How Do You Like Those Apples?

Halloween is the only time of year where you can be arrested for trying to give nutritious, fresh apples to children as treats. There’s nothing sketchier than someone giving out apples out on Halloween. You can expect to be ostracized from society after a thorough police investigation if you do. Everyone knows strangers put razors blades and syringes in apples to murder and mutilate our children. Except they don’t, and they’ve never. Every instance of a treat being poisoned or tampered with is a direct result of the parents doing it themselves. It’s an urban myth, which is easily debunked thanks to police files being linked online.

Apples were traditional treats as well, as they fit into the Fall harvest theme that use to be a part of the Halloween season. Remember apple bobbing? No one under twenty does, because of the myth, and also it wasn’t a great game to begin with. It’s like your trying to make eating an apple as unhygienic as possible by having everyone dip their faces and saliva into the same barrel. Plus you couldn’t play if you had face paint or a mask on.

If someone tried to give your kid a candy bar in his lunch, like at McDonalds, you’d start an online protest. If someone tries to give your kid an apple on Halloween, you’d burn their house to the ground like they were Freddy Krueger. How did that happen? Was it a candy company conspiracy?

Why are we only afraid of our children being poisoned by apples on Halloween? Isn’t that technically something that could happen any time, any where? How hard is it to stick a razor blade in an apple at the grocery store? You could even do it at an orchard, and no one would ever suspect until they bit into one.

Is that why whenever you see a kid’s meal with apples they’re always, always sliced? Are we that paranoid? A kid is as likely to choke to death on an apple slice as they are a whole apple. Plus you lose the core and the seeds that way, which you could have used to grow a new apple tree. Throwing an apple core on the ground isn’t garbage, it’s environmental. That apple core isn’t going to become a tree when it’s taken to the dump. If someone mushes it into the ground with their shoe, however, it’s an endlessly renewable food source. What the hell do the apple-slicing companies do with the cores anyway? Are they composting them, or something more sinister? Are they using them as a “food” source?

Trufs

Truth:

Hurricane Sandy proves a disturbing truth about the American political system. Millions are without power, airports across the nation are virtually shut down, billions are lost in business and billions more in damages, to say nothing about the potential loss of life, and the President’s main concern is keeping his job. That’s not a slam on Obama, that’s a statement about every sitting President in American history. Every politician’s job is to keep their job. When you’re President, that means shaking hands, standing in front of a podium, and spewing shit out of your mouth.

And people eat it up. Imagine if you had to re-interview for you job every four years, that you had to stand in front of people and answer the EXACT SAME questions they asked you four years ago. The, “What would you do?” and, “How are you going to…?” questions. You’re the fucking President. If you can’t decide after four years how a person is going to behave in office, and you need to ask them directly, you’re a fucking idiot. The media is wasting everyone’s time including yours by asking for words instead of letting actions speak for themselves. If any President ever told his opponent to fuck off because he was busy running the free world, he’d be voted out of office.

Seriously, Obama should bitch-slap Romney. Imagine the President of France demanding the POTUS debate him three times a week. He’d get bitch- slapped, then Bill Clinton would have sex with his wife, if he hasn’t already.

That a President has any time to spend on campaigning is pretty indicative that the Presidency is a sweet do-nothing job.

Ghost F**kers

Ke$ha claims she’s had sex with a ghost. Likely, the ghost has now contracted Chlamydia.

Stranger still, this is a common phenomenon, and answers one of the most obvious questions about ghosts, namely: if you could haunt the location of your choice, why do ghost end up haunting abandoned, ramshackle houses like spectral crackheads? Think about it: if you could be trapped somewhere, wouldn’t you rather haunt the group shower of the Dallas Cheerleaders than someplace that smells like cat pee and sadness?

Better still, if you could have consequence-free sex with anyone, why wouldn’t you, even if you now have a ghost penis? Why you would chose Ke$ha, I don’t know. Maybe you’re on your way up to Heaven and want one last chance to know what eternal suffering might feel like. Or maybe the body literally disintegrated from disease and shame, leaving only the ghost behind?

That’s Not True, That’s Impossible!

There’s a disturbance in the Force.

Star Wars: Episode VII. Brought to you by Disney, proud owners of Lucasfilms.

A new Star Wars movie every two to three years.

This hit the internet four hours ago and it’s long-reaching effects have yet to be felt. Many people who would likely chip-in with their opinions may be without power or the internet. They’ll emerge from Hurricane Sandy, look around at the devastation it left behind, and then be told the news. Major nerd sites are down, as are their servers.

It’s too early to tell what consequences this will have. Likely, it’s the Apocalypse. Many fans felt the series was destroyed by the prequels. Further sequels (three are confirmed), might destroy the fabric of reality itself.

Yet, there are countless books, games, comic books, action figures and fan-fic dedicated to a continuing series. Isn’t this just a natural progression of that.

Also: George Lucas himself has stepped away from major motion picture to dedicate himself to “hobby” films. His influence will only be felt as a homage.

Plus there’ll have to be a whole new cast. Anyone from the original series would likely only be as cameos.

GOP: Go Pee

Fact: I have never taken a firm stance for, or against abortion, which makes me a more credible political candidate than anyone in the GOP. When confronted with such questions as, “Do you support abortion in instances of rape?” I know to knock over my podium and flee.

In the past weeks, representatives from the GOP have claimed that women have the biological ability to stop themselves from getting pregnant during a rape, and that pregnancy by rape is, “God’s will.”

Why would you touch, or go near those questions? Why would you answer them instead of getting up and socking the person in the jaw? Any question about rape or abortion is so obviously loaded that the person deserves a good punch. Of course, you can’t ignore those kinds of questions in real life. Oh wait, yes you can. Being a politician is all about avoiding the real issues. I’ve proven that I can do that by doing nothing and being indecisive.

Do you need a decision? Like right this minute? I’ll throw red tape at you, and run away.

To Kill a Mockingbird Lane

I watched the premier for, “Mockingbird Lane,” and I’m confused as to what it’s trying to be or appeal to. The original Munsters, which I’m likely the only living person to have seen and have any recollection of, was an Adams Family rip-off sitcom, the “sit” being that everyone in the family save for the cute blonde girl was a monster. They were loveable versions of famous movie monsters. There was nothing offensive about the show other than its silly premise.

Before the opening credits even roll on Mockingbird Lane, we see a werewolf slaughter a group of hapless scouts. Or at least that’s what it looks like. It’s rather hard to believe they escaped with only minor cuts and scratches. We see one child slammed against a tree hard enough that his sleeping bag explodes into a cloud of feathers. They dubbed over an, “Ouch!” for the kid, because the scene was obviously too gruesome and the audience would have no doubt left in their minds they just saw a kid get 86ed on primetime television. We find out this werewolf is a confused and amnesiac Eddie Munster, who obviously doesn’t follow the puberty rules of Teen Wolf.

Then the rest of the cast gets introduced. For some reason Herman Munster is Jerry O’Connel. The show is intended to be, “sexy,” as evidenced by the super-slow-mo catwalk struts of his vampire wife and bizarre post-coitus lying on the ceiling scene. There’s also quite a fair bit of gore usually not seen outside of Bones and CSI. We have up-close looks at the inside of Herman’s zipper-chest every five minutes, and the show ends with a guest character having his heart surgically removed and his blood drank.

The show also introduces a lonely, over-dedicated scout master who is then immediately murdered and harvested, indicating the show isn’t interested in keeping around secondary characters outside the Munster family. The only evidence of a recurring character is the suspicious neighbour who rides around in her rascal with her dog.

As it was the premier, there was some special attention paid to the special effects and some CGI, but I assume the budget won’t let them keep that up over the course of the series. I don’t understand why the show would need anything besides heavy make-up and some fake props, as that was all the original had.

Aside from a few awkward double-entendres (murder-based, not sexual) there wasn’t much comedy to be had in the series. So it isn’t a sitcom. It’s more of a lighter-hearted horror series, like a dumbed-down Buffy. I have no idea what it’s doing with itself.

Paranatural/Supernormal

While watching supernatural videos on youtube, I realized that the existence of ghosts will never be categorically proven. We’re entering an always-on era, where even the most mundane events will be recorded for posterity. Security cameras are on every corner, and people carry smartphones and camera phones around in their pockets with them wherever they go. Eventually, if not already, someone will record irrefutable proof of a ghost, if they exist.

Consider this video with the caption, “Real or Fake?”

That’s always going to be the case. No one will ever be able to produce a video without the public outcry of, “Fake!” being tagged on to it. Witness accounts are useless as evidence, and all videos and photos will be dissected as fake. There’s even television shows dedicated to debunking these videos. If anyone on the planet is capable of recreating the images in the video, no matter how likely or costly their methods might be, the video will be rejected.

How else could you prove that ghosts exist, save for taking an individual and having them witness the ghost firsthand? Even then, the subject could claim they were merely hallucinating, or that they were tricked. You would have to be able to recreate the experience for every sceptic 100% of the time. Even if a ghost were to become President of the United States, there would still be disbelievers.

Ghosts, by their very nature, however, are not subject to the scientific method. There’s no set structure of rules governing their manifestations, only legends and rumours.

The study of ghosts, however, is as ancient as any intellectual strain in the human consciousness. While there may be no ghosts, ghost hunters are very real, very tangible people, and a legitimate profession. Ghost hunters are not a modern phenomenon, either. The belief in ghosts likely predates human history, with some of the earliest references coming from the dawn of Chinese civilization over 10,000 years ago.

So in 10,000 years or more, no one has officially captured a ghost. Those statistics are kind of downer, but as I said, we’re closer than ever, even, ironically, if they don’t exist.

Shitwich

I bought a jar of Crunchy Wow Butter today at Safeway. Wow Butter is a peanut-alternative soy-butter product. For every invention George Washington Carver made, someone out there had to invent an alternative. It’s like Apple and Samsung, but in this instance the knock-off is more expensive than the original. It’s like $5.00 for a tiny jar. I also saw a Maple Butter jar that was about $12, and I’m pretty sure it would cause diabetes, and turn people Canadian. It’s basically a magic-potion that’ll turn you into my brother. They should spray that stuff over battlefields so everyone has to stop fighting to take their insulin and watch hockey.

As I was spreading Wow Butter over my bread, I stopped to wonder what made it, “Crunchy.” Was it peanuts? How is something crunchy like a peanut and not a peanut? What the fuck is soy anyway? Apparently I was eating toasted soy.

Soy can be made into anything. There’s soy milk. You can milk soy. I don’t know how that’s possible. Tiny, tiny teats? No one goes out and eats a handful of soy on their own, though. It’s a garbage food, but it’s in everything. So is sunflower seeds and corn, but people like that by itself. Nobody likes soy for soy. That’s why they have to call it, “Wow Butter.” “Soy Butter,” would make a person vomit before it even touches their lips.

It doesn’t taste that bad, or different… at first. Then, like by the third sandwich it starts to taste more like… whatever soy tastes like. Like this bland, plastic flavour. All I know is that it lets me get my peanut fix without killing my step-kid.

Halloween is coming up, and the top two candies are Snickers and Reese. I would kill for Reese. I would dress up as a clown, jump out of the bushes, and kill sexy teenagers with a machete for their Reese. I’d put it all in a bucket and dump it over myself like a candy Flashdance. I’m talking about the cups and the pieces. I want those all over me and in me. I want to make a rap video where instead of cash, jewellery, big asses and Cristal, everything has been replaced by Reese.

There’s No “I” in “Tieam”

Fact: I’ve won as many Tour De Frances as Lance Armstrong.

Double Fact: I’ve won as many NCAA games as Penn State during the years 1998-2011.

It amazes me that people can dedicate so much time, blood, sweat, tears and have it all taken away from them in a blink of an eye. Ordinary Joes like me lose all the time, but these people are champions. They’re so use to winning that they expect it. My general suckiness is usually the key to my downfall. Taking ‘roids and touching boys has never factored into any of my loses.

How do you do to being a household name to a nobody with one ball, or an asshole wider than most people’s mouths? Secrets. Terrible secrets. When you put yourself out there, you know someone’s going to find the skeletons in your closet. Maybe you get lucky like the “Governator” and nobody finds out about your secret love child until you’ve stepped down from your post, but if you’re a professional athlete and you’re doping you know you’re going to get caught. How the hell did Lance Armstrong, (either guilty or innocent even if he never confessed) not get caught in ten years? He’s had more people look at his piss than… oh, I don’t know, your mom on the internet, let’s say. If doctors were able to find cancer in his nuts, how could they not find performance enhancing drugs in his piss? It’s worse, of course, in the case of Penn State when it seems that so many people knew some sick shit was going on for years, and didn’t say a damn thing to anybody.

That’s not even my point. My point is that watching these people crash and burn makes me feel better about myself and my own sucky life. I can accomplish more by doing nothing and come out better than they do in the end. Look at me: I’ve got two nuts and no one is trying to shank me. Did I ever win a championship? No, and neither did they by reverse decisions. All they managed to do is waste everyone’s time, and do several other things worse than that.

My question is: if they didn’t win, who did? They had their wins erased, but does that mean their opponents are now winners? Did someone show up on their doorsteps with medals and trophies?

Sports, in general, seem to be getting more and more ridiculous with their officiating. How can you lose years after the fact? Who still remembers these matches to begin with? How will they look to sports historians? Are the people involved still alive? After ten years or more, a lot of people will have moved on with their lives. Imagine someone being handed a win after ten years. Think of all the endorsements, the salaries, and the opportunities those people could have had if they had only been declared the winners in the first place. Their lives could have been totally different.

Inconspicuous as Hell

 

This is my new Assassin’s Creed Brotherhood Ezio Auditore Role-Play Gauntlet, which I fully intend to wear on Halloween and stab people with. Now: the appeal behind this weapon is that it’s supposed to be something the wearer can secretly carry around for quick kills. Looking at it on my arm, I realize I’d be better off with a bazooka. The blade doesn’t extend further than my own fingers, which it nearly severs when it shoots out. The Brotherhood remove their ring finger as a sign of devotion to the guild, but I think it’s just to keep them from cutting their own finger off by accident. I can easily see that happening. Imagine leaving a blood trail for the guards to follow, and having to explain yourself while they hold up a severed finger and point to your bloody stump where it came from. Plus, you’ll have the murder weapon strapped to your wrist. What are you going to tell them, that it’s a wrist watch? There’s no way to take this thing off a throw it away in a bind, as the buckles are difficult to undo with one hand. It also includes an optional ornate wrist guard, which would be easily spotted by anyone within five hundred feet. Without it, you could possibly hide the contraption inside your sleeve, but there’s still an awkward  bulge to conceal, like the one in my pants.

My review is: this isn’t practical, even for highly trained assassins. You have to be close enough to your victim to touch them, there’s the risk of injuring yourself, it’s harder to hide than a normal dagger, and you can’t take it off unless you’ve got a few minutes to spare. Still, ask yourself, “Who’s going to mess with someone who’s strapped weapons to their wrists?” Sane people know not to get too close to crazy people.

I was hoping to score a white Assassin’s Creed hoodie to complete the costume, but I’ll have to make other arrangements.

Borderlands 2: Johnny Mechromancer

The first downloadable character for Borderlands 2 was Gaige, the Mechromancer, a fifteen-year-old girl who can summon a robot to fight for her.

This had the immediate effect of everyone switching characters, leading to all-mechromancer groups in multiplayer co-op, just like the Mists of Pandara expansion for WoW led to a glut of Pandas. There’s nothing particularly wrong with that, I suppose, aside from wondering who’s robot was who’s.

The most alarming change, however, was with the voice acting. Video games are a male-dominated affair, outside and within. Men and boys alike are use to playing as men. Gaige’s character is a little girl. When she takes damage, you’re punished with a girl’s bloodcurdling scream of agony. What’s supposed to be a shooter is now a horror game. The worst is when she’s lit on fire. You don’t get the same reaction when a male character is hurt. He usually just grunts, like he’s trying to squeeze out a particularly wide log. It’s unnerving.

The other weird aspect of the character is playing as an under-aged girl. It’s nothing new, really. There’s even Lilith and Maya in the game series as playable female characters, but they’re essentially super models playing at guns. They’re not necessarily over-sexualized feminine characters, but they’re definitely made to be gentle on the eyes. It’s always been that way in games. Unless you’re customizing your own character, you’re going to be playing as a “bimbo” if you choose a female character.

Like I said, games are male-dominated, especially shooters. Why then, are so many people flocking to play as little girl when there’s three male characters out of five to choose from? Because it’s awesome?

Borderlands: Endgame

Having reach level 30, I found myself at the end of the game. I tried to solo The Warrior, to no avail. I’d often find myself flung into a pit of lava, or worse by the shockwaves he gives off. I also did some quick calculations about the amount of damage I can deal out vs. the number of bullets I have vs. his health bar, and it didn’t add up. Distraught, I went on other adventures, then round back to try again by jumping on someone else’s game. They’d already killed the Warrior, and were just wasting time racking up points with the random enemies who show up. Plus, it was completely glitchy. I could barely move my character, and the ground was littered with weapons, indicating that they’d spent quite some time doing this. I picked up about twenty items and the floor was still carpeted. Now I find that I’m expected to repeat the whole process over again at a higher level, and I don’t know if I want to. The game seemed a little short, to be honest. Now I hear there’s an expansion pack coming out next week already, which tells me the developers think the same way I do.

Mickey VS. Minnie

While at Toys’R’Us, trying to come up with ideas for Christmas gifts, I noticed an entire rack devoted exclusively to Minnie Mouse. She had cars, dolls, bedtime dolls, talking dolls, play sets, you name it. Mickey was nowhere in sight.

Then it hit me: Minnie Mouse doesn’t need Mickey Mouse. She’s the one enduring female character that’s has never shown any inclination to be attached to her significant other. She’s been around since Steamboat Willie, which first popularized Mickey Mouse. There’s nothing particularly interesting about her. She’s essentially just Mickey Mouse with a bow on her head and some eyelashes, and she’s never starred in her own cartoon. She’s a background character at best, but she’s just as well known as Mickey Mouse the world over for decades upon decades.

What’s her deal with Mickey anyway? Are they even lovers? Have they ever even gone on a date? Mickey and Minnie seem to have the same relationship as Jerry Seinfeld and Elaine. They dated once, and now they’re just friends. They’re never going to get married.

Looking at her toys, though, it looks like she’s the one who’s got her life together. You won’t see Mickey Mouse appearing in anything other than Mickey Mouse’s Clubhouse. On that show, Minnie Mouse opened her own Bow-tique, (because it sells bows) and it’s a hit. Mickey, on the other hand, has no job. He seems to be living off the residuals of his past appearances and dark magic. In other words, Minnie Mouse is a successful designer and entrepreneur, and Mickey is a bum.

More than that, Mickey is a dark wizard. We’ve previously learnt that Mickey is a practitioner of the arcane arts from Fantasia, and in Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, he can summon the Clubhouse into being by using magic words. He even tries to involve children in his worship of Satan by having them say the words along with him. Toodles, his all-purpose tool, is clearly magic as well. That’s why he’s the mascot for the, “Magic Kingdom.” That’s why Mickey refuses to work, or marry. Contributing to society, or stepping foot inside a church would offend his Dark Lord.

Borderlands 2: The Wasteland

It is pretty obvious to me that everyone playing Borderlands 2 is better at it than I am, or else they’re grinding through it at an incredible rate for no apparent reason. Every RPG or MMORPG has these people who have an insatiable desire to shell out their hard earned money for a game and then max their level in the shortest time possible. The record for Borderlands 2 is apparently 14 hours or so. Personally, I don’t even understand those people. It’s not like it’s a game like Galaga, where all you’re doing is shooting an endless swarm of bad guys. You’re supposed to explore, look for loot, and expand the plot.

The Mechamancer expansion character only dropped a couple of days ago, and last night I was already running with a level 25. They dropped in on my open party, and I had not fucking clue what was going on. I was firing away at a swarm of robots, and there was no way to distinguish one from another in the firefight.

When people drop in unannounced, and then proceed to barrel through the enemies standing before you on the way to the mission point, without stopping to fight any of those enemies, and leaving you to challenge them alone, I don’t know what to think. Yes, we’re suppose to be looking for the goal, but it’s not football where you’re expected to duck, dive, drip, dodge and duck around them. You’re supposed to fight them head-on. Plus anyone dying has to return to the spawn point and wade through that mess a second, third, or fourth time. I also have no idea what the etiquette on team-healing is either. I’m a run and gunner, but when I see a team mate down, I want to heal them. I also don’t want to die, and if there’s a badass trying to eliminate us both, I don’t know whether it’s better to fight or heal. I usually end up being killed during the process, and not getting a reciprocated heal. It’s like oral sex. 

Borderlands 2: Glitches

After Sanctuary becomes airborne, you can essentially jump off the side to your death. There’s areas, however, that look as if you’re supposed to jump down and explore. There’s even an intractable safe off the side of a ledge, but there’s no way back up once you jump down. Seemingly solid walls on the side are actually intangible, and you can move through them. Except pieces of the ground in the undermap are as well, and you can fall to your death. I’d explore it more, but I don’t want to get with the respawn penalties.

I was thinking philosophically about respawns in Borderlands 2, and how they fit into the plot. Without spoilers, there’s areas where the game runs into the Final Fantasy VII problem, i.e., “Why doesn’t Cloud use a Phoenix Down on Aeris?” Death is used for it’s inherent poignancy, but what does death mean in a game where death curable? The whole plot to the game is to kill Handsome Jack, who runs the Hyperion corporation. Hyperion also owns and operates all the respawn nodes around Pandora. Meaning, every time you die, you’re paying Handsome Jack to come back to life. Which would answer the question, “Why won’t Jack turn off the nodes, and leave you dead?” Because you’re making him rich. If you actually succeed in killing Jack, however, there’s nothing stopping him from coming back to life, since he owns the means to everyone’s reincarnation. You’d have to take down the entire Hyperion corporation, which would mean the next time you die, you’d die.

Borederlands 2: Electric Boogaloo

Borderlands 2, like any game out for the 360, has a long list of Achievements. Some are hard to come by, and others are ridiculously easy.

Here’s some of the most retarded:

1. Up High, Down Low

   Gave Claptrap a high five

   15 UNLOCKED ON 09/10/2012

The description give you all the details you need to know. There’s a, “Y,” button option when you try to talk to Claptrap, and he’ll encourage you to, “High-Five,” him. You melee his hand, and you get an Achievement. Why? Because coming up for Achievements for a game is hard work.

Well That Was Easy

Completed the mission "Shoot This Guy in the Face"

10 UNLOCKED ON 09/10/2012

While doing a story mission in Slab territory, I noticed the, “!” on my radar. I went up to a bandit called, “Shooty McFace,” who asked me to shoot him in the face. I obliged and got this Achievement. This was also a mission as well, which came with rewards.

Sugar Daddy

Tipped Moxxi $10,000

10 UNLOCKED ON 02/10/2012

This Achievement is easy, as you accumulate tonnes of money in the game with not enough to spend it on. Buying guns at the vending machines is kind of pointless when you can find a new gun every two minutes. It also eludes to you being able to collect Moxxi’s, “Good Touch,” and, “Bad Touch,” two SMGs. One is essentially a vibrator, with the added bonus of turning your XBox controller into a factual vibrator. Like, you can actually masturbate with it… Not that I have….

Tribute To A Vault Hunter

Got an item from Michael Mamaril

15 UNLOCKED ON 02/10/2012

This Achievement is easy to get. You simply have to find Michael and take a freely offered item from him. There’s a lot of back story to this seemingly random NPC. He was a Boderlands fanatic in real life who died of cancer, and they put him in the game. So it’s like he’s haunting you from beyond the grave. It wouldn’t be creepy if he didn’t suddenly appear and then vanish, unlike other NPCs. I found him in the headquarters in the Sanctuary after a story mission while working with a full group online. I don’t know if one of those reasons made him spawn, or if he’ll ever respawn inside the same game again.

October is Every Month

October is:

Fire Safety Month. Not only is it Fire Safety Month, but contained within Fire Safety Month is Fire Safety Week. It’s Inception.

Breast Cancer Awareness Month

Energy Awareness Month

Oktober Fest

The Month of the Holy Rosary

‘Jinx’ Month

It’s also the eighth month instead of the tenth on ancient calendars.

In summation: October is every month and that’s retarded. Special interest groups need to stop fucking around with their own ad campaigns. You have to pick one thing for October to be, and keep it that way. Nobody calls February, “Confederate Remembrance Month,” because it’s, “Black History Month.” Anyone trying to mess with that is automatically labelled a racist, and for good reason. Imagine the political backlash is a Governor tried to label February, “Cotton Candy Month.” Yes, cotton candy is delicious, but it’s, Black History Month. Everyone knows that. Plus February is a terrible month to enjoy cotton candy.

Same deal for October. Does it really need to be more than one thing? Breast Cancer Awareness is a serious issue affecting millions of people, but so is burning to death. Plus fire was here first. I’m pretty sure fire would win in an actual fight with cancer. In fact, fuck both of those issues. They’re both downers. Months shouldn’t be dedicated to depressing things, otherwise you’re spending at least 1/12 of your life feeling sad. I say October is now Tits and Explosions Month. It combines the appealing parts of Breast Cancer an Fire Safety in a way that’s fun for kids and adults at the same time.

Paranatural

Chapter One

    “What makes me qualified to be on your show? I can see ghosts…” a long, awkward pause followed as Evan Baker stared into the camera. “I don’t know what else you’d want from me. I see ghosts.”
    Bill Lendon hit pause on the TV and carelessly set the remote down on his spacious desk with a clunk. The image of Evan taken in his dimply lit parent’s basement froze on the flastscreen in an unflattering expression with his mouth agape. Leaning far back in his chair, Bill kicked his one leg up over his other knee and rested it there and he placed his fingertips of his right hand against his jaw thoughtfully.
    Evan grinned sheepishly at the man behind his desk. “Do you want to know what I think about this tape?” he asked in the rushed manner Evan had become accustomed to since meeting him. “I think its crap.”
    It was hardly the reaction Evan had been expecting. After all, his audition tape had landed him a trip out to L.A. to meet with the reality TV producer in private. It had come as a shock to him when he received the invitation not three days prior. He scarcely remembered even sending the video, which he had made with low expectations in mind. One of his followers in his chat group had suggested  he submit after hearing about the casting call for a new reality series that was supposed to be premièring in the fall.
    Thinking that he was supposed to respond, but not knowing what he was going to say in his defence, Evan opened his mouth, “Well I…”
    Bill cut him off, “When people turn on their Tvs, they want to see someone exciting. Someone who can command a presence. What do you think they’d think when they see you?”  he gestured vaguely at Evan in what might have been disgust. “I mean you come in here all dressed in black like you’re either a wannabe Johnny Cash, or some Emo kid. You look like you’ve never ever seen the sunlight. I have a stack of tapes like this,” he held his hands apart, “of people who look just like you, making all these bullshit claims. What’s your claim to fame? What do you have on them? Nothing! Just look at this,” he reached out and opened a folder on his laptop. “You’re a blogger? Wow, that’s still a thing? And with what, 20,000 followers? My cat has a twitter feed with that many followers. I’m not even making that up. I make my assistant do it. I read your blog, like, before you came in here. If someone sent me a script with that many grammatical errors I’d have them fired.”
    “Well I don’t really have an editor,” Evan coughed into his hand.
    Bill reached into his desk and pulled out a can of antibacterial air fresher and sprayed it in Evan’s direction a couple times. “Do you know who we had lined up for this show, before she bailed? Those plumber psychics. Their contract was supposed to be up in June and we could have nabbed them, but they got a new deal inked and we were left out in the cold. Now I’m here, scrambling to fill the spaces, and I’m left with few options. I wanted Celebrity names. That’s Celebrity with a big, ‘C,’ and I got little ‘c’s instead. Do you know how many years I’ve been doing this kind of crap? I basically invented reality TV back before 9/11. Don’t listen to that prick over on the big network that will remain nameless in these halls saying that he’s the genius behind, ‘Big Eye.’ That was my idea to steal that show from Sweden and he stole it from me,“ he sighed. Getting up from his chair, he paced over to his window looking out at a smog-shrouded Hollywood sign. “So I got stuck here on cable making shows with genetic defects and failed rap acts trying to bump uglies. I’ve had people in here that are so far down the food chain that I had to have the whole place disinfected. Fact is though, those are the kind of people who make money. Make me money. You,” he turned around sharply and pointed a finger at him, “you don’t look like you’re going to make me money. Do you even have a job?” he asked in disbelief.
    “Well there’s my blog,” Evan insisted.
    “That’s not a job!” Bill laughed. “That doesn’t pay for the electricity. Christ, look at your tape again,” picking up the remote, he rewound the the video and played it from the beginning.
    “Hi, my name’s Evan…. Uhm, I heard you were auditioning for this new show about the paranormal and ghosts, and all that, and you were looking for experts in the field. What makes me qualified to be on your show? I can see ghosts….”
    Bill paused it again in disgust. “The video is only like fifteen seconds long,” he exaggerated. “Did you think this was going to win me over? I’m looking to fill twenty-two episodes and you give me this? You’re on screen for like ten seconds and you’re putting me to sleep. Look!” he walked over to the fifty-inch plasma screen and pointed to a section of Evan’s face. “Is this a zit? You’re like thirty years old!” Evan was actually twenty-five, but he chose not to correct him. “There’s only so much make-up artists can do. You remember Shaquifwa on, ‘Ho for a Pimp?’ That’s how she looked after forty minutes in the chair.”