Unreal to think we’re almost at triple digits with our Friday institution. To celebrate this milestone, let’s all adjourn to the Hart and Dagger Saloon (goddamn obstinate signmaker spelled Hart’s name wrong) for Flabongo beers, gin rickeys, and Bagel Bites for all! Unfortunately for, well, everyone, according to CJS Regular CassieB, the Hart & Dagger Saloon sits in a ghetto ass part of Oakland, which is just as well, since we’re basically in the ghetto of the internet. Seriously, if you put the internet on a map, we’re in between a crappy bodega where the candy’s locked up and a check cashing place, down the street from a methadone clinic.

So instead, let’s celebrate Fridays like we always do, with juicy, time-wasting links! In today’s edition, apps ‘n ‘zerts, practical uses for cartoon characters, pointing out the idiocy of the highest rated show on AMC, the dumbest and most ostentatious fucking car in history, and much, much more. Happy Friday, sucka!

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This section was originally 1,200 words and filled with all sorts of uppity musings about haughty sportswriters and improper contextualizing of violence with regard to the Gregg Williams/bounty thing. You can find that here.

I decided Happy Friday wasn’t the place for such pontificating, so instead, here’s this delightful photo of the Canadian military:

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Now then, onto shit that happened this week. Or rather, let’s go back a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away… to earlier this week in Los Angeles at Topher Grace’s house. You remember Topher? Brad Pitt taught him to play poker in Ocean’s Eleven. Anyway, apparently like everyone who isn’t George Lucas, Topher thought he could do a better job on the Star Wars prequels, and in learning to edit, cut himself an 85 minute condensed version titled Star Wars: Episode III.5: The Editor Strikes Back.

And by the accounts of Slashfilm, old Eric Foreskin birthed the best version of the prequels anyone’s ever seen. Gone is much of the stupid shit that made those three movies so intolerable: the politics, the clone storyline, the majority of Phantom Menace, podraces, galactic senates, and Jar Jar Binks. In its place is one focused solely on Anakin’s journey from Jedi to the dark side and his romance with Natalie Portman. There’s no editing terrible acting and lack of chemistry, but for the love of Christ, at least there’s no more debating about intergalactic politics and whatever the fuck all that clone bullshit was supposed to be. This version will never see the light of day, but read the link above, and I’m sure your nerdly ass can picture the rest and stroke yourselves raw at the thought of the 3-way lightsaber battle between Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Darth Maul opening this masterpiece.

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Season 1 of The Walking Dead sank its hooks into me. The sense of dread, the cool and unusual zombie kills, and the stark landscape all made me eagerly await Season 2. Then Season 2 happened, and thanks to a series of retarded decisions, we spent every fucking week on Doc Cornpone’s lonely farm. Things stopped happening, and already tenuously likable characters blasted through to the other side and became wholly repellant.

It’s time like that when you thank Jesus himself for the internet, because here’s some guy named Gabe driving trucks through the holes in logic of this show and poking fun at its general unpleasantness and stagnation. Bonus: He’s fucking hilarious to boot. For those of you who haven’t watched last week’s episode and somehow don’t want to have it spoiled, here’s your requisite SPOILER ALERT:

“That’s the thing about zombies, though. You either see them coming from a mile away, or they sneak right up on you. It all depends on what makes more sense for the writers. Anyway, Dale screams and the zombie tackles him and now they are rolling in the grass and everyone is running to help him but he’s so far away and out in the darkness because he’s got morals, I think? I think that’s why. The zombie is getting closer and closer but also kind of taking its time, and then the zombie RIPS OPEN DALE’S TUMMY WITH ITS HANDS! Did you know zombies could do that? Surprise!”

Even if you don’t watch The Walking Dead, you should read these recaps, because they’re just that good.

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I’m not going to waste any time with setup here. This is a link to an enormous snow sculpture of Optimus Prime. You’re welcome.

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This is, like, a month and a half old, but it’s the thing I read this week that was most evil and made me laugh out loud. Here’s An Open Letter From Wilford Brimley to Paula Deen. “Do you know that the best way to combat the ‘beetus is to check your blood sugar regularly? As a veteran of the ‘beetus, I thought I’d offer you some friendly advice.” I like that cool new slang you’re using there, Wilford. I have a couple friends who are veterans of “the ‘beetus,” and I’ll pass along your advice to start their day with Quaker Oats. Definitely the right thing to do.

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Can I get apps and ‘zerts?


For a complete list of Tom Haverfoods, please visit TomHaverfoods.com. That way when you’re groping for the proper slang for apples or Mountain Dew, you’ll feel confident in referring to them as “Teacher Candy” and “Halo Powerup,” respectively.

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Onto baseball, which you probably knew was inevitable. And if you didn’t, welcome!

After pissing off Yankee fans for however many years, AJ Burnett is back in the National League playing for what my thesaurus assures me is the antonym of the New York Yankees, the lowly Pittsburgh Pirates. And in an image that God himself likely found too perfect, he fouled a pitch off his face and requires surgery. Career in decline? Couldn’t be.

However, David Brown of Big League Stew took this opportunity to pontificate about how the National League needs a DH. “This seems like a good time to bring up how pitchers batting is a bad idea and both leagues should use the designated hitter.” Actually, this seems like a good time to bring up how AJ Burnett should be less of a dunce, and learn how to lay down a sacrifice like a real baseball player. 9 players on the field, 9 players hit in order. End of story. Brown goes on, “pitchers spend valuable time practicing their hitting when they could be doing more pitcher-ly pursuits.” What the fuck is he even talking about? During spring training especially, some pitchers throw like 35 pitches. What’s the other 7 hours and 40 minutes of the workday spent doing? Following this train of thought, let’s have different guys field too. Let’s have a team of hitters, a team of pitchers, a team of catchers, and a team of fielders, and then we can all play baseball properly. Y’know what, can’t they just play football instead?

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“Objectively, it doesn’t make sense to hate a ballclub. It’s just laundry, after all. But in their 19 years of existence, the Marlins have done nothing more than sell off beloved players anytime they win, pocket revenues without putting them back into the team, lie to their city about the money they’re bringing in, and spend taxpayer cash without giving taxpayers a say. I think it’s okay to hate the Marlins.”Barry Petchesky, Deadspin.

That’s cool, I’ve hated the Marlins since 1993 when they came into existence the same year as my Rockies and I bought an idiotic button that showed both logos and proclaimed “The rivalry begins!” Although I do appreciate how cavalier the owner is about calling his own city’s residents stupid and noticing that Jose Reyes is a money grubbing troll. It’s an inventive way to win fans, that’s for sure.

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For those of you driving Hummers, Lamborghinis, Mary Kay Cadillacs, or Popemobiles and feeling like it’s time you finally stop repressing yourself and let loose with something ostentatious, here comes the Bentley EXP 9 F, just your everyday 600-hp ultra luxury SUV concept.  I think the Occupiers finally rattled the 1% and forced them to their secret rich people cave where you wipe your ass with caviar and smoke really good weed out of a triceratops skull (or whatever the hell ultra-rich people do with their free time) and come up with a car that is truly unnecessary and designed only to piss off super earnest liberals. Mission accomplished!

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Do you wish you had a car like the Bentley EXP 9 F? Conversely, do you wish you could light a rich person’s wealth on fire in front of them every day for a year while they watch and beg and cry and you just stand there like an evil menace and cackle coldly at the piles of cash brightening up the night sky? Or do you simply wish for a Dr. Pepper? Whatever the case, we want to know: What would you wish for if a leprechaun granted you three wishes? Basic Aladdin wish rules are in effect here, otherwise the possibilities are endless. So pick your three wishes and send them to staff@crujonessociety.com, then check back Monday for all the responses.

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From CJS Regular Deuce: “I really want to eat one of these. I wish my kid was picky about eating meat so I could justify this awesomeness.”

I realize using your kid for an excuse works for a lot of stuff: getting out of work you don’t want to do, watching cartoons again, making grilled cheeses every other day, taxes… but we say if you want to make yourself a delicious looking little hamburger with some sausages and bacon attached to it, dammit this is America, and you should do it! And let us know how it turns out, because unless we’re making hot wings for some work bullshit, we’re probably too lazy to build this ourselves.

Got something you think belongs in Happy Friday? Send it to staff@crujonessociety.com, and we’ll put it in next week. We give credit and everything! And don’t forget to respond to the Confessional.

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If he’s the most interesting professor in the world, what should Bender do now? I know! Join the DC School Board! Four more years! Four more years! Undoubtedly though, there’d be the naysayers who argue that “Bender’s big ugly face is as dumb as a butt,” and it’s hard to argue with that, considering what a great episode that comes from.

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Toucan Sam… You leap on the back of the wind… Loadstone to the assorted Frooty flavors… Phoenix of the dawn’s wan smile… We gave you Toucan Sam… Life!… You, Toucan Sam give us Loops of Froot… Frooty Loops… Froot Loopies… Swimming in the churning, frothy mother sea of milk… Kellogg’s appreciates consumer comments PO Box 221, Battle Creek, Michigan… A prism of Frooty color!… A cornucopia of over 40 Frooty tastes… The orange… The apple… The grape… The pomegranate… The quince… THE CUMQUAT!… THE KIWI!… The plantain…

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Speaking of Shakespearean prose, which of you literary buffs recognizes this dialogue sequence?

“Worry not, Jules. Quell the rabble, then await the presence of the Wolf.”
“Hold. Thou ventures to fetch the Wolf?”
“Aye. Does thy brow unfurrow, knave?”
“Zounds, you Moor dog. Would that you had spake only thine intent.”

Recognize it? If thy answer is nay, then perhaps thou should feast thine eyes upon this.

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Two years ago I saw the Legally Blonde musical for two reasons. 1) Because I bought ad space for one of my clients in the Performing Arts Center program, and as a thank you, she offered me two free tickets to one of the shows that season; and 2) Because I’m totally whipped. And fuck me if it wasn’t totally entertaining.

I probably thought for a fleeting moment how great it would be if Broadway finally adapted some movie I loved, and then realized how stupid that is considering I could just go home, watch it myself and order a pizza. In fact, I should do that now. Why am I still writing this? Anyway, they’re making a musical out of Animal House that’s going to be scored by Barenaked Ladies. I can write this review already: Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to put on a musical.

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Fat, drunk and stupid also doesn’t make you a man. You know what does?

Happy Friday! Have a good weekend. The anniversary continues next week.

edagger@crujonessociety.com