Cat's on Fire!

The Monstro Blog is proud to introduce its first product: a family game! We have spent countless hours developing and testing our new game, and we are sure that you you will enjoy it.

For only $19.95, you can get your hands on Cat's on Fire!, the new game that will soon be sweeping the nation! It's so easy your slow cousin could play it! If you're the slow cousin, hooray!

The rules are simple. You need a group of enthusiastic and physically fit friends, family members, or fellow inmates. This game does require some physical activity, so we ask that only members of society who have proven their value through good looks or outstanding athletic performance enjoy Cat's on Fire! You will need to get a cat to play, but there should be several wandering around in the streets who are undoubtedly starving and will come running if you lay out some warm milk. If that doesn't work, go to the humane society and tell them you want the cat so you can play fun games with it! They will hand it over for sure. If that doesn't work either, bribe the guy, he works at the humane society for cryin' out loud!
Now, take out your official Cat's on Fire! game token, and choose who the Game Commander will be. The Game Commander is in charge of flipping the game token. To start the fun, the Game Commander takes the token and lays this side down in his/her palm:


This is to make sure you are really playing with a cat, and not some other creature that your friend grabbed at last second because he was lazy. The game isn't any fun with dumb old wallabies! Once you are sure you have a real, live cat, flip the coin over to start the game:


Oh no! The cat has caught on fire! Use any means necessary to put out that darn cat! The Game Commander now flips the hourglass and yells out this round's means of trying to put out the flaming cat. The GC will yell out "stompr good!" or "smothern it!" These are just a few ideas, but part of the fun of the Monstro Blog games is that they require almost nothing to play, but allow for endless fun through the use of IMAGINATION! Now the team tries to put out the cat in the method that the Game Commander has yelled out. When the hourglass runs out, the GC flips to game token and if the "cat" side is flipped, you win! You successfully put out the flaming cat. The whole team can go get push-pops or you can play again. If you filp "s'onfire!" your team didn't put the cat out! It's still aflame! The GC must think up a new means, yell it out, and the entire team gets another round of fun from Cat's on Fire!

For the $19.95 fee you get the Cat's on Fire! game token, the hourglass, and the official Game Commander belt.

Cat's on Fire!, the new family fun game from the Monstro Blog. We're also currently working on two other titles that should be just as fun, if not FUNNER, than Cat's on Fire! Look for Steal a Baby! and
Jezebel Whore! coming soon from the Monstro Blog.

anger, hilarious, and slightly out of context--the monstroblog presents: Adam Sachs

this is at 6:55 a.m.

sachbagger: im gonna get breakfast at prentiss
MANDEL2002: alright
MANDEL2002: well done
sachbagger: then im gonna come back here and have a damn beer


...in all fairness the man just finished his thesis after the famed all-nighter.

A Response

To Drew--

It is a sad day when a man so enlightened as you gives in to the blinders that society places on us. Let's think for a bit. When you pass one of those areas with yellow caution tape around it, what is actually keeping you from walking there? Nothing but 2 millimeters of plastic and SOCIAL CONSTRUCTIONS. The taboo of eating food from found places such as the trash or the ground is yet another example of flimsy social constructions running our lives. The only reason we don't eat the food that Drew describes is because we assume things that have been packaged are better. I might say that you have NO idea whether some employee somewhere has jacked off into your food product or wiped your beef patty with his own shit, whereas when you find something somewhere you can usually see for yourself what might be wrong with it. If the food looks clean then it is just as clean as other food from your shrink wrap in the fridge. If it is dirty then you know what sort of dirty it is by looking, you don't have to rely on reassuring yourself based on vague codes that are only there to re-assure you, sort of like police forces, that you are safe. You are no worse off eating things you find.

The first ever Bloguebate

That's a combination of the French word "Blogue" meaning blog, and "Debate" meaning useless exchange of ideas and concepts. I will be presenting an opening argument, and Mr. Aaron Mandel is going to retort to the best of his abilities until one of us concedes and then another debate topic will be thought up during our next foxhunt.

Issue #1:
I believe that it is a vile practice for a human being to consume food that has been discarded into a trash recepticle or otherwise been cast onto the ground. Food that has come into contact with trash or the floor is contaminated with germs and most likely fecal matter, depending on how often sewage overflows in your house and/or motor-home. It is a sad state of affairs to see a man with all his wits be forced to eat discarded food that has been cast onto the ground.

a crazy life is the only kind I want to lead

Jumago and I have had pretty balls out, supremely nuts days. We both turned in long research papers on Friday after pretty much doing the majority of them the two or three days prior. Then from 7pm on Friday to 7pm on Sunday neither of us slept and performed the whole time at 24 hour theatresports with the exception of me leaving to go play softball for 90 minutes. I am not even tired now, life is too interesting, too exciting, there is more to extrapolate from this, but I'm fried, fried like an egg though, that tastes really fucking good.

As it should be

Drew: founder of The Monstro Blog and student speaker at our graduation.

more self congratulatory masturbation to come...

All-Nighters: Desperation and Neuroshits

It is late Thursday morning. I have been awake since Wednesday late morning. In college-speak, this means I've "pulled an all-nighter". In my speak, this means I'm irritable, sore, and delrious. Why would I do this to myself? Why would motivate a somewhat sane, ordinarily rational man to do this? It is the flaming hoop of Academe, my friends, which I have just barely lept through. Let me be your Virgil, fair Dante of Dreams, and guide you into the Inferno of the All-Nighter.

The Excitement: The first part of an all-nighter is marked by a kind of self-righteous excitment. It's maybe ten or eleven o'clock, the time when you're always up, but you've made the descision that tonight, tonight you're gonna pull the all-nighter. You've got some snacks laid out, all your notes and books assembled, and a blank word document in front of you, just waiting for you to defecate something rich on it. The excitement lasts until ou begin feeling the first pangs of...

The Tiredness: The next part of the all-nighter is marked by a noticeable sensation that you should, nay, you are compelled to stop working and go to sleep. This normally comes a good hour after your normal bedtime. The tiredness has nipped many an all-nighter in the bud and must be overcome by focusing on the excitement. The next several stages can all come very quickly and their order will be determined by your company.

The Crazy: All of a sudden, something that has no reason to be funny is hilarious as shit. And things that you're trying to joke about... well they take on a whole new meaning. You laugh and laugh and then can't remember what exactly got you laughing so hard, but dammit you feel crazy. The crazy is not a good place to give up- once you've reached the crazy, you need to power through to another stage, because trying to fall asleep in the grip of crazy is like trying to solve God's math problems.

The Hunger: Staying up late requires energy, and those paltry snacks you prepared are weak. The body demands nutrition, and sleep deprived as you are, you're reduced to the non-sensical cravings of a pregnant woman. "Pistashio gelato", you suddenly say out loud. Or perhaps it's an entire coconut pie that has caught your poor mind. From the attainable like Jack in the Box, to the impossible like an Elephant foot sandwhich, the hunger moves in and shakes you to your core.

The Desperation: This stage sets in around when you realize that, at the current rate your writing pages, the assignment will never be complete by morning. The desperation takes hold of your remaining sanity and compels you to run outside and scream, perhaps climb a tree, or worse of all regress into a Freudian child-state and whimper uncontrollably. With any luck, whatever action the desperation inclines you toward will snap you back into reality enough to churn another page or two out. That is unless you've already hit...

The Fear: The Fear is a special experience of the all-nighter (and of much of life), signified by the capital use of the letter "F". The Fear is an irrational monster who gnaws at your spine with fangs dulled from gnawing. "You'll never get this done on time", the Fear whispers. "And you know what that means", the Fear continues. "It means you're no good" the Fear concludes. The Fear is what makes you want to put your head through a window. A very effective distraction from the Fear may be brewing in your own bowels however, in the form of...

The Neuroshit: This idea originated with several other Monstronauts who experienced very anxious movements during their senior thesis all-nighters. The basic premise is that during times of extreme duress, the young adult body produces a build-up of not only feces, but also neurosis, which can both be evacuated simultaneously. The evacuation process is intense. A good neuroshit makes you feel like you're a new man or woman, with infinite possibilities laid out before you. A bad neuroshit feels like when you bend to pick up a twenty on the sidewalk and an old woman runs over your hand with her rolly walker and you lose your job as a violinist with the Boston Pops.

The Enfeeblement: Your elbows ache. Your knees ache. You can hardly stand up to take a piss. Or sit down if you're like that. Your head hurts and your back hurts and your eyes burn. You feel like an elderly person, except without the expected wisdom.

The Dawn: It is deep into your all-nighter when you make the foolish mistake of glancing out the window. "Holy shit! It's getting light out! No, no, no!" you cry. Like a spaceman with little burrowy aliens all over him, "No, no, NOOOOOO!" The Dawn can cause a relapse of Desperation, Fear, or Crazy, but can also be turned into Excitement. This is a function of the delerium which has been accompanying the entire all-nighter.

Jesus I'm tired...

Facial hair and life at large: a memoir

I shaved my beard yesterday. It was a good beard for my first earnest attempt at growing one. I had tried several times before, but abandoned the idea before any sort of respectable growth had occured; I looked like one of those magnet-faced toys that have the iron filings awkwardly plastered to their heads.
This time around, I actually attempted to get something resembling a beard to grow from my face. It went okay for a while, just like the diet plan that my high school bus driver started herself on. Then, of course, everything derails when reality decides its time to pay a visit to Candyland. Ms. Humperdink declined into sipping a six-pack of SlimFast while laying fused to the driver's seat of the bus, and my beard became the dark and patchy reality of youthful facial hair growth. The semblance of a real beard was there, except there were odd empty spots of my face much like the old nautical maps with sea monsters drawn in unexplored areas. My beard was not becoming the flowing mane of manliness that I had intended to braid and bead and have gray with age, pride, and wisdom. Instead, it was another failed attempt at a most simple and common task of life. I cannot even grow a proper beard. I have an image of how I look in my head that reality lights on fire and beats out with a rake. I shave out of dissapointment in my own bodily functions.

There are many beardless people that have gone on to be successful. I think tons of presidents didn't have beards, except for Ulysses Grant, who is arguably the greatest president ever considering he is the only general in history to force the surrender of a United States army. There is also the theory that Ulysses Grant is actually just the immortal Jesus Christ, and there was simply a mistranslation in the bible that read "and he rose into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father" when in actuality it should have said "and he rowed with the seamen and is headed to the straight of Gibraltar" which means he was making his trip to the New World where he could wait it out a few thousand years and head the Northern forces and end slavery in the United States. Regardless, I just gave a proof as to why having a beard is awesome instead of proving how not having a beard is acceptable.

My sorrow is a thing exquisite.

coxsackie

sorry to interrupt the stream of Stiles-themed posts, but this is pretty funny I think. So lately I have been feeling healthy as hell, running, playing racquetball, tennis, etc. with nary a care in the world. However, for the last few days it has been nearly unbearably painful to swallow, but I have none of the other sickness-type feelings related to the cold, flu, or strep throat. So no longer able to pretend it didn't hurt a lot to swallow, pain and curiosity got the best of my pride and I went to the health center this morning to talk to a doc. They poked around and tested me for strep and found nothing out of the ordinary. I asked the doc what the matter could be since it was pretty clear that swallowing was putting me in a good deal of pain and he said it was probably "coxsackie" to which I replied "excuse me" to which he replied "coxsackie" which unfortunately is not some sort of phallis in my throat, although I know a good hooker about one, but instead a minor virus that gives you canker sores deep down in your throat and goddam does it have a funny name. It also should go away in a week, but if it doesn't I fear I might then have "ballsackie" or "analitis" or some other terrible medical names.

Anyways, there are ducklings around so beware what Stiles offers to cook up on the grill for you.

Mr. Garrett Stiles, Dirty Son of a Bitch

While writing his thesis, Garrett Stiles would take his meals in his room. The dishes would stay there. Garrett finished his thesis before spring break. The dishes are still there. Using math, we can see that before spring break was four weeks(+) ago. Using manners, we can see that this is filthy.

When questioned about his behaviour, Garrett laughed and said "Frat, frat, frat!"

Frat indeed, Mr. Stiles, frat indeed.

Mr. Garrett Stiles, observer of social personalities

While reading a book on islamic "scripturalism" which he explained to me was really fundamentalism, Garrett Stiles reflected on the author of the book, who he posited was a liberal hippie type.

"I appreciate chill people, but if you're so chill that you are chill with people who are not chill, then...(flails arms around in violent motions) FUCK"

Chill, bro, chill indeed.

Mr. Garrett Stiles, Presidential Candidate

Today, during a topic of activism relating to immigration, feminism, midgets, and several other hot-button issues that tend to spawn empty rhetoric of oppression, Garrett Stiles had this to say in response to people who support these issues:

"I am not in support of oppression of any kind, but I would rather oppress you than listen to your bullshit."

Bullshit indeed Garrett. Bullshit indeed.

Superman returns and I don't care

Hey Hollywood! Why am I not excited about the new Superman movie? I am this movie's target audience: a twenty-two year old male with free time, disposable income, and a huge hard-on for superheroes! There is a comic book movie renaissance going on right now, what with the recent Batman, Spiderman and X-Men films, not to mention the excellent V for Vendetta. In this world of superhero properties being made into highly entertaining films with artistic legitimacy, why does the new Superman movie looks like it's going to suck? I can give you some reasons...

Let's start at the very premise. Superman Returns. Can anybody my age remember caring about the old Superman franchise? Those movies are pretty weak and instead of trying to carry that storyline forward, they should take a cue from Batman Begins and just start from scratch. This makes the film accesible to non-geeks and excites people like me who want to see how a more mature film industry can handle the story.

Secondly, let's talk about the dude. I understand the reasoning behind casting an unknown (poor guy is gonna have the Harry Potter syndrome and never get another role in his life) but why does he have to look so sucky? Superman is supposed to be, well, super. He's supposed to be huge! This guy couldn't beat Christopher Reeves in a fair fight (who never looked that tough either...) Here's what I want to know: Why wasn't the casting of Superman made into a big deal? When Gone with the Wind was being made, the casting of Scarlet O'hara was an epic nationwide search. Let's be honest, Superman is one of the most recognizable characters in the US. Why wasn't the casting of Superman made into a huge publicity deal? A failure on the part of the moviemakes, certainly.

Finally, my biggest complaint with the film so far may be its uber-lame preview. Anyone who knows me or nerds like me knows how we get when a good preview comes on. I still vividly remember the teaser for Jurassic Park II: A puddle of water, rippling as something approaches with slow heavy steps, the camera pulls out to reveal the puddle is a footprint of a dino and the text reads "Something has survived" That's freaking genius! Remember how the Lord of the Rings previews made your skin tingle and your hair stand on end? A good preview makes people like me who should be anticipating the movie into anxious wrecks, unable to function until we see it again. Let's break it down, a killer preview can make me go see a bad movie (Matrix sequels, anyone?) but a bad preview can doom a good movie. The Superman Returns preview is a bunch of plotless unrelated scenes of Superman hovering around and shit, with some boring voiceover providing some dumb morality context. I want to see a preview where Superman stops a fucking train.

So in conclusion, while the new Superman movie may turn out okay, the marketing for it is not. There's a little sadness in all my complaining though; as the bard would say, herein lies the rub: I'll still go see it. On opening day. At midnight. And whether it was good or not, I've still contributed to that monster opening day that'll only encourage them to do it all over again.

Sonsabitches

I'm the only one that has posted on the blog for weeks. I'm the only one that even bothers to think about what I'm going to post ahead of time instead of just taking diahhrea all over my keyboard and hoping somebody with a few minutes of free time likes the keyboard translation of loose stool. I thought up the blog, I design it, I maintain it, and I have to bust my ass posting shit on it, but everyone else likes to tack their name onto the project because it lets them take strippers home. Sometimes I will go out of my way to actually put thoughtful things up instead of just anecdotes about how I almost got run over by an old lady or how I think pretzels are more delicious when covered in nacho cheese. Sometimes I will actually delve into the ether of philosophy and try to bless the cavelike minds of my readership with a shining beacon of light, but all I get for this is people asking me why I'm not funnier. Excuse me, but a man can only talk about the merits of nacho cheese for so long. Unless you want me to start talking about how embarrassed I am that I am 22 and I still have skidmarks in my underwear I suggest you take what is served to you and move on before Nasty Nate decides he wants your fruit cup and corners you in the shower room.
My mind is like a fountain of knowledge. Unlike that 10,000 page book that Ayn Rand wrote The Fountainhead, which sucked, my mind is like a reverse black hole spewing all sorts of forgotten energies upon the universe just because I am a force of nature that gaps dimensions. So be respectful and if you don't read a post you like or they become infrequent don't go running off to some other blog like a dime whore who skips out of town when the sailors shove off. You know that you are getting quality material but sometimes I have to fashion ideas and jokes out of solid marble which takes a long time considering I don't have the necessary tools or technical expertise to work in that medium. I am a keyboardist, so if my mind gives me marble I have to make fucking due, and you aren't better than me, so you'd better do the same.

On that note, I think we are going to be putting up t-shirts soon. That is, if the three other members of this blog take time out of planning their mutiny and actually help me steer this ship away from the fucking rocks we are bearing down upon.

Ariel Sharon: The Robo-Minister

I saw today that Ariel Sharon is going to have head surgery. It remained that unspecific throughout the BBC News article, so it could be to remove a wart or, considering he is in a coma, they could could be taking the top of his head off like a plastic Easter egg and stirring around with a stick in the hopes that stuff gets plugged back in.
I think this is the perfect opportunity for the world to create its first bionic being. Ariel Sharon isn't doing anybody any good sitting in a coma in his old man body, but if he had a new, healthy robot body, he could stick around for 10,000 years making sure shit gets taken care of in the Middle East. I am pretty sure we could do it if we wanted to, if not for the fact that Ariel Sharon would not make a "cool" robot-leader. People have this romantic conception that future technology is supposed to be "cool" and future people are always pictured as good-looking and happy using "cool" devices. Nobody wants to see Ariel Sharon be the first bionic human, but when Brad Pitt dies they'll probably be ready to unviel the miracle technology.
Any talk of future robots/androids/bionic humans eventually must lead to the same climax; discussing which movie/TV robots would win in a fight over the others. The likely candidates in a discussion of this type are T-100 and T-1000 from the Terminator movies, RoboCop, and Darth Vader from Star Wars. Always excluded are the giant robots that the Japanese use in all their TV shows and movies, just because nobody really thinks the future is going to have giant robots that construct themselves out of 5 smaller robots that are each built to resemble a different animal.

I personally think Darth Vader could defeat any robot, but should focus his powers exclusively on defeating Courtney Love.