Hello Darkness! The Official Blog of Helen Keller

Folks,

Here's a smattering of things left from topics past which somehow slipped past my attention like a greased and terrified child escaping Kelsey Grammer's hosue.

In Pre-Packaged Humour there's also this little gem: Thanks for sharing!

Fanaholics, the instant somebody uses this, you've got to be on guard to give the utterer either a quick but devastating clothesline or hurl a buzzsaw hat at them Oddjob style. For you younger kids, a sharpened hat Kung Lao style. Essentially, this little canned jokeadoo is a pert dismissal. It takes what you've just said, be it that Lando Calrissian deserves at least a half-day during Black History Month or social conservatives should be spray painted bright pink for the easy identification by others or you've simply complained that somebody should have invented a way to make those energy barriers a la a Tron light cycle come out from behind a car long before now. And then some douche takes your perfectly good idea and ruins it with a big three-log dump with a quick, "Thanks for sharing!" The best way to force this retard out of stealing your spotlight is to engage in a game of rhyme-time. Don't worry, you'll still be playing off of the other person's hypocrisy, but you'll be doing it in a rather cheeky way. When somebody dismisses you with a "Thanks for sharing!" you wait a beat and toss back, "Thanks for caring." You'll catch them off guard, I guarentee and they'll be forced to think on their feet. Much like Mel Gibson caught off guard and forced to do a mental quickstep, they'll fuck it up big time. Otherwise, they wouldn't have gone for the pre-packaged material in the first place, now would they? They may say, "I don't care" to which you could say something like, "I like your hair." Your rhymed retort doesn't have to logically follow the thread of the conversation at all. Just keep up the same cadence of missing a beat before you throw it back and try to have your response mimic their's in the number of beats.

You may even get a budding Einstein who will try to say something that ends in a non-able-to-be-rhymed word like purple. This is your golden opportunity to illustrate to them that the tables have turned and you're still large and in charge. Press a finger to your lips to shush them and then use your best parent phrase for quieting an errant child. I like "Okay, the adults are having their conversation again..." This usually ends things, but you'll laugh until you shit yourself if the person does revert to a child-like mentality and throws a social tantrum. Feel free to keep the game going or just end it all with a closed-fist straight punch to their lip, twisting at the hip for maximum power.

I thought of a pretty good offshoot from the Gang-stalking Minutes one:

Okay, guys, next Tuesday we'll be having Carl Fennings from the CIA here for his "The Crippling Use of Doubt" bear-pit session....or will we? Ha ha ha, just a little joke for the old MK Ultra crowd in the house...or was it? Fine, fine, we'll move on.

In The Things What Not Awesome the following items were missed:

Dale Earnhardt Fuck. End the obsession with a hick NASCAR driver with the mushed up head. You don't see Formula 1 fans buying up commemorative plates for Aryton Senna (even though the plate would resemble the final resting shape of Senna's head...) You don't see shoddy acrylic pictures of Senna as an angel looking down over race tracks. This is entirely out of whack with what the man did during his life. He made continual left turns, but aggressively and with no turn signal. While this would be par for the course for your average Toronto driver, it doesn't make him special.

Sudden death seems to impart an immediate Sainthood on people unrelated to their actions on Earth. Somehow, if a celebrity drops dead, is killed through the course of their own actions or has a congenital organ failure, their importance is to be blown waaaaaaaaaaaaay the fuck out of proportion. When John Ritter's heart blew on the set of his crappy show, the leech entertainment shows fell all over themselves gushing about the genius of Ritter's comedy. One even went so far as to call him America's Jester. Why? Because he fell over a fucking couch on a sitcom a bunch of times? You want to see America's new Jester? Head on over to any senior's residence 10 minutes before they dole out the pills and you'll see Jester's falling down all over the place, also with the improvised added hilarity of dumping in their own pants. His movies blew, and yes, for you Billybob Thornton fans, Slingblade sucked too. Notice how this got him a pity invite for Bad Santa?

To John Ritter's misguided fans, my heart goes out to you. Much like John Ritter's heart went out on him. Rimshot!

Anyway folks, I'm just doing some mental house-cleaning and dumping the following items before returning with all new material. Think of me as the forum equivalent of the Blue Jays.