The internet has opened our eyes to the extremes of the human condition. We’ve experienced testicular fire-setting, skateboard injury montages…. and lots and lots of webcam whores. The ability to see virtually whatever we want whenever we want has pushed the limits of our response stimuli. If you want to see a Japanese girl poop on herself via complex yoga positioning, while in a bathtub…. it’s there, man. I’ve seen that shit……… you can’t go back.

It’s also a place where raw human emotion parades into our consciousness via YouTube superstars with mystical appeal. Let’s talk about anger. I would imagine that a Jewish child who just saw his parents sent away to their deaths in a Nazi camp would still show HALF the anger you are about to see in these videos. If I was kicked in the balls by a clown wearing steel-toed red shoes, only after viewing a forced-watch session of my wife in bed with Uwe Boll (Clockwork Orange-style, of course), i would be mad. Probably REAL mad. guess what: My anger is dwarfed by this child of Legion. You will meet him, and he will pull a part of your soul south of Heaven.

Today, I go on record as seeing the greatest series of moments in internet history. The following chronicles the life and times of a truly dysfunctional person. Allow me to introduce you to ‘wafflepwn’, possibly the worst brother ever. Yet, like Santa Claus, he brings joy to the world: through the exploitation of his psychotic Satan-possessed brother Steven.

To say that Steven needs a roomful of priests as well as a swimming pool full of holy water is an understatement. You have NEVER seen anger in a child until you see these videos.

Username wafflepwn (real name unknown) uploads videos of his brother FREAKING OUT over videogame-related mishaps. Allow me to introduce you.  By the way, wait for the 1:10 mark for things you can’t unsee:

Who shoves a remote control up their ass in anger? Anything, for that matter? Hitting his head with a shoe, he asks “Is this what you want?”. The answer is yes. You, Steven, have made 2009 a year to remember. After uploading this video on the internet, wafflepwn showed this to his brother via YouTube and recorded his reaction, where millions of people have found purpose in life because of it. It went as planned:

Oh…. it gets better. AN ORIGIN STORY? YOU WANT AN ORIGIN STORY? DONE. See where it all began! find out WHY Steven’s World of Warcraft account was taken away: what follows is nothing short of brilliance in manipulation and absolute penultimate terror.

Finally, fast-forward to age 16. Steven gets a beat-up jalopy truck as a first vehicle to drive around in, that his parents got him for cheap. His reaction? Wait toward the end for ultimate cash money.

Ok, lets talk about this. I did some research, and found out that Steven is NOT retarded, does NOT have Autism or any severe learning disability. Apparently, he’s moderately intelligent with a small penchant for burning the wick at both ends when it comes to anger management. Anyone who doesn’t want to beat this kid like a baby seal should stop what they’re doing, make an appointment with their family doctor… and DECIMATE YOUR BABY-MAKING CAPABILITIES, because you will be a terrible parent.

Would you like some dessert? of course you do.

Lately, I’ve noticed that a celebrity dies about as often as I change my underpants, because I’m a guy, and I wear my underpants for a couple days at a time, provided I have good air circulation. Kilts FTW.

The whole media is taking its final pot shots at Michael Jackson, who’s been a bottomless pit full of comedy ever since the “Black and White” video premiere. I remember it well. Afterward, my dad stood up and said:

“When he started sleepin’ in scuba gear, I knew it was over,” said my dad, lighting a cigarette. “I mean look at him!” he shouts using the cigarette as a pointer. “He’s actually pretty… in a ‘hideous vampire’ kind of a way…”

That’s why I don’t care if MJ is dead. The Michael Jackson we knew has been dead for some time. Ever notice that all the tributes to him use clips from Thriller? Wonder why? Because even fans are ashamed of him.

That’s why this article isn’t about him, it’s about Billy Mays, because he was 1) awesome, 2) a decent family man, and 3) not a washed-up burned-out homosexual pedophile manchild.

A lot of people loved Billy Mays, and a lot of people though he was a loud asshole. But there is an agreement between us all. Those who loved Billy Mays loved him because he was a loud asshole. He knew it too. Billy Mays knew he was loved, and he knew he was a loud asshole.

From Wikipedia:

Mays was found dead by his wife in his Tampa, Florida home on June 28, 2009.^[2][1][14] The Associated Press reported that there were no indications that the house had been broken into, and that police did not suspect foul play.^[14]

According to Fox News, Mays had been aboard a US Airways flight that blew out its front tires as it landed at Tampa International Airport on June 27, the day before his death. None of the 138 passengers and five crew members were reported to be seriously injured immediately following the incident, but several passengers reported having bumps and bruises from falling objects.^[2] Mays told the local Tampa TV station that some of the objects “hit me on the head, but I got a hard head.”^[14] It is unclear whether Mays’ death was related to the incident.

I’m going to with the obvious conclusion that it’s all an intricate scheme propagated by Offer Shlomi, a.k.a. Vince Offer, the ShamWow Guy. He SlapChop’d the tires. Billy once made Offer an offer which he refused for fear of being p’z0n’d:

Offer then killed Mays to save face, and to dominate the late-night infomercial landscape. Offer has the motive, has demonstrated his mean streak before, and was a Scientologist, and therefore, devoid of all morality.

Don’t let him win. Buy ZorbEEZ instead.

Sometimes after karate class, we end the day with a brutally refreshing medicine ball routine. Naturally, we have to leave the little kids out. Noah, who was maybe six or seven. was naturally was disappointed.

“Why can’t I do the medicine balls?” he asked.

“Because,” I explained. “The medicine balls are a significant fraction of your body weight.”

“In fact,” added Joe. “We could probably use you as a medicine ball.”

Immediately, I picked up Noah, lifted him to chest level, and threw him to Joe, about ten feet away. Mind you, Noah’s mom was about twelve feet away, watching us chest pass her son back and forth for about a minute.

It’s really great for the upper body, and Noah laughed maniacally for the rest of the night, for as far as I can tell.

Next class, the first thing Noah says when he sees me was: “Can you throw me around  again?”

“What?” I ask. “Like the medicine balls?”

“Yeah.”

I was silent for a second. There’s only one thing that a responsible adult can say in this situation. I stared him down, and in a clear, stern tone, told him:

“Yes, but only if you’re good.”

To anyone who questions the awesomeness of the last post, I give this in evidence. After eleven years of searching, I have found the footage of Luc’s performance.

No seriously, that’s exactly what happened. Everyone was that blown away, and I’m not speaking metaphorically. Also, the resulting EMP bricked the camcorders.

With the 10 year reunion of the GM class of ’99 coming up, I got to thinking about a few things, the same kind of things that most people think of at this point I’m sure.

Everyone has their story from high school and/or middle school that they would consider their best and most glorious. The moment that really defined who they are.

I would say this would have to be mine.

I still have the program and the issue of the school newspaper where I had my 15 minutes of fame and the moment where I finally felt that I had an identity aside from being the only guy with long hair in a world where guitar solos weren’t as in as they were 10 years prior. My damn scanner crapped the bed; otherwise there would be pictures to go with this.

Let’s just say I had an older sister, ten years older than me… who trained me as a puppy to get into Def Leppard when I was only three.
I’m not sure where my tastes would be otherwise. I loved loud guitar, I loved melody and I didn’t like introverted lyrics. I sure do now, but I got off on hating things that were in…especially in middle school. I was pretty bummed out a lot of the time, although I didn’t really notice until later on because I was so accustomed to it. I ditched a lot of school, because I was anxious out of my gourd (and not to point fingers but having a 5th grade science/math/SS teacher reading your absence excuses for the class to laugh at sure didn’t help). I didn’t go anywhere; I didn’t go somewhere “more fun” as the assistant principal put it. (Although I would pose the same question to me had I been in his position). I was simply in my room, playing guitar.

I didn’t have a band when I got a hold of the application to play at the talent show, but that didn’t stop me, my guitar heroes had slots in their band’s concerts where they would go off for 3-5 minutes which was something I busted my ass to get good at myself. I even drenched my sound in echo to simulate it.

I got the go ahead to perform but I had to write “Untitled” in the spot for the “song name” because I wasn’t going to play a song per se. I was just gonna go off with a loose format, so it really didn’t have a name, although it probably would’ve been more dramatic to have named it something….but anyway.

I think they had an idea what they were in for at the dress rehearsal, but at that point it was too late.

On the day of the show, I never felt more alive up to that point.
I even decided to go even further off the deep end by wearing a pair of Tasmanian Devil slippers and my Bruce Lee shirt randomly on the way out the door.

Liento Sensi played first, (I remember them well because I was sliding around dancing on the stage while they were playing…yeah…I was dancing….) then a few other performers. Then I came on.

So the juniors and seniors were in the auditorium, and everyone else watched it on closed circuit TV in classrooms. I had a Jackson Randy Rhoads and a few effect pedals (Cry Baby, Boss Metal Zone, Mxr Phase 90, and a off brand delay pedal that had a unique hall of mirrors feature)And I went off and asked everyone how they were doin on the mic while holding a trill down and got a huge reaction. A different part of me turned on for keeps at that moment. I didn’t get through half of the performance or get to my “good stuff” yet and I couldn’t hear my amp because of the reaction. It was a 100 watt amp with two speakers…and I was standing RIGHT NEXT TO IT. I heard “Crank it up Leroy!” So I did…not only because it seemed that there wasn’t a sitting person in the auditorium, or just because they liked it (except for this one chump who jealously had a stick up his ass because I didn’t “play enough chords;” one can only listen to so much Blackbird and ELO every morning…) but also because I could…not…HEAR IT…I meant well, but I watched administration and faculty alike stepping backwards in fright and horns everywhere. So I told the crowd to scream for me (I listened to and still do listen to a LOT of Iron Maiden…listen to a live album, you’ll hear it at least twice).

I finished the solo with a big blue power circle around my feet, with little stones rising up around me like in Dragon Ball Z, and a Van Halen-esque fret tapping lick.

The curtain closed, I shoved my hand between the folds and waved one more time (with the spotlight still on from what I’m told) and the MC of the show was REALLY upset when she saw me do that, but hell, I got some laughs out of it, which I would place under the entertainment category, so I’m not sure what she was so outta shape about…but oh well. I’m sure she just wanted things to run smoothly.

I had the most sickening feeling in my stomach after that because of the adrenaline (And the 3/4 of a large Pixy Stick that I pounded down my throat 5 seconds before playing…you know…the plastic ones that were about 3 feet long…yeah…) and was warmly greeted from the guys from Liento Sensi backstage.

The people who followed me…I felt for them, because I was hearing things like “we want Leroy back!” and such while they sang. Felt kinda bad about that…

I heard all kinds of stories after this.
- Boyfriends were jealous because the chicks were impacted by it somehow too (I’m not making that up…and dammit it was about time!!! Just kidding…)

- I heard there was supposed to be a curtain call at the end…didn’t happen…because of me…

- As far as I know, there were no more talent shows there until 2006 and you have to audition for it…because of me…

- I’m told there were a few teachers thinking I was gonna start a riot…mercy!!!

- I STILL 11 years later have people come up and say “Hey! Didn’t you play talent show in 1998?” and I would have NO clue who they are. It really makes me feel like shit because here they are remembering something like that, and I have no idea who they are, but flattering none-the-less and I try to look them up later in a yearbook.

- I pegged student of the week for it which I did a pretty dramatic video announcement interview for. Just ask Joe Cullers, it was completely off the chain.

The irony?

1. It was supposed to be videotaped, and the tape came out blank…so unless there’s a tape floating around that I don’t know about, (which I’d give damn near anything to get my hands on) You’re just gonna have to take my word for it…even the blue power circle on the stage…I hear I burnt a circle in the floor from the pure chi and they had it fixed before anyone knew.

2. It took me this long after that day to have a band that functions and works out.

Check out myspace.com/sarsen814

One day back in undergrad, I was peacefully watching Adult Swim in the dorm lounge, working on some electronics homework, when Stevie entered and declared me to be one of the Indigo Children.

I closed my book, to give my undivided attention to stopping the rape of reason that was to follow.

I’ll go into details later, but she’d read in a book that there were these people, “the Indigo Children,” who were “rebellious, purposeful, highly intelligent; creative, intuitive, frustrated with authorities and bureaucracy; and psychically powerful” people with “big “wise” eyes.”

I don’t see how my eyes are “wise” though; all they do is record the light reflected from objects and give cool squinty-action hero stares to scare off popped-collars at bars, while WD40-ing women’s nether-regions.

Stevie argued that since I met all criterion for being an Indigo, I had to be one. I explained to her that I had no psychic superpowers, and that I was “…just a man and his will to survive.”

Her eyes lit up.

“See? You’re rebelling against the labels that people give you! That’s such an Indigo thing!”

She was spared my wrath only because she was a friend, and I wanted to commit egregious acts of carnality upon her person.

I was no stranger to this argument. As a youth I was enthralled by NBC’s Unsolved Mysteries, and tales of UFO’s, Area 51, and the like. The conspiracy theorists were notorious for creating logic traps. They would use loaded statements as the basis for an argument, so that the outcome would be what they wanted to hear, guaranteed. For the sake of argument, let us ask if the US government has covered up the fact it’s hiding a crashed UFO in Area 51. If the government admits there is a UFO, then we know it exists. If the government denies the UFO, then they acknowledge the cover up, and the fact the UFO exits. This argument is and was the core of UFO documentaries, and is a textbook logical fallacy.

This is bifurcation, commonly known as the black-and-white fallacy, the either/or fallacy, or the false dilemma fallacy. Assume that we are given three things, p, q, and r. We must choose between p, or q. Now if p is also r, and q is also r, we would then select r regardless of our choice of p or q. I have illustrated this point in Table 1. This is all a fancy-pants way of saying that “I want you to be something, therefore, you are.”

Stephen Colbert would later go on to make this a running gag that he used on damn near everyone. The use of loaded questions is a tried-and-true method for generating responses which, though meaningless, can appear convincing as long as the audience doesn’t think about what is being said.

I explained to her why she was wrong, even drawing the truth table, but this was only further proof by her reasoning. Undaunted, Stevie referred me to a website, which I read. I knew she was too good to be true.

I knew what had to be done.

I, for one, am constantly sickened by hucksters and their feel-good bullshit, demanding all of your time, money, and only receive doublethink in return. Besides, I was Christian at the time, so I already chock-full of doublethink. I couldn’t possibly take on any more.

That is why, I, Ryan Coons, as part of my never-ending crusade of justice, and as part of my required duties as the Purveyor of Truth, will expose, torment, and mock the people behind the Indigo Cult. I just want them to feel bad about themselves, and make their world a darker, bleaker, place, until they collectively acknowledge that they have done this to me, and make amends. I am fully aware that this will not happen. This is similar to the Planck problem, that:

“An important scientific innovation rarely makes it ways by gradually winning over and converting its opponents: it rarely happens that Saul becomes Paul. What does happen is that its opponents gradually die out and that the growing generation is familiarized with the idea from the beginning.” — Max Planck, from The Philosophy of Physics (1936).

Though I cannot cure Indigoism, I can hopefully contain it and prevent it from spreading. Those currently infected with this thinking will eventually die off naturally, and their hopes and dreams will go with them.

Hey, it seems to be working on the Shakers.

_____________________________________

Not Awesome: an Indigo/Crystal/Rainbow Child

Awesome: a Wild Child

http://tacticalcorsets.com/

Click that fucking link, now. Be sure to adjust yourself accordingly to account for the massive boner that will ensue.

Holy fucking goddamn motherfucking shit damn fuck shit damn fuck crap titties damn fuck labia poop crap fuck shit! A tactical fucking corset! It’s every Freudian complex rolled into a single garment. They need a Nobel Prize or some shit for this. There just may be some hope for the human race after all.

If you are an attractive, shapely female, buy one of these. Now. Buy several, so you always have a clean one.

If you are an unshapely female, eat less food, move around some, then buy several of these.

If you are an ugly female, bring meaning to your existence by cloistering yourself in a sweatshop to make these goddamn brilliant articles of clothing.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve had an unhealthy fascination with weapons. It’s one of the primary reasons that I’ve devoted myself so deeply to the martial arts. I cannot remember any point in my childhood when I didn’t have enough toy guns and swords to take over an imaginary Central American nation. I think it comes from my mom’s side.

I was about ten years old, standing in the toy gun isle of the Hills on 26^th street in Erie, wanting to spend my birthday money.

“That one. I want that one,” I said. I had to have it. It was bad as hell. I never saw anything like it.

“No, you can’t buy that,” said my dad. “I won’t let you get it.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because…that is an AK-47…” said my dad, stopping for a dramatic, angry finger point. “…this is made by the Soviets, and used by the Iraqis. You want to get this one instead…” said my dad, pulling a different toy gun from the rack.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“That’s an UZI. It’s made by the Israelis.”

“Who are they?” I ask.

“They’re our friends,” said my dad.

You, the reader are likely saying “So what?” but Bill, my anti-Zionist communist gun-nut friend, thinks this is the funniest story ever.

I consider myself, with all ego aside, a considerably well-experienced gamer. From the days of owning an Intellivision in the late 70′s back at my parents to currently pounding buttons on my PS3.

I submit, for your consideration, the greatest video game i’ve ever played as of mid-2009: Bioshock.

It works and exceeds on so many levels. From the graphics, to the efficient use of the Unreal Engine, to the INCREDIBLE movie-like story (side note: Gore Verbinski, director of all three Pirates of the Caribbean movies and The Ring, is making a Bioshock movie…. which makes sense because its a horror movie underwater).

Bioshock is a thinking man’s game. You don’t have to play the same way through twice. It forces you to consider your moral compass and make choices that effect the outcome of gameplay.

The premise is this: You are an unknown man, whose plane crashes in the middle of the Atlantic. You are the only survivor, and arrive at a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean that takes you down deep underwater to Rapture, a “utopian” city that was initially created by an ambitious man to escape all political, religious and artistic persecution in the outside world. The discovery of an ability-enhancing product called ADAM (which you use in the game) caused the inhabitants to become addicted, morally and physically altering them forever (called Splicers). You show up after the downfall of this society and have to find out the mystery of Rapture, while figuring out who’s pulling the strings and why you are ultimately there in the first place. It has some big fucking twists, and will make an incredible movie.

More importantly than the story, the gameplay backs it ALL UP. It’s the best shooter i’ve ever played. And i’ve played half-life 2, i’ve played halo, i’ve played Call of Fucking Duty. The control scheme is easy to learn, difficult to master, and infinite in the combination possibilities. While using conventional weapons (your pistols, guns and chemical throwers), you have Plasmids: abilities to alter your DNA (the ADAM) and use attacks such as elemental or manipulative attacks. The characters are amazing, the story is amazing and the gameplay and options are amazing.

I knew that this was my all-time favorite game over a year ago….. but i had to play through it three more times to completely exhaust the reasons why it’s better than Resident Evil 4, Metal Gear Solid and Final Fantasy Whatever.

Do yourself a favor: if you have a 360 or a PS3, go buy it for under 30 bucks. It’s a steal. For PS3 owners, there are downloadable ‘challenge rooms’ that enhance the gameplay for ten bucks.

Oh, and by the way: Bioshock 2 comes out this October….. and all the blood in my body rushes to my penis when i say that (yes i have one, no matter what Coons believes).

Cow likes to watch TV.

He likes “The Deadliest Catch” the best…

…but he’ll watch pretty much anything on the Discovery Channel.

No really, that’s all I’ve ever seen him watch.