The Seven Wonders of the World

An online poll recently determined the new Seven Wonders of the World. The denizens of the Interweb picked a wall, a statue of Jesus, and several piles of rocks. Scott Colby is quite disappointed with these results, as he can see all these things if he peeks into his neighbor's yard.

Of course, Scott Colby must step forward and right this most heinous of wrongs. Here are his REAL Seven Wonders of the World:

• New York's Mother - Sister Patterson is three times holier than any Jesus statue and made of even harder stone. If she called for fire and brimstone to fall from the heavens, I'd dive under the nearest table, mostly because there's a pretty good chance her terrible bellow would bring the ceiling crashing down upon my head. Sister Patterson holds two distinctions not likely to be matched anytime soon: she's the only man on record as having given birth, and she's the only human being who can take a crowbar to the face without blinking. I suspect she's Chuck Norris's evil twin sister.
• The Woot-Off - A website that sells one product until that product is sold out? When will the current piece of crap go away? What's coming next? How many times is this damn website going to try to convince me I want a Leak Frog or $5000 projector? Hours of fun at work, school, and/or funerals.
• The Milky Way Lounge - 80's night, karaoke, $2 Brubakers, bowling, pool, and cracked out Jamaica Plain people. Hot damn.
• J-Rags in a suave hat - Check out Justin's new Facebook picture in the top right of this post. The entire city of Boston demands that he wear that fedora everywhere he goes, and that he tuck three Cuban cigars into his chest pocket as an added accent. The perfect look for ghost riding the whip or screaming at the migrant workers to pick oranges faster. Also, Al Gore would be extremely proud of Justin, as he's not drinking wine straight from the bottle just to be a trashy wine-o, but rather to save the water it would take to wash a glass.
  
• Scott Colby's alien blasting abilities - Seriously, those fuckers don't stand a chance. And when planet earth is finally invaded for real, one man will stand alone and send those bastard E.T.'s packing back to Uranus.
• The Worcester Palladium - Built from the bones of several million homeless culled from the streets of the The Woo, the Palladium is a true marvel of modern engineering. Paint based on slime collected from the city streets amplifies the acoustics of the main theater to generate perfect sound. Many fine community college graduates have been conceived in these hallowed halls.
  
• Yuppies - Recently confirmed to produce asexually, yuppies nonetheless travel in packs typically consisting of up to five slightly paunchy men in striped button down shirts and up to four conservatively dressed women who appear attractive after five drinks but are too annoying to actually converse with until you've had seven or eight. Yuppies are known to enjoy Volkswagons and GAP commercials and can often be found nesting under piles of IKEA furniture. By day, these creatures frequent Starbucks and snooty cafes. Their animalistic side comes out at night when they travel to overpriced tourist bars to dine on Bud Light, Cosmopolitans, and the occasional Kamikaze shot. Beware the popped collar, as it is a sure sign that a yuppie is about to spontaneously give birth, a process which releases a noxious gas known to drive typically sane individuals to shop in J. Crew and Pink. In their larval stage, yuppies often serve as hall monitors and student council representatives, while the more adventurous among them join the theater club. From what vile pit of hell did these creatures first spawn? Are they really as better than you as their disdainful stares imply? Will science ever find a means of translating their imperious language into something you and I can listen to without wanting to bash our skulls in with the nearest blunt object? Will Josh Moody and his ragtag band of freedom fighters ever free us from the secret society of Yuppie overlords that secretly controls the planet? There are some mysteries the human race just may not be intended to unravel.

Impeachment, etc

Two thoughts before my main body of work:

1. It's been two weeks since Vince McMahon's limo exploded. Not to disrespect Sensational Sherry and definitely not to disrespect Chris Benoit, who's always been one of my favorites and was by all accounts a genuinely good person, but isn't it ironic that two WWE personalities have been found dead since Vince's fake death? Vince, if you have a heart, please come out of hiding and tell us it was all a joke before karma takes away Doink the Clown and the Miz.

2. The red line is an amazing vehicle. On my way home today I wound up sitting next to a tourist who spoke exactly like Arnold Schwarzennegger, and his accent amused me for the entire ride. The crowning moment came when he uttered the phrase "I really fancied that corn muffin, but I had to catch the train" and then proceeded to do his best imitation of a five-year-old girl running after the ice cream truck. Seriously, say "I really fancied that corn muffin" in your best impersonation of the governator and tell me it doesn't make you laugh.

On to the main event! Our title for the evening:

Proof that the Democratic Party Has No Balls

Now that the Democrats control the legislature, they've got a chance to do something about W's transgressions by impeaching him. They've got many reasons to act, including:

• Wiretapping American citizens without a warrant.
• Abusing the Patriot Act by using the office of Homeland Security to track down a group of Democratic state legislators in the midst of a mobile filibuster and intimidating them to approve the rezoning law they were seeking to stop which wound up giving several seats to the Republican party.
• Most of the people George hires end up resigning amidst controversy and/or legal action. If he had any other job, he'd probably be shitcanned just for this.
  
• Negligence in preventing the 9/11 tragedy when both the CIA and the FBI attempted to warn him, and gross negligence in accepting a forged document as indisputable proof that Saddam possessed weapons of mass destruction aimed at your children.

And yet, no impeachment vote, despite the fact that the state legislatures of Massachusetts, Vermont, and California have passed referendums calling for one.

To put things into perspective, let's examine our country's previous impeachment of a president.

While the Republican party was in power, they impeached Bill Clinton for the following transgressions:

• He lied to a grand jury under oath so that his crazy wife wouldn't find out he was diddling an intern and chew his testicles off.

I may have to vote for Bloomberg.

Gwen Stefani is pregant!?!?!?!?! Holy cracked out baby names!!!!!!!!

Few bits of news as old as Ms. Stefani's baby bulge deserve so much punctuation.

I for one will be waiting with baited breath to learn what gem of a moniker that poor kid's going to get stuck with. If she takes the common sense route and names it after her deceased brother, I just might cry.

A few possibilities:

- Lemon Crumpet.
- Fergie (it is a little known fact that Fergie is in fact Gwen Stefani's daughter come back from the future in an attempt to save her mother from death on the London Bridge).
- Boris Andrew Nathan Alexander Newton Aaron (with his last name involved, B.A.N.A.N.A.S.)
- Joshua Moody (in honor of the only man who ever comments on this blog).
- Hoggle.
- Comet.
- !.
- Saaphyri.

Vince is my hero

Say what you will about Vince McMahon and his product - but before you do that, name one Chairman of another company who takes as active a role in manufacturing his product as Vince. The man deserves his due.

That said, this week's episode of Monday Night Raw was Vince McMahon Appreciation Night. During the course of this night, superstars past and present gave their thoughts on the boss - and, of course, nobody had anything nice to say.

Fast forward to the end of the program. An obviously disturbed Vince walked past the entire WWE roster without saying so much as a single word to anyone, even the individuals who'd most slandered his name. He climbed into his limousine and closed the door...and the entire thing exploded.

And three million viewers simultaneously said "What the fuck?"

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I read a bit of wrestling analysis on the good old Interweb. Most of this analysis is just random garbage by a bunch of hacks who don't understand proper punctuation and can't stick to one tense. If they're qualified to write about wrestling, so am I.

And I'm going to start by telling each and every one of them that they're wrong about their analysis of Vince's "death."

Every column I've read is examining this storyline as a "murder," but that's incorrect. It was a "suicide."

Look at the timing of the event. The explosion occured at the end of Vince McMahon Appreciation Night, after everyone and their brother had gotten through ripping Vince a new one when they were supposed to be reminiscing about his good qualities.

The point of this, of course, is that Vince is an evil, manipulative bastard. It would fit his character completely to have him fake his own suicide in an attempt to make the entire WWE roster feel like absolute shit about the way they just treated him.

And then he'll show up to laugh in everyone's face, and it will amuse me greatly. Dastardly Vince is good TV.

The First Annual I Stole Your Lunch Science Fair

Hell, if a bunch of Creationists are qualified to run a Science Fair, so am I.

Suggested topics:

- Locate the man responsible for the term "enhanced interrogation techniques" and determine how many sessions with the waterboard it will take for him to reclassify this method as torture.

- Prove the indestructibility of Hottie's weave. Would this make a good replacement for the thermal tiles that fall off the space shuttle?

- Collect the slime growing on the floor of the Foggy Goggle and apply it to the inside of the Statue of Liberty. Prove the slime's paranormal powers by using an NES Advantage controller to manipulate Lady Liberty into rescuing the baby from Vigo. Secondary objectives: track down Rick Moranis's missing career and find out how Dan Aykroyd got so damn fat.

- Using a line graph, plot the amount of time it takes for a Taco Bell fueled fart to travel from one end of a Green Line Trolley to the other using the facial expressions of the other passengers as your only measurement device.

- Determine the number of times you have to say "dirty bomb" into the telephone before the NSA wire taps send the black helicopters to come get you. Note: this is best done from the home phone of someone you would like to see disappear - and I don't mean David Copperfield.

- Construct a replica of Noah's Ark to show how Noah's nautical standards are not quite up to par with Scott Colby's. Suggest good locations for a helipad, a hot tub, and a taxidermy station.

- Use a Venn Diagram to illustrate the Loch Ness Monster's insistence on receiving hand outs of exactly "tree-fitty."

- Fake a paternity test. Note: bonus points for tricking a celebrity.

- Apply a thick layer of Bruce Campbell's sweat to the biggest loser you know. Does said loser suddenly become the coolest kid on the block or does he just begin to smell really bad?

- Perform plastic surgery on a family member with a garden trowel and a bucket of spackle. Could such a procedure help New York's mama look less like a man?

- Determine the best beer for use in a game of pong based on factors such as taste, rate of inebriation, and cup stability.

- Examine the effects of a Woot Off on average office productivity.

Science Fair!

I was entirely way too amused by the project suggestions in this article:

http://www.tccsa.tc/fair/fair_ideas.html

Note that these are for a "Creation Science" Fair. As such, "Why did God do it this way?" is a popular back end of all the two part questions - to which I would consistently answer "because he fucking felt like it."

A few of these topics merit further examination.

3. Make a computer model of the Flood currents.

This is the one I would take because it's the easiest. Steal a map of the world from Google, pop it into Photoshop, hit the "Waves" filter, and spend the rest of the afternoon playing XBox while all the good little kids are writing five page essays attempting to explain why God "did it this way."

4. Statistical occurrence of giants, and midgets and dwarfs and giantism. Use Princess Flo, Goliath, and brothers.

A perfect topic for wrestling fans.

8. How much voltage or current can a human take before he is killed? Could do experiments on a plant.

This one sounds like fun, though I'm not sure why students would need a plant when they most likely have a younger sibling or a pet of some sort.

10. What was life like before the Flood?

Dry.

22. Could a person function without thumbs? or What would it be like to not have thumbs?

Another good one for a younger sibling.

30. Why does the ocean appear blue but when it is in a bucket it is clear?

Buckets are the devil. If you play Ozzy Osbourne's "Mama I'm Comin' Home" backward, Ozzy will tell you as much.

40. Does sea currents affect climate?

Yes, it do.

46. Where are teeth stored?

In your ass. Good luck brushing.

48. Is there a way for humans to get to Jupiter? Mars? etc.

Only with a really large trampoline.

55. Why do only mammals have hair?

Because a shaggy fish would look pretty damn stupid.

58. Why did God create the moon to control the tides?

Because a great big switch lacks style.

72. What is God made of?

If we're lucky, Guinness. Although if the universe has any sense of irony, God is made of the exact same stuff as Richard Simmons.

83. Why do people believe in Evolution?

School! You off galivantin' with yo fancy foozball friends at school! School is the devil!

84. What events caused them to become evolutionists?

A lack of good quality wine at Sunday service.

101.If there were aliens, why would they visit humans?

They're just looking for someone with which to watch Charm School.

102.Why do we have pimples? Did God goof?

No. Rampant acne is God's way of putting a giant "LOSER" sign on someone so that LARPers and anime nerds can't blend in with the rest of us.

Two weeks in one

Yeah, I missed one. Sue me. I've been planning something spectacular, and it's proven more difficult than I thought. I believe I've finally discovered the right mixture of flat Diet Coke, Jack Daniels, meat lover's pizza, and horrible baseball announcers to bring this idea to life.

So tonight, as I watch the Tigers and the Twins in eager anticipation of Charm School, I'm going to play matchmaker. You can send Pumkin and Mr. Boston a thank you card.

• First off, ESPN Sunday Night Baseball announcers Joe Morgan and Fat Old White Guy could make thermonuclear war about as interesting as watching paint dry. Or, if you prefer, they could make Hottie's weave sound as breathtaking as Krazy's singing career. Don Orsillo sounds downright boisterous in comparison.
• But either one of them would've been a better host than Mo'Nique.
• Our first couple of the evening: Goldie and Tango. He wanted Tiffany, but he got New York? If Tiffany's New York, then Goldie's Delaware. She's boring, and she'll like his mother, and she'll do a great job organizing his closet so he'll always be able to find the matching cap that came with his suit.
• The Sox need to trade Wily Mo Pena to the Twins for starting pitcher Boof Bonser. Not because he's good, as he appears to be a Rich Garces waiting to happen, but because the cheesy NESN commercial featuring Hazel Mae saying "Boooooooooooooooooof!" will amuse me for days.
• Boof reminds me of a young David Wells: big dude, sick curveball, bitch ass attitude on the mound, baggy unifrom that his children could use as a pup tent. Someone get this kid a handle of Beam so he'll pitch a no-hitter.
  
• Actually, scratch that - he could very well be pregnant, and we all know that a bun in the oven plus too much booze equals what happened to Schatar.
  
• Couple number two: Smiley and Romance. They both need someone sensitive, and "their song" can be "Cry Me a River." Or any of the fifty-some-odd pop songs titled "Cryin'." The tissue industry will thank them forever.
  
• Why is Andre Agassi hosting "National Bingo Night?"
  
• Krazy and 12-Pack. Now playing on Cinemax at 2 am every Thursday night.
  
• Seriously, these jackasses in the ESPN booth make Jim Ross and Jerry "The King" Lawler look like the original Monday Night Football crew. The hack that just gave up 6 runs in three innings is only the third player in MLB history with the initials "V. V."? Really? Glad you were here to explain that to me, because I probably would've just put those two V's together and thought he was a W.
• Someone get me a fake paternity test so I can tell people my real father is Bruce Campbell. Seriously. If I could pick a famous father, the list would go like this: Bruce Campbell, Bill Murray, Vince McMahon. Honorable mentions: Pedro Martinez, Chance.
  
• Think it's tough finding something for your mama on Mother's Day? Something tells me New York spent at least two and a half hours crying in the bathroom this afternoon.
  
• Mama Boucher: Did they ever catch that go-rilla what escaped from the zoo and punched you in the eye?
  Bobby Boucher: N-n-no, mama, the suspect is still at large. Sister Patterson is still on the TV.
• Bootz, Buckeey, Chance, and Real. They can trade every week.
• Let's take a second to examine the show's title: "Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School. Starring Mo'Nique." Excuse me? I know thirteen girls who should be moderately pissed that Fat Tyra gets top billing. Find me one person that started watching this show just because they were such a huge Mo'Nique fan, and I'll expand this blog to include in depth analysis of Celebrity Kind-of-out-of-shape Club.
• Oh boy, business! And custom perfumes! Here we go:
• Becky's scent - the backseat of the '76 Camaro that's been on cinder blocks in front of her trailer for the past fifteen years.
  
• Pumkin's scent - the sheets at the Worcester Holiday Inn.
• Darra's scent - waffles.
• Saaphyri's scent - gorilla.
• Schatar's scent - complete bullshit with a side of nylon.
• And those who aren't with us anymore aren't immune!
• Toastee's scent - the floor of the Foggy Goggle.
• Krazy's scent - crystal meth and Ashlee Simpson albums.
• You know what? From now on, Saaphyri's immune unless she does something completely ridiculous. She's the only one with a decent head on her shoulders, and she would've won Flavor of Love Season 2 if she hadn't made a complete mess of herself in the first minute and a half. I really hope she and Flav are friends on MySpace.
• How much did Buckwild's boob job cost? Worth every penny, although she should've spent the money on her teeth.
  
• As long as these things don't smell like Mo'Nique, they should be alright.
• T-Weed and Shatar. Because they both suck at faking sophistication. I could see them going to Match with Nick.
  
• Buckwild and whatever member of Marc Hebert's Traveling Circus will have her and her one black and white striped tank top.
  
• So...this judge that isn't Mo'Nique or Keith...where the hell did the producers manage to find Omarosa's castrated sister?
• I think Larissa's jaw is stuck. She's literally had a "wtf" gape going for the past seven minutes.
• No way that's the first guy that's asked Pumkin to spit on him. And if I was that dude, I'd feel ripped off. The loogie that hit New York in the neck was five times that size.
• So when these people call Mo'Nique by her first syllable, are they saying Mo or Mo' ? This matters.
  
• "Everything I learned, I learned in a strip club." Quote of the night.
• Leilene and White Boy. He seems like he also learned a lot in strip joints.
• None of these people could figure out how to unplug a phone. One of them would pull a wire, and the toilet would stop working.
• Mr. Boston, start picking cans. You got to buy your woman some ass implants.
• I get the impression I'd like Shay a lot more if she wasn't always hanging on Larissa. Larissa's like the refried beans I didn't ask for that ruined an otherwise wondrous burrito.
• ...and the structural engineers take a deep breath as Fat Tyra crosses the floor...
• ...and we have evidence that the producers are just keeping around the most combustible elements.
  
• WAIT, OTHER PEOPLE FIT ON THE SAME TOUR BUS AS MO'NIQUE? GOD DAMN, THAT'S A QUADRUPLE WIDE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  

Chaaaaaaaaaaahm School

A quick note: after watching last week's episode again, I've realized that Nick has missed his calling. If he was to become an etiquette coach, he could continue to criticize people based on nothing other than his own made up standards, except then he'd get paid for it!

• I just realized how much I missed that weave since the last time I saw it.
• I'm beginning to suspect that Buckwild only brought that one black and white striped shirt.
• Remind me never to hire Mo'Nique's stylist.
• "I don't dress like a slut, I dress like a slot machine." We've got the quote of the night in the first four minutes.
• Yes, Buckwild, skulls are trendy...with fifteen-year-olds who spend too much time in Hot Topic.
• Actually, Goldie, they do sell couture in Wal-Mart - in the section with all the John Deere hats.
• That crazy weatherman on the New Hampshire channel would've been a better host than Princess Fiona - I mean Mo'Nique.
• I vote no on extreme close ups of Hottie.
• Charm School Girl Myspace page of the week: Pumkin. 75% like Scarlet Johansen my ass. Although I generally dislike stuffed animals, I'm thankful for that teddy bear.
  
• I get it - impress the fat woman by implying large is beautiful. And they think Hottie's sneaky.
• Holy shit, those are the largest nipple blurs I've ever seen, and somewhere MacGyver is crying over the fate of that tape.
• Colin Mochrie would've been a better host than Mo'Nique.
• Wait...the outfit inspired by an entire continent isn't the one on the huge girl?
• Ever wonder how different the world would be if Saaphyri hadn't been kicked off Flavor of Love in the first five minutes? Rather than Charm School, we'd be watching the Flav / Saaphyri wedding special. She's got a huge rack, weird hair, a strange way of speaking, and she might be a man - in short, she's Brigitte Nielsen's long lost sister. After this show, I bet she runs off with an effeminate Frenchman.
  
• I want to be a general in the next revolution in styling.
• God damn it, why is my connection timing out when I try to sign up for the next I Love New York? I can't wait to be "Mr. Worcester" or "Lumba Jack."

What makes gas station coffee so damn good?

Several possibilities come to mind.

• The dedication and talents of the smarmy-looking man behind the counter responsible for brewing a gas station's coffee. His name is Leandro, and he learned his trade from a reclusive wise man atop a llama infested mountain. When he's not percolating a perfect canister of java, he's rocking a pair of aviators in his bright white 1974 T-Bird while cruising for chicks. Although it's entirely possible that I'm making all of that up, one thing's for sure: he's got a totally rocking 'stache.
• Pumping a beverage gives it a certain delicate bouquet usually ruined by a more traditional pour.
• That's not french vanilla flavoring - that's the taste of melted paint chips peeled from the mossy side of Leandro's garden shed.
• The coffee filters are made of the same space age material as Hottie's weave.
• Substitute sugar substitute (no-name brand in a pink wrapper to look like Sweet'n Low or a blue wrapper to look like Equal) is really equal parts crystal meth, crack cocaine, and the dried tears of virgins sacrificed to the volcano.
  

A new season of VH1 Celebreality

It's Scott Colby's favorite time of year! You knew this was going to get him blogging again, didn't you?

• When did "Celebrity Fit Club" become "Celebrity Kind of Chubby Club?" This year's cast could stand to lose a few pounds...but put all of them together, and they weigh half as much as the Biz or Steven Tyler's not famous other daughter's left leg.
• I turned on "Flavor of Love: Charm School," and there was Mo'Nique. I turned the channel because I thought I'd accidentally tuned in to "Celebrity Fit Club."
• Katie Couric would've been a better host than Mo'Nique.
  
• When the girls are expelled, they don't go home. Mo'Nique eats them. Think of the ratings next year on Fit Club when that crazy drill instructor makes Mo'Nique do seven push ups and she sweats out Buckwild.
• I'm moderately concerned about the number of small animals that have died in Hottie's weave. I suspect she's got half a pet cemetary up there. That wierd bump on the left side of her head could quite possibly be Elian Gonzalez.
  
• And by the way, her hiding of Krazy's dresses in the kitchen cabinets was absolute genius. Best reality TV moment since Boston Rob proposed to Amber.
• Elisabeth Hasselbeck would've been a better host than Mo'Nique.
  
• These women absolutely hate each other, and it's the best part of the show. And they're doing it all for a mere $50,000. This is a milestone in modern television. I guarantee we'll see at least three shootings, four stabbings, and two girls being choked to death by Hottie's weave. It's possible we could see all three of these things happen at the same time.
• Commercial break. Is it bad that I was extremely amused by the site of nine people piling into a station wagon in front of Boca Grande last night?
• "She's a whack ass bitch who has a whack ass weave and I don't like her whack ass ass." Profound.
  
• Everytime anyone has anything bad to say about Hottie, they mention her weave. I'm glad Nick finally explained to me what a weave is, or I'd be extremely lost.
• That answers a question that's been bothering me for a long, long time: skid-marked underwear is indeed blurred out when it appears on cable television.
• Flashback to the "I Love New York" reunion. At first, I was extremely skeptical of Pumkin and Mr. Boston being together - but now I'm convinced it was meant to be. I can't wait for VH1 to air the wedding ceremony live from the Foggy Goggle.
  
• How is it that the only girl to get kicked off Flavor of Love before the naming ceremony seems to be the one with the clearest head on her shoulders? I'm hoping it's only a matter of time until Saaphyri breaks a chair over someone's face, takes a bite off of Mo'Nique's nose, and chucks a bus through the front of the house with one hand.
  
• You know, I'm intrigued by the fact that the "head mistress" of this charm school, Mo'Nique, probably wouldn't be able to win this competition. If you notice, they only bring her in after one of the girls has made an absolute ass of herself. They never make her do anything difficult, and during eliminations, she just does her best impersonation of Tyra Banks in "America's Next Top Model." Although, maybe that is Tyra...I heard she was gaining weight.
• By the way, Tyra would've been a better host than Mo'Nique.
• So would Vince McMahon.
• And Wayne Brady must've been available.
• Or at least Sharon Osborne.
• Holy shit, I'm two years older than Bootz! She's done two shows, and I haven't done any. Time to get my reality TV career in order.
• And Krazy's going home. Hottie and her weave triumph again (shit, that's where she should've hidden the dresses).
  

On the topic of email

I've been reading and hearing more and more about how communication through email isn't as personal or effective as a face-to-face meeting or a phone call. Apparently people think email is cold, emotionless, and devoid of intonation.

Poppycock, I say. These people simply do not know how to read and write.

Email, after all, is just another form of written communication. You wouldn't call Shakespeare "emotionless." And if you told Oprah one of her precious book club offerings was "devoid of intonation," she'd probably eat you (and I mean every last bit of you) so she'd gain a hundred pounds and have an excuse for another weight loss special.

It all comes down to the fact that most people try to write the way they speak. This doesn't work. You can't just jot down whatever stream of conciousness crap flows through your pea brain and assume people are going to understand it. You have to think about what you're writing and consider the best way to present the exact tone you're trying to convey. It's really not that difficult.

And when all else fails, toss in an emoticon or two. After all, what could be clearer than this:

:( You're fired! ;) :0

Things I Think I Thought While Going to the Pourhouse for Guinness and Food (But Mostly Just Guinness) Rather Than Waiting To Get My Haircut

I was about to start with a sentence apologizing for not being able to identify the source of the little black dot that appeared at the beginning of this update as soon as I started typing, but then I realized it was something stuck to my screen and felt stupid. It won't come off.

First off, I'd like to announce this year's fundraiser for I Stole Your Lunch. For every $25 you donate, J-Rags will ghostride the whip for a quarter of a mile. For $50, you can dictate the particular sequence of moves he'll attempt to execute for that quarter of a mile. Want to see him transition from the Lawnmower into the Funky Chicken into a hood slide into the Macarena into that dance he does whenever he gets drunk and decides to dance with a slutty girl? Pony up, bitches! All proceeds go to the Scott Colby Emergency Jack Daniels Fund, which benefits underpriveleged children in poor neighborhoods whose only reason to live is being able to read I Stole Your Lunch for free over the neighbor's wide open wireless network.

Tonight I had a second dinner of tater tots, peas, and corn. This is the only vegetarian meal I've had in the past six years. No way this wonderful bounty would've found its way to my plate if Nick hadn't spent so much time watching Food Network. Rachel Ray would be proud.

I saw the gravy boat at the gym again. Seems she's found a new job sitting on the backs of meatheads while they try to do push ups.

Anyone else notice the direct corollary between negative press for Britney Spears and good press for Christina Aguilera? Smart marketing on Christina's part. Britney couldn't get on Oprah now if she was a fifteen year old with three kids who'd written a sappy ass novel about her life.

Go away, I have a girl to talk to.

A Little of Everything

Thoughts on...

The Gym

I don't think I'd be able to work at one of these places, especially if it was my responsibility to sell memberships. I'd most likely end up laughing in the face of a good portion of the people trying to sign up. And yes, I would've laughed at myself.

I saw a really huge girl trying to use the back machine today, and I spent a good twenty minutes trying to figure out what kind of boat she equated to. Tugboat didn't seem like enough, and houseboat just wasn't working. U-boat may have worked if she'd been working out in leiderhosen. I finally settled on something that made me laugh out loud and lose my grip on the biceps curl: she's not a tugboat or a houseboat or a U-boat, she's a god damn gravy boat!

Unfortunately, the back of her shirt pulled up a bit everytime she used the machine, revealing a tattoo that probably would've worked better on someone else: "Princess" written in flowery script. Of course, it's also entirely possible that this tattoo was to commemorate something she ate, as she appeared able to devour your average bulimic in a single gulp. I wasn't nearly as concerned with the tattoo's origin as I was with its future. The skin supporting it looked a bit flabby and loose. So let's say she goes to the gym regularly and avoids the damn Dairy Queen...that flab is going to go away, and the tattoo may contract a bit to match. There seems to be a very good chance that "Princess" could become "Piss," and that would just be hilarious.


The Fucking Weather

I understand how people can like snow. It looks ok on the way down, and there's something serene and (gasp!) almost pretty about a field of untouched snow.

But what happens in Boston when the temperature drops below 32 degrees Farenheit and the clouds open up isn't snow, it's a natural fucking disaster. There's nothing beautiful or pristine about winter in this city, unless maybe you're on the common or on crystal meth.

Crossing the street becomes like trying to raid a castle surrounded by a 30 foot moat.

You'd better do your best to avoid walking too close to the curb unless you want to look like the loser of a mud wrestling contest because some douche bag on a cell phone couldn't get his SUV around a pothole. People do their best to avoid the cracks in the street during the warmer months, but I swear they start aiming for them as soon as they're full of icy muck.

And you can tell this storm came up the coast. I swear certain piles of snow smell like New Jersey.


Deal or No Deal

I caught a bit of this show while eating dinner in Flan's tonight. For whatever reason, I'm much more inclined to watch TV when said set is on the other side of a bar than I am when it's in the middle of someone's living room.

Anyone who laughs at me for watching professional wrestling and then turns on Deal or No Deal and thinks they aren't being hypocritical deserves a kick in whatever they have for reproductive organs.

Deal or No Deal generally tries to be as ridiculously melodramatic as possible while showing off some good looking girls and making the occasional joke that isn't really funny - and this is different from wrestling how? If they gave Howie Mandel cool entrance music and lit off fireworks when he walked onto the set to start a show, I'd be half expecting "Stone Cold" Steve Austin to climb out from under the stage and whack him in the back of the head with a briefcase labeled 3:16.

It really grates on me whenever Howie says something like "You've got to keep the $750,000 in play." As if the contestant has any control over his or her own dumb luck. Look at how skillfully she selects number 12! Great form!

And is this the same Howie Mandel that used to put on one of the dirtiest comedy acts I've ever seen? If so, who castrated him?

Myth or Reality?

While waiting for a Lechmere or North Station train in Government Center on my way to work other day, I noticed an advertisement on the side of the tunnel. It was divided along a diagonal, with one side red and the other yellow. One side read "Myth: Antidepressants eliminate all symptoms of depression" or something along those lines. The other read "Reality: Over seventy percent of people on antidepressants still experience symptoms of depression" or some such. The only thing both sides had in common was an infuriating lack of periods. A website mentioned in small print across the bottom of the advertisement promised further enlightenment.

My first thought, of course, was that I was going to have to start walking to work to avoid the Scientologist propaganda that was sure to soon overrun the entirety of the MBTA. Then I saw a few similar bits of crapvertising that cast psychiatric medicine in less of a negative light, and I realized it was just a stupid public information campaign.

And yet I still felt the need to start packing a Sharpie so that I might improve these blights upon the MBTA's otherwise lovely tunnels. Then I realized that I'd either just lose the Sharpie or trip over the tracks and break my neck while trying to get to the offending posters, so I figured I'd just take care of this need in blog form. Blogging about it also allows me to keep my glass of whiskey out in the open, rather than having to conceal the entire bottle in a paper bag whilst defacing stupid ads.

And awaaaaaaaaaaaay we go...

Myth: Obscure advertising is a great way to get people's attention.

Reality: Obscure advertising is a great way to make dumb people scratch themselves in confusion and make smart people queef a bubble.


Myth: Scott Colby takes the T to work.

Reality: Scott Colby ghost rides the whip to get anywhere and everywhere he needs to go.


Myth: I'm going to take my headphones out of my ears to talk to every homeless bum who tries to stop me on the street.

Reality: Take a bath and get a job. Then go fuck yourself.


Myth: You're depressed.

Reality: Your blood alcohol content is too low, and you may be suffering from an acute lack of donuts or pie.


Myth: How come everytime you come around my London-London Bridge wanna go down?

Reality: I ain't no hollaback girl.


Myth: This is just a cheap variation on the bulleted list style pioneered by I Stole Your Lunch.

Reality: This whole thing is written in iambic pentameter. Prove me wrong if thou can, Mercutio.


Myth: Anna Nicole Smith is dead.

Reality: Anna Nicole Smith is filming a pornographic video with Elvis, Tupac, and Biggie on the Hollywood set used to fake the moon landing. The soundtrack is being written and performed by Axl, Slash, and the rest of the original Guns 'n Roses for their reunion tour.


Myth: I can't download "I'm No Angel" from the iTunes Store because they don't have any Greg Allman.

Reality: I've been missing the second "g" on the end of Gregg Allman's first name for the past month and a half. C'mon baby...c'mon let me show you my tattoo...


Myth: Wow! This blog just gets better and better with each successive update!

Reality: You're a dumb shit. The first five or six entries were good - you should read those, then give up. The rest is crap. In that regard, I Stole Your Lunch is a perfect mirror for Kevin Bacon's movie career.


Myth: This is your brain on drugs.

Reality: This is Scott Colby on a bottle of Smuttynose Winter Ale, two snifters of Jameson on the rocks, and a piece of sausage pizza.

Is it really a bomb scare if no one's particularly afraid?

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/01/31/boston.bombscare/index.html

Kick me in the face and make it go away.

Let me preface by saying that we are in a pretty sad state when we automatically assume something is a bomb just because we don't know what it is, and that the real terrorists achieve a measure of victory every time we react this way.

I can just imagine the thought process of whatever official got to one of these babies first: "It's not pizza...not a donkey...not a house...not a car...not a cow...not the Internet...too small to be Sally Struthers...not a bird...not a plane...doesn't smell like beer...ergo, therefore, it is indubitably a bomb! Egad!"

If I've learned anything from Josh Moody it's that no self-respecting bomber would be dumb enough to leave his explosives sitting obviously in the middle of very public places covered with BLINKING FUCKING LIGHTS. We are not in a Bruce Willis movie here, people.

Especially since life most often imitates a Bruce Campbell movie, but I digress.

And if these guys receive jail time for their little stunt, something is seriously wrong. I think they should be fined for being a public nuisance and either their advertising agency or Fox should have to foot the Bomb Squad bill, but sending a couple of guys to prison for a bunch of little boxes that COULD have had explosives in them is ludicrous and sets a dangerous precedent.

These events also provide several great examples of why I'd like to dropkick most public officials and journalists. From the above article:

"Authorities believe Berdovsky was "in the employ of other individuals" as part of the marketing campaign, Coakley said. "How exactly this was executed, we are still investigating.""

Gee, I may not have a Ph. D. in criminology...but I'd say chances are pretty good they made a list of places with a lot of foot traffic and just kind of put them there.

"Wednesday evening, Cartoon Network was running a statement during commercial breaks, expressing deep regret for "the hardships experienced as a result of this incident.""

I expect a personal apology from Cartoon Network because news concerning this shit won't get off my TV or Internet.

""It had a very sinister appearance," Coakley told reporters. "It had a battery behind it, and wires.""

Alone, batteries and wires are completely harmless. But put them together...and anything with both a battery and wires is obviously out to eat your children.

"Menino told reporters he received a call from a Turner spokesperson about 9 p.m. but had not yet returned it. "I think the city deserves a call, not from a press person, but from somebody in the corporate structure of Turner," he said."

What Mumbles actually said was something more along the lines of "Aboaboboeaoblesoeb. Abhodibkesokes!"

"Some of the devices were placed on private property, she said, which "raises a lot of questions about, at the very least, the responsibility of anybody who would do this.""

She's basically saying that all vandals are irredeemable sinners who should be burned at the stake.

"Boston Police Commissioner Edward Davis called it "unconscionable" that the marketing campaign was executed in a post 9/11 era. "It's a foolish prank on the part of Turner Broadcasting," he said. "In the environment nowadays ..."

I'm sorry, but aren't we supposedly more prepared now than we were six years ago? Doesn't that mean a real disaster would cause less damage now than it would have during that time?

I'm done. No energy for a conclusion.

Haikus

Ode to Boca Grande

Grilled steak grande
Sour cream and hot sauce extra
Oh baby, oh yeah.


One for J$

You are not cool lest
From Amazon dot com you
Buy prophylactics.

To Sarah Silverman

Woman not ugly
Yet jokes of farts and fluids
I might be in love.

This Bar Sucks

Goggle so Foggy
Sticky floors, slimier girls
Makes me weep at night.

I may have discovered the most annoying thing ever

Whitening strips.

Within a minute of putting these things on, I was drooling like a dog. Or like dumbass who likes buffalo women scoping the bar at the Foggy Goggle (ah, how I missed making dumb jokes about that shithole).

I seriously need a god damn spittoon.

At approximately the ten minute mark, I lost the bottom strip. And I have no idea where the fuck it went. I suspect if I poop tomorrow it will come out shimmering white.

I really can't believe you're supposed to do this twice a day for half an hour each time. It feels like there's a frigging Trojan stuck in my teeth and all I can taste is after shave (now I know how a buffalo chick feels when waking up after a successful night at the Foggy Goggle).

Enough of this, time's up.

The Milestone 100th Update

I've never, ever been interested in graffiti or those jackasses who think it has a "culture," but while walking through Government Center today I noticed a big white van branded "Graffiti Busters," and I thought to myself, "Hot damn, if I had a can of red spray paint in my pocket, I'd totally scribble my initials on the side of that fucker."

That's it. Number 100. I've spent the last month trying to develop a commemorative update detailing the 100 Things that Piss Me Off, and today I finally realized I just need to get past number 100, so I gave up.

That was a stupid run-on sentence.