While you are out at work, a man drives his SUV into your house and kills your entire family. He claims he did this because he thought somehow it would be of service to you. Fortunately, as luck would have it, your grandmother is at the beauty parlor at the time and her life is spared. Unfortunately, she arrives home as the man is leaving and somehow he manages to kill her too. So you gradually go about the task of fixing your house and mourning the loss of your family and assume that you will be left alone to do it in a way that you deem fit. But then, during the course of your rebuilding, the man begins criticizing you. He doesn’t care for the brand of sheetrock you are using and he thinks the place was structurally more sound with the ass-end of his flaming car sticking out of it (and your dead family strewn about the front lawn). He calls you in the middle of the night to tell you this. He takes out an ad in the local paper and manages to convince a local radio station to allow him to broadcast his critique to your entire hometown. To say that I think we should ignore this man is an understatement of the greatest proportions and the truth is I don’t think that all of us should. I think all but one of us should. I also think that the one, non-ignoring person’s job should be to follow him around wherever he goes and hit him, at regular intervals, with a cricket bat. Then, on the day that he dies, we should all stop ignoring him for just one brief shining moment...and rejoice.

Internet Porn

Anyone who is reading this is probably old enough to remember the days before Internet pornography. When acquiring pornographic material meant living by your wits and discovering it in Dad’s secret hiding place or, if you were old enough, dealing with the shame (and strangely the judgment of the dude selling it to you) of having to actually go and buy it. There was a level of respect and appreciation in those days that just doesn’t exist anymore. We treated it much like the Native American treated the Buffalo. First we gave thanks to the porn gods and then we dug in. And we used all of it. Starting with the table of contents, moving on to the stories and cartoons, right on down to the postage stamp sized phone-sex ads at the back. Nothing was wasted and nothing was ever thrown away. I distinctly remember a sack of porn from college (a Hefty Lawn and Leaf Bag to be exact) that was passed from house to house. One day you’d wake to find it on your doorstep and it was understood that you would accept it graciously and give it a kind and caring home. I think one of the problems is that there are just too many sites out there and, not unlike the crappy news we now get as a result of the 24 hour news cycle, this means a lot of the content just isn’t up to par (not that I would know any of this firsthand but I do have two trusty Internet porn research assistants who tell me so). For instance, if two fat people in New Jersey start having sex, someone is firing up the dv-cam, filming it and then posting it to some site with the word “tube” in the title, i.e. NewJerseyFatPeopleSexTube. Not that there is anything wrong with fat people having sex mind you. I have plenty of fat friends but whenever they start having sex not only do I not film it, I usually leave the room. The other issue that my “too many sites theory” raises is that many of the site names don’t make sense any more. Newcomers have been forced to string random words together in meaningless combinations like: PussyCockAssDonkeyMountain.com or TittyManTeenKingMovieMonsterBusFlower.tv (I don’t actually know if either of these site names are taken by the way. If you’re interested I suggest you act fast). But of all the sites that my trusty research assistants came across there was one in particular that I was offended by; Ass is Ass. Yep, that’s right. Ass is just Ass, end of story. Is anyone else bothered by this? How about, Ass is Amazing? Or, Ass is Awesome. Or Ass is the thing that will one-day cause you to get hit by a bus. Those are all much more ass-appropriate porn site names if you ask me. I don’t know what tagline BMW is using these days to get people to buy their cars but I know what it isn’t: BMW, a car is a car. I don’t know what Porsche is using either but I’m pretty sure it’s not: Porsche, there’s probably another well-engineered German sports car out there just like ours, maybe you should buy that one instead. Okay, so, yeah, ignore some Internet porn and go do something productive. Learn to speak Mandarin Chinese or help Stephen Hawking figure out his theory of everything or at the very least help the Ass is Ass people come up with a better name for their site...wait a minute, here’s a thought: Ass, the ultimate driving machine. Nah, probably taken.

Method Actors

Can we all just agree that being an actor isn’t that fucking hard? That to play Batman you don’t have to get so totally lost inside the character that you go completely insane. It’s Batman dude. We all played him as kids and none of us got so into it we tried to punch our Moms (okay some of us did but we were like 9 years old and Mom probably deserved it by calling us for dinner when we were like totally fucking into it). I think we should salary cap these people and start handing out suspensions for un-actorly like conduct. Like when you bitch out your Director of Photography for 20 minutes and threaten him with bodily harm during the filming of T4 you should be fined and sent back to the minors. Go make some Flomax commercials for the next year and prove yourself to us again. Make me believe you are a 67 year-old man who is happy he can ride his bike with his friends because his piss-flow has been restored. That’s acting. Or better yet, go clean the toilets at Grand Central Station for a while and act like you think god doesn’t hate you. Let’s also ignore method actors when they bitch and moan because some paparazzi has violated their privacy by taking their picture. Newsflash Stanislavski, you make the obscene amount of money you make for being a public figure. So if someone wants to snap a picture of your famous, naked, sunbathing ball-bag shut up and go buy yourself another Ferrari. The rest of us, and our non-famous balls, are actually working for a living and worrying about paying rent and having sex with ugly people. So stop whining, drop your pants and tell your balls to smile.

The Next Middle East Peace Plan

I’m no Friedman or Carter or anyone with a particularly in-depth knowledge of the festering sore that is the Middle East, and by “festering sore that is the Middle East” I mean the festering Israeli/Palestinian sore...but I do know this: there is only one plan that will make peace in the Middle East and it is a plan I like to call My Plan. My Plan is based on a highly non-academic theory known as the One Big Wheel - Two Kid Theory but it makes more sense than anything else I have ever heard on the subject. When my brother and I were fighting over the one Big Wheel my parents foolishly bought us, thinking we would share it, there was only one peace plan available for consideration and it was the “share it or we are taking it away from both of you” plan. We never shared it. It was always taken away. And more often than not, we would skulk off to play street hockey. Peace in the form of the two of us beating the shit out of each other with hockey sticks. Not all that peaceful perhaps, but all was certainly quiet on the Big Wheel front. My Plan takes the One Big Wheel - Two Kid Theory and applies it directly to the One Motherland - Two Claimant problem thusly...First you get the Friedmans, the Carters, the Clintons and whoever else wants to join in the futility to come up with one last brilliant, Israel/Palestine share-plan that will be rejected at the final hour of a 12 day summit for some totally arbitrary reason (like there was a menstruating pig in the vicinity when the catered lunch was delivered) and then...you take it away from both of them. You then turn the region formerly known as Israel, Palestine, Canaan, etc. into international territory and technically property of everyone, including all the religious wing-nuts that still believe their god is going to ride back into town and crown their people king (and wipe out the Jews of course because all gods, except for the cool Jewish one, want to wipe out the Jews). The Jews and Palestinians are then relocated to deserts of their choosing at opposite ends of the planet. That’s My Plan-A. My Plan-B is you still take it away from both of them but instead of making it international territory you give it to the Disney Corporation. They then turn it into a theme park called Holyland and start raking in the shekels; half of which must be used to bail out the world’s festering sore of an economy. When you arrive at the gates of Holyland, instead of being greeted by creepy people in Goofy and Mickey suits, you will be greeted by creepy people wearing Yasser Arafat and Menachem Begin suits. Some quick snaps on the old iPhone with some of the heroes of the horrors of the last 50 odd years and then off you go to wait 9 hours for one ride on Falafel Mountain. After that, you can buy an overpriced bag of foam rubber rocks at any one of the many concession stands and throw them at brightly colored tanks as they roll by blaring “It’s a Small Jew and Palestinian Hating World After All”, or even better, you can hurl them at people as they fly past you on the latest death defying roller-coaster called The Rubber Bullet. Peace and prosperity for one and all. Temporary peace at any rate...bring on the hockey sticks.