January 1st, 2001 Well, it's the new year, and according to cocky know-it-all types who bicker about things like the exact meaning of Klingon words and phrases, it's the new century at last. Far beit for me to tell people how to live their lives, but I have to say who cares? To me, it's more interesting, and thusly far more worth celebrating when all the digits of the calendar year magically roll over. So our new millennium is going to go "HEY everybody! Wait.. wait... okay... we've got zeros here... hold on.. here it comes... ONE!!! We have a ONE, where there used to be a ZERO! Woo! Yeah." 2001 Already? By Gary The Great Anti Climax Forgive me, it's just anti climactic. Last year ALL the numbers changed. That was impressive. I'm weird though. I like to celebrate what's interesting instead of saying to people that I'm not really 24 on my next birthday, but actually 24 years, 9 months, 4 days, 11 hours, and 56 minutes old. And I'm more anal retentive than I ought to be (as proof, that really is exactly how old I'll be, based on the time of my conception). Of course, this whole "but our calendar started with the year 1" business is probably just a government plot paid for by the major breweries in an attempt to get us to buy more beer. What a waste, silly government. Don't you know we'll buy it all anyway? We don't need stuff like a reason for it. More importantly, I just got an extra bonus dollar. Yes... Marc pays me extra every time I publicly denounce The Man. Screw you, The Man... and that's two. This is Not My Beautiful House... So that was the year 2000. What a rip-off. I was promised an awful lot growing up spoiled in the 20th century. I was supposed to get an electric razor that really shaved as close as a blade, I was gonna have rack-mounted laser cannons, both on my car, and surgically implanted onto my shoulders, and my virtual girlfriend was going to sound far better than this crap. (wav (205k) / mp3 (74k)) Where's the fold-up airplane I can park in my garage? Where's the prime time comedy that has comedic elements in it and is therefore actually funny? Why can't I lock onto the car that just cut me off and fire a few missiles? My wants are simple. My needs are even simpler. All I was really hoping was that my stocks would do well. This was 2000, right? I didn't sleep through another year or two again, did I? Wasn't this past year going to be all about technology and amazing robots that could hold conversations with other robots about how amazingly good it feels to build more robots and cripple humans? This was the worst year for Nasdaq (which is like all technology stocks) in its 29 year history for one simple reason: It's the year 2001, and we still don't have anything insanely futuristically cool to lay our money down on. At Least We're Still Dumb... Does anyone else think inline scooters are ridiculous? Talk with anyone over 40, won't you? Scooters were what dorks rode around on in the 50's because they were too young for cars, and too dorky to get bikes. I'm not talking cool scooters, like Vespas. I mean, dorky scooters. In the 50's, you were ashamed to ride through the streets on your dorky scooter, and you did so only in the hopes that 4 mph would be just the speed boost needed to outrun the bullies and dork-pantsers on your way home from sissy school. The dumbest thing is that they're selling like Pokemon because of one word: "inline." That's right. We've done it. We've finally made the scooter inline, unlike those scooters from the 50's, which had their wheels one behind the other. Oh wait, that's what inline means. Well if nothing else, at least we've made them retardedly small and unstable out of far cheaper materials. Congratulations us. Tomorrow I'm launching a brand new car company. Our flagship car will be called the "Gimmick." Made entirely of tin and balsa, it will boast "four wheels for traction!" and the ability to run on "gasoline!" Furthermore, why are so many kids, and grown men for that matter, pulling X-Games stunts on these things? Bikes were designed a long time ago, I think by Ben Franklin (I find I'm usually right when I guess that he invented something), and I know skateboards have been with us ever since Marty McFly invented the first one in 1955 (wasn't he dreamy?). But these aluminum danger pods are only about two years old! Don't try to backflip them off of skyscrapers! As long as I live I'll never get how some people can say "Well, it must be at least a pound and a half of untested folding aluminum, THAT should cushion my impact at the bottom of this here cliff." By the way, I recorded that one off the TV! I sent a memorial copy with a big smiley face to his widow. I also sent her a tape of "The 100 Most Lethal Crashes Ever" on which I wrote - "Your husband died way uglier than any of these posers! rock on, Gary." On the other side in red pen I drew blood all around one of the guys. Then I remembered that would be horrible to send her, so I wrote in sharpie next to it - "It's only ketchup!" But before I sent it, I couldn't resist grabbing my white out pen and drawing chalk outlines around all the people in the pictures. It looked so real. Probed by Dick We can't have New Year's without mentioning the original Highlander, Dick Clark. I only bring up his sorry, overly-made-fun-of age because I know something that I've been keeping to myself for over a year now. I can't keep it in any longer. Two spring breaks ago I went out to visit some of my fellow misinformants in California, around the LA area. As I got to our chief editor's house, I noticed a funny smell. He dodged my questions explaining that it was probably just something to do with Cali's smog, but I knew something was up. I was staying at his place, on the couch, and later that night after he went to bed, I finally tracked the smell down to his basement. And there it was. A 5 acre underground micro-brewery! That's what that hoppish smell had been! I was blown away. Turns out Marc works as an undercover testing brewery for several major beer corporations. This explains his tranquil gaze, and oft lack of motion. Oh wait, this isn't the story I was telling you. I was telling you about Dick Clark. That's right, me and some of the other misinformants went on a little walkabout to clear the smoke out of our lungs - no we weren't smoking, we just lit Marc's apartment on fire by accident as a practical joke. Anyway, we were in the downtown Burbank area, and on our travels we just happened to walk right by Dick Clark Studios. We were shocked, and all the usual age jokes came out. Marc goes: "I bet this was the first building in California!" Then I'm like: "I bet this building is SO old..." my blood ran out of me as I realized that I was among some the top comedians in the world here, and I was without a snappy ending to my snap. Marc, who always pulls for me said "So old.. what? You can do it..." SPUNKY, who enjoys my pain said "I bet it's not as old as you are retarded." Marc couldn't help but laugh, and neither could I. He had gotten me pretty good. Oh yeah, Dick Clark. So we went in to see if we could get an inside scoop on that year's ball dropping (we had several ball jokes ready and waiting), but all these pretty secretaries told us that Mr. Clark wasn't around. I was too keen for that load, and I caught one of the younger ones toward the back glancing cautiously at a slightly ajar door at the side of the room. I said "Well then I just BET he won't find out if I peek in HERE!" With that I had made my way across the room and flung open the door. All the secretaries gasped, and alarms sounded. There in a darkened room, I'm pretty sure I saw a glass cabinet lit by a single spotlight, containing the motionless body of Dick Clark. He looked all pasty and he had a plug running from his foot to the far wall. I only saw him for a second before guards swooped out of nowhere yelling and Indian rug burning us right out the door we entered, and over the balcony. Dick Clark really is a robot, like we all suspected, and like every show has hinted at, or just said outright. This is my story. Now we have proof. I know because in that one second I can vaguely recall that his eyes opened and an energy beam seared into my heart. Dick had probed me, and I haven't been able to get him out of my system ever since. Tell your friends - see if they believe you. Mine don't, but they're nice about it. Love is All We Need Ah, the Beatles were right. That's all we need... love. And we sure love them. Everyone bought that black roll top box, because it had every song they've ever recorded on like 1000 CD's, and now they just took their 27 number 1 hits and put them on a new CD, and the same people are buying the same songs again! My mom sure did. I can go down the list of the top 27 songs on this CD and scour our house and I guarantee you I'll find at least two more CD's, but probably 3 that have the same exact recorded version of that song. These guys are like Tori Amos. She has about 30 CD's and about 7 songs. I think one of them is just her 7 songs played in reverse. It's called "Tori Amos: See? No Devil Worship." There's even a version of that album recorded in reverse entitled "Tori Amos: You Fools Will Buy ANYthing." But this isn't what I want to discuss in this section. Specifically, I want to talk about sex, and Singapore, but who doesn't? Good, then we're all on the same page. Okay then! Originally, I wanted to trash the Singaporians after reading that they were able to freeze eggs and sperm from humans mind you, and later use them to fertilize each other and make a real human, and it only cost about $20,000! I was appalled. All I could think was "Great, at that low price, EVERYone's gonna want their own freezer child." <editor's note: frozen children are known as "kidsicles."> I mean, what a conversational piece at the local PTA! normal mom: "My daughter is a first chair flutist and is going to attend Harvard like her older brother." techno mom: "That's nothing. My boy was frozen solid in two parts for three years and then when we returned from Aruba, he was mechanically thawed, resequenced in a bio-fertilization chamber and incubated in a bed of gas plasma until he was old enough to be reinserted into my uterus. normal mom: "Wow. Isn't your boy the partially retarded child I always see removing all his clothes and licking dirt on the playground?" techno mom: "yeah, well your daughter's ugly." So now I'm thinking, "wait a minute..." I mean, don't you see the possibilities here? We can freeze people before they're even conceived! I can have babies in the year 3000 if I want to! Or more importantly, if we can find a frozen cave couple - and there's gotta be tons of them in Canada alone - we can recreate an ancient, dumber civilization to do things for us that we don't want to do! No more testing medicine and makeup on monkeys. Bring in the Cro-Magnons! And they'll probably be so ugly that the makeup people will want to do extra great work to really make them over, and then we'll have a whole new line of powerful makeups that'll even make the rhinos on daytime talk shows look good! And I bet they don't have our immunities so they'll be dropping like flies and all our scientists will come up with tons of new cures and stuff and we'll probably cure aids by accident in the meantime! This is gonna be great. Singapore, you have done Earth proud. Way to knock the pants off that lame sheep-cloning story.     Next > All content © 1999-2007 misinformer.com.   This is not my beautiful wife...