These people will kill you if they can

Hola Readers!

Man, long time no blog, huh? I hope life is good out there in internet land.

Do you realize how dangerous old people drivers are?

These guys are out of control. On Thursday morning, I was driving the 40 minutes or so to mom's for a little Thanksgiving love, and almost died no less than five times from negligant, unassuming stunt-coordinated, Michael-Bay-Action-giving gereatric lunatics.

I do most of my driving early in the morning or really late in the evening after dark. During those times, I hardly ever have this problem. I wonder why that is?

Well here's why:

1. These animals avoid early-morning driving situations in lieu of eating breakfasts and drinking coffee in homes with the thermostats set to 85 degrees. These people know that traffic is already dangerous enough without them before 8:00 or 9:00 a.m. They just sit back in their homes watching the morning news' eye-in-the-sky helicopter footage of wrecked semis on the interstate... rubbing their hands together like Mr. Burns. Exxxxcellent.

2. Like the opposite of vampires, these creatures don't have the ability to drive after dark. The sunshine fuels their solar-power cells, pretty much like Superman. (That is... if Superman wore Depends® undergarments every time he went to the grocery store for fear of crapping his pants beside the flour on the bake isle.)

The darkness sucks their powers away and wrecks their eyesight. In the dim shadows—to them—everything is a demon from hell sent to destroy them. You see that little boy walking home with his book bag? After dark, he becomes one of the bad guy villains from Robocop (I'd buy THAT for a dollar!!) holding a laser machine gun, a giant Scientology book and the ashes from an entire burnt dish of Werther's Originals caramel candy. TERRIFYING for them!!!!!

No, they must come out during the day, and no better time than the MIDDLE of the day. Most humans under 60 are at work during that time, and it gives them the perfect chance they need to take their death machines out onto the pavement for a daily dose of hell-bending, Mad-Max-Beyond-Thunderdome vehicle escapade. Usually to the grocery store.

These people are vicious, hate-breeding, blood-lusting maniacs, man. Pay close attention—the next time you almost die in a fiery car crash—to the old man wearing the gigantic windshield-size, jet-black space-man sunglasses that unknowingly cut you off. More than likely, he'll never see you at all. No, he'll only see the nice, blue-blocked yellow lines on the pavement, moving back and forth like a choral line on the Lawrence Welk show.

Pay attention, if you will, (and you will) to the hate-mongering old lady who's sitting upward with what appears to be her entire body glued against the steering wheel at the chest. Ironically, in sitting so close to the steering wheel, it completely inhibits their ability to actually turn it in drastic situations. (If, by "drastic situations" I mean "going around a curve.")

Stop and take a closer look at the couple who are so completely zombified and staring at the rolling landscape that they both never even notice how they're weaving over into different lanes like a mentally challenged, ex-construction worker who's cross-stitching a new monogrammed sweater.

These people have to be stopped, readers.

While hurrying along to mom's on a four-lane highway the other morning, it became pretty apparent how much old people love to drive in the left lane at 10 mph under the given speed limit. They also love to find other old people like them... who drive in the right lane as such... and drive side-by-side for miles and miles in a strange flock pattern... without ever even knowing what they're doing. They just drive right along beside each other at the same speed, completely unaware of the five-car convoy behind them. (The people who are impatiently waiting to run them completely off the road into some bottomless ditch.)

It's also strange how the flock will suddenly change direction and switch around lanes just when you think you have a second to get clear.

It's also strange how these people still have the cognitive capacity to operate a unit that can travel so fast with that many moving parts.

Anyway, this blog isn't meant to be a funny joke, bud. This blog is the real deal. If you have a chance to steal the keys away from any old person who owns a pair of those gigantic black driving sunglasses things... take it. Take the chance. Save a life. Do your part to stop these bastards from killing again.

Anyway, so Thanksgiving was nice.

Take care,

-M

Driving off the facebook cliff

Hey social networking fans,

Just wanted to drop you guys a note and say that I've hopped on the facebook truck and driven it straight off a cliff like Bill Murray and that groundhog guy from Groundhog Day.

Search me out and throw an add my way if you're feeling froggy and also happy.

Muah.

-McClane

The story of my birth in Morristown. Also: Ballet.

Hey dance lovers!

First thing's first: I know a particular beyond-cool Asian girl who's going to flip out when she reads this blog. Mika, seriously, don't flip out too hard core. Hold it together.

A lot of you guys probably don't realize this, but I was born in Morristown, Tennessee. It was in the inside of a beaver dam near Mossy Creek where I took my first breath. My mom was a trap hunter back in those days, and my dad herded sheep just to make the ends meet. They were burning the rope at both ends, fighting the man (and Indians, and also rival Laotian gangs) every step of the way. About the time that I came along, a meteor the size of a dry-cleaning bag crushed in & burned down the roof of our small dwelling house place.

It was a cold night in mid-August when mom's water broke over the sound of a fox hunter's horn and some guy's car alarm from across the street. In a desperate move now made famous by a full-length novel (Paramount Pictures is in negotiations to buy the rights for the film), mom did the only thing she could do in such a traumatic situation: jog down the hill and dive face-first into a beaver dam.

The warmth helped the birthing process, and so did the doctor who lived in there. His name was Carl, if I recall correctly. He had an awesome mustache. I don't remember too much about being born that day... except Carl's mustache. I kept thinking to myself: "Man. Someday I'm going to have a mustache like that."

(Editor's note: it happened in 2003)

After I was born, she didn't have much time for all that paperwork or whatever happens with newborns. I'm not sure about all that legal garbage, but you can ask my friend Tommy Forrester if you want. He just had an awesome new son, and I'm pretty sure there was some paperwork somewhere in there. Also: he cut the imbecile cord, which is pretty much horrifying to me in so many, many ways. Look, here's a photo of his new gorgeous son:





Just kidding readers, that was actually from this weird dream I had last night after I ate a shit-ton of extra-buttered popcorn and had sex with a prostitute who's face had recently been burned by acid. It's also no surprise that she stole all my towels to cut them up and make shorts for her kids. Here's the real Alex:







Man, I love that kid!!!!!

Anyway, because she loved me and knew that only the wild would toughen me up to become a man, mom sent me down the river in a half-eaten bag of Cheetos. The creek current carried me along for miles, just like that Ten Commandments guy, and along the way I wrestled a few snakes and learned how the waters of Mossy Creek can kill you in a thousan' ways. This was actually really challenging, since Mossy Creek is really shallow in parts, and from time to time I'd have to crawl out of the bag and physically push myself on down the water way using my feet and small twigs and tree limbs that I could reach. Other times I'd have to actually get out and drag the bag along, pulling it behind me.

I became strong there in the wilds of Morristown's forests, teaching myself how to weave clothes from leaves, dig holes when I take craps and bury it, so the smell won't give away my position... and kill things for food and also sustenance.

One day, after killing some delicious fat dude who was mowing his yard, I stumbled up on a newspaper. The headline said, "O.J. Simpson Accused of Murder." I was completely blown away.

(Another Editor's Note: I'd trained myself to read from being a badass and just inherently knowing how to read at birth. Also, the Cheetos bag had this awesome cat guy with sunglasses on the front, and I deciphered the English language by comparing his giant head with the mysterious figures and symbols on the bag. I began to sound it out: "Trrraaannzzz Fattss" and "SOOOO-DI-UM.")

After the O.J. news settled in my brain, I decided to become a powerful attorney: doing my part to stop people like the family of Nicole Simpson from ever trying to pin murder on innocent men again. People like this need to be stopped!!!! Luckily, though, he was proven innocent and everybody was happy. (I baked a cake in the shape of boobs.)

Years later, here I am, a graphic designer and blog guy.

Basically, readers... whenever I hear about a kid getting into trouble with drugs, I like to tell them this story. It really hits close to home for a lot of these troubled teens.

Finally, my point: There's seriously a new movie that's out now called "MORRISTOWN."

Not only is it called "MORRISTOWN," but it's called "MORRISTOWN: A BALLERINA LOVE STORY."

Okay, the genius of this probably hasn't really sunk in yet. Let's give it some time to really sink in here.

Let it sink.

A little more.

Sink away.

Sink for just a little longer.

Sink it in.

Sink it deep.

Sink it hard.

Okay, so now that that's all sunk in, let's throw that title out there one more time, just for kicks: "MORRISTOWN: A BALLERINA LOVE STORY."

After waiting my entire beaver-dammed life for a great film about the place of my birth, we get a heartwarming tale of a ballet dancer named Chris, who ventures into a small town (sort of like the outlaw Josie Wales, I imagine) to teach ballet and finds his ex-girlfriend somehow teaching at the same school.

This is pretty weird stuff. In my head, a movie about my home town would have been called, "MORRISTOWN: THE REVENGE OF BRENDA'S LOUNGE" or possibly "MORRISTOWN: THE POST-APOCALYPTIC BATTLE FOR PANTHER CREEK." Or, if the marketing guys were REALLY on their game: "MORRISTOWN: RAZORFIST VS. BLOOD VENOM" with the tag line: "Passing the liquor-by-the-drink amendment was only the beginning."

I'm sure you can think of many more interesting movie titles. If so, please feel free to comment below. The winner of the best one will receive a free custom-made Burt Reynolds computer desktop from me! Let's get right on it, readers!!!!

Hey man, I'm not cracking on ballet here. It's a pretty amazing art, and I have nothing but respect for the super hot chicks in those awesome tights who leap around like Spider-man and bend themselves around like a twist tie from a loaf of bread. Let's face it, bud, those ballerinas could seriously kick my ass if they wanted.

If I'm not mistaken, there was this awesome episode of Alvin and the Chipmunks... or Mr. T and the T-Force... or something... where the star of the show befriends this ballerina kid who everybody makes fun of. (Let's pretend it actually WAS Alvin and the Chipmunks.)

Alvin was thinking that this ballet kid was a total fag, right? Well, it turns out that in the end when bullies attack, the ballerina kid like kung-fu kicks this wardrobe metal bar off the clothes stand with his powerful, mighty legs... bends it with his hands into a makeshift club, and beats the shit out of the bullies with it.

If I'm not mistaken, he also bent the metal pole around the bullies, tied them up and left them there helpless for the police. (This happened all the time in 80's cartoons.)

Anyway, back to the point: ballet is pretty awesome. So do I endorse this film about Morristown ballerinas who fall in love and reach for their dreams?

You bet your ass. This movie looks GGEEEENNNIIIUUSS!!!!!!

Check out the trailer below and let me know what you think about this.



( Facebook readers, follow this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ki9FSZWke4o )

Dancing the night away and loving it,

-McClane

The Speech

Hey readers! Man, crazy night, huh?

So basically, I just watched our new President-elect make an acceptance speech. During this speech, I started to seriously think about what's going on here. (Seriously.  What's going on here, right??)

I began to tear up when I thought about this country and where it could go. For the first time in a long damn time, I feel proud of our nation and what could happen from here on out. Sounds cheesy, sure, send me hate mail about it and make fun of me.  I don't give a cup of whale dick. I teared up at that speech. It's my party and I'll cry if I want to.  It was amazing to me.

You guys know me; you know I don't bullshit around on the Tirade.  Well.  Okay so actually I do bullshit around on the Tirade, but I really needed to speak out on this one. I mean, c'mon, this day is written in history. What I just saw not 15 minutes ago will be recorded, talked about and remembered for the rest of our lives.  Sort of like the first time I had sex, only instead of affecting my crotch & confidence, it affects every single one of us.  

Thank you, God, that we have a new 44th president. Thank you for the privilege of living in this country in these times. And thank you so much for giving this country the power to break down boundaries and FINALLY elect a black man as our president.  I can't believe how proud I am right now. Right now, for the first time in a long damn time, I love this nation again.  I can't wait to see what happens next.

Can Barack Obama and The Tirade change the nation by playing basketball on election days, writing about endless Friday the 13th movies, appearing on the Ellen show dancing... and writing gigantic run-on sentences? 

Yes we can.

-M