I hate fish. I hate fish so much. I really hate them!
But a thing I hate worse than fish is seeing living creatures suffer. So, because no one else remembers to do it, I have been feeding the horrible, creepy, awful fish at work. I even found a fish that I disliked less than the rest of them. It was a little albino shark that the others had eaten half its tail off.
“Poor little guy,” I said. “Poor scrappy little guy.”
Yesterday, when I went to feed the fish, I noticed my least-hated fish wasn’t eating with the others. Then I noticed he was bobbing upside down. Then I noticed, a half-hour later, he had completely vanished. Because the other fish had eaten him.
When I told my coworker, he said: “Well, they already knew he was delicious.”
So, a long time ago, Herman Melville wrote this famous novel about a whale and obsession and sailors and all that and called it Moby Dick, as if it couldn’t be more obviously about penises.
Anyhoo, it’s one of the great man vs. nature stories filled with metaphor and brilliance and it just bores me to tears, I’m sorry, I can’t stand it.
And now it’s a movie! Except it’s a movie about the true story of Moby Dick, and it stars Thor (I think?) and Cillian Murphy (I’m positive), and there’s a lady whose only line is to tell her husband to come back safely, because this movie couldn’t be more obviously about penises.
The gist of the plot seems to be that a whale attacks their ship because whales are jerks, and then they try to survive on lifeboats while the whale continues to try to murder them, because whales are SUPER-jerks, and for some reason, another sailor points his gun at Probably Thor and tells him to admit he’s afraid and he says: “I will not.” But seriously, dude, it’s okay to be afraid of the Murder Whale, jeez. It’s not like people are going to think you’re less of a man or whatever.
And if you want to kiss your second mate, Cillian Murphy, well — no one could blame you for that either.
So there you have it. A movie about whales. Definitely whales.
Somebody decided to make a Dolphin Tale 2, because people love dolphins and uplifting movies about dolphins because they don’t know the real truth about dolphins.
Also, this web site exists.
Also, read this.
It’s true. I don’t care about the Superbowl at all. I know it’s probably unpatriotic. Feel free to confiscate my miniature American flag.
Everyone I know watches the Superbowl. Even my parents do, and they don’t watch sports on TV at all.
Once, when I still worked at the newspaper, I got involved in the Superbowl pot at work. My friend in the sports department gave me a buck and chuckled a little when I turned in my form and explained my strategy: I picked the teams with the cooler names. For instance, if the Vikings were playing the Dolphins, I picked the Vikings. While Vikings are horrific bastards, dolphins are horrific-er bastards, so therein lies the logic.
And so, despite my rather illogical method, it came down to me and a photographer for the whole pot.
“You’ll have to watch the Superbowl now,” the sports department said.
“What, aren’t you guys going to have a headline about it tomorrow?” I wondered.
“Well, yes,” they said.
“Oh, good, because otherwise that would ruin my streak of not watching any sports except for the Olympics, which I really only watch for the patriotism in inspires in me.”
And later I won the pot.
The moral of the story is: If I don’t care about the Superbowl at all when there’s money on the line, what makes you think I can even remember who’s playing this year?
Anyway, I’m sorry or something.
Lately, you’ve noticed your boyfriend isn’t like the other mythical creatures. He’s more four-legged and neighs and eats hay and stuff.
Maybe my darling Timothy is a unicorn, you think, as you sit beside him at the drive-in theater, holding his hoof.
But how can you be sure?
By using this handy-dandy checklist is how you can be sure! So let’s get to it.
1. Does he have a horn?
We’re not talking trumpets or cutesy little nicknames for his … well, you know. We’re talking a horn smack dab in the middle of his forehead.
2. Also, does he mostly look like a horse, except for that horn smack dab in the middle of his forehead?
Although some people claim that unicorns look more like goats.
3. Are you a virgin?
Now don’t go blaming me for this. It’s just flat out well-known that this is a preference for unicorns. Unless, I suppose, you’re dating one that goes more for pureness of heart than for pureness of the lady bits.
4. Does his horn (that we previously ascertained is an actual horn, not a trumpet and not a nickname like “Mr. Wiggles”) have magical properties?
Again, this horn is not in his pants.
5. When you go on dates, are you often refused entry as the clerk/shop owner/bartender points to the sign “No Pets Allowed”?
“He’s not a pet, he’s my boyfriend!” you might proclaim.
6. Does that lady who married a dolphin laugh at your taste in men?
And she married one of the bastards of the sea!
7. Does Tim Curry keep pestering you two, wanting to rid the world of all goodness or something?
Oh, please, did you seriously think you were getting out of this thing without at least one Legend reference?
8. When you talk about riding your boyfriend, you’re not actually talking about sex?
“Thanks to my darling Timothy, I always make it to school on time!”
9. Just for clarification: Horn. Middle of forehead. Not in pants.
Seriously, girls, just because your boyfriend says he has a horn doesn’t mean he’s a unicorn. It means he’s a teenage boy.
10. When you’re served poison, does he dip his horn into it to neutralize its properties?
Apparently, unicorn horns can do that. Not teenage boys though, because what teenage boy in his right mind would go about dipping his tender bits in poison?
Well, there you go, ladies. You’re dating a unicorn.
Lest you think that liking Revenge has made me soft and not as pre-judgmental as usual, rest assured that there are three terrible, horrible, no-good bad movies that I won’t be seeing this weekend.
1. A Dolphin’s Tale.
I’ve already said I don’t particularly find Brad Pitt attractive, but even if you cast Takeshi Kaneshiro in this thing, it wouldn’t be enough to make me want to watch a movie about baseball and … statistics, I think. Ugh.
I always thought that the real evil in Twilight lay in reading the “books.” (I put the word books in quotes there because do they really count?) But now I see that the real evil is in the UTTER RUINATION OF OUR ACTION FILMS WHY WOULD ANYONE CAST TYLER LAUTNER FROM TWILIGHT IN ONE ARGHHHHHH.
Also, I’m kind of pissed, because now I can remember Tyler Lautner’s name. That knowledge probably pushed out a useful fact, like a statistic on how many baby kittens dolphins have murdered or something.
So there’s a The Hangover 2 and a Kung Fu Panda 2.
Which is great news, I guess, for people who have anterograde amnesia and can’t make new memories, so they completely forgot they already watched the first films, just like they will completely forget they’re watching the sequels, but they have approximately 10 bucks they really want to waste.
I have nothing against the original films, except, of course, for the presence of Jack Black in anything, but I don’t understand why there are sequels to the damned things.
Oh, except for the Hollywood wanting to make money without exerting much effort thing. Right.
With the untimely deaths of Michael Jackson and the Crocodile Hunter, there has been a tragic dearth of celebrities holding their children over balconies and crocodiles. That seems a shame to me, as it is hilarious when celebrities hold their babies over things.
Here’s a list of suggestions to get them back in baby-holding-over-things gear.
1. The Grand Canyon. If you’re going to hold your celebrity baby over something, go big! Plus, there’s always tourists and their cameras at the Grand Canyon, so you wouldn’t even need to rely on the paparazzi to photograph you endangering your child.
2. A blender. My mother once knew a woman who left her 18-month-old on the kitchen counter with a running blender. Also, she didn’t have the lid on the blender. Also, later, her children were taken away. Bonus points if you can do this at a cooking show, where there is an audience.
3. Australia. Australia is home to a variety of dangerous and evil critters, like the blanket octopus (note: less cuddly than the word “blanket” implies) (note the second: you can do your own image search; I’m not putting one of these things on this blog), the bird-eating tarantula (which, as the name implies, is a spider that EATS GODDAMN BIRDS), the deadly cassowary and the box jellyfish (God’s little reminder to stay the hell away from the ocean always). Hell, you wouldn’t even need to hold your child over any of these things — just taking the kid to Australia is attention-getting enough.
4. An alligator. Crocodile’s already been done, you know? (God rest Steve Irwin’s stingray-loving soul.) But alligator — man, that’s new.
5. Old Faithful. “What? No, this thing erupts on a schedule. I can totally pull Junior away in time.”
6. The enclosures at the zoo. Because everyone knows babies want to pet tigers just as much as British grandmothers do!
7. The ledge of a building. “Stop! Or the baby will jump!”
8. Rotating helicopter blade. Mixing aviation and babies is like mixing gin and tonic: a can’t-miss, surefire dose of awesome.
9. Michael Jackson’s grave. “It’s funny because it’s ironic!”
10. Niagara Falls. Because babies like romantic locales as much as the next guy.
It’s time for a list! A list of ways I don’t want to die.
1. Crushed by a crashing airplane while jogging and listening to my MP3 player. I mean, why the hell would I be jogging?
3. Murdered by a serial-killing killer whale. I frakkin’ hate sea life.
4. Naked. I just — I would like to have clothing on when I die. That is all.
5. Doing what I loved. I love doing the things I love. I don’t want them to be cut off unnecessarily and, indeed, permanently. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I want to die doing what I hate, so at least I can be relieved that it’s finally over.
6. Crushed by an elephant. I think, of all the things out there you could get crushed by, an elephant would be one that smells the worst.
7. On Dec. 21, 2012. I really don’t want to prove those damnable conspiracy theorists right.
8. Because of anything, ANYTHING, lodged inside any part of my body that shouldn’t be there. I don’t care how it got there, I don’t want it killing me. Sex toy, metal rod, whatever. Get it out. Get it out now!
9. Saying something stupid, like, “No, I’m sure the window will hold.” I will never, ever believe that the window will hold and I’m sure as hell not testing it.
10. Ironically. Especially since people think “ironically” means “coincidentally” nowadays. I don’t want my death to be an exercise in bad grammar.
Q. Have you heard about Tilikum, the killer whale who brutally murdered his trainer earlier this week (after being fingered in two previous trainer deaths)?
A. I’ve told you people and told you people, sealife are our enemies.