Mister Looney's Corner

In response to yesterday's post, several people emailed me with very interesting questions. I would like to take this time to answer some of those questions.

Q: Who is going to win the Super Bowl this year?

A: Looking into the future I can see that the two competitors in the Super Bowl will be the San Francisco 49ers and the Oakland Raiders. Since the Super Bowl is being held in San Diego, this will be an all California Super Bowl, therefore nobody will care about the result. The game will be close, going to overtime. The Raiders will win the coin toss in overtime, drive down the field, and kick the winning field goal. This will outrage San Francisco fans who will say that the NFL's overtime rules are not fair. The NFL will notice that almost 80 percent of all overtime games are won by the team who wins the coin toss and will work to improve their system. Next year, NFL overtime games will be decided by Rock Paper Scissors competitions.

Q: Who will win the World Series next year?

A: I would like to answer this question with another question. Who cares?

Q: Mister Looney, it seems that you have trouble maintaining your train of thought. Why is this?

A: To be honest, I have a medical condition that affects my brain in such a way that I sometimes forget what I am talking about. I also have a medical condition called astigmatism that affects my eyes. Did you know that spiders have eight eyes as well as eight legs? Spiderman was a great movie. Speaking of great movies, has anybody seen A Clockwork Orange? If so, here is a Nadsat Glossary for all of you malchicks and devotchkas out there. I hope that answered your question.

Q: Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?

A: That is probably the easiest question to answer. The most beautiful woman in the world, by far, is Fairuza Balk. GRRRR! I hope she is reading this. If so, you have my email, write me!

Q: Mister Looney, are you retarded?

A: I refuse to answer that until I get my blueberry waffles. WHERE ARE MY BLUEBERRY WAFFLES?!?

Well, that's all the questions I'll be taking for today. I've got to save something for tomorrow. If you would like to have your questions answered here, simply leave them in the comments below, or Write me! Remember, nothing is taboo or too personal here at The Truth. See ya!

Diarrhea, Cha Cha Cha

One of my favorite shows that used to be on MTV was Daria. They don't show Daria on MTV anymore, but now they do show it on Noggin. The problem? The problem is that Noggin is geared more towards pre to early teenagers. That means that while watching Daria, you have to put up with commercials for other shows like Degrassi. These commercials are just fucking gay. This is the first time, as far as I can remember, where I stopped watching a television show based solely on the commercials that air during the show. I think that someone needs to put all the episodes on DVD already so I can watch them at any time. You think so too? Then sign the petition. Us Daria fans must be heard! La la la la la. La la la la la.

This weekend really sucked. I wanted to slam some beers on Saturday for my birthday, but nobody else had money for beer besides me. I'll be damned if I end up buying all the beer for everybody else to drink for my own birthday celebration. I always end up having to buy all the beer anyway. I'm tired of having broke ass friends who spend every free penny on drugs and video games. Any rich people out there want to be my friend? I promise I'll do my part, I am just tired of doing everybody else's part.

Another reason that this weekend sucked is that the seal at the bottom of my toilet is all fucked up. Every time you flush the toilet, water starts coming out. That completely soaked the carpet in the bathroom, so we had to yank the carpet out. We are trying to get the wood underneath to dry out. Some time this week I'm going to have to pull up the toilet and replace that seal. That's what I get for living in this old-ss, ancient, falling-apart, run-down, piece-of-shit house, huh?

About a month ago I volunteered to do some websites for the school district. They want me to start them now, but I'm not sure I want to any more. The main reason for this is because I don't know if they are going to pay me for it. They say they are, but nobody has given me an exact amount yet. I may just do the site then ask for payment. If they don't pay up I may just replace their website with pornography or something equally askew to the purpose of a school district's website. We shall see what happens.

The fall semester at college is finally over. I love going to school, but I hate never having any free time for myself. At least now my evenings will be free to relax a bit. My next semester will not be nearly as taxing as this last one was. I only have classes on Monday and Wednesday evenings, then all day on Saturday. My Monday class is Trigonometry, which I could probably teach. My Wednesday class is Drawing, which I truly love doing anyway. My Saturday class is Cisco, which again I really enjoy doing. Thank god for financial aid.

I have now come to a brick wall where I can't really decide what else to write. Maybe if some of you could leave a comment, asking me a question which I could answer on a subsequent post that would be really handy. Don't be afraid to ask anything, for I know everything. Until later, I'll just go and figure out how to cook speed in the microwave.

Chicken and Beer Don't Mix

Well, my birthday has come and gone without incident. I can happily say now that I won't have another one for another 364 days. Some of my friends came by last night to congratulate, I mean heckle, me. They constantly reminded me how much older I am. Most of my friends are between the ages of 19 and 24. Now that I am 27 they enjoy making me feel like the grandpa. I would like to say that it doesn't bother me, but it does a little. I am truly young at heart, and I think it scares me that I may one day have to grow up. I desperately cling to those things that make me remember my youth. Although my teenage years were among the most turbulent times of my life, but also some of the best times. Oh shit, I think I feel a flashback coming on...

I was 17 years old, and things were going my way. I was young, single, and carefree. At that time, I was working part-time at Kentucky Fried Chicken with two of my best friends, Doc and J-Bird. The three of us had the funnest time having races to see who could load the baskets the fastest and having chicken fat fights in the back. The three of us were figureheads of our own street gang that we called "The Wicked". The Wicked crew was less about drugs and violence and more about partying and having fun. This is a story about one of those times.

Three of us; Doc, my friend Shadow, and myself, had birthdays that fell within two weeks of each other. We decided that we wanted to have a party to celebrate all three at the same time. The date was decided to be December 10th, 1992.

In order to have a successful teenage gangsta party, three things are vital: plenty of beer, a location to have the party, and lots of bitches. Bitches? Hey, we were in a gang, that's what we called all girls. Beer we had easily. We KFC employees had a deal going with the liquor store across the street where we could trade buckets of chicken for alcoholic beverages. Beer was never a problem for us to get. Getting the girls wasn't too hard either. Between all of us, we had plenty of phone numbers that we could call to invite them. We would tell them to bring their friends, so there was always a good flux of fresh young tail for us fellas to go after. The problem that we ran across time and time again was location. Most of us lived with our parents, so it was difficult to find places where the parents wouldn't be around to ruin our fun. This particular weekend, it was next to impossible. For some crazy reason, this was the day that nobody's parents went out for the night. We had to find an alternative.

It was suggested that we go to one of our backwoods, out-of-the-way country places to party, but it was way too cold this particular night. We needed a place indoors. Then we started to scheme. There was a certain manager at KFC who it seemed wanted to be "one of the guys". Using our powers of persuasion, we managed to talk him into letting us into the back door of KFC after-hours. It was perfect. There was plenty of space in the back for lots of people, and if we got hungry, we could drop a few baskets of chicken strips. We knew then that this would be one party that we would never forget.

The day of the party, we made the preparations. We took two buckets of extra-crispy across the street to get us some beer. We had some money, too, so we could buy even more beer and several bottles of Boone's Farm for the ladies that would be in attendance. Phone calls were made to these ladies, some of whom agreed to come to our little bash. There was a cassette player in the back at KFC, so we made sure to bring all of our good tapes to listen to. Now all we had to do was wait.

After KFC closed for the night, we made our move. We took every precaution we thought would be necessary. We parked our cars in non-conspicuous locations near the restaurant. We made sure we didn't turn on any of the lights in the front. We informed everybody to stay in the back area where we couldn't be seen from the windows. Ritchie, the KFC manager who was in on the plan, let us in through the back. We unloaded case after case of beer and then began our Slamfest. We immediately got on the phones to call the chics to tell them that we were there and ready for their arrival. Meanwhile, we were pounding brews at breakneck speed. It is important to be at least a little drunk by the time the girls show up at the party, that way you can't be held responsible for any of your actions.

About a half hour into the party, Doc got the bright idea to make some chicken for us. That's when all Hell broke loose. He walked out to the kitchen area and then came right back saying "The fucking pigs are outside!" "Pigs", if you don't know, is gangsta-speak for police officers. We didn't know what to do. We were trapped inside KFC with shitloads of beer after store hours. We decided that maybe if we were really quiet, they would go away. We turned off the lights in the back and the radio. We then sat in darkness to see what happened. Of course, the cops didn't just forget about us, they just stood outside pounding on the door saying "Open up! We know you're in there!" Ritchie decided to go tell the cops that he was a manager and that he was just doing some paperwork still. We didn't know if that would work, so we decided to hide, just in case. We hid in the best location we could think of, the walk-in refrigerator. Who would look for teenage alcoholics in there? There were only about seven of us there at this time, so we all packed in and waited. We hoped that Ritchie would convince the police that he was the only one there. Our hopes were soon shattered when we heard the cops outside the walk-in. They were searching the place and talking on their little walkie-talkie's. We knew that it was only a matter of time before they opened the door to our little hideout.

While we were sitting in the refrigerator freezing our balls off, we were scheming again. "Ok, here's the plan. When these fucking pigs open the door, we all rush out at the same time. We'll knock them to the ground, then we run out the back door. They might catch a few of us, but they can't catch us all." So that was our plan. I envisioned it working to perfection and nobody getting caught, besides Ritchie who was probably already in handcuffs. So we waited.

Now that I look back, I'm thinking the cops knew that we were in the walk-in. I think that they were being smart-asses by letting us freeze in there while they searched for and found all of our liquor. Finally the moment came for our plan to take shape. We heard the crack as the door to the walk-in was being opened. The seven of us were crouched, ready to pounce on the nearest police officer as we made our escape. Suddenly, the door was flung open and before any of us could make a move, we were looking down the barrels of about four police issue pistols. I think each of us was waiting for someone else to make the first move.

So we were busted. The cops called each of us out one at a time. Then they proceeded to throw us on the ground to cuff us. I had the great displeasure of being thrown down with my nose right above one of the floor drains. The smell of rotting, decaying, chicken fat and grease lingers with me to this day. Once we were all cuffed, we were packed into the paddy wagon and taken to the station.

At the station, we were all questioned individually. You would think that we were suspects in a homicide case or something. It was ridiculous. I remember sitting across a table from one of the police officers. The lamp light was blinding me and my head was still swimming from the buzz that I had managed to catch. The cop looked me square in the eye and said "Have you been drinking?" I could feel my body swaying in my chair. Wasn't it obvious? Despite that, I decided to lie and say "No." The cop then said, "All right. Get out of here." That was it? I left the station wondering what the hell had just happened. He asked me one question, I lied, and I got away with it. Most of my friends were not so lucky. They all got underage drinking charges, and Richie got contributing to the delinquincy of minors, since he was the only one over 21.

I recall this event because as fucked up as that night turned out, it was still fun and exciting. Most of those people who were there I don't really associate with anymore. Most of them have disappeared into their own lives. Doc, who was quite possibly the best friend that I ever had, died tragically a few years later in a car accident. I really miss all of those people from that period in my life. I miss the Wicked crew. I miss trying to bust my "mack" on all the "bitches" that we met. I miss the times we had rumbling with other cliques and running from the law. As much as I miss it, I would never go back. Back then I had no responsibilities. I knew that whatever I did, it would not really affect anybody else. Not so anymore. I still try to have fun whenever possible, but it is now with an added degree of reservation.

What? My Birthday?

Here I am smack dab in the middle of finals week. What fun. So far this week I have taken four final exams, only two more to go. I seriously can't wait for this semester to be over. I think I overloaded myself trying to take eighteen credit hours of classes while at the same time working full time and trying to spend quality time with the family. In other words, I think I am experiencing serious burnout. I'm not too worried about my grades, I'm just tired of not ever having any free time at all. It will be nice for once to be able to go home after work and relax with my family and friends. I hate being 27 years old and barely in college still. I kick myself every day for wasting so many years on bullshit. Every time I feel like quitting, I just tell myself "You don't want to be going to college when you're 30, do you?" Usually that is all the motivation I need to push onward.

Yesterday we had our first real snow of the Winter. I love the snow, I just hate having to drive in it. I'm not worried so much about myself as I am about other idiots on the road. Some people really don't know how to react when they are driving in the snow and their cars start to slide. On my way to and from school last night I saw four or five cars that had gone off the road. That is kinda sad considering that this is Colorado and you would think that people would know how to drive in snowy weather.

I have finally decided that I want to move the blog to a new location. Actually, I am creating a whole new blog using Movable Type. I am also going to register my own domain and get my own server space. I am working on the website now, and hope to be online shortly after the holidays. I want to wait till after the holidays before I shell out the cash necessary for this undertaking, that way I make sure I have plenty for Christmas presents. Stay tuned for more on the new weblog.

I was informed this morning that today is my birthday. I hate it. I am now 27 years old, which is ninety percent of the way to 30. Holy shit I feel old! My mom gave me my present already, a nice selection of primsacolors. Yay! Now I can work more on my artwork. I want to do more mixed media things using pen and ink and colored pencils. I like things to be super colorful, like the old Santana album covers. Maybe when I get the new blog up and running I can post some of my own artwork on the site. Another great reason for getting my own hosting.

Soulmate gave me a watch, which was nice. We are not exactly in fiscal utopia right now, so I appreciate the fact that she didn't get carried away with my gift. The gift that I am really looking forward to is dinner tonight. Soulmate is making pasta, which I fucking love! I swear I could eat pasta for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day for the rest of my life and never get tired of it. I swear I should have been born Italian. That is kind of funny, because so many people think my last name, Tenorio, is Italian. That coupled with my relatively light skin for a Chicano has led many people to believe that I am Italian. All I can say when people ask me if I'm Italian is "I wish!" For desert tonight Soulmate is making another one of my all-time faves: German chocolate cake with the coconut pecan frosting. I'm going to have to exercise extreme self-control tonight to keep myself from achieving orgasm right there at the dinner table. It's gonna be great.

I do most of my good thinking as I am driving in the car to and from school. It is a fifteen minute drive either way, so usually it's just me, the radio set to 98.1 and my thoughts. It's unfortunate that so many good ideas come to me at this time, because I am not willing to pull off the highway just to write this stuff down, and as soon as I step out of the car upon reaching my destination *POOF* Whatever was there is now gone. I need one of those little voice recorder devices so that when something good comes to me I can say it and have it for later. The problem with that is I wouldn't want to look like a dork talking into a little machine. Goddammit! Why must I have to deal with these stupid little dilemmas?

There used to be a day when playing with your food was taboo. Nowadays, food products are being designed so that you can play with them. There is Kool Aid that "magically" changes color before your eyes. There are Fruit Roll Ups that double as really keen tattoos. Then there is ham that you can stamp. I was quite amazed at this last product. My daughter got a Lunchable the other day. Enclosed in the packaging was the standard fare: Cheese, ham, and crackers. Also enclosed was a little stamper that you could stamp your ham with. It turns out that it is actually just a piece of candy with an excess of dye in it. According to the directions on the box, you lick the stamper candy and then you can stamp your ham (sounds a lot like slapping the salami, doesn't it?) I don't know about you, but I feel uneasy about food you can stamp with some crazy dye before you eat it. I guess everything we eat nowadays anyway is artificially colored and everything, but usually you don't see this process. Well, my son got his hands on the stamper candy and ate it. I'm pretty sure that it was non-toxic, but it turned his whole mouth dark blue. I tried to wash it off with a washcloth, but it would not come off. AFter looking through the website, I found this notice that details the possibility of staining due to these products. My son's mouth was dyed blue, all because some company thought that kids would have so much fun stamping their food. What is the logical next step in food production? Candy that you can write on a chalkboard with, then lick off? Soda that you can drink, then eat the can. How about breakfast cereal that makes you fart different smells or poop in different colors. Everybody knows that there is nothing funnier than farts and poop. Throw me a bone, give us some really fun food for a change.

Watching the kids at the school play outside in the snow today made me realize that I never want to move somewhere that has no snow. I couldn't do that to my kids. Snow is one of nature's little toys, and I think a childhood would be essentially empty without at least a few fond memories of building snow forts or throwing snowballs. After work today I would like to go home and build a snowman with my daughter. I don't know if she has ever built one, but I guarantee she will love it. My son will like it too. Snow is one of the toys that you can throw around as much as you want and nobody really cares. That is unless you break a window or something. If it was the weekend, I would show my daughter how to steal trash can lids and use them to slide down hills. Seriously, what could be more fun? Hopefully there is still snow on the ground by Saturday.

Well, It Ain't Mayberry

I hate living in a small town. Correction, I really hate living in a small town. I have lived in this little town of about 4000 people for about ninety percent of my life and I cannot stand it. Some people enjoy the small-town life, but I, for one, don't understand what the appeal can be.

I hate the fact that no matter where you go in this town, you know pretty much everyone else you see. You go to the grocery store and everyone there is someone you know. Not necessarily someone you like, just someone you know. Look, there's that weird old guy with the buzzcut who walks around town bumming cigarettes from everyone. Over there, that's that girl who already has like four kids and she's only 19 years old. See those hoodrats over there? They are responsible for spraypainting "fuck you" on the church. In fact, I'm willing to bet that at any time I can walk into the store and tell you something about the vast majority of the people in there. What's really disturbing is that I start to wonder what these people say about me. In a perfect world, people would not concern themselves with things that are not their business. In a small town world, everybody's business is the business of everybody else.

Some people say that they like small towns because there is less crime. I say bullshit. Sure, there are less people in a small town, so the sheer mass of crime is likely to be lower, but I'm betting that per capita, crime in small towns is just as prevalent as it is in bigger cities. In fact, due to the reduced police force, I'm betting that there is more crime in small towns that goes unreported. Hell, I know of drug dealers who moved their operation to this town because the heat was getting too much in the big city. Our town doesn't have a drug task force, we only have four cops here all together. Drug dealers can sling their crack and meth here without fear of ever being caught. We also have our share of murders and robberies here as well. Sure, they never make the ten o'clock news, but the news station is in Colorado Springs, they don't give a fuck about what's going on here. Why should they? If Rocky Ford were blown off the map, the only thing they would probably miss would be the damned cantaloupes.

There is nothing to do in small towns. Yeah, there are a couple of bars here, but they are all either Spanish music cantinas or country bumpkin bars. How are you supposed to have any kind of fun unless you are an immigrant or a redneck? It fucking sucks. It really sucks for kids here. They can't go into those bars, as unappealing as they are anyway. There's no mall here. There's no arcade. Kids like to have fun, and will do so at any expense. There are three things that kids here think are fun: Drinking beer, smoking dope, and having sex. That's why the girl mentioned above has managed to have four kids already and the drug dealer mentioned above has such a profitable business here. I would go so far to say that about fifty percent of the economy here goes towards the distribution of illegal drugs. Of course that's not something you will find out about at the Chamber of Commerce, but I'd be willing to bet if someone wants to do the research. Teenagers here always fall into the trap of drugs and alcohol. Not sometimes, always. It's all they can do to maintain sanity. You can only go cow-tipping and bumper-skiing so many times before you are bored out of your mind.

There are no jobs in small towns. Sure, you could work at the convenience store or at a gas station, but who wants to do that the rest of their lives? Around here, if you make over seven dollars an hour, that is considered "good money". What kind of shit is that? Good thing there's Welfare, because without it almost none of the people that live here would afford to even live. More and more the life of the drug dealer is looking more appealing. I am lucky to make ten grand a year, but I'm afraid to leave my job, because where would I go? I could become a farmer, but that is not my ambition. I could open up a liquor store or a pawn shop, but that would take an initial investment which I am not willing to make. Not here anyway.

Small towns are super-susceptible to "The Flavor of the Day". I remember the first person to get low-profile tires in this town. They were about 13 inches in diameter, they stuck out about 3 inches from the side of the car, and they made his car look like a freaking skateboard. I don't know how this could catch on, but it did. You didn't even have to have a nice car it didn't seem. People were driving around in shitty-ass Pintos and Cavaliers with shiny chrome and gold rims. I personally want to puke when I see these people. They drive around like they are the best thing around because they have nice rims and shitty bass in the trunk. Pathetic is the only word I can think of to describe it. I remember one day I took a ride and saw someone walking his pit bull pup in town. I didn't think much of it until the next day when I saw three people walking their pit bulls in town. I then found out that in order to be "cool" in this town, you had to have a pit bull. It soon came to be that people were judged not by their discerning qualities, but rather by how bad-ass their pit bull was. I don't have a pit bull, therefore I am nothing in this town. That's OK, I don't want much to do with this town anyway.

I plan on leaving here soon. I want to finish this portion of my schooling, then I will put my resumé on the market. Hopefully, I can land a position in Colorado Springs or Denver. Hopefully I can make more than seven dollars an hour, what a joke. Anybody want to offer me a job? Shit, I would be packed and ready to go within the hour. Just get me out of this small town.

On a lighter note, I saw someone try to hit a bong backwards this weekend. He put the bowl where you are supposed to suck from and he sucked from where you are supposed to put the bowl. I noticed him about to do this, but I didn't say anything to stop him. I figured it would be good for a laugh. Needless to say, he got a good mouthful of bong water. Yummy. He gagged then spit the bong water into an empty beer bottle. The water was kind of dark and actually looked a little like beer. I watched that bottle the rest of the night to see if anyone would attempt to drink the bong water a second time, but I was only wishful thinking I guess.

My brother came to my house and brought his Playstation 2 with Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Talk about therapeutic. It is so easy to deal with frustrations when you can cruise Vice City, get out of your car, and blow up the motorcyclist who cut you off. Then you go and steal his motorcycle, go to the dance club, and throw a grenade on the dance floor. Most of the people die, but some still manage to keep dancing despite all the dead bodies on the floor. The cops then chase you. You blow off their heads with a shotgun and steal the police car. Of course by this time you have two or three stars so the pigs keep chasing you. You find a ladder to a high building and go up. From this vantage point you can cap anyone and everyone with the sniper rifle. You continue to create havoc until the helicopters come and try to blast you. You turn the tables on them by blowing them up with the rocket launcher. Just when it looks like the FBI and the CIA and the SWAT team are closing in around you, you do the wanted level cheat to reduce your wanted level to zero. You can then come down from your perch and walk right past the cop who was just chasing you and step over the dead bodies of the innocent bystanders that you killed. That'll teach you to cut me off, mother fucker!

I found a new kind of bread that is so good as to get my Stamp of Approval. It is the Sara Lee Honey White Bread. The great thing about this bread is that it is only like a buck fifty for a loaf. It is so soft and so good. It also makes excellent grilled cheese and ham sandwiches. I would like to take this time to thank my local grocer for carrying this gift from the gods. My stomach thanks you as well.

As a final, yet insignificant note, I would like to say that tomorrow is my B-day. It's horrible, I'll be 27 years old. When I start thinking about how much of my life I wasted in the military, I feel compelled to convince others that the military is a mistake. Sure, the commercials look cool and you do get to see other parts of the world, but it's really not worth it. If you value seeing your family on a daily basis, don't join the military. If you value the choice of living where you would like to, don't join the military. If you enjoy having the choice of what job you do, don't join the military. If you enjoy dressing in the way you like and looking the way you like, don't join the military. In fact, if you value your freedom at all, don't join the military. The military is designed to defend our freedom, not necessarily practice it. I saw an old friend the other day who informed me that he has been in the Navy for eight years now. My obvious response was "Are you afraid to get out, or what?" He didn't seem to understand what I was asking. It was like he had been brainwashed and made to love military life. That is the only way I could see why someone would remain in the the military beyond their original enlistment. The military life is about structure, and I think that some people don't know what they'll do when that structure is gone and they actually have to do things for themselves. It's actually quite sad and disheartening. But back to my birthday, feel free to send whatever you like with the exception of pipe bombs and envelopes with anthrax. My birthday's today, big fucking whoop. I think a good birthday present would be if you told me that you were considering the military, but then changed your mind thanks to me. That would make my day knowing I helped someone for the better.

Blah!

I'm feeling pretty shitty today, so this will be a short post, essentially to bitch about stuff. I threw up like crazy last night. I considered calling in today, but I feel that I have some kind of obligation to be here for the kids. That's more than I could say for most of the real teachers here. They miss school regularly. I have a theory and it goes like this. "How can you expect a child to learn from you if he/she doesn't think you care about them? Which goes along with How can expect a child to think you care about them if you are never there?" That is part of the problem with this school. They are too concerned with test scores and they forget to care about the kids. I think that if you care about the kids, the test scores will follow.

You know what I hate on television now? It's those stupid anti-marijuana commercials that they show. Usually they depict some retarded teenagers smoking pot and doing retarded shit. One I saw last night had these two teenage boys hitting a bong in what looked like one of their father's study. One of the boys finds a gun in the desk and says "Hey, look at this!" They stare at it like morons and then the boy who is holding the gun "accidentally" caps his friend. What the fuck is up with that? Marijuana does NOT make people act retarded like this. This commercial would have more merit as an advisory for gun control. Either that or as an advisory against retarded teenagers. It makes me so mad because I feel that marijuana is relatively harmless, but these commercials try to find any little thing to say that marijuana is so fucking deadly. The government has gone too far with their retarded little "War on Drugs". It isn't working fellas. The money spent for dumb commercials could be better spent on something useful like fixing up under-privileged communities or scholarships for lower-class students. Another domb commercial series that I abhor is the stupid Truth commercials against tobacco-use. I don't even smoke cigarettes, but these commercials make me want to just to spite their asses. Myth: people don't know that tobacco use is harmful. Fact: Everyone knows that tobacco is bad for you, but people will smoke cigarettes despite that. No stupid commercial is going to change someone's mind about smoking. Idiots.

Date TV

One of my little guilty pleasures is that I enjoy watching some of the polyamorous dating shows that have been showing on TV lately. The three that stick out in my head right now are Dismissed, ElimiDate, and The 5th Wheel. I think these show are hilarious because you see several types of relationships develop simultaneously. You get to see the interactions between the daters, but what might even be more funny is the confrontations between the contestants themselves. They just always talk so much shit to each other and about each other. I'm surprised more fights haven't broken out.

I remember the old Dating Game where "The Lovely Bachelorette" or "The Handsome Bachelor" had like sixty seconds to ask a series of asinine questions such as "If I were a Twinkie, what would you stuff me with?" (I don't think a bachelor would ask that question, but who knows?) The bachelor(ette) didn't even get to see who they were going on the date with until he or she made the final decision. On the dating games now, however, if that question were asked the other person would probably respond with "Well let me show you what I would stuff you with." then they would jump on them and start grinding and shit. TV sure has come a long way from the days of Chuck Woolery.

I think that these shows make for good television. They constantly push the envelope of what is considered acceptable on TV. Shit, if I watch The 5th Wheel and don't see some fuzzed out tits and ass, I really feel like the show has let me down. I am firmly against censorship of any kind, To see dating shows go from mild to wild is extremely refreshing.

Some of you may want to get onto one of these dating game show. It's simple enough, all you have to do meet a few requirements. First of all, you must be at least mildly attractive. I use the term "mildly attractive" loosely, because I have seen some "dawgs" on the shows. Secondly, you have to be around the ages between 18 and 28. Let's face it, not many people want to watch five sixty-year-olds jumping in the hot tub. Third, you have to match one of the producers target character profiles. Want a list? Here's a rundown:

1. X-Person: In order to be an X-Person, you either have to be a skater, surfer, skier, or otherwise participate in some extreme sport. This makes for some interesting dates: "On my date, we're going to BASE jump from a balloon."
2. Non-Dater: If you have never been on a date before, a dating game show is an excellent opportunity to jump into the dating scene. The dorks on these shows always have the inate inability to socialize in any situation. They say stupid shit, they do stupid thing, and their main purpose for being on the show is to make me fall out of my chair laughing at their stupid asses.
3. Desparate and Horny: A study has shown that 95 percent of the men who make it on these dating shows fit this category. This number seems extreme, but it is actually consistent with the 95 percent of the population who fit this category. People in this category can be identified by their cheesy one-liners and will most likely beg for a kiss by the end of the show.
4. Slut: The same study mentioned above has also shown that 95 percent of the women on dating shows fit this category. Once again, this may seem high, but the number is consistent with the 95 percent of the male population who are desparate and horny. If you have no problems with showing your boobs on camera, knowing that the world will just see a flesh-colored blur, then you will have no problem getting on a dating show. What good would a dating show be without lap dances and body shots anyway?

Winning on one of these shows is an entirely different matter. For women, whoever most embodies the Slut category usually wins. For men, it's usually just a shot in the dark. What I like the most about these shows is that every contestant is completely convinced that they are going to win, no matter how obvious it is to the spectator that they have no chance. When reality finally rears its ugly head at the end of the show, they usually say shit like "Well, she wasn't really my type anyway" or "I guess he just really likes sluts" (Well, duh). I would really like to be on one of these shows, because I know that I would win. Admittedly, I'm not the best looking guy out there, but I think knowing that would actually help my chances. I would have to win with charm and personality, two things that I am fully stocked on (Yeah right, that's just me being stuck on myself again). Soulmate even said that it would be OK for me to be on one of those dating shows. She said that she would enjoy watching my ass get shot down. Maybe I would, but at least there would be the chance of seeing some tits and ass. Can you guess which category I fit into?

I got a good idea for a dating show. Ten girls, ten guys, put them all together in a party-style atmosphere. Then pull couples out randomly and put them in compromising situations. At the end, let them all pick one. If any matches are made then they could get like cash prizes or Victoria's Secret gift certificates or something. I don't know, it's just a goofy idea that I would probably watch.