The story of how Continental Airlines almost stole Christmas

Everyone who knows me in real life knows about our travel debacle, because I couldn’t shut the fuck up about it this week. The short version is that Continental tied us to a pole, poured honey over our naked bodies and released the hungry lions. The customer-service rep at Continental should drown in a lake of rat pee. Buzzards should peck out his eyeballs. Telemarketers should call his house every day at 3 am to ask him if he has Prince Albert in a can. No trip from New York to Denver should involve a connecting “flight” from Newark to LaGuardia. That douche nugget couldn’t find our reservations, so he wanted us to buy brand new tickets, all the while speaking to us in that voice you reserve for people who don’t understand for the sixth time that salmon is not a vegetable.

On the other hand, the customer service rep at United was our hero. May she forever relax in a really comfy recliner while well-oiled men (or women, if she prefers) feed her strawberries. She’s the reason we made it to Colorado in time for Christmas and got an upgrade to first class. Unlimited wine and wide seats made everything mostly better.

I did have the fun of seeing Devon lose it, which for him is saying “screw you” and threatening to call the Better Business Bureau. He’s an animal.

We’re torn about the experience, because United and Continental are the same company, except one half sucks ferret peen and the other doesn’t.

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Craft Friday: Wine bottle lights

I’ve seen this project in a few places and I keep meaning to try it. The Flying Spaghetti Monster knows I have enough empty wine bottles lying around. I’m surprised the lady who rifles through our garbage hasn’t staged an intervention.

Wine bottle with lights inside

I could light my apartment -- and yours -- entirely with wine bottles. Photo from MyThirtySpot.com

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Just say no to cre8tive names

So Devon and I were talking about what we would name a kid if cynical bitterness turns out to be a poor form of birth control. A girl would be Aurelia, after my grandmother. Devon came up with Ptolemy for a boy, because “Thomas” and “Christopher” and “Assface the Unshowered Hobo” are too pedestrian for him, I guess.

I told him we can’t name a boy Ptolemy, because I can’t even pronounce it properly most of the time. I pronounce it “Tole-e-may.” I know it’s wrong, but that’s how my lips and tongue want to move, and I can’t help it. So I would have to nickname him “Toe,” and when he’s 16 he would start a garage band called “Toe Jam,” which would lead to a life of drugs and whores and roadies with fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. He’d burn out by 30 and spend the next 10 years on reality TV trying to convince people that his brand-new No. 1 song is just around the corner, but that would be a lie, because he’d keep forgetting that he bartered his guitar for a bag full of blue M&M’s. And I’d have to explain to him that his name is Ptolemy because his father hates him.

I don’t want that kind of broken life on my hands.

So I need to convince Devon to stop hating on little boys, which is weird, because normally I’m the one trying to punch small children to switch off whatever horrid noise they’re making, so I figured I would be the one on a Child Protective Services watch list.

Devon’s more into the psychological abuse, I guess. I can respect that.

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My hair feathered just writing this

There will never be a decade as awesome as the ’80s.

I know what you’re thinking. Shut up. You know I’m right: You just won’t admit it. It’s my job to bring you to the light with the top five most bodacious, rad things from the ’80s.

WHT

WHT was a subscription movie service in New York City, kind of like HBO’s retarded cousin. Having WHT made us the shit. With WHT, you didn’t just have 13 channels. You had FOURTEEN!

My Little Pony

My Little Pony is so cool that people who enjoyed it in the ’80s have created porn of it in the 21st century. It’s THAT cool. This is mostly safe for work unless your boss is a harsh hoser.

Boomboxes

Boomboxes were introduced in the mid-’70s but came into their own in the ’80s. The modern trend is to make things small, but the ’80s were not a decade for subtlety. You wanted everyone to know that you spent a lot of money on your stereo and that you listened to AC/DC. It wasn’t really music if it didn’t rattle your teeth.

Boomboxes
“Let me put my love into you, babe. Let me put my love on the line. Let me put my love into you, babe. Let me cut your cake with my knife.” Remember these lyrics when people bitch about how stupid modern music is.

Ouija Boards

These were awesome for convincing pre-teen girls that Parker Brothers had opened a portal to the afterlife. Funny how the dead always said exactly what I expected them to say.

Ouija Board

Modern-style board. You can use it to speak to dead fads.

Scratch and Sniff Stickers

You scratched them. Then you sniffed them. Life was pretty simple then. These stickers smelled vaguely like something fruity or chocolate-y. My cousin took me to a store where, if they sold anything else, I don’t remember, because the stickers had my undivided attention.

Scratch and Sniff stickers
This shit’s cool. Trust me:

They don’t make pens like they used to.

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My meth-making business died before it truly lived

Devon and I just started watching “Breaking Bad” because we enjoy being way, way behind on all the latest trends, and I realized I would be a terrible meth dealer. Not just because I suck at chemistry and would blow my face off, which seems obvious and not the kind of thing I need to go into tremendous detail about. I would overlook the little things that make or break or a good meth-selling business.

Like, it would never occur to me that trying to dissolve my former business partner’s dead body in a bathtub would dissolve the bathtub and force me to clean up the remains of my colleague with a bucket. I’m not a forward thinker like that. Also, cleaning up cat vomit triggers my gag reflex, so Devon would have to clean up the liquified organs, and I suspect that’s where he would draw the line.

When I asked him about it, he said the idea made him uncomfortable, because he’s no fun at all. He worried about having to check me into a drug clinic, but I assured him I wouldn’t actually use the stuff. It’s like making sammiches. I don’t eat the sammiches I make because by the time I’ve made 30 of them, I just want a yogurt parfait.

I could probably handle the marketing and PR end of it, though. I could set up Facebook and Twitter accounts for people who like meth — the ones who haven’t hocked their computers already, I mean. And I could arrange for dental insurance and bail bonding and lawyers to work with child protective services. It’s important to let your customers know you care, even when you don’t.

In case anyone from the DEA is reading this, I would never sell meth. Pot is so much easier to grow and distribute and far less likely to send chunks of me, Devon and my cats into the apartment next door. Also, meth is the reason I can’t get cough medicine that fucking works and why I have to buy lye in bulk to make soap. Screw meth.

In case the DEA is still reading this, I would also never grow pot, because I am the Grim Reaper of flora. See my other posts for proof.

++++++++++

This shit’s cool. Trust me:

Why do the Norwegians need all that butter?
But he was a ronery, ronery man. 
Jesus has style.  

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Game review: Dragon Age II

I know what you’re thinking: Dragon Age II came out about 6,000 years ago, so this review is more like your bald, toothless, one-legged grandpa telling you what a stud he used to be during World War II. To that, I say “pfffft!” I’m cheap, and I waited until it was 20 bucks. For the best review of Dragon Age II, check out Zero Punctuation, which makes me laugh so hard I projectile vomit, and that’s pretty hard to do considering what a cynical asshole I am.

I remember all the butthurt fanboy bitching right after the release, mostly centered around how DA II didn’t deserve to lick Origins’ boots clean. This isn’t going to be one of those reviews. I like DA II. Not as much as DA: Origins, which was so awesome I played it twice all the way through, including side quests, and I might do it a third time, but DA II is a solid game.

Here’s how they compare.

Scale

Dragon Age: Origins is epic. You’re trying to unite three different civilizations against the blight, stop a civil war and, in the case of my human rogue, avenge the slaughter of your entire family. You resolve political unrest among the dwarves, lift an ancient curse on a tribe of werewolves, beat back demons from another realm, save a town from an undead invasion (unless you’re a jerk and let them all die, which can be fun, too) and help create a a demon-god baby. And that’s before you save the world from a giant dragon.

Rendon Howe kills your familyHowe kills your sister in law and nephew. Your mother and father a little later.

Dragon Age II screenshotYou lift an ancient curse to save the werewolves and elves.

 

Archdemon

You kill this.

In DA II, as far as I can tell, the point is to do odd jobs around town for extra cash and help your friends with their angst. Most of DA II takes place in the city of Kirkwall and the surrounding area. The city feels like a real city, complete with extras and secondary characters – unlike Orizimmar, which is populated mostly by merchants, soldiers, thugs and politicians. If you’re going to be trapped in one city, at least it’s an interesting one.

One of the highlights of Origins is spending a large part of it planning bloody vengeance on Rendon Howe, who murders the Warden’s family if you play a noble. He’s voiced by Tim Curry for 100% more evil. I got more satisfaction out of killing Howe than I did the archdemon. In DA II, an ogre kills your brother or sister (depending on which class you play), and then you kill the ogre. Heartbreaking death avenged, I guess. You agree to become a hired hand for one of the shadier local groups, and the game fast forwards to the end of that year with a hand wave.

People in Kirkwall goes on and on about what a raging badass I am, but I have no idea what I’ve done to earn that reputation, since all I’ve done in gameplay up to this point is get rescued by an old lady and spend a year working for a living. Hawke could have a rep making awesome blueberry muffins for all I know.

Battle

The battle systems in both games are similar. You can take direct control of your characters or set the battle tactics and let ‘em rip. If you don’t set the tactics and let the AI take over, your characters will explode in a mess of blood and gore because it never occurs to them to get out of the way of the stabby thing or drink a potion when they’re hurt.

Then there’s the screaming. In Origins, it’s like the game is afraid you won’t realize you’re being attacked unless everyone is REALLY FUCKING LOUD. A single drunk, blind Genlock can wander out from behind a pillar, and your Warden is all, “ARRRGH!” and your fighter is all, “RRRAAAAWR!” and your mage is all, “WOOOH!” and your rogue is all, “AGGGGGH!” Even in stealth mode. I had to mute the volume during fight scenes because all the screaming was making my brain bleed. DA II is fond of the screaming, too, unfortunately.

I’m not quite done with DA II, but the fights have been cake so far. There was one fight in the Deep Roads that almost led to a TPK, but none of the other fights have been very tough in normal mode. It’s possible that I’m the Chuck Norris of gaming, but I doubt it. Bioware’s idea of challenging seems to be having enemies teleport from somewhere up Hawke’s ass to flank you just when you think the battle is over. This is surprising the first few times, but it gets annoying fast. And the city guard in Kirkwall must all be on the take, because Hawke is constantly being attacked by roaming gangs of thugs throughout the city, often for no reason at all, and no one seems to notice or mind. It’s like having the Crips and the local plumbers union and the Boy Scouts trying to cut you every time you go to the store for milk.

On the bright side, no one seems to care that I’ve slaughtered a third of the population of Kirkwall or that, in a city where being a mage could be a death sentence, I toss lightening bolts and ice storms around in broad daylight with impunity. At one point, you talk to a Qunari who thinks his people should conquer Kirkwall and smack some discipline into the locals. I think you’re supposed to be appalled, but I have to agree: Kirkwall is a hive of scum and villainy and should be burned to the ground.

The boss fights aren’t much to speak of so far. In Origins, revenants and ogres made me pee my pants, especially at low levels. Dragons sent me crying to my mommy. Flemeth stole my lunch money and told me to like it.

Flemeth This old lady pwned me. To be fair, she was a dragon at the time.

DragonA dragon like this.

In my first fight with a “Mature Dragon” in DA II, Retardo Dragon stood still while my warrior poked it in the ass with a sword. My other characters had a range greater than the dragon’s breath, so they stood just out of reach peppering it with spells and arrows. It never occurred to the dragon to turn around and bite my tank’s head off. It got to 50% health before it even tried to go for my other characters. They just don’t make dragons like they used to.

Characters

The characters in DA:O are a riot. The inter-party banter is loads of fun, and the ability to have them hate or love you creates the sense that you are in a party of real people who aren’t always up your heroic ass. If they hate you, they might leave in a snit, or even shank you in a dark alley. If they love you, they are inspired to fight harder, and some of them will have sex with you. (Two of them will have sex in a foursome with an NPC if you plan it right.)

The only place where the like/hate stuff gets weird is with the gift system. You can give your friends things like slobbery old dog bones, and even the biggest dicks in your party will be all, “Oh, thank you for this bone with bits of rotten meat clinging to it. I like you a little more now.” And there are gifts all over the place, so it comes across like exactly what it is: Trying to buy your friends’ affection. You can counter any negative ratings with the gift of a shiny rock, and it’s easy to have 100% approval from all your companions by the end of the game.

DA II does this better. Your companions aren’t exactly three-dimensional (in fact, they are so single-minded and one-dimensional that I wonder how they survived childhood), but they have reactions to just about everything you do, and they have strong opinions of each other. Sometimes the inter-party dialogue is so funny that I stop what I’m doing just to listen to it. Example:

Merrill: “So do you like telling stories?”
Varric: “I enjoy telling them and watching the faces of my audience get excited as I spin a tale.”
Merrill: “We had a story teller in the clan.”
Varric: “Did he enjoy it as much as I do?”
Merrill: “I think he did. But he did not start his stories with ‘I shit you not.’”

Even the random NPCs muttering to themselves are funny. (“Elf this and elf that. … I’ll elf his mother.”)

Instead of the love/hate approval system from Origins, DA II uses friendship/rivalry. Both poles will get you fighting perks, and everything you do is bound to please some people and piss off others, so there’s more incentive to role play instead of trying to manage your party’s approval ratings.

And on a shallow note, I’m glad the characters are more fleshed out, literally. My rogue from Origins looked more like a yoga instructor than a machine of back-stabby death, but my human mage totally has some junk in her trunk.

Ass shot

This can’t be comfortable ass-kicking underwear.

Final call: DA II is a good game, but Origins is a great game. Origins has an epic, “Lord of the Rings” feel to it. DA II is fun, but it feels like the middle part of a story on the way to something bigger.

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Craft Friday: More balls!

Christmas ornaments make a great gift, or you can hang them on your own tree if you’re protective of your crafts.

Christmas balls

-- From Craft

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The War on Religion is back, baby!

Were you aware that every day in America, children are being flogged for praying in schools and wishing people a merry Christmas? It’s true! Rick Perry says so.

Rick Perry

"I will end Obama's war on religion. And make sure shitty coffee doesn't make it into your cup."

Here’s the story at Fox News: The only legitimate news source on the Internet.

Check this out, from Todd Starnes of Fox News: ”It was President Obama who declared in an e-mail to CBN News that ‘whatever we once were, we’re no longer just a Christian nation.’”

How dare Obama point out that people in this country are exercising their freedom of religion. That’s what we get for electing a Muslim president.

I, for one, am glad Perry will end Obama’s War on Religion when our Lord and Savior makes him president. Then all our brave men and women overseas fighting religion can return home to their families, and we can redirect all those tax dollars to something important, like making sure people can’t get married unless their pee pees interlock.

Fine, I’ll stop. I can’t keep a straight face anymore anyway.

Starnes goes on to say: “It was during the Obama administration that Christian school children were ordered to stop praying outside the Supreme Court building because they were violating the law. Instead, those American boys and girls were forced to pray for the elected officials while standing in a gutter.”

This is technically true. But the Supreme Court does not have a policy prohibiting prayer. This happened because one police officer misunderstood the Court’s policy on group demonstrations. I’d also like to note that I got a crappy cup of coffee from my local coffee shop today. I’m waiting for an explanation from Obama, as this tragedy happened on his watch.

The rest of his column is equally asinine, but you can read if for yourself.

To avoid making myself bug nuts, I’ve decided to kick back and enjoy the War on Religion (officially known as the War on Religion, Christmas, Children and Sometimes Yo Momma). Republicans trot it out every December, and it has become warm, comfortable and hairy, a lot like yo momma.

There are three things I love about the War on Religion.

Oh, fuck it. Never mind.

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I reserve the right to be a cranky beyotch

I’m just about done with the “first-world problems” meme.

I get the intent behind it. Every once in awhile, we need to remind ourselves that missing the bus isn’t like running from rape gangs in the Congo.

But some people are being jerks about it. Losing my MetroCard isn’t like watching my family die in a bloodbath, but it’s still a pain in the ass. The little things can add up, and I don’t need some zen monk asshole telling me how lucky I am that I’m not bloated with starvation and begging for gruel.

I know I’m lucky. I don’t wake up in the morning and think, “Wow, those AIDS victims in Africa have it good. They should see MY life.”

It’s like when strangers tell me to smile. I don’t want to smile. Sometimes I’m pissed or sad. Sometimes I’m just neutral. Why are you so balls to the walls about me smiling? Am I on Candid Camera? Are you with the Happy Police? Are you trying to convince your friends off in the distance that I’m having sex with you?

So here’s the deal: If you are having a first-world problem, you can be humble and label it as such. If you tell me my problem is a first-world problem, I’m going to fuck with the wheels on your grocery cart. May your cart always swerve to the left.

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FDA tells sperminator to knock off all that sperm-making

This is one of those stories that sounds like an Onion article but isn’t.

The Food and Drug Administration is telling Trent Arsenault of California to stop giving his sperm away like it’s a keg party at Delta Tau Chi.

The best part about this whole story is HuffPo’s headline: “Trent Arsenault, Sperm Donor, Gets Cease Order From FDA.”

Like, it wasn’t enough that this story is made of awesome. HuffPo needs to make sure we remember his name, too. It’s like if I said, “David White, Public Masturbator, Does It All For The Kicks.” I picked that name randomly. If your name is David White, my apologies. Unless you masturbate in public. Then I’m totally right about you. And you’re gonna go blind.

Arsenault is giving the sperm to low-income and gay couples, who he says have a harder time getting donations from sperm banks. I gotta side with Trent on this one. He’s not selling it, and if he were, shall we say, making home deliveries, this wouldn’t be a problem at all.

By “making home deliveries,” I mean “sticking his penis into her vagina.” I worried that wasn’t clear.

I have to agree with George Carlin: “Selling is legal. Fucking is legal. Why isn’t selling fucking legal?” Taking it one step further, why isn’t giving away the byproduct of fucking legal?

C’mon, FDA. Give Trent a chance.

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