DJs Even Less Cool Than The One on Full House

Why do I hate DJs? Is it the asinine names? The "talent" of putting records on turntables and fiddling with knobs? The fact that every one I've met is a completely narcissistic asshole? It's partially due to those things, but the basic reason is that they are purely and irredeemably evil. So I thought I might take a trip around myspace for the most heinous examples of this evil.

First up we have DJ Fire whose page greets us with this thought provoking quote: "I am blind, yet I see. I am deaf, yet I hear. I am mute, yet I speak." What other oxymoronic statements did he leave out? "I am dead, yet I breathe. I am talentless, yet I get paid for this. I am gay, yet women love me." Truly DJ Fire is a paradox.

Up next is DJ Beat, who I'm pretty sure molests children when he isn't playing with his bandmates Acid 4.0 Pro and Fruityloops 3.0/5.0 Producer Edition. Here's a good rule of thumb. If your bandmates have version numbers then you have no bandmates.

I guess if you're an Ecuadorian immigrant living in Flushing you need some kind of gimmick, but DJing should be very far down that list. One should not sell his soul for acceptance. I only hope that DJ Doughboy gets the help he needs. If he truly wants to rep ecuador 2 da fullest he should do something truly Ecuadorian, like stage a coup or run some drugs or work for some corporation paying him a subsistent wage for picking bananas. Really, anything but DJing.

"Life is musik. Musik is life." Spelling is for losers who don't spin. Or so I infer from DJ Frost's page. Aside from being a DJ he also made a fucking illegible page that could cause blindness if you actually tried to read it. Fortunately you don't have to, because all that you need to know about it is that he has some sort of Phantom Zone cube floating in the middle. I don't know how he got out of the Phantom Zone, but he is obviously using the powers granted him by our yellow sun for evil. The DJ thing is just a cover, and what could be more antithetical to a mild mannered reporter than a narcissistic douchebag who thinks DJing is an artform? He's obviously not Zod, because Zod would not demean himself so. He must be a minion.

To be continued...

Today in Online Kookery

Well, normally I do words, and I was going to save Mormonism for last in my religion review, but this is too good. Enjoy.

Fake Talk Show Commercials

I gave up cable to limit my TV watching. With cable I would find myself watching mediocre movies on Bravo, bad '80s comedies on Comedy Central or reruns of shows I don't even like on any number of channels. I decided it had to stop. I don't miss it much, except for being able to watch 80 college football games on any Saturday from the beginning of September to the beginning of December. However, I still watch TV occasionally, The Office and a few other shows regularly and whatever might be on when I first wake up in the morning. What is on when I wake up is one of three things: God, People's Court or Infomercials. Yeah, who'd have thought The People's Court would be preferable to anything? Though the God shows can be entertaining sometimes. That fervor, while a little scary, is also a little funny. Sunday mornings you get Hagee, the end times guy and I wish he was on every morning. I'd definitely watch that. Anyway, there's a guy named Kevin Trudeau who has built an empire on infomercials. He was finally busted for false advertising some years back and can no longer sell products. But he's found a new way to scam people: Books. His first one was "Natural Cures They Don't Want You to Know About" (italics his). I saw the infomercial from that one in passing and he was telling Tammy Faye Baker all about the conspiracy between the government and the drug companies to keep us all ignorant, unhealthy and buying drugs. If two lying sacks of shit can't convince you then nothing can I suppose. That one at least had the look of a shopping network as they ran through conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory and all the random encounters with people thanking Trudeau for his work you could possibly want. Now, he's released a follow up called "More Natural Cures Revealed" and has taken the ad into the skeezy realm of the fake talk show. I don't know who believes that there is a randomly timed talk show featuring only one guest and the exact same dialog every time, but this is the most underhanded form of infomercial nonetheless. I've seen them with Danny Bonaducci as host, I've heard them on the radio and now I've seen one featuring king of the infomercial scam, Kevin Trudeau. They must dupe people because the infomercial scene has been moving that way for some time. And when I think that it's obviously not real as the host says, "Your product is so great, I hardly believe it's possible." and the "guest" says, "It is great. Here's an example. I was walking down the street in Walla Walla when this little old lady came up and said she had suffered from arthritis for 300 years and there was nothing her doctor could do. She was in pain all the time. She tried drinking Antiarth 3000 for two weeks and not only was the pain completely gone but she also had the lustrous skin and hair of a twenty year old and could jump to the tops of houses on her block. That's just one of the hundreds of similar stories I heard." I remember that a lot of people think wrestling is real.

Today in Online Kookery

Biggus Rickus likes kooky religions. In fact, he likes them so much that he would be willing to spend the rest of the week on them, or as long as it takes before they are all catalogued. And now he will stop referring to himself in the third person. Don't get me wrong. I think religion in general has a certain amount of kookiness, but maybe, just maybe there's some ancient wisdom contained in there somewhere, something to the supernatural claims. Maybe we're just too cynical to see the miracles anymore. Maybe. However, when your deity died in 1934 I have a very hard time taking you at all seriously. And so we come to the Nation of Islam, or NOI as it is abbreviated. The NOI grew up as a religious organization to improve the lot of blacks. Sounds nice until you actually know what they believe is necessary in their eyes to improve that lot. This bastardized form of Islam isn't all bad, but it's bad enough in enough ways to be deplorable. Racism, sexism, homophobia...maybe it isn't as bastardized a form as I thought now that I think about it. But don't take my word for it.

http://www.noi.org/

Today in Online Kookery

I think I'll forego my own introduction and just post a snippet from Betty's essay.

"Many a well-intentioned person has asked me, "Betty, what exactly is The Homosexual Agenda?" Well, if you have to ask, you are probably already under its pernicious influence and blithely hop-scotching your way straight to Hell."

My only comment is that she should have used "sashaying" instead of "hop-scotching" given the subject matter.

http://www.bettybowers.com/homoagenda.html

Today in Online Kookery

I'm something of a conspiracy enthusiast. I don't really believe any of these things I read or see, but I love them all the same. What do Chandra Levy, the Mossad, the CIA, terrorism, the bin Laden family, JFK's assassination, mind control, WACO and any other bad thing from the last few decades have in common? Beats the fuck out of me, but in a truly breathtaking example of connecting the dots the mastermind behind northstarzone will fill you in. The truth is out there.

http://www.geocities.com/northstarzone/LEVY.html

Today in Online Kookery

The problem with starting a blog with no clear purpose in mind is coming up with things to post. Sure I could do an online diary, but those usually turn into online diarrheas of whiny nonsense. So I've come up with this segment for both of my readers. Our first installment will focus on the longest running form of kookery, the "60 Minutes" of kookery if you will, rabid antisemitism. If you've ever been sitting at home, in your car or your office and asked yourself, "Self, why do we hate the Jews?" you should have been sitting in Church like a non-heathen listening to Pastor Mark Downey's sermon. You're in luck, however, as the good pastor has brought his message to the masses via the world wide web in this rousing 29 part sermon about the "mongrel" "subspecies" of "half-breeds" that make up worldwide "Jewry" (for clarification, that is not how a Korean immigrant says jewelry). Enlightenment is only a click away.

http://www.kinsmanredeemer.com/WhyWeHateJews.htm

Riverside and the Hooker

My friend lives in a bad neighborhood, the kind where you don't worry about the people who are missing. Homeless wander around his streets at night, probably during the day as well. Hookers conduct business nearby, trying to get that next fix. This is a story from a night in this neighborhood:

I walk outside, high on Sparks and a little marijuana. It is a Friday, not dissimilar from many other Fridays. I am ready to go to bed, can hear the siren calls of my sheets from all the way across town. It's a good feeling, happy exhaustion. From the distance I hear a, "Hey!" I know noone but my friend in this neighborhood, and it is not his voice. I ignore it. I move to open my car door. Again I hear a, "Hey!" proceeded by a, "Hold up!" or maybe, "Hold on!" I turn to see a small blond woman in a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans approaching at a too-fast walk, the walk of the stimulant. She is perhaps fifty feet away, flagging me down. She is small and a woman. I don't fear her, and so I wait. First I get in my car though, and hope she won't bother me. I am not that lucky. She walks up to my car and asks that I roll down the window. In my slightly inebriated state I accidentally roll down the rear driver's side window instead of mine. This accidental sign of mistrust actually works in my favor I think. She leans in, asks me to drive her to the store to get food for her baby. She says this too fast, the words spilling out. She shows me her stomach as proof of her motherhood. It is shriveled like a raisin and it makes me feel a little nauseated. Thankfully, she lowers her shirt. I agree to give her a ride. She offers to sit in back, but that is an impossibility. The backseat of my car is a catchall for anything that goes into my car. CDs are everywhere. There is an air filter for my air-conditioning unit that I keep forgetting to take upstairs. There are various other items that were not important enough to bother with taking upstairs at some point in time and have been sitting there ever since. There is also the fact that a stranger obviously on some form of cocaine or meth is not a trustworthy rear passenger. I do not fear her, but I'm not a complete fool. I transfer my CDs from the passenger seat to the blackhole that is the back, and she gets in.

She tells me her name, and I immediately forget it. She says there is a store not far. I am not familiar with the neighborhood, knowing only the quickest way to and from my friend's apartment. She gives me directions, while babbling at a high rate of speed. I pay little attention. I am judgemental and she is beneath me. Look at what has come of her life. She will offer me a sexual favor at some point for this simple kindness. It's pathetic. I don't like her, feel little sympathy for her. However, I am bound by my moral code, the "do unto others" bit. I cannot not help her. I converse in short sentences, "Turn here?", "Now what?" "That's too bad." I am not paying attention to most of what I'm saying. I look over every so often out of curiosity and get that nauseous feeling again. She is used up. She can't be more than 35, but she is wrinkled as much as my grandmother was in her final days. Her hair is bleached and brittle. Her eyes are too big. She is a junkie. She directs me to turn, tells me there is a store ahead. It is closed. I'm not to worry because there is another nearby, just a few blocks. This one is open. She needs money. I haven't thought of that, despite it being obvious. She does not want me to go in with her. Too embarrassing to have some stranger pay in public I suppose. I go in and use the ATM, take out a twenty. She is rocking in the seat when I return. A junkie. I give her the twenty. She thanks me, tells me she will reward me. I feel sick. She is not gone long and is walking hurriedly, even more than before. She gets in the car and tells me to leave. Another woman comes out yelling and pointing. It is her sister she says. I roll my window down to see what she is saying. It isn't nice. I don't stay. I pull out. She apologizes, complains about her sister's behavior. I do not comment. I am disgusted by her and am worried that I might say so if I speak. She directs me to another store, not far thankfully. She goes in, comes out after a time with an ice cream in one hand and a brown bag in the other. I ask what she got. I don't care. I drive her home. She asks me questions, "Are you married?" "Where do you live?" "Do you like head?" I answer, "No." "Southside." "Yes." She calls me sexy. I'm surprised that I like the compliment coming from her. I am still nauseous though. I tell her I didn't give her the ride for that. She says she just likes to do it, surely a lie. I do not flat out refuse, but make the point all the same. She directs me to a street, has me pull up to the curb. She thanks me and gets out. I drive home.