Ultra Fun Trivia of the Week!

Connect the hobby to the celebrity demagogue!

1. Rapist

2. Murderer

3. Alien

A.

B.

C.

Did you answer all three? Then you have just one an all expense paid date with Ben Roethlisberger to Athens, Georgia.

Thanks for playing!

And remember No means Yes!

Merry Day of Gift Giving for Corporate Overlords, Part One

I tear up every time I see this video about Peter getting home from Prison.

However here is how it would go if your much older brother got home in Chicago.

S:"Peter!"

B:"Ah god, can't I have ten damn seconds before some annoying spawn pisses me off?"

S:"You're home!"

B:"Ah go....Wait do the parentals let you drink caffeine?"

S:"No mom says it hurts my heart murmur and asama."

B:"I got news, mom is dumb. This coffee smells like the shit am I right?"

S:"It does."

Hours later:

Mom: "She's bouncing off the damn walls and her breathing is starting to sound erratic and desperate. You've ruined Christmas again Peter, you asshole."

B: "Shut up mom, give me ten bucks so I can score!"

Fine Art

Acting.

Welcome to the new NFL where everything is stupid! In order to get the scoop we're going to talk to one of our sports reps; well known hick and pill addict, Brett Favre!

BF: Thanks for the interview.

AB: Why are you covered in blood?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: Ah. I see. So the NFL has finally decided to pussify itself and try and get rid of hitting, which is totally not why anyone likes it or anything. Are you upset that your whining was the root of this?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: That Stroger broad is super hot, but why would you send a picture of your old gray, dead-looking, small, sickly, decrepit, flaccid dick to her on your phone. Everyone knows that you send pictures of flaccid dicks to your friends to make them roll their eyes or scream in repressed surprise while they are in line at Taco Bell. However, in the words of Thomas A Edison, founder of ripping people off on a grand scale, "you send hot broads pictures of hard dicks, preferably pretty ones that aren't yours." That quote begs the question, are you dumb or something?

BF: (cackles, makes obscene hand gestures, then giggles like a murder) That's a league matter.

AB: Are you ashamed of yourself?

BF: That's a league matter.

AB: Are you a robot?

BF: That's a...No, no of course not.

AB: You're in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of the sudden-

BF:Is this a test to see if I'm a robot now?

AB:Yes. You're in a desert walking along in the sand when all of the sudden you look down-

BF:What one?

AB:What?

BF:What desert?

AB:It doesn't make any difference what desert, it's completely hypothetical.

BF:But how come I'd be there?

AB:Maybe you're fed up, maybe you want to be by yourself, who knows? You look down and you see a tortoise, Brett, it's crawling towards you-

BF:Tortoise, what's that?

AB:Know what a turtle is?

BF:Of course.

AB:Same thing.

BF:I've never seen a turtle -- But I understand what you mean.

AB:You reach down, you flip the tortoise over on its back Brett.

BF:Do you make up these questions, Mr. Bonner, or do they write them down for you?

AB:The tortoise lays on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun beating its legs trying to turn
itself over but it can't, not without your help, but you're not helping.

BF:What do you mean I'm not helping!?

AB:I mean, you're not helping. Why is that Brett? -- They're just questions, Hick-Favre. In
answer to your query, they're written down for me. It's a test, designed to provoke an emotional response. -- Shall we continue? Describe in single words, only the good things that come in to your mind about... your mother.

BF:My mother?

AB:Yeah.
BF:Let me tell you about my mother...(Then as per usual Favre shoots me, throws himself through a window, and sprints away crying.)

Human Parrots

For years it has been a belief of sciency type people, completely denim-clad-pear-shaped third grade teachers, and shouting homeless people that the British are descended from birds and that's why they have gone extinct. Here is proof that one of them may be a Macaw.

Why Do You Keep Cutting to Gyllenhaals? You're Scaring the Children.

Psyche.

No Child is dumb enough to watch the Oscars, unless you were a little film nerd wiener like me. Then you seriously got pissed when The Thin Red Line lost To Shakespeare in Love like it was the Bears losing the Super Bowl to the cast of Who's The Boss.

Speaking of which if we are just handing out Oscars to any old Jackass, i.e. the Skeleton from Speed who taught us all about how Black people are still secretly terrified and in complete reverence of White Madams, why not Danza? And just so you know, it is a great achievement to be in the NFL no matter how dumb you are or how completely incomprehensible it is for a six year old to make an ESPN-quality highlight film to send to colleges. Saying that the Blind Side is based on a real story is like saying that Look Who's Talking is also based on a true story because one time Bruce Willis was a baby.

Also if you are attracted to Sandra Bullock then you need to wonder if you got molested by some one's grandma while they were wearing a joker mask and you blocked that memory out but now secretly crave that as a fetish.

Oh Oscars, what a magical night of emotionally damaged eye candy standing around while people photograph them in different levels of sequin majesty. Otherwise known as "you could visibly see the babyboomer generation turn geriatric before our eyes".

First, thank god this asswipe wasn't there. Because you know what movie-people love? Theatre! Oh wait, and you turned Wolverine into Billy Ray Cyrus you dick.

So with that lets bring out Baldwin and Martin, they are non threatening enough that my grandma can laugh at their Bruce Falanche written jokes, but according to our test groups they are also "rad" and "the shit" and "my nigga" with the 22-31 yuppster crowd who saw The Jerk one time and tell people they like 30 rock even though the don't watch it.

But it won't really matter since we have TEN FUCKING MOVIES FOR BEST PICTURE and you won't ever see the hosts again because you will have to have ten randoms talking about some of them like it's fucking Casablanca. "The first time I saw District Nine I literally began to whip myself with a razor strap, fall to my knees, and unconciously shout the phrase "I am not worthy my new moving picture GOD" at that part where that dude gets the Alien gun and shoots those guys" . Seriously? Let's nominate everything that made us money. Why not do twenty? Where the fuck was G.I.Joe rise of Cobra, with Marlon Wayans for best supporting actor? And let's expand all the categories to try and wrangle up every last recession penny from people who want to hide from their shit lives in a movie theatre for two to four hours. (thanks Cameron, could've been two, but no I had to have fifteen montages because I'm apparently too stupid to understand your child-written plot) Let's do ten nominations for best Animated Feature and have some live action ones in their. Let's get Helen Miren an Oscar for best cinematography, lets mash the grammys and the Oscars together so the Black Eyed Peas can have an Oscar for best original unintelligible Fergie-Semi-English-British-saying-thing. Goonezas, eh, eeh!?! Maybe I shouldn't be giving them ideas.

At least the whole thing went paint-by-numbers. Waltz won, then made some weird european analogy towards colonizing people, got off stage. Mo'Nique (of Phat Girls and Soul Plane fame, the oscars are so political) won, then talked about how black people don't get Oscars even though like three did, and at least one has for the last ten years for at least something. (Are black people allowed to be Scientologists or Jews?). Avatar won best special affects, no shit, then some bullshit montage about how horror movies are movies too, then the council of the elders i.e. Colin Ferrel and his team of morons came out all Superman II style to knight the asshats, Lebowski won, the skeleton won (not Cameron's wife, he's the king of bad hair cuts) then Cameron's ex (who isn't?) won the whole show.

Then Thandal, god of the night and misery, opened the black seal as Martin and Baldwin chanted the ancient call. The crowd's mouth blood swept across LA as all the children wailed, and the midnight portal let the beast free to suckle at the gray flesh in their skulls as L. Ron howled with laughter on his comet/dinosaur.

GONG!

USA! USA! USA!

What? What is that supposed to be?



Alright take away my dignity card, and give me my corporate branding before the speed wears off: bump bump bump buh baaaaaah, I love these fucking Olympics!!!! They are like real sports if you did them drunk and high in Canada in the winter.

Seriously this is how the Olympics should be: It starts off with a snuff movie, then everyone on every channel and in every bar starts saying things like, "The Olympics is lame" but secretly everyone watches it and yells at Apollo Ono to pull his head out of his ass, and wants to punch Costas right in his plastic face.

Also my hero, the beacon of what could be in an America where intelligent humor and irreverence reign supreme, the Colbert, pops up during Luge to make me spit orange juice out while I'm eating breakfast and watching TV. Plus how can you not like Biathlon; its fucking KGB train in, c'mon!

But really and truly, it is because now is the moment when we learn what the "state of the union" genuinely is. Alright here we go, AMERICA LITMUS TEST!

Litmus Test One: Is American "journalism" going to make stories out of things that are lame and ignore totally awesome things?

Is Lindsey Vonn hurt? Is her shin ok? All of the down hill skiing world (no one) is super concerned. This was the majority of NBC's painful and stupid coverage. They looked even dumber when Vonn just beasted everyone and it all looked like a crappy publicity stunt to put some snow bunny on the TV all day. However even though our major media is a nightmare we know the people in this mega-awesome-low-priced-live-better-land might still be ok because of the obvious Olympic reason: our smart mouth Curling team, in which the men's and women's team can openly be heard yelling F-bombs and thinly-racist insults at the other teams while being broadcasted on national day time TV. The best one was the US women's team being heard to say, "Seriously those chicks look like dudes" about the German team, and yes, I have time on my hands.

Litmus test results: American Media Sucks, Midwerstern Semi-Athletes still callous and awesome. The Midwest sponsored by Allstate

Litmus Test Two: Which direction is the Moral Compass?

Blah blah blah Boddie Miller isn't drunk and high, blah blah blah. Nobody cares and terrible ratings insue idiots, however Shaun White supposedly "smelled like a bong" according to an AP report (which means its made up) but that just make me even more proud and sorry for this statement: the American Snowboard team now officially represents America more than Congress. They were wearing action cowboy shirts as a uniform. Cowboy shirts. And yes he is a dumbass who looks and acts like a Ginger clown but is there anything more American than being a dumbass, with an entourage, then wearing an American flag bandit bandanna, and right when everyone is like "I hate this jackass" after he does ten minutes of self congratulatory high fives with his homeboys, this stoner flies like ten feet higher than every other asshole on the earth, and is doing tricks that don't appear to be possible in terms of physics. Suck on that other countries.

Litmus Test Two Results: In America no one cares about ethics, they care about doing super "sick" awesome sky tricks, while looking awesome, high on weed, and so ugly that its sad how crazy-laid they get. Concept of Coolness Sponsored by AIG

Litmus Test Three: How's that whole racism and gay hating situation going?
Well the Chi-town Shawnee Davis (apparently the only black guy there) won but speed skating is so baby boomer. However this one might be the clearest cut, America likes gays. We love the shit out of them and black people too we just make it up to cause problems because we are America and if there ain't drama we don't have shit to do.

But in this Olympics there is a perfect storm. There is a Russian figure skater who looks like a bad guy from Die Hard and acts like a giant prick and does unstoppable twisty-spin-things. No one can defeat him but wait, (cue Rocky Music) there is a cool looking Gay dude who dresses up in spooky Tim Burton outfits and IS AWESOME. Homosexuality Sponsored by Buger King

Litmus Test Result: We like gays and figure skating and feathered sequined out fits if they involve ninja-spins and kicking some dickhead from Eastern Europe's ass.

All in all I think I learned that America doesn't try very hard, doesn't care very much, and yet we are still way better at everything on average than the rest of the world, which is like ok to watch or whatever. Also Weed is legal to trade, smoke, and possess in BC. So you might not know what the hell you're doing Vancouver but you appear to be having an ape-shit good time doing it.

Wait a second, did I just do a whole thing about how cool the Olympics is? Oh shit, Tebow has been making my coffee and I keep losing giant segments of time. The hell is wrong with me?

The World's Unintentionally Funniest Semi-Human

Oh my god it's snowing, it's snowing lets have this on the news all day everyday, because it's totally news. There is a blizzard, flights might not run on time, lazy government workers get like a week off!!!! Oh sweet mother of god what are we to do? TELL ME RIGHT NOW!!!

Alright had to get that out.

Lets talk about how stupid things on the Internet are for a second (no not this blog, don't think about that) and by stupid things on the Internet, I'm talking, of course, about Jon Mayer. Not only does he look like Johnny Depp with Down syndrome, his music is also for backwards hat wearing goons and goonettes.

However, every so often a person is so lame and goonish they become hilarious (Schwarzenegger). Now I'm not saying that Mayer has reached that level yet but check out some of his quotes having to do with his love life, and you try not to laugh. You try.

On why him and Aniston broke up,
"One of the most significant differences between us was that I was tweeting, there was a rumor that I had been dumped because I was tweeting too much. That wasn't it, but that was a big difference. The brunt of her success came before TMZ and Twitter. I think she's still hoping it goes back to 1998. She saw my involvement in technology as courting distraction. And I always said, '"These are the new rules.'"

HAHAHAHAH, who talks like that? If this guy was self-aware he would be a comedy genius.

On having sex with Jessica Simpson,
"There are people in the world who have the power to change our values. Have you ever been with a girl who made you want to quit the rest of your life? Did you ever say, "I want to quit my life and just fuckin' snort you? If you charged me $10,000 to fuck you, I would start selling all my shit just to keep fucking you."

Man the poetry of it all is so astounding. Also lets be clear that I am not defending the honor of any woman who dates Mayer. They are instantly asking to be made fun of. With that said, I like the idea that in front of a camera and a journalist in a sensible suit, he was shouting with heart-wrenching conviction, "just fucking snort you."

However my personal favorite is after he made out with Perez Hilton,
"All of a sudden I thought, I can out-gay this guy right now, I grabbed him and gave him the dirtiest, "tonguiest" kiss I have ever put on anybody-almost as if I hated fags. I don't even think our mouths were touching when I was tongue kissing him, that's how disgusting this kiss was, I'm a little ashamed, I think it lasted about half a minute. I really think it went on too long."

And there you have it Mayer isn't gay, his ego is just a murderous force of nature that is sweeping through our universe.

If you didn't laugh at those you are dead inside.

Completely separate thought, or is it?, mourn the Fashion Hooligan. He will be the best dressed corpse ever.

That is all.

May the SuperBowl Be With You

Worst part about the Super Bowl:

When after you rooted for a team from an awesome swamp town full of alcoholics to win, and then they do but the MVP of the team gets up on the podium and starts crying while staring at a baby. Then he thanks god, like a wiener, and then cries some more. Can you say let down.

Best part of the Super Bowl:

Watching a platinum blonde lesbian and a skeleton child pornography enthusiast creep everybody out on stage while they play lipsynced crap versions of songs from a band that used to be awesome.

Creepiest part of the Super bowl: come on admit it.

Even though our Corporate Gods made a few weird-you-out joke-attempts to overtake him, you know damn well who it was.

This idiot:

Everybody Gets an Oscar, Part II: The Final Chapter

Dear Friendly Reader,
So I'm back. The last column depressed me so much that I didn't write for several days. Knowing subconsciously in my heart that psychology and self-assurance are evil I became mired in ennui.

Some mysterious men defiantly didn't come to my house and force me to go to a Dynanetics center and get audited. I did this of my own free accord. I am now much more stable and able to write the remainder of my article correctly.

As a well constructed immortal spiritual being who understands all the brilliance of L.Ron. lets get started with my reviews of the rest of the Oscar nominations.

They will be grated on a scale of great to exceptionally, classically great.

The Hurt Locker:
Insanely great, don't say it wasn't, they'll hear you. It was great great.

Up in the Air:
Immensely Great, so great that I had trouble dealing with the crushing feeling of loss I had after the film ended.

Precious: Wildly, Viciously great. Will never be forgotten in the annuals of time, will live longer than Shakespeare. The classic work of art for its genre: kid hating.

Inglorious Basterd: So great that my hands shake as I type knowing that Hollywood and its glorious love can construct something that is worth more than the breath in my lungs.

A Serious Man: Greaty great great, so great that I didn't realize that I just pissed myself.

Well folks there you have it. Hollywood is great. L. Ron is my prophet, the world is now at peace, and some how somebody thinks Steve Martin should still be receiving money for accomplishing nothing. Accept your movie overlords and know that they have blessed you with these priceless works of art because they love you.

Your corporate sponsors for this article were Babyboomers: we just can't ever stop fucking everything up, Dynetics: love it or else, and facetiousness.

May the Aliens bless you.

This Year Everyone Gets an Oscar, Part one

Doo Doo Do Do doot doo doo,

It's that time of the year when if you actually care about movies, know how to read beyond a sixth grade level, and have a soul, you begin to feel a knifing pain in your side because the best picture list came out and revealed that the world around you is so so so much dumber than you were beginning to forget.

This year the scientologists' thought it would be fun, (make more money) to include ten movies for best picture. Now you may be wondering, "isn't that insanely ridiculous and does nothing but devalue the American film industry and it's say on things?"

Well you would be absolutely correct, but who cares, because what really matters is what over-priced dresses a bunch of skeletons are going to show up wearing for emotionally devoid sociopaths to take pictures of and kahki-shortwearing morons to gawk at through HD TVs in the Walmart mill towns.

Yay Oscars! Fuck YEAHHHHH!H!!H!H!H!!!H!H!!HH! (fire a machine gun off in the air as you read this)

So lets's talk about the nominations. They will be graded on a scale of how many children must be sacrificed to Xenu to keep Tom Cruise happy: one activates the Tom anger-based-eye-lasers, five equals Tom being all smiley and giving creepy publicity-stunt-kisses to Katie.

AVATAR: Super cool to look at but for anyone who's played Final Fantasy high, it was like 'aight. The first half was pretty great; where you forget just what is CGI dreams and what is "real life" and then it turned into the cheesiest, easiest to see coming, formulaic ending ever. If you see it on your TV in your house and not in a movie theatre with crazy 3D glasses it would be like watching a well funded episode of Stargate: Atlantis.

Likely hood it will win: Stupid

It gets two of Beck's Kids: Tom is glaring at everybody from behind those sunglasses.

The Blind Side: If you like this movie, you have probably never read a book and live in an all white suburb where you secretly believe white people are here to save poor black kids and turn them into football stars, or whatever the garbage message of this afterschool special is. I watched ten minutes of this movie illegally to write this, it was like whipping myself in the eyes. "I'm Sandra Bullock, I'm yo new cool momma who loves any old fat kid no matter if they black. My sass is chermin' ain'ts it?" No.

Likely hood it will win: The portal opens and out steps the demon.

It gets a couple of fingers off of one of Rob Thomas's kids: CRUISE SMASH!!!!

District Nine: Smart, interesting Sci fi with some nice camera tricks, story twists, and solid acting. Also the CGI was incorporated well enough that at times I, gasp, barely noticed it was CGI. Could have been a half hour shorter without losing anything, but over all, extremely solid and a nice little accomplishment for a director's first feature. I would be cool with this winning but it won't.

Likely hood it will win: Sci Fi wins best picture? HAHAHAHAH

It gets all four Elfman Children: Tom is now kissing his own blood smeared lips in the mirror.

UP: Weakest Pixar ever. At no point did I laugh. At no point did I care.

Likely Hood it will Win: The Disney Frozen Brain has to reactivate

It gets no more Travoltas: Tom hisses, sprouts wings, and flies off into the night.

An Education: Creepy and sexy and funny. It had some stand out acting and some even better writing. Hard to make such a strange story so affecting and relatable without everyting getting too weird. But there were no real strides in directing or editing or over all prodcution. It was just a solid , interesting movie. It deserves acting accolades but not a best picture nod.

Likely Hood it will win: It doesn't involve James Cameron making alot of people a shit ton of money enough.

It gets three and a half Paul Haggis Spawn: Tom is all pouty after because he is still hungry.

Join me tomorrow for part two where the ridicule continues. And just think I haven't even started making fun of Jews or British People yet!!!!

DISCLAIMER: WRITTEN BY SLIGHTLY BRAIN DAMAGED JERKOFF

Greetings From Hell

Hello, It's me! The Lunchbox Hell (music industry) correspondent: Chemical Ali!

Hell is going pretty well if you were wondering, me, John Banaum, and Satan are starting a pretty sweet New Metal band called: Genesis. Why are you snickering? What?

Death to America! Death to Everybody I don't like! Captain Crunch cuts up the roof of my mouth! Alright, anyways now that shouting threats portion is over, it is time to get down to the side of my business that involves less gassing; entertainment journalism.

First off how did TV on the Radio, Phoenix, Them Crooked Vultures, and Animal Collective not get nominated for Grammy? That's because they are good. HA HA HA! See is like upside down world, HA HA HA!

Anyways, you have probably already watched most of the coverage for the Grammys on the Hell (Fox) News channel but here is the hell scoop that you might not have caught.

Four signs of the black-winged apocalypse:















Eerily hypnotic things that make you have out of body experience where you realize television is in control of you:















Telekinetic kid moment, like super sweet movie, Firestarter:
















And precise moment the black clock made from children bones and Swatch parts struck the nightmare hour:


I'll be back with more music news in the future. So, yeah I gotta get back to holding down Mormons and punching them in the stomach with Alexander Hamilton and Socrates. Death to the Country music! Death to America!

The Last of the Dead Writer Columns

No one cares what I had a dream about last night, but I rarely get ones with celebrities in them, and even rarer is when the dead show up. It's new-agey but I always have a serious undertow when famous people, who actually were important, to me show up in dreams.

What I'm saying is the guy who took my writing virginity, whose death I have desperately tried to forget, showed up in a dream where we both were teachers at a weird private school and no one knew that we secretly hung out in a sub-basement, watched almost indescribably horrific movies, and smoked pot.

I didn't actually know Jim Carroll so it always spooks me out a little that he would be in a dream that was so clear. That his personality would be so fully formed. I always wonder about that, because if there isn't anything telepathic or supernatural about dreams then how do three dimensional people, sometimes ones I've never met, live there. Are there like ten thousand people living in the depths of my brain? How do we speak German in dreams? Are we telepathic radio towers when we're in REM? (Not Micheal Stipe)

For the majority of my childhood I wrote all the time but it was mostly fan fiction about the Ninja Turtles and Spiderman or stories about guys who crash landed on other planets. But Carroll tore a hole inside of my brain. I come from a family of movie people where the term "inappropriate for certain ages" was scoffed at. So when the fourteen year old me rented the The Basketball Diaries I was more worried that the blockbuster guy wouldn't give it to me, then if it would change my whole life.

The moment that it was over, I did what I normally did for most of my adolescence: I went into the driveway, and dribbled a basketball while I talked to myself. But it didn't last long. Before I watched that movie I wanted to be an athlete and maybe a fighter pilot, maybe an astronaut. The movie itself was pretty good but it was the direct pieces of Carroll's writing, the snippets of his actual poems that just kept churning over and over in my head.

They were't boring. They weren't pompous, they felt like poetry that existed right now, they weren't voices from dead pasts or from years into the future, Carroll was the guy staring out the window on the bus, he was the voice in your head when you were stealing CD's, he was the words you were looking for.

I went inside and for the first time I wrote because I wanted to rather than because I was bored in class. Yeah I was just ripping him off at first (maybe I still am), I started ripping lots of people off at first until I didn't have to, until I could play the concertos without counting the key strokes.

I haven't stopped. I am now addicted to it, I seriously feel like I haven't smoked a cigarette in a week if I don't write for a couple of hours a day, and maybe that was the attraction, the connection with me and Carroll, we're addicts. Addicts in good things and bad: to soul, to poetry, to beauty, to music, to technology, to drugs, to fun, to girls, to ignoring pain, to everything. This is all getting really heavy, I know, and probably more than a little pretentious, but when he died last September I washed it under the porch.

I couldn't stand to look at it. He looked like a skeleton when he died. You don't see a lot of fat writers go down. I was glad for the dream. I was glad I remembered where all this started, because I don't think it will ever end. I now feel that odd sensation of loss without regret. The lunchbox will mostly be about nonsense but Carroll was hilarious and touching at the same time. I was hoping the lunchbox could be the same.

He will be our patron saint.

It was nice to meet you Jim, thanks for ruining my life.

Writers who are alive, like really alive, not like Stephine Meyer alive

Since I woke up with crazy dreams still still slowly draining out of me and there was a big dead picture of Salinger, I thought: who is still around, it's just a taste but-

Here is who is still awesome:

Joyce Carol Oates, since she has written ten million things that are more important that anything on E! (alright except that dreamboat Joel McHale), we have to start somewhere so then lets start you off with "where are you going, where have you been?". As you read it, the inside of your head will untangle, and everything that you were asking yourself about life and fear and future selves will suddenly make itself known and then you'll be outside smoking a cigarette and people will ask you questions to make conversation and you won't be able to respond because you keep wondering if that guy walked funny because he was hiding hooves in his shoes. And that's just a fucking short story, imagine what the novels are like.

I give her five sexy hats out of five.

Also better than Dan Brown and that weiner who cried the whole time he poorly wrote the Ruins,

Dennis Lehane, what's that America is full of? Guns, drugs, madness, poverty, poetry, creepy hot sex, indistinguishable lines between what is a crime in desperation and what isn't? (Facetious) No way. (Sarcasm) Look just read anything out of Coronado, in particularly "Until Gwen" and lets just see how you feel afterward. If you feel nothing, then you are dead inside, and you should look in a mirror for a reflection to make sure that you aren't actually dead.

D.L. gets four sexy hats because Clint Eastwood turned Mystic River into a whiny, black-and-white mockery of what it actually is.

Kim Addonizio, is my favorite poet running around alive. Her stuff is smart, tough, disturbingly sexy, and always, always overwhelmingly affective. She also never falls into being pompous or crass or shock-for-the-sake-of-shock. I would stand her stuff up against anybody's and truly see if anybody can punch you in that tiny stomach that lives in your heart harder than her. She also pulls off some of the harder technical sides of poetry with out becoming stale or rigid, check out her sonnet "First Poem for You" if you think I'm wrong.

She get four and a half sexy hats, one half taken off because I always have to look up her name to spell it right.

Grant Morrison, isn't a writer, he's a witch. If you are so inclined and willing to look into trap doors on the dark side of your brain then you will notice that Morrison's cool, funny, exciting, and blazingly creative stories (sometimes with resurrected comic book material that died in the seventies)is also subtly worming new thought concepts into your head. What if a writer created a universe then created a character from our universe to be sent into theirs? Does that make the universe real because you believe it to be real? You can lay down now if you want. When you are ready, when you know who you are, read The Invisibles all the way through, it will mess with you.

There are no sexy hats, because they are just constructs in your mind's eye that pop up when you scan your eyes over a set of sound sets(letters) linked together to spell (like a witch) things into the think flesh that hides in your skull. C'est pas une pipe.

Alan Moore, fuck you, you don't take comic books seriously, fuck you. Alright, that's harsh, but think about it, everybody discredits comics. So if it is completely discredited, guess who flocks there? That's right the freakshows of talent that can't get away with it anywhere else. Do not buy into the crap movies they turn his stuff into, you are missing out on what might be an actual Shakespeare level talent. The Watchmen is the most creative, provocative, ballsy, and beautifully crafted story of all time. It is the best book of the last thirty five years, if not the century. (Editor's note: That's real Brazen Pomposity, folks.)

He gets three sexy hats because he needs to write another novel and because Promethea did kind of suck.

Two Old Dudes who don't need Pissants like me giving them props

Gabriel "The Hitman" Garcia Marquez and Ray "Fucking" Bradbury, if you don't know who they are you need to ask yourself, "do I have to think to breathe?" because you probably do. Read "One Hundred Years of Solitude" and "Something Wicked This way Comes", everthing is going to be alright.

They both get Five Sexy Hats out of Five because they both look very manly in trench coats.

There will be more writers ass-kissed here in the Lunchbox, this is just the beginning. See now I don't feel so bad about the last column.

Great Now I'm Depressed, Thanks Dead Writer, Thanks Alot

Which came first the recluse writer or suffocation by mass media?

It took one hundred years for everyone to have a telephone, fifty for a TV, twenty five for a computer, ten for a cellphone, and it now appears to be cannibalizing itself so that by the time you purchase a computer and an internet connection, the next gen, which is a thousand times faster, is scheduled for its release next week.

Since we now exist in a some sort of superfast information technology whirpool, I think its only fair to bring up the fact that we aren't actually getting any smarter. Are we getting more savvy? Oh sure, and more accustomed to high speed thought? But really how complex is that new thought, because personally I catch myself having my inner monologue resemble this: Need internet, need email, email internet ok, need TV, TV noise soothing, ooh Colbert, resist urge to look at porno, why what's wrong with porno, nothing I just have better things to do, facebook, gmail, bbc.com, what's that word?, wikipedia, craigslist, facebook, look at picture of self existentially on facebook, and such and such.

Seriously at times I feel like a gerbil: food pellet, water bottle, sleep under shavings, run on wheel, food pellet, look at self in reflection of cage existentially...

This is why I am going to miss Salinger, why I miss Vonnegut,why I miss all the voices. When your mind began to gerbilize you only had to remember that the inside of your head was more powerful than the world around it; the truest form of rebellion is in there. That your life and thought process are a million times more powerful than any Intel chip. And that there are others out there who also think that training your mind to be a well-oiled system of pulleys rather than an explosion of thought is a terrible terrible thing. We lose them and they are not replaced.

Mind you I am writing a quasi-political lament on my internet blog while my facebook is open in the other tab, but pay no attention to that. All Holden Caufield did was yell from the inside of his head that everything around him felt like garbage, that he wouldn't go along with the robot thought process. That's all I'm doing, that's all we can do. So today, when you walk around, just for JD, say fuck you to everybody inside of your head. It totally works.

This message brought to you by Twilight: It's like hot and junk.

You people should consider yourselves lucky that I'm granting you an audience tomorrow rather than twenty years from now.

Here is my attempt at an interview with Steve Jobs Yesterday because of the new space tablet that will change all of our lives because a well executed hundred and seventy million dollar ad campaign says so:

I called the Apple headquarters number, I assume that it is in California, but it seemed that the person I was talking to was not in America.

After a robot told me in a very classy and placid voice that my phone call may be recorded for "customer service purposes" I then hit fifteen different commands on my cell that I believed would direct me to the wizard.

Emsa: Hello this is Emsa with customer service, how can I assist you?

ME: I want to talk to Stevey.

Emsa: Excuse me?

ME: I'd like to talk to my father Steven Jobs.

Emsa: You're Steve Job's son?

ME: Yes, well, he doesn't know that but see I'm from the future-

That's when she hung up. So, look all I'm saying is that I am a smartass with time on my hands and a faux hawk five years too late but have you seen Jobs? He sits in front of a giant projection screen of himself. He brings out future tech so that all of us towheads can look up and gawk with our mouths open. He is obviously not from this dimension or , at least, from this time period, so listen up Apple customer service if a guy can go from building calculators that can out think physicists in his basement in the valley to owning the western economy with his star trek pads and Ozian stage displays; then there is a fifty fifty shot that he has kids from the future.

Thank you,
Journalism.

A Special Message from Our God Football

Hello every one,
I'll be guest writing this column, and as you can guess for that vacant-eyed photo to my right, it's me! The Tebow: your favorite Lord of Christian goondom, overrated footballia, and nightmarish haircuttrias. I have taken the time to put on a shirt and my signature guy-liner black baindaid eye make up, (its not sissy, its tough football stuff, I think, that's why I write creepy bible passages on it) so that I can deliver a special message to you.

A message so special that me and my mom and her friends at Focus on the Family, (a semi-facist, Christian think tank full of other over-privledged, vacant, spooky eyed goons) spent 2.8 million dollars to play it during the superbowl.

But I need to get the message out there, everyway that I can, that's why I'm writing on this blog normally written by a a kid that once had to go to the hospital for shoving peas in his nose (editor note: then why did god make peas perfect nostril size, hmmm? No Seriously answer me right the fuck now god, I'm dead fucki-) uuuhh, but anyway I'm using this opportunity to talk about my important message.

It's this: aborted babies can never ever grow up to be the quarterback of a college football team. They can't go fishing or secretly hate black people. They can never have that first exciting moment of having super hot girls throw themselves at you and then you have to be like no I'm saving myself for god and my wife, and then they like take they're shirt off and you don't feel anything, all you can think about is Deshaun your roommate, and you tell your mom this, and she just keeps crying and changing the subject. Aborted babies also can't never dance and laugh and sing and get insane concussions or work for Google.

Aborted babies can't do anything. Don't be lame, keep popping out babies for no apparent reason other than you because you can.

Thanks Alex for letting me get this message out there, I love every non-aborted baby, Hail Satan.

Everybody is a Giant Weiner

Let me get this straight, my generation, the one that could play Nintendo in the playpen and had the hand-eye coordination and reflexes of a jet pilot by eight is supposed to trust these guys. Look I don't know if I fully believe in the lightening snake bird coming to eat us in 2012 but man that time line seems to make sense in terms of how lame these guys are and how fast they are capable of driving everything into the ground. I'm no chicken little but here is my point.

Look at that guy.

Do it.

He looks like your high school class president who was always the grossest, creepiest, most convincing androgynous person you would accidentally sleep with out of desperation during a dry spell at spring break.
Alright, I'm saying it, here it is, we gotta start judging books by their cover. Sometimes, not like crazily but look at Hitler, that guy looks like an asshole. Who other than a complete dickhead would have that mustache? Bernanke looks like some skeeze who would completely rip you off. George Bush looks like at any moment he is going to rape you during a frat, "initiation", Dick Cheney has cat-slits in his pupils, Obama looks like he is terribly accustomed to having a massively pampered life style provided by his friends the healthcare corporation. Daley looks like a goon, no seriously look up goon and you will see a wide jawed, loud mouthed jackass. It is time, if they look like scumbags, maybe they are. Seriously look at Mark Kirk again, theres no way that guy doesn't have a Napoleon complex.

Is there anything scarier than a Dutchman chasing you in briefs?

One of the things that will be in the Buddha Lunchbox will be movies you should be watching because when you watch them they give you nose bleeds from your brain exploding inside your head to an over load of rad magnificence.

The first movie in the Lunchbox is Blade Runner, now for some of you overly knowledgeable film weirdos that I associate with this is a no brainer, but if you haven't seen it, you should know that in the Christian faith you can't get into heaven until you do. But it's not like its painful. It's an amazingly beautiful neo noir where everything is rain, neon lights, weird guns, badass thirties style roughed up for the future, serrated writing, and uber hot robot/clone broads.

Another piece of evidence that CGI instantly dates it self and looks like garbage because this movie was made in '82 and visually stomps things like Transformers because matting, costume, make-up, and just all around astoundingly slick set & visual design will always, always win. That and it does not involve the Shia LaBouf "comedy" hour.

The plot and theme also play with some of the darker aspects of human connection and technology addiction without ever becoming preachy, heavy handed, or super lame. I used to fall asleep to this movie until I started waking up screaming during the final part due to nightmares about Rutger Hauer. But that is only because Rutger Hauer can actually jump between dreams and hunt you down.

I give the FINAL CUT of this movie 363,857,909,871 stars in our galaxy out of 363,857,909,872, all of them except Alpha Centuri, fuck you Alpha Centuri.

Fun Fact: This is a great movie to slowly ease pretty or artsy girls who hate scifi into possibly liking Sci fi, which you love and have been hiding from her for the first several months of your relationship.

Welcome to the Nonsense of a Childhood Adrenaline Junkie.

There was a time, not too long ago for me (last week), when what was on your lunchbox defined you. It was the first critical choice that you made in the social stratosphere. It was your flag. Comic book characters? Day-glow ponies? Movies? Athletes? Mr. T? Elite Teams of American Commandos who only ever killed robots? It really didn't make much difference to me because I believed you were cool as long as you rocked it. But most of the other goblins didn't see it this way, to them, this was as critical to understanding who you are as your DNA.

At first I secretly wanted to be one of the kids with a paper bag; they were non-entities, barely noticed but rarely ridiculed. However lunchboxes had a certain social thrill to them, an adrenaline rush, an "I'm cooler than you" game of community respect. Lunchboxes were war.

Lunchbox with the wrong GI JOE on it? Unfortunately until middle school, you are a "dick bag". Girl with the Billy Ray Cyrus one? "Redneck." Your parents are thoughtless inhuman jerks when you forget your Urkel one at basketball practice and they make you take your sisters back up Pound Puppies one? You are now officially for the rest of your childhood, with no concern for your actual sexual preference, a "homo."

I realized how critical this was early on. At first I went with a cultural standard; The Ninja Turtles. No one made fun, but no one said anything either. I mean the Turtles were super fucking awesome but this also meant that half the y chromosomes had one.

So when the rare time for a new lunchbox came and I stood in the back-to-school isle at K-mart, which looked like a demilitarized zone, I was needless to say taking my time. My kid brother picked up a Joker one instantly and wandered off because he has was in kindergarten and could careless about the social Russian roulette I was currently in. I muttered, "shit" under my breath because the Joker was actually a pretty bold and badass choice.

Everything seemed so bland and over done. Everything reflected nothing about me. Sure I liked Spider man and The Super Mario Brothers, yeah I road dirt bikes and skate boards, but come on I had cooler things going on in my head than just that, didn't I? I wanted something bizarre and intimidating and cool. I took a second and visualized what I wanted, I let the universe in and a strange thing came to me, it was the Buddha Siddhartha sitting on a Lilly with crazy holographic psychedelics all around him on a black lunchbox. Wouldn't that be fucking rad, I thought. Nobody would have that, and who would dare mock it.

I was still in a K-Mart though, they would have nothing remotely that cool. Then I saw it and ever since I've decided that the world is one big lunchbox arms race, it really only matters if you buy into the magic and make sure that you pick up the right one, the right anything, the stuff for you. I've kept this sucker since I was a kid and I've been putting my coolest and spookiest shit in it since I was seven years old. So now I'm putting my "awesome box" online and flying my lunchbox flag high. Check it out if you want and welcome to the Buddha Lunch Box.

The picture at the top isn't the same one, but its close.