April 24, 2012

Trivia Blog: A Holo Good Idea

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

Help me, Obi-Wan Tupaci, you’re my only hope…

First and foremost, before I get into this week’s email, I want to again extend a very heartfelt thank you to everybody who came out to last week’s massive trivia night to celebrate my one-year anniversary of being Quizmaster at the Gael Pub.  We had 36 teams, 137 points at stake, gave away a lot of prizes, played a lot of Between-Rounds Bingo, and learned a lot about ourselves, I think.  It was a great reminder why I do this gig every single week, and will hopefully be able to do it for many, many more to come.  There’s a lot of new, fun stuff coming your way in the coming year, one of which I’ll explain later on.  But enough of that for now.

Let’s talk about holograms.

At this point, I’m sure, eeeeeverybody has seen or heard about last week’s technology-aided resurrection of Tupac Shakur at Coachella.  By now you’ve probably read numerous pieces about the event that either viewed it as a shameful travesty, an unbelievably cool moment, another piece of evidence that Tupac is indeed alive and well and still living the good (reclusive) Thug Life, or as further proof that if someone smokes enough pot, a hologram and a ghost are basically the same thing.  I tend to think that it was mostly just a really cool thing to witness, but I’m much more interested in the far better ways that we can apply this technology in our lives.  I think we need a Hologram Use Czar, and I think that I’m the logical choice to fill that position.  (I still have a Topps Michael Jordan hologram card.  My candidacy is strong.)

Here, then, is what I’ll call the “Me Getting to Act Out the Vader-Emperor Scene in Empire Strikes Back” Memorial List of what we should use the Tupac hologram technology for:
  • Instead of debating each other during this year’s election season, Barack Obama and Mitt Romney will debate hologram versions of history’s greatest speakers; people like Aristotle, Winston Churchill, Abraham Lincoln, Billy Mays, and the guy who actually took a girl home using the line, “Your dad must be a baker, ‘cus you got hot buns.”
  • During his first preseason game, a hologram of a crack-fueled Lawrence Taylor will bear down on Peyton Manning, just to make sure he really wants to come back.
  • Five words: The Golden Girls – Season 29.
  • Forget Chris Hansen and his haughty way of catching child predators.  My more efficient manner involves a hologram of a Zima-drinking child sitting alone at a playground, which then suddenly disappears as the predator approaches and is replaced by a very-real pack of dogs that shoot bees out of their mouths.
  • Funeral homes could now offer the Hologram Package, where the soon-to-be deceased has the option of recording themselves doing things like telling which of their relatives they’re most disappointed in, giving clues to where their money is buried, or performing their 4-hour one-man play about their life that everyone always avoided going to before.
  • You’ll be able to pull the greatest April Fool’s prank ever by sending hologram Jesus to the home of an uber-Christian friend to announce his return.  We could do this to Kirk Cameron like every other day.

April 10, 2012

Trivia Blog: Sub-Ways and Means

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

“The next stop will be… Go Fuck Yourself.”

I firmly believe that there is a special ring of Hell devoted entirely to people who don’t abide by socially accepted subway etiquette.  (That’s “subway” with a small s.  There’s a whole ‘nother section of Hell reserved for those who break the social rules of Subway, the sandwich restaurant.  You don’t get to order five separate sandwiches when there are ten people in line behind you, hoss.)  You know the people I’m talking about.  As New Yorkers, we suffer through this crap all the time.

But since the MTA seems to only exist to regularly jack up our commuter fees and not police their most scurrilous offenders, it’s clearly fallen on me to establish the punishments going forward for these mass transit malefactors.  Here, then, is an abridged version of what I can only hope will be added to the New York City law books in the near future:

Crime:  Forcing yourself into a freshly opened subway car before allowing riders to exit.
Punishment:  The people trying to exit are allowed to pick you up and carry you with them to wherever their destination is.  If they’re going somewhere to eat, you’ve gotta go halfsies on that shit.  If they’re going dress shopping, you have to convincingly tell them how great their ass looks in that red strapless number.  If you are too heavy for them to pick up, they get to shame you for your weight problem.

Crime:  Giving your bag a place on the subway by giving it a seat that someone else could take.
Punishment:  Your bag gets to take your place in other areas of your life.  It gets any raises or bonuses you’re due to receive, it gets to take all of the points you’ve accumulated on your Starbucks card, it gets to take your spot in your weekly laser tag league, and it gets to make sweet, sweet love to your wife.  While you watch.

Crime:  Talking too loudly on a cell phone.
Punishment:  Your phone will be melted down and turned into mini statue replica of you bearing a nameplate that says, “Asshole.”

Crime:  Talking too loudly to a friend.
Punishment:  Your friend will be melted down and turned into slightly larger statue replica of you bearing a nameplate that says, “Asshole.”

Crime:  Playing loud mariachi music or other mini-concerts during the early morning rush hour period.
Punishment:  Your guitars will be ripped from your hands and smashed, a la Bluto in Animal House.

Crime:  Performing some sort dance/circus act in an already crowded subway car.
Punishment:  SWAT team members will kidnap you and take you to a nearby military air base, from which you’ll be transported to perform your dance routines for the highest-bidding foreign billionaire.  While wearing Leia’s slave bikini from Return of the Jedi.

Crime:  Leaning against a pole on a crowded car, thus preventing other people from hanging on for balance.
Punishment:  Those who are unable to grab the pole (insert pole-grabbing joke here) will vote on which person in the car is the sweatiest, smelliest, and/or most likely to carry a contagious fungal skin disorder.  This person will then lean on you for the duration of your ride while whispering in your ear about what a pretty mouth you have.

April 3, 2012

Trivia Blog: The Moose-iah

These Trivia Blog posts come from the emails I send out as Quizmaster of the Gael Pub Trivia Night every Tuesday.  But seeing as how they comprise most of the writing I seem to do these days, I thought it fitting to include them on the Pale Writer blog as well.  I won't include things like info about categories or drink specials, but will keep the bulk of the rest.  Hopefully you enjoy, so much so that you come out some Tuesday at 8:30 (3rd Ave. b/t 82nd and 83rd)...

He’s the Son of God, and he loves the music of Bryan Adams and a good slapshot…

By now, most of you have probably seen or at least heard of this amazing video of drunken Canadian Robert Wilkinson serenading his arresting officer with a nearly perfect, if beer rage-fueled, rendition of Queen’s timeless classic, “Bohemian Rhapdody.”  If you haven’t, take 6 minutes to just make your life better and watch (hopefully the video appears in a separate area at the bottom of the email, unless Gmail fails yet again).

Some view Robert as a cult/folk hero; a sort of Molson-infused, shaggy Bob Dylan, using the power of music to rattle the cages thrust around him by an authoritarian regime.  Others view him as just another drunk fool; Nick Nolte on a regular Tuesday night.  Others look at this as an example that Canadian beer really is like moonshine.  But not me.  I’m convinced that Robert Wilkinson is actually Jesus Christ, come back to Earth for the Second Coming.  Hear me out.

The beard/long hair combo, of course, is the first dead giveaway.  If Jesus chooses to pull a Van Halen and make a long-awaited comeback after a 2,000-year absence, he’s going to stick to the look that people know him by, whether from church wall art, those candles on the back shelf of a bodega, or a piece of toast in Missoula.  You don’t change an iconic look.  I mean, if Rick Moranis decides to make a comeback to the realm of acting (and really, Rick, it’s time at this point), he’s not going to come back as a chiseled, tall, striking mountain of masculinity and panty-melting swagger, right?  No, he’s going to come back as the geeky, bespectacled, goofy bastard whose scientific experiments constantly put his children in mortal danger.  That’s the Rick we know and love.  The same applies for Robert/Jesus.

Apart from the physical, just take a listen to his opening statement, or sermon, if you will.  After initially deploring the officer’s use of violence (very reminiscent of Christ’s parables and early teachings against the idea of an eye for an eye, etc.), he starts to give a very passionate speech about the “brotherhood of man on the planet Earth.”  If that’s not Jesus, then I don’t know Jesus.  He even appears to slip into speaking in tongues right around the 0:18 mark.

Once he starts into his passionate deliverance of “Bohemian Rhapsody,” the lyrics shed further light on his saintly secret identity.  Remember, Robert/Jesus could’ve picked any song to use for his police car karaoke (police caraoke?) sermon; “Your Own Personal Jesus” or “Jesus Was a Crossmaker” spring readily to mind.  But no, he chose to pick a song with lyrics like “Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see” and “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me.”  I don’t need Nic Cage to help me crack that code, Lord.

Also, look at the state of beatific calm he slips into after he finishes his song and replaces his glasses (nice try, Jesus, we know you have perfect vision and that those are just fashion specs).  That is the face of a deity who knows he just dropped some knowledge, son.  He then finishes his time in the car with a message that spoke, on the surface, to his desire not to be forced into handcuffs, but really was an encapsulation of everything that he’s about: “Physical violence is the least of my priorities.”  We know, Jesus.  We know.

Was he drunk?  Maybe.  Maybe after so many years away from Earth his Jesus powers are a little beyond his control, he treated himself to a bottle of Evian, and internally converted that water into wine, unwittingly pushing himself into an Amy Winehouse-level state of inebriation.  It was an honest mistake.  No need to crucify him for it.  Again.  The important thing is the message.  And that message was, “Yea, I have come back to Earth to bring about a new era of peace, love, and brotherhood, my children.  Also, I could really use some buffalo wings right now.”