I’m engaged. I just got engaged recently. And it’s weird. It’s like saying to the dude at the desk, “Yeah, I’ll take a bucket of 75 golf balls.” And then he says, “Hey, just so you know…this weekend we have to get our engagement pictures taken, find and decide on a place for the wedding reception, and make sure the church isn’t booked on a random Saturday in June 2003.” But then the daydream is over and the man at the desk is my fiancee (in more ways than one) and all of the sudden it’s 2 more days until all this crap has to happen and my eyes are straining to add images to this post at 4 a.m.

But all you “Awwww”-ers haven’t had your fill. How did Lou propose? How did his girlfriend respond? Was she surprised? Is the ring pretty? When’s the wedding going to be? Well, wouldn’t you like a have a little Q&A? Well here, Skinner. I made her a video and showed it at a party, after the video I proposed. She got all misty-eyed and shaky, she said yes. It was awesome. Yeah, she was surprised, everyone at the party knew though, so it went over well. The ring is extra pretty, it’s more antique than your mother’s porcelain eyebrow. Okay, that makes no sense. BUT NEITHER DOES ANYTHING.

In a way I feel I must be mature now. I have to stop drinking Sneetch’s milk and filling it back up with water. I can’t laugh at dead babies (as much). I have to call 3 people that I hate talking to. No more urinating outside for fun. In another way, I feel that there is no need to change at all. But have I, unwittingly? Unknowingly? Does proposing to a dear woman change a man? I submit to you as evidence Exhibit C, the next year and 4 months of my life. A Lou divided against itself cannot stand. But then again, Costanza said that and Lou isn’t my real name. I just hope it works out better for me than it did for him.

I don’t know what this is supposed to be. It could be a gorgon sister. It could be a cartoon character from a doomed series on Nickelodeon. If you find yourself unamused with this image there’s a reason. Allow me to introduce you to, Lady Castrata Vagina Dentata. Yes, it rolls off the tongue but that’s about all the charm this character has. Except for that sweet eye. Read along if you can understand what the hell is going on here:

Lady Castrata Vagina Dentata comes from 2048, or 23 AP (After Patriarchy) where she is known as Anona. During the Feminist Firewall years (2010-2025), Anona was conceived from the recovery of natural parthenogenesis by ferocious radicalesbian feminists.

Well, as long as it’s natural parthenogenesis…

However, [I knew there was a catch...] during her time travel through what Mary Daly has named The Spiral Galaxy, she was sent into an expo organised by the sex industry lobby in Australia called Sexpo.

Repeat: The Spiral Galaxy

When she emerged from what she describes as The Unbelievable Truth, she was equipped with eyes to hex pimps and pro-ab/users from 5000 km and teeth to tear another rupture in what sci-fi heads would call ‘the space-time continuum’.

Gee, and I always called it the 4th dimensional firmament blanket?
This is all starting to sound a little too arbitrary for me but let’s examine what we have so far:

1. The good lady herself
2. Ferocious radicalesbian feminists
3. Time travel
4. Unbelievable Truth

I guess it’s not that ridiculous. There’s nothing there you couldn’t find at your local Barnes and Noble. But what about her name? Way, way back in Bible times, names were important and usually told you something about the person. So I suppose it might help if we figure out what her name means. Remember the order, Lady Castrata Vagina Dentata. You can almost hear the ceremonial drums as you say it, Lady Castrata Vagina Dentata:

Do the math yourselves…sinners. Well I guess this closes out my image laden post but if you’re interested in learning more about Grrrrrlcotting, click here.

Exactly what our country needs. Now, when unloved, dateless, obese mouthbreathers (no offense) pull themselves away from Space Ghost and go to the movies, they can keep all of their bullcrap in one hand so the other can hold their Magic cards and inhalers.

What in the hell is this? I mean really. We should have air dropped these things over Afghanistan instead of pop-tarts and boxes of 64 crayolas. If I ever see a kid at a movie with one of these I will immediately punch him in the nutsack with my right hand and steal some fries with my left. Go to 2pop for even more despicable pictures.

I received this email today from a friend. I am currently re-evaluating that relation.

Subj: slippery when wet
Date: Tue, 19 Feb 2002
From: Andrea

get this…
i am listening to the radio this morning and the dj starts talking about the olympic closing ceremonies. he starts to name off the list of musical performances which include “christina aguilera, n’suck, gloria estefan, and bon jovi.” he then talks about how dumb the line up is and how much he won’t be watching the event.

here’s my beef: it is one thing to dislike the dirty pop sounds of n’sync and christina…but gloria estefan? you can’t bust on gloria estefan. the miami sound machine is practically responsible for the latin music scene we have today. and that whole car accident and her ‘coming out of the dark’…give me a break. she rules.

as for bon jovi….i felt like calling the station, saying “bon jovi is FUCKING COOL” and then hanging up. golly, i was irritated.

So, I never get laid. I mean big fucking surprise, right? But I figured I’d preface this post with that all too true statement just in case someone out there thought my boyish good looks and strange way of pronouncing words with hard o’s translated into the occasional brush with pussy. Well, it doesn’t. So, keep that in mind if you find yourself wondering why the material that makes up this post exists in the first place.

The other night I was with a couple of people here, about to bust through the drive thru for some Wendy’s late night (jr. bakes, of course) when we spotted this establishment called “A Touch of Romance“. We go inside to find a “high class,” fully functioning sex store complete with such favorites as edible underwear, vibrators, “tasty tickles,” videos, DVDs, vibrating nipple clamps, an impressive selection of butt plugs, the “Kama Sutra Lover’s Guide Book,” and of course, the “Shunga Chocolate Paint Kit”. Well, after a few minutes of perusing, I found myself looking at a display of dildos and thinking to myself how happy I was that they really didn’t look very large, when a mid to late 20-something slut of a woman in a burgundy evening gown approached me with a coy smile. She asked me if she could, and I quote, “help me with anything”. I then watched as her smile transformed into a crooked smirk that very silently, but very much assuredly, screamed the word “easy”. I’m not sure what I replied (but I bet my voice cracked), and I then proceeded to examine her. I concluded rather quickly that she was attractive. Now, this decision is probably the culmination of three factors: 1) the first paragraph of this post, 2) the fact that she undoubtedly loves to get it on, and 3) the slightly ego-boosting way she whored herself at me throughout the conversation… So, take my appraisal with a grain of salt.

Anyway, after talking a few minutes, the woman picks up a near by x-rated video, comments on how it was new and she had yet to see it, and then made a rather simple joke about her roommate being pictured on the back of the box. I forced a fake laugh and an even faker “really?!” She smiled and explained she was kidding (no shit) but then offered a rather interesting piece of trivia. Turned out her neighbor, and “close friend,” was recently the cover girl on the Holliday issue of Hustler Magazine. I replied to this with a less forced “really?!” that was, in retrospect, a bit too “less forced”. I think it was at this moment that the woman realized I was not the swinging, sophisticated bachelor type- but rather the motionless, juvenile web-posting type. However, this ended up working to my advantage because she apparently felt enough pity for my over-interest in the naked women of print to show me the Holliday Issue’s cover. I must say, her neighbor and “close friend” was hot (though clearly the host specimen for countless viral and bacterial diseases). She then told me in a giggling whisper that the cover girl in question was exceptionally slutty. For some reason this tidbit of information satisfied me in a very profound way.

Well, that night I end up having a very interesting dream. Essentially, it’s me and the Hustler Holliday Issue cover girl together in a Motel 8-style shit hole of a room, following a brief introduction by the sales woman at “A Touch of Romance”. The cover girl is virtually naked, and lying on the bed. I go over and begin a process somewhat similar to what I understand is known as “foreplay”. But, and here is the payoff to this rather long story, the slutty cover girl ends up rejecting me. She turns me down (following little meditation on the possibility) and then sends me on my way.

So, in summing up, I can’t even get laid in my dreams. Or, perhaps better stated, not even my subconscious can perceive of a situation in which I have sex. What does this mean to you? Well, jack shit I suppose. But, what’s the point of misery if you can’t share it? Oh, and I hope your Valentine’s Day was as whimsical as my own.

Theren come crucial moments in our lives where we are forced to evaluate the data we are presented. Based on the findings we are then placed in a position where it becomes necessary to conclude certain things about that data which leads us to a particular course of action. This is called decision making. Occasionally, due to human error, we misinterpret that data and we are left with the consequences for better or worse. Thus I present to you, albeit a little belated, the strange case surrounding the development concerning the latest installment of one of Nintendo’s most treasured franchises…

Makes you happy doesn’t it?

Me too. The Zelda series has always been one that made you realize why video games were more important than say, earning money. So when the Gamecube was released the anticipation of a new title starring the always reliable Link was sure to follow. Being true to the legions of fans amassed over the past decade and beyond, Nintendo unveiled a small portion of the soon-to-be classic. It had what you wanted. A self-asssured Link with the look of battle in his eyes. Ganon (in some form) looking ever the despot he strives to be. And most importantly, dignity. I submit the following for evidence.

Sadly, this is where our lesson in decision making begins. This noble vision carved from an 8-bit bad-ass was scrapped. This should lead to confusion. Notice the sturdy limbs, the intense expression, the heroic jaw and a sword that just aches to destroy. Why was this vision dismissed?

“Well,” you say, “Nntendo knows what they’re doing. I can trust them.” As evidence to the contrary, I submit this picture of the recapitulated Link…

If you call me a liar, I excuse you. How can this be the 21st century representation of a modern mythological demi-god? It’s really quite stunning that Nintendo would choose Hello Kitty fodder as the main character in a beloved modern fairy tale. Actually, this bold and completely emasculated Link reminds me of some other cute and innocuous friends from my youth. Permit me to demonstrate…

Apparently the ghost of Jim Henson was seen haunting the Miyamoto mansion. How else could you explain this transformation of Link as anything but supernatural? So as we await this mistake, just remember that human error is inevitable. All we can do is learn from it.

P.M.S., you have nothing on me. I have defeated you. You are nothing but a hapless abbreviation. You have not ruined my day, month, or year. Because you are so weak, I don’t run away from you when you pull up to me in your fancy car. You are a sorry sack of extra chromosomes in the family, P.M.S. You are the non-fiction world’s Willy Loman. I’d drive you into something if I could. Just a sorry excuse for a few days of menstruation, that’s what you are. Louse. Cheat. Poltroon. Freaking letters.

Ha! Lou, you bow to me as the sun bows to the night. You are under my control. Trying to have a good time? In a good mood? Dashed! You might as well watch every pet you’ve ever had get hit by a giant bus, because that’s the sort of time you’ll have when I’m around. If you think the weather is unpredictable, peep my flow. I’m the plot of Seven Years in Tibet, minus Brad Pitt and plus cramps. Chew on that as you attempt to not think about me when adding ketchup to your fries, male.

P.M.S., you are nobody’s fault but your own. If you think you can barge into my woman’s pants and weave your way into my life, think again. I’ve seen your work flushed. Playtex and a midol will be your demise. Time is the end of you. Work with what tiny scraps of the month you have, Red Baron, but know that you will be shot down. You are unusual.

I lament your trepidation, Lou, because you obviously think you can avoid me. Be it in the regular amount of time or not, I shall return in all my disgusting glory. The more you attempt to treat me with respect, only the more will this bit turn the horse. Don’t worry, Lou, we’ll only have 30-40 years to sort this out. Ha! And no, tomorrow will not be a light day. Better get used to it, I’m going to be the most “usual” occurrence of your adult life.

Dastard! You may win this time, P.M.S…but someday….someday your estrogen supplies will be depleted and you will cease bothering humankind (or at least me) once and for all. Godspeed, Jane Glenn.

The other day I stumbled across a particularly alarming bit of information while browsing the sordid cesspool that some call the internet. Apparantly a sequel is in pre-pre-production for The Goonies. All of the original cast members have agreed to appear, save Mama Fratelli and Sloth, who already signed on to play corpses in the movie titled simply, “Life”. Sure, this almost sounds a little promising, but let me remind you, Rick Moranis returned to shrink the goddamned kids time and time again.

Anyway, that’s not my main concern here. Hearing the moniker “Goonies 2″ reminded me of the NES game of the same name. I wonder if the possibility exists that in 1987, the developers of this game had the premonition to forsee, and then proceed to create a video game companion to a 2003 sequel to The Goonies. If this is the case, I can make a prediction of my own: Britney Spears’ Crossroads will look like Citizen Kane next to this mistake.

I have a vivid memory of playing this game with friends when I was young. I remember once I was at a friend’s house playing The Goonies 2 when we were told that we couldn’t play Nintendo anymore. Of course we were dismayed at first, but shortly after this initial shock, we both began to feel what we soon understood was relief. You see, kids played this game because it was a NES game. We didn’t think about it because we knew deep inside that this was one of the most terrible executions of technology at the time.

In The Goonies 2 you are thrown into the roll of a yo-yo-wielding, red and blue suspenders-wearing freak in the vein of Tom Smothers. You fight against the undying oppression of birds, snakes, and high-jumping mobsters. You run, jump, and harbor a unique skill for falling into the great many holes placed around each mind-numbing level. Interested in exploring an expansive world? Climb one of the fifty-thousand fucking ladders that lead nowhere.

The Zelda-esque menu screen contained my favorite confusing feature of the game. Of course the left portion of the screen was reserved for your weapons and shoes?, while the bottom right showed an expert cartographer’s rendering of your whereabouts. My area of concern is the upper right area, which helped your character to organize his IMPLEMENTS. Ah yes.

Last but not least, I feel like I should address the game’s ground-breaking gateway to the world of 3 dimensions. When you entered doors, you were suddenly lost in an amazing world of simple line perspective that didn’t even look correct in that respect. This part of the game, which was probably added to create variety of gameplay, was incidentally the very same part that made terrorists everywhere want to fly two planes into the cartridge. Annoying controls, paired with pointless treasures and endless empty dead-end rooms sealed the fate of The Goonies 2 forever.

So in conclusion, I have no great affinity for The Goonies 2, the Superbowl, or Borg. All three of them can eat trash.

Download Goonies 2 and learn to hate yourself.