Probably the cutest thing you'll see all day.

Visual effects in movies and television.

Like a true redneck.

Get you out of cop cars.

With the recent attempt by Amtrak to cause a riot aboard a Baltimore to Philadelphia train, I thought this would be a good time to compare U.S. train travel to that of Japan. After drawing up a table of comparisons, I realized I was wasting my time. I think these two pictures carry the message.

Japan:

United States:

As some of you may have guessed, my thoughts on Christmas are a little conflicted. It's not like I have a vendetta against it like some people think. I mean, good for them. They managed to co-opt the solstice celebration. I'm not crazy about it, but it's not like I don't put up a tree and a few wreaths.

The thing that drives me nuts is the Santa Claus thing. Namely the notion that I invented Santa Claus to take the spotlight off Jesus during his birthday. Some say his name is "Santa" because it's just "Satan" with the "N" placed in front of the "T". I feel slightly insulted by the notion that I can turn into a serpent on a whim and tempt Eve out of paradise, but that when concocting a campaign to influence every Christian child in the world for hundreds of years I would just spell my name with a few letters switched around.

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My consultation with Genghis Khan notwithstanding, the real front lines of this war are in Australia, where Victorian Premiere Ted Ballieu has taken on the Scrooge role and told everyone in Parliament that just because they're the government, they shouldn't be drunk on the job - even during Christmas! At least the article features a picture of a really cool tray that holds 8 glasses of beer. I bet that tray was headed to someone who, like Mr. Ballieu's colleagues, understands the true meaning of Christmas: making sure you pass out face-down in a safe area.

Christmas. Yeah, we're going there. I never said this would be a smooth ride. Christmas is of course the celebration of the day Jesus was born and placed in a manger because there was "no room at the inn". Seriously?  Who was running this inn? Messianic prophecy or not, it's a couple who had a baby 5 minutes ago, you can't make some space? Hell wouldn't even pull that shit, and we're talking about a place that dedicates an entire high-rise to gleefully forcing glass shards under the eyelids of false witnesses.

Christmas is also the beginning of Christmastide, the so-called 12 days of Christmas, made famous in the song of the same name. Allow me to take a breath before going into this one. Let's think about this. The first 4 days, the singer's "true love" - and I put that in quotations because I'm not sure I buy that designation for reasons I'll explain - gives her (Yeah, her. I've lived so long I stopped counting my age when we went from Roman to Arabic numerals, and I can tell you this: chicks don't buy guys multiple swans. Sorry boys, ain't gonna happen.) a partridge (with tree), 2 turtle doves, 3 french hens, and 4 colly birds. The song seems to suggest that these things are stacked every day, so on the first day it's a partridge in a pear tree, and on the second day it's 2 turtle doves and a second partridge in a pear tree, and so on. I'm going to assume that's not the case, and that each subsequent mentioning of a gift is a reference to the original, and not a duplicate gift. If I'm wrong, then what I took to be merely absurd is actually whatever is above absurd. Preposterous?

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The road to professional sports is one of the most effective sociopath assembly lines in the world. Separated from their peers by talent as kids, pandered to as teenagers, and idolized as adults, today's college and professional athletes know that forgiveness is only one contrite press conference away. We keep track of their antisocial behavior and marvel at their sociopathleticism in the Sociopathlete Round-Up.

Sociopathlete: Brett Favre, Quarterback, Minnesota Vikings
Brett Favre has the distinction of making the sociopathlete round-up merely by playing his sport. His massive ego demands that he keep the spotlight on himself for as long as the media will indulge him. His head coach was just beheaded. His team is 3 and 7 after losing to division rival Green Bay by a score of 31 to 3. At home. He's owed a minimum of 17 million dollars for this effort. And in case you didn't hear, he texted a picture of his penis to a woman who isn't his wife. And it was flaccid.

Sociopathlete: Tony Parker, Guard, San Antonio Spurs
In the "shockingly sociopathletic" category, a Frenchman turned out to be a lecherous cad. Tony Parker didn't cheat on his wife with Erin Barry, wife of former teammate Brent Barry, according to Parker and his people. They were just sexting. Thanks, Tony. For a second we though you were a complete fucking asshole.

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It seems too powerful to be true, but what do I know??

You haven't seen true brilliance, until you see 'Under Pressure' performed by Kermit the Frog.

Look at what just dropped, ya'll! New Juggal-footage!

It's amazing that it's almost been a year since the last Gathering of the Juggalos. The world was a lot more innocent then. There were no oil spills, our iPhones didn't drop bars when you touched them, and we were still reeling from the 9th Annual Gathering of the Juggalos.

Here's the latest infomercial promoting the next gathering, which I'm kinda impressed by. I don't know how they managed to get Coolio, Tila Tequila, Slick Rick and Gallagher all at the same event, but they did it. Miracles, ya'll. 

Also, let's talk about Sugar Slam for a second. Her mouth is dirty, she looks a little slutty and...well, she looks a little slutty. If this caliber of women will be attending the Gathering next month - and not this thing - then you can rest assured I'll be there, painting dripping from my sweaty, ICP-admiring crack and everything. 

True love is such a beautiful thing.