While we have been juggling stun guns on a limited scale for years, this was the first time we did nine in a three person passing pattern.  If you liked this, go to our YouTube Channel and "like" it, subscribe, comment, tell friends, etc.  

Thanks to Ryan Ouradnik for shooting and editing the video.  We would also like to extend a special thanks to the Korean ingenuity that allowed the production of such a low cost weapon that could still cause spontaneous voiding.  This makes up for the Kia.

First, I came upon an empty twelve-pack of Budweiser, "The King of Beers."  In reality, I understand that Budweiser is actually "The Ford Taurus of Beers."  By this I mean that it is widespread, readily available, thoroughly unimpressive, and what you buy when you're simply settling for something to get the job done in the most pedestrian manner possible.  Whoever drank this did it in a rapid, no-nonsense, workmanlike manner.  And it worked, because twenty feet later I found this...

Yep.  Durex "Bare" condoms...when Trojans are just too extravagant.  We have The Ford Taurus of Beers and the Stephen Baldwin of Condoms.  This litter is the by-product of the romantic atmosphere that can only be created by a night in Uptown, a twelve-pack of Bud, and the warm, sensual glow from the Super America.  Not only that, but notice that whoever was using these was thoughtful and sensitive enough to spit out their chewing gum.  That's the type of love Teddy Pendergrass would sing about.  And apparently it all worked out, because this was just a few feet away...

His and hers cigarettes.  Good night, Uptown.  Stay classy.

W. T. F?

I took this picture in a bathroom at the Memphis airport.  Words cannot describe the confluence of failures that went into the creation of this changing table infographic.  

Think of the number of people that had to sign off on this before it made it to market, and yet here we are with the single most disturbing representation of parent and child that any of us will ever see.  If you ever wonder why we can't balance the budget, maintain lasting peace, or put Lindsay Lohan in jail for more than four hours at a time, just look at this picture and realize that we, as a species, are doomed.  Dozens and dozens of people were involved in the creation of this, and yet this is how it ended up. It's not that we as a species couldn't do better than this, it's that we could and we still didn't.  This is the Two and a Half Men of bathroom signage; a widely distributed monument to underachievement designed for an indiscriminate audience.

"Our planned community will be entirely populated by families assembeld from kits sold by Ikea."

Yes, when they're not modeling for the cover shots of Baby Bjorn boxes, these poreless, alabaster automatons will be a constant reminder of your shortcomings.  

"Every day when you awaken, you will be paid a tribute of eight gingerbread men whose genitals have been frosted by local prom queens."

Because that's the American dream!

 "Construction would be finished already, but we hired this guy, and it's obvious he's never used his tools even once."

Look at him.  Everything he's wearing is brand new.  For some reason, he put his tools in his tool belt handles down, so when he needs them, he's going to pull them out by the wrong end.  He has two adjustable crescent wrenches, which is ironic because the adjustable crescent wrench was designed so you wouldn't have to carry a multitude of non-adjustable wrenches--much less two different adjustable ones.  He is carrying a tape measure over his crotch.  And on top of all this, he only owns a four-step step ladder, and the top one is not a step.  This guy is single-handedly responsible for every single construction delay in North America.  He is actually a less realistic representation of a contractor than Handy Manny.

Thus ends our exploration of Calhoun Square's horrible stock photos.  I actually had aseveral more, but I fear this series may be over-staying its welcome.  I hope you have enjoyed it while it has lasted.  

The series of pictures below is devoted to the awkward and forced depiction of diversity in corporate stock photos.  Let us begin...

"Once completed, our urban shopping center will attract non-threatening African American families in search of fibrous gourds."

I have spent roughly three hours of my life searching for one thing in this photo that makes sense.  Here are just a few of the questions the above photo raises:

1.  Why did they pick out the single, smallest pumpkin in the whole patch?

2.  Who puts on business casual attire to shop for agricultural goods?

3.  Why is the woman "Ricky Bobby-ing" with her left hand?

But wait, because this one is a two parter...

"We will offer flowers so beautiful, they will make you forget your children."

This photo was just mere steps away from the last one.  The two pictures tell a story...the story of a couple that found out they loved plants so much that they traded their only daughter for some easy to maintain ground cover.  Hemingway once said  his favorite story only contained the six words, "For sale:  baby shoes, never worn."  I believe this is the sequel.

Also, this couple apparently bursts into flame if they aren't smashed up against each other at all times.

"At our new restaurants, your food will be prepared by the finest underage Asian labor that Craigslist has to offer."

Apparently this situation occurs enough that someone actually manufactures child-size commercial aprons and chef hats.  Also, I don't care how good a baker this kid is, she needs to wipe that smug smile off her face.  Don't get cocky!  If you throw around too much attitude while you're cooking, your parents will trade you for a nice box of azaleas.

I have another round of these which I will probably post on Monday.  Until then, enjoy your sterile representations of idealized cultural commerce.

Here is how I interpret said photos:

"Once completed, you will all rejoice--although one of you will not be having as good a time as everyone else."

Yes, it appears the earthbound "Get-Me-Someone-Vaguely-Reminiscent-Of-Julie-Bowen" type on the right was clearly told this was a no-jump shoot, which is why she didn't wear flats ("They make me look squatty!").  She looks like she just got kicked in the back.

 "My new condo has Wi-Fi!  Too bad I can't afford a damn chair!"

I have actually seen this same stock photo used in at least two other places.  Whoever she is, she sure dressed up to sit on the floor.  It also makes me wonder what the hell she's celebrating.  Here are some possibilities:

1. "I just got my corn watered on Farmville!"  (Or whatever.  I don't play Farmville.  I find it ridiculous that there are more Americans who play Farmville than there are actual farmers.  Also, I have done work on a farm.  It sucks on a Grapes of Wrathian level.)

2.  "I booted!  They said I couldn't use a computer because I'm a girl, but they were wrong!"  (There is something ironically girl-power about this image.  For her to be celebrating whatever she is to this exent, it could only mean that no one thought she could do it.  Thus, her victory only reflects the inherent sexism of the image.  Deep enough for you?)

3.  "Thirty-three messages from J-Date!"  (I have no reason to believe she is Jewish or lonely, I just like the specificity of the reference.  Smile to yourself if you did, too.)

4.  "Someone is following me on Twitter!"  (She will be crushed when she finds out @frontierjusticerobot3000 is her mom.)

5.  "Express is lowering the waistline of their Editor pant!"  (It bothers me that I know what this means.)

"Enjoy shopping at our many, nameless shops with their logo-free bags, and bring the children you obviously kidnapped from people of other ethnicities!"

Look at that little girl in his arms and tell me she isn't looking for an escape route.  She is mentally texting an Amber Alert even as the United Colors of Benetton continue their unmotivated laughing spree.  She desperately needs to get away, as she has to get the shard to the Crystal before the Great Conjunction, otherwise the Skeksis will rule forever. (Bonus points to anyone who actually gets that little gem from my childhood.)

"Come experience the romance that only our restaurants and Jason Schwartzman in a wig can provide."

Come for the hair, stay for the Beatles boots.

"The new fitness center inspires me to work out...but, obviously, not enough.  I'm so lonely."

Look at the forced smile, the layered workout gear, the prominent use of black clothing with a contained white silhouette to provide an illusory waifishness.  This is a woman who is not happy with herself, and now she is not happy with herself for all eternity in a public arena where she must speak for women like her everywhere.  Godspeed, stationary bike woman.  Godspeed.

Check back soon for more of these.  Believe it or not, they get much, MUCH more bizarre.

"It wasn't steroids...I devoured the souls of those who opposed me."

This is a repost of an earlier entry, but it seemed fitting:

I've said this before, but I'm saying it again: I think professional sports should not only allow steroid use, I think they should make it mandatory. You know why? It's because I'm petty and bitter. If Alex Rodriguez is going to make that much money living my dream, I at least want the satisfaction of knowing his testicles have withered to the size of a craisin. And if I'm going to pay as much as I do to see a baseball or basketball or football game, I want those rich bastards pumped up on every performance enhancing drug known to man. For my money I want hundred yard passes, dunks from half court, and three-hundred mile per hour fastballs.  Why?  Because I've paid to see more than my fair share of really, really, crappy games.

So let's just accept the inevitable and tell pro athletes that they owe it to us to do whatever is necessary to make sure we're entertained.  I want a team of scientists working around the clock to turn the Matt Tolberts of the world into Justin Morneaus.  I want the Mark Madsens of the world juiced until they are hulking, Mormon power forwards of justice.  If there's a way to inject Peyton Manning with Plutonium, I want it done.  I say, "Baseball Fever--Shoot It Up!"

And is anyone else scratching their head wondering how we've heard nothing about steroids in the NFL?  Come on!  The average NFL player would qualify as a light duty truck in Europe.  I've seen linebackers with veins so large I could kayak inside them.  Who are we kidding?  Steroid use is so rampant in the NFL that if I watch more than two games on any given Sunday, I get back acne.

Besides, forcing our athletes to use steroids would have another benefit.  We want the comfort and security of having a chemical imbalance to blame when our sports heroes are done raping and murdering. That's why I'm calling for mandatory steroid use.  By the way, if Major League Baseball ever manages to end steroid use by players, their new slogan "Major League Baseball:  Prepare for Disappointment."

For those of you who are wondering, yes, that is in fact a robot in a stroller, and that guy is treating it as if it is a baby.  I briefly thought he might be using it as a ploy to pre-board, but such was not the case as he boarded with the rest of us.  I later watched him carry the robot past me on the plane.  The robot exclaimed, "Don't leave me hanging," as it dangled by one arm.  

When we landed, I walked past this same guy on the jetbridge as he carefully strapped the robot back into the stroller.  Meanwhile, two Japanese men stood staring at him from eight feet away and speaking in very concerned tones under their breath.  It was one of the strangest things I have ever seen, and I have been to numerous comic book conventions.

Possible explanations for this spectacle:

1.  Toy robot struck by lightning, becomes sentient, develops emotional bond with middle-aged man teaching him what it means to be human

2.  Actually an incredibly deformed human baby

3.  Techno-homonculous  (Get ready, Wikipedia.  I'm sending them your way.)

4.  Merely a bold ploy to smuggle heroin

5.  Dude is bats#%t crazy

Regardless, there you have it.  It just goes to show you, the world is much bigger and stranger than you can ever imagine.

Special thanks to John Sweeney for getting me a better picture than I was capable of obtaining with my archaic phone.

"Don't worry, guys. Soon we'll trade you, and then you'll immediately win a championship."

10.  The Season is Only 82 Games Long

Hooray!  Imagine if this were baseball and we had to play roughly nine thousand more games.  Wow, that would suck.  

9.  You Never Disappoint

Because we no longer have any expectations.  Unlike the Twins, Wild, and Vikings who typically put off their failures until late in the season or playoffs, you collapse proactively.  We don't have to wait for the Yankees to dash our hopes, because we have no hopes to dash.  Our hopes left with Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, Chauncey Billups, and so many others.  We have no need for hope, so we export it to other teams who know what to do with it.

8.  Compelling Storylines Distracted from Your Failures

The other possibility is that compelling storylines distracted you to the point that it caused your failure. Either way, people were much more interested in Miami and Chicago than in...where are the Timberwolves again?  Really?  Are you sure?  Okay, whatever.

7.  Missing Lots of Shots Makes Offensive Rebounding Easier

Show me a team that can't shoot or execute an offense, and I'll show you a team that puts some boards on the board.  Optimism is fun!

"What is this thing I am holding?! What should I do with it?! Why is everyone looking at me?!"

6.  You Are One of the Only Teams that can Make Darko Milicic Feel Good About Himself

On other teams, he would simply pretend to play basketball while actually being a fan with the best seats in the house.  In Minnesota, he averages nearly nine points per game!

5.  Since You're Not in the Playoffs, You Won't Have to be Beaten by the Same Team Four Times in a Row

Being beaten by the same team four times in a year is bad enough.  Being beaten by the same team four times in a row gives them a chance to get creatively hurtful with theri trash talk--the same way married couples do after many years of getting to know each other.

4.  You've Tried Enough Different Combinations of Players to Rule Out "Chemistry" as the Problem

You now know for a fact that you're just not that good.  

"No, don't go! You have to take me with you, KG!"3.  You've Still Got Kevin Love

He's a poor man's Chris Bosh!  

2.  Your Arena is Now Quiet Enough That You Can Concentrate

Fans will come to the last game of the season to finish their taxes!  Think of how much you'll be able to focus next year!  

1.  Next Year, You Will Have a Completely Different Team

You can make new friends!  Plus, we'll undoubtedly make some good moves in the offseason.  Oh, wait.

No, I am not Helena Bonham Carter, but thank you for asking.

International skinny jeans ambassador and monument to the economic viability of hyperactivity, Russell Brand starred in the top two movies of this weekend's box office.  In the top film, Hop, he portrayed a confection defecating and entirely secular symbol of Christ's resurrection. Coincidentally, in the number two movie, Arthur, he dug up the corpse of Dudley Moore and rode it like a toboggan.  

Let me first say that while I might possibly throttle the frenetic Mr. Brand if we were trapped together in an elevator, I enjoyed him thoroughly in both Forgettng Sarah Marshall and Get Him to the Greek, both of which featured his masterful portrayal of Russell Brand. These diverse roles have allowed him to reap the prerequisite benefits of international super-stardom:  fame, fortune and Katy Perry (I'm speaking of Katy Perry as a concept, not as a human being...which is the basis of her career anyway).  But rather than stopping there, Brand has lent his inexplicable anti-charisma to two movies that should never have been made, and their success will now lead to more cinematic abominations.

I don't blame Brand.  He is doing exactly what I would do:  cashing in.  Not only that, but I'm sure he's good in both films.  The problem lies with us, the movie-going public.  We are that girl in college who said she wanted a nice guy, but, when given the choice, instead dated her way through the entire Duke lacrosse team.  Thus, we are destined to to one day marry Transformers:  Dark of the Moon.  And when we do, Russell Brand will be the best man.  We reap what we sow.  We reap what we sow.