STFU, this kid's dumb parents!

Let's talk about this kid who dressed up as Martin Luther King Jr. for a school project for a moment.





To me, the turning point in this story comes at the 1:00 minute mark when Michelle King-Roca recounts her son's plan to "do [his] face in black" in order to be the best Martin Luther King Jr. any white second grader with a ponytail could ever hope to be.  This seems to have been the perfect moment for Sean's mother to explain that there was a time in America's history when white performers would paint their faces black and perform extremely racist caricatures of black people for the amusement of all non-minorities.  These were called "minstrel shows" and they were super offensive and to this very day hurtful to many African-Americans.  She could've further explained that while darkening one's face to portray a black individual would totally make sense to a second grader, it is actually considered insensitive and highly inappropriate.


But, no, Sean's parents black-faced him up, glued a mustache to his face, and sent him off to school, and then acted like they'd been the victims of some kind of weird injustice because people were offended by something that is super fucking offensive!


Look, Sean's a cute kid.  I'm glad he likes black people.  One way he could show his respect for black people is by doing a school project on Martin Luther King Jr.  Another way: don't come to school in blackface!


It's not his fault though.  His parents dropped the ball on this one.  I don't care how many white people Channel 13 News interviewed.  School project or not, painting your kid's face black and sending him off to the ol' schoolhouse is not only insensitive and dumb, but insane.  How is this helping anybody?  What, the kids in Sean's class weren't going to understand his presentation without Sean's face being painted black?  "You're Martin Luther who now?"


White people are never going to get it, OK?  We're never going to fully, 100-percent understand how it feels when an African-American person sees some white dickhead with his face painted black or wearing an afro wig or something.  So, STFU, Sean King's parents.  The rest of you, don't paint your kid's face black for any reason, unless he or she is going as a chimney sweep for Halloween.  Then, just keep the black on the cheeks and the forehead area, all right?

STFU, Condescending Homeless Guy!

While walking to my car after work this evening, a smiling homeless man flagged me down to talk. At first, I thought he was simply sending a friendly hello wave my way, so I waved back and kept walking. He waved again and said something. I pulled off my headphones and asked, "What's that?"

"What's the scenario?" he asked again, smiling his brown toothy grin.

"I have no idea," I shrugged at the friendly gentleman.

"You probably don't remember," he continued, "but we met right about here, um, two weeks ago and you had some excuse why you couldn't help me out."

Here we go, I thought. What I said was, "OK. Well, the scenario still is that I don't carry cash on me." With that, I replaced my headphones securely to my ears, turned, growled the word "dipshit" and continue the trek to my car.

"Hey, man, I'm just playing. You have a blessed day," he called after me.

The balls on this guy! First of all, I walk the exact same route from my car to the office and then back to my car at the end of the business day. I've been walking this route for five years. I'm intimately aware of the businesses I pass and the people I encounter. I have never encountered this deceptively friendly homeless individual. Not two weeks ago. Not two months ago. Not two years ago. I have no idea what this guy was talking about.

But, OK, let's say I'm a dick and I have talked to this guy and I just don't remember him. Does that really make me a dick? I've encountered lots of homeless people when walking to and from work. I'm supposed to remember them all now? I'm supposed to cordon off a little area in my brain to store my memories of them and their stories? I don't remember the names of half the people I work with and I'm supposed to remember what I said to a homeless guy "that one time?"

Secondly, the whole "I don't carry cash on me" thing isn't a little scenario I use to stick it to the poor and unfortunate. I don't carry cash. That's it. I never throw in for funeral flower arrangements or Boss's Day presents at the office because I do not carry cash money on my person. And until very recently, I didn't know what my PIN was. I'm serious. For years (years!) I've had money in my account but no way to get to it in a pinch. I'm a slave to my debit card. But, what, I'm going to explain this to every homeless person who asks me for spare change? I don't have that kind of time. Hell, homeless people don't have that kind of time! So I say, "Sorry, I don't carry cash," and usually that's enough. Not with this grinning jackass though. No, he had to make me feel bad about my unwillingness to look through my desk for the PIN State Employee's Credit Union provided me. I'm lazy, OK? Believe me, if I had a couple of bucks to toss your way, I would, but I don't, so lay off the weird guilt trip.

Do I feel guilty though? Not really. I'm not going to feel guilty about having a steady job I hate or a bank account full of money that is spent mostly on snacks and sodas. It's my money and if I want to spend it on Tapatio Doritos, I'm going to spend it on Tapatio Doritos. Have you tried Tapatio Doritos yet? They're amazing.

And, listen, I gave out enough money to homeless people in my day. I'm not saying that I single-handedly solved the homelessness problem and have retired from philanthropic pursuits forever. I could do more. I could work a soup kitchen once a month or something. I could give my time and money in other ways. I want to do those things.

I was just amazed at the condescending tone in this man's voice. I'm sure he hears one-hundred scenarios a day. Turns out I was being truthful--if, in fact, we've ever met, which I still highly doubt--but how would he know that. Maybe writing this post is the ultimate dick move.

Nah. I was right this afternoon. That guy is a dipshit.

STFU, People Who Somehow Don't Get it!

I love it when readers comment on the blog. It happens so rarely, that I when I do receive a comment notification, after giggling like a schoolgirl for five minutes straight, I immediately comment back. I like it when something from of my own brain compels--dare I suggest, inspires?--someone to take a few moments to share their own opinions.

Like I said, I love comments, but I'm not a huge fan of anonymous comments. I'll take them, mind you, but there's a certain amount of cowardice behind anonymously commenting on the internet. If you have something to say, say it. Own it. Here at GEP, you are allowed to speak/type your mind, in fact, I invite it. If I disagree with your opinion, I have no qualms about poking your argument full of holes, but I will always be nice about it, because I'm all about gathering more and more regular readers, cultivating an audience of people who share my love/hate relationship with all realms of pop culture.

So, there it is, I love comments, both signed and unsigned. What chaffs my hide--that's a thing nobody says, right?--are individuals who swing by the blog and comment on something without any knowledge of what I'm trying to do here. I'm not sure if you realize this, but Giant Electric Penguin is primarily a comedy blog, at least, I like to think it is. I like to believe I know my way around a joke, pun, or clever turn of phrase. I think my snarky take on Melrose Place has a place on the internet. I'm not trying to change the world, I'm just here to bang out ha-has on my keyboard and shoot them off into the ether. I'm rarely serious here, unless I'm attacking religion or posting videos of songs I despise. I'm fairly certain most people understand this site if they spend any significant amount of time here, which research shows most people do not. Every once in awhile though, I get a comment from someone, anonymous or not, who just doesn't get it. Like this one, on a piece I wrote about a yearbook staff refusing to include a girl's "racy" senior picture in their 2012 edition:

"Award-winning yearbook? What the hell kind of weird organization hands out awards to high school yearbooks?" If you had done any research, you would have found such organizations. Check out, Columbia Scholastic Press Association,held by Columbia University and the administrator of the Pulitzer Prize. There are nominations, standards, and voting. Whether you believe it or not, yearbook is a journalistic endeavor, and the yearbook staff was right for refusing to print Spies, near porn photo.

Before I proceed to tell this dimwit...I'm sorry...valued reader to kindly STFU today, here's how I responded at the time:

You got me. I did the least amount of research required.

I do not, however, believe a yearbook is a journalistic endeavor, but I'm glad you are passionate about something. People need to find things they love and do them. Like me and writing humorous articles about dumb stories like this with the minimum amount of research required.

Also: you're not suggesting that the Columbia Scholastic Press Association award is anything akin to the Pulitzer Prize, are you?

Not too mean, right? I stated my opinion, but also validated this anonymous individual's love of yearbooking. The truth is, I did do a little bit of research, but, admittedly, not enough...FOR A REPUTABLE NEWS WEBSITE! I run a dinky little Blogspot blog here, madam or sir. If you are getting your news from GEP, um, you're super dumb? Not doing the proper amount of research and not knowing about the Columbia Scholastic Blah Blah Thing worked to my advantage, because my intention was to poke fun at yearbook staff nerds--and I did time on a yearbook staff, so I know of what I speak--not write a dissertation on the proud history of yearbook awards.

Also: If you think Ms. Spies photo is "near porn," you have obviously never seen porn. And neither have I, Mom. I swear.

Here's another clueless comment from another STFU post about a weird atheist Christmas display on a courthouse lawn in Virginia, this time from an actual person, named Brian Westley, whose own blog, pacifistundeadpriest.blogspot.com, I admittedly don't really understand:

No. [I assume this is because Mr. Westley is an atheist and he refuses to STFU. Fair enough.]

Too damn bad for you, eh?

Love that first amendment.

My response:

I feel like you've only read this post and none of the other posts on this site. I invite you to read more. We're just a bunch of jokesters over here. You'll get it.

I too love the first amendment. That should be pretty obvious.

Thanks for reading!

My goal in writing this piece was to point out how stupid the atheist Christmas display was, not to say they shouldn't have done it. I mean, they shouldn't have done it, but only because it was unfocused, nonsensical, and totally hackneyed, all at the same time. The religious, the non-religious, and the anti-religious can put up whatever dumb display they want on whatever dumb lawn they want. And if I find out about it and do, in fact, decide that it is super lame, I will tell those people to, simply, STFU. In this case, my STFU should be read as "try harder." A skeletal Santa Claus hanging on a cross means nothing. Less than nothing. It is simply Christian-baiting and, therefore, not in any way helpful to whatever your cause is. But Westley's right, people do have the first amendment right to act like dumb assholes. Maybe I should just shut the eff up.

Look, keep (or start) commenting everybody, but try to understand what I'm trying to do over here a little first. OK? Can we all agree to do that. Let me give you an example of the kind of comments I'm looking for. Here's one from my 2009 review of Disney's The Little Mermaid that someone posted earlier this week:

Viagra said...
This is such a wonderful movie!

See? It's just that simple. A nice, non-anonymous comment from a brand I trust. Now that's good commentin'!

STFU, Aaron Neville!

I have a seven-month-old daughter. For Christmas, the wife and I got her the Fisher-Price Little People's Zoo and as many animals as we could get our hands on. Those little bastards are hard to find. There were always plenty of zoos on the shelf at Toys-R-Us, but never any animals. You need the zoo to hear the animals make their various noises, you idiots. How about leaving some Zoo Talkers for the rest of us, huh?

I'm not complaining. We've got plenty of good animals. You wouldn't believe how a rhinoceros sounds. Quinn also has an ostrich, a gorilla, a lion, a tiger, a bear, a polar bear, a seal, a killer whale, and a dolphin. Now, sure, the zoo in question has nothing more than a tiny pond for the dolphin and the orca to share, but that's OK. I mean, Quinn doesn't care. She spends most of her playtime chewing on Zookeeper Zack's head or repeatedly smacking the red button that triggers zoo announcements ("The animals are hungry!" "There's so many animals to see at the zoo." "The animals are tired. It's bedtime at the zoo." etc.). All that matters to me though is that Quinn is happy. She is welcome to enjoy the zoo however she sees fit, though I do spend probably way too long putting the animals back in their proper areas post-playtime.

What does all of this have to do with the dulcet tones of Mr. Aaron Neville? I'm getting there.

Quinn's zoo came with a DVD. The DVD contains a new Little People's cartoon and four classic episodes. Yes, there is a Little People's TV show. So, Monday night, after Quinn went to bed, me and my wife climbed into bed and watched a couple of episodes. The new Little People's adventure featured some of the dopiest, sub-Dreamworks computer animation I've ever seen, but it was cute, so, screw it. The classic episodes we watched featured sub-Will Vinton-style claymation ("You can see the fingerprints," Jen pointed out several times.) and this theme song:



This is "The Discovery Song." I'm sure you think I'm a huge dick for what you think I am about to write, and you are not completely wrong. This song is dumb, yes. It opens a mediocre-looking children's television program chock full of pumpkin-headed children learning idiotic lessons, true. But I'm not going to waste my time poking fun at the Little People. I love the Little People. We've got so many damn Little People, our house is starting to look like Lilliput. But this song, not unlike a certain little ditty about gates being left open, worms it's way into your head and won't let go. There's only one problem: the only lyric I can ever remember is the two word phrase "discovering Michael." Do you know how embarrassing it is to be sitting at your desk at work and without you even knowing it the words "discovering Michael" spilling out of your mouth in a Neville-style lilt? It's super embarrassing! "Who's this Michael you're discovering, Matt?" your co-worker who happens to be passing by asks. Next thing you know, the whole office thinks that you're carrying on a gay tryst behind your wife's back. I'm not saying that's happened, but it could! The rumor. Not the tryst.

I anticipate this happening quite a bit--dumb, catchy kid songs hooking themselves parasitically into my brain--now that I'm a father. I don't mind. I love dumb, catchy things. My wife doesn't love that I love dumb, catchy things, but that's her cross to bear. I just never thought I would have the phrase "discovering Michael" constantly on the tip of my tongue, ready to rip without my permission, and, for that reason, I respectfully request that you kindly STFU, Aaron Neville.

STFU, Citi Spot Featuring L.P.'s "Into The Wild"

Chances are you've seen this commercial:



Until I searched for it on YouTube, I didn't even know what this commercial was for. So, I don't have a problem with the actual advertisement or anything, I just hate the part when the accompanying song hits its crescendo and the singer belts out the words, "Somebody left the gate open!" Now, I'd never heard this song before this credit card commercial, nor have I heard of this artist, so I don't have anything against her or her song. It's just, every time I see this commercial, I get the line "somebody left the gate open" stuck in my head and at random times in the day, I blurt it out. Doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. When "somebody left the gate open" is coming, it comes. Sort of like a fart. Sorry. That's crass. It's also totally accurate.

Because this line has the ability to lodge itself into my brain and force itself out of my body at regularly intervals, I've unfairly decided that I hate the song and it's creator, Laura Pergolizzi, (AKA, L.P.). However, I don't want to be that guy, so let's give the whole song a chance, shall we? It's called "Into The Wild" and you can listen to it right here:



In summation: STFU, CITI BANK SPOT FEATURING L.P.'S "INTO THE WILD!" (L.P. you go right ahead and keep making music.)

STFU, Domino's Pizza!

It's a new year. Time to move forward. Leave the past in the past. Turn over a new leaf. Finally let bygones be bygones. It's time for Domino's Pizza to shut up.

Really, Domino's? I've got to see more of your irritating apology commercials in 2012? We get it. You listened to the criticism of your product--criticism tweeted and scrawled on message board walls by people who have nothing better to do with their time then rail against third-tier delivery pizza--and you made a change. Good for you. It takes a lot to admit that your product is garbage. I hope the fat losers who shamed you on Facebook, Twitter, and wherever else, tried your new and improved product and changed their mind. I never thought your pizza was that bad, though, if I'm being honest, Domino's is typically my last resort choice when it comes to choosing a corporate pizza (I prefer Papa John's. Something about the sauce. It's kinda sweet.). It's nothing personal. Your pizza's fine. You're not running a five-star pizza joint. Most Domino's are housed in strip malls between a Dollar General and a karate school. I never expected a mind-blowing experience when I ordered food from a Domino's, just something hot and round with pepperoni on it that tasted generally pizza-esque. On that level, Domino's, you always delivered.

But Domino's felt bad about ripping off the American consumer and creating a culture of pizza disgust with their sub par product, so they decided to turn things around, and they invited all of us to come along. Invited is the wrong word. Invited implies we had a choice on whether or not we joined Domino's on its redemptive journey. The basically forced themselves into our homes, in an effort, I guess, to make us like/trust them again. Hmmmm.



Is Domino's headquarters located in an old Bond villain hideout?

Anyway, that was 2011 Domino's--all "woe is us" and "sorry about all the sucking" and "we promise to do better." It got old. Real old. But, hey, maybe it worked. I don't keep up with business news or news of any kind, so I don't know how things are going for Domino's. I do know I can't watch TV for more then ten seconds without seeing this "we're sorry our cheesy bread isn't good, but we'll do better, promise" commercial. Are they really going to continue this into 2012? And who gives a shit about cheesy bread? I didn't even know Domino's offered a cheesy bread option until they informed me that their cheesy bread sucks. And why does Domino's head chef want us to jump rope with Domino's cheesy bread? And why are people ordering cheesy bread and breadsticks from Domino's or any other pizza place? It's just crust! There's a breadstick on the end of every pizza slice you cram into your greasy mouth. And you know there are people who discard their crust, but polish off six or seven cheesy breadsticks. It should be no mystery to anyone why were the fattest nation in the world. Maybe if more people jumped rope with Domino's cheesy bread, got some exercise while bingeing on their cut-rate pizza...

In summation: STFU, DOMINO'S PIZZA!

STFU, Durango High School yearbook staff!

Meet Sydney Spies. She submitted the above picture to her high school's yearbook staff to be included as her official senior portrait. Fine, it's a little provocative, but, c'mon, it's 2012, not 1938, a notoriously non-provocative year in American history. So Spies is defying her school's dress code. She's a senior, and as anyone who has ever graduated from high school--sorry, drop-outs and GED recipients--can tell you, seniors have got carte blanche to do whatever the balls they want. If a senior feels like having lunch off campus, that senior has lunch off campus. If a senior doesn't like your face, that senior is fully within his or her rights to bully you mercilessly until you are driven to live-Tweet your own slow suicide by Advil overdose. And if a senior wants to look like a brazen hussy in her senior photo, then you darn well better publish said photo in your yearbook.

But Durango High's yearbook stuff ain't having it. No, they've rejected Spies' yearbook photo. But why, yearbook staff? Why?

“We are an award-winning yearbook. We don’t want to diminish the quality with something that can be seen as unprofessional,” student [and mouth-breathing lame-o] Brian Jaramillo told the paper on Thursday.

NERD ALERT!!!

Award-winning yearbook? What the hell kind of weird organization hands out awards to high school yearbooks? And if there are award-winning yearbooks, there must be a nomination process. And voting. Who has the time and the fortitude to comb through hundreds of thousands of high school yearbooks, nominating the "best" ones, presenting these nominations to an academy of yearbook aficionados to decide which is the very "best," and tallying the resulting votes? Nobody has the time to do this, therefore, your yearbook is not award-winning, Brian. Publish Sydney's picture and get back to your World of Warcraft campaign.

In summation: STFU, DURANGO HIGH SCHOOL YEARBOOK STAFF!

STFU, Atheists!

Here we go...

Two members of an atheist group in Leesburg, Virginia, added their own piece of "holiday flair" to the Loudoun County courthouse lawn this week: a skeleton dressed as Santa Claus nailed to a cross. Oh, fun.

1. Listen, I'm not going to lie: it's nice to see a mother and son spending quality time with one another. The holiday season is a time when families can come together and celebrate. Some families eat a ham, exchange presents, read the Christmas Story, and go to bed with visions of sugarplums and stuff. Others dress a skeleton up in Santa suit, nail said skeleton to a cross, and hang him outside of a courthouse. To each their own, I guess.

2. But, seriously, why is this necessary? Little kids have to walk by and see a rotted Santa corpse hanging from a Bible Times torture device just so you can remind the world that, in your opinion, God doesn't exist? Why you gotta drag Santa into this, man?

3. Here's what some atheist said about the display:

"The message to me at least," said Jonathan Weintraub, of the group NOVA Atheists, "is that the meaning of Christmas, which is about faith and family, is dead and has been replaced by commercialism."

Is that what it says, Mr. Weintraub? Is that what a skeletal Kris Kringle hanging from a poorly constructed wooden cross, leering creepily at passersby says to you? Actually, that makes sense, but only because it's so obvious and hackneyed.

In summation: STFU, ATHEISTS!

STFU, Rick Perry!

I can be pretty hard on the religious sometimes. Why stop now? Here's Rick Perry's new thing:



1. You shouldn't be ashamed to be a Christian, Mr. Perry. However, you should be ashamed by the fact that you believe the biggest problem facing our nation's children is not being allowed to "openly celebrate Christmas or pray in school." What about poor nutrition? Sexual abuse? Bullying? Nope. It's not being allowed to lead a prayer in 3rd period Biology.

2. Who's stopping anybody from celebrating Christmas? It's them liberals, I bet. Danged liberals!

3. And guess what, kids? You can totally pray in school. That's right: it's totally allowed! I know weirdos like Rick Perry want you to believe that your teacher and your principal and the school board and President Obama hate your religion and will stop at nothing to keep you from praying, but they can't. See, you can say a prayer silently from your seat in the cafeteria or before a History test virtually anywhere else on campus. God can hear your thoughts. Come to think of it, that's scarier than Obama's non-existent War on Religion. Do you remember everything you thought about today? I bet some of it was totally gross.

4. Hey, Rick: We'll stop our War on Religion when religion stops its War on Common Sense. Sound fair?

In summation: STFU, RICK PERRY!