Stand By Your Principles...Right?

Alright, people. I'm here to test your resolve.

I received a fairly universal response from readers regarding companies and their advertising: If they have crappy commercials, you should -- on principle -- ban their products. And the ban should be lifelong. No questions asked. Basically like when the UN slaps sanctions on North Korea for breaking international norms and doing some saber-rattling, only you guys would actually, you know, follow-through on your threats. Principled stands. Commendable.

You may or may not know that last year, the US Beef people hired Matthew Mcconaughey -- of perpetual shirtlessness and unbearable chick-flick fame -- to be their radio spokesperson. What you might not have known is that the ads are indescribably horrible. Check them out (The ads themselves are the only the audio -- others compiled the videos):

Find more videos like this on www.truveo.com.

Matthew McConaughey - Creepy Beef Spokesman - watch more funny videos

So, what say ye, meat-lovers? How principled are you? Are you going to give up beef, go vegetarian, and join up with PETA because these ads are so bad? I know I don't need to remind you that Mr. Mcconaughey did talk about taking your appetite on a romantic getaway and laying "side-by-side under sirloin skies." Ah, brings back fond memories of pillow-talk with my appetite.

Awaiting your responses.

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Axis Powers -- Photo of the Week 27 July 2009

White Josh, the Frizzle and I -- well, let's be honest, just White Josh and I -- often joke about how our collective heritages could serve as a reunification of the Axis powers: Japan, Germany, and Italy.

When they visited in March, we were in the American History Museum in DC, and this setup was too good to pass up on:

Again, I place especial emphasis on the fact that this is just a joke, mainly because there are so many dissimilarities that separate us from these dudes: White Josh lacks the greasy hair for a nasty Hitler-esque combover; the Frizzle, while capable of dropping the hammer at times, cannot deliver fiery fascist speeches in Italian; and me... well, let's be honest: I lack the requisite ambition and intelligence to overthrow an existent government and run a new one.

Oh yeah, not to mention none of us three are detestable and soulless bastards. I forgot about that minor dissimilarity.

'manders was with us. To her credit, as soon as we turned the corner and saw this display, she immediately recognized what I wanted, patiently refrained from shaking her head disappointedly at me, and simply beckoned for me to hand her the camera so that she could take the picture. Dear girl.



Morning, all, and a Happy Monday. The sooner we get started, the sooner it'll be over. Or something. Blogging has been few and far between lately because I have found that Writing is a fickle mistress-- it comes and goes, and I haven't been feeling it. Stay tuned.

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On the Brain

So my managers at work thought that something I had volunteered for (been coerced/guilted into) was amazing (it wasn't) and had a huge impact (it didn't), so for my hard work (I slacked off) they gave me a kingly gift certificate to Chipotle. And, apparently, my hyper-contrarian and underachieving inner monologue has decided to manifest itself in a blog post today in parenthetical form (you'd better believe it, jacka**).

At any rate. The other morning I was in a meeting with two others, discussing contracts and workflow processes and talking about the "rubber hitting the road" and the undesirable nature of "reinventing the wheel" and all that annoying corporate-speak. I don't know. Honestly, I was paying attention to what was going on, but I was also starving. So, I did what all wise people do when they're hungry: I thought about food. And how much I wanted it. And how I was going to break in my Chipotle gift certificate as soon as this meeting was over.

At that moment a question was directed at me. My response?

"Chipotl--"

It wasn't a Turrets-like outburst, but I think if I didn't catch myself at that moment, the rest of the hunger-induced spew out of my mouth would have been: "Burrito, black beans, barbacoa, corn salsa, sour cream, guac, extra cheese!" (All of you just walked down that Chipotle assembly line with me just then...I know you did)

Well, I caught myself, and managed to salvage a level of coherence in my answer. Dodged the bullet.

I'm guessing the other two just attributed my initial gibberish to my English-is-not-my-first-language appearance. It's cool.

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The Mantage -- Photo of the Week 20 July 2009

I know it's Monday morn, and your energy levels are low, and you need something more than a still photo to get your productivity on:



Nothing like a shot of testosterone to start your week off right.

(And yes, Case, the 1:00-mark is your cue to give an abbreviated schpeel on your tipping philosophy)


Happy Monday. Now go write off a business expense. Or cry openly at Old Yeller.

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The Perm -- Photo of the Week 13 July 2009

This week's is a doozy. The wager finally came to fruition.


The reactions have ranged all across the spectrum: Lots of doubletakes (myself in the mirror in the morning; everybody at church); extreme dread and anxiety, like a parent sending their child to their first day of school (AM before seeing the perm); semi-relief and a "it's not as bad as it could have been" (AM after seeing the perm); incapable of looking at me without laughing uncontrollably (Midge); rending of clothing, refusal to be comforted, and desperate beseeching to PLEASE cut my hair ('manders); disappointed headshaking, like I had been convicted and sentenced to do 10-15 in the State Pen (Josh M); backhanded comment about no longer possessing self-respect (DJA); "John Lennon called...he wants his hair back...No, seriously though: Get a haircut." (Banker); being told I should host a Japanese game show (Chunk). That's just the tip of the iceberg.

I'll tell you the worst part, though. My hair reeked like moldy butt. Seriously.

Anyway, I considered growing a mustache and going for an Adam Morrison-type look, but I would have needed to be ten times uglier, twenty times creepier, and willing to flush my social life down the drain. I still can't believe this guy has an NBA championship ring:



Happy Monday, everyone. Be grateful your coworkers have at least an ounce of respect for you. Mine may have at some point. But won't. Ever.

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A Work Bathroom Tale

Odd stuff happens in the work bathroom: Guys suddenly become uncomfortably loquacious; my ongoing run-ins with bathroom awkwardness are made possible thanks to me inadvertently becoming the "pee buddy" -- someone with whom you share the same "pee schedule" -- of one of the big wigs at work. It's uncomfortable. I mean, he's not good game butt-slapping while I'm at the urinal like Alec Baldwin does to Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly; but it's uncomfortable, nonetheless.

Anyway. I have a work bathroom war story from a friend that tops all previous ones.

Here's how the dialogue went (I don't if there's any unwritten, Protect The Shield-type code amongst men and sharing bathroom stories, but in the interests of my friend's safety, I will anonymize him.):

Anon: dude i just had the weirdest bathroom experience ever
Me: i like where this anecdote is going
Anon: you may regret saying that when this is over
so get this. i'm sitting in the stall, taking care of business
there is another guy in the stall next to me, doing the same thing
so he gets up off the can and i think he's wrapping up
but no
he turns the other direction, pants completely down, and squats
bare a$ showing underneath the stall, and wipes that way
multiple times
like ten times
for all to see
yeah, i don't even know how to explain it
so he's facing the toilet
Me: i need a diagram
Anon: squatting down so his bare a$$ is almost touching the ground
Me: sketch something up in MS Paint and send it to me
Anon: and proceeds to wipe
ok one sec
Me: i was completely joking
Anon: no, it will enhance the experience
Me: you do know i'm going to blog this
Anon: this needs to be shared with the public

And here was the sketch:

My friend wanted to clarify it is not his "best work," and he is "actually trying to burn my eyes out with the acid. not drink it."

Regardless, his courage is admirable; for pushing through his PTSD and coming forward to share his story.

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Movie Pitch: The Riddle That is Ron Artest

Um, I'm going to need some clarification here. (apologies in advance -- this will be a hyperlink-heavy post)

I know that Ron Artest, of "The Malice in the Palace" fame, is an odd duck. His interviews are off the charts when it comes to unintentional comedy, as are his rap albums.

I also acknowledge that the NBA is a completely unfamiliar world to me. There are things that I will never understand about it.

But this CBS Sports article about how Artest ended up with the Lakers is...

...well, just read an excerpt:

Kobe said that after the Lakers lost game six of the '08 NBA Finals in Boston by 39 points, he was alone in the shower, just fuming. He heard somebody walk in and assumed it was one of his teammates, or maybe a staff member. Instead, he looked up, and it was Ron Artest (to this day, Kobe has no idea how Artest got into the locker room).

"I want to come help you," Artest said. "If I can, I'm going to find a way to come to LA and give you the help you need to win a title." (emphasis added)

Does this strike anybody else as a bit...strange? I understand that interactions in men's locker rooms don't exactly follow the established societal norms outside of them, but can you spell homoerotic? (of course you can. I just typed it for you. Dammit.)

I suppose that if the Lakers win (heaven forbid...my Lakers bandwagon-jumping coworkers will be insufferable), some film-maker could capitalize on the occasion and make a documentary about it, and wouldn't even have to film new footage. Here's the immediate visual -- from the waist up, of course -- that came to mind when I read the story: Take the scene from Batman Begins where Bale gets tossed into solitary confinement, Liam Neeson comes out of the shadows, and promises to help him overcome his fears and to become "legend."

It would be perfect. The only requisite tweaks would need to be Bale naked and showering (easy ladies, get a hold of yourselves) and Neeson having to shave some sort of crazy pattern into the side of his head.

(see from the 2:00-mark)



But that's just my take.

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Cheese Abe -- Photo of the Week 6 July 2009

It would be presumptive of me to guess the innermost thoughts and desires of the great minds of history, but my guess is that the Great Emancipator would not want to be immortalized in the following way:

See, some friends -- not the Asian kids pictured here; I stole this from Reuters -- went downtown the past weekend to scope this 1/2-ton abomination of cheddar that is a sculpture of Mr. Lincoln. They said "it smelled horrible."

Granted, a bobblehead is not much better, but something about a cheese sculpture is just insulting. And using the argument "Maybe Abe was a huge cheese-lover...?" isn't going to fly with me. There are lots of foods I love, but if someone suggests that a likeness of me be fashioned out of bacon, Twix bars, or panang curry, they are getting punched in the face.


Happy post-4th of July Monday, everyone. Hope you ate much BBQ, watched fireworks, and watched made passing reference to that age-old classic, Independence Day. Something about Bill Pullman giving an inspirational speech before going off to fly an F-18 and save the world is comical.

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A Crumbling Empire

Last year, I witnessed firsthand the unrestrained gluttony that is the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Competition; my boy Kobayashi lost in a five hot dog eat-off to American Joey Chestnut.

This year, I wasn't in NYC, nor was I close to a TV, so White Josh and the Frizzle fed me text updates. Kobayashi lost. Again.

The Frizzle observed that WW2 history seems to be repeating itself. Indeed, it appears the rising power that was Japanese competitive eating between the years of 2001-2006 is in decline. In retrospect, Kobayashi's initial loss in 2007 is going to serve as the Battle of Midway for another crumbling Empire. Too bad.

Celebrate your 4th well, everyone. It's a beautiful day.

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Butt Rock or Not

Remember the website "Hot or Not?" And how everyone placed their friends' pictures up so that that friend could either become an insufferable narcissist when they got scores of 9 or 10, or have their self-esteem crushed and then enter a downward spiral of Kurt Cobain-like depression (anything from a score of 5-down)?

Well, this has nothing to do with it. This is about you applying the BR education I have imparted to you in various mind-numbing posts. Now is the time to step forward and voice your opinion. What say ye of the Mighty Zep? State your evidence, and rank this shirt on a scale of 1-10 (1 being BR-free, 10 being Poison):


Photo courtesy of JT. Thanks to Erik, JT's summer intern, for not only sporting the shirt, but also for striking a pose that would normally be attributable to a flasher, a knock-off watch salesman, or a man toting a sawed-off shotgun.

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