Learn to Ski

Many of us are off for a week's vacation. Maybe Tasty will be around to post, but I thought I read somewhere that Texas banned the internet. In the meantime, here's an old post on skiing.

Welcome to the wonderful world of skiing, an outdoor activity that combines being very cold with the potential for great physical harm.

You may want to know what to wear first.

What should I wear?

Since it's cold out there, you have to remember to layer. More layers means better insulation and that the sweat that comes from hurtling down a mountain with no clear idea how to stop will be wicked away from your skin, keeping you warm, dry, and padded for impact. I would recommend a minimum of fifteen layers.

Your outer layer has to be the best, so buy a good quality name brand ski jacket. At a ski store, these cost upwards of a thousand dollars, but in end of season sales you can get them for about ten bucks, so plan ahead. The most important article of clothing are the sunglasses. They are selected primarily for aesthetic reasons. Ask yourself: Which pair would look best after being broken in half and embedded in my face?

How do I select equipment for downhill skiing?

Luckily, you don't really have too much of a choice when it comes to renting skis. You fill out a short form for the employees to select the proper sizing for your equipment. This form includes your height, weight, skiing experience, hat size, shoe size, inseam, mother's maiden name, and the middle two digits in your social security number.

Be careful when they select how tight to set the bindings on your skis. As a beginner they should set them loose, because if the skis are bound too tightly they won't pop off when you do your Agony of Defeat fall down the mountainside, popping your legs off at the knees instead. Because of this I recommend you not even use the bindings, instead just stick the skis to your boots with a piece of chewing gum.

Now that I have the gear, how do I get up the slope?

If you're afraid of heights, you walk. If not, you take the chairlift. The chairlift is a rickety porch swing dangling precariously from a cable that scoots up the mountain. This may seem dangerous, but statistics show that on average, only two or three people will fall off the chairlift at the average resort per day. In order to distract you from your irrational fears the ski resort places trails directly below the lifts so you can point and laugh when people fall below you.

How do I select a trail?

Avoid trails named after Germans or Scandinavians, trails boasting rocks and/or trees, and trail names that include the word Express, Drop, Revenge, Plummet, Crash, or Burn.

e.g.
Von Ryan's Express
Thor's Revenge
Craggy Death

If the ski map has a small picture of a mountain goat at the top of a trail, don't go down it. Likewise avoid trails your friends suggest to you while snickering. Try to stick to trails that have names involving words like Meadow, Stroll, Happy Bunny, or Pansy Ass.

Okay, I'm standing at the top of Happy Bunny Slope. What now?

Beginners should employ the snowplow technique. Please do not be concerned that the method is named after a big clumsy oafish machine that barrels headfirst into giant snowbanks.

Snowplowing:

• Angle your skis slightly to form a wedge pointing down the slope.
• Bend your knees and lean awkwardly forward.
• Tense up all your muscles, whimper softly, and then push yourself down the bunny slope with your poles.
• To turn, lean your weight away from the direction you want to go.
• As you are turning, catch the outside edge of your ski in the snow and fall over.
• While ignoring the laughter coming from the chairlift above, get up, find your equipment, put it back on and go.
• Repeat the above steps until you make it all the way down the bunny slope.
• To stop, push your skis further apart, widening the wedge. Almost fall over backwards, recover yourself by spinning your arms in a windmill fashion, and then fall.

My son or daughter would like to learn to ski. What options are there for him or her?

Most ski lodges have group programs for young children, with appropriately cute little names. The child is equipped with short trick skis and a helmet, then encouraged to careen down the slopes, becoming a potent missile ready to strike any unprepared skier at crotch height.

Isn't that dangerous?

Well, most skiers are immobilized when struck helmet first in the crotch region by a toddler traveling at upwards of 30 mph (48 kph), so usually your child can scamper off without so much as being whacked with the injured party's ski poles.

What if the snow is coming down so hard I can't see?

In "whiteout" conditions, you don't need to worry. You can't avoid things you can see, so what's the difference when you can't see?

What if there are people are all over the trail? Won't I hit them?

Once again, you seem to think you can do something about that. Just signal to the other people that you are a beginner skier by wobbling slightly at the knees, wildly flailing your arms around to recover your balance, and screaming obscenities. They'll avoid you. And if they can't, they are as inept as you are and they'll understand when you two collide.


In conclusion, with skiing you can go out and enjoy the fresh air, get plenty of great exercise, and build character. In other words, while your friends are making asses of themselves on the slopes, you should be in the lodge sipping hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

Yes Slappy, there was a Santa Claus

Here's a flashback to a classic article from before we were a blog, before we were a website, way back to when we were a literary magazine. We were basically the Atlantic Monthly with more dick jokes.

I was going through the old family scrapbook the other day and found this newsprint article from my youth. My brother Ulysses had it printed up and gave it to me in order to ruin the magic of Christmas once and for all. He had his reasons: he wanted me to be aware of the harsh realities of life. That and he was an asshole.

---

Feb. 4, 1959

Clear Lake Globe

A harsh winter storm resulted in the crash of a small single engine commuter plane in the fields outside of Clear Lake yesterday, claiming the lives of all three passengers, well known celebrities Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. The pilot was also killed, but further investigation proved he was not in fact famous. The three were traveling on a mall tour from Mason City, Iowa, to Fargo, North Dakota. After hearing the news the other childhood celebrities continued on with the tour, leading to a very somber show at the Hillsdale Mall in Fargo. The was especially true for Nicky the Arbor Day Mule, who lost a coin flip to the Tooth Fairy for the last seat on the ill-fated flight.
Our own local Police Chief Chris Pederson has been placed in charge of the investigation. "We're taking a look at the possible causes for the untimely demise of Mr. Claus and the two other guys. We've basically got a whole crapload of [parents] who are mad as hell," he explained. "They're expecting to have to take over for these three. That extra work, and with the having to lie about this [tragedy] to their ... kids, they want some answers."

Pederson continued, "These [parents] are causing an uproar over the possibility of foul play. Personally, I don't buy it, the man was a goddamned saint. But just to make sure we have questioned anyone with a grudge or anyone who might have profited from icing the fat man. So far the only suspect we have taken in for questioning is one Mr. Jesus H. Christ.

Jesus released the following statement to the press following the 17-hour questioning period.

"I must admit my concern was growing about the blaspheming of my holy days, but I forgive. That's my gig. I am shocked you are even accusing me, I mean, a small prop plane, inexperienced pilot and a winter snowstorm in Iowa in February? That's no miracle. Besides, what could I possibly have against the Tooth Fairy? Granted, it smacks of paganism, but we're not really in competing markets. Santa and the bunny trespassed against me, but I forgave them. I'm no killer."

His father is quoted as saying, "I rejoice that the minions of Satan have gone to join their master. They have sinned in mine eyes and lo! they have tasted the cold steel of vengeance come forth full force upon them! For I am thy master and ye shall have no gods before me, no jolly elves nor egg-laying rabbits. Especially no fairies. The war hath come for the souls of the unconverted and the rivers and oceans will turn red then black with the blood of those who will not join us."

Jesus when later notified of his father's potentially incriminating quote: "Hey, that's just Dad. You know how hard core Old Testament he is. But that's just it, he's old school. If they died in a plague of locusts, sure, but a plane crash is not his style. Doesn't even believe in the airplane, something about giving them wings if he wanted them to fly. It's kinda embarrassing, but hey, you gotta love the guy. Created the universe and all."

Official investigations have ended, and the Cerro Gordo county offices have declared the investigation over in the following statement: "The Santa crash was an accident. All rumors otherwise are simply that. Rumors."

---

I can't remember if I cried when I read about poor Mrs. Claus, but something touched me deep inside the day my brother told me Santa died.

Sunday flashback movie time

The weekly review is Jean Claude Van Damme in Bloodsport. Here's a old survival guide I wrote for movie characters. Enjoy. I'll be praying for the Cal QB to get healthy.

After spending many years on JiggsCasey.com as a reviewer of movies, film, and cinema, I find I have acquired some knowledge I can - nay, I must - pass on to the future generations. Whether it's an action, sci-fi, horror, or martial arts movie, I've noticed many of these young actors have the life expectancy of a mayfly. So I have compiled this short guide for men and women who want their big breaks to last longer than the opening credits.

Step 1: Identify your risk

Some characters are at an inherently higher risk of premature exit.

Low Risk	High Risk
The hero	The hero's best friend
White people	Women who sleep with the hero in the absence of any long-term commitment
The cook	The wisecracking army specialist
One man who has been pushed too far	People with speech impediments

There are some misconceptions about which characters are at risk. The villain's lieutenant is not high risk, for although (s)he will surely die in the penultimate conflict between good and evil, at least (s)he makes it to within 10 minutes of the ending credits. Missing out on the sequel is a small price to pay. The hero's best friend is sometimes considered a good role, since you get a lot of good face time with the star, but it is all too easy for a hack writer to kill you off in the first fight so the hero can punch the ground in tortured rage while screaming your name into an overhead crane shot.

Your risk level dictates your conduct. If you are at low risk for early death, then these guidelines may be followed in a casual manner. If, on the other hand, you are a black, stuttering, wisecracking munitions expert who has a one night stand with your best friend, the hero of the picture, then you had better follow each of these rules to the letter. Just because you are an easy target for the writers doesn't mean you have to just walk into it.

Step 2: Don't poke things with a stick

I cannot stress this enough. Poking things with a stick is the number one cause of death in science fiction movies. When something has fallen to the earth in a streak of fire, leaving a smoldering object in the bottom of a fresh crater, the natural instinct is to walk up to it and poke it with a stick. Trust me, I know. But being poked with a stick is a universal signal to extraterrestrial life forms to go on a rampage of mass destruction.

Poking the monster with a stick after you're pretty sure you've killed it and want to make sure is also a bad idea. You have usually underestimated the resiliency of the evil creature, which leaves you facing a newly invigorated monster with only a stick to ward it off. I would recommend checking if a monster is still alive from some distance with a gun or, better yet, a flamethrower.

Step 3: Don't enter a dangerous situation without some character development first

This is also known as the Ensign Bobby Effect, from the Star Trek series. Be wary of a commanding officer who suggests you look behind a rock outcropping if your full name is unknown. This can be used to your advantage, however, by securing a little character development early in the film. Writers are lazy people and will not waste a page of exposition just to feed the Frothing Beast of Klarnog. Similarly, in a war movie, make sure you have a chance to tell the audience a little bit about yourself. Nothing fancy, your hometown, a significant other waiting for you (but make sure it wouldn't make it too tragic if you didn't come home). If you can get just a brief flashback, you are set. Think of yourself as a newborn calf on the farm. If you can get Suzie to name you, no worries. If not, you're veal.

Step 4: Be kind to small animals, children, women, and the elderly

There was once a day when you could designate a minor character for early exit by making him/her a different color or creed than everybody else. Now that there are multiple colors and creeds watching movies, a writer has to be concerned about offending people. The solution is to make the differently-colored or creeded individual a complete and utter slimeball.

In an age when it is very difficult to make a character unsavory enough to kill off early without offending anyone, don't give the writers a free one. There is no Anti-Defamation League for abusers.

So please don't kick the puppy.

Step 5: Don't walk backwards

I can't believe I even have to make a point of this. Honestly. Why do you insist on walking backwards in horror movies? Yes, the first time you do it, it's fine because you back into the hero, or your equally stupid buddy. But if you keep doing it, you're going to turn around and it'll be a cut to the axe-wielding maniac, the screen will flash black, and then a cut to the hero saying, "Jenny? Where did you go?"

What the hell were you thinking?

And while we're at it, Step 6: Wear sensible shoes. Ladies, if there is the slightest chance of you being pursued by a psychopath, you need shoes you can run in. If you insist on wearing heels, you can at least wear the shoes from that commercial with the women playing basketball in pumps. They seemed rather mobile.

Step 7: Don't go back in for anything

It is very common in action movies for a character to emerge from a fortress, jungle, or system of underground tunnels, only to realize that something was missing. Often this is as insignficant as important files, or money. Never go back for it. It was taught to you as a child during fire drills, it is no less true today. It doesn't matter if little Timmy has been left behind. By the time you realize little Timmy is gone, little Timmy is probably already decomposing, or being used as bait in an elaborate snare trap. Forget about little Timmy and get the hell out of there. You don't want that little bastard hogging screen time later on talking about how great your character was, and what a shame it was when you got hideously murdered during his rescue.

Conclusion

I hope that you, the young people of America, can benefit from my experience, and that none of your mothers will have to tell their friends, "Yes, my child was in that movie. You know, the one that got decapitated fourteen seconds after the opening credits."

Guide to Friedrich Nietzsche

With Slappy gone, my soul searching continues. Perhaps this classic jiggscasey.com article on Friedrich Nietzsche will lead me to my own inner superman.

Jiggscasey.com Guide to Friedrich Nietzsche

Friedrich Nietzsche was a deeply insightful, and yet extremely enigmatic late 19th century philosopher. Most people know of his greatness, but very few truly understand the man. After having read his Wikipedia entry, I feel extremely qualified to explain Nietzsche's genius to all you dumbasses.

Nietzsche grew up fatherless from the age of four after losing his father in a horrific trouser accident. Upon his father's death, he became the only male in a household including five women. Thus one can immediately see the motivation for his latent misogyny.

Nietzsche's work is broadly categorized by philosophers into two periods: his early or "formative" period lasting from 1865 to 1885 and his late or "crazy" period lasting from 1885 to his death in 1900.

Nietzsche's early professional career was spent at the University of Basel where he was a professor of classical philology. Classical philology is the interdisciplinary study of ancient texts and Phil Collins. While teaching at Basel, Nietzsche met composer Richard Wagner, the musical genius who finally gave Nietzsche an outlet for his latent anti-semitism.

It was during this phase in his life that Nietzsche became known as "Wagner's Monkeyboy". While such criticism completely overstated the role that Wagner had in Nietzsche's life, Nietzsche exacerbated such criticism in 1874 when he became president of the Richard Wagner Cocksucking Society.

Nietzsche's role in the Richard Wagner Cocksucking Society was a major influence on his work "The Gay Science" (1882). "The Gay Science" is an insightful study of lisping, interior design and man-on-man sex from an 1880's philosophical perspective.

Nietzsche's other major work from his early period is also one of his most well known: "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" (1885). It is in this work that Nietzsche introduces the concept of the Uebermensch (which is translated variously as the "over-man", the "super-man" and sometimes as the "piano-man".)

In this work, the main character Zarathustra is sent away from his home planet by his father Jor-El when Zarathustra is just a baby. Zarathustra's spacepod crashes into earth and to make a long story short, Zarathustra uses his super human abilities to battle criminal masterminds. As you've probably already guessed, "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" was an important influence on the comic book "The Silver Surfer".

It is at this point in Nietzsche's life when insanity really starts to kick in. Scholars argue about the cause of Nietzsche's madness, with some chalking it up to syphilis. Others, however, argue that the true source of Nietzsche's madness was his inability to get laid which, of course, further compounded his latent misogyny.

In 1888, Nietzsche published "Ecce Homo" which unlike "The Gay Science" ironically has nothing to do with homosexuality. "Ecce Homo" hit the trifecta of insane self-involvement as Nietzsche included chapters entitled "Why I Am So Wise", "Why I Am So Clever" and "Why I Write Such Good Books". In "Why I Am So Wise", Nietzsche finally reveals the secret that his "genius lies in his nostrils." Clearly, at this point, he was completely bonkers.

The last ten years of Nietzsche's life are spent in the care of his sister. And while his sanity deteriorated until his death, he spent every lucid moment feverishly working on his grand unifying theory, "The Will To Power". In the posthumously published notes(1901), it is revealed what his will to power is: a huge creepy moustache.

Clearly Nietzsche was one fucked up dude.

Ultimate Fighting: The New Copernicus!

Ultimate fighting is the most challenging, as well as the most misunderstood sport today. It is challenging because one must become proficient at multiple techniques, combining them into a single complete art. Thus ultimate fighting truly is the thinking man’s televised beating. Much like a chess match, but with slightly less blood-letting.

But in sharp contrast to the truth, critics often have the confused and inaccurate perception that ultimate fighting is mindless, no holds barred brutality like street fighting. This is certainly incorrect as many holds are certainly barred. Some critics go as far as calling ultimate fighting “human cockfighting” which is insulting not only to the athletes, but to all the good men and women that are enthusiasts of actual chicken-based cockfighting.

Others not bothered by the violence criticize ultimate fighting as a display of latent homosexuality. These homophobes see one man in between the legs of another man, with his face buried in the other’s chest and can only see it as frustrated attempts at lovemaking. Such critics also go as far as calling ultimate fighting “human cockfighting”.

These critics expose their homophobia because there is nothing homoerotic about ultimate fighting. Let me repeat. Ultimate fighting is not a repressed expression of homosexual tendencies. And if I ever catch someone saying something to that effect, I’m gonna kill that fucking faggot!

There Are Rules: No Really, There Are Rules.

Many people think that ultimate fighting is uncontrolled, drunken Irish brawling. Nothing could be further from the truth as the sport is very closely regulated. For example, a fighter cannot bite or gouge an opponent’s eye. A fighter cannot use weapons, not even a gun. A fighter cannot murder their opponent. A fighter can’t even call the opponent’s house and ask if their refrigerator is running.

In fact, some pussies have even started calling it “Mixed Martial Arts” instead of ultimate fighting precisely because so many holds are barred. Could there be anything more civil than ultimate fighting? Not afternoon tea, you queers.

The Complete Fighter: That’s Right. Boxing Is For Pussies.

There are three modes of fighting in ultimate fighting:

1. Standup: Beating the shit out of your opponent at a distance of a few feet.
2. Clinch: Beating the shit out of your opponent when they are right next to you.
3. Grappling: Beating the shit out of your opponent when you are both on the ground.

There are two primary kinds of grappling used in ultimate fighting: wrestling and Brazilian jiujitsu. The wrestlers control their opponents on the ground long enough to hurt them with strikes. Their style is called, “Ground and Pound”. The gay jokes you are making aren’t funny, by the way.

BJJ: One letter more than a blowjob

Brazilian jiu-jitsu is the Brazilian variant of the traditional Japanese martial art, battle tested on the violent streets of Rio de Janeiro. Brazilian jiu-jitsu is one of the most powerful and complex aspects of ultimate fighting. A jiu-jitsu practitioner with good technique can control and defeat a fighter much larger in size. But because the system is rather subtle, is can be hard for a beginner to understand the battle for positioning. Some faggots even consider it boring.

Because of this I am going to take this opportunity to show you some pictures of jiu-jitsu positioning so that you can gain some insight into the sport. Now one thing you must remember: There is nothing gay about these positions; nothing gay at all.

The Guard: The person on the bottom has his opponent in the guard. You can see this because he has wrapped his legs around his opponent to keep him close to his body. While the guard is primarily a defensive position, if the person on top is not careful, they can be submitted via choke or application of pressure to a limb. Remember, there is nothing sexual about this position, whatsoever.


The triangle choke is a submission in which the legs of the man on the bottom are wrapped around the head of the man on top, thereby suffocating the person on top. I know this one looks kind of sexual, but it’s not, you fags.


The Mount: The mount is the worst... Ok. I give up. There’s no way this doesn’t look gay. It’s called the mount, for pete’s sake! You win, queers.


Finish Him

In conclusion, I just want to reiterate that ultimate fighting is not about drunken, no holds barred street fighting. As it turns out, it’s about repressed homosexual tendencies being manifested as physical competition that mimics gay sex. And much like gay sex, it’s smart, the acts of strength and agility are amazing, and it’s extremely compelling to watch.

Ending American Oil Dependence

The LiveEarth concert over the weekend reminded me of this classic jiggscasey.com piece describing how we can end American oil dependence. In addition to the comments, you can add your two cents on the environment in our new Smoking Poll in our left sidebar. Enjoy:

I have come up with the perfect plan to end American dependence on foreign oil. In fact, the plan almost seems too perfect because it has neither moral nor scientific drawbacks. I propose we tap into the vast renewable energy resource that has until now provided no benefit to this country: peace activists. We need to start converting peace activists into oil immediately.

Like most great ideas, my plan to convert peace activists into oil seems obvious in hindsight. America has two things that it doesn't need: High gas prices and peace activists. Why not kill two birds with one stone? Or rather, why not kill two peace activists with a process called thermal depolymerization?

Thermal depolymerization is a high-pressure, high-temperature process that converts a mass of long carbon chains (like a peace activist) into shorter carbon chains (like oil). When it is applied to two peace activists, you get a double bonus because in addition to generating over 8 gallons of black gold, you would also have two dead peace activists.

Now I know what you're thinking: How could I possibly think that these machines could be used on peace activists? With their dreadlocks, hackey sacks and many unflattering odors, wouldn't peace activists cause trouble for the thermal depolymerization process?

As it turns out, thermal depolymerization is extremely robust and can even turn turkey shit into oil. And if thermal depolymerization can convert turkey shit into oil, it will have no problem with your average unkempt peace activist, regardless of the number of protests he has danced in or how much turkey shit he has rolled around in.

And when my plan comes to fruition, just think of how satisfying it will be to drive through the wilderness, perhaps pausing for a few moments to idle your hummer over an ancient Native American burial ground. No matter whose grave you disturb, you'll always know that your hummer is powered by dead peace activists.

After years of listening to the poorly thought-out chant "No blood for oil", we can finally achieve the dream of "Peace activist blood for oil."

8,000 gallons of oil from this crowd could drive one Hummer almost 4 times around the world.

A Complete Guide to Franz Kafka

Franz Kafka was an extremely talented, but ever self-critical 20th century writer. Most people know of his greatness, but very few truly understand the man. I have done decades of research to better understand Kafka, and with this article, I will communicate my insight to all you dumbasses. Enjoy!

If I had to use one word to describe Franz Kafka, I would use the word Kafkaesque. If I had to use two words to describe Franz Kafka, both words would be Kafkaesque. Kafkaesque is just that appropriate.

The sheer fact that his name has been turned into an adjective shows just how important his novels and short stories have become. For instance, you will never hear any scenario described as Louis Lamour-esque. Nor will you ever hear a phrase like My world is Tom Clancy-esque. (And if you do, that is a good sign that you ought to invest in an M-16.)

Franz Kafka spent his days as an accountant, and his nights writing. Any free time that he had was spent being bitter about being an accountant. He also hated his father.

Kafka's work explores the notion that the world is an absurd place of interminable torture and death--whichever comes first. Many people believe that the oppressive power structures found in his work are metaphorical representations of his father, but there is mounting evidence that they are actually metaphorical representations of Frank Stallone.

Kafka's most famous works are The Metamorphosis (Die Verwandlung), The Trial (Der Prozess) and The Castle (Das Schloss)*. Out of these three works, only The Metamorphosis was published during his lifetime, as the other two were published before he was born.

In The Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa wakes up one day to find his toast burnt. He also happens to be a cockroach**. The story describes the complexities of life as a piece of vermin. For example, he can no longer change the channel on the television since the remote control had yet to be invented. In spite of its rather depressing premise, the story ends happily when Samsa dies and his family joyfully moves to the country.

In The Trial, the protagonist Joseph K. is brought in on trumped up charges that he violently murdered his ex-wife and her young lover. The story is made all the more absurd when K and his best friend, a football player only identified as A.C., lead the police on a lengthy slow speed chase in a white Bronco. The situation looks hopeless for K. until Johnny Cochran arrives.

The Castle, unlike the previous two stories, is about a castle. In it, the hero is a surveyor in Prague, asked to survey a castle in a small town. The hero desperately attempts to gain entrance to the castle, but much like my quest for a bigger penis, the hero's search for truth and belonging is never realized.

As you can see, Kafka was clearly one fucked up dude.

*I know the German names too... I am so smart.
**Though it is never specified in the text, I am certain he is a German Cockroach.

Mr. Gorbachev, Tear down that wall!

America remembered Reagan's "Tear Down This Wall" speech yesterday. It was the Berlin speech's 20th anniversary. This reminded me of the tribute to Reagan that we made when he died. Enjoy

Open Letter: Satanism just isn't about Satan anymore

Youth these days assume that listening to Judas Priest or watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer automatically qualifies them to worship my dark prince. They pop up at our service on Sundays and treat it like it's some kind of big Satanic game. To be honest, I wouldn't be so fed up with them if there was one truly evil teenager in the bunch, but it's clear that all we get are misunderstood losers.

These misfits make it obvious from the way they dress that they consider the occult to be more of a social club like Greenpeace than their chance to serve the King of the Underworld. Well I have a message for Diane or Skippy or whatever the names of those Sunday Satanists are: A mohawk and a Satan tattoo doesn't make you a Satanist anymore than a stethoscope and a scalpel makes you a doctor. We need to stop accepting such riff-raff into our congregation and focus on doing the truly evil work Satan has planned for us.

Many of the Satanic congregation feel that I am over-reacting to this never-ending heathen onslaught, but how can they forget that our eternal damnation is at stake? How can we be so trifling as to let the primarily good encroach on our hallowed grounds? Must I remind the congregation of the very relevant passage from the Book of Barthok:

It was then that Lord Barthok was interrupted by noises from outside. In the adjacent field, a stray pair of sheep had began to forage. He pondered whether to close the temple windows and continue, But instead decided to sacrifice the innocent at the altar of Gorgon.
(Barthok 17:31)

Did Barthok let the innocent sheep destroy his temple service? Instead of closing the windows and trying to ignore the commotion caused by the innocents, he sacrificed them at the altar of Gorgon. Now I'm not saying that we ought to sacrifice all these Satanic infidels on the altar of Gorgon. but maybe sacrificing just a few of them will get the message across.

At any rate, as a congregation, I think we should try to put the Satan back into Satanism and stem the tide of insincere Satanists coming to our service. Granted we can't keep them out of the Berkeley High gymnasium when the service isn't in session, but when it is, we have every right. In fact, it is our responsibility. After all, we did pay the deposit on the room..

As a final word, the isolation that I am receiving from the congregation because of my hard stance on this issue is making it painfully obvious to me that Satanism just isn't about Satan anymore, but rather about making everyone feel evil, when they clearly are not. It's high time that we take our church out of the Yellow Pages, and instead focus on guaranteeing the damnation of each and every one of the true believers.

May Evil Be With You

The Transformers Left Me Ill-Prepared To Battle Evil

I'm off to get pancakes at a Cambridge diner called Sunny's that was on the bubble for the restaurant list below. Here's the last installment of the TV Trilogy.

The Transformers was arguably the best cartoon of its day. It had everything. It had giant robots from another planet fighting huge battles over the future of the Earth. It had those robots transforming into cars, jets, spaceships, dinosaurs, insects, stereos and guns. It had an anime style years ahead of its time. It had little robots that could turn into vehicles that assembled into a big robot. It had Casey Kasem doing voice acting. It entertained me, hell, it still does entertain me. And yet, the show completely undermined my ability to do battle with the forces of evil.

Mayhaps I should explain the show for those who haven't seen it in a while. The robots from Cybertron are divided into two camps: the Decepticons, devoted to a platform of world domination through evil, and the Autobots, the forces of good. Their homeworld devastated by a centuries old war, the two groups escape only to crash on Earth. The automated repair system on board finds Earth machines to model the robots' new disguises on, and the war continues with new stakes: the Autobots now must also keep the Decepticons from destroying the Earth to get the energy needed to return home and conquer the universe.

The two main characters are Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots, and Megatron, the leader of the Decepticons. Megatron is a big grey robot that transforms into a gun that fits into the hand of one of his lieutenants. Much has been made of this lack of continuity in size, but the explanation is simple: It was a cartoon. Prime is a big red eighteen wheeler cab with the voice of Charlton Heston doing an impression of John Wayne. When he transforms to become his truck self, all of a sudden a big grey trailer appears behind him. Much has been made of this, too, but the explanation is equally obvious in retrospect: if you watch the way his legs fold back in under himself, the trailer clearly comes directly out of his ass.

Most of the Decepticons are fighter jets, F-15 Eagles I think. The air corps is led by Starscream, the whiny second in command who attempts just about every episode to overthrow Megatron. His main role is to provide a character with no redeeming features. Megatron was always trying to destroy the earth and everyone on it for his powermad dreams of glory, but let's face it: he was cool. Starscream was the official whipping boy. Another key Decepticon was Soundwave, a blue tape recorder that controlled a whole bunch of little cassette tape robots. In about half the episodes, he infiltrates some factory or power plant as a simple tape recorder. This is more impressive when you consider the only form he could move in was a giant 20-foot tall robot.

You'd think the Autobots would be in trouble against a group that transformed primarily into fighter jets and big ass guns, but the Autobots were crafty. For instance, just because they couldn't fly didn't men they couldn't get around as fast as the Decepticons. They drove from Arizona to Africa once. Also, about half of their forces were specialists in repair. Ratchet, a paramedic/ambulance, and Wheeljack, an inventor/some form of car, were usually hanging out in the repair bay to fix the broken Autobots and send them back out to fight some more. Sort of a kinder, gentler version of the Red Chinese military strategy. They were assisted by two humans, Spike and his dad Sparkplug, who apparently had no friends or family since when the Autobots showed up they just started living in the volcano with them. Jazz and the Autobot stereo Blaster had the special ability to immobilize enemies by playing loud, generic 70s rock. Then there were the rank and file non-descript cars. The best cars were the ones voiced by Casey Kasem. And of course there was Bumblebee, who didn't have a special ability, usually didn't carry a gun, and more or less was the Barney Fife of the show.

And yet that's not even half of the cast. When you think about it, the show was the first great informercial. A half hour of introducing new toys, how their transformation worked, why the kid should bug his parents into buying it, and not even at two in the morning. It became a never ending arms race, because when the Decepticons got the Insecticons, the Autobots returned with the Dinobots, which were outdone by the Constructicons who merged into Devastator (now guaranteeing that the kid wouldn't rest until all six little robots were purchased), who had to be countered by the small city known as Optimus Prime, but by then the Decepticons were bankrupted, the Autobot economy was in shambles, and the Berlin Wall fell.

At any rate, remember the time Spike and Bumblebee got captured and the Autobots had to risk everything to get them back? Of course you do; it happened every episode. Bumblebee at least I can understand, he was kind of like the drummer boy in the Revolutionary War- you have him march at the front of the lines, give him a drum or a flute, and hope he draws some fire. But in most every episode when the Autobots would transform and roll out to an apocalyptic battle with the Decepticons, Spike would ask if he could tag along. Prime never quite saw that as a strategic liability for some reason.

And that's my problem with the show. Its major premise is that good will triumph over evil. That's okay, but most shows along this line give some reason. Good has the support of the people, or evil keeps telling good of its plans and then lets good escape. The Transformers seemed to assume that good would triumph because evil would just let them win.

After all, how did every episode end? Megatron and his fleet of jets would be standing there and Optimus Prime would show up (with a few sports cars, an RV, a fire truck, and Bumblebee for backup) and say, "Give up Megatron, you've lost." And then Megatron would... leave! Maybe he'd grapple with Prime for a bit, maybe his squadron of F-15s would strafe the flightless Autobots, but then he would call for a retreat. Try that on the playground bully, he'll just kick your ass and throw you in a garbage can. Trust me.

Aside from little things, like neither side remembering to guard their base, or protect their new weapon of unimaginable destruction, there was a bigger issue of neither side wanting to actually kill the other. Again we seem to hit up on the guiding principle of the 1980s: "if we keep building up and threatening to kill each other, we'll both get rich." Come to think about it, I'm not sure they could kill each other. The laser weapons each side used never seemed to do any lasting damage, even when a group of robots would fire point blank at one dude's chest. Nothing. The main use for the weapons seemed to be shooting out cliff walls and burying the enemy in the rubble. Since most of the battles took place in Arizona, that's usually how the fight would end. This is hardly a useful lesson to children, that even armed with laser cannons, the best way to combat evil is by trying to inconvenience it under a rockslide.

Perhaps the main reason the Autobots served as our role models was how stupid the humans on the show acted. When the Decepticons would show up to start the show, people would invariably point up at the sky in "Oh no! Godzilla!" fashion and scurry about like fools. The Decepticons were usually there to steal some power source of infinite power or a weapon of unimaginable destruction, built by some human scientist who "sure hoped the Decepticons didn't get a hand on it." One of the best inventions was a Japanese scientist who wanted to demonstrate the peaceful capabilities of his field with a thirty foot tall robot ninja assassin. The Autobots were on hand lest it fall into the wrong hands, so that meant it took an extra couple minutes for Megatron and company to steal it. Another case of poor judgment on the Autobots' part, they should have destroyed the invention and smack the scientist around a little, just like the FBI, CIA, or FTC would do.

The Transformers came out in the early 1980s, when the country had recently become enamored with the silicon chip. Not enough to waste billions of dollars in black holes of venture capital, but enough to know that the technology was limitless. The cartoon is a product of these times, with schemes on both sides involving sticking computer chips on stuff and then commanding that stuff by remote control. Sometimes another robot, sometimes a human being, once even a fleet of oil tankers; the contact of a silicon chip on the armor/skin/hull was all that was needed. Here is one of the more important lessons they taught us, that no matter how optimistic people got about computers, they would always be used for evil purposes, as we have seen time and time again.

I guess I have to admit is that the show was ahead of its time. If you listen to some of the voice actors, especially Starscream and about half of the Autobots, you realize the animators were promoting the issue of gays in the military decades ahead of the politicians. Even the Autobots' main computer, Teletran I, once alerted the Autobots to a "Code Magenta!" When the Decepticons got a cool space shuttle/locomotive named Astrotrain, the Autobots countered with a Puerto Rican UFO named Cosmos - the first Hispanic space-going robot on television. Granted, he looked a bit Happy Meal Toy-esque, and got into trouble so many times he was the Bumblebee of outer space, but it was a start.

The Transformers was a great show, don't get me wrong. Entertaining, cool battles, and that wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah sound of one of them transforming, it was beautiful. I just wish they had spent a little more time thinking about the young, impressionable kids watching. If they had, maybe, just maybe, I would be better equipped to do battle with evil today.

The Dukes of Hazzard Played Too Large A Role In Shaping My Value System

This weekend, while the JiggsCasey.com crew is off fighting evil, enjoy Part 2 of the TV Trilogy.

Just two good old boys, never meanin' no harm...
Beats all you never saw, been in trouble with the law
Since the day they was born.

Straightenin' the curves, flattenin' the hills...
Someday the mountain might get 'em but the law never will.

Makin' their way, the only way they know how...
That's just a little bit more than the law will allow.

Just two good ol' boys, wouldn't change if they could,
Fightin' the system like two modern-day Robin Hoods...

written and performed by the incomparable Waylon Jennings

When I was just a lad, I used to come home from school and watch the afternoon reruns to pass the time. Most of them were run of the mill sitcoms, mere playthings to distract me from the trials and tribulations of pre-adolescence, but some shows rose above the noise to educate, inform, and sculpt me into the columnist before you. Recently I've been able to trace my issues with authority to The Dukes of Hazzard. That and my intense urge to run moonshine in an orange Charger.

For those of you who don't remember too clearly, The Dukes of Hazzard is set in Hazzard County, a fictional area in Georgia. Bo and Luke Duke, two cousins on probation for running moonshine, live on the family farm with their Uncle Jesse, a crotchety old man who used to run moonshine in the good ol' days. Hazzard is run by County Commissioner Boss Hogg, a heaping mass of humanity who rose to corrupt power after an early career running moonshine with Uncle Jesse. Boss Hogg's evil schemes are executed by his sheriff (and brother-in-law) Roscoe P. Coltrane (aka Roscoooe!), whose incompetence is only exceeded by that of his deputies, Enos and Cletus, who are probably cousins.

But this supporting cast would have been nothing without the three stars of the show. In no particular order, these are the lake-jumping General Lee, the cutoff-sporting Daisy Duke, and the country witticism-spinning narrator/balladeer Waylon Jennings. This man, woman, and automobile elevate the show from merely cool to artistic perfection.

The basic storyline goes something like this: Bo and Luke are on probation, and Boss Hogg really wants them thrown in prison so Uncle Jesse can't run the farm anymore and has to turn over the deed. But Bo and Luke just can't stay out of trouble, so Roscoe chases them around Hazzard for about half of each episode. Hazzard has an inordinate amount of water, and an awful lot of makeshift ramps. Bo, the ex-stock car driver, would jump the lake, swamp, river, creek, inlet, canal, puddle, or fjord. Then Roscoe would try to follow, but despite the fact he was pretty much matching speed with the Duke boys, he'd always land square in the middle of the water. This is widely attributed to his failure to give a proper Rebel yell in mid air.

But even if he did, how could his cruiser compare to the General? A souped up Dodge Charger with its doors welded shut, its suspension so loose it swerved and fishtailed going around corners in town, and its hood so slick that Luke never fell while ass-sliding over to the passenger side. Try it next time you're busting out of your county jail, it's harder than it looks.

Many people dismiss The Dukes of Hazzard as having only one plot: Bo and Luke have to outrun Roscoe and company in the General Lee, jumping a variety of obstacles. This ignores the premise for the car chase. In actuality there are two plots: Plot A, where Boss Hogg has some sinister plot to lie, cheat and/or steal that gets foiled by the Duke boys; and Plot B, where some criminals first frame, and then get foiled by, the Duke boys. That both plots end in the same exact fashion leads most to assume that the entire plot is the same.

But, as everyone knows, the show was really an allegory to illustrate the moral ambiguity necessary to maintain the individual's innocence when the system is inherently corrupt. The purity of the individual is symbolized by the unreal beauty of Daisy Duke in her cutoff shorts. Boss Hogg oppresses Daisy by forcing her to work long hours at The Boar's Nest bar, in sort of a Jabba The Hutt - Princess Leia thing. She is protected by the reckless Duke boys, who wield the power of the General Lee and the crotchety wisdom of their Uncle Jesse.

The Dukes of Hazzard was about breaking through conventional thinking. Bo and Luke showed us that the blonde/brunette stereotypes could apply to men too. Daisy pioneered the rare combination of cutoff shorts and nylons. Every other episode proved that hang gliders were suprisingly useful for reconnaissance, chases, and even sneak attacks. And Boss Hogg somehow kept getting elected to the post of county commissioner, even though he had a personal vendetta against at least half of the electorate (the electorate consisting of the Duke family, Cooter, Roscoe, Enos and/or Cletus, and a few extras).

Bo and Luke's probation tends to get in the way of their ongoing quest to protect the glory of Daisy's sweet, sweet legs. It makes them the only inhabitants of Hazzard County over the age of six without ready access to firearms. The deck may be stacked against Bo and Luke, but they always come out on top. Why? Because they're cooler. Granted, they are unarmed (or occasionally armed with bows and arrows like a' two modern day Robin Hoods), but they have bigger and fluffier hair, tighter jeans, and their car horn plays "Dixie." If two guys held them at gunpoint, the boys would just rush them and kick the guns out of their hands. It wouldn't matter how far away the men were standing, they would stand there with a mixture of mean and stupid on their faces as the Duke boys gradually approached them. Not that it was all that brilliant of a moment for the Dukes either, but the lesson taken away was clear: It is okay to be an idiot if you only fight morons.

All the while Waylon Jennings treats the audience to a narration that has yet to be equaled. It makes The Wonder Years look like the work of a retarded 8 year-old. His voice over supplies all the key exposition and explains big plot points like a severely inebriated Greek chorus. The Dukes of Hazzard doesn't just astound you with a plot twist, Waylon is there with "Don't that just beat all?" before the break to commercial. We may have known the situation was bad, but we didn't necessarily know the boys were in a "heap of trouble." Most viewers come from places where one bloodline didn't populate the entire county, so Waylon Jennings serves as the cultural ambassador. My personal favorite was when a helicopter forced a truck off the road by throwing bags of oil onto the windshield, Waylon told us, "I know it may be a quart low, but that's not where you put it."

Perhaps the strongest symbol of the virtuous common man overcoming the corrupt state is when the Duke boys break out of the Hazzard jail. This is why that scene was written in about twice an episode. They kept a better eye on Otis the drunk in Mayberry. An important point here is that Bo and Luke are not virtuous in and of themselves, seeing as how by that time they had broken parole about three or four times over. But fighting The Man makes them virtuous by default. They are against Boss Hogg, and that's all that matters. Being on the side of Daisy Duke and her succulent, nubile beauty doesn't hurt either.

It is a surprise anyone could grow up with this show and not have an ingrown mistrust of authority. Boss Hogg has a mandate from the masses, and look what he does with it. The only time he's not doing something evil is when he's eating multiple buckets of fried chicken. He is always picking on the Dukes and being mean to poor, lovely, lovely Daisy. The man walks around in a white suit and big ass white cowboy hat. His ride is a huge white Cadillac with longhorns mounted on the front. If there's a uniform for Team Evil, that's it.

Not all is lost, though, for even the goons employed by the System can still be lured back to the side of goodness and decency. Enos has a gawking crush on Daisy, as did so many of us young lads staring slack jawed at the screen every time she slinked into view, so you know deep down he's a good guy. True enough, he even got a spin off that lasted at least two and a half episodes. And even Roscoe could fall for a Duke diversion, invariably Daisy trying to fix her Jeep, bent over under the hood, jeans hugging tight skin milky white curve flesh smooth... Power corrupts, but booty saves.

I still try and take in an episode whenever I can. The show was important. It proved that the everyman Duke boys could hold the fat, bloated, big ass Cadillac driving System at bay, leaving the world safe for their moonshine, fast cars, and women in tight shorts lifestyle.

How Gilligan's Island Made Me a Nihilist

It's Friday again, time for an old article. Here's the first of a three-parter on how television shaped my psyche.

When I was a kid I used to watch old TV reruns all the time. Only recently have I discovered how deeply and profoundly they have affected my personal philosophy. Perhaps no show had more impact that simple little Gilligan's Island. Namely, it completely destroyed all faith I had in humanity. Granted, the show did this for a lot of people, but for me it wasn't the fact that people allowed it to run for four seasons, rather the messages subtly woven into each episode. So I thought I would share with you why I think this is the darkest show on syndication: Enjoy!

Gilligan alone could drive one to nihilism, or at the very least existentialism. As each fool-proof rescue plot is hatched and subsequently crushed by Gilligan, we learn that all endeavors are inherently doomed by the "Gilligan" within each of us. What kind of lesson is that for the youth of today? We may be young and stupid, but we're trying. And yet, no matter how hard we try, we're always going to stumble into the 10 kilowatt coconut radio tower and blow yet another chance at contacting the damn Coast Guard.

If it were just Gilligan on the island, perhaps it wouldn't be quite so dark. He would die of thirst within 48 hours, and we would be spared having to watch him fail every week for four years. Too inept to be rescued, too well cared for to die. The nameless authority figures Skipper and the Professor discipline and educate Gilligan, respectively, instead of staging an unfortunate "accident" out by the cliffs like they should have early on for the good of all. The three of them form the Freudian model of id, ego and superego. No matter how many times the Professor plans to have Gilligan cleaning algae off rocks in the lagoon when the bamboo rocket is going to be launched with the SOS message recorded on a coconut 8-track, no matter how many times the Skipper savagely beats Gilligan, the "little buddy" will thwart every chance of rescue. That nickname, combined with his unfortunately shaped hat, leads to the obvious conclusion that men are doomed to have every plan eventually negated by their own collective penis.

Women don't fare much better. Look at the duality of Mary Ann and Ginger. One of the timeless debates, the show stacked it in favor of Ginger. Ginger was the feminine ideal, from her countless array of gowns, stock issue mole, and complete and utter lack of anything resembling intelligence. Mary Ann for four years wore the same damn pair of shorts and had maybe two shirts. [But really, hasn't the wardrobe of Gilligan's Island been analyzed to death?] The Ginger preference is one of image over substance, one that showers disdain on those who would pine for a more wholesome life, preferring a skanky ditz to a simple and decent country girl with whom you could hold a conversation for longer than three minutes. Besides, Mary Ann is way hotter.

Which leaves us with Thurston Howell III and his wife "Lovey". They are so rich they even have stupid rich pet names for each other like "Lovey." Not even an upper middle class guy would come home to a wife named "Lovey." With a name like that they can't be anything but the capitalist exploiter class. Sure enough, once on the island, they immediately begin to exploit Gilligan, making him a little servant boy paid in cash that is obviously worthless if they never get back to civilization. Without even a pretense of legal tender, Gilligan is bought and sold like the crack whore that he is. And by that reasoning, the "Gilligan" within us all is a dirty little ho-bag.

Oh sure, you could argue that the abundance of food, water, and semiconducting coconuts and bamboo implies a just and loving god that will take care of us. But that same god, acting as storm, wrecks the boat every opening credits and then finds a way for every one of the three million individual visitors to the island to leave without rescuing the castaways. I find it much more reminiscent of Sartre's No Exit, myself. That, or Waiting for Godot. Or Magnum, P.I.

As for crossover specials like The Harlem Globetrotters on Gilligan's Island, The Detroit Pistons on Gilligan's Island, and The Jetsons on Gilligan's Island, I think we should stick to episodes that stayed true to the initial artistic vision. That vision being one of despair and meaningless exile. If not for the courage of the fearless crew, the Minnow would be lost? The Minnow would be lost? The Minnow would have been better off lost, that's what the show teaches us.

So why am I bothering with this if I'm a nihilist? Well, I'm not actually a nihilist, the title of this piece was just a literary device. Actually I'm an agnostic existentialist, but that doesn't change the fact that this is one messed up television program. Save yourselves and save your children! Watch something like Punky Brewster instead.

Many apologies to Dawn Wells.

Thank you for your time.

Classic Jiggs: Movie Review

Still no sun here in the Northeast. Perhaps this weekend there will be sun. In the meantime, here's a movie review from the archives. First one, in fact. Chuck Norris, how you inspire us all to greater things.

Breaker! Breaker! (1977)
Starring Chuck Norris
Plot summary: Chuck Norris is a Zen trucker who must save his brother from a speed trap.

Breaker! Breaker! comes right out of the 1970s, embracing the era in all its decadent glory. And the glory of the 1970s was, of course, CB radio. Yes, cross country truckers were all the rage, their language capturing the American imagination even though it was clear from the start that they were making up every word of it as they went along. This movie brought tha