Excerpts From The Lost Mitchell Report

REPORT TO THE COMMISSIONER OF BASEBALL
OF AN INDEPENDENT INVESTIGATION INTO
THE ILLEGAL USE OF ANGELS AND OTHER
PERFORMANCE ENHANCING HEAVENLY BODIES
BY PLAYERS IN MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL

GEORGE J. MITCHELL

DLA PIPER US LLP

December 13, 2007

(from page 22)

...

The most egregious offender of this highly controversial and well-hidden performance enhancement is, ironically, the 1994 California Angels, playing in Anaheim. Under the management of George Knox, noted Danny Glover-impersonator, the team used several angels (beings serving the Almighty God) to manipulate and bend the rules and plays of several games in their favor. One particularly outlandish example involved the foul post seemingly moving on its own accord so that an intended foul ball turned into a home run.

Sports fans and analysts spent weeks marvelling at the supposed "luck" of that particular moment and several others (such as sliding far past the bounds of what modern physics would allow), but none realized that the team's sudden and abrupt winning streak may have been the result of illegal tampering via the Angels involvement with several unlicensed, secretive "angels." Investigators viewing the tapes now can see that these, and most likely hundreds of other unknown plays, were the products of illegal angel-involvement. Angel-use this season became rampant and unchecked for nearly a decade, giving the Anaheim team an insane and hitherto unthought of unfair advantage during this season of Major League Baseball.

More damning evidence exists. Prior to the sudden influx of angel-usage amongst the club, the Angels' record was a meager 10-52, which was followed by an unprecedented 100 game winning streak. Several large feathers were found throughout the field by janitorial staff members. The subtle glow of a halo would often be seen over a player's head as he was at bat, followed by mighty home runs by players who had barely managed a successful bunt weeks prior. Also, Christopher Lloyd's voice was heard often by crowd members, despite the fact that he had lost corporeal form years prior.

It is the recommendation of this report to strip them of their World Series trophy and send several priests to the site of each known angel-abused area for spiritual cleansing. Priests and other approved religious figures/ghost-hunters should be used for random testing of bats, balls, gloves, and other contaminable areas of play.



(from page 47-48)

...

The first known case of using an illegal heavenly body to sway the game in favor of certain players or teams was in 1939, by a player known as Roy Hobbs who played for the now-defunct New York Knights. Hobbs reportedly struck out renowned hitter Walter "The Whammer" Whambold in three pitches at the age of 16. He was shot soon after by a crazed woman in a hotel, and disappeared from baseball for nearly two decades.

Upon his return, something was clearly awry about the once-promising man. According to eye witness reports and interviews, Hobbs was a walk-on for the team that year, and in his first batting practice hit every single one of the 40 pitches to him out of the park. Then, upon his first at-bat in the major league, he literally hit the ball with such force that it peeled the skin off of the ball. His batting average for the remainder of the season was a highly-suspiscious (yet nonetheless impressive) 8.68. It should be noted that the first half of the season, Hobbs batted a seemingly-impossible 1.00, only later faltering due to unknown personal circumstances.

While it was the belief of this report initially that Roy Hobbs inconceivable talent was the result of illegal steroids, further investigation showed a far more sinister form of tampering: a bat given to him by the Almighty, albeit indirectly. The bat - commonly referred to as "Wonderbat" - was the only bat Hobbs used, up until his final at bat, that is. The usage of "Wonderbat" was often accompanied by lightning or flashes of light, indicating some sort of spiritual interference.

...

(from page 89)

...

While outside the bounds of Major League Baseball's authority, there exists a place in Iowa that could be extremely useful in helping to identify the sources and uses of angels and other illegal heavenly bodies in our modern age. The farm owned by Ray Kinsella has a large baseball field built inexplicably into Mr. Kinsella's cornfield. The tourist attraction - which began drawing increasingly large numbers of spectators in 1989 - was apparently built solely by Kinsella after hearing "a voice."

Fans and spectators have reported seeing the spectres of deceased baseball players - including the infamous "Shoeless" Joe Jackson and relative unknowns such as Archibald "Moonlight" Graham - playing baseball in their former uniforms. Many of these spectators reported to have no idea why they went to the location nor how they knew where exactly to go, but all went and paid what they could. They would arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. The Kinsellas seemingly did not mind if they looked around. They were reportedly charged $20 per person, which they would pass over without even thinking about it: for it is money they had and peace they lacked. They would walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They would find they had reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they watched the game and it was as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories were purportedly so thick that they "had to brush them away from their faces."

This strange and odd behavior must be studied if we hope to curb the growing presence of illegal angels and other such heavenly bodies in Major League Baseball. That is all.

Hey, look! This article's on McSweeney's!

The Three Wise Men: One Year Later

The three magi stood still that night, staring into the sky.

"I don't see it."

"Neither do I."

"This is ridiculous, guys. What the hell were we thinking?"

Balthazar and Gaspar stared intently at Melcior, who had yet to say a word.

"Oookay," began Melcior, finally. "Maaaaaybe we were a little hasty last year."

"What?!" Balthazar was incredulous. "Oh you cannot be serious, Mel. I mean, you simply CANNOT be serious. Do you have any idea what last year was like for me? Couldn't afford to get the wife anything for our anniversary because I had to follow a friggin' STAR and give all the gold I had to a baby who was lying in a pile of hay in a barn while still covered in his mother's placenta! And now you tell me we might have been hasty?"

"Hold it, Balthazar," stepped in Gaspar. "Now, let's just assume we were right. I mean, that was a pretty crazy star we saw."

Balthazar calmed himself for a second and closed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"Right. And, even though he didn't really look like it at the time, that kid is gonna be huge someday. I mean...son-of-God huge. And who do you think he's gonna be taking care of with the Big Guy Upstairs? Huh?"

"Us, that's who!" jumped in Melcior.

Balthazar sighed, and crossed his arms.

"Here's what I know: there was this crazy-ass star last year. One year ago exactly. We followed it, however the hell you follow a star. We brought the finest gifts our money could bring us. We found a kid in a barn that stank of horse poop. We gave the gifts to a kid who had no idea who or what we were. The kid farted, maybe twice. We ditched out. King Herod found out about us and killed a bunch of newborns. The end. I get what my wife was talking about now."

"Okay, it sounds kinda crazy when you say it like that," began Gaspar. "But my question is, and this is primarily for you, Mel, since it was your idea in the first place, what now? Do we go back and give the kid more gifts?"

"I've been thinkin' the same thing, guys, trust me." Melcior cleared his throat. "I think we go back. But we've given our gifts. I mean, they were essentially hoboes and we gave them gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Not too shabby, eh? I think the least they could do is put us up for the night, give us a little dinner, let us spend some time with the savior."

"But we don't know where the hell to go, Mel!" yelled an exasperated Balthazar. "Look up in the sky! You see a star? No! Nothing! Nada! They were only in Bethlehem last year 'cause of that census. Who knows where they are now."

"I hear Nazareth..."

"Nazareth? Oh man, count me out, buddy," said Gaspar. "I mean, Bethlehem's a pain in the ass enough, but Nazareth? Holy cow, I think not."

"Think for a second guys!" Melcior was a bit giddy. "If we do this every year - and we totally can - we could end up being Jesus's cool uncles. The messiah's cool uncles. We would be a shoe-in with God! We might up becoming saints or something."

"That's assuming this kid actually is the messiah and not just a hobo's kid who was born in a pile of hay next to a mare," retorted Balthazar.

"But..the star!"

"Oh yeah, the star! I almost forgot! I spent my life savings because you saw a big 'ol star and it lead you to a barn! I nearly got killed by Herod for a star! The Massacre of the Innocents happened...because you found a goddamn star!"

"Now, hold on a sec, Baltha-"

"NO! I will NOT hold on a sec! This is bullshit! Mary and Joseph never wrote to us thanking us for the gifts, we've gotten no notice of thanks or goodwill from God, whose kid this supposedly is, and to top it all off, I'm standing around with you two numbskulls waiting to do it AGAIN!"

Balthazar stomped off in a huff to get some sleep. Melcior ran after him, but returned after he realized that there would be no consoling nor convincing Balthazar. He sat on a sand dune with Gaspar, and the two stared up into the night sky.

"You think he's really the messiah?" asked Melcior, nervously.

"Not sure," responded Gaspar, sighing to himself. "Doesn't really matter though, does it? At the very least, we helped out a poor kid and his family. How old was that mother? 13? 12? And the husband couldn't have been much older. They probably ate for three months on what we gave them. And maybe that kid will grow up to be the messiah, and we helped him. And maybe he'll just grow up to be a responsible adult. And maybe someday his parents'll tell him what three noble wise men did for them the day he was born. And maybe he'll do the same for some other poor couple with a newborn. And then it'll start all over again..."

"Yeah," murmurred Melcior. "I'm kinda hoping for the messiah thing though. That'd be awesome."

Bitter Eggnog: Letters to Santa '07

Dear Santa,

I have been a very good boy all year long and I want a new bike for Christmas, please. Thank you!

Sincerely,
Jimmy

Dear Jimmy,

Fuuuuck you, kid. Very good boy all year? You think I'm blind, kid? You think I don't know all and see all? Jesus Christ, lying to Santa in the letter where you purport to be good? And having the gall to ask for PRESENTS? Are you the same Jimmy who gave his sister a wet willy at least twice a week this year? Are you the same Jimmy who broke a window and blamed it on the neighbor's retarded son? Wow, kid, you have some fuckin' balls writing to me. No new bike this year. Maybe if you're lucky I'll give you a brand new SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

Yours,
Santa

Dear Santa,

How are you? How is Mrs. Claus? I hope you and the elves are doing good, and are hard at work preparing for next Christmas, which is rapidly approaching. I know you don't have much free time, so I'll cut to the chase! I've been pretty good this year, not perfect, but pretty good. I would like a 1963 red Jaguar and for my step-dad to die in a horrible accident.

Thanks!
William

Dear shithead,

This is Santa Claus. Fuck you, buddy. Asking how I am? How do you think I am?! Doc says I gotta undergo a triple bypass in a month, assuming I survive through Christmas, which is about 50/50. And you have the fucking nerves to ask me for an antique car? Ohhhhhhh sure, I'll go get the elves to carve one OUT OF FUCKING WOOD. Hope you don't mind that when it rains the frame warps completely and a team of beavers might jack it to finish their fucking dam. And how is Mrs. Claus? None of your goddamn business. And according to her lawyers, none of mine either. And murder your stepdad? Jesus...what the hell is wrong with kids these days? Fuck you. I need a drink.

-Santa


Dear Santa,

I love you! My name is Betty. I have been good all year! I don't want any toys or nothing for Christmas. I just want my cousin Artie to not be sick. He has lookemia. The doctor says he is not doing good = (. Please make him better!

Love,
Betty

Dear Betty,

Oh man...I'm sorry. I'm worthless. WORTHLESS. I'm a joke, a hack. I can't do shit for you, Betty. Oh god...I've lost it all. Mrs. Claus won't talk to me, the elves won't listen to me, the reindeer mutter about me under their breath... I'm pathetic. I can't wait to die.

Oh, and while I admire your selflessness...SINCE WHEN AM I FUCKING GOD?! I know I ride on a real fast sleigh 'n shit, but how does that give me the power to cure cancer?! Way to make me feel even shittier about myself and my shitty life. I so do not need this right now. Holy shit, I'm done. I quit.

Oh yeah, and one more thing.

I AM NOT REAL. NEITHER IS THE EASTER BUNNY.

HO HO HO,
Me


Dear Santa,

I've been good all year and I totally want this new video game called Madden for my PS3. My parents won't buy it for me cuz I got two F's this year. Screw them, Santa'll get it for me. That's what I told 'em. You're awesome, bro.

High five,
Drew

Dear (YOUR NAME HERE)

Sorry for the inconvenience, I'm currently out of the office at the North Pole right now! I'm probably checking my list twice or making sure the elves are hard at work and not drinking too much eggnog on their lunch break...just kidding! I hope you've been a good little boy/girl this year! If you have been, I'll be dropping by with a (REQUESTED TOY) to put under your tree! Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!

-S.C.

I Will Always Love You, Bigfoot

There's an old saying about the size of a man's feet. I'm not sure what it is, but Shaquille O'Neal has to have his shoes specially ordered because they only have size 12s at Shoe Carnival, so maybe it's about being really good at dunking. Well, that doesn't really jive with the rest of my sordid tale. Whatever. I guess the size of a man's feet indicates how awesome he is at dunking basketballs and rare, self-named forms of martial arts. But the size of a beast's feet indicates something far different. Something far more...sordid. It indicates the size of their...heart.

The first time I met Bigfoot, I was out in the woods. So cliche, right? But that's the truth. I'd heard of Bigfoot before, seen a few blurry videos, bought every DVD set of Harry and the Hendersons and wept at their beauty...you know, the usual for a 34 year-old bachelor living in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. I didn't expect to run into an unconfirmed species that day, and I certainly didn't expect to...fall in love.

I was out camping because my parents had thrown me out of the house because they had found my collection of dog urine that I kept in jars hidden in the bottom shelf of my desk. They were apparently sick of me "bringing sin into their house." It wasn't sin. It was very clearly just dog urine. Yeesh, right? Luckily, I was able to grab my pup tent and a bag of marshmallows before my dad started whacking me with the newspaper and yelling that he "had no son." I guess pop must be going senile or something, because he was very clearly whacking his own son with a newspaper. Either that, or it was dad's way of telling me that mom had an affair and I was an illegitimate love child. Didn't really matter though, both mom and dad were united enough to refuse to give me back my jars of urine. Fascists.

Then came my search for a proper camp to make my new home. My friend, Lorenzo, who worked at Circuit City said I smelled too much like Pizza Rolls and was distracting the customers. My aunt, Barb, said that I would have to wear socks if I wanted to stay in her home. Clearly neither of these locations would suit my needs. So I headed for the quiet isolation of Death Woods, right on the outskirts of town. I wasn't worried about the name, although ominous. I had never heard of anyone dying in Death Woods, mostly just setting off fireworks, being raped, or freezing to death.

I could not figure out how to open my pup tent, despite my best efforts of yelling at it and staring and hoping someone would walk by and do it for me. With no options left and my cell phone nearly out of charge, I cried to the heavens for help. "Send anyone, anything!" I pleaded to the Almighty, Poseidon. I begged and begged and wept and eventually went to the bathroom behind a shrub. "Please...I will give anything. Anything that is a pup tent but not my bag of marshmallows. Agh! Send me some assistance! Send me anything that happens to be a large, widely-disbelieved hairy creature with exceptionally large feet, like my hero Shaquille O'Neal!" And lo, the great god of the sea heard my call.

From deep within the mighty forest came a bellow, and I heard branches being trampled as the "thing" leapt towards my humble camp. I was initially frightened, as I had seen similar scenes in films such as The Edge where a mastermind bear used a similar technique to tear apart an African-American fellow and haunt Alec Baldwin. But I was not torn to shreds! Eventually I gathered the strength to look at the creature that stood before me. And the first thing I saw...were its rather large feet!

When I say "rather large," I mean that they were rather very large! Nay! Rather extremely lengthy! I had never seen a beast with such feet, except for my idol and confidante, Shaquille-O-Neal. Could this be my grand friend, come to rescue me from nature's harsh engraspment?

Sadly, no. On the other hand, happily, no. I continued to gaze further upwards, and saw my new friend had hairy legs. Hairier than that of my good mentor and protege, Shaquille of Neal. My eyes finally met its face. It was then that I knew I was in love. Just to be sure, though, I checked out its crotch. And I fell in love all over again, because it was a chick bigfoot. I couldn't see anything in there really, but I knew that if it was a dude bigfoot...well, you know what they say about dudes with big feet...they usually wear boxers to cover up their penis.

"What are you, you majestic creature?" I asked my new love.

"GRAAAAAAAAHHHH!" she replied, eating a bug she had picked off of her shoulder.

From there, it was like a classic romance movie. We spent all day with each other, taking walks, eating the raw flesh of rabbits and other small game, picking lice off of each others backs and eating it, pooping whereever we happened to be when the urge came over us, kicking rocks at me (well, that was mainly her), and being violently raped every night (well, that was mainly me). The language barrier meant we couldn't speak to each other directly, but there was an unspoken bond of love between the two of us. An unspoken bond that was often communicated by her throwing rocks at me, which meant "I love you deeply and eternally, my sweet buttercup," or by my sweetie biting me for no apparent reason, which meant "You taste like Pizza Rolls and I love you despite what others say about you!"

We knew the world would not understand the true depth of our interspecies and intermingling love. My parents would surely die from shock from the news if they were to ever discover of my sordid affair with my female bigfoot, whom I had named "Shaquilley." Coupled with the news of my mother's affair would surely spell the end of that marriage, and I did not wish any harm on the people who had supplied me with Lunchables and Fruit Roll-Ups as a child. I would keep my love a secret from the world, and the world from Shaquilley.

Shaquilley and I lived in her cave, which she shared with a family of bats, who were not very noisy neighbors, but very bitey ones. By day we canoodled and cuddled, by night we made love and sang love songs to one another, pledging our eternal love. I tried teaching Shaquilley to dance - big mistake! Her feet prohibited the delicacy and agility that was required in the art of ballroom dancing and the Macarena. Shaquilley, always the perfectionist, was deeply upset by her failure - and that was the beginning of the schism that would come between us, much like the many lice between the individual hairs on Shaquilley (and eventually my own) head.

One day I returned to our cave after gathering some fruits and berries for a mid-afternoon nosh, when I found Shaquilley was making brutal yet tender love to a wolf who had wandered into our home. I fled the scene, tears streaming down my eyes. I returned an hour later, to find Shaquilley had murdered and was now feasting on the homewrecker. Got what you deserved, you tramp! I thought to myself. There was remorse in my lover's eyes, but I knew that this was the end. The bond of trust had been broken. Although neither of us spoke or threw rocks at one another, we both knew we could not go back to the simple innocence of the early days of our love. Shaquilley bent me over and made sweet, gentle rape to me one last time.

After the pain subsided enough so that I could walk, I left the cave forever, and wandered back home. I was a changed man. I had experienced love. I had experienced hurt, in so so many ways. I had a full, scragly neckbeard.

I will never forget you, my bigfoot love. I will never forget you.

How To Internet: A How To Guide About How To Internet On the World Wide Internet (WWI)

Hello, This Sighters! I am Boris Felding Cupcake, your local online expert of all things technologically baffling, such as technology and baffles. Today we will explore the wide world of the giant intangible spider-web that is...THE INTERNETZ!

Have you seen the motion picture, The Net, starring Ms. Net herself, Sandra Bullock? The internet is a lot like that movie. Have you ever seen Virtuosity, starring Mr. Net himself, Denzel Washington? It's not a whole lot like that...yet. But give it a few years and blond Russell Crowes will be coming out of the internet and ruining our lives before you can say "MY INTERNET IS ON FIRE OH GOD HELP MY BABY IS IN THERE!"

Now that you have some vague conception of what an "internet" is, let's move on to the basics...or should I say Linucs? That's a joke for all of my fellow internetting experts out there who know what Linucs is and why it is way better than Windows '95. Anyways, the basics...

STEP ONE TO USING YOUR INTERNET: FIND AN INTERNET

This will probably be the most difficult task you will face in getting "hacked on" to the interworldwebnet that comprises the Virtual Net of an internet. Internets are wily creatures that live where you least suspect them and breed constantly because they have seen more pornography than you could possibly imagine even with a special pornographic computer that was designed and produced solely with the sole goal of creating a constant stream of pornography and delivering it straight to your brain through your cerebellum. If you can locate an internet, you must jump on it and pound its teeth in (what we experts call "keys on a keyboard") until it allows you to see its secrets on its large brain-screen. I found my first internet in my parents' basement, so you might want to check there first. Except you'll have to get permission from my parents because they are very protective of that internet, whom they have named "Dell."

WARNING! DO NOT TRY TO FEED THE INTERNET BY POURING SOUP ALL OVER IT! THE INTERNET WILL START ON FIRE AND THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE ON THE INTERNET EVERY SECOND SO YOU WOULD KILL THOUSANDS AND BE WANTED FOR MURDER.

STEP NUMBER SECOND FOR SEEING THINGS AND OTHER ACTIVITIES ON THE INTERNET THAT YOU'VE CAUGHT AND TAMED TO OBEY YOUR EVERY COMMAND: USING THE INTERNET

Congratulations! You have caught an internet! It will now know you as "master" and obey your every command...on the assumption that you know how to properly command it to do things that you want it to do but it won't do and so you call your mom and ask her how to find Pokemon cheats on the internet and she doesn't know what a Pokemon is so she asks and then you tell her and she gets really upset and calls you a "nancy queer" and puts one of your dads dirty magazines in your bed for some reason. So, to properly command an internet, you must utilize its teethboard (called the "keyboard" in exper-terms*) that has the alphabet all mixed up on it (trust me, I tried to use it to memorize the order of the alphabet for 1st grade and Mrs. Poncioni did not say very good things about my performance and held me back and I told her she smelled like poop but it turned out that I smelled like poop because I pooped myself because I was nervous because of the spelling test and BOY was I ever embarassed!) and the funny-looking tail it has next to its teethboard. You must master both of these incomprehensible tools if you wish to find the lyrics to the newest Weird Al Yankovic songs and have them all for yourself!

Firstly, let's learn how to potentially use the teethboard. Don't worry, the internet doesn't bite! However, your mom might if you type in "Weird Al" on the internet face-screen and a bunch of pictures of naked dudes appear and your mom sees it before you can make the internet stop showing those things and your mom was bringing the laundry downstairs and she sees it and drops everything and screams and bites you. If you punch any of the letter teeth, those very same letters will show up on the web-o-screen-o-matic! Fantastic! What about all of those other confusing numbers, you ask? Only numbers 1-9 and 0 are on this thing? What if you need to type a number like 10? Or even 11? Those numbers aren't on it! Well, don't worry, web-slinger, you can just cry until your mom types in complex numbers, such as "Amish Paradise lyrics for my 13 year old brother" or "11 different Avatar screensavers." It's called outsourcing, and companies that makes tons of bucks do it all the time!

Fourthly, you must - MUST - control the internet creature's unwieldy tail - known in both internet and outternet circles as a "mouth." Be careful, because if you grab it wrong, you may accidentally swing it wrong and it will break the inter-face-screen and your dad will get real mad when he gets home and wants to work on taxes or see naked ladies and can't because you killed the internet and that means no breakfast for a month! So put your hand on it gently and when you move it, an inter-pointer that lives on the internet will move around and scare your cat. Here comes the complicated part: you have to press down on the mouth at juuuuust the right time in order to find the interinternet - the internet's soul that allows you access to a world of new backgrounds and funny emails about Arab people and Democrats.

STEP-BY-STEP WAS MY FAVORITE SHOW UNTIL CODY LEFT AND WAS REPLACED BY THAT FRENCH GUY WHO WASN'T FUNNY AND DID HAIR STUFF: LET'S FIND STUFF NOW THAT WE HAVE CONQUERED OUR DISOBEDIENT INTERNET

Now you must be excited. I mean, reeeeeeeal excited! You are an L3T HAx0R INT3RN3TTA now! You have access to millions upon tens of hilarious smilies, poop jokes, and quizzes about celebrities that can win you iPods! But where do you start? It's a biiiiiig world out there, and you don't want to just run in willy-nilly and be all confused-like.

Start with the basics. You have somehow made the internet show you AOL 4.0 - the best kind of internetting in the world. Wait for your computer to make a lot of funny phone call noises and then BAM! It's time to start netting the web.

Let's calm down! There's much that needs to be done and seen with your very own eyes. Grab yourself some Mountain Dew Code Red and get on that line known as the onlineternet! If you can click and mash the keys juuuuust right, you could find any of the following, and possibly even more:

• Pictures of Naruto
• Videos of pets pooping
• Videos of people pooping on their pets
• Napoleon Dynamite quotes
• Chuck Norris Facts
• Cats that say things and use internet-talk (commonly known as "webberonomics")

What are you waiting for? Grab that net and get hunted by a vast conspiracy that wants to wipe away all of your information and kill you!

STEP-BY-STEP...DAY-BY-DAY....FINAL STEP: BEING DONE WITH THIS STUPID INTERNET AND ITS STUPID FACE

Ugh. This internet is boring and confusing! The more I smash the teethboardifier, the more often weird windows pop up and the screen goes all blue! Booooring... But what to do now? Throw bricks at the screen? Pee all over it? Sing it a lullaby until it begins to slumber?

No! Just find your way into a fellow kid-oriented chat-room and let your dad type things to people who might want to be your friend and come over until that man from the TV comes and makes dad sit in a chair and answer questions and even get to be on TV! Yay DAD!

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE INTERNETTED THE ONLINESPHEREWEB!

Other fun things to do with your internet:

• Water it daily so it grows big and strong. Put some of that Chia Pet green stuff on it so it blends into nature and has a sweet camouflage so others won't know where the internet is hiding.
• Rearrange the teeth-letters on its keyboard so its easier to remember the order of the alphabet without your teacher freaking out about how dumb and lice-ridden you are.
• Touch your weiner while you sit in front of it and go to the bathroom like I've seen dad do a bunch of times. I guess seeing those Weird Al lyrics that the internet is chock full of must really make him have to go!
• Learn how to correctly use intertalk phrases: LOL (lollipop), BRB (aunt Barb), ROFL (like, what Scooby-Doo would say if he wanted a waffle), GTG (gee, that's great!), and ASL (a sealion???). Example: BRB made me some LOLs and ROFLs for breakfast, and ASL responded by saying GTG!

Return to D.Y.S.T.O.P.I.A.

The year was 2099.

I was walking through Central Government Center No. 12, to file an infinite amount of paperwork resulting from the massive bureaucracy which now ran Earth, known as Central Government. My job was to file all of the paperwork regarding robot malfunctions in Sectors 4, 5, and 6901341AA into the electronic filing systems that held all of the information you could possibly fathom.

"Surtenwortalski, have you filed the robot malfunction reports resulting from General Robot Corporation's murderous riot from last week?" asked Officer Brown, my boss at the center.

Last week, the new XB-03 Maintenance Bots got some of their programming scrambled and tried replacing the brains of everyone who worked in the factory with chunks of lead, instead of fixing VCRs and toasters like they were supposed to. A few wrong diodes or something, as I found out.

"Uh, yeah," I responded. "This is the twelfth time they've created some robots that tried dismantling peoples' brains. I think maybe they should spend more time on developing the robots before producing a bunch and giving them scalpels."

"It is not your place to question the workings of the Central Government nor General Robot Corporation in our dystopian future. It is merely your job to file paperwork electronically, not stay out past curfew, watch GovernmentVision programming during the mandatory times, take your mandatory Mood-Lite pills, and accept conformity! That is your place."

"Yeah, okay," I responded, giving Brown the finger beneath my plain, gray, shiny desk in my tiny, plain, gray cubicle in which I worked.

Brown left, and a few minutes later, a Mail-Bot came by to deliver me my mail.

"HERE IS YOUR MAIL, SURTENWORTALSKI," said the Mail-Bot.

"Thanks, Mail-Bot," I responded, taking the mail from its metallic claws.

"ERROR - STEALING MAIL-BOT'S MAIL. UNACCEPTABLE."

"No, Mail-Bot, it's my mail -"

"ROBBERY IN PROGRESS. DESTROY ALL LIVING CREATURES IN 20 METER RADIUS."

"What? No, this is my mail -"

The Mail-Bot's robot eyes began to glow red, and sparks started shooting out of its chest.

"SELF-DESTRUCT! SELF-DESTRUCT! IN 5...4..."

"Um, help? Help! HEEEELP!"

I hit the EMERGENCY DISTRESS BUTTON under my desk. Mail-Bots are notorious for malfunctioning when even doing the most basic of their assigned tasks, I should have seen this coming. Why the factory heads decided to install nuclear cores in all of them still baffled me.

It was then that the faceless dystopian guards dressed in all black entered and used their laser-guns to stop the Mail-Bot's self-destruction.

"Thanks guys, that was a close one. I think we should just stop using these Mail-Bots..."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, CIVILIAN?" asked one of the guards.

"I BELIEVE HE SUGGESTED WE END THE EFFICIENCY THAT KEEPS OUR DYSTOPIAN SOCIETY RUNNING SO SMOOTHLY AND DEMONSTRATED FREE THINKING WHICH IS A THREAT AS WELL TO OUR DYSTOPIAN SOCIETY AND WAY OF LIFE WHICH COULD LEAD TO REVOLUTION IF LIKE-MINDED PEOPLE LIKE HIM DISCOVER HIS IDEALS AND THOUGHTS AND PHILOSOPHIES WHICH COULD LEAD TO A SOCIAL UPHEAVEL THAT DESTROYS ALL WE HAVE WORKED FOR!" responded one of the other guards.

"Well, I mean, they keep blowing up and killing people. I don't think that really constitutes 'efficiency.'"

"ONLY THE GREAT LEADERSHIP COUNCIL IS ABLE TO DETERMINE WHAT CONSTITUTES 'EFFICIENCY.'"

I stared at them blankly for a moment, before snapping out of it. I shrugged my shoulders, as I knew any further argument would fall upon deaf ears. The guards weren't really sure what to do either when I stopped talking. They stood around for a second or two before grabbing the robot and leaving, saying they were heading for "Robot Repair Center No. 34." Robot Repair Center No. 34 was notorious for having their Repair-Bots malfunction and blow up half a city block.

"What just happened?" asked Officer Brown, my boss, who had just heard about the Mail-Bot incident.

"Mail-Bot tried to self-destruct again. Fourth time this week."

"You must have broken protocol! You endangered efficiency of the Central Government with your renegade ways!"

"I just tried to get my mail, I didn't do anything wrong."

"I'm sorry, Surtenwortalski, but I'm afraid I must report you to Faceless Dystopian Security."

Oh man, those guys were just here. I knew exactly what would happen if Brown called them on me.

"They will take you to Reprogramming With Propoganda Center No. 337 and reprogram you with propoganda."

Ugh. I'd been 'reprogrammed' eight times before. They just strap you into a chair, play lots of Mellencamp music, and show you news reels about robot production and an instructional video on how to fix drywall. Which was pointless because drywall was phased out after the Great Nuclear Wars of the 2020s and replaced with all-lead walls.

"Do you really have to? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Now you are questioning a superior officer?! Your breakage of protocol knows no bounds, Surtenwortalski!"

Man, I really did not want to go to that place again. There was only one way out.

"I'm gonna leave early today, actually. Have a nice one, boss."

"What?! You think you can escape?!" Brown pressed a button on his Watch-O-Computer on his wrist. "I have sent Security-Bot to capture and retain you for processing."

"What?!" I gaped at Brown. That guy is frickin' nuts. Then again, I started to realize pretty much everyone was nuts in this dystopian society of ours. I began to ran, but I could hear the Security-Bot down the hall, smashing its way towards me.

Security-Bots are notorious for malfunctioning and just going on killing rampages and never really following its objectives, which gave me a slight advantage in that it would be busy killing other things before it got to me. A properly-working Security-Bot would just chase me, grab me, and probably try to fix my brain, which it would think was a blender. Sad to think that that is what a "properly-working" robot would do.

I ran to the plain, gray, automatic doors that lead to the outside world, where there were nothing but plain gray buildings that were all exactly the same, in dimensions, appearence, and everything else. Nature had been obliterated in the 2020s, and the world had not seen the color green since. I had heard about the color green from my grandfather, but I always thought it was just his insane ramblings. I imagined what 'green' would look like... Luckily, I caught myself in reverie and snapped out of it before the Security-Bot could gain any significant distance on me.

I heard the screams of my co-workers and the sound of smashing metal and glass behind me. I think we had invested too much faith in technology in our dystopian future.

TO BE CONTINUED...

James Marsden Will Never Know True Love

Let's face it: in most Hollywood movie love-triangles, someone has to be the loser who walks away with nothing and no one, with the exception of the lower-quality "erotica" films, in which everyone is ultimately the loser, to varying degrees. Even in The Breakfast Club, where there was virtually no hint of any love triangle, everyone hooks up but the nerd. And then they make him write their paper while they make out and canoodle and defy convention and break the stereotypes laid upon them by their cliques! Wouldn't it suck to be the continual loser of love? The one who never got the girl? Yes, like you, good reader. Actually, exactly like you. Not even sure why I asked the question.

Oh yeah, that's right. James Marsden.

Poor, poor James Marsden.

You probably know him as Cyclops, aka the Optic Blast Guy Who Never Really Got To Use His Optic Blasts. He was the tool that kept apart the eternal, half-assedly developed love of Jean Grey and Wolverine. I mean, basically he was a decent guy who worked hard, was responsible, and treated everyone with respect, but he wasn't a renegade badass with claws, so he was automatically doomed to be the loser of that love triangle. Although there was no clear "winner" by the end of the series, being turned into dust by your fiance for no reason is a pretty good sign of being the loser. Also, having audiences hate you and root for the guy with the goofy hair to make out with your fiance must suck.

A movie not a whole lot of people have seen followed, Heights. He gets dumped by his fiance in Heights. But that one's sorta his fault too, so we'll move on.

Let's not forget Superman Returns, as much as we wish we could. In the exciting movie of Superman lifting heavy things and creepily stalking his ex-girlfriend and watching stock footage of Marlon Brando in his laziest performance, James Marsden played the "obviously he is not going to be the winner of this love triangle" role of Lois Lane's replacement boytoy while Superman went flying into space for no reason. I mean, the thing is a Superman movie. He's dating Lois Lane...in a Superman movie. He was done from the getgo. He's even raising Superman's kid! And that kid has the power to throw pianos real fast, which must be troublesome. So basically he's another good guy who has no shot because the deadbeat dad who abandoned his family to search for space rocks wears a cape. Poor, poor James Marsden.

Then comes the crown jewel of James Marsden getting screwed over...everyone's favorite Alzheimer's-related romantic dramedy - The Notebook! James Marsden plays Lon, a lovable rich guy who is rich and has no beard and is not Ryan Gosling hence undeserving of love or even mild consideration. He's never mean, never does anything remotely asshole-ish, other than not being Ryan Gosling. And Rachel McAdams dumps him with no regard to go rain-makin'-out with a guy who looks like a hobo. Luckily, karma helped poor Lon out by giving Rachel McAdams a horrible neurological disease and by turning her hobo-hubby into an elderly James Garner. Ha! Eat that, McAdams.

Many of you may have seen the recently released Enchanted, starring McDreamy and that Junebug chick who was totally married to Ryan from The O.C. except he had a mustache. Know who else it starred? Ah, yes...James Marsden. He was doomed from the outset on this one. Just look at the poster. Amy Adams front and center, flanked by two potential suitors. One is television's McDreamy, whom women everywhere love for some reason, and the other is James Marsden, looking quite foppish. Doesn't take a genius to figure out who is walking away empty-handed this time. Our poor Mr. Marsden plays a purposely one-dimensional character whose sole purpose in life is to be the love of Amy Adams. Then she dumps him for McDreamy. Ouch. Big-time ouch.

Overall, it must really suck to be James Marsden. NOTE: In real life he has a wife and a few kids I think, none of whom have left him for other men...yet.

All Hallow's GREEN Grab Bag

GREEN TIP OF THE DAY! To save water and decrease water waste, shower and go to the bathroom in your neighbor's house. It will make them appear to be much more wasteful of water than they should while you appear to use barely any water at all! By gum, you look as green as a green Prius (I'm not sure why they make them in any other color)! Your new greenness will make your less green neighbor green with envy! Envy-green is not the kind of green you want, just so we're clear. Here are the BAD kinds of green:


- Envy-Green

- Hulk-Green (he's angry and smashes stuff, potentially nature)

- Money-Green (people are greedy and destroy Alaska and other nature places to get more money)

- Tom Green (I don't think nature is cool with some Canadian weirdo sucking on an elephant's penis)

- Green Vegetables (my mom made me eat lima beans once, and they made me hate vegetables - and nature - for a long time)

- Green Animals (a lot of them are poisonous, like snakes and other snakes)

- Gangrene (not sure if it's actually green, but it's bad. My dad had this and his left foot looked gross)

---

GREEN TIP! Combat global warming by blasting the air conditioning on high and leaving the freezer door open all day!

---

Dear This Site,

I want to be extra green for Halloween this year. I usually spend Halloween egging houses and throwing rocks at little kids and TPing the principal's house and littering for no reason whatsoever and starting tire fires. What can I do to be extra green?

-Green in Greensboro


Dear Green,

For this year's HalloGREEN, why don't you light animals on fire instead of tires? Tire fire smoke contains deadly, non-green toxins, whereas animals are biodegradable! Be safe and enjoy your trick-r-greening!

---

Dear This Site,

I initially read your first HalloGREEN article and decided to use green paint in place of water for my bobbing for apples activity at my annual Halloween party. Everyone who partook is now dead, with the exception of my friend Shelley, who is just blind now. How can I turn this blue tragedy into a green miracle?

-Hopeful in Hoboken

Dear Hopeful,

Sorry for your loss, but at least it was in the name of being green, right? Bury all of your deceased partygoers in the woods - their bodies will decompose and supply the soil with rich nutrients! You may want to finish off Shelley as to supply the soil with more and more nutrients, which Mother Earth will thank you greatly for!

---

GREEN TIP! Save energy by going to your local hospital and pulling as many plugs out of sockets as possible!

---

GREEN TIP! Save paper - and hence, trees - by reusing toilet paper! Don't just flush after a single use, you Republican!

---

The Statue of Liberty's green. Coincidence? I think NOT.

Tips For HalloGREEN

We here at this site, This Site, have finally looked up what "going green" means. Turns out, much to our chagrin, that it is not meant to be taken literally. It's more like "nature stuff tends to be green, and we should help nature out once in a while, so let's all be green like nature and stop throwing those styrofoam cups into the river or something."

I guess that makes sense, even though our way would have actually changed the world in a noticeable way. As far as I can tell, the actual way of "going green" will just make smokestacks all swirly. Which, don't get me wrong, would be pretty cool, but not worth all of the effort.


Regardless, people want green, so we're here to give them green.


Our HalloGREEN tip of the day for today is how to make your costume more greener than you could ever imagine it being! And we don't mean how to make it more like the color green, even though that would have made this whole thing way easier. Just go as the Jolly Green Giant. He's cool and healthy.

THIS SITE PRESENTS...

HALLOGREEN COSTUME BONANZA!

What is the most important thing about Halloween? Other than ghosts. And scary movies. And vandalism. And candy. Okay, maybe to you candy is the most important thing, but not to the rest of the world. C'mon man, give us a break here. We're talking about...costumes with rubber masks that are really uncomfortable and usually look awful and smell kinda funny.

GREEN TIP! Those rubber masks that you love to breathe through uncomfortably for five minutes before saying "Screw this" and tearing it off and never putting it on again are apparently not green. We'll call things that aren't green "puce" for simplicity's sake.

Here is a list of potential, green-ready costumes that are awesome and look pretty snazzy which you can choose to don this HalloGREEN:

R2-D2

This year, impress all of your Prius-driving pals with your green-approved R2-D2 costume! Remember that beeping garbage can from those popular space movies? It's him! Beep and boop and be the belle of the ball! Just take a garbage can, throw it over your head, and presto-change-o! Deliver important messages to princesses while beeping at your annoying, effeminate, gold-colored companion!

Chewbacca

"GRRRRRRRRRAHHHHHH!!!" He's big, he's furry, he can rip your arms right off! He's Chewbacca, or "Chewy" to you "space fights" fans out there! You can assemble this easy-to-make and green-friendly costume without polluting one bit! Just find your dog (or a neighbors dog) and cut its head off and prop it on your own! Brown dogs are preferable, but not necessary. Look at you! You're now a fierce Wookiee, ready to do battle with James Earl Jones and other evil folks. For bonus costume accessories, cut off various other parts of the dog's body and glue them to your own!

Human Bee-Hive

This year, why not give our fine, honey-producing friends a hand by offering up your body as a human bee-hive? You will look very cool and frightening to others, but you will also be helping nature! As the thousands upon thousands of bees hover around you and sting you (mildly, hopefully), you will serve as a mobile base for their honey-producing intentions! Plus, you will serve as free advertisement for Jerry Seinfeld's "Bee Movie," coming out November 2nd!

Have A Spooky HalloGREEN

BOO! Ha ha! I'm afraid I must admit that I have spooked you, gentle reader, so you may want to become frightened and howl accordingly! I do so because we here at This Site have realized that the celebration of Halloween is just around the corner. But do you know what else is around the proverbial corner?

Being green!

But what does "being green" mean? All kinds of celebrities, from Jennifer Aniston to Leonardo Dicaprio to Nobel-winning beard-grower Al Gore, seem to really want everyone to "be green." And since celebrities are usually right about these things (remember when Ronald Reagan was a celebrity? He became president! Coincidence?!), I think we should all think about "going green" for Halloween. Why, we could call it -

HALLOGREEN!

To aid you, the still-spooked reader of This Site, in becoming green for Halloween, we will try to figure out what "being green" means and then we will tell you how to be whatever it is that that means.

Today we will explore "being green" if it means literally being green. Which we all really hope it does, because that'd make this really easy for us and we could finally use those buckets of green paint that have been sitting in the basement for the past decade. This one's for you, Mr. Gore!

BECOMING GREEN FOR HALLOWEEN - A HOW-TO-DO-THIS-GUIDE

1. You'd be surprised how easy it is to "go green." And the benefits for you and the rest of the world are priceless! Go get all of the buckets of green paint that have been sitting in the basement for the past decade. If it's still in cans, even better!

2. Ok, now douse everything in sight with the paint. Yes, that's right! The walls, the furniture, the food, even yourself!

3. Run outside and start dousing everything else with the green paint! The sidewalks, the streets, your neighbor's dog, that UPS truck over there, your neighbors...all must go green! You don't have you paint your grass if you take care of it and its already green, but if you're like us, your grass is more the color of dead hay than wonderful green paint. Might wanna get that too.

4. Dump all of the toxic waste you can find into a river - make sure that toxic waste is green though!

5. Eat some chips that have been covered in a green lead-based paint and sit back.

6. Receive Nobel prize and congratulatory call from Ryan Seacrest.

We'll check back with you later with more tips for going green for this year's HalloGREEN once we look up what "going green" actually means!

Me Want Job! - Questions/Answers

We here at This Site! are completely and utterly and fancifully dedicated to getting you, our gentle reader, some form of gainful employment. What follows are typical questions asked of you to answer by some kind of job-person who has lots of checks, some of which could belong to you if you answer his questions right!

Me Want Job! Another Step - Questions and Answers


Q: What is your name?

A: This is your chance to grab your potential employer's (McDonald's) attention from the getgo! Come up with a cool-sounding name or use a last name of a famous celebrity so you could say you're distantly related to them and even met them once!

Examples: Archimedes Raptorskull, Jackson Matterhorn, Stonewall Everest, Jonathon Clooney, Julie Jolie, George Washington IV, Jack Bauer, Spider-Man

Q: What is your middle initial?

A: This is a common area where employers tend to start snoozing. Liven things up! Use some crazy initial, like "Q" or "Z" or "?!" If you really want to show your potential employer how you think outside the box, use a full word or phrase, like "Danger" or "Sex Machine." This shows them that you do not accept limitations and social norms and always go the extra mile. Another point to you, good sir!

Q: What is your date of birth?

A: Don't lollygag on this query! It's easy to coast on this question, but I warn you to heed the temptation. Come up with an inexplicably old birthdate, such as "Oct 31, 90,000 BC" or "The dawn of time," so you will appear to be immortal and have the wisdom and job experience gained by countless eons of existence. Alternatively, you could put bizarrely recent dates, such as "Oct 31, 2005" or "About 5 minutes ago," giving you the appearence of a wunderkind, or Robin Williams in Jack.

Q: Sex/Gender?

A: Assuming it says "sex," write "Yes, Please!" Actually, even if it says "gender," write that. Everyone loves being reminded of the comedic stylings of Mike Myers.

Q: Have you ever been convicted of a felony?

A: Um....HELL YEAH!

Q: If yes, give details.

A: Time to make yourself look like a total renegade badass rebel who has been arrested a bunch of times for all kinds of awesome crimes. This will really set you apart from the masses. Put down stuff like "armed robbery I committed so I would be put in prison with my brother, who was totally set up by an evil conspiracy, so I could break him out to foil that evil conspiracy" or "quadruple homicide (for the same reason)," either of which would be pretty much perfect in every way.

Q: What is your address?

A: "Prison" or "Yo Momma!" will convey what a total hardass you are and why no one should ever mess with you. Employers love hiring hardasses who follow their own rules.

There you go, unemployed internet-goer! You now know all the right answers to all the right questions! That job is as good as yours!

Boardroom Speech Given By CEO of Stay-Puft Marshmallows, Inc. - 1985

Gentlemen,

Dear God! I mean...dear GOD! This is bad. Like, I'm talking reeeeeal bad. Remember that time that kid found a finger in a bag of our marshmallows? That was the golden age compared to what we're up against now. I mean, have you seen the news lately? Did you guys hear about this shit? What the hell happened, people?!

Okay, I don't expect to have anyone in this room own up to it - I doubt its even possible that anyone in this room could be responsible - but I'll ask anyway:

Did any of you authorize the creation of a 100-ft. tall marshmallow creature bearing the copyrighted Stay-Puft Marshmallow logo and bearing a very strong resemblance to our mascot? Huh? Johnson, I think we should cut funding to the "genetic modification" sector. Just in case.

I mean, this has been all over the news for days. It's an absolute PR nightmare, I tell ya! Our mascot attacked New York City. New York City! Where the hell did this thing come from?! And why the hell did it just happen to look EXACTLY like our Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man?!

Johnson, talk to our publicists. See if there's any way they can spin this to make it look like it was Mr. Michellin.

Great. Our brand is now, and probably always will, be viewed with an association with a disaster of epic proportions. Financially to the city of New York, personally to its civilians who lost loved ones in the incident, and philosophically to science - I mean, that thing was alive - and it was composed entirely of marshmallow. No bones, no organs. Creepy. People see us as terrorists and mad-scientists now! We will forever be remembered as the company who was behind a giant monster attacking New York. This could ruin us if we don't handle it right. Remember what happened to "Giant Ape On the Empire State Building Soup-Products" back in the '30s? That could be us!

We make marshmallows, for lord's sake! Marshmallows! They're soft and sugary! How did this happen to us? I mean, we weren't asking for it like "Kamikaze Bomber Cola" back in 1941 was. That was just silly.

And to top it all off, four square blocks of NYC was covered in piping-hot marshmallow goo after the damned thing was unceremoniously blown up. Ya think the guy on the street with third degree burns covering 70% of his body from being doused with exploded-marshmallow is ever going to buy a bag of Stay-Puft marshmallows again? How about the guy who was crushed by the giant sailor hat falling on top of him? Think he has a lot of s'mores planned ahead? I doubt it.

Why the hell did we ever sign that sponsorship contract with Gozer? Who the hell is Gozer anyways, Johnson? A Sumerian god?! What does that even mean?!

Oh well. I just don't wanna end up as the next "Stock Market Crash Corn Starch." Remember them?

Know what we should do? I'm thinking some philanthropy to gain some goodwill with the people of New York City. I saw this amazing painting in Moldavia...Vigo-the-something...anyways, we could donate it to that art museum that the creepy, curly-haired guy runs. This city will love us again yet!

Assuming "Cavemen" Is a Runaway Hit, I Think We Should Consider Making "Australian Anthromorphized Gecko" Into An Hourlong Procedural Drama

Cavemen, people.


People across this nation - the nation of America, ya know- loved the concept of modernized cavemen dealing with a cold, judgmental society in 30-second one-joke snippets. So, obviously, it turned out to be the perfect fodder for the ailing sitcom structure. Will it be the next Seinfeld or Friends? No, don't be ridiculous.


It will be at least ten times as popular and profitable as those shows.


How many cavemen or other strange and hilarious creatures did those shows feature? None (excluding David Schwimmer of course - ZING!). How many does Cavemen feature? Upwards of THREE.


Three, people. Three different cavemen. Wearing modern day clothes. Listening to iPods. Doing things. This is the stuff dreams are made of.


That worked. It worked like a charm blessed by Jesus Christ himself who brought a leprechaun along with him just for the hell of it. So, people, let me ask you this: why have you not yet started production on Australian Anthromorphized Gecko? "AAG" has been around longer than cavemen. Is more recognizable than cavemen. It's name is even closer to "Geico" than cavemen is! DAMMIT, PEOPLE! Let's get moving!


What do Americans - from America - love? Car insurance commercials? Check. Anthromorphized lizards? Check. Funny sounding accents? Check. Hourlong CBS procedural dramas? Double check. Here's a little math equation for your mathies in the audience:


[(Anthromorphized Lizard x Australian Accent + Guaranteed Geico Sponsorship)/Hourlong Procedural Drama On CBS] + cos(Chad Lowe) - Anthony LaPaglia = $UCE$$!!!


The $'s represent "S"'s, people. Think about it.


What're the problems with this? First, the damn gecko is CGI. That could get expensive. Cut the CGI, let's stick Chad Lowe into a giant lizard outfit. Can he do an Australian accent? Make it cockney, no one will notice. He's a detective investigating insurance fraud - see what I did there? Insurance! Get it? - in Seattle. He makes cracks about being a lizard. Comic relief interspersed with the heavy drama. Maybe a crossover episode with the cavemen? Who knows. The future is bright, people!


Anthromorphized Australian Gecko, people. Get working.

Heroes - Season 2 Preview

Ep 2.01 - "Volume 2: Generations" - Hiro awakes in ancient feudal Japan, where he steps on a butterfly and causes the future to be totally different. Meanwhile, in the totally different future, Matt and Mohinder are rival mimes competiting for change on the streets of Paris. Everything else is exactly the same. Also, Claire tries to get all emo to impress her new emo friend, but her cuts heal up instantly and she is rejected. Niki stares directly at an eclipse and goes blind.

Ep 2.02 - "Heroes Men" - Matt steps up his rivalry by adding a "trapped in an invisible box with a rabid dog inside" bit to his act, frustrating Mohinder greatly. Peter reforms after the massive space-explosion - but is still floating aimlessly through outerspace. Nathan falls asleep at some stupid committee meeting. Hiro steps on a blade of grass, causing the future to alter slightly - now the Earth is called Planet Lizard Death, but everything else is completely the same. Niki gets a seeing eye-dog.

Ep 2.03 - "SuperHeroes" - Mohinder stealthily switches Matt's usual white makeup with a different kind of makeup that Matt is allergic to, which causes Matt to break out in hives and must stay at home and rest for a few days. Nathan signs a wildlife preserve bill and is featured briefly on C-SPAN. Peter floats past Jupiter. Mr. Bennet takes Claire to the hospital for an appendectomy, but the doctors are frightened when the incisions keep healing up. Mr. Bennet is forced to kill the entire hospital staff to hide his daughter's secret. Hiro sneezes and causes the future to be ruled by a super-sized ant known as "The Master of All Humanity," but everything else is more or less the same.

Ep 2.04 - "How To Stop a Performing Mime" - Focusing on the storied rivalry between Matt and Mohinder (in their "mime" future), we follow them during their early friendship as fellow mimes at Mime Academy to their dramatic feud over a female mime whom they both loved that led to their current schism. We also learn that Matt's father was a legendary mime, and Matt was never able to live up to his father's high expectations of him. Also, Mohinder's lust for miming grew from the time when Marcel Marceau saved his life as a young boy about to be crushed by stampeding gazelles. Guest starring Marcel Marceau.

Ep 2.05 - "Future History" - Hiro accidentally snaps a branch off of a tree, and the future is populated by mindlessly evil lizards who have enslaved the few remnants of humanity, but everything else is exactly the same as before. Peter leaves the Milky Way. Nathan heads up a tax committee for Overlord Shnaarl the Ruthless. Claire shaves her legs and cuts herself a little, but it heals up immediately. Mr. Bennet is worried that the neighbors may have seen this through their window, so he kills his entire neighborhood. Sylar returns and eats some cow brains and now has the power to lactate.

Ep 2.06 - "Hiro Has Sex With His Grandma" - Hiro does that funny face thing he does and teleports to 1944 and totally accidentally has sex with his grandma, making him his own grandfather. Sylar hunts down an elusive parrot and eats its brains so he can now repeat things that people say to him. Overlord Shnaarl the Ruthless appoints Nathan to be his Secretary of Human Slaves. Niki accidentally kills her seeing eye dog when she tugs on his leash too hard, leaving her lost in the middle of the Nevada desert. Matt and Mohinder team up briefly to win their territory back from one of those "robot" mimes. Claires whines about something.

Ep 2.07 - "Doom" - Hiro continues sleeping with his grandmother, even after realizing their relation and the time paradox he is currently causing. Peter gets really depressed in the cold reaches of space. Nathan works to pass a bill scaling back the kinds of punishment dealt to disobedient slaves from "instant death" to "lifelong torture." Niki punches a cactus really hard. Sylar, power-hungry as ever, discovers that brains go great with Tabasco sauce. Matt learns calligraphy, which he uses to make a new "Change" sign in front of his change hat. This infuriates Mohinder, who just got a new "Change" sign made at Kinko's, which looks so bland next to Matt's handmade one.

Ep 2.08 - "The Justice League - Erm, I Mean - Team" - Hiro goes back to the moment where life began on Planet Lizard Death, but accidentally steps on that fish-frog thing that crawls out of the ocean, thus ending that step of evolution. Everyone in the future are now single-celled organisms or partially evolved fish. Fish Nathan is eaten by a larger fish.

Ep 2.09 - "Mime's the Word" - (description unavailable)

Prison Break - Season 3 Preview

Ahoy there, Prison Breakers! I know you're all anxiously awaiting the return of PB in one week, so we here at This Site have gotten the inside scoop on all of the prison breaking-related shockers, plot twists, thrill rides, tattoo-inducing goodness! Our super secret insider (Prison Break's Wentworth Miller) has supplied us with episode descriptions for the first half of the season! Thanks, secret inside scooper!

Ep 3.01 - "Running in Circles" - Michael and Mahone find themselves prisoners in Sona Prison in Panama. Michael gives himself a new tattoo detailing the architecture of the prison, but does so on his forehead, forcing him to ally himself with Mahone so he can read it, until Michael can find a mirror at least.

Ep 3.02 - "Poke 'Er? I Hardly Know 'Er!" - Lincoln, desperate to help his brother, gets totally trashed at a bar and plows into a parked car, getting cited for DUI and reckless driving, which lands him in Sona. Meanwhile, Michael gives himself a Darth Vader tattoo on his left butt cheek.

Ep 3.03 - "El Diablo del Prison de Tatoo" - T-Bag wins the Sona Friday Bingo Night and is granted one wish by the prison warden. Bellick gets raped repeatedly by a 13-year old boy who was mistakenly sent to Sona. Michael and Lincoln play "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon," which Michael cheats at by using his tattoos.

Ep 3.04 - "Contingency Plan" - Bellick, sick of Panamanian cuisine and getting raped, approaches Michael about a possible escape. Michael is reluctant, until Lincoln gets diarrhea and backs up the toilet in their cell. Mahone becomes the Sona Staring Contest champion.

Ep 3.05 - "Tit For Tat" - Michael tattoos "LOVE" and "YOU" onto his eyelids in case he ever meets Harrison Ford. Lincoln and T-Bag team up to make some fake mustaches that will be essential to breaking out of prison. Mahone is dethroned by a new Staring Contest hotshot.

Ep 3.06 - "Checkmate" - Lincoln and T-Bag start sewing some barbershop quartet outfits that will be essential to breaking out of prison. Bellick makes some wine in his toilet. Michael digs a really big hole in the center of the prison yard, which his tattoos tell him is directly above an oil well.

Ep 3.07 - "Black Gold" - Lincoln becomes frustrated at Michael's reluctance to prioritize breaking out of prison over searching for oil. T-Bag goes to great lengths to acquire the sheet music to "Coney Island Babe." Michael continues to dig his oil well. Bellick cries for an hour.

Ep 3.08 - "Texas Tea" - Lincoln's hunt for mustache wax puts him at odds with a dangerous fellow inmate. Bellick is angered when he discovers Mahone has been using his toilet and hence ruining numerous batches of wine. Michael discovers that he is illiterate.

Ep 3.09 - "Rock the Boat" - Michael's hole leads him to an unexpected destination: China. Lincoln and T-Bag argue over who is going to sing lead for "Coney Island Babe." A new inmate has seen The Shawshank Redemption, making him an invaluable new asset to the escape plan. Mahone re-discovers his passion for rare stamp collecting. Guest starring Terrence Stamp.

Ep 3.10 - "Bad New Warden" - The new warden of Sona deals with the overcrowding problem by putting Michael, Lincoln, T-Bag, Bellick, and Mahone on death row. Michael gets a new tattoo on his neck reading "The new warden sucks!" but it secretly contains a great brownie recipe. T-Bag lives up to his name.

Ep 3.11 -"Criteria" - Lincoln is forced to sacrifice Michael to a notorious prison rapist in exchange for some tea and honey when he loses his voice, fearful T-Bag would use the opportunity to take the lead part. Bellick gets a terrible rash, jeopardizing his ability to join the escape plan. Mahone runs out of mousse.

Ep 3.12 - "High Hopes" - The group prepares to enact their escape plan. Mahone is unexpectedly elected Vice President of the Stamp Collecting Club. Lincoln nicks himself while shaving. Michael gets a tattoo of a gun on his hand, hoping he can use it to trick the guards into letting them leave the prison. T-Bag gets stage fright and cannot perform with the barbershop quartet for the talent show the next day.

Ep 3.13 - "Exit Strategy" - Michael gets an invitation to his 10 year high school reunion, but regretfully declines. An old friend visits Lincoln, who has contracted amnesia and cannot remember who anyone is. Bellick's rash worsens. The group tries to construct a catapult based on one of Michael's tattoos, but the finished product seems awfully dangerous and silly.

Inside the Mind of Brett Ratner: The First Day of Shooting Rush Hour 3

I can't believe that executive prick from the studio today. "Why do you think we should make another Rush Hour?" Um, does over $60 mil opening weekend mean anything to you? Shit, that's what I should have said! I could've capped it off with a "BOOYAH!" and high-fived my assistant, Jonathon. Maybe added a "Suck on that!" or something. My actual answer wasn't too bad, really. I mean, there were a lot of unanswered questions left at the end of Rush Hour 2. Like, what would happen if Carter and...shit, what's the asian dude's name? Chong? It's something Japanese-y like that. What if Carter and Chong went to Paris? What kind of crazy, martial arts-fueled, fish-out-of-water cultural hijinks haven't we explored yet?

Oh man! Hold the phones! We should totally reveal that Carter's first name is Jimmy! Have we mentioned what his first name is in the other ones yet? Man, a couple of Jimmy Carter jokes would kill. Especially since Chong wouldn't know who Jimmy Carter is. I can picture it now. "I'm Agent Jimmy Carter, you frog!" "Res! Jrimmy Crarter!"

Chris Tucker is this generation's Abbott and Costello. Only combined. And way funnier. And black.

OH! And we could have a new sexy, French femme fatale ask "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?" only all in French-talk! Have to use subtitles, though. I should really talk to the guy who's writing the script about these ideas...actually, I should probably hire someone to write a script first. Right now all I got is a piece of paper that says "The black guy and the asian guy go somewhere else, maybe France so we can make a bunch of French jokes. French jokes rock. Or the moon, maybe. They could discover a criminal syndicate run by aliens."

Hmmm...maybe I could work in a Charlie Sheen cameo. Hey, a guy can dream, right?

Man, that guy who plays Chong is getting old. I wonder if he can still do all of those karate chops he usually does. I can never really understand what he's saying either. Maybe I could replace him with Jet Li...would anyone really notice? I like the name Jet, that should be Chong's first name. NO. WAIT! We'll name him Cheech! Holy shit...that is fucking brilliant. Oh man, the comic potential of this movie just shot up a thousand percent. I wonder if Chris Tucker is comfortable with making weed jokes...

Maybe we could replace him with Eddie Murphy. Or Eddie Murphy in a fat suit. America loves fat jokes. And he could complain about how the only food in France is snails! Wait...French fries are french too. Crap. Scratch that idea.

Shit, I hope that set designer can make Vancouver look like Paris. I should remind her that there should be berets and French fries all over the streets. Authenticity! Everyone should also say "Le" instead of "The" too. We should probably have that big tower-thing in there too. The Leaning Tower of Paris? That's where the big finale could take place! Or maybe a French McDonald's...that'd get us some nice product placement money. Oh! And we could have a gag where Jimmy Carter asks for French fries and the counter guy says "Here we just call them 'fries.'" and Carter yells "French fries and a Big Mac, you frog!" and the guy says "You mean fries and le Big Mac!" and then Chong could karate chop the guy and ask him "Do you understand the words that are coming out of my FIST?!"

Man, this is all gold! I should probably save a few of these nuggets for Rush Hour 4, where they go somewhere else. Oh! I got it! Vancouver! That would be super cheap and we could make a bunch of Canada jokes. Canada jokes rock.

I'm awesome.

Gadgets of Tomorrow 1954 Presents: The iPhone

Hello, freedom-loving commie-smashers! How's capitalism treating you today, friend? Are you buying lots of healthy, American, T-zone pleasing Marlboro-brand cigarettes? Are you buying gallons upon gallons of Jack Daniels' Whiskey to drink whilst your formly Catholic housewife rears the children, bakes pies, and expels more children from her children-expelling lower regions? Are you beating your insolent children with swell BizPro-brand leather belts whilst the tunes of Perry Como drown out their screams and pleas for mercy? Ha ha! We here at Future Advancements and Gizmos Industries sure hope so! We wouldn't want to have to put in a telegram to a certain Senator McCarthy, now would we?

Previously, we here at FAGI have told you of many of the wonders which lie in the near future of 1975 and onward: flying cars, cities in the clouds, whole meals in pill form, robots galore, cities on the moon, and a horrifying dystopic future wherein the government controls all aspects of life through forced conformity and drugs! Today we bring you a new chapter in certain future gadgetry, with (by at the latest the year 1983)...the iPhone!

Now, what is an "iPhone," you ask? Not something you could find in Soviet Russia, that's for sure (as American Capitalist scientists have proven will be reduced to anarchy, cannibalism, and a society composed of mutants and squid-people by 1967)! Rather, the iPhone is a device which Future Man will use to "communicate" with other Future Men (possibly also Future Women, however their right to vote will be repealed in the year 1960 by then-president/America's sweetheart Richard M. Nixon and many other rights will be scaled back, including the right to free speech) without the use of wires! How is such madness and quackery possible, you ask? Simple! But we won't just tell you! Oh no no no! Here's a riddle for you: How do you communicate with another Future Man who is miles away using only your iPhone and absolutely no wires? Did you answer "through a complex system of computers and satellites and radio-transmitting towers?" If you did, then you are WRONG! The real answer is much simpler and much more logical than that. The answer is...

ROBOT SINGING TELEGRAMS!

Your iPhone is actually the remote controller of your very own personal iRobot. You can type in a message into this "iRobot" (of up to 45 characters) and the mechanical beast will trek across the globe to find the person you wish to communicate with in a maximum of three weeks time! Responses are not possible, as only you have the ability to control your iRobot. Don't forget to keep it full of energy, as when the iRobot gets low on energy, it goes on a murderous rampage! It gains energy by feeding on the brains of young children. With the iRobot at your disposal, you can have lengthy, one-sided conversations with friends from across the world in the matter of only a few years*!

But is Robo-Telegramming the only method of communication offered by the iPhone? Ha! "Hardly" is the answer to that question! Also, "pretty much." But there is another option! What if you wish to send a message to your friend Byron, who is currently vacationing in Indo-China looking for a suitable concubine, but he is in an important business meeting which he cannot afford to have interrupted by a murderous singing cyborg? Simple! Simply type a message into your iPhone and sooner than you can imagine, Byron will have received your message via...

SMOKE SIGNALS!



Yes, smoke signals. Our red-skinned brethren taught us many things as we jovially slaughtered him and raped his women and his land, but we've forgotten most of them. The iPhone understands that we must sometime look to the past to see the future.

But the iPhone will have many uses beyond "communication." Some of the superfluous features will include:

Meal pill dispenser

Vote For Richard M. Nixon Button

Ability to play educational films: "Crushing Communism with Condoms and Christianity!", "Asbestos: Fun to Breathe In!", "Cigarettes Save Lives!", and "Marilyn Monroe Is Going To Hell For Showing Her Undergarments."

Cigarette Lighter

Archie Comic Strips

Pompadour

3-D Glasses

Can't wait to get your iPhone! Sorry, lads and gals, this baby won't be available for another few years, as our scientists are hard at work beating the Ruskies in putting a blinking metallic doodad in Earth's orbit first to establish dominance and global hubris. Until next time, remember: FIGHT COMMUNISM! BUY iPHONES!




* - more likely, decades

Trouble Report Inquiry From G.U.S.S.S.S.B. (Government of the United States Secretive Smithsonian Storage Building)

Name: Watkins, Rick

Date: 10/31/03

Basic Description: Found crate with the Ark of the Covenant in it. Everyone in the warehouse is now dead via "wrath of God."

Further Details: I just started here like a week ago, so I'm not sure if this is unusual or anything. I know Earl has been toying around with this shrink-ray he found like three months ago, and that seemed pretty bizarre at the time, but this goes WAY beyond that. I was sent to retrieve the original plans for the cotton gin for some Smithsonian event, but I accidentally opened this crate that had this weird chest in it. There were, like, these two golden eagles with their wings touching on top of it and it was real heavy. I had the night shift manager, David, help me unload the damn thing, which wasn't even in the official registry. After we did some research on Google, we figured it was the Ark of the Covenant, or like the thing that holds the remains of the Ten Commandments that Moses smashed after he got all pissed about something. I peeked in the thing and saw what looked like a storm cloud or something inside of it, so I put the top back on and said I was going on my lunch break. When I came back 45 minutes later, David's face was all melted off and everyone in the warehouse had giant gaping holds through their chests. And that damn Ark of the Covenant was still just sittin' there, looking all proper and ominous. So I decided to put it back in the crate and write out this trouble report. Could you also send in someone to clean up the dead bodies? They're all over.

Hey look! This article is on McSweeney's!

Profiles in Badassery

Let's face the facts: history is boring. But...why is it boring? There are many possibilities. Is it because history class does not have as many fist fights and torn-out throats as Roadhouse? Is it because history class never shows you Marie Curie's sweet rack? Maybe it's because history repeats itself! (that was a joke so you should be laughing for the next three minutes, okay?)

The truth is that history is boring because when you are taught history, all of the awesome parts are left out or glossed over in favor of the "important stuff," i.e. stuff that is too awesome for our adolescent, MTV-soaked, Tamagotchi-loving brains to comprehend. So we get stuck learning about cotton gins, Eli Whitney, and more cotton gins. But what happened to all of the awesome moments and people in history? Do they even exist?

Oh yes, they certainly do. And they're even sweeter than you could imagine. Today we'll profile one of history's most awesome historical figures: Aaron Burr.

Aaron Burr

Aaron Burr is described by the renowned, oft-bibliographied in research papers by desperate high schoolers (i.e. me) website Wikipedia as a "hero and adventurer." Not a shabby beginning. Anyone who can turn "doing brave things" and "having adventures" into a fruitful career deserves a little recognition. But this makes him look like a boring goody-two-pantaloons, eh? Well, let's cut right to the sweet innards then.

Burr was running for Governor of New York when noted nancy-boy and spoiled dandy Alexander Hamilton began writing defamatory remarks about the hero/adventurer, which cost everyone's favorite wily hero/adventurer the election. But the suspected communist Hamilton went beyond the limits of good taste at a dinner party when he rallied the incomprehensible gall to utter from his soulless gullet that he could express a "still more despicable opinion" of Burr. This outrageously slanderous and malicious comment eventually made its way to the universally-beloved hero/adventurer Burr, who demanded an apology from the reviled muckraker Hamilton. When Hamilton refused, claiming he could not remember making the comment (most likely due to his loss of sanity due to his particularly vile case of chlamydia which he received from raping young children to appease his lord and master, Satan), Burr took the gentleman's route and challenged the poofter Hamilton to a duel.

The duel was to take place on July 11, 1804, along the west bank of the Hudson River on a rocky ledge in Weehawken, New Jersey, where Hamilton's equally villainous and squeamish son Philip had been killed three years earlier in a duel (possibly by his twistedly deviant father). Hamilton, being the one who was challenged (not to mention the sissier of the two), was given first choice of weapon and position for his ultimate doom.

At dawn, the duel began. Hamilton, having the bravery of a panicked 8 year-old girl, shot at the ground. This act was considered by some to "exemplify courage" and could "bring a peaceful resolution to a duel," but history clearly shows us that it was merely an attempt by the scurrilous Hamilton to escape his due punishment for his continued slander against a noted American hero. Burr, not one to be deceived by such thinly-veiled trickery, fired and hit the scoundrel in his lower abdomen above the right hip. The bullet ricocheted about Hamilton's ever-cursed torso, effectively destroying his bileful liver and diabolical diaphragm.

Burr immediately left the scene. According to his second, William P. Van Ness, he ate eggs and toast for his victory breakfast in Manhattan. Well-earned eggs and toast, in this writer's humble opinion.

Also, Burr was behind a conspiracy to steal away a bunch of land west of the Appalachians and start his own massive nation with himself as a self-imposed King or Emporer, with the eventual goal of overthrowing the United States government. Plus, he got acquitted of treason charges when he was caught later. Not too shabby, eh?