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This will either slap you to the ground in a fit of nostalgia (if you remember it) or do something else I know not what (if you don’t).

Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin dead | NEWS.com.au

I will miss knowing he’s out there somewhere. Bill Nye, remember to take your medicine.

CNN.com - Captors of Fox journalists set 72-hour deadline - Aug 24, 2006

As a reasonable man, I deplore the taking of hostages for any purpose. In the spirit of compromise, however, I am willing to allow exceptions.

Colbert loses it from massdestraction.com (now from ectoblog, in order to remove the irritating massdestraction logo. It’s a realmedia file, but I couldn’t find anything else mpg file.) You’ve probably seen it, but I hadn’t. There’s something about great comics breaking character that’s hilarious.

“Stephen, I have to tell you, that story all sounds pretty gay.”

“Not gay John, aristocratic. It’s a different culture than ours.”

“And what’s different about it?”

“Mainly how gay it is. John.”

I accidentally saw a piece of this show last night or the night before. I haven’t felt so much pain sitting in front of a television since… I was going to say “since the last time I watched I Love Lucy,” but there is no comparison. This show is so bad it made me frantic for the contestants, the judges, the producers, the public, and myself. It was 20 minutes of a baby shrieking in pain in a locked room, and I didn’t have a key.

FOR GOD’S SAKE SOMEONE HELP THAT BABY!

For inventions whose presentation doesn’t make one sick and afraid for humanity, see MAKE: Blog. For comments on MAKE: Blog about American Inventor, go here. The reviews are surprisingly ambivalent, which doesn’t make me frantic, but also doesn’t alleviate my fear for humanity.

Teen Disappears

What’s weird is that the national press just got done publicly flagellating themselves over the newsworthiness of the last pretty white kid who got kidnapped.

Dear Press: what is wrong with you?

“Lost in Space” is on the very fringe of my memories from childhood. It came out in ‘65; too early for me to notice. I’m not sure when it was cancelled. Somehow I remember watching the show, so it had to last at least 4 or 5 years.

My brother lent me the first season on DVD. I haven’t watched it yet, but I will, at least part-wise.

I’m certain I’ll remember several of the episodes when I actually do watch the DVD. Right now, though, I can recall only two:

The first one was all about a good alien (who looked human, but talked like a robot) who was only half-strong, who was battling a bad alien (who also looked like a human, but talked like an evil robot) who was one hundred percent strong. I mean that the good alien had a superhuman side of his body, with a fist capable of crushing Dr Smith’s head—though he wouldn’t— and a mortal side. The evil robot could all the way crush Dr Smith, from every side, with no compunction—though he didn’t.

The second one was where Robot found himself King of the Midget Robots, which were evil. It was unclear at first whether Robot was still a friend of mankind or whether he’d succumbed to the filthy communists, I mean midget robots. But in the end, it became clear that Robot was in fact on humanity’s side, and not on the side of the filthy communists, I mean midget robots.

There is an alternate reality— you’re just going to have to trust me on this— wherein it’s finally my turn to be Galactic President. In this alternate reality, as Galactic President, I have definite views on what should and what should not be an olympic sport, and I have the power to turn these views into laws.

My first law, law number one, is that, if a competitor receives extra points for smiling, then that competition is not an olympic sport.

Therefore, synchronized swimming is out. Case closed.

Law number two states that, if a competition requires a panel of judges to issue an opinion concerning style, then that competition is not an olympic sport.

Therefore, gymnastics is out. So is ballroom dancing. I am fully aware that both gymnastics and ballroom dancing require extremely capable people to perform well. Doesn’t matter. They also require style judges. They’re out.

Law number three, an extremely important law, states that, if a competition requires a soundtrack, it’s not an olympic sport.

This means that floor gymnastics is disqualified on two counts. Maybe even three, though today I was watching this competition on NBC and couldn’t tell definitively whether the Chinese woman smiled, so I’m willing to allow that smiling isn’t a critical part of the event.

Faster, higher, stronger, farther. That’s what the Olympics in this alternate reality are about.

My rulings on chess and bowling are hotly debated.

They’re out, of course, but they’re out because of law number four, which states that any competition wherein one can eat six hot dogs before the event, and six hot dogs after the event, and still be a top competitor, is out.

Sumo wrestling is out; those people are killing themselves.

Competitive eating is out.

Judging “alternate me” by my laws, one could make a case that I have some inherent bias against gymnastics. That case would be solid. It’s not true, however, that I don’t admire what a top-notch gymnast does. On the contrary, they do amazing things.

Today, I was watching the women’s floor program. These women were clearly doing things that I couldn’t do in a million years. And they looked great doing it. However, “things I couldn’t do in a million years” should not be the litmus test for Olympic competition. Using that criterion, one should be able to win medals in octopus-eating and competitive cup-stacking.

These are not competitions you will find in the Olympics in the alternate reality wherein I’m finally Galactic President.

I despise companies that try to force me to learn new words for old things.

I walk into a hamburger joint, I’m ordering a hamburger. A big mac? No, get me a god damn hamburger. Would you like a grande frappucino? No. No, I would not. Gimme a medium coffee, you retarded, advertisement-spewing tool.

The best thing you can do is not watch television. The second best thing is, if there’s a show that you simply have to see, when the commercials come on, mute them.

It’s instructive to watch a commercial without sound; for instance, car commercials. Balloons rise, flags wave, mud splatters, and salesmen walk briskly from one side of the shot to the other, like they have some fucking purpose. They’re busy busy busy! Things is hapnin down at the dealership, so come on down! We have purpose; trust us! We’re smiling, for chrissake! Give us your money!