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The Woody Harrelson and poor-man’s-Michael-Cera zom-com of 2009, Zombieland, was released on digital video disc about a month ago. If you enjoy watching guts spray across the screen, and laughing at quippy dialogue — sometimes simultaneously — then this is the movie for you. And at about $16, you won’t be sorry about spending the money for very long.

The opening credits sequence is also extremely cool — and ever since a childhood full of name calling and unfortunate gym class episodes, it’s been my mission to not only hunt down what is truly cool, but understand the inner-workings of cool. After all, you cannot kill the tiger unless you actually think how a tiger would think, if he had a 12-gauge shotgun aimed at another tiger.

Zombies, Woody Harrelson, a kid who’s kind of like Michael Cera, and old school Metallica? Be still my heart.

Truth on a t-shirt

Anyway, the integrated three-dimensional credits technique has become something of a fixture in Hollywood over the past year or so, and while it’s starting to get a bit well-worn, for the most part it’s still pretty visually stimulating. And when you’re as much of an herbalist as I am, visually stimulating counts for something. This is the country that would rather watch Fern Gully in 3D than a movie that makes you think and has boring parts not involving guns or swords, after all. Fuck “art” — I’d rather blow shit up.

Oh, and speaking of herbalists… while, Woody Harrelson has built himself something of a reputation as a pot head over the years, don’t think of me as so stoned and shallow that it’s enough to sell me on any movie he stars in (even though it is.) The man happens to be a superb talent, who can take on complex, emotional roles convincingly, but who also clearly doesn’t take himself too seriously.

Woody Harrelson’s ass

Sorry about that, I felt like playing the “how many visitors can I convince to leave and never come back” game for a second.

What can I say? You know dedleg’s got the hook up for all the exclusive celeb nudez. Seriously though, I’ve been hooked ever since I absorbed all those Cheers reruns in utero. Some expecting mothers play Mozart to their new-found fetuses, my mom let me hang out where everybody knows your name.

Fuck, I need another beer.

I must apologize for the trailer, the actual movie is far better. This makes it look like it was filmed on a fucking Hollywood sound stage and would be better titled 300… Thousand Termites. But, fear not, the docudrama, as it were, is nothing short of incredible.

From Ruthless Reviews:

Columns of driver ants in Besieged Fortress - photo via Ruthless Reviews

Besieged Fortress is the most violent film in recent memory. As two armies battle for survival, the soldiers are impaled, enucleated, dismembered, decapitated, poisoned to die agonizing deaths while body parts are severed and carried away for consumption on the battlefield.

You will be entertained by a riot of violence that approaches poetic abandon.

It’s true — this shit totally deserved an R rating. In this reviewer’s experience, combining it with a 12-pack will almost assuredly create really fucked up dreams. The cinematography is pretty jaw-dropping — it kind of chews Planet Earth up for breakfast and spits it all over the screen… I guess you could say.

Cons? John Cusack narrating sounds like he’s on tranquilizers the entire time. And I mean, how can you not get excited about THE AMAZING (not to mention) TINY WORLD OF INSECTS?!

Your body is a boat to lay aside when you reach the far shore. — William S Burroughs

DMT is one of the most illegal drugs in the world, and yet it’s a neurotransmitter in the human brain that is produced by your pineal gland every night while you sleep, you midnight-tripping no-good hippie loser.

Also, Joe Rogan’s like obsessed with it, so… that might be a recommendation, depending on what kinda shit you’re into. The dude hosted a show called Fear Factor, so keep that in mind.

Soo… anybody feel like going 0 to 60 in 40 milligrams?

DMT - photo via bluelight.ru

Now that is some hardcore snowflake action, as opposed to the ordinary kind (see: cocaine) which is really only spectacular in the sense that it can make a truly awful club in the LES seem like the coolest place on earth.

Very illegal art - photo via shroomery.org

Not for the faint of brain.

Rebirth… how about Retard instead? As in “this album is so stupid it must be retarded.” Are you following me?

If you haven’t heard it yet, imagine a Sega Genesis whining through humorless anthems written by a snotty 10^th grader for about an hour straight. That would be better than this.

So what’s the fucking deal? Lil’ Wayne’s foray into assisted suicide has been legally available since Tuesday and nobody on any of the blogs I read feels like talking about what a spectacular trainwreck this album is? How it’s a failure in a genre comprised almost entirely of failures? No?

Well this can mean only one of two things. Either you all love it and I should officially consider one Weezy F. Baby as the first horseman of the apocalypse, or you were all much smarter than I and didn’t even bother to check it out in the first place.

Considering its incredible prevalence and versatility as a condiment, you think it’d be a good deal easier to actually get ketchup on your food.

I found this clipping from the sands of time over at 4Q, and it proves that getting ketchup out of a bottle has been a confounding, Herculean task for far too long. Particularly because I’ve never found their proposed method particularly useful. Plus, it’s hard to make ketchup badass, so frankly, I’m starting to like the sound of this “hazardous and unnecessary” shit anyway.

Thank the gods of sauce for plastic bottles, right? But not for plastic ketchup packets, because those are the worst invention man has ever created, designed purely to spawn frustration and disappointment. Almost as bad as Christmas morning in the ghetto, if you ask me.

…Or maybe just two stroke exhaust.

Yamaha RD350YPVS, photo via The Classic Bike Buyer’s Guide

The caption reads, “Paddock jacket, jeans, trainers, a YPVS and wheelies. Teen heaven.” The Powervalve might have come out almost 30 years ago now, but come on… that moment in time is still looking mighty fucking heavenly. When I saw this photo the universal forces of cool literally bound me to scan it in at once. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but to me, there are only 4 that seem to matter here: living in the moment. Utterly.

That last little “sentence” tacked on to the end technically makes it 5 words, but I was just being verbose — and my writing tends to be full of fat just begging to be skimmed off. And that’s part of the charm of these old motorcycles — there is very little fat here. In a modern age full of fat (both literal and figurative), things that are stripped down to their essential purpose are incredibly attractive. In the case of old bikes, that purpose is obviously being super fucking awesome. And god damn they do their job well.

For me, it’s these ideas that bind skateboarding and motorcycles together — the same things essentially attracted me to both. They’re fast, they’re rugged, and they don’t leave much room for anything besides the fundamentals.

This short documentary is powerful, beautiful, a must see. I barely made it through unscathed. Dogs… man. That’s all.

Anyway, I’m going to go do some push ups until I feel like a tough guy again. Catch you on the flip flop.

Mars Attacks trading cards, released by Topps in 1962

The latest Harris Poll is devastating as usual.

73% of Americans believe that Jesus is God or the son of God;
72% believe in angels;
70% believe in the resurrection of Jesus;
61% believe in hell;
61% believe in the virgin birth (Jesus born of Mary);
60% believe in the devil;
32% believe in UFOs

So… more people believe in a Jewish zombie with magical powers — or that when they die they’re going to burn for all eternity in a firey cavern while a menacing goat man lords over their anguish — than believe that in the whole wide, billions of light years wide (+) universe there couldn’t possibly be other sentient beings, who are in fact smarter than us and capable of visiting our planet.

Not saying I was raped in the night by robotic alien probes or anything (since whenever I do people look at me like I’m crazy), but come on, Eileen. Play the odds here.

Looks like most people’s New Year’s resolutions didn’t consist of getting any smarter.

Sigh. Maybe next year.

Original photo courtesy unemploymentor.com; crude illustration courtesy yours truly

When a man tells you that he got rich through hard work, ask him “Whose?” — Don Marquis

You know, there’s nothing quite like reading about delusional bazillionaires to get the bile rising in my throat. And god damn, I just love the taste of vitriol.

In a properly functioning capitalist economy, rich people don’t “create jobs” for workers; workers, upon having jobs, create rich people. 

This is assuming the concept of capitalism is, in fact, stronger than humanity’s inherent shittiness. Obviously, this is not the case, and that is exactly why the executive branch of our government answers to Wall Street goons and its cabinet is full of people getting paid by the Illuminati. Did I happen to mention that in an improperly functioning capitalist economy, rich people create “conspiracy theorists”?

The problem with big time weirdos saying something really insightful is that… well, a big time weirdo said it and nobody’s really going to take it seriously. Granted, “crazy person” is a subjective point of view, and I’m sure all the machine elves Terence hung out with when he was spaced out on DMT would think you were a real Looney Toon too.

Nonetheless… while his argument against mass culture comes across as intelligent and profound, you’d have a hard time selling his theory of mushrooms as space aliens to anybody, even people who were tripping on mushrooms themselves. And if you did, god, my deepest sympathies go out to them.

I think I’d have to go with smell in the end — it seems the least “essential” in terms of quality of life to me. Plus, I gotta say, there would probably be times I’d be thankful to never smell a rotten fart or piss-soaked subway car again.

When I was considering this question, my trusted friend Wikipedia had some enlightening information about the senses to share:

Humans are considered to have at least five additional senses that include: nociception (pain), equilibrioception (balance), proprioception & kinaesthesia (joint motion and acceleration), sense of time, thermoception (temperature differences), with possibly an additional weak magnetoception (direction). 

Not quite as easy to remember for all the first graders though, I’m afraid. Which is probably why I had never read about any of these perceptions being labeled “senses” until today, on the 79^th day of my 24^th year of life. Seriously, I’ve been feeling all of these things for 24 fucking years and I somehow didn’t know they were feelings? Is the American education system retarded, or am I retarded? Or perhaps, am I retarded because of the American education system? If only I had a sense that could tell me that!