Kim Jong Il: Dead

Kim Jong Il “was believed to be 69.” His son, Kim Jong Un, is in his twenties. You know you’re a paranoid country when you won’t even tell people your birth year.


Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re not hearing it here first – I hope you frequent more legitimate websites that have actual information on them instead of, you know, this shit – but Kim Jong Il is dead.

The diminutive, fabulously coiffed, nattily dressed despot of your favorite insane little corner of Asia has passed away. According to the much lauded North Korean state media, he died of “overwork” and suffered “great mental and physical strain.”

When I first read these symptoms, I was worried I too might have Kim Jong Il disease. Then I read the “overwork after dedicating his life to the people” part and knew that I was probably safe. Also, I guess he had a heart attack too. But be warned kids: ‘dedicating your life to the people’ and ‘heart attack’ makes a brutal recipe for dead dictator.

I’ll always remember him as he appears in this picture:

Hello Grandma!  (Source)

Like an elderly woman with a hilarious dye job waving goodbye to her uncaring grown children from the balcony of her nursing home, her disdain for them evident in her steely gaze.

Kim Jong Il, you will be missed. Not because you were a good leader, or because you helped better the lives of your people of the economic and social conditions of your country, or because you were a valuable member of the region, or because you shunned privilege yourself to be an equal among your own populace, or because you shunned your nuclear program so that you could concentrate on feeding your own people, or because you were dedicated to the advancement of peace, or because you were open and trusting and kept your word to the international community. No, you did none of these things.

Instead you will be missed because… you… er....

I take it back. You likely won’t be missed.
But hey, this was a good time, wasn’t it?

Clearly not amused by puppet sex.  (Source)

Friday: Hurling Obscenities...

...towards one Rick 'Fucktard' Perry.

Since last we spoke, I was headed off to my holiday party. I would like to give you an account of what all took place. Really, I would. Unfortunately, I can’t remember much of it. Funny thing about Manhattans, that.


So, in lieu of the recounting of drunken exploits, I humbly offer outrage and the outrageous in this week’s Friday Jaunt Around The Internet, which I have entitled:

Outrage, Frustration, Outstration

They can’t all be gems, people. Sometimes it’s just a rock, but you throw it anyway because you have to throw something.

MY PERRY POLEMIC

It’s official: Rick Perry, go fuck yourself.

I’m not going to embed the video here, because I don’t want that shit on my blog, but here’s the link. Go listen, and then come back. I’ll still be here.

Waiting…

Welcome back. Did you listen to that shit? I mean, what the fuck, Rick?

“You know something’s wrong when we allow sodomites to risk their lives in the service of our country to protect the freedoms and liberties we hold dear, while kids are not forced to pray in school because of one of the founding principles of our country (SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE) which I’m conveniently forgetting about right now. I should add, though, that we’re all still allowed to freely celebrate what has become a multi-million dollar industry in this country on our own time, while those same sodomites are marginalized by jackholes like me.”

War on religion? Show me one piece of legislation Obama has recommended to Congress or one executive order that has had a meaningful, impactful effect on freedom of religion in this country. You can’t do that, Rick, and you know why? Because you can’t even remember key parts of your own platform, like what State Departments you would get rid of, you dumb piece of shit.

And the worst part about this? Rick may or may not even give a damn about prayer in school or gays in the military. But he’s counting on you, the voting public of America, to be so fucking dumb and pigheaded and ignorant that you’ll think ‘gays’ and ‘public displays of prayer’ and ‘ignorance’ are important enough issues to be worth a vote. Because he’s cynical, and is willing to play on evil shit so that he can hopefully weasel his way into a position of sucking personal gain out of the most important and powerful job in the country.

If there's any justice in this world, Perry has pretty much written himself out of ever occupying the Oval.  Unfortunately, as anyone who's lived on this rock for a while can tell you, the world can be pretty unjust.

When I pray (and I do; I’m not ashamed to admit I’m a Christian, albeit a poor one who seldom practices), I pray God that my God is not the same God to which Rick Perry prays.

For what it's worth, I’m pretty sure they’re different.

YOUR MITTEN IS HAND-ICAPPED!!

Many, many years ago, Michigan went to war with Ohio over the rights to Toledo. Yes, at one point in time, Toledo was considered something of a prized jewel worth fighting over, instead of being, like, Toledo.

Granted, the combatants were likely drunken lumberjack types with little else to do when not jacking lumber, but still. Sometimes you have to stand up for your state. And no, Toledo is not part of Michigan now. But as a reward for making a big deal out of it, Michigan was given the entire Upper Peninsula to largely marginalize and ignore, until such time as copper and iron was discovered. And thus, the Mitten came out on top for their troubles.

But now apparently the very Mittenness of the Mitt is being questioned. By Wisconsin, of all states. That cheese eating, sausage loving, fish frying, beer swilling (note: none of these are insults; I love all of those things) bunch of Green Bay Packer fans dare question the supreme handiness of Michigan?

Can't you just let us have our anthropomorphisms, Wisconsin?!

Yes, Wisconsin, your state does look like a mitten. Provided that mitten accommodates a grossly deformed pinky the size and shape of a cauliflower. However, for those of us without fingers that bulge off at weird angles from the rest of our hand, it’s Michigan. I mean, let’s take the arbitrary state lines out of the equation here and just look at the geographic facts, dudes:

The proof is in the part where it says "PROOF!"

The gigantic red swaths of land that miraculously spell out what’s what with arrows and letters are something of a geologic miracle.

At the end of the day, and in the spirit of our forefathers, I would be willing to concede Mittenhood provided we are promised the entirety of Canada or a gigantic load of free sausage. Your move, Wisconsin.

NEW MEMES!!

And oh God how I love new memes (talking about my God, not Rick’s; Rick’s God probably has a sense of humor limited to farts and patronizing ethnic jokes). The newest meme comes courtesy of meme-master Casey, who is like my technologically savvy nephew. Except he’s my age. I guess what I’m saying is, he’s good at the internet and I’m already an old man. Regardless, here’s this:

Other brilliant pieces of photoshopped wit reside here, including one for the Corpse Bride that I don’t want to ruin for you.

Friday: Prepares to Get Christmassed…

…meaning of course to drink a ton in front of coworkers, likely make an ass out of myself, possible get in a fight, and then spend the rest of the weekend aching and smelling like death.


You know. Like baby Jesus would have wanted.

Now that Thanksgiving is out of the way, it’s time to get into the Christmas spirit. Sure, it would be easy to get jaded about the rampant commercialism and the fact that December 24th is just an arbitrarily assigned date, that Jesus was likely born in November, that we’ll probably be forced to see a bunch of people we don’t like, that we’re expected to get the perfect gift, that the quest for the perfect gift will likely end in disappointment, that it will all end in a pile of discarded wrapping paper and stuff that will all eventually fall apart anyway, but… what was I saying?

Oh yeah! Fahoo fores: it’s Christmas, y’all!

It's okay.  In this instance, fear should be your natural reaction.

Don’t worry. The closer we get to the date and the further we get from Thanksgiving, the less bitter I become and the more likely I am to be in the Spirit. Hopefully, the Spirits at the company Holiday Party will help me get there a little quicker.

Now that we’re done with that, let’s take another quick Friday Jaunt Around The Internet, which I hereby dub:

Help Doing Everyday Things… Righteously

GET THAT PROGRAM A TALK SHOW ON AM RADIO GALDARNIT!

You know, from the first moment I heard about Siri I knew there was gonna be trouble. I mean, the last thing I need is the device I carry around in my pocket telling me what to think. I already have one of those.*

Well now apparently Apple has taken it upon itself to pass judgment on young women and the various mistakes they may or may not have made involving Chad at the office function the other night. Probably wasn’t the best idea ever, but now here’s Siri telling us all we should go see an anti-abortion counselor instead of a Planned Parenthood clinic? I mean, Siri, have you met Chad? Do you have any idea how much of a mistake it would be to carry that kid to term?

HOW CAN WE BE EXPECTED TO LET TECHNOLOGY RULE OUR LIVES IF TECHNOLOGY WON’T TELL US WHAT WE WANT TO HEAR?!

I jest, of course, but there are legitimate questions here: Should we let a program pass judgment on a user’s life choices? Should we be relying on a stupid program in the first place to answer simple questions for us? Can’t we use the phone book? Or Google? Do we really need to dumb everything down so much that we need something to ‘help (us) do the things (we) do everyday?” Can’t we just do them, like back before we had smart phones? Are we all so sensitive and dumb that we actually make a big feckin’ deal out of this? Seriously?

I believe we have the answers to those questions.

DETROITERS: GO TO DETROIT

Interesting post at Huffington on, like, actually spending time in the city you’re supposed to be from.

I’ve actually found this sentiment in Chicago, too, though it’s certainly more prevalent in Detroit, which is this: the city is to be avoided at all costs. In Chicago, you are allowed to take the Metra down for a Cubs game, some culture, and maybe the occasional restaurant. Otherwise, why bother? There’s just as many Giordano’s in the suburbs as there are in the city!

I don’t know if it’s our obsession with safety or what – we do, after all, practically beg people to grope us now before entering an airport, even though one day we’re still all going to die, but whatever I digress – but ‘the city’ still has a pretty bad rep. That goes double, possibly triple, for the D.

I was driving home about two weeks ago with a friend of mine to the Mitt to go see what turned out to be a glorious football game. It was about midnight and as we were passing Ann Arbor he asked if we could go downtown and have a look at it. Detroit has this reputation for being a wasteland of urban decay and coney dogs (which I love anyway), and he wanted to witness it first hand, so we drove our asses down Woodward at one in the morning and surprisingly were not shot. In fact, there were even people out at the bars. There were lights on. There were structures in Campus Martius that were not shacks for vagrants but rather appeared as though they were meant to be there.

There’s actual stuff down there! Detroit: you want righteous? St. Andrew’s Hall, Electric 6 are playing the Friday before crissimass. Be there.

DEBBIE FROM ACCOUNTING

This is the article from whence the creepy cult-like lead photo originated. It’s a wholly unremarkable post about how to handle yourself at an office party (AMATEURS I SAY!), and under normal circumstances I would ignore this completely except I find the use of Debbie from Accounting as the paragon of poor office behavior and sluttery to be quite funny. Obviously, the writer has never met the accountants here.

HOUSE CLEANER CLEANS HOUSE

Next Wednesday, 8:00 PM at the Underground Lounge, Geoff and I will be doing our thang as Crassus with the folks at Old West Family Photo. Address: 925 W Newport, at Clark. We will be performing ‘Bag of dicks,’ for which I am very excited.

Also, SKETCHFEST! Robot vs Dinosaur makes their glorious and long awaited (by me, at least) return to the stage on January 7th at 7:00. More pluggery to follow, I’m sure.

I’m also working on putting together some fun for next year too: a full RvD show, a full Crassus show, some Reality Fairy goodness, and possibly another special project.

Aright, I’m off to buy a ludicrously large bottle of Gatorade and some comically gigantic pain killers. I have plans, people, and they involve hangovers.

*This is a not-so-veiled reference to my penis.