No. 97 - Life's an Itch

Nature has waged a jihad against our skin and sense of harmony with the outdoors. This proverbial flaming bag of poo delivered to your doorstep from Mother Nature herself is an evil that lurks on the fringe, hiding along your fences and property lines. It's called poison ivy, also known as the devil's toilet paper, or poison oak's asshole cousin.

One minute you're playing catch with the kids in the backyard, and the next moment your extremities are burning like a homesick sailor on shore leave with a bad case of chlamydia.

We know there are some mutants out there who boast an immunity from the poison ivy leaf, but this is more than counterbalanced by those poor souls who are afflicted by something as minuscule as poison ivy particles floating in the air.

Poison ivy is characterized by three leaves, with the middle leaf being the longest; fitting, as the dastardly plant appears to be hoisting a big ol' middle finger to the human race.

We're told poison ivy is tolerant to shade, but its intolerance of human skin borders on nothing short of a hate crime. The operative ingredient in this green, leafy dirty bomb is a chemical called urushiol, whose name sounds a little too uncomfortably similar to a Russian Bond villain.

Urushiol adheres to the skin and can lead to blisters and lesions (!). These oozing blisters, though not exactly attractive, are not contagious. Rather, it's the plant's oils that spread across your skin in blistery wildfire-like glory.

And if you think the skin infection is uncomfortable, try burning this stuff. The smoke from smoldering poison ivy can damage the lining of the lungs, leading to respiratory infections, so please keep this out of your bong (unless it's absolutely necessary or you're unable to score elsewhere).

For those planning on ingesting poison ivy to absorb the plant's sinister soul like an ancient South American warrior, please note that this can lead to damaged digestive tracts, airways and kidneys, a veritable cocktail of pain, shaken not stirred.

The pernicious plant also protects butterflies, as many of them can fly onto a poison ivy leaf as a home base, avoiding a fate as a colorful lunch for birds and cats. Why butterflies? When did they strike this special deal with poison ivy, and why wasn't anyone else notified? Butterflies are in on this weedy conspiracy.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of poison ivy illustrates the ultimate finger jab into the seeping wound of humanity: immortality. That's right, even when we pull this wretched being out of the ground, effectively killing the plant, the operative oils can live on for years afterward, even carrying its life out on other materials like tools and clothes.

So, basically, poison ivy is a total dick.

No. 336 - Holy Shit! When Martens Attack!

Weasels have never been lucky enough to earn a favorable reputation with human beings, but the marten has worked its way up to Public Enemy No. 1, passing up John Dillinger and the crazy dancing old guy from the Six Flags commercials.

A relative of the weasel, mink and wolverine, the marten is apparently a lot more ferocious than its cousins, according to those who have declared war on this feral beast, some by manufacturing "marten-repelling" devices for automobiles. They're a solitary animal, which explains their need for rebelliousness and their recent placement on the Terrible List.

Exhibit A is former aspiring "First Dude" Todd Palin, who lines his cozy Alaskan home with marten pelts, partly for the high yield the furs bring about, and partly due to his desire to surround himself with the sweet smell of death. Many a rugged Alaskan has braved subzero temperatures and risked their mortality hunting down this cunning creature.

The marten has been imposing its malevolent will on homes and cars, friends and foes, and people have had enough. Many overseas drivers are installing electronic devices into their vehicles in an attempt to keep martens (and other bothersome pests, like wild boars (!)) away from their finely engineered sports cars.

We have it on good authority that martens, indeed, cause a nuisance, often by way of borrowing the vehicle without permission and leaving the car in neutral without engaging the emergency brake.

They also eat an abundance of crumb-causing snacks, never to even clean up after themselves.

If a marten does visit your car, it is sure to return, states an animal repellent manufacturer. And the vile creature will leave its marks, likely by hanging a pair of personalized dice in the rearview mirror.

The anti-marten repellent emits ultrasonic sounds that frighten the animal by means of "small high-voltage plates charged electrically to approx. 200 to 300 volts." The creatures find these sonic waves "unbearable," in much the same way that a Celine Dion CD makes our ears bleed profusely.

We're pretty sure martens are not fans of those effeminate smart cars, either, so when parking these vehicles, it might be a good idea to just carry them inside with you.

But it's clear that no beast is exempt from our vehicles' protection systems, whether it's boar, marten or leprechaun.

Note to martens: welcome to our present-day taser-style enforcement. Oh, and stay the fuck away from our cars.

No. 448 - LOL Craps: txtng sux

The LOLCats are destroying the English language, chewing up all that is grammatically correct and spitting it out in a Meow Mix and tuna flavored puddle. For those not familiar with these cute and ruinous creatures, LOLCats feature said adorable felines with strange type across the picture like "I iz smartz" or "Can I has a Cheezburger?"

While cute on the surface, this type of chicanery can only lead to a slippery slope that starts with bending the rules of grammar and ends up with you and about 20 LOLCats in a hovel somewhere, all of you eating from the same can of cat food.

We’ve spent centuries cultivating this communication tool, our trusted language, the Queen's English (and please say this with a cup of tea in hand and pinkie raised) only to have it dulled by a vernacular coined by pimply-faced 14-year-old girls.

Granted, most text services only allow you 160 characters to get your message across, but if you have that much to say to where everything has an abbreviation, then maybe U SJWAE, right? (For those who aren't in the know with this phrase we just invented on the spot, we said "Maybe you should just write an e-mail, right?")

Let's look at a recent instant message communique.

Hi.

Sup.

Not much. U?

Nothin.

Me either. LOL.

TTYL

Yep.

So, basically, our lack of anything relevant to say has been condensed into a compacted mini-language that has all the elegance of a rhinoceros in a tutu.

U? Is it really that much of a burden on your fingers to type the “y” and “o”? Really?

And “LOL”? First off, many of us use this term disingenuously. Are you really laughing out loud? We can’t even remember the last time we laughed out loud – well maybe it was the time we saw the pizza delivery boy get mugged. We really should have called the police, but the blood stains on our porch have almost dried at this point. Oh well.

LOL sounds like the noise uttered by someone who's wearing their own drool on the front of their shirt as they chew on pieces of a puzzle.

We understand that today's Twitter-centric forms of relating to one another don't allow for too many characters, and every spot the cursor hits is one more valuable piece of real estate. But as we mentioned earlier, if you have that much to convey, an e-mail might not be out of the question.

AWFR? Yes, we're fucking right.

No. 15 - Air Apparent

Air is killing us. Not in a toxins-are-eating-your-lungs sort of way, but rather the air itself slowly kills all of us. It steadily wears at our organs, skin and brains like a determined nail file to a stone.

And despite its wickedness, we still associate the air with positive things: the phrase, "a breath of fresh air," Air Supply, the dainty new Macbook Air, the movie "Con Air," featuring Nicolas Cage.

Air is mysterious, and even a bit magical, but this magic can only point to witchcraft, the dark arts, black lights and gloominess. We all know that if you can’t see it, it doesn’t really exist, right?

Air mocks us and takes our money. When we purchase a bag of our favorite chips, the first thing that happens is the air in the bag, which is three-quarters of said bag’s contents, instantly escapes. You’ve essentially paid to set a bunch of air free into the air, the same air that will, in fact, someday kill you. Frito-Lay or suicide machine? You decide.

Some people cut out the middleman and go straight for the air with their wallets firmly in hand. When stepping off an airplane in Las Vegas, one is instantly met with airport oxygen bars, selling the uncut O2 to those addicts fixing to ride the clear dragon.

Air is not a fan of living things. It consumes food, flesh and other organic material with the voracity of a sumo wrestler at a buffet. And then there’s oxygen, air’s hunch-backed accomplice and one of the main components of the air we breathe. And if you think oxygen is your friend, try breathing it in while near an open flame, and at that point, you better say goodbye to your eyebrows and your dignity as well. Oxygen is a destructive element, pulling life from us, and who sustains us with its poisonous feast? Plants, of course, but that's a different listing altogether.

Extending its reach beyond the living, look at what air is capable of doing to metal and other hearty materials in the form of oxidation, rust and general urban decay. Air is a real vindictive bitch, and your number's at the top of her speed dial.

So the next time you get too comfortable and take a deep breath, don't be lulled by the so-called air's ability to keep you alive; there are likely storm clouds waiting in the wings to soak your sorry ass.

No. 120 - Terror From Above

Sure, birds are cute and seemingly harmless, but did you know they're also winged merchants of death?

Don't be fooled by the melodic song of these twitchy little monstrosities. What you're really hearing is a clarion call signaling the end of civilization as we know it.

Is any creature really meant to fly? Probably not. Birds are, at the least, an aberration. How do they stay afloat over the clouds? How can anything poop and fly at the same time?

Can we really trust something that doesn't even have eyelids? We sure wouldn't want to be engaged in a staring contest with them.

We remember our mothers telling us not to touch birds when we were children. "That thing will give you lice," they would tell us. We didn't know whether that was really true, but the lice ended up being transmitted instead in the batting helmets during Little League. Maybe some birds got to those helmets and did God-only-knows what with the bats and balls.

We can handle the lice, or the white droppings on the hoods of our newly waxed IROC-Z Camaros, for that matter. What's truly unforgivable can be summed up in two words: bird flu. Let's set up a bird feeder and invite disease into our homes and our families. Great idea! Why not set up a rat feeder and reintroduce the bubonic plague while we're at it?

Or how about these two words? Airline crashes. That's right, these avaricious aviators have been responsible for many airplane crashes, destroying our plane engines like the little Kamakazi pilots they are, declaring jihad on sensible and efficient travel.

Also, who's looking out for all the helpless worms that get pulled from the comfort of their dirt condos? Where are the animal rights people to avert the senseless slaughter of our slimy, eyeless friends in the ground?

Bottom line: birds are predators. And we must stop them from preying on our fears. There's a reason we compare birds to their dinosaur forebears. Birds are simply circling the sky and waiting for the next earthly disaster. Then they'll laugh at the mayhem from above, cuckling in a pleasantly singsong manner.

No. 581 - Hole Phoo'ds

We can't sit anywhere nowadays and enjoy our genetically modified snack food, laced with all manner of tasty chemicals, without being bombarded by organic food enthusiasts, bringing our preservative-laden party to a screeching halt. They're the worm in our apple and a total buzz-kill to our Twinkie feast.

Maybe they're not aware of how loosely the term "organic" really applies to some of the food that they purchase. Being organically grown is seemingly in the best interest of our foods and our bodies, but is it really worth the extra costs associated with it, which some estimate is up to 50 percent more than standard non-organic fare?

Organic benefits: Ideally, organic crops are grown without synthetic pesticides, artificial fertilizers and bacteria-killing radiation, and animals on organic farms are not injected with growth hormones and they're not contained throughout their entire waking day. Who could argue with this criteria?

Unfortunately, when the Department of Agriculture was charged with defining "organic" and what could be labeled as organic, these distinctions became as clear as a fertilizer smoothie. The government decided to allow genetically engineered organisms, radiation and even organic compost that contains chemicals with municipal sludge and toxic waste.

And the rub? The same rules enable organic food producers to only print the label "organic" on their goods without any other details about how that food is produced. So, yes, yet another notion of goodness subverted by our trusted leaders.

Eating right should be on the top of everyone's list, but what is right may not always agree with what we're told is right. When grown properly, organic food serves innumerable health benefits, but it also takes a larger toll on the planet.

It's estimated that switching to locally sourced food would produce many more local "food miles" due to more frequent delivery of smaller amounts of food. In essence, this could lead to a dramatic increase in the emissions of greenhouse gases. This does not follow the "green" example which so many organic enthusiasts tout.

Additionally, if everyone on this planet ate food that was truly organically grown, the amount of available fertile soil would quickly dwindle. It's an uncomfortable fact that genetic engineering and industrial farming help produce food on the scale that the masses require, all by using much less collective farmland, which is unfortunately offset by growth hormones, pesticides and other chemicals that seep into the earth, leading to fish in nearby streams with ripped biceps.

Beyond the food, the manner in which organic edibles are distributed throughout most of the country serves only those who can afford to pay more to eat better. Lower income consumers have a less diverse array to choose from, to put it mildly, and it usually involves enormous amounts of sodium and high fructose corn syrup, which some studies reveal now can contain high levels of mercury.

We don't know about you, but it makes us hungry for a peanut butter, jelly and mercury sandwich just thinking about it.

Surmounting the annoyance of health food nuts are the co-operatives of which many are a part; instead of shareholders, they consider themselves more on the lines of a semi-corporate crusty hippie drum circle, all part of this mystical overpriced, hypermarketed communal experience.

One of the chief reasons for "going organic" is the concern over carcinogens found in pesticides. Many tests that have been conducted on known pesticides are the result of extremely high doses being given to animals. Leading scientists from a national soil association admit we typically do not consumer anywhere near the level of toxins that are used in a research environment.

But what we need to bear in mind is that even those things we pull from God's green earth contain their own natural pesticides, and their own carcinogens to offer an icing on the cake of pestilent death.

Some of the most ass-kicking of pesticides are creations of nature, and she doesn't seem to be too keen on pests, from what we're told. According to a report in a leading English newspaper, "Everyday foods are full of natural pesticides. That’s hardly a surprise, since we tend to choose as crops things that seem resistant to pests and disease. The world-famous biochemist Bruce Ames makes the point clear: ‘The natural chemicals that are known rodent carcinogens in a single cup of coffee are about equal in weight to a year’s worth of ingested synthetic pesticide residues that are rodent carcinogens.’"

Now, the article goes on to disclose that this level of natural rodent carcinogens is not exactly harmful to consume either, so please do not be alarmed over your rat-tail soy lattes.

There is no crime in trying to do the healthy thing, but to wear your self-righteousness like a badge of courage is an uncouth practice. We know you're a vegan, but please don't throw this in our faces as if you were awarded the Purple Heart. And nutrition shouldn't be treated as a fashion trend or status symbol.

We want not only a more even distribution of wealth, but a more even distribution of health. A proper chemical-free diet should not just be a dream of the well-off.

No. 423 - Mickey Louse

Perhaps no cultural icon is more heinous than the big-eared antichrist himself, a rodent who's perpetrated nothing short of crimes against humanity, and along the way burnishing his three-circled symbol that gleams like a proud pentagram.

On the surface, the culture spawned from the Happiest Place on Earth is sunshine and rainbows, a utopian playland where everyone lives happily ever after, but the drivel spewed from this company's sundry TV stations, music label, movie production company, and all of the other pawns in its multi-media empire, is nothing short of toxic.

Disney Corp. is a prime example of a far-reaching enterprise gone awry, one that places a stranglehold on childrens' psyches at a time when their reality is still being shaped. The company's eponymous founder has long since passed, but his ideals live on in a mutated manner that was likely never intended by the Walt-astic forebear of all that is mouse; that aside, it's only fitting that Disney's current iteration, which has always been touted as "kid friendly," actually plays a large part in the deterioration of pre-teen culture.

Children are essentially instructed who to worship as the next tween celebrity -- Hannah, Jonas, Cody, Zach or Cheetah, or whoever else is instantly thrust into the kleig lights with shaggy hair and a winning smile.

This enterprise takes advantage of young minds during their most susceptible years, and that alone is not necessarily a vile act, although this demographic should be developing their imaginations throughout these years, not staring into the TV screen like zombies as they're spoon-fed pop culture junk food. They'll have their adult lives to indulge in mindless entertainment.

The real transgression lies in the way these pre-teen stars are hyper-sexualized and thrown into adult situations. Many of the current celeb icons are trust fund kids or silver spoon adolescents with stage parents, most of them with nothing better to do than answer their hormonal whims and party like it's 2099. And the message to pre-teenagers is to be innocent yet look like tarts, to consume but be moderate, to pursue intellect but villify the geeks of the world.

And parents worldwide are in turn subject to horribly written jokes and plot lines that couldn't even live up to the quality of a Mad Lib. Current Disney sitcoms reveal a theatrical and literary mastery that only Shakespeare himself could have created -- if Shakespeare had a full frontal lobotomy, that is.

Then there are the movies, revisionist propaganda at its finest, along with the historical dark skeletons that the Mouse Mafia itself can't even spin into profits, so they remain locked away like a bad drug habit. (Song of the South, anyone? How about the black handmaiden centaur in Fantasia? Get the blackface ready for the Disney on Ice rendition of these and other cultural embarrassments.)

Princesses and frail women weaken at the knees until the uber-male heroes come to their aid. Animals give life to the most deplorable of racial stereotypes, whether it's rasta lobsters, jive crows, Asian cats or derelict hyenas. Generations of bigotry, chauvenism and repressed dreams rolled up into one cute, castrato-esque, pants-less mouse.

This mouse must be stopped, or at least ignored into irrelevance. Might we suggest a lollipop laced with rat poison, sprinkled with a tad of pixie dust and arsenic?