Ever since I saw the first trailers for Wanted I have salivated at the mere mention of its name. I was so excited to see this film that I actually wrote the following two months ago: In Wanted, Hollywood has finally put together all of the key ingredients to make the ultimate three course meal of awesome.

The Appetizer - Hyper realistic concept of a secret society of assassins who are so dedicated to their craft that they design their own specialized bullets.

The Main Course - Bullet Bending. Not since Equilibrium’s Gun Kata has a film reinvented and restylized the use of guns in film.

The Desert - A shot of Angelina Jolie walking away from the camera naked.

Somehow, instead of producing a steak and taters meal of explosions and exposed tits; the makers of this movie have foisted upon the viewing audience a shit sandwich of a film that fails to live up to its own hype.

Look Hollywood, I’m willing to suspend my belief when it comes to almost any movie. Giant robots from outerspace that can transform into cars? I’m on board. People being kept alive by computers within an artificial reality so that they can use the people as a power source? I’m in. But the sloppy pile of wet ass that is this movie just pisses all over the good will of the viewing audience.

First off exactly how are we supposed to invest ourselves in the main character when you throw him into this wild world based around avenging a father that he never knew?

Fox: Hi, some dude killed your dad.

Wesley: The dad that, up until you introduced yourself, I thought had been dead since I was an infant? The dad I’ve never met and never gave a shit about? The same guy who, according to the way he abandoned me, wouldn’t piss on my face if it was on fire? That dad?

Fox: Yeah, that guy. If you can manifest enough faux teenage angst, maybe cut yourself and dye your hair, over the loss of your absentee parent I will train you to be a killing and fucking juggernaut.

Wesley: Well in that case my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my…

Fox: Wrong movie.

Wesley: Oh shit, sorry…but yeah, fuck that guy.
*silence*
Are we gonna hump now?

What kind of cheese dick motivation is this? Honestly; this is how you expect us to buy intot eh character’s motivation? At least in the comic book Mark Milar made it pretty cut and dry.

Fox: Wesley, your life is pathetic and you’re a fucking sissy. You the only way you could be more of a flapping vagina is if you had a tampon embedded in your candy ass face. But your father, against his better judgment, asked us to show you how to grow a sack large enough to crush a watermelon. And not to deny a dying man his last wish - I’m here to teach you how to be a supervillain. Come with me and you’ll live a life of excess that even your most fetishist fantasies couldn’t touch. You’ll pillage, murder, fuck like a porn star and stomp hippie’s crotches into dust with complete impunity. Or you can say no and I’ll kill you right now ending your pointless life.

Wesley: Let’s fuckin’ do this shit.

See what happens in the second scenario? No false emotional investment just two options: come learn how to be “Fuckin-A” awesome or die the same way you’ve lived; pathetic and impotently. And who can’t get behind the idea of a guy who just wants to be super awesome?

And as long as we’re throwing Mark Milar’s ingenious story out the window – we’re going to need a new reason to explain to our protagonist why he should now embrace the idea of killing indiscriminately. Should we come up with a story about divine mandate? Maybe we could explain it with a story about being a part of a secret government agency that kills for the betterment of man kind? Maybe these guys all work for the Department of Euthanization?

No wait, I’ve got a better idea: A magical sewing machine that supposedly spits out random binary code that somehow equals the names of people that need to be killed. Other than the obvious and glaring logic gap – or the fundamental question: Which mongoloid first saw screwed up threads on a blanket and decided that it meant they should kill someone – why in the hell would anyone, let alone generations buy into this bullshit?

But I will give you donkey fuckers credit - this movie had some amazing special effects shots. The flipping of the car, that amazing parking lot rescue, that one scene where the guy bursts through the glass - all of them were absolutely astounding. And I saw every single fucking one in the previews. That’s right, you guys allowed your marketing campaign to give away every single distinct and signature shot of your film away for free, good job assholes. Imagine if the preview for Empire Strikes Back had ended with a close up of Darth Vader looking down at Luke and revealing the big twist that he’s Luke’s father - a plot twist this movie steals unapologetically. All you had was matrix like effects shots and you handed them all out months before the movie.

But there was one thing you hadn’t given away or fucked up - the final battle. By Hollywood doctrine a gun slinging movie of this caliber must have an epic final fight that puts all other fights to shame. it must employ all of the mystical fighting abilities we have learned throughout the film and eventually our hero must face down the main bad guy. If you look at the matrix - only one of the litany of films you blatantly ripped off for this shit fest - that final battle lasted the entire last third of the movie. Surely this movie had to top that. And as Wesley ran through an entire textile mill - somehow killing professional assassins after only being a killer for a mere six whole days, but…whatever - my heart raced. As Wesley walked into that circular room, surrounded by the elite of the world’s greatest killers, all of whom who could bend bullets and who could wield a gun the way Michaelangelo could wield a paintbrush, an anticipatory boner grew in my pants.

Oh god the possibilities. Possibilities that could have put every action movie to shame. In my mind the film makers were going to put the first Matrix film, Equilibrium, 300, every Quentin Tarantino mexican stand off and every John Woo movie into a big blender, set that motherfucker on “kick ass”, and dish up a milkshake that would give even the most impotent of men a hard-on you could hammer a nail with. 12 super assassin bad guys against 1 superassassin good guy in a round room in a world where bullets can fly in circles…this should motherfucking rule.

Oops, I fucked up, wrong again.

In a movie where character development was obviously something that ended up on the cutting room floor, Angelina Jolie’s character decides that they’ve all been horribly led astray and kills all of the other bad guys - killing herself - with a 360 degree circular shot that makes the “Oswald magic bullet theory” almost plausible. This is all I get? No super show down? Just one miniscule, emo induced change of heart and that’s it? That’s like watching a porno and just as it gets to the money shot both of the actors stop fucking and go, “This is irresponsible. We really should have considered the consequences of our actions.” Then they get dressed and go to Olive Garden.

What I was expecting to revitalize and revolutionize the entire gun slinging genre of film making just ended up being the cinematic equivalent of blue balls. And if I wanted blue balls I’d drop money at a strip club, not the fucking multiplex.

But don’t think I’ve forgotten about you internets; you’re my first true love. What with your ample supply of torrents, your never-ending pool of porno and your non-stop thirst for entertainment.

But first a couple of quick announcements.

I’ve started a “twitter” - the internet’s true answer to attention deficit disorder and an instant gratification complex. From what I can see it’s sort of like text messaging, but on the internet. Where blogs toned down the idea of story telling into bit sized tid-bits, twittering has broken it down even further into trial sized, individually wrapped snippets. Whatever it is, I have one, and if you want to follow me on twitter you can do so here.

In the vein of taking this comedy thing seriously I have opened a new myspace account. I’ll be going through and adding all of my friends from my other account and then, eventually, deleting the old one. You can find my new Myspace profile here.

Last thing and then you can prepare your face for a full frontal blast of dick and fart jokes. I’ve got a show coming up. I’ll be doing host work and stand up for two great bands - Keeping Score and Hooker Fight on July 5th here in Sacramento, CA. I’d like to thank my friend Jon for sending the show my way when he was unable to take the gig. It’s an all ages show with no cover - so you have no excuse, come out and see some live music and live comedy.

Cocksuckers.

And now, another video of me doing stand-up.

We’ll return to our normally scheduled programming soon.

Like the first time I went sky diving for example.

I was out with some friends, drinking like the apocalypse was upon us, when I got an angry hair up my ass to go sky diving. It was a three day weekend and I figured I’d just quietly sneak off Monday morning and go jump out of a fucking plane. Why? Because I’m a fucking idiot; that’s why.

I figured it would be an impressive coup of coolness: disappear early Monday morning, come back three hours later.

“Hey dude, where’ve you been?”

“I went sky diving.” calm. cool. collected

But did I keep this idea to myself? Oh no. I started running my fucking pie hole to any person who’d listen about my surreptitious plan. By the end of the night everyone knew of my now not so secret plan to fling myself out of a perfectly good airplane.

Very. Fucking. Subtle.

So come Monday morning as I’m nursing a weekend long hangover I start getting phone calls from people who were drinking with me.

“So…big man, you gonna go jump out of a plane today?”

“What’s going on skydiver? You gonna get up the sack to back up your fucking mouth?”

So I pulled myself together and drove down to the airfield really not conscious of what the fuck I was doing and before I knew it I was sitting on the edge of the doorway of the airplane staring down at the ground 13,000 feet below me.

not pictured: me shitting my pants.

Why do I get myself into these situations?

So about a month ago I decided that it had been quite some time since I’d done something pants shittingly frightening and I started putting the idea out there that I was going to do something more sphincter clenching than jumping out of a plane. But did I keep this thought to myself? No, I told everyone. Including my mother.

What was my new brilliant plan?

I decided that I was going to do stand up comedy for the very first time.

And below is the video.

Along with a healthy dollop of AWESOME, and two full scoops of bacon flavored ass kicking- each and every year the summer blockbusters are responsible for destruction and death on a scale that most can’t imagine.

Michael Bay said that during the filming of Transformers they destroyed over 200 hundred cars. That’s just cars! Not to mention innumerable lives that are ruined during alien attacks like in Independence Day, meteor strikes such as Armageddon, property damage seen in movies like Gone in Sixty Seconds and possible terrorist actions as seen in the Die Hard series and other movies like The Rock. Each and every year millions of lives are affected by the events that occur during the summer blockbuster. And you could be next.

Tony Stark, Peter Parker, Bruce Wayne; they never expected to be at the center of a shitstorm of craziness. Even the average guy like Sam Witwicky from Transformers or Randal Raynes from gone in sixty seconds were ill-equipped when the hammer of fate came down upon them like four hundred pounds of cake on Oprah during one of her blimping up stages. But they survived their ordeals, and so can you.

I’m here to talk to you today about how to survive a summer blockbuster…should you find yourself inexplicably transported to a weird alternate dimension where Michael Bay and Jerry Bruckheimer play god with the lives of innocent civilians.

In order to assess whether you’re actually in a summer blockbuster or if you’ve just landed yourself in the middle of a maelstrom of unfortunate happenstance; we’re going to answer a quick series of 10 questions:

1. Is stuff blowing up around you?
2. Is everyone shooting at stuff and conveniently hitting mostly walls and debris?
3. Are you dodging gun fire?
4. Are there ridiculous amounts of hot chicks everywhere?
5. Are the unnaturally hot chicks drawn to you like a moth to a buglight?
6. Have you done something ridiculously illegal yet still haven’t even been scolded for it?
7. Are fantastical and amazing things happening all around you?
8. Do you have a pivotal role in these fantastic events?
9. Are aliens present anywhere in the world?
10. Are you Shia Lebouf?

If you answered yes to any of these questions you are in a summer blockbuster and your life is going to be an unstoppable juggernatut of chaos as you watch everything around you circle the drain. Fortunately for you I have developed my patented system:

Step One: Stay the fucking hell away from major cities.
Almost every bad thing that takes place in a major motion picture is centered around a major city. New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Washington DC – these places are magnets for atrocities of Godzilla like proportions. Alien Attacks, Meteor strikes, costumed ne’er-do-wells executing chaos driven crime sprees, all of these things plague our metropolises. So do you self a favor: if you’re standing in downtown San Francisco and buildings start exploding and the subway starts spewing fire like a drunken sorority girl puking up Jaeger and roofies – pack up all of your stuff and head for the fucking wilderness. These kinds of things don’t happen in places like Roundup Montana.

A city the size of a postage stamp.

Red Dawn doesn’t count.

Step Two: Stay near the hot chick.
If you normally have the sex appeal of a burn victim and you suddenly find yourself in the enviable position of having a hot chick like Megan Fox lusting after you; you are holding on to your golden ticket to survival. They never kill the hot chick. Sure they might tease nudity, or show some tastefully artistic side boob, but the likely hood of her getting shot in the head or stepped on by a giant robot is slim to none. So stick to her like bad press on Britney Spears.

Step Three: Stay the hell away from national monuments.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of my years of rotting my brain with explosions and John Woo movies it’s that all trauma in the universe is attracted to national monuments. And not just our national monuments. Summer blockbusters have also been known to be an international affair, leaving grieving widows and devastated townsfolk in their money grubbing wake.

You’re probably saying, “But Travis, most national monuments are in big cities.” True, but some of them aren’t. Take Mount Rushmore for example. It’s in the middle of nowhere. So you’re sitting out in the middle of nowhere, with your finger buried two knuckles deep into your nose, thinking you’re safe because you’re in the middle of the wilderness when all of a sudden: BOOM

Alien space ship blows up the mountain and you’re crushed under Abe Lincoln’s severed stone head because you didn’t listen.

Bottom line: Stay the hell away from them.

Step four: Get a gun.
I don’t care if you’ve never fired a gun before in your life and the thought of pulling the trigger makes you wet your bed like a five year old. Get a gun. At some point during the film you’re going to be in the position of stopping the bad guy, saving the girl and riding off into the sunset but in order to do that you’re gonna need to shoot somebody. Mostly likely right in the face. Probably while doing a wheelie on a motorcycle and shooting two guns at the same time. And no matter that you’ve never touched a gun before in your life, you’ll wield that roscoe with ease and grace of an expert marksman. Despite the fact that you’re shaking like a dog shitting razor blades.

Step Five: Witty Banter
No hero should ever be without an arsenal of witty one-liners and snappy come backs. Many a hero has made bad guys quiver in their logo encrusted boots with the use of a snarky catchphrase or a quick quip. Dirty Harry made criminals piss their pants with “Go ahead, make my day.” The Terminator could cause entire cities to come to a hault with his signature “I’ll be back.” And John McClane put boot to terrorist ass on four separate TOTALLY FUCKING RADICAL OCASSIONS while uttering one of the greatest catch phrases ever muttered through gritted teeth, “Yippee Kay Yae Mother Fucker!” And so should you have a mighty bag of poignant and situationally relevant one liners or super hip non sequiturs.

If you follow these five simple steps you’ll make it out of your summer blockbuster ordeal a little bruised and a little battered but WAY better off than than the sacrificial comedic sidekick whose only job is to die in order to give you some emotional depth…or a cause for revenge.

And if you do indeed survive your summer blockbuster fiasco thanks to my patented system, make sure you tells those news reporters that Travis from howtokillpeople.com saved your life.

Then, out of gratitude, introduce me to your new hot friend; Megan Fox. I promise we’ll send you a postcard from whatever exotic tropical resort we end up humping at.

My little brothers desperately wanted to see “Jumper” when it came out. After my father offered up a sufficient enough cash bribe I agreed to take them. After sitting through ninety minutes of the worst movie ever made, as the credits are rolling, one of my brother’ classmates walks by our row of seats and – in recognizing my brother – loudly asks, “Hey, did you see the same movie?” At which point I yelled, “Nope, we’ve been sitting in the same theater watching The Muppets Take Manhattan.” Just as that kid’s dad was about to give me what-for I verbally accosted him for raising a dullard…but not before graciously kicking him in the grapes and rubbing popcorn in his eyes. He thanked me for enlightening him.

These are the kind of people that make me feel good about downloading screeners off of the internet.

But since this is going to be one of the biggest blockbuster summers on record I’m going to risk jail time for your amusement. I hope you’re fucking happy internet.

This year’s first blockbuster is an ass kicking opus about how great robots are: IRONMAN. Now I’m gonna tell you right now that this article probably contains spoilers. I’m not really sure what’s been seen online or on tv but I’m going to discuss the movie here and if you read on and I spoil something for you don’t get your vagina all in a twist and don’t bitch at me.

Our story starts with billionaire genius Tony Stark being kidnapped by terrorists and forced to build a bomb. Quagmired in a plot reminiscent of Back To The Future Tony Stark does not build a time machine out of a DeLorean and travel back to 1985 – instead he throws together a robotic suit of armor with spare parts in a fashion that would make MacGyver look like the bemulletted, over rated hack that he is.

Tony Stark is, by far, the greatest scietist/inventor ever. Allow me to present this highly scientific chart that pits Tony Stark against some of the most noted minds in history.

	Thomas Edison	Albert Einstein	Bill Gates	Niels Bohr	DaVinci	Ben Franklin	Tony Stark
Nails hot chicks like most people breathe air
Can build anything out of anything with stupendous results
Can sing opera
Eccentric billionaire who can own anything he wants
Can fly
Harnessed a new form of energy
Developed a robotic suit of armor
robotic servants
Super hot personal assistant

I’d like to see Einstein try to score a supermodel. No talent hack.

This two hour epic on the truths about why robots are more kick ass than ninjas, pirates and lumberjacks combined continues as we watch Tony Stark develop a new super armor with the assistance of his super advanced 3D rendering software and his comic relief robot helpers. That’s right, the man who would become a robot has robot helpers. That’s tantamount to Hugh Heffner having naked female assassins for body guards. Robot helpers and hot naked female assassins – looks like Santa’s getting an updated list from one internet asshole this year.

As he’s building his new suit of armor Tony Stark finds out that the same terrorists that were holding him hostage have gotten their hands on a bunch of Stark Enterprise weaponry and he decides to take matters into his own hands. So he jumps in his robot suit and flies to the Middle East in around six minutes. From Los Angeles!

Let me break down the math for you.

As the crow flies a trip from Los Angeles to Baghdad is 7660 miles. The F22 Raptor, the Air Force’ newest fighter jet cruises at 1,325 mph. Without considering stops for refueling, even dropping out of cruise for mid-air refueling, it would take a Raptor 5.78 hours to make that trek. It took iron man SIX FUCKING MINUTES. That means he was flying at roughly 127,666 mph. That means the Ironman suit beats the shit out of any country’s most advanced aircraft, the straship Enterprise and the Millennium Falcon. Of course in my hands I’d probably just end up doing what those guys from Blue Thunder did and scope out naked chicks who were jazzercising in their 1980s living rooms.

Once he’s flown to the Middle East he beats the holy piss out of a bunch of terrorists and then he fights a tank. Let me repeat that for those of you who didn’t catch it: A robot fights a motherfucking tank. If you’re not sprouting some sort of physiological sign of being horribly aroused (hard nipples, raging boner, moist in the crotch – take your pick) then you’re probably not human. Or at the very least not entertained as easily as I am by sophomoric humor. And by sophomoric I mean absolutely fucking awesome ideas like robots fighting tanks, canons that shoot sharks and a mountain made of bacon that is inhabited solely by extremely hot lesbians…who have no problem with public nudity, or people eating their tasty, tasty mountain.

He beats the tank with a single knockout punch reminiscent of a Mike Tyson bout – sans the ear biting and all of the prison rape - and decides that now that he has laid the smack down it’s time to head back to America for cocktails and skirt chasing. Once he is back in America our attention is turned to the real bad guy who has found Tony Stark’s original “Escape the terrorists” armor and decided to reverse engineer that into his own Super suit of armor making him a bigger and better armed robot than Ironman himself. So without spoiling the movie; Ironman has to fight an even bigger robot in order to win the day.

Robot image courtesy of one of my favorite sites:  I FIGHT ROBOTS

So far he’s escaped terrorist kidnapping, fought the terrorists who stole his company’s weapons, fought a fucking tank and now he has to fight a gigantic robot. That’s like defeating Godzilla and just as the celebration orgy breaks out, Godzilla’s mother comes around the corner, distraught over the death of her child and puts a serious cramp on your all asian booby bonanza.

Ironman is obviously victorious - because how the fuck are you going to cash in on a sequel when the main character is dead? As the movie ends, and the sun sets, we pull back away from Tony Stark’s palatial mansion on the Malibu Cliffs and we find the answer to that great universal question: what would you do if you were up to your tits in massive piles of fuck you money?

I’d become a robot and fly around the world fighting terrorists.

That and I’d be balls deep in every super-model I could find.

Robotic balls that is.

Good night everybody.

First; I want to say that I understand people who buy Hybrid cars for selfish reasons with no regard to the fucking environment. They live in population centers like Los Angeles and buying a hybrid allows them to take the carpool lane, with only one person in the car, and give the finger to every other commuter. I understand that. I used to live in southern California and if I had to club a baby seal in order to shave an hour off of my daily commute you can bet your sweet ass I’d be researching whether a metal or natural wood baseball bat delivered the coup de grace with more finesse. So to those who bought a hybrid without giving a shit about the environment, good for you.

But why is it that every other self-righteous prick that drives a hybrid thinks that they are single handedly responsible for the salvation of the environment? As if mother nature were Lois Lane and each time these shit sticks fire up their glorified golf cart they’re donning their red and blue super-douche outfit and flying to the rescue. What’s even worse is that the media, other hippies and environmental groups are lauding these arrogant bags of crap as the last salvation of mankind. As if the act of driving a car will end world hunger, stop poverty, bring peace to the middle east and bridge the racial divide once and for all. Well I’ve got news for you taint sniffers: it’s not a cure all, it’s not the final solution and it’s not a band aide for world crisis.

It barely counts as a fucking car.

All it is is a fucking ego stroke from the car companies that allows you to act like even more of an elitist asshole than you did when you bought your first BMW in the 1980s.

First of all your car has about as much chance of saving the environment as Al Gore does in winning a fight with a nun-chuck wielding grizzly bear. Which, by the way, I would totally order on pay per view. It’s a car flapjack! If you want to be a friend to the environment then get a fucking Huffy. No matter what kind of car you drive you’re damaging your precious environment. As a matter of fact; hybrid owners tend to drive more because you cocky buckets of shit think that; since your car gets better gas mileage than mine you can run all over fuck all like it doesn’t damage the ozone layer. While people like me don’t want to pay for gas so we stay home. So which one of us pollutes less? Me, sitting at home in my underwear playing Portal and eating nachos; or you driving your Prius with smug indifference?

That’s right you dick pump…I win again!

Travis – 4,398,256
Dirty Hippies – 0

Not to mention the fact that these cars are built with the structural integrity of a balsa wood airplane. I got into an accident with a hybrid last year. It was a minor fender bender. My car was fine but the Prius that rear-ended me burst into flames. I tried to put out the fire but as I pissed on the flames all those dirty hippies could do was scream and complain. Not a single thank you for my efforts…fucking ingrates.

But the worst thing about these puritanical egomaniacs is simply the fact that they never shut the fuck up.

Remember when the Atkins diet was all the rage and your office was stuffed to the gills with tubs of goo wrapped in polyester who wouldn’t stop proselytizing about their fucking diet? You’d be sitting in your cube, happily munching away on your Quizno’s sub when one of these carb Nazis would waddle their way over to your desk and start berating you about how bad the carbs in your sandwich were. All the while Orca is cramming consecutive fistfuls of gravy soaked ham down their neck. And for one brief moment you actually consider the fact that you’d be an office hero if you managed to drown someone in bbq sauce. Remember that? Hybrid drivers are the new atkins assholes.

The topic of hybrid cars never comes up organically in any conversation. But any chance they get they will bring up their precious new love affair with their matchbox car and how great they are for driving it. They’ll force it into the conversation with all of the grace and civility of a Parkinsons patient giving back alley hand jobs. Something they’re extremely good at but brings them constant shame - we’re looking at you Michael J. Fox. They’ll repeatedly beat you over the head with facts and figures and their smug-as-shit self satisfaction; all the while the subtext of the conversation revolves around how you’re killing the planet for driving your four cylinder Honda Civic. What’s even worse is when these trogladytes get on their political high horse and announce that since they drive a hybrid they’re doing more for the war effort and peace in the Middle East than anyone in a uniform or on the Joint Chiefs of fucking Staff. My wife actually saw a bumper sticker on a Prius that said, “My car gets 40 mpg, my car can save a soldier’s life. Step up people!”

Really? Are you fucking sycophants that delusional? I happen to have a little first hand knowledge of the armed forces – what with two of my best friends having served in active combat zones and one heading back there in a few months – I happen to know a thing or two about what can save a soldier’s life. Here’s a quick graphic I put together after talking to The Dude and Ryan.

Things that can save a soldier’s life

click on that bad boy to see the full sizer

You know what’s not in that picture? Your self righteous fucking car, that’s what.

You’re the kind of people who disappoint your family by planning vacations around going camping. You try to be eco friendly by getting back to nature instead of taking your kids to Disneyland. Do you know what camping is? Pretending to be homeless. Basically, Mother Earth has made you her bitch.

And you wonder why your family hates you.

But I understand your desire to preserve the earth for future generations, I really do. I just think you arrogant knob gobbers are going about it the wrong way. So here are a few suggestions, other than buying a hybrid, that will help mother nature and infuriate the rest of society a little less.

First off, reduce your footprint - cut your foot off.
Fuck it; cut all of your limbs off, right down to the nub, leaving a whole six inches of stumps for you to crawl around on. Once the act of dragging yourself to the bathroom on you rmeaty little stubs becomes an excursion on the scale of Gulliver’s Travels, you’ll think twice about driving to the store on a whim. And all of the gas you’ll save by being carted around by the medi-van or the bus, will allow me to commute to work on a jet ski or in a tank. Completely guilt free.

Secondly: Eat Organic - eat your own shit.
Think of how much waste you generate when you use the toilet.
Water.
Paper.
Nutrients.
It’s just a never-ending cycle of pollution. By eating your own food babies you are eliminating thousands of gallons of wastewater and cubic tons of poop tape. Plus it gives you one more thing to be a dickhead about. Next time someone tells you to Eat Shit you can look at them with indignation and say, “I do.” And they’ll marvel at your enviro-dedication.

image courtesy of Monocle over at cracked.com

Lastly: Eat Your Own Children
Think about it this way; the future is completely unpredictable and out of your hands. You are leaving the environment in the ill-fated possession of your melon-headed offspring and that scares me worse than the idea of putting my dick in the garbage disposal. And it should scare you too. Kids are stupid, and leaving the earth in their under prepared hands is like putting Scott Peterson in charge of a maternity ward. Your kids are going to fuck things up worse than you could ever imagine so the only real solution is to eat them.

It’s a good idea, it’s something that lions have done for eons.

By eliminating future generations, you’re eliminating future waste. All kids do is break things, dirty up your nice house, eat boogers, smear cheese on the walls and buy Hannah Montana cds. And the sooner we end the diabolical reign of terror and noise pollution that bitch puts out, the sooner the world is going to be a better place.

Plus, if you’re kids are anything like you - and they undoubtedly will be - they’re going to be arrogant assholes who think that they know the answers to everything…and I don’t need the competition.

A lot of people are speculating – in conspiracy theory hushed tones – that Castro has actually been dead for some time and that this recent letter was written by his brother in order to officially pass the reigns of power. Well I call bullshit.

First off I need proof that you actually wrote that letter. You’ve run Cuba like a bully child running roughshod through a Chuck E Cheese for the better part of fifty years and we’re expected to believe you’re just going to give up control of the mechanical band without so much as a curtain call? Not very fucking likely.

Secondly your brother looks like a cross between a retarded Muppet and my grandmother.

Are you really going to put this douche bag in charge? I thought not. But now that you’re gone, Fidel, I’ve got six great ideas for improving that little island nation.

#1 We’re going to divide Cuba into four fun filled activity zones; like Disney Land…or Canada.

1. Vice Land
While this name may give you ideas of reenacting scenes from a video game; it’s really meant to be an escapist destination for people who enjoy controlled substances. Booze, gambling, coke, cigars and hookers; it’s all here for you to glut yourself on. Just don’t blame us if you go all tits up and bloated like Elvis.

2. Professor Robert Willoughbees Fun-Time Bounce-o-rama.
There’s nothing finer and filled with more glee than a bouncehouse made for adults. Well in Prof. Willoughbee’s fun time bounce-o-rama everything is made out of bouncehouse material. Streets, floors, buildings…everything is inflated for your protection and enhanced childlike joy.

Fat People: Feel that spring in your step again.

Old People: Fall down as many times as you want without breaking a hip.

Alcoholics: Tired of being called a falling down drunk? How about a falling down and right back up again drunk?

While you’re here be sure to visit trampoline town: twice the bounce at half the cost and always staffed with buxom babes who are more than willing to demonstrate the world class facilities.

3. Cuba’s National Animal Habit and Water Park
It’s really not what you think.

4.The Island of Youth
Located off the southern coast is our special zone for couples with children in tow. Our kid friendly island plays host to some of the finest family activities including snorkeling, water skiing, pool activities and our patented child gulag. You can park those little bastards and go have some real fun while your children learn the value of hard work as they slave away to produce fine souvenir items for our country gift shop.

While you’re here don’t forget to pick up some Castro Cash. Use it to buy food, drinks and souvenirs on the island and any you have left over makes for a great keep sake.

#2 The Cuban Black Market Emporium
Nowhere else in the world can you find a finer variety of contraband items than here in Cuba’s world famous Black Market Emporium. Spend your left over Castro Cash on human organs, automatic weapons, grenades, yellow cake uranium, pilfered military secrets, and a plush Che doll. Because nothing says, “I remember the revolution, but I still support capitalism and a free market,” like a stuffed toy of a Marxist revolutionary.

#3 We’re bringing back freak shows.
You heard me right. Though they’ve been eschewed in polite society we’re not only going to allow freaks to ply their trade but we’ll also give them their own colony here on the island. I personally agree with Doug Stanhope, “I don’t know who decided to end freak shows, but I bet it wasn’t the freaks.” Politically correct society sometime ago determined that it was rude to stare at people with deformities. I guess I can understand…to a point. But when a man covered from head to toe in puzzle piece tattoos is hammering a nail into his nose on a street corner it’s not only rude NOT to stare but it’s considered incredibly gauche not to at least leave a fiver in his tip cup. Freak shows are fun, they’re harmless and they’re uplifting. Five minutes of staring at lobster boy with his weirdo wiggly appendages makes me appreciate some things I take for granted…. like not being called lobster boy and being able to shake people’s hands without someone going ewwwwwww.

But we here down in Cuba are not all about fun and adventure. We understand that the world is in need of academia. That’s why we are proud to announce the opening of

#4 The Cuban Pirate Academy

Have you always dreamed of sailing the high seas in search of adventure, booty and swashbuckling shenanigans? Well the CPA is the world’s only accredited institution of higher learning dedicated to the fine art of piracy. As a student you can major in:
sword play
patch wearing
the art of parrot husbandry
ports of call
rum based cocktails

Also at CPA we’re doing our part to help the environment. In accordance with our state sponsored religion – Pastafarianism – “global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, and other natural disasters are a direct effect of the shrinking numbers of pirates since the 1800s.” As we are educating a new generation of pirates we are doing more to assist the environment than any company on the face of the earth. Al Gore you can kiss my ass. And parents; you can relax knowing that your son or daughter is staying in our world class dormitories.

#5 Travis World Famous Cuban Products
With the trade embargo lifted we can now export Cuban goods…other than baseball players and people on homemade rafts. I will take advantage of our new economic freedoms and we will begin exporting products that Cuba is famous for.

These two products alone – with their witty slogans and addictive properties – will bring in important American dollars to our economy.

And lastly Cuba needs something to let the world know that it is now open for business. A sign that will draw people to the island. That’s why number six is a new advertising slogan for Cuban Tourism.

All in all I think that I am probably the best thing that has ever happened to Cuba.

Guys, it’s time to talk about shaving your pubes.

Think about it this way: As a guy you don’t want to be in the advantageous position of possibly dining at The Y only to find out that your face is about to Lewis and Clark it’s way through a dense jungle of nasty do you? Hell no you don’t. So if you don’t want to be in that situation what makes you think that your girl wants to take a taste of your hair covered man-cicle? Precisely. Nothing will turn a girl away from a party in your pants faster than finding out that you’ve got a Don King hairdo resting above your Slick-Rick Johnson.

A point of clarification before we move deeper into this; I’m not telling you to retrograde your region to moments of pre-pubescence but at the very least you need trim up the ole front lawn.

The first question you’re probably asking yourself is why in the corn-fed hell would you want to shave your pubes? Other than obvious answer of “it pleases the women” the second answer is that it will bring you great happiness as well. Allow me to elucidate this fact: have you ever, on a whim, shaved your head? How wicked crazy does it feel the first time a cool breeze blows across your bare scalp? Pretty great right? Now imagine that crazy feeling on your crotch, except instead of a cool breeze it’s a girl’s face.

I’ll pause to let you contemplate the awesomeness of both that idea and that written statement.

The second question boring it’s way through your skull is most likely: Travis this sounds like the most awesome idea since a live action Thundercats movie, but I’m overwhelmed, how do I make this goodness a part of my life?

I knew you’d ask.

The first thing you’re going to need is a beard trimmer. It doesn’t matter what name brand but make sure that it’s got adjustable guards it’s rechargeable and cordless. Not being tethered to the wall makes it easier to take care of business in an area that is easy for clean up, but it also makes clearing the playing field on the go a viable option. Make sure you start off using the beard trimmer and not a razor. A razor won’t cut the hair so much as rip it out at the roots and having your man-town fun zone looking like a napalmed village inspires no one towards wang-fun-ification.

The second thing you’ll want is a cream based after-shave lotion. Not only will it cure your newly discovered groin irritation but also if you use the right one it should leave your junk compartment smelling a little like Burt Reynolds. And there is no finer, or faster acting aphrodisiac than anything that directly relates to Burt Reynolds.

I’m not going to over the intricacies of actually trimming down fun-town but I will offer the following advice from a perspective of experience.

If you do decide to go for the full Brazilian – known as the “nuke-and-pave” in the adult film industry – make sure that you take care to get rid of the rest of the hair on your abdomen. Nothing looks sillier than you having a hairy chest, hairy legs and a spotless crotch. If you don’t heed my advice then be prepared for your young lady to laugh when it looks like you have male pattern baldness on your balls.

Speaking of balls, it’s important not to forget your undercarriage. If you were buying a car and - while the top looked great - the underside of the car looked like a pile of steaming, wet, ass … wouldn’t you think twice about the transaction? Yeah, you would. And so will she.

The last piece of personal experience I can pass on is that for the first day or so it’s going to itch. There is nothing you can do to prevent the itch and it will occur at the most inopportune time so here’s some tips to get away with scratching your crotch in public:

The Under The Desk Sneak Attack
Your desk provides the best coverage for a necessary scratch at the freshly groomed wonder sack. While seated at your desk make sure your back is toward the entrance to your cubicle. Scoot your chair in as far as it will go and nonchalantly lay your hand in your lap allowing you to scratch undetected.

The Behind The Book Slip
While carrying a book or binder the tips of your fingers will be hidden from public view which will give you unfettered access to tending the needs of an itchy crotch. If necessary you can allow the book to slip a bit which will allow you to look like you are merely keeping your goods from falling to the floor when you are, in actuality, keeping your goods from driving you insane.

Pocket Protected Undetected
Put your hand in the top edge of your pocket, like you’re acting casually, allowing you to scratch with minimum effort and maximum result. This method has been employed by everyone from male models to grooms at the alter and is virtually undetectable.

Lastly if you want to spice up your adventure in the realm of the short curlies you might want to consider shapes and designs. The easiest way to create crotch-ornaments are to use old cookie cutters and playdough shapes.

Let’s take a look at a few of the more popular designs:

First up there’s the star shape, popular with wiccan crowd. After that is what is commonly referred to as The Bert (mostly gone with a little strip at the top). Then there’s the ginger bread man - which will give your woman the thought that you crotch is not only appealing but a delicious snack. And last up, the heart, always popular this time of year.

And if you’re low on cash this Valentine’s Day…this technically counts as a gift.

You’re Welcome

sadly, this is almost true.

It’s only a few weeks into 2008 and I am sick and fucking tired of hearing about the election. And there’s a good reason for that: the run-up for the ‘08 presidential election started around mid-January of 2005.

As soon as G-Dub put his hand on the swearing-in bible for a second time; politicos started foaming at the mouth, like rabid wolverines, over how they would wrest control of the country out of his hands. This political demagoguery over the past three years has left the voting public feeling over saturated and, quite frankly, fed up and unwilling to listen to anymore election bullshit.

Political-SWAT Teams have taken notice of your apathy and they’re working to fix that. It is understood that in order to drive voters to the polls you have to get people to fill up their brain space with the knowledge that an election is coming. They also want you to understand that voting is not just your constitutional right…but something you need to do if you don’t want your legs broken or your pets sodomized.

Get what I’m saying?

I’m glad you do.

With the current election being so polarized it has been determined that more diverse and drastic measures need to be put in place to increase voter turn out. As such, voter activist groups have come up with a four pronged attack to increase voter turn out that they are calling…

Prong One: The Forked Prong of Voter Awareness.
Voter awareness comes in two different categories: Celebrity Endorsements and Regular Voter Awareness. So I guess technically the graphic should have five prongs.

In previous elections multiple voter awareness campaigns showed up to try to drive voters to their polling places.

P-Diddy told you to vote or die.
MTV Wanted you to rock the vote.
And WWE showed you how to Smackdown your vote.

In the spirit of these previous attempts to popularize the democratic process - including the mildly frightening Bill Clinton saxophone extravaganza - several celebrities have come out of their caves to help convince you to vote.

This strategy employs Mr. Walken’s evil powers to invade your dreams and tear at your soul until you vote.

And of course there are always fringe groups who demand equal time.

I like the fact that in this picture it looks like Tom Cruise is saying, “Good Point Xenu” And Xenu responds, “Word Bitch.”

Of course celebs aren’t the only people who want you to go to the polls. Your neighbors are concerned too. This brings us to the second part of the first prong of the Enlightened Fork Of Doom: Regular Voter Awareness. What do I mean by this? Average citizens who believe in the political process so much that they’ll usher you along the future voter highway.

That’s right I’m talking about assholes with bumper stickers.

It seems like every semi-literate, self absorbed sonofabitch is more than willing to broadcast their political viewpoint on the ass of their Prius. To assist you in fighting them I’ve made a few of my own stickers that you can print out or put on your myspace page or blog. This is an election year after all, and it’s time you started spreading the love.

I feel like anytime I make a joke these days I need to clarify it just in case. I’m not mocking Barack Obama because he’s black. I’m mocking the fact that his name rhymes with a country we are at war in. Similarly if there was a presidential candidate named Koosh I would say fuck that guy because his name sounds like Douche. I hope that clarifies things. If not I can put you in touch with a guy at the ACLU who can explain it with crayon drawings.

Subliminal message: fuck you David Beckham.

Prong Two: Door to Door Canvassing
As the Mormons have proven; the best way to increase your numbers is to go door to door and bug the shit out of people. And everyone seems convinced that the next administration is more important than your eternal soul. Well that’s what the candidates are counting on. They need you to understand that your very soul may be at issue in the coming election. Sadly, in an attempt to create jobs and social awareness most of the candidates have employed the homeless to be their street level public advocates. While their attempts to create jobs is admirable the results are less than stellar because no one wants to take voting advice from someone who smells like piss and looks like a hurricane Katrina victim.

Prong Three: Voter Incentives.
Each year the number of voters who bother to show up at the polls has been dropping. In order to counteract this trend advocacy groups have put incentives in place in each state. Here’s a look at some of the incentives that should be offered in some of the key turning point states.

Nevada - One Free Trip to the brothel of your choice.
Living in Nevada is the only way to ensure your voting experience has a happy ending.

California - Be A Celebrity
Everyone on the west coast hopes that they’ll become a celebrity and as we’ve all seen the easiest way to get famous these days is to release a sex tape. That’s why all California voters will get a turn at the most recent sex-lebrity: Kim Kardashian. Fucking her way into fame worked for her so why shouldn’t it work for you? Each person who votes in the primaries or presidential election will get an all access pass to the fun zones of the latest public fun toy. Condoms will be provided for your safety.

Utah - Eternal Bliss
The state of Utah is obviously backing Mitt Romney in his bid to be the leader of the free world and they are offering something that only a religiously zealous state could: A “Get Out Of Hell Free” card. That’s right the Church of Latter Day Saints is using their bartering power with the almighty to secure your vote on November 2nd.

Ohio - Airfare
If you live in Ohio then you know that you are a vital participant in the final push to the white house. In 2000 and 2004 more money and time was spent in your state, during the final days leading up to the election, than anywhere else. But if you live in Ohio you also know one other truth: Ohio blows goats. That’s why the Poli-SWAT teams have secured funding to purchase every voter a plane ticket to get the fuck out of Ohio and go somewhere fun for a few days following the election.

Prong Four: The Bonus Prong
Presidential Candidate Drinking Games

Every Time a republican mentions Ronald Reagan - Take a shot.

Every time a republican likens themselves to Reagan - Take Two.

Every time a republican mentions the border - shot of tequila

Every time a democrat mentions global warming - ice luge shot of Jaeger

Every time a democrat mentions bringing the troops home - Take a shot

Every time anyone says “Weapons of Mass Destruction” - Have an Irish Car Bomb

Every Time Giuliani mentions 9-11 or the Twin Towers - Pound a beer

Every time Giuliani mentions being the mayor of New York - Shot of whiskey

Every time Hillary mentions being in the White House in prior years - Do a body shot…It’s what Bill would have done.

Following these rules you should be shit-face-plowed after the first debate.

As you can see; political activists are looking to make 2008 the most interesting Presidential Election ever. And quite frankly I’m scared that if, after all the planning that went into the Enlightened Fork Of Doom, you don’t take the time to go out and vote - they’ll come after you and your whole family.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about; here’s the story:

Before August of this year I inhabited a little known corner of the internet that garnered a moderate amount of attention from a core group of fans and friends. They understood my sense of humor and knew it was all a joke. They knew that the domain name – howtokillpeople.com – was simply a device used to garner attention. There were no directions on killing people and any statements made regarding that topic were tongue in cheek.

But then along came the Contra Costa Times and their heavy handed storm trooper Thomas Peele. He read the title of my site and maybe two or three articles contained therein and took it all at face value. Then he mounted his soap box in the middle of a retardedly slow news cycle and, with a straight face, proclaimed that I was a threat to national security. And the media lapped it up with a fervor normally reserved for high speed police chases and hostage stand offs.

I can’t count how many times Thomas’s story was distributed, retooled, translated and quoted throughout all forms of the media. And each time the story was re-broadcast the news casters would climb higher and higher on their ivory tower of self righteous delusion loudly proclaiming that I was a psychotic hate monger. Suddenly I was the only one in the world who had ever told a dirty joke.

What’s the old saying about he without sin and casting stones?

I’d like to pause here, before we get into the heart of this article to thank the few people who actually took the time to research my site, talk to me and give a fair and balanced look at what was happening. Matthew Yi at the San Francisco Chronicle. Jesse McKinley at the New York Times – being able to say I am on record with the New York Times as not being a fan of Superman is hilarious to me. Chief among these however is R.V. Scheide at the Sacramento News and Review who sat and talked with me for two hours before writing his piece. I’d also like to thank the people who sent me supportive emails during the tsunami of shit that Thomas started.

I’d also like to thank the people who sent me hate mail. Those of you who never read my website and had no idea who I was until you saw the title of my website in your local AP News Wire which prompted you to fire off vehement hate-filled bullshit that clogged my inbox for days. I’ve never seen so much blind hate. I found it refreshing that all of you who wrote to me saying that I am horrible human being and that my statements of comedic violence were disturbing wanted nothing more than horrific violent acts to happen to me. Let me give you a basic outline of how most of the hate mail went:

From: Some Dumb Asshole
To: Travis
Subject: I hope you get raped
I just heard on the news about your website and I have to say I hope you get fucked in the mouth by a gang of rabid howler monkeys. The news people said you promoted mass violence. I’m against mass violence and as such I hope someone beats the shit out of you to show you how bad mass violence is. Please don’t take into account that I never read your site, or anything the news robots quoted, I just want you to go to Iraq, get Aids and fall into a pit of old hypodermic needles. That should teach you that violence is wrong.

Hugs and Kisses
Your eternal fan,
Ignorant Twat Face

And those were the intelligent ones.

What I find amazing is that following Thomas’ article a lot of people read the name of the site and took it at face value without delving any deeper. The problem with that, Tommy Boy, can I call you Tommy-Boy? Good. The problem here Tommy Boy is that if you take the name of the site at face value and read the content without grasping that everything I write is a send-up of popular culture then YOU HAVE MISSED THE POINT. Your assertations have been mistakenly applied across the entirety of the content that I have written. If this is the case and you have completely failed to understand the concept behind satire, then let’s take a look at what you believe to be true.

(…and if you’re new here I’ll link the articles so you can read ‘em.)

The Iphone really can discipline your children, summon sharks and rape your TIVO.

I really think I can grow up to be a robot.

I actually have in my possession the AOL Instant Messenger screen names for famous people,

politicians

and the president.
Famous people enjoy eating shitty food and watching wrestling with me at my house.
I really do have an army of robots hunting down musical acts that I hate.
I really want to be president of the world with an army of ninjas attacking terrorists on Mars.

MARS, motherfucker, ARE YOU SEEING THAT?
I have a white rapper alter ego named Man-Aze.
I am currently marketing a slip n slide that ends in live alligators.

Even taking into account one of the articles you quoted:

I’m currently trying to start my own branch of the government that will go around mercy killing people according a list that I make up.

If you take all of this into account; if you take all of this at face value – as you have suggested – then I am a bigger threat than Al Qaeda, Hitler, Zombies, The Rapture, and Martian Invaders.

And just to save you the time of misquoting me. “Travis, of howtokillpeople.com says he’s a bigger threat than Al Qaeda because his armies of Ninjas and Robots are poised to strike aging musical groups and an uninhabited planet at any minute.”

If you’re that scared then by all means, call the FBI and read them that quote VERBATIM. Do it. I double dog dare you to because I think we all know that the feds will laugh in your hack face. After all, they’ve already got a file on me.

Speaking of misquoting people and taking things out of context I am announcing here and now that I am going to become an investigative reporter myself. I’ve started doing some research on a character that I believe could be a bigger threat to this nation than me. Who is this threat? Thomas Peele.

Let’s look at some examples.

In an article dated 8/20/2007, titled “Squirrel Poisoning Halted”; you wrote about plans for the city of Concord to poison squirrels that they considered a nuisance. But never in that article do you state that you are against the poisoning of small furry animals. From this I can only form the opinion that, since you didn’t take the opportunity to denounce the killing of small furry creatures, that you do in fact endorse it. Were you aware sir that FBI forensic profilers have determined that animal mutilation is an attribute displayed by latent serial killers? Of course this is my opinion but since you didn’t EXPLICITLY say that you don’t want little animals to die I can only assume that you look forward to their cuddly little deaths.

I know what you’re asking, dear readers,

In an article dated 10/28/2007 titled “Governor keeps records hidden from the public” I notice something that, in my opinion, seems rather disturbing: your unhealthy obsession with Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger. “…it must be time again to write about Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger..” you state at the beginning of the article which leads me to believe that you’ve spent a great deal of time writing about him previously. Are you doing that online fan-fiction stuff that’s popular with the Harry Potter crowd? Hell, in your second sentence you describe “…his legendary biceps…”. Well hello there doctor! Does somebody have a little crush?

I’m going to do you a solid here Tommy-Boy. Though I may not be able to prove that I’m a better investigative reporter than you, I can certainly show that I am a better human being. In neither of the articles above does Thomas Peele actually advocate the mass murder of squirrels nor does he betray the slightest hint of having a man-crush on the Governor. Those were merely examples showing what can happen when you remove someone’s words from their original context and grossly misrepresent them.

Oh wait… I can too prove that I am a better investigative reporter than you are. Check out this shit home skillet:

In your first follow-up article you made so many gross errors that when I read it I pooped. No joke, your investigative abilities were so erroneous it caused me to crap in my pants a little bit.

Your first follow up article garnered very little attention which is why, I can only assume, you dressed up your next article and made it a little more scandalous. In your second article you stated “The website remains active, but the blog that contained entries about how (he) wished he had beaten a woman in Sacramento and how he had once loaded weapons with hollow-point bullets because he had to drive to…Oakland appears to be removed.”

NO IT HASN’T YOU FUCKING MORON. You just didn’t take the time to look past adding more sensationalized phrases in this second article – no doubt in a rush to get it back out to the associated press so that you could see your name in lights again – that you failed to do even a modicum of basic research.

The article about me hating the woman at the capitol is RIGHT HERE JACK ASS.

And the one about going to Oakland with weapons…RIGHT HERE SHIT STICK.

You go on further to state ,”A photo of [him] holding a fake automatic weapon superimposed so it appeared he was pointing at three African Americans on their knees and dressed in tribal garb was apparently removed.”

Wrong again. It’s right here

Though I do like that you admitted, this time, that the gun was fake. Originally you seemed rather concerned that I had gotten my hands on an actual M-4 carbine with an M-203 grenade launcher and gone looking for tribesmen.

Further more did you actually take time to read that blog entry or did you just see black people and assume they were African Americans? In that entry I was speaking about going on my honeymoon in Jamaica and was humorously commenting that the Cannibals on the island of Jamaica weren’t going to ruin my honeymoon.

So you saw black people and assumed they were African-Americans. Nope, they were Jamaicans. I think that technically makes YOU a racist.

Secondly: there is a history of cannibalism on the island.

But seriously, I was going to be staying at a resort. The most I had to fear was the bar running out of rum. But since your sense of humor is lacking I can see why you failed to “get” it.

Do you perform your research on a speak-‘n’-spell?

Quote sources out of a pop-up book?

I have heard a saying that goes something like “a good reporter is only as credible as their sources”. Let’s take a look at some of your “credible sources”.

William Wenger was discharged – albeit honorably – following an investigation that went to the supreme court regarding an incident in which he was involved with strippers. Here’s the case summary in PDF form:Ever since that incident he has apparently been rabidly and irrationally critical of any National Guard General Officer that has been appointed to positions that – no doubt – he feels he should have received.

Frank Schober was a Lieutenant Colonel when he was appointed to the position of a two star general by his former college room mate – then governor Jerry Brown. So he was an O-5 assigned to an O-8 position and earning O-8 pay. Since he was removed from the position of the Office of The Adjutant General the state has passed laws against such favoritism. He was also released from his lead position of the San Francisco OCC (the Office of Citizen Complaints – a city appointed group that was assigned to over see civilian complaints against the San Francisco Police Department) with the assistance of Diane Feinstein. Seems like every big boy job he lands himself in he gets removed from.

I like the fact that you use sources that are as publicly scrutinized (if not more so due to them actually holding a high ranking position as opposed to chauffeuring around high ranking officials) as me. That’s a neat technique. Tell me, which style book did you cull that technique from?

God that’s great. Maybe when I’m done with the two books that I’m working on I’ll write a style book specifically for journalistic hacks like you. Sort of like a color-by-numbers guide to behaving like a hysterical teenage girl.

Tip One: Channel your inner drama queen. Blow everything out of proportion.

Tip Two: Apply an absurd level of scrutiny to things you formerly enjoyed. Remember you’re a journalist now - not a human.

Tip Three: Take everything out of context and misquote people as often as possible. False gravitas makes stories that much better.

Tip Number Four: When attempting to discredit someone – even if they really don’t merit the attention – make sure you round up a motley crew of disgraced former professionals who served in the same career field of the person you are trying to disgrace. If people call you on it then defend your actions with something like the following: “Well the people I asked about this incident were complete fuck ups who got in shit loads more trouble…and they think this guy is bat shit. So it’s got to be worse right?”

Sure it is Tommy Boy. Sure it is.

I think the clearest impression I’ve been left with following this attempt to crucify me - ironically enough for practicing freedom of speech, something that you supposedly hold in high esteem per a footnote on one of your articles that reads “…numerous awards for reporting on first amendment issues…” – is that the words “In my opinion” and “Allegedly” may be two of the most powerful disclaimers in the lexicon of the professional journalist. By using either of those statements you can write ANYTHING without fear of legal action.

I think that’s how your sources were able to say I was a psychopath and a threat because they stated it as an opinion and not as a fact. It’s obviously how you got the story past your editor without a legal team on hand. Thankfully this is a journalistic practice that I can use as well.

It is my OPINION – and that OPINION is based on ABSOLUTELY ZERO FACTS – that Thomas Peele enjoys scat (otherwise known as coprophilia, a sexual fetish involving feces). By being completely overt with it everyone knows I’m lying but it’s still satisfying to say. Everyone knows I’m lying – hell even I’m admitting that it’s all bullshit - but if I say it’s my opinion that Thomas Peele is sexual fetishist with a penchant for playing in shit enough times – people will stop reading your articles.

I’d like to thank you though; you have confirmed everything I thought about the media. I think it’s important for people to question the validity of statements that are made in a public forum – especially when those statements are passed off as a paranoid alarmist call to arms from an attention seeking media whore.

But let’s face facts here, we both know why you wrote the article.

Was it for attention?
Most definitely. Your article about a guy telling dirty jokes has garnered you the most attention you’ve ever received.

Was it out of concern for the public trust?
Fucking doubtful, ass clown, seeing as how even my old employers – and the CHP who showed up at my house to do a threat assessment - have proclaimed I’m officially not a threat.

Was it out of a personal vendetta on behalf of your editor?
Well that is quite possible seeing as how my story had about as much journalistic merit as “Bat-Boy escapes again.” You know you had to do something to make a story about a guy telling dirty jokes on the internet more sensational so you drummed up a frenzy by calling the governor’s office and my boss and started assessing wild accusations based on quotes taken out of context from articles that – even I admit – isn’t my best work. Of course this is only my OPINION. My OPINION however does have some circumstantial evidence.

One of my most popular articles is one titled: Fuck Family Circus. In this article I lampoon Family Circus by taking the captions of the comics out and putting in my own actually funny words. In that article I gave appropriate credit to Bil Keane for creating Family Circus; because it’s legally correct. But figures in the public domain aren’t protected from satire which is why every tv show, radio program and internet asshole can get away with parodying celebrities and politicians. Which is why Comedy Central can get away with its patently offensive portrayal of the President in their show: That’s My Bush.

Sadly, due to the public attention that I have received thanks to your flaming pile of dog shit article I – technically - have become a public figure and as such am not exempt to satire and parody.

I hate irony.

What would make me of the OPINION that you were carrying out a personal vendetta on behalf of your editor Kevin Keane? Why an email I received anonymously from inside the Contra Costa Times – the news paper responsible for bringing to light the story in the first place.

I received that email the day the article broke.

You sir, in my opinion, have broken the cardinal rule of respected journalism: you have betrayed the public trust. You seem to have abused your position in the public eye in what is supposed to be an objective, non-biased medium to take aims and possibly vengeance against a person who’s position in the public light was minimal at best – that is until you came along.

In my OPINION, Tommy Boy, you are the embodiment of all that has gone awry with the media. You manufactured news and then – by holding my former employers hostage (politically and socially) – you made your assertations of supposed impropriety something to be dealt with. This is tantamount to you writing a story about Big Foot being a terrorist and then calling the department of homeland security and demanding to know what they intend to do about this furry purveyor of evil. IT’S NOT AN ACTUAL THREAT! But by demanding that something be done you forced their hand to examine something that would never be in their purview.

Good Job, your false paranoia netted you the results you so desperately desired: your name attached to an AP News story that was spread worldwide. To date I have received supportive emails from America, Canada, Japan, Germany, Mexico, Africa, Chile, Brazil…pretty much everywhere except Antarctica, The Lost City of Atlantis and Santa’s Workshop. And you ALLEGEDLY got the revenge you were looking for. Let’s hope the target of your next Access Hollywood like expose is something worth actual public outcry.

Of course this is all OPINION and CONJECTURE. But just for good measure here’s a few more Family Circus Cartoons to sweeten the deal.

In closing I wanted to say thanks because I didn’t truly realize what kind of fan and friend base I had until your article. I had been home from my honeymoon for about a week when your slanderous article hit and before I knew it people I had never met were rushing to my side. I never truly appreciated how devoted and loyal my friends and fans were before you caused them to all step up to the plate in order to defend me. But that gratitude doesn’t go to you Tommy-Boy; it goes to those of you reading this. To those of you who left comments on websites all over the interweb defending my kinda/sorta good name.

And to those of you who emailed Angelina Jolie to try to get her to be my celebrity spokesperson…I wish that had turned out better.

Travis
the boy’s got a point