Wednesday, December 23, 2015

News You Can't Use: Austrian Radio Jockey Punished for Playing 'Last Christmas' 24 Times

It just isn't the non-denominational, miracle-free totally secular holiday break period and common era date reset without all that great music. Whether it's sounds about telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows (I think you got Christmas, er, the Holiday, confused with camping, bro) stuff about bells or snowmen animated to a cruel mockery of life by unholy magical forces the goodness just keeps coming. It's so nice, repeatedly playing a minor hit from the eighties that mentions our atheistic rest break might even be appropriate, but not apparently in Austria. For those of you U.S. Americans that don't have maps that's the Hitler and Porsche one, not the dingo and Mad Max.

An Austrian radio station has punished one of its moderators after he locked himself in the studio only to play the song 'Last Christmas', a cult hit from the 1980s by British band Wham!, 24 times in a row.

I imagine the scene was similar to the one in "Shawshank Redemption" complete with enraged bully boys pounding on the door while a numb population looks up toward the amazing sounds, suddenly filled with hope and sense of purpose by the transcendent high art that is a limp eighties pop song.

Only once the moderator's daughter called the studio to beg her father to stop because the song made everyone "mad" did he finish his one-song marathon, according to a video on Youtube. 

We're also being controlled by shape-shifting lizard monsters according to the same highly credible source. "Watch this video, broham, it'll like blow your mind!"

Timm Bodner, programming Chief of the station Antenne Kaernten in Austria's province of Carinthia, told Reuters on Wednesday the 27-year-old disc jockey barricaded the studio last Friday with a wooden stick to play the prank on his listeners.

"In general, it was funny but there must be consequences," Bodner told Reuters in a telephone conversation. 

We all enjoyed your little prank, now you must be horribly punished. It was funny though, seriously.

"As a consequence he will have to work tomorrow on Christmas and on New Year's eve."

You were bad at your job so we want you doing it more often. Logic trap. Whether he'll have to wake up the next employee before he go, goes, remains unknown as of this writing.

Full Story. 

Komment Korner    

I just checked out the song on YouTube. i could only stand about 15 seconds of it. It could be used as a substitute for waterboarding terrorist prisoners. 

The people who should be punished are Wham! 

Heck, the warden threw Andy into the hole for a week for playing a song one time...

What an idiotic song. Especially considering that George Michael was the singer.

The solution? Next year, he's going to give his heart to "someone special".

I hope he plays it in a loop over his Christmas and New Years shifts..

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.   

Sunday, December 20, 2015

News You Can't Use: Polluted Nuclear Weapons Site to Become Tourist Destination

All right fellow campers, let's all keep one eye and one ear on those Geiger counters. That rapid ticking noise it's currently making is bad, lil Timmy, very bad. Hey look, an owl! I hope the amazing word picture I just put the final glorious strokes on in the above sentences gives you an adequate idea of the wonders and terrors that await at our newest national park, a site of both nuclear pollution and profound natural beauty. Hunt a two-headed deer, swim in glowing water, watch with silent wonder as your hair falls out in fist-sized clumps and you then die in extreme agony over a forty-eight hour period. What could possibly go wrong?

The nation's most polluted nuclear weapons production site is now its newest national park.

Expect to hear about this in the sequel to Crippled America, working title America Ground into Fine Powder and Scattered Across a Salt Marsh.

Thousands of people are expected next year to tour the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, home of the world's first full-sized nuclear reactor, near Richland, about 200 miles east of Seattle in south-central Washington.

National Lampoon's Rad Sickness Vacation. This year kids we're taking a nice family camping trip to an exclusion zone.

They won't be allowed anywhere near the nation's largest collection of toxic radioactive waste.

It'll be at least a hundred feet away from the main campground, maybe even a little further.

Everything is clean and perfectly safe," said Colleen French, the U.S. Department of Energy's program manager for the Hanford park. "Any radioactive materials are miles away."

You can trust me, I'm from the government.

At Hanford, the main attractions will be B Reactor - the world's first full-sized reactor - along with the ghost towns of Hanford and White Bluffs, which were evacuated by the government to make room for the Manhattan Project.

Visitors might also get the chance to run afoul of a family of horribly mutated cannibals.

The park will tell the story of those workers, plus the scientists who performed groundbreaking research and the residents who were displaced, said Chip Jenkins of the National Park Service, which is jointly developing the park with the Energy Department.

The exciting story of "all dead from deadly invisible particles" will really come to life for you.

"The intention of the park is to tell the full and complex and convoluted story," Jenkins said. That story is still being developed, but will certainly include a Japanese perspective, he said.

You'll wonder which is more toxic: the deadly radiation or the unnecessary and insulting political correctness. 

Tours will occur from April to October, French said. Exhibits at the B Reactor include the exposed face of the reactor and the control room, where many visitors like to sit and be photographed at control panels, she said. 

Get ready for the scourge of "reactor selfies" and "In #control room #YOLO #Irradiated."

Best vacation ever.

The Hanford story is far from over. Jenkins noted that thousands of scientists and other workers remain active on the Hanford site, inventing and implementing new techniques to clean up the massive volume of nuclear waste. 

Hubris and madness, what a story.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.   

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

News You Can't Use: UT-Arlington Police Issue ‘All Clear’ After No Gun Found Following Scare

I'd like to apologize to my loyal readers (Yes, both of you!) for the absence but my computer finally died and insert more irrelevant and boring personal details at the end of this sentence after you finish the article. Don't forget, now! The good news is that I'm back with yet another amazing bit of useless news. In the past kids had "snow days" off from school, but thanks to global climate change caused by my automobile ownership as well as unprecedented societal health levels these have been replaced with one-day vacations for "terror," "open shooters" and "some rats got into the Michelle Obama lunches and their bloated dead bodies are now choking the halls." Today we have the extreme privilege of examining one of these incidents that just scream how everything is fine and your gun store should have your order by next week, stop bothering us.

University of Texas at Arlington says a “suspect has been apprehended,” and the “all clear” has been given.

We can now start treat this just like the weather. All clear like an azure sky on a spring day, student loan holders! The forecast for tomorrow calls for partly cloudy with a chance of major malfunction caused by lack of paternal attention.

Says the latest, and likely last Mav Alert, “Multiple sweeps of the Architecture Building have been completed. No weapon has been found. Resume normal operations.”

I initially read that as "Marv Albert." They've switched back into a zone defense of our soft targets...sweeping through the architecture zone...Roark being put in cuffs and tazed...Yes, and it counts!

Also, beep bloop beep, resume normal operations fellow biological units. Scanning complete, no threats detected. Please return to nominal protocols.

UTA police say the man had a video camera, not a gun, and that he was not a student. It’s not yet clear why they referred to him as a “suspect” in the Mav Alert.

Well, we're all suspects, right? Watch that Face Crime, brother.

He was eventually released from police custody about 90 minutes after the incident began.

This is why our taxes don't contain an itemized list of police expenses.

School is in session today, as students take final exams. 

First I find out the "roommate suicide" loophole isn't real, now this. No guns, but I have a feeling they'll be plenty of bombs on that exam.

Full Story. 

 Wow, look out Harvard.

Komment Korner, Traumatized Student Edition   

Some guy dressed in army gear walking around campus with a gun.

ain't nobody got time for that

There is a man with a gun on campus but UTA is more concerned with us still taking our finals.


Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Fiction Fragment: Spy Cam

Twenty minutes and no reply. The Over Man scowled at the screen, trying to cause someone to participate in what he thought was a very well thought out thesis by exerting the power of the will. A tap of the refresh button only confirmed the failure of his mind to influence others, even if it had evolved past good and evil and slave morality. The direct mind control of White Racial Comrades over long distances was probably still a month or two away. Face-to-face it might be a different story.
“I’m out of here.” With that statement made to the walls, the one man einsatzgruppen switched off the computer for the first time in nearly a year. Normally when the needs of The Struggle called him away from his propaganda ministry he just set the device to sleep, but not this time. It was completely off, lights out. The weight of recent events combined with the slow traffic at New Wehrmacht Reporting had led to this unthinkable moment. He actually felt pulled toward the door, which was highly unusual to say the least. Outside lurked Israeli trained killers, ZOGbots and maybe even someone of non-European hertitage. It was a bad place, in other words. Still, he had to go. If it meant becoming the modern world’s Horst Wessel, shot down by Reaction or something, that was the price he was prepared to pay.
New Bremen was still in the middle of summer, specifically that part of the season where there’s no more doubt. June has its cold days and a Wisconsin September isn’t exactly clement most of the time, but here in the exact chronological center you can’t possibly come to any conclusion other than “yeah, it’s fucking hot.”
“It’s fucking hot.” Walter cursed to himself as a combination of back spasms and the merciless assault of solar radiation sent beads of sweat racing down a face that might be mid-thirties or mid-twenties, depending on the day and the angle and how good the light is. Right now, it might have passed for forty. It was like whatever youth remained was melting off.
The first stop was the post office box. Even in this day and age of miracles of wireless transmission and the full dreams of Tesla made flesh the post is still the primary source of supply and intelligence for the aspiring Savior of the West. Sure enough, the metal cubby hole was practically bursting with letters of every size, shape and condition. With practiced movements Walter easily separated the wheat from the chaff, forming a “keep” and “discard” pile on a nearby table. It was easy, mindless work which also carried the additional bonus of air conditioning and being separated by two sets of doors from the poisoned environment where the government make-workers slaved. His mood improved rapidly, as if each letter assigned to a pile also represented an infusion of energy.
A request from the Imperial Knights of the White Fight to come to a rally somewhere in the south: discard. A letter from a NWR supporter with a badly wrinkled ten dollar bill enclosed: keep. An offer to sign up for a credit card that gave bonus points for purchasing gasoline and airline tickers: discard. A catalogue for an adult novelty company that offered erotic films, lotions and potions, and artificial vaginas: keep.
By the time the process was over the White Warrior was up nearly fifty bucks and had some nice late night reading material. Not too bad. Happily whistling the Westerwald Lied he made his exit. The next stop was the local burger joint. Even the Man of Destiny is not entirely immune from ordinary appetites, after all.
The meal of an Emperor Burger, large fries (those fucking health cranks had finally caved in and allowed it back on the menu, no more ordering three medium servings instead) and high fructose corn syrup ambrosia was simply delicious, perhaps even more so when it’s purchased with profits made from The Struggle. It would be hard to imagine most religious conceptions of heaven offering anything better than the pure bliss delivered by these All-American staples. Rivers of wine? Virgins? Keep that, brother. Give me greasy joy on a bun with some fresh cancer-causers as a side.
Perhaps somehow sensing his joy The Enemy made their move. It was at this point of greatest temporal pleasure that he encountered the spies of the NWO. It all started when two men entered, at first glance too ordinary looking suits taking a power lunch or whatever those corporate fucks call it these days. Anyone else might have ignored their presence as nothing outside ordinary experience, but the trained eyes of the Wehrmacht Reporter were not so easily fooled, quickly noting features that suggested a Jewish background or possibly even some negroid admixture.

Then there was the bag, which to someone unskilled in urban recon might have been dismissed as the ordinary paper sort used to transport take-out orders. Our hero wasn’t fooled. It first drew his attention when one of the men seemed to be very carefully placing it on the table, as if making sure it was pointed in the proper direction. A receit was stapled to the bag, which to the best of his knowledge was not a standard practice of Emperor Burger. Typical government work, half-assed and with glaring errors. The final damning evidence was what appeared to be a small slit. The spy camera must be deployed behind it. This was not a kosher burger order, no sir. These men were Mossad, CIA, FBI or maybe some combination of all three.

“Stay calm, stay calm.” The Storm Soldier whispered the words like a mantra. The sweat returned in full force, even in the cool interior of the temple of poor dietary decisions. Greasy ersatz potatoes fell from trembling fingers as he realized this might be his moment of martyrdom. Would the deadly poison darts even hurt? It was impossible not to wonder.

The two tools of the oppression were talking to each other and sipping milk shakes, apparently oblivious to the deadly game they had initiated. These guys were good, that was for sure. Most of their victims probably entered the next world with no idea how they even got there. Not this time, not this time. Erik’s hand closed around his phone.

It was time for a last stand. A final swallow of ammonia treated semi-angus beef for courage, a last bit of carbonated water for essential sugars to fuel the coming fight or flight and the White man who can see the truth was up and approaching the modern day Oprichniks, his camera phone held at arms length in front of him like a cross presented against a vampire.
“You want to take pictures?” The plan was for the statement to be delivered like an action hero, full of righteous and manly indignation, but sad reality reduced to a barely comprehensible croaking. The two men turned and for a moment there was eye contact. “I can do it to!” The second line was closer to the platonic ideal of tough guy recitation as the first outburst had cleared most of the soda’s sticky syrup off the vocal cords.
With the steely resolve of a machine gunner desperately firing his last ammunition at the advancing horde he repeatedly snapped off pictures with the phone. Like undead horrors fleeing the cleansing sunlight both of The Enemy brought up there hands, making an effort to cover their faces, as if deflecting invisible blows. Seeing his opportunity, Erik pocketed the camera and dashed for the door, fully prepared to take a silenced burst from an Israeli Uzi right between the shoulder blades. Instead, nothing. Moments later he was in his well-used car, hauling ass.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Fiction Fragment: Skateboard Punk

Digital camera in one hand and a half eaten protein bar in the other Joe Smith entered the apartment’s parking lot. He’d worked for years to build up that long, hard green bar beneath his online pen name and the last thing he wanted was to lose “reps” because of a post that was made in anger, without considering the needs of the Shredded and Jacked Up Off Topic community first. To wit, he had failed to adequately document his claims, which was almost the biggest sin a poster could commit. Being respectful to women and implying that lifting heavy objects was time poorly spent were arguably bigger violations of the societal norms, but only just. We live in an increasingly visual age and this means pictures tell the story, not words. Whether the subject was fornication, deadlift statistics or in this case a damaged vehicle the need for visual confirmation was always of paramount importance. To make such a rookie mistake was shameful and it certainly did nothing to improve an already bad mood.

A severe hangover and the possibility of being carpet-bombed with little red dots of disapproval were only the two most immediate problems. Then there was the damaged truck, the possible job loss and now they were talking about banning him from the his gym after he unpacked the contents of his stomach on the front desk, sexually harassed the lady of virtue controlling said desk, took a piss in the kiddie pool downstairs and probably a dozen other horrible acts that the black out had mercifully obscured. Worse, as far as Smith was concerned, no actual lifts had been performed and, thus, no gains were made. Why couldn’t he have done some insane, brown liquor auto-piloted deads in between kicking over a stability ball rack and trying unsuccessfully to masturbate to a breast cancer awareness poster? There was nothing for it.

The sun was high in the sky and the light and heat it was generating quickly became oppressive. The melting protein bar fell to the tar with a wet plop. Smith forced profanities through a dry throat as he threw the remaining portion of the diet supplement against the brick wall of the apartment house in an impotent act of defiance.

Essaying the full extent of the wounds suffered by his automotive penis stand-in did little to improve an already foul mood. In the harsh glare of the midday the full extent of the injuries were now visible through squinting eyes. One headlight was completely broken, its shape distorted like a boxer’s eye swelling shut in the late rounds. The dent directly adjacent resembled a rabbit punch from a titan and it was only good fortune that had allowed the wheel-well to maintain its integrity. If the unknown object had been struck at a slightly different trajectory no amount of having symbolic resemblance to scary animals or stones would have prevented the vehicle from being crippled, perhaps even totaled. As it was, the bulk of the damage to the working man’s sports car was superficial.

Unfortunately Smith was more a glass half-empty thinker. Add to that the strange fastidiousness of your typical truck owner that seems in deep contradiction to the message conveyed in the marketing and it was the spark for another blow-up.

“Aw fuck.” Snap. Picture taken. “I can’t believe this shit.” Snap. “Look at the paint job. Fucking ruined!” Snap. Snap.

“Whatcha doing, dude?” A skateboard carrying twelve-year-old interrupted the accident documentation. “Takin’ pictures for the in-surance?”

“Get out of here, poser. Do you even ride?” Joe puffed himself out like something out of the nature channel, his massive upper body threatening to tear his stained undershirt. If this little fuck wanted a symbolic dominance ritual he would get more than he could possibly handle.

“Yeah, I ride. Just watch, bitch.” The towheaded Future of America zipped past on the board, slowed down only slightly by the keys he was digging into the side of the truck.

“You’re fucking dead! You hear me?” The precious resource of youth was already zipping down a hill and well out of the range where that sort of threat could be made good. This inherent problem did little to prevent the explosion of the balls-to-the-walls lifting loose cannon. “Fuck! I’ll throw you like a kettle bell you little fuck!”

A few minutes and a near total emotional meltdown later the pictures had been merged onto the information superhighway and all was well, at least in that particular arena.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

News You Can't Use: Too Much TV as a Young Adult May Harm Brain in Mid-life

It's time for yet another entry into the "Things everybody understood fifty years ago without bothering to fund elaborate research to incorrectly prove" file as yet another "water is wet" study suggests that staring into the moron box during the formative years may, in fact, turn you into a moron. I guess the valuable looking skills don't really mean a lot compared to the extensive brain damage being caused, but if we can't defend our bad addictions what do we have left? I mean, just because some lying scientists said it doesn't mean you should change you're life, you're already perfect, didn't you see that image I posted on your "wall" on that information gathering site?

Too much television-watching in young adulthood could lead to cognitive problems in mid-life, suggested a study Wednesday that tracked more than 3,000 people for 25 years.

A quarter century of telling white coats about your glowing screen drool dish habits and making lots of that long green in the process. And hey, we might have even learned something, although the unbelievably flawed design of this study might undermine that a little bit. Still, two and a half decades well spent everyone, give yourselves a round of applause.

People who reported watching more than three hours of television per day as young adults were twice as likely to suffer from poor cognition down the road, compared to those who were more active and reported less screen time.

Maybe think twice before that "Ow! My Balls!" marathon. Poor cognition, a nice new euphemism for good ole down home idiocy we've all come to appreciate and cherish.

The research tracked 3,247 adults, aged 18-30 when they enrolled in the study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) Psychiatry.

And yet there are a few cranks who claim that academic rigor is vanishing from the mush sciences.

Scientists assessed cognitive function in the 25th year using three tests of mental processing speed, executive function and verbal memory.

No electric shocks, unlawful imprisonments or giant mazes? Man, you used to be cool, Psychiatry.

Low levels of physical activity and lots of television-watching were linked to slower processing speed and worse executive function, the study found.

Oh, by the way there were also these other confounding variables, but you're getting your news from Yahoo so you probably didn't understand most of these words anyway.

Verbal memory, however, did not appear to be affected by the amount of television time.

It's time to build your vocabulary by passively absorbing hours of "Gattaca: The Series."

The study was led by Tina Hoang of the Northern California Institute for Research and Education at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center, San Francisco; and Kristine Yaffe of the University of California, San Francisco.

That laid-back California attitude. I'll have the study done in twenty-five years, mom. Quit bugging me and harshing my buzz.

We win again! Take that, Wallonia! USA! USA!

According to Andrew Przybylski, an experimental psychologist at the University of Oxford, who was not involved in the findings, the study contained shortcomings. 

Yeah, no kidding.

"First, these data rely entirely on a potentially problematic self-reported measure for television time," he said in a statement.

You should have hooked them up to wires like a real scientist.

Researchers also did not study participants' cognitive function at the beginning of the study, in order to have a baseline for a comparison.

"I didn't feel like doing it, mom! I'm sure it won't matter." 

He also pointed out that "nearly one in three participants did not complete the study," further weakening the strength of the findings.

I could not complete this brutal marathon of writing down my idiot box habits and getting paid.

"Taken together, the work should provoke continued conversation about the nature of different forms of interactive media and underline the value of open science methodology including open datasets, pre-registered analysis plans, and robust and open peer review process," he said in a statement.

I mean, were you suckas even thinkin' bout yer pre-registered analysis plans? Your dataset is wack. 

"Until these innovations are introduced into this research literature, we will be left scratching our heads at studies like this."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an award-winning "selfie addiction" study to conduct.

Komment Korner  

The media bosses are criminals because they put out such garbage for consumers to view and suffer.

If you are subscribed to cable tv these days... you already are brain dead
Think this is bad...wait til the "techy generation" generation hits their mid 40's,this is candyland!

Thanks liberals

Seriously :(

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Saturday, November 28, 2015

DotTeeVee: NEW Footage Black Friday STAMPEDE Target Store TRAMPLING Buffalo NY 2010

I think we can all agree that atomized materialism is doing wonders to create a healthy society. One need look no further than our proud "Black Friday" traditions to see these forces of good in action. No, I'm not referring to the totally righteous 1940 Boris Karloff film where a gangster's brain takes over a scientist's body and seeks revenge, although having a set of proud folkways that revolve completely around that bit of cinematic brilliance would be totally understandable and laudable. Instead, I'm talking about the mad dash for various foreign-made products that coincides roughly with our secular, non-denominational, this ain't religious so stop asking, end of the year buying and gifting bender. It might seem clunky, but this amorphous blob of cultural soup is the only thing keeping our economy from completely collapsing (more so, I mean) so we need to accept it.

But what about the injuries and mayhem resulting from this completely church-separate dash for little glow screens and big glow screens? Today we'll examine it in the most rigorous and thoroughgoing fashion imaginable by watching a crudely edited video from five years ago and trying to draw some sort of lesson from what, on the surface, is an impenetrable and deeply nuanced issue.

"You're not gonna believe what Donald Trump did this time..."

Like any great moral lesson it starts with an anchor bunny rapidly inhaling, as if in preparation to churn out some bars in a Top 40 song about love or whatever topic is popular these days. Instead, she launches into a rapid-fire exposition dump, I guess so that the "NEW footage" will exist in some context and as such be mostly parseable. It turns out the Friday madness is over, leaving only broken bodies to cart off and tears to dry up. The Sop-Up Saturday "atmosphere" has been damaged, we are told, after the chaos that unfolded the previous evening. Specifically, one man got stuck under "crazed shoppers" and earned a trip to the Obama Card Motel. With that, we abruptly cut to the actual promised footage. Thanks News Four, I feel ready to fully comprehend the coming visual and auditory stimuli.

Three Stooges door humor isn't funny, people get hurt.

Poorly defined blobs of protoplasm rush past a fixed camera, a sort of American version of the Running of the Bulls, just with the bulls replaced with the worst human specimens available and the running an awkward jog toward the waking dreamland of assorted technology as magic from distant, mystical Cathay. I have as much aficionado as the next bro-ham, but can't help but notice that the door is blocked by entangled flesh and bone. There's various shrieking and general biological malfunction while the dazed shoppers that somehow negotiated this consumerist Brandenburg Gate walk off as if nothing is going wrong. 

Someone else will deal with this problem, just like everything. This sort of depraved indifference toward suffering bipeds made in the image of GOD is perhaps more understandable when you remember there's a 20% discount on the new line of moron boxes. 

"Oh my God!" is the highly original sentiment that breaks through the confused babble. Meanwhile, the people getting paid to solve these sort of problems are deploying themselves, no doubt eager to end this eight hour shift nightmare and drink this entire sad episode into oblivion. Also, there's some profanity, but thankfully it gets censored because watching the dregs of humanity tear themselves apart is one thing and hearing someone say "shit" is quite another.

The reason for the season.

A forceful order to "Back up!" is issued and someone actually has the stones to say "No!" in response. Man, the nihilist conspicuous consumption month sure brings out the best in us. More shoppers trickle in like drops from a stuck faucet and some of the philosopher kings in this door-crashing cult express dismay at the actions of their fellow Morlocks, using deleted four-letter vocabulary to do so, of course.

Finally the victims are freed from their predicament, allowing them to display their all-American beer guts and collapse against barriers while showing signs of distress. Would another 10% off selected items make you feel better? 

 Just fall into those carts, that's the best place to heal.

To grind in additional indignity to an already pathetic situation some captions are edited in, including "Tom in obvious pain" with an arrow pointing toward him in case it wasn't clear and "Tom getting trampled at Target on Black Friday 2010." Precious memories, the seeds we plant in our hearts that grow in this fertile soil and bear beautiful flowers as we age and reflect on a life well-lived. 

More shoppers enter, swearing, jumping around and generally displaying the lack of remorse or basic human empathy that is to be expected when a phone is marked down slightly. Then, as ironic counterpoint, the Target logo appears, as if this was a commercial. Sure, some guy who could stand to lose a few pounds has foot-shaped bruises on his back, but consider the value.  The maker of the video then blames Target for the every person against every other person we just witnessed, which I guess is fair. It's their fault for making us want the products so much that we commit crimes, that's logical. 

We close with a close-up shot of some rando who I guess might have been the guy in the video or whatever. It's got a very saccharine "Save the pets" feel to it, that's for sure. For only a dollar a day this man could have just bought that electronic toilet whenever. Won't you help by agreeing to pay those higher prices and maybe shopping in a month that isn't December? 

 My reasoning is so sound I don't need proper formatting.

Komment Korner   

I wanna punch these people in the faces

I would carry a gun if i were dumb enough to even go out on black friday

Stores like this should be  sued for neglecting to provide crown control

I hope they ALL BURN IN HELL!!!!!!!!!

0:45 to 0:50 HEY THAT's ME Wearing a sabres jersey

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, November 25, 2015

News You Can't Use: Fox News Contributor Gets Death Threats for Mocking Star Wars Fans

It's about time to make that list of things to be thankful for, but let's instead make a list of things we'd be willing to kill or die for because that's also psychologically healthy and hey, Fox News, haw haw. What would make your list? Televised games? The inherent, god-given right to fantasy football? Dead bird gluttony? Sure, all of that seems reasonable enough, but what about that new Star Wars film, featuring lots of sand, thrilling computerized animations and maybe an awesome sub-plot where elderly Chewbacca gets checked into a nursing home and the caregivers are stealing his possessions and then lying about it to his remaining loved ones, even going so far as claiming old age dementia is making him "imagine" the thefts. Yes, this very necessary follow-up to Part Six: Revenge of the Jedi that will answer all your nagging questions (Do they ever get that spice trading deal signed or what?) is definitely worth displacing your keyboard psychopath over.

Not everyone is excited about seeing Star Wars: The Force Awakens in theaters this holiday season.

These unimpressed people are also sometimes referred to as "mature adults" or "non-losers."

Last month, Fox News contributor Katherine Timpf jokingly insulted fans who were excited for the newest trailer during a guest stint on the late-night political comedy show Red Eye w/ Tom Shillue. Now, Timpf has revealed she’s recieving death threats for her comments.

First all those LYING LIES about the desert oil war or whatever and now this. What is it with Fox News and sand that just doesn't work out? I mean it's rough and gets everywhere instead of being smooth and soft like you, Princess, but still.

“I have never had any interest in watching space nerds poke each other with their little space nerd sticks, and I’m not going to start now,” Timpf shared on the original broadcast.

You know what, from now on I'm going to start calling it my "space nerd stick." "Yeah, I'm poking you with dat space nerd stick, baby. You like that? Yeah, you like that." The various rando encounters will just have to accept this as part of my amazing total package.

You people are crazy. You Star Wars people are crazy. Yesterday I tweeted something, and all I said was that I wasn’t familiar with Star Wars because I’ve been too busy liking cool things and being attractive — people threatened my life.

I'm too busy being the world's most important person, rocking it nine days a week and generally laying down the awesome to understand the pathetic troglodyte fantasy world you losers inhabit. Don't get angry, you crazy nut, I'm just telling it like it is.

You’re not really branding yourself in a way that makes me want to join your life-threatening club.

The first rule (and second rule, too) of life-threatening club is you don't talk about life-threatening club. If this is your first time someone will threaten your life tonight.

On Tuesday, Timpf wrote a piece published by the National Review, sharing her thoughts on online bullying and noting that she wouldn’t back down in the face of threats.

Getting paid to bust on nerds and then pretend you're the victim, it must be nice.

“A lot of people are clearly a lot of upset. But guess what? I’m not apologizing,” Timpf wrote.

You misspelled "Trump" in this line clearly lifted from every article about The Donald published since June.

This political-correctness obsession threatens free speech, and I absolutely refuse to be a part of it.

Yeah, this is a Fox News deep thinker all right.

Live long and prosper.

Bottom line: If you are telling me that I should die and/or apologize for making a joke about a movie you like, then you are too sensitive

Let's argue over which over-reaction is appropriate, that's an efficient use of our time.

I’m sick of oversensitive mobs in our overly sensitive society bullying people into saying that they’re sorry over jokes

I'm the one who is supposed to be doing the bullying, since I'm attractive and have a great life and don't have time for that geek stuff, etc.

So, for that reason, I will not apologize.

Apologize or do not apologize. There is no "try to apologize."

Komment Korner   


Those threatening her don't seem to realize they are on the dark side.  

Pretty sure nobody likes Fox correspondents for their brains.

I think she's pretty cute - need to see her standing up.

You think this is bad, wait until nano and femto aggressions.  

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Short Fiction: Gift

It was Christmas morning, back in an era where calling it as such was simply frowned upon instead of bordering on a hate crime. Erik Kramer had been waiting for this day for weeks but still managed to sleep until noon when it finally arrived. Feeding a lazy and unhealthy lifestyle always has to take precedence, even when matched against the great passions. Passions like the love of personal computing. Yeah, it’s right up there with the need for social recognition, meaningful employment and the in-out.

“Well, look who’s finally up.” His father was at the kitchen table casually reading an engineering journal as if it was one of those “guess who showed her crotch getting into a car” celebrity rags. His kind eyes glistened behind glasses that were something of an engineering feat in their own right, held together by faith and more than a little tape. It was cheaper than buying a new pair and Mr. Kramer was never one to put the needs of Big Lens ahead of his own interests. “Thought you’d want to get that computer going right away. Even I wanted to open it, but you know, proper decorum.” He emitted a burst of high-pitched laugher, but quickly regained a serious demeanor. This was an issue of importance and that was not to be forgotten.
“Sorry Dad, I was just real tired.” The younger Kramer began filling a bowl with a cereal that had more in common with the items found in the candy isle than the bread one. Coated on sugar glistened in the noon sunlight, reflected off the drifting snow outside the house.
“Well, a growing boy needs a lot of sleep. That’s what they say.” The bespectacled gaze remained fixed on a peer-reviewed article about new advances in engine tolerance. Silence, broken only by the steady crunching of a not-quite-complete breakfast now prevailed. It wasn’t long before an empty bowl clattered its way into the sink.
“Ok Dad, let’s pop this sucker out.” The excitement that had been barely bottled up over the past month, since the gift’s selection became official, now came in one nearly overwhelming rush. He felt light-headed, despite the ample amount of simple sugars now powering the organic machine. This was, after all, his first time. Using the school computer lab didn’t count. This time the sweet fruit of centuries of applied mathematical and electrical research was all his, to have and to hold.
Erik had recently turned seventeen and was working on his Junior year. It had been a year spent buried in studies, frequent visits to said computer room and more and more isolation from an increasingly irrelevant peer group. For the most part it wasn’t missed and he could easily convince himself that nothing of value was being missed by forging friendships primarily with inanimate devices, but sometimes the loneliness would creep in and start to gnaw. The solution was to retreat further. He’d started taking his lunch in the chemistry room and sometimes passed entire days without saying more than a few words to someone his age.
No loss, though. They were just fucking wasters and jocks and rich phonies anyways. Last year, for example, they made a hero out of a Freshman who knocked some other knuckle dragger out. Yeah, what a hero. Fuck ‘em.

Discarded plastic bags, packing peanuts and the like soon blanketed the floor of the living room like a highly unusual indoor snowfall. From these various baby-chokers emerged the various components that would provide the necessary vehicle for the journey down the amazing highway of information that was slowly emerging as something Big Business regarded as a fad with limited mainstream appeal and many from the older generation regarded as the new C.B. Radio.
Not his father, though. This was one of the nice things about having a tech-geek in the role of Baby Daddy. If anything he was the one struggling to keep up while Dad rattled off technical specifications as if they were statistics from a hero athlete or something. Erik was just glad to upgrade from a word processor that was little more than a glorified typewriter to a true cutting edge machine that would probably stave off obsolescence for at least six months, maybe even a year.
“She’s a beauty all right. You be sure to treat her like the lady she is.” The computer now occupied the place of honor formerly reserved for the King Typewriter, Mark III. With that special combination of grinding, flashing and fanning that signals the beginning of any true romance the device came to life. The day was finally here. From now on every event would be designated by whether it occurred before or after the beginning of the personal internet age.
It didn’t take long to get online and begin the journey down the amazing hole of technology. At some point his father left the room, but the departure went completely unnoticed. It was almost a form of the astral separation, leaving the mortal shell to become part of pure technology, no more distinction between man and machine. Dinner was replaced with a bag of chips and a bottle of carbonated sugar and even that seemed like a considerable imposition considering the importance of the techno-merger that was being consummated. By the time Erik came up for air it was eight the next morning. He noted the time, shrugged, and went back into the online life substitute.
A full week passed and it was time to go back to school. While other human units had stories of vacations and family and all that other flesh-n-blood In Real Life nonsense, there was only one issue of concern for the newest citizen of the online world.
When can I get back on the computer? Everything else dissolved into trivial unreality, if it had ever had any substance to begin with.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, November 18, 2015

News You Can't Use: Clinton Goes after Laugh Factory Comedians for Making Fun of Her

I've got this highly unique eccentricity where I like to laugh and "have fun" as it's called by some of the others with this rare (and special!) disease. The search for ways of satisfying this endless lust for braying like some sort of animal at the wonky hilarity is starting to become more and more difficult, however. Comedy in general, and especially actual satire or parody that requires a modicum of effort, is now something of an enemy, a retrograde force that's hurting our progress. If it's not offending or "othering" someone you can bet that you'll find out my brother died that way and it ain't funny. Failing that, how about the goon squad deployed by the worst Secretary of State in America's history (other than Robert Lansing, of course) and future Presidential runner-up and historical footnote.

In what appears to be a first for a serious presidential contender, Hillary Clinton’s campaign is going after five comedians who made fun of the former Secretary of State in standup skits at a popular Hollywood comedy club.

It's also a bit of a first for a so-called "free and open society" but get used to those, you've got one more year packed full of them.

A video of the short performance, which is less than three minutes, is posted on the website of the renowned club, Laugh Factory, and the Clinton campaign has tried to censor it.

Not content to destroy more conventional heavy industry we now must declare war on our Laugh Factories. The guffaw machines are being moved to China, creation of Mountain Dew spitting on keyboard material will be outsourced to the usual suspects. Thanks for all you've done, a security guard will be along to treat you like a criminal and show you out momentarily.

Besides demanding that the video be taken down, the Clinton campaign has demanded the personal contact information of the performers that appear in the recording.

Just gonna stop by your house for a "friendly" visit, no unpersoning, we promise.

This is no laughing matter for club owner Jamie Masada, a comedy guru who opened Laugh Factory more than three decades ago and has been instrumental in launching the careers of many famous comics.  

These horrible puns are mandatory and will become more common as we send jesting and buffoonery to foreign shores to cut costs.

“They threatened me,” Masada told Judicial Watch. “I have received complains before but never a call like this, threatening to put me out of business if I don’t cut the video.”

Good thing this happened in the middle of the week when there was no hand bladder games or no one would care.

The five short performances that Clinton wants eliminated include some profanity and portions could be considered crass, but some of the lines are funny and that’s what the Laugh Factory is all about.

I mean, I'm an unbelievably sophisticated cultural aficionado with the highest possible standards for my video games and Red Box comedies, but I could see the lumpenproles enjoying this, crude as it may be.

 Yeah, really.

The skits make fun of Clinton’s wardrobe, her age, sexual orientation, the Monica Lewinsky scandal and the former First Lady’s relationship with her famous husband. 

The humor of 1994 is back and better than ever with this classic compilation featuring all your favorites including "I didn't inhale" zingers and the inherent comedic value of adulterous fellatio.

The Laugh Factory has appropriately titled it “Hillary vs. The First Amendment.”

I thought she was still fighting her own e-mail account. 

He insists that the comedy stage is a sanctuary for freedom of speech no matter who is offended. 

The boot kicking down your door and stomping on your face politely disagrees.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Friday, November 13, 2015

Short Fiction: Normalcy of Evil

A person doesn’t just stumble into becoming a serial murderer and mad bomber. On the other hand that’s almost exactly how it happens. These sort of paradoxes are both good and necessary when the issue of complete system failure within civilized human resources is addressed. In some senses there is a dramatic event horizon a person crosses, a moment where the darkness fully embraces the soul and all goodness perishes. On the other hand it’s all so fucking banal. It even starts to become very understandable and its at that point that we have to retreat back to ideas about moral Rubicons and psychotic breaks and all the rest. The banality of evil is hard enough, but the normalcy of evil? It can never be admitted if this thing we call civilization is going to have any chance of getting a second wind.
Nature and nurture, all the forces of the invisible but undeniable structure that supports every silly little thing that seem very important before one looks death square in the face and lets the illusion of sanity drain away. The illusions, the mythologies, they still have power even after this encounter. They creep back in and the false comforts are difficult to resist, especially in light of the alternative. The upshot of all this bullshit is that there is no single moment that defines any given human soul, just slow slides toward a direction that is probably almost completely predetermined, broken up by occasional retreats or halting inertia provided by moments of genuine happiness and connection to the world. They’re fleeting and then the steady drift toward destiny resumes.
He was at a bar, trying his best to both fit in and stand out all at the same time. Not easy. Conflicting bits of advice from websites that taught “game” and polite society that teaches everything but that swirled behind glazed eyes, the eyes of a toad. The half empty scotch-n-soda was held at chest level, almost like a holy cross to ward off the freaks that came out with the night, even in an idealistic suburban bubble. It took tremendous force of will to force the prop back down to waist level, where it would communicate the confidence of the pack leader, according to some half-remembered website. A warm drop of sweat slid down the side of his face. It was late summer, deep in the dog days. The press of warm bodies and the stress of having to “assume the sale” within this meat market was not helping.
Yeah, genetics and conditioning. Add in existing societal structures and expectations and you’ve got your holy trinity. The drink was back up in front of a quivering, moist sternum. Thirty Five years old. Happy fucking birthday. Thinning list of women who even acknowledge your existence, thinning patience, thinning hair, widening midsection, all that shit. It was time to change it. Three second approach, don’t want to be a coward or worse a beta. No turning back now, target acquired. The glass flew back to the beltline with a spastic jerk, spilling water and booze on his cool new shoes. A man sliding toward a happier future might make some crack about the alligators being hungry and giving them a drink, but he was nearly paralyzed by a combination of fear and narrowed purpose.
 “You ready to get out of here?” It came out as a an awkward squawk. The female target turned slightly toward the source of the unpleasant outburst, orange skin crunching itself into exaggerated disapproval. That or a catcher’s mitt with light blue eyes.
 “What did you say?” Just a small hint of carefree mirth peeked through the heavy weight of social rejection and it was enough to encourage that this doomed mission to pound crotch would continue to its inevitable crash and burn.
 “I was thinking we should get out of here.” He felt faint, light and dark and wacky signs and beer ads and bottles of all shapes and colors swirled into a hedonistic blur. Then everything focused in on that unnaturally tinted face, the face of a tanning bed angel.  
She laughed, but the mirth was gone now, replaced by dismissive malice. “Get lost.” A staggered retreat, more unpleasantly joyful braying as the only companion for the promised activity of getting out of there.
You can’t blame it on that one moment, or really any other. The first murder didn’t happen for several days and was a random victim instead of the obvious choice. It was the end of a long and lonesome road, not a sudden deviation caused by failure in love. That’s not to say that the undrained testes don’t play a major role in these sort of crimes, because they certainly do, but let’s not lose all the other complexities to simple myopia. If you want to keep it simple just blame crap nu-metal and the video game boogey man. It’s easy and no one with any real power would ever call you out for it.
Days passed after that failure to fire the love rocket and then there was that encounter with the human road kill, another precious soul in GOD’s image whose own pathetic path toward ruin was cut short by a merger with a tough as all Hell truck. It probably had at least some impact on the decision to start human-hunting, but it’s hard to say. Tuck that shit into a file, stamp “not otherwise specified” on it and forget it, we don’t have much more time to spend on this.
Then the kill. Just a blur, spraying blood, knife reflecting the moonlight, muscles aching from the effort. It might have been a minute, but it passed by in a few seconds. Back to the hole in the wall, over the toilet, the yellow yawn. Insides feeling like they’re being shredded, body shaking, consciousness lost into a vanishing point. The “I’ll never do this again, ever” of a regretful drunk, knowing full well that he inevitably would, that free will was nothing but a cruel joke at this point, that something was broken in the mind. Not even something large, not a universal joint or the like. Just one tiny part. But it was enough to compromise the entire system.
 Then another and another. Bomb making materials. Auto-pilot. Hurt by so few, but everyone has to pay. Humanity lost. Another interesting story for the back page of the paper. We can all shake our heads and cluck and “there but by the grace of god” and all that shit. Yeah, that’s you. 

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.  

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

News You Can't Use: Police Probe Alleged Raiders Player’s Taunting Of K-9

Are you ready for some football? Hopefully not, because what you're getting is another story of banal criminality from an American hand-bladder player. It turns out that some amount of dog taunting may have occurred and before you dismiss this as not that big a deal let me remind you that the NFL's record toward our furry friends is not the greatest, from an endless string of pitifully bad Cleveland Brown dawg pound teams to that bit of unpleasantness with the kennels that bring bad news to the refusal to allow Air Bud to become a cross-sport superstar because of a rules technicality.

Police are investigating the alleged taunting of a police K-9 by a member of the Oakland Raiders at Heinz Field Sunday afternoon.

It's the sort of unbelievably complicated and nuanced case that requires great scrutiny. Was he really taunting? Let's go under that hood for an official's time out and try to determine it while home viewers are pummeled with another volley of sickening commercialism.

According to police, the incident happened as the Raiders were taking the field for their matchup with the Steelers.

Just commit crimes, baby.

We were immediately notified about the incident, and we immediately initiated a criminal investigation into the matter. Sheriff’s Office supervisors interviewed witnesses and reviewed video surveillance recordings at Heinz Field.

We must determine if the taunting broke the plane of the five yard "halo" around the hero-animal.

Sources tell our Rich Walsh that the player has been identified as linebacker Ray-Ray Armstrong. 

Whether we can call him Ray, or we can call him Ray, or we can call him Ray-Ray remains unknown as of this writing.

Sources say Armstrong lifted up his shirt, beat his chest, and started barking and yelling at the K-9 before the start of the game. The dog had to be restrained.

Somehow that full-ride scholarship to an alleged university failed to instill basic civility or a reluctance to reenact scenes from "The Good Son."

Taunting a police K-9 is a felony in Pennsylvania. 

Bear-bothering remains a misdemeanor unless the bruin in question is currently trying to hibernate.

"I can't believe I looked up to a guy that messes with animals. I think I'll go back to law school."

The Oakland Raiders and Armstrong have been made aware of the situation. 

Are you even aware, bro? As it turns out, yes.

Don't bother with the ad-riddled source:

Komment Korner   

I can hear John Madden say something like "I really like this kid, Ray-Ray. He's quick. He's tough. My kinda player. Here comes now. And look, he's got a dog chas'en him!

What the police are doing is humanizing an animal.

That's why I'm a baseball fan.

Taunting, number 57 of the defense, 15 year maximum, FIRST DOWN!!!

Hey, Ray-Ray leave that dog alone.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.  

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Liveblogging Saturday Night Live

10:20 CST It took an almost unbelievable convergence of events, but I'm actually excited about watching what passes for comedy on network television. Please keep in mind that I regard the moron box and popular culture in general as, not to put too fine a point on it, a steaming pile of fetid rotting garbage coated with puke and left in the oppressive glare of the Day Star. However, this is no mere "Ow my balls" episode, as our future president will be joining in the hee hawing. This is the Moon Landing of the current generation. A show that hasn't been culturally relevant in decades and hasn't been funny in longer than that is about to bring the goods, plus there's some horrible pop act as a "musical guest" because let's see you write ninety minutes of humor that wouldn't even make a sober person smile a little, tough guy.

10:23 Turns out there's a football game tomorrow, according to the local news. Oh man, drop everything, it's super important.

10:29 Posting on Twitter, because I'm a master of all technologies, not just ink on paper.

10:31 Pity laughter for "forum" humor.

10:32 Also there will be "D" and "L" in tonight's episode, so no watching this until you're eight, little Timmy.

10:34 Is the Trump gonna start soon? Seriously, enough foreplay let's get this thing on.

10:36 Can we get some "kayak" applause going? No? How about some "old" jokes?

10:39 Live from New York, home of CHUDs, mole people, heroin addicts in Hello Kitty costumes, the Death Wish vigilante, etc.

10:41 Power tie, hair fully deployed, the nice guy is here.

10:44 Actually trolling the "yell out racist" bounty, I'm dying here. And that's already it. Well, we needed to draw out the Bernie Sanders boating sketch, I guess. 

Let me tell my vacuum pennies joke, please?

10:50 The check for the wall arrives, first legitimate laugh in this segment.

10:52 This would be about the point your ordinary teevee viewer would need to empty the drool dish.

10:53 Already cigarette paper thin concept beaten into the ground, yup, that's network comedy all right.

10:56 Fallout 4. Look forward to losing hundreds of hours to that when I finally go next-gen in 2019.

10:59 Live tweeting the next sketch. This is a mirror pointed at another mirror, now.

11:01 Tweets with no hash tags. I guess they have to kind of hold the hand of the average television viewing troglodyte who wouldn't get the joke here anyway.

11:04 Look at the dance moves, they're silly! Should be good for an eight minute sketch, maybe longer.

11:07 The "Walmart Sitcom" the world was just begging for. You've come a long way from "Is that where you buy walls?" television writers.

11:09 Is this like a Lady Gaga tribute band or something?

11:10 You know what would make this performance better? Kata.

11:12 We need more songs about the amazing virtues of breathing.

11:17 Ben Carson and his grain pyramids get a low-effort going over.

11:21 Sorry "penis" is not inherently funny.

11:24 Time for some of that patented East Coast contempt for middle America.

11:26 Cutting-edge "all look the same" humor. I've got another thirty minutes worth of this. Gah.

11:28 Oh I get it...alcoholism. Ha.

11:32 ...see the kids today don't know about the jazz. Also, laser harp.

11:37 Wow, unrated and with so-called "deleted scenes?" On DVD? What a time to be alive.

11:40 This show is breaking down my will to resist.

11:42 Please help me record my demo, Mr. Trump.

11:48 Lindsay Graham phone humor, I guess I'll take it.

11:49 Cool, an entirely new bland, unappealing and aesthetically ridiculous performance.

11:50 She's been cocooned, just like the others.

11:55 Saving the best for last, clearly.

11:57 Boner. Why aren't you laughing? Don't you get it???

11:58 Nixon humor, nice and topical like the core audience of this drivel likes it.

12:00 What kind of show runs past the hour? This is a shuck.

12:01 How do you see with that hair? Also, vote Trump.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here. 

Wednesday, November 4, 2015

News You Can't Use: Not Lovin' It!

It's been hard times for the Clown Burger lately, with uneducated and unskilled workers demanding competitive Fortune 500 salaries, all day Breakfast Balls wreaking havoc on service and employee morale (At least the guy from "Falling Down" is happy), the fitness movement we are told should be kicking off any day now threatening profits and the revelation that the "meat" is actually this vile pink sludge that most carrion animals would avoid. If all of that wasn't enough, and it is, you've now got to add thuggery and slap-fighting to this potent cocktail of fast grease-food failure. Yes, it turns out that the Arches of Gold are showing a bit of tarnish, but they're going to battle to the finish, desperately trying to get that tie back the entire while.

A McDonald's drive-thru employee and an unhappy customer exchanged several blows in a brutal fight Monday night and it was all caught on camera.

It's "brutal" in the same way that Tom and Jerry cartoons are, but since society has perfected itself and physical violence is practically unheard of you can see why we have to warn you.

The shocking footage was filmed by Gabe Hart, another customer who pulled in to the drive-thru to snag a Big Mac at the restaurant on Stinson Boulevard located in the Quarry shopping northeast Minneapolis, Minnesota.

What started as a plan to take "Cheeseburger Selfies" somehow became something much, much more.

'I hadn't eaten much since lunch time, and I was driving by a McDonald's , so I thought I'd just swing in and pick up a Big Mac,' Hart told LiveLeak.

I live a rich and meaningful life, full of decidedly non-banal activities, but when you're hungry you're hungry.

'It looked like when the McDonald's guy handed him his cash and change back he dropped some of the dude's change.'

The value of our personal dignity: less than one dollar in coins.

'That's when he got out of his car, spit on the drive through window and tried to punch the McDonald's guy and that's when I started recording.'

It must be depressing for the employee to realize that even while under direct attack from a coin-pinching lunatic he's still "The McDonald's Guy." Would you like some dehumanization with that?

The 67-second long video starts with the driver, who is wearing shorts, dragging the employee, 22-year-old Bernard Robinson III, nearly half way out of the restaurant's small window by his uniform tie.  

First thing: they make burger-flippers wear ties now? No wonder they expect executive salaries. Second: the tie is nothing but weakness. It can land in soup, it's uncomfortable on the neck even in the best of times and it clearly provides a very convenient "Get over here!" handle for belligerent valued customers.

As another team member at the restaurant stands behind Robinson, he can be heard on tape yelling, 'Man, he got my m******-f****** tie.'  

Under the circumstances it's as sensible a comment as any other.

At the same time, Robinson grips the customer's head and appears to be trying to pull him inside through the window while saying, 'Get your a** in here.' 

Just take off the neck rag! You have the power to end this!

The sound on the footage becomes slightly inaudible, as the customer says something to Robinson who responded by saying, 'When you let go of my tie, I'm f***** you up.'

Well, if that's the case I'm not letting go.

I've got your twenty dollars an hour right here.

Shortly after, the customer loses his grip and the pair finally separate as the video ends.  

Nobody learned anything and now my freedom fries will probably be cold.

He explained that a member of his crew needed to make change for the customer's $100 bill he used to pay for his $3 item. 

Between this guy and the guy that pays in pennies it's a small miracle these incidents aren't constantly happening.

'I'm arguing with the guy, one of my crew tries to close the window, and he pushes it open,' Robinson stated.

I've already excised the parts were I was the aggressor so I'll look better.

McDonald's director of operations issued the following statement about the fight to Mail Online: 'We are aware of the concerning incident involving an employee and a customer earlier this week. We are working with the local police in their investigation of this matter.'

"Education and awareness are the key to stopping these incidents."

Komment Korner

He got a big smack and fries  

take that tie off. round two. BEGIN!

In the UK, case would be dropped due to lack of evidence

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Twistaplot #14 Instant Millionaire

Last time we were promised fame and riches, but instead got bullied by puppies with flippers and survived quicksand thanks to the author actually researching that topic and understanding that basic swimming skills would save you easily. Today we're going to continue the theme of unearned McDuck money by examining the Twistaplot interpretation of this cultural touchstone. Truly I am a glutton for misery. At least this one promises to actually examine the impact of sudden material acquisition, as opposed to the Which Way book with three lame stories that had little, if anything, to do with making bank other than that providing the loosest of rationales to tie together tepid detective, explorer and kidnapping stories that weren't substantial enough to fill up 90-odd heavily truncated pages on their own.

Charlie Sheen's childhood.

While "Famous and Rich" had a fairly substantial, if goofy, set-up involving a mysterious old man with poorly defined magical powers this one simply kicks off with an invitation to choose a lottery number. Yes, just one. Presumably they'll be about 100 billion balls in the world's largest tumbler for this to actually work. I'm really feeling good about 25,594,120,001, my personal lucky number. One point for improving on "A wizard did it!" to drive the plot, minus several dozen for the abruptness of the opening and for encouraging underage gambling. Come on R.L. Stine, you're supposed to scare the kiddies, not turn them into low rollers.

I won this 43 times in 1996, but failed to send $800 through Western Union to claim my winnings.

There's four numbers to choose from and I decide to go with 50 because I've devised a system that can defeat random number generation. It turns out this number does not, in fact, win the millions promised in the title but instead nets the "jumbo" prize. An elephant. Get it? Haw. There's a reference to telling "Uncle Clyde" (always an Uncle in these) to stock up on peanuts, because it's always a good idea to introduce new characters literally two sentences away from "The End" and why not grind in a little extra indignity after having the equivalent of one of those loser doors from "Let's Make a Deal" open up rather than a highly satisfying Twistaplot Mammon fantasy. 

From start to finish I read less than one full paperback page worth of text. Great for little Timmy trying to pull a fast one on his 1987 fourth grade book report, maybe somewhat less ideal for an hilarious blog review in the waning days of 2015. 

The End.

I'm sure there's lots of amazing plot lines where you get one million American in a time where that was considered a fairly large sum of money, but not for me. I'm not even sure what else to say, other than to note the fact that I'm one book closer to being done with Twistaplot forever, which undoubtedly is a positive note we can end on, rather than being angry about a two page story-line that can be summed up by the false idea that there's something inherently funny about large land animals.

You're as trusting as an elephant, bro.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.