Pat: The Magazine for Guys

Things That Blew My Mind Watching 7 Minutes of Ping-Pong

1. Someone called time-out. How do you know when to strategically burn one? When your glass of Tang is almost empty? When the Jiffy Pop on the stove slows to 2-3 seconds between kernel pops? When "Taxi" comes back on from commercial?

2. I watched women's singles, which means there must be doubles. How the fuck do you know whether it's your ball or your partner's? "Sorry dude, that was totally on my side of the white line, I guess with only four square-feet of playing surface, I just didn't have time to see."

3. Mention was made of one of the players "crying her eyes out" over a previous loss. If you shed a single tear over table tennis, foosball, bags, lawn darts, or tiddly-winks, I would love to play you in air hockey.

Track and Field: Still Boring

Remember in the Illiad, how Paris won the hand of the beautiful Helen of Troy by beating two other guys in the 40-yard dash?** There was something really at stake in that race: the coveted pink medal. In the more discreet modern age, we can't use sexual prizes to liven things up, but we can fatten the kitty by putting the participants' own personal safety at risk. Here are just a few suggestions:

1. Random Hurdles. The current set-up is too obvious, it's like having x-ray vision at the blackjack table. To level the playing field on behalf of the helpless obstacles, the hurdles will rise and fall at random. Failure to predict the pop-ups will result in a crowd-pleasing face-plant, but the real daredevils will occasionally run straight at one that's been erect awhile, gambling that it will retract at the last second, and if they're right... Wheaties box.

2. Baton Relay--Hot Potato Version. Same rule as normal, but the batons will all be heated to near-melting temperatures on a bed of hot coals prior to the starter pistol. How much do you really love your country, blister-wise?

3. Inclusion of Large and/or Poisonous Predators Native to the Hosting Country. Whether you're holding a javelin, discus, or shot, the choice is the same: throw it for distance and temporary glory on the medal stand, or use it as a weapon against the panda bear rumbling toward you with teeth bared?

***LIVE*** Hula Hoop Exotic Dance

I don't know what this is actually called (the TV's on mute) but it's a lot like if a stripper replaced the pole with a big plastic ring and tried to do really fast ballet while dressed like a magician's assistant. I am horny now. Wait a minute, this next girl has two bowling pins instead of the hoop. And now there's a Ukrainian hooker with a ribbon. They have mastered a lot of disciplines and now apparently each get their own specialty weapon like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I really hope this entire event is improvised by the athletes, because the thought of someone choreographing and practicing this will keep me from sleeping tonight. Ok, it says at the bottom of the screen now it's called "Rhythm Method Gymnastics." Omfg, if I don't get to fuck this Spanish girl my entire life will have been wasted.

***LIVE*** portion ends

There are Too Many Swimming Events

Obviously, I didn't watch any, but I did see Michael Phelps on the cover of Sports Illustrated with like eight gold medals. That means there are at least eight races, which is seven too many. Condense all of them into one big sprint, everyone in the pool, whoever reaches the other side first wins, and the sad-sacks who devote their evenings to watching this fuck-fest will have five extra hours to watch some real sports, like extreme speed-walking.

Who is the Hottest Female Volleyball Player?

2004 presented me with a real conundrum: Kerri Walsh or Logan Tom? Whose net do I want to violate? Who would I rather back-court spike? Which is worth coming up with a third double-entendre for, using a sport with such few specific terms? By the closing ceremonies, however, it was obvious. Walsh had earned beach gold, and top-billing in about a week's worth of fantasies. Four years later, can Logan usurp her position? Let's look at the tale of the tape: They are both flat as adult women can get, or what my 2nd grade gym teacher affectionately referred to as "a carpenter's dream." Although this isn't a problem, it doesn't give either of them an edge. Logan has the decisive advantage in terms of "pure prettiness," with her dark, soulful eyes, exotic brown hair, and delectable pouting lips, trumping Kerri's classically wholesome, girl-next-door, blonde cuteness. Kerri stands a terrifying 6' 3", two inches taller than Logan's imposing 6' 1". Logan chews gum*** during the match and is constantly pancaking (aka: Slip n' Slide) her entire body, even when the ball seems to be out of play. She is extremely hot. But it comes down to overall superiority. Kerri only needs one teammate, plays with the fucking sun in her eyes, wears a bikini, and repeated as gold medalist. Therefore, she has the better genetic makeup for breeding and is the victor in this sexy clash of the titans. Also, both of Logan Tom's names are typically reserved for dudes, which is just weird.

Runners-up: 3. Milena Rosner, Poland--Unrelenting even when her team was getting a beat-down, this girl has moxie, something I feel is lacking in sexist essays about athletics. 4. Brazilian #3--Never saw her face because the cameras kept zooming in on her ass, which was hands-down the best of the best in '08. If its design could be duplicated by the automotive industry, car safety as we know it could be changed forever. 5. U.S. setter Lindsey Berg--the other rear end of the spectrum from the Brazilian, this girl's junk in the trunk looks like it would be better used as a military weapon, not a safety device. Good for her.

Is It Wrong to Jack Off During Girls' Gymnastics?

Especially with uneven bars routines becoming increasingly sexually suggestive, and new information coming to light that no one on the Chinese team has even reached middle school, this hottest of the hot-button issues must be addressed. We've all been there, sitting alone naked on the couch, slurping up expired lime Jello, watching some shiny spandex-clad Romanian Lolita's taut buttocks as she does backflips on the balance beam. We must ask ourselves, are we glued to the set because we are hoping to see history made as one of them slip and land on their head, providing us with a minimum thirty seconds of laughter and a vague sense of superiority, is it really because our copy of Barely Legal Vol. 9 has been eaten and won't eject from the VCR? None of the girls are actually being molested or are even naked. Some of them aren't even minors. But isn't sinning in your heart the same as committing an actual crime? The only way to know for sure is if my friend Chris says so in the comments section. If he doesn't check the site this week, well then you're going to hell for sure, murderer.

*Of the 45 total minutes I watched

**I don't remember if it was Paris, Helen, or the Illiad, but I know some Greek myth had this plot device

***Tobacco? They didn't show her spitting anything onto the court, so I'm assuming it was Juicy Fruit or Orbit

(For more olympic action, check out Winter Olympics Coverage... Live!* What Went Wrong?)

Pitchfork Music Fest Fashion Report!

Summer Olympics Wrap Up!

Baraboo, Wisconsin: The Ultimate Tour Guide!

Chicago Bears Camp Updates…
That time of year is already here. It’s hard to realize, especially since I’ve been in a cave for several months in fear that Y2K actually did happen and nobody was going to realize it until this year. But you don’t need to hear my fucking problems, you want to know what is going on with the Bears Training Camp. Here goes:


Comcast Hispanic Day Not Living Up to My Expectations
Now maybe I am just a dreamer, but when I envisioned Comcast Hispanic Day at Chicago Bears Training Camp there were mariachi bands, churros, and Green Bay piñatas. Reality: a little Comcast tent that had a gal that looked like she might be able to talk Spanish and a tent from La Ley (107.9 FM*). And to make matters worse, I really didn’t see all that many people celebrating everything Comcast deemed Hispanic. Perhaps Comcast should have invested more in the Chicago Fire Training Camp. Marketing 101: know your fucking audience.

Port-A-Johns Surprisingly Pleasant
When the temperature outside is eighty-five degrees, the temperature inside a port-a-john is topping a hundred. Anytime any enclosed area that holds human waste gets heated to triple digits chances are the ambiance will be disastrous. This was a fact I wholeheartedly believed until I had to spend some time in an accessible port-a-john last Sunday afternoon. I cannot adequately describe the scent of the of the portable toilet, but neutrally pleasant may be one phrase I‘d choose. Even if you don’t like football, this phenomenon is worth checking out.

Robbie Gould Shouldn’t Be Driving A Golf Cart
You figure the team’s all-star kicker would have a light foot. Those seeing him pull away on one of the golf carts would have you believe otherwise. As Robbie made a speedy turn away from the fans some of the trainer’s supplies tipped over onto the practice field. The crowd roared. Why? Well, because watching a football team practice, even a pro team, isn’t really all that exciting. You might get two or three moments where something seems kind of cool, but you’re basically just watching drills and half-hearted playing. What disenchanted me most about the Robbie Gould/golf cart debacle was he didn’t even help clean the stuff he spilled. Has all this kicking fame gotten to his head? Would he be able to last five minutes at a Comcast Hispanic Day at the Chicago Fire Camp? You, fuckos, make the call.

Middle-Aged Stocky Guy Bosses Around Players

He looked like any other late-40s fucko ready for the golf course, but this guy was on the field imparting wisdom to guys twice his size. Even if the only football he played was the pee-wee league when he was a high schooler, this guy had something the football players needed. Let this be a lesson to the kids that will never grow that extra foot and hundred-fifty pounds: you could still get on the field if you pretend to know what you’re doing even if you never actually did it.

Mom in Training Had it with the Kid She Was Watching
So some tween gal was taking a kid estimated between 5 and 8 years old to the aforementioned port-a-johns. The kid, obviously not learned in the concept of waiting in line, headed straight for the toilets. The gal tried stopping and explaining to him that a bunch of other people were waiting to void their wastes. The kid started making a scene and dropped to the ground. The tween, exploding with exasperation, pulled the kid back to his feet and dragged him away promising to bring him back to his mother. This momentous afternoon ensured that the first couple years of awkward sex with hormone-charged boys will be contraceptive-friendly for this tween. Babysitting, my friends, is the best birth control. No word on if the kid ever did make it to the bathroom.

Long Hair isn’t Just for Glam Bands
Leonard Peters, number 45, sported a pony-tail longer than mine. And since I have been in relative seclusion lately, you probably don’t know the length of my hair. To the naked eye one would estimate it at pretty fucking long. And Peters, a Hawaiian who spent much of last year on the Bears practice squad, has the audacity to think nobody is going to take him down by those long locks in the heat of a roid-rage play.
Furthermore, Peter’s hair is in two long Willie Nelson braids in his profile picture. Does professional football need a few Catholic nuns to come onto the scene and make sure the players’ hair is collar-length?



*I don’t listen to the radio much, but when I am switching Cds I will listen to La Ley. It always seems like they’re having more fun. Of course, I really don’t know much Spanish, so they could be singing about how much their lives suck.

**Photobucket is pissing me off, so if these pictures are too fucking big, blame it on photobucket.

So this guy calls me up and says he wants to me paint his puppet stage. I assume he means the backdrop for the puppets, but after about twenty minutes of him talking in circles I realize he wants me to paint the front and sides of the stage below the window where the puppets perform. Another twenty minutes go by without me being told exactly WHAT I'm supposed to be painting, the client, one Melvin Crenshaw, keeps talking to me about E-coli and Salmonella. That's right, his goal is to own America's premiere educational puppet show about food-borne pathogens. What? Who cares, it's a paying gig. I still don't know what I need to illustrate though, so I tell him I'll e-mail him later. A week of online correspondance garners me no further information as to what the fuck he actually wants the stage decorated with, I talk to his daughter on the phone for a while, I come up with specific items to ask him if he wants and he won't respond one way or another, he just keeps telling me about E-coli itself and the transfer of germs. Eventually, it's like two days before I'm supposed to make my way out to his home in Merrillville, Indiana, and I recieve this e-mail:

Patrick,

I will need three (3) possible works (or drafts) that you are considering before anyone of them is choosen to present on the puppet stage. I think you had promised me some drafts to choose from in one (1) of your earlier e-mails. I hope this is done before Thursday and Friday, I am leaving these two (2) days open for you to start and finish your work. I am still asking you to use your imagination and skill to deliver a work that will make this germ-fighting instructment one that will stand out above all the rest and one that would make the next project a non-challenge. Please note that there will be a contract and non-disclosure agreement before any work is started. And, I forgot to tell you that unclean surfaces in the packing and slaughter houses where cattle is processed for their meats can cause E-coli 0157:H7 (from sick cows) to end up in hamburger meats. If I am presenting my stage to a large grocery store chain, I certainly want something on this stage to show that grocery stores can be another sorce for food borne infections. In the end, make your work a masterful piece of art with a deep and important story to tell.

Thank you, Patrick!

Melvin Crenshaw RN

So I'm like, "Jesus Christ, dude," and spend like an hour looking up random pictures based on all the fucked-up e-mails he had sent me prior rambling about tomatoes, proper storage temperatures, hand-washing, bacteria, etc. hoping he will then see that I need to know exactly what I'm actually expected to accomplish when I get there. His response blew my fucking mind:

Patrick,

Please help me to understand. When I think of a mural, I think of an artist doing free hand interpretations of what he sees in his head. He takes what he sees in his head and transports that information or picture unto a canvass. Am I correct? Literally, Patrick, what is your "musical arrangement" here? I can't see your arrangement or your plans for such by just looking at these "still pictures." I was looking for you to present, perhaps, a sketch or "quick pencil drawings" across several sheets of paper that would include items that would make me think of bacterial contamination or lack of infection control. It is the arrangement that I am looking for--simply looking at these individual pictures does not make me think of anything! You have to make connections. We talked about poop and how poop from a variety of animals, including man, might cause illness. In my head I see a farm. I see animals pooping all about, even in the fields where vegetables are being grown for consumption. I see children (or adults) vomiting and lying down in hospital beds receiving IV therapy (fluids to the veins). I see a boy drinking (uncooked or unpasteurized) milk from the utters of an infected cow. I see another child at the "petting zoo" rubbing a small animal, his other hand is in his mouth (maybe eating contaminated food). I see a meat packing house grinding meat to make hamburger, nearby you can see stains of fecal matter on the preparation table. I see mouse droppings and evidence of roach infestation on the table of a restaurant where my plate of food has just been placed for me to eat from. I see a food worker leaving a toilet and evidence that he had just finished having a bowel movement--there is no evidence that he had just washed his hands at a sink nearby. In the middle of all these scenes, I see E-coli bacteria or bacterias (large show). I thought I had given you enough information to present similar scenes in a mural presentation! Patrick, you only have a little time left to convince me that you understand what I am looking for and how to convey what I am looking for in a mural. Please give me a call. Also, go back to those emails that gave you instruction about E-coli and sources of contamination.

Melvin Crenshaw RN

So I read this to my friends and after we finish laughing our asses off, I realize this guy's nuts and not worth trouble, so I opt not to do it. The following morning I awoke to this message:

Patrick,

You have been taken off the puppet stage assignment. Please call me when you are ready to work. There will be other projects.

Thank you,

Melvin Crenshaw RN

The moral of the story? (I don't know, you tell me.)

Water Most white people drink a few glasses of this liquid every day. Apparently, most of their body is composed of it and without ingesting at least eight ounces, they will become "dehydrated." This "dehydration" can result in headaches, thirst, lethargy, and eventually even delirium and even death.

Shoes If you've ever looked at a white person's feet outdoors, they will most likely have some sort of covering over them made of any combination of rubber, canvas, and other textiles. Shoes can be fastened to white people's feet by laces, velcro, or sometimes with nothing at all. When there are no fasteners, the shoes are called "sandals." Before bed, softer shoes can be worn around the house, called "slippers," although these have seen a sharp decline since the 1950's.

Television After a long day at their job or school, many white people like to relax by watching tv shows. The shows run from thirty to sixy minutes unless it's a "super-size" episode on NBC. Most shows are on at the same time on a specific day of the week, and white people make a point to watch each episode of the season, unless a prior engagement pre-empts the show-watching.

Seeing what the weather will be like All white people want to know ahead of time what sort of weather the following day will bring. The temperature forecast is important because they will dress accordingly. If it's said to be a cold day, white people will know to put on a jacket before they leave the house. If heavy precipitation is called for, they will carry an umbrella. Some white people even like to find out the weather for the entire week.

Couches Found in most homes of urban or rural white people, couches are pieces of plush furniture meant to seat at least three. The couches appear mainly in family rooms and can be used also as a make-shift bed for guests when combined with a pillow and blanket. Dogs should not be allowed on the couch.

Breathing oxygen There is nothing white people enjoy to inhale more than air. Each breath of oxygen serves to equipt their red blood cells with the nourishing gas, which is then delivered through the bloodstream to each individual cell. Some say that white people like oxygen even more than water, although most would be hard-pressed to pick a favorite.

My Life as an Artist!

Pitchfork Music Festival Fashion Guide!

The Ten Ways to Summon a Ghost Continued!

Last week, as the hype for The Dark Knight boiled up like a cyst on the back of America, I posted a very important myspace bulletin to my 174 friends with the title, "Reality Check: Heath Ledger Was a Shitty Actor," which was a response to the media's overwhelming opinion to the contrary (most likely started by whatever channels/programs are Warner Bros. subsidiaries), which we never heard until he died. The body of the extremely vital bulletin was as follows:

"For confirmation, please rent any of the following movies: 10 Things I Hate About You, A Knight's Tale, or The Order. Brokeback Mountain may have been good, but it did nothing for the gay community; no one who hates gays was going to pay $8 to watch a two-hour movie about cowboys butt-fucking and have their minds suddenly changed, so don't tell me that made him a great actor. Last week, me and my friend Johnny K were walking around, and every time we passed a single dude, I would say, "Whats up, big guy?" which was definitely kind of gay, but you don't see Entertainment Weekly, "E! News," or "The O'Reilly Factor" calling for me to get an posthumous Oscar after I tragically overdose on like twelve prescription drugs.

"More importantly, the Joker is a lame villain; any member of Spiderman's rogue's gallery could kick his ass in under thirty seconds with one hand tied behind their back (except the Vulture, who needs both hands to fly) and I will give the Joker the benefit of the doubt by forcing Dr. Octopus to tie five tentacles behind his back."

So I went to see the movie, which I assumed (besides Ledger) would be cool, but I was wrong. He was worse than I expected, constantly smacking his chops like there was a tablespoon of Jif peanut butter stuck on the roof of his mouth, and killing only a dozen people (half of whom were fellow criminals). The usually awesome Christian Bale was doing an Alec Baldwin impression whenever he had the mask on (I kept expecting him to order Liz Lemon into his office) for some reason, and Batman wasn't really even in the movie; he punched out like four dudes at a nightclub and then rode around on a motorcycle for like ten minutes, which had no consequence. Most of the four hours consisted of oscar-nominated actors dressed in formal wear talking to each other in the dark. Also, Maggie Gyllenhall isn't much of a step up from Katie Cruise. I kept hoping for Spiderman or even Robert Downey Jr. to swoop in and save the movie, but that obviously wasn't going to happen.

The reponse to my brilliant and controversial bulletin was massive and heated, let's take a look:

"Remember that low-rent Angelina Jolie look-alike actress who was in both a Knight's Tale AND The Order with Ledger? Do you know what she's doing now? Well, nothing, because her shit-show "Moonlight" (on CBS for Christ's sake) got cancelled. Man, I don't know what's more sad... a lame accidental overdose or her career trajectory. Sadness. You know he's going to win the oscar." --Heather

"God damn you Pat... God damn you.... This rant is a sick fucking lie... There is no way... no way... again... no way that fucking Rhino could beat the Joker. He's the Joker... The Clown Prince of Crime... I dare say he'd one-up the Kingpin (at least money wise), the Green Goblin (not the Hobgoblin), Puma, and Kraven... and you know what? Fuck Doc Ock... that's right, fuck him... Don't you fucking say anything bad about the Joker again, you dumb bastard. What was that other part? Heath Leger... oh yeah, screw him." --J

"Good stuff as usual. However, everyone knows how much better Marvel is than DC anyways. Also, when Shakespeare wrote Taming of the Shrew, he hoped on day it would be turned into a teen drama and he would have been very impressed with Heath's acting." --Tim

"Totally not a DC fan, and I mostly agree with you about the Joker not being able to go toe-to-toe with most of Spiderman's villains. Though there are a few that I think the Joker might have a chance against:

Hammerhead

Big Man

Crime Master

The only reason that the Joker has a chance at all against these guys is that he is basically as powerless as they are, but he has more nifty gadgets. Acid flower > Metal pompadour. Hand grenades + marksmanship > marksmanship + hand-to-hand. Crazy Clown henchmen > guys who were stand-ins in My Cousin Vinnie." --Derek

"Awesome. Exactly what I would say if I had the drive to post up stuff like this. BTW, I've become an avid reader of Pat: The Magazine for Guys. I'm addicted. You've really become a good writer. Did you ever finish the album you've been working on for years?" --Rich

Ok, that last one I only put up because it makes me look cool, but you can see the explosive discourse this hot topic generates. Clearly, the only thing left for me to do as the Voice of a Generation (of fuckstains), is to go through villain-by-villain so we can let the healing begin across the entire country.

Spiderman villains who the Joker would lose to, and why:

Green Goblin Pumpkin bombs, razor-bats, and a glidey thing that he can throw them from.
Hobgoblin Same as the above only he's from Hell.
Doctor Octopus Six metal tentacles that can crush bones and testicles.
Sandman Body made of living sand that can be condensed into blunt force traumatizers or spread out into grains that are very hard to step on.
Venom All the powers of Spiderman, only bigger, and with a living costume that can attack like ferocious living black spaghetti, and who hasn't had nightmares about that?
Carnage All the powers of Venom, but he can turn the spaghetti raw and stab your groin!
Rhino Impenetrable hide, super-strenght, and a giant sharpened dildo right on his head. You're fucked.
Kraven the Hunter He has a crossbow and a moustache, no contest. Actually, this was a trick question, Kraven's dead!
Electro Dangerous whether you're standing in a puddle or not.
Mysterio Forget getting dosed by his bad-acid-trip smoke, if you punch that giant aquarium he calls a mask, you're gonna seriously break your hand.
The Lizard Powerful manibles and claws, but the real kicker is his intimidating hissing sound. Brrrr!
The Black Cat I know you're thinking a plunging neckline is her only weapon, but she also was eventually given some "bad luck" power by some mobsters she was forced to work for. I think.
Tarantula Poison pointy toes, bandana.
The Scoropion A big tail that does some stuff.

Now let's look at some villains the Joker could technically beat:

The Chameleon If he can figure out who he is, Joker could possibly wrestle him pretty good.
The Vulture This guy's pretty old and eventually his arms would get pretty tired.
Hydro-Man Come on.
Aunt May If he gets close enough, he gets maced, but he could still kick her ass without being able to see, May's hand-to-hand combat skills aren't what they once were.

In conclusion, I just saw Journey to the Center of the Earth 3D, and it BLEW MY FUCKING MIND. Giant piranhas, floating boulders, Loch Ness Monster-types, cryptic geo-physics notebooks, a beautiful cascading waterfall, it had everything! Add Brendan Fraser to the list of people tougher than the Joker.

4. Playing the Spirit Glass game (similar to Western Ouija boards)

Can Parker Bros. manufacture ghosts in the same fashion they manufacture counterfeit money? Let's see what some long-time PM readers had to say about their experiences with satanic cardboard:

"I used an ouija board once, and then about fifteen years later, when I was drunk, I ran my car into a house... so they are obviously bad luck!" --Mary

Ok, no apparitions here, although the car accident one and half decades later is cause for alarm and the possible admission that supernatural forces were aplay in this situation. Does the fact that she had drank a twelver of Milwaukee's Best before driving home lead us to believe that being intoxicated leaves an individual more open to spectral visitation, much like being under hypnosis, or in the way children and animals are said to be more in tune with the spirit world? Let's try another...

"I came home from school one day and a bunch of items in my room were moved around. My brother and sister were at school with me, so there was no real explaination. This went on for a week or two, things being moved around and weird noises and what-not. It got to the point where I did not want to be alone in the house. So my sis and I got a board. We sat down to use it, and when we asked the first question, a bunch of clothes in my closet slammed from one side to the other. I know sounds insane, but my sister was there and I also have an ex bf who also witnessed some of the fucked up shit." --Lindsey

Terrifying? Yes. Believable? Not a fucking chance. I always do background checks when quoting people I know personally (that is one of the hallmarks of Hardcore Journalism), and I don't think we can trust someone to contribute to an article this important when we know for a fact that this is the type of person who throws pop cans at the heads of people whose opinions she doesn't agree with. However, this final response will chill your bones to their very marrow...

"Once it told me it was a little girl and I shouldn't talk to Steve or Amy. I asked if I should know anything else and it just said, 'It hurts.' Then nothing happend for several minutes and I packed another bowl and watched Mallrats. I like Mallrats, and damn the people who don't and thought it was too silly--fuck them in the face. Years later, I would get a job with a theatre company that shall go nameless in Columbus, Ohio, and I hate them and they burned down on my birthday in 1999. Coincidence, I swear. The owner of said company was named Steve. Another member, whom I started dating (and began my long chain of dating lesbians who leave me for other women [because all lesbians do, that's why they are lesbians])... her name was Amy. I didn't put that together until years after that either, until I got stoned again and played Ouija and found the old notes. I still don't know what 'hurts,' but I can imagine it may be getting hit by a car full of whores on North Avenue in the middle of winter... bitches." --J

There you have it, murdered children speaking from beyond the grave, arson, clairvoyance, weed, early Kevin Smith, gay fraud, and the state of Ohio, what more proof do we need? Also, last January at like 2am I saw J at that intersection walking with a noticeable limp, and he mentioned he had tried to "catch" a vehicle because it was "being mean." Those of you who have read Stephen King's Christine will be even chilled more to the very marrow of whatever I said up there.

Next: Part 3

So the other day my Netflix account generated a recommendation for me called The Eye 3 (AKA: The Eye 10, AKA The Eye: Infinity, AKA Gin gwai 10), a sequel to the Thai directing team of Oxide and Danny Pang's The Eye (not the fuck-fest American remake with Jessica Alba and her crappy face). The plot revolves around various teens attempting to contact the dead through the ten methods commonly accepted as lore in Thailand. I did not rent the movie because it is supposed to suck, but was definitely intrigued by the concept. As a hardcore journalist with a minor in ghost-hunting, I felt it was my duty to exhaustively research each option and experiment to ultimately produce a wandering soul, and kick its fucking ass. Here are the methods and my results from the controlled experiments, using the universal scientific method (as found in my 7th grade World of Science 1990 Ed. textbook):

1. A corneal transplant from a donor who is psychic (as seen in The Eye)

I don't have health insurance right now, so I was unable to attempt this myself, or even get a quote for a common Lasik operation. However, if one watches the original version of the movie, you will see that a blind person getting an eye transplant definitely results in the ability to see the ghosts that are all around us, LOOK, THERE'S ONE BEHIND YOU NOW! Did that scare you? No? Well that mole on your back looks malignant, if you ask my opinion. Didn't even know you had a mole back there? Now you are scared. The girl in the movie saw the ghost of a little boy eating wax who then jumped out a window, a legless torso flew at her in an angry fashion at a restaurant, and later she had a premonition of a traffic disaster that came to pass, so the corneal transplant actually gives you two superpowers, bonus!

2. Bending over and looking between your legs ("Peek-a-stoop")

This sounds more like a good way to get dizzy and fall off a porch or something, but I gave it the benefit of the doubt and tried it in tandem with my three-year-old nephew to no avail. I know you're thinking it's got to be some form of child abuse to use a toddler to attract malevolent spirits, but there's a few things you should know about Logan: Last Halloween his dad made the bathroom into "haunted house" with hanging rubber spiders, glow-in-the-dark skulls, and a giant cardboard cut-out of Dracula. Logan would take a flashlight into the darkened bathroom, close the door, and just hang out in there alone for ten minutes at a time. He wouldn't let his parents take the decorations down until well after New Year's. Most kids sleep with a blankie or a teddy bear. Logan insists on using nunchucks or a pumpkin. Not a soft, plush one either, I'm talking about actual produce from the grocery store. And finally, today in the minivan, there was some random childrens' music cd on and he asked, "Can you put on a scary song?" So don't you come to me saying he's gonna have nightmares, and especially don't you come to me saying it's a bad idea that I'm planning on showing him The Exorcist and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre back-to-back on his fifth birthday, you bunch of fraidy-cats.

3. Tapping chopsticks on an empty bowl at an intersection to attract hungry spirits

I attempted to employ this method twice last week but Fast China Wok forgot to bring me chopsticks both times, and only brought a plastic fork once, plus the Kung Po Chicken was in styrofoam, not a bowl. However, there has been terrifying pheonomena eerily similar to this in Chicago's own Wicker Park recently, more specifically, the intersection of Milwaukee/North/Damen, commonly referred to in the supernatural community as "The Hipster Hell-Hole." A group of young hippies has been congregating there and sucking in ways both unnatural and otherworldly. It started last summer when Ashley told me there were two rival groups there playing bongos and being annoying, and that her friend Rob had witnessed them engage in a physical altercation, and then join forces, much like Germany and Italy in World War II. Not wanting to miss such a historical piss-parade, I made a mental note to check it out, but the mental note was quickly erased by more important data--which NFL running backs carried the load for their team and didn't split time with another player. My fantasy football draft was coming up.

I forgot all about the dirty psuedo-street-kids (Ashley had berated them for pretending to be poor once as she was leaving work) until last month when I was waiting for someone outside Myopic Books. Just a few stores down from me sat a skinny dreadlocked douche playing the same two chords over and over on a banjo while a girl yelled crap ("Take the beat/Make it sweet") in a non-rhythmic fashion and began doing gymnastics of a minimal skill level, including cartwheels and a headstand(?). I was horrified, but could not look away. My eyes were transfixed not because I was hypnotized by evil, but because I was secretly hoping the girl might pop a titty out or something.

The very next week, I was at the intersection again with some friends, and saw that the pair had been joined by two other girls and a trumpet. None of them knew how to blow the horn properly, but it didn't stop them from trading off as if they were all virtuosos on both that and the one snare drum they had. The two other girls' specialty, however, was swinging on the lamp-post and standing on top of a newspaper box. They had really upped the ante. The first girl did her trademark handstand again, and her skirt flew up, exposing a massive pair of cobalt blue panties, which caused Johnny K to scream, "EWWWW!" We tried to think of ways to combat their monstrous exhibition, such as dressing up in suits and holding John McCain signs, or standing across from them and playing actual songs on the guitar, but we knew it was hopeless. The first girl came across the street to use the shitter at Flash Taco and--noticing us staring at them--said, "Are you guys enjoying the... show?" We stammered. Eventually, the two other girls left, exhausted from their performance, and walked past us. I couldn't find the right words to express my feelings, so I said, "Great job, guys." Anything else would have come off as intimidation and I would've felt like a bully because they were testing the boundaries of free speech, even if it did conjur demons. Why else would they be doing this crap if not to try and summon the spectral servants of black magic? As far as I know, they have yet to succeed in their dark game of solicitation, but I will know if they do (because it'll probably be on the news).

Later this week... some more writing

I am currently on assignment attempting to summon ghosts for a virtually adequate article about summoning ghosts, until I publish my findings--or have my soul torn apart--next week, check out these blasts from the past.

Dream Interpretation: Last Bastion of the Retarded

Boost your self-esteem with this easy twelve week program!

The Pat Magazine 2006 Commencement Address

Shitbagging

Masturbation and Interpretation

Attention All Hipsters: Please Do Us a Favor and Quit Your Day Job