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Shaky Logical Ground
Unlike similar disasters that have happened in recent years, there’s something about this one that doesn’t seem real. And that thing is that eighteen full hours have passed as of this writing, and yet Pat Robertson, Fred Phelps and their asshole buddies (And you can use whichever meaning of the phrase “asshole buddies” you like in this context) haven’t grabbed the first microphone they could find to say that it happened because Jesus, the Prince of Peace, hates us. Continue reading
Prop 8 From Outer Space
Look: where the rubber hits the road, I’m nothing but a 39-year-old drunk who does a little programming, but even I know that if you don’t want people to commit sodomy? Don’t design them with TWO EXTRA DICK-SIZED HOLES ON THEM. [read more at link] Continue reading
The Last Temptation of Netflix, Part 2
And now it’s time for the Last Supper, except Scorsese stages it as all the disciples eating on the ground in a big square, thus allowing Marty to implicit call Leonardo da Vinci a dissembling hack… although if you pause the movie and look at how everyone is seated, where things are placed and how background objects are arranged, a secret message becomes impossible to ignore! That message is: you are drunk as a lord and bored shitless by this fucking movie. [read more at link] Continue reading
The Last Temptation of Netflix, Part 1
The Last Temptation of Christ starts with Jesus, living in poverty and working hard on a contract gig making crucifixes for the Romans, which immediately punted my suspension of disbelief since there has never been a contractor that finished on time without skimming ten percent off the top before subcontracting the actual work to Mexicans (And don’t give me any shit about this being Israel 2,000 years ago. He was Jesus. If Jesus wanted Mexicans to handle the scut work, there would be Mexicans, you fucking blasphemer). Continue reading
Stop Collaborating and Listen
Between the weather and the company, the only positive I can see to living in Utah is that the line at Starbucks is probably always short. Of course, entering it will require the raincoat-and-shades wardrobe of your average 1970’s urban pervert shopping for fisting porn, your vente cup will always smell like industrial hand sanitizer, and asking for it “very light” will mean that the well-scrubbed kid behind the counter only horks one lunger into it. [read more at link] Continue reading