jackalope. spirit.

Egyptian Protesters’ Spirit Spills Over at Home: Americans Finally Say No to Denim Shirts.

After years of shirking suggestions that bathing in denim from head to toe was in fact a Canadian tradition, the Stevenson family decided enough was enough, and it was time to closet their Wrangler top garments. When Joe Stevenson was questioned regarding how he came to  the decision to openly defy a family’s long legacy of dressing terribly, he had the following to say:

I was flying home from a live action role playing (http://tiny.cc/vsvc4) convention in Ontario when I noticed a denim superhero running through the terminal. He was wearing a denim shirt, dungarees, a long flowing denim duster (http://tiny.cc/t8igy), cowboy boots, wrap around shades with flames on the side, and the kicker…a greasy ponytail that was as luxurious as the night is long. I heard the American sitting next to me say, ‘Look at this douche rocking the Canadian tuxedo…I guess he should do ‘whatever blows his hair back,’ literally and figuratively of course.” This got me to thinking, ‘Why should these fuck-stick Canucks get to claim all of the best haircuts and the badass duds?’ Shortly thereafter, I decided that no one in my family would suffer the ridicule of being falsely labeled ‘Canadian’ again. We have enough turtlenecks, Disney sweatshirts, vests, and bolo ties to keep us looking good and feeling comfortable until America finally grow the ca jones to take back the fine tradition of our Patriot forefathers. Levi Strauss would be rolling over in his acid washed grave.

When Jackalope Spirit contacted Alanis Morisette to gain some insight into the Canadian perspective, she responded:

How did you get my phone number?

Whether or not this grassroots movement will gain any steam rolling into the next election in which American resentment for Canadian infringement into our cultural identity will seemingly come to a head, prominent tea party members, such as Sarah Palin (http://tiny.cc/jcr0h) and Dale Robertson (http://tiny.cc/wkj2z) have openly supported the cause. At a recent Presidential stop in the Dallas / Fort Worth area, Dale Robertson was seen protesting, holding a sign that read, “Canadians=WWII Era Americans, Americans=WWII Era Japanese-Americans.” This helps to affirm that which has been widely documented and publicly endorsed by recognized psychotherapists; this man is “batshit crazy.” Jackalope Spirit will report more as the story emerges. 

The Tiger is Out of the Cage

That is the first and last instance that I will ever refer to myself as “the tiger.” I have been on a life vacation for the last few weeks without substantial computer access, hence the minimal blogging. That being said, the blogging resumes right abouuuuuuuuuuuuut…now.

This “tripod” loves the outdoors. The text in the photo does all the blogging for me.

If you are this woman, please contact me. I am going to make passionate love to you.

Rebellion tramp stamp. Boba Fett with Sarlacc tentacle wrapped around his leg. TIE Bomber, TIE Interceptor, and TIE Fighter….this girl knows her shit. Luckily, her taste in tattoos is significantly superior to her taste in bathing suits. She is the first slender female Star Wars fan in the history of civilization…I need to see a front shot to determine if she is also the first attractive Star Wars fan. Please lady, I need to know…this is going to haunt my dreams until you put my curiosity out of its misery. Send me a photo, and I will take you to Rejurn of the Jedi Week at Disney World and let you wear the Princess Leia Slave costume in bed….which would actually be good for both of us.

Stop Telling Me I look like Perez Hilton…I know.

Above, is a picture of me….thank you, I agree, I do look good. The following is a link to a shot of Perez Hilton (http://tiny.cc/yiszx). Do we look alike? Yes. Do we both blog? Yes. Do I wear Victoria’s Secret pants that say “Pink” across the ass? No. Do we both unnecessarily attack people, sometimes on an emotional and personal level? Maybe.

Real Dreams: Edition #1 - Night of 1/24/11

This series will examine real dreams that I have…no hyperbole required.

The dream opens, and I am in the body of 2007 CC Sabathia (http://tiny.cc/mowtb), a la Being John Malkovich, in the Cleveland Indian club house where Daniel Stern’s character, “Phil Brickma” from Rookie of the Year (http://tiny.cc/uyuyv)is teaching me how to throw a curveball. After I struggle to even reach the catcher with one pitch during Phil’s instructional session, out we go into the stadium for a big playoff game against the San Francisco Giants. When I enter the stadium, I realize that the Giants are using their hall of fame team composed of aging baseball legends, and I am now in the body of Giants legend and terror of the Pacific, Kim Jung Il. As I wander up to the plate to take my first at bat, it dawns on me that I am facing the former body I occupied, CC Sabathia. He is pitching from 5 feet away, and I am using a bat that weighs 150 pounds. After getting two quick strikes, the crowd at the stadium, which is the United Center (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_Center) that has had the roof decapitated and has been transformed for baseball, storms the field and starts attacking the players. The crowd is jumping down from the rafters and landing on the field without succumbing to injury, and the players begin to fight back. One of the players is Adam Dunn (http://tiny.cc/zvvq2), and he bullrushes a red haired female into the home team’s dugout before moving on to pummel another unsuspecting fan. The female emerges from the dugout to come talk to me, and it turns out it is a post-op transsexual Mike Tyson that now is a 115 pound white girl wearing a pink dress. The facial characteristics still match that of Mike Tyson, so I do not put up much of an argument. Adam Dunn realizes this, and quickly comes over to Mike to apologize. I am waiting for one of those patented uppercuts to land squarely on Dunn’s face, but Mike instead grabs his purse to go fetch his husband to handle the situation. As things escalate and people start getting more and more violent, I hop into a single occupant hot air balloon, from which I hang suspended in a similar fashion to a parachute. As I fire up some gas into this air vessel, I get higher and higher, until finally I am out of the top of the stadium. When this happens, everyone stops fighting and points up at me as I get sucked into a wind vortex. I am approaching the upper limits of the atmosphere, and I cannot reach the controls to stop the balloon because of the howling winds surrounding me. Eventually I am free floating in space, and I realize that I can no longer breathe. When I gasp for air, I wake up, and it is 3:53 in the morning.

“Watson” the hyper-intelligent computer to begin his Jeopardy reign on February 14th…Let’s place some wagers, shall we?

As anyone that watches playoff football is aware, IBM has been over-promoting its newest innovation, “Watson,” which is an artificial intelligence program that can answer questions posed in natural language. Its debut is going to be made as a contestant on Jeopardy in mid-February, and I am eagerly anticipating its player profile at the beginning of the show.

“Hello Alex. I am named after Thomas J. Watson. Founder of IBM. I just flew in from New York. Boy. Are my arms tired. HA. HA. But Seriously. If I had been programmed with feelings. I would be so happy to be here.”

Alright, let’s place some wagers.

1. Hisotrically, the average Jeopardy winning score is $21,380. I will offer a line of (-120) that “Watson” surpasses this mark.

2. I will offer a line of (-190) that “Watson” wins the game. He is a computer after all.

3. I will offer a line of (+115) that “Watson” loses.

4. I will offer a line of (-110) that “Watson” gets the first question of the game correct.

Send me an email at ryan.steven.wood@gmail.com if you would like to submit any wagers. The ”vig” on any wager is 9%, which is typical for online betting. These lines will shift based on betting as we move closer to February 14th, so keep your eyes peeled for future posts regarding new lines. Good luck.

Sex goddess, Kennedy bed-mate (she did sleep with Bobby too), and pill popping jersey chaser (http://tiny.cc/vw95w), Marilyn Monroe, poses here for a Polaroid shot with Kashyyyk native and intergalactic star pilot, Chewbacca. This interesting exposé offers a poignant juxtaposition between immorality and righteousness in the depiction two pop-culture icons, as it provides a commentary on the state of adoration and acceptance versus generally agreed upon traditional American values. OK…that is my “artsy fartsy” take on it…now here is my sci-fi loving/comic book reading nerd take on it….Star Wars and boobs are awesome! (I say this as I push the glasses back up onto the bridge of my nose whilst laughing nervously).

If I was going to die and had to choose 5 people to have dinner with: Edition #2.

Tiffani Thiessen’s Character, “Valerie Malone” from Beverly Hills, 90210 – “the Whore”

I stubbornly cling to a fervent love of Tiffani Thiessen like a shipwrecked bleeding sailor clutches to a jettisoned buoy as hungry sharks circle the human carrion floating around him. Despite the fact things could be interpreted as lost at this point with over a decade of not having this now-married mother in my TV life (she is still acting, just in nothing worth watching), I just will not, let, go. Like most that have experienced the same admiration for this 90’s sexpot, my love began as a regular viewer of Saved by the Bell series. Whether Kelly Kapowski was serving burgers at the Max, captaining the school volleyball team, starring in a “Hot Sunday” music video (http://tiny.cc/nucna), or acting as life guard at the local summer beach club, she was always perky and downright adorable. When the original Saved by the Bell came to a screeching halt in 1994, I was not sure how I was going to cope without a daily dose of Tiffani; to me, she was the same as insulin for a diabetic. Luckily, producer Aaron Spelling recognized America’s hunger for this teen star when she was cast in a role exactly contrary to that she played at Bayside, 90210’s “Valerie Malone.” She was originally cast to replace Shannon Doherty’s character after departing the show following season 4, but she took on a life of her own and pumped new energy into the mega-hit series. Valerie Malone, a Walsh family friend and Buffalo, New York native lost her virginity as a 14 year old, smoked pot, went to a rave and accidentally started a fire, wore sexy lingerie in front of the fam, fucked Dylan in her third episode (Dylan was the luckiest heroin addict/millionaire ever), tried to commit suicide, moved in with a teenage lover, framed Donna’s ex for a serious crime, killed her abusive father and lied by saying he committed suicide, watched the Walsh parents have sex, was date raped, got a tramp stamp, dated a married man, faked being pregnant, had unprotected sex with a man that was HIV positive, and was molested when she was 11 (am I forgetting anything?). Before the series ended, she had slept with Dylan, Brandon, Steve, David, Ray, Noah, amongst a litany of others, as she became one of the chief objects of desire in those luxurious hills. Needless to say, she was cast as a bad girl, and seeing the once affable Kelly Kapowski now playing a high school aged “dirty girl” femme fatale type made every straight male between the ages of 12-40 tune into this outrageous (in an awesome way) TV series every week. She was consistently strutting around in relatively scandalous bikinis for a primetime show in the 90’s, which to me was better than watching scrambled Playboy TV, which was the avenue most early puberty ridden boys were exploring at the time. At my last supper, Val and I would enjoy a pre-meal spliff, followed by her hand in my lap for 90 minutes while I suck back a couple bottles of wine, finished off with her extravagant booty for dessert. She is currently only 36 (I find this hard to believe), but she is still looking sweet enough to smother on top of a stall tack of pancakes (http://tiny.cc/7d7zt). Everyone has a first love…Valerie Malone was mine. If I could afford to have more people at my last dinner (I guess I could have just easily changed the name of this blog series to include 10 people), one of the guests would be the “girl next door,” and I could be persuaded to make that person Kelly Kapowski and go for an all Tiffani Thiessen sexy free-for-all, but I digress.