News and Tidbits for the Modern Layman

Dear Sir or Madame (would you read my book?),

Great changes cometh to The Start Press (which actually just means Press The Start).  These changes you know not of, yet will still come.  Heed my warning: prepare yourself.  People handle change poorly, and there’s no reason to believe that this instance of adjustment should prove any different from that grand paradigm.  

(Insert image of Michael Jackson from the 80s, next to image of Michael Jackson from the noughties.)

First and foremost among changes: I have imposed upon my self a schedule.  Why, you ask?  Well, you see, a couple weeks ago I vowed to turn this website into a syndicated operation; a daily, if you will.  To say the least, that project hath fallen flat on its hopeful, naïve face.  

The goal as it stands, with a schedule, is to have a number of features that I will have planned for each day (or couple of days) of the week.  That way I know what I’m going to be writing about, and when I need to have it published, in advance.

The schedule, for reference, is:

Sunday: Eloquent Wax

Yeah, see that?  I came up for the title of that feature just now!  My intelligence, which includes (but is not limited to) my cunning, is at the top of its game.  Anyways, “Eloquent Wax” will essentially be an essay-style post.  Topics might range from current events, to an idea about a book, to an idea about music, etc.  Probably, though, what I’ll end up with is the cumulation of ideas, or the common themes, that have been swimming around my head in a given week.  Hah!  We’ll see how that goes.

Tuesday: Completely Unwarranted

Lists, lists, lists!  For the amount that people tend to hate when other individuals speak their minds and have opinions, the general, internet-using public goes ape shit whenever some unintelligible plebeian decides that he/she is capable of applying an order of quality, with regards to a certain subject.  I fully intend to cash in on that truth.  What might these lists pertain to, you ask?  Honestly, whatever.  Listing things is an enjoyable pursuit.  Top 10 Products Made by Wonder Bread.  There you go.  Speaking of pursuits…

Thursday: Frivolous Pursuits

Say, Mac!  What’s the most frivolous darn activity you can think of?  Huh?  What’s that you say?!  Sitting in front of the idiot box, Nintendo-ing?!  Boom goes the dynamite! (That means, in effect, that you’re right.)  It is for just that reason, of course, that I “Nintendo” (in reality it’s called “playing video games”) with some frequency.  And I think the potential for video games, or Electronic Arts™ (which is actually a registered trademark, and hhhhhuuuuuuuuggggggeeeeeee video game producer, as well as a pretentious term), as a compelling, provocative medium is larger than the credit given to it.  So, combining my tendency towards being an intellectual dilettante with my love of video juegos should hopefully yield some interesting ideas, and writing.  But really, we’ll see.

Saturday: Let Me Introduce You to My Depth (LMIYtMD)

Occasionally I write things of a more… creative nature.  That’s what “Let Me Introduce You to My Depth” will present: stories of a fiction nature, a fantasy nature, a sci-fi nature, a comic book nature, a non-fiction nature… whatever happens to be brewing, really.  Like how beer is brewed.  I guess.  It should be a fun time.

So there!  That’s fun, no?!  I’m going to try my hardest (and bestest) to make sure that this goal of keeping with a schedule is met.  If I do, this blog should become a bit more interesting, to say the least.

Oh, and I’ll still write on other days.  Stuff like the Miguel Jackson piece and the nothing-funny-about-sports one- those’d be on other days.  And things of a review-y nature.

Onward to the SECOND (2nd) change!: The structure and format of the website will be changing in short order.  All I’m gonna say is that there will be even more (!!!!- ?; !!!………….. !) content than what I have just mentioned above.

STAY TUNED FA MO’.

Food, Inc. Review: I Still Don’t Regret Having Five Guys Before Dinner

 

A film I saw once.

 

 

Did you know that nearly all the food you eat, lest it’s organic, most probably contains corn in some variety?  Yes, corn: those little, bright yellow, indigestible kernels that grace many an autumn supper are used in the steak you consume with that corn, the Coke that you drink to wash it down, and the ice cream you eat after, to once-and-for-all cleanse the palate.

 

Find that interesting, or at all disgusting?  That’s just one of the several shockers presented in the new documentary Food, Inc.  Through a number of segments focused on some of the big, evil giants that control nearly the entire food and produce industry, the film hopes to give you the inside scoop, that both the makers of food and the government don’t want you to see, into how your food is made and what’s used to make it.  Big players such as Michael Pollan, author of The Omnivores Dilemma, and Eric Schlosser, scribe of Fast Food Nation, are prominently featured in the film.

 

It seems very much as though the makers of the film want this to do for the governance of food, in the early 21^st century, what Upton Sinclair’s groundbreaking and insightful The Jungle did in the early 20^th century.  And, if it was to be played as a feature on, say, basic cable networks, it very well could: the message the film sends is very potent and universally relevant, and contains many moving, as well as detestable, images.  

Take, for instance, the chicken you routinely eat: the animals are now genetically engineered to contain much more white meat than dark meat, because that’s what the typical american consumer prefers.  The consequence of this is that the modern american chicken has breasts that are anatomically out of proportion to the rest of it’s body, and as a result is carrying more weight than it is physically able to hold.  Because of this, most grown chicken can only take but a few steps before succumbing to their overwhelming heft.

However you view the treatment of animals that are not humans will determine the sympathy that this elicits from you.  As an individual who owns three cats and a dog, though, I can safely say that I found this revolting.  The film demonstrates that the paradigm for chicken farming, let alone most any kind of common farming in America, is revolting.  That the documentary features a former farmer condemning these practices only adds insult to this injury.

The most affective part of the film, though, is probably the ignorance and apathy with which the common men and women doing this “dirty work” for the companies regard the neglect for animals, both human and otherwise.  The way that we process food, and chemically modify it, has brought about problems such as the E. coli virus on multiple instance in the past.  The refusal, by all of the companies contacted, to be interviewed by the makers of the film says something.  Actions, as we know, speak louder than words.

The effect of the movie?  You’ll want to buy organic foods.  Also, you may not want to eat a hamburger for a while.

An Important Notice

Oh, hey Cleaver-bro!  How’re things hanging?!  It feels like ages- have we really not seen each other since our mutual friend Chance’s birthday party at Mars 2112 in second grade?  Absotively no way!

So yeah, like, anyways, Chance was actually talking about you the other day.  Yeah man, when we were playing squash we got to talking, and you came up.  Yeah so, like, far be it from me to hate on another bro, but Chance accused you of doing something pretty unfathomable.  So like, he was saying that you guys were talking, and the topic of sports came up, and you started, like, laughing about sports, man.  I just feel like there’s something you need to know.

THERE IS NOTHING FUCKING FUNNY ABOUT SPORTS.

Alright, brokowsky?!  So, don’t you go fucking giggling like a little girl, saying all, “oh man, sports are so humorous” and whatnot.  BECAUSE THEY’RE MOTHERFUCKING NOT.  THEY’RE AS FUCKING SERIOUS AS ELMER FUDD, ALRIGHT?!

There are some things in life that are funny.  Cheech and chong: funny.  Beerfest: brotastically humorous.  Dane Cook: motherfucking hilarious.  Scrawny nerds in the weight room: sidesplitting.

Catching the pass from your best bro on the other end, at quarterback: beautiful?  Yes.  A testament to the love that can only be shared between two tightly bonded dudes?  Undoubtedly.  Funny?  NOT ON YOUR GODDAMN LIFE.

Did Nike sound like he was trying to be fucking funny when he said, “Just do it?”  Does the term, “no pain, no gain” mean fucking nothing to you?  Because honestly then, I’m sorry, maybe you should just go home to your mommy and play dungeons and dragons and do calculus all day, nerd-turd.  

Still laughing about sports?  Well at least I’m not the one doing calculus.  

Jesus christ.  ”Oh man, sports are sooooo funny!”  Give me a fucking break.

 

Editorial Commentary: So, despite the fact that I am serialized, I’ve not updated this bloggarific bloggerspace in the past four days.  A reason for this there exists: I was in Martha’s Vineyard over the weekend, and the location at which I took up residency has no internet(s) connection.  What about Monday, you ask?  I got off work, ate a steak, and went to “bro out” with an individual that I hadn’t seen in a good bit.  My apologies to my zero readers.

Oh, also: the second part of my review manifesto should arrive tomorrow.  After that, some reviews will go up.  Good dayz.

Miguel Jackson: No Longer Overshadowed

BY TYLER GUND

Miguel Jackson has spent his entire life in relative-to-considerable anonymity.  As of Thursday evening, however, sources close to Miguel report that he plans to change all that.

“He just pranced down to the dinner table,” relayed Miguel’s wife, Brenda Jackson, “and announced that his time had come.”  Brenda then went on to explain that Miguel alleged that, “you’ll see, you’ll all see!”

Born in 1951 to first generation Mexican parents living in the United States illegally, the plump, mustachioed janitor proclaimed himself the “Duke of Mariachi” in 1970, upon coming in seventh place in a community college talent show with his rendition of “Guantanamera,” a Cuban standard which he was not aware is not a mariachi song, sources report.  

Unfortunately, he says, the exposure was too much for him to deal with at the time.

“I was suffocated out of the limelight!” a fervent Miguel was reported to have said.  He claims that this stifling has persisted over the years.

“But now, you know, now that’s all changed.  For some reason, I feel like my time has come.  Call it a sign from God, if you want!”

Family members, however, remain suspicious that this newfound enthusiasm has something to do with the recent death of acclaimed pop artist Michael Jackson, on Thursday.

“Daddy’s just doing this cause Michael Jackson’s dead,” decided Miguel’s daughter, Louisa, in a definitive tone.  ”He did the same thing when everybody said that Michael Jackson molested all those kids.  Actually, he’s did it every time Michael Jackson’s been in the news, come to think about it.”

Whether or not Miguel Jackson’s newfound enthusiasm for show business holds up remains to be seen, and is a steady source of uncertainty and misfortune for family and friends.

We’ll update you further as the story progresses.

Tyler’s Manifesto of Review, Part 1 of 2

Editorial Commentary: Due to scientific and tactical error, I did not, in fact, bear witness to the neo-film “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” yestereve.  This may be attributed to the apparent narcolepsy of one [1] negligent acquaintence of mine who informed a different acquaintence of mine that tickets were available for a 10 o’clock IMax screening of the programme, and then proceeded to fall prey to a deep slumber before actually buying the aforementioned available tickets.  Pity.  Now, let’s continue life.

Without further ado, I present:

Tyler’s OFFICIAL Manifesto of Review, Part 1: They’re Worth Crying About

Human life, and all other life for that matter, is due to evolution.  Of this there can be absolutely no doubt.  Sure as a flu as new as H1N1 (that’s the swine variety) can suddenly materialize, and not have existed in the ginormously large history of the earth thus far, modern humans came about because of evolution (and continue to… come about?).  There’s no big plan for how we evolve, either; traits that help us survive in the environments in which we exist stick around and increase in size and usability, and those that don’t whittle away quietly.  The accepted term for this process is natural selection, although I know it more as a poorly concieved excuse for humans to not have tails.  The point is that evolution, the main component of which is natural selection (though extraordinary events can interfere with the process), has made all life what it is today.  Once upon a time, pigs didn’t look like what you know to be pigs.  But then their current form somehow became the most optimal for their survival.  A tad bewildering, I know.

The result of all this, in any case, is that human culture is somewhat arbitrary.  What I mean by this is that the reason we like the art that we do, as a species, also has to do with survival of the fittest.  Why, pray tell, do you think the term “trend setter” exists?  In the same way that aesthetically attractive individuals can be elevated to celebrity status based on their looks alone (see: the modeling industry, Tila Tequila, and Megan Fox- hey, I still did get to make a “Transformers” reference!), they can influence how so many people dress, and what they buy.  This stems, whether we as a race like it or not, from the way in which we percieve the “survivability” of others.  Countless psychological studies on conformity have confirmed how, sociologically and culturally, it’s a survival mechanism: we’re a social species and survive better with the help of others, so naturally, we do things to fit in with others.  Really, it’s trickle-down: celebrity who is likely to procreate and contribute largely to the human race because of attractability likes something, public begins liking said something, and you conform to the public’s values and start liking that said something, in the hopes of continuing your survival.  Conformist.

This truth applies to music, movies, books, and visual art as well.  The most well-respected works in each category have, generally speaking, been revered by the critical illuminati of each of those individual mediums.  Does this necessarily mean that what the critics like is of the highest quality, though?  No.  Quality is arbitrary- the artwork that an individual enjoys the most has to do with the combinations of sights, sounds, ideas, and themes that carress his or her senses – and thus, make neurons and nerve endings jump with excitement – in just the right way.  

That’s not to say that a person can’t be conditioned to enjoy certain types of artwork the most.  Quite the contrary, in fact: the qualities that make an individual’s body and brain react in a pleasing manner are those that the individual’s brain has become familiar with.  For example, an american child is likely to enjoy american music more than indian musc, because the format of each is very different, and the american child has presumably been exposed to his or her native sound more thanto  that of India.  So really, the quality of something, in relation to something else, is a very abstract, farfetched concept.  There’s no metric of quality, nor can there be.  

What all this means is that a review does not grade the “quality” of a product, it merely is an expression of the way an individual’s conditioned brain responds to a piece of art.  How much stock somebody takes in another’s review, or critique, is completely up to that somebody.

That’s all for today, kids!  Check back tomorrow for “Tyler’s Manifesto of Review, Part 2: Electric Boogaloo in Disney Digital 3-D!”

I Am The Harbinger of News

News regarding myself, that is.  And the state of this blog.  Reassuring, no?  So I begin.

A Letter:

Dearest Reader,

How ya been, you ol’ bastard?!  It feels as though it’s been ages- eons, even!  We really must engage in the act of drinking tea together, at an agreed upon time, in an agreed upon locale!  I do believe I would find this to be most pleasing, and that this is a sentiment with which you might empathize!  Such delicious symbiosis!

Now that we’ve pushed these banal formalitis to the side, let’s get to the heart of this dispatch: a confession from myself, followed by a revelation, in sequence.  First, the confession: I’m no literati.  The reason that I’ve gotten myself into a schedule (pronounced “shez-you-uhl”) of updating this internet log once every six days (a baker’s week) has more to do with my lazy tendencies than any profound reasoning.  I sit down to grace you with my witticisms and observational humor (pronounced “you-more”), but typing “hulu.com” is just so much easier, and less time consuming.  Honest, I swear.  They’ve done studies.

However, I have a revelation to disclose to you and your fine self: I may not be a literati, but I’m syndicated!  That’s right: much like Two and a Half Men and the comic strip “Cathy,” my insight and knowledge can be shared by the denizens of Earth every single day! Where, you might ask?

RIGHT ON THIS BLOG!

Yep, you read that right.  Starting today (Wednesday, June 24th, 2009) you can expect to see new content from me, every single day.  Although I can’t promise that every single post will be “the lulz,” or that they’ll all be long, thought provoking contributions to human civilization (of the highest order), I can promise that they’ll be here, and they’ll contain words.  (And usually, crude pictures with equally crude subtitles.)

Seeing as it’s 1:16AM from where I’m sitting, this qualifies as a post for Wednesday, June 24th.  What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t expect another ’till Thursday, June 25th.  I do, however, plan to see the brand spankin’ new Transformers: Rise of the Fallen of the Rise of Shia Labeouf and Megan Fox is Really Hot tomorrow, and what this means is that you can probably expect a review of it on Thursday.  Because I like writing about things  that I watch.  Especially thematically challenging, emotionally complex cinematic works directed by the brilliant Michael Bay.  Also, I plan to kick some features off on this blog.  Fun times abound.

Anyways, g’night dear reader.  Watch out for the five-foot scorpion hiding under your bed, waiting until the lights go out to jump on you and gorge itself on your flesh!

Hearts,

Tylus Gundus

In the event that you weren’t paying attention…

…You should know that Billie Mays, of “I WILL TAKE THAT DENT OUT OF YOUR CAR” fame, has been given his own television series.  Who are the Gods responsible for such a profound act of benevolence, you query?  Why the good folks at the Discovery Channel, that’s who!

 

Heart: warmed. Courtesy of www.deadlyviper.org. Weird damn name for a site. No idea what its "angle" is. Harmful insects? Who would visit that regularly? Whatever- they keep it alive, I'll keep using images that are hosted on it and that I locate via Google images.

 

 

For those of you just joining us, Billie Mays is one of the few remaining practitioners of “direct response” sales-personing (there you go, women- despite the fact that my web browser informs me that I should know better than to use a non-word like “personing,” I have, for the sake of not being accused of having a “gender bias,” done just so), which means that he, personally, will try to pitch a product to you.  Much like, say, how Jehovah’s Witnesses come around and try to pitch to you just how GADDANG great it is to be a Jehovah’s Witness.  And yet not at all, for you see there are two distinctions between the aforementioned intrusive method of “pitching,” and Billie Mays’s more consumer-friendly approach:

1. Billie Mays uses a television.  He doesn’t attack you, physically, IN 3-DIMENSIONS, with something to sell you.  With Billie at the helm, you can be sure you’re sitting on a nice, comfy couch, concessions and remote firmly in hand.

2. Billie presents everything to you, the viewer, in a pleasing half-yell; I say “half-yell” because the sound quality in his commercials (really just infomercials) is usually a lil’ bit low-fi, so that his yell sounds just a tad muffled (and thus restrained).  This really brings a lucidity to his pitches that Jehovah’s Witnesses can’t provide- sometimes you’ll get the feeling that they don’t even want you to witness Jehovah.  Not so with Billie.  GOD DAMNIT, THAT DENT IS GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR CAR.

3*. No matter how much he tries to hide it, his name is legitimately “Willie Mays.”

(* Denotes a bonus, or post-script, distinction.)

So, yeah.  I’ve yet to watch a full episode, but it apparently stars him and a perverted sort of British Billie Mays (named Anthony Sullivan).  Out of things to sell, Billie and Britillie (Anthony) look for disheveled hobos who’ve come up with “the next great idea” (read: a tawdry trinket that no self-respecting individual would ever need).  That’s as far as I got in the episode that I began watching, but it looks as though they go on to pimp out the invention that they select, and PITCH THAT SHIT.

It’s scheduled, assured Billie Mays- there’s hardly anything better in the world, that I can think of.  The word “Fjord” is pretty mind-blowing, but I don’t think even that reaches the awesomeness of knowing when and where you can see mo’ Billie.  

Oh, by the by: “Pitchmen,” which is the name of the show, airs Wednesdays from 10PM to 11PM.  Wow!  A whole hour!  What a joy!

All Glory to the Hypnotoad!

Why do I make this seemingly outlandish declaration?

http://goldderby.latimes.com/awards_goldderby/2009/06/futurama-tv-news-8369152704-story.html

Gadzooks sarge, that’s right!  Futurama, of being-completely-incredible fame, is returning to television come 2010!  This further proves the fact that Comedy Central is a damn great network (see: South Park, The Daily Show With John Stewart, Stella, The Colbert Report, etc.)

 

Beauty Incarnate. Courtesy of www.zoidberg.wz.cz

 

 

It also proves the lasting power of the show itself.  Y’see, a given episode of Futurama will, admittedly, not garner the quantity of el-oh-els and chuckles that, say, an episode of Family Guy might.  What makes the show so high quality though is that it exists at a happy crossroads between Sci-Fi and postmodernism, and does so oh-so subtly (in contrast to, of course, Family Guy).  

Don’t worry, I didn’t really know what postmodernism is until last night.  Or at least what I gather it is.  Which is self-referential, as well as a throwback to old models of the form- an example of this might be a house built in a modern (maybe art-deco, or something equally pretentious- perhaps whateverthefuck one might refer to Frank Gehry’s style as) architectural style, with elements that are reminiscent of, say, Romanesque Revival.

In the context of Futurama, this means that the show references, and makes many parallels to, modern life and institutions.  Another example of a show that did this brilliantly would be Fox’s ALSO CANCELLED Arrested Development.

What’s so great about Futurama especially, though, is that it can be viewed solely as an episode-by-episode sitcom, but there’s really a ton of continuity at play, as well as an entire geek-tacular Futurama-verse that exists; it’s always enjoyable and just plain neat to watch old episodes of the show after having watched the entire series, just because you view them differently than you did initially.  The show’s many comedic and interconnected layers begin to unfold, subtle nuances in the characters’ personalities and comedy have new meaning, and visual cues in the show that may have seemed insignificant and unnecessary before make total sense.

If you’ve never watched Futurama before, it’s not too late to start.  It’s one of the smartest, most cleverly-written shows on television, with a cast of characters to match.  Do yourself a favor and get hooked.

 

4 FREE (OMGA):  http://www.futurama-stream.com/

I mean, really.

Recently I purchased the new “inFAMOUS” for the plAYSTATION THREE.  The game pits the hero (that’s YOU, oh stalwart joystick-wielding leader), who’s name is Cole, SEEMINGLY at the hands of a nuclear explosion.  This dynamic woopsidaisy occurs in “Empire City,” which really just means generic, gritty, noir-ish comic book city setting loosely based on New York.  Combining these two elements in a shallowly presented narrative hasn’t exactly made the story memorable or worth following to me, especially after the explicit detail with which last years open-world Grand Theft Auto IV was handled; nonetheless, the basic foundation of “superhero” + “city to crawl around” + “fun power to kill baddies with” + “a plethora of baddies” has been met.

All of my friends approve.

However, I noticed something that perturbed me, whilst engaged in my bajillionth (read: fourth or fifth) hour of play, today; you see, one of my (read: Cole’s) friends (read: acquaintences who has him on a leash) called me and asked me to help some engineer homie out of a bind with Some Baddies, so that he could lower the draw bridge connecting two of the islands that make up “Empire City.”  So, I went over to do this deed because that’s what the game decided is what I ought to do to progress further into the story, and was prompted to “Defend the Engineer.”

So, using all of my wit and cunning, I paced around frenetically (using the left and right joysticks as well as the “circle” button on the Playstation controller, which makes the character role, which is the equivalent of juking) while zapping the appropriate figures (read: baddies) on my screen (done by holding down “L1,” aiming with the right joystick, and shooting with “R1,” or tossing electricity bombs with “square”).  Even still, I was killed.

I’m a trooper though, of course, so I lifted my morale up, grasped the controller firmly with both hands, and had another go.  “Defend the Engineer,” I am once again prompted.  So, I do.  I mean, that’s what I’m supposed to do, right?  I’d been honing my lightning-shooting skills all of the game thus far, so it was time to put them to good use, right?

But then I died again.  And I immediately saw “Defend the Engineer,” and waves of little red dots started to appear on my mini map on the lower right hand corner of the screen, so I knew I would be zapping things again.

That’s when it hit me.

GAME TYLER AM PLAYING

On a tangible level, what the hell was I really doing?  I mean, really: (OHMAGA, TITLE OF POST) what I was doing came down to pushing a couple different buttons that made it look as though my character was doing something really cool.  I had done that the entire game- what made this any different at all?

Furthermore, did I really just simplify the “fun factor” of the game down to “pressing button makes it look as though something cool is happening?”

Pretty much, yep.  What Sucker Punch, makers of inFAMOUS as well as the Fun For The Whole Family!™ Sly Cooper franchise, have essentially done is map three or four commands to three or four respective buttons, presented this control scheme in a gritty, hard-edged aesthetic, and thrown a crappy story on top to put the button pressing in context.

As defined by Wikipedia, an engineer is “a skilled technical professional” who is “concerned with developing economical and safe solutions to practical problems, by applying mathematics and scientific knowledge while considering technical constraints.”  In “Defend[ing] the Engineer,” all I did was press a couple buttons, frivolously.  At the end of the day, I haven’t actually defended any of the fine working people of America, I’ve just been given an excuse to apply sporadic pressure to “buttons” meaninglessly, for a couple hours.

Good God.

I fucking love inFAMOUS.

ECONOMY-RELATED: On Wise Investments

 

To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what this show is/was. I found this image by searching "money bags" in Google. I'm as confused as you are. Courtesy of, apparently, www.girl.com.au.

So.  The economy is going through some tumultuous times.  Of this there is no doubt.  Well, except for in Norway, but who ever payed any attention to Norwegians, anyway?  Remember that whole “Viking” thing of theirs?  We call that “glorified dress-up,” like a romanticized version of what little girls from the ages of 6-10 do in their spare time.  Except the Norwegians did that well into old age.  Over-compensation, if you ask me.

But that’s neither here, nor is it there; what is both here and there is the fact that our economy is not doing so hot.  And that, for lack of a better way of phrasing it, totally sucks.  If you haven’t noticed this, then you also haven’t noticed that nobel laureate Paul Krugman is practically making a living by writing op-ed after op-ed with complaints about the economy, how Obama is handling it, and suggestions for further use (read: how to fix it in the most RED-HANDED COMMIE WAY EVER).  Yep- it’s that unfortunate a situation.

 

Yes, I KNOW IT'S A STOCK PHOTO. It's dead-ass, though. Courtesy of www.blogs.seattleweekly.com.

Now in spite of this, and despite what that misleading baby pictured above might have you believe, there is still hope for mankind!  Sure, you might lose your job or have to sell that ol’ RV of yours that you were “one day going to live out of and see the entire country, you’ll see!”  However, these are really the petty, small pleasures in life; I ask you, did the cavemen have jobs?  Did the cavemen have RV’s?  Nay on both fronts, I declare!  And they got along alright, after all.

So, we’ve established: cavemen didn’t have all this superfluous “civilized” crap that we have, and from what we know they led perfectly suitable lives.   Good and well.  Now that you’re ready to accept a troglodytian standard of living, I have some information that will blow your mind.  Furthermore, all you need to do to get it is read the next paragraph!  Wow!  What a deal!

Here’s your information: my local pharmacy/general convenience store is currently selling racquetball-esque bouncy balls at the counter for a meager $1.50! (Give or take.)  Now, you may label me a deranged ragamuffin for partaking in that heathen practice known to many as “impulse buying,” but, in reality, it is you who is the deranged ragamuffin for thinking this.  Let me explain.

My life has been more enriched by the acquisition of this ball than by nearly anything else I’ve purchased in my eighteen years as a living being.  This ball is so versatile that, as long as it’s on my person, ecstatic fun is never more than a reach-into-the-pocket away.  

 

blue ballz, lol. Courtesy of www.dsinha.files.wordpress.com

 

 

On a first date?  Walking down the street with that awkward, don’t-know-what-to-do silence hanging over your head?  Fear not!  This ball is the perfect ice-breaker.  Whip it out, and he/she’ll immediately be drawn to your frugal, fun-loving personality.  You can even walk while using it; in fact, some users report that “ball” is most enjoyable while in transit!

Staring at your wall, wondering what to do with your life after having lost your job/just graduated college?  Quit moping, mope-ass!  You’ve got two hands, a wall, a floor, and a ball, and – here’s a secret – that’s all you need for bliss!  Throw that ball against the wall, and immediately you’re partaking in a game that challenges your reflexes, wit, and religion, all whilst introducing you to levels of entertainment you’d never dreamt of!

Stop fretting the economy.  It makes you look like a child, honest to God.  Get a ball.  Or two.  You’ll be happy you did.