Wayne Huizenga Will Burn In Hell

Happy Halloween, readers. Despite the holiday, I'm in no mood for trick-or-treating -- I'm in the mood to mete out swift vengeance to the man most responsible for the downfall of what was once the world's greatest (American) football team.

The team? The Miami Dolphins. You might know them as the only NFL team to ever go undefeated. The man who ruined them? A sleazy scumbag should-be slumlord by the name of H. Wayne Huizenga, a.k.a. the Dolphins' owner. Who shall henceforth be referred to in this column as the Trash Man.

Why "Trash Man?" Because that's how he got his start: the "waste management" business. And because he's turned the 'Phins into pure garbage since buying them a little over a decade ago. I bring this up because the Miami Herald's David J. Neal summed up the Dolphins' demise quite nicely in a recent column, and reading it renews my urge to punch someone until the Dolphins start winning again. Might as well be the Trash Man. He's old, and will break easily.

Regarding the phenomenon discussed in Neal's article, I've seen it at work here in Baltimore. Locals tell me that, due to a combination of Don Shula's B-more connection and the theft of the Colts in the '80s, the 'Phins had a sizeable fan base in this area at one point. Nowadays, though, if you see a Baltimorean wearing aqua-and-coral? They're homeless. Homeless! The humanity!!!

Robert Fiveson Contra DreamWorks y Los Warner Bros.

Good news from Variety: a federal judge has ruled that the lawsuit filed by Robert S. Fiveson & the awesomely named Clonus Associates against DreamWorks & Warner Bros. can move forward.

Why does this matter? Because Fiveson is the creator of a little-known '79 sci-fi/horror flick called Parts: The Clonus Horror, and claims that DW/WB's The Island, starring Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson, is a ripoff of his film. After hearing this last year I made it a point to watch both movies, and in my opinion Fiveson has a very good case.

Plus, DreamWorks really isn't helping itself with a defense like this:

...DreamWorks also has argued plaintiffs were not entitled to any damages because "The Island" wasn't profitable.

The judge, however, said the defendants' method of calculating was highly contested by the plaintiffs and that the defendants did not provide supporting documentation when filing a declaration saying "The Island" made zero profit.

In other words, DreamWorks -- implying a place where dreams are made in factory-like conditions -- feels that it's perfectly all right for them to steal other people's ideas so long as they don't make any money off the project. That's a very progressive stance for a media conglomerate to take.

Incidentally, unless you have a subscription to Variety.com, you probably won't be able to read the linked article after a day or so. Tough titty for you, eh?

My Tax Dollars Have Allegedly Helped Kill More Than A Half-Million Iraqis, And I Didn't Even Get A Lousy T-Shirt

Well. If you're a United States citizen like yours truly, then all you can really do is hope that this report isn't true.

I mean, fuck. 655,000 dead Iraqis? In a war that was supposed to liberate them, with very limited enemy response during the invasion stage? You'd think a relatively small country like that would be just about empty at this point. Hell, isn't that more than we lost in WWII? And remember, that's not just dead soldiers. It's dead old folks, women, babies and halfwits, the whole kit and caboodle. A hell of a lot of people. Poof. Just like that.

Of course, the warhawks will pooh-pooh the whole thing. "This is just one study," they'll harrumph. "Inconclusive. Probably biased. And in the end, they're just numbers. Right?"

Well, sure. Whatever gets you through the night, old bean. Personally, I just hope my tax dollars wound up in the pneumatic tube that goes to the Department of Education or some such shit. I wasn't in the market for dead Iraqis, and certainly don't want the government buying any on my behalf.

Willie Nelson Has Earned The Right To Smoke The Occasional Bong

It's surely not easy to be a classic country singer these days. Johnny Cash? Dead. Hank Williams Jr.? Accused of choking a woman with the improbable name of Holly Hornbeak. And Willie Nelson? Hit with four misdemeanor drug citations after a "routine"* traffic stop turned up a beatnik's paradise-worth of marijuana and psilocybin mushrooms on his legendary tour bus.

Not particularly shocking, considering how open Nelson has always been about his drug use. But it does underscore the utter ridiculousness of making certain all-natural drugs illegal. I'm not a doctor, lawyer or psychologist, so I don't feel qualified to speak on the many medical, legal and social fallacies involved. That said, I know a victim when I see one, and I fail to see one in a case that involves four old people smoking weed and doing 'shrooms on the back of a bus. And if there's no victim, why is it slowing down the courts and infringing on the accused's pursuit of happiness?

Besides, if Hank Williams Jr. can get away with choking waitresses, Willie should certainly be allowed to get stoned. He's Willie fucking Nelson!

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* Can a traffic stop involving Willie Nelson's tour bus, or any tour bus, really be considered routine? A Toyota Camry, that's routine. A tour bus, not so much.

Hank Williams Jr. Has Earned The Right To Choke The Occasional Bitch

Alright. I'll be honest with you. I was out drinking tonight. That's right, "into my cups" as they say. An old, old friend -- like, since elementary school-old -- was visiting, and he leaves town tomorrow, so we had a good old-fashioned pub crawl before he hit the road. Don't worry about me though; I told my boss I was coming in an hour late tomorrow before I left work tonight. Plus, he and I are now old men so I was home well before midnight, as you can see by this post.

That's right, old men. Or at least, sailing into middle age. It happens. As the wag who runs Superficial.com (or was it WWTDD.com?) recently said: "Hey time, fuck you."

But look, that's not the point. Point is, my main man Hank Williams, Jr. is back in the news, this time 'cause the latest bullshit lawsuit against him is moving forward. Unless you live in a cave, you already know the deal: Bocephus is accused of choking some waitress, amongst other indignities he allegedly foisted on her. But you know what? Fuck that waitress. And before you get all, "Hey you misogynistic motherfucker!" on me, let me assure you I'd say the same thing if it was a waiter.

Why? What the fuck has that waitress ever brought to the table that can outshine Bocephus' accomplishments, that's why. Huh? Tell me that. Did she write "All My Rowdy Friends Are Coming Over Tonight?" "Country Boy Can Survive?" Is she Hank fucking Williams fucking Jr.? Is she the son of motherfucking Hank Williams? Or is she just some dumb piece of shit who won't be remembered 3 fucking weeks after she's dead?

Don't get me wrong. I'm not calling for carte blanche for all celebrities. What I am saying is, there are regular people, there are celebrities (a club that any halfwit can join), and there are icons, and Randall Hank Williams is certainly the latter. And if an icon wants to choke one of us regular people every now and again? Well, fuck. I'd certainly say Hank motherfucking Williams fucking Jr. has earned that motherfucking right. Wouldn't you?

Alright, so I'm kidding about most of this post. Not when it comes to my undying loyalty to any member of the Hank Williams family, though. Besides, you should see the look on your face right now, you liberal motherfucking decent human being. Haw haw on you, madame or sir. Haw haw on you.

Five Years Later And We Still Haven't Caught Them

Outrageous!

Yes, Whither The Hobo Code?

Looks like hobo towns are back in a big way in Ohio. In fact, a new one on the Ohio River's north shore is threatening a tri-state event called "Tall Stacks" (if you know what Tall Stacks is, please don't tell me; I prefer to think it's a pancake-eating contest).

An estimated 20 homeless people have set up camp in makeshift shelters made of plastic sheets, string, old cable spools and carpet remnants along the Ohio River's northern shore just west of the Roebling Suspension Bridge.

These aren't Andy Griffith Show-style hobos, either. No. These swine shit in their own nest and fight each other like wolves!

Several piles of feces, some with toilet paper stuck to them, were evident along the downriver walkway of the bridge at the Cincinnati end of the span Friday. There was also a strong urine smell there.

[...]

Sgt. Steve Saunders, a Cincinnati police District One community outreach officer, said the group living there has developed a reputation for being violent with one another, especially after drinking too much.

Wow -- Americans living like animals down by the river, without even the luxury of a van! Some might see that as a real indictment of our country's direction. Not Cincinnati Vice Mayor Jim Tarbell, though.

Traditionally, [the homeless] have migrated to "quaint" riverside settings, but have abided by an unwritten code of conduct, [Tarbell] said.

Nowadays, that code seems to have disappeared, he lamented.

"It doesn't mean that you accept or any way support bad behavior," he said. "It's one thing to have a camp on the river, it's another thing to (pee) on someone's shoe."

That's right, you goddamn bums! If you don't stop pissing on people's shoes and return to the Hobo Code in a goddamn hurry, there'll be no more quaint riverside Hobo Town for you, got it? No more trash can fires, no more bean cans, no more Thunderbird -- nothing. Don't make Vice Mayor Tarbell tell you again!

Stabbed For WHAT?!?

Sweet mother of christ, what kind of animals would do such a thing?! It's insanity! Look, even Angus is crying about it, and he's not the type of guy who cries easily.

A teenager who was stabbed in the eye during her school lunch break said a "gang mentality" singled out pupils for their music and fashion tastes.

[...]

"Somebody asked me on the first day what kind of music I listened to, so I said AC/DC."

She said that, as a result of this, she was told she was a "metaler" and found herself being shunned by other classmates.

This never would've happened under Bon Scott's watch. Everyone loved AC/DC back then. Everyone!