I think an explanation for the name of this blog may be overdue. It depends on whether or not you're familiar with the humor columns I wrote for the Advance-Titan during my senior years at UW-Oshkosh. Almost three years ago I wrote a column called “Sixty-nine Fist Pumps” which you can find by grabbing a spade from your garage, strapping on a miner's helmet, and digging into the archive section to your right.
Fist Pumps are my unit of measurement for ratings systems. Two thumbs are paltry. Four stars are twice as meager. At the other end of the spectrum, the 100% offered by Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes is excessive. Sixty-nine is the perfect number for a ratings system.
I don't merely rate movies, though. Or CDs, books, or episodes of “Erotic Confessions.” I rate EVERYTHING. Wispy cirrus clouds earn 61 Fist Pumps. Being told the restaurant where I just ordered a Coke only serves Pepsi gets 35 Fist Pumps because I'm good either way. Commercials that depict cartoon renderings of old people griping about their investment portfolios are lucky to receive eight Fist Pumps because dammit cartoons are not supposed to be stern and boring. I could rate anything on a scale of 1-to-69, from the potency of your burps to the way those jeans make your ass look, reader. (Second part of the promise not offered to dudes.)
As for why Fist Pumps were selected as my unit of measurement, they're more expressive than thumbs and percentage points, and as a fan of sports who has never been able to play them worth a damn, the Fist Pump is the only part of athletics where I excel. I'm not likely to drop a triple-double against the Pistons like Dwayne Wade, but I can match the nonchalant coolness of his Fist Pumps as he backpedals down the court after icing the game by swishing the second of two clutch free-throws.
But a mere explanation would fail to satisfy. Another comprehensive list is in order, another range of enthusiasm for topics obscure and universal. If it's true that everyone's a critic, then everything must be criticized, one righteous Fist Pump at a time.
69. God parts the Heavens and pokes his majestic face through the clouds to utter the profound words: “I think I lost my keys down there...”
68. The Cubs win the World Series. Afterward, all remaining members of the 2008 squad line up at Wrigley Field and bend over to receive swift kicks to the ass for the collapse in last year's short-lived playoff run.
67. The Cubs continue to not win the World Series but still promote “Ass-Boot a Failure” day at the Friendly Confines.
66. The Trix Rabbit, the Lucky Charms Leprechaun, and Tony the Tiger come to life and help me rob banks. We wear masks of former presidents a la “Point Break.”
65. Every woman I meet that I'm attracted to begins our conversation by saying one of the following words: “Single” or “Taken.”
64. “Trailer Park Boys.” This mockumentary-style import from Canada depicts the hilarious side of poverty and indignity while retaining compassion for its characters. That's no easy feat.
63. Not that I've ever seen it much less smoked it (AHEM!), but marijuana is legalized. Please. Stoners are every bit as irresponsible as drunks and they're one-thousandth as destructive.
62. The band name Space Canoe, whose first album would be titled “Up a Black Hole without a Paddle.”
61. At the mercy of a giant crane with a hook that pierces his underwear, lame-brain pundit Glen Beck gets dunked into a pool of his own tears until he confesses that he never graduated from high school.
60. The stretch of music on Cake's album “Comfort Eagle” that features bittersweet seediness of “Meanwhile, Rick James” and the serene writer's anthem “Shadow Stabbing.”
59. Cohen Brothers movies, on average.
58. Having a nightly bonfire fueled not by kindling and logs but rather ventriloquist dummies.
57. The “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.” It's sweet erotic torture!
56. Mental illness. At least the part of it that helps provide strange ideas to write down.
55. The design of a can of Budweiser. The cursive Budweiser hints at an element of class, but the all-caps and bold GENUINE lets you know these brewers aren't fucking around.
54. A slam dunk contest in which all the athletes are required to have a blood-alcohol level that is double the legal limit.
53.Sporks. They're the perfect instrument for slurping the ranch sauce from the bottom of a bowl of salad while maintaining the prongs necessary to stab those last few shreds of lettuce. Sporks should have a place alongside the knife, spoon, and fork in every drawer of silverware.
52. The World Baseball Classic. For a baseball fan, anything is more compelling than spring training.
51. Instead of the traditional yellow sign that reads “Deaf Child Area,” somebody takes a chance on
a more direct alternative: “Your honking is useless against them!”
50. A plain old, sober slam dunk contest. Alcohol could do it wonders.
49. The term “Garbar,” which is not in fact a villain from “Battlestar Galactica” or some shit but rather the name I gave to the genre of bars in Knowles, Wisconsin, that is a garage converted into a bar.
48. “Mariokart 64.” Dammit, this should rank higher, but I've never been able to perfect the power-slide on those tight and winding corner turns.
47. Farrelly Brothers movies, on average. For every goofy masterpiece like “Dumb & Dumber” there's a bomb like “Say It Isn't So.”
46. Monster truck rallies. I've never been to one, but I'm thankful they exist. The promotional commercials are hilarious.
45. The defeated plummet of a fly freshly swatted.
44. My smoking habit. I'm resigned to the fact that sometimes I just need a break from people, and this bad habit keeps me occupied while I step outside for a bit. This would rank higher, but you know...lung cancer.
43. The rallying chant of “USA!” screamed by the fans at a pro-wrestling event as an American fake-battles a Commie during the waning years of the Cold War. When choreographed violence meets dumb patriotism, I can't help but smile.
42. Ranch sauce. It would rank higher if it was compatible with more deserts.
41. Eating fried chicken skin. A crunchy and crude treat, but it's impossible to munch without looking like a vagrant.
40. Banana-flavored Starbursts. They're not terrible, but only a soulless cyborg wouldn't rather chew on strawberry or orange.
39. Umbrellas. Sure, they're handy when it's raining, but once the sky dries up, you become a worrisome schmuck carrying around an object that isn't serving a purpose. Plus, like the “Piňa Colada” guy sang, sometimes it's fun to get caught in the rain.
38. Being Catholic and eating meat on a Friday during Lent. If that is the main reason I get sent to Hell, at the very least I think it'd be fun to argue with St. Peter or God about how stupid that rule is.
37. Staring at the change left on the table in desperate search of ideas as I try to think of another Fist Pump.
36. Tails, as opposed to heads, in a coin toss. The backside would rank higher if it didn't so often defy its own promise about never failing.
35. Being told the restaurant where I just ordered a Pepsi only serves Coke. (This is a recycled joke only if you factor in the transitive property.)
34. A clown getting murdered. I know that underneath that freakishly pale makeup they're almost human, but if there was a serial killer who targeted only clowns, it would be tough for me to root against him.
33. My annual choice to drop twenty dollars on an NCAA Men's Basketball tournament pool. I am so ill-informed that I cannot name a single player on the team I picked to win the championship. Hurray for gambling!
32. Now that I finally own a car, hovercrafts are invented overnight and all my friends immediately buy one. This would rank lower if the horns didn't blare the theme from “Back to the Future” to help subdue my rage.
31.Bedsheets. They're unnecessary! Here's an analogy: bedsheets are to a side of asparagus as blankets are to T-bone steaks. Asparagus doesn't quell our hunger and bedsheets don't make us warmer.
30. Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. If I could avoid doing this without affecting an eccentric gait, I would, but as it is, I can step on sidewalk cracks begrudgingly.
29. Vampires. I say, if you can kill them by impaling both their heart and their head, they are more vulnerable and therefore less bad-ass than zombies.
28. Knowing there was probably a Microsoft Word function that would allow me to vertically arrange
the numbers 1-69 but not knowing how to do so when this column was a blank template. Still, I get a certain amount of nitwit-pride in foregoing shortcuts.
27. Getting sent imaginary fox glove and carrot plants in my Facebook account with the promise that clicking a button will somehow fight global warming. I know that global warming is real and perilous, but come on, people, let's be rational about this and realize we're not improving the environment by exchanging meaningless symbols over the Internet.
26. The aforementioned Garbar's lack of an ATM and refusal to accept plastic for payment, which forced me to borrow beer money from my friend Tony. If I lived in Knowles, I'd probably store my cash under the mattress as if it was 1929.
25. My friend Tim's Fist-Pump ranking of “Hitler & Mr. Dusseldwarf (featured in the archives) warranted a somewhat lackluster 59 Fist Pumps. Hey Tim, do you know what else is worth 59 Fist Pumps? Me, punching your face.
24. That conservative-friendly and humorless show about a federal agent who only has so much time to save the senator and his family that airs on FOX. I forget what it's called...
23. The high note Ringo star attempts to hit toward the end of “With a Little Help from My Friends.” After a respectable performance on a pretty good pop song, I cringe every time when he belts out the word “FRRRIIIEEENNNDDDS!”
22. Local commercials that feature two meatheads with gel-spiked receding hairlines who point at the camera like vindictive pro-wrestlers and promote their dealership by grunting: “We got the trucks!” These two stooges should try shattering a brick over their heads and declaring, “We carry the product we're known for!”
21. Shopping on-line. There is reason to be wary of the agoraphobic bend of technology and convenience.
20. The quality of music available on radio stations. Someday I plan on T-boning a semi at 65 mph because I'll be busy fussing with the tuner in search of a song that is tolerable.
19. A horror movie I saw recently called “The Strangers.” There is a juvenile term for masturbating with your hand while it has been put to sleep after twenty minutes of sitting on it called “The Stranger,” and if “The Stranger” were on this list, it would outrank its pluralized counterpart.
18. Having cold hands. I think the plate in my jaw conducts cold air and that Grim Reaper chill spreads to my extremities. The moral of the Fist Pump is Never try to break up a fight, kids.
17. Vanity license plates. Paying extra for a personalized plate doesn't mean you're unique; it just makes you look like a pretentious sap.
16. The plodding transformation from Sunday into Monday.
15. Phish. Forget why. I'm tired of explaining the reasons.
14. Centipedes. I'm not fond of any creature with more than four legs, and centipedes far exceed that number.
13. Millipedes. All those additional legs make them even more loathsome than their disgusting bug counterpart, the Centipede, which you may recall from Fist Pump #14.
12. Decaffeinated coffee. I always hate it when the key ingredient is removed from a beverage and marketed as being anything but a ripoff.
11. Non-alcoholic beer. You know why.
10. David Letterman's Top Ten List. This low ranking isn't due to comedic merit; ten just isn't an adequate number for a joke countdown routine. Multiply your trademark number by 6.9, Dave, so I can sue the pants off of World Wide Pants.
9. Mental illness. The part that keeps me owing hundreds of dollars to the hospital for an innate dysfunction.
8. World's tiniest violin solos.
7. Hiding underneath the bed when a machete-wielding sociopath breaks into your house. If you ever find yourself in this situation, reader, either grab a nine-iron and defend yourself or run the hell away. Hiding is futile and underneath the bed is a hiding spot familiar to even the dimmest serial killer. (This Fist Pump does not apply to clowns, of course.)
6. The Confederate Flag. Celebrating the failure of inhumane ideals since 1861.
5. The phrase “Everything is going to be all right.” It's possible to cheer someone up without bullshitting them by promising universal perfection.
4. Diarrhea on the first date. You know you've found someone special when you can tell them you've got diarrhea on the first date and they sympathize without questioning your tact. This is the prime reason, perhaps, that I still haven't really found someone special.
3. The Shingles. I used to laugh at cartoon characters such as Elmer Fudd when a phallic-shaped lump sprouted from their skull following a wooden mallet-flogging. But the humor is reduced when you experience a slew of pus-gushing lumps thrusting through the skin of your head. I hate it when cartoons are marred by reality.
2. Puristis Ani. Most of us have never wondered what it'd be like if invisible fire ants dipped their fangs in hot sauce and devoured the hallowed flesh of their o-ring. Those of us who have suffered from this anal ailment can give you the description you never asked for.
1. The Great Depression Remix, the stupidity and lack of regulations that created this bumbling, pathetic mess, the reelected cowboy dumbass who choked on a pretzel, everyone spending beyond their limits, unable to go ten minutes without mournfully mumbling words like “tough times” and “bad economy,” the sight of Uncle Sam all shriveled and wrinkled, ruddy patches all over his flesh because he spent too much time lounging in the hot-tub.
68. The Cubs win the World Series. Afterward, all remaining members of the 2008 squad line up at Wrigley Field and bend over to receive swift kicks to the ass for the collapse in last year's short-lived playoff run.
67. The Cubs continue to not win the World Series but still promote “Ass-Boot a Failure” day at the Friendly Confines.
66. The Trix Rabbit, the Lucky Charms Leprechaun, and Tony the Tiger come to life and help me rob banks. We wear masks of former presidents a la “Point Break.”
65. Every woman I meet that I'm attracted to begins our conversation by saying one of the following words: “Single” or “Taken.”
64. “Trailer Park Boys.” This mockumentary-style import from Canada depicts the hilarious side of poverty and indignity while retaining compassion for its characters. That's no easy feat.
63. Not that I've ever seen it much less smoked it (AHEM!), but marijuana is legalized. Please. Stoners are every bit as irresponsible as drunks and they're one-thousandth as destructive.
62. The band name Space Canoe, whose first album would be titled “Up a Black Hole without a Paddle.”
61. At the mercy of a giant crane with a hook that pierces his underwear, lame-brain pundit Glen Beck gets dunked into a pool of his own tears until he confesses that he never graduated from high school.
60. The stretch of music on Cake's album “Comfort Eagle” that features bittersweet seediness of “Meanwhile, Rick James” and the serene writer's anthem “Shadow Stabbing.”
59. Cohen Brothers movies, on average.
58. Having a nightly bonfire fueled not by kindling and logs but rather ventriloquist dummies.
57. The “Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.” It's sweet erotic torture!
56. Mental illness. At least the part of it that helps provide strange ideas to write down.
55. The design of a can of Budweiser. The cursive Budweiser hints at an element of class, but the all-caps and bold GENUINE lets you know these brewers aren't fucking around.
54. A slam dunk contest in which all the athletes are required to have a blood-alcohol level that is double the legal limit.
53.Sporks. They're the perfect instrument for slurping the ranch sauce from the bottom of a bowl of salad while maintaining the prongs necessary to stab those last few shreds of lettuce. Sporks should have a place alongside the knife, spoon, and fork in every drawer of silverware.
52. The World Baseball Classic. For a baseball fan, anything is more compelling than spring training.
51. Instead of the traditional yellow sign that reads “Deaf Child Area,” somebody takes a chance on
a more direct alternative: “Your honking is useless against them!”
50. A plain old, sober slam dunk contest. Alcohol could do it wonders.
49. The term “Garbar,” which is not in fact a villain from “Battlestar Galactica” or some shit but rather the name I gave to the genre of bars in Knowles, Wisconsin, that is a garage converted into a bar.
48. “Mariokart 64.” Dammit, this should rank higher, but I've never been able to perfect the power-slide on those tight and winding corner turns.
47. Farrelly Brothers movies, on average. For every goofy masterpiece like “Dumb & Dumber” there's a bomb like “Say It Isn't So.”
46. Monster truck rallies. I've never been to one, but I'm thankful they exist. The promotional commercials are hilarious.
45. The defeated plummet of a fly freshly swatted.
44. My smoking habit. I'm resigned to the fact that sometimes I just need a break from people, and this bad habit keeps me occupied while I step outside for a bit. This would rank higher, but you know...lung cancer.
43. The rallying chant of “USA!” screamed by the fans at a pro-wrestling event as an American fake-battles a Commie during the waning years of the Cold War. When choreographed violence meets dumb patriotism, I can't help but smile.
42. Ranch sauce. It would rank higher if it was compatible with more deserts.
41. Eating fried chicken skin. A crunchy and crude treat, but it's impossible to munch without looking like a vagrant.
40. Banana-flavored Starbursts. They're not terrible, but only a soulless cyborg wouldn't rather chew on strawberry or orange.
39. Umbrellas. Sure, they're handy when it's raining, but once the sky dries up, you become a worrisome schmuck carrying around an object that isn't serving a purpose. Plus, like the “Piňa Colada” guy sang, sometimes it's fun to get caught in the rain.
38. Being Catholic and eating meat on a Friday during Lent. If that is the main reason I get sent to Hell, at the very least I think it'd be fun to argue with St. Peter or God about how stupid that rule is.
37. Staring at the change left on the table in desperate search of ideas as I try to think of another Fist Pump.
36. Tails, as opposed to heads, in a coin toss. The backside would rank higher if it didn't so often defy its own promise about never failing.
35. Being told the restaurant where I just ordered a Pepsi only serves Coke. (This is a recycled joke only if you factor in the transitive property.)
34. A clown getting murdered. I know that underneath that freakishly pale makeup they're almost human, but if there was a serial killer who targeted only clowns, it would be tough for me to root against him.
33. My annual choice to drop twenty dollars on an NCAA Men's Basketball tournament pool. I am so ill-informed that I cannot name a single player on the team I picked to win the championship. Hurray for gambling!
32. Now that I finally own a car, hovercrafts are invented overnight and all my friends immediately buy one. This would rank lower if the horns didn't blare the theme from “Back to the Future” to help subdue my rage.
31.Bedsheets. They're unnecessary! Here's an analogy: bedsheets are to a side of asparagus as blankets are to T-bone steaks. Asparagus doesn't quell our hunger and bedsheets don't make us warmer.
30. Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. If I could avoid doing this without affecting an eccentric gait, I would, but as it is, I can step on sidewalk cracks begrudgingly.
29. Vampires. I say, if you can kill them by impaling both their heart and their head, they are more vulnerable and therefore less bad-ass than zombies.
28. Knowing there was probably a Microsoft Word function that would allow me to vertically arrange
the numbers 1-69 but not knowing how to do so when this column was a blank template. Still, I get a certain amount of nitwit-pride in foregoing shortcuts.
27. Getting sent imaginary fox glove and carrot plants in my Facebook account with the promise that clicking a button will somehow fight global warming. I know that global warming is real and perilous, but come on, people, let's be rational about this and realize we're not improving the environment by exchanging meaningless symbols over the Internet.
26. The aforementioned Garbar's lack of an ATM and refusal to accept plastic for payment, which forced me to borrow beer money from my friend Tony. If I lived in Knowles, I'd probably store my cash under the mattress as if it was 1929.
25. My friend Tim's Fist-Pump ranking of “Hitler & Mr. Dusseldwarf (featured in the archives) warranted a somewhat lackluster 59 Fist Pumps. Hey Tim, do you know what else is worth 59 Fist Pumps? Me, punching your face.
24. That conservative-friendly and humorless show about a federal agent who only has so much time to save the senator and his family that airs on FOX. I forget what it's called...
23. The high note Ringo star attempts to hit toward the end of “With a Little Help from My Friends.” After a respectable performance on a pretty good pop song, I cringe every time when he belts out the word “FRRRIIIEEENNNDDDS!”
22. Local commercials that feature two meatheads with gel-spiked receding hairlines who point at the camera like vindictive pro-wrestlers and promote their dealership by grunting: “We got the trucks!” These two stooges should try shattering a brick over their heads and declaring, “We carry the product we're known for!”
21. Shopping on-line. There is reason to be wary of the agoraphobic bend of technology and convenience.
20. The quality of music available on radio stations. Someday I plan on T-boning a semi at 65 mph because I'll be busy fussing with the tuner in search of a song that is tolerable.
19. A horror movie I saw recently called “The Strangers.” There is a juvenile term for masturbating with your hand while it has been put to sleep after twenty minutes of sitting on it called “The Stranger,” and if “The Stranger” were on this list, it would outrank its pluralized counterpart.
18. Having cold hands. I think the plate in my jaw conducts cold air and that Grim Reaper chill spreads to my extremities. The moral of the Fist Pump is Never try to break up a fight, kids.
17. Vanity license plates. Paying extra for a personalized plate doesn't mean you're unique; it just makes you look like a pretentious sap.
16. The plodding transformation from Sunday into Monday.
15. Phish. Forget why. I'm tired of explaining the reasons.
14. Centipedes. I'm not fond of any creature with more than four legs, and centipedes far exceed that number.
13. Millipedes. All those additional legs make them even more loathsome than their disgusting bug counterpart, the Centipede, which you may recall from Fist Pump #14.
12. Decaffeinated coffee. I always hate it when the key ingredient is removed from a beverage and marketed as being anything but a ripoff.
11. Non-alcoholic beer. You know why.
10. David Letterman's Top Ten List. This low ranking isn't due to comedic merit; ten just isn't an adequate number for a joke countdown routine. Multiply your trademark number by 6.9, Dave, so I can sue the pants off of World Wide Pants.
9. Mental illness. The part that keeps me owing hundreds of dollars to the hospital for an innate dysfunction.
8. World's tiniest violin solos.
7. Hiding underneath the bed when a machete-wielding sociopath breaks into your house. If you ever find yourself in this situation, reader, either grab a nine-iron and defend yourself or run the hell away. Hiding is futile and underneath the bed is a hiding spot familiar to even the dimmest serial killer. (This Fist Pump does not apply to clowns, of course.)
6. The Confederate Flag. Celebrating the failure of inhumane ideals since 1861.
5. The phrase “Everything is going to be all right.” It's possible to cheer someone up without bullshitting them by promising universal perfection.
4. Diarrhea on the first date. You know you've found someone special when you can tell them you've got diarrhea on the first date and they sympathize without questioning your tact. This is the prime reason, perhaps, that I still haven't really found someone special.
3. The Shingles. I used to laugh at cartoon characters such as Elmer Fudd when a phallic-shaped lump sprouted from their skull following a wooden mallet-flogging. But the humor is reduced when you experience a slew of pus-gushing lumps thrusting through the skin of your head. I hate it when cartoons are marred by reality.
2. Puristis Ani. Most of us have never wondered what it'd be like if invisible fire ants dipped their fangs in hot sauce and devoured the hallowed flesh of their o-ring. Those of us who have suffered from this anal ailment can give you the description you never asked for.
1. The Great Depression Remix, the stupidity and lack of regulations that created this bumbling, pathetic mess, the reelected cowboy dumbass who choked on a pretzel, everyone spending beyond their limits, unable to go ten minutes without mournfully mumbling words like “tough times” and “bad economy,” the sight of Uncle Sam all shriveled and wrinkled, ruddy patches all over his flesh because he spent too much time lounging in the hot-tub.
No comments:
Post a Comment