I'm just expected to have food on me all the time and..."
"Way to mock me for not having any food. Wow, real nice. You're America and I'm the Sudan. I get it. Your resources are abundant and we have nothing but blight and death. Ha ha ha. Very funny."
"I'm not mocking you for not having food. I don't have any food either, remember?"
"Think about it like if a goat or a dog came up to you. God's innocent creatures, right? They would ask the same question, and if anything, they'd be even more insistent about it. Would you get frustrated with them? I doubt it."
"Do you want to be treated like a goat or a dog? Is that what this is all about?"
"That's a ridiculous question."
"Okay, well... okay."
"So, just to be clear, you are saying that you have no sandwiches with you at this time, correct?
"Oh my God! Do you want me to go get you a sandwich?? What kind of sandwich do you want??"
"Not necessary. Just one of whatever you happen to have on you already is fine."
"..."
"Egg salad would be good. Or ham. Or turkey. Ooh, a club! You got any club sandwiches?"
"I do not have any sandwiches. None, okay? I have no sandwiches. No egg salad. No ham. No turkey."
"(slightly under my breath) So no clubs, I guess."
"Nothing! No food of any kind."
"Well, why didn't you just say so?" 

And so it goes. Unfortunately, it's not up to me and Amanda ends the delightful repartee by leaving mid-confabulation. That's okay. She always comes back a day or two later.

"For expert geopolitical analysis, we'll now turn to the comments under an Australian radio station's rainbow-cake recipe" or "For God's sake, never read the comments!"

Baked Goods Week continues, apparently, here at the Ridiculously Inconsistent purple blog, with the following delight, turned up by my good friend Clare, who is the mastermind behind Puckology, in response to Monday's post.

Rainbow-Cake Recipe Inspires Comment Apocalypse - by Albert Burneko, originally posted at The Concourse @ Deadspin.com, June 18, 2014

In which, we discover...

• That everything can be turned into a debate between conservatives and liberals.
• That you should never, ever read the comments posted to any article ever.
• Further proof that we as a species are utterly incapable of keeping our shit together when it comes to lovin' from the oven.
• And that this, and not our lack of regard for how we manage the dwindling resources we need for basic survival, will probably be the reason for our species' eventual extinction.

Again, with the cake

I wrote this a few months ago, wondering why cake is what seems to be the thing that gets people all worked up about same sex marriage.
Recently. we went through the deal with the pizzeria in Indiana, the one who thinks they may be put in a position of being asked to cater a gay wedding reception with their pizza, which isn't even a thing that would ever happen!

Maybe they've confused "gay wedding reception" with "gay Little League banquet"?

Then today, I saw this story out of Orlando, where the proprietors of a bakery are receiving death threats because they refused to make a cake with an anti-gay message on it that some minor league. online, agent provocateur (that's French for "shit stirrer") pretended to order.

Again, why is so much of the really heated basically all of the debate around same sex marriage about baked goods? You don't hear about churches or banquet halls refusing service or being boycotted or threatened one way or the other. Same with formal wear rental and honeymoon destinations. For that matter, nobody really seems to even have a problem with where these newlywed couples are going to live after the wedding.
But bring cake (or pizza) into it and everybody flips the hell out.
Seriously, can somebody explain this to me? I'm about as passionate about cake (and pizza) as I can be, and I literally can't imagine any circumstances involving fresh-from-the-oven tasty treats that would inspire me to make death threats, or do something stupid that inspires others to make death threats, nor be a part of a crowd-sourcing effort that raises nearly a million dollars for the purveyor of said tasty treats.
I think we all need to sit down over donuts or cookies and have a really frank discussion about what it really is that's got us all so worked up.
I'm betting we discover it's the donuts and cookies.

And now, a gentle, comforting, chuckle-inducing joke in 53 parts from Mr. Patton Oswalt

Patton Oswalt is an actor and stand-up comedian of some renown. The following joke appeared on Mr. Oswalt's "Twitter" feed on Wednesday, over the course of 53 individual "Tweets".

(1/53) Q: Why did the man* throw* butter* out of the window*? A: He wanted to see* butter fly*!
(2/53) "Man" in my previous Tweet should not be construed as privileged, misogynist or anti-trans.
(3/53) Nor should there be ANY assumption of said man's race or religion. It could be an African American man, Asian, or any one
(4/53) of the vast multi-cultural mosaic which make up the world we live in today. "Man" was simply an archaic placeholder for the
(5/53) "subject" of the joke, and thus should not denote privilege nor exclude any sexuality, religion, nationality or offend any
(6/53) feelings the joke listener may or may not have or have ever experienced in the past. Furthermore, the action of "throwing" is
(7/53) NOT meant in any way to imply an exclusion of the differently abled, or even someone who@may have ever felt excluded from
(8/53) And the choice of "butter" as the object being thrown was in NO WAY an insult to those with a strict lacto-vegan diet or
(9/53) ANYONE who may be lactose intolerant, might KNOW someone who is lactose-intolerant (or knows someone who is ka to-vegan) or
(10/53) may meet someone of those two persuasions anytime in the future. Also, "butter" does not mean the joke-teller is unaware of
(11/53) or insensitive to the abuses in our current factory-farming dairy industry, including neglect of animals or additions of
(12/53) hormones, pesticides or other contaminants. Also, PLEASE accept this pre-emptive apology if the word "butter" was a trigger
(13/53) for any time in the past the joke recipient may have been called a "butter face" or knows someone who was insulted in such a
(14/53) fashion. Aesthetic shaming is real and bullying hurts us all.
(15/53) Also, again, privilege. What else? Oh yes...
(16/53) "Out the window" was NOT meant as any sort of insult to the homeless population, in that the phrase "out the window"
(17/53) could EASILY be construed as placing the butter-thrower in a house which
(18/53) the butter thrower owns.
(19/53) The triggering potential for "out the window" is not to be underestimated.
(20/53) Nor should the act of THROWING AWAY food, which can be read as a violent, corporate-centric status maneuver.
(21/53) Privilege.
(22/53) Privilege.
(23/53) Privilege?
(24/53) PRIVILEGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!'nnn
(25/53) The pronoun "he" in the 2nd part of the joke should, again, NOT be taken
(26/53) as a patriarchal assumption.
(27/53) Parts 28 through 36 will simply be the word "problematic" for your use in any other interpretation of the pronoun "he"
(28/53) Problematic.
(29/53) Problematic.
(30/53) Problematic.
(31/53) Problematic.
(32/53) Problematic.
(33/53) Problematic.
(34/53) Problematic
(35/53) Problematic
(36/53) Problematic
(37/53) "See" is, we all know, VERY POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING to any seeing impaired or blind people hearing the joke
(38/53) And, again, a pre-emotive apology is meekly offered.
(39/53) And the fact that Twitter does NOT offer a Braille version of its website is part of a larger problem
(40/53) which the joke was IN ABSOLUTELY NO WAY making light of.
(41/53) Finally, the fact the man wanted to see butter "fly"
(42/53) implies a flippant attitude towards mental illness or the subjects lack of abstract or
(43/53) or symbolic/empathetic thought which was NOT the aim of the joke
(44/53) or the joke teller. But context, as we know, does not matter. Only individual words and feelings do, so
(45/53) as always, and from now on, no matter what the intent, aim, or satirical content
(46/53) the deepest apology is offered to ANYONE
(47/53) ANYWHERE
(48/53) for ANY REASON WHATSOEVER
(49/53) who found any offense in the previous joke.
(50/53) Jokes should always entertain. EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO HEARS THEM.
(51/53) A simple series of clarifying post-joke Tweets like the ones I just sent out will insure EVERYONE a gentle, comforting chuckle.
(52/53) Welcome to comedy in 2015, @Trevornoah!
(53/53) Also, the "come" part of "welcome" shouldn't be construed in a "faggy" way.

TBT one day early and one day late

I live a long way away from Benton Harbor (recently named fourth most dangerous city in the nation) where I grew up, about 1200 miles, and I've lived here in Florida almost twice as long as I ever lived there. Still, the place has a hold on me, at least in terms of some pretty strong memories. Sometimes, I like to go back and visit. Not by taking an actual trip where I physically travel from here to there, but via the magic of Google Maps, which allows you to look at still photos of virtually anywhere on Earth. It's pretty amazing but when it comes to old memories, it can be kind of jarring. The sizes of things, their appearance and their proximity to each other can become skewed, due to the passage of time, either as it pertains to your memory or the actual physical effects time has on objects. It's like asking someone to draw a picture based on what you tell them to draw and it doesn't look right when they're done, even though, of course it's totally, almost up-to-the-minute accurate.
Anyway, I took one of these virtual nostalgia trips recently and I screen-capped some places...

This is the house we lived in when I was born, on Smith Court in Benton Harbor. We lived there long enough for me to remember it and playing outside there but we had moved by the time my sister was born, so that means before I was four years old. It still looks basically the same, at least as far as the color of the house.

That building on the left is an old funeral home. To the immediate right of that used to be a multi-car garage where they parked the hearses and above that were two apartments, one of which my grandparents lived in. This was where my parents would dump us on weekends so they could have lives. It's also where I first learned about racism...

  I was spending a weekend being babysat by my grandparents. I went out to play and met two black kids, Petey and Andre, on the block behind my grandparents' apartment. We tore through Andre's house for hours like the maniacs that we were until Andre's mom understandably reached her breaking point and kicked all three of us out of her home. No problem, I thought, and invited the boys back to my grandparents' apartment to play. My grandmother was less than accommodating. She wouldn't let us in and at one point screeched, "They would never let me in their house, why should I let them in mine?". I remember thinking, "Well, no, not now..."

One of these two white houses (I don't remember which one) is Andre's house. The red brick on the right is the back of the funeral home.

This is the Baptist church right across the street from the grandparents' apartment. The building in the back is where they held the Sunday School where I was dropped off every Sunday and yet, failed to attend a stunning amount of times. I don't know about statutes of limitations so I may or may not have direct knowledge of a big box of donuts that disappeared from a banquet room one Sunday and was re-distributed among homeless people at a nearby soup kitchen.

We lived here for a while. I spent a lot of time playing in the huge willow tree in the back yard.

Oh look. It's the house where I was babysat after school for a couple of years and where I was sexually molested several times by an old man in a wheelchair during that time. That garage is "new" but that's definitely the place. I don't know if the same family lives there (I don't recognize the fella headed from the garage to the house) but that ramp at the front door makes me wonder. Wow, that warpo piece of shit would be in his 90's if he is still alive. An online real estate site says I could buy it for $50 grand, and set it on fire, which is kind of tempting. A pretty pointless gesture if the family, specifically the gnarled old pervert himself, isn't inside at the time, though.

We lived in these shitty apartments for a few years. The complex was called Napier Manor at the time. Now I guess it's called the Fairplain Village. I'm guessing it's as much a village now as it was a manor then. Suzie Wooster's mom, whom we called "The Bald Eagle" because of her short, white hair, called late one night when my parents weren't home and accused me of stealing Suzie's bike, me and my "nigger friend" Stefan, who lived next door. We didn't do it and I gave it right back to her on the phone, defending myself loudly and profanely. We never stole bikes. When dad got home, I told him the whole story and he called her back and gave her another earful. Stupid Bald Eagle.

Then we moved here, for some reason. I don't remember much about it. We didn't stay there very long.

The house where I lived throughout high school used to be here. You can't even tell there was ever anything here at all, can you? The house and the one that was right next door are just gone. I would guess that the community college next door bought the property but it's kind of weird that they just tore down the houses and didn't build anything.

I got pulled over on that little side road to the right by multiple police cars, after having been stopped on the drawbridge where we took the opportunity to blast the car next to us...with a squirtgun. Yep. As soon as the bridge went down, we (me and my friend Scott)  took off and veered off to the right and saw flashing lights behind us. We pulled over, a cop approached, told us to get out of our car and that's when we saw the seven police cars. Incredible! They frisked us and everything. I knew that we weren't in real trouble, that they were trying to scare us and that in Scott's case, it was working. He was freaking out. They told us to go sit back in the car and I decided to mess with him. "Man, let's just go." "What?!? No!" "Screw those guys. What are they gonna do? Chase us? Good luck!", I said, and I bumped the key a little, just enough to make the starter make a noise. We were eventually released with a lecture but Scott got busted because neighbors heard the whole thing on a police scanner and called his parents.

Here's the North Pier which extends out into Lake Michigan I don't even know how far. This is where we would go during stormy weather, with waves breaking across the pier, turning every surface into a slimy, slippery mess. The object was to go from stanchion to stanchion of the catwalk you see here, trying to get all the way to the lighthouse at the end and back, at the same time, trying to keep your friend from getting there first, or at all, by tripping him or hitting his hands as he held on for dear life, I guess with the hope that he would get swept right off and drown. Oh, ha ha ha! The folly of youth. I should probably be dead.

Hey, this post kind of took a little out of me so I'm taking Friday off, okay? Cool. Thanks.

There's fame and then there's FAME

People ask me if I want to be famous. Well, yeah. Of course I do. Between the blog and the podcasts and the stand-up comedy and all the other attention seeking activities I indulge in, it would be disingenuous to claim otherwise. I'm selfish, though. I want a certain, very manageable level of fame. Because there is fame and then there's FAME. I certainly don't want my name and face on a fleet of semi-truck trailers. That's way, way, way too much pressure and I don't know how people deal with that. 

No, I want to be famous like curling is famous in the Winter Olympics. Every four years, if people would find me quirky and interesting enough to be amused and pay attention to me for two weeks or so, that would be just about perfect, I think.

A baseball bargain!

Good people, hear now the words that are leaving my face...

You like baseball.

You love baseball.

Even though the Tampa Bay Lightning will be heading into the NHL playoffs, with the intent of once again winning the most holiest of chalices, the Stanley friggin' Cup, your love for the baseball is so intense that you need to be at the Opening Day game of the Tampa Bay Rays 2015 season on April 6th.

But your dilemma is how can you possibly obtain four lower level seats for less than $60? Everyone knows that the only people who can afford lower level seats to a sporting event are sultans from oil-producing micro-nations, and even then, the seats cost hundreds of thousands of dollars each.

NOT SO, PEANUTS AND CRACKERJACK BREATH!

All you have to do is go here: http://www.raysbaseball.com/friendsandfamily and enter the promo code of BROO7 and you will get a 4-Pack of Lower Level Tickets for just $55.30 (which includes a minimal convenience fee). That's less than $14.00 each! 

IT'S LEGITIMATE! IT'S THE TRUTH! IT'S BASEBALL, EVERYBODY! GO NUTS!!

Stand-up update: save the date!

(WARNING: What follows is a gratuitous plug. Sorry.)

Hey there.
I've been sharing my schedule of open mic appearances but there's one I'd like to highlight...

COMICS NIGHT OUT

Sunday, May 17, 2015 - 9:00PM

Side Splitters, Tampa

12938 North Dale Mabry Highway

Tampa, FL 33618

This will be a special night for me for a couple of reasons. One, it will be my first time at Side Splitters which is my favorite comedy club. I've seen so many great shows there over the years, it will be a real thrill to perform there. Two, I think my act and performance will be polished enough to really merit sharing it with people I like and respect (you). Meaning, I should be better at this show than I have been at previous ones. Of course, if you think I suck and you hope I bomb, it is a live performance and any number of things could go horribly wrong so you might still be in luck.
So basically, this is an invitation to share what should be a special night with me and/or this is an invitation to watch me eat it on a grand scale. Don't feel obligated to let me know which side you're on. As long as you show up, it doesn't really matter.
Thanks.

Despotic fascism never tasted so good!

This would be funnier if it wasn't coming from another global corporation that rakes in billions of dollars through the sale of shitty "food", but oh well. Make my dystopia to go!

Out sick

No "real" blog post today, just this brief note to tell you that.. well, there's no "real" blog post today. I'm sick with a crazy fever and have been fading back and forth between levels of lucidity and coherence. Also, every part of my body that can produce some sort of liquid seems to be in competition with each other to see who can make the most come out of the most unique orifices. The fever part is kind of neat though; I think Santa Claus and some monster clowns came over yesterday after I had turned into a little girl. That was pretty cool, if it happened.
Also, a single cup of Jell-o makes me feel bloated like Thanksgiving dinner, which is interesting.
Anywho, back to bed I go.

Your pre-eclipse guide to freaking out

"This is the Earth's first — and only — total solar eclipse of the year and the first one since November 2013, NASA reports. The next total solar eclipse in the USA will be in August 2017." - WTSP.com

Before you freak out, understand that it's not even going to be visible in the United States, which basically means it doesn't even count as a real eclipse. If this had been an actual eclipse, you would have been able to expect the following...

• Try to tune into local radio emergency broadcasts, as if any would be able to still be on the air, idiot.
• Bang pots and pans to scare away demons and giant, mythical bears, dragons, dogs, jaguars and turtles trying to eat the sun.
• Prepare for disasters and destruction.
• Keep all pregnant women indoors.
• Don't eat anything, as food prepared during an eclipse is poisonous and impure.
• Declare yourself Ni-Kjel-Ba'ack, harbinger of doom and master of ancient serpents. 
• Increase your number of followers as Ni-Kjel-Ba'ack by wearing a sweet amulet.
• Make pregnant women wear red pants so as to prevent them from giving birth to deranged Moon Beetles.

Again, as stated above, none of these measures will be necessary as this is taking place in Whogivesashitland, which is far, far way from America.

There will, however be a correspondent supermoon, which will be visible everywhere that is currently moon-eligible (if your sky normally has a moon in it, you will be getting a supermoon). Please do this...

•  Make plans to see me doing stand-up comedy at Side Splitters here in Tampa on Sunday night, May 17th. 

What does this have to do with the supermoon? Nothing. I never said it did. Relax, it's just a big moon. What are you afraid of. Calm down. Geez.

Not exactly 'Santaland Diaries' but as close as I've got

I think this blog has been a little too current events-y as of late and that means it hasn't been very funny, because current events aren't funny, Let's take a step back. Let's take lots of steps back, all the way back to my third grade social studies class at Lybrook Elementary, home of the Beavers!

There I was, eight-years-old, sitting in Mrs. Reed's class and she was telling us all about Christopher Columbus and how he discovered America. 

"I've done it! I've discovered America! I am the man!"

She was talking about how brave he was because back then, people thought the Earth was flat and if you sailed to the horizon you would just fall right off the edge. 

"Gyah! Reverse! Hit the brakes!"

We found that hilarious, "Ha ha ha! How stupid people must have been back in the old days!" Mrs. Reed explained that it's not that they were stupid and that sometimes people just happen to share a belief that has yet to be disproved. 

“For example”, she said, “how old were you when you found out that Santa Claus isn't real?” Suddenly eyes widened around the classroom as 30 little individuals silently experienced existential horror for the first time. 

"Well gee, Mrs. Reed, what time is it right this exact minute?"

Of course, none of us wanted to admit that we were finding out for the first time that the very foundation of our carefully cultivated belief system, the primary philosophy upon which we based our behavior and how we dealt with our fellow man, was based entirely on a web of lies foisted upon us by our parents. Thus we were introduced to not only the concept of conspiracy theories (suddenly, so many things actually made sense!) but also the fundamentally unhealthy practice of hiding our true feelings behind a facade of affected indifference. 

"Yeah, I knew all along that shit wasn't real.
What? No, I have NOT been crying!"

It’s interesting to note that at no point did she bother to explain that Columbus didn't discover shit, that he never actually set foot in or even saw what we know as America, because he basically got lost and when he finally arrived somewhere, he thought it was fucking India, plus all the rape and the disease and the slavery and the genocide. 

"Okay, maybe I'm not the man but I am a person of interest."

She didn't think it was at all important to even mention any of that, choosing instead to assassinate Santa Claus and make us bear witness. Is it any wonder why I hated school? 

The first time I ever told this story was on The Spike On The Mic Show, a moment that was captured and preserved, along with other hilariously awful childhood memories from everyone else on the show, on a "Best Of..." compilation. If you don't listen to the show (and if not, for the love of God, why?) or if you just want some kind of a souvenir that you can actually hold in your hand as well as listen to, either let me know or go to SpikeOnTheMic.com and we'll get you one.

I have birthdays coming up, and some of you are gonna be in big trouble

• Basketball TV announcer Dick Vitale planted a big wet smooch on Ashley Judd yesterday. He's 75, she's hot.
• In 2003, 60-something-years-old Joe Namath tried to make out with sideline reporter Suzy Kolber during a televised football game.
• In 2013, a 73-year-old Brent Musburger slobbered (verbally) all over Alabama quarterback A.J. McCarron's girlfriend Katherine Webb during the national championship game.

Yeah, my latest birthday was just last month, but I have more coming up (hopefully) and each one brings me closer to that magical age, the age when I can be a crazy old man who can do whatever
I want (even more so than I do now). And as much as I love the Indiana Jones movies, I promise you I'm far more inclined to emulate the behavior of the old perverts listed above than I am to go around crashing airplanes. 

Consider yourselves warned.

That's admirable. I guess.

"Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening." - - Coco Chanel

"Fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months." - - Oscar Wilde

Actor, comedian and TV personality Kathy Griffin has resigned from her role as one of the hosts of E!'s Fashion Police, due in large part to her objection to the show's tendency to criticize people (celebrities) for their physical appearance. Here's her "resignation" as posted on Twitter:

Well, good for her. She's choosing to give up what is probably a pretty lucrative gig because she's taking a personal stand against a form of bullying. That is an admirable thing to do and most of us wouldn't have the guts to do it.
Of course, one has to wonder what she was really expecting when she signed on to do the show in the first place. I've never seen the show but when I see the title "Fashion Police" and this is the first photo to pop up in a Google search...

... I know exactly what the show is all about; bitchy people sitting around and making mean and shitty little comments about what people look like, for the smug satisfaction of the audience at home, many of whom are soaking up the snark as they dribble ice cream down the front of their Eeyore pajamas. This kind of show exists to tear people down and there is not a lot of meaningful feedback and encouragement forthcoming. They're the Fashion Police, everybody! Did Kathy Griffin really think she'd be able to somehow infuse a show like this with "intelligent humor" and be "smart, irreverent and unafraid in an observational way that is candid, honest and justified" when it exists for the sole purpose of ridiculing people for the way they look? I mean, she did pose for this cast photo...

You kinda have to figure she knew what she had signed up for.

It's still impressive that she took a stand based on her personal convictions and beliefs, though. So, you know, good for her. Like I said, most of us wouldn't have the guts to do likewise. It would be great if most of us just had the guts to not make it profitable to have shows like "Fashion Police" on the air.

The adorable antics of frat boys

Remember the classic comedy "Animal House"? I sure do, it's my favorite movie of all time! In it, a group of underachieving-but-lovable members of the misfit fraternity Delta Tau Chi took revenge against the fascist rule of Faber College and the bullying uber-WASPs of rival fraternity Omega Theta Pi by causing mayhem at the homecoming parade.

Well, that kind of (relatively) harmless hi-jinks might have been fine for a 1978 film depicting college life in 1962. But these days, our demands and tolerances are much more highly elevated, if not evolved. Thankfully(?), when it comes to "a really futile and stupid gesture be done on somebody's part". our modern day frats are just the guys to do it. Specifically, Sigma Alpha Epsilon, the frat that the Omegas in "Animal House" were based on...

• The national headquarters for Sigma Alpha Epsilon is closing its chapter at the University of Oklahoma after video surfaced Sunday of members on a bus singing racist lyrics about their fraternity. SAE's national office called the video "inappropriate" and said it was "disgusted" by its members behavior. - Huffington Post, 3/8/15

That, after this SAE incident in St. Louis back in 2013.

Maybe it's time for somebody to grab the bull by the balls and put his foot down...

Mt. Everest: health hazard

Pictured: 99% poop

"Human waste left by climbers on Mount Everest has become a problem that is causing pollution and threatening to spread disease on the world’s highest peak, the chief of Nepal’s mountaineering association said Tuesday (3/3/15).
The more than 700 climbers and guides who spend nearly two months on Everest’s slopes each climbing season leave large amounts of faeces and urine, and the issue has not been addressed, Ang Tshering told reporters." - The Guardian.com

Could there possibly be a more emphatic statement of our disdain for this planet, Earth, the only one where we can currently live, at least in terms of our own selfish desires, than this? Hundreds of people gather every year at the base of this most majestic and spectacular monument to the powers of nature and creation... so they can shit on it.

“Climbers usually dig holes in the snow for their toilet use and leave the human waste there,” Tshering said, adding that the waste has been “piling up” for years around the four camps.

Shocker. They know what gear to buy, including $800 sleeping bags from The North Face and $50 water bottles from Wherever You Would Buy Something Like That, yet they don't know how snow works. Lovely.
We're referring of course to the handful of narcissists who do things like climb mountains and swim between continents and jump out of spacecraft for no other purpose than satisfying their own personal whims and egos. "Oh no," you say. "Those people are heroes!" Are they? What's heroic about it? How are they helping humanity? What disease are they curing? Whose puppy is being rescued? "Accomplishing" something is not necessarily a heroic act. Need help telling the difference? Easy. If somebody ever says, "Whoo! I did it!", they're not a hero. George Mallory, who died trying to climb Everest in the 1920s, before it became a hobby, was once asked "Why do you want to climb Mount Everest?", to which he replied "Because it's there". Here we are about 100 years later and the answer is, "Because I feel like it." Of course they're going to go up there for no other reason than the thrill of taking a dookie at 20,000 feet above sea level.

"Fuck! I can't see my house from up here."

Get down from there, you jerks. You have no good reason to do what you're doing. The only thing you can do from on top of a mountain is look at stuff that's easier to see from down here. And relieve yourself. Get back down here where your waste products can be dealt with correctly and stop treating the world's marvels like a bus station restroom.

Podcast time: an interview with the remarkably diverse Emily Nipps

Emily Nipps, rocking out

Emily Nipps is the Communications Manager at Tampa International Airport, one of the most highly-ranked airports in the world in terms of customer satisfaction. She's also the bassist for all-female punk band "Doll Parts". She has a pet pig. And chickens. Plus, while with the St. Petersburg/Tampa Bay Times as a reporter, she was knee-deep in monkey business when the stray, feral, rhesus macaque was running around Pinellas County a while back, which landed her on "The Colbert Report".
Let's see if we can find something interesting to talk about in this edition of The Ridiculously Inconsistent Podcast.

Emily Nipps, at work and responding to interview requests from creepy bloggers

Racism is over (unless you read the comments)!

A lot of people want to believe racism is a thing of the distant past.

"Hey, slavery ended hundreds of years ago. I didn't have anything to do with it! Why can't people let go of the past and focus on the present and future, now that there are no more problems and all individuals are treated equally? Just get over it already!"

That's fine, except for the fact that none of it is true.
Take a look at what people (albeit, most of them hiding behind an alias because even though it seems they sincerely believe this shit, they lack the courage and conviction to put their real names behind it) have to say about a trailer that shows a black male actor (Will Smith) kissing a white female actor (Margot Robbie) in a movie ("Focus").

"Welcome to Earth"

"Race mixing is literally sick. Gene incompatibility creates a host of physical and mental problems. Jews love to promote sickness and evil."

"Every-one hates Niggers. The Tolerance Train has CRASHED! Buh bye Congoids! This ridiculous agitprop piece will FAIL."

"Wake up White people. You see it, don't you? Everywhere they push this. They have gotten bold, and the anti-white propaganda is everywhere in the media before your eyes. Are you going to stand for it? Are you going to just watch as your European race is annihilated in a very slow and cruel manner?"

"Daily reminder that the Jews who own the media are pushing race mixing and this is a very obvious example and clear evidence. The idea of the movie is boring and shitty. It's entirely a propaganda piece."

"pure blood in the most important thing- after we are dead that is how we live on - I can still trace my pure blood back to Germany and Luxembourg from 400 years ago and I would never taint that with mud people blood"

"race is disgusting mixing and despite the Hollywood jews' best efforts public approval of it continues to drop"

"I just want to point out some facts. This movie was greenlighted by Warner Brothers President of Creative, Greg Silverman (Jewish), who only answers to the WB CEO, at the time it was Barry Meyer (Jewish).  If you look up the top CEO's of Hollywood production companies you see that they are ALL Jewish. They are proven racists, (Sony CEO has emails to prove it). So when I read claims that race mixing is a Jewish conspiracy, it has some credibility since they are the ones greenlighting this film. Possibly with a social agenda?"

"The propaganda of hollywood is to create an image for the way they want people to live. mix raced children are certain to not look anything like either of their parents alienating them from their culture and destroying their personal identity!"

"Another attempt by jew run hollyweird to push race mixing"

"This film is being used by Jews to promote race mixing between White women and Black males.  Let’s hope this film bombs spectacularly.  Send a message to the Jews that we don’t want to see any of their disgusting race mixing propaganda by boycotting this crap film."

Hey, if the movie is boring and shitty (which it could very well be), I reserve the right to make that judgment myself, based more on how I feel about wasting $12 than whether black dudes and white chicks are gettin' it on, okay? Anyway, for anybody who thinks it's been candy corn and rainbows since September 3, 1945, if not January 2, 1863, keep in mind that people who believe these things are out there, people with the ability (and freedom) to breed and spread these ideas to children. Cowering behind computer screens and highly unlikely to get laid in most cases maybe, but still. The point is there are miles and miles and miles to go before it's a reasonable option for everybody to "just get over it".

Bitches be gynecological!

"BOISE, Idaho — An Idaho lawmaker received a brief lesson on female anatomy after asking if a woman can swallow a small camera for doctors to conduct a remote gynecological exam.
The question Monday from Republican state Rep. Vito Barbieri came as the House State Affairs Committee heard nearly three hours of testimony on a bill that would ban doctors from prescribing abortion-inducing medication through telemedicine.
Barbieri later said that the question was rhetorical and intended to make a point.
Dr. Julie Madsen, a physician who said she has provided various telemedicine services in Idaho, was testifying in opposition to the bill. She said some colonoscopy patients may swallow a small device to give doctors a closer look at parts of their colon.
"Can this same procedure then be done in a pregnancy? Swallowing a camera and helping the doctor determine what the situation is?" Barbieri asked.
Madsen replied that would be impossible because swallowed pills do not end up in the vagina." - Minneapolis Star Tribune, Feb 24, 2015

Well, geez. How in the world are we middle-aged males in positions of authority that impact legislature directly related to health care for women, like Rep. Barberi here, supposed to know what in the hell you gals got goin' on down there if we don't ask stupid rhetorical questions? In case it isn't clear by now, we just don't get it!

"Don't even try to tell me there's no such thing as vagina cameras!"

This isn't for lack of trying, believe me. Ever since the 1950's, when you ladies first allowed us men to have sex with them, we have dedicated a lot of time and effort to being granted permission to get in there and check things out thoroughly for up to 15 minutes at a time (if necessary). In addition, we do extensive research on the internet (you would not believe how many web sites are dedicated to the thorough examination of vagina swallowing). We rely on research done by pioneers of science.

Science confirms: Icky.

It's just not enough, though. We (dudes) have to do better. You (chicks) are counting on us. This is the sexual health equivalent of opening a jar of pickles! Sure, there are alternatives, such as trained medical professionals and women and both of those together. But this is about us, and all we know is that if we swallow some kind of pill camera, it will definitely come out of our butts eventually! Beyond, that it's all so much Chinese vagina arithmetic.

"I'm not even sure you're holding that right-side-up."

At the end of the day, we just don't know enough about your various neeners and hoo-hahs. Are they all connected somehow? Why do they all look different? Are women magic? WE DON'T KNOW! Being secretly terrified of you and your stuff isn't helping. So unless something changes dramatically, we have no choice but to stick with what really hasn't been working; generally poking around indiscriminately and making shit up as we go (NOTE: This last bit doesn't apply exclusively to medical research... heh heh heh!).

Stand-up schedule for the week of March 1 - 7

Due to a busy work week, just one outing this week...

Friday, March 6, some time after 7pm

Tre Amici @ the Ybor Bunker

1907 19th St. N. (Ybor City)

PRO TIP: Get there early enough and you might be able to park for free.

Just remember allllllllllllllllllllllllll the caveats...

• This is an open mic. If you're coming out to see me, that's awfully sweet and I'm sincerely flattered but it's not like I'm a headliner or a featured act. In fact, there's no guarantee that I'll even make it on stage. 
• This is an open mic. In many cases, people are working on untested, raw material. Others are inexperienced performers looking for an opportunity to rehearse. And some people are both of those things. As such, the perceived quality of the performances from an audience expecting a polished, show-bizzy "show", may/will vary wildly. 
• This is an open mic, consisting of live performances by live performers. There's no way of predicting what will (or won't) happen. 
• Also, if you've seen me before, expect to see pretty much the same act. Practice makes adequate, you know.

Thanks to everyone who showed up last Tuesday. That was actually more fun than I expected it to be. Not that I doubted it would be fun to see you, but you know. It was nice to have My People there, that's all.

And of course, always remember and never forget...

The Spike on the Mic Show

Every Monday (mostly)

LIVE from Pin Chasers Midtown

4847 N. Armenia Avenue (Tampa)

Join us in person for a chance to win a FREE* sponge bath from one of the cast or just listen along at spikeonthemic.com

* Winner is responsible to provide own sponge and bathing facility and accouterments.