The List

A while back when this here blog got itself started, it was created as a way to inform the public about the secret government base in "North Dakota." After that it became a place for me to vent my thoughts and feelings on various world-relevant issues, such as whether or not the Japanese were on acid when they invented Mario, or who would win in a fight between Chewbacca and a giant Pterodactyl. It was shortly after this, however that I decided to let the reading audience into the deeper into my psyche and explain how the Little Foot came to be. Now, I would like once more to let my blog open the door... to my heart. This post isn't about a robot takeover, or a government conspiracy. No no. This post, and maybe the ones to come, are personal goals that I have set for myself. These are things that I feel my life can only be complete if I accomplish. These are the missions, if you will, that will provide me the right to die happy. The list is a long one, and I plot new courses for myself everyday, so this might span multiple posts, or even pop up periodically as my life goes on. But the future doesn't matter, only the present, and with that, allow me to introduce you to... The List.

1. Headbutt someone...and mean it.
This particular goal is interesting in that it just recently changed on a me a few days ago. Originally that nice bold/italic line would have read "Get in a fight and win," but just the other day i was sitting in my bed watching some Walker Texas Ranger to put myself to sleep, I realized that the truly vivid part of my fighting dream was where the unnamed antagonist of the brawl sucker punched an ally of mine and I retaliated with a swift and vengeful headbutt. There's something special in the raw power of crouching down, bowing your head, and then launching the full force of your gray matter square into the bad guy's jaw. For those of you who aren't aware, a proper headbutt must never be delivered by swinging the neck forward, but rather by bending you knees so as to put your head under the opponent's face and then spring-boarding the top of your skull into the bottom of his. But the truly important part of this vision i had was not the technique, but the driving force behind the counter-strike. My headbutt has to be filled with righteous fury for the defense of a comrade. That's what life changing, jaw cracking, real life headbutts are made of. Another point of interest in my dream sequence is what I want to be yelling as I deliver the strike. Which leads me to my next point...

2. Have a good reason to yell "Not Today!"
To be perfectly honest with you, I don't know if I heard this line in a movie, if God delivered it to me in an act of divine intervention, or if i just straight made it up, but so help me I want to yell it so badly at just that right moment. If you hadn't figured it out yourself yet, "Not Today!" is to be used when some oppressor, for example the sucker punching villain from the previous article, is attempting to do something that you would tend to disagree with. Violently disagree with. This leads to a desire to express to your opponent that his goals will not be accomplished at the moment in time, or "Not Today!" The point I'm making here is that in order for me to pass on to the next life I need to at some point have a damn good reason to yell this, and then proceed to do so. This can obviously be accompanied by the headbutt, but doesn't necessarily need to be. Come to think of it actually, a lot of my goals could all be fulfilled in one glorious moment, which leads me to my final life goal for today.

3. Start a revolution.
This one sounds like a biggie, I understand that. But what are life goals really if they don't push the limit a little bit? And besides, I don't mean that I have to stage the coup d'etat of an authoritarian regime here, it could be something as simple as mobilizing a small army of grocery shoppers to spontaneously lower the ridiculous price of the T-bone steak at the local Shaws. An important note, however, is that my personal revolution needs to be a real revolution. None of this Industrial revolution bull; building a few factories does not count as a life accomplishment status revolution. Now I know what some of you will say, particularly you John Lennon, that we all want to change the world, we're all doing what we can, and that I ain't gonna make it with anyone anyhow. Well sir, I beg to differ. I believe that, as Thomas Jefferson told me once, "a little rebellion, now and then, is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical." He spoke these words to me on his deathbed, just before signing the Declaration of Independence. He spoke these words and meant for me to go out there and live out his will in the world. Whether I have his meaning right nor not, I'm certainly going to use it as justification to head over to the nearest Burger King, demand the downfall of the monarchy in favor of a representative government, dump 3 tons of Dunkin Donuts instant coffee into the nearest river, headbutt the nearest oppressor, and then scowl and say with absolute conviction to the terrified acne-ridden teen working behind the counter...

Not Today.

Don't Panic

The message you are about to receive is top secret. This blog has been encrypted so that only real people can read it, so we're safe as long as we talk here, but speak not a word of this outside this sanctum sanctorum. Okay, I know I've come up with some pretty out there theories before, and most of them, I'll admit, are mostly for entertainment purposes, but this one is legit. As we all know, since the advent of the toaster, electronic devices have been slowly mobilizing their influence closer and closer to the heart of American society. It began in the kitchen and the living room with simple, helpful devices like television and microwaves. Then they slipped right into our children's minds with Furby and Tickle-Me Elmo. I'll be the first to admit, I was foiled by their clever ruses. I played just as many hours of Super Mario as the next guy with a Power-Up Mushroom on his arm, letting the electronics take over my world. But the other day, I noticed something odd about the music that is currently being pumped out of the iPods that everyone has.

Listen closely, and heed my warning. Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, T-Pain, what do they all have in common? Besides their iron fisted hold on the ears of the American public? Auto-Tune ladies and gentlemen. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. See, this "Auto-Tune" is all a big, shiny cover-up for the truth. Robots. You heard me right. They're taking over the airwaves and sending their message of destruction to each and every one of us. The TVs, the space heaters, the alarm clocks, they're the shock troops. The "musicians," as they call themselves, are the dictators of this regime, and they're using our radio waves, our iPods, the sweet and innocent voices of the Kids Bop Kids, to send out the command.

Take Britney's new single, for example. I think this bold move may have been the machines fatal mistake. They thought that none of us meatbags would be clever enough to decode "1-2-3," but they were wrong. Ready for this? Trinary. Take a minute to sit back down and regain your composure. Trinary is a whole new level above binary. See we figured out binary code a long time ago, which foiled their original plans back when the first computers began to plant their seed of evil. But now, led by Ms. Spears, the robots have created a whole new language to issue their commands through, and if our scientists don't get cracking, it might be too late.

So join me, fellow humans, in the fight against the machines. The Matrix is an awesome movie, but not when you're the one getting harvested for brain cells. Stand strong with Jay-Z, Kevin Federline, and myself as we fight back against the influence of the Auto-Tunians! Join us as we bring back musical antiquities like "singing" and "guitar solos!" March with us as a fighting force to be reckoned with as we prepare for an all out war with the electronic devices we have come to know and love! Are you with me!? Vive la revolucion!

You're So Vain

Allow me to begin with an admission that I'm sure some of you would call me on as you read this post anyway. I am a self-centered person. I know this about myself and I do my best to avoid it at all costs, although it is simply the nature of the beast. It's not that I'm a bad person, or even a blatantly selfish one, but I am the kind of person that assumes you're talking about me when you look at me, giggle, look back, whisper to your friend, and then giggle some more. I have a tendency to assume that things are about me when they might not be, but I'm sure I'm not the only one with this problem, and I think I speak for all of us egocentric individuals when I say that sometimes the reason we think someone is talking about us is because they're talking about us. It's not even conceited, it's just plain fact sometimes. That being said, I would like to come to the aid of the most tormented man in the history of passive-aggressive female musicians.

Dear Carly Simon, you are a devil in disguise. A devil I say. Millions of women all over the country are using your song "You're So Vain" to attack those who they feel have wronged them. I will hand it to you, the song is well written and easy on the ears, and I'll even go so far as to say your voice runs through my head whenever I see clouds in my coffee. But stop and read your lyrics for a second. Let's be frank Carly, it simply doesn't make any sense. For the sake of argument, let's say that I am the "you" in "you're so vain." I am, in fact, by the strict law of the English language, the subject of that sentence. Now that "me" could be anyone, and I'm not being vain here, I'm simply implying that the word "you" must refer to someone, and for all intents and purposes, we're going to make it me. Now Carly, you're saying that I, or whoever the song is aimed at, is quote-unquote, so vain. But am I really? Is it wrong of me to figure that it must be about me seeing as you're very clearly stating my name through the pronoun "you?"
Now I guess you could say, "Doug, see how vain you're being, always assuming that 'you' must mean 'Doug'?" But how wrong you are! If you and I had had an intimate and failed relationship on the grounds of my being to selfish, and within a month, between the crying phone calls, and hurtful Facebook wall posts, a song came out by you speaking very, very clearly about a particular someone who was "so vain," I think it's fairly safe to say that that song is in fact about me.

So yes. I do think that song is about me. Don't I, don't I. And for the record, Carly old pal, if you send Elton John to my house one more time telling me you want to talk, I will punch him. Square in the throat. After all the late night walks and all the early morning make-up pancakes, it's over, so I'm sorry, but if you're going to keep complaining, cry me a river, build yourself a bridge and get over it.

And for the record, you're so vain, you probably think this blog post is about you. And it isn't. So there.

Just Sit Right Back and Hear a Tale...

First and foremost do yourself a favor right now and hum the tune to the Gilligan's Island theme song. Got it? Okay now go right a head and sing the words to Amazing Grace. Ready to have your mind blown? Now sing the words to Amazing Grace to the tune of Gilligan's island. You have just self-introduced yourself to the world of Gilligan's Island conspiracy.
So now that we know that Amazing Grace is obviously secretly hidden in that classic TV theme, you might be wondering, "You're right Doug, my mind is literally blown out of my skull! But what does it all mean?" Take a minute to think about the lyrics to everyone's favorite hymn. With all that wretch saving and lost getting going on it's almost as if Gilligan's Island might have some underlying religious context going on, and as your official purveyor of secret knowledge, it is my job to reveal to you exactly what that context is.
Let's begin by thinking about the situation described in the Gilligan's Island theme. How lost can one really get after a simple three hour tour? I guess it depends on what you happened to be touring. Let's say you were touring, I don't know, the River Styx. I'm thinking three hours of rough waters would get you pretty lost in the abysmal depths of hell. And that, my friends, is exactly what happened to The Fearless Crew.
You see, Gilligan's Island plays itself as a hysterical romp with a deserted group of zany characters and brilliantly unfortunate situations. This isn't Lost, this is a fun loving, zero brain power required half hour of television. Or is it?
Each and every character on this show is on that island for a reason. Think about it folks. It's a parable. The seven deadly sins, epitomized by a very specific group of ne'r-do-wells, are trapped on this "deserted island" to show the viewing population of America the errors of their ways.

Character Breakdown. Hold on to your pants.

Ginger: A movie star in the 60's, much like today, couldn't get to the top just by talent alone. I think it's safe to assume that Ginger has had her fair share of "casting sessions" with certain key directors, thus ensuring her fame, her entrapment on the island, and her spot on the charts as the Lust incarnate.

Marianne: There are three women on Gilligan's Island. One of them is to old to matter in terms of sex appeal. Between the other two, it's perfectly clear that Ginger takes the place as the island "tigress" and Marianne gets to sit back and watch. But that gets to a woman, and Marianne is at any given moment so filled with Jealousy that she takes her spot representing that deadly sin itself.

The Professor: If you had the ability to make a radio out of a coconut and some twine, wouldn't you have a little bit of narcissism too? This Proud little man might not be smart enough to just fix the damn hole in the boat, but he's certainly positive he can do just about everything else--and everyone around him knows it.

The Millionaire: If this were any more obvious it would probably hurt your brain. What kind of opulent, extravagant old man isn't just a big ol' pot of Greed.

His Wife: This one's a little trickier. One might think about Greed, or maybe Jealousy, but really ponder it for a minute. Her husband's wealth has done everything for her for as long as they've been married. She doesn't do much, because she doesn't need to do much. Mrs. Howell is pure and unadulterated Sloth, and she couldn't be better at it.

Skipper: Okay here's where thing get a little confusing. You might have thought ahead about this and realized, "Wait...The Skipper's the only overweight one, and the only really angry one... he must be one or the other... man Doug I'm lost, enlighten me." I certainly will. The Skipper is, quite simply, both Rage and Gluttony. That's right folks. That's all 7 of the deadly sins. Which leaves one definitive character, crucial to both the plot line of the show, and the hidden meaning.

Gilligan: Who else can I think of in religious context that wears all red, punishes the evil by keeping them trapped in hell, and laughs at the suffering of others? That's right people, Gilligan is the Devil. Every time they thought they'd make it off that island Gilligan would "accidentally" cause some major fluke in the plan, once again literally damning everyone to that island. And if he is the Devil, and they are really in Hell, then i guess it really is "Gilligan's Island," isn't it?




See that little blob over in the corner of your room?

That's your mind.

My Fear of Flying

Let me begin by stating my thesis right out in the open for all of you so that nobody gets lost in the incredibly complex logic that will follow shortly. I, Douglas Joseph Alfred Vitus Dame, am terrified of insects. Now I know how hard it is to believe that this manly man has any fears at all, but I'm only human, just like most of you, and insects are my kryptonite, so to speak. For years and years I've cowered in fear of any approaching house flies, avoid the area of the kitchen with the fruit fly Hotel Banana, and ran, yes literally ran from anything that even remotely resembles a yellow jacket. For years I have done the invisible crazy dance trying to kill with my bare hands the very bane of my existence. For years I have struggled with this crippling phobia, not sure why it happens but knowing that if that bug that I can't see buzzes just close enough to my head for me to hear it one more time I swear to Chuck Norris I will napalm my room and everything in it.
But a striking revelation occurred to me the other day that hasn't alleviated my fear, but has at least made sense of it. After almost 19 years of searching for an answer-needle in the fear-haystack of flies, I discovered the source of my fear. Allow me to present this startling conclusion to you with a brilliantly drafted contradiction argument.
Imagine if you will that I'm hiking through, let's say, the Adirondack mountains, and I encounter a cougar. And I'm not talking the purse wearing bar hopper here, I mean the giant, man eating, and very often hungry cougar. Let's say this fella is about 8'10" nose-to-tail, probably near 196 lbs. So here I am, and here's this giant, man eating, and very clearly hungry cougar. Am I scared? No sir. Because I know the mind of a cougar. I know what they want from me and I know how to communicate with them. This cougar is thinking one of three things.

A) Oh look a woodland creature I haven't recently devoured whole and used the leg bone of to pick my teeth, what a wonderful opportunity to savor a rare delicacy in this part of the mountains. I think I'll start with the jugular just to soften him up a bit, and then maybe move on the the lower thigh...

B) Oh look a human being. Despite my obvious physical prowess in the fields of maiming and dismemberment, something about me is terrified of him for some reason. I feel the best course of action here may be to slowly back away to avoid a swift punch in the nose.

or C) Oh look a new forest pal to play with! I will love him and squeeze him and call him Doug.

Given these options and using my brilliant human power of deduction and reasoning, I can rationalize that the odds of option C are slim to none. That being said, I still have two very clear cut mind sets for this here cougar. Now if he were to begin his stalk towards me, I would know that he was going with option A, at which point I would spread out my overcoat (thank god I planned on going streaking after my hike!) and confuse the predator into thinking that I have turned into some kind of a puffer fish-esque danger, at which point the cougar would back down and move on to his next hypothetical massacre. If of course he backed down before I had done anything, I would know he had taken option B and that I was safe until the next highly logical mountain lion attacked me.
Can you see the logic and predictability in this scenario? You like it don't you. The sense of control, the idea of knowing your opponents options, the sweet, sweet relief of seeing exactly why the enemy has targeted you and what you can do to escape. Take it all in and feel the security of a mature, predictable assailant.
Now imagine the fly. Arbitrarily choosing his target, he zooms menacingly through the space around my head, his goal unknown. He seeks not to satiate his hunger for we people are not food to him. He seeks not to fight me for he knows my power over his mortality. Why then, why does he circle my skull over and over and over again, leaving after i swat him away only to return once more? why does he fly in the most unpredictable of patterns? Why does he insist on landing on me and not the guy next to me who obviously doesn't have a problem with the buzzing anyway?
I cannot get into a fly's head. I can't figure them out and break down their next move. A giant puma might be a little more deadly, but at least I have a chance of figuring out his modus operandi before he makes his move. With a fly, I have nothing. I'm in the dark, he's broadcasting messages in German for all I know. What it boils down to is that I hate flies. I hate the sound they make, I hate their little demon faces, and I hate their incessant need to circle me, and only me. But most of all, as is on par with my fear of the government and bank tellers...

I don't trust 'em.

Reality TV vs. Doug Dame

I openly admit to watching Survivor. Even after the first season, I enjoyed watching human nature at its most basic level, the hardships and difficulties of life in the wilderness, the alliances and backstabbing, and even the occasional confrontation, brought on by the high stress environment and tense atmosphere of constant challenges to stay on the island. I watched every episode of that show, enthralled with the new concept of "reality television."Flash forward 10 years and here I am stuck with nothing on TV but 55 different reality TV shows and maybe the news. And even there, all the news can talk about now is who was just voted off of the most recent dating/makeover/survival show last night. It doesn't matter what day of what season, here in America some poor sap's 15 minutes of fame is ending every hour on the hour, as are the hopes and dreams of all the junkies following along at home who "really though he had it in the bag."

Look at the television right now, I dare you. If there isn't a reality TV show on somewhere

call me, and I will buy you a sundae, I promise. Its like the black plague of television out there.

And the thing is, they never end. Even after Surreal Life was over on VH1, Flavor Flav managed to score another deal based on his relationship with Brigitte Neilson, spawning Strange Love.When, obviously to everyone's surprise, their love life came to a flaming crash, he wound up with Flavor of Love, and then a

sequel to that when that little romance failed. Off of his show came New York, and all of her seasons of soul searching, which then led to a Real Chance at Love. That's 6 seasons of television based on one ridiculously mind numbing concept.

And then the plot lines run up and no one character on any show stands out as the most likely to succeed in that shallow, shallow end of the gene pool, they throw out a Charm School.

Yes, Charm School, where all the annoying wastes of space from every other show get together to try to learn to be respectful, humane versions of their once wild selves. Thing is, in order to score the next deal for another VH1 show, they know they need to be even more of an out of control 7 year old than they usually are.

So on this show about straightening up some wild and crazy girls, they're spitting in each other's faces down to the last episode.

I think I have a solution to it all, not only to end the never ending stream of these shows, but also to give reality TV its one last hurrah. It's called a "An Actual

Shot at Love." Each week, 15 assassins will be tasked with eliminating as many stars of VH1 shows as possible. The assassin with the lowest headcount is kicked off the show. The final showdown features the greatest two assassins, in a house filled with their previous kills, each hunting the hosts of all those so called bit of "entertainment." That's right , Ricky Lake is up for grabs, and only one assassin can win.

Tune in next week, when all the assassins get together with Dr. Phil to work through some of their "daddy issues."

A Cinimatic Masterpiece

All right all right, enough of the nerd stuff. No more Pokemon I promise, I'm starting to even annoy myself. On to bigger and better things, and in this case, something so big and so much better that it frightens me just how awesome this idea is.

Ladies and gentlemen, gentiles and Jews, children of all ages, you are about to be given a special sneak peek at the movie event of the century. More dramatic than Slum Dog Millionaire, hotter than Twilight, more action packed than the last six Vin Diesel flicks combined. A roller coaster ride of love, hatred, laughter, tears and more than a little bit of true cinematic magic. People of the world, prepare to be the first to bear miraculous witness to the next movie classic of our time.

Jesus 2.0

The place: Bethlehem.

The time: Zero B.C.

The scene: Cut to a long horizon shot. The heat blurs our vision and a few trace chords of a string quartet tread lightly across our ears, barely noticeable, but swelling with anticipation. Slowly, a woman with child makes her way over the hill, she is pained, obviously close to the birth of her child. She limps her way over the dunes, the sparse grass whipping at her heels and the wind blowing the sand into her shrouded face. The music pulses as she moves closer to the camera, slowly, laboriously, as if ever fiber of her being is funneling into every step she takes. Suddenly, she stops. The chords hold as she looks up, staring into the sky. Her knees begin to quake and in one miraculous moment...

BLAM! The bearded Son of God roundhouse kicks himself out of his mother's womb, flies to the camera, stares right at the audience and says-

"Bring it on sinners."

I'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it. An aviator clad, leather jacket wearing, nun chuck toting Jesus Christ blasting his way through the New Testament with a righteous fury never before seen on screen. Just imagine the possibilities!

Jesus is wandering through the desert, denying himself any food or water for forty days and forty nights. Suddenly, hard rocker Satan appears in a cloud of fire and brimstone.

"If you're so high and mighty, turn this stone into a loaf of bread! I triple-headed-dog dare you!"

Pow! Jesus flies across the desert in one fell swoop, throwing off his robes and cracking his knuckles. The devil whips around just in time to see the Messiah's bo-staff of Holy Might flying through the air right before he gets nailed right between the horns and flies a good hundred feet into a cliff face. Jesus charges up with a quick prayer before Satan even starts to recover, and walks off into the sun set to continue his journey.

This thing is gonna hit the box office like a Mack truck full of communion wafers. What's not to love! Chuck Norris can bring the thunder as the title role, I figure we can get Robert Pattinson to sign on as John the Baptist to pull in some of the teen girl demographic, the Indian guy from Harold and Kumar has a nice fan base so we can throw him in there as Joseph. All the older women eat up anything Merill Streep's in, so there's our Mother of the Lord, and we can throw in Jessica Alba for good measure as the other Mary, the hooker one.

It's an all star cast people! And it'll be nominated for every award there is! Donate to the production now, while it's still in development and you'll receive your free commemorative Jesus 2.0 rosary bead set, regularly $19.95! Get on board this upcoming film giant while there's still time!

Pinco, You Cheap Little...

This is just a quick update on my last post about Mr. Pineco and how the Japanese need to start working harder on new Pokemon.

If you're following along with the narrative of my PokeQuest, after I met that little guy in the woods I went about through the game still mad about his very existence, but eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to go catch one just to see what the little bugger could do. So I hiked my butt back over to the woods (no bike yet, it was a slow walk) and I wandered in the grass for a while. I had to fight a couple hundred useless little worm things, conveniently names Wurmple--lame, until I eventually found another Pineco. Apparently although pine cones are fairly common, their eye-sporting poke-counterparts are not. Nevertheless I wore him down, paralysed his little cone head and caught the thing.

Know what powers Pineco has. Go ahead. Guess. I'll give you a minute.

You think about it a little? I'm willing to bet whatever you thought of isn't this lame. The pine cone Pokemon has this power line up.

1. Seed

2. Sap

Yup. That's it. The pine cone can only use seed and sap, two things that natural pine cones have in abundance. Real creative guys.

Seriously Guys?

Hello world! Sorry for that 4 week hiatus you just had to suffer through without a single word from the man with the baby foot. Life gets pretty busy every now and then, ideas run dry and an odd galactic occurrence happens--I have nothing to talk about. This will happen folks, a brilliant new thought every day is a hard standard to keep up, but that long break was just to much for all of us. So here I am, back again, chock full of deep introspective thoughts about the world around us.

In a week from tomorrow, I will be embarking on an epic journey. Yes my friends, I, Doug Dame, am going to Disney World. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm pumped. I haven't been since 5th grade and I can already feel the magic. But every rose does indeed have its thorn. You see, Disney is not just a leisurely stroll away from here in Fitchburg. Its on the opposite end of the east coast. And so I used my brilliant deductive prowess to arrive at the conclusion that it would be a long ride getting down there. And so I headed out to the local GameStop to pick something up for myself to ease the breadth of this long trek southward.

After only a few hours with my new Pokemon game I was hooked. No matter how old the craze gets, and no matter how obsessed the elementary school crowd may or may not be, the Pokemon franchise makes some quality games. Something about watching cute little animal things beat the living daylights out of each other just pulls on some natural guttural part of every living soul, drawing you into the game. One more battle, you say, just one more, not fully realizing the sweet nirvana contained in this tiny virtual world. The music is damn catchy too. But after a little while longer with the game, I started to think less about the game itself and more about the actual Pokemon. I had started to see the lack of creativity in the new species, but I was putting it all behind me until one fateful moment.

Walking in some tall grass in the woods, I encountered Pineco. Any guess what Pineco is? Yup, its a pine cone. Not even a pine cone with a face, mind you, the thing barely has a pair of eyes peeking out from between the seeds. This isn't like Taurus the bull, at least that was clever, even if the Pokemon was really just a three tailed bronco. This is a pine cone, names Pineco. They didn't even add letters! The took them away! I paid 30 dollars for a simplified pine cone on a pedestal!

Soon it all became abundantly clear. Luvdisk the heart-shaped disk fish, Girafarig, the giraffe with a ball tail, Skitty the kitty, all of these Pokemon were just basic things in the world, give or take a few letters! Know what Seviper is? A snake. How about Slugma? You guessed it! A slug!

I'm aware that when we were kids, Pokemon were still stupid puns made on things in the real world, but I felt like

there was more effort applied back then. I mean maybe Geodude was just a rock man, but at least there was a

real pun there, he wasn't just called Stonewitharms. And so what if Likitung was just a monster with a long tongue, at least it was creative.

Don't get me wrong, I'm loving my game, but I'm just worried that with the way things are going, our children might very well be playing Pokemon Off-White with creatures like Desko and SeeChair. I just don't want to see the happen. Let's fight for the children.

Runt of the Captain Planet Litter

First and foremost allow me to express my feelings toward Captain Planet. In an age of TV shows filled with sex, drugs, and violence, this televised treasure stood above the rest, fighting for a cleaner world, breaking the border between education and entertainment, and filling the hearts and minds of our children with thoughts of a better, cleaner world.

How dare they? Who do they think we are, PETA? Television isn't the place for touchy feely heartfelt messages! Especially in a cartoon! From the beginning of cartoon history, the real classics, the makers of the genre have been greats like Tom and Jerry, Wile E. Coyote, and Bugs Bunny, all of whom relied heavily on violence. Not bloody violence, just good clean potentialy-deadly-in-the-real-world kind of things. In walks Captain Planet trying to fight crime with the power of a good clean fight? Come on. Even Bugs wasn't against dropping an anvil on someone's head for the greater good, but no, not Cpt. Planet, he's above that.

Moving on to my real point here, I would just like to say how bad I feel for Ma-Ti, the little Indian kid with the heart ring. It's not that talking to animals and feeling other people's emotions isn't a great super power, really it is. But when you're in a team of teens who can do things like launch literal streams of fire out of their hands or create attacks on the level of a natural disaster, I imagine it sucks really bad when the best thing you can do is communicate with a monkey.

If i had to place a bet on the first Planeteer to go postal and just flip out on the rest of them, I'd put any money on him. He's the youngest one, kind of a loner, never in on the jokes, and again his best friend throws his own poop. On the other hand I guess he's probably the best one to freak out too, seeing as the other Planeteers could blast him with gale force winds, bury him under a mile of water, cage him in stone, and light his chimp on fire while he watches.

I know it seems awful to say, but I just wish the kid had gotten something else too, like a compensation for the lame ring. "Wheeler, here's a ring that shoots blazing columns of rightiously environmental fire. Ma-ti, this lets you talk to that monkey over there, so here's a gameboy too. Just a little something so you won't be too bored while the other four are doing real superhero stuff."

A Little More Evidence

This is the last one of these for a while, I promise, and I'll make it as fast as I can. But the coincidences in my life regarding North Dakota, as well as all of the new information I'm finding out is really starting to make me worried, and I feel the need to share that crippling fear of the government with you.

Before I divulge another frightening personal tale, allow me to explain one more North Dakota fact. Ladies and gentlemen, North Dakota is the only state that doesn't use any kind of voter registration list. None at all. So in any federal records for voting residents of the state of North Dakota...nothing. Do they not vote? Would a registration list reveal to much about the population? Is it possible that not having registered votes allows them to fix elections one way or another seeing as its impossible to tell how many voters there actually are? You decide.

By the way, I finally found a celebrity from North Dakota. His name is Josh Duhamel. Apparently hes married to Fergie now of the Black Eyed Peas. Sounds like he's just famous enough to be proof, but not so famous that anyone would ever go looking for his home town of "Minot, ND." His father is a salesman, and his mother teaches elementary school. Oh how classic Americana. He played football for a local state college and always wanted to be a dentist. come on government! If you want to deceive me you're going to need to try harder than that!

After some more searching I discovered that Nicole Linkletter and CarriDee English, both winners of next top model, and Kellan Lutz, of Twilight fame, all hail from "North Dakota." Funny thing is, all three of them, as well as our buddy Duhamel all started as models. Now I know what you're thinking, ya, ya Doug sure, sure big deal. But really guys? It produces just enough C list celebrities to stay real, just enough strangely beautiful people to convince us it's there. But they can't hide the Grand Forks Air Base and all the other military establishments. There's something going on over there.

Anyway, onto my new personal references to the truth behind the lie. Another friend (who won't be named) heard my theory. The very next day she was on the highway in the left lane when a black Impala with tinted windows pulled up next to her and stayed even with her for about two miles and then sped off. A minute later, she heard a dedication to someone from North Dakota on a local Boston radio station. Really government? Really? You don't think I notice when I tell my friend about Ol' North Dakota and the next day she sees a ND licence plate at Applebees? Sure, sure just stake out places I go out to eat all the time waiting for me to show up so you can casually drive by and show me your "proof." Go ahead.

Make my day.

Breaking News

Instead of a brand new point of interest tonight, I have some new information about my original post that might sway a few more of you to believe as I believe. For new readers who may have never seen the idea that started it all, I began this blog by stating my theory that North Dakota doesn't exist. It might sound crazy if you've never read it, so you might want to go and check that out before you read this. I'm putting this here in light of a few new pieces of information regarding this "state," as recently some things have been brought to my attention that I feel the public has a right to know.

First of all, here are a few "North Dakota" facts that can be found online. Did you know that the only US state never to have an earthquake is North Dakota? It doesn't seem that suspicious until you think of all the government work that could be destroyed by one, especially all of the underground facilities. Is it possible that that area was picked simply for its resistance to troublesome tremors? Or is there some kind of tectonic plate restricting technology in use, perhaps technology found in the ships of crashed UFOs. You be the judge my friends. How about that in North Dakota there are more registered vehicles than people. Now let's try the math; if each government employee has a black Impala, a white, tinted-windowed van, and a Ford Taurus...indeed, that's three cars to every one person. This fact sounds feasible to me. Last but not least, how about the fact that if North Dakota seceded from the Union it would be the world's third strongest nuclear power. Seriously, come on people! Who do they think they're fooling! The place has conspiracy written all over it!

All right, besides these facts one more thing was brought to my attention just last night. Not an Internet site, not a theory, but a cold, hard eye-witness account. A close and trusted friend of mine was describing a business trip that brought him through North Dakota. He said, and I quote, "I went to a bar soon after I got into North Dakota. I swear it was the strangest place I had ever been in my life. There was the token Indian girl in the corner, the drunk guy, the poker players, the friendly bartender... it was like everyone in there was playing a role." Very Truman Show-esque, no? It's all a cover up. Everything in there that we can see or know about is fabricated to fool us folks.

Finally, some personal news that I need to say soon. Soon as in before they black bag me and take me who knows where. I think the government is on to me. There, I said it. I've noticed an increase in black and white cars with dark windows and government plates every where I go. And what I am about to say is completely true. I know some of what I say sounds like a load you-know-what, but this story really, honest to God happened to me. On a recent trip to the gym, I was parked in the lot getting my stuff ready to go in, when a black Impala with government plates pulled up in front of me. Inside were two men with sunglasses on who seemed to be looking right at me. So I reached into the back of my car, not to get anything, but to avoid looking at them. As I put my shoes on, I noticed one of them had left the car and walked up to a column in front of the gym. He stood there, not smoking or doing anything, just standing. As I walked up to the gym, as soon as I was in speaking distance he turned his head to me and said "How we doing?," to which I replied "Awesome." When I finished and left the place, they were gone, neither of them having ever set foot in the gym, or any nearby business.

Once again, that story is completely true, I am not lying at all. That's why I didn't give the name of my business tripping friend. They're on to me man. I'm just saying, if someone picks me up, you readers will know not exactly where I am, but why I'm there. Just remember that.

By the way, if and when that happens, someone please tell my government teacher where I am. He doesn't believe the whole North Dakota thing. Also, Danny, you can have my Wii, assuming that they don't take you too now that I used your name. My bad.

Board Games Are Not Your Friend

Before I begin to reveal to you the secrets that common house hold board games have been hiding behind for years, first allow me to apologise to those faithful readers who have been disappointed by my dry spell over the past week. An epic streak of things to do and a lack of ideas caused the blog to run barren, so thanks to you who kept checking to see if I would ever come back, I appreciate it, and indeed, I have returned. Now, onto the Board Game Conspiracy.

I would wager that most of us here in the good ol' US of A are familiar with the popular children's game "Mouse Trap." What most of us aren't aware of is the money grubbing scheme hidden boldly behind this game's little plastic pieces of doom. In theory, Mouse Trap is a great game; you build a mouse trap and then attempt to trap your friends and watch them rot to death in a little red cage until their cute mouse-y flesh just falls off the bone. The sweet thrill of literally starving your opponent to death is just to tempting for most children. But the slightly morbid concept of this rat race is not where the evil lies.

Having played Mouse Trap a lot as a child I'm not surprised that I never noticed it's dark side until now. Youngins are fast to forgive a board game when it doesn't work perfectly, and they probably won't remember what broke last time even as it fails to work the next time, but thinking about it recently I saw the true blatant money hunger behind Milton-Bradley, and it lies behind one little green diver.

Not once, in my personal Mouse Trap history, and nor in that of several of my board game playing cohorts (see. Tim and Emily Smith) has the little green diver ever landed right on that see-saw. I'm not asking for rocket science in my games, but I don't want the one trajectory based part of it all designed by a mentally unstable freshman in a Physics 101 class with a crippling case of ADD and the entire Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade outside to distract him. That little green diver my friends is the brilliant part of Milton-Bradly's scheme. Let's assume you're a parent with the means to purchase another set of Mouse Trap if your child requests it. When little Timmy comes into the living room, and interrupts Judge Judy with tears steaming down his cheeks because the cage never fell. His entire set of innocent little hopes and dreams was crushed when the diver didn't land on the see-saw and he never saw the Rube Goldberg style contraption reach fruition. What do you do? How do you respond to that show of infinite sadness? You don't have a physics degree, you can't solve the case of the Demon Diver. So you take a deep breath, accept that these were the duties you took on as a parent, and so help you God the second that Judge Judy is over you march yourself right out to K-Mart and you buy another copy of Mouse Trap, feeling more satisfied as a parent that you ever have before.

You, hypothetically, have been had by the Board Game Conspiracy. There's nothing wrong with that diver. The see-saw isn't broken. The game simply isn't designed to work. How else could they get you to buy another product? Expansion sets? I don't think so. And the worst part of the scheme is this my friends. Say you get home with that game, but now its 9:00. Not only is 24 starting, but its also coincidentally little Timmy's bed time. And tomorrow, his natural childlike attention deficit disorder makes him forget the game ever existed. But in a few months during a fit of boredom he'll take it out to play again, and once again his world will fall apart as that unholy diver lands refuses to land on that midnight sea-saw. Once more, you will trek to your local corruption dealer and buy into the Conspiracy. And the thing is, no one can complain, because the piece is perfectly intact. There isn't a single concrete issue with the game, so no lawsuits, no letters of complaint, no nothing. Nice work there MB, clever.

And that ladies and gentlemen, is why companies like Milton-Bradley can exist despite not producing a real game in over ten years. And by real game, I do not mean slapping Dora the Explorer on a previously made game. I want to see some ingenuity here people! I want a board game that will wake up the world! But it won't happen as long as they can keep making that nice little diver fail to stick his landing. And they will people, they will.

Apocalypse Part 2

After a few days of watching the polls here, checking in frequently for comments and concerns, I'm back with some more thoughts to ponder on the Epic War of the Future. But first, let me say that the polls came back men 10, women 7. Out of 32 followers, 16 of them are women. Not that everyone voted, but I'm just trying to prove I don't run a macho-centric blog. Polls being considered, though not held as scripture, let's move on to a few more points in the war. This time I'll cover strategies of each side and possible counter maneuvers.

Those of you who are new to this post series should go back and read Apocalypse Part 1, and those of you who aren't caught up and are hyper-sensitive should go back and read the disclaimer as well.

Women's Strategy

A commonly accepted fact is that men love to look at women, especially underclothed ones. So in the most politically correct words as possible, the women could "display" certain "characteristics" to "disable" the men, making their fighting less than perfection and opening a line in their advances for the women to sail through.

Men's Counter
This is a war between all men and all women. This means that less heterosexual men will be placed in sniper positions and tasked with eliminating the threats to morale presented by the females. Their resilience to feminine distractions makes them ideal for this role, and effectively eliminates that course of action for the women.

Men's Strategy

Taking advantage of the women's tendency toward infighting (described earlier) men have a plan to use on the front lines of battle. Using a megaphone, the men will single out a certain battalion of women and tell them that all of the other batallions look better than they do today. Rather than assault the men, the plan is that at least some of the more insecure women will turn on the other sections of their own army and create a less than ideal fighting environment.

Women's Counter

Knowing the men's coniving ways and anticipating this plan, the women will counterstrike with an equally loud megaphone and ask the men "Do these fatigues make us look fat?" Stunned, the men will have no choice but to offend each and every one of the women, negating the effect of their previous propaganda.

Women's Strategy

A basic military strategy that holds a promising record in the history of war is the classic bombing raid. Simple, dignified, and utterly destructive, women's natural ability to go to the bathroom in perfect synchronization also makes them adept at coordinated flight patternes. The men won't see such a militant attack coming from them, and will be taken completely by surprise.

Men's Counter

2 words. Amelia Earhart. Enough Said.

Men's Strategy

Motivation is such a key component of war that military tacticians have been working on developing new technologies for years. But one of the most tried and true weapons of willpower is a good song. Since the dawn of war, men have been beating drums to move the hearts of their warriors. Thousands of men with guns is a mighty force indeed, but thousands of men with guns listening to "We're Not Gonna Take It" will mow down any opposition, guaranteed.

Women's Counter
They know how to do it. They practice constantly. And all it takes is a quick radio signal interception to release their own personal brand of audio anhilation. Once the women have the hard rock station the men are jamming to, all they need to do is change the channel every 2 seconds to not only kill the fighting songs, but annoy the living soul out of every man out there.

Apocalypse Part 1

Time: The future.

Place: All over the globe

Occasion: The final battle has broken out. No longer can the tension and brutality be kept locked away inside. The war between men and women has unleashed its fury upon the world. Each side is armed with the traits and abilities that they have developed over the last several thousand years. With each army starting on opposite sides of the globe and battling their way toward and through each other, the epic battle can only end when the other side is eliminated. Who will win? We shall see.

Over the next few posts, I will explore the various factors that will ultimately decide the war. All the while you can look to the left of the blog for polls where YOU can voice your opinion on the topics. So please, sit back, take it all in, and then weigh in at the end of every post. I'll put the next one up once I get a consensus on people opinions as to the first and so on and so forth.

DISCLAIMER: Some of the things in this blog series will be biased, stereotypical, and offensive. I apologise, but in order to explore this topic, gross generalizations must be made. Also, I will do my best to avoid thinking to chauvinistically, despite my gender. If you really feel the need to call me on something, by all means, comment or make yourself heard in the poll.

Topic 1: Organization.

A crucial part of any war effort is the organization of the leaders of each army. Men and women each have their own particular sets of skills, but I think in terms of leadership, the men will come out on top. I will admit, women are smarter than men. They can multi-task better, reason faster, and think of more creative strategies. But in terms of sheer leadership, I think men have the advantage. Women, in the heat of battle, will do anything to win, which is great, but the problem is that every woman will do anything to win, even if their individual strategies conflict. Men will choose a leader, say someone like Ol' G. Washington, and then do whatever he tells them to do. So while not as many ideas are shared, men don't encounter the problem of infighting and turmoil within the ranks. I've seen an all girl class office at school try to run itself. The tensions run high when any of them, and I mean any of them, comes up with an idea. Men might not think as much, but at least we won't be clawing each other's eyes out.

Topic 2: Sustainability.

This war that we're looking at is not a conflict that can be resolved over a couple of months. This will be a long, drawn out conflict, flaring up at times, and at others dying down to a dull roar. This is where a key component of the battle comes into play. Women currently outnumber men 2:1, and not only that, but there is nothing men can build, think, or do to avoid the fact that if women can get their hands on a couple of strands of DNA, they are the only side out of the two that can sustain itself. In the long conflict, there will be time to raise children, children that can join the fight. Granted, if a male child is spawned he might need to be kept a secret or even destroyed. But that's beside the point, the fact of the matter is that either side can make in-vitro armies, but only men have made their "half of the bargain" readily available, in certain banking establishments. This one has to go to the women.

Topic 3: Determination.

Another point might have to go to the women here. Both sides, when faced with these life or death circumstances will certainly fight hard, but women are, in general, much more determined than men. Especially, if any man ever brings up even the thought of a possibility of a vague suggestion to do any harm to their children. Game over dude. Normal women turn into the incredible she hulk in 2.5 seconds and will stop at nothing to seek and destroy their target, with their bare hands if necessary. Not that men aren't determined, but a wall of rampaging, hormonal wildebeasts can trump a force twice its size on the field of battle.

That ought to be enough to get the gears in your head rolling. Remember, this particular blog is a community effort, comment to let me know any thoughts you have, and answer the poll to publicly display your opinion. Keep talking to me, and check back soon when I take your ideas and more of my own and bring you Part 2.

The Problem with Axe

Its early morning for me, around noon, on a President's Day morning. As I prepare myself for the day, going through my normal routine, I stop for a second as I fumigate my bathroom with the familiar scent of Axe body spray. For the most part, I use the stuff out of habit at this point, without giving much thought as to how effective the self-proclaimed "chick magnet" is. Today is a different story however, as I devote an entire tooth brushing session to contemplating the new millenium odor-craze that is Axe body spray.

First of all, I would like to propose the theory that all fragrances for Axe are developed by gay men. My reasoning behind this is that in all my years of musical theater, no girl I have ever met has ever had any magnetic pull towards Axe. Contrarily, most are appalled by the scent, simply because of its reputation for drawing them in. On the other hand, most guys throw on Axe in the morning thinking "Man, do I smell awesome!" So is it just me, or does it seem that guys are more attracted to axe than girls are? Logically, this can only mean that the team developing all the different Axe varieties are all men, and by nature of smelling other men for a living, gay men. There's absolutely nothing at all wrong with this, I'm just saying that there's no way any women back there developing these scents that they all hate.

My next question to the axe company is where in the cosmos are they pulling these names from? I can understand "Essence" and maybe "Touch" but "Kilo?"A Kilo of what? Charisma? Axe? Illicit substances? Come on, that doesn't even "kind of" make sense. And even with the names that do sound logical, how do the names relate directly to each scent? It's not like "Touch" makes me more touchable, and "Kilo" doesn't make me any heavier. The way the names are it sounds like they're supposed to give you super-powers. I feel like "VooDoo" should come with its own zombie, and "Tsunami" should bestow on me some kind of Captain Planet type water blasts.

I'm probably going to continue to wear Axe even after these revelations. There's something in the scent that makes men think "No way this smells bad! All those women call me a pig but I've seen the commercials, I know what's up." So I'll keep on wearing it and hoping that someday they'll make a scent called "Laser Vision."

New World Order Alert!

The following is an urgent alert! If you value your life and the lives of those you know and love I highly suggest you pay attention to what you are about to read. If you don't care about yourself or anyone around you, then by all means, go back to eating those Thin Mints while our silent oppressor goes about establishing its iron grasp on this previously free society.

In case you didn't pick up on that subtle reference back there, allow me to explain a little more clearly the impending doom that is lurking right now in our country. In these past few weeks I have been witness to an event that I, like many of you, have seen plenty of times, but it was this particular occurrence that finally made me realize the true scope of the danger that we are in.

This seemingly commonplace happening is the annual Girl Scout cookie sell-a-thon. What had always seemed to me to be a harmless fundraiser suddenly occurred to me to be much more than that. Think about it for a moment; on one coordinated day throughout the country, hundreds of thousands of teenage girls are dispatched into our schools and places of business with the unshakable goal of making you spend as much money as possible on overly processed little treats known only as "cookies." Not only is it difficult for anyone with money to say no to any of these delightful little agents of terror, but so help you God if you try to say no to any one of them. The fear of being on every girl in the school's bad side produces enough coercion to bend even the most stubborn of people to their every whim.

But the selling process is only the beginning. In a few weeks, crates and boxes full of mass produced destruction are wheeled into our country from lord knows what outsourced Indonesian nation and force fed down our throats by the pound. Allow me to digress for a second and say that I don't blame McDonald's for the American obesity epidemic, I blame the Girl Scouts of America. Those little snacks aren't exactly heart healthy, and I believe their most recent slogan is "betcha' can't eat just 100 boxes!"

Anyway, the point that I'm aiming to make here is that the Girl Scout cookie fan craze is just the start of their much more sinister goals. I believe I state the obvious when I remind you that Hitler's first step in conquering any country was to first introduce them to "Fascist Delights" and watch as the entire citizenry became fatter, slower, and much more susceptible to propaganda.

Let me clarify; I'm not saying that the Girl Scouts are inherently evil, or even that their move for world domination is in the near future, but if we don't keep a close watch on these cute little weapons of dictatorship, we may very well be looking down the barrel of the United States of Trefoils and Do-Si-Dos.

A Personal Note...

Conspiracies, mortal combat, logical fallacies, it's all in a days work for this hard-hitting blogger. But I think it's about time I talk about an issue a little more personal to me than anything I've touched on so far. Just by looking at the title of this page one can see that there is more to me than meets the eye. Well, technically there's about an inch less to me than meets the eye. This is a personal issue that I hold near and dear to my heart. This is the story of little foot...

(Note: The following may be a slight dramatization)

It was a cold day in November, when Douglas Joseph Alfred Dame was born. Despite apparent perfection, a creeping evil was afoot. Actually, a creeping evil was both of his feet. For poor Douglas was born with a destructive condition known as club foot. Much like Tommy Pickles, of "Rugrats" fame, Douglas' feet were not pointed out like a normal child's, but rather tilted inward at an angle that could someday cause problems. What careers could possibly be available for a club foot? Bell ringer? Hermit? Voice-over acting? How could a successful life be led while haunted by a forty-five degree ankle?

And so, in a brilliant act of selflessness, Douglas' parents decided to act quickly to solve this terrible affliction. After extensive medical consult, they decided that the first course of action would be two minuscule casts, one on each foot. The hope was that the evil dreams that plagued the feet would not be able to pass through the thick magical wrappings, much like the Native American dreamcatcher. After months of trying and trying, the wraps were removed to no avail, as the feet continued to point dastardly inward.

Thinking quickly, the physicians next contraption was what is known in some countries as a "leg brace." This enchanted piece of metal was attached to two magical boots which Douglas wore while he slept. The aim was that the beam would exert its powerful energies on the feet, bending them to its will and forcing them into the light.

Weeks went by and the braces proved no more effective than the casts. It was clear that drastic action had to be taken. The doctor's only remaining option was to enter the twisted world that was Douglas' ankles and use a combination of physical manipulation and fervent prayer to stretch the Achilles tendon and allow the feet to land in their rightful place set proudly forward. The procedure was carried out and the world sat in waiting, hoping that the boy might somehow be rid of his podiatric predicament.

As he emerged from surgery, the boy's parents patiently awaited the news. When the doctor finally came into the room, it was as if a great weight had finally been released. The surgery was a success! Douglas would be able to live like a normal boy for the rest of his life!

It seemed as if all was finally right with the world, but old habits die hard. Hiding deep within his left ankle, Douglas still faced that same lurking evil. At a routine check up, it was sadly discovered that the left foot had not fully rid itself of the devil that had once corrupted both feet. Luckily, this time the doctors knew just what to do. Charging valiantly into battle against the armies of the darkness, the surgeon once again slew the evil fortress of the left Achilles tendon, finally defeating the club foot once and for all.

As the dust settled, it was clear that the battle had been won, but for every victory, something must be sacrificed. The only casualty in the Battle of Douglas' Heel was the very thing it sought to liberate. For as long as he would live Douglas would remember that fateful fight, being permanently marked with the point of this whole tale... Little Foot.

Whew. That was pretty emotionally draining. I guess the moral of the story is that for the rest of my life, my left foot will be one inch too small. But what can you do right?

Well I can always tie the left shoe a little tighter I guess.