Cartoons and Pole Dancers

Saturday daytime television is, as I'm sure you are all aware, aimed at basically two types of people: children and sports fans.

Since, for the most part, I'm not a sports fan, and those sports I am a fan of, I prefer to watch in person, I don't spend a lot of time on Saturdays watching sports.

This of course, leaves cartoons.

Cartoons have changed a great deal since I was growing up. These days, it's about marketing. Okay, to be fair, it was when I was growing up, as well. Hell, I grew up in the era of the Smurfs.

I digress.

So I've been watching a great deal of this stuff today and I've realized that the marketing of toys to boys tends toward the somewhat violent or the somewhat constructive.

The marketing towards girls, however...

There's these...things...They call them dolls, but that's not really the most accurate description I can think of.

They're called Bratz and they teach young girls some very strange lessons (misspelling the word "brats" being the first.)

I remember people saying that Barbie was unnaturally proportioned. It is, of course, but these Bratz things make Barbie look like a fairly realistic depiction of a teen aged girl.

These things have a body which would, if translated to full human proportions, make Kate Moss look like an absolute porker. Sorry, but I'm pretty sure young girls get enough body image problems from actual living freaks of nature. I don't think it's really necessary to create a manufactured image that makes anorexics look somewhat chunky.

Then, there's the fact that these plastic mutations have a head roughly HALF THE SIZE OF THE REST OF THEIR BODY! On top of that, these things are always depicted in tight-fitting clothes (considering their body-type, I would have to image that a "life-sized" Bratz thing would have difficulty keeping Spandex from looking baggy), strutting along a stage and not serving any other purpose in life.

For this reason, I recommend calling these things what they actually are likely to inspire young girls to become: Tips-Only Strippers! now with LAP-DANCE ACTION!

The Heat Got to me Today

Up until recently, I'd been walking to work and home everyday, which is great exercise and let's me save a fortune on gas.

For various reasons, I've had to stop that for a while, which has been bothering me lately. So, this morning I decided to go back to walking.

First, I couldn't find my shorts. I didn't think this would be that much of a problem. After all, I knew it was going to be hot, but I've done this kind of walk before (five miles each way, by the way), so I figured I'd be okay in my jeans.

Then, when I was about a mile from home, I realized forgot to bring my cell phone with me. This is never a good thing to do when walking alone at four in the morning. Ah, well, no big deal.

So I got to work in time, which was fine. I was hot, tired and sweaty, but my office has a shower, so I cleaned up and went to work.

Of course, the thing I didn't take into account was the fact that it is much cooler in the morning (especially before dawn. Come time to go home, it was 103 degrees (110 with the heat index) and I was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans.

Allow me, at this point to explain that as stupid as I was, I was actually terribly lucky.

I got about half-way home and knew I wasn't going to make it by foot. There was a bus stop about a block and a half from where I made that decision, so I decided to get there and take the bus as close to my home as possible.

Unfortunately, I didn't make it that block and a half. I'm not really sure how many more steps I got, but the next thing I knew, there was a police officer crouched over me with a bottle of iced water. I had passed out (fortunately falling to the side of the road into a dirt shoulder) and he had been at the nearest corner. He saw me go down and was able to get to me quickly with the water. He was also nice enough to make sure I was okay and I didn't want to get to the hospital or anything, then gave me a ride home.

Needless to say, I was lucky. The route that I walk is very busy, traffic wise. Beyond the fact that there was someone right there who was able to get me the water as quickly as he did, if I had fallen in the opposite direction, I'd be dead right now.

So, for once, I was quite happy to wake up and see a cop standing over me.

And I'm not going to try that again until this fucking heat breaks.

The Wiki-Man

So, recently, for about 12 or so hours, The FWRN was listed in Wikipedia. It was a very cool feeling, while it lasted.

It was kind of like sex. I say that because when I first saw the article, I was naked, sweaty and out of breath.

Unfortunately, the deities of Wikipedia deemed our entry unworthy. It was with a bit of depression and a blind rage that I read the information that our entry was deleted for violating...The RULES!!!

Now, Wikipedia has it's rules, and that's fine. It's their site, so they make the call. My issue is the nature of the rules our entry supposedly violated. It was considered "Spam" and lacking "Notability".

The entry was an informational page about the FWRN. Yes, it did have links to our web page. Of course, so does, say, The Fox News entry. I fail to see the difference, as neither was an advertisement.

As far as notability, I'll admit, they may have a point. After all, we're a new network, and we're an online presence. It's not like we've had any notable guests on our network, like a best-selling author or, say, a Presidential candidate, so I suppose they have a point.

Time to Get a Second Specialty

It has come to my attention, yet again, that people are fundamentally stupid.

I was driving down the road and happened to see a truck pass. It belonged to a cleaning company (I don't remember the name of the company), but what most struck me was the sign on the side of the thing:

"We get your Garmets like new"

Now, I'm not an ad man or anything, but I'm pretty sure that one should probably run a spell check on your stencil BEFORE you run the paint through it.

Apparently, The Martians Wish to be Left Alone

No, It's Not the Drugs...

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I've threatened to do this before, but now, I can legally do this:

I am officially announcing my candidacy for President of the United States in 2008.

Some will ask what my platform is. Well, it is, at the moment, a work in progress. Here's what I have so far:

1. If elected, the military will never again have a shortage of bunnies.

2. I will guarantee some pot for every chicken.

3. If elected...Spirographs for Everyone!

4. I will appoint Adam West ambassador to the UN, however, I would require that he wear the Batman costume...for...national security.

So, that's all I have right now, but I'll be coming up with more soon.

In the mean time, I will be hitting the trail. First stop will be tomorrow in Snodgrass, Alabama where I will be providing free abortions to everyone...even the men.

Until then, remember:

A vote for Damien Darko is a vote for Ponies!

Nashville Nightlife

In order to understand the story of the rest of my evening, you need to know that, for dinner, I made what I refer to as a "Mystical Pizza". This is not to be confused with a Mystic Pizza (the movie, by the way, was based on an actual pizza restaurant in Mystic, Ct. which does have, easily, the greatest pizza in history. If you get there, try their BBQ chicken pizza.)

A mystical pizza is, essentially, a pizza made with as high a quality...herbal content in the sauce and some very special mushrooms.

So, for dinner, I had one of these and washed it down with a few glasses of absinthe. This has, basically, put me in a very interesting state of mind (a state which can best be described as Las Vegas meets Disney World during the French Revolution), which I have been enjoying out on my front porch with a well packed bowl and listening to the various insects.

This, naturally, is where it all started to go strange.

As I sat there on the porch, the crickets, cicadas and..well, whatever the hell else hangs out in the incredible heat of night here in Nashville seemed not just to be having a discussion, but they were taking on a bit of a..rhythm. It was familiar...

Haunting...

Timeless..

New Wave...

Amazingly enough, the various insects and night creatures of Nashville had broken out into a cover version of Soft Cell's rendition of Tainted Love.

I am Better Than God

I live in the "Buckle of the Bible Belt", which is a bit of a nightmare, being a Zen Buddhist and an atheist. A few years back, in a neighbouring area, some judge who was apparently unfamiliar with the Constitution decided to put up a huge granite monument to the ten commandments. Those who told him he should obey the law were told that we thought we were "better than God", which did strike some people wrong. Then, I got to thinking...I AM better than God. Here's just a few ways I am better than God:

1. I can prove my own existence. I am a quantifiable mass in space-time.

2. I am willing to discuss any problems I may have with you WITHOUT raining fire and brimstone on your head. Rational people discuss, irrational people destroy (Take note, Bush).

3. I do not demand unwavering loyalty. In fact, the last thing I want if for people to follow my lead without questioning the wisdom of it. Let's face it: I'm an idiot, and I abhor toadies.

4. I answer questions anyone asks me and I do it in a clear, concise manner without requiring the combustion of a shrub for assistance.

5. I've never killed another human being, nor has another human being ever been killed in my name.

All work and no play makes Damien a dull boy.

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The Only Cool Sci-Fi Geek in History

Why the Hell am I Awake?

As I type this, I'm acutely aware of the fact that it is 6:45 on a Saturday morning. There is no reason in the world why I should still be awake at this time. I should e sleeping off come-down.


That's it. No joking in this entry. I'm too bloody tired.

Speed Racer and My Lexicon

Several years ago, Cartoon Network used to air old episodes of Speed Racer. As a young guy with barley enough money for pizza and mind-twisters, I had to keep my priorities straight, and so my roommate and I spent a lot of time watching Cartoon Network and trying to make the shows more interesting.

I remember very little of that time, especially the 3:00 AM bouts of watching Speed Racer, but I do remember the high amusement factor of the American cast trying to make poorly translated dialogue sound exciting. The two most memorable examples:

"The car's going to fast! I have to find the brakes and use them!"

"You're the most dangerous man I've ever met...and your WACKY!"


Ah, the simple joys of horrible dialogue, vicious insomnia and straight nitrous oxide...

Due to Technical Difficulties...

This entry serves no actual purpose. Please ignore it.

What The Hell Happened to Us?

Maybe I'm just getting old, but I seem to remember a time where Americans celebrated achievements of the mind.

We are, after all, the country that gave birth to the telephone, the television. the light bulb, the phonograph, the airplane, even the bloody space shuttle.

We're the country of Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. We're the country of Kurt Vonnegut and Will Rogers.

Within the last few decades, though, we seem to have taken an about face on the intellectual parade route, taking a sharp turn into the Bataan death march toward a Darwinian dead-end of cerebral stagnation.

We went from living in a society where we were driven to send a man to the moon because no one had done it before to being a nation where being called a "brainiac" is actually considered an insult.

Now, I don't pretend to have any idea what brought about this pathetic state of mindless, but it has been a steady downhill charge for almost as long as I can remember (which, given the current state of our country, is becoming a shorter and shorter period of time). It may have something to do with our media outlets (not just news, mind you, but everything.) We've been getting a stream of entertainment coming to us playing to the lowest common denominator, which just keeps getting lower and lower.

Blue Collar Comedy? What the fuck is this all about? These are people who are getting paid to tell fart jokes and it's one of the most popular comedic phenomena in years.

Nascar? A bunch of guys driving around in circles very fast. This is about as intellectually stimulating as watching lead paint flake off into your morning cereal.

With all of this going on, I suppose it should be no surprise that we would eventually elect one of the Three Stooges as our president.


I'm just dumbfounded by the fact that we chose Shemp.

Why You Should never Trip While Watching The Colbert Report

Time to Cool off in Hell

Well, those of you who aren't convinced of climate change really need to spend some time here in Nashville.

As I type this, the weatherman tells me that it's 100 degrees right now. As with everything the weather forecasters around here say, it's a total lie.

Looking out my window right now, I see the cars in the parking lot won't be leaving anytime soon, as the tires seem to have fused themselves to the blacktop. If you think this is an exaggeration, well, you may be right. It's hard for me to tell, since the heat is causing my brain to stop functioning right.

Oh, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking: Hey, what are you complaining about? Don't you have air conditioning? Well, yeah, I do. When I left home this morning, shortly before sunrise it was 81 degrees in my house WITH THE AIR CONDITIONING RUNNING FULL TILT!!!

I have this vision floating around in my over-heated brain of getting home and finding all my food pre-cooked. That'll save me some trouble, I suppose.

Until then, however, I'm stuck here...


Waiting it out...

Trying to subtly un-glue my balls from my leg.

The Eternal Question

"How do Daleks stay so slim?"

Random Political Thought

Is it just me, or do these two look like they were separated at birth?

Frightening Corporate Mascots

So, I'm watching TV (as I often do), and I'm struck by the frightening imaged some companies use to push their products.

Take, for example, Jack in the Box.

This is a six foot man in a business suit who has a perfectly round, cardboard head with a pointy clown hat and dead, dead eyes. Every time this thing comes on the TV, I find myself reliving some twisted, childhood nightmare.

And while I'm on the topic of fast-food mascots, am I the only one who comes close to vomiting when the "Burger King" comes on with his plastic face in unmoving rictus grin? I swear, he looks like he's getting ready to feast on the flesh of an infant.

I know for a fact that guy from Verizon Wireless is plotting my death.

Geico can't decide how to freak me out more: with a British lizard or with yuppie neanderthals. Both tend to cause flashbacks to Woodstock. For the record, I've never been to Woodstock (at least, not to the best of my knowledge.)

I suppose it's my own fault for exposing myself to this crap, but frankly, I refuse to let them win. I will NOT let them make me deal with reality.

Random Thought

Why is it called "taking a shit", when you're not actually taking anything, but rather, you're leaving something behind?

The Gospel According to George A.

Okay Christians, don't read any further. You're already convinced I'm going straight to Hell, and far be it from me to drag you down with me if you enjoy this.

Pilate washed the blood from his hands and sealed the fate of the Lord Jesus Christ.


Broken, bent and beaten, Jesus began the long walk with his cross amoung the stones and jeers of the collected Romans and Jews, taunting the Messiah as he stumbled thrice on the road to Golgotha.

And they tied his wrists and nailed his palms to the cross, erecting the massive wooden structure and letting him hang until dead.

In his anguish, the Lord cried out "My God! Why hast thou forsaken me?" and he passed unto death.

In the night, his disciples lowered him from the cross and entombed him in a cave on the mountain, sealing the entrance with a large boulder to prevent those who would defile the body of the Messiah.

Upon the third day, they returned to find the boulder moved and the burial shroud in a corner. They were afraid and angry. They went to the town to find those who had defiled the crypt and stolen the Lord.

On the road, in the morning's light, they happened upon a figure, walking naked with hair flowing. As they drew near, they knew it was he who is the Lord.

Simon-Peter ran to the Lord to embrace him.

And the lord said unto him "BRAINS...", and lo, did the Lord take a large bite out of Simon-Peter's skull.

A Random Thought

What is the problem with having your cake and eating it, too? I hear that it's impossible, but I find it very simple. Just sit there (or stand, lay down, or what have you) with the cake, then when you get bored, eat the damn thing.

Unless they mean " have your cake" in a sexual sense, in which case, it's still possible, but a little disgusting.

Bloody Content Filters

For the first time, I have been thwarted by the filters on the Blog Talk Radio site. I don't normally shit where I eat, so I won't tell them to go thwart themselves, since they actually give me a venue to spout my odd thoughts without calling the FBI.

Anyway, if you look on my segment information for next week's show, you'll see I gave it the somewhat innocuous title of "The Dark Side of Naughtiness". That's because, apparently, I'm not allowed to promote the show on BTR with any of the following words:

Porn
Porno
Pornography
Nubile
Sex
Naked
Nude
Horse-fucking
Dirty Sanchez
Rim Job
Cum shot
Bukakke
Johnson-jizz
Blue-balls
Nut Juice
Spooge
Lolita
Tie-me-up-and-fuck-me-with-a-lit-candle

So, I had to settle for naughtiness.

It just doesn't have the same "punch", you know?

These Kids are Killing my Buzz

Since I refuse to go on air without thoroughly researching my topic of the week, I've been up all night researching the topic of drugs. This basically equates to trying to figure out what combinations of pills, powders and potables go well together (Note: while ether is EXTREMELY amusing to inhale, provided you don't mind losing control of any bodily functions, it is my professional opinion that you should avoid drinking the stuff, especially if used to wash down little blue pills with an E pressed into them. I'll let you figure out what that means.)

In the quest of true scientific knowledge, I am spending the time I'm not actively trying to change reality to fit my whims, I'm watching Cartoon Network (What the hell else am I supposed to be doing, other than repeatedly soiling my pants and wondering how I'm going to plug the holes in my walls left by the numerous crossbow bolts I've fired through the night before my flatmate comes home.)

In the middle of what currently passes for an episode of The Transformers (which, I believe is going by the title Transformers: We're not Even Trying Anymore), an ad comes on for something called Kids Bop, though it does have some number after it.

For those of you who have never experienced the teeth-on-a-chalkboard experience of one of these ads, let me explain it to you:

There is a group of pre-and-meta-pubescent ankle-biters singing along with what passes for pop music, looking like I probably do right now (meaning twitching, drooling and covered in my own filth), and trying to sell you a CD of this.

As disturbing a concept as this seems to be, it's worse than you think.

As I said, there's a number after the title of this thing, something along the lines of Kids Bop 243, which leads me to the even more frightening aspect of this concept.

People are actually buying this crap!

Somewhere, someone saw these rejects from The Mickey Mouse Club, and thought "Hey! That looks like something I want to listen to!"

Now, I live in Nashville, which means that I am exposed to musical root canals on a daily basis. As irritating as country music is, especially if its country music that's so bad even country music radio stations wouldn't touch it, I've always rested easy in the thought that at least the screeching cacophony wasn't being howled at me in my living room by some genetic error who just hit the "cracking voice" phase of hormonal imbalance.

Sadly, I've no longer any safe place. If it weren't for the fact that my legs appear to have gotten up and gone out to the kitchen for a ham sandwich without me, I would probably be picking through the remains of my TV for the remains of my laptop. Fortunately, (I suppose) I'm unable to walk right now.

Ah, well.

Time to test a mixture of Oxycontin, peyote, black-tar and Excedrin PM.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Crazy

Tomorrow night's show is going to be about drugs.

No real surprise, there.

Oh, wait, ABOUT drugs, not FUELED BY drugs.

Sorry, I got confused.

Actually, it's going to be about pot, specifically.

There was a report released recently where they linked pot smoking to an increased risk of psychosis. (By the way, I don't link to shit on this blog. If you don't know about something I post, look it up. I'm not a fucking search engine.) Allow me to state, for the record, that study is complete crap.

Any long-time listener to my show will recall that I am hebephrenic. And if you don't recall that, it may be because I may not have mentioned it on air. Actually, thinking about it, I may have only mentioned it in passing to Juan Carlos, the demon living in my office elevator. Anyway, that is only a side-point.

The real point is that I am, by definition, psychotic. I hide that fact well prefacing most of my work conversations with the disclaimer "Hold on a sec, I need to say something to the pygmy antelope taking a shit on your head."

I've lived with this for as long as I can recall (around lunch-time, I think) and I've often looked for effective ways of dealing with it. I had a psychiatrist recommend pot to me. I never could figure out why, maybe just to keep me calm, who knows.

So, yes: I have smoked marijuana, and yes, I did inhale.

To be honest, I find pot to be exceptionally boring, though fairly relaxing. It never really helped with my psychosis, though.

In the interest of letting fellow hebephrenics out there know the best way to deal with their conditions, I offer the following treatment.

2 fully louched pilsner glasses of absinthe (Yes, I do mean pilsner glasses, and I am talking about REAL absinthe. Tough to get, but worth it.)

About half a dozen "magic" mushroom caps. (Don't bother with the stems. Save them for an emergency)

3 cups of peyote tea

5 hits of high-quality blotter.

3 shots of NyQuil.

Have this with breakfast and you will find your day to be FAR more interesting.

More helpful tips like this will be coming soon.

Damien's Blather and Such.

Yes, I am the Reverend Damien Darko.

I'm the host of The Dark Side (which is, coincidentally enough, the title of this blog thingie.), and I will admit to being egotistical enough to name my show and blog after myself.

While the show is mostly political (though not entirely), this blog will be whatever crosses my twisted, little mind.

I won't promise this is going to make any bloody sense...


But, then again, I won't promise to care if it make sense, either.