I did it! I really, really did it!

So, it’s been a while. How you doin’?

It usually takes me an inordinate amount of time to write a blog entry: thinking of a timely topic, trying to put my particular spin on said topic, finding funny yet relevant pictures, making sure I don’t include too many “Hitler” or “fart” jokes…it just burns up a lot of time. Hence no updates in…what, a couple of years? Yikes.

To streamline things a bit, I’ve decided to kill two birds with one stone by writing my entries while walking on the treadmill. Because there’s nothing to look at in the gym except my co-workers jumping around like idiots to the latest exercise video, and that’s just too damn traumatizing for everyone involved. But mostly me. Which is what I care about.

So without further ado, here’s today’s short, non-illustrated, non-topical blog entry:

Fifteen Phrases You’ll Never Read in a Movie Review

15. Matt Damon’s innate intelligence shines through.

14. This film firmly establishes Tobey Maguire and Elijah Wood as the new Schwarzenegger and Stallone.

13. Judd Apatow’s “Miracle on 34th Street” reminds us of everything that’s pure and sacred about the holiday season.

12. Shaquille O’Neal inhabits the role of Hamlet like no one since Sir Laurence Olivier.

11. Rene Zellweger smolders.

10. Michael Cera is a revelation.

9. Gwyneth Paltrow is not annoying at all. Seriously.

8. Kristen Stewart is laugh-out-loud funny.

7. M. Night Shyamalan’s latest triumph.

6. Nic Cage totally didn’t take this role because he needed the money.

5. Jackie Chan brings a real sense of authority and gravitas to the role of Christ.

4. Michael Bay’s Pride and Prejudice is a masterpiece of subtle direction.

3. Keanu Reeves is Gandhi.

2. Lucy Liu proves once again that she is her generation’s Meryl Streep.

1. Niki Minaj will make you believe that an otter can fly.

New Feature: The Whitebread Letterhead!

So, I’m back!  More or less.  Just don’t expect sparkling wit and perceptive social commentary every day.  I’m still working full time, helping the loverly and talented Mrs. Whitebread raise our three chillins, and trying to write stuff that pays (as opposed to blog entries).  Basically, you’re my bottom priority.  There.  I said it, and I stand by it.  Sorry for any hurt feelings.  I’ll just tell you what dear old dad used to tell me when I whined: “Suck it up, Pedro!  Life’s tough!”  No idea why he called me “Pedro.”

Today’s entry is a copy of The Whitebread Letterhead, the official newsletter of my alter ego, The Amazing Whitebread.  I hope you like it, because they’re much easier to write than a “real” entry and I plan on posting them fairly frequently.

Best wishes and love to my #4 priority: you.  xoxoxo

Stephen King: Murderer. Oh, and the Years 600-900 Never Happened.

So, here’s the continuation of my 9 favorite-est conspiracy theories:

7. Stephen King shot John Lennon

As everyone knows, a lone drifter named Mark David Chapman shot and killed John Lennon on December 8, 1980.  Right? 

WRONG, SUCKERS! 

 

 

 

"You are so stoo-ped."

According to Steve Lightfoot, whose rambling, borderline incoherent website  www.lennonmurdertruth.com doesn’t make him sound the least bit insane, Lennon was “politically assassinated” by “Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan and, you’d better sit down, horror novelist Stephen King.” 

 Lightfoot’s proof?  Well, first there are the “bold print headline government codes” appearing in Time, Newsweek, and U.S. News and World Report magazines around the time of the murder.  Lightfoot points out “coded headlines” like, “Thinking About John Lennon…Johnny Comes Marching Home…Kiss, Kiss, Bang, Bang, Ouch, Ouch…The Job Richard Nixon Really Wanted…Blasting the Opposition…America Needs A Poet Laureate…Maybe…Heeding Those Subtle Signs…Magazine Maze…All the Presidents Magazines…” and says they “plug into John Lennon’s assassination with up to 70% accuracy at times.”

 

 

 

Where's Robert Langdon when you need him?

 

I know, I know, that should be enough proof for any logical human being.  But wait, there’s more!  How about the fact that Stephen King looks kinda sort almost like Chapman if you squint and the light’s low and you’re comparing grainy, 30 year old pictures?

 

 

 

On the right...Lennon and Chapman, hours before the shooting. On the left...Stephen King. Conclusion: Incontrovertable proof...that cameras in the 70's sucked.

 According to Lightfoot, the caption “One Great Big Zippo Lighter,” which was a reference to Firestarter, the book King was publicizing at the time, “means fire and movement, and a man at night with a gun ablaze, crouched in a raincoat looks like a great big cigarette lighter. Subtle but dramatic codes.”

  

 

"I sense you're trying to tell me something....but what? Too subtle, my friend. Too subtle."

While dating a crazy chick just drives most men to drink and, in their darkest hours, contemplate monasticism, it led little Stevie Lightfoot straight into the arms of a dark government conspiracy: “[When] John Lennon was assassinated and I knew, instinctively, that the story about a lone drifter was government, media hogwash, that huge players were behind his murder and that America and all the people of the world had just been victimized by evil bastards.  Like most of you I assumed they would not leave evidence, the government rarely does, but when there was no trial for the alleged gunman, Mark Chapman, I knew, almost for certain, that, indeed, the government killed John Lennon.  He was the hottest political firebrand to threaten the establishment since Ghandi and possibly Jesus Christ, himself.”  (Or, according to Lennon, bigger than Jesus Christ himself.)

"He said what? Oh, no. No he dih-ent."

 

So what could make an otherwise normal (up until the death of Lennon) young man go so completely ass-burgers?  I think we all know, at least the guys do, but I’ll let him tell you in his own words anyway: “I met a young woman at the time who proved to be quite the traumatized liar. When we met she gave me a phony name and past and lived with me for a short time. Many melodramatic events, a breakup and over a year later I would find out her real name, past etc.  This experience made me different from most of you because I was no longer naive about liars or lies. I knew, intimately, how convincing they could be.

I get the feeling that when you say "woman," this is what pops into Lightfoot's head.

Lightfoot took his findings to a priest (He probably left out the whole “Lennon is as important as Jesus Christ” part.), who “…advised me to use an alias and rubber gloves for a while.”  Good lord…was he a crackpot or a cat burglar?  Maybe the priest told him to find a rubber room and Lightfoot just misunderstood.

Finally, let me leave you with the one piece of genuine wisdom and insight I gleaned from Lightfoot’s website: “No wonder America is in such shambles. New York City is out of control and disconnected, living under…Yoko Ono’s evil spell.” 

I can never tell if she's sining, or there's just a cat eating a baby somewhere nearby.

Amen, brother.  A-freakin’-men. 

6. The Phantom Time Hypothesis

The Phantom time hypothesis is the theory that there has been an intentional effort to make it appear that the period of the Early Middle Ages (614 – 911) existed when, in fact, they did not.  This hypothesis was originally proposed by Heribert Illig in 1991.  Illig theorized that the Early Middle Ages were “faked” using alteration, misrepresentation, and forgery of documentary and physical evidence.

LIES! ALL LIIIIIES!!!!

So what would make an otherwise intelligent person believe that, instead of 2011, we’re now living in the year 1714?  OK, try to follow me here:

The calendar we currently used is known as the Gregorian Calendar, and was introduced by Pope Gregory in 1582.  The previous calendar, the Julian Calendar, was introduced by Julius Caesar, and contained a miscalculation that made the year 10.8 minutes too long (when compared to actual, or astronomical solar time).  This means that, in the time between the introduction of the Julian Calendar and its replacement by the Gregorian Calendar, we should have gained 13 days that weren’t really there.  Therefore, when the Gregorian Calendar was introduced, historians should have “set the clock back” by 13 days.  For example, if the Gregorian Calendar was introduced on July 14, 1582 (Julian Calendar time), the first day of Gregorian time should have been set back to July 1, 1582.   

Got that? Good...now explain it to me.

 The snag came in when the Pope Gregory’s astronomers and mathematicians took all their astronomical readings and observations and calculations and discovered the calendar really only needed to be adjusted by 10 days.  From this, Illig reasoned thusly:

A.      There’s a three-day difference between the calendar time and astronomical time. 

B.      Gaining 10.8 minutes per year, those missing 3 days should have taken approximately 300 years to accumulate.

C.      Since the three days aren’t there, that means 300 fewer years passed between Pope Gregory and Julius Caesar that previously thought.

Therefore, the entire Carolingian period, including the person of Charles the Great/Charlemagne himself, one of the most famous figures in history, is a forgery of medieval chroniclers.

Which brings us to the important question of “Why?”  According to Illig, emperor Otto III decided he wanted to be “Jesus Christ’s representative on earth at the dawn of the 7^th millennium (6,000 years after creation, according to estimates of the creation year, the subject of which could take up an entire post of its own.  To do so, he had to be emperor in the year 1,000.  Setting the year back by three centuries would have screwed the pooch on his millennial plans real good, so instead of redating the world, he just fudged a little bit.  

"Hey! Everybody come look! I'm Christ's representative on Earth at the dawn of the 7th millenium! Ted, Bob, come look!"

Sounds logical, right?  (The 3 day/300 year thing, not faking three centuries to line up with your own personal religious beliefs.)  If only every scrap of scientific dating evidence, from radio carbon to forensic to astronomical, didn’t say Illig is full of crap, and we’re not really living in the 1700s. 

Which is sad, because I’ve always wanted to be a knight.

 

 

"NOW who's takin' Brenda to prom, Doug?"

Tomorrow:  White folks were created in a lab.  Plus, what, other than the entire middle ages, never happened?  That’s right: World War II.

REMINDER: Get the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! FREE just by writing me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and asking for it!

Reptiles and Nazis and UFO’s, oh my!

So, a lot of people think the world’s going to end next year.  Among those people, apparently, is George Lucas.

According to actor Seth Rogen, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg recently met with him regarding a movie, and Rogen reported that Lucas “sits down and seriously proceeds to talk for around 25 minutes about how he thinks the world is gonna end in the year 2012, like, for real.  He thinks it.  He’s going on about the tectonic plates and all the time Spielberg is, like, rolling his eyes, like, ’My nerdy friend won’t shut up, I’m sorry…”

Rogen then asked Lucas if he was building a spaceship to escape Earth’s destruction.  “He claimed he didn’t have a spaceship,” said Rogen, “but there’s no doubt there’s a Millennium Falcon in a garage somewhere with a pilot just waiting to go.  It’s gonna be him and Steven Spielberg and I’ll be blown up like the rest of us.”

Lucas: "We out, bitches!" Spielberg: "George, you so crazy."

I have a love/hate relationship with apocalypse and conspiracy theories.  On one hand, I usually can’t stand conspiracy theorists, especially ones that harp on important historical events that have been proven and reproven over and over again, like 9/11 “Truthers,” people who don’t think we really landed on the moon, etc.  However, I can’t get enough of the bizarre world of the truly insane conspiracists (Is that a word?  Well, it is now.)  Below are nine of my favorite theories and the people associated with them (in no particular order):

9. David Icke/The Reptoids

Some people believe the world is run by a secret cabal of powerful families known as “The Illuminati.”  Some believe shadowy religious sects are behind all the major events in world history.  Ex-BBC personality David Icke, however, really has it figured out.  It’s not the Rockefellers, it’s not Zemu and his wacky band of thetans: it’s the underground lizard people known as Reptoids (also: reptiloids or draconians).

Ickes contends that 5-12 foot tall, blood-drinking, shape-shifting reptilian humanoids from the Alpha Draconis star system are currently living in the Hollow Earth (See theory #8) and control most of the world.

So, the world is controlled by the Sleestaks from "Land of the Lost."

Among those who Ickes and his followers claim are Reptoids are the British Royal family, the Bush family, and pretty much every other important political and religious figure of the last 2,000 years or so.

Huh. Maybe he's onto something after all....

According to Icke, in an interview with The Spectrum in 1999, the Sleestaks intervened in the “Royal lines” of the Near and Middle East 5,000 years ago, creating alien/human hybrids. Per Ickes’ impeccable (I’m sure) research, William of Orange, “to whom every surviving Royal Family in Europe is related,” was one of these hybrids, and “[a]ccording to  Burke’s Peerage, the bible of Aristocratic and  Royal  genealogy  based in  London,  every  American election since and including  George Washington, in 1789, has been won  by the  candidate with the  most European Royal  genes. 33 of  the 42  are  genetically related  to two  people: Charlemagne  (King), the most  famous monarch of what  we call France, and Alfred  the  Great, the  King  of  England.”

So, what’s the proof that all the world’s major politicians and royals are really giant lizards in disguise?

Well for one thing, that's what happened in "V." That was a documentary, right?

No, his arguments were based on much more powerful evidence than an awesome 80’s miniseries: he knows there are lizard-people here because, you know, people have told him so.

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 1: Icke claims that he met a personal friend of Princess Diana named Christine Fitzgerald, who told him that Diana had told her that the Windsor family were “reptiles.”  “‘She used to say, in all seriousness, “They are NOT human!”‘”  Icke went on to say that “Christine Fitzgerald went on to tell me: ‘You know, the Windsors are a reptilian line, they’re not human.'”

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 2: Per Ickes, “I was in Vancouver, speaking, and I met about 4 or 5 people who told me the same story, including a business woman, who is a real feet-on-the-ground, you know, power-dressing kind of 5,000 clients business woman. And she said she had this  relationship with a guy who was Portuguese, and he just turned into a reptile in front of her.”

OK, really, who hasn’t had that happen?  I dated at least three girls who turned into reptiles in front of me before I met Wifebread.

This was actually my business card for a short period of time.

Anecdotal “Proof” No. 3:  Ickes claims that a woman named Cathy O’Brien, co-author of the book Trance-formation Of America…

Looks totally legit to me, and not at all like the kind of thing you'd sell out of the trunk of your car at a flea market. Nope. Not at all.

…told him that George Bush himself personally informed her “that they were an extraterrestrial race that came from a ‘far off space place’who’d taken over the world, and no one realized it because they look human. But, she said, he changed in  front of her into a reptile.”

Because that sounds EXACTLY like that kind of thing an ancient lizard-alien posing as a human and subsequently elected president of the United States would do: expose his race’s 5,000 year old secret to…this chick.

"I'm not crazy. I'M NOT CRAZY!!!!"

Finally, Ickes reassured his interviewer that, “…when I talk about reptilians, I am not talking about all reptilians.  I’m talking about a particular group. I’m sure the reptilian form is a massive constant across great chunks of this galaxy and beyond, and I’m certainly not saying that anyone in reptilian form-any time anyone sees anyone in reptilian form, and there are a lot of people who do-and say, ‘I didn’t get bad vibes from them.’  [B]ecause we’re not talking about ALL reptilians, we’re talking a group that appears to take a reptilian form because that’s how people keep seeing these people in power.”

That’s right, kids: not all reptillian aliens masquerading as humans are evil.  Just the ones named Bush….

The “fact” that these reptilliodians supposedly live within the Earth bumps against one of my other favorite theories:

8. Hollow Earth Theory

The Hollow Earth hypothesis proposes that the planet Earth is…well, hollow.  One of the first proponents of Hollow Earth was Edmond Halley.

Yeah, the comet guy.

In 1692, he proposed that the Earth consisted of a shell about 500 miles thick, two inner concentric shells, and an innermost core.   According to Halley, atmospheres separate these shells, each shell has its own magnetic poles, and the spheres rotate at different speeds. Halley proposed this scheme in order to explain anomalous compass readings.

"Something's screwing this thing up. It's either the magnetic bracelet I wear for my tennis elbow, or the Earth consists of a shell about 500 miles thick, two inner concentric shells, and an innermost core, with atmospheres separating the shells, each shell having its own magnetic poles. Probably that second thing."

In 1818, John Cleves Symmes, Jr. suggested that the Earth consisted of a hollow shell 800 miles thick (those insecure Hollow Earth theorists, always having to have a thicker shell than the other guy). Symmes became the most famous of the early Hollow Earth proponents after proposing and expedition to find a hole into the Earth he theorized would be at the North Pole.  None other than President John Quincy Adams indicated he would approve of this, but Andrew Jackson replaced him as President before the expedition could be mounted.

Andrew Jackson is not putting up with your bullsh*t.

The Nazi era Thule Society reported much about Tibetan myths of openings into the Earth. There is even a theory that Hitler ordered a research journey for such an opening in Antarctica, but hey, Hitler believed a lot of freaky crap.

Everything I know about the Thule Society, I learned from watching "Hellboy" umpteen billion times. Great flick.

There are even claims that he bought into “concave hollow earth theory” (the idea that, not only is the Earth hollow, but we actually live inside it, with the sun at the center of the cavity) to the point that, at one point, he sent an expedition to spy on the British fleet by pointing infrared cameras up at the sky, in an apparent attempt to see through Earth’s hollow core to the British ships located above him.  Did I mention he was a little crazy?

Not "fun crazy," either. Just crazy.

In my mind, however, the King of the Hollow Earthers was “Dr. Raymond Bernard,” the pseudonym of Dr.Walter Siegmeister (Why would you go with a pseudonym when you already have such an awesome name?).  His 1964 book, The Hollow Earth,claimed that “the inhabitants of Atlantis took refuge in the Earth’s interior before the city was destroyed in great calamity.  It was Atlanteans who piloted the flying machines known in ancient India as vimanas and in the modern world as flying saucers. After the US bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Bernard claimed, the Atlanteans became concerned that radioactive air might flow into the world’s interior, and so some emerged in their flying saucers in an act of self-defense.”

There you have it: hollow Earth, Atlantis, UFOs, and World War II, all in one story.

Kinda like this, which is actually pretty awesome.

If we could only get George Lucas and Steven Spielberg to turn that into a movie instead of worrying about 2012….

Tomorrow: More crazy crap, including…Which horror writer really killed John Lennon?  And the Middle Ages never happened!

REMINDER: For a FREE PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!!, just write me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and ask for it!  You don’t even have to say “please!”  (Although that would be nice.)

I’ve missed you, neighbor.

So, my holiday from blogging ended up going from a few days to…what, about three weeks now?  Yikes!  I better get back to it.  Fresh, hilarious, and potentially life-changing new content coming soon, I promise!  Like, today or tomorrow soon.  In the meantime, enjoy this loverly review of I, Superhero!! posted today on Crushable.com.

Oh, and if the review gets you interested, don’t forget you can get a free PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters by writing me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and asking!

My First Hate Mail! I Feel So Official….

Note: The following entry contains some pretty foul language.  Or at least, almost contains some pretty foul language.  In repeating the choicest parts of an email I recieved last night, I had to redact some of the letters, but you can still tell what was being said.  So, if you’re offended by reading almost-complete profanity, or if you’re one of my nieces, nephews, cousins, etc., who are too young to read such things, skedattle.  Go on now.  Git.

So, due to the lovely economy, my publisher doesn’t have much in the way of advertising funds, which means I’m doing the majority of the legwork on spreading the word about the book.  As part of that, I’ve been commenting on any blogs or websites I come across that mention “real-life superheroes” (The subject of my book.  But you already knew that, because you’ve purchased 12 copies each, right?).  I usually try to ease into my spiel, or ask the owner’s permission before I post a comment because, let’s face it, it’s technically spam, and no one likes a spammer.  However, last night I was tired from helping rearrange the bedroom all evening, so I just put up a generic message on the sites I hit, saying “Hey, I’ve got a book about this…blah blah blah…free PDF of first 1 1/2 chapters…blah blah blah…thanks.”

Within minutes of posting on one woman’s blog, I got a response that started with “Dear C**tbag,” and ended with “…and I hope you go die in a fire.”  The middle was three paragraphs of similar, focusing mainly on the fact that “it’s because of c*mstains like you that I have to moderate this sh*t.”

Yikes stripes.  I thought that was a wee bit of an overreaction, but that’s just me.  In Internetville, wishing a painful death upon a father of three may be a perfectly proportional response to the mild inconvenience of having to click  the “delete” or “do not approve” buttons on your blog dashboard (or just not approve it by doing absolutely nothing at all).  In real-people land, however, I think it shows a remarkable lack of perspective.  But again, that’s just me.

I’m not one to get into fights with strangers via email, so I just replied with a chipper, “You’re funny.  I like you.”  Needless to say, I haven’t heard from the young lady since.  Good lord, I hope she’s a young lady.  Like 13, 14?  It would be doubly disturbing to think of an adult choosing to respond that way.

Anyway, as I said, I don’t want to fight with the shrill harpy who sent this, and I don’t want anyone else to, either, which is why I’m not mentioning her name or email address or website. 

"Dear...C*ntbag...."

I’m assuming she’s either a.) mentally unbalanced, b.) 13, and just coming into that first rush of hormones that makes idiots of everyone between 12 and 20 (for men, 12 and 30), or c.) a really sad, angry, lonely person.  No matter which, arguing with her would be like boxing a terminally ill TB patient: if I get the best of her, I’m a colossal jerk, and if I don’t, then I got beat up beat up by a termally ill TB patient. 

"I'm gonna kick the ever-lovin' crap outta that kitten. Then I'll be a real man."

There’s really nothing in that for Mikey.

I will make one comment on the language used by the repugnant virago, though. 

Pictured: "repugnant virago."

I’m no prude, and I’ve been known to let a few choice words drop at what I deemed to be the appropriate time, but damn.  (See?)  That was pretty much all there was in her email – one foul, unrepeatable word after another.  I read once that “profanity is the attempt of a lazy and feeble mind to express itself forcefully.”  I like that.  It cuts right to the source of the issue: if you’re too lazy or ignorant to express your point in a strong and intelligent way, just toss some f**ks and c**ts and c*mstains in there and it’ll make you sound, to you at least, like a force be reckoned with instead of a puerile fishwife.

So instead of arguing with or insulting the vicious termagant, let me just say to everyone out there: if someone pisses you off, especially if it’s unintentional, or if it’s something that you can just ignore and not have it affect your life in the least, then let it go. 

Unless you just enjoy being a shrew. In which case, play on, playah.

Take a deep, cleansing breath, let it out, and move on.  If you feel you must, go ahead and write the person, but it would be a good idea to at least start off being civil, see if there’s a reasonable explanation for what they’ve done.  Say, that they’ve spent three years of their life writing a book, travelling around the country, missing time with family and friends, and spending all your advance money on hotels and rental cars.  You never know.

Or, failing all that, you can just blog about it.  Personally, I hold no ill will against the woman who wrote me and wish the vituperative harridan all the best.

Would eat your baby if given the chance.

 

PS: At the risk of receiving a hateful diatribe from myself for spamming my own blog, let me remind you you can still get the first 1 1/2 chapters of I, Supehero!! free just by writing to whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and asking for it!

I’m Going to Be SO Much Better Next Year…

     So, it’s almost the first of the year, and I’m still too busy playing with my new Nook to write any in-depth blog entries.  Instead, here’s a list of my 50, count ’em 50 New Year’s resolutions.  Enjoy, and I’ll see everyone next year!

1. Lose weight.

2. Exercise.

3. Stop cutting off Asian women in traffic “as revenge for Pearl Harbor.”

4. Convert to Islam, steal all their recipes, convert back.

Totally worth having a jihad put on me.

5. Tell family the bank has foreclosed on our house.  Pack everything, put furniture in storage, and move out.  After three days in hotel, announce “Just kidding!” and move back home.

"Dad was just joshin', Cupcake! But the "no Santa" thing? Still true."

6. Swear more.  A lot more.

7. Help reduce/care for the homeless pet population by feeding stray cats to stray dogs.  Win/win.

8. Stop pooping on neighbor’s lawn every time she lets her yippy little dog poop on mine. 

9. Be more narcissistic.

Man. Even dressed like a reject from Troy, I'm hot.

10. Subject Wifebread to fewer “Dutch ovens.”

Guess again.

11. Teach Biscuit to stand on street corner wearing an eye patch an a wooden leg, saying “Aaargh, can ye spare some doubloons for an old sea dog?”

12. Stop stalking Fred Willard.  Start stalking Kelesy Grammar.

13. Stop impregnating Wifebread every 10 months.

14. Read more tawdry crime novels.

True dat.

15. Refer to all women as “it/its” instead of “she/her.”

16. Refer to all men as “Broseph.”

17. Try to get my name and picture on the grocery store cash register as one of the “Do not take checks from…” guys.

18. Use the word “honkey” more often in reference to myself.

19. Wrestle two midgets at once.

Preferably ones without porno mustaches.

20. Eat an entire jar of Marshmallow Fluff just to see what my poo looks like the next day.

The "after" will probably look suspiciously like the "before."

21. Spend less time worrying about Africanized bees.

22. Create a safe room stocked with shotguns and canned goods.  When people ask what it’s for, just say “zombies,” then spit and walk away.

23. Write another book that no one wants to buy.

<sigh>

24. Ask everyone at work if I can borrow a “unimalichidor.”  Be insulting and dismissive when they say they don’t know what that is.

"Next you'll be telling me you've never heard of a maxilinastrobulator. Idiot."

25. Randomly spank my kids and tell them “That’s for nothin’.  Don’t do somethin.'”

26. Approach a minority, start telling an offensive joke about their race.  Halfway through, stop, squint eyes, and lean in until my face is inches from theirs, then turn and silently walk away.

27. Give out free gynecological exams in a rented storage unit.  I mean, hey, it worked for this guy.

28. Be more of a pompous, pseudointellectual ass: carry an unlit pipe everywhere, wear corduroy jackets with leather elbow patches, and liberally quote Kierkegaard and Nietzsche.

"'It belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite.' Also, I'm a massive tool. Simply massive."

 29. Take Biscuit and Cupcake to PetSmart, try to enroll them in obedience classes.

30. Walk into local PETA branch with pizza box and loudly ask, “Who ordered the ‘Meat Lover’s’?”

31. Constantly talk about “all the good things Hitler did.”

32. Wear roller skates everywhere, tell people I’m “in training.”  When they ask for what, just roll my eyes and skate away.

33. Learn as much about an obscure sport as possible, keep trying to engage people in conversation about it:

            Me: Did you see the polo match on ESPN 12 last night?  US versus Argentina?

            Coworker: Nope.

            Me: Man, it pissed me off.  The pivot fouled in the third chukker and the ref totally blew the call.  I was livid.

            Coworker: I have no idea what you’re talking about.  I don’t know how many times I have to tell y….”

            Me: USPA!  USPA!

34. Remind random strangers the world’s going to end on 12/21/2012, then flash my handgun and ask if they “want to go out in style.”

35. Start going to work with an Italian sausage shoved down the front of my pants, act like I have no idea what people are staring at.

36. Start going to work with an Italian sausage shoved down the back of my pants, act like I have no idea what people are staring at.

37. Use confusing, made-up acronyms, refuse to explain them.  “I can’t believe he did that!  I was totally M5CLQ.  I mean, really.”

38. Legally change my name to Grizzle McFizzle, ask Wifebread if she’d make me the happiest man alive an become Mrs. McFizzle.

39. Go on long, violent, curse-filled diatribes about the metric system.

"Hectometers? Kilopascals? I'm going to *$&#ing kill someone."

40. At work, start yelling out the time once an hour, but not on the hour.  “IT’S TWO SEVENTEEN, EVERYONE!  TWO SEVENTEEN!”

41. Try to convince people I invented canned tuna.  Rail against “dolphin-safe” tuna, saying it “goes against the spirit of putting tuna in a can in the first place, damn it all.”

42. Eat more Spam.  It’s spiced ham, people.  How could that possibly taste bad?

This is how.

43. Go into Dollar General, have them ring up $2,000 worth of crap, then say all I have to pay with are temporary third-party out of state postdated bad checks. 

44. Drink more, yell a lot, then tell my daughter it’s because she cries.

45. Start a rumor involving LeBron James, Miley Cyrus, and the gear shift form a 1985 Ford Escort.  See how long it takes TMZ or Perez Hilton to report it as fact.

46. Photoshop a guy’s face into my wife’s place in the pictures on my desk.  When coworkers ask about it, say I’ve always been married to Ricardo and if they don’t stop commenting on it, I’m going to sue them all for harassment.

47. Dress up like Gandalf, go to airport, and stand at the end of the moving walkway, yelling, “You cannot pass!  I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!  The dark fire will not avail  you, Flam of Udun!  go back to the shadow!  You shall not pass!”  Slam staff down dramatically, see how long it takes TSA to respond.

Just imagine the Balrog pulling a carry-on, and this is pretty much spot on.

48. Take skydiving lessons.  Just as we’re jumping out of the plane on my first tandem jump, tell instructor onto whose back I’m strapped, “I gotta go number one.  Real bad.”

49. Buy a sailor hat, make people refer to me as “Commodore.”

"No, no no! That's totally the wrong kind of Comm.... Oh, never mind."

50.  Stop making lists of things to do and not do. 

REMINDER: You can get a PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters of my humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! just by writing me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and asking for it!  Your address will not be shared, sold, added to a mailing list, or otherwise used for anything other than sending you this FREE sample of my book.

It’s the Most Blood-Curdling Time of the Year…

     So, I just read about this guy in prison who sued to be able to celebrate Festivus.  For the uninitiated, Festivus is a holiday made up by George’s dad on Seinfeld several years ago.  It’s celebrated by putting up a big metal pole instead of tree and participating in “feats of strength” after dinner.  

God bless you, Jerry Stiller.

       What with Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, and now Festivus, it seems like we’re being overrun by holidays this time of year.  So like a good American, I decided I want to cash in on this crap as well.  I want to create my own holiday to compete with Christmas.  However, to really stand out, I’ve got to think of a new angle.  Something to set my holiday apart from the others.  I had to think about it for a long while before it hit me: if Christmas is the “most wonderful time of the year,” maybe I should go in the exact opposite direction and make my holiday the scariest, most frightening, most disturbing day of the year.  Something truly horrifying, that both children and adults can fear together.

     Some people will say, “But we already have a frightening holiday: Halloween.”  Bah.  Halloween’s the most fun day of the year.  You get to dress up, eat candy, stay up past your bed time, and watch monster movies.  You can’t beat that.  Unless you’re an adult on Halloween, in which case you get to go to parties full of drunk skanks dressed like whores.  So really, the only thing to be afraid of on Halloween is syphilis.  The holiday I’m talking about needs to be truly bone-chilling.  And so, ladies and gentlemen, I offer you: Bloodterror Day.

Mike’s New Holiday

Name: Bloodterror Day 

Date:  December 23rd

Character: Instead of a jolly old elf, Bloodterror day will be represented by a child-eating half succubus, half chupacabra, senior IRS agent named Deathfang Skinripper. 

 

 

More or less like this, but with boobs.

On the night of Bloodterror Eve, Bloodfang flies around the entire planet on her leathery, razor-tipped wings and sneaks into the houses of all children, testing their bedroom doors to see if she can get in.  Sometimes, she tries to sneak in by taking the form of a beloved teddy bear or favorite blankie, so those should be burned just before bedtime.  On her way out of the house, Deathfang checks all of mommy and daddy’s filing cabinets, looking for past tax returns to audit. 

 

 

"You're in violation of Section XII, subsetion iv, paragraph (d), United States Tax Code. Now cry for me, meatsack."

Plants:  Replacing Christmas trees, mistletoe, and wreaths will be Tacca chantrieri, also known as the Bat Plant or the Devil Flower.

 

 

 

I’m literally terrified right now. Of a flower.

    

These should be placed strategically throughout the house so as to surprise anyone getting up in the middle of Bloodterror Eve night to use the restroom.

Décor: Foregoing tinsel, manger scenes, colorful glass balls, etc., the household celebrating Bloodterror Day should be liberally and haphazardly strewn with animal pelts, bat plants, pentagrams made from the femurs of nuns and dearly loved family pets. 

 

 

"Happy Bloodterror Day!"

Kinda like I imagine Rob Zombie’s house is all the time. 

 

 

"Fl...Fluffy?"

 

Food: In lieu of baked ham, candied yams, and pumpkin pie, Bloodterror Ever dinner is bacon babies, human body part bread, and Tab.

Pictured: The kitchen of Hell’s Luby’s.

 

Real bread. Not joking.

 

Can we go back to the meat babies and decapitation bread, please? I’m starting to get queasy.

Bloodterror Eve

     The day starts with a trip to the pet store, where the family purchases the cutest, sweetest-looking chinchilla it can find. 

 

 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?"

     On the ride home, the youngest child gets to name the new pet.  In our example, we’ve decided to call it “Youthful Innocence.”  Back home, the children spend an hour with their Youthful Innocence before skinning it alive, drowning it in a pot of heavily salted water, and draining its blood  A baby doll is then dressed in the clothes of the youngest child, dipped in blood of the chinchilla, and hanged from a tree or the eaves of the house in an effort to appease Deathfang Skinripper.   

 

 

 

"You never play with me any more, Cindy."

That evening, a dinner of bacon babies, decapitation bread, and Tab is eaten in silence.   Afterwards, the children are locked in their rooms for the duration of the evening.  In case the locks and the blood-soaked diversion hanging outside doesn’t work to fend off Deathfang Skinripper, daddy gets the biggest knife from the kitchen, dresses up as a clown (Deathfang hates clowns), and spends the night periodically sneaking into the children’s rooms through the window in an effort to catch Deathfang in the act of stealing their souls. 

 

 

"Don't worry, sweetie. Daddy's here."

Bloodterror Day

     Provided the children have survived the night and mommy and daddy haven’t been sent to jail on tax evasion charges, everyone comes downstairs at the crack of dawn, gathers around the biggest Devil Flower, and sings the official Bloodterror Day carol (sung to the tune of “Jingle Bells):

Dashing through the snow

Get the *$#% out of my way

Through the fields we go

Shrieking all the way.

Deathfang’s talons gleam

Ripping at my skin,

How horrible to run and scream

Through piles of dying men.

Ooooh, Blood-terror, Blood-terror, it’s Bloodterror Daaaay,

Oh how ter-ri-ble to die in such a gruesome way.

     This is followed by the first of two central Bloodterror Day activities: “The Desecration of Memories.”  Father shows a slideshow of happy, treasured memories, and each family member tells the others that they were only acting and never really enjoyed spending time with them. 

 

"I was totally faking it, dad. Or as I'm going to refer to you from now on: Steve."

Finally, the family caps the celebration with “Previews of Death.”  Everyone sits in a circle and, starting with the youngest, tells each family member in turn how they think they will/should die.  Afterwards, everyone is given a cup of lukewarm water and a slice of stale bread and sent to their room for the rest of the day. 

 

"I'm starting to miss meat baby again."

     

So, I’m really hoping Bloodterror Day will catch on in a big way.  Sure, it’ll start with the Satanists and serial killers, but don’t all positive changes in society start with the Satanists and serial killers?  Huh?  Huh?

REMINDER: Get the first 1 1/2 chapters of my new humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! FREE when you write me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and ask for it! 

My Kids Want Me Dead, Chapter I: The Boy Makes His Move

So, I’ve been married for almost five years now, and we have two beautiful kids (Grant, 3; Gracie, 1) with another en route (Graham, -2 months).  My wife has long suspected our children are out to get us so they can come into their inheritance early (Said inheritance consisting of: two dumpy cars we don’t quite own outright yet; plus or minus 500 books; 4 boxes of comics; and approximately $2,587,000 in debt.  They don’t have to kills us to get all this.  All they have to do is ask.).  I never believed her, thinking it all a product of her pregnancy-hormone-deluded mind, but the other day an incident occurred which convinced me  she may be onto something.

"Father! Your life is forfeit! As is your 2004 Toyota Solara...."

We have baby monitors in both kids’ rooms, with the receiver for the girl’s on my wife’s nightstand and the one for the boy on mine.  We’ve frequently half-joked about what would be the most horrifying thing to hear coming through on the monitor: animal noises, the sound of the window sliding open, the child quietly reading a Michael Moore book to himself   You know: the stuff nightmares are made of.   Well, a few weeks ago, we had our worst fear come true.  I’m talking a Defcon 1, Homeland Security Level Red, pick-up-the-Batphone emergency: adult voices coming in over the boy’s monitor.

"Batman? This is Mike. S**t just got real."

“Honey, do you hear that?” asked Wifebread in hushed tones, so as not to disturb the kidnappers’ concentration.

I don’t even answer, I just jump.  I’m halfway down the hall before I gain full consciousness, at which time I briefly wonder if I should stop by the kitchen and grab a knife or apple corer or potato peeler or something.

I can kill you with this 17 different ways. The first 8 involve stabbing you in various spots about the head and neck. You don't want to hear about 9 through 17.

I decide not to stop.  I’ve heard about these kidnappers.  They can have a kid out of his bed faster than an auto thief can short-circuit a car alarm.  As I sprint my 25o lb. ass up the stairs, all the horrible things they could want my boy for flash through my mind.  I’ve worked in law enforcement before, and I know they probably don’t plan to fly him on an all-expenses-paid trip to Disney World, where they’ll feed him ice cream and grape juice all day, then return him safely back to his bed with a new teddy bear and a voucher for college tuition at the non-state school of his choice.    It would probably be something less savory than that.

Example: Agent Mulder could steal your baby and sell it to Jo from "Facts of Life."

My fat butt barely makes it up the stairs.  Between the panic and the adrenaline and the running, I start running scenarios on how to kill whoever’s in there in under 10 seconds, because I’m pretty sure that’s all I have left myself.

"If I go out, I'm takin' you with me. Eat feet, Duchovny!"

It stagger into the boy’s room, panting for breath, and there’s…nothing.  No one.  Window’s closed, boy’s sleeping soundly.  Then I hear the voices again…coming from his radio.  Apparently, in the process of randomly pushing buttons on it that day, he’d set the radio alarm to come on at midnight.  I try to laugh with relief, but it comes out as a sad wheeze, like the last breath of a slaughtered cow.

I searched for "dying cow" and this is the picture that came up. Blame Google, not me.

I slowly make my way back to the room, tell the wife what happened (Of course, she thinks it’s hi-LARIOUS.), then lay quietly in bed for the next hour, waiting for my heart to either come to a sudden and complete stop or fall below 150 bpm so I can get back to sleep.  While I’m awake, all I can think about is what the odds are against him setting the alarm like that.  Just before I doze off, I make a mental note to lie to the boy tomorrow and tell him he’s been written out of the will.  Not that he did it on purpose, but there’s no use leaving temptation in his way….

Golden Globes! Golden Globes! Sweet holy crap, it’s the Golden Globes!!!

So, it’s that time of year again, and everyone’s crapping their pants over who did and didn’t get nominated for a Golden Globe today.  As an expert with an encyclopedic knowledge of motion pictures, actors, actresses, directors, and all other aspects of the movie industry, I feel it is my duty to provide in-depth analysis of the nominations.  You can thank me after you win your office pool….

Best Motion Picture: Drama

Black Swan: Haven’t seen it.  Heard Natalie Portman and the girl from That 70’s Show make out.  That will probably sway some voters.  I give it a 75% chance of winning.

Pictured: Award-winning acting.

 

The Fighter: Haven’t seen it. Boxing movies usually do well, though.  I give it the other 25%.

The King’s Speech: Haven’t seen it.  Heard it’s about a guy who stutters.  If I wanted to see two hours about a guy overcoming his stammer, I’d watch the VH1 Behind the Music episode about Mel Tillis.

"Anyone remember me? Anyone?"

 

The Social Network: Haven’t seen it.  It’s about Facebook, right?  Here’s how I picture it going if I tried to watch it:

<opening credits roll>

<fade in>

A young man appears on screen.

Young man: Hey.  I’m the guy who started Facebook.

Me: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Inception: Pretty cool flick.  As the only one on the list I have seen, it won’t win a single award.  Sorry, Leo.  Didn’t mean to jinx you.

"Dammit, McMullen!"

 

Best Actress: Drama

Halle Berry/ Frankie and Alice: Haven’t seen it.  Halle Berry should get an award just for convincing anyone to hire her after Catwoman.

Nicole Kidman/ Rabbit Hole: Haven’t seen it.  I didn’t realize she’d crawled out from under Toby Keith or whichever redneck country star she married (they all look the same to me) long enough to film a movie.

"Hey there. I may or may not be Eskimo brothers with Tom Cruise. Who knows?"

 

Jennifer Lawrence/ Winter’s Bone: Who in what now?  Haven’t seen or heard of either one of them.

Natalie Portman/ Black Swan: See?  Those swarthy foreign press types will give chicks making out an award every damn time it happens.

BOOM! Two more awards, right there.

 

Michelle Williams/ Blue Valentine: Haven’t seen it.  She was married to Heath Ledger, right?  Glad to see she’s back on her feet.  There’s no joke there.  I’m sincerely glad she’s back on her feet.

 

Best Actor: Drama

Jesse Eisenberg/ The Social Network: No matter what character he played, I probably would have been vastly more entertained had it been played by Jesse Ventura instead of Jesse Eisenberg.  Vertura probably would have shot someone with a chain gun.  That’s what Facebook’s missing: chain guns.

Better yet: LEGO Jesse Ventura with a chain gun. I'd watch that all day long.

 

Colin Firth/ The King’s Speech: I’m all for him winning, so long as he doesn’t do his acceptance speech in character.  I don’t have 15 minutes to wait for him to spit out “I’d like to thank my agent.”

James Franco/ 127 Hours : Haven’t seen it.  Apparently, it’s just James Franco trapped under a rock for two hours.  Sounds like Castaway without all the action.  Or Wilson.  “Wiiiiiilsoooooon!!!”

Ryan Gosling/ Blue Valentine: Blue Valentine is an acting vehicle—it exists to document a highly physical, totally immersive performance by Gosling.

OK, I just stole that line from an online review of Black Swan.  I just switched “ Blue Valentine” for “ Black Swan” and “Gosling” for “Portman.”  There are just so many times I can repeat that I’ve nether heard of nor care to hear of a movie. Blue Valentine being one of those movies.

Mark Wahlberg/The Fighter: I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear this, but “Go Marky Mark!  Go Marky Mark!”

"It's such a sweee-eeet sensation!"

 

Best Movie: Comedy or Musical

Alice in Wonderland: Haven’t seen it.  The promo pics of Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter and what’s’ername with that huge noggin really freaked me out.  I skipped and saw RED instead.

RED: Yeah!  A really good, entertaining movie that I’ve seen.  Again, kiss of death.  Sorry, Mr. Willis.  Sorry, Mr. Malkevich.

"Seriously, McMullen! Imma hold you while DiCaprio kicks you square in the gooch."

 

I’m not apologizing to Morgan Freeman, the old pervert.

The Kids Are All Right: Haven’t seen it.  From the previews, it looked like a bunch of people sitting around a table, talking.  That’s not a movie, that’s a political show that comes on PBS on Sunday afternoons.

Burlesque: Haven’t seen it.  Here’s a quick algebra lesson for you: a + b = Complete indifference on my part.  In this case, a = Cher and b = Christina Aguilera.

The Tourist: Haven’t seen it.  According to IMDB, The Tourist “Revolves around Frank, an American tourist visiting Italy to mend a broken heart. Elise is an extraordinary woman who deliberately crosses his path.”  Good for you, Golden Globe people.  Way to reward Hollywood remaking the exact same movie we’ve already seen 1,000 times before.  Asses.

 

Best Actress: Comedy or Musical

Annette Bening/The Kids Are All Right: HOLY CRAP! Annette Bening’s still alive? Well, kudos.  Kudos to her.

Anne Hathaway/Love and Other Drugs: Anne Hathaway gets naked/Anne Hathaway gets nominated for a Golden Globe.  Coincidence?  We at the Webulastic Logstastic think not.

That's a good start. You're halfway to a major award, kid.

Angelina Jolie/The Tourist: Haven’t seen it.  And doesn’t she have, like thirteen kids to take care of?  When does she even find time to pee, much less make a movie?

Julianne Moore/The Kids Are All Right: The second person from this movie to be nominated.  Man.  That must’ve been some dinner conversation.

Emma Stone/Easy A: Sorry, Emma.  I saw your movie.  I loved it.  I loved you in it.  You’re dorked.  Right in the ear.

"See that, McMullen? That's the way Leo and I's attack on your scroat is going to end. There won't be enough left of you for Willis to urinate on. But that won't stop him from trying."

 

Best Actor: Comedy or Musical

Johnny Depp/Alice in Wonderland: Is it really acting when they’re just being themselves?

No. No, it's not.

 

Johnny Depp/The Tourist: I believe my thoughts on all things The Tourist have been made clear, thank you.  Let’s move on.

Paul Giamatti/Barney’s Version: Haven’t seen it.  I love Paul Giamatti, but if this movie has anything to do with a giant purple dinosaur, he should probably just sit back, enjoy the ceremony, and bide his time for another shot another year.

Jake Gyllenhaal/Love and Other Drugs: I think any outstanding work he may or may not have done in this movie should be cancelled out by Prince of Persia.  I’d rather rent Brokeback Mountain and watch him make out with Heath Ledger for two hours than sit through that again.

Kevin Spacey/Casino Jack: Haven’t seen it.  I have no idea why, but this sounds like a combination live action/CGI movie about a kangaroo who lives in a casino.  I may or may not see that.  Depends on how well executed it is.

Kevin Spacey, in a role that will make you question everything you thought you knew about animated kangaroos.

 

Best Director

Whatever.  Whoever wins Best Picture.  What else ya got?

 

Best Original Song

No one cares.  It’s like lighting the unity candle at a wedding: it’s inherently pointless and just put in there to drag out a ceremony that everyone already thinks is too long.

Best Original Score

This is Best Original Song’s more annoying cousin.  If Best Original Song is the unity candle, Best Original Score is the unnecessary solo that gets thrown in so the bride’s fat sister will have something to do.  They’re both there to draw out the time, and therefore the tension, before the big awards are announced, but this one is somehow even more irritating and difficult to sit through.  Especially knowing that cake is coming soon after.

There you go: everything you could possibly want to know about the Golden Globe contenders.  Just send me a percentage of your pool winnings and we’ll call it even.

REMINDER: My humorous nonfiction book I, Superhero!! is available now!  Get a FREE PDF of the first 1 1/2 chapters just by writing me at whitebread@theamazingwhitebread.com and asking for it!  (Note: your email address will not be added to a mailing list, shared, sold, or otherwise used for any purpose other than sending you the free book sample.)