Well, now I can cross “See a Beatle live” off of the old life list. My Hetero Life mate Trevor and I attended the Ringo Starr and his all Starr Band concert. Ringo said early on he just wanted people to have a little fun…and we sure did. Sometimes at his expense, but never mind that. His all star band included Edgar Winter, who was AWESOME by the way, particularly on “Frankenstein” . Rick Derringer, who I did not know was a member of the McCoys and they NAILED the vocals on “Hang on Sloopy”. (Who among us did not spend our whole childhoods thinking it was called “Hang on Snoopy?”) Gary Wright who believed he could get us through the night, a dude from the Romantics who told us what he liked about us, and someone from Mr. Mr. who took some broken wings and made them fly again.
All in all a super fun night. Made more fun by our constant commenting to each other. Here is a short sample for you to enjoy.

“Auuuughhhhhh!!!! A Beatle doing BEATLE SHIT!!!”
-Trevor , taking a moment to appreciate the significance of what we were doing that night, in the middle of “I wanna be your man”

“He looks like a photo negative of a Ramone”
-Trevor, upon seeing Edgar Winter live for the first time

“Okay…strap in for the suck”
-Tony, after Gary Wright was introduced and played the first few notes of “Dream Weaver”

“Uhhh is he wearing a SWEATER?”
-Trevor commenting on Gary Wrights’s Rock and Roll outfit

He looks like Mr. Rogers out there …’Can you sing Dream Weaver…sure, I knew you could’ “
-Tony, in response

“I miss Dream Weaver.”
-Tony, midway through a song off of Ringo’s new album called “The Other Side of Liverpool”

“I don’t think Eddie Van Halen is shitting himself right now”
-Tony, during Rick Derringers Guitar solo

“I think ALEX Van Halen just went “Meh”
-Trevor in response

“Yeah, THAT’s one of mine.”
-Ringo, to some guy in the crowd who shouted out “Let It Be”

“Ringo is doing some weird shoulder thing…look”
-Trevor, during “Broken Wings”

“Man, if Ringo STARR gets bored playing your song, it probably sucks”
-Tony in Response

“Hey THAT’S not one of your songs either!”
-Tony , when they closed with “Give Peace a Chance”

Peace and Love, everyone, from Trev, Tony and Ringo

Dear Correctness Readers:

A lot of people ask us how we here at The Correctness can generate so much fresh content, ensuring that so much of our written effort is largely ignored by the people we hope read our articles, like Henry Kissinger or Emma Stone. “How can you generate so much fresh, funny content?” those people ask us, redundantly, “That could be enjoyed by Henry Kissinger for example, or Emma Stone, perhaps?” they continue, reiteratively.

Well, the secret to our success, apart from my stunning good looks, is filler.

“Filler?” You ask?

“Filler.” I respond, nodding. “Fill.The.Fuck.Er.”

“How,” you begin, “does filler help you generate content”, you continue “for your site?” you conclude.

It’s easy. Or, in the convention of the above dialogue, “It’s easy”. There are literally threes of ways to use filler and fluff to plump up even the weakest premise and make sure that people keep coming back to your website!

Pictures of things are also good filler.

1. Make lists of things

Lists of things require minimal effort. You just have to think about a category of things, and then list them. That’s easy. Here are some things you could make lists of:

a) Dogs
b) Cats
c) Lamps
d) Colours of mittens you have owned.
e) Types of mittens.
f) Types of kittens.
g) Colours of kittens wearing mittens.
h) Types of kittens wearing colours of mittens.
i) Triangular Diplomacy in the Nixon administration.
j) Types of lamps.
k) Colours of things that could be on lists.
l) Types of Nixons.

Just imagine the fun you could have discussing lamps!

2. Have an opinion. Have a point of view. Have a burrito.

Maybe, for the sake of argument, lamps make you really angry. You can generate a list of things about lamps, and then narrow it down to the few things that really bother you about lamps. Many of my recent articles highlight my grievances with a specific subject. FYI, another great way to generate filler is to link to things you have already written and use them as examples, like this:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/correctness/a-critique-of-celebrity-tweets-and-primarily-justin-bieber/

or, to a much lesser extent, like this:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/writing/stopping-by-the-woods-to-poop-on-a-summers-eve-by-r-frost/

By venting angrily about the minor annoyances that are inherent to almost any subject, you can spend seconds upon seconds of reader time cranking enjoyment juice into their fun-hungry tummies. Let’s use the lamp thing as an exemplar . Perhaps try our classic “open Letter” format which we are so fond of here at The Correctness. FYI, I typed “asan exemplar” and Microsoft corrected it to “Asian”. The racist concept of a singular Asian exemplar is just another of the typical offensive coding errors present in Word 2007, see the following:

http://www.thecorrectness.com/writing/an-open-letter-to-microsoft-re-word-2007-list-of-demands/

Now, I said we would try using the open letter format with our weak, but serviceable “lamps” rant, and we would see what kind of gold we could prospect from this iron ore mine.

Dear Lamps:

You broke my heart, lamp.

I have often used you for lighting, along with ceiling fixtures and rope light. Your free ride just ended, however, because I’m sick of your shit, Lamps. You. Make. me. Sick. You are always burning out and needing new bulbs. What is that, planned obsolescence? You are hard to clean. I always have to be the one to turn you on, you never turn me on. You lamps are always coming home late and not telling me where you were, showing up drunk, hurling abuse both verbal and physical, and then threatening suicide, only to break down crying and beg me not to call an ambulance, making me complicit in your carefully constructed facade of sanity. Fuck you, lamps!

Sincerely,
Blah blah blah

Now, to be fair, that didn’t really seem to be focused on lamps so much as my own issues, but it would still be a place to start.

3. Having a third thing in your list of things

Having a third thing really helps to round your thing out. Your thing won’t seem a lush, full or complete without a third thing. When God created the Heavens and the Earth, he said, “Let there be light, but not fucking lamps, and let there be some fish and plants n’ shit, and let there be a third, humourous thing!” and when that guy makes demands, things happen! That third thing is everywhere. Always have a third thing.

The only thing that shouldn’t have a third thing is this thing:

10 PRINT “Always have a Third Thing”

20 GOTO 10

If you are looking hard at that solitary example of a list of things that shouldn’t have a third thing, there is still a third thing embedded in it, both as text, but also implied in the absent line 30 which is line 10 repeated.

So, dear readers, I hope that helps. I know a lot of you publish comedy on a several times weekly basis, and you can now generate content like words are going out of style. To recap:

1. Make Lists of things

2. Lunch.

3. A Third Thing.

Sincerely Yours,

RobbieRobTown

P.S.  Still waiting on your contest submission, Emma.

The Correctness Guide to Body Disposal:

Disclaimer: The Correctness legal department reminds you that neither The Correctness, thecorrectness.com, Robbierobtown nor any subsidiary or affiliated agency or individual advocates violence, murder, or the improper disposal of a body.

Manswers style disclaimer for retards: Dude! Don’t ever kill a dude or chick and then do stuff to the body! It’s totally  lame, buddy!

So, you’ve murdered someone! You’ve had one of those arguments with, for the sake of this article, a smallish pig.  Perhaps your pig was treacherous, manipulative or downright cruel. Maybe your pig was abusive.  Maybe you and your pig couldn’t sort out who the real father of your piglets was. Maybe your pig was a national security threat, and even if it wasn’t, you’d best start telling yourself that. In any case, things got a little heated, words were spoken, it all got out of hand, and now you have about 160 pounds of pork to dispose of, and right quickly at that.  Maybe your pig weighed a bit more or less, but he or she had it coming.

Right off the bat, Correctness readers, I’m not going to bring you down with the moral implications of what you’ve done. You have clearly made a mistake, and if you don’t handle this right you will have 30 plus years in  prison to think it all over. Questions like “Why didn’t I do a better job?” or “Was that psycho really worth this jailtime?” are more aptly debated in your own head while a tattooed  inmate rapes you with a mophandle.

So, 160 pounds of the other white meat. Well, you probably can’t bring yourself to eat this prized pig of yours, it seems wrong somehow. Let’s pretend you are a vegan, or you don’t have a full size deep freeze in your home. This pork is going to go bad pretty quickly, and you can’t barbecue fast enough to cook it all tonight.

Step 1: Damage Control

Even in a rural area, where you presumably live, because you murdered a pig and not anything else, you likely made far too much noise having your domestic disturbance. I would recommend the following:

A) Put on some soft music: A lover’s quarrel is often accompanied, I am told, by a tender, sexy reconciliation. Best to let the apartment nextdoor- by which I mean “nearby farm”- believe you are smoothing things over with champagne and chocolates, or whatever it is you people do.

B) Dim the lights and shutter the windows. DO NOT work by flashlight, it will look suspicious.

C) Breathe: The next few steps are going to be difficult, unpleasant, and existentially confusing at best. At. Best.    Give yourself a few minutes to breathe, find your centre, pray to your Gods, and steel yourself for what is coming next.

Step 2: Clean up

Get some incense burning or whip out that aerosol disinfectant. This is the last time you are ever going to be able to smell “citrus mist” or “sage sunrise” again without puking. It probably hasn’t started to smell yet, and if you make quick work of it, it will smell no worse than the average butchers shop. Turn off the heat, while you are at it turn on the AC. Cool down the room.

Again, for the sake of this article, we’re presupposing you didn’t plan this crime out in advance. You probably made quite a mess. This is no time to be stingy with your Swiffer wet-jet fluid. In all likelihood, no volume of chlorine bleach will be enough to eradicate all traces of DNA from your home. How quickly do you have to clean up? Answer the following question:

Did I have a motive?

If the answer is “no”, you have plenty of time. Nobody is coming looking for your pig at your house, because you are simply not a person of interest. On the down side, you are a dangerous sociopath who kills pigs for fun. That will not look good on your permanent record if they do catch you, so do a proper clean up, don’t be lazy about it.

If the answer is “yes” then you have to clean quickly. You need to get as much of the physical evidence you have ever touched this pig or had it in your home as far away from you as possible, as quickly as possible.

If you suspect (and  “suspect” is a word you should familiarize yourself with) that you have 3 or 4 hours , you may wish to drag your pig to the bathroom and disassemble it there. Only about 5 kilos of your pig is blood, but you are going to need to break this pig into smaller parts if you want to carry it out to your car in manageable chunks. Carrying an entire pig to the trunk of your sedan will arouse suspicion, and 160 pounds (roughly 75 kilos) is a lot of deadweight, if you’ll pardon the expression. If you can transport it in one piece, and the neighbours aren’t too nosy, carpe diem. If the police are already on their way head for the roof and make with the crazy threats and poopy pants. You might get good drugs and avoid jail.

Some of you are wondering “why don’t I just wait for the blood to congeal, and then butcher my pig? In answer to that, I suggest you buy a nice pork loin, leave it on your counter and see how long it takes to get hard. It will be longer than you like, and you are already out of “Blueberry Meadows “ cleanser.

Again, you have some soft music playing, and you are using your sharpest knife (and wearing your least favourite t-shirt) and cutting you pig up around the joints. You categorically do not have time to manually saw through bones, and using a power tool is conspicuous, foolish, and messy. if you’ve ever tried to get laminate flooring glue dust out of the blade guard of a Black and Becker circular saw, just imagine cleaning blood out of there.  You are sawing through the joints, and severing tendons, not cutting bones. This is going to be hard work, take you time, be tidy, think some more about what you have done.

Disassembled? Good. You probably have 4 limbs, and a heavy but manageable torso to carry now. Grab some garbage bags, double or triple wrap, and load the pieces into your best luggage. You are going on a trip!

Do not forget to clean your bathroom once the car is loaded. More bleach equals more innocent. Bleach your damn self while you are at it too. Most 24 hour convenience groceries will have bleach, and if your hippie jurisdiction has banned chlorine bleach in favour of tea tree oil and patchouli, you are so fucked. Buy hydrogen peroxide, hair dye, rubbing alcohol, mouthwash, and anything you can find to denature all those pesky proteins in your tub drain. For Christ’s sake, don’t breathe in the fumes. Good news: throw in some Sudafed and you just made Meth. In for a penny, in for a pound, you’re going to need a new job when you get to Mexico.

Before you leave your home, possibly for good, make certain you have accounted for the knives you used for carving, the remaining garbage bags, and any other odds and ends that might incriminate you. You can leave some of it behind, but if your pig was a fan of John Irving novels and The Smiths, put those such items out on display. Was your pig suicidal? That’s how I remember it too. Oh, and whatever the initial murder weapon was, lamp, fire prod, tilting the fridge over on him/her, get that dealt with too.

(ED’s note: For tips on dealing with appliance murder see “The Correctness guide to Disassembling Major Home appliances, especially the Fridge”, Apr. 2009)

Step 3: Road trip!

What a lovely November night at 2 AM it is for a drive in the country! That’s always been your attitude, hasn’t it been? If not, it is now. Just keep telling yourself you love taking leisurely drives in your properly registered vehicle. Oh how you love to wander the backroads of your community at precisely the posted speed limit with your headlights all functioning properly. What fun!

You may wish to stop by the 24 hour hardware store and pick up a shovel, some lye, and some safety glasses. Don’t pay with credit, and for heaven’s sake don’t steal a shovel. Stealing a shovel is the kind of thing that makes police officers search your properly registered and insured car.

Drive until you reach a large industrial compound, situated on an unnecessarily large amount of wooded land. There are lots of these just outside the city limits.  Why go there? Glad you asked. National Parks are well travelled, private land and farms are also well travelled, but you can be quite certain that Louis the janitor is not going to go more than 15 feet out of the emergency exit to take his smoke break. That leaves you free to go three or four hundred meters into the surrounding woods, and dig your grave where no one will ever bother to go looking for it. Who sticks around their work site after work to explore? Nobody does. They all are driving home to fight with their spouses and visit the national parks.

What about on site security? You are carrying a shovel, and you have no motive for this guy. Crack him on the back of the head if he asks any prying questions.  Use the side of the shovel blade when you swing, you might even take his head right off.

I know what you are about to say. You are about to say “I’ve only murdered a pig so far , but now I’ve murdered a human being as well.”. Try no to be too emotional about this. You really loved that pig of yours, and you still diced it up and drove it around for 2 hours, ruining your Samsonite luggage. Try to keep things in perspective: That luggage was a wedding gift and you never got to go anywhere because your alcoholic spouse was too hung over to do anything anyway. (Protip: remove luggage tags with identification info.) Anyhow, security guards work unusual shifts, and are unlikely to have families that will miss them.

Step 4: Disposal

Now you are digging 2 graves. Don’t dig shallow graves. Craftsmanship is the virtue that is going to get you out of this.  Lazy criminals get caught every time by digging flawed shallow graves. You are plenty close to the woods that coyotes will dig up an improper burial site, and Louis the Janitor will definitely notice a severed, half-eaten human hand on the back stoop . Unless you want to be digging a third grave, take some fucking pride in your work.

Once you have dug your graves, say goodbye to your bags and your corpses. Douse the graves with lye (safety glasses!) and start backfilling the holes.  By the time somebody brings a bulldozer out here in 10 years to expand the loading dock, your little problem will long since be worm food.

Maybe, as described in the introductory section of Step 3, it is winter. Now you have two additional problems. First, you will make tracks in any fresh snow. Second, the ground is too frozen to dig in. If it is winter, you are going to alter your plans a bit. Find a river, and drive as far upstream as you can. There will be occasional openings in the ice.  Find a secluded spot, and start dousing your garbage bags and luggage with that lye you purchased (SAFETY GLASSES!!!) , then slip those bodies into the frozen water. The lye should dissolve any fingerprints.

Subsection 4A: Safety on the Ice:

Every year in the northern United States, as well as throughout Canada, people fall through the ice on natural bodies of water and drown.  It is inadvisable to conduct any activity on the ice in the early fall or late spring, as well as in or around a warming period mid winter. If the ice should crack while you are feeding corpse parts into a hole, try to spread out your body weight over the largest possible surface area. Lay flat, and make the shape of a starfish. You can then slowly crawl to safety without further risk of breaking up the already unstable ice.

Step 5: Business as Usual.

Drive home. Make it? Take the car in to be detailed after a brief nap. No calls from the police? Good. Things won’t get suspicious for a while.  If you lived with your pig, you will have to report it missing shortly. Wait a couple of days, so that the neighbours don’t recall that big fight.

If you are not being asked too many questions, you will quite naturally vacillate between a state of smug pride, and a completely justifiable  paranoid anxiety.  If you notice you laminate flooring is producing the sound of a heartbeat, stay calm. It is all in your head, just clean out the blade guard on your Black and Decker circular saw. If you notice the tub is backing up, remain calm, go back to the hardware store, buy a snake and some drain cleaner and take care of it. Do not call a plumber. If you cry every time you cook bacon, or listen to Billy Joel,  or watch “Babe” that is all perfectly natural.

Clean your home and car thoroughly and regularly for a few months. You have basically made it. Resist the temptation to return to the burial site/ river to make sure everything is still okay, That is another major rookie mistake.  Stay in. You can finally rent “Pitch Black” and decide if you would have liked it in theatres or not.

RobbieRobTown Cleans up “messes” for The Correctness when things go “Pete Tong”.

Mayor Amber Harris breathed a sigh of relief as she looked out her window into the blackness and saw and encroaching wave of light rushing across each building downtown. Then, her own office lights came back on. The blackout, mercifully was over, but the damage had been done. There had been looting, car accidents, panic, false reports of a terrorist attack and so much more that needed to be dealt with, but for now, at least her city had power. While she was rebooting her PC, her phone rang. She had been expecting this…
“Mayor Harris, it’s Ed Garrett down at Cityworks…”
“Hey Ed, thanks for getting the power up, what happened?” she asked
“Well, it all came down to one outlet, some wires got frayed on the input unit, and set up a chain reaction…” he said, wearily.
“Input unit?”
“Yeah, seems the high end electrical plugs were not in the budget this year and they just conked out”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute” Amber said, starting to get annoyed, “You mean this whole thing was just about some cheap plug?”

THE END

About The Author:

Tony Binns has just written and will be appearing in Glenngarry Glen Beck , a hilarious sketch comedy show with his fellow Obscene But Not Heard troupe mates at the at the Calgary Fringe. All shows will be at the Alexandra Centre in Inglewood, the showtimes are as follows:

He is currently expecting his first child along with his wife, Amber who will also be attending Glengarry Glen Beck and will most likely be visiting Calgaryfringe.ca for her tickets and she urges you to do the same. Tony was a nominee for the Giller prize in 2009 for his novel “Hey, Come and See Me Headline at Yuk Yuks This Weekend”. He has two cats, who would go see Glengarry Glen Beck if they could.

June 9, 1987:
It was a hot night in the Big Easy, and the audience was rigid with anticipation- For good reason. Tonight, for the first time ever, Cockshark had shared the stage with Brothersucker. For one night only, two of the biggest, hardest acts in Metal would come together, simultaneously, in front of a crowd of thousands.

Brothersucker hit the stage first, surprising the audience with their size. Yes, their members had swollen as Brothersucker now had founding member and keyboardist Rock Dalton playing with them again. Minutes before the show, Brothersucker had taken him in the back to celebrate Rock’s hard homecoming. Coyly, the band had replaced their once traditional champagne showers with aerosol whipped cream, as a subtle tribute to Rock Dalton’s battle with alcohol. Dalton was obviously in on the joke, and he laughed joyously as the rest of Brothersucker covered him in their jets of cream.

Brothersucker head-man, Gino Difaggino, absolutely prowled the stage, licking up the energy from the crowd, as the band pounded into their hit single “Drinking from the Hose”. Difaggino had come a long way to be the head guy, painstakingly working his way up from the bottom.

DiFaggino worked as a masseuse, and also as a pool cleaner before striking it big with Brothersucker. “I was in the right place at the right time”, he says, ” The guys found me singing in a tiny bar off the main strip. They teased me, calling me “Goldenthroat”, that kind of thing. We just really hit it off, like one big happy, mixed up family.”

The crowd was elated to hear DiFaggino straddle his mic stand and jerk out the opening lines of “Cream Treat”. The Dalton penned song was a fan favourite, but hadn’t been performed in years. “When the fans are expecting you to perform, you have to perform. You can’t go halfway.” said DiFaggino.

But it was Cockshark’s big opening, dripping with sensuality, that really wowed the crowd. Their big opening was so impressive, the boys from Brothersucker said they’d like to watch- and watch they did, from the the side of the stage, as Cockshark seduced the audience and took them inside their opening.

David Gyzz of Cockshark recalled his opening after the show. “It was really huge. We never open that big, but the audience was with us all the way, gave us every inch of their attention, and it all just fit.”

After such a strong start, Cockshark could hardly top “He Wore Leather”, but they were hard at it with their next song “Ballroom Love”. “That’s the thing about “ballroom”. You’ve got to have it in there, or the show seems uncomfortable. Our fans love ballroom.”

Cockshark drummer Leslie Phillio was a vision in gold as he tore apart the solo in “Thigh High”, delicately taunting the snare, teasing the rim relentlessly, before finally plunging in for the big finish.

In the final encore, Cocksharks and Brothersuckers eagerly mounted the stage together, all at once. Ten sweaty men, all near exhaustion, but being cheered on by the crowd, traded songs back and forth, back and forth, working the crowd for every last drop of their sticky love, gobbling it down. Phillio pounded away harder and harder, and you could tell Rock Dalton was in deep- the look of tense concentration on his face was unmistakable.

At 22 years old, Emily was hardly the youngest housewife in West Cloverdale. Indeed, she like so many other attractive young women had carefully played by the rules, attracted themselves a husband, and been swept away to the suburbs.

Though not the youngest, Emily had one thing going for her- one thing, set aside a prizewinning pair of legs from a darker period of her life when she danced naked for beatniks. The “Miss Rack 1958″ contest had been a battle hard won for her- No, what Emily had going for her was that she was smart as a whip.

For some number of months, she had lived out the life she had dreamed would fulfill her- Dressing for her husband, undressing for her husband, vacuuming in high heels, cooking roasts in a ridiculous garter belt, all precisely as she had anticipated. Even the sex had been exactly as satisfying as she had expected- which is to say “not at all satisfying”, but Emily had been well groomed, and was prepared for all kinds of sexual mediocrity.

Having discovered ways to entice her husband Gary with sexualized domestic tasks, she had freed up time during the day to continue her experiments. Having coyly seduced Gary into providing her with an increased daily allowance, she had the means to call in an excavation crew, and build an immense secret laboratory in the basement. The neighbours, whom Emily had informed of some bomb shelter construction, were none the wiser, and the right flip of the hair and sparkle of the eye had given Emily unprecedented discounts from the trades assisting her during construction. Indeed, had Emily the inclination to go into general contracting, her costs would have been easily 80% less than anyone else. Even she was amazed by the amount of concrete one can get for free with just the right outfit- and a blowjob- just the right outfit and a blow job.

In any case, on this particular Wednesday morning, she kissed her husband goodbye, and not two minutes after he departed, a courier showed up with the last of the instrumentation she would need. Much of the equipment was on permanent loan from a nearby university, where she had found the gentlemen of the physics department particularly easy to convince. Emily recalled with a chuckle that she had spent hours moisturizing her lips for naught. So dumbfounded were the physicists by the sincere interest of a beautiful young woman that they had simply donated their equipment without the necessity for even one quick handroll.

With practiced restraint, she looked puzzled at the heavy contents of the courier box, smiled coquettishly at the courier driver and, immediately upon his departure, bolted the front door and descended into her lab. The entrance was directly beside the bomb shelter which she had, in fact, put in. While the bomb shelter was behind an obvious metal door, her laboratory was disguised behind a storage shelf labeled “feminine needs”, ensuring her husband would never dare to approach it.

Arriving in the nerve center of her laboratory, she flicked on the overhead lights and set about her work. A big as a football field, and perhaps 300 feet tall, the room was filled with metal cabinets, buzzing and whirring. Emily heaved the large, freshly-received cardboard box up onto a work table, and opened it with her switchblade ( A personal security measure she always tusked in the thigh band of her stocking). The box was full to the brim with metal-oxide transistors. Having had a similarly easy time getting a referral from a fellow at Texas Instruments to her effortless success on the equipment loan from the physicists, a more than eager Doctor Winthrop had arguably broken seven national security laws, and told Emily extensively about the work being done at Bell Labs on new miniaturized transistors. One polite site visit later, and hardly more effort than unbuttoning one button more than necessary, and she was essentially swimming in tiny black silicon transistors.

Soldering the last panel for her supercomputer, Emily laughed to herself at the folly of her good friend Gwendolyn’s advice. “Use tubes, Emily, they are cheaper, and easier to find!”. Gwendolyn was a dear sweet woman, and handy as she may have been with what sorts of logic sets were Turing Complete, she was out of her element when it came to ray gun design, most certainly.

Finished at last. Emily hastened to invite her entire knitting club over to see the finished product. Gwendolyn arrived first, followed by Cynthia and Cathy. Credit to the girls, they all arrived dressed to nines, even when it was ten fifteen in the morning. The fact that most of the ladies refused to wear anything but high heels had necessitated the welding of small stepping plates onto the entire launch gantry, costing Emily a week of time. Cynthia had badly burned herself with the acetylene torch, and had to rush home to prepare a turkey dinner for plausible deniability. The ladies were all eating turkey leftovers for a week after that.

Cathy let out a low whistle. Even she, having worked so hard on this project, was amazed by the result. A rocket in a silo beneath Emily’s swimming pool, banks and banks of telemetry equipment, the most complex radio remote system ever invented, and a satellite mounted ray gun that would give the ladies everything they had ever dreamed.

Gwendolyn looked in awe. “How did you solve the power issue? We never got the solar working”.

“Plutonium. Ten kilos of weapons grade plutonium” replied Emily.

“Shirt button?” Asked Gwendolyn, optimistically.

“That one was a blow job”. Emily replied, with slight distatse.

“Fucking feds.” Cathy added.

“Ladies.” began Emily, “Tomorrow is the fourth of July. And there will be enough uncontrolled fireworks going off that no one will notice our rocket launch. Cathy, do you have the hors d’ouvres prepared?”

Cathy nodded. Gwendolyn piped in “Everything is ready for the barbecue at my place. Norman is convinced it takes half an hour to prepare my “fresh” lemonade, and that should buy two of us at least enough time to launch the rocket. That reminds me, Cynthia, can you make some lemonade with me early tomorrow, and we’ll pop the rinds in the deep freeze?”

“Not a problem.” said Cynthia “I have airport radar resolved, but little Timothy still has the croup, and I missed the meeting on NORAD.”

“Awww!” Cooed Emily “How is little Timmy?”.

“I’ve got a wet compress on his head, and I gave him an aspirin.” said Cynthia.

“well, I hope he feel better for tomorrow, I made jello salad for the kids table, with marshmallows”. Said Emily. “But let’s get down to it. Between Cathy and I we have dispensed no fewer than eight blow jobs and 4 topless dances at NORAD, and their tracking won’t be a problem.”

“I’m all ready to make the broadcast announcement, and the helicopter is fueled” said Gwendolyn.

“Did you get that stain out of the cockpit seat?” Asked Cathy, tugging nervously at the hem of her immaculate silk cocktail dress.

“Baking soda” Replied Gwendolyn.

“The last decision is to choose a target, ladies.” said Emily. They looked at each other for a long time. none had given the target much thought. The silence continued for some time.

“Look, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and you can’t build an atomic death ray without irradiating a few cities.” said Emily.

“What about Moscow?” Cathy offered.

“Probably trigger a nuclear response. No, it has to be domestic”. Emily said.

“So Tokyo is out”. said Gwendolyn, sliding her cat-eye glasses up the bridge of her slightly upturned nose.

“I’m afraid so. plus, Japan is where I got all these transistors.” Emily said. The ladies all nodded in agreement.

There was another excruciating pause. Finally Cynthia spoke. “Chicago. Start with Chicago. If they don’t meet our demands, then… then move on to San Fransisco.” There was another pause, and the ladies all looked at each other, then nodded in agreement.

“Chicago it is. I never liked blues music.” said Emily. “there is only one more thing, girls. It’s time for the pillow fight in the soapy bubbles.” And with that, Emily pulled down hard on a lever, wild jazz began playing, and these 4 beautiful housewives/scientists had a lesbian orgy like you couldn’t possibly believe.

The first thing I’d like to make clear is that this is a list of personal favourites. It is not a “Greatest” list. There are several comedians who are by all accounts GREATER in a broader context. I call it the “Citizen Kane” effect.

Citizen Kane is considered, by and large to be one of the greatest movies ever made. It rounds out damn near every top movie list. It was daring, innovative , and complex. However, I wouldn’t put it on even my top 50 list. I can acknowledge its importance, respect its legacy…and just not enjoy it as much as something perhaps a little less ambitious.

The stand up comedy equivalent of Citizen Kane for me is Lenny Bruce. He was a pioneer, an innovator, in many ways the father of modern stand up comedy. I just don’t really enjoy what he did all that much.

Now that said, comedy is a bit like music for me, what I’m into at the time can change depending on where I’m at in my life. Think of this as a snapshot of who I am at this precise moment. The list, the order, and the comedians themselves can change in a year’s time.

So let’s get on with it shall we?

10) Mitch Hedberg

You know it took me a little while to warm up to Mitch. I found his accent and his delivery off putting, to the point that it obscured the material for me. But once I got past it, I found myself fascinated by his “laid back southern stoner meets Steven Wright” style musings. The downside of course is that every amateur night in every city is filled with guys who try to copy the delivery without even half of the style, ease and genuinely weird wit.Mitch left us far too soon but has left a few really great comedy albums to remember him by.

9) Steve Martin

I completely wore out my brother’s “Wild and Crazy Guy” 8 track tape. I watched “The Man with Two Brains” on a constant loop on Superchannel. I watched “The Jerk” on a small black and white TV in my room because my mother didn’t want to see “That crap”. At the time, I didn’t realize he actually WAS a bad comedian (on purpose), I just responded to the goofiness in a way only a kid can. Later I came to admire how layered his performances were, and even came to admire him for walking away from them forever. BTW, I saw The Man with Two Brains again recently…it’s still really funny.

8. Bill Cosby

The only reason Cos is so far down the list is because he is so far down memory lane. He is a big part of my childhood, sitting in the basement listening to “For Russel, my Brother, Whom I Slept With” over and over again, and giggling my ass off every time. I’ve seen him twice now, and he is an absolute master…he takes his time, and chooses his spots with impeccable timing. Even in track pants and a sweater, just sitting in a chair, he is riveting.

7) George Carlin

Like Cosby and Steve Martin before him, this is a guy who belongs not just on this list, but on the list of all time greats. Class Clown should be compulsory listening for anyone even THINKING of setting foot on a comedy stage. I saw him twice during the Cranky Misanthrope years, and I am I very glad I caught him live…before he wasn’t. He opened with “Good Evening ladies and gentleman. I would just like to start by saying FUCK LANCE ARMSTRONG! FUCK HIM AND HIS ONE BALL!!!” I don’t think I ever laughed at an opening line quite as hard as that.

6) Pre 9-11 Dennis Miller

Before the attacks on 9-11, Dennis Miller told it like he saw it, with no specific affiliations. He was one of the best weekend update correspondents, and I admired how he just made the references he wanted to make without worrying whether or not the audience would get it. I did get it more often than not, which made me feel like I was in an exclusive club. He was a huge influence, and to this day I still have a few Dennis Miller inspired jokes in my act. (For instance… “Religion is like alcohol, in small amounts, its warm and comforting… too much and you instantly become an asshole”. I have to fight the urge to shake my head slightly when I tell that joke) Then after 9-11 he took a big jump to the right, and embraced the Fox news POV. No matter what your politics are, I think we can all agree that the left has a much better sense of humor, and I think Dennis’ comedy, and reputation suffered. He’s not dead, but in a way, I still miss him

5) Jim Gaffigan

The guy talked about food for an hour. And all of it was funny. Here’s someone who can take something as mundane as cake and make the tears stream out of your eyes with laughter. He has an odd, self deprecating, almost gentle style, punctuated with hilarious interpretations of what his audience is thinking. (“Oh, he’s a pale fella…”) You could even listen to Gaffigan in front of your kids, it’s clean, clever, without even a trace of anger. If you haven’t seen it, go to you tube and look up his signature bit “Hot Pockets” you’ll thank me. Then you’ll never eat another Pizza pop. Then you will thank him.

4) Billy Connelly

Some comedians are just greater than their material and Billy Connelly is just one of those guys. Billy’s PERSONALITY is funny and it comes through every pore of his being. He could go off on a tangent about anything, a pair of slacks that caught his eye, something somebody in the audience said, whatever. It doesn’t matter what he’s talking about, it’s the way in which he talks about it. He just does what he does, has the audience doubled over with laughter and he makes it seem so damned natural and easy. There’s a whole lot of Billy Connelly in Craig Ferguson. (Or at least there was last night” Ferguson would say at this point, making his “Nancy Boy” face) If you get a chance to see him ramble on about very little, do so. Great storyteller.

3) Steven Wright

“Steven Wright is one of the most prolific and gifted stand up comics of our age” – Barry Katz, after a complete Douchetard asked what Steven Wright had done lately

I often hesitate to use the words “Comedic genius” to describe comedians but Steven Wright comes as close to the term as anyone. Wright is layered, original, smart, bizarre and hysterically funny. He’s throwing metaphysical curveballs out like it was nothing while the rest of us in the comedy world are still pitching underhand. His comedy is the product of a lightning quick mind slowed down to a snail’s pace and delivered with flawless deadpan. I have also had the privilege of seeing him live. He opened with “I wish my first word was “Quote,” so that on my deathbed I could say “Unquote”. The e-mails you occasionally get forwarded to you are only about 60% his material, if that, and does him no justice at all. See him live if you can.

2) Louis CK

I truly believe Louis CK is the George Carlin of our generation. He’s got Carlin’s insight, his bite, and his gift for forcing you to look at what you accept everyday in a whole new light. If anybody else referred to their 5 year old daughter as an asshole, you would immediately want to boo them off stage…but I have to say, he makes an excellent case. He is brutal in his honesty and spares no one, least of all himself. As an interesting experiment, check out Jim Gaffigan’s bit about Cinnabon, then compare it to Louis C.K’s. Gaffigan has a light, “Oh well, I’m a huge slob, whattaya gonna do?” vibe. Louis on the other hand, is filled with utter self loathing and despair, it’s as much a cry for help as it is a comedy bit. I’m kicking myself for missing him the last time he came through, but I ‘m sure I’ll get my chance, he’s getting bigger and better all the time.

1) Patton Oswalt

“Werewolves and Lollipops” saved my stand up comedy career. Allow me to explain.

I was pretty much done with stand up. I hadn’t written anything new in ages…and I didn’t care to. I had nothing but contempt for my audiences, at this point it was a paycheck…not even a good one, that I had to travel out to the middle of nowhere to get. I was right on the verge of packing it all in for good.

Then on the way to a gig, one of the comedians on the bill with me threw in “Werewolves and Lollipops” by Patton Oswalt. When I finally caught my breath and my head stopped aching from laughing so hard, I found myself having renewed faith in both Stand up comedy and my act. He was a nerd, just like me, and an absolute wordsmith. Each turn of phrase was worked to absolute perfection. “KFC Bowls” is a shining example of precision of language and how it can be used for maximum effect. He can be brilliantly articulate one moment and degenerate into complete gibberish the next, and in both cases still be equally funny. He has got to be one of the most quotable comedians working today.

He turned me around and made me believe that something worthwhile COULD be done in stand up and I started loving it again the way I used to. I write more, I try stuff more, I’m more open and relaxed on stage. Nobody in their right mind gets into this for money or fame. If you don’t love it, you have no business being in it. He clearly loves it, and he made me love it too.

Get Werewolves and Lollipops, and while your are at it get My Weakness is Strong. They are a masterclass for any humor writer.

Now, before I go…allow me to use my Jim Gaffigan audience inner monologue voice for a moment.

“Ohhh but wait a minute…What about Bill Hicks? You didn’t put Bill Hicks on the list. I don’t think you’re a very good comedian if you left out Bill Hicks.”

Well, in answer to that…I haven’t heard a lot of Bill Hicks. What I have heard I have enjoyed, but his take no prisoners style has inspired more comedians to behave like total douche bags, both onstage and off than you could possibly imagine. He is therefore not on the list, just on principal.

So, faithful readers, who do you like?

(Oh, if you’re in Edmonton this weekend, I’m playing the YukYuks at the Century Casino. Come out and see if I make your list.)

Hai Correctness Readers!

LOLsies! Some of you guys sure seem to be in a real pickle about my emotional state! Golly wonkers, it sure is nice that you are all so concerned about my lovemeter readings, but I’m as pleased as a fry in a fish hatchery these days, I assure you!

Just in case, I’ve collected a whole bunch of adorable images, and I’ve written some wholesome  commentary for each one! Nothing political here, just good old fashioned warm feelings in your tummies.

A basket of puppies! If they were a basket of apples, I’d pick them for a pie- OF KISSES! Delightful.

“I Can Haz Carrots?” or “I need a hug too!”. Awwww, I’ll hug you, bunny!

Wait a minute, where are all of my carrots? Did you eat them, Bunny? Silly bunny. My carrots were to share, with you, and with The Christ.

This little fellow is all dressed up. I guess you could say he is the Cat’s Meow!

“I Can Haz Toy?” Of course you can, you “*“otter ”*” be happy! See what I did there? I meant “should”.

“OM NOM NOM!” Oh, little Pika, you are an endangered species alright- Endangered of being adorable!

See what happens when you use too much fertilizer? LOL deforestation. I Can haz mudslides?

“I Can Haz Key?” Baby pigs! In a cage! Lucky thing they are behind bars, or they would be repeat offenders. Crime: Caught being “Some Pig”. Oh, Wilbur.

“Anyone have a light?” Hahaha, you smoke too much, oilsands. You smoke too much.

Maybe that’s why the Pika is endangered!

*gag*

Chickens are… heh…ha…. That’s a lot of chickens in a small space….

Uh…

Is that a fucking dolphin? Oh Jesus fuck. Fuck my blowhole, that’s a dolphin. There is blood on his skin. Fucking wow.

Well that’s…that’s just awful.

Bad news.

I.   Am.   Dead.   Inside.

My nephew, Brendon is soon to become a father. He just bought his first house, and is thinking of applying his trade to his own business. When faced with the huge responsibilities of adulthood, one tends to turn thoughtful…introspective even. And then, you start asking the big questions. questions like…

Hey Uncle Tony Ummm…. Had a question which I am sure nerds have debated for for at least 25 years. Who would win in a battle Han Solo or Captain Kirk? I wanted to ask the vast knowledge of the Correctness but I dunno if there is a question section. Now if in question the Spock Kirk duel music is playing, no crowd, just a rancor to kill the loser.

Bren, I want you to know that you can always turn to me for advice in vital matters such as these.

The answer is: It depends.

If it’s a straight up fist fight? Well, I’d give the edge to Kirk. Who can withstand the might of the Hands Clasped Chop or the Awkward Drop Kick?

Gun Fight? Solo. Solo is a cowboy, you just aren’t going to outdraw him. Kirk would hit the ground before he uttered the phrase “Set to stun”

Ship to ship? Well there is no debating that The Enterprise is faster and outguns the Falcon massively. BUT The Falcon is WAY more maneuverable, I don’t think anyone would be able to get a lock on him. and if it’s a pilot fight between Solo and Sulu? Put your money on the guy who has out run Imperial Star Destroyers. Not the local bulk cruisers mind you, I’m talking about the big Corellian ships now.

Any tangle with Solo in his element is going to end with Kirk screaming “SOLOOOOOOOO!!!!” into his communicator and having it echo endlessly into space.

So if we do the math, that’s 2 out of 3 for Solo, so he is the Winner. But let us take this before the Correctness Council of the Wise before we raise anybody’s arm here.

Gentlemen?

DAVE: I can weigh in here, but it won’t be popular, or pleasing. Here it is straight up: I fucking HATE William Shatner. I don’t think he’s awesome, or clever, or funny in any way. ANY. WAY. Never liked him, never will. Calling him “The Shat” just makes be think of the past tense of pooping, which is pretty close to what his acting is. And don’t even get me started on his singing or directing, the past tense of which would be “The Vomat”. I guess what i’m trying to say here is “I fucking HATE William Shatner”.

The Original Star Trek is dear to many, but I suspect it’s mostly that kind of nostalgia that makes people think the Transformers were EVER good, or that an A-Team remake was in any way necessary. Really, it’s a pretty dull show, very dated (not its fault), and hard to swallow.

All of this makes it difficult for me to give Captain Kirk any credit. He’s a bit of a buffoon. He makes grand speeches, and waves his hands around a lot, and occasionally karate chops someone. Also, The Federation is the biggest bunch of goody two shoes going, about as incompetent as it gets. Palpatine could probably have just told them, “I’m taking over”, and it’s game over.

Han Solo on the other hand, has the whole Harrison Ford thing going for him. And Han has a striking resemblance to Indiana Jones, whom I admire greatly. And Han kicks a lot of ass.

No question, Han Solo in a cakewalk. Also, Han Solo as winner of said fight.

ROB:

I, unlike my associate Dave, LOVE William Shatner.  I love William Shatner in that same pseudo-sexual way that many men love James Bond in. I have read the Tek-War novels, I own a CD copy of “Has Been” and find his duet with Henry Rollins to be both funny and cool. But we aren’t talking about William Shatner, we are talking about James Tiberius Motherfucking Kirk.

James T. Kirk is the Batman of Star Trek. In fact, a fight between Batman and Kirk would be totally rad, let’s do that next week. New Smackdown Proposal: Anybody sacred versus anybody sacred. You will lose your shit we we do Santa Claus versus the Pope.

While the Federation is indeed a bureaucratic yawn, Jim Kirk is a troublemaker. Kirk has disobeyed the prime directive so many times, they might as well call it the sub-prime directive (Also acceptable punchline: The Second Derivative Directive).

But let’s get down to the metallic bulletin board anchors: If  your question Brendon, was “Who scores with hotter ladies”, then the answer is an emphatic “Jim Kirk”. There are websites dedicated to the hottest babes on Star Trek, and the hottest generally speaking have all been told the meaning of “Love” by our own Iowa farm boy and space jockey, Jimmy Kirk.

You, Brendon, did not ask that. You asked “Who would win in a battle Han Solo or Captain Kirk?” and a fine question that is. I assume you did not mean a sexy battle, because no number of Leias-in-gold-bikinis is enough to counter the immense volume of hot space tail that Kirk has tagged.

I love Han Solo too, though I never wanted to be him when I was a kid. I wanted to be Luke, because I wanted the force. Nonetheless, Han is pretty rad dude, and he says all the coolest lines with WAY more cool than Shatner could ever muster.

Han is by far the snappier dresser, and has a cooler collection of friends than Kirk. The number of times I hid in the closet to escape capture by the Empire as a kid should say something- about the Millennium Falcon and how cool it is, not about me being closeted, which is a rumour I don’t need further help with getting going…

Determiners: Han didn’t shoot first, Greedo never shot. Kirk beat the Kobayashi Maru. I haven’t had sex in nearly 2 years.

I love Star Wars more than I love my family, but my money is on Kirk.