Back in September I posted a video of a TV pirating incident from 1987. It features a Max Headroom impostor talking gibberish for a while, pulling out his ass, and getting spanked with a fly swatter. If I had to use just one word to describe it, that’s a no brainer: “awesome.”

No, wait: “shred.”

There was no context for the video, no explanation whatsoever. Go figure – it’s a clip of a local broadcast from two decades ago where some dude pulls out his ass. Can you really expect much background information for that? Could there really be that much more to say about it?

Of course there is. This is the internet, remember?

Click the picture of Max Headroom for the full history of a fairly minor pirating incident from twenty years ago, courtesy of Damn Interesting.

Google Patents is my new best friend. There are over 7 million patents to sift through, and as far as I can tell at least 5 million of them are completely ridiculous. Here’s a handful of my favorites so far.

I love the internet.

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PATENT NAME: Flatulence Deodorizer

PATENT NUMBER: 6313371

WHAT IS CLAIMED: “A pad to be worn by a user for absorbing gas due to flatulence.”

MARKETABILITY: Pretty high, apparently.

WHY IT RULES: Because Figure 1 is one of the most amazing fucking pictures I have ever seen in my entire life.

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PATENT NAME: Villain Execution Toy

PATENT NUMBER: D483080

WHAT IS CLAIMED: “The ornamental design for a villain execution toy, as shown.”

MARKETABILITY: Probably fairly high when the patent was filed back in 2003. Less so now, considering the target demographic for a “Villain Execution Toy” probably forgot all about Osama Bin Laden by the end of the first episode of “Deal or No Deal.”

WHY IT RULES: Other than the fact that they call it a “toy,” it’s completely ambiguous what this “toy” actually does. The inventor’s million dollar idea was a toy that somehow involves Osama Bin Laden in an electric chair. Fuck it – patent that shit! Also, the file contains a reference to Patent #D135280 – “Design For A Pin Cushion” by Charles P. Englebarflt back in 1942. Ol’ Chucky E. beat this clown to the punch by 60 years.

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PATENT NAME: Monkey Herpes B Virus Genes

PATENT NUMBER: 5767265

WHAT IT CLAIMS: “1. A substantially pure form of a DNA sequence of heroes simian monkey B virus comprising (SEQ ID NO:4:), said DNA coding for a gB glycoprotein comprising (SEQ ID NO:6:) and a polypeptide comprising (SEQ ID NO:5:).

2. A gB glycoprotein of herpes simian monkey B virus comprising (SEQ ID NO:6:).

3. A recombinant DNA molecule comprising:

a) a substantially pure DNA sequence of herpes simian monkey B virus comprising (SEQ ID NO:4:); and
b) a vector for introducing the DNA sequence into a host cell.”

MARKETABILITY: Depends on the price.

WHY IT RULES: Because when your college-educated, 1984-reading ass heard that corporations were starting to patent DNA you were picturing hordes of identical humans with barcodes on the backs of their necks. You never once thought to yourself, “Hey, wait – what about monkey herpes?”

(more…)

It’s way rebel to deface public property and everything, but this guy isn’t even trying. Urbal XTC? Did he think about this for even a SECOND before he started writing it on a garbage can in Logan Square? Here are a few things his “tag” bring to mind:

– Herbal Ecstasy

– XTC (the band)

– URB Magazine

You know what’s cooler than all three of those things? Intentional misspelling. You know what that means? The intentional misspelling in his name is the coolest thing about it. Yowza. Shitty graffiti rules. And by rules I mean sucks… I think. Something like that. Whatever.

(edit: In this post, I assumed Urbal XTC was a guy. Turns out it’s a girl – here’s her MySpace profile. I’m not sure if this counts if this counts as a victory for female graffiti writers or misogynists.)

Also said a case and use see,
but the bonds early light?
What’s so for Clinton lead the has helped,
asset to lead late last remaining.
These leads to let us and let it starts,
through the perilous night.
And the rest of parts we watched,
worst of the phone him least two remaining.
As a number asked its lead glare,
the claims bursting a manner,
disease roof through the night,
this has plastic was still there.
As to say those that explains angle banner you wait?
Wasn’t full time of the free,
and that home of the rated.

I was stuck in traffic the other day and got a bit fed up with the radio. I was listening to NPR, a story about how obtaining building permits around New Orleans is a bureaucratic nightmare. That’s unbelievably boring, so I flipped down the dial to some college radio station that had a whole show dedicated to Inuit Throat-Singing. I’ve never been that into the Inuit Throat-Singing scene (the shows are too expensive and always really far away, usually in Alaska), so I kept flipping until… hey! I know this song! These words sound really familiar! This is bringing me back! Back to a special time, a magical time long, long ago! Let me bring you back with me. Let’s take a little trip back to the most bland and inoffensive chunk of… get ready it… are you ready yet?

We’re going all the way back to motherfucking 1998.

I want to put my tender
heart in a blender,
watch it spin around
to a beautiful oblivion.
Rendezvous
then I’m through with you.

So I’m driving in stop-and-go traffic and hey, great. Now I’m nauseous too. But then it hits me like a McDonalds bag full of unsold promotional CD singles: This version of “Inside Out” is not being performed by Eve 6. No. Someone else decided it would be a really good idea to cover it. They practiced it a whole bunch, and then they brought all their gear into a studio and recorded it. Then they dragged all their gear back to the practice space, practiced it some more, and then they dragged all their gear to a venue and performed it in front of a bunch of people. Then some radio station guys were like “Fuck yeah.. what’s it been? 8 years?” and then they hit a button which sent a cover version of Eve 6’s “Inside Out” over the airwaves and out to millions and millions of people.

That rules. Too bad the song sucks.

[note: since I wrote this, I tried to look up who in the name of god decided to record a version of this abysmal song, but I couldn’t find anything about it. Maybe carbon monoxide was leaking into my car or something… or maybe (more likely) it was a live version. That made me kind of nervous. Was my rant all for naught?! YouTube to the rescue. For even if I did hear a live version by Eve 6, that still doesn’t erase these videos from the face of the earth:

Note the first comment on the last video, by misterdehn: “omg this is so bad. You should rename this video “a simple way to ruin a classic rock song.” Congrats, misterdehn. You win the Missed-The-Point Award.]

This rules. ‘Nuff said.

“Jokes: The Rough Cuts” is up today on Cracked.com.  From now on I shall be known as “Ross Wolinsky, Humorist.”  You know… instead of “that short jew.”

My quiz “What’s Attacking You?” is in the new issue of Cracked. This time I’m for real. It’s got Mel Gibson on the cover and Maddox is on the page facing mine and it looks fucking awesome. Go buy it. They’ve got it at Borders and Barnes & Noble. Pwnage.

Like most people out there, I’m really into Tampa public access television programs from the late 1980’s to early 1990’s. I always considered myself a bit of an expert on the subject (who doesn’t?), but somehow I managed to snooze on this Sondra Prill character for years. What gives? Why didn’t anyone tell me about her before?

Sondra Prill (according to a much more detailed article about a quarter of the way down this page) allegedly took herself completely seriously as the star of a three-episode program entitled – get this – “My Show.” Sondra sang, dance and postured her heart out in each installment of the show that, according to Eric Williams of ubu.com, “provided a showcase for Sondra’s ever-evolving range of things at which she tried to be talented.” Over the course of the three shows she went from a country darlin’ to a tone-deaf diva, covering everything from Hank Williams to Janet Jackson and Technotronic. The shows were peppered with incomprehensible skits that revolved around characters like “Nellie Pineapple” and “Millie The Old Lady.”

Now I know what you’re thinking: there’s no way she could possibly have taken this seriously. You could argue that convincingly, if it weren’t for Sondra’s swan song: a 1992 concert at the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center Playhouse Theatre entitled “A Musical Fantasy.” We’re talking about a Hurricane Andrew fundraiser at a 900-seat arena here. Here’s Daniel Ruth of the Tampa Tribune on the subject:

“Ticket prices for her show ranged up to $50, a testimony to a rather intriguing assessment of her talents considering recent (and slightly better known) TBPAC performers such as Al Green and Patti LaBelle charged a maximum ticket price of $25.

“Of course Green and LaBelle lack Sultry Sondra’s unique way of handling a melody – a cross between the dulcet sound of setting one’s hair on fire and sticking one’s hand into a garbage disposal.

“Friday night’s show was not without its highlights. First, it started about 20 minutes late and in an inadvertent gaffe much to the delight of the audience, Sultry Sondra’s microphone failed during one of her songs, which meant we were all spared from having to listen to her.

“Fortunately for the rest of the city, there weren’t that many of us in the audience. Only 41 tickets were sold to Sultry Sondra, a commentary on the good sense of the populace. Of course they did miss that dramatic moment during the performance where Sultry Sondra had honey poured all over her for no particular reason. Say, That’s Entertainment!

“Needless to say the victims of Hurricane Andrew won’t be benefitting much from Friday’s extravaganza of the banal. But then again, perhaps the folks down in Miami could send Sultry Sondra a few bucks – as professional courtesy from one disaster to another.”

Here’s the bottom line: Sondra Prill is either the most brilliantly retarded performance art that Florida ever spawned or a foaming, raving lunatic, but either way her videos are absolutely fucking hysterical. Ladies and gentlemen of the internet… I give you Sondra Prill. Or YouTube does, I guess. I’ll give you the links to YouTube and then YouTube will give you Sondra Prill.

Sondra Prill – Nasty Boys

Sondra Prill – Pump Up The Jam

Sondra Prill – Addicted To Love

Sondra Prill – Your Cheatin’ Heart

Sondra Prill – Little Melissa

Sondra Prill – Nellie Pineapple

Sondra Prill – Millie The Old Lady

Sondra Prill – Mario The Body Builder

Sondra Prill – Smile Toothpaste Commercial

Sondra Prill – Imitates Eddie

Sondra Prill – Star Spangled Banner

“I’ve got screens in my bathroom. For real. I’ve got a screen on the ceiling above my bed so I can watch Scarface while I’m fallin’ asleep, yo. I’ve got a screen built into my fridge so I can watch Scarface while I’m waiting for crushed ice. I’ve got screens pretty much everywhere I can fit them in my crib, to be honest. I’d like to get a pair built into my eyes so I can watch Scarface while I’m just walkin’ around scopin’ everything, but ain’t no doctors finna hook me up.

“Then there’s my car. Ya’ll best believe I got screens up in that shit. I got the 10.4” foldin’ down for real. Shit’s pimp, but check it: I blew all my skrilla on screens and Scarface DVDs. Now what the fuck am I supposed to watch, yo?! Let’s see… there’s gotta be somethin’ in this bargain bin if I dig deep enough… Scary Movie 4? Nahh… The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift? Ehh… Elf? Man, this is bullshit. Oh, schnaps! Joe Dirt for $3.99? David Spade’s a funny motherfucker, man! Ehh… I don’t know, man. This looks pretty shitty now that I’m lookin’ at the back of the box, yo. “From the producing team that brought you Deuce Bigalow and Big Daddy“? Sigh… you know what, man? Fuck it. I gots a tv in my car, yo! Shit’s pimp as hell and I don’t give a fuck! One Joe Dirt, please!”

Heh. Catching Someone Watching Joe Dirt In Their Car Rules.