Friday, April 28, 2006
It's free. Which is rare as sightings of the big fella himself, as the world of Bigfoot research is usually one where price gouging
is the rule. So if you live in Ohio, why not go? I mean, you're in Ohio. What else are you going to do? There's no theatre, or bookstores, or possibly even cable TV there.
One look at the logo above should convince you that this event is first-class all the way. On hand will be a variety of speakers and experts (which is a pretty debatable title when you consider that the subject of study is unproven and quite possibly nonexistent. I mean, I have a lot of Bigfoot books, so I guess I'm an expert. I know as much about this possibly made-up thing as anyone else, right? I could say "Bigfoot speaks fluent French and is a polygamist" and who could prove me wrong?). Plus, the Ohio Bigfoot Investigating team will be "discussing first hand experiences, evidence and encounters with the Bigfoot creatures, but will not be disclosing any names or locations of cases." So there you go. Any of you that have had an encounter but have witheld it due to fear of ridicule, here's your chance to get it off your chest.
More info here.
I was going to wait to post this until the actual date, but felt that everyone would want enough time to prepare / psych themselves up. Because June 6, 2006 ( 6/6/06, aw shit!) is the National Day of Slayer, when people of all stripes (as long as they are angry white dudes) are asked to celebrate the death-metal musings of Slayer. For those of you who don't know, Slayer are widely acknowledged as the kinds of death metal. They don't waste time singing about getting laid or partying, they get right to serious stuff: the devil, hell, and the devil. Occassionally they sing about Satan, just to mix things up a bit. Bear in mind that this will be the only chance in your lifetime to celebrate one of the most joyful and uplifting bands of all time on such a numerically significant date. If you miss this, you'll have to wait until the next century.
Just to get you all fired up, here's a sample of the lyrics from their top 40 dance club hit "Angel of Death" (a song about Mr. Barrel of Laughs himself, Joseph Mengele), from the classic "Reign in Blood" album:
Surgery, with no anesthesia
Fell the knife pierce you intensely
Inferior, no use to mankind
Strapped down screaming out to die
Angel of death
Monarch to the kingdom of the dead
Angel of death
Pumped with fluid, inside your brain
Pressure in your skull begins pushing through your eyes
Burning flesh, drips away
Test of heat burns your skin, your mind starts to boil
Frigid cold, cracks your limbs
How long can you last
In this frozen water burial?
Sewn together, joining heads
Just a matter of time
’til you rip yourselves apart
Millions laid out in their
Sickening ways to achieve
Seas of blood, bury life
Smell your death as it burns
Deep inside of you
Abacinate, eyes that bleed
Praying for the end of
Your wide awake nightmare
Wings of pain, reach out for you
His face of death staring down,
Your blood running cold
Injecting cells, dying eyes
Feeding on the screams of
The mutants he’s creating
Pathetic harmless victims
Left to die
Rancid angel of death
Yeah! Gather the kids! Throw some weenies on the grill! Put the speakers in the windows! Let's rock, people!
Get all the gory details here.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Magician David Copperfield was the victim of an armed robbery in Palm Beach this past Sunday night, but because he is a master illusionist, he succeeded in flummoxing the dim-witted thugs who accosted him. Copperfield was walking around after his performance with two female assistants (presumably stitched back together after he sawed them in half a few hours earlier) when they were held up at gunpoint by three youths.
The two women forked over their cash. But Copperfield, whose real name is David Kotkin, used his wicked black magic to confuse the three robbers. Copperfield said that he "pulled out all of his pockets for them to see he had nothing, even though he had a cellphone, passport and wallet stuffed in them." He calls this "reverse pickpocketing."
Not bad, dude. But I think it would have been funnier if he reached into his pockets and unleashed a pack of white doves on the robbers. Or made one of those fancy black and white canes appear out of thin air and beat them with it. Or reached behind one of the robbers ears and pulled out his wallet. Any of those would have been cool.
First Claudia Shiffer, now this. It's David Copperfield's world, we're just living in it.
Read more about these satanic goings on here.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
NOTE: This is the first part of a fictionalized serial sure to delight the bored or sweetly retarded.
Crazy Carl the Carpet King was enraged. He sat seething on his plush throne, lamenting the loss of control over his kingdom. Time was his word was unquestioned across the land. Years prior he had seized power in a bloody coup, slaying the older and ineffectual previous Carpet King due to widespread public outcry over his shrill and shoddy late-night television commercials, and declared himself sovereign leader.
In the years since he ruled his kingdom with a firm but fair hand. And his subjects prospered; indeed, even the most squalid of their huts was ensconced in quality, low-cost flooring that resisted staining while appealing to the eye.
But as of late things had not been so prosperous. Other nascent kings had sprung up across the land, each laying a noble claim to a variety of sundries and notions. Suddenly burritos, mattresses, bicycles, burgers, and perhaps most audaciously, even home electronics were all touted as royal contrivances. The title of "King" was in danger of being rendered meaningless and cheap. It was extremely vexing.
“Who is this Audio King?” the Carpet King cried out to no one in particular. “Where did he come from? Is he operating in concert with the Mattress King, or mayhap even the hated Muffler King? And how does he offer such low prices on name brands?”
“Volume!” croaked a lackey in reply from a dark corner of the throne / showroom.
This enraged the Carpet King, for he intended his question to be rhetorical in nature. As a bulk supplier of a wide-variety of quality floor coverings, he knew full well that the key to retail success was buying a lot for a little and subsequently marking the product up for profit, so that even a “huge sale” yielded large profits. He did not need some serf who saw himself as a potential court jester telling him thus. Therefore, he had the man drug from the soft, inviting room and drawn and quartered.
He then sat back on his throne and began to brood. A plan was forming in his mind, and he needed to time to mull it over, much as one would delicately turn a goose over a spit.
TO BE CONTINUED….
Today I toasted my bread in an effort to spice up what must be my 100th turkey sandwich of the year. It succeeded in adding only a little zing to a meal that was otherwise joylessly consumed at my desk. Even the bag of Fritos I bought, usually a sure-fire way to crank up the excitement-o-meter, only contributed a modicum of spice to the proceedings. The days and accompanying sandwiches are but a blur, each bleeding samelessly into the next.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Wednesday will mark the 20-year anniversary of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, which released over a 100 times more radiation than the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. Since then many mutants have been spawned as a consequence. Some, like Wolverine of "The X-Men", are pretty cool. Others are babies with very large heads that are unpleasant to behold. And apparently the danger is not yet over, as 200 tons of radioactive fuel are still present at the site.
But as is often the case at The Kremlin, a plan is in motion. Whoever is still in charge over there is planning to install a steel and concrete shell over the disaster site. The structure will cost about a billion dollars, and is scheduled to be in place by 2009.
A billion dollars for a lid, basically. Apparently "Plan A', which consisted of laying a large rug over the mess (Ikea has a 300"x800" one that's pretty stylish and affordable) fell through.
Read more about the whole affair
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Quickly, serf! Fetch me a chocolately log! Be advised that I have a truly royal hunger pang that no ordinary bar could possibly satisfy! I crave something wrapped in colorful plummage that pays appropriate honor to my royal birthright! Huh? What is this? Surely you jest? Truly, you cannot think that this 1.8 ounce piece of foodstuff is fit for me?! No, lowly dog! Your leige demands nothing less that 3.5 ounces of snack satisfaction! Bah! Off with your head!
1976 was a very good year: the Bicentennial was in full swing, comic books were only twenty cents, and ABC decided that it was good idea to air a TV show about a grizzled NYC detective who was shackled with a bungling robot partner. And that show was called "Holmes and Yo-Yo."
The premise was thus: Detective Alexander Holmes (Richard Schull) is a veteran cop whose partners always seem to get killed (just like Dirty Harry). Somehow a scientist becomes involved and comes up with a logical solution: construct an industructable robot (John Schuck, the one in the picture with the fancy circuitry on his chest) and pair it with Holmes.
The robot was named Gregory Yoyonovich (because he was made from Polish parts?) and his robotic nature was kept a secret from everyone but Holmes and few higher ups. He was nicknamed Yo-Yo, because cops are funny that way. The meager laughs came from the fact that the robot malfunctioned constantly; being struck by a bullet causes him to break out dancing, magnets fly at and stick to him, he picks up radio signals from Sweden, and when his circuits blow he repeats "Bunco Squad, Bunco Squad, Bunco Squad" over and over.
Yo-yo was not without his crime-fighting virtues, however. He had the power to eat anything, a built-in trash compactor that could absorb the shock of a bomb, a photographic memory, an independent power source and could also print out color proofs, long before Kinkos managed that feat.
"Holmes and Yo-Yo" lasted only 3 months. This is because A.) it sucked and B.) it aired opposite "The Jeffersons", which was a huge hit at the time. Apparently a mere robot was no match for Norman Lear.
ABC tried to dip their toes into the robot cop waters again later in the same year, this time with "Futurecop", a drama that paired beat cops John Amos and Ernest Borganine up with a robot partner. The producers were promptly sued by noted science fiction writer Harlan Ellison, who contended that the "Futurecop" screenplay was stolen from one of his short stories/teleplays. Ellison subsequently prevailed in court.
Do not tread on Harlan Ellison. Not only is he a great writer (a longtime favorite here at Blogfoot) and an outspoken advocate of creators rights, but he sues people constanly for swiping his ideas, and wins. He sued James Cameron over "The Terminator", contending that it mirrored his short story "Soldier", and won. He sued ABC over "Battlestar Galactica", contending that it was the same idea he presented to networks as a potential series in the mid-70's called "The Starlost", and won.
Which is a perfect segueway to mention that Mrs. Blogfoot and I just met Mr. Ellison (pictured at left as he looked in the late 70's) at a book signing on Easter Sunday here in the Twin Cities. He entertained the crowd for a solid couple of hours with his stories and banter. He then asked me and Mrs. Blogfoot if we had just walked off the set of "Beverly Hills 90210" and that we looked like a couple of greek statues. That's right, readers: Harlan Ellison thought we were hot. Bear in mind that he had just spent 3 days as the guest of honor at a sci-fi convention that was held in town, so he hadn't exactly been exposed to the cream of humanty's genetic crop for the previous 72 hours.
Those inclined to read some good prose should check out Ellison's work if they haven't already. It's forceful, interesting, highly original stuff. Newcomers should start with "The Essential Ellison" , a large compendium of his most popular / lauded short stories and essays. You could also rent the 1975 film version of his classic short story "A Boy and His Dog", about a teenager roaming a post-apocalyptic wasteland with his telepathic pooch. It's a nice low-budget cult film, and the short story from which it is adapted is without a doubt a fantastic piece of literature. Thus concludes todays lesson.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Apparently people in Wisconsin think of other things besides whether or not Brett Favre is going to retire, because all of a sudden spaces on the BFRO's June 22-25th Wisconsin Bigfoot expedition are all sold out. I told you all to act fast, but you didn't listen. And not one truck-driving / tent-owning Blogfoot reader headed my generous request and contacted me about tagging along. Frankly, I'm sickened. Luckily for all of you procrastinating cryptozoologists, the BFRO has scheduled another Wisconsin expedition for the following weekend, June 29th-July 2nd. It's perfect: you can go see Bigfoot and still be home in time for fireworks.
Once again, you supply the transportation, food, and tent. I bring the gun and a matchless knowledge of the creature's habits. Just think of the publicity that this blog will get when we drag the beast's carcass back to civilization.
Read the details here .
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Here's a fine item for people who like things that secretely enable them to get drunk in public: the Drink Caddie, an electronic golf bag drink dispenser. It holds 54 ounces of your favorite beverage (such as lemonade, iced tea or coffee) and...well, that's pretty much what it does. It allows you avoid the shame of lugging around a pedestrian flask in your Dockers wrinkel-free khakis.
That's all I got. This post was really just a flimsy excuse to make a "Caddyshack" reference. Now if only the Sharper Image would make a life-size, insult-spewing, animatronic Al Czervik head...
You could also title this post "the bargain of a lifetime" or "the check is in the mail", because this is the very definition of fantastic product at a bargain-price. Some of you may have seen this item already, but if not, prepare to crack open your piggy banks.
While purusing The Sharper Image a couple of months ago for a state-of-the-art air purifier (and matching Kleenex boxes for my feet), this item was stumbled upon. I was definitely intrigued, but forgot about it for some reason. But now it's on sale, which means that you can keep up with the Tarzans' and get your very own functioning, life-size animatronic chimpanzee head for just $129.95. No, that's not a misprint. We live in a wondrous era wherein a robotic chimpanzee head can be had for just $129.95. That's way cheaper than an ipod, and it hoots.
It comes with a remote, infrared sensors in its "soulful eyes" to track movement and trigger a response, touch sensors (so I don't recommend trying to kiss it) and four distinctive emotional moods including "Curious," "Happy," "Fearful" and "Feisty." So if you ever wanted a chimp in your home but didn't want to deal with the whole biting the face / ripping off your nutsack thing, this is the item for you.
To order yours, click here. At the very least go and watch the video.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Here at Blogfoot we are constantly amazed by mankind's ability to tirelessly push the boundaries of what dickishness can and must be. To this end, a company in Chicago will be soon be unleashing this monument to subtlety onto unsuspecting Windy City streets. No, your eyes do not deceive you. That is indeed an airplane. More accurately, it's a "Learmousine Limojet", an old Lear jet that has been converted into a limousine so that it may now ferry about shitheels on the ground instead of in the air.
Presumably welded together by the A-Team in order to escape from some hanger they were locked in, this handsome vehicle can accomodate 16-18 passengers and also contains a disco ball, which as we all know is the must-have accessory if you're going to drive around in an airplane while laughing at the less-fortunate who are forced to stagger around on non-winged tipped feet.
The "Learmousine" also comes with:
30" Chrome Wheels
(1) 42" Plasma Screen
(4) Large Flat Screen TVs
Laser, Strobe Lights
4,500 Watt Stereo with CD Player
Theater Surround Sound
Realistic Jet Engine Cranking System and More
By the way, they have a patent-pending on this nifty idea, so don't think you can just head out to the garage with a soldering gun and copy them. Gird your loins and reserve yours here .
Friday, April 07, 2006
I hope all of you are sitting down as you read this. Because what you are looking at is the nothing less than the boudoir of a sasquatch. This mass of soft grass bedding was found in the rear of a cave during a BFRO (Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization) expedition in Arizona just this week. And yes, wiseass, there are Bigfoot in Arizona. When they retire from a full, active life of stalking and posing for blurry photos, they like to settle down in a tax-free warm-weather climate, just like us.
This cave was found below the lip of an 8000 foot plateau, near where a retired police officer and his wife saw a sasquatch in July 2005. The cave is 40 feet deep, 10 feet wide, and 7 feet at the entrance. The bedding "covered an area the size of 3-4 king beds" and "was very soft and comfortable."
There you have it. This startling find proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that:
1.) Bigfoot is real
2.) He has a bad back.
A professional wildlife biologist attended the expedition and examined the cave, and concurred that the bedding "appeared to be prepared by something with hands", and not gathered by any known animal such as a bear or wood rat. The BFRO plans on monitoring the cave with telephoto lenses in the future.
You can read more on this exciting anthropological / posteurpedic find here .
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Tomorrow Disney will open their new "Expedition Everest" thrill ride at Disney's Animal Kingdom in Orlando, Florida. Normally this would be yawn-worthy news to us here at Blogfoot, except that their ride prominently features the Yeti, or "Abominable Snowman", as he's known to the cognescenti. Guests will whiz around tracks on a runaway train past a replica of an ancient Himalayan village and through a six-acre version of Everest. Then, just as it would happen in real life, tracks are ripped to shreds, forcing the train to a halt, and visitors are confronted by the fearsome Yeti (see inset photo), guardian of the mountain peaks.
It's about time Disney stopped trying to make us believe in things like robot presidents, mermaids and flying elephants and concentrated on representing something that actually exists. This is just the shot of credibility that this oft-maligned subject has needed. After the ride, skeptics-turned-believers can mull over this staggering change to their views on evolution and the unknowable mysteries of the world while spinning around in a giant teacup.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
I'm really not happy about this. But I've been working a ton of hours the last couple of months, and in the process I've developed a Red Bull habit. That's right. Diet Pepsi was found wanting, coffee is too acidic for my tender innards to absorb on a thrice-daily basis, and tea is, well, it's tea. That stuff's for chicks.
So I turned to Red Bull. And I really wish I hadn't. For one thing, this shit is expensive, I tell ya! It's like $2.30 a can or something like that. I'm convinced that cocaine would be cheaper. Buying in bulk isn't much better. A 4-pack at Target is almost $7 bucks. Plus, the cans are small; only 8.3 ounces of the precious energy-giving nectar are contained inside. On the one hand it's cool, because when you hold the tiny can you can pretend that you're a giant. But when what little liquid there is inside vanishes after a few all-too-fleeting swallows, it is most definitely not cool.
Jake the Intern briefly saved the day when he called some of his cronies who are "ambassadors" for Red Bull. I'm not sure what that means, but they wore Red Bull jackets, used some sort of funny handshake as a greeting and probably drove around in the car pictured above. They dropped off a free 12-pack here at the agency, which me and a couple of other guys polished off in short order, leaving us no better off than we were a few days before. It's always heartbreaking when the gravy train stops rolling.
In short, I need help. Can anyone get me some methadone?
Monday, April 03, 2006
AKA "Post Cinematic Couch Disorder 2:This Time it's Personal."
That's right: once again our household was striken by a virulent celluloid contagion, and we were powerless to resist watching. And this time the carrier was non other than "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan." And once again, it was a movie we've seen perhaps a hundred times (collectively, that is. How big of geeks do you think we are?). At least this time it was on HBO and not peppered with commercials.
Ah, yes...I can see it all now as if it were yesterday (which it was). The Moby Dick references, the battle of wills (not to mention wigs) between Kirk and Khan, the close-ups of the mind-controlling worms crawling in and out of the giant paper mache' ears, Ricardo Montalban sporting a wonderbra, Kirk's son from "Square Pegs" and, of course, the selfless sacrifice and subsequent death of Mr. Spock, guaranteed to bring Mrs. Blogfoot to tears every time.
What's that, Mr. Hardass? You say you don't cry during "Wrath of Khan?" Not even a single tear when they pack Spock's body into a giant Ray-Ban case (in actuality a photon torpedo shell) and Scotty plays "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes? Bullshit. You cry.
David Bleak, a Korean War medic who received the Medal of Honor for war-time heroism in 1952, died last week. He was 74.
On June 14, 1952, Bleak shielded a fellow soldier from the impact of a nearby grenade. Then, although wounded in the leg, he he began to carry his injured comrade. They were then attacked by two enemy soldiers with bayonets, and Bleak "grabbed them and smacked their heads together, then carried his helpless comrade down the hill to safety." He also killed another enemy soldier with his trench knife, for a total of three enemy kills, two with his bare hands.
The overall story is impressive enough. But take a look at the quotes. He "grabbed them and smacked their heads together."
This guy killed two men using a technique invented by Moe of "The Three Stooges." The only other person known to have executed this move succesfully was Andre the Giant in "The Princess Bride." Well done, sir.
You can read the whole story here.