Nowhere, AZ—Having barely paid off the fines from the last time I was bored, I decided to channel my energies toward Youtube.  Entering this series of tubes that is the internet, I became lost in my own Youtube adventure.  For starters, I played Dylan’s and Guns & Roses’ version of Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door simultaneously.  Never do this.

Dylan sang through Slash’s guitar solo, and then, not to be outdone, Axl Rose sang through Dylan’s harmonica solo.  Other than that, it kind of worked…well, in a ‘God, I would rather be gouging out my own eye balls right now than listening to this shit’, kind of way. 

Warning! Don’t do this for too long, or that cold black cloud starts comin’ down…

My grand experiment was almost over before it started, then I realized, if you use the pause button you can help keep the various musicians in sync, sort of.  Next, I played All Along the Watchtower, Dylan v Hendrix.  They were closer in speed than one would think.  But, in the end, no matter how many times I dallied All Along the Pause Button, Dylan just couldn’t keep up with the Jimmster.  

‘scuse me while I pause this guy. 

The clear winner in the dueling Youtubes was Van Halen’s California Girls v Beach Boys’ version.  The speed was really close.  They hung 10—whatever the hell that means—for a long time.  It was beautiful…and by beautiful, I mean, barely tolerable.   You just have to pause one of the two vids so they both start at the same time and it’s like magic, really cheesy beach magic (RCBM).

The Bonnie Raitt, Jackson Browne version of Poor, Poor Pitiful Me was wonderful played alongside Linda Ronstadt’s version—at least the first verse, anyway.  Jackson kind of shouted over Linda a bit, which is when I realized you can adjust the volume on each vid.  I am not horribly savvy at this You of Tubes.   

Then I played Skynyrd’s version of Free Bird v Skynyrd’s Guitar Hero version of Free Bird.  Turns out, they are identical.  Heh, heh.  No surprise, really.  This was like the control group or something.  I am a psychology dude, after all.  This was the play-cebo, so to speak.  Sorry.  (Edit that one out, Winslow. I wouldn’t want to lose one of my three fans.)

If you crank Cheryl Crow’s volume, she kind of hangs with Axl Rose during Guns & Roses’ version of Sweet Child O’Mine.  This is a little surreal to listen to, though.  It’s like listening to a record backwards, while in a tunnel, while underwater.  It kind of freaked me out a bit, like that time I was listening to a record backwards, while in a tunnel, while…you get the idea.

You Really Got Me:  Van Halen v The Kinks was really frustrating one for me.  It was a deeply disturbing exercise in futility, which I try to limit to my Crank rebuttals.  The old Kinks’ version is waaaay too slow, but then the Kinks’ Live version is waaaay too fast.  So I guess Diamond Dave’s version is just right.

Then, as often happens in my world, things took a turn into the absurd.  I pitted The Kingsmen against Motorhead’s version of Louie Louie.  Little did I know, I had entered one of the darker corners of the Youtube Zone.  No matter how badly these two versions were out of sync, it always sounded pretty good…well, as good as Louie Louie gets.  Maybe I was channeling an old fraternity party?  Maybe it triggered some type of flashback?  But, no matter what I did, I couldn’t kill it; it didn’t seem to matter who was singing what garbled version, guitar solo, chorus, what have you.  The song is impervious to attack.  It’s like the Borg of all fifties tunes.  Well, we’ll just see about that…

For the hat trick, I decided to throw the Kinks’ version into the mix.  Wow, still not bad.  Hmmmm.  I conducted another search…Mr. Morrison?  Yes, I threw in a Doors’ version to boot in an effort to break on through to the other track. This song was the thing that would not die!  The thing with 7 tracks!  I paused and moped by brow.  It’s assimilating all the versions!  It’s the Borg of all fifties tunes!  Did I say that already?

Would one more version cause a tear in the virtual space time continuum?  I starting saying, “It’s alive, alive!” and laughing manically.   This signifies it’s time for my “medication.”

Sometimes you have to push the envelope, so I threw in an Iggy Pop version of Louie Louie and all hell broke loose!  Don’t try this at home!  This many versions of Louie Louie made it very difficult to know what I was listening to, which actually helped.  However, my operating system may never recover; heck, I may never recover.  Now, every time I click on the Youtube icon on my desktop…well, I can swear my laptop has developed a nervous tick.  But I would do it again.  Well, the next time I’m really bored.

Washington, DC—On Oct. 30^th The National Mall was packed wall-to-wall with celebrities attending the Shaman’s Rally to Retrieve the U.S. Soul. After a long weekend of bashing in the skulls of the foul Darcarre, Jack Primus swung east in support of the Discord’s cause.  Being a fictional character doesn’t stop Primus from doing any number of cool things on a given day. You know that dude, the world’s most interesting man, from those Dos Equis commercials? Jack Primus won’t return his calls.

Jack is the archetypal hero. He captured the new century’s zeitgeist and keeps it chained in his basement next to his morning star.  Primus rarely does interviews, but for the Discord…we paid him—virtual money, of course.
The rest of this post is courtesy of Mr. P himself:

The Ghetto Shaman has given his blessing to Yig.  He is truly wise. Since he’s been receiving death threats from both the Xemmoni underground and the Sharron Angle campaign—both sworn enemies of Yig—I decided to help out my old friend. He asked me to support his cause, protect him from the super natural forces that be, and, of course, buy him some malt liquor products. Actually, I only agreed if GS promised me a plug on the Discord to sell more books.  He also promised me all the chicken wings I could eat. The joke was really on them; I hid an extra eighty in my backpack on the way out.  I heard Zano is getting his “wages” garnished over that one. But GS told me he’s got Winslow wrapped around his little chicken wing and I could muscle-in whenever I wanted.
If what happened at the Mall on October 30th continues to plague America, you’re really going to need the Chronicles of Jack Primus.  It’s not just a book; it’s a survival guide for the coming apocalypse!

To rewind a bit, everything had started out well enough. The Discord was bussing people down to the event. The Ghetto Shaman was reading excerpts of Jack Primus to the cheering masses. But those who could not decipher the Primus Code, never got a bus ride home! This book was their return ticket, you see. Without it, they were forced to hang out at Capital City Brewing—that big dumb brewpub downtown; the one with small portions and rubbery chicken wings. If you get stuck down there and the Xemmoni or the Darcarre get you, don’t come bitching to me. You’ve been warned. They’re in all the major cities, and they tend to know when you know…you know? So now that you know, you better read this book and learn how to stay alive…and don’t order those chicken wings.

I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Can you edit that out, Winslow? Not the staying alive part, the other part about the wings. Sometimes they’re OK drowned in enough blue cheese dressing. But you should buy the book and try to stay alive, of course. Geesh.

So, you want to really know what happened on October 30th? Why GS needed me as he shifted into an alternate dimension? He isn’t called a Shaman for nothing. They did come after him that day—in mass, I might add. You see, anyone and everyone must guard his or her corporeal body during any exercise in soul travel, especially one this important.

When The Ghetto Shaman drank his potion on the Lincoln Memorial steps, those damn Darcarre moved in like bed bugs in an Econo Lodge.  They surrounded us, alongside their unwilling slave, Jeff “come-on-in-guys” Probst of Survivor fame. They didn’t want GS’s message to get out to the people.  They will derail any message resembling Yig’s.  Could you imagine what would have happened if GS told everyone on national television to dissolve our differences and embrace the All Father snake? Yep, you’re right, we’d all be in a state of bliss, with all hunger and wars a thing of the past. Don’t look at me like that… Snakes are all about bliss… duh.  Haven’t you ever read any Graham Hancock?

So when they came, I was ready, or at least I was after I wiped the BBQ sauce off my weapon hand.  GS even helped with the battle; he was pretty bad ass with those chicken bone nunchucks. We gave those Serial Killers a good licking, but the damage was done. They jammed the telecast and those other stooges claimed all the credit for the rally.

Why do you think the special wasn’t on television and they switched all the coverage to those Comedy Central dudes with the weird haircuts and no sideburns?  It was a diversion!  I kept the Shaman safe until the police…er, “took over.” 

There you have it, right from the hero’s mouth.  Some call Primus a Yig-loving fictional freak. Whereas this is true, it’s still not a very nice thing to say. We would rather you stay alive, learn your enemy’s secrets, and read The Chronicles of Jack Primus.

In this age of horrible economic times, amidst constant rallies to restore sanity and/or fear, and/or Honor, or to retrieve the U.S. Soul and/or Other Imortant Things and stuff (God, Zano’s an idiot), I would like to vent my frustration about something completely different, the program known as COBRA. 

COBRA, much like the name implies, really bites.  The Consolidated Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act (COBRA) gives workers and their families, who have lost their health benefits, the right to continue group health benefits for limited periods of time under certain circumstances.

Qualified individuals may be required to pay the entire premium for coverage up to 102% of the cost to the plan.  Currently the government is even offsetting some of the cost by paying a percentage of this for the many displaced, disgruntled, and discharged workers across our country.  You know…most of us.

The idea is sound. Let’s face it, people need insurance and this helps people maintain it for a time between jobs.  The operation itself, however, is as dismal as the Daily Discord’s marketing team.  You know…..me.

First, you sign up and you have a large time frame (about 45 days) then payments are due the 1^st of each month with a thirty-day grace period.  Basically, I got a monthly payment coupon book with a box on each slip stating payment amount due. 

The block of coupons I received came in on the 15^th of the month, so I filled out that month’s coupon, in crayon, and just discarded the coupon sent for the previous month.  I continued to mail my payment in by the first of each month.  Please note, they have no website, or contact number of any kind to make payments.  There’s no way to check on your account—just these old fashioned snail-mail coupons from hell.  In August, I mailed my check out on the fourth, but, heck, you get that 30-day grace period to get it in, right?  Besides, I had never received a late payment notice.  What’s the worst that could happen?

Then I received this letter in the mail on August 16^th.  The ‘mailed on date’ was August 10^th: 

Realizing the Family no longer had health insurance (actually hadn’t had any for the last 16 days), I looked through my bills.  I had accrued over $2,000.00 in medical bills during that time period (most of which went to having a mole removed and then placed strategically somewhere else on my person).   Now my mole relocation project (MRP) would not be covered by insurance (to say nothing of my lobomasto-mnemonic-inhibitor—an operation to help me not think about women’s breasts so much).

I called the COBRA people with a verbal tirade that would make the Crank and the Ghetto Shaman proud.  It got me nowhere, just like college. 

I then sent in this letter of appeal:

Dear Cobra Control Services,

This letter is to appeal the termination of my cobra coverage, on July 1, 2010.  I was in error, I believed that the payment I sent in on 8-03-2010 was for August, but it was July’s payment making it after the thirty day grace period.

It was in no way meant to be taken as I wanted to discontinue coverage, which my family needs.  I received no notice as to anything being late and was not aware of my error.  I ask you to consider reinstating my coverage.

If reinstated I would make immediate payment for July and August.

Please contact me at if you have any questions or need further information.

Respectfully submitted,

David Tiberius Atsals

In a letter received from COBRA ten days later I was informed that my appeal was denied and reminded that any medical bills, or mole migration procedures from July 1^st on, were now solely my responsibility. 

THANKS!

I have several complaints about this whole confusing process.  No late notices? No way to check account activity?  No notification before the fact that your coverage was terminated?  The worst part of the whole affair, the check I mailed out on August 4^th was somehow cashed by them for insurance which no longer existed!

The follow up letter I will be sending COBRA Control Services, LLC will be authored by the Ghetto Shaman and the Crank—after I ply them with enough alcohol, Coca Cola, and nutmeg to “down a rhino.” 

Maybe I’ll even send COBRA a few non-covered bills.  Hell, I can’t afford to pay them anyway.   But I love my new mole!  I look Marilyn Monroe now, sort of, and I can say that now without even thinking about her pookas.   Well, at least not as much.

I then authored this letter to President Obama:

Dear Prez,

Whereas I appreciate extending the coverage to young people until age 26, in my case this falls about 16 years short of the mark.   My parents will happily allow me back on their insurance plan, provided they don’t find out.  Oh, and when you get a chance please shut down COBRA.  It should be replaced with an organization that is at least as technologically savvy as John McCain for fuck’s sake.

Respectfully submitted,

Dave Mortimer Atsals

As Mick Zano would say, I didn’t send the ‘for fuck’s sake’ part, but it was implied.

Despite some setbacks, The Daily Discord is proud to announce the grand opening of the Earth is Flat Museum—ironically located in the hills of Kentucky (in the alley behind Ed’s Wok, next to the Dumpster, across from The Creation Museum).  The museum’s curator, Lloyd “Bubba” Hickenson, had hoped the opening ceremony would be led by Thomas Friedman, but the award winning New York Times’ columnist insists his version of a ‘flat world’ is metaphorical only. 

Once the proposal for such a museum hit the blogosphere by, yours screwly, museum donations came trickling in!  At least three supporters donated to the cause.  Donations included a King James Bible (stamped Best Western), a rare copy of A Ted Haggard X-mas (rated-X), and a semi-melted rubber chicken (it’s the thought that counts).

“We have a nice alley stoop, upwind of the dumpster,” said Hickenson, “on which we prop our soapbox and discuss our poster presentations (a poster presentation based on an actual Power Point presentation).  We also have lunch-bag puppet shows for the kiddies!  Our lunch specials run twice a day, generally coinciding with the floor sweepings at Ed’s Wok. Or, why not indulge in one of José’s kitchen scrap specials? (José’s real name is being withheld at Ed’s request for fear of pending immigration actions.)  And don’t forget to bring your rubber gloves, folks, for our dumpster diving bonuses!  Who needs Teppanyaki, when you can have much more affordable Teppanyucky?

Our attractions include:

• Our Flattening Earth:  A compelling, interactive display that clearly demonstrates the impossibility of a spherical world.  Try your hand at balancing a green plastic army man on a) a flat model of the earth, b) the top of a basketball, and c) the bottom of a basketball.  Kid friendly!
• The Receding Horizon Paradox:  Here, through the innovative use of smoke and mirrors, we demonstrate how the spherical earth theory is false.  The horizon continually receding from view at exactly the same rate at which you approach is actually quite false.  Understand how such a theory necessitates an intelligent horizon, and how the flat earth reality eliminates such a paradox.
• Handstands and Headaches: Can You Live Upside-Down?  You be the judge of this simple, yet powerful, demonstration of the impossibility of “living upside down” as would be required on a spherical earth.  Try your hand at drinking a glass of milk while hanging upside down. See how long you can last inverted before you develop a pounding headache (or milk comes out your nose).  Try simple tasks like tossing a ball between two people, or try your swing on our own, lawyer friendly, Wiffle ball course. You’ll see with your own eyes how ridiculous the spherical earth theory is after you experience this exhibit.  What are those scientists smoking?  Kid injury friendly!
• The Three Dimensional Delusion:  See how scientific facts necessitate that all visible objects in the solar system are flat, just like the earth.  See how a flat moon is the only way to accurately explain the lunar cycles.  Understand how the logical incongruity of a spherical earth in a flat solar system simply cannot be true.  
• Ride a Dinosaur Exhibit:  This attraction is only offered when the guy over at The Creation Museum is taking a dump (usually around 2:00 PM).  Void when not voiding.
• Earth is Flat Slogan Contest:  We’re looking for a new slogan for the Earth is Flat Museum!  This new slogan will replace the current “Flat is PHAT!” slogan.  It seems that our visitors don’t know what PHAT means.  Submit your entry to The DailyDiscord.com today.  Just don’t send it to the Ghetto Shaman by accident or risk eternal damnation.

Come visit us on the web at: www.twistingLogicIntoAPretzel.org.

Paid for in part by the Fuck Darwin Society (FDS, we’re limited).

Remember that old Pink Floyd line, “I’ve got 13 channels of shit on the TV to choose from?” Now, of course, I’ve got 213 channels of shit on the TV to choose from.   For some reason, after flipping through all of these various channels, I stopped on IFC (The Independent Film Channel).   Never do this…

So, tragically, I found myself absorbed in this movie—an independent film, as it were.  A channel where their films are so independent, they may be organizing their own Tea Party rally. The name of the film is irrelevant (aka, I forgot to write it down).  But it’s all about this gun, its travels, and other related bull shit.  Maybe we should call it: Have Gun that Travels for artsy types.  I was originally captivated by some funny dialogue and one really hot chick (my two interests).  But then, I’m on this wild ride that I can’t get off.  I can’t stop staring, because it just has to start making sense, and there’s got to be a point to this and, who would film something like this, and I hate myself and I now need a beer.  

Then I realized, like many such films, these independent films are just a reaction to the Hollywood ending and formula movies.  Artsy types hate the Hollywood formula; they despise it.  They will do anything to say, “See.  I made something totally different without any of the glitzy, hackneyed Hollywood formula tripe.”  They say words like “tripe,” because they’re so independent.  But I like the glitzy, hackneyed Hollywood formula bull shit.  I am a simple man with simple tastes.  Take fifties sci-fi/horror movies, for example.  There are countless movies that begin with a person who dies horribly in the opening scene, but you never see the monster.  Then you meet the main character, then enters the love interest, then comes the introduction of a lot of other people who eventually die, most, quite horribly.  There is a build up to when the two roads out of town are blocked, and then the main characters are finally holed up in some structure or another, be it school, church, or gas station.  They board the place up, and the creatures try to get in during the dramatic final sequence.  The military drops a bomb, everyone cheers…well, everyone that didn’t die horribly, then the couple kisses and then they live happily ever after.  Oh, and in the final scene no one notices that there’s one bug/creature/alien monster thingie left in the corner and it’s usually flipping mankind its maxillary palpus.  In the seventies this was followed by a large question mark and then the closing credits.

There are hundreds of movies with this formula.  I know, because I own all of them.  They are wonderful.  Critics hate this formula.  They want the radioactively enlarged bugs to stop devouring the living, start to question their senseless violence, and maybe even run off with the lead lady (worked for Kong).  Wait!  That’s why they actually liked King Kong. They didn’t like it for the Kong fighting T-Rex scene at all! Bastards! I have no understanding of what these artsy types really want, but it all lives on the Independent Film Channel, 24 hours a day.  And they can have it.

 I remember leaving the latest Godzilla movie, or at least the latest American Godzilla movie, thinking, wow…the formula.  It had everything.  The critics hated it, HATED IT!  What the hell do they know?  Nothing.  I guess, Godzilla should have bagged the lead lady, Maria Pitillo, or something and moved to an apartment on the Upper Westside.

I don’t care about meaning in movies—movies are an escape from our otherwise meaningless lives.  I don’t want meaning in my real life, let alone when I’m escaping from my real life.  Sorry folks, but I have some popcorn to pop and some monsters to stop.   I don’t want any of them falling for any love interest, I just want blood, ichor, and something flipping us its maxillary palpus at the end, damnit!  

Back to this artsy Have Gun Will Travel monstrosity.  I’ve been writing this post as an escape from this escape, but it looks like this hunk of shit film is finally over. So the movie ends and I am left wondering, how did I let this happen?  How will I ever get those two hours back?  Why do I want to even write a post and share this atrocity with others?  Misery loves company, I suppose.  Or maybe there is a more noble purpose: so no one else makes the same mistake.  Nah, I’m not that caring. Hurling the remote control against the wall hardly helped matters.  In fact, the next independent film is starting and now I can’t change the channel.  Bastards!  I flip my maxillary palpus at you so called arsty-film-types.

As a duely appointed representative of the Coalition of Daily Discord Contributors (CDDC), it is my unfort…er, slightly unhapp…er, giddily merry duty to inform you that your services are no longer required.  I have sent armed escorts to assist you from your seat by the window at the coffee shop where you get free wi-fi /coffee/sex/whatever. Your laptop’s on-line capabilities will be removed and news shows will be blocked by your cable company. You will not get a final check because, well, you don’t get one now.

We, as a species, can not move forward until you leave. You are like a cancer that acts retro-actively on all our descendants. You must realize by now that every time you go with the “Well, it was just as bad under Bush and you di-int say nothin then!” rant , that all we humans here is so much fingernails on a blackboard. Do you even remember our little mock interview? Granted, I was staring at Megyn Kelly’s thighs the whole time, but I still remember everything you said.

So let’s get this straight, you are basing you opinions on Acorn on Rachel Madwoman from MSNBC? You must be one of the six people left that watch MSNBC. Mikko, Acorn/S.E.I.U. are the ones that wrote the omnibus spending bill, as well as the first stimulus bill. They need to be watched. That was followed immediately by a “Bush was worse than the Philly Election thing?” We all think you have sunk to a new level, you’re lookin…ah-say-say, you’re lookin’ UP at the Titanic, boy! 

—Foghorn Leghorn

Let’s see, Bush dismantles the Justice Department. But, when a racist thug with a nightstick scares white voters, and after WINNING the case, an Obama appointee has it reduced to a slap on the wrist, that’s OK? A racist member of the same organization that calls the Tea Party racist? The same guy that is on video saying they have to “kill crackers, kill their babies? That guy? That’s OK because Bush was bad? A hale and hearty ‘fuck you’ to you, sir. Our whole system of government depends on free elections. This is not a small thing. It IS, to quote our illustrious Vice Idiot, a “Big Fucking Deal.”

It’s all over, my dear friend. Go home Mick, go home. On your kitchen table you will see a bottle of pills and some Belgian beer that I have graciously placed there. Take one pill every four hours with the beer until the visions stop, and that bad Olbermann guy in your head stops talking to you.  Oh, and if you experience an erection lasting for more than four hours, consult your physician immediately. You are forbidden, though, from any internet surfing of any kind. I will stop by to check up on you soon. Oh, and by the way, all internet services now have your IP address banned as a terrorist site, so don’t even try.

Ooh, oooh…better yet, try, please try.

Don’t let de’ doe hit you in da’ ass.

The Crank

This hateful post was inspired by Newsweek.  They had this article involving the top movies about high school.  Out of the 15 listings, which included Clueless, Heathers, and clueless women named Heather, there was no mention of Fast Times at Ridgemont High.  Nothing.  I can’t make this up.  Well, I could, but I didn’t this time. 

Of course, Grease and High School Musical made the cut.  Angered, I directed my web searches toward other top 10 listings.  I would also like to make it clear that I did not view hundreds of sites and pick on some.  I am covering each and every debacle as it happens.  It’s as close to Tweeting as I get on the first date.

Speaking of shitty top tens, I decided to check out Humor Links.  The Daily Discord recently switched categories from political satire to spoof news.  On our old list, we remained well under the Yeetle Box—a site diligently not updated for your enjoyment since the Reagan Administration.  At least they’re consistent.  What a joke, and not in a funny way usually associated with a humor site.  We are barely in the top 10 now!  Us?  The funny people?  Now we’ve moved over to the “spoof news” category with our friend’s over at The Daily Rash, a funny site.  But most of the other stuff sucks!  We often have much higher ratings than people who remain ahead of us on the list.  Yeah, that’s fair…  Oh, and we’re the only ones who never get a picture by our site.  Bastards!  Mr. Cohen will be in touch with the Humor Links people soon.  When you can’t send in the clowns, send in the lawyers. 

Then I decided to direct my top-ten fury toward other comedy sites.  I found a “top 100 stand-up comedians of all time” site that truly made me want to retch.

Rodney Dangerfield is already down by Larry the friggin’ Cable Guy?  Already?  Doesn’t Rodney get any respect?  Oh…rrrright.   And on The Simpsons he never got any regard either.  This was a sad sad day for comedy.  Like the inception of the Discord.  And who the hell is Dylan Moran?   Geesh.

Speaking of the Simpsons…that gives me an idea.  OK, I just searched top ten Simpsons characters, and this is what came up.  Again, I always go with the first site as delivered by the Google Gods (this time, one called Top Tens).

1. Homer Simpson
2. Bart Simpson
3. Ralph Wiggum
4. Groundskeeper Willie
5. Lisa Simpson
6. Mr. Burns
7. Moe
8. Chief Clancy Wiggum
9. Sideshow Bob
10. Marge Simpson

A year and a half ago, The Daily Discord had its own battle about the Simpsons characters.  Just to give you an idea how seriously we take such things, this was the result from the Discord peanut gallery.

1. Homer Simpson
2. Montgomery Burns
3. Groundskeeper Willie
4. Ned Flanders
5. Chief Clancy Wiggum
6. Apu
7. Moe
8. Grandpa Simpson
9. Sideshow Bob
10. Otto Man

If you stop to think about it, many of the main family members should not be in the top ten.  Bart comes close and may actually be #11, but as for that other “list,” HAH!  I’m surprised Maggie isn’t there (slurp, slurp).  The bottom line is this: if you put some thought into these things, they can be done right. If not, you have wrought much discord on our fair nation…almost Daily Discord, as it were.

One more search. What the hell, it’s fifty cent refills for coffee here and the barista looks like Jennifer Aniston.   The Internet Movie Database (IMDB) popped up first.  Well, something else popped up first, but I don’t like to talk about it. IMDB had the top 50 horror movies of all time.  Rosemary’s Baby is number 7?? And something called Ugetsu monogatari is ranked 8th?  That sounds like something I ate a sushi bar once and became deathly ill. After some thought, I believe Ugetsu was that the flying turtle that assailed Tokyo.

Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein came in at 9 and 14 respectively, while the original Dracula was 48th?  Really?  48th!  And Saw is 49th!  Alien beat Aliens and Evil Dead II beat Evil Dead I and Shaun of the Dead was right behind Dawn of the Dead at 19 and 20.  This is what happens when you let people vote.  I’m beginning to think Dick Cheney is right.  Speaking of which, where was Oliver Stone’s W.?  Now that was a scary movie.  And what about The Crying Game?  I didn’t sleep for weeks after that flick.  It was like a Twilight Zone ending from hell.  Old Serling had a Rod.  Yikes.

These online top ten lists are terrible and should be banned.  I will start by petitioning Mr. Winslow to nix all of our old top ten lists here at the Daily Discord.  Although, our Top 10 Worst Bar Names list was pretty funny.  I still want to own an English pub called The Scrotum and Mallet.  Sounds like a place that dwarf from Lord of the Rings would hang out.

The Daily Discord admitts to its wrogdoings, Obama controls Hookers?, The Bone shouts out, and petruding pectorals now on the Daily Discord. Suggest us to your friends we promise they wont hate you for it. But then again we do spoof and satire so take that for what it is.

Really? This is the actual plug as it appeared on Facebook on June 17th. For a little background to our sordid tale, I went on vacation last week. Normally, I post the little Facebook plugs on our main page for the enjoyment of our six followers. I even play with my twitter now and again, but I don’t like to talk about it. I came home from my cruise to Nebraska, I put my suitcase back in the garage, the body into the wood chipper, and then I checked my email. My responses varied from “Fuck you, Zano” to “Fuck you, Shaman.” You know, the usual. And then something nagged me to check the Discord Facebook page.

The next few minutes are a blur that ultimately ended up with my children calling Child Protective Services, my wife calling Adult Protective Services, and my neighbors applying for renter’s insurance.

I also believe Ned Flanders actually said, “That’s the loudest profanity I ever heard.”

You see, when I’m very angry, I blackout. Whenever I’m at the police station and they ask that question, Do you ever blackout?, I always say, “I don’t recall.” This is not a joke, it’s a serious medical condition-a medical condition exacerbated by most of my Discord contributors combined with copious amounts of a certain German schnapps.

Only four administrators have access to this Facebook posting thingie: 1.) yours truly (Pierce Xavier Winslow), 2.) Mick (always number two in my book) Zano, 3.) Dave (my money’s on him) Atsals, and 4.) a man known only as Wog.

None of us have met Wog-well, Zano did once, but he doesn’t like to talk about it. Now, as the CEO of the Daily Discord, I’m not about verbal or written warnings-never have been. I’m about kicking ass. And not in the Obama to BP “stop or I’ll say stop again” kind of kicking ass; I’m talking about inserting footwear so far into journalistic glutes that I need to go back to Payless. I hate buying shoes. Especially, when I only need one. These days I usually only buy brown shoes, which helps to some extent.

I guess, in retrospect, what is most disappointing to me (and working with this bunch, that is quite a statement) is this: no one thought to hit the remove button. There is a remove button for the purposes of removing something sloppy, or highly offensive on Facebook. If our readers had access to such a button we’d, of course, have one skimpy website and no need for the current team of lawyers defending our fortunes, as well as our first amendment rights.

I have asked each contributor what the hell happened. Here is how each conversation went down:

(The Zano interview)

Winslow: Mick, I asked someone to plug the discord on Facebook in my absence. Just out of curiosity, did you happen to post the Facebook plug last week? Just asking, buddy, old pal, old chum.

Zano: I told you I hate Facebook. I wrote an entire feature on how much I hate Facebook. In fact, until this very conversation, I had no idea I was even an administrator on this mysterious Book of Faces and, now that I know, I wish to formally be removed from this illustrious virtual clique.

P.S. Stop pushing me, prick!

(The Atsals interview)

Winslow: Dave, I specifically asked you, personally, to plug the discord on Facebook in my absence. Just out of curiosity, did you happen to post the Facebook plug last week?

Atsals: Naaah, I told Wog to do it. It’s something called d-e-le-g-a-t-i-n-g. AKA, that team of people you employ to wipe yer arse in the little CEO’s room. Besides, I was drunk during most of your absence, but only because, deep down, I really despise myself and need professional help.

P.S. See Zano’s post script and add an exclamation point.

(The Wog interview)

Winslow: Wog, I’m not entirely sure how you became an administrator here at the Discord, or even who you are, exactly. I don’t even know if Wog is your real name, but did you happen to post something to Facebook last week? Just asking.

Yours humbly,

Pierce Winslow

Wog: I refuse to admitts to any Wogdoings, I won’t put up wit yer slander! Ya Fop!

Wog is no longer a Facebook administrator and, since Dave Atsals showed an extreme lack of judgment in letting him post, he is no longer an administrator. And, since the only constant in the universe is that Zano shows an extreme lack of judgment, well, here are my conclusions:

1. I, Peirce Xavier Winslow, am the last of the Facebookian Administrator for the Daily Discord.
2. A wood chipper does not dispose of all DNA evidence, construction-grade or no.
3. I’m going to find and consume copious amounts of a certain German schnapps.

An AC 360 segment on CNN all but proved something truly sinister.  Their recent study indicates that American children are impacted at very early ages by a society built upon subliminal, insidious racism against dark skinned cartoon children.  A follow up study conducted by 36-DD here at the Daily Discord has shown the impacts are even more far reaching than originally believed.

Dr. Sterling Hogbein, of the Hogbein Institute and Titty Bar, released this statement today, “The bitch told me she was 18.”  He then uttered a far more relevant statement, “American children are trained by society to hate anything that is dark, not just dark cartoon children.”

In a 36-DD study, kids most often chose the dark toast as the "bad" toast

The study, sponsored by the Vanilla White Toast Society (VWTS), asked young children from various backgrounds questions about, well, toast.  The children were shown 5 pictures of toast, ranging in color from very light (almost white) to very dark (almost black).  The children were then asked a series of questions, such as “Which toast is the bad toast?” and “Which toast should be segregated?” or even “Which toast would Rand Paul throw out of a country club?” In every case, according to the study, children always chose the dark toast as the toast with negative traits and chose the moderately colored toast as the toast associated with good traits.  According to Hogbein, “American children are brainwashed from an early age to associate black with bad.”  Even follow-up questions confirmed the disturbing aversion away from dark colored toast.  When they identified the darkest colored toast as the bad toast, children were then asked, “Why is that the bad toast?” and, with quizzical looks at the questioner, the children almost invariably responded, “Would you eat toast as black as that, asshole?” The lightest toast was actually never chosen.  When asked about this, most children said, “Because that’s just bread, not toast, asshole.”

The 36-DD study found this disturbing trend across almost all food groups: pizza, vanilla pudding, pumpkin pie.  In each and every case, the darkest versions were associated with the bad traits and the lighter versions with the good traits (well, chocolate cake was an exception.  Oh, and the children also seemed to enjoy the dark beer over the light beer).  Perhaps the children associated dark color with bad traits because dark usually means burnt food, or because the cowboy in the black hat is always the bad guy, or because cat burglars and other bad guys are always dressed in black.

When posed with this question, Hogbein said, “Nonsense!  It’s racism!  AC 360 didn’t look at this factor in their study.  They determined it was racism when children chose the dark cartoon child as the bad child!  No, this is clearly the racist influences in America driving this preponderance of dark color = bad traits, and if that fact is good enough for Anderson Cooper, it’s good enough for me.  American society is inherently racist!  Why do you think they’re trying to stop the bad black oil from tainting our crystal waters?  Will the chemicals being used in the Gulf simply turn the oil white?  That’s my question for BP.”

This may also explain how a dazzling urbanite can be twice as competent as a certain white Texan, yet still end up with lower approval ratings in half the time.

“It’s not about Obama’s job performance,” said Hogbein.  “It’s the burnt toast phenomenon.”

Next week 36-DD looks at a new study, wherein we investigate why people who own automobiles purchase more gasoline than people who don’t.

Collapsing Shack, AZ—All across Arizona the need for traditional 28 day Recovery Programs has never been greater.  In most states an individual must be addicted to certain types of drugs to qualify for treatment. Things like alcohol, crystal meth, pain pills, and cocaine addictions will get you in, but other substances like tobacco and caffeine will not. Some other problematic addictions, like gambling and sex addiction, will not get you help either. This has unfortunately kept people like Mick Zano on the streets.

Arizona, in an unprecedented move, has added addictions to social sites as a reason for qualifying for its 28 day programs.

Arizona Governor, Janet Brewer, is quoted as saying, “Social Sites such as Twitter, Face Book, and My Space have become the drug of choice for our next generation. This drug is far more dangerous than Cocaine ever was. A person hooked on traditional drugs can eventually run out of money. Or, at least they eventually die and stop burdening society. However, until the plug is pulled on this web menace, people will continue to become obese zombies, consuming more potato chips than at a Woodstock potato chip stand.”

An area man, in no way affiliated with The Onion, had this to say, “Drug users at least attempt to hide their problems, but now you can’t walk ten feet without seeing kids texting. What are they even talking about? I tried to talk to my son but he’s as boring as a pile of socks. The pale freak hasn’t gone outside for over six months. The most interesting thing that happened to him this year involves our house cat and his computer chair.  Poor thing.”

The youth entering these new 28 day programs are stripped of all technological devices. Laptops and cell phones are forbidden. Within hours, the victims of this foul addiction complain of headaches, isolationism, and strange compulsions to scribble notes and hand them to other people.

Erika Devins has been working with substance abusers for over ten beers. “It used to be that we’d have to search for small packets of meth, and the like, after lights out. Now, we have to keep our eyes peeled for the glow of cell phones hidden under blankets or clients begging to check their Face Book on a stranger’s lap top during outings. Last weekend, I had to stop a girl from offering sexual favors just for a chance to post an update on her Twitter account.”

Chuck Buster, a supervisor at the 28 program in Prescott, AZ said, “In recent years, most of our data collection has been transferred to computer use, but when these Social Site Junkies (SSJs) see my staff typing away, it’s like interviewing a coke addict at crack central.  They don’t even look at you.  They just stare at your computer screen as their eyes glaze over. SSJs pose other problems as well.  We thought alcohol was bad, but cell phones and laptops are everywhere. These poor victims are exposed to their addictions anytime they go into public, or they walk into any business or residence!”

Erin Dakowski, the wife of a SSJ, has problems of her own.

“First my husband loses his job, because he couldn’t stop playing World of Warcraft at work. Now he won’t job hunt because of that lame-o Farmville on Face Book. I’ve already had to store my computer at my sister’s house, yet every time I set it down, Harold snatches up my Blackberry and starts planting vegetables or some shit.”

Many people wonder if there is hope for these social-site addicts. Professor Hogbein of the Hogbein Institute and Daycare Center, had this to say, “These problems may be just the tip of the iceberg. On a good note, some traditional drug abuse might become a thing of the past.  Who has time to wait two hours on a street corner to score some horse? Think of all the scrolling tweets you could be typing in that time.”

Sorry, folks, I got a go.  Zano gets me a pint of ale for every fifty Twitter fans I score for the Discord.”