Three Little Pigs: Houses Under Quarantine

People are fucking dumb.

Either that, or their long-term memories reset every year.

For those of you who have been living in an isolated shed in the woods for the last week, the world has been inundated with reports of a swine flu pandemic around the world. It's a flu that is relatively common in pigs but rare in humans. Recently, however, humans have been getting a form of the swine flu, and people are losing their minds. Pictures are rolling in of Mexicans and Asians wearing dust masks (an image that always makes folks jumpy for some reason). Even the media usage of the word "pandemic" stirs up images of millions of mutating zombies coming to eat your brains.

This new disease, as the dangerously paranoid like to proclaim, could cause the downfall of western civilization as we know it. Why, it's just like the 1918 Flu Pandemic, it is! There have already been 153 deaths from it already. The humanity of it all!! It even comes from pigs!! The Jews were right; they're not kosher at all!! We're doomed! DOOOOMED!!!

Except that we're not.

Does no one remember the previous diseases that were apparently going to turn our organs into liquid and make our eyeballs bleed? SARS, Avian Flu, the Ebola Virus, West Nile Virus, and just plain old Smallpox have all given hypochondriacs a reason to cry themselves to sleep at night for the last several years. Though as you may have noticed, none of these dreaded pandemics ever caused any serious damage. We're still here, and we'll just have to wait for stupid people to shoot themselves in the face with nail guns in order to thin the population.

But THIS is DEFINITELY the diseases that will KILL US ALL!!!!

I'm afraid of mice, bugs, heights, and wild-eyed hillfolk, but even I'm not the least bit afraid of dying from the goddamn swine flu. If a pig is going to bring me down, it's going to be from eating too much bacon not because of some wonky flu bug.

The whole thing is an overblown mess anyway. These 153 deaths you keep hearing about are only the "suspected" deaths. That means that the doctors think that the swine flu may have been the culprit, but they don't know for sure. There are only eight confirmed swine flu deaths, and seven of those were in Mexico. The last was in the U.S. but that was a Mexican child who contracted the disease in Mexico. Let's get some perspective here. Every year approxomately 36,000 Americans die of the regular flu every year, and nobody gives a shit. I just learned that figure today, and I was floored. Sure the flu sucks, but I didn't realize that so many people actually DIED from it. Maybe in the future I won't roll around in my bed moaning, "Oh, just let me die!!" in a dramatic fashion whenever I get the flu.

It's not even technically the swine flu. It's just kinda-sorta associated somehow, but the name "swine flu" rolls off the tongue a lot more easily than "Influenza A Sub-type H1N1." And why the "swine" flu? What's wrong with the "pig flu" or "hog flu." How about the "porcine flu." Then everyone would have to crack a thesaurus before they panic.

Fun fact: you can't get the swine flu from eating pork. But people are so dumb and panicky that pork sales have nosedived due to people avoiding all pork products. I find this offensive. Take your insecurities and paranoid delusions out on loved ones and small animals... don't punish bacon!! What did it ever do to you? (You know... aside from the whole clogged arteries thing.)

What do doctors recommend for preventing the swine flu? They say you should wash your hands and avoid getting coughed on. In other words, keep doing your normal hygene routine. Unless you're an unkempt and germ-ridden dirtbag; in which case, start taking baths!

The swine flu will not kill you. Media induced panic probably will. Stop going nuts and eat a goddamn pork chop.

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"All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others."

Thanks but No Thanks

Guess who had his first in-person interview on Tuesday! And guess who is going to turn down the job of his own free will. I'll give you a hint - it's not John Lithgow.

Back in November, in a fit of desperation, I applied for adjunct positions at four area colleges for the Spring 09 semester. I had hoped to earn some decent money on the side while searching for more gainful employment. This was before my recent decision to go to Pitt for my teaching certification. When I didn't hear anything from them, I wasn't really surprised, but I did despair over the fact that I couldn't even get a job in something for which I was fabulously qualified. Then early last week, one of the places I applied to, a Penn State branch campus no less, called me. The woman on the phone wanted to know if I was interested in being a part-time English instructor in the Fall 09 semester. She asked me if I was available for an in-person interview.

I was flummoxed. For the last ten months, I've wanted nothing more than for someone to call me to offer me money-dollars. I would have gouged out my own pyloric sphincter and donated it to a self-aggrandizing hipster if it meant getting a job. But the timing couldn't have been worse. In the fall semester, I'll be at Pitt learning how to become a stooge for the local school districts. The Penn State campus in question is about an hour and fifteen minutes away from Pitt, so that wouldn't exactly be around the corner.

Against all advice from the "Job Hunting for Idiots" books I read, I explained all of this to the woman on the phone, and I expected her to hang up, disgusted with my lack of commitment to higher education. But she was persistent. "Oh don't worry about it," she said. "Come on in anyway. We can talk about the job, and it'll be good interviewing experience. I always tell my son that any interview is worth taking for the experience." I couldn't really argue with that, and her damned folksy demeanor made her seem so gosh darn nice!

So two days ago, I finally got to put on the suit I got for my job interviews (back when I thought my calendar would be packed with them). While I realize that the majority of men don't like wearing formal attire, I LOVE wearing a suit. I always feel like a man with dreams, hopes, and a hedge fund. So feeling suitably professional and adult-like, I made the trip to the PA/Ohio border to what I have decided to be the dingiest Penn State campus I had ever seen. The entire college appeared to be converted from an old high school. I think my meeting was in what used to be the gymnasium. In any case, This mousy little woman in her mid-forties introduces herself as the English Department Chair. She then marvels at my formal-wear: "Well look at you! Aren't we handsome today!" I immediately felt like I was about to have cookies at grandma's house rather than interviewing for a job.

But if this woman was grandma.... the crazy uncle that no one trusts around the kids was about to arrive.

After setting me up in the conference room and getting me some water (sippy cup not included this time), the woman informs me that her colleague will be joining us shortly. We don't have to wait long. Bursting through the door comes this magnificent man decked out in black jeans, a leather coat (it's 65 degrees outside) and square humanities-major glasses. He's got this puffy white hair that's gelled and pointing somewhere behind him and a good distance above his head. His matching goatee would have made Colonel Sanders weep. He looked like some hybrid of Eddie Izzard and Billy Connolly. Go ahead and do a Google Image search for those two. You'll get the idea.

The two of them tell me that they're the entire full-time English department. I chuckle at what I assume to be a joke, but they're not laughing. Apparently Grandma teaches all of the low-level classes, and Captain Beefheart teaches the upper-level ones. This was easily the saddest English department I'd ever seen... and they wanted ME for their despondent team.

The grandmotherly woman tries her best to keep the interview professsional by asking me about my resume and such, but Batshit Insane English Guy kept jumping in with intellectual musings about the nature of the interview process. He likes to think of interviews as "vocational conversations." He then went on to mock the entire Penn State system, their job benefits, the faculty salaries, and stupid people. As Virgil well knows, any wacky old professor who can't stay on topic to save his life gets an A+ in my book. This guy was extremely honest about their little campus, much to the consternation of Sweet Grandma Lady.

I knew going into this interview that my chances of accepting this job were pretty slim. It was just too far away, and I knew far too well that the time commitment for teaching two undergraduate classes was nothing to sneeze at. But I wanted to treat this like a real interview so that I could get some real practice. Needless to say, that didn't happen. Instead, I kept getting even more reasons to avoid this job offer like the plague. Not only did they want me to travel all this way to teach two classes, but they would be two different classes, which would require two different lesson plans for each class. One of the classes they wanted me to teach was Business Writing, and that just completely blew my mind. If I knew anything about communicating in the business world, I sure as hell wouldn't be in my current situation.

But the capper was the salary. I knew part-time adjuncts didn't make much money, but I never truly appreciated the definition of a "pittance." I would only receive $2000 for each class... for the entire semester!!! That's $4000 for four months of work. I made more than that as a graduate student, which is sadder than sad.

By the time the interview was over, I was 100% certain that I didn't want this job. However, there was one problem: THEY BOTH LOVED ME! They told me that they would be eagerly recommending me to their superiors. Fortunately, they were realistic enough to say that they'd understand if I didn't want to do it. Colonel Wacky jumped in with a lengthy diatribe about how adjunct salaries should be higher. There's nothing worse than disappointing people who are truly nice and wonderful people and who are kissing your ass just the way you like it to be kissed. So I told them that I didn't have all the information about my schedule for the fall (which is true) and that I would get back to them once I did.

Coming out of that interview, only one feeling really gripped me and wouldn't let go: unadulterated guilt. This campus clearly catered to certain.... less-than-stellar students who were being taught by understaffed, underappreciated, and underpaid teachers. Clearly I was a star candidate, which must say something about their usual crop of applicants. These two seemed like genuinely enthusiastic, supportive, and intelligent teachers who really wanted to do well by their students, and I got the impression that this school was in desperate need of good instructors. I felt like a heel knowing that I'd be turning down their offer.

Of course, the guilt won't stop me from rejecting them, but I'll feel really bad as I'm doing it.

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"Did everything just taste purple for a second?"

Rule Britannia!

I was watching The Daily Show last night, and as anyone might expect, they took great pleasure in mocking the slipshod "Tea Parties" that cropped up around the country on April 15 to protest taxes. Admittedly, referring to these wingdings as "teabaggers" was a joke so obvious that I think every eighth grader in the country could have thought it up. Nevertheless, there was one brilliant segment where John Oliver, The Daily Show's lanky and snarky British correspondent, went to one of the Tea Parties to essentially berate them for failing to understand just how truly awesome the British were at oppression. He chided them for comparing their perceived injustices to those of the colonists under British rule, and he was offended as an Englishman that they think present-day America even comes close.

Instead of pondering the historical and social implications of English and American tax systems, my infantile and wayward mind starting thinking about other things that the British have that Americans don't that we really should (because the king of England really needs to start housing troops in my lodgings). Here's the list I came up with:

Fish and Chips: I really don't much like seafood, but the British cook it just the way I like it - batter-dipped and deep fried until the only thing you can taste is sweet delicious cholesterol! It's the one British foodstuff that I heartily support.

Cutesy Swear Words: In England, calling some random stranger a "bloody wanker" is way worse than referring to your dear old granny as a "fucking cunt." Lines like "Don't get your knickers in a twist" sound a lot more civilized than "Don't lose your shit, dude!" And there's nothing better than British people always referring to their ass as their bum. A very proper English gentleman could be walking down the street earning all sorts of respect, but then he falls on the ground and declares, "Blimey, I fell on me bum!" Suddenly he's got all the class of a four year old.

Welsh Jokes: The Welsh are like the English hillbillies. They're the butt of the joke that always works.
"I say my good fellow, what do you call a bloke who rapes his mum, falls on his bum, and is always a dum dum?"
"I haven't the slightest, sir!"
"A Welshman! Har har har!"
As a man who's part Welsh, I find such jokes to be crass and tasteless... which is why we need to bring them to America!

Royal Titles: This is the famous thing where the king or queen puts the sword on your shoulder and lets you put "Sir" or "Dame" before your name. It's a great concept, but let's take that tired old idea and do it America-style! We could have a reality show called "Who Wants to be in the Order of Chivalry?" It could be hosted by Sir Mix-a-Lot (he's not doing much these days) and feature all sorts of random trials like eating a goat's placenta and running through a tepid pool of vomit. We're going to bring some class to that old tradition.

Parliament: They get to wear wigs, and most of the time the House of Lords and the House of Commons just stand there literally screaming and shouting at each other for no good reason. Essentially, they're just like Congress only a lot more entertaining.

Villainous but Sophisticated Accents: Do you need to sound incredibly evil while still giving off an aura of intelligence and wit? Then you need a proper British accent. Your average cockney accent is nice if your goal in life is to be an award-winning soccer hooligan, but if you watch Die Hard and fantasize about one day being Alan Rickman or you wonder why every Imperial officer in Star Wars sounds inherently vile but cunningly calculating, then start doing your best Patrick Stewart imitation this instant. You could have the IQ of a cantaloupe, but with your sporty new British accent, you'll be a Mensa member in no time.

Bathroom Language: Which sounds better: "I'm in line for the shitter," or "I'm in the queue for the loo"? I thought so!

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Mind your bloody manners in the comments section you silly sots, or the constabulary and fire brigade will spank you in the bum with their torches.

When You Wish Upon a Star Trek

Easter? Done and done!
Tax Day? Fuhgetaboutit!
The next important day to mark in your calendar is May 8, 2009: The premiere of the new Star Trek movie.

Paramount has released several clips that each show about a minute of footage from the new movie. In this first clip, Kirk smooth-talks Uhura in a bar and promptly offends several burly ruffians. I like to think that in his own mind, this is how William Shatner sees himself in real life:

In this next clip, Dr. McCoy (Bones) meets Kirk and starts bitching about the dangers of space. It even features the old standby of having a random disease/drink/food named after an entire species. In this case, we get a brief mention of "Andorian shingles":

Just once I want to hear some Klingon bitching to his buddies about getting the Earth Clap while drinking Terran Soda.

Finally, we have a scene on the bridge of the Enterprise where Kirk and Scotty are being brought in by guards to be questioned by "acting captain" Spock. J.J. Abrams is clearly a fan of the lens flare:

And just as an added bonus and because this movie is going to give me a geek-gasm, here's the most recent trailer for the movie:

I've managed to keep this blog free of my anticipation for this movie, but now with less than a month to go, I may start to slip. Ye of weak nerdic constitution would be advised to use caution when visiting.

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"What does God need with a starship!?"

Bon Voyage, Batmite!

A great era in American history has come to an end.

We stand and salute the departure of one of our finest.

Batmite is returning to India today! So I offer one final plea to him:

Stay in America, Batmite! Who else will I be able to call when I'm watching The Big Bang Theory, and I need someone to explain an obscure reference from a 1978 Green Arrow comic? None of my other (re: normal) friends can have lengthy and heated discussions with me over the nature of a multiverse and whether the Crisis of Infinite Earths was more universe-shattering than the "All Good Things" episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation. Most importantly, Batmite, how can you leave with only three more weeks until the epic new Star Trek movie premieres!? You grudgingly sit through all six original movies, but this new action-packed geek-gasm isn't worth delaying your global sojurn? I'm sure I can get some of my other (re: normal) friends to go with me, but they won't laugh uproariously and with nerdic glee if Kirk declares, "I've always known that I'll die alone."

And what of the fourth season of The Venture Bros.? Now you'll have to sit through the Bollywood remake with Professor Venturepalli and Brockal Sampsonesh as they sing "Bring My Curry Back to Bombay, Mr. Monarch!" in a colorful showtune.

Once you leave the country, I'll have no one to make my own career failures seem minor by comparison. Once you're back in New Delhi, I can't compare myself to you anymore. Comparing myself to people in other countries has always been off limits, since a giant well-fed American white guy bitching about his globally-compared life failures can incur the disdain and disgust of any starving Somalian who happens to be traipsing by an internet cafe.

Never mind that you have your own house, a cook, a masseuse, and an allowance of rupees that would allow you to own more copies of Bollywood Batman than anyone in India, and with a billion plus people there, that's no meager boast, sir. You already know that you're too American to return to India. Need I remind you of the time that you were conflicted regarding your dinner choices: "Do I want to have tacos for dinner?" you asked yourself. "But I'm also craving chicken wings." You were only temporarily conflicted until you declared, "I think I'll have both!!" That, my brown hetero-ambigious man-friend is an American mindset that has been lovingly cultivated over eight long years. Don't throw all of that hard work away!

Who else will amuse me with their charmingly consistent mispronunciations of the letters "V" and "W"? My other (re: normal) friends are too damned white. Sure, Virgil pronounces "theatre" in an odd sort of way, but somehow that's not nearly as funny.

You, sir, are more American than just about anyone I know. You take more unadulterated pleasure and joy in Taco Bell, Batman, cheese sandwiches, Saturday morning cartoons, and Conan the Barbarian than I ever thought possible. If they have Taco Bells in India, I can't imagine that the food could possibly combine those sublime tastes of the preprocessed and dysentery-inducing while still infusing every bite with spicy goodness. And if that last sentence doesn't immediately make you want to go make one final Taco Bell run, then you're not the man I thought you were.

And for my final plea, I will paraphrase one of your batshit crazy Buffalo friends: Batmite, being friends with you makes me look less racist.

But sadly this world often doesn't work the way we like. If it did, we would have been able to keep that sweet apartment for free and spend our time trolling unsuccessfully for quirky hipster women with unusual tastes in obscure coffee shops (of which Morgantown had maybe three). Your return to India, while not what you wanted, may prove fortuitous. With you in close proximity, that will make poisoning your parents and inheriting their fortune that much easier! Then you can come back to America and do whatever you want... or at least mail me several large checks so that I can do whatever I want.

And when I eventually come around the world to visit, I demand unrestricted access to your cook, masseuse, and whatever concubines that your parents buy for you. (I know that must be one of the perks.)

So I bid you a hearty and heartfelt adieu, Batmite! You best keep in touch with completely superfluous and inappropriate emails and IMs. Use the interweb and other delights of the modern world to send me pictures when the new Star Trek movie eventually premieres in New Delhi. I've always wondered what Hindustanian Trekkies look like.

So now I leave you with a memory from when the sky wasn't just the limit, but it was also a great moment for the fashion world:

Turn the pickle sideways, Batmite!

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Batmite: Soon to be making huge sums of rupees even if that would make him feel like he was living in the land of Hyrule.

Easter Secrets Finally Cracked

Believe it or not, this picture actually comes from the original Star Trek. The Bunnies of Rabbiton III were formidable foes indeed.

I realize that there are doubting Thomases out there who question why Easter, which supposedly celebrates the death and resurrection of Jesus, involves eggs, rabbits, ham, and enough candy to give Willy Wonka a serious case of diabetes. You wicked and sinful types might suggest that it's these are holdovers of pagan celebrations for the vernal equinox, but you'd be so wrong that it would make Jesus cry. Let a man steeped in religious tradition and spirituality provide a lesson for this holiest of holidays.

The Easter Bunny: After his long and tortuous night praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus was not in the best of moods. After all, he'd just sweated blood, for crying out loud. So he's leaning against a tree with red droplets coming out of his body looking like a Gatorade commercial, and he's having some daddy issues and ranting, "My dad is such a fucking douche! Couldn't get shit right the first time, so he sends me to 'atone for mankind's sins' just to cover his ass. Shit, sweating blood hurt like a motherfucker. I'm not doing that crucifixion bullshit. My dad can go fuck himself!" But then just when he was ready to hop on the first boat out of Israel, a little bunny rabbit hopped up to Jesus. Jesus loved bunny rabbits... and he sure was hungry after all of that intense praying. So after cooking up a tasty rabbit stew, he felt much better on a full stomach, and he apologized to his dad for being so surly with him earlier. Of course, God being a vengeful God, he arranged to add 'nails through the hands' to the crucifixion routine just to show Jesus who was boss.

Eggs: You probably know that all of the disciples ate bread and wine at The Last Supper... well, almost all of them did. It turns out that Jesus's own personal backstabber Judas wasn't exactly full after eating only a few pieces of bread and some sub-par bordeaux. When Jesus excused himself to use the Little Savior's Room, Judas went into the kitchen and whipped up a tasty omelette for himself. He even used some of the holy bread to make toast! Therefore, we color easter eggs to represent their fall from purity, because as we all know, when God's pissed at people, he changes their color.

Ham: After being resurrected, Jesus was hungry and bearing some ill will toward the people who got him crucified. It was, after all, not a pleasant experience. Being a generally decent guy, he decided to forego any kind of ethereal punishment and went straight for being a collossal asshole. He killed the nearest pig and promptly cooked it. Then he took his tasty ham platter into a poor Jewish community and waved his massive dinner in the faces of all the Jews while taunting, "Ha ha!! Guess who survived your crucifixion, bitches!! Why I do believe that I'll celebrate by eating this whole ham by myself. And guess who's not getting any!? All of you ingrates! Har dee har har! I gave you a shot, and you crucified me for it. I'm starting my own religion now, and pork is totally going to be allowed." And as an added insult, Jesus made all of the pigs in the world extra delicious and succulent. Then he went back to the new Christian communities and introduced them to the wonders of bacon. So when we eat ham on Easter, we're not remembering Christ. We're gloating to the Jews!

Candy: Little known fact: Jesus LOVED candy. He was particularly fond of peanut butter eggs and jelly beans. The problem was that nobody but Jesus knew how to make candy at the time. Chocolatiering, curing leprosy, and carpentry - these were the big three on his resume. And when Jesus was crucified, his candy-making secrets went with him. Jesus was content to let his secret recipes stay with him, but at the last minute he felt bad. After all, the rest of the world didn't know what deliciousness they were missing out on. So he decided to only punish mankind for 18 centuries or so. That's why he yelled out at the last minute, "Forgive them, father, for they know not what they do!" He was telling God that the people had no idea that killing Jesus would mean no Twix bars for almost two millennia. God may be a vengeful God, but even he knew that an eternity with no candy was a punishment that no world deserved. (Side Note: This is why folks often describe chocolate as tasting "heavenly.")

So there you have it, you heathens!! Doesn't it all make perfect sense now? Now get out your rosaries, grab a miniature cross, and starting worshipping dear old Jesus! And this time, you better do it right!

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JP: Totally loved by Jesus!!

Reader Mail 1

Here at The Undesirable Element, I receive countless bags of mail from adoring fans, lusty women, and vengeful but generally eloquent stalkers. I now share with you, my loyal readers, some of the letters that you have so graciously sent.
- - - - -

Dear JP:
Long time reader; first time writer. I'm a huge fan of The Undesirable Element even though it's registered on several terrorist watchlists around the world. Your keen insight and brilliant satire fill me with hope, joy, and unbridled orgasm. Thank you so much for all the fine work that you've done.
Sincerely,
Tucker "Spankbuggy" Willingham

Dear JP:
I strongly suggest that you start believing in Christianity, or my dad is going to come over to your house and kick your fat ass.
Your friend,
Jesus H. Christ

Dear JP:
We regret to inform you that you have violated the terms of your lease, and we ask that you vacate the premises. Not only have you failed to pay rent in nine months, but your pet has repeatedly kept us awake at night with her incessant meowling. Your security deposit will be withheld, and you must find another basement to live in within the next seven days.
Your landlords,
Mom and Dad

Dear JP:
DIE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!
Your mortal enemy,
Morgan Freeman

Dear JP:
Zik flaggin florp baggle con wiggle waggle. Frak Frak Frak magilla gorilla!
Zounds and Egads,
Aardvark Man

Dear JP:
I would be happy to play you in the movie based on your life. Please send me a script as well as the three cheesecakes you promised. Remember that no less than three women must be topless throughout the entire film.
Sincerely,
Brian Dennehy

Dear JP:
I think you may be the sexiest blogger that I've ever witnessed on the internet. Don't let high insurance premiums bring your sexy blog down. Did you know that Progressive can save you hundreds of dollars by comparing your insurance rates with those of other top companies? Switch to Progressive and not only will you receive top notch insurance, but I will personally come over to your new basement dwelling and arrange a steamy three-way between you, me, and that hot goth girl from NCIS.
Sincerely,
The Oddly Attractive and Bubbly Progressive Insurance Woman

Dear JP:
This mailbag post totally blows a cock and so do you.
Yours truly,
The Shit

Dear JP:
You make me want to be white. If all white people were as cool as you, they never would have been kicked out of India.
Bat-tastically Yours,
Batmite!

Dear Applicant:
We regret to inform you that the position of ANAL LUBRICATION ASSISTANT has been filled. We appreciate your application, and we will keep your resume and candid nude photographs (again, they weren't required or desired for consideration) on file for six months. Please apply to Desperate Enough to Work in the Gay Porno Industry Inc. for any other jobs that may interest you.
Sincerely,
Mr. Dick Wango
Human Resources Manager

Dear JP:
As of midnight tonight, your blog will now be owned and operated by Dante's Virgil LTD. I purchased it from your corrupt investors for the princely sum of three dollars and a pack of Bubble Yum. Consider this proper retribution for your underhanded and tactless election campaign from last October. Your precious blog is now mine, but if you come to your mistress appropriately penitent and properly attired for submission, I may just give you a lowly assistant's position.
Your New Webmistress,
Virgil

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The New Undesirable Dante's Virgil: Knows better than to end blog posts with ridiculous italicized non sequiturs.