Stuck In The Middling With You

Posted on February 16, 2009 by Rob Reuter

It’s been a hard decade and a half for Quentin Tarantino fans. There’s no director in recent memory who has come out swinging the way he did, with a one-two punch of Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction… who then spent fifteen years whipping out self-indulgent loads like a partially pithed chimp in a cage.

You earned yourself a lot of goodwill after Pulp Fiction, Quentin, so we were a patient lot. We paid to go see the quickie dumpoffs of your earlier, unproduced scripts that Hollywood cranked out to cash in your your name… and we even ignored the glaring and obvious reasons why the studios passed on them before your were famous. We went to the theater like art fans entering a gallery hoping to see a little early Picasso and instead getting a Mapplethorpe exhibit, and finding yourself settling for a dick in the ass.

We paid to see True Romance, Or: Hey! What If A Hot Girl Liked Me Because I Was A Geek, And What If Something Interestsing Happened On The Way Home From My Tedious Genre-Retailing Gig!. We even sat through Natural Born Killers, Or: Hey! What If Charles Starkweather And Caril Ann Fugate Were Born In 1965, Were Marginally Attractive And Mildly Retarded? Natural Born Killers was so bad Rodney Dangerfield immediately tried to rehabilitate his reputation after playing a pederast in it by starring in Meet Wally Sparks and dying.

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Daily Rorschach Tests of The Soul

Posted on February 13, 2009 by Rob Reuter

Sometimes life presents you with seemingly normal images and objects that, when viewed with the right set of eyes, force you to come to terms with the fact that you are, quite probably, severely bent and broken inside. Here’s an example:

What do you see?

  1. A brass minimalist sculpture of a longhorn steer? Or:
  2. A brass minimalist sculpture of a centaur, arms extended to maintain balance, valiantly attempting to suck his own dick?

When I am apprehended at the local mall in a Spider-Man costume after throwing chloroform at strange women while shouting “Thwip!”, please direct the authorities to this post. It will only help my insanity defense.

[tags]dark humor, satire[/tags]

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Putting The “A” in “Tweets”

Posted on February 12, 2009 by Rob Reuter

The idea initially began to take hold when my own Web site refused to let me log into it and I had no way of letting people who read this rag know that I wasn’t dead… which, granted, would’ve been a nice bonus with my creditors had I not already told them I was dead. The idea seemed even better after I realized that the reason I had bought the flashy, data-enabled Google G1 Smartphone had gone obsolete once my employers asked me to stop downloading porn at work. Even in the bathroom. Or at least in the Ladies’ Room.

Twitter says that they exist to answer one question: “What are you doing?”, which is as ingeniously simple as it is grotesquely stupid. There are six billion people in the world, and the odds that any of them are doing anything interesting enough to warrant receiving a cell phone alert about it are so long they would only appeal to degenerate gamblers with enough money for a small bet and not enough saliva to earn enough for a big one.

We’ve created the greatest information engine in history, and Twitter wants us to use it to find out that little cousin Courtney is “On my way to English class!!!1!1! :(“. I’m sorry, but the only way to find redeeming value in the worldwide publication of that statement is if you let imagination take over and picture that she’s texting that message as a cover story while simultaneously hand-releasing some Senior in the band closet… and when that inevitably becomes some form of niche fetish porn, let’s remember who thought of it and owns all the rights.

But as I thought about it, I realized that just because Twitter wants me to use their service to send friendly updates about what I’m doing doesn’t mean I have to actually use it that way. It was a flash of William Gibsonesque, “The Street Finds It’s Own Uses For Things” inspiration: repurposing perfectly good objects for your own uses is part of what’s made this country great. After all, I guarantee you that the guy who invented beads on a string wasn’t even remotely considering the phrases “New Orleans”, “Mardi Grad” or “Anal”.

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Face Dances, Track Five

Posted on February 11, 2009 by Rob Reuter

“I made boom-boom in my pants!” The well-dressed retard wailed.

Jesus Christ! What the hell did you do?

“I boughted candy!” the retard shrieked, throwing a fistful of blister packs into the air.

No kidding. How much of this shit did you buy?

“It’s chocamalatey and good! I boughted all of it!” The retard grinned, drooling chocolate-like substance, then went bug-eyed. He doubled over as his bowels made a wretched, wet ripping sound. “But I don’t feel so good.”

This… this isn’t candy… this is fucking Ex-Lax! This is a fucking laxative! How much of this crap did you eat?

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25 Random Things About YOU

Posted on February 10, 2009 by Rob Reuter

EDITOR’S NOTE: Yet another reason I’m glad I’m not on Facebook. This ugly little “Post 25 Random Things About Me” meme has attracted mainstream media attention like any other insidious public infection, such as Ebola, Crotch Rot or Rachael Ray.

The theory behind it is this: you write up a list of, well, 25 things about yourself, and once you’ve published it you “tag” 25 people to let them know you’ve done it, and to pressure them into doing the same, using the subtlety of a snaggletoothed 17th-century Puritan with a fistful of rocks and too many vowels in her name.

The way I see it, this kind of meme can only exist for one of two reasons: first, it’s a clever social engineering experiment by Russian hackers looking to trick the rubes into posting information needed to defeat second factor authentication on banking Web sites.

Second: I don’t need to post random things about me for my friends to read, because they’re my friends. They already know. Hell; my high school buddy Trebuchet knows 25 random facts about me… actually, he knows fifty, but they act as binary compounds: the combination of any two would probably result in my incarceration.

So what this meme really is is a way to write 25 facts about yourself, and “tag” random old acquaintances. But not to get them to write a list, but to get them to read your list to see how wonderful and interesting you are. Which is not only unnecessary (If I cared enough to remain in touch with you, I would already know these things), but desperately narcissistic and attention-seeking. And if that’s the case, I don’t need to see your list, because I already know 25 random things about you:

  1. You have forgotten that your constant sharing of tedious personal details is why I didn’t want to hang out with you in high school / college / after work.
  2. You mistakenly assume that we want to discuss idiosyncratic details about you before you are dead.
  3. You have forgotten that the passing of homemade surveys is something you are supposed to grow out of by eighth grade.
  4. Your willingness to admit to an irrational fear of UPS trucks doesn’t make you any less boring.
  5. Your willingness to admit to being unable to climax without being lashed by rose thistles while listening to John Tesh in Super CD Dolby 5.1 surround sound doesn’t mean that we don’t already know and giggle about it behind your back. Continue reading →
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Posted in Assorted Humor, Satire and Libel | Tagged , | 1 Comment