Best Republican Candidate for 2012?

Lowbrow Answer: Rick Perry/Mitt Romney/Newt Gingrich/Herman Cain/Michelle Bachmann/Rick Santorum/Ron Paul
Add two more lunatics to this list and we could field an idiot softball team. Where are the Republicans getting these people? Are they just trolling Wal-Mart parking lots, offering yocals candy if they'll come to the White House? I understand that, by nature, conservatives are a little backwards, but is this really the best we can do? I would elect most of the Muppets and all of the Teletubbies before any one of these candidates.

My border fence is bigger than your border fence.

This year's class of Republicans is proof that "crazy" is contagious. Have you seen the debates? It's like watching a group of puppies all trying to catch their own tail at once. They should just throw all the candidates into a cage match and give the last one standing the nomination. I bet it would be Bachmann: lunacy that strong is unstoppable.

Middlebrow Answer: Jon Huntsman
Okay, sure. He's a Mormon. Which means he's racist, homophobic, and overzealous. But this is the Republican party. Everyone is racist, homophobic, and overzealous. You have to punch an agnostic black lesbian just to get your membership card. At least Huntsman is intelligent. He believes in evolution and global warming. He graduated from an Ivy League university. He thinks chemistry and biology are "sciences" and not "magic."

If you're Mormon and you know it, clap your hands

Huntsman also speaks fluent Chinese and has adopted children from both China and India. Which means he realizes that there are countries outside of North America. That's a big step for a Republican candidate. Most of them think China and India are made-up fantasy lands, like Narnia or Djibouti.

Highbrow Answer: An Emperor Penguin
He's classy. He's regal. He's wearing a tuxedo. Right away, he's already a better option than most Republican candidates. Not to mention the fact that he's not a backwoods redneck, he doesn't think Jesus makes the sun come up every morning, and he doesn't own a house in Texas called "Niggerhead Ranch." I'd vote for him, and I'm a democrat.

Read. My. Lips. No. New. Taxes.

At this point, the Republican party has gotten so bad that I'd just be happy to have somebody who won't start World War III. Sure, an Emperor Penguin doesn't speak English and has no opposable thumbs, but at least he won't embarrass our country by doing something stupid like bombing Iraq or choosing Sarah Palin as a running mate.

Best Use of Animals in Warfare?

Lowbrow Answer: Carrier Pigeons
Let me get this straight. You have a vital message to send to your commanding officer, and you attach it to a pigeon? Seriously? Do you want to lose the war? Are you trying to get shot and killed? You're taking the future of your entire country and strapping it to the back of what is essentially a rat with wings? Boy. No wonder they don't let you near the grenades.

Email, circa 1940

In order to take down carrier pigeons before they could deliver their messages, many platoons bred and trained hawks to hunt and kill the winged couriers. Hey, guys. Here's an idea. Why not attach the message to the hawk. Or better yet, attach it to a raptor. I guarantee it'll get through then. I don't care how many panzer tanks you have - those things can open doors with their claws.


Middlebrow Answer: War Elephants
Yes, these are real. And yes, I'm getting one. I bet my upstairs neighbor will stop complaining about my music after I trample his living room and ram a tusk through his Beagle. The most famous war elephants belonged to Hannibal, who used them in the Second Punic War to cross the Alps. (Consequently, Hannibal died shortly after the crossing of being way too awesome.)

Excuse me while I shit myself

But how the hell do you take care of these things out on the warpath? They drink, like, 839 gallons of water a day. Their poop is the size of a Buick. Are you lugging around truckloads of peanuts to feed them? What if they accidentally step on some of your troops? What if one of them has really big ears and wears a little yellow hat and a neck ruffle and what if he learns to fly and gives away your position?


Highbrow Answer: Bombardier Bats
No, I'm not making this up. The Americans came up with it during World War II. The idea is simple. You strap small bombs to a bunch of bats. You then release those bats over an enemy city at dawn. As the sun comes up, the bats retreat into houses and buildings to sleep during the day. At which point, you ignite the bombs and start fires all over the city. Oh god, this is so awesome. Fuck you, 7th grade bullies - history IS cool.

So cuddly and destructive

Can we just go ahead and agree that bats are the coolest animals ever? They blow up buildings, they can see in the dark, they sleep upside down, they're the only mammals that can fly (and not just glide), and they can get as big as 4 feet across. You heard me: four fucking feet. Imagine that flying at you. I mean, come on. Bats are so awesome that even their poop is worth money. Suck it, penguins.

Best Halloween Costume?

Lowbrow Answer: "Sexy" Anything
Listen, sweetheart. I know you've got really low self-esteem because your ex-frat-boy boyfriend would rather watch NFL games than have sex with you, but do we really need to see you squeeze your formerly perky ass into a pair of black booty shorts so that you can tell everyone you're a "cat?" Newsflash: cats don't wear high heels or have a bellybutton piercing or get drunk on two Smirnoff Ices. (Well, okay, maybe that last one is true - I have no idea how many Smirnoff Ices it takes to get a cat wasted.)

I like boobs and ass and low self-confidence as much as the next guy, but come on. If I wanted to see some girl's naughty-bits in public, I'd just drop a roofie in her vodka-soda and then drag her outside. Problem solved.

Middlebrow Answer: "Scary" Anything
At least these outfits are on theme. Halloween, if you'll remember, is supposed to be about ghouls and ghosts and shit. It's not supposed to be fun. It's supposed to be terrifying and horrifying and poop-in-your-pants-ifying. You should be dressing up as scary things. Stuff like zombies and monsters and catholic priests and my Uncle Rod who used to force all of us kids to take mustache rides at Easter. *shiver*
I'm not sure when we lost track of the true meaning of Halloween and veered off the track into superheroes and pop singers and eating 9 pounds of candy in one day. Probably around the same time we changed Christmas from "the birth of our Lord and Savior" to "Fuck you, give me that Tickle-Me-Elmo or I'll shove a lawnmower up your ass."


Highbrow Answer: "Abstract" Anything
For my money, the best Halloween costumes take explaining. A lot of explaining. I like it when a costume requires a lecture or a history lesson or a pie graph for me to understand it. At least then I'm learning something.
For full highbrow points this year, the best costume would require dressing up as one of of the following things:

- 14th Century German Nihilism
- Hubris
- The Japanese Commodities Market
- Any Color From the Infrared Spectrum
- The Soul of a Cheetah
- Chapter 14 from Betrand Russell's "The Amberly Papers"
- Doubt

Best Coldplay Album?

Lowbrow Answer: Viva La Vida
Quick, name one song from this album other than "Viva La Vida." Can't do it, right? Of course you can't. Because every other song on this album blows. And admit it - you only know "Viva la Vida" because it has the same name as the album itself. If you look up "generic" in the dictionary, you'll see a photo of this album, right next to a screen shot from "Two and a Half Men" and a quote from Tyler Perry.

And did you notice how the band wore matching old time marching band outfits for this tour? Hmmm, I feel like I've seen that before. Where was it. Matching old time marching band outfits. Oh, that's right. It was a little group called The Beatles. You may have heard of them. Jesus, Coldplay. If you're going to plagiarize someone's style, at least steal from somebody small and inconsequential, like, I dunno, NOT the most famous rock band ever. In the whole world. Ever.


Middlebrow Answer: A Rush of Blood to the Head
Okay, so "Warning Sign" is a nice song. As are "In My Place" and "Amsterdam." And "The Scientist" is the perfect tune for when you bring a girl back to your place and you're hoping to get laid and you want her to think you're thoughtful and sweet but not that you're gay. I thank you for that one, Chris Martin. And my 9th grade girlfriend Stephanie thanks you. Twice-in-my-basement-and-once-in-my-parents'-shower thanks you.

But still. Most of these songs are pretty dull. And has anyone else noticed that "Clocks" is just "Speed of Sound" sped up? Anybody? I mean, I know that "Clocks" came before "Speed of Sound," but come on. Have the decency not to write an average song that you will later adapt into a different, even more average song, but that is essentially the same as the first average song. Sheesh.


Highbrow Answer: Fuck Coldplay
Yeah, I know they sell tickets. And I know that people listen to them. But the truth is, they blow. Honestly. You've got to trust me on this. I'm your friend. I'd never lie to you. Here's how you can tell. Take a look at the following list and tell me whether I'm describing Coldplay or The Backstreet Boys:

- Highly melodic musical hooks that are catchy the first 5 times you hear them, but make-you-want-to-stab-your-own-ears-with-a-curling-iron the next 500 times after that.
- Lyrics so vaguely poetic they could have come from an 8th grade poetry slam.
- Singers whose vocal emotion is so monotone you aren't sure if they're happy or sad or excited or angry or, literally, anything besides "bored."
- An overproduced live show where each member of the band has a massive projection screen dedicated to showing just his image.
- A loyal fanbase composed primarily of soccer moms and their teenage daughters.

You can't tell, can you? See what I'm talking about?

We're Back Today!

After a long summer in the Alps hunting bears, elk, and small retarded children who would only weaken our strong Russian blood, I return to work today. Stay tuned for regular updates. Kisses, Karl.

Best Assassination?

Lowbrow Answer: Archduke Franz Ferdinand (killed in 1914)
Okay, sure, "The Black Hand" is a cool name for a gang of Serbian militants. But come on. Could these guys be any more inept? First, they try to blow him up, but they miss and blow another car up instead. Then they try to shoot him at a cafe, but he leaves before they can act. Then two of them get scared, eat their cyanide pills, and jump into a river. Except the pills don't really work and the river is only 5 inches deep. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. This is like Farrelly Brothers dumb.

Gavrilo Princep finally shoots Ferdinand in his car, accidentally killing his wife in the process. A month later, World War I breaks out. Nice job, Black Hand. Thanks a lot. Just to recap, you nearly botch the only assassination attempt you ever undertake, you send the whole of Europe into a horrible war, and you needlessly kill Ferdinand's hot Austrian wife. Are you trying to make me hate you? Because it's working.


Middlebrow Answer: Robert F. Kennedy (killed in 1968)
JFK's little brother was shot four times at point blank range outside a hotel by a man named Sirhan Sirhan. Now here's the best part: even with two holes in his chest and one in his head, RFK didn't die until 26 hours later. What a fucking badass. I start crying when I skin my knee; this dude's brain is leaking out on the floor and he manages to survive an entire day. Move over, Jesus. I have a new God.

I will say, however, that you could go bigger than RFK. Let's use a hunting analogy. Let's say guys like Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. are majestic twelve-point bucks. That makes Robert Kennedy, like, a really big swordfish. Making your name in the assassin community by shooting him is like being in the NBA and playing for the Golden State Warriors. Sure, you're a pro basketball player. But not really.


Highbrow Answer: Alexander Litvinenko (killed in 2006)
Litvinenko was a Russian KGB thug who secretly switched sides to join the "good guys" at MI6 in England. Although, in hindsight, he probably could have been a bit more secretive about the switch. While staying in a hotel in London, he drank a cup of tea that had been laced with Polonium-210, a radioactive metalloid element. He died three weeks later from radiation poisoning. Let me just make sure you heard that right: he drank a cup of tea that had been poisoned with Polonium. H-I-G-H-B-R-O-W, and that's how you spell highbrow.

The big rumor was that Litvinenko was offed by a bunch of his former KGB buddies, although it was also reported that the Russian government was behind it. Awesome. I feel like I'm in the middle of a Hollywood spy movie, like "The Bourne Identity" or "The Bourne Supremacy" or "The Bourne Ultimatum" or "The Bourne Legacy" or "Spy Kids 3D."

Best Super Mario Kart Track?

Lowbrow Answer: Rainbow Road
This is what happens when you let a 7-year-old on methamphetamine design a race track. It's like somebody stabbed a disco floor then ran it over with a steam roller. I'm sure I'd be getting faster times on it, if only I weren't so busy having a seizure during Lap 3.

Where the hell was OSHA when they were building this abomination? Aren't there regulations for this shit? There are no walls, electrical stone faces are falling all over the place, and the whole thing is free-floating in space. Talk about a lawsuit waiting to happen. Can't we put in some safety fences or something? The last thing we need is Bowser careening out of control and smashing into a family of nuns or a litter of baby kittens.


Middlebrow Answer: Vanilla Lake 2
Nothing gets my nipples hard like ice racing. Yee-haw. The best part of this course is saving time by jumping onto the floating icebergs. Nothing gets the ladies going like the old jump-onto-the-icebergs-to-save-time routine. Yeah, girl. You know how I do. Cut right across that frozen lake. You like that? You want some more? Come here, I'ma rub my Donkey Kong all up in yo Princess Toadstool.

And yet, does anybody else think maybe we shouldn't be driving race cars through the arctic tundra? Aren't there, like, endagered baby seals and narwhals and dudes named Nanook wandering around up there? I mean, I know I'd be pissed if a family of Eskimos and a polar bear drove a bunch of race cars through MY backyard. Shouldn't we at grant them the same respect?


Highbrow Answer: Donut Plains 3
Good lord, this shit is impossible. I've been playing Mario Kart since back before I even knew how to masturbate, and I still can't win on this track. The turns are ridiculous, there's a gap in one of the bridges, and the whole thing is happening on some kind of rain-soaked flood plain. You turn too far one way - you're twelve feet under water. Too far the other - you're stranded on a patch of dirt with no hope. It's like 16-bit Hurricane Katrina.

And where are we getting these gophers that pop out of the ground and attack my kart? Is there Mercury leaking into a nearby water supply or something? They're terrifying. Here I am doing my best "Fast and Furious" impression around a corner, when a crazed, 5-foot ball of fuzz with dilated pupils and a tattoo on his arm that reads "Born to Fuck" jumps up onto my face. I surrender. Sweet Jesus, I surrender.

"I am Tagged in X number of Facebook photos..."

Lowbrow Answer: X > 500
Here's the funny thing about life. You're supposed to be living it, not documenting it. In all the time you've spent posing for pictures, you could have written a best-selling book or solved a physics equation or conquered some insignificant country like Azerbaijan or France. So the next time somebody whips out their iPhone to snap a hipstamatic photo, tell them to fuck off. You've got shit to do.

Now, I'm not going to start preaching Thoreau at you (because he was a spoiled bitch whose entire mantra is undermined by the fact that his parents funded his little cabin adventure) and I won't tell you to "Seize the Day" (because I refuse to take life advice from Robin Williams and a bunch of 1950s boarding school kids). But I will tell you to stop spending your whole life posing for photos. I promise you; you aren't worth taking pictures of anyway. Your arms are flabby and your eyes are too far apart.


Middlebrow Answer: X < 25
What are you, some kind of cave troll? Get out and see the world, man! Rent a paddle boat or join a hockey team or learn Nigerian Kung Fu. I don't care if you've got crippling agoraphobia; suck it up and get outside. The only people who are allowed to legitimately have fewer than facebook 25 photos of them are hermits, hobos, Uzbekistanis (they haven't even cured Polio over there yet), and 1820s prospectors. Otherwise, you gotta go make some friends.

It's not like it's difficult to get photos of you taken these days. Everything has a fucking camera in it. Phones, computers, MP3 players. I hear the ASPCA will even install a digital camera into whichever dog you choose to adopt. Photo technology has gone crazy. I mean, I'm taking a nude picture of you right now and you're still wearing your clothing.


Highbrow Answer: X = 163
Didn't see this one coming, did you? BLAM! King strikes again! While I don't advocate being a facebook junky, I understand that it's part of life these days. Like texting and iTunes and Justin Bieber. You can't avoid it. So it's okay to have a few photos of you. Just make sure they're cool. They should be of you winning the Stanley Cup or choking a walrus. They shouldn't be you drunk at a frat party or you eating hot wings at Applebee's.

And how fucking cool a number is 163? God damn. It's the largest value of d such that the number field Q (√−d) has class number 1 (meaning that its ring of integers is a unique factorization chain), it's the last instance of a quadratic field having unique factorization, and it's the first instance of a real cyclotomic field not having unique factorization. Awesome. I just got a math boner.

Best Marginal Genre of Music?

Lowbrow Answer: Popera
"Popera" is a strange musical No Man's Land that exists somewhere between Pop and Opera. It's not quite catchy enough to be on regular radio and it's not quite good enough to be called "classical." Never heard any of this shit before? Just look for large groups of white middle-class women; there's bound to be Popera nearby.

Josh Groban is the Czar of this travesty, and with good reason. He has the perfect mix of semi-talent and quasi-attractiveness that moistens the panties of every housewife in America. Just like Coldplay or Regis Philbin.


Middlebrow Answer: Horror-Core
I don't care what you say about the Insane Clown Posse; at least those guys put on a show. They've got jugglers and strippers and midgets in hobo outfits and pregnant manatees and all kinds of other crazy shit on stage when they perform. None of that haughty Radiohead ignore-the-audience bullshit here. You go to a Horror-Core show and you're getting an experience; a nightmarish, pulsating concert complete with soda cannons, horny hillbillies, and all the herpes you can take.

Of course, lyrically, Horror-Core falls a bit short. There are only so many ways you can talk about murdering a Bitch-Nutz with your Juggalo Hatchet. I'd like to see some of these groups branch out. I wonder what an ICP song about clouds or endless love would sound like. Probably something like, "I'm a murder that Cloud-Nutz with my Endless Love Hatchet."


Highbrow Answer: Post-Rock
Welcome to the User's Guide to Making Post Rock.
Step 1: Collect five non-Americans and put them in a band together. Make sure one of them is a girl. She should be shorter than 5'5" and be from Japan.
Step 2: Force the band to play their guitars with screwdrivers and wine glasses and anything else that isn't normally used to play a guitar.
Step 3: Every song must be longer than 10 minutes.
Step 4: No song is allowed to have lyrics.
Step 5: The band's name must be something obscure and strange like, "Godspeed You! Black Emperor" or "Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra & Tra-La-La Band." (those are both real acts, by the way) Bonus points for misusing punctuation in the name of the group.
Step 6: All artwork must be grainy and shot in black and white.
Step 7: At least 80% of the group's music must be amelodic and unlistenable.

If the first thought in your head after reading that list isn't, "HIGH-FUCKING-BROW" then stop reading this blog.

Best Team in Major League Soccer?

Lowbrow Answer: The LA Galaxy
Nothing like watching soccer surrounded by an orgy of upper middle-class white people in David Beckham replica jerseys. Galaxy fans are all the same. They show up late, spend the entire first half in line to buy their bratty kids $28 worth of food, and then they leave 20 minutes early so they can beat the other soccer moms out of the parking lot and get home in time for CSI: Miami. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. These are people who think that Manchester United and Real Madrid are European mortgage companies.

Also: What the hell kind of sports name is "The Galaxy?" You're from LA, for Christ's sake. You can't even see any stars here. And what's your mascot? A big white cloud of mist? "The Galaxy" should have been about 978th on your list of possible names, right behind "The Rape Whistles."


Middlebrow Answer: Seattle Sounders FC
Alright, so your average attendance at home games is like 200,000 people. And sure, your team colors are pretty cool and you've got some good players. But Seattle? What a dump. It's always raining, it's the home of Microsoft, and it's full of aging hipsters with pixie haircuts and Amazon Kindles. Move the team to somewhere nice, like Montana or New Hampshire, and maybe I'll be interested. Until then, take your granola bars and your Chacos and shove it.

The face of this team is Drew Carey, who is a minority shareholder. Now, you might be thinking; "Drew Carey, the famous lion tamer and wine parachutist?" No, not that Drew Carey. We're talking about the Drew Carey who had his own show back in the day and now hosts "The Price is Right." The Drew Carey who was supposedly funny at one point in his life, but can produce no hard evidence thereof. Fat bastard.


Highbrow Answer: CD Chivas USA
A distinct absence of star players? Check. Wild and Crazy Mexican ownership group? Check. Defensive-minded, unattractive style of play? Check. This is what pro sports is about; worshiping a team that continually lets you down and causes you emotional drama. Fuck yeah! Sports! Despair! America!

Chivas is awesome because they have this little thing called personality. The fans are nuts, the mascot is a goat, and the team is the only one in the league without a city in its name. Why? Because fuck geography, that's why. Chivas USA cares not for your plebeian cities and states - this team lives by its own rules. And Rule #1 is Cartography Blows.

Best Male Underwear?

Lowbrow Answer: Boxer-Briefs
Look, I know the world is a complicated place, but pick a fucking side. You're either boxers or you're briefs; you don't get to be both. Flip-flopper. It's like how every new invention these days has to be 8-things-in-1. "This camera is also a phone and a knife and a nightlight and a respirator and a pistol and a nine-iron and a badger! All in one!" Fuck that. I want my camera to be a camera. I want my underpants to be underpants. End of story.

Even if you concede that these are comfy, we couldn't come up with a better name than "Boxer-Briefs?" Really? It's like those annoying people who hyphenate their last names. Get over yourselves. Pick one or make up something new. Imagine how dumb it would be if other shit was named this way. We'd be stuck writing all our emails on "Calculator-Typewriter-Camera-Phonograph-Telegraph-Televisions." (Get it? I'm talking about computers. Moron.)


Middlebrow Answer: Tighty-Whities
In this tumultuous era of falling stocks and armed Middle-Eastern conflict and Katy Perry music, the last thing I need is my Pocket Dolphin flopping around all nimbly-bimbly in the breeze. I want that shit tucked in tight, where he's protected from all the fear and the war and the Moammar Gadhafi. I mean, come on. My Wang is my third-most valuable physical attribute, right behind my tattoo of Elton John and my detachable kneecaps; I gotta protect it.

Of course, sometimes my Yogurt Slinger needs some space to roam. Sometimes he yearns to be out on his own, seeing the world. And I respect that. I don't want be one of those helicopter parents, hovering over their kids at every turn. I want my penis to be able to enjoy a steak dinner or a tennis lesson all by himself if he wants to. More power to him.


Highbrow Answer: Underwear?
Would you cage the regal Alaskan Elk? Would you close the gates to Yellowstone Park? Would you lock Michael Cera in a windowless basement? No. Of course you wouldn't. Because Alaskan Elk, Yellowstone Park, and Michael Cera are national treasures. They're supposed to be out in the open, encouraging the world to greatness with their very presence. Such is the nature of my Penis; its very existence inspires the advancement of modern civilization.

If you're asking yourself, "Did he just equate his Dong to a National Park?" The answer is yes. Yes, I did. Clearly you know nothing of my Peen and the wonders thereof. It once traveled back in time to stop the assassination of a human boy so that he could grow up and become the leader of mankind against an army of robotic overlords in the future. Yeah. Suck it. What has YOUR penis done lately?

Best Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle?

Lowbrow Answer: Michelangelo
Is it me, or is Michelangelo always stoned? Like, always. "Anchovies" is probably a euphemism for "massive bong rips." It's kind of impressive if you think about it. If he's that good with nun-chucks when he's baked, imagine how good he'd be sober. He could probably shit on Shredder's face with his eyes closed.

But what the hell is "Cowabunga?" What language is that? It sounds like the Latin term for bovine anus. Which is weird, because why would you shout that as you charge into battle? Why not something more like, "No Mercy!" or "Charge!" or "I'm-a-kill-yo-ass!"


Middlebrow Answer: Donatello
Donatello is smart, he's witty, and he can actually speak the English language without saying "whoa..." or "dude..." every thirty seconds. He's also named after a fucking badass. Donatello was a fourteenth-century painter and sculptor who basically invented bas-relief. He's way more highbrow than Michelangelo and his stupid ceiling. He's representin' Perspectival Illusionism, motherfucker.

On the downside, his weapon is a broomstick. I know that ninja geeks will call it a "bow" or a "staff," but that's total bullshit. It's a curtain rod, at best. Leonardo gets two swords and Donatello gets a shower dowel? What kind of shit is that?


Highbrow Answer: Raphael
Raphael bows to no man. You want him to help you save April O'Neil? Fuck you, he's busy. The Foot Clan is attacking Manhattan? Tough shit, he's reading Proust. Bebop and Rocksteady have captured Leonardo? Let that goody-two-shoes burn. Raphael doesn't need anybody. He's a surly one-man army.

Raphael carries two Sai, which only adds to his awesomenitude because it means he has to flight in close quarters. None of this arms-length bullshit for him - he gets right in your face before he rips your heart out and eats it.

You Have Three Kids. You Should...

Lowbrow Answer: ...Give them all names that start with the same letter.
The parents who typically pull this kind of shit are either super-wealthy white people or super-poor minorities. Either way, go fuck yourself. You have three beautiful daughters. You can't come up with more interesting names than Kelly, Kimberly, and Kelsey? Are you literally trying to make me hate you? If you are, it's working. Even if you aren't; it's still working.

I'm waiting for the day when people just quit trying and name all their kids "Dana." Male, female. It won't matter. We already spend all our time shopping at Wal-Mart and eating at McDonald's and watching "Transformers." We may as well go full-bore and just all have the same identities. At least you'd never forget somebody's name again.


Middlebrow Answer: ...Love them all equally and raise them well.
I hate kids in the first place, but if you're going to ruin my day by having one, at least be a good parent. Teach the thing to read and write and worship Adorno. Teach it to enjoy foreign arthouse poetry and listen to Chopin and sneer at Steven Spielberg movies. Teach it to be nice to everyone, except racists, homophobes, bigots, and lacrosse players. Fuck those people. They can swallow a rattlesnake.

On the other hand, there are few things worse than happy families. With their golden retrievers and white picket fences and Ford minivans and Saturdays at the park and Sundays at Episcopal church and smiling Christmas card photos from top of Mount Belmont. What is this, The Family Circus? Life is shit. Your son will get AIDS and your daughter will get hit by a comet. And The Family Circus blows. Worst comic ever.


Highbrow Answer: ...Kill two of them.
The world is overpopulated. There are like 147 billion people living in China. We're running out of space. We're running out of food and water. The last thing we need is idiots like you pumping out kid after kid after kid like your vagina is some kind of Pez dispenser. I don't care if you're Catholic. Or Evangelical. Or any other dumb religion that demands you have kids so that they can join the Pope's army or whatever. Use a condom. They're cheap, they're accessible, and the ones we have today are much better than the sheep's bladder you would have had to use back in the day.

I don't understand why some people are so intent on having 25 children. Doesn't it get old? Aren't you totally bored after the first two? Aren't you sick of potty training and diapers and whining and soccer practices and singing lessons and birthday parties and visits to the hospital and crying? No? You aren't? Man, your life is pathetic. Like, Eddie Murphy's post-1995 acting career pathetic.

Best Outfit for a Flight?

Lowbrow Answer: A Sweatsuit and a Neck Pillow
Maybe traveling from Boston to Albuquerque was a perilous adventure during the Civil War, but it's the 21st century for Christ's sake. The planes have heat. They serve you Pepsi in mid-air. It's pretty cushy. We're not sitting on wooden benches, helping to peddle the 747. Come on, the whole flight is only going to take like five hours. You're not crossing the country on a 9-month expedition with Lewis and Clark.

And don't get me started on this neck pillow shit. What the hell has happened to us? We used to kill bears with our hands and build houses with rocks and slaughter thousands of Native Americans for fun. Has it really come to this? We need a semi-circle cushion to help us sleep sitting up? If this continues, one day we'll be relying on some kind of Hello Kitty-themed robot from Japan to chew all our food for us and kiss us goodnight.


Middlebrow Answer: High Heels and a Tight Skirt
Hey sweetheart. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this isn't a frat house. There aren't any drunk football players to feel you up by the pool table or hump you arrhythmically on a makeshift basement dance floor. This is an airplane. Nobody wants to chat with you about how great it is to be an English major. All the flight attendants are gay. Take off your Manolo Blahnik's and wipe all that makeup off your face. Trollop.

The guy version of this is even worse. Nothing like a douchebag in an Armani suit and CK One sitting next to you all the way to New York. Yes, I see you're on your way to a business meeting. Good for you. Let me guess. You work in consulting. You attended some yuppie white kid college like Williams or Princeton and now you spend your time moving other people's money around until you save enough of your own to buy a big house and a golden retriever and a wife whose first name is "Grier." I hope your plane crashes. Into Princeton.


Highbrow Answer: Jeans and a T-Shirt
Yes, flying somewhere was a huge deal in 1984. It's not anymore. Get over it. At this point, an airplane is just a big Toyota Camry with wings. Are you really going to get dressed up for a Toyota Camry with wings? Is that how pathetic your life has become? Have you no better occasion to make a big deal out of than a flight to Cleveland? That's sad. Like, Elmo dying of Syphilis sad.

The joy of wearing jeans and a T-shirt on an airplane is that nobody knows anything about you. If you're wearing a suit, we know you're some Wall Street asshole. If you're wearing sandals with socks, we know you're some yocal from Indiana who hasn't been in one of them there flying machines since 1991. Jeans and a T-shirt is understated. You could be anyone. You could be flying to a meeting with the president or a play rehearsal with Johnny Depp or a T-Shirt and Jeans convention. The possibilities are endless.