Your ‘Game of Thrones’ Recap Sucks

"Thrones made of swords? How do they even work?"
“Thrones made of swords? How do they even work?”

When the Insane Clown Posse reemerged a couple of years ago back into relevance with their music video, “Miracles,” they pondered everyday miracles like “Magnets/how do they even work?” Everyone, of course, laughed, because the answer to how magnets work is documented in books or, if your bookshelves are doused in Faygo, a Wikipedia search away.

What a pair of illiterate morons, right? I mean, who treats something that has been documented in written word for some time now like it’s an unsolvable, unknowable mystery?

That would be pretty much everyone writing Game of Thrones recaps.

Does that seem harsh? Hit the jump to find out exactly why your Monday morning link bait is terrible, and you’re terrible (with notable exceptions) for writing it.

First off, no, I’m not talking about everyone who posts a weekly recap of Game of Thrones after each new episode airs on HBO. I’m not even mad if you haven’t read the books. But, if you’re writing a recap for the sake of guessing what happens next in the series and, even worse, get upset if somebody mentions in the comments — that you asked for — what happens in a book published in 2000 (A Storm of Swords, which is where Season 3 is at) … then we’ve got a problem.

I’m gonna back up a bit. Let’s say that you aren’t a complete idiot and know how to look up magnets to find out how they work. Instead, let’s say you’ve just watched Peter Jackson’s first of three Hobbit movies, but you never read J.R.R. Tolkein’s book.

What are you going to write about? You can’t write about the ending because Peter Jackson and New Line Cinemas decided to stretch The Hobbit across three films and pad it with scenes written from Tolkein’s notes and Lord of the Rings appendices. But, you can’t even discern which scenes are “new” material because it’s all new to you.

As far as you’re concerned, it’s a work in progress. To everyone who actually gives a shitt about a book that was published all the way back in 1937, however, you are an idiot, especially when you wonder and/or try to guess what happens next. If you’re really that interested in whether any of the dwarves die, then the answer already exists. You just have to read a book that is very easy to read. (Or even look it up on Wikipedia if you’re that lazy.)

Of course, Tolkein’s not for everyone. Nearly everyone, however, has read Harry Potter. Except for me.

That’s not entirely true. I read almost all of the books except the last one, which I started and after several chapters of whining in tents, put it down and decided I just didn’t care enough; I’d wait for the damn movie. (It’s OK not to care. It’s never OK to pretend to care when you absolutely don’t.)

But, I sure as hell wasn’t about to write a recap for each installment of The Deathly Hallows. I knew better than to guess which characters live and died in the second half, or to take odds. Why? Because I don’t like to revel in illiteracy.

I can fully admit that I didn’t read a book. And why not? It’s not like I didn’t read other books. Or that I was worried about having the ending spoiled for me because, if I truly cared enough that I needed to see Voldemort die in context, I would have fucking read it.

Or, you can ignore all of this and write about Game of Thrones anyway, demonstrating that ignorance is no obstacle to holding an opinion. Just be aware that I may have Photoshopped juggalo makeup over your byline pic.

Razing Hope

Oh, hello there. I didn’t see you come to this Web site since that’s not really a thing you can see … or even hear since the dial-up days. Also, because I’m busy at work in my lair.

So my lair may be a little unfinished right now. But, it will only take a couple of miles of jack-hammering before it’s a volcano lair.
So my lair may be a little unfinished right now. But, it will only take a couple of miles of jack-hammering before it’s a volcano lair.

Why do I have a lair? Well, when I’m not writing fart jokes or pretending to be a doctor, I have a day job. And when I’m not at that day job, I put on a cowl and practice arch-evil. I guess you could say I’m a part-time villain.

I’d like to say that I’m pretty good at villainy — for an amateur, that is. But, no matter how many shrink rays I invent or monologues I write, I’ll never be able to quit my day and blogging jobs because I’m hopelessly outmatched by the Republican party.

Yes, I mean that the Republican party (or GOP) are twice the villains I could ever hope to be. And I don’t mean that because I’m a registered Democrat. On the contrary, as a practicing villain who aspires to one day destroy the world, I consider it my duty to vote Republican as often as possible. Here’s why: Continue reading Razing Hope

Looking Away from Addiction

Playstation, you are my home school.
Playstation, you are my home school.

White people, especially white men, love us some history. (I phrased it that way so I won’t get sued by Stuff White People Like, which is nearly 50 years old now in Internet time.)

Why do we love history so much? Mostly because it’s about us, and holy crap were we the victors. Reviewing our history is figuratively like watching our very own sports highlight reel, which is literally something we haven’t been able to do since Jackie Robinson. Even when the history involved white people doing bad things, it was usually another white person that set it right.

This is why the History channel cut to the chase years ago and started serving up a hodgepodge of

  • World War II, when white people stopped the whitest people from killing what were considered at the time less whiter people.
  • Aliens. Specifically white (or very pale gray) aliens abducting white people.
  • The Bible, as presented in Monocolor. (Not that New World Edition with Black Jesus, mind you.)
  • Alaska, pawn shops and swamps because, dammit, you go where the white people are, OK?

There’s only one historical topic that white people love more than any other, and that is the U.S. Civil War. It’s a fact: non-white students are allowed to cite any white person in the bibliography of their Civil War papers up to their Master’s program, and it counts for full credit!

So, where does this zeal come from? It’s not like it’s particularly complimentary to white history, what with slavery and all. Yet, we can’t stop flying the Confederate flag even in 2013.

In the VA’s defense, they did fly two out of three actual Confederate national flags, and according to that old honkey spiritual, “two out of three ain’t bad.”
In the VA’s defense, they did fly two out of three actual Confederate national flags, and according to that old honkey spiritual, “two out of three ain’t bad.”

For instance: a Veterans Affairs hospital in Virginia took down their Confederate flags when a black patient complained, discharged him two weeks early for his PTSD treatment and then put the flags right back up as soon as he was safely out the door. Even though he’s not the only patient to complain — and although VA Medical Center at Hot Springs only treated Union soldiers during the war — that hospital needed those Confederate flags.

Or when North Carolina displayed a Confederate flag in the statehouse to “historically” reenact what it would have looked like in 1863, it didn’t matter that they weren’t even flying the flag that would have flown in the statehouse in 1863. Sure, the Confederate flag you and I know wasn’t really the CSA flag in 1863 or any other time, but they needed to fly that flag.

North Carolinians insist they did all the requisite research into the what they say is the Confederate flag by looking at paintings by old white dudes at crafts shows.
North Carolinians insist they did all the requisite research into the what they say is the Confederate flag by looking at paintings by old white dudes at crafts shows.
Well, if The Dublin Citizen, an actual Texas newspaper says it’s Racist 4-20, then it must be true!
Well, if The Dublin Citizen — an actual Texas newspaper — says it’s Racist 4-20, then it must be true!

Or when Commanche County, Texas pretends that April is Confederate History Month just to fly the flag over its courthouse. Even for just a month, they need to fly it.

Or Brad Paisley, the country music star who can’t go to Starbucks without wearing a Confederate flag: he claims that he doesn’t know it’s racist, even though he sang a whole song about why he kind of knows it is.  Even still, he needs to wear that flag.

This isn’t zeal. What we’re really talking about here is addiction.

And you can’t just ask white people to quit the Civil War cold turkey. Especially the Confederacy. If Civil War addiction is pot (every gets into it for a little while when they’re young), then the need to fly the Confederate flag is like crack cocaine or heroin: it’s harder to quit because all the things that make it worse for you also make the high better.

You cannot beat the high white people get from the Confederacy. Imagine: it’s American history plus war, facial hair and the idea that, given the chance, it could happen again, only with the whiter people winning this time! This is the purest mountain of white stuff that skydiving, bungie jumping or any other extreme sport or ideology can’t top.

It’s why the VA Medical Center at Hot Springs could barely shoo Desert Storm veteran Craig DeMouchette out the door to get another sweet, sweet hit of Confederacy. Who cares if his PTSD — which he’s apparently had since at least 1991 — is cured, right?

The VA printed this certificate for DeMouchette’s record-setting recovery from PTSD because they can’t legally give awards for “instilling white guilt, however temporary.”
The VA printed this certificate for DeMouchette’s record-setting recovery from PTSD because they can’t legally give awards for “instilling white guilt, however temporary.”

Or why North Carolina can’t help relapsing over and over again. Maybe it’s because they’re still hanging out with South Carolina, which has had their own Confederate flag troubles since at least 2003.

“What’s the big deal, mom? Caitlyn’s dad said it’s OK.”
“What’s the big deal, mom? Caitlyn’s dad said it’s OK.”

And why towns in Texas invented the equivalent of “4-20 Day,” thinking that would make it suddenly OK to fly the Confederate flag in public if “everyone’s doing it.”

Even Brad Paisley’s caffeine addiction can’t overpower his need for a CSA fix. (Although it appears his sponsor, LL Cool J, and accompanying permissive attitude isn’t doing Paisley any favors.)

And that’s why white people know so much about the U.S. Civil War and yet, really, so little about it. It’s like getting medical marijuana facts from your local pot head. Sure, we know where it was grown and what THC stands for, but we’ll act (sometimes genuinely) surprised when anybody mention that smoking it will give us cancer the same way inhaling smoke from enough cigarettes or car fires will. (It’s also coincidentally why the State’s Rights argument gets recycled to defend smokers from anti-smoking laws. Or when the Man tries to limit how many car tires you can light on fire in a place of business.)

So, how do we cure this addiction? By preventing young people from getting hooked when they eventually learn about the Civil War. Through education, we can teach a generation that, while wearing gray uniforms and marching through fields for tourists may look like fun, that those uniforms are facsimiles of ones made by slaves for their masters. Or how most of those re-enactors probably hate themselves and would quit if they hadn’t put so much time and money into their historically accurate waistcoats.

In short, we have to expose young people to the ugliness of the U.S. Civil War — and Civil War addiction — to break the cycle. And then, maybe in another 50 years, we can start the debate over again when white Southerners try to fly the segregationist flag (or the actual flag these idiots keep trying to fly right now) during their centennial reenactments of the March to Selma.


Originally posted on SeriouslyGuys and HumorOutcasts.

Cleaning Out the Language Gutters 2013

Just like a picture of mouths, these words don’t say a damn thing.
Just like a picture of mouths, these words don’t say a damn thing.

According to a count performed by Google and Harvard in 2010, there were 1,022,000 words in the English language with an estimated 8,500 words added each year. The average speaker, however, only knows anywhere from 12,000 to 21,000 words. And though that still seems like a lot, we manage to mangle, twist and abuse certain words until they not only lose their original meaning, but appear to have lost all meaning whatsoever.

If these words were leaves, they would have directly bypassed being dried out and brittle, lying on the ground for any old user to pick up and twirl around. Instead, they were deposited into the gutter and, through overuse, become a moldy, muddy, indecipherable goop that prevents the language from moving forward.

They are the words people resort to when they actually have nothing to say, usually when “you’re having just too much fun” or when it’s time to define insanity for everyone all over again. (This phrase, that “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results” is both the definition and cause of my own insanity.)

That is why, every couple of years, I contract myself out to the English language, cleaning out this meaningless morass in hopes that those who resort to them will find new words. (Or say nothing at all.) Here’s what I found in the gutters for 2013.

Diva

Look at her. All menstruating into a cup like she owns the damn place.
Look at her. All menstruating into a cup like she owns the damn place.

Original Definition: A prima donna, which is either the lead singer of an opera or a bitch who refuses to work under direction or with a team. This has evolved to also apply to glamorous female pop stars. It is literally the Italian word for “goddess,” so that should indicate just how much baggage this term comes with. (Which you’re carrying, by the way.)

Current Meaning: A woman.

For a word with such a negative meaning, it’s bizarre that anyone would want to call themselves a diva. Perhaps it was originally appropriated by strong women who, after being called one, decided to show those peasants what a bitch really looks like.

Now, however? It’s something inside of every woman, waiting to be unearthed through zumba classes, New Age Christian bullshit and “having it all.” Divas are known to eat chocolate, drink wine, own a set of ovaries and pretty much anything else that women say they enjoy to avoid arousing suspicions at their secret diva meetings.

Basically, if there are as many divas on Earth as licence plates on Mazda Miatas claim, then we are living in a new glorious age of modern Roman mythology.

Inspiration

Inspirational “quotes” to help you accomplish “things” … Sounds legit.
Inspirational “quotes” to help you accomplish “things” … Sounds legit.

Original Definition: The act of influencing or suggesting opinions to others, often by implied divine means. Also, to breathe in, because what isn’t more inspirational than living between exhales?

Current Definition: Anything you read, hear, see or talk about with someone other than your cats … Actually, you know what? Fuck that. Pets are inspirational, too.

Because we’ve set the threshold for achievement so low, it takes even less effort to be inspired or inspirational. Related to divas above, it took originally nothing short of the work of a god to get your ass up and working on a work.

And we’re not talking about putting together a spreadsheet or mowing the lawn types of work — those don’t require emotion. (Well, except when you do either passive-aggressively. Then I suppose resentment is an emotion.) No, inspiration is supposed to spur creativity, not why you put margarine on your bagel instead of cream cheese so you can lose some weight.

To put this simply: if your dad inspired you to go into accounting, then either your dad is considered by his peers as the Greatest Accountant of All Time …

all-time

… or you have mistaken inspiration with the cruel machinations of fate and its hereditary nature. Which do you think is more likely?

Delicacy

Original Definition: Food that is considered rare or luxurious. Other uses imply that one appreciates this food due to their refined and discriminating taste.

Current Meaning: Weird food that you’re too lazy to explain to disgusted people.

While, yes, caviar, lobster and foie gras are all disgusting when you really think about them, they originally earned this distinction by being expensive and rare. And even that was sort of manufactured because lobster was at one point so common (in both abundance and taste) that servants had to beg not to eat it more than three times a week and serving it to prisoners more than once a week was considered cruel and unusual punishment.

So, we don’t get to call hot dogs or horse meat delicacies just because it’s easier than actually learning why people eat it. Andrew Zimmern doesn’t get to explain away his abhorrent internal food hording by claiming everything he eats is a delicacy. If rooster balls are such a rare commodity, then how come farmers get to be choosy about which ones they use to make future chickens? The same goes with any animal we’ve devised a spray to destroy en masse, like snails, ants and pigeons. (What? You don’t spray the pigeons in your yard with wasp spray?)

And serving the most commonly eaten meat in the world, only in juvenile form, isn’t a delicacy. It’s the cuisine equivalent of pederasty.
And serving the most commonly eaten meat in the world, only in juvenile form, isn’t a delicacy. It’s the cuisine equivalent of pederasty.

Taking any food out of its traditional context doesn’t make it a delicacy. It just makes it weird and exotic. And stuffing two other ordinary animals into yet another ordinary animal (looking your way, turducken) isn’t the brain child of the finest culinary mind. It’s what happens when a frustrated chef snaps at home whenever he asks his wife what she wants for dinner and she responds, “I don’t know.”

If you have to describe your country’s food habits as delicacies to foreigners, then it’s time to admit that, really, you’ll eat anything. And maybe that’s why this word has merely replaced “decadence,” because ‘splaining the Doritos Locos Taco wastes valuable eatin’ time.


This post originally appeared on SerioulsyGuys and HumorOutcasts.

Marriage is Older Than the Earth

downright-normalIt seems like that in 2013 — when gay men and lesbians can serve openly, vote Republican, and shame the president into supporting same-sex marriage after his vice president does so on television — that the argument over California’s Proposition 8 and the federal Defense of Marriage Act would be long over.

But, in both laws’ cases, conservative Christians can’t let the old arguments go. They’re so dogged to prove that they wrote the book on marriage that, when the governments responsible for defending each bigoted law in court refused to do so, they had to hire their own lawyers.*

So, for the fourth time (counting when Prop 8 was originally on the ballot in 2008), we get to hear the same old, tired arguments from people who believe that God tolerates child soldiers but hates it when two men or two women register at Bed Bath & Beyond.

For instance: did you know that God created marriage? There are only three problems with this idea:

1. According to biblical scholars, God didn’t create the Earth until 6000 years ago, man six days sooner than that and marriage however-many-days-it-took-Adam-to-name-every-plant-and-animal-in-Eden sooner than that.

“What’s that, Debbie Deer? You know what I can do with this erection?”
“What’s that, Debbie Deer? You know what I can do with this erection?”

Marriage or standardized monogamy, however, originated anywhere from 20,000 to 4 million years ago, depending on whose genetic research we go by.

2. Even if we give conservative Christians the benefit of the doubt that they’re not all being silly Young Earth Creationists, Judaism (the original movie that many would argue was better than the sequel) is only 3000 years old. So, when it comes to marriage, you didn’t build that. Somebody else’s God (or lack thereof) built that.

“I fucking love science!”
“I fucking love science!”

3. And, for the sake of argument, let’s say that all of the geological and genetic research was fooled by Satan burying fake bones deep in the Earth, and marriage really is as old as God deciding his human needed another human the way we justify adopting another cat. So what?

According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, there were 2,326,000 weddings in 2001 alone (excluding Louisiana for some reason). And in the 18 states that track marriage, more than 40 percent of those were performed in a civil, or non-religious, ceremony.

And of those 60 percent that were outright religious ceremonies? At least a few of them were conducted in accordance with the doctrine of Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Shinto, Wiccan, Pagan, Zoroastrian, Baha’i and countless other religions that certainly aren’t in the Judeo-Christian tradition, and some of them predate both.

“Jesus, not even as a bridesmaid?”
“Jesus, not even as a bridesmaid?”

So, if the Judeo-Christian god invented marriage, he was probably only invited to a slim majority of U.S. weddings. Whether his patent on marriage expired, or he never had one to begin with, it is clear that marriage in America is neither based the Bible, nor has it ever been in accordance with the establishment clause in the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.

Besides, if it were based on the Bible, then wouldn’t more of us be married to our arranged wives, brother’s widows and rape victims? (We sure as hell wouldn’t be divorcing and remarrying so much.)

And, hey, if you think I’m cherry-picking ridiculous ideas to refute, then I’d love to hear your rational, well-thought-out reason why same-sex marriage is wrong.


*In the case of Hollingsworth v. Perry, California’s Proposition 8, which amended their state constitution to permit marriage only between a man and a woman, is being defended by the political activist group and the non-profit organization that wrote the bill and collected signatures to put it on the ballot. And in United States v. Windsor, DOMA is being defended by the House of Representatives’ Bipartisan Legal Advisory Group, who were put on the case by Republican members.


This post originally appeared on SeriouslyGuys and HumorOutcasts.

Consume like a Man

I call Mario Lopez for my hovel-mate ... and birthing partner.
I call Mario Lopez for my hovel-mate … and birthing partner.

For the past several years, writers from Fox News to the rest of the media have said that (straight) American men are dying out … or less hysterically, we’re falling behind as a gender. We’re less likely to graduate from college, hold a white-collar job or follow the convoluted familial relations in Once Upon a Time. And now, with advances in reproductive technology and unwanted third world children, we’re not even needed for our seed.

Fortunately, there’s one segment of the population that still needs men: shitty entrepreneurs whose ideas were terrible to begin with or forgot to market to the hairier half of the U.S. population.

This is the story of the resulting products. Get shopping, men, or I shall surely meet you in District XY, where will be kept until we evolve the means to reproduce, Jurassic Park-style.

Brogurt

It’s a known fact that the female half of the population are like aquariums and can’t poop unless they eat bacteria every time they change their yogurt out for the day. However, the other, maler half poops all the time, sometimes when thinking too hard about math.

It's how we figured out the formula for sending humans to the moon in a dong that farts fire.
It’s how we figured out the formula for sending humans to the moon in a dong that farts fire.

So, how do you sell Greek yogurt to men? Well, if there’s one market aimed squarely at Internet Tough Guys and middle aged divorcés, it’s the fitness industry. Put the emphasis on “Greek” by slapping some 300 abs on the box and declaring it “powerful.”

Boom! Your stomach is in the ESPN Zone!
Boom! Your stomach is in the ESPN Zone!

And that’s how you make yogurt the perfect meal for isocarbolating your pecs on chest day. It’s part of a balanced workout along with your Red Army kettle ball set and myriad of forearm flexer-uppers.

Nadscrubbers

Fact: Men will buy anything shaped like an athletic supporter.
Fact: Men will buy anything shaped like an athletic supporter.

Not only can’t women poop without probiotic bacteria, but they also can’t naturally shed their skin cells. Much like bears, they need special scrubbers called loofahs to scrape the dead cells away, or they will die. Or itch. Whatever.

Men, on the other hand, didn’t even know that epidermal gangrene was a problem. That is, not until AXE realized that their douche spray was easily counteracted with over-the-counter soap. It worried the executive bro-scientists at Unilever that, for the five minutes between showering and applying AXE Body Spray, there was a window of opportunity for a hypothetical woman in your bathroom to say, “Hey, Irish Spring smells much better.”

While the fitness crowd has been sneaking loofahs into the showers since the Ironhead days, how do you reach dudes that are more into first person shooters, Madden and racing games? By calling it the Axe Detailer Shower Tool. Now it sounds like what Paul Walker and Vin Diesel soap each other up with between takes in the latest Faster, Furiouser movie.

Man Candles

Oh, and did I mention that the brogurt makes men poop, too? The makers of Powerful Yogurt really did just relabel Greek yogurt, probiotics and all. (It may be part of an agreement every other nation made to kickstart Greece’s economy again.)

There are some things that soap will never clean, like air. And matches don’t burn long enough to cover up a Jamie Lee Curtis. If only men could buy candles. If only …

Hey, look: Yankee Candle thought they could fill an untapped market niche without doing any actual research about what men would like to smell.

"Or to other hu-man types. For instance: the fe-males of y-- I mean, our shared species."
“Or to other hu-man types. For instance: the fe-males of y– I mean, our shared species.”

The creatively named Man Candles come in the scents of sawdust, football equipment, cheap aftershave and blistering yard work.

Two of the scents, “2X4” and “Riding Mower” are the world’s most passive-aggressive reminder for men to get to work around the house. And the other two, “Man Town” and “First Down” were clearly ripped off from some old gay porno mags left in the warehouse the company bought in the 1970s.

Out of the three products in this post, the Yankee Candle Company’s cynical attempt to sell women’s products to men says the most about our gender’s future. If we really want to succeed, then maybe it’s time to take a cue from women and buy the things that define success. Or, at the very least, make purchases that are measurable on our corporate betters’ quarterly reports so that they’ll keep giving us income.


This post originally appeared on SeriouslyGuys and HumorOutcasts.

Ask Dr. Snee: Snowed in with your letters

Why, hello there, patient readers. Like everyone else in the DC area, I’ve been pretending to be snowed in by rain and two very wet inches of snow.

You know how they started naming winter storms this year? We called ours the Snowquester. Get it? Because people who live within 100 miles of the nation’s capitol only exist from one political event to another.

So, while I try to remember that, essentially, man is good (even when they name everything with puns based on terms from Civics class), I figured I’d answer a few letters. As always, thanks for emailing instead of licking envelopes during the cold and flu season.

It’s not like I’m going anywhere in this pretend snow car.
It’s not like I’m going anywhere in this pretend snow car.

According to the Pauly Shore-Sean Astin-Brendan Fraser vehicle, Encino Man, a neanderthal should be able to blend into our world unnoticed except for some hilarious hijinks. Do you believe this would hold true if science clones one, or does he have to be raised in the Paleolithic and frozen for us to become best buuuuuuuuddies?
Future pool-owner/prom king

Normally, this is where I would warn you that, dammit, I’m a doctor,* not a geneticist. Fortunately for everyone in the world with an Internet connection, I wrote my pre-med thesis on Stone Age cryonics and the psychological ramifications, so I believe I am more than qualified to answer your question.

First of all, Brendan Fraser’s tour de force performance in Encino Man is what many paleocryobiologists regard as the most accurate portrayal of a thawed caveman in a high school movie, not a thawed neanderthal. Linkovich “Link” Chomovsky is as human as you or I would be if portrayed by the star of the 1999 historical action-comedy, The Mummy.

See how closely he mimics our human emotions? That’s because — believe it or not — Brendan Fraser is a modern human, or Homo sapiens sapiens.
See how closely he mimics our human emotions? That’s because — believe it or not — Brendan Fraser is a modern human, or Homo sapiens sapiens.

But you nevertheless raise an interesting question: is our capacity to form manly, yet affectionate bonds a trait inherent to all humans, or is it something that must be learned through the patient guidance of The Weasel?

My professional opinion is that the cloned neanderthal will kill us all, starting in the medical waste facility in which he has been mistakenly discarded and ending with the geneticist responsible for growing him in the first place after a years long quest to correct his egregious ethical sins.


Mayor Gloomberg is at it again. This time, he’s after my tunes. Why’s he got to be such a dick?
What’s that? I couldn’t hear the next field on this form

You can’t diminish the damage that air buds cause. What? Sorry, I can’t hear very well, which has affected how I read, write or discern humor.
You can’t diminish the damage that air buds cause. What? Sorry, I can’t hear very well, which has affected how I read, write or discern humor.

New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg and I rarely see eye-to-eye on anything. Not because he’s an itty-bitty dollop of a man, but because he hasn’t banned wearing sunglasses at night, and that’s when I always drive through New York.

Maybe. I can’t read the signs, but I’m pretty sure it’s New York. I just drive in a straight line up what I think is I-95 and know to straighten out whenever I hear a car horn. If that’s not supposed to be how you drive, then why do they have those save points every couple of miles?

So what if listening to your music through ear buds is causing deafness? Or that, thanks to trans fats and super-sized Cokes, your average New Yorker can’t fit into their standard studio apartment? (They’re still Alabama thin.) Or that cigarette smoke is killing bartenders, servers and exotic dancers?

If the government was supposed to be in the health and safety game, it’d be written in the Constitution. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a couple of DUI charges to argue my way out of. (Why, yes, ladies: I am also an attorney.**)


There are more antibiotic-resistant superbugs than ever! How’s a new mom supposed to keep her baby safe and healthy in a world that is teetering towards annihilation?
Ripley

OK, let’s take deeeeep breeeeeeaths, Ripley. That’s it. Just caaaalm doooooown.

Chances are that you’re experiencing a little postpartum OCD, which was recently discovered to be more than just a sitcom device. Some of this is due to hormonal changes, and the rest is because being responsible for a future heavy-machinery operator is understandably daunting.

Also, yes, your baby will probably host an incurable, microscopic parasite that will reproduce and wreak havoc until all of his or her tiny organs are accidentally thrown into the diaper genie.

You are the only hope for Earth’s future, Kal-El. You, Trans-Thor? Not so much.
You are the only hope for Earth’s future, Kal-El. You, Trans-Thor? Not so much.

That’s right, not only are there more antibiotic-resistant pathogens than ever, but they’re also lurking in all the places where we look for cures:

  • Hospitals: The new one is carbapenem-resistant Enterobacteriaceae, or CRE, but there’s also methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) and the Magnificent Sicks — Enterococcus, Staphylococcus, Klebsiella, Acinetobacter, Pseudomonas and Enterobacter (ESKAPE).
  • The gym: Besides eating disorders and bunk science mixed in water bottles, your fitness center also hosts MRSA. So, there’s another reason to shame-glower at people who don’t wipe the seats.
  • Chicken soup: Chickens have been discovered hosting E. coli and salmonella antibiotic-resistant strains.
  • Our sex parts: If you practice the ancient healing art of pretending you’re not sick while boning, then you’re also practicing the even ancienter art of killing people with gonorrhea and syphilis, both of which are increasingly becoming — you guessed it — resistant to antibiotics.

So what can you do? Nothing, except turn the lights on and off three more times. That’s because flesh-eating bacteria are antibiotic-resistant and epileptic. Probably.

And on that note, if I don’t see you next time here at Ask Dr. Snee, it’s probably because you didn’t wipe properly.


*Rick Snee is not, in any way, a licensed medical professional or an actor that plays one on television. His only qualifications are high school and college biology (101 and 102), reading Men’s Health (2001-2003), and a systematic exposure to almost all health hazards (1981-present), but no medical training whatsoever. He’s just really opinionated, which is good enough for blogging. To submit yer own questions to Dr. Snee, Guynecologist, post comments below or email the good doctor.

**Rick Snee is not an attorney, did not attend law school and is not licensed to practice the law anywhere.

Keep Calm and Drink

"According to your answers, you drank lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll rumrunners last night."
“According to your answers, you drank lllllllllllllllllllllllllllll rumrunners last night.”

Something is amiss in the United Kingdom. University College London researchers tried to reconcile alcohol sales with the amounts people claimed to drink in surveys, but the numbers just don’t match up. Nearly half of all booze sold in the U.K. is unaccounted for.

So, where did it go? A lesser writer might just chalk this up to people under-reporting what they drink, what business is it of yours, jack? And it makes some sense — anyone who’s ever been asked by a professor how much they’ve had to drink is more likely to low-ball that figure.

But, that still wouldn’t add up to twice as much booze sold as drunk. What the hell is going on in Merry Olde England? Let’s just say I have a few ideas …

“It belongs in a museum”

OK, so maybe — just maybe — collectors are storing it up. Most drinkers have a bottle of wine or fancy sippin’ whiskey stuffed away for a special occasion. (Movies have taught us that special occasions are when your police partner dies or if you’re trying to score with an eight or higher.)

But, c’mon. One stashed bottle per drinker is easily outweighed by the handle your average Churchill fan drinks a day.

Although it's entirely possible that Geddy Lee stole it all and keeps it in a mythical land called Canada.
Although it’s entirely possible that Geddy Lee stole it all and keeps it in a mythical land called Canada.

“How much did I … What day is it?

Every now and then, it’s easy to lose track of what and how much of anything you did, especially after your third shot between carbombs. So, if you’re counting up to the point where everything becomes hazy and accompanied by sepulchral mariachi music, then yeah, you had five last night. For all you know, you went straight home afterwards and didn’t kill a hooker.

Or on second thought, maybe you did buy those twenty lemondrops on your bar tab for yourself and not for the rest of the bar.

The point is that we’ll never know because everything from last night, including documentation was buried in a peat bog.

Three can keep a secret if the bartender is dead.
Three can keep a secret if the bartender is dead.

Also, if enough people were buying twice as much booze like the scenario above, then London would be completely prostitute-free. So much for that theory.

Boozacapra

"Boozie Monster love whiskeys! UG GLUG GLUG!"
“Boozie Monster love whiskeys! UG GLUG GLUG!”

So, we’ve ruled out people lying about their drinking out of shame. They’re not filling bomb shelters with it for bartering after the Pound collapses. They’re certainly not drunkenly Jekyll-and-Hyding their way into the Guinness Book of World Records.

Then who — or what — is drinking half of all the booze in Great Britain?

I’m not saying it’s definitely supernatural, but has anybody seen Nessie walk a straight line lately?

Take it down a notch, Valentine

Here’s something chocolatey and full of cream to go with the Mahogany card I bought you.
Here’s something chocolatey and full of cream to go with the Mahogany card I bought you.

If you’re reading this site, then chances are that you’re trying to ignore that tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Perhaps you call it Single Awareness Day. Or that you’re up a creek because you forgot to buy anything and all that’s left in stores now are the Hallmark Mahogany line and Easter candy.

Relax. I’m not saying that you’re overacting or that this is somehow all your fault for not being lovable. It isn’t. Valentine’s should be a simple day of expressing care, not necessarily balls-out romantic love in the form of extravagant gifts that require feeding and walks.

So, who is to blame? These assholes.

Guy who’s proposing on Valentine’s Day

Ha! Now none of my friends will be able to afford trips to Paris because they’ll have to buy a diamond ring, too!
Ha! Now none of my friends will be able to afford trips to Paris because they’ll have to buy a diamond ring, too!

Dude, seriously? Not only is it kind of cliché, but think about what you’re doing to the rest of us.

This isn’t about being outdone by Sir Commits-A-Lot. We live in a capitalist society, and some men are more apt to succeed in life and the bedroom. (These are also men who plan their lives far enough out to order flowers, make reservations and plan for the eventual downfall of the U.S. dollar.) If you have the gumption — and income — to buy the world’s largest teddy bear, then you deserve only the finest quality of holiday-induced blowjerbs.

But, the guy who proposes on V-Day took it too far. In February 1946, the allied leaders met for one last time to discuss de-Nazification, tank disposal and what to do with their mistresses and wives. It was the last time that Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin would agree on anything, and that agreement was that V-Day (as opposed to V-E Day or Actual V-Day) would remain the one day of the year that even the most jaded of couples could get down for the merest exchange of written pleasantries.

And now all of your soon-to-be-fiance’s friends are thinking back to when the romance was fresh and new.

Couples who start dating/get married on Valentine’s Day

Again, cliché.

I, personally, blame women who agree to either. Everyone knows that all women get three days: their birthday, their anniversary and Valentine’s Day. (Women with destroyed vaginas and abdominal scars get Mother’s Day, too.) By compiling two days into one, you’ve just lost one of the few reasons we are allowed to pay you 20 cents less to every dollar men earn.

But, even more concerning are those who start dating on Valentine’s Day. Who just agrees to make a stranger their Valentine? It’s not like we’re picking prom dates here; this is important.

What if, for instance, he can’t hold his roofies? And now all the other dates are taken!
What if, for instance, he can’t hold his roofies? And now all the other dates are taken!

And for those of you getting married on Valentine’s: did you write our vows, too? Because, dammit, the rest of us had plans, too, and now they’re all gone to hell.

Kid who buys the teacher a special, bigger Valentine

Hey, kid. We’re all trying to get to sixth grade without repeating any, OK? If you weren’t gonna get a better grade with the Star Wars/My Little Pony cards we’re all handing out here, you’re not gonna get one with a full-sized Anne Geddes one, either.

Unless, of course, you’re trying to bang the teacher. If so, good form.

If it gets Chris laid, I ain’t even mad.
If it gets Chris laid, I ain’t even mad.

This post originally appeared on SeriouslyGuys and HumorOutcasts.

Time to Retire ‘Redskins’

As a Washington Redskins fan, my season ended several weeks ago. But, like a premature ejaculator at an orgy, I wasn’t about to start relating my play-by-play performance until everyone else in the room is done. Fortunately, I get to enjoy watching better athletes at their peak and first dibs at the orgy buffet table. Unfortunately, those athletes were the 49ers and the Ravens, and this metaphor is officially done.

Classy orgy buffets have a lot of pineapple to improve the flavor and smell of all the semen.
Classy orgy buffets have a lot of pineapple to improve the flavor and smell of all the semen.

Now that the 2012 NFL season is officially over, fellow Washington fans have a long off-season to fret over RGIII’s knee, especially since the Capitols are spectacularly terrible right now.

But, what if we used this off-season more productively … say to rename one of only two NFL teams that you have to scan the room before you say their name out loud. (The other is the Cardinals, because you never know who the Church has forced to keep quiet about sexual abuse.)

Owner Dan Snyder and NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell have argued that shouting the name has a heritage that fans should be proud of, just like KKK has with similar slurs. But even the Klan is trying to reform these days, so why shouldn’t Washington as well?

If it seems daunting, don’t worry. I’ve already come up with a few suggestions to get the ball rolling.

The Washington Monuments

Get it?!?! Washingtonians do love themselves some puns, like the Washington Senators, Capitols and Nationals.

But, seriously, how cool would it be to have these helmets?

washington-monuments

The George Washingtons

Why do the Buffalo Bills get to have all the fun with their team name? At least everyone knows who our guy was.

The DC RGIIIs or, conversely, the Washington Griffins

And this way, we get to keep the feather and wear Gryffindor scarves.
And this way, we get to keep the feather and wear Gryffindor scarves.

Let’s face it: this year, there were just as many shirts sold with Robert Griffin the Third on them as there were with Redskins on them, and that’s only because everybody stopped buying Cooley jerseys.

If Dan Snyder is worried about maintaining his brand’s marketability, he might as well focus on the only reason it’s still worth anything: RGIII. Besides, no matter what he changes the name to, that means everyone will have to buy all new paraphernalia.

Personally, I prefer the Griffins, because they’re the third toughest mythological hybrid animal behind ligers (number 2) and sharktopuses (number 1). Plus, it should bug the hell out of Eagles and Lions fans.

Think you can do better? What would you rename the Redskins?


This post originally appeared on SeriouslyGuys and HumorOutcasts.