America, as a whole, is obsessed with size – specifically the bigger the better. Now I’m not talking about the stereotypical generalization that gets lauded about regarding fat, lazy Americans…but on that note: Did you know that if everyone in America that is considered “morbidly obese” was placed into one state it would have a higher population than the state of Virginia. That means this country has more than 7,078,515 people who will, upon their death, have to be removed from their home via crane or industrial forklift. Just thought I’d drop that knowledge on ya. But fuck me everything in this country is fucking huge. And you fucking assholes in Texas can eat a sugar frosting flavored fuck off the end of my dick, “Everything’s bigger in Texas,” yeah like assholes and retardation.

This whole issue started because of my search for a new laptop.

This is my old laptop, seen here pictured next to the Clerks II dvd for an understanding of size. Though no longer working as a computer it does serve several new purposes:

Serving Tray

Door Stop

Bookend and...

Self Defense Mechanism against marauding ninjas. Apparently Ninjas often maraud right through my living room....go fucking figure. a side note regarding this picture can be found by clicking here.

In looking to replace this ancient piece of technology I wanted something relatively the same size but that’s god damned impossible. Even products that are meant to be portable in design require a small team of midgets or school children to tote about. Not that I am against forced child labor but fuck; what if I don’t want to feed all of those little bastards just for toting my digital porno collection around? Not to mention the legal ramifications. Let’s say I do wish to watch something adult oriented; what then? Do I have to put blinders and ear muffs on them? Fuck that. I don't even like the little booger eaters let alone do I want them near my downloaded wrestling collection. If you think I'm kidding here's an add for Dell's new "Showstopper" laptop.

But never is America’s need for the ideal of LARGE more evident than in our cars. More specifically, the SUV. With gas approaching $19,000 a gallon one would figure that most people would be purchasing cars that are more fuel efficient. Sure you can haul the children of everyone in the neighborhood, half of the junior high, nineteen homeless and three head of cattle in the back but why? Your monthly gas consumption is nearing that of a small province in Canada (check that out, I’m fucking multinational as a motherfucker) and you spend more, in one month, on insurance than I make annually. What’s the point?

Some of you will be the first to say, “But Travis, they drive those big ass SUVs because they can afford it. Who are you tell them where they should spend their money?” You’re absolutely correct. People should be able to spend their money however they choose, but if you choose to buy a corvette, I’ll choose to think you’re a prick.

However our economy is based on supply and demand. Car manufacturers would not keep producing these retardedly large Sports Utility Vehicles if consumers weren’t sucking them up with a passion not seen since Whitney Houston discovered cocaine. And it in is that vein that I bring forth my first foray into the consumer vehicle market. Because I gots to get paid.

The SUV that will eat all other SUVs for breakfast.

The SUV that will crush all other SUVs.

If your SUV was in prison with my SUV; your SUV would be a bitch for my SUV and take it in the exhaust manifold everyday and twice on Sunday.

Ladies and Gentlemen it is my distinguished honor to present to you the end all, be all, of the sports utility genre.

THE MONSTRO!!!!

(patent pending. If any of you car people start making this I will unleash a holy plague of lawyers on your ass the likes of which has never been seen. You’ll be so far in debt to me that you’ll have to start selling your organs on the black market just to try to make ends meat)

Obviously the greatness that is The Monstro can not fit in the small space allotted here so I have helped create a handy guide for you, the reader. Simply click on the picture of The Monstro and a new window will open with the full size image so that you can follow along on the key features of the next great vehicular revolution.

The Monstro comes in at a little under 900 yards long and 50 feet wide. It is driven by two refurbished world war II submarine diesel engines and can travel at a top speed of a whopping 43.5 mph. And realistically, you wouldn't want to go faster than that because if you have to stop this fucker with a quickness you're probably going to end up running a shit ton of people over. But fuck them, they should have known to stay the fuck out of the way.

The Monstro is the height of luxury in on-road automotion. There are 13,000 seats in this beast and each of them is filled with the down from baby geese and the souls of baby kittens. Because sitting on the souls of cute things allows your ass to rest far more comfortably than you would ever expect. What appears to be leather upholstery is actually the hide of penguins imported from Antartica. The great thing about penguin skin is that you can sit in your Monstro, at the height of summer, BUTT NAKED and your skin will never stick to the seat. How's that for some super-dope luxury?

Now please refer to the picture you have opened in the new window as we go over six very key features of your new car.

1: Tank Treads - Tired of trying to keep up with The Joneses? No need anymore. Why keep up with them when you can grind their bones into dust under your Panzer inspired drive train.

2: Illegal Immigrants - Stopping to feed your children is a fucking pain in the ass. They always whine about wanting to go to McDonalds or some other such nonsense. The Monstro comes stocked with your own illegal immigrants that run a taco stand in the middle of the vehicle which is convenient for snacking. Or if you have to make the journey from the front of the vehicle to the back they are there for a nice mid-jaunt meal...considering it will take you a day or so to make the pilgrimage. Not a fan of Mexcian food? Well with the porous American border there is a wide variety of undocumented aliens that can supply a varying range of epicurean delights.

3: Satellite Dish - DVD players are passe. Of course when I was a kid and my grandparents took me on roadtrips every summer there was no tv in the car. I had three choices: Read, talk to my grandparents, or shut the fuck up and watch the scenery. Your kids should do no such thing. With this military grade satellite Dish you can watch CNN in 96 different languages. Shit, on the right frequency you can pick up battle field communique from the front lines in Iraq. Of course when you're not watching television you'll have to process intel for S.E.T.I .

4: Stickers - Everyone has to have stickers on the outside of their car that shows what's inside and how cool they are. From the rice rockets with engine stickers to the eddie bauer editions of other cars, this appears to be the new cool. As the top of the line The Monstro will not be left at the back of the pack. This car is covered in stickers of pretentious companies. It's even got stickers for companies that you've never heard of, that's how exclusive it is. If the Joneses manage to survive the Tank Treads then their llittle balloon knots will pucker at the sight of capitalistic might your car conveys. You'll be KING DOUCHEBAG!!

5: Silence Wall - Part of the problem with being a parent is all of that god damned parenting you have to do. Kids are a nonstop bullet train of talking, whining, complaining and neediness and quite frankly that's some shit you just don't need. The Monstro understands because it comes equipped with a silence wall that makes the Berlin Wall look like a stack of legos. No longer will you be bothered by having to deal with their incessant questions because the Silence Wall shuts them down before it can even begin. And fuck, if they really want someone to talk to they've got Juan and his family back there. Everyone needs some culture in their life.

6: Vulcan Cannon - Let's face it: Traffic sucks and you're too important to be patient and wait. Not a problem anymore. With the dual, front facing, hood mounted Vulcan Cannons your enemies only need look in their rearview mirror to know that if they don't get out of your way; they're fucked. According to military manuals - The M61A1 is a hydraulically driven, 6 barreled, rotary action, air cooled, electrically fired weapon, with selectable rates of fire of either 4000 or 6000 rounds per minute. No more carpool lane, no more rush hour traffic, you're important and your latte is getting cold.

The Monstro is obviously the greatest thing that has ever happened to America's car culture and its obsession with everything that is grande. The Monstro will, more than likely, intially have the target demographic of the rich and famous because they've got the money to blow but eventually we'll sit down and design a regular consumer model.

The first production model off the line will be mine to keep and I'll use it to run over Ashton Kutcher.

Ford, Chevy, Gm and Cadillac: My contact information can be found here; I await your email

Travis is aware of what they say about guys who drive Monstros

Your Parents Hate You Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

I would like to preface this story with a little known fact about myself: I LOVE ROBOTS. I think that there is very little in this world that is greater, or more powerful, than a death hungry robot. In my dream world, one where I am in control of everything and I rule with an oppressive drunken fist, I have an army of evil robots that run on the fear of small children and share my hatred for humanity. They follow the orders of me and no one else and will kill, maim, and destroy indiscriminately at my mere whim. Now keeping this in mind please consider that summer is here and record companies and concert venues are cashing in on the good weather and abundant audience by launching every summer concert series, festival, and hippie gathering known to man. Due to the fact that outdoor concert festivals get bigger every year, it gets harder and harder to fill the bill with worthwhile musical acts. You will probably see a few good bands. You will, undoubtedly, be subjected to all manner of bands who’ve passed their prime and really should hang it up.

Most bands don’t know when it’s time to simply shut up and live off of royalty checks. One begins to wonder if some of these bands have never read the end of Kurt Cobain’ suicide note, "It is better to burn out than to fade away." If I had my army of robots we would venture from concert venue to concert venue enacting our musically savvy revenge. What follows is a list of bands who should just give up and quit but won’t. My robots would eat the souls of all of these bands, fuck their groupies, kick their rotting corpses and then replace the band with something that’s actually worth a shit.

BAND: Puff Daddy, Puffy, P-Diddy....what the fuck ever

REASON: You, sir, have absolutely no talent in music. All you do is remake music that other artists have made ( though saying that Sting is an artist is a bit of a stretch). The last decent musical act that you were attached to died in a hail of gun fire...which should be an omen of your career. And, by the way, your remake of Led Zepplin for the Godzilla soundtrack make me want to have a razor blade enema.

METHOD OF DEATH: Lethal Robot Colonoscopy.

REPLACED BY: Tupac's corpse. He's put out nineteen albums since his death. What's Biggie done? ROT.

BAND: Celine Dion

REASON: The Titanic song you fucking bitch. That fucking thing was everywhere. Every god damned time I turned around that fucking song made me want to kill myself. Not to mention the fact that you're from Canadia. The only good thing to come out of Canadia is comedians. I have no idea how you got a show in Las Vegas and I'm not some sort of media god, but I hate you. Your warbling gives me bowel cancer.

METHOD OF DEATH: Deadly robot kick to the baby factory.

REPLACED BY: My dog Joe. He's cute, he's furry, he loves me and he's not FUCKING CANADIAN.

BAND: Guns N' Roses

REASON: Axl used to be the bad boy of everything: doing coke, fucking strippers, losing his mind on stage and causing riots. His band ushered in the era of "rock". (please feel free to do that devil horn, hand thing). But it’s time to face facts: Chinese Democracy, a disk that has been ten years in the making, will in no way, shape or form live up to the hype. Slash, Duff, Matt and Izzy have all moved on. And after the abortion that was The Spaghetti Incident there is no coming back. Not even if you’re record was produced by God, and by that I mean Butch Vig and Dr. Dre.

METHOD OF DEATH: The robots round up every member of the new G n’ R, because Slash is beyond reproach in my opinion. Once they’re hog tied, and ball gagged, they are hurled into the sun, except for Buckethead. He’s given control of the U.S. Virgin islands and turns them into his private circus. Some freaks should be left to roam free.

REPLACED BY:

BAND: The Rolling Stones

REASON: The 1960s are over. You’ve done about three dozen "We swear to god that this is the last time we’ll ever tour" Tours. Quite frankly, all of the members of your band should be sitting on their porches complaining about kids playing on their lawn and collecting social security. Gentlemen, it’s time to throw in the towel. Sure you rode into the states on the heels of the British Invasion thanks to the Beatles but your fucking time has passed. Anytime people fear for your life when you take the stage it’s time to give it up. Fuck guys, do it for Keith Richards. He’s practically an animated corpse as it is.

METHOD OF DEATH: Robots jump out from behind a wall and yell boo! Simultaneously every band member’s heart explodes and they shit out their internal organs, which is made into pâté to be fed to feral dogs.

REPLACED BY: Hot Pistol. If you’re looking for that classic rock sound without the geriatrics and smell of icy hot, Hot Pistol is your go to group. The Rolling Stones are to stuck up to have a few drinks with me. Hot Pistol, on the other hand, will get blitzkrieg drunk with me and play airsoft. Hot Pistol wins. The Rolling Stones? The just get older and die.

BAND: Staind

REASON: What the fuck happened here? This band started off being all sorts of heavy metal with their lead single Mudshovel and then turned into a worthless bag of wuss. They turned all sorts of sissy and suddenly every song is a ballad about how the lead singer’s dad never loved him. Maybe Aaron Lewis needs to take a nap, or get a hug, or overdose on valium. ANYTHING that would prevent them from releasing another song where he whines on for seven hours about how much he hurts inside would benefit mankind. I want to make him hurt outside.

METHOD OF DEATH: Robots use the lasers in their eyes to surgically remove the skin from each of the band member’s bodies, which will be used to create a festive blanket to be used for picnics.

REPLACED BY: Howtokillpeople.com's very own FUCK YOU BEAR . Fuck You Bear doesn't care what you think, it doesn't give a shit about you political agenda or your feelings, and he would probably kick you in the nuts if he thought it was funny.

BAND: Metallica

REASON: This one actually hurts me to write. I was a huge fan of Metallica. WAS. You guys reinvented yourself and fooled everyone with your motor-city, rock-a-billy style with load and reload. But we all know that your last good album was …and justice for all. But Saint Anger? Really? I know you’re probably hiding behind the bullshit excuse of making an artistic statement. You want people to believe that you actually wanted to make a low-fi punk album indicative of your early work. But did you assholes record this thing on a fucking boom box? James Hetfield: Do the world a favor and start drinking again. Maybe then we don’t have to hear you preach about being sober and you can make a decent album again.

METHOD OF DEATH: The robots are sent to dig up the bones of Cliff Burton – the last great bass player that Metallica had – and the entire band is beat to death with his rotted bones. Then, just for good measure, the robots seek out and bludgeon Dave Mustaine to death as well.

REPLACED BY: Absent Me. Where Metallica once lead the way as the penultimate metal band, Absent Me shall now take over. They’re better musicians, better drinkers, better friends and I’m pretty sure Don’s wife could whoop Lars Ulrich’s ass. I’ll be doing a C.D. review of "Hate To Wake You", Absent Me’ first, full length, cd here soon. Trust me, in a battle of ass kickery Absent Me would win everyday and twice on Sunday.

BAND: Kenny G. , John Tesh, Michael Bolton, and Yanni.

REASON: Opera is amazing, a great composer is fantastic, but a self righteous group of ass-hats serves one and only purpose: target practice. You fuck-holes have turned classical music and modern opera into a miasma of half-assed corporate ball licking and ego. I’m fairly certain that even David Hasselhoff is ashamed to know the lot of you.

METHOD OF DEATH: The robots advance upon their homes en masse crushing them with their gigantic robot penises. And as each of the two bit crap sniffers run screaming from their domiciles they are snapped in half by as the robots flick them like the boogers they are.

REPLACED BY: Musical Nipples clamps and a can of baked beans. Because hearing me scream like a howler monkey and farting is more entertaining.

Now at this point in time it is completely justifiable for you to wonder exactly what is worth listening to. And since you've turned to me to be your musical guide I will not lead you astray. Here's the greatest thing I have found on the internet and I present it for your viewing and listening pleasure. NOW SUCK ON THAT BITCHES!

Editors note: I can't believe Travis forgot U2.

Your Parents Hate You Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (15) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

This afternoon I decided I would experiment on myself and not in the choke yourself while masturbating and punching yourself in the mouth kind of way. After drinking coffee and soda all morning I bought one of those five hour energy shots and found myself halfway on the brink of a heart attack. But at the same time I found myself with super-meth-head type energy boost; the results of which are what you're about to see. I'm sure something similar to this has been done before but fuck them it's never been done by me.

Before we move on you have to understand something: I, like most comedians, comic artists, people with half a brain, HATE FAMILY CIRCUS and nothing brings me more satisfaction than sullying something pure and innocent and twisting it into a dysfunctional clusterfuck. For legal purposes all the characters of The Family Circus are the copyright of the guy who makes this retarded strip. I'm just the asshole who took his wholesome words out and put my own fucked up jokes in there. With the groundwork laid, here it is:

Yes I feel really dirty for having written that caption.

Sadly, I did not write this line. Thank you Dave Attel.

Feel free to go ahead and spread 'em the myspace and such....I could use the advertising.

Travis Gruber: Sullying American institutions one anal-sex joke at a time.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 6:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

I just saw a movie that will, from this point forward, set the standard for jaw dropping personal film making. If you watch this movie and your jaw doesn't hit the floor the movie will literally reach off the screen, rip your arm off, and break your face with it. That movie is the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino double feature homage to b-rated seventies cult flicks: Grindhouse. You know a movie is going to be good when the name alone brings to mind images of a slaughterhouse and a strip club.

The first thing you have to understand is that this is not going to be your typical popcorn munching Saturday night at the movies. This is a true three and a half hours of back-to-back, non-stop festival of gore, titties, ass-kicking, car-chases, exploding head and the greatest single use for a helicopter ever. Watching Grindhouse is like having 220 minutes of hard-core hooker sex. You know you’re not going to spend this type of money all the time so you’re going to get everything you can out of the situation and Rodriguez and Tarantino deliver on the hard end of fuckery. Not to mention that each movie is preceded by fake trailers for movies made by other film makers.

I tried putting these trailers, via YouTube, right into the post but wordpress is being a cunt about embedding youtube videos so just click the names to wacth the trailers...thanks for dick wordpress.

Such as "Machete": a Mexploitation flick by Robert Rodriguez.

"Don't" an ambiguous horror film by the wacky boys who brought you Sean of the Dead.

"Werewolf Women of the SS" a hodge podge horror film from Rob Zombie that gives you awkward feelings because the chicks are topless and you want to stare at their tits but at the same time they're in werewolf form and covered in hair. So part of you is turned on while a seperate part of you feels dirty for staring at hairy werewolf titties..it's all very confusing.

And then there's the Piece de Resistance in Eli Roth's "Thanksgiving" which, well by god, this is the absolutely best trailer. Pay close attentiond at the end and you'll catch the best joke ever. It's a quick physical gag that had me laughing for ten minutes - which is apparently just the right amount of time for the girl behind me to question, "What's the fuck's wrong with that guy?"

And that, dear readers, is merely the appetizer for the four course meal of neck snapping you about to indulge in. These trailers are but foreplay to the hardcore action your brain is about to take in. Basically folks: your eyeballs are about to get fucked in the greatest way possible.

First up is Robert Rodriguez' "Planet Terror"; a gore filled zombie flick that grabs my love with the first scene as Rose McGowan Go-Go dances her way right into my heart. After that it's non-stop zombies, death and destruction. There's this scientist dude who creates a chemical that turns people into zombies and if you cross him this motherfucker takes your balls...literally. Then for some reason pop-singer Fergie shows up and promptly gets eater by zombies. Which serves her right. What purpose do you have being in a horror film if you're not going to show your tits? No Boobies = you get eaten by the walking dead. Then this dude named El Ray shows up and decides that he's had enough of this zombie shit. He rescues the now peg-legged Rose McGowan - which leads to the most hilarious sex scene ever. He rallies the posse; which includes an insane nurse and a female police officer who is not named but each time you see her - her clothes get smaller and more revealing - and saves the day. As the entire entourage is escaping the "Military Base" one dude jumps in the seat of a twin rotored Chinook helicopter and flips the switch to "Split Zombie Skulls" and mows down an entire battalion of rogue zombie soldiers. this is where Rose' mighty machine gun leg - so lauded as one of the key over the top ideas to make it into the picture - comes in handy as she uses it to kick some serious ass, break dance style.

Though the machine gun leg wasn't the first idea.

The jack hammer from Dusk Til Dawn.

Optimus Prime's giant weiner from an article I wrote

Danny Devito and Rhea Perlman (actual size)

That right there could be enough. You could walk out of the theater satisfied that your money was well spent. But this shit aint over yet because up next is Quentin Tarantino's "Death Proof" . Deathproof stars Krut Russell as Stuntman Mike. What's he do you ask? He's a stuntman tardo. If I had said his name was goat-fucker Bill you wouldn't be sitting there asking me retarded questions. You'd hear the name and just assume that his man named Bill - who is commonly called "Goat Fucker Bill" - spends a good majority of his time fucking livestock. Pay attention. This movie is an exhibition of Quentin Tarantino's ability to write captivating dialogue which is proven with the 20 minute false start that this film receives but once it actually hits the ground running...hang on to your tits.

So Stuntman Mike is one mean motherfuckin' motor scooter and gets his rocks off by putting pretty girls in his Stuntman Mike approved super-car and introducing them, face first, to the dashboard. First this sick fuck seduces Rose McGowan into getting into his stunt-mobile and once she's incapable of escaping explains to her that she's about to get the joy ride from hell. Driving at 900 mph he slams on the brakes real quick and Rose – poor dear sweet rose who was not wearing a seatbelt – gets a double serving of dashboard for dinner. But Stuntman Mike doesn’t stop there. His appetite is insatiable and he’s out to wreck shop on the rest of Rose’s crew of friends. At the bar he just left; old Stuntman Mike was shunned by a group of bitchy girls and Stuntman Mike doesn’t take to kindly to girls pitching him shit. He doesn’t have the greatest people skills so he decides to end their cattyness in the only way he knows how: by hitting their car head on.

This is the greatest car crash ever filmed and you get to see it FIVE TIMES. The first time is the initial crash and each time following shows what happens to the four females in the car during the head on impact and – I kid you not – you get to see him run over a girls face in slow motion. I keep two list with me at all times. One is my "people who need to die list" and the other is a "methods of death list" and running over someone's face has just jumped to the top!!!

And then the movie starts over. There’s a new set of girls, a new set of circumstances, but the same old Stuntman Mike. But there’s one part of the equation that’s changed: These girls are stunt car drivers. This variable leads to the greatest car chase ever filmed. The last twenty minutes of Death Proof is going to make you crap out copies of every Fast and the furious movie ever made. This is the greatest car chase ever; swiftly replacing the veteran of the genre 'Smokey and the Bandit'.

The car chase in this film is fucking amazing. There's no CGI, no models, no wirework; it's 100% real and 150% KICK ASS!!! The three girls in the car are assaulted by Stuntman Mike and his Stunman Mike-esque driving shennanigans and decided that they're going to fight back by showing him what real driving is all about. And by real driving I mean what happens when you piss off three girls who aren't the wimpy, "Oh fuck beans, I broke a nail," type of chicks. The run a clinic of crazy driving and revenge all over Stuntman Mike's ass!!! And right when they're at the peak of beating the hot buttered fuck out of Stuntman Mike - the movie ends. Just like in sex they've shot their load, it's all over and it's time to smoke a pack of cigarettes.

And also, just like sex, all I wanted to do afterward was not cuddle and wonder how I could do it again - but this time without paying so much money and also without so many other people in the room.

Travis once paid someone to cuddle with him.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Dear Sheryl Crow,

I recently read your statement regarding your ideas on how to better the environment and, young lady, I must say that I am indeed impressed. Your idea for everyone to use only one square of toilet paper per "session" was quite remarkable. Needless to say I found it quite disheartening when you later retracted said statement claiming that it was all a joke. A joke Ms. Crow? There is nothing funny about mother nature young lady and I am appalled that you would try to hide your love for this planet and its environment. You see Ms. Crow I actually believe that your idea didn't go far enough. While the thought of using one square of poop-tape per trip makes good sense I believe that it is still ecologically unsound.

If we can get these United States of America down to one square how hard would it be, really, to get them to abandon the idea of toilet paper all together? Sure it sounds like a weird idea but it seems to work for the middle east. All we have to do is establish the fact that from here on out everyone's left hand is now their wiping hand. The left hand shall be the dirty hand from here on out. Of course this means that an entire section of the population will be shunned forever but that's a small price to pay for mother nature. All children from here on out shall have their left hand tied behind their back to prevent them from becoming southpaws.

Until an entire generation can be trained; the current group of left handers shall be known as the unclean. Stinkfisting will no longer be a deviant sexual fetish but rather the appropriate greeting of The Unclean. Of course this can be advantageous to the current crop of left-handed pitchers in major league baseball. No longer will lefties be the kings of the slider; now they can throw the wicked, twisting, poo-ball. And what batter in their right mind is going to hit the poo-ball?

But we shall not stop at the proverbial brown eye. No ma’am. Mother nature doesn’t stop caring when you stop pooping; Ms. Crow. While getting used to the idea of having a handful of man-mud is a bit weird and ooky; I believe it can be done. Likewise there is another personal hygiene product which has proven to be extremely destructive to our environment and, as a woman, you should be very familiar with it: TAMPONS!

Tampons are made of – as far as I can tell – cotton; and cotton is made from, you guessed correctly, little fluffy bunnies. This is of course based on the four and a half seconds of research I did by remembering a song we used to sing when I was a child.

“Here comes Peter Cotton Tail…” Read that again – COTTON. If it weren’t true then it wouldn’t be in a kids song.

I’m sure your first thought would be the female vagina diapers known as maxi-pads but young lady look at how much more cotton those use. The more tampons and maxi-pads that are used in our society the more cute fuzzy bunnies have to be killed. Are you willing to do that Sheryl? Are you willing to have the blood of fluffy little rabbits on your hands in order to sanitize your woman-hole? Well neither am I. I do understand though that it would be completely socially irresponsible for women to walk around just bleeding everywhere so a solution must be found.

Ms. Crow; I – like you – am a forward thinking individual and I have already thought of a solution. Mother nature never presents an issue that mother nature can’t solve. I was walking through the Tahoe national forest the other day and it was as if the answer to my dilemma just dropped out of the sky – literally.

PINE CONES

They are shaped, sort of, like a tampon which means that they would be conforming to your womanly front-butt and they are 100% natural. I would see it as an affront to our planet if people were to go pick pine cones off of the trees as that would be painful to Mother Earth. But there’s nothing wrong with picking up pine cones up off the ground. We could hire people to wander the pine forests picking up “New-Tampons” and while they are earning money and providing a sanitation solution they are also beautifying the wilderness. Look at all of the good that can done there. Surely you can see the benefits.

But this, dear woman, is not the greatest idea that I have had since what I like to call “My Great Awakening”. There is one great and pressing threat to Mother Nature that has gone completely overlooked in all of this global warming, Al Gore inventing the internet, Don Imus fiasco. This virtual WMD against our planet is so obvious but somehow so easily overlooked. The greatest pressing threat to mother earth is people. Yes people. You and me.

I know that this must be hard to fathom from the comfort of your personal tour bus (by the way – did you by carbon offsets for that thing? I know you need a diesel burning luxury land yacht to travel around the country but make sure you buy plenty of carbon offsets. ) but we people are the worst thing to ever happen to Gaia. People are responsible for everything horrible thing that happens here on earth. As such I propose we get rid of the problem.

Everyone on earth needs to die. That’s really the only option. If you think about it Hitler probably wasn’t a genocidal maniac. He was probably a staunch conservationist who realized that people were the greatest threat to our world – not terrorism or the erosion of civil liberties. Surely as an environmentalist you must feel some sort of kinship with Hitler as each of you wish to do more for mother earth by ridding the planet of those who destroy it with such a willy-nilly attitude.

In closing Sheryl I just wanted to say thank you for starting the environmental revolution. Had it not been for your sound thinking and foresight alternative means of fighting the evils that plague mother earth probably never would have come to light. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go email Al Gore. I understand he’s on the hunt for what is probably the second most pressing threat to this world: MAN-BEAR-PIG

Sincerely,

Your bestest friend

Travis

Travis only uses biodegradable tampons

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

di·ver·si·fi·ca·tion - Show Spelled Pronunciation[di-vur-suh-fi-key-shuhn, dahy-]

–noun

2. the act or practice of manufacturing a variety of products, investing in a variety of securities, selling a variety of merchandise, etc., so that a failure in or an economic slump affecting one of them will not be disastrous.

As I get older I begin feeling the twinge of ideas that I once thought belonged specifically to a group of individuals that I am not. That group would be adults. I've never been able to identify with adults/grown ups/mature people because their lifestyles and priorities always seemed foreign to me. Not foreign like Chinese food; foreign like trying to decode the ancient scribblings of a long gone society - that's super foreign. These entities would throw out terms and tricks of verse that would confound and confuse me. They talk about APRs, CDs (no, dear friends, that's not what you think; that means Certificate of Deposit - I found that out because I just about slapped the mouth off an adult I overheard saying they bought a CD for $15,000). They discuss the virtues of mutual funds and stock portfolios and the all important "diversification".

Diversification is a term I understand because a friend once told me, upon looking into my fridge and seeing only one type of beer, that I needed to diversify my alcoholic selection. Which is always a wise idea. But the diversification that these "adults" speak of is not that of having more than one type of Vodka. Nor is it trying to reach an equilibrium between the amount of Penthouse, Playboy and Hustler that occupy your book shelf. They speak of investments and ensuring that you have a wide variety "baskets" in which to place your monetary "eggs". The more diverse your investment portfolio is the better chance you have of raking in "the mad cash".

And I come before you today with an opportunity, nay a calling, nay (yet again) a divine summons regarding an aforementioned "basket" in which to place said monetary "eggs" which will allow you to rake in "the mad cash". I now, humbly yet full of hope, present to you:

Click for larger version and explanation.

What is MANTOWN MEGAPLEX?

Simply put: It Is Divinity.

If god were to reach down and touch the earth with a loving finger; from that spot would spring forth an unquenchable well of all things man and titties related. It is the shining light of a universe that seeks to pussify and make politically correct all it sees.

It Is Hope.

It Is Beautiful.

It Is Topless.

The opportunity now exists for you, dear readers, to get in on the ground floor of the ninth wonder of the world (Andre The Giant was the eighth) and assist me in bringing this dream to life. It's an opportunity for investment. It's an opportunity for diversification. It's an opportunity to be as close to the divine as one can achieve before shuffling off this mortal coil. My contact information can be found here.

Travis's new slogan will be Topless or Bust.

as the toys go winding down

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (14) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

If you've got a quarters worth of a brain then you've heard the expression "Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD." Well I'm going to hire someone to start tattooing that on the foreheads of studio executives in order to make them think twice before they start looking into more comic book properties to develop into feature films. Sure comic book movies are popular but that doesn't mean you have to squirt one out every summer. Especially if you don't have an understanding of the source material.

What some studios are doing to comic book films would be tantamount to an executive studying figures and seeing that the move Philadelphia raked in a lot of cash, and then a few years later Titanic brought in buckets full of the green dollar, and based on that information deciding that the best way to make money would to be to make a film about a boat that has aids that sinks. After all if both an AIDS movie brought in money and a movie about a sinking ship brought in money, shouldn't blending the genres bring in even more money? Hell, why not try to capture every market and it can be an animated film from Disney?

Fortunately I don't really have to illustrate what shitty comic book movies might look like because the hollywood machine has churned out it's fair share in the last few years and, from what I've been reading on the interweb, plans to continue doing so until they run out of ideas. But that's okay because once they've strip-mined the comic book landscape we can start recycling TV shows from the 90s and beyond into feature length films. But I'm diverting my attention - probably on purpose - from the whole point of this article: The Shittiest Comic Book Movies ever made.

The Hulk

The Hulk is a shitty character. Hulk get mad. Hulk smash. He's got about as much story worthy credence as watching a pro-wrestler do Hamlet. Two fucking hours of"you wouldn't like me when I'm angry." and then the big payoff of the whole film is when he finally goes on a roid rage rampage and bounces around the desert like the Trix rabbit on crack busting up helicopters. This movie sucks on a colossal level and much to my chagrin...there will be a sequel.

Judge Dredd

One of the greatest things about the Judge Dredd comics is that it truly was it's own environment with rules and order, social standards and guidelines. Judges aren't allowed to date other judges. Judge Dredd never takes his helmet off and, unlike every other comic; Judge Dredd takes place in real time so as the comic book goes on in years Judge Dredd ages accordingly. The comic has been running for thirty years now and Dredd has age 30 years. This movie broke almost every tenent set forth in the comics that made it great. The only redeeming quality was the killer robots which would have saved the movie had they killed Stallone.

Ghost Rider

If I were casting ghost rider I'm fairly certain I would have cast a brick with a face drawn on it before I cast Nick Cage. This movie was too fucking campy for me. Oh my god, Ghost Rider is fighting the spirits of Water, Wind and Earth - OMG Ghost Rider must be the spirit of Fire LOL!!!1 I actually heard someone make this brain chilling exclamation in the theater. Being the considerate movie patron that I am I walked over dumped 64 ounces of frosty cold Cherry Choke on their head and then punched them in the face. When she was done crying I made her go buy me a new one. Though I wish I had just left the theater instead of watching NIck Cage ham-handedly stumble through another performace.

Tank Girl

Hewlet and Martin created a work of Pop Culture genius with Tank Girl. She was irreverent, crazy, a drunk, a fuck up, a bandit, a whore and several other less than savory adjectives. Her nipples shot whiskey and her vagina was a more than ample killing machine. But the movie...oh god. The movie opened up the chest of Tank Girl Ideology and shit inside of its still beating heart.

Daredevil

You could drive a Mac-Fucking-Truck through the plot holes in this piece of crap. Matt Murdoch is a do gooder, pro-bono lawyer who - according to his partner - get paid shit by his clients all the time. But regardless of that fact he still has a secret lair, a deprivation chamber and a shitload of special Daredevil style weapons. Somehow he's got a Bruce Wayne style hideout on a delivery boys budget. Of course what's worse than Daredevil?

Elektra

Here's a neat idea: Make shitty movie based on a supposedly dead secondary character from another shitty movie. Or I could just dip my balls in hot lava.

V for Vendetta

But we already covered that didn't we?

and last but certainly not least

All of The Superman Movies

I hate superman and as a result I hate George Reeves, Christopher Reeves, Dean Cain, The guy from the new one, and that mop haired fuck on smallville. The superman movies had one redeeming quality: They somehow convinced Richard Pryor to be in one of them but other than that this series has been a monsterous waste of film. I do, however LOVE the fact that this series has almost mirrored the Rocky Series, including shitty comeback attempt. Superman is not a character that people can identify with - unless of course we're talking about the horrendous religious/jesus complex overtones of the latest film - because he's unstoppable. What you have to do, in order to make a good superman movie, is actually put the man of steel in peril. Here's an idea I came up with for the next Superman movie:

Superman flies home to his quaint apartment after having saved a bus load of nuns, or something equally as boring.

As he lands on the balcony he peaks in the window and sees four large ex-cons running a train on his ladyfare. But he stops short of killing them with his eye lasers because he sees a video camera, and a sound crew, and a man dressed like a leprechaun and he realizes that while he was out saving the world Lois was at home taking every last ounce of Cock that Metropolis had to offer.

Depressed Superman flies off unsure of how to live his life further. He changes into Clark Kent and stops at a local gun store to buy a pistol. Then he walks to a liquor store and buys three gallons of shitty cheap vodka.

He flies to the top of a skyscraper and chugs down all of the vodka, pulls the pistol out and puts it in his mouth.

He pulls the trigger but nothing happens 'cause he's Superman.

Alone, Drunk, Depressed, Lacking Love and unable to kill himself he moves to a seedy town in Guatemala and opens up an internet webcam site where he regularly performs acts that border between sex and a snuff film. Because he's invincible he has dubbed Thursdays to be "Thrusting Thursdays" and allows local members of the drug cartel to fuck him in the butt while they repeatedly try to stab him in the eyes with hyperdermic needles.

Sadly, Lois Lane's website - loislanelovesthecockineveryholeshecanfititin.net - becomes a new sensation on the interweb and she goes on to be the next Jenna Jameson. She has wealth, power, sex and fun and superman ends up coming back to the states to be the front man for a Fall Out Boy cover band called "Got My Dick Caught In My Zipper".

Even then I still wouldn't go see it because Superman is a douche bag.

Travis is in therapy to deal with his Superman anger issues.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Due to a computer crash and server problems the list of the worst comic book movies has been delayed a week while I try to scrape together enough cash to get myself a new computer. Until then enjoy this.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank one of the unsung heroes of today's society, so raise a shot glass because this one goes out to you: Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick. We've met several times, in all of your various forms.

Dumb-Dumb The Hot Cashier: You were the super hot cashier at Toys R Us when my friend and I went shoppiong for a present for his six year old niece. You seemed to have complete understanding that the cash register would do all of the work for you, so I don't blame you for being dumb-founded when, after he paid and the computer told you what change to give, he found the exact change in his pocket. Of course you could have just given him a dollar back and taken the change but that deer in the headlights look you gave us made it perfectly clear: You're hot, and no one should expect you to do math.

Dumb-Dumb The Hot Bar Chick: As you were sipping your fruity alcoholic slushy you butted into the conversation my friends and I were having. It was forgiven because you were hot and one of my friends decided he wanted to poon you in the ass. However, as the conversation progressed, and I got drunker and mouthier, I accused you of doing blow and clown porn. The most priceless moment of the night was when you looked at me and said, "I saw that Johnny Depp movie so I know that blow is cocaine, but what's a clown?" I had to walk away then and there because:

A) I've got a girlfriend and I can't abuse your naivete to allow me to face fuck you and...

B) I was choking from stifling back laughter which, if let out, would ruin my friends' chances of abusing your naivete and face fucking you. So thank you Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick, that laugh made my night.

Dumb-Dumb The Hot Sorority Girl: It was girls like you that made living in Isla Vista completely worth it, even though you never spoke to me in public. If it weren't for your overt need to prove you could get anywhere in life that you wanted by simply mouth-a-fying an occassionaly wang no one would understand how you managed to muddle through your chemical engineering class, (even though you still pronounced nuclear as NUKE-U-LER) I have to say though, Dumb-Dumb the Sorrority Girl, my fondest memory of you is the weekend we would spend together. Oh I was never invited to the parties you attended but I got a kick out of sitting on my darkened, second story, balcony, in all black, with a bottle of vodka, and shooting you, and your friends, with my airsoft guns. What made it that much more special was when you would durnkenly stumble back hours later, and I could shoot you again.

It's okay though, Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick, you do have some redeeming qualities. The combination of low cut shirts and low rise jeans completely counteracts the fact that you can't do long division, which isn't actually all that hard. But it's okay, because I can see a little nipple so I'll let that slide. That and the fact that the drunker you get the more likely it is you'll show me the tattoo that "daddy doesn't know about" which resides just inches above parts I'm not supposed to see on a bar patio. I'm also 98.5 percent sure that one more shot of Jaegermeister will get you to flash me your tits. For that I'll forgive that one of your life's goals is to have a sugar daddy. But the greatest thing about you, Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick: You're as gullable as the ocean is wet. You'll believe anything I say as long as I don't get that look on my face that screams, "I can't believe she's buying this shit."

Quite frankly, Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick, I love you. After all, if it weren't for you and your ilk, I'd miss out on some of my favorite things in life: Like Hooters, Girls Gone Wild, Strip Clubs and spring break stories that include phrases like,. "I've never fooled around with another girl, but..." and three shots of tequilla later you're face deep in the crotch of the chick you're sharing a hotel room with. God Bless you Dumb-Dumb The Hot Chick, and just to let you know, I'm only driving this piece of shit Ford Fiesta until the Jag is out of the shop. And I promise that I will call you, that is of course unless I'm called away on a super secret spy mission. In which case, if I see you in the same bar next weekend I'll pretend not to know you....because I'm undercover.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

Comic book movies, as I'm sure everyone is aware, fucking rule. Unfortunately they are not a certainty and what I mean by that is; while most comic book movies fucking rule there are some that, even though they have the full force of the mighty hype machine behind them – they still suck balls – Jennifer Garner go ahead and raise your hand and prepare to reap the whirlwind. They are, however, an extremely popular commodity in this day and age. You can count that every summer, as the blockbusters start pawing at your cash, there will be a super hero movie in the mix.

I’m not very quiet about movies that I hate but one thing I’ve noticed is that I have not dedicated nearly enough time to movies that reach down your pants, grab you by your nuts – or baby factory, choose whichever option applies to you – and takes you down hard. Well we’re going to do just that today. I have assembled the definitive list of the best comic book movies ever made. If it’s not on this list then it is safe to assume that A.) The movie is a giant bucket of crap and B.) if you find yourself saying, “Dude, he didn’t include movie x he must not have seen it. I’ll explain to him how great it really is,” then you’re an idiot.

Batman (1991): Arguably the first successful comic book film of the current generation. Tim Burton’s take on Batman was stark, gritty, dirty and downright perfect. That is until Joel Schumacher came along and made a Broadway musical out of the rest of the franchise. Batman is supposed to be about ass-kicking not about nipples on the bat-suit and gratuitous shots of the bat-crotch you fucking ass-clown.

Batman Begins: RETRIBUTION MOTHERFUCKER!! At first Batman starts off as a whiney bitch-kid who can’t even take a fall. Then his parents get shot to swiss cheese and Batman’s all, “Fuck this, I’m gonna go be a ninja.” And that’s exactly what he does. Did you know Batman was a ninja? I always had my suspicions. Then Batman comes back to Gotham to exact his dick swinging revenge and in the process lets the inmates at Arkham Asylum loose which provides for glorious, non-Schumacher directed, sequels.

The Blade Series: This series was over the top with all of its comic book elements which is exactly why they ruled so much. Here’s a quick synopsis of all three.

Blade: Blade laces up his mud-hole stomping boots and, in accordance with the instructions that came with said mud-hole stomping boots, stomps a lake eerie sized mud-hole in Stephen Dorf’s emo ass and then walks the fucker dry, citing the hypothesis that hell hath no fury like an angry, black, half human, half vampire scorned by an emo white guy who slept with his, supposedly, dead mother.

Blade II: Blade laces up his mud-hole stomping boots and teams up with a super team of Vampire bounty hunters and, yet again in accordance with the documentation accompanying his mud-hole stomping boots, proceeds to stomp a Wisconsin sized mud-hole in the ass of some freaky vampire super hybrid. Special Note: Blade uses no less than two of The Rock’s signature moves in fight scenes in this movie. Proving once again that The Rock is the most asskickingest man alive.

Blade Trinity: Blade laces up his mud-hole stomping boots, Ryan Reynolds sharpens his acerbic wit and Jessica Biel looks lickable. I’m certain that this movie contained a far superior amount of mud-hole stomping than the previous two but I was to busy hoping that Jessica Biel would feel compelled to fight vampires topless.

The Spiderman Trilogy: This one sits very close to my heart because the tale of Spiderman is one that every geek plays in their head from the time they realize that the word potential might also be closely tied in with the phrase “getting pussy.” The Spiderman movies followed the comic pretty well so far. Peter Parker is funyun eating geek who gets picked on. Then he gets bit by a spider, gets super powers, a chisled geek-bod and proceeds to be the one handing out the ass-whoopin’s instead of bending over and taking it. This transition from dork to hero has been something I’ve thought about since I was six years old. As such I’ve let every spider I’ve ever seen take a little nibble. So far no super powers but I have had severe allergies, bloating, swelling, a mild battle with Gangrene that was solved by penicillin and I’m missing the very end of my pinky toe. I personally wish that they had introduced venom earlier in the series because then we would have a chance to see Carnage. And Carnage, in case you’re curious, doesn’t fuck around.

The X-Men: In my opinion this set of movies is the Grand Daddy of ‘em all but it’s also one of those that gets the hairy eyeball more than others. With the ever revolving cast of characters and story lines this one is hard to even compare to the comic because there is no way they could fit that much information into two hours of film, but comic book assholes still bitch about it. You’ll see ‘em in a blockbuster mumbling shit like, “But Wolverine didn’t meet Rogue like that,” or “Lady Deathstrike was actually Uriko, Logan’s wife from japan…that shit she did in the movie was bogus.” Of course at this time you’re allowed to smash them in the face with a copy of anything handy. I like the fact that these movies did seek to incorporate as many of the main characters as possible and Brian Singer’ direction is what truly propelled these beyond the scope of being just comic book movies.

Punisher: Quite possibly the original vigilante; Frank Castle, much like Bruce Wayne, watches his family get filled full of hot machine-gun lead and instead of taking his ball and going home he decides that he should dish out full metal jacket mayhem. Relying on his CIA and SpecOps training The Punisher hands out tickets to the ass-kicking show and when people arrive he makes them line up, single file, and the knocks the shit out of them one by one. Once he’s worked his way through all of the throw away rent-a-thugs he dances a Saturday Night Fever Disco of pain all over John Travolta’s stupid face.

Hellboy: Guillermo Del Toro, whose work brought a lot of the comic book aesthetics to the Blade series, breathed life into a very overlooked, in mainstream comic society, character: Hellboy. Del Toro worked closely with artist and writer, Mike Mignola, to ensure that his style was portrayed (including his amazing use of harsh shadows and negative space) on the big screen. Hellboy owns because of it’s attention to detail in its simplicity. Go ahead and re-read that sentence because it will confuse a few of you. But basically it boils down to this: Hellboy is a big red demon from hell who fights demons along side his fishman friend and a chick who can control fire. All sorts of references to the occult and crazy nazi douchebags are in this film but in the end Hellboy kicks ass with the aid of his enormous gun The Samaritan and happiness prevails. Though the crazy bad guy with the gas mask and bladed weapons kicked super ass too.

300: I saw this movie opening night at the Imax and left the theater with a fiery hard-on and an urge to don a helmet and loincloth and bang the mighty drums of war. While I was in line there were two lesbians making out which set the tone for the entire evening. If there was a plot to this movie I don't remember it because it was buried under wave after wave of foreigners getting the unholy fuck beat out of them. These 300 Spartan dudes go for a walk with the sole purpose of leaving as many bodies in their wake as possible. Sure there's a few slow points in this movie but they're necessary because you'll need a refractory period in between battle scenes - which is 97.6% of the entire film.p>

Sin City: This movie is, by far, the greatest Comic Book adaptation ever made. Robert Rodriguez made Frank Miller a co-director and they took the time to literally compare each panel of the comic book to its big screen counter part. The source material is amazing and beautiful in its simplicity at the same time being gritty and violent like an old time mob movie but when you bring that fucker to the cinemas it simply blows the fucking doors off. If someone you know hasn't seen Sin City and they're asking you why in the hell they should, aside from how truly amazing the film is you could tell them this joke:

You: Knock Knock

Them: Who's there?

You: Violence, criminals, violence, tits, drunks, violence, ass kicking, prostitutes, mutilation, violence and more tits. *When they start to repeat what you said - which is on par with the Knock Knock Joke Format - hand them a bottle of whiskey and put the movie on the TV and tape their eyes open in order to more properly let the AWESOME flood into their brain.

I speculate that Frank Miller is, quite possibly, not human but rather a god-like robot who feasts upon pure violence and bare tits. Speaking of bare tits; it is my personal hope that, in the Sin City sequels, Jessica Alba gives an eyeful of her magical tatas.

Next Week: The Bottom of the Barrel, The Worst of the Worst.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (10) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

It’s comic book month over at How To Kill People and in discussing comic books I am dredging the muck of my personal geekiness. In doing so I wanted to bring to light that there are a wide variety of geeks in this world and in order to help you identify the ones you deal with, or the ones you might yourself be, I have created this zoological classification. It’s always better to hunt when you know what your target is like.

And before anyone gets their panties in a twist I’m readily admitting that I’m a big geek and probably, at one point in time or another, fit into most of these categories so I’ve placed a red asterisk next to each one that I am/was.

Scientific Name: Geekus Rollforinitiatous

Common Name: Gaming Geek

Appearance: Due to lack of exposure to light the Geekus Rollforinitiatous is generally pale in appearance. The mainstay diet of Funyuns and Mt. Dew has left the Geekus Roleforinitiatous greasy in complexion and due to “late night raids on World of Warcraft” the Geekus Rollforinitiatous’ eyes are generally glossed over and bright red.

Indigenous Environment: Often found in subterranean enclaves (re: basements) and converted garage rec-rooms the Geekus Rollforinitiatous decorates it’s dwelling with strategy guides and world maps for easier reference. Due to the lack, generally, of female interaction the Geekus Rollforinitiatous’ dwelling is usually messy and smells like feet and allergy medicine.

Behavior: The Geekus Rollforinitiatous of olden days traveled in small, all male, packs that lacked in much social interaction. Due to the advances of technology the Geekus Rollforinitiatous is now a lone entity preferring to spend time ‘online’ gaming and gets much of its social interaction and order through MMORPGs (Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games). Often you will hear Geekus Rollforinitiatous speaking of guilds and mana. Save for the rare appearance at conventions such as PAX; Geekus Rollforinitiatous spend much of their free time in seclusion.

*Scientific Name: Geekus Filmsnobus

Common Name: Movie Geek

Appearance: This variety of geek varies in appearance but are generally clad in Jeans and T-shirts with clever film quotes; though they have eschewed the current cultural ‘Thug’ fascination with the movie Scarface. Their hair is typically messy and the face usually has a small amount of hair growth because the Geekus Filmsnobus has greater worries than personal appearance. Though often clad in dark colors – grey and black – they are easily distinguished from the “Goth” by their acceptance of social interaction and a practice that is like Kryptonite to the Goth: Laughter.

Indigenous Environment: The Geekus Filmsnobus spends short periods of each day hibernating in their secondary dwellings known as “The Theater”. Though that should not be confused with the “multiplex” which is a place that the Geekus Filmsnobus rarely visits except to concede to guilty pleasures such as “The Summer Blockbuster”. Though you’d be hard pressed to get the Geekus Filmsnobus to admit to seeing, let alone enjoying, anything with the name “Bruckheimer” attached to it.

Behavior: The Geekus Filmsnobus spends a great deal of time reading insider magazines and articles online for spoilers and tidbits about upcoming films. Usually attaching themselves to a single writer or director the Geekus Filmsnobus treats them like deities upon whose alter they should lay gifts and sacrifices. The Geekus Filmsnobus are typically elitist in their views of the entertainment medium and consider you below their understanding of film as an art form, entertainment genre and metaphor for life.

* Scientific Name: Geekus Indilabelisic

Common Name: Music Geek

Appearance: This geek has, quite possibly, the greatest variety of outward appearance; each of which is defined by the subset of the musical genre that they associate with. Oft times one can find Geekus Indilabelisic hiding, subversively, in mainstream society where, by all outward appearances, they have hidden their genetic indie disposition. (See figure A.) But, in studying the Geekus Indilabelisic, one can find that the external decoration choices made in their youth belies their true nature.

Indigenous Environment: The Geekus Indilabelisic can be easily found in independent retail outlets searching through tomes of ancient musical archives sometimes called “records” or “vinyl” because vinyl implies an exclusivity. The more modern and adaptive Geekus Indilabelisic - much like it’s counterparts – can be found rooted in front of their computer browsing through internet sites and myspace music. Occasionally, during non-work days and when it’s acceptable to “get piss drunk” you can find Geekus Indilabelisic at local bars and clubs searching for the next great undiscovered band…that they can lord over your head.

Behavior: The Geekus Indilabelisic is typically an antisocial creature that prefers the company of its library of music as opposed to human companionship. When this creature does travel with members of its own kind it is mostly on the way to or from the aforementioned concerts that it attends. Much like Geekus Filmsnobus the Geekus Indilabelisic thinks that it is better than you and professes to have “Not even listened to the radio in…like…five years.” But then back-peddles in a self defense maneuver when you find a Justin Timberlake CD in their car.

Scientific Name: Geekus Blowhardous

Common Name: Political Geek

Appearance: Often adorned in political slogans and buttons the Geekus Blowhardous, quite literally, wears their viewpoints and opinions on their sleeve. Not to be confused with their 1960s counterpart – The Fucking Hippy – Geekus Blowhardous wears similar items and adornments though they can be easily identified as looking like “Loud Mouthed State workers on their lunch break”. Don’t let the cheap suit or SUV fool you; Geekus Blowhardous uses these as camouflage when they enter the regular world in order to pass unsuspecting.

Indigenous Environment: Most commonly found at Starbucks or high end cafés the Geekus Blowhardous rarely ventures out of the comfort of the suburbs save for work or ski vacations. When on ‘Holiday’ as they like to refer to it, the Geekus Blowhardous can be seen in the lodge as opposed to actually getting out and exerting energy.

Behavior: Regardless of their political leanings, be they left, right, up or fucking down, the Geekus Blowhardous knows how you should be living your life and they are more than willing to inform you. After a long hard day of listening to talk radio and filled to the gills with the dogma of Rush Limbaugh, Al Fraken, Sean Hannity and Randy Rhodes they will dive from their cubicles to the local Starbucks to discuss the latest Coop, Election, War or political scandal. While the Geekus Blowhardous will, more than likely, proffer and pundit about causes that they should stand behind they will rarely act themselves. For Example:

Geekus Blowhardous “What happened in New Orleans is just tragic. Someone should help those people.”

Me: “Why don’t you volunteer?”

Geekus Blowhardous “Oh, there’s no way I’d be able to get down there besides…there’s black people down there and from what I hear they’re out of usable food and are now hunting and eating white women.”

Me: “I’m going to stab you in the face!”

***Scientific Name: Geekus Funnypicturous

Common Name: Comic Book Geek

Appearance: Big, little, fat, skinny, young or old there is one common thread through the outward appearance of Geekus Funnypicturous: more than likely they are dressed up like their favorite superhero even though they have no fucking business being in spandex. Geekus Funnypicturous is often seen on the extreme end of the physical scale either dangerously skinny or dangerously fat. Scientists very rarely find members of Geekus Funnypicturous in a mid-range healthy weight class. The Geekus Funnypicturous, when in public and out of costume, can easily be identified sitting in a corner, clothed in their favorite characters merchandise. It is not uncommon to see several pieces of their outer adornments match in order to display their loyalty to their favorite character: I.E. Batman backpack and beanie, Spiderman shoes and jacket.

Indigenous Environment: The environment of Geekus Funnypicturous is a rapidly dwindling habitat. As the corporate bookstores have moved into the realm of selling Trade Paper Backs at cut rate prices the neighborhood comic book shop has become all but obsolete. Occasionally Geekus Funnypicturous can be seen in Barnes and Nobles clutching a frapacino while they sit on the ground of the “Graphic Novel” aisle. In this situation they are usually confused and scared and the only thing that is keeping them from attacking is the calmative effect of holding a recognizable item in their hands. In the rare occasion that their community does posess a neighborhood comic store they can be seen in an opium like haze within it’s tiny confines; safe and sated.

Behavior: To the Geekus Funnypicturous the world of their fantasies might as well be a reality. They become so involved in the alternate world of their stories that they can be seen crying, laughing or jumping for joy at the merest plot twist. ( One case study pointed out that in 1993-94, during the Death Of Superman story arc, at least one in every five Geekus Funnypicturous could be found wandering the streets aimlessly muttering the phrase “But…he’s the man of steel. No one can kill the man steel.” Which was immediately followed by binge drinking and a renouncement of faith.) Generally considered some of the most harmless of the Geekus family the Geekus Funnypicturous has become emboldened as of late with Hollywood’s acceptance of their counter culture.

*Scientific Name: Geekus Piledriven

Common Name: Wrestling geek

Appearance: Though their heroes and icons are in peek physical condition the Geekus Piledriven are quite the opposite. Adorned in childish garments with slogans professing “Fuck Fear, Drink Beer” and “Layeth The Smacketh Down” the Geekus Piledriven is readily identifiable in public. Like a throwback to marsupials the Geekus Piledriven has an external pouch in which it carries its goods and, occasionally, snacks. This pouch was thought to be extinct in the species but Geekus Piledriven has refused to give up the use of the almighty “Fanny Pack”.

Indigenous Environment: Unlike most of the Geekus Phylum the Geekus Piledriven is most often found in large crowds of worship in their religious temples. They have been known, according to historic record travel in such great packs as to overwhelm their surrounding environment. According to information found in an archaeological dig in Detroit Michigan there once gathered there a great crowd of 93,000+ for a religious event that they have termed “The Slam Heard ‘Round The World.”

Behavior: The Geekus Piledriven is known to be loud mouthed and opinionated on a subject that no one really gives a fuck about. While normally docile and aloof in person they become giants, nay GODS, when posting online and in forums. The IWC (Internet Wrestling Community) is built around the Geekus Piledriven and their need to be right all the god damned time. Much like Geekus Filmsnobus the Geekus Piledriven attaches itself to one wrestler (or superstar) and in ‘putting over’ there chosen deity are more than willing to sacrifice life and limb to see said wrestler hold their chosen title.

Scientific Name: Geekus Con-Maximus

Common Name: star wars/star trek geek

Appearance: Of the entire Geekus Phylum The Geekus Con-Maximus is the most easily identifiable. The Geekus Con-Maximus may posess traits of several of the Geekus family including, but not limited to: Pale Skin, Greasy Hair, Acne and a look of general “What The Fuck” after watching the prequels to the “Holy Trilogy”. The Geekus Con-Maximus wears costumes that are bright in color, dependent upon which sub-phylum they identify with, that stand out and do nothing to camouflage them with their surrounding environment.

Indigenous Environment: In their hey day The Geekus Con-Maximus were readily seen everywhere due to the proliferation of their respective religious iconic imagery (I’m sure you remember when Star Trek was on TV and Star Wars was in the theaters) but these days they are relegated to their yearly pilgrimages. Much like Muslems visit meccah and Jews must trek – no pun intended – to the wailing wall so must Geekus Con-Maximus make its way to the CON (convention: a gathering of the various Geekus family at different parts of the country. Though Geekus Con-Maximus is known only to visit the CON that represents their personal beliefs.)

Behavior: One thing that is little known about the Geekus Con-Maximus is where the split between the two subspecies came from. Geekus Con-Maximus/Star Trek and Geekus Con-Maximus/Star Wars are bitter enemies and have been known to slap fight, to the death, over their zealous religious differences. In a report released by the Vatican one such instance occurred in Los Angeles, CA. USA in which opposing CONs were held across the street from each other. A violent bloodbath of yelling, spitballs and girl-like bitch slapping occurred upon the appearance of one of the rarest geek species – A Female. The battle over the one, acceptable and attractive female resulted in the deaths of 13,000. Sadly this scene was the closest that most Geekus Con-Maximus has ever come to a scantly clad woman.

*Scientific Name: Geekus Desperatous

Common Name: Goth

Appearance: What you might think are shadows or specters are actually the lowest species on the geek scale: The Goth. Easily identifiable in public the Geekus Desperatous dresses in all black no matter the season or heat index. In hotter regions Geekus Desperatous has been known to drop by the handful out of refusal to simply wear a pair of fucking shorts. The female of the species is a great dichotomy being either frightening or jaw droppingly hot. But no matter which; each one prescribes to the same outward appearance guidelines. Paler than all of the Geekus family it is advised that one not stare directly at the Geekus Desperatous for you might go blind.

Indigenous Environment: Indy coffee shops, indy theaters and anything outside of the “mainstream” is the refuge of the Geekus Desperatous. Though the greatest gatherings can be found at any place where “Rocky Horror Picture Show” is playing or a Hot Topic (Though the irony of the fact that Hot Topic has co-opted and consumerised their lifestyle is lost on Geekus Desperatous).

Behavior: The Geekus Desperatous is an antisocial and nocturnal creature that has been known to piss their pants and burst into flames at the mere thought of the sun. As the weakest of the Geek Species the Geekus Desperatous has a variety of weaknesses; including, but not limited to:

Sunshine

Laughter

Happiness

Colors

Fun

and Puppies

Though this is a fairly comprehensive list it is not, by any means, a complete one. There are several lesser known species of geeks that are still being studied and classified including:

The Theater Geek

The Nascar Geek (Whose power seems to be derived from their all powerful mullets)

And The Sports Geek: (This is the only type of geek that displays different stage of development: The Pro Sports Geek (adult), The College Sports Geek (larvae) and The High School Sports Geek (pupa, though this variety is only found in the south).

Now that you have been informed you are free to study the different geeks so that you can better recognize them in your daily life.

Travis refuses to classify his own geekiness.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

il·lu·sion - Show Spelled Pronunciation[i-loo-zhuhn]

–noun

If P.T. Barnum created the illusion of Government and put it on display for the world to gawk at; this would be it. He’d place it behind the half open flap of a marvelous tent, toying with the possibility of what really exists once you pass through.

"Come one, come all,” He’d bark, waiving his top hat and cane in the air to garner the attention of those beyond the reach of his voice. “Come see the inscrutable seat of power, the throne of the new world. The rest of the globe is darkness but this…this is the light at the center of the lurid muck that we have become.” He’d point to the tent flap, teasing the reveal, “Two bucks a head and you too can witness all of its grandeur

But away from the crowds the world’s greatest showman tells a different tale. Feet propped up, ice jingling in a glass of cheap whiskey; he’s lost his showbiz glitz. He’s spent a lifetime churning up headline worthy one-liners and buzzwords in order to attract the almighty dollar. And it’s taken its toll.

"I admonish you,” he’d state in a grandfatherly tone, “to see it for what it is…not what it isn’t. It’s all a matter of perception.It’s the selling of the thing that matters. Take the Mermaid Boy, for example. Everyone wants to see it as a boy from an undersea world and believe that it is real. They don’t want to see that it isn’t, in reality, a mythological proof but rather a mummified child with a preserved fish tail sewn onto it.”

"Look at all I have given you,” he’d say waving his hand over the vast landscape, “it is, in scope and scale, Roman and decadent while being humble, in its own way.

Don’t look and see that, just beyond the gossamer veil, that it isn’t pure and righteous but rather a collection of boarded windows and chain-linked fences."

"I have given you a means of Government never seen before. It is a government for the people and by the people in which everyone has the opportunity to succeed. From this small place this government can protect, enforce, and inspire around the world.

Never mind the fact that it isn't a government that must follow its own rules. It isn't a government that is actually out for the best interests of its citizens but rather for the interests of those in power. They can scrutinize and lord over lands afar but they can't keep the city they live in safe."

He'd stare off into the distance, unsure of how to continue. From the look in his eyes you can tell that his lifelong goal of parading the is and hiding the isn't has worn down parts of him that can never be replaced or repaired. "It is our future and it is our past. It is beautiful and it is ugly. It is everything I ever hoped it would be and at the same time...it isn't. It is the cause celeb while, at the same time, it isn't concerned with its own environment."

He'd look at you searching your eyes for understanding. You'd ask, "This great city, this mighty seat power and throne of the free world, the beating heart of the center of the greatest country ever seen....what IS it?"

He'd place his arm around your shoulders and lead you out of his trailer and into the streets. He'd lead you through the glory of the city center and into the gutter of the surrounding landscape. You would see everything that he has told you about. He would stop on a street corner and point at an oft passed piece of grafiti. You'd take a picture and touch it up so that you could read the spraypaint scrawl later.

"I love my country and have pledged to kill for and if neccessary, lay down my life for it. This country has given me everything I have ever had and everything I could ever want. It has given me opportunities beyond my wildest dreams and each time I think it can't fulfill those dreams, it does, and I can dream bigger. It has given me the ability to live in freedom that is so unending that I can't fathom how those without this freedom exist without its warming blanket. Truly, this country is great. I am free to do anything I wish with, or without, its consent."

He'd keep talking, without pause, all the while making sure your eyes don't stray from that street art.

"I love my flag. That flag represents everything that is good, right and strong about this great country and I pledge that, if need be, I would shed my blood upon it in order to make sure that the stripes stayed red."

"But I despise my government. It has lost sight of what this country stands for. My government fights amongst itself without thought as to what that fighting does to those outside of its mighty halls. My government has attempted to take control of the lives of everyone so much that it has all but taken away the freedom of choice that I am willing to die for. My government seem to, day after day, care less about those it governs and more about its monetary quid pro quo. But regardless of the flaws of my government, I love and cherish my country."

"That grafiti, at it basest level, is everything that this great place is.

magic/tragic

The great dichotomy of is and isn't."

Travis.

it's someones voice

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

My friends steal my shit. I doubt that they do it on purpose but, to my friends, I’m the local movie rental store. A rental store with a great selection, no late fees and lacking a pipe wielding, ball busting black man to enforce the “please return my shit” rule. Which is why a shit ton of my movies end up missing.

I realized this on a a href=”http://blog.howtokillpeople.com/wordpress/?p=63 target=”_blank”> recent trip I took to Los Angeles – which I understand to mean ‘heaping pile of shit’ in Spanish. My trip can be summed up by my cartoon alter-ego.

click for full size

What I realized on this sordid trip is that my friends are acquiring quite a substantial film collection…by hook or by crook. This is the list of movies most often stolen from my house.

Thomas Crowne Affair

Purchased twice so far.

I love a good crime flick. Especially one that is so ingeniously executed as this one. And if I remember correctly you get to see Rene Russo’ tatas.

Ocean’s Eleven

Purchased twice so far.

Yet again my fucking friends are taking my high crime movies. The smoke and mirrors, misdirection and execution of this “heist of the century” flick is the greatest draw to this film. But it’s also a really good “Buddy Film.” Unfortunately “buddy film” is another way of saying sausage-fest…but still a good film.

Dawn of the Dead

Land of the Dead

Purchased three times so far…EACH

Maddox did a pretty good review of Dawn of the Dead and I’ll be running a review of Land of the Dead sometime soon. But there’s not a zombie movie out that I don’t like. Apparently I’m not the only one ‘cause this shit flies off the shelf faster than baby formula and natty ice in a welfare supported trailer park.

The movie that disappears with the greatest frequency, the movie that I purchased in LA that started this whole review, is a film that most of my friends claim to hate. They claim that it’s not nearly the giant swinging dick of film renaissance I claim it to be in this review. That’s right; Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, of which I purchased my fifth copy of while in LA, is taken more often than any other movie.

If you fuckers are going to take something why can’t you come take my fiancé’ copy of Chocolat, The Notebook, or those god forsaken Bridgett Jones movies? Thanks for nothing you assholes.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It

ATTENTION IDIOTS OF THE WORLD: I'M PUTTING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS ON NOTICE; I'VE HAD IT!

I would like nothing more right now than to put boot to face of ninety-nine percent of the worlds population. I am fucking amazed that some of you morons can breathe on your own without the assistance of visual aides. The idiocy that abounds is enough to make me want to violently upchuck everything I have eaten since birth. Can someone please explain to me how a group of such hopeless, dickless, brainless morons can be so prolific in society these days? Can someone please give me a reason as to why, for example, a person can rob a liquor store, hurt themselves on the way out, and then sue the store owner? I want to meet the legal fuck-stick who helped set that precedent. People these days lack all common sense and personal responsibility when it comes to their own lives. If you take a loaded handgun, point it at your head, and fire it your relatives are somehow allowed to sue the gun manufacturer because somewhere along the way you weren't informed of some very simple survival instincts. Some people would say it is our responsibility to outfit every window licker on the face of the planet with a helmet and flashing red safety light in order to protect them from the world. Other nancy-asses, who don't understand the concept of self preservation, think we should put warning labels and caution signs on everything anyone could ever come in contact with. All you accomplish by rubber padding the world is prolonging the process of natural selection. I, honestly, would like nothing more than to assist in the wholesale slaughter of every idiot on the face of the planet. Seeing as how it is inappropriate for me to perch myself on the roof of a bus-station with a high powered rifle and go people hunting I have decided on the next best thing: I am petitioning Congress to allow me to start my own branch of government. The Department of Euthanization.

This is our emblem that will be branded on T-shirts, Coffee Mugs, Baby Bibs and the homeless.

Everyone has seen the bumper sticker that says You, out of the gene-pool , that's our job. The doctrine of The Department of Euthanization is fairly simple: to cull the herd of two-toothed, slack-jawed dipshits who seem to be dilluting the genepool and generally just weakening the intelligence quotient of the entire population. Our job would be to cut the dead weight. The members of The Department of Euthanization would all dress like regular people, they would carry a badge displaying our emblem and logo, and a modified Beretta nine millimeter that shoots cyanide darts. We would have authority anywhere in the U.S and seperate branches would be instituted throughout varying regions in the world to assist us.

Obviously by now some of you are getting your panties in a twist about a group of people whose sole dedicated purpose is to end the lives of human beings. I can understand that feeling, but let's face it folks, like the badge says, some people are just too stupid to live. In order to put the rest of the world at ease, for the time being, here is the priority list of targets that the D.O.E will be gunning for.

These kids parents

Any parent who lets their kids look like this and then blame society because their children are social outcasts and mocked openly. What happens then is that fatty's mommy raises enough of a ruckus that I can't order a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger anymore because she's too stupid to realize her walrus children have been cramming down the caloric intake of a 750lb sumo-wrestler since the age of two. It's your fault your kids arteries are clogged because you've condoned their diet of fat, grease, and smaller children. Instead of screaming that McDonalds needs to make their food healthier why don't to you jack-hammer juniors super-sized ass off of the couch and make him do some pushups. It will be good for him, or he'll suffer a massive coronary, either way it's a win-win situation. I'm not the healthiest person in the world but even I know that if I eat Carl's Junior and Mongolian bbq seven days a week I am going to rival Shamoo in weight, girth, and water displacement and I give the D.O.E permission to shoot me in the eyeball if i ever utter anything to the effect of if only Carl's Jr. had told me their food wasn't healthy. Of course it's not healthy, hell I'm fairly certain that McDonalds hamburgers don't even contain actual beef. Unfortunately it would probably take two or three cyanide darts to take these parents down because they're obviously the size of a wooly mamoth.

Along these lines anyone on the Atkins diet is suspect as well. I don't know who the fuck "atkins" thinks he is, but no good can come of his diet. There is no simple, or easy, way to lose weight. I takes hard work, excericse, eating smaller healthier portions and being conscious of the fact that you need to lay off fast food and mudpies. If you're pushing a metric ton then there should be no thought in your mind whatsoever that you should lay off bread and rice and eat more meat.

The other thing I hate is how people on the atkins diet announce that they are attempting to lose weight but are pushing their cholesterol levels through the roof.

WAITER: And what will you have sir?

FAT GUY: I would like the three pound roast beef sandiwch with cheese, mayo, mustard, bacon, and lettuce, but no bread *pats grotesquely large belly* I'm on the atkins.

dipshit.

Next up on the list is vegetarians. If you don't eat meat you're a moron. I am so sick and tired of all of these skinny, wheat smelling, ass-puppets telling me that meat is murder or eating red meat is unhealthy. Wanna know what's unhealthy? Being fourteen pounds, soaking wet, and then trying to lecture me on the benefits of your diet and how healthy you are. Would you like to know what else doesn't eat meat? Everything that is made of meat that I eat.

See these, those are canine teeth, they are meant for tearing flesh. If you don't use them for ripping meat off bones, and do so as a conscious decision, you are on the same level of the food chain as other animals that I spend good money on to cook over an open fire. I love these vegetarian enthusiasts who go on and on ,ad naseuam, about theories of how much land and water it takes to raise cattle. How about this for a chart for you assholes.

This is where I will put your bodies, because irony, to me, is eating meat grazed on fields fertilized by the bodies of vegetarians.

I'd also like to include a general category for sissies. People who have bumperstickers that say things like this:

only mark themselves as sissies. You can also substitute the phrase EMO for sissy. This group of openly emotional, cry at the drop of a hat, tree-hugging, peace-loving, don't harm a fly, horses asses only breed complacency and wimpiness into future generations. I wish it were possible to raise the dead because I would personally resurrect General Patton to be the director of the D.O.E. General Patton doesn't take shit from sissies and I am certain that he would enjoy the field of work of tracking down a sissy at a group hug convention, or an Enya concert, and beating the piss out of them before he put them out of his misery. Sissies just breed sissies. Sissies are the thin skinned little tattle tales who run and scream every time they get even slightly offended. These are the assholes who made it so i have to go to meetings where they say things like if you're telling a joke you have to think are you going to offend anyone around you, not just the person you are telling the joke to. Last time I checked I didn't give a fuck! The last thing I want is a world where everyone is too afraid to act because they don't want to hurt anyone's feelers....

Up next?

Napoleon Dynamite and fans of this movie. This movie licked so much scrotum that Jon Heder eventually ended up imploding after licking his own scrotum for three consecutive days. This movie sucked ass, lots of ass, immense amounts of ass, and fans of this movie lick even more ass. If it's not bad enough that my room mates swore up and down that this movie ruled (which it did not) but now I have to hear every lame ass imitate it. Every time I hear someone say gosh, or idiot, like the lead character I want to chop them in the larynx and cut off their oxygen supply. I have spoken on the virtues of story-telling, pathos, drama, and story structure on more than one occassion, and this movie is a shining example of how you can masturbate on film and the public will eat it up. Now Napoleon Dynamite propaganda and consumer products over run every store shelf. I see no need for people with such obvious weak-wills and bad taste to continue existing. The only way this movie could have been worse is if it starred Ashton Kutcher. Let's see if I am wrong. I asked my friend Tim what he thought of Napoleon Dynamite.

EVERYONE INVOLVED IN REALITY TV..EVER! This means cast, crew, producers, and fans. Reality TV is, by far, the most hideous waste of electrons ever, wanna know why? Because instead of going out and doing things like...well...anything, they sit at home and watch what is going to happen to other people's lives. I am all for television and movies because I believe everyone should enjoy a good, well told, story. Movies and TV are great entertainment and I will concede that i do occassionally plant my ass in front of the one eyed god of knowledge. (usually on nights when pro-wrestling is on) I detest reality television. Reality TV is hardly ever reality because there is a cast and crew behind the scenes antagonizing certain characters, editing things a certain way, but all in all it's a dumb fucking idea. It's about the most apathetic form of entertainment ever.

Writer One: Hey bill, do you want to write a story with me?

Writer Two: Sure, but actually writing and researching takes effort.

Writer One: yeah that's true, I've got a lot of time invested in sticking household items in my rectum. So how do we preserve my ass-spelunking time and still get on tv?

Writer Two: Let's just stick a buncha people in a house and film it.

Writer One: Good idea, let's make sure that when we do it we include every horrible stereo-type.

Writer Two: We should also include a flaming homo, establishing that every homosexual is a flamboyantly flaming homosexual, and at least one guy who uses the phrase I hate fags on more than one occassion.

Writer One: Great idea...how much would you like to bet that I can stick this mag-lite up my ass?

Filth. Reality Television is horribly cliched, fit every stereotype, thus perpetuating those stereotypes, piece of monkey shit. I would enjoy storming the set of shows like American Idol, Survivor, Big Brother and all of the other shitty reality tv shows. It will make for a great series finale. Oooh, it looks like generic white stereotype and generic black stereotype are finally learning to get along. HOLY CRAP THE DEPARTMENT OF EUTHANIZATION HAS JUST STORMED THE BUILDING AND LAID WASTE TO THE ENTIRE PLACE. Now that's good television. Dave Chapelle, I will personally pay you out of my pocket to come back and do another season...black white supremacist...that shit's funny.

And Finally MIMES

Clowns are bad

Street Performers are worse

The French are evil

And then there are MIMES. Mimes are the most pervasive form of evil and villiany on the face of the earth. Nothing says shoot me in the face, I deserve to die like dressing up as a mopey, french, silent, clown, street performer.

Obviously this list is only of first run, intial targets. Here's a partial list of futre targets:

Clowns

The why lie I need a beer guy

Old people who drive.

The French.

Trailer Trash.

Everyone in Utah except Maddox .

Leonardo DiCaprio.

Child Molesters.

I'm sure there's more, but if you have any suggestions. Email Me.

Travis is really a nice, sweet guy who loves puppies and rainbows and fluffy bunnies.

Archives

Posted by Travis Gruber at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (11) | Del.icio.us It | Fark It | Digg It