Check out my pimpin' McFro, and tell me I ain't packin' a giant penny whistle!

There seems to be a preponderance, among non-whites, of confusion as to how prefixes in names work vis-a-vis Irish vs. Scottish. Specifically in the arena of McDonald’s. It is not a “MacDouble,” as the black woman ahead of me in line today called it, but a “McDouble,” and so much is clearly laid out on their menu. I love the show “30 Rock,” but when Salma Hayek made such a big deal out of her favorite desert being the MacFlurry, I rankled just the slightest bit. She’s lucky she’s so hot.

I don’t know if you know you’re doing it, but there is a very specific difference involved here. Ronald McDonald is Irish, man. The Irish are serving you the shitty, heat lamped foods. Think of it this way: when you are Puerto Rican and somebody cavalierly calls you Mexican, you get rather pissed off, no? And rightly so! I do not presume to equate fast food ordering with the vast cultural differences of our differing minorities, but some consideration could be employed.

I am sure the Scottish have kept as far from the fast food multiverse as possible, and would not want their proud surname prefixes dragged through the mud in such a manner. The Irish, as we all know, are far less discriminating, but when they come out with the “Mac Haggis,” you’ll know, because, I promise, they will furnish you with the “a” in the very spelling of menu item.

PS. Check out the chick on the left in the alarmingly stunning white shorts. Specifically her legs. When she’s not busy being a massive tease, is she an American Gladiator or something? Where did she get those bruises? It’s like some old lady took a cane to her for every kitten she indirectly killed that week. She’s making Jesus and my penis cry.

I am going to murder you for sustenance, K?

A recent foxnews.com article rather cavalierly states that:

“A Maryland company under contract to the Pentagon is working on a steam-powered robot that would fuel itself by gobbling up whatever organic material it can find — grass, wood, old furniture, even dead bodies.”

As a country, we need to take a step back. No, we cannot learn from the past, as a cannibal robot holocaust has not, as yet, occured. But, we can learn from the campy horror movies of the 1950s, right? Why do we seem hell-bent on speeding toward the very dystopian future our most demented minds imagined?

I am not one of those people that balks at the advancement of technology. Make my life easier, now! But programming a robot to be conscious of the fact that a dead body is the only way to keep it going, and then giving it an imperative to keep going is the most ludicrously bad idea I can imagine. That is one stoner programmer error away from these robots deciding to kill to make dead bodies.

And what happens when the Ed Wood nightmare culture we birthed into this world develops agriculture?

I specifically requested free-range human.

Some days you just can't get rid of a (flaming) bomb

Remember, someone will always be able to articulate your points better than you. In this case, the greatest blogger int he world at wwtdd.com (who is entirely unaware of my existance as of yet) makes my earlier points about Perez Hilton come alive with some greater degree of dignity and intelligence than I could have. Seriously, go read his play-by-play of Perez’s latest statement. I agree with every single point.   http://tinyurl.com/nrwgx4

I'm comin' Bo!

Let’s throw tons of credit at authors Mick Axelrod and John Wesley Harding for throwing helpful suggestions at me while I wrote this.

When one witnesses an event that can be described as out of the ordinary, one can usually deduce the series of events that led these people to arrive at the given situation. This is a law for which Las Vegas often seems like a black hole. With cultures from around the globe centralized in a booze addled, no-rules party town, one can see a strange situation every day, if one looks hard enough. And the continually entertaining and baffling thing is, you cannot always figure out what happened. How can one be certain one knows their environment enough when there are things happening in the background that one is not only not aware of, but incapable of comprehending? Case in point: a traffic event my coworkers and I witnessed on our way to lunch this afternoon. You will want to sit down for this.

On Fort Apache, headed toward Charleston, the General Lee passed us going in the opposite direction. That’s right, a bright orange Charger with the familiar 01 racing number emblazoned on the side, speeding down Fort Apache. This is not a strange incident in itself: what with the prevalence of rednecks in this town, fandom is guaranteed to rear its toothless head from time to time. No, what was strange about this situation was that two undercover police SUVs were doing their best to chase the General Lee down, and failing. It was a (relatively) high speed chase, the closest one I have ever been to that I was not personally involved in.

Now, the jokes and jibes abound when applied to this situation. Freeze frame, enter Waylon Jennings: Now them Hazard boys ain’t much for gambling, but they were about to play some high rpm roulette with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Smokeys. Boss Hogg is going to be so pissed, he’s going to take a huge dump all over Uncle Jesse’s still, if’n he can find it. But we’re not here to make jokes, we are here to solve a mystery, worthy of a Dukes and Scooby-Doo crossover. And if it’s possible we’re going to get Jackie Gleason on this one too, having played the finest lawman in cinema history. The mystery of what the hell was going on up Fort Apache way has several po0ssible answers, all of which are probably wrong. Let’s examine a few…

One explanation is that my coworkers and I were unwitting participants in the most reckless and illegal historical reenactment of all time. Was this performance art? We are in Vegas after all. Perhaps the best and brightest of Clark County have finally given up the Civil War ghost and have resorted to reenacting something with more historical accuracy. And if you want to say that The Dukes of Hazard is a fictional situation comedy, don’t say it too loud around them that take everything that comes out of the shiny box as fact.

Another, much more exciting, thought occurs. Perhaps that was the real, honest to goodness General Lee. Perhaps, just perhaps, Seann William Scott and Johnny Knoxville were hootin’ and hollerin’ in the bucket seats. And maybe, if we left some milk and cookies out for him, Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane (the finest cop moniker in modern fictional history) is in that modernized SUV, charging enthusiastically toward his own embarrassing failure at 85 miles an hour. This scenario is the grown man equivalent of finding out Jessica Rabbit, Han Solo, and the Incredible Hulk were real people (we would like those things, too). Can you imagine the age of innocence that would ensue, as men across the country started believing, not only in the world of elves and cookie trees, but in their own aspirations and self worth. I see a world of old men, rocking on the porch with huge toothless grins on their faces, saying, “Paw said I could be president one day!” Younger men would believe that Santa Claus actually bought him that new power drill, and not his young wife. The inspiring nature of this theory demands that it be left in consideration.

My favorite theory thus far has been that the man behind the wheel of the General Lee has just found out he has about a week to live. If he is going to go, he is going to go in the coolest way possible for a redneck. So he hocked his trailer for a paint job, slapped on a pair of Daisy Dukes (he’s always wanted to do that), got some decals mail order from that there internets, hijacked a case of Ball jars full of hooch, and took to the streets. He led the LVMP on a thrilling chase through the backwoods of… Clark County suburbia…  making his final experiences the best of his life. Not only that, but he was good at it. Smokey had next to no chance of catching this guy at the speeds they were going. A bright orange Charger with one of the universal symbols of racism on it is not exactly inconspicuous, which may have proved a drawback for anyone not entirely devoted to the historical accuracy of his balls-deep, batshit crazy escapade, but not for this pioneer of deathsploits.

I cannot actually say what happened to this god among men and his charmingly bemused pursuers. I wanted to follow, but a u-turn in the middle of the road and picking up that much speed seemed like a terrible idea when attempting to be as close to cops or their quarry as possible. Also, we may never know what heinous, otherworldly, logic defying events led to the 70’s television show inspired car chase. All we have, my dear readers, is that one moment in time, and if we are smart we will be grateful for even that. Knowing all the facts can only demystify us from our own more exciting fantasies. For years you will believe that bootlegging is alive and well, and being executed by the finest men for the job. For years you will believe that Daisy Dukes really can be filled out that well in real life. For years you will believe – believe – that seconds after  I passed the most notorious criminal Las vegas event since Tupac, time around the General Lee stopped, and Waylon Jennings told everybody in the audience something entirely evident, in the most clever way any man ever could.

Just so we can get all nostalgic for when she was hot...

Can we talk, for just a moment, about these high profile assault cases? It seems to me that each is being handled all wrong, and not by the system, that for once is a victim (more on that later). No, each of these cases stems from the source, from one man not living up to the standards of his masculine forebears.

To get this out of the way: when Kiefer Sutherland head-butts you, you do not sue, or file charges. You say, “Thank you sir, what an outstanding hit,” and offer him something else to bash with his terrorist torturing, teen vampire rocking, Young Guns hero skull. Like a watermelon. Because only Jack fucking Bauer can make manly what Gallagher makes the polka of all comedy routines. That’s all I will say on that front.

Now we can get to the more prominent cases I have been (unfortunately) following. Let’s start with Perez Hilton. There is clearly a great deal of animosity toward the high-profile celebrity blogger among the very people he presumes to make his living on. This is acceptable, every man has the right to carve himself a niche, and every member of the Hollywood elite has the right to hate him for it.

But, Perez handled himself rather poorly that fateful night. After calling Will.I.Am a fag, he leaves the establishment, and is astonished when a member of Will’s entourage (alright, his manager) emerges and proceeds to punch him in the face. So astonished, in fact, that Will.I.Am’s manager is facing assault charges. Any man who is a man cringes at this thought, but I will explain it for my female readership, which I expect to be copious.

See, when a (white) man, who is obviously gay himself, calls a (black) man, who is heavily involved in the hip-hop and pop industries, a fag, there can be one of several results. Keep in mind that there is a heavy cultural bias in the black community toward members of their own race and homosexuality. Perez is lucky that he did not find the heads of several of his cats in his bed with him, or worse. But let’s take race out of the equation, and think about this from a man’s perspective. You cannot verbally abuse another man, including the use of offensive slurs, and not expect some kind of retaliation. The manly thing to do (and I don’t mean masculine, exactly, but as a member of the same gender) is to analyze what you did from your humiliating spot on the floor. Think about it: was Will.I.Am’s manager wrong for hitting Perez Hilton in the face? or was the reaction entirely appropriate to a situation?

The point is, when men get into altercations, there is absolutely no reason to involve any kind of authority outside of fist one and fist two. Perez’s reaction is the adult equivalent of tattling to your mommy. Get over it, learn to fight, or don’t do things like that anymore. Save your hate speech for your blog, and be thankful people give you money to not actually write there. And before I leave the subject, one more thing. He hit you so lightly, because he knew what a little homo you’d be about it, that he did not even leave a black eye. Cut the shit.

Next we have Chris Brown. Antoher situation that could have been handled better at the man-source. I don’t think this needs to be a long one, because everyone knows you simply do not hit a woman (repeatedly). There are some relationships where a mutually agreed upon tap on the face reminds the woman to take note of her environment and behavior, but even that works both ways. Either way, I am damned sure you don’t mess up one of society’s pinacles of beauty because you threw a little ‘roid fit.

Had Chris Brown handled his shit, we would not be in the unfortunate position of watching him not get any jail time. We have all seen the pictures, so I don’t need to post them for everyuone to agree that the man deserves a full six months of prison rape to teach him a lesson. The community service will be hard enough, I suppose, but the system will probably find a way to get him out of most of that.

Which brings me to the system. In each of these cases, and in several others involving celebrities, the system has become a victim. Look at the people leveling charges against Kiefer and Will’s homie. Each of these situations was handled on its own, and the authorities did not need to be involved. There are murders, rapes, car thefts, heroin addicts, and the courts are supposed to play wet nurse to some asshole who got what was coming to him? At the very worst, Kiefer’s situation was a misunderstanding. Whatever happened to a fight and a handshake apology?

On the other hand, authorities obviously needed to intercede on behalf of Rhianna. But the system became a victim again in this situation: this time of themselves. In all fairness, how can you let every other celebrity off with a wrist-slap, and impose any kind of justice on Chris Brown? What kind of message would that be sending? Simply because the victim was another celebrity? Frankly, becoming as high profile as Rhianna has become comes with its own stipulations, and you have to abide by the unstated contract. Specifically, if you are a celebrity, another celebrity can kill you with impunity. Especially if you have slept with him at any point. The precedent was set with OJ, and the tradtition is proudly carried on by people like Lindsay Lohan. The poor justice system has never had to deal with anything this grotesque, and with the victim actually still alive to tell the tale! Ted Kennedy was so much easier.

Point is: man the hell up. All of you. The fact that you are gay does not exempt you from man-law. The fact that you are a rapper means you get several privileges, like carrying guns to nightclubs and having copious amounts of weed in the viscinity of a grade school, but man-law says you cannot hit women under any circumstances. Lindsay, honey, you don’t have a case against you yet, but try to remember that killing someone while driving drunk is still murder. And finally, the next time Kiefer Sutherland lays you flat, whether or not you think you deserve it, man up anyway. It makes you look like the bigger man, and you cannot honestly say you have never deserved a punch in your life.

Patience is the name of the game, ladies and gents. When this bitch is up and running, you will be checking for updates daily.