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Two astronomy-related cartoons

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 00:00:00 EDT

You'll have to scroll down for these. Size constraints. Curses!

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#2

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wait

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space! space!

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Ok:

Your Unlockable Characters

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 00:00:00 EDT

My dentist is shit.

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Wed, 28 May 2008 00:00:00 EDT

Hey, look- somebody turned the talkbacks off! This makes now the perfect time to spew some unholy vitrol without fear of lame talkback reprisal or "YOUR GAY HEHEH" turd graffiti.

Last week, I was told by my dentist that I needed to have my wisdom teeth pulled. Not that I had cavities, but that they *might* get cavities at some point, and that it would be in everyone's best interest to remove them. He left the room before I could ask any questions. Naturally, I wasn't too excited about having oral surgery without a really awesome reason, so I balked at the idea and told the receptionist that I'd get back to them.

After they fucked up on sending the right insurance information to my providers, I called their receptionist, which yielded the following conversation:

Me: "Hi- it turns out that you sent the wrong information to my insurance company. You filled out the wrong date on the submission form, so they need you to correct it and re-send it."

Witchface Shitbrains: "Our insurance person isn't in today. Call back later when she is."

Me: "Wait, so you want ME to find time in MY schedule to fix the problem that YOU caused?"

Witchface Shitbrains: "I don't care what you do. I've already left too many messages for her as it is, so just call back."

Me (In probably what was an impulsive move, in hindsight): "FUCK OFF!" ::click::

The "fuck off" part felt good, but the saga was far from over.

So, I call back a week later and ask to speak to the dentist. Witchface answers the phone. Little did I know that Dentists are like Grand Theft Auto mob bosses in that you have to arrange a formal sit-down to speak to them. For money, no less. So I says to Witchface, I says:

Me: I just want to ask him a few follow-up questions regarding my surgery. Will you please just have him call me back?

Witchface Shitbrains: No. The Dentist doesn't call people back. What do you want to know?

Me: I have some questions about my oral surgery. I don't know what my options are with my wisdom teeth.

Withcface Shitbrains: [roots through my files, looks at my X-Rays] Well, it looks like you might get cavities in those teeth. What, do you want to have a root canal later??

Me: JUST HAVE HIM CALL ME BACK.

Witchface Shitbrains: Fine. ::click::

That afternoon, I get a call from the dentist:

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: Yeah, What do you want?

Me: "Oh, I had some questions about my surg-"

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: "She should have told you already! You'll get cavities! Those wisdom teeth are a ticking time bomb and if you don't get them taken care of then I'm not responsible for what happens to your teeth! I won't be your dentist if you don't get them taken care of! You can go somewhere else for all I care!"

Me: "Wait, I, uh..."

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: "And what's with your attitude? How dare you question my judgment! Who are you to question my judgment?"

Me: "Wait, wha-"

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: "How dare you!"

Me: "How dare YOU, sir! Your bedside manner, if there even is such a thing in dentistry, is sorely lacking! And the customer service at the front desk is appalling!"

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: "Theresa has 30 years of experience! How dare you question her!"

[Here's the kicker]

Don Giovanni Prima Donna Pegorino: "YOU ARE THE WORST PATIENT I'VE EVER HAD! YOU ARE HEREBY BANNED FROM MY PRACTICE! YOU ARE BANNED FROM EVER SETTING FOOT IN MY OFFICE AGAIN!"

You read that correctly. This is not a joke. I've been blacklisted from the dentist.

The last time I was banned from anything it was when I threw up at the comic book store when I was nine.

Here to kiss babies and chew bubblegum, and I'm all out of babies

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 00:00:00 EDT

With the omnipresent media drone surrounding Obama and Clinton, eventual Republican presidential nominee John McCain has had it pretty easy. Sure, he takes a little flak for being old, but as long as he can trot "Mummy" in front of the cameras to prove that he won't stroke out on us while president, he's in little danger of age becoming a serious issue. I'm probably the only one who feels this way, but I've been noticing some really strange things about his wife, Cindy:

The knowing grin. The steely blue, almost extraterrestrial stare. Hair wound back so tight that it looks like it might break her face. Hang on- let's take a look at another picture:

There's just something familiar about her. I can't quite place it. Let me put on me shades o' truth...

I knew it: Cindy McCain = Meg Foster!

- Cindy McCain and Megan Foster both have 11 letters in their names.

- McCain: Irish. "Rowdy" Roddy Piper: Scottish, which everyone knows is just Irish lite.

- McCain: was injured in POW camp, after which he returned to America, where he gradually got weller. Foster: Oversees dangerous ocean mining operation, after which she gets brutally punched out by Peter Weller (and is possibly injured, who's to say).

I can't wait to hear McCain defend the Masters of the Universe film.

A Would-Be John: On the set of Taylor Hackford's Love Ranch

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 00:00:00 EDT

Hookers. Call girls. Women of the night. Texas ditch ferrets.

Prostitutes go by many colorful names, but their clients have only one: John. People usually assume that "John" is short for John Doe, but it's actually a clever nod to John Quincy Adams' famed reverence for the world's oldest profession:

"Alphabetically, the three things I am least likely to do without during my tenure as president are Hoes, Hoes, and Hoes."

Some argue that he was referring to the gardening tool "hoe", as Adams was an avid botanist, but most historians find that assessment unfunny and boring.

Taylor Hackford's Love Ranch, which reunites director/actor team Hackford and wife Helen Mirren, recounts the rocky beginnings of the first legal brothel in America. Joe Pesci stars as Charlie Botempo, the fiery, mafia-connected co-proprietor of Reno's "Mustang Ranch", while Mirren plays Grace, his wife and business partner. Grace and Charlie deal with puritanical protesters and government officials who want to see the ranch shut down, while Charlie's sideline gig as a boxing promoter threatens their marriage. Gina Gershon and Bai Ling support.

I've dabbled lightly in extra-ing, but I've never been on a set as large and well-maintained as Love Ranch. As my wife had a featured role in the film in January, I knew pretty much what to expect from the experience, but I was still surprised at the scale of the production. Capitol Films rented out a Philips manufacturing facility in Albuquerque, NM, and nearly the entire structure was filled with cast and crew. When I arrived at the plant cafeteria at 2:30, cast and crew had just broken for lunch; crab legs, lobster, and fillet mignon were on the menu, but I had no appetite, so I sat down with producer Marty Katz while he bitched about unions and funding problems to an associate.

After the cast and crew went back to the set, I was shuffled off to the costume department, where I was outfitted with some sharp Haggar slacks and a powder blue dress shirt. My hair was fussed with, and by the end of it, I looked a little like a low-rent Don Johnson circa 1986. I returned to the "extras pavilion", which was really just an alley next to some trash bins behind the cafeteria. For the next eight hours, I was regaled with stories both mundane and glorious from experienced, full-time extras, including a fantastic yarn about the horrors of Kilmer. The coolest part of the waiting period was when we watched a hawk dive headfirst into a dumpster and emerge with a large raccoon.

At around 11 PM, we were shuffled off to set by our "handler", a no-nonsense yet horribly bitchy woman named Roberta. She hated all of us without exception, and I'm fairly certain she tried to poison my cucumber water just so she wouldn't have to talk to me. Being an extra is a fairly thankless process on its own, but parts of it were made nearly unbearable by the magnetic field of contempt generated from this human sea urchin. On the set, Hackford and the props crew were setting up a lavish Last-Supper-esque Thanksgiving dinner scene, with well-dressed prostitutes and johns populating both sides of an immense table. It was intended to be one of the film's final shots, complete with a telescopic camera-crane tracking shot down the length of the table toward Mirren, who sat arms-wide at the head. Hackford sat us down at the table individually and ran some lighting tests, and after moving us around for about fifteen minutes, a few of us (myself included) were removed from the scene and placed on the sidelines. "I'll seat you later," he addressed to me. "Don't worry, guy."

LYING BASTARD!

While I never did get to make it into the scene, it was fun watching Mirren and Bai Ling work the table. And, hey, I made a hundred bucks, and I got to say hi to Helen Mirren. And Hackford called me "guy," which is way better than "nobody" or "pissant," which is what I think the extras handler called me under her breath several times.

Recycled Humor II

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 00:00:00 EST

In the interest of energy conservation, here are my old church signs.

Yes, I'm aware that church signs are an easy target, and that I'm not breaking any new ground here. Just remember that I get paid by the blog (and in rupees, for some reason).

...

Bio-Newsflash 2/29

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 00:00:00 EST

As a supporter and aficionado of animals (especially puppies!), I was really looking forward to the release of the new "Encyclopedia of Life" (www.eol.org) site. As it happens, a surge of community interest caused the site to crash and burn when it was released earlier this week. Read this:

While it has taken almost a year, the non-profit Encyclopedia of Life project launched yesterday. It gained so much attention, that the site quickly crashed. It went back online Tuesday afternoon (EST), but went down again the next morning.

During five-and-a-half hours, the site logged 11.5 million hits, including visitors who reached the "503 error".

"What's strange about this is that the sites for the Ashy Titmouse, White Booby, and Alaskan Vaginawolf accounted for 98% of all eof.org internet traffic on the first day," said Paula Kinderman, EOF's tech project lead. "I just don't understand that at all. Perhaps there's a surge of research regarding those particular species."

Enema Mine, Part I: Flushing Out the Netflix Queue

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 00:00:00 EST

Once upon a time, Netflix was a special place where I could rent my obscure Z-grade zombie films in peace without risking the shunning gaze of the Hollywood Video clerk. Many Let Sleeping Corpses Lie-s later, Netflix has blossomed into a full-fledged, pain-in-my-ass social networking site. While I refuse to engage in or be a part of any social networking site (and yes, it's because I'm too good for that), Netflix's library of films still proves too vast to ignore, so my patronage persists.

As I have plenty of free time in the coming weeks, I'm undergoing what I call Netflix Enema, whereby I jack my "titles currently out" allowance to 6 and attempt to purge my queue of the detritus it has accumulated over the last year or two. What follows is a detailed report of said detritus.

Film: Enemy Mine
Story: Hadn't seen this since I caught it in theaters when I was a kid. Love the tentacle monster, but the rest of the film hasn't aged as well.
Side Note: Gossett Jr.'s tongue is creepy as shit! He keeps poking it out of his latex mouth, and it looks like some kind of albino eel. Question: is it better to say Gossett's Jr., or Gossett Jr.'s? I'm aware of the precedent set by Carl's Jr., but I've never felt quite right about it.
Analysis: Flush, but with fond memories.

Film: Cemetery Gates
Story: Had this recommended to me. I didn't make it past the sixty-minute mark. I appreciate the violence, but the half-rate writing and directing just didn't work for me. I'll say that it's probably one of the top five monster badger films out there, though.
Side Note: I know that the Gates monster is a Tasmanian Devil and not a badger, but a badger would have been funnier.
Analysis: Flush.

Film: Stagefright
Story: I was just trying to knock out some giallos, as my queue is infested with 'em. Confession: While I love Cemetery Man (which was also directed by Saovi), Stagefright is a much better horror film. It's more in line with Bava or Argento, and feels like a more darkly comic version of Inferno. This one's a success. The killer wears an owl head for the duration of the film. Nice!
Side Note: "Owl be back!" was a bit of dialogue removed from the final scene.
Analysis: Pluck from bowl and keep!

Film: Altered
Story: I would have never put this on the queue had it not been for its unusually high star rating. Directed by Eduardo "Dirty" Sanchez, Altered looks like your typical direct-to-DVD nonsense. On paper, it's a fairly generic X-Files hillbillies-meet-aliens romp, but while it's by no means a masterpiece, I was shocked at how well directed and written it was. Spectral Motion (The Hellboy effects guys) did a stellar job with a tight budget. I recommend purging this from your queue.
Side note: It wins points for being brutally gruesome. There's a game of "intestines tug-o-war" that wins the film.
Analysis: Pluck from bowl, Keep, and pass on to your friends!

Film: Caligula
Story: Woah. You know, once this film gets over itself, it's got some great performances by O'Toole and Gielgud.
Side Note: Oh no, Helen!
Analysis: Too controversial. Hide it under the stairs.

Film: Mortuary
Story: A recent addition to Tobe Hooper's ever extending wall o' shame, Mortuary has a few good gags, but is a truly shitty film. In it, a small town family is traumatized by a shawl-wearing madman, an army of sarlacc-worshiping zombies, and a mysterious black goo. No joke- Lieutenant Yar from Pet Semetary has a starring role. Apparently, she's exclusive to either black goo or zombie films these days.
Side note: A cameo by the sarlacc pit doesn't even save this one. The kid actors are horrible, but nearly all of them die, so there's that.
Analysis: Flush with extreme prejudice.

Film: Hatchet
Story: Touted as "A Return to Old-School American Horror," the only returning this thing did was a hasty return to its white paper DVD sleeve. What a disappointment.
Side note: There's one good scene, and I'm pretty sure that Bill Murray's lesser brother makes an appearance.
Analysis: It's Hatch-shit. You figure it out.

Open letter to the Dominos.com "Track Your Pizza" function:

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 00:00:00 EST

you've got to be fucking kidding me.

McCain finally uses Necronomicon!

no@spam.com (Trevor La Pay) — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 00:00:00 EST

The news that John McCain plans to have a digitally resurrected Ronald Reagan introduce him at the CPAC incited a shitstorm (well, a shit sun-shower, really) of blogger rants and raves this morning. Check out the promotional image for yourself:

What's the big deal? Not much, especially if you consider the other Hollywood figures McCain had originally intended to resurrect for the conference: