Beer Burgers

Here is a list of some of the things I thought about while I was nodding and saying “Yeah, I know what you mean,” for what felt like six hours:

1. “I wonder what would happen if I turned around and punched that guy right in the mouth.”

2. “I bet, if I had to, I could beat up one or two baboons, but if a whole bunch of them came after me, I’d be lucky to escape with my life. Of course, that’s assuming that none of the baboons are armed.”

3. “I’m really not particularly excited about the new season of ‘The West Wing.’”

4. “It’s probably time for me to just grow up and accept the fact that I’ll never get to go to war against the South.”

5. “‘Top Gun’ has got to be my all-time favorite softcore gay porno.”

We’ve all been to “that part of town.” We’ve all seen the cracked helmets lying in the gutters, the children with non-functional life-support units, the dehydrated-whiskey packets littering the sidewalks. And when we find ourselves there, perhaps by mistake, we run away as fast as we can, frightened by stereotypes and images from the evening news, as well as by our own harsh experiences. But how many of us have really considered what it means to be an Astronaut?

Astronauts in America today live in conditions that would seem more appropriate in a third-world slum, or a Russian space station. According to NAASA (the National Association for the Advancement of Spacegoing Americans) Over 65% of astronauts are unemployed, and 85% live below the poverty line. Besides the normal social and health problems associated with poverty, astronauts are at risk for several others including decompression sickness, muscular atrophy, and zero-gravity beetle infestations.

But despite all these problems, the astronauts we see portrayed in the movies and on TV lead glamorous, exciting lives, filled with space exploration, alien lazer battles, and daring, last-minute solutions to deadly spacefaring mishaps. It is because of these images that so many teenage astronauts, as they cruise around America’s cities in their moon-landers, reach for the same old dream, the dream of escaping the crushing, high-tech poverty of their day-to-day lives by escaping Earth entirely.

The truth is, only a tiny minority of astronauts ever actually make it into the space program. And those are invariably the most qualified members of the community. Once they have left the poverty-ridden neigborhoods they grew up in, they rarely return to bring the benefits of their wealth and training to the communities they once called home. Those left behind tend to gravitate towards lives of astro-crime, space-drugs, and interstellar violence.

I don’t believe that there are any simple answers. The problems of the Astro-American community are complex. Simple measures such as developing and distributing more efficient space suits and better dehydrated meals can help alleviate the symptoms, but they cannot cure the disease. Only by their own efforts can our country’s astronauts leave their problems, and their planet, behind.

A couple of years ago, I got really addicted to the forums at a site called portal of evil. The purpose of the site is to collect all the wierd, perverted, twisted, and insane websites into one giant portal. Each site has its own forum for users to post comments, which are often very funny. Sometimes the site owners discover that people are cruelly mocking their awful gothic poetry, or crude drawings of Thundercats porn, and come post on the forums themselves. Then things get really funny.

This particular site was called “The Gorgon’s Garden,” and it was based on one of the wierder fetishes I’ve heard of. The site owner wanted to turn women to stone. He didn’t want to hurt them, or have sex with them. He just wanted to turn them to stone. At one point, he arrived on the forums and posted a lengthy, completely insane rant, condemning “sexualists,” and explaining why we should all want to turn women into statues. Part of it went like this:

All I advocate is HAPPINESS.

It’s getting hard to care about the world. The sexualists will never change. They’ll never realize that what we REALLY need to do is band together, find a way to turn girls to stone, and make it happen. In the Statue Age, the girls will be happy. The world will be happy.

Here is what I responded:

Well listen here, Petrefacto, when you and the League of Statuephiles finally complete your Fossil-Ray, and I burst into your secret underground hideout, you better not think you can just turn me to stone with it, discuss the details of your secret plan for a while, and then leave me alone, because I have a very clever monkey sidekick, and he’ll be able to find the Reverse Polarity button just in the nick of time.

And believe me, when you deploy the Fossil Ray Gun in that blimp above New York City, and it takes ten minutes to charge up, I am going to be there by at least minute eight, ready for a blimp-top fistfight, and armed with a Petrefacto-Reflecto Shield. And after I’m done punching your statuephile buddies off the edge of the blimp, if you come after me, it’s more than likely that someone is going to get turned to stone by a reflected Fossil Ray in a classic moment of poetic justice.

And it won’t be me.

So just remember, you might think you’re trying to save the world from itself, but to us here at the Stronghold of Kickass Justice, you’re just another supervillian with a giant ray gun, and just another day’s work for me and my monkey sidekick, Fredo.

By the way, if you think it’s pathetic that four posts into this blog, I’m recycling content from years ago, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

ME: Okay, people, listen up. You are here at ninja school for one reason. Because you’re the best. You’re all experienced martial artists, and you’re all in outstanding physical and mental shape. More importantly, though, you all have the will it will take to succeed at the difficult and daunting tasks ahead. Even more importantly, you all paid me $49.95.

Now, let me tell you how this is going to work. Over the next three days, I am going to mold you into the finest warriors the world has ever seen. I will teach you the way of silence and stealth, the way of the ninja. I will not go easy on you. I am tough, but I am fair. You will not like me, but you will do exactly as I say, and when you complete this course, you will truly be a shadow warrior.

Are there any questions?

Good. Let’s begin. Our first course of training will be unarmed combat. I want you all to assume a basic fighting stance. Good. Now, close your eyes and relax. Let the chi flow through your body. . . Prepare yourself for combat. . . Keep your eyes closed. . .

(I smack NINJA STUDENT 1 in the head with my walking stick.)

NINJA STUDENT 1: Ow! Holy Shit!

ME: What? I told you to prepare yourself for combat.

NINJA STUDENT 1: Well you kind of took me by surprise there.

ME: To a ninja, nothing is a surprise! You would do well to remember that.

Next we will begin basic weapons training. Go get some swords out of the armory. . .

Hold it! What do you think you’re doing?

NINJA STUDENT 2: We’re going to get the swords, master.

ME: Not like that you’re not! Ninjas don’t walk. Ninjas do spinning jump kicks and shit. From now on, you don’t walk anywhere. Now try that again, but this time jump like thirty feet in the air, kick off the ceiling, and karate punch your way through that door.

NINJA STUDENT 2: What the hell are you talking about? That’s impossible.

ME: To a ninja, nothing is impossible!

NINJA STUDENT 2: (shrugs) Okay. . .

(NINJA STUDENT 2 runs as fast as he can, jumps about two feet into the air, and hops through the door to the armory, delivering a powerful punch to the empty air. The other NINJA STUDENTS follow suit, and return with swords.)

ME: Okay, now this is the most important aspect of your training. We all know that a ninja’s greatest enemy is a robot, and the only way to defeat a robot is by totally slicing the shit out of it with a ninja sword. Now I’m going to open this door, and release a robot into the dojo. You must all work together to defeat it. Are you ready?

NINJA STUDENT 1: Yes, sensei
NINJA STUDENT 2: Yes, master
NINJA STUDENT 3: Yes, teacher.

ME: Okay, here we go.

(I push a button on the wall, and a huge door, taking up nearly the entire wall of the dojo slides ponderously upwards into the ceiling. Smoke pours out into the dojo, obscuring vision. As the smoke clears, the robot is revealed.)

NINJA STUDENT 3: Is this a joke? What is that supposed to be?

ME: That’s the robot. Go kick its ass.

NINJA STUDENT 3: That’s not a robot. It’s a trash can with a beach ball on top of it, and somebody’s drawn an angry face on the beach ball in magic marker.

ME: Hey, who’s the ninja master here? I’m telling you, that’s a robot. Go kill it.

NINJA STUDENT 3: This is bullshit.

ME: To the ninja, nothing is bullshit!

NINJA STUDENT 1: Let’s get out of here.

NINJA STUDENT 2: I want my money back.

NINJA STUDENT 3: Fuck you, man.

(the NINJA STUDENTS leave)

ME: Man, what a bunch of pussies.

ROBOT: . . .

ME: I know.

ROBOT: . . .

ME: I love you too, robot.