Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Month: September 2015 (Page 5 of 14)

It’s Not Brain Surgery

On Meet The Press this morning, there was this from Dr. Ben Carson:

…the retired neurosurgeon said, “I would not advocate that we put a Muslim in charge of this nation. I absolutely would not agree with that.”

Other people who should not be put in charge of America, according to Ben Carson:

  • Atheist.
  • Communist.
  • Contortionist, metaphorical or actual.
  • Foreigner.
  • Someone who doesn’t love America the way she wants to be loved.
  • Slowly.
  • Gently.
  • But: firmly.
  • An unmarried person.
  • Hindu.
  • Jain.
  • Zoroastrian.
  • Druid.
  • Pagan.
  • Wiccan.
  • Wrong kind of Jew.
  • Like, one of those guys who’s never been out of Brooklyn, yet has a foreign accent?
  • Let’s just set the yarmulke as the over/under: if you wear it all the time, you can’t be President.
  • Wrong kind of Christian.
  • Obviously, Unitarians can go fuck themselves.
  • Any of those Orthodox churches.
  • As far as I–Ben Carson, world-renowned brain surgeon–am willing to say on television for some reason, Greek Orthodox or whatever may as well be Muslim, and I do not advocate allowing another Muslim to be President.
  • I meant a Muslim.
  • America has never had a Muslim President.
  • I’ve been told.
  • I also would not advocate letting a lady be in charge.

Sunday Night, Football

  • All field goal kickers are into Jesus in a specifically white, suburban way.
  • This brand-savvy individualism has got to stop: during the little tape piece they run in the corner of the screen to introduce the players, there is now a free-for-all going on.
  • You used to say your name, and then your college.
  • No exceptions.
  • Now you can mention your nickname, or your elementary school, or your pet goldfish’s name.
  • “Big ups to Stinkyfin back home!”
  • This started, as most terrible football-related things do, with Michael Irvin.
  • And the rest of the University of Miami guys: we got “The U.”
  • Then, of course, the college powerhouse that is “THE–
  • –Ohio State University” got involved and now anyone can do whatever the hell they want.
  • Just be simple with it.
  • “Richard Ramirez, UCLA.”
  • “Charles Starkweather, Nebraska.”
  • “Ryan Fitzpatrick, Harvard.”
  • In fact, every player should just announce himself as Ryan Fitzpatrick from Harvard.
  • Unless the player has a great Ridiculous Football Name.
  • D’Brickashaw Ferguson and Ha-Ha Clinton Dix may keep their names.
  • Dom Capers may also keep his name.
  • Put some Julius Peppers on your Dom Capers and you got dinner, baby.
  • Football is the only hurdle to a clean cut of the cable.
  • Old scripted shows are on Netflix or Hulu or YouTube if you now how to search.
  • New shows can be torrented within an hour of airing.
  • Live non-football stuff can be viewed in highlight form the next morning on Buzzfeed.
  • There’s only going to be six entertaining minutes in tonight’s Emmy Awards: I’ll watch it in both video and GIF format tomorrow.
  • Plus, my phone keeps notifying me as to who won because for some reason my phone thinks the Emmy Awards are news.
  • Football, though, needs to be watched live, and on the biggest screen in the house.
  • Illegal means must be resorted to, therefore.
  • You have to go to some shady-ass sites, and they are all so very European.
  • I guess the EU doesn’t recognize the NFL’s authority or something.
  • You can’t get anywhere near these streams without AdBlock; or, preferably, AdBlock’s meth-addicted cousin with two strikes and a machete.
  • You cannot go to these websites on your iPhone because before you are halfway through entering the address fourteen new pages open, the App Store starts up, and your camera turns on; I distinctly heard an Estonian man tell me I looked pretty.
  • You have to take what you can get: whichever feed is the smoothest is the one you leave on, and if that means the British cable channel with soccer promos where Papa John’s commercials should be, then so be it.
  • Good job, Europe: you’ve made me miss Papa John’s.
  • I’ve never met Peyton Manning, but I know in my heart that before those commercials, he sits there with the script, the check, and a calculator and figures out exactly how much he makes every time he’s forced to call a strange, tiny man “Papa”.
  • Things I would enjoy watching Pete Carroll get hit in the face with: baseball bat, vampire bat, big stick, piece of rebar, Toyota Tacoma, sword, unwashed dildo (in slow-motion.)
  • No one involved with football enjoys football.
  • They might love it, or be obsessed with it, but no one looks like they’re having any fun.
  • It’s just angry assholes chewing gum at each other.
  • Seriously: everybody’s chomping away; an NFL team’s gum budget must be astronomical.
  • Aaron Rodgers’ commercials are far more enjoyable than those featuring Russell Wilson, because Russell Wilson is creepy and Aaron Rodgers’ strategy for commercials is to stand there while fat guys yell at him.
  • One day, Russell Wilson will live in the Problem Attic, you mark my words.
  • I’m not saying he goes to those children’s hospitals for the erections.
  • I am not saying that.
  • My favorite announcing trope is when they talk about the visits they had with the players.
  • “I went and visited with Coach McCarty…”
  • “When I had a chance to visit with Peyton….”
  • Not a meeting.
  • Nor a conversation.
  • Visit.
  • Like it’s the 1840’s and the only way to talk to people was wandering to their house and knocking on the door.
  • Does the announcer leave his calling card at the end of the visit?
  • Is the player obligated to provide lemonade, or perhaps a shandy?
  • Has an impromptu hootenanny ever broken out?
  • These are the questions you ask yourself when you mute Al and Chris and listen to the 9/18/74 from the new box set.
  • (This is not from the box set, but it sounds okay.)

Thoughts On America With Only The Afternoon’s Football Games As Research

  • According to the games, America is about 90% black.
  • According to the commercials, the only black people in America are the cast of Fox’s hit show, Empire.
  • There are also women in America: their names are Pam Oliver and Erin Andrews.
  • There may be no job more useless than sideline reporter.
  • Syrian census-taker?
  • To continue along the highway of racial bullshit, if you mute the sound, football becomes white guy yelling at ten black guys vs. eleven black guys.
  • Then the punter comes on.
  • Then, the teams switch places.
  • If you turn the sound back on, it’s no better.
  • Then, it’s two white guys commentating on the efficacy of the white guys yelling at the black guys.
  • One of the announcers teaches us another truth about America (and the world, really): you can’t go wrong having a rich and famous father.
  • If Joe Buck’s name was Allan Schlesinger, then only his friends and family would dislike him.
  • Instead, we all get to dislike him.
  • You can tell that no one who knows Joe Buck likes him because they let him appear on national television with that “beard”.
  • Joe Buck’s beard doesn’t correct people who call President Obama a Muslim.
  • Joe Buck’s beard “just asks questions” about 9/11.
  • Joe Buck’s beard thinks John Mayer was a great hire.
  • Speaking of announcers, some of us are unable to watch football games without the context of reality and every time, say, Troy Aikman comes on the screen, we wonder when he’ll start forgetting things.
  • I didn’t think I would ever miss Kate Upton’s tits trying to sell me a Dungeons & Dragons-ripoff freemium game, but: congratulations, DraftDuel.
  • FanFuckers?
  • FANTASYWARRIORS.
  • Whatever that bullshit semi-legal gambling app is.
  • (I do enjoy Edward Norton doing the voice-over for it, though: it surely made him miserable, and anything that makes Edward Norton miserable is fine by me.)
  • Pickup trucks used to be for work.
  • They had interiors that you couldn’t fuck up.
  • Now, pickup trucks are like the Mirror Room at Versailles crossed with an Apple Store.
  • You can also carry stuff in them, I guess, but you have to buy the bedliner and scratch-resistant paint.
  • Football is like religion, but not in that sophomoric and sappy newspaper columnist way.
  • I mean that football is like religion in that if you had avoided them until you were a grown-up, they could not be explained to you.
  • Imagine a normal American, around 30, thoroughly seeped in American culture.
  • But no football or Christianity.
  • It would be incomprehensible; the person’s brain wouldn’t be able to see the patterns; he would be like one of those feral children who didn’t acquire language at the right time and now communicates through grunts and pooping.
  • “What’s that guy doing?”
  • “Do all the rules have exceptions, and why are there so many damn rules?”
  • “Soccer has three rules and they manage to get through a season.”
  • “Women are not allowed to participate in this organization?”
  • “What’s with all the weird costumes?”
  • “Why is Ray Lewis yelling?”
  • “Let me get this straight: this organization knew about the damage it was doing to young people, knew about it for years and years, and did absolutely nothing, in fact they stonewalled and litigated when confronted with their misdeeds?”
  • “And still pay no taxes and literally and openly steal from city coffers when it comes time to upgrade their facilities?”
  • “This is a trick, right?”

Huddled Masses, Yearning To Breathe Something That Is Not Nerve Gas

By now, it’s clear that creating refugees is Assad’s strategy, so short of military intervention or, you know, asking Putin politely to stop selling Assad missiles and nerve gas, the world has a moral obligation to do something about the millions of now-homeless people flowing out of Syria.

The American government has floated a trial balloon via an anonymous source that perhaps it might begin to form a blue-ribbon committee to look into the possibility of formulating a plan to take a few dozen families that look sufficiently non-terroristy.

This is not enough: the United States has the wealth and space to take our share of Syrian refugees and failing to do so will be to our shame.

The question, of course, is where to put them. Let me get this out of the way: do not put the refugees anywhere near me, please. No offense, refugees; traffic is shitty enough here without swarthy dudes having PTSD freakouts on the Turnpike.

(It should be mentioned that the demographics of these refugees are actually fairly desirable: this is Syria’s middle-class currently walking through Europe being told that there’s no room at the inn.)

TotD has done some research–

LIAR.

–and come up with some possible places to house the Syrian refugees.

  • Every American town has a fairgrounds; they could live there.
  • Except if the fair was in town.
  • There are many abandoned army bases around the country with pre-existing housing for single people and families.
  • There’s probably some loose unexploded ordnance, too, but they’re used to that by now.
  • Ghost malls.
  • Haunted tennis courts.
  • Zoos.
  • There might be an optics problem with housing refugees in zoos, if I’m honest.
  • Also, there would be an incident involving a drunk Syrian guy and a grizzly bear the first or second night.
  • Also also, while most of the refugees are educated and whatnot, Syria has rednecks just like every other country: the petting zoo goats would be eaten.
  • Let’s just leave the zoos off the list.
  • Aquariums, too.
  • You couldn’t even fit that many people into an aquarium, and we would still have the chance of an exhibit being turned into dinner.
  • One of the abandoned casinos in Atlantic City
  • In fact, let ’em fix the place up and buy it with sweat equity: everybody’s happy.
  • I solve problems.
  • If anyone knows Donald Trump, pitch him this idea: we take ALL of the refugees, ship them down to the border with Mexico, and force them to build that wall he’s been promising us.
  • There are issues with that plan, obviously.
  • The fact that it’s slavery, for one.
  • I guess you don’t need any other reasons to abandon a plan if the first argument against it is, “Isn’t what you’re suggesting forced human servitude?”
  • Doesn’t America own a little town in Cuba?
  • How about Queens?
  • You could toss forty or fifty thousand Syrians into Queens overnight and absolutely no one would notice.
  • That would not work with Staten Island, though: people in Staten Island would notice violently.
  • Wyoming.
  • There’s no one there, man.
  • Just John Perry Barlow, the Cheneys, and Mother Nature.
  • Of course, the paucity of inhabitants means that there’s no infrastructure to handle the sudden influx of people; everyone would most likely die the first winter.
  • You could Hunger Games them.
  • Likewise, the Syrian refugees might be Thunderdomed for our entertainment.
  • Those refugees with training in computer programming, and who have ideas about disrupting things, may go to Silicon Valley.
  • (If a Syrian refugee found his way into a Silicon Valley tech billionaire’s office, told his story, and then said to the billionaire, “Now let me ask you: how do we disrupt war?” then that refugee would have a hundred-million dollars in seed money that afternoon.)
  • You could put them in Philadelphia, but these people have already been through enough.
  • Is there any way that the Syrian refugees can defund Planned Parenthood?
  • Perhaps through some sort of procedural vote?
  • Josh Lyman would have figured out a way for the Syrian refugees to defund Planned Parenthood, so don’t tell me it can’t be done.
  • Let them enlist in the Mobile Infantry.
  • Service guarantees citizenship.
  • Seriously, though: maybe we could conscript them into the army and order them to go back and fight the very war they were running away from.
  • That would be funny.
  • How long has it been since the US fucked over an Indian tribe?
  • And not subtly, through intentional systemic poverty and isolation: I’m talking about a good old-fashioned Injun-fucking?
  • Been a while, it seems.
  • Give the Syrians the Indian Reservations.
  • You could put the Indians on cruise ships.
  • Not the real nice ones with the rock-climbing walls and the ice-skating rinks.
  • The okay ships.
  • I actually did two small pieces of research.
  • There are perhaps 200,000 foreclosed and unoccupied homes in America, 90,000 in Florida alone.
  • Wow, I thought: let’s put them in those houses!
  • And then I read that there are ten million refugees.
  • I abandoned any hope for the future of mankind at that factoid.
  • The Hamptons during the winter.
  • Palm Beach during the summer.
  • Just keep shuttling the refugees back and forth: you could just walk ’em right up 95.
  • We could hire cowboys to herd them north and south.
  • “YAAAA! Move along, little doggies!”
  • That would be a terrible YouTube video; many, many people would have to be fired if that was allowed to happened.
  • What if–and we are COMPLETELY in the land of the hypothetical here and no one here advocates what is about to be suggested–we bred them to create a super-refugee?
  • Hear me out.
  • Humanity has always needed, on occasion, to get the fuck out of town.
  • When presented with the choice between fight and flight, most people are halfway down the stairs before you’ve finished the question.
  • Which is the smart thing to do, but–and this is seemingly universal, in a cultural sense–we privilege fight over flight: the robust, the muscular, the powerful, the violent.
  • I say we use the Syrian refugees as genetic stock in an active eugenic experiment to create a super-refugee: someone who’s in Sweden with a new girlfriend pretending to send for his family before the first shot is fired.
  • Also, as long as we’re doing genetic experiments, we should try for some super-people and/or freaks.
  • Mer-people, hairless giants with eyes for testicles, that kinda thing.
  • Detroit.

An Open Letter To Philadelphia

Dear Philadelphia,

Please do not wing D batteries at the Pope when he visits you.

We all know, Philadelphia, that you want to wing D batteries at the Pope; please do not do this; it will reflect badly upon all of us.

You are what you are, Philadelphia, and no one is asking you to change. That you see Pope Francis and the first thought that comes to mind is to throw a Duracell at his temple, hard, is one of your selling points.

But not now, Philadelphia; please do not wing D batteries at the Pope.

Sincerely,

The Rest of the Country

Two Guys In New York

phil kinda jon hamm
In the old days, if you asked a Grateful Dead for a picture, you were just as likely to get shoved down a flight of stairs by Parish, or punched in the dick by Billy, or angrily vomited on by Phil as you were to get a polite interaction.

Nowadays, they’re mostly real nice to fans, but if no one’s around, Mickey still kicks people in the shins when they ask for autographs.

Also, that guy looks like Jay Cutler ate Liev Schreiber

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