Obsessively, Compulsively Wrong

16 07 2008

HEY! WAIT A SECOND! You know this hurculean piece of junk that Howard Hughes built back in the day?

The fact that this nightmare of “ingenuity” is even in the air

suggests the use of some old-timey photoshop software

I just realized that the name “Spruce Goose,” which I always thought was a rare instance of goose-flattery, is actually kind of an insult! This airplane is a big fat failure! A joke! And you know what the worst part is? It wasn’t even made of spruce! That’s, right: it was a BIRCH goose. Which means they had already settled on the “goose” stamp as a way to insult the aircraft and needed a rhyming kind of wood for their retarded, fact-trampling, species-insensitive bon mot! Well, fuck Howard Hughes, and fuck the trees that gave their life for him. It should have been called a birch…lurch. Furch. There’s bound to be a bird name that rhymes with “birch,” just fucking look it up yourselves. I hate you all so much.



Designated Flyer

20 06 2008

Um: hello?  It’s chilling enough that goose-torturers as infamous as the French could take a break from force-feeding their future pâté de foie gras to slap an image of their victims on a brand of vodka that only became popular because it’s overpriced.  But that’s neither here nor there.  Now, do you see anything wrong with this picture?  Hint: it’s fucking obvious.

It could have to do with their use of the respected color “grey” (elitist slang for “gray”)—a color that all we Canadian geese wear with pride—in conjunction with illustrations of no geese of color.  I mean, this is as bad as casting Tom Cruise as Genghis Kahn! Out of the six geese portrayed here, five are the classic WASP-white shitheads, I suppose to match that eyesore bimbotini glass, and the sixth is an improbably large transparent monster.

I’m on to you, France.  If you ask me, Remy from Ratatouille looked suspiciously like a mouse in ratface…  


The Gay Aughties

19 06 2008

Caligula, for one, could not be happier with how the gay marriage situation is unfolding in California.  Of course in principal I’m against the extension of human rights to any oppressed minority—still hoping someone has the courage and malice aforethought to overturn Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka one of these days—but when such disgraceful civility advances my own sick ends, it’s hardly worth resisting, is it?

Ha!  No, this is not a Caligula-coming-out-of-the-boudoir confession, no matter what my Uncle Gaius says.  Those slave boys are mere sex toys, nothing that could sustain the hellfire of my matrimonal devotion, nor indeed survive it.  Rather, gay marriage, as our prudish GOP friends will remind you, heralds the decent down a long and slippery slope, the base of which must be reached at all costs if I have any say in the matter.


First, you see, is the establishment of boring heterosexual marriage.  Then little cracks begin to appear in the institution’s sanctity—polygamy is the next logical step, followed by same-sex couplings, with all attendant tax breaks.  By now quite a few leaks have sprung in marriage’s fortified dykes (ha!), and all manner of minor deviants trickle through.  Soon people can be wed to mundane inanimate objects, chairs, toasters, unicycles.  Then the big one: bestiality sweeps the nation!  It’s not uncommon for a man to take a harem of squirrels at this point.  The bar is raised for object-marriage as well: people wed hydrogen bombs, oil slicks, Ikea, the Sahara desert.  Eventually the door is opened for hostile marriage—yes, you can marry people and things against their will, and it’s all 100% legal!  From there it’s a hop, skip and a jump to blood rites and accidental marriage via fleeting eye contact.  

And just as the fabric of space-time is starting to tear from all this immoral stress, my fantasy achieves fruition: interdimensional marriage.  Yes, if I can’t fuck beings in other universes, I can damn well be symbolically bound to them.  Till death do us part, hive-minded sentient gas-clouds!

It’s a long and twisted road ahead, but even the journey of a thousand perversities begins with a single unholy union.    


With Enemies Like These

29 05 2008

Who needs friends?  I can barely keep my enemies list updated, what with all the backstabbing and douchebaggery and constantly revised revenge plots. Here’s who’s currently getting my dander up—and consequently making innocent dander-allergic third parties suffer.  HOW MANY NASAL PASSAGES MUST YOU INFLAME

Nero’s Enemies List

(in order of who I would punch hardest if I had fists)


1. Edith Wharton (lingering English class antipathy)

2. Maxie (does not deserve to live or, barring that, be more popular than me)

3. Willie Randolph (he knows why)

4. Google Inc. (for reporting my gosling pornography searches)

5. Exterminators (bedbugs didn’t ask to be born, buddy!)

6. Richard M. Nixon

7. The Kingdom of Denmark (enough visa rejections will drive you to violence)

Also, how bout you learn to spell in American

8. Hank the Bullying Hawk (“sharpens” his talons on my back)

9. Fortune cookie fortunes (is it me, or have they gotten more threatening?)

10. The Honorable Judge Winston Busby of the Delaware Court of Chancery (whose title is long and boring)

Laugh Out Loud, I Dare You

16 05 2008

I confess to having LOLcat fever, despite my mixed feelings on the phenomenon. On the one hand, these pictures usually play up a cat’s alleged cuteness, and as a member of the avian community (often exploited for “hunting practice” by sociopathic felines), I can’t condone any sympathetic portrayal of said monsters. Stand together, flying V!

At the same time, I love the intimation that cats can’t spell correctly and can only string the most retarded of sentences together. I guess that’s what keeps me looking for new pics pretty much any chance I get at my temp job—this perpetually sweaty guy on the other side of the office is the only one with a computer, and when he gets up, for any reason, everyone starts bickering over whose turn it is for Internet. Usually a lot of honking and biting on my part is enough to put the rest of the underpaid white-collar mob in their place.

Well today I snagged a 3-minute block when Sweats (we don’t know his real name) was in the can. And I saw something on MySpace I never would have expected.

Too soon.

I guess the honeymoon is over … doesn’t feel too good when the shoe is on the other foot. Or drumstick. Thanks, world wide web users, for the LOLgoose. One more pointless diversion I can no longer enjoy.

You just had to take it too far.

Your Fucked Up Children

30 04 2008

I was actually in a pretty good mood this morning.  I’d gotten back late the night before from a show at Death By Audio in Brooklyn, and a heady dose of speed-metal was exactly what I’d needed after recovering from being poisoned by the NYC’s Parks Dept.   Hell, I thought, my life might be hard, but here I am with a bunch of hideously proportioned 20something-but-look-40something hipsters that reek of Tom’s All-Natural B.O.-Amplifying Oderant, who despite having their ear drums lacerated by singular walls of sound are just standing there, numb.  Maybe we geese don’t got it so bad, I mused.

Wrong: Take it away, Palm Beach Post—


March 20, 2008


Judge Nancy Perez set bail this morning at $8,000 and ordered house arrest for a teary-eyed 18-year-old accused of beating a goose to death with two friends.

Anthony Karney’s lawyer said he is a student at Palm Beach Community College and works part-time, living an “exemplary life” since the alleged goose attack in December.

Perez ordered Karney, who lives in suburban Boynton Beach, to stay out of the neighborhood west of Lake Worth where Lily the goose was considered a pet.

Karney is charged along with two others in the goose’s death.

The judge set the same bail for codefendent Bradley Trout, 17, got the same bail. He also had a private lawyer, who said Trout is set to graduate from high school in May. Trout’s parents were in the courtroom to support him and encourage the judge to send him home, but they left without commenting.

Trout also is from suburban Boynton Beach.

A third defendent in the case, Christopher Mullan, 19, of suburban Lake Worth was not in court today.

Police who arrested all three this week say they beat and kicked to death the family pet, holding the dying animal by the neck as they drove off with her.

The scene in the Palm Beach courtroom.

The goose, which would sit on her owner’s lap and play in the pool with children, was found blocks away from her home days before Christmas with a broken neck and bashed-in skull.

All three defendents are charged with cruelty to an animal, a felony. Trout is being charged as an adult.

The detective who made the case got a tip that the three had bragged about the fun of beating a goose and built a case over three months from their conflicting stories.

All have admitted to participating in the attack, he said.

“Even after numerous interviews, I still can’t come up with the mental process that led them to do this for fun,” Palm Beach County sheriff’s Detective Frank Walters said Wednesday.

Andrew Paolilli, 19, of Palm Springs drove the others to the suburban Lantana neighborhood where the white goose with red-painted toenails was something of a mascot. He did not get out of the car during the incident and has not been charged.

The group pulled up to the street with an aluminum baseball bat around 2:30 a.m. Dec. 17, according to arrest reports. The three chased and kicked the goose and took turns swinging the bat at Lily’s head, the reports said. Paolilli told Walters he could hear the ping of the bat every time it hit.

Lily was dazed and bleeding but alive when neighbor Robert Capi saw the three chasing the bird and approached the car Paolilli sat in. Trout jumped in, “holding the goose out the window by its neck to avoid getting any blood on the inside of the car,” Walters wrote.

The group drove to a nearby subdivision, where they threw Lily on the road. Karney beat her head with the bat until she died, the report said.

A woman in another subdivision found the body, noticed the bird’s red painted toenails, and called Lily’s owner, Debbie Parker, when she read a Palm Beach Post story about the missing bird.

Images of what happened to her family’s pet replay through her mind, Parker said Wednesday.

“I’ll be relieved when they go to jail,” Parker said. “How can a human being do something like this for fun?”


How indeed.  Lily probably owed money all over Palm Beach, but that doesn’t make this any less of a hate crime.  RIP, Lily—even the most likable goose brings out murderous rage in humans.

The Reasons I’m Nauseous Today

28 04 2008

Being sick is a bitch. What’s worse than not being able to chase pigeons away from your slice of pilfered human bread? And today could scarcely have been more cannily chosen as the day for my illness: a cold, rainy day in Morningside Park, and my stomach feels like it’s hosting a Civil War reenactment with laser rifles. I tried soaking in the pond, preening myself, standing outside the fence of the dog run and taunting the dogs inside, but nothing picked up my spirits. I decided to sleep it off somewhere inside—the subway. That’s where I saw this ad.

Oh, so suddenly specist propaganda is considered OK.

First of all, I shit as much as any other animal. I mean, when your pet does it, you fucking pick it up without so much as a squint or snort. Secondly, YOU STRAIGHT UP POISONED ME. What Flight Control Plus does? Since you never bothered to read the fine print before using it, can I tell you? It laces the ground with a chemical that attacks our digestive system so bad we’re “forced to find an alternate food source.” Or starve. So much for the Greatest Generation closing the book on fascism.

So those are the two reasons I’m nauseous. Flight Control Plus makes me sick. Also, it made me sick.