Sunday, November 29, 2009
Well, It's been some time since my last post....I don't know if you had been made aware but I, unfortunately, spent the better part of....however long its been since my last post behind bars. As it happens they now offer wi-fi to inmates during exercise time to well behaved inmates. Unfortunately, on day 2, I was thrown into isolation for biting a lady's penis(?). This of course meant that I was cut of from all privileges, hence my non-posting.
Monday, November 23, 2009
I read an article today on Salon which made me wonder why, in fact, American society is so irritated by the mothers of young children. Please understand that when I say “society,” I mean “Adam Hoden and his honored associates.”
To solve this mystery, I invited the help of the senior associated of our beloved Special Needs Blog to share their views about motherhood, child rearing, and children in general. The following is a cleaned-up excerpt from our conversation, sans profanity:
CAH: “So, gentlemen, why are the mothers of young children such pains-in-the-ass?”
JMH: “There doesn’t seem to be a happy median in child-rearing anymore. Mothers seem to be ether abusively neglectful or, otherwise, constantly hovering over their children with a leash in one hand, and a Neosporin spray bottle in the other. Both options are terrible, but children need both structure and freedom. Safety and boundaries are essential, but in order to become fully mature children must have time to play and learn on their own; they must, at times be free from their ‘helicopter moms.’”
SO: “That’s true. Kids should be given a chance to grow on their own, without their entire childhood being scheduled away. Case in point, the other day I was laying in the gutter, where a little kid found me and poked me with a stick. Then I heard his mother screech, ‘Timmy don’t touch that filthy man!’
There’s not an Irish person alive—myself included—who doesn’t pine for carefree childhood days in the old country spent poking drunks with sticks. That’s what’s wrong with mothers in this country.”
CAH: “And then there’s the self-importance. Mothers claim moral superiority simply because they’re mothers. They have this idea that they’re giving a great gift to society, ignoring the fact that their most likely raising a future felon—some crack-addled monster that’ll just as soon shank you for the gold in your fillings then rape your lifeless carcass, as look at you.”
At this point, the conversation turned to the merits and drawbacks of necrophilia. We did, however, come to the conclusion that human reproduction is immoral and best left to scientists as a means of harvesting vital organs.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
I feel like it’s a gigantic cheat to post videos on this blog. Videos are a lazy way of giving you, the loyal reader(s) a little content. However lazy I may be, though, my essential laziness in no way compares to the deep, deep shame I feel in every aspect of my life.
Today, that shame is manifesting itself as a sense of embarrassment in not having posted on our beloved Special Needs Blog for some time.
That being said, here’s this:
Goodbye dear spaceman.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
From Cap’n Adam C Hoden and Jesus Miguel Hernandez:
This November marks the 150th anniversary of the publication of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or, the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life.
In Origin of Species, Darwin explains the means by which life has developed doggedly on Earth over myriad generations by means of a branching pattern of evolution from the very simple, to the exceedingly complex.
There is nothing we can say here on our humble Special Needs Blog to explain Darwin’s theory any more eloquently or persuasively than did Charles Darwin himself in his revolutionary book, and we have no intention of even trying. If you have any interest in biology or nature please take some time to read Origin of Species. You’ll find that even though it was written in Victorian England, it is surprisingly simple to read and understand.
Kirk Kameron is even offering to give it to you for free:
In accordance with our policy on dumb videos appearing on the Special Needs Blog, we’ll leave it to a random angry Romanian to dispute the video’s more, shall we say, moronic statements:
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Ladies and gentlemen, I rarely post without a clear idea what the poast means, but I'm baffled. Make of this what you will.
Jesus Miguel Hernandez
Former US Ambassador to French Indo-China
I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot in my brain for the Holy Roman Catholic Church. Like me, Catholics are fans of antique and obscure language, they are second only to Judaism in bringing us quality entertainment, and their traditions involve the regular ingestion of the flesh and bodily fluids of their own deity (I’ve always said that I’d resort to cannibalism at the drop of a hat).
I’d never consider joining their church myself—I enjoy spending my Sundays indulging in a different sort of meditation. I now can say with some conviction, however, that I will now recommend Catholicism to all my friends and family thanks to this ad:
Being unable to stomach those interminable ShamWow commercials, I am delighted when anybody lampoons inexplicably litigious shill Offer "Vince" Shlomi—being particularly amused when the headset-wearing buffoon was arrested for assaulting a prostitute. Knowing that a Catholic priest is hip enough to make fun of him in such a spot-on parody gives Catholicism just a bit of extra credibility in my book.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Loyal readers know that I am what some would call a fan of the noble sport of tennis. Obsessive readers know that I am what the Metropolitan Police Service calls a “dangerous, unstable hooligan.” Those faithful readers have recently asked how it is that I became the only tennis fan in British history to be charged under Margaret Thatcher’s Football Spectators Offences Act. I am only happy to share the story of that proud day with you!
In 1989, I was fortunate to be attending Wimbledon, and seated near enough to Centre Court to smell the sauerkraut on Steffi Graff’s breath. Being a patriot, and a self-taught history buff, I felt it was my duty to show support for my American allies and their esteemed representative: the comely Miss Martina Navratilova. I gathered all my courage, and leapt over Johnny Carson and onto Center Court.
Having enjoyed a number of fine spirits with some distinguished friends earlier in the day, I can be forgiven for a bit of confusion. You see, in a show of support for Miss Navratilova, I striped my clothes off and preformed a traditional Maori war haka. It was later explained to me that, although it was one of the best naked, drunken, one-man renditions of “Ka Mate” ever seen, Martina Navratilova is Czech, and not from New Zealand. I’ve never been good with accents.
In the following skirmish with security, I allegedly threw a racquet into the royal box, and—long story short—now use an assumed name when traveling through Europe.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Brothers, it is time once again, or perhaps even a little bit late, for we members of the exalted Brotherhood of Gentlemen Alcoholics to switch from the warm, gentle embrace of the soothing brown liquors that have nudged us so tenderly through the despair of winter, to the lighter, more exciting clear liquors of summer!
Personally, that means forsaking my beloved manhattans for a nice, cool, martini (after noon of course), or perhaps—god forbid—a vodka tonic. The BGA suggests any cocktails made primarily with gin, vodka, rum, or our wily little friend, tequila are great summer drinks. Be sure, however, to always remember the BGA’s founding principle: booze should taste like booze.
Though beer can be a brother’s constant companion throughout the year, the BGA recommends that the beer drinkers among us consider moving from the more brooding ales and stouts, to a refreshing lager. Though, as always, beer should be considered just filler in any serious Alcoholic’s diet.
Brothers, have a great summer and cheers!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Ladies and gentlemen, I feel like I’ve done myself a bit of a disservice in not posting this several months ago. You see, I’ve been sharing this belief with friends and family for nearly a year now, and I didn’t write about it sooner, because I didn’t really expect it to be an issue of any consequence.
Lately, people have been making fun of Glenn Beck. Ever since Beck made the move to Fox ‘News,’ he’s turned the crazy up past 11, and people have taken notice. Stephen Colbert has made great sport of mocking Beck’s moronic “War Room.” Colbert even subjected himself to mock endoscopy in response to whatever the hell this was.
The thing is, though, I’ve been making fun of Glenn Beck since before it was cool. I just didn’t post anything about it because I was embarrassed. I didn’t want my loyal reader(s) to know I thought it was funny to make fun of somebody with Down’s Syndrome.
I made fun of him when he insulted the State of Minnesota, the Islamic faith, Europe, Somalian refugees, and the US House of Representatives all in one really raciest interview:
I also made fun of him when he talked about the finer points of murdering Michael Moore on his nationally syndicated radio show:
BECK: Hang on, let me just tell you what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about killing Michael Moore, and I'm wondering if I could kill him myself, or if I would need to hire somebody to do it. No, I think I could. I think he could be looking me in the eye, you know, and I could just be choking the life out -- is this wrong? I stopped wearing my What Would Jesus -- band -- Do, and I've lost all sense of right and wrong now. I used to be able to say, "Yeah, I'd kill Michael Moore," and then I'd see the little band: What Would Jesus Do? And then I'd realize, "Oh, you wouldn't kill Michael Moore. Or at least you wouldn't choke him to death." And you know, well, I'm not sure.
And I really made fun of him when he asked fellow moron John Hagee if Barack Obama was the Anti-Christ. Not to mention all the other irritating, asinine, and offensive things that were said in this clip:
And then there's this:
By the way, the country was Bosnia and Herzegovina, then under the control of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
I'm not trying to take credit for anything, just stop saying I'm jumping on the bandwagon.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
I read something the other day that just made me question the existence of everything.
From time to time I notice something that has existed for a long time and long been a part of global consciousness. You've probably done this too, noticing something about an old idea or some other noun. I think this is sort of something that happened with slavery to several people at once, "oh you know what? Forcing black dudes to harvest my grain is really really fucked."
Now I know that they haven't been practiced often in the last 50 years, but the lobotomy is an operation that is used as a reference in pop culture frequently. Most people know what a lobotomy is. It's always good for an insult: "you act as if you've had a lobotomy operation." The thing about it is though, for a period, lobotomies were performed quite frequently. JFK's sister even had a lobotomy. You should seriously read that wikipedia entry. Her story is one of the craziest things I've ever read. They jammed an ice pick through a hole in her skull (don't worry, it was no more than an inch of course) and stabbed it into her brain until she "became unintelligible." Seriously. That is some of the realest shit I ever heard.
Now there's a few things I want to break down for you. This occurred back in the 40s. That's a long time ago, but like, not really. After this happened it seems as though a couple of moderately bad things happened to the Kennedy family as a whole. I'm not going into huge detail here, BUT it seems as though karma returned to Rosemary's family in the form of oh I don't know, assassinations, plane crashes, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Everyone EXCEPT the one sister that actually went and spent time with her at St. Coletta School for Exceptional Children (formerly known as St. Coletta School for Backward Children...Seriously).
Another aspect of this whole debacle(Dennis Miller) is the fact that Rosemary stayed alive, living in the school for Backwards Children until 2005. A few years ago. People had been being payed for like a hundred years to take care of Rosemary. The family? Meh...one of 'em showed up, Eunice Kennedy Shriver. She's still alive mind you...happily married...apparently a great person. She spent the better part of a hundred year life living in a crazy house because the family found her "mood swings" to be something not easily suffered though.
The fact that this was allowed to go down in the US freaks the shit out of me. Really? We're gonna jam shit up your nose and see if it fixes your brain? This is allegedly the best country in the world...yet lobotomy? Fucking jesus, I'm moving to Canada.
Friday, February 20, 2009
I believe that all men and women who have the ability to act against a great evil, have a responsibility to act against that evil. If a person had foreknowledge of The Holocaust, it would have been that person’s duty as a human being to act in some way against it. That being said, I feel I must say something about one of the most insipid, the most disgusting, the most infuriating, but paradoxically one of the most common sentences in all works of English writing.
I don’t know why, in this world of hyper-criticism, why nobody has never before pointed this out, but I cannot find a single Google entry denouncing one of the most cliché of all clichés: I don’t know, but I intend to find out.
If you have ever seen a poorly written action, suspense, superhero, or mystery movie, you have heard this sentence. After the movie’s inciting incident, one of the supporting characters, probably the goofy sidekick, will ask the protagonist what kind of fiend could have killed the protagonist's wife, kidnapped his daughter, blew-up his house, and raped his dog. Examining the scene of carnage before him, the hero will reply with detached stoicism, “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
The lines "I don’t know, but I intend to find out" are almost always a major plot point in a bad movie. The sentence is meant to telegraph that hero has been affected by whatever wrong has befallen him, and show that he is determined to find his antagonist. In its most irritating occurrences, it also infers that the hero intends impose revenge on the wrongdoer.
Egregiously though,there is almost never an attempt to mitigate this whore of a cliché. There’s never an attempt at a clever variation on what can only be described as a hackneyed clunker. No play on its hackneyed words or structure; it always occurs at best as an awkward attempt to move the plot and at worst an even more awkward piece of exposition.
My intent here is not to decry the lack of talent of those who have ever penned, "I don’t know, but I intend to find out," though as a group they are talentless hacks. I want only to let it fall into the same category of ridicule as that literarily iniquitous clunker: It was a dark and stormy night.