I have come to hate sites where the average Joe is in charge of everything. Youtube is the greatest offender of this. What once was a humble site where one could upload videos of their child's first steps, or a clip of their band playing, has transformed into a bordello full of whores - attention whores.
The world of "vlogging," or "video blogging" has gotten so out of hand that anyone can become a celebrity by doing virtually nothing except sitting in front of a computer and hitting the 'record' button on their digital cameras. These people aren't talented, aren't skilled, and for the most part, aren't educated and yet, they get hundreds of thousands of views, some even hitting a million (or more). It's getting so ridiculous that when I am searching for a video of Chris Hansen busting a pedophile on Dateline, I come up with a video of Joe Nobody talking about his shower routine. And I don't fucking care, man. I just want to see some creepy 40-year old getting taken down by the police.
But alas, this isn't a blog to complain. It is supposed to be funny, and relevant. So here are some of the "best" vlogs I have come across. Keep in mind I celebrate opposite day, and "best" in no way, shape, or form actually means "good."
Someone walked in on you in the bathroom? Hilarious! Wait... no, not really. It's just kind of stupid. Watch as this 'Lucy in LA' chick gets over-excited and giggly about meeting the director in the shitter. You got a call back? Congratulations. Perhaps you will get the hell off this site and onto a soap opera nobody but old retirees dare watch.
1. Who the fuck is Jonas?
2. What's with the handheld camerawork?
3. Why are there so many cuts? It's like this video is entirely composed of five second clips.
4. What the hell is "the order"?
5. Kudos to the guy picking his Aunt's lock. Not too often you'll come across a good lock-picking video.
I reckon this kid to be an actor posing as a video blogger, but I can't be entirely sure. Either way, I think he's autistic, which means under normal circumstances I wouldn't make fun of someone like him, but again, the actor quandary. I am 17 seconds into the clip and I already want to throw up all over myself. Who the hell does this kid think he is with those sunglasses? And the suit jacket? A little passe there, bud. Hey wait, is this guy Eli Manning? Only in a more retarded sense? Yeah, that's got to be it. Note his inherent lack of teeth and the way he completely bugs out at the end. It's actually pretty amusing.
Look at this ugly little bitch. She's got a true face for radio.
Check out this Silent Bob-looking motherfucker. His screen name is even "blunty3000," as if he is some sort of enhanced future upgrade over the Kevin Smith we all know and seldom love. But get this... he's AUSTRALIAN! Crikey! Watch this fool bitch about how these "Tim Tams" come in packs of 11 - A PRIME NUMBAH! Gee golly, I've had enough.
So, thanks a billion, Youtube. You have created a lifetime's worth of contempt inside of me.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Thou shalt not steal?
I love historical humor, probably more than any other type out there, in fact. Nothing brightens my day more than seeing cartoons depicting Adolf Hitler angstily fending off the Jews or Napoleon being stomped on by an elephant. It's just the kind of goof-ball stuff I enjoy.
I suppose a lot of it has to do with my ex-girlfriend, whose affinity for political and historical humor, alike, has rubbed off on me to a certain degree. OK, to a fuller extent than that, even. Every time I bowl, I cannot resist typing in "Anne Frank" or "Jon Benet Ramsey" as my moniker. Whenever I pass the "Adolf Funeral Home" in my hometown, I get all giddy inside. And half the characters I've created on my Nintendo Wii reflect how fun this type of stuff can be.
Tonight, I was reading the latest Penthouse magazine. I know, I know, smut magazines are bad and Larry Flynt is the devil, but I was bored and there was nothing else but Mission: Impossible reruns on the tube. Whatever my reason for picking up the magazine, what I found between the pages was something I couldn't believe.
I flipped to the comics section and noticed a startling similarity between what my old girlfriend had drawn, and what some schmuck named Grant Woolard drew. Here, see for yourself:
Ashley's "Massion of the Christ"
Grant's "Christ on a Cartesian Plane"
Gee, there are no similarities there at all. Ashley's was published in 2005. Mr. Woolard's? 2006. I am disgusted. Grant Woolard is the Carlos Mencia of Christ-related comics.
Again...disgusted.
I suppose a lot of it has to do with my ex-girlfriend, whose affinity for political and historical humor, alike, has rubbed off on me to a certain degree. OK, to a fuller extent than that, even. Every time I bowl, I cannot resist typing in "Anne Frank" or "Jon Benet Ramsey" as my moniker. Whenever I pass the "Adolf Funeral Home" in my hometown, I get all giddy inside. And half the characters I've created on my Nintendo Wii reflect how fun this type of stuff can be.
Tonight, I was reading the latest Penthouse magazine. I know, I know, smut magazines are bad and Larry Flynt is the devil, but I was bored and there was nothing else but Mission: Impossible reruns on the tube. Whatever my reason for picking up the magazine, what I found between the pages was something I couldn't believe.
I flipped to the comics section and noticed a startling similarity between what my old girlfriend had drawn, and what some schmuck named Grant Woolard drew. Here, see for yourself:
Ashley's "Massion of the Christ"
Grant's "Christ on a Cartesian Plane"
Gee, there are no similarities there at all. Ashley's was published in 2005. Mr. Woolard's? 2006. I am disgusted. Grant Woolard is the Carlos Mencia of Christ-related comics.
Again...disgusted.
Friday, March 2, 2007
My biggest fears, part I.
There are a lot of things to be afraid of in this ever-changing world of ours. There’s bio-terrorism. That’s pretty frightening. Of course there are the spooky countries that continue to haunt our President in his sleep, like Iran and North Korea. Nevermind Iraq, since we have that situation under control. Global warming and climate change in general are terrifying. The very thought of my children having to live in a world where the summers are four degrees warmer creeps me out. It is a scary time for us, indeed.
But aside from the fact that the Doomsday Clock is minutes from midnight, I am not afraid. Death and disease never gave me the nightmares some of the things below have. Call me crazy, but there are a lot worse things to fear than being nuked by a second-rate, third-world country. And here they are.
Chuck E. Cheese’s
Eating pizza, playing games like skee ball and the “knock out the clown’s teeth,” and diving into the ball pit practically made my childhood. I circled the date of every one of my friend’s birthdays because I knew exactly where we were going. But as soon as we got there, and it was time to sit down and eat, something happened. Something so disturbing in nature that it could only be explained by this video.
Did you watch it? If you did, you have bared witness to exactly why I will never step foot into that damned joint ever again. Giant, animatronic rat; carrying infectious disease. And what about your friends? I believe they go by Munch, and his Make Believe Band? Yeah, screw that. A robotic dog in Western attire playing a banjo is disgusting. Almost as putrid as that giant…purple…thing. I mean, what exactly is it? And what kind of band has a talking bird, a keyboardist, and a pooch on banjo? My dreams will never be the same.
Ventriloquist Dummies
This one I can at least explain. Ever since reading the great R.L. Stine’s “Night of the Living Dummy” entries into his 400-book series Goosebumps, I’ve been afraid of both ventriloquist dummies. For starters, the things are basically just marionettes with the strings plucked and a guy’s hand jammed in their back. And marionettes are super cool. Also, has anyone honestly looked into the face of a dummy such as Howdy Doody? Little red-headed man with a kerchief, a freckled face that would give Lindsay Lohan the jitters, and the checkered shirt. He is iconic, sure, but he is also a creep.
Dummies themselves are the spawn of years of hate, frustration, and depression from the ventriloquists mouthing them. Seriously now, how messed up do the people throwing their voice for these puppets have to be? If these little lap-sitting gentlemen could talk (well, for real that is) they would most likely need to see a psychiatrist.
Sid and Marty Krofft
Damn you both. Sid and Marty Krofft are two fellows who are the bane of my existence. They only live and breath to torture me, in the same vain that Rasputin would never die. The Kroffts made their presence known in the late 60’s, the same 60’s that saw the uprise of hippies, marijuana usage, and Woodstock. People, I guess, were different back then. They appreciated different things. Shows like the Krofft-created H.R. Pufnstuf and the Banana Splits featured giant mascot-like characters with enormous heads and all sorts of whacky clothing. Whenever you go into watching a children’s program asking yourself, “Why is that overweight dog wearing a Kaiser helmet?” you know you’re not going to sleep to well that night.
I have never tried LSD, or any drug for that matter, and perhaps that is why I do not enjoy watching grown men prance around in furry costumes, subtly referencing their use of methamphetamines. Yet some part of me still loves going to baseball and basketball games and giving a high-five to the team’s mascot. That really makes me happy, and I don’t quite understand why. Perhaps it is because of the trampolines some of them jump off, or the motorcycles they sometimes ride on to entertain simple-minded folks like myself. Yeah, that’s it.
There is much more that frightens me, and I am sure I will get back to that somewhere down the road. But to be quite honest with you, I am having a hard time sleeping as it is.
But aside from the fact that the Doomsday Clock is minutes from midnight, I am not afraid. Death and disease never gave me the nightmares some of the things below have. Call me crazy, but there are a lot worse things to fear than being nuked by a second-rate, third-world country. And here they are.
Chuck E. Cheese’s
Eating pizza, playing games like skee ball and the “knock out the clown’s teeth,” and diving into the ball pit practically made my childhood. I circled the date of every one of my friend’s birthdays because I knew exactly where we were going. But as soon as we got there, and it was time to sit down and eat, something happened. Something so disturbing in nature that it could only be explained by this video.
Did you watch it? If you did, you have bared witness to exactly why I will never step foot into that damned joint ever again. Giant, animatronic rat; carrying infectious disease. And what about your friends? I believe they go by Munch, and his Make Believe Band? Yeah, screw that. A robotic dog in Western attire playing a banjo is disgusting. Almost as putrid as that giant…purple…thing. I mean, what exactly is it? And what kind of band has a talking bird, a keyboardist, and a pooch on banjo? My dreams will never be the same.
Ventriloquist Dummies
This one I can at least explain. Ever since reading the great R.L. Stine’s “Night of the Living Dummy” entries into his 400-book series Goosebumps, I’ve been afraid of both ventriloquist dummies. For starters, the things are basically just marionettes with the strings plucked and a guy’s hand jammed in their back. And marionettes are super cool. Also, has anyone honestly looked into the face of a dummy such as Howdy Doody? Little red-headed man with a kerchief, a freckled face that would give Lindsay Lohan the jitters, and the checkered shirt. He is iconic, sure, but he is also a creep.
Dummies themselves are the spawn of years of hate, frustration, and depression from the ventriloquists mouthing them. Seriously now, how messed up do the people throwing their voice for these puppets have to be? If these little lap-sitting gentlemen could talk (well, for real that is) they would most likely need to see a psychiatrist.
Sid and Marty Krofft
Damn you both. Sid and Marty Krofft are two fellows who are the bane of my existence. They only live and breath to torture me, in the same vain that Rasputin would never die. The Kroffts made their presence known in the late 60’s, the same 60’s that saw the uprise of hippies, marijuana usage, and Woodstock. People, I guess, were different back then. They appreciated different things. Shows like the Krofft-created H.R. Pufnstuf and the Banana Splits featured giant mascot-like characters with enormous heads and all sorts of whacky clothing. Whenever you go into watching a children’s program asking yourself, “Why is that overweight dog wearing a Kaiser helmet?” you know you’re not going to sleep to well that night.
I have never tried LSD, or any drug for that matter, and perhaps that is why I do not enjoy watching grown men prance around in furry costumes, subtly referencing their use of methamphetamines. Yet some part of me still loves going to baseball and basketball games and giving a high-five to the team’s mascot. That really makes me happy, and I don’t quite understand why. Perhaps it is because of the trampolines some of them jump off, or the motorcycles they sometimes ride on to entertain simple-minded folks like myself. Yeah, that’s it.
There is much more that frightens me, and I am sure I will get back to that somewhere down the road. But to be quite honest with you, I am having a hard time sleeping as it is.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Picture taking do's and don'ts
Taking photos can be a rewarding, gratifying experience. To many, it’s an art form, a passion, a hobby, or interest. To many others, however, it is a game best played by embarrassing themselves ceaselessly. With social networking sites like Myspace and Facebook allowing users to post as many photos of themselves as humanly possible, it is all becoming a tad bit ludicrous to me. I have both a Myspace and Facebook account and check them daily, but that is as far as I go. Some people spend hours uploading photo after photo of themselves and their nitwitted friends making repetitive faces, and dancing around in repetitive poses. And it’s all becoming a little redundant.
As my journalistic integrity is at an all-time low, and boredom is at an all-time high, I am going to run down some do’s and don’ts of taking photos for these sites. So sit back, read the article, take pictures of yourself reading the article, then e-mail me those pictures, you goons.
DON’T take pictures of you and your group of friends in the “peace and pout” pose. This was brought to my attention recently by a fairly popular Facebook group whose title I cannot repeat as I wsurely will be fired. These photos feature groups of girls (and in some cases guys) flaunting a peace sign with one or both hands, and puffing out their lips like some sort of fish. The fact that nobody can just smile, or in a lesser event, frown, upsets me. You know the phrase “Give peace a chance”? Yeah. Don’t, in this case.
DO make sure your picture count on these sites is lower than your white blood cell count. It’s preposterous to have 500, 600, or even 1,000 pictures of yourself on any website. How many different ways can you take a photograph? Seriously, I would like to know. After the 300th picture of you and your friend grinning like an idiot, the product begins to look the same.
DON’T make a new photo album for every minor moment in your life. If you took some pictures for your 21st birthday and feel that the world needs to see them, by all means go ahead and show us. If you went to a concert and had a great time, I wouldn’t mind checking those out. But stuff like, “Oh boy, I bought a new pair of obnoxiously large sunglasses, now I’ll take 50 pictures of one basic concept: Me wearing my new sunglasses,” it gets a bit out of hand.
DO learn how to properly use your camera. I am sick and tired of looking at blurry, grainy pictures of people because they don’t understand the concept of “portrait mode.” I realize we don’t all have the money for a pricey SLR, the kind the nice folks down here at the Star use, but you have to understand that the concept of a “point-and-shoot” camera is just that: you point it at the subject, and shoot the photograph. It’s a rather reasonable notion that often goes overlooked and underappreciated. Your camera came with an instruction manual, didn’t it? Stop furthering America’s illiteracy rate and read it.
DON’T take your camera to parties. Of all my pet peeves, this one is somewhere between smoking and driving behind that really short, old lady who needs to sit on a couple phonebooks to reach the steering wheel. I am bothered by this for several reasons, the first being; I do not care what you look like when you are trashed. I know of some frat guys that might, but I am particularly uninterested. Second, when certain women have enough to drink, they get kissy. With each other. I guess I am just not a big fan of faux-lesbians. And finally, you are only incriminating yourself. You know you are not of age to drink, so every photo of you doing a keg stand is another round of ammunition for the police or people employing you. And nothing says “Hire me!” like a night of irresponsibility.
DO take pictures of things of relevance. The pictures of the Holmes Student Center and Northern Illinois University sign on Lincoln Highway have been burned into my memory because everyone photographs them, at least once. Yes, the Student Center looks like a phallus, and I’m sure we’re all have a big laugh about that, but after seeing it so many times, it loses any meaning it ever had. The university as well as the city of DeKalb are filled with great photo ideas. Let’s try some originality, for once.
As my journalistic integrity is at an all-time low, and boredom is at an all-time high, I am going to run down some do’s and don’ts of taking photos for these sites. So sit back, read the article, take pictures of yourself reading the article, then e-mail me those pictures, you goons.
DON’T take pictures of you and your group of friends in the “peace and pout” pose. This was brought to my attention recently by a fairly popular Facebook group whose title I cannot repeat as I wsurely will be fired. These photos feature groups of girls (and in some cases guys) flaunting a peace sign with one or both hands, and puffing out their lips like some sort of fish. The fact that nobody can just smile, or in a lesser event, frown, upsets me. You know the phrase “Give peace a chance”? Yeah. Don’t, in this case.
DO make sure your picture count on these sites is lower than your white blood cell count. It’s preposterous to have 500, 600, or even 1,000 pictures of yourself on any website. How many different ways can you take a photograph? Seriously, I would like to know. After the 300th picture of you and your friend grinning like an idiot, the product begins to look the same.
DON’T make a new photo album for every minor moment in your life. If you took some pictures for your 21st birthday and feel that the world needs to see them, by all means go ahead and show us. If you went to a concert and had a great time, I wouldn’t mind checking those out. But stuff like, “Oh boy, I bought a new pair of obnoxiously large sunglasses, now I’ll take 50 pictures of one basic concept: Me wearing my new sunglasses,” it gets a bit out of hand.
DO learn how to properly use your camera. I am sick and tired of looking at blurry, grainy pictures of people because they don’t understand the concept of “portrait mode.” I realize we don’t all have the money for a pricey SLR, the kind the nice folks down here at the Star use, but you have to understand that the concept of a “point-and-shoot” camera is just that: you point it at the subject, and shoot the photograph. It’s a rather reasonable notion that often goes overlooked and underappreciated. Your camera came with an instruction manual, didn’t it? Stop furthering America’s illiteracy rate and read it.
DON’T take your camera to parties. Of all my pet peeves, this one is somewhere between smoking and driving behind that really short, old lady who needs to sit on a couple phonebooks to reach the steering wheel. I am bothered by this for several reasons, the first being; I do not care what you look like when you are trashed. I know of some frat guys that might, but I am particularly uninterested. Second, when certain women have enough to drink, they get kissy. With each other. I guess I am just not a big fan of faux-lesbians. And finally, you are only incriminating yourself. You know you are not of age to drink, so every photo of you doing a keg stand is another round of ammunition for the police or people employing you. And nothing says “Hire me!” like a night of irresponsibility.
DO take pictures of things of relevance. The pictures of the Holmes Student Center and Northern Illinois University sign on Lincoln Highway have been burned into my memory because everyone photographs them, at least once. Yes, the Student Center looks like a phallus, and I’m sure we’re all have a big laugh about that, but after seeing it so many times, it loses any meaning it ever had. The university as well as the city of DeKalb are filled with great photo ideas. Let’s try some originality, for once.
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