War Babies

Where did people go to see babies being hilarious before the days of YouTube? Answer: War propaganda films. This one is called War Babies, and I especially recommend the last two minutes, where it reaches a whole new level of perviness (thank to Cora for the link).
Here’s how I imagine the writer trying to pitch his idea:
“Think Baby Geniuses meets Glory. It can’t miss.”
“You mean babies killing each other on the battlefield?”
“Hmm, I see the problem. What if we just showed them in a speakeasy before going off to fight?”
“You mean like getting belligerently drunk and making out with showgirls?”
“That’s more like it. Nothing objectionable or creepy there.”
“Let’s also have them fall over a lot.”

Things I learned:
1) Someone should get these babies acting coaches, or stage moms. They’re terrible.
2) War seems super cute and fun, I don’t get what all the fuss is about. They should make an Iraq War Babies (starring Dakota Fanning?), and people would have to support our troops. Maybe the war babies could even be played by fetuses (“Support our Troops and Life").

LOL: Part II

Speaking of jokes, I was reading about Renaissance historiography today and I came across this little gem. It's a joke by Francesco Patrizi (1529-97), who was the Dane Cook of the Renaissance, and it goes like this:
Q: What would you call the writer who told you about effects without looking for any causes?
A: A historian.
Cue laughter as endless and pure as that of the YouTube baby; the laughter of men and women all across the Renaissance.
Thinking about old-timey humor often makes me believe the Enlightenment analogy of national history to the progress of a human from infancy to mature adulthood. But then I think of Dane Cook and Robin Williams and my beautiful narrative falls apart. It's like Dane Cook:humor::shocking and unprecedented violence of WWI-Holocaust:history.

The tears of a clown

I really relate to the the song "Tears of a Clown."* The lyrics, mostly. I don't know why. I think it probably has to do with how I used to do AmeriCorp as a therapist at a local clown college. Who knows though? Brains are crazy, aren't they?


* Rick Rubin: make Weird Al record this right before he's about to die. Because you, Rick Rubin, will live forever. I'm pretty sure.

Anyway, I was recently thinking about how much more I used to think about jokes and how much more I used to laugh -- like as a teen -- and it really got me down. Did life get less funny (9/11)? Or, as I suspected then, are old people just bad at crackin fat J's? Maybe understanding is antithetical to humor? I'm referring to the deep understanding that comes with young adulthood. For instance, this girl in my 6th grade class died of throat cancer and her best friends couldn't stop laughing for 6 months.
:::RECONTEXTUALIZATION ALERT:::

I've never enjoyed that less.

When I thought "how do I get information on humor?" one thing came to mind: Wikipedia Robin Williams. Here's what I found out:
1. Contrary to popular belief, he was not brutally molested as a child

really?
2. "Williams visited [Christopher] Reeve after the horseback riding accident that paralyzed him from the neck down and cheered him up by arriving as an eccentric Russian doctor (similar to his role in Nine Months). Williams claimed that he was there to perform a colonoscopy. Reeve stated that he laughed for the first time since the accident and knew that life was going to be okay.[8]"

crickets.com

So that really got the laughter ball rolling.

Next I wikipedia'd Paul Reiser and Joy Behar. I read things there too terrible to print. I can't.

The erection that reading about Joy Behar's early life always brings got me thinking about sex, understanding, and growing up -- in a Brewster McCloud, reverse-"When you get pussy off your mind, you can go ahead and learn something" - Merle Haggard way -- So I wikipedia'd the straight foxiest comedienne of all time, Teri Garr

"What's wrong? You know you can talk to me anytime, girl"


"Yeah, let it out, lady. Now, what are we gonna do to make you feel better? (fingering)"

The article proved, at first, fruitless. Then I remembered what fruit was:

- "Garr is a graduate of an all-girls Roman Catholic high school named Magnificat in Rocky River, Ohio, near her hometown of Lakewood."

MAGNIFICAT!!!


i'M In LovE
and
- "Early in her career she was sometimes credited as Terri Garr, Terry Garr, Teri Hope, or Terry Carr" Also: Schmerry Scmarr, Fairy Bars, Teri SARS, and TV's Jamie Farr. i'M iN LoOooOoVe.

As most of my journeys do, this one ended at DaneCook.com. There I listened to Dane's hot new acoustic rock tracks "Forward" and "I'll Never Be You." Immediatley following my listening of the tracks I: killed myself, murdered myself, barfed on myself, cried on my barf, assisted my barf and tears in killing themselves, died a thousand deaths, farted blood, masturbated, screamed into a universe inhabited by no man with ears to hear, killed myself, had a miscarriage, and died alone. An eagle cawed and there was but dust.

but dust.

but dust.

but dust.


au revois, bitches

Their hearts and minds and panties

This is a video of American soldiers interacting with Afghanis
Soldier/Afghan Locals "Brown Eyed Girl" Jam

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Afghanis: wow. You're really good. But I've gotta go back to my floor. I've got a lot of reading to do
American soldier: bu..wait..just..."You're body is a wonderland/oooh baaaybaaayyyy..."
Afghanis: yeah...wow...so late
American soldier: but "Crash into me...uhnnnn/ and I come into youuuehhhh"
(intense lovemaking)

Indigo Children +

And god said "let there be art for folders. I looooves folders." You know what I love god? This girl. I saw her on Craig Fergusen a couple years ago billed as a "talented kid painter," and she threw me for a loop I never got thrown out of when the incomparable CF asked her why she likes to paint and she told him it was because she met god when she was 3.
Explore this:
http://www.artakiane.com
Grad student friends: why do things that look like Akiane's art seem so beautiful, but remain so easy to dismiss? I know what you're thinking (colonialism colonialism colonialism technologies of the booooddaaayyy), but I think it's a good question.

Akiane claims to be an Indigo Child, which is a supposed new breed of child with special powers/special genes that started popping up in the early 80s. The old brainy brain isn't doing so well right now (see "Blogs for dogs") so please watch this. Things pick up after the fat kid shuts his fat face

On a similar note to that question about Akiane's folder art, all this talk about red auras and autistic kids being magic seems so easy and exciting to believe and digest. Why?

Also: Dakota Fanning -- I call Indigo on you.

blogger out

Blogs for dogs

What if dogs had blogs? It might look a little something like this:


I know it's super cliche, but my fav song really is "Who Let the Dogs Out?" Bark bark. But seriously, remember the dog 90s? If other decades were food, that decade is like treats. That barked, I can't forget all the friends I lost to dog AIDS.

Dog Bill O'Reilly is such a cat. By this I mean sometimes I want to eat him, other times I want to marry him. Being a dog is so complicated. That's why I blog, folks. bark bark bark.

Dogs don't have good concentration

An Open Letter to Kanye West

Dear Kanye:
If you're so good at being black why don't you scare me at all? I've left some things I hold dear outside my door for you to steal. It would really be hard for me to trust you if you just took them ;) Isn't my white daughter hot? Please Kanye. Daft Punk? O.J. and Isotoners? Did your NYU suitemate just get Garageband, Kanye? Are you Rich from LFO now? Was Michael J. Fox Alex P. Keaton? You're a Chicago blipster, Kanye, and you might even be a Chicago hipster in very good blace. 50 wins.
w/b

p.s. Here's how you navigate the racial divide, blerd

What the world is (definitely not) coming to

I was really tired when I turned on my computer this morning and for some reason my brain read this headline as “Bush to Name Ex-Nazi as Successor to Gonzales.” And I was like “Ugh. That guy thinks he can get away with anything.”

An Open Letter to 50 Cent

Dear 50 Cent,
I thought I was rooting for you in your battle with Kanye West, and in your life struggles generally, but your new single has made me realize: you are the laziest man on earth. The first time I heard your new song I assumed it was about how technology that seems to bring us closer together actually makes further apart, or something, but upon listening to it again, it turns out it’s just about how you and Justin want to have sex with a pole dancer. And you say the word “technology” a bunch. It doesn’t really make sense.
This came as a surprise, since I always had thought of you as a man who, say what people will, understood the concept of a conceit. I revisited “Candy Shop” so that I would be able to defend you. What I found was that, aside from one line where you compare your dick to a lollipop and one line where you compare your dick to M&Ms, it doesn’t have any lyrics about candy. Likewise, “Magic Stick” has very few lines about magic. Alarmingly few.
It’s not that you mix metaphors, but that you come up with a perfectly good conceit and then abandon it. What if John Donne had just started talking about some hot pole dancer in the middle of “The Flea”? We would be minus one great work of English literature. And plus one fascinating document of time travel. In the past, 50 Cent, you’ve relied on your endearingly lazy voice to meander your way into America’s heart. But this is getting out of control. Consider this your wake up call: it’s time to try. Even just, at all. Otherwise I will stop downloading your songs for free.

Larry Craig: What I learned

I think it's time somebody blogged about this Larry Craig debacle. When I think about it, the first thing that comes to mind is "LEARNING," because I learned so many things from it. Let me tell you about them.

The first thing I learned is that superweird overweight old men are having gay sex all around us. I learned that they are very good at being quiet and fitting into tiny spaces, and they love secrets. I learned that everywhere you are, they are, having gay, gay sex. Look around you right now. Notice anything? It's overweight senior citizens having gay sex. Everywhere. There are several of them quietly having gay sex right here in this blog. Don't see it yet? Wait. Soon they'll start to glow and dance before your eyes like in "A Beautiful Mind."

Second, I was listening to a local morning radio show unpack this text and one of the DJs said something that really resonated with me. "Why would someone be ashamed to be gay?" he inquired, "If you want to be gay, just do it," he said, "We only have one life to live so we should just live it," he orated. I wikipedia'd this and it turns out that it's all true. Enter a sea change in the way I understand my journey through the world. Don't beleive me? That's just because you can't trust me because of how I've hurt you in the past -- how I've hurt you and lied to you -- and I am sympathetic to that. But I'll tell you now that with the words of that DJ in mind, and with the translucent spectre of Larry Craig's weird, weird face floating above me, I recently seized the day in a way that celebrated the powerful truth the Senator gave as his gift to all of us. I took my best friend to my favorite public bathroom. We cleared away all the debris left behind from all the gay sex and sat indian style on the floor. Then I flashed him this secret sign
which is a code used by the deaf community that means "beautiful," (or, in deaf, "buhdifgluhtth") as a way to say "Hey, we only have one life to live, and I want to live this one knowing that you know I think you are

Then we paid the state $500 and publicly quit our jobs.

I think it's important that we turn this whole ordeal into something positive. I turned it into learning, and what I learned changed me forever. We only have one life to live, people. Do something weird and gay as soon as possible.