... and then the Robot Pulled a Knife

I saw Avatar at a 3-D IMAX theater this Monday, and after a significant period of nausea, was finally able to enjoy it.

Nobody likes a critic with an upturned nose.  In fact, one of my favorite characteristics as a Jew is that my nose more is hook than pig.  You need to understand that even though I was skeptical of Avatar before I saw it, I really latched on to it once I saw the blue people with the magic ponytails.  They were great. 

It really says something about Cameron that he could create a race of people, illustrate them, give them their own facial expressions, turn them blue and convince you effectively, for almost three hours, that they actually exist.  It’s called willful suspension of disbelief, and it’s a literary formula utilized by every author of every piece of fiction ever created.

Throughout the film I was able to keep that suspension going. 

Oh, it was tested.  Trust me.

First, let me just say that Mr. Cameron did everything he could to make the aliens sexy, but he failed, and he also failed to make them sexual.  Case in point – no nip-slips.  Zoe Saldana ran around for two hours with nothing but a tiny piece of loose cloth for a top and that top did not move at all.  I wanted to see what an alien nipple looked like and never did. 

Also, the male avatars only wore tiny, loose, loincloths.  Now, I’m not gay, and more importantly, I’m not into blue people, but I was still so curious to see what alien balls looked like.  I don’t care how tight those loincloths were, if you jump from enough trees onto dragons, your balls are going to flop around.  No balls got loose in Avatar… sorry ladies.

But the alien elements didn’t challenge my suspension of disbelief – it was the human element.

For instance, within the context of the film, it is believable that there is a nine foot-tall, blue avatar representation of a human being.  It is a problem, however, when the blue, nine-foot avatar representation of a human being is wearing a Stanford University t-shirt.  Excuse me, but does one alumnus cum-avatar-representation justify the production of a new t-shirt size?  Where did she pick up one of those Size A(vatar) Stanford t-shirts? 

The final nail in the coffin of my willful suspension of disbelief was hammered home in a hand-to-hand combat scene between an Avatar and a human being who was utilizing a giant robot warrior exoskeleton.  I can dig it.  I saw Aliens, and when Sigourney Weaver used a robot exoskeleton to kill the Alien Queen, I was on-board the entire way.

What set me over the edge in the similar scene in Avatar, was when the man in the exoskeleton pulled a giant robot hunting knife.  Excuse me… what is a robot doing with a knife?  More importantly, why does he have a hunting knife?  And he pulled it out from nowhere.  No worries, though.  I’m sure it will be in the deleted scenes of the DVD release.  In fact, I have a transcript.

  ENGINEER:  So, Colonel, is everything copacetic with
                    your giant, robot exoskeleton killing machine?

  COLONEL:   I’d have to say it is, but there is something missing… 
                    Ah, a knife!

  ENGINEER:  A knife? What would you…

  COLONEL:   Yeah, a hunting knife!

  ENGINEER:  Why a knife… why a hunting knife?

  COLONEL:   You know, for battle.

  ENGINEER:  OK, well we have this other function that will
                    extend a blade from the elbow through the palm
                    of the hand.  It’s bigger and sharper than a
                    hunting knife and it fits neatly within the arm -–

  COLONEL:   Bullshit, I want to be able to pull a hunting knife in battle!

  ENGINEER:  They don’t make hunting knives in your size, Colonel,
                    and this extendo-blade gives you incredible versatility –-

  COLONEL:   No, I want to be able to PULL a knife!

  ENGINEER:  Pull it from where?

  COLONEL:   From my belt!

  ENGINEER:  Robots don’t have belts! 

  COLONEL:   Well, why not?!

  ENGINEER:  Because they don’t have pants! 

  COLONEL:   Horseshit!  I want my giant, robotic exoskeleton
                    killing machine to have a belt, a sheath...
                    don’t forget a sheath, and a giant hunting knife!

  ENGINEER:  You want a belt and a sheath… Gevalt… 
                    Now I have to go find some giant cows for leather…
                    Hey, how about a matching hat, you fucking idiot?

So, in summation, there are problems with Avatar, but as a whole a great movie.  Have fun.

  

Fun with Israeli Hate Cartoons

This morning I woke up to find a strange, hateful, political cartoon on my facebook news feed page that wasn't American.  

Regrettably, I don't speak Hebrew anymore.  I had to ask my always helpful Israeli cousin for the translation, which reads, "If you will it, it is no dream," which for those of you who haven't seen The Big Lebowski, is a famous quote by Theodor Hertzl, the quasi-George Washington of the State of Israel.  Supposedly, this cartoon depicts Ol' Man Hertzl stabbing a present-day, left-wing, female, Israeli politician, who is depicted as a dragon.  

Now, I am from the school that you never make fun of a woman's looks (unless that woman is Sarah Palin).  It is rude and ungentlemanly.  It is also a no-no for me to depict cartoon violence against an actual person, and even more so, a woman.  It gives me the creeps.  

I'm also not a bonafide Israeli history buff, but from what I remember from Hebrew school, Hertzl was remembered more for his vision and leadership, not for his spearmanship or stabbing ability.  I would have remembered that.  They were really into teaching us smiting at Hebrew school.

But the worst part of this cartoon isn't its intent, but, and please forgive the pun, its execution.  I have no idea who these people are, but I should be able to tell what's going on, at least in a general sense.  I can't.  I had to find out in an article what was actually happening in that cartoon.  Does that even look like a sword or spear to you?  Is there any expression at all on Hertzl's face?  Why is the dragon bleeding water?  In American political cartoons, if the identity of a character is not apparent, his name will be written on or next to him.  Not here.  Hertzl looks like your average depiction of a Hasidic Jew here.  Sure, the "If you build it, he will come" text may make him slightly easier to identify, but overall, this cartoon is what a critic might call "piss-poor."

On the other side of the coin, my inability to read Hebrew and the vagueness of the events of this cartoon allow me to insert my own translated captions.  Enjoy.

 

"I'm not touching you with a ten-foot pole until you pop that thing!"

"I know we're alone, but this is still the only way we can dance together!"

"Nobody will do the Limbo until you tuck in your tail!"

"Fine, the next time we role-play, I'll be the dragon and you can be St. George.
That costume doesn't even fit me anyway.  We look ridiculous like this!"

I invite you all to write your own captions for this hideous piece of artwork.  It's not a contest because I don't have a prize to give you, but why not compete out of a sense of sport.

 

"Mom, I did my homework.  Let me go pole vault!"

See, the possibilities are endless.

A Rare Honor and Privilege

I received this in the mail today.  You know, it's not often that I get this type of recognition for all the work I do for the Republican Party, or as I like to call them -- "da Gopp."

Who knew Reagan founded anything?

Either way, I'm honored.  Let this be a lesson to you all.  If you do nothing, and make no effort from within the Republican party, you will succeed so long as they have your name and address.

I HAVE JOHN CORNYN's AUTOGRAPH!  BEAT THAT!

OK, folks.  Just thought I'd share my good news with you.

By the way, I'm a registered Democrat.  I've voted and contributed to a Republican candidate or two, but never on a state or national level.  I guess they just like me.

We Do Not Want You Here

As politically correct as I like to think I am, there are certain types of people that I just can’t abide. They come from a region that is known as lawless and corrupt, rife with all kinds of gambling, prostitution and drug dealing. They come to this area, and yes, some of them work hard and deserve the benefits of our other residents, but frankly -- and let’s not kid ourselves -- some of them are just scum and we shouldn’t allow them here.

Cases in Point:

    1. Luis Vasquez, 31 and Axel Rodriguez, 23

        These two men came to Staten Island and skimmed almost $30,000 from different
        merchants along their armored car route. It’s sad to see this kind of crime being
        committed against local business owners with employees who work hard to earn the
        money that these people are brazen enough to steal.

    2. Elio Pintado, 37

        Another prime example of the filth these people our neighbors to the South produce.
        This one played “hide-the-pinky” with a seven year-old at a movie theater. He did it
        before and now he’s done it again. Just like the other two born criminals, he came
        over the border with no resistance just to commit this horrible crime.

And they’re not alone… scores of them come over the border every day and commit all kinds of crimes – murder, rape, driving under the influence, littering… but you know all about it.

Question: Do we need these people to commit another crime before we act on something we already know to be true?

Hey, I’m a pretty liberal guy, but even I can see that these people don’t belong here. Given the same rights of every other resident – residents who actually pay taxes here – these people abuse our lax borders and easy access to the goods and services this area provides. They are not to be trusted and their movements here need to be closely monitored.

You know who I’m talking about? That’s right. I’m talking about… people from New Jersey.

I live in a small New York border town. I can spit and hit New Jersey, or as I like to call it, the "Smells-Like-Ass" State. Everything that is evil comes from New Jersey, including the mafia and Donald Trump.

OK, some of you might have family and friends in New Jersey, and that is fine. I’m sure your friends aren’t killers or in some horrible rock band that should have been put to pasture twenty years ago -- but they know to stay on their side of the border, don’t they?

We just have to be able to control who comes in and out. It’s a different culture down there. They don’t share our values. They barely share a language. Have you ever heard them talk? It’s a goddamn travesty.

Hey, I’m not saying New Jersey is all bad. After all, there isn’t a better place to go to get gas. It’s cheaper there than anywhere else in the Northeast. And unlike here, they don’t charge sales tax on clothes. See, I’m no bigot. I appreciate what our neighbors to the South have to offer.

But what we need to do is build a wall from Palisades to Port Jervis. A big wall. If we can get some of that stimulus money, I’d bet we could build a wall so big it will make the Great Wall of China look like the right field fence at a little league ballpark.

Yeah, we need a big wall -- a wall that will keep us safe from those savages from New Brunswick and the Hun from Hoboken. I want a wall so fucking big, we can see it from space. And when aliens from another planet finally become aware of us and decide to land at Newark Airport (obviously), they’ll have to marvel at our wall-related ingenuity as their hover-vehicles are meticulously stripped apart for contraband at the border crossing in Northvale. 

That’s right. After the wall is built, we’ll be OK. Until then, I’ll be in the woods in Warwick with my .22 hunting for guys in gym suits -- in a killing way, not a gay way.

Celebrating Martin Luther King Day -- with Ill Will

For those foreigners who may enjoy this blog (and I know there are at least five of you), Martin Luther King Day is a federal holiday that celebrates the life and work of a man who, through the use of oratory and non-violent protest, furthered the cause for racial, gender and ethnic equality. The world had not before, nor since, seen a man who, in the course of only 12 -15 years, raised awareness of injustice and fought for its end so effectively.

Sure, some of you think that Jesus may have a stronger case for this, and you have a valid point.  I put it to you, however, that it is still in question that he actually existed. Personally, I think he did exist. Even so, we already have Christmas, Easter, Good Friday, Palm Thursday, Ash Wednesday, Wing-Night Tuesday, and Monday Monday. He doesn’t need another holiday. Nice guy, though – a real mensch.

For most of us, Martin Luther King became the symbol for the fight against universal oppression by racial and religious hegemony, government policy and the free market.

I’ve always felt a great sense of pride in my belief, fostered by my parents, in equality for all people, even Gypsies.

OK, I may still need to work on Gypsies. I don’t think I know any. In the event I do find out that one of my friends is a Gypsy, I will immediately approach him with my wallet in my front pocket, shake his hand, tell him that I am impressed he is so articulate, and mention to him – in an offhand manner – how much I enjoy Django Reinhardt and Gypsy Rose Lee. 

Question: Are they even called Gypsies anymore? I've heard they preferred to be called Roma or Romany. Well, that’s just like them! But I’m resolved, as soon as I meet a Romany person, I will make him/her one of my best friends just so I can tell people, “Hey, one of my best friends is a Gypsy… er, Romany… and he’s good people… he’s alright.”

It would not be in keeping with the spirit of Ill Will and Everything Else just to praise Dr. King and celebrate this holiday. So as we, a nation, engage in a day of sedentary non-action in order to celebrate a man who epitomized non-violent protest  (why do we always miss the point?),  I would like to direct your attention to some people who may not be so pleased that the good Reverend Doctor King Jr. ever existed.

"When Strom Thurmond ran for president, we voted for him. We're proud of it. And if the rest of the country had followed our lead, we wouldn't have had all these problems over all these years, either." Trent Lott

“The NFL all too often looks like a game between the Bloods and the Crips without any weapons.” Rush Limbaugh

“Detaining all Muslims between the ages of 16 and 45 isn’t racial profiling, it’s criminal profiling.” Bill O’Reilly

“Do your duty. Make more babies… By far, the greatest number are Hispanic. You know what that means? Twenty-five years and the majority of the population is Hispanic. Why is that? Well, Hispanics are having more kids than others. Notably, the ones Hispanics call "gabachos" -- white people -- are having fewer.” John Gibson

“But basically, if you're talking about a day like today, Martin Luther King Junior Day, and you're gonna understand what civil rights has become, the con it's become in this country. It's a whole industry; it's a racket. It's a racket that is used to exploit primarily heterosexual, Christian, white males' birthright and steal from them what is their birthright and give it to people who didn't qualify for it.” Michael Savage (nee Weiner, and yes, he is Jewish)

What’s the lesson? The people who rallied against de-segregation and civil rights back then are still around. The names and faces may have changed. They may not use the n-word (as much), but they’re still here. Don’t fall for their claims of a “color-blind” philosophy.

What was evil then is still evil now. The fight for equality for all never stopped. I hope that wherever Dr. King is… well, I hope he has something better to do than watch us… we’ve gotten way pathetic with our Reality TV fetish.

A Boy and His Needle

Let me be the first to say this… I love steroids.

OK, so I’m not the first person to say that. I’m not that original. In my defense, however, I’m not the person who finds within himself the courage, the fortitude, and the single-minded righteousness to exclaim the safest and least controversial statements in the world about steroids… and this… and this.

I don’t judge athletes who choose to do whatever they need to do in order to earn the most money in what can only be described as the shortest and most limited arc in the history of career-dom. Most prostitutes can work well into their forties, but free agents in major league baseball rarely work more than ten years, and in the first four they’re kept out of the free market.

I believe in performance-enhancing drugs in baseball. I like it when players hit home runs. I like it when they run fast and throw hard. I also enjoy knowing that when I shell out the dough for an advance ticket, my favorite players will show up to the game because their new, Wolverine-like healing abilities are protecting them from the stress and fatigue-related injuries that accompany a 162-game season.

Mark McGwire used steroids during periods of his career, more or less, since his debut as a major leaguer. He denied it his entire career, even at one point defending his use of Androstenedione, a relatively harmless muscle-builder, as an ingeniously crafted smokescreen for the drugs he was really taking. To quote Shakespeare, this was “a very excellent piece of villainy.”

Yes, looking back, now that there is absolutely no question about it, I find that I have nothing but the highest admiration for Mark McGwire’s canniness in concealing his use of steroids. They really should teach this lie in school along with Hitler’s big whopper at Munich.

But most of all, the feeling I have for Mark McGwire, besides awe, is the incredible amount of laughter that I cannot contain.

He conned everyone, and everyone knew they were being conned. He was Don King without the mouth… until it came to commercials. Here was a guy who denied using HGH, a drug that has curative properties, and for all we know could actually be good for you, but accepted endorsements and took millions of dollars to appear in commercials for McDonald’s!

AND NOBODY BLINKED!

You know, the least the Cardinals could have done was name a field-level box seat after McGwire’s endocrinologist. I mean, hey, let’s be fair.

It occurs to me that Mark McGwire is one amazing guy, and possibly the (least-intentionally) funniest person in the western world. And it wasn’t just McDonald’s. In 1998, he was all over commercial television. He was endorsing anything and everything – all kinds of products. There wasn’t one commercial that he turned down.

I can’t find it on You Tube, but I did find the transcript for one particular TV spot:

MM:     Hello, I’m Mark McGwire.  You may know me as that guy
who hits all those home runs and looks like an slightly
uglier version of the Michelin Man.  Yes, that’s me. 

But I’m not here to talk about the Michelin Man,
I’m here to tell you about a problem that,
like many of you, I suffer from:  Feminine Dryness.

There is nothing more uncomfortable than being dry
and itchy down there. That’s why I use
Vagisil® Intimate Lubricant and Vagisil® Anti-Itch Crème. 

VO:      Vagisil®.  Mark McGwire uses it.  So should you.

If you can find this TV commercial somewhere, I swear I will pay you for it.

I’m telling you, there is no way to overstate just how much of an ingenious liar Mark McGwire was. You don’t even comprehend it.  He even had an audience with Pope John Paul II, in front of 20,000 children, and stood there as His Holiness exhorted the youth of St. Louis to condition themselves spiritually just as Mark McGwire conditioned himself physically. And there he was on the stage… smiling like the goofball he wanted us to believe he was.

Seriously! This is a man who lied to the Pope… to his face! WOW!

Say what you want about McGwire and bicker amongst yourselves about how much this affects his standing in terms of eligibility in the Baseball Hall of Fame, and how he lied to the children who watched him play, but again, there is no denying it, he is one extraordinary son-of-a-bitch.

When they erect a Liars Hall of Fame, he’ll be in the Inaugural Class.

Iconoclast v. Hack: Classic Chalkboard Oratory from a Master

I was watching Fox News one night. It wasn’t my fault. I had accidentally fallen off the step-ladder and broke my neck, causing paralysis. The impact of my fall shook my coffee table and inexplicably caused my remote control to switch to Fox News. There I was, immobile, helpless, and being tortured by a psychotic weirdo at a chalkboard.

OK, none of that was true. I’ve never broken my neck. I saw Glenn Beck once. I felt once was enough. I can handle only so much of someone insulting my intelligence. There was something about him that bugged me. I couldn’t figure out what it was. I felt that I had seen this show before.

As a former stand-up comedian, I used to study others’ acts. I wasn’t alone. We were all in competition so we all studied each other. Every now and again, we found someone who was trying to rip off material from another comic, or as in the case of Denis Leary, an entire act (see Bill Hicks). There were quite a few comics in the city who were labeled as thieves. Well, when I saw Glenn Beck that night, my “thief” alert went off.

I couldn’t figure it out. Where did I see this before? I knew that I had seen an entertainer use a chalkboard to illustrate points to a viewing audience before. I know it was some kind of conservative analyst. So I continued to watch…

Can you feel my douche chills?

I would laugh if I didn’t know that millions of people listen and watch him, and that they don’t know how to spell “oligarchy” either. Nonsensical rant after nonsensical rant at the chalkboard…

What? Huh? SEIU? Soros? Huh? Am I missing something?

Then it hit me. My thief alarm is going off because he is not making any sense. When someone steals material, more often than not, he doesn’t understand completely what works about it. He doesn’t make sense because he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. All he knows is that he likes writing things on a chalkboard. Who else used to write on a chalk board? I KNOW WHO! I’VE SEEN CLIPS OF IT!

He used to have a show in New York in the 50’s and 60’s… what’s his name? What is his name? He used to write on a chalkboard too! He actually made sense! He may have been off a tad, but he makes sense! Beck is stealing from THIS GUY! Bishop Fulton Sheen!

You may not agree with him, but Sheen was 40 times the talent that Beck was. If I could, I’d edit these clips together to contrast them without clicking back and forth, but why don’t you try it by clicking on them alternately.

There are so many great clips of Bishop Sheen on YouTube. I don’t agree with him a lot, but at least I found the well of talent from which Glenn Beck has siphoned his entire act. Really, Sheen is fun to watch. He’s like Beck, without the paranoia or douche chills. Well… maybe some of the paranoia… You don’t have to watch it, but you can always enjoy the rest of the Two Wars sermon. I’ve embedded it below.

Anyway, for the record:

  

Iconoclast

Hack

Coming Attractions: The Future of Ill Will

Over the course of the next several weeks, I will be engaged in two separate and unrelated series of articles.  Because I cannot concentrate on one subject, I will be alternating between the two which I believe are entirely unrelated. 


1. They Don’t Make ‘em Like They Used To

On the Sundance Channel, there was a show called “Iconoclasts” in which a camera crew followed around a movie star/celebrity, who followed around an older movie star/celebrity that inspired the former movie star/celebrity.    Robert Redford followed Paul Newman, Rene Zellweger followed Christine Amanpour, and Ren followed Stimpy.  I’ve never seen the show and I’m not even clear if the show is still on TV. 

What I am starting is something quite different.  We are all influenced by people we’ve seen or read about, or by people who have told us about someone they’ve seen or read about.  There’s no getting around it.  Every one of us is a copy of a copy of a copy, diluted and combined with other impressions from other copies.  Sometimes we resemble our progenitors greatly and sometimes we resemble our progenitors waaaaay too greatly.  Basically, sometimes we emulate naturally and sometimes we steal.

I may be stealing the concept of “Iconoclasts” from the Sundance Channel, but I believe I’ll be making it more interesting.   The “Iconoclasts” of the previous generation will be contrasted with the, for lack of a better term, “Hacks” of our generation.  Every article will focus on current persons and how they have stolen, misused and misunderstood the people they endeavor to emulate, and/or the people they hope we don’t remember.

For example, there is a famous Radio/TV talk show host on Fox News who may be actually stealing show biz concepts from a Bishop of the Archdiocese of New York who died thirty years ago.  Can you see where this is going?

If you have any ideas for subjects, I’m game.  Send ‘em on over. 


2. Stealing Can Be Fun!

In this period of economic recession/depression/free-falling panic, we all need some help.  Most of us seek help through the power of God, alcohol or meaningless sex.  The rest of us know better – we seek money.

You may be tempted to steal a Mars Bar at the 7-11 or a nice sweater from Lord & Taylor.  You may pad your expense account or be so bold as to take some cash right from the till.  Well, that’s chump change.  You ought to know better.  You ought to know how to steal… for real.

There are many large corporations that cannot account for all of their funds at a specific point in time.  Those who embezzle funds from their companies, large and small, are usually caught.  After all, if you’re stealing AND counting on that pension to get you through your old age, you’re probably stretching yourself a little thin.   Never mind that, these days most companies don’t have the cash for you to steal, and they’re looking for any reason to can you like a dollop of bad bisque.

You need to start thinking bigger, as in bigger government.  What better company to steal from than the company that steals from you?  And they print their own money!  Name another company that does that.

You can take advantage of so many departments and programs, and the last administration worked so tirelessly to rid the government of any of those pesky oversight positions.  Now, with the latest stimulus cash infusion, it’s time to reap that sinful apple from the overflowing tree of institutional incompetence. 

There used to be a guy in glasses dressed in a book costume who sold you a pamphlet that listed all kinds of government programs.  I killed that guy.  He’s dead.  I burned his costume and donated his glasses to the poor.  All he did was sell you a pamphlet.  That won’t tell you anything.

Every article here will be a step-by-step instructional manual featuring the many ways to strip, defraud, bamboozle, drain, and shanghai local, state and federal government funds.  I hope the articles amuse you as they fill your pockets up with cash. 

*             *             *

I know you’re going to love these series – all six of you.  If you do, tell your friends.  If not, tell NO ONE.

Backdoor Billed Yet Again: Are Any Sales Final Anymore?

You know… I think I have enough financial problems.  I have a mortgage that breaks me.  I have student loans that make me regret ever being a student.  I can barely afford the cable/phone/internet I have.

My one vice?  Netflix.  My idea of a night out?  A night in.

I barely get by at all.  In fact, if I have any money left at the end of the month, it’s probably because I forgot to pay something.  So when I got a bill for a blood test I took a month ago, that I was told would already be paid by my health insurance company, I nearly pulled out my own eyeballs.

As you can see, I’ve been billed an additional $12 by LabCorp for a blood test I took in November.   I can’t tell you how frustrating this is.   Let’s start at the beginning.

I get a prescription for a blood test.  On my list of “participating providers” of laboratory-related services is LabCorp.  In fact, they are the only “provider” on my list.  The great thing about having a “provider” is that my health insurance company has a deal with them.  Much like a doctor visit, I am instructed to remit a co-payment on the LabCorp premises ($20), and then my health insurance company will cover the rest. 

You see, that’s the last I am supposed to see of it.  I don’t even get the actual results of the test – my doctor does.  I shouldn’t see anything else besides some sort of receipt I get every time my health insurance company pays for something. 

I’m no fool, though.  I know that sometimes the tests cost more than the insurance company is willing to pay.  That’s why whenever I go for any kind of lab test, whether it be an MRI or a little blood test like this one, I always ask up front, “This is my health insurance company.  Aside from my co-pay, is this test covered completely under my insurance plan?”  Invariably, I get a yes answer.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.  It’s covered.  This is just a blood test,” said the nice phlebotomist/cashier lady as she entered all of my medical and personal information into her computer.  “We do this all the time and there is never any extra payment.  May I have your credit card, please?”

Out comes the credit card, in goes the needle.  Lickety-split, and I forget all about it.  I don’t even ask for a lollipop. 

So a few weeks later, I get this bill.  Twelve dollars.  Why?  Why am I billed yet again?  I pay for health insurance.  I contribute a co-payment.   If there is any extra money left over, it should be dealt with by my health insurance company, much like an auto insurance company would deal with it, and not by me.  I’m not the one negotiating the terms of the exclusive deal they have. 

If LabCorp is the only “provider” for my health insurance company, and I pay for my health insurance and agree to the terms associated with my health insurance (e.g., making a co-payment) then haven’t I done my part in this transaction?  Isn’t it my health insurance company who has failed to pay the bill?

Anyway, that may very well now be a lost cause, but I do always ask providers ahead of time, “Will this cost me any more money than I’m dishing out right now?” 

Well, you know what LabCorp?  Much like any other company, Ill Will and Everything Else Inc. has a strict policy that dictates all negotiations in its business dealings must be dealt with before the actual transaction takes place. 

I know it’s a revolutionary business idea, and it may be a little hard to grasp, but let me take you through a hypothetical scenario:

You’re in my supermarket.  You pick up a pint of Ciao Bella Mango Sorbet.  You take it up to my counter.  You pay me for it.  You take it home and eat it. 

See?  It’s simple.  You pay me for it, then you eat it!  Now, let’s throw a little wrinkle into the scenario:

You’ve eaten your Ciao Bella Mango Sorbet.  Weeks later, I show up at your door.  I say, “Listen to me, you sorbet-chewing, liberal elitist.  You owe me another eleven dollars.  Now give it here or I’ll put it down as a delinquency on your credit report and it will follow you around for the rest of your life.”

What do you do?  Well, under the Ill Will and Everything Else Inc. Business Policy, you will always know what to do.   

You must kick me in the shins and tell me to leave.  If I don’t stop bothering you about the eleven dollars, then you must call the police and press charges against me for harassment. 

I think you’ll agree that this is a sound -- and fair --  business model.  In the spirit of “Best Practices,” please feel free to use it without fear of copyright infringement.

So what is this all about?  It’s about fairness.  LabCorp, you’re not being fair.  If you charged me the correct amount of money before the transaction was made, then I would have paid it.  You didn’t, so you can suck your twelve dollars out of my circumcised phallus… along with my best wishes for the New Year.

Great… I guess now I’ll have to take off my pants, too.

Look, as an American, and a New York City resident from 1997 – 2002, I understand the effects of terrorism. We are all wary now. We are more careful. When there is a stray tote bag on the street or in the hallway of a large building, we call the police. We are not terrorism virgins. We understand when “this is not a test of the Emergency Broadcast System.”

“Shit just got real,” as Martin Lawrence said so eloquently in Bad Boys II.

I’ve hated this extra responsibility. In my opinion, if someone is going to kill a whole lot of people in a non-secure area, there is very little anyone can do about it. Sometimes, like at Fort Hood, nothing can even be done in a secure area. So how can I worry? What can I do besides “duck and cover?”

This paranoia is the thing, you see. I get body searched every time I fly. I understand why. I’m a young, single man who flies alone. Terrorist bombers generally fly solo, or at the very least, buy their tickets separately. What I cannot abide, however, is being forced to take off my shoes at security.

I am loathe to admit that I am just as angry at Richard Reid, the “Shoe Bomber,” as I am at any of the 9/11 terrorists. This is a guy who smuggled an explosive device in his shoes and tried to detonate it on a transatlantic flight. He couldn’t. He was faulty. The device was faulty. The plan was faulty.

Since December 2001, extra security has not been enough anymore. Now I have to untie my shoes, take them off, send them through a metal detector, walk barefoot through a magnetometer, put my shoes back on, and tie them in the space of a minute. Invariably, I hold up the line because I’m not a quick shoelace tier. It’s embarrassing and aggravating, and it’s all Richard Reid’s fault. I can’t help it. I hate him.

Now, we have a bigger problem. Today, a Nigerian national by the name of Abdul Farouk Abdulmutallab smuggled chemicals in his pants and set his legs on fire while his transatlantic flight landed at Detroit-Metro. Besides being the single-most interesting event to occur in Detroit since the Tigers made the World Series in 2006, this is the single-worst terrorist attack in the United States since Richard Reid. Why? I’ll tell you why.

Now, I’m going to have to take off my fucking pants. It’s bad enough with the shoes. Now the pants? My lord. I have to fly in April. I’ve been dreading it anyway, and now I’ll have to take off my pants and show the other passengers my Old Navy patterned boxer shorts.

Look, this isn’t a blog entry as much as it is a plea to Congressman Peter King of Long Island, the ranking Republican on the House Homeland Security Sub-Committee.

Mr. King, please… please… PLEASE… don’t make me take off my pants at the airport. I can’t bear it. Look, the guy didn’t even pull it off. He failed. He has burns on his legs. Put him in a hole and forget all about him. I will personally staff the prison at Guantanamo Bay to keep him there. I’ll find a way. Just, please don’t overreact.

If there is one thing that is certain, it’s this: changing the way we travel has been very humiliating.

Remember Mr. King, there are many ways to keep us safe. New advances in technology are popping up all the time. I am just as wary of terrorism as anyone and I can appreciate the need for safety… but if I have to take off my pants at the airport, then the terrorists have truly won.

If not for my sake, please do it for the other passengers. Some of my boxers have holes in them.

My Favorite Martian! (or Why I Love Sarah Palin)

Why is it that people relate to Sarah Palin? Well why do you think, you smug bastard?

Wow, you’re irritating! Is there nothing you can say that doesn’t have attitude? Can you issue a single declarative sentence without asking a silly, rhetorical question? (Uh, ok. Guilty.)

There is nothing more aggravating than a person saying something you don’t agree with and also being smug about it. I didn’t like Donald Rumsfeld because he believed that we couldn’t be safe without invading Iraq. I hated him because he treated those who questioned him as though their dogs took a series of big, steaming craps on his front porch… and then he would wink at the people who asked him the softball questions.

Ha, look at this guy! What a ‘tard! How did he even get in here?

I see the same thing in Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck, although frankly, they’re more racist and insane than smug. I also see the smugness in the MSNBC TV hosts, especially Keith Olbermann, Rachel Maddow and that weird freakshow, Ed Schultz. (Where did he come from exactly?) I mean, I enjoy their shows because I agree with them, but they sure don’t make it easy sometimes.

Special note to Olbermann: You need to laugh at the answers your guests give you, Keith, not your own questions.

This kind of smugness on the liberal end has leaked into the actual political arena. Last week, I saw Florida Congressman Alan Grayson on Hardball with Chris Mathews. When Chris Mathews asked him what he thought of Dick Cheney (also guilty) badmouthing the president, Congressman Grayson said that Cheney should “stfu.” Mathews didn’t get the reference and asked him what it meant. Grayson smirked and hinted at it by saying the first letter stood for “shut.”

Honestly, it’s no wonder conservative folks hate us. We’re unbearable. And that’s the thing. We need to be bearable. Being bearable is the only way you can win elections.

If there is one thing Sarah Palin has over us liberals, it’s that she isn’t smug. Sure, she may not have the capacity. She’s not very smart. Most dumb people aren’t smug. Most.

When Bush was first elected in 2000, many people said that Bush was “the candidate you’d most want to have a beer with.” The fact that Bush was an alcoholic and he didn’t drink anymore obviously didn’t enter into it. But Dubya never made you feel stupid in a conversation. Dubya never made fun of you. Why? Dubya had really low standards. He put his dad’s friend on the VP ticket and tried to nominate his own lawyer for the Supreme Court. If you were around, you could win a prize. It reminded me of those stories about Elvis ripping his own jewelry off and giving it to his fans for no other reason than because they were there. What a guy.

Palin is much less charming, and undeniably crazier. It’s one thing to deny climate change and try to cover it up. It’s a whole lot different when you acknowledge climate change and don’t care why it’s actually happening because the rapture is coming…

She might be judgmental, but that’s only because she’s mental. Everybody knows she’s mental, so nobody takes it seriously.

Nobody wants to have a beer with this woman either. Nobody. Take one look at her and you can tell that after one beer she’ll start hollering uncontrollably until she does a body shot out of another girl’s navel and throws up all over the bar. That girl is off the hook.

But she’s not going to call you stupid.

And she smiles. It may be a smile with the craziest eyes this side of Anne Ramsey (see below), but it’s a smile. She’s not smarter than you. She doesn’t challenge you. Her standards are reallllllyyyy lowwww.

So that’s why I like her. Of course, I’m smart enough not to vote for her. Keep that in mind, too.

So when your friends, who perhaps aren’t as swift as you, tell you how much they love that "Sarah spirit," tell them you understand but that Sarah has rabies and a tattoo on her back that says, “I (heart) Satan.” Tell them that God came to you in a dream and told you, through the Archangel Metatron, that Sarah Palin is the anti-Christ and breathes pure hellfire. Tell them that Sarah's urine turns roses into weeds and her kisses give babies skin cancer. That might be the only way those idiot friends of yours will listen to you...

Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It's harder than it looks. Somebody better call the smug police.