My solution to illegal Mexicans and sky-rocketing gas prices

So, you're tired of your inbox being flooded with messages about high gas prices and illegal immigrants, huh? Spam messages about whether or not you should boycott oil companies, when to pump (or not pump) gas, whether or not the United States should provide amnesty to all those Mexicans or whether or not it’s a better idea to shoot them dead like those border vigilantes the “Minutemen...”

I don't know about you, but I've just become so jaded as to the various plans, solutions, and excuses being offered by both the Democrats and the Republicans. I don't care anymore what the Sierra Club or the ACLU has to say or what politician A is saying to politician B while politician C is having an affair with politician B’s wife. I'm tired of listening to everyone else spitball random suggestions into the air without the slightest bit of rational thought or imagination behind them. Therefore, I have decided to figure things out for myself. Brace yourself here, because I think I’ve got a true work of Capitalistic genius on my hands here. As of next month, I am going to begin hiring illegal immigrants to push my car. Yeah, you heard right. As I see it, they're quite plentiful these days and far cheaper than buying gas. Then, after they've put in a good day's work, I'll pay them in pesos so that they'll have to go home and spend their hard-earned, below-minimum-wage wages. Is my plan legal? Is it humane? Is it fair, smart, or even possible? I couldn't give you a straight answer, but if you're just as curious as I am, help me round up some of our Spanish-speaking friends from the southern border. A family of four should do just fine.

And if they decide to exchange their pesos for dollars and I become wise of their sabotage, I’ll join the “Minutemen.” But, you know…that’s plan B.

Elevator stragglers: an offensive pandemic

Okay, so here's a good one. It's a dull Wednesday afternoon in a busy office building. You're standing in a crowd of impatient people waiting for the elevator to get to the second floor - your floor, all the way from floor nine, where the bosses have been having an executive meeting all day about really important matters (you know, like where they'll be teeing off next weekend and who's buying the first round at the lounge after work). Anyway, the button on the wall is lit with a spectacular yellow glow, announcing to all who can see it that that swanky mechanical lift-basket is well on its way, bearing gifts of funky odors and terrible jazz music. Perhaps it will make one last stop or so along the way to pick up a stranded paper-pusher, but it's well aware of your presence, and it's ready to do its job and carry you up, down, or wherever it is that you desire to go (actually, I think I probably covered all the bases with 'up or down'). Everyone standing there knows that a lit button means the thing's coming, but it never fails that someone else will come along late in the game to join the waiting party - we'll call him "the elevator straggler." So he strides on over to the pack, grinning like an overzealous jackass, and what does he do? He extends that slimy index finger of his like it possesses some kind of unique magical ability and presses that button one more time. Does he really think that seven people are so incompetent that they will stand around like lost sheep in front of an elevator without pressing the button to call it to their floor? Does he fail to notice the soft luminosity of the round button with the "down" arrow on it, indicating that it has already been pressed? Where does this arrogant jerk get off acting like he's some kind of elevator-calling-god, here to save the day for the poor index-fingerless souls so desperate for his intervention? I swear, there's gotta be a million of these people (and I'm betting at least a dozen of them will read this post with a snarky smirk and a twinkle in their eye as they throw back a swig of warm malt liquor - that's how these schmucks get their kicks...pressing already pressed elevator buttons and drinking tepid alcoholic beverages). It's pure insanity, but as I write this, I'm beginning to fear that I'm the only one who has noticed this ridiculous trend, or maybe the only one who cares. I think mankind would do well to put up a new sign right above the "no smoking" and "no firearms" signs.


Soon, society is going to have to come up with a new phrase to replace "common sense," because it's pretty hard to find these days, and usually when something is hard to find, we call it rare - not common. Rare sense. I like that a lot better.

Drinking six-year-old flavored syrup-water is probably a bad idea

Remember Surge? Well, of course you do (at least I sincerely hope you do, otherwise this article isn't going to bring about the same fuzzy feelings it's bringing to me as I'm writing it, and you don't want to miss out on these fuzzy feelings, because they're great...and...and fuzzy...yeah, so...). If you don't remember it and can't for some reason (be it laziness or otherwise) Google it, I'll go ahead and give you a one line explanation to jog your memory (after all, a lot of bizarre soda pops have come and gone over the last decade or so). Notice I said "soda pop?" I used both of the disputed terms together, bringing harmony between the varying regional dialects, because I'm a man of peace. Oh yeah...that one line explanation I mentioned I give you -

It was that really weird, green-colored soft drink that Coca-Cola came out with in the later part of the 90s to fight against Mountain Dew. Oh yeah, there's another small detail - it's considered by some devout followers to be the elixir of life itself. Anyway, I was at the store one day meandering around ("meandering" is a word I've been wanting to use on coolSWAG forever) when the thought hit me (and you wouldn't believe how hard thoughts can hit you when they're angry) - I haven't seen Surge in years! What happened? Did it run away to a Mexican circus? Join the Church of Scientology? Was Surge arrested after making an appearance on NBC's To Catch a Predator? I didn't have the slightest idea, but that day in the grocery store, while standing next to the salty snacks and carbonated beverages, I swore to myself I would find out.

After spending the rest of the afternoon reliving the good old days I used to spend hyped up on the stuff (like some kind of liquid cocaine), I did a little bit of research, and discovered that this stuff was discontinued in 2001, but has since developed an international fan club - nay, a cult following. No kidding, there are corners of the web entirely dedicated to this extinct beverage. Huh...all this and we still don't know for sure who the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby is or what ever happened to Jimmy Hoffa. I suppose considering there are websites dedicated to painted De Loreans, I shouldn't really be all that surprised anymore, but I am. The most popular of these sites, called, simply enough, Save Surge, is complete with tee-shirts, birthday cakes, flea market finds, and get this...they've even made a freaking movie about the stuff - and a special edition DVD version is available for only three US dollars right here, if you're the mildly insane type. My favorite find from this hunt for the truth was a "fresh" can of Surge that's for sale on eBay for only $24.50 shipped (paypal only)! And the generous seller has three of them available! Well, make that two because I'm buying one after I'm done with this write-up (not really - I've got less ludicrous things to spend my money on at the moment, like a new pair of headphones because I broke mine yesterday and I can't enjoy youtube without headphones).

The strange thing is, only three months from now, readers of this blog will click that last link only to find that the item is no longer in eBay's database. A sad fact of life and the result of eBay's terrible logging policy, but we must keep on keeping on, no matter how much expired links ruin our reading. Speaking of expired links, a lot of the older pictures from past articles are slowly vanishing from CoolSWAG, and there's honestly not much I can do about it because I've since purchased a new computer and I didn't care enough to back anything up from my old one. Oh well, maybe I'll make a future article where I go back and replace them all with out of place, randomly selected images of candles and coffee beans...that could be amusing. Oh, while we're on the subject, if you don't have a regular habit of rolling your mouse over the images, you should. Half of the things I have to say sometimes are hidden in the dialoge boxes that pop up when you do that.

The classics

It's been said that in literature, "classics" are the books that everyone knows and loves but nobody really ever reads anymore. And if it hasn't been said, I just said it, and don't tell me it's not true. What's scary, to me at least, is that some of my favorite video games are quickly falling into that same category. Classics. Games that everyone knows and loves but nobody really ever plays anymore. I wonder how many gamers out there, if handed that old, rectangular Nintendo controller, could play the Original Super Mario Bros. correctly - that is, do things like the 1-up trick or enter the Minus World with the ease of a seasoned veteran. I bet some of the people reading this article even, would have to check out Wikipedia just to know what I'm talking about right now. Admittedly, I didn't play the Atari when I was little, so I can't say I've been there from the beginning, but I don't think any Atari fanboy is going to threaten my life for thinking that Nintendo represents what video games were in the 1980s and early 90s. Sure, there was a difference between Atari and the 8-bit world of the Nintendo Entertainment System, but it really isn't comparable to what we've got today. There's an exponential difference between the 8-bit world and the polished look of fully 3-D, photo-realistic gaming. Not that technology is a bad thing - I like Halo as much as the next guy, but I think we're fast approaching a generation that won't understand the finer points of rescuing the Princess. For crying out load, who's going to rescue the Princess?

Okay, you're probably wondering why I suddenly decided to care so much. I guess it comes down to the fact that recently, I ventured away from my comfort zone at work and took over the video game section. For a handful of days, I answered every question imaginable about PS2 memory cards, why nobody is buying our tremendous shipment of PS3s, and when the next shipment of the Nintendo Wii is coming in (and before you ask, I honestly don't know - they're direct from the manufacturer). One thing I picked up on was that today's youth are downright insulting when it comes to video games. I actually heard a ten-year-old boy say to his mother "Finally Nintendo is making something good." To which, his mother replied, "Honey, I remember when Nintendo was the only thing out there." The boy looked at her with a blank stare and eventually said "That must have sucked." Because of this spreading epidemic, I believe it's time for true gamers to step up and revive the good old days. I'm not talking about throwing out your Wii or spitting on Master Chief. I'm simply saying there are a handful of "classic" games that everyone knows and loves but nobody really plays anymore. Since these games are recognized as "classics" by everyone, including non-gamers, a true gamer should be able to wipe the floor with anyone else while playing these titles.

I.) Super Mario Bros.

The one that made video games mainstream. Everyone was playing Super Mario Bros. when it came out. Sort of like news about Anna Nicole Smith, it was everywhere. Any respectable gamer should be able to pick up a controller and beat the entire game in one sitting without once lifting his left thumb from the forward-right button. Your brain should contain some kind of extra-sensory appendage that allows you to play the game without thinking. It should be involuntary. You pick up the controller, you make Mario run, you jump on those Goombas, and you save the Princess. The end. Then you repeat the process after downing some Orange Julius.

II.) Tetris

You should be able to impress everyone with your abilities at stacking blocks and doing it faster than anyone else within a twelve mile radius. And with this one, there's absolutely no excuse. You can play it in your browser right now by clicking the link off to the right. If you're reading this, I expect you to click that link and forfeit at least a good half hour of your time (after you finish this article anyway).

III.) Space Invaders

Think you had your hands full with the Flood in level six of Halo? Forget everything you've learned about being outnumbered by a seemingly infinite onslaught of deadly, computer-generated enemies. Until you've found yourself mixed up in a serious battle with nervous eyes and sweaty palms, hiding behind the sandbags in Space Invaders, you've never known the meaning of difficult. The funny part about this game is the fact that everyone and there brother has played it, but not too many people continue to play it after they've passed the first wave of enemies. The point of the game is seeing how long you can go. If you're going to give up after the first wave, don't even bother playing. An added bonus with this game is the fact that the creators didn't add in any kind of music. It's just the repeated ricochet of neon laser blasts and the sound of your erratic heartbeat, dancing around your living room at one in the AM.

IV.) Pac-Man

You'd be surprised just how challenging four ghosts can be when the only thing they have to do is run around a rectangular labyrinth and scare Pac-Man all day. Again, games these days are superb when it comes to graphics and sound, but rarely are they as challenging as a game of Pac-Man. Don't believe me? Think you could school those ghosts and eat more keys than anyone? Go ahead and try it. I betcha you'll be taken aback by how difficult this game can be for the level of simplicity involved.

V.) Pong

It was the original video game. It didn't need enemies. It didn't need graphics. It didn't let a little thing like being black and white slow it down. It relied on the most essential skill a gamer can have: reflexes. It's still a good test to see just how good your reflexes are. Want to improve your sniping so you can pick off Covenant slime with more skill than any of your drunken friends at the next Saturday night game party? Play Pong.

It's time to put the Xbox 360 away and go back to your roots before the next generation has the chance to ask "what's a warp zone?" ever again.

It's not a nun-chuck and you can't go fishing with it, but it's still cooler looking than any goofy Wii stick out there.

If you can read this, you're probably not still hung over

If you're keeping track of things around here, you've likely realized that I never did get to that article I had planned for Christmas Eve. I ended up having to work until six o'clock and by the time I got home it was time to leave again and visit family...and then there's that whole A Christmas Story marathon thing (incidentally, I never watched the movie one time straight through from start to finish this year - just bits and pieces here and there...mostly there). I may or may not ever get around to that elusive article. I'm thinking I'll probably hold off until July when I go through Christmas withdrawal - might be kind of fun at that point, but as for now, it's a little too Christmassy for my tastes (if you just went into shcok after reading what I just typed, I'm sorry...when you wake up, email me and I'll send you an "I'm sorry" e-card). In the mean time, here's wishing all of you out there reading this article through the many pixels of your computer screens a bold-faced, all caps HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It's a year without that guy, so it's already shaping up to be a great one. By the way, did you hear all those jokes people have been making about Saddam? No? Oh well, they're all poorly executed anyway. Rim shot!

A holiday for the rest of us!

It's December 23rd. Yes, yes...the big day has arrived at last! What's that? Christmas isn't for another two days? What's that have to do with anything? I'm talking about Festivus - a holiday that is being celebrated on its 40th Anniversary this year (but only its 9th commercially). Get your aluminum pole out of the garage, sit down for a dinner of meatloaf and spaghetti with your family, submit yourself to the Airing of Grievances, and prepare yourself for the Feats of Strength (because, as you know - the day isn't over until the head of the household is pinned!).

Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I've got an article planned but I don't know if I'll have the chance to deliver it. So keep your eyes opened and your finger on the refresh button (because I know you're obsessed like that). If it's not up before 8:00 PM EST tomorrow, you have my permission to move on. I know it'll be hard, but the A Christmas Story marathon will be starting on TBS and I plan on watching all 24 hours worth. Oh yeah - on a final note: No, I haven't seen Rocky VI yet. It's not something I'm proud to admit, but there you go. I feel like I've committed some capital offense now that it's out in the open. Maybe when Ralphie's all done drooling over that red bar of soap, I can borrow it for a while. A fitting punishment for a terrible crime. I have picked up the Rocky Anthology DVD set which contains Rocky I-V.

CoolSWAG: One year later

Yep. It's been a year since I first launched coolSWAG. 4 seasons. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. Actually, a few of those numbers are a smidge off but since I don't have my atomic clock handy, I'm guesstimating a little bit. Whatever way you want to cut it (and please don't use the dull scissors when you do), if you've been here since the beginning, you've endured a lot of mindless rambling. For you, the loyal, the bored, the proud SWAGgers who keep coming back for more - I want to share a boldfaced, super-large, blue font THANKS. For the life of me, I don't know why you keep coming back. I've let the blog go for weeks without a single word of explanation. I've made fun of your favorite radio station. I've tortured you with write-ups on fast food, Rocky, and holiday-themed beverages. I've even thrown large chunks of dinner ham at you, but here you are. Actually, that last one I've never done.

Yet.

Anyway, I suppose I should have a point to this article. After all, its been a while since I gave you something with actual content. This time around, I'm going to try to shock you with something so random you might actually question my mental stability. That said, I present:

The Seven Weirdest Wrestlers Ever!

Random enough for you? I was hoping. First off, I should probably set the record straight. I'm not a fan of professional wrestling. The whole thing just seems kinda goofy to me. A bunch of half-naked grown men wearing colorful spandex underwear, shouting laughable insults at the top of their lungs, and touching each other isn't my idea of a swell evening of good television. Wrestling takes itself way too seriously for my taste. When I was little though, and wrestling was at its peek in the pop culture world, I was a fan. I wasn't a die-hard or anything. I rarely watched the fights. I didn't know all of their names. I do distinctively remember having those large, rubbery, non-action action figures though. Those things were great. Back then, articulation wasn't a big deal and all you needed was a hefty, brick-like rubber thing that only partially resembled a real-life fake-athlete to make a kid happy. The more I talk about these, I'm not sure how the LJN Toy Company managed to label these crappy things as "action figures." They have no action. You can't even move their arms. They should have been sold as "crappy miniature rubber statuettes," but I suppose I can see why they opted to forgo that title.

Basically, these things were just plain awful, but back then, kids didn't have any better made toys to compare them to, and they weren't all that bad. You know what? I'm veering off subject again. I can't remember the last time I did that (<---sarcasm). Anyway, 1985 was probably the biggest year in wrestling history. It was then that professional wrestling became a mainstream "sport." You see, this was the first year of Wrestlemania (a name that, had it been presented in modern times, wouldn't have lived longer than a second or two), which has since become an annual pay-per-view event - the Super Bowl of professional wrestling (without the funny commercials of the real Super Bowl). It was here that the biggest names duked it out for all to see. The event catapulted professional wrestling into the limelight, and it quickly took its spot in the shallow end of 80s pop culture. Wrestlers could no longer rely on being tough in the ring. They had to become theatrical to captivate an audience. A pro wrestler had to come up with some kind of wacky gimmick that would set him apart from all the other wrestlers. It was here (through most of the 80s and the early part of the 90s) that legends and losers alike were born into a world, that ready or not, accepted them into its collective living room TV. Today, I'll be highlighting the losers because, quite frankly, I don't care about wrestling all that much. I'm in this for some cheap laughs at some ridiculous-looking individuals.

Honky Tonk Man

First on our list is Honky Tonk Man. Basically, he was an Elvis impersonator who decided it would be more fun to make a fool of himself on national TV than in front of a small pack of drunks somewhere in Las Vegas. He pretty much dressed up like Elvis for all of his fights and danced around in front of the cameras. He wasn't very good at wrestling, so he always brought along his guitar so that he could wack his opponent with it as soon as the ring referee wasn't watching (as is gracefully demonstrated in the video below).

He must have done that a whole lot because he managed to hold the Intercontinental Title for seven years of his wild career. He was about as lame as could be back in his prime, but he did have one thing going for him - a great theme song. I don't really know what he's doing nowadays, but it probably involves battering defenseless people with his guitar somewhere in Minnesota.

Max Moon

Next we have Max Moon. Basically, Max claimed to be a visitor from our moon, who came to this planet to take on the professional wrestlers of Earth. Aside from merely saying he was from the moon, good old Max wore a stupid-looking tube-covered costume to all of his matches. I'm sorry, but I'm just not buying that a man from the moon would come to Earth on Saturday mornings for the sole purpose of doing battle with some obscure nobodies in fake combat for television audiences. Maybe I've just become a cynic, I dunno.

Xanta Claus

The "X" in his name is by no means a typographical error on my part. This is Xanta Claus - Santa Claus' evil twin brother. Some of these guys were really scraping the bottom of the barrel when coming up with their gimmick. It was clear that this guy was Santa's opposite right off the bat, when he was introduced as a present-stealing grinch, hailing from the South Pole. Even his costume was backwards. Unfortunately, to the disgust of bloggers everywhere who spend their days off from work doing write-ups on cheesy wrestlers, Xanta was given the old heave-ho-ho-ho (yes, that's a Santa joke) and thrown out with the dried up Christmas trees and re-gifted fruitcake only a month after his debut.

Dean Douglass

This guy pushed all boundaries and traveled into the scariest, most unfathomable depths of lameness. His gimmick, to the shame of anyone who worked or currently works in the public education system, involved everything school-related. Dean Douglass was basically a slightly more homosexual version of the gayest High School Principal you can think of. He would sit in a classroom backstage at wrestling events and grade his fellow wrestlers on their performances. The catch to all this was that he always gave everybody an "F." Everything about this guy had something to do with school, and he was very elemental like others within the "sport," but he was none the better for it. He would climb into the ring wearing an extremely flamboyant graduation robe, then defeat his opponents with his signature move: the final exam. I don't really want to get into the details. Let's just say there were moments when he would literally spank his fellow "athletes" with a wooden paddle nicknamed "the board of education." There were a lot of people who already though wrestling was on the gay side. I don't think Hulk Hogan appreciated this guy driving the point home in a blatant display of homosexual pride. And you don't want to make Hulk Hogan mad at you. He's been known to peel bodies inside out and chew up vital organs for less.

Jean-Pierre Lafitte

Strangely enough, Jean-Pierre Lafitte probably would have made my list even if he hadn't portrayed a modern day pirate from New Orleans, simply because he had a prissy-sounding French name. Then again, if he hadn't portrayed a modern day pirate from New Orleans, he wouldn't have had a prissy-sounding French name in the first place. I guess this one's a catch 22. The weird part about all of this is the story behind this guy. He was originally called the Mountie (based on the Canadian cops who ride around on horseback), but was forced to change his name and look when Canadians made a big deal about how his influence on children may make them distrust the police. How they got that brilliant idea is beyond me. Anyway, Jean-Pierre ran around the ring wearing a patch over his eye (which I would assume would make it harder to win - but seeing as how the "sport" is fixed anyway, I guess the patch doesn't hurt his chances any), and had a terrible knack for stealing things (he was a pirate after all). In fact, one of his biggest feuds came about when he stole fellow Canadian wrestler Bret Hart's pink and black jacket.

Doink

Yeah, Doink was a clown. Really. His gimmick of choice was that he was a clown who wrestled. How is it possible to take your opponent seriously when he's a clown? The only person I know that can do that is Batman - and he's had like 66 years to master it in the comic books (plus his parents were murdered before his very eyes at the tender age of eight and he's a morbidly serious vigilante crime-fighter). Anyway, Doink would appear in the ring with the trumpeting sound of ambient circus music. Let's face it - nobody likes clowns. I have a feeling he may be the single most hated professional wrestler of all time for the sheer fact that he was an absolute retard. He even had a Mini-Me version of himself named Dink who would accompany him to the ring now and then (mostly then).

Mantaur

Say what you will about the other wrestlers on this list, but there's no denying the absolute absurdity of our last entry. Mantaur literally thought he was a bull. I am 100% convinced that the guy under that cheap-looking costume was insane. Not pretend insane as an act for the audience - I'm talking authentically insane, as in "this guy probably drinks his own urine every morning and accuses ants of being Communists." This guy thought he was the animal moniker he dawned every match through and through. He would gallop around the ring mooing and grunting, while wearing a ridiculous looking mask that only vaguely resembled a bull. I think Mantaur is the reason nobody takes wrestling seriously - the reason why ratings are getting lower and lower as the years pass by. Nobody has forgotten the foul stench he littered the ring with all those fights ago. Nobody has forgiven him for being so awful. Except me, of course. Without him, this post would have concluded with Doink, and that just isn't right.

Happy Turkey Day to all!

It's almost ten o'clock and I've got to be at work at 4:45 AM tomorrow, so I'm sure you'll excuse me if I'm brief tonight. I hope all of my loyal readers had their fill of roasted bird today. Sit on the couch and stay there until Monday. It'll be nice and relaxing and it'll make the dreaded Black Friday a little less stressful for all of us retail people. I hope you enjoyed the cartoon above which graphically displays the ritualistic death and consumption of everybody's favorite yellow, homosexual bird-muppet. So yeah...when's Christmas again?

Pepsi gives the idea of a holiday-themed drink another shot

Sorry for breaking the "at-least-one-post-per-week" rule. You can stop emailing me now and asking me if I'm dead. The fact that I respond to your messages should've given you the hint that I wasn't dead, but in case you didn't get it, I'll give it another shot. I'm not dead. Anyway, I'm sure you've probably seen the commercial by now for the new Christmas beverage this season - Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash. From what I understood from the commercial and the history of holiday beverages(Holiday Spice Pepsi in particular), I figured this drink would:

• a.) be a remix of the original drink - in this case, Sierra Mist with some cranberry flavoring
• b.) be available only for a limited time (likely through Christmas)
• c.) taste like...well, something you normally wouldn't drink under any circumstances (basically, you try it because of its "limited edtion" title and because its a Christmassy drink - perfect for trying at Christmastime).

Three of my initial assumptions were dead on. Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash is essentially a remix of traditional Sierra Mist with some cranberry flavoring added in. In case you haven't had the original version of the beverage - it's lemon-lime, falling into the same category as 7up, Sprite, and...yeah. So anyway, I was also correct in thinking that its a limited thing. Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash will only be available through Christmas. Where I went wrong in my figuring was how it would taste. I honestly expected this stuff to taste like a bad cough drop. It tasted more like a cross between cherry Kool-Aid and well, Sierra Mist. It's not half bad, and I'll probably give it another go at some point before Santa goes back to sleep after his flight on December 24th.

The weird part about all of this, is that you know its a drink for the holidays, but they make no effort in making the actual product look like a Christmas-themed drink as far as the bottle goes. It's only going to be available for a limited time and it's got cranberry flavoring (which wouldn't really seem logical at any other time of the year), but the label on the bottle isn't Christmassy at all (there are no snow-covered trees, wrapped gifts, or Elves anywhere). I think they're just trying to stay on everybody's good side - Christmas lovers and Christmas-hating Wal*Marts alike, but they could have at least put some snowflakes on the label. At least the "Holiday Hawk" in the commercial sings Jingle Bells. That makes things a little bit better. Not "good" better though. Just kinda like the "calm-after-ripping-off-a-band-aid" better. Anyway, go try the drink. If I haven't convinced you. maybe the singing "Holiday Hawk" will. Check out the commercial below.

Oh yeah, to celebrate the weird occasion of a holiday drink actually tasting descent, I'm bringing back the rating scale from last December. At one point, the rating scale was going to be a running gag around here. It never really took off though. Oh well. I give Sierra Mist Cranberry Splash a nine out of ten snowflakes (oh, and if you're wondering, I am using the snowflake scale out of spite - Pepsi didn't use them on their labels, but that won't stop coolSWAG).

And on one final, semi-related note - Cingular has a new commercial running, where they've taken clips from A Christmas Story (still my favorite Christmas movie ever), and edited in their own actors in place of the real ones to promote a new Go Phone. It's not all that funny, but I applaud them for trying. Besides, I love anything and everything Christmas-related (at least I think), and this qualifies.

Hello Halloween...goodbye Halloween

First off, let me say this: I don't dislike Halloween. It's just, if for some weird reason Halloween was accidentally skipped one year, I probably wouldn't notice. For me, Halloween is merely an indicator of just how close we are to Christmas. I would probably get weird looks if I dressed up like Optimus Prime and went trick-or-treating, so I don't get any candy. I have very few fond memories of Halloween (one or two maybe), so I don't have much of a sentimental value for it. It's just kinda there. At the end of October I expect to see crappy latex masks of Frankenstein and Michael Jackson flooding the shelves. I expect to be reminded of just how much I hate candy corn. I expect to see the hosts of the Today Show dressed up in goofy costumes, and I expect to see "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" (which turned 40 this year, by the way). I expect it, but I guess I only expect it like I do Fridays. Some people wait all week long for Friday. It's their pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It's their proverbial easy chair after a stressful week at the office. Me? I'm a Saturday man. Why look forward to Friday? It's just another day of work. Saturday is the real prize. Halloween is Friday and Christmas is Saturday. Wait a second...I guess I left out Thanksgiving. It can be Friday night. So Halloween is Friday from 6AM-5PM, Thanksgiving is Friday night, and Christmas is Saturday. And Sunday. I can't believe it's only October 31st. I'm going to go listen to Feliz Navidad.

The misadventures of Saddam and Osama

I found this while looking around on youtube today. It's a funny cartoon written by Sean Penn about the adventures of Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden. Obviously it isn't an actual Arab cartoon - it's more of a stereotypical satire that plays off of all the goofy things we know about Middle Eastern culture. The commercials are the best part, and since it's only a little over three minutes long, it's not going to take all day to load and view this sucker. Enjoy.

Oh, and on a tragic note, the Retro Games site has been given a face-lift and for one reason or another, you can't actually play emulated games on it anymore. Now you pretty much get to stare at a couple of screenshots and read through a long list of games that used to be playable right in your browser. Oh well. The link is coming down tonight. It really ruined my day when I realized it, though. Just like someone urinating in my cornflakes. But not to worry - the other games are still playable and those links aren't going anywhere.

coolSWAG - altering the climate of the world one step at a time

Yesterday, I was walking to my car when I realized that the sky had opened up and good old Jack Frost had begun tossing around snowflakes again. Seeing as how this is the first time since February or so that I have had the chance to see snow falling around me, I got pretty excited, and as embarrassed as I am to admit it, I spent the better part of ten minutes running around in circles trying to catch a stray snowflake on my tongue (I finally did catch one, in case you were wondering). Anyway, I am happy to announce to the world (or at least the handful of readers who still frequent these parts) that I made it snow. Yeah, that's right. Without my intervention, it would not have snowed at all yesterday. I'll explain why in a little bit, but there's something you need to understand first.

I am a Christmas fanatic. I'm the kind of guy who can listen to Christmas music in the middle of June without the slightest hint of humiliation showing on my face in a crowded room. I'm of the same yuletide brand that QVC and department stores hail from - ready in September for what we won't really need until midway through December. While other, more sane shoppers are complaining about the Christmas decorations flooding the shelves with exclamations like "what happened to Halloween and Thanksgiving," and "didn't we just do all this," I'm one of the few Christmaholics skipping down the aisles in zest at the glory of miniature porcelain Christmas villages, and overpriced Hallmark ornaments. Actually, men don't skip, so it's more like competitive walking with a hint of childhood mannerisms exuberating between steps. Regardless, I'm pretty much militant when it comes to all things Christmas. It's the little things that excite me too, and when I first noticed that the marts (K-Mart, Wal*Mart, and Target, for those of you out of the loop of my lingo) were stocking their respective "garden centers" with Christmas supplies, I think I nearly went into convulsions. I don't know what it is, but there's something about giant, 8 feet tall, inflatable snowglobes with giant, 4 feet tall, inflatable Charlie Browns inside that makes me high as a kite.

Here's a screenshot of my computer's desktop. That's a countdown on lower left (we're a little further along now, as this was taken last week), and that's a Christmas Jukebox on the right with a huge playlist of all kinds of Christmas classics - everything from traditional holiday hymns to renditions of famous songs like "Jingle Bells" done by the Chipmunks.

Anyway, earlier I made a pretty insane statement - that I was responsible for the snow. I'm not backing off from that sentiment either. I really am responsible. You see, over the weekend I put up a Christmas tree. Yes, I am aware that it's only October twenty-something. It's only a little guy (maybe two feet tall), but it's still the first Christmas tree put up this year within a pretty big radius (I don't want to say just how big, because I live pretty close to a mall and they've had several trees up at a number of stores for the last two weeks). Anyway, I've successfully fooled Mother Nature into thinking that it's late November (about the time when my tree usually goes up), and now we're seeing weather around my parts in the negative double digits (more like 40s-50s, but hey, it's my blog and I'll tell you whatever I feel like telling you). This is just the beginning too. Soon, I'll be putting out my annual Christmas village display (one of my favorite things about Christmastime), something that I've been modifying for the last three years straight (come to think of it, it really should be more impressive after three years of work). It's all coming a bit earlier this year, but I'm not worried. Mother Nature will probably figure out that I'm crazy pretty soon and the jig will be up. If I can keep it going for just a little longer though, I'll be content, because by then it'll actually be time for harsh weather anyway. The gap between the two will be foggy at best, and I will have successfully altered the fall/winter seasonal divide! Hurray for me. Hurray for Christmas.

A group of guys serenade a McDonald's drive thru speaker

I got a kick out of this when I saw it on the news over the weekend, so I looked it up this morning on youtube and decided to share it with everyone here just in case you don't normally do youtube searches for that sort of thing (and let's face it...who does?). If you have seen it before, I think you'll agree that it's worth a second look.

Classic shows long gone: Part 2

According to my calendar, it's finally Friday, and that can mean only one thing: it's time for part two of our look at classic TV shows that haven't been on the air in years. In part one, everything was straight out of the 2D world, so this time around, I'm going to be talking about the live-action stuff I remember watching all those years ago. It's funny, I've been waiting all week to write this article, and now that I'm writing it, I don't really feel like it anymore. Go figure. Anyway, I'm not going to let a little case of blog apathy stop me from delivering, especially on a "part 2" of something. I promised it, and you're going to get it. On that note...on with today's article.

Who can forget the Midnight Society of Are You Afraid of the Dark? I can still remember looking forward to Saturday night every week in anticipation of hearing another scary story from that goofy group of kids around the campfire. The theme song used to scare the crap outta me, more so than the actual show, and I absolutely refused to watch that part without a lamp on or something. The rest of the show didn't really bother me all that much aside from a few episodes which I think had better stories and acting than most of today's "horror" flicks. For anyone who doesn't know (or couldn't figure it out from what I just wrote), the show was about a group of kids who sat around a campfire and told ghost stories...well they didn't actually tell the stories per say. One of the kids (Garry, Kiki, Betty Ann, or someone else less-memorable) would announce the title of their "story" with the familiar catchphrase "submitted by the approval of the midnight society," while throwing some kind of magical dirt on the fire. Then we had some cool super-imposed lettering that spelled out the title that the "story-teller" just gave us. After that, the kids around the campfire sorta disappeared and we were subjected to a show-within-a-show, until the end when the campfire gang would return, put out the fire, and call it a night. The concept of the show was pretty simple, but at the same time, revolutionary. Kids no longer had to venture into the woods and tell ghost stories to each other - they could just watch other kids do it on TV and be entertained without all the mosquitos and other annoyances that a trip into the woods presented. Tack up another show on the "genius" list for Nickelodeon.

I was trying to see what all the old cast members have been up to since leaving the campfire for the last time back in 1996, and I gotta tell ya, some of these people have literally vanished from the face of the planet. For instance, I've spent a lot of time looking up Ross Hull, who played Gary on the show, and I haven't been able to find out much of anything aside from a few other roles he was in and a couple of recent, but blurry pictures. That crazy Canadian. Oh well. One former cast member, who I did stumble across when looking around, was Joanna Garcia, who played Sam on Are You Afraid of the Dark. And let me tell you, it's no wonder she didn't vanish from the face of the planet...

There's nothing scary about the show anymore, but for some reason I still want her to hold me.

Submitted by the approval of the Midnight Society...yeah, it doesn't really work without the campfire, the magic dirt, and the funky glowing logos superimposed over a TV screen. How about I just put it this way: the next show I'm going to be looking at is a classic from the early 90s with one of the most ridiculous titles I've ever heard to date: Superhuman Samurai Syber-Squad. Aside from the name of the show being so long and stupid, for one reason or another, the creators thought it would be okay to misspell "cyber" just so every word of their lengthy title would start with an "s." Well, I'm not all that impressed with their decision, but the show still rocked.

Basically, somebody in the TV biz got the wild idea to take a Japanese cartoon and turn it into a live-action American television show. To top it off, he stole some Japanese footage from Ultraman, and threw it all in a giant, TV-blender. Here's a rundown on this gem in the rough, because I'm sure that not many of you remember it:

Sam Collins (played by a young Matthew Lawrence), is your average teenager who just so happens to be pretty talented when it comes to programming his own video games (I wish I had friends like that). Oh yeah, he's also the leader of his own rock band. One day, Sam and his band are practicing, and an energy surge from out of nowhere transforms Sam into a character in one of his video games, named Servo. Another guy from his school, Malcolm Fricke stumbles across a weird military Artificial Intelligence program in his computer called Kilokahn (who uses Malcolm like a puppet to create virus monsters that Sam and his friends, Sydney, Tanker and Amp, secretly do battle with in cyberspace, as giant fighting robots).

Ring a bell yet? Eh, I didn't figure it would, but I don't think I'd be able to sleep if I didn't include Superhuman Samurai Syber-Squad in an article about classic TV shows that I used to watch, and I'm not about to lose sleep over a low-budget 90s TV show with Japanese stock footage of giant monsters and robots. I hope you can understand that, but if not, here's another picture of Joanna Garcia:

You're welcome. Anyway, on to the last show we'll be looking at today (simply because I only did three shows in part 1 and I want to keep things kosher)...Knight Rider. You heard me right. Knight Rider. I am choosing to end this two-part article with a show that starred David Hasselhoff and a talking Trans Am, and technically it's still on the Sci-Fi channel from time to time, but c'mon! Don't tell me you never watched Knight Rider! Knight Rider symbolizes everything we are and everything we hope to become as a society. Knight Rider was an allegorical metaphor of man's relationship with machines. What show about a talking car that could jump over other regular cars and drive right through walls without a scratch defined the 1980s? Knight Rider. What was former President Ronald Reagan's favorite episodic adventure starring William Daniels (the voice of the car, and also Mr. Feeny from Boy Meets World), Patricia McPherson (don't really know of anything else spectacular she was in), and Edward Mulhare (he didn't do much else either)? Knight Rider!

Okay, okay. I said all of that just to see how many times I could write "Knight Rider" in bold within a single paragraph. Seven. Since all of what I said above was pretty pointless, I'll start over. Knight Rider, which first showed up in 1982, was an action/adventure series about a former cop who, during a sting, was double-crossed, shot in the head, and left for dead (completely unintentional rhyme there). He was found by some people, who for reasons I still don't understand, took him to The Foundation of Law and Government, where doctors performed plastic surgery to repair his head, and alter his looks. They gave him a new identity as Michael Knight, teamed him up with a talking black Pontiac Trans Am named K.I.T.T. (an acronym for Knight Industries Two Thousand), and turned him into somewhat of a not-so-secret-agent crime-fighter. Basically, Hasselhof drove around in a fast car and busted people up, and it made for some good TV. On the show, the car was virtually indestructible (thanks to a "molecular bonded shell") and had an extensive variety of special abilities like auto-drive, a flame-thrower, a tear gas launcher, traction spikes, a bomb sniffer, a seat ejection system, ultramagnesium charges, and the commonly-used turbo boost that allowed KITT to jump over stuff (just to name a few). I've actually seen replicas of the car selling on eBay from time to time, but I wouldn't expect all the extra abilities to come standard if you're out to buy one.

Anyway, the show was great, and from what I hear, there's a new movie in the works based on it. As tired as I am of people taking classic shows and making them into movies (Starsky and Hutch, The Dukes of Hazzard, Charlie's Angels, etc.), I think I'm game for this one. After all, it's a little hard to screw up the concept of a talking car and a vigilante, unless that is, the writers take themselves too seriously. If it's done tongue-in-cheek with David Hasselhoff reprising his role, and they decide to use the same car instead of updating it, it should turn out at least halfway decent.

Well, that about wraps things up (don't worry, there's not going to be a part 3). Before I go, I think I'll throw in just one more picture of Joanna Garcia for all my loyal readers out there, just because she looks good on my blog.

And you're welcome again.

Quick thoughts from a blogger on the run: #2

All that talk about North Korea planning to conduct more nuclear tests got me thinking, and today I set out to build my own full-proof, bona fide bomb shelter. I wanted to do a really impressive job so I could brag to the neighborhood all about my high-tech, underground, life saving, titanium-reinforced, hiding place, so that when nuclear winter sets in, I would have some fond memories of showing it off before it was too late and nobody would ever get to see it again. Instead, I went on the cheap and used a carboard box for the bulk of it. It was a big cardboard box though, so I feel a little bit better about copping out this time. So yeah, it's a cardboard box. For ventilation purposes, I cut a hole in the top and plugged it with an empty paper towel roll. At this point, I was pretty happy with it. It didn't look like it could survive a nuclear attack, but it was better than having nothing at all. To make it functional, I super-glued cockroaches all over it, because as everyone knows, nothing can kill those little devils. If an atomic blast hits anywhere nearby, their tiny bodies will surely protect my bomb shelter. When I was all done doing that, I filled it up with my computer (so I could still post from time to time during the fallout) and Spam (yes, the kind you eat, not the kind you get in your inbox), because I figure if you're going to stock up on canned meat for a bomb shelter, it had better be American-esque canned meat. You gotta support your country in its first ever nuclear war, after all. Aw, darn it. I just realized I put too much Spam in my shelter. I can't fit in there with all that canned meat taking up so much space.

Quick thoughts from a blogger on the run: #1

I was heading hom from an early class today, and I saw a bird hoping down the stairs at the University one at a time. I stood there and watched in confusion for a minute, before trying to talk to it.

ME: "You dumb bird! You can fly! You don't have to hop down the stairs one by one to get the the bottom! You can just jump in the air and fly down there in like two seconds! What's wrong with you?"

BIRD: "..."

The bird didn't fly away from me. It just cocked its head and continued hopping down the stairs one by one.


Dumb bird.

You can't do that on television...really. You can't.

When I said I'd be back sooner than you might think with more, I'll bet you weren't thinking I'd be back the very next day. Yeah, well consider this your Christmas present because you're going to hate the socks I bought you.

I chose not to inlcude this show in Part two of "Classic shows long gone" for a very good reason that I don't think anyone can argue with: it sucks. Hey, being old doesn't automatically make you a classic. Anyway, the main reason I chose to do a write up on You Can't Do That On Television, is the fact that after re-watching a few episodes, I realized just how unbelievable it is that this show was ever on the airwaves to begin with. Not because it was lame, but because it would be way too controversial for today's audience. We're only going to look at one episode today, because I don't feel like watching any more of this insipid crap, but I think it'll do the show's reputation (that I just built) justice. It's a little something called "episode 98." I've gone through this episode twice now. The first time, I got the idea to do an article on it, and the second time, I brushed through it again for content and screen caps. Let me just say this one more time: there's no way this one would have flown with todays standards. You're probably wanting me to get on with the reasons why, and I'll get to that, but first I think I should give you a little background on the show itself.

You Can't Do That on Television was created as a childrens' program for Canadian television stations back in 1979, where it served as a low-budget local comedy show. After a short run on Canook TV, Nickelodeon picked it up in 1981, and the show went multi-continental. Over the next few years, however, ratings began to decline in Canada, and by 1985, it was only shown once on weekends. The situation was entirely different in the States, with the sketch-comedy show playing a whopping five times a week. The show was mostly slapstick, and centered around a group of kids in a TV studio, who would put on small skits that somehow related to the topic of each episode. In-between, the kids were involved in some kind of random sub-plot that took place entirely within the studio. Oh yeah, as I mentioned in my last article, this was also the show that more-or-less brought green slime to Nickelodeon (I'm pretty sure they still use it too). As time went on, the show's original cast members began leaving and the show began to take on more a kid-friendly attitude. Because of low ratings and the fact that Nick wanted to start producing its own shows out of Orlando Studios, the show was canceled in 1990, but continued to re-run well into 1994.

Now on to why You Can't Do That on Television would be so controversial in today's world. Like I said above, we're looking at episode 98, which centers around the cast of children (and one crazy adult) preparing for a communist invasion (which later involves the children, wearing full military gear, carrying around WWII WP 40s). Let's see...in the first two minutes of the show alone, we've got a skit where kids are roaming the halls of their school, carrying firearms and wearing camouflage, and another with a kid being executed by a firing squad under the supervision of a Latin American military officer. It's hard to believe that this was once on television, but I suppose that's just because school shootings have become commonplace in today's society. Maybe if we had shows like this one around that showed would-be shooters how ridiculous they look in a school hallway with their camouflage and military-grade weaponry, they'd think twice about going through with their massacres in the first place, but I don't know for sure, as I've never had the mind of a teenage-psycho-killer.

The entire episode is filled with things that would never work today. We've got a skit that takes place in a dungeon with a skeleton who murders someone, then turns his gun on a kid, who's locked up and chained to the wall.

We've got a school principal who barges into some poor kid's house with a machine gun, trying to kill him and his mother.

And let's not forget this little gem, when the weird adult guy who hangs out with the kids in the studtio, turns to one of the children (who just got slimed) and says:

"You are a dirty pinko Commie Red."

Oh, the episode also has a doctor belching on a mostly-naked kid, wearing a diaper.

I don't think I even have to say anything else in this article. Expect part 2 of "Classic shows long gone" next Friday. In the mean time, you can check out the infamous Episode 98 (conveniently divided into three segments below) for yourself, courtesy of Youtube, if you've got the extra free time on your hands, but I definitely wouldn't recommend it (the only reason I included it with this article is so that you wouldn't think I was making all this up). What I would recommend is that you check out the games off to the right of this page. I've added Frogger, Simon, and Snake to the mix today.

Episode 98: Part 1

Episode 98: Part 2

Episode 98: Part 3

Classic shows long gone: Part 1

Long before Nickelodeon became a massive cash cow and began playing Spongebob Squarepants non-stop every single day, the network was pretty much devoid of cartoons. Sure, there were a lot of live-action shows like You Can't Do That on Television (the Canadian sketch show where Nick's green slime first originated - I'll be devoting a piece of my next article to that one) and Hey Dude, but the animated craze hadn't really taken over yet. That all changed on August 11, 1991 when "Nicktoons" were born. Little did anyone know, they would make pop-culture history and transform the Nickelodeon network into the First Kids' Network. I would say that anyone who was remotely in their "kid-years" in 1991 remembers where they were and what they were doing when it happened - it was bigger than the moon-landing, and there were a lot of great shows that came out of this brilliant animation-Renaissance. I'll be writing about three of them tonight.

First, you had Doug - arguably the second best Nicktoon ever made (you'll find out why in a little bit). It was basically a cartoon about a random kid growing up in a small town (dubbed Bluffington). He was just like me and you, except he wore the same clothes everyday (white tee-shirt, green sweater-vest, brown shorts, and red sneakers), he was best friends with a blue-skinned kid, and he had a dog that could do more than any human being I've ever met in my life. On second though, he wasn't anything like me and you (or at least not me...I don't really know you), but I suppose that's what made him so freaking fun to watch. He was a goofy guy who would trip over his own feet, write love songs for a girl named Patti Mayonnaise, hang out at the local burger joint (that just so happened to be called the "Honker Burger"), and daydream constantly about having super powers or being a secret agent. Maybe the most ground-breaking thing about the show was it's gamble at including racial undertones. All of the characters were different colors. You had Doug, who was white; his best friend Skeeter, who was blue; his secret crush Patti, who was black; his sworn-enemy Roger, who was green; the class jock Chalky, who was yellow; his friend Beebe, who was purple; and a ton of others. Ironically though, all of the characters had typical Caucasian personalities.

So, what ever happened to Doug? Well, Disney bought the rights to the show and created a spinoff that aired on ABC from 1996-1999. Of course, they totally raped what Nick had done, doing everything from changing Doug's wardrobe, to changing his voice, to doing away with all of the other classic elements that made the first version great (they even got rid of the Honker Burger - blaspheme!). Anyway, I think Doug was probably ahead of its time - easily one of the greatest cartoons ever made. I don't know why they aren't still re-running it.

Next, you had the greatest Nicktoon ever aired. I'm talking about Ren and Stimpy - a show about a psychotic Chihuahua and a retarded red cat, respectively. I remember getting weird looks from my mother because of all the booger and fart jokes that went on during pretty much every episode. What I missed entirely until recently when I was checking out some of the original episodes, was the sexual undertones and the gay innuendo that came along with those booger and fart jokes. The show was, simply put, a masterpiece - easily one of the greatest television shows (not just cartoons) in history. Somehow the creators found a way to incorporate classical music, jazzy tunes, and funky hip-hop all into one half-hour spot. Behind the scenes, everything wasn't so "happy-happy-joy-joy" as the cartoon would lead you to believe. There was a big dispute with the creator, Canadian animator John Kricfalusi, and the powers-that-be (I suppose that should read "powers-that-been" by now) at Nickelodeon. The network was generally upset over the show's level of gross humor and violence and often censored and even banned episodes. Aside from constant bickering inside the company and the widespread controversy, Kricfalusi also had a really tough time meeting Nick's strict deadlines and was eventually fired. The show continued though, although it was never the same.

Like Doug, Ren and Stimpy would resurface in later days. The slap-happy duo returned for Spike TV's Ren & Stimpy "Adult Party Cartoon", but the show got really disgusting, even going as far as having the characters engage in raunchy sexual acts. Viewers weren't happy and neither was Spike TV's parent company, Viacom. The show was canned only a year into production.

The last Nicktoon I'm going to be writing about is Rocko's Modern Life. This is the show that forces Doug to settle for a tie at the second place spot. Rocko was basically the Seinfeld of cartoons. It centered around Rocko, a Wallaby who lived in the city of O-town, where he and his best friends Heffer (a steer) and Filburt (a turtle) had all sorts of surreal, off-the-wall adventures (everything from Rocko having a yardsale to raise some money to pay his bills, to Rocko finding out that he's an illegal alien - which results in him having to partake in a gay wedding with Filburt so that he could stay in the country). Like Doug, Rocko had a dog that often controlled entire storylines (although Rocko's dog, Spunky, was virtually brain dead), and one of the major locales was a small, fast food restaurant (called the Chokey Chiken), and like Ren and Stimpy, the show was often filled with a lot of adult-oriented humor that kids wouldn't pick up on. I think this was done to keep adults interested in the show as well as kids (who were happy enough with the goofy plot points and colorful characters). The same kind of thing is done all the time in Disney movies. The best character the show had to offer was Rocko's cynical neighbor, Ed Bighead (man, even typing the name made me crack a smile). He and his wife, Bev, were definitely modeled after toads, and would often find themselves caught up in the antics of Rocko and his friends. Through the episodes, Ed developed something of a catchphrase with the line "I hate my life." He's one of those characters that you love to see abused over and over again, and boy did we ever see that happen. Rocko lasted a solid four years before the show was canceled. The show's director, Stephen Hillenburg, went on to create Spongebob Squarepants (Nick's current goldmine, and the only decent show left on the network).

The Nicktoons explosion lasted into the late 90s, where it died a slow, agonizing death as the shows were replayed ad nauseam until nobody wanted to see them anymore (funny, nowadays those same people are begging for these shows to be released on DVD). After this, Nickelodeon left its Universal Studios headquarters behind, and traveled at breakneck speeds into the world of lame obscurity. As mentioned above, Spongebob Squarepants remains the network's only straight-shooter. The show has been racking up the green for Nick for seven years now - longer than any of the original Nicktoons, but I have a feeling that once it's gone, Nickelodeon will spiral into bankruptcy unless something really spectacular happens and they get another Spongebob-esque phenomenon on their hands. Regardless, I think it can be said for certain, that Nick's glory days are far behind them.

Wow...three articles in one day, and they all had content. I think I've outdone myself this time around. Get used to it - at least on a once-a-week basis. I'll be back with more articles sooner than you might think.

The atomic bomb and you: Protecting yourself for a safer tomorrow

With a possible nuclear war looming over the world right now, I thought it would be kinda fun to look back at something my parents remember a whole lot more than me (because, well...I wasn't really around yet). You see, back in the 1950s, people were pretty dumb (I guess not everything has changed), and they thought that there were steps you could take to survive the destruction of an atomic explosion if it dropped right next door. These "rules" pretty much stuck for another decade or so before people finally realized just how asinine the entire thing was. I've taken the liberty to post the instructions that millions of Americans were bombarded with through filmstrips and public service announcements on a nearly daily basis during the beginning of the Cold War.

PROTECTION IS POSSIBLE

• When the sky pales and the blinding light of a hundred suns is everywhere, you will have less than a second to protect yourself -- approximately the time it takes to say "Atomic Bomb" out loud.

• Instinct will tell you to look. Conquering that instinct may mean the differences between life and death. If you turn to see the bomb, radiation may blind you permanently. The heat flash will catch you full in the face, burning horribly if you are within two miles of ground zero. Don't look. Drop. Curl up in a ball as you hit the ground. Put your hands (and arms, if they are bare) against your stomach, and duck your face into your chest. If you can shade all exposed areas of your skin, you are far less liable to be burned.

Duck, cover, and kiss your ignorant carcus goodbye!

• Stay in a ball for ten seconds. Both the heat and the blast wave will pass over you in that time. Then, if you can, stand up. You will be among the survivors -- provided you can move fast enough to avoid falling rubble and fire.

• If the explosion catches you one step from a tree-trunk or doorway, you can take that step and crouch with your back to the light. But if a possible shelter is two or three or four steps away, don't try to make it. You won't have time.

• After the crucial ten seconds, the fronts of brick buildings may be crashing into the street. Your safest move will be to press yourself tightly against the nearest wall -- preferably the wall of a concrete building, for concrete will not strip away like brick. In this position, also, cornices and broken glass from above will fall out beyond you.

For some reason, I'm thinking falling pieces of brick and glass are the least of your worries if you just got nuked.

• Should the giant flash come when you are indoors, dive for the floor with your back to the window and crawl beneath or behind the nearest table, desk or counter. Anything between you and the window will stop not only the heat rays but also the jagged bullets of broken glass. The blast will be followed by wind of hurricane force; stay away from all windows for at least a minute. The safest place inside any building will be near the interior partitions. Keep as close to these as possible.

Who needs missile defense systems when you've got a wooden desk to hide under?

Friday the 13th...unlucky for most, but not for the readers of coolSWAG

Well, coolSWAG is coming up on its one year anniversary next month, and that makes me really depressed. It isn't that I haven't loved running this site for the past eleven months. It's just that I haven't been able to make this site what I originally intended it to be. I don't post very often and lately, things have been pretty dull. This is all going to change as we approach the first SWAGiversary! For starters, I've moved the blog to Blogger's new BETA version. It's really made everything around here so much easier to run. Here's the big announcement: I'll be posting every week from here on out. I won't limit myself to once a week either, as I'll be stopping by between articles to keep things interesting. I'll also be introducing some new features to the site soon, including a possible web-comic. If that isn't enough to get my fellow SWAGgers excited, to show I mean business, I'll be posting three articles tonight!

I know, I know. Let's get things started, shall we?

When I was a little kid, my days were primarily spent doing one of four things:

1. Playing in the dirt
2. Watching Mister Roger's Neighborhood and fantasizing about how sweet it would be to have my own Trolley
3. Making crappy-looking things with my Playdoh that resembled absolutely nothing
4. Developing sore thumbs playing Super Mario Bros. on my Nintendo

Today, I'm going to be talking about my favorite of the four - the last one on the list. When I was little there was nothing on the planet I loved more than playing Super Mario Bros. on my Nintendo (except maybe fashioning my own primitive clubs and bows based on the ones I saw on the made-for-TV Ewok movies from the mid-1980s...I did that a few times and it was probably the coolest thing I've ever done, even to this very day). Anyway, I lived for Mario. I loved everything about it, except having to blow on the cartridge like a harmonica when it got all dusty. I would get up in the morning on some days, and play for hours upon hours upon hours until I had saved the Princess a dozen times over and died more times than I could count. My mother would be outside with my older brother, waiting on the school bus, and my four-year-old self would be plopped down in front of the living room television, staring at that familiar, brightly-colored 8 bit world. I distinctively remember hating the levels where Mario was under water, so much so that I refused to play them. I always paused the game and waited for my mother to beat them for me, then I'd take over again. Once, when she was outside with my brother on a really rainy morning, waiting on the school bus to pull up in front of our house, I got stuck on a swimming level and paused the game as usual. The strange thing is though, for some reason that I still don't quite understand, I decided it would be a great time to call 911 while I waited (maybe it was so they could send someone to save me from the "swimming" level - I really can't say). Anyway, that didn't go so well. The woman on the other end picked up the phone and asked me what my emergency was and I hung up the phone as quickly as possible and hid behind the old rocking chair that used to sit in my room beside my window. They called back a little later once my mom was back in the house, and let's just say my adventure with Mario ended really early that day.

What makes my story unique from any other kid my age who was making the little pixilated man run across his side-scrolling land, was the fact that I didn't understand the game. Well, I guess nobody did, but I didn't even understand the simple parts. When Mario would run across a fireflower and develop his fire-chucking ability, I thought, due to the poor graphics (which represented the best in video gaming at the time) that he was spitting fire at his enemies, so naturally, I called the little flowers, and the ability itself "spit." Weirder still, when the little dude in the cloud would fly overhead and throw spiked creatures at Mario, I referred to him as "bomb lady." I have no idea why I did that or how I got the notion that he was a girl, but I did it and I firmly believed it. The fireflower bit I could sorta explain, but this leaves me at a loss for words.

It's strange. The game was weird enough without my childhood mind inventing words to describe what was going on with Mario on the screen. Think about it, essentially, you play the role of a mushroom-powered plumber who spends his days journeying through green sewer pipes, picking up loose change, dodging over-sized bullets, smashing his head into bricks, and leaping over gaping holes in the ground. If the game hadn't originated in Japan, I'd swear it was created by some irate sanitation worker one day when he was tripping on acid. The Japanese are weird to begin with though, so I don't question it. I just play it.

Don't forget, you can play Super Mario Bros. right in your own browser from the Retro Games link to the right of this page - that is unless you're lucky enough to still have a working Nintendo and a copy of the game that still works after all these years (sadly, mine broke a number of years back, and the cartridge, if it still exists, is probably clogged with so much dust that it'll never work again). In that case, screw the internet. Using your keyboard to control Mario isn't nearly as fun as using a square controller from twenty-odd years ago. Go to it!

Sorry Mario, but our Princess is in another castle.

No more radio for me

I was driving to the store today, listening to the radio, when all of a sudden I had to deal with the dreaded commercial break. I really hate radio commercials. More so than television commercials, because with them, I can mute the TV and make the actors say funnier things if I get bored (which is a lot more entertaining with others around). When it's the radio, there's not much I can do but change the station. And so I did. I started zipping through the channels, listening for anything but commercials, and after a few seconds of browsing, I stopped screwing with the radio knob and decided to settle for whatever it happened to be. It was then I realized I was singing along to She Works Hard For The Money. While to most heterosexual, white males, this may already seem like a nightmare, it's really only half of what was going on. Not only was I singing along to a feminist fight song from 1983, I was singing along to a feminist fight song from 1983 in a gay falsetto voice while tapping my hands on the steering wheel and jerking my head back and forth...while other drivers were watching in horror.

The bright side to all of this was that the windows were up (so at least the motorists who did see what I was doing didn't know what song I was listening to). You see, it was way too hot outside today to have the windows down. You just can't generate enough air that way while following the speed limit on the road I was on. Instead, I had the AC cranked up to the last notch. I guess I allowed myself to get too comfortable. I really shouldn't have though, because I was so comfortable I was making everyone else uncomfortable. By the time I realized what I was doing and said to myself, "Oh no," it was too late. Other human beings had seen something that was never meant to be seen. This is the kind of thing you tell yourself as a man, is okay to do when there's nobody else around. Well, that's a lie. It is NEVER. EVER. OKAY. I spent the rest of the afternoon over compensating for my mismanaged display of anti-manliness. I pumped some iron at the gym, watched a couple hours of Spike TV, and smoked four packs of unfiltered cigarettes to make myself feel better. So, here's to men. Learn from my example and don't do things in public that will make other people question your sexual orientation. Well, that's all for me. I've got to go restore my manhood in any way possible, so off I go to beat things up and drink.

"Let's start building some hurtin' bombs!"

Here ya go - the trailer for Rocky Balboa.

KIM JONG IL: Korean for crazy

Wow...I promised you this post well over a month ago. I guess when I said "down the road," I meant "three hours down the road, then make a left." Anyway, I've stalled long enough. With North Korea test launching so many dud missiles as of late, this topic seems even more appropriate than it did the last time I posted (the one about the Korean KFC commercial). Just what can I say about that funny little man in the Khaki windbreaker? Standing at an alarmingly intimidating 5'2" (that's four inches shorter than Napoleon Bonaparte folks), this tiny dictator seems almost tailor-made to fit in with the other goons the world's had to put up with over the years. Did I mention he wears platform shoes? Perhaps I shouldn't be making fun of our retarded Korean friend, though. I mean he must have done a few things right during his lengthy reign. Let's take a look. First, you have that impressive agricultural policy that has left his people starving far from plague of obesity. Then you've got that unique economic strategy that has given his country quite a deficit a good lesson in fiscal management. Not to mention all the horrific public executions entertaining shows he provides for his people on a regular basis. What a guy. What a terrific guy.

[Above: A side-by-side comparison shot: The real Kim Jong Il and the puppet Kim Jong Il from the hit movie "Team America: World Police" The question for is: which one is which? Hmm...]

Kim has about 22.5 million tireless North Korean workers running things all over his wild countryside, and with the country's Gross Domestic Product reaching about $40 billion last year, we can safely assume that's why they all love him so much. Each Korean takes home about $1800 annually! Those poor lucky Koreans! Of course, no one is paid better than Kim Jong Il. For all the hard work he puts in everyday watching cartoons and listening to pop music running his country, Kim makes somewhere over $4 billion a year. Believe you me though, he needs every penny of it. You see, aside from amassing the world's largest collection of Daffy Duck cartoons and buying up all the Michael Jackson CDs he can get his chubby, little hands on, Kim likes to spend his stolen hard-earned cash on lightning fast sports cars, the finest gourmet foods, and rare and delicious foreign liquors. At first, $4 billion sounds a little excessive. I mean, couldn't he very well buy all those things with $3 billion annually? You would think, but none of the things Kim likes can be found inside his country (and Fed-Ex and UPS refuse to make trips to North Korea). Silly details like that couldn't possibly stop a madman's wishes from being carried out, however, so he gladly hands over that extra billion to make sure all those great things make it to his doorstep. And they do.

[Above: A candid behind-the-scenes photograph from "Team America: World Police." I'm not so sure I like how that guy is holding puppet Kim Jong Il]

When he's not rocking out to Billy Jean or watching Looney Toons, Kim enjoys the company of 12-year-old girls (which he also sort of collects). You see he handpicks his own army of young Asian girls from North Korean schools to bring him and his top commanders "pleasure" and "joy." I mean why just rob the country when you can also rob the cradle, right? He's such a brilliant and respectable world leader. I think we can all learn a thing or two from guys like Kim ("guys like Kim"...okay that just sounds funny).

While everything about this bizarre, little guy is pretty much typical blog conversation, I think one of the most intriguing things I've come across in my research is this fine little tidbit: Kim Jong Il is absolutely terrified of triplets. You see, for some unexplainable reason, he believes that they (meaning triplets) will one day topple his government and leave him for dead. It is believed this fear came from a terrible dream he had one night after hitting too much Chardonnay. Since having said nightmare, he has actually forced all triplets born in North Korea into orphanages where they are carefully watched by his government cronies. I'm not making this up, I swear. I'm really not that clever.

[Above: Snipit from a reliable newspaper article]

Well, I hope all of you out there had a safe and enjoyable Independence Day (happy 230th birthday America!). I for one, am glad that the Koreans decided to help us celebrate our beloved holiday by launching some fireworks of their own. A shame (for them) that those bottle rockets didn't work, but maybe we can airmail them some of ours (if you catch my drift). I hear President Bush is pretty upset by the whole ordeal.

[Above: A CoolSWAG exclusive: George W. Bush's reaction to North Korea's missile tests]