Archives For WTF

Weird Al, you Brony. You’re perfect for My Little Pony. Your accordion. Your songs. Your upbeat spirit. You are MY little pony, Al, and you always will be. It’s not like you’re the only Jewish Pony out there…you’ll be in good company.

 

//Topless Robot

So someone as part of an art exhibit has put together an interactive video game that lets you play as Anne Frank. I don’t even know where to start on something like this. I guess the matter-of-fact questions come first: What genre is this? RPG? Survival horror? Is it graphical, or is it a text-base game? Will it have quicktime events like in Resident Evil? {Tap A to keep quiet} {Tap B to open door}

annefrankgames

Not to mention the moral questions that a game like this brings up. How do you get gamers to play something that they already know the ending to? In an Anne Frank game, you can only achieve BAD END without the game feeling like a copout. How do you implement multiplayer without making one side the Nazis? OR is the multiplayer mode a race against the clock and whomever sells information first about the other player wins? I’m feeling dirty just trying to design this game in my head.

I liked it better when games set in WWII gave you a gun and told you to blast anything wearing Hugo Boss. I think I’ll boot up DOSBox and play some Wolfenstein 3D to wash off the moral ambiguity.

I’ve been a big fan of Josh Ritter since I first heard “Lillian, Egypt” on The Hype Machine years and years ago. He represents something of a confluence of genres–bluegrass, folk, rock–that has steadily gained in popularity until it finally won a bunch of Grammies this year, although Ritter himself has not. Given Ritter’s complicated and hyperliterate songwriting (the man is also a novelist on the side) and my own predilections for such things, I guess it should come as no surprise that he’s something of a darling over on NPR, where his new (and seventh) album The Beast In Its Tracks is playing on First Listen. I’ve given it six listens since it was posted on Sunday. I’ve been listening to it as I write this post.ritter2

I’ve never been divorced, or even married for that matter, so the album, which is written in response to Ritter’s own divorce from musician/sound engineer Dawn Landes, is full of subject matter that is probably a little beyond me. It’s in a vein to his previous album, So The World Runs Away, and like that one it is more ethereal and less aggressive than Animal Years or The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter. My highlights from this new one are “A Certain Light” and “New Lover,” the latter of which I think offers a syncretism of the ballads of So The World and the bounce found in earlier songs like “Hello Starling,” and “To the Dogs or Whoever.” It’s that same syncretism, which I think pervades the album, which give it less of the luster (it doesn’t quite connect in the song “Bonfire,” for instance, which feels both too fast and too insubstantial) found in either So The World or Animal Years/The Historical Conquests. Which is to say that I like it, but wasn’t in love with it instantly in the same way I was with “Lillian, Egypt” and the rest of Animal Years. Which also isn’t to say that I won’t instantly buy it when it drops on March 5th (because I now have money to occasionally buy music created by my favorite musicians).

But maybe I shouldn’t. Perhaps I am being too hasty my support of the music of an artist I enjoy. Let me stop and consider what could be Josh Ritter’s rueful place in history. According to NPR Disqus commenter “Yogurt Head” (who notes he, supposing he is a he, is a professional musician), NPR would be better served ditching such producers of popular music. Indeed, Mr. Head goes on to offer this bit of profound wisdom:

 Just think about how music has devolved over the centuries, and how our cultural decline has been a direct result.

Do think on it. I mean, if we go back a century ago, to 1913, you could note that music was a lot less accessible to many people, as the first radio station in the United States would begin broadcasting in 1916, and the first radio station in the world had only begun broadcasting four years earlier. So most people only experienced whatever music existed within their own ethnic sphere unless they were some place foreign…like Louisiana. So, naturally, there wasn’t as much contribution to culture by people who were, you know…poorer. Which, according to Mr. Head, was better. With less riff-raff, contributing to music and such, “culture” was better and not in decline. And certainly, while there were fewer instruments in the past, meaning fewer different sounds that could be generated, music has devolved. Before, we used to just have orchestral music and early folk. Now we have stuff like jazz-infused post-punk revival music and other simple garbage like that.

So maybe on March 5th you shouldn’t bother buying Josh Ritter’s new album The Beast In Its Tracks. That would be contributing to the horrific cultural decline caused by the musical decline as epitomized by talented singer-songwriters like Ritter.

Because this is the fate the awaits a world with Josh Ritter in it.

Because this is the fate that awaits a world with Josh Ritter in it.

For the rest of the week, NPR will be streaming The Beast In Its Tracks over at First Listen.

*If I were Chicky there’d be some number of Hall and Oates here, but I don’t really like ratings and we don’t have much in the way of an established editorial policy regarding reviews, so if you desperately need a number to go with this review, um…312. You’re welcome.

I don’t understand this video. I don’t think Gary Busey understands it either. I don’t think he understands how the internet works. But golly darnit, watch him try!

Is Gary Busey the video version of Wikipedia?
Do you also wish Busey would narrate your favorite childhood book?
Are you grateful Busey isn’t your psychiatrist?

In his honor I have written a haiku for Mr. Busey. I hope he enjoys it.

 

Gary Busey ha!

You sure say some crazy things.

Drugs are bad, Mkay?

//BoingBoing

Arianna Hufflepuff informed me that a young woman (and by young woman, I mean infant of ten years old) recently won a science fair prize for her project entitled “Drug Sniffing Dogs” for which her abstract was: ”

The purpose for this scientific investigation was to find which dog would find the cocaine fastest using it’s sense of smell.”

Kind of a shitty abstract, kid.
Whatever, I couldn’t science my way out of a paper bag. I’m just jealous that she has such a ready supply of blow on hand, amiright?
drug_dog

It turns out, young Floridian Emma Bartelt has a Miami Detective for a father, so he is knee-deep in that shit. He did all of the handling of the drug, but you KNOW the teachers at the science fair were all bugging Emma, like, “lemme holla at an 8-ball, yo, or else I’ll fail you in Geography.”

paper24n-1-web
The Face of a Drug Pusher and Local Science Fair Winner

Five-hundred pages of torturous inner dialogue from a needy heroine?
Treacly, cliched prose and poor sentence structure?
Forty million copies sold world-wide? Mostly bought by sexually-frustrated middle-aged women?

IS this “Twilight?”

No. But E.L. James’ erotic novel “50 Shades of Grey” DID start out as “Twilight” fan-fiction.

I am just one ball of sexual, tense, need. He stares down at me for a moment, measuring my need, then he grabs me suddenly and flips me over. It takes me by surprise, and because my hands are tied, I have to support myself on my elbows. He pushes both my knees up the bed so my behind is in the air, and he slaps me hard. Before I can react, he plunges inside me. I cry out – from the slap and from his sudden assault, and I come instantly again and again, falling apart beneath him as he continues to slam deliciously into me. He doesn’t stop. I’m spent. I can’t take this… and he pounds on and on and on… then I’m building again… surely not… no… “Come on, Anastasia, again,” he growls through clenched teeth, and unbelievably, my body responds, convulsing around him as I climax anew, calling out his name. I shatter again into tiny fragments, and Christian stills, finally letting go, silently finding his release. He collapses on top of me, breathing hard. “How nice was that?” he asks through his gritted teeth. Oh my.

I wonder if the heroine ever takes a break from being “deliciously slammed” to think about the effect that her sexual endeavors are having on her readers. The open consumption and discussion of this graphicly sexual novel is being hailed by many smart people as a feminist success.

Right, because BDSM (especially in this case where the female is the submissive) is all about equality and fairness between the sexes.


You’d never guess that this man is actually a staunch feminist.

Hipster Jew Impresario Chicky sent me this link to the “50 Shades of Grey” smut-generator. The site takes a plethora of filthy, outlandish, often animal-related, sometimes scatological, erotic-ish words and strings them together with this bi-line:

Fledgling authors! Spice up your otherwise lacklustre novel with graphic sex scenes guaranteed to get your readers hot under the collar, and slightly sick in their mouths. If you end up winning a big literary award, we’ll split the prize money 50/50, yeah? Wire transfer is fine.

Here are a few examples (brace yourself, prudes)

“The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer’s radio.

“Wetter than an otter’s pocket”

“He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I’d had the painters in for the best part of a week.”

“…With my sugared almond now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my balloon knot.”

I really just can’t go on.

Zach Galifianakis and Will Ferrell read it as it should be read.

I have uncovered a nefarious plot.

Sol Republic, purveyor of exorbitantly priced headphones, has released a pair of headphones. For cats.


X Meowingtons

Readers, I obviously don’t need to spell out who Sol Republic is pandering to. (It’s us.)
But seriously, we need to think about the innocent young pussycats who are going to be affected by the slovenly hipness of their respective owners.
Other than declaring their own petty consumerism, they are also RUINING THE HEARING OF THEIR CATS OMG.

And I will not stand for it.

For more information on the signs and symptoms of cat deafness visit http://cats.about.com/cs/healthissues/p/hearingloss.html

Look at this shit.

 

I can’t even begin to process how awesome listening to this is. It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing ever. Imagine the concept: NMH mashed up with hip hop. It would never work, right? Wrong. It works so well that it’s almost scary. If you don’t believe me, check out the Bandcamp. Who would waste their time making this kind of thing? That question is irrelevant when the product is so good.

Miami, 1981 is the new summer jam. As the world’s biggest hipster Kanye would say, this shit is fucking ridiculous.

Oh HuffPo, how I love thee. Recently there has been a flesh-eating “fad” sweeping the nation.

Looks kind of sexy.

21-year-old Morgan State University student Alexander Kinyua, openly admitted to not only murdering his roommate Kujoe Bonsafo Agyei-Kodie, but also to eating parts of his brain and his entire heart. Agyei-Kodie was reported missing last Friday, and the remaining parts of him were found behind a dumpster in Joppatowne, MD. Kinyua’s dad walked in on him rinsing out a metal basin wherein body parts had recently been stowed.

I would like to first make the case that Kinyua was probably suffering a lot of mental stress from school and I mean who hasn’t wanted to tear out and eat the heart of one of their obnoxious roommates once in a while?

However, it seems like this guy was a loose canon:

It’s yet unclear what Kinyua’s motive may have been, but he was charged with first-degree murder on Wednesday. In another incident on May 20, he was charged with first-degree assault when he allegedly beat a fellow student randomly with a baseball bat and then fled into the woods.

This story would seem way nuttier if the guy on the left, Rudy Eugene, hadn’t recently eaten the face off of the homeless man on the right, Ronald Poppo.


MMMMM love me some homeless face.


Is this real life? Who knows, really.

NOW. I don’t know if either of these lads were avid gamers or had recently been engaging with TV shows like AMC’s “Walking Dead” or something awesome silly like that, but c’mon guys, learn where to draw the line.

Gawker’s story on the subject entitled “Grab Your Broomstick: The Zombie Apocalypse May Actually Be Upon Us” has been read more than 383,000 times since it was posted Tuesday. It has more than 186,000 likes on Facebook. And we just made it to 3,000 (YAY).

One more intriguing Zombie-type story recently reported on was the very strange case of Wayne Carter in North Jersey (explains a lot, doesn’t it) who allegedly cut out parts of his skin and intestines and hurled them at police officers who were attempting to calm the obvious lunatic.
The ultimate “fuck the police” move.

I’ll leave you with this jewel:

If there’s one thing I can’t stand more than women driving, or women doing comedy, it’s women learning.

Why do we need to learn how to read? Books are dumb. What’s the point in doing a math equation when our brains are too tiny to comprehend the numbers anyway? The only valuable thing a woman has to offer is that thing between her legs. And yes, I mean her Hello Kitty underwear.

Thank G-d I’m not the only who thinks this way. Recently, in Afghanistan, some brave soldier fought hard for the cause they believed in.

Some may say poisoning a bunch of children is wrong, but sometimes drastic times call for drastic measures.

This is what education leads to.

We can’t let our children turn into Brittany. I suggest that we take it upon ourselves to follow in the footsteps of these valiant Afghan souls. Let’s poison some drinking water!  I refuse to allow any girl to have safe drinking water in this country until education is exclusively for men, as it should be.