I'm only able to judge the quality of World Cup soccer games by the degree to which each team bends it like Beckham. I have a scorecard where I rate each team on a number of scales, and the aggregate of those scores determines how much like (or unlike) Beckham each team bent it, 30 being the bend most like Beckham, zero being not bent at all, much less resembing Beckham in any capacity. The scales are as follows:
- The degree to which the players are rejected by their traditionalist Indian father for their tomboy-ish interest in the game. (zero-10)
- The number of times the teams' play causes me to exclaim "Bullocks, Jess!" (zero-10)
- The degree to which Keira Knightley is hot. (all teams receive a 10)
This was supposed to premier at OUTTAKES, but due to circumstances, it didn't get screened. But it's here, now, on the Internet, strictly for your ass. The new DERRICK video.
If you're in New York City tonight, you're coming to OUTTAKES at the UCB Theater, and that's that.
DERRICK will be premiering all new videos and cartoons, along with videos and LIVE APPEARANCES from the following amazing people:
All the way from MIT, the guy who invented this:
The beer is cold and cheap. The show is at 8 PM. The cost is five dollars.
And if you come, I will hand-make you a t-shirt. No joke.
Occasionally, when a guy in going-out clothes buys two beers, doesn't tip, and goes back to his seat and gives one of the beers to his date, I sort of wish that I had slapped a sticker on the side of that particular beer that says "YOUR BOYFRIEND OR DATE OR WHATEVER DOESN'T TIP." I mean, it's kind of my duty to warn the poor girl.
You think she'd find out eventually, but you might be wrong. I mean, some people live for years under the same roof as a serial killer or a rapist and never have any idea.
Not that I'm morally equating people who don't tip with people who rape and murder...
...I'm just saying their mail gets delivered to the same apartment building in Hell.
Forget "The Fast and The Furious Three: Tokyo Drift."
I am looking forward to the Liberal Arts entry in the series, "The Fast-ish and The Furious-esque."
I'm here to discuss a phenomenon, a phenomenon I have christened the I'm-So-Happy-With-My-Boyfriend Facebook Photo. I'd like to say it's a MySpace phenomenon as well, because MySpace is more ubiquitous, but I've really only seen it on Facebook. If you have seen examples of I'm-So-Happy-With-My-Boyfriend MySpace Photos, by all means, send them my way.
You know the pictures I'm talking about. The girl's profile picture is her hanging off some harmless nice-enough looking dude. Maybe they're kissing. Maybe they're inexplicably in formalwear. But the look in her eyes says "Look what I've ensnared? Jealous NOW, people from high school?"
And it ain't exclusively a girl thing. Dudes definitely have I'm-So-Happy-With-My-Girlfriend pictures.
I am thinking about cooking up the single-person equivalent of the I'm-So-Happy-With-My-Boyfriend Facebook picture. After I drunkenly make out with someone, I might stop a passerby and give them my camera so they can take a snapshot of us looking blissful in whatever dark nook we've staked out, our hair all messed up and our eyes all unfocused. I may start taking pictures of me smiling and looking meaningfully into a scrap of paper some girl has written her phone number on. I call it the I'm-So-Happy-With-A-Phone-Number-Of-A-Girl-I-Fully-Intend-To-Call-
Mid-Range-Disappointment-That-Will-Probably-Result Facebook Photo.
I may even take a picture of my face in front of a computer screen displaying the profile of a girl from like, freshman year that I'm half-contemplating messaging to see what's up. The screen might show up too blurry to make that out, but the look of sheer contentment in my eyes will be enough to make those I'm-So-Happy-With-My-Boyfriend girls jealous. "Damn," they'll say, "I wish I was as happy with my flesh-and-blood harmless nice-enough dude who is inexplicably wearing a tuxedo as DC is with that computer monitor."
Well, sorry, ladies, that's pretty much impossible. My computer monitor and I know all each other's likes and dislikes (It likes displaying information via pixels and dislikes having water poured on it or a magnet applied to it) and this weekend I'm going to visit my computer monitor's parents (did you know the Toshiba factory in Hokkaido, Japan gives tours?) and they're going to L-O-V-E me.
She was cigarette years old.
She was looking for
one thing in this world
that wasn’t fake and
And when she found it,
she was gonna accuse it of being
She was gonna put its face on a t-shirt.
Then she was gonna take it in her bedroom
and let it take the t-shirt off.
She was gonna leave before it woke up
but not before taking a camera-phone picture to show
She was gonna name her cat after it,
then get bored of the cat.
She was gonna make noises about
moving to Portland
to whoever would pretend
She was gonna daydrink, nightdrink,
take the train home,
and cry on the floor
while writing a blog entry in her head about
how she cried on the floor.
Then she was gonna fall asleep with the TV on.
(But she doesn’t have a TV,
and she’ll tell you as much,
if you’ll only pretend
Hey Kyle! How's it goin' little dude?
Sorry: I don't mean little! You're HUGE, bro! Since your big sister and I started going out two years ago, I swear you've grown, like, 30 inches! You must be KILLIN' IT with all the ladies at Millard Fillmore Junior High! I went there too: Is Mrs. Geisler still, like, a total bitch?
I know you and I don't really talk much because your sister and I are pretty much always in her room. You and I would totally hang out more, but you seem like such a cool kid who has his own thing goin' on, I don't wanna mess with that! Your sister says you have Easy Mac and watch Pokemon every day after school. Awesome! Routines are awesome! Besides, you probably don't wanna be bothered by some old dude like me. Get this: I'm gonna be 19 in November! I like, might as well be your grandpa, huh?
But from now on, if you wanna hang out, I'm totally down for whatever. I usually have lacrosse practice Monday through Thursday after school, but I'm free pretty much any other time! Give me a call (my cell is 602-555-1027) or hit me on AIM at _LucasLacs07_. We could catch a movie or whatever. Even something R-rated: if the theater tries to stop you from going in, we can just say you're MY little brother. (Or your grandpa! Remember? Like I said before!)
But I'd be way surprised if you even had time to hang out with me: seems like you're pretty popular! Going over to people's houses to hang out all the time! That was you hanging out at Chad Thurmington's house yesterday, right? Oh, hey, that reminds me: if you could not say anything to your sister about what you saw when you accidentally walked into Chad's sister Lindsay's room, that would be awesome! I mean, you're already awesome, but that's no reason to STOP being awesome, just because you saw your sister's boyfriend for two years being ATTACKED by Lindsay Thurmington. That's right: Lindsay Thurmington ATTACKED me. I was just helping her with her Economics project (Economics is a class we have in high school) when she just JUMPED on me. You know how crazy she is: Chad's probably told you! I had to take my belt off to restrain her, which is why my pants were down. I know it looked like sex: I'm not gonna pretend you're too young to know what sex is. Hell, you're so cool, you've probably done it like, fifty times! (I wish this were real life instead of a letter, 'cause I'd give you a high five right now!)
So if it wasn't sex, why am I so worried about you telling your sister? I mean, I was just defending myself, right? (I definitely WAS.) Here's why: if your sister heard that somebody attacked me, she would definitely go after them and KICK their ASS. You know how your sister is: she KICKS ASS, just like you! In fact, your whole family KICKS ASS! I'm sure even if it's just in her Pilates class, your mom KICKS ASS. And even though no one knows where your dad is, I'm sure wherever he is, he's KICKING some ASS! And even if she straight up attacked me, Lindsay needs professional help, not her ass kicked by your awesome sister who I love very much and would never, ever cheat on, ever.
Anyway, back to the point of this letter: remember when I said I was almost 19? That mean's I'm 18! And 18 means I can buy cigarettes and porn! So if you or any of your friends ever need anything like that, definitely give me a call! But don't tell your sister or your mom: you don't want me to get my ASS KICKED, right? Ha ha!
PS - If you're ever hanging out at Chad's again and you see me there, I'm probably helping Lindsay with other school projects. I know she's C-R-A-Z-Y and needs professional help like I said, but do you really think failing school is gonna make her less crazy? No way! Helping people is awesome!
Anyway, stay cool! Wait: what am I saying: that's like telling the sun to keep shinin', or your family to keep KICKIN' ASS! Am I right?
I have invented a new acronym: E.S.D.K.T.T.R.S.F.A.S.D.I.G.A.G.J.M.C.A.S.A.C.P.H.O.S.
As you probably already guessed, it stands for Every Serious Dude Knows That The Rawest Soundtrack For A Summer's Day Is Getz and Gilberto, Joni Mitchell's "Court and Spark," and Cam'ron's "Purple Haze," On Shuffle.
This summer’s hotly anticipated blockbuster “Superman Returns” concerns the legendary superhero returning to Earth after a long hiatus. But Superman is not the only comic book character to have taken a break from costumed do-goodery. What follows is a catalogue of lesser known superheroes, and the circumstances surrounding both the break from their crime-fighting duties and their glorious (or inglorious) return.
- Miniscule Man, who spent an entire summer in the pocket of Maine resident Paul W. Rennslears’ winter coat, which was hung in Mr. Rennslears’ hall closet. The following December, Mr. Rennslear discovered Miniscule Man, along with a crumpled twenty dollar bill Rennslear had put in the pocket last March and forgotten about.
- Boyfriend Boy and Girlfriend Girl, who took a break from each other a few months after graduating Superhero Academy (“The Significant Others,” Issue #8). Girlfriend Girl briefly took up a partnership with The Other Man, whose superpower is the ability to create jealousy. The two reunited after being zapped with Dr. Relationship’s Inertia Ray.
- The Actress, whose comic, “Actress Adventures,” is published under the Mundane Comics imprint, who briefly switched her major to Theatrical Design after the entire Mundane universe was rocked by the Crisis Of Confidence. She switched back after discovering that the spring mainstage was going to be “Annie Get Your Gun.”
- Professor Follicle, whose power over the minds of anyone with facial hair gave him immense power until The Fashions (who control Earthly tastes from an orbital platform three hundred miles above Milan) dictated that men wear a more clean-shaven look. He has experienced a resurgence in recent years, though his dominion remains limited mostly to hipsters with ironic beards, thirteen-year-olds growing ill-advised puberty moustaches, and the Amish.
- Munthar, Eater Of Worlds, who switched to a planetless diet after he ripped a pair of pants that used to fit him perfectly when he was twenty-two aeons old. After he went through his breakup with Shinta The Inconquerable, he resumed planet-eating in an epic binge while watching “Mad About You” reruns on a galaxy-wide TV set.
- The Incredible Returning Man, whose incredible return surprised no one.
I would like to open up a detective-themed dessert shoppe called Crime Brulee.
I am actively seeking investors.
Last night I was struck by a thought that I'm told is common among young men playing beer pong on the second floor of bars surrounded by fratty Wall Street dudes and their bored-looking dates: HOLY SHIT, THIS SONG SOUNDS A TON LIKE THE "MAGIC SCHOOL BUS" THEME.
The song cued up on the place's inoffensive bar-rock playlist was Sheryl Crow's "Steve McQueen." The verse sections sound remarkably similar. Here, tell me I'm wrong.
From Sheryl's official site: "C'Mon C'Mon was a difficult record for me to make," she says. "I was turning 40, music was changing, it was all Britney and Christina and lots of beats, and I was really struggling with how to stay relevant." Apparently her solution was to pander to the Britney-Christina audience was to CRIB SHAMELESSLY FROM FONDLY REMEMBERED EDUCATIONAL PROGRAMMING.
And I'm not the only one brave enough to brand Mrs. Crow a melody-plagirist: Over on YouTube, in the most recent comment on the "Steve McQueen" video, bman041 writes: "I really like this song, but doesn't sound alot like the magic school bus"
bman041 was clearly so disgusted that Cheryl would stoop this low that he lost the ability to punctuate questions and place the word "it" where it makes the difference in what his sentence means. I'm barely able to string these words together myself, so deeply do I treasure the TV shows we sometimes got to watch in science class instead of doing work ("Forensic Files" holds a similar place in my heart. Fortunately, to my knowledge, no one has yet ripped off its moody, wordless theme song, though forensic-dance outfit Groove Scene Investigators sampled it for their 2005 cult hit "Inadmissable As Evidence In The Court Of Love.")
The treachery may not stop there. An anonymous source has suggested Crow's 1996 hit "If It Makes You Happy" is merely the Gummi Bears theme played backwards, and there are whispers among industry insiders that Disney gave her free reign to pillage their stash of cartoon theme music and Frankenstein a number of tracks into what eventually became "Real Gone," her song on the "Cars" soundtrack.
Who cares? Every red-blooded American who doesn't like having a precious piece of their 90's nostalgia ravaged by a middling singer-songwriter who, by all rights, should be relegated to being a not-so-precious piece of said nostalgia: That's fucking who.
Now it's time for this week's edition of joke headlines that I feel sadly could have been used already by a real, semi-reputable publication:
"CARS" IS A GAS!
I'm too lazy and late to be somewhere to Google these and find out if they've been used, but if you feel like looking and you find one and send it to me at dcpierson at gmail dot com, you will win a fabulous prize that I have no idea what it is yet.
A month-late addition to my list of possible autobiography titles:
Are You There, Me? It's Me, Me!
CRYPTO-FASCISM! This phrase meaning secretly adhering to the tenets of fascism while espousing other beliefs is not just the favorite watchword of political science majors anymore! It's also an insidious practice that pervades our society from top to bottom! Is someone trying to place you under the control of their fascist regime without you knowing it? Here's a WATCHLIST: signs someone close to you is attempting to make you victim of CRYPTO-FASCISM!
- If a realtor is showing you and several other people apartments in what she says is a "charming old building," but the sign on the front of the building reads GULAG. If you point out the GULAG sign and the realtor says the building "used to be a gulag but is under renovation," here is a way to tell if she's lying: old buildings under renovation do not have active torture rooms or traitors to the state impaled on the ramparts. If the realtor says the traitors to the state are going to be removed in the building's on-going makeover, come back next week. You will know the building is still a gulag if the traitors impaled on the ramparts are the other people who were on the apartment tour with you.
- If the pizza man demands undying loyalty instead of money for the pizza, he may in fact be a dictator in disguise. An easy way to tell if this is so: he may be wearing a tiny moustache which conceals his enormous dictator moustache. If you try to rip off his small moustache and it turns out to be real, apologize, as he is just a pizza guy. If you try to rip off his small moustache and it turns out to be real and in retaliation he vows to have his storm-troopers take your family away to be “re-educated,” he is just a dictator with a small moustache.
- If the police knock on the door, and you answer it, and they say they want to ask you some questions, and you answer their questions and then you close the door, and your wife says “Honey, who was at the door?” and you say, “Oh, it was just the--” and the police stick their heads in the door and go “SHHHHH!” before you can say the word “POLICE,” that means these police are SECRET POLICE, a common tool of fascism. The SECRET POLICE want you to keep THE SECRET of their existence, so do not tell anyone, especially gossipy teenage girls or parrots who repeat the last thing you said at inopportune times.
- If a salesman says he will let you trade in your Freedom Of The Press for new “FUN-dom Of The Press!”, do not make the exchange, no matter how many times the staff of your underground anti-authoritarian newspaper is offered party hats and streamers.
- If the hippie girl who works at the head shop says she has some amazing incense she wants to sell you, but instead of sticks, the incense comes in the form of books full of dangerous ideas, she is in all likelihood not a hippie girl but, in fact, a propaganda officer who is too lazy to organize a proper book-burning.
Next month, we’ll discuss The big brother/Big Brother paradox, or: how to tell a male sibling who exceeds you in age from a totalitarian Orwellian despot. (Hint: both will give you noogies, but only one will do so while wearing an electro-shock gauntlet that wipes your mind clean of thoughtcrime.)
The girl next to me at these public computer terminals is looking at different websites, pricing stainless steel oven-stove combinations in the five-thousand dollar range. It is clear we live very different lives. Unless she is just researching them to make a realistic detail in a humorous blog post, in which case, we are total soulmates.
Being the Anti-Christ is weak!
After school Randy and Chris and me were all behind Safeway, skating. Sarah and Christina were there. Randy was taping it so if any of us did something awesome or fell really hard we could put it up on YouTube. I bought Sarah a Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper and I was like “I don’t even see why you drink that stuff, it just basically tastes like Dr. Pepper,” and she was like “I dunno, I just like it!” and we were definitely getting into some flirting and she was mad impressed with our skating and I was definitely working up the nerve to ask her to the Winter Formal when all the sudden there’s this really bright light and this, like, archangel or something shows up on a big white horse and looks right at me and he’s all like “BEHOLD, LUCIFER! I AM HE WHO IS CALLED I! THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA!” and all this shit.
Imagine your mom showing up to pick you up in a van, except, like, an infinite amount of times more embarrassing. Randy and Chris and Sarah and Christina were like “We’ll catch you later.” I tried to explain that it would still be The End Times tomorrow and I could just put off battling the Armies of the Lord until then, and we could all still hang out, but they were all gone, pretty much, except for Randy who was putting his camera back in its case.
The archangel was all “GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN!” and Randy was like, “Ha ha ha. He wants you to get behind him so you can fuck him. Fag.”
And I was like “Shut up!” but Randy couldn’t hear me because of the stupid trumpets of the angels causing the mountains to rumble and the seas to boil and shit like that.
One time I was in the car with Randy and Chris and we were listening to this song by The Used where the chorus is like “At the end of the world…” and Chris was like “I fucking love this song” and I was like “Guys, I’m sorry in advance.”
They didn’t know what I was talking about but now they probably do.
Today I caved and upgraded to the Netflix five-disc plan. This move of unthinkable decadence is brought to you by the same person who a couple weeks ago was writing about his method of sleeping in really late so he only had to eat one meal a day.
It's been all cloudy and cool the past couple days. June thinks it's April. Tonight I actually considered a sweater, which is hell of summer blasphemy.
A three day weekend and a hundred milligrams of UPLIFT!, (that new over-the-counter drug that imbues animals with human-like consciousness) ground up into some Fancy Feast has confirmed what I have for so long suspected: my girlfriend’s cat is a bitch.
On Friday night, Misty ate the cat food with the drug in it. She took a couple steps backward and collapsed. We didn’t panic: the UPLIFT! box said this was normal. Then she slept for sixteen hours, also apparently normal. I spent all sixteen of those hours going “I still don’t think this is a very good idea,” except the hours Tara and I were sleeping or having what I predicted, both before and after, would be the last normal sex we would have, ever.
I moved in with Tara a couple months ago on a couple of conditions. I didn’t specify “no bitchy sentient cats,” and I didn’t think I had to, but science marches on and on Thursday night there was a big UPLIFT! standing display by the register at Costco and Tara said, “Wouldn’t this be fun? I get to have something fun-- you’re getting that Playstation game!” and it’s true, I was.
I don’t necessarily think consciousness should be an impulse buy but Tara has a very cute wanting-things face.
While we were making dinner Saturday night, Misty sat up and blinked. Then she looked at her food bowl.
“YOU DON’T SERVE IT A CRYSTAL DISH LIKE ON THE COMMERCIALS,” Misty said. “THAT’S FINE. I GUESS I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH.”
On the UPLIFT commercials the cat is voiced by Tony Bennett. I didn’t expect Misty to have the pipes of a crooner, necessarily, but I also didn’t expect the sawblade-versus-broken-violin sound that is cats saying human words.
“Uhm…hi, Misty!” Tara said. “I’m Tara, this is--”
“I KNOW.” Misty said. “I CAN REMEMBER THE DETAILS OF FANCY FEAST COMMERCIALS, YOU THINK I HAVEN’T PICKED UP YOUR NAMES BY NOW? THAT’S HONEYBEAR,” she said, nodding at me.
“Corey, isn’t that cute, she thinks my pet name for you is your real--”
“I KNOW HIS NAME’S COREY. I WAS MAKING A JOKE.”
“Oh!” Tara said. “Ha ha, I get it--”
“GOD, NEVER MIND.”
Misty spent the rest of her first hour of human-level consciousness expressing disgust that we could eat anything that wasn’t textured like cat food or mice, demanding that we get a universal remote that was more paw-accessible, and scoffing at things on television.
I return home from playing basketball on Saturday afternoon to hear Misty telling Tara "HE DOESN'T DESERVE YOU."
to be continued
We received some responses to our request for slang terms for people who look better in pictures than they do in real life. I'm gonna throw 'em out there and let America decide.
peopel who look better in pictures have what we out here in hipsterville call "the angles"
personal liggity of the website that rules them all is the "the space" because lets face it
it's the inetrnet on crack.
Miguel has also submitted more new slang terms just by using them and assuming I know what they mean. "Personal liggity." As opposed to the communal liggity which no hippie in this co-op ever uses.
This is what I'm thinking...maybe it's not the best or most creative thing but I'm trying, and that's what counts, right? For a person who looks better in a pic than in real life you should call a Mona Lisa (or a derivative thereof). My reasoning is everyone is drawn to the Mona Lisa and her enigmatic smile, but u know Bitch was ugly in real life. Think about it... "Hey look at this girl's pic on MySpace!" "Yeah, she looks good, but I bet she's a Mona Lisa."
I never knew people automatically assumed the Mona Lisa was a bitch. I mean, I always thought the couple in American Gothic looked like they were hiding something and the residents of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks diner are clearly a child-raping cabal, but the Mona Lisa? A bitch? Based on what?
How about 'fauxtogenic'? Well, it made me laugh.
This one wins the brevity award, certainly, and I like it on paper, but if you were saying it, you'd have to emphasize faux to make it clear you weren't saying "photogenic," and that would be drawing attention to the fact that you were saying "faux" in an English conversation. And at that point you might be two steps towards being a douchefactor.
UPDATED: Eckman and Dom seem to like "fauxtogenic." But we have all been playing Guitar Hero for six hours so we are not the best judge of constructive uses of time, much less new slang.
Thanks for playing, y'all. The polls are still open at derrickcomedy at gmail dot com.