Dog Day Afternooner

There is an article in Time about all the dog memoirs that are out or are coming out. Listen to some of these titles and tell me they don't all sound like some sick dog-on-person romance novels: You Had Me at Woof,  Marley Looks for Love, What a Difference a Dog Makes, Oogy: The Dog only a Family Could Love, Bad Dog: A Love Story, Finding Harmony: The Dog That Taught a Young Woman to Live Again* (My personal favorite).

Then there is perhaps the most explicit: Inside of a Dog.

Zoinks! Doesn't leave much to the imagination.

So that is the slate of books to quench your thirst for hardcore puppy love.



*Our movie, Jack's Living Dead Girl, is also about a young woman living again.

Oh, the humanity!

I stumbled across this character in the book Bright-Sided by Barabara Ehrenreich: "Buford P. Fuddwhacker is described  as "a down-home motivational speaker who brings the fervor and energy of a fired-up country preacher to the platform. When you unleash Buford on your audience, get ready for music, laughter, kazoos, karaoke, and outrageous audience participation." This has got to be a warning to never, under any circumstances, unleash Buford on your audience. A visit to his website confirms the wisdom of this advice.

Rarely a good sign, his website has a section explaing "What's so funny about Buford." I assume this question is asked frequently by people who have been the victim of a Buford unleashing.

Another line that sounds more like a warning than recommendation is this: "Everyone quickly discovers Buford's a wild eccentric with wacky inventions, and crazy stories about kinfolk and farm animals."

*Shudder* I'm almost positive I don't want to hear crazy stories about his kinfolk and farm animals.

And here is another heart-stopping line: "He catches people off-guard." Can you think of a more horrifying possibility than having Buford P. Fuddwacker jump out of you're bushes why your trying to unlock the door. Just think of what he did to those poor farm animals.

No, Buford should not be unleashed. I'm not sure he should even be uncaged.

ML not OK

According to Cecil Adams at Straight Dope Martin Luther King Jr. was also a plagiarist. And while Cecil Adams has been accused of not existing, he has never been accused of plagiarizing. So I trust him. Also bear in mind this pseudo-mans astute words about MLK: "Was he a great American? No argument here. Was he a fraud and a hypocrite? He was that, too."

Also, don't research Martin Luther King Jr.'s flaws at martinlutherking.org because it is run by Stormfront, a white supremacist web site. Although, I'm sure they have meticulously studied his flaws, there is something about a neo-Nazi website that just makes me assume they're biased against facts and reality.

MLK Jr.'s Ebony column

In my continuing quest to find the worst in everybody I decided to dive into Martin Luther King Jr.'s two year long column in Ebony magazine. The column was called Advice for Living and it is fucking dreadful. It is a lot of God-blather and florid nonsense. I suggest everyone read it here. The Martin Luther King Jr. Papers Project has all the information you could want. MLK can write about race relations but anything else of a personal nature and he's about as good as any other revoltingly pious person. He condemns Rock & Roll and gambling. He says a women's primary obligation is birth. He makes a lot of upright noises about marital fidelity while fucking everyone but his wife. Just awful stuff. I'm glad I found it! Remember people: There are no heroes!

Kidney Stone

People, the quicker you watch our vampirella farce and it starts making lot's of money, the sooner I can consume the $10,000 Martini on a Rock at the Algonquin Hotel. I would like nothing more than to end this life with a diamond lodged in my throat.

Much less popular is our local Motel 6's Martini on some Rocks, which is a martini poured over some gravel from the parking lot.

I have not what you seek

Most of my traffic now seems to come through variously-punctuated google searches of the phrase "It's like a crime-scene in my pants." Assuming (and hoping) it's the same person every time, I have to admire your diligence. I'm not really sure what you are after, I provided a link to the phrase's use in the movie No Strings Attached in this link. If you're just looking for a general discussion of the line's merits I don't think your going to find that here. I'm kind of surprised you keep clicking on the link to my blog only to be disappointed again and again. Keep up the good fight, though. It's your life.

Evidentally

There are lot's of papers using the term "preliminary evidence." What is preliminary evidence? Doesn't that mean "evidence in preperation for evidence?" Does that make any sense? It's either evidence or it's not. Preliminary to what? Can something just be preliminary in general? Surely it has to be preliminary to something. What set me off was this person quoted  in Bright-Sided. The person says their paper provides preliminary evidence that happy people are healthier than less happy people. I assume she means the evidence is preliminary to future studies. But wouldn't all evidence be preliminary to future studies. This term has no meaning does it? I think I'm on to something. Or stupid. I can rarely tell the difference.

Fantastic Math

A genius steps forward:



To make it clear, he's saying 4-1= Not 4.

I'll have to double check but I'm pretty sure he's right.

Sourpuss

I was reading Bright-Sided by Barbara Ehrenreich and she says: [T]here are scores of studies showing that happy or optimistic people are likely to be healthier than those who are sour tempered and pessimistic. This got me to thinking, why can you be happy OR optimistic to be healthy while you have to be sour-tempered AND pessimistic to be not as healthy. What if you are really sour-tempered and optimistic? Or happy and pessimistic? What if the thought of everything turning out alright pisses you off? Or everything falling apart fills you with glee? And what about all the miserable assholes who live forever? What is their secret? What if grumpy people depress you but happy people depress you more? Have you ever met a happy person? They are insufferable!

As you can see, one half of a sentence can have me thinking for hours. That's why I've been reading this book for three years.

Great moments in throat pain

In regards to screaming and the long-running argument on how to do it I have found a clip of Eddie Vedder trying to heave his own vocal chords out of his throat. The point to take away from it is, I find it a lot more exciting, not to watch a person scream effortlessly, but to watch a person scream so violently he shits his pants.

Get help

I don't want to seem ungrateful but someone found my blog by typing this into Google: "its like a crime scene in my pants!!:))ha"

As you can see, the phrase is followed by two exclamation points, a colon, two leftward-facing parentheses and the word "ha." What could you possibly have been expecting to find? Is this some sort of leet-speak? Who is the odd creature who wrote this? Are you in any way responsible for this:



For the record, I will reveal all keywords that led to this blog.

Our National Nightmare is Over!

The pig predator has been found! His name is Dallace Lee Hatley. I have to agree with Google on this. Do they mean Dallas? He is a man who is as dumb as his name. It turns out he didn't use a garden hoe. He actually had his dog attack them. I know I'm not the only one who remembers the sodomy bit. Who's been fucking these pigs? It better be this kid or you've got one fucked up community Bushnell.

The Plot Sickens

Some new details have come to light about the pig predator in Bushnell, Florida. It seems, aside from mutilating the pigs with the garden hoe the sadist also tried to sodomize one of the pigs with the handle. They said the perpetrator may have been motivated by hate for the school but I think this detail proves that the hate is actually for pigs. I can't imagine being so mad at a school that I rape the pig in the Agriculture lab. You have to bear a grudge against pigs to do that shit. As students of sexual violence know, rape is almost always motivated by hatred and a need to dominate the object of ones lust. I think the person is clearly repulsed by their own sexual attraction for the pigs and wanted to punish the pig for it's voluptuous thighs and full, pouty lips.

Also, it turns out the hoe was already at the scene of the crime and was not being casually carried around by the perp as I originally thought. This means there is nothing to give the perp away. Although if you see some guy masturbating angrily outside a Famous Dave's I think you've got your man.

Personal Complaint

I'm sorry folks, but I have to take some time away from my main topics of interest: pig-cults, chupacabras, and our movie to lay bare something that is causing me aggravation without end. That something happens to be a joke in the "No Strings Attached" trailer. Ashton Kutcher brings Natalie Portman a "period mix" tape and one of the songs is "I've Got the World on a String." When this is revealed the music in the trailer dramatically stops and Ashton Kutcher let's out his rib-tickling punchline: "That's the doozy."

What does that mean?  Why is that "the doozy?" This line doesn't make any sense!  How is he using the word "doozy?" What is it going to do to her? If anything the line is more ominous than funny.

It's clear he could have said anything there and they would have stopped the music hilariously: "That's the bombshell." "That's the blockbuster." "That's the humdinger." "That's the tuna fish sandwich." "That's the senator of Rhode Island." "That's a song I particularly like." "That song is referring to a tampon in the context in which I gave it to you." "That's a song that exists."

It doesn't matter what he means by it anyways. In all the possible ways you can interpret "That's the doozy" it is not funny. It certainly doesn't warrant music stoppage. And if you follow the link above it also closes the scene. You close a scene on a line that leaves them laughing. It is clear the ad people think "That's the doozy." is the funniest, cleverest line of the whole scene. "It's like a crime scene in my pants" is not even in the trailer. That's clearly the funniest line of the scene. And it makes perfect sense.  But no, the trailer people were like "HA HA HA! The doozy! WHA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

Imagine if I gave you a CD of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers greatest hits and you started reading the titles. "American Girl, Don't Come Around Here No More, The Waiting." Then your friend said "Free Fallin" and I said "That's the doozy." Things would carry on like I never said it, right? No one would linger on this phrase or collapse in laughter because it's not all that clear what I'm trying to convey. In any event, it's kind of a bland phrase. It's not like if I said "Boom shakalaka." That doesn't really make sense but at least it's quirky and lively.

So that's it folks. Every time they play it on TV I yell "Why is that funny?! WHAT DOES IT EVEN MEAN?!" And people knock on my door and go "Sir, with the yelling, can you stop?" And I go, "I'm sorry, it's that damn Ashton Kutcher trailer. Why is that the doozy?" And they go "Well, it's a good song and the title is particularly apt for menstruation." And I say "Yeah, but the line get's star treatment in the trailer and it is a very generic line." And they say "Look, just shut the fuck up alright?"

I only hope it's reign of terror ends soon.

Be Warned!

There is a pig predator loose in Bushnell, Florida (yes, that Bushnell, Florida). He is armed only with a garden hoe and dark intentions. As a pig-cult leader I fear that my minions in the greater Bushnell area may be in grave danger. I am putting the cult on lock-down until this madman is caught. Until then, I leave these words of advice, my acolytes: If you see a guy strolling around town with a garden hoe, run! If he was a gardener he would be in a garden. He's no gardener! He means to rough up pigs and all who love them!

Godspeed, brothers.

Goat-sucker?

The hairless raccoon incident in Kentucky makes clear that any bald, ugly creature that a person sees is immediately branded a chupacabra regardless of whether it has goat-sucked. This being the case, I'd like to nominate a new possible chupacabra.

A bald, ugly, bloodthirsty creature was recently discovered in Arizona and it raises an interesting possibility. Could Jared Loughner be a chupacabra?



Scientists will have to do blood tests to decide what he is. He may just be a coyote with mange.

The deep pig-squeal roots

I just remembered that I used to listen heavily to a very early practitioner of the pig-squeal when I was in middle-school:



Obviously they aren't a "pig-squeal band" because they did it once ( in an appropriately named song called "Pig") then called it a night. But who can deny that they were one of the fathers of this flourishing genre. And digging into my memory I think I've discovered the grandaddy of them all:



Yes, Weird Al's "Let me be your hog." The long-forgotten progenitor of Deathcore pig-squealing. My work here is done.

Philosophy of Screaming

OK, much to my dismay, it turns out the fad of pig-squealing is not due to porcine love but to a love of mediocre music:



Sounds like a bunch of guy's struggling to clear there throats, don't it?

The tendency for these phlegmy voiced guys to squeak has led to a really hilarious question on the internet: Is pig squealing ruining the respectability of abrasive vocals?

If your scene can be toppled by pig-squealing it's probably best to let it go.

Even better is this Facebook page: Job for a Cowboy ruined pig squealing. That's right! They ruined it! Pig squealing! These are some pig-squealing purists. Can you imagine the righteous conversations? "People used to squeal like pigs for the love of it, but now it's all corporate!"

There is also a ferocious debate about how to scream. If you are like me you are probably thinking "Can't I just scream?" Not according to this guy screaming into a banana:



Sorry James Brown, you didn't do it right. Burn in hell!

Apparently there are two competing schools of screaming. There is Exhale Screaming also known as Screaming:



And then there is Inhale Screaming also known as Some Other Irritating Noise:



And there is also whatever the fuck is going on here:




They all seem to rely on sounding like a bog-monster.

I thought I was in the Exhale camp at first because that's really the only way one can scream, but after listening to the tutorials I realize I have no stake in this whatsoever because it all sounds like shit to me.

 I can say with confidence, however,  that I am firmly in this guys camp:



I personally think the screaming shouldn't sound so uniform. They all sound alike. There is no passion in it. Plus it's so distorted, it's like listening to a robot.

Listen to Dave Grohl do it:



Wasn't that exciting?

So, the philosophy of screaming goes on.

Yummy?

OK, the cult's dinner just arrived:



Prepare the oven, boys!

What's this?

An angel doth appear?



I was thinking she would make a perfect pig-cult spokewoman but it turns out she has already been in a pig cult and found it unpleasant.



I know, she wants it to die down but also wants sole credit for it. That kind of irrationality is cult material. It's a shame she has been disillusioned.

But hark! What is that I hear in the distance?















A lovely chorus of women squealing like pigs!

By the way, is this a new fetish? What the fuck is going on? I don't know, but it's pigtastic!

Great News!

I checked my stats and someone out there found my blog with the keywords "pig worship cult." I knew their was an audience. Don't be shy, we need all the members we can get. Drop on by our temple. You will be greeted by this guy:



I know, he doesn't really sound like a pig, but it's the passion that we admire here.

Meet Wayne

I thought I would give some information about the lovely little town where we filmed our movie. Wayne, Nebraska is home to Wayne State College and also The Coffee Shoppe where we filmed all our coffee shop scenes. Wayne has a lot of things that residents are familiar with but to the world at large, Wayne is probably best known for Roger Van, the town florist. Mr. Van is not known because of his floral arrangements, as great as they no doubt were, but mostly for his talent at piercing another man's scrotum. You see, Roger Van sexually tortured a man in the flower shop dungeon.

Jonathan Gregory Cooper, a Houston man, got in touch with Van over the internet and they hashed out a plan where Van would be his "master" and there would be "no limits" to what he could do. Cooper also, in one of those moments that make you slap yourself on the forehead later, said he may want and try to escape but Van should not let him. Van, being the trusting fellow that he is, took Cooper at his word and, in my opinion, lived up to his end of the bargain swimmingly. Cooper, on the other hand, eventually got tired of the floggings, clothespins, hot wax, shavings, beatings, anal penetrations, and scrotum injections. Not surprisingly he had trouble convincing Jerry Marshall ( another "master" at the flower shop) that despite getting exactly what he asked for, to the letter, he was being held against his will. It appears nobody could tell who was just playing their role and who was serious. I find it all tremendously amusing, but that may be because some profound part of my humanity has withered and died. Dead or not, funny is funny!

In what had to have been the most entertaining conversation ever, Cooper finally convinced Marshall to help him escape after which he turned them both in. It's just hard to please some people.

This whole episode had to include, at one point, the following occurence: Roger Van gives flowers to somebody so they can give them to their loved one to express there devotion, and then goes into his sex dungeon to inject saline into a frightened man's ballsack. Romance is so versatile.

So, anyway, that's Wayne, Nebraska. Home of Wayne State College, Chicken Days, and of course, sexual torture.

Meeting Minutes

We went ahead and  just recorded this weeks cult meeting:

For your viewing pleasure!

I just got back from a very productive meeting with some of my old pals from Jack's Living Dead Girl and we conducted some incredibly intense research on the best way to view the movie. It turns out the movie is most enjoyable on drugs. The movie is a delight on pot, and is a pleasure on cocaine but we find that the movie is most enjoyable when you've reached the state Helen Hunt is in:

I'm Invincible! from Mrs. Moe on Vimeo.

Another satisfied customer!

Bacon Bits

It seems that in Singapore the consumption of pork has, in the past, led to a mass fear of penis retraction. This interests me for two very personal reasons. One being my own intense fear that my penis is retracting into my body. The other being my pork-consuming cult.  If my members start believing that all the pork we're eating is harming their hog they may all leave. But I can reassure them in two ways.

First, the Singaporeans were not experiencing widespread shrinkage. It was some kind of Asian cultural disorder called 'koro.' Since the only culturally Asian thing about this cult is the break-room used panty vending machine I think we're safe from this disorder.

Second, while the illusion that your penis is shrinking may seem very convincing I can assure you from personal experience that it is just that: an illusion. What is actually happening is that the surrounding area is getting fatter, engulfing your penis. We are a pork-engorged people and we will see our fair share of fat-engulfed penises, so fair warning. But this is not penis retraction or koro. It's just getting fat off pork and it is glorious.

Dutch Lovin'

Having started my own pig-based cult I naturally assume having sex with a pig is somewhere in the future. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across Bodil Joensen. Her nickname was apparently "the boar girl" and she has certainly earned the nickname, because her expertise on fucking pigs is unparalleled. I don't know if she caught her own boars in the wild and lovingly seduced them or if she was working with a domesticated variety. I plan on getting domestic pigs. I don't want to go through a long courting process. She sounds like a perfect mentor for a pig-worshiping cult but, alas, she drank herself to death. There was something about her life that was apparently askew, although I don't know what it could be. Who wouldn't love to live on a farm where after you milk the cow, the cow milks you back. Fortunately for PETA (People for the Erotic Treatment of Animals) the Wikipedia page has a link to a bestiality site where I can connect with all sorts of pig-fuckers.  Wikipedia comes through again! Not only can these swine-sucking so-and-so's show us the ropes but they seem like a natural fit as members of a pig cult. It's a perfect networking opportunity. To my way of thinking, if you're going to fuck a pig, you might as well worship it, and vice-versa.

Big hunk of words

Look at this gargantuan sentence:  In fact, the fight has just begun and we urge everyone who concerned about the fair treatment of non-believing military personnel and the unfettered right for a soldier in the United States Armed Forces to hold absolutley no belief in anything even remotely supernatural without fear of discrimination or retribution of any kind to follow this story with great interest by visiting and supporting in any way you can the following organizations who are working tirelessly for the equal rights of the men and women who put their lives on the line every day to protect the sanctity of our uniquely secular Constitution, which upholds that there shall be no religious test required to hold any office within the United States Government, and that includes wearing the uniform of any of our Armed Services.

This was written by a guy named Al Stefanelli and it is a big fucking sentence. If you try to read it aloud without taking a breath, you will die, there is no getting around it. This is a mountainous sentence.

Believe it or not, that's not the whole article. The rest can be found here.

Oingo

OK, I'm back. There is quite a lacuna between my last post and this one but that's because I have been very busy building a cult around the lyrics in this song:



Just ask if you want information on the cult and it's ancient mystic beliefs. We also have various rituals that I can summarize if you want. I'm not gonna lie, it mostly consists of consuming lot's of pork. But, like any cult, the tenets are subject to dramatic change without any notice whatsoever. That's the thrill of cult life.

The idea for the cult is based ever so slightly on the fact that the other religions have rejected pork in such a dramatic manner. It makes sense to pick up the pork-loving crumbs in a new religion devoted to pork and ham. If things progress nicely, I see coitus with a pig becoming a centerpiece for our worship. If enough people leave that will be subject to revision but as of now, I consider it an eventual eternal, essential, unchangeable commandment.

Aside from pig-worship, the main impetus behing the cult was a marathon listening-session of the Ghostbusters II soundtrack. This is the best song on it, and was stuck in my head in such an intense fashion that I decided if a religion didn't develope around it soon, I would just kill myself. It was kind of a joke at first, but I soon found out it is really easy to start a  religion.

Some of the members wondered if we would incorporate other songs from the Ghostbusters II soundtrack. For instance, Elton John's Love is a Cannibal seemed like a logical choice. But it seems to me a legitimate danger that cannibalism could soon break out among the members if this song made it into the canon. Also Elton John is gay. I don't want it to become too much of a gay sex cult, which is also a legitimate fear since the only members are dudes. The singer for Oingo Boingo, on the other hand, is married to Bridget Fonda. You have to be careful how you pick your apostles. Every religion is a reflection of it's leaders unbridled id. My id is filled with Bridget Fonda. If you let in too many gays, the group becomes pretty guy-heavy and there are no wives to take advantage of. Ordering members to give there wives to me is somewhat of a goal in this religion. So there will be limited gay membership. Sorry gays.

Someone also brought up the Bobby Browne song "We're Back" because it has a messianic flavor to it. I don't think I have to go into the many problems involved in allowing Bobby Browne to influence my religion. I would say, roughly, about a week into his being sainted, the group would be centered exclusively around cocaine. I want to be the most important thing in the group and if we let coke into the worship it will definately take first place. Also, I'm trying to keep all my saints white, because I'm white. In religions, you worship someone who is basically you. That's why Jesus became white. He is an empty vessel unto which all manner of personal beliefs can be attributed. That would be a lot harder to do if he was swarthy in all his pictures. How can Jesus be me if he's brown? I'm not brown? The same thing goes with Browne. I can't be Browne because he's brown. Also, black people make most of my group nervous, because they are exclusively white. We think all black people hate us, and we're scared of them. So, as is the case with lots' of new religions, we are going to be fairly discriminatory towards black people. We are going to look to early American Christianity to see how we can do this and still appear respectable.

If we ever grow into a legitimate religion, we will, of course, have to start letting in black members. At that point we will get our first black saint but it won't be Bobby Browne. Oh no. It will have to be Boss Nigger. I can't wait!