your band sucks

I can't believe it, but it's finally done. My phase-pulse catapult has reached the penultimate stage: testing! Quickly, Lewis, get me my lab coat! We must take the catapult out for field testing!

We do? Sure, let's make a checklist of what we need for the test!

We need someone to safely load the catapult onto a truck!
We need someone to drive the truck!
We'll need the same person who loaded it to unload it!
We need a testing area!
We need permits from the local government to use the device!
We'll need an empty area of roughly sixty square miles to activate the catapult without destroying anything!
We'll need a team of researchers to study the results and submit their findings!
I'll have to spend my Saturday night going over these data before coming back later to repeat the process dozens of times!

... y'know, lets just set it off here. I mean, fuck it, right? Get it over with, no fuss. Are we in accordance? Great!

...

...

...

I'll still need my lab coat, Lewis. We're doing science, after all.

Seems to have been some issues with Safari that kept this from being displayed properly. Round two: begin.

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Look, I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, but we are not getting out of here with all these tires. They’re huge. You can’t possibly put them in your pants, and --

No, it won’t work if we each put half of them in our pants. They’re much too large for that. We cannot possibly find six more people to help steal these two sets of tires for you, and even if we did, even a single tire will not fit into a pair of pants. Do I have to explain the physics of this thing to you?

Okay, here we go: usually, people fill their pants in completely. Pains are taking by clothing manufacturers to ensure that there’s a little bit of room on the sides for your pockets, so you can carry your keys, cell phone, or other items, but no special accommodation has been made for tire transport. I understand that in recent days, "baggy" clothing has taken on a popular niche in the fashion world, as hip-hop aficionados and hopelessly fat people latch on to the trendy style. However, even the baggiest of baggy pants cannot hope to store a monster truck tire.

No. No, MC Hammer’s pants were not big enough to conceal a tire. Not while he was wearing them, anyway. Someone will see, and you’ll be caught. Why would you want to steal eight tires? Your car already has tires.

Oh. Oh, I see. I didn’t realize this was to wrap the final stages of your Super Monster Truck’s development. Now that I know that, I can see that this is actually a superior necessity, and well, I’m swayed. Let’s go steal up all the giant tires we can, right now. Of course, if someone spots us doing so, we’ll have to kill them to keep a lid on things, but hey. This is for the most important, useful, and goddammit, endearing project to ever grace your oil-soaked garage floor. Yeah, let’s just get right on it.

Jackass.
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Well, the sky has officially darkened and the hounds of hell have arrived, and the people from inside the HOLLOW EARTH have declared war on the outsiders: I got a job.

At Wal-Mart.

Yep.

I'll be in the electronics section; although I'm expected to help out around there, I'm officially responsible for selling cell phones, and I get paid more for having a specialization. Hooray!

Despite the opening of the post, I'm actually extremely happy about this, even kind of excited. It's definitely the money doing it to me, but there's a very tangible relief attached to having something steady in my life again that I can use to get everything else held in place. Once I've got the housing situation squared away (hopefully within a few days), then I'll have myself squared away until the next big crisis.

It's all coming together, friends! Let's put on our raincoats and pray that we live through the coming days.  

In the sequel, the little girl's love of ponies and Thor culminate in the eruption of Beta Ray Bill from her imagination, who promptly destroys the city and causes the eventual destruction of our universe. Which has nothing to do with the actual character, but if you've seen the first flick, you know that babysitting has fuck all to do with Thor, either.

I think of this because I've been on an eighties kick lately. It started a week ago, when Nikki suggested we pick up a copy of the Karate Kid, and coincidentally found a five dollar copy in one of those "Where Movies Go to Die" bins at the local Wal-Mart. You know the ones, where Steven Seagal gets the money for his car payment from month to month?

So we watched it later that night, and despite a little bit of mockery for things the movie couldn't help (ridiculous musical choices, hammed "bully" stereotypes, and Elisabeth Shue, all unavoidable side effects of the eighties), after the first fifteen minutes, I couldn't look away. There was an entire movie there I'd never seen before. When I was a kid, only two things mattered: Mr. Miyagi was a hardass, and the Crane Kick was the most functional fighting move I'd ever seen in all my ten years.

Now, nearly fourteen years later (and having endured several painful martial arts tournaments where the big C.K. has earned me nothing), I re-watch the flick and I see new stuff. Miyagi is a surrogate father to Daniel? Bullies, when pushed to great heights in evil karate, will back down because they're not really all that bad? His last name is fucking LaRusso? wtf, right?

Growing up tends to make things that used to be impressive when you were a kid boring. You understand it now, it's outdated, and there's not really much to it. I know, because I watched the Chipmunks movie fifty million times when I was a kid, and now? That crap ain't relevant. You know what happens when you give a hot air balloon to six chipmunks? NOTHING. But anyway - sometimes it's impressive to see something that was cool when you were a kid actually gain meaning in adulthood.

Now, to see if it works with the Mickey Mouse Club.

I've finally realized something important: Myspace is for Chuds, and I do better in life if I blindly follow Joel from place to place. That in mind, here I am, again, something like five months later. All up in ya mix like fuckin' Betty Crocker! Who is probably unrelated to Chris Crocker!

God, I hate that guy.

It's not that he's gay. Gay people are fine. I think it's the way he reminds me of Paris Hilton. Eugh.

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Wait, wait. My printer is screwing up and I have to restart to try installing the thing again. Probably what it needs is a good, hefty baseball bat installed into the paper tray.

Heh. Violence.

In this segment, Ben explores movies if they were to actually happen in real life! Come on gang, let's check it out! Warning contains spoilerz lol.

The Sandlot: A ragtag group of kids lose their ball over an old black man's fence and at least one is shot by the old man for trespassing and harassing his old, defenseless dog.

Mallrats: Neither T.S. or Brodie even make it to the mall, citing lack of gas in Quint's station wagon and neither of their mothers being home to loan the minivan. Movie is an hour and a half of the two complaining about Spider-Man 3 and stroking it to hentai.

Knocked Up: Upon discovering she is pregnant, Katherine Heigl sneaks off to an abortion clinic and tidily handles the situation. Seth Rogen remains peacefully oblivious and the two never speak again.

Terminator 2: Actually a documentary; already real life. I choked up when Arnold lowered into the molten steel, and wept unabashedly at the thumbs-up.

Rookie of the Year: A young boy breaks his arm, and when it heals he finds that he can throw a baseball just about as hard as before the accident. From his early fifties on, his arm hurts when it rains.

The Neverending Story: Young Bastien Bux is taken to juvenile court over the matter of his stealing a first edition of the Neverending Story from a kindly old bookseller. Meanwhile, Atreyu is severely raped by a roving gang of pedophiles. I mean come on. He's practically a little girl.

Evan Almighty: It turns out that God is not Morgan Freeman but Lawrence Fishburne, and Evan has been building Satan's Yacht. The town floods anyway.

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POSSIBLE TITLES FOR A MUSICAL TO BE WRITTEN AT A LATER DATE:

No Problem, We Can Suicide!
A Beating You Can Dance To
One Mighty Fuck of a Brine Shrimp
Roll Bounce: This Stereo Don't Go Below Thirty
I'M SUFFOCATING IN THIS ENVIRONMENT: The Musical!
The Last Temptation of Chris
I, Zombie!
Protocol Dictates C Major
Cancerous Lump: A Story in Song
No Matter How Hard I Dream, the End of Edward Scissorhands is Always the Same: I Could Sing About It, I Guess