Projection: Dane Cook sucks

Dane Cook's Vicious Circle premiered on Comedy Central tonight at 10 pm. Here, at 10:04 p.m., which is the same as about 1% precincts reporting, I am ready to project that Dane Cook sucks*.

So in the first two minutes, he is introduced like a rock star, with the stage in the middle of the arena, not unlike Backstreet Boys' last successful tour. There are two giant hands making a gesture that apparently is Cook's thing or something.

Judging by crowd cut-aways, his audience is 80% female. And his first joke is talking about he's lying to his friend about coming to his party even though he already knows he isn't going to go.

Two minutes later (this is two minutes after I've projected he's not funny), he uses the word "Mezazoic Era" in a joke. As a general rule, no word is funny with more than three syllables, especially when it's an unnecessary use. I suspect he decided to use this word in an attempt to sound educated. Okay, it's 10:12 and its the first commercial break. I will now spend the next week of my life trying to figure out why people think he is funny. I think I will actually record it, so I can study it and come up with a thesis.

My working hypothesis is Dane is the guy in college who is really popular, is always the center of attention and everyone laughs at his very low-brow jokes, but you can never really pinpoint how he got to this level.

This is my first impression of Dane Cook, but it is not the last.

*I've never seen Dane Cook stand-up comedy, which many may view as strange, but I think I was out of the country when he rose to stardom. Either that or I just haven't jumped into MySpace as deeply as I should.

I Know What Girls Like...

Douche bags.

No, I’m not referring to a new line of brand-name designer carrying accessories. It’s becoming increasingly apparent to me that in this age of sex tapes and rehab most women my age out there are more often than not fast becoming the arm candy of society’s cretins.

When I mean cretin I mean an individual with all or a varied combination of characteristics including tribal tattooed arms and calves, unkempt facial hair, diamond-studded bling on the ears, a GED, and a penchant for acts of belligerence when drunk. I define the typical douche bag as being the sort of asshole chump who makes assumption prior to facts; a person who can’t think without the aid of propaganda or is still reliving his high school years well into his twentysomething age. This person may also have an aspired but deluded drive towards a career in hip-hop music. Think Po Po Zao himself, Kevin Federline.



I’ve always presumed that most girls tend to gravitate towards the rich, the famous, the career-oriented, or the well-endowed. These are the parameters that the world I grew up with had prescribed. Rationally, it makes sense – you work hard and you’re rewarded for it with “pussy karma.” Donald Trump is a figure sculpted from this mold – the man’s dated, married, fucked, and divorced some of the most beautiful women in their time. As much loathed as his attempts to hide his receding hairline with that odd comb-over is, the Donald has earned the right to get private unpaid handjob sessions from his uber-hot wife, Melania Knauss.

That’s why I’m perplexed, and downright miffed that some gorgeous girls out there are falling for dudes that wear pants five sizes too big for them and wear their New York Yankees cap sideways, or show up at some wannabe nightclub with too much gel in their hair and chest hair. They’re like male porn stars without the porn career, and thus they don’t have an excuse for their trashiness.

What’s a girl’s incentive for dating a guy whose career trajectory will ultimately lead to becoming the senior beer delivery guy? For all I know these douche bags are holding onto a spectacularly powerful dating secret. Why else would they command the affection of any human being despite being utterly repulsive in behavior and appearance?

I think in our modern era – in a post-feminist, post-sexual revolution point in time – women have developed an affinity towards the loser. I don’t think this is a Florence Nightingale reaction; girls aren’t fucking out of pity. Rather, I think it empowers them to be with a male companion whom they have total control and influence over. They are enjoying sexual and social entitlement – something that men were taking advantage for eons.

I went through high school and college as a nerd believing that somewhere at the end of that tunnel a light will come glaring through directing me towards hot pussy. Instead, I’m at that endpoint with a college degree in hand, a burgeoning career, and a nice collection of two hundred dollar Italian-made jeans, and yet while driving by Sunset Boulevard I constantly view beautiful women escorted by douche bags. The view in this light is blinding.

To be honest, I can’t fully understand why so many douche bags are hooking up with the hot chicks. Does their mass appeal stem from them simply being a different breed? Is being a loser suddenly an aphrodisiac? I figure that it must be an extension of the old adage that, “Good girls like bad boys.” I guess we’re witnessing the notion that “Good girls like douche bags.”

Good idea: Sun worship

by Brandon Tucker

Can someone explain to me when the majority of modern-day societies acquired enough evidence to determine God is in fact NOT The Sun?

In recent millenniums, humans have made faith entirely too complex. Though religion has helped bring hope and meaning to billions of lost souls, ideology has been the root of a majority of the world’s conflicts.

There were times in this world where humans would bow to the sun as it set and pray that it would arise in the morning. With no certainty The Sun would ever return, each morning was a precious gift.

Today, we take The Sun for granted. We’ve also been led to believe by scientists that the sun doesn’t have a soul. All it is, we’re told, is a perfectly-placed star. We’re also told it will burn for another 5 million years (suffice to say if we were told no one really has any idea how long the sun will be around, we probably wouldn’t pay our taxes).

Perhaps we haven’t recognized The Sun’s higher state of being because we are not advanced enough to recognize it. Maybe we’re so deadest on the fact God probably looks coincidentally akin to Santa Claus, speaks English and demands we don’t eat certain fruit that we don’t believe our maker is a different compound of matter.

All the nukes in the world wouldn’t be able to put a dent in the sun. Suffice to say that if the sun ever wanted to end our civilization, it could do so with its equivalent of a sneeze.

We should be fearing The Sun far more than any devil. The sun might not care if you covet your neighbor’s wife.

But it also never asks that you spend your weekend going door-to-door trying converting babysitters. The sun won’t scam us out of a paycheck, sexually abuse your kids or brainwash you into blowing yourself up on a bus.

That’s because the Sun doesn’t sweat the small stuff like sex, politics and economy. The sun only asks you to worry about your basic needs of existence, and keeping the beauty and uniqueness of Earth in tact.

Maybe if we tried to keep our pursuit as simple as the sun intended, life wouldn’t be so complicated.

So at the next U.N. meeting, leaders should all agree to do away with organized religions and revert back to the simplicity of sun worship (whose earthly form is of course Al Gore).