Ghost vs. Pope: Point Counterpoint

Does God care about your child’s Christmas pageant?

In this season of giving there is much going on and you’ve put a lot of effort into your eldest child’s school Christmas pageant.

Long hours spent rehearsing lines to ensure he/she performs like the special little snowflake they are. Many nights relaxation given up to aid the somewhat overzealous drama teacher in building ‘authentic’ first century manger sets (but that’s okay because if we can’t put in a solid effort this time of year, when can we?). And a slight level of neglect to your spouse and other child(ren) as you’ve focused a large portion of your last month on a 1 hour show involving 2 dozen children (who are all special).

Given all of this, one has to ask, does God, The Most Divine, King of Kings, Yahweh, Light of Light, Elohim, Giver of All that is Good, really have time to care about, and pay attention to your child’s pageant? Of COURSE He does. There is no way whatsoever that God would focus on anything or anywhere else for that magical hour December 24th.

COUNTERPOINT:

With all due respect, Pope, you are an ignorant, smelly whore. You're missing the point entirely. I will concede that all of the joyous singing and celebration and sweet cherubic souls making merriment MIGHT get the attention of God. But you know who cares more? This guy:



That's right boys and girls, it's Satan. Lucifer. The Devil. Trevor (some of his names are better than others). And he cares WAY more than lame-ass God. Just look at him: Rocking out with his cock out with that sweet axe. Robert Johnson sold his soul to him at the crossroads to become the best blues guitar player ever. Led Zepplin made a pact with him and were bestowed the power of Rock.

It's quite well known that Satan will make deals- it happens every day. But God? He doesn't bargain. How often have people bargained with Him to cure their cancer, to save them from death, to make them rich, to grant them their wishes, and how often does he come through? NEVER. God doesn't give a shit. Look at what He did to Haiti- you have to admit that was kind of a dick move. The Devil? He HELPS people (for a price, of course). God is an aloof dick sitting high on his horse looking down at us and JUDGING everything we do. Who needs that kind of pressure? Satan doesn't judge, he loves you for who you are. He's not so hung up on "rules" and "commandments". Dedicating your holiday pageant to God instead of Satan is a critical mistake: instead of boring church songs and crappy line-readings and poorly-built sets, you could have Satan help you out with things. Think of it: the power to see your kids rocking the fuck out and melting faces with their sweet guitar riffs, all the pyrotechnics you could imagine, awesome, professionally built sets that rise from the ground and blow your mind.

Now think about which you would rather see... thought so. Parents: Think about how much time and effort you put in to making something so crappy and boring that not even the kids want to be in. Do the right thing: put on a Satanbration(TM) instead of a Christmas pageant, it will be worth it. For now, anyway.

No more Nazi's!

Alright. Seriously. Enough. WWII ended 64 years ago. SIXTY-FOUR YEARS! That means someone born when the war ended can collect social security next year.

What’s my point, aside from the obvious that old ppl are weird and move too slowly on the freeway, in grocery lines, out of the way of my fists? Movies, comics, books, are no longer allowed to have Nazis as villains! I mean, look how bad it’s gotten: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1278340/

Really? Zombie Nazi’s? And in the goddamn snow? Wow. Genius. Typically I love a good mixing of genre’s as much as the next religious superhero (Kwanza Jones is a sucker for post Apocalyptic love stories),

but this is just stupid. You might be saying “But Action Pope, how cool is that? Zombie Nazi’s!” Fuck off.

This is clearly a severe lack of imagination. I can think of 5 better zombie villains right now.

1. Zombie postal workers – they’re disgruntled, they have guns, AND they’re not delivering the latest issue of Playboy. Fuckers!

2. Zombie clowns – sure, Zombieland had 1, what about nothing but zombie clowns. The mere idea of it scares the shit out of me.

3. Zombie midgets – who wouldn’t watch that movie?

4. Zombie bears – cause a regular bear isn’t scary enough.

5. Zombie squirrels – you know how hard it is to punch a squirrel? Or hit it with an axe? Or shoot it? Seriously, we’d be fucked.

See, right there, 5 kickass ideas that are not hack. Nazi’s were cool when Harrison Ford was fighting them in the 30s and 40s, but let’s be honest, those days are past. Our generation, who grew up with comics, cartoons, and cool movies is now in charge and by and large, making some kickass entertainment (Robert Downey Jr. as Iron Man, Grant Morrison’s Batman & Robin series, Neal Patrick Harris in How I Met Your Mother, etc.)

Using a Nazi as a villain is the equivalent of putting your concept in space http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0211443/. STOP IT!

Ghost: Man of Leisure

God I fucking hate working. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful to have job, and my current job is actually a pretty good gig- laid back environment, friendly and fun people, I don't dread going there every day (I actually sort of like it), so I really shouldn’t be complaining.

That still doesn’t make it ok, though. Human beings were not meant to work. Sitting in a cubicle creating spreadsheets and quarterly goals goes against every fiber of our being. We were meant to live lives of leisure, much like the animals- exploring, hunting, gathering, etc. Have you thought about what your pet does all day? They eat, run around, play, sleep, hump something, eat, play, maybe lick themselves a bit, eat, play some more, then take a nap. That’s awesome, and that’s the type of life we as humans should be experiencing. Instead, with our stupid evolved brains and stupid opposable digits we’ve built ourselves a stupid society that absolutely depends on hundreds of millions of faceless minions like me to push paper and toil in ultimately fruitless and soul-crushing busy work, creating nothing except existential angst and stress.

Well fuck all that noise. I’ve got a new plan. And it’s pretty awesome. Peep this:

Step 1: Quit working.
Step 2: TBD
Step 3: PROFIT!!!
Step 4: Live a life of leisure.

I know, pretty great plan, right? Right. After all the profit, I will be free to live my life exactly how I want it. I need to make sure I have this part planned out as well, because I want to get the most out of life as possible. Therefore, I have a few initiatives laid out in advance, which I have outlined here.

Initiative No. 1: Monkey Best Friend
Ever seen that movie, the Island of “Dr. Moreau?” Don’t. That movie sucks horse balls, but there is one particularly awesome thing about it: Dr. Moreau has a little person best friend that is dressed exactly like him at all times and goes everywhere with him. He even plays a miniature piano. That is sooooo sweet I’m jealous I didn’t think of it first. The only problem is the little person is that movie is beyond creepy- seriously, look at him- so I would change it up a bit and make it into a monkey instead. The monkey would dress exactly like me and we would go everywhere together- the bar, football games, weddings, parties, you name it. One episode of the Simpsons Homer got a helper monkey named Mojo, and it was awesome until Mojo drank and smoked too much and got sick. I would have to make sure my monkey best friend was not a lightweight- my monkey would be drinking miniature versions of all the drinks I have- so I would have to party with a bunch of different monkeys to see which type of monkey could best handle their booze (my money’s on chimps. And I know they’re not monkeys, but, uh, shut up). Nothing would be more embarrassing than to be out partying with my monkey best friend, and see him pass out in a pile of his own vomit after one miniature Irish car bomb. That can’t happen, as my new life of leisure is going to involve an assload of drinking, and my monkey best friend is going to have to be able to hang.

Also, my monkey would be my personal bodyguard. I would have my monkey trained by the best, having it learn all aspects of hand-to-hand combat, marksmanship, evasive driving maneuvers, CPR, etc. This way, if someone tried to mess with me, they wouldn’t expect my monkey best friend to scissor kick them in the face and choke them out while I laughed manically. Since my monkey would be such an awesome badass, I would name him Mr. Miyagi.

Initiative No. 2: Establish a Team of Crack Scientists
If I am going to fully experience all life has to offer, I am going to need some enhancements. Upgrades, if you will. I’m not nearly smart enough to create all of these things on my own, so I’ll have to have a team of Lucious Fox-types to invent the things I need. Here’s what I’ll get them working on right away:

Mechanical Liver With Replaceable Parts- Let’s be honest, if I’m going to be partying so much (and rest assured, I am), my liver is eventually going to give out. That’s why I’m going to need a new one later on down the line, but a liver transplant sounds painful and not great. Therefore I will have my scientists create a robot liver that I will simply be able to swap parts in and out with once they become too eroded from all the whiskey. Maybe one for Mr. Miyagi, too.

Flying Motorcycle with Sidecar for Mr. Miyagi- I believe this one explains itself.

Auto Tune my Voice- I will have the scientists create an Auto Tuner to be implanted into my voice box that I can toggle on and off, allowing me to talk like T-Pain randomly anytime I wanted.

Initiative No. 3: Buy a TV Network
This way, I could have the following shows either created or renewed: Arrested Development, Freaks and Geeks, Deadwood, The Glenn Beck Gets Repeatedly Kicked in the Balls Happy-Time Hour, Cooking With Gary Busey (cocaine-sprinkled French toast, anyone?), Life Lessons with Mickey Rourke, and the Patton Oswalt Does Whatever the Fuck He Wants Hour, because Patton Oswalt is the funniest fucker ever. This would all make me very happy.

Initiative No. 4: A Team of Sexy Henchwomen
Mr. Miyagi wouldn’t be able to do all of my bidding, that’s why I would have a team of sexy henchwomen in my employ to get shit done.

Initiative No. 5: Find A Mortal Enemy
This will be crucial, because if I am going to be traveling all over the world with my monkey sidekick, I’m going to need a foil hellbent on destroying me and dominating the world. I’m hoping he would have a giant moustache that he could twirl while he talks about his plans.

So once I had these things in place, I would spend my life doing the following:

- Visit every country on earth
- Go big game hunting in Africa
- Visit every MLB stadium in one summer
- Have an epic battle with my enemy on a rooftop
- Ice luge with Mr. Miyagi
- Commission a movie to be made about my life
- Win the Stanley Cup
- Ride a bear like a horse
- Learn how to play the spoons (hambone!)
- Take a piss on the 50-yd line of the Big House
- Shoot fire arrows into a large building and then slowly walk away
while it explodes
- Play Tetris in the Kremlin
- Find that asshole that randomly punched me in the face in college and beat
his face in until he shits out his own teeth
- Complete and perform my rock opera about Abraham Lincoln
- Get it on in zero gravity
- Smoke a blunt with Willie Nelson
- Dance with the devil in the pale moonlight
- Fight the zombie apocalypse
- Etc.

Bring on the Weed and Clones!

http://www.wxyz.com/content/news/2008vote/story.aspx?content_id=e12184f9-c3d2-43af-a526-dddc96a2c776&rss=785

In defiance of every possible expectation, the State of Michigan is threatening to leap into the late 90's and take some real, actual, progressive action by legalizing medical marijuana use and embryonic stem cell research. Holy fucking shit.



Opponents of the medical marijuana proposal have been decrying it's usage, culminating with the country's official Drug Czar John Walters saying "the proposal in Michigan would make it too easy for people to get the drug". Wait... is that supposed to make me vote against this proposal? Since I'm out of school and not many of my friends smoke, I don't think official Drug Czar John Walters knows how goddamn hard it is for me to find weed these days. If I want a bag I have a few options- I can call old friends in different towns I rarely talk to (desperate), go to concerts, parties and bars and try to make connections with people who smoke (super desperate), hang out at the 7-11 on 8 mile and Inkster and play the "approach the dudes who look stoned but not too threatening and probably aren't undercover cops" game (incredibly desperate), or finally go downtown into Detroit and buy from some sketchy dealer on a street corner and hope it's not laced with Angel Dust (no fucking way). None of these are good options, and if there is any possible way some of that sweet, sweet Mary Jane is going to leak onto the streets for the people to snatch up, I say all the better.

Also in his little anti-ganja hate speech, official Drug Czar John Walters tried to scare people into voting against the proposal by showing "pictures of marijuana vending machines that popped up in California when that state approved the use of medical marijuana." Even if you are against the idea of this proposal, you have to admit how awesomely awesome it would be to be in, say, a shopping mall and see this beautiful baby next to the Coke and snack vending machines:



Would it really be that bad if more people smoked weed? I don't know if you noticed, but everybody seems to be an asshole nowadays. Last week at a Tim Horton's the lady working behind the counter* literally threw the cardboard sleeve that goes around my coffee at me when I asked her for one because she forgot. Fucking bitch. If she was high, she still might not have remembered, but she might have given me a free bear claw, because when you're high you're happy and you want to share the wealth. Once at work, feeding off the early-morning sugar rush of a large coffee and a free bear claw, I may have been extra productive, which in turn might have helped my company turn a bigger profit, which in turn would have meant more tax revenue went to the Federal Government, which may have given the government enough money to fix Medicare, which would have helped old people get their medicine and live longer, happier lives. Are you against old people getting their medicine, official Drug Czar John Walters, you heartless bastard?

As for the other proposal, unsurprisingly the reactionary and totally lame right is mounting a fight against stem cell research in Michigan, because, you know, fuck those people with Parkinson's and Alzheimer's disease whose lives could someday be completely changed by the treatments and discoveries that experimentation on stem cells could bring. And fuck all those high-paying research and medical jobs it would bring to the state, we have so many jobs here we don't know what to do with them. I have like four old jobs sitting in my garage I haven't touched in years. Maybe I should have a job bonfire this weekend, all my job-saturated friends can bring their discarded and unused jobs over, and we can just have some drinks around the job bonfire and laugh and laugh about how great our awesome economy is and how everyone has so many fucking jobs they're littering the street and choking out all the wildlife and vegetation in southeastern Michigan. In fact, all I needed to make up my mind how to vote was the following video:



Once again arguing against the proposal, but after seeing this I have never wanted something to happen more in my life. A human-cow hybrid? Yes please. And why stop there? Why not bat-tiger hybrids, a flying nocturnal super-efficient killing machine we could unleash on our enemies and destroy once and for all? If you don't think an army of bat-tiger hybrids couldn't find Osama bin Laden in his stupid cave hideout in the mountains of Afghanistan, then you're nuts. Or what about a turkey-duck hybrid, so instead of buying one of those expensive duck-stuffed turkeys on Thanksgiving you could just kill one horrific abomination of God and get all that turkey-duck goodness on our tables more efficiently? How about an ostrich-dolphin hybrid? I don't know what that creature would be useful for specifically, but don't even tell me if there was one in a zoo you wouldn't drop everything and go see it.

More importantly, it may allow me to inject myself with some sort of DNA-altering substance that could give me animal superpowers. My life is extremely lacking in the superpower-having area, and if I could somehow get the speed of a cheetah or the eyesight of an owl or the cock of a horse, well, then, color my life advanced.

Hopefully one day once these proposals pass my ultimate dream could become reality: getting high with animals. This dog has already figured out how to take bong rips (good boy!), and I've always wanted to get high with some monkeys to see if we could somehow create a new language where we could finally, like understand each other. Or something. It seemed way better when I was high. Anyway, thanks Science!

* Seriously though, I hope that bitch who works at Tim Horton's get scalding coffee in her eyes. You make my life miserable every morning. You suck not only at your job, but at life.

The End is Fucking Neigh

http://www.weeklystandard.com/Content/Public/Articles/000/000/015/552kbtvz.asp

The above article, entitled "Give 'em Hell, Sarah", appears in the Weekly Standard magazine, the leading mouthpiece for Neo-Conservative talking points and dogma on the American Right. The author, one Steven F. Hayward, comes to a spirited defense of the embattled Vice Presidential nominee Sarah Palin, saying that "just below the surface of the second-guessing about Sarah Palin's fitness to be president is the serious question of whether we still believe in the American people's capacity for self-government".

This is the idea the Right has been trying to talk itself into since John McCain made the cynical, dangerous and ridiculous choice of Palin as his VP candidate a couple weeks back, and I'm calling bullshit on it.

The thrust of this article is that the media is giving Palin such intense scrutiny about her political beliefs, history and ideals because she's a normal person, just like the average voter, and that the political elite that is the mainstream media doesn't accept her because she's an outsider, that they're inherently skeptical because, in Hayward's words, "she didn't go to Harvard; she's never been on Meet the Press; she hasn't participated in Aspen Institute seminars or attended the World Economic Forum." As if these are bad things, as if being asked questions on national television or attending one of the world's best colleges is overrated, or negative. It's almost implying that her experience as a mother, a mayor and a governor (for less than two years) is enough experience to lead the country, which simply isn't true.

Conservatives are so fond of promoting government be run like a business, but if the outgoing CEO of your multi-billion dollar company was promoting somebody who had been a mid-level manager for less than two years and spent time in the mail room before that to be their successor as CEO, you would call them nuts, which is exactly what John McCain is for doing this. It would be an unsound and risky move for a business; for the most powerful government in the world it would be catastrophic.

It's not that she's qualified, it's that she has the same ignorant worldview, the same fantasyland set of antiquated ideas on topics like abortion, gay marriage, global warming and war that the rest of the back-to-the-dark-ages agenda the religious right that runs the GOP advocates now a days. She's the perfect vessel for this, a plain-talkin' hockey mom (a hunter no less!), masquerading as an agent for change who can be defended from all sides by playing the gender, religious persecution, or small-town card.

Sarah Palin is the perfect storm of the modern Neo-Conservative movement: an intellectual lightweight willing to ignore facts, truth and commons sense to perpetuate power. If I can be more blunt, she is quite stupid. She's a tool in all senses of the word: a vessel being used to promote an agenda, but also a moron.

These words may seem harsh, but someone who thinks intelligent design should be taught in schools along side evolution I have very little intellectual respect for. Someone who believes global warming isn't predominately man-made, ignoring all legitimate scientific evidence to the contrary, is either delusional or an imbecile. Someone who believes rape victims shouldn't be allowed to abort their babies because Jesus thinks it's a human life is religious zealot. Someone who thinks simply drilling for oil wherever they want will have any sort of immediate impact on gas prices is not dealing with reality. Sarah Palin believes simply because she believes something, it makes it true. This is the kind of thinking that got us into the quagmire in Iraq: The belief that Iraq is a threat and we should invade them, then coming up with reasons to do so, finding "facts" and "intelligence" (no matter how dubious in nature) that conform to the idea, rather than letting the facts and circumstances shape the policy.

It's this anti-intellectual worldview that I have such a fundamental disagreement with, that the fact anybody questioning her experience or intelligence is an elitist themselves, that John McCain telling us she's qualified and ready to lead is all the assurance we should need about her qualifications. It's bullshit, and if anything more scrutiny, research and questioning needs to be done before anybody could, with a straight face, say Sarah Palin is qualified to be second in line to lead our country.

Watch these two videos together and tell me they don't have a disturbing amount in common:






Sarah Palin is ignorant because she obviously didn't know what the Bush Doctrine was when ABC's Charles Gibson asked her a straightforward question about it. She is a tiny notch above Miss South Carolina in content, and about even on delivery. Sarah Palin is dishonest because she's been touting her independent persona by saying she said "thanks but no thanks to the 'Bridge to Nowhere'", when in actuality she advocated it's construction before changing her mind along with popular opinion and a surge of common sense. Sarah Palin is unqualified because her only experience in government was as a mayor of a town of 6,300 people and as governor of a state with less than 700,000 people. Saying these things is certainly not an affront to small town people, although most conservatives would have you believe it. It is an affront to unqualified pretenders trying to seize control of our government.

Hayward makes the claim that "The establishment is affronted by the idea that an ordinary hockey mom--a mere citizen--might be just as capable of running the country as a long-time member of the Council on Foreign Relations." I am not the establishment, but I am affronted by this idea. She has no experience! SHE IS NOT QUALIFIED! I DON'T want an ordinary citizen being President! I want someone intelligent, I want someone who went to the best schools and has served in the Senate on a national level running things. I want someone who has well-thought out ideas rooted in reason and facts, I want someone who knows what the fucking Bush Doctrine is and doesn't shit her pants on national television. When did it become a bad thing to be intelligent? When were the atributes of self-awareness and introspection axed from the requirements for successful leadership?

Some national polls have McCain/Palin in front of Obama/Biden. Time and time again I assure myself that the American people will see through the fog, that the last eight years (and the vile persecution of the previous eight Clinton years) will be enough to spur change, that we as a country will finally get it, that we will aspire to make real change, to do the right thing, but after seeing the reaction to this I'm really starting to doubt myself. The voting electorate needs to prove that they can push aside the bullshit and move forward, but the hour is getting very late. I honestly can't even bring myself to fantasize what a McCain/Palin White House would look like, but I have a feeling it's twin is in the White House right now, and I have no idea how we could survive another four years of it.

Watch This

I don't know who made this, but they are fucking awesome. Peep this:

The Sweet/Weak List, Vol. 3

I am so fucking hung over my eyes are bleeding. Last night was my buddy's bachelor party, and I thought it would be a good idea to drink 10 beers without any food in my stomach, eat a bit, then drink about sixty more, topped off with a few splashes of single-malt scotch. I woke up this morning in the back of my car, roasting in the sun like a fucking ham, my socks lost, all my money gone, mysterious bruises on my abdomen, and a half-eaten piece of pizza in my hand. Needless to say I am not so chipper today. I was at the grocery store earlier and this little old lady was taking forever checking out, and it took all of my willpower not to punch her in the throat and burn the store to the ground. You hear that old ladies at the grocery store? HURRY THE FUCK UP YOU DECREPIT OLD BITTY! EITHER CHECK OUT OR GO DIE IN A DITCH!

Wow am I an asshole. On to the list.

Sweet:


1- The Dark Knight- I will admit I was ready to be let down by this movie. I loved the first one, Batman Begins, and the hype surrounding this was so incredibly ridiculous that I thought there was no way it could live up to it. Then I saw the movie and had twelve consecutive brain orgasms from sheer awesomeness. This movie was so fucking sweet I can't even handle it. Heath Ledger was fantastic, disgusting, frightening and hilarious all at the same time. It really fucking sucks he's dead, because it seems like he was just getting started on an incredible career. Maggie Gyllenhal is about 560 times better an actor than Katie Holmes, and the special effects on Two Face were outstanding. In fact, we're seeing a string of quality comic book movies unprecedented up until this point: The Spiderman trilogy, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, the first two X-Men (the third one never happened), and now the Batman movies all range from solid to outstanding. And if the upcoming Watchmen movie were a woman, I would make sweet, tender, passionate love to her. Just kidding, I would teabag her, then Superman that ho. Dirty, dirty Watchmen movie. What was I talking about?


2- My Beard- I had a dream earlier in the year that I had long hair and a beard. Logically, then, I decided to grow long hair and a beard, because I always take my dreams literally. That's why I often went to school naked. Anyway, I of course proceeded to grow the most phenomenal beard known to man. What's that you say? It looks like pubic hair glued on to my face? Good point, but let me retort by saying FUCK OFF. This beard says to the world "Look who finally went through puberty!" Women were powerless to it's awesomeness. And by powerless I mean repelled and disgusted. I am so very, very lonely.


3- Miguel Cabrera- He's 25, hit 8 home runs, had 31 RBI, and hit .330 in the month of July. He is five kinds of awesome, and he's signed for the next fifty years. I don't care what they traded for him, or that Dontrelle Willis instantly forgot how to throw a strike when he came to the American League, or that the Tigers paid him $500 million dollars, he's worth it.

4- Bluetooth Headsets- Let me be clear: these are the scourge of the earth, and everyone I see wearing one I want to kick their teeth down their throat, then drown them with my urine. So why are they on the Sweet list? Because I realized that while irritating, unnecessary and incredibly lame, they're an excellent indicator of douchebaggery in an individual. They're wonderful time savers: if I see someone wearing one of these, I immediately know they're a Grade-A choad and steer clear. So thank you, Bluetooth, for acting as a warning symbol that says "Hey- there is 100% chance that I'm an incredible asshole and listen to Nickelback. Avoid me at all costs, and if you can, run my car off the road into a concrete embankment so I die in a fiery explosion and don't pollute the world with any more douche bags like me".

5- The W. Era Nearing the End- Less than five months and counting. I think I might throw a party where we construct a giant W. doll and literally burn it in effigy, then piss on the ashes. Did I mention I wasn’t too fond of his version of the White House? Sayonara, A-hole.

6- Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!- The funniest, weirdest shit on T.V. right now. This clip is pure brilliance:


And this one for good measure...

Weak:

1- Reality Television- I was flipping through the channels a while ago, and I stumbled across a show called “Denise Richards: It’s Complicated”. With a name like “It’s Complicated”, I figured I’d hear Ms. Richards giving original proofs to solve differential equations, or opine on her newest piece of economic game theory, or dissect the age-old Palistian-Israeli territorial conflict, but to my surprise it was her bitching about Charlie Sheen and complaining about how hard it is being a single mother. When you’re filthy rich. And you probably get $50K/mo in alimony. And have five servants and live in a mansion. If I wasn’t such a gentleman, I might say something negative about her here.

Instead, I chose to make a point about the genre in general. My point being: reality television just might be the signal of the end of Western critical thought as we know it. Are we that trite, that bored, that fucking lazy that instead of making our own lives exciting or meaningful, or watching poignant and artful works of fiction, we instead have to watch other people live out their lives? And not even interesting or useful lives, at that. If there was a reality show following around George W. Bush behind the scenes as he was President, making decisions that affect literally millions of lives, that might be worthwhile to watch. Maybe. But watching Denise Richards dress up her dogs in sweaters and smell her own farts is just too much. She is a vapid, talentless, idiotic suckubus. Did I say I wouldn’t say anything negative about her? Whoops. Anyway, how could you possibly find that interesting? If you like this kind of shit I hate you. I’m not kidding. Let’s just move on.

2- The Detroit Tigers Bullpen- Where to begin with this goddamned mess? I just watched Fernando Rodney come into a game with a 1-run lead, then proceed to walk the first hitter he faced, peg the second one in the chest, give up a run-scoring single, then walk home the winning run. How in god’s name do you become the closer of an MLB team without the ability to throw a strike? The only upside of him being the closer is that he’s not Todd Jones. I won’t kick a man when he’s down, seeing as he just lost the closer’s job, but let’s just say that performance by Rodney was carrying on Jones’ flame quite nicely. The worst part of all this is they knew they had to get some help if they wanted to compete for the division title this year, so they used their best trading chip (Pudge Rodriguez) and turned him into… wait for it… Kyle Fucking Farnsworth. The same Kyle Farnsworth that came into this game today in the 8th with a 2-run lead and walked off the mound down by one. Soo-purb. I’m sure this will end well.


3- The Football Jesus- This one truly breaks my heart. The latest is the Packers have decided to let him come to camp and compete for the starting quarterback job. They don’t really have a choice in the matter, seeing as no other NFL team is willing to trade anything of value for him, and it would be the biggest p.r. disaster of the last century if he suited up for another team. Despite the fact they offered to take him back after he retired and he turned them down, after he gave them his decision that he wouldn’t play anymore, causing them to commit to Aaron Rodgers as their starting quarterback, he decides a few weeks before training camp he wants to play again, then has the fucking balls to tell the Packers to release him or trade him to a division rival so he can play against them. This is a selfish, selfish asshole move. You made the decision to retire, live with it. The kicker is Rodgers is probably never re-signing with the Packers after this next year, and they’ll have to draft and groom another quarterback which could take years. If I have to go back to the 4-12 days because Farve wanted to play one more year, thus fucking the team over for several thereafter, then I don’t know what. I probably won’t do anything, maybe write some angry, poorly written posts on my blog. Yeah, that seems about right.

All that being said, I hope he ends up being the quarterback, because he is, after all, the Football Jesus.

4- Obama caving on the FISA bill- When you said you were against immunity for the telecom companies under any circumstances, many believed you. I really, really, really hope you’re not taking the lame “running to the middle” strategy that cost Al Gore and John Kerry the last two elections. Bad, bad idea.


5- Quakers- Nothing has changed. You hear that, Wilford Brimley? You keep pimping those Quaker Oats and you’ll see what happens. Nothing good. Goddamn Quakers.

How can I be Awesome?

Dear Pope,
I want to be more awesome like you, but I don’t k now how. I’ve run with the bulls, taken shots with Russel Crowe, and even met the President yet nothing seems to make me as totally awesome as you. What can I do
-Cardinal Awesome

Cardinal. First off, you’re not a Cardinal. I know for a fact you haven’t met the Higher Power and earned that title. No, not ‘God’ you moron. The Space Pope. Obviously you don’t know, so we’ll move on.

Let’s look at this from outside if we can. What defines awesome? Is it inherent? Can it be learned? Taught? Is awesome related to the sole individual or is it dependent on who said individual hangs out with? Do accessories or styles make awesome? Can you pop a collar, get a tattoo, or wear eye liner and become awesome?

You ran with the bulls? How about swam against the sharks off the Cape of Good Hope?
You drank with some kind of celebrity? How about taking vodka shots on the space station with the Russian chimp as you reenter Earth’s atmosphere?
You met the president? Who @#)$*%^ cares!? I bumped into a guy on the street the other day. Was he a businessman? An assassin with the ability to curve bullets? A parallel Earth version of Charlton Heston who never got on board with ape hatred? The fuck if I know! Or care! Or am going to go telling people about!

How can I be awesome? I don’t know. Not be you. You sucks. You is not interesting, not famous, has no amazing skills. What you’re really trying to do here is to be me. Which you can’t. It’s just not possible. You could attempt to become more interesting; fighting geriatric German grandmother’s for fun and profit. More famous; kill all the members of Nickelback and wear their heads like hats. Gain more amazing skills; drink a 5th of wild turkey and then totally smoke that Asian kid at hot dog eating contests while simultaneously banging his mom. But ultimately, you’re still you, not me. There’s just no getting around it.

You could try some extreme level existentialistic, paranormal, breaking-down-the-4th-wall shit that would make you not you, but at that point 2+2 wouldn’t equal 4, you’d end up making out with some dead fish god, and your consciousness would stop caring about being awesome, making the whole point moot. So, the answer is no. You can’t be more awesome.

You sick necrophilic fuck!

Ghost's Vacation Blog!

I know everyone out there has been dying of Ghost-related deprivation, so I've decided to blog my week-long siesta back home to Ghostville. I will update daily. Enjoy.

Saturday-

7:50 pm- pull into town, immediately go to Grandma's house to visit Grandma. Grandma is old, frail and Austrian, taunt Grandma into arm-wrestling match by loudly proclaiming "All Austrians are the Kaiser's bitch! Archduke Franz Ferdinand had it coming!" Easily pin Grandma in arm-wrestling match, celebrate by strutting around the room doing Mick Jagger's rooster dance. While celebrating, Grandma clandestinely pulls 8' bowie knife out of her boot, before I know it I'm pinned to the wall with a razor-sharp blade at my throat. Grandma tells me "This blade has spilled more Commie Ruski blood than Rasputin himself. And this blade is thirsty!" Quickly use superior judo reverse arm-bar hold to turn her away. Flee Grandma's house, terrified, as she yells profanities at me in German.

8:26 pm- hit the local bar with Ghost, Sr. Get into doubles pool match with local yokels, easily defeat them, celebrate with shots of whiskey and bacon grease.

1:00 am- try to go to sleep, but keep hearing Grandma screaming German profanities at me. Wonder if she'll come to spill my blood. Sleep with loaded Desert Eagle .50 cal under my pillow.

Sunday-



9:07 am- awake to smells of Mother Ghost cooking breakfast. Hungrily devour breakfast of steak, eggs, bacon, steak-fried bacon, bacon and eggs stuffed steak, scrambled egg soup with bacon broth, and more steak. Wash it all down with a hot cup of bacon grease. Have some bacon shaped like a chocolate bar for desert.

9:25 am- have seconds of Mother Ghost's breakfast.

9:48 am- go to sleep until Monday.

Monday-

11:47 am- venture out to Lake Michigan with Ghost, Sr. for a fishing expedition. Our cargo: two half-gallons of Wild Turkey, a cooler full of ice and a 30-pack of PBR, a nitrous tank, a bacon cake containing two pounds of magic mushrooms, two gas masks, a shotgun, a crossbow, a .50 cal Desert Eagle, and a net.

12:01 pm- after finishing each of the half-gallons of Wild Turkey, half the PBR, and the bacon-mushroom cake, Ghost, Sr. repeatedly fires shotgun into water off of the side of the boat. Nothing turns up. Apparently fish aren't biting today.



12:50 pm- out of boredom, fire crossbow into Ghost, Sr.'s ass while he is bent over inhaling from the nitrous tank. Ghost, Sr. forgets to tell me the arrows are laced with poison and exploding tips. Explosion blows up the nitrous tank and the boat.

12:51 pm- find Ghost, Sr. floating unconscious, draped over the cooler. Move Ghost, Sr. to get to cooler, shotgun remaining beers floating in water.

12:57 pm- waves are large, so surf Ghost, Sr.'s lifeless body to safely to shore. Preform secret Ghost-Ninja revival techniques, bring Ghost, Sr. back to life.

12:59 pm- Ghost, Sr. is enraged I brought him back to life, says he was crushing it in the afterlife, had Vishnu in a headlock when I brought him back. Challenges me to whiskey drinking contest and slaps me in the face. I accept.

1:14 pm- at Ghostville bar, Ghost, Sr. drinks me under the table, I pass out. Ghost, Sr. invites various local barflies to deface me with magic markers and their own bodily fluids.

Tuesday-



6:40 am- awake tied to the mast of a 35' cutter yacht named The Duke. Realize the cutter is pulling into port somewhere along the northern Lake Superior shore to Canadian land. Vow eternal revenge on Ghost, Sr.

9:33 am- after a breakfast of french fries and gravy, decide that since I'm in Canada already, might as well make some changes. Travel to capital city, Ottawa, use superior Ghost intellect to convince them to change their government from the silly representative republic/socialism blend they've employed for the last 200+ years to good ol' US of A capitalism. Get entire Canadian legislature changing "USA! USA! USA!" Also pass legislation to require Mounties change their uniforms from the lame red-coat-and-wide-brown-brim bullshit they've had to ultra-sweet new Ninja costumes. Pass more legislation to convince national army to attack one small, defenseless country every three years, preferably with gigantic bombs. Before I return, stalk, hunt, then ritualistically murder and dismember each member of the band Nickleback in front of their respective families. Impregnate their wives with little Ghosts, which in nine months will jump-kick their way out of their mother's uteri, then start a band named "Fuck Yes!", record eleven platinum records and bring world peace.

6:47 pm- return back to Ghostville.

More to come...

I Hate Horses

I might be a little late to the party on this one, but I just saw this blog that might be one of the funniest things I've seen in a long, long time. Check it out:

http://horsehater.blogspot.com/

Come on... tell me that's not funny. Unless you're a horse. And if you are a horse, and you're reading this, then that is simply amazing. Wait... horses can read and surf the internet now? Hmmmm. Maybe the Glorious Horse Uprising of 2008 is upon us. If it is, then what that horse did to Christopher Reeves is gonna seem like a gentle summer breeze rustling your hair compared to what they have in store.

What? Too soon?

P.S. This gives me the opportunity to post the gayest horse picture ever made. Huzzah!

Does the Pope Shit in the Woods?

All hail a new partner blogger, Pope. Ninja Please is happy to have Pope blogging on his own and along with me, and undoubtedly will expose me for the drunk hack that I truly am. The good news is he is a drunk hack as well, so if you like listening to two inebriated fake superheros argue about the mating habits of comic book characters and many other non-sequitors, then this is the place to be. If not, then FUCK OFF. We never liked you anyway.

An Open Letter to the Football Jesus

Dear Mr. Football Jesus,

First off, let me say Thank You- you gave us Cheeseheads 17 years of entertainment, an embarrassment of riches and winning, really. We will always love you for this.

But...

Please stay the fuck away. You're done, you said so, you even cried at your retirement press conference. It was hard, fond memories, blah blah blah. We wanted you back, you said there was nothing left.

We found someone else. His name is Aaron, and since he's following you he's been fucked since the day he was drafted. There is no way he could live up to your image, your mythology. But he may be pretty good, if he can stay healthy. Now you want us back? Why in god's name did you retire in the first place, then?

We call you the Football Jesus because you resurrected football in Green Bay. It cannot be overstated how depressed and sad football was before you came. Mossy Cade was raping women and Forest Gregg was a delusional psychopath. Sure we still sold out every game, drank beer, ate brats and danced to polka in the parking lots during pregame, but it was more a celebration of culture and the past than it was any kind of preparation or excitement for the present, let alone the future. You changed all that, with your Howitzer arm and disarming lack of knowledge of the fetid putridness of the Bart Star, Forest Gregg and Lindy Infante years. I can feel the bile rising in my throat just mentioning that 30+ years of dark, dark hell- but you changed it all. Now we expect to win. Now when you rally the youngest team in the league at 398 years old to a 13-3 record and one stupid, stupid interception away from another Super Bowl (oh sweet Christ was that interception terrible), we're really not that surprised, just happy.

So, uh, thanks for all that. But we've moved on, and you need to move on too. And I don't mean to another NFL team- It's not hyperbole when I say that I simply cannot bear the thought of you wearing another uniform, chucking 50-yard interceptions for another team. It simply cannot happen, it would ruin everything for me. I'm starting to understand how Bulls fans felt seeing MJ shooting jumpers in a Wizards uniform. Nobody needs that.

You're a competitive guy; Jordan tried his hand at baseball, maybe you could do something else. Bullfighting, perhaps? Don't even tell me that the skills you honed dodging and diving away from a crazed Warren Sapp wouldn't translate to you skillfully taunting an enraged and half-dead animal into charging you, then just escaping at the last second to thrill the crowd. That's exactly what you did, and it was great. But it needs to happen somewhere else- anywhere else.

In closing, please stay retired. Not for you, but for us. I don't really give a shit if you have an 'itch' to play. Scratch that shit and get on with your life. We have. I don't want the Football Jesus tag to mean you rose from the dead of retirement to play again. Has that ever, EVER, been a good idea? I don't mean to doubt you, but in the immortal words of Stephen Colbert: "Just because you're infallible doesn't mean you can't be wrong."

Sincerely,

Ghost

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits

What a sad, shitty day. It's raining outside, seems like it has been for weeks, and now a hero of mine is dead. George Carlin was 71, and if there is an afterlife, he's probably rolling his eyes and pantomiming beat-off gestures behind God's back right about now.

My friend Joel first turned me on to George through his book "Brain Droppings". Of course I had heard of him before, but reading this book was truly one of the seminal moments of my life. It's crass, and his literary style leaves much to be desired, but the ideas... holy shit. Just the sheer fact that one person could be such a confident, logical, unapologetic atheist blew my mind. I was a junior in high school, working at a movie theater, and my life basically revolved around watching movies for free and trying to scam older people to buy me beer. I was also about to be confirmed in the Catholic Church, and these questions and ideas were in my mind, somewhere, trolling below the surface, never showing their face. This book, and George, brought them out front and center, slapped me in the face with them, but most of all legitimized them to me. Maybe I'm not the crazy one for doubting that there's some magical man who lives in the sky and hears all of our thoughts all at the same time. This doesn't seem logical to me, but I'm the crazy one? Fuck that and fuck everyone else who tries to make me think so.

With George and his writing and monologues, it wasn't the actual dogma that he preached, but the way he preached it. He was one of the rare cats that was able to cut out all of the stupid bullshit surrounding him, look internally and think, truly think for himself. That why his shows were so entertaining: you knew you were seeing something special, the unfettered, unfiltered internal dialogue and thought process of a truly creative, intelligent person. George had an uncanny ability to hold up a mirror to us, as a society, and show us how truly fucking ridiculous we are. He was, and is, completely unique, as many acts have tried to rip him off, but they only come off as hacky and sad, and it lifts up the brilliance of his performances even more. If you don't know what the title of this post means, you need to Google that shit. It's his life's work summed up in seven words, and there are far, far worse legacies to leave.

The world is a worse place for him not being in it, and I'll miss him. My writing can't really do him justice, so listen to the words of the man himself- and enjoy.

George On Religion:


The Seven Dirty Words (I think he was pretty coked up here... in fact, I'm sure of it):

RIP, George.

John Locke Changes Lives

The following is a verbatim text-message conversation I had with my Attorney, Pope.

Pope: Dude. I just watched the season finale of Lost. What. The. Fuck!?

Ghost: Right? Sooo fucking sweet. No way Locke is dead, either. Also found out the dude who plays Locke is from the U.P. (Ed. Note- Thanks Ade!)

Pope: He better not be fucking dead! Hell Yeah! Think he'd come drink with us in Esky?

Ghost: Oh he would put down a double shot of Wild Turkey then lightening quick throw a knife across the room into an Indian's head.

Pope: And then wrestle a bear! How did the bear get into the bar and why is it wearing a Mexican wrestling mask? Don't know and don't care.

Ghost: In his defense, that bear had just fallen on hard times- just lost his job and caught Mrs. Bear fucking a black bear-

Pope: Well he WAS drunk on the job and kept nagging Mrs. bear about her hibernation weight.

Ghost: ... so he took a degrading carnival job as a heel wrestling vagrants and hobos for table scraps and was hitting the bottle pretty hard. Locke put him in a choke hold and changed his life.

Pope: Then we'd all have ice cream sundaes. And by "ice cream" I mean "whiskey" and by "sundae" I mean "sandwich". That's how Locke does.

Ghost: Whiskey Sandwiches?!? All that great, smooth whiskey flavor now in sandwich form? Fucking sweet!

Pope: Locke took two great things and made them into one!

Ghost: All hail John Locke!

Are You A Religious Man, Mr. Pierce?

This crying, despondent, crippled wretch of a poor soul you see here is Paul Pierce of the Boston Celtics. What led up to this pitiful display of a grown man crying in public was Pierce coming down awkwardly on his right knee, then immediately crumpling to the ground in agony. It was terrible to watch, like Barbaro breaking his leg and knowing that he was imminently going to be shot. Only, you know, they would tell the other Celtics they gave Paul away to a nice elderly couple who owned a farm, so he would have lots of room to run around and play on his knee, which totally wasn't shredded.

In fact, ABC ratcheted up the drama scare by following Pierce as he was rushed to the locker room in a wheelchair, Michelle Tafoya, Danny Ainge and Ric Bucher following breathlessly behind. It was sad to see an athlete work his entire professional life to get to this point, this pinnacle, right to the edge of being a champion, only to see it all so unfairly ripped away with what appears to be such a dramatic, season-ending, possibly even career-ending injury on such a public stage. Because based on his reaction, and the fact that he had to have his teammates literally carry him off of the court, it had to be that serious.

So now the Celtics will be without Paul Pie- wait... oh, my God. Incredible! Shades of Willis Reed! Pierce is coming back into the game! The crowd is going nuts! It's an Act of God! DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?!?!?!

No, actually, I don't. I don't believe in miracles, and for Pierce to have that kind of reaction, literally crying on the court, as a grown man when one of his legs is hurt to have his teammates take him by his legs and back and put him in a wheelchair, the grimace and the pain showing on his face, then to have him come back in the game and run without a noticeable limp? No fucking way. Here's the man himself:

Said Pierce: "I thought I tore something; that's the way I felt at the time. Usually when I go down, I'm getting right back up, but it was an instance where I turned my knee and it popped, and I was just in pain where I couldn't move."

No, Paul, you usually don't get right up. My new nickname for you is "The Farmer", because you milk every goddamn foul and incidental contact to comical extremes.

Paul Pierce is a whiny, faking bitch. I don't know exactly why he did it, but I have noticed all through these playoffs Pierce is probably the biggest over-reactor to contact or being fouled by far, and that includes Rasheed Wallace and Rip Hamilton. Maybe it was to have an excuse if he sucked, maybe it's just to elicit sympathy. Either way, if he gets beat on D, he falls down and lays there, giving the impression he was bowled over by some obviously non-called offensive foul. He'll lay there with his arms in the air and his eyes agog until his teammates pick him up. After he came back in the game last night, he was fouled by Kobe on a jump shot, Kobe's forearm brushed his face, and he ran around covering his face and grimacing as if he had a red-hot poker shoved into his orbital socket.

Pierce is like that guy you play pick-up hoops with, the one who acts all badass and has all the most expensive, up-to-date gear, but every time he's touched he thinks to make the point he was fouled has to limp around or flop like a fish out of water or pretend that hand you brushed by his abdomen knocked the wind out of him so bad he can't breathe, let alone get up. Then if you call him out on it, you're the jerk for being so callous! I hate that asshole. And Paul Pierce is that asshole.

Well no more. I'm on to your shenanigans, Paul Pierce, you shady bastard. You're like Manu Ginobili only with no bald spot. Don't know why nobody has caught onto this yet, but they will. Especially the next time Kobe blows by you on D and you fall to the ground, crying and grabbing your groin, telling everyone in earshot you pulled your vagina. Not buying it.

Ghost's Super-Teriffic Happy-Time Awesomeness Advice

Dear Ghost:

I’ve just awoke from a 20-year coma. Of course, my first action was to e-mail you for some advice. Here’s my problem: back in 1988, I was up on all the great music- Bon Jovi, Whitesnake, Poison, Def Leppard, those guys ROCKED! I was totally tits, and up on all the rockinist bands. But now, twenty years in the future, I’m lost. I love and miss that music, but I don’t even know where to start with today’s bands. Help!

Eddie
Terre Haute, IN

First off, Eddie, congratulations. Not on coming out of your coma (anyone with regular-functioning brain activity could achieve that… in fact, what took you so long? I’m surprised your family hasn’t Terry Shivo’d your ass by this point), but on immediately e-mailing me with your concerns. It shows an inherent intelligence on your part to turn to an oracle like me, but sadly, the idiotic content of your question betrays your underlying stupidity.

Fortunately for you, Ninja Please is an equal-opportunity advice blog (sometimes), answering queries ranging from kick-ass ninja badasses (such as myself) to primordial fucktards (such as yourself). So in order to help you get up to date what the kids are listening to today, I’ve complied a profile of some of the shittiest bands I could think of, and helpfully graded them on some of the lame-ass things you loved about those other craptacular bands from the late 80’s. So now, instead of writing “RATT” with magic marker on your jean jacket and frizzing your perm with hairspray with your buddies, you can compare your tribal tattoos and talk about what kind of hair gel works best to get that “half my hair is spiked up in the back but my bangs are really greasy look” that every fan of these bands is sporting today. These bands are the suckiest of the suck- you should enjoy them immensely. This is what’s commonly referred to as “dude rock” nowadays, which was the eventual bastard child of your shitty hair metal. This is going to be painful. You’re welcome in advance.

Nickleback: If we’re going to start talking about music by douche bags for douche bags, this is the place to start. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Check.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Some, but surprisingly restrained.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
If everyone cared and nobody cried
If everyone loved and nobody died
If everyone shared and swallowed their pride
Then we’d see the day when nobody died
Are you fucking kidding me? That’s got all the lyricism and poetry of a 14 yr-old girl’s D-minus English paper. Way fucking deep, man: What if nobody died? Think about it! DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?!?! Plus, if we ever got to the point where nobody died, then we’d be robbed of the anticipation of the sweet release that would come with the lead singer of Nickelback’s death.
Bonus Douchiness: They’re Canadian, eh? Fuckin’ Cannucks. How dare you come to this country and spread the disease of your music. Most people think we’re friendly with Canada, but just look at the horrors they’ve inflicted upon us: Celine Dion, Bryan Adams, gravy on French fries, fucking Nickelback. We’re so willing to start wars unprovoked, but this seems like a clear and direct attack on our musical tastes. I’ve decided I’m voting for whichever candidate promises to declare War on Canada the soonest.

Hinder: If you loved the musical diarrhea that is Nickelback, then you’ll love the musical abortion that is Hinder. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Check.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Not quite… but somehow worse.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
And I never wanna say goodbye
But girl you make it hard to be faithful
With the lips of an angel

It's really good to hear your voice saying my name
It sounds so sweet
Coming from the lips of an angel
Hearing those words it makes me weak
Oh sweet Christ. Where to even start with this one? “The lips of an angel”? So you took your lyrics from a bastardized version the shittiest pickup line even spoke in any language? Congrats. Also, her lips are what make you weak? What the hell is wrong with you? If this song was called “Tits of an Angel” that would be way better, because tits > lips. Also, everyone knows that angels have kick-ass tits, but are kind of butter faces. I was even going to make up some fake lyrics to pass off as theirs to hyperbolize their suckitude, but I couldn’t even make up fake lyrics as pussy as these. They defy imagination.
Bonus Douchiness: Their lead singer’s name is Austin Winkler. Just repeat that to yourself out loud for a second: Austin Winkler. Is he trying to make me want to hit him the face with a crowbar? Because nothing would make me happier right now. NOTHING.

Lifehouse: A band I hated and didn’t even know it. But god do I hate them. Their song “Hanging by a Moment” was playing every goddamn time I turned on the radio a couple of years ago. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? He did in the past, and one of the dudes in the band does, so I’m going with a “Check” on this one.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Not so much… more of an emo-we-think-we’re-sort-of-punk-but-buy-our-clothes-at-Hot-Topic look. Blech.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
I finally found a love of a lifetime,
A love to last my whole life through.
I finally found a love of a lifetime,
Forever in my heart, I finally found a love of a lifetime.

With every kiss our love is like brand new,
And every star up in the sky was made for me and you.
Still we both know that the road is long,
But we know that we will be together because our love is strong
Please give me a moment while I blow the remaining vomit out of my nostrils. There. That’s better. I almost feel guilty posting these lyrics, as this band provided a veritable smorgasbord of ridiculously cheesy lyrics. It was honestly hard to choose, but I couldn’t read these lyrics for any sustained period of time, on account of all the puking and eye bleeding. Seriously, their albums should come with a gas mask and a revolver loaded with a single bullet. You know, so you can play some russian roulette to pass the time.
Bonus Douchiness: According to their Wikipedia page, “The group first came together as a Christian band called Blyss…”. Seriously. This isn’t a joke or anything. THEY ORIGINALLY WERE A CHRISTIAN BAND CALLED BLYSS. The name “Lifehouse” is pretty terrible, but “Blyss”? Wow. Just wow. And I won’t even get into the insurmountable mountain of suck that is Christian Rock. OK, I will: it’s crap. All of it. Remember that one good Christian Rock song? Yeah, me neither. Let’s just move on.

Saliva: Jesus this is getting tiring. You better appreciate this, you coma-having asshole. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Not feathered, but Christ look at this guy. I think he might have a touch of dwarfism or even a bit of Downs. Or maybe both? Either way he looks like the world’s biggest Oompa-Loompa Metallica fan.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? This category was pretty much made for this band. Double check.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:

I always wanted to be president, I always wanted to be Superman.
I ended up a fuckin' superstar.

I'm better off than either one of them.

I wanna take you to a higher place.
Say all the things that you could never say.
I'll even help you try to make a change.
Before the whole world blows up in your face.
What? I mean… this is baffling. What in god’s name is this full-sized midget rambling about? You wanted to be President? Really? Do they let people with fetal alcohol syndrome take elected office? Not only that, but you think you’re better off than Superman? Really? Let’s compare: Superman can fly, has x-ray and laser vision, super strength and bangs ultra-hot Lois Lane whenever he feels like it. You: dwarf-looking overweight tattooed D-bag lead singer of a marginally successful band. You cannot fly, your eyes do nothing cool, you’re probably a total pussy and at best you bang the skankiest Hooter’s waitress in every mid-sized town you travel to. Hmmm… Lois Lane, or Krystal from the Fort Wayne Hooters? Tough call. Asshole. And are you really a “superstar“? Me thinks not. This is getting really irritating.
Bonus Douchiness: Here’s a quote from the lead singer himself: “We’re going to go in the studio probably around May and record our next record. It’s called Monster, and if you like “Ladies and Gentlemen” and “Click Click Boom,” and more dynamic stuff, it’s going to be an ass-whooping of a record. It’s going to be 45 minutes of ass-whooping!”
Do you even need to hear anything else about them? Case closed.

Daughtry: What happens when you give a no-talent ass-clown from American Idol his own band? This. This abomination against all that is holy and good happens. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Unfortunately not, but he is a bald-ass bitch. Look at what a brooding bad-ass he is! Look at the intensity!
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Mos def. Nice highlights, guys. Also, your lead singer is just like Vin Diesel, only dumber. Let that one sink in.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyrics? A sample:
The miles are getting longer, it seems,
The closer I get to you.
I've not always been the best man or friend for you.
But your love, it makes true.
And I don't know why.
You always seem to give me another try.
“Your love, it makes true”? What the fuck does that even mean? My god, I just read lyrics for several different Daughtry songs. I am truly ashamed of myself.
Bonus douchiness: This guy took 4th on American Idol. This proves the fact that if you’re a good karaoke singer, it doesn’t necessarily mean you have talent.

Fuel: The band so shitty, they offered Chris Daughtry their lead singer job, and he turned them down. Ouch. The rundown:
Totally nonsensical yet vaguely douchey-sounding one word name? Check.
Lame faux-toughguy vocals sung in an over-the-top gravely voice? Check.
Lead singer has feathered hair just like a girl? Who the fuck knows, they might not even have a lead singer at his point.
Tribal tattoos, unfortunate facial hair, or trying way too hard to look badass? Of fucking course.
Surprisingly lame-ass pussy lyri… ah fuck this, I can’t do it anymore.

I hope you’re happy, Eddie from Indiana, because researching these bands was less fun than having all of my pubic hair plucked out one-by-one. Now make sure you and your buds get your spiky highlights done in time for that big Puddle of Mudd show next week, you fucking ponce.