A Matter of Extreme Importance

The following is a piece of private correspondence between Inspector Bunting and Governor James Beauforth. I have chosen to release it to the public as a matter of personal and national integrity.

Kittery, Maine 20th April 1722

Dear Governor Beauforth,

Although I have restrained from expressing this for as long as I could reasonably stand, I feel that my constitution will suffer too tremendous a blow if I continue to do so beyond this very day. I suggest you find a sturdy wooden table or piece of furniture upon which to brace yourself, else position your person in a way which will allow you to receive some amount of shock, for this following statement of mine will undoubtedly deliver just that.

I have in my mind a not inconsiderable amount of suspicion that the doctor of our dear hamlet, Roderick Hollins himself, is – and has been for an undeterminable amount of time now – some manner of dark and unnatural sea creature.

I am aware of just how outrageous this may sound, but please believe that exhaustive investigation by myself and other men of unquestionable character and ability has lead to this terrifying, yet horribly likely conclusion. I formally, and – to be blunt – I desperately ask of you your counsel on this weighty matter.

Additionally, though please understand I mean not to condescend, I must stress the importance of discretion. The gentlefolk of the County need not the trouble of knowing that their own physician is actually the likes of which swarthy seaman of old might have warned of on their cartographic charts with a scrawl noting ‘here be monsters.’ Heaven help us.

Signed and sealed,

Inspector H. Bunting

P.S. I have included below a rubbing of an artist’s draft of the doctor’s true appearance since the words to properly describe this horror escape me.

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Fictional Conversation about a Turtle

“That turtle is definitely gonna get bigger.”
“No, the pet shop told me they stay like this.”
“That’s not true. That kind of turtle is definitely not that small.”
“What do you mean? It’s obviously small.”
“Well yeah, right now it is. But in a year it’s gonna be like five times as big.”
“I don’t think so. These things are at pet shops all the time. They’re always tiny.”
“Yeah that’s because they’re babies. They only sell the babies and it’s illegal as hell.”
“What? No. That’s not true.”
“Well, guess we’ll see in a year.”
“Yeah okay. Guess we will.”

The turtle got way bigger.

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Anyone Can Dance

Now entering chat room: DANCE PARTY

KrazyKatta03: Anyone wanna dance?
BigBoiBG: Yea

BigBoiBG takes KrazyKatta03’s hand and they walk out on the dance floor. They start dancing to a cool r&b song

LIONSFAN85 has entered the chat.

LIONSFAN85: wtf is this chat
Jbebe89: Lions its a chat room that’s like a dance club.
LIONSFAN85: that’s stupid your all dorks
Jbebe89: leave if you don’t like it some of us do.
Ryguyyy: Yeah you don’t have to be here
LIONSFAN85: Ryguyy SUXX
Ryguyyy: good one.

Ryguyyy chills at his table and looks around the room to see if anyone cool is here. 

LIONSFAN85: lol u just type what ur doing thats gay as hell
LIONSFAN85: but how do u do that
BigBoiBG: just type “/me” and then whatever

BigBoiBG waves at LIONSFAN85

LIONSFAN85 pulls my peen out and I swing it around at Ryguyyy. 

LIONSFAN85: lol
KrazyKatta03: You didnt do it right it should be 3rd person

Ryguyyy rolls his eyes and picks up his crutches and goes to the dance floor.

LIONSFAN85: OMG HOLD UP
LIONSFAN85: THIS DUDE IS ON CRUTCHES LMAO
LIONSFAN85: its a dance party and hes on crutches lol
Ryguyyy: Disabled people can dance too douche
LIONSFAN85: this is a pretend dance party and u chose to be crippled lol thats fucked
Ryguyyy: I’m disabled in real life and guess what I dance too sorry to burst ur bubble.
LIONSFAN85: oooh ur so much better than everyone bc u can dance on 2 wooden sticks
KrazyKatta03: wtf dude ur an asshole
Ryguyyy: My crutches are metal dude how old r u who still has wooden crutches??
LIONSFAN85: oooh futuristic cripple!!!
Ryguyyy: That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.
Ryguyyy: calling me futuristic because I have metal crutches wtf
LIONSFAN85: 8====D—_

LIONSFAN85 has been banned from the chat.

 

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Leather 6-Pack Holder Offers Great Way to Announce How Shitty You Are

drink_carrier_300In an effort to make it easier for pretentious assholes to communicate how shitty they are through contrived personal style, small-scale manufacturers and local design studios are churning out dozens of startlingly simple products with little-to-no utility.

One such place, inexplicably named Pinenut Studio, is spearheading the latest rush to supply ostentatious douchebags with impractical garbage, like its leather 6-pack holder. The hand-crafted, needless item has six compartments to hold 12-ounce glass bottles, a handle by which to carry it, as well as several other entirely unremarkable features that have already been found on traditional cardboard beer carriers for over 60 years.

Response to the company’s new, totally useless product has been enthusiastic. Local pompous fuck Freddy Orlando, 29, already owns two. “I love it. It’s great to see that someone has finally found a way around the complete non-issue of being that guy who carries beer in a cardboard case,” said Orlando, “There’s just something really self-gratifying about buying a 6-pack of PBR, taking it home, removing each bottle from the perfectly functional paperboard package, and transferring it into the leather carrier. I’m really looking forward to pissing off all my friends by showing up to parties with this thing.”

And that’s exactly what Pinenut Studio founder Justin Frankfort, 35, is trying to achieve. “I started the studio because there are a lot of assholes out there who are struggling to make it obvious just how much they suck. I should know – I’m one of them. I just want to provide products that make it easy to ensure that when you walk down the street, there’s a 100% chance people will look at you and think ‘Wow, fuck that guy.’ ”

According to Jeffrey Seguin, researcher with the University of Texas School of Archaeology, the demand by insufferable nutsacs to illustrate just how detestable they are is not a new one. Prehistoric remains indicate that primates found infuriating ways to express their misplaced desire for attention as early as 107,000 years ago –  or just about the time when archeologists believe modern humans adopted fibrous apparel.

“One particular site turned up an immaculately-preserved, absolutely shit-eating male specimen of homo sapiens adorned in animal skins that would have provided nothing in terms of basic survival or protection from the elements, and undoubtedly reflected a desire to communicate an alternative lifestyle choice,” said Seguin, “In reality, he most likely lived a life almost indistinguishable from other males, except that he probably contributed nothing of real value to his group.”

Frankfort says Pinenut Studio offers a sizable line of asinine products in addition to the beer carrier. “My favorite is probably our Headphone Organizer, which is essentially just a shitty piece of dirty scrap leather from our workshop floor and you wrap your earbuds around it.”

Both the Leather 6-Pack Carrier and Headphone Organizer are available for purchase through PinenutStudio.com for $2599.00

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Are You Trying to Say ‘Bleachy’?

When a brilliant idea comes along, you can’t sleep on it. So when I saw this two-page photo in The Atlantic, and I noticed how impossibly white this guy’s clothing is despite being surrounded by dirt and fire, I knew I had to act. Photo by Fayaz Aziz/Reuters. Art direction by @bleachy (Not kidding).

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My Favorite Maniac: Banastre Tarleton

Anyone who has ever been to any museum at all knows that even if for some reason you want to see everything, read every little plaque about every piece of fiber that was maybe used to make an old tunic or veil, you will never succeed. You will starve to death because the security guard took your snacks and the museum cafe is criminally overpriced, or you will collapse from exhaustion while trying to pretend you are still interested in rocks. That being said, on a recent pretentious cultural trip to the National Museum of American History (part of the intimidating Smithsonian Institution), I didn’t get to see everything. However, I was able to tour an impressive exhibit called “Americans at War,” which of course included very in-depth coverage of the Revolutionary War (or, as the redcoats call it, “The American War of Independence”).

My favorite feature of these types of exhibits is the inclusion of relevant quotes from journals and letters of the time, so I was delighted to find the following slippery observation on the deplorable conditions of war camps from American physician and soldier, James Tilton:

Tilton. Ascot: Express, $179

“All matter of excrementitious matter was scattered indiscriminately throughout the camp, insomuch that you were offended by a disagreeable smell, almost everywhere without the lines.  A putrid diarrhea was the consequence.  The camp disease as it was called, became proverbial.  Many die melting as it were, and running off at the bowels.  Medicine answered little or no purpose.”

Just like summer camp! But Dr. Tilton is not the historical figure on which I’d like to focus. I would now like to turn the spotlight on my new favorite maniac. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my deviant pleasure to introduce to you 1st Baronet, Knight Grand Cross, Commandant of the British Legion,  Sir Banastre Tarleton.

It was traditional for a man of valor to purse his lips while posing for a portrait, a distinct style known as "duckface."

From Genghis Khan to David Petraeus, the annals of history are thoroughly populated by the legacies of great military figures. We’ve all heard some permutation of the tale of the fearless general who valiantly lead his troops to victory, glory, and probably dysentery. In addition to the contents of his bowels, he most likely lost an entire appendage, such as a pinky or a nose, yet was still able to turn the tide of war with the respect and authority commanded by his station. These are more than mere mortal men driven by love for king, country, comrade, or even three square meals a day. They are figures of destiny, woven from a fabric of pure fate into a muffler of the highest ethereal quality.

The praises sung of Tarleton the Legendary Liverpudlian are an eternal ballad, and it’s inevitable that I should make a fool out of myself in any attempt to do his reputation justice. Therefore, I think the prudent course of action is to let him speak for himself. Placed just below the above portrait of Tarleton at the NMAH is a plaque bearing an excerpt from one of his letters to General Cornwallis, written in his signature aloof voice:

"My Lord--I am extremely fatigued with overtaking the enemy and beating them--I summoned the Corps--they refused my terms--I have cut 170 officers and men to pieces--"

Surely a man in tights has never sounded so fierce. Most unsettling about Colonel Tarleton is the way in which he discusses brutal acts of war in such a dry, detached manner; his letters convey the feeling that the gruesome murder of many a man by musket and saber is nothing more than a messy nuisance.

Despite a lack of excessive means or weighty connections, Tarleton advanced quickly in the King’s army, proving himself through victory and various acts of cruelty; one account tells of Tarleton making himself comfortable in the home of a dead American general, forcing the widow to serve him a meal just before ordering the exhumation of her husband’s corpse.

A mature Tarleton, performing "Guess Which Finger I'm Holding Up," a favorite jest at Court.

He would later move from military conquest to political punditry, eventually becoming Member of Parliament for Liverpool, where he enjoyed aggressively promoting the slave trade and enthusiastically mocking abolitionists until succumbing to natural causes in 1833, about 170 years before being loosely portrayed by Lucius Malfoy in the Mel Gibson period piece, The Patriot. The world may have lost a soldier-gentleman of unrivaled bravery and untold grace, and Tarleton himself may have lost two fingers to a musket ball, but he is still able to tweet.

It is said that some people are born to lead. While I can neither confirm nor deny this theory, I think it is at least true that some people are born as complete sociopaths who find acceptance and encouragement of their bizarre and inappropriate behavior in the one place they can: the military. See you on the other side, Ban.

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INGREDIENTS: ;-)

SPAM

An scale model of an early Great Wall prototype.

I’m assuming there isn’t a person out there who isn’t familiar with the magical mystery luncheon loaf that is Hormel’s SPAM. Introduced in 1937 as an unsettlingly inexpensive dinner option for depresssion-era families, the infamous treat has been the butt of countless jokes, and is the shoulders of countless pigs. The product even had its name stolen in what is perhaps the greatest case of semantic robbery in history, but that is a story better-told elsewhere. Despite all of this, SPAM has – much like a cockroach – survived for generations, with little-to-no evolution. But this isn’t meant to be a piece on SPAM.  Rather, I’d like to cover a similar yet different item which can be found in the “prepared foods” aisle, or gracing the shelves of the bodega, next to a dusty jar of Chicken Tonight.

Enlarged to incite discomfort.

I’m talking, of course, about “potted meat product.” My own introduction to this processed paste was thanks to the 1996 film Sling Blade, in which it is featured heavily as a staple food of the mentally-handicapped protagonist, played by actor and former human being Billy Bob Thornton. I remember asking my mother what it was, but – just like when a friend of mine asked his mother whether Richard Simmons is a boy or a girl – all she could say was “I don’t know.”

Although potted meat never achieved the pop-culture icon status of its colleague and cousin, it has been perhaps more influential in the realm of meatpacking, as well as the aggressive business of NASCAR sponsorships . After trying his hand at the gold rush, Phillip Danforth Armour quickly realized that the real money wasn’t in precious metals, but processed meat products! After all, the miners had to eat, and what more could a man want during a 24-hour shift of sweat, blood, and cave-ins than a can of stomach-and-brain puree? Mr. Armour’s genius quickly transformed Chicago into the meatpacking capital of America, and secured his seat as one of the great captains of industry. As a beefy bonus, Armour & Co. was able to use the “by-products” of the meatpacking process to make soap, which eventually lead to the creation of the Dial brand in 1948. I wonder if those hard-working soldiers down in the mines realized that the soap used in their vain attempts to clean themselves was basically the same stuff eating away at their lower gastrointestinal tract.

Who knows? The real point is that the dark mystery and coy subtlety of potted meat is exactly what lends it its charm. Sure, there’s an ingredient list printed on every can, but let’s be honest: you never really know what you’re going to get.

SURPRISE!

Kinda like a box of Cracker Jacks.

As it turns out, potted meat product is a lot of things: affordable, nutritious, spreadable, flesh-colored, and perhaps even self-aware. So don’t be afraid to grab a can the next time you’re quickly swiping that 20-pack of shrimp-flavored ramen into your cart before anyone notices. Or just scrape some off the bottom of a Church’s Chicken dumpster. Either way, you’re in for a Treet.

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Welcome, to Jurassic Park

As any American film critic worth his salt will tell you, Jurassic Park is the best movie of all time, and the only thing that could have made it better would have been the casting of Tom Cruise as the Tyrannosaurus Rex. Sure, some say its sequel, The Lost World, leaves something to be desired, but what they don’t tell you is that the only thing you will desire after watching (and re-watching) is more of Jeff Goldblum’s portrayal of fiction’s most charismatic chaotician, Dr. Ian Malcolm.

Unfortunately I can’t really speak for the 3rd installment in the JP trilogy, other than to say it was nice to see Laura Dern for a second in a brief cameo as Dr. Ellie Sattler. But after that, raptors start talking and some wannabe t-rex eats a cell phone, to say nothing of the fact that there is not a frame of Goldblum to be seen.

It is with all of this in mind that I’ve gathered some of the best Jurassic Park fan vids on the ‘net.  This first one is probably my personal favorite, as it briefly and accurately sums up just why Ian Malcolm is so great:

Next, I’d like to showcase another notable character from JP, the greedy yet under-appreciated computer programmer Dennis Nedry. It seems Mr. Nedry’s supposed “strange laugh” in his introductory scene (below) has caused quite a stir among fans. However, there is sufficient evidence to support the argument that the noise heard is not actually produced by the portly programmer, but by the clandestine live dino DNA storage container disguised as a can of Barbasol Beard Buster when its air seal is broken. But I’ll let you be the judge:

After watching that clip, you are probably wondering who in the hell is that humorless dingbat in the red polo? Well, that’s Lewis Dodgson, an unethical scientist and rival of philanthropist John Hammond, the father of Jurassic Park. He’ll stop at nothing to steal secret dinosaur technology that actual ethical scientists have worked an ENTIRE DECADE to produce. But don’t worry, because in a beautiful display of jurassic justice, this next clip shows Dodgson getting his just rewards:

And finally, what would a collection of fan-produced videos be without some sort of half-assed montage set to a kind of inappropriate song? An excerpt from the description of this clip, made by YouTube user ShoopDancer2504, reads:

“This video is a huge deal for me. I LOVE JURASSIC PARK so much and I adore the character of Ian Malcolm. To me, HE IS Jurassic Park. Whenever I consider re-watching the trilogy, its always Jeff Goldblum that sways the vote. He is AWESOME!”

Well, it’s a huge deal for me too. This one just sends a chill right down my spinosaurus.

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Annual Winter Sports Post

It’s February, which means it’s time for my obligatory annual winter sports post that I have never done before and probably never will again! I actually lifted this from my old tumblr, but it’s relevant again now that NPR aired an exposé on these terrorists:

The next time I hear Queen while hitting the slopes, I’m switching out my K2 skis for my Atlas Sports snowshoes and scuffling as fast as I can back to the safety and warmth of the lodge, though I doubt the rustic log walls would offer much protection from the kind of heat these nutballs are packing.

JK I’ve never skied in my life but seriously I probably never will, as the idea of these snow assassins showing up to paint the bunny hill red with my lifeblood has become my latest semi-irrational fear.

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Pleased to meat you.

As it turns out, there are still some Rally’s Hamburger joints that avoided the mass conversion to Checker’s Hamburger joints, whatever that is. Not that it really matters, because – much like underwear – a Big Buford is a Big Buford, no matter where you get it, which means it is some kind of horror-sized mystery burger you can shove down your gullet and wonder why it smells the same coming out as it did going in.

Oh and if for some bizarre reason you don’t feel like eating 2 giant patties of 100% pure USDA terror, then there’s always the “Cheese Champ,” Buford’s lil’ cousin, to fall back on.

Bone ape tit!

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