The World is Amazing! RE: Fart Blanket

Folks, I haven't been this fascinated and disgusted with a TV product since the PedEgg. But this might take the stale cake:

The Official Better Marriage Blanket. Hereafter referred to as the Fart Blanket. Go ahead, check it out. There's a commercial on the site. I'll wait.

Gross right?

So let's say your bowels are such a twisted, blocked maze of rotting meat and Twinkie wrappers that your wife is having a hard time staying close to you. Because it's the truth. Easily avoided when you're at work, scarfing down Indian food and dark beer. But what about the sacred marriage bed?

I'm farting so much right now

In steps the Fart Blanket!

A normal-appearing comforter hides a layer of activated carbon, which is to funky smell molecules what John Wayne Gacy was to little kids. If he was better at hiding bodies, anyway. Come to think of it, he probably could have used some of the stuff. But as the website assures you, this is the material the military uses to protect against chemical weapons.

That's right. You're sitting on a weapon of ass destruction.

The carbon traps the molecules like General Zod in the Forbidden Zone, and has "an almost unlimited capacity for trapping odor" because holy shit you have to stop farting.

Seriously, what is wrong inside of you? Does your diet consist of homeless people and other farts? Have you been to a doctor? Because this product is for people who have just given up completely. It is absolutely a last resort. It clearly states, "I recognize that the smell of Lucifer's taint is being squirted out of me regularly. I can't change that, and plan on continuing indefinitely. This is the best it's going to get."

Well, this is for you then. As the commercial says, you owe it to your marriage. Because farts is the #3 leading cause for divorce in the United States, right behind B.O. and morning cat breath.

I Got Bieber Fever and the Only Cure is a Quick Death

Y'know, I for real did not plan on mentioning Bieber again, at all, when scratching around for a topic. Then the little bastard went and got nominated for a BET AWARD. A BET AWARD. A BET AWARD.

Nope, saying it loudly three times did not make it seem more real.

So he's up for best new artist. The headline I saw was "Justin Bieber, Jay-Z nab BET nominations." You know what else those two nab together? Nothing. Because when you think of J. Bieb and Jay-Z at the same time, somewhere a retarded baby kitty dies. So now it's out. BET hates retarded baby kittens. Apparently I do too. Because I've made you kill at least three by now.

Bieber might nab Jay-Z's shoes for him, to give them a good shine. He might nab his gold chalice, to refill it with a cognac that only rich people know exists. I'll even allow that he might nab a crisp $20 for averting his eyes when Beyonce walks into the room. But they don't nab anything on equal footing. Jay-Z was born in fucking Bed-Stuy. The second line of his bio on Wikipedia is "at age 12, he shot his brother in the shoulder for stealing his jewelry." Bieber was born in Ontario. One time, he shot the girl at Starbucks a dirty look because she put whipped cream on his dark cherry mocha when his mom clearly said no whipped cream.

Look at the kid's picture up there. That carefully tended, windswept hair. Porcelain lesbian face. Polite Canadian manners. Omnipresent sideways peace sign (seriously, find a picture of that joker without one). What seems to be a woman's scarf. And you tell me: how bad do you want him to get in a fistfight with Lil Wayne at the awards?

Lots. The correct answer is lots.

YouTube Child Sensations! Sunday Sunday Sunday!

I've touched on my disdain for child prodigies before (but let the court record show I've never touched a child prodigy). Like it has everything else, the web has made their ability to annoy much faster and simpler. And though I love her, Ellen's not making it any better, with her revolving door of moppets called "The Wonderful Web of Wonderment."

"Paparazzi" kid Greyson Chance. Korean bowl-cut-Susan-Boyle-impersonator Lin Yu Chun (you get bonus views for being foreign and/or hopelessly awkward). Random-pop-song-covering Maddi Jane. Japanese guitar prodigy Yuto Miyazawa*. Mozart.

Let me boil down every reaction you will ever have to any of these kids: "Aw, s/he's so cute! And only x years old!" (where x=the age at which you were burning ants for fun and laughing hysterically at Kimmy Gibbler (so, for me, 27)). And the fact that almost all of these people are singers really makes me think that singing is nothing special. There's a switch inside you; "on," and you can, "off," and you sound like me. These kids clearly have no emotional connection to what they're doing. How could they? And god help them if they do.

So you get a bunch of stage-parent-afflicted kids trying to land record deals by parroting Whitney Houston or Train or some shit, and also every person who's been on American Idol, ever. And they all have just the worst taste in everything.

This phenomenon is also why Justin Bieber's mom is being trampled by horny, horny 12-year old girls. But considering what her loins hath wrought upon this earth, I don't feel too bad about that.

Am I bitter? Of course! I don't do anything that hundreds of other guys around my age, of my general physical description, can't do; I'm just trying to be seen doing that thing instead of them. Of course I'm doing it about 20 years later than these kids, and they've already been seen. Bitterness ensues.

But really, when it comes down to it, for many reasons this kid is the best summary of why I just don't care that your 11-year old can cover Beyonce. Because I see no difference.

*I'm actually going to exempt Yuto from all this, for a few reasons: 1)that guitar is bigger than him, 2)playing guitar like he can is something achieved on a much higher technical plane than singing, and 3)he has excellent taste. Mozart, you're still on notice. Fucking poser.

News Roundup, with extra Bieber

Russell Crowe walked out of a British radio interview when the DJ said Crowe's Robin Hood sounded Irish. In the DJ's defense, I did find it odd that Crowe's character was so obsessed with redistribution of lucky marshmallow wealth.

Plans have been announced to film another installment of the Die Hard franchise, bringing the total to five. The movie will focus on hero John McClane's angry letters to cereal companies and his struggle to find his granddaughter a nice husband.

Anna Nicole Smith's ex-whatever is auctioning off 250 of the former whatever's belongings in Vegas. Which is just a fancy way of announcing the saddest yardsale ever.

Shia LeBeouf promises that the third Transformers movie will be better. The star says the second was "just about robots fighting each other," with no focus on "relationships." This was of course different from the first movie, in which the robot war was just a backdrop for the epic struggle between Megan Fox and convincing emotion.

Adam Sandler has announced plans to adapt hit internet short "Pixels" into a feature film. In related news, OMG Cat just signed a five-picture deal with Dreamworks.



BP has tried several solutions to stem the oil spill in the Gulf, with little success. Because Justin Bieber is. Just. Awful.

Bieber/Kardashian 2012!

Kimbertin. Bieberdashian. Justerly. So many choices. So little time.

One Twitpic of Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber together at the White House Correspondents Dinner managed to rouse legions of undead Bieberites into clamoring for Kim's brains on a platter.

A tiny platter.

I fear Ms. Kardashian may not be much longer for this world. Well, fear might not be the correct word. Let's say I'm mildly indifferent to the prospect of her violent death at the hands of hormonal awkward smelly tweens.

Srsly? You kill for this?

Bieber eventually got around to calming his horny, horny army of young girls, but not before referring to Kardashian as his girlfriend and "ideal lady." Child, child child. Listen. This is a brand of crazy you don't want to buy stock in. Lady has a sex tape. Have you seen it? You think you can compete? You don't think that ass won't chew you up for dinner?

You're young, inexperienced. Let me educate you. You see that butt in a Versace dress or whatever and think "wow, that's sexy." I see about 25 lbs. of BAGGAGE. I see ex-boyfriends who wear a lot of jewelry and have friends who are for real, literally, hitmen. I see a lady who's burned through a few trust funds and won't stop after yours. Back away slowly. Go talk to Chloe Moretz. She seems cool.

Side notes: Really? This Bieber thing is still going on? I assume these girls do not know that Jon Hamm is a person?

And the White House Correspondents Dinner? That's where these two met? That's like if the fated meeting between Neils Bohr and Werner Heisenberg as depicted in the play Copenhagen took place in the leggings section of American Apparel.

And We're Baaaack!

Been a while huh? The last time I got on here was to make notes about Kirk Cameron's appearance on the Today Show, for a later blog about his inevitable ridiculosity, but by golly if the little Jesus freak wasn't perfectly normal. No croco-duck pictures or belligerent proselytizing; just a Mike Seaver impression. And that was on March 17.

And here we are. My has it been a heavy week. My hometown is under water, the Gulf is under oil, total incompetents are trying to blow up the town I live in now, Lost is almost over AND we're about to finish the Battlestar DVDs. Thought it might be a good time to inject a little humor into the lives of my readers (hi mom and Amy).

We need something trivial for this occasion. The merest wisp of celebrity silliness. Let's see, what's Justin Bieber up to? No, no, little girls keep getting trampled upon wherever he shows his adorable lesbian face and haircut and vagina. Heidi Montag Pratt Flotation Barbie? I'll just Google Image her and...oh god...oh, what hath she wrought? That is an image out of my very driest of nightmares. That won't do.

Umm...Katie Perry wore a light-up dress to something. Guess that's the brightest she's been in a while. Ugh. How do people care about dresses?

The iPad. Steve Jobs. Tampon. People waiting in line to spend hundreds on something that hasn't been field-tested. There's a joke there somewhere. Put it together.

See, this is what happens when I take time off.

Alright, alright, how about this: This fall, a movie's coming out about the racehorse Secretariat. This is hot on the heels of my not giving a damn about Seabiscuit. How do you dramatize a horse story? Why do we care about this, outside the gambling world? What obstacles does a horse need to overcome to run faster than other horses? Secretariat's Wikipedia page mentions records he set, that still stand today. So what? A cheetah could run faster. And they kill stuff. That's a movie for ya right there.

The only good that can come of this is a terribly misinformed old couple trying to see this movie, but renting Secretary instead and asking "Why is that man from Boston Legal spanking the horse?"