iLoathing

In my e-mail today, an electronic press release:

****For Immediate Relase****

Break an iPhone and make a nerd cry. There's nothing wrong with conspicuous consumption, but the hype surrounding iPhone is completely insane.

BREAK AN IPHONE TODAY.

This is a simple civil action you can get involved with. On June 29th, 2007, beginning at 6pm Eastern, when you see some overly-thrilled moron prancing out of an AT&T Wireless or Apple store location with his new iPhone box in hand, trip him. This will hopefully cause the iPhone to break and the nerd to cry for hours and hours on end. It will be totally worth it.

Videotape the event and YouTube it if possible. These people need to be stopped once and for all. IT IS A FUCKING CELL PHONE. Thank you, that is all.

On a related and somewhat ironic note, my beloved and sadly emasculated Motorola Razr died today -- no doubt of a broken heart and a general loss of the will to live -- and has been replaced by a new Motorola Krzr. I consider the choice a show of defiance against Steve Jobs and his techo-witchcraft.

It doesn't have a touch screen or a built-in iPod or the ability to watch various nut-shots or police beatings on YouTube or easy access e-mail or a goddamned day planner.

In fact, it's pretty much all style and almost no substance.

Just like its owner.

The Kid Still Stays in the Picture

A lot of you may not be aware, but today is a national holiday of sorts to those who take their gruesome, insatiable hedonism seriously.

That's because today -- June 29th -- is the birthday of Robert Evans.

The Hollywood legend is turning 77, a fact which fills me with hope simply because if he's managed to somehow survive this long despite a life spent pursuing the kind of sex-and-drug-fueled excesses that should've killed him ten times over, maybe there's hope for me after all.

Anyway, in honor of this occasion, here's a quick animated tribute to the one and only Kid Notorious -- compliments of Patton Oswalt and ESPN.

Happy Birthday Bob. Thanks for being born.

London Appalling

Police have found a car containing some kind of explosive parked near London's Piccadilly Circus.

You really have to give it to the cable news channels; they're never above ridiculous, confusing speculation and gross hyperbole during a breaking situation like this.

One has been using a graphic that reads: LONDON "BOMB" -- as if the city were being attacked by Doctor Evil (and also proving that the network has no idea what the hell is actually going on).

Another has labeled what was found a "POTENTIALLY VIABLE EXPLOSIVE DEVICE."

I'm not downplaying the threat that Londoners may have been facing, but you know what else is a potentially viable explosive device?

The car.

Listening Post

Happy Friday!

Let's stay with the murder theme, shall we? (Come to think of it, you could even argue the Coulter theme as well.)

Put on your black hoodie and your White Sox cap or knit hat, and set the Way-Back Machine for 1991.

From one of my favorite records of the 90s and damn sure one of the best hip-hop debuts ever: Cypress Hill's How I Could Just Kill a Man.

(By the way, it was a sign of how daring and dangerous hip-hop was at the time -- and how willing it was to stoke that image and recognize its roots in all different kinds of underground music that Cypress Hill gave a shout-out in this song to one of L.A. punk's most legendary bands. Props to anyone who can tell me to which band -- and specifically which song -- I'm referring.)

A Modest Proposal

I'll make this quick.

Apparently, for reasons which remain an absolute mystery to me, the American news media refuses to simply ignore lunatic bitch Ann Coulter; quite the contrary in fact -- they continue to enable her daffy antics by granting her run of the airwaves everytime she spouts another one of her ridiculously contrived, "incendiary" remarks. ("Bill Clinton ass-rapes children;" "Downs syndrome is part of the liberal-Jew conspiracy;" "Midgets should be used as food," etc.)

This, despite the fact that it's usually right around the fifth grade when most people realize that the schoolyard bully's batteries are recharged only by healthy doses of attention, and that if you deprive him of any kind of consideration whatsoever -- or better yet, laugh at him outright -- you neuter him in short order, making life better for everyone.

But the silly Coulter Vaudeville act is allowed to continue -- sans hook -- and we all suffer accordingly.

I won't bother going into detail about Angry Annie's most recent display of entirely unimaginative invective; you've probably heard by now that Elizabeth Edwards called into MSNBC's Hardball to make an ill-advised appeal to Coulter's "humanity." Edwards basically pleaded with her antagonist to stop the verbal attacks on her and her family -- to which Ann responded exactly as one would expect a bully to respond when a wussified attempt is made to beg for mercy in the name of all that is civil and decent: She scoffed, "No fucking way," and proceeded to berate the living hell out of Edwards on live television.

The entire thing wasn't just attended but was facilitated by Hardball's self-important buffoon of a host -- Chris "Tweety Bird" Matthews.

So, since no one seems to be willing to ostracize this vapid dingbat, I'm forced to suggest another course of action:

Kill her.

No, I'm serious.

She's suggested the assassination of political leaders with whom she doesn't see eye-to-eye, so really, what's wrong with someone else advocating her murder?

I mean, look, I may as well admit right now to something that many might consider an obscene character flaw: I don't believe that all life is precious. Quite the opposite in fact -- there are just some people without whom the world would be an infinitely better place.

You can't tell me that Ann Coulter isn't one of them.

Now, don't get me wrong -- I'm not "taking out a hit" on Annie per se; I have nothing to offer financially or otherwise as payment for "assisting" her in shuffling off her immoral coil to go hang out with Jerry Falwell in oblivion.

I'm just saying that we'd all be better off without her -- and the simpler means of making her go away seems to elude the hell out of everyone.

So, kill her.

Put a bullet in the back of her head.

Run a ten inch blade into her throat and watch her bleed out on the floor.

Beat her to death with an aluminum baseball bat.

You know, whatever.

Or, someone could wise up and decide to simply stop paying attention to her, which I guarantee to Ann Coulter would be a fate far worse than death.

Whore, Whore, Whore... How Do You Like It? How Do You Like It?

The New York Post generally isn't good for much other than maybe providing an excellent makeshift mat on which to housebreak that new beagle.

Every once in awhile though, the editors over there at Murdoch's Machine have a moment of seriously inspired genius.

Chris Benoit vs. The Undertaker

Canadian pro wrestler Chris Benoit has been found dead inside his home in suburban Atlanta, along with his wife and son. Police are investigating the deaths as a possible double-murder suicide.

I guess Benoit has a pretty unbeatable new finishing move.