Song of the Day (9/25/2018)

GOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNINGGGGGGGGG VIETNAMMMMMM!

Musings and Malarkey has taught me a lot about life and human nature. In fact, I’m learning the same lessons Trump learned two years ago. The worse you are as a person / more irreverent and offensive you are, the more people want to follow you. This is asinine. I’m doing everything I can to find the moral bottom and people keep hitching their wagons to my train. Tell your friends about this blog.

Brett Kavanaugh. Love him or hate him, if you were at a New Haven party in the eighties, you probably saw his fruit basket. I don’t condone his behavior; however, I do think he could be a real asset to U.S.-China trade negotiations, forming a special bond with China’s Vice Commerce Minister:

We need to shine the spotlight on these two and let the public judge for themselves. Some sort of “penis referee,” not unlike my boy Oleg:

How many cooch smooches must one enjoy before self identifying as a “pussy ref?”

Today’s song of the day is Let’s Get Fucked Up by Start Trouble.

Let’s burn some dust – eat my rubber!

Advertisements

Song of the Day (9/24/2018)

You know who I really respect? American-born English speakers who can also speak elementary Spanish, and insist on doing so in a public venue whenever possible. Such courage. Such grace!

Today’s song of the day is Against the Wind by Bob Seger. Enjoy it!

Today’s word of the day is “kurtosis.” It’s the sharpness of the peak of a frequency distribution curve and often relates to risk analysis concerning securities and black swan events. AKA “tail risk.” Although, I’m certain that “tail risk” has a different meaning for women at Jeff Gundlach’s TCW. The moment he starts talking about “liquidity” or “picking bottoms,” head for the exit door, because he’ll most certainly be grabbing at yours.

Now, here are some cars I’ve seen about town:

GTA’s Lazlo is now driving for Lyft!

Reminded me of the Reliant Robin bit on Top Gear.

¡This Amigo is one bad hombre!

Song of the Day (9/20/2018)

Reagan, and happy (almost) Friday to you!

Recently, certain members of this readership have complained that the face of this blog is changing. Well, I’m here to tell you that as long as this blog has a face, this readership has somewhere to sit and read. Let that soak in.

I do apologize for the reduced frequency of these posts. I’ve been absolutely swamped at work. For two weeks, I’ve unsuccessfully tried to get past the M&A group at Apple and directly to CEO Tim Cook. I ask you: Why is the best fruit always forbidden?

Today’s song of the day is Girls Like You by Maroon 5. It’s fantastic, albeit a little gay…which is unfortunate given my last remaining gay reader probably just left the building.

Also! Remember my post a couple of weeks ago with a “PAYMENT” license plate? I literally just came across this:

I also came across this, which I’m confident Arch Stanton will adore:

Well, I need to get back to work. I wish I had more free time to devote to this blog but candidly, I’d probably be doing something else if I had more time. I really want to get back into slut shaming. Alas, it’s back to the office for me.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: Kim Jong Il’s Titles, Ranked

unnamed

Everyone knows North Korea’s leaders (Kim Il-song, Kim Jong-il and Kim Jong-un) have an array of special titles, but they have more than you’d think. Like, WAY more. Many are simple modifiers on a title, whether normal or imagined. North Korean media is required to use one of these when addressing their leader in a publication, and is encouraged (read: also required) to bold their name or use a larger font. I wanted to rank them because I love ranking things, and because it’s important to know what to call our benevolent overlord after the impending war caused by our saber-rattling septuagenarian. Just kidding! We’ll all be swallowed whole in a nuclear hellfire before that! Let’s get to it already.

Amazing Politician: At first blush, you’d think this was an honor, but stop and think about it for a minute – an amazing politician is someone who is dishonest and manages to shoehorn their way into every topic regardless of their stance and is all-around terrible. This is basically saying, “you have a lot in common with Ted Cruz”. Fuck no.

Superior Person: What? It seems very half-assed. North Korea, I expect better from you… said no one ever.

Savior: I like my cult leader titles to be a little less on the nose.

Leader

Unique Leader

Great Leader

Peerless Leader

Respected Leader

Dear Leader

Wise Leader

Brilliant Leader

Supreme Leader of the Nation

Beloved and Respected Leader: Why are there so many modifiers for ‘leader’? it’s a very modest title, but if we’re going to use it, I will take two compliments rather than just one.

Fate of the Nation: Sounds like a lot of pressure. No thanks.

Commander-in-Chief: America let a fat idiot who is scared of stairs (http://thehill.com/homenews/media/325280-cnn-reporter-is-trump-afraid-of-stairs) use this term. No thanks.

Sun of the Communist Future: Here is the part of the list consisting of heavy-handed endorsements of communism which, hard pass.

Leader of the Party, the Country and the Army

Great Leader of our Party and of our Nation

Sun of Socialism

Leader of the Party and the People

Eternal General Secretary of the Party

Highest Incarnation of the Revolutionary Comradeship: If we’re going to embrace the communist monikers, let’s REALLY commit to it at least.

Great Man, Who is a Man of Deeds: I mean – what? He does deeds? Are they dirty deeds? Are they done dirt cheap? If any outlet uses this title, someone’s getting sent to a prison camp because this is a total cop-out. “Kim Jong-un, he does things” – get the fuck outta here.

Shining Star of Paektu Mountain: I don’t know what Paektu Mountain is, but I have a hunch it’s fake.

Bright Sun of Juche: Also fake.

Bright Sun of Pudank: Definitely fake.

Dear Father: Sounds like a weird Nicholas Sparks fan-fiction.

Beloved Father

Father of the Nation

Father of the People

Guarantee of the Fatherland’s Unification: I hate the use of “guarantee” as a noun. I base this opinion on absolutely nothing of substance or verifiable reason.

Symbol of the Fatherland’s Unification

General: Needs more gusto.

Great General: Better.

Beloved and Respected General: THERE it is.

Great Marshall: Bland.

Great Defender: Leaves a lot to the imagination. Thanks for defending us from… freedom of speech? Democracy? Food that isn’t dirt?

Leader of the Revolutionary Armed Forces: “Revolution” is such a gaudy term. It suggests being a part of the proletariat at one point in the past. Not us, we are sophisticated people of good breeding and can have no such stink on us.

Mastermind of the Revolution: You can call Kim Jong-un the mastermind of a revolution that happened twenty-four or twenty-five years before he was born, because that makes total sense. Also I just learned that no one knows his actually birthday – he is either 34 or 35, and there is a lot of debate on this. You learned something today!

His Excellency: Solid, but infringes heavily on the Pope, who’s got his own shit going on right now. I’m about cultivating positive PR, and we don’t need to get the stink of the Catholic Church all over us.

Sun of the Nation: Eh.

Great Sun of the Nation: Oh fuck yeah, much better.

Great Man, Who Descended from Heaven: Feels kind of blasphemous doesn’t it? I can dig it.

Glorious General, Who Descended from Heaven: ACTUALLY blasphemous.

The Great Sun of Life: In a sea of vastly over dramatic claims, “Sun of Life” is TOO much.

Leader of the 21st Century: Feels ho-hum, does it not?

Bright Sun of the 21st Century: You’re just describing the sun – no shit it’s bright, that’s literally what a sun is.

Great Sun of the 21st Century: ‘Great Sun’ I can definitely work with though.

World Leader of the 21st Century: There we go. I am all about being the apex of a new world order.

Guiding Star of the 21st Century: NOOOOOPE quasi-deified leader is much better.

Guiding Sun Ray: Got a real cult vibe to it, which fits in my life goal of having my own cult. Don’t worry, you’ll all get an invitation.

Invincible and Triumphant General: ‘Invincible’ is such an incredibly ballsy modifier. Do you think people roll their eyes (figuratively, lest they have them literally plucked from their skull) when they hear that? Like… we all know he definitely isn’t invincible, but we all have to pretend anyway. Everyone called his dad invincible, and then he just… left? Went to a farm upstate? He died! He definitely wasn’t invincible! Plus, triumphant is fantastic too – this five foot five inch chubby internet troll has only been triumphant against his generals when he makes them play Warcraft with him.

Ever-Victorious, Iron-Willed Commander: ‘Ever-victorious’, like North Korea has ever won a war. ‘Iron-Willed’ is great though. Credit where it’s due.

Party Centre: This is what I like to think people say about me when I show up at the bar.

Dear Leader, Who is a Perfect Incarnation of the Appearance that a Deader Should Have: I will not attempt to mask my tremendous vanity. Please refer to me as “Dear Leader, who is a perfect incarnation of the appearance that a leader should have Arch Stanton” going forward. I will not respond to anything else.

Arch Stanton Guest Post: Episode 20 of Today I Learned – Michael Malloy

unnamed

I attended grad school about an hour away from my undergraduate college at the same time my brother was finishing his undergrad degree there. One Alumni Weekend, a friend flew in and encouraged me to make the drive to see each as we no longer lived across the street from each other. I drove in Friday after class, looking for a casual night as I was to play third base in an all-day softball tournament the next day, only to learn my friend’s arrival had been delayed, and she was going to be in town much later than originally intended. As two idiots in their early twenties are wont to do, my brother and I hit the bars. Our drink of choice was a “trashcan” – essentially a Long Island Iced Tea with a can of Red Bull shoved in the top. As two idiots in their early twenties, we were incomprehensibly shitfaced almost immediately, which did nothing to deter us from selecting something less volatile. After spending roughly a hundred bucks on these drinks in a bar where a $40 bar tab was a wild aberration, you could say I was inebriated.

Given the alcohol and the Red Bull, the rest of the night is spotty, a night deserving of the concept of ‘browning out’ – never quite blacking out, but retaining no clear memories. After stiff arming my late-arriving friend on the way out of the bar, the rest of the night consisted of an Impressionist-painting of fleeting recollections, with the only clear memory I have being of me laying on a couch at 6 sharply aware of how fucked I was for my 8 am alarm.

My alarm rings. In that instance between “asleep” and “conscious”, my mind panics and expects a catastrophic hangover. But no! I open my eyes, and feel positively delightful! I grab a bagel, hop in my car and drive straight to another bar (gotta pregame for the softball tournament, obviously!). I walk in, and one of my teammates immediately remarks “you are so drunk right now”. Well, that explains the lack of a hangover. Our tournament goes off without a hitch, assuming drinking a bar out of Bud Lights throughout five games is “without a hitch”. I play third base during the third or fourth game with my glove on my left hand, and a beer in my right; despite my inebriation, there was no one else on our team who could throw a ball from third base to first base – grad school does not attract the finest athletes. I drink all day, and all night, and go to a bar Sunday afternoon to keep drinking – it is football season after all. After twelve hours drinking on Sunday, we go to a strip club to round out what was certainly the drunkest I have ever been in my life.

I don’t tell this story to brag (it should be more of a warning if anything). I tell this story because I look back astonished I could drink that much, and then realize this bender was only a fraction of what Michael Malloy experienced, the drunkest human to ever live.

unnamed (1)

Michael Malloy was a coffin-polisher (I’m sure you could rustle up an internship on Indeed if this career path sounds promising) during the Prohibition. Malloy was a great worker, not because he was talented, but because he was paid solely in booze. Not only did he consume his liquid paycheck, he had also had a running tab at his dear friend Tony Marino’s speakeasy. Tony Marino, what a great pal for letting Malloy run a tab while everyone else had to pay for their drinks as they went along! Good ol’ Tony!

Turns out, Tony was deeply in debt and had devised a clever ruse to get himself out of it: he took out a life insurance policy on his drunk friend Malloy, and would let him die of alcohol poisoning in order to collect the pay out. Did I say Tony was a friend? I meant Tony was a total motherfucker.

Tony started pouring shots for Malloy – as soon as Malloy finished one, Tony topped him off. This happened for THREE DAYS STRAIGHT. Three straight days of Prohibition-era moonshine, and Malloy walked in on day four and allegedly proclaimed, “ain’t I got a thirst!” Today, we would call this a drinking problem, to which Malloy would respond how his only problem was his drink wasn’t topped off. Tony, being the enterprising entrepreneur he was, decided a change was needed – he gave Malloy a few shots of whiskey, and then switched in wood alcohol. The “alcohol” following “wood” is misleading – it’s poison. It’s literally methanol, and causes blindness and death because it is ACTUAL POISON.

A spot of poison never slowed our protagonist down though! By “spot”, I mean “another three days of drinking poison”. Day six of this bender and Malloy gets faint and collapses to the floor, his breathing slowing dramatically. Tony must have given an audible cheer that his plan finally worked, only for Malloy to start snoring on the floor of his bar. Malloy is pretty good at holding his alcohol-poison apparently.

Pissed, Tony and some friends wake Malloy up and start feeding him oysters covered in denatured alcohol (also literal poison) and give him more wood alcohol. Nothing. They graduated from oysters to rotted sardines stuffed with shrapnel between bread. Malloy ate that and asked for a second. Tony and his friends had begun shoving antifreeze, turpentine, horse liniment and rat poison into Malloy in attempts to accelerate the process. Not only was Malloy not dying, he was having a delightful time, hanging out with his dear friend Tony, who was kind enough to feed him in between drinks!

Malloy passes out again. Tony and his friends pick this grizzly-bear-masquerading-as-a-human-man and drag him to a park bench in the middle of a snow storm and soak him in water. Malloy’s liver may be able to process poison (at least until the cirrhosis sets in), but he is still merely a man, and “soaking wet in a snow storm” is a death sentence. PSYCHE! Malloy ambled his way in the bar the next day complaining of a “wee chill”. At this point, Malloy has already established himself as a Wolverine-like superhero incapable of death.

THERE IS STILL MORE. Malloy has been impossibly drunk, poisoned, fed shrapnel, poisoned again, and left to freeze, and just pushed on through that the perseverance is inspiring. Tony, outright pissed at this point and moves from “passively letting a man die” to “let’s kill this son of a bitch”. Tony and a friend drag Malloy out into the street and hold him up so a third friend can hit him going 45 mph in a car. Just to be safe – history has shown there is no such thing as “overkill” in regards to Malloy – they back over him before leaving him in the street. Dead in the street, Malloy’s asshole friends left to collect their hard-earned insurance.

Just kidding! Five days later, Malloy high steps his way into the bar where he proclaimed “I sure dying for a drink!” There’s a thought experiment about how we are all technically immortal until proven otherwise – God had attempted to show otherwise, and Malloy had issued a rebuttal to God and shown he was immortal. After another undefined window where Malloy drank everything in sight, he passed out. Tony dragged Malloy to a hotel with gas lamps, which he proceeded to hook a nozzle into the gas and put it directly into Malloy’s mouth.

The next morning Michael Malloy was dead. Seriously. He was not coming back this time. Tony and friends collected their insurance, and had a story they would be sure to laugh about down the road. Local police heard rumors of this unkillable man, and eventually looked into it, exhuming Malloy’s body and discovering he had died from pneumonia and not the previously proclaimed gas leaked. Consider – this man had been poisoned for roughly ten days, abandoned in the freezing cold, hit by a car, poisoned some more, and had gas pumped directly into his lungs, and a cold killed him. Long story short, Tony and his friends were eventually sent the electric chair for killing this earthbound deity.

Everyone knows the story of the impossibly-difficult-to-kill Rasputin, but Rasputin doesn’t have shit on Michael Malloy, a man many would confuse as an exaggerated drinking tale masquerading as folklore. But no, Michael Malloy really existed, and he was the drunkest human being who ever lived, putting your best drinking story to shame a dozen times over.

Elon for the W

I couldn’t be more thrilled with this guy. Three years ago, I strongly disliked him. Fast forward to 2018 and this guy is both a personal hero and officially the real life Tony Stark. Here is an amazing series-of-photos meme from the internets:

And another great photo:

And to think, last weekend I stumbled across the following bumper sticker and was ecstatic to share it with this readership:

Now, I’m doubting the true extent of the innovative spirit and capitalist bent of Galt/Taggart. I’m pulling my vote from their box and casting it for Musk/Thiel.

Just once, I want Elon to finish an earnings call with “I will stop the combustion motor of the world.”

So I ask you: Who is Elon Musk?