You Are Dumb, which is not a blog, posts new columns every weekday, except for most Tuesdays and the occasional fuckbotch. It is also a Twitter feed, @youaredumb, with content in a similar vein but much shorter. For a take on what a blog by me would be like, check out OLDNERD.
Archive - Apr 2004
So, we're four months into the grand experiment that is You Are Dumb Dot Net, and I've got to say, I'm pretty happy with it. Fifty three articles, a pretty wide array of topics, some new words coined, some obscure ones pulled out of mothballs, one defenestration chart, and a nifty T-Shirt that I'm the only owner of.
So, in honor of four solid months of insulting idiocy, and because it seems like this won't be the IMMEDIATE victim of my hyperattenuated, teen-of-the-80's, video game generation mayfly attention span, I am declaring May 1 to be the official Tell Someone About You Are Dumb Day.
It's easy to celebrate. Tomorrow, tell someone about You Are Dumb. Ideally, this someone will be someone who did not previously know about You Are Dumb. Ideally, this would be someone who would appreciate You Are Dumb. I mean, you COULD shoot an e-mail to Pat Robertson or David Strom, but they probably wouldn't visit.
And since this column will sit for the whole weekend while the people you tell stop by, I'll throw up some quick links to some of my personal favorite days for them to visit when they get here: Johnny Hart, Atkins, Super Bowl Ad Whores, Terri Carlin, Surprised People, Day 1 of the first and only THEME WEEK, Entirely Hypothetical People, The Cloud, The South, Altovis, and A Change Of Pace. You may notice some formatting issues with the Index and shorter articles; this is actually something we're working on.
And lest you think this is merely a cheap device to pimp the site and increase readership and get out of writing a Friday column, allow me to prove you wrong. Nothing is MERELY a cheap device at YAD. It's always a cheap device AND something more. So here's your something more.
Memo to Vincent Pastore: YOU ARE DUMB.
And you're a boor. A big, beefy boor. Fuck you, and fuck your agent, and fuck the producers of Iron Chef America for picking you as a judge, when you don't even have the cojones to eat a little raw fish.
You're on IRON CHEF, goddammit. Even if it is a slightly neutered American version. Even if Bobby Flay gets to be an Iron Chef. The whole point of the show is to create new and exciting dishes. You're being served a five course meal by a master chef on national television. Try to act like it. You are an actor, right? The Sopranos has won awards and stuff. So at least act like you want to be there.
You got shown up by PAIGE FUCKING DAVIS, for crissakes. There are primordial things clinging to the undersides of rocks that think Paige Davis is stupid and annoying, and you made her look like Julia Child had died and possessed her. If I were the Chairman, I'd have taken you around back after the show and direct-to-video-kickboxed the shit out of you. *
Let's hope the Iron Chef America producers have learned their lesson, and if it becomes a series, screen their judges better. What's next, Paul McCartney judging "Live Cow Slaughter Battle"? Maybe you could get three Christian Scientists on the panel for "Battle Bread Mold". Get Prince up there to help you judge your big holiday special. That sounds like a plan.
Or just, you know, make sure the celebrities you get to give your show some Hollywood cache know that they may have to eat organs they've never heard of out of animals they've never heard of prepared in ways they've never heard of, and if they have a problem with that, they can stay the fuck home.
* Notice - three full paragraphs on Vincent Pastore without making a single "Big Pussy" joke. This, for new readers, is part and parcel of the ever-changing, poorly defined You Are Dumb Dot Net Pledge Of Quality.