Well, these jokes got us going at 3:30 am. We were out of control making up ridiculous jokes that are based on the whole 'play on words' thing, except ours were considerably more R-rated. Here are some of our favorites:

Q: What do you call it when a secretary for Port-a-Potty has to call a customer to remind them of an unpaid bill? 

A: A Fee-Call Matter (get it? fecal matter)

Q: What do you call a bee that was in a really bad car accident?

A: Scab-bee. (get it? scabby.)

Q: What did the man say to his hyperactive dog Bea?

A: Lay-Bea. (har har... Labia)

Q: What happened to the female army sergeant who suffered from incurable yeast infections?

A: She was discharged. (Yes, we know, that's disgusting.)

Q: What do you call Mrs. Crement after she gets a divorce?

A: Ex-crement. (Yes, there are a lot of poop jokes. Leave us alone.)

Q: What happened when the wild dog found a carcass in the wilderness?

A: A-jackal-ate it. (Get it? Ejaculated. Pooya says this one doesn't make sense.) 

Q: What did Alan Rack name his advice column?

A: Ask-Rack. (Say it out loud. A couple of times. It's ass-crack.)

And (drumroll please) our personal favorites:

Q: What did they call Edward after he drank battery acid?

A: Phys-Ed. (Fizz Ed... because his insides are fizzing)

Q: What vegetable does a whore always leave on her plate?

A: Her-peas. (Herpes! Because she's a whore!)

We are currently in negotiations for a book deal.

Tirahan ng duck?                                    Panduckan

Mataas na duck?                                     Boonduck

Nagulat na duck?                                    Nasinduck

Photogenic na duck?                                 Koduck

Malaking duck sa ilocos?                               Duck-il

Madaldal na duck?                                      Duckduck

Pantakip sa bibig ng madaldal duck?
Duck tape

manggagamot na duck                               ducktor

musikero na duck?                                   Conducktor

bayaning duck?                                      Duckila

The latest flick in the Mummy franchise sees the return of Brendan Fraser as Rick O'Connell but takes us away from pre-war Egypt and relocates the action to China in 1947. If the idea was to refresh a franchise that would be best located on the scrapheap it didn't work and this could well be the picture that kills the series.

The story, such as it is, concerns Emperor Han (Jet Li) who is having a whale of a time conquering and pillaging and so forth. Concerned that he will never be able to complete his "great work" he decides to seek out the secret to eternal life. He enlists the help of witch Zi Yuan (Michelle Yeoh) who tricks the Emperor, cursing him and his army by turning them into stone.

Cut forward to the present day where the curse could be (and inevitably, is) undone, unleashing an almost-immortal warlord and his army upon the world. It is, predictably, a race against time to prevent the Emperor from completing the process that will give him immortality and to destroy his army.

Now, I have no problem at all with B-movie schlock and enjoy a popcorn-muncher with the best of them but this is highly uninspiring fare.

Its first major problem is a preoccupation with CGI effects. Apparently the filmmakers used over 1,000 visual effects shots in this film but aside from the Emperor's army coming to life these lack thrills or imagination.

It also gets in the way of what had the potential to be a thrilling fight between Michelle Yeoh and Jet Li, two legends of martial arts cinema. What could have been an exciting encounter is cut so short it is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it affair.

Which leads neatly into the film's second major problem: each of the characters is sold short by the action and the film's clunking script. At no point do any of the actors get a scene to really flex their acting muscles, nor are there any jaw-dropping stunts.

What makes this all more frustrating is that in the latter half of the film there are two moments that potentially have huge emotional impacts on the characters, yet neither is developed or dwelled on. Perhaps moments of grief in action movies are no longer in fashion? Instead within moments we are up and running again (or rather we are cutting between shots of actors gurning and CGI combat).

Without emotional hooks or any standout performances all that's left is a mess of dull visual effects shots and a hokey story. At no point does the film achieve any real suspense and its attempts at humour leave much to be desired. It even pulls out that comedy classic, the yak vomit sequence, in its desperation.

If this is the best the franchise has to offer after seven years in which to develop a sequel, perhaps it would be best buried for good.

Originally posted on Spout.com on August 15th 2008.

And I think the last great hurrah of corny American nostalgia comes during the Bicentennial in 1976.  The 1970s seem like such an innocent time, though like most innocence full of itself as the most progressive and culturally hip.  Like teens who have all the answers only to grow up and laugh at their hubris, the 70s can only look back at their leisure suits and avocado-colored kitchen appliances and laugh.

But in the early 70s, in the years leading up to the Bicentennial, there was a sense of this country looking back and saying "Wow, look at how far we've come!" with a certain blind amazement that really felt like it had a national consensus.  And, yes, that meant a certain level of tackiness with regards to folks trying to capitalize on the event.  There were Bicentennial tea towels and shot glasses, everything began to take on a red, white and blue color scheme, and all our most cherished myths of history were reinforced.

This Romance of the Revolution took some pretty odd turns.  Everything old was new again, and television was a hungry medium looking for the next old thing.  I remember a Saturday morning cartoon vividly set during the turn of the century that seemed aimed at the same vibe that brought about the creation of Country Time Lemonade.  Okay, all that I vividly remember without the aid of Google was a Saturday morning cartoon that attempted to look like a version of The Waltons, and that it didn't last long, but that looking-back nostalgia was very strong then.  The cartoon was called These Are the Days and ran for only 16 episodes before someone realized that the adventures of a widow raising three kids during the days of outdoor baths and volunteer bucket brigades wasn't selling sugared cereals.  But if you're ever playing the game Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon and need to find a bridge with Jack Haley, June Lockheart, or Mickey Dolenz this is your link.

Another piece of corny American nostalgia aimed at kids was a daily newspaper cartoon called Yankee Doodles that featured fractured colonial history.  It ran from 1973 through 1977, no doubt running on fumes after fives years of jokes about Franklin, Washington, Revere, Native Americans, and turkeys.  But I remember reading it  religiously and would love to see those strips today just to see how well they hold up.  I know memory is a funny thing, often turning a dull turd into a burnished nugget of gold over time but I suspect this one might not be so faulty.  One of the strips creators, Ben Templeton, had a hand in the daily strip Motley's Crew and when it was good it was both well-drawn and politically astute.

Growing up on the West Coast meant that I actually had a physical distance as well and an emotional one from much of this American history.  Boston, Lexington and Concord, Salem, Plymouth, Philadelphia, all these places where the history of this country actually took place, they still existed.  And the history books in school and the shows on TV showed me an America that was, to an extent, still preserved and culturally alive.  There was a longing for this very palpable sense of history, to see the coastal homes with their widow's walks, to see the Liberty Bell and Constitution Hall as if, somehow, standing in their presence would convey some mysterious link to history that could only be experienced in person, through osmosis.

It wasn't all national.  In my home town the junior and senior high orchestra and chorus put together a musical program, compiled for the event by enterprising arrangers of school music, that featured a history in song and narrative of America.  And to document the event a company was on hand to make recordings and press them into LP records to sell to patriotic families.  For two nights we sold out the Robert Lee Frost Auditorium and played our mediocre program and felt good about it all the same.

But as corny as it might seem, there was something very heartfelt about a home painted white with blue trim and a red door.  There was nothing ironic at the time about the bell bottoms I owned that were red and white stripes with blue stars down the white.  And in a strange way there was a pride in watching those televised Bicentennial Minutes on TV every night and seeing that American politics had always been messy, and that as were were recovering from Watergate there was a hope that we could -- would -- one day be a great nation.  Tall ships and fireworks and the idea that the great experiment in democracy in America was celebrating its 200th birthday was a big deal, and even the cynics had a hard time denying it.  The crass commercialism -- try "bicentennial" on eBay to see all the items adorned with the official government logo for sale -- yes, one could be dismissive of those items, but the very idea of a national movement, that was hard to put down.

And that's something I also miss, that sense of a national anything.  There are top rated shows on television, and number one songs, and bestselling books, and it's entirely possible to be ignorant of all of it because of an absolute deluge of information coming at us.  I'm nostalgic for a time when there was a book everyone was at least aware of, even if they had no desire to read it.  Or music that found itself into so many homes that you couldn't go to a yard sale or thrift store without seeing copies -- still in shrink wrap -- in the bins.  I'm not talking about a Cold War area monoculture, just a sense that we had something shared as a nation.  Something that didn't necessariy rely on a rah-rah isn't-America-great jingoism, but something worth looking back on down the road.

I want a New Corny America.

Today was merely the training, everything else after this (only requires my effort one hour a week for the next six weeks) I get to control as the mentor, so that's OK. I like control.

I managed to predict exactly what kind of day it would be before I went. I know the kind of people that volunteer to do these sorts of things, and no offence if you're one of these kinds of people (you know who you are), but I can't stand you. Thankfully I had two mates there who cringed as often as I did.

Essentially we had to waste seven hours of our lives learning about stuff we already knew, and having to answer trivial questions such as "what is a mentor?" and "what makes a good leader?" Oh, and then we had to discuss each question for about forty five minutes and pass around little pieces of paper to write characteristic traits on to explain our answer.

Usually when people are trying to fill in a lot of time because their expertise is in bullshit, they fill it with corny activities - the kind of stuff that makes me want to dry-heave.

You know the kinds of things. Role-playing and other stupid games to "expand our thinking". I can't understand how people find this fun, let alone find it an effective teaching method for adults.

All they had to do was give us the program we need to follow for the next six weeks and explain what is expected of us. The rest... fuck it off. It's a waste of fucking time and it's just shit.

To make matters worse I conflicted with one of the women running the thing. Essentially it was her job to talk shit for the second half of the day. I pointed out a stupid comment she made and I guess she took offence - it was pretty stupid though. So from that point on she tried to dismiss anything I had to say, so of course, me being me, I turned into a little shit and started dismissing anything she had to say. Then typically I got bored of the game and day-dreamed for the last two hours.

In other news I'm ranked in the top 1,245 out of 163,851 tippers at AFL.com! It might not sound that impressive except that I'm on 106 and the leader out of everyone is on 115! If only I'd entered into the local pub's competition. I was down there last Friday night and found out I would be in the lead and in the running for two slabs of beer! And I don't need to convince you that winning is fun, unlike the crap I had to do today.

I feel so dirty.

http://thisdevilsworkday.wordpress.com/

These are the old school NIKE hightops I was referring to...try not to drool all over your computer keyboard.

I will pretty much be wearing them everywhere now.

Haha! Volkan is sooo jealous.

Later nerds,

antwan.

music: Crime Mob - Knuck if you Buck

Know what to do - and when, and, also, be wary of that annoying echo that sometimes gives some clue whenever you are being monitored. Consider that two wrongs never make a right, but that three may do if only for the joy of being petiks. Whenever possible, put people on hold. Be comforted, that in the face of all irritation and disillusionment, and despite the changing fortunes of time, there are always some incentives due to power hours and good metrics.

Remember the times that your biological clock is still normal. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate. Whatever makes you fit. Know thyself. If you need help, avail of a supervisor. Exercise caution in your daily affairs, especially with those closest to you... That Avaya on your left, for instance. Be assured that floorwalking through the seas of most souls would scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love, therefore, as the promiscuous culture of the industry may make you jaded. Gracefully surrender the things of day life: the birds, clean air, the sun, Philippine Daily Inquirer- and let not the sands of time get in your lunch. Hire people of blind obedience. For a good time, call 09274891169, ask for Primo. Take heart in the deepening gloom that your dog is finally getting enough cheese. And reflect that whatever misfortune may be your lot, it could only be worse in Sprint.

Therefore, make peace with your god, whatever you perceive him to be: your arrogant account manager or a machine meant to withdraw money from. With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, the industry , cross your fingers, is here to stay. Apir!

*My apologies to Max Ehrmann and the National Lampoon

So, long story short, I can't write anything major even if I wanted to.

But there are certain things that are going on in my life...major is the license thing. Plus I appreciate our teachers for being so...well...ahem...nice.

Anyways since I can't do anything useful right now let me just post up one of my long lost story that I now find extrememly corny...I am seriously...WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING. But then I was only 13...maybe 14.

But here you go anyways...Drop in a word about how it was. Ciao.

**************************

Guilt

She was carefree, jovial and a prankster. She was always right, as if she knew everything. 'I told you so,' was what she used to say. Her smile was mesmerising, the last thing I saw, the thing I will never forget. I am John Feldman, and I killed my love.

I was the detective at the local police department, whereas Amy Smith, my girlfriend, was a doctor. Amy was a famous prankster in her neighbourhood. She was very good friends with kids and so enjoyed herself with them often. The neighbourhood kids often played various pranks on her, some of them funny and others weird and foul. But Amy enjoyed them all and retaliated full-force. She had a child-like spirit in her, something I adored about her.something that changed my life forever.

It was February 14th, full moon with the stars glistening overhead, when I arrived at her house dressed formally. She appeared at the door a while later, dressed in a beautiful red dress. She looked anxious, detached from herself, but smiled as she saw me.

Together we left for our date, a fancy restaurant in town.

'The restaurant will be full.' She said in the car half was through.

'Of course not. Why would it be?' I replied offhandedly, as she smiled.

On entering the restaurant, I found that it was indeed over-booked. When I delivered the news to Amy, she smiled and said,

'I told you so.'

We ended up ordering take-away and enjoying our dinner in a cool grassy area with the night sky looking on.

'You look distracted, care to share?' I asked during dinner.

'Oh nothing.just a hard day at work.' Came her intriguing reply.

'I would like to hear it.' I said.

'My day? I don't think so.' She replied with a snort.

'I think so. C'mon why was your day so hard?' I urged her to continue.

'John.I would like you to check out something for me.,' she said 'I was having these blank calls.'

'That was your hard day?' I asked her astonished. 'Amy someone's probably pulling your leg.'

'Why do you say that?' She asked.

'Amy.you have a lot of kid friends,' I replied, 'Maybe someone thought to tease you for a bit, it will stop in a few days. Trust me.'

Trust me she did, and the blank calls stopped too, but day after day Amy looked worried. She told me she suspected that someone was after her, but I shrugged it off as her imagination. It never occurred to me that the calls could have been dangerous, and I never believed her. She became paranoid with each passing day, and that only gave me a reason to not believe her. Some days I even thought she was pulling my leg, she had done that before after all.

Mysterious things started to happen to her; threats written on her walls and car, a break-in in her house, and foul packages at her doorstep. She told me all of this but I ignored it, saying it was vandalism, burglary, and pranks.

However, it was one month later when all became clear to me..it was that fateful night.

I was nervous that night, sweating and scared to be exact. I had especially arranged the date tonight, and had reservations for the best restaurant. Why? Because I was going to propose her that night. After about five years of dating, that night I was going to ask her to marry me. As usual, I arrived at her home, a few minutes late that night. When no one answered the door, I figured something was wrong; Amy was always ready even if I arrived early. I cautiously entered her house only to find it in complete disarray with evident signs of struggle. Panic coursed through me as I realised Amy was missing, and I frantically started searching the house. I heard a dull scream, a thud and motorbikes roaring in the backyard, but by the time I arrived in the backyard, all I could see were the silhouettes of three motorbikes disappearing into darkness.

As soon as I could, I got into my car and followed them successfully tracking the mysterious figures down to a dark secluded area. My detective skills shot into action, as I tried to follow any sounds that would lead me to the mysterious figures. It was quite a while, and so far, I had no luck. I was standing in front of a large old warehouse, when a gunshot and a scream from inside told me that trouble was near. I rushed to the door and finding it locked, kicked it open. As I entered, I saw through dim light, Amy writhing on the ground in pain, and three figures retreating through the back door. I rushed after them hoping to catch them but they escaped on their motorbikes.

I returned to Amy and held her in my arms. Part of the roof above had fallen off, showing off the bright and round moon, and the glistening diamonds overhead. In the dim light off the moon, I could see her pain filled expressions. She had been shot and was dying. Tears filled my eyes as she reached up her hand to my cheek, looking into my eyes.

'I told you so.' She said to me feebly. 'Amy,' I managed to find my voice as I addressed her through tears, 'I am so sorry Amy.I am so sorry.'

She just looked at me in return, her eyes reflecting her love and forgiveness. At that moment, I pulled out the velvet box from my pocket, and took out the ring from it. Taking her hand, I put the ring on her finger.

'Marry me Amy Smith, please marry me.' I said looking back at her through tears.

With tears kissing her face, she smiled and nodded in affirmative, and there, under the bright sky, under the moonlight, gave in to death.

I watched my love die that night with immense pain and guilt in my heart. The murderers were never tracked, and I never found out why they killed my Amy. I wish I had believed her when she informed me of the happenings, I wish I could turn back time..

Even though Amy had forgiven me that night, I was overcome with grief. If I were a little more careful, Amy would have been alive today.she would have been Mrs John Feldman. It is my fault she is gone, my fault that death took over her.all my fault.

Even today, as I sit in my office, I hope that she would enter, just as she would do on some days. I hope that the phone will ring and her voice on the other end will tell me it was all a prank. I hope that some how she will be there saying, "I told you so" to me..

Every night, before I go to bed, her last words echo in my head, her nod, and smile are replayed before my eyes, and my heart is filled with pain, sorrow, but most of all guilt. I didn't believe her that day, and now I lost her forever..

I am John Feldman.and I killed my love.

****************************************************

Ahem...Ahem [embarassed]

How absolutly corny and lovely..*sight*

Sam: Hey! Why did you come back? Did you forget something in my room?

LM: Um...Well...I didn't get to hug you goodbye. So ya, let's hug.

Sam: OKaaayyy. *hug takes place* Goodniiiight LM!

LM: *mortified* Goodnight Sam. See you at work. Ciao!

I'm the queen of Bollywood moments. I even had the rain on my side.

We did end up making out two years later at my 20th birthday party- we were kicked out of the men's bathroom stall for that. ...and that just made me sound trashy. Hey! at least I waited two years to play tonsil hockey with somebody 8 years older to me (don't ask). It sucks when you work with an older crowd. They treat you like a 27 year old and you (and they) forget that you just started waxing your armpits six months ago. I refuse to date now, but if I were to, it would have to be somebody less than 26.

I don't keep in touch with Sam (and his adorable Korean pout) for reasons related to my disinterest, and his ass getting fired for embezzlement. I can really pick them. ;)

Fish fillet. Potato wedges.
Bottomless Iced Tea. Belly that bulges.
Bothered by other's text messages. Cam-whoring.
With you, life will never be boring.

Someone who'll thrill but will never fear.
Devour me but not consume, dear.
The witnessing daisies say I should not balk.
Well, the message are sent across if only clouds could talk.