English, Fauntleroy, Do You Speak It?

English, Fauntleroy, Do You Speak It?

Although I only have the most basic understanding of the English language, I have a deep knowledge of strange accents and styles of speaking. I can recognize and translate every accent from murmured Russian and bellowed German, to less comprehensible utterances like jive and teenager. I know you’re all probably very impressed, but I’m afraid that my abilities are not as complete as I once thought. Like many sensible, God-fearing people, I am completely bewildered by anything that comes out of the United Kingdom and Ireland; the British are mostly hopeless, the Scottish are confusing a best, and the Irish are terrifying. The whole place is an absolute mess when it comes to communication, and that is what bothers me the most. I have no idea how three places so close together have managed to invent so many dialects.

I will admit that some of the English have sorted themselves out, so you won’t need a dedicated translator on your vacation to London, but it’s a good idea to bring one with you in case you run into an Irishman: 

I’m sorry — could you say that again?

Death To False Rube Goldberg Machines!

Death To False Rube Goldberg Machines!

Purina should be ashamed of themselves for making a Rube Goldberg machine that doesn’t have any real moving parts, or exists in any plane of reality outside of the matrix. That’s right folks, most of the video is computer generated, which in the case of a Rube Goldberg machine is cheating on a level beyond all comprehension. It’s cheating so severely that they seem to entirely miss the point of making a Rube Goldberg machine in the first place.

What they’ve done is tantamount to using a flamethrower as a starter pistol, while the starting judge hoses down all the runners with napalm at the start of the race. While it’s true that people who are engulfed in flames tend to run much faster than normal, they don’t run for very long. Unless it’s a 100-meter dash, the race will be very short and very boring, because you’ll wind up being the only runner who isn’t charred blacker than a poorly-grilled hot dog by the 30-second mark.

I’m pretty sure the dogs are real. There’s no definite way to tell anymore, and Purina has completely betrayed my confidence. If I had a dog I’d have some frame of reference, but I have neither dog nor dog food. If Purina would like to remedy this collapse in consumer confidence, then they should send 20 cases of their finest dog food to the Borderline Sociopathic Blog For Boys Headquarters — Oh, and maybe a couple dogs, too; I’ve always wanted to open a Taco Bell.

How’s That Thousand-Year Reich Coming?

How’s That Thousand-Year Reich Coming?

I don’t speak German, but I’m entirely full of myself, so I’m absolutely sure I can translate what they’re saying. I heard one of them ask, “Are any delicious frankfurters involved?” and the other replied, “Yes, delicious frankfurters are only a kilometer away.” There’s no need to check if I’m right. If I’m wrong, it’s still better than the truth.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can truly appreciate the context of the video. A merry band of Germans had a quest to choke down wieners on their lunch break. It’s a lot more interesting than most of the trite garbage I post here. Many of the videos on this site don’t feature any sort of tubular pre-cooked meat-like products assembled from various PG-13, R, and X rated parts of animals that died before they could be sold to a vivisectionist. Videos without some form of luncheon meats or tubular pink slime delivery systems are inferior, and I know it. It’s a wonder that I haven’t been fired from this gig yet, what with all the time I spend down at the Citgo watching the hot dogs from 2009 slowly turn on the rollers over by the Red Bull display.  Then again, I’m in a blogger’s union, so the only person who can fire me now is Jesus himself. And as anyone knows that’s taken a long look at the Internet, God don’t enter into it.

Lithuania’s Got Talent, And A Dumpster Full Of Dead Contestants

Lithuania’s Got Talent, And A Dumpster Full Of Dead Contestants

I’ve always been very suspicious of This Country’s Got Talent shows and all of their derivatives, because you almost never hear from the people who win after they get their prize. I’m pretty sure TV executives eat them to absorb their talent, but I’ve been wrong about this sort of thing before.

I’ve also been very suspicious because there’s no telling how many fatalities shows like this have each year. The versions hosted in Eastern European countries suggest a whole new level of concern, because that place is like a breeding ground for bad ideas. Every once in a while a grainy Live Leak video of someone chopping their testes off with a flaming carp surfaces, but those are getting few and far between. Either every wannabe Russki has given up vodka and heroin, or these videos are being suppressed, and we all know that the only way to get yourself out of bed every morning in Eastern Europe is to drink yourself into a stupor before breakfast. There’s also the off chance that the videos have gotten so graphic that they’re being sold in snuff film compilations à la Faces of Death. Even if that was the case I’d still probably watch it, so you don’t have to.

Luckily, I’ve found one of the only Got Talent videos around that isn’t premiering on a fetish site, or covered in Live Leak watermarks. Although the video left me teetering precariously on the edge of my seat, the lack of death was strangely satisfying. Everything went better than expected. In the end, there wasn’t any loss of life — except for the wannabe Dr. Mengele, because there’s no way the human dartboard didn’t beat him to death after the cameras stopped rolling.