Or how about Turkey’s E.T. rip-off called Badi. You can tell the film’s called Badi because Badi keeps saying “Badi” just like how E.T. used to keep saying “E.T.”
Powers: Mechanical engineer and chemist that attended Cornell
Crimes Against Humanity: Discovered dichlorodifluoromethane (the CFC dubbed Freon) and added tetraethyllead to gasoline (and called it “Ethyl” even though it was essentially “lead”)… We all know what CFC’s did to the ozone and what lead does to people. According to a unnamed source on Listverse (apparently Wikipedia):
He is considered to be the man that – “had more impact on the atmosphere than any other single organism in Earth’s history.”
Current Whereabouts: The ground. He died in 1944 after getting tangled in the cords of a contraption… that he designed.
Powers: Radioactive (after being given radioactive iodine, natch)
Crimes Against Humanity: Well… the dude’s a pedophile. He’s been charged with five accounts of downloading indecent pics of kids since 2006, and 87 prior to that, but the extra crap part is this:
In 1993 he left the banking world to set up The Tutors Group at Blythe Hall School. It employs more than 600 staff and works with more than 3,000 children, teaching infants to A-level students study skills, essay planning and examination technique. (via DailyMail UK)
Current Whereabouts: Unknown. He escaped trial and was almost captured on his way to Ireland from England, but he flashed his radioactive card and they released him. Let’s see… this happened a long time ago, way, way back in… February. Of this year. Yikes!
I’m a bit rushed today, so I’m going to let the Onion News do my heaving lifting. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that this plan was no longer being followed through…
Who's the angel and who's the devil? I'll let you decide...
I have never seen Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman’s The Bucket List (or would it be director Rob Reiner’s? Whatevs…) Anymarryinghisgrandaughter (yikes Morgan!), the topic sort of came up the other day about what things would be put on a, uuum, things to do before you die list. The following is my start:
I must go (play? participate in?) curling. I’ve been (played? participated in?) duckpin bowling before over in Canada, plus I thoroughly enjoy hockey. Curling is the next logical step, eh?
I want to see a platypus in person. I realized I’ve been on this planet for a decent stretch of time, and I’ve never seen one, even at a zoo. You know, because I just might run into one at the Electronic Music Festival.
I want to host Saturday Night Live. I’m not sure what the steps will be to get to do this. I hope it involves being a successful blogger, because I’ve at least got the blogging part going. I’m a big fan of sitting on my couch.
I want to be on Dancing with the Stars. I’d like to learn how to dance in the classic style. For free. From above-average professionals. And, oh yeah, to get paid to do so. Perhaps this is a step in getting to host Saturday Night Live.
This may be surprising, but I can get talkative when I’m drunk. I know, right!
What this means is that I theorize and pontificate, and generally make an ass of myself.
But sometimes ideas occur to me that are worth remembering…
For example, one idea I had was how people are a lot like cogs. Some people are big cogs and others are small cogs. And they spin at different rates to keep up with each other or because of each other. Some of them don’t touch but are rotating due to a shared gear. Okay, there was a whole lot more that went into this, but you get the idea. I rambled on and on for awhile (remember: druh-unk), and it seems to be happening again. Moving on…
Another thought that entered my noggin was the notion of truth bombs, and how I wish you could drop them on anyone and everyone to let the other person know where you stand in your thoughts about them.
I was reminded of two movies that used truth bombs:For Love of the Game and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
In For Love, Kelly Preston’s character tells Kevin Costner’s character that she wishes people could carry around chalkboards on which they could write what they were thinking. He asks her what she would write, and she writes on a napkin, “Yes.” Then they do it. Well, it goes down something like that, but that example is not really what I’m hoping to convey.
In Eternal Sunshine, at its finale (SPOILER ALERT!), Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet confess all their faults to each other before trying to get back together after wiping their memories. Yeah, that’s a little closer, but I digress.
I thought this concept was pretty original, but then I uncovered the definition for truth bomb in the Urban Dictionary:
(noun) A fact or piece of knowledge that, when told to a listener, is devastating to the listener’s argument or world view.
“Dude, I dropped a truth bomb on my priest at confession yesterday. I slipped him The DaVinci Code, which disproves his whole religion!”
Tupac dropped truth bombs on the American people, letting them know what it’s like to live in the ‘hood.
So… so much for all that.
How about a Hooter’s waitress performing the infamous rodeo barstool trick to wipe the memories of this post (you hold up a napkin with the word “Yes” on it). My cog just spun yours, and you’re welcome:
(SIDE NOTE: Why is everyone at the news station just going along with this? And in the morning? And as a reminder about something called “Wings for Kids”? And did you see the guy in burgundy in the background trying to watch without getting caught watching? And… just… why?)
This video is a bit old, but I’ve only recently stumbled upon it. Just know that it bears repeated viewings:
Since that may not be new to you, I delved a little deeper into Barats and Bereta’s catalog, and uncovered this more recent offering which is equally entertaining in a nerdier way:
Then I checked out more of their stuff and realized I had known about these guys awhile back:
I didn’t and still don’t agree with his number one selection, and although two of his choices made my top ten list, he’s little bit out of touch with the alternative music scene of late. I’m not claiming to be any wunderkind either, but here are ten of my favorite reinventions/redos/remakes/reboots… whatever it is that Hollywood calls them.
Let me know in the comments if I missed any.
10) No Doubt – It’s My Life (original by Talk Talk)
Probably the last good song No Doubt made, and will ever make, and it’s not even their own.
9) Seether – Careless Whisper (original by Wham!)
Cool video. Not sure if it’s official.
8) Alien Ant Farm – Smooth Criminal (original by Michael Jackson, duh)
Paul put this at #5 of 5. See where I rank it. I think the leader singer’s weirdness in the video puts me off, but the homages to MJ’s life bring me back.
6) The Ataris – Boys of Summer (original by Don Henley)
The Ataris once said in an interview I don’t feel like relocating that they wanted to remake this song to point out the creepiness inherent in it. I never noticed it was creepy until they mentioned it, and that made me love both versions more.
3) Orgy – Blue Monday (original by New Order)
This isn’t really my kind of music (neither version). And the fact that I dig it despite that speaks volumes.
2) Marilyn Manson – Tainted Love (original by Soft Cell)
Who am I kidding? The video sold me. Chyler Leigh, Mia Kirshner, and Jaime Pressly will cancel out Manson every time.
1) Limp Bizkit – Faith (original by George Michael)
I make no apologies for this. I had a weird story happen over the course of listening to this song, and for that, it gets number one. And now for the comments on the pic at the top of the post:
* COMMENTS
“I don’t know who pulls off the leather better. I’d bet it’s a tie.”
“Is George Michael smelling his armpit?”
“Why does Fred Durst look like one of my uncles now? They even wear the same jacket!”
“Why do I get the feeling these two have awkwardly bumped into each other using the restroom.”
“something-something… at least he’s wearing a glove!”
This post could have easily turned into a Drunken Recollection, considering the amount of beers downed over my time camping. As I explained to my sister, when I was on a cruise, I had documentation of how quickly I could finish a drink: every 15 minutes. She didn’t believe me, so she checked the clock on her phone and timed me. I didn’t rush. I casually chatted and played ladder golf. 11 minutes. I’m not proud. Well, maybe a little.
Anylowenbrau, both nights while in my tent, I was awakened with a start. Was it the booze? Was it the location? Who cares knows, but both dealt with unstoppable killers.
The first night’s dream started off okay. It featured the lovely Julie Bowen.
I tried. She changed her number.
Sure, she was breaking up with me, but I was keeping calm. I remember saying, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still love me.” And she couldn’t. So WIN!
Somebody was trying to interview me about my latest book, and we kept trying to move to quieter areas in the nightclub. Eventually, we were in the alley, where my car was parked. The trunk was open, and a sewer portal was running through it.
The interviewer spotted a mining cap and pick axe and reached for it. I warned him not too, and that’s when this guy appeared:
Pote Snitkin cleans up pretty nice.
At least that’s the closest approximation of the horror that chased me. And he would not stop. At one point, I was on a roof top, and as he darted at me, he ran into a wall and fell over the side of the building.
Feeling safe, I proceeded to climb down the ladder not far from his crushed face and distorted body. As I neared the ground, he smiled and started sitting up. I woke up immediately.
The next night, my cousin’s stepson was telling me about this video showing the ghost of Michael Jackson. People that know me and/or keep up on this site know how I feel about ghosts. But I was determined not to let a ten year old see my eyes well up. Luckily, upon returning home, I discovered this explanation of the “phenomenon”:
But it still didn’t help the fact that the second night, I had a dream I was driving around at night and saw a bunch of people running in the streets. Cars were hitting people and they were flying everywhere. I saw the UPS guy that brings PC deliveries to our office get struck, so I stopped my car to check on him. As I did, a big zombie burly guy in a jump suit appeared behind me and shanked me – another one of my greatest fears.
This dream woke me in the middle of the night. I had to pee, but I had no flashlight. I went anyway. It proves I’m a big boy. I can handle anything.