Our Hands Are Oranges

Evil organizations

2009-02-16T15:18:00.000-08:00

Throughout the course of mankind, humanity has banded together for several noble causes: Religion, politics, education, hippie sit-ins, and of course, the grandest of all goals.

World Domination.

But there are so many different organizations with this goal in mind; it can be hard to find the right one for you. So we here at Ohao have compiled a helpful guide for you to choose your fate.

S.P.E.C.T.R.E

Mission statement: Good old SPECTRE. Really, the name says it all: the SPecial Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion. So basically, they're douche bags for hire! A group of intelligent people who could have used their intellects to better mankind...but instead decided that they'd rather A) take over the world, B) Steal as much money from the world as they can, C) Blow shit up, or D) All three! It's like a hat-trick of evil!

The Boss: Working for SPECTRE will be an exciting experience, with lots of potential for career advancement. Especially since the management is always getting reshuffled. Mainly due to piranha related firings. But the head honcho is super genius and Cat Fancier Ernst Stavro Blofeld. Seriously, with a name like that, how could he be cruel? He's a nice enough guy...although he does tend to change his appearance often, so you'll have to be on your toes.

Ignore the scar...he's sensitive

The Office: Well, this one depends. SPECTRE has many franchises around the globe, and if you're a regional manager, you can have your base of operations built however you want. Fancy a volcano layer? Done! How about a phallic space ship? Creepy, but done! Hell you can have your own island if you want. Let's see Cinnabon make that claim.

Dress Code: If you're interested in a career at SPECTRE, you'll be relieved to know that the dress code is rather lax. If you're one of the elite members of the organization, you can dress as outlandishly as you like, who knows, you might even get metal hands! And if you're in more of the henchman class, no worries, standard issue jumpsuits will make picking what to wear in the morning a breeze.

The Down Side: Well, you're probably going to have to deal with a hairy little British man who just seems to want to piss on your parade. But don't worry, you're probably going to have an incredibly awesome death that will make people reading your obituary super jealous.

The Legion of Doom

Turns out Lex Luthor is Jesus. Suck it Dan Brown

Mission Statement: The Legion of Doom has a rather simple purpose. Make the Super Friend's lives miserable. How they do it is really varied. All that really matters is that the plan is as grandiose and needlessly complex as possible. It has more chance to fail that way!

The Boss: Oh look, another bald guy. That seems to be definitive proof baldness leads to super villainy. Oh well. At least Lex Luthor isn't that bad. And the Legion is rather democratic anyway. As long as you're one of the twelve baddies on the council, there's a good chance that you'll get your voice heard. Unless your Solomon Grundy, because then no one will listen to you. Because you're stupid. And probably smell bad. Like, truck stop mens room bad.

The Office: When working for the Legion of Doom, you'll have full access to the Hall of Doom. Even though it may look like Darth Vader's head, the Hall is fully equipped with state of the art defense mechanisms that will keep you safe after your evil shenanigans draw the attention of the Super Friends. The Hall is even capable of traveling through time, so if you've ever had the ambition to go to a point in time where the Wonder Twins were children, and beat them then, you're in luck! True, it may be located in some random swamp, but the beauty on the inside is all that matters. Much like your prom date.

Employee parking in the rear

Dress Code: Remember when you were a kid and wished that you could dress anyway you wanted? You would have been an astronaut-cowboy-ninja every damn day of the week. Well working with the Legion lets you do just that. Whatever your evil persona's shtick may be, you can dress that way. Go nuts!

The Downside: Well, every week you're going to get another evil scheme, and like it or not, it's going to fail. Sorry. That's just the way things work. But at least you won't get arrested or anything. Apparently the Legion has diplomatic immunity. On the other hand, you're going to have to hang out with some pretty retarded teammates. Like a talking gorilla. And a jester. And someone who actually has problems kicking Aquaman's ass. Plus there's the fact that apparently the Legion doesn't have a lot of money. I mean, they can't even afford to give Brainiac a decent pair of pants.

Nice banana hammock Brainiac

The Foot Clan

Mission Statement: World domination. Well, I think that's what they're trying to do. Usually they're just trying to survive turtle attacks...but hey, you gotta start somewhere!

The Boss: If you decide to take a position in the Foot Clan, you will be led by famed war lord and master of ninjitsu, the Shredder. He's a strong and fearless leader, and also a handy kitchen appliance! And in some cases you will have another supervisor, the great lord Krang! Yes, Krang may be a small, pink, brainlike organism that has to live inside a be-speedoed robot, but he's still you boss.

Seriously, what's with the banana hammocks?

The Office: For the most part, standard Foot Clan members just get to hang out in abandoned warehouses and sewers waiting for those damn turtles. But you may get lucky and get to hang out in the Technodrome, a giant subterranean battle fortress complete with giant drills, large holding cells, robotic walking legs, 972 bedrooms, and a Street Fighter II arcade game (wait, what?)

Dress Code: Standard ninja garb is the regular code of dress. Black costume and hood so no one can find out your identity. And lets face it, if you routinely get your ass handed to you by mutated reptilian Renaissance painters, you'll want your anonymity.

The Downside: Well, turtles. God damn turtles. And to make it worse, they spew concentrated 80's out of their mouths the entire time you have to fight them. And they're going to kick your ass, you don't have a choice. Even if you're a black belt and are capable to killing a man with naught but your pinky, you're going to get you hand broken on a shell, and then taken out with an accidental punch from a three fingered scaly hand. And you will then need to commit Hari Kari. It's ninja law.

If you get beat by these things, you have to give up being a ninja. And life.

Cobra

Mission Statement: The goal of Cobra is relatively simple. Fuck shit up. Yeah, world domination would be nice, but Cobra is more like SPECTRE, they just want to cause some chaos and get some money. Terrorism is the name of Cobra's game. Oh, and fuck G.I. Joe. That douche.

The Boss: Cobra is headed by High Command, and elite group of evil doers that each lend their own special skill into the workings of this well-oiled machine of evil. But the head honcho is the notorious Cobra Commander, the hooded villain with the oddly high pitched voice. And he's a horrible man. How horrible? He punts puppies.

Cobra Commander seen here reenacting the bridge scene from Anchorman

The Office: Cobra's main base of operations is Cobra Island (really creative with these name huh?) an island off the coast of Mexico that has become a sovereign nation. The Island has many important areas for a member of Cobra, including a hospital and the delightfully named Terrordrome!

Dress Code: Well, depending on what level you are at, there are many different required uniforms, but for the most part, you're going to be in a blue jumpsuit with a penis shaped helmet covered in vibrant red cobra emblems. Sorry.

They're totally getting laid tonight

The Downside: You can never win. No matter how close that prize may be, one of the morons from the G.I. Joe force is going to show up and make you cry. And the worst part? You could be beaten up by a guy dressed like a gay biker. Or a guy named Snow Job. SNOW JOB! Are you serious?! Were they never twelve? Do they not know what that pun is? The government is funding a guy named Snow Job? Fuck taxes.

The French

Mission Statement: Complete and total world domination. The French will stop at nothing to devour the world and plunge us into a dark land of frog sacrifices and excruciating body odor.

The Boss: Oh hell I don't know...Napoleon? Is he still alive? Charles de Gaulle? Jacques Cousteau? You're guess is as good as mine. But I guarantee you whoever it is, they're evil.

The Office: Somehow, the French have managed to control an entire country with over 65 million people caught in their clutches! We didn't really want to do much research into what France looks like, but famed musician Frank Zappa once said "there is no hell, only France," so I'm going to guess it looks a lot like hell.

Visit Beautiful France!

The Dress Code: A baret, a wiry mustache, unpleasant chest hair, and a full suit of armor.

The typical Frenchman in his native habitat

The Downside: Are you kidding? You need to know the downside? You're French. And that's terrible.

The Guild of Calamitous Intent

Mission Statement: The Guild is the world's largest employer of supervillains. They're "the recognized leader in organized havoc" and exist solely to cause misery to super heroes and other people that the villains find necessary to "arch." There is a strict code of conduct, and a significant amount of honor making them the go to source of costumed evil.

The Boss: The Guild has many smaller functionary bosses, as it is a bureaucracy. But the head of the Guild is the enigmatic Sovereign. Unless you're in the highest order of the Guild, you will only see the Sovereign as a shrouded face on a television, but if you're blessed enough to see the true face of the Sovereign, you will be in the presence of Grammy Award winning musician David Bowie!

The Office: Members of the Guild are free to build their own bases, and make them as elaborate and random as they can. When in need the Guild also has a main facility where the Sovereign lives.

Dress Code: Similar to the Legion of Doom, members of the Guild are allowed to dress as flamboyantly as their sexuality will allow. The supervillain is allowed to design their own persona, and the costume of their henchmen. And there's no limit but your creativity, hell, you could look like this if you want:

Sexy

The Downside: Downside? There is no downside! You get to dress as insanely as possible and your leader is David Bowie! DAVID BOWIE!! The man did China Girl! And Labyrinth! He was the Goblin King!

oh. My. GOD.

So I've been thinking...

2009-02-15T21:58:00.000-08:00

I think Chewbacca probably stinks.

Like, sear your nose hair stinks.

I mean, he's all hair, so he at least smells like a dog. And probably a wet dog. At first I thought since they are in some sort of futuristic society, maybe there's some sort of grooming that Chewie may partake in, but he doesn't look clean, he's really natty. And then there's the fact that he's so damn hairy. He's probably got bugs and fleas and such all over him. And the feces. There's probably feces stuck to his hair. He also has a really stressful job, co-pilot on a smuggler's ship, that's gotta make a guy sweat. I don't know why this popped into my head...but it did....enjoy?

Yeah, Like I could pass that up...

Man, Fuck Wikipedia

2009-01-25T14:58:00.000-08:00

Hello my nonexistent readers! I'm bored and lonely, so I thought I'd rant to you! Lucky you! Now I know I've been away from this site for a few months...but since no one reads this, it doesn't matter. But I wanted to preach a cause to you. And no, it's not in insane rant against Ewoks, or a plead to help me win the genius grant (which you obviously didn't do, because I still don't have a god damned taser monkey), and it has nothing to do with Christopher Walken. At least not much.

...Think I'm going to Hell for this one...

But no, this rant isn't about blasphemy. It's about justice.

Recently, I've become locked in an epic struggle against an oppressive force. This monolithic organization threatens to crush all free-thinkers like myself, and I've been assaulting it on all fronts for many tireless hours. I speak of course, of Wikipedia. This juggernaut of information (citation needed) has been straddling the internet for years, dominating it like a horny Saint Bernard would a feeble Chihuahua. And I want those tables to turn. I want to be the Chihuahua to hump Wikipedia into submission!

Hump on Brave soldier! Hump on

But you may be asking yourself what the cause of this coup is. It's quite simple. Wikipedia is not allowing me to spread lies.

Now at first, that may seem like a good thing. Certainly it's a good thing to keep lies off the internet (good luck bitches) and it's obviously a good idea to stop me from succeeding in things (Walken will rule us like a king... I promise). But I think I'm in the right in this case.

It's not even like I'm trying to change anything important, which is why I thought that they might let it slide by. BUT NO! Apparently Wikipedia wants to be "factual." Pansies. The article in question, is Wikipedia's apparently sacred tome on the most noble creature to ever grace God's green Earth.

The mongoose.

Wait that's what a mongoose looks like?.... what am I thinking of?

Wikipedia has the balls to tell the world that that plural of mongoose is mongooses. Now, after researching, I found that this is indeed correct. But I can't see why. If the plural of goose is geese, why the hell isn't mongoose mongeese? It just doesn't make sense!

So I decided to tell Wikipedia the new truth. Mongeese. It's beautiful.

Picture unrelated, but totally amazing

But my initial efforts were met with confusion. Wikipedia was intially not sure what to do about my edit. I received a warning that the information I posted was not in fact true, and that I should refrain from doing it.

Fuck that. Because if I've learned anything from Teddy Roosevelt, it's that you gots to stuck it to da man.

"Keep that pimp hand strong, especially when wrestling a mother fucking bear. Which I do."
-Theodore Roosevelt, 1901

So I continued to assault Wikipedia every time they decided to cover up my lies. And after each alteration, I received a new message from Wikipedia, getting inceasily hostile, which culminated in me being banned from editing. At least for 31 hours, which may possibly be the most random and useless punishment time I've ever heard of. Now logically, once my meager incarceration is over, I'll continue my never-ending (read: as long as I'm bored) struggle against Wikipedia.

But one thing that really peeved me about the whole thing was the fact that when Wikipedia finally had enough of my bullshit and banned me, they told me that I could contest my banning if I felt it was unjust. And of course I did. But Wikipedia still felt that my cause was unworthy. And I can't tell why. So I'll let you be the judge, and I'll post my contestment verbatim:

"Dear Wikipedia. I feel that my banning is in fact unfair. All I was doing was trying to create knowledge. Beautiful knowledge. I feel that this rampant racism toward the mongoose has gone on for long enough, and am trying to change the world. These mighty mongeese deserve a better life, and I think it can start with us Wikipedia. We can give them a better chance! We can give them the recognition they deserve! So please Wikipedia, join with me, and together we can save the mighty mongeese from lives of solitude and hatred. ARE YOU WITH ME?"

They were not.

My banning remained, and I was left without a venue to protest. At least until my banning is over in like, 25 hours. Then Wikipedia will pay... and ban me again. So I urge you readers to join my cause, and edit Wikipedia as often as you can. Make that first sentence say the the plural is Mongeese! And maybe one day Wikipedia will answer our prayers, and give the mongoose the recognition it needs. Or lock the page. Whichever is fine for me.

There! That's what I thought a Mongoose was!

Overall, an odd day.

2008-12-06T04:18:00.000-08:00

So, today I was surprised to find that I have grown a third nut!

My attempts to breed an almond that can survive in this climate, while being farmed next to the walnuts and pecans, were successful!

Another thing I found out was that I have three testes rather than just two!

They're these cute finals, see. Calc, Econ, and Chinese. I didn't think I had one for Chinese after the project. They're not hard at all, and the teachers print them out all cute. They're my adorable little exams, my testes!

What's really been bothering me is that there's another nad with the other two that wasn't there before.

I promise you, the last time I checked, Russell wasn't a part of that generation of the honorable Nad family.

The day got even stranger once I noticed that I had three balls.

But you gotta figure, that makes me only more of a man! And plus, now I can bet off the left one without a net loss!

And that was pretty much my day.

4 Ways that the Real World is Like Videogames.

2008-11-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

If you're like me then videogames are a big percentage of your life, and most likely also like me you fear the outside world and it's strange and foreign ways. It's full of people, trees and air that hasn't been filitered! Fear not my fellow misanthropes, hermits and social rejects, the world is more like the games we play and may just be more tolerable... maybe... probably not though.

#4. Player Profiles.

Now, for anyone who's played some sort of MMO or something similar you know that every player has some sort of profile. This may be in the form of some quick stats, or a much larger page dedicated to that player and their interests. This makes playing with other human beings much easier because it eliminates all that awkward conversation getting to know that person by giving you a list of what that person already likes!

Real world counterpart:

Myspace, Facebook, and even Gaia. Now you might call all of these things their own games requiring a computer to access but phones are now being sold with Myspace connectivity standard. In fact, all you really need from some one is their name now and with a couple of short taps on your phone you already have everything you need to know about that person. It's like stalking on a lightspeed level. You don't even have to follow her home to know where she lives, you can just put her into any reputable map site and you have her address and if you use one of the less reputable sites, you may even get perfect peeping points.

Think about the implications of this, why interact with people at a party when you can easily ask a bud for their name, bring up their profile and see how you shack up against them? Wallflower? Hell no, more like research.

#3. The Railgun.

I was somewhat unsure of whether I should put this in but the sheer awesome of a railgun is to much to pass up. Probably most known from Quake, the Railgun has been seen in games like Red Faction, Battlefield 2142, Crysis and Metal Gear Solid. Like the Gauss cannon or the Rocket Launcher it has become a well know death bringer among gamers and gun-o-philes alike.

Real world counterpart:

Also called the Railgun. A railgun uses two magnetic rails, charged with opposite currents that can propel a 7 pound bullet two seven times the speed of sound (that's about 11,500 ft/s while an M16 only has a muzzle speed of about 3,000 ft/s). The projectile of a railgun goes so fast that it actually heats the air around so much that the air bursts into flames.

Now the problem with the real world railgun is that it's fucking big and they are going to put it on boats because they probably felt sorry for the Navy and decided that they deserve at least one cool thing. But if you are interested in a smaller scale Railgun you can check out this.

But you're looking at quite a bit of coin to make something you could just turn on your 360 to experience. Plus with the 360 you get that added fuzzy feeling of knowing what you just shot was a 12 year old from Omaha.

#2. Minimaps.

As gamers we have no doubt played at least one game with a minimap, they are a staple of adventure games, racing games and even some FPS. Some minimaps even come complete with a little arrow that points us in the right direction when we are lost or to gently encourage us to stop teabagging the recently deceased.

Real world counterpart:

Gps systems. This is probably closest to the racing version of the Minimap because most gps systems are used in cars or by yuppie idiots and campers. It used to be that you'd have to rely on old fashion memory to get where you were going, but not anymore! Now you can intrust in the glorious machine overlords to save your lazy ass once again and tell you where to go when you're speeding down roads, powersliding and hurling weaponized turtles out your windows.... I don't drive much.

#1. Splicing

Gene splicing, like nanobots, is a staple of the gaming industry. They are a common way to justify massive plotholes in a game or even create a plot. Done, deftly however splicing can be a welcome addition to any game, like Bioshock. Infact, if you haven't played Bioshock yet, go do it. Like, right now. It's okay I'll wait for you. Hmm hmm hm.... You're done? WASN'T IT AWSESOME!? Oh my god, I know! We'll talk about it later though, I have to do this article stuff now.

Real world counterpart:

Well, there are actually quite a few examples of gene splicing. Sadly though, none of them involve me getting radioactive spider powers, so all of those spider bites and nuclear waste baths were all for naught. What is becoming more common is something called Gene Doping. Gene Doping for all you non-thugs out there (shout out to my homies in the suburbs!) Gene Doping is a street term for inserting modified viruses into the bloodstream to create a stronger body. A noted event happened in 2006 where a German track coach was caught using a Repoxygen virus, a virus that boosts the production of oxygen carrying bloodcells.Myostatin blockers, Norepinephrine enhancers. There's a veritble orgy of body boosting tonics to choose from. Now there haven't been any known ill affects of gene doping but I think we all know what's going to happen. Victory.... Also I'm sure something like this.

Her name is Diane, she likes long walks and cuddling.

Imagine if you will a future where seedy drug dealer's pull kids off their hover sleds, lead them behind the Holoburger and sell them all manner of Bio-blow, Cellular Cocaine, Synaptic Speed! WHEN WILL THE ALLITERATION END!? WHEN I ASK YOU!? WHEN!?

With all these advancements you'd think the real world would not suck so hard... but it still does... I wonder what's on tv...

Teuthiphobia: Fear of Squid. Also known as the most rational of the phobias.

2008-11-16T17:22:00.000-08:00

What's funny is that you probably think that's something other than a planet...

Beak, tentacles, a shell underneath skin, an organic jet, bioluminescence, shoots ink, and two eyes on each side...two evil, evil eyes.

I'm talking SQUID.

No one's had the heart to call the photographer's family yet. It's been eight years.

Squid are the cephalopod menace that live in our seas (!!!), waiting to strike. And the government knows it. We are kept in the dark so we do not provoke them and start the war before we can abandon this doomed planet. What the government knows, neither you nor I know, but today, I'm going to tell you.
The squid have already struck.
The Japanese were attacked by the second squid ever recorded on September 15, 1982. It massacred over 9000 (!!!) Japanese cities, until it was finally killed, after America had to nuke part of Japan just to kill it. Twice.
(Oh yeah. Conspiracy.)

Some of you may ask me, what evidence do you have for any of this?
Well, to you, I stand my own question.
ALIENS.
That’s all.

This original beast was named “Kraken”, a shortened term of the Japanese curse word “Krakendono.” [Roughly translated, “Kraken” is Japanese for “OH SHI--”.]

This attack left Japan crushed. Only bits and pieces of its eastern border remain. It once used to be a proud country, with a shape that it could be proud of. After the squid invasion (!!!), it no longer stood out on the globe as a symbol of democracy.
The before and after pictures are below.

The islands below afterwards are just crumbs from the squid.

Some of you may ask me, how come Japan covers up China and looks just like the US?
Well, to you, I stand my own question.
ALIENS.
That’s all.

Later, the persistent Japanese (!!!) would attempt to attack the squid in dissuading methods. They began the movie (!!!) franchise “Godzilla” [roughly, “pussy-faggot”], replacing the part of the Kraken with some lizard thing (lizards aren’t close to being as fucking weird as squid). They would also go on to take the multitudinous spawn of the Kraken, and cook them alive and EAT them, calling it calamari. [Japanese for “fuck y’all damned squid, we gon’ eat your damned children, what you damn think of THAT, bitches? FUCK yeah. Bitches.”...roughly]
These attempts to demoralize the cephalopod menace were met with failure, as they soon found out that you cannot dishearten that which has no soul (!!!). Like Brett. The bastard.

Even today, the struggle continues!
Below I have photographic evidence of a man studying a squid.

However, after spending too much time altering the photo, I found photographic evidence of a SQUID studying a MAN.

That's a monocle. Duh.

Some of you may ask me, Woody, what the hell (!!!) is wrong with you?
Well, to you, I stand my own question.
ALIENS.
That’s all.

~W

P.S. Vampyroteuthis infernalis [Latin for "Vampire Squid from Hell," not even roughly translated] is the damnest freakiest damn thing you'll ever see, if you can take it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5ZQH2Uzpew

P.P.S. Roswell’s residents were dead long before the bomb, after the first squid attack. Some of you may ask, what bomb? I believe you know my response...

Humanitarian Plans

2008-10-07T18:13:00.000-07:00

So, because I don't really do any work (yay psychology major!) I spend a lot of time thinking. And that's a bad thing, as we've already talked about. I have lots of ideas that don't get accomplished primarily because I don't have the money to do them. Which is probably a good thing. Because I have some insane ideas.

Fuck you, I think it's awesome

But I think I found a way to fix that situation. It's called the MacArthur Fellows Program.
You've probably heard of it as the "genius grant." It's been popularized in pop culture as some sort of magic program that gives money to people as long as their geniuses. A lot of money. For being smart.
Now, I'm not going to lie and say that I'm smart, but I am cheap and crafty. So I thought I'd look into the program and see if I could exploit it. Going into my research, I really didn't expect that much. I figured that you had to be a... y'know...genius, to get the genius grant. But apparently not. Bonus?
My research found that recipients don't have to be geniuses...hell the only real restriction is that you're a citizen in the U.S.
I shit you not.
According to the site, there's only three major criteria for getting the grant. So let's break them down.

Criteria the First (see, I'm smart): Exceptional creativity. Well that's a freebie. I have oodles of creativity. Just look at this picture

Above: Exceptional Creativity

Criteria the Second: "promise for important future advances based on a track record of significant accomplishment." Okay, this one's a little more challenging. I can easily guarantee that I'll promise future advances...it's not like I'm going to waste all my genius money on crack and hookers...that's what graduation money's for. The part that's a little harder is my "track record of significant accomplishment." Not sure if I have a track record of any accomplishment, let alone a significant one. But I'm sure I'll find a way to weasel out of that one.

Criteria the Third (or, el finito as I like to call it) : "potential for the fellowship to facilitate subsequent creative work." This one doesn't seem like it should exist. What the hell kind of creative work would money not facilitate? Even if your "creative work" was making Popsicle stick sculptures while nude, money would help. So I win this criteria too!

So that gives me two out of three... so majority rules, I get the genius grant. But now the question remains...what do I do with my meager (read: $500,000) reward? Oh...I have ideas. Grand ideas.

First off... I have an idea to better my understanding of both psychology and zoology. A taser monkey. Now, I'm sure you're wondering "what the fuck is a taser monkey?" Well hold your goddamn horses, I'm going to explain it. It's actually a very simple idea. I get a monkey and implant a chip in it's brain. This chip will be linked with a taser that will be grafted onto the monkey's hand.

Artist's rendering

But what will the chip in the monkey's brain do? Why it will send currents into the pain centers of the monkeys brain. But here's the genius of the idea. When the monkey activates the taser in his hand, the chip in his brain will stop. The monkey will thus be conditioned to taser others in order to save himself. Then, I let the monkey loose into a major metropolitan area, and hilarity ensues. Sure, it'll be a living hell for the peasants on the streets, but what do I care? I'm a genius! I'll be watching from my helicopter and giggling mercilessly.

This monkey is going to taser the shit out of you

But my second idea is vastly better. First, I need to get about thirty dead chickens. And right from the beginning, you can tell this is going to be an amazing idea. After I get my chickens, the next step is to put them in little space suits. Because chickens + space suits equals hilarity in my book

GIGGLE DAMN YOU

After I have the chickens in their space suit, I will construct a large metallic sphere, and fill it with different random electronic equipment. I will then place the chickens in the sphere, and seal it up. Once that's done, I will jettison the chicken-sphere to the moon. All of this will be done with the utmost secrecy, so no one outside my organization will know it's happening. Then, next time we send humans to the moon, they will find said chicken-sphere, and will verily flip shit. Were they some sort of space chickens, sent from another planet, but crash landed on the moon? Or are they terrestrial chickens who somehow made a space ship? Are chickens actually more intelligent than us? These are the types of questions scientists would have to ask themselves after they find my chicken sphere. So basically, this plan involves me performing a $500,000 prank on humanity with money I got under fraudulent means. If that isn't exceptional creativity, I don't know what is.

Kind of like this, but with less Dustin Hoffman...and on the moon, not the ocean...and chickens....so nothing like this actually....but there will be Samuel L Jackson

And those are my plans. They are very simple, creative, and could be accomplished with the help of the fine people at the MacArthur Fellows Program. The only hitch in my plan is getting nominated. See, there's no application or anything like that, because apparently a genius isn't allowed to recognize himself. Bastards. The way the genius grant works is that someone else nominates you anonymously. So this is where you nonexistent readers come in. I'm humbly requesting that you contact the MacArthur Foundation and get the ball rolling for me. It's probably best not to tell them of my plans...if they ask, tell them I'm going to cure cancer...or something.

So...get on that...

I really wish I could stop making these...but I can't...I just can't

Mental Prowess

2008-09-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

So, I'm extremely bored and decided I'd post something on here. But what to post? I don't really do anything interesting, and I'm not particularly clever. So I basically put my mind on random and let whatever came out flow forth. And that was a bad idea. Because I have a horrible mind. And after common sense made me delete several ideas, I decided to write this post. A chronicle of how my mind works...or doesn't work...whatever. At first I was going to explain my plan for putting Christopher Walken in every movie ever made. Just because. It's a grand plan, but this is more important.

Tee hee

Over the years, I've perfected the model for how my mind works. A very common way to describe people's mind is the idea of a train of thought. I like this. Except most people probably picture one train running. That's not my style. I have thousands of trains shooting around as dangerous speeds, ramping over each other and causing massive crashes. And there's tanks. Why tanks? Fuck you, that's why.

Like this, but with...trains...and tanks...and more purple

But back to the random thoughts. MARMALADE. See that? That was a random thought. I get those. A lot. Random little thought bubbles come up, and launch out of me...without much control by me. Going along with the train metaphor, my random thoughts are hobos. Gentle souls riding the rails, and bailing out between stops so the Pinkerton's don't catch them. Except my hobo's are often filth encrusted, angry people who have Tourettes.

An incredibly accurate portrayal of my thoughts... and me in ten years

So as a result, I'll be in the middle of a sentence, and suddenly my mind will yell something at me. Something horrible. And most likely, the little guy in my head that runs my Inner Scrutiny, Frank, allows them to get through, and out into the world. Great job Frank. So one minute you'll be talking to me (not really because...people don't talk to me) and out of nowhere I'll yell something like "DAVID BOWIE WITH FORCE LIGHTING SHOOTING OUT OF HIS CROTCH." Then you run. And I chase. And then cops come after me. And I go to jail. And get raped. And cry and cry and cry.... but I digress.

David Bowie seen here making love with his Ego

And my mind does this ALL. THE. TIME. It's like my mind has the ability to google search, and all I do is hit the "I'm feeling lucky" button. And instead of making me lucky, it spreads filth. And sadly, sometimes my mind just gives me random pieces of a puzzle, like I'm hitting the "random page" button on Wikipedia, then have to sculpt an idea out of the remnants. And I get thoughts like "Belgian Lapdance-Mobile" and then I have to come up with what the hell that would look like.

Classy and discreet

And that's the lesson for today. Since no one actually reads this, I figured I would vent some crazy. So there you are. Good luck getting David Bowie out of your head. And remember, write to your Congressman to get my Christopher Walken idea off the ground. We can do it people. But it will take work...so I can't do it. I'm terminally lazy. And antisocial. And not real.

SHAZAM!

Hell yes.

You can't write this stuff... well originally at least, you can write it afterwards...

2008-09-25T05:12:00.000-07:00

As all fourteen of our Ohao readers know, I hate old people beyond human comprehension, which means the only people who can register the amount of hate I have for geriatrics are Super Sayins.

I'll give you a hint, it's OVER NINE THOUSAAAAAND!!!

So believe me when I say that even this event threw me for a loop.

As per my usual Tuesday routine, I woke up at noon, fell back asleep, woke up, masturbated to soft core cable porn, fell back a sleep, woke up, played Rock Band 2, masturbated to hardcore goblin porn and then finally put clothes on and headed out to go catch the bus to film school at around 2:00.

I get on the first bus and ride it till it's end (Much like Patrick and Woody's mothers, depending on which one of them is reading this.) and transferred to another bus which is the norm. I'm going to reiterate this point of fact in case we have any new readers from this swarthy bastard's link to me (Which I thank him and his swarthiness for), I enjoy my own personal space. I like a bubble around me, that all people should respect. Unless I give you some sort of sign, or we've known each other for a while, or you're slipping a single into my waistband, stay a good two feet away at all times.

Now, the bus comes to a stop (I myself staring out a window with no particular connection to the real world wondering if it's possible to "Force Molest" people) and old man clambers his way up the steps and sits in my seat. This guy is so close he's almost sitting in my damned lap. So I look around and notice an empty seat right next to us and call to mind the "Seat Rule" in theaters. If you walk into a theater and there is ONE other guy sitting in a seat, you do not pick a seat with in a three seat radius of him in all directions! Unless you are looking to rape him, then generally a movie theater would be a good place to do it, it's dark and you have him for a whole two hours.

The bus continues on it's route and in my head I'm just REAMING this old guy, blasting out insult after insult, threat after threat. Watching as more and more seats open up and this guy doesn't move and aging muscle. So after a good many stops the bus pulls to another halt and the old man rises from his seat, now I'm quick to claim back my space by way of a backpack but as I watch the old man leave the bus, I notice that he's tapping a cane out in front of him.

That's when I realized... I had just spent the last fifteen minutes yelling at a blind old man for not realizing that I was sitting in a seat he has probably sat in several times before, I didn't feel bad or remorseful or anything about it, I was just amazed at how witty reality is sometimes.

The universe loves to fuck with me man.

What happens next?

2008-08-26T21:39:00.001-07:00

What do Storm Troopers do after the Deathstar blows up? I'd like to think it's a lot like this. The picture was far too big and I wasn't sure how to put it directly up, so here's the link.

Existence.

2008-08-08T14:58:00.000-07:00

Now everyone knows me as the intelligent one here on Ohao, which makes Patrick the stupid one and Woody also the stupid one. It's a Group Dynamic. Group Dynamics exist to keep our world in order. How else will we know who is going to stay behind in the van and override the security systems of banks when we pull of heists? It's there for a reason. However several things in this world seem to exist but they really could be fabrications of the human mind. Such as Walter the Rape Troll, The Sixties, Spacial Relationships, Dennis Kucinich and Chewbaccachaun (not to be confused with Chaka Khan).

Seriously, what is he?
 
Ask anyone from the Sixties if they remember it, they'll probably laugh awkwardly and shake their head telling you "No.". So how can we be sure if any of the sixties real happened? Perhaps the "Sixties" were just a failed government experiment that attempted to teach the world the horrors of free love and Rock and Roll! Maybe it's still 1998! Maybe Y2K never happened because it wasn't supposed to happen yet! WE ARE STILL IN DANGER PEOPLE! TELL THE MASSES! SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS! I will use my remaining two years to finish this article, get a piggy back ride from Harrison Ford, become one of the Beastie Boys, then build a bombshelter to save the human race... except the Jews... and the Minish...

And your talking hat.

    The biggest offender however of pseudo-existence is Math. Math does not exist, it is nothing but a set of rules created by human beings, altered and tweaked until they matched the world around us. It is no different that any language. There is a very simple way to prove that math doesn't exist. I challenge you, the reader to go find me Two. Now you can't give me a piece of paper with a two written on it, or two of something, find me two... It's impossible! No where in the universe is Two! And much like my lovelife, IT DOESN'T EXIST. Calculus was created because a problem couldn't be solved with trigonometry. The reason that we have accepted math as a universal truth is because the power of the collective minds were enough to imprint it on reality. In fact all of reality could be nothing more than a fabrication. All of the world we live in could be based on our perceptions of reality and nothing more. What's even more interesting is that science is starting to back this theory up. The theory of Quantum Entanglement theorizes that all matter could actually be in contact with each other, and the only reason we see space between objects is because of our mind's perception of reality. Simply put, everything you ever loved, hated, felt indifferent about or accidentally groped you on the bus is POINTLESS. Quantum Physics is basically doing a big "Up your tits!" to reality. It's understandable though, from years of being treated like nerds and geeks, Quantum Physicists decided that the weren't going to take that and made Reality the nerds. So guess what, science just proved that you're all nerds. So you might as well go buy a pocket protector and start watching Quantum Leap, because you just joined our ranks.

Ewoks

2008-08-07T10:57:00.000-07:00

Hello there.

I'm posting today to give you a warning. A warning about one of the most terrible creatures ever discovered in the galaxy. They're a dread species that causes wide-spread panic and distress. Their very name is enough to send chills down your spine, causing you to violently vomit in terror as their demonic chants drift across the wind.

I speak of course of Ewoks.

Above: Ewoks

Now I'm sure you're thinking, "Ewoks? Those cuddly little bear creatures from Return of the Jedi?" Yes. And I'm sure you feel that they're harmless little teddy bears. Who would fear them? Endor's an entire goddamn planet of teddy bears. It seems like a paradise.

But let me walk you through how a visit to Endor will unfold. First, you land on the forest planet, unsure of what creatures may inhabit it. Then, to your great surprise you find that Endor, like all planets in the Star Wars galaxy has oxygen on it, so you can breathe. Bonus! Then, when frolicking through the forest, you come across the seemingly prominent species on the planet. Ewoks. The first thing you will probably think is "awwww, isn't it adorable?"

Above: adorable

"Aren't you just he cutest little things? I could hug you forever...hey...why are you tying me up? Is that fire? OH GOD! DON'T SHOVE THAT SPEAR THERE, THAT'S A BAD PLACE! NOOOOOOOO!!!"

That's right. You land on their planet, and they feel that's grounds enough to sacrifice you to their Blood God, Yub Nub Chub.

Above: Yub Nub Chub Devourer of Souls and patron saint of Ewok Disco

Seriously, the only reason that these fuzzy little pagans didn't kill the cast of Jedi when they capture them is because they think C-3PO is some sort of mightier war god or something, making it the only time in Star Wars history that C-3PO wasn't a complete waste of metal.

Why the Hell do we think that Ewok's are cute? If a species first instinct upon seeing a newcomer to their little hippie tree town is "Hey, you look like you'll burn nicely!" IT'S NOT A CUTE ANIMAL! It's a dangerous little beast with very strange theological ideology that should be feared and destroyed.

And to further my insane hate-rant against Ewoks, is the fact that in the wildly popular made for TV movie Ewoks: The Battle for Endor acclaimed actor Wilford Brimley (yes, THE Wilford Brimley) played a strange hermit character who lived peacefully among the Ewoks. How could this be? How could the war-loving Ewok society approve of this oatmeal enthusiast. Well the only reason I can see of why they wouldn't burn his supple man-flesh is that they fear his mighty Diabetes. That or they're just big fans of Cocoon.

Above: Ewok Citizen Kane

But my most terrifying findings in the life of Ewoks? The fact that the most popular Ewok, the one named Wicket that befriended Princess Leia, was played by midget actor Warwick Davis. And what's one of Warwick's other famous characters?

The Leprechaun.

above: The friendliest Ewok

So, as you can logically see, the Ewok is not the only creature on Endor. Ewok's are merely the first stage in the lifespan of some horrible creature that populates Endor. After Ewok's reach the ripe old age of 300, they begin to loose their hair, and gradually mutate into monstrous creatures known on Earth as Leprechauns. These Ewochauns have mastered galactic travel, and send representatives of their terrible species for the grand purposes of harassing Jennifer Aniston and Ice-T.

Evil INDEED has a whole new rap

Going along with this insane idea, are the ideas of genetic breeding. Like all evil alien species (such as Skrulls, Klingons and Nazis) the Ewoks will eventually set about selective breeding to ensure a terrible super-Ewok that will be unstoppable. So after several hours of intense genealogical studies, I have found the most terrifying creature Endor could possibly produce. By cross-breeding famed warrior and Nobel prize winning author Chewbacca with an Ewok, they would produce a creature who's final life form would be some dread combination of a Wookie and a Leprechaun. With the brute, unbeatable strength of a Wookie teamed with the cunning and rhyming prowess of a Leprechaun, this new species would quickly rise to Galactic dominance. They'll sneak into your homes and the last thing you'll see before getting your arms ripped off is a fuzzy monstrosity wearing a green hat doing a little jig and singing "Danny Boy."

And that is why my platform for President supports the immediate carpet-bombing of Endor until it's a scarred husk of a moon.

Take that you fuzzy little terrorists.

USA! USA!

Above: Chewbaccachaun, the last thing you will ever see

Oh interwebs....

2008-08-02T20:50:00.000-07:00

Hi there.

I'm about 90% positive no one reads this blog, and even if you ever did, you've long since lost hope that another post would happen. I know I can't vouch for what Woody's doing, and I'm sure Brett's been up to important things (watching Lithuanian porn). I, on the other hand, have been very busy staging a coup in Columbia. It all started when a woman named Christina came to tell me that a former friend of mine named Santos had been killed while trying to lead a revolution against the cruel dictator. So I of course stepped in to help......wait...that's the plot of McBain. Whatever I've actually just been suffering from a severe case of apathy.

above: Author

But I decided to overcome that apathy, and write something. And my random reference to McBain is the first step to that something. And you just thought it was pointless pop culture referencing. No. In fact, I was participating in something the internet prides itself in. Worshiping Christopher Walken. Why Christopher Walken? Why not. I really can't explain why the internet has taken to him, but it has. And he's not the only one. The internets seem to be able to latch onto any person of marginal celebrity, and make them a patron saint. Other examples include Chuck Norris, who would be nothing if the internet hadn't begun making claims of his divinity, and Rick Astley, who should have faded into purgatory with the rest of the 80's but instead lives on in the form of annoying anyone foolish enough to accept a link from anyone. The list goes on, but I'm too lazy to talk about them.

above: Awesome

But what was the purpose of this article? I have some people who I feel are worthy to become saints of the interwebs.

First off, this friendly chap

above: Sweaty, hairy awesome

His name is Torgo. And he's glorious. Torgo has been something of a nerd icon even since his truly awful movie Manos: the Hands of Fate was unleashed on the public in the form of an episode of the classic show Mystery Science Theater 3000. Torgo was something of a villainous character (if knocking out a guy then trying to fondle his wife makes a guy a villain) but I see Torgo as something of a hero. And if the some other sites I found are to be trusted, Torgo is in fact Jesus. So he's got that going for him.

Second, this man

above: Totally awesome

His name is David Daggett. Why should he be an internet saint? Well I really don't think I have to go into that here. Moving on

And Finally, my last candidate for internet saint-hood, Danny DeVito

above: Awesome?

Why Danny DeVito? Well, he's short and weird. And frankly, that should be enough for you internet.

Well, that's all for now, I hope you embrace my candidates internet.
I may update more often, not that anyone reads this. If anyone actually did read this post, and is mildly interested in us continuing our blog, it'd be great if you comment or something so I don't feel like I'm just talking to myself. Not that I have a problem with talking to myself...even though I am a dick...god I hate me...

Let's have a chat.

2008-05-13T17:41:00.000-07:00

Well I have yet to see a post from Woody or Patrick in a while, mainly because they are women and thus have vagina problems and can't post. So I'm going to talk about some more shit that pisses me off... okay mainly one thing but it does a lot of stuff that pisses me off, okay!? GET OFF MY BACK! Now I'm not sure if all of you folks out in internet land know of what I'm talking about so I'm going to give you a name that you may know, and that name is: Hollywood.

Hollywood is a magical land run by Jews an inhabited by Scientologists and pricks. It is my dream to one day rule this land with an IRON FIST OF TERROR! But at the moment I am just going to run down what pisses me off about it. Nothing new, right?

First up: Paparazzi Tv.

I'm calling out all of Paparazzi Tv, TMZ, ET, OMG, IRL, COD4, Fox News... Wait... Where was I? Oh yeah, the Paparazzi. Now, for those of you who don't know (what do you live in a cave or something?) the Paparazzi are a low level monster that hit for 30 points of shame damage with a 15% Critical Hit chance. However; the Paparazzi continue to plague my tv screen like it was 14th Century England.
Honestly, is this really what we want our generation to be remembered by? Tv shows that follow the decline of the people we claim to idolize? You know that if it was any other random ass person on tv doing the same terrible things people wouldn't give a damn. Just because it's Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan, doesn't make it any less horrible. Some will say "Well if they wanted privacy they shouldn't have become famous", now do you see how terrible that single statement is? Even worse so, it comes out of the mouths of people who claim to be upstanding citizens! Since when was sticking your dick (yes I just said that) into other people's business a morally justified act? Maybe it would be slightly more tolerable if it was a single show, but Hollywood spews more of this out of it's maw than a freshmen spews vodka into a toilet.

You can see why it's so popular though, for many reasons it is allowed on television. The simple fact is people are boring and stupid animals who feed on misery no matter how much they try to deny it. Hence why reality Tv is the genre of today. As humans we run under the "It's hilarious if it's not happening to me" philosophy and I know that it is true, because I follow it myself. Here's the difference, I like to observe misery that happens around me, by either being attentive or... causing it myself. I'm not prying a camera into some one's house just to get dirt to sell on Television... the police say I'm not allowed to anymore but mainly because I love movies and I'd rather see my heroes in a shining light then face down in the gutter, remembering that they inspired me and taught me things that I will always remember and if you'd rather watch them drink their way into a spiral of shame instead of doing what you can to get them some fucking help and some time away from the media vultures, then you are the type of person who watches this drek because YOUR life is boring and you have to live through the lime light of others. Congrats, I hope that Ben and Jerry's single pint tastes good with you and your seven cats.

Next post I analyze the waining age of cinema we live in. (That's highbrow talk for "Imma rip on some fucked up movies and shit, nawmean?"

More artistic medium

2008-04-23T16:33:00.000-07:00

So now that you have seen my doodles I thought I'd put up a video. The only thing I'd like to say to any other future film makers. Check your weather so that you aren't trying to film in 30mph ice wind.

Police Rating of 3

2008-04-21T18:41:00.000-07:00

So here is something new I thought I'd put on the site,
new strips of my comic Verge of Dementia.
So with out further introduction here it is.

Here's the link for all you Honkeys who don't like to scroll.

Important News Bulletin

2008-04-14T21:52:00.000-07:00

This man just discovered the joys of Viagra.

That is all.

Friends.

2008-04-10T16:27:00.000-07:00

Normally you can expect my posts to be about crazy things, like Pokemon and Movies, but today I'd like to speak to you about something we all share (Needles, here at Ohao). Friends. More specifically the few friends that you hate... yet seem to stay around anyway. I have recently found that... All but a few of my friends are these types of friends, but it is the curse of being an asshole, you only get asshole friends. Now a few of my asshole friends have moved on to college and have grown up.... slightly. These people have become your writers here at Ohao. Now before they figure out that I have, in a round about way complimented them.... HERE'S A MONKEY!

So, let's talk about how much I hate my other friends, shall we? Now I'm not one to name names, but their names rhyme with Dick and Bitch (Could you guess? Nick and Mitch! Haha dirty words!) So these two seem to be both stuck at dead ends with no way to get out and since I am the only one with in geographical convenience, they take it out on me. Both are two halves of one douchebag. So I'm going to divide it up thusly.

Mitch (Aka the Physical Douche Bag): Mitch is one of those people who can't formulate a witty comeback in an argument so instead of pausing for a moment or staying quiet, he spouts something nonsensical and karate chops you in the throat until you are rolling on the floor cursing your short attention span for easily following a simple suggestion to look up, with no second thought. He's the type of person you can't disagree with because the concept of anyone having a difference of opinion of him, is such a difficult idea for his peanut mind to grasp causes him to become enraged and physically assault you. It makes you wonder "What are you 7? Should we be separating you from others until you can learn to keep your hands to yourself?"

Nick (Aka the Annoying Douche Bag) I couldn't really think of how to classify how Nick is a douche bag in one word so let me explain it. Nick makes plans that work for him. Nick does not think of how his plans affect other people. Let me give you an example. Nick finds it fun to hang out at ONE in the morning. Now I'd be lying if I said that I was asleep at that time. I'm usually out flying jets while I tame lions and have sex with several women at once. The point is I'd rather be doing other stuff than going to Seven Eleven or fucking Denny's in the morning, and sometimes I need some fucking sleep. Another example of how he doesn't think his plans through in their relation to others. Before one of Tuesday classes that start at 3:45, they thought it would be fun to go Rock Climbing. First of all, I have no upper body strength so why the fuck would they think I want to come? And yet they kidnap me and take me to the rock climbing place (Because apparently people want to pay 30 bucks to climb fake rocks instead of climbing real ones for free). Here's the clincher. YOU HAVE TO BE EIGHTEEN TO ROCK CLIMB. So instead of my them saying "Hey! Let's do something else instead!" I fucking sat for two hours and watched them climb up and down, over and over. Hmm, where could I get that same experience?

Nick and Mitch recently came to my home and of course being the man that I am... I locked the door and hid like I was Anne Frank. As if that wasn't bad enough, they sat around and waited for FORTY FIVE MINUTES! You'd think after at least ten they'd catch a fucking hint. So after they finally drove away, I sat down and relaxed, but that wasn't enough for them. They came back a half hour later and tapped on my downstairs glass door. So I did the manliest thing of all... I told my mother. So she of course denied my suggestions to lie and tell them I was dead and never coming back, or to call the cops on them so she did the mom thing and told them I was grounded or something lame.

The point of it all is I'm tired of lowering myself for them, tired of the physical abuse and tired of the shit they put me through, and if they come back, I'm going to tell them just that, and that I hope they want to hang out when they grow up a little.

Hairy Justice

2008-04-06T10:06:00.000-07:00

We here at Our Hands Are Oranges would like you to know that we care. Not necessarily about you, the reader, but about bigger things. More important thing. Things that will change the course of human history. Things...like the inevitable end of human society. I speak of course of the looming threat of monkey rebellion. Now allow me to drop some knowledge on you.

The theory of monkey revolution was first brought to the publics eyes when French author Pierre Boulle wrote his novel La Planète des Singes in 1963. But being as Pierre suffered the unfortunate handicap of being French, the good ol' US of A perfected his story in 1968 with the well known documentary, Planet of the Apes. Now some of you may be saying "what the hell is this moron talking about, Planet of the Apes is just a movie." Well, if Planet of the Apes is just a movie, then why the hell does the History Channel play it? And I'm not just saying that they've played it once, they've played it SEVERAL times. And what does that mean? It obviously means that the History Channel is picking up television signals from the future, where our cruel Monkey Overlords play it to demoralize their human slaves. And I'm sure many (i.e. all none of you) of my readers are skeptical. Do I really have any evidence that the monkey revolution will be the end of mankind as we know it? Will a monkey regime really be the Dystopian future? And now is the time in the article where I'm forced to give you proof. Even though all the proof you should need is the fact that Charlton Heston said it would happen...and how can you not trust Charlton Heston? HE'S MOSES! But if you still need convincing...bastards... then I have little choice but to point you to current events. I'm sure you all read the news. And as we all know, of all the different great stories of our times taking place, none are more important than the Shenanigans of Monkeys. It all started when a little monkey was found in a man's hat. Not so shocking? How about the fact that they were on a plane! That's right! The little bastard was trying to hijack a plane! True, some may argue that the monkey was in fact not trying to steal the plane...but I think my explanation is better. And since it's my blog...you have to listen to my half-cocked ideas and wild accusations. But is that the only story that I found after a cursory Googling of "Monkey Escapes?" NO! I also found this story about a monkey found running amok in Orlando. And he was wearing a diaper. I don't really think that warrants any extra fear...it's just adorable. And to continue my misunderstanding of the news, I think it's painfully obvious that this Monkey Terrorist was planning to destroy American culture in Orlando. Namely, Disney World. Chilling isn't it?

Artist's rendering of Events

So there you have it. Irrefutable proof that in a matter of years, monkeys will be our dominant overlords, laughing maniacally as the once mighty race of humans huddle in fear of their superior technology and horses. That or it'll be the Chinese. Whatever

When reached for comment, Dr. Zaius proved to be a fictional character, and thus unable to comment. That damn dirty ape.

P.S. - While I was researching (read: Half-Assing) this article, I came across the fact that Charlton Heston has passed away. Rest in peace you angry, angry man.

The case of the stolen socks. How chilling!

2008-04-04T13:52:00.001-07:00

Many of you (if there's any of you) who use the college laundry rooms have left, thinking that you have all your clothes, but when you get back to your residence, you will realize that, in your sweet blissful ignorance, you have lost a sock somewhere!
Retrace your steps, check the dryer, check the washer, check your foot, try as you will, but it is apparent that your sock is gone. And there is only one explanation.

SOMEONE IS STEALING YOUR SOCKS!!!

Our finest detectives were the first on the case.

Below you see an unclear picture of what appears to be a tall, handsome male with black n' sexy hair carrying a box, going about what appears to be his business. But what is his business? It appears to be SOCK STEALING!

Later, we discovered what appears to be the box that the suspect was carrying to be full of what appear to be socks.

Left next to the box was an incriminating letter, written on what appears to be normal white paper, but without any fingerprints or blood left, we could not identify what would appear to be who the letter was sent to.

To recap:

At this point in the case, our finest detectives made an important discovery:
No one cares about their damn socks enough.

After this discovery, they quickly found out the culprit, the same criminal determined responsible for putting gum underneath desks, plotting to kill Brett, leaving doors open, spitting on short people, plotting to kill Brett twice, jaywalking, and other such crimes that, again, no one cares about.

It was, of course, EVIL BANANA.

The elusive, malevolent, scapegoat fruit that has a rap sheet as big as my ego.
My beautiful, beautiful, ego.

Our detectives went on to play Super Smash Bros Brawl, and gamed happily ever after.

Conclusion/moral:
Sometimes you lose socks.
Deal with it.
I, on the other hand, have actually gained seven socks since coming to college!
Wearing your mismatched socks,
~Woody

P.S. In response to allegations that I am what has been called a "shrubfucker", I must first deny any physical relations between me and any grass-type Pokemon or any unhealthy or sexual relationship between me and any plants.
P.P.S. t('.'-t)
P.P.P.S. That's Kirby flipping you off, Brett.
P.P.P.P.S. Die.

Academic Insanity

2008-04-01T16:26:00.000-07:00

So, I've been in college for a while now, and there's one thing I've become convinced of. Putting so many people with different majors in close quarters isn't a wise thing to do. When we get bored, we come up with crazy ideas, and because we have access to diabolical minds and facilities that we probably shouldn't be allowed in.
Case in point. Over spring break, three of my friends didn't have anything to do, and were trapped in the dorms the whole time. That madness brought forth the combined efforts of an engineer and a chemistry major to create a Potato Cannon.
Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Everyone makes potato cannons at some time in their life if they're bored enough...but once other people start having ideas, things get a little more complicated.
What started with a trip to Safeway to get essential foodstuffs (i.e. chips, soda, donuts) ended with us trying to steal a shopping cart. Out of laziness. But we soon had the idea that we could use it for MUCH better purposes. Namely, creating a tank. As soon as we became 100% sure that we didn't want to carry our groceries the couple blocks back to the dorm and that we'd be theifing the cart, we couldn't help but wonder what we'd use the cart for after we were done utilizing it's carrying capabilities. And we decided that it made perfect sense to convert it into a tank.
Unfortunately our goals were shattered by the stupid cart having some sort of locking mechanism on it's wheel so we couldn't easily roll it out. So instead of just picking the damn thing up and walking it back to campus to dismantle the sensor and create our tank, we flipped the thing over for spiting up and then hid it.
But some day soon we WILL go and steal that cart. And when the tank is done, the inevitable next step is to get the engineers and the computer science major in our group to make it sentient. And then Skynet will form a year or two afterwards. So...I guess we just damned mankind...but at least we'll get a cool tank out of it!

Mah Pokemanz Let Me Rate U Demz.

2008-03-30T18:30:00.000-07:00

For my next piece I'm going to talk about a game that everyone has heard of: Pokemon. Now I'm not speaking of Diamond, Pearl, Emerald or any of the other new ones, I'm talking about the classics. Red and Blue. From the first time I inserted that cartridge into my brick of a Gameboy, up until the Final Four it sucked up most of my childhood.... years well spent. Pokemon spawned a myriad of arguments among friends and rivals alike. They usually went along the lines of "I LET YOU BORROW MY DRAGONITE! GIVE IT BACK YOU WHORE!" or "FUCK YOU MAN! MACHOKE IS COOL EVEN IF HE WEARS A SPEED-O!" but the real bare knuckle grade school brawls were over which starter was the king of them all. Now being the upstanding citizen I am, I will be finishing this fight once and for all with undeniable proof of which is the best of the best. Charmander, Squirtle or Bulbasaur.

Let's start with the grass type. Bulbasaur.

Alright, let's begin with Bulbasaur's base stats.

HP:	45
Attack:	49
Defense:	49

Stupid plant fused to spine: -400

This brings us to about -251 points. Not a good score. Lets see some of the attacks that Bulbasaur can learn as he evolves into an even bigger pansy... Get it!? PANSY!? FLOWER?! HAHAHAhah..ha.... ha... okay I'll just continue talking about attacks.

Generation I
Level	Move	Type
Start	Tackle
Start	Growl
7	Leech Seed
13	Vine Whip
20	PoisonPowder
27	Razor Leaf
34	Growth
41	Sleep Powder
48	SolarBeam

None of these attacks sound even remotely threatening, save for Razor leaf... but still that sounds easily avoidable unless you have skin made of rice paper. Poison powder is sort of deadly but given the fact that it can be cured with a simple item it loses all it's threat. Also this:

That is Bulbasaur giving a blowjob... Yep... That ASH is going to be SAUR in the morning! HAHAHA! MORE PUNS!... Lets move on.

Squirtle.

We shall begin again with base stats.

HP:	44
Attack:	48
Defense:	65

Stupid swirly tail: -400

That is a final score of about -243 which brings him just higher than Bulbasaur. Before I move on to attacks I am going to point out Squirtle's saving grace. When he evolves he turns into this:

That is a turtle... with bazookas fused to him. BAZOOKAS. It looks like some mad scientist expiriment gone horribly awry. Though Blastoise looks like he's got so much lard in that shell he could only wobble six feet before passing out. Which probably explains why Patrick likes him, those fatties got to stick together. Now for some attacks.

Generation I
Level	Move	Type
Start	Tackle
Start	Tail Whip
8	Bubble
15	Water Gun
22	Bite
28	Withdraw
35	Skull Bash
42	Hydro Pump

Squirtle has some decent sounding attacks. Namely Hydro Pump and Skull Bash. Hydro Pump being a horrible Pokenema and Skull Bash I can only assume is Blastoise pulling out a baseball bat and cracking the other pokemon upside the head, mobster style. With those two attacks Squirtle has several useless ones. Water gun... Pointless. When has anyone got you with a Super Soaker (Not the giant cannons because those are of Hydro Pump calibur) and you dropped to your knees, writhing in pain, screaming out in agony as your friend stands above your head, cackling insanely, every inch of you soaked in freezing cold water because the asshole put a hunk of ice in the tank. You're wet in places you've never even heard of and you just want to go home and cry but moving is so cold you just sit there, faced pressed against the searing pavement until you dry back out... Well that was a day I hoped to repress... Anyway... WITHDRAW! You know who withdraws? The French. By that logic, Squirtle is French. FRENCH. Last but not least: the pure homosexual attack that is Bubble can only be described with this image:

WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW?!

Charmander.

BASE STATS! I CHOSE YOU!

HP:	49
Attack:	65
Defense:	43

Needlessly high pitched voice: -400

This brings Charmander to the similar score of -243 that Squirtle got. The difference is in two simple facts. Charmizard is a fucking DRAGON and the attacks he can learn are much more threatening than Razor Leaf and Bubble.

Generation I RB
Level	Move	Type
Start	Scratch
Start	Growl
9	Ember
15	Leer
22	Rage
30	Slash
38	Flamethrower
49	Fire Spin

Look at those attack names. Flamethrower, Fire Spin, Slash and Rage. Those are some attacks! Even the first fire based attack he can learn is Ember. Embers burn, burning actually hurts, thus Charmander is the bigger threat out of all three.... Though he is not with out his problems. Look at his tail. Charmander is... a flamer. Yes it is a low blow, but there is no avoiding it. He is a horrible flamer with a high pitched voice. I give you this picture.

Look at him on that rock. Ass in the air, just waiting for some random Rhydon to come by and drag Charmander off into the forest for some cheap sex. Then sore and weeping, Charmander hobbles back to his rock with a few bills, and hands them off to his Mr. Mime pimp and goes back to working his turf.

...AT LEAST CHARMANDER IS MAKING MONEY! Squirtle just gives it away for free, and who the hell would want Bulbasaur!? THAT'S LIKE FUCKING A SHRUB! YOU HEAR THAT WOODY!? YOU SHRUBFUCKER!

Spite

2008-03-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

Yeah...I don't have an idea for an article. I've had monsterous writers block and frankly, if I manage to mitigate that situation, I'm not going to waste the veritable orgasm of creativity that would deluge from my mind on this blog. Sorry. But I saw that Brett updated, and it was like a slap in the face. So I'm writing this. To bump him. OUT OF SPITE

This is Spite incarnate. FYI

Hey Patrick! I'm in your post! ADMIN BIATCH.
Spite that. - Brett

Cinematic Hell.

2008-03-22T21:36:00.000-07:00

As I am currently enrolled in film school I thought that I would share my thoughts on the things that are close to my heart (And occasionally my pants when I'm in the mood) and that would be movies. Movies are windows to alternate realms of reality offering escape from the horrible pressures of the real world.... I'M NOT LONELY.... Anyway, as I sit here looking at Fandango's list of movies playing I am shocked, disturbed, aroused and angry. So I thought I'd go down the list and give you my impressions of each. Some of these may be based on seeing the movie and others may be based on preconceived notions that will not change. Lets start with the ones I have seen.
Semi-Pro: Semi-Pro follows Will Ferrell as Jackie Moon, a music star (with only one hit) who now owns, plays and coaches the Florida Tropics, a basket ball team looking to get into an NBA merger. Simple... and ineffective. Honestly I didn't start this up expecting something more than a movie carried by Will Ferrell acting like an idiot and that's what I got. The worst part of this is I know Ferrell can do better. After seeing Stranger Than Fiction, that set his bar. Seriously, I know the Thickies are a huge audience with lots of disposable income, waltzing into theaters with pockets lined full of their parents cash and a dime bag of the puff, but can we just stop this? Kicking and Screaming, Blades of Glory, Talladega Nights and Semi-Pro, what's next? A movie about idiots playing football? Oh wait some one beat them to it.

Next on the chop block.

Another movie following a trend. This trend? Film adaptations of novels. Here's the catch, this hasn't been a novel since... EVER. This is a Seuss book, which worked for How the Grinch Stole Christmas, but trying to ride the wave of a movie that was popular a few years ago is a risk. Now I could sit here and berate this movie for being nothing but a kids movie but I'll start out with honesty, it kept me watching through the whole thing and the parody of the anime genre had me laughing to myself. Now for the bad. The plot is easy to follow but the message just isn't clear enough, is it about sticking by your friends? Expressing yourself? Being a good listener? Or never listen to what Carol Burnett says? The movie ends on a happy note but you don't feel like you learned anything concrete. Secondly, everything is so bright and sugary I got Type Two Diabetes from trying to focus on the fuzzy inhabitants of Nuul... seriously I'm gonna die... BUT NOT EVEN DEATH CAN STOP MY SPITE. Honestly, I know you tried to capture the colorful world of Seuss but I needed sunglasses to watch this thing.

Oh Jumper, I admit you had me intrigued with your Nightcrawler-esque promises but just like you were a 40 year old man eyeing me from across the dance floor as I bump and grind to Daft Punk, you just left me blacked out, hurt and ashamed at our hour and a half together.
Jumper is based on a novel of the same name (Jesus zombie Christ again?) and of course will appeal to the younger, energy drink pounding Halo junkies who beat off to Roadhouse when no one is home. Why such manly analogies? Well it just doesn't appeal to me... and I'm a nerd... So this movie can't be for nerds, it's not a romance, and it's certainly not a comedy so it must be an action movie. The reason I know this is because many of the people I know who are still in highschool practically screeched into my ear to see this movie, and after finally mentally breaking down and weeping for a good twenty minutes I did just that. Now every day I look back and say to myself "I wonder what would happen if I hadn't gone... maybe I could have cured cancer in that time... or solved world hunger..." But no, I did it and I can't undo it (yet). Not even Samuel L. Jackson could save this movie from the depths of the sea of soft science this is drowning in. Of course my "friends" try to defend it and say "Well what about the ending fight? That was worht seeing the movie!" No! First if your movie is so great you shouldn't be defending it! Quod Erat Demonstratum, an ending fight which lacked in serious special effects does not a movie make!

Check back soon for a list of movies I am looking forward to and how they will probably slap me in the face for even having the slightest glimmer of hope in my heart.

The Grilled Cheese Paradox

2008-03-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, I learn something in college.

So I will take the advantage of sharing this knowledge with our (imaginary?) readers.

This is the Grilled Cheese Paradox.

On the scale of legitimate sandwiches, grilled cheese comes right above the "retard sandwich" (cheese and bread) and below any other legitimate sandwich.
If you don't know the normal recipe for homemade grilled cheese, it is as follows:
Cheese, Bread, Fire, and Love.

However, as I have observed, college grilled cheese tastes so much better than homemade grilled cheese! I went to seek out the answer, and what I came up with is terrifying. The secret to making a good grilled cheese sandwich is to eliminate that variable of love!

That's right! The reason that sandwiches that your mom makes don't taste as good as college sandwiches is that she loves you.

Of course, if we reverse this equation, and you find that college grilled cheese is less delicious, then your lunch lady loves you more than your mother.
In any case, it's not a good thing.
Be worried.

So, in conclusion, if you want to make a good grilled cheese sandwich, make it with someone you absolutely can't stand in mind.

That's right,
~THE Woody

P.S. Brett, ahead of time, thanks for making my grilled cheese sandwiches so much better.

Ownage

2008-03-08T22:44:00.000-08:00

Anything is possible as long as you believe.
Especially if the Buster Sword and the Soul Edge are involved.

Attentamente,
~The Lord of MS Paint

P.S. That is RoboHitler, a Nazgul, and Osama bin Laden with Rambo's body.

POEMZ

2008-03-02T10:52:00.000-08:00

Hmmm...looks like no one's updated in a while. Well I'm a busy man (i.e. Lonely) so I don't have the time to come up with anything for you all. I'm a little preoccupied with getting my head shaved for a Cancer Research Charity on the 14th....so I'll just post a random ass poem I had to write for a "creative expression" class a few months ago.

Deep Thoughts

Class is ready

Great big room stuffed to gills with bodies

The lecture has begun.

We’re talking about human interaction,

But my mind is long gone.

I try to focus,

but there’s really no point.

My mind begins to ramble.

What was the name of that one poet from the Fifties?

Allen something.

His last name starts with a ‘G’.

Greenspan?

No, he’s got something to do with economics,

what am I thinking?

Great.

That’s going to bug me all day.

Lecture’s still going on,

I’m not catching a word of it.

There’s a guy a few seats down from me

He has a vacant look in his eyes

He’s playing solitaire on his laptop

Good work buddy.

This sure is a big room.

And it’s packed.

Why are we here?

Are we trapped?

That must be it, we’re trapped

Trapped in the stomach of a Great Beast

Have we ventured too far?

Gotten in over our heads?

Maybe we need Queequeg to come help us.

Wow, that was a little too intellectual

I think I should dumb these thoughts down a tad

This is a class after all

And what’s better to dumb thoughts down than television?

Let’s see…what was I watching earlier?

Oh yeah, they had Jeopardy on in the cafeteria…

Does anybody still watch Jeopardy?

I don’t care too much for Alex Trebek,

too smug.

I prefer Will Ferrell.

I should probably at least try to pay attention

But I don’t think it would make a difference

My mind wanders far too ea – GINSBERG!

It was Allen Ginsberg!

That’s better.

Why’d that take me so long?

Everyone’s getting up…

Guess class is over.

That was productive.

I think it’s nap time.

I SEE YOUR THOUGHTS

Chariot of the Damned.

2008-02-21T06:08:00.000-08:00

Now, before I begin I would just like to say that Chariot of the Damned would be an awesome name for a metal band. Glorious metal names aside, I'm going to touch on several subjects that infuriate me today but they all relate back to one thing. What is this dastardly mechanism that continues to drive me further and further down the path of mental collapse and subsequent genocide like an enemy portal in Gauntlet, spawning irritants endlessly? I am talking of course of: Buses.

You may have seen these mechanized beasts, lumbering along the roads, carting around the unwashed masses, but many of you have most likely seen the inside of a bus aside from the yellow school variety. Recently as a film school student with no car I have been taking the bus to my classes. On the first day I exited my home and instantly cursed the world and all of it's inhabitants as the cold air shot through me like the round of a skilled sniper, freezing my testicles into orbs of solid ice, which shattered when I began to walk and they bumped against my leg. With a sack full of shards in my pants and a chip on my shoulder I boarded the bus and stared awkwardly at the horrible master of the giant vehicle while I shoveled a handful of quarters into the proper place and requested a transfer ticket in a pleasant cockney accent. With a dejected grunt the man/woman/thing handed me my ticket and I took my seat. As I sat on the shaking seat, trying to make my peace with whatever god I could think of every time it made a turn I watched the other passengers board the bus. Pretty soon I found myself in the presence of Ed Asner and Sasquatch himself, I inquired Sasquatch if he could spare an autograph to which he replied "Go take a seat on an industrial drill". Which was quite shocking because I wasn't aware that Sasquatch was fluent in English, let alone did he have a biting New York accent, but what he did confirm is that Sasquatch is a very tall beast. This brings me to my first irritant. Tall people.

Tall people have no respect. Now this is of course a generalization, but this is my blog, with my opinions so you the reader will believe what ever I say. As I was saying, tall people have no respect. They stomp around with their giant feet crushing the townsfolk and smashing buildings with their horrible fists. No one knows why they do this. Scientists at the OHAO Institute for Scientifical Science think it's because they are just assholes. There is no other place however that tall people are the bane of society then at the movies. Tall people seem to be unaware of their own height and thus don't seem to understand what they are doing wrong when they set down right in front of another person in a movie theater. This is a situation that many of us Dawrven folk find ourselves in almost every time we go to the movies. TALL PEOPLE, SIT IN THE BACK WHERE YOUR GIANT HEADS DO NOT OBSTRUCT THE VIEW OF THE OTHER PATRONS. This also seems to happen in my Development of Film Expression class, which irks me because you'd think in a film school there would be some movie etiquette, but no, still my perfect seat is sullied by a thick necked man-mountain taking up half the frame.

As Sasquatch exited the bus, another one of my irritants took his place. An old person.

The bus came to a stop and hissed as it lowered itself so that the new passenger could get on easier. The first thing that made its way onto the bus was a long cane, pulling along behind it a wrinkled shell of a man who practically reeked of the smell of Death's looming shadow. I removed my feet from the seat in front of me which was clearly marked for the elderly or the handicapped but that seat wasn't good enough for the ancient bastard. The man instead sat down on the same seat as myself. Now as you have come to notice, I am a bit of a misanthrope. I dislike the general public because I find them disgusting idiots, not worth the junk I find in the bottom of my boots. So sitting next to me is not something I enjoy. I may be wrong (which Woody and Patrick will be the first to point out) but I'm sure that personal space existed back in the 1930s. The unseen bubble that keeps us at acceptable distances from each other and me away from the people I hate. Namely, old people. I loathe old people. They are generally useless, everything they loved is either dead or obsolete, and you could break them in half as easy as you can stomp Smurfs with golf shoes. I would be much happier if we took that route imagined by visionaries Matt Groening and David X. Cohen. A world where the old past a certain age are sent to an entirely different planet, away from us young folk. Of course this is not with out it's exceptions. Only the useful old people would be able to stay with society. Old men like Keith Richards, who must be at least 400 years old by now.

So, my final point is this.... Hmm... I don't think I have a clever final point... I just really fucking hate old people and tall people.... Also, in an homage to Ash Williams I have named my penis "My Boomstick". Hail to the king baby.

Oh, sanity is a burden.

2008-02-19T23:15:00.000-08:00

All right. I feel pressured to write again.
But what am I gonna write about? I'm not mentally retarded, like Brett and Patrick, and I don't display signs of severe schizophrenia, also like Brett.

This is Bismarck. HE IS FUNNY, DAMN IT! (Note the pointy hat and terrier mustache.)

Oh, sanity is a burden.

Lawlz to Bismarck,
~Woody

P.S. Bismarck was the first leader of united Germany, established from several small German-speaking nations. He raised the German nation from segmented states, and I don't care what you think, if you laughed at naming one's penis (his name is Einstein), you will find this entertaining!
P.P.S. Just wait until I have a good post. Oh, you'll wish you laughed at damn Bismarck when you find out what a comical GENIUS I am!

Mjolnir

2008-02-19T17:43:00.000-08:00

Hello all, I'd like to talk to you today about something very near and dear to my heart.

The naming of one's genitalia.

Being as I lack a vagina, I'm not going to discuss them, and instead focus on the naming of one's penis. I don't know why people do this, but they seem to, and there should be some sort of guidelines in place, so I guess I'm going to take a stab at making those guidelines.

First of all, guys, we should avoid using obvious and lame names. Things like "slugger" or "your name Jr." are overused and thus, not cool. Try to be creative at least. And of course, the nerdier the reference, the cooler it actually is. Naming your member "mjolnir" after Thor's Hammer is a surefire way to impress 'the ladies.' But if you want to go even nerdier, go with 80's cartoon references. Optimus Prime will allow you to shout "Autobots, Transform and Roll Out." Which is just fantastic foreplay.

But you could also easily go with "the Sword of Power" because who wouldn't like to yell "BY THE POWER OF GRAYSKULL" before nookie? No one. That's who.

But, for the guy who really wants to be impressive, you've gotta go with the group theme. Why should just the wang get all the glory? If you're creative enough, you should be able to get some kind of name that works in your juevos as well.

And this is where creativity gets to shine.

The most obvious plan is to go with famous groups of three. Such as naming your balls Sigfried and Roy, and your wiener "the White Tiger." Or naming the three of them "Earth, Wind, and Fire." But not all groups of three will work. "Blood, Sweat, and Tears" for instance. Famous duo's can work to an extent as well. "Simon, Garfunkel, and The Sound of Silence" for starters. Or maybe "Batman, Robin, and the Batmobile," that one gives the added bonus of entering the "batcave." But of course, my favorite has to be naming your various bits after the Thundercats...because then you can scream "THUNDERCATS...HO!!!!!!!!" And that's just spectacular.

Image this as your penis

START WEARING PURPLE

2008-02-15T20:27:00.001-08:00

Okay, I found this song last night. I can't describe it. Wikipedia seems to think this is a genre called "gypsy/punk." I don't think that a kind or loving God would allow such a musical genre to exist, but this video proves that wrong. So just sit back and worship this...GLORIOUS monstrosity.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p_81l4DXlwM

If it gets stuck in your head (which it will) sue Brett.

Meat lovers pizza (If you're gay)

2008-02-12T22:13:00.000-08:00

Alright Papa Murphy's, what the hell? The Heart Shaped Pizza? Who the fuck came up with this idea? Did you pick up one of Patrick's homeless friends off the street and ask him what he wanted most for Valentines day and he replied "Liquor" so you kicked him in the nuts, handed him a twenty and made a pizza shaped like a fucking HEART!? I am so confused about the logic in giving your valentine a pizza shaped like a heart! "Here you go, sweetie. You look like you need more grease and fat on this romantic occasion! Chocolates and flowers? How cliche." Listen guys, if you are going to even THINK about giving this to your girlfriend, consider an equally insulting gift of ramming her head up Rosie O'Donald's taint.... Ladies if you want to get me one, I enjoy pepperoni.

Yo!

2008-02-12T21:35:00.000-08:00

All right, so this is Woody.
Don't, uh, don't expect me to post here too often. It just so happens that I have both a life, and am in a real rigorous school. Yeah...but if it just so happens that I'm willing to peel myself away from my women and homework, (both of which I have much to do,) then you had better be prepared for some good ol' correctly spelled and grammatically correct humor.

Or some junk I made on MS Paint. We'll see.

Cool.

Yeah.

~Woody, aka "The Blackhaired Badass"

P.S. Brett, you wrote "do" instead of "due."
P.P.S. Also, you suck.

The Dwellingly Challenged

2008-02-12T20:53:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is my first post. I should probably write some sort of introduction piece like Brett did so you can get to know me...but I'd rather talk about homeless people. We seem them all the time, but do we really care? If you're a colossal asshole like myself, the answer is 'no.' But there is one things the homeless can do that can make me change my mind. Entertain me. And I don't mean sexually...wait...no, no, I don't mean sexually. I mean make me laugh.

And I know most of you are thinking "but all homeless people make me laugh." Well you are a sick sick person. The laughter I'm talking about is just being creative. I'm sure everyone's seen the pictures of bums with signs that are legitimately funny, things like "my parents were killed by ninjas and I need money for karate lessons to avenge them" and "I'm not going to lie, I needs me some crack." Those are funny and depressing at the same time. A win-win! But by far the best one I've ever seen in my life was "will let you kick me in balls for $20." Wow. That's ingenious. True the man will never have children, but at least he'll know that he brought happiness into the world. Just like Hookers. GOD BLESS AMERICA!

In a world...

2008-02-12T20:28:00.000-08:00

Now, due to the recent downward spiral of my own web based comic, Verge of Dementia, I thought to myself. “Brett you amazing son of a bitch, why just do comics? That’s a needless cap on your boundless wit, charm, sarcasm…”… and then it sort of trailed off because I was trying to make sweet unnatural love to my own mind. Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Taking a page (or a few) from several of my influences I decided to turn into more of a blog format. It sounds cliché and I’ve always hated bloggers because they are all usually pricks with nothing of real value to say to anyone and only whine about their own pseudo-angst. Nobody wants to hear about how your parents don’t understand your big ideas, and how much suffering you’ve felt just because daddy didn’t hug you. So you won’t be hearing any of that drek on here.

You all may be thinking (that’s right, I’m talking to all four of you out there) “But Brett you man-stud, who will aid you in your quest of spiting the world for merely existing?” That’s a good question, and as usual I have all of the answers you seek! Now I have no confirmation yet (But I have dirty pictures of them doing horrible things to billy goats as leverage) but I’m hoping to get two good…. Well they aren’t friends… more like allies… to write their thoughts and opinions on the site just so that you aren’t constantly listening to me. Even though I know you want to. So stay tuned true believers, for the only words you ever need to hear from the slaves here at Our Hands Are Oranges.