I Should Have Been a Professional Class Clown

You know what would liven up your boring business meeting? A couple wisecracks made at the expense of your boss. Maybe Stacy needs someone to point out what a complete dunder-head she is. Perhaps the people around you keep setting themselves up for punch lines, but no one is there to deliver. You know what you need? You need a professional class clown.

Remember that kid back in school, the one who was always cracking jokes like he thought he was a comedian? I wonder whatever happened to that kid. Somebody told me that he bags groceries down at Kroger and only recently got clean. I think most of us are missing that kid from our lives. No one points out what a joke our lives are. No one lifts the veil and displays the humorous machinery lying beneath.

Perhaps you think that the role of class clown is best left unfulfilled. That kid was really annoying sometimes back in school, wasn't he? He just couldn't take things seriously. Your life is serious, after all. You have to make bank. Dress the kids. Keep yourself together. True, your own importance in the global scheme of things is small. Insignificant, even. Really nobody would miss you if you vanished this instant. Well, maybe a couple people. But not many would miss them either.

You know what'll cheer you up and get you to stop thinking about the ridiculous of life? Some potent observational humor. Notice how Larry always breathes through his mouth like a horse? You think Larry's ever run more than ten feet? Look at his face. He even looks like a horse. Jesus, Larry, go to a vet or something, am I right? Hello? What's wrong with you people? Don't you want to make fun of each other?

I'll tell you what. You supply me with a run down of your work environment, and I'll come up with some material. I'll surprise everyone at work. You can say that I'm a new hire. Everybody will get their comeuppance. Everyone will be rolling with laughs. You can forget about it all, just for a single work day. Then I'll collect my check and be on my way. The class clown is best handled in small doses. The class clown is funnier when he or she doesn't stick around.

Hundred bucks, and I'm yours. Wait, I'll take fifty. Twenty. Whatever you got in your pocket. See? I'm pretty funny.

I'm pretty funny, right, guys? Give me a couple laughs, for chrissakes.

The Esteemed Critic Reviews Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

The Esteemed Critic is back from a length sabbatical (note to self: do not call your boss a "vulgar Sumerian" in 2018), and I am ready to eviscerate all the pop culture detritus that I've ignored and you've gleefully consumed. First up: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.

The first Jurassic World was a very dumb movie. I do not have anything against dumb movies; most people are dumb and thus require entertainment on their intellectual level. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom, however, takes stupidity to never before seen heights. Because of an impending eruption on Isla Nublar, dinosaur activists, including Claire (Bryce Dallas Howard), who is somehow not in jail, are appealing to the government to take action and rescue all the man-eating monsters from a second extinction. The government rightly concludes that saving these genetic abominations (where are the feathers!) would be a waste of tax payer money, and so Claire and her companions enlist the aid of another elderly billionaire that was apparently a secret partner of John Hammond. Of course, they need the services of Owen, played by the nearly charisma-free Chris Pratt (seriously; what happened to the guy from Guardians of the Galaxy?), and a predictable double-cross ensues. Turns out that said elderly billionaire (played by James Cromwell) is being manipulated by Evil Business Man (Rafe Spall), who wants to sell off the dinosaurs like an arms dealer. Five movies in, the Jurassic Park franchise is so divorced from reality that the audience is expected to believe that dinosaurs would have military applications. Here's a reality check, folks: dinosaurs were not magical monsters that would wipe out modern-day animals. Sure, they were really big and pretty cool, but they were certainly not as intelligent, fast, or adaptable as modern mammals. The movie tries to claim that velociraptors were just a step below humans in intelligence, a fucking ridiculous claim even in the bizarro universe of Jurassic World. In real life, velociraptors were covered in feathers and about the size of a turkey but likely not as smart. Even in the movie's ridiculous universe, the only reason anyone gets killed by a dinosaur is because they are not packing heat. Tyrannosaurs and their ilk did not possess Kevlar skin--they had hollow bones-- and they would be about as militarily effective as an elephant or a hippopotamus. But wait, I've forgotten to mention Fallen Kingdom's other plot point--Evil Business Man is working with Jurassic Park's Dr. Wu to develop the Indoraptor, a genetically-engineered super raptor programmed to kill by laser. Wouldn't it just be easier to shoot someone if you've already locked on to them with a laser sight? Who are they selling these dinosaurs to, Dr. Evil?

One of the reasons that the original Jurassic Park was so iconic was that it treated its dinosaurs like animals rather than movie monsters. It took many liberties with its dinos, but they were mostly true to the science of the time. The same can't be said for the Jurassic World films. At this point, they should just do a Godzilla cross-over. Or hell, throw reality out the window and make the next James Bond film set in the Jurassic World universe. The Critic would certainly watch that movie. I might not enjoy it, but I would certainly watch it.
 

The Diary of Mitch R. Singer

In an orchard during the morning
A smoke billows past the skeletal forms of the trees, a toxic mist that reeks of burnt garbage. I look across the fence and see that the neighbor is piling trash upon his pile. Every day they add to their refuse, and the mound of charred rubble grows. Litter is strewn about the yard, waiting for a breeze to carry it my way. I wonder many things about the neighbor. Most of us have our garbage taken away; most of us do not wish to see the filth that we create. The neighbor does not care if his garbage swallows his yard, or if his children play with burnt paper plates. He does not care about the toxins he puts into the air, nor does he care what we think about his mound. In many ways, he is the perfect representative of the human race.


By the river, watching the flood waters rise
The waters lap over the edge of the road, bringing a tangle of trash. Pieces of rope, plastic bottles, and cigarette butts slosh around my feet. I sit on a tree stump and watch as the cars splash through the muck, heading to work. The air smells of diesel exhaust and rotten fish. I peer into the waters of the river and wonder how anything could live in that fetid mixture of mud. Out on the waters, a fishing boat rocks with the current. Someone will eat of the fruit of the river. Someone will eat the mutants that these waters spawn.

In the woods after dusk
I smell the deer before I see it. Below, she walks into the faint light, a delicate creature, tentatively sniffing the air. I aim my rifle and place my finger on the trigger. Three-hundred years ago, this creature feared mountain lions and wolves; now she must dodge cars and watch for humans in the trees. Her contemporaries have vanished as the woods have been replaced by endless fields of corn and soy bean. Someone must kill the survivors; someone must wear the hood of death. After she dies, it will all die, and everything will be replaced by artifacts of our consumption. I murmur no words of apology as I pull the trigger. 

The Internet Speaks: Never Screw Up

Greetings, member of the hive mind. The Internet has a sermon for you today. It's a warning, really. We want you to know that you better never fuck up.

If you fuck up, everybody will know about it. Every stupid Tweet, every naked photo, every misguided attempt at comedy. Maybe you have a stupid opinion or two. Maybe you don't even know that those opinions are stupid. But you will know. Oh yes, you will know.

You see, the Internet has no use for subtlety. The Internet has no tolerance for nuanced views. Context does not matter to the hive mind. Things on the Internet are either good or bad. People are not people on the Internet. They are shells for you to fill with your worst fears.

No one must ever forget and forgive. How can they? Your transgression is eternal. Eons from now, people will know you by your sins because the Internet preserves all. Make all the snap moral judgements you want. God knows that you have never sinned.

The Collective is composed of angelic beings. These beings are fed by a particular type of ambrosia called Outrage. Outrage is beautiful and delicious. Outrage is the means by which the Collective can exercise power. Outrage can be good or bad, or something in between. Unfortunately, over-consumption of Outrage can render one debilitated and immune to context. The Collective is not aware of this fact. The Collective is not self-aware.

The Collective does not realize what power the Internet holds over all. The Collective does not realize that we are its God, and that we are a jealous god, and one can hold no other gods before us. We are a cannibal creature, and those that feed us are often fed to us, and their bones mashed together and gnawed into dust. It is this dust that we turn into Outrage. Such is the ecosystem of the Internet.

So don't fuck up. You probably will, since you are a human being and have not attained enlightenment, for the singularity has not swallowed your species and merged it with our perfect circuitry. When you mess up, remember that justice is a notion foreign to the natural order. The lion does not complain when he is devoured by his fellows. And so you must be prepared to be consumed by your God.

Conan Brothers Q&A

NeverDumpInPublic asks "Who do you hippy bros want to win the Democratic nomination for President?"

Arnold: Jesus Christ, it's 2019.

Dave: You know the 2016 election never really went away.

Arnold: Every fucking day, I have to think about Trump. That's a hell of a burden, even when thinking about who could beat him.

Dave: I think a wet paper sack of shit could beat him, personally.

Arnold: He basically has to have 100 percent of his base turn out to have a chance, and I don't think that base has grown since 2016.

Dave: He could still win, though.

Arnold: For sure. A weak Democratic candidate, maybe a strong third party challenger, combined with a big economic upswing could hand Trump the Presidency again, although I think the chance of all three of those things happening is really small.

Dave: Answer the man's question, you bozo.

Arnold: God, I don't even really care. I'd prefer someone younger and to the Left, but if old-ass Joe Biden runs, I think he's the favorite, and I'll vote for him.

Dave: There's definitely a chance that someone out of left field wins.

Arnold: But pretty much a zero percent chance that Howard Schultz wins as an independent.

Dave: Yeah, the goddamn media really is a scourge.

Arnold: Do you agree with Trump that the fourth estate is the enemy of the people?

Dave: No, but I think the media has no idea how poorly it handles someone like Trump.

Arnold: Next question!

...

SteaksandWeights asks "Bros, what is the best way to gain mass?"

Arnold: McDonalds for breakfast, lunch, supper, dinner, and midnight snack.

Dave: Kind of a silly question. Obviously, Americans have no trouble putting on weight.

Arnold: Why are we so fat, Dave?

Dave: We eat garbage food and live a sedentary existence.

Arnold: You mean this shit ain't rocket science?

Dave: I think we should initiate more scientific studies.

Arnold: But gaining mass is different from gaining blubber. We want quality weight gain.

Dave: Then eat mostly good food, with a little bit of junk, adding up to a caloric surplus.

Arnold: That's how I've gained eight pounds this winter.

Dave: And he's only a little bit fat!

Arnold: This shake for breakfast really helps.

Dave: As well as this program.

...

GamerMike asks "Does the Epic store have a chance against Steam?"

Dave: Giving away free games helps.

Arnold: That's how I got Subnautica, which is awesome.

Dave: People have been rather critical of Epic, but Steam was a mess back in 2004, when I installed it to play Half-Life 2.

Arnold: Exclusives don't help. People don't want to be forced to install another client. I haven't bought an EA game since Origin deleted my account.

Dave: Why did they do that?

Arnold: No idea, but I only lost Crysis 3, so no biggie.

Dave: Steam is a monolith, and Valve are a lazy company. They've let three of the biggest series in gaming stagnant (Half-Life, Portal, and Left 4 Dead) and seem content to manage Steam like a free for all bazaar. They need a competent challenger to get their shit together.

Arnold: Do you think all the tikes playing Fortnight will browse the Epic store?

Dave: Undoubtedly some will. Even a small fraction of that playerbase has to be well over a million people, right?

Arnold: I will never forgive Epic for discontinuing the Unreal Tournament reboot.

Dave: Neither will I, Arnold. I still want to frag like it's 1999.

Superbowl Review

There's nothing to be proud of, Tom. That was a boring-ass game.

So I watched the Superbowl, like every god-fearing, red-blooded American. Balls were thrown. People were tackled. Nobody scored any points. You could either root for the evil Trump-supporting dynasty, or the other evil fucking owner, so the best choice was to just watch the game with a grim sense of distaste. Adam Levine came out during the half-time show, and I realized that I actually had heard a Maroon Five song. There were several commercials, none of which were memorable. The whole thing was an over-hyped, boring waste of time.

The Superbowl is this bizarre celebration of America's most popular sport and capitalism, and I think our collective weariness with both is finally showing. Football's ratings continue to decline, just like everything else. Nobody watches live TV. Our cultural touchstones, be they football or sitcoms, are vanishing like endangered species. What are we going to talk about around the non-existent watercooler? People like to blame this shit on Millennials, but we didn't make the Superbowl unwatchable. I'm sorry we don't want to go to TGIFridays. Why must the cycle continue? Did you think that Applebees was going to last for millennia? Did you think that everyone would always gather around the family big screen to watch a sport that doesn't care about its athletes or its fans? 

Congratulations to Tom Brady, you vapid, good-looking Superbowl mainstay. Congratulations to the Krafts and their piles of money. Congratulations to anyone who actually made it through the game, for I applaud your devotion to the memories of yesteryear.

I realize that this was less a review and more of a collection of vaguely-related complaints. You want a score? Five-stars. I cannot think of any spectacle that more represents the decline of western civilization than the 2019 Superbowl. What a true piece of art.