A Conversation I Wish Would Happen

I litter. I litter alot. I don’t know why I choose not to reuse, and pollute, maybe it’s because I’m lazy, or maybe it’s because I was molested as a child by a man dressed up as Captain Planet.

Either way.

Whether it’s little bits of paper receipts or pocket lint or a forty ounce bottle, I tend to just toss shit on the ground and not care about it. Call me an inconsiderate prick, and I’ll simply call you a member of Al Gore’s Bong Brigade.

In all seriousness, I could give less than a fuck about the environment. I have flashbacks of living in NYC where I would be forced to circle my apartment’s block for two hours looking for a space I could squeeze into, and still have to walk half an hour to get home. This is ridiculous, because people want to preserve the natural splendor and beauty of Mother Earth, yet I have to take three buses and a subway transfer just to get home, after driving home from work.

Fuck that shit. Pave it all so I don’t burn twenty minutes looking for a place to park so I can return these DVDs…

So earlier today I was killing a little bit of time before a doctor’s appointment and I got some Wendy’s for lunch. I ate in my truck, which I was very careful in doing so, because I didn’t want to spill anything on the new interior, and when I was done, I had a neat little ball of trash.

In my old truck, that trash would probably still be sitting on the floor of the passenger side (ask The Lady), but since I’ve had my new truck for about a week, I wasn’t about to start littering in HER! So I scanned the parking lot I was eating in for a trash receptacle and found none.

Let me clear something up before I go any further: I will throw garbage out if there’s, within reasonable distance, a trash can or some shit. I’ll walk across a parking lot to throw something as big as a wadded up ball of fast food rubbish, oppose to just leaving it under a bush, which is exactly what I did.

So I’m looking around, and there’s a Papa Gino’s, a TJ Maxx, some other stores. No one has a trash can outside. Now I’m starting to look like a homeless person, wandering around a parking lot with a vacant stare on my face, clutching a ball of waste. That’s when my “fuck it” moment struck me, and I stuck the trash under a bush.

I dropped the ball and kicked it under the bush and took a look around. There was other scattered trash in the area and I shrugged and walked back to my truck. No one seemed to notice/care.

But what if someone did? What if this someone was some Ultra-Hysterical Obnoxious Enviro-Hippie in a Prius on his or her way to a pottery class? I’m sure this is how the conversation would’ve gone…

Ultra-Hysterical Obnoxious Enviro-Hippie: Excuse me, sir? Sir? ….SIR! You dropped your garbage under that bush…

Me: Uh, yeah, thank you, I know. And I didn’t drop it, I kicked it there.

UHOEH: But… but, you can’t just do that!

Me: Yes I can, I just did.

UHOEH: But you can’t litter, you’re destroying the environment!

Me: …In case you didn’t notice, I drive a big black pick up truck. I’m sure you can assume that I don’t care about the environment.

UHOEH: But what about your children! You’re ruining the planet for them to inherit!

Me: Fuck’em. I like air conditioning too much.

UHOEH: Ugh, a tough guy huh? Well you know it’s a state law not to litter!

Me: Yeah, but… I don’t care. Fuck it.

UHOEH: You’re an asshole!

Me: Go play hackey-sack, or …save a whale or something.

God I fucking hate hippies, even the ones I imagine.

I’m just sayin’…

Best Of: October 2007

In honor of Jim’s recent purchase of an F-150, we here on his editorial staff decided to re-run this article from back in October of 07. At that time Ford was running these pro-consumer, testimonial-like ads which featured retarded mid westerners and left coasties gushing about how much they loved the test-ownership of a tricked out brand new Ford, oppose to driving their rusting shit box to work every day.

The original piece was complimented by a youtube.com video of the offending commercial, but the fact checkers and the editorial staff couldn’t find it at press time. Instead, use your memory and/or imagination.

Congrats on the truck Jim. -ed.

The Ford Motor Company thinks you’re an idiot.

I take notice when I see a brand new Ford F-150, in black, rolling up behind me at a stop sign or on the highway or whatever. It’s a mean looking truck with a big grille. I’m actually kinda surprised that Michael Bay didn’t use one in his Transformers film.

Oh that’s right, GM footed the bill.

Anyway, Ford is kicking a whole lot of ass in the automobile manufacturing thing. Granted, they don’t make their vehicles in the United States anymore, and well, there was that whole “Explorer Roll Over” thing from a few years ago but for the most part, their product design and marketing is smoking the competition.

That was, until I saw their latest series of television ads.

Instead of explaining the ads to you, let me break down the meeting between the ad exec and the CEO of Ford Motor Company:

“Ok, we got this whole new approach to our advertisements in the first quarter,” says the ad exec.

“I’d love to hear it.” Says the CEO.

“Ok, what’s better than a customer testimonial?”

“I don’t know, customer testimonials are pretty solid,”

“I know, but what if we could get non-Ford owners to say how much they love our cars, without them actually buying one?”

“My god, how could we pull off such a feat?”

“Well, we’ll track down some ‘average Americans’, the shittier their car the better. If they drive a GM or a Toyota, even better! We’ll lend them one of our brand new, top of the line automobiles for a week. I’m talking the best editions, with the in-dash video screens and leather interiors. You know, the 60K models.”

“I think I see where you’re going with this, but go on…”

“We’ll lend them these cars, then take them back and then have them look into a camera and say how much they enjoyed the ‘Ford Experience.’ It’s fool proof.”

“You’re right, American buyers will eat it up, because they’re idiots. They’ll never realize that we’ve taken someone’s shitty, horrible, takes-three-good-hard-turns-of-the-key-to-start cars, with the paint peeling off of them, and replaced it with a brand new 2008 model of one of our pricier models. This is genius!”

So there, Ford thinks Americans are idiots. I mean, who else could possibly be hypnotized by some ‘average Americans’ thinking that a brand-new Ford is vastly superior to a GM that’s 15 years older?

I enjoy the ride in a Ford, and I’ve had far too many bad experiences with GM vehicles to have much faith in them much longer. But still, if the Ford Motor Company really wants to sell more cars, I would recommend to them that they starting treating their perspective customers as more than complete imbeciles.

What (Hulk) Hogan Doesn’t Know…

Hulk Hogan can’t possibly see himself in the light that Vh1 casts him in.

Either that, or he’s horribly blind to blatant patronizing at the hands of his show’s producers.

If you’ve never seen the tacky, albeit wholesomely sweet and predictable, reality television program “Hogan Knows Best” or it’s tension-filled spin off “Brooke Knows Best” then let me fill you in: The Hulkster, one of the great 1980s bring-backs who somehow gained relevance in the last few years, has a sometimes-kinda hot daughter by the name of Brooke, who is struggling to make it the next blonde pop star, apparently missing the boat on that endeavor by about ten years.

In the early episodes, we were introduced to the entire Hogan clan, which consisted of Brooke and Hulk, as well as son Nick (currently serving out 14 months in prison in connection to a near fatal car crash that quadded his Marine buddy) and wife Linda. The foursome would travel about in support of Brooke’s singing career, while whacky antics ensued, usually at the hands of Hulk trying to chase Brooke’s paramours.

It was all very wholesome.

But things went south for the Hogans at the end of last year. Nick got into his accident, and then cried on national television that his cell was too small. Linda divorced/separated from Hulk – after it became known that Hulk had slept with one of Brooke’s friends, and Brooke moved out and into an apartment with a scripted “less hot/interesting” female roommate, and a gay dude.

So that would bring us to the new season/show of “Brooke Knows Best.” With Nick in the slammer and Linda wanting nothing to do with cameras, so she can boff her hired fitness instructor, all we’re left with is the tensely sad relationship between an overbearing father and a reasonably (yeah, I’d do her) hot twenty-something who’s trying to grow up on her own.

Watching this show is like being stuck in a room with a fighting couple who won’t talk to each other, it’s that awkward.

No one likes that dad who just “shows up.” My dad used to do this, and it’s critically embarrassing to the child. Don’t get me wrong, my dad’s a cool guy, but whenever someone who’s not invited decides to show up and try to be the life of the party, the collective milk sours.

This is the case with Hulk, where inevitably in every episode he makes a bumbling/stumbling cameo, and “butts” into Brooke’s ever evolving social life, much to her two roommate’s rolled eyeballs. To make matters worse, often in tow is Hulk’s inept sidekick, Nasty Knobs, of the tag team also-rans “The Nasty Boys.”

When I see this egg shaped, blonde rat tailed mutant, for some reason all I can think of is the back stage sex he’s probably had. He’s probably had hot chicks blow him, and I can’t see why they would, other than to wrap their dicks around a quasi-famous dick. But in my mind’s eye I can totally see him getting blown and talking mad shit about the tart on her knees in front of him, with her skirt hiked up to her waist.

Anyway.

Of course the show is geared towards the tension between daughter and father, and no parent does a better job of exploiting this, as he’s about as smart as someone who for the last 35 years has made money by tearing off his t shirt, and then dancing about the ring, pantomiming that he can’t hear you.

The show itself is weak and uninteresting, and the plots (or rather, plot singular) are very formulaic and predictable. Here’s a sample:

Brooke goes out someplace with her little entourage, and meets a handsome, albeit dumb-as-a-post boy who’s dressed in something off of an Abercrombie and Fitch mannequin.

Enter Hulk, trying to seem innocent enough as he crashes the party where it’s painfully obviously he doesn’t belong. Crowd inevitably turns attention to Hulk, who soaks it up like a dry sponge.

Brooke confronts Hulk, Hulk develops “why me” look on face, promises to vacate premises.

Hulk leaves, yet lingers about in parking lot, talking to Nasty Knobs about a scheme to sneak back in to scene.

Hulk unsuccessfully manages to disguise self, wanders back into party, is discovered, Brooke sighs, rolls eyes, my heart turns a little more blacker, roll credits.

I’m not exactly sure who this tv show is aimed at, whether it be nostalgic college frat boys who find Brooke hot, ditzy teenage girls who somehow relate to a steroid-injecting father figure that Brooke has to put up with, or some middle ground in between, yet Vh1 plays this show obviously as a break between the lustful greed of “I Love Money” reruns.

***

On a quick note, Hulk Hogan is a good father, despite everything I just wrote. This shot of current event memory just surfaced, where Nick was on the phone with Hulk shortly after he was sentenced. While Nick was focusing on all the negatives, Hulk was presenting him with his own show ideas, which he was criticized for once the tapes were released to the public media.

“How dare he!” Cried the public media, “his son’s in jail and all he can think about is promoting another show!”

He wasn’t promoting another show, you pack of hyenas, he was distracting his son. You could hear the hushed pain in his voice as he was trying to take the boy’s mind off the four walls around him, closing tighter every day.

It’s something my dad would definitely do for me.

I’m just sayin’…