(posted by t.j. peters)
While reading through my American Way magazine — yes, that’s the in-flight magazine for American Airlines, and yes, I also have subscriptions to Hemispheres (United), Spirit (Southwest), and Morning Calm (Korean Air) — I came across a very interesting article in the “Up Close” section. If you’re looking through your stack of Way’s right now, pick out the March 1 issue. It’s on page fifteen.
As described in the article “Night at the Museum (or Zoo. . . or Aquarium)”, apparently many museums, or zoos, or aquariums across the country have started late night and overnight programs designed to create new interest in science and nature amongst adults. Though it sounds like a noble goal, I see right through their “making education fun” façade, especially in the case of the San Diego Zoo’s “Roar and Snore Sleepover Program”, which is essentially a slumber party on the grounds of the park. My suspicion of foul intentions inspired me to do a little more research, so I visited the SDZ’s website and read their description of the event. In one excerpt, it eerily notes:
Start your evening with a’ Journey into Africa’ tour focusing on the fiercest competitors out in the field. Then start stretching, because the race is on! Hope you listened during that tour. . .
Oh how quickly this has become a Tsavo maneaters situation. Do you see it now? The San Diego Zoo is luring unknowing men and women to their Wild Animal Park in the dead of night under the guise of “adventure” to race the fiercest competitors they have?! “Roar and Snore” visitors, I hate to say this, but you’re the late night snack at this slumber party.
Here’s the Zoo’s strategy, best I can tell: Most predatory animals hunt at night, making the daytime patrons safe, so the SDZ devised a plan to get prey in the park at feeding time. It makes perfect sense. Have you ever seen a lion at the zoo? I’m sure you have, and if your experience was anything like mine, he looked something like this:
On multiple visits I’ve spent thirty minutes or more at the lion cage waiting for that supposedly savage beast to kill something and this is what I get every time—Lazy Leo sunbathing with his fuzzy balls staring me in the face. But I guess if I want the real deal, I have to attend the SDZ’s “Roar and Snore (and Have a Lion Rip Your Fucking Face Off) Sleepover Program”. . . so, despite my fears, I will. As of right now, I’m planning to attend the event on June 26. Mark your calendars, Poop or Chocolatiers, because from here on out all you can do is prey for the hunters. . .
My name is t.j. and the cost of being eaten by a lion “varies, depending on the program.”
(posted by ben axelrad)
I can’t believe another week has passed and I’m out here soap-boxing for SNL again. I haven’t even had time to watch last week’s episode yet, which I realize is sheer blasphemy. It’s like the Pope not having time for Christmas – and not just because Zach Galifianakis looks like a young Santa. Or at least it would be like that if Christmas came twenty times a year for an hour and a half on the weekend. Though, really, wouldn’t that better exemplify the true spirit of Christmas? Whatever, you guys are a bunch of TV Jews. Watch this while I wrap your stupid presents:
Are your eyes scorching from staring directly into the Jude Law? I should’ve warned you. Listen J-Law, I don’t know what passes for handsome in froggy ol’ Britain but in America you need to put a bag over that head. Get over here, I’ve got some extra gift wrap. In this case the wrap is the gift. U-K-L-Y you have got an alibi, you British, you you, you Brit-ish. Let me wrap that mug like it says “WORLD’S GREATEST DADDY.” Looking at you makes my eyeballs long for the soothing relief of pepper spray. You’re the Prince of Walrus. If you were any uglier I’d stop getting a boner every time I look at you. Am I right, my manly mens?!
In news that is true, the magnificent movie MYSTERY TEAM is at the NuArt Theatre in Los Angeles starting today for the next week. Angelinos, go out and support the film sometime between now and next Thursday evening. DERRICK dudes A’ing your Q’s at all evening shows. I’ll be there one night and promise to also A your Q if A’ed at an appropriate T.
My name is Ben and I blogged this.
(posted by josh golden)
I kept hearing noises when I lay in bed at night. Every five minutes I sprung awake like that damn Don’t Wake Daddy board game. What was waking daddy, you ask? I have a theory. You see, just a two weeks ago I relocated from my well-hidden studio in a quiet neighborhood tucked in the Silverlake hills, down to a city street bungalow, and I have noticed a certain difference. I think I have finally been exposed to ghosts.
It makes perfect sense. The sounds of things falling in the night, the figures peering in my window. My apartment is obviously haunted; my entire neighborhood even! These ghosts only come out at night, though, because during the day the only signs of the haunting are found in pairs of tennis shoes tied to power lines. Only a ghost could float up there and play such a devious trick.
One night I was sure I heard the sound of a car possessed by the spirit of a driver who must’ve enjoyed Reggaeton during his living life. I threw open the blinds, my curiousity getting the best of me. I had to see one of these spirits. There they were! Three of them huddled under the yellow glow of a street lamp. Each shrouded in a black hood, like the reaper. Their spirit energy was escaping from their mouths in clouds. I had to make contact!
I stumbled out the door in my pajamas holding an old oil lantern and slowly approach. “Wut up, Ol’ Bitch?!” a ghost booms out, nodding to me. Quickly I pretend that I’m going to my car to get something, keeping my head down and my mouth shut.
Since then I have made peace with the spirits doomed to wander my neighborhood for all existence, tormented by spells and invisible boundaries. They’re actually really wonderful. So you see, there really never was a reason to hide under my bed sheets in the first place. From the ghosts. Not minorities.
. . .
Someone should probably tell the South about this. Y’know, because of their racism towards ghosts.
My name is Josh and I’ve got the spirit.
(posted by ben axelrad)
Hey, t.j.’s old pal Mel (old describes the person, not the friendship) is pulling double duty hocking wares for classesUSA also!
It’s time we stop witch-hunting the clearly upstanding people at LowerMyBills.com and focus on the real culprits: These old bastards selling their souls to the devil called viral marketing. Mel, I question your advertorial integrity. *Gasp* if you want, motherfuckers, I said it.
When I heard he needed to consolidate his debt I believed it, because he is ancient and has outlived even the best intentions of the Social Security Administration by a quarter century. Slow death leaves old folks penniless, so debt consolidation matters to Mel and his fellow hangers-on.
But financial aid? That’s a young man’s game, Melonius. You can’t afford to finish your degree less because of the money and more because thinking too hard could cause your dusty brain to explode like old dynamite (dibs on old dynamite as a nickname for my penis). Furthermore, this advertisement is civically irresponsible. The higher education system is badly over-populated and in desperate need of re-conceptualization as a parametric equation, particularly as regards non-viole … I’m thinking of the prison system, aren’t I? Scratch that last point then. Just focus on the part about Mel dying from extra thoughts.
I’m about to coin a term for ads like these that will undoubtedly sweep the nation and win several awards for blog genius. That term is … wait for it … hey, where are you going? I said wai … Alright, I’ll tell you! It’s “Mousetraps.” The term is “Mousetraps.” Get it? The advertisement is the trap, Mel is the cheese, and your mouse is the mouse (convenient, huh?). The mouse runs over the cheese and gets caught in the trap. Only a fool with the brains of a mouse gets caught in a mousetrap, literal or figurative. Though a mouse-brained fool might actually benefit from a clickable advertisement about additional schooling so maybe the ends justify the means.
The moral of the metaphor? We may qualify for a grant to go back to school, y’all!
And that’s the story of how I re-enrolled in college.
Thanks, Josh, for putting together this picture for me. I’ll pay you in debt consolidation. Hey, Mel ain’t the only one trying to pay some bills.
My name is Ben and I’m broke.
(posted by t.j. peters)
I don’t mean to beat a dead horse, but I did and it looks like this:
Damnit, LowerMyBills.com, I thought we already talked about this! When I said that Earl lacked the sex appeal and humor to be a model, I wasn’t saying that you should go out and get Earl’s scowl-faced, monstrously ugly grandfather. But here I am, staring directly into the beady eyes of the most sinister-looking World War I veteran on the planet. We’ll call him Mel.
At this point I have to assume that LowerMyBills is in on the joke. With the Earl ad, there was still a possibility that LMB had unintentionally made the worst advertising mistake of all time. However, with the introduction of Mel, there’s just no way this is true. And I have to say, I commend you, LowerMyBills. Your extremely bizarre promotional tactic has stricken my interest twice now, so clearly you’ve succeeded on some level. Have I clicked on the links connected to the ad? No. Am I any closer to using your services to refinance my home? Also no. But will Poop or Chocolate try to sell you ad space once the site expands? Absolutely. It would be a win-win for. . . OH COME ON! Now you’re just being greedy!
My name is t.j. and this blog follows up.