Specific Gravity

(For those of you who are interested, I've updated "Few and Far Between" as of this evening).

I've decided to do some "Don't Stop Believin'" awards for 2005.

You're going to get attacked by these lists over the next couple of weeks (if you haven't been already), so I thought I'd give out awards that matter.

2005's "I Don't Know What It Means But That's Effin' Hysterical!" Award
Over at Fark.com, they've got these forums next to the articles they post. When I see a ridiculous topic, I'll jump over and read some of the comments for a laugh. And there are some really smart, creative individuals on the site, but sometimes I'm just at a loss for words.

A couple of months ago, the "O Rly?" owl showed up. I'm not sure where it came from or why they used owls but... oh well, here's the owl.


















I assume it means, "Oh, really?" in 1337 (leet) speak, and why they used an owl, I just dunno. I... I just... I dunno. But it got a giggle out of me. It still does. I mean, who knew that owls looked that ridiculous, right?

But it got worse.

I don't know how, but the "O Rly" owl merged into something even more surreal. The most hysterical non-sequitor that I've seen in years.

I can't give you guys warning enough to brace yourselves, but here ya go. The 2005 "I Don't Know What It Means But That's Effin' Hysterical!" award goes to...
















The "Buttsecks?" owl. I don't get it, but every time I see it, I'm laughing. From the look of the owl's face to the spelling of the word "buttsecks", I'm laughing my ass off (pardon the pun) from the moment I see it. In fact, it's on my desktop right now. No joke.

Congratulations, "buttsecks owl".

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2005's "What the Fuck's That Smell?" Award

Probably the best story I've heard this year is when New York started smelling like pancakes. Only in a town like New York, a town that has a smell reminiscent of a decaying corpse, would the smell of hotcakes and maple syrup overtaking the city make news.

I thought it might have been some rogue, disallusioned pancake maker unleashing his vengance upon evil-doers across the isle of Manhattan. Some people thought it was a widespread case of MSUD, which would explain the disappearance of the regular "asparagus urine" smell New York usually touts. And of course, there were other theories















(via the brilliant minds over at Fark.com's maple syrup news forum).

Congratulations, Maple Syrup smell.

--To be continued--

I have heard the worst song I've ever laid ears on. It has happened.

While hanging out with Andy and Rusty and a couple of Rusty's friends, the topic of bad music came about. And the song we discussed was mentioned a couple of times this week on the internets.

I thought the worst song of the year was a lock for "Hollaback Girl" by Gwen Stefani. But it has been SOUNDLY beaten.

"My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I guess the Peas followed their own advice and "got retarded".

Really.
Fucking.
Retarded.

Even "Hollaback Girl", or "Jenny from the Block", or "Slave 4 U" (probably the top three BAD songs for the last five years) have some shred of musical integrity. They're all bad songs, sure, but they've got something else there once you get past the shitty concept. Good beats, a decent hook... what have you.

Once you get past the shitty concept with this song, you're still knee deep in shit.

Look, I know what they were going for. You've got a female singer that loves to gyrate around and shake her ass. You want to leverage off that? Okay, I'll buy that... It's not like songs haven't been written about such things before and done well (see Britney Spears' entire career aside from the few songs where she's talking about being a girl, not yet a woman).

But the lyrics of this song sound like they were written by a sixth grader.

"My Lovely Lady Lumps"? That's just disgusting.

Gravy has lumps. Mashed potatoes have lumps. When you talk about your "lady lumps", I don't want to take you home or buy you Dolce and Gabana, I want to take you to the doctor to get that shit checked out, girl.

You know what? The more time I spend on this song, the more popularity it gains. This song is not for good. It is for evil.

America needs an eight minute guitar solo right now, not "What you gonna do with all that ass / All that ass inside them jeans?".

So for the good of the children, stop thinking about it. (Although I know those of you who have heard it have it stuck in your head.) Stop talking about it. Nothing to see here...

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UPDATE (12/16/04)
As you may have found in the comments, "Wild Cherry Sara" has pointed out a ridiculous remix of a ridiculous song. Go get your asses love drunk of Fergie's hump.

And my boy over at Defective Yeti discussed the topic with his wife... almost the same conversation I had with my wife, K.

So, I haven't finished Few and Far Between yet. I had hoped to finish it by last night (Nov. 30) to get it in for NaNoWriMo, but I got stuck with some big projects at work, and then got horribly sick over the past few days. Plus, I wanted to make sure I didn't rush the last couple of chapters.

But a promise is a promise-- I said "See You in December", and so I'm going to maintain my posting here while I post on FAFB. I should be done with the novel within a few days (a week and a half at most), and I've created links to the different chapters if you fell behind or the blog format was too hard for you guys to read.

Anyway, funny shit forthcoming. Hold tight.