Weblog, more like Iblog

Is Your Facebook Profile As Private As You Think?

2009-10-29T09:07:00.006-05:00

Click the title for the full article.

When a question like this is asked in a headline, you know the answer is, "No, my Facebook profile is not as private as I think."

On whether or not third parties can gather data from quiz answers, Tim Sparapani, director of public policy at Facebook, said Facebook would never let that happen. Such conduct is shut down and strictly enforced. However... "He won't cite a specific case of such enforcement, but he says it has happened."

Okay, we can all rest assured.

Me: Say, police officer, have you ever stopped a murder from happening?
Cop: Oh, of course, it's my job.
Me: Cool! Please, tell me a story.
Cop: Er, um, well, I don't have a story, but I have done it.
Me: Gee, seems like it would be a memorable experience, but I'll take your word for it!

In Defense of Dunham

2009-09-17T09:42:00.016-05:00

There is much debate in the stand-up comedy community about who is and is not a shitty comedian. Larry the Cable Guy, Dane Cook, and Carlos Mencia are all obvious and popular choices for the "worst comedian" title. Another performer who often gets thrown into this debate is Jeff Dunham. I am not a fan, but I'm about to defend the man, anyway.

I don't find Jeff Dunham funny, but, at the same time, I hardly consider him a comedian. He's a ventriloquist. All modern ventriloquists tell jokes. What else are they going to talk about with a piece of cloth and wood? Telling corny jokes through puppets is a tradition that goes back to Vaudeville, and these performers were and are still called ventriloquists. Even if stand-up comedy fans hate to admit it, Jeff Dunham is a skilled ventriloquist. I may not be into ventriloquism, but many people are, and to label a ventriloquist a comedian leaves out the actual attraction (ventriloquism).

Does Dunham present himself as a comedian? Sure. Comedy is in right now, so he shifts the focus a little. Big deal. It's show business. (Cliché alert!) When Comedy Central calls, is Dunham going to go into my long rant about the difference between ventriloquists and stand-up comedians? Of course not. I do not intend to dismiss the comedy element, but anyone watching can see his passion for ventriloquism. I don't share this passion, but I respect him for putting it out there, especially when so many people turn up their noses at the craft.

I've never heard accusations of Jeff Dunham stealing jokes. I've never heard him labeled a phony or an asshole or a douchebag. I find his act to be generally harmless and based entirely around performing ventriloquism (which he's quite good at) and the jokes that go along with it. Therefore, because he is a ventriloquist first and a comedian second, because he writes his own material no matter how unfunny, I argue the sins he has made against comedy are far more forgivable than Carlos Mencia or Larry the Cable Guy.

I am officially leaving him out of all of my future conversations about shitty comedians. Jeff Dunham, you are okay in my book. But still unfunny.

Mercy

2009-09-01T17:10:00.010-05:00

No offense, nurse from "Mercy," but if you "know more" than the doctor and his residents "combined," maybe you should be a doctor.

Jackass: "I know more about law than every police officer and lawyer COMBINED!"
Me: "Oh really, what do you do?"
Jackass: "I write parking tickets."
Me: "But I'm sure you have aspirations to become, say, a police officer or lawyer."
Jackass: "Nah, writing parking tickets is my life."
Me: "Then shut the fuck up."

Second Thoughts

2008-12-09T22:47:00.003-06:00

Things you can do with the extra second of 2008:

1. Blink
2. Nap
3. Complete a Jumble
4. Spend time with family
5. Turn back clocks
6. Watch “Saturday Night Live: The Best of Jimmy Fallon”
7. Discover the meaning of life
8. Learn to play the triangle
9. Travel
10. Waste it

Life Lessons

2008-09-11T22:50:00.010-05:00

I’ve learned so many things over the years, but not as much as I’ve learned in the past year, a year of personal exploration and exploring myself. Here are a few life lessons I’d like to pass on to you, my readers, because my life is more meaningful than yours will ever be.

1. “Live every day to the fullest.” I really mean this. I was sitting on my porch the other day watching little kids playing on their scooters and solving their Rubik’s cubes, when I realized that life is too short to just sit on a porch and watch kids play with their toys. I got out of my chair swing, careful not to fall, and fell right on my face. After a visit to the emergency room, I swore to my doctor that I would never take my life for granted, to which he said, “Get out of my bar.” Inside joke.

2. “Be thankful for what you have.” This one I really mean. I may not have much, but at least I have my health, my love of children, and a three-by-eight inch scar on my forehead from that time I fell face-first onto my porch. I cherish these things because they are what make me who I am today. A pedophile.

3. “Slut it up.” I mean this one a lot, guys. Life is too short, and so should be your skirt. You ride around on your little scooter wearing your Sunday dress like you don’t even notice me, but I know you do. You're a tease. Look at me. LOOK AT ME! Yeah, you heard that one, didn’t you? Oh, what, you’re going to go cry to your mommy now? Go right ahead. I dare you.

4. “Prison is a great place to reflect.”

Pizza Huff

2008-09-04T20:56:00.005-05:00

I have a sneaking suspicion that Pizza Hut is lying to us in their recent Tuscani Pasta ad campaign. Real people, at a real Italian restaurant, are tricked into eating real Pizza Hut food, and are real impressed.

Really?

One woman says of the Bacon Mac ‘n Cheese churning in her mouth, “This is decadent.” Yeah, nothing says decadence like sprinkling some Bac-Os onto your mac ‘n cheese. Molto bene!

But we’ve all experienced it. We go to an upscale Italian restaurant, and there’s one of those waiters wandering around with a bottle of Bac-Os begging you to “Say ‘when.’”

“Whoa there, lay off my pasta, Ignacio. How about we move those babies over to my salad?”

“Sorry, sir, Bac-Os are reserved for the pasta, but perhaps I can interest you in some marinara sauce for that salad of yours.”

How Will You Die?

2008-06-29T22:21:00.012-05:00

Dear God, please let it not be like this.

I'd rather be decapitated by a Six Flags Batman roller coaster or defenestrated from a ninth story Manhattan flat than even witness this horrifying clown in person. If you think the picture is bad, the actual advertisement was animated, and I saw it moments before going to bed. Then again, who doesn't enjoy waking up in a pool of one's own sweat?

I can't help but wonder what kind of sicko created this, and far worse, who would willingly check it out. And subscription required? Sorry, I don't subscribe to killer clowns.

But if I had to die, and got to choose my death, I think I'd have to go with drowning in chocolate milk. I'd be dead from the sheer pleasure overload before a drop even hit my lungs.

Why must this election always be about race?

2008-06-07T10:50:00.001-05:00

Not to be racist

2008-06-03T16:16:00.002-05:00

I was perusing Facebook today when I stumbled upon this thought-provoking discussion topic: “Without being racist, which group/race of people do you guys consider the most annoying?”

How can you answer this question without being racist? You can’t. Even if you said something like, “Blacks annoy me at times, but you know what, I’ve learned to tolerate them and respect their athletic prowess,” you’d still be racist. In fact, I’m racist for typing that sentence, and you’re racist for reading it.

My friends and I have often criticized the preface, “Not to be racist.” As in, “Not to be racist, but Asians drive like they’re using chopsticks” or “Not to be racist, but they all look alike. You know. The Jews.” A better way to soften such a statement would be to say, “Though I am being racist, I mean no ill will—I simply hate Polacks.” Once you have admitted your racism and expressed that you mean no offense, all bets are off.

But anyway, Mexicans.

Rejected Classic Rock Song Titles

2008-05-21T15:52:00.011-05:00

Lovin', Touchin', Itchin'
~ Journey

Jack and Diane and Their Dog Willy and That Pickup Truck They All Drove Around In
~ John Cougar

I, Personally, Lack the Ability to Operate a Motor Vehicle at a Speed of 55 Miles Per Hour
~ Sammy Hagar

Who the Who are Who (Who Who Who Who Who Who?)
~ Yes

Blow Me
~ Eddie Money

This post is "Weird Al" Yankovic-approved.
(That's a lie. Even he's embarrassed by it.)

Guaranteed to brighten your day

2008-05-12T16:28:00.002-05:00

Great news everyone! 20^th Century Fox is making “Alvin and the Chipmunks 2!!!” In the sequel, Alvin and his bros meet up with their female (and I can only assume sexy) chipmunk cousins. Sounds pretty awesome, huh? That’s because IT WAS MY IDEA!!! I distinctly remember watching “Alvin and the Chipmunks” and stating in a drunken haze how great a sequel featuring female chipmunks would be. What a clever twist it would be. How my life would forever change. How it was COMPLETELY MY FUCKING IDEA!

What next, the Chipmunks are going to sing “Bad to the Bone?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Fox stole that idea from me, too. Fox, it was bad enough that you took my 35^th word and turned it into a television network (number 34: poopie. You still owe me royalties for that one, MTV!). But to take an entire plot of a movie from me... that’s dirty. You’re just lucky I have one more idea in this ol’ creativity bank that I’m about to deposit before you withdraw without my permission.

“Alvin and the Chipmunks 3” © Michael Peters, 2008

True Story

2008-05-02T08:11:00.004-05:00

While swimming in the ocean as a child, I got stung by a jellyfish. Last week, I asked a girl to pee on it. She gave me a funny look. I said, “You can never be too careful.” Long story short, we’re no longer seeing each other, and I still have a rash on my upper thigh that may or may not have been caused by a jellyfish.

For the Record

2008-03-05T09:12:00.021-06:00

As a way to get free shipping on Amazon.com, last week I purchased the Guinness World Records 2008 Calendar. Every day I am updated with some trivial feat performed by some nobody who thought said feat would make them a somebody. In a way, they were right. I’ve never been featured in a calendar, not even one made of digital photos, and certainly not one listing any of my achievements (1. Born, 2. Has yet to die.)

But at the same time, I can’t imagine that devoting one’s life to making the world’s largest surfboard or eating the most packing peanuts is very satisfying. We all want to make our mark on the world, but many of these records are closer to blemishes. For instance, I write an unremarkable blog, still hoping to nick the surface of popular culture’s face with my razor sharp wit. That goal may be unrealistic, but at least I’m not the guy who farted “O Canada” in under a minute. (Jealous!)

It just seems like a lot of time, money, and energy is wasted on creating the world’s largest this or the world’s tallest that, when that time, money, and energy could just as easily (no, more easily) be focused on creating the world’s largest food giveaway or the world’s tallest homeless shelter. I hate to end this entry on a preachy note, but quite frankly I’m just sick of getting asked for change. Does anyone even carry change anymore? And your fake limp isn't fooling me! You just walked up to me without the limp!!! Get Guinness on the phone, I just met the world's dumbest homeless person.

This concludes part 44 of Mike's 700-part series on the homeless.

Dr. Peters

2008-02-15T11:33:00.003-06:00

Today at work, I was mistakenly referred to as a doctor. “Dr. Peters,” she began her e-mail. This wasn’t meant as a joke or to slight my actual title (which I believe is officially “Ms. Peters” or “Hey Asshole”). No, this was an honest misconception.

It made me realize something. A simple addition like “Dr.” to the front of my name (or a “Ph.D.” after it) could propel my career. And I don’t mean earning the title. That would take time, money, and, worst of all, energy. I’m talking about merely adding those two letters before my name.

No one would know the difference, and I guarantee it would rarely be questioned. If asked about my education, I’d reply, “It was a bitch.” It must have been a bitch. He’s a doctor, for crying out loud, the person would internally rationalize. He or she would then enjoy a hearty chuckle, agree with the statement, and move on to more important business. As they should, I’m a doctor and don’t have time for small talk.

Anyway, I’ll be ordering my business cards soon and will have to decide if I want to change my life forever. Next time I see you, maybe I can show off my brand new Ph.D., proudly documented on a 3.5 by 2 inch piece of cardstock. After all, I'd have a right to show it off. It was a bitch to get.

My Celebrity Death List of 2008

2008-01-16T14:20:00.000-06:00

Following Blair's lead, here are my celebrity death predictions:

Oldies:
1. Gloria Stuart (Titanic)
2. Frances Bay (Happy Gilmore, etc.)

Anybody:
3. Richard Simmons
4. LeVar Burton

Unlikely Predictions:
5. Jimmy Fallon
6. (Lil') Bow Wow

Unlike Blair, I wish death upon all of these celebrities.

Wanted: A Cool Guy

2007-11-30T19:05:00.000-06:00

SWM seeks CG (cool guy). Must be cool. Has either a thin mustache, a soul patch, or an outrageously bushy beard. Nothing in between. Headwear mandatory. Unnecessarily thick glasses preferred, but not required. Open to buying me drinks. Upbeat attitude coupled with below average intelligence. Equal opportunity.

If interested, e-mail me at whatacoolguy@live.com

Poison: Open Up and Say...Ahh!

2007-11-08T00:33:00.000-06:00

I once saw a sign promoting poison awareness that prominently noted: “Not all poisons are poisonous.” For a poison awareness sign, that statement seems awfully pro-poison. Something the pro-poison council might post and try to pass off as awareness.

“Not all poisons are poisonous. Sure, they all have that smooth poison flavor. But poisonous? Preposterous.”

It’s bad enough the pro-poison council recruited Bret Michaels to promote their pro-poison agenda throughout the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Although anyone who watched “Rock of Love” knows his face has become a cautionary tale.

“Not all poisons are poisonous” also sounds like something a dumb assassin might say to cover a mistake.

Assassin: Here’s your steak and poison, um, that is to say… wine.
Victim: (Rubs hands together.) Mmm, finally. Wait… did you just say poison?
Assassin: Uh… yeah… but… not all poisons are poisonous.
Victim: Really?
Assassin: Yeah… I was referring to one of those delicious, non-poisonous poisons. I added it to your wine to make it more... winy.
Victim: Hmm. (Strokes chin.) I’m not buying this.
Assassin: Then, uh, I meant it like when a bartender says, “Pick your poison.”
Victim: And I picked wine.
Assassin: Exactly.
Victim: Well, I’m convinced. (Chugs wine.)

The victim in this scenario was dumber than the assassin.

The Batshit Insane

2007-10-12T20:12:00.000-05:00

Believe it or not, Madison simultaneously leads the nation in average IQ and percentage of mentally ill. Did you believe it? I would. Though that statistic is fabricated, it might as well be true. Madison is home to so many smart people, one has to wonder what happened to some of the people on the street.

For instance, a couple weeks ago I saw a homeless man pissing on State Street. Not off to the side, or even discreetly—I mean, pissing on State Street. My friend Blair laughed at the sight, and the man (midstream, mind you) turned, stuck out his hand, and asked for change. He wasn’t about to put on a free show.

Sometimes you don’t even have to leave your home to take a trip on the loony train. Forget television, set up a chair by your first-story window and you have your very own network of nuttiness (one not called Fox News, anyway. ZING! Take that! Man, I’m glad someone finally had the balls to slam Fox News).

Now I’m not talking about the man walking by singing the live Eric Clapton solo version of “Layla;” though oddly bold, it’s completely understandable. That version rocks. No, I’m talking about the woman who demands you open your window, and when you do, she screams at you about seeing two children sleeping outside the night before. “That’s fucked up,” she says. Fucked up indeed, lady.

So far, the craziest of the crazies I’ve experienced was a man on State Street who was either entirely self-aware or in rough fucking shape. He followed me uncomfortably close, mumbling to himself. I believe he was attempting to drown out the voices in his head. Then, for no apparent reason, he yelled, “cccccRRRRRAAAAAZZZZZYYYYYyyyyy!” Imagine Woody Allen having a stroke—that’s what this man sounded like. Then, he immediately returned to his murmur.

I can only think of two possible explanations. Either this man knew I was listening and decided to do the craziest (and most meta) possible thing he could conceive (in which case, he succeeded), or a voice in his head said something that he deemed insane. Yes, I am concluding that this mentally ill man called a voice inside his head insane. Either that or he was being playful with said voice (a slightly crazier conclusion).

To summarize: Not all crazy people are homeless, but all homeless people are crazy. Keep this in mind when taking an IQ test because the question will surely arise, and I'd like to keep our average up.

The Lonesome Elder

2007-10-08T01:05:00.000-05:00

Old couples move to Florida. Old single women move to Madison, Wisconsin. Or maybe Madison produces old single women. This is like the chicken or the egg debate, only instead of a chicken, it’s an old single woman, and instead of an egg, it’s… also an old single woman.

The Lonesome Elder’s primary habitat is on the bus, but one can also find them wandering on the sidewalk, like I did three weeks ago. My roommate Per and I were en route to a friend’s house when an elderly woman waved us down. We waited impatiently for her to hobble over to us. When she eventually neared, she cracked like an egg.

“I have spent my whole day trying to contact AT&T,” she insanely spouted as if she wanted moral support from two strangers, “So they tell me to come down to the building. Well, here I am. And look at this. There’s no handicapped entrance.” She waved her cane in the air, in case we hadn’t noticed her impairment, or perhaps it was directed toward the wretched handicapped-entrance-less building.

“I have wasted so much time,” her voice quivered. She was literally holding back tears as I tried desperately to hold back laughter. “It’s just so hard.” I was no longer able to contain myself, so I turned my head and let out a small chuckle that aurally resembled a gasp of air. I turned back to find her, blinded by anger, unaware that I was laughing on the inside and no longer the least bit concerned.

She ranted for another two minutes about AT&T, one-way streets, and possibly hard candy; I stopped listening. Finally she thanked us for our time, which we of course accepted. We lost a good three minutes of our lives, but I didn’t feel too bad. It was nothing compared to what AT&T apparently put this woman through.

The Out-of-Towner

2007-10-03T00:57:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite things about Madison is having the ability to walk to most places. No matter where one lives, he or she is guaranteed to be within two blocks of a place to eat, a place to do laundry, and a place to drink. These may even be a single place.

Walking provides my fellow residents and I with many rewards. For instance, the self-satisfaction of improving one’s health, the self-satisfaction of protecting the environment, and the self-satisfaction of self-satisfaction. But more than just satisfying oneself, walking allows the walker to encounter an array of characters. My next few posts will be about these characters.

The Out-of-Towner
Often parents of students, these people walk around astonished that a building can contain ten stories. "That building nearly scrapes the sky," they say, not realizing the sky doesn't even feel a tickle. The woman is timid and wears a sweater (even in the summer) that appears to have been knitted from several old scarves, and her male counterpart has a moustache that would make Tom Selleck say, “Dude, trim that thing.” They both are fat.

My most recent contact with this couple occurred just the other day. I was walking down the sidewalk alone when a car slowly approached me. I heard a voice murmur, “Cheap motel.” I didn't react, assuming the voice wasn't directed at me, but then I heard it again, “Cheap motel.” I looked over and saw a man who was likely an alcoholic with his wife who refused to make eye contact, embarrassed not only by her husband, but by their current predicament.

“Excuse me,” I said to the bloated man, hoping he was asking a question and not making a proposition.

“Point me in the direction of your nearest and cheapest motel,” he demanded.

I was immediately curious of his motive. The first thought that popped into my head was, This guy just convinced his wife to do anal. There were no other possible reasons for the urgency in his voice. None.

To make a long story short, I pointed him in the direction of the DoubleTree, which is certainly not cheap, but they do have beds and, I can only hope, complimentary lubricant.

Contractually Obligated Post OR Unemployment Tale (COPOUT)

2007-09-22T12:05:00.000-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and all gender opposites alike, here comes my September update, as I am legally required to write at least one entry per month. Yes, that contract I made myself sign has come back to bite me in the ass.

Since early September, I have been officially unemployed for the first time since I was 14 years old, and oh what a crazy two and a half weeks it has been. My return to Madison was bittersweet, sweet to be back, me bitter toward life. The only thing that keeps me going is the noticeable increase in homeless people, for it makes me realize I don't have it so bad, or worse, my life could be void of the laughter they provide me.

I have applied for more than half a baker's dozen of jobs, and have yet to secure any of them. "But Mike, this must be soul-crushing. Surely your soul is being crushed. Is not a person's soul crushed during times like this?" people frequently ask. Short answer, "Yes," long answer, "No."

The key is to entertain yourself, which I am fairly good at, since I know my audience so well. Below is a real question I was asked during a job application process to test my creativity, followed by my ten answers.

Rob Who?

2007-08-30T23:45:00.000-05:00

Thanks for clearing that up, Rotten Tomatoes.

Random Acts of Kindness

2007-08-18T15:57:00.000-05:00

When I was in elementary school, my classmates and I were forced to keep a log of "random acts of kindness." This simple task has made me into the model citizen you know today. However, I have been recently slipping into bad behavior. For instance, two weeks ago I bit a dog. But all that's going to change right now, as I document some of the random acts of kindness I performed throughout the last week.

1. Held the door open for a pregnant woman and resisted the urge to punch her in the stomach.
2. Donated one hundred dollars to a worthy charity, NAMBLA.
3. Wiped the blood from under a crack whore's nose after having my way with her comatose body, as it was the least I could do after what she did, and didn't do, for me.
4. Gave a pint of ice cream to a lactose intolerant homeless man.
5. Only masturbated to horse porn for five, instead of six, hours straight.
6. Helped a grandmother achieve her first orgasm.
7. Protested the unethical treatment of animals by stomping on a bunny's head in front of a first-grade classroom. This also taught many students the concept of death.
8. Wiped my ass with toilet paper instead of the shower curtain.
9. Contacted the police after the second dead body ended up on my doorstep.
10. Tutored a retard.

Fan Mail #5

2007-07-30T01:05:00.001-05:00

Question: How stupid is this?
Submitted by Garrison

You're right. It's over. Your sharp observation has slashed my spirit, like a knife slicing through a sneaker. No more fan mail. I will return to my same routine--a lack of one.

Fan Mail #4

2007-07-23T17:59:00.001-05:00

Question: If a relaxing moment turns into the right moment, will you be ready?
Submitted by Yvonne Booker

I was relaxing in the park the other day, enjoying the midday sun in the shade, when I saw an airplane fly overhead. This wasn’t any old airplane. Wait, I take that back. It was. Imagine any old airplane.

So this airplane was flying overhead and trailing behind it was one of those banners you sometimes see trailing behind any old airplane. On it was a picture of a baby. The baby was cute as a button, if the button were shaped like a cute baby. Next to the cute-as-a-baby-shaped-button baby, the banner read: “Would you abort me?”

An answer immediately entered my head—“You’re surprisingly articulate for a baby, but if you wish.” Then it hit me. The banner wasn’t encouraging us to kill this baby, like so many of us were surely thinking. It was trying to make a point. That point—killing already born babies is more trouble than it’s worth. “Get them in the womb,” the banner screamed into my head in various voices, some resembling my mother, others resembling Satan, still others resembling Satan’s mother.

Sure, killing babies may sound fun, and we’ve all thought about it from time to all the time, but we (I) have to stop and shift our (my) baby-killing sights toward fetuses… feti… fetusi. I’m tired of living my life under the tyranny of my personal credo “If it cries, it dies.” Why let it shed a single tear?

Of course I’m joking. I enjoy seeing a baby cry as I kill it. Still, the banner has changed my life. And that’s the last time a relaxing moment turned into the right moment, and by Satan, I am ready. Thanks for your question, Yvonne.