My Stupid Review for the Week of May 23

This the the Stupidreview I edited for Stupidvideos.com, highlighting the best viral videos of last week.

The Drink or the Dollar?

Frank Lumley, perched at near the end of an almost empty bar, dressed in his finest Boss Hoggery, held a hundred dollar bill in the air, snapped it, and rolled it into a small tube. Next, he took that makeshift straw and stuck it into the foamy top of a milkshake, slurping. “Delicious,” he said grinning.

“The drink or the dollar?” Lumley looked down the bar and saw that he was less alone than he’d thought. A man a couple years younger, a couple styles trendier, and a little stubble manlier was looking at Lumley.

“Both, son, both. This milkshake is made with the finest vanilla ice cream because it’s delicious and the rarest camel sperm because I can. The bar doesn’t stock it– I bring my own.” The air between the two men had grown as thick as Lumley’s milkshake. “Don’t look at me like that, son. I worked too hard to get here!”

“Do you mind if I ask how you got here? How’d you make your money, or it that too rude?”

“Nah, son, it’s fine. Remember when oil hit 134 dollars a barrel? Well, I was in the barrel biz. 100 bucks a barrel.”

“You charged a 100 bucks a barrel? But wouldn’t that make oil just 34 dollars a barrel?” Lumley nodded. “May I?” the man asked, indicating Lumley’s shake. Lumley slid his drink down the bar, saloon-style. The man caught it and spat in it.

“Hey, son! Don’t do that! I deserve every dollar I earned! Do you know how I got in the barrel biz? Do you?” Lumley arrested the man with the gaze of a principal lecturing a student. “Ten years ago, I was broke, and all I had was a barrel, which I wore strapped to my body with suspenders. Then you know what I did? I chopped that barrel down and made two smaller barrels. I wore one, which was considerably less modest than I was accustomed to. I sold the other and bought party cups. That was my introduction to the biz. I sold those cups to a nearby lemonade stand, and reinvested those profits in ice, which I sold to the lemonade stand at a considerable markup. When that little girl had to raise her prices to cover costs and lost customers, I swooped in and bought the stand from her. I operated that stand for a nine months before I realized I was sitting in a gold mine. That little girl’s dad had built that lemonade stand out of love and wood. The love I had no use for, but the wood…. I chopped that lemonade stand down and made three barrels with it. You know what I did with the money I made from that first sale? I bought a pair of pants. I was in the barrel biz, and, as a business man, I knew I’d need a pair of pants. I sold my first barrels to elephant and seal acts. Demeaning but profitable. Slowly, I moved up to rodeo clowns, acquiring more and more of the barrel market. Soon, I had nowhere left to go but oil. That was where I made my first stumble. I didn’t realize they’d need lids! Otherwise, all the oil just sloshes around, son! It took me forever to live down that ignomy, but I did, son! And for every oilman who called me “Valdeez” because of my spilled oil, I tacked a dollar onto my prices. So that’s where we are, today, son. I’m raking in record profits.”

The other man just stared at Lumley. After a moment, he bagan, “I don’t know if any of what you just told me is true–”

“It’s all true.” Lumley nodded and sipped his milkshake.

“–You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Shame, son, is wearing a barrel to the local swimming pool.”

The other man sighed and went out to his car. He got in, drove to the nearest gas station, where he paid four dollars a gallon for his gasoline, and cursed Lumley while wishing he’d tried a sip of that milkshake.

Another Blogger on Hillary Clinton

While scanning WordPress blogs today, I came across a blog entry that made me proud.Koreanpower9999 writes:

Hillary is the strongest, best candidate. Hillary can beat John McCain. Hillary is my Democrat.

Even if party bosses tell me that we must get behind the nominee and that the nominee will be Obama, I have a choice. Even if family, friends and colleagues tell me I’m wrong, I have a choice. Even if you hate my decision, I have a choice.

And I will use it. To do otherwise would violate the principles I work hard to uphold. I’ve made a decision – a well-thought out, reasoned and rational decision.

Besides, I’ve been here before. I voted for Ralph Nader in 2000 and endured the scorn of others who blamed me for the Democratic loss. Don’t blame me, I said. Blame yourselves for not being able to convince enough people to vote for the Democrat.

Although it’s the pro-Hillary sentiment that caught my eye, it was the last sentence of that fourth paragraph that made me weightless with joy. Someone else gets it. Any candidate is electable. You just have to make a compelling case for that candidate, a case that will sway those who would be otherwise unenclined to vote for the candidate. That’s what makes passionate support of your candidate, no matter who he or she might be, so important. It’s why I’ve never ridiculed Nader supporters–at least they were trying to vote what they believed. When Democrats made John Kerry their candidate, they were second-guessing themselves all the way to the ballot box, and that insincerity undermined their candidate’s chances.

This election cycle, I’ve seen my primary choice for President go down in flames early, John Edwards dropping out very early this year. After some consideration, I shifted my support to Hillary Clinton. She’s been hectored in the press for months and may soon lose her bid for the Democratic Party’s nomination. I still don’t buy Obama’s “change” as something I ever will support. If there were specific changes, maybe I could get behind them, but, as it stands, ”change” barely even rates as an empty promise. I’m not a Democrat so I don’t feel obligated to vote for Obama in November should he be the Democratic nominee for President. It’s likely, though, that I would vote for him as a vote against John McCain. I just want you readers to remember this: Your vote is your vote. It doesn’t belong to your party, your family, or your social circle. It’s yours to use as you please.

I’m Sorry I Can’t Be Your Superhero

Dear, The Undersigned,

I would like to thank you for your recent petition, encouraging me to become Sunnyvale’s resident superhero. You collected an impressive number of signatures which, now, are spread across my living room floor. No doubt you were called to action by my apprehension of The Murderous Duo, as captured on security camera and spread across Youtube. Well, I have to tell you that was more of a one-time thing– like bungee jumping. It was scary, and I never want to do it again. I did it just so that I could say I did. That’s the main reason that I must politely decline your invitation. Of course, there are other reasons that I consider to be equally valid.

• My unique brand of vigilante justice, it turns out, isn’t so unique. The guy at the comic book store told me it was actually insultingly hackneyed.
• I have a well-known and documented aversion to conflict. It took me ten years to divorce my unfaithful wife because every time I’d bring it up, she’d say “What?” and I’d say “Nothing.”
• I’m not fashionably bold enough to pull off a super outfit. I’ve worn Dockers khakis for fifteen years, and it took a leap just to get me out of the pleated ones into the flat fronts.
• Finally, while I do have a mysterious past, tons of money, and a butler, I feel I know the best way to maintain those things: avoid public scrutiny, refrain from investing in supergadgetry, and keep the scope of my butler’s job description as-is.

Now, my butler, on the other hand might make an excellent superhero. I often give him Saturday nights off because he wants to go “cruisin’ for some action.” On those nights, he tells me he’s going out looking for bad boys in tight pants. I must admit that I have long suspected him of maintaining a secret life that he can only hint at.

Sincerely,
Superstrong Heronius, III

PS. Thank you for sending the first season of Greatest American Hero on DVD. I enjoyed it.

A Conversation Between the Guy Who Locked His Daughter in His Basement for 24 Years and His Wife.

Josef: OK, so you know how you’ve been on me to remodel the basement?

Rosemarie: Yeah…

Josef: And you know how you’ve been wanting more kids.

Rosemarie: Right, but it’s so messy–

Josef: Exactly, exactly. Well, this is going to sound crazy

Rosemarie: I hate it when you start things that way.

Josef: Now, just hear me out, OK? I’ve got many birds and one stone here. Daughter–loud music. Always with the attitude? Stick her in the basement and we get her pregnant.

Rosemarie: We?

Josef: Well, that would be mostly me, but I promise it would be a joyless gesture.

Rosemarie: It always is with you.

Josef: Hey, don’t be hurtful! I’m just trying some creative problem solving here.

Rosemarie: There’s a problem with your plan, genius.

Josef: Really?

Rosemarie: Who’ll deliver the babies?

Josef: What?

Rosemarie: The doctor– what doctor would do that?

Josef: Why do we need doctors? Listen, people gave birth without doctors for centuries. They redesigned their basements without interior designers for centuries. They impregnated their daughters without remorse for centuries!

Rosemarie: Sounds like you’re being cheap.

Josef: I’m being practical!

Rosemarie: Listen, if this is just your way of getting out of hiring an interior designer…

Josef: No, no! I can take care of all of this myself! I swear!

20 Years Later

Rosemarie: So you still haven’t finished the basement.

Josef: Well, I’ve given you a ton of kids. As promised. On time and under budget!

Rosemarie: I knew this was just an excuse not to hire an interior designer.

Four years later

Josef and Rosemarie are being led out of their home in handcuffs.

Josef: So, I’m prepared to admit that maybe I was being cheap.

Rosemarie: I can’t believe they’re going to see the basement looking that way. This is so embarrassing!