Sunday, June 15, 2014

Happy (Sins of the) Fathers Day!

By Bill S

It's Father's Day, when our thoughts turn to dear old Dad. And if they don't, well maybe your dad was like one of these:

WORST TV DADS

DAN SCOTT  (Paul Johansson, who fans of Soapdish  might remember) on One Tree Hill. Fathered sons with two different women, raising one but abandoning the other, and then pitted the boys against each other. And that was just the beginning for one of TV's best prime-time Soap Bad Dads since J.R. Ewing. He also killed his brother, who was like a surrogate father to the kid he abandoned.

CORBETT STACKHOUSE (Jeffrey Nicholas Brown) on True Blood. In an effort to to prevent his daughter Sookie from being trapped in an arranged marriage to a 5,000  old vampire faerie (don't ask), Corbett took a drastic measure: attempting to kill Sookie. Well...that's...one way, I suppose.

WORST MOVIE DADS

EDWARD MURDSTONE (Basil Rathbone) in David Copperfield (1935). In what is arguably the best adaptation of the Dickens novel, Rathbone gives a chilling portrait of David's abusive stepfather. It's all the more impressive when you learn Rathbone was a decent chap who didn't enjoy being mean to little Freddie Bartholomew. (Who the hell would? I mean, it's like wanting to take a sledgehammer to a basket of puppies.)

JAMES TYRONE (Ralph Richardson) in Long Day's Journey Into Night (1962). Poor Jimmy and Edmund -- they really got screwed over in the parents department. Their mom's a junkie (as previously noted last month), and their dad is such a tightwad that he looks for the cheapest available healthcare facility when Edmund develops TB, since after all, if the kid's dying anyway, why go overboard?

OLIVER BARRETT III (Ray Milland) in Love Story (1970). I can't do better than MAD magazine's assessment of the character in their spoof "Lover's Story":
"He's a old-fashioned. You know--a throwback to the '40's" 
"You mean a little like Cary Grant?"
"No, I mean a lot like Adolph Hitler."

BYRON MAYO (Robert Loggia) in An Officer & A Gentleman (1982) Usually when you think of father-son activities, they involve playing ball or fishing, or building something together. Not getting drunk off your ass and taking him with you to bang hookers. Unless what you're trying to build with him is resentment and lifelong issues with women.

TRAVERS GOFF (Colin Farrell) in Saving Mr. Banks (2013). The nicest dad on this list, like Jimmy Nolan in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, his heart was in the right place, but he was a drunken terminal fuck-up. Then again, his daughter grew up to be best-selling author P.L. Travers, so maybe if he hadn't screwed up, we'd have never had Mary Poppins.

I could probably have come up with a longer list but I had to work both Saturday and today, which sapped up the time and energy I usually have to do these. Hopefully some of you will be able to offer prime suggestions for next year's list.

Until then, the toads are eating dinner, so it's time to go to bed.

(Previous entries in this series here, here, and here.)

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Sears Family Portrait Studio Edition

RILEY:  This is my interpretation of Rodin's The Thinker, except horizontal, because you people spend way too much of your time vertical, and who the hell does their best thinking while sitting up? Okay, maybe on the toilet, but the rest of the time you're just showboating. "Ooh, look at me -- I evolved to walk erect, so everything's got to be sooo perpendicular now!"  Pah!  I'll be honest...You were a lot less pretentious and annoying when your ancestors were being chased across the savannah by my ancestors.

MOONDOGGIE:  Um, hi. This is my interpretation of Rodan's The Thinker, because I imagine with his tiny dinosaur brain, he doesn't waste a lot of time overthinking things, and just sticks to a reasonable napping schedule -- except when he's hanging with Godzilla -- and probably hides his face under his wing like a budgie.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

WTF, WTH?


Pundit, oatmeal spokesmodel, and aspiring Beachmaster Warner Todd Huston has uncovered a crime wave perpetrated by gangs of armed scarecrows, and by "uncovered," I mean, "encouraged."
Hey, Criminals, Didja Know Sonic, Chipotle, & Chilli’s Won’t Allow Guns? So, Open Season, Right? 
It’s all the rage, all of a sudden, for national restaurant chains to start posting little, powerless stickers on their doors in the attempt to tell law-abiding, legal gun owners that their business is not welcome there. 
No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service? That's a powerful sticker, wielding the mailed, if invisible fist of the Market to quash any and all pathetic efforts by you, the lowly consumer, to eat your Loaded Potato Skins and Bottomless Tostada Chips™ in flip flops and a belly shirt. But similarly stern adhesives are impotent -- no matter how firm their phrasing -- when faced with men who, though often impotent themselves, are equally firm in asserting their Second Amendment right to accessorize their Gadsen Flag tanktop and tactical cargo shorts with an HK416.
But it is also a new rage for criminals to repeatedly rob those same stores because they now know that no one inside will be armed. Imagine that.
No, seriously...imagine that...because it doesn't actually seem to be happening, so Warner would appreciate it if you'd close your eyes real tight and picture a horde of wilding strawmen.  Have you got it?  Can you see it in your mind?  Great! Now just insert that imaginary scenario into all the spots in Warner's column where an actual journalist (you'll have to imagine one of those too) would supply examples and citations. This is a refinement of Jonah Goldberg's technique of asking his potential audience to look up facts that he'll later turn into misinformation to support his pre-conceived bullshit conclusions. But instead, Warner asks us (well, me -- I don't mean to imply that you'd ever lower yourself to become one of his readers) to hallucinate our own fake facts and sprinkle them throughout his column in a sort of Brown Acid edition of Mad-Libs.
Lately several restaurants have made news by claiming to have banned guns inside their stories. Buffalo Wild Wings, Chipotle, Sonic, Chilli’s and Starbucks are all claiming they have banned legal gun owners form doing business with them.
But are they claiming to have banned guns?? I can't accept any assertion as fact until it's been repeated at least three times in a single paragraph, and even then I often wait to see if it successfully summons Candyman.  But since we're on the subject, Warner, I haven't heard of the enumerated businesses "claiming to have banned guns." Rather, they just seemed to have asked certain arms-bearing assholes to stop parading around the salad bar with an AR-15 -- something the NRA has also asked them to stop doing.
Take the Sonic fast food chain, for instance. This month the Sonic corporate heads got their tiny little minds together and announced that all Sonic customers will henceforth be unarmed. Consequently, the very day the company made this grand announcement, one of its locations was robbed. 
The attack happened in Topeka, Kansas, only a few hours after Sonic made its cute little announcement that firearms were banned within and around their restaurants.
I had no idea your average street punk was such an avid consumer of corporate press releases.  But you can see why they were so excited, knowing they'd be the only ones in the place with a weapon; in fact, if you click through to Warren's linked story, you'll find that "No weapons were displayed during a robbery of a carhop at a central Topeka Sonic drive-in reported Friday afternoon, a police official said" -- that's how confident those stickers made them! So...without the threat of a gun-toting citizenry, even armed robbers don't feel the need to carry weapons, proving that the best way to stop a bad guy without a gun is a good guy with a SuperSONIC® Bacon Double Cheeseburger who also left his gun at home.
This isn’t the only story. The Jack In The Box restaurant chain also announced a gun ban in its stores. As a result, three separate Jack outlets, one in Tennessee and two different locations in Houston, Texas, were robbed as soon as the company banned guns.
Correlation isn't causation, especially when you haven't even proved correlation.  Google "Jack in the box robbery" and quite a few Pre-Powerless Sticker stories pop up. From December 28, 2009:  "Bakersfield police said a white man with a facial tattoo [ahhhh, Bakersfield. Never change] robbed the Jack-In-The-Box on the corner of Stockdale Highway and California Avenue around 8:30 a.m. Monday. Police said he pulled a gun and demanded cash."

Even more recently, on March 20 (still before the ban), SFGateBlog reported, "Man wearing trash bag as a disguise aggressively robs Salinas Jack-in-the-Box at gunpoint," (if given my choice, I'd prefer to be passively robbed -- you know, the way the credit card companies do -- but would probably find it more irritating to be passively-aggressively robbed).  Meanwhile, Sonics were getting robbed in the halcyon, ante-anti-firearms days of 2012 ("East Pearland Sonic reportedly robbed, two teenage suspects caught after high-speed chase") -- even in Texas.  Because they're fast food joints, which have always been tempting targets for stick-up men, because they handle a lot of cash, and unlike banks, gas stations, and liquor stores, they can't put the counter help behind bulletproof glass. Warner's claim that criminals only tumbled to this notion after various businesses asked their stupider, more belligerent customers to stop toting semi-automatic rifles on the premises seems -- and really, it pains me to say this to an author with such distinguished lip bristles -- almost intellectually dishonest.
I noted a week ago that holders of concealed carry licenses should simply ignore these little anti-gun signs. They have no force of law and if your gun is concealed there is no reason to go around telling restaurant managers you’re armed. That is, after all, why we call it a concealed carry permit!
That would be a great, if obnoxious, point, Warner, except it's totally beside the point. Customers -- at least the ones who are at peace with their penis length -- are complaining about the yahoos swaggering around the Roy Rogers Fixin's Bar strapped with boomsticks. If someone has a concealed weapon, nobody knows, nobody cares, nobody complains. However, the whole point of the longarm display by Open Carry Texas was a Pavlovian exercise to "To condition Texans to feel safe around law-abiding citizens that choose to carry [firearms]," and thereby grease the way for the open carry of handguns. People licensed to carry concealed weapons aren't really a part of that debate (and if I know anything about human nature, they probably don't support open carry, because it diminishes the value of their special status).
Of course, one should follow whatever state laws are extant. If the state law prohibits carrying a firearm at a school or courthouse or what have you, then follow the law. But these restaurants have no right to tell you not to carry in their shops.
Yeah! Schools and courthouses might employ armed guards who aren't impressed by your banana clip, but you're perfectly within your rights to intimidate the assistant night shift manager at Friendly's.
If the Constitution prevents stores from saying they won’t serve a gay person, then there is no reason they should be allowed to refuse a legal gun owner, either.
And as soon as Open Carry Texas starts urging its members to give gay men piggyback rides around Buffalo Wild Wings, I'll...well, I still won't concede the validity of Warner's argument, but it would totally make my day.
After all, if I am in a store that is getting robbed and the store insisted that customers go unarmed, can’t I sue the store for putting me in danger? And can a mere store summarily remove my Constitutional, Second Amendment rights because they are operated by liberal weenies? And… well, there are a lot of questions that need to be answered, here, aren’t there?
Nope. Not even in a late night dorm room bull session with free beer refills and a Bottomless Bong.  Even a fan of question-begging would first have to prove that customers in a gun-free establishment were less safe than they'd be if Warner Todd Huston were free to panic because he thought he saw a black person, fumble a 9 mil from his fannypack, and start blazing away in the general direction of the cash register.
Certainly gun owners can simply refuse to give their money to companies like Chipotle.
Well no, not since you guys proved that it was immoral, illegal, (but not fattening) for gay people and their allies to boycott Chik-Fil-A.
 But, why should they? Why should they self-segregate and allow liberals to tell them where they are “allowed” to eat lunch and where they aren’t?
Job creators should be free to run their businesses however they choose, except where it interferes with Warner's right to practice his steely, Chuck Norris stare while refilling his cup at the soda dispenser.
 Don’t the same liberals say that Christian bakeries should be forced to bake cakes for gay weddings because gays should be allowed to shop anywhere they want without discrimination? Why should gun owners be different?
Well if you love your gun so much, why don't you marry it?  I'll go halfsies on the cake.
On an ending note, I was on Granite Grok radio this weekend talking about this very issue and one of the hosts said something that I thought hilarious. 
He said that gun owners should call up one of these restaurants and order a big order of food for pickup. Then, upon getting to the restaurant, stop outside the door, call for the manager and say something such as, “Gee I didn’t know this was an anti-gun establishment. I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel my order as I can’t come inside to pick it up. Bye now.”
The Second Amendment is the cornerstone of liberty (once you take out the Militia Clause and join the Amendment already in progress), and in its defense, we can pledge our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor, or we can just pull some pranks. Oh sure, it's hard to refresh the tree of liberty with the blood of tyrants when you've got the giggles, but it's worth it just to see the look on the faces of those Sandy Hook parents after you send them a dozen pizzas.
Of course I am not advocating that gun owners do this (wink, wink), but I wonder how much thrown away food they’ll put up with before they change their policy!
Hey, I think Warner Todd Huston just winked at me! But instead of sending little starbursts through the screen and ricocheting around the living room, all that's flying around at the moment is this projectile vomit.  Kind of a ripoff.

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Happy Birthday, Suezboo!

I'm sitting on a plane, hoping I'd have room, once we took off, to break out the laptop and do this properly.  Alas, the seats and tray tables are slightly more petite than dollhouse furniture, and the aircraft is so round, so firm, so fully packed, that it feels a bit like sharing an MRI tube with two other people.  So let me see if I can slip this in before they make me turn off my phone...

Today is the birthday of longtime Crapper and our ambassador from the Southern Hemisphere, Suezboo!  Ordinarily I would have dug up a dashing Sexy Birthday Lizard, but I hope under the circumstances Suez will pardon me for defaulting to the only picture I have on my phone that shows both Riley and Moondoggie doing their famous Wedding Cake O' Cats routine:
Please join me in wishing Suezboo a very happy natal anniversary!  SBL Pending!

Friday, May 30, 2014

We Get Stacks and Stacks of Letters

I get a lot of email, most of it unsolicited testimonials for products which don't exist (penis enlargement pills) or which I don't need (uh...penis enlargement pills!).  Some of it comes in the form of marketing for commonplace products, such as fad diets, undermined by delightful misspellings ("Eat This...And Never Die Again!", while others are merely poorly targeted sales appeals for otherwise legitimate products, such as the persistent (and vaguely threatening) reminders I've received lately that a person in my position really ought to take out a reasonable amount of nautical collision insurance.  But rarely do my unknown correspondents ask me about myself; and since posing questions is the mark of a good conversationalist, I thought I should single out the few who really took the time to learn what makes me, Scott Clevenger, tick.

Unfortunately, the question I received today is not one of those casual, light-hearted queries you could imagine Deborah Kerr asking during the "Getting to Know You" number from The King and I . It is, in fact, a serious question, and its seriousness is underscored by following the question with the word "serious" between parentheses, which I just now realized is an entirely different form of punctuation than underscoring, but dammit, there's some (serious) shit going down, and I can't afford to get bogged down in your Shift Key Characters and your Strunks and your Whites! In fact, we've already wasted enough time, and I still have to get quotes over the phone from at least three reputable marine underwriters, just in case I mow down a waterskiing group of Go-Gos with my cigarette boat, so let's just deal with the big issue, the elephant in the room here:

If you do, then the elephant is superfluous. If you don't, then the elephant will unquestionably help you to reach your quota, but then you'll be faced with another question: to shovel its manure, or give up show business.
Hello Scott,
Please excuse the somewhat personal nature of this email, 
Hello, Poopologist Pete! (Since we're being so chummy and personal here, I figured you wouldn't mind if I dubbed you with a pet name. Feel free to call me No-Shit Scott.)
but the information we are about to share below is extremely important for both you and your digestive health.
I gotta admit, your phrasing concerns me, Pete. If there's anything I've learned from Tea Party pols and wingnut pundits, it's that "women's reproductive health" doesn't mean what it says, but is actually a synonym for abortion, therefore I worry that the same is true of "digestive health," and in this scenario the feces is the fetus, so my rights don't matter because your only concern is that I bring every turd to term.
You may not think that you're constipated, but in reality, it is VERY likely that you ARE.
This isn't argument, it's contradiction! Nevertheless, it'll probably make a better than average episode of Crossfire. "On the right! An email scam! On the left! Some blogger's blocked-up colon!"
You see, constipation is not simply "not being able to go", or only eliminating once a week...that's severe constipation. The truth is, a healthy digestive system should be eliminating after every meal.
In fact, if you're waiting until after the meal to release the bounty of your bowels, you're toying with death, so play it safe and shit yourself during the dessert course!
Are you moving your bowels several times a day, once for every meal you eat? 
Well, I certainly move myself several times a day (usually to the kitchen or the living room sofa), and whither I go, goest my bowels, because -- and forgive me for boasting -- I have a very Story of Ruth-style relationship with my lower G.I. tract.
If not, you are suffering from constipation, which will cause a build up of toxins and undigested, rotten, putrid food in your digestive system.
Unfortunately, thanks to a reduction of USDA food inspections going back to the Reagan Administration, that's pretty much the way it goes in.
This can make it much harder for you to lose fat while also wreaking havoc on your digestive system and overall health...really bad stuff. 
But is bad stuff better or worse than (serious stuff)? Maybe (serious stuff) is not as bad because it's only a parenthetical, or perhaps the punctuation marks are like the French horns in Peter and the Wolf, only in this case the parentheses represent your crap-choked colon?
Just imagine all that rotted, disgusting food sitting there in your digestive system...yuck!
You don't get a lot of second dates, do you?
Fortunately, this can be corrected rather quickly, with a few simple steps:

CLICK HERE==> 4 tips for healthy digestion and regular bowel movements
I didn't actually click the link, because I think I've got the gist: brush your teeth twice a day, but defecate after every meal. And don't just relieve yourself, really let go, punch that toilet water like a depth charge, hose down the stall walls like your anus was a Wagner Power Painter. And when you're finished, don't light a match, because lingering bathroom odors keep the Grim Reaper away.

I realize this topic is a little outside our normal bailiwick, but I thought it was an important PSA.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

I Liked the Baptists Better When They Were Making "Plan 9"

Bill S. was kind (?) enough to send me the following trailer for a new blockbuster film from American Family Studios, Accidental Activist. As you might have guessed, AmFamStu is a subsidiary of Donald Wildmon's non-profit hate group, the American Family Association (where our old friend Bryan Fischer is "Director of Issues Analysis," which doesn't really make sense as a job description, until you remember that Tobias Funke was "an analyst and a therapist -- the world's first analrapist," so Bryan's title probably just means he's the nation's foremost authority on anal electrolysis. Keep Crack Canyon SMOOTH, boys and girls!)

Anyway...Accidental Activist starts with a young Maggie Gallagher asking our hero, Ted, if he'd like to sign a petition. He instantly snaps, "Yes!" before thinking to ask what it's for, I guess because he just really likes to sign his name. Maybe his best subject in school was Cursive, and he's like one of those former high school football heroes who are always hanging out on the sidelines, trying to relive their glory days.  But the petition is to "protect traditional marriage!" (please enjoy the actress's brutally chirpy line reading, which lets us know she has only love in her heart -- if a bit of hate in her petition) and before you know it, Ted is "Crucified For His Beliefs," just like our Lord and Savior, although unlike Jesus, Ted kind of tries to weasel out of it.

The Gays, however, are having none of that.  Soon, Ted is reduced to weepy despair, complaining that just because he wants to deprive certain American citizens of their civil rights, people think he's a bigot, and suddenly homosexual baristas and femmy newscasters are coming out of the woodwork to torture him with stern talkings-to.  "I shouldn't have signed that petition," he cries to his wife, who doesn't get a single line in the trailer. "It's going to cost us everything!"

Fortunately, a Black preacher shows up to organize an American Spring-style rally for Ted, telling him that he is Heaven's chosen warrior against the gays.  "If you believe that God oversees our lives," he intones, "You can't look at this like a fluke." Particularly not a Sandra Fluke.  And then he zings Ted (and through Ted, us, the audience) with a potent, yet poetic political metaphor: "Like the wind blew you to the left...when it should've blown to the right."

As Coming Attractions go, this one is more than usually orgasmic, and I really wanted to give it the BLTBM treatment. Unfortunately, I'd have to buy the DVD, so forget that. But I urge you to watch the trailer below. It's 60 seconds of your life you'll never get back, but never regret.


Accidental Activist Trailer from American Family Studios on Vimeo.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Farewell, Newman

I heard some unhappy news today, and since I've been told (by a Norwegian!) not to repress my feelings so much, I wanted to share it with you guys.

Long-time Friend O' the Blog Emily, who is a bit like Gamera, in that she is "the friend to all children," and by "children," I mean "cats," wrote to tell me that the senior member of her menagerie, 19 year old tabby Newman, passed away.  She included a few photos, knowing I'm a sucker for that kind of thing, and was kind enough to let me share them:
Here is Newman as a kitten. To put the time in perspective, about the time I adopted him, I went to a Hootie and the Blowfish first-run concert non-ironically.
Look. We all regret the 90s.
True. But no one regrets a face like that:
Newman was a perfect little gentleman who liked eating grass and getting stuck on roofs. He was born in San Francisco’s Marina district, but didn’t let his privilege keep him from yelling when the toilet seat lid was down or the bathroom door was shut. Mr. Newman left us peacefully with his head in my hand, just like he slept every night. He is survived by his two associates (pictured below) Richmond and Burnaby, who now refuse to sleep in the cat bed they used to steal from him.
Rest in peace, Newman.

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