Nothing says “I Love You?” like these actual Stargate movie Valentines from 1994. Yes, while the other kids swapped Lion King and The Mask Valentines that year, some kids must have been handing out James Spader Valentines and then immediately became picked last at every thing. There isn’t a dimensional portal big enough to banish that shame away.

But, if you’ve waited until the last minute again, just click on the images and print these babies out! If I knew any catch phrases from Stargate, I’d probably work that into a closing joke. But I don’t. So this concludes the post.

Note: This is a long entry. Just man up and take the ride. There’s a contest at the very end to win a book called “What’s My Pee Telling Me?” from Chronicle Books and South Park Season 13 on Blu-Ray from Comedy Central.

First things first: My headline is probably misleading, because there are two definitions of “tryst.”

1. An agreement, as between lovers, to meet at a certain time and place.

2. A meeting or meeting place that has been agreed on.

Clearly, I would never intend to meet Gareb Shamus as a lover (though I totally might, have you seen him lately? We’ll get to that) But definition “#2″ deals with our agreed meeting place. Which, in this case, would be something called FaceBook.

Pretty straightforward questions, I think you’ll agree. Important ones, too. I don’t want to toot my own hose but I’m a reporter, you know.

But then something goes horribly wrong between Gareb and I. CLICK THROUGH to find out how Gareb responds to my sexual advances which I just couldn’t contain anymore.

(more…)

I’ve done a lot of horrible things to nice people on April Fools Day (Fools’ Day? Fool’s Day? Foo’ls Day? Grammar. Jesus.) so I figured it was time to get myself good today: I recently found my 1989 diary from when I was 8 years old, and now you’re going to see it. Plus, Diary of a Wimpy Kid is currently tearing up the box office. Plus, I just had my birthday. Topical!

Now, for years, I called this my “Journal.” But let’s look at the cover.

No 8-year old kid keeps a journal with flowers all over it. They keep a diary. I might as well face it. Oh sure, I tried to butch it up with a hologram sticker of Bebop, and a stern warning of “Keep Out or Else,” but one can assume two things from looking at this cover: the “or else” means “…or else you will probably force-read my own diary aloud, while upper classmen run a viscous train on me”, and any 8-year old who can’t spell the word “Private” has no business making threats with a label gun on the cover of his tulip-covered diary. If you stumbled across this in a bush, next to a pair of bloody Fruit of the Looms and broken glasses, not even Nancy Grace would bat an eye. I’ve got it coming.

The inside-cover is a little heartbreaking. My mom gave this to me for my birthday, lovingly inscribed. At the time, I probably was angry I could not stick this book into a Nintendo and press start. But she was actually encouraging me to do something I now do (almost) for a living, which is really nice. The sad part is what follows: instead of “stories and thoughts,” we get “self-centered ramblings, ignorance, spite and hatred: 1989 style.” So, I think I probably let her down.

So let’s see what page 1 has to offer.

Hoo boy, “a birthday I won’t forget.” How’s that for suspense? My parents got us a basketball hoop for our driveway (excuse me, “a cort,” not to be confused with Bud Cort), probably to offset the disappointment of the rose-covered diary. It’s obvious I’m a genius writer from the start. Check this deft prose out: “I got a game.” Hey, that’s super! What kind of game? Was it a board game? A $50 Nintendo game, perhaps? A game of “let’s leave you in the woods?” Great descriptors, asshole. Way to think of your audience.

Now, to those of you who don’t know where I grew up, you might think “holy shit, you got a ROCKET JACKET?” but that’s not what you think it is.

Shown: Rocket Jacket I didn’t get.

The rocket jacket was a Rushville Rockets jacket, our school mascot. This set me on a course to become the actual “Rushville Rocket” years later, which was a big quilted thing that looked like a giant white dildo with fins. But that’s another story.

Shown: Zoom! The mascot of a school that fancies itself a “tough football town.” In fairness, we were called “The Fightin’ White Vibrators” up until the sexually repressed Reagan-era. Other places you may have seen our mascot: in a trucker’s glove box. In Richard Gere’s nightstand. Hidden in a 16-year old girl’s sock drawer as, you know, a “gag gift”.

I wish I could find the undoubtedly wacky “Chris Ward’s La Funnky Music 1 and 2″ on cassette. I mean, it’s not every day someone “tapes their own tape.” Man, wasn’t that a long time ago? I just DVD’d my own DVD today, so boy do I feel old!

“La Funnky Music” is just me rambling (as I believed a DJ would do) into a brown Fisher-Price recorder (again, like a real DJ), and then commercials I’d taped off television to hear later (just like you’d here on WKRB “The Buzz” Morning Zoo drive time). And I would listen to this on trips and in my own backyard. For hours. Apparently, the Bubble Tape commercial and Super Mario Bros. Super Show theme registered as “La Funnky Music” in my book.

ANYWAY, back to the dramatic story, which I’d like to set the scene for. My dad and I spent all day digging a post hole (maybe not all day. Everything takes “all day” when you’re 8), and assembling a basketball hoop (all day). The hoop is in place. The neighbors are watching out the window, because they now realize their life is about to change when every 5-10 seconds, an 8-year olds ball rolls into their well-kept-and-soon-to be-trampled, lawn. I am presented with a basketball, carefully wrapped. I go for my first lay up and a large man comes out of nowhere and BLOCKS THAT MOTHERFUCKER WITH ALL THE FURY A 40-YEAR OLD MAN CAN RAIN DOWN ON AN EIGHT YEAR OLD. This is Dean, my dad’s friend. He begins instantly apologizing for, you know, my head slamming against the concrete and stuff. And this wasn’t that pussy concrete people put down today. This was the real deal: cracks, rocks, weeds all stickin’ out and shit. “I got hurt bad” as I later recalled.

I mean “my stomace” hurt, man. Like, real bad. It was 8 in the evening when we got back. And that’s all we get. Was I okay? What did the x-rays show? Did anyone go to jail? Well, this was Rushville in 1989, so no one was going to jail for things yet. Even though Dean “stold the ball” from me, I don’t have any ill-will towards him today. He’s a pretty good guy. At least he didn’t yell “BOO-YAH!” which I might have done, were the tables turned.

So there you have it. This sets the stage for a series of blogs where reveal I am a limp-dick pansy. Entries that follow will include ex-girlfriends I call “pigs”, cats hit by drunk drivers and more secret crying.

Shown: Batman cake, UHF soundtrack, purple Rushville Rocket polo, child molester glasses, and a haircut that cordially invites you to kick my ass (please, RSVP).

[ONE LAST UPDATE]

This is how cool my mom is, even after reading this she found a picture of Rocky the Rocket. It’s not me in the costume, but there’s plenty of those somewhere.

Shown: Get it? “The Pits.” I used to help paint these for the football players to run through and destroy on game night. They were so appreciative, coaches like Randy Hawkins treated us with more respect because of our hard work. Just kidding, Randy Hawkins remained an asshole. And even though he died in a terrible tobacco spitting incident years ago, I stand by my recollection of him as a coach and mentor. The artist’s names are down the side, and it looks like Bryan Morrell had a hand in this potentially racially insensitive masterwork. I’m sure Bryan worked really, really hard on it. He loved football, and doing things to support the team.

[note: As Chris grew up in and lives in Illinois, much was kept from him about Hanukkah. And by "much," we mean "everything." Though he now has many Jewish friends, they never stopped to explain anything to him, even when he thought Baklava was a traditional Hebrew dessert. We now present you with his entire 6th Grade report on Hanukkah.]

Today marks the beginning of a 33 day tea ceremony the Japanese call “Hanukkah.”  The Japanese are let out of school at 1AM, a full two hours early, and don traditional “giant banana hats” for the night’s activities.

Shown: The Jew in his Banana Hat.

This is the extent of human knowledge about this mysterious holiday and its people, though footage is rumored to exist (below). Some even say Jews live among us today. Thank You.

For the curious, I received an A on that report. Everyone else in class being from Illinois, they took me at my word. Looking back, it seems silly to think of a time when Christmas dominated the Midwest, before our Jewish friends invaded every Wal-Mart and Dollar General with their crassly commercialized “hot toys of the year.” Happy Hanukkah, Midwestern Illinois!

Shown: Impossible to find toy of the year 2009 and Toys R’ Us 4AM crowd who will soon be turned away.

If we were at a Texas Roadhouse Chain Eatery right now, you would hear the faint sound of forced employee clapping make its way from the kitchen right to our table, followed by a cowboy hat and saddle for this website to sit upon and pose for pictures. And then a 17 year old kid with a looming Ford Mustang payment would say “Hey pawdners, today marks this website’s 100th post!” and they would woop and holler and everyone would try very hard not to look up from their Chicken Ding Dillers and Texas Tonyun Boomin’ Possum Blossoms. And what a good time we’ve all had in the process. Thanks for stopping by. And now, as always, I hope your Monday sucks! PSHHHTTT!!!

This is what we got from my wife’s aunt one year for Christmas. It’s lingerie. For a Christmas tree. They say it’s the thought that counts, and her thoughts turned to buying us naughty, mini-undies to hang on our Christmas tree.

Ahem.

So I guess these are official Hallmark keepsakes for the family that likes to put the “Sex” back in Chrisexmas. [Sad trombone!]

On the plus side, her aunt got me my all time favorite ornament, the Pac-Man Arcade Keepsake, the next year…which Cobra Commander enjoys playing in his Hallmark Keepsake Boxers from the previous year.

“High SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSScore!”

Hey! Now here’s a holiday tradition you won’t want to miss: pictures with Santa Claus. And how could you miss it, with all those hours he’ll be appearing? Oh, what’s that, little boy? You’re here to see “African-American Santa” instead? Well Black Santa’s appearing one day only, for two hours. And I hear he’s not even really African-American…I hear he’s African-CANADIAN! [Sad Trombo-ho-ho-hone!]

Also please address Santa as “Santa”—or Regular Santa—and not Caucasian Santa. And make sure that when you lie to your kids about Santa, you’re also lying about the correct race of the Santa. If your white kid thinks a Black Santa screwed him out of a present, you’re just just stirring up racial resentment at an early age. Best to tell your white kids that Santa is white, and black kids that Santa is black. It’s easier that way. Separate, but equal Santas, you know?

“But what about Chinese Santa?”

Don’t be goddamned ridiculous kid. There is no Chinese Santa. Just pick a line—Black Santa or White Santa. But, between you and me, it’s best to pick White Santa (he’s here more often).

Still, on the positive side, no waiting line for Black Santa! Why? Because there’s a bearded black man yelling “HO! HO! HO!” in the center of the mall and a white lady freaked out and called security. Once they get all that ironed out, I’m sure you can sit on his lap.

Isn’t holiday diversity a wonderful thing?

…And after a hard day of deciding what race the Santa you worship is, why not bring the family in for a warm Pooboy Sandwich? Mmm, Mmm! Just like momma used to pinch right into a hot oven. Nothing says Christmas like a moist, juicy, steaming Pooboy Sandwich. [Poo Trombone!!!]

Check out this holiday special from the Best Buy Geek Squad! For only $19.99, the Geek Squad will drive to your house in their awful car and install the latest firmware updates to your PS3! Hey, that’s terrific. Because when the PS3 tells me “Latest Firmware Update Required” (roughly every fucking time I turn on the PS3), it’s too much trouble for me to hit the “X” button to Accept. I love how helpful the Geek Squad is. Like how they’re willing to sell me a $200 Monster HDMI cable, or “set-up” the picture on my Plasma TV by adjusting the contrast and brightness, or push the “power button” on my remote with their able thumbs. I am useless without them! Here, just take all my money! I’m a complete moron! Of course, the price of this highly necessary service varies from place to place. $20 is a steal! [HI-DEF TROMBONNNNE!]

…Why hey, it looks like Slate.com is running a related story on Best Buy scams. This one’s about the Geek Squad “optimizing” your new Mac (read: turning the power button on). That I can agree with but…hey, Slate, I hate Jon and Kate as much as the next American who built up their celebrity status in the first place. But maybe tell your underpaid web-designer to ease up on the violent imagery in his subliminal banner scroll. Merry Christmas! BLAM! [Sad Trombone Plus 8!]

I wish I had time to go over all the stuff I’m thankful for, but there’s pie to get to. And I believe the E! Network will have something like a “Skanksgiving Marathon” on that I can’t miss. I’ll just let Fred Holbert here from “Scream Bloody Murder” explain what happens when you’re NOT appreciative for life’s little blessings. You see, he goes out of his way to be appreciated, and buy “art stuff” and clothes, but is this woman thankful? Well, I won’t spoil the ending.

I always thought this clip would make a great Mystery Science Theater 3000 “stinger.” Hey, remember the Turkey Day MST3K marathons on Comedy Central? My dad and I would always watch that. And now we’re Thanksgiving Day full circle. Also, as is custom in my house and my friends for 5+ years now, DO NOT neglect to check out my favorite Thanksgiving article of all time from X-Entertainment.com. I go to this page at least once this time a year. It’s the Peanuts special of website posts. You will not be disappointed.

Shown: Distinguished actor Robert Vaughn about to experience the worst Macy’s Parade of his life. (from X-Entertainment.com)