Thursday, July 31, 2008

A seires of tubes (and illegal gifts)

Susan Walsh

Some days making fun of people is just unfair. This is not one of those days.

In my endless pursuit to mock Olds, I find this to be a grand bit of irony as Sen. Ted Stevens is due in court today for pretty much what amounts to fraud.

Sure, he knows how to hide $250,000 in gifts and cash from oil companies in his great state of Alaska, but explaining the Internet or how to even turn on a computer seems to escape the Senator. But who could forget this gem of a speech he gave on the senate floor in his attempt to rain on everyone's parade...



No, this is not a big truck...its a series of tubes, of which the senator's career is going down.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

How long until Halloween?

EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!

By my calculations there is only 62 days until Halloween...meaning I only have a few weeks to get rolling on this creation from Evil Mad Scientist Laboratories.

Davros I am not, but this still is pretty bad ass. Just imagine a small army of Gord-like Daleks roaming the halls of Cold Storage.

Then again, I am sure the Death Star Melon is more likely to gracing my kitchen before any Dalek-O-Lanterns go rolling out my front door.

Photos from Evil Scientists Laboratories

Mortal sins of a blogger

I know, stop shouting and calling me a terrorist pussy. I get it, I linked to the same Web site two days in a row.

But today, Mental Floss hit a little close to home with its most recent feature on City Council Crazies — and come on, who doesn't love gawking at a crazy person from the comforts of their own home?

As a veteran city hall reporter this makes me laugh in fits as I know people exactly like this. I suspect once I jump ship from this foul journalism industry, I will, in fact, become a person like this.

You see, my patriotically challenged readers, at most City Hall meetings in this country, there is a time where any random Joe and Janes can stand at a microphone and speak their mind. Got a pothole in your street? Go tell it directly to City Hall. Sewers backing up after a rain storm? Let the mayor know at the meeting.

It's all designed to give residents a chance to expound and pontificate the greater philosophical goals of a municipality and its hegemonic duties in the greater system of public government.

...Or...

It allows absolute nuts jobs a chance to don their tin-foil hats and talk about how everybody is out to get them. Guess which one I have seen more of at these meetings.

Imagine that guy on the street corner yelling about Jesus being gay and Hitler living in his co-op. Now imagine him amplified and being broadcast out on television stations around the city.

And don't think for a second this is reserved for the big cities. Oh no, some of the craziest at City Council meetings come straight from the quite suburbs where hippies and old people have nothing better to do than bug the shit out of elected officials because their water tastes funny every third Thursday after a full moon.

I'm no scientist, but this is a recipe for disaster — and hilarity. Well, good old MF compiled a list of some of their favorites and offered it up in a buffet of boneheads.

Here is my favorite:



Next time I tell you I have to go to City Council meeting, remember I will probably need a drink immediately after.

UPDATE: Stait'z in r skoolz, jerrymandrin' r diztrix!

McSweeny's has a nice take on the minutes from a LOLCAT City Council Meeting. Everyone on the Interwebs seems to be thinking civicly this week...

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Olympic fever

It's hard to pull off smart and funny at the same time. Hell, I barely pull of juvenile and half-wit humor here.

Still, I am always astounded by the writers over at Mental Floss for bringing together some of the wittiest and intriguing features out in this foul world of internet literature.

This week, as the world gets ready to collectively orgasm over the sport-spectacle in Beijing, writers at MF featured one athlete that will join the thousands of other athletes to compete. Don't get me wrong, I love the Olympics. I even fielded a team of co-workers for curlers during the last Winter Olympics.

But this feature was astounding. Oh, did we mention the track and field star is from Afghanistan ... and a woman. Yeah, imagine sprinting in a full dress and a ski mask.

Sam French writes: "One of the fastest people in Afghanistan runs like a girl — and if everything works out, 19-year-old Mehbooba Andyar, the only Afghan woman scheduled to compete in this year’s Olympics, will soon have the chance to prove she’s one of the fastest in the world.

"But whether she wins or loses in Beijing, her biggest challenge lies not in the stadium but back home, where she faces fierce cultural disapproval — and even death threats — for stepping outside the traditional role of women in Afghan society to compete."

...

"Apparently, one of the neighbors, in a righteous rage that Mehbooba was stepping outside of her place, had called the police, who were all too happy to believe that the only reason two foreigners with cameras would be in a woman’s home was to film pornography."

Check it out.

Monday, July 28, 2008

Catch it

While the local Obama folks have disappointed the hell out of me these past few months — really your local field director is named Peachy? — this ad made me realize that people who don't suck are at least in control elsewhere.



Granted its a MoveOn.org ad. Don't even get me started why these folks should not be trusted.

Well shit, I almost sound like a Conservative here ... or at least An Old.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

TR2N - cue nerd fanfare.

UPDATE: Well, it seems the Mouse is on to us and Disney pulled the bootleg trailer. But I think you can still view it here in all its majestic glory and wonder.



It's a crappy bootleg. It's shaky. It's out of focus BUT it is undeniable that Disney is coming out with what it really should just call Jeff Bridges Being Bad Ass Part II; Tron II.

I am a little too young to have seen the original in theaters, but Tron One filled a cannon of other nerd-fest computer movies — Seakers, Hackers, War Games, Weird Science — that I loved on VHS as a kid. I can even pin point having seen Tron on Disney late one night and then proceeded to ask for a new computer in the third grade.

Secretly I thought every computer came with a light-motorcycle.

It was a big deal, even up until high school, that I not only had a computer but knew how use The Mystical Interwebs and rip music.

Compare that to today where the two-year-old son of one of my employees now comes to my office each Monday and can do backflips around several online computer programs.

Damn kids these days.

But this is not about the future generations of this God Fearing nation. No, this is about Jeff Bridges coming back in all his Dude glory to kick some ass in 16-bit world.

"It's just a game..."

Friday, July 25, 2008

Belligerent-tini

1 part Italian whack job politician
1 part Irish old man politician
Squeeze of overprotective, misguided museum officials

Mix vigorously over the week with three corrections and plenty of ice.
Pour into tall glass rimmed with e-mails declaring your worthlessness from past employees.

Add a dash of zealous, racist and retarded School District Officials (for taste)
Garnish with delusional staff writer coked-out Art Director

Serve with a shot of Bourbon, neat. And repeat.

Tonight, I suspect, I will drink enough to dance wildly in the streets to some cracked out DJ. Hide your children and your daughters.

Daft Punk girls, take it away.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Correction

It seems our last entry into this journal of mayhem might have been a little off base.

Sure, my mom is loony as a fox when it comes to airports, but she did not grab the kid's bag as they attempted to evacuate the Las Vegas Airport faster than a MASH unit.

Seems in the chaos and confusion that is filing into a mini-van one by one caused my grandmother to grab the kid's duffel full of toys. I knew the old lady could swear like a sailor, but I did not know she also had a thread of thievery in her, too. Maybe it was that Vegas air that got to her — it's a dry heat with a waft of money.

I know when I have bested. We may not uphold the highest of journalism standards — especially spellcheck — when it comes to the Wednesday Weekly and her vile postings, but I know deep down when I need to issue a correction.

The Wednesday Weekly regrets the error...

OK, so really this was just a chance for me to post these photos of old people acting old. Enjoy!

Reuters

"Careful, Senator, we don't want you breaking a hip. Oh, check out this sweet decal I got for my ride..."

Associated Press
"You know what I hate, John, young people..."
"You said it, George. Hey, it's 4 p.m., time for dinner."

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Does not travel well with others

LAS VEGAS — I can only imagine the tears one Las Vegas teen must be crying at this hour.

Maybe he was coming home from some far flung sumer camp where he learned to love himself, or maybe a weekend trip to Grandma's up in Port Washington. Possibly he was finishing a tour of the sights of this God Fearing country and was waiting for his family to bring up the car.

Whatever this kids was doing at the Las Vegas Airport on thing is true; it took my mother a whole 30 minutes in the City of Sin to commit grand theft larceny as she grabbed the kid's bag and made a mad dash for The Strip.

The family would later find out that as she was frantically pulling bags out of the airport to throw them in the car she had also grabbed this kids unmarked duffel bag that held close to a $1,000 worth of electronics and CDs. All in an attempt to get the hell out of dodge as she tried once again to outrun her deep-seeded fear of airports.

Oh, yes. Airports. Not flying, Not security. Just the airport experience itself.

She seizes up as she walks though the terminal. Approaching bag check-in her eyes glaze over and become bloodshot as she begins to shake and heave luggage at the nearest person in a uniform. Nothing could ever reverse this train wreck hurtling toward the security check point as she throws her hands in the air and loudly bemoans the fact that the grandparents have to get an extra pat-down.

All that's missing is the little fleck of spittle at the corner of her mouth that could indicate she might have rabies. That might actually be easier to explain.

When we tried checking in to fly on a family trip to New York last year, I had to physically restrain the woman as my brothers tried to get bags checked and everyone through security. Once the dust settles, though, everything returns to normal and we are free to travel - sans crazy.

But this time the rush and madness got to everyone as no one questioned the extra bag she had grabbed in the Vegas Terminal. It was not until curisoity got the best of one brother at the hotel that he deicded to check out the situation.

Meanwhile, in Kansas City, I shake my head and hope she does not grab an extra kids in her zeal to get out of the airport on the way home.

Friday, July 18, 2008

ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!!!!!!!!


BATMAN!!!!!

Tonight we will see the most recent installment of the Batman franchise. As someone who has watched every cartoon and movie — yes, even the George Clooney version — I have to say I am most excited for this one.

Easily, the best superhero ever teamed up with the best villain...EVER.

Yeah, I said it. Batman is the only hero I have ever talked about so vehemently that I have, in fact, been thrown out of bars as I attempt to defend his honor.

Spiderman, Superman X-men? All freaks of nature whose powers were handed to them like candy and condoms.

Really, the only thing that would make Batman better is if he were made of Legos...

...oh, wait a tick.




The Internet is (not always) for porn. Vol II

4,000 donations in less than 48 hours, HOLY FUCK!


When the rally call went out to internet fanboys and geeks across the nation, they responded like they were getting a chance to see Freema Agyeman naked in the TARDIS.

But there was no porn involved on this internet sensation fundraiser.

In less than 48 hours Sean Tevis, a buddy running for state rep. in Kansas, had more than 4,000 donors coming out of the virtual woodwork to help his campaign.

Yes, no mistake there, 4,000 people donated at least $8.43 to Tevis and his campaign in less than two days shattering the record of 644 donors in a single state rep campaign. Well, let's be fair, he did not just shatter it, he embarrassed it, mocked its father and then slapped its mother in the mouth.

If I were a real journalist I would probably offer some kind of quote or mention of Tevis and his issues. Instead I am going to point that by my calculations — via Mac Calculator — this means Tevis's campaign just scored, at a minimum, $33,720 to run against this doofer.

This, of course, does not account for the people who donated above and beyond the $8.43 as many said they did on forums and boards across the Web (I said I'd do pretty much anything for a free t-shirt, even pay for it).

But what is more astounding is that the donations keep rolling in. Even today, more and more stream in well above the 3,000 mark he set for himself on Tuesday.

Congrats to Tevis and good luck in the election. At this point, I think he has officially earned himself the title of Bad Ass and should probably consider using this as his campign theme song.

...but then again, this is why I am not campaign manager. Just vying for that spot as Secretary of Keeping it Real, bitches.


Thursday, July 17, 2008

The Internet is (not always) for porn.


OK, so really its more like a 60-40 split on porn to non-porn activities...alright, more like 80-20.

But Sean Tevis, running for the State Legislature out in Kansas-land, has found a genius way to get people to literally send him money for simply being him — and he did not even have to take his clothes off this time to do it.

Instead, he uses a brilliant comic strip with no exposed boobs.

No joke here, my slack elite. In one day, Tevis has gotten close to 1,500 people to send him donations for his campaign for the state seat shattering the previously held record of 644. But rather than preaching to the illiterate deadbeats who make up the usual electorate, Tevis is using his inter-web magic to gather what he is hoping will be more than 3,000 people from all over the country to donate to his campaign... similar to Obama's "Give what you can campaign."

Using his sheer brilliance and ability to twist in several inside internet jokes, nerds sitting in their parents' basements heeded the call and donated — probably typing with one hand. But watch out for that Rick Roll — you have been warned.

If you do nothing else today, at least check his site out and throw some support behind this guy who is looking to break several other records in his bid for the state seat.

... oh, and if you did not feel nerdy enough, here is a World of Warcraft musical...

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Untitled

I have never touted this foul blog as anything literary.

Not once have I figured it to be enlightening or deep or meaningful to anyone other than the drunk that sits behind the keyboard and rat-a-tat-tats out the words that fill this void in the middle of the night.

But when those few and far moments of inspiration do happen, I feel it is only right to offer some kind of thoughtful diatribe about my experience and share it with you; offer you a glimpse into the inner workings and demented mind that pens this atrocity each week.

Well, dear slackers, that is not happening this week. I tried, I really did. But New York and one Johnson (comma) L have thrown me for a complete loop and dumped a heaping Hamburger Helping of writers block at my feet.

I wanted to tell you about the five hours of rock where I saw aging hipsters and goofy bands play their hearts out until 2 a.m. on the same state Springsteen got his start. As the opening band ended its set, the front man — after screaming and writhing on stage — thanked his Mom and cousins and uncles who were all in the audience bopping along to lyrics that sounds more like "fuck authority" than "I love you, Mom."

This filing was supposed to be a phantasmagorical look into a Met's game where an entire section, so wrapped up in rivalry and pride, chanted loudly and booed a 5-year-old kid for wearing a Philly's hat.

"He deserved it. Where was his mother in all this. She should know better," I was told.

If I learned nothing from these insane souls it's that nobody is safe if they hail from Philadelphia. But when you win eight in a row, I suppose that is cause for celebration — and vociferous yelling at toddlers.

I had hoped to offer here some deep comparison to life and adventure as I told you about eating goat meat, draining frilly cocktails and watching the bartender set fruit oils on fire. It seems only natural as my companion and I discussed exes, life, death, popularity, The Rolling Stones, Bourbon and everything that matters in between for hours that night.

The morning would come too soon. I wanted to write as I attempted to begin a story about a vast conspiracy brewing among Jellyfish worldwide to keep me out of the Atlantic Ocean. One got close to taking me down, but my fight/flight instincts took over and I found myself clinging to the beach until someone suggested we hit the pool instead.

Only the Starfish are my allies now. Why couldn't I write like that in the beginning?

I have always had a strong wonder lust for adventure. Travel, movement and new experiences have, for the most part, defined why most of my family thinks I am strange and reckless. They glance with sideways eyes and wonder, "Will he ever stop?"

But as I drove home from the airport, drunk on exhaustion and barreling down the highway at 90 mph, I watched one more time as my own city peaked over the final bluff before I descended into the valley going home from the latest adventure. On this deep summer Sunday, the buildings light up the other valley wall.

There is no comparing the two cities or its people — and lord knows I could never try. They are different and great in their own wonderful ways.


But it does not take much to recognize the adventure gnawing at me. How could I ignore it? Each time i get deeper into this, the question becomes less about If I will do it and is stepping closer and closer to When.

Now, If only I knew how to write about it.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

[Applause Here]

My brothers love gratuitous recognition; whether it is the slow clap from one sibling in a crowded restaurant, or waving to a imaginary crowd after finishing an entire jar of salsa.

But last week we added a new layer in ego pumping to one of these little ceremonies; a professional camera.

Yes, as we took down the five-year-old basketball goal in our front yard, The Basketball Player decided he needed to practice for the day he makes it to the Final Four. It was not the camera that egged these jackasses on. No, this would have happened regardless. The camera merely allowed me prove their/our arrogance to use as fodder for this foul dumping ground.



Make no mistake, that would be one of them climbing the step ladder to cut down the net on the broken goal.

One, of course, could not be out done by the other, mind you.



Oh, and don't think for a second I was above waving to the imaginary and adoring masses gathered on the driveway.

Monday, July 07, 2008

E! True Hollywood Stories: The Rock-afire Explosion

You got to ask yourself sometime: What really made our generation so fucking weird?

The pills? The booze? The instant technology that could whisk us away to a world of celebrities, porn and celebrity porn? No, Generation Worthless, I blame something more devious.

The music, specifically, The Rock-afire Explosion.

You tell me you never caught one of Rock-afire's transmorgifying shows and began, right there, with half a pizza in your belly, to question the existence of God.

Well, someone hell bent on dredging back up this part of our past put together a feature film on the band.



But really, the reason you come to The Wednesday Weekly is to see what happens when twisted freaks get hold of that kind of technology and really pervert the hell out of life.

Which you can see here...

Sunday, July 06, 2008

Disaster in Kansas

Don't let the title fool you, friends. This disaster was not like the Hindenberg slamming into the flat Kansas farmland.

Fuck no. This disaster, however, left only me running for the hills after witnessing my roommate and his friend strip naked and cannonball into a swimming pool where his wives, relatives and several others were already waiting, also naked.

I had been warned. I had been told to expect this and should brace myself for what has become an annual tradition for this hedonistic group. Not even the Pagen worshipers of the past could hold a candle to the debauchery and insanity that I was taking in though my own bleary eyes this Fifth of July.

Sure, stripping down and jumping into a pool is nothing new. I have vague memories and recollections of one such night in Cape Cod — another night that got painted as a disaster where many of us woke up confused, half naked and uncertain of what we had wrought on that quiet resort location.

Still, it takes a considerable amount of testicular fortitude for me to take off my own shirt in public off let alone strip naked in front of a group of strangers — and this even followed two bottles of wild turkey, half a dozen Sparks and a bottle of homemade beer.

No amount of sobrity was standing in my way. Even in a drunken stupor, it seems, I still have some modicum of shame left in me.

I have found my first boundary — Public nudity. Who would have thought?

Friday, July 04, 2008

Happy Fourth of July: redux

Some seemed to have thought my tone earlier was a a bit harsh for this fine holiday.

Well, a case of beer later and several near misses with the explosives, I feel I might have found a better way to send a proper greeting.

Inter-webs, you have yet to disappoint me.

Happy Fourth of July, idiots.

It's a day of patriotism. A day of remembering our glorious history. A day to blow off your pinky and middle finger.

If the Fourth of July does nothing else for this country it at leasts allows those tired, wretched and poor huddled masses a chance to drunkenly blow up something in celebration of this country.

Northeast for the last two days have been a clusterfuck as folks started celebrating — or shooting — early

Now, don't think for a second that I am going to go on some sanctimonious tirade about how much fireworks are dangerous or need to be stopped. I was at the front lines in the past with a roman candle in one hand and bottle rockets in the other as my cousins and I would run around in our own mock war of sparkling green and blue streaking though the air.

Those were the good old days; When part of celebrating the birth of this nation was showing off the scars you had gotten when your brother launched a parachute right at your face.

I leave you today with a little inspirational music to help you as you light that next firecracker aimed at your mother. As with anything else on this day, play it loud and 'ooo' and 'ahhh' along.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Dallas at dawn

While it mostly fuels the insanity while awake, Bourbon, most recently, has taken to fueling the insanity of my mind while I sleep, too.

Crazy, vivid dreams are nothing new for the mentally deranged tour guide on this roller coaster of life. But dreaming about things, people and events as they happened from the past must mean the wheels have truly come off the apple cart this time.

We sought solace and comfort from the sideways rain and hurricane-style winds in our favorite bar and hunkered down for a storm. We covered our heads with Gin, Bourbon and the greasy details of life as they confronted us this past week.

When the drink finally took hold and put me down for the night, I was seemingly removed to a morning where I found myself again hiding in a bottle of Bourbon from that day's onslaught of news.

I don't remember when it happened, but it was within the last two years. I was saddling up to the airport bar deep in the heart of the Dallas-Love Airfield. At 8 a.m. the place was just coming to life and those select few were waiting for the first drink of the day to compliment their egg sandwiches and cereal.

Only the lonely and depraved drink at an airport bar this early in their travels.

Every television in the terminal was tuned to the morning news, which sought fit to air the hanging of the latest deposed dictator.

"This is going to be graphic so please look away," the made-up news doll said to 3.5 million people across the country that were preparing to ignore her request stare blankly at the scene before them.

The encore performance was to show the body being taken down from the wooden gallows and placed in a body bag; wrapped up like a present for whom ever was following in his footsteps. Madness everywhere and the Bloody Mary to my right and Screwdriver to my left did not even blink.

It didn't matter from my stool, though. My glass was empty and it was time for number three before I headed to my gate and boarded a plane.

I don't go through Dallas anymore. That leg of the trip was always the most interesting as it meant I had been drinking on a plane for two hours and now was preparing to drink for 70 more.

I don't drink in airports anymore, either. My experience in Dallas put an end to that habit. We have enough tempered glass and fake barrooms here in town to waste that much money drinking in a state of limbo — not quite in the city to be a tourist, not quite en route to claim it clams the nerves after takeoff or for landing.

Next week we stop in Detroit en route to New York. Let's hope this dream was not a warning of one more bad habit attempting to surface.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Those Kansas City boys on those Kansas City nights

There are a select few in my life who have shared with me some great music from their deep collections and dusty vaults.

They revel in the ability to share their favorites that have kept them melodically twisting in the wind for years in hipster obscurity.

I, on the other hand, prefer to subject you bastards to some of the worst aural pleasures that I can find...well, usually others find and then I foist them onto you, my sad sack of willing lab rats.



Not only does this win top prize for being a fancy-dancy pop song, but it also makes reference to, you guessed it, Kansas City. Ignore the fact that the video is a send up of the Wizard of Oz — set in that desolate plain-state known as Kansas.

Unless this Australian gal is singing about some guy in KCK (shudder), then The Sneaky Sound System is definitely pining for someone here on the Missouri side.

Got this one from another blogger here in the area. On to our next train wreck for your ears — you know you can't look away.



If you have only known me for the last two weeks then it will make sense why this is my second pick for worst song I discovered this week.

It's not really new to me, per se, I am sure I heard this song the first time I watched this mind-blowing episode of the Doctor Who, but this was the first time I actively searched for who sang this chair-dance-inducing artist.

Get crazy, its dance pop and the Doctor.