More "Best Of": Saving Lives and Souls

January 18, 2006 – Saving Lives and Souls

Having decided to further pursue a career in coaching girls softball (like I did for five years at the Southampton College campus of Wrong Island Screwnivershitty) I applied for a coaching job at a local high school. To get said job, I will need to take courses in Philosophy, Principles and Organization of Athletics, Theory and Techniques of Coaching, and Health Sciences Applied to Coaching within a year of my appointment, as well as courses in Child Abuse Identification and certification in CPR and First Aid.

The CPR and First Aid training was my first task. Online courses are readily available. Frighteningly so.

CPRToday! Offers online certification. I went for the deluxe package, CPR, First Aid, and AED (those neat little defibrillators that tell you what to do.) For $54.95, I have been certified in all three within a matter of minutes. I even got three of the forty four questions wrong (who knew a break didn't always indicate a compound fracture?), making my score a 93.18181818% (85% is a passing grade). The problem being, the site told me exactly which questions I got wrong. Out of curiosity (and because I am anal retentive like a mother fucker) I clicked "Back" on my browser and corrected my three mistakes, and submitted the test again. 100% correct, as if I hadn't made a mistake that could have cost someone their lives.

So that proves that anyone with $54.95, an internet connection, and a color printer can, by process of elimination, become a certified Life Saver (much to the chagrin of the Suckers who will rely on them to save their lives).

Seeing how easy it was to become a savior of mortal lives, I decided to take a crack at saving mortal souls as well. After roughly three minutes, by providing only my name and address, I am now an Ordained Minister in the Universal Life Church. To get that official certificate, I'll have to pay $4.95 and wait for it to be mailed. Don't believe me? Check THIS out! Suck failure, FREAKS!

So I guess if I can't save your life, I can at least perform last rites for you.

I also took a few minutes to become a Sea Captain (even though I don't own a boat), become a Rap Star, complete a course in free style pottery, get knighted by the Monarchy of Aruba, become a private investigator, complete an online clerkship for a personal injury lawyer, and earn my degree in Advanced Astrophysics.

So if you see me on the street pontificating, pantocrating, investigating, waxing, waning, gazing, or glazing, stop and say "Hello, Your Excellency The High Reverend Sir Doctor Captain Kenneth Michael Thomas Beck, Esquire. What up, Mutha Fucka?"

I just might absolve you of your sins (and sue you in the process).

Family Bored By Overly Dramatic Eulogy

SPARKILL, NY - Several members of the Harris family reported severe boredom Thursday during a funeral service for Chester Harris. Harris, 86, died peacefully in his sleep sometime between 11:20 P.M. and 6:45 A.M. on Sunday.

Trouble began at the funeral when Harris' grandson, Mark Jaspers, asked if he could deliver the eulogy. Japsers, 22, requested that he be the one to deliver the final words at a small graveside service, and Harris' wife, Beulla McCutcheon-Harris, agreed.

"Markie is such a sensitive young boy," the widow explained, "he has such a gift with words. I didn't know things would take such a macabre turn."

An undergrad student attending NYU, Jaspers is a Theatre major, but he is minoring in Writing. With his grandfather's passing, he saw an opportunity to share his talent with the world. Starting with Holy Sepulchre Cemetary in Sparkill, New York.

"When I heard Mark wanted to say the eulogy, I was touched," said Jaspers' second cousin, Kelly-Ann DiPietro. "I know he goes to school for writing, so I figured he would be the perfect choice. I wish I knew then what I know now. It was so long winded."

"I am always very proud of Mark," said Gwendolyn Jaspers, mother of Mark and daughter of Chester. "Ever since he was a little boy, he has always had such a creative spirit. My father loved Mark very much, and I know he would have been moved by Mark's words. I don't think even he would have guessed how much Mark had to say. How very, very much Mark had to say."



Jaspers' speech, which lasted an interminable nineteen minutes and thirty two seconds, touched on a variety of tedious topics, such as childhood memories shared between grandfather and grandson, various hobbies, cliched poetic and religious quotations, and a number of anecdotes only tangientally connected to the eldest Harris.

"When Mark told us the story of his grandpa teaching him to tie his shoes, I was crying," recalled Dolores Kelly, Jaspers' aunt on his father's side. "But do we really need to hear about his coin collection? Or his love of fly fishing? Jeez, Mark, wrap it up."

Jaspers speech was further drawn out by long pauses as the boy turned and wept on the casket of his grandfather, much to the chagrin of the assembled, bored masses.

"Kid's a real wuss bag," Danny Halloran, boyfriend of Jaspers' cousin, Hilary Harris, reported. "I didn't know the old guy, but I'm glad he wasn't alive to hear this complete snore-fest."

Mourners seemed to be in agreement that Jaspers not be allowed to read at their own respective funerals.

"Fag," Halloran added.

xxx

More "Best Of": Editorial: Five Speaks Out

Wed 29 Mar 2006

Editorial: Five Speaks Out

Posted by smartcentipede under Random Acts of Violins

(The Smart Centipede is proud to present this editorial from our special guest writer, the number Five. The views expressed in this editorial are those of the number Five only, and do not reflect the opinions of Smart Centipede.)

Hello. My name is Five. You may know me from such television shows at Babylon Five, Hawaii Five-Oh, and Party of Five. I’m here today on behalf of the Numeral System to adress a growing problem. In every system, there needs to be a set of checks and balances, something in place to ensure that the system continues to work as a cohesive unit. The Numeral System is no different. This editorial is also an intervention of sorts, because there is one of our own that needs a wake up call.
Six… you suck.

There, I’ve said it. Someone needed to. The rest of us have gotten together and discussed this thoroughly, and it was agreed that something needed to be done to stem the tide of unpleasantness we’ve been seeing. You’ve grown too big for your britches. Don’t think we’re just doing this to be mean. We care about you, and we think that it’s not too late to get you back on track. But something has to be done.

You are no better than the rest of us. Being the middle number, for a long time, I was the top dog, but you didn’t hear me shouting about it. But you’ve been insufferable. Early astronomers and philosophers believing there were only six planets was probably the worst thing that could have happened, because it was the start of your delusions of grandeur. And forget about the Imperial System vs. Metric System.



We all have our special qualities, Six. We’re tired of hearing about how much of a natural party animal you are just because beverages come in six packs. I mean, grow up, really. Three has a lot to be proud of too. Good things come in three. Third time’s the charm. I mean, hello, the Holy Trinity? But do you hear Three running around telling everyone how great he is? Hell, no.

Not everyone eats dinner at six. Some people eat at five. Some people eat as late as eight. And what about lunch? You don’t hear One or Two yapping in everyone’s ear about it, and that’s their busiest time.

Look, I know it’s your year, and we’re all entitled to a little extra attention when we’re sitting on that line. But the year is only three months old, and we’re already tired of your act.

And it’s not like you’ve been silent for ten years, either. Back in 2002, we threw a nice quiet little get together for Two, to celebrate the bookend deal, but you showed up drunk, hit on Three’s wife, and threw up all over Eight’s daughter. That was Two’s day, man, but you had to try and make it your show. You’re just lucky Three is such a religious man. If you pulled a move on Mrs. Five, you’d still be picking up your fucking teeth.

So save the chatter, you insufferable asshole. We’re not going to humor you anymore. We’re done calling you “Six Pack,” or “Half Dozen,” or “Deep Six.” Stop telling Three that you’re twice the man he is. You don’t have any special powers because of the whole 666-Satan thing. And believe me, no one wants to hear your off color German jokes about how much “you” you’re getting.

It’s not too late, man. We used to work well together. But quite frankly, it’s getting tough to stand next to you. If you want to take a deep breath and get back in touch with reality, then fine. But until you can prove you’re not such an asshole, stop following me.

Sincerely,

Five

P.S. Even Nine is tired of all the sex jokes, but he’s just too shy to say so.

(In reading this editorial, the management agrees. Six DOES suck.)

In Other News...

Buy Someone Else's MySpace Pals (from News.com.com)

You can buy handbags, blenders and vintage Tupperware on eBay, but did you know you can also spring for 100,000 friends? That's what one bidder got by purchasing someone's MySpace.com account for more than two grand late last month. The seller claims to have more than 100,000 friends on his or her MySpace profile (while the gender of the seller is unclear, the sell page does sport a picture of a buxom blonde).

The online space, according to the seller, was registered on the social-networking site four years ago, and was one of the first 50,000 accounts. Bidding started at $2,000, with the winning bid (by someone with the eBay user name "girlsliketheboyswithferraris") hitting $2,125.

At most recent glance, there were somewhere around 10 MySpace accounts for auction on eBay. One seller says he or she has a million MySpace friends.

xxx

In other news, life itself was deemed redundant, and plans are now in place for everyone on Earth to be digitized and placed within the servers of the World of Warcraft. Citing the rise of violent crimes, poverty, hunger, disease, and war, officials across the globe voted nearly unanimously in favor of the "Troning" of humanity. City populations will be placed on individual servers, and citizens wishing to move can do so for a moderate fee, at which point all accumulated possessions will be digitally transferred to your new residence. Household pets will not be eligible for digitization, but electronic simulations of your pet will be available in upgrade expansion packs.

The President's new Secretary of Defense, Leeroy Jenkins, was unavailable for comment.

XXX

Hey, you in the third row yakking incessantly...

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

My brother and I went for yet another showing of 300 (my third, his fourth) and yet again the experience was soured by the incessant yammering of some pathetic morons who cannot differentiate between things they think and things they say.

My brother lodged a complaint with the manager, expressing his anger at having his movie experience ruined by other patrons. The manager insisted on giving my brother some free passes to another movie, despite my brother's insistance that he did not want any kind of compensation other than an assurance that some kind of solution to this blight be found.

Well, THAT is the solution. Make sure, in the event that someone in the theater continues to talk and disrupt your enjoyment of the movie, that you complain vociferously to management, and ask for free passes if none are offered. If enough people complain to management about these chowderheads, and they are forced to give out enough free passes, there WILL be something done about the problem.

A simple first step would be to bring back those PSA's at the beginning of the movie requesting that people turn off their cellphones, and refrain from talking. I have no idea why they stopped showing those. I thought the one with Kevin James was quite funny.

And correct me if I am wrong, but the movie theaters have every right to eject patrons that are disruptive. So how about we start getting some ushers who aren't just lanky pimple farms too afraid (or complacent) to tell someone to shut up or leave.

I KNOW Tommy will want to comment on this, so I open the floor up to him.

More "Best Of": The Common Sense Vigilantes

I promise, new content will be coming soon.

Fri 23 Dec 2005

The Common Sense Vigilantes!

Posted by smartcentipede under Random Acts of Violins

One of the many posses I roll with, The Common Sense Vigilantes are dedicated to making people suffer for acts of selfish stupidity.

One of our favorites is to wait at a light in a left turn lane and wait for it to turn green. That is our signal to start squirting paint thinner at cars that run the opposing red light, cutting in front of us. If you find yourself with a nice corroded streak across the drivers side of your car, then chances are, you’ve run a red light in a last ditch attempt to get wherever you are going three minutes earlier.

Another fun hobby is bouncing a ball into the road when I hear a vehicle approach my house at high speeds.
Then there’s the video taping. Collecting of license plate numbers and video evidence of traffic infractions.
Seriously, folks, what’s the fucking rush? I find myself growing continuously angry at people who drive, shop, speak, and generally live like there is no one in the world more important than them.

One day, while transporting a van load of college girls to a place where they could get all sweaty and smack around some balls (I was a college softball coach, you fucking perverts) our school van convoy was bisected by a mint-green four door mid-80’s Ford. With slightly more than a car length between vans, the intrusion was quite unwelcome and dangerous. I tapped my horn, voicing my displeasure as was my right as a motorist, and the load-better-swallowed tapped on his breaks in a foolish attempt to frighten me. He eventually swerved out from between us, and sped ahead, likely to annoy and endanger more of his fellow travelers.

My brief glimpse of this Gaping, festering ASSHOLE was of a man holding a sandwich item of some sort, turning the pages of a newspaper, and looking at the road about twenty percent of the time.

As our vans approached the exit to our destination, the mint-green malevolence remounted his attack, swerving betwixt us once again, this time in a violent lurch. When I was forced to step on my breaks to avoid hitting him, I gave a more emphatic blast of the horn, and the trouser stain actually stepped HARD on his breaks, forcing me to lock up the wheels of the Big Blue Bus of Broken Dreams. I was so angry I could have split atoms with the force my teeth were generating against each other.

So I did what any mature adult would do. At the stop light, I had one of my girls dial 911 on my cell phone. I told the police my exact location. I gave his license plate number. I said he was swerving across multiple lanes, which he was. I said he was repeatedly cutting me off, which he was. I said he was stepping on his breaks in an attempt to get me to rear-end him, which he was. I said he appeared to be reading, which he was. I said he appeared to be eating, which he was. I said he appeared to be drinking from a paper bag, which got the attention of the officer on the other end of the line. I repeated the license plate number, and once again agve my exact location. The officer assured me that they would dispatch a cruiser to investigate. I thanked them and hung up the phone.

That’s right, mother fucker. The Common Sense Vigilante will do many things to avenge the wrongs perpetrated by the ignorant and the selfish. Lying is chief among them. I feel no compunction about lying to the police in stating that I saw him drink from a bottle in a paper bag, if it will make his life miserable. He deserves to be pulled form the car and beaten ala Rodney King. If lying is what it takes for the police to come after a fuck bag like this, then get out the way, bitch, because my Pinocchio proboscis is about to achieve full erection.

I know there is every probability that Mr. Mint-Green probably swerved his way to whatever his pathetic excuse for a brain thought was important unimpeded, but in my fantasy, he was caught about three miles down the road. He was kept there in his car for about fifteen minutes. The officer at the scene gave him a sobriety test. He was issued a ticket for traveling at imprudent speeds. He angrily ripped up the ticket once he got back on the road, and he was late for his big meeting. The client got tired of waiting around, and his company lost the account. He was fired for incompetence. In an angry huff, he drove home from the office, swerving and weaving once again. He was pulled over again, and issued another ticket. This time, he didn’t wait until the officer was walking back to his car before ripping up the ticket and throwing it out the window.

The officer wrote him another ticket for littering, and when he violently reached for the ticket, he struck the officer. The officer pulled him from the car, slammed him against the hood, and searched him. Finding nothing, the officer planted a small bag of “evidence” on him, and cuffed and stuffed the fucker. He makes bail. He goes home, where his wife asks him how the hell she is supposed to survive if he gets convicted, especially now that he’s been fired, and he beats her. She calls her friend Steve, who served in the Gulf, and whom she has been banging behind his back anyway because he is substandard in the sack, and Steve does some unnecessary dentistry on him.

He is in Divorce Court on the day before he’s due in real court. He is tried and convicted of possession with intent to distribute, and he ends up behind bars. In prison, he ends up being the little bitch to a man named Hector. Hector isn’t afraid to use force. And while Mr. Mint Green lies face down in his pillow, with his boxers puddled by his feet, his rectal cavity saying “Hello” to Hector’s “Little Friend,” I hope somehow he has a spark, a recollection, a memory of one of the drivers he cut off that day, a bald man in a van full of kids that he almost killed, and remembers the driver on his cell phone, looking directly at his car, speaking very descriptively.

The lesson: DON’T be an asshole.

Trust me. Whatever it is you think makes you so important that the laws of traffic, safety, and decency don’t apply to you, it’s not true. You’re a fucking jerk, just like the rest of us. If you find yourself saying “If I miss this light, I’ll miss X, Y, or Z,” miss the light. It’s the price you pay for not leaving earlier. It’s a price I insist you pay. And if you try to get out of paying, I’ll squirt your door with crazy glue as you pass. Or maybe I’ll give you a flat tire if I can get my hands on some caltrips and practice my aim. Or maybe I’ll phone in your license plate number and tell them I saw you drinking from a dark bottle as you roared through the light. That seemed to make the cops jump into action.

Use some common sense, people. Or better yet, don’t. That way, I can continue to hatch devious plans on how to make you all regret being born selfish.

More "Best Of": The Worst Movies EVER...

Sat 3 Dec 2005

The worst movies of all time…

Posted by smartcentipede under Uncategorized


In no apparent order…

Mom and Dad Save The Planet: Terri Garr and Jeffrey Jones team up to save the planet from the evil machinations of Jon Lovitz (you heard me). Career lowlights for all involved.

Millennium: Kris Christopherson and Cheryl Ladd in a story about time travelers who save accident fatalities and bring them to the future to live. If time travel exists, someone needs to stop this “movie” from being made.

Mac and Me: Brought to you by the good people of McDonalds. No, really. This movie is the most shameless example of product placement in cinematic history. Features a Fame-like dance number beneath the golden arches and aliens that make the tall guy from the “To Serve Man” episode of the Twilight Zone look like Geiger’s Alien.

The Last Starfighter: I’ll catch hell for this one, and there are elements of this movie that I actually did enjoy. But you have to realize this: The headquarters of the Frontier was taken out by the Kodan Armada using big rocks hurled at them from deep space. Rocks. ROCKS. The entire armada was then taken out by a lone Starfighter. The Kodan Armada are the Keystone Cops of deep space.

Moon Over Parador: BOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG. The best part of seeing this movie in the theaters was my brother falling asleep and snoring like a bear at the perfect moment of silence. It was the only thing the audience laughed at that day.

Virus: The only time I was more disappointed in Jamie Lee Curtis is when I heard a rumor she had a cock.

Hardware: I remember .34% of this movie. I blocked the rest out.

A Home of Our Own: I challenge you to find a more horrifically depressing, fantastically boring set of images ever captured on film. This movie makes Weekend at Bernie’s II look like The Godfather.

Weekend at Bernie’s II: Beating a dead horse deader. They took a perfectly enjoyable movie and made a sequel that makes me want to watch High School film strips about good colon health.

Freaked: Keanu Reeves made an uncredited cameo as Cortez the Dog Boy in this Alex Winter vehicle as a favor for the fame that Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure gave him. Also featuring Mr. T, Brooke Shields, and Bobcat Goldthwaite. I am actually embarrassed for Randy Quaid and William Sadler, who managed to still have careers after this puddle of shit.

Nothing But Trouble: The biggest loser in terms of Star Power to Success Ratio. Directed by Dan Ackroyd and starring no less than Chevy Chase, Demi Moore, John Candy, Dan Ackroyd, Taylor Negron, Brian Doyle Murray, and Digital Underground as itself. Even a Baldwin couldn’t save this dung heap (granted, it was Daniel, which may have actually HURT the cause).

There will be more added to this list as time and dementia allows.

The Archives Have Been Recovered...

Pieced together through painstaking effort from the ashes of the old Blog, I have recovered a great many posts. Unfortunately, the best, first post, the grand explanation behind Smart Centipede, has been lost to history, like the library of Alexandria.

Here, dear reader, is the first in a series of filler- er, classic posts, re-printed here for your amusement!

+++++

Thu 1 Dec 2005

Geeble Gorper Burble Flump!

Posted by smartcentipede under Random Acts of Violins

Have you HEARD Nick Nolte lately? The muthafucka sounds like he’s reading his lines while gargling maple syrup. Watch the Incredible Hulk, you’ll see. Also a proud graduate of the Aunt Jemima School of Delivery is Jeff Bridges in Seabiscuit.

XXXXX

Actual Email Exchange...

金正辉
to me
More options 12/5/05
kenn.beck，您好！

I have the means to eliminate university student's suicide behavior !

致
礼！


金正辉
jinzi51@sohu.com
2005-12-06


To Which I Reply:

That is the worst haiku I have ever heard. Write back when you make more sense.

Monday morning at the iTunes Store...

Chris Simon's Playlist

"I'm A Thug" (Track 1): "Yo, Trick Daddy totally gets me going when I'm looking to endanger someone's livelihood."

"Loser" (Track 2): "Beck is so innovative. Everything he does is radical. His music hits you like a stick to the throat."

"I Want You To Hurt Like I Do" (Track 3): "Randy Newman isn't exactly what I listen to normally, but this song just spoke to me."

"Slash Dementia" (Track 4): "Carcass' driving rythyms are awesome for when I'm in the park attacking puppies and retarded children."

"Broken Jaw" (Track 5): "Red Cloud coems up with some really good instrumentals. I crank this when I'm feeling mellow, like when I'm suffocating the elderly with alcohol soaked pillows."

"Kill Those Rangers Now" (Track 6): "Scul Hazzards, man. Dig those drums. Great title, too."

"Retaliation" (Track 7): "My favorite track from Jedi Mind Tricks' best album, 'Violent By Design.' Gotta love it for torturing homeless guys behind the shelter."

"I'm An Asshole" (Track 8): "Hee hee. Denis Leary is funny! I don't know why this song speaks to me."

"He's A Douchebag" (Track 9): "Did you know that Fred Savage and the Unbeatables AREN'T led by that kid from Vice Versa? Despite their trickery, this song is pretty neat for scalping my unconscious dates to."

"Dare To Be Stupid" (Track 10): "I love Weird Al Yankovick. People need to stop ripping this guy off. Madonna, Michael Jackson, Queen, I'm looking at you. And sharpening my stick."

"Violence" (Track 11): "Blink 182 makes me want to beat people with a stick. So does Barry Manilow. So does Television. So does Breathing."

...and eat hearty... because tonight we dine in HELL!

Dude. Seriously. Go see it. My brother was near tears. I think he plans on eloping with this move when it comes out on DVD.

Superior film making all around, far more successful than (in my mind) the moderately successful Sin City as far as comic book adapts go. Stirring, artistic, awe-inspiring, and hey, it's historically true (if not entirely accurate)! Well worth a viewing, if not multiple.

Time out, Blue...

"O.K., kid, you're doing fine. I should have told you Hernandez likes the outside of the plate. My bad. Now, Diaz likes the ball up and in, so-"

"Uh, dude-"

"Dave, kid. Call me Dave. Diaz feasts on the inside stuff, so we need to work the outer half of the plate, and-"

"Um, Dave-"

"I know, kid, but we keep him off balance, draw him out over the plate. As soon as he starts crowding, we bust him inside, and-"

"DAVE."

"Yeah, kid, what is it?"

"Why are you still holding my ass?"

::Long uncomfortable pause:: "I do this with all the pitchers. So anyway, Diaz will wait for that inside pitch-"

"I don't remember seeing you grabbing Bronson Arroyo this long. Or this hard."

"Television makes everything seem quicker. Now once we get Diaz thinking he's never gonna see an inside pitch-"

"I'm really gonna need you to take your hand off my ass, Dave."

"In a minute, kid."

"NOW, Dave."

::Long uncomfortable pause:: "What number are you wearing, kid?"

"52."

"What number am I wearing?"

"26."

"You know what that means?"

"No, Dave."

"It means I'm breaking camp and heading to Cincy after this, while you still have to earn a seat on the bus. And even if you DO make the big club, you're a rookie. And you know what happens to rookies."

"I'm fairly certain they don't get molested by their catchers."

"Among other things. I don't care if you are a can't miss, rook, until you've cashed your last paycheck of the year, you're my bitch."

"I'm thinking it might be better for me to miss out on making the big club."

"Your call, rook."

"How many years is your contract?"

"Two years, with a club option for '09."

"Shit. So unless you get traded, I have to stay in the minors until 2009?"

"2010 if the club picks up the option."

::Long uncomfortable pause:: "Can you at least give it a little squeeze?"