On Ointments and Flies

When a great artist dies in this connected age, the sheer volume of reverent eulogizing, particularly on social media can be overwhelming. The case of David Bowie was no exception. Less often discussed during the mourning period are those facts that call into question the character of the artist, or make us feel uncomfortable thoughts about their legacy. David Bowie had sex with at least one 14 year-old girl. You can Google it!

“Hey man, why do you have to bring that up! Why can’t you let me/us appreciate and remember the art and all it means to me?! Why are you always shitting in the punch bowl/being such a troll?”

To answer the questions briefly in order:

1. Because it is a true thing that happened
2. You can/should appreciate the art and all it means to you!
3. I think I have some kind of sickness.

To answer the questions verbosely in a rambling and incoherent way, I’ll be below the break.

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Broken

It’s the aftermath of another mass shooting, so America is currently engaged in our favorite kabuki: Liberals shouting about more gun control, Conservatives shouting about arming all citizens, Technocratic centrists (and other professional point-missers) talking about mental illness as the real issue. Meanwhile, nothing will change, the outrage machine will move on to another topic, and we’ll be back here again in about six months. And as we spin our wheels, the elephant in the room continues to deposit large piles of shit in the corner…

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Area Man Has No Idea Why He Has So Much Mustard

Philadelphia, PA– South Philadelphia resident Paul Hazen has no idea why there is so much mustard currently in his refrigerator. “I like mustard well enough, but it’s definitely not my favorite condiment,” Hazen explained. “I can’t even remember when the last time I bought some was, but sure enough, there are five different containers right here in the fridge.” Adding to the confusion is the fact that two of the five containers are Shop Rite brand Spicy Brown Mustard with expiration dates within 3 months of each other. “Did I have a barbecue I don’t remember, or some kind of picnic-themed party?” Hazen mused. “This is really fucking baffling! I should probably recycle the bottles or something.”

In addition to a nearly empty glass jar of Grey Poupon and dozens of take-out mustard packets, at least one expired squeeze-tube of Hebrew National Deli-Style Mustard is currently being obscured in the door shelf by an un-opened can of martini olives and two empty bottles of Sriracha Hot Sauce. Analysts predict that the mustards will remain unused for the next three years, at which time they will be unceremoniously discarded in a frenzy of moving-related cleaning.

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An Open Letter to the Bee Who Stung My Forehead This Morning

Dear Asshole,

I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s really hot outside today. Hotter than Dom Deluise’s balls after an hour in Satan’s personal shvitz. Despite the ungodly heat, I hopped on the bike to go to work like I always do, so I really didn’t need any additional bullshit this morning. And things were going fine for a while. Yes, I was sweating more than usual, but nothing I couldn’t handle. And then here you come, just fucking hovering in the middle of the path like a god damn idiot.

Listen, I know you probably have personal bee shit to attend to like pollinating flowers or whatever, but maybe watch more carefully before just parking your stupid bee ass exactly at forehead height. And here’s the thing, if I could see you, I certainly would have tried to avoid hitting you. But you’re a tiny fucking insect, and I’m a large human, so frankly, I think the burden should be on you to see me coming and not just sit there while I smash my forehead into you at 20 MPH.

And really, that could have been the end of it right there. I mean, you were probably nearly killed on impact. Freak accidents happen, you know? And it would have been sad for your family, but they could have regrouped. Circle of life, etc. But instead of doing the honorable thing and accepting your fate, you have to go and plant your stinger right into my forehead? You know what? Fuck you. Have some decency.

I’ve always been a defender of bees. I know that what you do is important, and I spend many a sleepless night fretting about the impending collapse of the global food chain due to our current bee shortage. But not anymore. A global human catastrophe would be a small price to pay to know that you and your dumbass friends wouldn’t be able to just go stinging people’s foreheads willy-nilly when all they’re trying to do is get to work. So even though I know that you’re already dead (having stung me and all) and that you can’t read this, I hope this letter serves as a warning to other bees to mind your shit and be more fucking careful next time.

Regards,

hazenberger

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Rick Santorum: Asshole

I will not bore you with the many reasons that Rick Santorum is a sub human scum bucket of the highest order. One can easily google former Senator Rick Santorum if one wants to learn more about him. I only post this to let you know that Rick Santorum is running for president in 2012, so I thought it would be helpful to learn more about Rick Santorum. That is all. Rick Santorum.

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I don’t wanna wait for our lives to be over

I never watched Dawson’s Creek, so my familiarity with Dawson, Joey, Pacey and the gang comes mostly through cultural osmosis, and now, wikipedia:

Aimed at a teenage audience, the semi-autobiographical show is based on the small-town childhood of its creator Kevin Williamson (who also wrote the slasher film Scream). The lead character, Dawson Leery, mirrors Williamson’s interests and background. Filmed inWilmington and Durham, North Carolina, Southport, North Carolina, the show was set in a small fictional seaside town called Capeside, Massachusetts. It focused on four friends who were in the early part of their sophomore and first year of high school when the series began. The program, part of a new craze for teen-themed movies and television shows in America in the late 1990s, catapulted its leads to stardom and became a defining show for The WB.

Even so, I cannot resist the charms of the inimitable James Van Der Memes. Check them out now and don’t be one of these:

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FuckBobRyan, JimVanceHasAIDS and other AIM accounts of yore

You got me. FuckBobRyan was rejected immediately by AOL‘s servers. And as far as I know, Jim Vance‘s HIV has been under control for years thanks to a combination of antivirals and has never advanced to full blown AIDS. (If Jim Vance is reading this, “Holy Shit! I’ve hit the big time” and also, “I’m just joking. I assume that you do not have any communicable immune diseases.”)

Digression and quick lesson for the kids these days: AIM was what nerds like Mark Zuckerberg had to use to creepily stalk girls before he invented Facebook, making creepy stalking much much easier.

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Reading this blog post is killing you

Duncan Black, aka Atrios has made a blogging career out of not much more than linking and saying “wanker.” This is a perfect example of first-mover advantage in action. I have slightly more pride (or slightly less balls) so I will link to this Matthew Yglesias post about how sitting on the couch is killing us all, complete with several sentences of content (which you’ve just read) and a short excerpt. This is why I am a superior blogger.

The latest findings, published this week in The Journal of the American College of Cardiology, indicate that the amount of leisure time spent sitting in front of a screen can have such an overwhelming, seemingly irreparable impact on one’s health that physical activity doesn’t produce much benefit.

and…

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I am famous, anonymously

In the blog world, few are bigger than Andrew Sullivan. In the world of gaming, nothing is hotter than Angry Birds. When a blog discussion (a bloscussion?) broke out the other day on Sullivan’s site, I felt I had to email my contribution, and much to my surprise the site’s administrator responded that he would be posting my citation on the blog. I will now de-anonymize myself. I am that reader!

A reader writes:

Not sure if you’ve seen this video. It’s one of the many great Angry Birds parodies floating around. But it does deal specifically with your reader’s concern about the fundamentalist leanings of the birds. In this case, at least, one bird is brave enough to question the mission.

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Out and about

I will be out doing some errands today, which will affect my ability to thrill you all with my brilliant blogging output. But instead of letting my brief hiatus kill the blog in its infancy, you can enjoy my keen insights in 140 characters or less via the medium known as “the twitter.” If you don’t have a twitter account, rest assured, you do not need one in order to enjoy my wisdom nuggets. You can simply come to the blog and view the column here to the right———————>

Or, you can direct your browser to the following URL: twitter.com/hazenberger and view them directly on the world wide web. You’re welcome.

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