Jen, You Ignorant Slut

After years of speaking out about her son’s autism — and against childhood immunizations — Jenny McCarthy is reversing her position.

After years of speaking publicly about her belief that MMR shots (immunization for measles, mumps, and rubella) caused her son to suffer from autism, Jenny McCarthy now faces the reality that her 7-year-old son Evan — who no longer shows any signs of autism — may likely have lived with completely different illness.

A new article in Time Magazine — which Jenny was interviewed for — suggests Evan suffers from Landau-Kleffner syndrome, “a rare childhood neurological disorder that can also result in speech impairment and possible long-term neurological damage.”...

And though her son may never have had autism, Jenny insists, “I’ll continue to be the voice” of the disease.

(http://www.hollywoodlife.com/2010/02/26/jenny-mccarthy-says-her-son-evan-never-had-autism/)


I cannot adequately express how much this whore pisses me off.

How many children have suffered or died because their parents listened to this piece of ass instead of their doctors? Oh yeah, there's a website for that:

http://www.jennymccarthybodycount.com/Jenny_McCarthy_Body_Count/Home.html

The parents share the blame, of course, as do Jen's publishers, Oprah, the tabloids, and anyone else who gave her a platform to vomit up her ignorance. But Jen, who knew that she only had an opinion, and went forth as if she alone had figured it all out, bears the lyin' share of responsibility.

And what's this bullshit about "I'll continue to be the voice" of Autism? What makes you think for one goddamned minute that we - the parents of children who actually have Autism - want you to be our self-appointed spokeslut? You have already proven that you are completely unqualified to spout off about anything medical, unless it's the treatment of various STDs. What makes you think you are even remotely relevant to this issue? Your kid suffered from Landau-Kleffner syndrome and having a self-important bitch for a mother. And even when you were under the impression that he did have Autism, you chose to spout propaganda from a discredited, scientifically-unsound study, against all statistical evidence, with no medical training.

I only hope that you put forth as much effort in getting the news out about your change of heart as you did in your original swath of destruction. Try this: spread the word as much as you spread your legs; that should do it.

And for all you celebrity-worshippers: Having your vagina photographed only makes you an expert at having your vagina photographed. If you don't believe me, I refer you to the definitive study published by that Nobel-winning dream team: Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, and Paris Hilton.

I AM the law

I embodied an Internet Law today. No…not Rule 34, Poe’s Law.

Poe’s Law states: “Without a winking smiley or other blatant display of humor, it is impossible to create a parody of fundamentalism that someone won't mistake for the real thing.”

While the use of the term ‘fundamentalism’ usually implies the far Right (Poe originally formulated this law while trolling Christian usenet boards), an older and somewhat broader definition of the term is: “strict adherence to any set of basic ideas or principles,” which covers all ideologies.

And it’s true. The availability and anonymity of the internet has allowed every crazy bastard who thinks he knows THE TRUTH to hose down comment sections with his overheated brain drippings.

When Swift published A Modest Proposal in 1729, many readers failed to recognize the satirical intent because – one could argue – they did not have access to vast amounts of information with which to compare ideas, paper and books being too expensive for the common man until the Industrial Revolution a century later. I find it ironic that in today’s “Information Age,” where you can find links to most libraries, any number of magazines and newspapers, museums, encyclopedias, all kinds of video, as well as scientific and governmental data, you still cannot recognize satire, because for every idea you think is just way-out-there wacky, someone’s turned it into a .com and is plastering up huge walls of text and links.

The Letters to the Editor in my local paper is actually what got me started on all this today. This was one of them:

Free to breathe

Hallelujah!! I have never been so happy as to see that North Carolina will be enacting a smoking ban as of Jan. 1! It will be so refreshing to not have to breathe polluted air and see innocent children subjected to the noxious second hand smoke of irresponsible parents or caregivers in restaurants. The next law I would like to see would be one that charges adults with child abuse for smoking around their children.I am so proud of our state government for protecting its citizens from this disgusting habit!

— Robin

This was my comment:

I'm with you, Robin! My child has asthma, which is exacerbated by strong odors, so I'm lobbying Governor Perdue to enact a ban on people wearing perfume or aftershave in public. If people want to use a completely legal product like Old Spice, they are free to do it within their own home where I don't have to smell it. I'm especially looking forward to forcing department stores to dismantle their perfume counters, because we're too stupid to avoid them when we go out. Besides, perfume contains benzyl acetate, which is a known cancer-causing agent, and as it volatizes off the wearer's skin, it can affect everybody nearby. I think you're limiting yourself with the child abuse law, though; violators of my Perfume Law will be charged with attempted murder.

I thought it was a pretty obvious parody, but I apparently overestimated the comprehension skills of the local townsfolk. This is what I got back:

· you are one freakin idiot!

· there are lots of Socialist countries in the world that might be more to your liking. Please don't let the door hit you on your way out of the U.S of A. Let Freedom Ring!

· Wow....I am all for smoke free restaurants. If you must smoke, you can smoke outside and not indoors for the rest of us to sit through. However, a ban on perfume and cologne?? Are you kidding??? I would die without my perfume!

· I think you're a whack job.

I can’t decide whether to feel superior or sad, so I’ll leave you with the words of The Waco Kid:

“You've got to remember that these are just simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know... morons.”

All I want for Christmas

In October the Marketing groups gathered ‘round.
They all needed to nail down their holiday sound
For the ads they’d be running o’er my radio
(‘cause they wanted my money to help their cash flow).

“We want all of the people to sit up and hear
All about the great offers we’re making this year.
We will need something catchy, unique, a surprise
So we’ll tempt them to enter our store for our buys.”

And they pondered and thought and they brainstormed and then
From the back came a voice (it was probably Ben).
He said “Let’s do an ad no one else has before.
We’ll just rip off that poem by Clement Clark Moore.”

Said the boss: “So creative! I love it! I do!
We will turn that old poem into something new!
We will use it to sell all the widgets in stock.
I can pay the store mortgage and get out of hock!”

But unfortunately the group wasn’t the first
To adapt the old chestnut of holiday verse.
They weren’t even the only to do it this year
Because everyone thinks that to spread the good cheer

They should hammer the listeners with holiday tropes
Irrespective of whether they all sound like dopes.
They think people will listen if they mention snow
In their ad, or have elves or a loud “Ho, ho, ho!”

It is not very clever; I hate it a lot.
And they all should be taken outside to be shot.
They contribute to cheapening these special days
And to giving we shoppers December malaise.

But they’re not only guilty of Christmas abuse.
They have also dishonored the fine work of Seuss.
Anapestic tetrameter his métier,
Which blows them out the water on all their best days.

So to all of you clever new writers for hire
If you want to be heard; if you want to inspire,
Do not meddle with carols, and Santa eschew
Or you’ll find that you get a collective “Fuck you!”


Happy holidays, everyone!

A Little of This; A Little of That

Arby’s is running one of the lamest promotions ever. Their combo meals are priced at $5.01, and they’re distributing coupons good for 1¢ off. The accompanying tagline is “Worth Every Cent!” So…your food is worth the one penny the coupon covers? The coupon that’s not redeemable for cash? Doesn’t that technically make the food worthless? Too often the 2 A.M. brilliant marketing hook shrivels and dies in the harsh light of an 8 A.M. management meeting. This should have been one of those times.

I’d like to meet the person in charge of programming the music for our “Local on the 8s” Weather Channel segments. While most go for muted, stately orchestral pieces, our guy (it has to be a guy) chooses tracks from Steve Vai, Eric Johnson, and Joe Satriani. Not only am I sure it’s a dude picking these out, he has to be a Gen X-er, because those are all 80s guitar gods. I keep hoping for some Queensryche to underscore our Doppler.

I’m in the process of paying off the debt incurred during eighteen months of unemployment, and it’s kind of nerve-wracking, especially when dealing with credit card companies. Their license to anally rape their customers expires next February, so calling them is like sticking a finger in the piranha tank to test the water temperature. You barely get your account number out before they’re peppering you with questions about current contact information, place of employment, next of kin, aliases you might be using, message boards you read, and your Twitter handle. I dutifully gave over all of that at first, but then I realized Hey…why do they need all this? We have one relationship – fiduciary – and that’s coming to an end with this call (I’m paying them, not declaring bankruptcy, just to make that clear). With that insight, I’ve decided to totally fuck with them. I’m hoping the conversation will go like this:

“Thank you for calling Ben Dover & Smyle. How can I help you?”
“Hi. I’m calling to pay off my balance. My account number is [digits here].”
“Okay. And is your address still [blah blah blah]?”
“Well, sort of. I’m living in a rusted-out Mini-Winnie in the field behind the place. But Dave, the owner, throws my mail in the recycle bin instead of the garbage, so I can still read any letters you send me since they’re not covered in his secret sauce. That’s not a euphemism, by the way; Dave makes his living by entering barbecue chicken contests across the South.”
“Oooooo…kay. And how about a phone number?”
“I’m using Dave’s phone right now. He’s in Tuscaloosa until Thursday, so I forced my way into his wife’s back door. That’s not a euphemism, by the way; she has her own room off the deck, and the sliding door doesn’t latch right ever since the trailer slipped off the masonry block and threw the whole frame off plumb.”
“Where are you currently employed?”
“I’m in a band called Chuck U. Farley and the Horse He Rode in on. That is a euphemism, by the way. We do techno remixes of Barry Manilow songs. I play the banjo.”
[stunned silence]
“It’s a niche market.”
“Uh…anything steadier? Maybe with an address?”
“There’s the clinic where I sign up for all the drug trials. I try to stick to ones for new pills because a doctor examines you for those, and that’s like having insurance, you know? Sometimes I sign up for three or four at the same time because it’s an easy hundred bucks a month. I used to sell blood, too, but I can’t anymore because my liver’s failing from all the pills. On the other hand, my sperm count is way up. Doesn’t really help me, though. Since I stopped drinking, I‘ve noticed that there aren’t any pretty women at the bar anymore.”
“Uh…”
“Can we hurry this up? I’ve got a Bat Mitzvah in an hour and still need to tune my banjo for I Write the Songs. Did you know Barry didn’t write that? That’s what college folk and Alanis Morissette would call “irony.” I used to not know that. I think these pills are making me smarter.”

I KNOW I’m funny; I’m just underappreciated

There’s a running joke in the office about the large amounts of scotch consumed by “Bob”. Last week, another employee was trying to use Bob’s computer, which kept crashing. I pointed out that there was biometric identification built into the mouse: It measured Blood/Alcohol levels.

In a conversation between manly men, the inevitable “I like my (beverage) like I like my women” discussion came around. I opined that “I like my coffee like I like my women.” “Hot and black?” came the question. “Ground down and bitter,” I clarified.

On a message board a few years ago, it was pointed out that the National Organization for Women had turned 40. I suggested we trade it in for two 20-year-old women’s’ organizations.

When an article in our local newspaper tried to blame Grand Theft Auto for a shooting, I asked “Since I’m usually wandering around with no clue as to what I should be doing, can I blame Myst?”.

A story online mentioned that a big rig carrying vacuums had been hijacked, with no clue as to the identity of the perpetrator(s). My suggestion was that authorities should be on the lookout for Nature.

Don’t cook bacon naked, and other Thanksgiving observations

Remember: it’s one stick of butter per person per course. Otherwise why bother?

Why is it that every other day of the year, we’re content to have a sandwich or burger for lunch, but during the holidays, nothing less than a 10-pound bird, stuffing, potatoes, green beans, hot buttered rolls, and some sort of pie (or two) satisfies us? I think it started with the Pilgrims, but they at least had the excuse that they’d previously been starving to death.

Cops are out in force patrolling traffic. I was caught up in a slow stretch of road the day before Thanksgiving, and saw the most appropriate vanity plate ever. A State Trooper had pulled over a bright yellow Mustang, whose plate read: YSOFICER

Don’t put the towel you used to clean up the herbed butter/olive oil spill in the wash with the other towels, unless you want the linen closet to smell like your meal for the next six months. Either waste the water and power to wash it by itself, or throw it away.

While it’s not unusual for a radio station to change formats for the holiday, our local harder-rock station had programmed 80s soundtrack songs. While preferable to the all-Christmas playlists most stations adopt, it was a little time-warping to be hearing OMD’s “If You Leave” (Pretty in Pink) and Peter Gabriel’s ”In Your Eyes” (Say Anything) while we cooked, particularly because we were expecting System of a Down or Seether.

The Atomic Shuffle

One of the big geek fantasies is teleportation. Invariably, whenever the subject comes up, the discussion turns to the revolution it would be for the shipping industry – instant delivery, no transportation overhead, reduction in storage space, etc. Then the focus turns to the personal travel possibilities, where you can dispense with long plane/car trips to get to that business meeting or head down to Disney World. It always follows this pattern because even in our flights of fancy, we want to test it on non-living matter before we start hurling people between dimensions.

Like a lot of nerds, I’ve thought about possible applications for commercial teleportation: pizza delivery, Amazon orders, landfill removal, the collapse of the Hotel and Airline industries, etc. But very few people talk about how it will change some of the more questionable ventures, like crime, porn and spam mail.

For instance:

Prostitution will get a lot more discreet if you can beam them straight to the bedroom.
Your local crack dealer won’t draw attention to himself by having cars coming and going all day.
Pop-Ins will replace pop-ups as alternative medicine samples, Nigerian checks, and suspect software will be physically sent to you.
Nuclear bombs transported to any location just as the countdown clicks to 0.
Kidnapping and burglary will get a whole lot easier.

And on the punishment side of the “Crime &” equation:

Run from the cops? Instead of giving chase, they’ll zap you directly into the jailhouse.
Illegal alien? One word: teledeported. (Of course, they’ll pop right back in, but I had to use that.)
The SWAT team appears directly at the scene, grabs the bad guy and disappears.
Prisons won’t need doors in the outer walls.
Capital sentences will be carried out by setting the destination coordinates to “The Sun.”

And that’s not even touching on the massive changes in social etiquette that will take place when anyone can be anywhere at a moment’s notice. You think it’s annoying now when someone you’re talking to answers their cell phone? What about when they just pop out in the middle of a conver

Except for a mouse

A dominant theme in the blogs lately has been people complaining (yet again) about retailers moving Christmas promotions up to Hallowe'en, and even before 10/31 in some cases.

I don't know what they're complaining about. We've been seeing Yuletide references ever since Subway rolled out their commercial with Michael Phelps back in the early summer.

I think I've mentioned before that we watch all our television with the Closed Captioning on. Not only does it help Cub with his reading, we don't wake anybody up at night by blasting the gunfire, explosions, or cursing that make up the majority of the movies we like.

In any case, I've become aware that, just like in any editing field, there are varying levels of competence when it comes to transcription services. Live feeds get a pass because that's very fast-paced. However, when it comes to filmed entertainment, where a script has already been nailed down, there are no excuses.

So Subway brings Phelps out, presumably to make the "munchies" connection, and the background music is Sly & the Family Stone's Thank You for Letting Me Be Myself Again. Subway splurged to include the lyrics of the song in the transcription, but evidently skimped on a proofreader. The lyrics on our screen were "Thank you/for lettin' me/ be mice elf/ again."

Who needs drugs?

The comments on Fark make me laugh.
The comments on Yahoo Answers make me sad.
The comments on YouTube make me psychotic.

Through careful internet browsing, I can regulate my mood to exact degrees.

This is how my brain works

Whenever I see this:

I think of this:

That One Looks Like A Spoiler -OR- Out! Out! Damned Spot

I found out recently that psychiatrists who still employ the Rorschach blots as a diagnostic tool jealously guard them, so potential patients can't study them beforehand. If the test had any merit at all, I could understand that, but since it fails every criterion as to what constitutes a valid, scientifically sound, and legally admissable diagnostic tool, I don't feel too bad about posting all of them in my blog.

It was interesting, too, to read the "rules" that guide the scoring of the test. They're so broad, every administrator is pretty much free to interpret them how they wish. Some will score against you if you rotate the card; others will score against you if you don't. You might get a "bad grade" if you answer too quickly, or if you take too long to answer. Some psychiatrists will drop your score if you don't confine your answer to the ink marks (seeing an image in the negative space, for example), or if you see too many things. Some will mark your score down if you say "That's a (whatever)" instead of "That looks like a (whatever)", as if the patient really believes that a drip of ink on cardstock has transformed into the (whatever).

I actually think Rorschach was testing the psychiatrists' reactions rather than the patients'.

One fairly consistent reaction across the board, apparently, is that all of the psychiatrists will react negatively if you tell them you see "an inkblot." But really, isn't that the literal truth? Wouldn't that indicate that the patient has a solid grip on the real world, not given to hallucinations or manias?

I have to offer this P.S.A. in connection with this post: If you are ever in a position where your state of mind is to be determined by a Rorschach test (like whether you're mentally competent enough to stand trial, for instance), you are supposed to let them know you have seen the cards, and request an alternate diagnostic tool. Use your own judgement as to whether or not you think holding that information back will give you an advantage.

Here are the cards, and my interpretations.

Plate 1

Evil bunny grinning at me, or two chihuahuas gnawing on one of those cat clocks.

Plate 2

Two Chinese peasants in DEVO hats high-fiving one another.

Plate 3

Okay, this one requires some backstory: when I was little, my grandparents went on a trip to Africa. They picked up a pair of carved wooden staues of "typical" village women. This image looks like those statues putting a tuxedo together.

Plate 4

Roadkill. Specifically, a rabbit run over by a motorcycle. (And he had four of 'em!)

Plate 5

Moth/butterfly/alligators hiding behind bushes/Martian angel/Icarus

Plate 6

Dragonfly towing a raccon skin, or a diver hitting a dry pool.

Plate 7

Two "Thumbs Up!" made out of paper, or Siamese ants joined at the abdomen.

Plate 8

Two chameleons perched on baboons and tearing apart a brick of frozen shredded wheat.

Plate 9

Two deer, heads cocked in a "Oh no you din't" attitude, stand behind bushes while four plucked hens await on the other side.

Plate 10

Seafood platter with calamari, crab claws, salmon, fried clams, and scallops.

In the negative space, I see a woman wearing (top to bottom): a tall headdress, an amber necklace, a pink cape, a blue bra, yellow garters, and green hose.

So...what have we learned?

Freedom of Choice

I'm confused. Aren't two of the Liberal mantras "Freedom to Choose" and "Keep your laws off my body"?

Then why do the Democrats in the House feel it necessary to enforce compliance with their health care bill by criminalizing those that elect not to participate? That's right, citizens, if you do not purchase health insurance, you can be fined up to $250,000 and/or spend five years in Federal prison.

And another thing: if this health care bill is so wonderful, can we expect the Congressfolk to drop their existing plans and sign up for it?

I'm thinking...no.

What Drives Volvo?

Have you seen Volvo's latest ad campaign? It's a tie-in to the Twilight series and it's called "What Drives Edward?" or "What Would Edward Drive?" or "Why Hasn't Anyone Driven A Stake Through Edward?" or something like that.

Two questions arise from seeing their commercials, the first being: Why have they added the male circle/arrow symbol to their logo? Am I supposed to get an erection upon seeing the car or, more disturbingly, Edward?

Second, and a little more fundamental: Who the hell is this campaign aimed at? The primary market for the Twilight dreck is tween girls. Last I checked, tweens aren't old enough to have a driver's license. And the primary market for Volvos is middle-aged white guys that don't feel safe on the highway. The viewers of the movie don't care about the car, and the potential car buyers aren't seeing the movie. What did they think would happen to their sales figures?

The other terrible tie-in is the game on their web site. It involves answering trivia questions over a period of successive days. Again, the stodgy old white guys won't know the trivia, and the tweens won't invest the dedicated time.

One of the reasons tween girls fantasize about a vampire boyfriend is because tween boys are boring, bland, and unoriginal. Vampires are exciting and dangerous. Now, hasn't Volvo spent the last several decades extolling their safety record? Isn't that the complete opposite of why a girl might date a vampire? And if they're wanting to tap into the idea that Bella feels safe with Edward, then the campaign should have been "What Drives Bella?".

Was any rational thought put into this multi-million dollar campaign at all? Do the car giveaway, of course, but beyond that, there are plenty of other ways to promote the brand that make more sense: Passes to the premiere with a chauffeured Volvo dropping the winners off at the red carpet; a drive around the filming locations in a new Volvo with members of the cast; a remote-controlled Volvo for the Barbie editions of the characters. If you wanted to try and get really "wacky" and "hip", you could even do a commercial along the lines of "Why Edward sucks. A: He's a vampire; that's what they do. Why Volvo doesn't suck. A: (the list)." Needs polishing, sure, but that's off the top of my head, and I still think it establishes a better tie-in to the material.

I've been in meetings where everyone's all excited about landing the big account, but surely someone must have had a moment of clarity at some point. I'm all for extending the brand into new markets, but not at the expense of your central positioning statement.

Election Dysfunction

I can't believe I haven't used that title until now.

All kinds of elections and votes last night. Caught a newscast from CNN on my way in to work this morning about various races, and noted two things.

One, their tagline now is “America’s most trusted news source.” Really? Every time the numbers come out, FOX has anywhere between three and five times the number of viewers as CNN. FOX also claims at least thirteen of the top fifteen news show slots every quarter. And according to advertising revenue, CNN is dead last in the primary 18-49 market. If they’re defining “America” as “people we employ,” maybe CNN has a claim, but otherwise…

The other thing was the newscaster using the term “controversial.” The lead-in to the story was “Maine voters passed two controversial referendums yesterday.”

One referendum was to allow the use of medical marijuana in the state. When approximately 80% of the respondents to an informal poll are in favor of legalizing pot, Liberals and Conservatives are telling the Feds they’re missing out on a huge revenue stream by ignoring it, and everyone is focused on medical care right now, this vote isn’t even a surprise, much less controversial.

The other was voting against legally recognizing gay marriage, previously passed by the Maine legislature. I’m not sure what’s so controversial about this, either. Gay marriage has been voted on thirty-one separate times, all across the country, and has been defeated every time. To me, that seems pretty clear that it’s a mainstream position. Maybe CNN is astounded by the fact that The People went against the mandates handed down by their legislators and exercised their right to smack them down with a big ol’ veto.

On another network, the Maine ban on gay marriage was mentioned briefly, and the commentator (from Politico.com, I believe) was asked if that reflected the opinions of the rest of the country. His dismissive reply was that Maine has always been “kind of odd, and fiercely independent.”

It’s been voted down thirty-one times, dink. That’s neither odd nor independent.

The newscaster asked another leading question: “Do you think this vote means the issue has been laid to rest?” My immediate reaction was: Fuck, no. The gay lobby will keep forcing vote after vote after vote until they get the results they want. They’re like that little kid who keeps shouting “Do over! Do over!” when they lose. I understand the dangers of the Tyranny of the Majority, but neither can 3% of the population force the remaining 97% into a mindset they don’t hold already.

Unless you get them stoned, first.

Exhausting Meals and Shady Talent

Apparently our newest employee is a hummingbird. He’s one of these people that won’t (or can’t) look you in the eyes when he’s talking to you, and is constantly twitching around to look at other stuff. As we conversed over lunch, he appeared to be offering his observations to the table next to us, the plant in the corner, the television on the wall…anywhere but the guy across from him who’d asked the original question. Damn, dude…my autistic Cub makes more eye contact than you.

Now, I tend to focus on people’s mouths when they’re speaking, like I’m reading the words as they’re spoken. I’m sure it’s discomfiting, so I make an specific effort to meet their eyes often. Can’t do that if they’re not meeting yours, though. I put a damn crick in my neck trying to keep a sightline established. I’m surprised I didn’t choke on my cheeseburger.

Don’t think I’ll be having lunch with Spaz the Bobblehead again anytime soon; it was exhausting, and I don’t want to work that hard over a casual meal.

In other Business news, my boss and I were discussing Dubious Abilities, like being the best assassin, or the fastest thief. You can take pride in it because you’re the best, but you can’t really brag about it because it’s “not polite” or “illegal.” I’m sure there are certain circles in which you’d receive your due acknowledgement, but it kind of kills the chit-chat before the church service starts. “Oh me? I perfected a method of cheating the house in Roulette. What’d you do this week?”

Someone doesn't watch the Discovery Channel

Now that I'm working at a sign company, I've become hyperaware of the signage different businesses use, particularly on their vehicles. I saw a truck the other day that had a zebra stripe pattern printed down the sides. On the back was their company motto: We Stand Out.

Nevermind the fact that the stripes on zebras help them blend together into one amorphous mass to confuse predators, which is the diametrical opposite of "standing out."

In a perfect world, I could go to these people and tell them exactly where they went wrong between concept and execution, at which point they'd smack their forehead comically, say "Oh my gosh you're right!", and give me a big check.

I don't expect that to happen anytime soon.

Fear Not

I am still alive, dear readers. The heat and the economy have conspired to dampen my enthusiasm for keeping the blog updated, but I've got stuff percolating.

To be continued...

The Dead Pool

Ed McMahon

Farrah Fawcett

Michael Jackson

Billy Mays

Yet Amy Winehouse still lives.

I think the whole "shuffling off this mortal coil" system is broken, but I don't know who to complain to.

Competing Statistics

The majority of Americans are overweight.

The majority of Americans are unhappy.

Shouldn't we be getting jollier?

Too much effort

It's absolutely amazing how much garbage six people generate every day. I'm glad we don't recycle; it'd be a pain in the ass to sort through all that.