Wednesday Morning What the WTF Music?!?

So, I heard this newish Blink-182 song for the first time last weekend:



Now, I've never kept my enjoyment of Blink-182 a secret. I like them. Their music meant a lot more to me in high school and college, but I still dump a load of their tunes onto my iPod from time to time and, you know, rock out or whatever. I kind of even like this song. I just have one question...

Why does Tom DeLonge still sing like that? I don't mean the whininess. He's always rocked the whininess. It's the oddball pronunciation of certain words. Like, no one says "demon" that way. Or "year." At least, I think he's saying the word "year." What the hell?

Tom DeLonge is 36-years-old. Thirty-six! Why is he still singing like a snotty teenage asshole? It's offputting. Tone it down a little, Tom. Sheesh.

What the WTF?!?: Heart Attack Grill is not the enemy

A man suffered a heart attack at the Heart Attack Grill this week. Oh, you've never heard of the Heart Attack Grill? Well, the Heart Attack Grill is an American burger joint that proudly serves the most unhealthy food imaginable (the above menu is the ACTUAL, FOR REAL Heart Attack Grill menu) via waitress dressed as sexy nurses:

It's kind of like a Hooters for that portion of the fetish crowd who prefers burgers to chicken wings. Keep in mind, none of the waitress are actual nurses, so, if you do ever find yourself in a Heart Attack Grill having chest pains and shortness of breath, the big-breasted, booty short-clad hottie who just dropped a large order of lard-fried Flatliner Fries on your grease-splattered table cannot help you. You're boned, basically.

But guess what, my sweaty chum? You've boned yourself. That's right. The Heart Attack Grill isn't responsible for the lifetime of poor choices you've made, up to and including the decision to enjoy a quick bite to eat at the Heart Attack Grill. I assume thousands of people have dined at the Heart Attack Grill and suffered nothing more than momentary regret. Then again, people have, in fact, given their life for the Heart Attack Grill's cause. Blair River, a 575 pound fan and spokesperson, died in 2011, no doubt a result of his frequent trips to the Grill. But still, is this Grill's fault? I submit that it is not.

It's River's fault. Nobody forced him to weigh 575 pounds. I know some people have struggles maintaining a healthy weight--hell, I'm one of them--but River knew what he was doing. He was 575 pounds and he ate regularly at the Heart Attack Grill. He knew what could happen. IT'S RIGHT ON THE SIGN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!!! And this guy in the Las Vegas location this week. There's no way this guy was the picture of good health. He had a heart attack while chowing down on a Triple Bypass Burger. Who needs all that? No one needs all of that! You waltz into a place and order something called a Triple Bypass Burger, with a side of Flatliner Fries and a pack of filterless cigarettes for dessert, you deserve the resulting heart attack. And you should be required to pay your bill in full. Well, you or your heirs.

We do this shit to ourselves, guys. There wouldn't be a Heart Attack Grill if people didn't want a Heart Attack Grill. We can't control ourselves. People are dying in restaurants from ingesting too much beef and lard, drinking Jolt colas and Butterfat Milkshakes. What the fuck? Why would anyone do this to him/herself? I like unhealthy food as much as the next guy, but I have the sense at least to avoid a joint like the Heart Attack Grill like the plague it most certainly is.

We're our own worst enemies, everybody. Did we learn nothing from that Christian Slater show? I mean, I didn't. I never saw it. It was called My Own Worst Enemy, right? I'm pretty sure it wasn't about shitty eating habits, but the lessons still apply. Or not. Just stop cramming shit into your mouth, OK? Quit spending your money at greasy restaurants that don't give a crap about your health. Eat a salad. It's nice outside, so take a walk with your family. Keep eating burgers and fries, just eat them less often. WTF are we doing to ourselves? Sheesh!

I like those nurses outfits though. You ever thing about changing up the uniforms at Chipotle, Chipotle?

What the WTF?!?: North Dakota After Dark

Take a look at this recent advertisement from North Dakota's tourism board. Isn't it so sick? What kind of pervert thought this was a good idea, right? Personally, when I see this ad, it stirs up all kinds of uncomfortable sexual feelings inside of me, and when my sexual feelings are stirred up--yeah buddy--you better look out. Farmers lock up your daughters, 'cause someone's gonna get pregnant! See, I just can't control myself when bombarded with disgusting sexual images like this. Young men flirting with a trio of young women enjoying a night out in Fargo? Gross! It's akin to blasphemy, I tells ya!

Obviously, I'm being extra moronic to make a point. There is nothing wrong with this ad beside the fact that its for a place I have little interest in spending any amount of time in whatsoever. I didn't even know North Dakota had a tourism board! Incidentally, why does North Dakota have a tourism board?

Again, I kid (sorta). North Dakota's Tourism Division released a gaggle of tourism ads this week, but only this one caused an uproar. Seriously, an uproar:

The advertisement was meant to showcase North Dakota's nightlife: Two young men and three women flirt through the window of a downtown Fargo motel bar. Printed next to them is the message: "Drinks, dinner, decisions. Arrive a guest. Leave a legend."

It was meant to be "a little flirty, a little fun," said Pat Finken, president of Odney Advertising, the agency that created the ad.

Instead, some found it a tawdry come-on, prompting the state's tourism division to yank it from its Facebook page late Thursday after it drew dozens of complaints and comments.

One commenter called the ad "sickening," while another speculated about what the people in the photo needed to do to "leave a legend."

"Sickening?" What about the ad is "sickening?" The only sickening thing about this whole situation is the idea that people would actually want to spend their vacation in North Dakota.

(Hold on. I got one more.)

As far as what one is required to do to leave North Dakota "a legend?" I think not committing suicide is a good start. (BURN!!!)

I honestly can't figure out the hoopla surrounding this ad. Are the citizens of North Dakota so hopelessly repressed that the mere suggestion that young people sometimes find one other sexually appealing incites them to fits of confused anger? For Pete's sake, the women in this ad aren't even dressed provocatively. I'd get it (a little) if the women were gussied up in stripper gear and the men were displaying their boners proudly through their unzipped flies, but they're not. This is simply a snapshot of people having fun on a Saturday night despite the fact that they are stuck in North Dakota.

What the WTF presents The Most Horrific Thing I've Read in a Good Long Time

I know most of you have been waiting for my take on the whole Joe Paterno/Penn State Sex Abuse Scandal story and I apologize for making you wait so long. Many of you get your news from GEP and when we fail to comment on a major story in a timely fashion, I usually feel pretty bad. There is a reason it's taken me awhile to comment on this particular tale of woe however, and that is because large portions of it make me sick to my stomach.

If you don't have any idea of what I'm talking about, first, you most assuredly live underneath a rock, by which I mean you aren't alive at all, but, rather, buried in a cemetery somewhere, unless, of course, your body was donated to science or cremated and tossed into the Grand Canyon. Second, this timeline of events posted at ESPN.com should bring you up to speed. Allow me to nutshell it, if I may: Jerry Sandusky, an assistant football coach under legendary Penn State coach Joe Paterno, molested and raped several different young boys over roughly a fifteen year period. His disgusting conduct was witnessed and reported, but nothing was ever done until just recently, when Sandusky was arrested on 40 criminal counts.

There is a lot about this story that makes me sick. First, Sandusky is an inhuman monster. He creates a charity for boys from dysfunctional homes and then uses said charity to find easy marks--broken, lonely boys aching for a father figure in their lives. Sandusky becomes that father figure and proceeds to betray their trust.

Second, you got the members of the Penn State faculty and staff who knew what Sandusky was up to, but ignored it or, in the case of Joe Paterno, did the bare minimum of what was required and got back to promoting the Penn State brand. Nobody picked up a phone and dialed 9-1-1, like, ever. They passed the buck, swept it under the rug--you pick the cliche! The simple fact is that boys were being sexually abused, but Penn State's reputation was much more important.

Third, these students that rioted and flipped over a news van. Really, guys? Now that you know the whole horrible story, I bet you feel pretty dumb. Let me rephrase that: you better feel really dumb. Listen, I hadn't heard the name Joe Paterno until last week (believe it or not, not everybody cares about college football), so maybe I don't get how much of a legend he is 'round your parts. I do know that a graduate assistant witnessed Jerry Sandusky anally raping--ANALLY RAPING!!!--a 10-year-old in the locker room showers and called his dad, not the police. HE CALLED HIS DAD! Then, THE NEXT DAY, he told Joe Paterno who also DID NOT CALL THE COPS, but rather Penn State's athletic director and the whole story dies there. Paterno was part of the cover-up, like it or not, and for that he deserved to be terminated. Let's step outside of our school pride for a moment and look at the facts. Paterno fucked up. He's not the only one who did, but he did nonetheless. So, why not help right that news van and get back to studying or binge drinking or whatever.

Who are the victims in this story? Joe Paterno? Not bloody likely. Penn State's reputation? If they're so great, why have I never heard of them?* I'll tell you who the victims are...

LOCKER ROOM SHOWERS!

That's right: what young boy in his right mind is going to take a public shower after all this? Scores of middle school boys will leave second period gym sweaty and stinky, offending the sensibilities of their Social Studies classmates, all because the locker room shower has become a terrifying, tiled house of horrors. Rumors will fly: "I heard if you stand in front of the boy's room mirror and repeat "Jerry Sandusky" three times, Coach Sandusky appears naked and cuddles your from behind." Showers will go ignored and unused. Horrifying!

Of course the showers aren't the victims! Sandusky's victims are the victims, but it seems like everybody forgot that for awhile, although I think people are finally coming around.

There is a special place at Hell's Thanksgiving table for child molesters. Jeffery Dahmer cooks the turkey, Osama Bin Laden makes the seating chart, and Hitler does the carving. It makes the Thanksgiving dinner for blasphemers and liars look like a Labor Day barbecue in The Hamptons, you know, fun, but kind of intimidating. Sandusky ruined a lot of lives, but what's become of JoePa's legacy is nobody's fault but his own. Remember that next time you see a news van that looks just right for tipping. Believe it or not, there are things more important than your alma mater. Grow up.

*I'm kidding. I've heard of Penn State. I've visited the campus. I had my picture taken with that lion.

What the WTF?!?: Maybe just make a cake at home?

Remember those dummies who named their son Adolph Hitler, then tried to get a local supermarket to decorate a birthday cake with the youngster's name on it and the employees of the supermarket called the police and the nation pointed and laughed at the two dimwit parents who named their kid after the most hated mass murderer in the history of everything? Remember? Well, those two dummies, New Jersey's own Heath and Deborah Campbell, have had all three of their unfortunately-named children taken away from them. Why? Well, isn't it obvious?

Parents who named two of their children "Adolf Hitler" and "Aryan Nation" lost custody of all three of their children Thursday, even though they say a New Jersey appeals court found no evidence of abuse, ruling the children have been taken away without cause, MyFoxPhilly reports.

“Actually, the judge and DYFS told us that there was no evidence of abuse and that it was the names. They were taken over the children's names,” Heath Campbell told NBC 10 Tuesday.

So, child services can take your children away from you for naming them something stupid now? That seems a little weird. Sure, if you're slapping them around or locking them in closets and feeding them a steady diet of Kibbles-N-Bits or coming at them with swords (sorry, sorry) then, yes, you should have your children taken from you. But for naming them something undesirable? I'm still not sure how I feel about this. Let's read on:

On January 2009, the Campbells told MyFoxPhilly that Adolf Hitler Campbell is just like any other 3-year-old boy.

"It's not like he's growing up to be a killer or nothing like that," Deborah Campbell said.

"I went to just to get a cake... it was a circus of racism," Heath Campbell added.

You know how you can pick stupid people out of crowd? You hear them say things like "circus of racism" when speaking about the time they tried to get the phrase "Happy 3rd Birthday, Adolph Hitler" piped in red icing on a frosted, chocolate chip cookie cake. Maybe Adolph and his sisters JoyceLynn Aryan Nation and Honszlynn Hinler Jeannie were taken away from their parents because the state of New Jersey fears that one day the stupidity that defines the elder Campbells' everyday existence will infect their offspring. You're turing me around, DYFS.

At the time both parents acknowledge the hate behind their children's names. But say that was not their intention.

"This is America, they say it's free, you have the right to name your child whatever you want to name your child, no matter what," Heath Campbell said.

You know how you pick REALLY stupid people out of a crowd of assorted stupids? Find the ones that named their kids Hitler and Aryan Nation because this is America and in America we can do whatever we damn well please cuz of the Constitution and what-not. Yeah, don't think of your child's future or anything, you dumb scumbag. School, college, the workplace--how easy is it going to be for these poor kids to make friends and have a worthwhile career? You've just cursed them to work at flea markets for the rest of their dumb, most likely drunken, lives. I'm glad they took your kids, Heath and Deborah Campbell. You shouldn't have been allowed to breed in the first place probably. Ugh. These people make me sick.

Hope your having a nice weekend! XOXO :)

What the WTF?!?: What's Not To Like?

What does it mean to "like" something on Facebook?

For those of you unfamiliar with Facebook and its various tools and tricks, when one FB friend enjoys another FB friend's status update or a random comment to said status update or a picture of the Twin Towers with a halo on top, he--or she even!--is afforded the opportunity of "Liking" that update, comment, or photograph. It is as simple as clicking a button. Once clicked, everyone on Facebook knows that you received a momentary jolt of enjoyment from the experience.

I "Like" things on Facebook for a variety of reasons:

1) to agree with the sentiment expressed in a status update or comment
2) to assure a friend that I enjoyed his or her comment on my own status update.
3) to make my aunts feel good about themselves
4) to express my enjoyment of pictures featuring babies making weird faces, fried food of any kind, and/or Jesus riding upon/snuggling a dinosaur

I've never considered the feelings of the people whose comments I have failed to "Like" before. I've never done so, because I genuinely don't care. Anyone bothered by my refusal to "Like" something they've scrawled on my FB Wall uninvited, needs to take a good, hard look at themselves in the mirror and figure out what's gone wrong in his or her life. Listen, your comments are fine, OK? What, I need to "Like" everyting now? Doesn't mean I don't like you in real life. In fact, I prefer the real life you to the FB you. The real life you isn't gonna get all pissy when I don't laugh at a joke or say something about your shoes, is he? Or she? I'm not talking about anybody specific. I'm just saying, sometimes I hear things. If a time ever comes when I feel like I have to "Like" every little comment some half-friend or relative I never see or person from high school I never said two words to ever makes, that is the time I am officially abandoning the good ship Facebook. Seriously. I'll be out.

People aren't required to "Like" every single thing you say/write. Believe me, I wish they were sometimes, but it just isn't so. I'm talking to you, Benito Apolinar:

A 36-year-old Texas man has pleaded not guilty to battery charges after allegedly attacking his estranged wife for failing to "Like" a status update he posted to Facebook.

Benito Apolinar had posted an update to his Facebook page about the anniversary of his mother's death. Angry that the post had elicited no response from his wife of 15 years, he confronted her after dropping off their children at her home in Carlsbad, New Mexico on Tuesday.

What?

"That's amazing everyone 'Likes' my status but you, you're my wife. You should be the first one to 'Like' my status," he allegedly told her before punching her in the cheek and pulling her hair. He was reportedly under the influence of alcohol at the time.

One, your wife was probably gonna sit down with you later and listen to you cry over and reminisce about your mom, dude. You put the kids to bed, you sit together on the couch, and you have a little storytelling sesh. That's what we did after my grandmother's funeral. We went back to her house and told stories for hours. It was great. We didn't post shit on Facebook and wait for each other to "Like" it. We had a face-to-face discussion, like adults do, with nary a computer in sight. I did ask my brother-in-law to call my cellphone so everyone could hear my "Space Olympics" ringtone. That's what normal people do after a church luncheon honoring their grandmother's life, right?

Two, according to the article, Benito, you were dropping your kids off at the house, which leads me to assume that you were driving in a vehicle of some kind, alledgedly drunk. That's the way to make your dead mother proud: driving drunk with your kids in the car and slapping around your wife.

You're a dick, Benito, and there is no place for dicks on Facebook. Take that shit to Twitter.

The Hottest Back to School Trend This Year: Sexism!

Parents were pissed, and rightfully so, when a t-shirt featuring the message "I'm too pretty to do homework, so my brother has to do it for me" made its debut on the J.C. Penney Web site this week.



What you may not have heard is that this wasn't the only rampantly sexist t-shirt for girls featured on the retail giant's site. In fact, the "I'm too pretty to do math" shirt was the merely tip of the iceberg as far as this guy (Note: I am pointing at myself) is concerned. Somehow, GEP got its hands on some of the other t-shirt messages that left parents foaming with rage earlier this week. I warn you, these t-shirt messages are EXTREMELY sexist and do not reflect the thoughts, feelings or beliefs of anyone associated with this blog. These shirts are sick! As the father of a daughter, I am both shocked and appalled!



-"My other graduation gown is a string bikini!"

-"Reading, writing & arithmetic--my boyfriend does that junk for me while I'm shopping for bras!"

-"Why learn to read? I'm gonna have boobs soon anyway!"

-"Last I heard, you don't need a scholarship for stripper school."

-"Who needs brains when you've got cleavage?"

-"I'm too pretty to take the SAT, so I'll have my step-dad's widowed business partner take it for me!"

-"Let's ditch Life Science and hitchhike to Hef's place!"

-"Got an 'F' in Algebra--"F" for "French kissed the teacher in the back seat of his Prius after school.'"

-"Math is hard. Can I just suck your dick?"

-"I'm a stupid bitch!"

What the WTF?!?: Sunday Bloody Sunday Edition: SUV::

So, this was in PARADE Magazine's popular Walter Scott's Personality Parade section today:

Q: Steven Tyler wears a necklace with four teeth. What is its significance? -Lisa Joyce, Bassett, Va.

A: "I wear it for good luck," the Aerosmith singer and American Idol judge, 63, has said of the piece, which displays the front chompers of a raccoon he caught as a boy. Though Tyler kept one of the critters as a pet, "I also used to trap [them]," he said.

Ew.

What the WTF?!?: The One That Exploded My Brain

What does this headline even mean: District judge cited for passing out acorns stuffed with condoms



Condoms don't grow naturally inside of acorns as far as I know. Can you imagine being a squirrel if they did? Ick. I don't think I'd want to be a squirrel. I've never actually wanted to be a squirrel anyway. They seem so manic. They're always running around frantically, but going nowhere. And doing nothing. I mean, I'm sure squirrels are doing something, I just don't know what it is. I know they forage for acorns though. So, you know, if acorns had condoms inside of them, I can't imagine wanting to eat one. Have you ever chewed on a condom? You have? Sick!



So, a district court judge from Intercourse, PA (don't laugh at that--it's merely a fact of the story) was caught walking around state capital, handing out condom-crammed acorns to various ladies. The judge, Isaac H. Stoltzfus (feel free to laugh--that name is ridiculous!), claims he was passing out prophylactic-stuffed acorns as a prank. I thought pranks were supposed to be funny. My bad. Maybe it was a metaphor for something else. Any ideas? Let me know in the comments.

What the WTF?!?: Gimmee My Monkey Back!

As a father, I'd like to believe that if my daughter ever lost a beloved plaything, I would do virtually anything to find/retrieve it for her. In the deepest, rosiest depths of my heart, I would scour the world for the fuzzy object or shiny bauble that, before it was misplaced, brought endless joy and comfort to my child. In reality, however, I'm pretty sure I'd just look at her, shrug, and say, "You should probably keep track of your stuff, especially if you like that stuff a whole lot." She'd cry, I'd give her a larger, more comical shrug, and shove another stuffed animal in her face. That's life unfortunately. You find something you love--a stuffed animal, a job, a companion--you lose it, you cry, and you find something else to occupy your time. Like a dog. Or booze.

Luckily, my daughter's only "toy" right now is this weird frog ghost thing. It's, like, a frog head sewn to a wash cloth. And it's wearing a rainbow-colored scarf and armbands for some reason. I enjoy making it talk to Quinn in a goofy voice. I have it describe how it lost all of its limbs and how it was forced to live without a working mouth or a digestive tract. It is as horrifying as it sounds. I can't imagine Quinn even noticing if frog ghost washcloth went missing. I'm fairly certain she wouldn't care. I know that one day, however, she will find something and grow quite attached to it, and that's fine. I had a stuffed seal I was pretty fond of. I also took great comfort from my thumb, particularly when it was stuffed into my mouth. So, I get it. It is a part of life and it can be quite cute, you know, until the kid has us throwing birthday parties for her teddy bear or buying housewarming gifts for Barbie and Ken.

Kids fall in love with toys all the time. Adults do to, only our toys are sooooo much better. I am currently involved in a love triangle with my 50" flat screen television and my iPod. It gets tense sometimes, but we make it work. I think it's safe to say that my TV makes Quinn's ghost frog look like a pile of garbage. But we both have our things and we're both quite happy.

There are some adults, however, who have never moved beyond childish things. Remember that stuffed seal I mentioned earlier? Well, I still have him. And, yes, I still love him very much. But I've passed him along to my daughter to do with him what she will when she gets older. I don't care what she does. She can wake me up in the middle of the night, bite his head off in front of me, and laugh maniacally if she wants to. It's a stuffed animal! Earlier this month, a couple (of psychopaths) in New York City found that they had misplaced a beloved stuffed toy and reacted with something quite the opposite of complete indifference:



An Upper East Side couple grieving over the loss of a stuffed toy monkey they’ve raised like a son the past decade went bananas with joy Saturday night after being reunited with their beloved Beanie Baby.



"I never gave up hope — I prayed, mediated, and now he’s with us again," said Bonni Marcus, 47, who along with boyfriend Jack Zinzi, 58, were devastated after losing Bongo on their way to a restaurant in Park Slope, Brooklyn, on August 1.



That's right: Bonni Marcus and Jack Zinzi raised a Beanie Baby monkey named Bongo like a son. How do you raise a Beanie Baby exactly? Ugh. Anyway, these dimwits lost their fake son and freaked out, offering a $500 reward for the safe return of their sweet, sweet Bongo. But where was Bongo? Floating lonely and muck covered in an Upper East Side gutter? Lying listless in a trash-strewn alley being humped by horny sewer rats? No. Bongo was safe and sound. With this weirdo:



The 8-inch-tall doll was found Tuesday by Luis Barreto, 61, an unemployed Park Slope man, who discovered it atop a parking meter.



But unaware that it belonged to the couple and had gone missing — and finding it irresistibly cute — Barreto brought it back to his Sterling Place home, where he displayed it on a stereo speaker.



OK. Maybe I was too hard on everyone involved in this story. Sure Marcus and Zinzi are sad and weird, but, hey, in this world, with all the shit swirling around us constantly, who can fault two people for finding something they love and devoting themselves to it. And look, an unemployed man found Bongo and is gonna get $500 bucks for him. What's not to love about this story? Oh yeah, all the freaky creeps. So, the couple head over to Barreto's place, Marcus can feel "Bongo’s presence," and then this happens:



The couple then presented a cash-strapped Barreto the $500 reward they publicly promised for whoever found Bongo — but only after having to beg him to turn the doll over.



"I fell in love with Bongo and wanted to keep him," Barreto said. "He looked real to me and is cute."



I think this monkey might be coated in LSD. Or possessed by the devil. It's got genuine power over these people. WTF?! Anyway, there's a happy ending:



...the couple and toy monkey headed back to Manhattan to bar hop before returning home so Bongo could again sleep in the bed it shares with them.



Bongo will also be reunited with his identical Beanie Baby brothers -- named Doe, Ray and Me -- who Marcus said, “were also suffering.”



THEY HAVE THREE OTHER IDENTICAL MONKEY BEANIE BABIES? THEY COULDN'T GIVE POOR, SAD MR. BARRETO ONE? OH, EFF THESE PEOPLE!

What the WTF?!?: Let's Buy Me a Town

Earlier this month, I found myself tempted to purchase a lighthouse after reading that the General Services Administration (GSA) was selling off some of America's premiere lighthouses to any and all interested parties. "Think of all the things we could do with our very own lighthouse," I told my wife. She told me to think about it and gave me the number of the hotel where she and my daughter would be staying until I got this whole "lighthouse-owning business" out of my mind.

Thankfully, I didn't waste my money on any stupid old lighthouses. Who needs a lighthouse when you can own A WHOLE DAMN TOWN?!? That's right, plebs, you're reading the blog of the future owner/mayor/chief parade planner of Scenic, South Dakota. All I need is a 800,000 dollars and a mayoring hat.

You're probably saying to yourself--or to the person in the next cubicle, I don't know what you do--"800,000 dollars? What do you get for 800,000 dollars? Not much probably." Well, my friend, you--and your cubicle neighbor--are dead wrong. When you buy Scenic, SD you not only get the streets, dirt, and any wild animals that wander by, you also get " a dance hall, a saloon, two jails, a train depot, two stores, and some more empty buildings." Yeah, you read it right: two jails! I don't know what "two stores" I've got, but as long as one of them is a Bed Bath & Beyond, things are gonna be A-OK.

Now, here's where you come in! Obviously, I don't have 800,000 dollars, but I'm willing to bet at least one of you does. If you are that one loyal reader with 800,000 dollars just lying around, can I have it? For reals? If you give me the 800,000 dollars I so desperately need to make my dream of owning a ramshackle ghost town in the middle of nowhere a reality, here's what you'll get:

*Free admission to the dance hall FOR LIFE!
*2 free nights in one of the "empty buildings" I will be turning into a Comfort Inn or something.
*A complimentary Bud Lite at our saloon.
*Half-off a walking tour of beautiful downtown Scenic led by me, the owner/mayor/parade planner/ominipotent overlord of Scenic.
*Two of the "some empty buildings" to with whatever you'd like. (NO Hostel-style torture dungeons, please!!!)

So, c'mon, rich guy--or girl--give me money. Or, heck, I'll settle for donations. Just contact me at giantpengy@gmail.com and I'll let you know how your money can reach me. Thanks in advance. Next summer, I'll see all of you in Scenic, South Dakota: Home of the Matt Lawson Memorial Indoor Waterslide & All-You-Can-Eat Pizza Buffet!

UPDATE: This is Doug Hutchison's life now...

Yesterday I wondered on this very Web site, "What do Doug [Hutchison] and Courtney [Stodden] talk about at the dinner table?" Thanks to YouTube, we now know it probably goes a little something like this:

This thing is almost 7 MINUTES LONG! I wanted to cram a pencil in my ear at 1:08. Can you imagine you're a full-grown man and you've got to listen to this drivel coming out of this dummy's mouth with that voice? Ugh. Why would someone do this to himself? And I'm not being a bully here. I'm not insulting Stodden's "music" or accusing her of sporting fake tits, I'm just pointing out that she is a teenager, a dumb kid with an annoying voice who flips her hair and believes the world is out get her because she is too beautiful and too talented for anyone to comprehend...AND A 51-YEAR-OLD MAN MARRIED HER! What is his damage, man?

OK. I'm done now. GEP will keep up with this story as it grows creepier, but for now let's check out another soon-to-be "country" hit from Courtney Alexis Stodden:

What the WTF?!? Stop Already!!!

Chances are, you are already well aware of the recent union of 51-year-old character actor Doug Hutchison and 16-year-old aspiring country music artist Courtney Alexis Stodden. If this is news to you, I'll give you a few secs to let the image above burn itself into your brain.

Got it in there? Good.

If you're unsure of who exactly Doug Hutchison is, here are just a few of his career achievements:

*Eugene Victor Tooms, the stretchy, liver-eating creep who tried to murder Scully on the X-Files.

*Percy Wetmore, the creepy little prick who set that one dude on fire in The Green Mile.

*Horace Goodspeed, the creepy-haired leader of the Dharma Initiative in the 1970's on Lost (Also the father of supremely creepy Other, Ethan).

*And a whole host of other creeps, degenerates, and weirdos.

Look, my point is, Hutchison has taken his penchant for playing pervert creeps on film and made it a part of his day-to-day real life. I don't care who you are or how high you are on the IMDB cast listing for a movie: if you are over the age of 50--hell, 20--and you marry a teenager, you are a creep. And an idiot.

"But Matt," you might be asking, "isn't it the dream of every old dude in American to get it on with a hot piece of teenage tail?" To you I say, first, why not try a little respect, buddy?! "Piece of teenage tail?" You kiss your grandmother on the mouth with that mouth? Secondly, maybe it is the dream--OK, yeah, sure, it's the dream--but you don't do it. Or, you do do it , then you do your time in prison and then you sign up on your local sex offender registry and then you spend the rest of your life hated and shunned with only your memories of that one time you did the nasty with a high school sophomore to keep you warm at night. But, you know, I'd suggest just not doing it at all. Try that first.


"Doing it" and becoming "bonded in holy matrimony" are two different things however. I get a 51-year-old guy wanting to bang a teenager. What I don't get is a 51-year-old guy wanting to marry a teenager. What could you possibly have in common with a 16-year-old? And don't give me the "she's got an old soul" line. She may have an "old soul" but she's still a "dumb kid." What do Doug and Courtney talk about at the dinner table? When they're driving around town, do they listen to The Rolling Stones or Justin Bieber? Don't they feel weird checking into a hotel together? Won't the prom be a little awkward next year?

And, listen, any 51-year-old man with something--anything!--in common with a 16-year-old girl is not a 51-year-old man you want anything to do with.

My problem, however, is not with Hutchison or his child bride who doesn't know what country music sounds like. It's with the parents. They had to give their permission for this marriage to go forward. As a father myself (I've been dying to say that!), I can't imagine even considering signing my daughter over to some weird, old character actor. Who knows, by the time Quinn is 16-years-old, Doug Hutchison might be done with old Courtney and come sniffing around for some half-Asian action. Ewwwww. I just puked a little in my mouth. And a lot in this trash can.

What do the Stoddens have to say for themselves, huh?

"We are totally supportive of this marriage," Krista Stodden told RadarOnline.com. "Doug is a wonderful man, and we love him."

She added, "Courtney was a virgin when she married Doug. She is a good Christian girl."

She was a virgin, huh? O-K. Papa Stodden, your thoughts?

"Every father can only pray to have such a man behind their daughter," Alex Stodden, 47, told RadarOnline.com. "Courtney is one of the most level-headed girls out there, and I'm not just saying that because she's my daughter. ... Doug is the nicest man I've ever met in my life."

So every nice man you meet gets a free pass to pork your daughter? You weird sicko. And I want to make sure you all saw that Mr. Stodden is four years younger than his son-in-law.

I want to hear the courtship story. I want the details on how this love blossomed and grew. Maybe the public is missing an essential piece of the puzzle that makes this whole situation the opposite of sick and depraved. C'mon, Hutchisons, break your silence and tell us your love story. In fact, tell it to Giant Electric Penguin. I can't pay you anything, but my wife is an excellent cook. She makes delicious cakes and pies. Let me know. I'll be right here waiting.

What the WTF?!?: Certain Dri just don't give a @$#*

Commercials, by their very nature, are irritating. They interrupt the flow of the television programs we love and are usually for products nobody in their right mind would ever buy (Cat food? You really expect me to believe that "cat's" eat "food?"). They are populated by vacant, pretty people pretending to be doctors, dentists, cavemen, cranberry farmers, and cancer victims among other things. Commercials are fakey, shrill, stupid, moronic and dumb.

But every once in awhile, a commercial comes along that, for lack of a much better term, flips the script. One advertisement can make up for years upon years of soul-crushing commercial interruptions with its simple beauty and appealing cleverness. This is not that commercial:



The balls on the Certain Dri people! This counts as a commercial now? Everything about it drives home the inherent phoniness of the advertising industry. There isn't one real moment in the 15 seconds this spot runs. It is gloriously bad. It revels in its sheer awfulness. Did some arrogant young director film it as a joke, slap it down on the conference table I imagine the people at Certain Dri headquarters have, and say, "Here's your commercial, you capitalist sheep. Now go make your millions, you sleaze merchants" or something? Everything about this commercial feels wrong somehow. And yet, it remains my favorite commercial, possibly, of all time.

This thing is bananas! First, how exciting can this fancy banquet be if the only thing Blondie can think to talk about is her sopping armpits? No guy wants to have a beautiful girl appear in front of him out of nowhere and yammer about her excessive sweat issues. That's gross. But what does our tuxedoed friend do? He takes it all in stride and answers Blondie's original question and then one she didn't even ask:

"I'm not. Certain Dri."

Wouldn't it strike you as odd if you were making small talk with someone at a party and they just blurted out a product name?

You: "Those garlic knots were really good, but now my breath smells really bad. Does yours?"
Weird Stranger: "It doesn't. Dentyne Ice."

OR

You: "This booze cruise has been a lot of fun, but if I'm being honest, I kind of miss my kids. Don't you?"
Weirder Stranger: "I don't. Mifegyne."

The less said about our tuxedo-wearing hero's acting performance the better.

I like Blondie's follow up question to Tuxedo's unnecessary verbal product placement: "The anti-perspirant?" No, the 50's doo-wop group! OF COURSE THE ANTI-PERSPIRANT, YOU DIP!

The most believable exchange in the spot comes next, after Tuxedo assures Blondie that, yes, he is speaking of Certain Dri the anti-perspirant--the #1 doctor recommended one, no less--and Blondie retorts, "Don't tell me you're a doctor," to which Tuxedo responses, "I am."

One, why does he take off his glasses when admitting he's a doctor? "I'm a doctor, but I'm not a nerdy one. I'm the kind of doctor that hangs out at fancy soirees and chats up strange women about deodorant." What, are the glasses hiding your secret identity? "When the glasses are off, I'm an anti-perspirant-hocking doctor, but with my glasses on I'm a mild-mannered, hack actor."

And why is it "very cool" that this dork is a doctor? I don't have a joke (that isn't horribly misogynistic) about this, so I'll move on.

So, is it true? Have I discovered the best worst commercial of all time? Is Certain Dri anti-perspirant so baller it doesn't need flashy graphics and competent acting to move product off the shelves? And what kind of food is being served at this party? Is the party a benefit for diseased children or endangered wetlands? Do I watch too much TV? Is anyone still reading this?

What the WTF?!?: To be or not to be...the dumbest Chinese dude ever

...in fair Shanghai, where we lay our scene...

For those of you who don't already know, in roughly a month-and-a-half, I will become the father of a beautiful baby girl. How do I know she is going to be beautiful? Well, first off, she's gonna be half-Asian, so how is she not gonna be gorgeous. Secondly, she'll be mine, quite literally a part of me, probably the best thing I've ever had a hand in making ever. Of course she's gonna be beautiful to me. I'm not a monster!

But I've had 32 years on this planet and I know what young girls are faced with on a daily basis: countless TV ads screaming about the life-scarring horror that is teenage acne; magazines full of seemingly internal organ-less fashion models; Hollywood celebrities with impossibly plump tits, lips, and asses. There are a lot of things out there in this big bad world specially handcrafted to make girls feel bad about themselves. That's a pretty scary truth to take in and I don't envy my female brethren.

As a guy, I can honestly say, I don't really give a rip. Sure, I could stand to take off a few pounds and, yes, I am losing my hair (well, the hair on my head--my ass remains a thriving jungle habitat), but I know I'm not going to have the rugged good looks of a Crispin Glover, or the sexy physique of a Carrot Top, or the gorgeous locks of a Jeremy Piven if I don't put in the work. And I'm not willing to put in the work. That's all there is to it. I don't know if it's because I'm a guy or because I've accepted my schlubby lot in the life, but I don't regularly get down on myself about my looks. My wife thinks I'm handsome and let's me have sex with her on a regular basis and that's all that matters to me.

Proving this month that the male species isn't totally immune to societal pressures when it comes to physical appearance, Zhang Yiyi, a Chinese author, has decided to drop $153,000 on plastic surgery that will transform him into the spitting image of English playwright William Shakespeare. No, really:

Zhang Yiyi will undergo 10 face-lifts in 10 months to look like Shakespeare so as to 'let the people across the world mourn' one of world's greatest writers and dramatists, reported Shanghai Daily.

Zhang will have to get checkups every month after the surgery, said China National Radio.

The Chinese author has a sculpted face with a sharp nose and deep eyes and has some resemblance to Shakespeare.

Zheng Churong, a surgeon, said the surgery will be for the eyes, chin and other parts of his face.

Zhang, who will meet the surgery costs through royalties he earned for his new book, said: 'Life is a process of striving to become a better person. I think the surgeries are worth the money.'

The process of choosing which beloved, world-renown writer Zhang would have his face pounded into was not an easy one, and you may be surprised to find out that "The Bard" was not his original choice. Here is a short list of just some of the other famous author's Zhang considered having plastic surgery to resemble:

-Ernest Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea; The Sun Also Rises)

-John Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath; Of Mice and Men)

-Stephen King (The Tommyknockers; Gerald's Game)

-David A. Aaker (Managing Brand Equity; Brand Portfolio Strategy: Creating Relevance,

Differentiation, Energy, Leverage, and Clarity)

-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (Hocus Pocus; Cat's Cradle)

-R.L. Stine (Brain Juice; Return to Ghost Camp; the Fear Street series)

-Kilgore Trout (Maniacs in the Fourth Dimension; Oh Say Can You Smell)

-Shel Silverstein (Where the Sidewalk Ends; Runny Babbit)

-William S. Burroughs (Naked Lunch; that book about drugs)

-Michael "The Situation" Sorrentino (Here's the Situation: A Guide to Creeping on Chicks,

Avoiding Grenades, and Getting in Your GTL on the Jersey Shore)

-Hans Christian Anderson (The Little Mermaid; The Situation's New Clothes)

-C. Dale Brittain (The Wood Nymph And The Cranky Saint; A Bad Spell in Yurt)

-Dr. Seuss (Yertle the Turtle and Other Stories; Hop on Pop)

-George Eliot (Silas Marner; Middlesitch)

-James A. Champy (The Arc of Ambition; X-Engineering the Corporation, Reinventing Your Business in the Digital Age)

-God (The Bible; Here's the Situation: A Guide to Creeping on Chicks, Avoiding Grenades, and Getting in Your GTL in the Land of Milk and Honey)

What the WTF?!?: Not Cool, China!

Good luck: we all want some. But how can we get our hands on a thing as intangible as luck? Some people spend an entire football season clad in the same unwashed underwear. Others perform an elaborate series of rituals akin to the actions of a confirmed mental patient. Even otherers find their luck in talismans such as four-leaf clovers, discarded horseshoes, and severed rabbits feet.

And what, pray tell, is the latest trend on the talisman front? In China, it's live turtles sealed inside bags of urine-colored goop! A gooey bag of tiny fish is also available for individuals who would rather not watch a turtle slowly die of asphyxiation, but rather, two tiny fish. What the WTF, China?

These sadistic keychain vendors--oh, yeah, I forgot, these death bags are keychains!--are raking in the yen faster than they can imprison tiny animals in bags of "nutrient rich" goo for a couple of reasons:

1.) China has notoriously lax animal cruelty laws. The manufacturers would probably shove a baby monkey into a slime-filled novelty keychain if they could find a Ziploc bag big enough. Well, maybe not a monkey. I guess it depends on the whole "luck factor," like, how much luck having a baby monkey hanging from your car keys would bring an individual. Which leads me to point number...

2.) The citizens of China are slaves to superstition. I mean, that's how it looks anyway, as these lucky keychains are top sellers. As long as the people are buying them, the lowlifes behind the scenes are gonna keep cranking 'em out.

Sick. Get yourself together, China! For fuck's sake!

What the WTF?!?: You Think YOUR Mom is Bad...

We've all been there: you meet the woman or man of your dreams, you date for awhile, you slowly (or quickly) fall in love, and you get opposite married. It is a beautiful, government-sanctioned time in a straight couples' life together. Maybe you buy a house. Perhaps you rescue a canine companion from the local animal shelter. All that really matters is that you are happily bonded together until one of you croaks. Ah, marriage!

But then, almost immediately, you've got people (friends; co-workers; relatives you haven't heard from in years; random strangers at the Harris Teeter who notice the ring on your finger and believe this an invitation to speak with you at length about your personal life decisions) coming up to you, asking, "So, when are you two gonna have a baby?" It can be maddening--offensive even--but you smile and nod and say, "Oh, I don't know, maybe someday" while in your head the f-word plays on a permanent loop. "How 'bout we have a baby whenever we want and you find out a couple of weeks or months after we do? Does that work for you? Does that fit in with your schedule?" Ugh.

Nobody though is more annoying when it comes to baby questions than moms. All moms want to be grandmothers. It's been scientifically proven maybe! The moment you get a ring on your finger, your mom revs up the old question machine and the barrage of infant inquiries begins: "How long do you think you're going to wait?" "Got any names picked out?" "I found a package of condoms in your honeymoon luggage and took the liberty of poking each one with a sewing needle. Is that OK?" By the time you are married (or knocked up out of wedlock...I don't want to leave out our teenage mother readership), your mom is raring to raise babies again. She's got picture Bibles and "I Wuv Grandma" bibs at the ready.

That being said, most moms--though not all, as we will soon learn--are content to wait until you're ready. It took my wife and I three years. Luckily, my mother had my sister's baby to dote on while waiting for the half-Asian baby currently gestating in List Lady's womb. Moms are cool like that though. They remember what it's like to be young and newly wed. They've also had years of watching their mothers be grandmothers however, and they are ready to step up to the plate.

A 51-year-old South African woman was so raring to go earlier this month, that she hired a man to rape her daughter. Now that's initiative. Sick, twisted initiative:

Police said they believed the mother had enquired within the community to find a man willing to commit the crime.

It is not known whether she offered a financial reward to the man but police believe she identified her daughter as the intended victim.

She then allegedly ordered [Finus Fetnadi, the accused rapist] not to use a condom during the assault...

So, next time your mom (or mother-in-law, for that matter--no reason she should get off so easily) corners you in the kitchen at Thanksgiving dinner and starts grilling you on the frequency of your sex sessions, sigh, smile, and give her a big hug, content in the knowledge that she will most likely not hire a strange man to rape a baby into you. She's just excited.

What the WTF?!?: I Don't Feel Good

Did you happen to catch American Idol last night? I saw part of it (what else is one to do during the gulf of yawns separating Community from The Office?). Forturnately--or unfortunately--I tuned in just in time to see this:



Now I like a good American Idol Crazy as much as, if not more than, the next guy, but something about Cooper Robinson made me uncomfortable. First off, he's probably homeless, right? Secondly, he's not just homeless homeless, but crazy homeless, right? And I don't mean "crazy homeless," like, he really doesn't have a home, like, he doesn't even have a cardboard box to curl up in at night, but, rather, that he should reside in a mental institution, perhaps even did at one time. There's something broken in Old Man Cooper's mind that an angry, stompy performance of James Brown's "I Feel Good" ain't gonna fix. Cooper Robinson makes last year's Pants-on-the-Ground Guy look like someone I would happily invite to babysit my daughter while me and the wife took in a special showing of Andy Warhol's Empire at the Rialto. (Google it!)

There's a guy like Robinson on American Idol every year: some old man, usually black, who has in the past ten years or so lost his mind, home, or both. The man stomps around, attempts a popular dance move, and lunges in a vaguely threatening manner at the judges table. Robinson met the core requirements:

-he showed up dressed like an alternate reality mariachi band member.

-he claimed to be from a mysterious plantation in Arkansas surrounded by miles of peril, including alligators, feral cats, and snakes.

-he proclaimed, without hestitation, that he would be the next "American Star for America" after taking the city of LA and Universal Studios by force and becoming a huge movie star.

-he claimed to be "more handsomest than any dog, chicken, giraffe, snake, cow, pig, hog [or] gee-raff."

One thing was missing however: Cooper Robinson wasn't joking. He wasn't having a laugh. Some producer promised Robinson a hot meal if he'd come up and literally scare the crap out of Jennifer Lopez's lucious ass. And that's what he did! Like every senile old nutbag who visits with AI's intrepid judges each year, Robinson successfully made everyone in the room uncomfortable, including Steven Tyler, who, I think we can all agree, has probably seen some heavy shit, man.

Maybe I've changed. Maybe that's why the above clip makes me wince where I'd used to giggle. I feel sorry for Cooper Robinson. He is obviously hurting, but here he is on national TV jangling around like a jackass. And for what? Three and a half minutes of uncomfortable judge silence? Was it all a plot to get Ryan Seacrest to jump into Randy Jackson's comforting arms, as the elfin host does at the end of the clip?

I noticed while watching a few minutes of Winter Wipeout last night that I had largely lost my taste for watching people fall from great heights and land on their faces as well. Maybe I'm maturing. Maybe...

What the WTF?!?: Feelin' Kinda Clown-Horny

We've all, at one time or another, laughed so hard we've ejaculate--admit it, ladies!--but did you know it was possible to laugh the spooge into you? Israeli researchers have found that women who've undergone in-vitro fertilization procedures and then been entertained by a "medical clown" for 15-minutes are more likely to become pregnant. Yep, clowns aren't just for circuses and scaring the piss out of people anymore. Clowns can now play an integral role in helping childless couples become childful couples. It's true! The internet said!

In a study of 219 women undergoing IVF, Israeli researchers found the odds of success were greater among women who were entertained by a professional "medical clown" right after they had the embryos implanted in the womb.

Overall, 36 percent became pregnant, versus 20 percent of women who'd had a comedy-free recovery after embryo implantation.

Conversely, women exposed to a Dane Cook routine following the procedure experienced an unrelenting desire to punch themselves repeatedly in the uterus, while a handful of women forced to watch Jeff Dunham's Spark of Insanity special immediately jumped out of the nearest open window to their deaths. Women exposed to the comic stylings of Larry the Cable Guy felt compelled to pursue a Masters Degree and those shown the first season of Mind of Mencia in its entirety made a vow to leave the United States upon the birth of their baby and never return.

So, yeah, looks like clowns are your best bet, ladies.

What the WTF?!?: Problems I Wish I Had

Here's one for the Are You Kidding Me?!? file (You know the file. It's the one directly between the Are You Fudging Kidding Me?!? file and the Are Your Kids Planning to Murder You While You Sleep? file. You can't miss it.). This week, 29-year-old bodyguard, Fernando Flores, announced her...I'm sorry, I meant his...plans to sue pop singing weirdo Britney Spears for sexual harassment. Seriously. What did you just say out loud to yourself? You don't believe me? Well, here's an article that proves it, Jack! Suck on that for awhile. Apparently, life is too short and Flores is too pure and good (i.e. poor) to spend his days getting paid to look at Britney Spears breasts, which she allegedly exposes willy nilly for any and all comers, so he's all, like, "nationwide unemployment crisis be damned! I'm-a quit my (probably) high paying job guarding Spears' vagina (which she also allegedly exposes whenever the mood hits her), and I'm gonna sue. Sure, I'll forever be known as the pussy who sued Britney Spears for showing me her pussy, but, whatevs, I'm-a be rich."

If you ask me, Flores is just showing off. I don't know what you do for a living, but I sit in front of a computer in a cubicle in an office in an old building with busted air conditioning in one of the most boring downtowns in the US. I like my job enough, but there isn't a hot pop singer traipsing through the office pulling her titties out of her mesh tank-top just for the hell of it. Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that should be happening at my place of work. We're professionals, for Pete's sake! I'm just trying to point out that Flores had a pretty sweet deal going and, as a human male, I've had a hard time coming to terms with Flores' current actions. Who sues a woman for flirting with him, especially if said woman is Britney Spears? I'm not saying Ms. Spears is the height of pop star sexiness--that, I believe, is reserved for either Christina Aguilera or Katy Perry...I'm currently on the fence on that important issue--but I wouldn't kick her out of bed for smoking menthols. Britney Spears tries to have sex with you and you sue her? What the WTF?

So what kind of heinous, unforgivable acts did Spears perpetrate upon the poor, unsuspecting Mr. Flores. For that, we go to the aforementioned article:

Flores, who worked for Britney from February to July 2010, explained how on one occasion: ‘She leaned over me and I noticed that her right breast was exposed. She looked me right in the eye like she was waiting for something.’

It is entirely possible that Flores is so used to being repeatedly rebuffed by the fairer sex, that when presented with an invitation to grope Spears' boob, he simply "freaked out." Here's what you are supposed to do when a beautiful woman disrobes in front of you and follows that up with a come hither look, Flores: YOU GO FOR IT! C'MON! Britney Spears wanted a roll in the hay and you're taking her to court? Again, I say, C'MON! OK, OK...what else?

‘She [Britney] was wearing a white lace, see-through dress. She walked over close by [Flores], intentionally dropped her cigarette lighter on the floor, bent over to retrieve it and thereby exposed her uncovered genitals to [Flores].

‘The incident caused [Flores] shock and disgust’.

Wha...I...but...how...but she...huh? We've all seen Britney's lady junk. It's not that disgusting. And if you were shocked, well, you've probably never seen a vagina before. They can be quite shocking upon first view. You'll get used to them though, in fact, one day, you might just grow to love them as much as I do.

The suit goes on to claim that ‘in addition to exposing herself to [Flores], Spears engaged in numerous sex acts in front of [Flores].’

Listen, pal, if Britney Spears starts banging a guy in front of you, you sit back and enjoy it. You basically got paid to watch live porn starring Britney Spears all day long. Boo-hoo! Your life is so bad. You should've been paying her!

Oh, he also claims Britney Spears force fed her children crab meat until they puked, but I'm more interested in the kinky sex stuff. If you want to read about the child abuse stuff, do it on your own time, sicko.

(Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1311078/Naked-Britney-Spears-tried-lure-bed-claims-bodyguard.html?ito=feeds-newsxml#ixzz0zEi8mXDC)