Dumber Than Zane Trivia

OK, today I won $3,200 playing Dumber Than Zane Trivia on the Free Beer and Hot Wings Show. I am going to attempt to post the mp3 of the ordeal here.

Attack of Mothra Jr.

It's Sunday, July 11, 2010, 3:30 a.m. I just got home from the ER. Did I break a bone? Cut myself badly? Was I in a car accident? No. None of these things. Only my strange luck would end me up in the ER for 5 hours on a humid July night for this particular reason. Let's start from the beginning...

I got home from work around 9:45 p.m. and decided to take a quick dip in my pool to cool off. It was dark, so I turned on the light on my front porch in order to see enough to walk out to the pool – something I don't often do because any outside light at night attracts swarms of insects. And it is something I will never do again. I was in the pool for 5 minutes, max. I got out, toweled myself off, and headed back to the porch. Sure enough, there was already a swarm of bugs around the light. It's ridiculous, really. I timed it once – 15 seconds from when I turned on the light until the first bug made its way to the porch.

Amongst these insects, like always, were a good number of moths. I hate moths. Not as much as I hate spiders or earwigs, but I hate them. Especially the big ones. I hate their gross, pulsating abdomens, and their dust covered wings, and their oh-so-annoying need to get as close as possible to anything illuminated, buzzing and flapping chaotically, bashing their nasty little bodies against whatever is encasing the light source. One of these beasties was exceptionally large. I've definitely seen larger, but this sucker was at least an inch long. Not so much Mothra, but maybe Mothra Jr. I only had a few seconds to study Mothra Jr., because after that she would end up in a place not meant for moth habitation. I wouldn't see her for quite a while after that, and when I did, she would be but a shell of her former self.

Not wanting to let Mothra Jr. into the house, I did what I usually do and gave her a good swat before opening the door and darting inside. She didn't like this much. The next thing I remember seeing was her fluttering body flying towards the left side of my head. And then I felt her dusty wings flapping against my ear. I instinctively went to swat her away, but the laws of physics and geometry were not on my side at this fateful moment. As my hand cleared my ear, I suddenly realized that I had not brushed Mothra Jr.'s disgustingness away from my head, I had in fact pushed her inside of it. And pushed her in good.


I later realized that I would have much rather Mothra Jr. enter my mouth and then my esophagus and then my stomach to be cruelly digested by enzymes and acids. At least then she would pass harmlessly through my system. But instead, she ended up deep inside my ear, which is essentially a trap for any creature her size (see diagram). Had Mothra Jr. been smaller, she might have found her way out on her own, or I might have been able to kill and flush her out myself. And if she had been larger, she wouldn't have fit inside at all. But Mothra Jr. was the perfect size to fit snugly inside my the inner depths of my ear.

So naturally, I freaked out. I ran inside and my first thought (at this point I didn't know just how far Mothra Jr. had traveled inside my ear) was to shake my head violently as though she was like a puddle of water that I have easily shaken out of my ear in the past. This didn't work. Next, I ran into the bathroom and stuck my head under the tub sink, thinking maybe I could splash water into my ear and flush her out. This had no effect either. At this point, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight. I returned to the bathroom and positioned my medicine cabinet mirror in a way that I could use my vanity as a counter mirror. I shined the light into my ear, trying to get the best field of view possible. I looked as deep into my ear as I was able without medical instruments, and I couldn't see anything.

Keep in mind that all this time, Mothra Jr. was freaking out as well. I was in a state of panic, and I would realize until later just how deafening, distracting and altogether uncomfortable her thrashing was, but I was definitely aware of a little creature moving – or trying to move – inside my head. She didn't want to be in there any more than I wanted her to be. And I had to get her out. Like I said before, if I had swallowed her, it would be no big deal. But if I didn't get her out, she would be there forever. At least it seemed so at the time.

This was the point that I decided to do something that might have made things worse. I grabbed a box of Q-tips. If she wasn't coming out on her own, I was going to dig her out. Bad idea. Later on the nurse who checked me in said that the water flushing was a good idea, the Q-tips might have pushed it in further, however.

Seeing this wasn't working, I suddenly remembered my mother telling me that she often soaked vegetables from her garden in salt water to coax out possible insect invaders. Perfect. I had an insect in my ear, and I wanted nothing but to coax it out. So I ran into the kitchen and filled a basin with water. Seeing that the only salt dispenser I had was a grinder, I opted for the container of epsom salts on my fridge. Epsom salt water in my ear did no good either.

At this point, the never-ending fluttering in my ear was beginning to drive me nuts. I knew I wasn't going to get Mothra Jr. out of my ear myself, I knew I was destined to visit the ER, but I wanted her to die. I wanted her fluttering to stop. It was like a jackhammer in my head every time she flapped her wings – or what was left of them. So my next thought was peroxide. Surely peroxide would kill her. I would pour peroxide into my ear and call my mother to have her take me to the ER. So a dose of the old HP went into my ear, head tilted, I tried to calm myself, and called my mom.

"Hello," answered my mother.

"Hi," I said, trying not to sound too shocked, fearing her over-reaction to the situation.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Not so great. There is a moth stuck in my ear." I realized that as I spoke these words, the panic was very evident in my voice. I didn't have to ask the next question.

"What? I'll be right there," she said, and hung up the phone.

Sweet. My mom was on the way – luckily she lives only a few minutes away now – I would have to convince her to take me to the ER, she would try and fix the problem herself. After a few more doses of peroxide, and sure that I had murdered Mothra Jr., my mother arrived. As predicted, she had a pair of tweezers with her. I told her we had to go to the ER, but she insisted on "taking a look" first. Two seconds into her examination, she decided we had better go to the ER. So off to Bridgton Hospital we went.

I will skip the time consuming check-in, waiting room, sitting in the exam room waiting for the good doc to show up. I waited about 2 hours until Dr. Allison Brewer showed up in my room. During this wait, I discovered that Mothra Jr. was indeed still alive. Anytime I moved my head too much, or coughed, or talked too loud, or flushed a toilet, she would make her presence know, flapping violently away inside my ear. And it wasn't just the flapping. I could hear her every biological move. Most times, it was like a bass drum hitting four quarter notes with a measure of break, and then all over again. I would later discover that she was pushed right up against my eardrum. And then there were the "flutters," massive bodily motion, probably her trying to exit the world of my ear. These were the most distracting and disturbing.

When Doc Brewer showed up, she said she'd try removing the alien invader with forceps. If this didn't work, she would flood my ears with some crap, the name of which I can't recall. This gunk would kill Mothra Jr. and also numb the insides of my ear. I told her I didn't care what she did, just to get this thing out of me. Her initial extraction attempt was a failure. It was strange, because it felt like she took the whole thing out. I actually said "Can I keep it?" when I felt a "pop" as she removed the forceps from my ear.

"Actually, I didn't get any of it there," she said, much to my dismay.

From there, we moved on to the "flood your ears with this gunk that will kill Mothra Jr. and numb your ear" portion of treatment. I was on fire with killing the little bitch, that's all I had really wanted for the past 2 hours. Her occasional – but brain numbing – flutterings were really starting to get to me.

So I turned on my side and she poured a bunch of shit in my ear. What came next was very strange. About a minute in, the bass drum hits sped up, and then I heard what sounded like a hungry, rumbling stomach. From there, I heard the sound of faint wind, what you might hear when holding your ear to a seashell. And then, Mothra Jr. was silent. She was dead. And I had witnessed the deathrattle of a moth. Right next to my eardrum.

Doc Brewer went away for a while, probably checking on other patients. When she returned, I told her that Mothra Jr. was definitely dead. She then went to work on extracting her. After a try with the forceps, she went to a suction machine. This thing felt like a vacuum was running inside of my head, but I didn't care, I just wanted the corpse of Mothra Jr. out of my body. 15 minutes and much poking and suctioning later, I had the remnants of Mothra Jr. in a plastic cup, which I kept as a trophy of our struggle (see picture, keep in mind this is minus abdomen and wings, and I took it with my crappy cell phone camera). Her wings left debris in my ear which a nurse flushed out with a saline bath. Doc Brewer came back to do a final check and told me that part of my inner ear was lacerated, she wasn't sure if it was from the moth or my Q-tip gold digging, but she said to keep an eye on it for any pain or discharge. I will.

So, that was my Saturday night / Sunday morning. This is an experience I hope to never go through again.

Tai Shan. It's a captive animal, people

OK. People in D.C. are uber-sad because a panda bear is leaving the National Zoo to head back to his native China to breed. Before I go any further, the Chinese government owns the panda, the National Zoo was just looking after him for a few years. Here is a link to a Washington Post video to show just how uber-sad people are: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSuO57Ld8-w

So here's the deal. GET OVER IT! I can understand having a connection to a pet – a dog, a cat, hell even a mouse or a fish. These animals live under your care in your home. If they die, or are removed from your home for some other reason, I can see how you might experience a feeling of loss. But for Christ's sake, this is a captive animal!

Why would you spend 8 hours a day looking at a panda? How does one even get attached to a panda, or any other caged animal that you are unable to make a physical connection with? I don't get it. It doesn't make sense.

And to anyone who says they can look into his soul...WTF?? Seriously? First of all, there is no such thing as a "soul," and even if there was, Tai Shan wouldn't have one BECAUSE HE IS A FUCKING OVER-SIZED RACCOON!

Anyway, to all you Tai Shan loving freaks, get a hobby or go see Avatar. If you get depressed with that, at least there is an online support network to help you through your shit.

But that's just my opinion. And someday, robots WILL rule the world.

Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price

OK. I am 7 minutes and 40 seconds into this "documentary" and I am already disgusted. I am not going to rant here, I am going to make it short and sweet and to the point.

Whoever made this film is clearly pissed at Wal-Mart (hereby referred to as WM). Their basic argument: WM comes into a town and destroys local businesses, and treats their employees like dirt.

First: WM destroys local businesses? Service and sales are demanded by consumers. If there were no demand for a WM in a particular town, you wouldn't see one there. As for Joe Shmoe's Hardware store, how many businesses did you put out when you opened in 1934? Certainly Bill's Chain Company and Bob's Plumbing Supplies were killed off when you opened up shop. You offered more goods for a lower price. Why? Because consumers demanded it. And now WM has one-upped you. Sorry, go cry in the alleyway.

Second: Jill has six kids and is working at WM 60 hours a week with no overtime and no benefits. Is that WM's fault? NO! If Jill could get a better-paying job with overtime and bennys, why wouldn't she? The answer is, she can't. It takes all types of people to make this world go round, and Jill has found her place. And thanks to her for actually working for a living. Hopefully, she will eventually make a better life for herself, and get a job as an optician in an eye doctor's office someday. But until then, she is a productive member of society working at WM.

It really all comes down to what consumers demand and what the workforce will support / give. I'm sorry you hate WM, but they are just doing what we have always done, just on a larger scale. If you can't cope, fuck you and go kill yourself.

But that's just my opinion. And someday, robots may rule the world.

Avatar, Rock Band, Infinity and Beyond

OK, So I saw Avatar 3 times. Twice in IMAX 3D and once in regular 3D. Am I glad I saw it 3 times? Yes. It was the most immersive cinematic experience I have ever had. Do I want to go and kill myself because I can never travel to Pandora? No.

To all you silly freaks out there that are dealing with a bout of depression after viewing this film, I say: GET OVER IT!

Obviously there is something else wrong here. If you are really depressed because a fictional movie made you realize how fu**ed up our world really is, you need to 1) Kick yourself in the face and 2) WAKE THE F**K UP! We have been destroying this planet since the first day it spat us out. And we will continue to destroy it until we destroy ourselves. End of story. That is the way the cookie has crumbled for generations.

I understand that this realization might be a bit shocking. But to go into depression because of it? Seriously, where the f**k have you BEEN?

Keep taking your meds, and if you aren't on any, please see a shrink.

Which brings me to my next point. Except not really. Rock Band. I love this game. I could play it for hours on end. I like to play the drums because it is an instrument that I have never even tried to master. And it is also the only instrument in the game that is even close to the real thing. I beat Rock Band 2 on hard. And I am now working on expert.

WTF Harmonix?? Hard was a challenge, but expert is RIDICULOUS! Couldn't we have a mode in between hard and expert? I mean, seriously, it is like going from casual skiing to competitive skiing (weird analogy, I know, but I live in Maine) in one step. I highly doubt I will beat the game in expert. I can barely make it past the first few venues. But we will see.

Have a good night and bleed much from many orifices, f**kers. Or go kill yourself. Either way makes me happy.

But that's just my opinion. And someday, robots may rule the world.

Skim Milk

I posted this on myspace forever ago, but enough people commented on it that I thought I might share it here. Italics are my own thoughts.

Situation:
I'm standing in line at the store. In my hands are a bottle of water and a half-gallon of Oakhurst skim milk. In front of me is a woman holding a newborn baby. Beside her is a guy with a half gallon of Oakhurst skim milk just like mine. Beside me is some dude holding two 16 oz cans of Budweiser.

(Memory flash-back I saw this dude a couple of minutes before, when I was on my way to select my nutritious dairy beverage. He was perusing the beer, and I had to do one of those "scuse me,"-turn your-body-sideways-and-slide-it-past-him-cuz-theres-no-way-hes-moving.)

These are the only details my brain has taken in about my surroundings, but it is enough.

So I'm standing there, minding my own business, waiting to pay for my shit, when I hear a slightly mumbled voice. It says (mumbly-like): Skim milk.

Now, normally, I wouldn't think twice if my ears caught a mumbly voice say skim milk in a small crowd of people. My ears catch lots of stuff ... you remember that. But the fact was that I just happened to be holding a half-gallon of skim milk when this particular mumbly voice said skim milk.

I'm not the type that likes to have random conversations with random people in random places (this situation being a prime example of why), and Im certainly not the type that would initiate such a conversation. So naturally my brain dodged the possibility that the mumbly voice was in fact speaking to me, and I thought well, the guy in front of you has some skim milk, maybe the mumbly voice is talking to him.

Astonishingly, a mere microsecond after this thought crossed my mind, the mumbly voice had suddenly increased in decibel by at least forty fold and somehow managed to migrate ten feet or so to the left, putting it roughly ten inches from my right fucking ear drum.

IS THAT SKIM MILK?
Holy shit, I'm about to have a random conversation with a random person in a random place. O.K., here we go.

This guy seemed like a normal person to me. And he spoke in a normal, conversational tone. But the shit that was about to come out of his mouth was anything but normal. So here is the conversation, in its entirety, with stuff in italics being what was going on inside my head while the conversation was taking place.

Crazy Guy:
Is that skim milk?

Me:
Holy shit, I'm about to have a random conversation with a random person in a random place. O.K., here we go.

Yes.

Crazy Guy:
Do you like skim milk?

Me:
Yeah, I like it, I cant dr--

CG:
I used to like skim milk.

Did he just cut me off?

But I had a bad experience.

You don't have any friends, do you?

(In a slightly lower voice) I drank some curdled once.

Me:
Yeah, actually I drank some cur--

CG:
I used to work in a kitchen,

Fucker just cut me off again.

and it would get really hot (fanning himself), you know?

Are you hitting on me?

So once I went out back and grabbed some milk and I chugged it (makes chugging motion with hand), and it was rotten, you know, like chunks.

Me:
You are a very lonely person, arent you.

Yeah, I actually drank some bad milk once (pause)

God I cant believe I am going to say this, but it is the truth.

Actually, it was skim milk (fake smile).

CG:
Yeah, it had chunks, you know, and I felt em in my mouth, and when they went down my throat

You drink sour skim milk for fun on a regular basis, don't you?

Me:
Well, I didnt swallow it, I spit it out before --

CG:
Oh, I swallowed it!

You fucking cut me off one more time and I'm going to stab you in the fucking eye with my house key.

Cuz I was chuggin (makes chuggin gesture), like I said, cuz that's what we used to do, we used to go out back and, you know, chug-a-lug the milk (makes chugging gesture again).

Did he just fucking say that??? Yeah, buddy, that's what I do when I get bored at work, too, I go out back and chug-a-lug the milk. Either that, or I go downstairs and jab myself in the temple with a rusty screwdriver. Oh, and if you say "Chuggin" or "chug-a-lug" one more goddamn time, you're gettin the house key special.

Ever since then I cant drink skim milk. Its a mental thing, ya know? (Points at his head)

Me:
Yeah, I bet it is (trying to smile).
But you like skim milk, huh?

CG:
Yeah, I cant drink the other stuff, its too heavy in my stomach.

Please, God, let this end now.

CG:
It's good cold.

End conversation.

I nod in approval of the fact that milk is good cold. The dude pays for his beer and some scratch tickets, and leaves without saying goodbye. I am relieved.

I think I'm switching back to low-fat milk.

Greetings, and...One of the worst movies ever

OK, this is my first post. I felt the need to start a blog. Why? A lot of things whirl through my head that I feel I must get out by writing, but unlike my editor-friend, Josh, I don't get 60 column inches of space every week to do so. Plus, I didn't want to burden my facebook friends with a bunch of bullshit they don't want to read. So here I am. Blogging. Whatever, anyway, on to the point.

I wish I could start by writing something meaningful, but I feel the need to bitch about a really bad movie I just saw. "Smile Pretty" is a trainwreck of a film. I have to admit, I NetFlixed this movie because Scout Taylor-Compton was in it. She is a decent actress, plus she is hot. I thought maybe I would see a good movie without a rating with a hot chick possibly getting naked in it. Wrong. I should have read the description before I queued it.

Here's the jist. Compton plays a girl who has left Romania after being the subject of molestation and child pornography. She is adopted by a man in the U.S. who proceeds to abuse her and post naked pictures of her (she is 14 at the time) on a web site that he runs. She meets a 31-year-old dude who pretends to love her, they get in a threesome with a 14-year-old chick, and all goes to hell.

Now, normally this might make for a great movie. But it sucked. If the budget had been more than $1,000, it might have been a great movie. The story was good, Compton's acting was good, but aside from that, it was horrible. I am guessing it was picked up by some production company that makes nothing but B-Movies. It was horrible. E.g., there were fade-outs. What serious filmmaker uses fade-outs? There was actually a scene where after the fade-out, you could hear the director say "cut."

Maybe I am being over-critical after seeing Avatar three times, but seriously. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But here is the real kicker. Why did Scout Taylor-Compton even do this movie? This film was released between the two Rob Zombie Halloween movies. Why did she take this gig? Was there nothing better on the line? Did she want to taint her career? For real, Scout, WTF??

Scout, if you are reading this, please let us know what was going through your mind when you signed on for this project. Also, please let us know why you go by the name of "Scout." I have read your imdb page, and if my memory is correct, this is not your birth name.

But that's just my opinion. And someday, robots may rule the world.