The Auxiliary Generator Runs On Yule Logs

First, a quick update to yesterday's column. I've discovered that, this week, the Social Security Administration has reversed its decision in two of the four communities mentioned yesterday. Again, without explanation or comment. Doesn't change the essentials of what I wrote, though. They're still being fucks.

For those of you wondering if the column might do what so many other daily content items do, and play nice for the holidays, fuck no. This is not a place for happy notes to friends, family, and a small but still asonishingly-burgeoning readership. This is where I hate stuff. I reserve the happy thoughts and nice sentiments for my actual day-to-day life. But since it IS the last day before Christmas, it does feel like this would be a good time to issue a memo to America's Lighted Decoration Whores: YOU ARE DUMB.

Let's get our terms established right off the bat, so that people with a couple of motorized Rudolphs in their yard don't get pissed off and consider, then fail to follow through on, sending me nasty e-mail. There is a line, a sharp dividing line, between People With Decorations and Fucking Asshole Lightwhores. And you cross that line the first time you get a big Christmas erection from passersby slowing or stopping their cars to gawk at your lawn.

That is the point at which you have given in to the dark side. When you have gone from celebrating to showing off. Because once you've gotten that little taste of undeserved, purchased fame, you will not stop. You will add more and more glowing crap to your house, not to honor Jesus or celebrate "I Don't Believe In God, And Neither Will You After You See How Ugly The Sweater I Got You Is Day", you're doing it to be noticed.

Check your fucking ego at the door, people. All you've done is spend a lot of money. Hell, not only are some people spending wads on the lights, they're HIRING PROFESSIONALS to set up the displays for them. These are the people who want to make the tax cuts permanent - fuckers who have enough money to pay people to decorate their yards for them. For fuck's sake, Hanukkah is the Festival of Lights, and it doesn't have this many lights.

There is no "art" involved in these big displays. If your decorations are big enough to be seen from orbit, you are not some kind of creative genius. When Christo covers trees more discriminately than you do, it's time to take a step back and realize your life is a lie. When you've put up your fourth Nativity display, complete with glowing baby Jesus and animatronic donkeys, you've moved beyond theology and into pathology. And don't try to justify it to the media, either, or you come off sounding like a prick. ACTUAL QUOTE TIME!

"To see the little kids -- their eyes are this big. They're wowed by all the lights and color. And not just kids. We like the buses from nursing homes, too." - Dave Maetzold, who lives in Edina. Anybody from the Twin Cities will be saying "OF COURSE HE DOES" at this point. For those of you in other locales, your community, I'm sure, also has a suburb where all the rich white pricks live. Just substute that for "Edina". Yes, Dave. You're helping the little children by burning up all their resources so you can wave your giant Christmas dick for all the world to see. And just to make crystal clear that I am not being unfair to Rich White Edina Asshole Dave, let's hear from his wife.

"I held the flashlight once, but he's got this pride thing." - Sharon Maetzold, who was NOT IN ANY WAY describing their sex life. The local paper also mentiones that Dave, doing all the work himself, frequently says "I've got my best man on the job.", which puts him in the running for Most Punchable Man of 2004.

The rest of you need to stop enabling these fucks. That means not bundling the kids into the Ford Explorer and puttering around the suburbs at five miles an hour. That means not bringing a list and maps to all the local lightwhores. That means not PUBLISHING a list of all the local lightwhores. That extends to not interviewing them or putting them in the paper. Starve the ego, kill the beast.

Christmas lights will not go away if you do this. The people who do not put up lights just to attract an audience will keep putting lights up. All that we'll do is force the stupid show-offs to find another means to the attention they desperately crave. Preferably a means that doesn't cause epileptic seizures, rolling brownouts, and plane crashes.

Merry Christmas, assholes!

O Come On, ll Ye Faithful

Memo to Holiday Fundamentalists: FUCK OFF.

You people pull this shit every year, but you used to at least be a bit muted about it. Going on TV and moping about how the Christ has been taken out of Christmas. But this year you're getting downright nasty, and you need to get the fuck over it.

There is no vast liberal secular conspiracy to oppress, repress, and persecute you and take your holiday away. Just like John Kerry wasn't going to ban the bible, just like the gays aren't going to sneak in during the night like well-dressed ninjas and turn you gay in your sleep. We're not that organized. I wish we were. It's getting to the point where I think you people could use a short bout of persecution. You know, like a week's worth. Just to remind you what it's like.

Since I can't do that, allow me to provide you with a few simple guidelines, in case you're sitting around the house wondering if you're being persecuted:

Being asked to share: NOT PERSECUTION. Even being forced to share: NOT PERSECUTION. Not holding ultimate domain over every aspect of December: NOT PERSECUTION. Having a tiny fraction of your influence eroded by time and society: NOT PERSECUTION. Being kept from getting every little last thing your Jesus-humping hearts secretly desire: NOT PERSECUTION.

Just because one day of the season is named after Jesus does not make it all yours. And if you have a problem with that, tough shit, because it's YOUR FAULT in the first place. It's your fault for horning in on the solstice, for starters. There were winter holidays before you came around, but if there's one thing you've kept constant for two-plus thousand years, it's that you hate competition. So you counterprogrammed the Solstice with Christmas, grabbed all the market share, stuck angels on top of the trees, and called it yours. But you weren't there first, and you've established a precedent, haven't you?

And second, it's your fault because you're the only religion to get not ONE, but TWO of your holy days declared as national, governmentally recognized holidays. Veteran's Day, President's Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day, MLK, those are all national days for national history, but Christmas and Easter are yours, and you made them America's. Guess which two holidays are the most secularized, with Santas and bunnies instead of Jesuses and More Jesuses? Think that's a coincidence? You give the whole country the day off to celebrate, and even the ones who don't believe in Christ are gonna have a party.

The right's current echo-chamber bitch-fest includes retail stores changing greetings from "Merry Christmas" to "Happy Holidays", and this is described as the Moral Apocalypse engineered by the Jews, the Liberals, and the Jew Liberal Secular Humanist Atheists. Who they SHOULD be blaming is their beloved capitalism. The invisible hand makes more money giving invisible hand-jobs to all god's children than it does just the Jesus-fans. So the stores, wanting money from Muslims and Buddhists and Jews and secular atheists who still celebrate Christmas because we like having days off and giving our friends stuff, tell us "Happy Holidays" because that covers Christmas and Kwanzaa and Hanukkah and "Hey, There's No God, But Here's A Waffle Iron Anyway!"* That's the free market for you.

They're pursuing PROFIT, you thick fucks, not some dark agenda. So once again, the people actually responsible are going after their opponents for shit we didn't do. That they DID do. Because they can't stand not being allowed in a "holiday parade" that hasn't had religious floats in it ever before. Because they think it's Satan's work when Target decides to stop making an exception for the Salvation "We'll Fire You If You're Gay" Army in its no-solicitations policy. "Oh no, we don't have our special privileges anymore, and have to operate on the same level as everyone else! We're being PERSECUTED!"

Bill O'Reilly is complaining of an "anti-Christian jihad" JIHAD. Bill O'Reilly masturbates on the phone using his extensive vibrator collection! He's got so many sins Jesus would have to come back about two dozen times just to die for them all. The poster child for creepy self-abuse is going to say who's anti-Christian? The Falafel-Fucker is going to cast the first stone?

The lessons of kindergarten are lost on these people. So fuck 'em. If they can't share their toys, maybe we SHOULD be taking them away from 'em.

*You don't expect atheists to have decent holiday names, do you? No practice.

Fa La La La La, La La La SUCK.

Memo to Christmas: GET BETTER MUSIC.

Or stop getting worse music. Whatever. Just bring the overall average up, is what I'm asking. I don't have anything against Christmas music in principle, as a concept, but the genre has certain limitations and problems that can be summed up in a few short words:

NOBODY NEEDS TO HEAR JESSICA SIMPSON SING "THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY".

Pop stars should not, under any circumstances, record Christmas albums. Period. A pop star belting out a Christmas classic is the worst kind of Christmas music there is. For one thing, it's a blatant money grab. Want to keep those ASCAP royalty checks rolling in long after you're a forgotten punchline on a VH1 retro special? Make a Christmas album, and from that point on, in-store music systems will keep your crap in rotation three months a year, and you'll be able to afford canned pork-n-beans until Bands Reunited gets around to you.

And unless and until you've invented an entirely new musical genre, there isn't a single goddamn thing you can do to The Little Drummer Boy that hasn't already been done. The thing's been covered by more celebrities than Paris Hilton has. Your parumpapumpum isn't any different from anyone else's so stop shoving your parumpapumpum in our collective faces.

While we're on the subject, STOP COVERING JINGLE BELL ROCK, for fucksake. How is that ever a good idea? The original is a piece of shit, a relic of the 50's where old people tried to make a Christmas song with the new hip "rock" sound. Even for 47 years ago, it was safe and tame and stupid, and more importantly, does NOT translate well to other genres, so CUT IT THE FUCK OUT.This means you, Hilary Duff. You're directly responsible for at least one of the nine ruptured eardrums I've suffered this holiday season to date, and don't think I'll forget it.

The only Christmas music worse than pop stars covering the classics is a pop star writing a new Christmas song. The only good thing about them is that when they inevitably suck, there's something new to make fun of. Even the suppposedly "good" ones of the past few decades eventually grate. By December 23, I, for one, am ready to track down the now grown members of that children's chorus from the John Lennon song and deck them in the balls. If I want to hear screeching children belting out barely-coherent holiday lyrics, well, that's why we keep Hilary Duff around.

The only Christmas music worse than new pop Christmas songs are Christmas novelty songs. Especially that fetid pile of elf-turds better known as "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer". Few things in this life are sadder than watching the people behind a borderline-clever novelty moment from 20 years ago and try to cling to fame by turning the song into a cottage industry, complete with animated special. The song ls like the Zeno's Paradox of comedy. Each time you hear it, it's half as funny as the last time, yet no matter how much time passes, it NEVER GOES AWAY.

The only Christmas music worse than "Grandma..." et al are Christmas commercial jingles. You can take your low, low prices, and the version of Winter Wonderland you've set them to, and shove them up your wreath-hole. Jingles like that constitute criminal abuse of studio musicians, and should be outlawed as a result.

The thing about Christmas music is, only about 10% of it gets listened to by choice. The other ninety percent starts infiltrating the public space in mid-November, seeping like an oil spill into every nook, cranny, and baby seal, strangling the musical ecosystem. Change the channel, and you'll hear some of it. Wake up to the radio, and you'll hear it. Go to fill up your tank, it's piped over the pumps. Go to work, and some shithead's gotten a Flash animated Christmas card and is playing it over and over, as loud as they can. And, of course, there's every retail and service establishment in the country.

If you have a Christmas ringtone, by the way, FUCK YOU. You are part of the problem.

We can't escape it, and they keep making it shittier. It's like politics, only with an antler hat on.

The YAD Holiday Gift Guide!

Memo to Christmas shoppers: YOU ARE DUMB.

But I'm here to help. Really. Next to laughing at them, helping stupid people is what I love best. And since YAD is, ostensibly, a sort of publication, and since all publications, ostensible or otherwise, do themed gift guides around this time of year, I figure, why fight the tide? I warn you, I will be delving a bit more into theory than practice, but if you're wondering what to get that Bush-voting idiot relative you hate but are stuck with in your life, I can't recommend highly enough the "Blue Collar Comics Ride Again" DVD.

Normally, I wouldn't support giving money to people who, like Larry the Cable Guy, have built entire careers on three words, one of which technically isn't a word. But in the case of your family's token dittohead, the Blue Collar Comics are a can't miss gift. First, there's an excellent chance they'll like it, because they're stupid. And if they hate it, then you've made them suffer in a way that allows for COMPLETE plausible deniability. And there's even a slim chance that, if they already own the first one, they'll watch the second one, compare the two, realize they're the same, realize that their life is a lie, and move to Berkeley.

Now, on to theory. When you have no idea what to get someone, you generally have two options. A gift card, or a sweater. Allow me to translate these two gifts into English to better help you decide which is the most appropriate:

GIFT CARD: I don't know you, or know anything about you, but circumstances or genetics have obligated me to buy you something. So here. Go to the store and get something you'd like.

SWEATER: I don't know you, or know anything about you, but circumstances or genetics have obligated me to buy you something. So I went to Target and grabbed the ugliest thing I could find. Fuck off. I lost the gift receipt, so if you want to exchange it, you'll have to wait in a long line and argue with people before buying something you like with another fifteen bucks of your own money.

---

If you're shopping for children, especially children who are not your own, initiative is not your friend. If you've been informed that your nephew "likes the Yu Gi Oh", when you hit that crowded Toy Aisle of the Damned, don't think, don't plan, just grab the Yu Gi Oh stuff and get the hell out. This is not the time to recall fondly what you enjoyed as a child and get that instead. This is not the time to balk at the "crazy hairstyles" or "scary monsters" and find something else in the educational aisle. All you will do is convince yet another generation that older people cannot be trusted.

---

We move on now to the topic of gadgets. Usually kitchen gadgets. Here's a handy rule of thumb for people contemplating the purchase of any item that plugs into the wall. If you see it advertised in December, and do not see it advertised the other eleven months of the year, DO NOT FUCKING BUY IT FOR ANYONE.

If it's only advertised in December, that means it's only meant to be bought as a gift. If it's only meant to be bought as a gift, it means it can only survive if the people who pay for it never see it, touch it, or use it. Ergo, it's something that nobody would ever buy for themselves. And the reason nobody would ever buy it for themselves is because it's the size of a small dog and comes in handy once every decade.

If you know someone who is such a frozen pizza fiend that a collie-sized, electric, rotating frozen pizza cooker would actually save them time and improve their lives, guess what? They already own one. Thanks to the Internet, they're able to keep up with all the latest developments in the frozen pizza reheating scene, and the Pizzazz was discussed in painstaking detail on frozen pizza lover message boards in the months leading up to its release, at which point everyone on the frozen pizza lovers message board went out and bought one and discussed how well it interacted with the various national and regional brands of frozen pizza. Those who didn't buy one on the day of the release talked about how great it sounded and how they couldn't wait until they could get one of their own so they could be free of the horrible burden of the OVEN.

That's usually the point at which the sausage and pepperoni factions explode into a huge flame war, but that's not really germane to the theories behind successful gift-giving.

Spastic Topic Monkey Goes To Washington Friday

The Topic Monkey got into the Halloween candy last night, which wouldn't have been so bad, but the Halloween Candy was chocolate-covered espresso beans sprinkled with a fairy-dusting of crystal meth. Gets the little bastards to the next house really fast.

Memo to everyone, what with Halloween actually upon us. DON'T DRESS UP YOUR PETS. They're ANIMALS. They don't know shit about Halloween. They want to be fed, they want to have a place to take a whizz, they want their heads petted, maybe chase something. They don't know what a fairy princess is, or why they look like one, or what that crap is on their head, or why you're laughing.

If you want to make your pet look ridiculous, that's why God made Photoshop.

---

And speaking of shitty costumes... "Azzam The American"? AZZAM THE AMERICAN? If you don't know, ABC and FOX have been running an as-yet unauthenticated tape that appears to be the Star Wars Kid from the Internet with a Pizza Hut tablecloth on his head, saying he's an American Al Qaeda operative, that we're all gonna die, and mentioning, among other things, Bill Maher, the Massachussets gay marriage ruling, the 9/11 commission, and the "defiling of our lovely falafel by that O'Reilly infidel". I may have made that last one up.

The CIA, while not authenticating the tape, said it bore "all the hallmarks" of an Al Qaeda production, including "being on videotape", "Arabic letters on the screen", and "guy in a headdress threatening America and saying he was from Al Qaeda". Come on, people. Pretty soon, Azzam The American will be what parents use to scare their kids. "If you're not good, Azzam the American will come to your bedroom and your sheets will run red with blood!"

---

And speaking of our favorite falafel fetishist, O'Reilly The Superfreak settled out of court with Andrea Mackris. I'm both pleased and disappointed. Disappointed because, under the terms of the settlement, we'll never get to hear the tapes we all know she had, plus the settlement includes both parties agreeing that "no wrongdoing" took place, so O'Reilly can fall back on that for the rest of his life. But I'm pleased, because the man who said "I'm going to take a stand. I'm a big mouth on the air and I'm a big mouth off the air." a few weeks ago is now saying "I will never speak of it again." Which, when translated into English, means "I did it, she had tapes, I paid her off."

By avoiding a messy court battle, O'Reilly knows that his story will soon be forgotten. He should know, he's on the front lines of determining which stories stick and which ones get forgotten. In the interests of comedy, however, I urge all my readers to mention the whole falafel thing any time Bill O'Reily comes up in conversation from now on. It's the least we can do for a man who's given us so much.

---

And speaking of "the least one can do", George W. Bush has now described John Kerry as "the wrong man for the wrong job at the wrong time". It's meant to be a play on Kerry's Iraq war statements, but the more I look at it, the less I'm able to parse it. Is Bush saying the Presidency is the "wrong job"? And how can he say it's the "wrong time"? November is when we have these things, George. Every four years.

It's a triple negative, which means it's still negative, but if you discount the "wrong job" part for making no fucking sense, then it's a DOUBLE negative, which makes it a positive, but then you have to discount the "wrong time" part for not making a lot of fucking sense, and then it's a single negative, but then you have to discount Bush entirely for being El Fucktardo Primero, so you're back to square one. The grammar of the politics of the rhetoric of politics can be oh so very confusing.

No Stupid "Mourning" Puns

Happy National Day of Mourning, everyone! I sure hope I can get to the mall before the Day of Mourning Sales are over.

Oh, wait. National days of mourning are fucking stupid. Never mind.

It's not even necessarily that it's Reagan. I understand there are a lot of people, especially people with money and power, that practically worship our newest corpse-in-chief. That's fine. And for these people, these Reagan conservatives, NOTHING is too good for Reagan. Not processions, not ritual, not getting his smiling face on whatever they can manage.

Well, OK. Stem cell research that might have made his last years less of a living hell, THAT was too good for him, but then them's the price you pay when you cozy up to Jerry Falwell in the 80's to get your job. Oh, sure, Nancy can ask all she wants for the embryonic stem cells, but the fundie monster Ron helped create is running science now. The irony is palpable. I mean, the closest I could come to an analogy is if, say, a whole bunch of our problems right now were caused by a group of nutjobs in some country that Ronnie funded and armed because they were fighting the Soviet Un.... oh. Wait. Shit.

But aside from it being Reagan, why we need an official day of mourning six whole days after Reagan died is beyond me. It's 2004, folks. I'm sorry, but we all live faster now. Even the Amish had heard and mourned and were done with the whole thing by Wednesday noon. Give us some credit. Many of us have high speed Internet access at home, work, or our local libraries.

At this point, we should have had a National Hour-Forty-Five of Mourning. Let's say on Tuesday, 8:15 a.m. to 10:00 a.m., Eastern Standard Time, tape delayed for the Pacific. Mountain time, check your local listings. That would have covered it. It's not as if all those people had to walk past the casket. Please. 80% of those fuckers were doing it just so they could say they did. Of the 20% who had some kind of valid connection to Reagan, at least half of those could have been weeded out by some fair, egalitarian process. Get Katherine Harris on that job, come to think of it.

We have things called cameras. We can even use the hi-def ones. Rent out some theaters. People can walk past the screen of their local Multiplex. Touch the screen, get some nachos, make a morning of it. What do you think, you're gonna be able to smell him in the rotunda or something? If you sense the faint reek of death and decay, odds are it's coming from the sweaty bastard behind you. STAY HOME.

I mean, if I were... someone completely different, I could totally justify walking past the casket. I mean, back in '84, the school band I was in played for a Reagan re-election rally in Rochester, NY. I was in the SAME ARENA as Reagan. We shared a deep personal connection. I helped, in some small way, to get him re-elected*. I could totally get away with going and pay my respects. But I'm not a self-obsessed dickhead with an overactive thyroid**.

Some of you may be asking, at this moment, "Who are YOU to judge how other people grieve?" I say this, because there are now a whole bunch of new people reading the site. I'd like to extend a hale and hearty YAD welcome to the Barony of Nordskogen and all you sick fucks googling your hearts out for every last detail of the Heemeyer Granby Armored Bulldozer Rampage. Anyway, for future reference, judging is kinda what I do around here. At least, whenever I see something DUMB.

* For those wondering, yes, I did throw up, just a little, in my mouth as I typed that.

** The thyroid's the one that makes you all maudlin and melodramatic, right? Whatever.

Wascally Wabbit

Memo to the Easter Bunny: YOU HAD IT COMING.

I mean, I understand why some people may choose to follow the deviant lifestyle of a pagan fertility symbol. I don't APPROVE of it, but I don't appreciate you calling me lupophobic. I love all the animals equally, even the sick freaks who "hide their eggs", "hop down the bunny trail", and engage in other perverted activities behind closed doors.

But if you keep flaunting it in the faces of good, kind, normal people who just want to celebrate the torture and murder of a 2,000 year old guy with a beard, well, don't think there aren't going to be repercussions. I mean, I'm not saying I condone the horrific act of violence that occurred in Pennsylvania. I'm just saying I understand how it could have happened.

Sure, it may have seemed, on the surface, to be a friendly little Easter play in the friendly little Glassport, PA's friendly little memorial stadium. But then it turned ugly, as the Easter Bunny was flogged, eggs were broken, and children were traumatized by a church who simply wanted to get across the vitally important theological message that a man suffered horribly for days just so you could get jellybeans and plastic grass.

They whipped the Easter Bunny. In front of four-year-old kids. That kills me. So do the various headlines: "Easter Bunny's torture scenes upset children." Gee, can't imagine why. "Easter play makes point, but upsets kids." That's a surprisingly kind headline for a play that also featured a drunken man and self-mutilating woman. Still, it's entirely possible that this play wasn't meant to be offensive.

And in fact, Patty Bickerton, the youth minister in the bunny suit who does not in any way shape or form get sexually excited by dressing up in a bunny suit, being whipped, and having eggs broken over her head, told the AP that in fact, the play wasn't meant to be offensive.

Glad that's cleared up.

Once again, by the way, I'm confronted with the kind of thing we atheists simply would not pull. This is partly because we don't have an excuse to meet every week and plan stuff out, but even if we did get together to watch Nova or something, I can guarantee we wouldn't hatch diabolical plans. You won't find atheists sitting on a street corner around Hanukkah, under a giant FREE DREIDLES sign, setting tiny yarmulkes on fire and explaining the combustion properties of oil. For one thing, that's mean. And for another, it's frickin' cold in December.

I'm also a bit confused about how you can have an Assembly of God in the first place, since supposedly there's only one of him, and he's everywhere, and he knows everything, and he doesn't need to be instructed on proper hallway behavior between classes, which is what I always thought assemblies were for.

All I know is, there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere near the Bunny Pride Parade next year.

St. Patrick

Memo to St. Patrick: fuck you, and the day you rode in on. YOU'RE DUMB.

I mean, there are a lot of weak-ass holidays out there, but St. Patrick's Day has turned into the worst of the bunch. A full day of ethnic caricatures, psychotic traditions, and culturally-sanctioned alcoholism, and we don't even get it off from work.

Who's responsible for the "wearing at least one green item of clothing" tradition? Let's find him and stab him in the face with a fork. And whoever tacked on PENALTIES for not doing so to the tradition gets the same fork, but in the genitals. I really hope it's not the same guy, cause if it is, he's in for a world of hurt.

But then, that seems to be what the holiday is for. Taking shit that is normally not green, and then rendering it in green form. It's like the entire nation Hulks out on March 17, only to throw its backpack over its shoulder on March 18 and hitchhike on to the next town as a mournful piano plays in the background.

Green clothes. Green beer. Green milkshakes. Green Hostess Sno-Balls. At least when Bruce Banner turns green, he breaks a bunch of shit that needs breaking. The only things that get destroyed on St. Patrick's Day are brain cells.

I mean, if you're actually Irish, or Irish-American, go ahead. Celebrate your island's herpetelogical ethnic cleansing however the hell you want. But the rest of you shamrock-toting asswipes better stay out of it. You know who you are.

If I overheard you expressing the sentiment that "Everyone's Irish", you're ON THE LIST. If you've brought out your only Proclaimers album for it's once-a-year playing, you're ON THE LIST. If you even think about doing a jig within a five mile radius of my person... ON THE LIST.

And if you're ON THE LIST, my revenge will be complete come Arbor Day. 'Cause I'm gonna go around pouring maple syrup over my head, with branches shoved up my sleeves, kicking people in the shins who didn't wear brown. EVERYBODY'S A TREE ON ARBOR DAY, MOTHERFUCKERS. Get in line or get kicked. That's how it's gonna go down. Maybe then you'll see how DUMB you are.

The Forces Of Regression

Memo to the forces of regression: YOU ARE DUMB.

It's two thousand and four. I mean, I know you've noticed, because you're writing "'04" on your checks, but have you actually noticed? Three years AFTER 2001. Twenty years AFTER 1984. We're supposed to be better now. Wiser. Smarter. Flying around in jetpacks or something. But we're not. And I've become convinced it's because of forces of regression. A bunch of dumb sonsabitches who are dragging their feet on the march to THE FUTURE. And I'm callin' em out.

Michael Powell, chairman of the FCC: It is not 1962. You do not need to protect us from a tit. Or the F-bomb. We do not need a full-scale investigation into a Super Bowl halftime show while the administration is getting away with shit that makes Nixon weep for being born 30 years too soon. Go back to your office, try to keep the beaver shots on Teletubbies below, say, five a year, consider protecting the public airwaves by keeping them vaguely public, and GET OUT OF THE WAY.

Groundhog Day: Can we stop, now? We've got weather.com, we've got satellites. Right now, even as we speak, there are a couple of tiny, remote controlled buggies tooling around on the surface of Mars, sending us back three-dimensional stereoscopic pictures of another planet. Yet people are still wasting time and energy watching a rat in Pennsylvania for its meteorological insights. The people of Punxsutawney have ridden this freakish ancient superstitious gravy train for too long, now. They're cut off.

Georgia: And speaking of tradition ruining things for the rest of us. Georgia wants to stop using the word "evolution" in schools. Consider this a warning shot across the bow of creationists, who may be the dumbest people on earth: you're gonna show up here a lot.

Creationists are like vile, oozing, black-hearted little idiot savants, who can somehow manage to finagle school boards and politicians into doing their bidding, come up with cute names like "intelligent design theory", all while firmly believing that the earth is only six thousand years old and an invisible man in the sky put all the fossils under Arizona.

And they don't even have an ulterior motive. It's not like, say, certain monkeys in power denying global warming because if they do anything about it, it'll piss off all their friends and wipe out their bank accounts. No. The creationists do all this because, if they don't, a few thousand repeatedly translated words in a millenia-old book written by dozens of people back when writing stuff down was NEW AND TRENDY might not be 100% accurate.

I say we eat 'em. I know cannibalism is a big taboo these days. Thanks to Michael Powell's new scrutiny, they've had to scrap the big cannibalism performance from next year's Super Bowl. But creationists are like a giant, inbred roadblock between us and Utopia. And with all the groundhogs and boobfear holding us back too, we're gonna need a lot of energy to push forward. So let's eat all the creationists. They're probably even low-carb.