LCD Soundsystem / Radiohead Mash-up

I made a mashup of LCD Soundsystem and Radiohead a while back, but I just now put it on youtube. Enjoy.

Mega Man Day! (I have no job)

Today is Megaman day! While it may not be a recognized holiday, it certainly holds enough sway to make sure I sit around and look for Megaman videos on youtube. Ok. So I can’t even explain how awesometarded this first one is. Someone played through Megaman 3 but replaced all the music and sound effects with vocals:

I can’t imagine the time it takes to do that. Oh wait, I can. Now, although this next video peaks in hilarity around :57 when all the villains start dancing together, it’s pretty great to watch the subtle syncs throughout:

The new Girl Talk has given me Megaman mashup fever. I like Jay-Z Black Album mashups as much as the next guy, and I also like bleeping out bad words with the Megaman teleport sound:

As for Justin Timberlake, I definitely wondered about the Megaman similarity, and it’s great to see someone with more talent actually made it happen. Besides that, the Crashman verse is so awesome that it makes up for the completely dissonant chorus:

In conclusion, Megaman day is a new holiday I invented, and after I lost my job I thought I could find productive things to do with my time but I was severely wrong.

The Thing About Frogs

The world be a different place if frogs were the size of cars and hungered for human flesh.

Truly, the world be a different place if frogs were the size of cars and hungered for human flesh. There would be colossal changes in the very shape of society, but as with traveling through a foreign country, it’s the subtle differences that really tell the whole story.

Weather forecasting would be very complicated indeed. As important as meteorologists are in our society, their work would seem like frivolous diversions compared to that of the Great Frog Prognosticators, a highly secretive group of experts whose sole job would be to track and predict the feeding patterns of mankinds’ scourge. Their five-day forecast would be an indispensable tool for planning picnics, parties, survival.

When people get mad at each other, instead of saying “I’m gonna kill you,” they’d say, “I’m gonna frog you.” Furthermore, the word “fuck” would be replaced by “frog,” as in, “frog you, asshole!” or “Yipee-ki yay, motherfrogger!” Also, the word “pants” would be replaced by “tadpole knickers,” but for reasons nobody can adequately explain.

Senor Frog’s Restaurant and Bar, a popular Cancun spring break destination in our world, would be nothing more than a slaughterhouse for human remains, staffed by enslaved children, where hungry frogs feast on the meat and bones of everyone you love. Sorority girls held prisoner would be forced to “go wild,” 24 hours a day, and woe unto the girl whose “not wild enough” behavior displeased her amphibian masters.

Gossip Girl would still be about the trials and tribulations of privileged Upper East Side teenagers, except the b-stories would usually focus on something frog-related, such as, “frogs ruin class picture day,” or, “a frog eats Chuck,” or Blair whispering, “I killed a frog.”

The movies Predator, Aliens, and Robocop would be called Frog, Frogs, and Robofrog, respectively. The only movie that would stay exactly the same is Joe vs. The Volcano, again, for reasons nobody can adequately explain.

On a positive note, there would be no wars (aside from the Great Frog Wars of 1691, 1733, 1734, and 1908, during which 80 percent of the population was devoured, maimed, or felt really gross because they touched slimy frog skin).

The game Frogger would be rated M for mature.

Hand Over Your Badge, Shaq

Chief of Police to Loose Cannon Officer Shaq: “Hand over your badge.”

There are plenty of reasons I love Shaq. He is ridiculous incarnate, a walking circus of hilarity and best of all, he knows it. One time, when told by the Associated Press that his body mass index classified him as “obese,” Shaq responded: “I’ve read that same formula, but as an athlete, I’m classified as phenomenal. You can look it up.” Back in 2005, even though he knew it would be both noble and absurd to help undercover Miami Beach detectives solve their cases, the Big Aristotle was sworn in as a U.S. Deputy Marshal and did exactly that.

But now it seems that Sheriff Joe Arpaio of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office wants to spoil Shaq’s fun. Angry Sheriff Joe is demanding that Shaq turn over his special deputy badge because the sheriff’s office “doesn’t condone this type of racial conduct.” He’s referring, of course, to the video of Shaq freestyling at a New York nightclub and dissing former teammate Kobe Bryant. Highlights include “Last week Kobe couldn’t do without me,” and of course my new ringtone, “Kobe, tell me how my ass taste!”

Behold, the first of many remixes:

To Sheriff Joe, may I be the first to say, “How dare you.” It’s not that I condone racism or unsportsmanlike conduct of any kind, but I definitely condone comedy, and no one knows how to entertain America both on the court and off like Shaquille O’Neal. If Shaq decided it’s time for a pop culture battle royale between two titans of basketball, who is Sheriff Joe to intervene and impose his own moral outrage on the situation? As far as I’m concerned, Sheriff Joe, revoking Shaq’s badge is a crime in and of itself. And as a concerned citizen, I’ll be reporting this crime to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office at (602) 876-1092.

How Do I Become a…

This morning I mistyped a website and a pop-up ad appeared. It said, “how do I become a…” and had a bunch of choices you could click, like Health Care Manager, HR Officer, Customer Relations Rep, Tech Writer, Campaign Manager. Each job had cute drawing of a face next to it, so I clicked Health Data Analyst because the face was kind of cross-eyed and I felt bad. The link sent me to a website where I had to answer a bunch of questions. I said I am over 51 years old. I said I obtained a GED in 1981. I said I have a doctorate and I am currently living in Trinidad and Tobago.

The website was sorry to inform me that I could not get further schooling, they have no partner schools in my area. How sad is it that as a 51-year-old with a Ph.D. who lives in Trinidad and Tobago, I have no viable options with which to continue my education? Answer: not that sad, because I live with three beautiful wives on a beach with sand like powdered sugar.

“Get Your Balls Outta My Face!”

I’ll admit it: the recent Hulk trailers have been kind of cool. But now that Variety’s Todd McCarthy is giving The Incredible Hulk a handjob of a review, it dawns on me that the very existence of the film is completely unnecessary. After all, it’s not like anyone was clamoring for a do-over after Waterworld or Battlefield Earth. So what’s the deal? What is so appealing about Bruce Banner? It might be that he taps into a societal Jekyll and Hyde archetype we can all identify with, or that he smashes a ton of stuff like a movie version of Rampage, but judging by this leaked scene, it could also be the way he says “Get your balls outta my face.”

Punctuation is Stupid?

Spanish punctuation is like English, but there are a few significant differences. Without a doubt, the best thing about Spanish punctuation is its syntactic doubling of exclamation points and question marks. Using our markedly inferior English grammar, I can say, “One of these days I’m gonna murder you in the face!” Pretty good, but it’s effectively a garden-path sentence because when the reader gets to the end, he must reassess the semantic ambiguity based on the exclamation point at the end. The speaker was yelling the whole time, but it’s impossible to know that until the final punctuation mark.

Now let’s turn to the double exclamation points of Espaniol, which we can all agree: a masterpiece of punctuation. ¡One of these days I’m gonna murder you in the face! In Spanish, there’s obviously danger afoot from the very first word.

¿¡Caliente!?

My Best True Story

MY BEST TRUE STORY

I didn’t always live in a solid gold mansion. I used to poor– ugh, the worst– but here’s what happened: someone had been stealing garbage cans in our neighborhood. So this one night I’m outside looking for the mystery thieves and along come these bozos on horseback. I say, hey bozos, get off those horses! And they get all mad because they’re not riding horses; they’re Centaurs (half-man, half-horse, or whatever).

They take me and my garbage can to their secret lair in the Forest Of Mystery or something. Who ever heard of the Forest Of Mystery? I swear I’m in the forest across from my house, but the Centaurs say no, it’s the Forest Of Mystery. Okay, Centaurs, you’re the boss.

“WE ARE THE CENTAURS,” they bellow, and I respect them for the way they bellow. They tell me I am the first outsider to see their city in over 500 years. They show me their city, high in the trees and not unlike my old Star Wars Ewok Village playset. They show me their aqueduct. They are very proud of their aqueduct, except they keep calling it “aquaduck” and I don’t correct them because I am their guest. The most impressive part though, to me, is their Mount Olympus of stolen garbage cans. Look, up at the top, there’s our stolen blue recycler.

The Centaurs, what they’re doing is stealing our garbage cans because of some long, dumb story. They’ve come from a desolate land far away, a land full of danger and magic, and blah blah blah. Whatever, Centaurs!

I say to the leader, his name is Hyperion or something, I say, “Hey horse-jerk, you showed me your secrets and your lair and your secret lair, and if you don’t want me to spill the beans, it’s gonna cost you.” The Centaurs get all mad, they all start bellowing, and I respect that, and for a minute I think they are so mad they might eat me– I am a delicious sandwich to their people– but then we reach a compromise.

At this moment, whenever I tell this story at home, I look around my bright and shiny gold living room, almost like I’m surprised by all the gold I see, and of course my guests always laugh, because how could they not love me? Then I say:

“And that’s the story of how I got my solid gold mansion.”