Hot Dogs and Molecular Transfer Rays in Syndication

Hola Readers,

It's me!  Matt McClane again!  I've never really done this before in all my blog tenure, but I was going through and editing my old posts, and I ran across this damn entry. I have no choice but to re-post it because it might be one of my all-time favorites.

Don't give me a hard time, subscribers. I know you guys have read this one before. Just think of it as an episode of Three's Company that's slipped into syndication. It might be a repeat, but that doesn't mean you can't still enjoy Mr. Roper's hilarious velvet commentary on Jack's many pseudo-gay exploits and awesome fashion sense.

Pop some popcorn, light up the crack pipe and enjoy the show anyway!

Hey ramblers, let's get rambling.

A while back, my buddy Mark Bernard and I were solving the world's problems by discussing how awesome Galactus' helmet is, or possibly how wonderful the New Avengers series has turned out to be... when suddenly he hit me with a thought.

"I could have dreamed this, but I could have sworn there was a cartoon in the 80's where a kid would eat hot dogs and transform into a car."

That struck me as being extremely familiar, amazingly random, and unbelievably brilliant. Just image it: you're a boy. You eat a hot dog. You transform into a Firebird. All in all, what a great option that gives you for picking up chicks.

Instead of trying to reel them in with compliments, pick-up lines, money or untold riches... you can just consume a super-hot penis-shaped mixture of pork, beef, chicken and heavy, unhealthy doses of fat, sodium and nitrate and change your entire body into a freakin' Ferrari.

Then you can say, "Get out of my dreams... and into... me."

Yeah, yeah, it's too easy, I know. This kind of joke gets pretty burned out super fast, but by God, we'll forge on somehow.

At any rate, this TV show DID indeed exist, and it was called Turbo Teen. After doing some research, I found the premise and ideology behind this series incredibly fascinating. Basically, he's a rambunctious teen named Brett Matthews, out to get some tail in this new badass 80's red convertible that his dad just bought him. He's listening to his brand-new Flock of Seagulls album in a lightning storm, and flies right off the damn road into a mega-super-secret nuclear military genetic research facility where some crazy mad scientist has rigged up some gene splicer laser beam that apparently combines molecules and rearranges matter. He calls it a "Molecular Transfer Ray."

You still with me?

So this teen just drives straight through the building, and ends up getting caught directly in the path of this laser cannon. I've said it before, readers, and I'll say it again: This is not lucid. Don't believe me? Watch for yourself:



He says that "an experiment was underway," but what the hell were they experimenting on?? There was nothing there... they were just randomly shooting this laser beam at the floor when Turbo Teen came barreling through the door like Kramer from Seinfeld.

Also: the words, "... causing me and my car to become one," is probably my favorite quote of the whole month. Next to the one about milkshakes.

Okay, so then you get the wacky adventures of this kid who transforms into a car. Oh yeah, where do the hot dogs come in, you ask? Well hell yeah.. the thing about hot dogs is that they mostly come hot. Apparently, when this kid gets hot, he transforms into an 80's Ferrari. When he gets cold, he changes back to a boy. Yeah... I know what you're thinking. Sometimes your feet are cold as hell but your hands are a-okay, right? Sometimes you're freezing, but your extra socks make you warm in your toes.

Turbo Teen also had this problem. When a giant tank shoots ice ray laser beams at Abraham Lincoln's face, Turbo Teen takes a big hit on his hood. Let's see what happens:



"They're gonna PAY for that!!!!!!!"

Obviously, nobody dicks around with Abraham Lincoln when Alex, the 80's token black kid, is around. (You can do the math and figure out why, I guess.)

And this brings us to a totally new angle... what the hell happens if you're cruising around as a car, on some crime-fighting adventure, thwarting evildoers with a totally sexy babe in the driver's seat, playing with your gear shift, pumping your brakes, turning your knobs and thoroughly adjusting your seat at 70 mph....and suddenly it starts raining on you, and you get cold??

Yeah, that's right, readers: you're going to kill that chick instantly, and more than likely, kill yourself too. That would be rough as hell, since the chick would technically be sitting on your left kidney, and using your large intestines as the steering wheel. DAMN YOU, DOCTOR CHASE AND YOUR DAMNED MOLECULAR TRANSFER RAY!!!!!!

That's rough as hell.

Let's take a look at another astonishing obstacle for Turbo Teen: getting hot at inappropriate times. It would be a freaking nightmare to have sex. Seriously, it would be completely impossible. You'd just be getting started when your penis literally turns into a giant, rusty aluminum exhaust pipe. I don't know about you, ladies, but to me that sounds like the most terrifying thing since Halle Berry's Catwoman in 2005. Also: if you were on top, her entire body would be crushed into pulp by your drive shaft. Whew.

Let's get a closer look at this kind of inappropriate situation:



See, this poor bastard can't even play an arcade game without getting some warm pizza splashed on him, turning him into a giant car in the middle of the arcade. Now that's insane stuff. We ask ourselves: how the hell does he get out of this one? Did he finish his game? He probably wasted a quarter on Space Invaders. If he knew he was changing into a giant car, shouldn't he have made a better effort to run towards the door? He might not have made it into the mall before his ass turned into a rear differential, but maybe he'd be clear of the innocent stand-up arcade games.

Plus, maybe he'd be closer to the Dippin' Dots kiosk. Those things are pretty cold. Maybe if Alex jammed some Dippin' Dots in his radiator, he'd totally be able to finish Space Invaders? Just a thought.

So take a look at your problems. Bills? Relationship problems? Health? Loneliness? Well... whatever it is, forget about it. At least you're not a teen who turns into a car every time you eat a hot dog. It puts things in perspective, huh?

I can't make this shit up, life is absolutely awesome.

Eating less than two hot dogs a week so I don't get brain tumors,

-McClane

P.S. "NOW TO FULFILL MY DESTINY!!!!!"

You got clips for those roots?

Hey readers, McClane here.

If you're reading this blog and you like movies, you should go visit rootclip.com right now.

I can write about it all day and throw in tons of references to porn, Thundercats, steak, eggs or giant snake movies, but instead I'll copy and paste an email from my friend Kevin Antoine, who runs the site:

Rootclip is a short video collaboration site, where we will shoot the first chapter of a story, we set characters and define costumes pretty much, and then we leave the rest of the story up to the user community. The full story is 6 chapters long, and we only shoot the first one. "The world" shoots and votes on the rest of the story and characters in the story are all united by their costume.....so people know who is who as the story progresses.

Learn more here:



Let me tell you something right now, readers: if I could have gotten a hold of rootclip when I was a kid, I'd already be easily as famous as Kevin Bacon. When I was about 13 years old, my sister and I created this fantastic movie called "SUPER JOHN."

(Editor's note: I have no idea where the hell the "JOHN" part came in, since I don't think I knew that many Johns back in those days. Hell, even the ones I probably knew weren't worthy of a superhero name anyway. Especially that damn John Jensen, who was always plotting to give me pink eye.)

It was your typical origin story about a kid or an alien or something who ends up being raised by this busted, low-class, cigar-smoking, highly abusive maniac family that forces him to do tons of manual labor, including lifting big cardboard boxes easily weighing more than 10 tons each.

There's a lot of other things about this movie I could give away (including the inter-racial love affair with the girl next door and his jealous, abusive mother's attempt to keep them apart), but I'll hold off.

Actually, I will tell you one thing: I deserved an f'n Oscar for my simultaneous portrayal of both a screaming, chain-smoking foster father and a 12-year-old alien foster kid with a heart of gold and a body of pure steel. (Also, a nomination should also go to my sister, Amanda, who took time away from her busy schedule to play the nagging mother role. You remember Kim Basinger from that Eminem movie where he rapped in a steel factory? Yeah, my sister totally owned her ass back in 1990.)

You may be wondering what kept Amanda so busy during that time period. Well, I don't know all the secrets, but I do know for a fact that she had this badass Barbie ice-cream making machine thing that—to this day—made the finest damn strawberry ice cream I've ever had in my life. (If any of you ladies still own one of these Barbie ice-cream making machines out there, I'm totally available Saturday night if you want to bring that on over.)

Anyway, if "SUPER JOHN" could have been somehow worked in to a chapter of rootclip.com, I'd be on one of those CSI shows by now. Maybe even that new 90210 show. If I was, I'd have a pretty awesome haircut, too.

Don't sit there and roll your eyes at me, readers! Luke Perry was like 35 when he played "Dylan, the bad boy high school surf car racer guy" on that show, and it was all due to that smooth haircut and carefully placed scar on his forehead. Damn that guy was a badass in 8 Seconds, wasn't he?

Anyway, go check out rootclip.com and tell Kevin that I sent you. We tried to work out some deal where everybody that visits rootclip.com and says they saw 'em on the Tirade gets these awesome bear-skin chaps and an orgasm ball with both our logos on it. Unfortunately, we couldn't get that worked out in time, so just go check it out anyway and enjoy some cool short films.

I got my root down,

-McClane

P.S. Do you guys know about this awesome "20-year-old McCain-supporting student gets a giant backwards 'B' carved into her face" story? It's awesome.

In case you've been living in some bomb shelter eating canned hot dogs or have been sucked into some negative-zone-other-dimension or some shit, read the FIRST part of the story HERE.

The read the full, real story RIGHT HERE.

Thaaaat's genius to me.

Anyway, I have to point out how Knoxville gets yet another awesome political plug this year. First we hacked up Sarah Palin's email, and now our fans are apparently slashing faces in Pennsylvania. This woman's sweatshirt gets my award for coolest post-controversial-event accessory of the year.







Yay Knoxville!!!

Drunken Tirade on the Rampage!!!!

Hey there people out in blog land!!!!

You probably don't know me (because I've been away from the Tirade for a good while now), so I'll totally introduce myself.

My name is Matt McClane.

I'm a veteran of steel and a patriot of back-breaking street justice. I break bones and also hearts. I rob from the rich and steal from the poor. I pack a punch the size of the big ass iceberg that sunk the Jim Cameron boat. I whittle knives out of human bones and use them to spread mayonnaise on my grilled-cheese sandwiches. I break the law when I have to park closer to my office by stealing a "15-minute loading zone" spot, and then I also break the law by murdering imaginary supervillains on the elevator with just my brain. I write compound, run-on sentences without shame or remorse. I'm a force of nature that leaves hours of tears and orgasms in my wake. I fight for what's right. I settle for nothing. I only give money to homeless people if they're wearing a cowboy hat. I ride the waves of democracy straight into the post office when I buy my stamps. I'm a man on a mission. A mission to succeed. Succeed by forging a new life for myself...based on brawn and sweat and tears. And solid, gold bullion.

Also: to learn more and better ways to convince women that I actually DID win a gold medal in the '92 Summer Olympics in skeet shooting.

I write this blog a lot, and it pretty much keeps me going. It sustains my life and heals my shattered soul after I've heard one too many Sublime songs on the way home from work.

And finally, I love you, readers. I'm not just brown-nosing because I'm drunk or because I want something from you. I love you because the way you smell every time you sit at this computer to read my stuff. You guys smell great, and if you bend over a little further, ladies, I can totally see down your shirt. Thanks, readers, for coming back time and time again.

The fondest memory I have of this blog is the time that it came out of nowhere in an abandoned parking lot to save me from a cobra.

Another magical moment is when I was hammering in the back yard, and the blog came back to bring me lemonaid. It tasted so sweet and delicious because it was made by the blog. Then I went back to hammering. I was hammering away, happy as an old hammer dog.

In other news: I'm pretty tired of working so much, so I've decided to officially run for office in my apartment so I can rake in millions of taxpayer dollars on the side. Basically, I'll cast my vote, my old buddy, Ted the teddy bear, can place his vote, and then the cardboard box that my new hard drive came in can place his too. Whoever gets the most votes will totally win the title, and it'll only be a few weeks (because of the paperwork) and I'll be running the damn show around here. I'll also use this awesome rubber shark to be my secret service manager.





Following the election, I'll have some type of torrid love affair with an unnamed woman outside my district. Basically anywhere outside my apartment is out of my district, so the woman won't have to compromise her love because she probably voted against me in the election.

As a gift, I'll probably bring her a few slices of cheese and/or this vintage video camera from 1992:





If there's one thing I've learned from all my horrifying experiences with the ladies: they love the shit out of vintage video cameras. And also penises.

As you've probably guessed, I've been having a good time taking pictures of random shit in my room and writing a clever quip about them, just for the excuse of posting a photo. Here, here's a great shot without any clever lines.





Finally, I'll leave you with the real reason for my drinking... a true celebration. Today, MySpace posted the first official trailer for my most anticipated horror film of 2009:



That just makes me feel warm in my groin area, which, by the way, is not soaked in my own urine because I got lost in the bathroom earlier for two solid hours.

I'll leave you with this note, because for some reason, urine made me think of one of my best buddies, Chris McAdoo. He has a birthday coming up, and he's about to feast on the intestines and innards of the giant number 3 and also the number 0. McAdoo, get ready to sink your teeth into the very beginning of the end of your life.

Oh, and also there's a big ass party at his house tomorrow night, and you should come and say hello. If you can, bring those freakin' awesome mutant biker guys from "Weird Science."





The thought of that creepy bald dude from the original "The Hills Have Eyes" smashing through McAdoo's living room on a spiked-wheeled chopper is an awesome thought. Remember that guy's weird-looking shotgun? That thing was badass.

Come to think of it, I might just give those dudes a call tomorrow. One of them owes me one from the time I saved his mom's life from a runaway shopping cart in the Food Lion parking lot.

Much love, readers, smoke 'em if ya got 'em.

Muah.

-M

November 4th. It's coming, fools.

Hey readers and suckas,

You guys know me well enough by now that I don't mess around with politics on the Tirade. It's pretty dangerous to do so in this day & age. For example, I saw a guy with a McCain sticker on his back windshield completely ripped in half by a chainsaw—which was being wielded around by some bearded, logging guy wearing an Obama t-shirt.

I can also make up a ton of other compound-sentenced stories about this insane election year, but instead and I'll just make a big endorsement.

Matt McClane officially endorses: voting.

Register to vote!


Follow your heart, readers. That's what I do.

Yours truly,

-Me